Did the poets we describe as 'didactic' regard their work as part of a generic tradition? Starting from this question I examine how each poet defines himself in relation to his predecessors. A central problem is that there is no word equivalent to 'didactic poetry' in the ancient world, except epos (all hexameter poetry). Grattius, Cynegetica 94-97 (o felix…) reminds us of Virgil, Georgica, 2. 490-2 (felix, qui…) or of Lucretius, 5. 8-12 (deus ille fuit, …, qui…). Has the tradition of didactic poetry a stock of common themes, motifs, or rhetorical expressions? Rather, Grattius, destined to be a second-rate poet, may have naively imitated a Virgilian/Lucretian expression. Contrary to Virgil or Lucretius, however, his appraisal of the felix is exaggerated. But the exaggeration is not deliberate. If it had been so, it would have been a parody, like Archestratos fr. 36. 1-5 vis-a-vis Hesiod, Erga, 383-4. Certainly, some poets were capable of comprehending the general idea of 'didactic poetry'. Ovid writes a mock-didactic in elegiac: Ars amatoria. Virgil seems to have grasped the essentials of didactic poetry when he made a Carthagian rhapsode sing an epos (Aeneid, 1. 740-6). Following Servius (Praef. ad Georg.) we tend to suppose a tradition of didactic poetry starting with Hesiod and culminating in Virgil's Georgica. The ancients, however, had no division between epic (in a narrower sense) and didactic poetry. Aristotle blames the tendency to classify poems according to metre (Ars poetica, 1. 1447b17), but he is an exception. Hesiod is not regarded by the didactic poets as their ancestor, or the originator of their genre. Rather, they are proud of being successors of Homer; e.g. Nicander (in the sphragis of Theriaca) or Lucretius (3. 1036-38). According to the latter, Homer is even a poet of rerum naturam expandere dictis (1. 126). Manilius' catalogue (2. 1-49) collecting Greek didactic poets starts with Homer. We should not over-estimate Hesiod's influence on Virgil, through a cliche in citation (Georgica 2. 176). Virgil is rather independent of Hesiod, especially in Book 2 (as well as 3 and 4). So is Aratus. The epigram of Callimachus (27 Pf.) does not say anything to suggest that Hesiod created a different generic entity from Homer. I imagine there are two characteristics in 'didactic poetry': (1) catalogue (2) denial of myth. There are some interactions between epic and didactic, of course, for example the Catalogue of Ships in the Iliad or the Orpheus myth in the Georgica. But Manilius's manifesto is interesting. At the end of his catalogue of heroic/historic epics (3. 1-30), he denies vulgarity. Myth is vulgar and should be denied (cf.ps.-Virgil, Aetna 74-5). Note the same tone in Virgil, Georgica, 3. 3-11. I imagine also there are two 'key-words' of 'didactic poetry': (1) artes (2) rerum causae. Observation of stars, weather, thunder, earthquakes leads to rerum causae. Interestingly, Ovid starts the Metamorphoses with the origin of the world and ends with Pythagorean theory (15. 66-72, similar to Virgil, Aeneid, 1. 740-6, above), although the central parts are catalogue of myths: this is an innovation of Ovid, self-conscious about the nature of epos. It is perhaps impossible to answer the question: 'What is didactic poetry?' There is no core of didactic poetry, comparable to the Iliad in the case of epic. Nor was there any agreement of opinion among the poets. Some simply imitate superior poets and other like to deny vulgarity. Virgil and Ovid are rare cases.

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The Atlantis story told by Plato in Timaeus and Critias is well known. Plato says that Atlantis, the prosperous maritime empire in primeval time, was ruined because of her corruption. He also says that primeval Athens, which defeated Atlantis, was a noble state governed by virtuous people. This story is said to be "true" (Tim. 20d) and some scholars have held that it may have some historical basis, for example in the facts of Minoan Crete. In any case, the only source of this story is Plato and we should take it to be basically Plato's invention. What is most important is to understand the meaning of this story. As to that, P. Vidal-Naquet has pointed out that by contrasting Atlantis with an imaginary noble state (primeval Athens), Plato set his ideal state against historical Athens which he criticized as a warlike maritime state. But why did Plato show his idea by the mythical past? In what context can we understand it? Ancient Greeks, who had experienced discontinuity from the Mycenaean period, regarded their distant past as the age of great heroes. Many legends of such heroes were narrated by poets and handed down by communities. On the other hand, democratic city-states, especially Athens, emphasized equality and did not recognize actual charismatic individuals. So models of virtue and various types of behaviour were not so much sought among citizens as reflected in the mythic past. Plato recognized this paradigmatic role of the mythic past. In Republic, groping for the ideal state, he emphasizes and appreciates the educative function of myth. But Plato also criticizes the stories in circulation in terms of ethics. He says human beings, unlike the gods, cannot know the truth about the past; all we can do is to make our falsehood as like truth as possible to make it beneficial (Rep. 382 c-d). Trying to present the ideal state, and appreciating a function of myth while ethically dissatisfied with circulated myths, Plato told a new story. In order to show citizens a model of the virtuous state and its antithesis, primeval Athens and Atlantis were created. Isocrates, an oratorical writer contemporary with Plato, adapts mythic discourse too. In Panegyricus and Panathenaicus he insists on Athens' leader-ship in Greece by reinterpreting the legendary achievements of Athens. As Isocrates appropriated the past for his actual political purpose, so Plato told the Atlantis story. This should be understood as a new intellectual concern in the fourth century B.C.. In this period Athens, trying to establish a new identity in the Greek World, wanted a state to serve as model. But Athens' factual past, which led to the defeat of the Peloponnesian War, could not be a model. Under such conditions it was necessary to consider how to appropriate the mythic past to make it influential as a means of education and as a model of virtue. The story of Atlantis and primeval Athens is "true" for Plato not because it is historical fact but because Plato thought such a story necessary and beneficial for actual citizens. The Atlantis story should be understood in this context.

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In Part I of Plato's Theaetetus, three attempts are made to refute Protagoras' Measure Doctrine (MD). After the first "superficial" attempt, the second and the third follow and each of them is regarded as a successful refutation. This paper examines the third refutation, which raises the difficulty to retain MD in the case of future judgment. MD is widely considered to be an assertion of relativism, according to which 'true' is not an absolute predicate ('true') but a relative one ('true for'). Fine, however, takes MD to be an assertion, not of relativism, but of infallibilism, which takes 'true' to be absolute. A connection, however, can be established between relativism and infallibilism, if we distinguish sentences from the (possibly private) content of them and take relativism to concern the former and infallibilism the latter. What is the point of the third attempt? Is it that sometimes a contradiction follows from two temporarily separated judgment tokens? This is unlikely. For even if a contradiction really follows from them this is not particular to future judgment: the same argument could also be made for past and present judgment. It is clear, however, that the argument is meant to exploit something special to future judgment. Relativism can be extended to include a time scale, by relativizing 'true' not only to the judging subject but also to the moment when the judgment is made: thus the correct form of truth predicate becomes "p' is true for x at t'. It is inconceivable that Plato failed to recognize that on this extended relativism no contradiction follows from two temporarily separated judgment tokens. If we re-interpret extended relativism at the level of infallibilism, the content of the sentence becomes a function of the sentence(s), the judging subject(x) and the moment of the judgment(t): D (s, x, t). Take two judgment tokens made by S at t_1 and t_2 with the content D ('p', S, t_1) and D ('-p', S, t_2) respectively. We can assume that the latter contradicts D ('p', S, t_2). If we can show that D ('p', S, t_1) is identical to D ('p', S, t_2), we can refute MD. Protagoras of course will not admit the identity, and it seems very difficult to establish the identity without begging the question. To resolve this difficulty, Plato introduces the distinction between the first order good and the second order good. Examples are 'this tastes good' (judgment about the first order good) and 'this way of cooking will bring about the judgment 'this tastes good" (judgment about the second order good). Even if the truth of the former judgment depends entirely on (the occurrence of the) judgment itself, the truth of the latter depends not on the judgment itself but on the truth of the former. This interpretation explains the special role given to future judgment, because the judgment about the second order good has the form of 'something brings about something', which is essentially future judgment.

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In Physics II 9, Aristotle argues the concept of necessity which apply to natural generations. So far on the crucial problem found in the argument of this chapter, interpreters have mainly examined Part A (199b34-200a15). In this paper, however, I attempt to find out a viewpoint from which the unity of II 9's three parts including Part B (200a15-30) and Part C (200a30-38) could be seen. At the beginning of Part A, a question is raised; does 'of necessity' mean hypothetical necessity (HN) or simple necessity (SN) as well? (199b 34-35). Answering the question, Aristotle introduces HN and explains his notion of it that something (some kind of material) is necessary if some goal is to be attained. This explanation clearly shows us HN to be a teleological concept of necessity that is contrary to a mechanical concept of material necessity, which I call Democritean necessity (DN) following Cooper. According to the context of his explanation, it seems that DN is identical with SN. But we must consider if it is truly so because a key-term 'simple' (απλως) is never seen in the place of the exemplification of DN. Moreover, although HN was introduced as an opponent of DN, it should not be forgotten that HN basically depends upon DN. Thus we reexamine those problems. The point I especially want to make is that 'the necessary thing as a goal' (το αυαγχαιου ως τελος, 200a13-14) shown at the end of Part A should be identified with not DN but SN which corresponds to the necessity of eternal things suggested in PA (639b23-27). Judging from the place where the phrase in question is located, 'the necessary thing as a goal' may have something to do with the theory of deductive syllogism developed in Part B, C. Namely the concept of SN presented by that phrase is pertinent to the manner in which the principle (αρχη) of deductive syllogisms exists without both generating and perishing. Aristotle probably tried to propose the necessity of knowledge (επιστημη) that natural philosophy as well as geometry should have as a theoretical philosophy. In order to show that, he compares natural philosophy with geometry in respect of their logical necessity, i.e. HN in Part B. DN of mechanists or materialists who don't have philosophical understanding about the natural world doesn't have fully explanatory force, whereas HN has relevant explanatory force. Therefore the concept of DN is refuted by teleological theory though its existence is rightly admitted.

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The authenticity of And. 3 faces a challenge by E. M. Harris ('The Authenticity of Andokides' De Pace: A Subversive Essay' in: P. Flensted-Jensen et al. edd., Polis and Politics, Copenhagen 2000, 479-505). According to Harris, (i) this oration misrepresents history to a greater extent than Aeschin. 2, which is thought to have plagiarised the former; (ii) the term 'πρεσβεις αυτοκρατορες' in And. 3 does not fit in with its common usage in the classical period; and (iii) the description in this oration does not mesh with the real situation of the period to which this speech is usually dated. Putting (i) aside, which itself does not necessarily undermine the authenticity of And. 3 as is shown by the studies in oral tradition, the present paper focuses upon (ii), not only because this innovative approach deserves a close examination on its own merits, but also because (iii) presumes that (ii) holds true. The refutation of (ii) will, as a result, rehabilitate studies based on And. 3 in general, and historiographical studies grounded on (i) in particular. Regarding (ii), Harris concludes that a πολις in this period sent ambassadors with full powers in only two circumstances, i.e., (a) to receive terms of surrender under siege or threatened with overwhelming force (Harris, p. 488) or (b) to 'negotiate about the details of (or take the oaths for) a treaty that has already been ratified' (p. 490). His classification (b), which concerns our speech, is debatable. The six passages on which it rests undergo scrutiny here. (1) Th. 5. 44. 2-46. 3 describes exchanges of embassies between Lacedaemon and Athens during which, if (b) be the case, πρεσβεις αυτοκρατορες should have been dispatched before they actually were. (2) For (b) to be established, Harris interprets differently two instances of ψηφιζεσθαι found in X. HG 6. 5. 49-7. 1. 14, whose implications in fact are the same. (3) Deducing (b) from (1) and (2), whose validity is now compromised, Harris applies it to Aeschin. 3.63, on whose description he grafts Aeschin. 2. 20-46 to reconstruct a process of negotiation between Macedon and Athens, a process, however, susceptible of the opposite interpretation to Harris' as well, i.e., the embassies involved not being πρεσβεις αυτοκρατορες. (4) (b) is applied also to D. S. 12. 4. 4-6, a case similar to (2) in Harris' opinion, which proved unfavourable to his thesis. What is more, 'υπακουσαυτων' which he interprets to mean 'having ratified' simply denotes 'having listened to', since the negotiation is between Athens and unofficial delegates sent by the henchmen of Persian dynasts, real authorities to ratify and conclude a treaty. (5) and (6) concern πρεσβεις τελος εχουτες, according to Harris, an equivalent to αυτοκρατορες. (5) IG i^3 61=ML 65 does mention negotiation between Methone and Macedon, but not any treaty previously concluded between the two. (6) The τελος εχουτες in Th. 4. 117-119 are supposed to be dispatched, if need be, before a treaty is ratified. None of the above passages satisfy (b).

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In this paper, I examine the cases of the water commerce between inland Gaul (e.g. Lugdunensis, Aquitania, Belgica, two provinces of Germany, and northern Narbonensis) and Italy. As evidenced by the inscriptions CIL XIII 1942 and VI 29722, two traders engaged in river and marine transportation. It is said that in the first and second century A. D., the nature of the economy of inland Gaul was different from that of the Mediterranean region: indeed, the networks of traders appear to have been divided between those two areas. On the other hand, scholars have often discussed the marine transporters of southern Gaul who were active in the Mediterranean region, some of whom maintained relationships with officers supervising the supply of food in Rome, i.e., the annona. In this case, it should be pointed out that in outlining the plan of the Roman economy, the foregoing studies pay less attention to individual cases. Further, although there is a lack of reliable and detailed evidence, scholars facilely tend to assume that the marine transporters of southern Gaul operated in Italy. Therefore, I focus on the two abovementioned traders who have recorded their own activities in inland Gaul and Italy. CIL XIII 1942 clarifies the fact that the deceased became augustalis both in Lyon and Pozzuoli, having found favor with other augustales, who mainly comprised those engaged in commerce or industry. Further, he had no dealings with the annona or its officials. This allows us to envisage that he had built and developed relationships with a variety of merchants and artisans in both cities by crossing the borders of two different economic blocs. On the other hand, CIL VI 29722 indicates that the deceased participated in commercial activities as a member of a family enterprise based in Lyon and Rome, which had been managed since the generation of his grandfather-a man who had left his mark on both cities. Moreover, it is remarkable that he not only joined more than one trade association based in Lyon or Rome as a member but was also assigned to important posts in the associations. This indicates that using the family enterprise as the first step, he succeeded in building wide human networks beyond associations and regions. In this case too, it is not proved that the deceased had any dealings with the annona. Based on the facts demonstrated above, I conclude that the two traders had wide networks with a variety of merchants or transporters in both inland Gaul and Italy. Further, these traders relied on people of the same social section rather than those from higher sections, such as officers of the state. Moreover, as an aspect of this study, I suggest that the existence of wide-ranging human relationships between the two regions might provide a new perspective on economical structures in the foregoing discussion.

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A special feature of Plutarch's Parallel Lives is that although individual lives are sometimes read as independent histories, each pair of biographies, one Greek and one Roman, forms a single unit. Some scholars see them as parallel lives: Erbse and Lamour, for example, held that certain pairs share a proem and a postscript that together offer central points for interpretation; Stadter thought that each pair contained an important keyword; Duff took the view that each pair dealt with an identical moral problem. In this paper, I treat the Lives of Themistocles and Camillus as a single unit with a pair of contrasted heroes and offer an interpretation in terms of literary influence. Some scholars have already pointed out that several of Plutarch's Lives show literary influences. De Lacy noted that Plutarch used tragic expressions to indicate antipathy towards certain persons, while Mossman found traces of tragedy and epic in the Life of Alexander; Zadorojnyi discovered the same thing in the Life of Crassus. One of Greek mythology's most famous pairings of contrasted heroes is that of Achilles and Odysseus: they are respectively (1) emotional and rational, (2) marked by powerful soliloquy and ingenuous speech, (3) brave and tricky, (4) dying young in battle, surviving war and wandering for many years. In Plutarch's Lives of Themistocles and Camillus, Themistocles plays the role of Odysseus, Camillus that of Achilles. In similar situations, they act in contrary ways: Themistocles' first political success is achieved with a trick, while Camillus succeeds through brave military action; Themistocles does not hesitate to make use of a betrayer, while Camillus rejects such a man; Themistocles is skilful at self-justification, while Camillus is poor. While the Life of Themistocles contains many episodes that recall Odysseus, such as the metaphor of the Trojan Horse, bribery of his enemy and the drift to Sicily, the Life of Camillus alludes directly to Achilles: 'just like Achilles'. At the same time, the structure of the Life of Themistocles echoes the legends of Odysseus, while the Life of Camillus is similarly modelled on the acts of Achilles. The Life of Themistocles highlights the battle of Salamis during which his tricks are emphasized, while one third of his Life is devoted to his romantic wandering, with episodes that suggest the Odysseus legends, as when Themistocles presents himself unidentified at Court. The Life of Camillus includes some stories that call the Iliad to mind, such as his absence from the battlefield, the plight of his country and eventual victory following his return; we may note especially that during the Gallic invasion Camillus became angry and cursed the Romans, a curse overheard by a god who exacts due punishment, an episode which is totally absent in Livy. Why did Plutarch model Themistocles on Odysseus and Camillus on Achilles? We can suggest three motives: (1) to illuminate their fundamental characters, (2) to compact each Life by extracting the specific heroic elements, (3) to make two Lives a single unit by means of contrast.

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This paper examines the reception of Achilles Tatius' Greek romance, Leucippe & Clitophon in Paris in the first half of the seventeenth century, when France took the lead in the vogue for Greek romances in Europe. In section 1, I investigate the readership. Abraham Bosse's engraving representing the stall of Augustin Courbe shows that Leucippe & Clitophon was then regarded as fashionable literature. Achilles Tatius flourished and became popular among intellectuals in Paris. It was translated, discussed, and even provided the nicknames of the salon. Section 2 summarises the literary influence. In the history of French literature, the first half of the seventeenth century is called the baroque age. The baroque refers to a cultural taste, which seeks change and movement, and departs from regulations. Achilles Tatius appealed strongly to this baroque sensibility and acted as a good source for literature. In prose, Nicolas de Montreux, Martin Fumee, Francois de Gerzan, and Honore d' Urfe, to a greater or a lesser degree, imitated scenes from Achilles Tatius, while Jean Herembert's Pandion et Yonice (1599) was solely dependent on Leucippe & Clitophon. In drama, Pierre du Ryer and probably Alexandre Hardy dramatised Achilles Tatius round 1629, and du Ryer's Alcimedon (1632) also has some allusion to the Greek author. Section 3 focuses on du Ryer's play, Clitophon: tragi-comedie. The description of the mise-en-scene by Laurent Mahelot illustrates how the play is spectacular. The plot is filled with varied incidents, adventures of the hero and the heroine over three cities: elopement, shipwreck, pirates, war, sacrifice, the court etc, as of course is the Greek novel. Section 4 treats Abraham Ravaud's romance, L'Angelique, which reflects his own view of Leucippe & Clitophon as a French translator. The opening scene is a pastiche of events specifically derived from Achilles Tatius (the shipwreck, the Scheintod, the attempt to die beside the lover's tomb, the appearance of two barbarians, and the conversation in a locus amoenus) embellished with the in medias res structure from Heliodorus' Aethiopica. It is surprising to find so many events combined in the opening scene, but it is the author's strategy to captivate readers right from the start and keep them in suspense. The final section presents an overview of the theory of prose fiction. In the preface to his edition of Achilles Tatius (1640), Claudius Salmasius traced a history of fiction from the Persian amatoria, the Asian Milesian tales through Arabic narrative to Spain, from which France acquired the romance. In 1641, George de Scudery was the first to call the ancient novel a Roman in the sense of prose fiction, and cleary propounded several rules of romance. And Huet's Lettre a M. de Segrais sur l'origine des romans (1670) not only systematised and developed their ideas, but was also the high-point of appreciation of the ancient novel. It is ironic that his treatise was attached to Zayde by Madame de La Fayette because her La princesse de Cleves (1678) would soon dramatically change the essence of prose fiction.

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