To send content items to your account,
please confirm that you agree to abide by our usage policies.
If this is the first time you use this feature, you will be asked to authorise Cambridge Core to connect with your account.
Find out more about sending content to .
To send content items to your Kindle, first ensure email@example.com
is added to your Approved Personal Document E-mail List under your Personal Document Settings
on the Manage Your Content and Devices page of your Amazon account. Then enter the ‘name’ part
of your Kindle email address below.
Find out more about sending to your Kindle.
Note you can select to send to either the @free.kindle.com or @kindle.com variations.
‘@free.kindle.com’ emails are free but can only be sent to your device when it is connected to wi-fi.
‘@kindle.com’ emails can be delivered even when you are not connected to wi-fi, but note that service fees apply.
We know about the benefactors of Greek cities primarily from inscriptions that mark the honours given to them for their benefaction. But the act of benefaction, which is nothing other than the giving of a gift to a corporate body, existed independently of the honour, and this chapter seeks to turn attention to why it was that institutions needed benefactors, and the different needs of institutions of different sizes. Corporate bodies had a number of ways, including direct and indirect taxation and requiring contributions, to meet their financial and other needs, but the smaller the corporate body, the more important it was for it to cultivate benefactors. The particular need felt by Athenian demes can be seen to be reflected in the indications in the epigraphic record that they were precocious in developing ways of encouraging benefaction. But how a group relates in size to other groups is important in determining the attitudes that potential benefactors take to it, so that relative as well as absolute size matters.
In this mirror you see yourself very dimly or not at all but you have a clear view of the statue of the goddesses and their throne.
Pausanias at Lykosoura, viii.37.7
BRIAN SPARKES (1991: ch. 4) has taught us that the shape of a pot matters. It matters not just because different pots offer different fields and different constraints to the artist, but because different shapes are used, handled and seen differently. This has been most fruitfully explored with regard to those vessels used at the symposion, and particularly by François Lissarrague in his Un Flot d’images (1987). It is clear that the images on sympotic vessels exploited the conditions in which they were seen in a variety of ways: shape and imagery could be made to interact closely, as on the Bomford cup where the user has to decide whether to enjoy the slippering of the slave boy on the tondo while grasping the male genitals that are the cup's foot, or whether to use the outer handles (no mean feat on a cup this large) and cock the foot at the other symposiasts. Certain types of scene were painted only for locations in which they would normally be displayed not to the collective gathering but to the individual (so the scenes on Douris’ psykter in the British Museum); other scenes relied for their effect on the gradual uncovering which occurred as a cup was drained (it is not by chance that the vomiting reveller features primarily on the tondos of cups).
As well as relating the scenes shown to the way a vessel was seen and handled, recent studies have made much more of the interrelationship between different scenes on a pot. Sometimes this relationship is more or less transparent, as when three scenes relating to the same story are shown on the two sides and interior of a cup. Sometimes the parallels are ‘typological’, with parallel scenes shown on two sides of an amphora, or whatever. Except when it comes to ‘lay figures’ on the ‘backs’ of classical red-figure vases, cases where we can be confident that scenes are quite unconnected are rather rarer than the long ignoring of the possibility of linkages would suggest.
If the study of pot painting has increasingly paid attention to the way in which images relate to each other and to a pot's shape and use, the same does not apply to the study of sculpture.
M. I. Finley (1912–86) was the most famous ancient historian of his generation. He was admired by his peers, and was Professor of Ancient History at the University of Cambridge and Fellow of the British Academy. His unmistakable voice was familiar to tens of thousands of radio listeners, his polemical reviews and other journalism were found all over the broadsheets and weeklies, and his scholarly as well as his popular works sold in very large numbers as Penguin paperbacks. Yet this was also a man dismissed from his job at Rutgers University when he refused to answer the question of whether he was or had ever been a member of the Communist Party. This pioneering volume assesses Finley's achievements and analyses the nature of the impact of this charismatic individual and the means by which he changed the world of ancient history.