It is commonly supposed that in the eighth century B.c. there was a ‘population explosion’ in Greece which moved the Greeks to send out colonies. A. J. Graham in the Cambridge Ancient History iii, 3 (1982) is typical: ‘The basic active cause of the colonizing movement was overpopulation’; ‘at the very time when the Archaic colonising movement began, in the second half of the eighth century, there was a marked increase in population in Greece’ (p. 157). The presumed connection between overpopulation and colonisation is not immediately obvious. The evidence for the population explosion is found in the increased number of burials in Attica and the Argolid, but Athens sent out no colony before the very end of the seventh century and Argos probably none at all, certainly none in this period. So special explanations have to be formulated for Athens' and Argos' lack of colonies while their postulated ‘population explosion’ is presumed for Greece as a whole and called in to explain the burst of colonising in the eighth century. The hypothesis is not used for seventh-century colonisation when the number of burials declines.

In his celebrated article on the narrative technique of Odysseus' Wanderings (‘Ich-Erzählungen’) W. Suerbaum concludes that this character's narration is not essentially (‘wesentlich’) different from that of the primary narrator of the Odyssey (p. 163). Even though Odysseus is a first-person narrator and hence is subject to certain restrictions, these are almost completely counterbalanced by his ex eventu knowledge. For example, he can even report a conversation which took place on Olympus (12.376–88), because it was afterwards reported to him by Calypso, who heard it from Hermes (12.389–90). He can also tell what went on in the minds of his companions (10.415–17), because they later told him what they had felt (10.419–21). Suerbaum's conclusion is shared by M. Fusillo (‘Ulysse contrôle toujours une vision panoramique avec focalisation zéro et ne la concentre pas en lui-même comme personnage’) and A. Heubeck, p. 11 (‘the form in which Odysseus is made to tell his story is entirely in harmony with the narrative style elsewhere’).

I first met Parmenides – together with Xenophanes, Heraclitus, and the other great Presocratics – in a German translation by Wilhelm Nestle, famous as the editor of the later editions of Zeller's magnum opus. I was 15 or 16 years old, and I was overwhelmed by the meeting. The verses that I liked best were Parmenides' story of Selene's love for radiant Helios (DKB 14–15). But I did not like it that the translation made the moon male and the sun female (these being their genders in German), and it occurred to me to give the couplet in German a title like ‘Moongoddess and Sungod’, or perhaps ‘Selene and Helios’, in order to rectify the genders. So I began fiddling about with the translations. The volume, which I still possess, shows many traces of this.

One of the ironies of literary history is that the survival of Aristophanic comedy and indeed of all Greek drama is due to the more or less faithful transmission of a written text. Reading a play and watching one, after all, are very different sorts of activities. Unlike a book, in which the reader can leaf backward for reminders of what has already happened or forward for information about what is to come, a play onstage can be experienced in one direction only, from ‘beginning’ to ‘end’. Nor can a play be put down and picked up again at one's leisure or interrupted while the audience puzzles over a difficult or intriguing passage. Live theatre is an ephemeral and essentially independent thing, which must be experienced in its own time and on its own terms or not at all, and as a result we modern readers, dependent on the written page, are at a marked disadvantage in understanding ancient drama. Taplin's study of staging in Aeschylus has shed considerable light on the dramatic technique of Athenian tragedy. Stage-practice in Aristophanic comedy, and in particular the ways in which names and naming are used there, has received much less attention.

A hexametrical couplet from Aristophanes' lost Amphiaraus has in the past been interpreted as a fragment of an oracular response

From a careful and persuasive analysis of Sophocles' debt in the Ajax to Homer's picture of Hector and Andromache's farewell in Iliad 6, P. E. Easterling concludes that in the Ajax ‘we have the paradox of an author's distinctive originality finding expression through his reading of another's work’. In what follows I wish to show that the validity of this statement extends to an aspect of the play which is touched upon by Easterling (indeed in an illuminating way), but which I would like to single out for special attention: the preoccupation with the problem of what constitutes noble action, or, in the play's own terminology, what is the nature of εὐγένεια.

Greek tragedy shows a serious preoccupation with family concerns. Some of these concerns seem beyond the scope of ordinary family experience, particularly in the matter of the behaviour of women. The apparent discrepancy between historical evidence and the literary presentation of women has long been noted and variously explained. I want to suggest that this discrepancy reflects a way of distinguishing between the objectives and behaviour of the great aristocratic clans and of those families which were neither so wealthy nor so politically influential. A dichotomy is thus presented between dynastic interests and the interests of the ordinary family as a well-regulated part of the Athenian city state.

In De myst. 1.11–18 (see also 1.25), Andokides reports a series of four judicial denunciations (μην⋯σεις), made before the Athenians on four separate occasions in 415 B.c., concerning profanations of the Eleusinian Mysteries. After statements from the slave Andromachos and the metic Teukros, ‘a third denunciation followed. The wife of Alkmaionides, who had also been the wife of Damon, a woman named Agariste, made a denunciation that in the house of Charmides beside the Olympieion, Alkibiades, Axiochos and Adeimantos celebrated mysteries. And at this denunciation all these men fled’ (1.16). A fourth denunciation was made by the slave Lydos.

In a previous article I discussed some textual and metrical issues in the lyric-iambic stanzas Supplices 71–8/79–86, and the problematic persona and constitution of the Chorus. The preceding maternal ἱκεсα in four ionic stanzas presents fewer textual problems; but here too there is a challenging crux, at 45(–6) in the first strophe; and there is more to be said about the ode's metrical structure. I begin with a metrical reappraisal, which will prove to have a bearing on the textual problem. Unless otherwise stated, the text given is identical with those of both Diggle and Collard, except in lineation.

Several features of this compact passage have puzzled scholars ever since the discovery of the Aristotelian Constitution of the Athenians a century ago. First, did the Athenian Assembly really deliberate on all these disparate matters in the chief meeting of the sixth prytany, and if so, why? Second, why did it limit complaints (probolai) against sycophants to a total of six divided equally between citizens and metics? Since the answers we give to these questions are fundamental to our understanding of basic Athenian institutions, they deserve careful consideration. This paper will argue that the Assembly did deliberate on these matters at the same meeting and indeed that this was natural, since they are all symbolic, as well as practical, instruments for controlling behaviour inimical to the demos' interests. It will also suggest that the limitation on probolai against citizen and metic sycophants was introduced to safeguard against the sort of abuse of the label ‘sycophant’ that took place under the regime of the Thirty, and that the measures described in Ath. Pol. 43.5 were, therefore, most likely linked together in the early years of the restored democracy.

The first Athenian intervention in Sicily is one of the most opaque episodes in Thucydides. The historian for once dispenses with a full record and confines himself explicitly to the major events of the campaign. What then emerges is a disconnected narrative of geographically separate actions, most of them trivial. There is no attempt to give a synoptic picture or explain the problems of strategy, and the lack of coordination has (not surprisingly) impressed many critics. The episode is remarkable for another reason. For once we have that rarest of rare birds, an independent control source for Thucydides. Since 1930 there has been available a brief fragment of papyrus, usually ascribed to Philistus, which provides an extraordinarily detailed, if fragmentary, report of a portion of the campaign. The fragment has become a standard reference, and it is reported, not always accurately, in the more recent scholarship on the Peloponnesian War. But there has been little attempt to come to terms with the historiographical problem it poses. Not only does the fragment give a large amount of detail which has no counterpart in Thucydides, but its narrative, as it is usually interpreted, is formally inconsistent with Thucydides' chronology. The new fragment is most probably the work of a Sicilian historian, well acquainted with the events of 427/6, and it is – to put it mildly – disturbing to find a contradiction in what should have been an easily verifiable sequence of events.

In Bk. 3 of the Institutio oratoria, Quintilian gives a list of the Greek artium scriptores of the classical epoch (1.8ff.). It contains a controversial entry: ‘…et, quem Palameden Plato appellat, Alcidamas Elaites’ (1.10). The historicity of the rhetorician and sophist from Elaea named Alcidamas, Gorgias' pupil, is of course beyond doubt; scholars disagree only as to the ‘quem Palameden Plato appellat’.

Recent excavations in Macedonia have provided an analogy to the pillaging of the Palace at Persepolis. In plundered tombs at Aiani the excavators found a number of small gold discs with impressed rosettes and of gilded silver ivy leaves; at Katerini some thirty-five gold discs with impressed rosettes, a gold double pin, a gold ring from a sword-hilt, a bit of a gilded pectoral, gilded silver fittings once attached to a leather cuirass, many buttons and other fragments; and at Palatitsia (near Vergina) bits of a gilded bronze wreath and of a gold necklace, and an ivory fitting. It was suggested that some of these objects had been dropped when ornamental facings were being torn away from a wooden funerary couch and from clothing by the robbers, who were probably working at speed and dared not return. In the antechamber of the tomb at Katerini many of the objects I have mentioned were found inside a burnt layer, and M. Andronikos has provided the explanation that they had been burnt on the pyre outside the tomb and then brought inside with the debris of the pyre itself. Nothing else was associated with burnt material.

There is a tendency to prune the record of restrictions on the freedom of thought and expression in fifth-century Athens. K. J. Dover has demonstrated that many of the stories of attacks on intellectuals rest on little more than flimsy speculation. Similarly there has been a reluctance to accept the historicity of the several restrictions on comedy recorded by scholiasts. Thus, for example, H. B. Mattingly has expressed doubts about Morychides' decree, and S. Halliwell has rejected Antimachus' decree as a fiction and has adopted an agnostic attitude towards Syracosius' decree. But one cannot sweep all the references aside as fallacious inferences. This short paper looks first at the evidence that Cleon initiated a legal action against Aristophanes (or possibly Callistratus) after the production of the The Babylonians, in the light of what the Old Oligarch wrote about curbs on comedians. Secondly, the historicity of Syracosius' decree will be tested by an attempt to define its nature and purpose in its political context. This exercise will show that circumstantial evidence adduced against the historicity of the decree has no compelling force.

Some recent work on the history of Athens and Tenos in the third century B.c. has brought to light new evidence and new interpretations of old evidence for this notoriously shadowy period of Greek history. Reflection on this material has suggested to me solutions to a few minor puzzles (Sections IA, IB, III), a contribution to a long-standing problem in the history of Athens in the early third century (Section IB), and a new explanation for the entry of Rhodos into the war with Antiokhos (Section II).

Aristotle's Politics 1336b20–2 (cited below) proves that in the fourth century b.c. there was more than one type of occasion for the presentation of iambic poetry. No surviving ancient testimony describes directly the circumstances of performance of literary iambus in the archaic period. Heraclitus' text which comes from the turn of the sixth and fifth centuries b.c. suggests that Archilochus' poems, like Homer's, were presented during poetic competitions, but it does not follow that Heraclitus had in mind iambic compositions of the Parian poet.

The hymns of Callimachus are generally divided into two groups: the ‘mimetic’ hymns (2, 5 and 6), which seem to be enactments of ritual scenes, and the ‘nonmimetic’ hymns (1,3 and 4), which seem to follow the pattern of the Homeric hymns. Occasionally this distinction has been challenged, for instance by pointing to an' element of mimesis in H. 1, but on the whole the division into two groups has been 1 adhered to rather rigidly. A drawback of this distinction is that it seems to prevent further insight into an important aspect of Callimachus' poetic technique. I think that there is in fact a subtle play with various aspects of diegesis and mimesis which pervades the whole collection of hymns and gives it a certain unity, because it draws attention to the way in which narratives or descriptions are presented in the hymns. Although the emphasis on mimesis or diegesis may vary, none of the hymns can be regarded as diegetic in all its aspects and there is a great deal of fluctuation between, the two modes of presentation both within the collection and within the individual hymns.

Although Plato's notion of spiritual pregnancy has received a great deal of critical attention in recent years, the development of the metaphor in the Symposium has not been fully analysed. Close attention to the details of the image reveals two important points which have so far been overlooked: (1) There are two quite different types of spiritual pregnancy in the Symposium: a ‘male’ type, which is analogous to the build-up to physical ejaculation, and a ‘female’ type, which is analogous to the physical experience of pregnancy as normally understood.

If one wants to know what happened in Hellenistic poetic theory, Philodemus' survey of poetic theories in the fifth book of his On Poems is an excellent guide. Even though I the survey is well preserved, it has been neglected. Jensen, who published the first complete edition of On Poems 5 in 1923, did not discuss this part of the text; and it has been treated only briefly by others. This is a pity because, as Philodemus shows, the Hellenistic period was an era of great diversity and innovation in literary theory. Philodemus gives evidence of: (1) a refined and highly systematic critical vocabulary; (2) a new concern with verbal form; (3) a new notion of mimesis; and (4) in general, a great proliferation of theories that present alternatives to those of Plato and Aristotle. Hellenistic literary theorists studied Plato and Aristotle critically; some revised or elaborated their views, whereas others opposed them. Ancient poetic theory did not come to a standstill with Aristotle any more than philosophy did.

At 47e–53c of the Timaeus Plato presents his most detailed metaphysical analysis of particulars. We are told about the construction of the physical universe, the ways we can and cannot talk about the phenomena produced, and about the two causes – Necessity and Intelligence – which govern the processes and results of production. It seems to me that we are told too much and too little: too much, because we have two accounts of the generation of phenomenal particulars – one, the ‘formal account’, which makes use of the receptacle, Forms and form-copies, and a second, the ‘geometrical account’, which appeals to geometrical shapes, the Demiurge and, apparently, matter; too little, because there is insufficient guidance as to how to relate the two accounts.