Alexandria: The Oxford Undergraduate Classics Journal is the University’s academic journal for undergraduates with an interest in Classics and related subjects.
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
Annabel Holt
CREATIVE DIRECTOR
Sophie Park EDITORS
S. Alp
Lauren Coleman
Annabel Holt
Phoebe Hyun
Lindsay Igoe
Myesha Munro
Sophie Park
Allyson Obber
Thomasina Smith
COVER ILLUSTRATOR
Charlotte Bunney
4 A Letter from the Editor
BY ANNABEL HOLTIllustration by Ruta Ashworth
6 A Brief History of Greek Influence in India
BY YAAMIR BADHEIllustration by Chloe Dootson-Graube
16 Plato on Lockdown: An Addition to “a Series of Footnotes” to the Great Philosopher
BY TATIANA QUINTAVALLEIllustration by Kate Grant
24 Shakespeare’s Comedies and Aemulatio of Roman Love Elegy
BY LILY BECKETTIllustration by Alex Kahn
31 Plato’s Euthyphro : A Different Answer on Piety
BY MEGAN BOWLERIllustration by Ruta Ashworth
36 Ritual, Religion and Release: How the Panathenaic Festivel and the City Dionysia Helped to Maintain Religious and Social Tensions
BY PAUL MARCIllustration by Charlotte Bunney
W e are proud to present to you the 6th issue of Alexandria, the Oxford Undergraduate Classics Journal!
This issue has been crafted during a time which has felt, in turns, loudly confronting and quietly ruminative: time which the authors of these pieces have taken to ponder the legacy of the ancient world and to look at our conceptions about history in a different way. A theme of reexamination feels appropriate, in circumstances which we perhaps wish we could alter or revise. Whether assessing the influence of Greek culture in India, conjecturing what Plato would have thought about lockdown - or a revised argument in a Socratic dialogue - tracking influences of Latin elegists in Shakespeare, or analysing the social messaging of Attic festivals, the writing in this issue is consistently incisive, creative and topical.
Congratulations to the authors for what they’ve produced, and to the illustrators who created such beautiful companion pieces. Also, thank you to the wonderful editors who were committed to making this issue the best it could be amid the interruptions and disturbances which inevitably cropped up. With no further delay, we hope that you enjoy the issue.
Annabel Holt, Editor-in-Chief
Ancient Greece and India share the unique distinction of being the cradles of two weighty Classical traditions; perhaps the literary, philosophical and artistic burden that comes with this distinction has meant that Classicists and Indologists alike have often tended to study each culture in isolation, missing out on the fascinating instances of cultural syncretism that took place between them over a period of no less than eight hundred years. We have scattered evidence of interactions between Greeks and Indians1 from the 5th century BCE, particularly in the works of Herodotus.2 However, it is only during the period following Alexander the Great’s invasion of the north-west of the Indian subcontinent that we begin to see sustained contact between India and Greece.3 Setting out from his Balkan homeland of Macedon, Alexander, by the early 320s BCE, had carved out a vast empire stretching from the Aegean to the western frontier of the Indian subcontinent. When Macedonian forces crossed the Khyber Pass and entered the fertile Indus Valley4 in the winter of 327 BCE, north-west India was a patchwork of small kingdoms, most of which submitted willingly, others not without a fight. Alexander eventually managed to conquer much of the northern Indus Valley, and was tempted to press on further east towards the Gangetic plain.5 However, the despondency of his troops and alleged rumours of a powerful, hostile kingdom to the East gave him pause.6 With this in mind, Alexander and his forces made their way southwards along the Indus into the Sindh region, where, upon reaching what is now the port city of Karachi, they turned homewards and headed back west towards the Iranian plateau.7 Alexander himself never made it home, dying in Babylon in 323 BCE. However, his campaigns further east in India established a Greek cultural presence that would endure for many centuries.
Following the death of Alexander the Great, the territories he had conquered were divided up between his most trusted generals, the diadochi. The conquered territories of the Indus Valley, alongside the Iranian Plateau and the Levant, were allotted to Seleucus Nicator, and later became known as the Seleucid Empire. At the time of Alexander’s invasion, however, crucial developments were taking place in the Gangetic plain, as the ruler of the Indian Nanda Empire, Dhana Nanda, was successfully overthrown by Chandragrupta Maurya, who went on to found the Mauryan Empire,
1 Throughout this piece, readers should understand the words “India” and “Indian” to be referring to South Asia (Afghanistan, Pakistan, India, Nepal, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Bhutan and the Maldives) rather than referring solely to the modern Republic of India.
2 Herodotus Histories 3.89-97, 4.44
3 For more on the historiography of Alexander the Great and his campaigns, see: Peter Green, Alexander the Great and the Hellenistic Age: A Short History (2008)
4 A region comprising the drainage basin of the Indus River. It is today made up of most of Pakistan, the north-western Indian states of Punjab, Himachal Pradesh and Jammu and Kashmir
5 The Gangetic Plain consists of the drainage basin of the River Ganges (Ganga), encompassing the modern Indian states of Uttar Pradesh, Bihar and West Bengal, as well as the country of Bangladesh. The Gangetic Plain was one of two geopolitical regions of the Northern Subcontinent, the other being the Indus Valley.
6 Plutarch Alexander 62, Diodorus 2.35-42 (quoted from the Epitome of Megasthenes’ Indica)
7 Arrian Anabasis Alexandri 5.23
the largest South Asian empire of antiquity. After successfully gaining control of Pataliputra,8 the former Nanda capital in the region of Magadha, Chandragupta embarked on a rapid programme of expansion across the subcontinent. By 305 BCE, Chandragupta had occupied the Indus Valley, the eastern limit of the Seleucid Empire, resulting in the twoyear-long Seleucid-Mauryan war, which itself culminated in a decisive Mauryan victory. Following this, the Seleucid territories in the Indus Valley, as well as the former Achaemenid territories of Arachosia, Gedrosia and Gandhara9 were all ceded to the Mauryan Empire.10 Additionally, formal diplomatic relations were established between the Seleucid and Mauryan states, and, though this is rather ambiguously described by contemporary historians, a marriage treaty, thought to be between Seleucus’ daughter and Chandragupta, was finalised between the two rulers, in exchange for a donation of 500 Mauryan war elephants to the Seleucid force.11
In this way, less than twenty years after Alexander the Great’s death, all of the territory he had acquired in the Indian subcontinent had been lost. However, this by no means signified the end of Greek presence in the region, as substantial Greek-speaking communities continued to flourish in the north-west of the Mauryan Empire, whose connection to the wider Hellenistic world, particularly the Greek-speaking cities of Bactria, was facilitated by friendly relations between the Mauryans and Seleucids. It is during this period of relative stability and prosperity that we see our first evidence of cultural syncretism and exchange between Greek and non-Greek communities in this region. During the Mauryan period, Kandahar, a city founded by Alexander the Great as “Alexandria in Arachosia”,12 today located in modern southern Afghanistan, served as an important frontier city, close to the empire’s borders with Bactria and Persia. By the mid 3rd century BCE, the Mauryan Empire had reached its greatest territorial expanse under Chandragupta’s grandson, Ashoka, who succeeded in brutally subjugating the fiercely independent tribal region of Kalinga,13 on India’s east coast, the human cost of which compelled him to convert to Buddhism and subsequently introduce a policy of state Buddhist proselytism.14 Ashoka attempted to achieve the latter through the commissioning of stone edicts across the subcontinent, in which he announced his own conversion and encouraged his subjects to incorporate Buddhist doctrine into their everyday lives. The vast majority of the edicts, most of which survive today, were written in various local Prakrits.15 However, two edicts, both found in and around Kandahar, are written in Greek.16
These Greek edicts, one of which has an additional translation of the same passage in Aramaic,17 appear to be
8 Modern Patna, Bihar, India
9 Arachosia was located in modern southern Afghanistan; Gedrosia in the modern Pakistani province of Balochistan; Gandhara Proper consisted of city of Peshawar and the surrounding valley and hills.
10 “τούτων
τῶν Ἀριανῶν καὶ κατοικίας ἰδίας συνεστήσατο” Strabo Geographica 15.2.1(9)
11 “ἔδωκε δὲ Σέλευκος ὁ Νικάτωρ Σανδροκόττῳ, συνθέμενος ἐπιγαμίαν καὶ ἀντιλαβὼν ἐλέφαντας πεντακοσίους” Strabo Geographica 15.2.1(9) The use of the word “epigamia” remains ambiguous and its exact meaning, that is, whether it signified a single alliance between Seleucus’ daughter and Chandragupta, or less specific marriage agreements, has been the subject of much debate. One Indian source, the Pratisarga Purana, mentions specifically that Chandragupta married Seleucus (Suluva)’s daughter. However, the Puranas have been found to be full of historical inaccuracies.
12 Charles Allen Ashoka: The Search for India’s Lost Emperor pp47
13 Modern Indian state of Orissa
14 For an overview of Ashoka’s religious policies, see: John Keay India: A History: From the Earliest Civilisations to the Boom of the Twenty-first Century pp.78-100
15 Prakrits were vernacular languages descended from Sanskrit spoken in across the northern Subcontinent
16 The edicts referred to here are 1) The surviving portions of rock edicts XII and XIII found in Kandahar, Afghanistan and written in Greek 2) the Kandahar bilingual inscription that was written in both Greek and Aramaic.
17 The administrative language of the erstwhile Achaemenid Empire
attempting to describe Buddhist philosophy and doctrine in a way that would appeal to and be understood by a substantial Greek-speaking community in the city. The structure of both edicts is very similar to those found at other locations in the Empire, and the text itself contains direct translations of Buddhist philosophical terms, as well as a Greek rendering of Ashoka’s widespread Prakrit epithet “piyadasi”18 (loved by the people), which appears in Greek as βασιλευς Πιοδασσης19 (King Piodasses). The inscription, like others, urges readers to follow dhamma, a Buddhist term meaning “duty”, but referring more widely to the adoption of Buddhist practices, and is translated in to Greek as εὐσεβεια,20 which has commonly been translated into English as “piety”.21 The edict also appeals to its audience to practise “ἐγκρατεια”22 or “self-control”, a key aspect of the Buddhist philosophy of restraint and moderation. This is an idea that is itself reflected in the Delphic Maxims found not far from Kandahar in the Seleucid city of Alexandria on the Oxus, today known as Ai Khanum.23 The first edict, furthermore, after revealing Ashoka’s enthusiasm for the adoption of dhamma, goes on to praise its spread across the rest of the empire, claiming that men have started to desist from hunting and fishing,24 reflecting the Buddhist practices of refraining from killing living beings and vegetarianism. The second edict also suggests that Kandahar was indeed integrated into the wider empire, as it describes in detail Ashoka’s victory in Kalinga, followed by the conversion to Buddhism that this brought on.25
The two edicts at Kandahar show us that firstly, almost a century after Alexander the Great’s invasion, and after over half a century of non-Greek rule, there remained a significant Greek-speaking community in Kandahar, who were well integrated as citizens of the wider Mauryan Empire, as subjects of “King Piodasses”. Furthermore, they show us that this Greek-speaking community appears not to be culturally isolated, but rather one that may have been sympathetic towards, or possibly have adopted aspects of Buddhism and Buddhist practices. Indeed, the nature of the nuanced translations of Prakrit terms into Greek ones would certainly have required a writer with knowledge of not only both languages but also the philosophical terminologies, and therefore the philosophical literature of both languages. Similarities between the second edict and the Delphic maxims at Ai Khanum suggest further dialogue and cultural diffusion between the Seleucid Greeks and Buddhists of the Mauryan Empire. Indeed, as we learn from other Ashokan edicts, Buddhist missions were sent from Pataliputra to as far as Antioch, the Seleucid capital,26 and so a Buddhist presence in Kandahar, especially amongst Greek speakers, is certainly not unexpected.
We also have access to another, rather different inscription found just outside Kandahar and dated to around a century after the Ashokan inscription, constituting a playful acrostic poem. Written in elegiac couplets, the first letter of each line spells out the name of its author:
18 Sick, David When Socrates Met the Buddha: Greek and Indian Dialectic in Hellenistic Bactria and India pp258
19 Kandahar Bilingual Rock Inscription 1-2
20 Kandahar Bilingual Rock Inscription 3; Rock Edict XII 1; Rock Edict XIII 6
21 Sick, David When Socrates Met the Buddha: Greek and Indian Dialectic in Hellenistic Bactria and India pp258
22 ibid pp260-8 23
25 Rock Edict XIII 4
26 Epigraphic evidence of these proselytising missions has led scholars to draw parallels between Buddhist and Hellenistic philosophy. 27 Paul Bernard, Georges-Jean Pinault, Georges
Neither Sophytus or Naratus are Greek names, and they have in fact been proposed to be corruptions of two Indic names: Subhūti and Nārada.28 This in turn suggests to us that the community of Greek-speakers in Kandahar was not only culturally integrated, but may also have been a multi-ethnic community, in which non-Greeks not only spoke the language, but were able to compose poetry in it. This perhaps gives weight to the argument that the epigamia mentioned by Strabo and Appian in the Seleucid-Mauryan peace treaty, may have implied more widespread intermarriage between Greeks and locals, rather than solely that between Seleucus’ daughter and Chandragupta Maurya. When we combine this inscription with Ashoka’s edicts, it indeed seems even more credible that a community of Indianised, Buddhist Greek-speakers may have existed in Kandahar.29
Ashoka’s reign marked the height of Mauryan power on the Indian subcontinent, and the years following his death in 232 BCE saw its steady decline and eventual fall in 180 BCE, when the last emperor, Brihadratha was assassinated by his general, Pushyamitra Shunga, who went on to found the Shunga Dynasty. In the years leading up to this, there had been significant political upheaval in the north-west as well; in 256 BCE, the Greeks who lived in the wealthy and fertile region of Bactria, centered around the city of Alexandria on the Oxus, revolted against the Seleucids, resulting in the formation of the Greco-Bactrian kingdom, with Diodotus as its king.30 Over the next half-century, the Greco-Bactrians maintained good relations with the Mauryan Empire, continuing to honour the terms of the Seleucid-Mauryan treaty; we can indeed see evidence of the contact between these two regions even further inland than Kandahar, where Ashokan stupas (monuments, generally sepulchral) and columns begin to show evidence of Greek artistic motifs. The establishment of the Shunga dynasty, however, marked a significant change in communal relations on the subcontinent; Pushyamitra Shunga was an orthodox Hindu, and contemporary literature postulates that his reign saw the persecution of Buddhists across the territory of the former Mauryan Empire.31 According to Tarn, this persecution of Buddhists, towards whom the Greco-Bactrians, some of them possibly being Buddhists themselves, felt a degree of loyalty, led the reigning Greco-Bactrian King Demetrius to invade the Indus Valley in 180 BCE.32 The invasion was successful, and led to the establishment of what is referred to today as the Indo-Greek kingdom, which turned into a conglomerate of Hellenised states in the Indus Valley.
It was during this period, that the Indus Valley and the regions of Gandhara, Arachosia and Gedrosia once again came under Greek rule, which, combined with the rise of the Parthians to the West, cutting off the region from the rest of the Hellenistic world, led to further Greco-Indian cultural syncretism. It is at this time that we see the widespread minting of Indo-Greek coins, which were generally bilingual, with one side in Greek and the other in various Prakrits native to the region. As well as being bilingual, these coins also combined images of Greek gods and figures with Hindu and Buddhist ones. A particularly interesting example is this coin of the Indo-Greek king Antialcidas; on one side of the coin we can see an image of the king himself holding a spear, surrounded by the Greek legend:
28 ibid. pp251; Wallace, S Greek Culture in India and Afghanistan: Old evidence and New Discoveries (2016) pp221
29 For more on the extent to which and the manner in which Greeks and non-Greeks interacted in this region, see Wallace, S Greek Culture in India and Afghanistan: Old evidence and New Discoveries, Greek and Roman 63 (2016)
30 Justin, Epitome of Pompeius Trogus 41.4; Strabo, Geographica 11.11.1; Tarn, W.W The Greeks in Bactria and India pp.130 (1922)
31 Paranavitana, Senarat The Greeks and the Mauryas (1971)
32 Tarn, W.W The Greeks in Bactria and India pp.130 (1922)
ΑΝΤΙΑΛΚΙΔΟΥ33 (of victorious Antialcidas). On the reverse of the coin, we can see what has been identified to be an image of Zeus, holding a lotus-tipped sceptre and standing in front of a quintessentially Indian symbol, the elephant, surmounted by Nike, crowning it with a wreath.34 This image is surrounded by a Prakrit legend: maharajasa jayadharasa antialikitasa, which has exactly the same translation as the Greek legend. Indeed, this coin is just one example of many bilingual coins that display an early combination of Greek and Indian motifs. Alongside these coins, we also see the development of stone palettes across the region; the earliest of these have been found at Ai Khanum, and portray purely Greek mythological scenes. However, those that are found further south, especially those in Gandhara and the Indus Valley, begin to display increasingly Indic features, starting with more Indian-looking representations of Greek deities, such as Apollo wearing Indian clothes and anklets,35 as well as the presence of elephants and Buddhist chakra wheels. Traces of certain Greek mythological motifs also endure as the palettes become more Indianised; scenes of Bacchic revelry, scenes from the myth of Hercules, as well as the motif of the sea-monster can be found on Indo-Greek palettes portraying increasingly Indianised and Buddhist scenes.36 In particular the motif of Hercules portrayed as the Buddhist Vajrapani, as well as the preservation of depictions of Apollo would both go on to heavily influence the famous Greco-Buddhist sculpture of the early 1st millennium AD.
In addition to artistic and numismatic evidence of growing and sustained interactions between Greeks and Indians during this period, we also continue to see epigraphic evidence of Greek presence in the subcontinent, as well as, for the first time during this period, literary evidence. We have already looked at an example of one of King Antialcidas’ coins, minted close to the Indo-Greek hub of Taxila. Additionally, we have access to an inscription mentioning Antialcidas hundreds of miles to the south-east, near the central Indian town of Vidisha. Indeed, the Heliodorus inscription, which is found on a ceremonial pillar erected in Vidisha, details the visit of Heliodorus, an ambassador of King Antialcidas, to the court of the then Shunga ruler, King Bhagabhadra.37 The pillar, which is topped by a sculpture of Garuda, the legendary bird who was the mount of the Hindu God Vishnu, functioned as both a diplomatic gift and a religious offering;38 the inscription also mentions that Heliodorus himself was a “bhagavat” or devotee of Lord Vishnu, and had been sent by Antialcidas to make this offering.39 This pillar, therefore, is rather significant because it firstly reveals that interactions between Greeks and Indians were not limited to those between Greeks and Buddhists, but also included Hindus; secondly, it reveals that
33 Narain, A.K The Indo-Greeks (1957) Plate IV.4
34 Ibid.
35 Pons, Jessie, From Gandharan Trays To Gandharan Buddhist Art: The Persistence of Hellenistic Motifs from the 2nd century BC and Beyond from From Pella to Gandhara: Hybridisation and Identity in the Art and Architecture of the Hellenistic East BAR International Series pp161 (2011)
36 Ibid. pp153-61
37 Wallace, S Greek Culture in India and Afghanistan: Old evidence and New Discoveries (2016) pp222
38 Ibid.
39 Ibid.
there may have been Greeks, like Heliodorus, as well as other nonIndians, who revered Hindu deities, possibly alongside their own; and thirdly, it shows that the Indo-Greek kingdom was diplomatically very much integrated with the rest of South Asia.
Alongside the Heliodorus inscription, we also have evidence of a Greek presence outside of the NorthWest in the form of offerings made to Buddhist temples and sanctuaries in other parts of the subcontinent, particularly cave sanctuaries located along the India’s west coast, where epigraphic evidence mentions donations of pillars and carvings from North-western Greek devotees, once again suggesting that there may have been Greek-speakers who practised at least some aspects of Buddhism. These religious interactions are also detectable in the literature of the period, in the form of the Milinda Panha, a Pali Text that describes a dialogue between Nagasena, a Buddhist Monk and King Milinda, a character described as the ruler of Sagala, a city not far from Taxila. Milinda has been identified with the Indo-Greek king Menander I, who ruled during the first half of the second century BCE. In the text itself, the debate between Milinda and Nagasena eventually leads to Nagasena’s victory, resulting in Menander’s conversion to Buddhism.40 While it is unknown whether Menander actually converted to Buddhism,41 his reign, as well as those of his successors, certainly sees a significant increase in the visible patronage of Buddhism by Indo-Greek kings, seen primarily through their adoption of the title “dharmakasa” or “protector of the (Buddhist) faith” on their coins.42
Towards the end of the 1st century BCE, the Indo-Greek territories of the Indus Valley and the Hindu Kush began to be eroded away by the very forces that created them: invasions from the north-west, as the region became increasingly subject to raids and invasions by nomadic tribes from central Asia, including Scythians and the Yuezhi. The last pair of Indo-Greek kings were both overthrown in 10 CE43 and the waves of nomadic invasions eventually culminated in the formation of the Kushan Empire in 30 CE, founded by a clan of the Yuezhi native to Bactria.44 While this marked the end of widespread Greek rule in the Indian subcontinent, it did not mark the end of Greek cultural influence. Greek remained the official language of the Kushan Empire for over a century after its foundation, with Kushan coinage continuing to use Greek legends and Greek mythological images, combined with Hindu, Buddhist
40 Thapar, Romila The Penguin History of Early India From The Origins to AD 1300 pp.215
41 Our idea of religious “conversions” run the risk of being too heavily informed by post-Christian and Islamic ideas of conversion
42 Narain, A.K The Indo-Greeks (1957) pp100
43 Pons, Jessie, From Gandharan Trays To Gandharan Buddhist Art: The Persistence of Hellenistic Motifs from the 2nd century BC and Beyond from From Pella to Gandhara: Hybridisation and Identity in the Art and Architecture of the Hellenistic East BAR International Series pp141 (2011)
44 Thapar, Romila The Penguin History of Early India From The Origins to AD 1300 pp.217
Apollonian Buddhaand Zoroastrian ones.
The period following the formation of the Kushan Empire saw the rise of the most enduring images and motifs of Indo-Greek art, which was now almost exclusively Buddhist in character. Gandharan Greco-Buddhist art sees the motifs of the Indo-Greek period develop with an increasing degree of sophistication, leading to the appearance of the Gandhara Buddha, a series of large statues of the Buddha, thought to ultimately be inspired by Apollonian images, standing contrapposto, wearing a Greek chiton, with braided hair in Hellenistic style and heavily Hellenised facial features. Indeed, these Gandhara Buddhas appear to be among the first anthropomorphic depictions of the Buddha, who was previously only represented aniconically through various symbols, marking a significant shift in the way the religion was practised. Alongside the Gandhara Buddha, of whom we see a number examples in the first four centuries CE, we also see friezes with scenes from the life of the Buddha, thought to be heavily inspired by Hellenistic and GrecoBactrian scenes of Bacchic revelry,45 as well as Hellenised statues of Buddhist deities and bodhisattvas, perhaps the most notable of which are portrayals of the Buddhist figure Vajrapani as Hercules. These images and statues, whether created by ethnic Greeks, or non-Greeks, certainly owe significant debt to the Indo-Greek cultures that preceded them, as well as ultimately the Hellenistic styles of sculpture that travelled to India from the West via Ai Khanum. They additionally suggest that this period was one of particularly free and fluid cultural exchange, with many Greeks and Greek speakers adopting Buddhist practices, as well as profoundly altering them through the retention of their native ones. The first four centuries CE also coincided with the spread of Mahayana Buddhism from the Gandhara region to Central Asia, from where it eventually spread to China, Korea and Japan,46 where Buddhist sculpture even today owes much stylistic debt to the Greco-Buddhist forms,47 both in terms of the depiction of the Buddha, as well as the use of Greek models for the depiction of other Buddhist symbols.48
The production of Gandharan art came to an end by the 6th century CE. Although there was
45 Pons, Jessie, From Gandharan Trays To Gandharan Buddhisst Art: The Persistence of Hellenistic Motifs from the 2nd century BC and Beyond from From Pella to Gandhara: Hybridisation and Identity in the Art and Architecture of the Hellenistic East BAR International Series pp166-170 (2011)
46 Thapar, Romila The Penguin History of Early India From The Origins to AD 1300 pp.254-6
47 Tanabe, Katsumi, Alexander the Great, East-West cultural contacts from Greece to Japan, pp23
48 Such as Hercules for the depiction of bodhisattvas such as Vajrapani. see: Pons, Jessie, From Gandharan Trays To Gandharan Buddhist Art: The Persistence of Hellenistic Motifs from the 2nd century BC and Beyond from From Pella to Gandhara: Hybridisation and Identity in the Art and Architecture of the Hellenistic East BAR International Series pp164-166 (2011)
Apollonian Buddha (1st century CE) from Tokyo National Museum flanked by his protector, Vajrapani, depicted as Herculesno singular event that led to this cessation, a combination of continuing raids from the north-west, prolonged isolation from the Mediterranean Greek-speaking world, and the rise of more orthodox Hindu powers in India, particularly the Gupta empire, probably contributed to the complete assimilation of Greeks into the dominant communities of northwest India. However, the Greeks’ artistic, aesthetic, and cultural legacy on both the Indian subcontinent and East Asia is certainly a significant one. There remains much to be uncovered about this rather enigmatic period, but the instances of artistic, religious and cultural syncretism that took place within it form a unique moment of shared history between Greece and South Asia, and set a rare but comforting ancient precedent for modern multiculturalism.
• Antialcidas silver tetradrachm, http://coinindia.com/MIG0274-344.01.jpg
Reference: Reference: MIG 274a, Bop 8A
• Apollonian Buddha: “Buddha” by eschipul is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0 , Creative Commons
• Apollonian Buddha (1st century CE) from Tokyo National Museum flanked by his protector, Vajrapani, depicted as Hercules, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Buddha-Vajrapani-Herakles.JPG
• Thapar, Romila The Penguin History of Early India From the Origins to AD 1300, Chapter 7: Of Politics and Trade (2002)
• Tarn, W.W The Greeks in Bactria and India (1st Edition), (1922)
• Narain, A.K The Indo-Greeks , (1957)
• Sick, David, When Socrates Met the Buddha: Greek and Indian Dialectic in Hellenistic Bactria and India, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society (2007)
• Pons, Jessie, From Gandharan Trays To Gandharan Buddhisst Art: The Persistence of Hellenistic Motifs from the 2nd century BC and Beyond from From Pella to Gandhara: Hybridisation and Identity in the Art and Architecture of the Hellenistic East BAR International Series (2011)
• Mairs, Rachel The Places in Between: Model and Metaphor in the Archaelogy of Hellenistic Arachosia from From Pella to Gandhara: Hybridisation and Identity in the Art and Architecture of the Hellenistic East BAR International Series (2011)
• Wallace, S Greek Culture in Afghanistan and India: Old Evidence and New Discoveries from Greece and Rome 63 , (2016)
The UK government response to the coronavirus outbreak has turned conventional life on its head. Social life, travel, and even education are no longer able to continue in the way they once did; the dramatic change which the world has undergone sometimes seems dystopian. In his Republic, Plato details an ideal world which, if examined just a year ago, would not have seemed remotely achievable in practice; now, though still far from being totally Platonic, ideals which he focused his Republic around seem more prominent in our own society. Plato developed idealistic philosophies of forms designed to endure in spite of social change; the inherent timelessness of his philosophical ideas make him a fascinating character to study in this famously unprecedented era. His ideas about authoritative government are interesting to compare with our own nation’s authoritarian response, and his extensive writings about treatment of the sick, freedom of will, virtuous conduct, and imprisonment, create fascinating material to compare with attitudes prominent in our society and government today. Plato’s ideas may be controversial to most readers: he would, for example, have likely been taken aback by the obsession which people in the coronavirus age have with saving every life. However, the thing which I have found most striking when comparing Plato’s totalitarian views to attitudes today is how many of these seem to have been taken up so willingly by our modern world; indeed, I will argue that Plato would have approved thoroughly of authoritarian measures taken by the government, taking no issue with any restrictions on people’s free will.
The Athenian plague raged from 430 - 426 BC, around the time at which scholars believe Plato was born. Descriptions of this plague bear remarkable similarity to today’s crisis. An acknowledgement of the heightened dangers faced by frontline workers, evident in our prioritised NHS, is shown when Thucydides mentions that doctors, “died fastest themselves, as being the men that most approached the sick.”2 A lockdown of sorts can be inferred from Plutarch’s account that “in the summer season, many were huddled together in small dwellings and stifling barracks, and compelled to lead a stay-at-home and inactive life.”3 The increased crowding in city populations and proclivity for free movement, partially responsible for today’s fast-spreading disease, also apparently affected Athens; Plutarch claims that people “urged that the plague was caused by the crowding of rustic multitudes together into the city.”4
However, in contrast to today’s “plague”, Thucydides’ account details symptoms peculiar to the Athenian plague, which, unlike coronavirus’ comparably tolerable high fever and dry cough, included inflamed eyes, bleeding in the
mouth, vomiting, pustules, insomnia, extreme thirst, and diarrhoea.5 Whilst over 90%6 of victims dying with Covid-19 have underlying conditions serious enough to be counted as causes of death, Thucydides claimed that “people in good health were all of a sudden attacked”,7 and Plutarch’s later description reinstates that the disease “devoured clean the prime of their youth.”8 In March, UK scientific advisors suggested that the likelihood of death by coronavirus was between 0.5 and 1%,9 whilst the Athenian plague likely killed more than a third of the population. Growing up in the aftermath of such a severe plague likely gave Plato a profound understanding of death and disease.
Medicine is a recurring theme in Plato’s dialogues. Heyd points out that “Medicine is a theoretically powerful model for discussions of political philosophy”,10 and Plato uses the idea of bodily health to ground his arguments about the soul’s health, writing “I set... justice to match medicine.”11 Plato’s decision12 to immortalise Socrates’ final words, “Crito, we owe a cock to Asclepius [the god of medicine]. Pay it and do not neglect it”,13 shows his high estimation of doctors. However, Plato’s attitude towards the medical career as superior to “trivial” pursuits does not mean he would have approved entirely of the role doctors played in propaganda at the start of the pandemic. Perhaps Lord Sumption emulated Plato when, in response to the “Protect the NHS” slogan, he said “The NHS is there to protect us, not the other way around.”14 Plato took a similar stance, saying “Neither does any physician… seek or enjoy the advantage of the physician, but that of the patient.”15 Plato would also have questioned the placement of scientific research at the centre of government decision-making today; his admiration of medicine, and the parallels he draws between medicine’s effect on the body and philosophy’s effect on the soul, are juxtaposed with his opinion that the body is inferior. He says “the soul… is prior to all bodies”,16 and Moes highlights Plato’s implication that a doctor is not necessarily able “to make the moral decisions involved in governing a state or administering justice.”17 This implication is paid no heed to today: the government claims to be led by “the science”,18 ignoring the fact that contradictory scientific schools of thought shouldn’t be treated as straightforward guiding forces. Plato argues in Republic II that society best operates when each person does solely the job proper to themselves; he wouldn’t have approved of doctors or scientists being given the authority of politicians.
To my mind, Plato could only have approved of government submission to scientific authority on the condition that it led to a more compliant nation. Good leadership is especially important, and difficult, in times of crisis; Boris
5 Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War, 2.49
6 Office for National Statistics, England and Wales, November 2020
7 Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War, 2.49
8 Plutarch, Lives, Pericles, 34.3
9 https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-51674743, https://www.imperial.ac.uk/news/196234/covid-19-imperial-researchersmodel-likely-impact/ ; The Imperial College modelling published on 17th March 2020 that predicted 500,000 deaths unless measures were taken then 250,000 if measures were taken: 500,000 of just over 67,000,000 (UK population in 2020) is 0.7462%
10 David Heyd, The Medicalisation of Health: Plato’s Warning
11 Plato, Gorgias 464b
12 Glenn W. Most, in her essay “A Cock for Asclepius” interestingly analyses this line as giving a clearer insight into Plato’s thinking than Socrates’ saying “although speculating about Socrates’ intention is idle, the same does not hold for Plato’s”.
13 Plato, Phaedo, 118
14 Lord Sumption, The Times, May 17 2020
15 Plato, Republic 1.342d
16 Plato, Laws, 892
17 Mark Moes, Plato’s Conception of the Relations between Moral Philosophy and Medicine
18 BBC News, 16 March 2020, “Downing Street said the government was committed to keeping the public informed and would be led by science.”
Johnson’s popularity, illustrated by opinion polls, has dropped dramatically over the course of lockdown. Similar public attitudes are reflected in accounts of the Athenian plague: Thucydides notes that “men… became indifferent to every rule of religion or law”,19 whilst Plutarch remarks that they became “altogether wild against Pericles.”20 Plato may have blamed this on democracy, which Plato lists as the fourth of his five regimes, crediting it with being a forerunner to tyranny. As pointed out by Atkinson, the Athenian plague “put to the test a participatory democracy, which was already in something of a political crisis.”21 Atkinson uses Sophocles’ contemporary tragedy Oedipus Tyrannus, which features a firm aristocracy, to imply that the public may have wanted a more authoritarian system. Tendency to look for authoritarian leaders in times of crisis is noted by Plato; Popper observes his suggestion that the democratic man “may exercise his absolute freedom... by defying freedom itself and clamouring for a tyrant.”22 The Conservative government enjoyed a landslide victory in December of 2019; aspects of the authoritarian approach which this has enabled them to take are now criticised, such as their inconsistent policies and expediently announced lockdowns. Would Plato have argued that this is the fault of the democratic system, enabling leaders other than “the best” to be selected?
Many Athenians held their democracy as a prized symbol of their advanced culture, but Plato would likely have approved of a more authoritarian approach. Popper notes that “The re-establishment of democracy and peace meant no respite for Plato”,23 whom it left bereaved of two uncles24 and his much admired teacher Socrates. Popper also highlights Plato’s insight that “his contemporaries were suffering… due to the social revolution which had begun with the rise of democracy.”25 To a modern freedom enthusiast, Plato’s detailing of democracy’s failings seems strange; McLoughlin notes Plato’s equation of democracy to “liberty to pursue whatever one desires without government interference in more private settings.”26 This sentiment appeals to the democratic soul, but it is interesting that less democratic nations have indeed been able to enforce stricter measures to control the virus; in China, a full lockdown was immediately implemented, which would never have been possible in Britain. Popper highlights Plato’s undemocratic ideology when he juxtaposes Plato’s claim that nobody’s mind should be “habituated to letting him do anything at all on his own initiative”27 with the words of the contemporary democratic leader Pericles, who said: “Although only a few may originate a policy, we are all able to judge it.”28
Interestingly, life in lockdown, especially in the initial response, has in some respects begun to emulate Plato’s description of his ideal Republic. State structure, separated into three classes - gold philosopher kings, silver warriors, copper craftsmen - is comparable with the distinguishable groups of government, key workers, and ordinary citizens. The idea of the “philosopher king”, evident when Plato says that warriors and craftsmen are “naturally fitted to leave
19 Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War
20 Plutarch, Pericles, 34.2
21 Atkinson, Turning Crises into Drama: The Management of Epidemics in Classical Antiquity
22 Popper, The Open Society and Its Enemies, Vol. 1, Plato
23 Popper, The Open Society and Its Enemies, Vol. 1, Plato
24 Charmides and Critias, both leading men in the Thirty Tyrants
25 Popper, The Open Society and Its Enemies, Vol. 1, Plato
26 Siobhan McLoughlin, The Freedom of the Good: A Study of Plato’s Ethical Conception of Freedom
27 Plato, Laws, 942a
28 Pericles, as quoted in Popper, The Open Society and Its Enemies, Vol. 1, Plato
philosophy alone and follow their leader,”29 could be compared to authoritarian approaches taken by governments today, who have not taken any democratic measures before implementing extreme restrictions which drastically affect every citizen. Plato details plans to ensure public compliance by use of a “noble lie”, describing an “ingenious mode of bringing into play one of those seasonable falsehoods.”30 Simplified slogans, visible on any billboard, which gloss over complicated problems posed by the virus, would therefore have appealed to Plato, who disapproved of citizens hearing “without scruple any fables composed by any authors indifferently.”31 He would have especially enjoyed the online world, which grants power to manipulate via devices, whose tailored news feeds and persistent presence in our lives make it difficult for citizens to have thoughts which are different to those which are highlighted on their screens. To a democratic ear, these measures sound sinister; however, Plato writes that his aim is “not to make any one class pre-eminently happy, but to make the whole state as happy as it can be made,”32 a view mirrored in community-minded approaches taken today. Even lockdown itself, in spite of the general lack of productivity bound to hinder any state, would possibly have appealed. Popper, in his criticism of Platonic theory, remarks that for Plato “The perfect state… is the arrested state”33 because of his aversion to change, stemming from his theory of forms. Plato’s last work claims that “Change… is the greatest of all the treacherous dangers that can befall a thing.”34
There are also aspects of our current state which Plato would have disapproved of. Lockdown has seen a dramatic rise in domestic abuse and mental health problems.35 Coronavirus death tolls, sometimes treated as sole measures of a country’s capability in relation to the crisis, are partially to blame for attitudes to people’s lives as number games. Plato, who writes that “A good soul will by its excellence render the body as perfect as it can be”,36 would have considered this total neglect of the soul shocking. Lockdown does not seem to have led to a rise of thoughtfulness: on the contrary, fast food is considered more ‘essential’ than places of worship. The closure of culturally important parts of society may have troubled Plato: though he states that theatre is not “in harmony with the genius of our commonwealth”,37 Plato considers music important, saying that “music ought to be taken up before gymnastic”, and his recognition of its power is what compels him to banish most of it from his ideal Republic. Limited ability for conversation would have been disapproved of too: Plato expressed his ideas as dialogues, often set at social gatherings. Plato would have encouraged regular exercise as an essential part of life: “Training in gymnastic… ought to go on all their life.”38 Meanwhile, the UK government initially discouraged exercise with the “Stay Home” slogan, and threatened fines in cases of walks lasting over an hour.
29 Plato, Gorgias 474b
30 Plato, Republic, 3.414
31 Plato, Republic, 2.337
32 Plato, Republic, 4.420
33 Popper, The Open Society and Its Enemies, Vol. 1, Plato
34 Plato, Laws
35 https://www.mind.org.uk/news-campaigns/news/mind-warns-of-second-pandemic-as-it-reveals-more-people-in-mentalhealth-crisis-than-ever-recorded-and-helpline-calls-soar/ ; https://www.ons.gov.uk/peoplepopulationandcommunity/crimeandjustice/ articles/domesticabuseduringthecoronaviruscovid19pandemicenglandandwales/november2020
36 Plato, Republic, 3.403
37 Plato, Republic, 3.397
38 Plato, Republic, 3.403
Many aspects of the global response to coronavirus would have surprised Plato, but the focus on avoiding deaths, especially by coronavirus, at all costs, would have baffled him particularly. On fear of death, Plato remarks “it’s surely illogical that anyone should be brave through fear and cowardice.”39 Recounting Socrates, before his execution, he writes “It would be absurd if at my age I were disturbed because I must die now”,40 a sentiment contrasting with concerns for primarily elderly victims of coronavirus. Ancient philosophy regarded death as inevitable; the mantra, popularised by Herodotus, “Count no man happy until he is dead”,41 illustrates a society in which excessive fear of death was viewed irrational. The PM’s words, “every death is one too many”,42 would have seemed absurd to Plato, whose consideration of life as too highly valued is evident in many texts set at the unconcerned Socrates’ deathbed. Plato once has Socrates ask: “is life worth living when the body is worthless and ruined?”43 The view that life in an imperfect body is not worth living is reinforced when Plato describes his ideal state as selecting doctors who only treat those curable enough to later return to the workforce, “leaving those who are otherwise in body to die”,44 and says that Asclepius “revealed the healing art for the benefit of those whose constitutions were naturally sound and had not been impaired by their habits of life.”45 Perhaps it is by belief in an afterlife - firm enough for Nietzche to revile him as “a Christian before Christ”46 - that Plato was fearless in the face of death. In Phaedo, he equates the soul to life itself, saying “I am rather hopeful that there is something in store for those who’ve died”,47 a sentiment infrequent in our secular society. Plato’s words, “If you see a man resentful that he is going to die, isn’t that proof enough for you that he’s no lover of wisdom after all, but what we may call a lover of the body?”,48 exemplify Plato’s likely disapproval of government response to coronavirus today, in terms of their prioritisation of preserving human life in the short term and at any cost.
There is an important distinction between Plato’s attitude towards lockdown regarding government of the populace, and its effect on him personally. Plato uses his Republic to analyse a healthy psyche, so it makes sense that “Plato‘s extensive discussions of political systems in the Republic can and should be taken as part of his discussion of individual freedom.”49 Plato admits that “if any illnesses happen, they hamper our pursuit of reality”,50 and would obviously have preferred a disease-free world. However, his insistence that for the genuine philosopher, “least of all men does being dead hold any terror”,51 leads me to believe that the pandemic would not have left him particularly panic-stricken. Plato insists that “so called pleasures of, for example, food and drink”,52 are not worth attention; shop closures would have hardly affected him. Unlike Socrates, Plato would not necessarily have missed conversing with strangers; Botton notes
39 Plato, Phaedo, 68d
40 Plato, Crito, 43c
41 Herodotus, Histories, 1.32.7
42 Boris Johnson, BBC 1, Address to the Nation, 28 May 2020
43 Plato, Crito, 47e
44 Plato, Republic, 3.410
45 Plato, Republic, 3.407
46 Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols, 10.2
47 Plato, Phaedo, 63c
48 Plato, Phaedo, 68c
49 Siobhan McLoughlin, The Freedom of the Good: A Study of Plato’s Ethical Conception of Freedom
50 Plato, Phaedo, 66c
51 Plato, Phaedo, 67d
52 Plato, Phaedo, 64d
that Plato “loves to shut himself up in his own circle, to ward off what is vulgar and disturbing.”53 Plato’s cave metaphor, describing desire for freedom from “those leaden, earthborn weights”,54 shows that Plato considered the soul to be trapped in the earthly realm for as long as one’s body was alive, meaning that lockdown would only be able to affect physical freedom, which is inferior to spiritual freedom. Plato further investigates freedom in Phaedrus; his recognition of the effort required for self control is clear in his description of a charioteer who “bespatters [the horse’s] railing tongue and his jaws with blood, and, forcing him down on legs and haunches delivers him to anguish.”55 McLoughlin notes that “The freedom of the philosopher is moderate, self-controlled, and predictable.”56 Plato would not have raged against his own lack of freedom in lockdown, but continued to write and contemplate.
53 Alain de Botton, The Essential Plato
54 Plato, Republic
55 Plato, Phaedrus, 254e
56 Siobhan McLoughlin, The Freedom of the Good: A Study of Plato’s Ethical Conception of Freedom
• Whitehead, A.N, Process and Reality
• Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War
• Plutarch, Lives, Pericles
• Heyd, David, The Medicalisation of Health: Plato’s Warning
• Plato, Gorgias
• Most, G.W, “A Cock for Asclepius”
• Plato, Phaedo
• Plato, Republic
• Plato, Laws
• Mark Moes, Plato’s Conception of the Relations between Moral Philosophy and Medicine
• Atkinson, Turning Crises into Drama: The Management of Epidemics in Classical Antiquity
• Popper, The Open Society and Its Enemies, Vol. 1, Plato
• Siobhan McLoughlin, The Freedom of the Good: A Study of Plato’s Ethical Conception of Freedom
• Plato, Crito
• Herodotus, Histories
• Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols
• Alain de Botton, The Essential Plato
• Plato, Phaedrus
In 1579, the schoolmaster John Stockward attacked English grammar schools’ prescribed study of a specific group of classical writers, namely the Roman love elegists, “Tibullus, Catullus and Propertius… and a great parte of Ovid” (Stockward as cited in Grant, 2019:27) Stockward’s complaints call attention to and criticise these poets’ erotic subject matter, deemed as morally dubious under Queen Elizabeth I as they had been under Augustus. The elegists were read as part of the Renaissance curriculum, of which Shakespeare was a student, alongside other ancient writers like Virgil and Horace, under the premise of rhetorical training and improvement of Latin. Inevitably, as pupils were introduced to these poets through pedagogical exercises, they were introduced to Roman elegy’s various topoi (rhetorical themes). Much research has been carried out into ‘the Ovidian’ in Shakespeare (Burrow, 2013; Martindale, 2010; Bate, 1986), but less attention has been given to the specific ways in which Shakespeare exploits elegiac models in his dramatic works. He was particularly inspired by the ways that the Roman elegists reconceptualised gender by challenging contemporary paradigms of the ‘ideal woman’, or by scrutinising typically Augustan dynamics of masculinity and hegemony. Therefore, Shakespeare further innovated elegiac tropes and reapplied them in order to confront the gender conventions of his own historical context of Elizabethan England. Shakespeare’s comedies are most fruitful for examining elegiac influences upon the playwright due to the shared generic aim of destabilising social mores in order to titillate readers and audiences; I shall use examples from the plays, As You Like It, Twelfth Night and All’s Well That Ends Well. Stockward’s fears that the study of Roman elegy encourages ‘immoral’ modes of behaviour were justified by Shakespeare, whose plays exhibit a distinct homage to the poetic (un)conventions that originate with Catullus, Propertius and Ovid.
The elegiac figure of the poeta amator (lover-poet) concerns himself exclusively with nequitia. Essentially translated as ‘badness’, elegists claimed nequitia to describe an all-encompassing preoccupation with the pursuit of love and poetry, and further connotations of adultery and love-affairs fuelled conservative suspicion that these texts might be morally compromising. The poeta amator’s rejection of public duty was condemned as ‘womanly’ (muliebriter) by upright men of state like Cicero (Tusculanae Disputationes, 2.55), similar to how anti-theatricalists like Stephen Gosson criticised the Elizabethan stage for its corrupting influence on masculinity: “these outward spectacles effeminate & soften the hearts of men” (Diehl, 2019:116). Plays were viewed with suspicion and perceived as institutionally subversive since they were consumed by a broad cross-section of society rather than an elite few. The controversial cultural position that ‘the theatre’ occupied in Elizabethan society parallels that of Roman nequitia, and subsequently Shakespeare as an author himself comes to reflect the figure of poeta amator in his subversive subject matter and intent. The figure is also
assumed by the lovesick Orlando in As You Like It, who inscribes his love poems to Rosalind on the trees in the forest of Arden:
O Rosalind, these trees shall be my books, And in their barks my thoughts I’ll character, That every eye which in this forest looks Shall see thy virtue witnessed everywhere. Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree, The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she.
(3.2.5-10)
Nagle points out that the ‘erotic chase’ in Ovid’s poetry reflects the figurative seduction of the reader by the poet (1998:33). Shakespeare constructs his own ‘narrative seduction’ by having Orlando write love letters to Rosalind whilst conscious of the necessity to please his theatre’s audience, ‘every eye’ for whom he will turn his thoughts into ‘character(s)’. Whilst it is reasonable to assume Orlando’s identification with the archetypal Petrarchan lover writing sonnets for an ‘unexpressive’ mistress, this practice did not originate with Petrarch, since Ovid’s, Catullus’s, and Propertius’s puellae are also mute; Petrarch and Shakespeare shared a common ancestor. Shakespeare was undoubtedly conditioned by Petrarch’s work but in this instance, Shakespeare establishes Orlando as characteristically elegiac through his action of inscribing the trees. Indeed, the influential Alexandrian poet Callimachus wrote “But in the bark engraved, carry as many letters as it needs to call Cydippe beautiful!”1 in reference to the Acontius-Cydippe love affair. Propertius, amongst the other elegists, revived Callimachean poetics, writing: “how many times is Cynthia written on your bark?” (Prop 1.18). Not only does Shakespeare employ the bark-inscription topos, confirming Orlando’s poeta amator status, but the play imitates the city-country progression of lovelorn elegists in its setting movement from the court to the Forest of Arden. Both Propertius’s and Callimachus’s Acontius retreat to the countryside intending to ‘cure’ their lovesickness (Cairns, 1969:134), as the city is the typical setting for love elegy. Likewise, a fictionalised version of the elegist Gallus carves his beloved’s name on the ‘young trees’ while taking refuge from Rome in Virgil’s pastoral setting of Eclogues X
To the elegists, the city of Rome represented matters of public duty and state government at the same time as being the setting for love poetry, producing a conflict of courtly class-consciousness which Shakespeare applies to his comedies. The elegists were born into the eques rank which, by affording them elite status, enabled them the choice to shun duties altogether and live a life of otium (leisure) without severe financial, or even social, implications. Renunciations of their power in the public realm are therefore feigned for aesthetic effect. Likewise, the topos of a pretended servitium amoris (slavery to love) involves the poeta amator yielding power in a relationship to the domina (mistress). In Twelfth Night, Sir Toby humbles himself in the presence of Maria after her plan to trick Malvolio succeeds:
Sir Toby
(to Maria) Wilt thou set thys foot o’my neck?
1 Aetia Fr.73Or o’mine either?
Sir Toby
Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip and become thy bondslave? (2.5.182-185)
The aristocratic Sir Toby pledging his service to Maria as her ‘bondslave’ has a double effect of titillation. The usual imbalances of power, between both female and male and master and servant, are turned upside down. As this show of submission is orchestrated by Sir Toby, he ultimately maintains the dominance, whether sexually or socially, despite his rhetorical jests. Top-down masculine erotic self-degradation features implicitly in Catullus’s poetry, and explicitly in Propertius’: ‘Cynthia prima suis miserum me cepit ocellis’ (‘Cynthia was the first to seize my wretched self with her own eyes’, Prop 1.1). Like Sir Toby, the elegists maintain authority regardless of their simulated subordination to the puellae, who are only given opportunity to exist in relation to poets themselves. These women are ventriloquised, rather than given any semblance of their own authentic voice.
Thus, Shakespeare innovates upon his Roman models by granting female characters greater autonomy in love. Callimachus relates how Acontius tricked Cydippe into unwittingly swearing an oath to marry him. Ovid’s Cydippe, in Heroides XX-XXI, is given a voice in the form of an epistolary response, where before Cydippe had simply been portrayed as an ‘unexpressive’ victim of a coercive marriage. Shakespeare takes this even further, by inverting this narrative in As You Like It, where Rosalind (as Ganymede) manoeuvres Orlando to swear loyalty to an abstract version of her.2 Rosalind’s command over the plot3 is an active fulfilment of the theoretical definition of an elegiac docta puella (learned girl), a poetic construction of a woman who “must be independent of male control, but not of male financial resources” (James, 2003:9).
Shakespeare’s elegiac tropes culminate in his later comedy, All’s Well That Ends Well (c.1603). Helen, the surviving daughter of Doctor Gérard de Narbonne, is discussed ahead of her arrival in Paris:
King
What ‘her’ is this?
Lafeu
Why, Doctor She!
(2.1.77-78)
Lafeu’s exclamation, ‘Doctor She!’, refers to Helen’s lineage, yet most striking is the linguistic incorporation of docta puella in the pun Helen employs her medical prowess to lever the King into giving her Bertram as her husband, before proceeding surreptitiously to consummate her marriage and fake her own death in order to win Bertram’s favour.
Propertius claimed, ‘[that girl’s] form will be made most famous by my books: by your permission, Calvus, by your
2 AYLI, 5.2.83
3 AYLI, 5.2.57-58: “Believe then, if you please, I can do strange things”
peace, Catullus’ (Prop 2.25), thus depicting the Roman docta puella only as a theoretical ideal, or an extension of the male poet. However, Shakespeare ensures that Helen and Rosalind become doctae puellae in practice, by having them conduct schemes to further their personal objectives. Thus, he takes the elegiac innovation, and innovates it once more.
Helen’s manipulation of letters evokes the heroines of Ovid’s Heroides, particularly Oenone, the low-born healer. Helen as a letter-writer becomes a poeta amatrix (my translation; a feminised poeta amator), pining after Bertram, who escapes marital duties to go to war: just as Paris abandons his wife, Oenone, for Helen of Troy and subsequently provokes a war. The deliberate irony of Shakespeare naming the character ‘Helen’, with its epic and aphrodisian connotations, is owed to his classical education as a student of the Renaissance humanist curriculum. Further, Bertram’s decision to fight an actual war reverses the elegiac concept of militia amoris (soldiery of love), encompassed in Propertius’s recusatio (disavowment) of both epic poetry and warfare: “I’m not born suited to weapons or glory: this is the war the Fates wish to subject me to” (1.6). Instead, it is Helen who fights this kind of war, interpreting Bertram’s paradoxical letter as her call to arms: “Look on his letter, madam; here’s my passport”4 (3.2.56). Unlike Oenone and Paris, Helen succeeds in guaranteeing Bertram’s commitment:
Helen
And look you, here’s your letter. This it says:
When from my finger you can get this ring
And are by me with child, etc. This is done.
Will you be mine, now you are doubly won?
(5.3.309-312)
Helen’s final couplet of masculine rhyme, ‘done’ and ‘won’, is conclusive proof of her triumph over Bertram, via her total embodiment of poeta amatrix, docta puella, and militia amoris, with a further addition of domina; by presenting Bertram his letter to seal the dispute, Helen ‘sets [her] foot o’[his] neck’ (TN, 2.5.182). Whilst Bertram appears to yield to Helen in this final scene5, the pair’s language never coalesces into the same register. By contrast, Helen’s reunion with the Countess expresses emotional sincerity: “O my dear mother, do I see you living?” (AWTEW, 5.3.316). As such, Shakespeare successfully retains the sense of artifice that characterises Roman elegiac love.
Through manipulations of Roman elegiac topoi in these comedies, Shakespeare challenges – rather than bypasses –systemic conventions of gender and sexuality in early-modern England. In doing so, he allows characters to exploit the boundaries of mutually reinforced definitions of femininity and masculinity, turning otherwise pro-social enterprises like marriage into opportunities for mischief. By enabling female characters to succeed through a practical realisation of the docta puella figure, rather than leaving ‘her’ as a theoretical concept, Shakespeare challenges both societal and Roman elegiac conventions. As such, I believe Shakespeare’s use of elegiac models is doubly subversive. The institutional aim of educating schoolboys in the Classics was for moral instruction, because of Latin’s continued use in the Church
5 “I’ll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly” (AWTEW, 5.3.314)
4 My own emphasisand civic life. Invoking the ‘classical tradition’6 in order to depart from it, Shakespeare approaches elegy in a way that aligns with our modern definition of classical reception, “appropriating material from classical antiquity to produce dramatic works that have meaning and value in [a certain] context” (Broder, 2013:512), rather than solely recycling elite styles and aesthetics, as schoolboys were pedagogically encouraged to. Thus, the interpretation of the Roman love elegist as typically aiming to celebrate his erotic activity as an alternative to masculine public duty (Sharrock, 2013:152) affirms Shakespeare as an innovator of the poeta amator: a destabiliser of institutionally revered models and practices.
6 Cultural knowledge, including an understanding of classical antiquity, becomes not only a symbol but also an instrument of power and prestige, see Bourdieu, P. 1977Primary
• Stephens, S. Callimachus: Aetia. (Carlisle, Pennsylvania: Dickinson College Commentaries, 2015), Accessed on 13 Dec. 2020 from: http://dcc.dickinson.edu/callimachus-aetia/book-3/acontius-and-cydippe
• Cicero, and Pohlenz, M., ed. Tusculanae Disputationes. (Leipzig: Teubner, 1918)
• Ovid, and Knox, Peter E., ed. Ovid: Heroides: Selected Epistles, (Cambridge: CUP, 1996)
• Ovid, and Kenney, Edward J., ed. P. Ovidi Nasonis Amores; Medicamina Faciei Femineae; Ars Amatoria; Remedia Amoris. Oxford Classical Texts. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994)
• Propertius, Elegies. Edited and translated by G. P. Goold. Loeb Classical Library 18. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1990)
• Shakespeare, William, and Elam, K. Twelfth Night, or What You Will. (London: Arden Shakespeare, 2008)
• Shakespeare, William, and Gossett, S., & Wilcox, H. All’s Well that Ends Well. (London: Bloomsbury, 2019)
• Shakespeare, William, and Dusinberre, Juliet. As You Like It. (London: Arden Shakespeare, 2006)
• Virgil, Lee, G., ed. The Eclogues. (London: Penguin Classics, 1984)
Secondary
• Bate, Jonathan. Shakespeare and Ovid. (Oxford: Clarendon, 1998)
• Belsey, C. ‘Disrupting Sexual Difference: meaning and gender in the comedies’ in Drakakis, J. ed. Alternative Shakespeares (London: Methuen, 2002)
• Burrow, Colin. Shakespeare and Classical Antiquity. (Oxford, England, 2013)
• Cairns, F. ‘Propertius 1.18 and Callimachus, Acontius and Cydippe’, Classical Review, n.s. 19 (1969)
• Diehl, Huston. Staging Reform, Reforming the Stage: Protestantism and Popular Theater in Early Modern England (Ithaca, NY, 2019)
• Grant, L. Latin Erotic Elegy and the Shaping of Sixteenth-Century English Love Poetry: Lascivious Poets, (CUP: 2019)
• James, Sharon L. Learned Girls and Male Persuasion: Gender and Reading in Roman Love Elegy. (Berkeley: UoC, 2003)
• Lyne, R.O.A.M. ‘Servitium Amoris.’ The Classical Quarterly, vol. 29, no. 1 (1979)
• Martindale, C., & Taylor, A. (Eds.). Shakespeare and the Classics. (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2004)
• Nagle, Betty R. ‘Erotic Pursuit and Narrative Seduction in Ovid’s Metamorphoses’ Ramus, 17.1 (1988)
• Sharrock, Alison. ‘The Poeta-amator, Nequitia and Recusatio’ The Cambridge Companion to Latin Love Elegy (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2013)
This passage continues from Socrates’ question at 10a in Plato’s Euthyphro, imagining how the dialogue could have gone were another Athenian to have come along to the Stoa Basileios (a portico in the Athenian agora). Previously, Euthyphro had answered that pious things are pious because they are ‘god-loved’, as opposed to pious things eliciting the gods’ love because they are pious.
Socrates: Then shall we examine this point again, Euthyphro, to see if it is well-put? Or shall we let the matter go and accept our own and others’ accounts in this way, agreeing that it is the case merely because someone says so? Or should we examine what they mean in saying this?
Euthyphro: It should be examined, though I personally think what was said just now was well-put.
Socrates: We will soon know more about this, my friend. The point which I wish to return to is whether the pious is loved by the gods because it is pious, or pious because it is loved by the gods.
Athenian: The latter - it is pious because it is loved by the gods.
Soc. So something is pious if and only if it has the quality of being god-loved?
Ath. Yes.
Soc. And whatever the gods happen to love, that is what is pious?
Ath. Exactly.
Soc. What if, as we said before, the gods disagree, or some gods change their minds?
Ath. That is the case sometimes. Well, if the gods changed their minds about what they love or hate, what is pious or impious would also change. Also, the gods might love and hate differently. Athena might love something that Zeus hates. Or the gods here in Athens might have different opinions from the gods that the Persians or the Egyptians worship.
Soc. So what is pious is not fixed, but varies – the gods might love something on one occasion, but could feel differently on future occasions, having had a change of heart? And it also depends on which god or gods we hope to please at that time, as some things might be pious towards one god but impious towards another?
Ath. Yes.
Soc. But what makes them love some things and hate other things?
Ath. They love whatever pleases them, and hate whatever displeases them.
Soc. Do you suppose that the gods are similar to humans? That they are not always reasonable, but experience emotions and desires, and love and hate when prompted by these? And some of their loves and hates are consistent, but others
are subject to change?
Ath. Yes, that is so.
Soc. And like humans, they are sometimes in agreement about what is loveable or loathsome with one another, but sometimes quarrel?
Ath. Indeed, Socrates.
Soc. So how do humans behave piously, if the same action can be both pious and impious at the same time? It seems to me like an Augean labour to keep up with all their preferences and whims.
Ath. By working out what most of the gods usually love. It is best to do what is loved by as many of the gods as possible at that time.
Soc. And how do we find out what most of them are likely to love rather than hate?
Ath. It is difficult, Socrates. They do not tell us directly.
Soc. But Euthyphro told me earlier that he knew that it was pious to prosecute his father. How did he know that most of the gods are likely to love it?
Ath. It is the kind of thing that the gods usually seem to love. In Aeschylus’ play, the gods want Orestes to stand trial for murder and are angry when he tries to flee. The poets in general say that the gods love it when people are brought to justice.
Soc. So when Aeschylus wrote the play, he consulted the gods to find out what they would do in this situation, characterising the actions of each god as accurately as possible? And Homer and Hesiod, they too knew the gods personally, and in their poetry recount the things that they tend to love and hate according to their personalities?
Ath. I see, you are being glib, Socrates – for how would those individuals have been acquainted with the gods? But maybe they wrote their poetry with the aid of divine inspiration, which means that what they said was true?
Soc. What do you mean by divine inspiration?
Ath. Perhaps the gods came to them in a dream, and explained to them the things that they each most consistently love and hate, or something similar to this.
Soc. Have you ever had such a dream, in which the gods stood before you and spoke to you?
Ath. Not myself, Socrates.
Soc. Nor I.
Ath. But it is the sort of thing that we always hear about in poetry.
Soc. But why then should we believe that these things are the case outside of poetry, in real experience? In poems, the gods speak to people and send them signs. In plays, the gods even appear on stage and talk to us – but I have never seen or heard any of things happen in real life.
Ath. I’m not sure, Socrates. But there are some people who say they have been inspired by the gods like that in real life.
Soc. Do you believe them?
Ath. Perhaps they are speaking the truth, Socrates. But it is hard to tell, as they could speak falsely with impunity.
Soc. So we cannot be sure, then, whether or not these people are finding out directly from the gods about what they love and hate.
Ath. That’s right.
Soc. So we can’t ask the gods directly. And we can’t rely on poetry alone, nor those who claim to have been divinely inspired. How then do we decide what would be pious or impious? I expect that it is very important to know reliably, because the gods might reward us for behaving piously or punish us for behaving impiously.
Ath. If most people think that something is loved by the gods and only a few disagree, that is what we call pious. If most people think that something is hated by the gods, that is impious. That is the best we can do, until either the gods tell us more or send us clearer signs of what they love and hate.
Soc. Why should we trust what people in general say? After all, they are not the gods, with whom piety is concerned.
Ath. The more people who believe something is true, the more likely something is to be true. Perhaps they have evidence for holding those beliefs, such as omens. If only a few people disagree, perhaps they are mistaken or lying.
Soc. So it is likely to be a good idea to trust in the consensus of the majority?
Ath. Yes, it seems so, Socrates.
Soc. But as humans are the ones who have to behave piously, and they are not sure what the gods would truly love or hate for them to do at any given time, perhaps most of them will simply say that whatever they themselves love is pious, and what they hate is impious? That would make things easier on them, especially if they think the gods are likely to be similar to us.
Ath. But why then would many people do things which are very inconvenient for themselves in order to be pious?
People cannot love making sacrifices to the gods for their own sake, because it makes them worse off. People would not love performing rituals and being initiated into The Mysteries if these things were not pious, because this too expends their time and money. But they behave in these ways to do what is generally approved as being what gods are likely to love rather than hate.
Soc. But how do they know that doing these things is truly pious? How do they know that they are not mistaken?
Ath. Perhaps they could be mistaken, but they are more likely to be correct if they do what the majority of people think is likely to be loved by most gods. Many people make sacrifices and perform rituals for the gods because they think that these things are what they love, so it seems sensible to do the same.
Soc. So whether an action which someone happens to perform is god-loved or god-hated, since we do not know what the gods think, this is actually decided by what most humans say is likely?
Ath. Yes, Socrates. That’s the best we can do.
Soc. So when you say that an action is ‘pious’, what you mean is that ‘many people would say that this action is likely to be loved by several of the gods at this particular time?’ And by behaving in such a way, both you and they would think that you are seeming to behave in such a way as to earn the gods’ love?
Ath. I think so.
Soc. But in Euthyphro’s case, many people in Athens say that the gods would not love for a son to prosecute his father. Indeed, it is the custom for only the victim’s family to bring a prosecution, and for a son to support his father in all things.
Ath. Nonetheless he believed very firmly that it was the right thing for him to prosecute his father. I for my part am in agreement with him.
Soc. So in fact, you believe that it was right, but not in fact what is pious according to what you have said is the best available way of judging piety and impiety?
Ath. I am at a loss now, Socrates. I was sure that his action was right because it was loved by the gods. But it is contrary to what most people say the gods love.
Soc. Perhaps you think that ‘what is right’ is sometimes different from ‘what people in general say the gods love’?
Ath. But surely it is always right to choose what the gods are said to love? For the gods have more power than us to decide these things. Yet I am still convinced that Euthyphro did not act wrongly.
Soc. Perhaps what is right is different, then, to whatever people say that the gods are likely to love? And as we said before, the gods could change their minds, or different gods could love and hate differently - so the same things could be both right and wrong at the same time. Perhaps what is right can be different, then, to whatever gods happen to love.
Ath. I am surprised, Socrates, for how could a god love what is wrong? And how could it be possible for anything to be right and wrong simultaneously?
Soc. It seems to me that the gods are rather a mystery to us, and that it is better to defend Euthyphro’s action in a different way. We could consider why it was the right thing to do at that particular time without reference to the gods. For we do not reliably know what they love, and nor do we know whether they love things for good reasons.
Attica of the 5th century was going through a seismic shift. The birth of democracy and the rise of the Delian League had empowered and enriched the demos (people). The influence of new-thinking sophists and philosophers were straining the traditional ideas of piety and religion. All these galvanising influences were making the social fabric of the polis (city) unstable. This essay will explore how the major festivals of the Panathenaea and the City Dionysia were used to stabilise the new organisation of the polis. The Panathenaea can be seen as a proud assertion of the values and organization of the polis while the City Dionysia allowed the polis to examine these complex topics critically within the ‘play-space’ of religious theatre.
The aetiology of the Panathenaic festival, which we shall now explore, casts it as a symbol for an autochthonous and united Athens under the patronage of the gods. Thus as both the democratic and aristocratic elements of the polis’ social setup were represented at the festival, the new organization was made sacrosanct and respectable by association. There are three muthoi (myth, often presented as history) that seek to explain the genesis of the festival. The first aition (creation myth) states that Erichthonios, the legendary King of Athens, was the first to celebrate the festival (Marmor Parium FGrH 239 A 10). He had invented the chariot, a symbol of civilisation and progress, and had a corider memorialized in the apobatai (Demosthenes 61.23-24), a special race at the games for the festival where a rider dismounted from a moving chariot and ran. As Erichthonios was born of Gaia, on the very land of Athens, this myth showcases the belief of the autochthony of Athens and the sacred permanence of the festival. This, as stated above, would have made the new politics of the city seem less frightening and revolutionary.
The second aition found in Atthidography (Hellanikos FGrH 323a F2 and Androtion FGrH 324 F2) argues that the festival was founded by Theseus when he unified Athens. This story was made compatible with the first by attesting to a change of names: from the Anathenaea to the Panathenaea. The third tale is that it was founded in order to celebrate Athena’s killing of the giant Aster.1 The Suda Dictionary (on Aristid. Panath.) links the two together by having it set up by Erichthonius for the death of Asterios. It has been remarked that it is peculiar that the giant Aster should be chosen rather than the more obvious Enceladus (the giant Athena fights in Eurpides’ Ion and in most iconography).2 However this makes sense if we notice that Aster-names were associated with primordial time and autochthony. Indeed Asteria was the former name of Delos in myth and a scholia on Aristides tells us that Erechthonios instituted the festival to
1 Parker 2005 (p. 254).
2 Sourvinou-Inwood 2011 (p. 271).
celebrate the death of Aster.3 So this myth too links the festival to a time immemorial anchoring its legitimacy, and by extension the legitimacy of the social structures it puts forward. The third reading also celebrates Athena and thus Athens as a defender of order over chaos. For Classical Greeks believed that the giants rose up and tried to wrest control from the Olympians after Zeus had established his rule. So Athena, who helped vanquish that insurrection, and her polis are represented as guardians of order. This has particular resonance in the context of the Persian Wars, as defending Greece from the barbaroi was the pretext for the maintenance of the Delian League. This is not all however, for this aition also ties the fate of the divine to that of mankind and so acts as a powerful reminder of man’s power in the divine world. Greek muthoi make clear that the gods needed help to defeat the Giants (Apollodoros 1.6.1 + Pindar Nemean 7.90). Furthermore, as the savage Giants (Hesiod Theogony 183-5) and the civilising King of Athens, Erichthonios, were sons of Gaia Athens can lay claim to be the natural reverse of chaos. We find the Gigantomachy represented on the Old Parthenon (Travlos), the east metopes of the Parthenon, the shield of Athena Parthenon and the peplos (a dress like garment),4 showcasing how important this myth was to Athens. It gave the polis confidence both in its own social institutions and in its leadership of the Delian league. As a group the three muthoi link the stories of an autochthonous king, the unifier of Athens and Athena victorious over the forces of chaos. They link Athens’ current political and social make up to religious authority.
As stated above there was representation of both the Athenian democracy and aristocracy at the Panathenaic festival. It appears that the festival sought to manage the tension between the democratic system and the continued pre-eminence of the rich in the polis by representing both and linking them to a mythological past. When Cleisthenes came to power and instituted the first democratic reforms of Athens the building blocks of these reforms were the demes, small communities within Attica, and the tribes (Hdt. 6.131 and Aristotle Ath. Pol. 20). These had control over their own cults, taxes on metics (resident foreigners) and were equipped with their own agora and elected leaders called demarchs as the inscription IG I^3 244.C.2-10 shows for the deme Skambonidai. Thus, ideally the ordinary Athenian had power and experience of politics. This was a revolutionary reform and we find it represented in the Greater Panathenaic festival in the form of games performed by deme such as the torch races, the euandria, the boat racing, the cavalry procession and maybe the cyclic choruses.5 It is also important to note that within these deme-based competitions we find both that which celebrates the lower classes in the rowing competition, for the poorer rowed (IG II^2211.78-80), and that which elevates the rich in the cavalry display, for only the rich could afford horses (Xenophon Cavalry Commander 3.1-4). In the text just sourced Xenophon stresses that the displays of equine ability and wealth pleased both gods and man. He recommends that the riders go from the herms to all the shrines and temples of the agora to honour the gods and then race, tribe by tribe to the Eleusinion. In the classical period the aristocracy remained powerful by funding the navy, the dramatic festivals and being elected generals. However, the lower classes of Athens were honoured when the focus was turned to how they served the polis, as rowers. Hence the inclusion of the ship race and the ship that carried the giant peplos to the Parthenon. Indeed, it was argued by ancient authors (Plut. Them. 19
3 Sourvinou-Inwood 2011 (p. 272).
4 Sourvinou-Inwood 2011 (p. 273).
5 Wilson 2000 (p.36-40).
and Aristotle Ath. Pol. 27) that since the poorer citizens manned the triremes that gave Athens its power, they gained influence. Hence representations of naval power could but honour the common man.
We now turn to the social stratification of the Panathenaic procession and the culminating sacrifices which highlight the role of both the democratic rulers and the old elite. Again, we will see how the Panathenaic festival aimed to bring together the stratified society of Athens. The formal places of honour at the front of the procession were reserved for democratic officials, the prytaneis chief (the head of the council of 500 who prepared the agenda for the assembly) amongst them, and it was organised by democratic magistrates who in practice could come from any class (Ath Pol 7.4.).6 However, the elite was still disproportionately represented in the procession and it was a matter of great prestige for aristocratic families for their young girls to be chosen as basket-bearers (Thuc. 6.56, Ath. Pol. 18). Furthermore, the metics of Athens, who were second class citizens in many ways, had to fulfil the servile function of parasol and stool bearers for the basket-bearers; this is mainly attested in comedy and highlights that this role was looked down upon (Ar. Eccl 730-45. Birds 1549-52). Some have taken the pre-eminence of young girls from aristocratic families and the older riders from the same class to argue that the Panathenaic festival was used to make the continued domination of the rich socially acceptable.7 As the games and procession showcased both democratic and aristocratic elements, this last argument goes too far: but it is true that the old social imbalances remained and that the festival tried to integrate them into society, not banish them.
The sacrifices that concluded the Panathenaic procession too reflect both the democracy and the old elite. A Lycurgan decree (LSCG 33 B 25-7) on the Lesser Panathenaea tells us that the meat from the festival was divided up by deme based on the number of people in the procession. We also know that from the flesh of sacrifices to Athena Hygieia portions were reserved for eight categories amongst which were found the prytaneis, the generals and the basket-bearers. So here too we see honour being given to members of both democratic officials and aristocrats.
There is one more element of the festival that warrants our attention: the presentation of the peplos to Athena which was, with the sacrifices, the culmination of the festival. The ritual is represented on the eastern frieze of the Parthenon, above the entrance and framed by columns giving it pride of place. While all details of the creation of the peplos are uncertain it did evoke the ideals of Attic life. For women it was tranquil sowing and for the men it represented Athena slaying a giant and so victory in battle. So the peplos also reminded Athens of its role as the guardian of civilisation and justified the empire. For all it was a contract between the city and the polyadic deity (the patron and protective deity) that assured the continued good fortune of the polis. This final point is reinforced by a number of things. Firstly, it was woven by arrephoroi (young girls), ergastinai (of marriageable age) and at least one priestess of Athena who was a mature and married woman: representing the three stages of a woman’s life and so symbolically bringing the entire demos into the contract with the goddess, for men are born of women. Finally on the frieze a man and a child are depicted as folding up the old peplos after the new one has been draped over the statue. It has been argued that this
6 Parker 2005 (p. 263). 7 V. Wohl 1996 (p. 25-88).represents the continuous cycle of offerings and thus highlights the permanence of the relationship.8 However, as with all aspects of this festival there are elements of both popular and elitist power. Hence while the peplos represented the whole polis, the priests, who dedicated it in the sanctuary, came from the elite Eteoboutadai (whose name means ‘real Boutadai’; it was changed after a deme was named Boutadai, thus rejecting the association with lower classes).9 They claimed descent from Boutes, the son of Erechthion who inherited the priesthoods after his father’s death (Apollodoros 3.14-15).
Having looked at the Panathenaic festival and how it served as a proud self-assertion of Athens’ social and religious setup by honouring democratic officials and aristocrats, we now turn to the Greater Dionysia which served as a chance to question that setup in the safe space of a religious festival. We shall focus on the tragedies as well as the organization of the plays.
We begin with tragedy; there are a great many schools of thought surrounding this vast and complex topic. The first we shall look at is Aristotle’s Poetics which is the only text written about tragedy by a near contemporary. His focus was on the genre’s universal aspect. Indeed, Aristotle claims that poetry is superior to history because it “gives general truths while history gives particular facts” (1451b). For him, tragedy highlights the moral and physical uncertainty of life, given that it focalises a character whose hamartia (intellectual or moral flaw 1453a) causes him to undergo a fall for which he is not morally responsible. The audience exposed to such random cruelty feels pity and sadness and undergoes catharsis (1453b) and leaves the theatre purified and with a greater understanding of the human condition. So, Aristotle’s interest is fate and man’s uncertain place within it.
The second strand of thinking we shall explore is that of Nietzsche who focuses more on humanity and in The Birth of Tragedy argues that the genre seeks to ground the existence of man as a being divided by his sense of self and his belonging to an undefined collective. Nietzsche saw in theatre Dionysian elements, a disordered and un-delineated reality portrayed by the choral odes which had no set rhythmic structure and featured wild dancing. These are opposed by Apollonian elements, reality defined and confined by forms expressed by the rhythmically ritualised stichomythia (a sequence of alternating lines) of the dialogues. It is in this dichotomy of form and emotion within the same play that Nietzsche sees the reflection of the human condition.
Aristotle and Nietzsche are largely right in their assessment of the tragic genre; however, a wider analysis needs to appreciate the historical context of the play’s creation as the motive behind the exploration of fate and man. The ‘historical moment’10 of tragedy described in Vernant’s Myth and Tragedy in Ancient Greece is crucial here. It espouses the idea that tragedy arises with democracy as the polis grapples with self-definition both politically and ideologically. The people’s ‘collective memory’ recalls a time before democracy and the ‘tensions and ambiguities’ of the city are played out on stage. The citizenry is starting to trust in its ability and freedom to decide its own future yet cannot completely forsake the idea of fate. Aristotle’s and Nietzsche’s theories may help us to understand Vernant’s. Aristotle’s concept of fate and agency tie into Vernant’s idea of the discovery of free will and the birth of democracy. Then Nietzsche’s
8 Nagy 1978 (p. 138).
9 Osborne 2009 (p. 281).
10 Vernant 1972 (p. 13).
notion of fate leads us to Vernant’s idea of collective memory of the past and the need to separate from the memories of aristocratic rule so that the new system may prosper. Tragedy, as argued by Zeitlin’s “Thebes: Theatre of self and society in Athenian Drama,” seeks to represent the political, moral and religious tensions of the city in the safe place of theatre so these can be examined without fracturing the fragile ideological balance. For if an issue is raised in the play ‘pretend space’ of a festival held in the honour of Dionysus, the god of illusions, then it can be observed and thought about without being admitted into the ‘real world’ of the polis. Indeed, it has been argued that the theatre, in allowing for the possibility of free will, is symbiotic with the rise of democracy.
It is worth looking again at how the tensions between the old aristocratic societal system and the new democratic one are represented in tragedy. The former emphasised personal dike (justice) and time (honour) while the latter championed nomoi (laws) and a rule based system to dissipate tensions. We see this reflected in many plays such as Aeschylus’ Eumenides. In this we see tensions between the old order portrayed by the Furies (476, 511,539,564...) and the new symbolised by Apollo (615). In order to resolve this struggle which threatens to tear the city apart Athena (once again a force of order) creates the Areopagus, a body that was recast into a law court for murder (and religious offences) by the democratic reforms. So we are made to see that democracy is the way forward past the brutal bluntness of the older morality. However, the play also admits that the ambiguities are not vanquished, the Eumenides are not defeated (794) and the jury of men had been unable to reach a verdict without Athena (754). There are many other plays which highlight similar tensions. Aeschylus’ Seven against Thebes showcases the necessity of sophrosyne (moderation) when Eteocles goes from embodying the values of the city to reverting to a hero of a past age when his brother is mentioned to him and ate (madness) overtakes him. We find this theme in Sophocles’ Ajax too where the grubbiness of politics is on display but which nonetheless demonstrates the importance of compromise, a characteristic of democracy. All these characters who won’t compromise their own values are deinos, terrible but great, and they inspire awe in a way no contemporary did. Yet, as the audience witnessed their destructive power they would have reflected on the necessity of their own system of ostracism to contain such people.
Indeed, it has been brilliantly argued that tragedy is partly the cause of the rise of the democratic mindset in which the demos felt able to control its own fate. A play would thus be seen as the polis putting itself on show with the chorus (made up of citizens probably not wearing masks) representing the demos interacting with the masked tragic hero which belonged to another time and mode of thought.11 This seems to problematise Nietzsche’s view that the actors typify order and the chorus disorder. Perhaps, if we take his idea and build on it, we can see that it is the very interaction between the morality of the old order represented by the characters and that of new represented by the chorus that allows tragedy to help the polis resolve its political tension. The polis via the theatre could thus control and create the questions that arose and train itself to deal with the ambiguity of its own social setup. The theatre represented the old and the new and highlighted the superiority of the new system thus enticing the audience to accept it. Any work of art must be created by a member of society but it must also shape the society into which it is delivered, creating an audience
that is receptive to its subtleties and that is ready to learn from it.12 Hence we feel justified in arguing for a relatively unpopular origin of the term tragedy. It comes from the Greek ‘trag-oida’ often taken to mean the song of a goat. We would postulate that it could also be linked to another meaning of ‘trag’, the voice of puberty, which is in the process of maturing. For tragedy was part of the process that led to the creation of the democratic mindset.
Tragedy also problematises the relationship between man and the divine and, in doing so, begins to allow for the concept of free will, a prerequisite for the democratic mindset. In the official parlance of the city the gods are always good and always protect Athens and the fault lies only with the people who annoy the divine but the theatre allows an extension of what can be believed and thought, if only for a moment.13 Hence the gods can be portrayed as cold and vindictive in the Ajax, the Bacchae, the Hippolytus and men are portrayed as unwise but not necessarily morally wrong to stand against them. However, for this stance always costs the community greatly, the polis watching the play is made to realise the importance of sophrosyne and proper worship. As with the tragic heroes who cost their community with their intransigence, those who do not bow to the gods highlight the necessity of good citizenship and the importance of putting the polis first. The tragedies would therefore serve to justify the democratic institutions which limit great men by demonstrating the havoc that unchecked ambition and power could cause. The demos might then be free to embrace their own democracy and agency more fully. Indeed, all these plays were framed in a religious festival which mirrored the democratic polis. The ten generals poured libations, tribute from the allies was shown off and the voting system to determine the victorious playwright was done by lot, as were the selection of the Boule and jurors. Therefore, Athens can claim that its system brings order to the questions raised by the plays; it is able to cope with the tensions that exist within the polis and tame them with democracy. Within the plays themselves the characters of Medea, Orestes and Oedipus are all tamed by their arrival in Athens. This wonderful piece of metatheatre is the crowning glory of the festival. Athens’ system is vindicated.
To conclude, the festivals of the Panathenaea and the Greater Dionysia maintained both social and religious order. The former by enshrining in faith the structure of the polis and the latter by showing that it was the best system by exposing and dealing with its ambiguities within the ‘safe-space’ of a festival for the god of illusions.
12 Marx 1963 (p. 235-66)
13 Parker 2005 (p. 146).
• Marx K. 1963, Introduction générale a la critique de l’économie politique in Œuvres- I, Paris.
• Nagy B. 1987, The Ritual Slab V-East on the Parthenon Frieze, CP73.
• Osborne R. 2009, Greece in the Making 1200-479BC, Oxford.
• Parker R. 2005, Polytheism and Society at Athens, Oxford.
• Sourvinou-Inwood C. 2011, Athenian Myths and Festivals, Oxford.
• Vernant J-P. and Vidal-Naquet P. 1972, Mythe et tragédie en Grèce ancienne- I, Paris.
• Vernant J-P. and Vidal-Naquet P. 1986, Mythe et tragédie en Grèce ancienne- II, Paris.
• Wilson P. 200, The Athenian Institution of the Khoregia, Cambridge.
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