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At other times and in other places I have tried to show, by means of a study of the manner in which Homer uses words, the nature of the Homeric field of values. I have also tried to show the effect of that field of values on the concepts of punishment, honour and friendship. In this paper I wish to develop the enquiry in a rather different direction, but using the same tools and method of approach. I shall begin by discussing some peculiarities of behaviour of certain Homeric words, leave, at first, the questions I shall ask hanging in the air, and then attempt at the end to show how these peculiarities fit together into a pattern, a pattern imposed (or encouraged) by Homeric values and the structure of Homeric society.

I begin with the word νεικείειν. LSJ renders this as ‘quarrel, wrangle with’ or transitively ‘chide, rail at, upbraid’, Ebeling, Lexicon Homericum, as increpo. Ebeling's rendering I find unhelpful, since I am as unsure of the implications of increpo as of νεικείειν. I understand the words LSJ uses, but (as presumably we all do) regard wrangling with someone as a different activity from chiding or rebuking him, and each as distinguishable from railing at him. What induced Homer to use the same word in Greek was presumably that he saw a resemblance between these activities stronger than their differences: at all events, the likelihood that this was the reason is strong enough to make it worth while to look for the resemblances by studying some examples of the usage of νειείειν.

The join is between the right end of 1008 and the left end of 1010, (plate Ia, b). The reason why it has escaped notice is that the Knights of St John, when building the reliefs into the walls of the Castle of St Peter at Bodrum, hacked the slab in two clumsily, destroying several inches of the front surface in doing so. Once the two pieces had been set up in the British Museum, with slab 1009 interposed, and catalogued in that order, the join was unlikely to be recognised, for the subjects do not at first sight appear to connect, and the join even now is not obvious from the front, because of the rough way in which the block was split in two; but when the fractured surfaces further back in the slab are brought together, the correspondence of the contours leaves no doubt whatever that they fit, and thus produce a single, very large, slab, nearly nine and a half feet long, as against the seven feet odd of the next longest survivor, 1022.

The new join is of interest partly because it prolongs a continuous run of the frieze (1007 plus 1008) by several feet (plate Ib), giving a sequence of eleven figures, if we include the two legs at the right edge; but chiefly because the composition thus produced regains a significance which the separation of its parts had obscured. The figure on 1008 who wields a club and wears a lion's skin must surely be Herakles: the addition of 1010 on the right shows that this important figure is balanced by another Greek who ought to be equally important, and who is engaged with an Amazon on horseback. Would this not be Theseus? On Athenian vases of a century earlier, a composition not unlike this, of the duel between Theseus and an Amazon, each using a spear, was already established (plate Ic): its prototype may have been in some famous wall-painting, and the designer of the Mausoleum frieze may have drawn his inspiration directly from that or from some version of it in another work of art now also lost to us. The identity of the two Amazons is a separate problem.

The description of our accent system by Professor Dodds as ‘Byzantine’ is of course disingenuous. Its Alexandrian origin and evolution are taken for granted since Laum and Schwyzer; the fact that Barrett could so swiftly and soundly adapt the peripheral matter of synenclisis to the system's own basic principles is a pointer to its internal soundness and consistency. Again, that a system is complex is no reason for its being jettisoned; the language itself is complex. Nor does Dodds' defeated acceptance of Dutch-English mispronunciation strengthen a case against the accent. What I think he meant was that no-one since Byzantine times has been able to interpret the accent marks in significant terms of sound; that we are therefore better rid, not of a system, but of a clueless labyrinth inefficiently described in an insufferably tedious jargon and entirely unrelated to the language which it was invented to illuminate.

This position would be understandable if it were now possible to hold it. It is farcical in the light that philologists/linguists are now throwing on Greek accent. The obstacles they have had to overcome fall broadly into two classes: first, the passive, inertial persistence of the formal, meaningless ‘rules’ on one hand, and, on the other, the cloudy mysticism of those who have never thought to examine the term ‘music’ in their glib phrase ‘musical Greek accent’. The latter class falls into two sub-classes: those who (like Maas) prosaically forbade the search after Greek pronunciation because it was musical (like stressless organ-notes!); and a few who, following A. J. Ellis and Rouse, would have us believe that they are giving us Homer ‘as he was sung’, when they apply to the hexameter what they (as I hope to prove, wrongly) attribute to Dionysius of Halicarnassus in the famous passage where his subject was not verse—but prose!

1. Orestes at Delphi:

At the end of the Choephoroi Orestes announces that he will return to Delphi as suppliant (1038–9):

As he leaves the stage he sees a vision of nameless pursuers, ‘the angry hounds of my mother’, and the chorus come to the conclusion that ταραγμός has spread from the ‘strange’ blood still on his hands into his φρένες. They advise him (1059–60):

In the Eumenides Orestes receives an oracle from Apollo himself, appearing in miraculous epiphany to his suppliant. After reassuring Orestes of his continuing support and pointing to the sleeping pursuers as proof of his power (64–7), Apollo identifies the role of the Erinyes and gives instructions for escaping from πόνοι (74–83):

Aëtius ii 20.1 (DK 12A21) Aëtius ii 25.1 (DK 12A22), on the moon, is similar, ending

It is generally supposed that is the nozzle of a bellows; but G. E. R. Lloyd, Polarity and analogy 313 ff. is doubtful of this interpretation, pointing out that only one, doubtful, parallel can be cited for this meaning of πρηστήρ, and that the nozzle of a bellows does not emit fire. He concludes, however, that if πρηστήρ has its normal, meteorological, sense, ‘it seems impossible to interpret … αὐλός … for this must surely refer to some sort of pipe or tube and this seems quite inappropriate to such phenomena as lightning or whirlwinds … “Bellows” … appears to give the best sense for this difficult phrase’.

My purpose here is to show that has a good meteorological sense. According to Aristotle Mete. 371a15 ff., the πρηστήρ is a variant of the τυφῶν, which is a whirlwind (370b22) which forms within a cloud (ib. 28), and, being unable to separate itself from the cloud, descends to the earth, bringing the cloud with it (371a9, ff., and especially 11 ff. ). This seems to be the ‘tornado’ or the ‘waterspout’ of modern meteorology. A tornado is ‘a very intense, progressive whirl, of small diameter … From the violently-agitated main cloud-mass above there usually hangs a writhing funnel-shaped cloud …’ The ‘funnel-shaped cloud’ is presumably the cloud which Aristotle's whirlwind ‘draws down with it’.

It is well known that Evans was not greatly interested in what happened in Crete after the devastation of the Knossian Palace, an event he placed at the very end of his Late Minoan II period. In his view, the Palace was not immediately re-occupied: some time after the catastrophe of 1400, it was inhabited by ‘squatters’, who repaired some of the damaged parts of the building but for the most part simply cleared away the rubbish deposited at the time of the destruction and lived in the Palace without substantially altering it. Evans believed that after the end of the Palatial period at Knossos the main vigour of the Minoan civilisation flowed into its Mycenaean branch and was responsible for the Achaean hegemony of the fourteenth and thirteenth centuries. However, the settlements at Knossos and elsewhere in Crete still preserved, though in a muted form, basic elements of the venerable native culture. The contents of the tombs in the Zapher Papoura cemetery, in use both before and after the great destruction, showed that the continuity of Minoan burial customs and pottery styles was not arrested. Evans nowhere tried to resolve the paradox which confronts anyone who takes his view of Late Minoan III Crete. On the one hand, we have the picture of a more or less impoverished country which had lost most of its importance, lying outside the main developments of the Mycenaean world and above all preserving its own culture at a time when the rest of the Aegean had been absorbed into a Mycenaean koine. On the other hand, both the Iliad and the Odyssey speak of a well-populated island of many cities which provides, under the leadership of Idomeneus, one of the largest of the Greek contingents before Troy; nothing in Homer suggests that Idomeneus is not as thoroughly ‘Achaean’ as Agamemnon himself.

It has been alleged by many commentators that Plato never developed a precise philosophical vocabulary, and this view is strengthened when one investigates the employment of many of Plato's key terms: εἶδος, ἰδέα, αἴσθησις, δόξα, to name but a few. In the early and middle dialogues, Plato uses these terms in a variety of contexts without giving the slightest indication of which of the many possible senses is to be understood. Indeed, in the Euthydemus, Socrates is represented as ridiculing those who attempt to draw precise distinctions for they ‘… would only be able to play with men tripping them up and oversetting them with distinctions of words’ (Jowett, 278). Yet one must be cautious in simply assuming that Plato never attempted to clarify the meaning of his central philosophical terms; in particular, one must note that the Theaetetus contains several attempts to mark off various senses of λόγος, and that the entire dialogue is directed toward a precise account of what is, or ought to be meant by ‘knowledge’. Thus while it is true to say that Plato usually fails to mark off distinctions between various senses of the same term, the Theaetetus shows that this is not always the case.

In this paper, I shall argue (1) that Plato attempts to separate two distinct senses of the comprehensive Greek term for knowledge, εἰδέναι, reserving γνῶσις for what we should term ‘knowledge by acquaintance’ and employing ἐπιστήμη for ‘intellectual knowledge’ or ‘knowledge that something is the case’, and (2) that the statement and refutation of Socrates' dream theory in the Theaetetus show this.

Few sections in the whole of Book ii of Herodotus' History present such difficulties as Chapter 91. The problems posed are: first, what and where was Neapolis? Second, who was the Perseus mentioned by Herodotus? Third, how could the Χεμμîται, Egyptians by Herodotus' own admission, have retailed to Herodotus so thoroughly Greek a story as the tale of the sandal of Perseus? Fourth, how could Egyptians have set up gymnastic contests in the Greek fashion as Herodotus claims that they did? The present article is intended to offer a solution to all of these problems.

Where uncertainty is so rife it is perhaps reassuring to find some data which can be regarded as beyond dispute. The geographical position of the city of Chemmis at least is certain. It was the capital of the Ninth Nome of Upper Egypt, usually called Πανὸς πόλις or Πανῶν πόλις by later writers, and stood, as the survival of the name proves, on the site of the modern town of Akhmîm.

The Cycle of sixth-century epigrams edited by Agathias Scholasticus is the subject of a recent article by Mr and Mrs A. Cameron (JHS lxxxvi [1966] 6 ff.), who argue cogently that it was published in the early years of Justin II, and not the later years of Justinian, as has hitherto been supposed. Ca. also suggest identifications for many of the poets and imperial officials who figure in the Cycle. They do not, however, exhaust all the identifications that can be made, and some of those suggested by them require amplification or correction. Furthermore, Ca.'s view of the dating of the Cycle leads them, it seems to me, to underestimate its Justinianic character. The following observations are offered without prejudice to the merit of Ca.'s article as a whole.

Among the Cyclic poets, only Julian the ex-Prefect of the East stands in close relationship to the political life of the age. His involvement in the Nika insurrection of 532 is attested by historical sources and, as Ca. claim (13), by two epigrams of the Anthology. The latter, however, contain difficulties passed over by Ca. In the first place, of the two epigrams on the cenotaph of Hypatius, only AP vii 591 is certainly from Julian's pen; vii 592 is unattributed in the Palatine MS., a fact which Ca. omit to mention. (It is absent from the Planudean MS.) The state of affairs in P is no accident, vii 591, though eulogising the dead man and alluding openly to the casting of his corpse into the sea, is moderate in tone, and would have caused no more offence to Justinian than Procopius's published account of the affair.

In the fourth book of Achilles Tatius' romance the young and beautiful heroine Leucippe collapses suddenly. When she is approached by the hero Clitophon she leaps to her feet, strikes his face, kicks his friend, and has to be overpowered and tied up. Several chapters later we learn that this behaviour had in fact been caused by an overdose of an unnamed aphrodisiac. In the meantime, however, bystanders, consisting of members of an Egyptian military force, have decided that μανία τις is the trouble, and proceed to diagnose with all the confidence of laymen the cause of her madness.

Their diagnosis takes the form of an ostensibly straightforward physiological explanation in carefully ordered (if rhetorical) phrases and employing technical terms.

In describing the sacred grove () of Asklepios in the territory of Epidaurus, Pausanias (ii 27.1) mentions two of the rules that were in force there: (he has just mentioned that the ἄλσος is surrounded on all sides by boundary stones), and, secondly,

Those about to give birth or to die were eventually accommodated immediately outside the peribolos in a building constructed for them in Pausanias' own time by ‘Antoninus, a Senator’. The eating accommodation was provided earlier, most obviously in the building generally described as the καταγώγιον. Since this lies between the temple of Asklepios and the theatre, which is itself, according to Pausanias we can assume that sacrificial meat consumed in it had not been taken outside the boundaries.

I am delighted to agree that the Soros as it stands (though now suffering terribly from the feet of tourists and from rain-wash where they have destroyed the grass cover), with its evidence of fifth-century offerings, etc., marks a spot where convenience as well as honour (Hammond 18) caused the Athenians to bury their dead. But it does not necessarily show where the centres of the two armies first clashed. The chief Athenian loss mentioned by Herodotos, in some detail (vi 114), took place in the fighting at the ships. Nevertheless, as it happens, and pace Hammond, my sketch-plan of the battle as I imagine it (PG 244) does not differ from his(ig); except that I think the Persian line is more likely to have been ‘orientated’ to face the Greeks, up the Vrana valley, than exactly parallel to the shore in rear.

In a highly speculative article in the last issue of this Journal, D. O'Brien takes me to task for ‘thoughtless simplification of Kahn, Anaximander and the Origins of Greek Cosmology 88 n. 2, cf. 68’, and for saying (JHS lxxxvi [1966] 36), in relation to the figures used by Tannery in his hypothetical reconstruction of Anaximander's astronomical system, that ‘only 27 in the series has any textual authority’ (O'Brien, op. cit. 120 n. 44). O'Brien does this in such a way as to suggest that I am unaware that the figures 28 and 19 are also recorded in the doxographical tradition, and to infer that my ‘judgment has perhaps been coloured’ by this.

In Volume lxix of this Journal I published a paper with the unfortunate title ‘Boeotian Haloa’. Unfortunate because the group of vases with which it was concerned, which had been accepted as Boeotian ever since Wide first studied them in 1901, were shown by the American excavations in the Potters' Quarter at Corinth to be in fact Corinthian. That being so all speculations based on Wide's assumption of Boeotian origin, and particularly the supposed connexion of the vases with the cult of Demeter at Mykalessos, had to be dropped.

A few years ago R. M. Ogilvie argued against the widely-held view that Theocritus in Idyll i represents the cowherd Daphnis as another Hippolytus, martyred in the cause of Chastity. Nevertheless the view he attacked has been revived in a recent study of Theocritus' pastorals:

‘The chaste Daphnis … died rather than submit to Aphrodite … Both Hippolytus and Daphnis are chaste and wish to preserve their purity at all costs, even that of death … Both heroes are deeply committed to chastity … Daphnis … a true tragic hero, resists all temptation and so pines away to his death.