Ephorus of Cyme and Greek Historiography [Shortened English version] 9781108831185, 9781108923484, 9781108926423

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EPHORUS OF CYME AND GREEK HISTORIOGRAPHY GIOVANNI PARMEGGIANI Università degli Studi di Trieste

Shaftesbury Road, Cambridge cb2 8ea, United Kingdom One Liberty Plaza, 20th Floor, New York, ny 10006, USA 477 Williamstown Road, Port Melbourne, vic 3207, Australia 314–321, 3rd Floor, Plot 3, Splendor Forum, Jasola District Centre, New Delhi – 110025, India 103 Penang Road, #05–06/07, Visioncrest Commercial, Singapore 238467 Cambridge University Press is part of Cambridge University Press & Assessment, a department of the University of Cambridge. We share the University’s mission to contribute to society through the pursuit of education, learning and research at the highest international levels of excellence. www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781108831185 doi: 10.1017/9781108923484 © Giovanni Parmeggiani 2024 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press & Assessment. First published 2024 A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data names: Parmeggiani, Giovanni, author. title: Ephorus of Cyme and Greek historiography / Giovanni Parmeggiani, Università degli Studi di Trieste. other titles: Eforo di Cuma. English description: Cambridge, United Kingdom ; New York, NY : Cambridge University Press, 2024. | Original title: Eforo di Cuma: Studi di storiografia greca. | Includes bibliographical references and index. identifiers: lccn 2023029438 | isbn 9781108831185 (hardback) | isbn 9781108926423 (paperback) | isbn 9781108923484 (ebook) subjects: lcsh: Ephorus. | Ephorus Die Fragmente der Historiker. | Greece – History – To 146 b.c. – Historiography. classification: lcc df212.e7 p3713 2024 | ddc 938/.08–dc23/eng/20230701 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023029438 isbn 978-1-108-83118-5 Hardback Cambridge University Press & Assessment has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

Contents

Acknowledgements Abbreviations and a Note

page vi viii 1

Introduction 1

10

Questions and Answers

2 Ephorus’ Histories: The Method

61

3 Ephorus’ Histories: The Contents

151

4 Ephorus the Universal Historian

332 360

Conclusions Appendix: Ephorus and the Hellenika Oxyrhynchia Bibliography Index Locorum Subject Index Index of Greek Words and Expressions

v

362 366 395 419 440

Acknowledgements

Since my Eforo di Cuma. Studi di storiografia greca appeared in 2011, some colleagues – Nino Luraghi and Stefan Schorn, among others – expressed the hope that a shortened and more accessible English version of the book would appear. Here it is. I’m honoured that my original work aroused so much interest, and I hope that the present book meets expectations. Guido Schepens, in a letter he sent to me on 10 August 2017, observed that writing this book would require, above all, ‘a thorough rethinking and rewriting of the original argument’, and also that the Italian manuscript, apart from the need for it to be drastically shortened, could not merely be ‘translated’. ‘This is a daunting task’, he concluded. Needless to say, he was right. Several years after the conclusion of my Italian monograph, I was called to retrace my steps, looking for a compromise between what I was at the time, and what I am now. I felt as if I were being forced into the impossible task of diving once more into the same water – indeed a less than comfortable condition. Now, the original spirit of the Italian manuscript has been preserved – which was vital – but contents have been rearranged as was necessary. In Chapter 1, much of the content of par. 3 (Was Ephorus a ‘Rhetorical Historian’?) is taken from the paper On the Concept of Rhetorical Historiography, which I delivered at the Bologna Congress Greek Historiography in the IV Century B.C.: Problems and Perspectives in December 2007. In Chapter 3, par. 3.5.4 (Pericles in Context: The Causes of the Peloponnesian War (F 196)) is an expanded version of a previous contribution of mine (2014b), first delivered at the Congress Greek Historiography in the Fourth Century bce: Decline or Development?, which was held at Harvard University in February 2007. Two scholars and friends helped me in such an effort, Christopher Baron and John Marincola, both of whom generously read my manuscript and provided invaluable suggestions. John Marincola also enriched my text with his English translations from the Greek. My thanks go also to my vi

Acknowledgements

vii

sister Francesca Parmeggiani, who assisted me at the very first and most complicated stage of the work, and to the anonymous referees for CUP, who provided careful reading and useful suggestions; to CUP for accepting the manuscript, and also to Michael Sharp and Katie Idle, both from CUP, for their precious help. Last but not least, I would like to thank Riccardo Vattuone, who first initiated me into the splendid issues of fragmentary historiography, Ephorus in particular. My Eforo di Cuma was dedicated to my parents Luisa Zanutta and Pier Luigi Parmeggiani. Both of them taught me about passion and science. Both of them passed away in 2022, leaving an unbridgeable void in my life. My Ephorus of Cyme is dedicated again to my mother and to my father, but also to both my wife Annachiara, who strongly supported me through many difficult times, and my son Pierluigi ‘Little Storm’, who did his best to make me not finish this book.

Abbreviations and a Note

FGrHist

IG RE SEG U-R

– F. Jacoby (ed.), Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker, Berlin–Leiden 1923–1958 – G. Schepens (ed.), later: S. Schorn (ed.), Felix Jacoby, Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker Continued, Part IV: Biography and Antiquarian Literature, Leiden–Boston 1998– Inscriptiones Graecae, Berlin 1873– Paulys Real-Encyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft, eds. G. Wissowa et alii, Stuttgart–München 1894–1973 Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum, Leiden–Amsterdam 1923– Dionysii Halicarnasei Opuscola, I–II, eds. H. Usener and L. Radermacher, Leipzig 1899

‘Fragment’ is a somewhat misleading label for quotations of and references to lost historical works; nevertheless it will be used here. The fragments of Ephorus – and of fragmentary historians in general – are referred to as ‘T’ and ‘F’, following Felix Jacoby’s usage. For Ephorus, the reference ‘FGrHist 70’ is often implicit, and comes to be specified only when necessary. Since the numbering of fragmentary historians and also of ‘T’ and ‘F’ in Brill’s New Jacoby (BNJ, ed. I. Worthington, 2006–) corresponds to the numbering given in Jacoby’s original edition, BNJ is always implicit, while the abbreviation FGrHist is made explicit in homage to Jacoby and his work. When fragments are read in their broader context, Jacoby’s editorial selection is highlighted. Journal abbreviations follow L’Année philologique.

viii

Introduction

Perhaps no ancient writer has experienced so great a reversal in modern reception as the fourth-century bc historian Ephorus of Cyme. In his preface to the first edition of Ephorus’ fragments by Meier Marx (1815), the German scholar Friedrich Creuzer depicted Ephorus as a philosophos who might be well compared to Herodotus’ Solon, who travels and observes to learn,1 or – one could add – to Polybius’ Odysseus, who ‘saw the cities and knew the minds of many men’.2 By contrast, in the twentieth century, Ephorus began to be seen as the champion of armchair historians (‘Stubengelehrte’), representative of a declining historiographical genre; as a pedantic rhetorician and the compiler of ancient events, intent on formal blandishments and accustomed to manipulating factual truth in order to impart a moral lesson; or else, as the uninspired author of a dull universal history, characterized by local patriotism for Aeolian Cyme, whose only merit consisted in relaying some useful information extracted from valuable sources. This is the portrait of Ephorus that emerges from volume II C (Kommentar), no. 70, of Felix Jacoby’s monumental, and still today highly influential, Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker (FGrHist).3 Confronted with such a radical transformation of perspectives within a relatively short period of time (roughly a century), one should legitimately ask the reasons why this occurred. The answer, as often happens when one deals with ‘causes’, is far from being simple. As we shall see, Jacoby’s negative portrait of Ephorus was neither isolated nor improvised. In the century between Creuzer and Jacoby, historiography after Thucydides, including Ephorus’ work, was seen as an example of the corruption of the historical genre as a whole, of both its forms and its intentions. Reasons for this critique included the increasing mistrust of Isocrates, whom sources indicated to be the teacher of Ephorus and Theopompus: the idea, 1 2 3

See Creuzer 1815, xv–xvi (quoting Hdt. 1.30.2). Polyb. 12.27.11 (quoting Hom. Od. 1.3). Cf. Diod. 1.1.2. See Jacoby 1926b, 22–35, especially 23 and 30.

1

2

Introduction

originally articulated by Creuzer, that Isocrates was instrumental in changing fourth-century historiography into a new type of historical writing, which, different from that of Herodotus, Thucydides and Xenophon, could be identified primarily in Diodorus’ Historical Library; and the development of a negative evaluation of fourth-century cultural production in general, and historiography in particular. The fourth century was and, to some extent, continues to be viewed as a controversial period of transition from classicism to Hellenism, from golden balance to darkening unrest. Unfortunately for Ephorus, he lived too close to decadence, to the increasing shadows of tempora nova. If, at the beginning of the nineteenth century, Creuzer swung between an authentic appreciation of Ephorus on the one side, and the discussion of Isocrates’ problematic influence on fourth-century historiography as documented in Diodorus’ Historical Library on the other,4 the scholars of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century exploited Creuzer’s ambivalent assessment and turned it into an irrevocably negative judgement on Ephorus. At the time of Kaibel, Wilamowitz and his school, Wachsmuth, Schwartz, Busolt, Jacoby, Laqueur and Peter, rhetoric was understood as mere moralism, a useless waste of words, or a hypocritical, servile manipulation of facts. The historiography traditionally associated with rhetoric (with Isocrates, to be precise), and the period when it developed – in the view of many, a culturally dying century – were the object of scholars’ radically negative evaluation. As a consequence, Ephorus himself was seen as the embodiment of the opposite of the modern historian envisioned by positivist science: he was considered an erudite moralist, who was unable to engage with contemporary politics. Thus, Ephorus’ presumed mediocrity came to epitomize his decadent time, and his historiography could be written off as corrupted rhetoric.5 4

5

In Creuzer’s view of the development of Greek historiography, Ephorus and Theopompus were the first historians who included proems, passages of praise and blame, and comparisons in their narratives, thus somewhat obscuring the facts through their own reasoning. As a consequence, the historical discourse became formally more complicated, ceasing to be a simplex sigillum veri and losing the virile robur it had had until Xenophon (see Creuzer 1803, 319–20, and 1815, xvii ff.). Although Creuzer recognized the signs of rhetorical training in Ephorus’ and Theopompus’ writings, he did not believe that their work was the result of corrupted rhetoric; he still considered them great historians (see Creuzer 1815, particularly xxi ff.). See particularly Wilamowitz-Möllendorff 1893, II, 16–17, and 1908, 10–11; 19122, 115–16; Schwartz 1907 and 1909; Laqueur 1911a and 1911b; Peter 1911, 144–83; Jacoby 1926b, particularly 23, 30, 1926c, 24 ff. and 1949, 130. The disastrous consequences of the connection with Isocrates on the modern reception of both Ephorus and his work are stressed by Fornara 1983, 42, who rightly notes (n. 63): ‘No ancient writer could withstand the combined assaults of Wilamowitz, Schwartz, and Jacoby, who made Ephorus the incarnation of all that was objectionable in Greek historiography.’ However, the Isocratean training of Ephorus – a circumstance that Niese 1909 and Kalischek 1913 accepted, but

Before Jacoby

3

Growing cultural prejudices towards both Isocrates and the fourth century – this being a consequence of the idealization of the fifth century as a golden age of Greek history and culture – and scepticism that the historians after Thucydides could match the greatness of their predecessors, both played a part in the process by which the modern judgement on Ephorus turned towards the exclusively negative. But specific evaluations of Ephorus’ fragments and the results of nineteenth-century Diodoran Quellenforschung also contributed to it. To understand better how all these elements worked together, a more detailed survey of the critical literature from Marx’s first edition of Ephorus’ fragments to Jacoby’s day is now needed (§ 1). This will help to explain why the negative portrait of Ephorus endures even today (§ 2) and has started to be seriously questioned only in recent times (§ 3).

1. Before Jacoby Marx (1815) pointed out the Isocratean (and thus defective) characteristics of Ephorus’ writing, but also identified the methodological strength, care, breadth and versatility of the work as positive features of Ephorus’ inquiry.6 In the first volume of his Fragmenta Historicorum Graecorum, which drew on Hermann Ulrici’s portrait of Ephorus,7 Karl Müller (1841) gave, by contrast, a negative interpretation of Ephorus’ and Theopompus’ historiography – later reproved by Creuzer as excessively harsh8 – which he described as a display of literary rhetoric and subjectivity, both avoiding consideration of political facts and obscuring the objectivity of historical truth. Müller viewed Ephorus’ historiography as an embodiment of Isocrates’ obsession with the expository form, and saw at work in it a rhetorical strategy that would forcefully persuade the reader to embrace the writer’s position.9 Müller also thought that Ephorus’ reconstruction of past and present history was flawed and scarcely credible.10 Eduard Cauer – the first scholar who tried to demonstrate in a thorough and comprehensive way that Diodorus in books XI–XV (XVI) of the Historical Library drew only on Ephorus to write about Greek history – was to reach milder

6 8

9

Schwartz 1907, 1–2 (cf. 1909, 495) and Jacoby 1926b, 22–3 (cf. 1926c, 26–7) questioned – is only one reason among many for the negative judgement on Ephorus. The notion of the fourth century bc as an age of decadence and crisis of the values of the polis was decisive as well. 7 Marx 1815, 36 ff. and 44 ff. Ulrici 1833, 51–8. Creuzer 1845, 324–5. Cf. Stiehle 1853, 616. One should note that, in the same years that Karl Müller compiled and published his Fragmenta, Westermann 1844 still offered a positive evaluation of Ephorus. Müller 1841, lxivb. Cf. later Sanneg 1867, 48. 10 Müller 1841, lxib ff.

4

Introduction

conclusions a few years later (1847). He argued that Ephorus’ historiography was inferior to Thucydides’ and that his inquiry into the past was undermined by the flawed historical perspective characterizing fourthcentury thinking, but he also noted that Ephorus’ treatment of contemporary history was superior to Xenophon’s.11 Shortly after, Adolf Stelkens (1857) defended Ephorus’ reconstruction of Spartan archaeologia against Karl Otfried Müller’s critique,12 and he also remembered the greatest supporter of Ephorus’ auctoritas, namely Barthold Georg Niebuhr, who lamented the tragic loss of Ephorus’ Histories as one of the greatest masterpieces of classical production – a pronouncement that, in the nineteenth century, would remain difficult to challenge for many years to come.13 Ephorus therefore was at the centre of an animated discussion from the very beginning. Such discussion was to continue due also to some negative judgements on his reliability by ancient authors.14 The way in which Ephorus relayed the mythical and historical past was considered more and more doubtful and unpersuasive, if not indicative even of lack of ingenuity.15 Müller (1841) had already thoroughly reviewed Polybius’ critique of Ephorus’ representation of the battles of Leuctra (371 bc) and Mantinea (362 bc),16 highlighting the latter’s tendency to inflate, in modum rhetorum, the number of fighters and other data.17 In his response to Müller, Johannes Klügmann (1860) had to admit that he could not find any fragments that would offer unquestionable evidence of Ephorus’ travels to inspect the locations where the events he described had taken place.18 Moreover, Ephorus’ analysis of such well-known historical issues as the causes of the Peloponnesian War also appeared critically unsustainable.19 He offered causes different from those Thucydides described, and his representation of Pericles as the protagonist of sensational judicial episodes was in jarring 11 13

14 15

16 17 18

Cauer 1847, 57–63 (cf. Stelkens 1857, 11–14). 12 Stelkens 1857, 30–5. Niebuhr 1847–1848, II, 410: ‘Ephorus war ein höchst wahrhafter Mann, er hatte historisches Talent zur Kritik und Untersuchung: er ist der Erste, der eigentlich historische Kritik in einem grossen Umfange angewandt hat, und bei dem die Geschichte als wissenschaftliche Disciplin erscheint.’ Niebuhr was impressed by Ephorus’ project of a universal history and his advanced methodological thought (see especially Harp. s.v. ἀρχαίως [F 9]). Cf. Stelkens 1857, 58, and see Schepens 1977b. Diod. 1.39.13 (T 16, F 65e); Sen. QNat. 7.16.2 (T 14b, F 212); Joseph. C. Ap. 1.67 (T 14a, F 133). Vossius 1699 (1624), 66a had already emphasized these judgements. I think, in particular, of Strab. 9.3.11–12 (F 31b). Nineteenth-century works frequently referred to Ephorus’ assumed naïveté and intellectual laziness (e.g., Müller 1841, lxib ff.), which sounded, in itself, like a confirmation of the infamous Cymaean ἀναισθησία (see Strab. 13.3.6 [common context of T 2a and F 236]). Polyb. 12.25f (T 20). Müller 1841, lxiiib–lxiva, with reference to frr. 113 (= F 187), 123 (= FF 201–3), 132 (= F 204). Klügmann 1860, 31–2. 19 Diod. 12.38–41.1 (F 196).

Before Jacoby

5

contrast with Thucydides’ subtle distinction between ‘apparent causes’ and a ‘truest cause’ (1.23.4–6). The comparison of Ephorus with his illustrious predecessor was inevitable. His original presentation of the causes of the war was soon dismissed as resulting from an impoverished historical perspectivism, as a naive misunderstanding of Thucydides and an inept use of historical sources,20 and as a demonstration of the Greeks’ inability to confront their past in the fourth century.21 As a consequence, some positive observations by Christian Matthiessen (1857–1860) on Ephorus’ methodological accuracy, autonomy and foresight in the study of ancient events, ethnography and geography were quickly overlooked, and later criticism by authoritative scholars such as Friedrich Blass (18922), Eduard Meyer (1892), Georg Kaibel (1893), Kurt Wachsmuth (1895) and Georg Busolt (1893–1904) gave form to a chorus of harsh and definitive judgements: Ephorus’ universal history-writing was an exercise in translating myth into history, a way to fabricate ancient history in the manner of rhetoricians, with the aim of impressing readers; he was a dull rationalist and an insignificant moralist, who exemplified the lack of rigor in historical methodology among post-Thucydidean historians.22 Ephorus, the model armchair historian and the writer of non-contemporary events, could not hold a candle to Thucydides, the model historian of contemporary events; nor could Ephorus withstand the criticism of his battle-descriptions by Polybius, the model historian of military events: this encouraged the reception of Ephorus as an inexperienced writer, who was inclined to the consultation of written works rather than engaging in autopsy and oral investigation.23 These adverse readings of Ephorus’ historiography – which, by following up on Ulrici’s and Müller’s scepticism, tended, however, to radicalize and codify this negativity – opened the way to the judgements of twentieth-century scholars. Indeed Busolt (1893–1904), Kaibel (1893) and Wachsmuth (1895) anticipate Jacoby’s words of almost thirty years later on Ephorus’ pedantic style, vacuous moralism, and horrifyingly (‘erschreckend’) frigid representation of the past.24 At the same time, 20

21 22

23 24

Müller 1841, lxiiia–b (cf. Creuzer 1845, 325); Cauer 1847, 60 n. 1; Stelkens 1857, 12–13; Klügmann 1860, 29. Marx 1815, 231 (fr. 119 = F 196) had attempted to defend Ephorus, but his defense was soon dismissed as an ‘apology.’ Cauer 1847, 58–60; Stelkens 1857, 11–13. See Blass 18922 (18741), 427–41, especially 434, 440–1; Meyer 1892–1899, I, 122, 186–7; Kaibel 1893, 106–7; Wachsmuth 1895, 497–507; Busolt 1893–1904, I, 155–60 and II, 622–3. Further negative appraisals of Ephorus are found in Endemann 1881 and Bruchmann 1890–1893. On the concepts of ‘Primärforschung’ and ‘Sekundärarbeit,’ see Strasburger 19753, 12. Jacoby 1926b, 23 and 30.

6

Introduction

Diodoran Quellenforschung was also taking its course. Several nineteenthcentury scholars, including Cauer (1847), Meyer (1892), Busolt (1893– 1904), and especially Christian August Volquardsen (1868), believed Ephorus to be the only mediator between Isocrates and Diodorus since they believed that they had found similarities between the two authors in terms of authorial style and content. Ephorus thus became increasingly assimilated to Diodorus, to such a degree that Eduard Schwartz (1903b and 1907) and Richard Laqueur (1911a and 1911b) suggested that they be treated as if they were the same author. This was based on two ancient assumptions, namely the idea of history that the Isocratean writer of the fourth century and the moralist writer of the first century appeared to share,25 and the presence of Ephorus’ version of Greek, and perhaps also Siceliot history, from 480 to 341 bc in the little-appreciated books XI–XV (XVI) of Diodorus’ Historical Library.26 We have reached Jacoby’s day. Now we see how, beginning gradually in the nineteenth century, the negative judgement on the historian Ephorus gained strength, and became the norm in the early twentieth century. This is the context in which Jacoby’s portrait of Ephorus (1926b) was shaped. No wonder that it was bound to be so negative.

2. After Jacoby Over the decades following the publication of volumes II A (Text) and II C (Kommentar) of Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker in 1926, Jacoby’s authoritative judgement established itself as the standard view on Ephorus. As such, it has been included in most of the manuals of Greek history and historiography, and also in many specialized works.27 Twentieth-century scholars have mostly examined the fragments as selfevident bits of information, which have been considered sufficient, together with books XI–XV (XVI) of Diodorus’ Historical Library, to

25

26 27

Cf. Schwartz 1907, 7–9; Peter 1911, 144 ff. Praise and blame were already typical features of the Isocratean school for Creuzer. The moral education of the reader, which is the objective Diodorus sets out to achieve with his Historical Library (see 1.1 ff.), is identified as the only aim of Ephorus’ Histories by Laqueur 1911a, 198ff., and 1911b, 342 ff. Cf. Kalischek 1913, especially 8–9. After Cauer 1847, Volquardsen 1868 further supported and strengthened the theory of the dependence of Diodorus on Ephorus. Jacoby 1926b, v and 33, endorses this view. See, e.g., Avenarius 1956; Gomme 1956, I, 44–6; Tigerstedt 1965, 206–22; Gärtner 1967, 299–301; Usher 1969, 101–3; Will 1991, 113–35, particularly 126–7; Nickel 1991; Meister 1992, 98–103 and 1997, 1089–90; Grant 1995, 108–9; Luce 1997, 113–16; Pownall 2004, 113–42; Bleckmann 2006, particularly 132–45; Hose 2006, 677 ff.; Scanlon 2015, 160 ff., especially 175 ff.

Ephorus Now

7

provide a complete, trustworthy understanding of Ephorus and his work. In this respect, Geoffrey Louis Barber’s monograph (1935) is telling.28 From 1935 to the 1970s, few works appeared on Ephorus, even including a study by Antony Andrewes (1951) and an interesting, still unpublished, dissertation by Robert Connor (1961) among others. Most of the studies are either commentaries on fragmentary papyri, which were thought to be remnants of Ephorus’ Histories,29 or papers inspired by the questions and criteria of Quellenforschung. We receive the impression that, for a long time and for the most part, scholars believed that there was nothing new to say about Ephorus, and all had been said already. But there have been also a few significant exceptions, such as Arnaldo Momigliano’s studies in the 1930s, which opened the way to subsequent studies of hegemony as a key theme in Ephorus’ Histories;30 Santo Mazzarino’s original insights of the 1960s;31 and, more importantly, Guido Schepens’ studies in the 1970s on autopsy and, more generally, various historiographical issues in Ephorus.32 Thanks to Schepens, modern scholars have finally turned their attention back to the fragments, not as self-evident pieces of information, but rather as documents that still need to be thoroughly examined and comprehensively studied in light of their context, in the belief that they are the only means for gaining an accurate, wide-ranging and evidence-based knowledge of both the historian Ephorus and the real nature and aims of his Histories. Here lie the foundations for a novel evaluation of Ephorus.

3.

Ephorus Now

In recent years, ancient Greek historiography in general and postThucydidean historiography in particular have been experiencing extensive reconsideration. With the application of more sophisticated exegetical tools to the study of the fragmentary tradition33 and an improved understanding of the rhetorical and narrative strategies in major historians such as Herodotus, Thucydides and Xenophon (and also in major citers of lost 28

29 30 31 33

Barber 1935 aims not so much to discuss Ephorus’ fragments, as to combine the data emerging from Jacoby’s inquiry with the data from Quellenforschung on Diodorus, in order to gain a complete and definitive estimate – so Barber believed – of the value of Ephorus’ historiographical work (x–xii). These include, obviously, the so-called Hellenika Oxyrhynchia. See Momigliano 1966 and 1975a, both published for the first time in 1935. See Mazzarino 1966. 32 See Schepens 1970, on Polyb. 12.27.7 (F 110), and 1977a. See especially Schepens 1997, on the notion of ‘cover text’; now Berti 2013 and Lenfant 2013, with bibliography.

8

Introduction

texts such as, for example, Polybius, Diodorus and Athenaeus),34 scholars have come to question the criteria by which, in the early twentieth century, a distinction was drawn between a ‘scientific historiography’ of the fifth century and a ‘corrupted historiography’ of the fourth and third centuries, and they have also challenged such definitions as ‘rhetorical’ and ‘tragic’ historiography.35 New perspectives on the general development of Greek historiography have emerged,36 and new projects of the editions of fragmentary authors have started.37 As for Ephorus, besides Schepens’ fundamental papers in 1970 and 1977, and my own contributions since 1999, in which I covered a wide range of Ephoran topics, one may note the works by Riccardo Vattuone (1998a and 1998b) on Ephorus’ historiographical theory and universal history; by Guido Schepens (2003), Victor Parker (2004) and Antonio Luis Chávez Reino (2005 and 2013) on Ephorus’ methodology; by John Wickersham (1994) and Paul Christesen (2010) on hegemony in Ephorus’ Histories; by Pietro Vannicelli (1987) and P. J. Stylianou (1998) on the arrangement of the Histories; by Charles W. Fornara (1983) and, again, by Chávez Reino (2005 and 2013) against παραδείγματα ποιεῖσθαι and λόγος ἐπιμετρῶν as evidence for moralistic historiography;38 by Nino Luraghi (2014) on the Return of the Heraclidae as the beginning of the Histories; and by John Marincola (2014) on Isocrates and history. Considered together, these works suggest that Ephorus deserves a far better treatment than that given by critics before and after Jacoby. 34

35

36 37

38

Only a few mentions will be made here. On Herodotus, see e.g. Thomas 2000; Luraghi 2001a; Bakker, de Jong and van Wees 2002; Dewald and Marincola 2006; Baragwanath 2008; Baragwanath and de Bakker 2012; Bowie 2018. On Thucydides, see e.g., Rood 1998; Hornblower 2003–2008, and 2004; Rengakos and Tsakmakis 2006. On Xenophon, see e.g., Gray 1989; Tuplin 1993; Dillery 1995; Hobden and Tuplin 2012; Flower 2017. On Polybius, see e.g., Schepens and Bollansée 2005; Miltsios and Tamiolaki 2018. On Diodorus, see e.g., Ambaglio 2005; Bearzot and Landucci 2005; Hau, Meeus and Sheridan 2018. On Athenaeus, Lenfant 2007. On Greek historiography in general, and/or fragmentary historians, see also Hornblower 1994; Verdin, Schepens and De Keyser 1990; Ambaglio, Bearzot and Vattuone 2001; Marincola 2007a and 2011; Lanzillotta, Costa and Ottone 2009; Parmeggiani 2014a; Blank and Maier 2018; Thomas 2019. Against the legitimacy of ‘rhetorical historians’ as a label for Ephorus, Theopompus, and Timaeus, see, e.g., Vattuone 1991; Flower 1994, 42–62; Parmeggiani 2011; Baron 2013; Marincola 2014. See also Lenfant 2004 on Ctesias. For criticism of the concept of ‘tragic historiography,’ see Walbank 1955 and 1960; Marincola 2003 and 2013; Schepens 2005a and 2007c; Kebric 2015. Although Gehrke 2014, 86 ff., emphasizes the rhetorical/Isocratean nature of Ephorus’ and Theopompus’ historiography, he also stresses their link with the ‘kritische Historiographie’ of Herodotus and Thucydides. Both Fornara 1983 and Marincola 1997 are especially worthy of mention. See Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker Continued, now under direction of S. Schorn (Part IV), H.-J. Gehrke and F. Maier (Part V); I Frammenti degli storici greci, under direction of E. Lanzillotta and V. Costa; and Brill’s New Jacoby, under direction of I. Worthington. Παραδείγματα ποιεῖσθαι: F 42 (Strab. 7.3.9). Τὸν ἐπιμετροῦντα λόγον: T 23 (Polyb. 12.28.10).

Ephorus Now

9

Since my Italian monograph was completed in 2009 and published in 2011, further general works on Ephorus have appeared: a new edition of the Jacobian fragments, with an English translation and commentary by Victor Parker (2011); a collection of studies edited by Pia de Fidio and Clara Talamo (2013–2014); and a German translation of the Jacobian fragments with short commentary by Barbara and Jörg-Dieter Gauger (2015). It seems that the ‘new phase’ in the study of Ephorus, which Piero Treves hoped for long ago (1937), while reviewing Barber’s monograph, has finally started.39 Nevertheless, the old questions, ‘who is the real Ephorus?’ and ‘where shall we find him?’, persist. Ephorus of Cyme’s historiography demands a comprehensive reading of the problems it raises and addresses, and an appropriate placement in the history of Greek historiographical thought. The question of who the real Ephorus is can be answered only through a thorough critical reading of the fragments that Jacoby edited. This is what the present study, summarizing some main points of my monograph of 2011, aims to do in the pages to follow. In the first part (Questions and Answers), we will briefly survey those texts which provide information about Ephorus’ life and works and then we will deal with both ancient judgements and modern theories which, taken together, build the ‘historical foundations’ – so to speak – of the negative appraisal of Ephorus. In the second (Ephorus’ Histories: The Method), we will examine both Ephorus’ theory and his practice of historical research, as they can be reconstructed in analysing the most revealing fragments of the Histories. This will lead us to the third part (Ephorus’ Histories: The Contents). Here, after examining the proems and the problem of the arrangement of Ephorus’ major work, we will try to detect, as far as possible, the contents of each of its thirty books. In the last part (Ephorus the Universal Historian), we will try to understand why Ephorus was crowned by Polybius as the first universal historian. Here we will also underscore the reasons why Ephorus’ major work did in fact constitute a real universal history – indeed he produced something new in the history of the historiographical forms. In a short appendix, we will also provide some insights on the issue of Ephorus and the Hellenika Oxyrhynchia. 39

Treves 1937 rightly observes that Barber 1935 ended, rather than ushered in, a new era of studies on Ephorus.

chapter 1

Questions and Answers

As we have seen in the Introduction, the conventional, negative appraisal of the historian Ephorus relies on six often intertwined main assumptions: his status as a student of Isocrates; his rank as a ‘rhetorical historian’; his link with Diodorus; ancient judgements questioning his reliability as a historian; his ‘Cymocentrism’; and lastly, his reputation as an intellectually lazy man. Confrontation is needed in order to check the firmness of such assumptions. This we shall do in §§ 2–7 below, after reviewing the data we possess about Ephorus’ life and works in § 1. Specific discussion of Ephorus and Diodorus (§ 4) will also enable us to see to what extent Diodorus may be considered as a reliable guide to recovering Ephorus.

1. What Do We Know About Ephorus’ Life and Works? Photius the Patriarch (ninth century ce) provides much information about the life of Theopompus of Chios, partly relying on Theopompus’ own statements in his Philippika. Unfortunately he does not do the same with Theopompus’ renowned colleague, Ephorus. Perhaps the Patriarch was content enough to set them together in that chapter of his Bibliotheke which he devoted to the historian from Chios (no. 176). But Ephorus himself may not have been so generous in providing biographical details about his own persona in his historical work. As a matter of fact, the fragmentary tradition provides scanty, sometimes rather doubtful information about his life. Ephorus lived at the heart of the fourth century bc (TT 1, 8. Diod. 15.76.4).1 He was son of Demophilus (TT 1, 4) or Antiochus (T 1), and 1

Diod. 4.1.3 (T 8) identifies him as a contemporary of Theopompus and Callisthenes. Diod. 15.76.4 (year 366/5 bc) reports that Isocrates and his disciples (including Ephorus: T 8) were ‘memorable for their culture’ in the years after Leuctra (371 bc), together with Aristotle, Anaximenes of Lampsacus, Plato, and others. According to Suid. ε 3930 Adler, s.v. Ἔφιππος (T 1), ‘[Ephorus] was born [or: flourished] , in the 93rd Olympiad, so that [he lived]

10

What Do We Know About Ephorus’ Life and Works?

11

a native of Aeolian Cyme in Asia Minor (TT 1, 2a–b, 4, 8, 10, 27, 28a). He came to Athens at some point, for he is said to have been a pupil of Isocrates (TT 1–5, 8, 27, 28a–b) and, in this apprenticeship, a colleague of Theopompus (TT 3a–b, 5, 27, 28a–b), with whom he is said to have shared the honour of best student (T 5). According to rather late anecdotes, Ephorus’ father sent him back to the school of Isocrates because he was unprepared the first time he left it; consequently, his teacher gave him the nickname of ‘Diphorus’ (T 4). Ephorus had also a son, whose name was Demophilus (TT 1, 9a–b). Plutarch reports that Ephorus rejected Alexander’s proposition to follow the Macedonian army in the victorious campaign in Asia (T 6).2 These short notices do not enable us to conclude either that Ephorus made many travels or that he did not travel at all. As we shall see later in our analysis of Ephorus’ historical method (Chapter 2), Ephorus probably travelled much more than he is presumed to have done, spending much of his life in writing his major work, the Histories. The Histories, in thirty books (TT 1, 10), the thirtieth being written by Ephorus’ son Demophilus (T 9a–b, FF 93, 96), were one of the most important and celebrated historical works in the ancient Greek world. They collected the deeds of the Greeks and the barbarians from the Return of the Heraclidae to Philip’s siege of Perinthus (1090/69–341/0 bc [TT 8, 10]).3 The chronology of their composition is still disputed, and can be properly addressed only after a thorough examination of the fragmentary tradition (see Chapter 4).4 According to T 1 (Suid. ε 3930 Adler, s.v. Ἔφιππος),

2 3 4

in fact before the reign of Philip the Macedon’ (ἦν δὲ ἐπὶ τῆς ἐνενηκοστῆς τρίτης ὀλυμπιάδος, ὡς καὶ πρὸ τῆς Φιλίππου βασιλείας εἶναι τοῦ Μακεδόνος. Cf. Suid. θ 172 Adler, s.v. Θεόπομπος Χίος ῥήτωρ [Theopomp. FGrHist 115 T 1]). On this basis, Marx 1815, 18–23, suggested 405 bc as the date of Ephorus’ birth, whereas Müller 1841, lviib–lviiib, suggested 388/380 bc. Dopp 1890 rightly challenged the reliability of the Suda (cf. Schwartz 1907, 1, and Jacoby 1926b, 22). However, the period 405–330 bc for Ephorus’ life was re-asserted on account of the renewed trust in the tradition of Ephorus’ Isocratean apprenticeship (Barber 1935, 1–4, 75–83. See also Parker 2011, Biographical Essay I: ca. 400–ca. 330 bc). In my opinion, the chronology of Ephorus according to both Diod. 15.76.4 and T 1 is artificially derived from books XVI/XVII–XXVII of the Histories (covering the events from ca. 404 to the early 350s bc), especially the section which concerned the events after Leuctra (the years 371 bc and following), since Ephorus said that only contemporary times could be described in detail (F 9), and the section on the events after Leuctra (books XXIII and following) was the most detailed part of the Histories (see Chapter 3 §§ 2.2 and 3.7.4). On Ephorus’ life see also Parker 2011 on T 1 and ff., and Biographical Essay I; Landucci 2013. Only T 1 states differently: see Chapter 3 n. 65. Nineteeth-century scholars never questioned that Ephorus’ historical work dated to a time before 334 bc. Niese (1909) was the first scholar who suggested that Ephorus wrote his Histories after Alexander’s conquest of Asia. Although endorsed by Laqueur (1911b, 336) and Mühl (1936, 111–13), Niese’s thesis has been frequently dismissed by modern scholars on account of the criticism that Schwartz (1909) and Jacoby (1926b, 24–5) levelled against it and the renewed appreciation that Barber (1935, 1–3) expressed for Marx’s suggested chronology for Ephorus’ life (ca. 405–330 bc). Niese’s thesis has been endorsed by

12

Questions and Answers

Ephorus also wrote three treatises (On Good and Evil Things, in twenty-four books; Paradoxa in Various Countries, in fifteen books; and On Inventions in two books), and ‘other things’ (λοιπά). This rather confused information can be clarified in part with the help of other fragments: it appears that in addition to the Histories, Ephorus wrote two treatises – On Inventions (T 2a, FF 2–5) and On Style (F 6) – and a Syntagma Epichorion (a discourse on his native land, Cyme: F 1).5 As for the two voluminous treatises, On Good and Evil Things and Paradoxa in Various Countries, which are mentioned in T 1 and nowhere else, they could be spurious works, excerpts, or perhaps sequences of excerpts that were collected in a later period. A selection of passages entitled Ephorus may have headed these excerpts, which would explain the erroneous attribution of the entire collection to Ephorus.6 Whether a connection exists between these works and Ephippus, whose name appears in the entry title in T 1, is unclear.

5

6

Mazzarino (1966, I, 333–4) and also by Stylianou (1998, 310–12), who suggests ca. 330–320 bc as the date of Ephorus’ composition of the Histories, against Schwartz 1907, 1, and 1909 (Ephorus died shortly after 356 bc, after completing most of his work), Jacoby 1926b, 25 (ca. 350–330 bc. Cf. Parker 2011, Biographical Essay II A), Barber 1935, 11–13 (ca. 360–330 bc) and others (see, e.g., Carrata 1949, 147–60; Momigliano 1975a [1935], 6934, supposes that books I–XVIII/XIX were already published by 346 bc). In addition to advancing many arguments previously discussed by Niese (particularly FF 119, 217, 223: see Niese 1909, 174–5, 178 n. 1), Stylianou insists on those Diodoran loci (15.88.4; 16.1.5, 14.2, 56.7, 64.1) that Barber (1935, 10 n. 1) also noted to demonstrate that some parts of Ephorus’ Histories were composed in the late fourth century, though not after 330 bc. In my opinion, it is better not to use Ephorus’ identification with Diodorus as a premise. For a most recent attempt pro-Niese’s thesis on the basis of the fragmentary evidence, see Yates 2022. Müller (1841, lxia–b) suspected that these minor works were excerpts or sections of the Histories; Creuzer (1845, 322–3) considered authentic only the treatise On Style (cf. Stelkens 1857, 4); Marx (1815, 30 ff.) argued instead for the authenticity of all three works (cf. Blass 18922, 429–30, with n. 1). Jacoby resolved any dispute on the subject (cf. Barber 1935, 4–7). See especially Jacoby 1926b, 41, on FF 2–5, for the authenticity of On Inventions, on the basis of T 33d (Plin. NH 1.7). See Jacoby 1926b, 39, on F 1, for the authenticity of the Syntagma Epichorion, which Schwartz (1907, 2–3), in contrast with nineteenth-century scholars, did not view as a work of ‘Lokalgeschichte’, but as an encomiastic, panegyric composition in favour of Cyme (cf. Jacoby 1926b, 39). On the syntagma, see now also Parker 2011 on F 1, Biographical Essay III A, and Ragone 2013. We have one only fragment that can be ascribed to the syntagma with absolute certainty, namely F 1 on the Cymaean origin of Homer ([Plut.] Vit. Hom. 1.2); but that is not sufficient to draw any definitive conclusion, in my opinion, on the nature of the entire work. Marx (1815, 31–2) was the first to formulate this hypothesis, which was followed by other nineteenthcentury scholars. Westermann (1844, 170), Schwartz (1907, 16), Peter (1911, 151 n. 1), and others (e.g., Pownall 2004, 113–14) think of excerpts of Ephorus’ Histories, but the high number of books makes difficulties. See also Jacoby 1926b, 35–6, on T 1. It goes without saying that neither title should serve as a basis for speculating on the nature of the Histories: if they were (or merely included) excerpts from the Histories, a distinction should be drawn between the original work and the use one can make of it for excerpts; if, instead, they were autonomous works, nothing compels us to believe that they had the same aims and character as the Histories. On the possibility that the Paradoxa in Various Countries appeared in Ephorus’ corpus at a relatively early date (before the second century bc), see § 3 with n. 76, on T 17.

Was Ephorus a Disciple of Isocrates?

13

2. Was Ephorus a Disciple of Isocrates? The fragmentary tradition does not raise any doubt that Ephorus was a disciple of Isocrates. By contrast, some modern critics, starting with Eduard Schwartz, do.7 The issue concerns biography (see § 1 above), but has serious implications on a historiographical level. In fact, many critics have assumed that Ephorus, being a student of Isocrates, took inspiration for his methodology, criteria and the very aims of historiographical inquiry from his master. As a consequence, the question has often become: did Ephorus write history after Isocrates’ suggestions and conceptions? Some fragments may provide useful insights on this question. The tradition of the Isocratean apprenticeship of Ephorus and Theopompus is attested from the first century bc (Cicero’s is the earliest testimony). Their training is mentioned in a constellation of Ephoran testimonia (TT 1–5, 8, 27, and 28a–b):8 the spur (or the whip), the bridle, and the opposite nature of the pupils, which their teacher corrects,9 are the recurring elements in a codified representation, at times freely reinterpreted;10 it seems to find its archetype in Plato’s famous ‘chariot of the soul’ of the Phaedrus.11 Taken out of its particular philosophical context, Plato’s metaphor was used by Hellenistic biographers and literary historians to contextualize the primary rhetorical and philosophical schools of the fourth century bc, emphasizing their most eminent representatives in an understandable, yet schematic way.12 7

Schwartz 1907, 1–2, and 1909, 495. Jacoby (1926b, 22–3, and 1926c, 26–7) endorses Schwartz’s view. For recent scepticism on the tradition about Isocrates as teacher of Ephorus and Theopompus, see especially Flower 1994, 42 ff.; Ottone 2018, 445 ff., especially 482–5. 8 These fragments are obviously to be read together with the many loci similes noted by Jacoby 1926a, 38 (on TT 3a–c and 4), and 42 (on T 28a–b). See also POxy. 50.3543 (FGrHist 1123), 15–16, a fragment of the second century ce from a lost Life of Isocrates, on which Haslam 1983; Brusuelas and Funderburk 2019. 9 T 28a–b (Suid. ε 3953 Adler, s.v. Ἔφορος Κυμαῖος καὶ Θεόπομπος Δαμασιστράτου Χῖος, and [Zos.] Vit. Isocr. 3.257, 98 Westermann, respectively), to be read with the following loci similes: Cic. Brut. 204, De Or. 3.35–36, Ad Att. 6.1.12, Quint. Inst. or. 2.8.11, and 10.1.74 (T 28b+). 10 Such expressions as ab Isocrate magistro impulsi se ad historiam contulerunt (‘Urged by their teacher, Isocrates, they [sc. Ephorus and Theopompus] applied themselves to history’) in Cic. De Or. 2.57 (T 3b), iniecta manu a foro subduxit (‘Having taken possession of him [sc. Ephorus], he [sc. Isocrates] drew him away from the forum’) in Sen. Tranq. 7.2 (T 3c), or ὡς ἂν ἀπὸ τῆς αὐτῆς ἀφετηρίας ἐκδραμόντων ἑκατέρου πρὸς τὸ στάδιον τῆς ἱστορίας (‘as if each was running from the same starting gate towards the race-course of history’) in Phot. Bibl. 176, 121a, II 175 Henry (context of T 3a and F 7) have clearly a common inspiration. Cf. Vattuone 1997, 103 n. 27. 11 Plat. Phaedr. 246a ff. 12 As is well documented by Diog. Laert. 5.39, this image represents the relationship between Plato and his disciples, Aristotle and Xenocrates, on one side, and Aristotle and his disciples, Theophrastus and Callisthenes, on the other. See Nicolai 1992, 159–63. Modern scholars usually suggest Hermippus (third century bc), the author of the lost works On Isocrates and On Isocrates’ Disciples, as a source for the biographical tradition on Ephorus and Theopompus. See Kalischek 1913, 76 ff.; Bollansée 1999a, 55–67 (Hermipp. FGrHist 1026 FF 42–54), 367–427 (ad locc.); Bollansée 1999b, 82–90; Engels 2003,

14

Questions and Answers

Isocrates is also said to have distributed the entire historical space, equally dividing it between Ephorus and Theopompus, so to assign ancient history to the former and contemporary history to the latter.13 This looks like a biographical invention, perhaps corroborated – if not directly inspired – by a variety of factors, such as Polybius’ authoritative praise of Ephorus’ convincing treatment of ancient Greek history (T 18a), and the fact that the sections of the Histories about the distant past soon became a standard reference for judging the whole work on a stylistic level (as attested later in T 28a–b). Ephorus, who wrote history after Thucydides (the preeminent historian of contemporary events), intended to include the distant past in his inquiry, but he did not treat the distant past exclusively, for he told of the present too. Two-thirds of the Histories covered modern and contemporary history (from ca. 489 to 341/0 bc: books X–XXX), thus conforming to Ephorus’ own view that not too much of the past can be remembered, because of the elapsed distance of time, while contemporary events can be known in detail (F 9, discussed below). Among all the testimonia on the Isocratean apprenticeship of Ephorus, T 3a deserves particular attention. It belongs to the rubric no. 176 of Photius’ Bibliotheke, which, as we have recalled in the paragraph above, is dedicated to Theopompus. This testimony reads in its broader context: They say that he [sc. Theopompus: FGrHist 115 T 15] and Ephorus were students of Isocrates. [φασὶ δὲ αὐτόν (Θεόπομπον) τε καὶ Ἔφορον Ἰσοκράτους γενέσθαι μαθητάς.] In fact, their writings make this evident [δῆλον δὲ τοῦτο ποιοῦσι καὶ οἱ λόγοι]. For in the writings of Theopompus, the form of what you find in Isocrates is much imitated, even if Theopompus is lacking precision in workmanship. They say too that their teacher proposed their historical subjects to them, to Ephorus events of earlier times, to Theopompus Greek affairs after Thucydides, thereby fitting the task to the nature of each. That is why their prefaces [Ephor. FGrHist 70 F 7] are very similar to each other in their thought and their other elements, as if each was running from the same starting gate towards the race-course of history.14

13 14

175 ff. However, we find no mention of Ephorus and Theopompus in Hermippus’ fragments. On the issue, see now also Ottone 2013, 260 ff., and 2018, 490 ff. T 3a (Phot. Bibl. 176, 121a, II 175 Henry). Cf. T 4 (Plut. Mor. 839a). Phot. Bibl. 176, 121a, II 175 Henry (cf. Chávez Reino 2018, 77). Jacoby’s selection for T 3a is highlighted.

Was Ephorus a Disciple of Isocrates?

15

Photius does not question the tradition that reports Ephorus and Theopompus to be disciples of Isocrates, but acknowledges that it is little more than a tradition (φασί) requiring demonstration (δῆλον δὲ τοῦτο ποιοῦσι . . .). Such an approach by the Patriarch suggests, first, that in no part of their historical writings (or of what had survived in the age of Photius, notably the general proems) did Ephorus and Theopompus state that they had been Isocrates’ disciples;15 and second, that the ancient reader inferred Ephorus’ and Theopompus’ Isocratean training from their writings primarily on stylistic grounds, and secondarily on the basis of similarities of thoughts about the idea and practice of history between Ephorus’ and Theopompus’ proems. Now, it is noteworthy that Photius detects a link between Ephorus’ idea and practice of history and Theopompus’, but identifies no such link between Isocrates and Ephorus, or between Isocrates and Theopompus. The conclusion follows that only style appeared to link them all.16 Our reading of Photius’ text makes clear that ancient critics never stated that Ephorus and Theopompus learnt the methodology, criteria and aims of their historiographical inquiry from Isocrates. This is hardly surprising, since, as far as we know, they never viewed Isocrates as a theorist of the historiographical genre. Unlike ancient critics, modern critics tried instead to identify ideas and indirect suggestions in Isocrates’ orations (see Paneg. 8; Panath. 149–150) that Ephorus and Theopompus would then elaborate to create their historiography.17 However, as John Marincola convincingly

15

16 17

Cf. Flower 1994, 45, on Theopompus. Contra Kalischek 1913, 90–1. In my opinion, there is no question that by τὰ προοίμια τῶν ἱστοριῶν (‘their prefaces’) Photius is referring to the general proems of both Ephorus’ Histories and Theopompus’ Philippika. Ephorus’ Histories were commonly mentioned as Ἱστορίαι; Photius calls Theopompus’ Philippika λόγοι ἱστορικοί (Bibl. 176, 120a, II 172 Henry = Theopomp. FGrHist 115 T 18). This explains why Photius uses ἱστοριῶν for both works. Furthermore, the simile ‘as if each was running from the same starting gate towards the race-course of history’ suggests that Photius saw similarities between the beginning of Ephorus’ work and the beginning of Theopompus’ work, i.e., their general proems. That Photius did not write a paragraph on Ephorus and had among his sources Stobaeus (who wrote in the sixth century ce an Anthologium quoting also Ephorus: see Phot. Bibl. 167, 115a, II 157 Henry, which is not collected in Jacoby 1926a) is not enough to conclude that Photius knew Ephorus only through the mediation of Stobaeus. In fact, Photius’ observation that Ephorus’ and Theopompus’ proems ‘are very similar to each other in their thought and their other elements’ (τῇ τε διανοίᾳ καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ἐστὶν ὁμοιότατα) is very specific and suggests a detailed knowledge of Ephorus’ general proem at least. Contra Ottone 2013, 246–7, and 2018, 480. Jacoby (1926b, 23) rightly notes that Laqueur (1911a, 202) is wrong in claiming that Photius noticed analogies between Ephorus’ general proem and Isocrates. See, e.g., Jacoby 1926c, 27; Avenarius 1956, 81–2; Nickel 1991, 234–5. On Isocrates as the inspirer of both Ephorus and Theopompus in the writing of history see now also Gehrke 2014, 86 ff.; Caballero López 2015.

16

Questions and Answers

demonstrated, passages such as Paneg. 8 and Panath. 149–150 cannot be taken as ‘manifestos’ of any historiographical theory.18 One may also observe that Isocrates himself carefully draws a distinction in his orations between the task of the rhetorician and the task of the historian: a rhetor by profession makes use of the information provided by historians, but writing history is the occupation of others (see, e.g., Panath. 1, or 177).19 Ephorus’ Isocratean inspiration in writing history is what some modern critics have tried to demonstrate on the basis of their interpretation of F 9, from the lemma ἀρχαίως (archaios) in Harpocration’s Lexicon of the Ten Orators (second century ce), where a quotation also from Isocrates’ Paneg. 8 appears.20 Harpocration’s entry is worth reading in its entirety, together with the entry καινῶς (kainos): Harp. s.v. ἀρχαίως [‘old-fashionedly’]: Isocrates in the Panegyric [8]: ‘to go through ancient events in a fresh way and to speak old-fashionedly about recent events.’ Some say it means to speak in an old-fashioned manner, that is, to use old-fashioned words. Ephorus in book I of his Histories has explained it in the following way. He says that the more recent writers [and/or: speakers] deal with ancient facts in detail: ‘Concerning events that have happened in our time’, he says, ‘we consider those who speak most accurately [or: in the greatest detail] to be most trustworthy, but we believe that in ancient matters those who go through them in this way are most untrustworthy, because we suppose that it is not plausible that either all the deeds or a majority of the speeches would be remembered, given how great an amount of time has passed.’ Demosthenes in the Philippics [3.48] says ‘and in this way they acted old-fashionedly, or rather civilly’ in place of ‘simply’.21

18 19 20

21

See Marincola 1997, 276 ff., and 2014, especially 47 ff. On Isocrates, history and history writing see now especially Nicolai 2004, 74–87; Gehrke 2014, 91–100; Marincola 2014; Matijašić 2018, 128–35. On Ephorus as an exegete of Isoc. Paneg. 8, see Marx 1815, 92. Scheller (1911, 25 ff.) emphasizes the equivalence of Paneg. 8–10 with Polyb. 12.28.10 (T 23), whereas Kalischek (1913, 11–12), recalls Isoc. Paneg. 8 (οὐκέτι φευκτέον ταῦτ’ ἐστὶ περὶ ὧν ἕτεροι πρότερον εἰρήκασιν, ἀλλ’ ἄμεινον ἐκείνων εἰπεῖν πειρατέον, ‘one must not avoid those topics on which others have spoken, but one must try to speak better than they’) in order to explain Ephorus’ choice of writing a universal history. See Peter 1911, 180 ff.; Mathieu and Brémond 1942, 16 n. 2; Avenarius 1956, 81–2; Canfora 1990 and 1991; Nickel 1991, 234–5; Breglia 1996a, 75–80; Bruno Sunseri 1997. Against such a view, see Schepens 1970, particularly 179–80, and Vattuone 1998a, 187. Jacoby’s selection of F 9 is highlighted. In fact, I have translated and reported Dindorf’s text (1853, I, 60), which I find confirmed by Keaney 1991, 46. Cf. Vattuone 1998a, 184–7. The correction of φησί to φήσας (suggested by Marx 1815, 90 [fr. 2 = F 9]. Cf. Müller 1841, 234a) and Jacoby’s supplement ἐν ᾧ after ἐξηγήσατο (Jacoby 1926a, 45) are unnecessary, as the lemma δεκαδαρχία demonstrates (τρόπον τινὰ ἐξηγήσατο τοὔνομα· φησὶ γὰρ ὅτι κτλ., ‘explained the term in a certain way: in fact he says that etc.’). Parataxis is typically preferred in lexicography.

Was Ephorus a Disciple of Isocrates?

17

Harp. s.v. καινῶς [‘freshly’]: Isocrates in the Panegyric [8], indicating that it is appropriate for more recent matters. Ephorus [FGrHist 70 F 9+] has explained it in a certain way in his book I.22

The quotation of Demosthenes at the end of the lemma ἀρχαίως may advise the reader against believing in an exclusive link between Isocrates and Ephorus, even more so in a filiation of Ephorus from Isocrates: Harpocration may have mentioned Ephorus not to explain the meaning of ἀρχαίως in the specific context of Paneg. 8, but rather, as an author, among others, of one possible definition of the word.23 But let us assume that Harpocration uses Ephorus’ proemial words to clarify Isocrates’ use of ἀρχαίως (cf. καινῶς in F 9+). This is because, for Harpocration, it is normal that the words of a renowned disciple of Isocrates help to explain those of his master. What I mean is that Harpocration’s practice receives a far more satisfactory explanation if we consider the tradition in which Photius also works, namely the accepted idea that Ephorus was a disciple of Isocrates, rather than if we suggest a theoretical proximity between Ephorus and Isocrates with regard to the writing of history – a possibility that Photius’ argument, as we have seen above, seems to exclude. This conclusion is also strengthened by the fact that, unlike Isocrates, who in Paneg. 7–10 points out as a duty of the professional rhetorician to treat topoi (i.e., those themes which others before had already treated) better than any of his predecessors,24 Ephorus’ words in F 9 instead focus on both the reliability of sources and the truth of facts. Gaining the truth about the past – Ephorus maintained – requires a solid method in using sources. In short, Isocrates and Ephorus speak from rather different perspectives on rather different issues. Modern critics have speculated widely about features and/or contents of Ephorus’ Histories which might be explained in light of an Isocratean apprenticeship. To take just one notable example, Arnaldo Momigliano explained Ephorus’ interest in the rise and decline of political hegemonies in light of his master’s interest in hegemony.25 However, hegemony was a key theme for any author of general history starting from Herodotus,26 22 23 24 25 26

Cf. Suid. κ 1174 Adler, s.v. καινός, and Phot. Suid. s.v. καινός. Cf. Parmeggiani 2011, 103–4 for details. On Isoc. Paneg. 7–10, see especially Marincola 1997, 276–7, and 2014, 47–8; Nicolai 2004, 74–5, 129–30; Parmeggiani 2011, 105. See Momigliano 1975a (1935), and cf. Wickersham 1994. See Parmeggiani 2011, especially 584 n. 229, for detailed criticism of both Momigliano’s and Wickersham’s thesis. Herodotus’ narrative begins with Croesus, the first barbarian hegemon of the Greek cities of Asia Minor, followed by the Persian kings, from Cyrus to Xerxes. Thucydides describes the conflict

18

Questions and Answers

and no fourth-century intellectual with enough interest in politics, whether a rhetor or a historian, could avoid confronting such an issue, especially in the age of the crisis of the Greek powers and the rise of Philip II (which was Ephorus’ age). Some conceptual similarities on specific issues – but differences also exist27 – are better and more easily explained as the result of a common cultural background. As a matter of fact, there is no evidence that Ephorus wrote history following Isocrates’ suggestions and conceptions. Ancient critics considered both Ephorus and Theopompus to be Isocratean because of their style,28 and this may well explain the Isocratean ‘discipleship’ of both Ephorus and Theopompus as a construction by Hellenistic biographers and literary historians on the basis of analogies of style. This is exactly what Schwartz suggested long ago.29 Obviously we are not stating that Ephorus cannot have been Isocrates’ disciple. Our point is, rather, that even if we assume that Ephorus was, there is no reason to believe that his historiography suffered from that.

3. Was Ephorus a ‘Rhetorical Historian’? Schwartz denied that Ephorus and Theopompus were disciples of Isocrates, yet he never questioned the existence of a ‘rhetorical historiography’. In fact, he firmly believed that both Ephorus and Theopompus championed the ‘rhetorical way’ of writing history. This belief clearly suggests that the problem of ‘rhetorical historiography’ lies not only in the question of Ephorus’ and Theopompus’ personal relationship with

27 28

29

between the hegemonies of Sparta and Athens, and views the thalassocracies from the past (Minos) to the present (Athens) as forces setting events in motion. Xenophon writes of Sparta’s failing hegemony. If we extended our analysis to include such fragmentary historians as Ctesias or, for example, Theopompus, our impression would gain further strength: it was not Isocrates who taught Ephorus that the concept of hegemony was crucial for the understanding of Greek history. See Chapter 3, passim. Cf. Parmeggiani 2011, 583 n. 222; 584–6 n. 229; 618 ff. See especially Dion. Hal. De Is. 19, I 122.10–17 U-R (Ephor. FGrHist 70 T 24a = Theopomp. FGrHist 115 T 20b); De comp. verb. 23, II 114.1–7 U-R (Ephor. FGrHist 70 T 24b); Ad Pomp. 6.9–10, II 247.5–21 U-R (Theopomp. FGrHist 115 T 20a). Ephorus normally avoided hiatus; at times, his narrative displayed a certain rhythmic elegance – but never at the expense of lexical balance (see, for example, his usage of synonyms in couples) – and phrases of equal length or antithetical. On such features of Ephorus’ style, see Blass 18922, 438–9; Kaibel 1893, 109–10; Kalischek 1913, 61 ff.; Barber 1935, 80, 148 and 151. Note that ancient critics were aware also of subtle differences between Ephorus’ and Isocrates’ style: see § 7 with n. 132. For a short review of Ephorus’ style, comprehensive of Isocratean and non-Isocratean features as shown by the fragments, see especially Chapter 2 § 3, with n. 209. Schwartz 1907, 1–2, and 1909, 495. The very fact that stylistic judgement is structurally embedded in the biographical anecdotes (see below § 7) speaks in favour of Schwartz’s thesis. Contra Ottone 2013, 255–6, and 2018, 482, 487 ff.

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Isocrates and the possibility of a transmission of historiographical ideas from the master to his disciples – i.e., what we have dismissed in the paragraph above – but also, as we have been suggesting in the Introduction, in the way many modern critics have understood, and still understand, the nature of historical writing after Thucydides. By examining the thought of the most influential scholars in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries,30 we can identify six ideas as characterizing the concept of ‘rhetorical historiography’: (a) ‘rhetorical historians’ substituted their interest in style for their interest in truth and method; (b) they enlarged the spatium historicum uncritically, to celebrate and/or devalue events and to change or alter facts in the distant past as well as in the present; (c) they substituted consultation of written works for direct inquiry (autopsy), showing a lack of political and military knowledge, which was, instead, at the core of Thucydidean and Polybian historiographical practice; (d) they marginalized the interest in politics, and emphasized the moral instruction of the reader by expressing personal judgement, praise and blame (epainoi and psogoi), and by giving paradigms of moral conduct; (e) they plagiarized the work of other historians, falsifying events by manipulating details; and lastly, (f) they lacked the ability to explain historical events (see, for example, Ephorus’ explanations of the causes of the Peloponnesian War). In what follows, we will consider each of these points in order to explore the foundations of the conventional notion of ‘rhetorical historiography’, and to determine whether Ephorus (and Theopompus) did in fact adopt such a questionable historiographical approach. As for the substitution of the interest in style for the interest in truth and method (a),31 we already know Ephorus’ statement in F 9, which, as it stands, clearly suggests that Ephorus cared for truth and method (cf. § 2 above). But one may recall Duris F 1, i.e., Photius’ quotation of Duris’ criticism of Ephorus’ and Theopompus’ history writing, which states: Ephorus [FGrHist 70 T 22] and Theopompus [FGrHist 115 T 34] fell very far short of events; for they employed no kind of imitation [μίμησις] or pleasure [ἡδονή] in the recounting, but concerned themselves solely with the writing itself [γράφειν].32 30

31 32

See Müller 1841; Blass 18922; Meyer 1892–1899; Kaibel 1893; Busolt 1893–1904; Wachsmuth 1895; Wilamowitz-Möllendorff 1908 and 19122; Jacoby 1909 and 1926b and 1926c; Schwartz 1907; Laqueur 1911a and 1911b; Peter 1911. See especially Müller 1841, lviia–lxva, and also Jacoby 1926c, 27. Phot. Bibl. 176, 121a–b, II 176 Henry (Dur. FGrHist 76 F 1. Cf. Chávez Reino 2018, 77). The verb γράφειν is usually translated as ‘style’. Ottone (2013, 270 ff.; 2015, and 2018, 569 ff.) translates τῶν γενομένων . . . ἀπελείφθησαν as ‘inferior [sc. Ephorus and Theopompus] to their predecessors’.’ Cf.,

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Was Duris reproaching both Ephorus and Theopompus – one may ask – because they cared only for ‘style’ (γράφειν/graphein), as if they were not sensitive enough to truth and method? Such a conclusion is not convincing for two main reasons: first, it postulates a positivistic opposition between rhetoric/style on the one hand and history/truth on the other, which is itself questionable; and second, Duris himself makes truth a matter of stylistic measures, by which the historian can convey the events he describes to the reader’s mind. In fact, Duris is not opposing style and truth; rather, he criticizes Ephorus and Theopompus because, in his view, they did not correctly use those stylistic means which, when correctly used, help the reader to see with the eyes of his mind the event in its true life. According to Duris, Ephorus’ and Theopompus’ style was not flexible enough to capture the events in their life.33 Truth is not only a matter of historical method, but also of style, since no historical knowledge can be offered without representation, and representation is, in turn, impossible without words. Duris F 1, so it seems, cannot serve as evidence for the view according to which postThucydidean historians substituted their interest in style for their interest in truth and method. We pass now to examine the uncritical enlargement of the spatium historicum (b). Thucydides is key here, for in the so-called Archaeology (1.2–19), he seems to warn his reader against the possibility of writing a history of the distant past (1.1.2; cf. 1.21.1). After Thucydides, Ephorus began his Histories with the Dorian invasion (T 8) and did not shy away from describing even more ancient events (see, e.g., F 122a on Aetolus). Should one therefore conclude that Ephorus neglected Thucydides’ warning and uncritically dealt with non-contemporary events in order to fulfil ‘rhetorical aims’?34 Again, a positivistic prejudice seems at work here. Every discourse on the past is a ‘rhetorical construction’, as far as it relies on the selective use of reasoning, arguments, semeia and tekmeria for the reconstruction of what happened. Thucydides himself makes use of such rhetorical means in those sections of his work in which he displays an interest in ethnography and ancient events (e.g., 1.2–19; 2.15; 3.104; 6.1–5 and 54–59), as Herodotus did before him (e.g., 2.102–106; 113–120). Neither Thucydides nor Herodotus

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among others, Müller 1848, 469a. Even if accepted (for recent scepticism, see Vattuone 2015a, 17 ff.), this reading would not change the meaning of Duris’ critique (below), nor would it deprive it of historiographical significance. See now Parmeggiani 2016a. The term γράφειν therefore refers to a ‘normalized’ narrative. See Parmeggiani 2016a for details. This is what Jacoby concluded (1909, 85, and 1926b, 25 and 43, suggesting that Ephorus ‘misunderstood’ Thucydides). For a very similar view, see, e.g., Canfora 1991.

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have been labelled ‘rhetorical historians’ for this. As we shall see (Chapter 2, § 2), Ephorus too made use of reasoning, arguments, semeia and tekmeria for the reconstruction of what happened in the past. Ephorus’ results and conclusions may be questioned; nonetheless, the seriousness of his method and the honesty of his aims should not be, at least a priori. But there is more. Thucydides never said that it is not possible to write about the distant past; he argued, instead, that it is not possible to uncover the distant past clearly, that is, to reproduce it by the same standards of akribeia as in the description of the present: It was impossible to discover clearly events before this and events even older than those because of the amount of time that had passed. [τὰ γὰρ πρὸ αὐτῶν καὶ τὰ ἔτι παλαίτερα σαφῶς μὲν εὑρεῖν διὰ χρόνου πλῆθος ἀδύνατα ἦν.]35

Judging from F 9, Ephorus’ view was quite the same: it is not possible to give an exact picture of all the events of the past due to their distance in time; the opposite is true for events of the present.36 It therefore appears that the modern view of an uncritical and as such tendentious enlargement of spatium historicum in post-Thucydidean historiography – at least as far as Ephorus’ theory is concerned – is unconvincing. Let us consider now the preference that ‘rhetorical historiography’ would accord to indirect inquiry over autopsy, and the lack of political and military knowledge it seems to display (c). Here Polybius is key. In his criticism of Timaeus’ neglect of direct inquiry in book XII, Polybius finds fault with the way Ephorus and Theopompus describe warfare in their works. He begins by observing that many historians write in the belief that the time they have spent in libraries, and the experience they have gained reading the books of others, are sufficient to carry out their undertaking. This is the case of Timaeus. Polybius exemplifies his idea by referring to what happened ‘in certain parts’ of Ephorus’ Histories: What I am saying [sc. about Timaeus] will be made still clearer from what follows: for example, what happens to Ephorus [FGrHist 70 T 20] in certain places in his history. In military matters I think Ephorus has some notion about naval matters to a certain extent, but in land battles he 35

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Thuc. 1.1.2. In Thucydides’ words, ‘impossible’ is not ‘to discover’ per se (εὑρεῖν), but ‘to discover clearly’ (σαφῶς εὑρεῖν). See Parmeggiani 2003a, 269 ff., also emphasizing that ὄντα ἀνεξέλεγκτα (Thuc. 1.21.1) does not mean ‘unverifiable events’, but ‘events that have not been verified’ (sc. by poets and logographers: see especially 255 ff.). This is an obvious inference from Ephorus’ own statement, in F 9, that sources which tell of past events in a detailed manner are untrustworthy because, given the distance of time, the past cannot be remembered in such detail.

22

Questions and Answers is completely inexperienced. Thus when one looks closely at his accounts of the naval battles of Cyprus [ca. 380 bc] and Cnidus [394 bc], in which the Persian king’s generals fought against Evagoras of Salamis and the Lacedaemonians respectively, one can marvel at the author’s descriptive force and his experience, and can take away much useful material for similar situations. But when we consider, or examine in detail, the battle formations and the subsequent changes in the formations in his narration of the battle of the Thebans and Lacedaemonians at Leuctra [371 bc], or those same combatants’ battle at Mantinea [362 bc] when Epaminondas lost his life, Ephorus appears absurd and completely lacking in experience, and he seems never to have seen such things. Now the account of Leuctra, which was a simple battle and engaged only a part of the army, does not reveal the historian’s inexperience too much, but his account of Mantinea, while giving the appearance of being complex and technical, is in fact incoherent and completely incomprehensible. This will be evident if one first makes an assessment of the topography and then makes a true measurement of the movements he describes. This same thing happens to Theopompus [FGrHist 115 T 32a] and especially to Timaeus [FGrHist 566 T 19] who is our present subject. Where these historians treat such matters summarily, they can get away with it, but where they wish to develop and explicate something of this kind in detail, they wind up looking exactly like Ephorus.37

Two main observations should be drawn. First, while Polybius does not judge Theopompus’ or Timaeus’ descriptions of the sea battles, he praises Ephorus’, because they reveal the historian’s experience (empeiria) and are rich with useful data. In Polybius’ view, therefore, Ephorus’ descriptions of battles are not always defective. Second, Polybius infers Ephorus’ lack of experience (apeiria) of land battles by evaluating just two of his descriptions – Leuctra in 371 bc and Mantinea in 362 bc – which, however, were particularly important in Ephorus’ contemporary history, for they bookended the decade at the centre of his Histories (books XXIII–XXV) and were also very popular among readers.38 Competitiveness may have fomented his criticism: by confronting Ephorus at his best and worst, Polybius could demonstrate his own excellence.39 Polybius’ observations are not an objectively formulated and comprehensive evaluation of Ephorus’ historiography. His negative comments concerning Ephorus’ descriptions of Leuctra and Mantinea cannot be

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38 Polyb. 12.25f. Jacoby’s selection for Ephor. T 20 is highlighted. Cf. F 213 (Plut. Mor. 514c). On competitiveness as a primary reason for Polybius’ criticism of his predecessors, see Schepens and Bollansée 2005, and recently Baron 2013.

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ignored, but they should not be amplified at the expense of his positive insights on Ephorus’ descriptions of sea battles. Nor should we disregard the fact that Polybius’ criticism is expressly limited to particular places of Ephorus’ work (κατὰ τόπους τινὰς τῆς ἱστορίας): it would be hazardous to conclude, on this basis, that Ephorus always neglected to examine the battlefields he described, always avoided getting the best information and never witnessed any of the events he recounted.40 In Jacoby’s edition, T 20 is immediately followed by T 21, which reports Plutarch’s well-known appraisal of the speeches that Ephorus, Theopompus and Anaximenes attributed to the generals on the battlefield (λόγοι παρακλητικοί).41 The broader context of T 21 reads: The statesman’s speech should not be delicate or theatrical, as if he were discoursing at a public festival and weaving a garland of soft and flowery words; nor in turn must it (. . .) smell of the lamp and sophistic overelaboration, with harsh syllogisms and periods finished off with a ruler and compass. Instead, just as musicians require that one’s touch of the strings exhibits feeling, not mere technique, so also neither cleverness nor malice should appear in a statesman’s or counsellor’s or office-holder’s speech, nor should it be constructed fluently or artfully or dialectically with a view to the speaker’s own praise; rather, his speech should be full of simple character, true good resolution, a father’s free speech, foresight, and caring intelligence. (. . .) And political oratory, more than forensic oratory, admits maxims, narratives, myths, and metaphors, and those who use them sparingly and at just the right moment especially move their listeners. (. . .) In general, magnificence and loftiness are more fitted for political oratory: examples of this are the Philippics and, in the public speeches of Thucydides, those of Sthenelaidas the ephor [1.86], Archidamus at Plataea [2.72.1], and Pericles after the plague [2.60–64]. But in the case of Ephorus, Theopompus [FGrHist 115 T 33], and Anaximenes [FGrHist 72 T 15], when they have outfitted and drawn their armies up in battle-order, one might say of their set speeches and

40

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Müller 1841, lxiiib–lxiva, makes use of Polybius’ testimony to prove both Ephorus’ ignorance on military matters and his inferiority to Xenophon as a historian. Despite Cauer’s advice that Polybius’ critique not be generalized (1847, 60 n. 2. Cf. Stelkens 1857, 28), many critics of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries followed this path: see, e.g., Klügmann 1860, 32; Blass 18922, 433–4; Busolt 1893– 1904, I, 157; Schwartz 1907, 11; Peter 1911, 164–9; Jacoby 1926b, 32 and 37–8; Barber 1935, 140–1; Avenarius 1956, 36–7; Meister 1975, 72 ff., and 1992, 102–3; Milns 1980, 52; Nickel 1991, 236–7. The conventional view, based on Polybius’ critique, that Ephorus was an armchair historian, who had no care for direct inquiry, is still strong today: see e.g., Hose 2006, 677; Parker 2011, on T 20, F 212. Note that Ephorus is the historian whom, together with Theopompus and against Timaeus, Polybius invokes to show the primacy of autopsy in historical methodology (F 110 [Polyb. 12.27]). Note that this is the only instance in the entire history of Greek literature, in which the three primary representatives of ‘rhetorical historiography’ are considered together, joined in the same evaluation.

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Questions and Answers periodic sentences, ‘no one is so stupid when near the sword’ [Euripid. fr. 282 Nauck].42

Read out of context, T 21 would demonstrate that Plutarch questions the scant credibility of the speeches that Ephorus, Theopompus and Anaximenes report, and deems them lacking historical substance, but filled with imaginative rhetorical naiveties.43 As the full context instead suggests, Plutarch’s concern is not whether the words reported by the three historians conform to the actual words of the generals on the battlefield; rather, he questions whether these speeches can be used effectively in political oratory. In other words, Plutarch cites Euripides’ line not to condemn the foolish invention of speeches constructed by some historians who are ignorant of military matters, but to denounce the excessive style (ῥητορείαι καὶ περίοδοι), with regard to the appropriateness needed, that makes those very speeches unusable as models in Plutarch’s age (first–second century ce).44 It is highly probable that Ephorus, Theopompus and Anaximenes used a particularly refined stylistic elegance to illustrate, through the speech, essential concepts for the understanding of the thought of the general/ orator and for the interpretation of the historical events they described. In so doing, they followed a trend which was already present in Thucydides, who, conforming to his own theory of the speeches as the result of a compromise between fidelity and invention (1.22.1), assimilated the speeches delivered on the battlefield to the debates in public assemblies or diplomatic meetings to highlight the strategic intelligence of the orator and the values of the polis which the orator bespeaks, and also to clarify the deepest meaning of a victory or a defeat, or of a broader constellation of events of which the battle itself is part.45

42 43

44

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Plut. Mor. 802e–803b. Jacoby’s selection for T 21 is highlighted. One may recall Marx 1815, 41, commenting on Plutarch’s criticism: ‘Processerat [sc. Ephorus] enim in solem et pulverem non uti Thucydides, e militari tabernaculo, sed ut ex Isocratis, doctissimi hominis, umbraculis.’ Not by chance, nineteenth- and twentieth-century scholars tended to believe that in Ephorus’ Histories logoi were only the means for rhetorical display: see, e.g., Ulrici 1833, 55–6; Müller 1841, lxivb n. 9; Creuzer 1845, 329; Klügmann 1860, 26 n. 5; Wachsmuth 1895, 506; Peter 1911, 163; Barber 1935, 144. See now Parmeggiani 2012a, 33 ff. Pace Ottone 2018, 606 n. 100, my focus is on style. Reference also to contents (see below) is obvious, insofar as variations of style and choice of contents are not disconnected. On these particular features of the battle speeches in Thucydides, see, e.g., Iglesias Zoido 2007, 141–58. See also Marincola 2007b for a useful synthesis on Thucydides’ speeches in general. Parker 2011 comments on T 21: ‘Thucydides made speeches standard in historiography (. . .), and his programmatic remarks [1.22.1] excused any artistic licence taken with the words placed into commanders’ mouth.’ On Thuc. 1.22.1, see now Tosi 2018, with literature.

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Neither T 20 nor T 21, then, provide enough evidence to conclude that Ephorus was ignorant in political and military matters.46 Still, further reflection is needed. The idea that Ephorus accorded preference to written sources over direct inquiry is basically connected with the lack of interest in contemporaneous events that modern critics have attributed to him on account of the opposition – somewhat ordinary nowadays – between noncontemporary and contemporary history. Despite Polybius’ authoritative appreciation of Ephorus’ narrative about ancient Greek history (T 18a), which clearly proved effective for later readers such as Ps. Scymnus and Strabo,47 one should resist the temptation to make Ephorus an ‘antiquarian’, or a narrator of ancient history only. As we have already noted above in the discussion of ancient biographers’ representations (§ 2), Ephorus’ Histories mostly covered modern and contemporary history. In this respect, Polybius’ own judgement in T 20 is a useful warning, for it invites readers to think of Ephorus not only as the expert in foundation narrative whom Ps. Scymnus and Strabo copiously refer to, but also as the author of an important history of fifth- and fourth-century events which has been regrettably lost. ‘Rhetorical historiography’ is also described as placing emphasis on the moral instruction of the reader by means of praise and blame, and by offering paradigms of moral conduct (d). In principle, by stressing the importance of moral values, the ‘rhetorical historians’ of the fourth century put aside the Thucydidean interest in politics, and opened the way for a new generation of Hellenistic historians who appear to be primarily, if not exclusively, concerned with morals (consider, for example, Diodorus).48 46

47

48

Some try to infer Ephorus’ identity as an armchair historian from the total absence in the testimonia to any political or military activity of him (Milns 1980, 52 n. 20; Landucci 2013, 91). This is hardly a solid argument, since the information we have on Ephorus’ life is too meagre (see § 1 above). Strabo provides us with the most eloquent fragments about Ephorus’ geography and past history (from book IV especially), particularly on Greece (see Strab. VIII–X), but also on the West (see Strab. V–VI) and the East (see Strab. XI–XII). Before Strabo, Ps. Scymnus already used Ephorus for the Greek West (Orb. descr. 264 ff.) and Greece (Orb. descr. 448 ff.). One may also add Nicolaus of Damascus, who appears to have read Ephorus’ sections on ethnography and past history (FGrHist 90 FF 23, 29, 30–5, 56–9, 103–4, 109. Cf. Parmentier 2014, 829 and 845; Favuzzi and Paradiso 2018, ad locc.); however, because of the fragmentary condition of Nicolaus’ work, caution is needed. This idea already appeared in Creuzer’s theory of the development of Greek historiographical thought (1803). On Ephorus’ historiography as serving moralistic aims, see especially Schwartz 1903b and 1907; Laqueur 1911a and 1911b; Jacoby 1926b, 30; Barber 1935, 78; Avenarius 1956, 161; Sacks 1990, 25 ff.; Dillery 1995, 127–30; Pownall 2004, 113–42; Breglia 2005, 228; Parker 2011, on T 23; Nicolai 2013, 236–7; Gehrke 2014, 101–6 (however, emphasizing Ephorus’ interest in politics too); Caballero López 2015. The link between Ephorus and Diodorus did much for the emergence and subsequent strengthening of the view of Ephorus as a (more or less exclusively) moralistic historian. For a more balanced approach to praise and blame, and moralism in Ephorus, see now

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Questions and Answers

To what extent is fifth-century historiography different from fourthcentury historiography? Modern scholars have often highlighted that Herodotus and Thucydides adopt sophisticated narrative techniques and highly refined rhetorical constructions. All ancient historiography was guided by the authorial intention of giving judgements, demonstrating a thesis and creating paradigms – also of a moral type – Herodotus and Thucydides included.49 Fifth-century historiography did not fail to honour its heroes, as Thucydides’ praise of Pericles in 2.65.5–13 impressively demonstrates. Still one may think, with reason, that a profound difference separates the judgements of Herodotus and Thucydides from the praise and blame by Diodorus: if Herodotus and Thucydides make particularly lucid and intelligent observations about political history, Diodorus offers repetitive and superficial annotations on vices and virtues, practically useless for the purpose of shedding light on the real value of the individual and his political action.50 One may therefore ask: did Ephorus and Theopompus offer repetitive and superficial annotations on vices and virtues, as Diodorus was to do later? When, in the letter To Pompeius Geminus, Dionysius of Halicarnassus speaks of the features of Theopompus’ historical writing, he observes that

49

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Schorn 2014; Occhipinti 2016, 228 ff; Hau 2016, 248 ff., also emphasizing that moral judgement was a common feature of all Greek historiography from Herodotus to Diodorus. Herodotus, for example, unabashedly stops narrating Xerxes’ great war to pronounce his own appreciation of Athens’ real merits in the final victory over the Persians (7.139): he tells what would have happened to Greece if Athens had not decided to side with the Greeks against the Persians, and does this not only to demonstrate the strategic importance of the Athenian fleet, but also to praise Athens (cf. Thuc. 1.73.2–73.4). When possible, he does not refrain from offering moral judgements (see, e.g., 7.152.2–3. See also Hau 2016, 172 ff. for further examples). As for Thucydides, his work is surprisingly rich in extensive demonstrations (see 1.2–19; 89–117; 6.54–59), general considerations, and direct and/or comparative evaluations of individual personalities and historical circumstances (see 1.138.3, on Themistocles; 2.65.5–13 on Pericles, whom he commends as an individual after having praised him in contrast with his successors; 3.82–84, on the stasis at Corcyra; 6.15.2–4, on Alcibiades; 7.86.5, on Nicias; 8.68, on Peisander, Antiphon, Phrynichus and Theramenes, the protagonists of the 411 bc coup in Athens to establish an oligarchic state). At times, his moral slant is patent (3.82–84); elsewhere, when an illustrious character is about to leave the scene (1.138.3, on Themistocles; 2.65.5–13 on Pericles; 7.86.5, on Nicias), he suggests a moral interpretation, in consonance with the epainos and psogos types of speech. Cf. Dion. Hal. De Thuc. 8, I 334.13–335.13 U-R. The lexicon typical of praise (ἀρετή, ξύνεσις, ἀδωρότατος) is present in Thucydides well before appearing in Diodorus. On moralizing in Thucydides, see also Hau 2016, 194 ff. Herodotus’ and Thucydides’ historiography cannot be confused with Diodorus’ historical writing, since in the latter, a moral interest appears to be dominant, and the moral education of the reader by means of exempla of vices and virtues is affirmed as its primary objective. On Diodorus’ historiographical aims, see Pavan 1961; Sacks 1990, especially 23 ff.; Chamoux 1993, lvi ff. On the various features of moralism in Diodorus’ historical narrative, Ambaglio 1995, 109 ff. See now also Hau 2016, 73 ff.; Rathmann 2016; Muntz 2017; and Meeus 2018b.

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Theopompus is like a judge of Hades, who, while trying to elucidate how and why an event occurred, uncovers ‘all the mysteries of apparent virtue and undetected vice’.51 It is clear from this remark, that Theopompus expressed his personal evaluation of historical characters in close connection with the explanation and reconstruction of the facts. The passage below from Plutarch’s Life of Lysander is quite instructive in this regard: And in fact, the poverty of Lysander was revealed after his death [ἐκκαλυφθεῖσα] and made his virtue even more manifest [φανερωτέραν], since from great wealth and power, from such great favour from cities and the Great King, he adorned his house not even a little, as far as money was concerned. Theopompus [FGrHist 115 F 333] records this and one would trust him more when he praises than when he finds fault; for he takes more pleasure in censure than in praise.52

The contrast between ‘hidden’/‘apparent’ recalls Dionysius’ words. As we see, Theopompus did not introduce Lysander as a model to imitate; instead, he disagreed with the common view according to which Lysander was a merely self-interested politician: in underlining Lysander’s behaviour on the basis of factual evidence, Theopompus was radically reversing a contemporary doxa on Lysander and his politics, which he believed to be incorrect. Quite analogously, we see Theopompus harshly criticizing Philip’s Companions for their bestial depravity, and labelling them as Centaurs and Laestrygones (FGrHist 115 F 225a–c), not because he considered them as models not to imitate, but because he contradicted with the contemporary doxa which, at a time when Philip was establishing himself as the hegemon of Greece and planned the attack against Persia, celebrated the king of Macedon as the ‘new Agamemnon’ and his Companions as ‘new Homeric heroes’. Theopompus denounced the political misuse of paradigms in the contemporary age.53 Like Theopompus’, Ephorus’ evaluation of historical characters was removed neither from the explanation of facts, nor from their reconstruction, nor from the critical appraisal of a prevailing doxa that they could involve. A case in point is his appreciation of Epaminondas (F 119), which, 51

52

Dion. Hal. Ad Pomp. 6.7–8, II 246.10–19 U-R (Theopomp. FGrHist 115 T 20a): ἐξετάζειν (. . .) τὰς ἀφανεῖς αἰτίας τῶν πράξεων καὶ τῶν πραξάντων αὐτὰς καὶ τὰ πάθη τῆς ψυχῆς, (. . .) πάντα ἐκκαλύπτειν τὰ μυστήρια τῆς τε δοκούσης ἀρετῆς καὶ τῆς ἀγνοουμένης κακίας. καί μοι δοκεῖ πως ὁ μυθευόμενος ἐν ᾍδου τῶν ψυχῶν ἀπολυθεισῶν τοῦ σώματος ἐξετασμὸς ἐπὶ τῶν ἐκεῖ δικαστῶν οὕτως ἀκριβὴς εἶναι ὡς ὁ διὰ τῆς Θεοπόμπου γραφῆς γιγνόμενος. On this passage, see especially Vattuone 2007, 151b–152a, and 2014a, 15–18; Parmeggiani 2011, passim, and 2018b, 292–3. See also Ottone 2010, 319–20; Wiater 2011, 151–4; Matijašić 2018, 120–2. Plut. Lys. 30.2. 53 See Parmeggiani 2016b for details.

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unlike the praise given by Diodorus (cf. 15.88), focuses on the condemnation of the Boeotian political class and on Thebes’ missed opportunity of enduring hegemony.54 Another example is Ephorus’ appreciation of Philistus, the general and historian of the Dionysii (F 220). Unlike Diodorus’ emphasis on the role he played as ‘the most faithful friend to the men in power’ (16.16.3), Ephorus focused on Philistus the historian and his fine analysis of the causes of both the deeds and lifestyle of the tyrants (see the context of F 220).55 In so doing, Ephorus overturned the contemporary political doxa, which hastily dismissed Philistus as a mindless watchdog of the tyrants. Ephorus and Theopompus expressed their opinions on historical characters, but they did so as historians whose interest in politics was strong, by reconstructing the facts and confronting the political doxa. The reason for this major difference from Diodorus is not difficult to detect. While Diodorus, living at a time when Greek history was ended once and for all, looks at the events of the fifth and fourth centuries bc from a centuries-long distance, therefore conceiving the protagonists of that age as static images, sheer models of good or wrong behaviour, Ephorus and Theopompus reflected on those very protagonists as agents who were still influencing the contemporary political scene, their actions being also highly debated in contemporary political opinion. Ephorus and Theopompus lived at a time when the crisis of the Spartan hegemony and the rise of Philip II urged inquiry into the present and a reconsideration of the past; both could reflect on contemporary politics and know personally the most important politicians, generals and thinkers of their time, a practice which, not by chance, Theopompus felt to be a methodological necessity for his own inquiry (cf. Theopomp. FGrHist 115 T 20a, F 26). One may reasonably think that it was not so much an inclination to moralism per se, as Ephorus’ and Theopompus’ close spatial and temporal proximity to events, together with the importance they assigned to politics in understanding the actual crisis of the leading Greek cities and the rise of Macedon, which prompted their judgements. With reference to Ephorus, later chapters (Chapters 3 and 4) will corroborate our point. In 1911, Paul Scheller considered the following expression to remark that Ephorus wrote history by employing paradigms of moral conduct: But Ephorus [FGrHist 70 F 42] says that one must say the opposite and offer examples [παραδείγματα ποιεῖσθαι].56 54 56

Strab. 9.2.2. See § 4 for details. Strab. 7.3.9.

55

Plut. Dion 36.2. See Chapter 2 § 2.2 with n. 93.

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Strabo tells us that Ephorus opposed the widespread view of the Scythians as a homogeneous mass of brutal barbarians by speaking of the good tribes of the Nomads, a people among the Scythians. Many modern critics think that the expression παραδείγματα ποιεῖσθαι (paradeigmata poieisthai) means ‘to make them [sc. the Scythians] a model to imitate’, as if the good Nomads were, in Ephorus’ view, ideal models of virtuous behaviour for the Greeks.57 This reading seems to be questionable at least for the following reason. The very same expression in F 42 recurs in another of Ephorus’ fragments, F 65f, in the context of Aelius Aristides’ criticism of Ephorus’ theory about the flood of the Nile. Here Aristides claims that Ephorus ‘closes his argument against those with whom he disagrees, by giving a single example’ (ἕν ποιησάμενος παράδειγμα).58 According to this testimony, paradeigma is not the moral example, but the key exemplification in an argument, which Ephorus employed to disprove his opponents. If we now turn back to the fragment on the Scythians, we note that the use of paradeigmata as examples designed to resolve an issue rather than conventional moral examples fits the context perfectly. After stating the necessity of παραδείγματα ποιεῖσθαι, Ephorus quoted a series of testimonies (including Homer and Hesiod) about the existence of good Scythians, and provided an explanation (αἰτιολογεῖ) of the reasons why the Nomads were good, pointing out how their lifestyle guaranteed political balance and military strength among them. In this way, Ephorus probably justified the successful resistance of the Scythians to Darius I (ca. 510 bc), and demonstrated why the current view that the Scythians were an undifferentiated crowd of barbarians was incorrect. A few words should be expended also on Ephorus’ (in)famous λόγος ἐπιμετρῶν/ἐν ἐπιμέτρῳ (logos epimetron/en epimetro) and γνωμολογίαι (gnomologiai), both praised in T 23 (Polyb. 12.28.10). As has been suggested by John Wickersham, and convincingly demonstrated by Antonio Luis Chávez Reino, λόγος ἐπιμετρῶν (‘discourse added to the main narrative’) 57

58

On παραδείγματα as moral models, see e.g., Scheller 1911, 77–8; Forderer 1913, 6 n. 4; Avenarius 1956, 24–5; Sacks 1990, 28; Stylianou 1998, 8; Pownall 2004, 128. Many scholars notice an Isocratic influence at work here. Takhtajan 2003 notices a Platonic influence, while according to GardinerGarden 1987, 5–7, Ephorus was influenced by both Isocrates and Plato. For further nineteenth- and twentieth-century literature, see now Chávez Reino 2013. Hau (2016, 249–50) also takes παραδείγματα as moral models, while Occhipinti (2016, 231–2) seems more cautious. According to Christesen (2010), Ephorus ‘idealized’ the Scythians as a model of political hegemony, rather than of moral conduct. Fornara (1983, 109–12) argues against both ‘idealization’ and Isocrates’ influence, and reads our passage as follows: ‘But [Ephorus] says that it is necessary both to report the opposite and to give examples [of these opposites]’ (110–111. Contra Walbank 1985, 211). Cf. Chávez Reino 2013, especially 365–366, endorsing Fornara’s reading. Ael. Aristid. Aegypt. 77 (F 65f). Cf. Parmeggiani 2011, 54–5; Chávez Reino 2013, 366.

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Questions and Answers

was not moralistic judgement passed by Ephorus, nor did it have anything to do with Diodorus’ praise and blame.59 It is highly significant, in this regard, that the definition of λόγος ἐπιμετρῶν is used by Polybius in 6.46.6 and ff. (F 148) with reference to Ephorus’ observations about analogies and differences between the Cretan and the Spartan constitution (cf. F 149), and also that Ephorus’ own distinction between historiography and epideictic speeches (F 111) was for Polybius a sample of λόγος ἐπιμετρῶν. As for Ephorus’ γνωμολογίαι, they were not moralistic sententiae, but rather, arguments used in demonstrative contexts (as the distinction between historiography and epideictic speech was).60 The conclusion follows that neither λόγος ἐπιμετρῶν nor γνωμολογίαι should be mechanically identified with moral judgement. No solid evidence has been found that Ephorus and Theopompus indulged in stereotyped moral appraisals of the kind we find in Diodorus, or that they conceived of history merely as a system of paradigms of moral conduct. Obviously, this is not to say that ethics were unimportant in their judgement. We are arguing, rather, that ethics did not invalidate their ability to comprehend the political significance of the events, provide an accurate analysis of their causes and effects, and report on them with thoroughness and precision. Judging from the fragmentary tradition, Ephorus’ and Theopompus’ ethical sense did not undermine the sharpness of their political analysis, nor did it change their critical training into an approach similar to Diodorus’ in his praise and blame.61 Critics also describe ‘rhetorical historiography’ as plagiarizing and inventing (e).62 This idea pertains especially – although not exclusively – to the writing of the past, i.e., of non-contemporary events. Polybius’ 59

60 61

62

See Wickersham 1994, 170 n. 94; Chávez Reino 2005, 40 ff. and 2017. Contra Marx 1815, 41–2; Müller 1841, lxivb; Creuzer 1845, 330; Dressler 1873, 33–4; Blass 18922, 431–2; Wachsmuth 1895, 504; Schwartz 1903b, 681, and 1907, 7–8; Laqueur 1911b, 343 n. 2; Peter 1911, 159; Scheller 1911, 48–9; Jacoby 1926b, 38; Kunz 1935, 32; Barber 1935, 74, 149 ff.; Avenarius 1956, 161; Pédech 1961, 148, and 1964, 408–409; Walbank 1957–1979, II, 411; Milns 1980, 50 n. 12; Fornara 1983, 108–9; Sacks 1990, 26 n. 7; Dillery 1995, 128–9; Stylianou 1998, 7; Pownall 2004, 139–40; Parker 2011, on T 23; Gehrke 2014, 100–1. See Chávez Reino 2005, 45–7. For further examples of evaluation of historical characters in Ephorus’ fragments, such as Themistocles in F 191, sects. 4–5, and Dercyllidas in F 71, see Parmeggiani 2011, 53. Much of the data invoked by modern scholars as evidence for Ephorus’ moralistic approach to history (e.g., references to tryphe, sophrosyne, paideia, agoge in FF 31b, 42, 118–19, 149, 183) comes from books I–X, and especially book IV, whose focus was clearly political and not moralistic: cf. above on F 42 and see Chapters 3 and 4. For Peter 1911, 416–55, plagiarism is integral to ‘rhetorical historiography’: by valuing the formal elaboration of style over the truth, ‘rhetorical historians’ made the substantial dependence on their predecessors a necessity, and consequently, plagiarism an almost unavoidable step.

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shadow still reaches far since in the preamble of book IX from which Jacoby extracted Ephorus T 18b, he explains that those who dedicate themselves to illustrating past events end up repeating things that others have already said.63 But the key document here is a later passage from Porphyry’s Lesson in Philology (third century ce). Eusebius of Caesarea (fourth century ce) cites this passage in book X of his Praeparatio evangelica in order to demonstrate the vicious nature of pagan teachings compared to the virtuous principles of the Christian doctrine.64 In Porphyry’s excerpt, the wise men assembled at a banquet accuse all of classical Greek historiography, exemplified by Herodotus, Hellanicus, Ctesias, Ephorus and Theopompus, of theft (κλοπή) committed against their predecessors. Since Ephorus and Theopompus are the main victims of this massive attack on the historiographical tradition, it is worth quoting the relevant passage at length: When Longinus [FGrHist 1091 T 6] was hosting me in Athens at the Platoneia, he invited many people including Nicagoras the sophist [FGrHist 1076 T 7], Maior, Apollonius the grammarian, Demetrius the geometer, Prosenes the Peripatetic, and Callietes the Stoic. He himself made the seventh reclining at table, and as the dinner progressed, an examination concerning Ephorus [FGrHist 70 T 17] arose among the others. ‘Let us listen’, he said, ‘to what the commotion about Ephorus is.’ The people making the inquiry were Caÿstrius and Maximus. Maximus ranked Ephorus even above Theopompus while Caÿstrius was calling him a thief. ‘For what’, , ‘belongs to Ephorus, given that he has transposed three thousand lines from Daimachus [FGrHist 65 T 1a], Callisthenes [FGrHist 124 T 33], and Anaximenes [FGrHist 72 T 28], sometimes using their very words.’ The grammarian Apollonius answered him, ‘Are you not aware that Theopompus, whom you prefer, has also contracted this very disease, since in the eleventh book of his On Philip [FGrHist 115 F 102] he has transcribed that passage from Isocrates’ Areopagiticus [4], word for word, that ‘nothing good or evil happens to mankind of its own accord’, and so forth. And yet Theopompus looks down on Isocrates and says that he defeated him, his teacher, in the contest held in Mausolus’ honour. He has also committed a theft of events, transferring the deeds of some people to others, and so he can be convicted of being a thief in this way too. For when Andron in his Tripod [FGrHist 1005 F 3] (which concerned Pythagoras the philosopher) inquired into his prophecies (. . .) Theopompus [FGrHist 115 F 70] has stolen it all. (. . .) For he has used these same events but under another’s name, and has 63

64

Polyb. 9.1.2–2.7. One should also consider Isocrates’ conception of the deeds of the past as a ‘common inheritance’ (Paneg. 9), suggesting the need for stylistic reworking of, rather than inquiry into, the past. Euseb. PE 10.3.1–25 (Porphyr. frr. 408–410 Smith). See Peter 1911, especially 450–1; Stemplinger 1912, 40 ff.; Ziegler 1950. For an extensive analysis of this text, see Männlein-Robert 2001, 251–92.

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Questions and Answers Pherecydes of Syros saying these things. And he conceals his theft not only by using this name but also by changing venues.’ (. . .) Nicagoras says, ‘I too in reading Theopompus’ Hellenika and Xenophon’s have discovered that he transcribes much from Xenophon, and amazingly for the worse. For example, Theopompus takes Pharnabazus’ meeting with Agesilaus (the one arranged by Apollophanes of Cyzicus) and their conversation with each other under truce, conversation which Xenophon in his fourth book [Hell. 4.1.29-39] has written up with much charm and in a manner suitable to both, and in the eleventh book of his Hellenika [FGrHist 115 F 21] he makes them sluggish, inert, and ineffective.’ (. . .) After Nicagoras said this, Apollonius said, ‘Why are we surprised if this disease of theft attached itself to Ephorus and Theopompus, given that they are so lazy, since even Menander was full of this infirmity, (. . .)?’65

At the end, with authentic philological rigor and a smile, Porphyry reveals his sources: So that I myself might not be caught out as a thief when I am finding fault with others, I shall reveal those who composed material on this subject. There are two books of Lysimachus, On Ephorus’ Theft [FGrHist 382 F 22; Ephor. FGrHist 70 T 17], and Alcaeus, the poet of abusive iambic poems and epigrams, has refuted and parodied the thefts of Ephorus. There is a letter of Pollio to Soteridas On the Theft of Ctesias [FGrHist 688 T 17], and this same author has a pamphlet, On Herodotus’ Theft; and in the so-called Trackers many things are written about Theopompus [FGrHist 115 T 27]. There is also a treatise by Aretades, On Coincidences. From all these one may learn many things of this type.66

The possibility that the Lysimachus mentioned in this passage is an Alexandrian writer from around 200 bc – and thus relatively close to Ephorus’ and Theopompus’ times – compels us to examine Porphyry’s accusations in detail.67 65 66 67

Euseb. PE 10.3.1–12 (Porphyr. fr. 408 Smith). Jacoby’s selection for Ephor. T 17 is highlighted. Euseb. PE 10.3.23 (Porphyr. fr. 409 Smith). Jacoby’s selection for Ephor. T 17 is highlighted. Lysimachus wrote Return Journeys and Paradoxa of Thebes (FGrHist 382. See Gudeman 1928, 32–9; Jacoby 1950, 251–8, and 1955, 165–7). After Niese 1909, 175 with n. 2, and despite objections by Schwartz 1909, 495–6, twentieth-century critics have often relied on Porphyry’s testimony as a whole, or on part of it. Jacoby’s choice to edit several testimonia extracted from Porphyry in normal font shows that he absolutely trusted the results of the Alexandrian grammarians of the third and second centuries bc. Bleckmann (2006, especially 29–32, 129–45) revamps the traditional notion of ‘rhetorical historiography’, citing the very passage by Porphyry to demonstrate that Theopompus, identified as the author of the Hellenika Oxyrhynchia, copied some episodes from Xenophon’s Hellenika, and only changed a few details such as the names of selected characters and the places, to distinguish his narrative from that of his predecessor (that the Hellenika Oxyrhynchia are the result of Theopompus’ ‘künstliche Konstruktion’ on the basis of Xenophon’s narrative, was first suggested by Busolt 1908. See also Busolt 1910). Parker is sceptical on the reliability of Porphyry’s accusations (2011, ad loc.). Other scholars (e.g. Stylianou 1998, 105–6; Prandi, 2014,

Was Ephorus a ‘Rhetorical Historian’?

33

In Porphyry’s mise-en-scène, the sophist Nicagoras charges Theopompus with metathesis (‘transposition’), but he seems to infer Theopompus’ theft simply from the presence of similar passages in his and Xenophon’s Hellenika. This does not seem convincing evidence that a real misappropriation occurred for two reasons: first, since both Xenophon and Theopompus wrote Hellenika and covered the same historical period (411–362 bc and 411–394 bc respectively), it is conceivable that they recounted the same events, given the common subject of their work; second, from Nicagoras’ observations it clearly emerges that Theopompus’ representation was in fact very different from that of Xenophon: as Nicagoras says, Theopompus’ narration of the same scene was more static and dull (ἀργά τε καὶ ἀκίνητα πεποίηκε καὶ ἄπρακτα). Here is the point: if Theopompus’ representation was different from that of Xenophon, why does Nicagoras speak of plagiarism? To answer, one may take into account the influence of the stylistic canon. Nicagoras considers Xenophon to be the authority in the genre of Hellenika, and since Theopompus wrote after Xenophon, he compares the former to the latter stylistically; as a consequence, everything that Theopompus presented in his Hellenika is to be considered in light of Xenophon’s narrative, and cannot be viewed as anything else but a mere transposition, stylistically inferior and thus imperfect, of Xenophon’s stylistically perfect historical reconstruction. So the stylistic canon may have shaped the very concept of plagiarism which we see displayed by Nicagoras.68 The accusation against Ephorus of plagiarism, however, presents particular and specific characteristics that a consideration of the stylistic canon, this time can hardly help to explain. Porphyry speaks of a large transference of lines, sometimes even word for word (αὐταῖς λέξεσιν), from three different authors – Daimachus, Callisthenes and Anaximenes – who were not stylistically preferred to Ephorus. Furthermore, Porphyry’s passage would lead us to conclude that Ephorus’ instances of plagiarism were easily recognizable, extensive and fairly well documented – in fact, in addition to Lysimachus, Porphyry remembers Alcaeus of Messene, author of a parody in verses.69 Should one take seriously such accusation?

68

69

689 ff.) downsize plagiarism and take Porphyry’s accusations as an indication of Ephorus’ sources. However, such an approach is logically faulty: see Chapter 2 § 2.1. On Porphyry’s adherence to the canon of Atticist stylistic, see Männlein-Robert 2001, 270. It is worth noting that the laziness with which Nicagoras rebukes Theopompus’ style (ἀργά τε καὶ ἀκίνητα πεποίηκε καὶ ἄπρακτα) is in line with Duris’ criticism in F 1 (Ephor. T 22) on the absence of mimesis in Ephorus’ and Theopompus’ narratives. See now Parmeggiani 2016a, 113–14. On the canon – or better, canons – of ancient Greek historiography, see Nicolai 1992, 249–339; Matijašić 2018. For Gudeman (1928, 34), Alcaeus took certain contents from Lysimachus’ treatise and turned them into verses (see also Ziegler 1950, 1980; Männlein-Robert 2001, 279). This possibility cannot be

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Questions and Answers

In Porphyry’s mise-en-scène, Caÿstrius’ animated reply to Maximus’ appreciation for Ephorus serves to introduce the main topic of the discussion, plagiarism, on which the participants in the symposium will expand beyond the temporal boundaries of Ephorus’ and Theopompus’ historiography. It therefore appears that Caÿstrius’ reply is not only exasperated but also programmatic, and, as such, I would suggest reading it also as hyperbolic. In fact, Ephorus is said to have transferred three thousand complete lines from three different authors. Leaving aside the number of lines – indeed very large – its consistency with the number of the authors casts doubt on the estimate per se, which perhaps derives from Alcaeus of Messene’s poetic parody, from a representation that, irrespective of its connection with Lysimachus’ treatise, might have displayed an inclination to exaggeration and distortion.70 Besides the hyperbolic characteristic of ‘three thousand lines’, it is very difficult to take Porphyry’s accusations as reliable. Ephorus’ fragments clearly suggest that he did not rewrite his sources (see Chapter 2). Furthermore, that the works of Daimachus, Callisthenes and Anaximenes were published before Ephorus wrote books I–XXIX of his Histories is doubtful. Fourthcentury Daimachus is a rather shadowy figure;71 as for Anaximenes and Callisthenes, both authored more than one work, as Ephorus did, and were also his contemporaries,72 which is enough to make it very complicated to determine who knew and/or used which work (or part of work) by whom. This presumably was a big issue already for the grammarians of the Hellenistic age, who, by the way, were not always faultless in matters of chronology.73

70 71

72 73

excluded. However, Jacoby (1955, 172, on Lysimach. FGrHist 382 F 22) considers these works independent of each other. On the ‘incredible’ number of ‘stolen’ lines, cf. Schwartz 1909, 496. See also Gudeman 1928, 36, and Bollansée 1998, 149. If a Daimachus other than the third-century author of Indika (FGrHist 716) really existed. See Parmeggiani 2011, 62 with n. 125, and Parker 2011, on T 17. Jacoby assumes the existence of a fourthcentury Daimachus author of Zeitgeschichte (FGrHist 65 T 1a–b), whom he thinks to be the author of the Hellenika Oxyrhynchia (FGrHist 66). Other fragments which Jacoby attributes to him (FGrHist 65 FF 1–4) are not of help: Athen. Mech. 5, 44 Whitehead-Blyth (F 3) mentions Daimachus in the context of an unchronologically ordered sequence of writers of the fourth and the fourth/third centuries bc (from Strato of Lampsacus to Pyrrhus the Macedon), which can hardly speak for a fourth-century rather than the third-century Daimachus. Jacoby’s suggestion (1926b, 3–4) that, in Athenaeus Mechanicus’ text, the sub-sequence Daimachus-Diades-Charias-Pyrrhus is chronologically ordered, and therefore that a fourth-century Daimachus is meant here, assumes what needs to be proven. So the testimonies state: see Chapter 2, § 2.1 with n. 78. For example, Athenaeus rightly criticizes Artemon of Cassandria (first century bc) for his attribution of Xanthus’ Lydiaka to Dionysius Scytobrachion (12.515d–e = Ephor. FGrHist 70 F 180 = Xanth. FGrHist 765 T 5). His criticism demonstrates that Hellenistic philologists were anything but

Was Ephorus a ‘Rhetorical Historian’?

35

Also, the very nature of the ‘theft’ Ephorus was accused of should be called into question for several reasons. First, let us assume that the charge of plagiarism ‘word for word’ (αὐταῖς λέξεσιν) is exaggeration, and that by ‘theft’ Porphyry merely means analogies of contents and/or form. Analogies between two writers do not imply that one depends on the other; as for the identification of Ephorus as the ‘thief’, this may well depend on his reputation as a writer of non-contemporary events (i.e., often relying on written sources. Not by chance, the sophist Apollonius describes Ephorus as a ‘lazy man’ in Porphyry’s text: cf. § 7 below). Second, let us assume now that the charge of plagiarism ‘word for word’ is not exaggeration. We know that Ephorus did not finish his oeuvre, which Demophilus completed by adding book XXX (T 9a–b). It is possible, then, that Ephorus’ and Demophilus’ selected quotes or notes may have been mistaken as ‘thefts’ when in fact they were intended for further elaboration and placement.74 More importantly, anthologies that included important passages from different historiographical texts had been circulating and available to the schools of rhetoric since the early Hellenistic period, and it might have happened that selected excerpts were attributed incorrectly not to their original authors, but to others who were temporally or thematically close.75 So the possibility exists that Hellenistic philologists may have identified as instances of plagiarism those Ephoran passages which, still readable in the Histories, had become part also of the corpora of works by such authors as Callisthenes and Anaximenes, or those Callisthenean and Anaximenean excerpts which, still readable in the original works, had become part also of the corpus of Ephorus’ works (cf. the intrusion of Anaximenean material into Demosthenes’ corpus: FGrHist 72 FF 11a–b, 41): the fame of Ephorus as a writer of non-contemporary events did the rest, suggesting that he was the plagiarist. For example, Lysimachus of

74

75

dependable. Tufano (2019, 317 ff.) is more confident than I am that fourth-century Daimachus, Callisthenes and Anaximenes wrote their works before Ephorus, and also that their works were accessible when Ephorus was writing his Histories. Both assumptions are indemonstrable in the present state of the evidence, and clearly are not a solid basis for concluding that Porphyry’s testimony, as such, is reliable. Both Cavaignac (1932, 156) and Schepens (1977a, 106 with n. 6) explain Ephorus’ ‘theft’ with Demophilus’ transposition of Ephorus’ notes from the works of Daimachus, Callisthenes, and Anaximenes into book XXX of the Histories, which contained information on the ancient period (see FF 93, 96). However, it is possible that Demophilus himself wrote these notes. Callisthenes wrote ten books of Hellenika in 386–357/6 bc (cf. Ephor. XX–XXIX) and a monograph on the Third Sacred War (cf. Ephor. XXX); Anaximenes authored a universal history in twelve books, from the theogony to 362 bc (cf. Ephor. books I–XXV). A textual overlap is certainly conceivable. As for the nature and extension of the work(s) by fourth-century Daimachus, nothing certain can be said.

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Questions and Answers

Alexandria, who authored Paradoxa of Thebes (FGrHist 382 FF 1–5) and was the main source of Porphyry’s accusations, may have found excerpts from Daimachus, Anaximenes and Callisthenes in the fifteen books of Paradoxa in Various Countries (on the presence of this title in Ephorus’ corpus, see § 1 above): for an érudit and a philologist as Lysimachus was, nothing was more compelling than showing historians who were most popular in his day (Ephorus, the master of non-contemporary history) as plagiarizing less popular ones.76 Porphyry is the only ancient author who reports the accusations of plagiarism against Ephorus. If ‘thefts’ of this magnitude and so neatly recognizable (αὐταῖς λέξεσιν) were committed, and were also detectable in the Histories, one wonders how it is possible that Polybius, Strabo and Plutarch never mention them. Furthermore, since ‘theft’ – whatever Porphyry means by that – characterized the writings also of such fifthcentury authors as Herodotus and Hellanicus, Porphyry’s accusations against Ephorus and Theopompus cannot be used to qualify exclusively the methodology of a post-Thucydidean historiographical ‘school of forgers’. ‘Rhetorical historians’ are also said to lack the ability to explain historical events, as Ephorus F 196, on the causes of the Peloponnesian War, would suggest (f). Causation was a main concern for fourth-century historians as the following well-known passage of Dionysius of Halicarnassus on Theopompus demonstrates: (. . .) the ability in every action to see and express not only what is evident to the majority of people but also to examine the unseen reasons for deeds and of those doing the deeds, and the emotions of the soul (these are things which it is not easy for most people to know) and to uncover all the mysteries of apparent virtue and undetected vice.77

The distinction ‘hidden’/‘apparent’ (aphanes/phaneron), which equally concerns the action and the agent without subordinating one to the other, recalls Thuc. 1.23.5–6.78 Such an attitude toward causation was not an isolated one, if we consider, just to give one example, the subtle observations by the Oxyrhynchus historian on the actual reasons for the Corinthian War.79 76

77 78 79

I already suggested the involvement of the Paradoxa in Various Countries in the plagiarism affair in Parmeggiani 2011, 62 n. 125. The ‘snapshot’ of Ephorus’ corpus in T 1 may well be a later result of a process starting soon after Demophilus’ death in the fourth/third century bc. Dion. Hal. Ad Pomp. 6.7, II 246.10–16 U-R (Theopomp. FGrHist 115 T 20a). See n. 51 above for the Greek. Cf. Vattuone 2007, 151b–152a, and 2014a, 15–18; Ottone 2010, 319–20; Wiater 2011, 153; Parmeggiani 2018b, 292–3. Hell. Oxy. 10.1–5, 14–16 Chambers.

Was Ephorus a ‘Rhetorical Historian’?

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Not surprisingly, Ephorus too considered identifying and explaining the causes of events an intrinsic part of his historical writing, even with regard to his ethnographic analysis. Suffice it to mention Ephorus’ appreciation for the fine aetiological web in Philistus’ Sikelika (the context of F 220); his objection to the thesis of ‘the others’ (οἱ ἄλλοι) in the Scythian ethnography (F 42) in order to underline that the Scythians’ victory over Darius I was due to reasons pertaining to their lifestyle and not a chance occurrence; his disclosure of the Persian and Carthaginian diplomatic background on the eve of 480 bc (F 186); and his attack on Hellanicus regarding the Lycurgan authenticity of Sparta’s constitution (F 118), which clearly had a bearing on Ephorus’ own view that Lycurgus’ reforms were the authentic reason for Sparta’s centurieslong supremacy (ibid.). F 118 best illustrates Ephorus’ tendency to delve deeper into the development and decadence of nations by observing their constitutions – an approach which we find developed later in Polybius. F 196, i.e., the main text that has compelled many scholars to criticize Ephorus’ historiography and causation, will be the object of extended analysis later in this work (see § 4, and especially Chapter 3). Suffice it to say here that a close reading of this fragment shows how Ephorus expanded Thucydides’ causation by addressing the realities of political and economic management, which Thucydides had overlooked, in Periclean Athens during thirty years of the history of the Delian League (ca. 460–431 bc). The analysis of the defining features of ‘rhetorical historiography’ is now at an end. Our conclusion is twofold. On the one hand, ‘rhetorical historiography’ cannot be used as a definition for Ephorus’ and Theopompus’ history-writing. Our study of the fragments suggests that Ephorus and Theopompus did not adopt that questionable historiographical approach, which the features examined above (a–f) are meant to describe and which goes under the name of ‘rhetorical historiography’. On the other hand, the characterization of Ephorus’ and Theopompus’ history-writing as ‘rhetorical’ appears to be inadequate, insofar as it postulates an opposition between a type of historiography which is ‘rhetorical’ and a type of historiography which is not, and also perpetuates the old bias that attributes a negative connotation to the terms ‘rhetoric’ and ‘rhetorical’. As a matter of fact, any historiography – be it ancient or modern – is a rhetorical construct insofar as it is a discourse that cares for the representation of facts, provides evidence and argues for or against a thesis, and reconstructs events by presenting its own point of view.80 80

See now also Marincola 2014, 40: ‘The term “rhetorical history” (. . .) is an unfortunate one, since every narrative history is a rhetorical construct and there is no reason to oppose “rhetoric” to

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There is nothing bad in this type of rhetoric, especially when it rests on very firm and sound methodological principles, as it is in the case of Ephorus’ and Theopompus’ historical narratives.81

4. Is Diodorus a Reliable Guide to Recovering Ephorus? The Importance of Reading Fragments In the paragraph above, mention has been made of the difference between Ephorus’ and Diodorus’ ways of judging historical characters. A general reflection on the relationship between Ephorus and Diodorus is now needed, also in order to assess the value of Diodorus as a reliable guide to recovering Ephorus. Several mentions of Ephorus recur in the Diodoran text, and several correspondences between Diodorus’ and Ephorus’ contents are noted in works other than the Historical Library.82 But to what extent does Diodorus’ narrative allow us to detect Ephorus’ narrative in both its contents and its historiographical aims? Is it legitimate to see Diodorus as a mere epitomator of Ephorus, if not his alter ego in the first century bc? In this section, we will not challenge the idea that Diodorus was familiar with and used Ephorus’ work as a source. Rather, we will reassess the extent of this use as well as the nature of Diodorus’ work and his direct appropriation of Ephorus’ original narrative, as well as the claim by many critics that Diodorus ignored alternative narrations and displayed a lack of autonomous historical vision.83 In particular, by reviewing Volquardsen’s thesis (1868)

81 82

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“research”.’ Cf. Marincola 2007d, 29, and on the historian’s use of the language of evidence which is typical also of judicial rhetoric (semeia, tekmeria, martyria etc.) in the reconstruction of the past, see above on the uncritical enlargement of the spatium historicum (b). See Chapter 2 below for a detailed review of Ephorus’ methodological principles. The fragments which cite Ephorus in the same order as he appears in Diodorus’ text include: F 109 (Diod. 1.9.5); F 65e–T 16 (1.37.4–39.13); T 8 (4.1.2–3); T 11 (5.1.4); F 104 (5.64.4); F 196 (12.38–41.1); F 199 (13.41.1–3); F 201 (13.54.5); F 202 (13.60.5); F 203 (13.80.5); F 70 (14.11.1–4); F 208 (14.22.1–2); F 204 (14.54.4–6); F 214 (15.60.5); T 9a (16.14.3); T 10 (16.76.5). Jacoby derived five testimonies and thirteen fragments by reviewing the Historical Library. In addition to the twelve fragments indicated above, he also lists F 58d (Diod. 9.32.1), even though Ephorus is not explicitly mentioned there. Jacoby (1926a, 106) also lists the account of the siege of Perinthus of Diod. 16.76.5 (this was the last episode of the Histories: cf. T 10), but the fragment is not numbered (F 217+). For the correspondences between Diodorus and Ephorus in other authors, see F 76 (Steph. Byz. Ω 23 Billerbeck, s.v. Ὠτιεῖς) ~ Diod. 14.98.2; F 189 (Plut. Mor. 855f) ~ Diod. 11.54.4; FF 206–7 (Plut. Lys. 25.3 and Plut. Lys. 30.3–4, respectively) ~ Diod. 14.13.2–8; F 216 (Strab. 6.3.3) ~ Diod. 15.66.3; and F 219 (Plut. Dion 35.3–4) ~ Diod. 16.16.3. After the studies by Cauer (1847), Volquardsen (1868), Collmann (1869), Bauer (1879), and Holzapfel (1879) on the dependence of Diodorus’ Greek and Eastern history in books XI–XV (XVI) on Ephorus, and further attempts by Cauer (1847) and Dressler (1873) to reconstruct the contents of the thirty books of Ephorus’ Histories on the basis of his fragments and Diodorus’

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and by looking comparatively at Ephorus’ fragments vis-à-vis Diodorus’ text, we will demonstrate that both the identification of Diodorus with Ephorus and the interpretation of Diodorus’ books XI–XV (XVI) as an epitome of Ephorus’ Histories are unfounded for two reasons: Diodorus did not read directly Ephorus only; and the aims of his writing were different from Ephorus’. When Diodorus made use of Ephorus’ Histories, he did not simply shorten Ephorus’ text; he employed it with some freedom, according to specific circumstances and his own particular interests. Eduard Cauer (1847) and Christian August Volquardsen (1868) noticed several correspondences between Diodorus’ text and Ephorus’ fragmentary information. They also observed that when Diodorus includes specific material on Greek (i.e., non-Siceliot) history in books XI–XV, he only cites Ephorus. Based on these observations, both critics suggested that the information on Greek and Eastern history that Diodorus provides in these books derived exclusively from Ephorus.84 Sixty years later, drawing on Volquardsen’s conclusions, Jacoby commented: That the Greek history of Diodorus in [books] XI-XV, including the East, from Xerxes’ expedition to the battle of Mantinea, is a continuous excerpt form Ephorus, rightly stands as a fundamental proposition of source criticism.85

84

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Historical Library, Schwartz (1903b, 1907 and 1909) and Laqueur (1911a and 1911b) suggested that Ephorus and Diodorus were one and the same historian. In this cultural climate, Jacoby prepared his edition of the fragments (1926a and 1926b) and Barber his critical study (1935). Jacoby’s choice to publish POxy. 13.1610, sects. 1–16 as F 191 on account of the correspondences with Diod. 11.56 ff. rather than with F 192 (Plut. Cim. 12.5–6) speaks volumes. Jacoby (1926b, 33) does not provide a full account of the modern controversies over the relationship between Diodorus and Ephorus, which were quite animated during the nineteenth and in the first years of the twentieth century (see Parmeggiani 2011, 19 n. 55). Some critics were not persuaded by Cauer’s and Volquardsen’s demonstrations, and even those who believed that Diodorus reproduced his source(s) ‘mit sklavischer Treue’ occasionally conceded that Diodorus’ adherence to his source could be too concise or flawed (e.g., von Mess 1906a and 1906b. See also Andrewes 1985). Although several studies after Jacoby have questioned the identification of Diodorus with Ephorus (see especially Kunz 1935; Palm 1955; Pavan 1961; Drews 1962; Reid 1969; Sacks 1982 and 1990; Chamoux and Bertrac 1993; Wickersham 1994, 150 ff.; Ambaglio 1995; Green 2006, 25–31), the trend of relying on Diodorus to define Ephorus’ historiography is still strong today: see, e.g., Stylianou 1998; Parker 2011, especially Biographical Essay II F, and 2018. On Diodorus in general, see now Rathmann 2016; Muntz 2017; Hau, Meeus and Sheridan 2018; Meeus 2018a, passim. On Ephorus and Diodorus, see now also Porciani 2013; Rathmann 2016, 216 ff.; Muntz 2017, passim; Rood 2018. See Cauer 1847, 40–57; Volquardsen 1868, 1–71. It is worth noting that Cauer’s demonstration, differently from Volquardsen’s, extended to Diodorus’ book XVI, and that Volquardsen’s appears to be, at least to some extent, an improvement of Cauer’s. For a thorough discussion of Cauer 1847, as well as Collmann 1869, Bauer 1879, and Holzapfel 1879, see Parmeggiani 2011, 349–94. Jacoby 1926b, 33: ‘daß des ersteren [sc. Diodoros] griechische geschichte in XI–XV, einschließlich des orients, vom Xerxeszug bis zur schlacht bei Mantineia, ein fortlaufendes excerpt aus E[phoros] ist, gilt mit recht als fundamentalsatz der quellenkritik’ (my own translation).

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Yet an examination of Volquardsen’s demonstration holds some surprises for today’s reader. After a brief preface on Diodorus’ tendency to use a single source at a time in extended sections of his work (for example, Polybius in books XXVIII–XXXII or Cleitarchus in book XVII),86 Volquardsen argues first against Diodorus’ use of Herodotus, Thucydides and Xenophon for books XI–XV.87 Citing as evidence Diodorus’ descriptions of battles in the style of a rhetorical exercise (‘Stilübung eines Rhetors’), his long praises (‘Lobreden’), the juxtaposition of ideas and of the characters who embody them (‘Haschen nach Gegensätzen’) and his adoption of Isocratean expressions and concepts (‘isokrateische Redensarten und Gedanken’), Volquardsen suggests that Diodorus made use of a source inspired by a rhetorical notion of historical writing,88 and that this source should be chosen from among two, Ephorus and Theopompus, since ‘because of Isocrates, history was made a servant of rhetoric by his students Ephorus and Theopompus’.89 He then points out the correspondences between Diodorus’ text and Ephorus’ fragments, presents arguments against Diodorus’ use of Theopompus, and finally identifies Ephorus as Diodorus’ only possible source: It is thus permitted to conclude that all the Greek accounts in Diodorus are taken from Ephorus.90

The rigorous construction of the whole argument displays its own limitations. Volquardsen directs his attention to Ephorus and Theopompus by observing Diodorus’ inclination for praising and a rhetorical register in books XI–XV, and by noticing correspondences in form and content between Isocrates’ speeches and Diodorus’ text. By so doing, Volquardsen takes for granted that Isocrates was the initiator of ‘rhetorical historiography’, that both Ephorus and Theopompus adopted this ‘genre’ and also that, as Isocrates’ pupils, they advocated their teacher’s ideas. All these assumptions are unproven. Moreover, Volquardsen attempts to demonstrate that Ephorus was the only source for Diodorus’ books XI–XV by exclusion, i.e., by demonstrating that no other author but Ephorus could have been Diodorus’ source. There are at least three problems with this argument. 86 89 90

Volquardsen 1868, 26–8. 87 Volquardsen 1868, 28–47. 88 Volquardsen 1868, 47-51. Volquardsen 1868, 49: ‘Denn g[e]rade von Isokrates wurde ja durch seine Schüler Ephoros und Theopomp die Geschichte zur Dienerin der Rhetorik gemacht’ (my own translation). Volquardsen 1868, 51–66 and 67–71, with the conclusive remark: ‘(. . .) so ist es wohl erlaubt, mit der Behauptung zu schliessen, dass alle griechischen Geschichten Diodors aus Ephoros entnommen sind’ (my own translation).

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First, Volquardsen focuses his investigation on retrieving only one source (‘Einquelle’) based on the assumption that in books XI–XV, Diodorus was unable to elaborate an original, homogenous narrative that would draw on different readings and authors. In other words, Volquardsen assumes what needs to be proven. Second, he excludes Timaeus from Diodorus’ possible sources when in fact, Diodorus used Timaeus as a source for Siceliot history and might also have derived from him information on Greek history as well. Third, he excludes other sources such as Anaximenes, Duris or Callisthenes on account of the ‘Isocratean characteristics’ of parts of Diodorus’ narrative – Anaximenes, Duris and Callisthenes were not disciples of Isocrates, of course – and the seeming absence of any trace of them from it. In this respect, one may object that the number of fragments we have of these historians is too limited to allow firm conclusions,91 and also that what Volquardsen describes as ‘Isocratean expressions and concepts’ (‘isokrateische Redensarten und Gedanken’) should rather be viewed as loci communes among the intellectuals of the fourth century bc and onwards, well beyond Isocrates and his school.92 These are not the only defects one may detect in Volquardsen’s thesis.93 Obviously, Volquardsen was right to emphasize, as did Cauer before him, that Ephorus is often quoted by Diodorus, and also that Ephorus’ fragments and Diodorus’ text agree in various instances; but his thesis that Ephorus was the only source for Diodorus’ Greek and Eastern history in books XI–XV is far from proven. Let us move on now to examine comparatively Ephorus’ fragments visà-vis Diodorus’ text. Several citations of Ephorus in Diodorus’ text offer evidence of the way Diodorus worked with the information provided by his predecessor. The beginning of F 70 (Diod. 14.11.1) reads: While these things were being done, Pharnabazus, the satrap of King Darius, wishing to gratify the Lacedaemonians, captured Alcibiades the Athenian and put him to death. But since Ephorus has written that he was plotted against for other reasons, I think it will not be without use to 91 92

93

See FGrHist 72, 76 and 124 respectively. See especially Pavan 1961, 24 ff., who rightly argues against Volquardsen’s and Barber’s (1935, 183) suggested links between Isocrates and Diodorus through the mediation of Ephorus. Further suggestions by Barber 1935, 184, on links between Isocrates and Diodorus through the mediation of Ephorus, prove to be implausible: see Parmeggiani 2011, 366 with nn. 91 and 92. For a detailed review of Volquardsen’s argument and its problems, see Parmeggiani 2011, 362–73. I will limit myself to one more example. As both Kunz (1935, 33–6) and Reid (1969, 47–9) have already shown, expressions of praise and blame such as those we read in Diodorus’ books XI–XV are found in other parts of the Historical Library, for which Diodorus did not rely on Ephorus (Diod. 17.38 ff.; 18.28; 19.90–91 and 93; 21.16; 23.15; 24.5; 29.18; 29.19; 32.27.3).

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Questions and Answers compare the plot against Alcibiades as handed down from this historian. [οὐκ ἄχρηστον εἶναι νομίζω παραθεῖναι τὴν παραδοθεῖσαν ὑπὸ τοῦ συγγραφέως ἐπιβουλὴν κατ’ Ἀλκιβιάδου.]94

Let us suppose that Diodorus found both explanations of Alcibiades’ death in Ephorus’ text, and therefore that Ephorus himself, as a source for Diodorus, juxtaposed the commonly accepted narrative of Alcibiades’ death and another version that he thought to be more trustworthy.95 Why would Diodorus present Ephorus’ alternative version as an addition of his own initiative (οὐκ ἄχρηστον εἶναι νομίζω παραθεῖναι)? Such a statement – which seems rather idiosyncratic for a mere epitomator, as Diodorus is often presumed to be – would appear more logical if we accepted that Diodorus knew what other sources, different from Ephorus, had told of Alcibiades’ death not through the reading of Ephorus, but through that of other authors. In fact, if Diodorus used Ephorus as his only source on Alcibiades’ death, why would Diodorus rank the two narratives on this event, placing first the version that Ephorus rejected or attributed to others, and second, as an added version, the one that Ephorus clearly favoured? It is clear that Diodorus acknowledges Ephorus’ importance and, for this reason, elects to mention his version (‘But since Ephorus has written that he was plotted against for other reasons, I think it will not be without use to compare . . . ’), but he is also well aware, on account of the information he has drawn from sources other than Ephorus, that Ephorus’ explanation of Alcibiades’ end is not ordinary at all, but rather very distinct. Our analysis of F 70 may shed light also on the following Ephoran citation in F 214 (Diod. 15.60.5): [Amyntas and Agesipolis died in the same year.] As third, Jason of Pherae, who had been chosen leader of Thessaly and had a reputation for ruling his subjects moderately, was assassinated, as Ephorus has recorded [ὡς μὲν Ἔφορος γέγραφεν], by some seven youths who had made a compact so as to win renown or, as some record [ὡς δ’ ἔνιοι γράφουσιν], by his brother Polydorus.96

According to Cauer, Diodorus derived the contrast between Ephorus’ version of events and the version attributed to ‘some’ (ἔνιοι) from Ephorus himself.97 This is indeed possible, but the opposition of μέν and 94 95 96

Diod. 14.11.1 (F 70). This is the view of Cauer 1847, 39 and 47, and Jacoby 1926b, 57, on F 70. Diod. 14.11.1 was a critical point already for nineteenth-century exegetes (see, for example, Enmann 1880, 86–7). Diod. 15.60.5 (F 214). 97 Cauer 1847, 47.

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δέ in the context of the repeated use of the verb γράφω (ὡς μὲν Ἔφορος γέγραφεν, . . . ὡς δ’ ἔνιοι γράφουσιν) suggests as the most obvious conclusion that Diodorus had knowledge of versions different from the one he found in Ephorus, and decided to set them up in opposition on his own initiative.98 F 196 offers another example of the way Diodorus uses Ephorus. After presenting the causes of the Peloponnesian War (12.38.1–40.6), Diodorus adds: The causes of the Peloponnesian War, then, were some such as these [τοιαῦταί τινες], as Ephorus described them.99

By using τινες, Diodorus makes clear that his text on the causes of the war is not a perfect reproduction of Ephorus’ original narrative. Once again, this is not a note that we would normally expect from an epitomator, again because it reveals an approach to Ephorus’ text which is not that of a mere transcription – clearly Diodorus did not quote his sources in the same way today’s scholars cite books and scholarly articles. It is more relevant, however, that we consider the differences between Diodorus’ and Ephorus’ accounts of the causes of the Peloponnesian War, particularly Diodorus’ abbreviated narrative in comparison with that of his predecessor. The common opinion of scholars is that Diodorus limited the amount of information on Pericles’ personal life by forgoing, in particular, Aristophanes’ verses in the Acharnians and by omitting the facts related to Aspasia.100 We can certainly not exclude from the start that Ephorus cited Aristophanes’ lines from the Acharnians more extensively than Diodorus, nor can we rule out that, differently from Diodorus, Ephorus wrote about Aspasia. But a close examination of F 196 highlights other, more important abridgments in Diodorus, which shed light on his intertextual relationship with Ephorus. Diodorus appears to have shortened Ephorus’ report on two particular sets of events, namely Pericles’ investments of the League’s treasure from 460 to 431 bc and the increasing tension between Sparta and Athens during the same period.101 Diodorus’ intervention concerns Ephorus’ reference to circumstances which are either removed from 98

It is hardly proven that the expression ἔνιοι (‘some’) refers only to the chronographer Apollodorus, as Schwartz (1903b, 680) has suggested; or that the opposition between Ephorus and ἔνιοι was already present in Apollodorus and Diodorus only transcribed it, as Volquardsen (1868, 52) has proposed. One should not resort to the chronographer as a tool to untangle matters. 99 Diod. 12.41.1 (F 196). 100 See, for example, Holzapfel 1879, 67 ff.; Meyer 1892–1899, II, 326 ff.; Jacoby 1926b, 93–95, on F 196; Barber 1935, 106–13; and Connor 1961, 1–81. 101 Cf. Diod. 12.38.2–3 (with schol. Aristoph. Nub. 859 [Ephor. F 193]) and 12.39.4.

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Pericles’ personal life experiences, such as international Greek politics, or relatively close to them, such as his use of the Delian League’s funds to support his political agenda on the arts and the war – a circumstance, as Plutarch reminds us in the Life of Pericles 12, that strained relationships between Pericles and his political adversaries in Athens, and between Athens and its allied cities. In other words, Diodorus carefully selected the information his predecessor made available. He embraced the Herodotean facies of Ephorus’ causation, enthralled with his insistence on the role that the individual will of main statesmen plays in causing wars, and intentionally emphasized those elements of the original account that appeared as an alternative to Thucydides, whose narrative of the origins of the Peloponnesian conflict he must also have read.102 Three preliminary conclusions can be drawn from the three Diodoran citations of Ephorus that we have examined so far: first, Diodorus’ modus operandi is far from that of a traditional epitomator or a writer accustomed to following blindly the directions of one source only; second, he does not feel compelled to repeat Ephorus’ information in its entirety; and third, he is familiar with other writers of fifth- and fourth-century Greek history in addition to Ephorus. Several differences emerge between Diodorus and Ephorus also when we carefully consider some passages of the Historical Library lacking any explicit mention of Ephorus against selected Ephoran fragments, which provide similar information on the same events but have been transmitted by testimonies other than Diodorus. I will mention two instances. The similarities between Diod. 14.98.2 and F 76 (Steph. Byz. Ω 23 Billerbeck, s.v. Ὠτιεῖς),103 and between Diod. 11.54.4 and F 189 (Plut. Mor. 855f),104 are so striking that we could think that Diodorus on both occasions followed 102

103

104

Hdt. 5.28 ff., on the origins of the Ionic revolt, offers a good point of comparison: Aristagoras’ personal responsibility fits well into the broader process of the growing rivalry between Athens and Persia. See Parmeggiani 2011, 354 and 429. Steph. Byz. Ω 23 Billerbeck, s.v. Ὠτιεῖς (F 76): μοῖρα Κυπρίων. Ἔφορος ιθ· ‘Ἀμαθούσιοι δὲ καὶ Σόλιοι καὶ Ὠτιεῖς ἀντέχοντες ἔτι τῷ πολέμῳ’. See Diod. 14.98.2: τῶν δὲ πόλεων ἃς μὲν βίᾳ χειρωσάμενος, ἃς δὲ πειθοῖ προσλαβόμενος (sc. Evagoras), τῶν μὲν ἄλλων πόλεων ταχὺ τὴν ἡγεμονίαν παρέλαβεν, Ἀμαθούσιοι δὲ καὶ Σόλιοι καὶ Κιτιεῖς (Ὠτιεῖς Moersius) ἀντέχοντες τῷ πολέμῳ πρέσβεις ἀπέστειλαν πρὸς Ἀρταξέρξην τὸν τῶν Περσῶν βασιλέα περὶ βοηθείας. Reid (1974, particularly 123–33) suggests that we correct Stephanus’ Ὠτιεῖς to Diodorus’ Κιτιεῖς, since Ὠτιεῖς is an unknown ethnikon. But see Parker 2011, ad loc. Plut. Mor. 855f (F 189): περὶ Θεμιστοκλέους Ἔφορος μὲν εἰπών, ὅτι τὴν Παυσανίου προδοσίαν ἔγνω καὶ τὰ πρασσόμενα πρὸς τοὺς βασιλέως στρατηγούς, ‘ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἐπείσθη’, φησίν, ‘οὐδὲ προσεδέξατο κοινουμένου καὶ παρακαλοῦντος αὐτὸν ἐπὶ τὰς ἐλπίδας’. See Diod. 11.54.4: (. . .) Παυσανίας μὲν κρίνας προδιδόναι τοὺς Ἕλληνας ἐδήλωσε τὴν ἰδίαν ἐπιβολὴν Θεμιστοκλεῖ καὶ παρεκάλεσε κοινωνεῖν τῆς προθέσεως. ὁ δὲ Θεμιστοκλῆς οὔτε προσεδέξατο τὴν ἔντευξιν οὔτε διαβάλλειν ἔκρινε δεῖν ἄνδρα φίλον.

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Ephorus almost verbatim. However, a careful observation of the two fragments reveals the presence of some elements which do not appear in Diodorus, such as ἔτι in F 76 – a small but eloquent sign of the greater complexity of Ephorus’ account105 – and, more importantly, ἐλπίδας in F 189. From the latter term, we infer the deep disillusionment of the Ephoran Themistocles at Pausanias’ mad ambition, a state of mind that we cannot evince from the Diodoran chapters on Themistocles.106 The difference between Ephorus’ and Diodorus’ historiography is both quantitative (that is, related to the amount of information they report) and qualitative (that is, related to the way they represent, interpret and ultimately value historical facts).107 To explore further how Diodorus and Ephorus diverge in assessing the historical relevance of the events they describe, we shall now compare Diodorus’ praise of Epaminondas in Diod. 15.88.1–4 and Ephorus’ observations in F 119 (Strab. 9.2.2). Diod. 15.88.1–4 reads: Since we are accustomed at the deaths of good men to add individual praise, in no way do we think it fitting to pass by the death of so great a man without mention. For it seems to me that he exceeded the men of his time not only in military intelligence and experience but also in moderation and nobility of spirit. There were distinguished men in his lifetime, Pelopidas the Theban, Timotheus, and Conon, in addition the Athenians Chabrias and Iphicrates, and also Agesilaus the Spartiate, who was a little earlier in time. In the times before this, that is during the Persian Wars and before, there was Solon, Themistocles, Miltiades, also Cimon, Myronides, and Pericles, and some others among the Athenians, while in Sicily there was Gelon the son of Deinomenes and some others. But even so, if one were to compare the virtues of these with the generalship and reputation of Epaminondas, one would discover that Epaminondas’ virtue far exceeded these others. For you would find in each of the others one superior quality in their renown, but with Epaminondas all the virtues were gathered together. For in bodily strength and force of eloquence, in the splendour of his soul, his disdain for money, and his mildness, and – greatest of all – in his bravery and military intelligence, he far exceeded all. That is why when he was alive his city acquired rule over Hellas, but when he died, they lost it and experienced a change for the worse; and in the end because of their leaders’ folly, they experienced slavery and ruin. Epaminondas, then, whose virtue was celebrated by all, met his end in this manner.

105 106 107

See Reid 1974. Contra Stylianou 1998, 133. Cf. Plut. Them. 23.2–3, which seems to be closer to Ephorus than does Diodorus. See Parmeggiani 2011, 376 ff., and 2014c, 793–5, for details.

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Questions and Answers Strab. 9.2.2 (F 119) reads: Ephorus says that Boeotia is superior to the lands of the neighbouring peoples in this [i.e., fertility], and also because it alone has three seas and abounds with good harbours. Via the Crisaean and Corinthian gulfs it receives goods from Italy, Sicily, and Africa. The coast towards Euboea branches off on either side at the Euripos, one side towards Aulis and the territory of Tanagra, and the other towards Salganeus and Anthedon. The former sea is unbroken in the direction of Egypt, Cyprus, and the islands, while the latter is unbroken towards Macedonia, the Propontis, and the Hellespont. He adds that the Euripos has made Euboea a part of Boeotia in a way, it being so narrow and connected by a bridge to Euboea only two plethra long. For these reasons, then, he praises the land and says that it is well suited to hegemony, but that the Boeotians – and also those who ruled Boeotia on any occasion – did not make use of training and education, and so even if they were at some time or other successful, it lasted only a short time. This is what Epaminondas demonstrated: for when he died the Thebans immediately lost their hegemony, having only tasted it; and that the reason for this was their neglect of speech and relations with mankind, and their concern only for excellence in war.

Diodorus does not ignore the perspective we find in F 119 when he remembers that, after Epaminondas’ death, Boeotia permanently lost its primacy over Greece on account of the foolishness of its rulers, and Thebes collapsed. It is interesting to note, however, that the comment on Epaminondas and the inadequacy of the Theban leaders is central to Ephorus’ observation, whereas it is somewhat marginal in Diodorus, who clearly cares, most of all, for the exposition of Epaminondas’ exemplary virtues (15.88.1–3). Moreover, in Diod. 15.88.4 such Ephoran expressions as τὸ λόγων καὶ ὁμιλίας τῆς πρὸς ἀνθρώπους ὀλιγωρῆσαι (‘neglect of speech and relations with mankind’) are not found. While Diodorus moves from the praise of Epaminondas to the theme of Boeotian hegemony, Ephorus presents the concept of hegemony as the cornerstone of his argument, highlighting, on the one hand, Epaminondas’ great political and cultural acumen and, on the other hand and by contrast, the political ineptitude of the Theban leadership. Ephorus’ approach may remind us of Thucydides’ praise for Pericles in 2.65, where he too juxtaposes Pericles’ political shrewdness and the foolishness of the leaders who came after him. Obviously, one may object that F 119 and Diod. 15.88.1–4 should not be compared, since the former comments on Boeotia’s suitability for dominance over the seas, while the latter concerns quite a different topic, namely Epaminondas’ death at Mantinea in 362 bc; and, one may add,

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nothing prevents us from thinking that Ephorus himself, after describing Epaminondas’ death, praised him in a similar way to Diodorus. However, we have no testimony regarding what Ephorus specifically wrote after describing Epaminondas’ death, whereas we know that in no part of his work does Diodorus talk about Epaminondas and Thebes in a way matching the depth of Ephorus’ insight in F 119. This fragment ultimately attests to the indisputable difference between the two historians: Ephorus placed consideration of political facts at the centre of his historiography while Diodorus concentrates on the individual and his virtues, for he intends to present models of exemplary behaviour. Even if Ephorus included, at some point in his Histories, a praise of Epaminondas similar to Diodorus’, we should presume that the ancient reader most likely got a very different (comprehensive) idea of Ephorus’ work from that of the modern reader of Diodorus: political factuality was crucial in Ephorus’ historiography; it is not in Diodorus’. Diodorus and Ephorus also differ in orientation and interests in their historical writing, as the following example will illustrate. The proem of book IV of the Historical Library, from which Jacoby derived T 8, reads: I am not unaware that those who have compiled ancient mythical accounts are in many ways at a disadvantage in their writing. The antiquity of the events makes them difficult to discover and this often leaves writers at a loss; nor does the attempt to establish dates lend itself to any kind of accurate proof, and this makes readers look down on such a history. In addition, the variety and the multitude of those heroes, demi-gods, and the rest whose lineage we are trying to establish makes the narration of them difficult to comprehend. The most problematic and strangest thing of all is that those writers who have compiled the most ancient deeds and mythical accounts do not agree with one another. That is why those historians of the first rank have kept away from ancient mythical material because of its difficulty, and have attempted instead to compose accounts of more recent events. Ephorus of Cyme, a student of Isocrates, who undertook to write up world events passed over ancient mythical stories and made the beginning of his history the Return of the Heraclidae, writing up events from that time onwards. Similarly, Callisthenes [FGrHist 124 T 24] and Theopompus [FGrHist 115 T 12], who were Ephorus’ contemporaries, kept away from ancient myths. But we hold the opposite opinion to these men, and we have undergone a great deal of effort in our composition of this, and have taken every care over ancient accounts. For the greatest and most numerous deeds have been accomplished by heroes, demi-gods and many other good men, and on account of the benefits they brought to all alike, later generations have honoured them with sacrifices, some receiving

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After stressing Ephorus’ choice to start his Histories with the Return of the Heraclidae, Diodorus explains why, differently from Ephorus, he intends to pay full attention to the ‘ancient mythical stories’ (palaiai mythologiai), by presenting them in an organized, complete and consistent way: mythology – says Diodorus – offers examples of moral behaviors; thus its account must be complete and sustained to be useful to the reader. Such reasons for a narrative choice that Diodorus openly contrasts with Ephorus’, may suggest that Ephorus did not intend to create a history of exemplary figures and events as Diodorus did, for otherwise he would not have resorted to a partial and discontinuous account of palaiai mythologiai. In fact, if the context of T 8 has any significance for reconstructing Ephorus’ view, one may conclude from Diodorus’ previous references to the difficulties of inquiry into the distant past that Ephorus was more concerned with the degree of approximation to the truth and the accuracy and integrity of the events he narrated – a preoccupation that can be clearly observed in the methodological statement of F 9 – rather than with the paradigmatic or moral value that could be assigned to these events. Beginning the Histories with the Return of the Heraclidae – Ephorus’ choice, according to T 8 – had a political significance at the time of Philip II and Alexander, which was also Ephorus’ time.109 Such a beginning was more significant for a political historian than a historian – such as Diodorus – who reads the past as a repository of exemplary personalities and events. All this makes clear that Ephorus’ historical perspective was sensitive to contemporary politics and should, as such, be kept profoundly distinct from Diodorus’. A fourth conclusion therefore follows from our analysis: the orientation and aims of Ephorus’ historiography were not equivalent to those of Diodorus’ writing. Diodoran moralism, for example, as a characteristic of Diodorus’ historiography, cannot be automatically attributed to Ephorus’. In short, Diodorus and Ephorus should be viewed as distinct authors, each characterized by particular formal features and specific aims.110 108 109 110

Diod. 4.1.1–4. Jacoby’s selection for T 8 is highlighted. See now Luraghi 2014, and also below, Chapters 3 and 4. That Ephorus is the only historian whom Diodorus cites in books XI–XV for specific information regarding Greek history is not to be seen as evidence of strict affinity between the two. Rather, it seems to be a consequence of Polybius’ authoritative imprimatur that made Ephorus the founder of ‘universal historiography’ as a genre (5.33.2 = T 7). By citing only Ephorus in books XI–XV, Diodorus recognizes the superiority and prestige of Ephorus as the author of koinai praxeis for the

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We can now draw a general conclusion. Diodorus’ Historical Library should not be regarded as a codex in a hypothetical stemma codicum having Ephorus’ lost Histories as its archetype. Nor is Diodorus’ Historical Library an epitome of Ephorus’ original text. The philological monstrum named Diodorus/Ephorus has long helped to address questions regarding the textual tradition as if they were not so difficult or entangled. In fact, it is a dangerously tempting chimera, which we must keep at bay. Diodorus’ Historical Library certainly included Ephorus as a preeminent source, but we have demonstrated that Diodorus’ personal knowledge of historiographical works was richer than scholars like Cauer and Volquardsen have claimed, and also that Diodorus did not necessarily share Ephorus’ historiographical view and historiographical aims. For this reason, the contents of Ephorus’ Histories should not be automatically derived from Diodorus: in order to determine what Ephorus wrote, Ephorus’ fragments must be explored first. This is not to say that Diodorus’ narrative should be completely disregarded. Like the narrative of other authors who quote Ephorus, like Plutarch, or of those authors who, in light of Ephorus’ fragments, appear to have been aware of what Ephorus reported, like Nepos and Trogus in Justin’s epitome, Diodorus’ narrative may be a point of reference from which we may guess at a direction Ephorus possibly followed in his narrative. The only precondition is that such direction is strictly compatible, if not in perfect agreement with, what can be argued, by analysis of the fragments, to have been Ephorus’ original view.

5. Absolute or Relative Judgements on Ephorus? The Importance of Reading Fragments in Their Context The reader of Ephorus’ fragments may be impressed by a series of general evaluations of both Ephorus as a historian and his Histories, which have been collected by Jacoby among the testimonia and, at first sight, seem period he also describes (fifth/fourth century bc), and reaffirms – and reminds his reader as well – that he belongs in the noble tradition of universal historiography. Cf. Parmeggiani 2014c, 800 ff. Note that a similar consideration may help to explain the references to Timaeus and Ephorus in Diod. 13.54.5 (F 201), 60.5 (F 202), 80.5 (F 203), and 14.54.4–6 (F 204). In these instances, Diodorus seems less interested in providing information about a ‘primary’ and a ‘secondary’ source than demonstrating to the reader his extensive familiarity with the authors, whom he believes to be most important for the history of the times he discusses, Ephorus the universal historian and Timaeus the historian of Sicily. Diodorus, who is both a universal historian and a historian of Sicily, presents himself as the successor of both Ephorus and Timaeus, but second to neither for the information he writes about.

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contradictory: from Polybius, who counts Ephorus among the ‘most authoritative writers of the past’ (T 13), to Seneca, who blames Ephorus because he ‘often is deceived, and more often deceives’ (T 14b); from Strabo, who notices Ephorus’ ‘inconsistency in writing and pronouncements’ (T 15), or from Diodorus, who caustically blames him for his neglect of truth and exactness (T 16), to Flavius Josephus, who counts him among those who were reckoned to be ‘the most exact historians’ (T 14a). Every ancient reader had his own idea on Ephorus, and this is nothing exceptional, but how should we understand such radical judgements? Are they absolute, or are they to be related to specific issues? The best thing to do, first, is to look at the fragments which preserve these judgements in their proper context. Let us start from Strabo’s observation in 10.3.3 (T 15): (. . .) his inconsistency in his writing and assertions (. . .) [τὴν δ’ ἀνομολογίαν τῆς γραφῆς καὶ τῆς ἀποφάσεως].

The annotation of the ‘inconsistency in writing and assertions’ does not refer to Ephorus in general, but rather, it concerns Ephorus’ discussion of two specific topics, Delphic antiquity (cf. F 31b) and Aetolian antiquity (cf. F 122a–b), as the immediate context makes clear: But here, too [i.e., speaking about the Aetolians], Ephorus clearly displays the same inconsistency in writing and assertions as in the case of the oracle at Delphi, which I have already set forth.111

If we read further, we see Strabo’s subsequent attempt to mitigate his evaluation, when, in defending his own writing, he invokes Polybius and comments: Although Ephorus is such, he is nevertheless better than the others. And Polybius himself [34.1.3] praises him so zealously and about Greek affairs says, Eudoxus [fr. 328 Lasserre] explained foundations, lines of kinship, migrations, and founders well and Ephorus [FGrHist 70 T 18a] very well, ‘but we’, he says, ‘will reveal things as they are now, both about the position of cities and the distances between them, since this is the particular task of chorography’. But you, Polybius, (. . .) you also must render account to Posidonius [FGrHist 87 T 16], to Artemidorus, and to many others. And one must pardon us as well and not be annoyed if we err when we borrow much of our history from such men as these; one should instead be satisfied if our

111

Strab. 10.3.3. This passage appears in F 122a, in petite font. Jacoby’s selection for T 15 is highlighted. Cf. Strab. 9.3.11–12 (F 31b + F 122b).

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account is better than others’ in the majority of cases or if we add things which have been omitted through ignorance.112

From the broader context, therefore, we understand something more than the relativeness of Strabo’s judgement in T 15: first, Strabo’s general opinion of Ephorus is still highly positive; second, he acknowledges that he is making abundant use of particular sources – Ephorus among them;113 and third, Polybius, in a lost passage of his work, contrasted Ephorus’ remarkable inquiry on the past – a clear reference to the historical geography of book IV of the Histories – with his own chorography, which focused on the present and excluded the narration of the past. Let us consider now Seneca’s judgement on Ephorus in Naturales Quaestiones 7.16.2 (T 14b) in its broader context: I have refuted the arguments and now I must refute the witnesses. One does not need a lot of effort to destroy Ephorus’ credibility: he is an historian. Some historians receive praise because they tell of unbelievable things, and by using the marvellous they stimulate a reader who would go do something else if he were merely being led through every-day incidents. Some historians are credulous, some negligent; falsehood creeps up on some of them unawares, while others delight in it; the former cannot avoid it, the latter seek it out. What the whole tribe have in common is that they think that their work will not be approved or popular unless it is sprinkled with lies. Truly Ephorus is not a man of the most scrupulous trustworthiness: he is often deceived, he more often deceives [Ephorus uero non est religiosissimae fidei: saepe decipitur, saepius decipit]. Take the comet which was observed by the eyes of all mortals and which brought with it an event of enormous importance, since when it rose it sank Helice and Buris [373/2 bc]. Ephorus [FGrHist 70 F 212] says that this comet split into two planets, something which no one besides him records [sicut hunc cometen, qui omnium mortalium oculis custoditus est, quia ingentis rei traxit euentum, cum Helicen et Buram ortu suo merserit, ait illum discessisse in duas stellas; quod praeter illum nemo tradidit]. Who could observe the moment when a comet broke up and was reduced to two parts? And if there is anyone who saw a comet split in two, how is it that no one ever saw a comet formed from two? And why did he not name the planets into which the comet split, since they would have to be two of the five planets?114

112 113 114

Strab. 10.3.5. Jacoby’s selection for T 18a is highlighted. Cf. Strab. 9.3.11 (F 31b): Ἔφορος δ’, ᾧ τὸ πλεῖστον προσχρώμεθα διὰ τὴν περὶ ταῦτα ἐπιμέλειαν, καθάπερ καὶ Πολύβιος μαρτυρῶν τυγχάνει(. . .). Sen. QNat. 7.16.1–3, 300 Hine (in the text, saepius [Z]; but see Jacoby 1926a, 39 and 105 saepe [θPU]). Jacoby’s selection for T 14b is highlighted. For a balanced analysis of Seneca’s passage, see now Williams 2012, 284 ff.

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Seneca challenges the value of Ephorus as a witness for celestial phenomena. His thesis is: Ephorus is a historian, therefore he is unreliable.115 It is worth noting that Seneca seems to believe the Ephoran information of the split of a comet in 373/2 bc lacking in credibility also because he cannot find further evidence in the literary tradition (quod praeter illum nemo tradidit); in other words, Seneca implies that the originality of Ephorus’ information should itself speak against Ephorus’ reliability. Also worthy of note is that Ephorus’ information is not unbelievable in modern astronomy.116 Some observations may be drawn. First, Seneca’s judgement in T 14b is not the objective, detached sentence of an ancient exegete of Ephorus’ Histories, as T 14b, read out of context, would suggest.117 Second, T 14b documents a personal impression (that of Seneca): be it correct or not, such personal impressions do not reveal an objective characteristic of Ephorus’ entire work. Third, the broader reasoning of Seneca suggests that his particular judgement on Ephorus was affected not only by prejudice against historians in general, but also, in particular, by previous discussions about Ephorus’ reliability. These – as we shall see now – were largely dependent on the way this historian positioned himself in relation to his readers. Expressions such as religiosissimae fidei, decipitur, decipit suggest that Seneca is reacting, as a reader and a critic, to the doxa of Ephorus as an accurate historian. Now, the context of Diodorus’ judgement on Ephorus in 1.39.13 (T 16) also shows that it was Ephorus himself who insisted on the idea of truth and on his method, and by so doing, aroused controversies over his reliability, encouraging highly polarized responses to the content of his writings and the style he employed to debate: Because there is great uncertainty concerning the flooding of this river [sc. the Nile], many philosophers and historians have tried to give the causes of it. (. . .). Hellanicus [FGrHist 4 F 173], Cadmus [FGrHist 489 F 1], and Hecataeus [FGrHist 1 F 302a], and all those who lived long ago, inclined towards mythical explanations. Herodotus [2.20 ff.] (. . .) did try to give a rational account of these matters, but one can easily see that he followed contradictory suppositions. Xenophon and Thucydides, who are praised for the truthfulness of their histories, kept off completely from writing about 115

116 117

This is not the only time Seneca attacks historians, see also QNat. 3 praef. 5 ff.; 4b.3.1. See Williams 2012, 285, and on Seneca’s hostility to historiography, see also Master 2015. Peter (1911, 429) recalls Seneca’s critique of Ephorus as indicative of the decadence of ancient historiography because of rhetoric. See Williams 2012, 285 with n. 101. Note that Marx (1815, 67) and Klügmann (1860, 23) had already expressed their reservations about Seneca’s critique.

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the lands of Egypt. Ephorus [FGrHist 70 F 65e] and Theopompus [FGrHist 115 F 293], who were especially dedicated to this topic, have least hit upon the truth. And all of these writers failed not because of carelessness but because of the peculiarity of the land. (. . .) Ephorus tries to write a persuasive account by offering the strangest explanation, but one is aware that he has in no way hit upon the truth. He says that all of Egypt is made up of alluvial and porous soil, and further that it is like pumice stone, and that it has large and continuous fissures, and through these the land takes an abundance of moisture into its soil. In the winter the soil holds the water within itself, but in summer the water rises up, as if sweat were rising out of the land from everywhere, and it is for this reason that the river increases. But it is clear to us that this historian not only has not observed the nature of the land of Egypt but has not even carefully enquired of those who know this country. To begin with, if in fact the Nile took its increase from the land itself, it would not then flood in its upper course, since there it flows through rocky and solid land. (. . .) Then again, if the stream of the Nile were lower than the fissures of the alluvial soil, then the cracks would be on the surface and could not contain so great a quantity of water. If, on the other hand, the river were higher than the fissures, it would be impossible for the flow of water to occur from the lower hollows to a higher surface. In sum, who would think it possible that sweatings from fissures in the earth could cause such an increase in the river as to inundate nearly all of Egypt? For I pass over the falsehood about the alluvial soil and the waters that are preserved in the porous parts, since these are manifestly refuted. Indeed, the Maeander river has made much of the land in Asia alluvial, and yet not a one of the phenomena said to attend the flooding of the Nile is to be observed there. Similarly, the river called Achelous in Acarnania and the Cephisus river in Boeotia, which has its source in Phocis, have both carried much alluvial soil, and in the case of both rivers the historian’s falsehood is manifestly refuted. But one would not in every case look for accuracy in Ephorus, seeing that he in many instances has been negligent about the truth. [ἀλλὰ γὰρ οὐκ ἄν τις παρ’ Ἐφόρῳ ζητήσειεν ἐκ παντὸς τρόπου τἀκριβές, ὁρῶν αὐτὸν ἐν πολλοῖς ὠλιγωρηκότα τῆς ἀληθείας.]118

Before his concluding outburst – the testimony generalizes (ἐν πολλοῖς), but it is unclear whether his reaction concerns other matters than Ephorus’ theory on the nature of Egyptian soil – Diodorus insists on the processes of information retrieval: ‘This historian [sc. Ephorus] . . . has not even carefully enquired of those who know this country’ (ὁ δὲ συγγραφεὺς . . . μηδὲ παρὰ τῶν εἰδότων τὰ κατὰ τὴν χώραν ταύτην ἐπιμελῶς πεπυσμένος). 118

Diod. 1.37.1–39.13. Jacoby’s selection for T 16 is highlighted. Note Jacoby 1926a, 39, referring to Strabo in F 42 (Strab. 7.3.9: . . . ταῦτα δὲ λέγω, σαφῶς μὲν εἰδὼς ὅτι καὶ οὗτος αὐτὸς οὔτε ἀληθέστατα λέγει περὶ πάντων, . . .) and Seneca in F 212 (above). We should also recall Vossius 1699 (1624), 66a, on Ephorus’ fides.

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Diodorus’ reprimand of Ephorus’ inaccuracy seems to respond to previously expressed observations regarding the historian’s choice of information channels, and the need for greater care and accuracy in the recovery of and reflection on available data. That Ephorus had made clear statements in this regard, and that others had been persuaded by the logic of his arguments and thus trusted the information he had made use of, is shown by Aelius Aristides, who, addressing in F 65f the same question examined by Diodorus, states: Let so much, then, be said by us concerning the wisdom and unusual opinion of Ephorus, since he claims that he alone has grasped the truth. [τοσαῦτα δὲ ἡμῖν καὶ πρὸς τὴν Ἐφόρου σοφίαν καὶ γνώμην καινὴν εἰρήσθω, ὅτι καὶ μόνος ἧφθαί φησιν τῆς ἀληθείας.]119

Ephorus presented ‘truth’ (τῆς ἀληθείας/tes aletheias) not as an a priori proposition, but as the result of a heuristic process: his ‘wisdom’ (τὴν σοφίαν/ten sophian), a very ‘unusual opinion’ (γνώμην καινήν/gnomen kainen; cf. καινοτάτην αἰτίαν in Diodorus), was the result of a cognitive and logical process (ἧφθαί/hephthai; cf. πιθανολογεῖν πειρᾶται in Diodorus) that the ancients considered to be original.120 The connection with Diodorus’ controversy in T 16 and F 65e is clear. As in F 65f Aelius Aristides’ polemical energy is triggered by Ephorus’ presumptuous declarations with regard to aletheia, so in T 16, Diodorus’ sulky reaction is not only to Ephorus’ declarations but also to his manners: what made them even more irritating was the consistency with which the historian maintained his carefully reasoned arguments and demonstrations.121 Ephorus’ original claim to truthfulness and resolute precision, with which he would show the mistakes that his predecessors made and supported his reasoning in matters of history and geography, exposed him to appreciation and criticism alike by ancient readers. We read in the broader context of Flavius Josephus’ judgement on Ephorus in Against Apion 1.67 (T 14a): Concerning the Galatians and the Iberians those historians who have the reputation of being most accurate are so completely ignorant – one of them is Ephorus who thinks that the Iberians, who occupy so great a portion of the western portion of the earth, are a single city – that they 119 120 121

Ael. Aristid. Aegypt. 85 (F 65f). In this respect, one should remember Seneca’s annotation on Ephorus’ originality in T 14b, quod praeter illum nemo tradidit: the originality of Ephorus’ thesis prompted the discussion of his reliability. The complexity of Ephorus’ arguments on the flooding of the Nile also emerges in Theon’s notice on Ephorus’ refutationes (F 65a), and Aelius Aristides’ full text (F 65f), which includes the expression παράδειγμα ποιεῖσθαι that we examined above (§ 3).

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dared to describe customs used by them which never existed nor were ever said to exist. The reason they did not know the truth was that the region was not much visited, and the reason they wrote falsehoods was the wish to seem to have made greater inquiries than the others.122

Josephus criticizes Ephorus’ presumed lack of knowledge of Iberia. His emphasis – as the whole context reveals – is not merely on ‘the most accurate historians’ (ἀκριβέστατοι), but also on ‘those who have the reputation’ of being so (δοκοῦντες). Similarly to TT 14b and 16, at the centre of this testimonium is the public acknowledgement (doxa) of Ephorus’ accuracy as a historian. It is this acknowledgement that often directs the commentator to seek a specific target, when several others are also available (ὧν ἐστιν Ἔφορος). In a similar vein, in T 13, the qualification of logiotatos (‘most learned’), that Polybius attributes to Ephorus and, by extension, also to Xenophon, Callisthenes and Plato, introduces Polybius’ attack rather than praise (cf. F 148).123 Each fragment has its own context. As in the case of T 15, so also the judgements on Ephorus we read in TT 13, 14a–b and 16 are not to be taken as they stand, that is, as absolute judgements. If we read these fragments together with their respective contexts, it is possible to disclose new or otherwise hidden meanings. In particular, the contextual reading of TT 13, 14a–b and 16 invites us to consider that, in antiquity, a strong doxa circulated concerning Ephorus’ Histories. Ephorus was not believed to be an erratic and deceptive historian, but rather a truthful and accurate one; this belief was so positive and deeply rooted as to generate polarized responses and debates on Ephorus’ competence and originality.124 Ephorus made his ambitions clear and observed that, differently from other historians, his aletheia was grounded in the accuracy of his research; the value that was openly ascribed to his work – not a dispassionate exegesis – provoked those specific judgements we read today in TT 13, 14a–b and 16.

6. A ‘Cymocentric’ History? Universal historians did not conceal their favour for their own nation, as Polybius’ attitude toward the Arcadians well demonstrates. Still, their pride did not affect the very nature of their historical work – after all, 122 123 124

Joseph. C. Ap. 1.67. Jacoby’s selection for T 14a is highlighted. From the same context Jacoby also derived F 133. Polyb. 6.45.1. Polybius’ critique in T 20 and Caÿstrius’ reaction described by Porphyry in T 17 (see § 3 above) are also a testimony to this.

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they remained universal historians. Ephorus wrote a Syntagma Epichorion, a treatise on his own native land Cyme (see above § 1), and also the Histories. It would be safe to make a distinction between the former (whatever were its aims and character125) and the latter, for they were not one and the same work. Clear evidence about Ephorus’ attitude toward Cyme does not survive in the fragmentary tradition of the Histories, except for a statement by Strabo in F 236, on whose basis it has often been assumed that Ephorus’ Histories were vitiated by an overdriven attention for Cyme.126 The fragment reads in its broader context as follows: Largest and best of the Aeolian cities is Cyme (. . .). Cyme is mocked for its ignorance, because of their reputation for not having harbour tolls until three hundred years after their founding; before this, the people did not reap the benefit of tolls. They had a reputation for perceiving only after a long time that they lived in a city on the sea. There is another story told of them that they once borrowed money for the state by giving their stoas as surety and when they did not pay back the loan on the appointed day, they were forbidden to use their stoas. When there was a storm, their creditors, from some shame or other, made a proclamation ordering them to go under the stoas. When the herald thus said, ‘Go under the stoas’, a story arose that the Cymaeans did not perceive that they should go under the stoas unless it was proclaimed by a herald. One man from this city who is indisputably worth remembering is Ephorus [FGrHist 70 T 2a], one of the pupils of the rhetor Isocrates, who wrote the Histories and a work On Inventions. Still earlier than Ephorus was Hesiod the poet, who said that his father Dius migrated to Boeotia, leaving Aeolian Cyme behind [Erg. 639–640]: ‘And he settled in a wretched village near Helicon, Aschra, bad in winter, unpleasant in summer, favourable never’. As for Homer, there is no agreement that he was from Cyme, since many cities claim him. [It is agreed, however, that] The name of the city comes from an Amazon, just as in the case of Myrina, which takes its name from the Amazon who lies in the Trojan plain below 125 126

See n. 5 above. See, for example, Bayle 17405, 362A; Marx 1815, 10, 92–3; Müller 1841, lviib n. 2; Volquardsen 1868, 59–62; Blass 18922, 429; Busolt 1893–1904, I, 157–8; Wachsmuth 1895, 505; Schwartz 1903b, 679, and 1907, 7; Forderer 1913, 9–10; Jacoby 1926b, 39; Barber 1935, 86 ff.; Stylianou 1998, 50; Parker 2011, on F 236, Biographical Essay II E and III A. In the twentieth century, because it was believed that Ephorus and Diodorus were almost the same, critics paid particular attention to the mentions of Cyme in Diod. XI–XV: see Samuel 1968, who concludes that no mention of Cyme in Diodorus’ narrative is due to biased Lokalpatriotismus; and Breglia 1996b, especially 54–5, for a more balanced appreciation of Strabo’s words in F 236. See also Ragone 2013, 186 ff. It seems to me far-fetched to explain references to Cyme in other fragments with Ephorus’ presumed ‘Cymocentrism’, when it rests on no arguments other than F 236 and/or the fact that Ephorus wrote a Syntagma Epichorion. See, e.g., Parker 2011, passim. Note that, in F 97 (Steph. Byz. Β 116 Billerbeck, s.v. Βοιωτία), ἡμεῖς as referring to the Cymaeans – and not, for example, to the Spartans – cannot be taken for granted.

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Batieia, ‘whom men call Batieia but the immortals the tomb of agile Myrina’ [Hom. Il. 2.813–814]. Ephorus too is mocked because when he was enumerating other actions and had no deeds to speak of with his own country, he was not willing to leave it unremembered, and so writes ‘At this same moment the Cymaeans were at peace’.127

As soon as Ephorus, the illustrious citizen of Cyme and the author of the Histories, is mentioned (T 2a), direct and indirect references to his work come in quick succession to end with a malicious appendix (F 236). Strabo remembers Hesiod, an important referent for Ephorus in the Syntagma Epichorion (FF 1, 100, 101a–b, 102a);128 by subsequently mentioning Homer, he reserves judgement on one of the most important demonstrations of the Syntagma Epichorion, namely the poet’s most likely Cymaean origin (FF 1, 99, 103);129 lastly, he cites Myrina, whose memory was connected with the Amazons, and which he mentions in 12.3.21 drawing on Ephorus’ authority (F 114a). Strabo’s strategy is therefore apparent: in an ironic chapter, where Cyme is remembered for its relatively glorious past (albeit at time uncertain, as the reference to Homer demonstrates) and for its many flaws (Cyme too is derided like Ephorus: σκώπτεται), the geographer mentions Ephorus as ‘universal historian’, the author of the Histories, while evoking but not openly referencing Ephorus as ‘local historian’, the author of the Syntagma Epichorion. Strabo’s subtle way of interacting with Ephorus takes on a peculiar meaning when it is read – as I believe it should be – in light of Polybius’ praise of Ephorus as the first and only writer who really undertook a universal history (T 7), a judgement which Strabo surely knew very well. Strabo implicitly replies to Polybius’ praise by focusing on Ephorus, the universal historian, from a merely local perspective. Like the judgements we have studied in the preceding paragraph, also that of F 236 should not be extracted from its context. F 236, taken as it is, cannot serve as evidence for Ephorus’ limitations as a universal historian; rather, it is testimony to the way Strabo – and others before him – reacted to Ephorus’ reputation. Strabo’s irony seems much fomented by Ephorus’ original claim to have written a universal history (see Chapter 3, § 1.2), and by the public acknowledgement, confirmed by Polybius’ authoritative imprimatur, that his claim was in fact legitimate. 127 128 129

Strab. 13.3.6. Jacoby’s selection for F 236 is highlighted. [Plut.] Vit. Hom. 1.2 (F 1); Gell. 3.11.2 (F 101a); Syncell. 326, 202 Mosshammer (F 101b); Eclog. Histor. Cod. Par. 854 (F 102a). [Plut.] Vit. Hom. 1.2 (F 1); Vit. Hom. Rom. 30, 27 Wilamowitz U. (F 99); Steph. Byz. Β 120 Billerbeck, s.v. Βολισσός (F 103).

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7. Was Ephorus Intellectually Lazy? The Cymaeans were dim bulbs, insinuates Strabo in his ironic chapter on Cyme (context of F 236, see § 6). Ephorus was too, according to many moderns, although for different reasons from his Cymaean origin.130 The issue we address here may seem silly at first glance, but it is not, insofar as the belief in Ephorus’ intellectual laziness has often been – explicitly or implicitly – a reason for ascribing to him an uncritical attitude toward sources and, more generally, scant ability in historical research. Ephorus’ reputation as intellectually lazy became, in modern times, a most convenient tool in the hands of both specialists in Quellenforschung and advocates of the theory of the decadence of Greek historiography after Thucydides. The roots of this less-than-honourable reputation of Ephorus are to be found in ancient evaluations on his style and the (related) conception of him as a writer mostly of non-contemporary history. According to T 28a–b (Suid. ε 3953 Adler, s.v. Ἔφορος Κυμαῖος καὶ Θεόπομπος Δαμασιστράτου Χῖος, and [Zos.] Vit. Isocr. 3.257, 98 Westermann, respectively), Isocrates the master needed the spur (or the whip) for Ephorus because of the simple, lazy and dull nature of his disciple, as opposed to that of the other disciple Theopompus; in accordance with this, Ephorus’ style also was sluggish, lacking in intensity and obviously, as such, opposed to that of Theopompus.131 Notably, in Isocrates’ view, such differences between Ephorus and Theopompus in nature (and in style) made ancient history a suitable topic to the former, contemporary history to the latter (T 3a [Phot. Bibl. 176, 121a, II 175 Henry]: ‘They say too that their teacher proposed their historical subjects to them, to Ephorus events of earlier times, to Theopompus Greek affairs after Thucydides, thereby fitting the task to the nature of each’). Needless to say that the character of both disciples was reconstructed by inference from the differences between the style of each (as for Ephorus, the style he displayed, in particular, in the sections of his Histories about the distant past) and that of Isocrates. In fact, ancient exegetes never met Ephorus and Theopompus personally, but 130 131

It suffices to mention, as an authoritative specimen, Jacoby 1926b, 30, on the Wesen des Mannes. See also Cic. Brut. 204, De Or. 3.35–36, and Ad Att. 6.1.12 (T 28b+); Hortens. fr. 15 Grilli (which Jacoby omitted in the testimonia about Ephorus, but published as Theopomp. FGrHist 115 T 40); Quint. Inst. or. 2.8.11 and 10.1.74 (T 28b+); Dio Chrys. 18.10, II 253.27 von Arnim (T 25); and further texts quoted in n. 28 above. After Polybius’ and Diodorus’ approval (TT 23 and 11, respectively. Cf. Cicero in TT 3b, 3b+, and 29, but see Dionysius of Halicarnassus’ reservations in T 24a–b, and note Ephorus’ absence in Dionysius’ treatise On Imitation), Hermog. Id. 2.12, 412 Rabe (T 26) well attests to the declining appreciation of Ephorus’ style in the imperial age. As for PHerc. 994, coll. 36.25– 37.6 (Radermacher 1951, 196 [XXXIII 6], not collected in Jacoby 1926a), it should not be regarded as a fragment of Ephorus: see Hammerstaedt and Parmeggiani 2010; now Janko 2020, 496–9.

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knew – directly or indirectly, in full or in part – their writings, which they could compare with Isocrates’. Thus especially because of the sections of the Histories about the distant past, which were taken as representative of the whole work, Ephorus’ style was evaluated as sluggish.132 But Theopompus also was recognized to be dull for his style in some parts of his historical work. In the broader context of T 17 (Euseb. PE 10.3.1–12 = Porphyr. fr. 408 Smith), which we already examined above (§ 3), the sophist Nicagoras charges him with transposition of whole passages from Xenophon and observes that Theopompus deprived Xenophon’s description of the meeting of Pharnabazus with Agesilaus (Hell. 4.1.29–39) of movement and effect (ἀργά τε καὶ ἀκίνητα πεποίηκε καὶ ἄπρακτα).133 After that, the sophist Apollonius states: Why are we surprised if this disease of theft attached itself to Ephorus and Theopompus, given that they are so lazy? [ἀργοτέρων οὕτως ἀνδρῶν]134

This passage shows how stylistic sluggishness could easily turn into laziness in historical practice. In other words, an evaluation on the historian’s style in a specific section of his work has been transformed into an evaluation of his personality and historical method, with the consequence that the historian has been judged as one who tended to rely only on written sources and simply copied them in his own writing. This fate was to be suffered especially by Ephorus, who, differently from Theopompus, was regarded mostly as a writer of ancient history, and whose style, different from Theopompus’, was generally regarded as being dull. Ephorus’ stylistic sluggishness and his mental acuity, or his attitude to historical inquiry, are to be kept separate. Or they should be mutually related with a rather different sensibility than that we see displayed by the sophist Apollonius. The analysis of the fragments of the Histories in Chapter 2 will show that Ephorus’ infamous ‘slowness’, which made the reading of the Histories so tedious (TT 25, 28a–b), depended on his dense style, which lingered, particularly in the sections about the distant past, on the detailed development of the argument and the thorough study of all 132

133

At least it was perceived as being more sluggish than that of Isocrates, which represents, in T 28a–b, the ‘ideal’ against which Ephorus’ and Theopompus’ style are each defined. It is worth stressing that, in T 28a–b (cf. also Cicero and Quintilian in T 28b+), Ephorus’ and Theopompus’ style are not defined per se, but per differentiam from Isocrates’. In this regard, the links of T 28a–b with Dion. Hal. Ad Pomp. 6.9–10, II 247.5–21 U-R, on the analogies and differences between Theopompus’ and Isocrates’ style (FGrHist 115 T 20a) are quite significant. See especially Parmeggiani 2016a, 113–14 n. 15. Dionysius of Halicarnassus’ judgement in T 24a–b is also evidence for detecting subtle differences between Isocrates’ and Ephorus’ style: see Parmeggiani 2011, 133 ff. for details. Theopomp. FGrHist 115 F 21. 134 Euseb. PE 10.3.12 (Porphyr. fr. 408 Smith = Ephor. T 17).

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evidence – hardly a defect in research. Similarly, definitions such as ‘he [sc. Ephorus] spoke on his topic (which was large and needed many words) in a few words and in an incomplete way’ (διὰ ὀλίγων . . . καὶ ἐλλειπῶς: T 28b), have to do not so much with Ephorus’ or, more generally, with the Cymaeans’ presumed lack of mental acuity, but with Ephorus’ own theory that non-contemporary events cannot be described in detail because of the distance in time (F 9 [Harp. s.v. ἀρχαίως]) – indeed a very acute principle of research. Also the story of Ephorus/‘Diphorus’ (T 4 [Plut. Mor. 839a]), which, taken as it is, seems to stress Ephorus’ dullness, and thus conforms to the silly reputation of the Cymaeans, may be instead a parody of Ephorus’ ‘incorrigible’ stylistic sluggishness which was so ostensible in his sections about the distant past (and which was perceived as a defect in respect of the style of his master, as we have seen above); or perhaps a parody of an assertion Ephorus may have been making in his Histories, that he had travelled much of the Aegean (why not?) for research. Ephorus was neither intellectually lazy nor averse to researching; quite the opposite, as we shall see in the next chapter, which will examine his inquiry in regards to both theory and practice.

chapter 2

Ephorus’ Histories: The Method

Historians aspire to present their readers with a version of the facts which is more reliable than that of their predecessors. For this purpose, a solid method of research is needed. Not surprisingly, Ephorus paid great attention to historiographical method, as the fragmentary tradition suggests. In this chapter, we shall first detect which principles Ephorus stated in his Histories for research (§ 1), and then, how he practised his inquiry (§ 2). This will enable us to see whether Ephorus’ practice of inquiry was in line with the principles he stated or not; and also to draw an overall balanced evaluation of Ephorus’ historiographical method and the nature of his historical discourse (§ 3).

1. Theory Similar to Herodotus, Ephorus did not feel obliged to gather all his methodological observations in one place only in his Histories. Methodological insights were offered in proemial statements, meditations on the job of historian, extensive demonstrations, and cursory polemics in the body of the narrative. Similar to both Herodotus’ and Thucydides’, his theory was far from being scattered or unhomogeneous: some statements, especially those of FF 8, 9, 110–11, 122a (§§ 1.1–5 below), together form a picture of impressive coherence and cohesiveness, in which specific observations such as those we read in T 18b, FF 31b, 42 and 149 can be easily contextualized. 1.1

Ephorus on Truth and Deception (F 8. Cf. FF 31b and 42; T 18b)

Ephorus stated that he always considered truth the best (πανταχοῦ μὲν ἄριστον νομίζει τἀληθές, F 31b [Strab. 9.3.11–12]). This was, says Strabo, a ‘somewhat solemn promise’ (σεμνήν τινα ὑπόσχεσιν) which Ephorus made, after ‘condemning those who are fond of mythic tales in the writing of history’ (ἐπιτιμήσας τοῖς φιλομυθοῦσιν ἐν τῇ τῆς ἱστορίας γραφῇ) and 61

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‘praising the truth’ (τὴν ἀλήθειαν ἐπαινέσας). For Ephorus, truth was so serious an affair that it must never be obscured by other aims. In accordance with this principle, Ephorus, before dealing with the origins of the Delphic oracle, in book IV of his Histories, explicitly denied traditions he said to be absolutely unreliable and false (λόγοις οὕτως ἀπίστοις καὶ ψευδέσι) and, while dealing with the Delphic issue, opposed his own method of research, which consisted in verifying sources, to the way that other historians, who rivalled poets and local specialists in religious lore, accepted information about the past as it stood.1 By so doing, he somewhat echoed Thucydides, who, soon after concluding his Archaeology (1.2–19), criticized poets and logographers (1.21.1; cf. 22.4) and also polemicized against the attitude of most to uncritically accept information ready to hand (τὰ ἑτοῖμα. Cf. 1.20.1 and 3). As we shall now see, F 8 has much to do with such a multi-referential, Thucydidean approach. F 8 (Polyb. 4.20.5) reads in its larger context as follows: Since the Arcadian nation in general has a certain reputation for virtue among the Greeks, not only because of the hospitality and humanity in their customs and lives, but especially because of their piety towards the gods, it is worthwhile to raise briefly the problem of the ferocity of the Cynaetheans, namely how, although they were Arcadians (as all agreed), they had come in those times to so exceed the rest of the Greeks in savagery and lawlessness. I think it is because they were the first and only of the Arcadians to abandon those things, devised by men of long ago and studied in relation to their natural conditions for all those inhabiting Arcadia. For the practice of music – that is, what is truly music – is useful for all mankind and necessary for the Arcadians. For we must not consider, as Ephorus in the proem of his whole work remarks, expressing a thought not at all in tune with what he says elsewhere, that music was introduced among mankind for the purposes of deceit and enchantment. Nor should we think that the Cretans and Lacedaemonians of long ago unintentionally introduced the flute and rhythm into war in place of the trumpet, or that the first Arcadians introduced music into their entire public life, to such an extent that they made it the necessary companion not only of children, but also of young men to the age of thirty – and they did this even though in the rest of their lives they were extremely austere.2 1

2

Strab. 9.3.11–12 (F 31b), with Parmeggiani 2001. Strabo, by saying that Ephorus inconsistently mixed history and myth in his discourse on Delphi, seems to fail to understand Ephorus’ practice. Note that F 31b is something of a distillate of the Greek historian’s attitude to aletheia (truth, i.e., ‘what really happened’) as it can be grasped from a variety of testimonies (on which, see Marincola 2007d): praise of truth, attack on myth, refusal of false and unreliable traditions, and polemic against predecessors, coexist in one and the same text. Polyb. 4.20.4–7. The text Jacoby selected and published as F 8 is highlighted. On Athen. 14.626a (F 8+, indeed a quotation from Polybius), see Parmeggiani 2007, 121–2.

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While describing the events of 220 bc, Polybius includes a digression on the reasons for the socio-political barbarity of the Cynaetheans: this people, alone among the Arcadians, abandoned the good customs of the region, in particular mousike (‘music’). At this point Polybius includes Ephorus’ observation, ‘music was introduced among mankind for the purposes of deceit and enchantment’ (μουσικὴν ἐπ’ ἀπάτῃ καὶ γοητείᾳ παρεισῆχθαι τοῖς ἀνθρώποις), with no explanation of why Ephorus made this comment. The testimony’s silence does not help elucidate the meaning and function of Ephorus’ remark, which, as it stands, looks like a synthesis of Platonic concerns and Gorgianic certainties: sound is the most powerful means of deception.3 In the Histories, Ephorus frequently reiterated the positive power of mousike for public life.4 His comment in F 8 again emphasizes the power of mousike, but makes it the object of harsh criticism. That such criticism appeared in the general proem of the Histories, namely in a particularly important section of his work, suggests that Ephorus was contrasting 3

4

See especially Gorg. 82 B 11.8–11, and B 23 Diels-Kranz; Plat. Resp. 4.424b–e; Leg. 2.653d ff., and 3.700a–701c. On the power of music, see, e.g., Plat. Symp. 215c; Resp. 3.398d–401e; Leg. 2.659e, 670e– 671a. Modern critics offer various interpretations of Ephorus’ statement in F 8. Marx (1815, 89–90) believes Ephorus condemned the music of his time as vis sonorum and a vehicle for vices. Lieberich (1899, 15–16) thinks Ephorus circumscribed the field and objectives of historiography by comparing it with other disciplines. Schwartz (1907, 9) observes Ephorus’ distance from traditional sophia, reminiscent of Gorgias. Jacoby (1926b, 43) suggests Ephorus offered a comparison between history and music that Diod. 1.2.5–8 would later consider: Ephorus affirmed the superiority of power of the historiographical speech over other disciplines that aimed instead at ‘peverting the truth’ (κατέψευσθαι τῆς ἀληθείας). Kunz (1935) rejects the connection with Diodorus (81) but agrees on the theory of a comparison among disciplines (74). Peter (1911, 153) believes Ephorus intended to establish the worth of mousike, since he wanted to challenge the epideictic rhetoricians in the realization of musical effects. Several critics have underscored the connection with Gorgias (e.g., Koller 1954, 143 ff.; Nicolai 2013, 221; Gehrke 2014, 105), but in order to emphasize the distance from, rather than an adaptation of, that model (see Wehrli 1972 [1947], particularly 134, 138; Avenarius 1956, 18 ff. [in relation to Lucian. Hist. conscr. 8]; and Vattuone 1991, 27 with n. 33, and 1998a, 190–1). For Walbank (1957–1979, I, 467. Cf. also Nicolai 2013, 221–2), Ephorus contrasted the aim of mousike (which was, like that of tragedy, to thrill: cf. Polyb. 2.56) and historia (to point a moral and instruct). Stylianou (1998, 8) returns to a possible connection between Ephorus and Diodorus, for Ephorus intended to distinguish between the task of music (to affect) and the task of historiography (to teach). For Breglia (2005, 292–3) Ephorus condemned marvels in historical writing (cf. Diod. 10.24, against Herodotus). Other critics have noticed a Platonic reference (see Kowalzig 2004, particularly 42). Parker (2011, ad loc.) is rather sceptical that any exegesis is possible. I am more optimistic. We shall see that Ephorus’ reflection on mousike is far from being an ‘irrelevant issue’ as Barber (1935, 72) describes it. See F 131b ([Scymn.] Orb. descr. 183–187 on the Celtic custom of having musical accompaniment at political meetings, ζηλοῦντες αὐτὴν ἡμερώσεως χάριν) and F 149 (Strab. 10.4.16, on the Cretans as trained through the nomos of Thales, musician and legislator). Mousike was for Ephorus a real opportunity for individual and communal healing. It is also worth noticing that in 4.17.4–5, when Polybius speaks of the Cynaetheans, he comments that the lack of musical education caused the imbalance of this people, long affected by civil unrest and conflicts.

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historiography with different disciplinary fields. But what discipline (or disciplines) did Ephorus refer to when he described mousike as a deceiving and bewitching force? In F 8, the verb παρεισῆχθαι (‘was introduced’) and the mention of the human community (τοῖς ἀνθρώποις) refer to an original condition where humans interacted with the different forms of divine manifestation. F 104 (Diod. 5.64.4) describes this circumstance most effectively: Some (including Ephorus) have recorded that the Idaean Dactyli were born in Ida in Phrygia, and that they crossed over to Europe with Mygdon; and that being magicians [γόητας] they were concerned with charms, initiatory rites and mysteries, and when they spent time around Samothrace they amazed the natives to no small degree with these matters [οὐ μετρίως ἐν τούτοις ἐκπλήττειν τοὺς ἐγχωρίους]; and that it was at this time that Orpheus too, who was provided with an exceptional nature towards poetry and melody [φύσει διαφόρῳ κεχορηγημένον πρὸς ποίησιν καὶ μελῳδίαν], became a pupil of these men, and first brought initiatory rites and mysteries to the Greeks.5

The word goetas (‘magicians’) in F 104 recalls mousike as a source of goeteia (‘enchantment’) in F 8. Ephorus considered Orpheus to be a disciple of goetes (the Idaean Dactyli responsible for the amazement of the inhabitants of Samothrace), particularly gifted at poetry and melody. A deep connection therefore links poetry, mousike and amazement, suggesting that, in F 8, in reflecting on mousike as a source of deception and magic, Ephorus was thinking (at least) of poetry, the art form with which music, by definition, is associated. It may well be that Ephorus was harshly polemicizing against the Greek traditional view according to which poets have the responsibility of publicly safeguarding memory and of disclosing the past to the community, their truthfulness being guaranteed by the gods: poets do not necessarily tell the truth; they can lie and seductively deceive their audience.6 It is not insignificant, in this respect, that shortly after citing Ephorus, Polybius notes that Arcadians celebrated mousike as a way of preserving the legends 5 6

Diod. 5.64.4 (F 104). See, e.g., Hes. Theog. 27 ff. This may also suggest that Ephorus was at the very beginning of that process which would lead, centuries later, to the codification of the distinction between historiography and poetry that we learn from Lucian. Hist. conscr. 8. Cf. Avenarius 1956, 16 ff. Lucian reminds us that the beauty of poetry relies on its ability to entice the audience through its form and content, placing emphasis on the character and his action by means of which everything becomes credible, even that which is improbable or impossible. Good historiography must systematically refrain from this form of flattery (κολακεία), having truth as its objective and not the celebratory alteration of events as poetry does.

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that paid homage to the gods and the local heroes.7 Ephorus’ criticism may have involved local paideia, wherein the distant past is transmitted uncritically, and poetry does not play a marginal role, as some Pindaric scholia remind us.8 But Ephorus’ critique had a broader reach, poetry being only one of its targets. In the fourth century bc, the very era of Ephorus, those rhetoricians who did not concern themselves with judicial oratory were said to be the heirs of poets for their choice of the most musical figures to soften their speech and make it more credible, as Isocrates writes in several places of his work. We read, for example, in Against the Sophists: For I assert that it is not very difficult to gain knowledge of those figures which we use in delivering and composing speeches (. . .) but to choose from these the figures necessary for each subject, to mix them with one another, to arrange them in the proper manner, and in addition not to misapprehend the proper moments but to adorn the entire speech appropriately with thoughts, and to deliver the words rhythmically and musically [εὐρύθμως καὶ μουσικῶς εἰπεῖν] – these things require much care and are the work of a manly and quick-witted mind.9

It is significant that the very Orpheus of F 104 reappears in Strabo 7.18 – a passage clearly inspired by Ephorus – as an itinerant wizard (goes), who searches for money, which is similar, after all, to a professional rhetorician of the fourth century bc;10 and that the very concepts of F 8, ‘deceit’ (apate) and ‘enchantment’ (goeteia), recur also in Dionysius of Halicarnassus’ treatise On Isaeus with reference to the fourth-century rhetorician Isaeus (this time, a judicial rhetor), who – says Dionysius – had a bad reputation among his contemporaries for deceptively captivating his audience by means of his rhetorical techniques.11 The effect of amazement which 7

Polyb. 4.20.8–9. Scholl. Pind. Olymp. 7.100a and 101, I 222 Drachmann; Pind. Nem. 6.50, III 107 Drachmann. On such scholia, see Ambaglio 2001. 9 Isoc. C. soph. 16–17. Cf. Isoc. Antid. 46–47: ‘(. . .) for there are some who (. . .) have chosen to write not speeches about private cases but Greek speeches, political speeches, and speeches of praise, which everyone would say are more similar to those which have been fashioned with music and rhythm than to those delivered in the courtroom [οὓς ἅπαντες ἂν φήσειαν ὁμοιοτέρους εἶναι τοῖς μετὰ μουσικῆς καὶ ῥυθμῶν πεποιημένοις ἢ τοῖς ἐν δικαστηρίῳ λεγομένοις]. For in fact they display deeds with a more poetic and more embroidered language, they endeavour to employ weightier and fresher thoughts, and they regulate the whole speech with many conspicuous figures. All who hear them enjoy them no less than they do poetic compositions (. . .).’ See also Isoc. Paneg. 7–9. 10 Cf. Dopp 1900–1909, III 2, 9. The link between mantis and mousike is confirmed by Strab. 7.19. 11 Dion. Hal. De Is. 4, I 96.16 U-R. On this passage, see Edwards 2013, 45–46. I wonder whether Ephorus is the source of Dionysius here. Isocrates’ reference to musical devices as preferably not used in the court (Antid. 46) make us understand why Isaeus’ practice could be seen as the dangerous breach of a good norm. 8

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poetry has on the audience through mousike is not so different from the amazement of oratory, which deliberately draws on the use of mousike from the poetic tradition.12 Mousike is therefore a shared feature of various art forms and literary fields. In speaking of mousike, Ephorus separated his own historiography, aimed at aletheia and the reconstruction of events, from other forms of writing that dealt with the past and appeared to pursue other objectives. Historians too were the target of Ephorus’ criticism. In his treatise On Thucydides (chapters 5–7), Dionysius of Halicarnassus underscores the reasons why Thucydides was the protagonist of a revolution in historiography.13 His predecessors – Dionysius means local writers and genealogists, but also writers who would be difficult to classify as merely local historians – faithfully recorded local knowledge, which was transmitted from one generation to the next by means of songs (μνῆμαί . . . τῶν τοιούτων ἀκουσμάτων) and consisted of stories ‘which had been believed from remote antiquity’ and ‘dramatic tales of changing fortunes’ (θεατρικαὶ περιπέτειαι), without any critical check, aiming both to preserve and to attract the audience’s attention. Thucydides by contrast – says Dionysius – refused to engage with what had the semblance and characteristics of myth, and avoided influencing the audience by treating improbable events that emphasized deception and magic: Thucydides surpassed historians before him (. . .) in including in his history no mythical material [cf. 1.21.1 and 22.4] and in not directing his writing to the deception and bewitching of the multitude [μηδ’ εἰς ἀπάτην καὶ γοητείαν τῶν πολλῶν ἐκτρέψαι τὴν γραφήν], as all before him had done, when they told, for example, of the Lamian women rising up from the earth in woods and glens, or amphibious Naiads coming up from Tartarus, swimming through the sea, half fish, half women, and having intercourse with men, from which unions of mortal and divine a race of demi-gods was produced – and other such stories which are incredible to us today and seem to contain much silliness.14 12

13 14

On the natural link between magic, music, poetry and rhetoric, see also Gorg. 82 B 11.8–11, and B 23 Diels-Kranz; Thras. 85 B 6 Diels-Kranz; Plat. Phaedr. 266d–267d, 271c, and Gorg. 501d ff. Cf. De Romilly 1975. It is important to recall that ekplexis, ‘amazement’, is next to peitho, ‘persuasion’, which Ephorus acknowledged as characterizing the most powerful demagogues in the past (see Con. FGrHist 26 F 1, enarr. 1, on Midas, derived perhaps from Ephorus) and recent history, such as Pericles (F 196, and on Damon of Oa, the famous music theorist who was master of Pericles, see Wallace 2015) and Lysander (F 207). Dion. Hal. De Thuc. 5–7, I 330–334 U-R. Dion. Hal. De Thuc. 6, I 333.3–12 U-R. Cf. Marcell. Vit. Thuc. 48–51.

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Since Dionysius explains the Thucydidean revolution by drawing on Ephorus’ terminology in F 8 (εἰς ἀπάτην καὶ γοητείαν, describing the deceptive appeal of implausible and foolish accounts of the past), one is led to think that Dionysius here examines Thucydides and his role in the historiographical tradition in light of observations that Ephorus developed in arguing against the fondness for myths. Whether directly or indirectly, consciously or not, Dionysius had Ephorus in mind; and this ultimately shows that Ephorus, by criticizing mousike, did not attack only poets and rhetoricians, but also historians, in a multi-referential polemic that, to some extent, recalled that by Thucydides in 1.21.1 against poets and logographers.15 A specific concern of Ephorus, i.e., on the audience as the victim of deception, is apparent. This is no coincidence, since Ephorus’ interest in the transmission and destination of historical contents is documented in various places of the fragmentary tradition. From F 42 (Strab. 7.3.9), on the Scythians, we gather that Ephorus openly criticized certain logoi which were aptly constructed to capture the audience: The rest (. . .) speak of their [sc. the Scythians’] savagery, because they know that what is frightening and marvellous is astonishing [εἰδότες τὸ δεινὸν [δὲ] καὶ τὸ θαυμαστὸν ἐκπληκτικὸν ὄν].16

Ephorus argued that offering ‘what is frightening and marvellous’ (τὸ δεινὸν καὶ τὸ θαυμαστόν) is a deliberate choice (εἰδότες: ‘because they know’); the insistence of some on the horrific and the marvellous ultimately responds to a precise demand of the reader. Ephorus’ criticism in F 42 reveals the historian’s awareness that the production and reception of information dismiss aletheia: the public influences the writer in what he ought to tell; the writer in turn spoils the audience by seconding their interests and requests. The problem extends to both space (geography) and time (narrative of events from past to present), for the criticism in F 42 concerns ethnography (the subject is the customs of the Scythians), while other texts address the representation of the distant past. The same concern for the warped transmission of information, in fact, is present also in the controversy against 15

16

One may ask whether Dionysius, in his representation of the beginnings of Greek historiography, was influenced by Ephorus’ arguments on the various types of historiography and the audience of each, which Polybius refers to in the proem of book IX (1.2–2.7, context of T 18b), and if so, to what extent. In this regard, nothing certain can be said: Dionysius’ representation, including a list of the first historians (De Thuc. 5), is rather problematic (see Porciani 2001, 28 ff.). Strab. 7.3.9 (F 42).

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φιλομυθοῦντες ἐν τῇ τῆς ἱστορίας γραφῇ, ‘those who are fond of mythic tales in the writing of history’ (F 31b), and its enjoyment by the φιλήκοοι, ‘those who love to hear stories’, these being identified as the audience of genealogical narratives (γενεαλογικὸς τρόπος, T 18b [Polyb. 9.1.4]): both the writer and the reader are responsible for any discourse that aims at some effect rather than the truth. Let us go back to Thucydides and Dionysius of Halicarnassus. Thucydides explicitly restates the core argument of 1.21.1 (i.e., his polemic against poets, who adorn and amplify their theme, and logographers, who create discourses concentrating on what is more pleasant to hear rather than truthful) at 22.4, outlining the definitive distinction between his work, which will endure for all time for its usefulness, and the agonisma (‘competition piece’) of those who are merely interested in displaying their technical ability and seducing their audience: And in the hearing, perhaps the lack of a mythic element will seem less pleasurable [καὶ ἐς μὲν ἀκρόασιν ἴσως τὸ μὴ μυθῶδες αὐτῶν ἀτερπέστερον φανεῖται]; but if all those who wish to examine the clarity of events – both those that occurred and those that will occur at some time or another in the same or similar ways in accordance with human nature – will judge this useful, that will be sufficient. The work has been composed as a possession for all time rather than as a competition piece to be heard in the present [κτῆμά τε ἐς αἰεὶ μᾶλλον ἢ ἀγώνισμα ἐς τὸ παραχρῆμα ἀκούειν ξύγκειται].17

Dionysius of Halicarnassus analyzes Thucydides’ passage using, once again, Ephorus’ terminology of F 8: Thucydides, by contrast, chose one set of events, at which he himself was present, and did not see it as appropriate to mix theatrical charms into his narrative nor did he fashion it for the deception of his readers (as those earlier treatises had naturally done) [οὐχ ἥρμοττεν ἐγκαταμίσγειν τῇ διηγήσει τὰς θεατρικὰς γοητείας οὐδὲ πρὸς τὴν ἀπάτην ἁρμόττεσθαι τῶν ἀναγνωσομένων, ἣν ἐκεῖναι πεφύκασι φέρειν αἱ συντάξεις] but rather for their benefit, as he himself has revealed in the preface of his work, writing as follows (and here I quote): ‘And in the hearing the lack of a mythic element will seem less pleasurable (. . .).’18

It was not Thucydides who connected his preference for ‘the lack of a mythic element’ (τὸ μὴ μυθῶδες, 1.22.4) with the rejection of ‘theatrical charms’ (τὰς θεατρικὰς γοητείας) and ‘deception’ (τὴν ἀπάτην), both of which characterized the writings of the first historians (ἣν ἐκεῖναι πεφύκασι 17

Thuc. 1.22.4.

18

Dion. Hal. De Thuc. 7, I 333.24–334.12 U-R.

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φέρειν αἱ συντάξεις). Dionysius adopts Ephorus’ language, and this makes it clear that Ephorus had carefully pondered the ideas that Thucydides had expressed rather concisely in the methodological section of his work (1.21–22), so as to formulate his own statement in F 8. Persuaded, like Thucydides, that historiography had nothing in common with the spectacular (and the fictions characterizing it), Ephorus devised a new opposition, between the writer of history on the one hand and the magician or enchanter on the other: historiography is opposite to the attraction of the goes, to the goeteia which Dionysius calls theatrike; history consists in the writing of truth, not in a deceptive magic on a theatrical stage. Thus Ephorus got inspiration from Thucydides. Still, he was not superficially rewriting his model. Nor was Ephorus polemicizing against pre-Thucydidean historians only, as the full argument of Dionysius of Halicarnassus may suggest at first sight. In the fourth century bc, people loved to listen to narratives about the distant past, as both Plato and Isocrates emphasize;19 local historians could compete in describing the heroes’ deeds to promote specific poleis, rather than aiming at truth;20 rhetors could teach a course of rapid instruction in history from a theogony to the contemporary age, as the case of Zoilus of Amphipolis well shows;21 epideictic rhetors as well as historians walked the stage to give public readings of their work, as Lucian’s Herodot. 3 reminds us by mentioning, among others, a mysterious Anaximenes of Chios – perhaps a reference to Theopompus of Chios and Anaximenes of Lampsacus, who was also considered to be a disciple of Zoilus and authored a history from the theogony to 362 bc: Those thereafter understood that this [sc. Herodotus’ way, who first ‘recited his Histories and so bewitched his audience’ (ᾄδων τὰς ἱστορίας καὶ κηλῶν τοὺς παρόντας) at the festival of Olympia] was a kind of shortcut to fame. Hippias the sophist, who was a native of the place [sc. of Olympia], Prodicus of Ceos, Anaximenes of Chios, Polus of Acragas, and many others always delivered their speeches in person at the festival, and from this they quickly became well-known.22 19 20 21 22

See Plat. Hipp. Mai. 285d–e (Hipp. FGrHist 6 T 3); Isoc. Panath. 1. See Clarke 2008, 304 ff. Such a trend would be confirmed in the Hellenistic age, as inscriptions show: see Chaniotis 1988. In general, see Marincola 2007d, 26. According to Suid. ζ 130 Adler, s.v. Ζωίλος Ἀμφιπολίτης (Zoil. FGrHist 71 T 1), Zoilus wrote a history from the theogony to 336 bc in three books. Lucian. Herodot. 3 (Anaxim. FGrHist 72 T 10. See Jacoby 1926a, 114, for the conjecture ‘Anaximenes from Chios’). On this passage, see Schneider 2001 and Parmeggiani 2009, 231 n. 41 and 2012b, 220 n. 23. Theopompus’ own admission that he was going to insert myths in his narrative (FGrHist 115 F 381) is quite symptomatic of a trend Ephorus may well have explicitly opposed, although not polemicizing specifically against Theopompus. Note that Theopompus himself stressed his own success in public readings: see FGrHist 115 F 25.

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Sounds had an active part in seducing an audience. Historians were also actors, who aimed at impressing their audience. Readers were also listeners, and the truth about the past was at stake. Ephorus chose not to walk the stage. If, as it seems, Thucydides’ polemic against competition pieces still had value in the fourth century bc, Ephorus, by his attack on mousike, clearly hit the mark. 1.2

Ephorus on the Most Trustworthy Sources, and the Limits of akribeia (F 9. Cf. F 149)

F 9 is an excerpt from Harpocration’s entry ἀρχαίως (archaios) which reports a word-for-word citation from book I – with all probability, from the general proem – of Ephorus’ Histories. As we have already seen in Chapter 1, Ephorus’ words have nothing to do with Isocrates’ in Paneg. 8, which are found in the very same entry. Therefore we will concentrate here exclusively on Ephorus and his words. Ephorus in book I of his Histories has explained it [sc. the word ἀρχαίως] in the following way. He says that the more recent writers [and/or: speakers] deal with ancient facts in detail. ‘Concerning events that have happened in our time’, he says, ‘we consider those who speak most accurately [or: in the greatest detail] to be most trustworthy, but we believe that in ancient matters those who go through them in this way are most untrustworthy, because we suppose that it is not plausible that either all the deeds or a majority of the speeches would be remembered, given how great an amount of time has passed.’23

Ephorus states here a principle of source criticism. He believes to be most trustworthy those sources which speak of the present with more akribeia (‘accuracy’) and those which speak of the past with less akribeia. He justifies this position by observing that the limits of human memory by nature make the exact reproduction of events to be contingent upon the elapsed time: the longer the time, the more imperfect is the resolution of the image describing the event (the image lacks akribeia). By so doing, Ephorus also points out that it is methodologically incorrect to use the same yardstick for the reliability of sources on the past and the present, and to equate the representation of the past with that of the present: while the 23

Harp. s.v. ἀρχαίως (F 9): Ἔφορος δ’ ἐν τῇ α τῶν Ἱστοριῶν τρόπον τινὰ ἐξηγήσατο· φησὶ περὶ τῶν ἀρχαίων πραγμάτων τοὺς νεωτέρους διεξέρχεσθαι. ‘Περὶ μὲν γὰρ τῶν καθ’ ἡμᾶς γεγενημένων’ φησί ‘τοὺς ἀκριβέστατα λέγοντας πιστοτάτους ἡγούμεθα, περὶ δὲ τῶν παλαιῶν τοὺς οὕτω διεξιόντας ἀπιθανωτάτους εἶναι νομίζομεν, ὑπολαμβάνοντες οὔτε τὰς πράξεις ἁπάσας οὔτε τῶν λόγων τοὺς πλείστους εἰκὸς εἶναι μνημονεύεσθαι διὰ τοσούτων.’

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description of the past is possible only by forgoing akribeia, that of the present, on the contrary, requires the highest akribeia. We do not know whether Ephorus developed his reasoning on the reliability of sources and the accuracy of representation further. Regardless, F 9 offers other insights into Ephorus’ historiographical perspective, the sources he employed and the object of his inquiry. First, he differentiated between contemporary and non-contemporary history, apparently without any reference to the Return of the Heraclidae as a caesura between the unknowable and the knowable (περὶ μὲν γὰρ τῶν καθ’ ἡμᾶς γεγενημένων . . . περὶ δὲ τῶν παλαιῶν). Ephorus’ distinction demonstrates the broad temporal spectrum of his study, not confined to the past or the present but inclusive of all times.24 Second, he showed a distinctive opposition between contemporary and non-contemporary historiography (περὶ μέν . . . περὶ δέ): the criterion ensuring the greatest trustworthiness in the investigation into the present (τοὺς ἀκριβέστατα λέγοντας πιστοτάτους ἡγούμεθα) turns into one of minimal reliability in the investigation into the past (τοὺς οὕτω διεξιόντας ἀπιθανωτάτους εἶναι νομίζομεν). By means of this comparison, he underscored the critical flexibility that the historian, committed to selecting the best sources, needs to employ in order to explore both the past and the present, therefore stressing the particular difficulties inherent in his universalistic project. Third, with the expression τοὺς ἀκριβέστατα λέγοντας (tous akribestata legontas), Ephorus seems to have judged the quality of historical sources according to their degree of precision. In fact, akribeia does not define a source as precise for the simple reason that it reports an event with many details, but rather, it refers to the degree to which the words of the witness conform to the event he narrates – a correspondence achievable only when the relation between the witness and the witnessed is as direct as possible, and little time has elapsed (and little space has been interposed) between the event and the act of witnessing.

24

Time seems to have been conceived by Ephorus as a continuum. See Parmeggiani 1999, and also Bettalli 2007, 84b. Prompted by the erroneous notion that the Return represented the point of separation between the age of History, which was included in the investigation, and the age of Myth, which was excluded from it (T 8: see Chapter 1 § 4 above), modern critics dealing with Ephorus’ distinction between non-contemporary and contemporary events (τὰ παλαιά and τὰ καθ’ ἡμᾶς γεγενημένα) in F 9 have offered several, albeit unpersuasive, solutions to the question of the placement and duration of τὰ παλαιά. For example, by considering the association of the palaiai mythologiai of T 8 with the age of genealogies of T 18b, Scheller (1911, 17) suggests that by ta palaia, Ephorus intended the post-Heraclidean period and, for this reason, differentiated between ‘tempora vetustiora’ and ‘recentiora’ in his spatium historicum. Cf. Fornara 1983, 9. Avenarius (1956, 80 n. 26) identifies the palaia of F 9 as a pre-Heraclidean mythical time that T 8 expressly excludes from universal history. Cf., much in the same vein, Muntz 2017, 94.

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From this simple annotation, one understands the importance Ephorus attributed to the eyewitness as a way to retrieve information on events.25 Fourth, the semantic domain of λέγειν (legein), as well as that of μνημονεύεσθαι (mnemoneuesthai), covers both writing and speaking: nothing in the text compels us to conclude that Ephorus’ declaration referred exclusively to written sources, or to exclude that for the composition of the Histories, he also resorted to oral sources. And fifth, Ephorus distinguished between deeds (πράξεις) and speeches (λόγοι), and underscored that it is more difficult to remember with exactness words that have been spoken rather than events which have taken place (οὔτε τὰς πράξεις ἁπάσας οὔτε τῶν λόγων τοὺς πλείστους).26 Time affects people’s memories. This natural law, which underlies Ephorus’ principle, is already found in both Herodotus and Thucydides.27 Time also creates change. This natural law too, which we find in both Herodotus and Thucydides,28 is found also in Ephorus, who, in his demonstration of the priority of the Cretan over the Spartan constitution (F 149 [Strab. 10.4.16–22]), observes: For one must not judge about things of long ago from the present state of affairs, since both of them [sc. the Cretans and Spartans] have changed to the opposite.29

Some applied their reasoning to the past as if it were the present, that is, as if they had it before their eyes, thus bypassing the natural distance between the past and the present state of things on the one hand, and the changes that the same object underwent from past to present on the other. Ephorus states that in doing this, they were wrong. Like the statement in F 149, the words transmitted in F 9 also reveal Ephorus’ preoccupation with the modes of transmission and representation of non-contemporary events. It is not entirely clear whether Harpocration’s introductory sentence, ‘he [sc. Ephorus] states that more recent writers [or speakers] deal with ancient facts in detail’ (φησὶ περὶ τῶν ἀρχαίων πραγμάτων τοὺς νεωτέρους διεξέρχεσθαι), refers to the original

25 26 27 29

On this meaning of ἀκριβέστατα see Parmeggiani 2002–2003, 43–4 and Fantasia 2004, 58a–b. See also below, on F 110. On the distinction between praxeis and logoi see especially Scheller 1911, 15; Canfora 1972, 31. Hdt. Prooem.; Thuc. 1.22.1–3. 28 Hdt. 1.5.3-4; Thuc. 1.10. Strab. 10.4.17 (F 149): οὔτε γὰρ ἐκ τῶν νῦν καθεστηκότων τὰ παλαιὰ τεκμηριοῦσθαι δεῖν, εἰς τἀναντία ἑκατέρων μεταπεπτωκότων. On Ephorus’ evident inspiration from Thucydides, see Jacoby 1926b, 81, on F 149; Verdin 1977, 69 n. 44; Schepens 1977a, 110, and 2003, 356; and Nafissi 1983–1984, 350.

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context of Ephorus’ declaration.30 But there is no doubt that, as Ephorus enunciated the basic principle of his source criticism, he also challenged, more or less overtly, those speakers/writers of the fifth and fourth centuries bc who, dealing with the distant past, had too easily indulged in an unacceptable ἀκριβέστατα λέγειν (i.e., in too detailed reports). In this regard, while Ephorus’ critique of fellow historians may appear somewhat obvious to us,31 the expression περὶ τῶν παλαιῶν ἀκριβέστατα λέγειν (‘to report ancient events in the greatest detail) does not compel us to think that it should refer to ‘bad’ historiography only. One may look beyond the historiographical genre, and consider the rhetoricians as well as the poets and local exegetes, who also turned to the past to describe it, and from whom readers/listeners, including Ephorus, would draw information about non-contemporary events.32 In general, the principle of F 9 should be read against the cultural production of the fourth century bc: in Ephorus’ age, the crisis of Sparta and the rise of Philip II to power spurred speakers/writers (regardless of their specific field) to level out the past and the present uncritically in order to meet new political demands.33 By claiming the difference between past and present as a limit that should not be breached, and by demanding a critical representation of the distant past (cf. F 31b), Ephorus affirmed his intellectual autonomy against the habits of many contemporaries. F 9 also shows Ephorus’ deep conceptual debt to Thucydides – no wonder, in light of what we observed above on F 8. Quite tellingly, the name Θουκυδίδης appeared in Harpocration’s lemma ἀρχαίως, which Marx, based on the lemma καινῶς (F 9+), correctly changed to 30

31 32

33

It may be the source-text writer who created this sentence to link the citation to the topic of the lemma (ἀρχαίως), or it may be Ephorus who used the term neoteroi (lit. ‘those who are more recent’), as Strabo would later do, to label intellectuals of the modern and contemporary age who wrote on the distant past, with the purpose of arguing with them. Cf. Strab. 8.3.7–8; 3.31; 6.2; 6.9. Strabo means by neoteroi both historians and post-Homeric poets. E.g., Cleidemus (fourth century bc), who offered a detailed account of the battle between the Athenians and the Amazons (FGrHist 323 F 18): see Wiseman 2011 (1993), 332; Fantasia 2004, 57b–8a. For example, Isocrates in Panath. 149 upholds the idea of a detailed knowledge of the most distant past (ἀκριβῶς εἰδέναι) in order to demonstrate the political and military superiority of Athens over time: ‘Some perhaps might say (. . .) that I am unusual in daring to say that I know accurately about affairs at which I was not present when they occurred’ (ὅτι τολμῶ λέγειν ὡς ἀκριβῶς εἰδὼς περὶ πραγμάτων, οἷς οὐ παρῆν πραττομένοις). Isocrates admits that some may criticize him, and we can easily think of Thuc. 1.1.2 and 21.1 and the Ephorus of F 9 among his opponents. Indeed both Thucydides and Ephorus uphold the impossibility of a descriptive akribeia for the events that occurred in the distant past for it is not possible to eyewitness it, namely to experience it with one’s own eyes as if it were the present. Isocrates acknowledges this impossibility; nevertheless, he endorses this practice as functional to the celebratory objective of his oratory. A good specimen of this trend is Speus. Epist. Socr. 30, on which see Natoli 2004.

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Ἔφορος.34 Ancient readers rightly felt the presence of Thucydidean overtones in Ephorus’ words: before Ephorus, it was Thucydides who declared the impossibility of akribeia in the representation of the past, which he believed could be reconstructed only by means of clues and signs, and without saphes, that is, without a clear and defined image of the historical object (1.1.2, and 20.1); before Ephorus, Thucydides had criticized a broad and mixed group of writers, poets and logographers (1.21.1), contrasting his own evidence-based historical writing with their preference for ‘what is at hand’ (τὰ ἑτοῖμα), that is, for the stories that are told, transmitted and accepted uncritically.35 One could argue that it is not Isocrates but the more sceptical and severe author of the Archaeology who appears to serve as teacher of the Ephorus of F 9. Yet, F 9 cannot be considered a mere compilation of Thucydidean ideas. By showing that the historian who makes both the past and the present the subjects of his inquiry needs to adapt akribeia to the circumstances and period he examines, Ephorus emphasized the unprecedented difficulties of his universalistic task. In other words, Ephorus certainly put Thucydides’ teaching to good use, but applied it to a broader and greatly different field of investigation. 1.3

Ephorus on the Limits of Autopsy, and the Need for the Most Competent Witness (F 110)

F 110 (Polyb. 12.27.7) is the only explicit statement we have from Ephorus on autopsy.36 The fragment reads in its larger context as follows: Although we possess from nature two instruments, as it were, sight and hearing, with which we inquire about and investigate everything [δυεῖν γὰρ 34

35

36

See Marx 1815, 64, 90–1. Dindorf (1853, I, 60) thought the cause of the mistake Θουκυδίδης/Ἔφορος to be a lapsus calami due to the Thucydidean use of ἀρχαιότροπος (Thuc. 1.71), but clear lexical and conceptual similarities between F 9 and Thuc. 1.20–22 should not be ignored: note that the thematic core of F 9 – from the distinction between logoi and erga to the idea of diamnemoneuesthai, from the references to mneme to those to akribeia – could in fact be traced back to Thucydides’ methodological chapter (1.22). On the close connections between Thucydides and Ephorus F 9, see especially Parmeggiani 2003a. Several critics have pointed out Ephorus’ similarities with Thucydides (Marx 1815, 64; Meyer 1892– 1899, I, 122; Canfora 1972, 105, and 1974, 5; Porciani 1997, 83–4; Vattuone 1998a, 188–9, and 2015b; Parmeggiani 1999, 118–19, and 2001, 192 ff.; see also Parker 2011, ad loc., and Gehrke 2014, 103), but several others have overlooked or dismissed them (Schwartz 1907; Jacoby 1909, 85, and 1926b, 25 and 43, suggesting that Ephorus ‘misunderstood’ Thucydides; Peter 1911, 156; Barber 1935, 72; Canfora 1990 and 1991; Breglia 1996a; Bruno Sunseri 1997, 157). Here I will normally refer to the conventional meaning of autopsy, which includes seeing events and places. But see Chávez Reino 2007, on the distinction between αὐτοψία as seeing places and παρεῖναι/παραγίνεσθαι τοῖς πράγμασι as seeing events.

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ὄντων κατὰ φύσιν ὡσανεί τινων ὀργάνων ἡμῖν, οἷς πάντα πυνθανόμεθα καὶ πολυπραγμονοῦμεν], and although sight is more truthful not by a little as Heraclitus [22 B 101a Diels-Kranz] says (for eyes are more accurate witnesses than ears), Timaeus [FGrHist 566 T 19] took the more pleasurable but the lesser of these roads in inquiry. He shrank entirely from inquiries made through eyewitness and exerted himself only for those made through hearing. And even though this kind of inquiry has two parts, Timaeus eagerly latched on to the kind done through books, but he carelessly turned away from that based on oral examination of witnesses, as we have shown above. It is easy to determine why he made this choice: material from books can be investigated without danger and hardship if one has taken forethought for having either a city with a multitude of books or a library in the vicinity. All that remains then is to look into what you are examining while reclining, and compare the errors of previous historians, free of all hardships. Investigation, on the other hand, requires much exertion and expense, but it contributes greatly to, and is the most important part of history, and this is evident from those who themselves have written history. Ephorus says that if it were possible for historians to be present at all the events, this would be the best type of experience [ὁ μὲν γὰρ Ἔφορός φησιν, εἰ δυνατὸν ἦν αὐτοὺς παρεῖναι πᾶσι τοῖς πράγμασι, ταύτην ἂν διαφέρειν πολὺ τῶν ἐμπειριῶν]. Theopompus [FGrHist 115 F 342] says that he who has been present at the greatest number of battles is best in war, while he who has had the greatest share of political struggles is most effective in speech, and the same is true for skill in medicine and navigation. Homer has spoken still more emphatically than these others on this aspect. Wishing to show us what sort of person the man of affairs should be, he puts forward the example of Odysseus, saying ‘Tell me, Muse, of the much-turned man who wandered greatly’ [Od. 1.1–2]; and right after this: ‘He saw the cities of many men and came to know their minds, and many were the pains he suffered in his heart at sea’ [Od. 1.3–4]; and again, ‘cleaving his way through the wars of men and the grievous waves’ [Od. 8.183]. I think that the dignity of history demands such a man. Plato [Resp. 5.473 c–e] says that human affairs will prosper when either philosophers are kings or kings philosophers. And I would say that history will prosper when men of affairs set their hand at writing history (. . .) or when those who attempt to write history consider the experience that comes from actual events to be necessary for history.37

Polybius reproaches Timaeus for not actively searching out the truth by employing opsis and exercising akoe in consulting eyewitnesses and not only books.38 He draws examples from his literary memory to prepare 37 38

Polyb. 12.27.1–28.5. Jacoby’s selection for F 110 is highlighted. For Polybius, opsis is the primary mode of inquiry. He also theorizes a twofold akoe, for its emphasis on learning from witnesses on the one hand, and learning from books on the other hand. The former – which Timaeus used rather carelessly, according to Polybius – is preferable or superior to

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a review of the most important and telling statements on the superiority of direct inquiry, and in this respect, he mentions poets and philosophers (Homer, Heraclitus and Plato) along with historians (Ephorus F 110 and Theopompus F 342). Ephorus is therefore among the members of an ‘interdisciplinary elite jury’ which has been convened to convict Timaeus of grave defects in his practice of inquiry. Polybius is in the right at least in invoking Theopompus, who, as Dionysius of Halicarnassus reminds us, emphasized his own inquiry as being direct (FGrHist 115 T 20a, F 26 [Dion. Hal. Ad Pomp. 6.2–3, II 244.20–245.9 U-R]). But what about Ephorus and his statement in F 110? Polybius introduces the positions of Ephorus and Theopompus together (δῆλον δὲ τοῦτ’ ἐστὶν ἐξ αὐτῶν τῶν τὰς συντάξεις πραγματευομένων), and considers one complementary to the other (ὁ μέν . . . ὁ δέ). He also underlines that both authors eloquently demonstrated the preeminent importance of direct inquiry and of a historiography that does not rely exclusively on books, and both bore witness to the personal sacrifices this method often requires as ‘the most important part of history’ (μέγιστόν ἐστι μέρος τῆς ἱστορίας). This may suggest that Ephorus’ statement too was aimed at stressing that direct inquiry was indeed ‘the most important part of history’. Yet, this is not what modern critics have usually concluded. Polybius, by making Ephorus an advocate of direct inquiry, may have misused the Ephoran statement in order to provide evidence against Timaeus;39 furthermore, since F 110 says that autopsy is the best medium of knowledge, but an ideal one, to the extent that it is not always feasible,40 some critics believe that F 110 reports Ephorus’ explanation of his methodology as he plans the writing of a universal history, a method of research and inquiry that excludes the practice of autopsy and relies only on the use of written sources.41

39 40 41

the latter. See especially Roveri 1964, 63, on this passage. Baron (2013, especially 47 and 82–3) rightly defends Timaeus against Polybius’ charge. An instrumental use of sources is not unexpected in Polybius’ (too) harsh criticism of his predecessors, Timaeus especially: see Schepens and Bollansée 2005, and Baron 2013, 58–88. See Schepens 1970, rightly emphasizing the novelty of Ephorus’ observation in the history of the historiographical thought. According to Nenci (1955, 38), Ephorus, as well as other historians of the fourth century bc, favoured empeiria (‘experience’) as the personal education required to be rhetoricians, at the expenses of historical autopsy. According to Schepens (1970, 175 ff.; 1977a, 112; 2007b, 50), Ephorus, well aware of the breadth of the universal historical perspective he had endorsed, pragmatically acknowledged the need to resort to written sources. On Ephorus as relying exclusively on written sources, see, among others, Breglia 2001, 141; Clarke 2008, 101 ff.; Daverio Rocchi 2014, especially 616–17; Prandi 2014, 694. A few critics have instead suspected, on the basis of F 110, that Ephorus used direct testimonies: see Marx 1815, 69–70; Marincola 1997, 71 n. 35, suggesting with great caution that

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Was Ephorus, by his statement in F 110, justifying his choice to rely only on written sources? Such a conclusion is not convincing for two main reasons. First, Ephorus’ words clarify the limits, which, in his view, affect every historian’s research, regardless of the object and period he covers (εἰ δυνατὸν ἦν αὐτοὺς [sc. τοὺς τὰς συντάξεις πραγματευομένους] παρεῖναι πᾶσι τοῖς πράγμασι). Ephorus’ advice therefore applies also to historians writing about the present and practising direct inquiry. Second, Ephorus does not state the impossibility of ‘being present at the events’, but rather the impossibility of ‘being present at all the events’ (παρεῖναι πᾶσι τοῖς πράγμασι), which does not imply that because historians cannot witness each and every deed, they ought necessarily to resort to written sources only. At this point, it is better to focus on the link between Ephorus’ statement and that of Theopompus in F 342, which appeared to Polybius to be so strong. Theopompus F 342 (Polyb. 12.27.8–9) reads: Theopompus says that he who has been present at the greatest number of battles is best in war, while he who has had the greatest share of political struggles is most effective in speech, and the same is true for skill in medicine and navigation.42

Theopompus’ emphasis is not so much on the mere act of observing directly, but rather on empeiria, on that greater, more complex knowledge that derives from the experience of eyewitnessing and that manifests itself as a deeper familiarity of the observer with the events he takes part in. Now, in the eyes of Polybius, a continuity of meaning existed between Theopompus’ and Ephorus’ positions, both exemplifying the historiographical practice at its highest level of difficulty. Ephorus underlined that ‘to be personally present at all the events would be by far the best empeiria’, that is, nothing but the actual participation in each and every event allows the writer of history to acquire a better understanding of the facts and a superior competence in what pertains to them; however, he also noted that the acquisition of such knowledge in the circumstances he described was an ideal condition for every historian (εἰ δυνατὸν ἦν), for no historian can always take advantage of his own empeiria. When this

42

Ephorus, in F 110, wanted to stress the need for direct sources. This intuition will be proven right by the analysis in the present paragraph. Polyb. 12.27.8–9. On Theopomp. F 342 also in relation to Theopomp. F 25, see Vattuone 1997, 100– 1. According to Vattuone, F 342 is residual evidence of Theopompus’ reflection on history-writing as an autonomous discipline, requiring particular knowledge and expertise, and its own interpretive tools (autopsy among them).

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circumstance occurs, that is, when the historian cannot employ his own empeiria and perform a direct observation, he will have to fall back on the empeiria of others, on their knowledge and competence. This is indeed the meaning of the statement in F 110: Ephorus aimed at educating his reader on the necessity for historians to rely on the most competent witness. Ephorus’ main concern was not whether the testimony was written or oral, but that it was direct in relation to the event. By insisting on the limits of autopsy, Ephorus did not intend to justify the need to fall back on written information; he meant to underscore the need to employ the information provided by those witnesses who had the closest familiarity with the object of the investigation, that is, who had direct experience of this object and superior competence in what pertained to it. Similar to Theopompus, Ephorus underscored that historical inquiry, more than any other discipline, implies the greatest labour. Ephorus’ position, as we have reconstructed it, appears to have left its mark in the historical tradition. Let us first consider Dionysius of Halicarnassus in his treatise On Thucydides: He [sc. Thucydides] composed the deeds not by relying on chance reports but rather from his own experience [ἐξ ἐμπειρίας] for events at which he himself was present, and by inquiry from those who knew best for events where he was not present on account of his exile.43

Dionysius clearly paraphrases Thuc. 1.22.2: But as for that part of the war’s actions that had to do with deeds, I did not deem it worthy to write those having learned of them from some chance informant, nor as I thought, but instead I went through each matter in detail, both those at which I was present and those that were reported to me by others, with the greatest accuracy possible.44

Dionysius re-elaborates Thucydides’ argument by blending it with Ephorus’ reflection, as the expression ἐξ ἐμπειρίας (ex empeirias. Cf. F 110) suggests. Empeiria appears in a context where two direct approaches to factual reality are mentioned, autopsy (οἷς μὲν αὐτὸς παρῆν) and the consultation of the best witnesses (παρὰ τῶν ἄριστα γινωσκόντων). Since F 110 includes both the Thucydidean locution τοῖς πράγμασι παρεῖναι and the concept of empeiria, we could argue that Dionysius reflects upon Thucydides via Ephorus, or at least retains important aspects of the considerations which 43

Dion. Hal. De Thuc. 6, I 332.20–23 U-R.

44

Thuc. 1.22.2.

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Ephorus had formulated in drawing on Thuc. 1.22.45 Unmediated inquiry is preferable, but when personal observation is not an option, then the historian must take advantage of those eyewitnesses who are most knowledgeable and competent (παρὰ τῶν ἄριστα γινωσκόντων). Our second example comes from one of Polybius’ observations in the margins of the controversy with Timaeus, and which seems to retain the meaning of Ephorus’ teaching in F 110 with impressive faithfulness. It reads: For since events occur at the same time in many places, and it is impossible for the same person to be present in many places at the same moment, and likewise for one man to be an eyewitness of all the places in the known world and the distinctive features in these lands, what remains is to inquire from as many people as possible, to trust those who are worthy of trust, and to be a good judge of the things that one hears.46

The author of universal history, who cannot be in all places at one time, has no other choice but to resort to witnesses ‘who are worthy of trust’ (ἀξίοις πίστεως), which brings us back to Ephorus’ principle of the most knowledgeable and competent direct witnesses. Thus, the universal historian Polybius proposes here an idea that the universal historian Ephorus had already expressed before him. The challenge of a vast project like the making of a universal history, and the awareness that the historian’s own eyes and competence would not be sufficient to cover such breadth and variety prompted Ephorus to state the principle that F 110 documents and Polybius cogently resubmits to the reader. Despite obvious limitations – Ephorus cautioned – any historical inquiry must rely on eyewitnesses as much as possible; the historian’s responsibility consists in filling in any gaps between himself and the event with the help of the best oral and written testimonies. In short, F 110 invites us to think of Ephorus as the theorist, together with Theopompus, of employing the most direct inquiry that is possible. 1.3.1 A Tight Connection Between F 110 and F 9 One may relate F 110 to the distinction that we find in F 9 between noncontemporary and contemporary events. Since witnessing non-contemporary events is impossible, the historian must renounce akribeia and therefore 45

46

This is hardly surprising, in light of what we observed above on F 8 (§ 1.1), and also in light of the clear links between Ephorus and Thucydides which we have detected in examining F 9 (§ 1.2). Note that the link of F 110 with Thuc. 1.22, however noticed by critics, has been de-emphasized because of the conventional view of Ephorus as an ‘armchair-historian’: see, among others, Jacoby 1926b, 64; Barber 1935, 72; and Avenarius 1956, 76 and 79. Polyb. 12.4c.4–5.

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mistrust those sources that report non-contemporary events in the most detailed way (τοὺς ἀκριβέστατα λέγοντας). Since akribeia is necessary for contemporary events, while witnessing all of them is impossible, the historian must avail himself of those sources that report them in the most detailed way (τοὺς ἀκριβέστατα λέγοντας). The term ἀκριβέστατα qualifies the exclusive condition of the direct testimony, which consists in one’s seeing and understanding an event better than any other, and consequently, the opportunity also for the historian who interrogates it to obtain the most complete and reliable information. As we see, F 110 and F 9 can be thematically connected: the impossibility of applying personal autopsy all the time and in any circumstances causes the historian to interrogate others who have empeiria (F 110) and to select those intermediary testimonies which are closer to the events and can report them with the highest degree of accuracy (ἀκριβέστατα, F 9). Considered together, FF 9 and 110 confirm Ephorus’ deep awareness with regard to the conditions enabling historical inquiry, the historian’s competence and preparation, the witness’s competence, and the proximity of representation to reality. The historical discourse takes its shape as an autonomous discipline, with its own forms, techniques and objectives. 1.4

Ephorus on the Difference Between Historical Discourse and Epideictic Speech, and the Birth of Historiography as a Genre (F 111 + T 23)

A few lines after quoting F 110, Polybius, in critiquing Timaeus further, mentions Ephorus again: I cannot understand how he [sc. Timaeus] has the reputation of being in the front rank of historians since he gave not the slightest thought to these things, but settled down in one place as an exile, and denied himself (almost of set purpose) the active personal experience in military and political affairs that comes from travel and from seeing things for oneself. It is easy to show that Timaeus is such as I have described him, since he confesses as much. In the preface of his book VI, he [Tim. FGrHist 566 F 7] says that some suppose that the genre of epideictic speech requires greater natural ability, effort, and preparation than does history, and he adds that these sentiments were known to Ephorus [FGrHist 70 F 111] earlier, but Ephorus was unable to refute those who held this view; and so he, Timaeus, would attempt to decide the matter by a comparison of history with epideictic rhetoric, thereby doing the most absurd thing. First, he has made a false charge against Ephorus: for Ephorus [FGrHist 70 T 23] who throughout his entire history is admirable in his style, treatment and invention of arguments, is at his most forceful in his

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digressions, his personal reflections, and in general whenever he adds a discourse to the main narrative. It so happens, in fact, that he has treated most charmingly and most persuasively the comparison between historians and speechwriters. Timaeus, however, lest he seem to repeat what Ephorus said, has, in addition to bringing a false charge against him, condemned the rest [i.e. the contents of Ephorus’ comparison], and Timaeus supposed that no one alive would observe that matters which had been suitably treated by others are dealt with by him at length, obscurely, and worse in every particular way. Wishing nonetheless to extol history, he says first that the difference between history and epideictic oratory is as great as that between real buildings or constructions and the theatre decorations that show landscapes and scenes. Second, he says that gathering material for history is a greater task than the entire composition of epideictic speeches. He himself, for example, had undergone such great expense and hardship in gathering records of the Tyrians and investigating the customs of Ligurians and Celts and the Iberians as well, that neither he nor those others who reported these matters would be believed. One would happily ask this historian which matter he supposed required greater expense and hardship: gathering treatises and making inquiries about the Ligurians and Celts while sitting in town, or trying to be an eyewitness of the greatest number of people and places?47

According to Polybius, Timaeus addressed the issue of the difference between historical discourse and epideictic speech using useless metaphors, drafting pompous observations about his own critical ingenuity – which was, in fact, rather modest – and heavily criticizing Ephorus for no good reason. Polybius takes the opportunity to underline, on the one hand, Timaeus’ methodological limitations since he made use only of written sources, and, on the other hand, his unnecessary polemical tone against Ephorus, who, before him, had convincingly addressed the difference between historical and epideictic writing. Unfortunately, Polybius is so focused on exploiting this subject as an argument against Timaeus that he does not report Ephorus’ comparison, which he believed to be so apt. Ephorus’ original comparison is an enigma.48 Yet some aspects of it seem to emerge from Polybius’ text. First, Timaeus found Ephorus’ arguments 47

48

Polyb. 12.28.6–28a.4. The excerpt Jacoby selected and published as F 111 is highlighted. On the meaning of κατὰ δέ τινα συντυχίαν (28.11) and τῶν λειπῶν (28.12), see Chávez Reino 2005, 35 n. 38 and 36 n. 39. Marx (1815, 41–42) erroneously uses it to prove that Ephorus inserted praise and blame in his narrative (see rightly Chávez Reino 2005, 25 ff.). Müller (1841, lxivb) mentions it with regard to Ephorus’ style. Schwartz (1907, 1–2, 9) supposes that Ephorus confronted the epideictic with the historiographical style (see also Kalischek 1913, 62). On account of a suggestion by Laqueur 1911a, especially 206, Jacoby (1926b, 64) suspects that Ephorus argued against the insertion of overly emphatic speeches in the historical narrative (cf. Diod. 20.1–2. See Barber 1935, 69–70; Canfora

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inadequate, but – Polybius says – provided de facto an adaptation of Ephorus’ own observations (κατακολουθεῖν). This point is of interest, since we know that Ephorus condemned mousike as a source of deception and magic (apate and goeteia, F 8), and Dionysius of Halicarnassus, drawing directly or indirectly on Ephorus, talks of ‘theatrical charms’ (theatrikas goeteias).49 F 8 is not from the same context of F 111 (as Polybius makes clear, Ephorus’ comparison was a ‘discourse added to the narrative’, λόγος ἐν ἐπιμέτρῳ, therefore was not in the general proem), but continuity of thought between different sections of the same work is possible: it may well be that Ephorus inspired Timaeus’ metaphor – ‘the difference between history and epideictic oratory is as great as that between real buildings or constructions and the theatre decorations that show landscapes and scenes’ – which itself contrasted truth as the object of history with illusion/deception as the effect of epideictic speech.50 Second, the general discussion of the differences between historical discourse and epideictic speech revolved around a specific question, which of the two required more ‘natural ability’ (φύσις), ‘effort’ (φιλοπονία) and more ‘preparation’ (παρασκευή). Ephorus replied to the view of some who

49 50

1990, 319 ff.; Parker 2011, ad loc.). According to Peter (1911, 153), Ephorus claimed that historical writing was as stylistically elaborate as epideictic writing (see also Torraca 1988, 11). According to Barber (1935, 72), Ephorus claimed that writing history was as difficult as writing epideictic speeches. Avenarius (1956, 15) sees continuity between Ephorus and Polybius (who praises Ephorus), and Schepens (1970, 179 with n. 42) recalls Polybius’ distinction between historiography and rhetoric in 16.17.9–11 (but see Schepens 1977a, 104 with n. 57, on Tim. FGrHist 566 F 7 as a means to trace back to Ephorus). Wehrli (1972 [1947], 132 ff.) reads both F 111 and F 8 in the context of the response of the ancient historiographical theorists to the Gorgianic notion of literature as a seductive attraction (cf. Polyb. 2.56.10–12; 16.17.9–11). See also Vattuone 1991, 27, and 1998a, 186. On the natural link between F 8 and F 111, see also Fornara 1983, 123; Marincola 2007c, 172–3. Milns (1980, 52–3) underlines again the analogy between Ephorus and Timaeus (FGrHist 566 F 7), and also believes that Ephorus placed emphasis on such Polybian themes as the importance of political and military experience and the need of autopsy and direct testimonies (see also Chávez Reino 2005, 36–7, on F 111 as linked with F 110; Marincola 2007c, 173, on Ephorus’ emphasis on the need to collect sources and investigate places). On F 111, see also Nicolai 2013, 225 ff.; Moggi 2014, 714; Gibson 2018, 87–9. Dion. Hal. De Thuc. 7, I 333.24–334.12 U-R. See above § 1.1, on F 8. On the value and meaning of Timaeus’ metaphor, see especially Vattuone 1991, 25–7 and 2005, 111– 12. Because Timaeus intended to correct Ephorus, one should not attribute directly to Ephorus the arguments that Polybius ascribes to Timaeus (see Vattuone 1991, 23); but one could think that Timaeus offered, at least, a personal and original adaptation of basic ideas that also emerged in Ephorus’ reasoning. On the Ephoran origin of the Timaean metaphor, see Schepens 1977a, 104 with n. 57; Milns 1980, 52–3; Nicolai 2013, 226–7, with an interesting reference to Arist. Rhet. 3.1414a.8–11. Confirmation that Ephorus contrasted history’s truth and epideictic rhetoric’s illusion/deception may be found also in Polybius’ criticism of Zeno of Rhodes in 16.17.9–18.2 (FGrHist 523 F 6), which is indeed a comment on the relationship between declamatory and historical writing: a historian should refuse the sensational style (τερατεία and ἔκπληξις), since it certainly attracts the public at large, but also risks transforming a historical work into a surrogate for an epideictic speech if it is misused and overdone. Polybius may have derived such a concept from Ephorus’ synkrisis, which he admired so much: see Avenarius 1956, 15, and Schepens 1970, 179 with n. 42.

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had ruled in favour of the epideictic speech, so it is fairly obvious that in his reply he touched upon the three themes above (natural ability, effort and preparation). Since Polybius, here as in other passages of book XII, insists on the notion of active inquiry as a manifestation of effort at its highest level, and also appreciates Ephorus’ arguments for their effective articulation and persuasiveness (εὐχαριστότατα καὶ πιθανώτατα), it is highly probable that Ephorus, in his original comparison, placed emphasis on the challenges and the commitment that a direct investigation requires of the historian (see F 110).51 It is very difficult to say more. Polybius, while defending Ephorus from Timaeus’ accusations, praises specifically his ‘style, composition and invention of arguments’ (lexis, oikonomia, and epinoia ton lemmaton, T 23). This may be no coincidence, since in a passage of the Sikelika, Timaeus remarked how style and composition are only minor aspects of historical writing, and not so important as truth (aletheia): Timaeus [FGrHist 566 F 151] says that the greatest fault in history is falsehood. He also exhorts those whom he refutes as having written falsely in their treatises to find another name for their books, any name other than history. For he says it is just like a carpenter’s ruler: we call it a ruler even if it is shorter in length or deficient in width, but nonetheless has the specific quality that makes it a ruler; but if it lacks straightness and all that conforms to straightness, then one must call it anything rather than a ruler. So too for all historical works that are at fault in style or in composition or in any other detail: if they nonetheless cling to truth, those books merit, he says, the name of history; but whenever they go astray from truth, they must no longer be called history.52

The ‘carpenter’s ruler’ (kanon), which we find in Timaeus F 151, is an indispensable tool for accurately building the ‘real buildings’ (oikodomemena) which we find in the metaphor of Timaeus’ comparison (F 7). Was Timaeus, in F 151, implicitly replying to some contents of Ephorus’ original comparison? The possibility exists that Polybius’ defense in Ephorus T 23 is not just an occasional praise of Ephorus, but rather a careful response to Timaeus, using some of the arguments that Ephorus had developed in his comparison and Timaeus had exploited to accuse him of incompetence. One should not therefore exclude, at least a priori, that Ephorus in his comparison also took into consideration specific features of a historian’s work, such as composition and style. If this is the case, Ephorus perhaps 51 52

Cf. Milns 1980, 52; Chávez Reino 2005, 37, and 2007, 138b; Marincola 2007c, 173. Polyb. 12.11.8–12.2. On Timaeus’ fragment, see Vattuone 1991, 28 ff.

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aimed at emphasizing on the one hand, how much more demanding the writing of history was than the writing of epideictic speech (a position which is somewhat easy to expect from a writer of a universal history),53 and on the other, that a historian must be careful with style, since the excessive care for sounds implies a deviation from truth (cf. F 8).54 Drawing on his own experience as a researcher and a historian, Ephorus seems to have considered various aspects of historical discourse in his comparison: the notion of a historian’s commitment to overcoming the difficulties of direct inquiry (F 110), and perhaps also the challenge of writing a universal history; the opposition between truth and illusion/ deception, and perhaps also the style by which a historical narrative should be written. His comparative evaluation may have concerned the construction of historical discourse in its entirety, touching upon the making of historical research and its aims, and also the writing of historical discourse. Needless to say, Ephorus, by his discussion, made a major contribution to the definition of the genre. Thucydides, in 1.21.1, had distinguished himself from both poets and logographers (including rhetors).55 By so doing, he had in some sense announced the birth of a new genre. Ephorus, by explicitly replying to supporters of epideictic speech (one may count Isocrates among them, because of Paneg. 956), showed that historiography deserved to be considered as a genre on its own. As far as we know, he was the first to do that. In the first century bc, Cicero would still stress analogies between historical discourse and epideictic speech, which may explain why, long before, intellectuals had made them the object of direct comparison. He says that epideictic rhetors aim to charm their audience by means of elegant sentences, pleasant narratives and digressions, and observes: History closely resembles this category [sc. epideictic oratory], for in history the narrative is embellished, and often a region or battle is described; 53

54

55 56

It is not that Ephorus was obliged to define here the specific criteria of organizing his narrative. He may have simply remarked that writing a universal history was a much more ambitious and challenging task than writing the best epideictic speech. See also Polyb. 16.17.9–18.2, on which cf. n. 50 above. Ephorus may have remarked that history deserves its own style, which would offer a different challenge to what happens in epideictic speech, such that one would be able to accomplish a refined representation of events that did not alter aletheia nor distract the audience from it by means of an excessive insistence on (and manipulation of) the form and the sound of words. Ephorus the theorist of style (cf. F 6) and Ephorus the historian perhaps meet at this point. For detailed arguments, with references to Ephorus’ own style, see Parmeggiani 2011, 128–39. See especially Parmeggiani 2003a, 264–5 n. 71, on Thuc. 1.21.1 and 5.85. ‘Past deeds have been left to all of us as a common inheritance; but to use them properly at the moment, to make appropriate consideration of each of them and to arrange them well, is peculiar to wises.’ On the correspondence between Polyb. 12.28.10 and Isoc. Paneg. 9, see Scheller 1911, 25–9.

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speeches and harangues are often interspersed, but even for these the style is drawn out and flowing, not compact and vehement. The eloquence which we seek must be kept separate from that of the historians no less than from that of the poets.57

For Ephorus, as later for Timaeus, writing history was much more than merely providing an ornate narrative, describing places or battles, inserting speeches, developing digressions or – one may add, since epideictic speech is traditionally concerned with praise and blame58 – praising and blaming this or that individual or city.59 For him, recovering aletheia, and conveying it to the reader, was a much more complicated undertaking than seducing an audience with a discourse that covered a variety of subjects (cf. Thuc. 1.21.1: οὔτε ὡς λογογράφοι ξυνέθεσαν ἐπὶ τὸ προσαγωγότερον τῇ ἀκροάσει ἢ ἀληθέστερον). Ephorus believed that competence and knowledge should not be simulated, but acquired through difficult research (collecting data, examining written and oral testimonies, providing arguments, seeing places, and so on); and also that the proportions of a deed had to be defined with exactness, without amplifications or deformations inspired by occasional performance, this being the only way to painstakingly reconstruct and correctly assess both deeds and words of men over time. 1.5

Ephorus on the Need to Examine All the Evidence in Detail (F 122a)

As FF 9 and 110 show, Ephorus was very sensitive about the criteria for selection of the best sources. F 122a (Strab. 10.3.2–4) adds some details. After he demonstrated the common origins of Aetolians and Eleians, Ephorus claimed: We are accustomed to examine thoroughly [διακριβοῦν εἰώθαμεν] these and similar things whenever some particular matter is either in doubt altogether or has some conjecture about it which is false.60

Aletheia is not only the aim of historical inquiry (cf. F 31b); it is also a painstaking achievement: all the data must be collected and closely examined. 57 58 59 60

Cic. Orat. 66. On this important passage, see, with very different views, Brunt 2011 (1980), 229, and Woodman 2011 (1988), 279. Arist. Rhet. 1.1358b.12–13; [Anaxim.] Rhet. Alex. 1425b.36 ff.; Quint. Inst. Or. 3.7.6–28. On the link between historiography and epideictic speech on praise and blame, see especially Woodman 2011 (1988), 279; Farrington 2015; Gibson 2018. Strab. 10.3.4 (F 122a).

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Ephorus’ Histories: The Method

Ephorus’ declaration in F 122a recalls Thucydides’ statement in his methodological chapter (1.22), right before he mentions the difficulties he encountered during his research: But as for that part of the war’s actions that had to do with deeds, I did not deem it worthy to write those having learned of them from some chance informant, nor as I thought, but instead I went through each matter in detail, both those at which I was present and those that were reported to me by others, with the greatest accuracy possible [ὅσον δυνατὸν ἀκριβείᾳ περὶ ἑκάστου ἐπεξελθών]. And discovering [sc. what happened] was laborious [ἐπιπόνως δὲ ηὑρίσκετο] (. . .).61

Like Thucydides, Ephorus stated that he did not relay information simply as he found it. The term εἰώθαμεν (eiothamen, ‘we are accustomed’) reflects the self-awareness of the historian who elects to perform in-depth examination and relentless study of all the evidence as his primary obligation, taking nothing for granted. The term διακριβοῦν (diakriboun, ‘to examine’) conveys, instead, the idea of an authentication process pursued systematically, the historian’s diligence and conscientiousness in painstakingly collecting and patiently scrutinizing each sign one after the other.62 It is highly probable that a historical project like Ephorus’, shedding light on both the past and the present and not limited to the description of only one war, often compelled its author to face dubious or erroneously accepted traditions, which were thus in need of scrupulous examination. Behind the notion of διακριβοῦν as a habit (εἰώθαμεν) one sees the hard work of the practised inquirer. Theory and practice in historical research meet at this point.

***

Ephorus’ statement in F 122a is the last building block of a coherent theory of historiography, which FF 8, 9, 110 and 111, together with the statements we read in FF 31b, 42 and 149, also help us to reconstruct and appreciate. Ephorus learned much from Thucydides. He looked at 1.1.2 and 21–22 as a reference for developing an advanced methodology. This may appear somewhat predictable today, but it was not in Ephorus’ day: no one told Ephorus to choose Thucydides as his model. Moreover, Ephorus aimed at 61 62

Thuc. 1.22.2. Ephorus’ διακριβοῦν reminds us of Isoc. Antid. 173 on the responsibility of the judicial court to carry out an in-depth examination in addressing the thorniest cases (διακριβοῦσθαι περὶ ἑκάστου καὶ τὴν ἀλήθειαν ζητεῖν). Isocrates often uses the verb διακριβοῦσθαι to describe the acquisition of information required of the rhetorician to become an expert in rhetoric (cf. Antid. 184, 192; Ad Ias. 8). That ἀλήθεια primarily results from διακριβοῦν (in the active voice, as in F 122a) is apparent, for example, in Arist. Soph. Elench. 7.169b, and Eth. Eudem. 2.1227a.

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developing rather than merely reiterating the theory of his predecessor. He looked at Thucydides as a point of departure, and in fact his statements display an autonomous – and, in many ways, innovative – historiographical perspective: see, for example, his self-awareness as a universal historian; his remark that it would be incorrect to use the same yardstick for the reliability of sources on the past and the present; his remark on the limits of practising autopsy, and the implied consequences for research; his emphasis on the historian’s competence and preparation on the one hand, and on the witness’s competence on the other. That Ephorus was among the first, if not the first, to provide a clear definition of historiography as a genre, describing both its contents, practice and aims, does not surprise. His historiographical theory helped Hellenistic exegetes to give Thuc. 1.21–22 an interpretation (see Dionysius of Halicarnassus, On Thucydides 5–7), and also served as a foundation for the methodology of later historians, especially Polybius. The principles of Ephorus’ theoretical reflections on the writing of history, so rigorously and cogently stated, may be regarded as the keystone of the history of historiographical methodology from Thucydides to Polybius. They are certainly evidence of the vibrant and deep methodological engagement of a generation of historians, which, regretfully, has been lost.

2. Practice Typically, when dealing with the past, the Greek historian does not passively transcribe tradition, but openly criticizes it: he identifies and examines signs and evidence, he demonstrates, he argues. He relies on his own observation rather than others’ to ascertain the truth (aletheia), and, by highlighting the limits of the inquiry of his predecessors, he showcases his sharpened and more effective research methods. Ephorus is no exception. As we read in F 31b, he claimed the authoritativeness and validity of the conclusions he had reached through the consistent application of his methodology (τὸν τοιοῦτον ἀεὶ τρόπον), which was aimed at neatly differentiating between the logos alethes and the logos pseudes: For it is absurd if we pursue such a method on every occasion with all other matters, but when we speak about the oracle, which is least false of all, we employ accounts that are so untrustworthy and false.63 63

Strab. 9.3.11 (F 31b).

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While analyzing Ephorus’ historiographical theory, we have seen that he signaled his habit of closely examining the tradition when confronted with uncertain passages or overt mistakes (διακριβοῦν εἰώθαμεν, F 122a). If one should trust the declarations we read in FF 31b and 122a, Ephorus’ critical attitude toward tradition was not confined to particular circumstance, but was systematic. In this regard, it is perhaps significant that Flavius Josephus mentions Ephorus in his catalogue of Greek historians in a markedly different way from his predecessors Acusilaus and Hellanicus. We read in the context of T 30a (Joseph. C. Ap. 1.16): There is no need for me to instruct others who know better than I about all those matters of genealogy where Hellanicus disagrees with Acusilaus [FGrHist 2 T 6] or how Ephorus shows Hellanicus [FGrHist 4 T 18] has written falsely in the majority of cases, and in turn Timaeus [FGrHist 566 T 17] refutes Ephorus, and writers after Timaeus refute him, and everyone refutes Herodotus.64

Ephorus did not simply differ from or correct Hellanicus; he closely examined his exposition, pointing out, after careful reasoning, errors and weaknesses to the reader (ἐν τοῖς πλείστοις ψευδόμενον ἐπιδείκνυσιν). Ironically, Timaeus would follow this same approach, to Ephorus’ own detriment. Like many critics before him, Jacoby believed Ephorus to be a mere compiler.65 This may sound a bit surprising, since Ephorus’ own declarations in FF 31b and 122a, and also the context of T 30a, somewhat suggest that the ancient readers of his Histories did not view this work as mere compilation.66 Yet the position held by Jacoby and others becomes understandable if one considers that Ephorus has been long conceived of as a historian of merely non-contemporary events, and also as the model for Diodorus (who is normally seen as the compiler par excellence). Now we know that Ephorus did not write only non-contemporary history, that he 64 65

66

Joseph. C. Ap. 1.16. Jacoby’s selection for T 30a is highlighted. Jacoby 1926b, 30, and 1949, 130. Schwartz 1907, 9 ff., was also persuaded that the Histories were nothing else but an extensive compilation: Ephorus reproduced what he found in the work of his predecessors (particularly Hellanicus), and only updated it by adding the information he drew from the culture of his time in Cyme, and by putting a moralistic spin on it. Cf. Barber 1935, 137. Both Schwartz and Jacoby certainly built on nineteenth-century scholars’ consideration of Ephorus’ historiography as ‘gedankenlos Ausschreiben’, and their appreciation of Herodotus and Thucydides over Ephorus’ originality, which they considered the insignificant result of unreliable combinations, occasional fallbacks to fallacious traditions, and naive explanations, and the conclusion of a devious ‘Geschichtsmacherei’: see Bauer 1879; Holzapfel 1879; Endemann 1881; Bruchmann 1890–1893; Wilamowitz-Möllendorff 1893, I, 305–7, and II, 16–17; Busolt 1893–1904, I, 156–8; Wachsmuth 1895, 501. T 17 cannot be used to claim the contrary: see above Chapter 1, § 3.

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should not be confused with Diodorus (and vice versa), and moreover, that he claimed a critical approach to tradition. This claim will now be tested, by examining the fragmentary tradition more extensively. 2.1 General Overview While we can suppose that Ephorus, spending time in big cities like Athens, accessed many sources in the library’s archives,67 we cannot demonstrate that he remained in such places to prepare the entire Histories. It is instead very likely that he travelled to various places to acquire additional material and information that he needed for his research. In fact, the fragmentary tradition does not afford the conclusion that Ephorus never made use of autopsy and oral information.68 Still, the completion of a project as vast as the Histories demanded the frequent use of written information, and in this respect, even if Ephorus had availed himself of written texts only, the process would still have been rather challenging, considering the sheer volume of the material he used.69 Obviously the fragments do not render a complete picture of Ephorus’ sources, but they do provide sufficient evidence of their heterogeneity and extraordinary breadth. We will consider a few unambiguous cases since it is not always easy to discern clearly Ephorus’ original citation from the testimony’s own intervention.70 The fragments mention poets and poems (Homer [FF 42, 113, 114a–b, 119, 128, 134a, 146–7, 149], Hesiod [FF 42, 113], Tyrtaeus [F 216], Alcman [F 149], Choerilus [F 42], the Alkmaeonis [F 124], Aristophanes and Eupolis [F 196], Anacreon? [F 194]), historians (Hellanicus [F 118], Xanthus and Herodotus [F 180], Philistus [F 220]; note also the tripartite division of the genres and audience of historiography in Polyb. 9.1.2–4 [context of T 18b]; on T 17, see section 2 below in 67 68

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See Cauer 1847, 57–8; Stelkens 1857, 13–14, 19; Matthiessen 1857–1860, 878; and Schepens 2003, 341. Few critics have regarded it as possible that Ephorus used oral testimonies for the presentation of contemporary history. See Heyne 1828 (1786), cx (‘in recentissimis historiis ea tradidisse censendus est [sc. Ephorus], quae ipse viderat vel audierat’); Marx 1815, 69; and Müller 1841, lxiiib–lxiva. After Jacoby and drawing particularly on Diodorus, see Barber 1935, 127; Stylianou 1998, 106 ff.; and Parker 2004, 45 (‘This period [sc. the fourth century bc] he could still approach through living memory (including his own), and he may well have done so’); Parker 2011, Biographical Essay II C. As we have seen above in treating Ephorus’ historiographical theory, FF 9 and 110 do concern oral informants also. On various occasions Schepens has reiterated Ephorus’ preference for secondary over primary research (see Schepens 1977a, 105 and 112; 2003, 341; 2006a, 96–7; and 2007b, 50–1), seeing it not as a flaw or a sign of the decline of the historiographical genre in the fourth century, but rather as a necessity for the historian given the universal scope and critical nature of his inquiry. This is a recurrent problem in those texts that tend to accumulate citations, such as Strabo’s Geography, the lexicons and the scholia. See, for example, FF 12 and 113.

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the present paragraph), explorers (Euthymenes [F 65f]), works on the constitution (for example, the famous Against the Laws of Lycurgus by the Spartan king Pausanias II [F 118]; the speech On the Constitution by Lysander of Sparta and Cleon of Halicarnassus [F 207]), inscriptions conserved in public places and temples (FF 122a, 199; F 106?), oracles (FF 16, 20a–b, 56, 96, 119, 150, 206), rituals and ritual formulas from mainland Greece and the islands (FF 16, 20, 21?, 22, 29, 31b, 80, 118–20, 149, 152), proverbs and proverbial idioms (FF 58a–d, 59b, 63, 119, 149, 176, 183; also FF 12, 19, 27, and 37?), etymologies, metonomasies, toponyms, ethnonyms, and various other linguistic material (e.g., FF 11, 20–5, 29, 31b, 37, 54, 71, 93, 113, 117–21, 123a–b, 134a, 137b, 145, 149, 151, 156, 164–6, 185). This anthology underlines an unmistakably Herodotean characteristic in Ephorus’ writing, namely the historian’s attention to the broadest variety of evidence. This attention is indicative of an inquiry that, particularly in books I–V, outlined a history of origins and also constructed an authentic cultural history (Kulturgeschichte). The fragments also reveal Ephorus’ knowledge of the royal lists (for the Argive and Spartan lists see F 149) and Olympic lists (Hippias of Elis? F 115), in addition to non-Hellenic texts translated into Greek (Hanno’s Periplus: FF 53, 172, with Schepens 1987), commentaries or travel narratives with information of Phoenician origin (e.g., F 128 ff.), and detailed maps (F 119. But one may wonder if Ephorus’ detailed description of Boeotia owes something to his own autopsy). Evidence of the consultation of other sources emerges in book-numbered and non-book-numbered fragments, which Jacoby either associated with the Syntagma Epichorion (F 1) and On Inventions (FF 104–5), or could not decisively place (F 227). These fragments too are indicative of the knowledge that the writing of the Histories required. Poetic texts, used particularly for the distant past and ethnographic and geographic in-depth analyses, also served the representation of the most recent history of the fifth century, including the Persian Wars (F 63? [ἀναπαριάζειν, a proverbial expression possibly deriving from comedy] and the context of F 187 [Simonides’ epigram]) and fifth-century history until 431 bc (FF 193? [Aristophanes on the use of the funds of the Acropolis during Pericles’ administration] and 196 [Aristophanes on Pericles’ personal troubles and, together with Eupolis, on Pericles’ rhetorical effectiveness; perhaps Teleclides on Pericles and peace, wealth and prosperity in fifth-century Athens]). They also placed added emphasis and suggestiveness to the representation of historical events (see, for example, F 194? [Anacreon’s ‘Artemon Periphoretus’ helped the historian characterize

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Pericles’ homonymous engineer at the siege of Samos] and F 196 [the combination of verses from the Acharnians by Aristophanes and the Demes by Eupolis, if ascribable to Ephorus]). Through an in-depth examination of the fragments, it is also possible to identify authors whom Ephorus consulted (for example, Herodotus, Hellanicus and Simonides in the context of F 187). The language of the fragments also demonstrates Ephorus’ contact with traditions that can be identified only by conjecture. Verbal forms with no expressed subject like φασί (FF 16, 114a, and 149. Cf. λέγεται, F 34, λέγεσθαι, FF 124, 136; ἱστορεῖσθαι, F 149, τούς φάσκοντας, F 122a) and καλεῖσθαι (FF 117–18. Cf. ἐν καταγείοις οἰκίαις . . . ἃς καλοῦσιν ἀργίλλας, F 134a; κατ’ Αἰγυπτίους καλουμένη Πτίμυρις, F 169; etc.); or more complex locutions such as οἱ φιλομυθοῦντες ἐν τῇ τῆς ἱστορίας γραφῇ (F 31b); or several other expressions such as ἀπίστοις καὶ ψευδέσι λόγοις (F 31b), ὑπολαμβάνουσι/ νομίζουσι . . . οἱ μέν . . . οἱ δέ (F 31b. Cf. F 191), τῶν ἐν τῇ Κρήτῃ μυθολογούμενων (F 32), οἱ μὲν οὖν ἄλλοι λέγουσιν (F 42), παρὰ Φωκεῦσι . . . λέγεσθαι (F 93), Arcadas dicere (F 112a), οὐ μὴν τούς γε Ἠλείους ἀναγράψαι τὴν θέσιν ταύτην (F 115), ἱστορίαν παλαιάν/ λέγεσθαι . . . ὑπὸ τῶν Ταρτησσίων (F 128. Cf. παλαιὰν δόξαν? F 30a), a quibusdam existimatur (F 129a), δοκεῖ δὲ/ λέγεσθαι ὑπό τινων/ λέγεσθαι ὑπὸ τῶν Κρητῶν (F 149), ὁμολογεῖσθαι παρὰ πάντων/ ὡς φασί τινες (F 149), φασιν οἱ πλησιώχοροι (context of F 60b), and Alexandrum qui sciunt (F 217), all identify anonymous sources, whether they be collective or individual, depending on the textual circumstances. At times, these sources, mostly but not exclusively written, represent a shared political vision (for example, the Spartiates on the origin and cause of the denomination of Agiads and Eurypontids in F 118); more frequently, they represent local realities (the πλησιώχοροι in the context of F 60b, the ‘Phocians’ in F 93, the ‘Arcadians’ in F 112a, the ‘Eleians’ in F 115, the ‘Tartessians’ in F 128, and the ‘Cretans’ in F 149; cf. Herodotus’ ‘akoe-statements’).71 Other noteworthy features include the distinction Ephorus occasionally made between different genres and types of sources (οἱ φιλομυθοῦντες ἐν τῇ τῆς ἱστορίας γραφῇ in F 31b; μεμνῆσθαι δ’ αὐτῶν τοὺς ποιητάς in F 42; οὐ μὴν τούς γε Ἠλείους ἀναγράψαι τὴν θέσιν ταύτην in F 115) and between different variants of the same story, in a Herodotean manner (ὑπολαμβάνουσι/ νομίζουσι . . . οἱ μέν . . . οἱ δέ in F 31b. Cf. section 1 of F 191); his use of νομίζω to introduce a reported tradition (FF 31b, F 42) or 71

On Herodotean ‘akoe-statements’, see Verdin 1970, 187–90; Luraghi 2001b; Hornblower 2002, 378 ff.; Schepens 2006a, 84–5 with further bibliography.

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to cautiously advance a conclusion (F 113); and his use of δοκέω in sceptical remarks on the reported information (FF 30a–b, 147 [δοκεῖ . . . ὡς ἔοικεν]) or to cautiously advance an inference (F 124). A close reading of the fragments brings to light other important characteristics. For convenience, in what follows (an eight-point argument), we will avail ourselves of some information provided by our study in Chapter 3, on the contents of the Histories. (1) Ephorus’ work often presented variants, corrections and integrations in relation to the works of Herodotus, Thucydides and Xenophon, and ultimately offered a more complete representation of general history by including information or explanations that his predecessors had omitted or barely alluded to. Furthermore, Ephorus adopted a different periodization from the one we find in Herodotus, Thucydides and Xenophon, and in modern histories of ancient Greece. An example of Ephorus’ original temporal structure is offered by the Persian Wars of the fifth century bc, which did not end at 479 bc but probably extended to 449 bc. Ephorus did not conceive of any ‘Pentekontaetia’ (the year 462 bc, it seems, was a major cesura for him), and he also organized the narrative of the twenty-seven-year-long Peloponnesian War in shorter temporal sub-units focusing on episodes in the war that spanned a limited time (for example, the Archidamian War from 431 to 421 bc), but which he interpreted, in turn, in relation to the conflicts between Athens and Sparta since ca. 460 bc. Moreover, Ephorus probably set the end of the Decelean War in the year 403/2 bc, and the beginning of the new Persian Wars, which he viewed to be intertwined with the Greek wars until 386 bc, in 402 bc. The conclusion that Ephorus entirely made up his ‘alternative contents’ or that he dismissed Herodotus, Thucydides and Xenophon to transcribe this or that ‘alternative source’, is critically untenable: the first view assumes that there is no historical truth outside the works of Herodotus, Thucydides and Xenophon; the second disregards the extent and complexity of the written and oral material that Ephorus used, and his sophisticated research methods. In fact, it is possible that a certain amount of nonHerodotean, non-Thucydidean and non-Xenophontean information which one finds in the fragments does not derive from one specific written source for each, but is the result of different types of research and interpretative paths that Ephorus undertook autonomously, drawing on sources of various kinds. (2) A second characteristic of Ephorus’ composition of the Histories that emerges from the fragments concerns his extensive knowledge and use

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of major historians such as Hellanicus, Herodotus, Thucydides and Philistus. One may also add Xanthus (see F 180) and Hecataeus (see section 3 below). A link is clearly detectable between the Histories and the Hellenika Oxyrhynchia (assuming that the presumed Hellenika are not themselves fragments of the Histories), whereas the relationship with Ctesias appears to be more circumstantial (see F 208, and also section 3 below). It is more difficult to evaluate to what extent Ephorus knew and made use of Antiochus, Xenophon, Theopompus and Callisthenes. The relationship with Antiochus is the object of mere speculation.72 Ephorus was probably familiar with Xenophon’s work, but did not consider it a significant point of reference for his own,73 whereas his divergence from Theopompus is remarkable.74 With regard to Callisthenes, Porphyry mentions Ephorus as extensively plagiarizing him together with Anaximenes and Daimachus (T 17). If so, one should add not only Callisthenes, but also Anaximenes and Daimachus to the list of Ephorus’ sources, and conclude that Ephorus extensively copied them. Some scholars take Porphyry as merely mentioning Ephorus’ sources, i.e., they scale down the charge of plagiarism, but such an approach is misleading: Porphyry’s claim does concern plagiarism, and cannot be easily turned into mere testimony on the identity of Ephorus’ sources; otherwise one should wonder why Porphyry does not list, say, Hellanicus or Herodotus. Thus one cannot but take Porphyry’s

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On Ephorus and Antiochus, see Forderer 1913, 58–69; Jacoby 1926b, 76–8, 100; Luraghi 2002, 55–89; Cuscunà 2003, 6–7; Parker 2011, on F 216. Both Ephorus and Antiochus are often quoted in books V and VI of Strabo’s Geography (Antioch. FGrHist 555 FF 3a, 7–13; Ephor. FGrHist 70 FF 113, 134–41, 216), sometimes together as authorities on the very same issues: Antioch. F 10 and Ephor. F 140 on the origins of Croton (6.1.12); Antioch. F 12 and Ephor. F 141 on the origins of Metapontus (6.1.15); Antioch. F 13 and Ephor. F 216 on the origins of Taras (6.3.2–3). In 6.1.12 and 15, Strabo uses Ephorus’ details to integrate Antiochus’ narrative; in 6.3.2–3, he contrasts Ephorus’ version with Antiochus’. In short, Strabo’s quotations do not provide enough evidence to conclude either that Ephorus did know and/or use Antiochus’ work or that he did not. On similarities between Ephorus and Xenophon concerning the decadence of Sparta in the fourth century bc, see Parmeggiani 2011, 582 ff. To be sure, fragments of Ephorus’ book XVI and following suggest a different and more detailed representation of events than Xenophon’s representation in the Hellenika. One may contrast, for example, Theopompus’ appreciation of Lysander in FGrHist 115 FF 20 and 333 with Ephorus’ critique in FGrHist 70 FF 206 and 207; Theopomp. F 332 with Ephor. F 205 on Sciraphidas/Phlogidas; Theopomp. F 334a with Ephor. F 221 on Satyrus/Orthagoras; Theopomp. F 393, on Pheidon as the sixth from Temenus, with Ephor. F 115 on Pheidon as the tenth from Temenus (but there may have been more than one Pheidon in the Argive stemma). Testimonies sometimes isolate Theopompus’ or Ephorus’ version from the rest of tradition, therefore suggesting that they do not depend on each other: see Theopomp. FF 323 and 333; Plut. Lys. 20.6 (cf. Ephor. F 206); Ephor. F 70. Note that, for Ephorus, the ‘times around Leuctra’ (λευκτρικοὶ καιροί) marked a fundamental stage in Greek history: it was not the same for Theopompus (see Chapter 4). For further details on Ephorus and Theopompus, see Parmeggiani 2011, 641 n. 46.

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accusations as they are, and believe or not believe them; yet Porphyry’s testimony is problematic to say the least (see Chapter 1, § 3).75 Other testimonies are more telling in reference to Callisthenes. We learn from Seneca that Ephorus could report on contemporary events independently of him, most likely by means of autopsy or by using oral testimonies (F 212): Take the comet which was observed by the eyes of all mortals and which brought with it an event of enormous importance, since when it rose it sank Helice and Buris. Ephorus says that this comet split into two planets, something which no one besides him records [quod praeter illum nemo tradidit].76

Seneca points out that Ephorus was the only one who recounted the splitting of the comet in 373/2 bc. It is thus evident that, if Ephorus knew Callisthenes, he did not reproduce his work with the rigidity that normally characterizes a copyist or an epitomator.77 ‘Difference with’ or ‘divergence from’ obviously does not mean ‘no knowledge of’. But chronology, on the other hand, is a serious limitation. With regard to the relationship between Ephorus, Theopompus and Callisthenes, Diodorus explains that all three of them lived at the same time (T 8).78 This is an important piece of information because never in the fragments do they mention each other – and we know that Ephorus usually, but not always, named his predecessors (FF 180 and 220). We cannot even exclude that Ephorus, Theopompus and Callisthenes carried out their projects without a knowledge of each other’s work, in whole or in 75

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Needless to say that common interests on celestial phenomena (Ephor. FGrHist 70 F 212, Callisth. FGrHist 124 F 20 and Daimach. FGrHist 65 F 5), occasional agreement of view (Ephor. F 122a and Daimach. F 1, on the kinship ties between the Aetolians and the Eleians), side by side mentions in a same testimony (e.g., Ephor. T 21 and Anaxim. FGrHist 72 T 15; or Ephor. F 94a and Anaxim. F 8), and similar things, cannot serve as the basis for constructing Quellenforschung schemes (pace Prandi 2014, 689 ff.; Tufano 2019, 330 ff.). Note that Ephorus, Theopompus, Callisthenes and Anaximenes were historians of the same age (this cannot be excluded a priori also for fourth-century Daimachus, if he existed: see Chapter 1, n. 71), which obviously complicates things. Cf. below. Sen. QNat. 7.16.2 (F 212). Note that Seneca knows Callisthenes’ account of the comet and the catastrophes of Helice and Buris in 373/2 bc: see QNat. 6.23.1–4, 26.3, and 7.5.3–5 (Callisth. FGrHist 124 FF 19, 20–1 respectively). Further divergences and/or differences between the two historians: for example, Callisth. FGrHist 124 F 18 and Ephor. FGrHist 70 F 210 on the number of soldiers that constituted the mora of the Spartan army (700 and 500 respectively). On Ephorus and Callisthenes see also, with different perspectives, Prandi 1985, 128–9, and 2014, 690–1; Parker 2004, 42–3, and 2011, on FF 115–18 and 216; De Fidio 2013, 495–6. Further Ephoran testimonia make of Ephorus a contemporary of Theopompus (TT 3a–b, 5, 27, 28a– b) or Callisthenes (T 6). Note that Anaximenean testimonia make Anaximenes also a contemporary of the three historians above (FGrHist 72 TT 4, 6, 9a).

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part. For example, all three historians addressed the question of the authenticity of the peace negotiations between Athens and Persia in the fifth century bc (Ephor. FGrHist 70 F 106?; Theopomp. FGrHist 115 FF 154–5; Callisth. FGrHist 124 F 16). This circumstance should not automatically be viewed as a response of each author to the reading of the works of the other two, for each historian might have addressed independently a question that was greatly and commonly debated in the fourth century bc.79 (3) A third feature of Ephorus’ Histories is the author’s conflicting relationship with myth (FF 13, 17, 31a–b, 32, 34, 129a–b) and his inclination to disprove the theses of his predecessors in matters of antiquity, ethnography and geography by means of careful refutations (FF 31b, 42, 65a–f, 93, 118, 122a, 149). In the Histories, Ephorus’ critical revisiting of known ideas and opinions often accompanied his consideration of events in the distant past or of peoples geographically far away. The display of sources in books I–V was likely impressive, and the tone of his writing certainly polemical. But also polemical was his account of present and contemporary history (see books XVI–XXX). The referents of Ephorus’ attacks remained frequently anonymous (cf. F 42: οἱ μὲν οὖν ἄλλοι; F 122a: ψευδομένους τοὺς φάσκοντας; F 149: ὑπό τινων). All the same, they might have been recognizable to the attentive reader. The writers of history were first and foremost among his targets (cf. F 31b: οἱ φιλομυθοῦντες ἐν τῇ τῆς ἱστορίας γραφῇ), along with the neoteroi (‘more recent writers/speakers’, cf. F 9: if τοὺς νεωτέρους alludes to a category, this included logographers and rhetoricians, poets, local exegetes, and written and oral testimonies on noncontemporary events). It is possible to identify Hellanicus (certainly the most openly criticized author: T 30a, F 118. Cf. Strab. 10.2.6), Herodotus (cf. FF 122a, 187 [context]), Ctesias (cited together with Hellanicus and Herodotus in Strab. 1.2.35 and 11.6.2–3), Hecataeus (cf. F 122a and Strab. 8.3.9) and perhaps Critias (among the τινες [‘some’] of F 149?). But the list may be actually longer. (4) A study of the fragments also shows that Ephorus was prone to denouncing cases of misrepresentation and distortion of mythical antiquity

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Moreover, the thematic similarities that Photius noticed between Ephorus’ and Theopompus’ general proems (Ephor. F 7) are not sufficient to postulate Theopompus’ knowledge of Ephorus, or vice versa. They demonstrate only that both historians participated in the life of the same ‘intellectual community’. This community was committed to a close and in-depth examination of historical events, and proposed guiding criteria for historical inquiry, which historiographers would adopt later, during the Hellenistic period (see, for example, the concepts of autopsy, autopatheia and empeiria in Polyb. XII: cf. Ephor. F 110; Theopomp. F 342).

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for political purposes, whether he found them in the past or in the present of Greek history (F 115 on Pheidon of Argos, and F 207 on Lysander of Sparta). (5) The fragments give evidence of the differences between Ephorus’ narrative and local traditions. For example, FF 16–18 contradict the Spartan tradition on Aristodemus as founder with Procles and Eurysthenes of Dorian Sparta, and the Athenian tradition on the role Athens played in support of the Return of the Heraclidae. F 31b corrects the widespread belief of local theologians and poets on the origins of Delphi. F 63 objects to the Parian tradition on Miltiades’ failure at Paros, as we find it reported in Herodotus. In FF 117 and 118, the Dorian law of Agis and Eurypon of the Spartan tradition is exposed as a wrong against the perioikoi through the illustration of the civil strife in Laconia in the pre-Lycurgan era. In FF 21 and 119, evidence can be found of criticism of fifth- and fourth-century Thebans’ beliefs about their past. Ephorus also condemned how the Corinthians had erased the memory of Cypselus’ good government (Nic. Dam. FGrHist 90 F 57),80 and subtly criticized Attic local memory of the ancient past (see, for example, F 137a on the Athenians’ missed opportunity to be the first ones to colonize Sicily), as well as modern events (see, for example, F 186 on the role played by the Siceliots in the victory at Himera in 480 bc to protect Greece, which is implicitly, yet noticeably juxtaposed with the Athenians’ one-sided self-glorification as saviors of Greece after the victory of Salamis; F 192, on the number of the Persian ships at the battle of Eurymedon in 470/ 65 bc), and contemporary history (see T 20 on the significance for the Persians of Conon’s success at Cnidus in 394 bc). The importance Ephorus attributed to local traditions is undeniable. The careful examination of local traditions was an indispensable part of a historical investigation which, to explore the past and the present alike, crossed temporal and geographical boundaries and was not limited to political and military events.81 The specific information that Ephorus drew from them was key to reconstructing non-contemporary events and was integral to his refutations (F 31b on Delphi, F 118 on Sparta, F 122a on the Aetolian-Eleian kinship and F 149 on the kinship of the Cretan and the Spartan constitutions). However, to demonstrate that the Aetolians originally came from Elis (F 122a), Ephorus believed that it was insufficient to 80 81

See Parmeggiani 2011, 277 ff. for a detailed analysis. Herodotus followed this practice. See e.g., Verdin 1970, 193–4, and on Herodotus’ inquiry, his method, and the problem of sources, see, among others, Thomas 2000; Luraghi 2001b; Hornblower 2002; Schepens 2007b, 42 ff. Thucydides also had to resort to considering local traditions when addressing questions on ethnography and non-contemporary history; the Archaeology (1.2–19) offers a conspicuous example of this.

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report only what the Aetolians said, and that it was necessary to know also what the Eleians recounted. Similarly, to demonstrate that Spartan laws which were believed to be Cretan came in fact from Crete (F 149), Ephorus believed that it was necessary to know the accounts of both peoples, the Spartans and the Cretans. In other words, even if accepted, local traditions were tested and, therefore, further corroborated. A review of the fragments thus shows that Ephorus did not integrate ‘great historiography’ by uncritically leaning toward the local traditions or by unscrupulously endorsing encomiastic views that were inspired by them. (6) Another important characteristic of Ephorus’ practice in the Histories concerns his use of poetic sources. The references to the Alkmaeonis in F 124 and Choerilus in F 42 suggest that Ephorus was interested in epic poetry beyond the works of Homer and Hesiod.82 Considering that epos, in its broader meaning, constituted the core of the information reported by the historians before Thucydides, we understand why Ephorus tended to object to myth and chose to criticize his predecessors’ fondness for it: Ephorus’ position attests to his uncommon knowledge of the material available also to his pre-Thucydidean fellow historians, and to the heuristic intention of his research. References to Homer are present in Herodotus primarily in the longest ethnographic sequences, the Egyptian logos of book II and the Scythian logos in book IV, and although sporadic, they document the historian’s solid familiarity with the Homeric epos.83 They are present also in Thucydides, in the narratives on Greek antiquity and ethnography.84 From the fragments, we infer that Ephorus’ references to Homer were not only necessary, but also rather frequent in books I–V (particularly IV–V), both in the parts concerning the Greeks and those concerning the barbarians. Ephorus consistently submitted Homer’s texts – particularly those sections of historical interest and relevance such as the Catalogue of Ships in the Iliad or the description of Crete in the Odyssey – to a systematic historical, geographical and also philological examination. The fragments also document Ephorus’ interest in the comic productions of the fifth century and his novel – at least to some extent – attention

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On Herodotus’ and Thucydides’ tendency to limit themselves to Homer and Hesiod, see Nicolai 2003. Yet such formulas as παλαιοὶ τῶν ποιητῶν (Thuc. 1.5.2; 13.5) suggest knowledge of more poets. See also Nicolai 2005. See Hdt. 2.23.1, 53.2–3, 116–117.1; 4.29.1, 32.1; and also 7.161.3. Herodotus’ work also abounds with Homeric intertexts. See now Matijašić 2022. See Thuc. 1.2-19 (passim) and 3.104.3-6. See also the mention in Pericles’ Funeral Speech (2.41.4).

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to lyric poetry.85 As for the comic poets, they were key to understanding and illuminating Athenian politics in the fifth century bc (see especially FF 193 and 196). As for the lyric texts, Ephorus tended to cite excerpts from them particularly when discussing and representing the past. For example, he mentioned Tyrtaeus for the First Messenian War (F 216), and Simonides for the first half of the fifth century (context of F 187). We can also think of other authors, who travelled and collected ancient traditions while witnessing the political and cultural tensions of their present – like Pindar – or who actively participated in the political life and personally experienced the major events of their time – like Solon. The fragments show that Ephorus followed different criteria and pursued different objectives when citing poets and poetry, whether epic, lyric or comic: the role poetry plays in his text is to be considered case by case and in relation to the context of each citation. Beside this, two points should also be acknowledged: on the one hand, the breadth of Ephorus’ inquiry, which extended to include the distant past, culture and institutions, demanded the examination also of epic and lyric traditions; on the other, the refinement of exegetical techniques in the fifth and fourth centuries – one may guess – favoured the use of poetic texts as historical sources. Ephorus’ attention to poets as sources should therefore not be considered in itself a sign of cultural and methodological regression in comparison with the suspicions expressed by Herodotus and Thucydides. After all, no scholar of ancient history today would think Ephorus’ introduction of such authors as Tyrtaeus, Alcman, Simonides and Aristophanes into the historical debate to be a fault rather than a merit. (7) In addition to poetry, Ephorus made use also of inscriptions related to the distant and recent past (see FF 122a, 199; F 106?), apparently with no temporal restrictions. Thanks to him, the examination of inscriptions, along with the exegesis of poetic texts, became a cornerstone of historical inquiry and an essential tool for the organization of historical discourse.86 One may wonder if, in the Histories, Ephorus reported Athenian and Theban official inscriptions or at least availed himself of this type of source 85

86

No comparable attention to lyric poetry as a source for historical reconstruction is in fact present in Herodotus or Thucydides. In the former, we find isolated references to Archilochus (1.12.4), Arion (1.23), Solon (1.29–34; 2.177; 5.113.2), Sappho (2.135.6), Pindar (3.38.4), Anacreon (3.121.1), Alcaeus (5.95.2), Lasus (7.6.3), and an increasing interest in Simonides (see 5.102.3 and 7.228). We find nothing in the latter. Obviously this is not to say that lyric poetry was unimportant to both Herodotus and Thucydides: see, e.g., Hornblower 2004; Donelli 2016. On historians and comedy, see now Baragwanath and Foster 2017. See Schepens 2003, 342 ff. On Ephorus and inscriptions, see also Wheeler 1987; Parker 2004, 45. For a different view, see Sheppard 2018, 31–4.

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to discuss and represent local and general history. At any rate, the extremely detailed exposition of contemporary events in books XXI–XXV is not to be necessarily explained by the author’s use only of Boeotian and Attic chronicles: we cannot exclude Ephorus’ direct knowledge of Athens and the possibility of his contact with eminent personalities of the local political establishment; by the same token, we cannot rule out that Ephorus knew Thebes from experience, and sought to contact some veterans and/or prominent figures in Epaminondas’ entourage. For the subsequent books of the Histories (XXVI–XXX), it is more difficult to identify their sources. An expression like Alexandrum qui sciunt leonem annuli recognoscunt (F 217), assuming that it was Ephorus’ and not Demophilus’, may suggest that the author had met if not Alexander (cf. T 6), at least some of his closest associates. In this case too, however, we cannot determine whether the author refers to written (Callisthenes?) and/or oral testimonies. (8) A final feature of the Histories emerges from the fragments. Ephorus’ work often included ‘secret stories’ (FF 69, 70, 186, 206–7, 211), stories that dealt with or took place in the East or the West (for example, the agreements between the Persians and the Carthaginians [F 186] and between the Persians and the Syracusans [F 211], and Alcibiades’ death [F 70]), or that at times offered post mortem disclosures on illustrious characters (for example, Lysander [FF 69, 206–7]). The accuracy of these representations reflects a general trend in Ephorus’ original narration: representation became more and more detailed as it approached the present, particularly from the last years of the fifth century bc onward (books XVI and following). In the specific case of the fragments on Lysander, precision is also connected with the technique that Dionysius of Halicarnassus speaks about in relation to Theopompus (FGrHist 115 T 20a), ‘to examine the unseen reasons of deeds and of those doing the deeds, and the emotions of the soul (these are things which it is not easy for most people to know) and to uncover all the mysteries of apparent virtue and undetected vice’.87 Dionysius’ statement demonstrates that Ephorus adopted a technique that was well established in fourth-century historiography.88 This technique also conforms to Ephorus’ principle of διακριβοῦν εἰώθαμεν (F 122a), namely to 87 88

Dion. Hal. Ad Pomp. 6.7, II 246.10–16 U-R. The objection that Dionysius’ statement refers exclusively to Theopompus (see Ad Pomp. 6.7, II 246.7 U-R: τῶν ἔργων αὐτοῦ . . . χαρακτηρικώτατον) is invalidated if one considers the clarification in Ad Pomp. 6.7, II 246.7–10 U-R: according to Dionysius, Theopompus was neither the first nor the only author to ‘examine’ (ἐξετάζειν) and ‘reveal’ (ἐκκαλύπτειν); he was simply the most skilful at it.

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the practice of delving deeper into facts and characters by giving space to material that was either new or had been ignored or insufficiently examined by his predecessors, and to testimonies not previously known. In the case of the fragments on Lysander, the detail of the names Ephorus reports (for example, Cleon of Halicarnassus, author of the logos [F 207 and related texts], Pherecles/Pherecrates of Apollonia, agent of Lysander at Dodona [F 206], and Lacratidas [F 207]) and of the situations he represents (for example, the Spartan trial of Lysander, accused by the ambassadors of the priests of Ammon [F 206], the lively exchange between Lacratidas and Agesilaus [F 207]) need to be considered along with his indisputable familiarity with the main religious centres in Balkan Greece and their traditions (Delphi [FF 31b, 93, 96, 150, 206] and Dodona [FF 20a–c, 119, 142, 206]), as well as the written and oral traditions of Spartan formation (FF 118, 149 and 216). This suggests that Ephorus had personal knowledge of Delphi, Dodona and especially Sparta, and came into contact with local informants/eyewitnesses, regardless of the actual credibility of the information he considered.89 In fact, Ephorus either had reasons to consider their testimony trustworthy, or felt it was his responsibility to examine things further (διακριβοῦν) by reporting on it. On the basis of our overview, the fragments as a whole attest to Ephorus’ extensive use of written information, but do not exclude a practice of direct inquiry, which may have been adopted in the regions of the Peloponnese and central Greece (in centres like Delphi, Dodona, Sparta, Athens and Thebes) and in Asia Minor (especially in Aeolis). We cannot say whether Ephorus, by akoe-statements such as ‘the Cretans say’, invented his sources, much in the same vein of Herodotus according to some scholars’ view (notably Fehling 1989), for we cannot prove that Ephorus was insincere in his own statements. What we can observe instead is that apparently Ephorus’ historical practice was in accordance with the general principles informing his research (FF 9, 110, 122a). To provide a clearer picture we will explore, in the following sections, Ephorus’ historical practice in detail. 89

Such vague expressions as ἀντιλογίας τινὸς συμμαχικῆς in the background of the discovery of Lysander’s logos (F 207 apud Plut. Lys. 30.3) – assuming that they are not due to the testimony of the fragment – follow from the faded margins of individual memory, or suggest information that has been transmitted by word of mouth. Cf. Herodotus’ vagueness in 7.151. According to Strabo in 9.2.4 (F 119), Ephorus stated that he could not tell the oracular response that was given to the Pelasgians at Dodona (τὸν μὲν οὖν τοῖς Πελασγοῖς δοθέντα χρησμὸν ἔφη μὴ ἔχειν εἰπεῖν). This may suggest that the authorities of the sanctuary of Dodona did not give Ephorus the information he asked for. Cf. Herodotus on the Egyptians’ silence in 2.19.1 and 3.

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The Ways of διακριβοῦν (diakriboun): The Critical Use of Sources and the Need to Extend Their Number

In his proem to book IX (1.2–2.7), while dividing the genre of history into three different types with a particular audience for each, Polybius includes a quote from Ephorus (T 18b), suggesting that Ephorus had previously dealt with the same issue. In the history of fifth-century historical writing that Dionysius of Halicarnassus outlines in his treatise On Thucydides (5–7), we find traces of Ephorus’ methodological observations (cf. FF 8 and 110), suggesting that, prior to Dionysius, Alexandrian exegetes had made use of them to contextualize Thucydides’ qualities and criticize the shortcomings of his predecessors. We know that Ephorus challenged his fellow historians in the methodological sections of the Histories, in a tone similar to the more concise critiques of poets and logographers that we find in Thuc. 1.21.1 (cf. FF 8, 9, 31b). In these sections, Ephorus displayed his analytical ability and knowledge of the work of his predecessors. Therefore, it comes as no surprise that Hellenistic exegesis turned to Ephorus directly or indirectly – to the substance of his discussion as Polybius did, or to his lexicon as in Dionysius’ case – to discuss the development of the historiographical genre and its forms. FF 180 and 220 add details and, at the same time, confirm our picture above. In F 180 (Athen. 12.515d), Athenaeus quotes Ephorus to resolve the question of the chronology of Xanthus’ Lydiaka against Artemon of Cassandria, and observes: Ephorus the historian mentions him [sc. Xanthus, FGrHist 765 T 5] as being older and having given Herodotus his starting-points.90

It is not entirely clear what Ephorus intended by ἀφορμαί (lit. ‘starting points’) given the various meanings of the term.91 What is certain, however, is that by establishing a close dependence of Herodotus on Xanthus with regard to the ἀφορμαί, Ephorus worked as something of a historian of the historiographical genre, for he distinguished the works of Xanthus and Herodotus from others of the historiographical tradition because of their specific configuration and form. As for F 220 (Plut. Dion 36), we

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Athen. 12.515d (F 180). See Parmeggiani 2007, 127–8. It may be an allusion to a ‘historical cycle’, or a methodological affinity between Xanthus and Herodotus, or a reference to Xanthus as a source for Herodotus. See also Schepens 1977a, 110, and 2007b, 46; Parker 2004, 35, and 2011, ad loc.; Breglia 2005, 291–2; Carusi 2007, 155a–b; Gazzano 2009, 40–2; Tuplin 2014, 645.

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understand from the Plutarchan context that Ephorus was particularly familiar with Philistus’ writing: Nor is Ephorus sound in praising Philistus [FGrHist 556 T 23a]: for although Philistus was extremely clever at giving refined motives to unjust actions and wicked characters, and inventing well crafted discourses for both [ὃς καίπερ ὢν δεινότατος ἀδίκοις πράγμασι καὶ πονηροῖς ἤθεσιν εὐσχήμονας αἰτίας περιβαλεῖν καὶ λόγους ἔχοντας κόσμον ἐξευρεῖν], he cannot, despite all his contrivances, be cleared of the charge that he was the most devoted supporter of tyrants, and more than anyone he constantly emulated and admired the luxury, power, wealth, and marriages of tyrants. Be that as it may, the person who neither praises Philistus’ actions nor reproaches his fortune is most reasonable.92

Plutarch’s reply includes the original arguments of Ephorus’ praise of Philistus, so it is clear that Ephorus emphasized Philistus’ argumentative effectiveness in justifying Dionysius I’s demeanour in public and private circumstances.93 Ephorus’ annotation, which concerns the aetiological dimension that, still today, we consider to be essential for any skilfully crafted historical discourse, did not result from a superficial reading of Philistus’ work, but rather from a fair-minded examination of its form and content. Ephorus was therefore not only an extensive reader, but also an acute exegete of historiographical sources in general. This peculiarity may be appreciated even more in light of the context of contemporary culture. In Ephorus’ time, a historiographical canon had been formed (or was forming): Herodotus and Thucydides were already part of a shared cultural heritage, as is shown by the fact that Theopompus composed an epitome of Herodotus’ work94 and began his Hellenika from where Thucydides had left off (411 bc).95 Yet we have no information about any historians before Ephorus or during his time who had an equally strong sense of belonging to the historical field and a comparable clear and organized view of the past of historiography as a discipline. Ephorus was the first to draw a clear distinction between historical discourse and epideictic speech (F 111 + T 23); it seems that with him the past of Greek historiography came to 92 93

94 95

Plut. Dion 36.2. Jacoby’s selection for F 220 is highlighted. On the meaning of εὐσχήμονας αἰτίας, see Vattuone 2000, 70. In Plut. Dion 36.2, ὃς (. . .) αὐτός refers not to Ephorus, but to Philistus, pace Canfora 1967 (cf. Bearzot 2002a). Still, while replying to Ephorus’ praise of Philistus, Plutarch shows that he is aware of Ephorus’ originary arguments, which included an appreciation of Philistus’ causation: see Vattuone 2000; Parmeggiani 2011, 52 n. 89. Against Canfora’s thesis, see also Parker 2011, on F 220. So Theopomp. FGrHist 115 T 1, but see Christ 1993. See Theopomp. FGrHist 115 TT 1, 13 and 14.

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be organized into a ‘tradition’ for the first time. One gets the impression that if we still had the Histories in their entirety, we would be better equipped to understand the origins of historiography as a genre and its development between the fifth and the fourth centuries bc.96 These few observations confirm our impression that Ephorus’ work on historical sources did not consist of a mere transcription, but rather a careful examination of and reflection on them. To offer more detailed and accurate insights, we shall now enter Ephorus’ ‘workshop’ and closely examine the fragments so as to understand his critical work on historical sources. In Against Apion, after mentioning Ephorus’ criticism of Hellanicus and Timaeus’ criticism of Ephorus, Josephus observes that the mendacity of Herodotus was exposed by everybody (Ἡρόδοτον δὲ πάντες [sc. ἐν τοῖς πλείστοις ψευδόμενον ἐπιδείκνουσιν], context of T 30a). Ephorus too was most likely included in πάντες (‘everybody’). He probably labelled both Hellanicus and Herodotus as φιλομυθοῦντες (‘lovers of myths’) for the sections of their work which dealt with ethnography and antiquity, and thus contributed, together with Ctesias (FGrHist 688 T 8), to Herodotus’ negative reputation as λογοποιός (‘writer of fables’), which had been variously attested since the fourth century bc.97 Obviously Ephorus used both historians as sources for the reconstruction of Xerxes’ expedition, and in this regard, the context of F 187 (Plut. Mor. 869a) prompts a few initial observations: [Herodotus says that] The Naxians sent three [actually four apud Hdt. 8.46.3] ships as allies to the Persians, but one of the captains, Democritus, persuaded the others to take the side of the Greeks. (. . .) Of earlier writers Hellanicus [FGrHist 4 F 183], and of later writers Ephorus both bear witness against Herodotus: the former says that the Naxians sent six ships, the latter five ships, to assist in the Greek cause. (. . .) That he [sc. Herodotus] composed this falsehood not to praise Democritus but to bring shame upon the Naxians is evident from his omission of and silence about the success and bravery of Democritus which Simonides has revealed in his epigram [XIXa Campbell]: ‘Democritus was the third to join battle, when at Salamis the Greeks clashed 96

97

In this respect, the loss of Ephorus’ work may be regretted as much as Theophrastus’ treatise On History. Obviously, other fourth-century historians also contributed to the definition of the genre, e.g., Theopompus (FGrHist 115 T 20a, FF 25, 26, 342); Xenophon, on his part, counts himself among the syngrapheis (Hell. 7.2.1, with Tuplin 1993, 39). Yet Ephorus’ own contribution to the organization of a ‘tradition’ of the past of Greek historiography is striking, and nothing comparable is found either in Xenophon’s works or in Theopompus’ fragments. On Ctes. FGrHist 688 T 8 (Phot. Bibl. 72, 35b, I 105–106 Henry) see Lenfant 2004, xxviii ff.

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Ephorus’ Histories: The Method with the Medes at sea. Five ships of the enemy he captured, and a sixth, a Dorian, he rescued as it was being captured by a barbarian hand.’98

In noticing a difference between Herodotus and Hellanicus on the number of the Naxian ships at the battle of Salamis (480 bc), Ephorus explained and corrected the information that both provided, by drawing on a celebratory poem (ἐπίγραμμα) by Simonides: the four ships mentioned by Herodotus were in fact the Naxian ships that Democritus persuaded to defect in addition to his own (hence, the comprehensive number of five ships for the Naxians); the six ships in Hellanicus’ report included the Naxian five plus the ship of the Dorians, all mentioned in the epigram. As we can see, Ephorus did not mechanically appropriate or reproduce Simonides’ information, but rather critically reviewed and interpreted, in light of Simonides, the information he found in Herodotus and Hellanicus.99 The analysis of F 187 and its context exemplifies how sophisticated Ephorus’ approach to sources was. Written sources of different types (poetry and prose) were evaluated by comparison, in order to ascertain a particular historical fact. One may question whether the poem was of epigraphic origin; we have no evidence here that Ephorus used an inscription to emend the information transmitted by one or more literary sources, following the general principle – however implicit – that writing in stone, because of its official nature, ensures the social control of information more effectively than historical literature.100 But even if Ephorus did not derive Simonides’ epigram from an inscription and he corrected two historical texts by means of a poetic text, his method should not be judged less critical: poetry can hold the memory of historical data, and Simonides’ epigram helped resolve a discrepancy (between Herodotus and Hellanicus) since it offered more specific information on the circumstances being discussed;101 moreover, Simonides was temporally closer than both Herodotus and Hellanicus to the event in question, and had also been known 98 99 100

101

Plut. Mor. 869a–c. Jacoby’s selection published as F 187 is highlighted. For a different reading of F 187 and its context, see now Vannicelli 2014, who however emphasizes Ephorus’ careful use of Simonides’ epigram to criticize Hellanicus. See below, on F 122a. Critics tend to reject the epigraphic origin of Simonides’ poem, and question its genre – for some it is an elegy, not an epigram, or better, a part of an elegy on account of the ambiguous τρίτος at l. 1 (‘as third’ or ‘together with other two’). On this issue see Page 1981, 219 (no. XIXa); Gentili 1968, 41–5; Manfredini 1991; Bravi 2006, 25 n. 26, 45, 70–3; and Vannicelli 2014. The link Ephorus glimpsed between Simonides’ poem and the texts by Herodotus and Hellanicus prevented him from considering Simonides’ text mere invention. One may suspect that if the difference between Herodotus and Hellanicus could not have been explained through the poem, Ephorus, lacking any other source, would probably have restricted himself to signalling the discrepancy in the tradition, without attempting to explain it.

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among ancient historians since the fifth century bc, since he included information about single episodes of the Persian Wars in several of his elegies and epigrams, which were often epigraphic and, for this reason, of an official nature.102 Let us go back to the distant past. In discussing the origins of the Greek peoples established in the Peloponnese, Herodotus had stated that the Eleians originally came from Aetolia, and, for this reason they should not be viewed as a Peloponnesian people.103 The extended demonstration of the Aetolian-Eleian kinship in F 122a (Strab. 10.3.2–4) – the passage where Ephorus asserted his principle of διακριβοῦν – seems to be Ephorus’ reply to Herodotus (but also to others, as we shall see). According to Strabo, Ephorus disproved ‘those who claim (τοὺς φάσκοντας) that the Eleians were colonists of the Aetolians, and not that the Aetolians were colonists of the Eleians. Those who, like Herodotus, remembered the most recent colonization of Elis by the Aetolians overlooking the more ancient one, dating back ten generations, of Aetolia by the Eleians, attributed an extraPeloponnesian identity to those Eleians who, instead, were to be considered as autochthonous of the Peloponnese. Among the sources Ephorus objected to was also Hecataeus, who had denied that Aetolus came from Elis (FGrHist 1 FF 15, 25): a passage from Strabo (8.3.9) suggests that Ephorus reiterated, in explicit terms, his position against the inclination to the writing of myths, and consequently to falsehoods, of the most ancient historians, Hecataeus included.104 Strabo reports Ephorus’ demonstration as follows (F 122a): And he [sc. Ephorus] cites as evidence of these things [sc. the colonization of Aetolia by Aetolus and the colonization of Elis by Oxylus ten generations later] the inscriptions [παρατίθησι δὲ τούτων μαρτύρια τὰ ἐπιγράμματα], 102

103 104

The use of Simonides’ poetry is already documented in Hdt. 7.228. It is a recurrent feature in Diodorus’ books XI–XII and Plutarch’s De Herodoti malignitate (Mor. 854c–874e), in places where Ephorus is often suggested as being among the sources. The use of epigrams written by or only attributed to Simonides is also attested in Theopomp. FGrHist 115 F 285. This is further evidence of the ‘historiographical success’ of Simonides in the fifth and fourth centuries bc. For a review of Simonidean literary production on the Persian Wars, see Bravi 2006, 42 ff. Hdt. 8.73.1–2. Differently from Ephorus (FF 115 and 122a), Hecataeus identified Aetolus as being not the son of Endymion and the enemy of the king of the Epeians, Salmoneus of Elis, but as the son of Oeneus of Aetolia, thus disentangling him from the Eleians (FGrHist 1 F 15). He also distinguished the Epeians from the Eleians (Hec. F 25), a view that Strab. 8.3.9 does not share and comments upon as follows: ‘The early historians say many things which are not true, since they are accustomed to tell the falsehood because of their writing of myths [συντεθραμμένοι τῷ ψεύδει διὰ τὰς μυθογραφίας]; and for this reason, too, they disagree with one another on the same things.’ It seems to me that, in this passage, Strabo endorses a view that was originally that of Ephorus, whose critical attention was clearly drawn also to works other than Hecataeus’.

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Ephorus’ Histories: The Method one at Therma in Aetolia (where it is their ancestral custom to choose their magistrates), engraved on the base of the statue of Aetolus: ‘The Aetolians dedicated this statue of Aetolus – son of Endymion, the founder of our land, who once was nurtured by the streams of Alpheius, neighbour of the racecourse of Olympia – to look upon as a memorial of his virtue;’ and the other in the agora of the Eleians on the statue of Oxylus: ‘Aetolus once, leaving this autochthonous people, acquired the land of Curetis, with much effort of his spear; and from this same race the tenth-generation son of Haemon, Oxylus, founded this ancient city.’ By means of these inscriptions Ephorus correctly indicates the kinship of Eleians and Aetolians with each other, since both inscriptions are agreed not only on the kinship but also on the fact that they were each founders of the other. In this way he refutes nicely those who make the false claim that the Eleians were colonists of the Aetolians but the Aetolians were not colonists of the Eleians [τὴν μὲν οὖν συγγένειαν τὴν πρὸς ἀλλήλους τῶν τε Ἠλείων καὶ τῶν Αἰτωλῶν ὀρθῶς ἐπισημαίνεται διὰ τῶν ἐπιγραμμάτων, ἐξομολογουμένων ἀμφοῖν οὐ τὴν συγγένειαν μόνον, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὸ ἀρχηγέτας ἀλλήλων εἶναι· δι’ οὗ καλῶς ἐξελέγχει ψευδομένους τοὺς φάσκοντας τῶν μὲν Αἰτωλῶν ἀποίκους εἶναι τοὺς Ἠλείους, μὴ μέντοι τῶν Ἠλείων τοὺς Αἰτωλούς].105

Ephorus refuted the false opinion (ψευδῆ δόξαν) of several historical texts – the theses of τοὺς φάσκοντας (tous phaskontas), Hecataeus and Herodotus among them – by using epigraphic information, a critical approach that Strabo considered highly professional, methodologically appropriate and subtly argumented (ὀρθῶς ἐπισημαίνεται [sc. Ephorus] διὰ τῶν ἐπιγραμμάτων . . . καλῶς ἐξελέγχει ψευδομένους τοὺς φάσκοντας κτλ.). Ultimately this is the most apparent aspect of a practice that, on closer inspection, appears to have been more complex. First, the two inscriptions served as direct evidence of the reconstruction of the distant past. Ephorus placed them at the end of the historical narrative, not to embellish the historical reconstruction but as material foundation of it (παρατίθησι δὲ τούτων μαρτύρια τὰ ἐπιγράμματα).106 Second, both inscriptions mention Aetolus’ move, whereas only one, the Eleian inscription, refers to Oxylus. This is not a marginal detail since Ephorus’ opponents (τοὺς φάσκοντας) did not mention Aetolus’ move. Ephorus, then, compared these two inscriptions to determine the historical actuality of the earlier colonization. Third, not only did these two inscriptions come from different regions and resonate with each other in content, but they were also displayed in different public locations – as Ephorus took care to underscore – and 105 106

Strab. 10.3.2–3 (F 122a). The two inscriptions are collected in Preger 1891, 117 (no. 147: Eleian inscription), 129 (no. 164: Aetolian inscription); and Page 1981, 414–15 (no. CIX). Schepens 2003, 347, has drawn attention to this aspect of the historical function of inscriptions.

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thus held the memory of two local, official akoai. The selection of these particular sources suggests that Ephorus used them to cross-examine the information they provided.107 Ephorus demonstrated that Elis and Aetolia had a common origin by comparing the local Aetolian and Eleian akoai by means of material evidence. Before Ephorus, Herodotus had already shown great interest in the inscription as a historical document, and Thucydides had called attention to several inscriptions to demonstrate that, contrary to the Athenians’ belief, the tyrant was not Hipparchus, but Hippias.108 Epigraphic exegesis did not start in the fourth century bc. Still, a more elaborate notion of the relationship between the inscription and the historical narrative is at work in F 122a, attesting a more systematic and an increased use of epigraphy in historical inquiry. In Ephorus’ demonstration, the two inscriptions presented the reader with the same sequence of events reported in full; consequently, the epigraphic account was tantamount to the historical narrative, and, more important, the two inscriptions were part of a system of reciprocal cross-check. A further difference is notable between Ephorus and his major predecessors in the use of inscriptions, and a more problematic one. Herodotus and Thucydides made use of inscriptions as documents contemporaneous with the events they studied. How shall we read, then, Ephorus’ choice to check ancient events by two inscriptions which were in Ionic dialect and did not date back to Oxylus’ or Aetolus’ past, but rather belonged to a more recent time, the fifth or fourth century bc?109 Should one attribute to Ephorus a dull, unsophisticated use of inscriptions and an unreliable application of assessment techniques, on account of the non-originality of the two inscriptions and the suspicion that an Aetolian-Eleian kinship was only a propagandist ploy in 402 bc, when the Aetolians allied with the Eleians against Sparta (Diod. 14.17.9–10)?110 Ephorus reported the content 107 108

109

110

Cf. Parmeggiani 2001, 187 n. 49. Contra Sheppard 2018, 31–4. Thuc. 6.54–59 (cf. 1.20.2). On Thucydides’ use of inscriptions, see especially Smarczyk 2006. On Herodotus’ use, see Schepens 1980, 70 ff.; West 1985; Osborne 2002, 511 ff.; Fabiani 2003; Haywood 2021. On both Herodotus and Thucydides, see also Liddel and Low 2013, passim; Sheppard 2018, 23–9, on inscribed epigrams and epigraphic evidence. Cf. Preger 1891, 117 and 129: ‘Medio IV. saeculo non recentior;’ and Page 1981, 414: ‘V B.C. . . . the epigrams, . . . (to say nothing of their ionic dialect) have no flavour of antiquity.’ See also Antonetti 2013, 188 ff. See Endemann 1881, 17; Bruchmann 1890–1893, II, 4; Wachsmuth 1895, 504; Ciaceri 1903, 22; Schwartz 1907, 13; Peter 1911, 170; Jacoby 1926b, 31; and Barber 1935, 114–15, 127. Bilik 1998–1999 speaks of forgeries dating to the end of the fifth and the beginning of the fourth century bc, at the time of the Spartan-Eleian conflict, which Ephorus transcribed from the work of Hippias of Elis. See also Sheppard 2018, 34, on both the epigrams quoted in F 122a as ‘later inventions (especially

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of the inscriptions and included the place where they were to be found, providing information also about the public function that this location was reserved or used for, as we read in F 122a: (. . .) one at Therma in Aetolia (where it is their ancestral custom to choose their magistrates), engraved on the base of the statue of Aetolus (. . .).

Even if the monuments under discussion and their inscriptions were of recent creation, an akoe like the one reproduced on the base of Aetolus’ statue could not be as recent, if it is true that, precisely next to that statue, which signified national unity (Αἰτωλοὶ τόνδ’ ἀνέθηκαν | Αἰτωλόν, σφετέρας μνῆμ’ ἀρετῆς ἐσορᾶν), the Aetolians used to perform the ancestral custom (πάτριον) of selecting their magistrates. In addition to being of an official nature, the akoai reported in the inscriptions ought also to be ancient.111 And one should not exclude that Ephorus, by that πάτριον, wanted to convey to the reader that the traditions about the kinship were extremely old compared to the more recent creation of the inscriptions, which is an indication that he was well aware of the different temporal context for the production of the inscriptions and the formation of their content. We do not know whether Hellanicus was among the φάσκοντας whom Ephorus disputed.112 However, Hellanicus studied Aetolian antiquity, and the following passage by Strabo – specifically, the Aetolian section of book X of his Geography from which F 122a also derives – suggests that Ephorus, while dealing with ancient Aetolia, found the opportunity to criticize him too: And the Poet names both Olenus and Pylene [Hom. Il. 2.639] as Aetolian cities. Olenus, which has the same name as the Achaean city, the Aeolians razed to the ground; it was near New Pleuron and the Acarnanians claimed the territory. The Aeolians moved Pylene to higher ground and changed its

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since Elis only underwent synoikism and would have acquired an agora after the Persian Wars)’. Before Endemann, critics tended to appreciate Ephorus’ attention to epigraphy: see Marx 1815, 65; Müller 1841, lxiib; Westermann 1844, 170; Cauer 1847, 58 n. 1; Stelkens 1857, 14, 19; Klügmann 1860, 33; and Blass 18922, 431. After Endemann, there were only few exceptions: Busolt 1893–1904, I, 158 (albeit in a critical context that is overall negative), and especially Matthiessen 1857–1860, 878, 887. For a more balanced approach, see Schepens 2003; Parker 2004 and 2011, ad loc. This is shown by the poetic tradition too. On the distant origin of the tradition of the kinship see also Antonetti 1990, 60–1, and Schepens 2003, 344–5, with reference to Pind. Ol. 3.9–13; Gehrke 2003, 11–13, with reference to Bacchyl. Ep. 8.28 ff., and especially to both Ibyc. fr. 384 Davies and Hes. fr. 10a.63 Merkelbach-West. See also Kõiv 2013, 337–8. There is no doubt that Ephorus knew Hesiod very well (see § 2.1 above, and below). He may not have been, considering that he could be the historian who noted the presence of the Epeians in Aetolia (FGrHist 4 F 195a-b; cf. Damast. FGrHist 5 F 5a-b).

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name to Proschium. Hellanicus [FGrHist 4 F 118] does not even know the history of these cities but makes mention of them as if they were still in their long-ago state, and he lists Macynia and Molycreia among the early cities, although they were founded even later than the Return of the Heraclidae, showing in nearly all of his writings the greatest carelessness.113

Ephorus is not mentioned, but his presence is apparent in this passage. As we have recalled in this chapter (§ 1.2), and shall see also later when commenting on F 149, Ephorus criticized those who confounded the current state of Crete with its past conditions; in other words, they erroneously mixed and confused two temporally distinctive levels. In the passage cited above, Strabo criticizes Hellanicus for a similar reason: he treated as the same the different phases and periods of Aetolia’s historical development; in so doing, he ignored the changes Aetolia had undergone since the age of its settlement, which Ephorus, on the contrary, underscored in his original narrative, as F 122a suggests.114 By accurately compensating for his predecessor’s lacunae in the use of sources (one may posit Ephorus’ use of Homer’s Catalogue of Ships, and of other information on the history of the individual Aetolian cities, which we can no longer identify), Ephorus emended Hellanicus, and offered a more accurate and reliable picture of the original development of Aetolia’s regional history. The final words of Strabo’s passage are also particularly suggestive. Hellanicus demonstrated πλείστην εὐχέρειαν, ‘the greatest’ – and most serious, I would add – ‘carelessness’ (πλείστην has both a quantitative and qualitative meaning), ἐν πάσῃ σχεδόν τι τῇ γραφῇ, ‘in nearly all of his writings’. This harsh observation, which undoubtedly derives from Ephorus, calls to mind Thucydides’ juxtaposition of the uncritical carelessness in the transmission of the past by the locals and the logographers, and the difficulty of an authentic historical investigation, characterized by a commitment to hard work (1.20–21). Strabo’s words πλείστην εὐχέρειαν ἐν πάσῃ σχεδόν τι τῇ γραφῇ ideally describe Hellanicus’ practice as standing in opposition to the Ephoran principle διακριβοῦν εἰώθαμεν (F 122a) and the hard work it endorses. As we shall see, Ephorus’ specific attack on Hellanicus in F 118 conforms to this general criticism. 113 114

Strab. 10.2.6. The Ephoran origin of Strabo’s considerations was first identified by Marx 1823, 755. Ephorus did not consider all Aetolian cities to be founded at the time of Aetolus, as the following words of F 122a demonstrate: τοὺς δ’ Αἰτωλῷ συγκατελθόντας Ἐπειοὺς τὰς ἀρχαιοτάτας κτίσαι τῶν ἐν Αἰτωλίᾳ πόλεων (‘the Epeians, who came with Aetolus, founded the most ancient of the cities of Aetolia’). Some of them dated back to Aetolus’ time; others, instead, came after the Return of the Heraclidae, and were more recent by at least ten generations. Note also that Ephorus placed great emphasis on the historical effects, at times traumatic, of the Aeolian presence in Aetolia (cf. F 122b).

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F 118 (Strab. 8.5.5) is the only case of a fully articulated refutation of Hellanicus that the fragmentary tradition retains: Now Hellanicus [FGrHist 4 F 116] says that Eurysthenes and Procles drew up the constitution [sc. of Sparta], but Ephorus reproves him, saying that he has nowhere mentioned Lycurgus and has instead ascribed Lycurgus’ actions to those who had nothing to do with them. For only to Lycurgus was a temple built and yearly sacrifices offered, but to the other two, although they were founders, it was not even given that their descendants could be called Eurysthenids and Procleids; instead, they are called Agiads from Agis, the son of Eurysthenes, and Eurypontids, from Eurypon the son of Procles. For the latter two ruled according to right, but the former two had ruled by means of the foreigners they had welcomed. From this they were not even called archegetae, a title which is given to all founders. And he says that Pausanias, when he had been driven out by the hatred of the Eurypontids, the other house, composed a treatise in his exile Against the Laws of Lycurgus (who was of the house that had driven Pausanias out) in which he speaks of the oracles given to Lycurgus with many praises.115

In looking at Sparta’s constitution, which Ephorus believed to have been created by Lycurgus,116 Ephorus criticized Hellanicus’ thesis on Eurysthenes and Procles’ authorship on the basis of three arguments. First, he adduced the temple and the annual sacrifices in honour of Lycurgus in Sparta.117 Second, he underlined the name of Agiads and Eurypontids in place of Eurysthenids and Procleids for the two dynasties of the kings of Sparta (in other words, Eurysthenes and Procles did not receive the title of archegetes). In this respect, it is worth noting that Ephorus linked this second argument to the first: by juxtaposing the highest honour attributed to Lycurgus only (μόνῳ γοῦν Λυκούργῳ) and the lowest honour that, instead, Procles and Eurysthenes were denied (ἐκείνοις δέ . . . μηδὲ τοῦτο δεδόσθαι), he juxtaposed a negative anomaly 115

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Strab. 8.5.5 (F 118). The last lines in the text make for some difficulties. Pace Radt 2002–2011, VI, 448, τῶν Εὐρυπωντιδῶν should not be linked with Παυ>σανίαν, since Lycurgus is said to belong to the house that banished Pausanias, and, according to Strab. 10.4.18 (F 149), Ephorus believed that Lycurgus belonged to the house of the Eurypontids. See also Strab. 10.4.18–19 (F 149). This attribution was already in Herodotus (1.65–66), and neither the τινες (‘some’) of F 149 nor the Spartans of the classical age, who, as Herodotus and Ephorus attest, honoured Lycurgus, challenged it. Ephorus’ choice to attribute the institution of the Spartan constitution to Lycurgus may appear obvious, but beyond Hellanicus’ dissenting opinion (on which see also Fowler 2000–2013, II, 345–6; Pownall 2016, on Hell. FGrHist 4 F 116), one may recall Thucydides’ elusive silence (1.18), and the ambiguity of the poetic tradition (see Pind. Pyth. 1.121 ff. on Aegimius legislator). Note that Hdt. 1.66.1 lacks the detail of the annual recurrence of the ceremony and information about the heroic nature of this worship (Nic. Dam. FGrHist 90 F 56.1, most likely on the basis of Ephorus’ testimony: see Jacoby 1926b, 247–8).

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on the one side (the lack of recognition of the role as archegetes for the oikists) with a positive and unique recognition on the other (the honour of worship for Lycurgus).118 Third and last, Ephorus adduced Pausanias II’s tract entitled Against the Laws of Lycurgus.119 Although Ephorus’ arguments are relevant to the issue of the Lycurgan authenticity of the Spartan laws,120 they are far from conclusively proving it. But Ephorus was not presenting all possible arguments in favour of the Lycurgan establishment of the laws, nor was his primary aim here to demonstrate that Lycurgus was the author of the Spartan constitution. Rather, Ephorus wanted to demonstrate that Hellanicus’ thesis was absolutely untenable, as Strabo makes clear: Ephorus reproves him [sc. Hellanicus], saying that he has nowhere mentioned Lycurgus and has instead ascribed Lycurgus’ actions to those who had nothing to do with them [φήσας Λυκούργου μὲν αὐτὸν μηδαμοῦ μεμνῆσθαι, τὰ δ’ ἐκείνου ἔργα τοῖς μὴ προσήκουσιν ἀνατιθέναι].

Ephorus – who had read his predecessor’s works extensively, as his note on the circumstance that Hellanicus nowhere (μηδαμοῦ) mentioned Lycurgus confirms121 – intended to underscore the seriousness of Hellanicus’ silence on Lycurgus, and how deficient his proposal was to attribute the Lycurgan laws to Procles and Eurysthenes. With this aim in mind, Ephorus selected 118

119 120

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Ephorus, in this very context, also specified the reason why Eurysthenes and Procles did not receive the title of archegetes, thus reporting the Spartiates’ official view at his time: see Parmeggiani 2004, and below (Chapter 3, § 3.1.1). For details on Pausanias II’s Against the Laws of Lycurgus, see below Chapter 3, § 3.6.2, and Parmeggiani 2011, 637 n. 37. This is especially true for arguments nos. 1 and 3. The temple and the yearly sacrificial rite (argument no. 1) represented honours so great that they could not be explained without recognizing Lycurgus as the author of the constitution. Cf. Hdt. 1.66.1: Οὕτω μὲν μεταβαλόντες εὐνομήθησαν, τῷ δὲ Λυκούργῳ τελευτήσαντι ἱρὸν εἱσάμενοι σέβονται μεγάλως (‘Thus, after they changed, they [sc. the Lacedaemonians] became well governed, and to Lycurgus, after he died, they dedicated a temple and worship him greatly’). The causal connection is evident: the Spartiates themselves used the constitution and the establishment of eunomia as a justification for the honours rendered to Lycurgus. Since the Spartan constitution had been sanctioned by the Delphic oracle, and the kings of Sparta traditionally held the responsibility for safekeeping its responses (Hdt. 6.57.4), it makes sense to consider also Pausanias’ writing an important testimony on Sparta’s legislation (argument no. 3). Moreover, the title of this writing was Against the Laws of Lycurgus (κατὰ τῶν Λυκούργου νόμων), and Lycurgus belonged – F 118 still informs us – to the dynasty from which Pausanias had been banned (ὄντος τῆς ἐκβαλλούσης οἰκίας): Pausanias did not challenge the Lycurgan origin of the laws even when personal resentments and political tensions could have justified it, a circumstance that Ephorus would have viewed as confirming that the tradition about Lycurgus legislator of Sparta was absolutely reliable. We are reminded of Flavius Josephus’ comment on Ephorus, Ἑλλάνικον ἐν τοῖς πλείστοις ψευδόμενον ἐπιδείκνυσιν (T 30a), and Strabo’s accusation against Hellanicus’ πλείστην εὐχέρειαν ἐπιδεικνύμενος ἐν πάσῃ σχεδόν τι τῇ γραφῇ (10.2.6), both suggesting Ephorus’ thorough familiarity with Hellanicus’ works.

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his arguments, and in this respect, one should note that he purposely used, against Hellanicus, the most important expressions of the visible culture and of the written and oral memory of Spartiate society, from the worship of Lycurgus attested in the local ritual tradition (first argument), to the Spartiates’ official review of the politics of the first kings (second argument), to the overview of a work on the laws of Lycurgus, which not any Greek intellectual, but the highest-ranking Spartiate, king Pausanias II, had written (third argument). It therefore appears that Ephorus did more than demonstrate that Hellanicus’ thesis was untenable; he also showed to his reader how thorough his knowledge was about Sparta, and how lacking, by contrast, that of Hellanicus. Ephorus’ point is clear: Hellanicus spoke of Sparta with unfounded knowledge for he had not properly researched the most authoritative sources related to the local culture and memory. Again, the methodological principle of διακριβοῦν is key: no one who had set foot in Sparta or had actually met some Spartiates could have ignored Lycurgus; writing on Sparta was possible only by carrying out thorough research on it. Ephorus, the universal historian, showed his superiority over his predecessor on the main ground of local history and its sources. In addressing Scythian ethnography, Ephorus did not miss the opportunity also to object to his predecessors’ misrepresentations. In book XI of the Geography, Strabo criticizes the complaisant ‘fondness for myths’ of Herodotus, Hellanicus and Ctesias when they discuss the peripheral peoples of the Northern and Oriental oecumene: The early Greek historians called all the peoples of the north by the common name of ‘Scythians’ or ‘Celtoscythians’. Writers even earlier separated them out, and called those above the Euxine, Ister, and Adriatic ‘Hyperboreans’, ‘Sauromatians’ and ‘Arimaspians’, while those who dwelt across from the Caspian Sea ‘Sacae’ and ‘Massagetae’, although they could not say anything accurate about them, despite the fact that they narrated Cyrus’ war against the Massagetae. About these people there was nothing accurate that pointed to the truth, nor were the early deeds of the Persians, Medes or Syrians given much credit because of these writers’ simplicity and fondness for myths [διὰ τὴν τῶν συγγραφέων ἁπλότητα καὶ τὴν φιλομυθίαν]. For when they saw that writers of myths were clearly held in esteem, they thought that they too would compose an account that was pleasurable [τὴν γραφὴν ἡδεῖαν], if, in the form of history, they spoke of things which they had never seen or heard (or at least not from those who were knowledgeable), but looked only to what was pleasurable and marvellous to hear [σκοποῦντες δὲ αὐτὸ μόνον τοῦτο ὅ τι ἀκρόασιν ἡδεῖαν ἔχει καὶ θαυμαστήν]. One would more easily trust Hesiod and Homer, when they speak of the heroes, or the tragic poets

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than Ctesias [FGrHist 688 T 11a], Herodotus, Hellanicus [FGrHist 4 F 185; 687a T 3], and others like them. Nor is it easy to trust the majority of those who have written about Alexander (. . .).122

Strabo modelled his criticism after Ephorus, as his Ephorus-inspired notions suggest (see T 18b, FF 8, 31b, 42): Ephorus first spoke against his garrulous predecessors’ representations of the Northern communities by stressing both their ‘fondness for myths’ and their interest for ‘what was pleasurable and marvellous to hear’.123 Not by chance, Ephorus’ catalogue of the Scythian peoples in F 158 does not include, in addition to the Hyperboreans and Arimaspians, those Alazones/Alizones and Callipidae who, according to Strab. 12.3.21 (context of F 114a), exemplify Herodotus’ and Hellanicus’ καταφλυαρεῖν, a ‘prattling’ that reveals the two historians’ excessive attention to the pleasure of the audience – another clear echo, in Strabo, of Ephorus’ original critique against his predecessors and their disregard for aletheia. We gain more valuable insights into Ephorus’ method by reading F 42 (Strab. 7.3.9), where the object of polemic is – to use the very words of Strab. 11.6.2-4 – the ἀκρόασις ἡδεία which authors seek to achieve through the fondness for ‘what is frightening and marvellous’ (τὸ δεινὸν καὶ τὸ θαυμαστόν): ‘Now the rest’, Ephorus says, ‘speak of their [sc. the Scythians’] savagery, because they know that what is frightening and marvellous is astonishing.’ But one [Ephorus adds] must speak of the opposite and present arguments.124

A group of intellectuals (ἄλλοι), most likely some fifth- and fourth-century prose writers rather than Herodotus or him alone (4.60.1 ff.), focused their attention on the bloodiest aspects of Scythian civilization, and were accused by Ephorus of sensationalism. Not only did they deny a fundamental ethnographic truth, namely the variety of customs of the Northern peoples (ἀνομοιότης τοῦ βίου), but they also showed they had little methodological akribeia since they disregarded that part of the literature that offered a positive representation of the Scythians, and which, according to Ephorus, they ought to have examined. Hence Ephorus’ 122

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Strab. 11.6.2–4. Strabo’s note should also be read in relation to 1.2.35, where Strabo disapproves of the μυθογραφία of Herodotus, Ctesias (FGrHist 688 T 11b) and Hellanicus (FGrHist 4 T 19) on ethnographic matters, and spares instead Theopompus for his honesty, for he at least acknowledged that he was writing myths (see FGrHist 115 F 381, with Flower 1994, 34–5, and Biraschi 1996). Ironically, Ephorus became the object of similar criticism. In fact, Strabo’s critique in 11.6.2–4 may involve Ephorus himself, who wrote of the Northern communities as ‘Scythians’ (F 30a–c) and reported on the Sauromatians (FF 60b, 158, 160a–b) and the Sacae (F 158). Strab. 7.3.9 (F 42).

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resolution: ‘One must speak of the opposite’ (δεῖν τἀναντία . . . λέγειν). By recovering the testimony of Homer and Hesiod, particularly their ethnographic material, which was more reliable, Ephorus remedied the gaps in the information of his adversaries. By showing that their inquiry had infringed the cardinal principle of διακριβοῦν (diakriboun), he exposed their defective methodology, limited knowledge and biased understanding. The use of typologically different sources to refute an argument is documented in the most elaborate text of the fragmentary tradition, namely F 149 (Strab. 10.4.16–22), here quoted almost in its entirety: [Ephorus says also that] Some writers say the majority of the customs which are believed to be Cretan are instead Laconian, but the truth is that they were invented by the Cretans but perfected by the Spartiates, and that the Cretans – having their cities, and particularly that of the Knossians, been ravaged by wars –, neglected them. Some of the customs remained among the Lyctians, Gortynians, and some other small cities more than among the Knossians; and in fact the customs of the Lyctians are used as evidence by those who declare the Laconian ones are older. They say that in as much as they are colonists they preserve the customs of their mother-city, since otherwise it would be silly to declare that those who are better organised and governed would emulate those who are worse. But this [says Ephorus] is not properly argued; for one must not judge about things of long ago from the present state of affairs, since both of them [sc. the Cretans and Spartans] have changed to the opposite. Previously the Cretans were masters of the sea, so that when people pretend not to know something they actually know, we use the proverb, ‘The Cretan does not know the sea’. But now the Cretans have abandoned their navy. Nor is it the case that because some of the cities in Crete were colonists of the Spartiates, they were constrained to use the Spartiates’ customs, since many colonists do not preserve ancestral customs, and many cities in Crete even of those that are not colonies have the same customs as the colonists. Lycurgus, the Spartiates’ law-giver [Ephorus continues] was five generations later than Althaemenes, the man who led the colony to Crete; it is recorded that he was the son of Cissus, the founder of Argos around the same time that Procles settled Sparta. And it is agreed by all that Lycurgus was of the sixth generation after Procles. Copies cannot precede their models nor can newer things precede older ones. And the dancing which is customary among the Lacedaemonians, the rhythms and the paeans they sing according to custom and many other of their institutions they call ‘Cretan’ as if they originated from there. Some of their magistracies have the same administration and the same name, for example, the office of elders and of knights (except in Crete the knights actually possess horses, and from this they infer that the office of knight is older in Crete, because they

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preserve the true meaning of the word, while the Lacedaemonian knights do not rear horses), whereas the ephors have a different name from the Cretan kosmoi, although their functions are the same. The common messes among the Cretans are even now called andreia while among the Spartans they have not retained their former name. In Alcman at any rate the following is found [fr. 98 Davies]: ‘At feasts and at revels, it is fitting for the guests in the andreia to begin the paean.’ And [Ephorus says also that] it is said by the Cretans that Lycurgus came to them for some such reason: there was an older brother of Lycurgus named Polydectes, who when he died left behind a pregnant wife. For a time Lycurgus was king in place of his brother, but when the child was born, he became the child’s guardian since the kingship would come in due course to the child. When someone reproached Lycurgus by saying that he knew for certain that Lycurgus would be king, the latter suspected that from this remark he might be falsely accused of a plot against the child, and he feared that if the child died, he would be accused of having killed it by his enemies, and so he departed for Crete; this, they say, was the reason for his travelling. When he got to Crete he associated with Thales, the melic poet and lawgiver, and he learned from him the way in which earlier Rhadamanthys and later Minos brought, as if from Zeus, their laws to men; when he was in Egypt he learned thoroughly about the customs there; as some say, he also met Homer when he was spending time in Chios. He then sailed back home and found that Charilaus, the son of his brother Polydectes, was king. He then began to set forth the laws, going repeatedly to the god at Delphi, and from there bringing back his ordinances, just as Minos had done from the cave of Zeus. The majority of Lycurgus’ ordinances were similar to those of Minos.125

The matter consisted in ascertaining the Cretan origin of most of the laws used in Sparta (not of all its constitution). Differently from those (τινες, lit. ‘some’, henceforth ‘the adversaries’) who thought that Spartan laws were a Spartan invention, Ephorus believed that they were a Cretan invention, espoused and later re-elaborated in Sparta at the time of the Lycurgan legislation.

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Strab. 10.4.17–19 (F 149). On the demonstration of F 149, see Marx 1815, 165–76 (fr. 64 = F 149); Stelkens 1857, 43–4; Klügmann 1860, 27, Matthiessen 1857–1860, 889–991; Meyer 1892–1899, I, 215– 16; Bruchmann 1890–1893, II, 17–18; Jacoby 1926b, 79–81, on F 149, and 84–6, on FF 173–5; Schepens 1977a, 110, and 2003, 354–6; Nafissi 1983–1984, particularly 345–56; Parmeggiani 2001, 187 with n. 50; Perlman 2005, 301 ff. We should note the silence of Müller 1841 and Endemann 1881 – the latter offers only a cursory mention of fr. 64 (F 149) in relation to the Lykurgfrage (21). The Cretan account of Lycurgus’ travels (Strab. 10.4.19) has traditionally – and erroneously – been considered an appendix to Ephorus’ demonstration rather than an argument tightly connected with the preceding ones in the text. For the conjecture of Ephorus’ debt to Charon of Lampsacus’ Kretika, see Nafissi 1983–1984; to a ‘Cretan Politeia’ originated in the Academy, see Perlman 2005.

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In the demonstration of F 149 – an elenchos or refutation – we glimpse some aspects of the thesis of those adversaries and the historical vision underlying it. First, they supported the Spartan origin of the laws of both Sparta and its colonies in Cretan territory. Second, as Ephorus’ formulation of this thesis suggests (‘the majority of the customs which are believed to be Cretan are instead Laconian’, ὡς Λακωνικὰ εἴη τὰ πολλὰ τῶν νομιζομένων Κρητικῶν), they were inclined to argue with those who, before them, had declared that certain Spartan laws were of Cretan origin. In other words, they challenged a thesis that pre-dated them and which was basically identical with the thesis Ephorus would defend against them. Third, they used the laws of Lyctus, a Spartan colony, as evidence (μαρτύρια) of their Spartan authenticity. Their insistence on Lyctus suggests that the supporter of the thesis they contested presented Lyctus as the main site of assimilation and dissemination of the Cretan law among the Dorians. The adversaries overturned this perspective and presented the laws of Lyctus as the result of a process of preservation of their native laws, resistant to any Cretan influence. Fourth, the adversaries drew attention to the political crisis the Cretan cities, which were not Spartan colonies, would fall into, in the present, to demonstrate that it was impossible that a city like Lyctus, with a good government, derived its laws from poorly governed Cretan cities. Considering Ephorus’ mention of the decadence of Knossos, we can suppose that the adversaries explicitly contrasted Knossos (a Cretan city, but not a Spartan colony) and Lyctus (a Cretan city and a Spartan colony). Lastly, they recognized Lycurgus as Sparta’s legislator, and most likely considered him as belonging to the line of the Eurypontids and the sixth descendant from Procles. In fact, Ephorus’ statement ‘it is agreed by all that Lycurgus was of the sixth generation after Procles’ would not make sense if by ‘it is agreed by all’ (ὁμολογεῖσθαι παρὰ πάντων), we understood the tradition in its entirety (suffice to remember that Herodotus and the Spartans of the fifth century considered Lycurgus not a Eurypontid but an Agiad);126 it gains meaning, instead, if we read ὁμολογεῖσθαι παρὰ πάντων as a current and prevailing opinion which Ephorus subscribed to and his adversaries shared. Ephorus thus conformed to the norms of a dialectical practice by which, in parts of his refutatio, he made use of information that his adversaries also shared.127 126 127

Hdt. 1.65.4. In this way, I believe Jacoby’s impasse, ‘daß das “allgemeine überlieferung” ist, stimmt nicht’ (1926b, 86) is bypassed, and the meaning of Ephorus’ statement is clarified.

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The adversaries were at odds with those who, similarly to Ephorus but much earlier than him, had championed the Cretan origin of many of the Spartan laws. It is no surprise that, in following the threads of the debate on the constitution in F 149, we go back in time. After all, Herodotus had already pointed out, albeit in concise and apparently neutral terms, the existence of diverging opinions between the Spartans and the other Greeks with regard to the Cretan or Pythian (that is, authentically Spartan) origin of the Lycurgan law: Some say that in addition the Pythia told him [sc. Lycurgus] the arrangement that now exists among the Spartiates, but the Lacedaemonians themselves say (. . .) that Lycurgus brought it back from Crete.128

Ephorus’ assertion represented the most recent phase of an old dispute, which had most likely developed since Herodotus’ time. As for the identity of the adversaries, they seem to be different from the authors who, according to Herodotus, maintained the Pythian origin of the Lycurgan law either dismissing or simply passing over in silence Sparta’s debt to Crete. They probably were politicians and intellectuals of the postHerodotean period, who agreed on the circumstance that Lycurgus was ‘of the sixth generation from Procles’ and spoke of internal conflicts in Crete, which, as we know, culminated between the fifth and fourth centuries bc 129 – philosophers, theorists of the constitution like Critias, and perhaps also historians, all active, in any case, before the Spartan demise at Mantinea (362 bc), if not even before the defeat at Leuctra (371 bc).130 These individuals believed in the principle that the strength of a people stems from the goodness of its laws, and thus exalted the hegemonic success of Sparta while dismissing the embarrassing connection of its constitution with that of Knossos, a city that appeared very weak at that 128 129

130

Hdt. 1.65.4. The information of Lycurgus’ lineage from Procles was already circulating in the fifth century, but had not reached more general consensus at the time when Herodotus was writing. Cf. Plut. Lyc. 1.4, where the testimony also reports the Eurypontid genealogies of Lycurgus according to Simonides (fr. 123 Page) and Dieuchidas of Megara (FGrHist 485 F 5). On the conflicts in Crete, see Arist. Pol. 2.1272b.1–23. Schwartz (1907, 13) cursorily mentions Critias. Lasserre (1971, 98 n. 2) puts forward this name to clarify their identity. Nafissi (1983–1984, 355–6) also suggests an anonymous Athenian and philoLaconian publicist, perhaps the author of a constitutional writing on Sparta – a profile that perfectly fits Critias (356 n. 39). On the identity of Critias as part of a broader collective, see Schepens 2003, 354. Nafissi (1983–1984, 356 n. 41) is opposed to the inclusion of historians among the adversaries, because Ephorus was concerned with questions of methods. However, it was typical of Ephorus to criticize his fellow historians and predecessors on the application of their research methods and principles. Regardless, Xenophon cannot be included among them, although he supported the absolute originality of Sparta’s constitution (Lac. Pol. 1.2; 8.5).

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time. To this end, they focused their attention on Lyctus, which was a Spartan settlement in the Cretan territory and, on account of its status as a border city, a problematic epicentre of the general relations between Sparta and Crete. We now turn our attention to the way Ephorus developed his demonstration. Ephorus first opposed his incontrovertibly truthful thesis (τὸ δ’ἀληθές) to the one-sided position of his adversaries (λέγεσθαι δ’ὑπό τινων). The truth he claimed consisted in a historical reconstruction: the laws, which the adversaries did not believe had a Cretan origin, were, in fact, originally designed by the Cretans; they were subsequently adopted by the Spartans, but while the Spartans perfected them, the Cretans – especially the Knossians – neglected them; some laws continued to be enforced in Lyctus, Gortyna, and a few other cities in Crete. Ephorus therefore contrasted the one-dimensional and static perspective of the adversaries with his own perspective, which was, instead, deep, and conceived of time and history as evolving. We are still distant from the heart of Ephorus’ demonstration, but we can already identify a core principle of his thinking: the history of law, as well as the history of the cities and the relationship between the city and the law, is subject to development and contingencies. The notions that time is inextricably associated with change and that historical circumstances vary greatly, to the point that they cannot be schematically explained, were fundamental in Ephorus’ theory and practice. After he had introduced his own thesis, Ephorus refuted the arguments advanced by the adversaries. Using the laws of Lyctus as evidence (μαρτύρια), they observed first, that ‘in as much as they are colonists [sc. from Sparta] they [sc. the Lyctians] preserve the customs of their mother-city’, and second, that ‘it would be silly to declare that those who are better organised and governed [sc. the Lyctians] would emulate those who are worse [sc. the Cretans]’.131 Ephorus asserted authoritatively that this reasoning was flawed: οὐκ εὖ δὲ ταῦτα λέγεσθαι. Then, he responded to their second and their first argument, in this order. His counterargument to the second principle advanced by the adversaries reads: For one must not judge about things of long ago from the present state of affairs [οὔτε γὰρ ἐκ τῶν νῦν καθεστηκότων τὰ παλαιὰ τεκμηριοῦσθαι δεῖν], since both of them [sc. the Cretans and Spartans] have changed to the opposite. Previously the Cretans were masters of the sea, so that when people pretend not to know something they actually know, we use the 131

Strab. 10.4.17 (F 149).

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proverb, ‘The Cretan does not know the sea’. But now the Cretans have abandoned their navy.132

The didactic register Ephorus used suits the experienced historian, who is sensitive to the influence of time (cf. F 9) and to the thought of his main fifth-century predecessors (Herodotus and Thucydides).133 His point was methodological in substance: in making inferences on the past based on present circumstances, the adversaries obliterated time and erased the historical traces of its passing; by collapsing the present and the past of Sparta and Crete, they ignored the radical reversal of fortune that had characterized, over the centuries, their opposite political development: in fact, Sparta had turned from a city affected by internal strife into the hegemonic power of the present on land and sea, while Crete, which once ruled over the seas, had lost its fame and had descended into internal strife. By acknowledging instead the role time played in the fate of cultures and states, Ephorus restored the correct sequences of the history of Sparta and Crete. A common proverb (‘The Cretan does not know the sea’) effectively illustrated, like the relic of a sunken ship, the decline of the Minoan thalassocracy that had occurred over time. Ephorus’ counterargument to the first principle advanced by the adversaries reads: Nor is it the case that because some of the cities in Crete were colonists of the Spartiates, they were constrained to use the Spartiates’ customs, since many colonists do not preserve ancestral customs, and many cities in Crete even of those that are not colonies have the same customs as the colonists.134

The adversaries thought that maintaining the laws of the motherland was a necessary consequence of the colonial status. Ephorus noted that this conclusion contradicted the evidence that the general study of colonies produces: a colony does not necessarily abide by the laws of its motherland. By underscoring the existence of laws in Crete which were shared by the settlers and the natives, Ephorus emphasized that the adversaries considered only the vertical transmission of laws, from the city to the colony, and that in so doing, they overlooked the analogies between colonial and non-colonial entities, which suggest that horizontal relations – interaction and reciprocal influence – also exist between political realities of different origin. In other words, the adversaries showed lack of understanding of the relationship between the motherland and the colony, and, more 132 134

Strab. 10.4.17 (F 149). Strab. 10.4.17 (F 149).

133

See Hdt. 1.5 and Thuc. 1.10. Cf. above § 1.2, on F 9.

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specifically, of the institutional similarities between the colonies and the non-colonial cities in Crete. As in F 118, so also in F 149 we see Ephorus, the expert in foundations and constitutions, pitting against his adversaries’ lack of preparation his own knowledge, built on relentless research (as in his second counterargument) and the mastery of the historical method (as in his first counterargument). But Ephorus’ refutatio did not end here; it continued on and focused on chronology: Lycurgus the Spartiates’ law-giver was five generations later than Althaemenes, the man who led the colony to Crete; it is recorded that he was the son of Cissus, the founder of Argos around the same time that Procles settled Sparta. And it is agreed by all that Lycurgus was of the sixth generation after Procles.135

Lyctus was founded at the time of Althaemenes of Argos, the leader of the Dorian settlements in Crete five generations before Lycurgus: if Sparta’s legislation came into being only five generations after the foundation of Lyctus, how could it be that its law descended from Sparta’s on account of their colonial tie? Ephorus observed: Copies [sc. the laws of Lyctus according to the thesis of the adversaries] cannot precede their models [sc. the laws of Lycurgus according to the adversaries], nor can newer things [sc. the laws of Lycurgus according to Ephorus’ reconstructed chronology] precede older ones [sc. the laws of Lyctus according to Ephorus].136

His subtle sarcasm underscored that the thesis of the adversaries was impossible chronologically. Ephorus’ chronological argument discloses some of his work with sources. He computed the five generations separating Althaemenes from Lycurgus by comparing the information about Lycurgus as the sixth descendant from Procles with the information about Althaemenes son of Cissus, thus chronologically aligning by approximation the founding of Sparta and the founding of Argos (περὶ τὸν αὐτὸν χρόνον ἡνίκα Προκλῆς τὴν Σπάρτην συνῳικιζε). So Ephorus had actually compared the Spartan and Argive royal genealogies. Moreover, Ephorus stressed that the data he used for his argument derived from previous research (ἱστορεῖσθαι) and were shared (ὁμολογεῖσθαι παρὰ πάντων); they were therefore selected data, to which even the adversaries could not have objected. 135

Strab. 10.4.18 (F 149).

136

Strab. 10.4.18 (F 149).

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After focusing on the timeline of the events in the past, Ephorus turned his attention to the Spartans’ war dances, to the differences and similarities in name and function between the major Cretan and Spartan institutions, and, finally, to the Cretans’ traditions about the travels of Lycurgus and his stay in Crete. Ephorus collected and reviewed extensive information, but, as we shall see, he never abandoned the rigour of his demonstration, which remained consistently organized and clear. Ephorus observed that the Spartans defined as ‘Cretan’ many of their laws, particularly those related to singing and the war dances, traditions that they had been honouring since antiquity (τήν τε ὄρχησιν τὴν παρὰ τοῖς Λακεδαιμονίοις ἐπιχωριάζουσαν καὶ τοὺς ῥυθμοὺς καὶ παιᾶνας τοὺς κατὰ νόμον ἀιδομένους . . . Κρητικὰ καλεῖσθαι παρ’ αὐτοῖς). If these customs had been of Spartan origin, it would not be possible to explain the qualification of ‘Cretan’; hence, the use of this adjective in Sparta reveals its origin in Crete. The name was not the only evidence Ephorus could rely on to demonstrate that Sparta’s musical traditions came from Crete. These Spartan dances and music were the same ones which, according to Ephorus at the beginning of his discussion of the Cretan constitution, Thales introduced in Crete in order to train citizens in ἀνδρεία (‘courage’): (. . .) and that similarly they should also use the very high-pitched Cretic rhythms in their songs, which were invented by Thales, and to him they ascribe also the paeans and the rest of their customary songs, and many of their institutions.137

According to the Cretans, Thales, ‘the melic poet and lawgiver’, taught Lycurgus about the laws of the island: When he [sc. Lycurgus] got there he associated with Thales, the melic poet and lawgiver, and he learned from him the way in which earlier Rhadamanthys and later Minos brought, as if from Zeus, their laws to men.138

It is clear that the practice of thoroughly reviewing and comparing different local traditions – the Spartan and the Cretan – underlies Ephorus’ reflection on the name. Through this comparison, Ephorus could propose the following historical reconstruction: Thales personally taught the war dances and songs that he had invented to Lycurgus when the latter stopped in Crete; Lycurgus subsequently brought them to Sparta, and for this

137

Strab. 10.4.16 (F 149).

138

Strab. 10.4.19 (F 149).

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reason, the Spartans have since remembered them among the Cretan traditions (kretika).139 After addressing the question of the ‘Cretan’ laws in Sparta, Ephorus compared and contrasted the main Spartan and Cretan magistrates and public institutions.140 Ephorus recorded instances of identification of the Spartan and Cretan positions at times in the title and the function (this is the case of the elders and the knights), at times in the function but not the title (this is the case of the Spartan ephors, who correspond to the Cretan kosmoi).141 When he showed the lack in Sparta of correspondence between the title of knights and its literal meaning, i.e., ‘knights’ – Spartan knights had no horse whereas Cretan knights did – Ephorus also pointed out the contradictions ensuing from the analysis of the adversaries.142 Using a passage by Alcman (seventh century bc), he also illustrated how the Cretan and Spartan denominations of the public banquets were originally identical (ἀνδρεῖα). Archaic poetry served as a document to examine a problem of historical linguistics: it was the Spartans who, at some point of their history, stopped using this ancient denomination, whereas the Cretans continued to use it.143 After studying the institutional similarities, Ephorus turned his attention to the Cretan tradition on Lycurgus. Apparently this was the concluding step of his demonstration. According to Ephorus, the Cretans recounted that, after the death of his brother and Eurypontid king Polydectes, Lycurgus left Sparta for Crete for fear of becoming the target of political machinations since his fellow citizens suspected he aspired to the throne; in Crete, he spent time with Thales, who taught him about Minos and the origins and contents of his legislation; then, Lycurgus went

139

140 141 142

143

Ephorus’ observation of the Spartans’ habit of defining as ‘Cretan’ the majority of their laws, thus admitting to their derivative characteristic (ὡς ἂν ἐκεῖθεν [sc. from Crete] ὁρμώμενα), calls to mind Herodotus, who informs his readers that the Spartans themselves claimed a Cretan origin for their laws (1.65.4). However, while Herodotus only mentions this connection between Sparta and Crete, Ephorus explored its circumstances and characteristics at great length by delving into Spartan traditions, and provided his own readers with more accurate and specific information by examining both Spartan and Cretan traditions. See also Link 1994, 97 ff. Strab. 10.4.18 (F 149). Cf. Arist. Pol. 2.1272a.4–7 and 7–8 (with no mention of the knights). Strab. 10.4.18 (F 149): (. . .) πλὴν ὅτι τοὺς ἐν Κρήτῃ ἱππέας καὶ ἵππους κεκτῆσθαι συμβέβηκεν· ἐξ οὗ τεκμαίρονται πρεσβυτέραν εἶναι τῶν ἐν Κρήτῃ ἱππέων τὴν ἀρχήν· σώζειν γὰρ τὴν ἐτυμότητα τῆς προσηγορίας· τοὺς δὲ μὴ ἱπποτροφεῖν. For the interpretation of this difficult passage (τεκμαίρονται in the plural seems to imply τινες [‘some’] as its implicit subject; Jacoby 1926a, 87, suggested τεκμαίρεσθαι), see Nafissi 1983–1984, 352–3. This is a remarkable example of Ephorus’ critical use of poetry as a source. Cf. Arist. Pol. 2.1272a.1–4 (without the Alcman quote), and see below.

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to Egypt, where he became familiar with the local laws, and to Chios, where – ‘as some say’, noted Ephorus – he met Homer;144 he subsequently returned to Sparta when his nephew Charilaus, son of Polydectes, was king, and enacted the laws upon Minos’ model, visiting the Delphic temple and stating that the god so willed. Modern scholars have often claimed that it was Ephorus who deliberately combined and reconciled the two versions of the Pythian and Cretan origins of the Lycurgan law, which instead are separated in Herodotus;145 but the two traditions that we know from Herodotus were already integrated in the one tradition that Ephorus said he was reporting from the Cretans (λέγεσθαι ὑπὸ τῶν Κρητῶν). In other words, it was the Cretans who recounted that Lycurgus had introduced certain laws of Cretan origin to Sparta by exploiting the sanction of the Delphic oracle. Little doubt exists that Ephorus greatly valued Cretan tradition as a significant source. We should then ask what caused Ephorus to believe that the narrative of the Cretans was reliable, and that Lycurgus introduced certain Cretan laws taking advantage of the Delphic oracle’s disposition. The most likely answer is that the Cretan account resolved the aporia of Herodotus’ narrative; more importantly, it confirmed the account of the Spartans regarding one particular circumstance: the legislation enacted by Rhadamanthys and Minos constituted a model – in fact, the most important model – for Lycurgus. As in the case of the kinship of Aetolians and Eleians, which Ephorus demonstrated by crosschecking the two local akoai of Aetolia and Elis (F 122a), he also thought it necessary to cross-examine the two local akoai of Crete and Sparta to ascertain the constitutional kinship of Cretans and Spartans. Our reading of F 149 is now at end, and we can outline the structure of Ephorus’ articulated demonstration: (1) λέγεσθαι versus τὸ ἀληθές: thesis of the adversaries and Ephorus’ antithesis. 144

145

The expression, ὥς φασί τινες (‘as some say’) may perhaps refer to a particular viewpoint of the Cretan tradition. We know of Homer’s stay at Volissos, an Aeolian village on a hill near Chios, from F 103 (Steph. Byz. Β 120 Billerbeck, s.v. Βολισσός). According to the Vita Homeri Herodotea (21–24), Homer met Glaucus, a servant of a Chian of Volissos, and became the tutor of his sons; during this time, he also composed several minor works. See Jacoby 1926b, 62, on F 103. The Vita Homeri Herodotea, however, does not mention any meeting of Homer with Lycurgus. The thesis of Ephorus’ responsibility for the ‘Kombination’ of the two variants of Hdt. 1.65.4 is well known. See Endemann 1881, 22; Bruchmann 1890–1893, II, 9; Jacoby 1926b, 85; Barber 1935, 30; Tigerstedt 1965, 212; and Nafissi 1983–1984, 355. It also fostered the reputation of Ephorus’ historiography as ‘Geschichtsmacherei’.

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(2) Refutatio of the specific arguments put forward by the adversaries: (a) (b) (c) (d)

Exposition of the first argument of the adversaries. Exposition of the second argument of the adversaries. Refutatio of the second argument of the adversaries. Refutatio of the first argument of the adversaries.

(3) Refutatio of the general thesis of the adversaries: the Doric colonization of Crete occurred before the enactment of Lycurgus’ legislation; hence, Lyctus cannot be indebted to Sparta as regards its laws, on account of its colonial ties. (4) Evidence of the kinship of the Cretan and Spartan legislations: (a) What the Spartans say: the Cretan origin of several of their laws. (b) The objective similarities between the Spartan and Cretan institutions. (c) What the Cretans say: the Cretan origin of several of the Spartan laws. Ephorus planned his demonstration very carefully: after identifying the weaknesses of the thesis and arguments of the adversaries (2 and 3 above), he ascertained the actual kinship between the two constitutions (4) by using both his own observations comparatively (4b) and the local akoai of Sparta and Crete (4a and 4c respectively).146 In this way, he corroborated his own thesis: since the two constitutions were kin, and the Spartan constitution could not have been enacted before the Cretan, Sparta’s laws, which were believed to be of Cretan origin, ought in fact to come from Crete. We cannot be sure whether Strabo reported all the arguments that Ephorus put forward, nor are we certain that he reported them in their entirety.147 Regardless, the demonstration, as it has been transmitted, strikes us with its organized and agile structure, which shows Ephorus’ methodological confidence and mastery of the subject matter (Crete’s and Sparta’s history and institutions), unprecedented in classical literature. This confidence and deep knowledge, which call to mind F 118 and the methodological διακριβοῦν of F 122a, were the result of huge efforts on the

146

147

In objecting to the theses and arguments of τινες (‘some’), Ephorus also offered a lesson on method, stigmatizing the erroneous inferences at the historical (οὔτε τεκμηριοῦσθαι δεῖν) and logical (οὔτε ἐπηναγκάσθαι δεῖν) levels. One may remember Strabo’s opening declaration: τῆς δὲ πολιτείας, ἧς Ἔφορος ἀνέγραψε, τὰ κυριώτατα ἐπιδραμεῖν ἀποχρώντως ἂν ἔχοι (10.4.16 [F 149]).

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part of the historian to collect sources of information and review them critically. Although F 149 is an extraordinary illustration of Ephorus’ careful and flexible methodology and argumentative acumen, it does not offer examples of Ephorus’ use of epigraphic documents, an aspect to which we will now turn our attention in order to reflect on his relationship with Thucydides. F 199 reads: Mindarus, the Lacedaemonian admiral, fled from this defeat [sc. at Cynossema, 411 bc] into Abydos and he repaired the damaged ships and despatched the Spartiate Epicles to the triremes in Euboea, ordering him to bring them as quickly as possible. When Epicles arrived in Euboea he gathered together the ships which numbered fifty and hastily launched them. When the triremes were around Mount Athos a storm arose of such size that it destroyed all of the ships in their entirety, and of the men only twelve survived. A dedication reveals these events: it is set up in the temple at Torone [Coroneia mss.], just as Ephorus says, and has this inscription: ‘From fifty ships these men, fleeing death, brought their bodies to land around the promontories of Athos; they were only twelve: the great depth of the sea destroyed the others together with their ships which met with fearsome winds.’148

Ephorus cited an inscription, and pointed out, as he was accustomed to do (cf. F 122a), its type (an ἀνάθημα in this instance, namely a votive offering for the narrow escape) and the location where it could be viewed (ἐν τῷ περὶ Τορώνην [Κορώνειαν in the mss.] νεῷ). He used this citation to document the version of the facts included in the historical narrative (δηλοῖ δὲ τὸ περὶ τούτων ἀνάθημα). In fact, Ephorus’ narrative derived important information from the inscription such as the place of the shipwreck, the number of ships that were destroyed and the number of the survivors, probably Euboean, who dedicated the offering.149 No other example better illustrates how Ephorus employed epigraphic information as a direct source for the reconstruction of events. In his account of the battle of Cynossema and its consequences, which also closes the whole narrative (8.101–109), Thucydides does not tell the 148

149

Diod. 13.41.1–3 (F 199). The epigraphic text therein was followed by the names of the twelve survivors (see Preger 1891, 70 n. 82). For the correction of Κορώνειαν in Τορώνην, see Schwartz 1907, 14; Hatzfeld 1937, 213; Parker 2011, ad loc. The inscription in F 199 has seized critics’ attention especially in recent years. See in particular Schepens 2003, 348–9; Parker 2004, 45–6, and 2011, ad loc.; Liddel 2018, 449–50; Sheppard 2018, 32–4. Based on the inscription, the ships gathered by Epicles came in fact from Euboea, which rose up against Athens in precisely 411 bc. Hatzfeld (1937, 213) explains the Attic dialect in the inscription as a consequence of the transfer of Athenians to the area of Torone in 422/1 bc (cf. Thuc. 5.3.4).

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particulars of the wreck off Mount Athos of the ships gathered by Epicles in Euboea, i.e., the details of F 199. Nor are such details found in the beginning of Xenophon’s Hellenika (1.1 ff.). Thucydides stops with the information that Epicles went to Euboea to take new ships (8.107.2); but he deals with Alcibiades’ and Tissaphernes’ affairs (8.108–109), that Diodorus records in 13.41.4–42.5 after mentioning Epicles’ shipwreck on Ephorus’ authority (13.41.1–3). A question should therefore be raised, since Diodorus’ context makes us think of Ephorus as supplementing not only Xenophon, but also Thucydides. If Ephorus, in dealing with the events immediately after Cynossema, could still rely on the account of Thucydides, who was contemporaneous with these events and one considered akribes, why did he feel compelled to consider non-Thucydidean material? Unless we assume that Ephorus accidentally found the additional information about Epicles’ shipwreck, we can answer only by reflecting on the critical essence of Ephorus’ inquiry. Ephorus did not stop at the first information that was available to him, even though it was temporally close to the events and certainly accurate like Thucydides’ history. It was his habitual practice to get hold of extra information in order to corroborate independently his representation of the facts (the principle of διακριβοῦν in F 122a comes again to mind). For the same reason, Ephorus did not limit himself to Thucydides’ information while dealing with the problem of the causes of the Peloponnesian War, but looked for other information which, like Thucydides, was contemporaneous with the event, such as the comic poets (F 196). The information of F 199 about Epicles’ shipwreck should not be considered the result of an occasional or accidental closer analysis. Rather, it resulted from Ephorus’ attentive review of all the sources he could gather in order to select the best testimony. In this instance, the best testimony was the inscription in the temple at Torone: the ex-voto, the testimony temporally closest to the events in question, narrated the shipwreck as its survivors had directly experienced it. In compliance with the principles of his historiography (cf. FF 9 and 110), Ephorus, who could not have personally witnessed the event, chose to adopt the voice of the eyewitnesses which had been transcribed in the inscription. F 199 may guide our discussion of other cases where the difference between Ephorus’ text and Thucydides’ is to be viewed as the result of a specific critical methodology rather than the outcome of a simple compilation. Ephorus made use of poetry to offer a representation of the Greek antiquity different from Thucydides’. In this regard, particularly significant are his use of Homer’s Catalogue of Ships in F 123a–b (Strab. 10.2.25–26

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and 7.7.7 respectively) and, in general, of epic poetry to demonstrate that the Acarnanians did not take part in the war of Troy.150 He also extended his inquiry to include Siceliot historiographical sources, on whose account he suggested a new framework for the origins of Greek Sicily (F 137a–b [Strab. 6.2.2 and [Scymn.] Orb. descr. 264 respectively]), and a different perspective on the events of 480 bc and their aftermath (F 186 [schol. Pind. Pyth. 1.146b, II 24–25 Drachmann]). Last but not least, the epigraphic tradition helped him not only to fill some gaps in Thucydides’ information on the fifth century bc, but also to correct it in some instances. This could be the case with the famous Eurymedon epigram (Diod. 11.62.3 = Simonid. XLV Campbell), if it really dealt with the Eurymedon battle – this is open to doubt – and if it was used by Ephorus in relation to Cimon’s dual success in 470/65 bc (cf. F 191 [POxy. 13.1610] and F 192 [Plut. Cim. 12.5–6]). It goes without saying that Ephorus could also make mistakes in his attempts.

*

The recurrent reference to epic and lyric poets in the fragments encourages us to discuss now Ephorus’ use of the information he drew from poetry. As we shall see, Ephorus also in these instances did not refrain from the practice of διακριβοῦν. In F 2 (Athen. 8.352c), we read that Stratonicus and Philoxenus imitated Simonides’ biting sentences; in F 101b (Syncell. 326, 202 Mosshammer), Homer is described as contemporaneous with Hesiod (in fact, he was younger by one generation).151 Even though we cannot definitively trace them back to the Histories, these erudite annotations still reflect Ephorus’ attention to an organized and clear chronology. This, in turn, raises the following question: did Ephorus use poetry as a source in the same way Thucydides referred to Homer, as testimony for a specific moment in the past and, therefore, for a specific historical moment?152 A consideration of the Ephoran fragments with Homeric quotations first, and then of other poets, will help to elucidate this issue. 150

151

152

See Schepens 2003, 350–2, with a persuasive analysis of F 123a. For Ephorus, Amphilochian Argos was founded by Alcmaeon, who after subduing Acarnania had refused to take part in the Trojan War, while according to Thucydides (2.68.3), it was founded by Amphilochus, Alcmaeon’s brother, after the Trojan War. While F 2 is from the treatise On Inventions, F 101b is ascribed to the Syntagma Epichorion by Jacoby 1926a, 68. Ephorus, like Hellanicus (FGrHist 4 F 5), considered Homer a descendant of Chariphemus, a settler of Aeolian Cyme (F 99). On Homer’s lineage, see Jacoby 1926b, 39–41. Hdt. 2.53.2 also accepts that Homer and Hesiod belonged, overall, in the same time period. Cf. e.g., Thuc. 1.3.3 and 5.2; 3.104.3–6.

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Homer was the pride of Aeolian Cyme in the Syntagma Epichorion (F 1), a point of reference for the reflections in On Style (F 227, if pertaining to this treatise) and a character in the historical narrative (F 149). His work provided Ephorus with extensive material for the Histories – see, for example, the Catalogue of Ships, Il. 2.511 (F 119), 581–590 (possibly echoed in the archaeological representation of Laconia in F 117), 649 (F 146), 840 (F 113), and 856 (F 114a–b); the description of Crete in Odysseus’ speech to Penelope, Od. 19.174 (F 146), 177 (F 113), 178 (F 147); and other parts of his poems, Il. 13.6 (F 42), Od. 1.23 (F 128), Od. 11.15 (F 134a). The distinctions Homer drew particularly in the Catalogue as well as his omissions were key to the reconstruction of historical circumstances and events such as the difference between the Boeotians and the Minyans of Orchomenus in F 119. The absence of the Acarnanians and Alcmaeon from the Catalogue underlies Ephorus’ theory on the Acarnanians’ absence from the Trojan War in F 123a–b, and the ambiguities of the Iliad on the political control of Argos, attributed sometimes to Agamemnon, sometimes to Diomedes, may have inspired Ephorus’ representation of the relationship between the two heroes. Ephorus knew that Homer was not contemporaneous with Agamemnon or Odysseus: he lived ‘many generations after the Return of the Heraclidae’ (F 102a), more specifically, at the time of Lycurgus (ninth century bc).153 Ephorus mentioned the meeting of Lycurgus and Homer in Chios (F 149; cf. F 103), and may have believed that Homer learned from Lycurgus the most ancient Cretan accounts that, in turn, Lycurgus had learned from Thales. We understand this sequence by reading the demonstration of F 149, which, as we have seen, refers to the Cretan logoi.154 The sequence is also confirmed by the historical reconstruction of the legislation enacted by Rhadamanthys and Minos that we find in F 147, and which also includes the famous Homeric line on Μίνως ἐννέωρος (Od. 19.178). FF 113, 146 and 147 refer to Homer’s knowledge of Crete as manifested in Odysseus’ discourse to Penelope in Od. 19.165 ff. In particular, F 146 (Strab. 10.4.15) reads: Since the Poet calls Crete at one point ‘with a hundred cities’ [ἑκατόμπολιν, Il. 2.649] and at another point ‘with ninety cities’ [ἐνενηκοντάπολιν. Cf. ἐννήκοντα πόληες, Od. 19.174], Ephorus says that the ten cities were 153

154

Eclog. Histor. Cod. Par. 854 (F 102a). Cf. Herodotus (2.53.2) and Thucydides (1.3.3), both maintaining that Homer lived after the Trojan War. Herodotus, like Ephorus, places him in the ninth century (ibid.). According to Theopompus (FGrHist 115 F 205), Homer lived five centuries after the Trojan War. Strab. 10.4.19 (F 149). On this passage, see above previous section.

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founded later after the Trojan War by those of the Dorians who followed Althaemenes the Argive. And he says that Odysseus called it ‘with ninety cities’. This is a persuasive account. But others say that the ten cities were destroyed by the enemies of Idomeneus.155

Like Thucydides in the Archaeology,156 Ephorus was interested in the poetic epithets of cities and regions in order to establish their actual origin. On this particular occasion, he strove to resolve the discrepancy between two contrasting definitions of Crete that Homer used in the Iliad and the Odyssey. He studied these definitions in their poetic context as well as in relation to the historical data and chronology that he had obtained from other non-Homeric sources (for example, the arrival of Althaemenes of Argos in Crete), and reached the following conclusion: the definition of Crete as an island with ἐννήκοντα πόληες (‘ninety cities’), which appeared in one of Odysseus’ direct speeches, ought to describe Crete in the only form Odysseus could know it, namely as an island with ninety cities (in fact, Odysseus, back from Troy, lived before Althaemenes of Argos arrived in Crete and founded ten more cities); the second epithet ἑκατόμπολιν (‘having a hundred cities’), which appears in the Catalogue of Ships, ought to describe Crete in the form Homer knew it, for he lived after the Dorian colonization of Crete and thus took into account the ten new cities Althaemenes founded. Ephorus’ sophisticated use and interpretation of the tradition perfectly exemplifies his ability to distinguish between the time represented in the poetic text (Odysseus’ time) and the time of the author of the text (Homer’s time).157 Ephorus understood that the definitions found in poetry may reflect different historical periods (what Homer wrote was not necessarily to be referred to one and the same time), and this awareness suggests that he was also able to detect and possibly bypass flaws or inaccuracies he noticed in the poetic representation. In fact, Homer was accurate when he defined Crete as the island with the ninety cities, because those were Odysseus’ words (Od. 19.174); but he was wrong when a few lines later, Odysseus says that Crete was inhabited by the three Dorian tribes (Od. 19.177; cf. F 113). He was also wrong when he used the epithet 155

156 157

Strab. 10.4.15 (F 146). This passage is an illustrious example of Ephorus’ exegesis of Homer (Marx 1815, 162–4, and Klügmann 1860, 34). It is also recalled in Eustath. ad Il. 2.649; ad Od. 19.174 (F 146+). See also the Homeric scholia ad locc. in Jacoby 1926b, 79. Cf. Thuc. 1.13.5, on Corinth ἀφνειὸν χωρίον. See Schepens 2003, 354: ‘loin d’être un emprunt pur et simple à l’épopée, una telle conclusion [sc. by Ephorus] implique l’activité de la raison, combinant des paramètres chronologiques avec toute une série de données de la tradition.’ See also Biraschi 2013, 320–1.

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ἑκατόμπολιν in the Catalogue of Ships (Il. 2.649) since Crete could only be ἐνενηκοντάπολιν at the time of the Trojan War. One may suspect that these inaccuracies in Homer’s representation could not escape Ephorus’ exegesis.158 A passage of F 149 on the denomination of the public banquets includes a citation from the lyric poet Alcman: The common messes among the Cretans are even now called andreia [ἀνδρεῖα παρὰ μὲν τοῖς Κρησὶν καὶ νῦν ἔτι καλεῖσθαι] while among the Spartans they have not retained their former name [παρὰ δὲ τοῖς Σπαρτιάταις μὴ διαμεῖναι, καλούμενα ὁμοίως πρότερον]. In Alcman at any rate the following is found [fr. 98 Davies]: ‘At feasts and at revels, it is fitting for the guests in the andreia to begin the paean.’159

Ephorus reported the words of an ancient poet from Sparta to attest to an ancient linguistic use among the Spartans, which, in the course of time, had disappeared because it had been replaced by a new form. This passage is a further testimony that Ephorus, while using poetic sources, paid keen attention to the time of their production.160 Ephorus’ interest in poetry as a testimony contemporaneous with the events he was investigating is clear also in F 196 (Diod. 12.38–41.1). Here Ephorus blended together, perhaps intentionally, Aristophanes’ lines from the Acharnians and Eupolis’ lines from the Demes, in order to represent a ‘Zeus of words’ and thus recount the extraordinary rhetorical performances of Pericles: And then in anger Pericles the Olympian cast lightning, thunder, and he stirred up Greece [Aristoph. Acharn. 530–1]. A kind of Persuasion sat upon his lips; in this way he cast his spell, and alone of the speakers he left behind a sting in his listeners [Eupol. Dem. fr. 102 Kassel-Austin].161

Pericles’ formidable power of speech was emphasized by the testimony of those who had the opportunity to hear in person, live, as spectators, the words of the statesman. In general – as our analysis of F 196 will show 158

159 160

161

The poet himself erased the chronological distance between Crete in Odysseus’ time and Crete in his own time, disregarding the actual changes that occurred in the local history after the Heraclidean caesura: in other words, he did what a historian, in principle, should never do (cf. FF 9 and 149). Strab. 10.4.18 (F 149). Blass 18922, 430–1, mentions Alcman’s citation as an attempt to ‘nach Möglichkeit (. . .) auf die ältesten Zeugnisse zurückzugehen’. Verdin 1977, 65 n. 34, recalls this passage as evidence of Ephorus’ critical use of poetic sources following Herodotus’ model. Lasserre 1971, 100 n. 2, appropriately notes that ‘Éphore citait Alcmain comme témoin de son temps’. Diod. 12.40.5 (F 196).

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(Chapter 3) – Ephorus did not use Aristophanes and Eupolis as authorities to be blindly followed, but as contemporary witnesses of both the political debate on the responsibilities of the war of 431 bc and Pericles’ rhetorical strength. Ephorus therefore considered poets as the bearers of specific viewpoints in time. When a poet referred to an age prior to his own, Ephorus knew how to identify the errors (F 146). When instead a poet spoke of his own time, he knew how to take advantage of his testimony as an expression of a first-hand experience (F 196) or as evidence of an ancient state of things, which had to be compared and contrasted with other circumstances, temporally closer or more distant, before the historian could draw any conclusions on the changes that had occurred (FF 146 and 149). By examining FF 128, 134a, 32, 147 and 113, we will now see how Ephorus used poetic sources when discussing particular episodes of the most distant past related to barbarians and Greeks. F 128 (Strab. 1.2.26) reads: But in fact Ephorus has recorded another ancient account (which it is not irrational to think Homer encountered): Ephorus says that the Tartessians claim that the Ethiopians came into Libya as far as Dyris and that some remained there while others took possession of much of the sea-coast; and he judges from this that Homer spoke of the Ethiopians [τεκμαίρεται δ’ ἐκ τούτου καὶ Ὅμηρον εἰπεῖν οὕτως] as ‘they who dwell divided in two, the most distant of men’ [Od. 1.23].162

Dealing with the original relocation of the Ethiopians in the extreme Occident, movements that prepared the foundation of Gades by the Phoenicians of Tyre, Ephorus noted a possible connection between an ancient local tradition of the West (λέγεσθαι . . . ὑπὸ τῶν Ταρτησσίων), which was of Phoenician origin and may have been recovered through Ionic ethnography,163 and the Homeric text; he related one to the other but established a priority: the older tradition of the Tartessians explained the more recent Homeric information. In short, Homer gained knowledge – in ways that Ephorus appeared unwilling or unable to clarify – and reported information about the Ethiopians that derived from the Tartessians. Ephorus highlighted, by explicit conjecture (τεκμαίρεσθαι), a possible movement of the historical information from the far Occident to the Greek world, and thus clarified the meaning of a controversial Homeric 162 163

Strab. 1.2.26. On F 128, see also Biraschi 2013, 309–11. On the origin of the logos of the Tartessians, cf. Jacoby 1926b, 73, who assumes the use of Euthymenes.

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expression (Αἰθίοπας . . . διχθὰ δεδαίαται ἔσχατοι ἀνδρῶν). The result was a (re)constructed tradition, which also helped Ephorus analyse a poetic text on the one hand, and ascertain its trustworthiness on the other: the Homeric note was not just an invention, as one would have legitimately suspected in absence of the Tartessians’ ancient voice. Ephorus’ method – to trust the poet’s text after seeking evidence in other, earlier sources, which were not of Greek origin – follows Herodotus’. In fact, the connection that Ephorus established in F 128 between the tradition of the Tartessians on the Ethiopians and Homer’s line in Od. 1.23, recalls the connection that Herodotus establishes in 2.116.1–117.1, between the traditions of the Egyptian priests on the arrival of Paris and Helen in Egypt and Homer’s lines in Il. 6.289–292 and Od. 4.227–230, 351–352.164 As already in Herodotus, so also in Ephorus the critical link which was traced between the local tradition and Homer’s poetry opened up interesting interpretations of the poetic text. The Tartessians’ geographical location in the far Occident may also have encouraged Ephorus to use their tradition as a critical tool, to explain and corroborate information: when the Greek material – whether poetry or prose – on the history and the ethnography of the barbarian peoples seemed lacking or improbable, unpersuasive or doubtful (as in the case of Homer’s difficult verse on the Ethiopians), Ephorus believed it was necessary to study it in relation to evidence that was as temporally and geographically close as possible to the subject under examination. Let us pass now to F 134a (Strab. 5.4.5). The ancients were uncertain about the location of the Cimmerians, a people whom Homer mentions in the Odyssey. Ephorus addressed this issue when in the Histories, he wrote about Italy’s ancient past, most likely in discussing Cyme and its traditions: Ephorus assigns this territory [sc. the Avernus] to the Cimmerians and says that they dwell in subterranean houses which they call ‘argillae’, and they go back and forth through tunnels and bring foreigners through them to the oracle which is established deep below the earth. Their livelihood comes from mining, from those who consult the oracle and from the king who provides them with subventions. And it was an ancestral custom for those concerned with the oracle that no one of them should look upon the sun and that they should go out of their tunnels only at night.165 164

165

In observing how Homer’s text preserves the oldest Egyptian version of Paris’ travel, Herodotus even reflects on the reasons behind the poet’s choice of content, and identifies spurious elements in his work. Strab. 5.4.5 (F 134a). Cf. [Scymn.] Orb. descr. 236 (F 134b). On F 134a, see also Jacoby 1926b, 75; Breglia 1998; Biraschi 2013, 316–18.

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Ephorus reported local traditions (see the word ἀργίλλαι used to describe underground dwellings), and established a link with Homer’s words: And Ephorus says that on account of this [διὰ τοῦτο] the Poet says of them, ‘never does the shining sun look upon them’ [Od. 11.15].166

Here is another instance of Ephorus’ reconstruction of the origins and the development of a particular tradition. In F 128 it was the TartessiansHomer connection; in F 134a it is the Cymaeans-Homer link. We do not know Ephorus’ definitive opinion on the case of the Cimmerians, nor do we know whether Ephorus trusted Homer and the indigenous stories on the Cimmerians, or used other sources to validate his conclusions. What we know is that Ephorus sought to compare and contrast the local information and the poetic evidence, and viewed the poet as the bearer of more ancient information, which was generated locally. F 32 (Theon Progymn. 96, 61 Patillon-Bolognesi) reads: And he [sc. Ephorus] explains [ἐπιλύεται] all other such stories, those of Lycurgus, Minos, Rhadamanthys, Zeus and the Couretes and anything else of that fabled material in Crete [περὶ . . . τῶν ἐν τῇ Κρήτῃ μυθολογουμένων].167

Ephorus did not accept the information of the Cretan mythologoumena – local accounts and poetic texts that were not critically examined, and whose content leaned toward the fantastic – as it stood. The verb ἐπιλύεται (‘explains’, cf. ἀνασκευάζειν in F 31a) demonstrates that he subjected the mythologoumena to criticism, and explained their content as if they were doubtful questions that his predecessors had left unresolved. Ephorus criticized tradition. His aim, however, was not merely to rationalize myth. As we have already pointed out in relation to FF 128 and 134a, and as Theon’s comment in F 31a reminds us (‘not only to disprove such mythologies, but also to uncover where such a story sprang from’168), Ephorus intended to establish a methodology by which poetic texts and local accounts were considered comparatively in order to identify the way a tradition had developed, and to clarify the specific characteristics of the poets’ representation of events.169 166 168 169

167 Strab. 5.4.5 (F 134a). Theon Progymn. 96, 61 Patillon-Bolognesi (F 32). Theon Progymn. 95, 60 Patillon-Bolognesi (F 31a): τὸ δὲ μὴ μόνον ἀνασκευάζειν τὰς τοιαύτας μυθολογίας, ἀλλὰ καὶ ὅθεν παρερρύηκεν ὁ τοιοῦτος λόγος ἀποφαίνειν. In general, Theon Progymn. 95–96, 60–61 Patillon-Bolognesi cites together Ephorus (FF 31a, 32, 34), Herodotus (2.54–57), Plato, and Palephatus the Peripatetic as if all of them merely rationalized myth. As we discuss here, and as I also have suggested elsewhere (Parmeggiani 2001, 184–6), Ephorus’ historical practice was more sophisticated than the definition itself of ‘rationalism’ may suggest.

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If F 32 documents Ephorus’ critical methodology as it is applied to all the Cretan mythologoumena, F 147 (Strab. 10.4.8) documents a specific case: As Ephorus has narrated, Minos was an imitator of a certain man of old, Rhadamanthys, most just of men, who had the same name as Minos’ brother, and who first seems to have civilised the island with laws, establishment of cities and constitutions. He asserted that he had taken from Zeus each of the decrees he had made for the community. Minos also going for nine years, it seems, into the cave of Zeus and spending time there, departed holding certain commands that he had put together which he claimed had been ordered by Zeus. For this reason the Poet said of him [ἀφ’ ἧς αἰτίας καὶ τὸν ποιητὴν οὕτως εἰρηκέναι], ‘and there reigned Minos, the familiar of great Zeus every ninth year’ [Od. 19.178].170

Ephorus found the information about Rhadamanthys, the legislator and author of synoecisms before Minos, and about Rhadamanthys’ and Minos’ ability to use Zeus as a cover-up for their own legislative initiatives not in Od. 19.178, but rather in the Cretan stories (cf. F 149). Ephorus approached these stories cautiously (δοκεῖ . . . ὡς ἔοικεν) and, in light of them, explained Od. 19.178 (ἀφ’ ἧς αἰτίας καὶ τὸν ποιητὴν οὕτως εἰρηκέναι), therefore showing that Homer had gathered and re-elaborated earlier material. Again, the information that Ephorus drew from poetry was also examined. F 113 (Strab. 5.2.4) is testimony to an even more elaborate practice, featuring both a critical review of various sources and an organization of variants: Nearly everyone agrees that the Pelasgians were a certain ancient tribe which wandered throughout all of Greece and especially among the Aeolians in Thessaly. And Ephorus says he is of the opinion that they were originally Arcadians who chose a military life, and that because they directed many towards the same training, they shared their name with all and acquired great distinction among the Greeks and any with whom they happened to come into contact. For they settled Crete, as Homer says, when Odysseus speaks to Penelope [Od. 19.175–177]: ‘And one language is mixed with another; there dwell Achaeans, great-hearted Eteocretans, Cydonians, threefold Dorians and illustrious Pelasgians.’ And Thessaly is called ‘the Pelasgian Argos’ (. . .) because the Pelasgians ruled over these territories [cf. Hom. Il. 2.681]. The Poet himself calls Dodonian Zeus ‘Pelasgian’ [Il. 16.233. Cf. FF 119, 142]: ‘Lord Zeus, Dodonian, Pelasgian’. Many have also called the tribes of Epirus ‘Pelasgian’, on the grounds that in fact the Pelasgian rule extended that far. (. . .) For Ephorus, Hesiod was the first who had the tribe originate 170

Strab. 10.4.8 (F 147).

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in Arcadia, since Hesiod says [fr. 161 Merkelbach-West]: ‘Sons were born to god-like Lycaon whom once Pelasgos sired’. (. . .) And Ephorus says that the Peloponnese also was called ‘Pelasgia’ (. . .).171

Ephorus cautiously reconstructed the original historical movements of a wandering people of warriors, the Pelasgians, who were ethnically defined at the beginning but later, on account of their mobility and numerous contacts, mixed with different ethnic groups who shared the same name and the lifestyle it implied.172 Not a firm conclusion, but an impression (νομίζειν, ‘to be of the opinion that’) stemmed from his inquiry: Ephorus was aware that the result he obtained was affected by vagueness and uncertainties, as always when one deals with most distant events (cf. F 9). But how did he reach his result? By stressing that the Pelasgians ‘acquired great distinction among the Greeks and any with whom they happened to come into contact’, he drew attention to what was said about the Pelasgians both in and outside of Greece; by identifying Hesiod as the most ancient witness on the Arcadian origin of the Pelasgians (τοῦ ἐξ Ἀρκαδίας εἶναι τὸ φῦλον τοῦτο ἦρξεν Ἡσίοδος), he contextualized the poetic text in the development of a (re)constructed tradition. No doubt Ephorus collected, thoroughly examined, chronologically organized and critically compared information from different sources, poetic as well as prosaic – historians included.173 Other fragments attest to Ephorus’ clever use of poetic sources for his discussion of the past. As Alcman’s verses were cited by Ephorus to document an ancient linguistic custom of the Spartans (F 149), so the link of the Parnassians-Delphians with Apollo’s original civilization of the earth, which was remembered in ancient poetic and epichoric texts, was used by Ephorus in his discourse about the identity of the Delphians to argue that the Delphians were autochthonous (F 31b): similarly to Thucydides in the Archaeology, Ephorus derived from the poets’ words 171

172

173

Strab. 5.2.4 (F 113). Cf. schol. Dion. Per. 348 (F 113+). Like Hellanicus (FGrHist 4 F 161) and many other historians (Hdt. 8.73; Thuc. 1.2.3; Xen. Hell. 7.1.23), Ephorus considered the Arcadians an indigenous people (cf. F 18c). However, by asserting that the Pelasgians came from Arcadia, he distanced himself from Hellanicus and Acusilaus, who both believed in the Argive identity of the eponym Pelasgos (FGrHist 4 F 36a–b and FGrHist 2 F 25a–b, respectively), and was closer to Hesiod (frr. 160–162 Merkelbach-West), Pherecydes (FGrHist 3 F 156), and Herodotus (1.146). For the transference of the name of the Pelasgians (ἅπασι τοῦ ὀνόματος μεταδοῦναι), cf. Thuc. 1.3.2 on the Hellenes. But differently from Thucydides, Ephorus explained this transference of the name with the diffusion of agoge (ἑλέσθαι στρατιωτικὸν βίον, εἰς δὲ τὴν αὐτὴν ἀγωγὴν προτρέποντας πολλοὺς). Among the historians Ephorus may have consulted, one sees Hecataeus (FGrHist 1 FF 6a bis, 14, 119, 127, 133), Acusilaus (FGrHist 2 F 25a–b), Pherecydes (FGrHist 3 F 156), Herodotus (1.56.2–58 and 146) and Hellanicus (FGrHist 4 FF 36a–b, 161).

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historical-ethnographic information that was independent of the poetic message.174 Ephorus therefore subjected poetic quotations to the specific aims of his historical analysis. This practice is attested elsewhere in the fragments. While discussing the First Messenian War and the foundation of Taras, Ephorus quoted a few lines by Tyrtaeus, as we read in F 216 (Strab. 6.3.3): Messene was taken after nineteen years of war, as Tyrtaeus says [fr. 5 West]: ‘Around Messene they fought nineteen years unceasingly and stout-hearted, the fathers of our fathers, armed with the spear. And in the twentieth year, the enemy left behind their rich land and fled from the great mountains of Ithome.’175

Tyrtaeus’ lines were added to the proposed reconstruction (καθάπερ καὶ Τυρταῖός φησι) and were specifically quoted in relation to the problem of the duration of the First Messenian War.176 Another example is Ephorus’ reference to Homer and Hesiod in F 42 (Strab. 7.3.9), which reads: There are [Ephorus says] certain Scythian Nomads who drink mare’s milk and are superior to all in justice. The poets mention them: Homer speaks of ‘the Galactophagi Abii, most just of men’ [Il. 13.6] when he has Zeus look down upon the earth, and Hesiod in the work entitled Circuit of the Earth has Phineus led by the Harpyiae ‘into the land of the Galactophagi, who have their homes on wagons’ [fr. 151 Merkelbach-West].177

Ephorus selected from the poetic information offered by both Homer and Hesiod what was relevant to the topic under discussion (the lifestyle of the Nomads), setting aside what was instead extraneous and appeared to be improbable (the details of Zeus looking at the earth and of Phineus dragged by the Harpyiae). Poets provided useful information not only about the customs of peoples, as in the case of Hesiod and Homer, but also for the reconstruction of historical events in the recent or distant past, as especially in the case of Simonides and Tyrtaeus, who were important sources for the history of 174

175 176 177

See Strab. 9.3.12 (F 31b), with Parmeggiani 2001, 178–9. Ephorus’ use of semeia and rituals in F 31b may recall that of Isocrates in Paneg. 28–31, on Demeter and Athens. One may say that Isocrates, on this occasion, approaches historical research, and uses historiographical tools for argumentation. See Nicolai 2004, 82; Parmeggiani 2011, 108 n. 29, on analogies but also differences between Ephorus’ and Isocrates’ discourse; Marincola 2014, 50–2. Strab. 6.3.3 (F 216). See Blass 18922, 430–1 and Verdin 1977, 65 n. 34. Ephorus’ practice of subjecting Tyrtaeus’ poetry to the specific aims of historical analysis has left its mark on the tradition: see Strab. 8.4.10 and Paus. 4.15.2, both referring to Tyrt. fr. 5 West. Strab. 7.3.9 (F 42). For a detailed refutation of Ivančik’s thesis (1996) of an Ephoran manipulation of Hom. Il. 13.5–6, see Parmeggiani 2011, 691 n. 223; Chávez Reino 2013, 353 n. 42 and passim.

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the fifth century bc and the history of the Peloponnese in the eighth and seventh centuries bc, respectively.178 But the information drawn from poetic sources, at times, could be also completely discredited. As we see in F 137a (Strab. 6.2.2), Ephorus replaced Homer’s Cyclops and Laestrygones with the local peoples of Sicily – weak and primitive savages –, and with the Iberians, the Siceli, and the Sicani (cf. F 136 [Strab. 6.2.4]). By using eikos as well as the information he gathered from reading Thucydides, Philistus, and other Western sources, Ephorus set aside the poets’ creations, which, in his view, offered evidence of the fear the Greeks in Homer’s time had for that distant land which would remain little known to them at least until Theocles’ arrival (F 137a–b). He knew that poetic exaggeration was not only a celebratory technique – ἐπὶ τὸ μεῖζον κοσμεῖν, as Thucydides says (1.21.1) – but also a way for earlier generations to represent a borderline reality, what was unknown or different, or defied any rational explanation (see, for example, the belief in Heracles’ divinity in F 34, Tityus and Python in F 31a–b, or the Giants in F 34). In Ephorus’ quotations of poets, the imputation of meaning and sense could also be very subtle, and vary from case to case, as both the intentional conflation of Aristophanes’ and Eupolis’ lines in F 196, and the possible use of Anacreon’s ‘Artemon Periphoretus’ to describe Artemon at Pericles’ time in F 194 (Plut. Per. 27) suggest.179 In addition, his quotation of Choerilus of Samos, an epic poet who lived at the time of Lysander and was known in the fourth century for a monumental historical-ethnographic poem on the Persian Wars,180 is an example of a special use of poetic sources. Ephorus quoted him, together with Homer and Hesiod, to polemicize against those (ἄλλοι, ‘other writers’) who disregarded the existence of good tribes among the Scythians, as we read in F 42: He [sc. Ephorus] cites also Choerilus who in his Crossing of the Boat-Bridge (the one which Darius joined together) says ‘and the sheep-tending Sacae, Scythian in race; and they dwell in wheat-bearing Asia; they are colonists of the Nomads, men observant of the law.’ [fr. 5 Bernabé]181

178

179 180

On Simonides, see the section above, on F 187. On Tyrtaeus, cf. above on F 216. Since Tyrtaeus was an eminent witness for Sparta’s archaic history, Ephorus certainly used his poems to reconstruct the palaion of Laconia and Messene: see Parker 2004, 29–33, and 2011, on F 216; Parmeggiani 2011, 690 n. 220, for further discussion. Anacr. fr. 27 Page: ξανθῇ δ’ Εὐρυπύλῃ μέλει | ὁ περιφόρητος Ἀρτέμων. See Parmeggiani 2011, 425–6 with n. 138. On the characteristics of Choerilus’ work see Angeli Bernardini 2004. 181 Strab. 7.3.9 (F 42).

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Ephorus did not quote Choerilus because he thought him to be more competent or authoritative as regards Scythian ethnography and Darius’ expedition, but rather, because with his testimony, Choerilus concluded that ideal cycle of tradition that Homer and Hesiod, forefathers of the Greek epos, had inaugurated: the verses of Choerilus, the ‘new Homer’, allowed Ephorus to underline how his adversaries ignored important information that had been for centuries part of the shared cultural knowledge of epic poetry and Greek erudition. In short, by citing a recent and ‘trendy’ poet in the fourth century bc,182 Ephorus called attention to the embarrassing cultural lacunae of his adversaries. We now return to – and conclude with – Homer. The long chapter in Strabo from which Jacoby extracted F 114a (Strab. 12.3.21) documents a problematic instance of Ephorus’ exegesis of the Homeric text. The passage reads: The Chaldaeans were long ago called Chalybians (. . .) And it is these people, I think, whom the Poet calls Halizonians in the Catalogue after the Paphlagonians [Il. 2.856–857]: ‘But Odios and Epistrophus commanded the Halizonians from far away from Alybe, the birthplace of silver.’ Either the text has been altered from ‘from far away from Chalybe’ or the men were formerly called Alybians instead of Chalybians. (. . .) Some alter the text to ‘Alazones’ others to ‘Amazones’ and ‘from Alybe’ to ‘from Alope’ or ‘from Alobe’, claiming that the Scythians who live above Borysthenes are called Alazones [or: ‘Alizones’], Callipidae, and other names – Hellanicus [FGrHist 4 F 186], Herodotus [4.17.1], and Eudoxus [fr. 345 Lasserre] have talked a lot of nonsense about these –, and some claim that the Amazones dwelt between Mysia, Caria and Lydia, as Ephorus says, near to Cyme which was his native land. And this perhaps has a certain reasonableness, since he would be saying that the land later dwelt in by Aeolians and Ionians was formerly occupied by Amazons, and they say that some cities take their name from them: Ephesus, Smyrna, Cyme, and Myrina. But how could Alybe (or, as some call it, Alope or Alobe) be found in these places? What would ‘from far away’ refer to? And where is ‘the birthplace of silver’? Ephorus’ solution is to change the text: he writes ‘but Odios and Epistrophus commanded the Amazones, coming from Alope, from which the race of Amazons comes.’ But in solving this problem he has fallen into another fiction: for nowhere around here is Alope found; and the change seems like an offhanded remark, an innovation precisely for the occasion, and contrary to the tradition of ancient copies. Skepsios [i.e., Demetrius, fr. 45 Gaede] seems to have accepted neither the opinion of

182

So Schwartz 1907, 14.

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Ephorus nor of those who interpret the Halizonians as being around Pallene (. . .).183

Who are the enigmatic Halizonians of Alybe that Homer remembers in the Catalogue of Ships as allies of the Trojans?184 In addressing this issue, Strabo is persuaded that Homer alluded to the Chalybians (the ancient Chaldaeans), and while debating with Demetrius of Scepsis, he considers several corrections that various intellectuals, including Ephorus, had suggested for the Homeric text. Strabo pays particular attention to Ephorus’ position for its logic: Ephorus amended the Homeric Halizones into Amazones, and Alybe into Alope, while identifying this location as a centre in Asia Minor related to the tradition of the Amazons. Strabo then continues that Ephorus thought to adjust the poetic text further since he could not explain Homer’s use of ‘from far away’ in relation to a region that was rather close to Troy, and of ‘silver’ in relation to a territory that had none. His editing resulted in two lines drastically different from the original: αὐτὰρ Ἁλιζώνων Ὀδίος καὶ Ἐπίστροφος ἦρχον τηλόθεν ἐξ Ἀλύβης, ὅθεν ἀργύρου ἐστὶ γενέθλη but Odios and Epistrophus commanded the Halizonians from far away from Alybe, the birthplace of silver

(Hom. Il. 2.856–857)

αὐτὰρ Ἀμαζώνων Ὀδίος καὶ Ἐπίστροφος ἦρχον, ἐλθόντ’ ἐξ Ἀλόπης, ὅ θ’ Ἀμαζονίδων γένος ἐστί but Odios and Epistrophus commanded the Amazones, coming from Alope, from which the race of Amazons comes

(Hom. Il. 2.856–857 according to Ephorus)

Ephorus rewriting Homer! Ephorus’ editing appears to us as an interpolation, both hasty and ignorant of the poetic text, at least to the extent by which Strabo records the incompatibility of Ephorus’ solution with the 183

184

Strab. 12.3.19–22. Jacoby’s selection for F 114a (highlighted) does not do justice to either Strabo or Ephorus. The edition of the fragment of Marx 1815, 199, reproduced in Müller 1841, 259b–260a (fr. 87), is certainly preferable. On F 114a and its context, see also Ragone 2013, 101 ff.; Biraschi 2013, 322–3. Homer refers to the Halizones also in Il. 5.39: ἀρχὸν Ἁλιζώνων Ὀδίον. It is unclear how Ephorus and the other exegetes, who favoured emending Ἁλιζώνων in Il. 2.856, read Il. 5.39; they certainly did not ignore it. The question of the identity of the Halizones seemed to find a solution – different from Strabo’s – in the time of Pliny (NH 5.143): hos (sc. the inhabitants of Bithynia) Homerus Halizonas dixit, quando praecingitur gens mari. Cf. Arr. FGrHist 156 F 97, on which Jacoby 1962 (1927–1929), 584–5.

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version of the most ancient witnesses (παρὰ τὴν τῶν ἀντιγράφων τῶν ἀρχαίων πίστιν). A philologically accurate practice teaches us to preserve the lectio difficilior rather than altering it and affecting entire cola. Should one therefore blame Ephorus for violent manipulation of the poetic text?185 We could guess that Ephorus knew versions of the Homeric lines which were unknown to Strabo, but this theory would contradict Strabo’s testimony, which describes Ephorus’ interpolation as resulting from a careful reflection on and correction of Homer’s text (ἀπολύεται . . . ἀπολυσάμενος). Here is the point. The Homeric lines appeared corrupt to the ancients and suggestions for emendations circulated widely, as Strabo himself makes clear. Since Strabo explains Ephorus’ edits as the result of a careful analytical process, it is clear that Ephorus did not cover up his thoughts about the text, and that his reader, as a consequence, understood that Ephorus corrected a textual locus which was assumed to be corrupt.186 So the interpolation of Il. 2.856–857 should not be understood as an example of textual manipulation that Ephorus normally practised, but rather as an act of critical conjecturing with all its unquestionable problems.187 No doubt Ephorus would have done better not to interpolate Homer. Still, his attempt to recover the original text starting from a version that was believed to be erroneous is not so different from the conjecture of those modern philologists who are tempted to see textual corruption also when, in fact, there is none. Ephorus had no knowledge of the modern techniques for the production of a critical edition: had he known them, perhaps he

185

186

187

Nineteenth-century critics usually criticized Ephorus’ intentions, with the exception of the somewhat more lenient Marx 1815, 65 and 200. See particularly Müller 1841, lxiib: ‘Non ubique vero scriptorem qua par est religione fontes adhibuisse, sed verba eorum, ut ad suam sententiam accordaret, temerariis et violentis coniecturiis deformare ausum esse, luculento documento est locus Strabonis XII, p. 826.’ Cf. Stelkens 1857, 18–19; Klügmann 1860, 34, 46; Endemann 1881, 21 n. 1; Blass 18922, 433; Wachsmuth 1895, 504; and Peter 1911, 170. Ephorus was interested in the Homeric Catalogue because this was an extremely valuable source for the investigation into the history of Greece and Asia Minor (see Schepens 2003, 353). He may have corrected Homer’s text because he could not identify sources dating to the same period or earlier that substantiated the poet’s reference to the Halizones. As a matter of fact, he did not believe the Halizones existed – in his opinion, the Scythian Alizones that he found in Herodotus and Hellanicus were an invention (F 158) – and he perhaps also considered Hecataeus’ Alatia (FGrHist 1 F 217) an invented place-name. Note also that Alope in Asia Minor may not have been Ephorus’ fiction: see Jacoby 1926b, 65, on F 114a–b, including some testimonia on Alope as toponym for Ephesus or nearby areas. See Parmeggiani 2011, 694 ff. with notes, for further details. Strabo says that Ephorus’ reasoning was not insignificant (καὶ τοῦτο μὲν ἔχεταί τινος λόγου τυχὸν ἴσως), and in this regard, one may note that Ephorus’ suggested edits are less trivial from a philological standpoint than expected: Ἀμαζώνων and Ἀλόπης are not radical changes in comparison with those which others recommended, whereas ἔλθόντ’ ἐξ is a clever alternative to τηλόθεν ἐξ.

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would have placed Homer’s verses inter cruces, and included his proposed amendment in the critical apparatus. 2.3 The Ways of διακριβοῦν (diakriboun): opsis, akoe and gnome In relation to past history, Thucydides expressed reservations about drawing credible conclusions from the direct review of visible evidence: his observations on the actual ruins of Mycenae and the hypothetical ruins of Sparta and Athens are a clear lesson on the potential misdirection which visible evidence may lead to (1.10.1–3).188 Needless to say, Thucydides did not intend to discredit the absolute value of any investigation into the past, but rather, he sternly warned about the risks and difficulties one would encounter in carrying it out: it is not sufficient to examine the visible remnants of time; given the natural impossibility of seeing the past with one’s own eyes, it is necessary to consider further evidence. So Thucydides underscored the importance and inevitability of a comparative examination of evidence. Ephorus was well aware of the Thucydidean concerns and warnings, which he shared and often endorsed, as in the demonstration of F 149 on the precedence of the Cretan laws over the Spartan constitution. Ephorus contradicted the reading that ‘some’ (τινες) had carried out of the past by asserting the need for an analysis of expanded information, which combined the evidence provided by opsis with the evidence provided by akoe. The arguments he introduced to refute his adversaries, namely the simultaneous presence of the same laws in cities of different origin (colonies and non), and the presence of laws in other cities, which were clearly at odds with the laws enforced in their respective mother cities, demonstrate his core methodological principle: by critically and thoroughly considering a broader web of sources and information, a historian reaches credible conclusions, greatly different from the ones drawn only from visible data. In the statement of F 149, ‘one must not judge about things of long ago from the present state of affairs’, in addition to Thucydides’ admonition (1.10), now turned into firm prescription, we also read the lesson that Ephorus had learned from his own experience, by practising historical research. Whoever relies only on visible evidence may incur a significant problem: they may reach conclusions based on what cannot be seen at the time of the observation, with the unavoidable consequence of collapsing the past and 188

See, among others, Hornblower 2003–2008, I, 33 ff.; Kallet 2006, 360 ff.; Vattuone 2007, 150; Parmeggiani 2018a, 237 ff.

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the present together, thus losing the sense of the distance existing, in fact, between them. The key motif of F 9 still resonates with F 149, specifically in the example of Crete’s naval force: ‘Previously the Cretans were masters of the sea, so that when people pretend not to know something they actually know, we use the proverb, “The Cretan does not know the sea”. But now the Cretans have abandoned their navy.’189 If we were to rely only on opsis, we would draw the following conclusion from the visible evidence of Crete’s current lack of naval power: that Crete never ruled over the seas, an inference that is clearly erroneous. Ephorus used a paradox to underscore the difference existing between the past and the present, and suggested that what makes it possible to appreciate the truth about a dramatic historical process, which consisted in a radical change from past to present, is the information drawn from akoe – such as, for example, a simple proverb – and the consideration of similar occurrences to the case under examination. In short, he advocated a method which simultaneously considered both what is seen (opsis) and what is learned from tradition (akoe) in as great a number of examples as possible. In F 149 the intellectual habit outlined in F 122a turns into mandatory practice: historical research demands the comparative examination of various types of evidence. If a historian wishes to reach truthful conclusions about the past – as he should – he must adapt and open his research up to the widest array, both geographically and temporally, of visible and aural evidence; he should restrict his inquiry neither to akoe nor to opsis. So Ephorus underscored the difficulty of the examination of the past, and the superior abilities and competence that it requires. As we have discussed in the paragraph above, FF 118 and 122a, like F 149, offer refutations and extensive evidence of the simultaneous use of opsis and akoe. F 31b, which includes the critique of φιλομυθοῦντες, is also significant in this respect, particularly because Ephorus intended to give here an example of his methodology: Ephorus sifted Delphian akoe and occasionally corrected it in light of the visible rite of the Septerion, compared and contrasted the aural information he had collected, made cogent inferences (an instance of gnome, one might say) to solve the problem of the different, at times dissonant information he had gained from akoe and opsis, respectively, and made inferences from poetic and epichoric texts in the same manner as Thucydides does in the Archaeology.190 From F 31b we learn that the διακριβοῦν invoked in F 122a did not consist in a confused storage of signs, but in a careful examination of each of them. 189

Strab. 10.4.17 (F 149).

190

See Parmeggiani 2001.

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We have already discussed above Ephorus’ sensibility towards inscriptions. We now turn our attention to his use of rituals as valuable visible sources. Beside the examples we already know in FF 31b and 118 (the Septerion and the honours to Lycurgus, respectively), F 120 (schol. Euripid. Phoin. 7) offers material for our further consideration: Ephorus says that she [sc. Harmonia] is the daughter of Electra daughter of Atlas, and that Cadmus seized her when he was sailing to Samothrace. And that in honour of her mother she called the gates [sc. of Thebes] ‘the gates of Electra’. And still today in Samothrace they seek her in their festivals.191

Hellanicus also remembered the ‘gates of Electra’ in Thebes.192 Ephorus completed the information of his predecessor by informing his audience of the existence of festivals which were still taking place in Samothrace in the fourth century bc to memorialize the abduction of Harmonia – festivals that he apparently used as evidence of Cadmus’ journey to the island. Books I–V presented several rituals: e.g., the Boeotian votive tripods that were brought to Dodona (F 119 apud Strab. 9.2.4), the saturnalia – so to speak – of Cydonia in Crete (F 29 [Athen. 6.263f]), the dedication of votive tripods by the ‘Thebageneis’ to the sanctuary of Apollo Ismenius (F 21 [Ammon. De diff. verb. 231, 60–61 Nickau]), the abduction of the lovers in Crete (F 149 apud Strab. 10.4.21193) and the Apaturia in Athens (F 22 [Harp. s.v. Ἀπατούρια]). Ephorus believed that rituals defined an original and distinctive ethnographic peculiarity, but also offered useful evidence to verify the akoai concerning the most distant past – whether they be local or more broadly Greek – because they periodically conjured an original event and, as such, made it possible even to ‘see’ it, although in a mediated form. Rituals allowed a sort of ‘autoptic archaeology’, so to speak. The precedent of Herodotus is clear here.194 That Ephorus, as inquirer of the past, was especially interested in rituals, should not surprise us: rituals also encapsulate both visible and oral information, for they consist of the visible symbolism of a procession or a sacred representation and a set of transmitted formulas, of equally ancient oral semeia.

191 192 193 194

Schol. Euripid. Phoin. 7 (F 120). See schol. Apoll. Rhod. 1.916 (Hell. FGrHist 4 F 23) with Ambaglio 1980, 122; Pownall 2016, ad loc. See Vattuone 1998c. On Herodotus and rituals, see Giacometti 2003. For the definition ‘autoptic archaeology’, see Parmeggiani 2001.

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A historian discovers something interesting on the customs and the past whenever he carefully reflects on a ritual and its formulas. F 20a (Macrob. Saturn. 5.18.6–8), a long direct quotation of Ephorus’ book II, reads: To the other rivers only those who live near offer sacrifice, but it happens that all mankind honours the Achelous alone, not by calling other rivers by common names in place of individual names but by transferring the proper name of the Achelous to the common term. For we call water (which is a common noun) ‘Achelous’ from that river’s proper name, whereas with other names we often use common nouns in place of proper ones, calling the Athenians ‘Greeks’ and the Lacedaemonians ‘Peloponnesians’. We cannot say what is most responsible for this puzzle other than the oracles from Dodona. For in nearly all of these the god is accustomed to order sacrifice ‘to Achelous’, so that many consider that what is being named by the oracle is not ‘Achelous’ the river that flows through Acarnania but water as a whole, and so they imitate the god’s manner of address. And the evidence is that we are accustomed to speak like this when referring to the divine: for we call water ‘Achelous’ especially in oaths, prayers, and sacrifices, all of which concern the gods.195

The custom of offering sacrifices to Achelous, a river in Acarnania, was widespread among the Greeks, whereas the worship of other rivers was usually limited to local peoples. Ephorus noticed the anomaly, and explained it drawing on his knowledge of the oracles and linguistic and religious practices of the Greeks. First, he observed that the Greeks normally use ‘Achelous’ to mean ‘water’. Then, to explain this tradition, which represented another exception since it entailed the use of a specific name to characterize a general idea, he considered – albeit with some admitted difficulty (τούτου δὲ τοῦ ἀπορήματος οὐδὲν ἔχομεν αἰτιώτατον εἰπεῖν ἢ . . .) – the Dodonian oracular responses, and noticed that, on the one hand, in almost all of them the god commands that one make sacrifices to Achelous, and on the other hand, the supplicants understand them as if the god intended to indicate ‘water’ by ‘Achelous’. He finally concluded that the Greeks became accustomed to call water ‘Achelous’ to imitate the words of the god (μιμοῦνται τὰς τοῦ θεοῦ προσηγορίας). This usage was attested (σημεῖον) in oaths, prayers and sacrifices, in all the activities that pertain to the realm of the divine. 195

Macrob. Saturn. 5.18.6–8 (F 20a). The Greek is translated according to Jacoby’s edition (1926a, 48). Willis (1970, 321) adopts the text of Marx 1815, 122 (cf. Müller 1841, 239b–240a), but expunges οὐ τοῖς κοινοῖς ὀνόμασιν ἀντὶ τῶν ἰδίων (which Marx already considered a gloss) and includes in the apparatus the supplement of Jacoby 1926a, 48, after ἰδίων. On F 20a, see Parke 1967, 153–4. See now also Nicolai 2013, 233–4; Vannini 2018, 115–19, on POxy. 2.221 (F 20b+).

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Ephorus explained the unusual circulation of the cult of Achelous in Greece as the result of a phenomenon by which language was ritualized. He also underscored how profoundly the consultation of the oracle of Dodona influenced the linguistic habits of the Greeks since ancient times, and in this regard, his study of rituals and their language provided important ethnographic and historical information. For Ephorus, the term ‘Achelous’, which was synonymous with ‘water’ in the religious language of the Greeks, represented the remnant of an original language that existed before and beyond the particular dialects, and thus attested to a pre-Greek cultural unity, dating to the most distant past. By presenting Dodona, founded by the Pelasgians (F 119 apud Strab. 9.2.4 and F 142 [Strab. 7.7.10]), as the epicentre of the diffusion and circulation of this term, and aided, most likely, by other sources of aural tradition, Ephorus – similar to Herodotus – also underscored the important role the itinerant Pelasgians played as the forefathers of Greek unity. Herodotus too was interested in the link between the Pelasgians and Dodona. By referring to ancient sacrificial practices and oracular prescriptions, he underlined the role they both played in determining what would become the linguistic and religious identity of the Greeks. He argued that in the beginning, the Pelasgians did not offer sacrifices to any particular divinity but only to generic gods (θεοί), who had brought order (θέντες) to the world (2.52.1). Then, they learned the denominations of the Egyptian gods and decided to adopt them upon the prescription of the oracle of Dodona, which was the most ancient oracle (ἀρχαιότατον) and the only one (μοῦνον) at that time in Greece. The Greeks later derived the denominations of their gods from them (Hdt. 2.52.2–3). From this brief overview of Herodotus’ narrative, we can see that while following the trajectory of Herodotus’ reasoning, Ephorus’ exposition in F 20a showcases his more specific and highly sophisticated reflection on language. In general, Ephorus made use of the same information – i.e., rituals, oracular responses, and proverbs – which Herodotus and local historians had used, but he did not uncritically adopt or passively replicate the contents of his predecessors. Even proverbs, like any other linguistic expression, constituted signs of ancient wisdom and knowledge of events of the past;196 as such they were part of an ‘archaeology of language’ that was needed to examine cultural practices as they developed over time, and study historical events. 196

This may link Ephorus with Aristotle, who also was interested in proverbs as signs of ancient, preDeucalionic knowledge: see Tosi 2017, vii.

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The geographical site of a city also offered useful evidence to ascertain the credibility of well-known akoai. For example, the oral tradition on the foundation of Miletus included two fundamental periods: the arrival of the Cretans, followed by the arrival of the Ionians.197 Ephorus established a correspondence between the two periods reported by akoe and the two sites of old and modern Miletus, respectively (ὅπου νῦν ἡ πάλαι Μίλητος . . . τὴν νῦν πόλις, F 127 [Strab. 14.1.6]). In this way, by considering visible evidence – the physical sites – he substantiated the idea of the dual foundation of Miletus in the akoe.198 Only in rare instances does Ephorus seem to have believed that visible signs may be considered independently of akoe. This is the case of geographical data. The land that the observer sees now, with his own eyes, is the same land that generations have walked; this is why it is possible to look into the distant past of a people by looking at their land. In F 176 (Strab. 8.6.16), on Aegina, we read: Ephorus says that silver was first coined in Aegina by Pheidon; for Aegina [he says] became a trading-port, since the Aeginetans plied the sea in trade because of the poverty of the soil, whence petty wares are called ‘Aeginetan merchandise’.199

All of Ephorus’ reasoning revolved around a visible sign, the poverty of Aegina’s soil. Although the epithet Αἰγιναίαν ἐμπολὴν (‘Aeginetan merchandise’) for retail goods points to the poor origins of the Aeginetans in the spirit of that ‘archaeology of language’ that we have mentioned above, it comes second after the historian’s consideration of geographical data and the logical inferences he therefore made on account of eikos. The prehistory of Aegina, as depicted in F 176, reminds us of Thucydides’ Archaeology. Progress is dictated by impersonal forces, such as people’s need to survive (‘the Aeginetans plied the sea in trade because of the poverty of the soil’, said Ephorus). Civilization is neither the gift which Zeus gave to his son Aeacus by generating men from ants, as we read in the Hesiodic myth and ancient local traditions,200 nor was it the result of the law which Aeacus gave to the Aeginetans who, before receiving it, lived underground like ants, as writers on Aegina suggested by rationalizing that myth.201 Ephorus combined Thucydides’ rational re-elaboration of the epos and Herodotus’ 197 200 201

See Paus. 7.2.5. 198 See Parmeggiani 2000. 199 Strab. 8.6.16 (F 176). See Hes. fr. 205 Merkelbach-West. Cf. Paus. 2.29.2; Apollod. 3.12.6. See Theog. FGrHist 300 F 1, clearly based on ancient local traditions. Cf. Strab. 8.6.16.

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interests in proverbs, but did not replicate their discourses; in so doing, he constructed an unquestionably original representation of the local past.202

3. The Nature of Ephorus’ Historical Discourse Our examination of the fragmentary tradition suggests that Ephorus’ research method conformed to its theoretical principles (FF 9, 110, and 122a). The vast material used for the writing of the Histories was a web of information that Ephorus neither mechanically reproduced nor uncritically reported. He was cautious about what he found in the works of his predecessors or was widespread and known among prose writers and poets, and made the concept of διακριβοῦν – namely the expanded use of sources the historian should review and their comparative analysis – his constant guide in practice. Ancient historians never escaped the rhetoric of selfrepresentation, not even Ephorus: his observations on aletheia, on the sacrifices it implies for the professional historian, and also his statements on methodology, polemical as they were, served as claims to authority.203 Still, they were not mere boast. Ephorus’ critical use and thorough exegesis of epigraphic, prose and poetic sources – at times, however, pushed to the extreme and turned into misguided philology – that we can infer from the fragments of books I–V, i.e., from the best attested section of the Histories, characterize his inquiry as sophisticated, multifarious and adaptable. We should also observe the accuracy of his technical language including such terms as τεκμαίρεσθαι (FF 128, 149),204 τεκμηριοῦσθαι (F 149), μαρτύριον (FF 122a, 149), σημεῖον (F 20a), and παραδείγματα ποιεῖσθαι (F 42; cf. F 65f). Even the testimonies acknowledge Ephorus’ talent for demonstrative reasoning: Ἔφορος . . . αἰτιολογεῖ (F 42), and ἐπισημαίνεται . . . ἐξελέγχει (F 122a). His density and depth of meaning compelled the reader to reflect carefully upon his writing: τούς ἀκριβέστατα λέγοντας (F 9), τὴν ἰδίαν ἐπωνυμίαν ἐπὶ τὸ κοινὸν μεταφέροντας (F 20a), τούτου δὲ τοῦ ἀπορήματος οὐδὲν ἔχομεν αἰτιώτατον εἰπεῖν (ibid.), ἄτοπον γάρ . . . τὸν τοιοῦτον ἀεὶ τρόπον διώκομεν (F 31b), διακριβοῦν . . . παντελῶς ἀπορούμενον (F 122a), ἐπηναγκάσθαι (F 149), σώζειν τὴν ἐτυμότητα τῆς προσηγορίας (ibid.). Much of this language is reminiscent of Herodotus, as it is also Ephorus’

202 203 204

See Parmeggiani 2002. On ancient historians’ self-representation and their claims to authority, see Marincola 1997. See also Strab. 3.5.4, with Parmeggiani 2011, 684–5, on F 129b ([Scymn.] Orb. descr. 152–166).

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use of a didactic register and vocabulary.205 His preference for subordinate clauses with nonfinite verbs (see, for example, his frequent use of participles) is typical of the scientific lexicon and style. Here we have a hint of Ephorus’ dense style, which made the reading of the Histories, particularly in the sections about ancient events, so slow and tedious (TT 25, 28a–b. See above Chapter 1, § 7), and perhaps also difficult (Theon Progymn., chapter 13 of the Armenian text, 105 Patillon-Bolognesi).206 This had to do, as we see, with Ephorus’ habit of consistently providing arguments and examining all the available evidence in detail. His use of the first-person plural, which is often attested in verbatim quotations207 and may be connected with his strategy of self-representation (Ephorus aimed to place himself above any agonistic context208), could only emphasize the density of his exposition, for it involved readers more in his careful process of examining evidence and building demonstrations. Such remarkable features too should be acknowledged to Ephorus’ style, besides the well-known similarities it displayed with Isocrates’ (Ephorus tended to avoid hiatus and cared for parallelisms) but also differences from that model (Ephorus’ prose could be even simpler, more monotonous and more repetitive than Isocrates’). After all, the study of the fragments allows us to discover valuable features of Ephorus’ own writing well beyond those Isocratean features which made the ancients label him as Isocratean.209 205 206

207 208

209

On Herodotus’ technical language, didactic register and vocabulary, see especially Thomas 2000, 168 ff., with analysis of several passages. In the Armenian text of Theon’s Progymnasmata one finds a list of Greek historians, from the easiest to the most demanding. If Patillon’s conjecture ‘Ephorus’ is accepted, Ephorus was second only to Thucydides. Note that Theon mainly quotes from Ephorus’ books I–VII, i.e., from the section of the Histories about the ancient past. See, e.g., FF 9, 20a, 31b, 122a. On Ephorus’ aversion to competition pieces, see § 1.1 above (on F 8). Herodotus prefers the firstperson singular, and on the significance of his choice, see especially Thomas 2000, 235 ff. Thucydides prefers the third- and the first-person singular. Universal historians such as Polybius and Diodorus will follow Ephorus’ preference for the first-person plural. See Marincola 1997, 182 ff. on person and perspective in historiographical texts; De Jong, Nünlist and Bowie 2004, for an overview on person and perspective in the Greek literature. For ancient critics’ evaluations of Ephorus’ style, see Chapter 1, § 2 with n. 28, and § 7 with nn. 131 and 132. For any attempt at a definition of Ephorus’ style, the fragments with verbatim quotations should be appreciated first, although they are often short (FF 20a, 30b, 63, 96 being notable exceptions) and there still may be some uncertainties that they exactly reproduce the original wording. For avoidance of hiatus, see FF 6, 9, 26, 42–3, 47, 52, 78, 82–4, 90, 95, 122a, 235–6. But see examples of tolerable and intolerable hiatus in FF 20a, 21, 24, 27, 29, 30b, 31b, 39, 54, 63, 65f, 71, 76, 96–7, 189. Ephorus’ style could be refined (FF 9, 30b, 47, 71, 97), and one may think especially of proemial statements and speeches in the mouth of historical characters as being especially elegant (see F 9 and Plutarch in T 21, respectively). Events description with a certain degree of structural complexity is found (F 63. Cf. Blass 18922, 439 n. 2), but also events reported in simple style (see FF 15, 21 with Blass 18922, 439 n. 2, and Kaibel 1893, 109). Apax and non-Atthic expressions are found as

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Historiography developed as an autonomous discipline in Ephorus’ time (cf. F 111), and it is perhaps not by chance that Polybius, the historian who championed the writing of contemporary history, looked to the fourth century of Ephorus rather than the fifth century of Herodotus and Thucydides as the starting point and term of comparison to reflect upon the theory and practice of historical research and writing.210 Ephorus’ historiography was eclectic, and purposely aimed to critically enhance and develop both the forms and the techniques of previous historiography. His use of data from the epigraphic tradition, his keen attention to geography and linguistics among other disciplines, and cults and rituals, and his study of the fundamental texts of the Greek literary tradition, such as Homer’s epics, all converged into an epistemic project that was aimed at investigating the past, and was grounded in the critical consultation of many diverse sources. These ought to be temporally close to the events the historian studied, in order to limit, whenever possible, the distance between the object of study and the investigator. Hellenistic exegesis, from the erudite collection of epigraphic material to Strabo’s Homeric geography, will eventually follow Ephorus’ model, of which, regretfully, we still know little, particularly with regard to the treatment of and inquiry into contemporary history, which is badly attested in the fragments. A final thought before concluding. Ephorus believed that the work of the historian, aiming at disclosing the truth, must abide by several limitations and prohibitions that should not be violated. He said: ‘it is not plausible that either all the deeds or a majority of the speeches would be remembered, given how great an amount of time has passed’ (οὔτε τὰς πράξεις ἁπάσας οὔτε τῶν λόγων τοὺς πλείστους εἰκὸς εἶναι μνημονεύεσθαι διὰ τοσούτων, F 9); and again, ‘one must not judge about things of long ago from the present state of affairs’ (οὔτε γὰρ ἐκ τῶν νῦν καθεστηκότων τὰ παλαιὰ τεκμηριοῦσθαι δεῖν, F 149). The reconstruction of the past is founded on a difficult balance between past and present and, as such, it can be carried out only through rigorous competence. This notion of competence – preparation and knowledge pursued through painstaking research – underlies all of Ephorus’ major methodological statements (FF 8, 9, 42, 110, 122a, and 149). Moreover, the founding principles of the work of the historian, which Ephorus presented in the proemial sections (e.g. FF 8, 9), informed the exposition of the Histories and resurfaced in the

210

well (e.g., F 134. For a list, see Kalischek 1913, 73). As for Ephorus’ lexical repetitiveness, see especially FF 20a, 29, 30b. On Ephorus’ style in general, see Parmeggiani 2011, in particular 132–7 (with literature), and 2016a, 113–14 with n. 15. See Parmeggiani 2018b.

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demonstrations and refutations (e.g. FF 42, 122a, and 149), as if these constituted the illustration in practice of the theory exposed in the proemial statements. This should not surprise, when one considers how philosophical thought, in Ephorus’ time, defined such concepts as ‘science’ and ‘scientific activity’. In his Prior Analytics, Aristotle observes: But in each science the majority of principles are peculiar to it. Therefore it is the task of experience [empeiria] to give the principles for each; for example, astronomical experience gives the principles of astronomy; for when the phenomena had been suitably apprehended, the demonstrations of astronomy were discovered. And so it is with every other art or science. And so if the attributes of each thing are apprehended, our task is then readily to exhibit the demonstrations. For if none of the true attributes of the objects have been omitted in our inquiry, we shall be able to discover and demonstrate everything which has a proof (. . .).211

Ephorus agreed with Aristotle, as his counterarguments to his adversaries in F 149 definitely show: these could not articulate correct demonstrations because they lacked the empeiria needed to ground historical knowledge, and were, for this reason, ignorant of the fundamental principles of historical thinking. Ephorus viewed historical inquiry as a scientific discipline. Like Aristotle, he emphasized the importance of both experience (i.e., practice of research) and the resulting methodological mastery as an essential need for accurate, discipline-specific demonstration. Ephorus’ work may be questioned for its results, but it nonetheless certainly deserves the title of real ἱστορία, ‘research’. 211

Arist. An. Pr. 1.46a.19–29.

chapter 3

Ephorus’ Histories: The Contents

In this chapter, three main topics will be addressed: first, the contents and the nature of the proems of the Histories (§ 1); second, the arrangement of Ephorus’ work (§ 2); and third, the main contents of each book (§ 3). When dealing with ‘contents’, caution is obviously necessary. The fragmentary nature of the evidence highly complicates and drastically limits any attempt at ‘reconstruction’ – indeed a largely euphemistic term – as such. Contents which can be attributed with absolute certainty to this or that book can be identified only through book-numbered fragments (FF 8–96, in Jacoby’s collection [1926a]), which therefore will serve as a basis for our investigation. This is not to say that the testimonia (TT 1–34) and the fragments without book number (FF 7, 97 ff.) are not worthy of consideration: although these texts do not include explicit reference(s) to a specific book and scholars often disagree about the book to which they should refer, they still offer fundamental information about Ephorus’ approach to a particular theme or set of themes, which, based on the book-numbered fragments, we know Ephorus examined in that specific book (or, more generally, in that sequence of books). This said, it must be always kept in mind that Ephorus might have discussed the same issue in more than one book. This is a further reminder of the limitations to our attempt here. Readers are also advised that what follows is a synthesis. Only the most important fragments will be examined; only the main books and significant themes within a book (or sequence of books) will be emphasized as well.1

1

For full analysis of Ephorus’ books in light of all the fragments, also taking into account suggestions and reconstructions offered by nineteenth- and twentieth-century scholars, readers may still consult my Italian monograph (2011).

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1. Division into Books and the Proems According to Diodorus, Ephorus divided his Histories into books, each introduced by a proem (T 10): Among historians Ephorus of Cyme (. . .) included in his writing the deeds of both Greeks and barbarians, beginning from the Return of the Heraclidae. He encompassed nearly 750 years, and he wrote thirty books, placing a preface at the beginning of each [προοίμιον ἑκάστῃ προθείς].2

Was Ephorus the first to organize his work in this fashion? This is a legitimate question since, as far as we know, Diodorus never states for other historians what he states here for Ephorus. To be sure, Ephorus may not be the first in the entire history of ancient literature, or in that of ancient historiography, who divided his work into books providing each with a proem;3 but he may be the first who did so in the specific field of universal historiography. Diodorus’ emphasis on Ephorus’ ‘innovation’ seems easier to understand in light of the specific genre of which Ephorus, since the time of Polybius, was the recognized initiator (T 7 [Polyb. 5.33.2]) and within which Diodorus, the author of the Historical Library, consciously positions himself and his own historical work.4 Self-awareness of the variety and spatio-temporal breadth of the project led Ephorus to understand that only well-reasoned devices, such as the division into books and the proems, would allow him to organize a clear narrative. For the same reason, Ephorus also took care over the arrangement of the whole work or oikonomia – a matter deeply connected with the division into books, as we shall see later (§ 2). It goes without saying that the older scholarly view, according to which both the use of introductions and care in arrangement affected the historiographical genre in a negative way,5 is untenable: such rhetorical devices only helped the historian to structure his work in the best possible way, as they are not negligible for today’s historians as well.6

2 4 5

6

Diod. 16.76.5 (T 10). 3 See Jacoby 1926b, 36, replying to Schwartz 1907, 4. See Diod. 1.1 ff. On Diodorus and universal history, see now Muntz 2017, 27 ff., with literature cited there. One may recall the original observations by Creuzer (1803, 320; cf. 1845, 250. See Introduction), and the more radical position of many nineteenth- and twentieth-century scholars, such as, among others, Schwartz (1907, 9–10), Laqueur (1911a and 1911b) and Peter (1911, 161–3), on the use of proems and care in arrangement as symptomatic of the historian’s concerns with formal rather than substantial methodological questions. Blass (18922, 431) rightly counts Ephorus’ use of proems and care in arrangement among the positive features of the Histories.

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What Do We Learn About the Content of the Proems Through the Fragments?

Richard Laqueur maintained that the form and content of the Diodoran proems closely derived from Ephorus.7 Felix Jacoby paid attention to the Ephoran fragments first, but he too was inclined to think that the reading of Diodorus may help to form an idea, at least, of the main points Ephorus articulated.8 Although without strictly adhering to Laqueur’s conclusions, some scholars have believed, and still believe, that Diodorus’ proems derive from Ephorus’.9 Needless to say, the best thing to do first is to consider Ephorus apart from Diodorus, checking what the fragments suggest. As for Ephorus’ minor proems (i.e., the proems to particular books), we can reasonably suppose that while some of them were devoted to the examination of specific issues (see below § 1.2), several consisted of thematic indices of the events that the historian would later develop at length in each book. As for the general proem to the entire work (or Proem), we are sure that Ephorus addressed issues related to the aims of his historical inquiry and his method of research, openly criticizing his predecessors, whether historians or not. F 8 (Polyb. 4.20.5), against mousike as a source of deception, and F 9 (Harp. s.v. ἀρχαίως), on the limits of akribeia as a criterion for source selection and the representation of the past, offer telling 7 8

9

In Laqueur’s view (1911a), Diodorus derived the proems of books IV–V, (VI–XI), XII–XVI and XX of the Historical Library directly from Ephorus’ proems, and modelled others after Ephorus’ example. See Jacoby 1926b, 33, for general acceptance of Laqueur’s thesis, and 36 (on T 8) and 43 (on FF 7–9) for details. According to Jacoby, both Diod. 1.1.4–2.8 and 4.1.1–4 contribute to identifying the original contents of Ephorus’ general proem: first, Ephorus praised history for its superiority over other disciplines, as a means for providing moral lessons and immortalizing human deeds; then, he stated his historical principles and defined his spatium historicum (from 1090/1069 bc onwards). The three fragments collected in the section entitled PROOIMION (FF 7–9), together with T 8, would represent what has survived of this original discourse. As for the fragments collected in the section entitled Prooimien (FF 109–11), Jacoby argued that they could belong to the general proem (this would be the case, for example, of F 109), or possibly to an excursus and/or minor proems (this would be the case of FF 110 and 111; but see Jacoby 1926b, 64, on the possibility that F 110 too belongs to the general proem). Jacoby made extensive use of the contents of Diodorus’ proems to map out Ephorus’ proemial themes (‘prooimiengedanken’), including the subject matter (Diod. 5.1.1 ~ T 11), the relationship between history and moralism (cf. T 23, and see Jacoby 1926b, 38, with quotation from Diod. 14.1 and 15.1), democracy and tyranny (Diod. 19.1), and historiography and epideictic oratory (Diod. 20.1-2 ~ F 111), the discussion of historical autopsy (F 110), and the reflection on unpredictable occurrences in human life (Diod. 12.1). For discussion on FF 7–9, 109–11, see below. Jacoby very cautiously suggested a proemial origin also for T 18b (1926b, 37) and F 222 (1926a, 45; 1926b, 100–1): in the first case, the words ‘as Ephorus also says somewhere’ are too vague to point to a proem (T 18b [Polyb. 9.1.3–4]); as for the mention of the Muses in F 222 (Arnob. Adv. gent. 3.37), there is no explicit evidence that it derives from the Proem. As for the pre-Jacobian views on the contents of Ephorus’ proems (notably the general one), see Parmeggiani 2011, 83 n. 12. See, for example, Barber 1935, 68 ff.; Stylianou 1998, particularly 92–3, 98–9, 102–3.

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examples of Ephorus’ critical engagement.10 F 7 (Phot. Bibl. 176, 121a, II 175 Henry), which should be considered a testimonium on the Proem rather than a fragment, ultimately confirms the picture above: Photius says that strong similarities of thought existed between Ephorus’ and Theopompus’ general proems (τῇ τε διανοίᾳ καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ἐστὶν ὁμοιότατα), and since we know that Theopompus, in the Proem to his Philippika, dealt with methodological issues and criticized his predecessors,11 it stands to reason that Ephorus proceeded in a similar way to Theopompus. That FF 109, 110 and 111 also come from the Proem may be open to question. With regard to F 109 (Diod. 1.9.5), two possibilities arise: Ephorus’ belief that the barbarians were more ancient than the Greeks may be simply a general idea which the ancients formed by reading Ephorus’ sections dealing with the distant past; or, if Ephorus expressed this belief explicitly, he may have done so almost anywhere in these sections.12 In the case of Ephorus’ comparison of historical discourse and epideictic speech (F 111 [Polyb. 12.28.8–12]), it was certainly a ‘section added to the narrative’, as suggested by T 23 (Polyb. 12.28.10: λόγος ἐν ἐπιμέτρῳ). This means that it was most likely included neither in the Proem nor in a minor proem. Ephorus’ statement on the limits of the practice of autopsy (F 110 [Polyb. 12.27.7]) was also probably part of Ephorus’ original comparison, for three main reasons: first, FF 110 and 111 appear in the very same argument by Polybius against Timaeus’ presumed neglect of direct inquiry (12.27–28); second, since Ephorus’ comparison focused on the preparation required for the making of the historical discourse (παρασκευή), it is obvious that the practice of autopsy (i.e., the subject of F 110) was among the main topics; third, Ephorus, in his comparison, reasoned in terms of ‘genre’, and his reflection on autopsy in F 110 referred to the entire community of historians (τοὺς τὰς συντάξεις πραγματευομένους), i.e., to historiography as a genre. All this said, one cannot rule out that Ephorus, in comparing historiography and epideictic speech, had in fact taken up again fundamental issues that he had examined first in the Proem: thematic connections are discernible (e.g., between F 110 and F 9: see Chapter 2, § 1.3.1), and reprises cannot be excluded a priori. 10

11 12

F 8 reads ‘in the proem of his whole work’ (ἐν τῷ προοιμίῳ τῆς ὅλης πραγματείας), while F 9 only ‘in book I’ (ἐν τῇ α). Notwithstanding the lack of an explicit mention, there is no doubt that F 9 also comes from the Proem. See Parmeggiani 2011, 147–8. On Theopompus’ proemial fragments (FGrHist 115 FF 24–7, 181a, 342, 345, and 381), see Vattuone 1997. On F 109 (cf. Tzetz. Chil. 12.528 [F 109+]), see Parmeggiani 2011, 112–14.

Division into Books and the Proems 1.2

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Further Possible Evidence on the Proems

Additional information on the contents of the proems, especially the general one, may result from the examination of three other texts: TT 7 and 8 (Polyb. 5.33.2 and Diod. 4.1.2–3, respectively), and F 31b (Strab. 9.3.11–12). Let us examine T 8 first: When Ephorus of Cyme, who was a pupil of Isocrates, undertook the writing of universal history [ὑποστησάμενος γράφειν τὰς κοινὰς πράξεις], he passed over the mythic accounts of old; instead, he arranged events from the Return of the Heraclidae, and made this the starting-point of his history.13

The verb ὑποστησάμενος suggests that Ephorus stated that he was writing koinai praxeis14 from the very start, i.e., in the Proem, perhaps polemicizing – so one might deduce from Diodorus’ broader context (cf. Chapter 1, § 4) – against ‘mythology’ (μυθολογία). That this was his plan, and that he also declared it explicitly, is suggested by the Polybian context of T 7, which is worthwhile to read in full: And yet I am not unaware that many other historians make the same claim that I do, namely that they write universal history and have undertaken a work greater than any that has gone before [φάσκοντες τὰ καθόλου γράφειν καὶ μεγίστην τῶν προγεγονότων ἐπιβεβλῆσθαι πραγματείαν]. Asking Ephorus’ pardon, for he was the first and only to undertake to write a universal history [Ἔφορον τὸν πρῶτον καὶ μόνον ἐπιβεβλημένον τὰ καθόλου γράφειν], I shall avoid saying much about them or remembering any of them by name, and instead note only this: that some contemporary historians, having narrated for us the war of the Romans and Carthaginians in three or four columns, claim to have written universal history. Yet who is so ignorant as not to know that very many great deeds were done at that time in Spain, Africa and still more in Sicily and Italy? And that everyone was compelled to pay attention to the war with Hannibal – the most famous and the longest aside from the war for Sicily – on account of its greatness, and in fear of the result to come? Some authors, nonetheless, claim that they have compiled all events in the Greek and non-Greek world, even though they have recorded events not even to the extent as those who on public authority set up memoranda of occasional happenings in chronological records on walls. The reason for this is that it is perfectly easy to claim in words the greatest deeds, but in practice it is not easy to achieve anything excellent. It is open to anyone and common to all, one might say, to be able to make claims 13 14

Diod. 4.1.3 (T 8). Cf. Dionysius of Halicarnassus’ hint to Isocrates’ disciples who τὰς κοινὰς τῶν Ἑλλήνων τε καὶ βαρβάρων πράξεις ἀνέγραψαν (De Isoc. 1, I 56.1–2 U-R).

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Ephorus’ Histories: The Contents only, but the accomplishment is extremely rare and falls to only a few in this life. I was led to make these remarks because of the bravado of those who make arrogant claims for themselves and their own histories. I now return to the starting-point of my subject.15

As Polybius’ full argument makes clear, Ephorus was among those who expressly claimed that they wrote a universal history (φάσκοντες τὰ καθόλου γράφειν) and also that they carried out a project greater than any before (μεγίστην τῶν προγεγονότων πραγματείαν). Ephorus, while stating that he was writing a universal history, did not pass over in silence the superiority of his own project compared with the works of his predecessors. Moreover, he declared his intention to write a universal history from the very beginning, i.e., from the Proem, as the words ἐπιβεβλῆσθαι/ ἐπιβεβλημένον suggest (cf. Diodorus’ ὑποστησάμενος in T 8). And since Polybius considers universality as a spatial category (‘all events in the Greek and non-Greek world’), one might assume that Ephorus, in the Proem, stressed that his narrative covered both the Greeks and the barbarians. Diodorus’ emphasis, in T 10, on Ephorus’ work as including ‘the deeds of both Greeks and barbarians’ (πράξεις τάς τε τῶν Ἑλλήνων καὶ βαρβάρων), may not be accidental.16 Let us now consider F 31b. While dealing with Ephorus’ book IV, the narrative about the Delphic oracle to be precise, Strabo observes: Ephorus (. . .) it seems to me sometimes does the opposite of his original purpose and promises [δοκεῖ μοι τἀναντία ποιεῖν ἔσθ’ ὅτε τῇ προαιρέσει καὶ ταῖς ἐξ ἀρχῆς ὑποσχέσεσιν]. For having criticised those who are fond of mythic tales in the writing of history and having praised the truth [ἐπιτιμήσας γοῦν τοῖς φιλομυθοῦσιν ἐν τῇ τῆς ἱστορίας γραφῇ καὶ τὴν ἀλήθειαν ἐπαινέσας], he adds to his account of this oracle [sc. the Delphic oracle] a kind of solemn promise that although he everywhere considers truth the best, he does so especially on this topic.17

Since Ephorus, in book IV, criticized the fondness for myths of his predecessors – e.g., Hellanicus, Ctesias and Herodotus – also on subjects other than the Delphic oracle,18 it may be that Ephorus denounced φιλομυθοῦντες (philomythountes, ‘those who are fond of mythic tales in the writing of history’) and praised truth at the very start of his discourse on the history and ethnography of marginal peoples of the oecumene (cf. F 30a–b), i.e., in the proem to that book. One may therefore wonder 15 16 18

Polyb. 5.33.1–8. The excerpt that Jacoby selected and published as T 7 is highlighted. Diod. 16.76.5. Cf. Dion. Hal. De Isoc. 1, I 56.1–2 U-R. 17 Strab. 9.3.11 (F 31b). See § 3.2 below, on book IV.

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whether the expression, τῇ προαιρέσει καὶ ταῖς ἐξ ἀρχῆς ὑποσχέσεσιν (‘what he intended, and at the outset promised, to do’) is a reference to the specific proem of Ephorus’ book IV, or not. In any case, the critique of φιλομυθοῦντες and the praise of truth would be unquestionably appropriate also for the general proem, where programmatic declarations are, logically, most solemnly proclaimed and best situated. Indeed, as we have seen above, Ephorus probably dealt with mythology in the general proem of his work, and in less than accommodating terms. For this reason, even if we were to read Strabo’s expression, τῇ προαιρέσει καὶ ταῖς ἐξ ἀρχῆς ὑποσχέσεσιν as referring to the particular proem of book IV, we could still suggest that Ephorus advocated a similar position in the general proem.19 The examination of TT 7 and 8 and F 31b broadens the array of motifs Ephorus included in the general proem and, at the same time, confirms how relevant the issue of the method of inquiry was among its topics. By underscoring the concept of universality, Ephorus highlighted the unusual magnitude of his expository plan. We do not know whether, in this instance, he made use of such definitions as τὰ καθόλου (cf. Polybius in T 7) or κοιναὶ πράξεις (cf. Diodorus in T 8). Nevertheless, the Greeks and the barbarians were the common object of a narrative which, starting from the distant past, did not not aim to replicate what had already been said but rather, to challenge previous literature on the subject. Ephorus stressed the need for a critical approach to tradition: he did not want to propose the divine aletheia which poets and those historians ‘who love to insert myth’ in their narrative had adapted to meet public demands, nor did he want to walk the stage and bewitch the audience (cf. F 8); rather, he intended to present that aletheia which resulted from the careful examination of sources (cf. F 9). It is difficult to gain further information. Some fragments from book I of the Histories offer evidence of Ephorus’ sceptical approach to the myths on Heracles and his descendants, protagonists of the Return of the Heraclidae (FF 13–17). It seems that the attacks on the fondness for myths in the Proem were further developed and substantiated in the discussion of the Return and of its antecedent events. It is also reasonable 19

A proemial parallelism between books I and IV would be not surprising, since the fourth book of the entire series was also the first of a particular section dedicated to the description of the entire oecumene (books IV–V): book IV represented a somewhat ‘new beginning’, followed by the author’s renewed attacks against mythology, which he may have revised here to conform to the different thematic context. Chávez Reino (2013, 347 n. 30) is rather sceptical about τῇ προαιρέσει καὶ ταῖς ἐξ ἀρχῆς ὑποσχέσεσιν as referring to the proem of book IV, but agrees that Ephorus may well have praised ἀλήθεια and attacked φιλομυθοῦντες in the general proem.

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to think that Ephorus, in the Proem, exposed his reason(s) for choosing the Return as the very beginning of his narrative. This has much to do with fourth-century politics, as we shall see later in this chapter. For now, it will suffice to point out that, contrary to the opinion of many modern readers of T 8 (Diod. 4.1.2–3), Ephorus’ choice of the Return was not inspired by the intention to separate a spatium historicum from a spatium mythicum, ‘history’ as the post-Heraclidean period subjected to investigation, from ‘myth’ as the pre-Heraclidean time that defied examination:20 Ephorus thought it possible to ascertain the truth for times prior to the Return of the Heraclidae, when enough signs and traces were available (see, e.g., FF 31b, 122a). For Ephorus, the Return of the Heraclidae was not the beginning of ‘history’, or the first knowable event of the past; rather, it was the beginning of his Histories, of his continuous exposition of developing events.21 1.3

Ephorus’ Proemial Statements Between Thucydides and Polybius: Laqueur’s Thesis Rejected

If we are to judge from the evidence we have gained so far, the theory Laqueur advanced of the dependence of Diodorus’ proems on Ephorus’ (1911a) is unconvincing: nowhere in the Historical Library does Diodorus reproduce the form or ideas of Ephorus’ declarations such as in FF 8, 9, or also in F 110 (if connected with the Proem). This suggests that Ephorus’ proemial reflections cannot be safely reconstructed on the basis 20

21

Representative of the traditional view are Marx 1815, 55–6; Müller 1841, lxib–lxiia; Stelkens 1857, 4–5, 15–16; Klügmann 1860, 27–8; Matthiessen 1857–1860, 877; Blass 18922, 430; Busolt 1893–1904, I, 156–7; Wachsmuth 1895, 504; Wilamowitz-Möllendorff 19122, 116; Schwartz 1907, 13; Peter 1911, 159; Jacoby 1926b, 25, 36; Barber 1935, 14, 22, 114, 144; Wardman 1960, 408–9; Schepens 1977a, 106 ff.; Alcalde Martín and Morfakidis Filactos 1983, 314; Fornara 1983, 8–9; Canfora 1990, 318, and 1991, 5 ff.; Will 1991, 126; Bruno Sunseri 1997, 157 ff.; Alonso-Núñez 2002, 39; Pownall 2004, 114, 120 ff., 141; Fowler 2011, 51–2; Muntz 2017, 93 ff. On this problem, see also Clarke 2008, 98 ff. Several scholars (e.g., Meyer 1892–1899, I, 122 and 186–7; Jacoby 1926b, 36 and 43; Barber 1935, 72; Schepens 1977a, 106 ff.; and Schepens and Bollansée 2004, 61 ff.) think that Ephorus opted to begin the Histories with the Return in light of his concerns about the reliability of the sources on the past (cf. F 9). This point was indeed crucial to Ephorus (see above, Chapter 1, § 4, on the context of T 8), but it should not be overemphasized at the expense of the political significance of the Return in Ephorus’ view. See Parmeggiani 1999; Chávez Reino 2009; Luraghi 2014. Diodorus’ criticism in T 8, that Ephorus avoided ancient myths, should be understood as concerning Ephorus’ choice to not provide a systematic description of pre-Heraclidean time, but to deal with it only occasionally. Ephorus’ sloppy and inadequate approach to the ‘ancient mythical stories’ (palaiai mythologiai) defied the criteria of order and thoroughness that Diodorus, a moral historian, saw as not only foundational in a project related to universal history, but also instrumental to educating readers. Cf. above, Chapter 1, § 4. See Evagr. HE 5.24 (FGrHist 70 T 34+), on Ephorus as including also events of mythical times in his work.

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of Diodorus’ and, more generally, that Ephorus should not be confused with Diodorus (cf. Chapter 1, § 4 above). Attention should be devoted to the relationship, instead, of Ephorus with Thucydides and Polybius. As we have already shown above (Chapter 2, § 1), Ephorus’ ideas about the writing of history inspired Polybius (see, for example, Polyb. 12.4c.4–5 in relation to F 110; 2.56 and 16.17–18 in relation to FF 8 and 111), and were inspired, at the same time, by Thucydides (see Thuc. 1.1.2 and, in general, 1.21–22), showing, however, a certain degree of originality. This has a bearing on the question of the nature of Ephorus’ proemial thought, since at least some such ideas as these appeared in proemial contexts. Common themes were no doubt recognizable in the proems of Ephorus and Theopompus (F 7), but we should avoid the conclusion that in the fourth century bc, proemial statements were simply a catalogue of topoi, a list of rules taken from fifth-century historiography and repeated to the point of losing substance. A last question remains, which may have found its answer in the Proem or in a minor proem: what benefit did Ephorus intend to secure for his reader? Jacoby agrees with Schwartz and Laqueur, that a moralizing intent infused the Histories: Ephorus was able to realize his universal vision only by extracting models of behaviour from the deeds he described.22 As a matter of fact, the proemial fragments do not focus on moral teachings, nor on praise and blame, but on the rigorous research process needed to achieve a truthful account (a concept which Ephorus emphasized with polemical verve). Obviously, interest in both methodology and truth does not conflict with a moralistic intent, and Ephorus was probably proud of the formative role of his narrative. But the broader context of T 18b, from Polybius’ proem to book IX, again suggests that moralism per se was not Ephorus’ priority: I am not unaware that our history, because of the uniformity of its composition, is somewhat dry, and is meant for, and will win the approval of, only one type of reader. Nearly all other historians, or at least the majority, by employing all the kinds of history, attract many to the reading of their works. The genealogical kind attracts one who likes hearing a story, while that which deals with colonies, foundings, and kinship relations 22

See Jacoby 1926b, 23, 30. Ephorus, as the forerunner of Diodorus and the erudite armchair historian uninterested in political history, found in the past a vast repository of exempla, and in the history of the Greeks from the Return to the present, the ideal means to impart moral lessons. Cf. Schwartz 1907, 7–9, and 1909, 494–5; Laqueur 1911a, 198 ff., and 1911b, 342 ff. This view holds much favour still today: see, e.g., Pownall 2004, 113–42; Breglia 2005, 288; Parker 2011, on T 23; Nicolai 2013, 236–7.

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Ephorus’ Histories: The Contents attracts the curious and the lover of the recherché (as Ephorus also says somewhere), while the kind that deals with actions of peoples, cities, and dynasts attracts the statesman [τὸν μὲν γὰρ φιλήκοον ὁ γενεαλογικὸς τρόπος ἐπισπᾶται, τὸν δὲ πολυπράγμονα καὶ περιττὸν ὁ περὶ τὰς ἀποικίας καὶ κτίσεις καὶ συγγενείας, καθά που καὶ παρ’ Ἐφόρῳ λέγεται, τὸν δὲ πολιτικὸν ὁ περὶ τὰς πράξεις τῶν ἐθνῶν καὶ πόλεων καὶ δυναστῶν].23

Ephorus is the only predecessor whom Polybius names in this remarkable passage. He was surely among those many historians who dealt with ‘all the kinds of history’, including that of the ‘actions of peoples, cities, and dynasts’, i.e., military and political history of the modern and contemporary age, to which Polybius gives his own preference. Polybius also makes clear that Ephorus had already reflected, somewhere in his work, on the different branches of history and the destination of each. Thus one may ask, to what extent is Polybius indebted to his predecessor? Let us first assume that he draws inspiration from Ephorus for all the reflections on the types of readers, including the statesman:24 that part of his narrative which dealt with the military and political history of the modern and contemporary age (approximately two-thirds of his Histories, books X–XXX), Ephorus believed to be useful for those who cultivated politics. Ephorus lived in the same age as Aristotle, and Aristotle says that ‘the histories by those who write about deeds are useful for political decisions’;25 Ephorus may well have stated something similar.26 Let us now assume, conversely, that Polybius draws inspiration from Ephorus only for the reflections on the one ‘who likes hearing a story’ and ‘the curious and the lover of the recherché’:27 the idea of usefulness would apply to a history that is designed to satisfy the scientific curiosity of the reader about the past (that very past with which Ephorus dealt especially in the first third of his Histories, i.e., in books I–IX). Neither in the former nor in the latter case is an aim suggested that is mainly or exclusively moralistic. Ethics, praise and blame were important to Ephorus as they were to any Greek. The moral element was believed to be functional for political usefulness, as Polybius’ historiography consistently shows.28 But Ephorus’ choice 23 24 26 27

28

Polyb. 9.1.2–4. The excerpt that Jacoby selected and published as T 18b is highlighted. Mazzarino 1966, I, 420, supports this view. 25 Arist. Rhet. 1.1360a. Cf. Mazzarino 1966, I, 410 and 420. Walbank 1957–1979, II, 116–117 supports this view. See also Moggi 2014, 715. Note that, while the definition ‘one who likes hearing a story’ sounds rather polemic (φιλήκοος is parallel to the derogatory φιλομυθοῦντες in F 31b), that of ‘the curious and the lover of the recherché’ would fit an Odysseus (something of a paradigm of the good inquirer: see Marincola 2007e). On the latter definition, see Parmeggiani 2011, 150–2; Thomas 2019, 44. See Fornara 1983, 112 ff. (however dissociating Polybius from Ephorus); cf. now Gibson 2018.

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of dealing with every branch of history, therefore providing a description that brings the past and the present together, is not, as such, evidence of a merely moralistic intent, nor of a conception of history as a mere repository of moralistic exempla. To understand both why Ephorus began his account with the palaion and which notion of utility he had in mind for the Histories, we perhaps need to turn our attention to the heuristic essence and polemical tone that the recognized contents of the Proem bring to light. In addition to emending the fondness for myths of the authors who came before him, Ephorus also intended to settle accounts with the authors of his own time, whose works were filled with arbitrary (or so he presumed) conjectures on the past. In the fourth century bc, the age of the crisis of Sparta and the rise of Philip II to power, the past was not only the subject of pleasant story-telling, it was also the object of vibrant debate among politicians. As we will see later, the political and cultural circumstances of Ephorus’ times demanded a novel historical approach that relied on a cohesive reading of both the past and the present, and a critical and broad reconstruction of Greek history from the Return of the Heraclidae to the present.

2. Arrangement Ephorus could not have cohesively and logically managed roughly 750 years of Greek and barbarian history without taking care for the organization of the vast amount of material and information he had gained, and its arrangement in his historical narrative. Of course he did, and the final result was admired by Polybius (T 23): (. . .) for Ephorus who throughout his entire history is admirable in his style, treatment [τὸν χειρισμόν] and invention of arguments, is at his most forceful in his digressions, his personal reflections, and in general whenever he adds a discourse to the main narrative.29

Beside Polybius’ personal opinion (he is defending Ephorus from Timaeus’ critique [Ephorus F 111/Timaeus F 7] and his praise may be a bit exaggerated), one finds some valuable information here: Ephorus’ arrangement had its own complexities, such as digressions and, more generally, sections added to the main narrative.

29

Polyb. 12.28.10 (T 23).

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Diodorus too was an admirer of Ephorus’ arrangement (T 11): Ephorus in his composition of koinai praxeis has been successful not only in his style but also in his arrangement. For he made each of his books treat events kata genos [οὐ μόνον κατὰ τὴν λέξιν, ἀλλὰ καὶ κατὰ τὴν οἰκονομίαν ἐπιτέτευχε· τῶν γὰρ βίβλων ἑκάστην πεποίηκε περιέχειν κατὰ γένος τὰς πράξεις]. And because we judged this way of handling of material preferable, we too are embracing this principle to the extent possible. And having called this book The island book (. . .).30

Diodorus is certainly aware of Polybius’ judgement and follows his praise.31 Still, he says something more than his predecessor, and for this reason, his words deserve a closer inspection. 2.1

Kata genos, or, How Much One Can Infer from T 11 on Ephorus’ Arrangement

According to Diodorus in T 11, Ephorus arranged the contents of the Histories using a basic unit, the book (τῶν . . . βίβλων ἑκάστην). This detail agrees with T 10, according to which Ephorus divided the whole narrative into books introducing each with a proem (above, § 1). Each book, adds Diodorus in T 11, included events kata genos (περιέχειν κατὰ γένος τὰς πράξεις). One may ask: what is a genos of praxeis? And what is the relationship between a genos of praxeis and a book? Marx believed that each book of Ephorus’ Histories was a self-standing unit, thematically coherent and totally independent of the others.32 Jacoby emphasizes the exemplary value of Diodorus’ choice in giving book V of his Library the title The island book, therefore suggesting that Ephorus organized his Histories according to a geographical principle: each book of the Histories would include the events that occurred in one of the areas of the oecumene, i.e., the East, Greece, Sicily and also, from 360 bc onward,

30 31

32

Diod. 5.1.4–2.1 (T 11). As the analysis of the context of T 11 will show (see § 2.1 below), Diodorus is making a comparison between Ephorus and Timaeus, in favour of the former and to the detriment of the latter. This is exactly what we see happen in Polyb. 12.28 (common context of T 23 and F 111). See Marx 1815, 25: ‘singulos libros certam quandam rerum complexionem, genere et argumento suo distinctam, continere iussit.’ Marx’s definition, which seems to correct the definition given by Heyne 1828 [1786], cx, (‘Libros per populorum historias, adeoque per distinctas operis partes, dispescuerat’), was endorsed by many scholars before Jacoby. See Müller 1841, lixb; Westermann 1844, 170; Cauer 1847, 63–4; Stelkens 1857, 6–7; Klügmann 1860, 14; Dressler 1873, 6 ff.; Blass 18922, 431; Schwartz 1907, 4; Laqueur 1911a, 197–8, and 1911b; Scheller 1911, 44–5; and Walker 1913, 44–6.

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Macedon.33 Critics after Jacoby think of a more flexible system: Ephorus organized the praxeis according to thematic units (gene) which were not only geographical, as Jacoby concluded drawing on the example of Diodorus in T 11, but also historical and biographical; each thematic unit (genos) covered not only one book, as both Marx and Jacoby presumed, but also a part of a book, or a sequence of multiple books (i.e., a section of the entire work).34 Modern critics’ scepticism toward both Jacoby’s conclusion and the exhaustiveness of Diodorus’ example in T 11 seems justified. Diodorus would have more reasonably said κατὰ τόπους (‘according to places’), instead of κατὰ γένος, if he had really wanted to say that Ephorus arranged his Histories according to exclusively geographic criteria. Furthermore, Diodorus, in book V of his Historical Library, deals with ancient myths, a subject which obviously cannot be narrated according to chronology; this may suggest that he has in mind not Ephorus’ work as a whole, but only a section of it, i.e., books IV–V, which dealt with both geography and history and were not arranged on the basis of temporal criteria.35 One may even question the notion that kata genos defines a specific system of arrangement. The broader context of T 11 reads: Those who compose histories must give special thought to everything in their writings that will be useful, but especially the arrangement of the individual parts of the work. (. . .) Some who are justly praised for their style and their expertise in the deeds they have composed nonetheless have failed in their attempts at good arrangement, and so while their labours and their care have received approval from readers, the order of what they 33

34

35

See Jacoby 1926b, particularly 23, 26–7, and 37 on T 11. Jacoby responds in part to Laqueur (1911b), who suggested that Ephorus’ so-called ‘arrangement kata genos’ was inspired by Isocrates – insofar as each book of Ephorus was, according to Laqueur, a monographic rendition of an epideictic oration of the Isocratean type – and developed in opposition to Thucydides’ arrangement (cf. Dion. Hal. De Thuc. 9, I 335.14–338.3 U-R, and Diod. 16.1.1–2). Jacoby, instead, maintains that Ephorus’ kata genos built on the historiae continuae (Hellenikatyp) and the discussions περὶ ἱστορίας of the fourth century bc. For the lengthy debate in the modern critical literature on the organization of the Histories after Jacoby, of which I have reported here only the outcome, see particularly Barber 1935, 17 ff. and 47–8; Drews 1963 and 1976; Fornara 1983, 43–6; Vannicelli 1987; Stylianou 1998, 84–101; Clarke 2008, 106–9; Biraschi 2010; Parker 2011, on T 11; Porciani 2013. For details, see Parmeggiani 2011, 158 n. 13. Notably, the more flexible conception of Ephorus’ oikonomia, which has been developed especially by Vannicelli and Stylianou, was guessed at by Jacoby himself in his Kommentar: here Jacoby suggests, for example, that book XI revolved around a unifying theme, namely the so-called ‘Pentekontaetia’, or the years 479-431 bc (1926b, 56, on F 64), and that books XXII (XXIII)-XXV formed a section about the deeds of Epaminondas in 371-362 bc, hence the definition ‘Epameinondasbücher’ (1926b, 37). On Diodorus’ book V as modelled after Ephorus’ view at the beginning of book IV, of the peoples inhabiting the limits of the oecumene (F 30a–c), see Bianchetti 2005.

164

Ephorus’ Histories: The Contents have composed deservedly receives censure. Timaeus [FGrHist 566 T 11], for example, gave the greatest attention to establishing an exact chronology and cared about the breadth of experience gained from history, but he is rightly faulted for his inopportune and extensive criticisms, and has even been given the nickname ‘Fault-finder’ by some because of his excessive criticism. Ephorus in his composition of koinai praxeis has been successful not only in his style but also in his arrangement. For he made each of his books treat events kata genos. And because we judged this way of handling of material preferable, we too are embracing this principle to the extent possible. And having called this book The island book we shall follow that title [ἀκολούθως τῇ γραφῇ] by speaking first of Sicily since it is the most powerful of the islands and it takes first place in the antiquity of its mythical accounts.36

Diodorus compares and contrasts the order of Ephorus’ arrangement and the disorder of Timaeus’ in rather general terms; he does not comment on the specific criteria Ephorus used to organize his narrative in the Histories; he only emphasizes that the content of a book must agree with the theme that the historian has decided to discuss at the beginning of that book.37 One may therefore argue that the expression kata genos describes Ephorus’ procedure of establishing the contents of each book in accordance (ἀκολούθως) with the theme he had decided to deal with at the start of that book (i.e., in the proem: cf. T 10). In other words, a genos of praxeis is nothing but a set of topics that the historian, in the proem of a book, has announced he is going to treat in that book, no matter what such topics are.38 36 37

38

Diod. 5.1.1–2.1. Jacoby’s selection for T 11 is highlighted. This point is of the utmost importance to Diodorus, as is suggested also by the fact that, at the end of each book of the Historical Library, a statement appears similar to the one we find in Diod. 15.95.4: ‘Now that we have gone through the events before the time of King Philip, we conclude this book here in accordance with the plan set out in the beginning’ (ταύτην μὲν τὴν βύβλον κατὰ τὴν ἐν ἀρχῇ πρόθεσιν αὐτοῦ περιγράφομεν). In book V, a statement of this sort does not appear not because the end of the book is mutilated, as Vogel (1888–1893, II, 120) suspected, but because Diodorus believes it superfluous to repeat what he has already stressed in the proem. Diodorus’ use of ἑτερογενής (lit. ‘of different kinds’) may lead to a different conclusion only at first sight. In 1.9.5 (F 109) Diodorus does not discuss the geographical Asia/Europe bipolarity, but rather the ethnic and cultural barbarian/Greek bipolarity. In 11.20.1, after narrating the battle of Salamis, Diodorus states that he wants to consider ἑτερογενεῖς πράξεις, and describes the contemporary events of Sicily. These events are characterized as ἑτερογενεῖς not only because they concern a different region from Greece, but also because they are different from the events he had already presented in the book (insofar as Diodorus had not announced them in the proem, where he claims he will deal with Xerxes’ expedition: 11.1). The same can be said of the ἑτερογενεῖς πράξεις in 16.5.1 and 16.64.3. In both cases, the contemporary events of Sicily are ἑτερογενεῖς because they differ from Philip II’s deeds, which Diodorus had announced in the proem (16.1). In other words, ἑτερογενής seems to characterize an event that the historian chooses to describe regardless of the proemial plan.

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Regardless of kata genos as a legitimate definition for Ephorus’ arrangement, three points are clear from the analysis of T 11 and its context. First, Diodorus offers as reasons for the success of Ephorus’ oikonomia that the narrative in each book conformed to the proemial plan, and also that, in general, Ephorus’ narrative was very balanced, contrary to Timaeus’. Second, Diodorus provides no definition of the specific criteria Ephorus used to arrange his Histories. Third and last, Diodorus’ choice to give his book V the title The island book is exemplary, at best, of only one of the ways in which Ephorus’ narrative could be arranged. 2.2 Ephorus’ Arrangement: A Very Flexible System Dionysius of Halicarnassus, in his treatise On Thucydides, observes that pre-Thucydidean historians arranged their narratives according to places (κατὰ τόπους) or time (κατὰ χρόνους); that Thucydides, differently from his predecessors, arranged his narrative by seasons (summers and winters); and that none of his successors systematically (i.e., from start to end of the historical work) used Thucydides’ system.39 From Dionysius’ observation one may infer, first, that Ephorus, who wrote after Thucydides, did not arrange his narrative systematically using Thucydides’ system; and second, that ‘time’, together with ‘places’, may well be among the criteria Ephorus used. Scholars today are certainly right in believing that Ephorus used various criteria to organize the narrative in each book and in the entire work.40 Still, the overall picture may be even more complicated in light of the fragments, as we shall now see. Let us consider first books I–X of the Histories. While we know that different sections were clearly discernible, such as the so-called ‘geographic pair’ of books IV–V (see T 12 [Strab. 8.1.1]), it appears that ‘geography’ and ‘history’ were not treated as two unrelated realms, and also that the original narrative tended to push spatial, temporal and thematic boundaries. Books I–III dealt with the distant past but also included geographical data; books IV–V dealt with geography but also included historical and other data, such as reflections on laws and constitutions; books VIII–IX dealt with history from eighth to sixth/fifth centuries bc, yet they included data about 39

40

Dion. Hal. De Thuc. 9, I 336.9–338.3 U-R. Dionysius’ observation is correct, in as much as seasonal chronology may have been not used through the whole work of the Hellenika Oxythynchia; Xenophon, for his part, abandons Thucydides’ system after book II of his Hellenika. See especially Vannicelli 1987 and Stylianou 1998, 84–101.

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more ancient events among others.41 By talking about colonies, dynastic ties and migrations (cf. T 18a–b), Ephorus could bring different peoples and different places of the oecumene, and also different times and different topics, together in the very same discourse. While dealing with geography and ethnography, he could refer to each people’s laws as a reason for their historical successes or, vice versa, as shortcomings in ancient, recent and contemporary ages (cf. book IV). As we see, the view of Ephorus’ narrative as organized according to different gene (geographical, historical or biographical) clearly fails to convey such complexity. Let us turn now to the remaining books of the Histories (XI–XXX). One may note, on the basis of Jacoby’s list of the fragments which are certainly related to books XVI–XXIX (i.e., the books Ephorus wrote by his own hand42), that Ephorus’ narrative, while becoming more and more detailed as it approached the contemporary age, progressed linearly, following the events in the chronological order of their occurrence: Book XVI: Book XVII: Book XVIII: Book XIX:

Book XX: Book XXI: Books XXII-XXV: Book XXVI: Book XXVII: Books XXVIII–XXIX:

41 42

F 68 ~ 404/3 bc F 69 ~ 404/3 bc F 70 ~ 404/3 bc F 71 ~ 399 bc F 72 ~ before 395 bc? F 73 ~ 395/4 bc? F 74 ~ 395/4 bc? F 75 ~ 395/387 bc F 76 ~ before 390 bc F 77 ~ before 390 bc F 78 ~ before 387 bc? F 79 ~ 384 bc F 80 ~ 376 bc FF 81–3 [XXIII] ~ 368 bc F 84 [XXIV] ~ 367/6 bc F 85 [XXV] ~ 362 bc F 86 ~ 361/0 bc? FF 87–8 ~ 359/8 bc? F 89 [XXVIII] ~ 385/3 bc F 90 [XXVIII] ~ before 368 bc? F 91 [XXVIII] ~ 396/5 bc? F 92 [XXIX] ~ 358/7 bc

See Parmeggiani 2011, 166–70 with notes, for details. Book XXX was written by Demophilus. Since it was a completion/extension of Ephorus’ twentynine books, it also had a very particular nature (see § 3.8.1 below). For this reason, it will not be considered in the argument which follows. Laqueur (1911b, 330) rather questionably makes it a model for the arrangement of the whole work.

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While the sequence of fragments inside a book is decided by the modern editor, the sequence of books is not. Here a chronological linearity is apparent. We see this linearity interrupted by the pair XXVIII–XXIX, referring to Sicily and the West also in the years 385/3 and, possibly, 396/5 bc (FF 89–91). Yet, this interruption seems to be an exception, insofar as the whole series of the books XVI–XXVII, covering the years ca. 404–359 bc – more or less, the very years where Suda sets Ephorus’ life (T 1 [Suid. ε 3930 Adler, s.v. Ἔφιππος]) – seems to develop according to a chronological order.43 There is more. Ephorus could change from one event to another, which was happening at the same time and in another area, or from one theme to the next, in the very same book. For example, both FF 68 and 69 refer to book XVI, but while F 68 mentions Entella and is related to Sicilian events in 404/3 bc, F 69 reports on Lysander’s intrigues after 404 bc in Greece and in the East.44 Likewise, FF 74–8, referring to book XIX, are related to the Corinthian War in Greece (cf. FF 75, 77) and Evagoras’ deeds in Cyprus (cf. F 76) in the years ca. 390 bc.45 Also remarkable is what Strabo observes in F 236 (13.3.6): Ephorus (. . .) when he was enumerating other actions [ἐν τῇ διαριθμήσει τῶν ἄλλων πράξεων] and had no deeds to speak of with his own country, was not willing to leave it unremembered, and so writes ‘At this same moment [κατὰ δὲ τὸν αὐτὸν καιρόν] the Cymaeans were at peace’.46

The synchronic nexus ‘at this same moment’ suggests that the original narrative moved from one context to another, which was contemporary or chronologically contiguous, in the same book.47 Furthermore, Strabo says ‘when he was enumerating other actions’, not ‘after his enumeration’: it seems that the reader could expect that Ephorus, while developing a specific theme, interrupted it before its conclusion, so as to include information on contemporaneous events. If this is the case, the same section of the narrative did not necessarily include facts that were ‘complete 43

44 45 47

Our study of Ephorus’ books XVI and following, later in this chapter, will correct some of Jacoby’s views on the chronological limits of each book, but will not affect our present conclusions. On Suda’s dates for Ephorus’ life as artificially derived from Ephorus’ Histories, see Chapter 1, n. 1. See Steph. Byz. Ε 84 Billerbeck, s.v. Ἔντελλα (F 68) and Schol. HM(ED) Hom. Od. 3.215 (F 69). On F 69 as a fragment concerning Lysander’s plans, see Stylianou 1998, 90–2. See Stylianou 1998, 89–90. 46 Strab. 13.3.6 (F 236). Cf. POxy. 13.1610 (F 191), sect. 1, εἰ‫[ ׅ‬ς] τὰ τ‫ ׅ‬ότε π[ερὶ τοῦ] | Θεμιστοκλέο[υς. One may observe that Thucydides often uses rather similar formulas (e.g., ὑπὸ δὲ τὸν αὐτὸν χρόνον, κατὰ δὲ τοὺς αὐτοὺς χρόνους, and ἐν τούτῳ ἐν τῷ καιρῷ) both when he does not use an annalistic pattern (book I, dealing with pre-431 bc events) and when he does (book II and following, dealing with post-431 bc events).

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in themselves’ or narrated from start to end (cf. αὐτοτελεῖς in Diod. 16.1.1–3), but rather facts that happened at the same time and, possibly, in different areas. Considered together, all these data argue against the thesis that the Ephoran arrangement was, as such, anti-annalistic and anti-synchronic, or that Ephorus constructed his narrative by systematically creating a sequence of self-standing, chronologically unrelated and confusingly arranged blocks of events.48 Lastly, let us consider the Histories as a whole. It appears that, through causation, Ephorus connected events which occurred at the same time in different geographical domains. According to F 186 (schol. Pind. Pyth. 1.146b, II 24–25 Drachmann), he narrated Xerxes’ plan to attack simultaneously both Sicily and Greece, therefore embracing all the oecumene in a single overview. In F 211 (schol. C Ael. Aristid. Panath. 313, III 294 Dindorf), the agreements between Syracuse and the Persians in the fourth century bc are examined from different perspectives, including the rivalry between Athens and Sparta for the control of the Ionian Sea and Syracuse’s ambitions toward Greece under Dionysius I and II. In F 70 (Diod. 14.11.1–4), the death of Alcibiades is connected, on the one hand, with Cyrus the Younger’s plans and Sparta’s involvement in the war against Artaxerxes II, and, on the other hand, with the Athenians’ ambition to bounce back from the humiliation Sparta had inflicted upon them in 404 bc. How should one label, for example, such a chapter about Alcibiades: as a sample of Hellenika, or of Persika or of Hellenika mixed with Persika? It seems that the distinction of gene was superseded, in Ephorus’ original narrative, by a description of events in different areas as interacting reciprocally. This is what one might expect from a universal history as Polybius conceives it, i.e., from a narrative where a synchronic approach to events was not disregarded but, as the examples above suggest, cultivated. To conclude, the fragments suggest that Ephorus’ arrangement was actually more complex and more flexible than is normally believed. Time seems to have been not less important than geography as a criterion for organizing the historical narrative. Causation made it possible to establish direct links between deeds in different areas. Each book could 48

Modern critics have often explained some of the chronological errors in Diodorus XI–XV with the oikonomia of his presumed source, Ephorus, who did not arrange his work in an annalistic/ synchronic form: see Dressler 1873, particularly 6 ff., following some of Volquardsen’s arguments in 1868, 35 ff. Cf. Busolt 1893–1904, I, 158; Wachsmuth 1895, 499–500; Schwartz 1907, 4; and Laqueur 1911b, 323. See also Avenarius 1956, 125–7; Cracco Ruggini 1966, 220 ff. and 227; Meister 1971 and 1975, 77 ff.; Parker 2011, on T 11. Contra see Unger 1881, 55–8, Walker 1913, 45 ff., Drews 1963 and Vannicelli 1987.

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be thematically multi-faceted, include both historical and geographical information (and more) and describe events occurring in different areas and at around the same time. Ephorus could move from one event or theme to another focusing on synchronic nexuses, and was thus able to present different events as part of the same description or discussion. Digressions were also present. Both Polybius’ and Diodorus’ appreciations of Ephorus’ arrangement (T 23 and T 11, respectively) should not be read as celebrating the introduction by Ephorus of new criteria of arrangement in historiography.49 As for the modern definition of ‘arrangement kata genos’, it seems misleading insofar it presumes a single system which was valid for the entire work. It is highly probable that Ephorus did not rely on the systematic use of one criterion only, but changed from time to time according to his needs. This should hardly be surprising, when one takes into account the extent of his narrative in both time and space, and also the variety of topics it covered. That the overall result was so appreciated by later historians shows that Ephorus was skilled enough to find the right balance – a very difficult achievement, to be sure, in a universal history. 2.3

Chronology

There is no evidence that Ephorus used one and the same system for dating events in his Histories. It is often assumed that he used only genealogical markers for all his work down to the contemporary age, and never employed more specific chronological markers, such as lists of eponymous magistrates and so on, in any part of it.50 This is open to questioning, as we shall see. 49

50

That Dionysius of Halicarnassus, in his survey of arrangement by pre- and post-Thucydidean historians (cf. above), does not mention Ephorus as the inventor of any specific system, is perhaps significant. Diodorus appreciates the clearness Ephorus gave his work by dividing it into different books, each provided with a proem, and also by developing a well-balanced narrative, which did not betray his proemial promises. Polybius, for his part, was not merely interested in criticizing Timaeus: he was perhaps impressed by the order in Ephorus’ narrative and therefore by its clarity, and also by Ephorus’ peculiar way of embracing events in different places in one overview, which was a very important requisite for a universal historian in Polybius’ view. See Jacoby 1926b, 26–7; Meister 1971 and 1975, 77 ff. Barber (1935, 171–2) is a bit sceptical. Stylianou (1998, 99 n. 264) notes the presence of chronological markers – years and seasons – in Diod. XI–XV, but observes the paucity of chronological markers in Ephorus’ fragmentary tradition (25 ff. and 135 ff.). Cracco Ruggini 1966 and 1967 comments on Ephorus’ ‘chronological chaos’ on the basis of [Arist.] Oecon. II, arguing that Ephorus was its main source. On Ephorus’ presumed exclusive use of genealogies, see also Parker 2011, on F 223. For a more problematic and (rightly) cautious approach, see Clarke 2008, 96 ff.

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The genealogical markers one finds in the fragments of the Histories (FF 115, 122a, 137a–b, 149, 173) concern only the distant past and had specific functions in the original narrative, such as that of relating ancient events in demonstrations (FF 122a, 149, 173) and explanations (FF 115, 137a–b). A few examples will suffice. By stating that Pheidon, king of Argos, was ‘tenth from Temenus’ and ‘recovered the whole inheritance of Temenus’ (F 115 [Strab. 8.3.33]), Ephorus was concerned not so much with dating Pheidon, but with Pheidon’s legitimacy in recovering, as a descendant of Temenus, the original lot of his ancestor. By stating that Lycurgus was ‘the 11th from Heracles’ (F 173 [schol. Pind. Pyth. 1.120b, II 20–21 Drachmann]), Ephorus was, first of all, ranking him among the Heraclidae, perhaps arguing against those who dated the Spartan constitution to the early days of Hyllus and/or Aegimius. Similarly, he used the argument of Lycurgus ‘sixth from Procles’ to argue that Lyctus’ legislation could not descend from Sparta’s on account of their colonial tie (F 149 [Strab. 10.4.18]). In short, Ephorus used genealogical computation with aims which were other than merely providing a date. The fall of Troy and the Return of the Heraclidae were reference points for Ephorus, when he dealt with the distant past (TT 1, 8, 10; FF 115, 137a– b, 146, 149, 223). This should not surprise us, for both events were standard references in Greek memory and general histories, which Ephorus’ work surely was.51 On occasion, Ephorus stated how many years specific events lasted, both in ancient and contemporary times (FF 216 and 218).52 F 226 also suggests that he was not unaware of Atthidographic chronology, although he may not have accepted it at face value, especially when it related to very ancient events.53 Ephorus knew the archontal years, as F 106 (schol. BTV Hom. Il. 7.185) shows: Callistratus of Samos at the time of the Peloponnesian War changed the grammar [i.e., he introduced the alphabet of twenty-four letters]

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It suffices to recall Thuc. 1.12.3. Strab. 6.3.3 (F 216: according to Tyrtaeus, the First Messenic War lasted 19 years; see also Ephorus’ indication δεκάτῳ δ’ ὕστερον τοῦ πολέμου, ‘but later on, in the tenth year of the war’); Polyb. 12.4a.3–4 (F 218, on the chronology of Dionysius I). See Plut. Camill. 19.7 (F 226): τῇ ἑβδόμῃ φθίνοντος, περὶ ἣν δοκεῖ καὶ τὸ Ἴλιον ἁλῶναι, Θαργηλιῶνος, ὡς Ἔφορος καὶ Καλλισθένης καὶ Δαμάστης καὶ Φύλαρχος ἱστορήκασιν (‘on the twenty-fourth of Thargelion, when it seems that Ilium was taken, as Ephorus, Callisthenes [FGrHist 124 F 10], Damasthes [FGrHist 5 F 7] and Phylarchus [FGrHist 81 F 74] have narrated’). The sceptical δοκεῖ (‘it seems’) somewhat recalls Ephorus’ doubts about the trustworthiness of any detailed account of the distant past (F 9).

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and gave it to the Athenians in the archonship of Eucleides, as Ephorus says.54

It is possible that this fragment refers to the treatise On Inventions and not to the Histories.55 Yet this is not enough to conclude that Ephorus never dated events by using, even occasionally, the archontal list in his major historical work. Ephorus also knew the Eleians’ Olympian lists (from Hippias?), as F 115 (Strab. 8.3.33) shows: But the Eleians did not record this celebration of the games [sc. the Olympic games under Pheidon of Argos] (. . .).56

The Olympic games were held every four years. This chronological unit represented one tenth of a generation of forty years in the king list of both Argos and Sparta. Since Ephorus was familiar with both lists57 and may have used a generation of forty years,58 the compatibility between the two chronological systems may have served him well. That Timaeus, in the third century bc, fixed events by comparing local lists with that of the Olympian victors, and was the first to use the Olympian scale consistently, does not imply that no historian before him (Ephorus among others) had ever used, even occasionally, the Olympian list in his narrative. The case of Philistus, who also was among Ephorus’ sources, is instructive in this regard.59 54

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Schol. BTV Hom. Il. 7.185 (F 106). Marx (1815, 239–41: fr. 128. Cf. Müller 1841, 270b) published this fragment on the basis of schol. B, and thus omitted ἐπὶ ἄρχοντος Εὐκλείδου. On Müller’s suggestion (1851, 642a–b), Jacoby 1926a, 69 corrects ἐπὶ ἄρχοντος Εὐκλήτου in schol. T with Εὐκλείδου. See Dressler 1873, 23 n. 3; Jacoby 1926a, 69, and 1926b, 27. Strab. 8.3.33 (F 115): οὐ μὴν τούς γε Ἠλείους ἀναγράψαι τὴν θέσιν ταύτην. See FF 118, 149 for Ephorus’ use of the kings’ lists of Argos and Sparta. See Unger 1881, particularly 58 ff., and Jacoby 1949, 357 n. 2. For Ephorus’ generation (genea), scholars have proposed different views. For example, Meyer (1892–1899, I, 178–9) calculated a genea of 33 1/3 years. Cf. Kõiv 2003, particularly 367–72; Parker 2011, on F 223; Mele 2015, 41 and 2016, 63–4. Barber (1935, 171–2) suggests a genea of thirty years, while Prakken (1943, 73–101) calculates a genea of thirty-five years. I am still persuaded that Ephorus’ genea lasted forty years, for this number perfectly explains the ten generations which occur between the facts of Troy and the first foundations in Sicily in F 137a–b. It also suggests the year 869 bc as related to Lycurgus (‘sixth from Procles’ [F 149], i.e., five generations later by inclusive calculation: 1069 – 200 [5 x 40] = 869. Cf. F 102b on the year 876 bc as the common age for Lycurgus and Homer) and the year 749 bc as related to Pheidon (‘tenth from Temenus’ [F 115] and therefore ninth from Cissus, who founded Argos together with his father [F 149]: 1069 – 320 [8 x 40] = 749). Cf. Paus. 6.22.2 on Pheidon’s usurpation of the Olympic games in 748 bc. It seems that Philistus used Olympic markers: see Steph. Byz. Δ 140 Billerbeck, s.v. Δύμη (FGrHist 556 F 2), with Bearzot 2002b, 107. On the Olympian lists, see Christesen 2007, 64–5 (on Hippias of Elis as a source of Ephorus) and 69–71 (on Philist. F 2). See Polyb. 12.11.1 (Tim. FGrHist 566 T 10) on Timaeus’ chronographical efforts, with Clarke 2008, 109 ff.; Baron 2013, 81.

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In general, the fragments suggest that Ephorus was aware of various systems to date events. One cannot ascertain whether he used them consistently, changing from one system to another while passing from earlier to later times or from part to part of his narrative, or occasionally. Chronology, as such, was probably not Ephorus’ priority, as it had not been Herodotus’. Nor should Ephorus be blamed too much for this. Thucydides is accurate for the chronology of events after 431 bc, but is far from satisfying when he deals with events before 431 (book I) and after 413 bc (book VIII), i.e., where his narrative covers military actions which also involved the Persians. As everyone knows, Ephorus did not write the history of only one war among the Greeks, but that of the Greeks and the barbarians, spanning centuries. Timaeus would probably have found more compelling reasons to criticize Ephorus than a few data on the chronology of Dionysius I (F 218); nor would Ephorus’ arrangement have been praised by Polybius (T 23), who takes great care to explain his own dating and arrangement, if Ephorus’ Histories were so chronologically unclear, disordered and confusing as some scholars believe. Furthermore, why should Ephorus systematically ignore the many markers he found in his sources?60 He gave a very detailed account of contemporary events (and a more detailed one than Xenophon’s, as we shall see: books XVI and following): that he did so by using exclusively genealogical computation, is hard to believe.

3. The Histories Book by Book 3.1 Books I–III: The Return of the Heraclidae, the Birth of the Greek States, and the Colonization of Asia Minor (Eleventh to Ninth Centuries bc) The first three books of the Histories formed a cohesive triptych. Here Ephorus described the birth of the Greek states in mainland Greece, and how the newly formed Greek civilization spread over Asia. The narration of the Return of the Heraclidae and its consequences was at the heart of the triptych. From that core, Ephorus seems to have developed aetiological excursuses and constructed logoi on local history, offering insights into earlier and subsequent events.61 More precisely, book I focused on the 60

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Ephorus was certainly familiar with Hellanicus’ chronographical works such as the Carneonikae and the Priestesses of Hera at Argos, Thucydides’ temporal markers, the work of Hippias of Elis, and also Philistus’ Olympic markers. Herodotus had worked in a similar way, using the sequence of the kings of Asia from Croesus to Xerxes as a basis for the logoi on specific areas.

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migration of the Dorians, the Heraclidae and their allies from central Greece to the Peloponnese, book II on the subsequent migration of preDorian peoples from the Peloponnese to other parts of Greece, and book III on the Greek colonization of Asia Minor as a consequence of the changes in mainland Greece. In this last book, the historian provided insights also into the Cretans’ colonization of the coast of Asia Minor in previous years. As we can see, both time and space worked as organizing criteria of the historical narrative. Ephorus frequently used names, proverbs and rituals as evidence to reconstruct the past (e.g., FF 16, 20–4, 29, 113, and 115–20), and also argued with his predecessors about myth (e.g., common context of FF 13 and 17) and local traditions (e.g., F 118). He addressed the question of Greek identity by exploring Greek cultural history as well as the relationship between different ethne and their social status, and examined the roots of the first hegemonies, such as that of Sparta in the Peloponnese, or that of Thebes in Boeotia. His study may have also comprised, by means of digressions and insights on the relationship between Greeks and non-Greeks, the barbarian world, which chronologically came first and spatially enclosed the Greeks (cf. F 109). But how much he really dealt here with the history of barbarian peoples cannot be guessed: the fragments deal fundamentally with the Greek world, but the tradition is clearly affected by Polybius’ appreciation of Ephorus’ ancient Greek history (T 18a); moreover, we should not forget that much information about the barbarian world and its history was surely included in books V and following, approaching the Persian Wars in the fifth century bc. Here we will be concerned with defining the main contents, rather than with verifying the trustworthiness of Ephorus’ conclusions. Still, one general question may be asked: should Ephorus’ narrative be considered as a collection of contemporary and biased information about the past, i.e., as the product of fourth-century distortions or inventions? In any age, memory of the distant past may be affected, if not shaped, by contemporary political bias and/or contemporary needs for self-definition; this happened also in Ephorus’ age, especially after the battle of Leuctra (371 bc) and the founding of Messene (369 bc), as many scholars have emphasized.62 But caution is needed. We cannot ignore Ephorus’ own critical work on an impressive wealth of sources on the distant past, which were sometimes very old (see Chapter 2, § 2 above). Suffice it to recall Hdt. 62

See, e.g., Prinz 1979, Luraghi 2008, and Zingg 2016, with previous literature.

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4.145 ff., on the contrasts between Lacedaemonians and the Minyans before Lycurgus, to understand that Ephorus, in speaking of ancient internal conflicts between the Spartiates and the perioikoi of Laconia in the pre-Lycurgan era (book I, below), was not deliberately forging the past in light of Sparta’s crisis after Leuctra and the consequent rebellions by the perioikoi in his own times. One would better say that the present of Sparta’s crisis after Leuctra prompted him to look back into the past by carefully examining existing traditions. Indeed such traditions suggested that the present and the past, however different and not to be confused (cf. F 9), were not totally disconnected. Ephorus chose to inquire into the distant past. By so doing, he ran risks. No one is compelled to trust his conclusions, but one should also not question the honesty of his research. 3.1.1 The Heraclidae and the Peloponnese Since F 10 pertains either to book V or to the Syntagma Epichorion,63 we have only nine book-numbered fragments for book I, FF 11–19. FF 11 and 12 are too generic to allow any conclusion about the original narrative;64 FF 13–19 refer to Heracles, the Return of the Heraclidae and its historical consequences. The Histories started off with the Return of the Heraclidae or kathodos, namely with the Dorian invasion of the Peloponnese (TT 8 and 10 [Diod. 4.1.2–3 and 16.76.5, respectively]).65 This was a well-established event in 63

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Jacoby (1926a, 45) prints F 10 (Harp. s.v. Κεβρῆνα) as follows: πόλις ἐστὶ τῆς Τρωάδος Κεβρήν, Κυμαίων ἀποικία, ὥς φησιν Ἔφορος ἐν α (‘Cebren is a town of the Troads, a colony of the Cymaeans, as Ephorus says in book I’). But see Roberts 1938, 168–70, and the later suggestion by Jacoby himself (1950, 741) that it was not book I but book V, on the basis of PRyl. 3.532 (second/third century ce): ἐν ε (‘in book V’). See now Vannini 2018, 121–5. Without knowing the papyrus, Cauer (1847, 65, 71 and 84) and Dressler (1873, 8–9 and 27) suspected an error in Harpocration and assigned the fragment to book V. See Chávez Reino 2010, 225–6 n. 24, for the attractive hypothesis that the papyrus read ἐν ἐ[πιχωρίῳ (‘in the E[pichorion’). If true, F 10 should not be attributed to the Histories, but to the Syntagma Epichorion. On FF 11 (Athen. 3.105d) and 12 (schol. RS Plat. Lach. 107b), see Parmeggiani 2011, 181–2; Parker 2011, ad locc. Ephorus may have referred to the palaion of Chios (F 11) and to the Carians misthophoroi (F 12) almost everywhere in book I, e.g., while dealing with the Dorians’ settlements in the Aegean and in the Microasiatic coast after the Return. See also Joann. Philop. De aetern. mun. c. Proclum, 147 Rabe (noticed by Marx 1815, 55, but omitted by Jacoby 1926a [cf. Parmeggiani 2011, 78 n. 178]), with Chávez Reino 2009. Suid. ε 3930 Adler, s.v. Ἔφιππος (T 1) states that Ephorus began his narrative from the destruction of Troy (ἔγραψεν ἀπὸ τῆς Ἰλίου πορθήσεως καὶ τῶν Τρωικῶν μέχρι τῶν αὑτοῦ χρόνων βιβλία λ). This may be a consequence of the fact that Diodorus sees the Trojan War as the most important caesura (see, e.g., 1.4.6) and, while criticizing Ephorus in 4.1.1–4 (context of T 8), he draws a distinction between ‘ancient mythical stories’ (palaiai mythologiai) and ‘more recent deeds’ (neoterai praxeis). Jacoby’s hypothesis that Ephorus’ Histories started with a short preface about Heracles (1926b, 43. Cf. Müller 1841, lixb) is interesting, but seems to be contradicted by TT 8, 10: since Diod. 11.37.6 says that Herodotus starts his narrative with ‘the events before the war of Troy’, clearly alluding to

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Greek memory, and a well-known caesura in the past.66 As such, it was also an ideal beginning for a universal history.67 In Ephorus’ view, the Return did not consist in a discrete event but in a process which started before the fall of Troy and ended after it with the division of the conquered land by the new Dorian oikists.68 The fragmentary tradition informs us about the chronology: this process ended in ca. 1091/0 bc according to Diodorus’ approximate calculation in T 10,69 or in 1070/69 bc according to Clement of Alexandria’s more rigorous calculation in F 223 (Strom. 1.139.3).70 While the former date may have referred to Aristodemus, the latter may have referred to his sons Procles and Eurysthenes who were the first kings of Sparta. Since Ephorus marked time in terms of generations of forty years, the fall of Troy should be dated to two generations before, that is, counting from 1070/69 bc, to 1150/49 bc.71

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Hdt. 1.1–5.3, one may guess that, if Ephorus had really started his narrative with Heracles, as Jacoby suggests, Diodorus would have said ‘from Heracles’ deeds’, and not ‘from the Return of the Heraclidae’. See, for example, Tyrt. fr. 2 West, Pind. Pyth. 1.61–66, 5.69–76, and Isthm. 7.12 ff., 9.1–4, for the place the Return had in Greek memory; Hdt. 9.26.2, Thuc. 1.12.3–4, Isoc. Paneg. 54 for its role in the historical continuum. As Polyb. 1.5.4–5 notes, ‘One must find a beginning that is agreed upon and recognised by all, and where the events can be examined in and of themselves. (. . .) For when the beginning point is unknown or, by God, disputed, nothing of what follows is worthy of acceptance and trust. But whenever an agreed-upon beginning is provided, then immediately the entire subsequent account is accepted by the audience.’ On the Return see, among others, Tigerstedt 1965, 28–36; Prinz 1979, 206 ff.; Sakellariou 1990, 150 ff.; Thommen 2000 and 2017, 20–2; Luraghi 2008, 46 ff., Fowler 2000–2013, II, 334 ff., and Zingg 2016, 25 ff., with further bibliography. Canfora (1991) maintains that Ephorus dated the end of the Return to a time prior to the war of Troy. For a detailed refutation of this thesis, see Parmeggiani 2011, 183 n. 104. Diod. 16.76.5 (T 10): χρόνον δὲ περιέλαβε (sc. Ephorus) σχεδὸν ἐτῶν ἑπτακοσίων καὶ πεντήκοντα (‘He encompassed nearly 750 years’). 750 + 341/0 (the year of the siege of Perinth) = 1091/0 bc. Jacoby’s crux for πεντήκοντα (1926a, 39, with suggestion of τριάκοντα. Cf. Jacoby 1926b, 101, on F 223, and Jacoby 1902, 89 n. 13, with suggestion of a confusion between the numerals Λ and Ν, as already Unger 1881, 99) is not necessary because of σχεδόν (see Parmeggiani 2003b, 202 n. 5). Although an approximation, Diodorus’ calculation is important for it is independent of the calculation in F 223, and confirms that Ephorus dated the Return to the first half of the eleventh century bc. Clement calculates 735 years from the Return to Alexander’s expedition (335/4 bc), which results in proposing the date 1070/69 bc. It is uncertain whether Ephorus himself, his son Demophilus or Clement calculated this number, but the inference that it could not be Ephorus because he computed only by genealogies, is unconvincing (see § 2.3 above). As Unger (1881, 95) indicates, in Diodorus, the royal lists of Sparta begin from 1069 bc, but that they come from Ephorus, as Unger also proposes, is another matter. That in the fourth century bc, the Spartans dated the Return to the year 1069 bc is also clear from Isoc. Archid. 12 (cf. Pax 95 and Panath. 204). Since Isocrates follows the Spartan tradition, one should not overstate his influence on Ephorus by stating that Ephorus chose the year 1069 bc because Isocrates, his presumed teacher, dated the Return to 700 years before the battle of Leuctra in 371 bc (see, among others, Busolt 1893–1904, I, 259 n. 5; Jacoby 1902, 89 n. 13; and Mazzarino 1966, I, 334 and 370). As we find in Strab. 13.1.3 (1090 + 60 = 1150 bc), sixty not eighty years should be calculated from 1091/90 bc (T 10). Two generations of forty years each add up to eighty years, as we read in Thuc.

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We gain specific information about the Return from F 16 (schol. Pind. Pyth. 5.101b, II 184–185 Drachmann).72 The Heraclidae, together with the Dorians, tried to enter the Peloponnese on account of an oracle that had suggested they seek help from those who had benefited from Heracles. Hyllus erroneously believed that the oracle referred to the Athenian Aegeids (Theseus, in fact, had benefited from Heracles), asked the Athenians for help and failed.73 Later,74 while journeying through Boeotia, Aristodemus heard some Thebans praying for good things for the Aegeids during a sacrifice.75 He therefore understood the true meaning of the oracle, asked the Theban Aegeids for help and succeeded in leading the Dorians to the Peloponnese.76 Aristodemus’ expedition was successful by mere chance (κατὰ τύχην), as it was by chance that the Dorians were persuaded, after all, that the oracle referred in fact to the Theban Aegeids. Ephorus’ original narrative underscored the doubts the conquerors had about the real meaning of the oracle, their wrong interpretations, their uncertain conclusions, and the certain knowledge that they acquired only post factum. This narrative had a Herodotean flair, and was rather elusive with regard to any political bias.77 More importantly, it implicated in the same historical action the three main hegemonic cities of Greek history until the battle of Mantinea (362 bc), namely Sparta, Athens and Thebes. The universal character of Ephorus’ narrative is here apparent: the Return opened a historical cycle which ended with the decline of Sparta and the foundation of Messene

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1.12.3, and Clement (F 223, but note here the deletion of ἑκατόν before ὀγδοέκοντα). Ephorus divided into generations the years given by Thucydides (cf. Paus. 4.3.3), or found this calculation already in Hellanicus’ Troika (possibly the source of Thuc. 1.12.3: see Gomme 1956, I, 117, ad loc.). On F 16, see e.g. Stelkens 1857, 31–2; Bruchmann 1890–1893, I, 8 ff.; Jacoby 1926b, 44–5; Barber 1935, 27; Prinz 1979, 302 ff.; Breglia 1989; Nafissi 1991, 365–9; Kõiv 2003, 80 ff.; Parker 2011, ad loc. F 16 does not indicate why Hyllus failed although the text seems to suggest a different story from Hdt. 9.26 ff., Diod. 4.58 (see Jacoby 1926b, 44) and Apollod. 2.8.2. Unlike Ephorus, Isoc. Paneg. 54 ff. tells that Hyllus was successful thanks to Athens. Perhaps three generations after: see Parmeggiani 2011, 185 n. 113. During the Carneia festival according to schol. Pind. Pyth. 5.104b, II 185 Drachmann. According to schol. Pind. Isthm. 7.18b, III 263–264 Drachmann, Aristotle spoke of a collaboration between the Theban Aegeids and the Spartans for the conquest of Amyclae (fr. 532 Rose). Some critics find F 16 to be biased in favour of Thebes (e.g., Jacoby 1926b, 44; Breglia 1989; and Malkin 1994, 98 ff.; Parker 2011, ad loc.), others consider it a praise of the Aegeids (e.g., Prinz 1979, particularly 308; Thommen 2000, 48–9), others in favour of Athens (e.g. Nafissi 1991, 365–9). This variety of opinions is in itself highly significant. It should also be noted that the full story in F 16 is introduced by φασι (‘They say’). Is this the scholiast’s reference to Ephorus, or is it Ephorus’ reference to his sources? Was Ephorus simply reporting, rather than endorsing, a version of the facts? As for the involvement of Thebes in the Return – of the Theban Aegeids in particular – this was not an invention of the fourth century bc: it suffices to recall the Theban Theras, who was Eurysthenes and Procles’ tutor according to Hdt. 4.147.2. See also Kõiv 2003, 80 ff.

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(369 bc), and with the failure of both Athens and Thebes and the rise of Philip II. Heracles played a crucial role in Sparta’s political tradition as well as in Greek politics in the age of Philip II, so it is hardly surprising that Ephorus remembered him in book I. But what did he narrate about Heracles, and how? On the one hand, it was the narrative itself of the Return that compelled Ephorus to look closely at Heracles’ deeds: aetiology implied digressions on the pre-Heraclid past.78 On the other hand, as some fragments show (FF 13 and 14a–b), Ephorus also recalled some of Heracles’ deeds in both Greece and Asia, which were not necessarily linked with the Return.79 All this suggests that book I was probably more than a mere ‘history of the Dorian lineage and the Heraclid dynasty’: the Return was a kind of fulcrum of a ‘general history of origins’, in which Heracles played an essential role, serving as an ancestor and a universal icon, and also as a benefactor and a conqueror, who connected Europe with Asia in his journeys.80 After describing the Return, Ephorus dealt with events of the Dorian kingdoms of Argos, Messene and Sparta, adding information about the general status of the Peloponnese after the Return (F 18a [Theon Progymn. 67, 11 Patillon-Bolognesi]).81 The testimonies make it clear that his view of 78

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F 16 reads: ὑπολαμβάνοντας (sc. Hyllus and his followers) δὲ ταῦτα εὐλόγως προστεταχέναι τὸν θεὸν ἐλθεῖν εἰς τὰς Ἀθήνας πρῶτον, εἰδότας Θησέα τὸν Αἰγέως μέγιστα πάντων ὑφ’ Ἡρακλέους εὐεργετημένον (‘Since they believed that the god had reasonably given his command, they went to Athens first, for they knew that Heracles had provided Theseus, the son of Aegeus, with help more than anyone else’). Hyllus was Heracles’ son, and his request for help to Athens would have been unintelligible without considering Heracles’ help to Theseus as a premise. Similarly, Hyllus’ leadership on the Dorians would have been unintelligible without Heracles’ original help to Aegimius, king of the Dorians, as a premise: see Steph. Byz. Δ 139 Billerbeck, s.v. Δυμᾶνες (F 15), and cf. Strab. 9.4.10. Aegimius’ adoption of Hyllus explained the link between the Heraclidae and the Dorians: see Jacoby 1926b, 44. Book I included information about Thespius (F 13 apud Theon Progymn. 67, 10–11 PatillonBolognesi, and on the common context of FF 13 and 17, enlighting Ephorus’ critique of mythos, see Parmeggiani 2011, 186; Breglia 2009, 113–14) and Omphale (F 14a apud schol. Apoll. Rhod. 1.1168). Like Marx (1815, 95) and Müller (1841, 235), Jacoby also assignes F 14b (schol. Apoll. Rhod. 1.1289) to book I, although the fragment reads ἐν τῇ ε (‘in book V’). Note that book I also included information about the rivalry between the Perseids and the Pelopids (see Nic. Dam. FGrHist 90 F 10 and Ephor. F 118, with Huxley 1973). In Nicolaus’ fragment we find such themes as individual ambition to achieve political leadership, military and economical power as reasons for supremacy – themes that were indeed typical of Ephorus’ reconstruction of the distant past. Ephorus’ narrative covered not only the Dorian kingdoms (as others did, e.g., Pind. Pyth. 5.69; Plat. Leg. 3.683c ff.; Isoc. Panath. 117 ff.; Apollod. 2.177) but all the areas of the Peloponnese. See Jacoby 1926b, 46, on F 18. On this specific part of book I, see especially Matthiessen 1857–1860, 880–3; Andrewes 1951; Kõiv 2003, passim. Modern critics since the nineteenth century have obviously questioned the credibility of Ephorus’ reconstruction (Müller 18442; Stelkens 1857, 30–5; Matthiessen 1857–1860, 880–3; Bruchmann 1890–1893, I, 13 ff.; Parker 2011, passim). I argue for a novel assessment, at least in some respects. See Kõiv 2003 and, independently, Parmeggiani 2004 for a revised appraisal.

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the Dorian Peloponnese resulted from criticism of implausible aspects of the saga, and also from critical examination of local traditions, with which he disagreed. These testimonies include Strabo’s quotations that more clearly relate to the age of the Return (FF 115–18),82 some fragments of Nicolaus of Damascus and Conon83 and some notes by Plutarch.84 Ephorus paid particular attention to the political stability of the states by considering the Dorian kings’ specific political choices and the often difficult relationships among different peoples in the same region. As we shall see, his narrative was in fact concerned with pragmatic issues such as the distribution of land, the granting of political rights and the politics of integration. No wonder that Polybius, the champion of pragmatic history, admired Ephorus’ treatment of Greek antiquity so much. After the conquest of the Peloponnese, the Heraclidae divided it following the suggestion of Oxylus, who had come from Aetolia with his own army and had joined them because he wanted to take control of Elis, the land of his fathers (F 115 [Strab. 8.3.33]).85 Oxylus acts here like an arbitrator.86 After the division, each Heraclid took control of his own territory, and arranged matters in the most convenient way for himself and/or for his people (FF 116–17 [Strab. 8.4.7 and 5.4, respectively]). Ephorus then described the historical development of the kingdoms, stressing, by means of analogy, those circumstances that prepared each of them (especially Sparta, Argos, and Messene) for a different destiny. For the purpose of our analysis here, we will mainly consider FF 117 and 118 (Strab. 8.5.4 and 5.5, respectively) on Laconia, and F 115 (Strab. 8.3.33) on Elis.87 82 83

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Strab. 8.3.33 and 4.7, 8.5.4 and 5.5, respectively. Nic. Dam. FGrHist 90 FF 28 (Exc. de Virt. 18, II 1, 339–340 Büttner-Wobst), 29 (Steph. Byz. Θ 53 Billerbeck, s.v. Θόρναξ), 56 (Exc. de Virt. 22, II 1, 341–342 Büttner-Wobst) on Laconia; FF 31 (Exc. de Insid. 10, III, 9–10 de Boor), 32 (Steph. Byz. Μ 156 Billerbeck, s.v. Μεσόλα), 33 (Steph. Byz. Ν 46 Billerbeck, s.v. Νηρίς), 34 (Exc. de Insid. 11, III, 10 de Boor) on Messenia; F 30 (Exc. de Insid. 9, III, 9 de Boor) on Argolis. Con. FGrHist 26 F 1, enarr. 36 and 47 (Phot. Bibl. 186, 137b, III 26–27 Henry and Phot. Bibl. 186, 140b–141a, III 35–36 Henry, respectively) on Laconia; enarr. 47 (Phot. Bibl. 186, 140b– 141a, III 35–36 Henry) on Argolis. On Ephorus as source of both Nicolaus and Conon, see Bruchmann 1890–1893, I, 13 ff.; Dopp 1900–1909, II 1, 15 ff.; Parmentier 2014; Favuzzi and Paradiso 2018. Plut. Mor. 247a–e; 296b–d. See Bruchmann 1890–1893, I, 13 ff.; Stadter 1965, 56–68; Kõiv 2003, 79. F 115 reads: κατελθεῖν (sc. Oxylus) ἀθροίσαντα στρατιάν. Jacoby 1926b, 65, ad loc. is correct when he states: ‘die rolle des Oxylos ist gegen das epos und die mythographie (Bibl. 2.177) wesentlich gesteigert.’ F 115 reads: καὶ μερίσαι (sc. Oxylus) τὴν πολεμίαν αὐτοῖς χώραν καὶ τἆλλα ὑποθέσθαι τὰ περὶ τὴν κατάκτησιν τῆς χώρας. Oxylus’ division of the Peloponnese is present also in a later catalogue of hypotheseis of Euripides’ tragedies (POxy. 27.2455, fr. 9, second century ce: see Turner et al. 1962, 39– 40). Ephorus’ version seems to differ from the saga in many respects: cf. e.g., Apollod. 2.8, Paus. 5.3, Polyaen. 1.6, with Parmeggiani 2011, 192 n. 145. For an examination of Ephorus’ history of Messenia (F 116; Nic. Dam. FGrHist 90 FF 31–4), Argolis (Nic. Dam. FGrHist 90 F 30; Con. FGrHist 26 F 1, enarr. 47), Achaia (FF 117–18), and specific cities

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After the arrival of the Heraclidae and the Dorians, Sparta was riddled for generations with internal civil strife between the Dorians and the nonDorians, that is, between the Spartiates, who were ‘pure’ Dorians and the perioikoi, who were Dorians mixed with the Achaeans and other foreigners.88 In fact, Procles and Eurysthenes, the sons of Aristodemus, took hold of Laconia, divided it into six districts (mere) and colonized the whole land.89 They took one of the districts, Sparta, for themselves as capital (basileion), and gave a second district, Amyclae, to the Achaean Philonomus.90 They gave the remaining districts (i.e., Las, Egis, Pharea and Helos, each designed, in light of the geographical location, for specific defense and administrative objectives) to the Dorians and Dorian administrators (basileis), who received the order to welcome the xenoi to address the problem of the paucity of men (leipandria).91 At the beginning, all the inhabitants of the land were granted the right to be part of the civic body (politeia) and to become magistrates (timai).92 Later, the son of Eurysthenes, Agis I, revoked this right selectively, in the name of the legal claim of the Dorian conquerors to full supremacy: while the ‘pure’ Dorians (i.e., the inhabitants of Sparta, or Spartiates) continued to enjoy them, all perioikoi were required to pay a tribute to Sparta.93 This harsh measure caused internal strife. For example, the inhabitants of Helos were enslaved and became helots;94 the so-called ‘people of Philonomus’ – those foreigners who came from Imbros and Lemnos – left Amyclae95 and, together

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such as Corinth (F 19), see Parmeggiani 2011, 196–7, and Parker 2011, ad locc.; especially with regard to Messenia, see also Luraghi 2008, De Fidio 2013, Zingg 2016. Ephorus’ view of the perioikoi as ethnically mixed (cf. below) is in accordance with that of many modern critics (see Parmeggiani 2004, 80 with n. 23). Note also that Ephorus’ picture differs from that of Isoc. Panath. 177–181. F 117. Paus. 3.2.1 ff. presents a different version and describes the Dorian conquest of Laconia as a process ending only several generations after Eurysthenes and Procles. FF 117 and 118. F 117. Ephorus’ list of the Dorian settlements here is rather similar to the one we find in the Homeric Catalogue (Hom. Il. 2.581 ff. Cf. Parmeggiani 2004, 77 n. 11). Moreover, such definitions as mere and basileis, for districts and administrators respectively, describe an original and thus very ancient form of administration. With regard to the problem of the lack of men, Philonomus did the same in Amyclae by welcoming foreigners who came from Imbros and Lemnos (Nic. Dam. FGrHist 90 F 28). On the Minyans coming to Laconia from Lemnos, see Hdt. 4.145.1 ff., and on the Tyrrhenians coming from Lemnos and Imbros, see Plut. Mor. 247b and 296b. F 117. The people of Amyclae were also granted this right. See Nic. Dam. FGrHist 90 F 28. Cf. Hdt. 4.145.4–5 and Plut. Mor. 247b (cf. 297b). F 117. F 117. Cf. Hell. FGrHist 4 F 188, with Ambaglio 1980, 167; Pownall 2016, ad loc. Critics have obviously dismissed the etymology of Εἵλωτες as deriving from Ἕλος (cf. Parker 2011, ad loc.), but see Kõiv 2003, 151–4: the conquest of Helos was a fundamental step in the process. Con. FGrHist 26 F 1, enarr. 36 and 47. Hdt. 4.146.1 ff. and Plut. Mor. 247b, 296b both remark on the conflicts between the Spartans and the people from Lemnos.

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with some Spartiates, they founded the Spartan settlements of Melos in the Cyclades, Gortyna and also Lyctus in Crete.96 These wars lasted through the sixth generation of the kings,97 at which time Lycurgus brought them to an end with the implementation of his reforms: he redistributed the land and, by instituting the public messes (syssitia), drove the Spartiates to embrace the appropriate discipline to win against the perioikoi once and for all. He stabilized the political order which, originally made up by Agis I, had proved to be resistant to radical democracy and/or tyranny (ἐσωφρόνουν [F 118]), and secured Sparta’s power for years to come.98 To reconstruct this sequence of historical events, Ephorus apparently criticized the view of the Spartiates in the Classical age, i.e., a Spartan local tradition. He pointed out that, although Procles and Eurysthenes were founders, the Spartans named the two royal dynasties after their sons, Eurypon and Agis, because these kings – so it was said in Sparta – ‘ruled according to right’, while their fathers and predecessors ‘had ruled by means of the foreigners they had welcomed’ (τοὺς μὲν σαι δικαίως, τοὺς δὲ δεξαμένους ἐππους δι’ ἐκείνων δυναστεῦσαι).99 In other words, Eurypon and Agis worked ‘for the people’, as Plutarch also acknowledges.100 There is no doubt that these ‘people’ were the community of the Spartiates, to be understood as the ‘pure’ Dorians, and that, in the Spartiates’ view, ‘to rule according to right’ meant ‘to rule without the help of foreigners’. In other words, Ephorus emphasized that the view of ‘right’ by the Spartiates was one-sided, and that the law enforced by Agis I was discriminatory, for it favoured only one of the peoples inhabiting Laconia at that time.101 96

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On the Spartan settlement of Melos, see Con. FGrHist 26 F 1, enarr. 36, and Plut. Mor. 247d. On the Dorian settlement of Gortyna, see Con. F 1, enarr. 36. Althaemenes of Argos was involved in the Spartan colonization of Crete, and in particular of Lyctus: see Ephor. F 149 (Strab. 10.4.18); Con. F 1, enarr. 47; Plut. Mor. 247e. In general on the Dorian colonization of Crete, see also Plut. Mor. 296b–d. It is unclear whether Ephorus’ book I narrated the Dorian colonization of the Aegean islands and of the Asia Minor coast in its entirety. It is possible that Ephorus covered this process in book I (see also FF 11 and 12) and book III. See Parmeggiani 2011, 211 ff. Nic. Dam. FGrHist 90 F 56. Cf. Parmeggiani 2004, particularly 73–96. This proposed reconstruction differs in part from Matthiessen 1857–1860, 881, and Kõiv 2003, 39, 69–72, 77 ff., and 148 ff. See also Parker 2011, on F 117. On the meaning of ἐσωφρόνουν (F 118), ‘were moderate’, as a reference to oligarchic/ aristocratic political system, see especially Parmeggiani 2004, 94–5, 97–8. According to Christesen (2010, 215 with n. 13, and 239), ἐσωφρόνουν has the same meaning of σωφρόνως καὶ λιτῶς ζῆν (‘to live moderately and simply’) in Strab. 10.4.16 (F 149), but a distinction should be drawn, in my opinion, since the first refers to the pre-Lycurgan age, while the latter was first introduced by Lycurgus through imitation of the Cretan constitution. On the concept of sophrosyne as describing oligarchic/moderate political systems, see, e.g., Thuc. 3.82.8; 8.1.3, 24.4, 53.3 and 64.4, with Hornblower 2003–2008, I and III, ad locc. 101 F 118. 100 Plut. Lyc. 2.2. Cf. Mor. 231c. See Parmeggiani 2004, 93.

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Herodotus validates our interpretation. In reporting a tradition shared by the Spartiates and the Therans, he recounts that at the beginning the Minyans came from Lemnos and were welcomed by the Spartiates, who granted them political rights; when they mixed with the Spartiates and aspired to power, the Spartiates forced them to leave Laconia for Theras.102 As we see, Ephorus described the same historical events as Herodotus, but differently: while Herodotus’ Spartiates spoke of the Minyans’ aggressive ambition, Ephorus, by mentioning Agis I, described them as rebelling against a law which deprived them of legitimate rights.103 Ephorus thus corrected what the Spartiates of the Classical age had to say about their past. Moreover, he provided a clearer account than Herodotus (1.65) and Thucydides (1.18) on the Spartan politics against foreigners and the longlasting civil strife in the pre-Lycurgan age. Ephorus no doubt narrated events which were known to both Herodotus and Thucydides, but which they chose not to tell extensively. Lycurgus brought a difficult period to an end and inaugurated a new age, which would be far more prosperous for Sparta (F 118). It is reasonable to think that a first reference to Lycurgus was already in book I. At any rate, the role he played in Greek history was addressed also, and at length, in book IV, where Ephorus discussed the Cretan origin of Lycurgus’ laws, and in book VI, where Ephorus described the rise of Sparta after Lycurgus (see § 3.3 below).104 Let us pass now to Elis (F 115). Oxylus moved from Aetolia to seize Elis, the land of his fathers (προγονική).105 He was related to the Epeians, the inhabitants of Elis (cf. F 122a), but did not seek peace with them; he wanted, instead, to subject their land by the sword.106 It is clear that by portraying Oxylus as the arbitrator who divided the Peloponnese for the Heraclidae, Ephorus did not describe him as a magnanimous hero, but as an ambitious warrior and a judicious politician: in fact, in return for his ‘service’ to the Heraclidae, Oxylus won their approval for his plan to subjugate Elis, and also ensured that they would not interfere with it.

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103 Hdt. 4.145.1 ff. Cf. Con. FGrHist 26 F 1, enarr. 36, and also Plut. Mor. 247b and 296b. It is difficult to ascertain whether Ephorus argued with Hellanicus about the role of Lycurgus as the father of the Spartan constitution (F 118) in book I. He probably included this argument in book IV. Cf. F 122a (Strab. 10.3.2), on the Aetolian-Eleian kinship, which is, however, to be ascribed to book IV: Oxylus was son of Haemon and tenth descendant from Aetolus. Paus. 5.3.6, instead, says that Oxylus, son of Haemon, was sixth in descent from Aetolus’ line. Cf. Strab. 8.1.2. Paus. 5.3.5 offers a somewhat softer representation of Oxylus, as riding a one-eyed mule, in accordance with the oracle of the ‘one with three eyes’.

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The Epeians, who were related to Oxylus, did not welcome him but ‘opposed him with arms’ (ἀπαντησάντων δὲ τῶν Ἐπειῶν μεθ’ ὅπλων). The ensuing battle had an uncertain outcome, and for this reason, it was decided to assign the land by means of a monomachy,107 an ancient custom among the Greeks as Ephorus stressed in a rather distanced manner (κατὰ ἔθος τι παλαιὸν τῶν Ἑλλήνων). The success of the Aetolian Pirecme over the Epeian Degmenus108 gave Elis to Oxylus and the Aetolians,109 and in the subsequent years, the Aetolians took control also of the sanctuary of Olympia, which they stole from the Achaeans.110 The whole region under the name Elis was therefore subjected to geopolitical changes in the distant past. The detail according to which Salmoneus, the man who had forced the ancestor of Oxylus, Aetolus, out of Elis, ‘was king of both the Epeians and the Pisatans’ (βασιλέως Ἐπειῶν τε καὶ Πισατῶν), suggests that Ephorus distinguished between ‘ancient Elis’ (the land inhabited by the Epeians) and Pisatis (the land inhabited by the Pisatans, in the vicinity of Olympia), and that in his narrative the Aetolians took control of ‘ancient Elis’ first (thanks to Oxylus), and then also of Pisatis and Olympia (thanks to Oxylus’ descendants). It is not difficult to imagine that Ephorus, while reconstructing the historical development of Elis, also ventured into further arguments with the mythology of his predecessors.111 Judging from what follows in F 115, Ephorus’ narrative focused also on Olympia, to reaffirm the central role the temple played in the whole history of Elis.112 Because of the new Eleian protectorate of the temple, the Heraclidae acknowledged that Elis, as the territory under the descendants of their friend Oxylus, was sacred to Zeus and, for this reason, inviolable.113

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F 115 reads: ἀπαντησάντων δὲ τῶν Ἐπειῶν μεθ’ ὅπλων, ἐπειδὴ ἀντίπαλοι ἦσαν αἱ δυνάμεις, (. . .). Differently, Paus. 5.4.1 makes Oxylus suggest monomachy to prevent battle. 108 Cf. Paus. 5.4.2. 109 F 115 recounts that the Aetolians drove the Epeians out of Elis: κατασχεῖν τοὺς Αἰτωλοὺς τὴν γῆν, ἐκβαλόντας τοὺς Ἐπειούς. But elsewhere (8.1.2 and 3.30), Strabo says that they remained in Elis. According to Paus. 5.4.2, Oxylus distributed the land among the Epeians and the Aetolians. 110 F 115 reads: παραλαβεῖν δὲ καὶ τὴν ἐπιμέλειαν τοῦ ἱεροῦ τοῦ Ὀλυμπίασιν, ἣν εἶχον οἱ Ἀχαιοί. Such Achaeans were probably the people from Thessalian Phthia, who followed Pelops to the Peloponnese (F 118): see Kõiv 2013, 333 n. 115. 111 Strabo may have drawn inspiration from Ephorus when, while writing about Elis in several passages of the Eleian section in book VIII of the Geography (3.7; 3.9; 3.31), he criticizes those writers who tend to dismiss temporal changes and give jarring accounts of the past. 112 On Elis as a polarized area in the late archaic age, see Nafissi 2003, and Kõiv 2013, 328–9, both with bibliography. 113 On the sanctity of Elis, cf. Polyb. 4.73–74; Diod. 8.1.1–2; and Strab. 8.1.2. On Diodorus’ passage, see Meyer 1892–1899, I, 242 n. 1, and Jacoby 1926b, 66.

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On account of this condition, years later, the Eleians could found the city of Elis without walls, and Iphitus, a descendant of Oxylus, organized the first Olympian games.114 So Elis grew and the number of citizens increased, since it lived in peace while its neighbours – Ephorus noticed – were always at war.115 That Ephorus stressed the prosperous conditions of Elis in contrast to the remaining Peloponnesian states (Argos, Messene and Sparta in particular) is eloquent of his synchronic/comparative approach to history. F 115 also presents Pheidon’s violation of sacred Elis (748 bc), and makes references to Sparta’s hegemonic politics after Lycurgus. It is possible that Strabo conveyed here information that he found elsewhere in the Histories, but we cannot exclude that in book I, Ephorus himself introduced narrative elements that he would address more extensively later,116 especially in book VI, in order to provide a complete description of Olympia in the archaic age, and/or to discuss the flaws in the foundations of the political system that the Eleian protectorate of the sanctuary of Olympia had inaugurated. 3.1.2 The Ancient History of Boeotia We have three book-numbered fragments for book II (FF 20–2), dealing with the oracle of Dodona and ancient events in the border areas between Boeotia and Attica. This is not enough to allow any definitive conclusion about the structure of the book, but among the various possibilities, one may guess that the arrival of Melanthus from Messenia to Athens and his

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In reference to the foundation of Elis, F 115 reads: ἐκ δὲ τούτου καὶ τοὺς κτίσαντας τὴν Ἠλείων πόλιν ὕστερον ἀτείχιστον ἐᾶσαι (‘as a consequence, those who later founded the city of the Eleians left it without walls’). Unlike Paus. 5.4.3, which states the existence of a city named Elis before Oxylus, Ephorus said that the genesis of the polis dated to a period after Oxylus. It is not clear whether Ephorus referred here to the foundation of Elis in 471 bc by synoecism (cf. Strab. 8.3.2; Diod. 11.54.1). He also knew of the involvement of Oxylus himself as founder (see FF 18b–c; Strab. 10.3.2 [F 122a]: τὴν Ἦλιν ὑπὸ Ὀξύλου τοῦ Αἵμονος συνοικισθῆναι . . . Ὀξύλος ἀρχαίην ἔκτισε τήνδε πόλιν, ‘Elis was settled by Oxylus son of Haemon . . . Oxylus founded this ancient city’), and in this respect, one may think of the foundation of the archaic settlement on the very site of the polis that would come into existence later, in 471 bc (on this archaic settlement, see Nafissi 2003, 24; Kõiv 2013, 325), or of the foundation of the political community of Elis, rather than of the urban centre itself. F 115 reads: ἐκ δὴ τῶν τοιούτων αὔξησιν λαβεῖν τοὺς ἀνθρώπους· τῶν γὰρ ἄλλων πολεμούντων ἀεὶ πρὸς ἀλλήλους μόνοις ὑπάρξαι πολλὴν εἰρήνην οὐκ αὐτοῖς μόνον ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῖς ξένοις, ὥστε καὶ εὐανδρῆσαι μάλιστα πάντων παρὰ τοῦτο (‘for such reasons the people increased in number, for whereas the rest were always at war with one another, the Eleians alone enjoyed much peace, and not only they themselves but also the foreigners among them; and so they became the most populous of all’). Cf. Jacoby 1926b, 66.

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victory by monomachy over the Theban king Xanthos (F 22 [Harp. s.v. Ἀπατούρια]) – this being a direct consequence of the Return of the Heraclidae117 and a renowned caesura in the ancient history of both Attica and Boeotia118 – was the input for a broader discussion, including the history of ancient Boeotia and further details on Central Greece (e.g., Dodona apud F 20a [Macrob. Saturn. 5.18.6–8, 321 Willis]).119 In short, it appears that book II included at least a rather extensive logos Boiotikos. In this regard, Strabo’s summary of the early history of Boeotia from Cadmus to the Theban victories against the Pelasgians and the Thracians (9.2.3, published by Jacoby as part of F 119) provides a perfect framework for Ephorus’ notes in F 21 (Ammon. De diff. verb. 231, 60–61 Nickau) and in a section of F 119, where Ephorus is explicitly quoted as a source (Strab. 9.2.4). It seems safe, therefore, to follow this line in reconstructing Ephorus’ logos Boiotikos in its main components.120 After many travels, including a stop on the island of Samothrace where he kidnapped Harmonia (F 120 [schol. Euripid. Phoin. 7]121), the Phoenician Cadmus conquered the land of Boeotia, which was inhabited then by several barbarian peoples, such as the Aones, the Temmices, the

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Cf. Strab. 9.1.7 and 14.1.3, with Marx 1815, 120–1, and Jacoby 1926b, 47. The monomachy between Xanthos and Melanthus was aetiologically connected with the rise of the Apaturia, one of the main festivals of Ionic–Attic identity (cf. Hell. FGrHist 4 F 125; Polyaen. 1.19, which I find rather similar to Ephor. F 22; Con. FGrHist 26 F 1, enarr. 39). Xanthos was the last king of Thebes, according to Paus. 9.5.16 (who makes Andropompus, and not Melanthus, the rival of Xanthos). As for Melanthus, he was the father of Codrus, who saved Attica from the Dorians and founded the dynasty of the Codrids, kings of Athens: see, among others, Hell. FGrHist 4 F 125; Hdt. 5.65.3 and 76; [Scymn.] Orb. descr. 502–504; Strab. 9.1.7; Paus. 1.19.5; 39.4; 7.25.2; Con. FGrHist 26 F 1, enarr. 26; Polyaen. 1.18. F 20a–c is not evidence per se that Ephorus dealt with the ancient history of Acarnania–Aetolia as a whole: see Parmeggiani 2011, 201–2, for various hypotheses on the original context. For an extended discussion of book II in general, see Parmeggiani 2011, 201 ff. On the Boeotians and Dodona, see also Kowalzig 2007, 328 ff., with literature. F 119 (Strab. 9.2.2–5) is a miscellany, and should be assigned partly to book II (paragraphs 3–5), and partly to book IV (paragraph 2), as is suggested by [Scymn.] Orb. descr. 488–501. See Marx 1815, 128– 32, 177–8; Cauer 1847, 70–1, 84; Dressler 1873, 12, 27; and Parmeggiani 2011, 227, 249–50. Contra Milns (1980, 48), referring paragraph 2 to book XXII or XXIII. Twentieth-century critics usually assigned the entire fragment to book II (e.g., Jacoby 1926b, 68; Andrewes 1951, 42; Wickersham 1994, 126; Breglia 1996a, 100). Parker 2011, ad loc., still suggests book II in light of FF 21–2, but maintains that other positions are possible because of Ephorus’ ‘habit of repetition’. F 120 cannot be assigned to any specific book with certainty. However, because F 119 concerns Cadmus, the founder of the Cadmea, it illuminates Ephorus’ notions about ancient Boeotia, which he dealt with in book II. F 120 informs us of Harmonia’s genealogy, about which see FF 120b1 and 120b2 (schol. Hes. Theog. 937, 117 Di Gregorio), both omitted by Jacoby 1926a: see Mette 1978, 13. For further details on the traditions on Harmonia’s genealogy, see Parmeggiani 2011, 207 n. 246; Parker 2011, on F 120. We do not know whether Ephorus discussed the Egyptians and the Phoenicians when he spoke of Cadmus.

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Leleges and the Hyantes. He then built the Cadmea, strengthening a power (arche) that his descendants inherited.122 These added Thebes to the Cadmea, preserved Cadmus’ legacy of power for generations and became leaders of most peoples in the region. Shortly before the Trojan War, however, they were driven out of Thebes by the Epigoni, went to Alalcomenia (F 153 [Steph. Byz. Τ 80 Billerbeck, s.v. Τέλφουσα]123) and came back to Thebes later. The subsequent ‘Boeotian return’ was, in Ephorus’ reconstruction, no less difficult than the return of the Heraclidae to the Peloponnese around the same time. In fact, the Thebans were first driven to the north by the Thracians and the Pelasgians, and settled down ‘for a long time’ in Arne of Thessaly,124 where a collective Boeotian identity was forged: ‘All were called Boeotians.’ Then Cadmus’ descendants (i.e., the Thebans) led the Boeotians back to Boeotia (as the Heraclidae led the Dorians to the Peloponnese) and conquered it around the time when Orestes’ sons, leading the Aeolians, were about to leave Aulis. This reconstruction of the early days of Boeotia is impressive. Ephorus presented Cadmus and his Phoenicians as the significant agents of civilization in the region, since they introduced an advanced form of political control of the territory. This should not surprise us, in light of F 105a–c on the Phoenician origins of the Greek alphabet125 and, more generally, of F 109 on the barbarians as more ancient than the Greeks. Ephorus’ narrative hinged on the development of military strength and political power, on the almost continuous migrations that contributed to the birth of the nation of the Boeotians (note the ethnographical remark – somewhat typical, to judge from F 113 on the Pelasgians and F 21 on the

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In Ephorus’ view, the arrival of Cadmus and the Phoenicians (cf. Hdt. 2.49.3; 5.57) meant the beginning of the cultural and political civilization of Boeotia. On the list of the barbarian peoples dwelling in Boeotia before Cadmus, cf. Strab. 7.7.1 (Hec. FGrHist 1 F 119): τὴν δὲ Καδμείαν οἱ μετὰ Κάδμου Φοίνικες, αὐτὴν δὲ τὴν Βοιωτίαν Ἄονες καὶ Τέμμικες καὶ Ὕαντες (sc. ἔσχον), ‘The Phoenicians who came with Cadmus possessed the Cadmea, and the Aones and Temmices and Hyantes possessed Boeotia itself.’ Hellanicus (FGrHist 4 F 51) remembered only the Aones. For Leleges in Boeotia, see Strab. 7.7.2 (Arist. fr. 473 and 550 Rose). For diverging descriptions of the origins of Boeotia, see Pherecyd. FGrHist 3 F 41d; cf. FF 41a–c, e; Diod. 19.53.4–6; Paus. 9.5.1–2; and Con. FGrHist 26 F 1, enarr. 37. See Buck 1979, 45–52, and Parmeggiani 2011, 207 n. 247 for further discussion; Parker 2011, on F 119. Ephorus mentioned Mount Tilphosium, which was an important place in the traditions on the flight of the Thebans after their defeat by the Argives: see Strab. 9.2.36; Diod. 19.53.7; Paus. 9.33.1. See also Strab. 9.2.27, who quotes Pind. fr. 198b Snell-Maehler, on the sanctuary and spring in Telphusa. Cf. Schachter 1981, 76–7. Cf. Thuc. 1.12.3. Schol. Dionys. Thrac. 183, 1 Hilgard (F 105a); 184, 20 Hilgard (F 105b), and Clem. Alex. Strom. 1.75.1 (F 105c). Cf. Hdt. 5.58.

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‘Thebageneis’ – on the transference of the name Boiotoi to the entire community in Arne, and cf. Thuc. 1.3.1–2 on the name of Hellenes), without indulging in any mythographic celebration.126 By so doing, he gave a clear account of those changes of population that Thucydides, when dealing with the richest lands of ancient Hellas, namely Boeotia, Thessaly and the Peloponnese, had recalled in his Archaeology in a cursory way.127 In short, Ephorus used both registers, that of Herodotus’ Kulturgeschichte and of Thucydides’ ‘pragmatic’ Archaeology. What follows at Strab. 9.2.3 (F 119) recounts how the Thebans reconquered Boeotia. After they settled down again in Boeotia, they had to fight hard to re-establish their leadership in the region. They annexed Orchomenus, and drove the Thracians to Mount Parnassus (cf. F 119 apud Strab. 9.2.4), the Pelasgians to Mount Hymettus (in Attica) and the Hyantes to Phocis, where the city of Hya was founded. The Thebans also annexed the territory of the so-called ‘Thebageneis’, mixed peoples (symmiktoi) who lived on the slops of Cithaeron, in the region of Plataea and on the coast in front of the island of Euboea (F 21). It was probably with the help of these mixed peoples that the Thebans succeeded in defending Panactus, a city on the border of Attica and Boeotia, from the Pelasgians (F 119 apud Strab. 9.2.4).128 Many details in this narrative deserve attention. First, as F 21 on the ‘Thebageneis’ shows, Ephorus carried out a thorough geo-ethnographical analysis: he defined a people by its ethnic composition (σύμμικτοι ἦσαν πολλαχόθεν), geographic location (ἐνέμοντο δὲ τὴν ὑπὸ τὸν Κιθαιρῶνα χώραν καὶ τὴν ἀπεναντίον τῆς Εὐβοίας) and name (ἐκαλοῦντο δὲ Θηβαγενεῖς), while also stressing the historical reason for it (ὅτι προσεγένοντο τοῖς ἄλλοις Βοιωτοῖς διὰ Θηβαίων). Second, by identifying the ‘Thebageneis’ as mixed peoples of Southeastern Boeotia and explaining their name with the fact that they joined the remaining Boeotians ‘through the Thebans’ (an instance of peaceful annexation), he clearly challenged both the fifth-century local tradition, according to which the Thebans had 126

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There is no mention of the search for Europa (e.g., Diod. 4.2.1), of the Delphic oracle about ‘Cadmus’ cow’ (Hell. FGrHist 4 F 51; Paus. 9.5.1–2; 12.1–2; Apollod. 3.1.1 and 4.1), of Cadmus’ struggle with the snake and the Sparti (Hell. FGrHist 4 FF 1a–b, 51; Pherecyd. FGrHist 3 FF 22a–c, 88; Diod. 19.53.4; Paus. 9.5.3 and 10.1; Apollod. 3.4.1), of Boiotos as eponymous of Boiotoi (Hell. FGrHist 4 F 51; Diod. 19.53.6), and of Amphion’s lyre and the building (or rebuilding) of Thebes (e.g., Pherecyd. FGrHist 3 F 41a–e). It is possible that these omissions are due to Strabo, but also that Ephorus himself refused to introduce several mythical details. Thuc. 1.2.3. On Thebes’ victories over the Thracians and the Pelasgians, see, among others, Jacoby 1926b, 70–1; Buck 1979, 75–84; Sakellariou 1990, 183–7; Parker 2011, ad loc.

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aggressively removed the mixed peoples of Cithaeron (Thuc. 3.61.2), and the contemporary local tradition, which identified the ‘Thebageneis’ with the original Thebans or with the Sparti of Cadmus’ epic.129 Ephorus warned his readers that the hegemony Thebes had established over Boeotia after the Trojan War was not to be confused with the original Phoenician supremacy. Third, he also quoted Hom. Il. 2.511, suggesting that the Thebans’ annexation of Orchomenus and consequent hegemony in Northwestern Boeotia happened after, rather than before, the age of Troy.130 Fourth, his use of evidence was not restricted to Homer. By uncovering the origin of the proverbial expression ‘Thracian pretext’ (θραικία παρεύρεσις), for example, he showed that the Boeotians, despite the victory at Coroneia, experienced many difficulties against the Thracians on account of their deceitful attacks at night.131 By underscoring that in the present (καὶ δὴ καὶ ποιεῖν τοῦτο· αἰεὶ γάρ . . .) and ‘every year’ (κατ’ ἔτος) the Thebans still carried from the sanctuary of Apollo Ismenius to the sanctuary of Dodona the same tripods which the ‘Thebageneis’ had sent,132 Ephorus showed that Thebes’ primacy over the ‘Thebageneis’ 129

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According to Diod. 19.53.4, ‘Cadmus founded the Cadmea, which took its name from him, and a people came together there, whom some called ‘Sparti’ because they were men who were gathered together from everywhere’ (cf. Androtion. FGrHist 324 F 60b, and note the caustic comment here: οἱ δὲ Θηβαῖοι τὰ περὶ αὐτῶν ψευδῶς ἐτερατούργησαν, ‘the Thebans falsely made incredible statements about them [sc. the Sparti]’), and others called ‘Thebageneis’ because they had been originally from the aforementioned city (sc. Thebes) from which they were driven out and scattered by the flood.’ It is noteworthy that in the fourth century bc, after the battle of Leuctra, the Thebans were proud of their origin from Cadmus and the Sparti (see Paus. 8.11.8). Ephorus seems to have been aware of the Thebans’ inclination to celebrate their past during the time of their hegemony over Greece. Cf. Diod. 15.58.6 (φρόνημα, ‘pride’). Ephorus quoted Homer’s Catalogue of Ships to show that, at the time of the war of Troy, the Orchomenians were called Minyans and were distinct from the remaining Boeotians. See Diod. 15.79.5–6 on the original honours that Thebes paid to the Minyans in Orchomenus until the age of Heracles. A mention to the Minyans of Orchomenus is also in F 152 (Schol. BT Hom. Il. 1.381). See Jacoby 1926b, 81, and also Strab. 9.2.40; Paus. 9.34.10–35.7. Or at Chaeronea. On Zenob. 4.37, which provides details on the facts described in F 119 (Strab. 9.2.4), see Jacoby 1926b, 70. On the Thracians attacking at night, cf. Polyaen. 7.43, and see Marx 1815, 130. See also Hdt. 6.45.1. With these attacks the Thracians violated days-long truces (cf. Zenob. 4.37: σπονδὰς πενθημέρους). This is the rite of the tripodophoria, which the oracle of Dodona had prescribed to the Boeotians because only in this way, they would keep Panactus against the Pelasgians. See Strab. 9.2.4 (F 119), with Procl. Chrestom. apud Phot. Bibl. 239, 321b, V 164–165 Henry. The starting point was likely the Theban sanctuary of Apollo Ismenius (Schachter 1981, 83), thus this rite may have involved the tripods which, as Pindar recalls (Pyth. 11.5–6, with schol. ad loc., II 255 Drachmann; fr. 66 SnellMaehler), the ‘Thebageneis’ sent there. The tripodophoria by the ‘Thebageneis’ at the sanctuary of Apollo Ismenius is mentioned in F 21 soon before Ephorus’ direct quotation, and it is quite likely that Ephorus also mentioned it. As for the tripodophoria by the Boeotians at Dodona, some critics date it to the last quarter of the fifth century bc, i.e., to much more recent times than is suggested by F 119: see Piccinini 2017, 102 ff.

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dated to the distant past, and that the foundations of the Boeotian League originated in archaic times.133 The pacific annexation of the ‘Thebageneis’ in Southeastern Boeotia favoured the hegemony of Thebes in the post-Trojan age (F 21). However, many years later, in 373/2 bc to be precise, Thebes elected to destroy Plataea, choosing military aggression over peaceful dialogue.134 The annexation of Orchomenus also favoured Thebes’ success in the war against the Pelasgians and the Thracians in the post-Trojan age (Strab. 9.2.3 apud F 119: ‘They added the Orchomenian country to Boeotia . . . with the Orchomenians they drove out the Pelasgians to Athens . . ., and the Thracians to Parnassus.’). And yet, many years later, in 364 bc, the Thebans decided to destroy Orchomenus, thus rejecting the suggestion made to them by Epaminondas a few years before, in 370/69 bc.135 It is quite likely that Ephorus, in writing book II, was aware of such long-term developments. He studied Thebes’ politics toward the Boeotians in the distant past and in the present comparatively, so as to emphasize the faux pas of fourth-century Theban politics, which he would describe in detail later (books XXI–XXV: § 3.7 below). One may say that, as in book I, so in book II Ephorus carefully studied the past prompted by problems raised by current politics, not with the aim of confusing the past with the present, nor with that of celebrating the present in light of the past, but with the aim of critically checking analogies and differences between them. 3.1.3 The Greek Colonization of Asia Minor and the Role of Crete As Thucydides states (1.2.6), ancient Athens was a main assembly point for Greeks after the Return of the Heraclidae, and since its inhabitants became too many, some left to colonize Asia Minor and the isles in the Aegean.136 No wonder that Athens’ role in hosting other Greeks and its relationship 133

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Modern critics have noted that the areas assigned to the ‘Thebageneis’ in F 21 coincide with the districts under Thebes’ control in the Boeotian League according to Hell. Oxy. 19.3, 32.381 ff. Chambers and 20.3, 35.435 ff. Chambers (see Jacoby 1926b, 47, on F 21; Schachter 1981, 82–83. See also Moggi 1976, 197–204). This does not mean, in my opinion, that the information we read in F 21 is the product of fourth-century distortion. See Thuc. 3.61.2, confirming that the interaction between Thebes and the mixed peoples of Southeastern Boeotia was very ancient. Cf. Pind. Pyth. 11.5–6 (year 474 bc) and schol. ad loc., II 255 Drachmann, on the tripodophoria by the ‘Thebageneis’ at the Theban sanctuary of Apollo Ismenius, which could be seen as evidence of an ancient political primacy of Thebes. See also Mackil 2014, 48–50, with reference to the late sixth century bc. See Diod. 15.46.6; Paus. 9.1.5–8. On the Theban distruction of Orchomenus in 364 bc, see Diod. 15.57.5 and Paus. 9.15.3. On Epaminondas’ suggestion in 370/69 bc, see Diod. 15.79.3–6. Cf. Strab. 14.1.3; Paus. 7.2.4.

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with other places in Greece was studied by Ephorus in book III: Ephorus, as usual, used the names of places as evidence to check ancient traditions and to reconstruct the past (F 23 [Phot. Suid. s.v. Περιθοῖδαι] and F 24 [Steph. Byz. Α 80 Billerbeck, s.v. Ἀθῆναι]).137 One fragment with book number also refers to the Cretan city of Cydonia and unusual rites there (F 29, see below), thus suggesting that Ephorus, in this book, did not deal with the Ionian colonization only, as the remaining fragments with book number may suggest (FF 23–8), but with Greek colonization in general.138 It is impossible, however, to ascertain what had been already said in the previous books, and what was still left to say. Ephorus had already dealt with Athens in books I and II (cf. FF 16, 22), and had probably provided there details also about the Dorian and the Aeolian colonization.139 Moreover, nothing prevented him from retackling previously addressed themes, or to develop them further.140 In discussing the Greek colonization of Asia Minor, Ephorus spoke not only of the settlements, but also focused on the general history of the colonies. He pointed out how the land was divided and distributed among the settlers (FF 25 [Steph. Byz. Λ 35 Billerbeck, s.v. Λάμψος], 26 [Steph. Byz. Σ 233 Billerbeck, s.v. Σκυφία]141), and presented also the conflicts among the Greek colonies, which ended more or less peacefully,142 or 137

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Note, in F 23, the reference to the Athenians’ ‘ancient custom to host those Greeks who wanted’, and also to the ancient friendship between Theseus and Perithoos to explain both the Athenian host to the Thessalians and the consequent birth of an Attic deme named Peritheides (indeed a ‘Thessalian district’). In F 24, the existence of the city of Athens in Euboea is explained by the fact that it was founded by Dias, the son of the Athenian Abas who ‘named it after his fatherland’. On both fragments, see also Parker 2011, ad loc., and Breglia 2013. Euboea was recognized as an Athenian settlement ([Scymn.] Orb. descr. 572 ff.; Strab. 10.1.8; Vell. Pat. 1.4.1), and the Abantes as having contributed to the Ionian expedition (Hdt. 1.146; Paus. 7.2.4 and 4.9). Contra Jacoby (1926a, 50, and 1926b, 48, followed by Parker 2011, ad loc., and Breglia 2013, 374), who thinks that, in F 29 (Athen. 6.263f), ἐν γ (‘in book III’) is corrupted because – he presumes – book III discussed only the Ionian colonization and had no connection with Crete. Since Athenaeus’ manuscript tradition raises no problems, I find no reason to suspect any corruption. Note that, in Con. FGrHist 26 F 1, enarr. 47 (probably from Ephorus), links between the Ionian and the Dorian colonization are evident. See Parmeggiani 2011, 212. As we will see below, the subject of Crete was unavoidable in book III. Remains of Ephorus’ original discussion of the Aeolian colonization may be detected in a section of F 119 (Strab. 9.2.3, from Ephorus’ book II, with reference to the expedition by Orestes’ sons) and probably in Strab. 13.1.3; of the Dorian colonization, in Con. FGrHist 26 F 1, enarr. 36 and 47 (from Ephorus’ book I, book III, or both?). For a thorough analysis of FF 23 ff. and other texts, which may be of interest for book III, and on the possible structure of this book, see Parmeggiani 2011, 211 ff. This is perhaps the town of Scyppion (Paus. 7.3.8) founded by the Colophonians, who had settled initially at the foot of Mount Ida. See Marx 1815, 137–8 and Jacoby 1926b, 48. See, for example, the conflict between the Prienians and the Milesians over Mycalessus of Caria, which they apparently resolved by resorting to the Homeric epos: F 28 (Steph. Byz. Μ 230 Billerbeck, s.v. Μυκαλησσός). See Jacoby 1926b, 48; Parker 2011, ad loc.; Breglia 2013, 401.

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episodes of strife inside a colony (as in the case of Ephesus after the death of its founder, Androclus, in the war to help the Prienians: F 126 [Steph. Byz. Β 68 Billerbeck, s.v. Βέννα]143). He obviously provided many details about the barbarian regions that were nearby, at times to show the danger threatening the Greeks (F 27 [Phot. Suid. s.v. Κωρυκαῖος]),144 and wove ethnographic digressions into the main historical narrative. Through these digressions, Ephorus could define the identity of specific peoples, as we see in F 27, which reported on the dangerous Coryceans. This people was defined by name (οἱ καλούμενοι Κωρυκαῖοι), ethnic composition (σύμμικτοί τινες)145 and type of settlement and geographic location (ὑπ’ ἄκρᾳ [sc. Mount Corycus] ᾤκουν . . . ἀνατεινούσῃ εἰς πέλαγος, . . . κατασκευασάμενοι πολισμάτιον, γείτονες Μυονήσῳ). The format of this description is very similar to that of the ‘Thebageneis’ in F 21 (book II), aiming at being comprehensive and sequential. F 29 (Athen. 6.263f) shows Ephorus’ usual sensibility for Kulturgeschichte in the Herodotean manner. Very particular rites occurred during the festivals in honour of Hermes in the Cretan city of Cydonia, during which – Ephorus noticed – the Cydonians gave slaves, or klarotai, complete power, to the point that they could even flog free citizens.146 This attention to the exchange of roles between slaves and free citizens is symptomatic of Ephorus’ main objectives. Since Ephorus knew well the verses in which Homer distinguishes the Cydonians from the Dorians (Od. 19.175–177),147 Ephorus most likely used the Cydonian rite as a visible proof to bolster the Homeric distinction. After learning of the origins of the helots of Laconia in book I (cf. F 117), the reader of book III could therefore learn of other forms of enslavement, which seemed to resemble that of the helots, but in fact differed in name and rituals. 143 144

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But it is not certain that Stephanus takes the whole story from Ephorus: see Jacoby 1926a, 79; Parker 2011, ad loc. Contra Billerbeck 2006–2017, I, 336–7; Breglia 2013, 401 ff. F 27 describes the ambushes that the Myonnesians and the Coryceans (dwellers of Mount Corycos, who engaged in brigandage) carried out against the merchants travelling through their territories. Photius refers to Mount Corycos in Pamphylia, whereas Strabo, who tells a very similar story while describing the Ionian colonies of Teos and Erythrae (14.1.32), mentions a Mount Corycos in this region. See Parker 2011, ad loc.; Breglia 2013, 400–401. See also Steph. Byz. Κ 313 Billerbeck, s.v. Κώρυκος; Phot. Suid. s.v. Κώρυκος; Zenob. 4.75. Cf. Desideri 1992, 27. F 29 says: ‘from the lot cast for them’ (ἀπὸ τοῦ γενομένου περὶ αὐτῶν κλήρου). It is unclear whether Ephorus used the word klarotai as a Cretan definition for a particular type of slaves, or as a Greek translation (perhaps, his own) of a term that the Cretans used generically to indicate all slaves. On the particular kind of saturnalia, see Willetts 1962, 287. On the klarotai, see also Link 1994, 30 ff. See F 113 apud Strab. 5.2.4, and cf. Strab. 10.4.6, where Homer is said to believe the Cydonians to be autochthonous. See Strab. 8.6.16, on the Aeginetan settlement of Cydonia.

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Crete was key to book III, both geographically and historically. Asia Minor was rich with ancient memories of the Cretans, who had settled there well before Neleus and the Ionians, as we learn from F 127 (Strab. 14.1.6) – a fragment that Jacoby, not by chance, assigns to book III.148 In this fragment, we read that the ancient civilization of the Milesian territory developed in three phases: first, it was occupied by the barbarian people of the Leleges, who lived in the region early on (πρότερον); second, by the Cretans led by Sarpedon, who founded the first settlement (πρῶτον κτίσμα Κρητικόν), i.e., ancient Miletus (πάλαι Μίλητος); and third, by the Ionians led by Neleus, who came later (ὕστερον) and founded the modern settlement of Miletus (νῦν πόλις). With this historical sequence, Ephorus emphasized the antecedence of the Cretans: the Milesian region was organized politically and became the site of a city well in advance of the arrival of the Ionians. Minos, Crete, and the Cretan thalassocracy were not mere background in the reconstruction of the Greek colonization of the Aegean islands and Asia Minor. They played a role in book III, and in this regard, early familiarity with some aspects of Cretan history and culture in book III enabled readers to approach the comparison of the constitutions of Crete and Sparta, which Ephorus delivered in book IV (see § 3.2 below), with far greater understanding: it is indeed quite likely that through his comparison in book IV, Ephorus organized the extensive cultural and historical information, including chronological data, that he had already referred to in the previous books, and guided his readers to strengthen their knowledge and develop a better informed and more critical view of constitutional history.149 3.2

Books IV–V: Much More Than Merely a Description of the Oecumene

Books IV and V formed together a specific section of the entire work. Strabo observes (T 12): (. . .) others in their general history have set forth the topography of the continents separately, as Ephorus and Polybius have done.150 148 149

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Jacoby 1926a, 49, 79. On Cretans and Ionians in the Milesian area, see Thomas 2019, 195 ff. One may wonder whether such fragments as FF 146 (Strab. 10.4.15) and 147 (Strab. 10.4.8), on Crete, which Jacoby assigns to book IV, may instead refer to book III. It is worth noticing that Strabo may have told of Cydonia in 10.4.8, on Minos’ thalassocracy, soon before quoting F 147 on Rhadamanthys, whose law was a model for Minos. Cf. Diod. 5.78. However, it is perhaps inappropriate to identify specific books for fragments that do not record the book number, as is the case here: see above the introduction to the present chapter. Strab. 8.1.1 (T 12).

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Book IV, which was titled Europe, presented a description of Europe from the far West to the river Tanais, while book V presented a description of the geography of Asia from the river Tanais to the far West, along the Northern coast of Africa.151 Apparently Ephorus provided geographical data about the inhabited world, keeping in mind the model of the Ionian circuit of the oecumene.152 In his circuit (περιοδεύσας, F 42 [Strab. 7.3.9]), Ephorus used ‘the coast as his measurement’ and ‘the sea as a kind of guide for his topography’ (F 143 [Strab. 8.1.3]).153 He discussed matters ‘people by people’ (ἐθνικῶς, F 144 apud [Scymn.] Orb. descr. 470–472).154 He provided lists, distinguishing the peoples living on the coast from the peoples living in the hinterland, and also among Greek, barbarian and ‘mixed peoples’ (μιγάδες, F 162 [Strab. 14.5.23– 26]).155 This last detail suggests that Ephorus’ description included also historical and ethnographical data. As we shall see below, the very definition of books IV and V as ‘geographical books’ is indeed of limited usefulness. Book-numbered fragments from book V (FF 43–53, to which 65a–f should be added156) document Ephorus’ polemical treatment of questions related to physical geography and his use of information of Phoenician origin.157 This is an important book – one may notice Ephorus’ eloquent 151

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On the title of book IV, see F 30a (Strab. 1.2.28): ἐν τῷ περὶ τῆς Εὐρώπης λόγῳ; F 33 (Strab. 10.4.9): ἐν τῇ Εὐρώπῃ. Stylianou (1998, 85) thinks that Alexandrian exegetes gave this book title. We cannot rule out his suggestion, but it is also possible that Ephorus himself titled book IV in this way, since he devised the organization of the Histories in books, each introduced by a proem (T 10). The title Ἀσίη καὶ Λιβύη has been inferred for book V (Marx 1815, 195. Cf. Jacoby 1926a, 55: Ἀσία), but it is not attested. On books IV and V as the ‘geographical pair’ of the Histories, see, among others, Marx 1815, 27; Müller 1841, lxa; Cauer 1847, 66–7 e 84; Stelkens 1857, 38; Klügmann 1860, 16; Dressler 1873, 27; Schwartz 1907, 4; Forderer 1913, 2–3; Jacoby 1926b, 27; Barber 1935, 173; Breglia 2001; Parker 2011, Biographical Essay II B. F 143: (. . .) ὥσπερ οὗτος (sc. Ephorus) τῇ παραλίᾳ μέτρῳ χρώμενος ἐντεῦθεν ποιεῖται τὴν ἀρχήν, ἡγεμονικόν τι τὴν θάλατταν κρίνων πρὸς τὰς τοπογραφίας, (. . .). F 144 reads: ἑξῆς διέξιμεν δὲ πάλι τὴν Ἑλλάδα ἐπὶ κεφαλαίου τούς τε περὶ αὐτὴν τόπους ἐθνικῶς ἅπαντας κατ’ Ἔφορον δηλώσομεν (‘And then we shall return to Greece, and will describe summarily all the regions of Greece by peoples, in accordance with how Ephorus did it’). Schwartz (1907, 4) maintains that only Greece was described ἐθνικῶς (‘by peoples’), but it seems to me that the same kind of description appears also – a few examples suffice – in FF 30a–c (on the nations at the margins of the oecumene), 42 and 158 (on the Scythians), and 162 (on the nations of Asia Minor). On the ‘mixed peoples’, see Desideri 1992. Marx (1815, 28, 213 ff.) and Jacoby (1926a, 59. Cf. Schwartz 1907, 5) assign F 65a–f to book XI on account of ἐνδεκάτῃ in F 65a (Theon Progymn. 66, 31 Spengel). This numeral, however, should be corrected and changed to πέντῃ on the basis of manuscripts P and M of Theon (see Butts 1986, 142. Cf. Theon Progymn. 66–67, 10 Patillon-Bolognesi). Müller (1841, lxb with n. 5. Cf. 1851, 642a), Cauer (1847, 67, 71 and 84) and Dressler (1873, 14, 27) correctly proposed book V. See also Lana 1960. For further details, see Parmeggiani 2011, 259 n. 529. See FF 65a–f, 162 and FF 50–3, 170–2, respectively. On Ephorus and the Phoenicians, see Schepens 1987. On the contents of book V, see Parmeggiani 2011, 252–63.

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argument on the origins of the Nile’s floods (F 65f [Ael. Aristid. Aegypt. 64– 85]),158 or his list of those gene which inhabited Asia Minor and were either Greek or barbarian (that is, with the exclusion of the ‘mixed peoples’: F 162)159 – but we will not focus on it here. We shall focus instead on book IV, which is, among Ephorus’ books, the one we know better. Book IV was written after 356 bc at least.160 Because of Polybius’ authoritative appreciation of Ephorus’ insights into geography, ethnography and ancient Greek history (context of T 18a [Strab. 10.3.5]), it was much used in the Hellenistic age by Ps. Scymnus and by Strabo, especially – but not exclusively – in their description of Greece (Orb. descr. 448 ff. and books VIII–X of Geography, respectively). Thanks to book-numbered fragments (FF 30–42) both the structure and the style of this book are discernible. As for the structure, it seemingly opened with a note on the ethne inhabiting the limits of the oecumene (F 30a–c, especially F 30b [Cosm. Indicopl. Topogr. Christ. 2.79–80, I 395 and 397 Wolska-Conus]),161 which was followed by the periodos of the European continent as far as the land of the Scythians (F 42 [Strab. 7.3.9]). As for the style, it included topographical descriptions (e.g., F 41 [schol. Apoll. Rhod. 2.360]), but also references to Heracles (F 34 [Theon Progymn. 95, 61 Patillon-Bolognesi]) or to characters of contemporary politics such as Philip II (F 37 [Harp. s.v. Δάτος]). But there is more. According to F 31b (Strab. 9.3.11–12. Cf. F 31a [[Scymn.] Orb. descr. 483–484]), Ephorus argued against the fondness for myths concerning Delphic antiquity, and showed the historical roots of the Delphians’ autonomy from the ethnos of the Phocians (a delicate issue in fourth-century politics, since Philip II reinstated the autonomy of the Delphians in 356–346 bc, with the Third Sacred War, and, as we have seen above, book IV was surely written after 356 bc 162). According to F 42 (Strab. 7.3.9), Ephorus stressed the variety of lifestyles among the Scythian tribes and described, in particular, the life of the Nomads: in light of their ethe (i.e., their customs, 158 159

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See Parmeggiani 2011, 259–63 for a detailed analysis, and now also Fabrice 2014. See Parmeggiani 2011, 254–8 for a detailed analysis, with reference also to the Herodotean lists (1.28; 3.90.1–3; 7.61 ff.). Pace Parker 2011, ad loc., the Lydians were among the ‘mixed peoples’: see Desideri 1992; Parmeggiani 2011, 255 and 257. See Harp. s.v. Δάτος (F 37). Unlike Schwartz (1909, 489–90) and Jacoby (1926b, 24, 51. Cf. Barber 1935, 11; Parker 2011, ad loc., and Biographical Essay II B), I find no reason to suspect that Harpocration quotes τὴν Δάτον from Ephorus’ book IV and finds Ephorus’ mention of the name change from Datos to Philippi (357/6 bc) in another (not specified) book of the Histories. F 30a–c has been often seen as Ephorus’ ‘map of the earth’, which it is not. See especially Marcotte 2000, 54; Bianchetti 2005, 28–9, and 2014, 755–6; Parmeggiani 2011, 221–4 for further details. This also explains why, in [Scymn.] Orb. descr. 483 ff., Delphi and Phocis are distinguished. See Parmeggiani 2011, 225–6.

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lifestyle and political constitution), he probably justified the success of the Scythians over Darius I and the Persians in ca. 510 bc, also highlighting the historical origin of the ‘myth’ of the invincibility of the Scythians (which was widespread among Greeks since the fifth century bc, as we shall see later). As we can perceive, book IV included more sophisticated discussions blending insights – often polemical – into ethnography and ancient history, with references also to recent and contemporary history. From a narratological standpoint, F 122a (Strab. 10.3.2–4) and the first section of F 119 (Strab. 9.2.2) show significant similarities with FF 31b and 42. This suggests that they should not be regarded as quotations from book II, as Jacoby believes, but from book IV, as the parallel with Ps. Scymnus’ verses of the description of Greece (Orb. descr. 473–477 and 488–501, respectively) also suggests.163 Let us examine first F 122a: Ephorus says that the Aetolians were a people who had never been subjected to others but through all remembered time had been unravaged both because of the hardiness of the land and because of their practice in war. He says that from the beginning the Curetes had possession of the whole country, but when Aetolus, the son of Endymion, came from Elis and defeated them in war, the Curetes departed for what is now called Acarnania, but the Epeians, who came with Aetolus, founded the most ancient of the cities of Aetolia.164

Conforming with his circuit ἐθνικῶς (‘by peoples’), Ephorus dealt with the Aetolians as an ethnos. He stressed their most distinctive features with respect to their ethos and the nature of their land, namely their military training and the rough nature of the region they inhabited, thereby explaining why ‘the Aetolians were a people who had never been subjected to others but through all remembered time had been unravaged’.165 According to Strabo, Ephorus’ statement was followed by a discourse on the frequent invasions that Aetolia had suffered in the distant past, seemingly contradicting the initial claim that the territory of the Aetolians was undevastated. But Ephorus, by saying ‘through all remembered time’ (πάντα τὸν μνημονευόμενον χρόνον), probably meant living memory, i.e., the temporal frame – no longer than a century – that the testimony 163

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On F 119, cf. n. 120 above. Marx (1815, 124–8) and Jacoby (1926a, 48. Cf. Parker 2011, Biographical Essay II B) assign F 122a–b and F 123a–b to book II, whereas Cauer (1847, 71, 84) and Dressler (1873, 10, 27) assign them to book IV. I agree that they belong to book IV: see Parmeggiani 2011, 202 and 227–31. Strab. 10.3.2 (F 122a). Cf. [Scymn.] Orb. descr. 473–477. F 122a: τοὺς Αἰτωλοὺς (. . .) ἔθνος εἶναι μηδεπώποτε γεγενημένον ὑφ’ ἑτέροις, ἀλλὰ πάντα τὸν μνημονευόμενον χρόνον μεμενηκὸς ἀπόρθητον.

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of contemporary witnesses covered.166 In other words, Ephorus was contrasting the political instability and vulnerability of the region in the distant past with its firmness and invincibility in the recent past, thereby explaining that the conditions of Aetolia changed greatly over time. In this context, he also showed by means of inscriptions the original kinship between Eleians and Aetolians (see Chapter 2, § 2.2); and he may have also introduced a note on the foundation of Amphilochian Argos by Alcmaeon, explaining why the Acarnanians did not take part in the expedition against Troy (cf. FF 122b [Strab. 9.3.12], 123a–b [Strab. 10.2.25 and 7.7.7, respectively]): that Homer did not explicitly mention the Acarnanians in his Catalogue of Ships – a basic text for the definition of Greek identity in antiquity – could not be ignored by Ephorus, who believed that Greece started with Acarnania from a western standpoint (F 143 [Strab. 8.1.3]).167 Defining geographical boundaries had to do with history, and was also a political affair. Let us turn now to the first section of F 119 (Strab. 9.2.2): Ephorus says that Boeotia is superior to the lands of the neighbouring peoples in this [i.e. fertility], and also because it alone has three seas and abounds with good harbours. Via the Crisaean and Corinthian gulfs it receives goods from Italy, Sicily, and Africa. The coast towards Euboea branches off on either side at the Euripos, one side towards Aulis and the territory of Tanagra, and the other towards Salganeus and Anthedon. The former sea is unbroken in the direction of Egypt, Cyprus, and the islands, while the latter is unbroken towards Macedonia, the Propontis, and the Hellespont. He adds that the Euripos has made Euboea a part of Boeotia in a way, it being so narrow and connected by a bridge to Euboea only two plethra long. For these reasons, then, he praises the land and says that it is well suited to hegemony, but that the Boeotians – and also those who ruled Boeotia on any occasion – did not make use of training and education, and so even if they were at some period or other successful, it lasted only a short time. This is what Epaminondas demonstrated: for when he died the Thebans immediately lost their hegemony, having only tasted it; and that the reason for this was their neglect of speech and relations with mankind, and their concern only for excellence in war.168 166

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Aetolia’s impregnability was vividly present in the Greek imagination and memory due to the failure of Demosthenes’ expedition in 426 bc (Thuc. 3.94.3–98.5). Cf. Antonetti 1990, 77 ff. On the inaccessibility of the land, see Funke 1991, 174–5. See Parmeggiani 2011, 229–30 for details. Strab. 9.2.2 (F 119). Cf. [Scymn.] Orb. descr. 488–500 and Steph. Byz. Β 116 Billerbeck, s.v. Βοιωτία. Critics have greatly appreciated this passage. See, e.g., Marx 1815, 47; Stelkens 1857, 42–3; Klügmann 1860, 15; Matthiessen 1857–1860, 888; Forderer 1913, 3–4; Barber 1935, 27–8; Momigliano 1966 (1935); Schepens 1977a, 117; Wallace 1979, 11–12; Wickersham 1994, 124 ff.; Cordano 2003;

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By a detailed description of the coasts of Boeotia, Ephorus first pointed out the geographical peculiarities of the region (fertility of the soil and the condition of being τριθάλαττος, ‘land with three seas’). On this basis, he stated its natural vocation for hegemony, and looked quickly at the entire history of Boeotia, trying to explain why the Boeotians’ hegemony over Greece was short-lived, indeed limited to the years of Epaminondas (from Leuctra to Mantinea: 371–362 bc). In Ephorus’ view, Boeotia was an aggressive and mindless giant: the exclusive care for military traditions and the absence of paideia and agoge – i.e., of those constitutional and cultural values that inspire politicians to educated and sensible decisions – drove the ruling class (i.e., the Thebans) to ignore peaceful diplomacy and engage instead in aggressive politics throughout their whole history. Epaminondas was an exception. As we see, geography was the basis for a more complex discourse in book IV. Along the route of the circuit, Ephorus carried out a comparative analysis to identify the geographical, ethnographic and historical specificity of each people. This discourse could even develop into a systematic reflection on constitutions. As in the case of F 119, and as we shall see now by reading other fragments, Ephorus, by examining the constitutions, clarified the origin of the historical strength of communities, especially of those which achieved hegemony in the past or excelled because of their deeds. We already know F 42 (Strab. 7.3.9) on the Scythians. Dealing with them at the very conclusion of his circuit of the European continent, Ephorus advised his reader that they were heterogeneous: the Nomads were Scythians, but differed from other Scythians and the Sauromatians (εἶναι τῶν τε ἄλλων Σκυθῶν καὶ τῶν Σαυροματῶν τοὺς βίους ἀνομοίους); their excellent lifestyle radically distinguished them from the Androphagi, who were also Scythians (τοὺς μὲν γὰρ εἶναι χαλεπούς, ὥστε καὶ ἀνθρωποφαγεῖν, τοὺς δὲ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ζῴων ἀπέχεσθαι).169 Against the view of others (οἱ ἄλλοι), who insisted on the atrocious features of the Scythians as if they were one dreadful nation, Ephorus pointed out the methodological obligation to present also the opposing view (δεῖν δὲ τἀναντία καὶ λέγειν) and provide arguments

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Christesen 2010, 227–8; Parker 2011, ad loc. See also § 3.7.4 below, on Theban hegemony in the fourth century bc. Cf. F 158 (Anon. Per. P. Eux. 49 = [Scymn.] Orb. descr. 835 ff.). This fragment includes a complete list of the Scythian tribes according to Ephorus. Herodotus does not consider the Androphagi to be Scythians (4.8.3; 106); Hecataeus perhaps did (FGrHist 1 FF 184–95). Regardless, FF 42 and 158 make it clear that Ephorus, who also insisted on the ἀνομοιότης τοῦ βίου (‘diversity of lifestyle’), provided a picture of the peoples in the North that was as diverse as Herodotus’ description. Furthermore, Ephorus’ and Herodotus’ lists (F 158 and Hdt. 4.17 ff. respectively) are rather similar. For further details, see Parmeggiani 2011, 236 n. 426.

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(παραδείγματα ποιεῖσθαι) to validate it.170 Following up on this premise, he first quoted Homer and Hesiod, for they both attested to the existence of good Scythians; then he developed an aetiological reflection (αἰτιολογία) to demonstrate that the good lifestyle of the Nomads brought about eunomia, ‘good order’ (F 42): And he [sc. Ephorus] offers as an explanation [αἰτιολογεῖ] that they are frugal in their way of life and not money-getters, and they are well-ordered towards one another, holding all things in common, including wives, children, and all their kin, and they are unconquered and unconquerable by outsiders, because they have nothing for which one might enslave them.171

Nicolaus’ detail, according to which the Nomads were responsible for the Scythian victory over Darius in ca. 510 bc, completes the picture.172 In Ephorus’ view, the Scythians’ success against the Persians was not by chance, but resulted from their lifestyle. The foundation of their victory rested in the efficiency of a constitutional system that, as remarked in F 42, removed all greed and luxury by abolishing private property; in this way, the community became impregnable: since the Scythians had no private wealth, they did not risk becoming slaves, that is, they were not prone to be dispossessed of their properties and usufruct. The Nomad Anacharsis, a wise man whom Ephorus mentioned in book IV, served effectively as the standard-bearer of this strong people.173 The notion that the Scythians were invincible was not new in classical historiography – think only of Herodotus’ book IV – and, more generally, Greek literature.174 Ephorus’ approach to this idea, however, was original as it was informed by the principles of a solid constitutional theory, which we find 170 171 172

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On the identity of ‘the others’ (οἱ ἄλλοι) Ephorus referred to, see Chapter 2, § 2.2. On the meaning of παραδείγματα ποιεῖσθαι, see Chapter 1, § 3. Strab. 7.3.9. Cf. Nic. Dam. FGrHist 90 F 104; see also Iust. 2.2. See Stob. Anth. 3.1.200 (Nic. Dam. FGrHist 90 F 104.2): οὕτοι (sc. the Nomads) καὶ Δαρεῖον ἐτρέψαντο (‘These put Darius to flight’). I have no doubt that Nicolaus is drawing on Ephorus here. On Nic. Dam. F 104 and Ephorus, see now also Parmentier 2014, 832–5; Favuzzi and Paradiso 2018, ad loc. Strab. 7.3.9 (F 42). Cf. F 158; Nic. Dam. FGrHist 90 F 104.4. Anacharsis as a wise man is already in Hdt. 4.46–47. Ephorus presented him as one of the Seven Sages, and a model of self-restraint and common sense. He also described him as curious about the customs of other people (see Stob. Anth. 3.1.200 [Nic. Dam. FGrHist 90 F 104.4] ἦλθεν [sc. Anacharsis] εἰς τὴν Ἑλλάδα, ἵνα ἱστορήσῃ τὰ τῶν ἄλλων νόμιμα), and said he invented the bellows, the two-fluked anchor and the potter’s wheel (cf. Diog. Laert. 1.105). Further details in Parmeggiani 2011, 238 n. 434. On Anacharsis, see also Schubert 2010. See also below, § 3.4, on books VIII–IX. See Aeschyl. Eum. 700–703; Hdt. 4.46–47 and 127.2; and Thuc. 2.97.5–6. Ephorus seems to have learned his predecessors’ lesson quite well. See Chávez Reino 2013, 362–3 on Ephorus, Aeschylus and Herodotus, with literature. On Herodotus in particular, see Hartog 1988; Thomas 2000, 54 ff. In F 183 (Athen. 12.523e), the reputation of the Scythians as an invincible people becomes paradigmatic of the original greatness of Miletus in the years of its colonization policy.

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displayed also in FF 148 and 149 – both from book IV, as F 33 (Strab. 10.4.9) shows – on Sparta and Crete. Once his circuit came to Crete, Ephorus examined a dilemma which involved the history and local identity of the Cretans, but also fascinated every Greek student of constitutional matters in the fourth century bc (think of Plato’s Laws), namely the kinship of the Cretan and Spartan laws. No wonder that his discourse developed to the extent of becoming a section in itself, indeed a broad addition to the main narrative (F 148 [Polyb. 6.45.1–46.10]: πολὺν . . . λόγον ἐν ἐπιμέτρῳ). More importantly it impressed contemporary intellectuals such as Aristotle in book II of the Politics.175 This was an important part of book IV, as is suggested especially by F 149 (Strab. 10.4.16–22), the longest fragment we have of Ephorus. This text shows that Ephorus compared the two constitutional systems of Crete and Sparta on account of their analogies, pinpointed the differences between them and, by so doing, he validated, against his adversaries, the thesis of the precedence of the Cretan constitution over the Spartan and the origin of most of the Spartan laws in the ancient laws of Crete.176 Here Ephorus also highlighted the Cretans’ most particular customs (idia ethe) related to their culture, politics, society and economy; and while studying their laws of war, he also discussed Lycurgus, Rhadamanthys and Minos, and dealt with Zeus and the Curetes too – these being dancers and warriors whose powers made them much similar to Idaean Dactyli (cf. also FF 32, 104, 147).177 175

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Arist. Pol. 2.1271b–1272a. See also Heraclid. Pol. 3.15. Although Marx (1815, 173) and Jacoby (1926b, 80) have urged some caution, critics tend to believe that Aristotle used Ephorus directly as a source. See, among others, Matthiessen 1857–1860, 889; Bruchmann 1890–1893, II, 18–19; Meyer 1892–1899, I, 218 n. 1; Wilamowitz-Möllendorff 1893, I, 305; Walbank 1957–1979, I, 727; Nafissi 1983–1984, 358 ff. with n. 46. See now Moggi 2014. For Perlman 2005, both Ephorus and Aristotle drew, because of the links in their discussions with Plato’s Laws, from a ‘Cretan Politeia’ originated in the Academy as a common source. On both the identity of Ephorus’ adversaries and the details of his demonstration in F 149, see Chapter 2, § 2.2. Polybius seriously misunderstands Ephorus, when he says (6.46.10 [F 148]): ‘Apart from the names, Ephorus uses the same terms in his explanation of each of the two constitutions, such that if someone did not pay attention to the proper names, he could distinguish in no way which of the two he was discussing.’ Ephorus did not suggest any equivalence between the institutions of contemporary Crete and those of contemporary Sparta. Rather, he looked comparatively at the constitution of ancient Crete and the constitution of Lycurgan Sparta to show analogies and differences, and also to contrast the strength of ancient Crete with the weakness of contemporary Crete, as well as the weakness of early Sparta with the strength of post-Lycurgan Sparta (cf. Ephorus’ book I). According to him, the history of Crete developed in a direction opposite to that of Sparta. Cf. Marx 1815, 173; Matthiessen 1857–1860, 890; Jacoby 1926b, 79; Walbank 1957–1979, I, 727. F 32 (Theon Progymn. 96, 61 Patillon-Bolognesi); F 104 (Diod. 5.64.4. Cf. Strab. 7.18); F 147 (Strab. 10.4.8). See also Nic. Dam. FGrHist 90 F 103aa, and on this text, Parmentier 2014, 842–4; Favuzzi and Paradiso 2018, ad loc. Because of the reference to book IV in FF 32 and 33, FF 147–9 have been assigned by most critics to this book (see Marx 1815, 162 ff.; Matthiessen 1857–1860, 889–91; and Jacoby 1926a, 50, 53, 84 ff.). Some have assigned Ephorus’ demonstration, because of its length, to a

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Shortly before offering his meticulous demonstration, Ephorus showed which principles had inspired the Cretan lawgiver. We read in F 149: The lawgiver, Ephorus says, seems to think that the greatest good for cities is freedom, because this alone makes goods the property of those who have acquired them, whereas in slavery they belong to the ruler, not the ruled. But those who have liberty must guard it. Harmony comes about when dissension, which arises from greed and luxury, is removed. Jealousy, violence and hatred towards one another do not occur when all live moderately and simply. This is why the lawgiver ordered that boys frequent the so-called agelai, while adults take their meals in the common-messes, which they call andreia, so that the poorer, being fed at the public expense, might have an equal share with the well-off. And so that courage, not cowardice, should dominate, he ordered that they be trained from childhood in arms and toils.178

The constitutional theory we find here is, in many respects, close to the one we find in F 42 about the Nomads, and is also identical to the one we find in a number of texts about Sparta (Polyb. 6.46.7–8 [F 148] and 6.48.1–5, and Diod. 7.12.2–4), which Ephorus, not by chance, said had imitated the laws of Crete. First, the same distinction of F 42, ‘towards one another’/ ‘towards outsiders’ (πρός τε ἀλλήλους/πρὸς τε τοὺς ἐκτὸς), also appears in F 148 about the founding values of Sparta, ‘bravery against the enemy and concord among the citizens’ (τῆς πρὸς τοὺς πολεμίους ἀνδρείας καὶ τῆς πρὸς σφᾶς αὐτοὺς ὁμονοίας). Second, for its opposition to ‘luxury’ (τρυφή), the concept in F 42, ‘they are frugal in their way of life’ (ταῖς διαίταις εὐτελεῖς ὄντες), recalls ‘to live moderately and simply’ (σωφρόνως καὶ λιτῶς ζῆν), which is said to be the foundation of ‘harmony’ (ὁμόνοια) in F 149. Third and last, in both F 42 and F 149, reference is also made to ‘slavery’ (δουλεία), which is identified as the supreme evil opposing ‘liberty’ (ἐλευθερία), which is identified, in turn, as the supreme good and primary aim of a constitution.179

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different book (see Müller 1841, lxb [FF 148 and 149 to book VII on the basis of F 57]; Cauer 1847, 76–7, 84 [F 147 to book IV; FF 148 and 149 to book VI]; Dressler 1873, 12, 18, 27 [FF 147–9 to book VI]), unpersuasively in my opinion. According to Parker 2011, on F 32, ‘the full treatment of the Cretan constitution need not have stood in Book 4 (devoted to the geography of Europe)’. Cf. Parker 2011, Biographical Essay II B, again with suggestion of book VI. To be sure, Ephorus dealt with Crete also in book III (§ 3.1.3 above), but I find no reason to doubt that his demonstration stood in book IV, since this book, as we have seen above, was not merely ‘geographical’. Strab. 10.4.16 (F 149). The organization and concepts presented in F 149 recall several passages from Plato’s Laws on Crete and Sparta (e.g., 1.625c–626b, 629d, 630b, 631b, 632c, e, 633a, 636b; and 3.683a) as well as the speech of a philolaconian disciple of Isocrates in Isoc. Panath. 217, on Sparta. This is sufficient to make it

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No doubt, Ephorus used the same ideas in his study of ancient Crete, Sparta and the Nomads. Yet this unified constitutional theory – which Ephorus articulated drawing on his exegesis of the Pythian oracle to Lycurgus, as we will see below – did not conceal the differences among the constitutions of Crete, Sparta and the Nomads; rather it emphasized them. For example, both the Cretans and the Spartans eradicated greed (pleonexia) and luxury (tryphe) and gained harmony (homonoia) and freedom (eleutheria) not by abolishing private property, as the Nomads did, but by adopting measures to safeguard it.180 While in Crete participation in public banquets and, consequently, equality of status among citizens were guaranteed to the poorest through public grants (F 149: ‘so that the poorer, being fed at the public expense, might have an equal share with the welloff’, ὅπως τῶν ἴσων μετάσχοιεν τοῖς εὐπόροις οἱ πενέστεροι, δημοσίᾳ τρεφόμενοι), in Sparta those who did not contribute with their own personal means could not take part in the public banquets and were thus excluded from full citizenship (the condition of ‘equals’ or homoioi).181 While both the Cretans and the Spartans received their good laws from a legislator, the Nomads had them by nature.182 In short, finding similarities did not prevent Ephorus from observing and noticing also the differences.

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clear that Ephorus was neither Platonic (pace, e.g., Riese 1875, 21. Cf. Takhtajan 2003; Perlman 2005; Christesen 2010, 220 and passim) nor Isocratic (pace, e.g., Mühl 1917, 16), but rather he was among the laudatores of the Lycurgan constitution, who drew inspiration and knowledge from shared ideas in the fourth century bc. See now also Chávez Reino 2013, 355 ff., 361–2, with further literature. Real analogies certainly existed: see e.g., Arist. Pol. 2.1263a, on the public use of personal goods such as slaves, horses, dogs, fruits and so on in Sparta. But the Scythians, according to Ephorus, went far beyond this. See F 42: ‘They [sc. the Nomads] hold all things in common, including wives, children, and all their kin’ (κοινὰ πάντα ἔχοντες τά τε ἄλλα καὶ τὰς γυναῖκας καὶ τέκνα καὶ τὴν ὅλην συγγένειαν). On the similarities between Sparta and the Scythians, see Christesen 2010, 231–41; Chávez Reino 2013, 363, with literature. Ephorus’ point on private property requires attention, since in F 149, the meaning of agatha as ‘property/wealth’ has been called into question by Christesen (2010, 218–22), who thinks of a Platonic ideal (‘good things’, consisting of both possessions and institutions). In my opinion, specifications such as ‘the greatest good for cities is freedom, because this alone makes goods the property of those who have acquired them, whereas in slavery they belong to the ruler, not the ruled’ (F 149: ἴδια ποιεῖν τῶν κτησαμένων τὰ ἀγαθά, τὰ δ’ ἐν δουλείᾳ τῶν ἀρχόντων, ἀλλ’ οὐχὶ τῶν ἀρχομένων εἶναι) and ‘they [sc. the Nomads] are unconquered and unconquerable by outsiders, because they have nothing for which one might enslave them’ (F 42: οὐδὲν ἔχοντες ὑπὲρ οὗ δουλεύσουσι) suggest a very material conception of agatha. This said, Ephorus’ subtle (and typical) play with words is remarkable: even if ‘property’ (agatha) and its fruition are important, both are granted by ‘freedom’ as the ‘greatest good’ (megiston agathon). Cf. Arist. Pol. 2.1272a. That Ephorus was himself aware of such a difference between the Cretan and the Spartan system, is suggested by F 193 (schol. Aristoph. Nub. 859), on the confiscation of property ordered against the ephor Cleandridas in 446 bc, which made him an ‘inferior’. This last point has been rightly emphasized by Chávez Reino 2013, 358–9.

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Ephorus showed the positive outcomes of the ancient Cretan constitution by means of arguments grounded in history. He contrasted the ancient greatness of Minos’ thalassocracy, which he explained as an effect of their respect for the laws, and the contemporary civil conflicts in Crete, which he explained as the effect of their disregard for the laws (ὀλιγωρία τῶν νομίμων). We read in F 149: (. . .) the Cretans – having their cities, and particularly that of the Knossians, been ravaged by wars –, neglected them [sc. their institutions]; (. . .) Previously the Cretans were masters of the sea, so that when people pretend not to know something they actually know, we use the proverb, ‘The Cretan does not know the sea’. But now the Cretans have abandoned their navy.183

By placing circumstances of the past (πρότερον) next to conditions of the present (νῦν δέ) and by recalling a well-known proverb, Ephorus effectively demonstrated the radical reversal of fortune that affected Crete’s history over time.184 Here, once again, emerges Ephorus’ tendency to embrace both the past and the present in a single overview – a hallmark of book IV as our analysis of FF 31b, 42, 119 and 122a above has demonstrated. Lycurgus modelled Sparta’s laws after the Cretan constitution (FF 148 and 149), indeed improving it (F 149).185 Ephorus could only express appreciation for the laws of the Cretans and the Nomads since their application prevented internal conflicts and gave communities enough strength to gain power over other peoples. That is why, in his view, the Spartan constitution too was excellent (FF 33 and 148) and Lycurgus was honoured by the Spartans as a hero/divinity (F 118 [Strab. 8.5.5]. Cf. Polyb. 6.48.2). As an admirer of the Spartan constitution, Ephorus was doing nothing extraordinary: he was in good company with many intellectuals

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Strab. 10.4.17 (F 149). The crux before τῶν πολεμικῶν (Jacoby 1926a, 86), in my opinion, should be deleted. Cf. Polyb. 6.46.9 (F 148): καὶ θεωροῦντες (sc. Ephorus and others) ἐκ παραθέσεως Κρηταεῖς διὰ τὴν ἔμφυτον σφίσι πλεονεξίαν ἐν πλείσταις κατὰ κοινὸν στάσεσι καὶ φόνοις καὶ πολέμοις ἐμφυλίοις ἀναστρεφομένους, ‘even though they see, when they juxtapose them, that the Cretans are always engaged in the greatest number of private and public dissensions, slaughters, and wars, because of their innate greed’. See also Parmeggiani 2011, 243 n. 450; Radt 2002–2011, III, 262. On the Cretan thalassocracy, see also F 145 ([Scymn.] Orb. descr. 541–549). Pace Perlman 2005, 295 ff., nothing in F 145 suggests that Ephorus ascribed the Cretan thalassocracy to Kres, i.e., the original eponym of Crete. That Ephorus ascribed it to Minos, as anyone else before him had done (Hdt. 3.122; Thuc. 1.4.1), is also suggested by the causal link between laws and hegemony, which was distinctive of book IV. Strab. 10.4.17 (F 149): ὁ Κρὴς ἀγνοεῖ τὴν θάλατταν (‘the Cretan does not know the sea’). Cf. Alcman. fr. 164a–b Davies; Zenob. 5.30. Strab. 10.4.17 (F 149): τὸ δ’ ἀληθές, εὑρῆσθαι μὲν ὑπ’ ἐκείνων (sc. the Cretans), ἠκριβωκέναι δὲ τοὺς Σπαρτιάτας, (. . .). Cf. Arist. Pol. 2.1271b.

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and political movements of both the previous and contemporary generations.186 To judge from F 148, Ephorus attributed to Lycurgus the whole constitution, including institutions such as the gerousia and the ephorate.187 But how did Lycurgus succeed in imposing the law on his fellow citizens? By the god, which was instrumental to the achievement of his political objectives.188 In fact, according to F 149, Lycurgus, having gathered information about the laws in Crete, Asia Minor and Egypt, went back to Sparta and presented the law as divine will: as Rhadamanthys and Minos before him had visited the cave of Zeus and had given the laws to the Cretans as if the god had created them,189 so did Lycurgus travel to Delphi, where he had the principles of Cretan legislation, which he had learned from Thales in Crete, turned into oracles.190 That is why both the Pythian oracle and its exegesis (τὸ κεφάλαιον), as we know them from Diod. 7.12.2–4, conform to the principles which inspired Lycurgus in Polyb. 6.46.7–8 (F 148) and 186

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We may think of Plato and Xenophon, whom Polybius mentions together with Ephorus in T 13 (Polyb. 6.45.1. Cf. F 148); of Critias, Thibron (who wrote a Spartan Constitution: Arist. Pol. 7.1333b) and the philolacon disciple of Isocrates according to Isoc. Panath. 199 ff. (particularly 217), see Hodkinson 2005. On Aristotle and Sparta, see especially Bertelli 2004. On Ephorus and the Spartan constitution see in particular F 148 (Polyb. 6.45.3–5), and the discussion in Parmeggiani 2011, 246–7. Despite Jacoby’s reasonable choice in 1926a, 85, to publish Polyb. 6.45.3–46.9 in smaller font because of φασι (45.3), it is possible to demonstrate that Polybius had Ephorus in mind, more than any other writer: see Parmeggiani 2011, 246 n. 464 for details. See also Christesen 2010, 222–6. On Ephorus’ attribution of Sparta’s laws to Lycurgus, see also his argument with Hellanicus in F 118 (Strab. 8.5.5), the mention of the gerousia in F 148 (Polyb. 6.45.5), and the comparison of the Cretan and the Spartan elders, and the Cretan kosmoi and Spartan ephors in F 149 (Strab. 10.4.18 and 22). On the ephorate, see especially Richer 1998. Whitehead’s suggestion (2005) that a new Ephoran fragment on the Spartan constitution may result from a correction of Suid. α 115 Adler, s.v. ἀγαθοεργοί, is refuted by Cunningham 2011. On the Spartan constitution, Lycurgus and their reception, in general, see Cartledge 2002, passim; Hodkinson 2005; now Thommen 2017, 27 ff. and 81 ff., with literature, and Powell 2018, passim. This point is of the greatest importance for understanding Ephorus’ approach to real/aspirant lawgivers in antiquity (such as Rhadamanthys, Minos and Lycurgus) and the contemporary age (such as Lysander: see § 3.5.5 below, on FF 206–7): cf. Parmeggiani 2011, passim. On Rhadamanthys, Minos and Lycurgus, see now also Camassa 2014, 76–82. Cf. F 147 (Strab. 10.4.8), according to which Rhadamanthys used the ploy (σκηψάμενος) that he gave to the community the laws he had received directly from Zeus; Minos drew up the laws which he said to be from Zeus (ἔφασκεν εἶναι). See also F 174 (Clem. Alex. Strom. 1.170), and on Lycurgus’ instrumental use of god for political purposes, see Polyb. 10.2.8–12; Cic. Div. 1.96; Diod. 1.94; Plut. Num. 4, with Muccioli 2012, 125. Much of the information we have on Lycurgus’ life from F 149 (Strab. 10.4.18–19), F 174 and FF 173, 175 (schol. Pind. Pyth. 1.120b, II 20–21 Drachmann, and Aelian. VH 13.23 respectively) can be found also in other sources, especially Plutarch’s Life of Lycurgus and book II of Aristotle’s Politics. For a review of these passages, see Parmeggiani 2011, 247 n. 470; Parker 2011, ad locc. It is difficult to ascertain whether Lycurgus’ biographical data were included in book VI (see Jacoby 1926a, 94, and 1926b, 84) and/or in book IV or, less probably, in book I. But we know that what we read in F 149 was in book IV, since it was part of Ephorus’ demonstration of the Cretan origin of the Spartan law.

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48.1–5, and also to the principles which inspired the Cretan lawgiver in Strab. 10.4.16 (F 149).191 Unlike the Cretan laws, which happened to be less and less observed by the Cretans over time, the Spartan constitution was consistently upheld. In the long run, it gave power to the Spartans, and Sparta alone won the hegemony over both land and sea. We read in F 118: Those who possessed Laconia were moderate in the beginning, but when they entrusted their polity to Lycurgus, they exceeded the rest to such a degree that alone of the Greeks they ruled both land and sea, and they continued to rule over the Greeks until the Thebans deprived them of their hegemony (. . .).192

Strabo is outlining here a translatio imperii, which culminates with Rome, well after Ephorus’ times; yet up to his mention of the Thebans, he retains a view which Ephorus had articulated in light of the consequences of the battle of Leuctra and, perhaps, of Philip II’s success in the Third Sacred War. Book IV is an obvious candidate as the source of this in-depth reflection on Spartan history as a whole. Further information about Ephorus’ observations on constitutional matters along the route of the circuit in book IV may come from F 139 (Strab. 6.1.8), if it is to be assigned to this book and not to VI or VII.193 F 139 concerns the laws of Epizephyrian Locris, which Ephorus said were drawn up by Zaleucus ‘from the Cretan, Spartan and Areopagitican laws’ (ἔκ τε τῶν Κρητικῶν νομίμων καὶ Λακωνικῶν καὶ ἐκ τῶν Ἀρεοπαγιτικῶν). Zaleucus – Ephorus said – included punishments in the written laws, so that they would not depend on the arbitrariness of the judges, and also drafted the laws on contractual matters in a simpler language. This information reveals an analytical attention, which is not unexpected of a historian who was accustomed to consider legal and economic imbalances as reasons for social instability and internal conflict, and consequently, for 191

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There is no need to think of Dublette/Verdoppelung here, pace Schwartz 1907, 15, Jacoby 1926b, 79, and Meister 1975, 71–2. It is also clear why the similarities between Diod. 7.12.3–4 and Strab. 10.4.16 (F 149) do not endorse Polybius’ criticism of Ephorus (F 148 apud Polyb. 6.46.10. Cf. n. 176 above), pace Meyer 1892–1899, II, 219–20. Strab. 8.5.5 (F 118). Strabo’s passage does not come after Ἔφορος φησί, but is nevertheless from Ephorus as both its content and context suggest. See Meyer 1892–1899, I, 219; Bruchmann 1890– 1893, II, 10; Forderer 1913, 21–2; and Jacoby 1926a, 74. Pace Wickersham 1994, 123, Ephorus’ omission of Athens should not surprise: it is not that Ephorus did not conceive of any Athenian hegemony over the sea (quite the contrary: see F 196); rather, Athens never gained what Sparta in fact did in the periods 481–478, 405–394 and 379–376 bc, i.e., hegemony over both land and sea. This is the focus of Ephorus’ reasoning in F 118. F 139 (Strab. 6.1.8) is assigned to book IV by Marx (1815, 150–1), Cauer (1847, 70–1, 84), Dressler (1873, 12, 27) and Jacoby (1926a, 50, 83), who also suggests, but with caution, book VII (1926a, 57).

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political weakness.194 If one has to judge from what follows in F 139, Ephorus also noticed that the Thurians tried later to improve the Locrian laws, but – differently from the Spartans with the Cretan law, one may observe (F 33) – they did not succeed in ameliorating the conditions of their city: imitation does not always entail actual progress.195 Ephorus could not have formulated observations such as these without a clear and comprehensive understanding of the historical development of constitutional forms and substantial knowledge of the traditions on the personal education of the most important lawgivers. It is time to draw some conclusions. Books IV and V were far more than a ‘geographical pair’ including a circuit of the oecumene. Ephorus, by considering geography and the laws as interwoven and essential as explanation for the success and failure of cities and peoples, was in good company with many fifth- and fourth-century intellectuals (Herodotus, to name just one: see, e.g., 5.78, 7.102 ff.). Still, his book IV was an absolute novelty in the history of historiography. To our knowledge, no historian before him ever attempted, in one and the same book or section of the work, a comparative and systematic analysis of this sort, in which the original sources of historical strength and weakness of the nations were examined in the context of and connection with their geographic location, lifestyle, constitutions and vicissitudes over time, from the distant past to the present. It is therefore not a big leap to think that Polybius was greatly inspired by Ephorus: his book VI, which presents the constitutions of hegemonic nations as a reason for their success and demise, finds an antecedent, in many respects, in Ephorus’ book IV. 3.3

Books VI–VII: The Rise of Sparta After Lycurgus, the Greek Tyrants, and Western Colonization (Eighth–Seventh Century bc)

After the circuit of the oecumene (books IV and V) came to an end, Ephorus concentrated on what we usually define as the Greek history of the archaic age. We will examine books VI and VII together, since the 194

195

It is unclear whether Ephorus wrote about the decadence of Locris under Dionysius II (356–346 bc) in book IV or elsewhere in the Histories. At any rate, his knowledge of Locris’ constitution was accurate, for it rested on the comparison with the constitutions of Crete, Sparta and Athens, as the hint at the ‘Cretan, Spartan and Areopagitican laws’, however short, suggests. In this respect, one may note that Polyb. 12.16 mentions for Locris a magistrate with the title of kosmopolis (cf. kosmoi in Crete: see Strab. 10.4.22 [F 149]), and further magistrates named archontes (cf. archons in Athens. See also Diod. 12.20.3). On Zaleucus and the ‘Areopagitican laws’, see Parmeggiani 2011, 305–6 with n. 804; Camassa 2014; Mele 2016, 34–8. On this point, see especially Camassa 2014, 74–5.

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history of the Peloponnese in the archaic period, on which the three fragments of book VI with book number thematically verge (FF 54–6),196 and Western colonization, to which the only fragment of book VII with book number refers (F 57),197 are naturally linked, at the narrative and aetiological levels (cf. F 216).198 We know, in fact, that Ephorus’ narrative could cover events happening at the same time and in different areas (see § 2.2 above). In this section, we will pay special attention to some events of the eighth century bc namely the Spartan conquest of Messenia, Pheidon of Argos and the first Greek colonies in Sicily.199 3.3.1 The First Messenian War and the Foundation of Taras (F 216) In books I and IV, Ephorus had made it quite clear that Messenia was doomed to perish as an autonomous kingdom, whereas Sparta, thanks to Lycurgus’ reform, would rise. This is not to say that Sparta was perfect. In F 216 (Strab. 6.3.3), a critical perspective emerges on Sparta in the age after Lycurgus. As we will see, Ephorus argued that as a result of the First Messenian War (ca. 749 bc),200 Sparta was afflicted by scarcity of citizens/ warriors, and that this was not without consequences. 196

197 198

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On F 56 (Steph. Byz. Α 204 Billerbeck, s.v. Ἁλιεῖς) as a reference to the archaic and classical history of Argos (cf. Jacoby 1926b, 53–4), and on FF 54–5 (Athen. 4.154d–e and Steph. Byz. Φ 91 Billerbeck, s.v. Φορίεια respectively) as evidence of Ephorus’ interest in the Arcadians and their στρατιωτικὸς βίος (‘military lifestyle’) of Pelasgian origin (cf. F 113 [Strab. 5.2.4]), see Parmeggiani 2011, 264–5; Parker 2011, ad locc. Like the Argives, the Arcadians were against Sparta in the age after Lycurgus. Theon Progymn. 66, 10 Patillon-Bolognesi. As F 216 (Strab. 6.3.3) on the foundation of Taras suggests, it was not possible to speak about such an episode of Greek colonization in the West without some reference to the First Messenian War, which was key to Spartan growth after Lycurgus (cf. Iust. 3.4.1 ff.). Vice versa, it was very difficult to talk about the First Messenian War without any reference to its consequences inside the Spartan citizen body, which was the very reason for the founding of Taras. As a matter of fact, historical changes in the Peloponnese, i.e., the context of Spartan growth from the eighth to the sixth century bc, were contemporaneous and often aetiologically linked with Western colonization (in addition to Sicily and Italy, think also of the colonization of the Adriatic sea and Epirus that Periander of Corinth carried out in the late seventh century bc). For this reason, we will examine F 216 here, although it is variously assigned: to book IV by Marx (1815, 154–6), to book VI by Müller (1841, lxb n. 6), Cauer (1847, 76–7, 84) and Dressler (1873, 18, 27), to book VII by Schwartz (1907, 5. Contra Jacoby 1926b, 54), and to books XXII(XXIII) –XXV by Jacoby (1926b, 53 and 59. Cf. 1926a, 64, 105–6) on the basis of Diod. 15.66.1–6 (excursus on the foundation of Messene in 369 bc). Note that Jacoby does not rule out a placement in books IV (1926a, 50) and VI (1926a, 57; 1926b, 53 and 100. Cf. now De Fidio 2013, 492). See also Parker 2011, on F 216. On the texts about the Cypselids of Corinth and the Orthagorids of Sicyon (FF 178-9; Nic. Dam. FGrHist 90 FF 57-61; POxy. 11.1365 [FGrHist 105 F 2]), and the analogies between Cypselus’ demagogy and Lysander’s plans (cf. FF 69, 206-7) and between Periander’s and Pericles’ politics of war (cf. F 196; Aristodem. FGrHist 104 F 1.16.1), see Parmeggiani 2011, 277-90. On POxy. 11.1365 in particular, see now Vannini 2018, 73-93. On Ephor. FF 178-9, see also Parker 2011, ad locc. The First Messenian War lasted nineteen years: starting after the death of king Teleclus, it ended under king Theopompus (Tyrt. fr. 5 West, quoted in F 216). Since Theopompus was third after Charilaus, who was the son of the brother of Lycurgus, ‘sixth from Procles’ (F 149), we have to

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The first lines of the fragment read: Ephorus speaks of the founding [sc. of Taras] in this way: The Lacedaemonians were at war with the Messenians who had killed their king Teleclus when he had gone to Messene to sacrifice, and they swore they would not return home until they had taken Messene or were all killed (. . .).201

War against the Messenians was caused by a sacrilegious act,202 which prompted the Spartans’ reaction of taking a short-sighted oath (at least in light of its consequences)203 and invading Messenia with only one precaution: (. . .) and when they made the expedition they left behind as guards of the city the youngest and oldest citizens (. . .).204

Inevitably, when the Messenians’ resistance kept the Spartans away from Laconia for too long, problems arose at home: (. . .) In the tenth year of the war, the Lacedaemonian women met together and sent some from their number to their husbands, finding fault with them because they were not fighting the Messenians on equal terms: the Messenians, remaining in their own country, were producing children while the Lacedaemonians were making their expedition in enemy territory, having left their wives as widows; and there was the danger their country would be bereft of men. Simultaneously keeping their oaths and taking thought for the message from the women, the Lacedaemonians sent from their camp both the strongest and the youngest, those whom they knew had not shared in the oath because they were still children when they had gone out with the adults. They ordered them to have intercourse with the women, every man with every woman, because they thought that in this

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count nine generations from Procles (1069 bc), i.e., eight generations of forty years by inclusive calculation, hence the date 749 bc. Strab. 6.3.3 (F 216). Strabo introduces Ephorus’ narrative as an alternative version of the foundation of Taras, different from the one in Antioch. FGrHist 555 F 13 (Strab. 6.3.2). Ephorus’ narrative survives in many texts such as Arist. Pol. 5.1306b; Polyb. 12.6b; Dion. Hal. AR 19.1.2; Diod. 15.66.3; Iust. 3.4. On F 216 see, among others, Bogino 1994; Nafissi 1999; Moggi 2002; Zunino 2003; Kõiv 2003, 100 ff.; Luraghi 2008, 63, 83, 102; Parker 2011, ad loc.; De Fidio 2013, 448 ff., passim; Mele 2016, 58–60; Thommen 2017, 26; Candau Morón 2018. The virgins were attacked by the Messenians at the sanctuary of Artemis Limnatis, on the border between Laconia and Messenia (cf. Strab. 8.4.9–10; Paus. 3.2.6; 4.4.2–3; Iust. 3.4.1); King Teleclus was killed in the fight (Diod. 15.66.3). See Paus. 4.4.2–3, on different Spartan and Messenian versions about the death of Teleclus. We do not know whether Ephorus mentioned other traditions, on which see Diod. 8.7; Paus. 4.4.5–5.1. Antioch. F 13 lacks the casus belli. Cf. Polyb. 12.6b.9; Diod. 15.66.3; Iust. 3.4.1–2. F 216: φύλακας δὲ τῆς πόλεως κατέλιπον στρατεύοντες τούς τε νεωτάτους καὶ πρεσβυτάτους τῶν πολιτῶν.

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way there would be more children. When this happened, the children were named Parthenians.205

Scarcity of men (leipandria, or oliganthropia) was the typical problem of archaic communities (cf. F 117 [book I] on Sparta, διὰ τὴν λειπανδρίαν [‘because of the paucity of men’], and F 123a [book IV], on Agamemnon’s fears about defenseless Argos before leaving for Troy) and of Sparta in the fourth century bc. It is also at the heart of this reconstruction. All-out warfare greatly affected Spartan citizens, whose number had already been decreased by Agis I’s measure to limit full rights (cf. book I). After ten years of war, the Spartan soldiers in Messenia sought a compromise, forced as they were by the Spartan women’s advice about the risks of scarcity of men on the one hand, and by the oath, which they did not want to violate, on the other:206 they sent back to Sparta the youngest and strongest men at the front – they had joined the army after the war started, thus they were not bound to any oath207 – so that they would cohabit with the women and generate new citizens (the so called Parthenians).208 Ephorus understood that the Spartan system was not prepared to bear any exceptional measures without repercussions. Ten years later, in fact, when the war finally ended, this compromise created a new problem: So then they apportioned Messenia. But when they went back home, they did not give equal civic rights to the Parthenians because they had not been born from legal marriages. The Parthenians then plotted together with the helots against the Lacedaemonians, and they agreed to raise a Laconian feltcap in the agora as a signal for the attack. And although some of the helots made the plot known, the Lacedaemonians decided that it would be difficult to oppose them because they were numerous and all of one mind, considering themselves to be one another’s brothers. They ordered those who were going to raise the signal to leave the agora. The latter then, realising that the plot had been betrayed, held back, but the Lacedaemonians through the assistance of their fathers persuaded the men to depart and found a colony; and if they came to possess a land that was sufficient, they should remain, 205 206

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F 216. Note Ephorus’ emphasis on the autonomous initiative of the Spartan women and their authoritativeness, and on the Spartan men’s will to fulfil their oath at any cost. That oaths and loyalty to them may give rise to difficulties was a political lesson which ancient readers could derive from such a narrative by Ephorus. Cf. Iust. 3.4.5, iuvenes ex eo genere militum, qui post ius iurandum in supplementum venerant, which, in my view, helps to clarify Strabo’s sentence ‘those whom they knew had not shared in the oath because they were still children when they had gone out with the adults’ (οὓς ᾔδεσαν οὐ μετασχόντας τῶν ὅρκων διὰ τὸ παῖδας ἔτι ὄντας συνεξελθεῖν τοῖς ἐν ἡλικίᾳ). Unlike Ephorus, Antioch. F 13 considers the Parthenians as the sons of the first helots, who were the Spartan defectors in the First Messenian War.

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Ephorus’ Histories: The Contents but if not, they should return and parcel out for themselves one-fifth of Messenia. Once despatched, they came upon Achaeans fighting with barbarians, and taking part in their dangers, they founded Taras.209

The Spartans decided to revoke the Parthenians’ full citizen rights, maintaining that they had been born out of wedlock. This was only a pretext, as the detail on the division of Messenia (τὴν Μεσσηνίαν κατενείμαντο) suggests: once they had reached the legal age for full civic rights, the Parthenians could also claim their part of the public land, which would affect the Spartan system of land ownership; facing the threat of a new allotment of the land, the Spartans chose to defend the existing system, which now included also Messenia (the Spartans had already distributed the conquered land among themselves). As we see, Ephorus ultimately observed that the Spartans safeguarded their prerogatives, which had been enhanced by the conquest of the rich land of Messenia, in advance. The prelude to the foundation of Taras comes next. The Parthenians conspired with the helots against the Spartans, for the helots too were initially citizens who had been divested of their rights (see book I); but they failed and left for Italy. Ephorus noticed that the Spartans tried, through their fathers, to persuade the Parthenians to leave, promising them a fifth part of Messenia if their expedition failed.210 This ‘generosity’ was not without self-interest since the Spartans would give up only a very little part of the land they had recently taken over and divided among themselves, and would also protect themselves from possible future retaliation by the Parthenians and their descendants. Like the pre-Lycurgan foreigners and perioikoi in book I, the Parthenians were therefore the victims of discriminating politics. Ephorus took the opportunity to notice that, together with the helots, they gave full demonstration of their virtue: ‘they were all of one mind, considering themselves to be one another’s brothers’ (πάντας ὁμόφρονας, ὡς ἂν ἀλλήλων ἀδελφοὺς νομιζομένους). By such detail, he made clear that they were formidable adversaries for the Spartiates themselves: they had nothing to envy vis-à-vis those with full citizen rights. The reader of Ephorus’ Histories understood that Sparta’s problems regarding the body of the citizens and its internal tensions were still latent, after Lycurgus, and ready to arise at any moment: the rise of Sparta to hegemony over Greece (cf. F 118) concealed but did not 209

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F 216. On the Parthenians’ rebellion, see also Antioch. F 13; Diod. 8.21 (where the Epeunacti are mentioned. Cf. Theopomp. FGrHist 115 F 171); Arist. Pol. 5.1306b; Dion. Hal. AR 19.1.2–3; and Polyaen. 2.14.2. Iust. 3.4 lacks a description of the rebellion. Perhaps one of the five parts into which Cresphontes originally divided Messenia (F 116 [Strab. 8.4.7], book I).

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remove those internal problems that eventually re-emerged in the late fifth century bc, in the age of Lysander and Cinadon,211 and also later in the fourth century, in the years of Epaminondas. 3.3.2

Pheidon of Argos (FF 115 and 176; cf. F 56?)

After the death of the Heraclid Temenus, the lot of Argos had been distributed (book I). Things changed ten generations later, with his descendant Pheidon.212 Thanks to him, Argos competed with Sparta for the hegemony over the Peloponnese, as we read in F 115 (Strab. 8.3.33): Pheidon of Argos, who was tenth from Temenus, exceeded all the men of his time in power, and from this power he both recovered the whole inheritance of Temenus which had been scattered into many parts and invented measurements called ‘Pheidonian’ and weights and coinage struck from silver and other metals. In addition to this he also attacked the cities previously taken by Heracles and deemed himself worthy of celebrating those contests which Heracles had instituted. Included in these were the Olympic games. He thus attacked and celebrated them by force, since the Eleians had no weapons by which to prevent him (on account of the peace) and the rest were subject to his power. But the Eleians for their part did not record this celebration of the games, but in fact acquired arms on account on this action and began to be their own allies. The Lacedaemonians lent their aid, either from jealousy of their prosperity from the peace or thinking that they would have allies in destroying Pheidon: he had deprived them of the hegemony over the Peloponnese which they had previously possessed. And in fact they did assist them in destroying Pheidon, and the Lacedaemonians assisted the Eleians in conquering Pisatis and Triphylia.213

The information on Pheidon that we read in F 115 seems to come from an original account of the history of Olympia, not of Argos. Nevertheless, the vicissitudes of Pheidon king of Argos, before and after his hybris at the sanctuary of Olympia, are outlined here in four steps:214 (1) The reconstruction of the original lot of Temenus, which had been ‘broken up into several parts.’ 211 212

213 214

Cf. Arist. Pol. 5.1306b, on the Parthenians, Lysander and Cinadon, a passage which is clearly indebted to Ephorus. On Cinadon, see also Xen. Hell. 3.3.5–11. On Lysander, see § 3.5.5 below. The dating of Pheidon is highly controversial. In contrast to Herodotus, who dated him to the sixth century bc (6.127.3), Ephorus put him in the eighth century bc (see n. 58 above), Theopompus perhaps placed him in the ninth century bc (FGrHist 115 F 393. Cf. Marm. Par. FGrHist 239 A 30). On the tradition about Pheidon, see especially Kõiv 2001 and 2003, 239 ff., 344 ff., with literature. Strab. 8.3.33 (F 115). Obviously such a narrative about Pheidon is without any historical foundation for most critics: see, e.g., Kelly 1976, 76–7; Salmon 1996, 847, 851; Parker 2011, ad loc.; Zingg 2016, 36, 253–8. Cf. Parmeggiani 2002.

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(2) The minting of silver coins. Further information about this stage comes from F 176 (Strab. 8.6.16), an outstanding example of aetiological analysis in the style of Thucydides’ Archaeology: Ephorus says that silver was first coined in Aegina by Pheidon; for Aegina [he says] became a trading-port, since the Aeginetans plied the sea in trade because of the poverty of their soil, whence petty wares are called ‘Aeginetan merchandise’.215

(3) The attack on Elis/Olympia and other cities ‘previously taken by Heracles’, and the superintendence of the Olympian games. (4) Argos’ defeat by the alliance of the Eleians with the Spartans.216 Ephorus used the concept of ‘hegemony’ for the history of the eighth century bc (τὴν ἡγεμονίαν τῶν Πελοποννησίων). This may seem anachronistic,217 but it should be noted that, in Ephorus’ representation, Pheidon attacked Elis – which was under Spartan protection, as we shall see – soon after the Spartan submission of Messenia (ca. 749 bc),218 and after recovering the lot of Temenus, perhaps with the help of the Arcadians. In light of this premise, the war between Argos and Sparta could be conceived as a war for the hegemony over the Peloponnese. We cannot say anything specific about the first and more ancient phase of the story of Pheidon (step 1: F 56? [Steph. Byz. Α 204 Billerbeck, s.v. Ἁλιεῖς]). Pheidon probably took advantage of Sparta’s conflict with Messenia, but the genesis of his dynamis or power – superior to that of others (δυνάμει δ’ ὑπερβεβλημένον τοὺς κατ’ αὐτόν) and destined, with the facts of Olympia, to turn into an overpowering domination (τῶν τε ἄλλων κρατουμένων τῇ δυναστείᾳ)219 – remains in the shadow. FF 115 and 176, instead, inform us very clearly about the events that followed (steps 2 and 3). Like other kings (one thinks of Agamemnon in F 123a [book IV], or Procles and Eurysthenes in F 117 [book I]), Pheidon planned a detailed strategy for power: he chose a secure place, the island of Aegina, to mint 215 216 217 218

219

Strab. 8.6.16 (F 176). According to Nic. Dam. FGrHist 90 F 35 (Exc. de Insid. 12, III 10 de Boor), Pheidon died while fighting in Corinth during civil strife, but whether this is our Pheidon is unclear. See, e.g., Salmon 1996, 850–3; Parker 2011, on F 115. As F 115 says, Pheidon had deprived the Spartans of ‘the hegemony over the Peloponnese which they had previously possessed’ (τὴν ἡγεμονίαν τῶν Πελοποννησίων, νοι προεκέκτηντο). This suggests that, according to Ephorus, Sparta had already conquered Messenia. Note that dynamis is typical of Ephorus’ lexicon for ancient history. Cf. F 123a (Strab. 10.2.25): καὶ γὰρ ἀκούεσθαι (sc. Agamemnon) μεγάλην περὶ αὐτὸν (sc. Diomedes) συνεστραμμένην δύναμιν. Pace De Fidio 2013, 443–4, in δυνάμει δ’ ὑπερβεβλημένον τοὺς κατ’ αὐτόν, dynamis does not mean possession of land, but military strength and wealth, as the syntax makes clear (ἀφ’ ἧς [sc. dynamis] τήν τε λῆξιν ὅλην ἀνέλαβε τὴν Τημένου διεσπασμένην εἰς πλείω μέρη, κτλ.).

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silver coins before expanding his domain beyond the boundaries of the lot of Temenus that he had already recovered. Pheidon possibly recruited Arcadian mercenaries for this purpose, since the Arcadians were opponents of Sparta and, given their military tradition (cf. F 54 [Athen. 4.154d–e]; see also F 113 [Strab. 5.2.4]), they could only help Pheidon’s ambitious plan (we may think that the citizens’ army of Argos was occupied with the guard of the entire lot of Temenus). Then, Pheidon started his attacks (step 3). Since he moved beyond the limits of the lot of Temenus, he officially justified his aggression by recalling not Temenus but his most authoritative ancestor, Heracles. Thus Pheidon violated the land of Elis, which was sacred (cf. book I), and took possession of the sanctuary of Olympia. He organized the Olympic games (748 bc),220 justifying his abuse of power by means, once again, of myth, for he invoked Heracles as the initiator of more ancient games than those Iphitus, king of Elis, established. In this way, Pheidon presented himself as a worthier administrator of the games than the Eleians, since he descended from Heracles through Temenus. It is worth noting that, with his arrogance, Pheidon, the ‘new Heracles’, paved the way for other ambitious politicians in recent and contemporary history, such as Lysander, who would invoke Heracles to reform the Spartan dyarchy (F 207 [Plut. Lys. 30]) and Philip II, who, interestingly enough, would be said to descend from the kings of Argos, and thus also from Pheidon according to Ephorus’ reconstruction. It goes without saying that, as these short notes from FF 115 and 176 suggest, Ephorus did not approve of the political use of myth, and indeed denounced it. Unfortunately, we gather no other information on Pheidon’s activity from F 115. For sure, he turned Argos into a mercenary and monetary power, which was something new in the Dorian world, in contrast especially with Lycurgan Sparta, which did not rely on money and depended on its citizens’ army. Furthermore Pheidon, the king who became tyrant, seized the primacy against Sparta, which was atyranneutos par excellence (i.e., ‘never subject to tyrants’: cf. Thuc. 1.18). The strife for hegemony involved two opposing political realities and was particularly dramatic because they belonged to the same lineage. As F 115 makes it clear, in the rivalry between Argos and Sparta, Elis was of utmost importance in the Peloponnese (step 4). After Pheidon organized the Olympian games, ‘the Eleians acquired arms and began to be their own allies’ (ὄπλα κτήσασθαι ἀρξαμένους ἐπικουρεῖν σφίσιν αὐτοῖς). Since their land was sacred to Zeus, the Eleians had no weapons until Pheidon’s invasion, at which point they changed their mind and responded. Now, their 220

See Paus. 6.22.2 for the date.

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reaction could be dangerous for Sparta’s own political ambition. In fact, since Messenia no longer existed as an independent state and Argos was the aggressor, only Sparta, among the Heraclid states, had the duty to defend sacred Elis from any attack, as implied by the original oath of the Heraclidae at the time of Oxylus and his descendants (cf. book I);221 if the Eleians had succeeded in winning against Pheidon without any aid from Sparta, they would be allowed to give up the Spartan protectorate, with the consequence that Sparta would potentially have to face two rivals for hegemony, Argos and Elis, which, as F 115 recalls, was a densely populated land on account of its peaceful history before Pheidon’s attack. That is why the Spartans, confronted with this problematic situation, decided to cooperate with the Eleians (συμπράττειν) against Pheidon. As we see, Ephorus, in a distanced manner, uncovered the Spartans’ strategy, drawing a distinction between their official reasons for war against Pheidon (the violation of the sanctity of Elis) and the real causes (their interest in hegemony). He also clarified the terms of the political agreement between Elis and Sparta: both Pisatis and Tryphilia would be under Eleian control.222 One can only imagine how evocative such a reconstruction of ancient Peloponnesian events was for the attentive fourth-century reader, who was aware of Philip II, the descendant of the usurper Pheidon, the champion of Apollo against the Phocians who violated the sanctity of Delphi. Like Pheidon and eighth-century Spartans, Philip too knew very well how to mask his own interest with devotion to the gods. 3.3.3 Ancient Sicily and the Arrival of the Greeks (F 57; cf. FF 136, 137a–b) Thanks to F 57 (Theon Progymn. 66, 10 Patillon-Bolognesi), we know that book VII dealt, at least in part, with the origins of Greek Sicily. Since Minos’ pursuit of Daedalus at the court of Cocalus, which is mentioned in 221

222

The oath is described in F 115 as follows: ‘Because of the friendship of Oxylus with the Heraclidae, it was easily agreed with an oath by all that Elis would be sacred to Zeus and that anyone who invaded the country under arms would be accursed, as would anyone who failed to bring assistance to the extent of his ability’ (τὸν δ’ ἐπιόντα ἐπὶ τὴν χώραν ταύτην μεθ’ ὅπλων ἐναγῆ εἶναι, ὡς δ’ αὔτως ἐναγῆ καὶ τὸν μὴ ἐπαμύνοντα εἰς δύναμιν). F 115 reads: ‘ . . . and the Lacedaemonians assisted the Eleians in conquering Pisatis and Triphylia.’ Cf. Strab. 8.3.30 (from Apollodorus?), which seems to date the cooperation between the Spartans and the Eleians for Elis’ control over Pisatis and Tryphilia much later, ‘after the last defeat of the Messenians’ (μετὰ τὴν ἐσχάτην κατάλυσιν τῶν Μεσσηνίων). Many critics take this as a reference to the Third Messenian War (ca. 460 bc. See, e.g., Roy 2002, 259–60; Biraschi 2003, 85; Nafissi 2003, 30). F 115 appears rather short here, and nothing compels us to believe that Ephorus dated Elis’ control over Pisatis and Tryphilia to immediately after the fall of Pheidon. On Strab. 8.3.30 and 8.3.33 (F 115), see now also Kõiv 2013, 321 ff.; De Fidio 2013, 472 ff.; Zingg 2016, 251 ff.

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F 57, was the starting point of Philistus’ Sikelika,223 and Cocalus king of the Sicans was also the starting point of Antiochus’ Sikelika,224 it is reasonable to believe that Ephorus too, who knew Philistus’ work very well (cf. F 220), was beginning an extensive logos about Sicily and the Greeks. To better understand his view and the tone of his narrative, we shall also consider here fragments without book number such as F 136 (Strab. 6.2.4), and F 137a–b (Strab. 6.2.2 and [Scymn.] Orb. descr. 264–277, respectively). It is not clear if these fragments pertain to book VII or to book IV,225 yet they verge on a theme which Ephorus, after book IV, probably treated again in book VII to provide – one may guess – more details: the arrival of the Greeks and their first foundations. Similarly to F 162 on Asia Minor (book V), in F 136 we find a distinction between the Greek and the barbarian peoples, and between the peoples living on the coast and the peoples living inland: Of the barbarians some were native and some had come from the opposite coast. The Greeks allowed not one of them to hold the coast, but they were not strong enough to keep them completely from the interior, and up to the present day Sicels, Sicans, Morgetians and some others continue to inhabit the island. Among these were Iberians who, Ephorus says, were the first of the barbarians to settle Sicily.226

Unlike Asia Minor, Sicily appears to lack ‘mixed peoples’. Sicily is depicted as a land where the Greeks and the barbarians interact almost aggressively. This does not come as a surprise, for their conflict began in the age of Minos and continued on thereafter. The Cretan expedition which followed Daedalus’ arrival to Cocalus (F 57) was perhaps the first opportunity Greek peoples had to meet the local barbarians, but the result was a bloody failure and the Cretan diaspora.227 After so traumatic a start, relations between Sicily and the Greeks broke off, and division and lack of contacts between the Greeks and the barbarians became – as evoked by the picture in F 136 – the very history of Sicily in the following centuries. 223 225

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FGrHist 556 F 1. 224 FGrHist 555 T 3. FF 136 and 137a–b are assigned to book IV by Marx (1815, 153–4), Cauer (1847, 70–1, 84), Dressler (1873, 12, 27) and Jacoby (1926a, 50, 82), who also cautiously suggests book VII (1926a, 57). See also Parker 2011, Biographical Essay II B, on books IV and VII. Strab. 6.2.4. As noticed by Biffi (1988, xliv. Cf. Mele 2015, 34–5), Strabo’s ‘up to the present day’ (μέχρι δεῦρο) makes sense only if referred to the age of Ephorus. It is unclear whether Ephorus did really distinguish Iberians and Sicans, as Strabo suggests (according to Thuc. 6.2.2, they were the same): see Parmeggiani 2011, 290 n. 725, for literature and discussion; Parker 2011, ad loc. On this problem, see also Mele 2015, 35–6. Cf. Hdt. 7.170.

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The first part of F 137a, on the foundation of the Greek colonies of Naxos and Megara, may be somewhat connected with the hostile background that we have just outlined: Ephorus says that these [sc. Naxos and Megara] were the first Greek cities founded in Sicily, in the tenth generation after the Trojan War.228 For previous to that time [γὰρ πρότερον] people feared the piracy of the Tyrrhenians and the savageness of the barbarians in those parts, such that they would not sail there even for trade; (. . .).229

Ephorus dated the first foundations in Sicily ‘in the tenth generation after the Trojan War’ (790/89–750/49 bc).230 Remarkably, he explained this chronology by recourse to hindering causes such as the fear of the Tyrrhenian pirates and the barbarians in Sicily.231 This argument highlights an underlying concern: why did the Greeks wait so long before they colonized Sicily? It is clear that, in Ephorus’ view, the Greeks could have colonized Sicily well before the time when they actually did. We do not know exactly what drove Ephorus to think of a delay. Perhaps he knew of the foundations in Italy dating to the eleventh century bc (e.g., Cyme Opicia);232 or he thought of the Greeks who had reached 228

229 230

231 232

Strabo’s manuscripts read καὶ τῇ γενεᾷ, which Scaliger corrected with δεκάτῃ γενεᾷ in light of F 137b ([Scymn.] Orb. descr. 272): ἀπὸ τῶν Τρωικῶν δεκάτῃ γενεᾷ. See Radt 2002–2011, II, 170. Pace Marx (1815, 154. Cf. Müller 1841, 246b), Cluver’s πεντεκαιδεκάτῃ cannot be accepted because of Ps. Scymnus’ meter (cf. Dopp 1900–1909, I, 20; Jacoby 1926b, 76). Strab. 6.2.2. Thucydides also considers Naxos to be the first colony, but places Syracuse before Megara (6.3.1 ff.). For further details, see Parmeggiani 2011, 291 n. 727. By subtracting 400 years (40 × 10 generations) from 1150/49 bc, the year of the fall of Troy (§ 3.1.1 above), we arrive at 750/49 bc as the last year of the tenth generation (790/89–750/49 bc). We may recall Philist. FGrHist 556 F 2 (Steph. Byz. Δ 140 Billerbeck, s.v. Δύμη), which seems to suggest the Olympic date for the first Greek colonies (756–752 bc. See Bearzot 2002b, 107, 131). Evidence in favour of ca. 750 bc as the date of the first colonies is also in Diod. 13.59.4 and 62.4. Note that Archias, the founder of Syracuse in the same years as the foundation of Naxos and Megara (cf. Strab. 6.2.4: περὶ τοὺς αὐτοὺς χρόνους), is δέκατος ἀπὸ Τημένου (‘tenth from Temenus’) according to Marmor Parium (FGrHist 239 A 31). Therefore, he was contemporaneous with Pheidon, who also was ‘tenth from Temenus’ (ca. 749 bc: see F 115). See also Marcotte 2000, 76–9, on [Scymn.] Orb. descr. 272 (F 137b), on the tenth generation after Troy as the eighth of the Eurypontid dynasty (785/4–739/8 bc: see Apollod. FGrHist 244 F 62). Meyer’s calculation for Ephorus’ generation (30/ 33 years) would give ninth century bc as Ephorus’ date for the first colonies (see, among others, Jacoby 1926b, 76; Dunbabin 1948, 442–4; van Compernolle 1959, 21; Bérard 1963, 92; Lasserre 1967, 228; Asheri 19922, 92; De Angelis 2003, 11; Parker 2011, ad loc.; Mele 2015, 41), which is quite unlikely on account of Ephorus’ use of Philistus. On the problem of the chronology of Megara, see also Robu 2014, 122–30 on F 137b, with further literature. On the barbaric omotes (lit. ‘crudeness’), see Cusumano 1994, 70–7. On Tyrrhenian piracy, see Giuffrida 1978. See Strab. 5.4.4. According to Vell. Pat. 1.4.1, Cyme Opicia was founded soon after the Athenians colonized Euboea (cf. F 24 [Steph. Byz. Α 80 Billerbeck, s.v. Ἀθῆναι], book III), in the eleventh century bc.

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Asia Minor about three centuries earlier. Also he may have been convinced, like Thucydides in the Archaeology, that the Greeks had acquired enough confidence with the sea very early, so that they could successfully confront pirates and found colonies in the West well before 750 bc. Whatever the case may be, he stressed that relations of any kind had been almost nonexistent since the age of Minos (F 57; also note ‘that they would not sail there even for trade’ [ὥστε μηδὲ κατ’ ἐμπορίαν πλεῖν] in F 137a), and that contacts, which had been only sporadic and random, resumed only in the eighth century bc. Thucydides informs us that some Trojans, after their city was taken, landed in Sicily and took the name of Elymi, and that in the same period some Phocians arrived in the island because of a storm.233 An ancient tradition identified Sicily as the land of the Cyclops and Odysseus’ chance stop during his nostos: as Homer recalls in Od. IX, Odysseus barely escaped his ‘hosts’. According to Ephorus, the Athenian Theocles, the future oecist of Sicily, was the first to arrive in Sicily carried ‘by the winds’ (παρενεχθέντα ἀνέμοις), therefore by chance. Here, he found something totally unexpected. F 137a reads: (. . .) and Theocles the Athenian, carried off-course into Sicily by the winds, perceived the worthlessness of the people and the fertility of the land. But when he returned, he could not persuade the Athenians. So taking many Chalcidians of Euboea, some Ionians, and further some Dorians (the majority of whom were Megarians) he sailed there; (. . .).234

The Tyrrhenians’ piracy and the savagery of the barbarians appeared to be psychological rather than material obstacles. Theocles realized that the real condition of Sicily was very different from what was commonly thought: Sicily was not inhabited by brutal monsters, giants, or Cyclops, as every Greek thought, but by weak people. Theocles was the first among the Greeks who understood that what was said about Sicily – whether the exaggerations of Phoenician traders or those of Greek poets235 – was untrue. After returning to Athens, he did not succeed in persuading the Athenians to set sail and colonize Sicily, which is evidence, to a certain extent, of how strongly the Greeks held these false beliefs. The Athenians’ dismissal of this opportunity would not be without consequences, as we shall see. F 137a–b also informs us that Theocles led the Chalcidians of Euboea, with other Ionians, and the Dorians (mostly Megarians) to Sicily. After 233

Thuc. 6.2.3.

234

Strab. 6.2.2 (F 137a).

235

See Biraschi 2000, 73 ff.

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internal strife, they separated: the Chalcidians went on to found Naxos; the Dorians founded Megara.236 The reader of the Histories was familiar with the conflicts between the Ionians and the Dorians in the history of Greek colonization (cf. book III).237 These conflicts would characterize the history of the island until Ephorus’ own time. One may ask what would have happened if the Athenians had not declined Theocles’ invitation. Ephorus probably wanted his reader to think about that. In the eighth century bc, at a time when Sicily was an easy conquest, the Athenians did not believe Theocles; three centuries later, at a time when Sicily was a very difficult conquest, the Athenians would believe Alcibiades. One may guess that, if the Athenians had not declined Theocles’ invitation, Athens would not have experienced so many difficulties in 415 bc, and history would have been different. If the Athenians, as a community, played a role in the ancient history of Sicily, it was not a glorious one. Some modern critics think that Ephorus recovered Athenian traditions, in representing Theocles as an Athenian who led a panhellenic expedition to Sicily.238 If this is true, Ephorus did not intend to exalt Athens, but rather to show the seriousness of a misstep, for which Athens would pay a dear price in 415–413 bc. 3.4 Books VIII–IX: Lydia (Croesus), Persia (from Cyrus to Darius), Greece and the Lawgivers (Sixth Century bc) and the Harbingers of the Persian Wars As in the case of books VI and VII, the exegesis of books VIII and IX is also difficult on account of the few fragments with book number: only one for book VIII (F 58a d),239 and four for book IX (FF 59–62).240 Nevertheless, 236 237 238

239 240

Colonists from Naxos, the island of the Cyclades, were perhaps involved; hence, the name Naxos (see, among others, Vallet 1996 [1979]). See Parmeggiani 2011, 212, for details. The Athenian identity of Theocles (F 137a–b) has been considered a fifth-century fabrication inspired by pro-Athenian and pro-Periclean biases; more generally, as evidence of Ephorus’ proAthenian bias (e.g., Dopp 1900–1909, I, 20; Bérard 1963, 85; Vallet 1996 (1979), 120–1; Sakellariou 1990, 111–12; Asheri 19922, 105–6; Biraschi 2000, 73–4; Parker 2011, on F 137a; Robu 2014, 135–6). Both Thuc. 6.3.1 and Hell. FGrHist 4 F 82 suggest that Theocles was a Chalcidian. Ephorus stressed the close relationship between Athens and Euboea in the distant past (F 24 with Vell. Pat. 1.4.1), and according to Breglia 1996a, 114, this may have played a role in the identification of Theocles as Athenian. Harp. s.v. Εὐρύβατον (F 58a); schol. Hermog. 63, 140, 2 Rabe (F 58b); Suid. ε 3718, s.v. Εὐρύβατος (F 58c); and Diod. 9.32 (F 58d). Harp. s.v. γεωφάνιον (F 59a); Suid. ε 2659, s.v. ἐπὶ τὰ Μανδροβόλου (F 59b); schol. Apoll. Rhod. 2.965 (F 60a); Steph. Byz. Α 246 Billerbeck, s.v. Ἀμαζόνες (F 60b, abridged: see Parmeggiani 2011, 308 n. 822); schol. Apoll. Rhod. 1.1037 (F 61); Steph. Byz. Φ 12 Billerbeck, s.v. Φάλαννα (F 62).

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the fragments without book number that seem to be pertinent (FF 181–2, and perhaps 183241), and possibly further material,242 provide supplementary information, which aids our effort to identify the direction of the original narrative. In books VIII and IX, Ephorus seems to have described the history of the Lydians and the Persians in the sixth century bc, and the consequent rise of the great hegemonies of Asia before the Persian Wars. It is unclear whether book IX included the Ionian Revolt and the subsequent events up to the battle of Marathon (490 bc). At any rate, some fragments addressing ethnography and the distant past – i.e., F 60a–b (schol. Apoll. Rhod. 2.965 and Steph. Byz. Α 246 Billerbeck, s.v. Ἀμαζόνες, respectively), on the Amazons, and F 61 (schol. Apoll. Rhod. 1.1037), on the attack on the Argonauts by the Dolions/Pelasgians – concern areas affected by the Persian expansion, and may be the remnants of a broader discussion, enriched with ethnographic digressions, on the origins of the conflict between Europe and Asia: in fact, both the Amazons and the Argonauts were part of the Greek memory of the fight between Greeks and barbarians from the fifth century bc.243 Moreover, if we consider that, in all probability, books VIII and IX included additional information about Greek history, especially on the politics of misotyrannos Sparta (‘against tyrants’) and on tyrants and lawgivers (e.g., Solon), it will appear that these books functioned in fact as a preface to the Persian Wars.244 We will now focus our attention on FF 58a and 58d (Harp. s.v. Εὐρύβατον and Diod. 9.32, respectively), 181 and 182 (Diog. Laert. 1.40 and 41, respectively), regarding Croesus, the king of Lydia (ca. 560–547/6 bc?). FF 181 and 182 inform us that the Seven Sages, with the exception of Thales, met at Sardis, at the court of Croesus, and that Ephorus did not include Mison among them, but Anacharsis, the Scythian savior of F 42

241

242

243

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F 183 (Athen. 12.523e) is assigned to book V by Marx (1815, 202). Cf. Cauer 1847, 71, 84, and Dressler 1873, 14, 27. Jacoby (1926a, 57, 95; 1926b, 88) prefers to assign it to books VIII–IX. None of the placements advanced by critics can be excluded. On this fragment, see below. See Nic. Dam. FGrHist 90 F 104.7–8 (Stob. Anth. 3.1.200), on the Amazons’ arrival in Attica, which may be linked with F 60a–b as part of an original discussion about barbarian aggression of Greece in the palaion (see below). One may ask if FGrHist 105 F 1 (PRyl. 18, second century bc), dealing with Spartan politics against tyrants in the sixth century bc, has something to do with Ephorus, but caution is needed. On this additional material, see Parmeggiani 2011, 303 ff. See Hdt. 1.2 and 9.27.4–5; Isoc. Paneg. 66 ff., Panath. 191 ff., and Areop. 75 (see Nouhaud 1982, 9 and passim); Paus. 1.15.2–3, on the link between the Amazons’ legendary attack on Attica and the battle at Marathon in the age of Cimon. See also Nic. Dam. FGrHist 90 F 104.7–8. This is not to say that Ephorus merely wanted to celebrate Athens: see Parmeggiani 2011, 309–11. For a detailed analysis of all the fragments and contents of books VIII and IX, see Parmeggiani 2011, 298 ff. See also Parker 2011, ad locc.

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(book IV).245 Anacharsis gave voice to a barbarian civilization, which would triumph over Darius I and the Persians in ca. 510 bc, as Ephorus recalled in book IV speaking of the Nomads and the benefit of their lifestyle. FF 181 and 182 do not mention Solon, but we are sure that Ephorus included him among the Seven Sages, together with Chilon and Anacharsis.246 As we can see, Greece found its place in books VIII and IX. Before Ephorus, Herodotus was well aware of the arrival of the Seven Sages in Sardis (1.27; 29.1), but had focused his attention almost exclusively on the meeting of Solon and Croesus (1.29–33). In Herodotus’ view, eudaimonia (‘happiness’, ‘prosperity’) was the main theme of a confrontation between the Greek lawgiver and the Lydian king, which marked the transition of Croesus’ life from the age of eutychia (‘good fortune’) to the age of dystychia (‘ill fortune’).247 In contrast to Herodotus, Ephorus concentrated on a collective meeting, which also included Anacharsis (ὁμιλίαν αὐτῶν: F 181).248 We would expect that, in his narrative, such Greek lawgivers as Solon, Chilon and Pittacus, who represented Greek paideia, kings of Asia such as Croesus, who represented absolute power, and European barbarians such as Anacharsis, who represented non-Greek paideia, discussed several themes: not only eudaimonia, but also lifestyle, the constitutions and their foundations, power, and the fruition and distribution of agatha (material goods), which determine the opposite conditions of freedom (eleutheria) and slavery (douleia).249 In fact, these topics were at the heart of Ephorus’ reconstruction and assessment of the 245 246

247

248

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Ephorus is the earliest writer who included Anacharsis among the Seven Sages. See Kindstrand 1981, 33 ff., on the possibility that Ephorus drew on Delphic tradition for this suggestion. Considering, in this order, the list of the Seven Sages in Diog. Laert. 1.13 (Thales, Solon, Periander, Cleobulus, Chilon, Bias and Pittacus), the list of the four Sages who were included in every list according to Dicearch. fr. 32 Wehrli (apud Diog. Laert. 1.41: Thales, Bias, Pittacus and Solon), Ephorus’ possible doubt about the inclusion of Periander (cf. Nic. Dam. FGrHist 90 F 58.4), and Mison’s substitution (Mison who is preferred by Plat. Prot. 343a. Cf. Diog. Laert. 1.41) with Anacharsis (F 182), Ephorus’ list probably included: Thales, Solon, Anacharsis, Cleobulus, Chilon, Bias and Pittacus. Cf. also Parker 2011, on F 182. On the meeting of Solon and Croesus, see now also Porciani 2016, emphasizing a political (i.e., not only moralistic) significance in the Herodotean opposition between Croesus as the symbol of empire on the one hand, and Solon as the symbol of the Greek polis on the other. I see such political meaning as being much more explicit in Ephorus’ original representation (see below). Cf. analogously Diod. 9.26–27. Sages other than Solon are found at the court of Croesus also in Herodotus (Bias and/or Pittacus: see 1.27. Cf. Diod. 9.25), but Herodotus does not describe Solon or the other wise men as participating in one and the same collective, as we see in both Diodorus and Ephorus. Diod. 9.26–27 is again particularly helpful since it discusses these themes as virtues and the causes of freedom, as well as the best forms of government. We may also think of Solon’s letter to Croesus according to Diog. Laert. 1.67, which explains how political equality should be preferred over the absolutism of the kings of Asia.

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past and were featured in the previous books of the Histories (e.g., FF 42, 117, 149, and 216). Ephorus represented the court of Croesus as the arena for a general debate on lifestyle, ethos and paideia. This is significant. Just before tackling the Persian Wars in book X and following, Ephorus outlined their ideological background, showing the contrast between, on the one hand, the politics of wealth and power upheld by Croesus and, after him, by the Persian kings and, on the other, the politics of paideia endorsed by the Greek poleis and the Scythians. The historian’s aim is clear: he wanted to explain the successes of the Scythians and the Greeks over the Persians at the turn of the sixth and the fifth century bc through lifestyle and paideia. In this regard, it is not by chance that Ephorus insisted on luxury (tryphe) as the reason why Miletus – where the Persians won in 494 bc, at the end of the Ionian Revolt – lost its strength and hegemony (F 183 [Athen. 12.523e]):250 he probably suggested that the Milesians did not have that paideia, which the Athenians instead had gained, thanks to Solon, and which was instrumental in their victory against the Persians at Marathon (490 bc). Ephorus’ view of events was highly pragmatic, sensitive to political and constitutional matters (cf. book IV). While talking about Croesus, he already focused his attention, first and foremost, on the great military expeditions of the Persians against Europe, which were to be delivered later in the sixth and fifth centuries bc, and on the roots of their failure. The analysis of FF 58a and 58d, on Eurybatus’ treason against Croesus soon before the fall of Sardis (ca. 547/6 bc?), confirms this interpretation. We read in Harpocration’s Lexicon of the Ten Orators (F 58a): Ephorus in book VIII says that he [sc. Eurybatus] was a man from Ephesus and took money from Croesus so as to raise an army for the war against the Persians, but that he then turned traitor and gave the money that had been given to him to Cyrus. And it is from this that a wicked man is called a ‘Eurybatus’.251

An excerpt from book IX of Diodorus’ Historical Library includes further details: Croesus, the king of the Lydians, pretending to send to Delphi, sent Eurybatus the Ephesian into the Peloponnese, giving him funds to recruit 250 251

On πάντες ὑπὸ τὴν Μίλητον ἔθεον as reference to the hegemony of Miletus in archaic times, see Parmeggiani 2000, 87 ff. with full philological discussion of Athenaeus’ tradition; Polito 2014, 745. Harp. s.v. Εὐρύβατον (F 58a).

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Ephorus’ Histories: The Contents as many mercenaries as he could among the Greeks. But when he was sent he went instead to Cyrus the Persian and revealed Croesus’ plans in detail. For this reason, when Eurybatus’ wickedness became well known, whenever someone to this day wishes to reproach someone’s wickedness among the Greeks, he calls the person a ‘Eurybatus’.252

By means of an antonomasia, the Greeks recalled the memory of a treason that had happened in a not-so-distant past.253 Writing before Ephorus, Herodotus describes Cyrus’ defeat of Croesus in 1.46 ff., yet he never mentions Eurybatus: he only says that Croesus, following the Delphic oracle, searched for allies among the Athenians and the Spartans, who were the strongest Greeks at that time;254 and that the Spartans arranged with Croesus, but were not fast enough to rescue him before Cyrus’ conquest of Sardis.255 Ephorus seems to have emphasized that the conflict between the Lydians and the Persians potentially involved the entire oecumene: drawing a distinction between the apparent and real reasons for Eurybatus’ mission, he stressed that Eurybatus was officially sent to Delphi to make an offer to the god, but had to hire the largest possible number of mercenaries among all the Greeks (ὅπως ὡς πλείστους ξενολογήσῃ τῶν Ἑλλήνων). We do not know whether Ephorus mentioned Croesus’ wrong interpretations of the oracles on the war against Cyrus, as Herodotus had,256 but it seems that for Ephorus, the Lydian king was defeated by the Persian king also because Eurybatus’ treason had hindered the establishment of a large coalition inclusive of both Greeks and Lydians (who, by the way, were μιγάδες, ‘mixed peoples,’ i.e., a nation of both Greeks and barbarians: F 162). All this suggests that Ephorus not only stressed, like Herodotus (1.5 ff.), that the war between Cyrus and Croesus was the first stage in a process, which already involved Greece and would affect it even more later on; he also highlighted that the Hellenic front was strictly confined neither 252 253

254 256

Diod. 9.32 (F 58d). Ephorus’ attention to the story of Eurybatus is easy to understand in light of recent and contemporary events: in the last years of the fifth century bc, Cyrus the Younger allied with the Spartans against Artaxerxes II (cf. F 70 [Diod. 14.11]), and in the fourth century bc, the age of Ephorus, Greek mercenaries often served those satraps who rebelled against the King. Yet this is not enough to distrust Ephorus’ narrative per se (see Parker 2011, on F 58a, rightly stressing, on the authority of Hdt. 2.152–154, that Near Eastern monarchs hired Greek mercenaries in the sixth century bc). Whether Ephorus made use of Ctesias of Cnidus or Xanthus of Lydia, and/or other sources for the Eurybatus story is unclear. See Jacoby 1926b, 54; Parker 2011, on F 58a, also suggesting Hellanicus. Ephorus surely knew Xanthus (F 180), but the extent of Ephorus’ presence in Nic. Dam. FGrHist 90 FF 62–8 (probably from Xanthus) is very difficult to gauge. 255 Hdt. 1.53 ff. Hdt. 1.69–70, and 83. See Hdt. 1.46 ff. Cf. Diod. 9.31.1–2. On erroneously interpreted oracles, cf. F 16. The allusion to Delphi in F 58d suggests that Ephorus also stressed the privileged relationship between Croesus and the Delphic oracle.

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to Athens/Sparta nor to mainland Greece. In his representation, the war between the Lydians and the Persians seems to have gained, at least potentially, a ‘Panhellenic flavour’. By so doing, Ephorus emphasized even more than Herodotus that the history from the sixth century to fifth century bc was continuous. Herodotus (8.122) notes that, in the Delphic treasury, the three golden stars dedicated by the Aeginetans after the naval battle of Salamis (480 bc) were located next to the silver bowl which had been dedicated by Croesus at the time he was planning the war against Cyrus.257 From the first half of the fifth century bc onward, Greeks looked back at Croesus as the ‘first victim’ of Persian expansion.258 No wonder that in the fourth century bc Ephorus made his reader perceive the war of Cyrus and Croesus as not disconnected from the wars which Darius and Xerxes would later wage against the Greeks. Darius and his son Xerxes would share Cyrus’ plans; Europe, the land of the Greeks and the Scythians (cf. F 42), would become the rock onto which the Persian wave would crash. 3.5 Books X–XVI: The Persian Wars (500/490–449 bc), the First Series of Greek Wars (ca. 460–403/2 bc) and the Spartan Hegemony Over Land and Sea (ca. 404 bc). Books X–XVI dealt with the history of the late sixth/beginning of the fifth century until 403/2 bc. The few fragments with book number that we have make it very difficult to identify the themes Ephorus addressed in each book. We have only one fragment for book X, F 63, on Miltiades’ failure at Paros (489 bc); one fragment for book XI, F 64, on Cimon after the death of Miltiades;259 an entry by Stephanus of Byzantium for book XII, F 66, on Sicilian matters in the mid-fifth century bc (466/5 bc); an entry by Harpocration for book XV, F 67, with a detail on the Ionian War; and an entry by Stephanus and a Homeric scholion for book XVI, respectively F 68, on Dionysius I of Sicily, and F 69, on Lysander during the last years of the fifth century bc. We have no fragment from books XIII and XIV, which, according to Jacoby, were part of a sequence of three books on the Peloponnesian War, of which book XV was the last one.260 257 258 259 260

Cf. Hdt. 1.51.2. See especially the famous ‘Croesus on the pyre’ amphora by Myson, with Boardman 1982; Bacchyl. Ep. 3.121. See now Gazzano 2013, especially 80 ff., with further literature. F 65a–f, on the flooding of the Nile, is to be assigned to book V. See § 3.2 above, with n. 156. See Molitor 1989, for the suggestion that a fragment from Ephorus’ book XIII may possibly result from a correction of schol. Aristoph. Pax 363, with Parmeggiani 2011, 416 n. 96.

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Divisions between books are almost undetectable. But there is more. Jacoby assumed that Ephorus adopted Thucydides-inspired notions customary in current studies of Greek history, such as the ‘Pentekontaetia’ (for the ca. fifty years between 479 and 431 bc) and the ‘Peloponnesian War’ (for the twenty-seven years from 431 to 404 bc), in order to describe the historical development of the fifth century bc. However, beyond the fragments we can glimpse an idea of historical development and periodization which is different from that of Thucydides and, as a consequence, also differs from the view we often hold today. As we shall see, Ephorus expanded the Persian Wars beyond 479 bc (probably until 449 bc); he did not aggregate the events between 479 and 431 bc as a fifty-years unit; and he did not conceive of the time between 431 and 404 bc as an unbroken period of war. The contribution of fragments without book number, yet to be ascribed to books X–XVI, such as FF 186, 196–7, 205–7, will be crucial in detecting the main directions of Ephorus’ original narrative. 3.5.1 The Failure of Miltiades’ Expedition at Paros (F 63) Some details of Ephorus’ representation of Greek history at the time of Marathon (490 bc) emerge from F 63 (Steph. Byz. Π 56 Billerbeck, s.v. Πάρος). In order to explain the origin of the proverbial saying ἀναπαριάζειν (‘to play the Parian’),261 Stephanus quotes, seemingly verbatim, a segment of Ephorus’ book X dealing with the unfortunate military expedition led by Miltiades, the hero of Marathon, against Paros in ca. 489 bc. As it seems, Ephorus himself concluded his narrative with that proverbial saying, pointing out that it had been inspired by Miltiades’ failure, that it meant ‘those who renege on their agreements’, and also that it was still in use by his contemporaries.262 But since Ephorus did not write history to explain proverbial sayings, but rather used them as a confirmation for events he narrated (see Chapter 2, § 2.1–2), it cannot be excluded that Stephanus (or his source) abridged or adapted Ephorus’ original account, preserving what was mainly relevant to the explanation of the term. Indeed Ephorus’ original representation was more complex than F 63 alone lets the reader believe, as we shall see below.

261 262

Cf. Suid. α 2287 Adler, s.v. ἀνεπάρισαν; Apostol. 3.19; Diogen. 2.35; Eustath. ad Dion. Perieg. 525; and Zenob. 2.21. On ἀναπαριάζειν as possibly created by Old Comedy, see Kinzl 1976, 297 n. 69, with further discussion by Scott 2005, 632 n. 7.

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The long quotation from Ephorus begins with a mention of Miltiades’ actions in the Cyclades: Miltiades invaded and plundered some of the other islands [τῶν μὲν ἄλλων νήσων τινὰς], but at Paros, which was at that time the most prosperous and greatest of the Cyclades, he encamped and besieged it for a long time, blockading it by sea and bringing siege engines on land (. . .).263

As the words τῶν μὲν ἄλλων νήσων τινὰς may suggest, in a previous part of his narrative, which Stephanus does not quote, Ephorus had spoken both of islands that Miltiades had plundered and of islands that he had not. Nepos appears to confirm this detail when he says in his biography of Miltiades: Post hoc proelium [sc. Marathon] classem septaginta navium Athenienses eidem Miltiadi dederunt, ut insulas, quae barbaros adiuverant, bello persequeretur. Quo imperio plerasque ad officium redire coëgit, nonnullas vi expugnavit. Ex his Parum insulam opibus elatam cum oratione reconciliare non posset, (. . .).264

Unfortunately, neither Stephanus nor Nepos says which islands these were. But Nepos provides a context for Miltiades’ expedition, which we have every reason to believe was included in Ephorus’ original account too. By contrast with Herodotus, who presents Miltiades’ expedition as directed only against Paros and explains it as driven by the Athenians’ desire for gold and Miltiades’ own desire for revenge against the Parian Lysagoras, the punishment of the Parians for their Medism being only a pretext,265 Ephorus told of an extensive expedition against the Medizers (ut insulas, quae barbaros adiuverant, bello persequeretur, says Nepos).266 This better explains why the Athenians employed seventy ships for their initiative267 – indeed a fair number, if one considers that only twenty ships had been sent 263

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Steph. Byz. Π 56 Billerbeck, s.v. Πάρος (F 63). Pace Jacoby 1926a, 59 (followed by Parker 2011, ad loc.), there is no reason to expunge τὴν μεγίστην, which may mean ‘the most powerful’ or ‘the most important’ (Paros, in fact, is not the largest island among the Cyclades), and appears to form a hendiadys with εὐδαιμονεστάτην. Nep. Milt. 7.1–2. We do not find any reference to Miltiades’ diplomatic approaches to the Parians in F 63, but Nep. Milt. 7.1–4 clearly follows Ephorus (see Kinzl 1976), and Stephanus is not necessarily complete. According to Hdt. 6.132–133.1, Miltiades accused the Parians of Medism because they had joined the Persians with a single ship in 490 bc. But this – Herodotus says – was only a pretext to exact his vengeance. A reference is made to Athenian politics against the Medizers after Marathon also on the recto of PRyl. 3.492 (fifth century ce, in very poor conditions). See Roberts 1938, 118–19, and Gigante 1949, the latter for the supposition of Ephorus or of an Ephoran epitome; Vannini 2018, 133–41. The number of the ships is given by Herodotus (6.132) and is confirmed by Nepos (Milt. 7.1), so there is no reason to think that Ephorus stated it differently. On the Athenian navy from the sixth to fifth century bc, see Aperghis 2013, suggesting that the seventy ships were triremes (6).

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to help the Ionians ten years before. Furthermore, as Nepos suggests, the Athenians wanted to bring back the islands under their control, as if they were geopolitically part of an ‘Athenian area’ (Quo imperio plerasque ad officium redire coëgit . . .). Like that of the extensive initiative against Medizers, this detail on the Athenian ambition to re-establish a previously existing ‘Athenian area’ in the Aegean also sounds anachronistic, inspired, so it seems, by the history of the Athenian hegemony after 478 bc.268 Yet it is probable that neither the former nor the latter is anachronistic. The Thracian Chersonesus had been under Athenian control as early as the sixth century bc, thanks to Miltiades the Elder, as Herodotus recalls and Ephorus also did not fail to show (F 40 [Harp. s.v. Κριθώτην]);269 as everyone knows, that region, together with the Cyclades, had fallen to the Persians in the years after Lade and before Marathon (493–490 bc), so Ephorus may have stressed that Miltiades’ actions in the Aegean in 489 bc were aimed also at rekindling contacts, such as that between Athens and the Thracian Chersonesus, which the Persians had undermined.270 If we also consider that the demilitarization of the Persian strongholds at sea for security reasons after Marathon was in the Athenians’ interest,271 and that, according to Herodotus, the Athenians had decided to officially oppose the Persians since the late sixth century bc,272 and lastly, that a charge of Medism was reason enough for expeditions in 489 bc,273 it becomes clear that, overall, Ephorus’ reconstruction was historically legitimate. Ephorus may have believed the sincerity of the Athenian initiative against Medizers or not; certainly, he emphasized that the Athenians had real interests in the Aegean around 490 bc, that after Marathon they tried to restore their presence there, also enlarging it – as the expedition itself against Paros may 268

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270 271

See also schol. Ael. Aristid. Pro quatt. 206, III 572 Dindorf: ‘Miltiades made an expedition against the Parians, either because they collaborated with the Persian, or because they rebelled against the Athenians’ (ἀπέστησαν τῶν Ἀθηναίων). The scholiast goes too far in talking of Paros’ rebellion (see Parmeggiani 2011, 313 n. 845), but his wording is significant. Further reference to Naxos in the same scholion may suggest a conflation of events pre- and post-478 bc. F 40 (from book IV) refers to the colonization of the Thracian Chersonesus by ‘the Athenians with Miltiades.’ Cf. [Scymn.] Orb. descr. 711–712 (certainly from Ephorus), on Crithotes and Pactye as founded by Miltiades. Parker (2011, ad loc.) is in doubt whether the elder or the younger (i.e., the hero of Marathon) is meant, but Ps. Scymnus’ reference to ‘foundations’ (712: κτίσαι) suggests that F 40 is about the elder, who first colonized the Chersonesus in the Pisistratid age (Hdt. 6.34–38) and was also revered by locals, after his death, as oikist (Hdt. 6.38.1, hardly a negligible detail for Ephorus, who was very interested in the cult of oikists as evidence for reconstructing the past: see, e. g., F 117, with Chapter 2, § 2.2). Note also Herodotus’ reference to Pactye as existing at the time of the elder Miltiades (6.36.2). The isle of Lemnos, which had been conquered by Miltiades himself for the Athenians in the last years of the sixth century bc (Hdt. 6.136.2 and 137–139) was also on the route. 272 See Blösel 2004, 308. Hdt. 5.96.2. 273 Hdt. 6.133.1.

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suggest. Needless to say, Miltiades’ actions in the Aegean, if successful, would have also advantaged Athens against its rival Aegina, with which Athens was at war before Marathon.274 Rightly or wrongly, the Athenians believed that the Aegean was their sea. One gets the impression that Ephorus, rather than praising Athens against the Medizers or legitimizing its claims over islands, or providing a nobler and more positive picture of Miltiades than Herodotus does, aimed instead at emphasizing the Athenians’ imperialistic attitude as already active in the sixth- and early fifth-century Athenian initiatives, i.e., long before Salamis (480 bc). The Athenian empire was yet to be, but its roots were already there. No doubt that in book X Ephorus presented the history from the late sixth to the fifth century bc as a continuum (cf. above, on Croesus and the harbingers of the Persian Wars: § 3.4), and informed his reader about a broad historical scenario, which Herodotus tends, instead, to overshadow a bit by focusing on Miltiades’ own affairs. Let’s now read the details about Miltiades’ action at Paros, as described in F 63: Miltiades invaded and plundered some of the other islands, but at Paros, which was at that time the most prosperous and greatest of the Cyclades, he encamped and besieged it for a long time, blockading it by sea and bringing siege engines on land. When the walls were already falling and the Parians had agreed to hand over their city, a woodland around Mykonos accidentally caught fire, and the Parians supposed that Datis was signalling them by fire, and so they went back on their agreement and did not hand over the city. This is said to be the origin of the proverb that we still use today, when we say that those who renege on their agreements are ‘playing the Parian’.275 274

275

See Hdt. 6.85–94.1. Also note that Paros was mother-city of settlements in the Northern Aegean such as Eion, on the Thracian coast, which would be taken by Cimon, the son of Miltiades, ca. 476 bc (Hdt. 7.107 and Thuc. 1.98.1, among others), and Thasos, which would be taken by Cimon ca. 463 bc (see especially Thuc. 1.100.2–101.3). Some modern scholars (e.g., Develin 1977; Link 2000) view Miltiades’ expedition in 489 as preliminary to a further expedition to Thrace. This would confirm Ephorus’ emphasis on the broader ‘Aegean perspective’ of the Athenian military action under Miltiades as historically legitimate. F 63. Cf. Nep. Milt. 2–4. Xylander corrected μύκωνον (P) and μύκωνος (RV) with Μύκονον, accepted by Jacoby (1926a, 59; cf. Parker 2011, ad loc.) and confirmed by Billerbeck 2006–2017, IV, 36; Holste suggested Μύκαλον or Μυκάλην. Nep. Milt. 7.3 is less clear: procul in continenti. Nineteenth-century scholars often deny that Ephorus’ account is trustworthy (se, e.g., Bauer 1879, 341; Endemann 1881, 12–13; Meyer 1892–1899, I, 19 n. 2; and Busolt 1893–1904, II, 558 n. 2), although they are critical also of Herodotus’ (for which see below). Evaluation by more recent scholars ranges from criticism to appreciation: see Jacoby 1926b, 55; Kinzl 1976; Develin 1977; Vanotti 1991a, particularly 22 n. 22; Link 2000, 44; Blösel 2004, 305–14; Scott 2005, 608–47; Parker 2011, ad loc.

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Herodotus is familiar with several versions of the account of Miltiades’ failure. He begins with the version which – so he says – is common to all Greeks; after reporting the Parians’ fierce resistance to the attacks of the Athenian army, he announces that various versions exist on what then happened, and concludes his narrative by choosing the version of the Parians: Miltiades followed up on Timo’s suggestion and entered the temple of Demeter to do something (perhaps, to take some sacred items), for he had been told that only in this way would the Athenians defeat the Parians; next to the temple Miltiades was injured, such that he was forced to stop the siege and go back to Athens.276 Now, we do not know whether Ephorus’ version was, at least in some points, close to those other versions which Herodotus says he knows but does not tell; certainly, it appears to be very different from that which Herodotus states he learned from the Parians. We may therefore conclude that Ephorus doubted a fifth-century local tradition, which Herodotus had instead emphasized, and preferred a ‘collective memory’ that was encapsulated in the proverbial saying, ‘to play the Parian’ (ἀναπαριάζειν). It seems that Ephorus’ account revolved around practical information, such as the use of siege engines, the negotiations between the Parians and the Athenians, and the aetiological role of chance (as in the case of the fire at Mykonos, which happened ἐξ αὐτομάτου, ‘accidentally’).277 In this regard, it is noteworthy that the Parians violated their agreement with the Athenians and that the Athenians lost their selfconfidence that they would achieve success because both believed that the fire at Mykonos was a signal from Datis, the admiral of the Persian fleet, while in fact it was not.278 Ephorus’ emphasis on such discouragement felt by the Athenians, which was raised by a false perception,279 suggests that, in his representation, the Athenians, albeit ambitious, were not confident enough to confront the Persian fleet in 276 277

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Hdt. 6.133.2–135.1. On Herodotus’ narrative about Miltiades’ expedition at Paros (6.132 ff.), see the commentaries by Scott 2005, 431 ff.; Hornblower and Pelling 2017, 287 ff. On the Athenians’ use of siege engines, cf. F 194 (Plut. Per. 27), on Pericles and the siege of Samos. Modern critics suspect this detail in F 63 to be anachronistic, but one may recall the reputation of the Athenians as experienced and skilful in siege operations in 479 bc (Hdt. 9.70.2. Cf. Plut. Arist. 19.3–4) and around the late 460s (Thuc. 1.102.1). On the habit of the Persians of sending messages with fire-signals from isle to isle, see Hdt. 9.3.1 and [Arist.] De mun. 938a, both mentioned by Parker 2011, ad loc. Cf. also Nep. Milt. 7.3–4: cuius flamma ut ab oppidanis et oppugnatoribus est visa, utrisque venit in opinionem signum a classiaris regiis datum. Quo factum est, ut et Parii a deditione deterrerentur et Miltiades, timens ne classis regia adventaret, (. . .).

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489 bc; they were not yet so experienced at sea as they would become later, with Themistocles.280 F 63 does not tell us what happened to Miltiades after his return to Athens. Nepos and some scholia to Aelius Aristides, which may have some connection with Ephorus, indicate that the demos charged Miltiades with treason,281 and condemned him to pay a fine of fifty talents (the number is confirmed by F 64 [schol. Ael. Aristid. Pro quatt., Hypothesis Kimonos, III 515 Dindorf]).282 Because he could not pay, Miltiades was then ordered to prison, where he died from his wounds, without ever paying his debt (it was Cimon, his son, who paid it by marrying a rich woman, as Ephorus recalled in book XI [F 64]).283 Nepos observes that the demos feared that Miltiades aspired to tyranny;284 the scholia, for their part, suggest that the demos had too great expectations that Miltiades, the champion of Marathon, would succeed.285 One way or another, people forge idols and demolish them: Ephorus may well have stressed this concept, talking about Miltiades, as he did in the case of Themistocles (FF 189 [Plut. Mor. 855f] and 191 [POxy. 13.1610]), of Pericles (F 196 [Diod. 12.38.1–41.1]) and of Alcibiades (F 200 [Plut. Alc. 32]), as we shall see later in this chapter. The entire history of Athenian democracy in the fifth century revolved around the difficult relationship between the demos and its leaders. 3.5.2 The Importance of the Battle of Himera in 480 bc on a Global Scale (Schol. Pind. Pyth. 1.146a; F 186) According to Herodotus (7.157–162), Greek ambassadors in 481 bc tried to persuade Gelon to join the Greek coalition against Xerxes, without success; but – Herodotus notes – the Sicilians said that Gelon would have joined the coalition leaving for Greece, if the Carthaginians had not arrived (7.165–166). From the decade 480–470 bc onward, poets and thankofferings at Delphi celebrated together the Greek and Sicilian successes 280

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If Ephorus also recounted that Miltiades decided to stop the siege because he was hit by an unseen arrow (ἐξ ἀφανοῦς) while fighting – which he interpreted as a negative sign form the gods, as a scholion to Ael. Aristid. Pro quatt. 206, III 572 Dindorf suggests (an allusion is perhaps in Nep. Milt. 7.5, on Miltiades’ conditions when he arrived in Athens: eo tempore aeger erat vulneribus, quae in oppugnando oppido acceperat) – we could add that Miltiades’ own superstition (deisidaimonia) also played a role. The Athenians suspected that Miltiades had been corrupted by the Great King: see Nep. Milt. 7.5– 6; schol. Ael. Aristid. Pro quatt. 206, III 572 Dindorf. According to Hdt. 6.136.1, Xanthippus, father of Pericles, accused Miltiades of having deceived the Athenians. See Blösel 2004, 310. Cf. Hdt. 6.136.3. Herodotus also says that Miltiades’ debt was paid by his son Cimon (6.136.3). As for the name of the woman, it was perhaps Isodices. Cf. Diod. 10.30.1 and 32. See Lenz 1964; Parmeggiani 2011, 397–8. Nep. Milt. 8.1. 285 Schol. Ael. Aristid. Pro quatt. 206, III 572 Dindorf.

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over the Persians and the Carthaginians, respectively.286 The events of 480–479 bc in Greece and Sicily could be connected, and indeed this happened very soon, with a strong contribution, to judge from Herodotus, by the Sicilian tradition. One century later Ephorus recorded that Persia and Carthage agreed to attack both the Greeks on the mainland and those in Sicily because of a scheme which Xerxes had conceived shortly before moving his army to attack Greece; and that Gelon accepted the Greek request of an alliance, and that he would have given his aid, if the Carthaginians had not arrived. The complex picture that the historian of Cyme outlined is known to us through the scholia a–b on Pind. Pyth. 1.146, II 24–25 Drachmann, the second of which, quoting Ephorus expressly, appears in Jacoby as F 186.287 Let us first examine the Pindaric locus the two scholia comment upon. In Pythian 1 (470 bc), Pindar praises Hieron of Syracuse by mentioning his great deeds, particularly his victory over the Etruscans at the naval battle of Cyme in 474 bc, by which he delivered – Pindar says at 146 (v. 75) – ‘Hellas from grievous bondage’ (Ἑλλάδ’ ἐξέλκων βαρείας δουλίας). After such an emphatic claim, the poet turns back to the greatest battles of 480–479 bc – from Salamis (presented as an Athenian victory) to Plataea (presented as a Spartan victory) and Himera (presented as a victory of Deinomenids, therefore of both Gelon and Hieron) – clearly aiming at celebrating the victory of Cyme as the conclusion of an ideal sequence of victories by the Greeks over the barbarians.288 Scholia 146a and 146b (F 186) comment upon Pindar’s words Ἑλλάδ’ ἐξέλκων βαρείας δουλίας as follows: Schol. 146a: Some have understood ‘Hellas’ as the one in Sicily, others the Attic one. There is some such account that when Xerxes was about to campaign against Greece, ambassadors were present with the Carthaginians bidding them sail against Sicily and destroy those who were taking the Greek side, and from there to set out for the Peloponnese. The Carthaginians obeyed. At around the same time, envoys from the Athenians came to Hieron asking him to ally with the Greeks. Gelon obeyed them and equipped two hundred ships, two thousand horse, and ten 286

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See Meiggs and Lewis 1988, 60–1, no. 28, for the inscription of Gelon’s thank-offering for Himera at Delphi, analogous to the Greeks’ for their victory over Xerxes. Cf. Diod. 11.26.7 and Athen. 6.231f and 232c–d, quoting Theopomp. FGrHist 115 F 193 and Phaen. fr. 11 Wehrli. See Pind. Pyth. 1.137–55 (vv. 70–80); Simonid. XXXIV Campbell (cf. Bravi 2006, 77–80); Bacchyl. Ep. 3.17 ff. Cf. Krings 1998, 261 ff. See now also Rood 2018, 27–8. Marx (1815, 220–1), Cauer (1847, 74–5, 85) and Dressler (1873, 16–17, 28) assign F 186 to book XII (XIII); Jacoby (1926a, 59, 95) assigns it to book X. Pind. Pyth. 1.137–55 (vv. 76–80). On these verses, see Gauthier 1966, 8 ff.; Bravo 1993, 441–2; and Krings 1998, 268–70.

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thousand infantry, and fought a naval battle with the Carthaginians who had made for Sicily, with the result that he freed the Siceliots and the rest of the Greeks.289 Schol. 146b (F 186): Some have understood ‘Hellas’ as ‘Sicily’, others as ‘Attica’. It is likely that Pindar read Ephorus’ Histories and followed him. For Ephorus records that when Xerxes was planning his expedition against Greece, ambassadors were present before Gelon the tyrant, begging him to come to the assembly of the Greeks. Ambassadors from the Persians and the Phoenicians were present among the Carthaginians, ordering them to outfit a force as large as they could and go to Sicily and destroy those who were taking the Greek side, and then to sail to the Peloponnese. Both accepted the offers, Hieron being eager to ally with the Greeks and the Carthaginians ready to work together with Xerxes. Gelon outfitted two hundred ships, two thousand horse, and ten thousand infantry and learned that a Carthaginian army was bearing down on Sicily. He engaged them in battle and freed not only the Siceliots but also Greece in its entirety.290

Both scholia are full of embarrassing errors.291 Details of the whole picture, which one could derive from them in order to reconstruct Ephorus’ original sequence of events, may be doubted.292 Still, the scholiasts were 289 290 291

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Schol. Pind. Pyth. 1.146a, II 24 Drachmann. Schol. Pind. Pyth. 1.146b, II 24–5 Drachmann (F 186). Cf. Bravo 1993, 444. For example, the scholiasts comment on a note by Pindar on Cyme by quoting Ephorus about Himera; scholion 146a refers to Himera as a naval battle, which it was not; scholion 146b (F 186) presents Pindar as a reader of Ephorus, which obviously he could not be (cf. Marx 1815, 220 n. 11; Müller 1841, 264b; Drachmann 1903–1927, II, 24; Jacoby 1926a, 95 app.; Parker 2011, ad loc.). In this regard, unlike some critics (Marx 1815, 220, and 1823, 756; and Gauthier 1966, 27), we should not correct the scholion by changing Ἔφορον into Πίνδαρον or vice versa: see Bravo 1993, 443 n. 119. This is not to say that Ephorus did not know Pind. Pyth. 1.137–155 (vv. 70–80); on the contrary, he may have considered it as evidence of the contemporary reception of the events of 480 bc. In Parmeggiani 2011, 321–6, I suggested the following reconstruction in six points. (1) When the Greeks were informed about Xerxes’ preparation for an invasion, they set up a common defence and sent ambassadors to Syracuse, which was under the tyrant Gelon, to ask for help. Hieron sympathized with the Greeks, and may have had a role in the negotiations (contra many critics, who suspect that the scholia mixed up Hieron and Gelon: see Marx 1815, 220; Müller 1841, 264b; Jacoby 1926a, 96; and Bravo 1993, 444. On this problem, see also Parker 2011, ad loc.; Vattuone 2014b, 515). (2) At the same time, Xerxes, who had received information about the current negotiations in Syracuse, sent Persian and Phoenician (perhaps Tyrian) ambassadors to Carthage in 481 bc (thus Xerxes acted in response to a Greek initiative: cf. Bravo 1993, 449). Using kinship as an argument (Carthage was, in fact, a colony of Phoenician Tyre), he pressured the Carthaginians into attacking first those Sicilians who would join the Greeks, and then the Peloponnese (note that, in the scholia, the use of κελεύοντες/προστάττοντας for the Persian negotiations and of ἀξιοῦντες/ἱκετεύοντας for the Greek negotiations may be no accident: see Parmeggiani 2011, 322, with reference also to Iust. 19.1.10–13; Vattuone 2014b, 513 ff. Contra Freeman 1891, 513; Pareti 1914, 127 n. 1; and Bravo 1993, 145. On the extremely close relationships between Tyre and Carthage, see Hdt. 3.19). (3) The negotiations ended positively on both sides. (4) Gelon – and Hieron together with him – recruited an army that he would send to Greece, but news came that an army was moving from Carthage to Sicily. (5) Gelon remained in Sicily and defeated the Carthaginians at Himera. (6) As a result,

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interested in defining Ἑλλάδα in Pindar’s text, and they would have never thought of Ephorus’ narrative about Xerxes’ plans and the battle of Himera if Ephorus himself had not underscored that the battle of Himera was so important for both Sicily and Greece. The main point of Ephorus’ original view is, therefore, within our reach: the battle of Himera was important not only for the safety of Sicily, but also for the safety of Greece.293 The assessment of the historical significance of the battle of Himera for the Greek world was certainly a cornerstone of Ephorus’ narrative. One may ask what pushed a historian from Asia Minor, as Ephorus was, in this direction. Ephorus probably knew the version of Herodotus’ Sicilian sources (7.165–166),294 but this does not explain why he emphasized this version against others available, such as Hdt. 7.157–162. In the fourth century bc, Isocrates praised Dionysius I as the Panhellenic champion against the Carthaginians,295 so it has been argued that Ephorus, following his master’s view, celebrated Gelon as a prefiguration of Dionysius I.296 One may observe in this regard that the reading of Philistus, who was the historian of Dionysius I and also a main source of Ephorus (F 220), might have inspired Ephorus much more than his presumed master. However, Ephorus’ view of Dionysius I was rather sceptical, as we shall see below on F 211 (schol. C Ael. Aristid. Panath. 313, III 294 Dindorf);297 moreover, one should not assume, at least in principle, that Ephorus mechanically adopted the view he found in his source(s) as if he were a mindless reader. Let us, therefore, consider Ephorus’ choice against that of Herodotus.

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although he did not go to Greece, Gelon actually contributed to its safety. Now, several details in this reconstruction, if accepted, would be interesting, first because they are not found in Herodotus (the agreement between the Persians and the Carthaginians, the Phoenician mediation and Hieron’s mediation in Gelon’s agreement with the Greeks) and second, because of the differences from Diodorus (Ephorus dated Xerxes’ plan about a Persian–Carthaginian agreement to 481 bc [no. 2 above], unlike Diodorus, dating it to 484/3 bc [11.1.4, 2.1, and 20.1]; furthermore, Diodorus makes no mention of a Carthaginian attack on the Peloponnese, yet he wants them to have to attack not only the Sicilians, as we read in the scholia, but also the Italians. Note also that the judgement on Gelon [no. 6 above] is not found in Diodorus). On the negotiations between Gelon and the Greeks, see also Polyb. 12.26b.1–2 (Tim. FGrHist 566 F 94), and Diod. 10.33–34, with discussion by Bravo 1993. According to Pareti (1914, 128–9) Polybius’ version would derive from Ephorus, but the details differ from what we read in the scholia, such that Polybius may derive from Timaeus: see Bravo 1993, 96–7; Parmeggiani 2011, 323 n. 894. At the time I made this point in my monograph (2011, 320), I was not yet aware of Marincola 2007f, which offers much the same argument (112). Nineteenth-century critics thought of Sicilian sources for F 186 on account of Hdt. 7.165–166 (see Klügmann 1860, 34), but they did not agree on which ones specifically. Meyer (19393, 335 n. 1) suggests Antiochus. On Philistus, see below. See Isoc. Nicocl. 23; Archid. 44–46; Ep. 1. Gauthier 1966, 27 ff. For an analogous position, see Krings 1998, 286–8, with bibliography. Note also that the scholia 146a and 146b (F 186) provide an ambiguous portrait of Gelon: see Parmeggiani 2011, 323–4.

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If the historian from Halicarnassus had emphasized the importance of the battle of Himera for the Greek world (including mainland Greece), he would have diminished the role which Athens played in the Greek success against Xerxes (cf. 7.139); by insisting on the importance of Himera on a global scale, Ephorus replaced Herodotus’ view, which was focused on Athens and Sparta, with a new global view which included the West, therefore emphasizing the strategic importance of Western events for mainland Greece. As we see, Ephorus’ universal approach is key.298 Some further observations. Herodotus makes it clear that the Panhellenic alliance against Xerxes was fragile.299 This is a point which historians and biographers such as Diodorus and Plutarch would later emphasize: after Salamis (480 bc), Athens and Sparta separated, and this split would turn into actual war in the following years.300 Ephorus may have influenced both Diodorus and Plutarch: Greece could fall into war much earlier than the reader of Thucydides would expect: immediately after Plataea (479 bc) according to Plutarch,301 in the middle of the 470s according to Diodorus.302 Now Ephorus’ assessment of the historical significance of the battle of Himera for the Greek world seems to have been inspired by the perception that, despite its victory over Xerxes, mainland Greece was divided and therefore fragile. The battle of Himera averted the Carthaginian threat for most of the fifth century bc, and one could only imagine what would have happened if Syracuse had been defeated: mainland Greece would have been exposed to attacks from the West.303 Moreover, in Herodotus’ narrative, in 481 bc the Greek ambassadors try to persuade Gelon to join the Greek alliance with the following argument: if Xerxes wins, you, Gelon, must expect that the Persians will attack Sicily; ‘by helping us, you defend yourself’, they say (7.157.3). Ephorus somewhat reversed the concept of Herodotus’ Greek ambassadors: by defending himself, Gelon saved the Greeks. It was because of ideas like these, that 298 299 300 302 303

Cf. Parmeggiani 2011, 325–8. Marincola (2007f, 113), on different grounds, reaches the same conclusion. Suffice to recall Hdt. 7.138; 8.3; 9.9–11, and 106.2–3. See, e.g., Diod. 11.27.2–3, 33.2–3, and 37; Plut. Arist. 20. 301 See Plut. Arist. 20. See especially Diod. 11.50 (475 bc), on Hetoemaridas. Cf. Parmeggiani 2011, 342 ff., and see § 3.5.3 below, on F 188. An attack on Greece by the Carthaginians was part of Xerxes’ plan, according to scholl. 146a and 146b (F 186). Regardless of Xerxes, it would have been easy to expect if Sicily had fallen into the hands of Carthage. But see Marincola 2007f, 113, with a different, interesting view on the reason why Ephorus stressed the significance of Himera for Greece: as Diodorus’ eulogy of Gelon in 11.23.2 (from Ephorus?) would suggest, Ephorus may have thought that Gelon’s victory ‘provided Greece with the enthusiasm and confidence it needed to defeat the Persians’. Still, we do not know whether Ephorus dated Himera before Salamis, like Diodorus, or not.

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Ephorus distanced himself from Herodotus and from those, such as the Attic rhetoricians, who mostly emphasized the role of Athens,304 and appreciated those Sicilian sources which emphasized the importance of Himera, such as the Sicilian informants of Herodotus and (probably) Philistus. Modern critics who have dealt with F 186, have focused their attention on the historicity of the Persian–Carthaginian agreement.305 The importance of F 186 lies probably elsewhere: it is evidence of Ephorus’ own view of fifth-century events. Ephorus emphasized that the Greek resistance to the Persians in the years 480–479 bc did not rely exclusively on Sparta and Athens; that the political history of mainland Greece after 480 bc depended on the power balance in a broader scenario, which included the West. Ephorus’ self-awareness as a universal historian made him prefer new perspectives. It was very difficult to expect such an approach from a Greek of mainland Greece, not to say of Asia Minor, as Ephorus was. No wonder that the most important historians of the West in the Hellenistic age, such as Timaeus and Polybius, would pay attention to Ephorus’ broader, universal vision, and his opening to the West (see Chapter 4). 3.5.3 Further Details of Ephorus’ View of the Fifth Century bc and Its Periodization FF 187–8 are too meagre to suggest clear narrative sequences; they nonetheless provide valuable information. According to F 187 and its context (Plut. Mor. 869a–c), Ephorus stressed the contribution of the Naxians to the victory of Salamis (480 bc), correcting, on the basis of Simonides, Herodotus and Hellanicus on the number of their ships.306 Verifying the number of the Naxian ships was probably not an irrelevant issue: it was important to ascertain the extent of the Ionians’ contribution to the main 304 305

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See, e.g., Lys. Ep. 27 ff.; Isoc. Paneg. 93–98; Panath. 49–52. See Nouhaud 1982, 134 ff.; Marincola 2007f, 111–12. Suffice it to mention here, among those who are in favour of historicity, Freeman 1891, II, 510–13; Meyer 19393, 334–5; Busolt 1893–1904, II, 788; Burn 1962, 306 with n. 30; Bengtson 19752, 28–9 (no. 129); Green 1970, 83, 173, and 2006, 50; Stylianou 1992b, 423–4; Haillet 2001, 120 n. 3. Against historicity: Schwartz 1907, 15; Pareti 1914, 131-4; Dunbabin 1948, 420-3; Hignett 1963, 17-18, 95-6; Gauthier 1966, 26; Meister 1970, 607–12; Bravo 1993, 41, 60–1, 453; Lazenby 1993, 107; Krings 1998, 287; Parker 2011, on F 186. On this issue, see also Jacoby 1926b, 88; Ferjaoui 1993, 62; and Parmeggiani 2011, 326 n. 904. Unlike some critics (e.g., Pareti 1914, 135; Meister 1970; Parker 2011, on F 186. For further bibliography, see Krings 1998, 289 n. 128), I do not think that Arist. Poet. 1459a, 24–27 is arguing with Ephorus on the Persian–Carthaginian agreement: Aristotle seems to criticize the synchronism Himera-Salamis (cf. Hdt. 7.166. Other historians insist, instead, on the synchronism Himera-Thermopylae: Diod. 11.24.1). Ephorus’ view on this matter is simply unknown. See Bravo 1993, 61–2, and 78 with n. 69. See Chapter 2, § 2.2 above.

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sea battle in the war against Xerxes since the manner and timing of their alliance with the Greeks had been debated. The Ionians had their merits in the struggle for the freedom of Greece.307 According to F 188 (schol. Pind. Isthm. 5.63a, III 247 Drachmann), Ephorus stated that it was the Aeginetans who won the prize for valour after the victory at Salamis, as had Herodotus (8.93.1 and 122) but differently – one may add – from Attic orators, who said that it was the Athenians.308 This detail may be part of Ephorus’ original study of the emergence of difficulties between Athens and Sparta while the war against Xerxes was still going on.309 Thus not only Athens and Sparta, or the Western Greeks, but also the Ionians, and Aegina: both F 187 and F 188 ultimately strengthen the general picture we have drawn commenting upon F 186: the Panhellenic alliance was fragile, and the victory over the Persians was not due exclusively to the merits of Sparta and Athens.310 FF 189–90, and also sections 1–5 of F 191 – a text that Jacoby hastily included among Ephorus’ fragments, but should be considered as part of the Ephoran tradition on account of its connection with F 192 (Plut. Cim. 12.5–6), if sect. 3 does not conflict with F 188311 – deal with Themistocles’ 307

See Parmeggiani 2011, 340 ff., for further details. See Lys. Ep. 43; Isoc. Paneg. 72 and 99; Areop. 75; Pax 76. According to Aristodem. FGrHist 104 F 1.1.3 and 1.1.6, the Aeginetans came after the Athenians for valour. On the prize for valour to the Aeginetans, see also Diod. 11.27.2 and 55.6; Strab. 8.6.16 and 9.1.9; Plut. Them. 17.1 and Mor. 871c–d (quoting Hdt. 8.122 as evidence of Herodotus’ malevolence against the Athenians); Ael. VH 12.10. 309 Cf. Diod. 11.27.2–3 on the ‘international intrigue’ over the assignment of the prize for valour after Salamis (from Ephorus?), with Parmeggiani 2011, 343–4. See also Marincola 2007f, 119; Vattuone 2014b, 519. 310 Note that Strab. 8.6.16 mentions the Aeginetans as disputing with the Athenians for the prize of valour at Salamis, and Strabo knows Ephorus very well. See also Diod. 11.70.2 and 78.3–4, on the Aeginetans’ prestige and strength in sea-battles. 311 POxy. 13.1610 (ca. 200 C.E.) consists of ca. sixty small fragments, which have been restored as we read them in F 191 by Grenfell and Hunt (1919, 98-127) on the basis of Diod. 11.59-61. Cf. Bilabel 1922, 7-11. The attribution to Ephorus (Grenfell and Hunt 1919, 106-8; Bilabel 1922, 7; Walker 1919, especially 244 ff. Cf. Jacoby 1926b, 90; Parker 2011, on F 191; Vannini 2018, 13-71) is largely a consequence of the use of Diod. 11.59-61. Hence the perplexity of many critics (Brown 1952; Africa 1962; Milns 1980, 56-7), often emphasizing the circular arguments by Grenfell and Hunt (see Reid 1969, 79-80; Lens 1991; Green 2006, 26-7). Despite the limits of Grenfell and Hunt’s thesis, some links exist between the papyrus and Ephorus on the battle at the Eurymedon river. First, sect. 9 of the papyrus counts 340 ships for the Persian fleet, while F 192 counts 350. The difference of ten ships may depend on Plutarch’s own approximate memory. Second, Plutarch places Ephorus in opposition to Callisthenes on the identity of the Persian generals (Cim. 12.5 = F 192 = Callisth. FGrHist 124 F 15: Ἔφορος μὲν . . . Καλλισθένης δὲ). Unlike Callisthenes, Ephorus mentioned Pherendates, who also figures in Diod. 11.61.3 and in sect. 11 of the papyrus, both describing the night battle at the Persian camp. Note that the name Pherendates in sect. 11 is restored ([Φερενδάτη]ν), but this restoration appears obvious due to the contextual analogies with Diod. 11.61.3: both the papyrus and Diodorus speak of the ‘nephew of the king’ (very clear in the papyrus ἀδελ- and βασ-), who was in the ‘tent’ (completely readable in the papyrus σκηνῇ). This said, one may note that sect. 3 of the papyrus contrasts Themistocles, ἠτιμασμένον (‘disfranchised’) by Athens, with Athens, which was 308

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saga in the 470s and 460s. Sections 1–5 of F 191, albeit in a poor state, seem to show that Ephorus – or better, the Ephoran tradition to which the papyrus seems to pertain – emphasized Themistocles’ role in building the Athenian hegemony on the one hand, and, on the other, the scant gratitude by his fellow-citizens who later condemned him: a recurrent theme in Ephorus’ references to Athenian history, as we observed above on the fate of Miltiades (§ 3.5.1). The innocence of Themistocles, who was accused of being involved in the Pausanias affair, was asserted by Ephorus unequivocally: this is suggested by F 189 (Plut. Mor. 855f), where Ephorus’ pro-Themistoclean version and Thucydides’ silence on Themistocles’ noninvolvement are contrasted.312 Ephorus’ portrait of the Athenian, as far as the political relationship between the Greeks and the Persians is concerned, was less ambiguous than Herodotus’: Themistocles, however ambitious, was sensible enough to not embrace Pausanias’ hopes (ἐλπίδας, clearly evoking mad plans, which were impossible to realize).313 F 190 (Plut. Them. 27.1–2) lists Ephorus among those historians who made Themistocles meet Xerxes after his flight to Persia, and not Artaxerxes I, as Thucydides has (1.137.3). According to Plutarch, Thucydides’ version seems to fit better the chronika (‘chronological data’), but the biographer also observes that chronika do not constitute a firm tradition (ἀτρέμα συνταττομένοις).314 One may wonder whether Ephorus dealt with such a chronological issue. According to sect. 1 of F 191, Themistocles reminded the King that he had informed him about the battle of Salamis and the bridge over the Hellespont,315 but this was only

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believed worthy of the μεγίστη τιμή (‘greatest honor’) by the Hellenes thanks to Themistocles. If the prize for valour after Salamis is meant here (but τιμή is rather generic, and may simply serve as a counterpoint to ἠτιμασμένον; see also Parmeggiani 2011, 377-8 n. 154, on τιμή as possibly referring to Athens’ primacy in the Delian League), sect. 3 contradicts F 188, according to which the prize for valour was awarded to the Aeginetans (see above). F 188 is a scholion and errors in scholia are obviously possible, but questioning what the fragments say without good reasons is not a sound premise. As the broader context of F 189 suggests, Ephorus gave preference to the best version about Themistocles’ conduct – i.e., the version absolving Themistocles – and entirely omitted the worst. Plutarch appreciates Ephorus’ choice here, and this well explains Plut. Them. 23.2–3, which strictly adheres to F 189. See Parmeggiani 2011, 382–3. Ephorus may have stated Themistocles’ innocence on the basis of the self-defence which the Athenian delivered after he had been charged with Medism: cf. Plut. Them. 23.4, with Parmeggiani 2011, 383 n. 186, and Vattuone 2014b, 520. Cf. Chapter 1, § 1.4. See Parmeggiani 2011, 338–9, 383, 402–3; Vattuone 2014b, 520. A much more critical portrait of Themistocles may have been given by Ephorus with regard to both Athens’ internal politics and Athens’ attitude toward Sparta and the other Greeks: see below. On the meaning of συνταττομένοις, see Lenfant 2009, 160 n. 1, with a convincing philological discussion of Plutarch’s passage. Cf. Thuc. 1.137.4, with reference to Themistocles’ letter to the King (Artaxerxes I, according to Thucydides). See now Vannini 2018, 19–20 and 23–4 for further discussion.

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one side of the story (λέ]γουσι δ’ οἱ μὲν ὅ[τι ὑπέ]μνησεν αὐτ̣[ὸν . . .). Ephorus surely knew Thucydides’ version but not only that one (writers of Persika also?), and may have chosen to deal with what he felt was a complex tradition in a Herodotean manner (cf. F 31b. See Chapter 2, § 2.1). Thus he may have been careful also on the issue of Xerxes/Artaxerxes much more than Plutarch lets us believe.316 Sect. 6 ff. of F 191 and FF 192–7 deal with the age of Cimon and Pericles, and the years of the Peloponnesian War. Together with F 106, they provide some suggestions regarding Ephorus’ periodization of Greek history in the fifth century bc, as we shall see in the three points below. (1) F 196 (Diod. 12.38–41.1) begins as follows: The Athenians, intent on hegemony over the sea, transferred to Athens the funds that had been gathered in common at Delos, nearly 8,000 talents (. . .).317

In order to explain the origins of the Peloponnesian War, Ephorus looked back at the transfer of the Delian treasury to Athens – an event that is not found in Thucydides’ Pentekontaetia (1.89–117). The ‘around 8,000 talents’ in the text are obtained by multiplying seventeen years of tribute by 460 talents per year (totalling 7,820), which, if we consider 478/7 bc as the year of the first tribute, takes us to ca. 461 bc.318 Whether such chronology is accepted or not,319 this was Ephorus’ date for the transfer and it is not accidental, as we shall see.

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Plutarch also names Charon of Lampsacus (FGrHist 262 F 11) as the historian who, together with Thucydides, made Themistocles meet Artaxerxes, whereas Deinon (FGrHist 690 F 13), Cleitarchus (FGrHist 137 F 33) and Heraclides (FGrHist 689 F 6) were historians who, together with Ephorus, made Themistocles meet Xerxes. Further sources in Lenfant 2009, 161 n. 2; Vannini 2018, 22–3. The issue cannot be easily decided. Modern scholars tend to endorse the fifth-century historians, i.e., the version of Thucydides and Charon, but Thuc. 1.137.2 seems to imply that Themistocles moved to Persia when Naxos was under Athenian siege (early 460s, i.e., when Xerxes was still alive), and this makes some difficulties. On Thuc. 1.137.2–3, see discussion by Hornblower 2003–2008, I, 221–2. On F 190, see Parker 2011, ad loc. See also Lenfant 2009, 160–5. Diod. 12.38.2 (F 196). For the 460 talents per year, see Diod. 12.40.2 (section of F 196). For the computation of the date of the transfer, see Robertson 1980, 114, but also Busolt 1893–1904, III 1, 204 n. 2. The canonical date of 454 bc (the year when the Athenian tribute lists begin: IG 13.259–290) should be considered only a terminus ante quem: see Pritchett 1969. Samons (2000, 98 and 101 with n. 83) still opts for 454 bc, as most critics do: see e.g., Meiggs 1972, 47–8, 64, 109; Migeotte 2014, 586. For the plausibility of 461 bc, see Robertson 1980. But I also wonder whether the transfer should be ascribed to the time of Naxos’ rebellion (early 460s), before the battle of Eurymedon. Naxos is right next to Delos, and its rebellion (the first in the history of the Delian League, as recalled by Thuc. 1.98.4) should have been felt by Athens and allies as very dangerous. At that time, Aristides was still alive (cf. Plut. Arist. 25.1–3).

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In ca. 462 bc, during the Third Messenian War, the Spartans dismissed the Athenian army, with consequences that both Thucydides and Diodorus record. Thucydides says: The Athenians realised that they had not been sent away because of this better explanation but because some suspicion had arisen; they considered it a terrible thing and thought they did not deserve to suffer this at the hands of the Lacedaemonians. As soon as they had departed, they relinquished the alliance that had been made against the Persians, and became allies of the Argives who were enemies of the Lacedaemonians.320

Diodorus observes: The Athenians, considering themselves dishonoured, departed at that time. But afterwards, being estranged from the Spartans, they continuously fanned the flames of their hatred. They therefore took this incident as the beginning of their estrangement, and later the cities quarrelled and in entering upon great wars they filled all of Greece with great misfortunes.321

Both Thucydides and Diodorus report the split between Athens and Sparta as a momentous event in Greek history, but while Thucydides views it as a stage on the route to the war of 431 bc (the greatest war of all Greek history: 1.1.1–2, 21.2 and 23.1–2), Diodorus stresses that the Athenians believed it to be ‘the beginning of their estrangement’ (ἀρχὴν τῆς ἀλλοτριότητος), and also observes that ‘great wars’ (μεγάλους πολέμους) and ‘great misfortunes’ (μεγάλων ἀτυχημάτων) loomed on the temporal horizon.322 According to this view, the war of ca. 460–446 bc (i.e., the so-called ‘First Peloponnesian War’), which already involved Athens and Sparta and their respective Leagues, represented the ‘first act’, while the Peloponnesian War (i.e., Thucydides’ own war) represented the ‘second act’ in the same historical sequence of ‘great wars’. Needless to say, this sequence obviously emphasizes the late 460s as a far more significant caesura in Greek history than 431 bc. At this juncture of our analysis, we should also consider what Justin says: Interiecto tempore tertium quoque bellum Messenii reparavere, in cuius auxilium Lacedaemonii inter reliquos socios etiam Athenienses adhibuere; quorum fidem cum suspectam haberent, supervacaneos simulantes a bello eosdem 320 321

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Thuc. 1.102.4. Diod. 11.64.3. Diodorus’ date for the dismissal of the Athenian troops (469/8 bc, archonship of Phaion) is to be questioned, since he describes the events of the subsequent war – the so called ‘First Peloponnesian War’ – under the years 459–446 bc (11.78–12.7). Diodorus’ words on the late 460s are clearly reminiscent of Hdt. 5.99.3 on 499 bc and Thuc. 2.12.3 on 431 bc.

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dimiserunt. Hanc rem Athenienses graviter ferentes, pecuniam, quae erat in stipendium Persici belli ab universa Graecia conlata, a Delo Athenas transferunt, ne deficientibus a fide societatis Lacedaemoniis praedae ac rapinae esset.323

According to Justin, the Athenians transferred the Delian treasury on account of the offence they suffered from Sparta during the Third Messenian War. These data perfectly match the information in F 196: the transfer was brought about in 461 bc by the Athenians ‘intent on hegemony over the sea’, namely, as Justin suggests, intent on defending and, at the same time, asserting their primacy in the imminence of a double war, against the Persians on the one hand, and against the Spartans on the other hand. All this suggests that Ephorus viewed the year 461 bc as a caesura of historical time, and a far more significant one than Thucydides wants his reader to believe. (2) According to F 196, Pericles, while giving his speech in defence of the Megarian Decree in 432/1 bc (Diod. 12.40.1–5, largely a synthesis of Thuc. 1.140–144 and 2.13), recalled the Persian spoils and the golden talents of the statue of Athena as possible resources for the upcoming war against Sparta. He then mentioned the prosperity that Athens had recently gained: [Pericles said that] the life of the citizens had made a great advance in prosperity [πολλὴν ἐπίδοσιν εἰληφέναι πρὸς εὐδαιμονίαν] because of the long peace [διὰ τὴν πολυχρόνιον εἰρήνην].324

This is a rather particular detail for it is not found in either Thuc. 1.140–144 or 2.13.325 One might suspect that Diodorus is adding this piece of information on his own initiative,326 if it were not for F 115 (Strab. 8.3.33), which features very similar concepts.327 One would better think that Diodorus is paraphrasing a passage he found in Ephorus. Despite their absence in Thucydides, concepts such as ‘peace’ (εἰρήνη) and ‘prosperity’ (εὐδαιμονία) in Pericles’ speech may not be due to 323 325

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Iust. 3.6.1–4. 324 Diod. 12.40.3 (F 196). On further differences between Diod. 12.40.1–5 (section of F 196) and Thuc. 1.140–144, 2.13, see Parmeggiani 2011, 673–9: as it seems, Ephorus tried to reconstruct the historical contents of Pericles’ speech beyond Thucydides’ own representation. Diodorus expresses similar ideas elsewhere in the Historical Library. For Diodorus’ words αὔξησιν/ ἐπίδοσιν λαμβάνειν πρὸς εὐδαιμονίαν see Palm 1955, 107. As for πολυχρόνιος εἰρήνη, see Diod. 2.16.1; 13.55.7; 16.83.1; 20.3.3 and 8.4; 34/35.2.45; 37.3.1. Strab. 8.3.33 (F 115): ‘for such reasons the people increased in number [αὔξησιν λαβεῖν τοὺς ἀνθρώπους], for whereas the rest were always at war with one another, the Eleians alone enjoyed much peace [πολλὴν εἰρήνην], and not only they themselves but also the foreigners among them; and so they became the most populous of all (. . .). The Lacedaemonians lent their aid, either from jealousy of their prosperity from the peace [τῇ διὰ τὴν εἰρήνην εὐτυχίᾳ] or thinking that they would have allies in destroying Pheidon.’

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Ephorus’ trivial speculation. Both concepts appear to have been part of Pericles’ propaganda since the 440s, as a famous passage in Plutarch’s Life of Pericles, on the Panhellenic Congress that the statesman organized in 448 bc, suggests.328 Not by chance, Teleclides the comic poet, perhaps after 443 bc, could assert that the Athenians trusted Pericles with ‘peace, wealth and also prosperity’ (εἰρήνην, πλοῦτόν τε εὐδαιμονίαν τε).329 So one may ask, which peace did Ephorus refer to exactly, when he made Pericles talk of a ‘long peace’? Given Pericles’ mention of the Persian spoils, it seems logical to see a hint here not of the Thirty Years Peace (446 bc), but of the famous Peace of Callias, which Ephorus probably dated to 449 bc.330 Ephorus, in his Histories, told of that very peace which is not found in Thucydides’ Pentekontaetia. It is somewhat obvious that Ephorus viewed the Peace of Callias as an important historical caesura. In this respect, some Diodoran passages offering links with Ephorus’ fragments may provide further insights. In 11.62.3 Diodorus quotes a famous epigram, perhaps by Simonides: The Athenian people, taking a tenth of the spoils, dedicated it to the god, and on the dedication engraved the following [Simonid. XLV Campbell]: ‘From the time that the sea divided Europe and Asia in two,/ and furious Ares held the cities of mortal men, /never had there been such a deed of earth-dwelling men/ on the mainland and the sea simultaneously./ For these men, having destroyed many Medes in Cyprus,/ took a hundred ships of the Phoenicians on the open sea,/ ships full of men, and Asia groaned greatly over them/ struck with both hands by the power of war’.331 328 329 330

331

Plut. Per. 17. See Azoulay 2014, 110. Fr. 45 Kassel-Austin (Plut. Per. 16.2). On Teleclides’ fragment, see Bagordo 2013, 219 ff.; Azoulay 2014, 138. For the peace after the battle at the Eurymedon river (460s), see especially Lyc. C. Leoc. 73; Plut. Cim. 13; Amm. Marc. 17.11.3; Syncell. 470, 296 Mosshammer; Suid. κ 1620 Adler, s.v. Κίμων. For peace in 449 bc, see Diod. 12.4.4–5; Aristodem. FGrHist 104 F 1.13.2. Other sources are rather vague about chronology, but stress how decisive the victory at the Eurymedon river was: see especially Isoc. Paneg. 117–120; Areop. 80; Panath. 59; Plat. Menex. 241e; Ael. Aristid. Panath. 271–276, I 1, 101– 102 Lenz-Behr. Since Aristodemus confirms Diodorus, and Ephorus could not ignore the Athenian expedition to Egypt around 460 bc, I find no reason to doubt that Ephorus dated the peace to a later period (therefore to 449 bc), but see Sordi 1971. For the ancient debate about historicity, see Plut. Cim. 13.4–5 (Callisth. FGrHist 124 F 16 and Crat. FGrHist 342 F 13); Harp. s.v. Ἀττικοῖς γράμμασιν (Theopomp. FGrHist 115 F 154), with Parmeggiani 2020. For the modern debate about historicity, see especially Meister 1982 (against), and, among many others, Meiggs 1972, 129 ff., Bengtson 19752, no. 152, Stylianou 1992a, Cawkwell 2005, 281 ff. (pro). See now also Hyland 2018, 15–36. According to Badian (1993, particularly 22 ff.), peace was made first after Eurymedon, and then reinstated in 449 bc (on the double negotiations, see Suid. κ 1620 Adler, s.v. Κίμων, with Badian 1993, 22; contra Samons 1998). On F 106 (schol. BTV Hom. Il. 7.185) as a possible trace of Ephorus’ dispute of the authenticity of the peace, see Parmeggiani 2011, 405 n. 53. Diod. 11.62.3.

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The epigram follows the description of the battle of the Eurymedon in 470/65 bc (Diod. 11.60.5–61.7. Cf. F 191, sects. 9–14, and F 192), which Cimon and the Athenians won against the Persians by intercepting the Persian fleet which was moving from Cyprus to Pamphylia, and by destroying, at night and by surprise, the Persian army’s camp set up near the mouth of the Eurymedon river.332 Since some details in the epigram fit the historical circumstances that Diodorus describes later in 12.3–4 for the Athenians’ campaign in Cyprus of 450–449 bc, some critics maintain that Diodorus (or Ephorus, his presumed source) erroneously referred the epigram to the battle at the Eurymedon.333 However, the epigram is introduced in Diodorus’ text through an extended passage (11.62.2), which, upon close examination, is not a simple comment on the battle at the Eurymedon. This passage reads: The Persians, overcome by such great losses, constructed anew a great number of triremes, fearing the growth of the Athenians. For from this time the city was increasing greatly [ἀπὸ γὰρ τούτων τῶν χρόνων ἡ πόλις τῶν Ἀθηναίων πολλὴν ἐπίδοσιν ἐλάμβανε], both because it was supplied with an abundance of money and because it had gained a great reputation in bravery and the ways of war.334 332

333

334

See also Frontin. Str. 2.9.10; Ael. Arist. Panath. 202, I 1, 79–80 Lenz-Behr, and 273, I 1, 102 LenzBehr; and also Pro quatt. 139–140, I 2, 337–338 Lenz-Behr; Polyaen. 1.34.1. If we had only Plut. Cim. 12.5–13.3 (context of F 192), we would hardly assign to Ephorus a version of the facts like the one we find in Diod. 11.60.5–61.7 and F 191. We would believe rather that Ephorus, like Thucydides (1.100) and Callisthenes (FGrHist 124 F 15), located the naval and the land battle close to the mouth of the Eurymedon river in Pamphylia. By contrast, both Diodorus and F 191 state that the naval battle was ‘in the area around Cyprus’ (but note that περὶ [τὴν Κύπρον] in F 191, sect. 9 ll. 3–4, is an emendation on the basis of Diodorus. See Stylianou 1992a, 360–1, with suggestion of περὶ [Παμφυλίαν]; Vannini 2018, 43–6, defending Cyprus as the very place of the naval battle described in the papyrus). Cf. Frontin. Str. 2.9.10: apud insulam Cypron. Critics believe it impossible that a naval battle ‘in the area around Cyprus’ and a land battle at the Eurymedon could be fought by Cimon in the same day due to the distance between the two places (e.g., Haillet 2001, 163; Green 2006, 127 n. 230). Yet we may consider the possibility that Cimon, by contrast with what Diodorus suggests (11.60.7–61.1), did not follow the Persian ships to Cyprus after he fought the naval battle, but went to Pamphylia directly from the place of the naval battle, which was the open sea, between Cyprus and Pamphylia. Needless to say, this point could be equally indicated by the sources as περὶ τὴν Κύπρον or περὶ Παμφυλίαν. On the epigram as referring to the battle at the Eurymedon river, see Stylianou 1992a, 353–8, and Bravi 2006, 81–3; as referring partly to the Eurymedon (vv. 1–4) and partly to the facts of Cyprus (vv. 5–8), see Wade-Gery 1933, 83–4; as referring to the facts of Cyprus, see Meyer 1892–1899, II, 1–25; Meister 1982, 24–31 (who maintains that Diodorus – or better, his presumed source, Ephorus – is guilty of confusion between the operations at the Eurymedon on the one hand, and those at Cyprus on the other. However, as Stylianou 1992a, 353–8 rightly emphasizes, Diodorus’ narratives of the campaign of the Eurymedon in 470 bc [11.60–61] and of the campaign of Cyprus in 450–449 bc [12.2–4] are not quite the same); Parker 2011, on F 191. See also, among others, Schwartz 1900; Barns 1953–1954. On Cimon, the battle at the Eurymedon and the issue of the epigram, see now also Zaccarini 2017. Diod. 11.62.2.

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Diodorus looks forward to the years to come (‘from this time’, ἀπὸ τούτων τῶν χρόνων). He covers – implicitly, but clearly – the period from the battle at the Eurymedon river in 470/65 bc to the Athenian campaign in Cyprus in 450–449 bc, describing it as a time of increasing power and wealth for Athens, and also of tension with Persia. This period is obviously concluded by the Peace of Callias, in 449 bc, as Diod. 12.2.1 also recalls: this was the period of Cimon’s great victories over the barbarians, the ‘golden age’ of the struggle which Athens engaged in against Persia without any aid from Sparta.335 Needless to say, Diodorus’ way of looking at the historical development in 11.62.1–2 reminds us of Ephorus (cf. F 115, αὔξησιν λαβεῖν, and F 196, ἐπίδοσιν εἰληφέναι). More important, as we recalled above on the battle at the Eurymedon, Diodorus was aware of Ephorus in this section of his work (cf. F 192 and frr. 9–14 of F 191). It may therefore be Ephorus who conceived the victory at the Eurymedon and the victory at Salamis of Cyprus as bookending one and the same historical process, from 470/65 to 449 bc. This obviously emphasizes the peace which followed, i.e., the Peace of Callias or πολυχρόνιος εἰρήνη (F 196), as a major caesura of fifthcentury historical development. (3) F 197 (Harp. s.v. Ἀρχιδάμειος πόλεμος) reads: Lysias in Against Androtion [fr. 17 Carey] and Dinarchus in Against the Challenging of Pytheas’ Citizenship [fr. 5, 3 Conomis]. The first ten years of the Peloponnesian War were called the ‘Archidamian War’, as it seems, from Archidamus who invaded Attica, as Thucydides, Ephorus and Anaximenes [FGrHist 72 F 23] say.336

Harpocration provides here an explanation for Archidameios polemos (‘Archidamian War’), a definition recurring in Lysias (fifth–fourth century bc) and Dinarchus (fourth century bc), and mentions three historians as authorities. The historians may have been quoted simply because they discussed the events of 431–421 bc.337 This is especially true for Thucydides, for he never uses definitions such as ‘Peloponnesian War’

335

336 337

Diod. 12.2.1: ‘The Athenians (. . .) increased their hegemony to such a degree that, with their own resources and without the Lacedaemonians and Peloponnesians they defeated the great forces of the Persians on land and sea, and they humbled that well-known empire of the Persians to such a degree that they compelled them by treaty to liberate all the cities in Asia.’ Harp. s.v. Ἀρχιδάμειος πόλεμος (F 197). Cf. Jacoby 1926b, 95; Parker 2011, ad loc. Contra Will 2003, 166 n. 27, and Schepens 2007a, 79, both assuming that Ephorus used the definition ‘Archidamian War’.

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and ‘Archidamian War’.338 But what about Ephorus and Anaximenes, whose works have been lost? The expression ‘as . . . say’ (καθὰ . . . φασίν) suggests that Harpocration is paying particular attention to ‘definitions’; therefore it may be Ephorus, and perhaps also Anaximenes, who talked of an ‘Archidamian War’: since these historians lived in the same age as Lysias and Dinarchus, this would hardly be surprising. Let us assume, conversely, that Ephorus never used the definition ‘Archidamian War’: he nonetheless saw the years 431 and 421 bc as marking a self-standing war, as we shall see. Diodorus, who knows Ephorus and Thucydides as well, never says ‘Archidamian War’. He often uses the expression ‘Peloponnesian War’ for 431–404 bc,339 thus conforming to Thucydides’ conception of the twenty-seven-years’ war.340 But in speaking about the events of 422/21 bc, Diodorus uses ‘Peloponnesian War’ for the period 431–421 bc, that is, for the ten years of the ‘Archidamian War’ in F 197: So then the Peloponnesian War, which had lasted ten years up to those times, ended in the aforementioned manner. (. . .) In this year [421 bc] when the Peloponnesian War had ended there were once again disturbances and upheavals throughout Hellas for the following reasons.341

From this passage, it seems that his source(s) identified more ‘Peloponnesian Wars’ or, better, multiple parts of Peloponnesiaka. In F 106 (schol. BTV Hom. Il. 7.185), which we examine below in its entirety, we read the definition ἐπὶ τῶν Πελοποννησιακῶν (‘at the time of the Peloponnesiaka’). This temporal specification is not part of a verbatim quotation of Ephorus; it may be from the scholiast. This notwithstanding, the connection we have detected among F 106, F 197 and Diodorus’ text appears to be significant: the fragment may refer to Ephorus, who spoke of Peloponnesiaka and distinguished the ten-years’ war (431–421 bc) as a part of a longer period of war. In fact, Thucydides’ dispute in 5.26.1–3 shows that already in the fifth century bc, someone before him considered the war of 431–421 bc a separate war.342 Furthermore, the fourth-century writers generally tended to deconstruct the Thucydidean twenty-seven-years’

338 339 340 341 342

The expression ‘Peloponnesian War’ is first attested in the first century bc: see De Ste. Croix 1972, 294–5. Diod. 7.1; 12.1, 37.2, 38.1, 41.1 (F 196), and 81.5-82.6; 13.107.5 and 114.3; 14.2.4, 10.1, 13.1, 23.4, and 85.2; 15.35.2. Cf. Thuc. 5.26.1–3. The notion of one war of twenty-seven years is defended by Thucydides in the famous ‘second preface’, on which see Hornblower 2003–2008, III, 41–2 and 44–53. Diod. 12.74.6–75.1. See Strauss 1997, 168, rightly mentioning Aristoph. Lysistr. 507 and 513 (411 bc).

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war and identified different wars,343 as is attested also by the definition of Dekeleikos polemos (‘Decelean War’) for 414/3 bc ff. in the Hellenika Oxyrhynchia.344 It should come as no surprise if Ephorus operated in a similar way to other fourth-century authors: Thucydides was the exception. The opposition between Thucydides and fourth-century authors should not be taken to extremes, in any case. For Thucydides conceives one war of twenty-seven years, but recognizes that it consisted of three distinct phases, the first ten years (431–421 bc) being one of them.345 If Ephorus identified several wars in the twenty-seven-years period of Thucydides’ war, and all were parts of the Peloponnesiaka, we should then ask: when did the Peloponnesiaka end? F 106 reads: The letters of the alphabet were not the same for all Greeks. The names of the letters are different, as, for example, ‘san’. Callistratus of Samos at the time of the Peloponnesiaka [ἐπὶ τῶν Πελοποννησιακῶν] changed the alphabet and handed it over to the Athenians in the archonship of Eucleides [403/ 2 bc], as Ephorus says.346

Since ‘Callistratus’ is the subject of both ‘changed the alphabet’ and ‘handed it over to the Athenians’, the possibility exists that, in Ephorus’ view, the year 403/2 bc was part of the Peloponnesiaka.347 Did Ephorus have the Decelean War last until 402 bc? Thucydides makes the war between the Athenians and the Spartans end with the capture of the Long Walls and the Piraeus by the Spartans in 404 bc,348 but writers of Hellenika opted for different conclusions: Xenophon selects the triumphal return of Lysander to Sparta in 404 bc,349 while Theopompus opted for the naval battle of Aegospotami in 405 bc, which he viewed as the start of the twelve-year Spartan hegemony over sea (405–394 bc).350 Two texts – one by Diodorus, the other by Justin – suggest a fourth conclusion.351 Diodorus reads:

343

344 345 346 347

348 350 351

See De Ste. Croix 1972, 295, with reference to Andocides (see Harp. s.v. Ἀρχιδάμειος πόλεμος, quoted above), Aeschin. De falsa Leg. 175–176 and Plat. Menex. 242c–243d (two wars); Strauss 1997, 168-9; Hose 2006, 670–1. Hell. Oxy. 10.3, 15.57–58 Chambers; 22.2, 39.539–540 Chambers. See e.g., Thuc. 5.20.3 and 24.2 (ὁ πρῶτος πόλεμος, ‘the first war’). For a list of Thucydidean loci, see Strauss 1997, 168–9. Schol. BTV Hom. Il. 7.185 (F 106). It is unclear whether Ephorus’ Callistratus and that Callistratus who is said to have been the instructor of Aristophanes’ Babilonians in 427 bc were one and the same person, as Suid. σ 77 Adler, s.v. Σαμίων ὁ δῆμος (see Andron of Ephesus, FGrHist 1005 F 5) seems to suggest. 349 Thuc. 5.26.1. See Schepens 1993, 174. Xen. Hell. 2.3.9. See Schepens 1993, 187–9. Theopomp. FGrHist 115 TT 13, 14. Cf. Polyb. 1.2.3, and see Schepens 1993, 171, 189–90. Cf. Schepens 1993, 193–4; 2001, especially 212–14; and 2007a, 73–5.

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[year 414/13 bc] In the Peloponnese the Lacedaemonians, spurred on by Alcibiades, broke their truce with the Athenians, and this war lasted twelve years [i.e., until to 403/2 bc]. (. . .) And taking the stronghold of Decelea, they made it a fortress from which to attack Attica. Whereby it happened that this war was called ‘Decelean’.352

Justin reads: [year 403 bc] Dum haec aguntur [sc. the fall of the Thirty Tyrants], nuntiatur Lacedaemone in bellum Athenienses exarsisse (. . .).353

According to Diodorus and Justin, the Decelean War ended in 403/2 bc, after the fall of the Thirty Tyrants in 403 bc. By revolting against the Spartans, in fact, the Athenians resumed the war (in bellum exarsisse).354 This historical view, perhaps inspired by the historian Cratippus of Athens, considers the events of the Thirty Tyrants as an appendix to the Decelean War.355 In light of this information and F 106, one may suspect that Ephorus had his Peloponnesiaka last until 402 bc.356 This would be hardly surprising, since in Ephorus’ view, the year 402 bc marked also the beginning of a new age, as our analysis of book XVII and following will show (§ 3.6 below). We can now draw some general conclusions. Ephorus’ attention to the years 462/1, 449 and 402 bc are evidence of his distinctive periodization. Those historical periods which, taking Thucydides as our model, we are used to defining as the ‘Pentekontaetia’ and ‘Peloponnesian War’, were ‘dismembered’ by Ephorus. He appears to have expanded the Persian Wars beyond the siege of Sestus (478 bc) to the Peace of Callias (449 bc), thus including Athens’ actions against Persia. He viewed Sparta and Athens as being involved in a series, one may say, of ‘Greek Wars’ (hellenikoi polemoi) from ca. 460 to 403/2 bc.357 As we shall see later, commenting upon F 70 (§ 3.6.1 below), these wars would continue into the fourth century bc. Again, Ephorus was in good company with other fourth-century writers, such as Plato and Andocides, who believed that wars between Athens and Sparta started ca. 460 bc and continued until their own age, down 352 354 355 356 357

Diod. 13.8.8–9.2. 353 Iust. 5.10.6. See also Diod. 14.3.4–7; Nep. Thras. 1.2–5; Plut. Lys. 15; Lys. C. Erat. 74; and Isoc. Areop. 65. Cratipp. FGrHist 64 T 2. See Schepens 1993, 190 ff.; 2001, 212–14; and 2007a, 71 ff. On 403/2 bc as a caesura in the fourth-century intellectuals’ perspective (including the Hellenika Oxyrhynchia), see now Fantasia 2015. Such a definition is freely taken from authors such as Thucydides (1.112.2, with reference to events of the so-called ‘First Peloponnesian War’), and Aristodem. FGrHist 104 F 1.12.1 and 1.14.1 (again, with reference to events of the 450s and early 440s).

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to the Corinthian War (394–386 bc).358 Notably, these writers came from Athens, so it may not be accidental what Diodorus states in 11.64.3, ‘the Athenians took this incident (sc. at Ithome, ca. 462 bc) as the beginning of their estrangement’. It cannot be excluded that Ephorus avowedly endorsed an Athenian periodization (from Hellanicus?) which Thucydides had refused, a periodization which persisted in fourth-century Athens and was found compelling by him because, as a universal historian, he believed that ‘continuity’, as a concept, better described the historical development of Greek affairs from ca. 460 to his own age. After all, to fourth-century Greeks the war of 460–446 bc probably appeared, in retrospect, more similar to that of 431–421 bc than it did to Thucydides, and in this respect, it is perhaps significant that strategies of war action on both sides, at least until Brasidas’ attack on Amphipolis in 424 bc, did not change that much. The separation of Athens and Sparta in ca. 462 bc and the subsequent transfer of the Delian treasury to Athens (in ca. 461 bc, according to Ephorus) represented for Ephorus the real turning point of Greek history of the fifth century bc. One may ask, was Ephorus under the spell of Panhellenism? The answer may be yes, but one should think of Ephorus’ view not only in terms of ideology, but also of historical evaluation. First, as we have observed above on F 186 (§ 3.5.2), Ephorus did not fail to notice that, from the years of Xerxes’ expedition onward, Greece was fragile and exposed to external threat. It was therefore logical for him to pay much attention to the official crisis between Athens and Sparta in the late 460s as a dividing line. Furthermore, as a fourth-century historian, he knew very well that the struggle for hegemony, which continued down to his own age (cf. above), would also affect the freedom of the Ionian cities. One may therefore say that Ephorus, by emphasizing the importance of the collapse of the Panhellenic alliance in ca. 462 bc, stressed the significance of that event for subsequent history. Second, one may ask how Herodotus would have narrated the events after 478 bc if he had continued his history beyond the siege of Sestus. With all probability, he would have conceived of its historical development as Ephorus did. In 6.98.2 Herodotus states: For in the time of Darius, son of Hystaspes, and Xerxes, son of Darius, and Artaxerxes, son of Xerxes – in these three successive generations – more evils came about for Hellas [ἐγένετο πλέω κακὰ τῇ Ἑλλάδι] than in the twenty generations before Darius: some arose from the Persians in Greece, others from the leading states fighting over who would rule [τὰ δὲ (sc. κακά) ἀπ’ αὐτῶν τῶν κορυφαίων περὶ τῆς ἀρχῆς πολεμεόντων]. 358

Plat. Menex. 242a–246a; Andoc. De Pace 3–29.

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As is well known, Artaxerxes I reigned from 465 to 424 bc. Only a Thucydides-inspired conception of the fifth century bc could compel us to believe that Herodotus’ hint at ‘the leading states fighting over who would rule’ refers to the Peloponnesian War. Herodotus was not Thucydides. As with Ephorus later, the historian of Halicarnassus seems to hint here at the post-460 wars, which implies that he too saw the collapse of the Panhellenic coalition in the late 460s as a major caesura.359 Now the Panhellenic sentiment which is easy to feel in Herodotus’ words does not affect the perspicuity of his historical judgement.360 Let us now turn our attention from periodization to events. The fragments do not afford us many places for speculation, but some points should not go unnoticed. First, as we observed above on F 63 (§ 3.5.1), Ephorus was aware that Athens’ hegemonic ambitions on the sea were a reality before Salamis (480 bc). This is congruent with Herodotus’ view that the Athenians, in 481 bc, wanted hegemony for themselves, and only waited for the best moment to grasp it, to the detriment of the Spartans, and this happened in 478 bc after Pausanias’ scandal (8.3.2). It is therefore highly probable that, like Herodotus and differently from both Thucydides and Isocrates, Ephorus did not believe that Athens simply received hegemony from the allies.361 Second, Theopompus criticized the Athenians’ habit of changing the past for their own glory (FGrHist 115 F 153),362 and one may suspect a softer approach to such an issue by Ephorus, who appreciated the Athenians’ deeds under Cimon. If, as it seems, Ephorus knew and reported the epigram of the battle at the Eurymedon (Simonid. XLV Campbell), he probably presented that very battle as the peak of the Persian Wars, for the text of the epigram implies that no battle before, on land and sea, could stand comparison. However, this does not mean that Ephorus always avoided criticism. Fourth-century 359

360 361

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Note that Herodotus does not say that the Greeks were afflicted first by the war with the barbarians and then by a single internal war: he seems to focus on evils (κακά) which were, at least in part, simultaneous (τὰ μὲν . . . τὰ δὲ), and this is understandable if his reference is to wars between the Athenians and the Peloponnesians from ca. 460 bc onward, when Athens was still fighting with the Persians. Contra Fornara 1971, 32. More cautious are Scott 2005, 348; Hornblower 2011, 278, and Hornblower-Pelling 2017, 219. On Herodotus’ Panhellenic feeling, see Scott 2005, 27–8 and 348. After Herodotus, many writers from the fourth century bc to the first century ce believed that the Athenians wanted primacy and took advantage of the Pausanias affair to obtain it. See [Arist.] Ath. Pol. 23.4; Diod. 11.44.6 and 46.4–5; Plut. Cim. 6 and Arist. 23. Contra Thuc. 1.75.2, 95.1–2 and 96.1; Isoc. De big. 27; Paneg. 72; Pax 30 and 76; Areop. 17 and 80; Panath. 67 (on Attic orators, see Nouhaud 1982, 201–5). See Parmeggiani 2011, 411–15, 446 ff. for details. Theon Progymn. 67, 11 Patillon-Bolognesi. On this fragment, see Shrimpton 1991, 80; Marincola 2007f, 109–10; Krentz 2009.

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Atthidographers such as Phanodemus recorded 600 Persian ships engaged in the battle,363 while Ephorus told of 340/350 ships only (F 192; F 191, sect. 9): by so doing, the latter was not simply downsizing the Persian fleet, he was also scaling down the myth of the Eurymedon, which in fourthcentury Athens – as Phanodemus’ hyperbolic estimate of the Persian fleet happens to show – exceeded reasonable limits. Third and last, Ephorus’ emphasis on such events as the Peace of Callias and the battle of Eurymedon clearly works against Thucydides’ evasiveness on the same subjects. There can be little doubt that Ephorus paid much more attention than Thucydides to fifth-century Greek actions in the area of Cyprus. Thucydides’ selective approach to events in his Pentekontaetia is well known: being primarily interested in demonstrating that the growing tension between Athens and Sparta since 478 bc provoked the Peloponnesian War (1.89 and 118), he therefore concentrates mainly on mainland Greece – and on this subject too, unfortunately, he is often too brief. Ephorus provided a different explanation for the origins of the Peloponnesian War, as we shall see below (on F 196); he was free from Thucydides’ demonstrative objective, and nothing therefore compelled him to adopt Thucydides’ selective approach. Moreover, as a fourthcentury historian from Asia Minor, he was aware of the strategic importance of Cyprus in the struggle against the Persians still in his own day (cf. T 20 [Polyb. 12.25f] and F 76 [Steph. Byz. Ω 23 Billerbeck, s.v. Ὠτιεῖς], on Evagoras and his strife with the Persians). All this may explain why what was marginal in Thucydides’ narrative was instead, in all probability, centre stage in Ephorus’. It stands to reason that, overall, Ephorus offered a more complete picture than Thucydides of fifth-century events in Asia Minor and the Eastern Mediterranean, and a more detailed account of, and often an alternative view of, the Delian League’s politics against the Persians from the 470s to 440s.364 As we shall see in the next section, the longest Ephoran fragment on fifth-century events we have, F 196, again emphasizes differences between Ephorus and Thucydides on three main points: the evaluation of Pericles as a statesman; Athenian internal politics; and also – as the non-Thucydidean detail of the transfer of the Delian treasury well shows – the Athenians’ attitude toward their allies in the League. 363 364

Plut. Cim. 12.6 (Phanodem. FGrHist 325 F 22). Some details in the fragments, such as the transfer of the Delian treasury to Athens (F 196) and the Athenians’ initiatives in Asia Minor before the battle at the Eurymedon river (F 191, sect. 8. Cf. Diod. 11.60.3–4; Plut. Cim. 12.2–4), also speak for Ephorus’ original narrative as more detailed than Thucydides’.

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3.5.4 Pericles in Context: The Causes of the Peloponnesian War (F 196) According to Thucydides, in 432/1 bc the Athenians discussed at the Assembly whether they should abrogate the Megarian Decree or not (1.139.4). Peace with the Peloponnesian League was at stake, and many took the floor, some speaking for peace, others for war (ibid.). Pericles – a man of the greatest ability both with word and in action, says Thucydides (ibid.) – made his speech arguing vigorously for war (1.140–144). Following his instructions, the Athenians refused to abrogate the Decree and war with Sparta ensued. Almost five centuries after Thucydides, while examining the main incidents between Athens and Sparta which led to the Peloponnesian War, Plutarch in the Life of Pericles focuses his attention on the complex issue of the Megarian Decree and Pericles’ role in this matter.365 Since the Spartans sent embassies for peace and king Archidamus did his best to settle controversies – he observes –, war would probably not have broken out if the Megarian Decree had been abrogated.366 Plutarch then reflects on the responsibility that the tradition assigned to Pericles on account of his refusal to abrogate the Decree,367 and distinguishes three main reasons for Pericles’ resolution: first, his pride and belief that he was giving the Athenians the best advice; second, his contempt for the Spartans and determination to show his strength; and third, his involvement in the charges against his associates (Pheidias, Aspasia and Anaxagoras) and consequent desire to save himself at any cost.368 ‘But the truth is not clear’ (τὸ δ’ ἀληθὲς ἄδηλον), Plutarch concludes.369 Plutarch’s approach to the tradition and his impressive statement at the end of his analysis are both significant, if one considers that he knew not only Thucydides but also much ancient literature which we no longer have. Obviously Ephorus was part of it. According to Plutarch, ancient writers had a few certainties – that war was decided when the abrogation of the Megarian Decree was discussed in Athens, that Pericles spoke against the abrogation, and that his words were decisive – and one significant uncertainty: why was Pericles against the abrogation of the Decree? The biographer seems to imply that ancient writers, explicitly or not, had answered this 365 366 367 368

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Plut. Per. 29 ff. Plut. Per. 29.7. On the Spartan embassies, see especially Thuc. 1.139.1–3. Plut. Per. 29.7–8, and 31.1. Plut. Per. 31.1–32.6. While the first reason recalls Thucydides’ view (see below), the third reason is addressed by Plutarch also in Mor. 855f–856a, with reference to comic poets. The attack on Pericles’ associates was part of Ephorus’ original representation, as we shall see below. Plut. Per. 32.6. This idea is restated in Mor. 855f.

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question, each in his own way. Both Ephorus and Thucydides were among them. Let us start with Thucydides and his answer to the question. Apparently Thucydides sees no other motivation behind Pericles’ opposition to the annulment of the Megarian Decree than the reason he officially stated in his speech, that the abrogation of the Decree would mean the beginning of slavery for Athens.370 Pericles minimizes the role of the Decree: regardless of it, war is unavoidable.371 Thucydides, who elsewhere praises the statesman as the ideal politician, who disinterestedly advised his fellow citizens for the best (2.65), substantially agrees with his Pericles. By focusing on the events of Corcyra and Potidaea between 435 and 432 bc (1.24–55 and 56–66, respectively) on the one hand, and on the war between Sparta and Athens as the unavoidable result of a process which started in 478 bc (that of the growing power of Athens and the fear it inspired into the Spartans: 1.23.4–6 and 89–117) on the other, Thucydides de facto debunks the importance of the Megarian Decree, which he mentions only in passing.372 The peculiarity of Thucydides’ view can be appreciated best when we read it against that of his contemporary fellow citizens. As Thucydides himself recalls, soon after the war began, in 431 bc, the Athenians accused Pericles of being responsible for the war, to the point that Pericles was convicted of embezzlement and removed from the generalship in 430 bc.373 Moreover, in the 420s, the Athenians often looked back at Pericles and his circle, and also at the Megarian Decree, to explain the origin of the war, as both Aristophanes and Plutarch show.374 If in 431 bc, Pericles had advised the Athenians that the Megarian Decree was not futile as a reason 370 371 372

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Thuc. 1.140.1–141.1. Note that Thucydides’ own view on the causes of the war is far more sophisticated than this: see below. Thuc. 1.144.3. Thucydides refers to the Megarian Decree in 1.67.4, 139.1–2 and 4. The inevitability of war between Sparta and Athens is stated in 1.23.6 as follows: τὴν μὲν γὰρ ἀληθεστάτην πρόφασιν, ἀφανεστάτην δὲ λόγῳ, τοὺς Ἀθηναίους ἡγοῦμαι μεγάλους γιγνομένους καὶ φόβον παρέχοντας τοῖς Λακεδαιμονίοις ἀναγκάσαι ἐς τὸ πολεμεῖν. The subject of ἀναγκάσαι is the entire process (i.e., Athenian growth, together with Spartan fear). The object of ἀναγκάσαι is not explicitly stated, and this is not by chance, judging from Dion. Hal. Ad Amm. 2.6, I 427.12–16 U-R, and the Thucydidean scholion ad loc.: βούλεται γὰρ δηλοῦν ὅτι μεγάλοι γινόμενοι οἱ Ἀθηναῖοι ἀνάγκην παρέσχον τοῦ πολέμου (‘he wants to make clear that the Athenians, becoming great, produced the compulsion to war’). On charges against Pericles, see Thuc. 2.21.3 and 59.1–2. On Pericles’ conviction for embezzlement, see Thuc. 2.65.3–4. Cf. Plat. Gorg. 516a; Diod. 12.45.4–5; and Plut. Per. 35.4. Aristoph. Acharn. 496–556 and Pax 603–614; Plut. Nic. 9.9; Alc. 14.2; Mor. 855f–856a. See also Cratin. fr. 38, 44–48 Kassel-Austin (POxy. 4.663, 44–48), and on the importance of fifth-century comic tradition for the historical reconstruction of contemporary Athenians’ view, see especially Schepens 2007a, 82–3 with nn. 63 and 64.

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for making war with Sparta,375 in the 420s the opposing view prevailed, that Sparta and Athens had entered war on slight pretexts.376 There can be little doubt that, by downplaying the role of the Decree and by maintaining that war was unavoidable, Thucydides also replies to contemporary charges against Pericles: he debunks the notion that Sparta and Athens entered into war because of the statesman alone. For Thucydides, Pericles’ responsibility was too simplistic as an answer to the problem of the origins of the war. That was the greatest war in Greek history, the apex of the Greek experience as a whole and the most effective paradigm of human sufferings in any age (1.23.1–3); as such, it could be explained only by means of the greatest agent, i.e., human nature. War derived from invisible forces that, unlike professional politicians, common people neither saw nor understood (1.23.4–6). Neither Sparta nor Athens deserved to be charged: both initiated the war, both were part of an impersonal process which would generate war by necessity (ibid.). As we see, Thucydides’ thesis blends politics with philosophy and tragedy.377 We are free to accept, reject or even criticize it;378 yet it is indisputable that it represents an insightful, very acute and highly intellectual reply to the common, widespread contemporary view, according to which Pericles was responsible for the war. Ephorus was more down-to-earth than Thucydides. He had no direct experience of the Peloponnesian War, but was aware of its consequences. He was among those who were not enthralled with his predecessor’s highly sophisticated thesis that war was unavoidable. He was aware of the struggle for hegemony between Athens and Sparta, but believed that if the Megarian Decree had been abrogated, the Peloponnesian War (one would better say, the war of 431–421 bc: § 3.5.3) would not have broken 375 376 377

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Thuc. 1.140.4. According to Aristoph. Pax 609, the Megarian Decree was a ‘little spark’ (σπινθῆρα μικρὸν). Cf. Plut. Nic. 9.9 (ἐπ’ αἰτίαις μικραῖς). See Parmeggiani 2011, 443–4; 2014b, 115–17; and 2018a, 230–7, on Thucydides’ philosophical approach to historical causation. See now also Jaffe 2017 (human nature ultimately bears responsibility for the war); Robinson 2017, 115–17. Among Thucydides’ critics one may recall Beloch 1914, 294, on Thucydides’ silence about the attacks on Pericles’ associates before 431 bc; Meyer 1892–1899, II, 302–3, on the scant attention paid by Thucydides to the Megarian Decree; Schwartz 1919, stressing the apologetic and pro-Periclean slant of book I; Kagan 1969, 357 ff., against the thesis of the inevitability of the war; Badian 1993, 125–62, asserting that Thucydides laid the blame for the war on Sparta in an attempt to obscure Pericles’ personal responsibilities, and defend him from the attacks of his contemporaries. I am persuaded that Thucydides defended Pericles, but in my view this does not affect the value of his historical inquiry and narrative, albeit intentionally selective. For a recent attempt at demonstrating that Thucydides was right, see Robinson 2017. For criticism of Thucydides, see now Psoma 2022, 179–90.

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out. He therefore called into question Pericles’ role and his choices as a politician who was particularly influential in Athens at the time. And yet, as our discussion below on F 196 and related texts will show, he did not just confine himself to Pericles’ responsibility.379 F 196 (Diod. 12.38–41.1) is a difficult text. Diodorus mentions Ephorus at the end of a long and seemingly lacunose account: The causes of the Peloponnesian War, then, were some such as these, as Ephorus described them [αἰτίαι μὲν οὖν τοῦ Πελοποννησιακοῦ πολέμου τοιαῦταί τινες ὑπῆρξαν, ὡς Ἔφορος ἀνέγραψε].380

As we already noted (Chapter 1, § 4), by his use of the term τινες Diodorus seems to imply that this is approximately what Ephorus said about the causes of the war.381 But from F 196 we do learn of several matters: first, Pericles’ difficulties in giving an account of his financial administration to the demos (since Diodorus says that Pericles was officially required to give an account to defend his financial administration [ἀπολογισμός or περὶ τῶν χρημάτων ἀπολογία], we are clearly dealing with the famous 379

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Many scholars contend that Ephorus preferred the silly inventions of poets and the vulgar insinuations of pamphleteers over Thucydides’ trustworthy account and subtle aetiological analysis, and that he held only Pericles accountable for the war. Such a formulation has long formed the basis for Ephorus’ supposed ignorance in historical matters. See especially Müller 1841, lxiiia–b (cf. Creuzer 1845, 325); Cauer 1847, 60 with n. 1; Stelkens 1857, 12–13, 25; Klügmann 1860, 29; Matthiessen 1857–1860, 878; Blass 18922, 433; Endemann 1881, 7–9; Vogel 1889, 533; Meyer 1892–1899, II, 326; Busolt 1893–1904, III 2, 704; Schwartz 1903b, 680–1, and 1907, 14; Peter 1911, 172; Jacoby 1926b, 93, on F 196, and 1954, 490, on Philochor. FGrHist 328 F 121; Barber 1935, 106–13; Momigliano 1975a (1935), especially 700; Gomme 1956, I, 44–6, 69–70, and II, 186; and many others, e.g., Dover 1988, 50; Pelling 2000, 128 and 152. One may recall Plut. Mor. 855f–856a on the tendentiousness of writers of ancient comedy in explaining the origins of the war by emphasizing the cases of Pheidias and Aspasia. But, apart from Ephorus’ insistence on Pericles’ private affairs and seemingly uncritical use of ancient comedy as a source, what has been often criticized in Ephorus is his presumed inability to comprehend the international dynamics that lead to war, on which, by contrast, Thucydides aptly focused his attention. See also Giuliani 1999, 23–40, esp. 37–40; Banfi 2003, 180–3; Pownall 2004, 133–4; Hose 2006, 680; and Robinson 2017, 118–19 and 123 (without any explicit reference to Ephorus but only to ‘non-Thucydidean sources’, among which Diod. 12.38–39). If modern critics do not consider Thucydides’ explanation of the war to be an apologia of Pericles, they tend to view Ephorus’ explanation as a historiographical collection of pamphlet/comic tradition against Pericles. If, on the other hand, they do suspect Thucydides’ explanation of the war to be an apologia of Pericles, they still do not try to re-evaluate Ephorus’ explanation (e.g., Schwartz 1907, 14). Generally speaking, Ephorus’ account is viewed by critics as a serious step backward from the high standards of Thucydides’. Aside from Marx’s and Vogel’s attempts to defend Ephorus, notable exceptions to this widespread critical trend are found in Connor 1961, and Schepens 2007a. See now also Parmeggiani 2011, 417–54, and 2014b; Vattuone 2018, 129–50. Diod. 12.41.1 (F 196). This was already clear in Vogel 1889, 538: ‘Jedenfalls besitzen wir bei Diodor nur einen Auszug aus Ephoros.’

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Dracontides’ Decree, on which Plut. Per. 32.3),382 and his will to resolve such difficulties by means of a war (12.38.2–4);383 second, the trials of his associates Pheidias (charged with embezzlement of public funds that had been allocated for Athena’s statue) and Anaxagoras (12.39.1–2);384 third, Pericles’ involvement in these charges, which in fact masked political attacks by his opponents (ibid., with a notable emphasis on the action of professional accusers or sycophants385), and his aim to resolve these troubles with a war (12.39.3); and finally, the existing problem of the Megarian Decree (12.39.4), and the consequent debate during which Pericles urged his fellow citizens not to surrender to Sparta’s ultimatum (12.39.5–40.6). At the end of this account, as we have seen, the reader encounters the term τινες, and is prompted to wonder whether Ephorus actually said all of this. Furthermore, if he did, can we assume that he said it in this form? Scholars of the twentieth century generally agree that Diodorus’ account is only an imperfecta imago of what Ephorus wrote about the causes of the war. In order to reconstruct what one might call ‘Ephorus’ version’, then, Diodorus’ supposed lacunae are often supplemented with information 382

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On Pericles’ account of financial administration, see also Diod. 12.39.3. It is worth noting that both Diod. 12.38.2–39.3 (F 196) and Plut. Per. 31–32 put Pheidias’ trial and the request for an account (Dracontides’ Decree) at about the same period (i.e., immediately before the war), but do not regard the account as a consequence of Pheidias’ trial. On the anecdote according to which the young Alcibiades suggested to Pericles that he not look at how to give an account of the money, but how not to give it (Diod. 12.38.3–4), cf. Plut. Alc. 7.3; Val. Max. 3.1 ext. 1. See Parmeggiani 2011, 424 and 427, with further sources. It has been argued that Diod. 12.38.2–4 is not Ephoran in origin: see Vogel 1889, 532–9. Vogel’s thesis was endorsed (with new arguments) by Busolt 1893–1904, III 2, 704 n. 2, and by Jacoby 1926a, 98–9; Jacoby 1926b, 92–3 (on F 196), 335 (on Aristodem. FGrHist 104 F 1.16). Cf. Barber 1935, 107–8; Stylianou 1998, 50; Hose 2006, 678 n. 55. Contra Meyer 1892–1899, II, 329 ff.; Schwartz 1903b, 680; Laqueur 1958, 269–70; Connor 1961, 57–60; Schepens 2007a, 78 n. 53. I am convinced that Diod. 12.38.2–4 derives from Ephorus: see Parmeggiani 2011, 417–19, with notes, for details. Parker (2011, on F 196, and 2018, 205) argues that chs. 38 and 39–40 are from Ephorus’ work, but from different parts. The exact chronology of the trials of Pericles’ associates is controversial. Some scholars (e.g., Azoulay 2014, 92) date them to the early 430s, while others (e.g., Podlecki 1998, 109, and especially Bakola 2010, 305–12) suggest the late 430s. It is nevertheless worth stressing that schol. Aristoph. Pax 605 (Philochor. FGrHist 328 F 121), where the name of the archon of 432/1 bc Πυθοδώρου is emended to Θεοδώρου, provides us with no more than a terminus post quem for Pheidias’ trial (438/ 7 bc). From Plut. Per. 31–32 (surely the best account we have of the trials, together with Diod. 12.39.1–2 [F 196]), we learn of several public decrees before 431 bc – among which the already mentioned Dracontides’ Decree –, all of them pertaining to Pericles and his associates. Pericles’ difficulties in this period are probably linked with Thucydides son of Melesias’ return to Athens in 434–433 bc. Note the verb ἐσυκοφάντουν in Diod. 12.39.2. Together with terms such as κατηγορίαις and διαβολαῖς, it leaves no doubt that Pericles was the victim of unfounded charges. See also F 139 (Strab. 6.1.8), on Thurii, founded by Pericles in 444/3 bc, and its laws against sycophants. Ephorus did not fail to stress that sycophants were a plague on the Athenian system.

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from Plutarch (Per. 31–32) and Aristodemus (FGrHist 104 F 1.16.1–4), and from late antique scholia on the works of Thucydides, Aristophanes, and Hermogenes.386 These texts, considered together, constitute the so-called ‘Ephorus tradition’. Here we find more detailed information than Diodorus alone provides about the cases of Pericles’ associates (Aspasia in particular, notably absent from Diodorus’ account), and more extensive quotations from Aristophanes’ Peace and Acharnians.387 Nevertheless, when we look for Ephorus in works other than that of Diodorus, a new question arises. In reading Aristodemus, we find not only information about Pericles’ private affairs, Pheidias’ trial, the Megarian Decree and extensive quotations from Aristophanes, but also other data, including the affairs of Corcyra and Potidaea and the Thucydidean alethestate prophasis (‘truest reason’), here defined as aitia alethestate (‘truest cause’).388 Is Ephorus, then, the source only for the causes that implicate Pericles, or for all the causes cited by Aristodemus? Is it possible, perhaps, that Ephorus was simultaneously considering different versions of the causes of the war, not in fact neglecting Thucydides’ version but – as is evident in Aristodemus’ account – redefining it? This solution has a longer history than might appear at first sight. Meier Marx conjectured that Ephorus might have included in his narrative, as a vulgate tradition, the information about Pericles’ personal affairs that we find in Diodorus.389 Eduard Schwartz suspected that Diodorus rearranged 386

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On these scholia, see especially Connor 1961, 1–81. On Ephorus and Plutarch’s Life of Pericles in general, see von der Mühll 1954, and on chapters 31–32 in particular, Stadter 1989, 286–8. On Ephorus and Aristodemus, see especially Connor 1961, 19 ff.; Schepens 2007a, 88–90. It will suffice to recall that Aristodemus quotes from Acharn. 524–534, whereas Diodorus cites only verses 530–531. But note that Diodorus quotes Eupol. fr. 102 Kassel-Austin, which Aristodemus does not. As we will see, Eupol. fr. 102 Kassel-Austin was in Ephorus’ original account. More specifically, in reading Aristodemus, we are dealing with consistent aetiological material organized into four different sets of causes: (1) chapter 16 includes the narrative about Pericles, his intention to go to war because of Pheidias’ trial, and his proposal of the Megarian Decree (paragraph 1). This information is complemented by extensive quotations from Aristophanes’ Peace and Acharnians (paragraphs 2–3), and by an anecdote (paragraph 4: Alcibiades suggests to Pericles that he find a way to not give any financial account to the demos. This version is shorter than that of Diod. 12.38.3–4); (2) chapter 17 presents the affairs of Corcyra; (3) chapter 18 presents the affairs of Potidaea; (4) chapter 19 includes what seems very likely to be an abridged version of the Thucydidean ‘truest reason’ but with a notable shift in perspective. In Thucydides’ ‘truest reason’ the Athenian growth compels Sparta to fear, and the combination of growth and fear compels, by necessity, the two city-states to war. In Aristodemus’ ‘truest cause’, the initiative comes clearly from Sparta’s reaction to the Athenian growth, whose features are expressly defined (i.e., ‘increasing number of boats, money, allies . . . ’. Aristodemus’ text ends here). Marx 1815, 231: ‘Sed Ephori nostri ut vindicemus integritatem et probitatem, nihil fere restat, nisi ut plures, quarum notitiam acceperit, belli caussas ab eo, ut historico, proditas fuisse statuamus, deteriorem vero a Diodoro, non acerrimi iudicii homine, electam.’ Note Marx’s remark on Diodorus’ uninspired selection of Ephoran materials. Marx’s apology for Ephorus did not win the approval of many

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various tales that Ephorus had collected.390 Robert Connor’s idea was in some way similar: Ephorus, in a Herodotean manner, might have collected different versions of the origins of the war, without necessarily preferring one over the others.391 If this were true, we should conclude that Ephorus presented his reader with a complete picture of the problems connected with the origins of the war.392 But before we draw any conclusions from Aristodemus’ text alone, we need to take a closer look at Diodorus’ account in F 196, for it is the only one in which the name of Ephorus is expressly mentioned. As we shall see, it seems possible to reach, through Diodorus, a different conclusion about Ephorus’ original view. The quotations from the comic poets appear only at the end of the fragment, immediately before the concluding mention of Ephorus. Here we find, together with the two quotations from Aristophanes (Pax 603– 606, 609–611 and Acharn. 530–531), a quotation from Eupolis’ Demes (fr. 102 Kassel-Austin). This quotation does not concern Pericles’ personal affairs, Aspasia, Anaxagoras, Pheidias or the Megarian Decree, but rather his rhetorical ability: A kind of Persuasion sat upon his [sc. Pericles’] lips; in this way he cast his spell, and alone of the speakers he left behind a sting in his listeners.393

In editing F 196, Jacoby chose to expunge the Eupolis quotation, believing it to be irrelevant to the problem of the causes of the war.394 Even if this were the case, it is not reason enough to reject it: we cannot ignore that it is in Diodorus’ text, that it appears immediately before Ephorus’ name and finally, that it is not the only place in the fragment that emphasizes Pericles’ rhetorical ability.395 Given that this quotation could be part of Ephorus’ original account of the causes, it would be better to take it into careful consideration. At first sight, it would seem that by quoting all the poetic evidence at the end of his account, Diodorus gathered together miscellaneous information, thereby confusing the evidence that Ephorus had originally organized

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nineteenth-century critics (see Müller 1841, lxiiib; Stelkens 1857, 25 n. 1; Klügmann 1860, 29 n. 3; Endemann 1881, 9 n. 5; pro-Marx’s thesis Vogel 1889, 538). Schwartz 1903b, 680. 391 Connor 1961, 76–8. Schepens (2007a, 88–90, with n. 75) has argued that Aristodemus’ sets of causes of the Peloponnesian War (FGrHist 104 F 1.16–19) reflect Ephorus’ original account: Ephorus would have classified four causes in order of growing importance, from the first and least important, namely Pericles’ private affairs (ch. 16), to the fourth and most important one, that is, Spartan fear of the Athenian growth (ch. 19). 394 Diod. 12.40.6 (Eupol. fr. 102 Kassel-Austin). See Jacoby 1926a, 101, and 1926b, 95. Pericles’ rhetorical ability is a leitmotif in F 196: see Diod. 12.38.2, 39.5 and 40.5, and also infra.

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in an ordered manner. But things are probably otherwise. The three quotations from ancient comedy are introduced in this way: Having gone through these matters and urging the citizens on to war, he [sc. Pericles] persuaded [ἔπεισε] the people not to submit to the Lacedaemonians. He accomplished this easily because of the forcefulness of his oratory [ταῦτα δὲ ῥᾳδίως συνετέλεσε διὰ τὴν δεινότητα τοῦ λόγου], on account of which he was called ‘the Olympian’.396

As we can see, the quotations from ancient comedy are introduced collectively with a formula that once again underscores Pericles’ rhetorical strength. The mention of Pheidias’ trial and the Megarian Decree in the verses of Aristophanes’ Peace quoted by Diodorus (verses 603–606, 609–611) obviously draws attention to the fact that, for Ephorus, Aristophanes was a primary source of information regarding Pericles’ private affairs.397 But the short quotation from the Acharnians (verses 530–531), with its link to Eupolis’ Demes, also clearly comments on the rhetorical power of Pericles Olympios.398 We should therefore conclude that Ephorus’ primary concern was not to quote the comic poets merely to substantiate the veracity of what had been said about Pericles’ personal responsibilities but, rather, to demonstrate that Pericles’ responsibility was publicly debated by his contemporaries and that the effectiveness of Pericles’ rhetorical strength, which was recognized by his contemporaries, was a decisive factor in initiating the war.399 Pericles’ rhetorical strength was surely central to Ephorus’ view of the causes of the war. We infer this not from Aristodemus or from other texts 396 397

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Diod. 12.40.5 (F 196). Although he was not the only one. It must be stressed that Ephorus could not derive all the details we read in Diod. 12.38.2–39.3 about Pericles’ private affairs and the trials of his associates from ancient comedy’s vague allusions. It is also highly probable that Ephorus diverged from Aristophanes on important issues (see below). In the Diodoran mss. both quotations from the Acharnians and from the Demes appear together under the name of Eupolis alone (Diod. 12.40.5). Is this an error only in Ephorus’ mss. from the first century bc (cf. Cic. Ad Att. 12.6a.1 and Orat. 29, where Aristoph. Acharn. 530–531 is attributed to Eupolis)? See Vogel 1889, 533 n. 1; Schwartz 1907, 14; Mesturini 1983; Parker 2011, on F 196. The possibility exists that Ephorus intentionally intertwined Aristophanes’ and Eupolis’ verses in order to describe Pericles as a formidable demagogue, a Zeus among orators. It is worth remembering that Pericles’ rhetorical ability is a leitmotif in ancient tradition: see also, among others, Thuc. 1.139.4 and 2.65.9; Isoc. Antid. 234; Plat. Phaedr. 269e; Plut. Per. 8 and 15. On this point, Connor 1962; Nicolai 1996; Vattuone 2017, passim. See Ephor. F 8 on the power of music and its rhetorical implications: Chapter 2, § 1.1, with n. 12. As we see, Ephorus’ use of information drawn from ancient comedy was subtler than it is usually considered to be. He did not employ Aristophanes’ and Eupolis’ texts as proofs in the strict sense of the word.

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of the ‘Ephorus tradition’ but, again, from Diodorus. In the section of F 196 that precedes Aristophanes’ and Eupolis’ quotations, Diodorus relates – extensively and in indirect discourse – Pericles’ oration on the advantages of not abrogating the Megarian Decree (12.39.5–40.5). What interests us here is not the content of the oration itself (an account of funds, among others, and therefore somewhat a defence by Pericles of his own administration of public finances, and also a reply to the Dracontides’ Decree),400 but the way in which the oration is first introduced, after a brief allusion to Sparta’s ultimatum to Athens, and then concluded, before the quotations from ancient comedy: So then, when an Assembly had been convened to discuss these matters, Pericles, who far exceeded all the other citizens in the forcefulness of his speeches [δεινότητι λόγων πολὺ διαφέρων ἁπάντων τῶν πολιτῶν], persuaded [ἔπεισε] the Athenians not to annul the decree, saying that [the content of Pericles’ oration follows] (. . .) Having gone through these matters and urging the citizens on to war, he persuaded [ἔπεισε] the people not to submit to the Lacedaemonians. He accomplished this easily because of the forcefulness of his oratory [ταῦτα δὲ ῥαιδίως συνετέλεσε διὰ τὴν δεινότητα τοῦ λόγου], on account of which he was called ‘the Olympian’ [Aristophanes’ and Eupolis’ quotations follow].401

This ‘ring composition’ emphasizes the underlying message: Pericles wanted the war, and he succeeded in pursuing it largely because of the rhetorical prowess that he exercised over the masses. Since Ephorus is mentioned at the end of Diodorus’ account, we must conclude that Pericles’s rhetorical effectiveness was a major point in Ephorus’ original view. Obviously, Pericles would have had no opportunity to realize his plan had there not been an ultimatum from the Peloponnesians and, consequently, a public debate on the Megarian Decree. This consideration leads us to understand a second underlying message: Pericles wanted the war, and he succeeded in pursuing it because of pre-existing tension between Athens on the one hand, and Sparta and the Peloponnesian League on the other. From this second point a new question arises: did Ephorus, like Aristophanes before him (Pax 603–611), think that Pericles proposed the Megarian Decree with the aim of provoking the war and thereby escaping the current attacks on his associate Pheidias and on himself? That is to say, did Ephorus describe the tension between Athens and Sparta as depending 400

See Parmeggiani 2011, 434–5, 673–9, for details.

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Diod. 12.39.5 and 40.5 (F 196).

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exclusively upon Pericles’ will to defend himself in the Pheidias affair? Two observations allow us to address these questions. First, according to Aristodemus’ version (FGrHist 104 F 1.16.1), Pericles proposed the Megarian Decree with the aim of causing the war, thus saving himself from the Pheidias scandal in Athens.402 But this is not what Diodorus, citing Ephorus, claims. It is worth noting that Diodorus does not connect Pericles’ private affairs (12.38.2–39.3) with the Megarian Decree (12.39.4). After describing Pheidias’ and Anaxagoras’ trials and recalling Pericles’ intention to promote the war, Diodorus notes: Because there was a decree among the Athenians [ὄντος δὲ ψηφίσματος παρὰ τοῖς Ἀθηναίοις] that forbade the Megarians the use of the agora and the harbours (. . .).403

If Ephorus, on the basis of Aristophanes’ Peace, had emphasized the Periclean authorship of the Megarian Decree as an intentional weapon for provoking the war and saving himself from Pheidias’ scandal, we would expect Diodorus’ text to read somewhat differently.404 Ephorus may in fact have corrected Aristophanes’ view: Pericles proposed the Megarian Decree and this action was surely a decisive step toward war, but he did not intend to solve, by way of this Decree, his personal troubles.405 My second observation is that Sparta’s ultimatum, as it is represented by Diodorus (12.39.4), seems to be such an aggressive measure against Athens that it is inexplicable as a simple reply to the Megarian Decree. It is clear that Ephorus said much more than what Diodorus tells us about the increasing political tension between Athens and the Peloponnesians. We must conclude, therefore, that Ephorus did not link this tension exclusively to Pericles’ intention to defend himself in the Pheidias affair but that he took into consideration broader political circumstances, which Diodorus does not choose to include. In this regard, one may think of the affairs of Corcyra and Potidaea in the 430s and, more generally, the episodes of tension/war between Athens and the Peloponnesians since the late 460s 402 404

405

Cf. schol. Aristoph. Pax 605 (Philochor. FGrHist 328 F 121). 403 Diod. 12.39.4 (F 196). The same disconnect is also in Plutarch’s Life of Pericles, as noted by De Ste. Croix (1972, 246–7). The agreement between Diodorus (Ephor. F 196) and Plutarch on this point cannot be accidental. On further links between the two, see below. Diodorus’ text, therefore, once again suggests that Ephorus had a careful approach to the information provided by ancient comedy. It is worth stressing that while Aristophanes seems to regard Pheidias as guilty of misappropriation of public funds (Pax 605: πράξας κακῶς), Ephorus regards him as a victim of a scheme devised by Pericles’ opponents (see Diod. 12.39.1–2; cf. Plut. Per. 31.2). This is indeed another difference – and not a minor one – between the versions of Aristophanes and Ephorus.

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(§ 3.5.3 above). It appears that, while dealing with Pericles’ affairs, Ephorus did not lose sight of the international context.406 Although an imperfecta imago and far from complete, Diodorus’ account does allow us to observe the coherence of Ephorus’ original vision. We have thus far distinguished two different streams of causation: one concerning Pericles’ political situation in Athens, the other the official relationship between Athens and Sparta in the years before the war. Briefly put, the war of 431–421 bc was provoked, on the one hand, by Pericles’ resolution to put an end to personal attacks on himself and his associates through war and to hamper a public inquiry into his financial administration (Decree of Dracontides), and, on the other hand, by a pre-existing tension between Athens and the Peloponnesians.407 The debate on the Megarian Decree that had been going on in Athens since Sparta’s ultimatum clearly marks the confluence of these two streams; at this convergence, the war was decided, and it was decided by rhetoric. Curiously enough, Ephorus, the historian who has been universally credited as having made history the servant of rhetoric, gives us one of the clearest statements in historiography on the dramatic damages that can result when rhetorical persuasiveness and demagogy enter into politics. As we shall see later, commenting upon F 207 and Lysander’s speech On the Constitution (§ 3.5.5), Ephorus’ interest in demagogy and rhetorical persuasiveness was not circumstantial but rather essential to his approach to the internal dynamics of the Greek states. Ephorus’ aetiological view was therefore articulated. He investigated Pericles’ conflict with his opponents, his desire for war for personal reasons and his success through rhetoric and demagogy; but he also did not ignore the political situation outside Athens (that stream of causation, in Ephorus’ original account, which Diodorus chose not to develop). Actually he showed how the political situation inside Athens worked in the context of the growing political tension between Athens and Sparta, therefore contextualizing Pericles’ affairs in the broader political scene. In this respect, it is also significant that Ephorus began his analysis of Pericles’ crisis in the late 430s by focusing on the transfer of the Delian treasury to 406

407

The lack of consideration given by Diodorus in 12.38–41.1 to international events is a consequence of intentional selectiveness: since he wants to show the differences between Ephorus and Thucydides, he only emphasizes Pericles’ private affairs. Cf. Chapter 1, § 4 above, on Diodorus’ preference for the Herodotean facies of Ephorus’ causation. It is unclear whether Ephorus, in dealing with the attacks on Pericles’ associates, spoke about Aspasia too (cf. Plut. Per. 32.1 and 5; Mor. 855e–f). Perhaps he did not insist on this point as others did instead (cf. Harp. s.v. Ἀσπασία = Dur. FGrHist 76 F 65).

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Athens (soon after the collapse of the Panhellenic alliance in ca. 462 bc, according to Ephorus’ view: see § 3.5.3 above), which he linked with the Athenians’ original attitude to thalassocracy: The Athenians, intent on hegemony over the sea [τῆς κατὰ θάλατταν ἡγεμονίας ἀντεχόμενοι], transferred to Athens the funds that had been gathered in common at Delos [τὰ ἐν Δήλῳ κοινῇ συνεγμήνα χρήματα], nearly 8,000 talents, and they handed them over to Pericles to guard [φυλάττειν]. He was much the foremost of the citizens because of his good birth, his reputation, and the forcefulness of his oratory. But after a certain time, when he had spent a quite large portion of the money on his own initiative [ἰδίᾳ] (. . .).408

All the personal facts concerning Pericles, which we find described later in F 196 (i.e., the request of an accounting of his financial administration, the trials of his associates and his oration at the debate on the Megarian Decree), have their basis in this piece of information, which marks the beginning of the entire aetiological report on the origins of the war. Despite oversimplification by Diodorus,409 some original Ephoran arguments are detectable, which are anything but trivial. Ephorus clearly saw the Athenians’ attitude to thalassocracy as an ‘original sin’, in which all the citizens of Athens, including Pericles, shared responsibility. Needless to say, if the treasury, which had been collected in common (κοινῇ), had not been transferred by the Athenians, there would not have been a place either for Pericles’ expenses ‘on his own initiative’ (ἰδίᾳ, clearly marking a conflict of interests) or for the inquiries into them; as a consequence, Athens would not have found itself in a delicate position in front of the allies in the League, nor perhaps would Pericles have tried to defend his primacy through war. The difficult situation in which the statesman would be involved, after some years of autocratic and certainly flawed financial politics – he would have done better to do what he was required, i.e., ‘to guard’ the treasury (φυλάττειν), rather than to spend it – had deep roots. For Ephorus, such a situation could not be understood without any reference to the Athenians’ original ambition for thalassocracy and its immediate consequences. It is easy to see that, according to Ephorus, the

408 409

Diod. 12.38.2 (F 196). One may recall Teleclid. fr. 45 Kassel-Austin (Plut. Per. 16.2), on the Athenians trusting Pericles with the tribute from the allies. One may reasonably doubt, e.g., that Pericles was at the height of his influence when the treasury was transferred from Delos (ca. 461 bc, according to Ephorus), as Diod. 12.38.2 suggests. But Diodorus’ ch. 38 is very compressed (see also below), so one may not exclude that, in Ephorus’ view, Pericles’ duty ‘to guard’ the treasury (φυλάττειν) started at a later date.

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split of Athens with Sparta in ca. 462 bc and their rivalry for hegemony had a dramatic impact on politics in and outside Athens. A detailed representation of Pericles’ administration of public funds (the matter in which the statesman was then charged and for which he was ordered to provide a defence of his actions, περὶ τῶν χρημάτων ἀπολογία) is not found in F 196. Again, Diodorus 12.38 is too short. But it appears that Ephorus described it with more attention than Diodorus lets his reader believe. According to Plutarch, Life of Pericles 12, opponents of the oligarchic party often attacked Pericles at the Assembly for his building projects on the Acropolis (in the 440s and 430s bc), claiming that funds for this work came from the Delian treasury and that the projects themselves were too expensive.410 These projects also included Pheidias’ statue of Athena, which F 196 sets at the heart of the charges, planned by Pericles’ opponents (ἐχθροί), against Pheidias and Pericles himself (Diod. 12.39.1). The statesman’s use of the treasury caused disaffection and open complaint from Athens’ allies, and in F 196 Pericles, in his oration delivered during the Megarian Decree debate, alludes to the statue of Athena and the expenses accrued in building the Propylaia and in the siege of Potidaea (Diod. 12.40.2–3), also emphasizing the tribute from the allies as a resource for war (ibid.). Both F 193 (schol. Aristoph. Nub. 859) and F 194 (Plut. Per. 27.3–4) stress Pericles’ use of public funds for war and corruption in the years 440s bc.411 As we see, Pericles was not only the object of Ephorus’ observations, but also the means by which Ephorus explored the nature and the shortcoming of Athenian rule in the fifth century bc.412 410

411

412

There may be some exaggeration in this (see especially Giovannini 1990 and 1997, on the basis of Meiggs and Lewis 1988, 162–5, no. 59. Cf. Rhodes and Osborne 2017, 258–63, no. 145), but the literary tradition agrees that the Delian treasury did support public expenditures in Athens, and inscriptions are often too lacunose to give a clear picture of the whole thing. F 193: ‘Pericles spent most of the large amount of money which was stored in the Acropolis on the war’ (Περικλῆς πολλῶν ὄντων χρημάτων ἐν τῇ ἀκροπόλει εἰς τὸν πόλεμον τὰ πλεῖστα ἀνάλωσε), states the scholiast, commenting upon Aristophanes’ exhilarating hint at Pericles’ evasiveness in justifying his own expenses: εἰς τὸ δέον (‘for needful purposes’). Ephorus’ account of Pericles corrupting the ephor Cleandridas and the king Pleistoanax in 446 bc follows, with details on their punishment in Sparta, and the reader gets the impression that the incident per se is not enough to explain τὰ πλεῖστα (most of the money in the Acropolis). Clearly Ephorus said much more on Pericles’ expenses in general, also relying, as usual, on ancient comedy. F 194 focuses on Artemon’s new siege engines for the war of Samos (440–439 bc, on which see also F 195 [Plut. Per. 28]), which were certainly very expensive. Ephorus may have emphasized both Pericles’ ruthless use of public funds for corruption and Athens’ contradiction in using, against its own allies, those very funds which the allies themselves had provided for the war against the Persians. For details on each fragment, see Parmeggiani 2011, 424–6; Parker 2011, ad locc. A critical attitude toward Athenian rule in the fifth century bc is found also in rhetors and intellectuals of fourth-century Athens, especially during the years of the Social War (357–355 bc). See Isoc. Archid. 42–43; Pax 79 ff.; Philip. 146–147; [Arist.] Ath. Pol. 24; Andoc. C. Alcib. 11–12, and

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To conclude, let us turn back to the crucial moment in which Pericles – responsible for questionable financial politics and, at the same time, a victim of a plot by his opponents – took his final decision for war, soon before the Spartan ultimatum and the discussion at the Assembly where, by means of his powerful rhetoric, he persuaded the Athenians not to abrogate the Megarian Decree. F 196 reads: But Pericles, knowing that in wartime the people admired good men because of the necessity which presses upon them, while in peacetime they denounced these same men because they had free time and were jealous, decided that it was beneficial for himself to cast the city into a great war [ἔκρινε συμφέρειν αὑτῷ τὴν πόλιν ἐμβαλεῖν εἰς μέγαν πόλεμον], so that the city, in need of Pericles’ ability and skill as a general, would not believe slanders made against him nor have the leisure and time to examine accurately his accounts of the money.413

Diodorus depicts, very effectively, the tragedy of the man who, in 431 bc, chooses to save himself rather than his fellow citizens: ἔκρινε συμφέρειν αὑτῷ τὴν πόλιν ἐμβαλεῖν εἰς μέγαν πόλεμον (‘decided that it was beneficial for himself to cast the city into a great war’). The chiasm συμφέρειν αὑτῷ τὴν πόλιν ἐμβαλεῖν puts dramatic emphasis on Pericles’ choice and the opposition between self-interest (αὑτῷ) and common interest (τὴν πόλιν). Ephorus emphasized, through Pericles’ eyes, the usual fickleness of the demos, forging idols and demolishing them at its own convenience (cf. § 3.5.1); moreover, he drastically reversed Thucydides’ idealized portrait of Pericles as the disinterested statesman who always advised his fellow citizens for the best (2.65). But that is not all. Plutarch, in his Life of Pericles, enters into Pericles’ mind very much like what we have seen in F 196: Pericles had already met with the people’s hostility because of Pheidias, and so he now deliberately fanned into flame the war that was threatening and smouldering. He hoped in this way to dispel the charges against him and lessen the people’s jealousy, knowing that as soon as any great enterprise or danger was in prospect, the city would put herself in his hands alone because of his great authority and prestige.414

413 414

28. See Chambers 1973, 119 ff.; Nouhaud 1982, 213–16. But fourth-century Athenian intellectuals were able to praise Pericles, ignoring his scandals, which Ephorus by contrast did not: see e.g., Isoc. Antid. 232–235 and 306–308; De big. 28; Dem. Olynth. 3.21; C. Aristag. 6, with Nouhaud 1982, 221–3, and Parmeggiani 2011, 457 n. 277. On the image of fifth-century Athens in the rhetoric of the fourth century bc, see Bianco 1994. Diodorus 12.39.3 (F 196). Plut. Per. 32.6. The similarities between this passage and Diod. 12.39.3 (F 196) are perspicuous, and speak for the Ephoran origin also of Plutarch’s passage.

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Whereas in Aristophanes Pax 608–611, Pericles stirs up the fire of the war with the Megarian Decree,415 in Plutarch’s version, Pericles is blowing on a fire already kindled.416 Pericles – Plutarch means – took advantage, for his own good, of pre-existing international tensions that would eventually lead to war regardless of Pheidias’ trial and Pericles’ own difficulties in Athens. The tragedy of the man who chooses to save himself rather than his fellow citizens was therefore not disconnected from another great tragedy, that of the two leading cities of the Greek world on the brink of war. This picture is perfectly congruent with the two streams of causation that we have identified in studying F 196.417 If Pericles had not resolved to uphold the Megarian Decree, there would have been no war in 431 bc. At that time, war was still avoidable, but it was only a matter of time before tensions broke out between Sparta and Athens. Among the culprits behind the war of 431–421 bc, Pericles was certainly predominant. He was far from the ideal statesman, whom Thucydides admired so much. But Sparta and Athens were both responsible for the bad choices that they had previously made, when each willingly pursued political hegemony; their choices would be decisive. Looking back from the fourth century bc to the issue of the causes of the war, Ephorus considered data that Thucydides had neglected, thereby adhering to his methodological principle that all the available evidence must be examined when the tradition is doubtful (see Chapter 2, § 1.5, on F 122a). While Plutarch makes ‘doubt’ the conclusion of his analysis (Per. 32.6: τὸ δ’ ἀληθὲς ἄδηλον), Ephorus made it the start of his research. Like modern scholars of ancient history, Ephorus employed ancient comedy to examine internal politics of fifth-century Athens. He succeeded in putting forward a new aetiological scheme, which was broad and complete in all respects (he devoted attention to such matters as Athenian internal dynamics, the politics of the Delian League and the relationship between Sparta and Athens, approaching them as reciprocally interwoven problems). Certainly his scheme was less sophisticated than the one Thucydides provides, but it 415

416 417

ἐξέφλεξε τὴν πόλιν/ ἐμβαλὼν σπινθῆρα μικρὸν Μεγαρικοῦ ψηφίσματος·/ καξεφύσησεν τοσοῦτον πόλεμον ὥστε τῷ καπνῷ/ πάντας Ἕλληνας δακροῦσαι, τούς τ’ἐκεῖ τούς τ’ἐνθάδε, ‘he set the city on fire / throwing out a small spark of a Megarian decree; / and he ignited so great a war that from the smoke / all the Hellenes got tears in their eyes, both those here and those there’. μέλλοντα τὸν πόλεμον καὶ ὑποτυφόμενον ἐξέκαυσεν, ‘he fanned into flame the war that was threatening and smouldering’. It is therefore highly probable that it was Ephorus who reworked Aristophanes’ metaphor of fire in the Peace, adapting it to his own historical view. He clearly felt free to craft new historical concepts by drawing on comedy’s most evocative images. On Ephorus’ free reworking of ancient comedy’s images, see n. 398 above.

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was more compelling. Also it was more complex than that of his contemporaries. While other fourth-century writers were content with merely stating that Sparta and Athens had entered into war because of the Megarian Decree,418 Ephorus believed that Pericles’ opposition to the annulment of the Megarian Decree was so problematic a choice that it deserved to be studied in light of the broader political context, both internal and international. 3.5.5 The Last Years of the Fifth Century bc: Dionysius I, the Double Hegemony of Sparta and Lysander (FF 67–9; 197–207) Information about the wars between Athens and Sparta after 431 bc is unfortunately scanty (FF 67 and 197–200),419 but enough to suggest that Ephorus could at times avail himself of epigraphic evidence and provide his reader with details which are not found either in Thucydides or in Xenophon, as F 199 (Diod. 13.41) shows: soon after Mindarus’ defeat at Cynossema (411 bc), on orders from Mindarus himself, the Spartan Epicles took fifty triremes from Euboea, which later sank off Athos because of a storm. Since Mindarus wanted these ships to arrive at Abydos as soon as possible (τὴν ταχίστην), their destruction was a hard blow to Spartan expectations. Needless to say, the incident greatly affected the naval defeat which the Spartans would later suffer at Cyzicus (410 bc). As we see, Ephorus carefully registered Sparta’s initiatives during the Decelean/ Ionian War, and the unexpected events Sparta was confronted with. This was a difficult period also for Athens, because of rebellions inside the League (such as that of Euboea), but also promising because of the rapprochement of Alcibiades with the Athenians. We are better informed about Ephorus’ representation of the events of the end of the fifth century bc. The Dekeleikos polemos ended in 402 bc (§ 3.5.3 above), and we know that book XVI, which included information on Sicily and Sparta around 404 bc (FF 68–9), consisted of sections, or 418

419

Andoc. De Pace 8; Aeschin. De falsa Leg. 175. See Nouhaud 1982, 254. This explanation (cf. Aristoph. Pax 609) would be believed as the most authoritative in late antiquity: see Connor 1961, 1–81, on scholia and other sources; Vattuone 2017. F 67 (Harp. s.v. Σκῆψις) and F 198 (Steph. Byz. Β 138 Billerbeck, s.v. Βούδορον) refer to the Ionian War and the Archidamian War, respectively (cf. Thuc. 2.94.3; 3.51.2). On F 199, see below. F 200 (Plut. Alc. 32), about the return of Alcibiades to Athens in 408/7 bc, suggests that Ephorus, not differently from Xen. Hell. 1.4.13–17 and Diod. 13.68.4–6, stressed the Athenians’ expectations of the general and exposed the political rivalry between local factions (see Parmeggiani 2011, 469 ff., also referring to Plut. Alc. 34.7). Jacoby (1926b, 102–3) suggests also FF 231 and 232 (Steph. Byz. Β 115 Billerbeck, s.v. Βοῖον and Ι 110 Billerbeck, s.v.Ἱστίαια respectively) as referring to the events between 431 and 404 bc. On these fragments, see also Parker 2011, ad locc.

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chapters, on Greek and Sicilian history which Ephorus organized according to their general synchrony. As the narrative approached the contemporary age, he could report more details (cf. F 9), and for this reason, he increasingly divided it into sections that covered shorter periods. F 68 (Steph. Byz. Ε 84 Billerbeck, s.v. Ἔντελλα) concerns Dionysius I’s politics in 404/3 bc.420 The Carthaginians led new attacks on the Sicilians in 410 bc and the following years (cf. FF 201 and 202 [Diod. 13.54.5 and 60.5 respectively], on Ephorus’ high numbers for the units of the Carthaginian army and casualties at Himera in 409/8 bc). A few years later, Dionysius rose to power in Syracuse421 and succeeded in containing their sustained offensive. Dionysius’ subsequent primacy over Greek Sicily appeared to end the period that had initiated with Gelon’s success over the Carthaginians at Himera in 480 bc. As the context of F 220 (Plut. Dion 36) suggests, Ephorus appreciated the reasons that Philistus invoked to justify Dionysius’ political initiative, for he qualified them as well conceived (εὐσχήμονας). This is sufficient for us to conclude that, following Philistus’ suggestion, Ephorus reflected on the historical necessity of the Dionysian tyranny as a ‘providential shield’ from the Carthaginians (see also FF 203 and 204 [Diod. 13.80.5 and 14.54.4, respectively], again stressing Ephorus’ high numbers for the units of the Carthaginians’ armies in 406/5 and 396/5 bc, respectively). However, it would be wrong to infer that Ephorus admired Dionysius unreservedly; on the contrary, Ephorus stressed – if not in book XVI, certainly later in his Histories, in books XXI–XXII or XXVIII–XXIX – that Dionysius himself was to become a danger for Greece (F 211: § 3.7.2). As regards the history of mainland Greece, Ephorus closely examined Spartan politics, as is shown by FF 69, 205–7. It is not hard to understand why. In the last years of the fifth century bc, Sparta had become the hegemonic power controlling both land and sea. A passage from F 118 (Strab. 8.5.5), though related to the first books of the Histories, is instructive in this regard: (. . .) when they [sc. the Spartans] entrusted their polity to Lycurgus, they exceeded the rest to such a degree that alone of the Greeks [μόνοι τῶν Ἑλλήνων] they ruled both land and sea, and they continued to rule over the Greeks until the Thebans deprived them of their hegemony (. . .).422 420 421 422

See Marx 1815, 235; Schwartz 1907, 5; Jacoby 1926b, 57; Barber 1935, 43–4; Parker 2011, ad loc. Cf. Diod. 14.9.9, on Dionysius I assigning Entella of Sicily to Campanian mercenaries in 404/3 bc. It is often assumed that Ephorus dated Dionysius I’s rise to tyranny to 408/7 and not to 406/5 bc, on the basis of F 218, but see n. 625 below. Strab. 8.5.5 (F 118).

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Sparta’s centuries-long, consistent albeit uneven, rise climaxed in its victory over Athens in the battle of Aegospotami (405 bc), which crushed Athenian dominance over the sea. With that victory, Sparta pursued its dual primacy (indeed a unique case in Greek history: μόνοι τῶν Ἑλλήνων) on land and sea at the same time. Achieving it was no accident, for as long as Lycurgan virtue was observed, the stability of the Spartan community was secure.423 Ephorus’ emphasis on the Lycurgan law, as the reason for both Sparta’s success over the centuries and its pinnacle in the late fifth century bc, helps us to understand some features of the original narrative. By contrast with Xenophon, Ephorus examined Spartan politics in the years of the double hegemony in detail, and this he did by taking into account all local history, from past to present. He examined local politics, shedding light on both local plans of constitutional reform and internal conflicts (between political factions, but also between the Spartan institutions and social partners, whether citizens or non-citizens). To do this, he took into account the development of Spartan history as a whole. Such an approach is somewhat expected from a self-aware universal historian, which Ephorus was and Xenophon was not; but there is more. Our examination of FF 69 and 205–7 will show that the attention Ephorus paid to the distant past was not his deliberate choice, but something inherent in the object of his study, i.e., Spartan politics in the fifth and fourth century bc. Lysander’s initiatives ca. 404 bc involved the past of Heracles (F 207), of Lycurgus (F 205) and the gods themselves (FF 69, 206), calling into question the integrity of the Spartans’ centuries-old identity (ethos lakonikon). Lysander’s plan against the Agiads and Eurypontids, which was conceived in 403 bc (F 207), may 423

Ephorus’ view of Sparta’s long-term rise after Lycurgus survives in various texts, although in an oversimplified fashion (the five hundred years hegemony from Lycurgus’ reform to the battle of Leuctra [371 bc], according to Diod. 7.12.8, 15.1.3 and 50.2; Nic. Dam. FGrHist 90 F 56 [Exc. de Virt. 22, II 1, 341–342 Büttner-Wobst and Roos]; Plut. Lyc. 29.6). Ephorus described an evolving historical process, not a static condition (see Parmeggiani 2004, 107–11. Cf. Schepens 1993, 529 n. 2. Contra Momigliano 1975a [1935], 698, and Wickersham 1994, 122–3). This process started with Lycurgus in the ninth century bc, when the Laconian civil strife between the Spartiates and the perioikoi came to an end (see § 3.1.1 above); it reached its peak in 405 bc with the dual hegemony (but see also the years 481–478 and 379–376 bc); it concluded in 371 bc with the battle of Leuctra, after which the Laconian civil strife reawakened (see § 3.7.4 below). If one removes Lycurgus, Ephorus’ view does not look so different from that of some modern critics, e.g., Hodkinson 1996, 85: ‘Spartan hegemony in the year 404 represented the culmination of a long-term process of her growth in power. This process had started as far back as the end of the eighth century with her conquest of the fertile eastern plains of neighbouring Messenia, had developed from the late sixth century onwards with the establishment of the Peloponnesian League and its gradual extension into Central Greece, and had now attained its ultimate peak with the expansion of her control across the Aegean sea.’

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have promoted at that time (or in its final form ca. 396 bc) an extension of the full rights of citizenship to the perioikoi and the atimoi (i.e., those deprived of civic rights), contrary to the original law of Agis I (cf. F 117, book I).424 Also Pausanias II’s lost work, Against the Laws of Lycurgus, which Ephorus had among his sources (F 118 [Strab. 8.5.5]), speaks to both Ephorus’ unusually close observation of Spartan politics in the years of the double hegemony, on the one side, and his confidence with political debates in fourth-century Sparta involving its ancient past, on the other. Certainly, Pausanias II’s text gave Ephorus privileged glimpses of the way fourthcentury Spartiates looked at their past and used it for political purposes in the contemporary age. In this respect, we have no reason to think that Ephorus fell under the spell of such rhetorical suggestions. For in narrating the actions of a brilliant general, Lysander, who sought personal power by corrupting oracles (FF 69 and 206) and constructing a speech about Heracles (F 207) in order to persuade his Spartan audience to endorse his reform, Ephorus instead denounced attempts to manipulate and distort the past. Let us examine now the fragments in detail. F 205 (Plut. Lys. 17) concerns the Spartan debate of 404 bc on the introduction of gold and silver coinage in the city. After the victory over Athens, Lysander sent Gylippus to Sparta with the spoils of the war, and Gylippus made the mistake of appropriating part of the treasure. He was thus convicted and sentenced to exile.425 Because of these circumstances, the Spartans discussed the opportunity offered by Lysander’s initiative, as Plutarch tells us in F 205 citing both Theopompus and Ephorus: The wisest of the Spartiates, not least on account of Gylippus, were afraid of the power of money; since it had taken hold of prominent citizens, they reproached Lysander and called upon the ephors to purify the city by eliminating all gold and silver, which represented, so to speak, imported ruin. The ephors then pondered the problem. It was Sciraphidas, according to Theopompus [FGrHist 115 F 332], or Phlogidas, according to Ephorus, who declared that they ought not to admit gold or silver coinage into the city, but should continue to use the currency of their forefathers. (. . .) Since Lysander’s friends, however, opposed this advice and insisted that the money should be kept in Sparta, it was decided that currency could be imported for public use, but that any private person found in possession of it should be put to death.426 424 426

See below, with n. 438, for details. 425 Plut. Lys. 16–17.1. Plut. Lys. 17.1–4. Jacoby’s selection for F 205 is highlighted. A rather meagre trace of the Spartan discussion may be found perhaps in Diod. 14.10.2. See also Diod. 13.106.9–10 for the link GylippusCleandridas (F 193, below), with Parmeggiani 2011, 384 with n. 190. Cf. Parker 2011, on F 205. On account of F 69, which refers to Lysander’s plan in 403 bc, F 205 should be assigned to book XVI.

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While Lysander’s friends (φίλοι) advocated the introduction of gold and silver coinage in the city also for private use, the ‘wisest of the Spartiates’ (φρονιμώτατοι τῶν Σπαρτιατῶν) invoked the authority of Lycurgus’ constitution, demanding that the equivalent of xenelasia be applied to the money Gylippus had brought.427 Judging from Phlogidas’ words (Sciraphidas, according to Theopompus), a debate followed on the value of the Lycurgan law in present Sparta: the use (χρῆσθαι) of gold and silver would imply the suppression of the ancient Lycurgan coin, which would affect the economy and social balance in the city.428 It was decided in the end that no money would be introduced for private use, despite the suggestion by Lysander’s friends, nor would it be banned from Sparta, despite the complaints by the ‘wisest of the Spartiates’. The resolution to introduce money only for public use may seem a compromise, at first sight, but it ultimately shows that Lysander’s friends were politically influential in Sparta at that time. Plutarch does not report Ephorus’ and Theopompus’ comments on these circumstances. He only underscores that the introduction of money, contrary as it was to Lycurgus’ law, set in motion a process of decadence of Spartan ethe.429 Now, there is no doubt that Ephorus was part of the robust tradition which, before Plutarch, reflected on philochrematia (‘love of money’) as a reason for the decline of Sparta in the fourth century bc;430 but Ephorus’ view on the matter was perhaps not simply ‘moralistic,’ i.e. disconnected from real politics, as it is often presumed to be.431 First, Ephorus knew that Gylippus had acquired his citizenship on account of andragathia (‘bravery’), since his father Cleandridas had been convicted

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Marx (1815, 237), Cauer (1847, 80, 85), Dressler (1873, 22–3, 28) and Jacoby (1926a, 62) assign it to book XVII. See Figueira 2003. Phlogidas may have been an ephor (see Richer 1998, 528 with n. 21). Plutarch, at least, seems to imply it. On Lycurgus’ ban of money, see Polyb. 6.45.4 (F 148). Cf. Xen. Lac. Pol. 7.5; Plut. Lyc. 9.1; Agis 10.4. Note that according to F 193, a fine of fifteen talents was inflicted on Pleistoanax in 446 bc: Ephorus was therefore aware that the Spartans could personally hold funds already in the fifth century bc. On money in fifth- and fourth-century Sparta, see Hodkinson 1994; Parker 2011, on F 205. Plut. Lys. 17.4– 6. Cf. Lyc. 30; Agis 5.1; Mor. 228e and 239f. On money as an agent of corruption and the reason for the decline of Sparta, see Xen. Lac. Pol. 14; Arist. Pol. 2.1271b; Polyb. 6.48.8; Diod. 7.12.5 (with the famous oracle ἡ φιλοχρηματία Σπάρταν ὁλεῖ, ‘the love of money will destroy Sparta’: see Parke and Wormell 1956, II, 91 [no. 222]; Hodkinson 1994, 200, and 1996, 92–3, who supposes that Ephorus took it from Pausanias II’s Against the Laws of Lycurgus); 7.12.8; Paus. 9.32.5– 10 (with explicit reference to Lysander’s own responsability); Athen. 6.233f–234a (Posidon. FGrHist 87 F 48); Ael. VH 14.29. On Ephorus’ presumed preference for ‘moralistic’ explanations, see, among others, Hodkinson 1994, 196, and 1996, 86 ff.; Cataldi 1996, 64–5, 83.

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of corruption in 446 bc and stripped of his full rights while his property had been confiscated (F 193). Prompted by Gylippus’ own conviction for corruption, the ‘wisest of the Spartiates’ certainly recalled the story of Cleandridas at the debate of F 205, and may have even said that Gylippus suffered from an ‘illness’ inherited from his father (ἀρρωστήμα πατρῷον), as Timaeus, a reader of Ephorus as we know, indicated later.432 This definition agrees with others that we find in F 205 – such as ἀποδιοπομπεῖσθαι, which recalls a religious process of purification, or κῆρας ἐπαγωγίμους, which characterizes the imported money as a deadly plague – and suggests Ephorus’ awareness of the political meaning and function of the language of the ‘wisest of the Spartiates’: such moraloriented definitions were expression of the political language of a group at war with Lysander.433 Second, during the debate, the ‘wisest of the Spartiates’ maintained that money corrupted everyone, especially the most important citizens (τὴν τοῦ νομίσματος ἰσχὺν φοβηθέντες ὡς οὐχὶ τῶν τυχόντων ἁπτομένην πολιτῶν). This detail, which is omitted by Jacoby, retains the political reason behind the opposition of the ‘wisest of the Spartiates’ to Lysander’s initiative.434 Lysander’s friends, on the other side of the dispute, did their best in order to keep money in Sparta (τῶν δὲ Λυσάνδρου φίλων ὑπεναντιουμένων καὶ σπουδασάντων ἐν τῷ πόλει καταμεῖναι τὰ χρήματα). This detail, again omitted by Jacoby, emphasizes the political purpose of Lysander’s supporters and their stubbornness in pursuing it. Politics, as we see, are centre-stage. Third and last, the ‘wisest of the Spartiates’ feared the power of money also on account of other reasons which Plutarch glosses over but Ephorus and Theopompus most likely did not dismiss (οὐχ ἥκιστα καὶ διὰ τοῦτο τὴν τοῦ νομίσματος ἰσχὺν φοβηθέντες). These were, one may argue, the disruptive effects of money on social stability in Sparta, effects that would be contrary to the city’s political interests.435 In sum, the attention Ephorus may have paid to 432

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According to Ael. VH 12.43, Gylippus was originally a mothax together with Lysander (cf. Athen. 6.271e–f [Phylarch. FGrHist 81 F 43]) and Callicratidas. We read of Timaeus on Gylippus’ ‘illness’ in Plut. Nic. 28 (Tim. FGrHist 566 F 100b). Cf. Plut. Per. 22.4. Timaeus stressed Gylippus’ greediness: see FGrHist 566 F 100a (Plut. Nic. 19.5) and F 100c (Plut. Tim. 41.4). For the political use and meaning of moral-oriented definitions by the Spartans, cf., e.g., Thuc. 1.95.7, on the Spartan fear of corruption after the Pausanias affair. Interestingly, the word φρονιμώτατοι (‘the wisest ones’) describes the extremist side of a political faction. Φρόνιμος (‘wise’) is used of Lacratidas in F 207, who was hostile to Lysander and would suggest to Agesilaus after 395 bc that he not divulge Lysander’s speech On the Constitution, for he thought that the constitutional order would be affected by it. Like ἐσωφρόνουν in F 118, therefore, φρόνιμος is politically meaningful. Incidentally, it is indisputable that changes indeed affected Spartan society in the fourth century bc, when large amounts of gold and silver were let into the city beginning at the end of the fifth

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love of money as a reason for the decadence of Spartan ethe did not prevent him from understanding and emphasizing the political meaning of the debate and its consequences. Like Theopompus, perhaps Ephorus also knew that Lysander aimed at financing Sparta’s naval hegemony; but unlike Theopompus, who probably viewed Lysander’s initiative as a legitimate attempt to make Sparta self-sufficient with respect to Persia,436 Ephorus believed that Lysander’s manoeuvring was aimed at social changes that would favour his personal success, and would eventually fracture that internal unity which, in principle, grants solidity to a hegemonic power (cf. FF 148–9, from book IV). F 205 shows that Lysander, after the victory over Athens in 404 bc, sought to change things in Sparta which had never been changed before. He had already been welcomed in Asia Minor as a ‘new Heracles’.437 Now Lysander wanted to be recognized as such also in Sparta. For this purpose, he used Heracles as a model in order to radically change the traditional concept of kingship in Sparta, as F 207 (Plut. Lys. 30) shows. By invoking Heracles, Lysander employed the same strategy that Pheidon of Argos had used to legitimize his own power (see F 115, § 3.3.2 above), or the rhetors of the fourth century bc, in Ephorus’ own days, would use to celebrate Philip II as the hegemon of Greece. In 403 bc the Spartan constitution became the target of a radical attack, which Lysander meticulously planned, step by step. The general intended to bring the dyarchy to an end, and make sovereignty accessible to all Spartiates by means of election, against the exclusive prerogatives of the royal families of the Agiads and the Eurypontids.438 As the winner of the

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century bc. Note that in 404 bc, Sparta began to impose tribute on its allies (Diod. 14.10.2). In general, see David 1979–1980. On Theopompus’ appreciation of Lysander as a politician, see Schepens 2001. Note that both Arist. Pol. 2.1271b and Polyb. 6.49.7 ff. stress Sparta’s difficulties caused by the absence of a public treasury, and this may well have been emphasized also by Theopompus. See Plut. Lys. 18, on Lysander honoured by the Samians (Dur. FGrHist 76 F 71), with Muccioli 2005. On Lysander as a ‘new Heracles’ in Asia Minor, it is worth remembering the ΣΥΝ coins: see Karwiese 1980; contra Fabiani 1999. Note that Cleon, the writer of the speech On the Constitution, which linked Lysander with Heracles, was from Halicarnassus. F 207 (Plut. Lys. 30). Cf. Arist. Pol. 5.1301b and 1306b; Diod. 14.13; Nep. Lys. 3; Plut. Comp. Lys.-Sul. 2.1; Lys. 24–26, Ages. 20.2–3; Mor. 212c–d and 229e–230a. Excellence (arete) was planned as the criterion for assigning the crown. Lysander’s political project at a later stage (ca. 396 bc), if not already in 403 bc, may have envisioned even the introduction of isotimia in Sparta, namely, the equality of rights between the Spartiates and the lower classes. Such initiative was against the law of Agis I (F 117), and may have inspired the tradition of Lysander as a mothax (Athen. 6.271e–f [Phylarch. FGrHist 81 F 43]; Ael. VH 12.43). See Parmeggiani 2004, 112 ff., with literature, and note Plut. Mor. 229d: ‘When a Persian asked him what constitution he would most praise, he said, “whichever gives what is appropriate to brave men and cowards.”’ This piece clearly refers to Lysander’s plot against the Spartan kings and his discourse On the Constitution (F 207), and may be

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war against Athens and bearer of freedom to all the Greeks, Lysander wanted the crown for himself, and he thought that he could achieve his ambitious goal by resorting to two means, the oracle and the speech. They were both necessary to each other, especially the oracle to the speech, since no reform of the Spartan constitution could be carried out without the favour of the gods. F 69 (schol. HM(ED) Hom. Od. 3.215) reads: Tell me, are you willingly held down or do the people throughout the land hate you because driven by the voice of a god?] Often they changed kings, driven by oracles. Ephorus in book XVI records concerning the gods. In harmony with this is the remark, ‘it is a terrible thing to kill a kingly race. So then let us first ask the counsels of the gods.’439

Commenting upon θεοῦ ὀμφῇ (‘by the voice of a god’) in Od. 3.215 (Nestor asks Telemachus whether the people in Ithaca are against him because of the will of gods), the scholiast underlines the importance of the oracles’ sanction in the dethronement of kings. He then quotes Ephorus for something he said in book XVI about the gods, and concludes his note citing again Homer (Od. 16.401–402: Amphinomus suggests that the other suitors should wait for the response of the oracle before taking any initiative to kill Telemachus). Albeit hastily, the scholion clearly refers to Ephorus’ representation of Lysander’s thoughts, when he first considered the oracle an instrument to bring about his plan, which is understood here – so the quote of Od. XVI suggests – as a violent removal of the royal family.440 Lysander’s own initiative with the oracles is narrated in F 206 (Plut. Lys. 25): Ephorus says that he tried first to bribe the Pythian priestess at Delphi; after which he made an unsuccessful attempt through Pherecles to win over the

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also evidence that Lysander planned an extension of the Spartan citizenship to perioikoi and atimoi (i.e., those deprived of civic rights), as I suggested in 2004. But the aim of this scheme by Lysander remained the same: to create the most favourable conditions for the preservation of the Spartan empire on the one hand, and to win the title of king for himself on the other hand. Lysander sought to assert himself among his fellow citizens as a virtuous tyrant. Nothing speaks against the historicity of his plan, in my view, but see Flower 1991, emphasizing the historical unlikelihood of the situation in which Lysander’s discourse On the Constitution is said to have been discovered by Agesilaus (the search for public documents in Lysander’s private house); Parker 2011, on F 207. On Plutarch as a testimony on Lysander’s plans, see now also Davies 2018. Schol. HM(ED) Hom. Od. 3.215, I 138 Dindorf = II 76–77 Pontani (F 69). Cf. Müller 1851, 642a. Jacoby’s crux before περὶ τοὺς θεούς (1926a, 62, followed by Parker 2011, ad loc.) does not prevent us from understanding the point by the scholiast: see below. Did Ephorus recall, on this occasion, other instances of instrumental use of the oracle for the election and the removal of kings in Sparta? See Cleomenes I against Demaratus in 491 bc (Hdt. 6.61–66; Paus. 3.4.3–5). In ca. 400 bc, Lysander would help Agesilaus against Leotychidas for the succession to Agis II by replacing the authority of the Delphic oracle with his own authority (Xen. Hell. 3.3.1–4; Nep. Ages. 1.2–5; Plut. Lys. 22.3–6; Ages. 3.3–5; Paus. 3.8.8–10).

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Ephorus’ Histories: The Contents priestesses of Dodona, and then he visited the temple of Ammon, met the priests of the oracle there, and offered them a large sum of money. They refused his proposal indignantly and sent messengers to Sparta to denounce him. Lysander was acquitted of these charges, whereupon the Libyans as they were leaving, remarked, ‘Well, at least we shall use our judgement better than you, men of Sparta, when you come to live among us in Libya’ – for they knew that there was an ancient oracle which had commanded the Spartans to settle in Libya.441

Like Plutarch, Diodorus and Nepos also narrate Lysander’s three attempts with the oracles of Apollo at Delphi, of Zeus at Dodona and of ZeusAmmon in Libya.442 This may confirm that Ephorus dated all attempts to around the same period (403 bc), but it does not mean that he also described them as falling under the same historical circumstances. As a premise to Lysander’s travel to Libya, in fact, Plutarch explains that Pharnabazus, the satrap of Phrygia, was annoyed at Lysander’s raids against his satrapy and reported all the facts to the ephors by means of a scytale.443 As a consequence, Lysander, who was ‘very upset’, went to the oracle of Ammon in order to bribe it.444 Considering this account, we may suspect that, in Ephorus’ original narrative, the three attempts were presented in far greater detail, each placed in its proper context.445 F 206 is sufficient to clarify Lysander’s power and the autonomy of his initiative in 403 bc. Lysander was well aware of his strength, and was capable of fearless actions. He felt free to operate on several fronts, whether in person or by employing front men. He could count on trusted and influential friends, such as Pherecles (or Pherecrates) of Apollonia, his envoy at Dodona and the king of Libya (cf. Diod. 14.13.5–6). He surely ventured too far, as the dangerous trial in Sparta after his unsuccessful attempt in Libya suggests. Yet his determination and acquittal also demonstrate that he could rely on part of the Spartan élite, and are evidence of his influence in and outside of Sparta. As we read in Diod. 14.13.1–2, 441

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Plut. Lys. 25.3 (F 206). Because of F 69, F 206 should also be assigned to book XVI. This fragment is assigned to book XVII by Marx (1815, 238), Cauer (1847, 80, 85) and Dressler (1873, 22–3, 28), to book XVII or XVIII by Jacoby (1926a, 62–3). Diod. 14.13.3–7, and Nep. Lys. 3.2–3, respectively. See also Cic. Div. 1.96. Lysander travelled to Libya in 403 bc, probably after the fall of the Thirty Tyrants in Athens and the abolition of Lysander’s decarchies. See Cartledge 1987, 434. Plut. Lys. 20.1–4 and 6. Cf. Polyaen. 7.19, and especially Nep. Lys. 4. Pharnabazus’ trick is not mentioned by Diodorus. The same conclusion is suggested by the fact that subtle differences exist between Diod. 14.13.3–8 and FF 206–7 (both transmitted by Plutarch) and omissions are found here and there: see Parmeggiani 2011, 384 n. 191 for details; Parker 2011, on F 206. On Lysander and oracles, see also Plut. Mor. 229d.

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Lysander was indeed ‘the cynosure of Sparta’ (περίβλεπτος ἐν τῇ Σπάρτῃ) after 404 bc.446 By resorting to the oracles, Lysander exploited the strategy that great lawgivers before him, such as Lycurgus, Minos and Rhadamanthys, had carried out: each of them knew that humans are willing to follow the instructions of the gods rather than those of their peers (cf. FF 147, 149, § 3.2 above). As we have mentioned above, Lysander also conceived of a speech entitled On the Constitution (F 207), whose first draft was written by a man from Asia Minor, Cleon of Halicarnassus.447 A passage from F 207 (Plut. Lys. 30) sheds light on the political aims of the speech: There [i.e, in Lysander’s house] he [sc. Agesilaus] found the scroll containing the speech On the Constitution, arguing that the kingship should be taken out of the hands of the Eurypontids and Agiads and thrown open to all Spartans alike, and that the choice should be made from the best men.448

Some loci similes in Plutarch’s work provide further details, illuminating both the nature and the main contents of the speech. Lysander proposed the reform of the Spartan dyarchy on the basis of a tendentious rereading of Heracles’ ancient deeds, as Plut. Lys. 24.4–5 suggests: His plan, therefore, was to abolish these two houses’ exclusive claim to the throne and throw it open to all Heraclids, or, according to some accounts [i.e., Ephorus’: cf. F 207], not merely to them, but to all Spartiates. In this way the high prerogatives of the kingship would not be confined only to the descendants of Heracles, but to those who, like him, had been singled out for their excellence, since it was this which had raised him to divine honours.

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Lysander’s trial in Sparta may recall the trial of Pausanias, son of Cleombrotus, in the 470s. Like Lysander, Pausanias was thought to be scheming against the state (cf. F 189, § 3.5.3 above), and had been acquitted. In Ephorus’ view, the Pausanias affair was undoubtedly an important precedent for that of Lysander (see Parmeggiani 2004, 118; and Bearzot 2004), but they also differed from each other: Lysander’s plan, for example, was supported by more people in Greece and in Libya, and one wonders whether Cyrus the Younger or other Persians were informed about it. On the mention of a Spartan settlement in Libya as an implicit reference to Dorieus, implying a parallel between Dorieus and Lysander, see Parmeggiani 2004, 118 (cf. Parker 2011, on F 206); as a subtle allusion to Lysander planning already in 403 bc a ban against his enemies for the admission of individuals without civic rights into the body of citizens (cf. Nic. Dam. FGrHist 90 F 57 on Cypselus), see Parmeggiani 2011, 482 n. 412. On Lysander’s speech, see Plut. Lys. 30.3. The speech was conceived in 403 bc, but was discovered by Agesilaus after the death of Lysander at Haliartus in 395 bc. F 207 is assigned to book XVII by Marx (1815, 238–9), Cauer (1847, 80, 85), and Dressler (1873, 22–3, 28), to book XVII or XVIII by Jacoby (1926a, 62–3). Ephorus may have referred to it on more than one occasion in books XVI and following. On the draft by Cleon of Halicarnassus, see Nep. Lys. 3.5; Plut. Lys. 25.1; Ages. 20.3; Mor. 212c and 229e–230a. Plut. Lys. 30.3.

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Ephorus’ Histories: The Contents And he expected that if the kingship was judged in this way, no Spartiate before him would be chosen.449

A passage from another locus similis (Plut. Mor. 229e–230a) reads: (. . .) that they [sc. the Spartan citizens] should take away the kingship from the Eurypontids and the Agiads and they should make it open to all, and make their selection from the best men, so that the honour should belong not to those who descended from Heracles but to those judged to be like Heracles in excellence, since it was because of this that he was raised to the honours of the gods.450

Lysander, the corrupter of oracles, viewed the Spartans’ devotion to the gods as mere religio, to be used for personal purposes;451 in a much similar vein, Lysander, the reformer, viewed ‘excellence’ (arete), which was the founding value of the Spartan ethos, as a rhetorical argument to persuade the Spartan audience (cf. Diod. 14.13.8: πρὸς τὰ πλήθη, πείσων . . .). By publicly reading the speech On the Constitution, Lysander aimed at swaying his public: he wanted to link the ancient deeds of Heracles to his present deeds against Athens, which made him ‘the best among the best men’ (τὸν ἐξ ἀρίστων ἄριστον).452 In other words, he suggested a close proximity between himself and Heracles as the archetypal model of strength and excellence, in this way attempting to deprive the dyarchy of the Agiads and the Eurypontids of any significance. Needless to say, Lysander, ambitious as he was, believed he had more arete than any other Spartan. Lysander’s logos was therefore an epideictic speech with political aims, which suggested an instrumental view of Sparta’s past: by marginalizing the historical role of the Agiads and the Eurypontids, it denied their authority; by referring to Heracles, it advocated an authority which was more ancient and therefore superior, and also based on excellence (indeed a Spartan value) rather than blood; while diminishing the legitimacy of the Agiads and the Eurypontids, it consecrated Lysander as the ‘new Heracles’ (οἷος Ἡρακλῆς). As we have already observed in reference to Pericles’ speech (F 196, § 3.5.4 above), Ephorus shed light on local politics by denouncing the demagogic nature of certain practices and expedients. In book XVI and following, Lysander’s character therefore emerged as profoundly different from the model of the ‘ideal citizen’ that the Spartiates usually invoked to represent themselves. In this respect, a detail of F 207 is also significant, regardless of its placement in book XVI or in 449 451

Plut. Lys. 24.4–5. 450 Plut. Mor. 229f. See Diod. 14.13.3; Nep. Lys. 4.1; and Plut. Lys. 25.2.

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any of the following books. After Lysander’s death at Haliartus (395 bc), king Agesilaus found the speech On the Constitution, and decided to divulge it to show the Spartans ‘what kind of a citizen Lysander was in reality’ (εἰς τοὺς πολίτας τὸν λόγον ἐξενεγκεῖν καὶ παραδεικνύναι τὸν Λύσανδρον οἷος ὢν πολίτης διαλάθοι).453 While Theopompus stressed the poverty of the general and therefore his excellence (καὶ γὰρ ἡ πενία τοῦ Λυσάνδρου τελευτήσαντος ἐκκαλυφθεῖσα φανερωτέραν ἐποίησε τὴν ἀρετήν),454 Ephorus stressed instead the distance of Lysander from the Spartan ethos. Lysander’s plan was alien to the moral code of the ‘ideal citizen’, obedient to the existing laws, and it was for the political acumen of Lacratidas that Agesilaus did not divulge that speech – which, as the Cinadon affair shows (Xen. Hell. 3.3.5–11), and all Spartan history in Ephorus’ reconstruction also showed (cf. F 216, § 3.3.1 above), could indeed raise problems of social order in the Spartan community. The granting of isotimia (‘equality’) to virtuous men, regardless of their social status, was dangerously around the corner; arete (‘excellence’), the traditional value of the Spartiate code, could easily turn into a revolutionary fire which would upset the existing order.455 3.6 Books XVII–XX: The New Persian Wars and the Second Series of Greek Wars Until the King’s Peace (402–386 bc), and Sparta’s Despotic Primacy (385–379/8 bc) Only one book-numbered fragment remains for book XVII: F 70 on the death of Alcibiades (end of the fifth century bc); and three for book XVIII: F 71 on Dercyllidas and the Spartan expedition to Asia in 399 bc, F 72 probably on Agesilaus’ expedition to Asia in 396/5 bc and F 73 on Hieronymus lieutenant of Conon at the battle of Cnidus in 394 bc. Ephorus mentioned Hieronymus also in book XIX (F 74), which may suggest that information about Cnidus and its consequences were organized in two consecutive books (XVIII and XIX). It is clear that the original discourse was so detailed that the historical content was distributed over different narrative units. In general, it could be argued that the narrative of book XVIII covered the events up to ca. 394/3 bc. For book XIX, we have four additional book-numbered fragments: two of them relate to the 453 455

454 Plut. Lys. 30.4 (F 207). Plut. Lys. 30.2 (Theopomp. FGrHist 115 F 333). As we read in Plut. Lys. 30.4 (F 207), Lacratidas recognized that Lysander’s speech had been ‘composed in so persuasive and wicked a way’ (οὕτω συντεταγμένον πιθανῶς καὶ πανούργως). Besides the main contents of the speech (i.e., the reference to Heracles as a model of arete), real tensions within contemporary Spartan community made it potentially so persuasive and effective.

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Corinthian War in Greece (FF 75 and 77); the remaining two relate to Asia Minor (F 76 on the war of Evagoras of Cyprus against Persia and F 78 on a settlement by the Clazomenians). Last, from book XX, we have F 79, on the dioikism of Mantinea in 385 bc, after the King’s Peace. This book probably ended with the recovery of Cadmea by the Thebans in 379/8 bc. The year 403/2 bc marked the conclusion of the Peloponnesiaka (F 106, § 3.5.3 above), but was also crucial for the events to come of the fourth century bc. Ephorus believed that Athens’ recovered autonomy from Sparta was, in fact, the premise for new conflicts in Greece, which he described very differently from Xenophon. The analysis of F 70 will confirm this observation, and will also show that Cyrus’ expedition against Artaxerxes II, which happened soon afterward, represented the beginning of the new Persian Wars, namely of the account of the wars between the Greeks (in fact, the Spartans) and the Persians. 3.6.1 Alcibiades’ Death and the Expedition of Cyrus the Younger (FF 70, 208) F 70 (Diod. 14.11.1–4) reads: While these things were being done [τούτων δὲ πραττομένων], Pharnabazus, the satrap of King Darius, wishing to gratify the Lacedaemonians, captured Alcibiades the Athenian and put him to death. But since Ephorus has written that he was plotted against for other reasons, I think it will not be without use to compare the plot against Alcibiades as handed down from this historian. He says in his book XVII that Cyrus and the Lacedaemonians were secretly planning a joint war against Artaxerxes, Cyrus’ brother, and that Alcibiades learnt from certain people of Cyrus’ plan. He then went to Pharnabazus and told him of these matters in detail, and asked to be given a guide for the journey upland to Artaxerxes, since he wished to be the first to reveal the plot to the King. But Pharnabazus hearing Alcibiades’ words, appropriated the announcement for himself and sent trusted men to reveal these matters to the King. Ephorus further says that when Pharnabazus did not give Alcibiades men to accompany him to the royal residence, Alcibiades set out for the satrap of Paphlagonia, so that he might make the journey with the help of that man. But Pharnabazus, afraid that the King would hear the truth about these matters, dispatched men to do away with Alcibiades while he was on the road. These men came upon him when he was encamped in some village in Phrygia, and they set a great amount of timber around the camp by night. When they had enkindled a great fire, Alcibiades attempted to save himself, but he was overcome by the fire and by those who were hurling javelins at him, and in this way he died.456 456

Diod. 14.11.1–4 (F 70). On the death of Alcibiades as an effect of the will of Lysander, the Spartans, and also of the Thirty at Athens, see Isoc. De big. 40; Nep. Alc. 10.1–3; Plut. Alc. 38.5–39.1; Iust.

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Ephorus spoke about the death of Alcibiades while describing Cyrus the Younger’s preparations for the war against his brother Artaxerxes II, which started in 402/1 bc. Diodorus quotes Ephorus’ version under the year 404/ 3 bc, and this may lead us to conclude that Ephorus dated Alcibiades’ death to that time.457 To be sure, Alcibiades could have already been informed of Cyrus’ plans in 404/3 bc, for Cyrus had commenced his plans immediately after the death of Darius II (ca. 404 bc).458 But the Diodoran connection τούτων δὲ πραττομένων (‘While these things were being done’) places in 404/3 bc only the first version of the events (Pharnabazus killed Alcibiades for he wished ‘to gratify the Lacedaemonians’), not necessarily the second version, which Diodorus ascribes to Ephorus. Thus the year 404/3 should be considered only a terminus post quem for Alcibiades’ death in Ephorus’ Histories, while the year 402/1 bc – when the war broke out between Cyrus and Artaxerxes – is a terminus ante quem.459 According to Ephorus, Alcibiades wanted ‘to be the first to reveal the plot to the King’ (βούλεσθαι γὰρ ἐμφανίσαι πρῶτον τὴν ἐπιβουλὴν τῷ βασιλεῖ). As if they were rivals in ambition, Pharnabazus eliminated Alcibiades. Yet, he did so not only out of ambition, but also because he was ‘afraid that the King would hear the truth about these matters’ (φοβηθέντα μὴ περὶ τούτων ἀκούσῃ τὴν ἀλήθειαν ὁ βασιλεύς). Why such a fear by Pharnabazus? Ephorus may have pointed out other political calculations behind the satrap’s initiative to kill Alcibiades, and thus presented certain aspects of

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5.8.13–14. Some texts (Nep. Alc. 9–10 and Plut. Alc. 38–39) present some affinities with Ephorus’ alternative version, although they differ from F 70 with regard to rather important points (for details, see Parmeggiani 2011, 500 ff. with notes; Rhodes 2011, 101–4. See also Verdegem 2010, 385 ff.). The village of Phrygia where Alcibiades met his death was named Melissa, according to Athen. 13.574e. See Parmeggiani 2011, 502 n. 506, and Rhodes 2011, 103, for details. On Ephorus’ wrong belief that Paphlagonia was a satrapy, see Parker 2011, on F 70. Those texts, which present some affinities with F 70, suggest 404/3 bc: see Nep. Alc. 9 ff. and Plut. Alc. 38 ff., especially 38.3–39.1. See Xen. Anab. 1.1.5 ff.; Plut. Artax. 6.1 ff. The expression πάλαι (‘some time before’) in F 208 (Diod. 14.22.1: year 401/0 bc) does not help identify a date closer to 404 or to 402 bc. Let us assume, for the moment, that Ephorus wanted Alcibiades to be aware of Cyrus’ secret plans in 404/3 bc, and Artaxerxes II to be informed about them already in that year. This possibility has been questioned by many modern critics (Hatzfeld 1940, 347; Bultrighini 2005, 104–5; Rhodes 2011, 104. See Ellis 1989, 95, for a more positive position) on the basis of Xen. Anab. 1.2.4–5, according to which the King was first informed by Tissaphernes about the plot in 402/1 bc, which was the year the war started. However, since both F 70 and F 208 make Pharnabazus, and not Tissaphernes, the informant of the King, Ephorus’ version should not be judged in light of Xenophon’s, since it is completely different from it; moreover, Persia was slow in recruiting soldiers (see Briant 2002, 618–19) and Egypt was revolting in 404/3 bc, which may well have delayed the war to 402/1 bc.

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the relationship between Sparta and Persia, which at present, neither Diodorus nor other sources allow us to identify.460 Let us now consider Alcibiades: why was Alcibiades so willing to disclose the plot to the Great King? What role did Ephorus assign to the Spartans in Cyrus’ conspiracy? A specific passage of F 70 comes to our aid: Cyrus and the Lacedaemonians were secretly planning a joint war against Artaxerxes, Cyrus’ brother, and Alcibiades learnt from certain people of Cyrus’ plan. He then went to Pharnabazus and told him of these matters in detail, (. . .).

Alcibiades did not have a vague idea of Cyrus’ plans; he knew them in detail (περὶ τούτων ἐξηγήσασθαι κατὰ μέρος). We cannot say whether Ephorus was clearer than Diodorus with regard to Alcibiades’ informants (τινες), but we know what Alcibiades wanted to tell the Great King: Cyrus and the Spartans cooperated in secret to wage war (λάθρᾳ παρασκευάζεσθαι ἅμα πολεμεῖν) against Artaxerxes II. In short, Alcibiades did not simply want to disclose Cyrus’ scheme, but intended also to denounce Sparta’s complicity in it. This detail illuminates the historical meaning Ephorus attributed to Cyrus’ war, namely that it was a war that Sparta waged against Persia, a conflict initiated by Sparta upon the decision of the Spartan authorities.461 In the Anabasis, Xenophon says nothing of an official involvement of Sparta, while in the Hellenika, he tells of an official request of help from Cyrus, to which the Spartan ephors agreed in return for Cyrus’ help in the Ionian War (οἱ δ’ ἔφοροι νομίσαντες δίκαια αὐτὸν λέγειν).462 Diodorus, instead, underscores that the Spartan ephors believed the war to be useful (νομίσαντες αὐτοῖς συνοίσειν τὸν πόλεμον).463 Since Ephorus was among Diodorus’ sources, it is highly probable that Ephorus stressed that, behind their gratitude to Cyrus, the Spartans seized the opportunity to go to war in order to reap political benefits from the situation. This should not come as 460

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Clearly Pharnabazus did not want to be charged with disloyalty to the crown (this would have been possible if Artaxerxes had been informed by Alcibiades that Pharnabazus had not been of any help despite the important news Alcibiades was relating). We do not know if Ephorus wanted Pharnabazus to not inform the King of the official involvement of Sparta into Cyrus’ expedition, for Alcibiades was going to tell the King exactly this: see Parmeggiani 2011, 503 n. 507, and 506 n. 519. Cf. Nep. Alc. 9.5: Nam Cyrum fratrem ei bellum clam parare Lacedaemoniis adiuvantibus sciebat (sc. Alcibiades). Justin’s prologus to book V reads: Bellum quod Lacedaemonii in Asiam cum Artaxerxe gesserunt propter Cyrum adiutum. Ephorus’ view of Sparta’s position toward Cyrus was similar to that of many modern scholars, e.g., Cartledge 1987, 191 (‘official though covert support’) and Hamilton 1991, 88. Xen. Hell. 3.1.1, with Tuplin 1993, 47. 463 Diod. 14.19.4.

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a surprise at a time when Lysander, who was a friend of Cyrus, and by extension Sparta itself, harboured ambitions to establish an empire. Sparta’s alliance with Cyrus was consistent with this programme, and did not conflict with the objectives of those Spartans who, differently from Lysander, argued for leniency toward the Greek cities. Diodorus provides other details elsewhere in his narrative. For example, Sparta’s secret complicity with Cyrus, as is stated in F 70, resurfaces in a passage describing the meeting of the Spartan mercenaries with Cyrus at Issos: (. . .) and the generals [sc. from Sparta] disembarked and, meeting with Cyrus, informed him of the goodwill of the Spartiates towards him; and sending ashore eight hundred foot-soldiers under the command of Cheirisophus, they handed them over to him. The friends of Cyrus pretended that they had been sent as mercenaries, but in truth all these matters had been done with the approval of the ephors. The Lacedaemonians had not yet entered into open war but were hiding their intentions, awaiting the decisive moment for war.464

We understand Sparta’s delicate position. The Spartan authorities, namely the ephors and the friends of Cyrus – Lysander was certainly among them – had decided to go to war, but they disguised their decision as a private initiative undertaken by Cyrus’ friends. Sparta waged war but concealed it, for it did not want to compromise itself should Cyrus have failed and Artaxerxes won.465 Unfortunately, the outcome of this scheme was not as Sparta had hoped. A passage from F 208 (Diod. 14.22.1–2) reads: King Artaxerxes had learnt some time before from Pharnabazus that Cyrus was gathering an army against him in secret (. . .).466

When Cyrus was killed at Cunaxa in 401 bc (Diod. 14.23), Pharnabazus had already informed Artaxerxes of the alliance between Cyrus and Sparta. As a consequence, Sparta no longer found itself in the midst of a conflict 464 465

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Diod. 14.21.1–2. On Sparta’s two-faced strategy, cf. Iust. 5.11.6–7: Lacedaemonii (. . .) decernunt auxilia Cyro mittenda, ubi res eius exegisset, quaerentes apud Cyrum gratiam et apud Artaxerxen, si vicisset, veniae patrocinia, cum nihil adversus eum aperte decrevissent. Diod. 14.22.1 (F 208). Note the agreement with F 70: it was Pharnabazus who informed Artaxerxes II. Schwartz (1903b, 679–80) and von Mess (1906a, 263) think of a confusion between Pharnabazus and Tissaphernes here – as usual, in Diodorus’ work –, for Tissaphernes is named as the informant of the King by Xenophon (Anab. 1.2.4). As the agreement between F 70 and F 208 suggests, the difference with Xenophon on the identity of the satrap is not due to Diodorus’ own confusion, but to his use of Ephorus. This said, difference with Xenophon is not evidence per se that Xenophon – who nowhere talks of Alcibiades’ death – is right and Ephorus was wrong. Contra Parker 2011, on FF 70, 208.

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between two Persians settling scores, but at the centre of an official war against Persia. Pharnabazus ruined Sparta’s plans, but we could say that Alcibiades, despite his death, actually did so, since he served as informant for Pharnabazus. It is therefore clear that, according to Ephorus, Alcibiades wanted to personally meet the Great King in Susa not only out of personal ambition, but also, and more importantly, because he wanted to encourage Persia to enter into a war with Sparta, clearly aiming at promoting Athens’ political renaissance.467 Athens, which had been defeated in 404 bc and had reinstituted a democratic government in 403/2 bc, began to regain centrestage thanks to its renegade and most unpredictable general, Alcibiades. The overall meaning of Ephorus’ book XVII is now clear. Ephorus connected the events of the late fifth century bc with the events in the early fourth century bc as parts of the same historical continuum. Cyrus’ failure was the result not only of a Persian affair, but also of an international war, which revolved around Greece and its most representative cities. The fourth century bc started where the fifth century had ended: Athens and Sparta were still the protagonists of a renewed confrontation, which continued on, beyond 404 bc. As for Cyrus’ expedition,468 F 208 suggests that Ephorus fully understood the seriousness of the situation for Persia. Artaxerxes’ recruitment of soldiers was rather complicated given the distance of the recruiting places from Ecbatana (διὰ τὸ μακρὰν ἀφεστάναι τοὺς τόπους). This explains why the Persian army moved late and without the expected number of soldiers, even though Artaxerxes had known of Cyrus’ plans ‘some time before’ (πάλαι): Persia was a complex organism, whose defences could not be activated quickly.469 Like Isocrates in Evag. 58, Ephorus highlighted the problems affecting the Persian army, which the expeditions of Agesilaus in 396 bc and Alexander in 334 bc would further emphasize. 467

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Cf. Nep. Alc. 9.4–5 n467: (. . .) neque Athenas victas Lacedaimoniis servire poterat [sc. Alcibiades] pati; itaque ad patriam liberandam omni ferebatur cogitatione. Sed videbat id sine rege Perse non posse fieri (. . .). See also Plut. Alc. 37.7–8. See Jacoby 1926b, 57. With regard to the account of Cyrus’ expedition, modern critics have devoted their attention especially to the identification of Diodorus’ sources (on the dependence of Diod. 14.19–31 on Ephorus, see Marx 1815, 241; and Bonnet and Bennett 1997, viii ff., on the use of both Ephorus and Ctesias) and to Ephorus’ own sources: see Parmeggiani 2011, 507 n. 521. It is worth remembering that F 208 and Ctes. FGrHist 688 F 22 (Plut. Artax. 13.3) agree on the number of 400,000 soldiers in Artaxerxes’ army (see also Tuplin 2014, 653). Contra Xen. Anab. 1.7.12, which reports 900,000 soldiers. Critics, however, are sceptical about both estimates (see Lenfant 2004, 151 n. 699). Diod. 14.22.1–2 (F 208). On this passage, see Briant 2002, 629.

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3.6.2 The New Persian Wars and the Second Series of Greek Wars (FF 71–9, 209. Cf. T 20, FF 118, 207) After the battle of Cunaxa in 401 bc, Sparta undertook several expeditions against Persia in defence of the Greeks of Asia Minor (400–395 bc). From Ephorus’ representation in F 70, it is clear that, in his view, Cyrus’ war marked the beginning of new Persian Wars, which Sparta was compelled to undertake for it had compromised itself by cooperating with Cyrus. The Spartans could not back out, since Persia could legitimately consider them the aggressors and thus exert claims, to the point of threatening Spartan interests in the Aegean. Ephorus’ disillusionment with Sparta’s initiatives is not surprising since he was from Asia Minor and knew, like many of his contemporaries in the fourth century bc, that Sparta’s defence of the Greeks of Asia was a mere pretext.470 Very few fragments provide information about the missions that Thimbron, Dercyllidas and Agesilaus conducted against the Persians (book XVIII), but it is clear that Ephorus reviewed the many difficulties of this war by availing himself also of the local memory of his native town Cyme (F 72 [Steph. Byz. Ε 121 Billerbeck, Ἑρμοῦ πεδίον]).471 The war, in fact, required great strategic skills (cf. F 71 [Athen. 11.500c]: the Spartans chose Dercyllidas ‘because they knew that he would not be deceived’, and because ‘in his conduct there was very little of Spartan and simple; to the contrary, his cunning and brutality were great’).472 It also required courage such as Agesilaus had, although he was impulsive and insufficiently versed 470

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See, e.g., Isoc. Panath. 97. On Sparta’s special interests in the expedition of Cyrus and the missions against Persia from 400 to 395 bc, see Isoc. Panath. 104–107; Evag. 54. On the ‘freedom of the Greeks of Asia’ as a slogan from 400 bc onward, see especially Seager and Tuplin 1980. Concerning the causes of the missions in 400–395 bc, critics’ positions oscillate between genuine Panhellenism (Lewis 1977, 138–9, 144) and special interests (particularly in the case of Lysander and his friends: Westlake 1986. Cf. Cartledge 1987, 191, on Lysander’s goal to restore the decarchies). See also Hamilton 1991, 88–9. Perhaps Ephorus stressed Lysander’s role. See Parmeggiani 2011, 512, with reference to Xen. Hell. 3.4.27 and Diod. 14.79.3. Cf. Parker 2011, ad loc.; Tuplin 2014, 649. Cf. the Spartans’ view of the Persians in 479 bc according to Hdt. 8.142.5: βαρβάροισί ἐστι οὔτε πιστόν οὔτε ἀληθὲς οὐδέν (‘Barbarians have neither trust nor truth’). In the judgement of F 71 on the ethos of Dercyllidas – indeed an explanation of Sparta’s strategy in the war against Persia and, in this respect, not exactly the same as Xen. Hell. 3.1.8 and Diod. 14.38.3 – such concepts as ἀπάτη, ἀπλοῦς, πανοῦργος (‘deception’, ‘simple-minded’, ‘wicked’) are stressed. All of them are also found in the portraits of Lysander and Callicratidas in both F 207 and Plut. Lys. 6–7 (see Parmeggiani 2011, 474 ff.), and may be recognized also in the portrait of Pharnabazus according to F 70 (Tuplin 2014, 651). Incidentally, the reasons of the Spartans’ choice of Dercyllidas may also suggest why they decided to remove Thimbron (Parmeggiani 2011, 510). Jacoby (1926a, 63) accepts Weiskius’ correction of ‘Scyphos/Scythos’ (Athen. mss.) with ‘Sisyphos’ for Dercyllidas’ nickname (cf. Xen. Hell. 3.1.8); but see discussion in Parmeggiani 2007, 131–3, with a possible defence of ‘Scyphos/Scythos’.

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in diplomacy.473 This difficult war did not bear fruit also on account of the coalition that formed in Greece against Sparta and triggered new Greek Wars: the Boeotian War, wherein Lysander lost his life at Haliartus in 395 bc, and the Corinthian War, from 394 bc onward. As had already happened to Athens after 461 bc, Sparta was engaged in a double war from 395 bc onward, against other Greeks on the one hand, and against the Persians on the other. Such exhausting ‘great war’, where Persian and Greek Wars were intertwined, would end with the King’s Peace in ca. 386 bc. Little can be said of Ephorus’ description of the Corinthian War, which was presented especially in book XIX. Ephorus most likely provided details about the most important battles (F 209 [schol. Dem. C. Lept. 52], on the Spartans’ defeat of the Athenians at the battle of Nemea in 394 bc).474 He certainly did not neglect to include topographical information (F 75 [Steph. Byz. Φ 83 Billerbeck, s.v. Φοινίκαιον]).475 He also included details about political conflicts within the poleis (F 77 [Steph. Byz. Α 400 Billerbeck, s.v. Ἄργος], on Ephorus’ use of ἀργολίζω, ‘I side with the Argives’).476 Moreover, since he was aware of the contrasts between the Spartan kings (cf. F 118 [Strab. 8.5.5]) and between hegemonic Sparta and its allies (cf. F 207 [Plut. Lys. 30]), one may guess that he offered insights into them.477 In fact, these were the same years of Agesilaus’ discovery of 473

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Agesilaus’ portrait in F 207 (especially Plut. Lys. 30.4) shows his impulsive character. From this fragment, in fact, we learn that he would have hastily divulged Lysander’s speech On the Constitution, if Lacratidas had not held him off. As Lacratidas’ words to Agesilaus suggest, he was going to disclose ideas out of a desire for personal revenge, which could be very dangerous for Sparta. As for his lack of diplomacy, we may recall Diodorus’ judgement in 15.31.4, δραστικός . . . καὶ παραβόλοις πράξεσι χρώμενος (‘a man of action . . . and one who engages in risky undertakings’). Diodorus’ words are not of praise, whereas the context is. Judging from F 207, Ephorus may have taken a similar stand. See Parmeggiani 2011, 510–13. Cf. Schepens 2005b. On Agesilaus, see Cartledge 1987. The fragment is assigned to books XVIII–XIX by Jacoby (1926a, 63), and to book XIX by Cauer (1847, 80, 85) and Dressler (1873, 23, 27). Here the scholiast comments on Demosthenes about the reaction of Athenian citizens at the news of the defeat. The scholiast quotes Ephorus together with the Atthidographer Androtion (FGrHist 324 F 47), which suggests that Ephorus dwelled on Athens’ internal politics in the years of the Korinthiakos polemos. See Parmeggiani 2011, 520–1 for details. This detail is absent from both Xenophon’s and Diodorus’ accounts. See Parmeggiani 2011, 519; Parker 2011, ad loc. The same term is found in Xen. Hell. 4.8.34; 5.2.6. See Parmeggiani 2011, 519; Parker 2011, on F 77. We read in F 118: ‘Pausanias, when he had been driven out by the hatred of the Eurypontids, the other house, composed a treatise in his exile Against the Laws of Lycurgus.’ Pausanias II was exiled after Lysander’s death in 395 bc (cf. Diod. 14.89; Plut. Lys. 30.1; Paus. 3.5.6), and Ephorus placed the responsibility for this on the house of the Eurypontids, which was represented by Agesilaus at that time. It goes without saying that Ephorus viewed the exile of Pausanias II as a negative turning point in Spartan politics, since Pausanias had been the major opponent of Lysander’s imperial dream in the previous years, and Spartan politics would become far more aggressive toward the Greeks in the following years, especially after 386 bc, with Agesilaus. According to F 207 (especially

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Lysander’s dangerous speech On the Constitution (F 207), and king Pausanias II’s speech Against the Laws of Lycurgus (F 118).478 Sparta was clearly the ‘epicentre’ of both international wars, between great powers, and internal conflicts, between citizens and non-citizens. Furthermore, unlike Xenophon, who in the Hellenika pays almost exclusive attention to Agesilaus and his initiatives, Ephorus disregarded neither Asia Minor nor the Eastern Mediterranean. His mention of Evagoras’ initiatives in Cyprus (F 76 [Steph. Byz. Ω 23 Billerbeck, s.v. Ὠτιεῖς], book XVIII and/or XIX),479 the double reference to Hieronymus, collaborator of Conon, in books XVIII and XIX (FF 73 and 74 [both the fragments are under Harp. s.v. Ἱερώνυμος])480 and the note on Clazomenae in book XIX (F 78 [Steph. Byz. Χ 60 Billerbeck, s.v. Χυτόν])481 are evidence of Ephorus’ attempt to provide a comprehensive description of different regions, personalities and events, in conformity with a real universal history. He had very good reasons to do so: no historian today would deny that Evagoras’ struggle against Persia for the autonomy of Cyprus in the fourth century was as strategically important as the Greeks’ fight – the Athenians’ in particular – for the autonomy of Cyprus in the previous century; nor would they deny

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Plut. Lys. 30.3), Lysander’s speech was found accidentally after his death in 395 bc. Both Plutarch’s χρόνῳ δ’ὕστερον (‘sometime later’) and Diodorus’ μετὰ δέ τινα χρόνον (‘after some time’: 14.13.8) are rather vague, but it is clear that it was found in the years of the Corinthian War. See also Richer 1998, 317 n. 54. According to F 207, the circumstance of the finding was a ‘dispute of Sparta with its allies’ (ἀντιλογία συμμαχική), to solve which it was deemed necessary to recover the written documents that Lysander kept in his house (τὰ γράμματα διασκέψασθαι δεῆσαν, ἃ παρ’ ἑαυτῷ κατέσχεν ὁ Λύσανδρος). Since King Agesilaus and Lacratidas, the most eminent among the ephors (τότε προεστῶτα τῶν ἐφόρων), were involved in recovering the document, this ‘dispute of Sparta with its allies’ was not a minor affair. Furthermore, since the documents Agesilaus and Lacratidas were looking for (decrees? Cf. Diod. 14.13.8: τινων χρηματισμῶν) were known to be in Lysander’s house, they probably dated to the time when Lysander had full authority, i.e., 404/3 bc, and involved both Sparta and its allies. All this shows that, in Ephorus’ view, Spartan politics of the years of the empire (end of the fifth/beginning of the fourth century bc) continued to affect the balance between Sparta and its allies in the present days of the Corinthian War. The political aims of this work continue to be discussed. See Nafissi 1991, 55 n. 102, and 60 ff., on Pausanias’ criticism of Lycurgus for granting too much power to the ephors (cf. Arist. Pol. 5.1301b: Pausanias II tried to remove the ephorate). According to Richer (1998, 25–43), it would be excessive to define its contents in light of Aristotle. Regardless, I am convinced that Ephorus considered Pausanias’ work as symptomatic of the social and political unease in fourth-century Sparta. The fragment is about Evagoras king of Salamis and his aggression towards the inhabitants of Amathus and Soli in Cyprus, and also the Ὠτιεῖς (Cythium? Cf. Diod. 14.98.1–2) between 394 and 391 bc. Codex A of Ethnika reads ἐν ιη (‘in book XVIII’): see Meineke 1849, 713; Schwartz 1907, 5; Reid 1976, 124 n. 3; other codices read ιθ (‘in book XIX’): see Marx 1815, 245; Müller 1841, 271; Cauer 1847, 80, 85; Dressler 1873, 23, 28; Jacoby 1926a, 63; Billerbeck 2006–2017, V, 114. It seems possible that Ephorus dealt with Evagoras and the Persians in more than one book (i.e., in both books XVIII and XIX). Cf. Hell. Oxy. 18.1, 30.345 Chambers, and Diod. 14.81.4. On both fragments, see Parmeggiani 2011, 514 ff.; Parker 2011, on F 73. On this fragment, see below.

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that the battle of Cnidus (394 bc) greatly affected the development of the Corinthian War and the relationship between Sparta and Persia. By crushing Sparta’s hegemonic ambitions to rule the Aegean, this battle opened up the path to the King’s Peace. It seems that Ephorus had a clear understanding of the ways history unfolded during this time. It is highly probable that Ephorus’ special attention to Conon in books XVIII and XIX (FF 73 and 74) was due to the fact that he considered Conon the link between the events in Greece and Asia Minor, and between the past and the present. While Alcibiades had attempted, in vain, to win the support of Pharnabazus and Artaxerxes in order to revive the fortunes of Athens at the expense of Sparta (cf. F 70), Conon, by contrast, was able to win the support of both Pharnabazus and Artaxerxes, defeat Sparta at Cnidus and revitalize Athens. Conon somewhat succeeded where Alcibiades had failed. In Ephorus’ view, Conon carried on Alcibiades’ legacy.482 However, as T 20 (Polyb. 12.25 f) shows, it did not escape Ephorus that Cnidus was, first and foremost, a Persian success: Thus when one looks closely his accounts of the naval battles of Cyprus [ca. 380 bc] and Cnidus [394 bc], in which the Persian king’s generals fought against Evagoras of Salamis and the Lacedaemonians respectively, one can marvel at the author’s descriptive force and his competence, and can take away much useful material for similar situations.483

As Polybius examines Leuctra (371 bc) and Mantinea (362 bc) in order to assess Ephorus’ ability to describe land battles, since Ephorus believed they were the key events in the crucial decade of the rise of Thebes and the crisis of Sparta, so Polybius examines the battle of Cnidus and the operations against Evagoras in order to evaluate Ephorus’ ability to describe battles at sea, for Ephorus probably believed that they marked the crucial period when the Persians regained hegemony over the sea. As we can see, Conon is not even mentioned: he is among the ‘King’s commanders’. Conon the Athenian was present, but the winner was the King. The information we gather points us to Ephorus’ assessment of the King’s Peace in ca. 386 bc, the epilogue of the double war of Sparta against the Persians and against the Greeks. We may guess that Ephorus’ judgement was very negative, as we should expect from a historian from Asia Minor, who saw his homeland surrendered to the Persians as a result of the peace agreements (this would last until the age of Philip II and Alexander). 482 483

See Parmeggiani 2011, 515 ff. for details. Patriotic objectives are ascribed to Conon by Diod. 14.39.3; Nep. Con. 2.1; and Iust. 6.3.4–5. Polyb. 12.25f (T 20).

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After all, those who believed in the historical reality of the Peace of Callias in 449 bc, and this is the case with Ephorus, could only view the King’s Peace as a reversal of the power relationships between the Greeks and the Persians – a point which we find also emphasized by fourth-century Athenian rhetors484 – as well as the dissolution of all the good resulting from the collaboration of the Greeks and the Ionians since 480 bc. It is unclear whether F 78 (Steph. Byz. Χ 60 Billerbeck, s.v. Χυτόν), on a stasis in Clazomenae, which Ephorus mentioned in book XIX, is connected with Diod. 15.18 (year 383/2 bc) on the conflict between Clazomenae and Cyme.485 Diodorus states that after this conflict, ‘the rebellions in Asia came to an end by themselves’,486 so one may guess that the events described in F 78 and Diod. 15.18, be they connected or not, are however part of a general picture emphasizing, through eloquent examples, the death rattle of Greek Asia in the coils of the King’s Peace.487 With the King’s Peace, Greece became once again the periphery of a barbarian empire, a submissive and weak satellite of Persia. Sparta had to scale down its ambitions, and aimed at establishing its hegemony within mainland Greece from 385 to 379/8 bc. Diodorus mentions that in 385 bc, the Spartans dismantled Mantinea and divided it into five villages.488 Ephorus gives the same number of villages (F 79 [Harp. s.v. Μαντινέων διοικισμός]).489 We should also consider that Ephoran themes appear throughout Diodorus’ narrative of the event.490 Moreover, in book XII of the Philippika, Theopompus described Spartan politics after 386 bc as a violation of the King’s Peace,491 and even Xenophon harshly criticizes Sparta for capturing Theban Cadmea in 382 bc.492 Such consensus leads us to conclude that Ephorus too probably had a very negative opinion of Spartan politics from 385 to 379/8 bc. Sparta, which had been traditionally 484 485

486 488

489 490 491 492

See Lys. Ep. 55 ff.; Isoc. Paneg. 118 ff.; Areop. 80; Panath. 59; Dem. De Rhod. lib. 29. Later in the second century ce, see Ael. Arist. Panath. 271–276, I 1, 101–102 Lenz-Behr. F 78 reads: ‘Ephorus in book XIX: “Those who came from Clazomenae founded a settlement called Chyton on the continent.”’ As suggested by Jacoby (1926b, 58), this fragment may relate to the conflict between the insular and continental part of Clazomenae in ca. 387 bc (see Arist. Pol. 5.1303b; Tod 1948, 39–41, no. 114; Rhodes and Osborne 2003, 78–9, no. 18). See Parmeggiani 2011, 524–6 for details. Diod. 15.18.4. 487 For a different view on Diod. 15.18, see now Tuplin 2014, 650. See Diod. 15.5.4 and 12.2. Cf. Strab. 8.3.2. Contra Xen. Hell. 5.2.7 (four villages), but the difference is perhaps explicated by Paus. 8.8.9 (a section of Mantinea survived, while the rest was divided into villages): cf. Stylianou 1998, 175. On this fragment, see Parmeggiani 2011, 529; Parker 2011, ad loc. See Diod. 15.5 and 12, with Parmeggiani 2011, 529 ff. for details. Phot. Bibl. 176, 120a, II 172 Henry (Theopomp. FGrHist 115 F 103.7). According to Xen. Hell. 5.4.1, the gods punished the Spartans for their aggression towards the Cadmea with the defeat of Leuctra in 371 bc.

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misotyrannos (‘against tyrants’), acted as a tyrant, almost as if inspired by Lysander’s imperialism in 404/3 bc. In the proem of book XV of the Historical Library, where Ephorus’ distinctive theme of Sparta’s centuries-old hegemony (cf. F 118) reappears albeit in an oversimplified fashion, Diodorus underscores how ill-advised the Spartan ruling class was in the fourth century bc: their ἀβουλία (‘ill-advisedness’) was one of the reasons for the decline of their hegemony.493 Before him, Polybius had spoken of the Spartans’ lack of understanding (ἄνοια) and wickedness (κακία) in book IV, and also of their ignorance (ἄγνοια) in book VI – a book imbued with Ephoran notions.494 He had also pointed out that Epaminondas’ success in 371 bc was caused by Sparta’s errors and the hatred of its allies (and the Greeks in general).495 These data corroborate our conclusion that in Ephorus’ view Agesilaus’ politics after 386 bc deteriorated and would prove to be self-defeating. Politics after the King’s Peace put Sparta at odds with the principles that had inspired its original identity and undertakings in ancient times. Soon Sparta experienced again the ancient plague of oliganthropia (‘scantiness of men’), a theme which was dear to Ephorus (cf. FF 117–18 and 216). In 379/8 bc, Diodorus explains, the Spartans lost the Cadmea because they were alone, had no allies and were thus too few.496 Such emphasis on the Spartans’ isolation and oliganthropia (and, possibly, on the division between the Spartiates and the perioikoi),497 suggests that Ephorus was his source here. One may guess that Ephorus selected the Theban recovery of the Cadmea to end book XX or to begin book XXI, in either case stressing that event as a caesura: the historian, who had dated the end of the Decelean War to 403/2 bc, the year when Athens regained its autonomy (cf. F 106), may well have seen the liberation of the Cadmea as the conclusion of a historical period, thus drawing a parallel between Athens in 403/2 and Thebes in 379/8 bc.498 But Sparta’s loss of the Cadmea was significant also for the years to come, and could therefore be seen also as a new beginning: the isolation and dearth of men that the Spartans experienced in 379/8 bc offered a glimpse of the crisis which

493

494 496 497

498

Diod. 15.1.3. Diodorus’ proem to book XV retains a memory of Ephorus’ historical view (see Parmeggiani 2004, 68 ff.). In other words, it is neither merely Ephoran (pace Laqueur 1911a, among others) nor merely Diodoran (pace Sacks 1982, 442, and 1990, 19–20, 33–5, 42). Polyb. 4.27.4–7 and 6.43.4. 495 Polyb. 6.43.4. Diod. 15.27.1–2. Diodorus here provides details that we do not find in Xenophon. See Parmeggiani 2005, 78–9, on Diod. 15.27.2: ‘even the men from Sparta itself, who were only a few [οἱ ἐξ αὐτῆς τῆς Σπάρτης, ὄντες ὀλίγοι], were compelled at the same time to withdraw from the acropolis.’ This was a well-known parallel in the ancient tradition. See Diod. 15.25.4–26.1; Plut. Pel. 13.4.

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Sparta itself would soon fall into at the hands of the Thebans, after Epaminondas’ victory at Leuctra in 371 bc. 3.7 Books XXI–XXV: The Third Series of Greek Wars (379/8–371 bc), the Theban Hegemony and the Crisis of Sparta (371–362 bc) For books XXI–XXV we have six book-numbered fragments. The first fragment (F 80), related to book XXI, is a lacunose note in a lexicographical papyrus about Chabrias’ victory against the Spartans in the sea battle of Naxos in 376 bc. The remaining five fragments (FF 81–5) are all related to books XXIII–XXV and concern the age of the Theban hegemony (371–362 bc). Four of them (FF 81–84) are geographical-lexicographical entries, three by Stephanus of Byzantium (FF 81, 83, from book XXIII; and F 84, from book XXIV), and one by Harpocration (F 82, from book XXIII). Despite their brevity, these fragments show how detailed Ephorus’ narrative was about contemporary matters. The sixth and last fragment is from Diogenes Laertius’ Lives of Philosophers, and concerns the battle of Mantinea in 362 bc (F 85, from book XXV). In 379/8 bc Sparta was at the peak of its despotic arche since it had risen again to hegemonic power over land and sea, though confined within the borders of mainland Greece; but it had lost the Theban Cadmea. We have reason to believe that, for Ephorus, this was a turning point in fourthcentury history. The ancient struggle between Sparta and Athens resumed, this time in a more complicated fashion on account of the involvement of a third great force, Thebes. Thebes’ rise to power marked the beginning of a third series of Greek Wars, which Ephorus considered the natural sequel to the previous ones. A second and more decisive turning point was, in Ephorus’ view, the year 371 bc (battle of Leuctra), with which it is possible that book XXIII started. In fact, books XXI–XXII covered about eight years, from 379/8 to 372/1 bc; books XXIII–XXV, instead, addressed the events in the decade between 371 and 362 bc. The periodization Ephorus applied to organize the contents in these books offers a first piece of evidence of his particularly detailed narrative. Furthermore, with the exception of a mention of Dyme (F 84) and of a rather generic reference to the battle of Mantinea (F 85), none of the names and information we learn from FF 80–85 are found in either Xenophon or Diodorus, which suggests that Ephorus’ narrative of the events of the 370s and the 360s was different and more detailed than Xenophon’s account, and that Diodorus did not closely reproduce Ephorus’ narrative in his work, although he certainly had it among his sources and took it into consideration.

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3.7.1 Athens and Sparta in 379–372 bc (FF 80 and 211) In commenting upon the mention by Dem. C. Aristocr. 198 of the naval success of Chabrias at Naxos (376 bc), an anonymous lexicographer notes: [that Chabrias was victorious in the naval battle at Naxos ***] || to an offering of wine whenever there occurs ‘the initiates to the Sea’, those set [in charge . . . of the mysteries]. And Ephorus [FGrHist 70 F 80] in book XXI of the [Hi]st[ories] . . .499

F 80 stops at a crucial point, but it is clear from the syntax that Ephorus was quoted either in order to review the details of Chabrias’ distribution of wine to his fellow citizens to celebrate his victory in Athens,500 or, more generally, as an authority on the naval battle of Naxos.501 Ephorus may have been describing the consequences of the victory in Athens, stressing its value as a caesura in Athens’ local history.502 He may also have been noting the emergence of the Athenians’ ambitions on the sea. Theopompus harshly criticized Chabrias, and Ephorus possibly articulated a more positive judgement on the general on account of his brilliant deeds;503 but he may have also disapproved of both the excessive enthusiasm of the Athenian demos – whose expectations were not inferior to those at the time of Alcibiades’ return to Athens (408/7 bc: F 200 [Plut. Alc. 32]) – and the demagogic opportunism of its leader, and drawn some conclusions on the typical flaws of Athenian democracy. In any case, in book XXI the development and the consequences of Chabrias’ success were closely analysed, a practice that speaks to Ephorus’ careful attention to the operations of the Second Athenian League against Sparta. 499

500

501

502 503

PBerol. inv. 5008 B 1. See Blass 1882, 148 ff.; Jacoby 1926a, 64; Gibson 2002, 157 ff., especially 159– 60, 164–5; Vannini 2018, 127–31. Vannini’s reading of the papyrus, ‘Ephorus too in book XXI of the [Hi]st[ories] dealt [with the same things]’ ([τὰ αὐτὰ] ἐξειργάσατο), does not affect my interpretation of the text (below). The public offering of wine was given every year on the second day of the Eleusinian mysteries. This was the day of ‘the initiates to the Sea’ and was reserved for the purification of the initiates. See Parke 1977, 62–3. Chabrias’ victory happened during the Eleusinian mysteries: Plut. Phoc. 6.7; Polyaen. 3.11.2. See now Bianco 2014, 596–8, on both Plutarch’s and Polyaenus’ accounts as both inspired – directly or indirectly – by Ephorus. On this battle, see Xen. Hell. 5.4.61; Diod. 15.34–35; Plut. Phoc. 6.5–7; Polyaen. 3.11.2–3. As recalled by Jacoby (1926a, 64), Diels questioned whether Ephorus was quoted concerning the statue for Chabrias in Athens (‘an dictus fuerit Chabrias χαλκοῦς ἐστηλωμένος?’). Diod. 15.33.4 and Nep. Chabr. 1.3 speak of statues representing Chabrias in the position he held against Agesilaus in the Boeotian War of 378–377 bc. Honours were attributed to Chabrias after Naxos (Diod. 15.35.2), among them, a statue (Aeschin. C. Ctes. 243; cf. Arist. Rhet. 3.1411b). See Stylianou 1998, 299 ff. A solemnity/ religious celebration(?) was instituted to commemorate a politically significant event: see Plut. Phoc. 6.7. On Theopompus’ criticism of Chabrias, see FGrHist 115 F 105, on which see Flower 1994, 151–2, 181–2. On Ephorus and Chabrias, see Diod. 15.35.1–2 and Plut. Phoc. 6.6, with Parmeggiani 2011, 545–6.

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A passage from F 211 (schol. C Ael. Aristid. Panath. 313, III 294 Dindorf) provides confirmation of our impression and adds further insights: The Athenians, before Dionysius and the Lacedaemonians joined the rest, sent a general named * with a very great number of ships against Dionysius’ triremes and another general named * against the Lacedaemonians, and they captured the entire naval force of Dionysius and defeated the Spartans at Leucas.504

So the scholiast, after mentioning Ephorus and probably drawing on him, comments upon a passage from the Panathenaicus, where Aelius Aristides (second century ce) celebrates the greatness of Athens in the years 379–362 bc and mentions two naval victories as crucial events of that time (ὡσπερεὶ κεφάλαιον τῶν χρόνων ἐκείνων): the victory over the tyrant Dionysius I (372 bc),505 and the victory over Sparta (naval battle of Leucas, 375 bc).506 We read: (. . .) two Athenian generals [Ἀθηναίων στρατηγοὶ δύο] put a stop to his [sc. Dionysius’] efforts, the one [ὁ μὲν] capturing all the ships sailing against him from Sicily together with their crews, and the other [ὁ δὲ] defeating the Lacedaemonians at Leucas and taking control of the seas.507

Unlike scholion C (F 211), where the names of the generals are not found, scholia B and D mention Iphicrates, Timotheus and Chabrias, although they show uncertainties in this respect.508 Given Aristides’ bombastic accumulation of events, all the scholia mix up the chronology (the battles are presented as simultaneous) and the number and identity of the generals.509 Nevertheless, this confusion uncovers some features of the original 504

505

506

507

508

509

Schol. C Ael. Aristid. Panath. 313, III 294 Dindorf (F 211). The asterisks mark original omissions in the text. Dionysius the first is meant, not the second, as erroneously asserted by the scholiast: see § 3.7.2 below. Cf. Xen. Hell. 6.2.33–36 (ten ships caught by Iphicrates); Diod. 15.47.7–8 (nine ships); Polyaen. 3.9.55 (ten ships seized out of a total of eleven). According to Diodorus, Timotheus and Iphicrates were both generals at Corcyra in 372 bc, but Xen. Hell. 6.2.13 does not position Timotheus together with Iphicrates. Cf. Polyaen. 3.9.55. On this problem, see Stylianou 1998, 371–3; and Bianco 2005, 156–7. Cf. Xen. Hell. 5.4.65 ff.; Diod. 15.36.5 (other sources are found in Tuplin 1993, 160 with n. 41; and Stylianou 1998, 316). The battle of Leucas was particularly important for the consolidation of the Second Athenian League in the West. On the League and its deeds, see now Baron 2006; with reference to the Corcyraean area, Intrieri 2015 and Psoma 2022, 221 ff. Ael. Aristid. Panath. 313, I 1, 113 Lenz-Behr. Note Aelius Aristides’ concluding mention of the Athenian thalassocracy. One should recall that fourth-century Athenian rhetors often refer to Chabrias, Timotheus and Iphicrates together: see Nouhaud 1982, 338–41. Ἀθηναίων στρατηγοὶ δύο] Χαβρίας καὶ Ἰφικράτης (B). ὁ μὲν] ἢ Χαβρίας, ἤτοι Τιμόθεος (BD). ὁ δὲ καταναυμαχήσας Λακεδαιμονίους ἐπὶ Λευκάδι] καταναυμαχηθέντων γὰρ ἐκεῖσε τῶν Λακεδαιμονίων ὑπὸ Ἰφικράτους ἔδοξε τῇ εἰρήνῃ θῦσαι (BD). Much of the confusion of the scholia is, in my view, due to the text they are commenting upon, i.e., Aristides, who does not draw a clear chronological distinction between the two operations led by the Athenians. For other explanations (less persuasive, to my mind), involving Diodorus XV as evidence

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view of the historical source they availed themselves of (whether directly or indirectly). Speaking of Iphicrates and Timotheus as contributing to the establishment of the new Athenian thalassocracy through their deeds in the Corcyraean area from 375 to 372 bc, Ephorus may have recorded that Chabrias, who had won against the Spartans at Naxos in the Aegean (376 bc), was a key figure, no less important than the other two generals, for the overall success of Athens over Sparta.510 In sum, the scholia may retain, albeit in a confused form, a general reflection originally in Ephorus on the attribution of credit for Athens’ political resurgence and Sparta’s withdrawal in the 370s. For Ephorus, this period did not see just one battle, but a series of naval operations from 376 to 372 bc, led by different generals in the Aegean and Ionian Seas, to revive Athenian thalassocracy. In order to illustrate Sparta’s difficulties at sea, Ephorus encompassed events that had happened in different areas but in the same time period. 3.7.2 Dionysius I, Persia and the Vulnerability of Greece in the 370s (F 211) The mention in F 211 of the Syracusan ships captured by Iphicrates at Corcyra in 372 bc allows us to reflect on further information that we learn from this fragment. Not only do the scholia present the naval victories at Leucas in 375 bc and at Corcyra in 372 bc as contemporaneous, they also evoke them to explain, on the authority of Ephorus, how the Athenians derailed a secret plan by both Dionysius II and Artaxerxes II: Dionysius, the son of the tyrant Dionysius, after the death of his father made a treaty with the King of the Persians, so that in appearance he might be bringing help to the Lacedaemonians against the Athenians, but in reality so that he might destroy Greece and partition it with the King, as Ephorus records [ἵνα τῷ μὲν φαινομένῳ Λακεδαιμονίοις βοηθῶν ἔλθῃ κατ’ Ἀθηναίων, τῇ δὲ ἀληθείᾳ πορθήσας τὴν Ἑλλάδα πᾶσαν μετὰ Πέρσου μερίσειεν, ὡς Ἔφορος ἱστορεῖ].511

510 511

for Ephorus, see Jacoby 1926b, 98 and Parker 2011, on F 211. On the issue, see also Tuplin 2014, 654–8. According to Bearzot (1981, 132–5, endorsed by Intrieri 2015, 106 n. 318) and Bianco (2014, 603–4), Ephorus referred to an operation led by Iphicrates in 372 against the Spartans who flew to Leucas under the command of Mnasippus (Xen. Hell. 6.2.26), which the scholiast erroneously took as a reference to the battle of Leucas in 375 bc. If this is the case, the two operations, against Dionysius I and the Spartans respectively, were indeed contemporaneous. Note, however, that scholion C (F 211) makes a distinction between the two generals (στρατηγὸν ὄνομα . . . καὶ ἕτερον ὄνομα . . .). Cf. Parmeggiani 2011, 548. Schol. C Ael. Aristid. Panath. 313, III 294 Dindorf (F 211). The very same words are found also in schol. A. Cf. schol. BD: ‘He [sc. Aelius Aristides] means Dionysius II: this, in fact, did come under the pretext of bringing help to the Lacedaemonians against the Athenians, in reality to divide Greece with the Persian, who had showed him the plan, as Ephorus records’ (this text is omitted by Jacoby 1926a, 104).

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Since the agreement involved Syracuse’s aid to Sparta against Athens (τῷ μὲν φαινομένῳ Λακεδαιμονίοις βοηθῶν κατ’ Ἀθηναίων),512 this fits the historical context of the 370s, when Athens and Sparta were at odds with each other, better than the years 360s, when Athens and Sparta were allied against Thebes. Thus the plan surely involved Dionysius I, who was tyrant of Syracuse until 367 bc. Beside the problems of the agreement per se, its historical plausibility and its possible chronology, one point is immediately clear. In Ephorus’ view, Timotheus’ success over the Spartans and Iphicrates’ over the Syracusans blocked, from the very start, Dionysius I’s ambition to lay his hands on Greece, whether he wanted to divide it with the Persians or not. This piece of information, which is absent from Diodorus, not only suggests a different interpretation from Diodorus of both Timotheus’ and Iphicrates’ victories;513 it is also evidence of a new historical perspective. Corcyra, which Hellenocentric historians such as Thucydides and Xenophon mainly view as a gateway to the West, was instead a gateway to the East and therefore to Greece for Ephorus, as he described Dionysius I’s scheme. The possibility for the Greeks of gaining control over the West or, coming from Western routes, to resolve a conflict that was limited to mainland Greece (Xen. Hell. 6.2.4 and 2.9–10. Cf. Diod. 15.46.1 and 47.1), turned, in Ephorus’ Histories, into the possibility for the Sicilians of gaining power over the East and therefore Greece, as if that conflict involved not only the interests of Athens and Sparta, but also those of Syracuse. Ephorus interpreted the events of the Corcyraean area in 375–372 bc and their consequences from a different viewpoint: as was befitting to a real universal historian, he expanded the scope of his historical reflection to fully embrace the emerging power of Dionysius I. Ephorus knew that Corcyra was not on the margins, but at the very centre of the international political scene. In his view, if Dionysius I had succeeded in subjecting Corcyra to his control in the 370s, he would have 512 513

Cf. schol. BD: τῷ σχήματι Λακεδαιμονίοις βοηθῆσαι κατὰ Ἀθηναίων (‘under the pretext of bringing help to the Lacedaemonians against the Athenians’). Note that Diodorus barely hints at the battle of Leucas (15.36.5. See Stylianou 1998, 317; Bianco 2005), and treats the capture of the Syracusan ships by Iphicrates as an irrelevant event (15.47.7–8). That is not to say that Ephorus praised the event as elaborately as Aelius Aristides did. Scholion C (F 211) says that πᾶν τὸ Διονυσίου ναυτικόν (‘the entire naval force of Dionysius’) was captured, but I would argue that the excessive information the scholiast presents is affected by the tone of the text he comments upon, namely, τὰς ἀπὸ Σικελίας ναῦς προσπλεούσας ἁπάσας λαβὼν αὐτοῖς ἀνδράσιν, ‘capturing all the ships sailing against him from Sicily together with their crews’ (Ael. Aristid. Panath. 313, I 1, 113 Lenz-Behr). Contra Stroheker 1958, 235 n. 55, stressing Ephorus’ ‘tendenziöse Ubertriebung’.

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also headed toward mainland Greece, with or without Sparta’s approval. This datum is of remarkable historical significance also in light of information that we gain from Diodorus’ book XV about Dionysius I’s interests in mainland Greece, that is, the seemingly cursory mentions in Diod. 15.13.1–5 (under the year 385/4 bc) of the Dionysian foundations in the Adriatic Sea,514 and of Dionysius’ alliances with Alcetas Molossus and the Illyrians.515 As Diodorus notes, through these alliances Dionysius I intended to gain control over the Epirote coast and even loot the Delphic sanctuary in the very heart of Greece. A more elaborate context lies underneath this seemingly isolated and poorly coordinated piece of information by Diodorus, a context that Ephorus – and probably other historians with him – described, mindful of ancient paradigms (we can think of Periander of Corinth and his interests in Corcyra, the Adriatic Sea and Epirus516) and on the basis of very detailed information on the history of Sicily, which was much more substantial than the alarming and inconsistent rumours which modern critics have supposed to be circulating among the Greeks.517 We can now ask the following questions: did Dionysius I and Artaxerxes II really reach this agreement? If they did, when did they reach it?518 Conclusive answers cannot be advanced, but we will suggest a hypothesis in light of information we find in Diodorus’ book XV. In late 373 bc, Dionysius I was no longer engaged in a war with Carthage; at that time, 514

515 516

517 518

On the Parian foundation of Pharus, see F 89 (book XXVIII). In 15.13.4–5 Diodorus lists events that should be dated in various ways: Pharus was founded in 385/4 bc; Lyssus in 392/1 bc (Stroheker 1958, 223 n. 77; Stylianou 1998, 193) or in 401 bc (Vanotti 1991b). Alcetas Molossus would strike up an alliance with the Second Athenian League in 375 bc thanks to Timotheus. See Nic. Dam. FGrHist 90 FF 58 (Exc. de Virt. 23, II 1, 342-343 Büttner-Wobst and Roos) and 59 (Exc. de Insid. 23, III, 21-22 de Boor), probably from Ephorus: see Parmeggiani 2011, 278 ff. Ephorus may have been stressing subtle affinities between the mother-city in the past and its most powerful colony in the contemporary age. Lombardo (2002, 431–4) doubts the credibility of Dionysius I’s strategic objectives in the 380s as Diodorus describes them, but see Parmeggiani 2011, 552 n. 69. Many critics suspect that the agreement between Dionysius (be it the first or the second) and Artaxerxes II we find in F 211 was the result of Athenian fanciful speculations inspired by fear (see Tod 1948, 24–6, n. 108, and Rhodes and Osborne 2003, 48–51, n. 10, for an Athenian decree in honour of Dionysius in 393 bc; Lys. C. Tes. 19 ff., on Athens’ proposal for an alliance which Syracuse declined in the same year; Dion. Hal. De Lys. 29–30, I 45–48 U-R on Lysias’ Olympicus of 388 bc [Diod. 14.109.3], where Dionysius was depicted as the enemy of Greece) or by pro-Athenian biases. See Stroheker 1958, 141, 235 n. 55; Sanders 1987, 91. There is a more nuanced position in Tuplin (2014, 636–7), who suggests an historical inference by Ephorus: ‘Artaxerxes’ continuing interest in diplomatic manoeuvring in the Aegean (. . .) and representations of Dionysius not just as an evil tyrant but as a figure comparable to the Persian king (. . .) should have prompted Ephorus to infer that the two of them conspired against Greek liberty.’ Muccioli (1999, 231) suggests instead rumores inspired by actual communication between Dionysius (the second, in this case) and the Persians after 367 bc.

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Artaxerxes II was disappointed at the failure of the military campaign that Pharnabazus and Iphicrates had led against the Egyptian rebels in 374/3 bc.519 Diodorus tells us that Iphicrates, who during the campaign in Egypt had objected to Pharnabazus on matters of strategy, took refuge in Athens for fear of being indicted by the Persians; the Athenians, instead of accepting Pharnabazus’ official complaint, entrusted Iphicrates with the high command of the fleet.520 Certainly the Great King could well have considered the Athenians’ initiative as a sign of their non-alignment with Persia. Now, this historical scenario may serve as an ideal context for the agreement described in F 211: the successful activities of the Second Athenian League at sea, the precedent set by Chabrias’ aid to the Egyptian rebels in the previous years (ca. 380 bc?)521 and the difficult relationship with Athens after Iphicrates’ and Pharnabazus’ failed operations in Egypt may have driven Artaxerxes II to seek an alliance with Syracuse for fear that Athens would take action to help the Egyptian rebels. For his part, Dionysius I, facing Athens’ increasing power in the Ionian Sea after the battle of Leucas in 375 bc, may have found it convenient to support Persia against Athens. Obviously, Iphicrates’ swift action in capturing Dionysius’ ships in 372 bc and, most of all, the end of the hostilities between Athens and Sparta in 369 bc, drove Dionysius I to use a different approach with Athens, thus stalling Artaxerxes’ scheme.522 As we see, the historical context does not prevent the possibility that Dionysius I may have reached an agreement – whether officially ratified, as the term συνθῆκαι (‘treaty’) in F 211 suggests, or only planned – with Artaxerxes II in late 373 bc. But, regardless of the issue of the historicity of the agreement, what matters is the novelty of Ephorus’ own perspective, which clearly resulted from his use of first-rank sources on Dionysius I, as F 211 confirms despite its poor condition. Ephorus viewed mainland Greece only as a part of a broader geo-political scene. He also deftly perceived that Greece was essentially weak, and wanted to emphasize this condition of weakness, as he had already done for Greece in 480 bc (cf. F 186, § 3.5.2 above) . Without the victory of Gelon at Himera in 480, the Greeks, who had sided with either Sparta or Athens, would have found themselves exposed to the threat of Carthage; by the same logic, without Timotheus’ and Iphicrates’ victories in the years 375–372 bc, the Greeks, who, being yet again highly divided, sided with Sparta, Athens 519 521 522

See Diod. 15.41–43, on which Stylianou 1998, 337–42. 520 Diod. 15.43.6. Diod. 15.29.1–3. See Stylianou 1998, 259–61, 338. Dionysius allied with Athens in 367 bc. See § 3.8.3 below.

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or Thebes, would have found themselves exposed to the threat of Dionysius I. In the fourth century bc, the Greek cities continued to fight against each other. They failed to see that real dangers could come from the West: Sparta yielded to the irresistible but fearsome alliance with Dionysius I; Athens unwittingly hindered Dionysius’ plans through Iphicrates’ seemingly insignificant success. Unlike Isocrates, who was an Athenian and could view Dionysius I as a potential Panhellenic champion,523 Ephorus by contrast, who came from Asia Minor and had Philistus among his sources, was sceptical. There was no place for illusions: Dionysius I – and his son Dionysius II too, as we shall see – was only after his own interests. Thus Ephorus, by describing the failure of the secret agreement between Syracuse and Persia, emphasized the great threat the Greece of the late 370s was unknowingly under. 3.7.3 Thebes and Sparta in 379–372 bc (FF 210, 212) In the 370s, the same years Greece appeared to be subjected to external threats, Sparta had to confront not only Athens and its Second Naval League but also Thebes. The technical detail of F 210 (Plut. Pel. 17.4) on the Spartan mora as a unit of five hundred soldiers comes, perhaps, from Ephorus’ original account of the battle of Tegyra (375 bc), which was the first significant success of the Thebans over the Spartans.524 Plutarch defines this battle as a sort of preparation for the battle of Leuctra (τρόπον τινὰ τοῦ Λευκτρικοῦ προαγών γενόμενος).525 He also makes clear that this time, the Thebans did not restrain themselves and only ‘tasted’ the victory over their enemies, as it had happened in other occasions (note the metaphorical use of γεύεσθαι, ‘to taste’,526 which may have been inspired by Ephorus: see F 119 [Strab. 9.2.2]), but they displayed their experienced military skills. After describing the battle, Diodorus stresses that the Thebans ‘were filled with arrogance’ (φρονήματα ἐπίμπλαντο) and ‘manifestly put themselves in a position to compete for the hegemony over the Greeks’.527 Those who suggest that Diodorus uses these words to

523 524

525

Isoc. Nicocl. 23 (years 375–365 bc); Archid. 44–46; Ep. 1. On Isocrates’ judgements on Dionysius I, however fluctuating, see Franco 1993. On the battle of Tegyra, see Plut. Pel. 16–17 and Diod. 15.37.1 (one-thousand Spartans, i.e., two Ephoran morai), with Stylianou 1998, 318–19 and Parker 2011 (on F 210), both stressing Diodorus’ reliance on Ephorus. Plutarch should also be considered, for the obvious reason that he quotes Ephorus: see below. Plut. Pel. 16.1. 526 Plut. Pel. 15.4. 527 Diod. 15.37.2.

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celebrate the Thebans528 should consider, instead, that they emphasize Thebes’ militarist arrogance, which may have been useful to gain power by arms, but could not maintain that power without them. Years later, Thebes’ inefficiency without Epaminondas would paradigmatically show that military ability alone was not enough to achieve and maintain hegemony (F 119). It seems therefore that Ephorus, while describing the growth of Thebes in the 370s, did not blindly exalt the deeds of the Thebans. We have no specific fragments about Sparta, but F 212 (Sen. QNat. 7.16.2, 300 Hine), on the celestial phenomena preceding the catastrophes of Buris and Helice (373/2 bc), is rather significant: Truly Ephorus is not a man of the most scrupulous trustworthiness: he is often deceived, he more often deceives. Take the comet which was observed by the eyes of all mortals and which brought with it an event of enormous importance, since when it rose it sank Helice and Buris. Ephorus says that this comet split into two planets, something which no one besides him records.529

Some critics maintain, on the basis of Diod. 15.50.2, that Ephorus viewed the comet as an omen of the imminent defeat of the Spartans at Leuctra.530 This is indeed plausible, regardless of Callisthenes, whose opinion on the issue is unknown,531 and of Diodorus, who differs from Ephorus in details about both the comet and the events of Helice and Buris.532 For Ephorus, the comet, its scission and the following catastrophes of Helice and Buris together may have announced the coming of a new, extraordinary age. This approach to history was not new, for Thucydides had already stressed that prodigies and catastrophes serve as natural markers of the traumatic greatness of contemporary events.533 Sparta, which had lost hegemony 528

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530 531 532

533

On the basis of Plutarch’s and Diodorus’ descriptions of the battle of Tegyra, modern critics often stress the pro-Theban bias of fourth-century sources (Ephorus and Callisthenes). See Jacoby 1962 (1927–1929), 423; Prandi 1985, 41; and Stylianou 1998, 318–19. Sen. QNat. 7.16.2 (F 212). Strabo states more correctly that a seaquake submerged Helice, while an earthquake destroyed Buris, which was in the interior (1.3.18; 8.7.2. Cf. Polyb. 2.41.7; Paus. 7.24.12). See Stylianou 1998, 377; Parker 2011, on F 212. Jacoby 1926b, 98–9; Stylianou 1998, 381–2; Parker 2011, on F 212. Diod. 15.50.3 adds that the comet was explained by φυσικοί as a periodic and therefore foreseeable phenomenon. We can only be sure that, for Callisthenes, the comet marked the imminence of the catastrophes of Buris and Helice: Sen. QNat. 6.26.3 (Callisth. FGrHist 124 F 20). While for Ephorus, as the common context of T 14b and F 212 (Sen. QNat. 7.16) suggests, the appearance of the comet and the catastrophes of Helice and Buris were chronologically and aetiologically connected phenomena, for Diodorus, by contrast, they were distinct: Diodorus narrates the disasters of the two Peloponnesian towns under the year 373/2 bc (15.48–49), and mentions the appearance of the comet under the year 372/1 bc (15.50.2). Cf. Parmeggiani 2011, 554 ff., and 2014a, 793–4. Thuc. 1.23.3.

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over the Aegean and the Ionian in 376–372 bc due to the rise of the Second Athenian League, would soon lose hegemony also by land in 371 bc due to Thebes. At Leuctra, twilight descended on Sparta’s dominance over Greece, a primacy that, while culminating in limited periods of hegemony over land and sea (481–478, 405–394 and 379–376 bc), had in fact lasted for more than five centuries (F 118). 3.7.4 The Brief Hegemony of Thebes and the Agony of Defeated Sparta (FF 81–5, 213–15; cf. T 20, FF 118–19; 216?) A loquacious fellow countryman of Plutarch’s reported Ephorus’ narrative about Epaminondas’ deeds with excessive insistence: (. . .) the idle talker is the opposite, in that if some account comes to his ears from which he can learn and discover something he does not know, he thrusts it aside and puts it off, unable to take even a small fee for his silence. Instead, he circles around and drives the conversation into stale and wellworn rigmarole. He is like someone in my city who, having read two or three books of Ephorus [FGrHist 70 F 213] by chance, wore out everyone and made the entire symposium rise up and depart, by narrating on every occasion the battle of Leuctra and what followed, from which he had the nickname ‘Epaminondas’.534

The books on ‘the battle of Leuctra and what followed’ (τὴν ἐν Λεύκτροις μάχην καὶ τὰ συνεχῆ) that Plutarch mentions here are indeed books XXIII–XXV. Book XXIII opened perhaps with the battle of Leuctra (371 bc); book XXV ended with the battle of Mantinea (362 bc: cf. F 85). The middle caesurae are difficult to detect, but book-numbered fragments come to our aid. The Boeotian army reached the areas of Sicyon and Nemea’s gorge, which are mentioned in FF 81 and 82 (book XXIII), at the time of Epaminondas’ second campaign in the Peloponnese (369 or 368 bc), and Dyme, which is mentioned in F 84 (book XXIV), at the time of Epaminondas’ third campaign in the Peloponnese (367/6 bc). We can therefore conclude that books XXIII–XXV covered three or four years of history each (XXIII: 371–368/7 bc; XXIV: 367–365 or 364 bc; and XXV: 364–362 bc). Albeit an approximation, these estimates are indicative of the increased degree of details characterizing Ephorus’ narrative. In 371 bc Thebes defeated Sparta at Leuctra. As a consequence, Sparta found itself isolated. In the proem to book XV of the Historical Library, where Ephorus’ chronology of Sparta’s lasting hegemony is found (cf. F 118), Diodorus states that Leuctra caused Sparta’s crisis.535 Later, while 534

Plut. Mor. 514b–c. Jacoby’s selection for F 213 is highlighted.

535

Diod. 15.1.4.

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describing Epaminondas’ first march to the Peloponnese, he provides more details, illuminating the nature of this crisis: The Lacedaemonians fell into great hardship: they had thrown away many of their young men in the disaster at Leuctra; they had lost not a few in the rest of their defeats; they had in general been constrained by fortune to a few citizen soldiers; in addition, some of their allies had revolted, others had a dearth of manpower for similar reasons. (. . .) The first division, that of the Boeotians, made their way via the middle road which led to the city called Sellasia, and caused its inhabitants to revolt from the Lacedaemonians. (. . .) The Lacedaemonians, having kept Laconia unravaged for five hundred years, could not at that time endure seeing it laid waste by the enemy (. . .).536

Plutarch also observes in the Life of Pelopidas: Both of them [sc. Epaminondas and Pelopidas], as Boeotarchs, invaded the Peloponnese and won over the majority of the peoples there: they caused Elis, Argos, all Arcadia, and most of Laconia itself to revolt from the Lacedaemonians.537

The five hundred years of Sparta’s hegemony in F 118 are exactly the period of time during which the integrity of Laconia was preserved under the control of Sparta, from Lycurgus (ninth century bc) to Agesilaus (fourth century bc). Under Lycurgus, the original conflicts between the Spartans and the perioikoi had come to an end, so that Sparta could look elsewhere and expand by subduing Messenia; around five hundred years later, under Agesilaus, the conflicts between the Spartans and the perioikoi reawakened, with the consequence that Sparta suffered a sort of regression to the past, experiencing once again its ancient status in the age before Lycurgus, when Messenia was not yet conquered and Laconia was far from being politically stable. Ephorus’ finest aetiological perspective takes centre stage here: Ephorus did not simply say that the Spartan hegemony ended with the battle of Leuctra; he stressed, instead, that the end of the Spartan hegemony resulted from the consequences of the battle. As we read in F 213, τὴν ἐν Λεύκτροις μάχην καὶ τὰ συνεχῆ (‘the battle of Leuctra and what followed’), Ephorus believed that the military event ought not to be separated from its political effects, for these effects made of Leuctra a momentous historical event.538 536 537 538

Diod. 15.63.1–65.1. Cf. Plut. Ages. 31.2. Plut. Pel. 24.1. Explicit references to the rebellions of the perioikoi and the helots are also in Xen. Hell. 6.5.25 and 32; 7.2.2; Plut. Ages. 32.7; Mor. 346b; and Polyaen. 2.1.15. Cf. Strab. 9.2.39: ‘Leuctra is the place where Epaminondas defeated the Lacedaemonians in a great battle and contrived a beginning [ἀρχὴν] for their destruction.’

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Ephorus thought of Leuctra as both the end of Spartan hegemony and the beginning of the Theban hegemony (see FF 118–19). If it is somewhat predictable today to think of Leuctra as such, perhaps it was not in Ephorus’ day: according to both Xenophon and Isocrates, the Boeotians wanted hegemony for themselves but never gained it, despite their success at Leuctra.539 For the very concept of a ‘Theban hegemony’ starting with Leuctra (371 bc) and ending with Mantinea (362 bc), we are therefore much indebted to Ephorus. Moreover, by emphasizing that the importance of Leuctra was not in the battle alone, but in its consequences (F 213), Ephorus made clear that hegemony did not automatically result from success on the battlefield: the crisis of Sparta was not so much in the defeat that Sparta had suffered at Leuctra, as in the territorial contraction that Sparta suffered in the Peloponnese because of Epaminondas’ expeditions and the perioikoi’s rebellions, both of which took place after and because of Leuctra. This is not to say that the battle as such took second place.540 Every historian of the fourth century bc spoke of omina and oracles before the battle, and it is possible that Ephorus’ Epaminondas skilfully used them to his own advantage, like the most acute lawgivers (e.g., Rhadamanthys and Minos in F 147, and Lycurgus in F 149) and most dangerous generals (Lysander in FF 206 and 207) did.541 As for the battle itself, we must be content with the meagre information T 20 (Polyb. 12.25f) provides. Polybius criticizes Ephorus’ description – which is indicative of the importance of the battle in the Histories: cf. F 213 – without reporting it. He only states that the battle had a simple development (ἀπλοῦς) and involved only a part of the armies (καθ’ ἕν τι μέρος τῆς δυνάμεως), and that Ephorus described the formations (ἐκτάξεις) and the movements of the units on the battleground (μετατάξεις).542 There is no doubt that, unlike Xenophon’s description of Leuctra,543 Ephorus’ account was rich with technical details showing Epaminondas’ ingenious strategy.544

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540 541 543 544

See Xen. Hell. 6.5.38–39; 7.1.33, 36 and 40 (according to Xenophon, after the negotiations at Susa in 367 bc, most of the Greeks failed to officially recognize Thebes’ primacy: see 7.1.33–40); Isoc. Philip. 53–56. Note that, according to Diodorus, the battle itself of Leuctra had a role as a direct cause of oliganthropia (15.63.1). Ephorus may have been emphasizing this point as well. See Parmeggiani 2011, 559–61, with notes, for details. 542 Polyb. 12.25f.3–4. Xen. Hell. 6.4.4–15, with Tuplin 1993, 134 ff. and Stylianou 1998, 398–400. On the description of the battle of Leuctra in Diod. 15.55–56 and Plut. Pel. 23 with reference to Ephorus, see Parmeggiani 2011, 561–2, with notes. It cannot be excluded that Plutarch’s narrative is indebted to Ephorus’.

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We have little information about Epaminondas’ first campaign in the Peloponnese (370/69 bc) due to the lack of fragments on the topic. We have, however, F 216 (Strab. 6.3.3) and scholars’ suggestion that, as we see in Diod. 15.66.1–6 and as Callisthenes did (FGrHist 124 F 23), Ephorus added an excursus on the origins of Messenia while discussing Epaminondas’ foundation of Messene.545 The term ἐπαρῖται (‘epariti’) in F 215 (Steph. Byz. Ε 89 Billerbeck, s.v. Ἐπαρῖται) may be a small relic of Ephorus’ original attention to the military structure and the initiatives of the Arcadian League.546 We can presume that Ephorus stressed Epaminondas’ strategic thinking and skills as the founder of Messene on one hand, and the problems Sparta incurred due to internal tensions and scantiness of men on the other hand. The reader of book XXIII learned that Sparta’s crisis after Leuctra was not a completely new occurrence, but a lasting problem from the most distant past. In book XXIII Ephorus also narrated the death of Jason of Pherae, who aspired to hegemony and was Thebes’ ally, in 370/69 bc. Although F 214 (Diod. 15.60.5) is not sufficient to clarify Ephorus’ exposition of the general events of Thessaly, it still shows that Ephorus argued against his contemporaries’ inclination for mythopoiia (i.e., the making of fables): (. . .) Jason of Pherae, who had been chosen leader of Thessaly and had a reputation for ruling his subjects moderately, was assassinated, as Ephorus has recorded, by some seven youths who had made a compact so as to win renown [συνομοσαμένων δόξης ἕνεκα] or, as some record, by his brother Polydorus.547

The violent death of Jason gave rise to encomiastic novels about his murderers. Xenophon reports that Jason’s murderers left Thessaly for the Greek cities, where they were welcomed and honoured as tyrannoktonoi (‘tyrant-slayers’), and adds that this characterization was evidence of the Greeks’ fear that Jason might someday become the hegemon of Greece.548 We do not know Ephorus’ exact impressions of Jason. It is possible that, dealing with the death of such a dangerous tyrant, he seized the 545 546 547

548

See especially Jacoby 1926b, 53, 99–100; Jacoby 1962 (1927–1929), 424–5. An Arcadian military corps (cf. Xen. Hell. 7.4.22), and not a tribe, as suggested instead by Stephanus: see Jacoby 1926b, 99, and Parker 2011, on F 215, for details. Diod. 15.60.5 (F 214). The word ἑπτά (‘seven’) is preserved by both Marx 1815, 251, and Vogel 1888– 1893, III, 444. It is deleted, however, by Jacoby 1926a, 105, as an interpolation from Xen. Hell. 6.4.31, according to which Jason, while giving audience, was approached by seven young men and killed. Cf. Val. Max. 9.10 ext. 2. For the possibility of a Greek and Delphian conspiracy against Jason, see Sordi 1958, 188–90. Contra Stylianou 1998, 420–1. Xen. Hell. 6.4.32. See also the remarks by Daverio Rocchi 2014, 636 with n. 36.

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opportunity of stressing, once again, Greece’s weakness and vulnerability.549 To be sure, Ephorus scaled down the initiative of the acclaimed tyrannoktonoi to a stunt with no politically significant motivation (δόξης ἕνεκα, ‘so as to win renown’), thus playing down also their reputation as ‘benefactors of Greece’: by doing so, he exposed how gullible those Greeks were who publicly honoured them. Such an approach may remind us of Thucydides, who, before Ephorus, had questioned the reputation of Harmodius and Aristogiton as tyrannoktonoi, when in fact they had killed Hipparchus, who was not the tyrant, for personal reasons in 514 bc (1.20.2; cf. 6.54.1 ff.). While Thucydides had disputed a current ‘myth’ built on an event of the past, Ephorus argued against a current ‘myth’ resulting from a contemporary event. That Ephorus challenged the inclination of contemporary Greeks for the making of fables, as F 214 suggests, is all the more important if we consider that in the 360s, the crisis of Sparta and the reestablishment of Messenia as a free state (369 bc) triggered a revisionist, at times devious, consideration of the past history of the Peloponnese. Ephorus, who denounced the propagandist interpretations and appropriations of the past by Pheidon (F 115, § 3.3.2 above) and Lysander (FF 206 and 207, § 3.5.5 above), was certainly very attentive to any deformations of that past which Epaminondas, with his deeds, had somewhat brought back to life. Diodorus’ remarks on, for example, the Thebans’ propensity before Leuctra towards pride on account of the glory of their ancestors in the heroic age,550 or on their use of events of the heroic past as ‘plausible pretexts’ for destroying Orchomenus in 364 bc (προφάσεις εὐλόγους τῆς τιμωρίας)551 and again, on the Pisatans’ use of ‘mythical and antiquarian proofs’ (μυθικαὶ καὶ παλαιαὶ ἀποδείξεις) to assert that the honour of holding the Olympian festivals in 364 bc was their exclusive prerogative,552 give us a clear idea of the animated debates going on in the fourth century bc. Although we cannot determine whether Diodorus compiled these notes drawing information directly and only from Ephorus, they nonetheless suggest that underneath Diodorus’ text lies a perceptive historiographical thinking, which was anything but complaisant. In book XXIII Ephorus also discussed Epaminondas’ second campaign in the Peloponnese (369 or 368 bc), as FF 81 and 82 (Steph. Byz. Β 159 Billerbeck, s.v. Βουφία, and Harp. s.v. Νεμεὰς χαράδρα, respectively) suggest. Little can be said about the original context of Ephorus’ own 549 550

For more details and an analysis of the sources on Jason, see Parmeggiani 2011, 564–5. Diod. 15.50.6. 551 Diod. 15.79.6. 552 Diod. 15.78.2.

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words ‘close to Nemea’s gorge’ (F 82): Ephorus may have described the Arcadian and Eleian armies, which were allied with the Thebans, as they moved through Argolis,553 when the soldiers led by Epaminondas tried to break through the enemy line at Oneum, a settlement guarded by the Spartans.554 Or, he may have described a battle in the vicinity of the Nemea’s gorge, in which Aeschines took part in 367 bc, as is recalled in On the Embassy 168, the same passage Harpocration cites.555 As for Bouphia (F 81), it is probably the same place as Phoibia, a town in the region of Sicyon, which Diodorus ignores but Pausanias mentions in book IX of his Periegesis with reference to a very particular circumstance. Pausanias writes: There was an arrangement among the Thebans that all the other prisoners whom they captured should be ransomed for money, but that any Boeotian fugitives should be punished with death. So then when he [sc. Epaminondas] took the Sicyonian town of Phoibia, where the Boeotian exiles were gathered in abundance, he released those whom he captured by giving them another nationality, whichever one occurred to him for each.556

Here we see Epaminondas show unusual clemency toward the Boeotian fugitives: by setting them free, the general disobeyed an ancient and harsh Theban rule. We do not know whether Ephorus is Pausanias’ source, but we are sure, as we shall now see, that Ephorus emphasized initiatives like this as distinctive of Epaminondas’ politics. According to Diodorus’ book XV, the Thebans wanted to destroy Boeotian Orchomenus in 370/69 bc, but Epaminondas stopped them, by saying that those who aspire to hegemony have to strengthen by means of magnanimity (φιλανθρωπία) what they conquered on the battleground by means of military virtue (ἀνδρεία).557 Still – Diodorus notes – a few years later, in 364 bc, the Thebans took advantage of the absence of Epaminondas, who was engaged in the Aegean with the Boeotian fleet, and destroyed Orchomenus.558 Diodorus’ information pairs with Pausanias’ account, according to which Epaminondas, after being informed of the destruction of Orchomenus, condemned it as a disgrace (συμφοράν), and said that it would have never happened if he had been 553 554 555 556 557 558

Cf. Xen. Hell. 7.2.5. See Schwartz 1907, 6; Jacoby 1926b, 59, and Parker 2011, on F 82. See Xen. Hell. 7.1.15; and Diod. 15.68. See Thompson 1983, with Diod. 15.75.3. Cf. Stylianou 1998, 482. See Parmeggiani 2011, 566 n. 148 for details. Paus. 9.15.4. See Steph. Byz. Φ 82 Billerbeck, s.v. Φοιβία. Diod. 15.57.1. Thanks to Epaminondas, the Orchomenians were welcomed into the Boeotian League. Diod. 15.79.3–6.

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present there.559 As we see, both Diodorus and Pausanias insist on a dichotomy, between the Thebans’ inclination for militarist aggressiveness and arrogance on the one hand, and Epaminondas’ preference for a diplomatic solution on the other. We find the same dichotomy in F 119 (Strab. 9.2.2): Ephorus says (. . .) that the Boeotians – and also those who ruled Boeotia on any occasion – did not make use of training and education, and so even if they were at some time or other successful, it lasted only a short time. This is what Epaminondas demonstrated: for when he died, the Thebans immediately lost their hegemony, having only tasted it; and that the reason for this was their neglect of speech and relations with mankind, and their concern only for excellence in war.560

This evaluation was expressed several years after Epaminondas’ death at Mantinea (362 bc), probably when Thebes had already been overshadowed by Philip II of Macedon, and its political failure had been definitely sanctioned.561 It did not appear in books XXIII–XXV, but in Ephorus’ book IV, as we have shown above (§ 3.2). Still, it gives us a glimpse into the narrative in books XXIII–XXV, where Ephorus dealt with the politics of Epaminondas and Thebes in the period 371–362 bc at length. The Thebans – we are told – only ‘tasted’ hegemony (γευσαμένους αὐτῆς μόνον), for, if ever they succeeded (εἰ καί ποτε κατώρθωσαν), their success was short-lived (ἐπὶ μικρὸν τὸν χρόνον συμμεῖναι).562 Ephorus maintained that this did not happen by chance. The Thebans failed because they were not able to act politically without resorting to the use of weapons: in fact, they heeded exclusively the military virtue (μόνης . . . τῆς κατὰ πόλεμον ἀρετῆς) and neglected both 559 560

561

562

Paus. 9.15.3. Strab. 9.2.2 (F 119): ἀγωγῇ δὲ καὶ παιδείᾳ μὴ χρησαμένους – ἐπεὶ μηδὲ τοὺς ἀεὶ προισταμένους αὐτῆς –, εἰ καί ποτε κατώρθωσαν, ἐπὶ μικρὸν τὸν χρόνον συμμεῖναι, καθάπερ Ἐπαμεινώνδας ἔδειξε· τελευτήσαντος γὰρ ἐκείνου τὴν ἡγεμονίαν ἀποβαλεῖν εὐθὺς τοὺς Θηβαίους γευσαμένους αὐτῆς μόνον, αἴτιον δὲ εἶναι τὸ λόγων καὶ ὁμιλίας τῆς πρὸς ἀνθρώπους ὀλιγωρῆσαι, μόνης δ’ ἐπιμεληθῆναι τῆς κατὰ πόλεμον ἀρετῆς. Text given according to Radt 2002–2011, III, 32. Cf. Jacoby 1926a, 75; Baladié 1996, 74. On Epaminondas’ death as the end of Theban aspirations to hegemony, see Polyb. 6.43.6; Strab. 9.2.5; Diod. 15.79.2 and 88.4; Nep. Epam. 10.4; and Iust. 6.8.1–3. There is no need to think that Ephorus already knew of Alexander’s destruction of the city in 335 bc (see Diod. 15.88.4; Iust. 6.8.3). He may have expressed such judgement in the years of the Third Sacred War (356–346 bc), or after the Peace of Philocrates (346 bc), or after Chaeronea (338 bc). The word κατώρθωσαν (‘were successful’) conveys effectively the frailty of the Boeotian success. Cf. Xen. Hell. 6.4.8 on fate, which was against the Spartans and favoured the Thebans even before the fight at Leuctra began: ‘whatever the case, in the battle everything went against the Spartans, and everything went right [κατωρθοῦτο] for their opponents, even what happened by chance.’ While Xenophon states that the Theban success was a matter of fate, Ephorus explained the historical reasons for its temporariness.

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λόγοι and ὁμιλία πρὸς ἀνθρώπους (‘speeches’ and ‘relations with mankind’ respectively). These two notions, so paired, define the educated intelligence of peaceful diplomacy. Here we find elucidated the political virtues that Epaminondas displayed in the circumstances of Orchomenus as well as Phoibia, as both Diodorus and Pausanias describe them. Ephorus mentioned Epaminondas in order to show Thebes’ limits (ἔδειξε). Had it not been for Epaminondas, the Thebans would have always used brute force; Epaminondas was, therefore, an exception among the Thebans. At the root of this indirect but effective statement about the uniqueness of Epaminondas, which renders Ephorus’ silence about Pelopidas all the more significant,563 is a profound critique that Ephorus brought against the Boeotian constitution. In fact, those who ruled Boeotia on any occasion (τοὺς ἀεὶ προισταμένους αὐτῆς) endorsed only some features of education, those related to military life, and neglected others which, being more peaceful and less concrete, were nonetheless essential to achieve hegemony (ἀγωγῇ δὲ καὶ παιδείᾳ μὴ χρησαμένους).564 That is why Thebes, with Epaminondas’ death at Mantinea (362 bc), lost its hegemony. Since it could not rely on a constitution without serious lacunae, Thebes’ destiny was solely in the hands of exceptional individuals. Among all Boeotians, only Epaminondas, who, as a Theban, was educated in abstract and liberal thinking and was therefore atypical, possessed proper leadership skills to attain hegemony.565 As we can see, Ephorus was less 563

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Note that both Plutarch’s and Nepos’ Life of Pelopidas depict Pelopidas as a very skilled but more impetuous and vindictive general than Epaminondas. Pelopidas’ virtues were confined to the only arena which, according to F 119, represented excellence for the Thebans, that of military value (cf. F 97 [Steph. Byz. Β 116 Billerbeck, s.v. Βοιωτία]). Ephorus was in good company with other fourth-century intellectuals (e.g., Xenophon, Isocrates, Plato): good politics are impossible without culture; a good politician is an educated man, a philosophos. The linkage education–power was already clear in fifth-century thought (see Pericles’ Funeral Speech in Thuc. 2.35–46, especially 41), and should not be conceived of as evidence of Isocratean training as such: see Parmeggiani 2011, 586 n. 229. On this very issue, see now also Tuplin 2018. According to Momigliano’s theory (1966 [1935], 361 ff., 362 with n. 17, and 1975a [1935], 701–2. Cf. Cordano 2003, 56), ἀγωγή (‘training’) and παιδεία (‘education’) in F 119 would refer to the virtues of Sparta and Athens, respectively. In other words, Thebes failed because it had neither the Spartan nor the Athenian virtues. I find this interpretation too rigid. For example, the concept of ὁμιλία πρὸς ἀνθρώπους (‘relations with mankind’) is identified by Momigliano as an Athenian value, but according to F 119, it results from a combination of both παιδεία and ἀγωγή. In fact, it is the absence of both that produces the Theban neglect of λόγοι (‘speeches’) on the one hand (note that this concept is almost ignored by Momigliano) and of ὁμιλία πρὸς ἀνθρώπους on the other. It follows that ἀγωγή and παιδεία do not strictly represent the Spartan and the Athenian virtues, respectively. See also Christesen 2010, 222, rightly emphasizing ἀγωγή as ‘discipline in general rather than the Spartan educational system in particular’. On this passage from F 119 see also Wickersham 1994, 133 ff.; Daverio Rocchi 2014, 634 ff., especially 637–8; Tuplin 2018, 29–30. Many sources describe Epaminondas’ education as exceptional, for he studied the arts and philosophy (especially the Pythagorean doctrine): see, among others, Diod. 10.11.2; 15.39.2 and

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interested in praising Epaminondas than criticizing Thebes without Epaminondas, or in pointing out that it would be impossible for Thebes to generate other men like Epaminondas.566 We could guess Ephorus’ own evaluation of events of Greek history which Xenophon by contrast neglects, such as, for example, Epaminondas’ foundation of Messene in 370/69 bc. This was not an act of destruction, as the sacking of Orchomenus would be in 364 bc, but rather – to borrow the words of F 119 – an act of ὁμιλία προς ἀνθρώπους, involving both the Messenians and the other Greeks.567 Epaminondas’ ‘humanitarian’ initiative in favour of the Messenians disrupted Spartan control of the Peloponnese once and for all, and in this respect, although we cannot gauge the exact extent of indebtedness of Diodorus’ picture of Epaminondas’ strategic goals to Ephorus,568 the contents of F 119 sufficiently clarify for the reader that the foundation of Messene was indeed a crucial event in Ephorus’ narrative. We cannot infer much from F 84 (Steph. Byz. Δ 140 Billerbeck, s.v. Δύμη), with reference to book XXIV, on Epaminondas’ third march to the Peloponnese (366 bc) or its direct consequences.569 It seems that in Ephorus’ narrative, Dyme, one of the towns that Diodorus says Epaminondas ‘liberated’, did not develop as peacefully as Diodorus suggests.570 F 83 (Steph. Byz. Χ 59 Billerbeck, s.v. Χρυσόπολις), from book XXIII,571 shows instead that although Ephorus paid careful attention to the

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567 568

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52.7; Nep. Epam. 1–3; Plut. Pel. 3.6 and 4.1; Ages. 27.4; Mor. 8b, 576d–e, and passim; Paus. 9.13.1; Ael. VH 3.17, 7.14; Iust. 6.8.9. See Shrimpton 1970. Ephorus’ view survives in other sources, although as is often the case in an oversimplified form. See Polyb. 6.44.9 on ferocity and violence as typical features of the Boeotians; 6.43.4–7, on Thebes’ lack of a solid constitution and need for exceptional individuals. On Diod. 15.88 against F 119, see above Chapter 1, § 4. Note that Isocrates says nothing about the Theban generals. Xenophon, for his part, explicitly appreciates Epaminondas only for his last military deeds in 362 bc (Hell. 7.5.8 and 19). As Diod. 15.66.1 points out, Messene was a Panhellenic foundation. Diod. 15.66.1: Ἐπαμεινώνδας (. . .) συνεβούλευε τοῖς τε Ἀρκάσι καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις συμμάχοις οἰκίσαι τὴν Μεσσήνην (. . .) τόπον δ’ εὔθετον ἔχουσαν κατὰ τῆς Σπάρτης (‘Epaminondas . . . advised the Arcadians and the rest of the allies to found Messene . . . which held a suitable position against Sparta’). F 84 reads: ‘City of Achaia. The citizen is called Dymaeus. Ephorus in book XXIII: “When the army arrived in Dyme, the Dymaeans at first, who were terrified.”’ Note Stephanus’ abridged quotation: Ephorus’ sentence lacks a main verb. Diod. 15.75.2 is too short and generic; F 84, by contrast, is too specific. See Parmeggiani 2011, 571–2: it seems that Ephorus did not gloss over the fact that Epaminondas’ campaign in the Peloponnese generated fear among the locals. Note that Xen. Hell. 7.1.41–43 does not mention Dyme. F 83 reads: ‘In Bithynia, near Chalcedon, on the right hand for those who sail back. Ephorus in book XXIII: “To give Chrysopolis, town of the Chalcedons, to the allies”’. This reference to Chrysopolis is rather enigmatic: see Marx 1815, 145; Jacoby 1926b, 59; Parker 2011, on F 83. Chrysopolis is mentioned by Xenophon in relation to Alcibiades’ initiatives after the battle of Cyzicus (Hell. 1.1.22 and 3.12) and the expedition of the Ten Thousand (Anab. 6.3.16 and 3.38; 7.1.1). Cf. Diod. 13.64.2; 14.31.4. After quoting Ephorus, Stephanus quotes Theopompus from book I of

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events in the Peloponnese, this did not prevent him from closely examining also the regions of the Aegean and the Hellespont, which Xenophon neglects. The mention of Chrysopolis, a key seaport on the Bosporus, may be part of an original description of the operations of the Second Athenian League at sea, or a reference to the agreements which the Thebans would strike with Byzantium later, in 364 bc.572 Or, I would like to suggest, it may refer to a plan that Thebes intended to carry out to strengthen its presence at sea, which Ephorus possibly believed to have been conceived by Epaminondas early on, even before Thebes’ contacts with Persia in 367/6 bc and Epaminondas’ naval operations in 364 bc.573 Chronology aside, F 119 is impressive about Thebes’ room for manoeuvre at sea: Ephorus says that Boeotia is superior (. . .) because it alone has three seas and abounds with good harbours. Via the Crisaean and Corinthian gulfs it receives goods from Italy, Sicily, and Africa. The coast towards Euboea branches off on either side at the Euripos, one side towards Aulis and the territory of Tanagra, and the other towards Salganeus and Anthedon. The former sea is unbroken in the direction of Egypt, Cyprus, and the islands, while the latter is unbroken towards Macedonia, the Propontis, and the Hellespont. He adds that the Euripos has made Euboea a part of Boeotia in a way, it being so narrow and connected by a bridge to Euboea only two plethra long.574

There were no apparent operational limits for Boeotia. We already know the context of this geographical description, which originally appeared in book IV: starting with an observation of the coasts, Ephorus claimed that Boeotia was ‘well suited to hegemony’ (πρὸς ἡγεμονίαν εὐφυῶς ἔχειν); he then stressed Thebes’ short-lived hegemony by juxtaposing the stupidity of the Theban ruling class with Epaminondas’ educated intelligence. This reasoning is rather eloquent: Ephorus thought that Epaminondas stood

572

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his Hellenika (FGrHist 115 F 7). See also Polyb. 4.44.4 (again on Alcibiades). In general, on Chrysopolis, see Strab. 12.4.2. The agreement was to be described in book XXIV or, more probably, in book XXV. For the latter possibility, see Stylianou 1998, 95, 497, endorsed by Russell 2016, 73. Gonis’ suggested link between F 83 and POxy. 2.302 (1997. See discussion by Vannini 2018, 143–50) is of no help. Diod. 15.79.1 dates the naval plan to 364 bc, the year of the decree for the construction of one hundred triremes. On the possibility that the Persians agreed to finance the Theban fleet in Susa in 367/6 bc, see, among others, Buckler 1980, 155–6, 160–1; contra Stylianou 1998, 494–5. See also Parmeggiani 2011, 573–4, on the possibility that Ephorus’ Epaminondas, at the time of his third campaign in the Peloponnese (366 bc), acted in accordance with an already defined plan of naval control of the Corinthian gulf. On Thebes’ naval initiatives in the mid-360s, see now van Wijk 2020. Strab. 9.2.2 (F 119).

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out for strategic acumen and political intelligence also because he alone, among all the Boeotians, understood that Thebes could become a naval power. We thus gain further and certainly valuable information on Ephorus’ appreciation of Epaminondas as a statesman in books XXIII– XXV: Epaminondas distinguished himself as a uniquely talented leader in the history of Thebes not only by virtue of his diplomatic skills (i.e., the use of both λόγοι and ὁμιλία πρὸς ἀνθρώπους), but also for his insights into Boeotia’s extraordinary military potential as a naval power. According to Diodorus, at a meeting of the federal synedrion of the Boeotian League in 364 bc, Epaminondas delivered a speech that he had thought out at length (λόγον ἐκ χρόνου πεφροντισμένον), and persuaded the Boeotians to compete for the hegemony over the sea.575 Diodorus points out that the general supported his case with several arguments, although Diodorus does not list them all and only writes πολλὰ ἄλλα (‘many other things’). It is quite likely that a reference to the unlimited possibilities of contact, with which nature had gifted Boeotia, were among them. As we read in F 119: Epaminondas could point to the West as a supply basin (τὰ ἐκ τῆς Ἰταλίας καὶ Σικελίας καὶ Λιβύης),576 and to the islands of the Aegean and Cyprus (this being a land that had known periods of autonomy from Persia in the previous years), Egypt (which had been independent from Persia since 404 bc) and Macedon, the Propontis and Hellespont as the Eastern limits of a supremacy over the seas, which could be so wide-ranging as to exclude any other Greek competitor.577 There are good reasons to believe that the argument about Boeotia as a land ‘well suited to hegemony’ (F 119) was crucial in Epaminondas’ speech of 364 bc.578 The Theban general obviously pointed at Athens as the rival for hegemony. In this respect, the reference in F 119 to the regions of the Propontis and the Hellespont (which were known to be traditionally connected with Athens: cf. F 40, from book IV) and the definition of Euboea as ‘a part of Boeotia in a way’ (τρόπον τινὰ μέρος) are both 575 576 577 578

Diod. 15.78.4. As we shall see (§ 3.8.3), this detail is also interesting for the relationship between Dionysius II and Persia in 365/4 bc, when Persia supported Thebes politically. For a different interpretation, see Wickersham 1994, 129 ff., according to which F 119 lists strategic areas for supplying raw materials for the naval hegemony. On the relationship between F 119 and Diod. 15.78.4, see also Jacoby 1926b, 69; Momigliano 1975a (1935), 693 (who fails to see that F 119 does not refer to the actual naval power of Boeotia in 364 bc, but to its potential naval power according to Epaminondas’ plan); and Stylianou 1998, 494. According to Aeschin. De falsa Leg. 105, the Thebans wanted to transfer the Propylaia from Athens to the Cadmea. This is not just a faint suggestion. Cf. Isoc. Philip. 54: the Boeotians sent triremes to Byzantium in order to rule over land and sea (ὡς καὶ γῆς καὶ θαλάττης ἄρξοντες).

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politically significant: Euboea was the land that the Athenians had colonized in ancient times (F 24, from book III), and from which the Athenian Theocles had sailed off on his expedition to Sicily (F 137a–b, from book IV or VII); in 410 bc the Thebans planned to take Euboea away from the Athenians and make it a part of the mainland, i.e., of Boeotia;579 furthermore, Euboea deserted the Second Athenian League after Leuctra in order to join Thebes, and in the 360s and 350s was the object of contention between the Thebans and the Athenians.580 The geographical description of F 119 is like the palimpsest of an operational map: it preserves the traces of an extremely ambitious, perhaps illusory, plan of political expansion. This was the plan that the Thebans actually tried to carry out in 365 and 364 bc, as we shall now see drawing on Diodorus and some epigraphic documents. Diod. 15.79.1 says that in 364 bc, Epaminondas reached Byzantium, Rhodes and Chios with the Theban fleet. His objective was to alienate Athens from its most powerful allies – it is not by chance that Byzantium, Rhodes and Chios would revolt against Athens in 357 bc in order to leave the Second Athenian League. As we learn from some inscriptions reporting Boeotian federal decrees, Thebes at the time managed to establish contacts with Carthage (IG 7.2407 = Rhodes and Osborne 2003, no. 43), Byzantium (IG 7.2408) and Macedonia (SEG 34.355).581 Clearly the Boeotians exploited proxeny decrees to enforce their presence in the Aegean and the Mediterranean, this picture being possibly strengthened by Rhodian, Tenedian, Olynthian and Cnidian connections suggested by further inscriptions.582 Even if we doubt that these documents were linked with the Theban naval plan,583 they still show, indisputably, Thebes’ intense diplomatic activities in those years, unprecedented in the history of Boeotia. We shall then conclude that Thebes tried to conform its politics to the breadth of Epaminondas’ plan as suggested in F 119. These data also 579

580 581 582

583

The link with Diod. 13.47.3–4 is clear: ἠξίουν οὖν Βοιωτοὺς κοινῇ χῶσαι τὸν Εὔριπον, ὥστε συνάψαι τὴν Εὔβοιαν τῇ Βοιωτίᾳ. συγκαταθεμένων δὲ τῶν Βοιωτῶν διὰ τὸ κἀκείνοις συμφέρειν τὴν Εὔβοιαν εἶναι τοῖς μὲν ἄλλοις νῆσον, ἑαυτοῖς δ’ ἤπειρον (‘so then they [sc. the people of Chalcis, year 410 bc] invited the Boeotians to build together a causeway over the Euripos, so that they could join Euboea to Boeotia. The Boeotians agreed because it was advantageous that Euboea should be an island to everyone else but mainland for themselves.’). See Xen. Hell. 7.4.1; Diod. 15.76.1 and 16.7.2. See Roesch 1984. Cf. Carrata Thomes 1952, 26 ff. See SEG 28.465 (Rhodes?), IG 7.2418 = Rhodes and Osborne 2003, 268–71, no. 57 (Tenedos. Note, however, that the inscription refers to ca. 354–352 bc), SEG 58.447 (Olynthos?), SEG 44.901 and 48.1337 (Cnidus), with Fossey 2014, 3–4 and 17–22, for discussion and literature; van Wijk 2020, 89–93. See Stylianou 1998, 495, with reference to IG 7.2407 and 2408.

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corroborate Ephorus’ overall interpretation, and confirm the high quality of his sources. In Epaminondas’ mind, the Greece that Ephorus depicted as vulnerable and exposed to external threats in books XXI ff. would gain new strength under the leadership of a Boeotia that he envisioned as hegemon over land and sea. Epaminondas brought traditionally short-sighted Theban politics to an end; his ambition spurred the whole of Greece out of the passivity it had fallen into after the King’s Peace. But the plan quickly faltered, and Epaminondas’ expectations remained a dream. Epaminondas died at Mantinea in 362 bc, and together with him, Thebes’ hegemonic ambitions also collapsed. We read in T 20 (Polyb. 12.25f): But when we look at, or examine in detail, the battle formations and the subsequent changes in the formations in his [sc. Ephorus’] narration of the battle of the Thebans and Lacedaemonians at Leuctra [371 bc], or those same combatants’ battle at Mantinea [362 bc] when Epaminondas lost his life (. . .).584

Similarly, we read in F 85 (Diog. Laert. 2.54), soon after a reference to Ephorus’ description of the battle in book XXV: In this battle [sc. Mantinea] also Epaminondas died.585

Epaminondas’ death was surely a highlight in Ephorus’ description of the battle at Mantinea.586 At the same time, the description of the battle was a highpoint in book XXV. While criticizing Ephorus in T 20, Polybius observes that Ephorus’ description gave ‘the appearance of being complex and technical’ (τὴν μὲν ἔμφασιν ἔχει ποικίλην καὶ στρατηγικὴν). It is therefore clear that, as for the battle of Leuctra, so for the battle of Mantinea too Ephorus included details about the phases of the battle (μέρη), the formations of the armies (ἐκτάξεις), and the movements of the military units on the battlefield (μετατάξεις). Technical information about, for example, the hipparch Cephisodorus and the general Egesileus or Grillus ‘among the horsemen’ in the initial phase of the battle (F 85) confirms Ephorus’ preference for a detailed narrative.587 Polybius is convinced that Ephorus did not understand much of the real manoeuvres of the armies, and, for this reason, invites readers to personally 584 586 587

585 Polyb. 12.25f.3 (T 20). Diog. Laert. 2.54 (F 85). In this regard, Strab. 8.8.2 and 9.2.5 are also significant. On the battle between the Athenian and Theban cavalries – in which Grillus, Xenophon’s son, died – as the first stage of the battle of Mantinea, see Parmeggiani 2011, 580 with notes. From T 20 we learn that the battle of Mantinea was between the Thebans and the Lacedaemonians, and this excludes the idea, as F 85 seems to suggest at first sight, that Ephorus confused the fight of the cavalries with the actual battle, in which Epaminondas died.

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check the movements described by Ephorus (τὰς κινήσεις τὰς ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ δηλουμένας) against the real location of the battle, in order to demonstrate Ephorus’ error. Polybius may be right; yet, the in-person examination that he suggests would have been impossible if, again, Ephorus himself had not given detailed information.588 Ephorus’ meticulous interest in Mantinea shows that he considered this battle a pivotal, decisive moment in Greek history, while his appreciation of Epaminondas’ exceptional political qualities and leadership in F 119 allows us to understand why. At Mantinea, with Epaminondas’ death, Thebes’ hegemony ended. As did Sparta’s also, for the Spartans, who were defeated, missed the opportunity to regain at Mantinea the primacy they had lost at Leuctra.589 Xenophon presents Mantinea as a battle for the determination of hegemony, and points out that it sentenced Greece to a state of disorientation: ‘confusion’ (ἀκρισία) and ‘disorder’ (ταραχὴ) were more evident than before.590 In Ephorus’ view, the battle of Mantinea sanctioned, first, Thebes’ inadequacy once it lost its best statesman; second, Sparta’s definitive failure after ten years of crisis since Leuctra;591 and third – for Ephorus’ narrative, differently from Xenophon’s, continued on beyond Mantinea and covered the years of the rise of Philip II – the Greeks’ overall condition of vulnerability, which was seemingly irreversible. So the time of ‘the battle of Leuctra and what followed’ (F 213) ended. Without Epaminondas and with Sparta having fallen back into the original weakness of its archaic past, Greece had no leaders and would soon be subjected, once and for all, to the supremacy of the Macedonians. 3.8 Books XXVI–XXX: The Rise of Philip II and Sicily Under the Two Dionysii The definition of the contents of the last five books of the Histories strictly depends on that of the contents in the last one, book XXX, written by Demophilus son of Ephorus (T 1 [Suid. ε 3930 Adler, s.v. Ἔφιππος] and 588 589

590 591

On the battle of Mantinea, see Diod. 15.85–87 and Xen. Hell. 7.5.21 ff. Cf. Buckler 1980, 316 n. 57; and Stylianou 1998, 514 ff. See Diod. 15.1.2 and 33.3, and, on these passages, Parmeggiani 2004, 68 ff. Cf. Iust. Prolog. libri VI: (. . .) bellum Boeotium, quo Leuctris et Mantineae victi Spartani amisere imperium. On Mantinea as the definitive end of Spartan ambitions to hegemony, see also Strab. 9.2.39. Xen. Hell. 7.5.27. See Tuplin 1993, 101 and 162. Ephorus’ view on the causes of Sparta’s decline was anything but simply moralistic for he showed that it ensued from specific historical circumstances, namely Epaminondas’ deeds in 371–62 bc and the regression of Sparta’s political system in 404–362 bc. See Parmeggiani 2011, 582–90 for details.

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T 9a–b [Diod. 16.14.3 and Athen. 6.232d, respectively]). Modern scholars disagree on the chronological breadth of book XXX. As a consequence, they disagree also on the contents of the preceding books (especially XXVI, XXVII, and XXIX). For this reason, in this last section of the chapter, we will first address the problem of book XXX; we will then discuss the meaning of the last section of Ephorus’ work, which remained unfinished and was rich with details that we do not find in Diodorus;592 and last, we will uncover some aspects of Ephorus’ assessment of Philip II and Dionysius II. 3.8.1 Nature and Chronological Breadth of Book XXX We gain information about book XXX from the following three texts, TT 9a, 9b and 10: Diod. 16.14.3 (T 9a): Among historians Demophilus, the son of the chronicler Ephorus, put together an account of the war called the ‘Sacred War’, which had been left out by his father, and began from the seizure of the temple at Delphi and the plundering of the oracle by Philomelus the Phocian [357/6 bc]. This war lasted eleven years until the destruction of those who had divided among themselves the sacred property. Athen. 6.232d (T 9b): Ephorus or Demophilus, his son, in book XXX of Histories (. . .). Diod. 16.76.5 (T 10): Among historians Ephorus of Cyme brought his history to an end at this point, the siege of Perinthus [341/0 bc]. He included in his writing the deeds of both Greeks and barbarians, beginning from the Return of the Heraclidae. He encompassed nearly 750 years, and he wrote thirty books, placing a preface at the beginning of each.593

At an initial reading, the second text (T 9b) may seem problematic. Athenaeus’ distinction ‘Ephorus or Demophilus’ has been viewed at times as a statement of doubt about who really wrote book XXX.594 But Athenaeus only means that there is a link between book XXX (by Demophilus) and books I–XXIX (by Ephorus): Demophilus wrote book XXX, while Ephorus wrote the opus to which book XXX belongs (cf. T 10, third text). For this reason, it does not matter whether we attribute the authorship of the contents of book XXX to one or the other, ‘Ephorus or Demophilus’.595 592 593 594

595

See Parmeggiani 2011, 603–10. It is unclear whether Diodorus’ description of the siege of Perinthus (16.74–6) comes from Ephorus, but not that the Histories ended with this event. Contra Müller 1841, 275b. On the basis of the Athenaeus passage, some eighteenth- and nineteenth-century critics suspected that book XXX was written partly by Ephorus and partly by Demophilus. See Ionsius 1716, 50; Bayle 17405, 363 n. E; Marx 1815, 29–30; Sanneg 1867, 47 n. 45; and Dressler 1873, 31. Cf. Parmeggiani 2007, 122–3. A fragment related to book XXX, F 93 (schol. T Hom. Il. 13.302), confirms our interpretation: the scholion begins with ‘Ephorus says’ (διείλεκται Ἔφορος), then ends

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After clarifying Athenaeus’ words, we can state, on the basis of all three testimonia, what follows. First, the Histories were normally transmitted as one work in thirty books under the sole name of Ephorus. Second, Demophilus’ name probably appeared in the proem of book XXX (for if it did not, it would be difficult to understand why the tradition identifies him as the author of the book). Furthermore, in the proem Demophilus stated that he completed – or simply extended – the work of his father through his own, which explains why ancient critics never distinguished book XXX from the whole of the Histories. In other words, book XXX was never viewed as an autonomous continuation of an already finished work. Third, as a corollary of the preceding point, book XXX was not – at least in Demophilus’ view – a specialized monograph. Unlike Callisthenes who, for example, wrote a monograph on the Third Sacred War,596 Demophilus wrote a ‘thirtieth book’ of Ephorus’ Histories. The information that we gather from the three testimonia is particularly significant: the first datum is secure, and concerns the historical transmission of the Histories; the second is probable, and concerns the contents of the proem of book XXX; the third too is probable, and concerns the relationship of book XXX with the remainder of the work. As we shall see, these data have a bearing on the identification of the time period covered by Demophilus’ book. Before 1909, almost no one questioned that the narrative of book XXX covered the historical period from 356 to 341/0 bc.597 In 1909, on the basis of a literal interpretation of Diod. 16.14.3 (T 9a: ‘Demophilus . . . put together an account of the war called the ‘Sacred War’, which had been left out by his father’), Niese suggested that book XXX was an appendix to Ephorus’ Histories, and covered exclusively the events from 356 to 346 bc, i.e., the Third Sacred War.598 It followed that the year 341/0 bc, which was the lower chronological limit of the Histories, was addressed in a book other

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by saying that the reported information is ‘in book XXX by Demophilus’ (ἐν τῇ τριακοστῇ τῇ Δημοφίλου). That is, book XXX was written by Demophilus and was part of Ephorus’ work. Other testimonies of book XXX (F 94a–b [Anon. in Arist. Eth. Nic. 3.1116b and Steph. Byz. Μ 169 Billerbeck, s.v. Μετάχοιον respectively], and F 95 [Steph. Byz. Μ 132 Billerbeck, s.v. Μελιταία]) simply state ‘Ephorus in book XXX’ (Ἔφορος ἐν τῇ τριακοστῇ), with the typical conciseness of lexicographic language. See Callisth. FGrHist 124 T 25, F 1. With the exception of Heyne (1828, CXI), who considered book XXX a monograph on the Third Sacred War (see Klügmann 1860, 18, for founded criticism), critics maintained that book XXX covered the years 356–341/0 bc: see Marx 1815, 29–30, 254–60; Müller 1841, lxia with n. 1; Creuzer 1845, 322; Cauer 1847, 83, 86; Klügmann 1860, 17–19; Sanneg 1867, 47 n. 45; Dressler 1873, 29–31; Blass 18922, 429; and Schwartz 1903a and 1907, 2. Niese 1909.

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than XXX. This thesis was first challenged by Schwartz,599 but then supported by both Laqueur600 and, despite objections from other critics,601 by Jacoby:602 since then, modern critics have primarily discussed which book, among XXVI–XXIX, reached the year 341/0 bc.603 We will not deal here with hypotheses that, after careful consideration, seem problematic.604 On the basis of the following three textual arguments, we will show that the chronological limit of 341/0 bc was reached in book XXX, and therefore, that book XXX indeed covered the period from 356 to 341/0 bc.605 (1) Diodorus starts his narrative about the Third Sacred War with the profanation of the Delphic sanctuary by the Phocians, and says that book XXX began with such an event (16.14.3 [T 9a]: Δημόφιλος μὲν . . ., ἐντεῦθεν ἦρκται). When he ends his narrative of the Third Sacred War (16.60), he does not indicate that book XXX stopped there. Instead, he states elsewhere that the thirty books of the Histories began with the Return of the Heraclidae (4.1.2–3 [T 8]) and ended with the siege of Perinthus (16.76.5 [T 10]). This suggests that the narrative of book XXX continued beyond 346 bc, and that Demophilus arrived at the year 341/0 bc in book XXX. (2) Only one text informs us that the Histories ended with the siege of Perinthus, namely, Diod. 16.76.5 (T 10). Diodorus does not distinguish between the twenty-nine books by Ephorus and the thirtieth by Demophilus. In his view, the Histories are a whole unit, comprising thirty books. This conception of the Histories is decisive: why would Diodorus recall the siege of Perinthus as the end of a work in thirty books if Ephorus had recounted it in a book other than XXX? We should conclude that the siege of Perinthus served a similar purpose at the end of the Histories as the Return of the Heraclidae at their beginning. These events bookended

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Schwartz 1909, 483–4. 600 Laqueur 1911b, 329. E.g., Judeich 1911, 115; Walker 1913, 87–97; Cavaignac 1932, 147 ff. Note that all of them maintained that Ephorus was the author of the Hellenika Oxyrhynchia. Jacoby 1826b, 28–30. Book XXVII: Laqueur 1911b, 330–3; Jacoby 1926b, 28–30; Barber 1935, 39, 174; Drews 1963, 254–5; Sordi 1969, xii–xiv, xxxiv–xxxvi; Stylianou 1998, 95–8; Prandi 2014, 688. Book XXVI: Hammond 1937, especially 84–7, and 1938, 141, 151. Critics maintaining that book XXX reached the year 341/0 bc are an exception: see, e.g., Mazzarino 1966, I, 402. See Parmeggiani 2011, 592–8 for a thorough discussion. Cf. Parmeggiani 2011, 598–601. According to Parker (2011, on T 9a), ‘Ephoros clearly had book XXX (which happened to end with the siege of Perinthos) more or less ready, with an account of the Phocian War still to be worked in, when he died’. Demophilus simply added the section on the Third Sacred War (ibid. Cf. Parker 2011, Biographical Essay II B).

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the entire Histories: as the Return was the first event narrated in book I, so the siege of Perinthus was the last event narrated in book XXX. (3) Let us examine both T 9a and T 10 in their respective contexts. Diod. 16.14.3–5 states: Among historians Demophilus, the son of the chronicler Ephorus, put together an account of the war called the ‘Sacred War’, which had been left out by his father, and began from the seizure of the temple at Delphi and the plundering of the oracle by Philomelus the Phocian. This war lasted eleven years until the destruction of those who had divided among themselves the sacred property. And Callisthenes [FGrHist 124 T 27b] has written the history of Greek affairs in ten books and brought his history to an end with the seizure of the temple and the lawless behaviour of Philomelus the Phocian. Diyllus the Athenian [FGrHist 73 T 1] began his history from the plundering of the shrine and he wrote twenty-six books, gathering together all the events that took place during this period both in Hellas and in Sicily.606

Diod. 16.76.5–6 states: Among historians Ephorus of Cyme brought his history to an end at this point, the siege of Perinthus. He included in his writing the deeds of both Greeks and barbarians, beginning from the Return of the Heraclidae. He encompassed nearly 750 years, and he wrote thirty books, placing a preface at the beginning of each. Diyllus the Athenian [FGrHist 73 T 2] began the second part of his history where Ephorus’ ended, and he made a connected narrative of the deeds of both Greeks and barbarians up to the death of Philip.607

It is clear that Diyllus, an Athenian historian of the third century bc, intended his first section (356–341/0 bc) to be a continuation of the twenty-nine books written by Ephorus, and a replacement for Demophilus’ book XXX, which obviously covered the events from 356 to 341/0 bc.608 606 608

Jacoby’s selection for T 9a is highlighted. 607 Jacoby’s selection for T 10 is highlighted. According to Hammond (1937, 86-7, and 1938, 141. Cf. Sordi 1969, xii-xiii; Drews 1963, 255 n. 1), Diod. 16.14.5 and 76.6 suggest that Diyllus’ first section included Hellenika and Sikelika from 357/6 to 341/0 bc, while Diyllus’ second section included Hellenika and Persika from 341/0 bc, and therefore that Ephorus’ Histories arrived at the year 341/0 bc only for Persian affairs, and ended at the year 357/6 bc for Greek and Sicilian affairs. This conclusion is contradicted by the text. First, the twenty-six books mentioned by Diod. 16.14.5 can only refer to the work of Diyllus as a whole (cf. Stylianou 1998, 97). Second, Diod. 16.14.5 does not say that Diyllus’ first section included only ‘events both in Hellas and in Sicily’, but that Diyllus’ work, beginning from the sack of the Delphic sanctuary in 357/6 bc, included those facts of Greece and Sicily which are the subject of Diodorus’ narrative.

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Book XXX was not a specialized monograph, nor was it as detailed as Ephorus’ narrative of contemporary events (cf. books XXIII–XXV, each covering three or four years), since it covered sixteen years (356–341/0 bc). It may also have been discontinuous, since Diyllus felt it necessary to replace it with the first section of his work. Nevertheless, book XXX had the Third Sacred War (356–346 bc) as its core: this part was more homogeneous and complete compared to the rest, and thus defined the entire book. This explains why Diod. 16.14.3 (T 9a) says that Demophilus ‘wrote the Sacred War,’ and why all book-numbered fragments for book XXX refer to the Third Sacred War (FF 93–6). In this respect, it is worth noting that FF 93–6 have no equivalent in Diodorus’ book XVI as regards the content and structure of the narrative: in addition to details about military actions (in Boeotia: F 94a–b [Anon. Arist. Eth. Nic. 3.1116b and Steph. Byz. Μ 169 Billerbeck, s.v. Μετάχοιον, respectively])609 and diplomatic activity (in Thessaly: F 95 [Steph. Byz. Μ 132 Billerbeck, s.v. Μελιταία]),610 Demophilus’ narrative included demonstrative and polemical digressions about the past, suggesting a critique of the sacrilegious Phocians (F 93 [schol. T Hom. Il. 13.302]),611 as well as insights into the specific history of the most famous treasures of the Delphic sanctuary, establishing links between the distant past and the events in the present (F 96 [Athen. 6.232d]).612 609

610

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According to F 94a–b, the Boeotians came from Metachoion to defend Coroneia from the aggression by Onomarchus and the Phocians in 353/2 bc. The anonymous author of F 94a describes the events in detail, and quotes Cephisodorus (FGrHist 112 F 1), Anaximenes (FGrHist 72 F 8), and Ephorus as authorities. Diod. 16.35.3 offers so short and generic a summary on Onomarchus’ victory at Coroneia that it is impossible to ascertain what is specifically due to Ephorus. On F 94a, see also Parker 2011, ad loc. F 95 reads: ‘City of Thessaly. Alexander in Asia. Theopompus [FGrHist 115 F 373] calls it Melitaea. The citizen is called Melitaeus. Ephorus in book XXX: “The tyrants of Pherae and the Melitaei, who before were friends.”’ The quotation from book XXX stops abruptly. Jacoby 1926b, 60, recalls Diod. 16.33.3 and 38.1 as loci paralleli (cf. Marx 1815, 257; Müller 1841, 275a; Parker 2011, ad loc.), but Diodorus’ summary is too short. The scholion remarks that the Phlegyans were renowned for having pillaged the Delphic sanctuary in the ancient past. In book XXX, on the basis of linguistic evidence, the Phlegyans were said to come from Daulis of Phocis. Apparently Demophilus discussed the traditions about the sanctuary in order to identify the archaic antecedents of the Phocians’ sacking in 357/6 bc. Such information was en péndant with the information in book IV on the autochthony of the Parnassians-Delphians (F 31b [Strab. 9.3.11–12]), and cast the Phocians in a negative light. On F 93, see also Parker 2011, ad loc. F 96 preserves a long verbatim quotation from book XXX. With each of the two precious objects that the Phocian leaders stole from the sacred treasury of Delphi (the jewels of Eriphyle and Helen, respectively) to give to their women, Demophilus associates a short historical note and an oracle in metrical form to stress the official Delphic imprimatur. The model here is clearly Herodotus. In each note, ancient tradition is reported unfiltered, exempt from any critical and rational examination, so that Alcmaeon seems to be affected by madness, whereas elsewhere Ephorus represented

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Diodorus’ observation that the Third Sacred War was ‘left out’ by Ephorus (τὸν παραλειφθέντα πόλεμον, 16.14.3 [T 9a]) suggests that Ephorus himself, in one of the last books that he wrote (presumably XXVII), announced that he intended to discuss the Third Sacred War, clearly considering it a most important historical subject.613 As a matter of fact, Demophilus took charge of completing/continuing his father’s work and, to this end, he probably made use also of notes that Ephorus had left. With regard to the siege of Perinthus (341/0 bc) as the last event in book XXX, already Ephorus, if not Demophilus himself, might have chosen it as the planned conclusion of either one of the books yet to be written or the whole work. Although it did not directly affect the political status quo in the present, the siege occurred at an important historical juncture, when Athens resumed the war against Macedon614 and the Persians set foot in Europe for fear of the Macedonians.615 The siege of Perinthus soon turned into one of the official causes of Alexander’s expedition against the Persians (cf. Arr. Anab. 2.14.5) while being charged with a universal meaning: it foreshadowed the momentous fight by which, not so many years later, Alexander, son of Philip II, would win against the Persians and conquer Asia.616

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him in a very different way (as a clear-headed general with specific political interests: see F 123a [Strab. 10.2.25]). Speaking about the terrible fate of the Phocian women, Demophilus does not say whether they were victims of the retaliation of the god, but that things just ‘happened’ (συνέβη). There is no direct or explicit link of causality between the ownership of the precious objects and the unhappy fate of the women. By contrast, Diod. 16.64.2 highlights the divine retaliation and the just condemnation of the Phocians. Cf. Parmeggiani 2007, 133–6. Pace Marx (1815, 258), Müller (1841, 275b), and Cauer (1847, 52), Diodorus’ version in 16.64.2 is different from the one we read in F 96: see Volquardsen 1868, 155; Schwartz 1903b, 682, and 1909, 488; Jacoby 1926b, 61; Momigliano 1975b (1932), 724; Hammond 1937, 83, 85 and 89; and Drews 1962, 390–1. Jacoby rightly observes that Diodorus is much closer to Phylarch. FGrHist 81 F 70 (Parth. Amat. narr. 25). For further details, see Parmeggiani 2011, 608–10 with notes. Parker (2011, on F 96) explains the differences between Diodorus and F 96 as Diodorus’ own faults remembering what Ephorus said, assuming that Athenaeus too abridged Ephorus. However, that Diodorus was following Ephorus here needs to be demonstrated first. As the definition of paraleipomena applies to histories of 411–404 bc completing Thucydides‘ original plan (5.26), so Diodorus’ παραλειφθέντα suggests that Demophilus wrote what Ephorus had planned to write, and therefore what Ephorus himself had promised his reader to write but never did. Cf. Dion. Hal. De Thuc. 16, I 349.5–7 U-R on Cratippus (FGrHist 64 T 1). See Diod. 16.76.3 and 77.2, on the siege of Byzantium as the reason for the renewal of the war between Philip II and Athens. Cf. Marx 1815, 260, Müller 1841, lxia, and Niebuhr 1847–1848, II, 317. See also Laqueur 1911b, 335–6; Drews 1963, 254–5; and Stylianou 1998, 98. Post-Ephoran historians used the siege of Perinthus as a caesura (cf. Diyll. FGrHist 73 TT 1, 2), and this may explain why this event was placed by Pompeius Trogus between books VIII and IX of his Historiae Philippicae (see Iust. Prolog. libr. VIII et IX). See Diod. 16.75.1–2. Cf. Hammond 1937, 86; and Sordi 1969, xiii. See Parmeggiani 2014d.

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3.8.2 The Contents of Books XXVI–XXIX Ephorus completed twenty-nine books. He had already started to take notes in order to write further books – more than one – but he died without bringing his project to term. Demophilus wrote a thirtieth book, including Ephorus’ notes on the Third Sacred War – a topic which Ephorus had said (in book XXVII?) he would address later in his work – and subsequent events up to the siege of Perinthus (341/0 bc). This event announced imminent new conflicts between the East and the West, between Persia and Macedon. Having identified the chronological period addressed in book XXX (356–341/0 bc, see § 3.8.1 above), we shall now try to detect, as far as possible, the general contents of books XXVI–XXIX, and discuss the historical view underlying this last section of Ephorus’ unfinished Histories. Book XXV probably ended with the battle of Mantinea and the death of Epaminondas in 362 bc (see § 3.7.4 above). We have only one booknumbered fragment for book XXVI, F 86 (Steph. Byz. Κ 113 Billerbeck, s.v. Κασσάνωρος) on the Egyptian city of Cassanoros, which Ephorus perhaps recalled while examining Agesilaus’ manoeuvres against Persia in the years of the Satraps’ Revolt (361/0 bc.).617 For book XXVII, we have FF 87 and 88 (Steph. Byz. Β 193 Billerbeck, s.v. Βύμαζος and Ζ 22 Billerbeck, s.v. Ζηράνιοι, respectively). Based on the above conclusions on book XXX, we know that book XXVII did not continue much further beyond the year 356 bc; as a consequence, we are sure that Ephorus mentioned the Paeonian city of Bymazus (F 87) and the Thracian land named Zerania (F 88) while covering Philip II’s operations in the Northern Balkans in 359/8 bc.618 We then have FF 89–91 (Steph. Byz. Φ 35 Billerbeck, s.v. Φάρος, Μ 241 Billerbeck, s.v. Μύνδωνες, and Ε 103 Billerbeck, s.v. Ἕρβιτα, respectively) for book XXVIII and F 92 (Steph. Byz. Ι 115 Billerbeck, s.v. Ἴστρος) for book XXIX: Ephorus turned his attention from the Macedon of Philip II to the West of Dionysius I and II. While it seems more accurate to refer FF 89–91 to Dionysius I,619 F 92, on Istrus, a city in Iapygia, should be related to Dionysius II.620 These entries offer little information, making it difficult to ascertain whether Ephorus described events under the tyranny of

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Cf. Schwartz 1907, 6. See also Jacoby 1926b, 59, with reference to Diod. 15.93; and Barber 1935, 38. Cauer (1847, 83) and Dressler (1873, 26) mention Diod. 15.90 ff. and book XVI, on the Eastern history under Artaxerxes II and III. See Jacoby 1926b, 59–60, and also Parker 2011, ad locc. See Jacoby 1926b, 60. Cf. Parker 2011, ad locc. Cf. Schwartz 1907, 6, with reference to Diod. 16.5.3 (year 358/7 bc).

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Dionysius I that he had addressed in previous books, or summarized contents that he had already examined, simply to contextualize Dionysius II’s politics; regardless, by considering FF 89, 92, 211 (below, § 3.8.3), we will show that Ephorus probably studied and evaluated Dionysius II’s politics in light of his predecessor’s. The information we have gathered so far can be summarized as follows: F 86 (book XXVI): rebellion of Egypt and Agesilaus (361/0 bc) FF 87–8 (book XXVII): Philip II’s military operations in the North (359/ 8 bc) FF 89–92 (books XXVIII–XXIX): Dionysius I and II Jacoby wondered whether book XXVI included information about Greek history after Mantinea or about the East,621 but it seems that time was the decisive criterion for the arrangement of historical material in this book: book XXVI covered events of Greek and Eastern history after 362 bc, among them, Agesilaus’ campaign in Egypt. It is highly probable that the narrative of book XXVI was as detailed as the accounts in the preceding books, and thus did not cover more than three or four years.622 Book XXVII certainly examined the first years of Philip II as king of Macedon, from 359 to 356 bc, until at least the eve of the Third Sacred War: the narrative of this book was also particularly detailed, in the manner in which Ephorus’ books typically narrated contemporary events.623 Furthermore, if Ephorus announced here that he would examine the Third Sacred War later, we can surmise that book XXVII included information also on the Social War and the crisis of the Second Athenian League (357 bc ff.). As for books XXVIII–XXIX, they are most problematic. It is possible that Ephorus wrote mainly of Dionysius II with retrospective comments on Dionysius I. Certainly, Ephorus paid attention to the crisis of Dionysius II in Syracuse in 356 bc (cf. FF 219–20), which, if the connection between F 92 (book XXIX) and Dionysius II’s colonization of Apulia before 358/7 bc is correct, was narrated in book XXIX. 621 622

623

Jacoby 1926b, 29, 59. There is no reason to think that book XXVI reached the early 340s bc (so Cauer 1847, 83, 86 and Dressler 1873, 26 ff.) or covered eighteen or twenty years until 342 or 341/0 bc (so Barber 1935, 39, 174; Hammond 1937, 84–7; and Sordi 1969, xii–xiv, xxxiv–xxxvi). Note that information about the history of the East after 360 bc may have appeared in the books following XXVI. That book XXVII arrived at the year 341/0 bc (so Laqueur 1911b, 330–3; Jacoby 1926b, 28–30; Barber 1935, 39, 174; and Stylianou 1998, 97–8), is simply impossible: see Parmeggiani 2011, 596–7, for details.

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To recapitulate, the identifiable contents of books XXVI through XXIX are as follows: Book XXVI: after Mantinea (362 bc ff.); Agesilaus’ campaign in Egypt Book XXVII: Philip II: from his accession to the throne of Macedon to the eve of the Third Sacred War (360/59–356 bc) Books XXVIII–XXIX: Dionysius II, with references to Dionysius I Despite many uncertainties, we can glimpse the historical view underlying this arrangement. In books XXVI–XXIX, Ephorus concentrated on the general crisis of the oecumene in the late 360s and early 350s. This was the time when Greece had no hegemon, Persia faced difficulties with the Western satrapies and Athens with its allies, and Dionysius II confronted Dion. The whole oecumene lacked strong leaders and was affected by internal conflicts. It is significant that Ephorus wished to discuss the Third Sacred War only after describing the general context: he considered this war the cornerstone of Philip II’s rise to hegemony, and stressed that Philip II’s success occurred contextually, when the main powers of the inhabited world were undergoing a crisis. In addition to the aetiological value of Ephorus’ historical perspective, we can comprehend why he attributed great importance to Philip II and his political initiative in the Histories.624 3.8.3 Ephorus’ Assessment of Dionysius II and Philip II Dionysius II succeeded his father in 367 bc (F 218 [Polyb. 12.4a.3–4]).625 He remained in Syracuse until 356 bc, the same year when the historian 624

625

I intentionally set aside the problem of the book-reference of FF 217 ff. I am almost sure that F 218 (Polyb. 12.4a.3–4), on Dionysius I, is a collatio of Ephoran data taken from more than one book (see n. below); and that FF 219–20 (Plut. Dion 35–36) on Philistus’ death relate to books XXVIII–XXIX. As for F 217 (Tertull. De anim. 46) on Alexander the Great, F 221a–b (Plut. Tim. 4 and Clem. Alex. Strom. 1.135.1, respectively) on Timoleon, and F 223 (Clem. Alex. Strom. 1.139.3) on the 735 years between the Return of the Heraclidae and Alexander’s expedition, we should not exclude a priori the possibility that they relate to book XXX, especially since we have demonstrated that it covered the period 356–341/0 bc. See Parmeggiani 2011, 603 for details. For a different view of FF 217 ff. and their reference to specific books, see now Parker 2011, Biographical Essay II B. Polyb. 12.4a.3–4 reads: ‘And he [sc. Timaeus, FGrHist 566 F 110] in turn falsely accuses Ephorus [FGrHist 70 F 218], claiming that Ephorus said that Dionysius the elder began to rule at age 23, was tyrant for 42 years, and departed life at 63. Now no one would say that this is the writer’s own error, but rather all would agree that it is the scribe’s. Either Ephorus must have been stupider than Coroebus and Margites if he could not calculate that 42 and 23 equals 65, but since no one would believe this of Ephorus, two things are obvious: the error is the scribe’s, and no one could approve of Timaeus’ love of fault-finding and making accusations.’ Jacoby’s selection for F 218 is highlighted. Upon considering the entire text, we learn that Timaeus did not argue with Ephorus because he dated the beginning of Dionysius I’s tyranny to 408/7 and not to 406/5 bc (as many critics imply on the basis of Marm. Par. FGrHist 239 A 62: see Schwartz 1899, 486 n. 2; Jacoby 1904, 184, e 1926b, 100; Walbank 1957–1979, II, 325–6; Meister 1975, 11–13; Parker 2011, on F 218), but

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Philistus, who was Dionysius’ adviser and general, died fighting against Dion. The entire context of FF 219–20 (Plut. Dion 35–36) informs us of the episode of Philistus’ death.626 Ephorus said that Philistus took his own life.627 His version differed from Timonides’ and, probably, Timaeus’, both of which indicated that Philistus was captured alive, and then humiliated and killed by the Syracusans.628 Apparently, none of them questioned that Philistus’ corpse was abused, and Plutarch states with confidence that the Syracusans ‘assaulted him [sc. Philistus] savagely and barbarously’ (ὠμῶς καὶ βαρβαρικῶς αὐτῷ προσενέχθησαν).629 Therefore, we are sure that in addition to praising the historian Philistus (see Chapter 2, § 2.2), Ephorus also emphasized the ferocity of the Syracusans.630 After Philistus’ death, Dionysius II sought refuge in his mother’s land, Epizephyrian Locris, where he remained from 356 to 347/6 bc.631 Ephorus appreciated Zaleucus’ constitution (F 139, from book IV or VI/VII). In the context of F 139 (Strab. 6.1.8), emphasis is placed on the decline Locris underwent under Dionysius II, for he established a particularly violent regime.632 We may doubt that this information comes from Ephorus;633 however, a possibility exists that Ephorus already contrasted Dionysius’ lawlessness with Zaleucus’ good constitution.

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because he noted a numeric inconsistency, which Timaeus may have calculated drawing on specific data that Ephorus gave in different parts of his work. In a part of his Histories (book XVI?), Ephorus spoke of Dionysius I as the twenty-three-year-old protagonist of the following forty-two years of Syracusan politics (from 408/7 to 367/6 bc, with inclusive calculation. Note Diod. 13.75.9 on 408/7 bc: ἐν οἷς ἦν καὶ Διονύσιος ὁ μετὰ ταῦτα τῶν Συρακοσίων τυραννήσας, ‘among whom [sc. the wounded during the fights in Syracuse that led to Hermocrates’ death] was also Dionysius, the one who later became tyrant of the Syracusans’), and elsewhere (in books XXVIII–XXIX?), that Dionysius died in 367 bc at the age of sixty-three. Quite maliciously, Timaeus reported the mistaken formula, 23 + 42 = 63, stressing that from Ephorus’ work one derived inconsistent chronological data. Cf. Philist. FGrHist 555 TT 9d, 23a. Cf. Diod. 16.16.3, with Marx 1815, 255; Müller 1841, 274b; Cauer 1847, 52; Schwartz 1903b, 681; Jacoby 1926b, 100; and Parker 2011, on F 219. See Timonid. FGrHist 561 F 2 and Tim. FGrHist 566 F 115, both quoted in Plut. Dion 35–36. Plut. Dion 35.3. Note that also Diod. 16.16.4 insists on the brutal treatment of Philistus’ cadaver by the Syracusans. Ephorus’ praise of Philistus prompted Timaeus’ response: he insisted, with dubious care, on the details of the abuse of the corpse. Unlike Sanders 1987, 75, I do not think that Ephorus’ appreciation for Philistus implies ‘a moderate form of favor’ for Dionysius II. See Muccioli 1999, 342–53. The resentment against Dionysius II and his family was so intense that, after Dionysius returned to Syracuse, the Locrians massacred his relatives. We learn about Dionysius II’s brutalities at Locris from many sources (beside Strab. 6.1.8, see also Athen. 12.541c–e [Clearch. fr. 47 Wehrli]; Iust. 21.2.9–3.8; Ael. VH 6.12; 9.8). Strabo may have drawn his information directly or indirectly from Clearchus (Muccioli 1999, 350 with n. 953).

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We have no specific information about the last period of Dionysius II after 346 bc, for F 221a–b (Plut. Tim. 4.6, and Clem. Alex. Strom. 1.135.1, respectively) only tells us about the personal history of Timoleon of Corinth, who stirred up internal conflicts among the Sicilians and brought the Carthaginian threat to an end.634 We learn instead about the first period of his tyranny (from 367 to 356 bc). F 92 (Steph. Byz. Ι 115 Billerbeck, s.v. Ἴστρος) reports on Istrus of Iapygia and may be linked with Dionysius II’s foundations in Apulia shortly before 358/7 bc (Diod. 16.5.3).635 Diodorus, in fact, presents Dionysius II’s concern with the security of the Ionian Sea as a reason for the foundation of the colonies in this area. Incidentally, this is the same reason he also gives for Dionysius I’s colonization in the Adriatic region in 385/4 bc (15.13.1). However, while Dionysius I’s initiative is connected with his belligerent plans against Greece (15.13.1–4), Dionysius II’s action is described as being not as dangerous as his father’s, and certainly aimed at different ends. In fact, while summarizing Dionysius II’s politics before 358/7 bc (16.5.1–4), focusing particularly on the conclusion he wanted for the wars with the Carthaginians and the Lucanians and the colonization of Apulia, Diodorus depicts Dionysius II as a king who presented himself as ‘peaceful’ (εἰρηνικός) on account of his devotion to ‘inactivity’ (ἀπραγία). He also points out his responsibility for the dissolution of the power he had inherited from his father. As we shall now see, the fragments suggest that Ephorus had a more nuanced approach than Diodorus to Dionysius II’s first years. We are familiar with F 211 (schol. C Ael. Aristid. Panath. 313, III 294 Dindorf). The scholion erroneously mentions Athens’ naval victories over Sparta and Dionysius I in the 370s to explain how the Athenians sabotaged Dionysius II and Artaxerxes II’s scheme to bring Greece into submission. Since there is no doubt that Ephorus spoke about this agreement with reference to Dionysius I, and not to Dionysius II (cf. § 3.7.2 above), we are left with the following question: why do the scholia on Aristides insist on referring the agreement to Dionysius II? 634

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F 221a–b is about the controversial identity of the fortune-teller, who was one of Timoleon’s associates in the murder of his brother Timophanes (Ephorus said Orthagoras, as did Timaeus [FGrHist 566 F 116], while Theopompus said Satyrus [FGrHist 115 F 334a]). Cf. Nep. Tim. 1.4: per haruspicem communemque affinem. There seemed to be no doubt about the identity of the other conspirator, a brother of Timophanes’ wife by the name of Aeschylus (Plut. Tim. 4.6). Diod. 16.65.4 attributes no associates to Timoleon. Cf. Diod. 16.10.2 (year 357/6 bc), where Dionysius II’ colonies are said to be ‘of recent foundation’ (νεοκτίστους).

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Schol. ac: Dionysius, the son of the tyrant Dionysius, after the death of his father [Διονύσιος ὁ Διονυσίου τοῦ τυράννου υἱὸς μετὰ τὴν τοῦ πατρὸς τελευτήν] made a treaty with the king of the Persians, (. . .).636 Schol. bd: He [sc. Aelius Aristides] means Dionysius II [λέγει τοῦ δευτέρου] (. . .).637

The scholia may be simply applying to Dionysius II information that Ephorus gathered about Dionysius I, as many modern critics believe.638 Or, more likely, in describing the first years of Dionysius II as the tyrant of Syracuse (367 bc ff.), Ephorus recalled an agreement that his father Dionysius I had struck with Artaxerxes II a few years earlier (probably in late 373 bc: cf. above). Consideration of the historical circumstances in the mid-360s bc may corroborate our proposition. Syracuse and Persia did not ignore each other in 366 bc.639 The Spartan debacle at Leuctra affected the political power field: Syracuse and Sparta drew closer to Athens;640 as a result, in 367 bc Dionysius I allied himself with the Athenians.641 In 367/6 bc, Persia turned from Sparta to Thebes and, from the mid-360s onward, had to confront the revolt of the Western satrapies, which were often supported by the Greeks. We may guess that, as a consequence of these changes in the overall political scenario, presumably shortly after 366 bc (perhaps in 365/4 bc?), Artaxerxes II asked Dionysius II to renew the agreement that his father Dionysius I and he had reached before Leuctra, but with the aim of pursuing now different objectives.642 The alliance that Sparta and Athens had formed in 370/69 bc had obviously made it unnecessary to help Sparta again; furthermore, the peace of Susa in 367 bc, which officially recognized the autonomy of Messenia and the illegitimacy of the Athenian fleet, had failed. So Artaxerxes may have

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Schol. AC Ael. Aristid. Panath. 313, III 294 Dindorf. Schol. BD Ael. Aristid. Panath. 313, III 294 Dindorf. See Jacoby 1926b, 98 (the scholia confused Dionysius I, who aided Sparta in the naval war at Corcyra in 372 bc [cf. Xen. Hell. 6.2.4 and 33–36; Diod. 15.47.7] with Dionysius II, who aided Sparta in 366/5 bc [cf. Xen Hell. 7.4.12]); Barber 1935, 183 n. 1; Stroheker 1958, 141; Stylianou 1998, 372–3; and Tuplin 2014, 656. Others consider only the first part of the scholia, with reference to Dionysius II: e.g., Sanders 1987, 74, 91, 118; and Muccioli 1999, 228 ff. For a more nuanced position, see Vattuone 2002, 550–1, with reference to Dionysius II’s own need for legitimation of the power he had inherited from his father. See especially [Plat.] Ep. 13.363b–c, with Muccioli 1999, 231 ff. Athens’ honorific decree to Dionysius I and his sons dates to 368 bc: see Tod 1948, 102–4, n0. 133; Rhodes and Osborne 2003, 160–4, no. 33. See Tod 1948, 107–9, n0. 136; Rhodes and Osborne 2003, 164–9, no. 34. Artaxerxes’ initiative is noted by schol. BD Ael. Aristid. Panath. 313, III 294 Dindorf: ἐκείνου (sc Artaxerxes) δηλώσαντος αὐτῷ (sc. Dionysius), ὡς Ἔφορος ἱστορεῖ.

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asked Dionysius II to refuse any aid to both Sparta and Athens, i.e., the rivals of Thebes, and to the rebels in the Western satrapies.643 The picture sketched above may help us to see some events which are often viewed as unrelated by modern critics as being instead correlated effects arising from one particular Persian scheme, which aimed to weaken both Sparta and Athens and prevent them from interfering in the neighbouring, troubled East. By this I mean: the end of the war against the Carthaginians waged by Dionysius II;644 Syracuse’s refusal to send mercenaries to Sparta from 365 bc onward;645 the establishment of relations around 365–364 bc (IG 7.2407 = Rhodes and Osborne 2003, no. 43) between the Boeotians and the Carthaginians who may have pledged to support Epaminondas’ naval plan;646 and finally, Epaminondas’ confidence in seeing Italy, Sicily and Africa as a supply basin (F 119: τὰ ἐκ τῆς Ἰταλίας καὶ Σικελίας καὶ Λιβύης). It appears that, according to Ephorus, Persia, Greece and Syracuse in the 360s were politically interconnected. It is worth noting that Dionysius II had very good reasons to accept Artaxerxes II’s proposition to distance himself from Sparta and Athens in 365/4 bc: Dion, the rival of Dionysius II, had been enthusiastically welcomed in Greece, especially in Athens, Sparta and Corinth.647 Dionysius II may have feared that the Greek consensus about Dion would soon turn into a real threat to his primacy in Syracuse. Still, as the Theban success at Leuctra in 371 bc had annulled the agreement of late 373 bc, so nothing came of the agreement of 365/4 bc (συνθῆκαι?) in the following years: the Greek political scenario was so unstable that any agreement was doomed to fail quickly or be invalidated. If the reconstruction we suggest is acceptable, the ‘inactivity’ (ἀπραγία), which Diod. 16.5.1–4 attributes to Dionysius II as a flaw of his nature denoting personal weakness, was instead, in Ephorus’ view, the result of Dionysius’ careful political decision-making: through the agreement with Persia, Dionysius II wanted to consolidate the power he had just acquired in Syracuse, after his father’s death. As we see, Ephorus, representing the history of Sicily after 367 bc, may have proposed a more sophisticated 643 644 645 646 647

On the Peace of Susa see especially Xen. Hell. 7.1.36; Diod. 15.76.3; 81.3; 90.2; and Plut. Pel. 30.7. See Diod. 16.5.2. See Xen. Hell. 7.4.12 on the last aid from Dionysius II to Sparta in 366/5 or 365 bc (twelve triremes). In 366 bc, Isocrates still stressed Dionysius’ generosity toward Sparta (Archid. 63). Like the Carthaginians, the Persians may also have made a similar promise. See Buckler 1980, 155–6, 160–1. On Dion and the Greek cities, see Zorat 1994; and Muccioli 1999, 222 ff. According to Plut. Dion 17.8, the Spartans even made Dion a citizen of Sparta, despite the fact that Dionysius II, at the time, was helping them against the Thebans.

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causation of the decline of the Dionysian tyranny and a more nuanced portrait of Dionysius II than Diodorus offers. Let us turn now to Philip II. According to Momigliano, who believed that Diodorus’ book XVI faithfully reproduced Ephorus and Demophilus for the most part, Ephorus, inspired by Isocrates’ praise of Philip II in the oration Philippus (346 bc), viewed the king of Macedon as the perfect hegemon and embodiment of the best virtues of the three historical hegemons of Greece, namely Thebes, Athens and Sparta: Philip was simultaneously gifted with Epaminondas’ excellence (arete), Sparta’s braveness (andreia) and Athens’ greatness of soul (megalopsychia); as such, he both inherited and surpassed the legacy of their virtues, for he epitomized the successful realization of their failed hegemonies.648 One may object that the relationship between Diodorus’ book XVI and Ephorus is more problematic than Momigliano assumes,649 and also that Diodorus’ book XVI on a close reading offers a more nuanced picture of Philip II than is usually believed.650 In short, we cannot rely on Diodorus’ book XVI sic et simpliciter to reconstruct Ephorus’ view. Fragments come first, and as we shall now see, they seem to suggest that Ephorus’ approach to Philip II was critical and often at odds with the arguments of those rhetoricians who, during his time, praised Philip as the unblemished champion against the Persians or as the ‘new Heracles.’ As we have seen above (§ 3.8.2), the organization of the historical materials in the last section of the Histories suggests that Ephorus viewed

648 649 650

Momigliano 1975a (1935), 702–5. For a detailed comparation between Ephorus’ fragments and Diodorus’ book XVI, see Parmeggiani 2011, 603–10. The epithets that Diodorus uses for Philip are rather formulaic for they are typical of the Hellenistic representation of the good king or commander in general: see rightly Lefèvre 2002, 526 n. 24. Furthermore, Diodorus’ representation of Philip in book XVI displays some complex features of his political personality. He was a two-faced king: he prevailed against the dangers of chance (tyche) on account of his military and diplomatic skills, but he was also a master of simulation (the strategy of dokein, ‘to seem’), through which he shrewdly pursued absolute power: see Parmeggiani 2005, especially 91–103, and on Philip II in Diodorus, see also Lefèvre 2002, 525–32. Philip’s duplicity should not come as a surprise if we consider that Theopompus, who claimed in his Philippika Philip’s exceptional singularity in the history of Europe (τοιοῦτον ἄνδρα: FGrHist 115 F 27), revealed both the ‘apparent virtue’ and the ‘undetected vice’ of the king (FGrHist 115 T 20a). On Theopompus and his portrait of Philip II, see especially Flower 1994, 98–115 (emphasizing Theopompus’ negative appraisal of the king); Vattuone 1997 and 2014a; Parmeggiani 2005, 101–3 with n. 97; 2011, 616 n. 357, and 2016b. See also Chapter 4, n. 51. Pace Shrimpton (1991, 158), Theopompus should not be placed among the pro-Macedon or the anti-Macedon publicists, for he, like Ephorus, observed contemporary events autonomously, which explains on the one hand, the complexity of his portrait of Philip II and, on the other hand, why his assessment would later be considered to be authoritative.

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the Third Sacred War as the cornerstone of Philip II’s rise to hegemony. Diodorus too, in the book’s proem and elsewhere in XVI, recognizes this crucial role of the Third Sacred War.651 After narrating the end of the war in the year 346 bc and the resultant peace conditions,652 he writes: After this, Philip joined in enacting what had been decreed by the Amphictyons and having dealt kindly with everyone, he returned to Macedonia. He had not only won a reputation for piety and military excellence, but had also made great preparations for the increase of power that was coming to him. For he was desirous of being designated supreme general of Hellas and of making war on the Persians. And this in fact is the very thing that happened.653

Diodorus is fully aware of the importance of the historical moment. He contextualizes the events of 346 bc and looks forward to the League of Corinth of 338 bc, without indulging in unnecessary celebrations. In his representation, Philip II views his own reputation as guardian of the Delphic sanctuary as instrumental to the achievement of his hegemonic goals, and sees the war against the Persians as a means for his own empowerment (πρὸς τὴν μέλλουσαν αὔξησιν). There is no space in Diodorus’ representation for such reasons as retaliation for Xerxes’ profanation of the Greek sanctuaries, which a moralistic laudator of Philip II would certainly have stressed in a similar circumstance, or the freedom of the Greeks of Asia, or the material benefit the Greeks might reap from the conquest of Asia.654 The very fact that the source invoked for Diodorus here by Quellenforschung is Demophilus655 suffices to show that Momigliano’s thesis on Ephorus’ representation of Philip II in the Histories is defective. However, Diodorus dates the original conception of the attack on Persia to 346 bc, and describes Philip as hopeful for or expecting the role of ‘supreme general of Hellas’ (τῆς Ἑλλάδος στρατηγὸς αὐτοκράτωρ), which will be indeed his in 338 bc after Chaeronea. Isocrates wrote his Philippus exactly in 346 bc, here auguring that Philip II would resolve the differences between the Greek states and lead, as the hegemon of the Greek coalition, the war against the Persians, as in fact 651 652 653 654

655

See Parmeggiani 2005, 92–3. On the adherence of Diodorus’ wording of the peace clauses to the epigraphic evidence, see Lefèvre 2005, especially 112–19. Diod. 16.60.4–5. The theme of revenge against Xerxes’ pillaging of the Greek sanctuaries appears in Diod 16.89.1–3 as a logos, which Philip skilfully promulgated among the Greeks in order to gain their consensus on the war against Persia: see Parmeggiani 2005, 97–8. See Hammond 1937, 82-3; and Sordi 1968, xxv. In general, cf. Lefèvre 2005, 112.

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happened after Chaeronea.656 Should we conclude that Ephorus too, as the pupil of Isocrates, celebrated Philip? Before addressing this question by looking at Ephorus’ fragmentary tradition, we shall examine Isocrates’ thesis in the Philippus more closely. Isocrates presents Philip II as a descendant of Heracles to show that what he is suggesting to the king, namely, to promote peace among the Greeks and lead them against the Persians, is an inherited responsibility. To this end, Isocrates develops a theme, which – so he says – has been neglected by the numerous bards of Heracles’ deeds, that is, the moral primacy the hero exhibited by taking Troy: On the topic of Heracles everyone else continually praises his bravery and recounts his labours. But no one, neither poet nor prose-writer, will be seen to remember his other excellences. (. . .) For when he saw that Hellas was full of wars, civil strife, and many other evils, he put an end to these things and reconciled the cities with one another, thereby showing to later generations with whom and against whom it was right to go to war. For he made an expedition against Troy, which in fact at that time held the greatest power in Asia, and he excelled in generalship those who later made war against this same city to such an extent that whereas they with the power of the Hellenes only with difficulty took the city in ten years, he in fewer days with only a few men easily took the city by force. (. . .) And when he had done this, he set up what are called the Pillars of Heracles, a victory trophy of his win over the barbarians and a monument to his own excellence and the dangers he had endured, and as border-markers of the territory of the Hellenes. I have gone through these matters with you so that you may know that I am exhorting you in speech to actions as great as those which your ancestors, as is clear in light of their deeds, judged the fairest.657

Isocrates is cognizant that adopting Heracles as a paradigm for political initiatives means also that to be included among the gods one must match the virtue of those actions which earned him the honour: Consider how disgraceful it is to allow Asia to fare better than Europe and the barbarians to have greater prosperity than the Hellenes; and further, to allow those who hold their rule from Cyrus – whose mother cast him out onto the road – to be addressed as Great Kings, whereas those who are descended from Heracles – whose father brought him into the company of the gods because of his virtue – to be addressed with humbler terms than those.658 656

657

Modern critics often date Philip II’s plans for a war against Persia to the period 348–338 bc without excluding links between Isocrates’ Philippus and the Argeads’ politics (cf. Isoc. Ep. 3.3). See Weißenberger 2003, 108–10. Isoc. Philip. 109–113. 658 Isoc. Philip. 132. Cf. Isoc. Philip. 33.

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A similar apotheosis will await Philip II, if he leads the common war against the Persians,659 which obviously assumes that Philip, besides being the descendant of a man/god (Heracles), is gifted with excellence to bring about extraordinary things, which a common man cannot do: I agree that none of the others could have reconciled these cities [sc. Argos, Athens, Sparta, and Thebes], but nothing of this sort of thing is difficult for you. For I see that you have accomplished many things that the rest considered hopeless and incredible. And so it is in no way strange if you alone are able to unite these entities. It is right that men who are exceptional and have great aspirations should attempt not the sort of things that an ordinary person might achieve, but rather those endeavours which no one other than those who have a similar nature and ability as yours would attempt.660

The parallel between Heracles and Philip II is present beyond Isocrates’ text. In the Letter to Philip by the Platonic Speusippus (343/2 bc), Heracles’ deeds continue on in the actions of the king of Macedon.661 Moreover, from 356 bc onward, Philip II himself carried on his predecessors’ practice of minting coins with the effigy of Heracles.662 For Alexander, the son of Philip and the conqueror of Asia, making use of Heracles and what it stood for would be nothing out of the ordinary.663 Ranking Heracles among the gods on account of his virtue (διὰ τὴν ἀρετήν) was a key concept in the Greek political imaginary of the fourth century bc. Ephorus’ fragments confirm it. In 403 bc, Lysander would have never recalled that Heracles received divine honours διὰ τὴν ἰδίαν ἀρετήν, if he had not been sure that such an argument would persuade the Spartans.664 F 207 (Plut. Lys. 30) shows that Ephorus was perfectly aware that the politicians of his age used Heracles for their particular ends, and in this respect we do not need to insist further and draw parallels between Isocrates’ Philippus and Lysander’s logos in F 207 in light of their common argument about Heracles among gods διὰ τὴν ἀρετήν, or between Lysander’s and Philip’s coinage for the importance that the effigy of Heracles had in both, or between Lysander and Philip and Alexander for their common interest in the political use of the sanctuaries (cf. F 206 659 661

662 663 664

Cf. Isoc. Ep. 2.4–5. 660 Isoc. Philip. 41. Speus. Epist. Socr. 30. The authenticity of this document is greatly debated, but see Natoli 2004. On both Speusippus and the Hellenikai Praxeis by Antipater of Magnesia (FGrHist 69), see below. See also Squillace 2004, 43 ff. on Isocrates, Speusippus, and the likeness between Philip II and Heracles. On Philip II’s coinage, see Hammond and Griffith 1979, 662 ff. See especially Diod. 17.4.1. See especially Plut. Lys. 24.4–5, and Mor. 229e–230a, both loci similes of F 207.

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[Plut. Lys. 25]). F 207 is sufficient to warn us against the conclusion that Ephorus carelessly endorsed Isocrates’ ideas in the Philippus. It is far more probable that Ephorus criticized Isocrates’ view, as well as the view of those who celebrated Philip II as the ‘new Heracles’, as a further example of the instrumental use of myth. Additional evidence supports our interpretation. The Heraclean lineage of the Argeads, the royal dynasty of Macedon to which Philip belonged, was already known to Herodotus.665 Besides Isocrates, who emphasizes it in the Philippus, Theopompus also addressed it.666 The lineage of the Argeads was certainly a key theme in fourth-century discussions about the Greek or barbaric identity of the kings of Macedon, a land that the Greeks hardly recognized as being Greek. The reader of Ephorus’ Histories, in particular of the first books, was informed that Pheidon of Argos, a descendant of Heracles and an ancestor of Philip II, minted coins (FF 115 and 176 [Strab. 8.3.33 and 8.6.16 respectively]) and violated the sanctity of Elis. He also ‘attacked the cities previously taken by Heracles and deemed himself worthy of celebrating those contests which Heracles had instituted.’667 Ephorus with careful calculation presented these details, which further validates our understanding of Ephorus’ critical approach to any appropriation of Heracles’ past for political purposes, even by Heracles’ descendants. The readers of Ephorus’ narrative about Pheidon knew very well who Philip II was and what he did, as they also knew that many Greek and Macedonian supporters of the king praised him as the ‘new Heracles’. Ephorus, then, seized the opportunity to critically reflect also on contemporary events. In book IV, Ephorus blended together geographical notions, ethnographic and archaeological issues, historical information and constitutional problems. He referred to the present of Philip II, who liberated Delphi and its sanctuary during the Third Sacred War (cf. F 31b [Strab. 9.3.11–12]), as well as to Heracles’ past deeds (F 34 [Theon Progymn. 95, 61 PatillonBolognesi]). Isocrates states in the Philippus that, after his accomplishments, Heracles erected the pillars as ‘a victory trophy of his win over the barbarians and a monument to his own excellence and the dangers he had endured, and as border-markers of the territory of the Hellenes.’668 In books IV and V of his Histories, Ephorus also reminded his readers of Heracles’ pillars, as the shifting borders of a Greek world that was 665 666 668

Hdt. 5.22; 8.137. Cf. Thuc. 2.99–100; 5.80. Theopomp. FGrHist 115 F 393. Cf. Diod. 7.15.1. Isoc. Philip. 112.

667

Strab. 8.3.33 (F 115).

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expanding.669 Specifically, in book IV, Ephorus spoke of one of Heracles’ most important deeds, his victory over the Giants of Pallene, as follows: Those who dwelt around what was long ago called Phlegra and is today Pallene were savage, sacrilegious, and cannibals [ἄνθρωποι ὠμοὶ καὶ ἱερόσυλοι καὶ ἀνθρωποφάγοι], those called Giants, whom Heracles is said to have subdued after he captured Troy. Because Heracles and his men, who were few [ὀλίγους ὄντας], defeated the Giants, who were many and impious [πολλῶν ὄντων καὶ ἀσεβῶν], the battle seemed to everyone to have been the work of the gods [θεῶν ἔργον ἅπασιν ἐδόκει γεγονέναι τὸ περὶ τὴν μάχην].670

Ephorus’ view on the deeds of Heracles differs greatly from Isocrates’. While for Isocrates, Heracles was the author of virtuous deeds, which actually elevated him to the rank of a god, for Ephorus, instead, Heracles’ deed looked like a god’s work because he accomplished it with few companions. For Isocrates, Heracles’ deification is a fact resulting from that moral excellence which Heracles was gifted with and which makes him, still in the present day, a useful paradigm for his descendants, especially Philip II, who is called to perform ‘hopeless and incredible’ actions.671 For Ephorus, Heracles’ deification resulted instead from a collective impression (ἅπασιν ἐδόκει) stemming on the one hand, from the unpredictability of Heracles’ victory on account of the few forces he could count on (ὀλίγους ὄντας), and on the other hand, from its obvious perception as an act of justice simply because it was directed against men who did not respect the gods (ἀσεβῶν). Heracles defeated men who are said to be ὠμοί (‘savage’), ἱερόσυλοι (‘sacrilegious’), and ἀσεβεῖς (‘impious’) in F 34. Similarly, Tityus and Python, defeated by Apollo, are said to be βίαιοι (‘violent’) and παράνομοι (‘lawless’) in F 31a–b,672 and so are the Phlegyans of F 93673 and the Phocians of F 96,674 who pillaged the Delphic sanctuary and were defeated by Philip II in the Third Sacred War. If the readers of Ephorus’ book IV were reminded of Philip by such figures as Apollo in F 31b or Heracles in F 34, they were also encouraged to consider that a ‘divine’ quality was not an intrinsic characteristic of his, as the laudatores of the ‘new Heracles’ claimed by exalting the moral superiority of Philip II and the legitimacy of his initiative, but rather 669 670 671 672 673

See Steph. Byz. Κ 18 Billerbeck, s.v. Καλάθη (F 171) e Plin. NH 6.198 (F 172). See Bianchetti 1990, 67–73. Theon Progymn. 95, 61 Patillon-Bolognesi (F 34). Cf. [Scymn.] Orb. descr. 636–637; Strab. 7.25. See Jacoby 1926b, 50–1, and Parker 2011, ad loc. Isoc. Philip. 41. Theon Progymn. 95, 60 Patillon-Bolognesi (F 31a); Strab. 9.3.12 (F 31b). Schol. T Hom. Il. 13.302. 674 Athen. 6.232d.

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the effect of collective suggestion. In the end, ἐδόκει (‘seemed’) in F 34 is not so different from the dokein-strategy of Philip II according to Diodorus’ book XVI,675 but with one significant exception: unlike Heracles, Philip II indeed desired such an effect. Ephorus said that the divinity of Heracles was the result of a belief from the earliest times (F 34), and also stressed that Heracles’ deeds, in different periods of Greek history, were exploited for political purposes, in both words (F 207) and actions (F 115). The fragmentary tradition accentuates the gap between Ephorus’ critical approach to time and history and the approach of some contemporary philosophers and historians, who mixed up the past and the present to celebrate Philip II. In 343/2 bc, Antipater of Magnesia, who wrote Hellenikai Praxeis in Athens (FGrHist 69), gave Speusippus the material to define Philip’s success over the Phocians in the Third Sacred War as a mimesis of previous successes such as that of Apollo over the Phlegyans, of Heracles over the Dryopes and of Amphictyons over the Criseans.676 Furthermore, he narrated ‘trustworthy myths’ (ἀξιοπίστους μύθους), according to which Heracles’ deeds in the Peloponnese and in the Chalcidic peninsula were legitimately directed against men who were ‘violent’, ‘despotic’, ‘criminal’, and ‘lawless’ (ὑβριστάς, τυράννους, κακούργους and παρανόμους). Since these actions occurred before the first colonies, they involved regions which were to be considered under the purview of the Heraclidae and, as a consequence, of Philip II.677 It is clear that, at the time when Ephorus wrote book IV of the Histories, some intellectuals justified Philip II’s expansion into the Chalcidic peninsula (356; 349–348 bc) and intervention in the Third Sacred War (356–346 bc) by using myths about Apollo and Heracles.678 F 34 illustrates that Ephorus purposely and knowingly objected to these biased, manipulative uses of the past. Aelius Theon quotes Ephorus’ accounts about Apollo (F 31a) and Heracles (F 34) as examples of criticism against the mythological tales and disclosure of their origins (ἀνασκευάζειν τὰς τοιαῦτας μυθολογίας . . . ἀποφαίνειν ὅθεν παρερρύεκεν ὁ τοιοῦτος λόγος). In the years of Philip and Alexander, downgrading the divinity of Heracles as the mere effect of collective suggestion certainly contrasted

675 677 678

676 See n. 650 above. Epist. Socr. 30.8 (Antipatr. FGrHist 69 F 2). Epist. Socr. 30.7 (Antipatr. FGrHist 69 F 1). One should not infer from Speusippus’ emphasis on Antipater’s originality (Epist. Socr. 30.5 [Antipatr. FGrHist 69 F 1]: μόνος καὶ πρῶτος ἀξιοπίστους μύθους εἴρηκε) that pro-Macedon rereadings of the myth were not widespread throughout Greece: Speusippus is only contrasting Antipater’s completeness with Isocrates’ gaps in the Philippus in order to impress Philip II.

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with biased and celebratory retrospective interpretations such as those of Speusippus and Antipater. Ephorus radically distanced his narrative from contemporary celebratory representations of the past, and we can suspect with reason that several sections of his Histories dedicated to archaic matters and methodological issues were infused with this critical concern. At a time when current events – especially after 356 bc – revived Heracles’ past, it was of utmost importance to identify and show the difference between the event and its amplification by fame. Ephorus, as a universal historian, knew that the appropriate delineation of past events (as far as this was possible: F 9) prepared for the fair assessment of contemporary events. His aim of extracting what was ‘real’ from myth, as we find it exemplified in FF 31b and 34, may be judged – and indeed was – naive: no historian or anthropologist today would try to do that. But his process of collecting, examining and comparing different strands of tradition, with the aim of identifying both the nature and the origins of certain akoai (cf. Chapter 2, § 2), helped him to verify, e.g., whether the perspective of those contemporaries who celebrated Philip II as the new Heracles was right or not. In the context of the fourth-century political debate, this was anything but trivial. The legitimacy of current paradigms was at stake. In the Philippus, Isocrates attributes greater significance to Heracles’ conquest of Troy than to the Achaeans’. A few years later, in the Panathenaicus (342–339 bc), he considers Agamemnon anew, and celebrates him as the ideal hegemon of the Greeks for the war against Asia. It is worth reading his novel interpretation at length: (. . .) and Argos supplied Agamemnon who had not one or two virtues only but all those one could enumerate, and he had these not to a modest degree but to an abundant degree. For we shall discover no person who has undertaken more distinguished, nobler, or greater deeds, or more beneficial to the Hellenes or deserving of more praise. (. . .) For what did he lack, that man who held such great renown? If everyone came together and tried to find a greater renown, they could not do it. For he alone was deemed worthy of being commander of all Hellas. Now I cannot say whether he was chosen by all or acquired this himself; but however it happened, he left no opportunity to others who might be honoured in some other way, to win a greater reputation. And although he acquired such power, he harmed not a one of the Hellenic cities. He was instead so far from wronging the cities that although he took over the Hellenes when they were at war and amid political troubles and many evils, he freed them from these things and he established harmony among them. He took no notice of deeds that were strange and prodigious but of no benefit to others, but instead he established an army

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and led them against the barbarians. And no one of the renowned men of that time or those who came later will be seen to have led a finer campaign or one more beneficial to the Hellenes. (. . .) One would praise him not only for this but also for his other accomplishment at that same time. His spirit was so lofty that he was not satisfied with the individual soldiers that each city would provide, but he even persuaded the kings – men who did whatever they wanted in their cities and themselves gave orders to others – to be under his command, to follow wherever he led them, and to do what he ordered, abandoning their kingly life and living like soldiers. He further persuaded them to risk their lives and fight not on behalf of their individual countries and kingdoms, but using the pretext that they were fighting on behalf of Helen, wife of Menelaus, he had them in actuality fighting so that Hellas should not suffer at the hands of the barbarians the kinds of things that had formerly occurred, for example, in the conquest of the entire Peloponnese by Pelops, the taking of the city of Argos by Danaus, or of Thebes by Cadmus. What other man will be seen to have had such foresight, or who would have prevented such things from happening again except for someone of Agamemnon’s nature and power? (. . .) He commanded an army which had come together from all the cities and was of such magnitude as one would expect of an army composed of many descendants of the gods and sons of the gods, (. . .) and nonetheless he had control of such an army for ten years (. . .) because he was superior in wisdom, and could provide sustenance for his soldiers from the enemy, and especially because he had the reputation of being able to plan better for the safety of the rest than the rest could for themselves.679

We may ask whether Isocrates thinks of Philip II as he speaks of Agamemnon, or simply makes use of a rhetorical topos.680 Nevertheless, there is no doubt that in the Histories, and specifically in book IV, Ephorus conveyed a rather different impression of Agamemnon. F 123a (Strab. 10.2.25) reads: Ephorus says that they [sc. the Acarnanians] did not take part in the campaign [sc. against Troy]. For Alcmaeon, the son of Amphiaraus, campaigned with Diomedes and the rest of the Epigoni and when he had successfully concluded the war against the Thebans, he went with Diomedes and took vengeance on the enemies of Oineus. Having handed over Aetolia to them, he went to Acarnania and conquered it. Agamemnon meanwhile attacked the Argives and easily defeated them, since the majority of them had joined with Diomedes. A little later, when the expedition against Troy came upon him, Agamemnon was afraid that while he was away Diomedes and his forces might return home – and in fact people had 679 680

Isoc. Panath. 72–82. On Agamemnon and Philip II, see Weißenberger 2003, 102–3; Roth 2003, 131 ff.

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Agamemnon is placed in a historical context devoid of any idealizations, and characterized by that sense of political frailty which is also characteristic of Thucydides’ Archaeology. Ephorus depicted Agamemnon as an illegitimate king, but also as an astute politician and an adroit deceiver, who was intent on local power and lacked that broad political perspective and Panhellenic political vocation which Isocrates attributes to him in the Panathenaicus. For Isocrates, Agamemnon was a generous leader, the only one who understood what was good for all the Greeks and thus planned the general expedition against Troy. For Ephorus, Agamemnon was only interested in controlling Argos: he was an individualist who wanted all Greeks to partake in the expedition against Troy in order to drive his rivals out of Greece. Ephorus’ Agamemnon is radically different from Isocrates’ Agamemnon. As we have indicated earlier, we cannot be sure if Isocrates had in mind Philip II when he depicted his Agamemnon, but it is clear that the reader of the Histories found in Ephorus’ paragraphs about Agamemnon and the expedition against Troy a novel opportunity for critically reflecting on the present.682 Alexander, son of Philip, is described as a lion in the vaticinium ex eventu of F 217 (Tertull. De anim. 46): Philip of Macedon, when he was not yet a father, had seen [sc. in a dream] his wife Olympias’ womb sealed with a ring. The seal was a lion. He had believed that this meant child-bearing was forbidden, I think because the lion is a father only once. Aristodemus or Aristophon conjectured that this was portending at bottom something profitable: a son and indeed one of the greatest force was being indicated. Those who know Alexander recognise the lion of the ring. This is what Ephorus writes.683 681 682 683

Strab. 10.2.25 (F 123a). On F 123a as related to book IV, see § 3.2 above. On Philip II/Agamemnon see also Demades’ words to Philip after Chaeronea (338 bc) according to Diod. 16.87.2–3, with Parmeggiani 2016b. Tertull. De anim. 46 (F 217). Cf. Plut. Alex. 2.4–5. I recall Hdt. 6.131.2 on Agariste, the wife of Xanthippus, who dreamt of giving birth to a lion when she was pregnant with Pericles (see now Rutherford 2018, 11). F 217 suggests that Ephorus – or Demophilus, if this piece of information

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The lion image conveys energy and strength but is also ambiguous. On the one hand, it clearly refers to Alexander’s fearless nature, for he resolutely carried out the plans that his father had conceived; on the other hand, it eclipses Ephorus’ own judgement on the real intentions underlying those plans. Ephorus never described Alexander’s formidable deeds, but the fragments lead us to believe that Ephorus remained aloof before such resounding successes, as if he were absorbed in a contemplative disenchantment. Ephorus preferred not to join Alexander (T 6 [Plut. Mor. 1043d]).684 He did not rank Alexander among the gods as the son of Zeus Ammon, but rather stressed his fierce, lion-like nature as successor and executor of Philip II’s will. This is Ephorus as we have detected him by studying the fragments. He did not gloss over the imperialistic aims of such Greek cities as Sparta and Athens that were involved in Asia, nor was he bewitched by the bards, who celebrated Macedon and praised Philip II as the ‘new Heracles’. As a man of Asia Minor, he was accustomed to harbour no illusions about the ‘crusades’ from mainland Greece. He knew all too well that politicians often disguise their personal interests underneath what seem to be shared interests for the good of a community (his comment in F 196 [Diod. 12.38– 41.1] on Pericles as the man who chooses to save himself rather than his fellow citizens is a reminder). We can therefore conclude that Macedon received no less criticism than the cities of Sparta, Athens and Thebes did for the mistakes they made over time, throughout their whole history.

684

appeared in book XXX and not in other books – had a clear perception of Alexander’s realization of Philip II’s ambitious plan to conquer Asia. On this fragment, see Chapter 4.

chapter 4

Ephorus the Universal Historian

This chapter is something of an arrival point, for here we yield the fruit of our previous inquiry. Now we know something more about Ephorus’ Histories, their aims, method and contents; we can, therefore, provide a definition of Ephorus’ universality. This we shall do in two steps: first, we shall try to understand, in light of the knowledge we gained above through the fragments, which reasons led Polybius to mention Ephorus as his only predecessor (§ 1); then, we shall set Ephorus’ universality in the context of the historiographical thought of the fourth century bc, to better appreciate its novelty (§ 2).

1. Toward a Definition of Ephorus’ Universality By definitions such as τὰ καθόλου and κοιναὶ πράξεις, the ancients meant something whose significance and object are broader, in opposition to what is, on the same points, limited: virtually any kind of historical writing which aims to instruct its audience by highlighting the deepest significance (be it political and/or moral) of the narrated events, and to do so, does not limit itself to strict geographical and/or chronological boundaries. Such an idea may be labelled indeed – and so will be here – as ‘universal history’.1 It is also clear that a historiographical genre existed in antiquity, to which both expressions τὰ καθόλου and κοιναὶ πράξεις refer.2 Sources use both of them for one historian only, 1

2

For scepticism on τὰ καθόλου and κοιναὶ πράξεις as both referring to ‘universal history’, see now Tully 2014. Although I do not agree with all its conclusions (see below), Tully’s stimulating paper has, among its merits, that of making readers not to take for granted the meaning of τὰ καθόλου γράφειν in Polybius and κοιναὶ πράξεις in Diodorus. Tully rightly emphasizes that, for Polybius, the significance of events is what counts (2014, 172). But such significance cannot be understood if events are not put into broader context, in terms of space and/or time. Polybius’ text, considered as a whole (5.33.1–8), is clear in this respect: see above Chapter 3, § 1.2. Evidence comes especially – and significantly – from the age after Polybius: see below in the main text, on Diodorus, Dionysius of Halicarnassus and Strabo, and n. 3.

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Ephorus. This is not accidental, when one considers that Ephorus was the first – as far as we know – to draw a clear distinction between different branches of historical writing and their respective audience, as Polybius points out in the proem to book IX (T 18b). One may take that very proemial page, from which T 18b derives (9.1.2–2.7), as Polybius’ own justification for his choice to cover only contemporary history; which means, of course, that Polybius implicitly admitted that a ‘universal history’ should be, in principle, much more chronologically extended than his own work was. Polybius, throughout his work, seems to fight against the possibility that his work may not be taken as a real universal history (which its author thinks it is) for it does not cover non-contemporary history: not by chance, he emphasizes the superior significance and usefulness of contemporary history on the one hand (e.g., 9.1.2–2.7), and the ascent of Rome as an unprecedented process, on the other (1.1–4). Such a ‘defensive attitude’ by Polybius also explains his aggressiveness of tone, when he denies many predecessors’ ‘universal’ ambitions (e.g., 5.33.1–8; 8.11.3–5; 12.23.4–7). This, notably, with the only exception of Ephorus. Polybius says that Ephorus was the first and only historian to have written ‘universally’ before him (τὰ καθόλου, T 7 [Polyb. 5.33.2]). According to Diodorus, Ephorus wrote ‘world events’ (κοιναὶ πράξεις, TT 8, 11 [Diod. 4.1.2–3 and 5.1.4, respectively]) and dealt with the deeds of both Greeks and barbarians (T 10 [Diod. 16.76.5]). In the first century bc, the work of Ephorus was known as κοιναὶ πράξεις. Dionysius of Halicarnassus clearly thinks of him (and probably also of his ‘colleague’ Theopompus), when he mentions, among Isocrates’ disciples, those who ‘wrote the world deeds of both the Greeks and the barbarians’ (τὰς κοινὰς τῶν Ἑλλήνων τε καὶ βαρβάρων πράξεις ἀνέγραψαν, De Isoc. 1, I 56.1–2 U-R), a definition which is identical with that provided by Diodorus in TT 8, 10 and 11. Strabo pairs Polybius and Ephorus in T 12 (8.1.1), for ‘both of them set aside the description of the continents in the general writing of history’ (ἐν τῇ κοινῇ τῆς ἱστορίας γραφῇ), which may even suggest that Polybius’ work too, in the first century bc, was taken as an example of κοιναὶ πράξεις, as Ephorus’ was. This should not surprise, since Polybius seems to have considered himself a writer of κοιναὶ πράξεις (38.4.5. Cf. the programmatic statement in 39.8.6, διέξιμεν τὰς κοινὰς τῆς οἰκουμένης πράξεις). Labels apart, Polybius and Diodorus agree that Ephorus was a universal historian, for he wrote a universal history. Polybius, de facto, crowns him as the founder of the genre. Be it accepted

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or not, this is his point of view, which also proved to be authoritative for later historiography.3 As the broader context of T 7 shows (Chapter 3, § 1.2), Ephorus himself, probably in the general proem of his Histories, highlighted the superior magnitude of his expository plan. According to Polybius, he himself claimed to write ‘universally’ (τὰ καθόλου), and whether or not he used exactly this expression, or that of ‘world events’ (κοιναὶ πράξεις) or some other, he made clear that he would deal with both Greeks and barbarians in his work. But – one may ask – is Ephorus’ statement, as we understand it by examining the context of T 7, together with Polybius’ and Diodorus’ later appraisals, enough to conclude that Ephorus really wrote a universal history? As a matter of fact, modern critics have often raised doubts about the Histories as authentic universal history, in so far as one means, by such a label, a historical narrative covering all space and all time. More often, they observe that Ephorus had his own way, which they believe to be questionable, of conceiving history and its aims; and that it is in such a questionable frame that his universality should actually be set and defined. Marx (1815) commented on Polybius’ and Diodorus’ appraisals mentioned above by stressing the great extent of Ephorus’ historical inquiry in both space and time. In his view, Ephorus rightly deserved the label of ‘universal historian’, insofar as his narrative dealt with both the Greeks and the barbarians, and covered events from the Return of the Heraclidae down to his own age – indeed a great span of time.4 The legitimacy of this conclusion was very soon debated. Ulrici (1833) observed that Ephorus mainly focused on Greek events and paid attention to the barbarian

3

4

The existence of a historiographical genre under the name of τὰ καθόλου and/or κοιναὶ πράξεις is not merely a matter of labels: it is shown also by the choice of specific referents, even with polemical purposes. After Polybius, Diodorus ascribes a complete history of both the Greeks and the barbarians neither to Herodotus nor to Anaximenes (note σχεδόν, ‘almost’, in Diod. 11.37.6 and 15.89.3 [Anaxim. FGrHist 72 T 14]), but only to Ephorus (16.76.5 [Ephor. T 10]). Diodorus does not ignore other historians such as Callisthenes and Theopompus, but provides details only about Ephorus’ treatment of the ‘ancient mythical stories’ (palaiai mythologiai, 4.1.2–3 [Ephor. T 8; Callisth. FGrHist 124 T 24; Theopomp. FGrHist 115 T 12]). With the exception of Dionysius of Halicarnassus, whose attention to Herodotus and Theopompus on the one hand, and silence about Ephorus on the other hand, look like an indirect response to Polybius (see Dion. Hal. De Thuc. 5, I 331.18–332.6 U-R; Ad Pomp. 6.3–5, II 245.9–21 U-R [FGrHist 115 T 20a]. For a different view on the reasons of Ephorus’ absence in Dionysius’ canon, see Matijašić 2018, 86–8), the historiography of the first century bc views Ephorus as the undisputed founder of the genre of universal historiography on account of Polybius’ judgement in 5.33.2. See also Chapter 1, § 6 above, on Strab. 13.3.6 (Ephor. F 236). Marx 1815, 44 ff. Cf. Creuzer 1845, 320 and 324.

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world only in a cursory way; as a consequence, his work did not deserve the label of ‘universal history’.5 Such a view, which won the approval of many critics in the nineteenth century,6 has been reaffirmed several times in the twentieth century – notably by Momigliano (1982) and Stylianou (1998)7 – and has been questioned only in recent times. Vattuone (1998b), for example, emphasizes the comparativist sensibility of Ephorus’ ethnography and also his global vision of events; although Schepens and Bollansée (2004) accept that Ephorus focused on Greek events, they emphasize his ‘comprehensive overview’ of political and cultural history and openminded approach to barbarian civilizations.8 One may wonder whether Ephorus’ work was a ‘universal history’ because of the breadth of interests and the wide-ranging vision it displayed, or only a ‘history of the Greek peoples’ involving also barbarian peoples within the narrow limits of their contact with the Greeks. One may also doubt that such a ‘history of the Greek peoples’ would be evidence per se of a non-universal approach: that Ephorus wrote a general history of the Greeks from the distant past to the present age prompted Niebuhr (1847–1848) to appreciate the Histories as a ground-breaking work which expanded boundaries, rather than contracting them.9 But the problem goes well beyond this point. The general view of the historian Ephorus, which emerged at the beginning of the twentieth century, shaped that very idea of ‘universal history’ which influential scholars such as Schwartz (1907 and 1909) and Jacoby (1909, 1912, 1926b and 1926c) ascribed to Ephorus, and which, in their wake, modern literature is often accustomed to ascribe to him today. Because of the identification of Diodorus with Ephorus, moralism has been detected as the means by which the latter embraced different events and made them homogenous;10 for the same reason, his Histories have been conceived as a mere compilation of his

5 6 7

8

9 10

Ulrici 1833, 180–1. Cf. Desideri 2001, 205–6. See, e.g., Stelkens 1857, 5–6; Klügmann 1860, 12–13; Wachsmuth 1895, 500. Müller’s silence on the issue (1841) speaks for a de-emphasis of the identity of Ephorus as a universal historian. According to Momigliano (1982, 16–18), Ephorus was author of a ‘national history’. According to Stylianou (1998, 90), ‘Even Ephorus’ famous universal history was still primarily the history of the city-states of the Greek mainland.’ See also Candau Morón 1983, 328, on Ephorus as the author of a description of the evolution of the Greek world. Vattuone 1998b, 84–9, and Schepens and Bollansée 2004, 61–3, respectively. Cf. Schepens 1987. See also Hartog 1997, 981, and Parmentier 2014, especially 844, both emphasizing Ephorus’ ‘Herodotean’ attention to barbarian peoples. Niebuhr 1847–1848, I, 207. Cf. Schepens 1977b, 503–4. Schwartz 1907, 7–8, and 1909, 495; Jacoby 1926b, 23 and 30.

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predecessors’ written works,11 which Ephorus realized in a rhetorical vein, by disregarding Thucydides’ restriction to contemporary history on the one hand,12 and by imitating Hellanicus’ work of reorganization of the mythical era on the other: as Hellanicus had dealt with the time from the origins down to the Return of the Heraclidae by genealogical monographs, so Ephorus dealt with the time from the Return down to contemporary age by his Histories, providing the reader with an inanimate collection of both local histories and deeds by the Greeks and the barbarians.13 The final result was a cold and colourless catalogue of deeds, a hellenocentric representation of events or a flat handbook of Greek history which lacked any political focus or in-depth political insight, and by which history was reduced to mere exercise of style, moralism and praise for Aeolian Cyme. Ephorus’ work was the barren product of a uniform culture, which lacked any energy or interest in real research and was therefore – to quote Schwartz – a ‘dead object’ (‘toten Objeckt’): its content was what had already been discovered and written by others, its inspiration came from ethics, paideia and Panhellenism (the driving forces at Ephorus’ time).14 This is the interpretation of Ephorus’ universality, which formed the basis for many later scholars’ views.15 The perennial notion that Ephorus, being a disciple of Isocrates, supported his master’s view(s), could not but strengthen such a negative conception of the universal character of his work.16 But, unpredictably, it also gave interesting results, as is the case with Momigliano’s theory. According to Momigliano (1975a [1935]), since Isocrates was a Panhellenist, so was Ephorus; and since Isocrates cared for the issue of the ideal hegemon of the Greeks against the barbarians, Ephorus, as his disciple, transferred such an issue into history: he identified those constants which had made past Greek hegemonies (Sparta, Athens and Thebes) more or less efficient, 11 12 13

14 15

16

Schwartz 1907, 6–7, and 1909, 494–5; Jacoby 1909, 42, and 1926b, 23 and 30. Jacoby 1909, 22. See especially Jacoby 1909, 24 and 42, and 1926b, 25–6. In Jacoby’s view, Hellanicus was a forerunner and a model for Ephorus. In principle, by taking his monographs together, Hellanicus should be considered as the first who wrote a ‘universal history of the Hellenes’ (Jacoby 1909, 24). On Ephorus as unthinkable without Hellanicus, see Jacoby 1912, 149–50. See especially Schwartz 1907, 6–8 and 13, and 1909, 494–5; Jacoby 1909, 19, and 1926b, 23, 25 and 30. See, e.g., Barber 1935, 78; Breebaart 1991 (1966), 44; Burde 1974, 17–25; Alonso-Núñez 1990, 175 ff., 186, 190, and 2002, 37–41; Will 1991, 126–7; Breglia 1996b and 2005; Stylianou 1998, 6 ff., 110 ff.; Corsaro 1998, 416–19; Pownall 2004, 113–42; Parker 2011, on T 7, and Biographical Essay II B; Nicolai 2013; Inglebert 2014, 218–27. Laqueur’s view, for example, of Ephorus’ Histories as the logical consequence of Isocrates’ speeches in the age of Alexander’s universal empire (1911b, 346) was promptly rejected by Jacoby (1926b, 25), but corroborated an idea of Ephorus’ work that is very near to Schwartz’s and Jacoby’s, i.e., that it was a cold collection of moral examples, without any political focus (1911b, 347).

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therefore proving the legitimacy of Philip II’s ambition to rule as the new hegemon.17 Now, Momigliano still works in the frame of the conventional, negative view of Ephorus; yet, his theory suggests that the Histories had a different sense than that of a mere handbook filled with local histories and Greek deeds: although morally oriented and centred around Greece, Ephorus’ plan had a political focus and did not lack a certain degree of ambition.18 It is clear that the notion of ‘universal’, with reference to Ephorus’ Histories, has been mostly examined in light of such concepts as moralism, armchair/rhetorical historiography, Hellenocentrism, paideia and Panhellenism, and as a reaction to Thucydides’ contemporary history. Obviously there have been acute responses to this interpretative trend. Some critics have recently doubted that paying more attention to past history than to contemporary history is something negative per se; since Ephorus had good principles (e.g., FF 9, 110), his choice was well grounded and marked a progress in the history of historiography.19 While there is no doubt that Ephorus had good principles of research (cf. Chapter 2, § 1), one may nevertheless doubt that his focus was more on the past than on the present: one may better say that both were crucial (see Chapter 1, § 2–3, and Chapter 3). Some have tried to figure out Ephorus’ work without reference to the (modern) notion of ‘universal history’.20 This may help to bypass many negative judgements that affect Ephorus’ reception still today, but, as we recalled above, Ephorus himself presented his own work as a universal effort, no matter the definition(s) he used to express the concept. Others prefer to explain Ephorus’ universality as the answer, by a fourth-century intellectual as Ephorus was, to the contemporary elite’s need for a systematic treatment of the Greek past as a whole: a comprehensive synthesis of otherwise scattered historical/antiquarian knowledge which had been gained so far, rather than the product of fourth-century (or Isocratean) Panhellenism.21 17 18

19 20

21

Momigliano 1975a (1935), 697–706. Such political dimension is reaffirmed also by Mazzarino (1966, I, 331–410), emphasizing that Isocrates – i.e., the teacher of Ephorus – was very interested in politics (391). In Mazzarino’s view, for Ephorus, as for Anaximenes, ‘historical thought’ was meant ‘to deal with philosophical (i.e., ethical, or political) problems’, as was the trend in the fourth century bc (405, translation mine). Ephorus’ universal history, as such, was an expression of the philosophical culture of its time. See also Gehrke 2014, 86 ff. See, e.g., Schepens 2006b, 169 n. 48, and in general, Schepens’ works quoted in the bibliography. See Tully 2014. Tully rightly emphasizes the importance of Sparta (and the Peloponnese) in Ephorus’ work. But neither the first nor the latter point, in my opinion, prevents us from conceiving Ephorus’ work as a real universal history (see below). See Fornara 1983, 42–6, and cf. Schepens and Bollansée 2004, 61; Clarke 2008, 97–8. See now also Davies 2013, especially 63–8.

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Such interpretation ends up restating the conventional view of Ephorus as an armchair historian who paid attention (more or less exclusively) to the past, which rests on dubious biographical stereotypes (Chapter 1, § 2) and has been questioned by us in the context of a general refutation of the notion of ‘rhetorical historiography’ (Chapter 1, § 3). Furthermore, it assumes that Ephorus’ work was mainly a cultural effort, inspired by erudition and not by contemporary politics, something which needs to be proved. Other critics have expressed disaffection with the assumption that Ephorus was merely a moralist, who conceived an hellenocentric history under the sole inspiration of paideia and Panhellenism.22 Indeed such an assumption has been scaled down, if not radically questioned, in the previous chapters of the present work: even if it is admitted that such concepts played a part in the Histories, one might reasonably doubt that they were so pervasive as to characterize this work against that of any other Greek historian in any age, or that they affected the value of Ephorus’ historical analysis and representation (cf. Chapter 1, § 3, discussing ‘rhetorical historiography’ as placing emphasis on moral instruction, praise and blame). A new examination of Ephorus’ universality is therefore needed. And since Polybius is the first, among ancient readers, who links Ephorus with ‘universally writing’ (τὰ καθόλου, T 7), we shall start with a simple question concerning his testimony: why does Polybius select Ephorus as his only predecessor?23 Polybius in 5.33 makes clear that almost all of his predecessors claimed to write ‘universally’, i.e., according to Polybius’ own conception of ‘universal history’ at its most superficial level, a history of Greeks and barbarians.24 This point is somewhat confirmed by two of the three pre-Polybian 22

23

24

See especially Vattuone 1998b, 84–9. Marincola (2007b, 173–4), on moralism, stresses that ‘the question is one of scale and context’; Tuplin (2014, 676–80) draws a distinction between Hellenocentrism (which he aknowledges to Ephorus) and Panhellenism. Pédech (1964, 496) raises the question but does not answer it (‘malheureusement il [sc. Polybe] ne donne pas clairement les raisons de cet éloge’). Burde (1974, 25) addresses it, but erroneously infers from ἐπιβάλλεσθαι that Polybius meant that Ephorus failed to write a real universal history (cf. Inglebert 2014, 219; Weaire 2021, 40). Roveri (1964, 58–9) clearly senses how crucial this question is. Rightly, in my opinion, he remarks that differences in structure exist between Polybius’ and Herodotus’ universality. Unfortunately, he fails to notice analogies between Polybius’ and Ephorus’ universality, so he is far from making a persuasive point. Tully’s emphasis on the ‘Peloponnesian perspective’ which was common to Ephorus and Polybius (2014, 178 ff.) is important – see below on Ephorus’ focus on the crisis of fourth-century Sparta – but not enough. For Sheridan (2010, 47), ‘It is difficult (. . .) to discern many, if any, similarities between the thinking of Polybius and Ephorus’. Yet it is possible, as we shall see below. One should recall that Polybius’ notion of universality involves space (i.e., Greeks and barbarians) rather than time: cf. Chapter 3, § 1.2. This said, to write τὰ καθόλου is, for him, much more than dealing with both Greeks and barbarians in one and the same narrative: see below.

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historians whose work has survived: both Herodotus and Thucydides refer to the Greeks and the barbarians in their proems.25 Yet Polybius states that the only historian who, before him, laid such claim to universality legitimately, was Ephorus: ‘the first and only writer’, he says (τὸν πρῶτον καὶ μόνον). While πρῶτον (‘the first’) implies the exclusion of all the historians prior to Ephorus, including Herodotus, μόνον (‘the only one’) implies the exclusion of any other historian between Ephorus and Polybius himself.26 If one considers that, elsewhere in his Histories, Polybius contests the universal ambitions of such historians as Theopompus and Timaeus by detailed arguments,27 it will be clear that his massive ‘purge’ of writers from universal history in 5.33 was not the result of improvisation: Polybius had specific reasons to say what he said. For Polybius, to write ‘universally’ means to understand the unity underlying the various events, that is, to reveal both the continuity of facts over time – a goal to which aetiological analysis contributes significantly – and the interaction among them when they happen simultaneously. The principle at the centre of his idea of research and writing is that only the general observation of phenomena leads to a solid and therefore useful knowledge.28 Now, Polybius would have never stated what we read in 5.33, if he had not detected an affinity of some sort between his and Ephorus’ way of conceptualizing and representing historical development. Polybius would have never acknowledged a predecessor, thus denying himself the honour of being the founder of universal historiography – the most important genre, he asserts, in the age of Rome’s hegemony – if he had not recognized that Ephorus’ historiography also held that unifying view linking historical events to their causes, which was at the core of his own concept of universality. We are therefore called to consider the possibility that points of contact exist between Polybius’ 25 26

27

28

See Hdt. Prooem.; Thuc. 1.1.2. Polybius’ exclusion of Herodotus may surprise us, if we consider the view that Dionysius of Halicarnassus holds of Herodotus as an innovator in ancient historiography because of his description of the common deeds of Greeks and barbarians (De Thuc. 5, I 331.18–332.6 U-R). But one may ask whether Herodotus’ work really did fit Polybius’ own notion of universality (cf. n. 23 above). Note that Herodotus is never quoted by Polybius; furthermore, Polybius often diverges from Herodotus on Greek history of the fifth century bc (see now Scardino 2018). See Polyb. 8.11.3–5 (Theopomp. FGrHist 115 T 19, on which see also below) and 12.23.4–7 (Tim. FGrHist 566 F 119a). Contrary to Polybius, Dionysius of Halicarnassus ascribes to Theopompus a breadth of interests in no way inferior to that of Herodotus (Ad Pomp. 6.3–5, II 245.9–21 U-R [Theopomp. FGrHist 115 T 20a]): cf. n. 3 above. On these passages, see Vattuone 2014a. On universality in Polybius, see particularly Walbank 1957–1979, I, 9; Pédech 1964, 496–514; Roveri 1964, 47–59. For later discussion (with different points of view), see the papers by Liddel, Hartog and Sheridan in Liddel and Fear 2010.

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and Ephorus’ view. In this respect, we will consider closely Polybius’ own statements on the one hand, and Ephorus’ fragments in light of the analysis we conducted in the previous chapters, on the other, in order to elucidate analogies and differences between the two historians. This will allow us to find the reason(s) for Polybius’ appraisal of Ephorus as a universal historian, and, more important, to detect some distinctive features of Ephorus’ universality. In arguing for the superiority of universal history over special/partial histories, Polybius contends that a study focusing solely on particular events does not foster real, comprehensive knowledge, but leads only to general, yet partial information and superficial understanding: It is possible to get an idea of the whole from a portion, but impossible to acquire knowledge and accurate understanding. And so one must generally consider that individual histories contribute only a little to the knowledge and trustworthiness of the whole. When all events are woven together, however, and placed side-by-side, and their similarities and differences are compared, only then, by such an examination, might one attain this knowledge and be able to derive what is useful and pleasurable from history.29

Polybius’ statement rests on a scientific principle, which was already widespread in the philosophical culture of the fourth century bc, as Pédech (1964) emphasizes by referring to Aristotle: only by carefully surveying the largest number of data and paying close attention to analogies and differences, can one achieve a complete and correct knowledge of specific phenomena.30 Now, this principle, applied to historical inquiry, was already known to Ephorus, who showed how any observation limited to specific phenomena cannot lead the observer to evaluate them correctly. In F 149, for example, those men (τινες, ‘some’) who presume to demonstrate the Spartan origin of Lyctus’ laws by arguing that Lyctus, as a Spartan colony, necessarily abided by Sparta’s laws, fail because – Ephorus observed – ‘many colonial cities do not observe their ancestral customs, and many, also, of those in Crete that are not colonial have the same customs as the colonists’ (Strab. 10.4.17). The theory lying behind such words is clear: only a complete consideration and review of the phenomena, including the largest number of analogous cases, enables the observer to reflect appropriately on the specific case he is studying, and to draw accurate conclusions about it. As we see, Ephorus believed that a complete examination of the data available was the only viable way to conduct meaningful research and write good history. 29

Polyb. 1.4.9–11.

30

Pédech 1964, 497 n. 5.

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Polybius clearly followed in the footsteps of post-Thucydidean historians, Ephorus especially, when he dealt with the notion of universal history. It is no surprise that Polybius’ observations in 12.4c.4–5 appear to be under the inspiration of Ephorus’ innovative observations in F 110 (Polyb. 12.27.7) on the limits of autopsy (see Chapter 2, § 1.3): the preoccupation with extending inquiry to the far borders of oecumene, and with investigating the events of Greeks and barbarians that occurred in different ages and also, simultaneously, in different places, was Ephorus’ before it was Polybius’. Of the thirty books of Ephorus’ Histories, book IV is the one that we know best through the fragments. In our discussion of this book (Chapter 3, § 3.2), and also above in this chapter, we have noted that Strabo links Ephorus with Polybius, for they both gave a particular space to topographical descriptions in their historical works (T 12 [Strab. 8.1.1]). To this similarity, we can add another one: both historians paid great attention to the study of constitutional forms, Ephorus in book IV and Polybius in book VI, respectively. Thanks to the analysis we conducted above, it is now clear that Ephorus’ book IV was neither a mere update of the knowledge that had been gained about Greek and barbarian ethnography in the fifth century bc through Ionic literature and Herodotus, nor an exemplification of the general interest in constitutional matters that was widespread in the fourth century bc. Ephorus’ observation followed the route of a circuit of the oecumene to encapsulate historical and geographical data and identify the reasons for the historical strength or weakness of various peoples (not only Greek, but also barbarian nations). Informed by a solid understanding of the dynamics of institutional change, Ephorus carried out comparative studies of the constitutions, and proposed a unified theory to explain the different processes characterizing the states, their rise and fall, their successes and failures over time. Needless to say, this was a much more complex and wider attempt than merely transferring Isocrates’ concern for the best hegemon of Greece into history. Ephorus’ particular way of organizing an impressive multitude of data into a unified, comprehensive system of knowledge, authentically universal, also providing it in one book only, was unprecedented, and did not fail to impress a political and systematic historian such as Polybius. Polybius’ book VI on the constitutions, which is imbued with Ephoran notions and infused with criticism but also admiration for Ephorus, offers undeniable evidence of the great impact that Ephorus’ book IV had by virtue of its novel style, organization and content.

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Polybius believes that only universal history can provide exhaustive answers to such crucial questions as πῶς (‘how’) and τίνι τρόπῳ (‘in what way’): It is not impossible, from partial histories, to know even a little how the Romans took Syracuse or came to possess Spain; but without a universal history of events it is difficult to apprehend how they acquired hegemony over everything and what worked against their far-reaching attempts in particular cases, and in turn what worked for them and on what occasions.31

The ecumenical greatness of the Roman empire is the result of different and simultaneous circumstances, and can be explained only by inquiring and describing all of them, considered as a whole. Now, it is possible to show, on the basis of the fragments, that Ephorus too had a comprehensive and unitary view of historical development, both as an interlocking sequence of events and as an ensemble of concurrent circumstances with reciprocal effect. Let us consider, for example, the specific issue of the origins of the Peloponnesian War according to F 196 (Diod. 12.38–41.1). Pericles wanted the war and planned for it so as to resolve his own problems. But Pericles would not have planned any war if his political enemies had not attacked him with false accusations in the previous years, and if his political image had not been damaged by a failure to guard properly the Delian treasury, which had been transferred to Athens years before on Athenian initiative. Furthermore, Pericles would not have had any possibility to realize his plan if, in that very circumstance, the Spartans had not issued their ultimatum on the Megarian Decree – which was itself indicative of the already difficult political relationship between the Athenians and the Spartans and their respective Leagues, which had already been at war in 460–446 bc. Moreover, that hegemony on the sea, which was the reason why the Athenians transferred the Delian treasury, was also at the root of an even more ancient controversy between Athens and Sparta, which emerged at least in the aftermath of Salamis (480 bc). At that time, the Panhellenic coalition had already shown worrying signs of deterioration, to the point that, if Gelon had not providentially defeated the Carthaginians at Himera, in 480 bc, Greek history would perhaps have taken a completely different course (F 186 [schol. Pind. Pyth. 1.146b, II 24–25 Drachmann]). This sketchy outline is not enough to fully represent Ephorus’ articulated narrative in books X–XII/XIII, but is sufficient to show how the reader of the Histories, while attending to particular 31

Polyb. 8.2.5–6.

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historical circumstances, was consistently reminded of the broader context. Ephorus clearly believed that the comprehension and evaluation of particular facts were not possible if the range of observation was not widened in time and space. Both the narrative about the death of Alcibiades (F 70 [Diod. 14.11.1–4]) – an event which ideally anticipated a complex international war among Sparta, Athens and Persia that lasted almost twenty years and ended with the inauspicious King’s Peace (402–386 bc, books XVII–XIX/ XX) – and the account of the agreements of the Dionysii with the Persians (F 211 [schol. C Ael. Aristid. Panath. 313, III 294 Dindorf]) attest to Ephorus’ attention to a temporally and spatially broader scene and his deep care for synchronic history. In his aetiological analyses, Ephorus moved across the centuries with no hesitation or fear: for example, he encouraged his reader to reflect on the fate of Athens in 415 bc, had the Athenians decided to follow Theocles and colonize Sicily three centuries before (F 137a [Strab. 6.2.2]); he considered five hundred years of Spartan hegemony, from Lycurgus’ reform in ca. 869 bc (which brought the archaic conflicts between the Spartiates and the perioikoi to an end) to Sparta’s defeat at Leuctra in 371 bc, after which these conflicts resurfaced (F 118 [Strab. 8.5.5]). But synchronic history was just as crucial to his historical vision (see FF 70, 186, 196 and 211). Causation had in Ephorus’ narrative the same function it has in Polybius’: it was instrumental in creating a cohesive narrative within each book and throughout the entire work, and stressed the correlation between events occurring simultaneously in time, and the underlining continuity among them over time. The tendency to link simultaneous events constitutes a further analogy between Ephorus and Polybius. This is particularly clear in the way both historians place Greek history in dialogue with the history of the West. Polybius, the historian of the hegemony of Rome, announces the aggressive intrusion of the West into Greek history through the speech of Agelaus of Naupactus: He [sc. Agelaus] said that it was especially necessary that Greeks never wage war against one another, but that it would be a great favour of the gods if, by speaking with one and the same voice and holding hands, like those crossing a river, they could repel invasions of the barbarians and preserve themselves and their cities. If, however, this were not at all possible, he demanded that for the present they should cooperate with one another and be on their guard, in view of the massiveness of the forces and the greatness of the war currently underway in the West. For it was evident to everyone, even one who concerned himself only moderately with public affairs, that even now if

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The mainland Greeks are so absorbed in their Social War (220–217 bc) that they ignore the danger coming from Italy and Sicily. Agelaus’ words resemble those of the universal historian who warns his reader that the full meaning of what is happening or is going to happen can be grasped only by looking at the broader scene. This is what Ephorus did. By stressing how Gelon’s success at Himera in 480 bc averted the Carthaginian threat against Greece (F 186), Ephorus pointed out the momentous significance of the impending division of Greece between Sparta and Athens. Similarly, by emphasizing how Iphicrates’ little naval venture in 372 bc averted the threat of Dionysius I of Syracuse, who, at that time, could look at Corcyra as an easy gateway to Greece (F 211), Ephorus explained that the battle of Corcyra in the years 375–372 bc was much more than a simple war between Sparta and Athens for the control of the Ionian Sea. He thus showed that mainland Greece was then more vulnerable than it had been in the fifth century bc. It was not a belief in Panhellenism or a presumed endorsement of Isocrates’ nationalistic programme, but rather the historical understanding that fifth- and fourth-century Greece was critically exposed to external threats (and not only from the West) that made Ephorus very sensitive to such issues as the political unity of Greece and the political cooperation between Sparta and Athens. By contextualizing the events of fifth- and fourth-century Greece in the broader geo-political scene, Ephorus showed his reader that Greece was vulnerable because of internal divisions, with terrible consequences. For the vulnerability of Greece affected, over the span of a century (479–386 bc), both the autonomy of the Greek poleis of Asia Minor by exposing them to Persia, as well as the autonomy of Greece itself in opening the way for Philip II’s expansionism. Similarly, it was not a general attitude to mechanically collecting and passively rewriting previous traditions, but rather the acknowledgement that Western affairs had a real impact on contemporary Greece that made Ephorus very attentive to local traditions related to Sicily. It was his sensibility for synchronic history that made him discover the West and its traditions; and it was this intuition, which was genuinely universal, that 32

Polyb. 5.104.1–4.

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distinguished him as a model that future historians would either confront, as in the case of Timaeus, or acknowledge, as in the case of Polybius. The analogies between Ephorus and Polybius do not end here. Polybius uses the term symploke (‘interrelation’) for that particular moment in history when events occurring in different places converge in the same line of development. An overview of the contents of Ephorus’ Histories, as we have defined them in Chapter 3, will be sufficient to show that symploke, as envisioned by Polybius, was also at the core of Ephorus’ own view of historical time and development, and structured his historical discourse: Part I: Eleventh to Sixth Centuries bc I–III: The Return of the Heraclidae, the birth of the Greek states and the colonization of Asia Minor (eleventh to ninth centuries bc). IV–V: Geography of the oecumene. The constitutions. VI–VII: The rise of Sparta after Lycurgus, the Greek tyrants and Western colonization (eighth to seventh centuries bc) VIII–IX: Lydia (Croesus), Persia (from Cyrus to Darius), Greece and the lawgivers (sixth century bc), and the harbingers of the Persian Wars. Part II: 500/490–403/2 bc X–XI: Persian Wars (500/490–449 bc). Gelon’s victory over the Carthaginians and the Greeks’ victory over the Persians (‘Weltkrieg’ of 480–479 bc). The rivalry between Athens and Sparta after Salamis and the birth of the Delian League (480–477 bc). Athenian successes over the Persians: victory at the Eurymedon (470/465 bc) and growth of thalassocratic Athens until the Peace of Callias (470/465–449 bc). XII–XVI: The division of Greece between Athens and Sparta, and the West after Gelon. First series of Greek Wars until the restoration of democracy in Athens (461–403/2 bc). Spartan hegemony over land and sea, and Dionysius I defender of Syracuse. Harbingers of the new Persian Wars. Part III: 403/2–ca. 357 bc XVII–XX: New Persian Wars and second series of Greek Wars until the King’s Peace (402–386 bc). Sparta’s despotic primacy (385–379/8 bc). XXI–XXII: Liberation of the Cadmea and third series of Greek Wars (379/8–371 bc). XXIII–XXV: Theban hegemony and the crisis of Sparta (371–362 bc).

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XXVI: The aftermath of the battle of Mantinea (362–360/59 bc). XXVII: The first years of Philip II (360/59–ca. 357 bc). XXVIII–XXIX: Dionysius II (and Dionysius I). Appendix XXX (Demophilus): Third Sacred War (356–346 bc) and notes on Greek events up to 341/0 bc. One may say that Ephorus organized the Histories as a sequence of symplokai (‘interrelations’). We will consider some examples from books I, X and XVII. The Return of the Heraclidae (book I) – a turning point in history for the tradition before Ephorus and, as such, an ideal starting point for a universal narrative – was a first symploke, for it simultaneously involved Dorian Sparta, Athens and Thebes, i.e., the cities that would become the most important hegemonic powers in Greek history. Moreover, in that beginning the Greeks also colonized Asia – a necessary premise to the wars that would happen some centuries later, between the Greeks and the Persians. The ‘Weltkrieg’ of 480–479 bc, in book X, was introduced by the narrative in books VIII–IX, and was a symploke of events implicating both the West and the East (F 186);33 it opened the first series of Persian Wars, which ended with the peace of 449 bc. The crucial year 402 bc (book XVII) was prepared by Ephorus’ double glimpse, in book XVI, at Lysander’s Sparta and Dionysius I’s Syracuse, respectively the hegemonic power of both land and sea, and the stronghold against the Carthaginians; that year marked the beginning of a second series of Persian Wars and of Greek Wars, which together spanned books XVII through XIX/XX and ended with the King’s Peace of 386 bc. That the year 402 bc was a symploke of Greek and Eastern events in Ephorus’ view is well shown by the narrative of the death of Alcibiades (F 70 [Diod. 14.11]): Alcibiades planned for the political resurgence of Athens while tension was emerging between Sparta and Persia, and in fact, Athens rose again to power in the following years, thanks to Alcibiades’ ‘heir’, Conon, whose victory at Cnidus (394 bc) altered the balance of power on the one hand, between the Greek cities and Sparta, and, on the other hand, between Greece and Persia. After the common peace of 386 bc, a new war broke out with the liberation of the 33

Book VIII – one should recall – was about Croesus, whom Herodotus had already identified as the first hegemon of the Greek cities of Asia Minor and therefore an ideal starting point for inquiring into the origins of the war between the Greeks and the Persians (1.5–6). By conceiving of books VIII and IX as a ‘preface’ to the Persian Wars (cf. Chapter 3, § 3.4), Ephorus somewhat incorporated Herodotus’ suggestion in the Histories.

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Cadmea, in 379/8 bc, among the three hegemonic powers of Greek history, namely Sparta, Athens and Thebes: the following years witnessed the emergence of Thebes (books XXI–XXII) and the crisis of Sparta (books XXIII–XXV). So the historical cycle, which had begun with the Return of the Heraclidae, came to an end, and Greece, no longer with leading hegemonic powers or figures, was ‘ready’ for Philip II. It is worth stressing that Ephorus planned to narrate the crucial years of the Third Sacred War only after having described the conditions of the West under Dionysius I and II (books XXVIII–XXIX), thus completing a synchronic representation of the weakened oecumene after 371 bc (books XXIII–XXIX). It is also clear that Ephorus explained the rise of Philip II and Macedon with the general crisis that involved all powers – Persia, Greece and Sicily – simultaneously. Apart from the relevance of symplokai, the picture that we have reconstructed elicits further reflection on the inconsistency of several modern assumptions. First, Ephorus’ Histories did not result from a mechanical juxtaposition of particular histories, which were unrelated to each other; rather, they were an organic whole, whose parts interacted with each other. Second, Ephorus’ historical perspective was sophisticated, and cannot be reduced to a mere transposition of Isocrates’ interest in hegemony to history. Third, Ephorus’ project appears to have been very different from the historical projects of such predecessors as Hellanicus and Herodotus. Unlike Hellanicus, Ephorus’ work was not a catalogue of particular histories; differently from Herodotus, Ephorus emphasized the impact of the outcome of the battle of Himera on Greek history, extended the period examined in the Persian Wars to 449 bc and described how conflicts arose again and further developed in the fourth century bc.34 Ephorus’ sustained attention to the broader scene and the continuous interrelations among events – both diachronic and synchronic – clearly makes him a precursor of Polybius. We have reviewed the analogies that can be identified between Ephorus and Polybius, thus explaining why Polybius could view Ephorus as a legitimate predecessor. Let us now consider the differences – obviously Ephorus was not an alter ego of Polybius in the fourth century bc. A first major difference is that Ephorus’ historical narrative spanned a longer time-period than Polybius’. A statement like the one we read in F 149, ‘one should not draw evidence as to antiquity from the present state of 34

This is not to say that analogies did not exist between Hellanicus and Ephorus, or between Herodotus and Ephorus. See, for example, n. above and, in general, Chapters 2 and 3 of the present work, passim, for analogies between Ephorus and Herodotus in both the approach to specific historical issues and the view of historical development. See also below.

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things, for both peoples [sc. the Cretans and the Spartans] have undergone a complete reversal’ (οὔ γὰρ ἐκ τῶν νῦν καθεστηκότων τὰ παλαιὰ τεκμηριοῦσθαι δεῖν, εἰς τἀναντία ἑκατέρων μεταπεπτωκότων), shows Ephorus’ special attention to radical historical changes happening over the course of a longer period. In the Histories, Ephorus took advantage of the comparative studies he had carried out on the topic of evolution through time in his treatise On Inventions, while also appropriating fifthcentury historians’ suggestions concerning the concept of ‘change in time’ (cf. Hdt. 1.5; Thuc. 1.10). These suggestions do not reappear in Polybius, except in special circumstances.35 Ephorus’ comparative statement in F 9 (Harp. s.v. ἀρχαίως), on the opposite criteria for establishing the credibility of the sources on ancient and contemporary events, is exemplary of his attention to an extended temporal scale. Polybius offers no reading or interpretation of this Ephoran principle;36 by contrast with Ephorus, he does not in fact intend to investigate all of time. While Polybius’ inquiry is limited to political and military matters, Ephorus dealt also with cultural history. This happened in part out of necessity since he also wanted to critically reconstruct the distant past.37 He was interested in sociology and legal matters: by describing the relationship among different ethnicities within the same community, he measured its degree of political stability. He also studied the relationship between Greeks and pre-Greeks, as well as Greeks and barbarians. Ephorus may have discussed the barbarians from within the narrow limit of their contacts with the Greeks, but no one could object to his open-minded approach to this subject. He clearly understood that the Greeks were surrounded both in space (F 30b [Cosm. Indicopl. Topogr. Christ. 2.79– 80, I 395 and 397 Wolska-Conus]) and in time (F 109 [Diod. 1.9.5]) by peoples of more ancient origin, who were profoundly different. Their proximity to Greece was so momentous since they first taught the Greeks new techniques (F 42 [Strab. 7.3.9]), arts (FF 4, 5 [Athen. 14.637b and schol. Hom. Il. 1.31, respectively]), war traditions (F 113 [Strab. 5.2.4]), religious rituals (FF 20a [Macrob. Saturn. 5.18.6–8, 321 Willis], 104 [Diod. 5.64.4]; cf. also F 5), laws (F 149), the alphabet (F 105a [schol. Dionys. 35

36 37

See, for example, Polyb. 2.37.7–8; 29.21; and 38.22.1–3, presenting Scipio in tears before the ruins of Carthage, and the sense of a natural cycle, yet fateful for Rome itself. Obviously the idea of change over time is strong also in book VI. At most, one may say that Polybius was aware that non-contemporary events are not knowable in the way that contemporary events are: see Polyb. 4.2.3. The materials of Kulturgeschichte (including rituals, artistic artefacts and so on) gave Ephorus needed evidence to discuss both oral and written traditions about the past. See Chapter 2, § 2 above.

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Thrac. 183, 1 Hilgard]) and the notion of territorial and political sovereignty (F 119 apud Strab. 9.2.3 [section on the Phoenicians who founded Cadmea]). We are far from Isocrates’ one-sided praise of Athens as the exclusive source of culture and civilization of the Hellenic world.38 Ephorus believed that among the Scythian tribes, the Nomads were worthy of being described as eunomoi (‘under good laws’) and held in the highest consideration since they had stood up to the Persians before the Greeks did (F 42). Ephorus was also aware that the Greeks in their history had encountered not only barbarian peoples that were underdeveloped and resistant to integration (as in Sicily: FF 136 [Strab. 6.2.4], 137a), or dangerous and hostile powers (e.g., the Persians as seen by the Spartans in 399 bc: F 71 [Athen. 11.500c]), but also more compatible barbarian peoples who, open to integration, mixed with the Greeks to establish culturally hybrid communities (μιγάδες such as the Lydians: F 162 [Strab. 14.5.23–26]). In the Histories, through Ephorus’ commitment to looking at the continuities and differences among peoples, the notions of ‘variety’ and ‘diversity’ (e.g., ἀνομοιότης τοῦ βίου of the Scythian peoples: F 42) emerged as values against the distorted, homogenizing view of those highly prejudiced Greeks who held a simplistic and often spiteful attitude toward the barbarians’ historical contributions to culture and politics. All this suggests that Ephorus, as historian, geographer and ethnographer, was decidedly not influenced by Isocrates’ Panhellenism, which instead advocated the inherent cultural superiority of the Greeks over the barbarians, and sanctioned the perennial opposition between them. Notwithstanding his interpretation of paideia as a main reason for the Greek successes over the Persians in 490 and 480–479 bc, Ephorus demonstrated that he was unbiased and open-minded in his judgements and interests throughout his work.39 38

39

See especially Isoc. Paneg. 30–46. Neither Ephorus’ reference to the myth of Apollo and Athens in F 31b (Strab. 9.3.11–12) nor his reference to the common habit by the Greeks of calling the Athenians ‘Hellenes’ in F 20a (Macrob. Saturn. 5.18.6–8) serve as evidence of Isocrates-inspired praise of Athens: the first point occurs in Ephorus’ discussion of information that had been transmitted about the issue of the autochthony of the Parnassians–Delphians; the second point occurs in a discussion of Dodonian oracular prescriptions. The whole context, as far as the fragment allows us to see, should not be ignored, when one looks for information about the historian’s own perspective and ideology. As for the Greek habit of calling the Athenians ‘Hellenes’, one may also consider that Hellenes were said to be the members of the Delian League under Athens (see Thuc. 1.109.4), and that the Hellenotamiai were Athenian officers in the League (Thuc. 1.96.2): this may well explain the origins of the habit Ephorus spoke of. It is therefore clear that Ephorus would have hardly made a statement such as ‘force is stronger than reason in dealing with the barbarians’ (Strab. 9.2.2 [Ephor. F 119] according to Baladié 1996, 75, correcting ἔδει in the mss. with ἔτι, therefore attributing Strabo’s own comment to Ephorus). Baladié’s correction of Strabo’s text – which was previously anticipated by Wickersham (1994,

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A comparative analysis of Ephorus and Polybius uncovers other important characteristics. For his universal history Polybius claims a ‘unifying vision’ which was informed – indeed propelled – by the rapid rise of Rome as a universal empire: tyche (‘chance’), a providential force, used Rome and its constitution as instruments to organize the various events of the entire world, that is, to align them as they developed. What about Ephorus? To what event or historical and political process did he owe his ‘unifying’ or universalizing vision? It would be tempting to think that Alexander’s expedition (334 bc) and the subsequent subjugation of both the Greeks and the Persians within one empire (ca. 330 bc) were the main reasons behind the composition of the Histories. By beginning his narrative with Heracles’ deeds to unify the East and the West, Ephorus may have woven the scattered events of the past into one historical process, which gradually revealed itself through the blocks of Persian Wars (500/490–449 bc; 402–386 bc) and concluded with the expedition of Alexander, the ‘Heracles’ of modern times. The greatness of Alexander’s deeds was undoubtedly clear to the reader of the Histories (FF 217, 223 [Tertull. De An. 46 and Clem. Alex. Strom. 1.139.3, respectively]), and the wars between the Greeks and the Persians played a pivotal role in both the structure of the Histories and Ephorus’ perspective on historical development. Yet the scanty information we have about Ephorus’ biography and the magnitude of his historical work, which certainly required a long time to envision and carry out (cf. Chapter 2, § 2–3), advise against the conclusion that all the books of the Histories were written after Alexander’s expedition, and that Alexander’s deeds were the only reason for the composition of the whole work.40 If we accepted the anecdote of T 6 (Plut. Mor. 1043d), on Ephorus’ refusal of Alexander’s proposition to follow him into Asia – or, perhaps, to join his court or accept gifts from him – as a real episode in Ephorus’ life, we would have to believe that Ephorus was already an aged man and a successful writer before

40

142–3) and is, as a matter of fact, against the entire manuscript tradition – is seriously considered by Nicolai (2013, 227–8) and Prandi (2014, 697 with n. 65), but is patently affected by the old a priori assumption that Ephorus was inspired by Isocratean Panhellenism (see, e.g., Isoc. Philip. 16). Not by chance, Radt’s authoritative edition of Strabo (2002–2011, III, 32) attributes the observation to Strabo, as already Jacoby rightly did (1926a, 75). Cf. Parmeggiani 2011, 585 n. 229. Note also that according to Ephorus, the Spartans well sensed that when waging war against the Persians, force as such was not enough (F 71 [Athen. 11.500c]). Note that Strabo does not quote Ephorus on Asian geography, nor does he count him among the historians of Alexander. Although inconclusive with regard to Ephorus’ life and its chronology, both Diod. 15.76.4 and Suid. ε 3930 Adler, s.v. Ἔφιππος (T 1) are telling: ancient readers did not have the impression that the Histories had been written after Alexander’s deeds.

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334 bc, the year of the expedition.41 Furthermore, the ex eventu prophecy in F 217 – assuming that it was not in Demophilus’ book XXX (a possibility that we cannot, however, rule out) – would lead us to conclude that in 330 bc, when Alexander’s conquest of the East was at an advanced stage, Ephorus was still alive and writing the Histories. There are reasons to think that, as is often the case for works realized after many years of study and research, Ephorus conceived the Histories before Alexander’s time, and continued writing them after the conquest of Asia. In fact, there was no need to wait for Alexander’s expedition to view the past of Athens, Sparta and Thebes as a concluded age, or to conceive of previous Greek history as a periodically recurring conflict between Asia and Europe. It was sufficient to understand, first, that Sparta’s crisis was irreversible, something which had been clear since Mantinea in 362 bc; second, that Thebes could no longer lead Greece, as became apparent in the years of the Third Sacred War and the Macedonian military intervention in 356–346 bc; third, that Athens could not sustain the Second Naval League after Epaminondas’ initiative of 364 bc and the Social War in 357–355 bc; fourth and last, it was sufficient to be cognizant of the actions of Philip II, the Delphic champion, who, before Alexander, had planned a war against Persia. And here is the point. Philip was hailed as a ‘new Heracles’ by Greek rhetoricians and politicians, well before Alexander’s subjection of Asia. We also know that Philip had a place in book IV of the Histories, where Ephorus examined the reasons for the rise and decline of states, celebrated Lycurgus’ Sparta as the most important of the Greek hegemonies (F 118 [Strab. 8.5.5]) and discussed Thebes’ demise after Epaminondas’ death (F 119 apud Strab. 9.2.2). Ephorus probably planned the Histories at the time of Sparta’s crisis after Mantinea, and regarded the achievements of Philip II, the ‘new Heracles’, as a pivotal historical moment, which the success in Asia of Alexander, the ‘actual Heracles’, was to validate as the fateful outcome of a very long process. Had Ephorus lived long enough to conclude his narrative of Philip’s deeds, he would surely have described these circumstances at length and in detail. Every great historiographical project raises questions about its genesis. Ephorus died leaving his Histories unfinished, and nothing is known about 41

Plut. Mor. 1043d (T 6) reads: Καλλισθένει τινὲς ἐγκαλοῦσιν, ὅτι πρὸς Ἀλέξανδρον ἔπλευσεν . . . Ἔφορον δὲ καὶ Ξενοκράτην καὶ Μενέδημον ἐπαινοῦσι παραιτησαμένους τὸν Ἀλέξανδρον (‘some blame Callisthenes because he sailed to Alexander . . . and praise Ephorus, Xenocrates, and Menedemus, because they avoided Alexander’). Plutarch does not disambiguate the meaning of παραιτησαμένους. Schwartz (1907, 2. Cf. 1909, 491) reads this anecdote as explaining that Ephorus’ Histories did not include Alexander’s actions.

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the way they were composed – did Ephorus, for example, write his books according to their numerical progression? – and the time they were first published.42 Despite such uncertainties, we know the plan of the entire work as we can reconstruct it through the fragments (cf. above). And if we examine this plan, we can easily see that the crucial core, the beating heart of the Histories, was represented by the account of the years ca. 402–357 bc (books XVII and following), particularly the years 371–362 bc (books XXIII–XXV), or ‘the battle of Leuctra and what followed’ (ἡ ἐν Λεύκτροις μάχη καὶ τὰ συνεχῆ). As we shall see now, this detail offers further insights into the relationship between Ephorus and Polybius, and the reasons for Ephorus’ universal history. In book VIII, Polybius criticizes Theopompus because he elected to stop working on the Hellenika and focus, instead, on the Philippika before discussing the crucial years 371–362 bc, or λευκτρικοὶ καιροί, ‘the time of Leuctra’: Furthermore, no one would approve of the general arrangement of the aforementioned historian [sc. Theopompus, FGrHist 115 T 19], since he undertook to write of Greek actions, following from where Thucydides left off, but when he was approaching the times of the battle of Leuctra and the most renowned of Greek accomplishments, he cast aside Greece and her efforts, and changing his subject, he decided to write of Philip’s actions. And yet it would have been more respectable and more suitable to encompass Philip’s deeds within a history of Greece rather than Greece’s deeds within a history of Philip. For no one, not even one who had been previously captivated by royal power, would hesitate when the opportunity arose of transferring the title and chief role in his work to Greece; likewise, no one who had begun with an account of Greece and had made some progress with it would have exchanged this for the regal pomp and biography of a king – at least not if he had an uncontaminated mind.43 42

43

Cf. Parmeggiani 2011, 722–3; Parker 2011, Biographical Essay II A. Modern critics have often thought that the books of the Histories were published separately, or in independent groups comprising more than one book, as completed sections of a monumental work in progress (see, e.g., Jacoby 1926b, 25; Barber 1935, 13 ff.). Such a theory assumes that Ephorus was merely a compiler, and also that each book or group of books was a self-standing unit. Furthermore, all thirty of them – including Demophilus’ ‘appendix’ – were regularly transmitted under the sole name of Ephorus (T 10 [Diod. 16.76.5]); for this reason, we cannot rule out the possibility that they were published together, after Ephorus’ death, on Demophilus’ initiative. In this regard, the possibility that the Histories were first published only at a late time, after, for example, Aristotle’s death (322 bc), does not imply that Aristotle himself did not know Ephorus’ material and did not use it as a source. It is possible that parts of the Histories had been promulgated before Ephorus’ death, and that some of their content had already been published in other works of his, such as the treatise On Inventions. This may well be the case for the comparison between the constitutions of Sparta and Crete, which Ephorus discussed in book IV and Aristotle considered in book II of his Politics. Polyb. 8.11.3–5.

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Since Polybius was a citizen of Megalopolis, it is not surprising that he considers the years after Leuctra, when Megalopolis was founded, as the most important period in Greek history. But it would be too simplistic to explain Polybius’ critique only by his chauvinistic attitude. Polybius has Ephorus’ Histories in his mind when he states that the λευκτρικοὶ καιροί constituted so crucial a historical moment that they did not warrant Theopompus’ structural marginalization in his narrative.44 In fact, it was Ephorus who taught Polybius that the λευκτρικοὶ καιροί were at once the necessary conclusion of the history of previous times (i.e., Greek history) and the equally necessary harbinger of the events to come (i.e., the deeds of Philip II). Λευκτρικοὶ καιροί were essential because they explained the advent of Philip. Polybius’ comment on Theopompus’ failed ambition to write a universal history stems from his consideration that a different model of oikonomia is more suitable to explain the rise of Philip II. This model is obviously that provided by the Histories of Ephorus, ‘the first and only writer who really undertook a universal history’ (T 7). It is not difficult to understand Polybius’ reasoning. In the Philippika, Theopompus constructed a narrative that consistently revolved around Philip and his actions; he valued Philip’s exceptional novelty over the many and farreaching historical circumstances prior to his time. By confining them to long excursuses that digressed from the main narrative, he shattered that unity and breadth of vision which comprehended both Philip and the complex web of events and personalities that preceded and led to him. Unlike Theopompus, Ephorus in the Histories viewed Philip in context, specifically the aftermath of the battle of Leuctra (books XXIII and following), and was able to explain Philip’s rise to power. In sum, in Polybius’ criticism of Theopompus lies the memory of Ephorus’ original view on the circumstances that led to the rise of Philip as the new hegemon, namely the crisis of Sparta, the historical hegemonic power in Greece, after the defeat at Leuctra. The difference between Ephorus and Polybius at this point could not be clearer. While the reason for Polybius’ universal history was the unity of the world under the hegemony of Rome, the reason for Ephorus’ universal history was the crisis of the hegemony of Sparta, which brought about 44

Polybius also knew Callisthenes’ Hellenika (cf. FGrHist 124 F 23), which, like Ephorus’ Histories, covered the λευκτρικοὶ καιροί. Nevertheless, I believe that Polybius had Ephorus in his mind, since he is clearly belittling Theopompus’ universal ambitions here. We should also remember Polybius’ criticism directed at Ephorus in T 20 (12.25f), on the battles of Leuctra and Mantinea. This was the section that best distinguished Ephorus’ Histories (cf. F 213 [Plut. Mor. 514b–c]).

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Macedon’s hegemony. While Polybius explored why Rome became the most powerful state in the world over a fifty-year period, Ephorus examined why Sparta, which was the hegemonic power over land and sea at the end of the fifth century bc, lost its primacy in a few decades, entering a crisis after Leuctra (371 bc), during which Laconia was devastated as had never happened before over the five hundred years since the age of Lycurgus. Sparta’s decline after Leuctra was the foundation of Macedon’s rise to power. As we see, Ephorus’ universality stemmed from questions raised by the politics of his time. Epaminondas’ entry into the Peloponnese and his foundation of Messene (369 bc) were momentous events: both showed the negative outcomes of Sparta’s politics toward the Persians and the Greeks since the end of the fifth century bc. Epaminondas’ deeds after Leuctra dug up the ancient past of the Peloponnese, and made Sparta relive its original problems. The international balance consequently changed: with exceptional timing and to his own exclusive advantage, Philip II filled the vacuum of power that Sparta had created. Greece endured Philip because it did not know any alternative to Sparta. Our considerations so far clarify why Ephorus represented the events from 403/2 bc to Philip’s rise to power as a continuum, as our reconstruction of the contents of books XVII–XXVII shows. Moreover, we now understand why Ephorus’ diachronic view was so extensive – much more extensive than that of Polybius. Ephorus was somewhat obliged to cover the full historical cycle of Dorian Sparta, from its foundation to its political ascent and subsequent decline. In fact, he perceived the events after 371 bc as a whole, i.e., he viewed the crisis of the Greek poleis, the rise of Macedon, the political instability of Syracuse and Persia’s difficulties in administrating the Western satrapies as contemporaneous and mutually influencing phenomena; and this spurred him to turn back to the past, and look particularly at Sparta’s politics in Greece and Asia Minor. Ephorus, who along with other intellectuals of his age such as Theopompus knew that Macedon’s entrance on the stage of Greek history would not be temporary, recovered the past because of an aetiological priority: he did not want to celebrate and legitimize the current success of the Macedonians as the new hegemons, but to explain the historical reasons why Sparta had failed, and why things had come to be as they were in the present. We do not know whether Ephorus, like Polybius, believed in tyche (‘chance’) as a providential force at work in history.45 If such a force had 45

‘Chance’ is aetiologically decisive in more than one fragment. See FF 63, 137a–b, 196.

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a role in Ephorus’ Histories, it operated in unpredictable ways and had a negative impact on circumstances and people. Like Sparta’s decline, the rise of Philip II, whom complaisant rhetoricians and historians were quick to celebrate as the ‘new Heracles’, also caused Ephorus to reexamine Heracles’ deeds and, more generally, ancient events in order to foster a more accurate and critical understanding of them. In Ephorus’ view of Greek history, from the eighth century bc onward, Heracles’ past had often been manipulated and exploited for political gain, by hegemons who aspired to be kings or tyrants, such as Lysander in Sparta (F 69 [schol. HM(ED) Hom. Od. 3.215], FF 206 and 207 [Plut. Lys. 25 and 30, respectively]), or by kings and tyrants who aspired to be hegemons, such as Pheidon of Argos, the ancestor of Philip II (F 115 [Strab. 8.3.33]). It was not at all different in Ephorus’ time, when Philip’s supporters in Macedon and Greece evoked a distorted past to celebrate him. Ephorus was suspicious about the rise of Macedon and its laudatores – a circumstance that clarifies for us a possible meaning of the anecdote we read in T 6. In Plutarch’s context, Ephorus’ refusal of Alexander’s proposition is representative of the good judgement of the sophos, who holds his intellectual autonomy dear and prefers an uncompromising autarchy or tending to his own business (idiopragmosyne) rather than subject himself to the temptations and blandishments of political power.46 In addition to Ephorus, Plutarch also mentions Xenocrates of Chalcedon and Menedemus of Pyrrha, both leading figures of the Platonic school, which had a troubled relationship with the Macedonian court.47 In other words, a new hegemony and a new empire originated in and expanded from Macedon, but in Ephorus’ view this power did not embody a providential force worth celebrating for its successes or unconditionally exempt from criticism. Ephorus’ universal history stems from the wish to make the reader aware of the complicated and far-reaching historical process that shaped the Greco-barbarian oecumene up to the second half of the fourth century bc. Past and present were equally important to such a project, and the historian was responsible for investigating them both. Ephorus started off 46

47

In his treatise On the Self-Contradictions of the Stoics, Plutarch criticizes the inconsistency of Chrysippus’ theory on the apragmosyne/idiopragmosyne of the sophos (Mor. 1043a ff.). Against Chrysippus, who said that the sophos both lives autonomously and acknowledges the authority of the king benefitting from it, Plutarch refers to Ephorus’ refusal of Alexander’s offer as exemplary of a different and more convincing sophia. See Casevitz and Babut 2004, 204–5. Some ideas in Ephorus’ fragments remind us of the philosophy of Plato and his school (see F 8 on mousike, F 42 on the bios of the Scythians, F 149 on Crete and Sparta, and F 196 on Pericles). However, it is better to resist the bad habit of linking every ancient historian with a specific school of thought.

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with the distant past – and it could not have been otherwise since antiquity was a common object of debate in fourth-century politics. He continued on to uncover factual and causal details of the historical development from that past to his present. So the fourth century of the crisis of Sparta and the rise of Macedon became comprehensible. Now Polybius’ assessment in 5.33 (T 7) appears to us understandable and, to some extent, justified: Ephorus’ Histories were indeed a novel form of historical writing.

2. Ephorus’ Universality in the Context of Greek Historiographical Thought in the Fourth Century bc Between the end of the fifth and the beginning of the fourth century bc, such events as the wars that Sparta waged against Persia (from Cyrus the Younger to Agesilaus, 402–395 bc), the resumption of the war between Sparta and Athens on a global scale thanks to Conon (394 bc) and the frequent interconnections between Greek and Persian affairs before and after the King’s Peace (386 bc) – not to mention the King’s Peace itself, somewhat a reversal of the fifth-century Greek successes over the Persians – prompted the historians of the fourth century bc to believe that the history of their time developed directly from that of the last years of the fifth century bc, and that the events of mainland Greece were not disconnected from those of Asia. Not by chance did those authors of Hellenika or historiae perpetuae who picked up the account of Greek events where Thucydides had left off not end at the year 404 bc, but continued their narrative further, some of them including, with differently ranging emphasis, both Greece and Persia.48 Similarly, Macedon’s hegemonic expansion in the fourth century bc posed new questions compelling historians to develop new ways to think about and describe historical dynamics. The result was a series of historical works that, pace Schwartz (1909), can hardly be labelled as mere Zeitgeschichte since they not only covered contemporary events, but also presented the past – be it distant or relatively close – in their main narrative and/or in digressions. This approach to the representation of the past and the present often entailed the recovery of previously unseen 48

For a general survey of the works named Hellenika, see Nicolai 2006, and Tuplin 2007. While Xenophon’s narrative is much more focused on Greek events, Theopompus’ attention to the Aegean (and therefore to both Greek and Persian events) is clear, as the choice itself to end the narrative with Conon’s success at Cnidus (Diod. 13.42.5 [FGrHist 115 T 13]) suggests. The same may be said of the Hellenika Oxyrhynchia, if it is a continuation of Thucydides, and perhaps also of Cratippus (see Plut. Mor. 345d–e [FGrHist 64 T 2]), whether or not he was the author of the Hellenika Oxyrhynchia.

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caesurae in the historical sequence of events that earlier historians had already described, and offered, more generally, novel readings of the past. In Ephorus’ times, historians either set aside (Theopompus) or revised (Callisthenes and Anaximenes) the genre of the Hellenika.49 All these fourth-century historians appear to have viewed Philip and his politics as the turning point of their age, and Ephorus was no exception. In fact, his Histories too should be considered as a response, albeit significantly different from that of his contemporaries, to the new questions and challenges posed by Philip II’s politics. As Demophilus’ appendix (book XXX) suggests, Ephorus wanted to present the years from the Third Sacred War onward (356 bc and ff.) as a sequel continuing the history of the preceding years up to 357 bc, which he had already narrated. He believed that Macedon’s increasing power was a direct consequence of Sparta’s crisis. This aetiological connection dictated both his choice of the Return of the Heraclidae as their beginning and the structure of the Histories. The Return was already a canonical temporal caesura for fifth-century writers, but fourth-century historians gave it a new political significance: the Return marked the beginning of both the Spartan cycle (1069–371/362 bc) and the cycle of the three hegemonic powers of Greek history (Sparta, Athens and Thebes), which were crushed by the ‘new Heracles’, Philip II, eager – indeed ready – to wage a new war against the Persians.50 As for the structure of the narrative, a short comparison between Ephorus’ Histories and Theopompus’ Philippika is instructive. While Theopompus made contemporary events consistently the beating heart of the narrative, Ephorus instead described events linearly from the past to the present, somewhat aligning the latter with the former. If Theopompus described and analyzed Philip’s originality, so did Ephorus, but by covering the entire historical cycle of the major Greek cities. If in Theopompus’ view Philip was a man of such stature as to be unprecedented in the history of Europe (FGrHist 115 F 27 [Polyb. 49

50

Theopompus (FGrHist 115) suspended his Hellenika and undertook the Philippika, making the contemporary deeds of Philip II the fulcrum of all Greek events, from past to present. See especially Marincola 2007c, 175; Vattuone 2014a. Callisthenes and Anaximenes basically turned their Hellenika into a preface to Philip’s and Alexander’s ventures: Callisthenes (FGrHist 124) wrote first the Hellenika covering the period from 386 to 356 bc but also including extensive excursus on previous events, then a monograph on the Third Sacred War (356–346 bc), and last, The Deeds of Alexander (see Prandi 1985); Anaximenes (FGrHist 72) wrote Hellenika on the period from the theogony to 362 bc; he also authored Matters Concerning Philip and Matters Concerning Alexander (see Parmeggiani 2009). In addition to this, I call attention to the importance of the Return in contemporary politics of the age of Philip II, on which see Luraghi 2014.

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8.9.1–4])51, in Ephorus’ view he was the man who concluded the Greek past once and for all, and asserted himself in Europe at the time of a crisis that also involved, in addition to Greece, the West (Syracuse) and the East (Persia). Ephorus built on a fundamental insight of the genre of the Hellenika, namely, that from the last years of the Peloponnesian War the events of Greece and Asia were interconnected (as they had been previously, after all, at least until 449 bc) and still progressing in the present; he therefore explained current events by looking at the entire historical process that led to them from the distant past, also including the West as a historical reality to be directly investigated and a standpoint from which to investigate the events of mainland Greece. No previous historian had carried out a project of this kind, and it is precisely for his attention to the West that Ephorus’ universal history had a great appeal for Polybius. He recognized that Ephorus, a man from Asia Minor, uncovered the impact of the West on Greek events – an extremely relevant circumstance for Polybius’ own historiography, since he thought of himself as the Greek historian who uncovered the impact of Rome, the hegemonic power of the West, on Greek events in the second century bc. Ephorus’ claim, in the general proem, that he was writing a universal history (context of T 7: Chapter 3, § 1.2), was aimed at highlighting his own superiority over his predecessors (including narrators of the Persian Wars like Herodotus, genealogists and local historians like Hellanicus, and historians of specific wars like Thucydides). Such a claim was not without any foundation. He offered an original perspective on the past, since the era in which he lived was new, and new also were the questions he asked to explain it. He might not have created the genre of universal history, but certainly innovated within it, defining those tenets and features that Polybius later drew on for his own historiography (without, by the way, preserving the magnitude of Ephorus’ original vision and structure). The basic principle of universal history that Ephorus set was that each and every historical fact becomes intelligible only when the historian extends his view in time and space. Historical events must be studied in relation to what chronologically precedes and follows, as a fraction of a temporally and 51

Τοιοῦτον ἄνδρα is not to be taken as a merely sarcastic definition (cf. Vattuone 2014a, 24 with n. 47). Rather, it is deliberately ambiguous. Not by chance, Theopompus provided a very nuanced portrait of Philip (see now Parmeggiani 2016b, 403–4): the king was skilled by nature; his will was strong enough to make him achieve any goal; but Philip intentionally dedicated himself to depravity and, at the same time, encouraged others’ bad inclinations, aiming at political primacy on the Greeks; and by so doing, he succeeded. For Theopompus, Philip’s political practice revolutionized the Greek conventional wisdom about the foundations of power.

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spatially broader historical sequence, and in light of the simultaneous circumstances occurring in the West and the East. Ephorus showed his reader that Greek history ought to be examined in a broader context to be properly understood. Greek events looked different when the West and the East were both taken into consideration, and the past and the present, aligned in one continuum, illuminated each other. It therefore comes as no surprise that Ephorus was also the first who thoroughly studied the differences between historical discourse and epideictic speech (F 111 [Polyb. 12.28.8–12]). The professional practitioner of epideictic speech searched for paradigms in the past and moved freely from one age to another, faking a competence in historical objects that could legitimately be claimed only by a professional practitioner of universal history, one who, by contrast, carried out his own research on the whole of time and space. Because of his research experience (empeiria) and depth of vision, only the universal historian had the skill to accurately define both the circumstances and historical significance of each event. As we see, to write ‘universally’ (τὰ καθόλου) or ‘world events’ (κοιναὶ πράξεις) involved more than covering a variety of peoples and deeds in the narrative; it was also a specific way to observe and represent events, the ability to connect them with each other, providing each with the proper interpretation. Polybius’ indebtedness to Ephorus the universal historian and the important and significantly innovative characteristics of Ephorus’ universal history which we have emphasized undermine the conventional view of the development of ancient historiography, according to which historiography as a genre suffered sudden death in the fourth century bc, until Polybius brought it back to life – miraculously and unexpectedly – in the second century bc. Fourth-century historiography was positively innovative, at least as much as fifth-century historiography had been, and it developed specific features that later historians did not faithfully replicate. Once freed from the burden of inaccurate connections with Isocrates and Diodorus, as well as misconceptions about the art of rhetoric, and seen as it was, in the context of the cultural production of an age that was far from declining, Ephorus’ universal history appears to us as a new step in the history of historiographical forms and thought. It was not the first example of universal history as a genre, but it set new principles for the genre itself. It was not merely a work of reorganization of the past for its own sake; rather, it originated in the author’s acute observation of contemporary political tensions, and relied on a thorough analysis of both the past and the present to understand the formidable novelties of the present age and the processes that had led to them over the centuries.

Conclusions

Our analysis of Ephorus’ fragments has led to a very different portrait of the historian and his Histories from that which has been offered by Jacoby, Schwartz and many modern critics following their path. Ephorus, we have argued, was not an erudite compiler of previous histories merely interested in ethics, but a professional historian who had a strong interest in politics, and also in both the theory and the practice of research. His advanced historiographical thinking was clearly aware of that of the best fifth-century predecessors, such as Thucydides, and it in turn became a model for later historians such as Polybius. If not the first, Ephorus was among the first who provided a definition of historiography as a discipline, emphasizing, on the basis of both his predecessors’ and his own experience, the differences between historical inquiry and other disciplines. In an age when traditional hierarchies of power were overturned and the distant past was a crucial subject of contemporary political debate (and exposed to distortions), Ephorus restated the need for truth as the result of a solid method of inquiry into both past and present events. He aimed to uncover the historical roots of the present state of things, and for this purpose he took into account the broader scene both in time and in space; by so doing, he showed himself to be the innovator of universal history as a genre. Ephorus, as we have examined him through his fragments, cannot serve any theory which would postulate a decline in Greek historiography of the fourth century bc. Whether or not he was a disciple of Isocrates, he did not ‘rhetoricize’ history more than his fifth-century predecessors (including Herodotus and Thucydides) had done. He has for long been thought of as the ‘missing piece’ which explained why Greek historiography developed from the scientific/contemporary model represented by Thucydides to the moralistic/universal model represented by Diodorus. But Thucydides never said that the past could not be an object of inquiry; nor is Diodorus the same as Ephorus. Three centuries divide the Histories and the Historical Library: these two works arose in very different cultural and political contexts, and the fragments suggest that Ephorus’ work differed from 360

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Diodorus’ in important ways, not least with regard to historical perspective, narrative structure and historical aims. Sadly, the Histories are lost, and the fragments obviously can never be as decisive as the real text was. Despite our analysis here, some may still be tempted to disregard Ephorus’ fragments as second-rate evidence or misleading pieces against, say, Diodorus’ narrative. But they should not ignore the fact that without such fragments, no theory on Ephorus as a source for Diodorus would have ever been conceived. Fragments must always be taken first and cannot be disregarded, even more so when they provide evidence for detecting the individual Ephorus; or, as in this case, when they provide solid clues that assist us in rethinking the development not only of ancient Greek historiography but also of Greek history – including its sequences and its caesurae – as a whole.

appendix

Ephorus and the Hellenika Oxyrhynchia

Unless new findings emerge from the desert sand, the authorship of the Hellenika Oxyrhynchia (HO henceforth: POxy. 5.842, PSI 13.1304 and Temp. inv. no. 26/6/27/1–35, assuming that they are part of the very same work) and also of possibly related pieces, such as the so-called Theramenes papyrus (PMich. inv. 5982 and 5796b), is probably doomed to remain an open issue. From the very beginning of this thrilling ‘identity hunt’, Ephorus was one of the main suspects, together with Cratippus of Athens and Theopompus of Chios.1 It is not a big leap to understand why the many arguments, which modern scholars provided so far in favour of this or that historian, have proved to be indecisive. The impossibility of finding a conclusive answer to the quest, in fact, lays in the very premise of the quest itself. First, HO survived only in small parts, while the works of Cratippus, of Theopompus and of Ephorus did not survive at all (unless HO are themselves remnants of such works, obviously; but this is exactly what one needs to prove). Second, we are not lucky enough to find a sentence in HO reported also in a manuscript as a direct or an indirect quotation from Cratippus, or Theopompus, or Ephorus or any other ‘fragmentary historian’. Correspondences in content2 and/or in style,3 1

2

3

Among the scholars suggesting Ephorus as the author of the Hellenika Oxyrhynchia, see Reuss 1909, 36 ff.; Judeich 1911; Walker 1913 and 1919; Grenfell and Hunt 1919, 98 ff.; Cavaignac 1932, 148 ff.; Schwartz 1937, 21 n. 3. The discovery of POxy. 13.1610 (F 191) provided supporters to Ephorus: most of the scholars above were originally pro Cratippus or pro Theopompus. On Ephorus as the author of the Theramenes papyrus, see Breitenbach 1989; Loftus 2000. On him as the author of both the Hellenika Oxyrhynchia and the Theramenes papyrus, see Mariotta 2013; Vannini 2018, 9 and 95–113. For discussion and further bibliography on the authorship of both texts, see Bearzot 2001 and 2014; Occhipinti 2016, 2–5; Billow 2016, Biographical Essay; Vannini 2018, 95 ff. E.g., Hell. Oxy. 5, 6.34 and 7.40 Chambers with Theopomp. FGrHist 115 F 8, both on Pedaritos in the context of a digression. See also the importance of 403/2 BC in both HO (ἔτος ὄγδοον in 12.1, 17.86– 87 Chambers, see especially Fantasia 2015, 132 ff., with literature) and Ephorus (see Chapter 3, §§ 3.5.3 and 3.6; Chapter 4, § 1). Both HO (18.1, 30.345 Chambers) and Ephor. FF 73–4 mention Hieronymus, but this does not mean per se that Ephorus and the author of the HO are the same. I find some similarities both in lexicon and in phraseology between HO and some of Ephorus’ verbatim quotations. See Hell. Oxy. 15.1, 23.200–202 Chambers: γενομένης δὲ τ[ῆς] μάχης τοιαύτης οἱ

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although impressive, are not enough. Not to mention the great number and variety of suggestions by scholars in several years of discussion and research, which makes it very difficult to discern which arguments should bear more weight than others, and why. In such a situation, it is perhaps better not so much to look for arguments for,4 as for arguments against. So we ask: can one state, in light of the Ephoran fragments, that HO are not remnants of Ephorus’ Histories? Provided that we do not find any contrast between what we read in HO and what Ephorus said according to the fragments, we will limit ourselves to some brief remarks (cf. 2011, 390 and 640). Modern scholars’ arguments against Ephorus and the author of HO as one and the same individual5 revolve around the following main ideas about Ephorus: (a) he was distinctively inclined to moral judgements and moral digressions (see T 23), while the author of HO is not; (b) he wrote direct speeches for the characters in his narrative (see T 21), while the author of HO does not; (c) he wrote according to topics (kata genos: see T 11), which was a non-annalistic system, while the author of HO writes according to summers and winters; (d) he was inept on causation (see F 196), while the author of HO is not; (e) he was biased in favour of Athens, while the author of HO was not; (f) his narrative was not detailed on fourth-century events as HO’s is; (g) Diodorus cannot have read HO directly but only through the mediation of Ephorus. In light of our study of the fragments, arguments (a), (c), (d), (e) and (f) above are inconsistent.6 As for argument (b), it is inconclusive: since HO is partially preserved, one cannot exclude the possibility that direct speeches

4 5 6

μὲ[ν βά]ρβαροι καταπλαγέντες [τοὺς] Ἕλληνας ἀπεχώρησα[ν. Cf. Ephor. F 84: παραγενομένης δὲ τῆς στρατιᾶς εἰς τὴν Δύμην πρῶτον μὲν οἱ Δυμαῖοι καταπλαγέντες. See also Hell. Oxy. 19.2, 32.374– 377 Chambers: ἦσαν καθεστηκυῖαι βουλαὶ τ[ό]τε τέττα[ρες παρ’ ἑ]κάστῃ τῶν πόλεων, ὧν οὐ[χ ἅπασι] τοῖς πολ[ίταις ἐξῆ]ν μετέχειν, ἀ[λλὰ] τοῖς κεκ[τημένοις] πλῆθός τ[ι χρημά]των. Cf. Ephor. F 29: τούτοις δ’ εἰσὶ νενομισμέναι τινὲς ἑορταὶ ἐν Κυδωνίᾳ, ἐν αἷς οὐκ εἰσίασιν εἰς τὴν πόλιν ἐλεύθεροι, ἀλλ’ οἱ δοῦλοι πάντων κρατοῦσι. Other scholars (Mariotta 2013, 154) have emphasized the use of the verb ὑπολαμβάνειν (‘to be of the opinion that’) by Ephorus (see FF 9, 31b, 63), HO and the Theramenes papyrus. One may note the use of τινες (‘some’) to label adversaries whose thesis is contested (see Ephor. F 149 and Hell. Oxy. 10.2, 15.39 Chambers), but this can hardly be seen as a distinctive stylistic feature. Moreover, short direct speeches in the main narrative are found both in Ephorus (F 216) and HO (18.2, 31.356–357 Chambers): see below, with n. 7. Overall, HO tend to avoid hiatus, as Ephorus did. But such a tendency was exclusive neither of HO nor of Ephorus in fourthcentury prose writing. Also HO often makes use of participles, as Ephorus did, and its lexicon is bit repetitive, as that of Ephorus was: see Chapter 2, § 3. Although we found some: see nn. 2 and 3 above. See especially Grenfell and Hunt 1908, 127 ff.; Barber 1935, 49 ff.; Bloch 1940, 321 ff. Later scholars draw on these. See especially Chapter 1, § 3–4, on moral judgement, moral digressions and T 23; Chapter 3, § 2 on kata genos and T 11; Chapter 1, § 3–4 and Chapter 3, § 3.5.4 on causation and F 196; and Chapter 3, in

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appeared in non-preserved parts; moreover, one finds in HO a short speech in direct form, embodied in the narrative (Hell. Oxy. 18.2, 31.356–357 Chambers), and one may guess something similar for Ephorus’ original, as F 216 suggests.7 Argument (g) has to do with Diodorus, whose text, as it is well known, shows correspondences with HO. It postulates Ephorus as the intermediary source between HO and Diodorus, according to the following scheme: HO ↓ Ephorus ↓ Diodorus

A corollary of argument (g) is that even minute discrepancies between Diodorus and HO should depend on Ephorus or, as an alternative, on Diodorus. In other words, Ephorus modified HO and Diodorus copied Ephorus, or: Ephorus copied HO and Diodorus modified Ephorus. Such a model of transmission of the information from one source to another is so mechanical that it is questionable per se. But there is more. Argument (g) rests on three main assumptions: first, that Diodorus relied on Ephorus only (cf. Volquardsen 1868); second, that Diodorus transcribed Ephorus; and third, that Ephorus transcribed HO. Contrary to such assumptions, our enquiry on the relationship of Diodorus with Ephorus (see Chapter 1, § 4) and, more generally, on Ephorus’ historical practice (Chapter 2, § 2, and Chapter 3), shows first, that Diodorus did not know Ephorus only, nor did he merely transcribe Ephorus’ text; and second, that Ephorus drew on sources of various kinds and did not passively transcribe them; rather, he submitted them to scrutiny and criticism, therefore providing a diverse narrative of the past as for both form and contents.8 As we see, it is not necessary to postulate Ephorus as an intermediary source between Diodorus and HO. Modern scholars’ arguments against Ephorus as the author of HO appear to be deeply rooted in a conception of Ephorus and his work that our analysis of the fragments, in this book, radically questions. Obviously

7

8

general, on Ephorus’ view of Athens and his detailed description of contemporary history (book XVI and ff.). As Jacoby 1926a, 105 app. crit. observes, in Strabo’s text (6.3.3), οἱ μὲν γὰρ μένοντες τεκνοποιοῦνται, οἱ δὲ χήρας ἀφέντες τὰς γυναῖκας ἐν τῇ πολεμίᾳ ἐστρατοπέδευον was probably a direct speech in Ephorus’ original (ὑμεῖς δὲ ~ στρατοπεδεύετε). One cannot use T 17 to claim the contrary: see Chapter 1, § 3.

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all our observations here do not validate the opposite thesis, that Ephorus and the author of HO are to be taken as one and the same person. Our point is, rather, that in light of the data at our disposal, one cannot exclude that HO are remnants of the Histories. Meagre as it is, this is the only result we can attain. If HO could be ascribed to Ephorus, the Histories would not be entirely lost. Unfortunately this cannot be said, at least for now. Fascinating as it may appear, the identification of the author of HO with Ephorus is not a certainty but a possibility, which, as such, should not be taken as a premise for the study of Ephorus’ fragments. Things may obviously change in the future, as always happens when one deals with the past. New findings may overcome current uncertainties and change perspectives, and this may happen also for Ephorus and HO. But not now.

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Index Locorum

Acusilaus of Argos, FGrHist 2 T 6, 88 F 25a-b, 135 Aelian VH 3.17, 302 6.12, 317 7.14, 302 9.8, 317 12.10, 233 12.43, 267, 268 13.23, 202 14.29, 266 Aelius Aristides Aegypt. 64–85, 192 77, 29 85, 54 Panath. 202, I 1, 79–80 Lenz-Behr, 239 271–276, I 1, 101–102 Lenz-Behr, 238, 283 273, I 1, 102 Lenz-Behr, 239 313, I 1, 113 Lenz-Behr, 287, 289 Pro quatt. 139–140, I 2, 337–338 Lenz-Behr, 239 Aelius Theon Progymn. 13 (Armenian text), 105 Patillon-Bolognesi, 148 66, 10 Patillon-Bolognesi, 205, 212 66, 31 Spengel, 192 66–67, 10 Patillon-Bolognesi, 192 67, 10–11 Patillon-Bolognesi, 177 67, 11 Patillon-Bolognesi, 177, 245 95, 60 Patillon-Bolognesi, 133, 326 95, 61 Patillon-Bolognesi, 193, 325, 326 95–96, 60–61 Patillon-Bolognesi, 133 96, 61 Patillon-Bolognesi, 133, 198 Aeschines C. Ctes. 243, 286

De falsa Leg. 105, 304 168, 299 175, 262 175–176, 242 Aeschylus Eum. 700–703, 197 Alcman fr. 98 Davies, 115, 130 fr. 164a-b Davies, 201 Ammianus Marcellinus 17.11.3, 238 Ammonius De diff. verb. 231, 60–61 Nickau, 143, 184 Anacreon fr. 27 Page, 137 [Anaximenes] Rhet. Alex. 1425b.36 ff., 85 Anaximenes of Lampsacus, FGrHist 72 T 4, 94 T 6, 94 T 9a, 94 T 10, 69 T 14, 334 T 15, 23, 94 T 28, 31 F 8, 94, 312 F 11a-b, 35 F 23, 240 F 41, 35 Andocides C. Alcib. 11–12, 259 28, 259 De Pace 3–29, 244 8, 262

395

396 Andron of Ephesus, FGrHist 1005 F 3, 31 F 5, 242 Androtion of Athens, FGrHist 324 F 47, 280 F 60b, 187 Anonymi Periplus Ponti Euxini 49, 196 Anonymous on Arist. Eth. Nic. 3.1116b, 309, 312 Antiochus of Syracuse, FGrHist 555 T 3, 213 F 3a, 93 F 7–13, 93 F 10, 93 F 12, 93 F 13, 93, 206, 207, 208 Antipater of Magnesia, FGrHist 69 F 1, 327 F 2, 327 Apollodorus chronographer, FGrHist 244 F 62, 214 Apollodorus mythographer 2.8, 178 2.8.2, 176 2.177, 177, 178 3.1.1, 186 3.4.1, 186 3.12.6, 146 Apostolius paremiographer 3.19, 222 Aristodemus, FGrHist 104 F 1.1.3, 233 F 1.1.6, 233 F 1.12.1, 243 F 1.13.2, 238 F 1.14.1, 243 F 1.16, 251, 252, 253 F 1.16–19, 253 F 1.16.1, 205, 252, 256 F 1.16.1–4, 251 F 1.16.2–3, 252 F 1.16.4, 252 F 1.17, 252 F 1.18, 252 F 1.19, 252, 253 Aristophanes Acharn. 496–556, 248 524–534, 252 530–531, 130, 252, 253, 254 Lysistr. 507, 241 513, 241

Index Locorum Pax 603–606, 253, 254 603–611, 255 603–614, 248 605, 256 608–611, 261 609, 249, 262 609–611, 253, 254 Aristotle An. Pr. 1.46a.19–29, 150 Eth. Eudem. 2.1227a, 86 fragments fr. 473 Rose, 185 fr. 532 Rose, 176 fr. 550 Rose, 185 Poet. 1459a 24–27, 232 Pol. 2.1263a, 200 2.1271b, 201, 266, 268 2.1271b-1272a, 198 2.1272a, 200 2.1272a.1–4, 122 2.1272a.4–7, 122 2.1272a.7–8, 122 2.1272b.1–23, 117 5.1301b, 268, 281 5.1303b, 283 5.1306b, 206, 208, 209, 268 7.1333b, 202 Rhet. 1.1358b.12–13, 85 1.1360a, 160 3.1411b, 286 Soph. Elench. 7.169b, 86 [Aristotle] Ath. Pol. 23.4, 245 24, 259 De mun. 938a, 226 Arnobius Adv. gent. 3.37, 153 Arrian Anab. 2.14.5, 313 FGrHist 156 F 97, 139 Athenaeus 3.105d, 174 4.154d-e, 205, 211

Index Locorum 6.231f, 228 6.232c-d, 228 6.232d, 307, 308, 312, 326 6.233f-234a, 266 6.263f, 143, 189, 190 6.271e-f, 267, 268 8.352c, 127 11.500c, 279, 349, 350 12.515d, 101 12.515d-e, 34 12.523e, 197, 217, 219 12.541c-e, 317 13.574e, 275 14.626a, 62 14.637b, 348 Athenaeus Mechanicus 5, 44 Whitehead-Blyth, 34 Bacchylides Ep. 3.17 ff., 228 3.121, 221 8.28 ff., 108 Cadmus, FGrHist 489 F 1, 52 Callisthenes of Olynth, FGrHist 124 T 24, 47, 334 T 25, 309 T 27b, 311 T 33, 31 F 1, 309 F 10, 170 F 15, 233, 239 F 16, 95, 238 F 18, 94 F 19, 94 F 20, 94, 293 F 20–21, 94 F 23, 297, 353 Cephisodorus, FGrHist 112 F 1, 312 Charon of Lampsacus, FGrHist 262 F 11, 235 Choerilus of Samos fr. 5 Bernabé, 137 Cicero Ad Att. 6.1.12, 13, 58 12.6a.1, 254 Brut. 204, 13, 58 De Or. 2.57, 13 3.35–36, 13, 58

Div. 1.96, 202, 270 Hortens. fr. 15 Grilli, 58 Orat. 29, 254 66, 85 Clearchus of Soloi fr. 47 Wehrli, 317 Cleidemus of Athens, FGrHist 323 F 18, 73 Cleitarchus, FGrHist 137 F 33, 235 Clement of Alexandria Strom. 1.75.1, 185 1.135.1, 316, 318 1.139.3, 175, 316, 350 1.170, 202 Conon, FGrHist 26 F 1, enarr. 1, 66 enarr. 26, 184 enarr. 36, 178, 179, 180, 181, 189 enarr. 37, 185 enarr. 39, 184 enarr. 47, 178, 179, 180, 189 Cosmas Indicopleustes Topogr. Christ. 2.79–80, I 395 and 397 Wolska-Conus, 193, 348 Craterus of Macedon, FGrHist 342 F 13, 238 Cratinus fr. 38, 44–48 Kassel-Austin, 248 Cratippus of Athens, FGrHist 64 T 1, 313 T 2, 243, 356 Ctesias of Cnidus, FGrHist 688 T 8, 103 T 11a, 113 T 11b, 113 T 17, 32 F 22, 278 Daimachus, FGrHist 65 T 1a, 31 T 1a-b, 34 F 1, 94 F 1–4, 34 F 3, 34 F 5, 94 Damasthes of Sigeum, FGrHist 5 F 5a-b, 108 F 7, 170

397

398 Deinon, FGrHist 690 F 13, 235 Demetrius of Scepsis fr. 45 Gaede, 138 Demosthenes C. Aristag. 6, 260 C. Aristocr. 198, 286 De Rhod. lib. 29, 283 Olynth. 3.21, 260 Philip. 3.48, 16 Dicearchus fr. 32 Wehrli, 218 Dieuchidas of Megara, FGrHist 485 F 5, 117 Dinarchus C. Pyth. fr. 5, 3 Conomis, 240 Dio Chrysostomus 18.10, II 253.27 von Arnim, 58 Diodorus 1.1 ff., 6, 152 1.1.2, 1 1.1.4–2.8, 153 1.2.5–8, 63 1.4.6, 174 1.9.5, 38, 154, 164, 348 1.37.1–39.13, 53 1.37.4–39.13, 38 1.39.13, 4, 52 1.94, 202 2.16.1, 237 4.1.1–4, 48, 153, 174 4.1.2–3, 38, 155, 158, 174, 310, 333, 334 4.1.3, 10, 155 4.2.1, 186 4.58, 176 5.1.1, 153 5.1.1–2.1, 164 5.1.4, 38, 333 5.1.4–2.1, 162 5.64.4, 38, 64, 198, 348 5.78, 191 7.1, 241 7.12.2–4, 199, 202 7.12.3–4, 203 7.12.5, 266 7.12.8, 264, 266 7.15.1, 325 8.1.1–2, 182 8.7, 206

Index Locorum 8.21, 208 9.25, 218 9.26–27, 218 9.31.1–2, 220 9.32, 216, 217, 220 9.32.1, 38 10.11.2, 301 10.24, 63 10.30.1, 227 10.32, 227 10.33–34, 230 11.1, 164 11.1.4, 230 11.2.1, 230 11.20.1, 164, 230 11.23.2, 231 11.24.1, 232 11.26.7, 228 11.27.2, 233 11.27.2–3, 231, 233 11.33.2–3, 231 11.37, 231 11.37.6, 174, 334 11.44.6, 245 11.46.4–5, 245 11.50, 231 11.54.1, 183 11.54.4, 38, 44 11.55.6, 233 11.56 ff., 39 11.59–61, 233 11.60–61, 239 11.60.3–4, 246 11.60.5–61.7, 239 11.60.7–61.1, 239 11.61.3, 233 11.62.1–2, 240 11.62.2, 239 11.62.3, 127, 238 11.64.3, 236, 244 11.70.2, 233 11.78, 236 11.78.3–4, 233 12.1, 153, 241 12.2–4, 239 12.2.1, 240 12.3–4, 239 12.4.4–5, 238 12.7, 236 12.20.3, 204 12.35.5–40.5, 255 12.37.2, 241 12.38, 251, 258, 259 12.38–39, 250 12.38–40.6, 43

Index Locorum 12.38–41.1, 4, 38, 130, 227, 235, 250, 257, 331, 342 12.38.1, 241 12.38.2, 235, 253, 258 12.38.2–39.3, 251, 254, 256 12.38.2–3, 43 12.38.2–4, 251 12.38.3–4, 251, 252 12.39–40, 250 12.39.1, 259 12.39.1–2, 251, 256 12.39.2, 251 12.39.3, 251, 260 12.39.4, 43, 251, 256 12.39.5, 253, 255 12.39.5–40.6, 251 12.40.1–5, 237 12.40.2, 235 12.40.2–3, 259 12.40.3, 237 12.40.5, 130, 253, 254, 255 12.40.6, 253 12.41.1, 43, 241, 250 12.45.4–5, 248 12.74.6–75.1, 241 12.81.5–82.6, 241 13.8.8–9.2, 243 13.41, 262 13.41.1–3, 38, 125, 126 13.41.4–42.5, 126 13.42.5, 356 13.47.3–4, 305 13.54.5, 38, 49, 263 13.55.7, 237 13.59.4, 214 13.60.5, 38, 49, 263 13.62.4, 214 13.64.2, 302 13.68.4–6, 262 13.75.9, 317 13.80.5, 38, 49, 263 13.106.9–10, 265 13.107.5, 241 13.114.3, 241 14.1, 153 14.2.4, 241 14.3.4–7, 243 14.9.9, 263 14.10.1, 241, 265, 267 14.10.2, 268 14.11, 220, 346 14.11.1, 41, 42 14.11.1–4, 38, 168, 274, 343 14.13, 268 14.13.1, 241

14.13.1–2, 270 14.13.2–8, 38 14.13.3, 272 14.13.3–7, 270 14.13.3–8, 270 14.13.5–6, 270 14.13.8, 272, 281 14.17.9–10, 107 14.19–31, 278 14.19.4, 276 14.21.1–2, 277 14.22.1, 275, 277 14.22.1–2, 38, 277, 278 14.23, 277 14.23.4, 241 14.31.4, 302 14.38.3, 279 14.39.3, 282 14.54.4, 263 14.54.4–6, 38, 49 14.79.3, 279 14.81.4, 281 14.85.2, 241 14.89, 280 14.98.1–2, 281 14.98.2, 38, 44 14.109.3, 290 15.1, 153 15.1.2, 307 15.1.3, 264, 284 15.1.4, 294 15.5, 283 15.5.4, 283 15.12, 283 15.12.2, 283 15.13.1, 318 15.13.1–4, 318 15.13.1–5, 290 15.13.4–5, 290 15.18, 283 15.18.4, 283 15.25.4–26.1, 284 15.27.1–2, 284 15.27.2, 284 15.29.1–3, 291 15.31.4, 280 15.33.3, 307 15.33.4, 286 15.34–35, 286 15.35.1–2, 286 15.35.2, 241, 286 15.36.5, 287, 289 15.37.1, 292 15.37.2, 292 15.39.2, 301

399

400 Diodorus (cont.) 15.41–43, 291 15.43.6, 291 15.46.1, 289 15.46.6, 188 15.47.1, 289 15.47.7, 319 15.47.7–8, 287, 289 15.48–49, 293 15.50.2, 264 15.50.3, 293 15.50.6, 298 15.52.7, 301 15.55–56, 296 15.57.1, 299 15.57.5, 188 15.58.6, 187 15.60.5, 38, 42, 297 15.63.1, 296 15.63.1–65.1, 295 15.66.1, 302 15.66.1–6, 205, 297 15.66.3, 38, 206 15.68, 299 15.75.2, 302 15.75.3, 299 15.76.1, 305 15.76.3, 320 15.76.4, 10, 11, 350 15.78.2, 298 15.78.4, 304 15.79.1, 303, 305 15.79.2, 300 15.79.3–6, 188, 299 15.79.5–6, 187 15.79.6, 298 15.81.3, 320 15.85–87, 307 15.88, 28, 302 15.88.1–3, 46 15.88.1–4, 45, 46 15.88.4, 12, 46, 300 15.89.3, 334 15.90 ff., 314 15.90.2, 320 15.93, 314 15.95.4, 164 16.1, 164 16.1.1–2, 163 16.1.1–3, 167 16.1.5, 12 16.5.1, 164 16.5.1–4, 318, 320 16.5.2, 320 16.5.3, 314, 318

Index Locorum 16.7.2, 305 16.10.2, 318 16.14.2, 12 16.14.3, 38, 307, 308, 309, 310, 312 16.14.3–5, 311 16.14.5, 311 16.16.3, 28, 38, 317 16.16.4, 317 16.33.3, 312 16.35.3, 312 16.38.1, 312 16.56.7, 12 16.60, 310 16.60.4–5, 322 16.64.1, 12 16.64.2, 313 16.64.3, 164 16.65.4, 318 16.74–76, 308 16.75.1–2, 313 16.76.3, 313 16.76.5, 38, 152, 156, 174, 175, 308, 310, 333, 334, 352 16.76.5–6, 311 16.76.6, 311 16.77.2, 313 16.83.1, 237 16.87.2–3, 330 16.89.1–3, 322 17.4.1, 324 17.38 ff., 41 18.28, 41 19.1, 153 19.53.4, 186, 187 19.53.4–6, 185 19.53.6, 186 19.53.7, 185 19.90–91, 41 19.93, 41 20.1–2, 81, 153 20.3.3, 237 20.8.4, 237 21.16, 41 23.15, 41 24.5, 41 29.18, 41 29.19, 41 32.27.3, 41 34/35.2.45, 237 37.3.1, 237 Diogenes Laertius 1.13, 218 1.40, 217 1.41, 217, 218 1.67, 218

Index Locorum 1.105, 197 2.54, 306 5.39, 13 Diogenes paremiographer 2.35, 222 Dionysius of Halicarnassus Ad Amm. 2.6, I 427.12–16 U-R, 248 Ad Pomp. 6.2–3, II 244.20–245.9 U-R, 76 6.3–5, II 245.9–21 U-R, 334, 339 6.7, II 246.7 U-R, 99 6.7, II 246.7–10 U-R, 99 6.7, II 246.10–16 U-R, 36, 99 6.7–8, II 246.10–19 U-R, 27 6.9–10, II 247.5–21 U-R, 18, 59 AR 19.1.2, 206 19.1.2–3, 208 De comp. verb. 23, II 114.1–7 U-R, 18 De Is. 4, I 96.16 U-R, 65 19, I 122.10–17 U-R, 18 De Isoc. 1, I 56.1–2 U-R, 155, 156, 333 De Lys. 29–30, I 45–48 U-R, 290 De Thuc. 5, I 330 U-R, 67 5, I 331.18–332.6 U-R, 334, 339 5–7, I 330–334 U-R, 66, 87, 101 6, I 332.20–23 U-R, 78 6, I 333.3–12 U-R, 66 7, I 333.24–334.12 U-R, 68, 82 8, I 334.13–335.13 U-R, 26 9, I 335.14–338.3 U-R, 163 9, I 336.9 – 338.3 U-R, 165 16, I 349.5–7 U-R, 313 Diyllus of Athens, FGrHist 73 T 1, 311, 313 T 2, 311, 313 Duris of Samos, FGrHist 76 F 1, 19, 20, 33 F 65, 257 F 71, 268 Ecloga Historiarum Cod. Par. 854, 57, 128 Ephorus of Cyme, FGrHist 70 T 1, 10, 11, 12, 36, 167, 170, 174, 307, 350 T 1–5, 11, 13 T 2a, 4, 12, 56, 57 T 2a-b, 11 T 3a, 13, 14, 58

401

T 3a-b, 11, 94 T 3a-c, 13 T 3b, 13, 58 T 3b+, 58 T 3c, 13 T 4, 10, 11, 13, 14, 60 T 5, 11, 94 T 6, 11, 94, 99, 331, 350, 351, 355 T 7, 48, 57, 152, 155, 156, 157, 333, 334, 338, 353, 356, 358 T 8, 10, 11, 13, 20, 38, 47, 48, 71, 94, 153, 155, 156, 157, 158, 170, 174, 310, 333, 334 T 9a, 38, 308, 309, 310, 311, 312 T 9a-b, 11, 35, 307 T 9b, 308 T 10, 11, 38, 152, 156, 162, 164, 170, 174, 175, 192, 308, 310, 311, 333, 334, 352 T 11, 38, 58, 153, 162, 163, 164, 165, 168, 169, 333, 363 T 12, 165, 191, 333, 341 T 13, 50, 55, 202 T 14a, 4, 50, 54, 55 T 14a-b, 55 T 14b, 4, 50, 51, 52, 54, 55, 293 T 15, 50, 51, 55 T 16, 4, 38, 50, 52, 53, 54, 55 T 17, 12, 31, 32, 34, 55, 59, 88, 89, 93, 364 T 18a, 14, 25, 50, 51, 173, 193 T 18a-b, 166 T 18b, 31, 61, 67, 68, 71, 89, 101, 113, 153, 159, 160, 333 T 20, 4, 21, 22, 23, 25, 55, 96, 246, 279, 282, 294, 296, 306, 353 T 21, 23, 24, 25, 94, 148, 363 T 22, 19, 33 T 23, 8, 16, 29, 58, 80, 83, 102, 153, 154, 161, 162, 169, 172, 363 T 24, 18 T 24a-b, 58, 59 T 24b, 18 T 25, 58, 59, 148 T 26, 58 T 27, 11, 13, 94 T 28a, 11 T 28a-b, 11, 13, 14, 58, 59, 94, 148 T 28b, 60 T 28b+, 13, 58, 59 T 29, 58 T 30a, 88, 95, 103, 111 T 33d, 12 T 34+, 158 F 1, 12, 57, 90, 128 F 2, 127 F 2–5, 12 F 4, 348

402

Index Locorum

Ephorus of Cyme, FGrHist (cont.) F 5, 348 F 6, 12, 84, 148 F 7, 13, 14, 95, 153, 159 F 7–9, 153 F 8, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 67, 68, 69, 73, 79, 82, 84, 86, 101, 113, 148, 149, 153, 154, 157, 158, 159, 254, 355 + F 8 , 62 F 9, 4, 11, 14, 16, 17, 19, 21, 48, 60, 61, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 79, 80, 85, 86, 89, 95, 100, 101, 119, 126, 130, 135, 142, 147, 148, 149, 153, 154, 157, 158, 170, 174, 263, 328, 337, 348, 363 F 9+, 17, 73 F 10, 174 F 11, 90, 174, 180 F 11–19, 174 F 12, 89, 90, 174, 180 F 13, 95, 173, 177 F 13–17, 157 F 13–19, 174 F 14a-b, 177 F 14b, 177 F 15, 148, 177 F 16, 90, 91, 173, 176, 177, 189, 220 F 16–18, 96 F 17, 95, 173, 177 F 18, 177 F 18a, 177 F 18b-c, 183 F 18c, 135 F 19, 90, 178 F 20, 144 F 20–22, 183 F 20–24, 173 F 20–25, 90 F 20a, 144, 145, 147, 148, 149, 184, 348, 349 F 20a-b, 90 F 20a-c, 90, 100, 184 F 20b+, 144 F 21, 90, 96, 143, 148, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 190 F 21–22, 184 F 22, 90, 143, 183, 184, 189 F 23–28, 189 F 24, 148, 189, 214, 216, 305 F 25, 189 F 26, 148, 189 F 27, 90, 148, 190 F 28, 189 F 29, 90, 143, 148, 149, 173, 189, 190, 363 F 30–42, 193 F 30a, 91, 192 F 30a-b, 92, 156 F 30a-c, 113, 163, 192, 193 F 30b, 148, 149, 193, 348

F 31a, 133, 193, 326, 327 F 31a-b, 95, 137, 326 F 31b, 4, 30, 50, 51, 61, 62, 68, 73, 85, 86, 87, 88, 90, 91, 95, 96, 100, 101, 113, 135, 136, 142, 143, 147, 148, 155, 156, 157, 158, 160, 193, 194, 201, 235, 312, 325, 326, 328, 349, 363 F 32, 91, 95, 131, 133, 134, 198, 199 F 33, 192, 197, 198, 201, 204 F 34, 91, 95, 133, 137, 193, 325, 326, 327, 328 F 37, 90, 193 F 39, 148 F 40, 224, 304 F 41, 193 F 42, 8, 28, 29, 30, 53, 61, 67, 86, 89, 91, 95, 97, 113, 128, 136, 137, 147, 149, 192, 193, 194, 196, 197, 199, 200, 201, 217, 218, 221, 348, 349, 355 F 42–43, 148 F 43–53, 192 F 47, 148 F 50–53, 192 F 52, 148 F 53, 90 F 54, 90, 148, 211 F 54–55, 205 F 54–56, 205 F 56, 90, 205, 209, 210 F 57, 198, 205, 212, 213, 215 F 58a, 216, 217, 219, 220 F 58a-d, 90, 216 F 58b, 216 F 58c, 216 F 58d, 38, 216, 217, 219, 220 F 59–62, 216 F 59a, 216 F 59b, 90, 216 F 60a, 216 F 60a-b, 217 F 60b, 91, 113, 216 F 61, 216, 217 F 62, 216 F 63, 90, 96, 148, 221, 222, 223, 225, 226, 227, 245, 354, 363 F 64, 163, 221, 227 F 65a, 54, 192 F 65a-f, 95, 192, 221 F 65e, 4, 38, 53, 54 F 65f, 29, 54, 90, 147, 148, 193 F 66, 221 F 67, 221, 262 F 68, 166, 167, 221, 263 F 69, 99, 166, 167, 205, 221, 263, 264, 265, 269, 270, 355 F 70, 38, 41, 42, 93, 99, 166, 168, 220, 243, 273, 274, 275, 276, 277, 279, 282, 343, 346

Index Locorum F 71, 30, 90, 148, 166, 273, 279, 349, 350 F 71–79, 279 F 72, 166, 273, 279 F 73, 166, 273, 281, 282 F 74, 166, 273, 281, 282 F 74–78, 167 F 75, 166, 167, 273, 280 F 76, 38, 44, 45, 148, 166, 167, 246, 274, 281 F 77, 166, 167, 273, 280 F 78, 148, 166, 274, 281, 283 F 78–79, 362 F 79, 166, 274, 283 F 80, 90, 166, 285, 286 F 80–85, 285 F 81, 285, 294, 298, 299 F 81–83, 166 F 81–84, 285 F 81–85, 285, 294 F 82, 285, 294, 298, 299 F 82–84, 148 F 83, 285, 302, 303 F 84, 166, 285, 294, 302, 363 F 85, 166, 285, 306 F 86, 166, 315 F 87, 314 F 87–88, 166, 315 F 88, 314 F 89, 166, 290, 315 F 89–91, 167, 314 F 89–92, 315 F 90, 148, 166 F 91, 166 F 92, 166, 314, 315, 318 F 93, 11, 35, 90, 91, 95, 100, 308, 312, 326 F 93–96, 312 F 94a, 94, 312 F 94a-b, 309, 312 F 95, 148, 309, 312 F 96, 11, 35, 90, 100, 148, 312, 313, 326 F 96–97, 148 F 97, 56, 148, 301 F 99, 57 F 100, 57 F 101a, 57 F 101a-b, 57 F 101b, 57, 127 F 102a, 57, 128 F 102b, 171 F 103, 57, 123, 128 F 104, 38, 64, 65, 198, 348 F 104–105, 90 F 105a, 185, 348 F 105a-c, 185 F 105b, 185

403

F 105c, 185 F 106, 90, 95, 98, 170, 171, 235, 238, 241, 242, 243, 274, 284 F 109, 38, 153, 154, 164, 173, 185, 348 F 109–111, 153 F 109+, 154 F 110, 7, 23, 72, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 83, 84, 85, 86, 89, 95, 100, 101, 126, 147, 149, 153, 154, 158, 159, 337, 341 F 110–111, 61 F 111, 30, 80, 81, 82, 86, 102, 149, 153, 154, 159, 161, 162, 359 F 112a, 91 F 113, 89, 90, 92, 93, 128, 129, 131, 134, 135, 173, 185, 190, 205, 211, 348 F 113+, 135 F 114a, 57, 91, 113, 138, 139 F 114a-b, 89, 128, 140 F 115, 90, 91, 93, 96, 105, 170, 171, 178, 181, 182, 183, 209, 210, 211, 212, 214, 237, 240, 268, 298, 325, 327, 355 F 115–118, 94, 178 F 115–120, 173 F 116, 178, 208 F 116–117, 178 F 117, 96, 128, 178, 179, 190, 207, 210, 218, 224, 265, 284 F 117–118, 91, 178 F 117–121, 90 F 118, 37, 89, 90, 91, 95, 96, 100, 110, 111, 120, 124, 142, 143, 171, 173, 177, 178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 201, 202, 203, 208, 263, 265, 267, 279, 280, 281, 284, 294, 295, 343, 351 F 118–119, 30, 294, 296 F 118–120, 90 F 119, 12, 27, 45, 46, 47, 89, 90, 96, 100, 128, 134, 143, 145, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 189, 194, 195, 196, 201, 292, 293, 300, 301, 302, 303, 304, 305, 307, 320, 349, 351 F 120, 143, 184 F 120b1, 184 F 120b2, 184 F 122a, 20, 50, 61, 85, 86, 88, 90, 91, 94, 95, 96, 98, 99, 100, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 124, 125, 126, 142, 147, 148, 149, 158, 170, 181, 183, 194, 201, 261 F 122a-b, 50, 194 F 122b, 50, 109, 195 F 123a, 127, 207, 210, 312, 329, 330 F 123a-b, 90, 126, 128, 194, 195 F 124, 89, 91, 92, 97 F 126, 190 F 127, 146, 191 F 128, 89, 90, 91, 128, 131, 132, 133, 147

404

Index Locorum

Ephorus of Cyme, FGrHist (cont.) F 129a, 91 F 129a-b, 95 F 129b, 147 F 131b, 63 F 133, 4, 55 F 134, 149 F 134–141, 93 F 134a, 89, 90, 91, 128, 131, 132, 133 F 134b, 132 F 136, 91, 137, 212, 213, 349 F 137a, 96, 137, 213, 215, 343, 349 F 137a-b, 127, 137, 170, 171, 212, 213, 215, 216, 305, 354 F 137b, 90, 214 F 139, 203, 251, 317 F 140, 93 F 141, 93 F 142, 100, 134, 145 F 143, 192, 195 F 144, 192 F 145, 90, 201 F 146, 128, 129, 131, 170, 191 F 146–147, 89 F 146+, 129 F 147, 92, 128, 131, 134, 191, 198, 199, 202, 271, 296 F 147–149, 198 F 148, 30, 55, 197, 198, 199, 201, 202, 203, 266 F 148–149, 268 F 149, 30, 61, 63, 70, 72, 86, 89, 90, 91, 95, 96, 97, 100, 109, 110, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125, 128, 130, 131, 135, 141, 142, 143, 147, 149, 170, 171, 180, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 203, 204, 205, 219, 271, 296, 340, 347, 348, 355, 363 F 150, 90, 100, 113 F 151, 90 F 152, 90, 187 F 153, 185 F 156, 90 F 158, 113, 140, 192, 196, 197 F 162, 192, 193, 213, 220, 349 F 164–166, 90 F 169, 91 F 170–172, 192 F 171, 326 F 172, 90, 326 F 173, 170, 202 F 174, 202 F 175, 202 F 176, 90, 146, 209, 210, 211, 325 F 178–179, 205 F 180, 34, 89, 93, 94, 101, 220

F 181, 216, 217, 218 F 182, 216, 217, 218 F 183, 30, 90, 197, 217, 219 F 185, 90 F 186, 37, 96, 99, 127, 168, 222, 227, 228, 229, 230, 231, 232, 233, 244, 291, 342, 343, 344, 346 F 187, 4, 90, 91, 95, 98, 103, 104, 137, 232, 233 F 188, 231, 232, 233, 234 F 189, 38, 44, 45, 148, 227, 233, 234, 271 F 190, 233, 234, 235 F 191, 39, 91, 127, 167, 227, 233, 239, 362 F 191.1, 91, 234 F 191.1–5, 233 F 191.4–5, 30 F 191.6 ff., 235 F 191.8, 246 F 191.9, 246 F 191.9–14, 239, 240 F 192, 39, 96, 127, 233, 239, 240, 246 F 192–197, 235 F 193, 43, 90, 98, 200, 259, 265, 266, 267 F 194, 89, 90, 137, 226, 259 F 195, 259 F 196, vi, 4, 5, 36, 37, 38, 43, 66, 89, 90, 98, 126, 130, 131, 137, 203, 205, 222, 227, 235, 237, 240, 241, 246, 247, 250, 251, 253, 254, 255, 256, 258, 259, 260, 261, 272, 331, 342, 343, 354, 355, 363 F 197, 222, 240, 241 F 197–200, 262 F 198, 262 F 199, 38, 90, 98, 125, 126, 262 F 200, 227, 262, 286 F 201, 38, 49, 263 F 201–203, 4 F 202, 38, 49, 263 F 203, 38, 49, 263 F 204, 4, 38, 49, 263 F 205, 93, 264, 265, 266, 267, 268 F 205–207, 222, 263, 264 F 206, 90, 93, 100, 264, 265, 269, 270, 271, 296, 298, 324, 355 F 206–207, 38, 99, 202, 205, 270 F 207, 66, 90, 93, 96, 100, 211, 257, 264, 265, 267, 268, 269, 271, 272, 273, 279, 280, 281, 296, 298, 324, 327, 355 F 208, 38, 93, 274, 275, 277, 278 F 209, 279, 280 F 210, 94, 292 F 211, 99, 168, 230, 263, 286, 287, 288, 289, 290, 291, 315, 318, 343, 344 F 212, 4, 23, 51, 53, 94, 292, 293 F 213, 22, 294, 295, 296, 307, 353 F 213–215, 294

Index Locorum F 214, 38, 42, 297, 298 F 215, 297 F 216, 38, 89, 93, 94, 98, 100, 136, 137, 170, 205, 206, 207, 208, 219, 273, 284, 294, 297, 363, 364 F 217, 12, 38, 91, 316, 330, 350, 351 F 217+, 38 F 218, 170, 172, 263, 316 F 219, 38, 317 F 219–220, 315, 316, 317 F 220, 28, 37, 89, 94, 101, 102, 213, 230, 263 F 221, 93 F 221a-b, 316, 318 F 222, 153 F 223, 12, 169, 170, 171, 175, 316, 350 F 226, 170 F 227, 90, 128 F 231, 262 F 232, 262 F 235–236, 148 F 236, 4, 56, 57, 58, 167, 334 Eudoxus fr. 328 Lasserre, 50 fr. 345 Lasserre, 138 Eupolis Dem. fr. 102 Kassel-Austin, 130, 252, 253 Euripides fr. 282 Nauck, 24 Eusebius PE 10.3.1–12, 32, 59 10.3.1–25, 31 10.3.12, 59 10.3.23, 32 Eustathius ad Dion. Perieg. 525, 222 ad Il. 2.649, 129 ad Od. 19.174, 129 Evagrius HE 5.24, 158 Excerpta Historica Constantiniana Exc. de Insid. 9, III, 9 de Boor, 178 10, III, 9–10 de Boor, 178 11, III, 10 de Boor, 178 12, III 10 de Boor, 210 23, III, 21–22 de Boor, 290 Exc. de Virt. 18, II 1, 339–340 Büttner-Wobst and Roos, 178

405

22, II 1, 341–342 Büttner-Wobst and Roos, 178, 264 23, II 1, 342–343 Büttner-Wobst and Roos, 290 Frontinus Str. 2.9.10, 239 Gellius 3.11.2, 57 Gorgias 82 B 11.8–11 Diels-Kranz, 63, 66 82 B 23 Diels-Kranz, 63, 66 Harpocration s.v. Ἀπατούρια, 143, 183 s.v. ἀρχαίως, 4, 16, 17, 60, 70, 73, 153, 348 s.v. Ἀρχιδάμειος πόλεμος, 240, 242 s.v. Ἀσπασία, 257 s.v. Ἀττικοῖς γράμμασιν, 238 s.v. γεωφάνιον, 216 s.v. Δάτος, 193 s.v. Εὐρύβατον, 216, 217, 219 s.v. Ἱερώνυμος, 281 s.v. καινῶς, 16, 17, 73 s.v. Κεβρῆνα, 174 s.v. Κριθώτην, 224 s.v. Μαντινέων διοικισμός, 283 s.v. Νεμεὰς χαράδρα, 298 s.v. Σκῆψις, 262 Hecataeus of Miletus, FGrHist 1 F 6a bis, 135 F 14, 135 F 15, 105 F 25, 105 F 119, 135, 185 F 127, 135 F 133, 135 F 184–195, 196 F 217, 140 F 302a, 52 Hellanicus of Lesbos FGrHist 4 T 18, 88 T 19, 113 F 1a-b, 186 F 5, 27 F 23, 143 F 36a-b, 135 F 51, 185, 186 F 82, 216 F 116, 110 F 118, 109 F 125, 184

406 Hellanicus of Lesbos (cont.) F 161, 135 F 173, 52 F 183, 103 F 185, 113 F 186, 138 F 188, 179 F 195a-b, 108 FGrHist 687a T 3a, 113 Hellenika Oxyrhynchia 5, 6.34 Chambers, 362 5, 7.40 Chambers, 362 10.1–5, 14–16 Chambers, 36 10.2, 15.39 Chambers, 363 10.3, 15.57–58 Chambers, 242 12.1, 17.86–87 Chambers, 362 15.1, 23.200–202 Chambers, 362 18.1, 30.345 Chambers, 281, 362 18.2, 31.356–357 Chambers, 363, 364 19.2, 32.374–377 Chambers, 363 19.3, 32.381 ff. Chambers, 188 20.3, 35.435 ff. Chambers, 188 22.2, 39.539–540 Chambers, 242 Heraclides Lembus Pol. 3.15, 198 Heraclides of Cyme, FGrHist 689 F 6, 235 Heraclitus 22 B 101a Diels-Kranz, 75 Hermippus of Smyrna, FGrHist 1026 F 42–54, 13 Hermogenes Id. 2.12, 412 Rabe, 58 Herodotus Prooem., 72, 339 1.1–5.3, 174 1.2, 217 1.5, 119, 220, 348 1.5–6, 346 1.5.3–4, 72 1.12.4, 98 1.23, 98 1.27, 218 1.28, 193 1.29, 218 1.29–33, 218 1.29–34, 98 1.30.2, 1 1.46, 220 1.51.2, 221 1.53 ff., 220 1.56.2–58, 135 1.65, 181

Index Locorum 1.65–66, 110 1.65.4, 116, 117, 122, 123 1.66.1, 110, 111 1.69–70, 220 1.83, 220 1.146, 135, 189 2.19.1, 100 2.19.3, 100 2.20, 52 2.23.1, 97 2.49.3, 185 2.52.1, 145 2.52.2–3, 145 2.53.2, 127, 128 2.53.2–3, 97 2.54–057, 133 2.102-106, 20 2.113-120, 20 2.116–117.1, 97, 132 2.135.6, 98 2.152–154, 220 2.177, 98 3.19, 229 3.38.4, 98 3.90.1–3, 193 3.121.1, 98 3.122, 201 4.8.3, 196 4.17 ff., 196 4.17.1, 138 4.29.1, 97 4.32.1, 97 4.46–47, 197 4.60.1, 113 4.106, 196 4.127.2, 197 4.145, 173 4.145.1 ff., 179, 181 4.145.4–5, 179 4.146.1 ff., 179 4.147.2, 176 5.22, 325 5.28 ff., 44 5.57, 185 5.58, 185 5.65.3, 184 5.76, 184 5.78, 204 5.95.2, 98 5.96.2, 224 5.99.3, 236 5.102.3, 98 5.113.2, 98 6.34–38, 224 6.36.2, 224 6.38.1, 224

Index Locorum 6.45.1, 187 6.57.4, 111 6.61–66, 269 6.85–94.1, 225 6.98.2, 244 6.127.3, 209 6.131.2, 330 6.132, 223, 226 6.132–133.1, 223 6.133.1, 224 6.133.2–135.1, 226 6.136.1, 227 6.136.2, 224 6.136.3, 227 6.137–139, 224 7.6.3, 98 7.61 ff., 193 7.102, 204 7.107, 225 7.138, 231 7.139, 26, 231 7.151, 100 7.152.2–3, 26 7.157.3, 231 7.157–162, 227, 230 7.161.3, 97 7.165–166, 230 7.166, 232 7.170, 213 7.228, 98, 105 8.3, 231 8.3.2, 245 8.46.3, 103 8.73, 135 8.73.1–2, 105 8.93.1, 233 8.122, 221, 233 8.137, 325 8.142.5, 279 9.3.1, 226 9.9–11, 231 9.26 ff., 176 9.26.2, 175 9.27.4–5, 217 9.70.2, 226 9.106.2–3, 231 Hesiod Erg. 639–640, 56 fragments fr. 10a.63 Merkelbach-West, 108 fr. 151 Merkelbach-West, 136 fr. 160–162 Merkelbach-West, 135 fr. 161 Merkelbach-West, 135

407

fr. 205 Merkelbach-West, 146 Theog. 27 ff., 64 Hippias of Elis, FGrHist 6 T 3, 69 Homer lI. 2.511, 128, 187 2.581 ff., 179 2.581–590, 128 2.639, 108 2.649, 128, 130 2.681, 134 2.813–814, 57 2.840, 128 2.856, 128, 139 2.856–857, 138, 139, 140 5.39, 139 6.289–292, 132 13.5–6, 136 13.6, 128 16.233, 134 Od. 1.1–2, 75 1.3, 1 1.3–4, 75 1.23, 128, 131, 132 3.215, 269 4.227–230, 132 4.351–352, 132 8.183, 75 11.15, 128, 133 16.401–402, 269 19.165, 128 19.174, 128, 129 19.175–177, 134, 190 19.177, 128, 129 19.178, 128, 134 Ibycus fr. 384 Davies, 108 Inscriptions IG I3.259–290, 235 IG 7.2407 = Rhodes and Osborne 2003, no. 43, 305, 320 IG 7.2408, 305, 320 IG 7.2418 = Rhodes and Osborne 2003, no. 57, 305 Meiggs and Lewis 1988, no. 28, 228 Meiggs and Lewis 1988, no. 59 = Rhodes and Osborne 2017, no. 145, 259 SEG 28.465, 305 SEG 34.355, 305 SEG 44.901, 305 SEG 48.1337, 305 SEG 58.447, 305

408

Index Locorum

Inscriptions (cont.) Tod 1948, no. 108 = Rhodes and Osborne 2003, no. 10, 290 Tod 1948, no. 114 = Rhodes and Osborne 2003, no. 18, 283 Tod 1948, no. 133 = Rhodes and Osborne 2003, no. 33, 319 Tod 1948, no. 136 = Rhodes and Osborne 2003, no. 34, 319 Isocrates Ad Ias. 8, 86 Antid. 46, 65 46–47, 65 173, 86 184, 86 192, 86 232–235, 260 234, 254 306–308, 260 Archid. 12, 175 42–43, 259 44–46, 230, 292 63, 320 Areop. 4, 31 17, 245 65, 243 75, 217, 233 80, 238, 245, 283 C. soph. 16–17, 65 De big. 27, 245 28, 260 40, 274 Ep. 1, 230, 292 2.4–5, 324 3.3, 323 Evag. 54, 279 58, 278 Nicocl. 23, 230, 292 Panath. 1, 16, 69 49–52, 232 59, 238, 283 67, 245 72–82, 329 97, 279 104–107, 279

117 ff., 177 149, 73 149–150, 15, 16 177, 16 177–181, 179 191 ff., 217 199 ff., 202 204, 175 217, 199, 202 Paneg. 7–9, 65 7–10, 17 8, 15, 16, 17, 70 8–10, 16 9, 31, 84 28–31, 136 30–46, 349 54, 175, 176 66 ff., 217 72, 233, 245 93–98, 232 99, 233 117–120, 238 118 ff., 283 Pax 30, 245 76, 233, 245 79 ff., 259 95, 175 Philip. 16, 350 33, 323 41, 324, 326 53–56, 296 54, 304 109–113, 323 112, 325 132, 323 146–147, 259 Iustinus, see Justin Joannes Philoponus De aetern. mun. c. Proclum 147 Rabe, 174 Josephus C. Ap. 1.16, 88 1.67, 4, 54, 55 Justin 2.2, 197 3.4, 206, 208 3.4.1 ff., 205, 206 3.4.1–2, 206 3.4.5, 207 3.6.1–4, 237

Index Locorum 5.8.13–14, 274 5.10.6, 243 5.11.6–7, 277 6.3.4–5, 282 6.8.1–3, 300 6.8.3, 300 6.8.9, 302 19.1.10–13, 229 21.2.9–03.8, 317 prolog. libr. V, 276 prolog. libr. VI, 307 prolog. libr. VIII et IX, 313 Longinus, FGrHist 1091 T 6, 31 Lucian Herodot. 3, 69 Hist. conscr. 8, 63, 64 Lycurgus C. Leoc. 73, 238 Lysias C. Androt. fr. 17 Carey, 240 C. Erat. 74, 243 C. Tes. 19 ff., 290 Ep. 27 ff., 232 43, 233 55 ff., 283 Lysimachus of Alexandria, FGrHist 382 F 1–5, 36 F 22, 32, 34 Macrobius Saturn. 5.18.6–8, 144, 184, 348, 349 Marcellinus Vit. Thuc. 48–51, 66 Marmor Parium, FGrHist 239 A 30, 209 A 31, 214 A 62, 316 Nepos Ages. 1.2–5, 269 Alc. 9 ff., 275 9–10, 274

9.4–5, 278 9.5, 276 10.1–3, 274 Chabr. 1.3, 286 Con. 2.1, 282 Epam. 1–3, 301 10.4, 300 Lys. 3, 268 3.2–3, 270 3.5, 271 4, 270 4.1, 272 Milt. 2–4, 225 7.1, 223 7.1–2, 223 7.1–4, 223 7.3, 225 7.3–4, 226 7.5, 227 7.5–6, 227 8.1, 227 Thras. 1.2–5, 243 Tim. 1.4, 318 Nicagoras, FGrHist 1076 T 7, 31 Nicolaus of Damascus, FGrHist 104 F 10, 177 F 23, 25 F 28, 178, 179 F 29, 25, 178 F 30, 178 F 30–35, 25 F 31, 178 F 31–34, 178 F 32, 178 F 33, 178 F 34, 178 F 35, 210 F 56, 178, 180, 264 F 56–59, 25 F 56.1, 110 F 57, 96, 271 F 57–61, 205 F 58, 290 F 58.4, 218 F 59, 290 F 62–68, 220 F 103–104, 25 F 103aa, 198

409

410

Index Locorum

Nicolaus of Damascus, FGrHist (cont.) F 104.2, 197 F 104.2, 197 F 104.4, 197 F 104.7–8, 217 F 109, 25 Papyri PBerol. inv. 5008 B 1, 286 PHerc. 994, coll. 36.25–37.6, 58 PMich. inv. 5982 and 5796b (Theramenes papyrus), 362 POxy. 2.221, 144 POxy. 2.302, 303 POxy. 4.663 44–48, 248 POxy. 5.842, 362 POxy. 11.1365 (FGrHist 105 F 2), 205 POxy. 13.1610, 127, 227, 233, 362 sect. 1, 167 sects. 1–16, 39 sect. 3, 233 sect. 9, 233 sect. 11, 233 POxy. 27.2455, fr. 9, 178 POxy. 50.3543 (FGrHist 1123) 15–16, 13 PRyl. 3.492, 223 PRyl. 3.532, 174 PRyl. 18 (FGrHist 105 F 1), 217 PSI 13.1304, 362 Temp. inv. no. 26/6/27/1–35, 362 Parthenius Amat. narr. 25, 313 Pausanias 1.15.2–3, 217 1.19.5, 184 1.39.4, 184 2.29.2, 146 3.2.1 ff., 179 3.2.6, 206 3.4.3–5, 269 3.5.6, 280 3.8.8–10, 269 4.3.3, 176 4.4.2–3, 206 4.4.5–5.1, 206 4.15.2, 136 5.3, 178 5.3.5, 181 5.3.6, 181 5.4.1, 182 5.4.2, 182 5.4.3, 183 6.22.2, 171, 211 7.2.4, 188, 189

7.2.5, 146 7.3.8, 189 7.4.9, 189 7.24.12, 293 7.25.2, 184 8.8.9, 283 8.11.8, 187 9.1.5–8, 188 9.5.1–2, 185, 186 9.5.3, 186 9.10.1, 186 9.12.1–2, 186 9.13.1, 301 9.15.3, 188, 300 9.15.4, 299 9.32.5–10, 266 9.33.1, 185 9.34.10–35.7, 187 Phaenias of Eresus fr. 11 Wehrli, 228 Phanodemus of Athens, FGrHist 325 F 22, 246 Pherecydes of Athens, FGrHist 3 F 22a-c, 186 F 41a-c, 185 F 41a-e, 186 F 41d, 185 F 41e, 185 F 88, 186 F 156, 135 Philistus of Syracuse, FGrHist 556 T 9d, 317 T 20, 213 T 23a, 102, 317 F 1, 213 F 2, 171, 214 Philochorus of Athens, FGrHist 328 F 121, 250, 251, 256 Photius Bibl. 72, 35b, I 105–106 Henry, 103 167, 115a, II 157 Henry, 15 176, 120a, II 172 Henry, 15, 283 176, 121a, II 175 Henry, 13, 14, 58, 154 176, 121a-b, II 176 Henry, 19 186, 137b, III 26–27 Henry, 178 186, 140b-141a, III 35–36 Henry, 178 239, 321b, V 164–165 Henry, 187 Suid. s.v. καινός, 17 s.v. Κωρυκαῖος, 190 s.v. Κώρυκος, 190 s.v. Περιθοῖδαι, 189

Index Locorum Phylarchus, FGrHist 81 F 43, 267, 268 F 70, 313 F 74, 170 Pindar fragments fr. 66 Snell-Maehler, 187 fr. 198b Snell-Maehler, 185 Isthm. 7.12 ff., 175 9.1–4, 175 Ol. 3.9–13, 108 Pyth. 1.61–66, 175 1.121 ff., 110 1.137–155, 228, 229 1.146, 228 5.69, 177 5.69–76, 175 11.5–6, 187, 188 Plato Gorg. 501d ff., 66 516a, 248 Hipp. Mai. 285d-e, 69 Leg. 1.625c-626b, 199 1.629d, 199 1.630b, 199 1.631b, 199 1.632c, 199 1.632e, 199 1.633a, 199 1.636b, 199 2.653d ff., 63 2.659e, 63 2.670e-671a, 63 3.683a, 199 3.683c ff., 177 3.700a-701c, 63 Menex. 241e, 238 242a-246a, 244 242c-243d, 242 Phaedr. 246a ff., 13 266d-267d, 66 269e, 254 271c, 66 Prot. 343a, 218 Resp. 3.398d-401e, 63

4.424b-e, 63 5.473c-e, 75 Symp. 215c, 63 [Plato] Ep. 13.363b-c, 319 Pliny NH 1.7, 12 5.143, 139 6.198, 326 Plutarch Mor. 8b, 302 212c, 271 212c-d, 268 228e, 266 229d, 268, 270 229e-230a, 268, 271, 272, 324 229f, 272 231c, 180 239f, 266 247a-e, 178 247b, 179, 181 247d, 180 247e, 180 296b, 179, 181 296b-d, 178, 180 297b, 179 345d-e, 356 346b, 295 514b-c, 294, 353 514c, 22 576d-e, 301 802e-803b, 24 839a, 14, 60 854c-874e, 105 855e-f, 257 855f, 38, 44, 227, 234, 247 855f-856a, 247, 248, 250 869a, 103 869a-c, 104, 232 871c-d, 233 1043a ff., 355 1043d, 331, 350, 351 Vit. Ages. 3.3–5, 269 20.2–3, 268 20.3, 271 27.4, 301 31.2, 295 32.7, 295

411

412 Plutarch (cont.) Agis 5.1, 266 10.4, 266 Alc. 7.3, 251 14.2, 248 32, 227, 262, 286 34.7, 262 37.7–8, 278 38 ff., 275 38–39, 274 38.3–39.1, 275 38.5–39.1, 274 Alex. 2.4–5, 330 Arist. 19.3–4, 226 20, 231 23, 245 25.1–3, 235 Artax. 6.1 ff., 275 13.3, 278 Camill. 19.7, 170 Cim. 6, 245 12.2–4, 246 12.5, 233 12.5–6, 39, 127, 233 12.5–13.3, 239 12.6, 246 13, 238 13.4–5, 238 Comp. Lys.-Sul. 2.1, 268, 272 Dion 17.8, 320 35–36, 316, 317 35.3, 317 35.3–4, 38 36, 101, 263 36.2, 28, 102 Lyc. 1.4, 117 2.2, 180 9.1, 266 29.6, 264 30, 266 Lys. 6–7, 279 15, 243 16–17.1, 265 17, 265 17.1–4, 265

Index Locorum 17.4–6, 266 18, 268 20.1–4, 270 20.6, 93, 270 22.3–6, 269 24–26, 268 24.4–5, 271, 272, 324 25, 269, 324, 355 25.1, 271 25.2, 272 25.3, 38, 270 30, 211, 268, 271, 280, 355 30.1, 280 30.2, 27, 273 30.3, 100, 271, 280 30.3–4, 38 30.4, 273, 280 Nic. 9.9, 248, 249 19.5, 267 28, 267 Num. 4, 202 Pel. 3.6, 301 4.1, 301 13.4, 284 15.4, 292 16–17, 292 16.1, 292 17.4, 292 23, 296 24.1, 295 30.7, 320 Per. 8, 254 12, 44, 259 15, 254 16.2, 238, 258 17, 238 22.4, 267 27, 137, 226 27.3–4, 259 28, 259 29 ff., 247 29.7, 247 29.7–8, 247 31–32, 251 31.1, 247 31.1–32.6, 247 31.2, 256 32.1, 257 32.3, 250 32.5, 257 32.6, 247, 260, 261 35.4, 248

Index Locorum Phoc. 6.5–7, 286 6.6, 286 6.7, 286 Them. 17.1, 233 23.2–3, 45, 234 23.4, 234 27.1–2, 234 Tim. 4, 316 4.6, 318 41.4, 267 [Plutarch] Vit. Hom. 1.2, 12, 57 Polyaenus 1.6, 178 1.18, 184 1.19, 184 1.34.1, 239 2.1.15, 295 2.14.2, 208 3.9.55, 287 3.11.2, 286 3.11.2–3, 286 7.19, 270 7.43, 187 Polybius 1.1–4, 333 1.2.3, 242 1.4.9–11, 340 1.5.4–5, 175 2.37.7–8, 348 2.41.7, 293 2.56, 63, 159 2.56.10–12, 82 4.2.3, 348 4.17.4–5, 63 4.20.4–7, 62 4.20.5, 62, 153 4.20.8–9, 65 4.27.4–7, 284 4.44.4, 302 4.73–74, 182 5.33, 338, 339, 356 5.33.1–8, 156, 332, 333 5.33.2, 48, 152, 155, 333, 334 5.104.1–4, 344 6.43.4, 284 6.43.4–7, 302 6.43.6, 300 6.44.9, 302 6.45.1, 55, 202 6.45.1–46.10, 198 6.45.3, 202 6.45.3–46.9, 202

6.45.3–5, 202 6.45.4, 266 6.45.5, 202 6.46.6 ff., 30 6.46.7–8, 199, 202 6.46.9, 201 6.48.1–5, 199, 203 6.48.2, 201 6.46.10, 20, 203 6.46.10, 198, 203 6.48.8, 266 6.49.7 ff., 268 8.2.5–6, 342 8.9.1–4, 358 8.11.3–5, 333, 339, 352 9.1.2–2.7, 31, 67, 101, 333 9.1.2–4, 89, 160 9.1.3–4, 153 9.1.4, 68 10.2.8–12, 202 12.4a.3–4, 170, 316 12.4c.4–5, 79, 159, 341 12.6b, 206 12.6b.9, 206 12.11.1, 171 12.11.8–12.2, 83 12.16, 204 12.23.4–7, 333, 339 12.25f, 4, 22, 246, 282, 296, 306, 353 12.25f.3, 306 12.25f.3–4, 296 12.26b.1–2, 230 12.27, 23 12.27–28, 154 12.27.1–28.5, 75 12.27.7, 7, 74, 154, 341 12.27.8–9, 77 12.27.11, 1 12.28, 162 12.28.6-28a.4, 81 12.28.8–12, 154, 359 12.28.10, 8, 16, 29, 84, 154, 161 12.28.11, 81 12.28.12, 81 16.17–18, 159 16.17.9–11, 82 16.17.9–18.2, 82, 84 29.21, 348 34.1.3, 50 38.4.5, 333 38.22.1–3, 348 39.8.6, 333 Porphyry Philolog. fr. 408 Smith, 32, 59 fr. 408–410 Smith, 31 fr. 409 Smith, 32

413

414

Index Locorum

Posidonius, FGrHist 87 T 16, 50 F 48, 266 Quintilian Inst. or. 2.8.11, 13, 58 3.7.6–28, 85 10.1.74, 13, 58 Scholia on Ael. Aristid. Panath. 313, III 294 Dindorf, 168, 230, 287, 288, 289, 318, 319, 343 on Ael. Aristid. Pro quatt. 206, III 572 Dindorf, 224, 227 on Ael. Aristid. Pro quatt., III 515 Dindorf (Hypothesis Kimonos), 227 on Apoll. Rhod. 1.916, 143 on Apoll. Rhod. 1.1037, 216, 217 on Apoll. Rhod. 1.1168, 177 on Apoll. Rhod. 1.1289, 177 on Apoll. Rhod. 2.360, 193 on Apoll. Rhod. 2.965, 216, 217 on Aristoph. Nub. 859, 43, 200, 259 on Aristoph. Pax 363, 221 on Aristoph. Pax 605, 251, 256 on Dem. C. Lept. 52, 280 on Dion. Per. 348, 135 on Dionys. Thrac. 183, 1 Hilgard, 185, 349 on Dionys. Thrac. 184, 20 Hilgard, 185 on Euripid. Phoin. 7, 143, 184 on Hermog. 63, 140, 2 Rabe, 216 on Hes. Theog. 937, 117 Di Gregorio, 184 on Hom. II. 1.31, 348 on Hom. II. 1.381 (BT), 187 on Hom. II. 7.185 (BTV), 170, 171, 238, 241, 242 on Hom. II. 13.302 (T), 308, 312, 326 on Hom. Od. 3.215 (HM[ED]), 167, 269, 355 on Pind. Isthm. 5.63a, III 247 Drachmann, 233 on Pind. Isthm. 7.18b, III 263–264 Drachmann, 176 on Pind. Nem. 6.50, III 107 Drachmann, 65 on Pind. Olymp. 7.100a, I 222 Drachmann, 65 on Pind. Olymp. 7.101, I 222 Drachmann, 65 on Pind. Pyth. 1.120b, II 20–21 Drachmann, 170, 202 on Pind. Pyth. 1.146a, II 24 Drachmann, 227, 228, 229, 230, 231 on Pind. Pyth. 1.146a-b, II 24–25 Drachmann, 228 on Pind. Pyth. 1.146b, II 24–25 Drachmann, 127, 168, 228, 229, 230, 231, 342

on Pind. Pyth. 5.101b, II 184–185 Drachmann, 176 on Pind. Pyth. 5.104b, II 185 Drachmann, 176 on Pind. Pyth. 11.5–6, II 255 Drachmann, 187, 188 on Plat. Lach. 107b (RS), 174 on Thuc. 1.23.6, 248 [Scymnus] Orb. descr. 152–166, 147 183–187, 63 236, 132 264, 25, 127 264–277, 213 272, 214 448, 25, 193 470–472, 192 473–477, 194 483 ff., 193 483–484, 193 488–500, 195 488–501, 194 502–504, 184 541–549, 201 572 ff., 189 636–637, 326 711–712, 224 835 ff., 196 Seneca QNat. 3 praef. 5 ff., 52 4b.3.1, 52 6.23.1–4, 94 6.26.3, 94, 293 7.5.3–5, 94 7.16, 293 7.16.1–3, 51 7.16.2, 4, 51, 94, 293 Tranq. 7.2, 13 Simonides fr. 123 Page, 117 XIXa Campbell, 103 XXXIV Campbell, 228 XLV Campbell, 127, 238, 245 Speusippus Epist. Socr. 30, 73, 324 30.5, 327 30.7, 327 30.8, 327 Stephanus of Byzantium Α 80 Billerbeck, s.v. Ἀθῆναι, 189, 214 Α 204 Billerbeck, s.v. Ἁλιεῖς, 205, 210 Α 246 Billerbeck, s.v. Ἀμαζόνες, 216, 217 Α 400 Billerbeck, s.v. Ἄργος, 280 Β 68 Billerbeck, s.v. Βεννα, 190

Index Locorum Β 115 Billerbeck, s.v. Βοῖον, 262 Β 116 Billerbeck, s.v. Βοιωτία, 56, 195, 301 Β 120 Billerbeck, s.v. Βολισσός, 57, 123 Β 138 Billerbeck, s.v. Βούδορον, 262 Β 159 Billerbeck, s.v. Βουφία, 298 Β 193 Billerbeck, s.v. Βύμαζος, 314 Δ 139 Billerbeck, s.v. Δυμᾶνες, 177 Δ 140 Billerbeck, s.v. Δύμη, 171, 214, 302 Ε 84 Billerbeck, s.v. Ἔντελλα, 167, 263 Ε 89 Billerbeck, s.v. Ἐπαρῖται, 297 Ε 103 Billerbeck, s.v. Ἕρβιτα, 314 Ε 121 Billerbeck, Ἑρμοῦ πεδίον, 279 Ζ 22 Billerbeck, s.v. Ζηράνιοι, 314 Θ 53 Billerbeck, s.v. Θόρναξ, 178 Ι 110 Billerbeck, s.v.Ἱστίαια, 262 Ι 115 Billerbeck, s.v. Ἴστρος, 314, 318 Κ 018 Billerbeck, s.v. Καλάθη, 326 Κ 113 Billerbeck, s.v. Κασσάνωρος, 314 Κ 313 Billerbeck, s.v. Κώρυκος, 190 Λ 35 Billerbeck, s.v. Λάμψος, 189 Μ 132 Billerbeck, s.v. Μελιταία, 309, 312 Μ 156 Billerbeck, s.v. Μεσόλα, 178 Μ 169 Billerbeck, s.v. Μετάχοιον, 309, 312 Μ 230 Billerbeck, s.v. Μυκαλησσός, 189 Μ 241 Billerbeck, s.v. Μύνδωνες, 314 Ν 46 Billerbeck, s.v. Νηρίς, 178 Π 56 Billerbeck, s.v. Πάρος, 222, 223 Σ 233 Billerbeck, s.v. Σκυφία, 189 Τ 80 Billerbeck, s.v. Τέλφουσα, 185 Φ 12 Billerbeck, s.v. Φάλαννα, 216 Φ 35 Billerbeck, s.v. Φάρος, 314 Φ 82 Billerbeck, s.v. Φοιβία, 299 Φ 83 Billerbeck, s.v. Φοινίκαιον, 280 Φ 91 Billerbeck, s.v. Φορίεια, 205 Χ 59 Billerbeck, s.v. Χρυσόπολις, 302 Χ 60 Billerbeck, s.v. Χυτόν, 281, 283 Ω 23 Billerbeck, s.v. Ὠτιεῖς, 38, 44, 246, 281 Stobaeus Anth. 3.1.200, 197, 217 Strabo 1.2.26, 131 1.2.28, 192 1.2.35, 95, 113 1.3.18, 293 3.5.4, 147 5.2.4, 134, 135, 190, 205, 211, 348 5.4.4, 214 5.4.5, 132, 133 6.1.8, 203, 251, 317 6.1.12, 93 6.1.15, 93 6.2.2, 127, 137, 213, 214, 215, 343 6.2.4, 137, 213, 214, 349 6.3.1 ff., 214 6.3.2, 206

415

6.3.2–3, 93 6.3.3, 38, 136, 170, 205, 206, 297, 364 7.3.9, 8, 28, 53, 67, 113, 136, 137, 192, 193, 196, 197, 348 7.7.1, 185 7.7.2, 185, 293 7.7.7, 127, 195 7.7.10, 145 7.18, 65, 198 7.19, 65 7.25, 326 8.1.1, 165, 191, 333, 341 8.1.2, 181, 182 8.1.3, 192, 195 8.3.2, 183, 283 8.3.7, 182 8.3.7–8, 73 8.3.9, 95, 105, 182 8.3.30, 182, 212 8.3.31, 73, 182 8.3.33, 170, 171, 178, 209, 237, 325, 355 8.4.7, 178, 208 8.4.9–10, 206 8.4.10, 136 8.5.4, 178 8.5.5, 110, 178, 201, 202, 203, 263, 265, 280, 343, 351 8.6.2, 73 8.6.9, 73 8.6.16, 146, 190, 210, 233, 325 8.7.2, 293 8.8.2, 586, 306 9.1.7, 184 9.1.9, 233 9.2.2, 28, 45, 46, 184, 194, 195, 292, 300, 303, 349, 351 9.2.2–5, 184 9.2.3, 184, 186, 188, 189, 349 9.2.3–5, 184 9.2.4, 100, 143, 145, 184, 186, 187 9.2.5, 300, 306 9.2.27, 185 9.2.36, 185 9.2.39, 295, 307 9.2.40, 187 9.3.11, 51, 87, 156 9.3.11–12, 4, 50, 61, 62, 155, 193, 312, 325, 349 9.3.12, 136, 195, 326 9.4.10, 177 10.1.8, 189 10.2.6, 95, 109, 111 10.2.25, 195, 210, 313, 329, 330 10.2.25–26, 126 10.3.2, 181, 183, 194 10.3.2–3, 106

416

Index Locorum

Strabo (cont.) 10.3.2–4, 85, 105, 194 10.3.3, 50 10.3.4, 85 10.3.5, 51, 193 10.4.6, 190 10.4.8, 134, 191, 198, 202 10.4.9, 192, 197 10.4.15, 128, 129, 191 10.4.16, 63, 121, 124, 180, 199, 203 10.4.16–22, 72, 114, 198 10.4.17, 72, 118, 119, 142, 201, 340 10.4.17–19, 115 10.4.18, 110, 120, 122, 130, 170, 180, 202 10.4.18–19, 110, 202 10.4.19, 115, 121, 128 10.4.21, 143 10.4.22, 202, 204 11.6.2–3, 95 11.6.2–4, 113 12.3.19–22, 139 12.3.21, 57, 113, 138 12.4.2, 303 13.1.3, 175, 189 13.3.6, 4, 57, 167, 334 14.1.3, 184, 188 14.1.6, 146, 191 14.1.32, 190 14.5.23–26, 192, 349 Suidas α 115 Adler, s.v. ἀγαθοεργοί, 202 α 2287 Adler, s.v. ἀνεπάρισαν, 222 ε 2659 Adler, s.v. ἐπὶ τὰ Μανδροβόλου, 216 ε 3718 Adler, s.v. Εὐρύβατος, 216 ε 3930 Adler, s.v. Ἔφιππος, 10, 11, 167, 174, 307, 350 ε 3953 Adler, s.v. Ἔφορος Κυμαῖος καὶ Θεόπομπος Δαμασιστράτου Χῖος, 13, 58 ζ 130 Adler, s.v. Ζωίλος Ἀμφιπολίτης, 69 θ 172 Adler, s.v. Θεόπομπος Χίος ῥήτωρ, 11 κ 1174 Adler, s.v. καινός, 17 κ 1620 Adler, s.v. Κίμων, 238 σ 77 Adler, s.v. Σαμίων ὁ δῆμος, 242 Syncellus 326, 202 Mosshammer, 57, 127 470, 296 Mosshammer, 238 Teleclides fr. 45 Kassel-Austin, 238, 258 Tertullian De anim. 46, 316, 330, 350 Theogenes, FGrHist 300 F 1, 146

Theopompus of Chios, FGrHist 115 T 1, 11, 102 T 12, 334 T 13, 102, 242, 356 T 14, 102, 242 T 15, 14 T 18, 15 T 19, 339, 352 T 20a, 18, 27, 28, 36, 59, 76, 99, 103, 321, 334, 339 T 20b, 18 T 24, 47 T 27, 32 T 32a, 22 T 33, 23 T 34, 19 T 40, 58 F 7, 302 F 8, 362 F 20, 93 F 21, 32, 59 F 24–27, 154 F 25, 69, 77, 103 F 26, 28, 76, 103 F 27, 321, 357 F 70, 31 F 102, 31 F 103.7, 283 F 105, 286 F 153, 245 F 154, 238 F 154–155, 95 F 171, 208 F 181a, 154 F 193, 228 F 205, 128 F 225a-c, 27 F 285, 105 F 293, 53 F 323, 93 F 332, 93, 265 F 333, 27, 93, 273 F 334a, 93, 318 F 342, 75, 76, 77, 95, 103, 154 F 345, 154 F 373, 312 F 381, 69, 113, 154 F 393, 93, 209, 325 Thrasimachus 85 B 6 Diels-Kranz, 66 Thucydides 1.1.1–2, 236 1.1.2, 20, 21, 73, 74, 86, 159, 339 1.2–19, 20, 26, 62, 96, 97 1.2.3, 135, 186 1.2.6, 188

Index Locorum 1.3.1–2, 186 1.3.2, 135 1.3.3, 127, 128 1.4.1, 201 1.5.2, 97, 127 1.10, 72, 119, 141, 348 1.10.1–3, 141 1.12.3, 170, 175, 176, 185 1.12.3–4, 175 1.13.5, 97, 129 1.18, 110, 181, 211 1.20–21, 109 1.20–22, 74 1.20.1, 62, 74 1.20.2, 107, 298 1.20.3, 62 1.21–22, 69, 86, 87, 159 1.21.1, 20, 21, 62, 66, 67, 68, 73, 74, 84, 85, 101, 137 1.21.2, 236 1.22, 74, 79, 86 1.22.1, 24 1.22.1–3, 72 1.22.2, 78, 86 1.22.4, 62, 66, 68 1.23.1–2, 236 1.23.1–3, 249 1.23.3, 293 1.23.4–6, 5, 248, 249 1.23.5–6, 36 1.23.6, 248 1.24–55, 248 1.56–66, 248 1.67.4, 248 1.71, 74 1.73.2–73.4, 26 1.75.2, 245 1.86, 23 1.89, 246 1.89–117, 26, 235, 248 1.95.1–2, 245 1.95.7, 267 1.96.1, 245 1.96.2, 349 1.98.1, 225 1.98.4, 235 1.100, 239 1.100.2–101.3, 225 1.102.1, 226 1.102.4, 236 1.109.4, 349 1.112.2, 243 1.118, 246 1.137.2, 235 1.137.2–3, 235 1.137.3, 234

1.137.4, 234 1.138.3, 26 1.139.1–2, 248 1.139.1–3, 247 1.139.4, 247, 248, 254 1.140–141.1, 248 1.140–144, 237, 247 1.140.4, 249 1.144.3, 248 2.12.3, 236 2.13, 237 2.15, 20 2.21.3, 248 2.35–46, 301 2.41, 301 2.41.4, 97 2.59.1–2, 248 2.60–64, 23 2.65, 46, 248, 260 2.65.3–4, 248 2.65.5–13, 26 2.65.9, 254 2.68.3, 127 2.72.1, 23 2.94.3, 262 2.97.5–6, 197 2.99–100, 325 3.51.2, 262 3.61.2, 186, 188 3.82.8, 180 3.82–84, 26 3.94.3–98.5, 195 3.104, 20 3.104.3–6, 97, 127 5.3.4, 125 5.20.3, 242 5.24.2, 242 5.26, 313 5.26.1, 242 5.26.1–3, 241 5.80, 325 5.85, 84 6.1–5, 20 6.2.2, 213 6.2.3, 215 6.3.1, 216 6.15.2–4, 26 6.54–59, 20, 26, 107 6.54.1, 298 7.86.5, 26 8.1.3, 180 8.24.4, 180 8.53.3, 180 8.64.4, 180 8.68, 26

417

418 Thucydides (cont.) 8.101–109, 125 8.107.2, 126 8.108–109, 126 Timaeus of Tauromenium, FGrHist 566 T 10, 171 T 17, 88 T 19, 22, 75 F 7, 80, 82, 83, 161 F 94, 230 F 100a, 267 F 100b, 267 F 100c, 267 F 110, 316 F 115, 317 F 116, 318 F 119a, 339 F 151, 83 Timonides of Leucas, FGrHist 561 F 2, 317 Tyrtaeus fr. 2 West, 175 fr. 5 West, 136, 205 Tzetzes Chil. 12.528, 154 Valerius Maximus 3.1 ext. 1, 251 9.10 ext. 2, 297 Velleius Paterculus 1.4.1, 189, 214, 216 Vit. Hom. Herod. 21–24, 123 Vit. Hom. Rom. 30, 27 Wilamowitz U., 57 Xanthus of Lydia, FGrHist 765 T 5, 34, 101 Xenophon Anab. 1.1.5 ff., 275 1.2.4, 277 1.2.4–5, 275 1.7.12, 278 6.1.38, 302 6.3.16, 302 7.1.1, 302 Hell. 1.1, 126 1.1.22, 302 1.3.12, 302 1.4.13–17, 262 2.3.9, 242 3.1.1, 276 3.1.8, 279

Index Locorum 3.3.1–4, 269 3.3.5–11, 209, 273 3.4.27, 279 4.1.29–39, 32, 59 4.8.34, 280 5.2.6, 280 5.2.7, 283 5.4.1, 283 5.4.61, 286 5.4.65 ff., 287 6.2.4, 289, 319 6.2.9–10, 289 6.2.26, 288 6.2.33–36, 287, 319 6.4.4–15, 296 6.4.8, 300 6.4.31, 297 6.4.32, 297 6.5.25, 295 6.5.32, 295 6.5.38–39, 296 7.1.15, 299 7.1.23, 135 7.1.33, 296 7.1.33–40, 296 7.1.36, 296, 320 7.1.40, 296 7.1.41–43, 302 7.2.5, 299 7.2.1, 103 7.2.2, 295 7.4.1, 305 7.4.12, 319, 320 7.4.22, 297 7.5.8, 302 7.5.19, 302 7.5.21 ff., 307 7.5.27, 307 Lac. Pol. 1.2, 117 7.5, 266 8.5, 117 14, 266 Zeno of Rhodes, FGrHist 523 F 6, 82 Zenobius paremiographer 2.21, 222 4.37, 187 4.75, 190 5.30, 201 Zoilus of Amphipolis, FGrHist 71 T 1, 69 [Zosimus] Vit. Isocr. 3.257, 98 Westermann, 13, 58

Subject Index

Entries may appear both in transliterated Greek and in English as separate entries: e.g., ‘aletheia (‘truth’)’, ‘truth’; ‘akoe (‘hearing’)’ and also ‘hearing’. Cross-references between entries appear only when strictly necessary. References to chapter and paragraph numbers in round brackets next to an entry indicate that the subject is referenced within the corresponding pages in the book. Abantes, 189 Abii, 136 Abydos, 125, 262 Acarnania, Acarnanians, 53, 108, 127, 128, 144, 184, 194, 195, 329, 330 accuracy, 5, 16, 30, 47, 48, 52, 53, 54, 55, 60, 70, 71, 72, 73, 75, 78, 80, 83, 85, 86, 99, 109, 112, 122, 126, 129, 170, 172, 355, 359 Achaia, Achaeans, 108, 134, 178, 179, 182, 208, 302, 328 Achelous river, 53, 144, 145 Acusilaus of Argos, 88, 135 Adrastus, 330 Adriatic Sea, 112, 205, 290, 318 Aeacus, 146 Aegean Sea, 60, 174, 180, 188, 191, 224, 225, 264, 279, 282, 288, 290, 294, 299, 303, 304, 305, 356 Aegeids, 176 Aegimius, 110, 170, 177 Aegina, Aeginetans, 146, 190, 210, 221, 225, 233, 234 Aegospotami, battle of (405 BC), 242, 264 Aelius Aristides, 29, 54, 227, 287, 288, 289, 319 and Ephorus, 29, 54 Panathenaicus, 287 Aelius Theon, 54, 133, 148, 327 and Ephorus, 54, 148, 192, 327 Progymnasmata, 148 Aeolis, Aeolians, 56, 100, 108, 109, 123, 134, 138, 185, 189 Aeschines, 299 Aeschylus, 197 aetiology, 37, 102, 172, 177, 184, 197, 205, 210, 226, 250, 252, 257, 258, 261, 293, 295, 316, 339, 343, 354, 357. See also causes Aetolia, Aetolians, 50, 85, 94, 96, 97, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 123, 178, 181, 182, 184, 194, 195, 329

Aetolus, 20, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 181, 182, 194 Africa, 46, 155, 192, 195, 303, 320 Agamemnon, 27, 128, 207, 210, 328, 329, 330 agathon, agatha (‘wealth’, ‘material goods’), 200, 218 agelai, 199 Agelaus of Naupactus, 343, 344 Agesilaus, 32, 45, 59, 100, 267, 269, 271, 273, 278, 279, 280, 281, 284, 286, 295, 314, 315, 316, 356 Agesipolis, 42 Agiads, 91, 110, 116, 264, 268, 271, 272 Agis I, 96, 110, 179, 180, 181, 207, 265, 268 Agis II, 269 agoge (‘training’), 30, 135, 196, 301 agonisma (‘competition piece’), 68 akoe (‘hearing’), 75, 107, 108, 123, 124, 141, 142, 143, 145, 146, 328 akoe-statements, 91, 100 akribeia (‘accuracy’), 21, 70, 71, 73, 74, 79, 80, 113, 126, 153 Alalcomenia, 185 Alazones, Alizones, 113, 138, 140 Alcaeus of Messene, 32, 33, 34 Alcaeus of Mytilene, 28 Alcetas Molossus, 290 Alcibiades, 26, 41, 42, 99, 126, 168, 216, 227, 243, 251, 252, 262, 273, 274, 275, 276, 277, 278, 282, 286, 302, 303, 343, 346 Alcmaeon, 127, 128, 195, 312, 329, 330 Alcman, 89, 98, 115, 122, 130, 135 aletheia (‘truth’), 54, 55, 62, 66, 67, 83, 84, 85, 87, 113, 147, 157, 252 Alexander the Great, 11, 48, 99, 113, 175, 278, 282, 300, 313, 316, 324, 327, 330, 331, 336, 350, 351, 355, 357 Alkmaeonis, 89, 97

419

420

Subject Index

Alope, 138, 139, 140 alphabet introduction of, 170, 242 origins of, 185, 348 Alpheius river, 106 Althaemenes of Argos, 114, 120, 129, 180 Alybe, Alybians, 138, 139 Amathus, 281 amazement, 64, 65, 66, 67, 113 Amazones, 138, 139 Amazons, 56, 57, 73, 138, 139, 217 Ammon, 100, 270, 331 Amphiaraus, 329 Amphictyons, 322, 327 Amphilochian Argos, 127, 195 Amphinomus, 269 Amyclae, 176, 179 Amyntas III, 42 Anacharsis, 197, 217, 218 anachronism, 210, 224, 226 Anacreon, 89, 90, 98, 137 analogy, 30, 119, 178, 188, 198, 200, 205, 340, 349 Anaxagoras, 247, 251, 253, 256 Anaximenes of Lampsacus, 10, 23, 24, 31, 33, 34, 35, 36, 41, 69, 93, 94, 240, 241, 312, 334, 337, 357 Hellenika, 35, 357 Matters Concerning Alexander, 357 Matters Concerning Philip, 357 Andocides, 242, 243 andragathia (‘bravery’), 266 andreia (‘braveness’, ‘bravery’, ‘courage’), 321 Androclus, 190 Andron of Ephesus, 31 Tripod, 31 Androphagi, 196 Androtion of Athens, 280 annalistic history, 167, 168, 363 Anthedon, 46, 195, 303 Antiochus of Syracuse, 93, 213, 230 Sikelika, 213 Antipater of Magnesia, 324, 327, 328 Hellenikai Praxeis, 324, 327 Antiphon, 26 Aones, 184, 185 apate (‘deceit’, ‘deception’), 65, 82 Apaturia, 143, 184 apeiria (‘lack of experience’), 22 aphanes (‘hidden’, ‘invisible’), 27, 36 Apollo, 115, 123, 135, 143, 187, 188, 212, 270, 326, 327, 349 Apollodorus of Athens, 43, 212 Apollonius the grammarian, 31, 32, 35, 59 Apulia, 315, 318 Arcadia, Arcadians, 55, 62, 63, 64, 91, 134, 135, 205, 210, 211, 295, 297, 299, 302

Arcadian League, 297 archaeology, 4, 128, 145, 146, 325 autoptic, 143 of language, 145, 146 arche (‘power’), 185, 285 archegetes, 110, 111 Archias, 214 Archidamian War (431–421 BC), 92, 240, 241, 242, 244, 249, 257, 261, 262 Archidamus II, 23, 240, 247 archon, archonship, 171, 204, 236, 242, 251 archontal year, 170, 236, 251 Areopagus, 203, 204 Aretades, 32 On Coincidences, 32 arete (‘excellence’, ‘virtue’), 268, 272, 273, 321 Argeads, 323, 325 Argolis, 178, 299 Argonauts, 217 Argos, Argives, 90, 96, 114, 120, 128, 129, 134, 135, 170, 171, 177, 178, 183, 185, 205, 207, 209, 210, 211, 212, 236, 280, 295, 324, 328, 329, 330 argument, argumentation, 17, 20, 21, 29, 30, 46, 51, 54, 59, 80, 81, 83, 85, 106, 110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 118, 119, 120, 124, 125, 126, 141, 148, 150, 154, 156, 161, 170, 171, 182, 193, 196, 201, 202, 214, 272, 321, 324, 339 Arimaspians, 112, 113 Aristagoras of Miletus, 44 Aristodemus, father of Procles and Eurysthenes, 96, 175, 176, 179 Aristodemus, FGrHist 104, 238, 251, 252, 253, 254, 256 and Ephorus, 238, 252, 253 Aristogiton, 298 Aristophanes, 43, 89, 90, 91, 98, 130, 131, 137, 242, 248, 252, 253, 254, 255, 256, 259, 261 Acharnians, 43, 91, 130, 252, 254 Babilonians, 242 Peace, 252, 254, 256, 261 Aristophon, interpreter, 330 Aristotle, 10, 13, 145, 150, 160, 176, 198, 202, 232, 281, 340, 352 and Ephorus, 145, 150, 160, 198, 202, 232, 352 Politics, 198, 202, 352 Prior Analytics, 150 armchair historians, 1, 5, 23, 25, 79, 159, 337, 338 Arne, 185, 186 arrangement, 8, 9, 83, 152, 153, 155, 161, 162, 163, 164, 165, 166, 167, 168, 169, 172, 315, 316, 352 Artaxerxes I, 234, 235, 244, 245 Artaxerxes II, 22, 168, 220, 274, 275, 276, 277, 278, 282, 288, 290, 291, 314, 318, 319, 320 Artaxerxes III, 314 Artemidorus, 50

Subject Index Artemis Limnatis, 206 Artemon of Cassandria, 34, 101 Artemon Periphoretus, 90, 137, 259 Asia, 11, 53, 137, 164, 172, 177, 192, 217, 218, 238, 240, 273, 283, 313, 322, 323, 324, 328, 331, 346, 350, 351, 356, 358 Asia Minor, 11, 17, 100, 139, 140, 172, 173, 174, 180, 188, 189, 191, 192, 193, 202, 213, 215, 230, 232, 246, 268, 271, 273, 274, 279, 281, 282, 283, 292, 331, 344, 345, 346, 354, 358 Aspasia, 43, 247, 250, 252, 253, 257 Athena, 237, 251, 259 Athenaeus, 8, 34, 101, 189, 219, 308, 309, 313 and Ephorus, 101, 308 Athenaeus Mechanicus, 34 Athens, Athenians, 10, 11, 18, 26, 31, 37, 41, 43, 44, 45, 73, 89, 90, 92, 95, 96, 98, 99, 100, 107, 117, 125, 136, 141, 143, 144, 168, 170, 176, 177, 183, 184, 188, 189, 203, 204, 214, 215, 216, 217, 219, 220, 223, 224, 225, 226, 227, 228, 231, 232, 233, 234, 235, 236, 237, 238, 239, 240, 242, 243, 244, 245, 246, 247, 248, 249, 250, 251, 252, 253, 255, 256, 257, 258, 259, 260, 261, 262, 264, 265, 268, 270, 272, 274, 278, 280, 281, 282, 283, 284, 285, 286, 287, 288, 289, 290, 291, 292, 301, 304, 305, 306, 311, 313, 316, 318, 319, 320, 321, 324, 327, 331, 336, 342, 343, 344, 345, 346, 347, 349, 351, 356, 357, 364 Athos mount, 125, 126, 262 atimoi, 265, 269 Atthidography, Atthidographers, 170, 246, 280 Attica, 96, 99, 183, 184, 186, 189, 217, 228, 229, 232, 233, 240, 243, 245 audience, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 84, 85, 89, 101, 113, 130, 143, 157, 160, 175, 265, 272, 332, 333 amazement of, 64, 65, 66, 67, 69, 70, 113, 157, 253 pleasure of, 68, 69, 70, 84, 85, 112, 113, 160 Aulis, 46, 185, 195, 303 aural evidence, aural information, aural tradition, 142, 145 authority, claims to, 147 autochthony, autochthonous, 105, 106, 135, 190, 312, 349 autopatheia (‘one’s own experience’), 95 autopsy, 5, 7, 19, 21, 23, 74, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 82, 85, 86, 87, 89, 90, 94, 95, 143, 153, 154, 341 Batieia, 57 bias, 56, 114, 173, 176, 216, 218, 289, 290, 293, 327, 328, 349, 363 biography, biographers, 13, 14, 18, 25, 163, 166, 223, 231, 338, 352 Bithynia, 139, 302

421

Boeotia, Boeotians, 28, 46, 53, 56, 90, 99, 128, 143, 173, 176, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 195, 196, 294, 295, 296, 299, 300, 301, 302, 303, 304, 305, 306, 312, 320 Boeotian League, 188, 299, 304 Boeotian Wars, 280, 286 Borysthenes river, 138 Bosporus, 303 Bouphia, 299 Brasidas, 244 braveness, bravery, 45, 103, 199, 239, 266, 268, 321 brutality, 29, 215, 279, 301, 317 Buris, 51, 94, 293 Bymazus, 314 Byzantium, 303, 304, 305, 313 Cadmea, 184, 185, 187, 274, 283, 284, 285, 304, 345, 347, 349 Cadmus of Miletus, 52 Cadmus the Phoenician, 143, 184, 185, 186, 187, 329 Callicratidas, 267, 279 Callietes the Stoic, 31 Callipidae, 113, 138 Callisthenes, 10, 13, 31, 33, 34, 35, 36, 41, 47, 55, 93, 94, 99, 170, 233, 239, 293, 297, 309, 311, 334, 357 Hellenika, 35, 311, 353, 357 On the Third Sacred War, 309, 357 The Deeds of Alexander, 357 Callistratus of Samos, 170, 242 canon historiographical, 33, 102, 334 stylistic, 33 Caria, Carians, 138, 174, 189 Carthage, Carthaginians, 37, 99, 155, 227, 228, 229, 230, 231, 232, 263, 290, 291, 305, 318, 320, 342, 344, 345, 346, 348 Caspian sea, 112 Cassanoros, 314 causes, historical causation, vi, 4, 5, 19, 27, 28, 29, 30, 36, 37, 41, 42, 43, 44, 46, 52, 53, 63, 91, 92, 102, 111, 126, 137, 166, 168, 169, 170, 180, 182, 183, 186, 187, 189, 193, 194, 195, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 203, 204, 205, 206, 207, 210, 212, 214, 218, 219, 220, 222, 223, 224, 226, 227, 228, 235, 236, 237, 239, 244, 246, 247, 248, 249, 250, 251, 252, 253, 254, 255, 256, 257, 258, 259, 260, 261, 262, 263, 264, 266, 267, 268, 272, 274, 275, 278, 279, 284, 294, 295, 296, 298, 300, 301, 302, 303, 304, 307, 313, 318, 320, 321, 326, 330, 339, 340, 341, 342, 343, 344, 349, 351, 353, 354, 356, 363. See also aetiology Caÿstrius, 31, 34, 55 Cebren, 174

422

Subject Index

Celts, 63, 81 Centaurs, 27 Cephisodorus, 306, 312 Cephisus river, 53 Chabrias, 45, 285, 286, 287, 288, 291 Chaeronea, battle of (338 BC), 300, 322, 323, 330 Chalcedon, Chalcedons, 302 Chalcidic peninsula, 327 Chalcis, Chalcidians, 215, 216, 305 Chaldaeans, 138, 139 Chalybe, Chalybians, 138, 139 chance, 37, 78, 86, 153, 176, 197, 215, 226, 300, 321, 350, 354 Charilaus, 115, 123, 205 Chariphemus, 127 Charon of Lampsacus, 115, 235 Kretika, 115 Cheirisophus, 277 Chersonesus, 224 Chilon, 218 Chios, Chians, 115, 123, 128, 174, 305 Choerilus of Samos, 89, 97, 137, 138 Crossing of the Boat-Bridge, 137 chorography, 50, 51 chronika, 234 chronology, 11, 34, 47, 94, 101, 120, 121, 127, 129, 130, 132, 135, 142, 155, 163, 164, 165, 166, 167, 168, 169, 170, 171, 172, 173, 175, 191, 209, 214, 234, 235, 238, 251, 287, 289, 293, 294, 308, 309, 310, 314, 317, 332, 333, 350, 358 Chrysippus, 355 Chrysopolis, 302, 303 Chyton, 283 Cicero, 13, 58, 59, 84 and Ephorus, 13, 58, 59 Cimmerians, 132, 133 Cimon, 45, 127, 217, 221, 225, 227, 235, 239, 240, 245 Cinadon, 209, 273 circuit, of the oecumene, 192, 194, 196, 198, 203, 204, 341 Cissus, 114, 120, 171 Cithaeron, 186, 187 citizenship, 200, 208, 264, 265, 266, 268, 269, 271, 281 civilization, 63, 113, 135, 146, 172, 185, 191, 217 Clazomenae, Clazomenians, 274, 281, 283 Cleandridas, 200, 259, 265, 266, 267 Clearchus of Soli, 317 Cleidemus of Athens, 73 Cleitarchus, 40, 235 Clement of Alexandria, 175, 176 Cleobulus, 218 Cleomenes I, 269 Cleon of Halicarnassus, 90, 100, 268, 271 clues, 74 Cnidus, 305

Cnidus, battle of (394 BC), 22, 96, 273, 282, 346, 356 Cocalus, 212, 213 Codrus, 184 coinage, 146, 209, 210, 211, 265, 266, 268, 324, 325 colonies, colonists, colonization, 96, 105, 106, 114, 116, 118, 119, 120, 124, 129, 137, 141, 159, 165, 170, 172, 173, 174, 179, 180, 188, 189, 190, 191, 197, 204, 205, 207, 214, 215, 216, 224, 229, 290, 305, 315, 318, 327, 340, 343, 345, 346 comedy, as a genre, 90, 98, 222, 250, 254, 255, 256, 259, 261 common messes (syssitia, andreia), 115, 122, 130, 180, 199, 200 Companions, of Philip II, 27 competence, 77, 78, 79, 80, 83, 85, 87, 142, 149, 282, 359 competition piece, 68, 70, 148 composition, see arrangement concord, 199 Conon, 45, 96, 273, 281, 282, 346, 356 Conon mythographer, and Ephorus, 178 constitution, political system, 30, 37, 72, 90, 96, 110, 111, 115, 117, 120, 121, 123, 124, 134, 141, 165, 170, 180, 181, 191, 194, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 203, 204, 218, 219, 251, 264, 266, 267, 268, 269, 271, 272, 273, 301, 302, 307, 317, 325, 341, 345, 350, 352 contemporary history, 3, 4, 5, 11, 14, 16, 19, 21, 22, 25, 27, 28, 51, 58, 67, 70, 71, 74, 77, 79, 80, 89, 94, 95, 96, 99, 149, 160, 164, 166, 170, 172, 188, 194, 211, 220, 263, 285, 293, 298, 312, 315, 321, 325, 328, 333, 336, 337, 344, 348, 355, 356, 357, 358, 359, 360, 364 Corcyra, 26, 248, 252, 256, 287, 288, 289, 290, 319, 344 Corinth, Corinthians, 46, 96, 129, 179, 195, 205, 210, 290, 303, 318, 320 Corinth, League of (338 BC), 322 Corinthian War (394–386 BC), 36, 167, 244, 274, 280, 281, 282 Coroneia, 125, 187, 312 Coroneia, battle of (353/2 BC), 312 Corycos mount, Coryceans, 190 Corycus (mount), Coryceans, 190 courage, 121, 199 Couretes, 133 cowardice, 199, 268 Cratippus, 243, 313, 356, 362 and Hellenika Oxyrhynchia, 356, 362 Cresphontes, 208 Crete, Cretans, 30, 62, 63, 72, 91, 96, 97, 100, 109, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124, 128, 129, 130, 133, 134, 141, 142, 143, 146, 173, 180, 181, 188, 189, 190, 191, 198,

Subject Index 199, 200, 201, 202, 203, 204, 213, 340, 348, 352, 355 Crisaean gulf, 46, 195, 303 Criseans, 327 Crithotes, 224 Critias, 95, 117, 202 Croesus, 17, 172, 216, 217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 225, 345, 346 Croton, 93 Ctesias, 8, 18, 31, 32, 93, 95, 103, 112, 113, 156, 220, 278 cultural history, 90, 173, 185, 186, 190, 191, 198, 335, 338, 348, 349 culture, as a need for good politics, 196, 301 Cunaxa, battle of (401 BC), 277, 279 cunning, as a military weapon, 279 Curetis, Curetes, 106, 194, 198 customs, 55, 62, 63, 67, 81, 106, 108, 113, 114, 115, 116, 118, 119, 121, 122, 132, 135, 136, 144, 145, 182, 189, 193, 197, 198, 226, 340, 349 Cyclades, 179, 216, 223, 224, 225 Cyclops, 137, 215 Cydonia, Cydonians, 134, 143, 189, 190, 191 Cyme (Aeolian), Cymaeans, 1, 4, 11, 12, 56, 57, 58, 60, 88, 127, 128, 138, 167, 174, 279, 283, 336 Cyme (Italian), Cymaeans, 132, 133, 214 Cyme, battle of (474 BC), 228, 229 Cynaetheans, 62, 63 Cynossema, battle of (411 BC), 125, 126, 262 Cyprus, 46, 167, 195, 238, 239, 240, 246, 274, 281, 303, 304 Cyprus, battle of (ca. 380 BC), 22, 282 Cypselids, 205 Cypselus, 96, 205, 271 Cyrus the Great, 17, 112, 216, 219, 220, 221, 323, 345 Cyrus the Younger, 168, 220, 271, 274, 275, 276, 277, 278, 279, 356 Cythium, 281 Cyzicus, battle of (410 BC), 262, 302 Daedalus, 212, 213 Daimachus, 31, 33, 34, 35, 36, 93, 94 Damasthes, 170 Damon of Oa, 66 Danaus, 329 Darius I, 29, 37, 137, 138, 194, 197, 216, 218, 221, 227, 244, 345 Darius II, 41, 274, 275 Datis, 225, 226 Datos, 193 Daulis, 312 decarchies, 270, 279 Decelean War, 92, 242, 243, 262, 284 deception, 51, 52, 55, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 82, 84, 153, 227, 279, 293

423

deeds and speeches, 16, 70, 72, 74, 85, 149 Degmenus, 182 Deinomenes, Deinomenids, 45, 228 Deinon, 235 deisidaimonia (‘superstition’), 227 Delian League, 37, 43, 44, 234, 235, 236, 246, 258, 261, 262, 342, 345, 349 Delian treasury, 235, 237, 244, 246, 257, 258, 259, 342 Delos, 235, 237, 258 Delphi, Delphians, 50, 62, 96, 100, 115, 123, 135, 142, 193, 202, 212, 218, 219, 220, 221, 227, 228, 269, 270, 290, 297, 308, 310, 311, 312, 322, 325, 326, 349, 351 Delphic oracle, 50, 62, 87, 111, 123, 156, 186, 220, 269, 270, 308, 311 Demades, 330 demagogy, demagogues, 66, 205, 254, 257, 272, 286 Demaratus, 269 Demeter, 136, 226 Demetrius of Scepsis, 138, 139 Demetrius the geometer, 31 democracy, 153, 180, 227, 278, 286, 345 Democritus, general of the Naxians, 103, 104 demonstration, 15, 26, 29, 30, 31, 46, 54, 57, 61, 72, 73, 76, 85, 87, 96, 97, 105, 107, 111, 112, 115, 116, 118, 121, 122, 123, 124, 127, 128, 141, 147, 148, 150, 170, 195, 197, 198, 199, 202, 246, 254, 300, 301, 307, 312, 340 Demophilus or Antiochus, father of Ephorus, 10, 11 Demophilus, son of Ephorus, 11, 35, 36, 99, 166, 175, 307, 308, 309, 310, 311, 312, 313, 314, 321, 322, 330, 346, 351, 352, 357 demos, 227, 250, 252, 254, 255, 260, 286 Demosthenes, 16, 17, 35, 280 Philippics, 23 Demosthenes, Athenian general, 195 Dercyllidas, 30, 273, 279 Dias, son of Abas, 189 Dieuchidas of Megara, 117 digressions, 63, 81, 84, 85, 153, 161, 169, 172, 173, 177, 190, 205, 217, 297, 312, 353, 356, 362, 363 Dinarchus, 240, 241 Diodorus, 2, 3, 6, 7, 8, 10, 12, 25, 26, 28, 30, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 52, 53, 54, 55, 58, 63, 88, 89, 94, 105, 126, 148, 152, 153, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159, 162, 163, 164, 165, 168, 169, 174, 175, 182, 218, 219, 230, 231, 233, 236, 237, 238, 239, 240, 241, 242, 243, 244, 250, 251, 252, 253, 254, 255, 256, 257, 258, 259, 260, 270, 275, 276, 277, 278, 280, 281, 283, 284, 285, 287, 289, 290, 291, 292, 293, 294, 295, 296, 298, 299, 300, 301, 302, 304, 305, 308, 310, 311, 312, 313, 318, 321, 322, 327, 332, 333, 334, 335, 359, 360, 361, 363, 364

424

Subject Index

Diodorus (cont.) and Anaximenes of Lampsacus, 41, 334 and Apollodorus of Athens, 43 and Callisthenes, 41, 334 and Ephorus (Chapter 1, § 4), 3, 6, 7, 10, 12, 25, 28, 30, 50, 52, 53, 54, 56, 88, 89, 152, 153, 158, 159, 162, 163, 164, 165, 168, 169, 174, 230, 231, 237, 240, 250, 251, 252, 256, 257, 258, 259, 280, 283, 284, 285, 289, 293, 298, 302, 308, 312, 313, 318, 321, 333, 334, 335, 359, 360, 361, 363, 364 and Hellenika Oxyrhynchia, 363, 364 and Herodotus, 26, 40, 334 and Isocrates, 41 and Polybius, 48, 162 and Theopompus, 26, 40, 334 and Thucydides, 40, 44, 257 and Timaeus, 41, 49, 162, 164, 165 and universal history, 49, 152, 333, 335 his annotations on vices and virtues compared with Ephorus’ and Theopompus’ evaluation of historical characters, 26, 28, 30 his historiographical aims, 26 Historical Library, 2, 3, 6, 38, 39, 41, 44, 47, 49, 152, 153, 158, 162, 163, 164, 219, 237, 284, 294, 360 Diogenes Laertius, 285 Lives of Philosophers, 285 Diomedes, 128, 210, 329, 330 Dion, 316, 317, 320 Dionysius I, 28, 102, 168, 170, 172, 221, 230, 262, 263, 287, 288, 289, 290, 291, 292, 307, 314, 315, 316, 317, 318, 319, 320, 343, 344, 345, 346, 347 Dionysius II, 28, 168, 204, 287, 288, 290, 292, 304, 307, 308, 314, 315, 316, 317, 318, 319, 320, 321, 343, 346, 347 Dionysius of Halicarnassus, 26, 27, 36, 58, 59, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 76, 78, 82, 87, 99, 101, 155, 165, 169, 332, 333, 334, 339 and Ephorus, 58, 65, 67, 68, 69, 78, 82, 87, 99, 101, 155, 169, 333, 334 and Herodotus, 334, 339 and Isaeus, 65 and Polybius, 334, 339 and Theopompus, 26, 27, 76, 99, 155, 333, 334, 339 and Thucydides, 66, 67, 68, 69, 78, 87, 101, 165, 169 On Imitation, 58 On Isaeus, 65 on the beginnings of Greek historiography, 66, 67, 68, 69 On Thucydides, 66, 78, 101, 165

To Pompeius Geminus, 26 Dionysius Scytobrachion, 34 Diphorus, nickname of Ephorus, 11, 60 diplomacy, as an alternative to military action, 188, 196, 223, 279, 280, 290, 300, 301, 304, 305, 321 direct inquiry, 19, 21, 23, 25, 71, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 82, 83, 84, 86, 100, 125, 126, 154 Diyllus, 311, 312 Dodona, 100, 134, 143, 144, 145, 183, 184, 187, 269, 270, 349 dokein-strategy, 321, 327 Dolions, 217 Dorians, 20, 96, 104, 116, 120, 124, 129, 134, 172, 173, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 179, 180, 184, 185, 189, 190, 211, 215, 216, 346, 354 Dorieus, 271 douleia (‘slavery’), 218 Dracontides’ Decree, 250, 251, 255, 257 Dryopes, 327 Duris, 19, 20, 33, 41 on Ephorus and Theopompus, 19, 20, 33 Dyme, Dymaeans, 285, 294, 302 dynamis, 210 Dyris, 131 Ecbatana, 278 education, 6, 19, 25, 26, 46, 63, 76, 158, 195, 196, 204, 300, 301, 303 effort, hardship in historical inquiry, 47, 75, 78, 80, 81, 82, 83, 85, 86, 109, 337, 338 Egesileus, 306 Egis, 179 Egypt, Egyptians, 46, 53, 97, 100, 115, 123, 132, 145, 184, 195, 202, 238, 275, 291, 303, 304, 314, 315, 316 eikos (‘likelihood’), 137, 146 Eion, 225 ekplexis (‘amazement’), 66 elders (Spartan and Cretan office), 114, 122, 202 Electra, 143 elenchos (‘refutation’), 116 Eleusinian mysteries, 286 eleutheria (‘freedom’, ‘liberty’), 200, 218 Elis, Eleians, 85, 91, 94, 96, 97, 105, 106, 107, 108, 123, 171, 178, 181, 182, 183, 194, 195, 209, 210, 211, 212, 237, 295, 299, 325 Elymi, 215 empeiria (‘experience’), 22, 76, 77, 78, 80, 95, 150, 359 enchantment, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 69, 131 encomiastic views/ writings, 12, 97, 297 Endymion, 105, 106, 194 enslavement, 179, 190, 197, 200

Subject Index Entella, 167, 263 epainos (‘praise’), 19, 26 Epaminondas, 22, 27, 45, 46, 47, 99, 163, 188, 195, 196, 209, 284, 285, 293, 294, 295, 296, 297, 298, 299, 300, 301, 302, 303, 304, 305, 306, 307, 314, 320, 321, 351, 354 epariti, 297 Epeians, 105, 108, 109, 181, 182, 194 Epeunacti, 208 Ephesus, Ephesians, 138, 140, 190, 219 Ephippus, 12 ephors, ephorate, 115, 122, 200, 202, 259, 265, 266, 270, 276, 277, 281 Ephorus and Aeschylus, 197 Alcman, 89, 122, 130, 135 Anacreon, 137 Anaximenes, 31, 33, 34, 35, 36, 69, 93, 94 Antiochus, 93, 207 Aristophanes, 130, 131, 137, 254, 255, 256, 261 Callisthenes, 31, 33, 34, 35, 36, 47, 93, 94, 95, 233 Choerilus, 137, 138 Ctesias, 93, 95, 112, 113, 156, 220, 278 Daimachus, 31, 33, 34, 35, 36, 93, 94 Eupolis, 130, 131, 137, 253, 254 Gorgias, 63 Hecataeus, 93, 95, 105, 106 Hellanicus, 37, 88, 89, 91, 93, 95, 103, 104, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112, 113, 127, 135, 156, 172, 181, 202, 232, 244, 336, 347, 358 Hellenika Oxyrhynchia (App.), 9, 93 Herodotus, 8, 44, 61, 72, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 95, 100, 101, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 112, 113, 119, 122, 130, 132, 143, 145, 146, 147, 156, 172, 176, 181, 186, 190, 196, 197, 204, 218, 220, 221, 223, 225, 230, 231, 232, 235, 244, 245, 253, 257, 312, 335, 341, 346, 347, 348, 358, 360 Hesiod, 57, 89, 108, 114, 135, 136, 137, 157 Homer, 89, 97, 109, 114, 126, 127, 128, 129, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134, 136, 137, 138, 139, 140, 141, 149, 179, 187, 190, 195, 197 Isocrates (Chapter 1, § 2 ), 1, 2, 3, 6, 8, 10, 11, 18, 19, 29, 41, 56, 58, 59, 70, 73, 84, 86, 136, 148, 163, 175, 176, 199, 245, 260, 278, 292, 296, 301, 302, 321, 322, 323, 324, 325, 326, 329, 330, 336, 337, 341, 344, 347, 349, 350, 359, 360 Philistus, 28, 89, 93, 102, 137, 213, 214, 230, 263, 317 Pindar, 98, 229

425

Plato, 29, 63, 199, 200, 301, 355 Simonides, 91, 98, 104, 232 Theopompus, 11, 15, 47, 69, 77, 78, 93, 94, 95, 154, 159, 354, 357, 358 Thucydides, 4, 5, 8, 20, 21, 24, 37, 46, 61, 62, 67, 69, 70, 72, 73, 74, 79, 86, 87, 92, 93, 101, 107, 109, 119, 125, 126, 127, 129, 135, 137, 141, 142, 146, 159, 163, 181, 186, 197, 222, 234, 245, 246, 249, 250, 252, 260, 261, 289, 293, 298, 330, 336, 337, 348, 358, 360 Tyrtaeus, 89, 98, 136 Xanthus, 89, 93, 101, 220 Xenophon, 4, 23, 92, 93, 126, 264, 274, 275, 277, 280, 281, 285, 289, 296, 300, 301, 302, 307 as a universal historian (Chapter 4), 4, 9, 16, 48, 57, 71, 74, 76, 79, 84, 86, 87, 89, 112, 152, 155, 156, 157, 159, 168, 169, 172, 176, 201, 231, 232, 244, 264, 281, 289, 291, 313, 320, 328, 360 as an exegete and historian of the historiographical genre, 84, 101, 102, 103, 333, 359, 360 criticism toward common views on historical characters, 27, 28 historians, 62, 66, 67, 69, 73, 95, 101, 105, 117, 153 local traditions, 65, 73, 95, 96, 97, 173, 178, 180, 181, 186, 187, 226 myth and the fondness for it, 61, 62, 67, 68, 69, 95, 97, 105, 113, 156, 157, 161, 173, 177, 178, 182, 193, 297, 298, 327 poets, 64, 65, 67, 73, 95 public readings by historians and epideictic rhetors, 69, 70, 157 rhetoricians, 65, 66, 67, 69, 73, 95 the deception of the audience, 67, 68, 157 the frightening and the marvellous, and the amazement they effect, 67, 113 the uncritical reception and transmission of information, 62, 65, 67, 157 too much detailed reports of the distant past, 72, 73 unreliable and false traditions, 62 his conception of time as a continuum, 71, 158 his denunciation of distortion of mythical antiquity for political purposes, 95, 96, 298, 327, 328, 355 his emphasis on the impact of rhetorical effectiveness in internal politics, 66, 253, 254, 255, 257, 272 his emphasis on the instrumental use of god/myth for political purposes, 202, 211, 265, 272, 298, 324, 325, 327, 355

426

Subject Index

Ephorus (cont.) his emphasis on the strategic importance of Western events for mainland Greece, 231, 232, 289, 290, 291, 292, 343, 344, 345, 358, 359 his inclination to disprove the theses of his predecessors, 54, 95 his insistence on truth and method, 52, 54, 55, 159 his interest in politics and pragmatic issues, 28, 30, 37, 47, 48, 178, 186, 219, 267, 268, 272, 289, 291, 295, 303, 337, 344, 356, 357, 359, 360 his practice of direct inquiry, 76, 99, 100, 126 his presumed ‘Cymocentrism’ (Chapter 1, § 6), 10, 336 his presumed ignorance on military and political matters, 2, 4, 5, 19, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 250 his presumed intellectual laziness (Chapter 1, § 7), 4, 10, 32, 35 his presumed Panhellenism, 244, 336, 337, 338, 344, 349, 350 his presumed plagiarism, 19, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 59, 93, 94 his reliability as a historian, 4, 10, 52, 53, 54, 55, 173, 174 his use of comic poets, 97, 98, 126, 130, 131, 250, 253, 254, 256, 259, 261 epic poets, 97, 98, 127, 137, 138 historians, 89, 92, 93, 94, 95, 101, 102, 103, 104, 127, 135, 137, 147 inscriptions, 90, 98, 104, 106, 106, 107, 108, 125, 126, 127, 143, 147, 149, 195, 262 linguistic material, 90, 145, 149, 189, 312 lists, 90, 120, 169, 171 local traditions, 96, 97, 99, 106, 107, 108, 121, 122, 123, 124, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 142, 279 lyric poets, 98, 127, 130 maps, 90 oral sources, 72, 89, 92, 94, 100, 112, 146, 348 poetic sources, 89, 90, 97, 98, 104, 122, 126, 127, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 137, 140, 147, 253, 254 proverbs, 90, 119, 142, 145, 147, 173, 201, 222, 226 rites and ritual formulas as evidence, 90, 112, 136, 143, 144, 145, 149, 173, 190, 348 travel narratives, 90 written sources, 72, 76, 77, 85, 89, 91, 92, 95, 99, 100, 104, 112, 348 Histories arrangement of (Chapter 3, § 2), 9, 80, 83, 151, 152, 173, 192, 263, 273, 288, 316, 321, 345, 346, 347, 350, 352, 353

chronology in (Chapter 3, § 2.3), 175 contents of (Chapter 3), 9, 345, 346 date of composition, 11, 12, 350, 351 date of publication, 352 evaluation of historical characters in, 27, 28, 30, 38, 45, 46 general proem of, 14, 15, 62, 63, 70, 82, 95, 153, 154, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159, 161, 334, 358 historical causation, 27, 28, 29, 30, 36, 37, 44, 102, 168, 257, 258, 259, 260, 261, 300, 301, 302, 303, 304, 342, 343 historical method (Chapter 2), 3, 4, 5, 9, 11, 21, 60, 153, 157, 159, 196, 261, 328, 332, 337, 360 periodization of Greek history in, 92, 93, 174, 175, 184, 220, 221, 222, 232, 235, 236, 237, 239, 238, 239, 240, 241, 242, 243, 244, 245, 246, 274, 278, 282, 284, 285, 286, 293, 296, 307, 350, 351, 352, 353, 354, 357, 358, 359 proems of (Chapter 3, § 1.1–1.3), 2, 9, 17, 61, 149, 150, 151, 162, 164, 165, 169, 192, 308, 309, 311 reasons behind the composition of, 350, 351, 352, 353, 354, 355, 356, 357, 358 secret stories in, 99 sources of, and their critical use (Chapter 2, § 2.1–2.3), 34, 62, 71, 72, 79, 80, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 147, 149, 157, 173, 174, 187, 230, 232, 254, 291, 306, 364 transmission of, 309, 351, 352 life and date, 9, 10, 11, 25, 94, 167, 350, 351 minor works On Good and Evil Things, 12 On Inventions, 12, 56, 90, 127, 171, 348, 352 On Style, 12, 128 Paradoxa in Various Countries, 12, 36 Syntagma Epichorion, 12, 56, 57, 90, 127, 128, 174 nature of his historical discourse (Chapter 2, § 3), 59, 60, 61 negative portrait of, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 9, 10, 88, 250, 335, 336, 337 on accuracy and trustworthiness of sources (Chapter 2, § 1.2), 153, 157, 158, 170, 348 autopsy and direct inquiry (Chapter 2, § 1.3), 72, 83, 84, 87, 154, 341 barbarians and the Greeks, 154, 173, 185, 190, 213, 279, 325, 326, 335, 348, 349 deeds and speeches, 70, 72, 85, 149 music as deception and enchantment (Chapter 2, § 1.1), 82, 84, 153, 157

Subject Index the difference between historical discourse and epideictic speech (Chapter 2, § 1.4), 102, 154, 359 the distinction between non-contemporary and contemporary history, and how they should be reported, 21, 70, 71, 72, 73, 79, 80, 153 the historian’s and the witness’s competence (Chapter 2, § 1.3), 80, 149 the impossibility of akribeia in noncontemporary history (Chapter 2, § 1.2), 21, 60, 70, 73, 153 the need for a critical approach to tradition, 157, 161 the need to examine all the evidence in detail (Chapter 2, § 1.5), 59, 60, 100, 142, 261 the usefulness of historical writing, 159, 160, 161 time affecting the memory of men, 72 time creating change, 72, 109, 118, 119, 130, 142, 347, 348 truth (Chapter 2, § 1.1), 54, 61, 62, 84, 118, 142, 149, 156, 157, 360 style of, 14, 15, 18, 24, 58, 59, 60, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 147, 148, 161, 162, 164, 362, 363 travels of, 4, 11, 60, 89, 100 epichoric texts, 135, 142 Epicles, 125, 126, 262 epideictic speech/ oratory/ rhetors, 30, 63, 69, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 102, 153, 154, 163, 272, 359 Epigoni, 185, 329 epinoia ton lemmaton (‘invention of arguments’), 83 Epirus, 134, 205, 290 Epistrophus, 138, 139 Epizephyrian Locris, Locrians, 203, 204, 317 equality, equals, 200, 207, 218, 268, 273 Eriphyle, 312 erudition, 2, 127, 138, 149, 338, 360 Erythrae, 190 Eteocretans, 134 ethe (‘customs’), 193, 194, 198, 219, 264, 266, 267, 272, 273 ethics, 30, 160, 336, 337, 360 Ethiopians, 131, 132 ethne (‘nations’, ‘peoples’), 173, 192, 193, 194 ethnography, 5, 20, 25, 37, 67, 90, 95, 96, 97, 103, 112, 113, 114, 131, 132, 135, 137, 138, 143, 145, 156, 164, 166, 179, 185, 186, 190, 192, 193, 194, 196, 217, 325, 335, 341, 349 ethnonyms, 90 Etruscans, 228 etymologies, 90

427

Euboea, Euboeans, 46, 125, 126, 186, 189, 195, 214, 215, 216, 262, 303, 304, 305 Eucleides, 170, 242 eudaimonia (‘happiness’, ‘prosperity’), 218 Eudoxus, 50, 138 eunomia (‘good order’, ‘good laws’), 111, 197, 349 Eupolis, 89, 90, 91, 130, 131, 137, 253, 254, 255 Demes, 91, 130, 253, 254 Euripides, 24, 178 Euripos, 46, 195, 303, 305 Europe, 64, 164, 177, 192, 193, 196, 199, 217, 218, 219, 221, 238, 313, 321, 323, 351, 357, 358 Eurybatus, 219, 220 Eurymedon, battle of (470/65 BC), 96, 127, 233, 235, 238, 239, 240, 245, 246, 345 Eurypon, 96, 110, 180 Eurypontids, 91, 110, 116, 117, 122, 214, 264, 268, 271, 272, 280 Eurysthenes, 96, 110, 111, 175, 176, 179, 180, 210 Eusebius of Caesarea, 31 Praeparatio evangelica, 31 Euthymenes, 90, 131 Evagoras of Salamis, 22, 44, 167, 246, 274, 281, 282 evidence, 27, 37, 38, 52, 60, 74, 76, 85, 86, 87, 90, 105, 106, 107, 114, 116, 118, 119, 121, 122, 124, 125, 131, 132, 133, 141, 142, 143, 144, 146, 148, 173, 187, 189, 253, 261, 262, 312 examples, 28, 29, 48, 75 excellence, 46, 195, 201, 268, 271, 272, 273, 300, 301, 321, 322, 323, 324, 325 experience, 5, 21, 22, 45, 73, 75, 76, 77, 78, 80, 82, 84, 99, 119, 126, 131, 141, 150, 164, 227, 359, 360 explanation, see aetiology, causes eyewitness, 72, 73, 75, 77, 79, 81, 100, 126 fables, 103, 133, 297, 298 falsehood, 51, 53, 55, 62, 67, 83, 85, 87, 88, 103, 105, 106, 187, 215 fate, 300, 313 ferocity, 62, 302, 317 festivals, 23, 69, 143, 176, 184, 190, 286, 298 fiction, 69, 138, 140 First Peloponnesian War (460–446 B.C.), 236, 243, 244 flattery, 64 foreigners, 110, 132, 179, 180, 181, 183, 208, 237 forgery, 5, 24, 36, 88, 107, 123, 174, 216 foundation narrative, 25, 159 foundations, founders, 50, 96, 106, 109, 110, 111, 114, 120, 127, 129, 131, 134, 136, 145, 146, 159, 171, 173, 175, 176, 179, 180, 183, 184, 186, 187, 189, 190, 191, 194, 195, 205, 206, 207, 208,

428

Subject Index

213, 214, 215, 216, 218, 224, 251, 283, 290, 297, 302, 318, 349, 353, 354 freedom, 199, 200, 218, 229, 233, 240, 244, 269, 279, 290, 322, 328 as a constitutional aim, 199, 200, 218 of Greece, 229, 233, 268, 290 of the Greeks of Asia, 240, 244, 279, 322 frightening (the), 67, 113 frugality, 197, 199 Gades, 131 Galactophagi, 136 Galatians, 54 Gelon, 45, 227, 228, 229, 230, 231, 263, 291, 342, 344, 345 genea (‘generation’), 171 genealogical narrative, genealogists, 66, 68, 159, 336, 358 genealogy, genealogical computation, genealogical markers, 71, 88, 117, 120, 169, 170, 171, 172, 175, 184 general history, 17, 92, 99, 170, 177, 189, 191, 335 generation, 66, 105, 106, 109, 114, 116, 117, 120, 127, 128, 137, 171, 175, 176, 179, 180, 185, 206, 209, 214, 244 geography, 5, 25, 51, 54, 67, 90, 95, 96, 97, 132, 142, 146, 149, 162, 163, 164, 165, 166, 168, 169, 173, 179, 186, 190, 191, 192, 193, 195, 196, 199, 204, 285, 303, 305, 325, 332, 341, 344, 345, 349, 350 gerousia, 202 Giants, 137, 215, 326 gnome (‘thought’, ‘judgment’), 54, 141, 142 goeteia (‘enchantment’, ‘magic’), 64, 65, 69, 82 goods, fruition/distribution of, 199, 200, 218 Gorgias, 63, 82 Gortyna, Gortynians, 114, 118, 180 greed, 197, 199, 200, 201, 267 Greek Wars, 92, 221, 236, 243, 245, 273, 274, 279, 280, 285, 345, 346 Grillus, son of Xenophon, 306 Gylippus, 265, 266, 267 Haemon, 106, 181, 183 Haliartus, battle of (395 BC), 271, 273, 280 Halizones, Halizonians, 138, 139, 140 Hannibal, 155 Hanno, 90 Periplus, 90 Harmodius, 298 Harmonia, 143, 184 harmony, 199, 200, 328 Harpocration, 16, 17, 70, 72, 73, 174, 193, 219, 221, 240, 241, 285, 299 and Ephorus, 17 Lexicon of the Ten Orators, 16, 219

Harpyiae, 136 hatred, 110, 199, 236, 280, 284 hearing, 68, 74, 75, 159, 160 Hecataeus, 52, 93, 95, 105, 106, 135, 140, 196 hegemony, 7, 8, 17, 18, 29, 46, 173, 176, 177, 187, 195, 196, 201, 203, 204, 209, 210, 211, 212, 217, 244, 245, 249, 259, 268, 292, 293, 296, 297, 299, 301, 303, 304, 307, 316, 321, 328, 336, 341, 342, 346, 347, 351, 353, 354, 355, 357, 358 of Athens, 18, 176, 203, 224, 225, 234, 235, 237, 240, 245, 258, 259, 261, 264, 287, 288, 321, 336, 342, 345, 346, 347, 357 of Crete, 18, 114, 118, 119, 142, 191, 201 of Dionysius I, 263 of Dionysius II, 320 of Jason of Pherae, 42 of Macedon, 28, 307, 316, 354, 355, 356, 357 of Miletus, 219 of Persia, 217, 282 of Pheidon of Argos, 209, 210, 211, 268, 355 of Philip II, 18, 27, 28, 161, 177, 268, 316, 321, 322, 337, 347, 353, 354, 355, 356, 357, 358 of Rome, 203, 333, 339, 342, 343, 350, 353, 354, 358 of Sparta, 18, 28, 37, 117, 119, 173, 176, 181, 183, 203, 205, 208, 209, 210, 221, 242, 261, 262, 263, 264, 265, 268, 269, 273, 280, 282, 283, 284, 285, 293, 294, 295, 296, 307, 321, 336, 343, 345, 346, 347, 351, 353, 354, 355, 356, 357 of Thebes, 28, 45, 46, 173, 176, 187, 188, 195, 196, 203, 263, 282, 285, 293, 294, 296, 300, 301, 303, 306, 307, 321, 336, 345, 346, 347, 351, 357 Helen, 132, 312, 329 Helice, 51, 94, 293 Helicon, 56 Hellanicus of Lesbos, 31, 36, 37, 52, 88, 89, 91, 93, 95, 103, 104, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112, 113, 127, 135, 138, 140, 143, 156, 172, 176, 181, 185, 202, 220, 232, 244, 336, 347, 358 and universal history, 336 Carneonikae, 172 Priestesses of Hera at Argos, 172 Troika, 176 Hellenika Oxyrhynchia, 7, 9, 32, 34, 36, 93, 165, 242, 243, 310, 356, 362, 363, 364, 365 Hellenika, as a historiographical genre, 33, 163, 168, 242, 311, 356, 357, 358 Hellenistic exegesis, exegetes and Ephorus, 87, 101, 149, 192 and pre-Thucydidean historians, 101 and Thucydides, 87, 101

Subject Index Hellenistic grammarians and philologists, 32, 34, 35, 36 Hellenistic historians, 25 Hellenocentrism, 289, 336, 337, 338 Hellespont, 46, 195, 234, 303, 304 Helos, 179 helots, 179, 190, 207, 208, 295 Heracles, 137, 157, 170, 174, 175, 176, 177, 187, 193, 209, 210, 211, 264, 265, 268, 271, 272, 273, 321, 323, 324, 325, 326, 327, 328, 331, 350, 351, 355, 357 Heraclidae, 157, 158, 170, 173, 174, 176, 177, 178, 179, 181, 182, 185, 209, 212, 271, 327. See also Return of the Heraclidae Heraclides, 235 Heraclitus, 75, 76 Hermes, 190 Hermippus, 13, 14 On Isocrates, 13 On Isocrates’ Disciples, 13 Hermocrates, 317 Hermogenes, 252 Herodotus, 1, 2, 7, 8, 17, 20, 26, 31, 32, 36, 40, 44, 52, 61, 63, 69, 72, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 95, 96, 97, 98, 100, 101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 110, 112, 113, 116, 117, 119, 122, 123, 128, 130, 132, 133, 135, 138, 140, 143, 145, 146, 147, 148, 149, 156, 172, 174, 176, 181, 186, 190, 193, 196, 197, 204, 209, 218, 220, 221, 223, 224, 225, 226, 227, 228, 230, 231, 232, 233, 234, 235, 244, 245, 253, 257, 312, 325, 334, 335, 338, 339, 341, 346, 347, 358, 360 and epic poetry, 97 and Homer, 97, 132 and local traditions, 96 and lyric poetry, 98 and public readings, 69 and universal history, 334, 335, 338, 339 creating paradigms of moral type, 26 interest in proverbs, 145, 146, 147 interest in rites, 143, 145 use of inscriptions, 107 use of poetic sources, 98 use of rhetorical means to reconstruct the past, 20 Hesiod, 29, 56, 57, 89, 97, 108, 112, 114, 127, 134, 135, 136, 137, 138, 146, 197 Circuit of the Earth, 136 Hetoemaridas, 231 Hieron, 228, 229, 230 Hieronymus, lieutenant of Conon, 273, 281, 362

429

Himera, battle of (480 BC), 96, 227, 228, 229, 230, 231, 232, 263, 291, 342, 344, 347 Himera, battle of (409/8 BC), 263 Hipparchus, son of Pisistratus, 107, 298 Hippias of Elis, 69, 90, 107, 171, 172 Hippias, son of Pisistratus, 107 historiae continuae/perpetuae, 163, 356 historians of Alexander the Great, 113 historiography, as a genre, 1, 2, 15, 52, 63, 64, 66, 67, 69, 73, 84, 87, 89, 101, 103, 149, 152, 154, 204, 337, 359, 360, 361 birth of, 80, 84, 149 tradition of, 67, 101, 102, 103 types of, 89, 101, 159, 160 Homer, 12, 27, 29, 56, 57, 73, 75, 76, 89, 97, 108, 109, 112, 114, 115, 123, 126, 127, 128, 129, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134, 136, 137, 138, 139, 140, 141, 149, 171, 179, 187, 189, 190, 195, 197, 215, 221, 269 Catalogue of Ships, 97, 109, 126, 128, 129, 130, 138, 139, 140, 179, 187, 195 Iliad, 97, 128, 129 Odyssey, 97, 129, 132 homoioi (‘equals’), 200 homonoia (‘harmony’), 200 Hya, 186 Hyantes, 185, 186 hybris, 209 Hyllus, 170, 176, 177 Hymettus mount, 186 Hyperboreans, 112, 113 Iapygia, 314, 318 Iberia, Iberians, 54, 55, 81, 137, 155, 213, 342 Ida mount, 64, 189 Idaean Dactyli, 64, 198 idealization, 3, 29, 200, 248, 260, 261, 272, 273, 328, 330, 336 identity, of peoples, 105, 135, 139, 145, 173, 184, 185, 190, 195, 198, 264, 284 idiopragmosyne (‘own business’), 355 Idomeneus, 129 Illyria, Illyrians, 290 Imbros, 179 imitation, 19, 180, 204 indirect inquiry, 21 individual histories, 340 inscriptions, 69, 90, 98, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 125, 126, 127, 143, 147, 149, 195, 228, 259, 305 institutions, 98, 114, 120, 121, 122, 124, 198, 200, 201, 202, 264, 341

430

Subject Index

integration, politics of, 178, 179, 180, 181, 208, 348, 349 Ionia, Ionians, 131, 138, 146, 184, 189, 190, 191, 192, 215, 216, 224, 232, 233, 244, 283, 341 Ionian Revolt, 44, 217, 219 Ionian Sea, 168, 288, 291, 294, 318, 344 Ionian War, 221, 262, 276 Ionic literature, 131, 341 Iphicrates, 45, 287, 288, 289, 291, 292, 344 Iphitus, 183, 211 irony, 57, 58 Isaeus, 65 Isocrates, 1, 2, 3, 6, 8, 10, 11, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 29, 31, 40, 41, 47, 56, 58, 59, 60, 65, 69, 70, 73, 74, 84, 86, 136, 148, 155, 163, 175, 199, 202, 230, 245, 278, 292, 296, 301, 302, 320, 321, 322, 323, 324, 325, 326, 327, 328, 329, 330, 333, 336, 337, 341, 344, 347, 349, 350, 359, 360 Against the Sophists, 65 and historiography, 2, 6, 8, 10, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 29, 31, 40, 58, 73, 136, 155, 163, 333 Panathenaicus, 328, 330 Philippus, 321, 322, 323, 324, 325, 327, 328 Isodices, 227 isotimia (‘equality’), 268, 273 Issos, 277 Ister, 112 Istrus, city of Iapygia, 314, 318 Italy, Italians, Italiots, 46, 132, 155, 195, 205, 208, 230, 303, 320, 344 Ithome mount, 136 Ithome, incident of (ca. 462 BC), 244 Jason of Pherae, 42, 297, 298 jealousy, 199, 209, 237, 260 Josephus, 50, 54, 55, 88, 103, 111 Against Apion, 103 and Ephorus, 50, 54, 55, 111 judicial oratory/ rhetoric, 23, 38, 65, 86 justice, 102, 134, 136, 326 Justin, 49, 236, 237, 242, 243, 276 kata genos, 162, 163, 164, 165, 169, 363 King’s Peace (386 BC), 273, 274, 280, 282, 283, 284, 306, 343, 345, 346, 356 kinship, 50, 94, 96, 105, 106, 107, 108, 123, 124, 159, 181, 195, 198, 229 klarotai (Cretan slaves), 190 knights (Spartan and Cretan office), 114, 115, 122 Knossos, Knossians, 114, 116, 117, 118, 201 koinai praxeis (‘world events’), 48, 155, 162, 164 kosmoi (Cretan office), 115, 122, 202, 204

kosmopolis (Locrian office), 204 Lacedaemonians, see Sparta Laconia, 96, 114, 116, 128, 137, 174, 178, 179, 180, 181, 190, 203, 206, 207, 264, 295, 354 Lacratidas, 100, 267, 273, 280, 281 Lade, battle of (494 BC), 224 Laestrygones, 27, 137 Lamian women, 66 land, division/distribution of, 175, 178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 189, 207, 208, 209 Las, 179 Lasus, 98 lawgivers, legislators, 63, 110, 111, 114, 115, 116, 120, 121, 134, 199, 202, 203, 204, 216, 217, 218, 271, 296, 345 lawlessness, 62, 311, 317, 326, 327 laws, legislation, 90, 96, 97, 110, 111, 112, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124, 128, 134, 137, 141, 146, 165, 166, 170, 180, 181, 191, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 203, 204, 251, 264, 265, 266, 268, 273, 280, 281, 340, 348, 349 leadership, political power, 27, 28, 42, 45, 46, 120, 177, 185, 186, 187, 209, 210, 211, 218, 219, 227, 240, 244, 245, 248, 258, 265, 268, 270, 285, 286, 291, 297, 301, 304, 306, 307, 312, 316, 321, 330, 355, 358 legends, 64 leipandria (‘paucity of men’), see oliganthropia Leleges, 184, 185, 191 Lemnos, 179, 181, 224 Leucas, battle of (375 BC), 287, 288, 289, 291 Leuctra, battle of (371 BC), 4, 10, 11, 22, 93, 117, 173, 174, 175, 187, 196, 203, 264, 282, 283, 285, 292, 293, 294, 295, 296, 297, 298, 300, 305, 306, 307, 319, 320, 343, 352, 353, 354 lexicography, lexicographers, 16 lexis (‘style’), 83 Libya, Libyans, 131, 270, 271 lies, 51 lifestyle, 28, 29, 37, 62, 134, 135, 136, 193, 194, 196, 197, 199, 204, 205, 218, 219, 301, 349 Ligurians, 81 lists archontal list, 171 local lists, 171 of eponymous magistrates, 169 of peoples, 192, 193, 196 of the Seven Sages, 218 Olympic lists, 90, 171 royal lists, 90, 120, 171, 175 literary historians, 13, 18 local exegetes, 73, 95 local history, local historians, 12, 57, 62, 66, 69, 99, 109, 112, 130, 145, 147, 172, 264, 286, 336, 337, 358

Subject Index local patriotism, 1, 55, 56 local traditions, 65, 66, 91, 96, 97, 100, 107, 108, 112, 121, 122, 123, 124, 128, 131, 132, 133, 134, 143, 146, 173, 175, 178, 180, 186, 187, 218, 226, 279, 344 logographers, 21, 62, 67, 68, 74, 84, 95, 101, 109 Longinus, 31 Lucanians, 318 Lucian, 64, 69 luxury, 102, 197, 199, 200, 219 Lycaon, 135 Lyctus, Lyctians, 114, 116, 118, 120, 124, 170, 180, 340 Lycurgus, 37, 90, 96, 110, 111, 112, 114, 115, 116, 117, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124, 128, 133, 143, 170, 171, 174, 180, 181, 183, 198, 200, 201, 202, 203, 204, 205, 208, 211, 263, 264, 265, 266, 271, 280, 281, 295, 296, 343, 345, 351, 354 Lydia, Lydians, 138, 193, 216, 217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 345, 349 Lysagoras, 223 Lysander, 27, 66, 90, 93, 96, 99, 100, 137, 167, 202, 205, 209, 211, 221, 242, 257, 262, 264, 265, 266, 267, 268, 269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274, 277, 279, 280, 281, 284, 296, 298, 324, 346, 355 On the Constitution, 90, 100, 257, 267, 268, 269, 271, 272, 273, 280, 324 Lysias, 240, 241, 290 Olympicus, 290 Lysimachus of Alexandria, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36 On Ephorus’ Theft, 32 Paradoxa of Thebes, 32, 36 Return Journeys, 32 Lyssus, 290 Macedon, Macedonians, 11, 27, 28, 46, 163, 195, 300, 303, 304, 305, 307, 313, 314, 315, 316, 321, 322, 324, 325, 327, 330, 331, 347, 351, 354, 355, 356, 357 Macynia, 109 Maeander river, 53 magic, magicians, 64, 65, 66, 69, 82 magnanimity, 299 Maior, 31 Mantinea, battle of (362 BC), 4, 22, 39, 46, 117, 176, 196, 282, 285, 294, 296, 300, 301, 306, 307, 314, 315, 316, 346, 351, 353 Mantinea, Mantineans, 274, 283 maps, 90, 193, 305 Marathon, battle of (490 BC), 217, 219, 222, 223, 224, 225, 227 martyria (‘evidence’, ‘proofs’), 38 marvellous (the), 51, 63, 67, 112, 113

431

Massagetae, 112 Mausolus, 31 Maximus, 31, 34 Medes, 112 Medism, Medizers, 223, 224, 225, 234 Mediterranean Sea, 246, 281, 305 Megalopolis, 353 megalopsychia (‘greatness of soul’), 321 Megara Hyblaea, 214, 216 Megara, Megarians, 215, 256 Megarian Decree, 237, 247, 248, 249, 251, 252, 253, 254, 255, 256, 257, 258, 259, 260, 261, 262, 342 Melanthus, 183, 184 Melissa, 275 Melitaea, Melitaei, 312 Melos, 180 Menander, 32 Menedemus of Pyrrha, 351, 355 Menelaus, 329 Messene, 136, 137, 173, 176, 177, 178, 183, 205, 206, 297, 302, 354 Messenia, Messenians, 178, 179, 183, 205, 206, 207, 208, 210, 212, 236, 264, 295, 297, 298, 302, 319 Messenian Wars First Messenian War, 98, 136, 170, 205, 207 Third Messenian War, 212, 236, 237 Metachoion, 312 Metapontus, 93 methodology, historical method, 3, 4, 5, 8, 9, 11, 13, 15, 17, 19, 20, 21, 23, 28, 36, 38, 48, 52, 53, 54, 59, 61, 62, 69, 70, 76, 81, 86, 87, 92, 96, 98, 101, 104, 106, 112, 113, 114, 117, 119, 120, 124, 125, 126, 132, 133, 134, 141, 142, 147, 149, 150, 152, 153, 154, 157, 159, 196, 261, 328 metonomasies, 90 Midas, 66 migration, 50, 166, 173, 185 Miletus, Milesians, 146, 189, 191, 197, 219 military history, 160, 348 Miltiades, 45, 96, 221, 222, 223, 224, 225, 226, 227, 234 Miltiades the Elder, 224 mimesis (‘imitation’), 33, 327 Mindarus, 125, 262 Minos, 18, 115, 119, 121, 122, 123, 128, 133, 134, 191, 198, 201, 202, 212, 213, 215, 271, 296 Minyans, 128, 174, 179, 181, 187 Mison, 217, 218 misotyrannos (‘against tyrants’), 217, 284 mixed peoples, 135, 179, 186, 187, 188, 192, 193, 213, 220, 349 Mnasippus, 288 moderation, 42, 45, 180, 199, 203, 297

432

Subject Index

Molycreia, 109 money, love of, 266 monographs, 35, 163, 309, 311, 312, 336 moralism, moral judgement, 1, 2, 5, 6, 8, 19, 25, 26, 28, 29, 30, 47, 48, 63, 88, 153, 158, 159, 160, 161, 218, 266, 267, 273, 307, 322, 323, 326, 332, 335, 336, 337, 338, 360, 363 Morgetians, 213 mothax, 267, 268 mousike (‘music’), 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 70, 82, 153, 355 Muses, 153 music, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 70, 84, 121, 254 Mycalessus of Caria, 189 Mycenae, 141 Mygdon, 64 Mykonos, 225, 226 Myonnesians, 190 Myrina, 56, 57, 138 Myronides, 45 Mysia, 138 myth, mythical accounts, mythology, 4, 5, 23, 47, 48, 52, 61, 62, 66, 67, 68, 69, 71, 95, 97, 103, 105, 112, 113, 133, 134, 146, 155, 156, 157, 158, 161, 163, 164, 173, 174, 177, 178, 182, 186, 194, 211, 246, 297, 298, 325, 327, 328, 334, 336, 349 myths, fondness for/love of, lovers of, 61, 67, 68, 103, 112, 113, 156, 157, 161, 193 Naiads, 66 nations, peoples, 29, 37, 46, 55, 56, 62, 63, 95, 97, 105, 106, 108, 112, 113, 117, 132, 135, 136, 137, 138, 144, 146, 156, 160, 163, 166, 173, 178, 179, 180, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 190, 191, 192, 193, 194, 195, 196, 197, 201, 204, 213, 215, 220, 238, 254, 255, 260, 269, 295, 305, 335, 341, 348, 349, 359 natural ability, in historical inquiry, 80, 82, 83 Naxos (in Sicily), 214, 216 Naxos (in the Cyclades), Naxians, 103, 104, 216, 224, 232, 235 Naxos, battle of (376 BC), 285, 286, 288 necessity (historical necessity), 248, 249, 252, 263 Neleus, 191 Nemea, 294, 298 Nemea, battle of (394 BC), 280 Nemea, battle of (367 BC), 299 neoteroi (‘more recent writers/speakers’), 73, 95 Nepos, 49, 223, 224, 227, 270, 301 Life of Miltiades, 223 Life of Pelopidas, 301 Nestor, 269 New Pleuron, 108 Nicagoras the sophist, 31, 32, 33, 59 Nicias, 26

Nicolaus of Damascus and Ephorus, 25, 177, 178, 197 Nile, 29, 52, 53, 54, 193, 221 Nomads, 29, 136, 137, 193, 196, 197, 199, 200, 201, 218, 349 non-contemporary history, 1, 3, 4, 5, 14, 16, 17, 19, 20, 21, 25, 30, 31, 35, 36, 38, 48, 50, 51, 58, 59, 60, 67, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 79, 80, 88, 90, 95, 96, 98, 103, 105, 106, 126, 131, 135, 136, 137, 141, 143, 148, 149, 154, 160, 165, 170, 173, 174, 177, 184, 188, 193, 210, 217, 218, 219, 224, 264, 298, 312, 328, 333, 337, 338, 348, 355, 356, 357, 358, 359, 360 Odios, 138, 139 Odysseus, 1, 75, 128, 129, 130, 134, 160, 215 oikonomia (‘arrangement’, ‘treatment’), 83, 152, 163, 165, 168, 353 Oineus, 329 Olenus, 108 oliganthropia (‘scantiness of men’), 179, 207, 284, 296 Olympia, 69, 106, 171, 172, 182, 183, 209, 210, 211, 298 Olympian (the), nickname of Pericles, 130, 254, 255 Olympias, wife of Philip II, 330 Olympic games/ festivals, 10, 69, 171, 172, 183, 209, 210, 211, 214, 298 Olynthos, Olynthians, 305 omotes (‘crudeness’), 214 Omphale, 177 Oneum, 299 Onomarchus, 312 opsis (‘seeing’), 75, 141, 142 oracle, oracular responses, 90, 100, 110, 111, 132, 144, 145, 156, 176, 181, 183, 187, 200, 202, 220, 265, 266, 269, 270, 271, 272, 296, 312, 349. See also Delphic oracle oral sources, 5, 72, 78, 79, 85, 89, 92, 94, 95, 99, 100, 112, 146, 348 oratory, orators, 23, 24, 65, 66, 73, 81, 82, 84, 153, 233, 245, 254, 255, 258 Orchomenus, Orchomenians, 128, 186, 187, 188, 298, 299, 301, 302 Orestes, 185, 189 Orpheus, 64, 65 Orthagoras, the fortune-teller, 93, 318 Orthagorids, 205 Oxylus, 105, 106, 107, 178, 181, 182, 183, 212 Pactye, 224 Paeonians, 314 paideia (‘education’), 30, 65, 196, 218, 219, 301, 336, 337, 338, 349

Subject Index palaiai mythologiai (‘ancient mythical stories’), 48, 71, 158, 174, 334 Palephatus, 133 Pallene, 139, 326 pamphlet, pamphleteers, 32, 250 Pamphylia, 190, 239 Panactus, 186, 187 Panhellenic alliance, 231, 233, 236, 237, 244, 245, 342 Panhellenism, 221, 230, 244, 245, 279, 292, 302, 330, 336, 337, 338, 344, 349, 350 Paphlagonia, Paphlagonians, 138, 274, 275 paradeigma, paradeigmata (‘paradigm’, ‘paradigms’), 29 paradigms, 19, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 46, 47, 48, 159, 160, 161, 197, 249, 290, 293, 323, 326, 328, 359 Paris, 132 Parnassians, 135, 312, 349 Parnassus mount, 186, 188 Paros, Parians, 96, 221, 222, 223, 224, 225, 226, 290 Parthenians, 207, 208, 209 partial histories, particular histories, 340, 342, 347 paucity of men, 179, 205, 206, 207, 284, 297 Pausanias, the regent, 45, 234, 245, 267, 271 Pausanias II, 90, 110, 111, 112, 266, 265, 266, 281 Against the Laws of Lycurgus, 90, 110, 111, 112, 265, 266, 280, 281 Pausanias, the writer, 299, 300, 301 and Ephorus, 299, 300 Periegesis, 299 Peace of Callias, 95, 238, 240, 243, 246, 283, 345, 346 Peace of Philocrates (346 BC), 300 Peace of Susa (367 BC), 296, 303, 319, 320 Pedaritos, 362 Peisander, 26 peitho (‘persuasion’), 66 Pelasgians, 100, 134, 135, 145, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 205, 217 Pelasgos, 135 Pelopidas, 45, 295, 301 Peloponnese, Peloponnesians, 100, 105, 135, 137, 144, 173, 174, 176, 177, 178, 181, 182, 183, 185, 186, 205, 209, 210, 211, 212, 219, 228, 229, 230, 240, 243, 245, 255, 256, 257, 293, 294, 295, 296, 297, 298, 302, 303, 327, 329, 337, 338, 354 Peloponnesiaka, 241, 242, 243, 274 Peloponnesian League, 236, 247, 255, 264, 342 Peloponnesian War, vi, 4, 5, 19, 36, 43, 44, 92, 126, 131, 170, 221, 222, 235, 236, 240, 241, 243, 245, 246, 247, 249, 250, 253, 342, 358 Pelops, Pelopids, 177, 182, 329 Penelope, 128, 134

433

Pentekontaetia, as a historical period, 92, 163, 222, 243 Periander, 205, 218, 290 Pericles, 4, 23, 26, 37, 43, 44, 45, 46, 66, 90, 91, 97, 130, 131, 137, 205, 216, 226, 227, 235, 237, 238, 246, 247, 248, 249, 250, 251, 252, 253, 254, 255, 256, 257, 258, 259, 260, 261, 262, 272, 301, 330, 331, 342, 355 Perinthus, siege of (341/0 BC), 11, 38, 308, 310, 311, 313, 314 its significance in Ephorus’/Demophilus’ view, 313, 314 periodization, 92, 93, 174, 175, 220, 221, 222, 232, 235, 236, 237, 243, 244, 245, 285, 345, 346, 357, 361 periodos (‘circuit’), 193 perioikoi, 174, 179, 180, 208, 264, 265, 269, 284, 295, 296, 343 Peritheides, 189 Perithoos, 189 Perseids, 177 Persia, Persians, 17, 22, 26, 27, 37, 44, 95, 96, 99, 103, 104, 112, 168, 172, 194, 197, 216, 217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 223, 224, 226, 228, 229, 230, 231, 232, 233, 234, 235, 236, 237, 238, 239, 240, 243, 244, 245, 246, 268, 271, 274, 275, 276, 277, 278, 279, 280, 281, 282, 283, 288, 289, 290, 291, 292, 303, 304, 311, 313, 314, 316, 319, 320, 321, 322, 323, 324, 343, 344, 345, 346, 347, 349, 350, 351, 354, 356, 357, 358 Persian Wars, 26, 45, 90, 92, 105, 108, 137, 173, 216, 217, 219, 221, 222, 225, 237, 243, 245, 259, 273, 274, 279, 280, 322, 323, 345, 346, 347, 349, 350, 351, 356, 357, 358 Persika, as a historiographical genre, 168, 235, 311 persuasion, 3, 53, 54, 66, 130, 215, 253, 254, 255, 257, 260, 265, 272, 273, 324 phaneron (‘apparent’, ‘visible’), 27, 36 Phanodemus, 246 Pharea, 179 Pharnabazus, 32, 41, 59, 270, 274, 275, 276, 277, 278, 279, 282, 291 Pharus, 290 Pheidias, 247, 250, 251, 252, 253, 254, 255, 256, 259, 260, 261 Pheidon of Argos, 93, 96, 146, 170, 171, 183, 205, 209, 210, 211, 212, 214, 237, 268, 298, 325, 355 Pherae, 312 Pherecles/Pherecrates of Apollonia, 100, 269, 270 Pherecydes of Athens, 135 Pherecydes of Syros, 32 Pherendates, 233

434

Subject Index

Philip II, 11, 18, 27, 28, 48, 73, 161, 164, 177, 193, 203, 211, 212, 268, 282, 300, 307, 308, 311, 313, 314, 315, 316, 321, 322, 323, 324, 325, 326, 327, 328, 329, 330, 331, 337, 344, 346, 347, 351, 352, 353, 354, 355, 357, 358 Philippi, 193 Philistus, 28, 37, 89, 93, 102, 137, 171, 172, 213, 214, 230, 232, 263, 292, 316, 317 his argumentative effectiveness, 28, 37, 102 Sikelika, 37, 213 philochrematia (‘love of money’), 266, 267, 268 philology, philological examination, 34, 35, 36, 97, 140, 147 Philomelus, 308, 311 Philonomus, 179 philosophy, philosophers, 1, 13, 31, 52, 75, 76, 117, 150, 249, 301, 327, 337, 340, 355 Philoxenus, 127 Phineus, 136 Phlegra, 326 Phlegyans, 312, 326, 327 Phlogidas, 93, 265, 266 Phocis, Phocians, 53, 91, 186, 193, 212, 215, 308, 310, 311, 312, 313, 326, 327 Phoenicia, Phoenicians, 90, 131, 184, 185, 187, 192, 215, 229, 230, 238, 349 Phoibia, 299, 301 Photius, 10, 14, 15, 17, 19, 95, 154, 190 and Ephorus, 10, 15 and Theopompus, 10, 15 Bibliotheke, 10, 14 Phrygia, 64, 270, 274, 275 Phrynichus, 26 Phthia, 182 Phylarchus, 170 Pillars of Heracles, 323, 325 Pindar, 65, 98, 187, 228, 229 Pythian 1, 228 piracy, pirates, 214, 215 Piraeus, 242 Pirecme, 182 Pisatis, Pisatans, 182, 209, 212, 298 Pisistratid age, 224 Pittacus, 218 plagiarism, 19, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 59, 93 Plataea, 23, 186, 188 Plataea, battle of (479 BC), 228, 231 Plato, 10, 13, 29, 55, 63, 69, 75, 76, 133, 198, 199, 200, 202, 243, 301, 324 Laws, 198, 199 Phaedrus, 13 Platonic school, 355 pleasure, 19, 27, 68, 75, 112, 113, 161, 340 Pleistoanax, 259, 266

pleonexia (‘greed’), 200 Pliny, 139 Plutarch, 11, 23, 24, 27, 36, 44, 49, 102, 105, 148, 178, 180, 202, 231, 233, 234, 235, 238, 247, 248, 252, 256, 259, 260, 261, 265, 266, 267, 269, 270, 271, 281, 286, 292, 293, 294, 295, 296, 301, 317, 351, 355 and Ephorus, 23, 24, 102, 260, 261 De Herodoti malignitate, 105 Life of Lycurgus, 202 Life of Lysander, 27 Life of Pelopidas, 295, 301 Life of Pericles, 238, 247, 252, 256, 259, 260 On the Self-Contradictions of the Stoics, 355 poetry, poets, 21, 62, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 73, 74, 76, 84, 85, 89, 90, 95, 96, 97, 98, 101, 104, 108, 110, 115, 121, 122, 126, 127, 129, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 137, 138, 139, 140, 142, 147, 157, 215, 227, 250, 253, 323 and deception, 64 and falsehood, 64 and music, 64, 65, 66 and truth, 64 comic poets, 97, 98, 126, 238, 247, 248, 250, 253, 254 epic poets, 97, 98, 127, 138, 146 lyric poets, 98, 127, 130 tragic poets, 112 political history, 26, 28, 30, 159, 160, 232, 335, 338, 341, 348 political oratory, 23, 24, 65 Pollio On Herodotus’ Theft, 32 On the Theft of Ctesias, 32 Polus of Acragas, 69 Polyaenus, 286 Polybius, 1, 4, 5, 8, 9, 14, 19, 21, 22, 23, 25, 30, 36, 37, 40, 48, 50, 51, 55, 57, 58, 62, 63, 64, 67, 75, 76, 77, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 87, 101, 148, 149, 152, 154, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162, 168, 169, 172, 173, 178, 191, 193, 198, 202, 203, 204, 230, 232, 282, 284, 296, 306, 307, 332, 333, 334, 338, 339, 340, 341, 342, 343, 345, 347, 348, 350, 352, 353, 354, 356, 358, 359, 360 and Callisthenes, 353 and Ephorus, 4, 5, 9, 14, 21, 22, 23, 25, 37, 50, 51, 55, 57, 63, 76, 77, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 87, 101, 148, 149, 156, 159, 160, 161, 169, 172, 173, 178, 193, 198, 202, 204, 230, 232, 296, 306, 332, 333, 338, 339, 340, 341, 343, 345, 347, 348, 350, 352, 353, 354, 356, 358, 359, 360

Subject Index and Herodotus, 228, 339 and Theopompus, 21, 22, 23, 76, 77, 339, 352, 353 and Timaeus, 21, 22, 23, 75, 76, 80, 81, 82, 83, 154, 161, 169, 230, 339 and universal history, 79, 148, 152, 155, 156, 160, 168, 232, 332, 333, 334, 338, 339, 340, 341, 342, 345, 348, 350, 353, 354, 358, 359 Polydectes, 115, 122, 123 Polydorus, 42, 297 Pontus Euxine, 112 Porphyry, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 55, 93, 94 and Greek historians, 31 Lesson in Philology, 31 Posidonius, 50 post-Thucydidean historians, 1, 3, 5, 7, 19, 20, 21, 36, 58, 165, 341, 356, 357, 359, 360 Potidaea, 248, 252, 256, 259 pragmatic history, 178, 186, 219 praise and blame, 2, 6, 19, 25, 26, 27, 28, 30, 40, 41, 45, 46, 47, 48, 62, 65, 81, 85, 102, 103, 157, 159, 160, 176, 195, 225, 248, 260, 268, 280, 289, 301, 302, 317, 321, 323, 325, 326, 328, 329, 331, 336, 338, 349 preparation, in historical inquiry, 80, 82, 83, 87, 120, 149, 154 pretext, 187, 208, 223, 249, 279, 288, 289, 298 pre-Thucydidean historians, 66, 68, 69, 97, 101, 165, 169 Prienians, 189, 190 prize for valour, 233, 234 Procles, 96, 110, 111, 114, 116, 117, 120, 170, 171, 175, 176, 179, 180, 205, 206, 210 Prodicus of Ceos, 69 proems, 2, 9, 14, 15, 17, 47, 61, 62, 63, 67, 70, 82, 95, 101, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159, 161, 162, 164, 165, 169, 192, 284, 294, 309, 322, 333, 334, 339, 358 proofs, 47, 150, 190, 254, 298 property, 197, 199, 200, 266, 267, 308, 311 Propontis, 46, 195, 303, 304 Propylaia, 259, 304 Proschium, 109 Prosenes the Peripatetic, 31 prosperity, 90, 209, 218, 237, 238 proverbs, 90, 114, 119, 142, 145, 147, 173, 187, 201, 222, 225, 226 Ps. Aristotle Oeconomicum, 169 Ps. Scymnus, 25, 193, 194, 214, 224 and Ephorus, 25, 193 and Polybius, 25 psogos (‘blame’), 19, 26

435

public readings, of historical and rhetorical works, 69 Pylene, 108 Pyrrhus the Macedon, 34 Pythagoras, 31, 301 Pythia, 117, 123, 200, 202, 269 Python, 137, 326 Quintilian, 59 rationalism, 5, 52, 133, 137, 146, 312 reason, see causes refutation, 51, 53, 54, 80, 83, 88, 95, 96, 106, 110, 114, 116, 118, 120, 124, 136, 141, 142, 150 relations with mankind, 46, 195, 300, 301, 302, 304 Return of the Heraclidae, 8, 11, 20, 47, 48, 71, 96, 109, 128, 152, 155, 157, 158, 161, 170, 172, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 179, 184, 185, 188, 308, 310, 311, 316, 334, 336, 345, 346, 347, 357 its significance in Ephorus’ view, 71, 158, 170, 174, 175, 176, 177, 316, 357 Rhadamanthys, 115, 121, 123, 128, 133, 134, 191, 198, 202, 271, 296 rhetoric, rhetoricians, rhetors, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 13, 16, 17, 18, 20, 24, 26, 35, 37, 38, 40, 52, 63, 65, 66, 67, 69, 73, 76, 80, 82, 84, 86, 95, 147, 152, 232, 257, 265, 268, 272, 321, 329, 336, 351, 355, 359 and music, 65, 66, 254 and poetry, 65, 66 rhetorical effectiveness, 90, 130, 131, 247, 253, 254, 255, 257, 258, 260, 273 rhetorical historiography, 8, 10, 18, 19, 21, 23, 25, 30, 32, 36, 37, 40, 257, 336, 337, 338, 360 Rhodes, Rhodians, 305 rights, political and civil, 178, 179, 180, 181, 207, 208, 265, 267, 268, 269, 271, 348 rites, rituals, 64, 90, 110, 111, 112, 136, 142, 143, 144, 145, 149, 173, 176, 187, 189, 190, 201, 206, 224, 286, 348 Rome, Romans, 155, 203, 333, 339, 342, 343, 344, 348, 350, 353, 354, 358 Sacae, 112, 113, 137 Sacred Wars Third Sacred War, 35, 193, 203, 300, 308, 309, 310, 311, 312, 313, 314, 315, 316, 321, 322, 325, 326, 327, 346, 347, 351, 357 Salamis of Cyprus, 240, 281 Salamis, battle of (480 BC), 96, 103, 104, 164, 221, 225, 228, 231, 232, 233, 234, 245, 342, 345

436

Subject Index

Salganeus, 46, 195, 303 Salmoneus, 105, 182 Samian War (440–439 BC), 91, 226, 259 Samos, Samians, 91, 226, 259, 268 Samothrace, 64, 143, 184 Sardis, 217, 218, 219, 220 Sarpedon, 191 Satraps’ Revolt, 314, 316, 319, 354 Satyrus, the fortune-teller, 93, 318 Sauromatians, 112, 113, 196 savageness, savagery, 62, 67, 113, 137, 214, 215, 317, 326 scantiness of men, see paucity of men Scipio Aemilianus, 348 Sciraphidas, 93, 265, 266 Scyphos/Scythos, Dercyllidas’ nickname, 279 Scyppion, 189 Scythia, Scythians, 29, 37, 67, 97, 112, 113, 136, 137, 138, 140, 192, 193, 194, 196, 197, 200, 217, 219, 221, 349, 355 Second Athenian League, 286, 287, 290, 291, 292, 294, 303, 305, 315, 351 self-representation, of the historian, 147, 148 Sellasia, 295 semeia (‘signs’), 20, 21, 38, 136, 143 Seneca, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 94 and Callisthenes, 94 and Ephorus, 50, 51, 52, 54 and historians, 51, 52 sensationalism, 113 Septerion, 142, 143 Sestus, siege of (478 BC), 243, 244 settlements, settlers, 56, 109, 114, 118, 119, 120, 127, 134, 174, 179, 180, 183, 185, 186, 189, 190, 191, 213, 225, 270, 271, 274, 283, 299 Seven Sages, 197, 217, 218 Sicani, Sicans, 137, 213 Siceli, Sicels, 137, 213 Sicily, Sicilians, Siceliots, 6, 39, 41, 45, 46, 49, 96, 127, 137, 155, 162, 164, 167, 168, 171, 195, 205, 212, 213, 214, 215, 216, 221, 227, 228, 229, 230, 231, 232, 262, 263, 287, 289, 290, 303, 305, 307, 311, 318, 320, 343, 344, 347, 349 Sicyon, Sicyonians, 205, 294, 299 siege engines, 223, 225, 226, 259 sight, 74, 75, 80 signs, 74, 86, 87, 142, 145, 146, 158 Sikelika, as a historiographical genre, 311 Simonides, 90, 91, 98, 103, 104, 105, 117, 127, 136, 137, 232, 238 simplicity, 16, 58, 112, 180, 199, 279 Sisyphos, Dercyllidas’ nickname, 279 slavery, slaves, 45, 190, 197, 199, 200, 218, 248 Smyrna, 138

Social War (357–355 BC), 259, 315, 351 Social War (220–217 BC), 344 sociology, 348 Soli, 281 Solon, 1, 45, 98, 217, 218, 219 sophia, sophos, 54, 63, 355 sophrosyne (‘moderation’), 30, 180 sources, see oral sources, written sources Sparta, Spartans, 4, 18, 22, 28, 30, 37, 41, 43, 56, 62, 72, 73, 90, 92, 93, 94, 96, 97, 100, 107, 110, 111, 112, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125, 130, 135, 137, 141, 144, 161, 168, 170, 171, 173, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 179, 180, 181, 183, 191, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 203, 204, 205, 206, 207, 208, 209, 210, 211, 212, 217, 220, 221, 228, 231, 232, 233, 234, 236, 237, 240, 242, 243, 244, 245, 246, 247, 248, 249, 251, 252, 253, 254, 255, 256, 257, 259, 260, 261, 262, 263, 264, 265, 266, 267, 268, 269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274, 275, 276, 277, 278, 279, 280, 281, 282, 283, 284, 285, 286, 287, 288, 289, 290, 291, 292, 293, 294, 295, 296, 297, 298, 299, 300, 301, 302, 306, 307, 318, 319, 320, 321, 324, 331, 336, 337, 338, 340, 342, 343, 344, 345, 346, 347, 348, 349, 350, 351, 352, 353, 354, 355, 356, 357 Sparti, 186, 187 Spartiates, 91, 111, 112, 114, 117, 119, 120, 125, 174, 179, 180, 181, 208, 264, 265, 266, 267, 268, 271, 272, 273, 277, 284, 343 spatium historicum, 14, 19, 20, 21, 38, 71, 153, 158 speeches, 16, 23, 24, 26, 40, 46, 65, 69, 70, 72, 75, 77, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 102, 148, 149, 154, 195, 255, 265, 269, 271, 300, 301, 304, 323, 336, 359, 363, 364 in post-Thucydidean historians, 24, 148 of generals on the battlefield, 23, 24 of statesmen, 23, 24 Speusippus, 324, 327, 328 Stephanus of Byzantium, 44, 190, 221, 222, 223, 285, 297, 302 Ethnika, 281 Sthenelaidas, 23 Stobaeus Anthologium, 15 Strabo, 25, 29, 36, 50, 51, 53, 56, 57, 58, 61, 62, 65, 73, 89, 93, 100, 105, 106, 108, 109, 111, 112, 113, 124, 138, 139, 140, 149, 156, 157, 167, 178, 182, 183, 184, 186, 190, 191, 193, 194, 203, 206, 207, 213, 214, 233, 293, 317, 332, 333, 341, 349, 350, 364 and Antiochus, 93 and Ctesias, 112, 113

Subject Index and Ephorus, 25, 50, 51, 57, 62, 93, 105, 106, 108, 109, 113, 139, 140, 149, 182, 193, 194, 333, 341, 350 and Hellanicus, 108, 109, 112, 113 and Herodotus, 112, 113 and Polybius, 25, 50, 57, 333, 341 and Theopompus, 113 Geography, 89, 93, 108, 112, 182, 193 Strato of Lampsacus, 34 Stratonicus, 127 style, 5, 6, 15, 18, 19, 20, 24, 30, 31, 33, 40, 52, 58, 59, 60, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 148, 149, 161, 162, 163, 164, 193, 210, 336, 362, 363 Suda, 11, 167 superstition, 227 Susa, 278 sycophants, 251 symploke (‘interrelation’), 345, 346, 347 synchronic history, 167, 168, 169, 183, 205, 263, 339, 343, 344, 346, 347 synchronisms, 232 synoecisms, 108, 134, 183 Syracuse, Syracusans, 99, 168, 214, 228, 229, 231, 263, 288, 289, 290, 291, 292, 315, 316, 317, 319, 320, 342, 344, 345, 346, 354, 358 Syrians, 112 Tanagra, 46, 195, 303 Tanais river, 192 Taras, 93, 136, 205, 206, 208 Tartessians, 91, 131, 132, 133 Tegyra, battle of (375 BC), 292, 293 tekmeria (‘clues’), 20, 21, 38 Teleclides, 90, 238 Teleclus, 205, 206 Telemachus, 269 Telphusa, 185 Temenus, 93, 170, 171, 209, 210, 211, 214 Temmices, 184, 185 Ten Thousand’s expedition, 302 Tenedos, 305 Teos, 190 thalassocracy, 18, 119, 191, 201, 258, 287, 288, 345 Thales, 63, 115, 121, 122, 128, 202, 217, 218 Thasos, 225 theatrical charms, theatre, 23, 68, 69, 81, 82 Thebageneis, 23, 143, 186, 187, 188, 190 Thebes, Thebans, 22, 28, 32, 36, 45, 46, 47, 96, 98, 99, 100, 143, 173, 176, 177, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 195, 196, 203, 263, 274, 282, 283, 284, 285, 289, 292, 293, 294, 296, 297, 298, 299, 300, 301, 302, 303, 304, 305, 306, 307, 319, 320, 321, 324, 329, 331, 336, 345, 346, 347, 351, 357

437

theft, see plagiarism Themistocles, 26, 30, 45, 227, 233, 234, 235 Theocles, 137, 215, 216, 305, 343 Theophrastus, 13, 103 On History, 103 Theopompus, 1, 2, 3, 8, 10, 11, 13, 14, 15, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 26, 27, 28, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 36, 37, 38, 40, 47, 53, 58, 59, 69, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 93, 94, 95, 99, 102, 103, 113, 128, 154, 159, 209, 242, 245, 265, 266, 267, 268, 273, 283, 286, 302, 312, 318, 321, 325, 333, 334, 339, 352, 353, 354, 356, 357, 358, 362 and direct inquiry, 28, 76, 77, 79 and experience, 77 and Hellenika Oxyrhynchia, 32, 36, 362 and hidden causes, 27, 36, 99, 321 and Isocrates (Chapter 1, § 2), 1, 2, 8, 13, 14, 15, 18, 58, 59 and myth, 69, 113 and public readings, 69 and universal history, 339, 353 and Xenophon, 32, 33, 59 criticism toward common views on historical characters, 27, 28 criticism toward the political misuse of paradigms, 27 epitome of Herodotus, 102 Hellenika, 32, 33, 102, 242, 303, 352, 356, 357 his contribution to the definition of the historiographical genre, 77, 103 his evaluation of historical characters, 27, 28 his interest in politics and pragmatic issues, 28, 30 his presumed ignorance on military and political matters, 3, 19, 21, 24, 25 his presumed plagiarism, 31, 32, 33 negative portrait of, 3 Philippika, 10, 15, 154, 283, 321, 352, 353, 357 general proem of, 14, 15, 95, 154, 159 practice of direct inquiry, 28, 76 style of, 14, 15, 18, 24, 33, 58, 59 Theopompus, king of Sparta, 205 Theramenes, 26 Theramenes papyrus, 362, 363 Theras, Therans, 181 Theras, tutor of Eurysthenes and Procles, 176 Therma, 106, 108 Thermopylae, battle of (480 BC), 232 Theseus, 176, 177, 189 Thespius, 177 Thessaly, Thessalians, 42, 134, 182, 185, 186, 189, 297, 312 Thibron, 202 Spartan Constitution, 202

438

Subject Index

Thi(m)bron, Spartan general, 279 Thirty Tyrants, 243, 270, 274 Thirty Years Peace (446 BC), 238 Thrace, Thracians, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 224, 225, 314 Thucydides, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 14, 17, 19, 20, 21, 23, 24, 25, 26, 36, 37, 40, 44, 46, 52, 58, 61, 62, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 72, 73, 74, 78, 79, 84, 86, 87, 88, 92, 93, 96, 97, 98, 101, 102, 107, 109, 110, 119, 125, 126, 127, 128, 129, 135, 137, 141, 142, 146, 148, 149, 158, 159, 163, 165, 167, 169, 172, 176, 181, 186, 188, 210, 214, 215, 222, 231, 234, 235, 236, 237, 238, 239, 240, 241, 242, 243, 244, 245, 246, 247, 248, 249, 250, 252, 257, 260, 261, 262, 289, 293, 298, 313, 330, 336, 337, 339, 341, 352, 356, 358, 360 and epic poetry, 97 and hidden causes, 5, 36, 249 and Homer, 97, 127 and inquiry on the distant past, 20, 21, 141, 360 and local traditions, 96 and lyric poetry, 98 and universal history, 249, 339 Archaeology, 20, 62, 74, 96, 129, 135, 142, 146, 186, 210, 215, 330 arguing the impossibility of akribeia in noncontemporary history, 21, 73, 74 creating paradigms of moral type, 26 criticism toward competition pieces, 68, 69, 70 criticism toward predecessors, 62, 67, 68, 74, 84, 101 criticism toward the uncritical reception and transmission of information, 62, 74, 109 his use of inscriptions, 107 his use of poetic sources, 98, 127, 129, 135, 136, 142, 146 his use of rhetorical means to reconstruct the past, 20, 21 Pentekontaetia, 235, 238, 246 rational re-elaboration of the epos, 146 speeches in, 23, 24 Thucydides, son of Melesias, 251 Thurii, Thurians, 204, 251 Tilphosium mount, 185 Timaeus of Tauromenium, 8, 21, 22, 23, 41, 49, 75, 76, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 85, 88, 103, 154, 161, 162, 163, 164, 165, 169, 171, 172, 230, 232, 267, 316, 317, 318, 339, 345 and Ephorus, 80, 81, 82, 83, 85, 88, 103, 172, 232, 267, 316, 317, 345 and universal history, 8, 23, 49, 75, 76, 82, 83, 162, 169, 171, 230, 232, 267, 316, 318, 339, 345

on the difference between historical discourse and epideictic speech, 81, 82, 83, 85 on truth and falsehood in historical writing, 83 Sikelika, 83 Timo, 226 Timoleon, 316, 318 Timonides, 317 Timophanes, 318 Timotheus, 45, 287, 288, 289, 290, 291 Tissaphernes, 126, 275, 277 Tityus, 137, 326 topography, 22, 191, 192, 193, 280, 341 toponyms, 90 Torone, 125, 126 tragedy, tragic perspective, 63, 178, 249 tragic historiography, 8 training, 46, 134, 194, 195, 199, 300, 301 treatment, see arrangement Triphylia, 209, 212 tripodophoria, dedication of votive tripods, 143, 187, 188 Trogus, Pompeius, 49, 313 Historiae Philippicae, 313 Trojan War, 127, 128, 129, 130, 170, 171, 174, 175, 185, 187, 188, 195, 207, 214, 215, 328, 329, 330 Troy, Trojans, 56, 139, 170, 174, 175, 207, 214, 215, 323, 326, 328, 329, 330 trustworthiness, 10, 16, 17, 21, 42, 51, 52, 54, 61, 62, 64, 70, 71, 80, 87, 100, 109, 123, 132, 158, 170, 173, 225, 250, 279, 293, 327, 340 truth, 1, 3, 5, 17, 19, 20, 30, 48, 50, 52, 53, 54, 55, 61, 62, 63, 64, 68, 69, 70, 75, 82, 83, 84, 87, 92, 112, 113, 114, 118, 142, 149, 156, 157, 158, 159, 247, 252, 274, 275, 277, 279, 360 tryphe (‘luxury’), 30, 200, 219 Tryphilia, 212 tyche (‘chance’), 321, 350, 354 tyranny, tyrants, 28, 102, 107, 153, 180, 204, 211, 217, 227, 229, 263, 269, 284, 287, 288, 289, 290, 297, 298, 312, 314, 316, 317, 318, 319, 321, 345, 355 Tyre, Tyrians, 81, 131, 229 Tyrrhenians, 179, 214, 215 Tyrtaeus, 89, 98, 136, 137, 170 universal history, 1, 4, 5, 8, 9, 16, 35, 47, 48, 49, 55, 56, 57, 71, 76, 79, 84, 87, 89, 112, 148, 152, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159, 168, 169, 175, 176, 177, 220, 231, 232, 244, 264, 281, 289, 332, 333, 334, 335, 336, 337, 338, 339, 340, 341, 342, 344, 346, 350, 352, 353, 355, 358, 359, 360

Subject Index universality, 156, 157, 332, 334, 336, 337, 338, 339, 340, 354, 356, 360 usefulness, of the historical work, 48, 68, 159, 160, 161, 163 vice, 26, 27, 36, 63, 99, 321 violence, 199, 302, 317, 326, 327 virtue, 26, 27, 29, 36, 45, 46, 47, 62, 99, 106, 208, 218, 264, 273, 299, 300, 301, 321, 323, 324, 326, 328 visible evidence, 112, 141, 142, 143, 146 Volissos, 123 wealth, 90, 102, 197, 200, 210, 219, 238, 240 wickedness, 102, 219, 220, 273, 279, 284 world events, 47, 333, 334, 359 written sources, 5, 19, 21, 25, 35, 59, 72, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 81, 85, 89, 91, 92, 95, 99, 100, 104, 112, 348 Xanthippus, 227, 330 Xanthos, king of Thebes, 183, 184

439

Xanthus of Lydia, 34, 89, 93, 101, 220 Lydiaka, 34, 101 xenelasia (‘expulsion of foreigners’), 266 Xenocrates of Chalcedon, 13, 351, 355 xenoi (‘foreigners’), 179 Xenophon, 2, 4, 7, 8, 18, 23, 32, 33, 40, 52, 55, 59, 92, 93, 103, 117, 126, 165, 172, 202, 242, 262, 264, 274, 275, 276, 277, 280, 281, 283, 284, 285, 289, 296, 297, 300, 301, 302, 303, 306, 307, 356 Anabasis, 276 Hellenika, 32, 33, 93, 126, 165, 242, 276, 281, 356 Xerxes, 17, 26, 39, 103, 164, 168, 172, 221, 227, 228, 229, 230, 231, 233, 234, 235, 244, 322 Zaleucus, 203, 204, 317 Zeitgeschichte, 34, 356 Zeno of Rhodes, 82 Zerania, 314 Zeus, 115, 121, 130, 133, 134, 136, 146, 182, 198, 202, 211, 212, 254, 270, 331 Zoilus of Amphipolis, 69

Index of Greek Words and Expressions

ἀγωγή, 135, 300, 301 ἀγώνισμα, 68 αἰτιολογεῖ, 29, 147, 197 ἀκολούθως, 164 ἀκρίβεια, ἀκριβές, 27, 53, 55, 73 ἀκριβέστατα λέγειν, τοὺς ἀκριβέστατα λέγοντας, 70, 71, 72, 73, 80, 147 ἀκρόασις, 68, 85, 112, 113 ἀκρόασις ἡδεία, 112, 113 ἀκρόασις θαυμαστή, 112 ἀλήθεια, ἀληθές, 53, 54, 61, 63, 85, 86, 118, 123, 156, 157, 201, 247, 248, 261, 275, 279, 288 ἀναγκάσαι, ἀνάγκη, 248 ἀνδρεία, 121, 199, 299 ἀνομοιότης τοῦ βίου, 113, 196, 349 ἀπάτη, 63, 66, 67, 68, 279 ἀπλότης, ἀπλοῦς, 112, 279, 296 ἀπολύεται . . . ἀπολυσάμενος, 140 ἀρετή, 26, 27, 108, 273, 300, 324 ἀφανές, 27, 248 ἀφορμαί, 101 γενεαλογικὸς τρόπος, 68, 160 γνωμολογίαι, 29, 30 γοητεία, 63, 66, 67, 68 γράφειν, 19, 20 δεῖν τἀναντία . . . λέγειν, 113, 196 δεινὸν (τὸ), 67, 113 δεινότης, δεινός, 102, 254, 255 διὰ ὀλίγων . . . καὶ ἐλλειπῶς, 60 διακριβοῦν εἰώθαμεν,85, 86, 88, 99, 100, 101, 105, 109, 112, 114, 124, 126, 127, 141, 142, 147 δουλεία, 199, 200 ἐθνικῶς, 192, 194 ἔκπληξις, ἐκπληκτικόν, 64, 67, 82 ἐλευθερία, 199 ἐμπειρία, 75, 78 ἐξελέγχει, 106, 147 ἐπηναγκάσθαι, 124, 147 ἐπιλύεται, 133 ἐπιμελῶς, 53 ἐσωφρόνουν, 180, 267

ἑτερογενεῖς πράξεις, 164 ἐτοῖμα (τὰ), 62, 74 ἡδονή, 19 θαυμαστόν (τὸ), 67, 113 θεατρικαὶ περιπέτειαι, θεατρικὰς γοητείας, 66, 68 καθόλου (τὰ), 155, 156, 157, 332, 333, 334, 338, 359 κατὰ γένος, 162, 163 κατὰ τόπους, 163, 165 κατὰ χρόνους, 165 καταφλυαρεῖν, 113 κατώρθωσαν, 300 κλοπή, 31 κοιναὶ πράξεις, 155, 157, 332, 333, 334, 359 λόγοι, 14, 15, 46, 62, 70, 72, 91, 102, 149, 254, 255, 300, 301, 304 λόγοι παρακλητικοί, 23 λόγος ἐπιμετρῶν, ἐν ἐπιμέτρῳ, 8, 29, 30, 82, 154, 198 μαρτύρια, 105, 106, 116, 118, 147 μιγάδες, 192, 220, 349 μίμησις, 19 μνημονεύεσθαι, 70, 72, 149, 194 μουσική, 63, 65 μουσικῶς εἰπεῖν, 65 μυθογραφία, μυθολογία, 105, 113, 133, 155, 327 μῦθος, μυθῶδες, 27, 68, 298, 327 ὁμιλία, 46, 218, 300, 301, 302, 304 ὁμολογεῖσθαι, 91, 116, 120 ὁμόνοια, 199 ὄντα ἀνεξέλεγκτα, 21 παιδεία, 300, 301 πανοῦργος, πανούργως, 273, 279 παραδείγματα ποιεῖσθαι, 8, 28, 29, 54, 147, 196, 197 παραλειφθέντα, 313 παρασκευή, 82, 154 παρεῖναι τοῖς πράγμασι, 74, 75, 77, 78 περιοδεύσας, 192 πίστις, πιθανόν, 54, 62, 70, 71, 79, 83, 91, 140, 273, 279, 327

440

Index of Greek Words and Expressions ῥητορείαι καὶ περίοδοι, 24 σαφῶς εὑρεῖν, 21 σημεῖον, 144, 147 τεκμαίρονται, 122 τεκμηριοῦσθαι, 72, 118, 124, 147, 149, 348 τερατεία, 82 τέρψις, 68 τρυφή, 199 φανερόν, 27, 273

441

φιλανθρωπία, 299 φιλήκοοι, 68, 160 φιλομυθία, 112 φιλομυθοῦντες, 61, 67, 91, 95, 103, 142, 156, 157, 160 φιλοπονία, 82 φρόνιμος, 266, 267 φύσις, 82 ψεῦδος, ψευδές, 62, 63, 88, 91, 95, 103, 105, 106, 111, 187