The Symposion in Ancient Greek Society and Thought 9781107306714, 9781107026667

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THE SYMPOSION IN ANCIENT GREEK SOCIETY AND THOUGHT

The symposion was a key cultural phenomenon in ancient Greece. This book investigates its place in ancient Greek society and thought by exploring the rhetorical dynamics of its representations in literature and art. Across genres, individual Greeks constructed visions of the party and its performances that offered persuasive understandings of the event and its participants. Sympotic representations thus communicated ideas which, set within broader cultural conversations, could possess a discursive edge. Hence, at the symposion, sympotic styles and identities might be promoted, critiqued and challenged. In the public imagination, the ethics of Greeks and foreigners might be interrogated and political attitudes intimated. Symposia might be suborned into historical narratives about struggles for power. And for philosophers, writing a Symposium was itself a rhetorical act. Investigating the symposion’s discursive potential enhances understanding of how the Greeks experienced and conceptualized the symposion and demonstrates its contribution to the Greek thought world. fiona hobden is a Senior Lecturer in Greek Culture at the University of Liverpool, where she teaches courses on various aspects of ancient Greek cultural history, including politics, gender and religion. Her current research focuses primarily on the symposion, but she is also interested in representations of the past and the present in Classical Athens, in ancient and modern responses to the Athenian cityscape and in history represented on television.

THE SYMPOSION IN ANCIENT GREEK SOCIETY AND THOUGHT FIONA HOBDEN

cambridge university press Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Madrid, Cape Town, Singapore, São Paulo, Delhi, Mexico City Cambridge University Press The Edinburgh Building, Cambridge cb2 8ru, UK Published in the United States of America by Cambridge University Press, New York www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781107026667 © Fiona Hobden 2013 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published 2013 Printed in the United Kingdom at the University Press, Cambridge A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloguing in Publication data Hobden, Fiona. The symposion in ancient Greek society and thought / Fiona Hobden. pages cm Includes bibliographical references and indexes. isbn 978-1-107-02666-7 1. Symposium (Classical Greek drinking party) 2. Symposium (Classical literature) 3. Symposium (Classical Greek drinking party) in art. I. Title. DF100.H65 2013 938–dc23 2012047762 isbn 978-1-107-02666-7 Hardback Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

To family and friends Here’s tae us! Wha’s like us? Damn few, And they’re a’ deid. Mair’s the pity.

A Scots toast

Contents

List of illustrations Acknowledgements List of abbreviations

page ix x xii

Introduction: talking about the symposion Symposion or mirage? Thinking with the mirage

1

Metasympotics Sympotic representation and gnomic wisdom Spectacles of symposiality Competition, conflict and communality

2 Ethnopoieia and ēthopoieia Foreigners at the symposion? The ethnography and ethics of drinking in Herodotus Beyond Herodotus: the moral dimension Enter Anacharsis

3 Politics in performance Look out for tyrants! Empedocles at the symposion Imperialism at play: ‘at home’ with Sophocles and Cimon Commensal misconduct on the false embassy From waspish revelry to oligarchic revolutionaries The politics of the symposion (I)

4 Politics in action Drunk and disorderly: cosmological confrontations Sympotic plots against civic threats in Euripides’ Ion Tyrants look out! Or, Why despots should not drink Persian plots and Macedonian murders The politics of the symposion (II)

vii

1 7 15 22 25 34 57 66 70 83 94 107 117 118 121 129 140 154 157 159 164 171 182 190

Contents

viii 5 Symposion and Symposium

‘Testing the truth and ourselves’ in Plato’s Symposium Xenophon’s sympotic display Meta-Sympotics

Conclusion: the rhetorics of the symposion References Index locorum Index vasorum General index

195 198 213 228 247 254 276 286 287

Illustrations

Photograph and line drawings are by the author. 1 Corinthian black-figure krater attributed to the Athana Painter, c. 590, side A. Paris, Musée du Louvre E629 2 Attic red-figure amphora attributed to Euphronius, c. 520, neck. Paris, Musée du Louvre G30 3 Attic red-figure kylix attributed to the Antiphon Painter, c. 500–480, tondo. Erlangen, Friedrich-Alexander-Universität 454 4 Fragments of an Attic red-figure kylix attributed to the Pithos Painter, c. 510–500, tondo. Florence, Museo Archeologico Etrusco 11B1, DB4 5 Attic red-figure kylix attributed to the Colmar Painter, c. 500, sides A and B. New York, Metropolitan Museum 16.174.41 6 Fragment of an unattributed attic red-figure kylix, c. 510, tondo. Moscow, Pushkin State Museum of Fine Arts F1410 7 Attic red-figure ram’s head rhyton attributed to the Brygos Painter, c. 480–470, detail from rim and under handle. Cleveland, Museum of Art 88.8

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page 4 37 43 78 80 82 83

Acknowledgements

The impetus to examine the symposion through the constructive and persuasive workings of its representations in ancient Greek society and thought arose from my doctoral work on Plato’s and Xenophon’s Symposia, examined in November 2003. I have thus been working on the project for over a decade, and I have accrued many debts of gratitude. A Ronald Morton Smith Scholarship from the University of St Andrews and a Major Scottish Studentship from the Student Awards Agency for Scotland (administered in my final year by the Arts and Humanities Research Board) funded that initial doctoral research. My thesis was examined by Paul Cartledge and Stephen Halliwell, and I am indebted to them for comments and encouragement at this early stage, and beyond. The book moved towards its current shape during a Visiting Fellowship at the Institute of Classical Studies in London in Spring 2006. Chapters 3 and 4 were drafted in spring 2009 during my spell as a Visiting Scholar at the University of Sydney, based at the Centre for Classical and Near Eastern Studies of Australia. I am grateful to Mike Edwards and Olga Krzyszkowska at the former, and Julia Kindt, Kathryn Welch and Peter Wilson at the latter, for their warm welcomes. My residencies were made possible by awards from the University of Liverpool Research Development Fund, and from the British Council Research Exchange Programme and J. P. Postgate Trust, respectively. This study has been enriched immeasurably by the generosity of many colleagues. Eran Almagor, Anton Bierl, Alastair Blanshard, Felix Budelmann, Diana Burton, Gabriel Danzig, Matthew Fitzjohn, Jo Heirman, Ippokratis Kantzios, Hyun Jin Kim, André Lardinois, Pauline LeVen, Laura Mawhinney, Elizabeth Moignard, Andrea Nightingale, Zinon Papakonstantinou, Frances Pownall, Joseph Skinner, Deborah Steiner, Harold Tarrant, Christopher Tuplin, José Vela Tejada, Tim Whitmarsh and Alexey Zadorojnyi have provided guidance, conversation, thoughts on draft chapters, or advance copies of forthcoming work. Audiences at the Universities of Liverpool, St Andrews x

Acknowledgements

xi

and Trinity St David (Lampeter), and at the Network for the Study of Archaic and Classical Greek Song also offered useful feedback. Jason König deserves special thanks for bringing his sympotic expertise to bear on the entire manuscript, as do three Cambridge University Press readers. Of these, Oswyn Murray has seen the book through from start to finish; I have benefited greatly from his sharp eye and depth of knowledge. Michael Sharp has been efficient, helpful and encouraging as the book progressed from concept to publication, as have the editorial and production team. As always, errors remain my own. I have been exceptionally fortunate to spend my academic career at two institutions amongst colleagues who are supportive and inspiring. At the University of St Andrews, Jill Harries nurtured my initial interests; Jon Hesk’s incisive reading of Classical texts and playful dissection of Greek culture continue to stimulate. Both offer models to aspire to in my own teaching and supervision. At the University of Liverpool, Bruce Gibson and Tom Harrison are constant mentors; with typical selflessness Graham Oliver shouldered more than his share of teaching in the final stages of my research; Colin Adams and Jo Paul offer firm friendship. That this book reached completion also owes much to the abiding presence and good humour of my family: Elizabeth and Gordon Hobden, Iain Hobden and Marina Rodrigues Faria, and David Montagnes.

Abbreviations

Abbreviations for ancient sources follow Liddell, Scott and Jones, A Greek– English Lexicon. Journal titles in the bibliography are abbreviated in line with L’Année philologique. ABV Add.

Beazley, J. D. (1956) Attic Black-figure Vase-painters, Oxford. Carpenter, T. H. (1989) Beazley Addenda: Additional References to ABV, ARV 2 and Paralipomena, 2nd edition, Oxford. ANET Pritchard, J. B. (1969) Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament, 3rd edition, Princeton, NJ. ARV Beazley, J. D. (1942) Attic Red-figure Vase-painters, Oxford. Beazley, J. D. (1963) Attic Red-figure Vase-painters, 2nd ARV2 edition, Oxford. BD The Beazley Archive Pottery Database (www.beazley.ox.ac. uk/databases/pottery.htm). Bergk Bergk, T. (1878–82) Poetae Lyrici Graeci, Lipsiae. Caizzi Caizzi, F. (1966) Antisthenis Fragmenta, Milan. Campbell Campbell, D. A. (1988–93) Greek Lyric, Cambridge, MA and London. CorVP Amyx, D. A. (1988) Corinthian Vase-painting of the Archaic Period, London. CTH Laroche, E. (1997) Catalogue des textes hittites, Paris. Davies Davies, M. (1991) Poetarum Melicorum Graecorum Fragmenta, Oxford. DK Diels, H. A. and Kranz, W. (1951–2) Fragmente der Vorsokratiker: Griechisch und Deutsch, 6th edition, Berlin. FGrH Jacoby, F. (1923–64) Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker, Leiden. Guardasole Guardasole, A. (1997) Eraclide di Tarento: Frammenti, Naples. xii

Abbreviations Hiller K KA Kern Kind Köpke Lenfant Lesher LP LSJ MW N Page Para. SH W Wehrli

xiii

Hiller, E. (1879) ‘Hieronymi Rhodii Peripatetici Fragmenta’ in H. Sauppe (ed.), Satura Philologa 8. Kinkel, G. (1877) Epicorum Graecorum Fragmenta, Lipsiae. Kassel, R. and Austin, C. (1986–) Poetae Comici Graeci (PCG), Berlin. Kern, O. (1922) Orphicum Fragmenta, Berlin. Kindstrand, J. F. (1981) Anacharsis: the Legend and the Apophthegmata, Uppsala. Köpke, E. (1956) De Chamaeleontis Heracleotae Vita Librorumque Reliquiis Disputavit, Berolini. Lenfant, D. (2004) Ctésias de Cnide: La Perse; L’Inde; autres fragments, Paris. Lesher, J. H. (1992) Xenophanes of Colophon: Fragments, Toronto. Lobel, E. and Page, D. L. (1955) Poetarum Lesbiorum Fragmenta, Oxford. Liddell, H. G., Scott, R. and Jones, H. S. (1996) A Greek– English Lexicon, 9th edition with a revised supplement, Oxford. Merkelbach, R. and West, M. L. (1967) Fragmenta Hesiodea, Oxford. Nauck, A. (1889) Tragicorum Graecorum Fragmenta, 2nd edition, Lipsiae. Page, D. L. (1962) Poetae Melici Graeci, Oxford. Beazley, J. D. (1971) Paralipomena: Additions to Attic Blackfigure Vase-painters and to Attic Red-figure Vase-Painters, Oxford. Lloyd-Jones, H. and Parsons, P. (1983) Supplementum Hellenisticum, Berlin and New York. West, M. L. (1989–92) Iambi et Elegi Graeci ante Alexandrum Cantati, 2nd edition, Oxford. Wehrli, F. (1969) Die Schule des Aristoteles: Text und Kommentar, Basel.

introduction

Talking about the symposion

The symposion? It is on the brushes of all the painters, on the lips of all the poets – so they say. Is it that simple? Schmitt Pantel (1990) 16

With this question, Pauline Schmitt Pantel embarked upon a re-evaluation of the symposion, or ‘drinking party’, in Archaic Greek culture. Her primary goal was to integrate what scholarship was increasingly defining as a private gathering of elite males into the civic arena, an argument she pursued on a grander scale in her monograph La cité au banquet (1992). Recently Oswyn Murray, inspired especially by contemporary anthropology, had established the symposion as a Männerbund, a select all-male group bound by mutual obligation and shared activity. The accessibility of sympotic ‘conversation’ had also been improved by the increasing attribution of monodic poetry to such convivial gatherings. Thanks to these developments, a strong sense was emerging of the symposion as a venue for Greek elites to consolidate their social and political networks at a remove from their wider communities.1 At the same time, new analyses of the figured decoration on drinking ware that originated especially from Corinth and Athens provided insights into the entertainments and the sociopsychological potency of drinking together.2 As awareness of the symposion 1

2

Murray (1982, 1983a, 1983b). Singing symposiasts were already posited by Reitzenstein (1893) 45–86, who made the banquet the performance venue for elegiac verse; Von der Mühll (1975) 497–504, originally delivered in 1926, throws fragments by Alcaeus, Archilochus, Mimnermus, Xenophanes, Theognis, Pindar, Anacreon, and Euenus of Paros into the mix. Recently, the most influential studies placing such poetry in sympotic contexts include Rösler (1980), Gentili (1981, 1988), Rossi (1983), Vetta (1983), and E. L. Bowie (1986, 1994). Led particularly by Lissarrague (1990a), following earlier studies of sympotic scenes in art by Fehr (1971) and Dentzer (1982); see n. 9, below. For convergences in scholarly endeavour, see Hobden (2009a) 271–3. Murray (2003) reflects more deeply on the intellectual trends that stimulated the rise in sympotic scholarship.

1

2

Introduction: talking about the symposion

as an important cultural institution in Archaic Greece was growing, Schmitt Pantel requested a pause to consider the precise nature of the event envisaged by the poets and painters whose creations were eagerly drawn upon as evidence. Her response to the question ‘Is it that simple?’ was designed to complicate the picture, to highlight the continuity within allegedly ‘public’ and ‘private’ settings for communal drinking by means of image and song, and to make sympotic activity a potentially civic pastime. Two decades later, the scholarly wheel continues to turn. While Murray’s work remains foundational, as do the articles in his edited volume Sympotica, which features Schmitt Pantel’s essay, nuance has been added and critiqued in turn. A civic dimension is not controversial. The scope of who participated in symposia and why has been extended and refined to reflect increased attention to specific contexts for sympotic poetry and artefacts, to take account of ideological influences on earlier work, and to display sensitivity to historical development and circumstance. The symposion as it is perceived today is anything but simple. Nonetheless, Schmitt Pantel’s prefatory query remains pertinent: ‘It is on the brushes of all the painters, on the lips of all the poets.’ Symposia greet us through items produced by individuals well over two thousand years ago from within the cultures to which the party belonged. They are representations: depictions drawn on figured pottery or sculpted in stone, or oral and written re-imaginings of the event staged in metred verse and prose. If we look to this material for evidence of the symposion, what exactly are we seeing? Today we are attuned to the disjunction between representation and reality. To depict (to paint, to photograph, to describe in writing) an object is to adopt a position towards it: to filtrate it through one’s ‘lens’, to produce a simulacrum, a likeness, an image determined by that position. The photograph, for example, was at first considered an objective snapshot of the world. However, we are now conscious that its contents are carefully shaped by the photographer, who decides what to focus on and what to exclude, and who may deliberately manipulate the lighting, composition and setting, or mise-en-scène. These choices may be determined by the photographer’s purpose, whether to contribute to a news story, or to record a family event or to produce a provocative piece of art. No representation is created without purpose or intent, and the act of creation imposes shape and generates narratives to fit. Furthermore, at the moment someone looks at, hears or reads a representation, a communication begins. This conversation is determined not only by the shape and contents of the representation, but by the contexts in which it is seen or read, and by the preoccupations of its

Introduction: talking about the symposion

3

audience.3 So, newspaper readers might interpret a front-page photograph as illustrative of the headline or article it accompanies, or they may bring to bear their own ideas or experiences to make sense of its apparent contents. As an object of ‘reception’, to use the theoretical jargon that describes this process of engagement, all representations are animate and active.4 Hence, the symposia we confront in ancient literature and art are not staid depictions of essential truths, but abstract conceptualizations that come alive in the telling. Take one example from the brush of one painter: the symposion that appears on an early sixth-century Corinthian black-figure krater now in the Louvre and attributed to the Athana Painter (Figure 1).5 Spread around the belly of the krater, its couches and occupants regularly spaced, this sympotic scene is schematized to fit the shape of the pot. It is drafted according to the experience and imagination of a painter working in the Corinthian blackfigure tradition; he may work from a standard repertoire or lived memory or hearsay, so that the details of its execution may be determined by preconceptions or realism or fantasy.6 And it possesses a communicative power, whether the krater sits amidst drinkers as a container for mixed wine or is utilized in the Etruscan funerary rituals at Caere that account for its preservation down into the present day. The balanced distribution of couches around the belly, the interplay between men and women on these couches, the decoration of their fabrics, the positioning of the lyres and the tables and the food and the armour all speak to their viewer. Social relationships, gender relations, and ideologies of luxury and war may be articulated for living symposiasts, or for buriers of the Etruscan dead, who may recognize themselves or the deceased in the depicted action, or observe

3

4

5

6

The classic study of this triangulated interplay between creator, object and viewer in the visual realm is Berger (1972), although his work is very much a reflection of a developing trend in art history that mirrored contemporary advancements also in literary theory: for these, see Culler (1982). To quote one exponent of this theory in the realm of Classics, there is a ‘construction of meaning at the point of reception’: Kennedy (2006) 289. On the development and premises of reader reception theory, see Eagleton (1996) 64–77. Paris, Musée du Louvre E629 (CorVP 235, A1; BD 9019327). For the pacing of couches around the krater’s belly, see also the Corinthian kraters gathered by Schmitt Pantel (1992) figs. 1–5, 7. Bowls, or phialai, and cups, or kylikes, produced elsewhere similarly accommodate reclining symposiasts to the available surface space in this way: again, see Schmitt Pantel (1992) figs. 8, 11–14, 16–18, 23–5. Note: all dates are bce unless otherwise stated. Analysis by Smith (2007) of scenes of revelry on Corinthian and other contemporary figured ware emphasizes the interplay between standard motif and invention in the black-figure tradition. Note that the symposion adorning the Boeotian black-figure tripod-kothon, c. 575–560, which she discusses for its revelry (kōmos), equally displays formal continuities with contemporary and future imagery (67, fig. 26): this vessel is discussed on p. 13, below.

4

Introduction: talking about the symposion

Figure 1 Corinthian black-figure krater attributed to the Athana Painter, c. 590, side A.

an identity and lifestyle to aspire to, now or in the afterlife.7 In short, like all representation, this sympotic depiction is rhetorical: it is constructed and constructs; it is communicative and it ‘persuades’, in the sense that it encourages the viewer to perceive the represented event in ways that gain meaning in the encounter context. This rhetorical engagement, however, is not one-directional, but informed by the preconceptions and ideas that the reader brings to the engagement in particular settings.8 Situated in their own specific socio-cultural world, a hypothetical Corinthian warrior – who might also find meaning in the cavalrymen painted on the other side of the krater – would receive the projected symposion differently from a hypothetical Etruscan elite, at the table or in the grave. So to answer Schmitt Pantel on the symposia that issue forth from the lips of poets and brushes of painters, it really is not that simple. These premises about representation and reception are hardly new, and they clearly underpin the work of François Lissarrague and his intellectual followers in their analyses of sympotic scenes on decorated drinking ware as

7 8

For the Etruscan consumption of Greek sympotic scenes and their workings within Etruscan social and funerary practice, see Avramidou (2006) esp. 572–7, with Isler-Kerényi (2003). See Spivey (1991) 144–5, thinking particularly about transitions into Etruscan culture: ‘Decorated vases travel and speak to those who accommodate them. When we look at an image on a Greek vase, what it says may not be what its artist intended it to say – but the discourse goes on, regardless.’

Introduction: talking about the symposion

5

if they were in circulation at the very event they depict.9 And although they remain largely unarticulated, they are also fundamental to many readings of sympotic representation within individual literary works or genres. Symposia appear in epic, lyric, tragedy, comedy, history, philosophical dialogues, oratory, letters, biographies and novels – indeed in most textual forms – and many of these have fallen under investigation in their own terms. Yet, although responsive to one another, these studies remain largely fragmented, generally collated in edited collections or dispersed in journals rather than explored in concentrated fashion in monographs (Aristophanic comedy offers one exception). Representations in different genres are rarely brought together in one study, unless an effort is under way to reconstruct the historical symposion from the ancient sources.10 In this respect, the diversity of the material that depicts sympotic activities is as much a bane as a boon. Because no single person could navigate their way through all the available physical and written evidence, the symposion lends itself more easily to communal endeavour, with analyses developing in tandem but independently within realms of expertise. Thanks to the efforts of earlier pioneers in the field, sympotic studies now bloom. However, understanding the rhetorical force of sympotic representation remains at a micro level: investigation of its varied appearances across a range of cultural products and conversations is curtailed. It is the purpose of this monograph on the symposion in ancient Greek society and thought to begin stitching together representations, to understand their workings on a macro scale. Through this patchwork approach, the symposion emerges not only as a key cultural phenomenon in the socio-political landscape of Archaic and Classical Greece in historical (‘real life’) terms. It is also a pervasive and active component of the Greek thought world, the discursive space where individuals as part of a shared community conceptualized, debated, understood 9

10

The seminal work is Lissarrague (1990a; cf. 1990c, 1990d, 1992). For other treatments of sympotic scenes at symposia see, for example: Frontisi-Ducroux and Lissarrague (1990); Schäfer (1997); Heinemann (2000, 2009); Sutton (2000); Neer (2002) 9–26; R. Osborne (2007); Steiner (2007) 231–64; Topper (2009); and Catoni (2010). Although Kistler (2009) sets out to open up possible ‘oppositional’ readings of satyric imagery beyond Lissarrague, his analysis of represented satyric sympotics within the symposion is nonetheless framed by his work. See Murray (1990a), W. J. Slater (1991), Murray and Tecuşan (1995), and Orfanos and Carrière (2003): the contributions in these volumes not only cover a range of socio-political dimensions and literary and artistic representations, but cross over into Near Eastern and Roman cultures. On Aristophanes’ symposia, see Pütz (2007), expanding upon shorter studies by W. J. Slater (1981) and A. Bowie (1997). In terms of historical studies, Schmitt Pantel’s (1992) remit is extensive as she seeks to identify a reality through representation; see also Corner (2005). In a shorter historicist snapshot of the symposion, W. J. Henderson (2000) also collates a broad range of ancient sources to identify central aspects and functions of the symposion.

6

Introduction: talking about the symposion

and attempted to find a place for themselves within the world around them, down even into Roman times. Angus Bowie’s work on sympotic elements in Aristophanic comedy and on banqueting in Herodotus’ Histories particularly hints at the potential of the present study. His Aristophanes article analyses independent scenes from separate plays and knits them together to show how sympotic conduct provides a measure of a character or a community. That ‘the symposium thus functions in Aristophanic comedy as the symposium did in Greek society, as an institution where values, political and moral, public and private were tested’ will transpire to be equally true across a range of genres, and therefore crucial to sympotic representation more broadly.11 In addition, the questioning of social issues that he also perceives in staged symposia is concomitant with the interrogation, for example, of the ethics of drinking through the representation of foreign practice (Chapter 2), or of contemporary politics (Chapter 3). Dissecting the banqueting scenes of the Histories, A. Bowie (2003) observes a further level of operation: the use of symposia not only to convey the character of individuals and regimes, but to articulate differences between them and explore competing ideologies. The dynamics are similar to those at work in Aristophanic comedy, but an element of debate is introduced by the productive juxtaposition of alternative modes. By starting with depictions of the symposion from the symposion (Chapters 1 and 2), by opening up to examination other representations of the event in poetry and prose (Chapters 2 to 5), and by aligning these according to the conversations to which they contribute, the remit of the present study is wider than any one genre or text. But nonetheless identity construction and the discursivity of sympotic representations will remain central to the analysis. This, then, is a book about imagined symposia, events conjured in the minds, mouths, eyes and ears of ancient Greeks. The primary goal is not to provide detailed explication of the historical event, although because some of our representations operated within convivial settings further light will be shed on aspects of sympotic performance dynamics and socio-psychological processes. Nor will the study be exhaustive: provisos regarding the sheer volume of visual and textual representations still stand. Instead, by identifying prominent discursive strands, it accumulates relevant material to examine ways in which ‘talking about’ the symposion – representing a drinking party, including its participants’ antics – generated ideas about 11

Indeed, A. Bowie (1997) 1–2 recognizes an inherent connection with Archaic lyric, Plato’s Laws, and historians, building on studies by Levine (1985), Tecuşan (1990) and Paul (1991), respectively.

Symposion or mirage?

7

sympotic, ethnic and ethical, socio-political, and philosophical identities, or provided a structural framework for envisaging political upheavals or facilitated educational deliberations on moral issues. Literary texts dominate the analysis, but vase painting has a role to play in earlier chapters which kick off at the symposion. When we move on from lyric and epic poetry towards historical and ethnographical writing, philosophy, biography, Attic drama and oratory, we progress variously into civic arenas and the realm of intellectual endeavour, sifting through the communal imagination of sympotic groups and citizen bodies to the educated members of philosophical schools and elite salons. It was here that the symposion came alive in the interrogation of identity, the reconstruction of the past and the pursuit of wisdom and authority. For Greeks in diverse settings, the symposion provided a stable, if fluid and malleable, reference point by which they could talk about or construct themselves and the world around them. However, before embarking upon our travel through this discursive terrain, we need to pose our own opening question: what was the symposion? symposion or mirage? Broken down into its constituent parts of sun, ‘with’, and posis, ‘drink’, the word symposion means literally ‘drinking together’. When it first appears in poetry from the late seventh and early sixth centuries, this aspect of shared endeavour is apparent.12 In a fragmentary verse that encourages listeners to put aside their strife against Pittacus, Alcaeus of Lesbos observes that ‘the lyre plays, sharing in the symposion, feasting with idle braggarts’ (ἀθύρει πεδέχων συμποσίω | βάρμος, φιλώνων πεδ’ ἀλεμ[άτων] | εὐχήμενος, 70.3–5 LP). Another Alcaean couplet demands an invitation for the delightful (χαρίεντα) Menon, ‘if I am to enjoy the symposion’ (αἰ χρῆ συμποσίας ἐπόνασιν ἔμοιγε γένεσθαι, 368 LP). The tone of these two poems is quite distinct, with the former implicitly criticizing the tyrant Pittacus through its characterization of his drinking group and the latter setting out good company as the requirement for a good time.13 But in each a communal gathering is clearly imagined, and music and pleasure are the order of the day. Companionship and pleasure are implicitly on the agenda again when Theognis of Megara comments that it is only under 12

13

Note that while W. J. Slater (1990) and Węcowski (2002a) identify aspects of the symposion, its values and forms, in epic banquets, the emphasis on drinking, embedded in the word itself, appears in the first instance in monody. On similarities and differences between Homeric feasts – described to me by Laura Mawhinney as ‘proto-symposia’ – and symposia as historical phenomena, see van Wees (1995). See Kurke (1994) 73–5 for the political thrust of Alcaeus 70 LP.

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Introduction: talking about the symposion

compulsion that one mingles at the symposion hosted by a chatterbox, hated for talking unstintingly (295–8 W). Good conversation is apparently preferred and, in the process, negatively defined. None of these lines provide a recipe for the symposion, generating as they do their own images of symposia. Yet, they intimate some recurrent features in later allusions and representations: music, conversation and enjoyment set against a backdrop of communal drinking and festivity. One might recall the near-contemporary Corinthian krater introduced above, on which men and women sharing couches face each other, cups or drinking horn in hand, and lyres either brandished or within easy reach. Moreover, in the style of the fragments that Alcaeus and Theognis compose, there are further indications of the character a symposion might have. Both poets are attributed with songs that work best in sympotic contexts: they invite others to drink up or insinuate themselves into the musical fray (we shall look at some of these in Chapter 1). If their entire repertoires are cast as a result into the symposion, then the political sentiments expressed by Alcaeus and the pronouncement by Theognis above become (amongst other things) indicative of a politicized group and one in which recommendations for living are put forward, respectively.14 Conversations through song make the symposion politically and socially involved; equally, their purveyors adopt political and social stances. An abundance of studies have pursued the interests and dynamics of sympotic performers and their audiences across the full range of surviving monodic poetry, primarily from the Archaic period. Through martial exhortation to historical reminiscence to iambic insult, political explication, advisory pronouncement, and praise, symposiasts spoke about and orientated themselves in relation to past and present, to the world outside, and to the community within.15 Quite how and why varied from polis to polis, group to group, poet to poet, singer to singer, verse to verse. The term ‘symposion’ thus describes an activity of shared consumption, of commensality in anthropological terms. Poetry that utilizes this terminology points to a wider range of activities beyond drinking; and from its contents 14

15

Alcaeus’ group of political dissidents was important in developing Murray’s (1983a, 1983b) model of the elite, anti-polis hetaireia, or friendship group (although note that hetaireia is not used by Alcaeus of his drinking group): cf. Kurke (1992, 1994) and Morris (1996). Social and political concerns expressed in the Theognidea are explored in a series of articles in Figueira and Nagy (1985): Donlan (1985) and Levine (1985) particularly pay attention to the sympotic setting. On Theognis’ politics and their potential resonances within drinking groups, see also Lane Fox (2000). For discussion of these see, for example: on martial exhortation, E. L. Bowie (1990); historical reminiscence, Rösler (1990); iambos, R. Rosen (2003); political explication and exhortation, Irwin (2005) 35–62; praise, E. L. Bowie (2002).

Symposion or mirage?

9

various social and political dimensions can be inferred. Alongside this sits the archaeological evidence, which similarly picks up – or has in part been identified because of correspondences between – poetic allusions and scenes of symposia on painted pots. From the seventh century onwards, square rooms of regular dimensions characterized by raised borders and an off-centre door appear in temple and then domestic architecture. This is known in scholarship as the andrōn, as Herodotus (3.121) labels the ‘men’s room’ where the tyrant Polycrates of Samos and poet Anacreon recline together. Its architectural features facilitate the accommodation of seven or eleven couches dispersed around the walls, just as they are distributed around the belly of our Corinthian krater.16 This is the furniture mentioned by the Sparta-based, late-seventh-century poet Alcman, who describes seven couches each accompanied by a table heaving with small foods (F19 Davies; quoted in Chapter 1, below). It is also a hallmark of the Judaic marzeah, the feast whose celebrants are condemned by the eighth-century prophet Amos (Amos 6.4–7) for stretching themselves upon couches, eating meat, singing to the harp, drinking wine from bowls and anointing themselves with unguents instead of lamenting the fate of Israel.17 And it mimics the dining motif on a series of silver Phoenician or Phoenician-inspired Cypriot bowls, redated recently on stylistic grounds to the eighth or seventh centuries.18 This incorporation of the couch (klinē) – and perhaps other aspects of the dining form – plugs Greek drinking culture into Near Eastern commensal practice.19 The physical set-up witnessed in the archaeology and iconography also suggests a distinctive spatio-psychological dynamic. Distributed in pairs on couches around the walls of the andrōn, the individuals directed their attention inwards to companions across the room and on neighbouring couches. This could have accentuated the immediacy and communality of the drinking party and promoted a level of equality as well as exclusivity amongst guests who were sequestered away from the world beyond the dining-room walls.20 It could only have added an edge to the kinds of conversations identified above through the poetry and the effects of drinking mixtures of wine. 16 17 18 19

20

As summarized by Bergquist (1990). See Burkert (1991) 10. Compare the sentiments expressed here with Thgn. 825–30 W, discussed in Chapter 2, below. As proposed by Matthaüs (1999) 256. The material is collected by Dentzer (1982) figs. 100–2. It is not simply ornate klinai that make their way west into Hellenic dining rooms, but also certain drinking paraphernalia and elements of costume: Boardman (1990) 129–30. On the infiltration of Near Eastern drinking paraphernalia and practices into Greece via trading centres in the West, see Oswyn Murray’s article on ‘The symposion between east and west’, forthcoming in proceedings from ‘Sympotic Poetry: a Colloquium’, University of Oxford, 31 March – 2 April 2011. A dynamic extrapolated by Lissarrague (1990a) 19.

10

Introduction: talking about the symposion

Yet, the andrōn was not only variable in size, allowing for variations in intimacy and intensity, but also neither constant in its location, nor even a prerequisite for a party. It entered the domestic repertoire in the middle of the fifth century, when it was noticeable especially at Olynthus, where excavations of the ancient city have been extensive, in the Greek cities of Sicily and, on a more restricted scale, at Athens.21 Whilst the distinctive room appeared in Greek homes, it continued to be built at sanctuaries, indicating a diversity in venues – and therefore, presumably, occasions – for drinking in company.22 Outside events were also a possibility, in cult and at home. A number of sympotic scenes on figured pots from Laconia and Athens portray men reclining without couches on the ground, apparently outdoors – as indeed, does the earliest sculpted symposion in a Greek city, on the temple of Athena at Assos in the Troad, c. 540–520.23 One recent study suggests that such images on fifth-century Attic pottery reference the past, a period that Burkert (1991, 18) also imagines when he proposes that Greek symposia may have developed in part out of indigenous feasting practices enjoyed on beds of twigs (stibades).24 Of course an imagined past implies a difference from the present; but a series of Laconian plates, or phialai, adorned with on-the-ground symposiasts, could reflect contemporary cult practice at Samos, or so the pottery’s findspots at the sanctuary of Hera there would suggest.25 Finally, new analyses of spatial occupation in domestic complexes emphasize how single rooms had multiple uses at different stages of the day and, more importantly for our purposes, activities like symposia could have taken place outdoors in courtyards.26 The result of this varied discussion is to situate drinking practices on occasion outside the confines of the andrōn, and to 21

22 23

24 26

For the andrōn in Olynthian architecture, see Cahill (2002) 180–93. The evidence for drinking culture in Sicilian cities is traced in detail through the distribution of kraters in domestic and other settings by Rabinowitz (2009) 142–58. Evidence for andrōnes in ‘middling’ homes at Athens is cited by Fisher (2000) 360. Implications for understanding the symposion through the evidence of the andrōn are drawn out by Nevett (2010) 43–62. Bergquist (1990) 38, Table 1. See Wescoat (1995), who postulates resonances with civic religious feasting at Assos. A sculpted symposion scene also appears on a partially preserved pediment from Corfu featuring a youth with drinking cup and a bearded Dionysus, who holds a drinking horn. The date is probably slightly later, c. 500, and the figures recline upon a couch. Topper (2009). 25 Pipili (1998). See Lynch (2007) on the symposion specifically. The question of spatial use arises particularly through attempts to overturn the belief that Greek households were strictly divided into ‘male’ and ‘female’ domains: for example, see Jameson (1990), Nevett (1995) and Antonaccio (2000). Flexibility in usage does not suggest that anything could take place anywhere, nor that a space like the andrōn, the ‘men’s room’ which may equally have been used by other family members or on other social occasions, did not retain a special function: see Jameson (1990) 188–91 and Nevett (1999) 71. I am grateful to Matthew Fitzjohn for direction on this issue. He emphasizes to me the difficulty in reconstructing everyday activity through the archaeological record, when many tasks left no trace and

Symposion or mirage?

11

highlight questions of context. Whether we imagine a festival or daily cult routine, sanctuary andrōnes bring the ‘private’ party into the civic-religious sphere, potentially lending the communal drinking a more pronounced civicreligious dimension – one that would perhaps sit well with Alcman’s sevencouched scene, given the poet’s renown for choral poetry designed for festival occasions. And an outdoors venue, whether at a temple or in a domestic courtyard, might encourage a different set of socio-psychological dynamics. The potential for variety in terms of venue and occasion, and by consequence form and dynamics, is matched by a diversity in potential participants across time and place. Murray’s early readings of the symposion identify material wealth and leisure time as prerequisites for participation in this luxury event, and he postulates disenfranchised aristocrats as the primary partygoers. Gathered together, they could act out their separation from the Archaic communities that had reduced their power and influence by developing hoplite warfare and broadening political involvement, accompanying an increasing spread of wealth.27 This model of the symposion certainly works for the fragments of complaint in Alcaeus, wherein Murray finds evidence; and excerpts from the Theognidea equally position their speaker as resentful towards newcomers to the elite lifestyle and suspicious of the community at large.28 Already, however, sentiments in the Alcaean verse quoted above suggest that even within his corpus, and so amongst his audience, symposia were not considered the sole preserve of disenfranchised hetaireiai, or friendship groups.29 The lyre is imagined to sound at the symposia of Pittacus and his allies who have taken control of the damos, or people. Similarly, picking up Herodotus (3.121, above), the sixth-century tyrants of Samos and Athens invited Anacreon to their courts, where songs by the poet focusing on sympotic preoccupations such as drinking and sex may have been performed.30 Individuals in power could drink with companions as much as their opponents. Then again, Theognis’ concern with incomers and his suspicion not just of outsiders but ‘friends’

27 28 29

30

others are over-represented in the material remains. Post-depositional factors also intervene, so that what is excavated cannot be read unproblematically as evidence for even a site’s final day of occupation. Murray (1983a, 1983b, and most recently 2009). For example Thgn. 39–52, 53–68, 69–72, 183–92, 219–20, 541–2, 1103–4 W. See Lane Fox (2000) for fragments and their possible thrust, whether sung in Megara or beyond. Hetaireia is a Classical term for a ‘friendship group’ retrojected onto the Alcaean Archaic drinking group. Hetairos, however, appears in Homeric epic to indicate a special relationship between friends, and it occurs in lyric (sympotic) poetry too. On this terminology, see Calhoun (1964) 4–7, with footnotes for references, and more recently Hornblower (1991) 484, and (2008) 916–19, who draws especially upon Andrewes (1981) 128–31. On Anacreon and Polycrates of Samos, see Kantzios (2005).

12

Introduction: talking about the symposion

implies a wider-spread sympotic participation and even infiltrations into the sympotic circles where his poetry was performed. Murray is certainly aware of this potential broadening of sympotic participation, and it led in part to other efforts to distinguish ‘elitist’ and ‘middling’ voices in the poetry, or rather to distinguish between sympotic groups revelling in their private luxuries and those willing to involve themselves in external political affairs.31 While this chain of thought has fallen under attack for imposing a false dichotomy on the Archaic world through the anachronistic notion of conflicting polis and anti-polis ideologies, the diversity in self-positioning that they identify hints at the variation in sentiment and content between (and sometimes within) surviving ‘sympotic’ voices.32 In Archaic communities, power structures and negotiations of power might play out differently, but generally elite culture was open to whoever could take advantage of their present resources to participate.33 As wealth groups broadened, so sympotic activity might spread, as testified by the appearance of andrōnes and/or drinking paraphernalia in those houses at Olynthus, in Sicilian cities and at Athens that must have belonged to the moderately or less wealthy, rather than the super-rich. Indeed, it is entirely possible that the Attic red-figure ceramics upon which so much scholarship on the symposion depends were in fact the preserve of ‘ordinary’ folk, who could not afford more expensive metalware.34 Across cities, those willing and able to spend time drinking would not necessarily have been antagonistic to those outside their group. Indeed, reprising the notion of the symposion as a microcosm of the city, Corner (2010, 375) argues that ‘the symposion may be recognized as part of the polis’. In Archaic communities symposiasts were (members of) the polis. In this vein, two further developments at Classical Athens are worth observing. First, towards the end of the fifth century, there was an increase in social organizations that offered opportunities for communal dining and drinking.35 And secondly, just as the democracy adopted aristocratic rhetorics of moral excellence to define itself, sympotic forms appear to have been 31 33 34

35

Kurke (1992); Morris (1996). 32 The attack comes from Hammer (2004). Duplouy (2006) 271. As proposed by Vickers (1985) and Vickers and Gill (1994). The theory is not without its critics amongst art historians: see Cook (1987), Boardman (1987, 1996). The debate revolves around the disputed value of artefacts that were everyday items in antiquity and are now priceless objets d’art. The amassed literary evidence certainly points to the possession of metal vessels by the wealthiest Athenians during the fifth and fourth centuries: Vickers and Gill (1994) 37–46. Neer (2002) 206–15, however, contests their reading of the evidence and reasserts the priority of ceramics in Archaic and Classical drinking. Fisher (2000) 361–9.

Symposion or mirage?

13

co-opted into communal dining practices in the agora.36 From the perspective of the anti-polis aristocratic symposion imagined by Murray and others, drinking amongst ‘poorer’ citizens might appear to be dilutions or travesties of that earlier event. However, once that party is acknowledged as only one manifestation of an elite culture that was generally open to new participants and exhibited continuities in practice and style beyond the Archaic period, the drinking enjoyed by moderately wealthy Athenians, members of social groups and civil servants were still symposia. The dynamics of socialization and politicization posited for closed groups with common interests may still have operated, albeit in alternative ways. Whilst the term ‘symposion’ and its first deployment by poets is thus suggestive of a particular style of party that in its basics remains foundational to many subsequent representations, in practice there appears to have been diversity in where and when symposiasts gathered, what they might do and, indeed, who they might be. The symposion’s potential setting within civicreligious space is also a reminder that drinking in company whilst reclining might be one component of a broader commensal event featuring eating, drinking and revelry – and in a religious festival this might be the end point of earlier celebrations leading to sacrifice and the distribution of meat. This is manifest on a Boeotian black-figure tripod-kothon attributed to the Komast Group, c. 575–60.37 Scenes of a sacrificial procession, a symposion (men reclining on couches, table foods, conversation, wine-pouring, music) and the revel known as the kōmos (rhythmic dancing to music) adorn the three sides; on the tripod legs scenes of wrestling, boxing and discusthrowing donate an additional strand to the ‘stages of religious festival’ identified by Smith (2007, 65). In this fashioning, the drinking occupies a distinct stage in wider proceedings. Indeed, this separation is reminiscent of the description by the late-sixth/early fifth-century poet Xenophanes of Colophon (1 W) of a dining-room floor being swept and hands cleaned in preparation for drinking, and of the hiatus between eating and drinking introduced in the fourth-century Symposia by Plato (176a1–4) and Xenophon (2.1). (The majority of entertainments in their dramatic narratives take place in the latter part.) Yet, Pindar is more flexible in his description of events marked by wine, drinking vessels, music, songs and play. These may be called a ‘drinking party’ (symposion), ‘dinner’ (deipnon) or ‘after-dinner’ (epideipnon), ‘celebrations of a feast’ (eilapinazein) and 36 37

Rotroff and Oakley (1992); Steiner (2002). Berlin, Antikensammlung F1727 (ABV 29.1, Add. 8; BD 300333): Smith (2007) 66–7, figs. 24–6. The athletic action is identified by S. Lewis (2009) 134, who calls the pot a pyxis, rather than a kothon.

14

Introduction: talking about the symposion

‘revelry’ (kōmos). Such flexibility in terminology obscures the division between dinner and drinking. Moreover, his parties might take place in palaces or homes amidst ‘men’ (andres) or ‘friends’ (philoi).38 Pindar’s poetry in praise of athletic victors may have been sung at public celebrations or smaller meetings of friends in cities across fifth-century Greece. His conceptualization of communal gatherings reflects these multiple venues and, in the process, blurs distinctions we might otherwise make. Like the archaeological record, Pindar’s songs of praise encourage a broader consideration of who attended symposia, where and when. This is of obvious interest for thinking about the nature of the convivial occasions for which Pindar composed, that is about the symposion as historical phenomenon, but it equally draws attention to the priority of symposia in the representational record. By and large, Greek art and literature encourage their audiences to zoom in on the communal drinking. At times other related features, especially the kōmos, may come into view – and we shall see the banquet operate as a venue for sympotic activity in representations of foreign and royal commensality. But, in effect, there is a cultural selectivity at work in the Greek imagination that prioritizes drinking together over eating together. It is the symposion, with its generic potential for social and political interaction through conversation and song within a framework of shared music, pleasure and wine – whatever the immediate contexts and make-up of real-life events – that captures the imagination. These events might take place in private homes or civic dining halls, at royal palaces or temple sanctuaries, or in military tents; they may involve guest-friends, townspersons, politicians, generals or kings. But it was the act of communal drinking, and everything that might accompany it, which acquired a continuing presence in conversations by which Greeks, individually and as communities, talked about, understood and gave shape to the world around them. The plurality of possibilities for sympotic activity sketched above demonstrates the extent to which the symposion as a precise historical phenomenon is a mirage: its multiplicity and malleability across time and space defies straightforward categorization. The best a historian interested in actual practice can do is identify strands in sympotic activity, centred on select material, period and place.39 Yet, our preoccupation with the symposion is founded ultimately on an ancient mirage, one that draws attention again and again to communal gatherings centred on drinking as the 38 39

As detailed by Schmitt Pantel (1990) 23. This has been done most ably by Rabinowitz (2009), whose reconstruction of Archaic Spartan symposia by means of the evidence of contemporary Doric cultures in Sicily traces continuities and

Thinking with the mirage

15

commensal occasion. The symposia that are the focus of the present study are both well-defined, in the sense that the representations are recognizably sympotic in their form, and fluid and distinct in their details, purposes and implications.

thinking with the mirage If the symposion as a hard and fast entity appears to be something of a mirage, nonetheless, in the various formulations that simultaneously lend it shape and complicate its definition, it is an active one. It is this action that the present study explores. By focusing on the workings of sympotic representation, considering the scenarios constructed and the contexts of their creation or performance, a nuanced understanding of the priority of the symposion in the Greek thought world, and so within Greek society and culture, emerges. In our attempt to define the symposion, poetry that talked about the party was identified as projecting visions of the convivial event at which they were probably performed. Because of this reflexive element, these poems might be called ‘metasympotic’. The first chapter of this book examines further these metasympotic representations. In fragments that are descriptive, exhortatory and programmatic, symposia are sketched, recommendations are laid, and attestations of participation are delivered. Unfurling some of the rhetorical strategies at play, especially the games of authority and selfpositioning pursued through gnomic and first-person pronouncements, reveals how symposiasts might claim a place within the symposion, by defining and embodying good (and bad) sympotic practice. Descriptions, recommendations and statements of sympotic performance are persuasive in their attempts to configure the perceptions and experience of the drinking group, and of the singer in particular. At issue is the identity of the singer as a member of the immediate community: that identity is tied to mastery of the symposion and its entertainments, or rather to the demonstration of mastery through self-referencing performance, including challenges to others’ sympotic competence. Metasympotic representations thus initiate diversities in practice through the material record and posits socio-political dimensions for these events by considering anthropological models and contemporary contexts. Lynch (2011) assembles material from a single house near the Athenian agora to think more about Athenian sympotics in the late Archaic period. An alternative approach is suggested by Węcowski (2002b), who aims to identify a ‘touchstone’ or ‘tracer element’ that distinguishes the symposion from other commensal events. This solution, however, has the potential to become circular, requiring an initial assumption regarding what the touchstone might be that in turn becomes the defining point.

16

Introduction: talking about the symposion

an intra-sympotic conversation that has potentially tangible consequences for the singer, as his sympotic fantasies bid to become realities. The poems studied in Chapter 1, most of which survive as fragments of their original form, are attributed to different authors, belong to different genres and were produced across time in different poleis. They may have been composed for direct performance by ‘virtuoso’ symposiasts such as Anacreon or sung spontaneously and/or in response to other poems by symposiasts, as has been suggested for the Theognidea. Or alternatively, they may have been memorized and brought to mind at later events, just as Strepsiades requests his son bring his lyre in order to sing Simonidean songs in Aristophanes’ Clouds (1353–79).40 These different models of performance are not necessarily mutually exclusive, and the preference for one or other mode may have differed from group to group. Certainly, the example of recitation from Aristophanes’ play cannot be taken as evidence for a fossilized or degenerate ‘Classical’ practice, when Euenus of Paros, Dionysius of Chalcis, Ion of Chios and the Athenian Critias were engaged in the composition of lyric poetry, including metasympotic verses, during the fifth century.41 The link between metasympotic performance and authorial self-positioning, or identity construction, thus emerges across genres and imagined events. Significantly, the connection remains a pervasive feature of sympotic representation in poetry and prose. As the ‘I’ of the sympotic poet shifts into the third-person narration of other people’s symposia, the identities put into performance remain those of the person or people under the viewing, listening or reading audience’s gaze. However, this is no longer the sympotic poet, but the figure depicted on a drinking vessel or the subject of oratorical slander or a character in a historical exposition or philosophical dialogue, for example. Chapters 2 to 5 investigate this interrelation between performance and identity, highlighting in the process the workings of sympotic representation within different themes. In Chapter 2 attention turns to the realm of 40

41

E. L. Bowie’s (2009) analysis of wandering poets of iambos, elegy and lyric puts famous composers like Anacreon firmly in the sympotic camp as skilled, aristocratic xenoi rather than revered court poets. On spontaneous responsion, see P. Wilson (2003) and Collins (2004). Compare the dissection of Theognis’ sphrēgis, or ‘seal’ (19–26 W) by Hubbard (2007). The proposed dissemination of verses through written collections (‘books’) early in the poetic tradition provides a case for the conscious reperformance of ‘universally accessible’ (211), memorized verse alongside (if not entirely replacing) onthe-spot composition. Issues of sympotic modes of performance will be visited in more detail in Chapter 1. This is acknowledged even by Dupont (1999), for whom the emergence of writing ‘sapped the culture [i.e. sympotic culture] of intoxication’ (84): see further her opinion that the skolion game is an instance of ‘citation culture’, that verse recollection constitutes ‘quoting to music’ and, more generally, that ‘the defence of lyric resulted in the dismemberment of song’ (85).

Thinking with the mirage

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ethnography, using the term loosely as the description of peoples fashioned through a range of art and texts, rather than restrictively as a literary genre. Noting immediately the indivisibility of the presentation of peoples (ethnopoieia) from the construction of their ethics (ēthopoieia) in descriptions of communal drinking practices, this chapter examines how representations of other peoples at the symposion – which by necessity takes various forms, and often occurs within banquet settings – not only construct their character, but also generate critiques of sympotic conduct. One conclusion to emerge from Chapter 1 is that self-promotional displays of sympotic proficiency, or ‘symposiality’, contribute to the articulation and creation of a sympotic ethic: a way of behaving that might ultimately be contested but is marketed in performance as appropriate to the event. Perhaps predictably, in Chapter 2 Greeks particularly represent foreigners behaving at the symposion in ways that they consider problematic. Yet, this is almost invariably tied to a critique of Greek practice, whether through poetic censure at the symposion and the observation there of ‘Scythian’ drinkers on figured pottery; the implicit association between Persian and Athenian ethics in Herodotus; or the transferral of moral turpitude onto Greek populations by Theopompus. While peoples are variously defined by their sympotic practices, at every stage the constructed conviviality of the foreigner throws ‘home’ practices into relief, blurring the ethical stance of the Greek drinker, as much as elucidating the customs and morality of the foreigner. This self-reflexivity is best articulated in the figure of Anacharsis, the Scythian sage who varies from sympotic naïf to expert in Greek sympotics, to their critic. The performances and observations of this foreigner invariably highlight infelicities and inconcinnities in Greek sympotic style. In the Greek ethnographic discourse, representing the sympotics of ‘others’ inevitably involves talking about oneself. The material examined in Chapter 2 is diverse in its form, genres and contexts. While the poetry and pottery invite the scholar once more into the symposion, the prose record (re)circulates stories about drinking cultures to reading or listening audiences from the time of their composition. Foreign sympotics staged publicly in the first instance on the Attic stage in the fifth and fourth centuries may also have been performed and read elsewhere at later dates, perhaps in private. Philosophical treatises and letters probably had smaller circulation patterns, albeit extending down to the second century ce. In short, the conversation is widespread and continuous, and, as such, representations of foreign and consequently Greek sympotics provide glimpses of an ongoing cultural conversation that fashions and exploits the connection between sympotics and ethics. This is not a

18

Introduction: talking about the symposion

homogeneous and logically proceeding discourse, but one that is pursued across different forms and at diverse venues. On this basis, the symposion appears active in the ‘Greek thought world’, in the sense that it consistently recurs as a means of asserting and examining ideas about ethnicity and ethics. Yet, as the diversity implies, this thought world is not a monolithic historical mentalité, some grand manifestation of a singular Hellenic attitude or structuring system, but comprises varied and multi-faceted conversations that spin off in different directions across time and space. Sympotic representation is implicated in the discursive sphere as a live ‘mode of reasoning’.42 The centrality of the symposion to conversations on ethics continues in Chapter 3, when the position explored through sympotic performance is political. By focusing first on three authors who depict historical characters in action at the symposion, attention is drawn to the ways in which their performances are replete with political intention and attitude. For Timaeus, Empedocles’ democratic ambitions are encoded in his response to the tyrannical aspirations of his host, aspirations that are equally on display in the host’s sympotic performance. In Ion’s Stays, the imperializing attitudes of Athenian generals Sophocles and Cimon are evident in their contributions to the party. And for Demosthenes, Aeschines’ outrageous conduct under the influence of wine is indicative of anti-Athenian, pro-Macedonian sentiment in the persuasive rhetoric of his lawcourt prosecution On the False Embassy. In each of these scenarios the audience is cast into the role recommended by Theognis for men at the communal meal (συσσίτοισιν): they should merge into the background, observe companions and leave with understanding of their temper (ὀργήν, 309–12 W). The reader of Timaeus’ history or of Ion’s ‘at home’ accounts and the audience that enjoys Demosthenes’ forensic attack, whether in the lawcourt or following his speech’s written distribution, are cast into a similar observational and evaluative role. As viewers of sympotic scenes, they too can watch these men’s performances and learn their political temper. In this chapter the narratives are presented in a-chronological order, allowing us to independently identify manipulations and themes, but also to return finally to fifth-century Athens, where sympotic and political misdemeanour were famously aligned in public responses to the mutilation of the Herms and the performance of the Mysteries in 415. One curious factor is that 42

See G. E. R. Lloyd (1990), for whom an investigation into ‘styles of discourse, converse, reasoning, and the varying contexts in which they were used’ (9) is more profitable than discussion of a single mentalité for opening up what he terms ‘modes of reasoning’ (145). The symposion, as we shall see, is one such mode.

Thinking with the mirage

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the sympotic/political performances on display are consistently oppositional, whether Empedocles challenges the host and symposiarch, both ruling council members who themselves appear to be aiming beyond this office for greater power, or Sophocles and Cimon enact Athens’ disregard for its allies, or Aeschines proves himself to be working against the Athenian dēmos. Looking at the antics of Philocleon at the drinking parties in Aristophanes’ Wasps and the stories of Alcibiades’ sympotic misdemeanours suggests a possible origin for the continuing narrative patterning: namely, the operation of the symposion in the type of disruptive, oppositional politics performed for and imagined by the Athenian dēmos in the closing years of the Peloponnesian War. At that time, the friendship groups (hetaireiai) of antithetical oligarchs and drinking parties collided in the public imagination, as famous symposiasts such as Alcibiades and Critias came to the fore, to the detriment of democracy. The role of the symposion in the narration of historical events is developed further in Chapter 4, where antagonism is displayed in direct political action. From Homeric epic onwards, drinking occasions provide a regular venue for power struggles. Attempted assassinations, planned coups, foreign relations and the removal of rivals unfold over drinking in the divine and heroic realms, royal palaces and the polis. Given the spread of action from heroic to contemporary times, and again from Greece to Macedon to Persia, the communal drinking is often part of a civic or royal banquet. Yet, the struggle for power is always ‘sympotic’, whether a poisoner plays the laughter-maker in Euripides’ Ion, or Theban rebels attack the polemarchs whilst disguised as hetairai in Xenophon’s Hellenica, by one account striking against another official ‘as if on a kōmos’. This story of course mimics a Macedonian attack against Persians in Herodotus’ Histories, but it also chimes with Xenophon’s broader understanding of the symposion – or commensality more generally – as dangerous for despots. This is reflected in other narratives of Persian and Macedonian machinations over wine. Thus, as for discourses on ethnicity and ethics and on political sentiment, the symposion is central to the ways in which historical action is conceived in the Greek imagination, not just in the writing of history, but the staging of tragedy, and the theorization of leadership and power. Setting aside the historicity of reported events as unknowable, this repetition may reflect deep-seated anxieties about the symposion when its participants have political ambition, akin to those on display in sympotic performances in Chapter 3. Again Theognis’ recommendation for surreptitious observation, added to his explicit concerns about the hidden intentions of companions (979–82 W), provides a useful frame.

20

Introduction: talking about the symposion

The discursive potential of sympotic representation in the mouths of symposiasts where performance and identity may be intertwined, as a component in diffuse cultural conversations on aspects of identity, ethical and political, and as a device for conceptualizing history is evident again in my closing investigation into philosophical Symposia. Here, the rhetorics of the symposion come alive. Chapter 5 begins with an interrogation of the two surviving fourth-century narrative dramas by Plato and Xenophon that to some degree provided a spur and inspiration to later thinkers. By prioritizing the sympotic setting rather than taking it for granted, it demonstrates how in each case the represented sympotic action with its responsive game-play, one-upmanship and revelation of character or wisdom facilitated educational inquisition, or rather the doing of philosophy. For Plato, the disputational conversation introduces competitive visions of Eros that are responded to and trumped in such a way as to reject and validate preceding ideas in the build up to Socrates-qua-Diotima’s crowning contribution, while the Dionysian sympotics of Alcibiades unsettle the conclusions and lead the reader to aporia. Xenophon, by contrast, makes his symposion a staging ground for entertainments and conversation that open up ethical and political issues to critique, from within the action and through the text. Yet, despite their different remits, in each instance the symposion is ultimately discursive and contributes to conversations of philosophical interest and utility to the writer and his anticipated audience. Moreover, each writer pursues a philosophical authority by dramatizing the symposion. In Plato’s case, this is as usual imbedded within a multi-layered and inconclusive narrative: the philosopher is the puppet-master whose text provides the lesson for its reader, rather than the argument of any one character. Xenophon, however, is more direct. Where Plato hides himself behind ‘rememberings’ by Aristodemus, filtered through Apollodorus, Xenophon claims authority for himself through his recollection and display of the symposion to the benefit of his audience. In later sympotic dialogues such bids for authority became de rigeur, as philosophers created symposia that manifest their own talents, and engaged in discourses not only about how to do a symposion (later reflections of conversations seen in Chapters 1 and 2), but how to do a Symposium, that is how to render the party in literary/philosophical form. Plutarch’s Sympotic Questions, Parmeniscus’ Cynics’ Symposium as narrated in Athenaeus’ Dinner-party Sophists, and Lucian’s two sympotic works, Lexiphanes and Symposium, or the Lapiths, all set out to promote their author’s prowess at writing Symposia or to problematize or discount the prowess of others. During the so-called Second Sophistic, a period marked by conscious

Thinking with the mirage

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engagement with Greek cultural and literary traditions, the symposion is thus integrated into a meta-Sympotic discourse. That is to say, written Symposia constitute a conversation about the Symposium as a literary-philosophical form. In these texts the self-positioning of the symposiast through representations of the symposion witnessed in Chapter 1 is transferred into the textual realm, where authority is gained by writing a Symposium. Ethics are on display again in the constructed sympotic dialogues/dramas, but this time it is a philosophical self-positioning that is essentially under way. In sum, The Symposion in Ancient Greek Society and Thought treats sympotic representations as active components in wide-sweeping conversations staged in diverse settings and on multiple occasions, and as concerned variously with sympotic conduct, ethnography, ethics, politics, history, education and philosophical authority. It thereby moves on from the reality of sympotic activity in Archaic and Classical Greece to reveal its operation in the Greek thought world, down into the Imperial period. Others will no doubt continue to think through the complexities that underlie the sympotic mirage, and to grapple with the lived experience of the inhabitants of the ancient world. However, leaving these complexities intact and approaching representation as representation offers alternative insights into the symposion in Greek culture, as well as the varied discourses in which it partakes. The symposion remains plural and diverse. However, its prevalence as an organizing feature for Greek thinking on the issues identified offers insight into Greek conceptions of the symposion – see especially the repeated association between sympotic performance and identity – and indicates some continuing anxieties about it. Studying the rhetorical workings of sympotic representations thus extends our understanding of the symposion as a key cultural phenomenon: not simply as a historical experience, witnessed through the metasympotic strand, but also as a contributor towards socio-political discourses on ethics and identity, and as a constant structuring device within the Greek thought world. In the process, we might appreciate further how ancient Greeks envisioned the symposion.

chapter 1

Metasympotics

For exploring the symposion in ancient Greek society and thought there is no better place to start than the symposion itself. When men reclined on couches and shared conversation, they sang – and heard one another sing – about the symposion’s pleasures and its hazards, and they issued recommendations and instructions to one another for a successful event. And while they consumed wine from cups and kraters – and watched one another consume it – they could follow a party’s progress on the figured drinking vessels set before them, as well as in the action unfolding around them in the andrōn. Because of this, the symposion possessed what might be called a ‘metasympotic’ dimension: it talked about itself. This feature has long been recognized. Since Rossi (1983, 46–7) declared the gathering a ‘spettacolo a se stesso’, ‘a spectacle unto itself’, interpretations have especially privileged the self-reflexive tendency of its poetry. From establishing the symposion as a venue for Archaic monody to critiquing sympotic conversation, metasympotic song is perceived as defining and debating good and bad sympotic performance. At the same time, pictorial scenes of sympotic enjoyment and excess on ceramic drinking vessels have been rigorously examined, so that the mirrors, oppositions and alternatives posed in plastic are understood to have stimulated drinkers towards self-contemplation, with special reference to status, gender and ethnicity.1 In sum, representations of the symposion at the symposion in song and image construct visions of the event that set out a persuasive view of sympotic performance and communicate ideas. This chapter revisits this metasympotic dimension, focusing primarily on poetry that conjures up the physical space and the performances of the symposion. From self-authorizing assertions of gnomic wisdom to self-promotional spectacles of full sympotic immersion, to 1

The understanding of images on pots as active in the symposion was fostered initially by the ‘French School’ working around François Lissarrague: see Introduction, n. 9, above, with references to recent works.

22

Metasympotics

23

competitive challenges to drinking companions, metasympotic songs afforded symposiasts opportunities for self-styling, and for the styling of others too, and so to negotiate their place within the sympotic group. Unpacking the rhetorical workings of metasympotic performances sheds light on the social and psychological dynamics of the symposion, as well as the all-pervasive discourse on how best to do the symposion. Before embarking upon this analysis, several preliminary observations are in order. To begin with, echoing the plurality of sympotic occasions and variability of experience sketched in the Introduction, our examples are disparate in their geographical origins and chronological spread, and precise venues for their dissemination are difficult to determine. Certainly, the fragments under consideration were at one point assigned to their named poet, and they may have been performed by him on one or more historical occasion, whether at home, amongst fellow citizens, or as a xenos, or guestfriend, abroad. But their survival into Hellenistic compilations and also, on occasion, their inscription on papyrus, suggests they were probably also distributed by means of written texts and/or repeat performances.2 Indeed, this is apparently anticipated when Theognis (237–54 W) imagines that feasts (θοίνῃς) and festivals (εἰλαπίνῃσι) everywhere will become venues for young men to sing his praise of Cyrnus to the aulos ad infinitum. This matters because the recollection and deployment of circulating verse at a symposion is a different proposition from on-the-spot composition or the introduction of an original, self-authored piece. However, the fact that the identity of the singer might change does not mean that the adoption and expression of a first-person statement necessarily became meaningless. Thus, Stehle (1997, 230–3) has demonstrated how a poem attributed to Alcaeus (130 LP) which styles its speaker as a lone wolf, living a fugitive’s life in a sanctuary, could be deployed by singers to convey statements about their situation and relationship with the sympotic group. Sympotic poetry is very much poetry ‘in action’.3 Following this example, metasympotic verses will be analysed here for their authorial strategies rather than as statements authored by their attributed poet. 2 3

All attempts to reconstruct an oral sympotic performance begin with a written text: see Budelmann (2009c) 13–14 for the processes of reconstructing texts and performance. On lyric verse generally as ‘poetry in action’ (his emphasis), see Whitmarsh (2004) 56. The active component is reiterated by Gentili and Catenacci (2007) 1, for whom ‘ebbe un carattere essenzialmente pragmatico, nel senso di una stretta correlazione con la realtà sociale e politica e con il concreto agire dei singoli nella collettività’ (‘it had an essentially pragmatic character, in the sense of a strict correlation with social and political reality and with the concrete action of individuals in the community’).

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Yet, at times the poet’s identity might be key. It has been proposed that the elegiac fragments known as the Theognidea may have coalesced around the author Theognis and into a single collection because of a common ‘Theognidean’ outlook.4 By this interpretation, to sing a known verse attributed to Theognis may be to adopt a recognizable position. It is tempting to recall the episode in Aristophanes’ Clouds (1353–79) in which Strepsiades wants his son to sing Simonides to the lyre; Pheidippides insists on reciting some new-fangled Euripides instead. On this comic occasion, the father’s old-fashioned outlook and the son’s modern one are intimated by their choice of verse. This late fifth-century comic representation from Athens cannot be read straightforwardly into the performances of songs below. However, there is a consistency in the style of sympotics pursued through fragments of Anacreon, for example, that makes it useful to consider the ramifications if their attribution to that poet were brought to mind in the moment of performance. What does a singer say about himself by singing Anacreon, by voicing his ambitions for the symposion? Issues of performance of course raise issues of genre. E. L. Bowie (2009, 107) proposes that elegy, sung to the aulos, might be composed more casually than melos, which required its singer to accompany himself on the lyre. Elegy enables a flexible and open performance setting which might more readily allow improvisation and the passing of verse detached from musical accompaniment. Whoever sang whilst strumming the lyre would be a skilled musician; he might come to the party with his own compositions or those of another fully in mind. The monodic poetry examined here includes songs and fragments in elegiac and other metres; while some stances and themes cross genres, there will be benefit in considering metasympotic songs from a generic perspective to strengthen understanding of how they may once have been performed. This is particularly the case when singers cast themselves as what will be called ‘spectacles of symposiality’. Although they simultaneously articulate and embody sympotic practice, the style of sympotics they represent varies from Archilochus to Theognis to Anacreon. One final point before joining the symposion: a good proportion of the songs under consideration are fragmentary remnants of longer compositions, rather than full poems.5 They cannot, then, be treated as complete 4 5

Proposed by Cobb-Stevens, Figueira and Nagy (1985) 2. See E. L. Bowie (1997) 62–5, whose deconstruction of the Theognidea as it survives describes how lines were excerpted and compiled in a series of redactions, making the body of poems we work with ‘a collection of fragments’ (64). Whether other elegists were subject to a similar process of selection remains unclear.

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statements of authorial pronouncement or display. Yet, the rhetorics are still traceable and subject to scrutiny. In sum, specific performance contexts for our metasympotic verses, which may themselves be incomplete, are difficult to pin down in any meaningful way. Because they are accessible to us only through the written record, any contextualization for their oral performance must depend upon internal indicators: how the symposion is configured, and how the singer depicts sympotic activity. Understanding of the event for which the songs were composed is thus determined by their depiction of it and their performance within it. In lieu of direct access to any historical party, prising open the metasympotic representations affords glimpses of singers’ understandings of and operations within the symposion, however loaded, disjointed and contrived.

sympotic representation and gnomic wisdom A poem attributed to the itinerant Ionian philosopher Xenophanes of Colophon (c. 570–480) supplies a useful launch pad for our investigations. Unusual in its completeness, this twenty-four line elegy is the longest surviving metasympotic verse.6 It is also the most widely studied on account of its famous composer. Xenophanes’ ethical, educational and theological principles are found in its sympotic provisions, as is a critique of poetic/ sympotic discourse.7 In modern analyses, the poem is typically split into two equal halves, one descriptive and one didactic. This divide will be useful here for tracing the authoritative dynamics of this metasympotic representation. It begins, νῦν γὰρ δὴ ζάπεδον καθαρὸν καὶ χεῖρες ἁπάντων καὶ κύλικες· πλεκτοὺς δ’ ἀμφιτιθεῖ στεφάνους, ἄλλος δ’ εὐῶδες μύρον ἐν φιάλῃ παρατείνει· κρητὴρ δ’ ἕστηκεν μεστὸς ἐυφροσύνης· ἄλλος δ’ οἶνος ἑτοῖμος, ὃς οὔποτέ φησι προδώσειν, μείλιχος ἐν κεράμοις, ἄνθεος ὀζόμενος· ἐν δὲ μέσοις ἁγνὴν ὀδμὴν λιβανωτὸς ἵησιν, ψυχρὸν δ’ ἐστὶν ὕδωρ καὶ γλυκὺ καὶ καθαρόν· παρκέαται δ’ ἄρτοι ξανθοὶ γεραρή τε τράπεζα τυροῦ καὶ μέλιτος πίονος ἀχθομένη· 6

7

Faraone (2008) 116–25 quashes earlier suggestions by Bowra (1938) 353 and Fränkel (1975) 326–8, cited by Marcovich (1978) 4, that opening or closing lines were missing with his analysis of the poem’s innovative 2 x 12-line stanzas. For instance, Bowra (1938); Herter (1956); Defradas (1962); Marcovich (1978); Lesher (1992) 50–4; Ford (2002) 46–66; Collins (2004) 148–9; and Faraone (2008) 116–25.

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Metasympotics βωμὸς δ’ ἄνθεσιν ἀν τὸ μέσον πάντῃ πεπύκασται, μολπὴ δ’ ἀμφὶς ἔχει δώματα καὶ θαλίη. (Xenophanes 1.1–12 W)

Now the floor is clean and everyone’s hands and the cups too; someone distributes woven garlands, and another offers sweet-smelling perfume in a dish; a krater stands full of merriment; other wine stands ready, which promises never to run out, gentle in jugs, smelling of flowers. In the middle frankincense wafts a holy scent, and the water is cool and sweet and pure; golden breads are at hand and a lordly table heaving with cheese and thick honey; an altar in the middle is entirely covered with flowers, and song and festivity pervade the room.

Reading these lines, a dining room kitted out with cups, tables and servants, and brimming with food, drink, perfume and music takes shape in the mind’s eye. In form, this is the convivial party familiar from painted pottery, such as the early sixth-century Corinthian krater discussed above (see Figure 1; Introduction, p. 4), and reproduced in sculptural relief and elsewhere in the vase-painting repertoire. Of course, at the symposion the poem was not read silently from a manuscript (as it is today), but sung aloud and heard: its sympotic vision was thus projected into an andrōn by one symposiast for the attention of his fellow drinkers. Indeed, this performance setting is recognized in the opening line: the emphatic and deictic ‘now’ (νῦν γὰρ δή) draws a connection between the event to be described and the event currently enjoyed.8 With three short words, and perhaps also a demonstrative gesture, the singer locates himself and his audience in the shared present, which he then purports to portray.9 In other words, his imaginings are not the description of some detached ideal, a decorative corollary to the ongoing party. Rather, they seek to constitute it. Harmonizing their gaze, the singer and listener recognize the accoutrements of the symposion: the cups, garlands, serving staff, krater, and food-laden tables that also provide visual cues for the party on figured drinking ware.10 He smells the scent of the wine and the frankincense that wafts amongst them (ἐν μέσοις), and anticipates the coolness and sweetness of the water. Looking inwards to the middle (τὸ μέσον), towards the altar, he listens to song (Xenophanes’ poem) and identifies the convivial atmosphere. 8

9 10

Both elements of what Felson (2004) 255 describes as ‘the “pointing out” and “pointing at” function of language’ are in operation in this deixis. It also possesses the spatial and temporal referents expected by Edmunds (2007) 67. For the possible accompaniment of νῦν γὰρ δή by a locative gesture akin to the French voilà in Platonic dialogues, see Boegehold (1999) 113–17. See R. Osborne (2007) 34, who sketches a correlate process centred on visual imagery on figured drinking vessels. Crucially, for the present interpretation, ‘A sympotic image on a cup puts the viewer in his place only if the viewer can imagine what he sees on the cup he might also see around him.’

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Together, guided by the singer, the symposiasts attune their senses to their environment, to the sights, smells, tastes and sounds around them. At once, the performance shapes their awareness of the present and gives that present definition, as it collapses into the imagined symposion.11 The sympotic fantasy seeks to constitute present reality or at least shape the audience’s experience of it. This shared exploration of the andrōn is succeeded by a series of observations that turn the audience’s attention back towards the poet, as he states: χρὴ δὲ πρῶτον μὲν θεὸν ὑμνεῖν εὔφρονας ἄνδρας εὐφήμοις μύθοις καὶ καθαροῖσι λόγοις, σπείσαντάς τε καὶ εὐξαμένους τὰ δίκαια δύνασθαι πρήσσειν· ταῦτα γὰρ ὦν ἐστι προχειρότερον, οὐχ ὕβρεις· πίνειν δ’ ὁπόσον κεν ἔχων ἀφίκοιο οἴκαδ’ ἄνευ προπόλου μὴ πάνυ γηραλέος. ἀνδρῶν δ’ αἰνεῖν τοῦτον ὃς ἐσθλὰ πιὼν ἀναφαίνει, ὠς ᾖ μνημοσύνη καὶ τόνος ἀμφ’ ἀρετῆς, οὔ τι μάχας διέπειν Τιτήνων οὐδὲ Γιγάντων οὐδὲ < > Κενταύρων, πλάσμα τῶν προτέρων, ἢ στάσιας σφεδανάς· τοῖς οὐδὲν χρηστὸν ἔνεστιν· θεῶν προμηθείην αἰὲν ἔχειν ἀγαθήν. (Xenophanes 1.13–24 W) It is necessary (chrē) for men of sound mind first to hymn (hymnein) the god with auspicious words and pure stories, pouring libations and praying to be able to act justly, for this is what we try our hands at, not insolence; to drink (pinein) so much as one can hold and arrive home without a servant, unless very old; to praise (ainein) the man who reveals good things whilst drinking, so that there might be remembering and striving for virtue, and not to speak (diepein) of the battles of Titans, nor Giants, nor Centaurs, the fabrications of yesteryear, nor of violent strife, for there is no benefit in these; and always to hold (echein) in mind the good of the gods.

With an introductory χρή and a series of infinitives, the singer progresses from productive descriptions of the symposion to gnōmai which are pertinent to it in style and content. From Archaic poetry to Aristotelian philosophy, gnōmai are generalized statements about particular actions that are also prescriptive. In particular, periphrastic formulations of the type

11

In the official terminology related by Edmunds (2007) 85, the Deixis ad oculos (the pointing to what you see – and, we might add, smell and hear) and Deixis am Phantasma (the pointing to what you see in your mind’s eye) blur. Some resonances of the stimulation of presentness by the singer of Xenophanes 1 are explored by Hobden (2011), with attention to its religious effects.

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deployed here ‘express the need and desirability of certain actions’.12 The poem’s requirements for men of sound mind (εὔφρονας ἄνδρας) in their singing, drinking, praising, speaking and thinking are thus exhortatory statements with an agenda. They also contain an implicit bid for authority. Lardinois (1997, 215–16) notes that formulae like ‘chrē plus infinitive’ ‘help a speaker to create a saying on the spot, and at the same time, the listener to identify a statement as gnomic’. When the singer voices his opinions in this format, the sympotic audience recognizes their generality and their prescriptive character. It thereby identifies their proponent’s self-fashioning as a speaker of gnōmai, a deliverer of wisdom. Xenophanes’ sympotic gnōmai are not offered by their singer for disinterested or purely benevolent reasons, but in a moment of self-promotion and a bid for authority. More specifically, the performance of Xenophanes’ first poem signals the singer’s proficiency in the display of sympotic wisdom, for his gnomic insights into the practices of the symposion follow a standard model for delivering such information. Another Xenophantic verse, for example, introduces the questions it is necessary (χρή) to pose (λέγειν) whilst reclining by the fire on a soft couch in wintertime, drinking sweet wine and eating chickpeas (22 Lesher). A couplet attributed to Phocylides similarly adds, ‘It is necessary in the symposion, when the cups are circling, chatting pleasantly and sitting, to drink wine’ (χρὴ δ’ ἐν συμποσίῳ κυλίκων περινισομενάων | ἡδέα κωτίλλοντα καθήμενον οἰνοποτάζειν, 11 Bergk).13 Because Phocylides’ gnōmai are composed in hexameters rather than elegiac metre, M. L. West (1978, 164) proposes that they were not sung individually to the aulos at the symposion but were more likely to have been recited by public performers as a series and learned by rote in the Classical period at school. But there is no reason to suppose that a maxim with particularly pointed sympotic relevance might not be deployed, if not by Phocylides then by symposiasts familiar with his repertoire. Here, the singer endorses pleasurable but inconsequential chit-chat; if he had continued, as West (166) speculates, with a Theognidean-style warning to remain secretly alert behind the genial facade, the gnomic wisdom could have acquired a disruptive edge. No such subtle manoeuvring appears in an unattributed poem (discussed below in detail), which deploys the ‘chrē plus infinitive’ formula to propose which playful and serious diversions friends coming 12

13

For this definition of a gnōmē, see Lardinois (1995) 12, 22 and, on the periphrastic ‘chrē plus infinitive’ formula, 78. The gnomic aspect of Xenophanes’ poem is alluded to briefly by Faraone (2008) 119, n. 10. For Phocylides’ use of the gnomic formulation ‘chrē plus infinitive’, cf. 6, 13, 14 Bergk.

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together might pursue in order to inculcate virtue in the symposion (Adespota elegiaca (Ades. eleg.) 27 W). Finally, an address from Panyassis’ Heracleia which begins with an invitation to a guest-friend to drink and continues by discussing good drinking and the nature of wine concludes: τῳ σε χρὴ παρὰ δαιτὶ δεδεγμένον εὔφρονι θυμῷ πίνειν, μηδὲ βορῆς κεκορημένον ἠύτε γῦπα ἧσθαι πλημύροντα, λελασμένον εὐφροσυνάων.

(Panyassis 12.17–20 K)

Therefore for you it is necessary, receiving [wine] at the feast, to drink in cheerful spirit, not to sit like a vulture in his nest glutted on flesh, oblivious to merriment (euphrosynē).

This excerpt differs from our previous examples not only because it is spoken by a character in an epic – it belongs in the first instance to an early fifthcentury literary representation of a symposion, presumably attended by Heracles, rather than a ‘real life’ party – but because it speaks directly to a member of the drinking group.14 Indeed, the strictures and the simile bring the ‘you’ to life first as a playful drinker, and secondly as a gluttonous, boorish guest. Yet, such second-person directives and representations retain a general applicability, just as oblique observations in the third person are significant for unspecified individuals.15 In style, Xenophanes’ gnomic address belongs to a cluster that sets targets for their sympotic audience. In fact, this mode of discourse is so recognizable that it is incorporated into a sympotic scene in Panyassis’ tale of Heraclean adventure. Thematic overlaps also exist between Xenophanes’ first poem and these other gnomic utterances, although precise details vary. The concern to introduce suitable topics of conversation, defined here as those which introduce good things and avoid conflict, is reflected in the stipulation of precise topics of inquiry by Xenophanes in that shorter instructional verse mentioned above. Reclining by the fire, symposiasts are to ask: ‘Who are you among men, and from whence? How old are you, good sir? What age were you when the Mede came? (τίς πόθεν εἶς ἀνδρῶν, πόσα τοι ἔτε’ ἐστί, 14

15

For the likely setting of this address during Heracles’ visit to the house of Eurytus in Oechalia, see Matthews (1974) 78–80. Another possible scenario is Heracles’ sojourn in the cave of the centaur Pholus, which appears to have featured in Panyassis’ Heracleia (see 4 and 5 K). Matthews prefers an Oechalian setting, imagining Eurytus or one of his sons encouraging a deep-drinking Heracles to control himself in anticipation of later mischief, or censure of misconduct (76–7). For epic correlates in Creophylus’ Sack of Oechalia, see Burkert (1972). The specifics of Heracles’ Oechalian adventure, however, are more difficult to pin down, as I hope to show in a future article on ‘Heracles at the symposion’. See Lardinois (1997) 222–6.

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φέριστε; | πηλίκος ἦσθ’ ὅθ’ ὁ Μῆδος ἀφίκετο; 22.4–5 Lesher). The formulation is deeply Homeric, echoing the preliminary questions asked of Odysseus by Arete on his arrival at a banquet in Phaeacia: ‘Who are you among men, and from whence? Who gave you this cloak? Do you not say that you arrived here wandering over the sea?’ (τίς πόθεν εἰς ἀνδρῶν; τίς τοι τάδε εἵματ’ ἔδωκεν; | οὐ δὴ φῂς ἐπὶ πόντον ἀλώμενος ἐνθαδ’ ἱκέσθαι; Od. 7.238–9). Indeed, Xenophanes’ recommended inquiries are just as topical as Arete’s: each requests the visitor situate himself within the trajectory of recent events. An attention to mood is also shared by Phocylides and the anonymous poet, even though their contributions recommend pleasant chit-chat and a switch between playful and serious thought, respectively, rather than dismissing tales of strife and encouraging those that bring benefit. Panyassis’ speaker, although not interested in conversation, is keen that the drinking be undertaken in the correct spirit, with merriment, or euphrosynē. His warning against overindulgence also reflects Xenophanes’ encouragement towards drinking without excess. To these thematic parallels, one might add the observation attributed to Alcman that ‘At the feasts and celebrations of men in the presence of dinner guests it is fitting to begin the paean’ (θοίνας δὲ καὶ ἐν θιάσοισιν | ἀνδρείων παρὰ δαιτυμόνεσσι πρέπει παιᾶνα κατάρχην, 98 Davies). The setting is festive, rather than specifically sympotic; indeed, although the terminology is of the banquet, or thoinē, and the celebratory group, or thiasos, the geographer Strabo (10.4.18), who recorded this fragment, interpreted it as evidence for the Spartan syssition, a shared meal.16 In addition, the gnomic formulation is differently phrased, with prepei, ‘it is fitting’, operating in place of chrē.17 Nonetheless, the poem presents a vision of commensal practice as a means of outlining the correct way to kick off the occasion, albeit with a choral song rather than a hymn, as Xenophanes recommends. From this perspective, the gnomic wisdom displayed in the second half of Xenophanes’ poem is conventional in its formula and themes, but 16

17

A possible drinking component need not be downplayed on account of Strabo’s interpretation: see Rabinowitz (2009), who challenges the applicability of Classical models of Spartan syssitia to the Archaic event, which he argues shared features more broadly understood to belong to the symposion. Certainly, it is not intimated explicitly in the representation of cultic conviviality, whatever the actual components of a celebration and wherever this poem was performed. Note that the thoina is also one occasion envisaged by Theognis where his songs about Cyrnus will be sung in future (237–54 W, mentioned above). ‘prepei plus infinitive’ is not listed amongst Lardinois’ periphrastic formulae for prescriptive gnōmai, but it works to similar effect in this poem, even though here the infinitive has been elided. For the movement from individual to group performance encouraged by this fragment, see Rutherford (2001) 51–2, who sets it at a symposion.

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remarkable for its length and the intricacy of its recommendations. Comparative gnōmai make one or (in the case of the anonymous poet) two prescriptive observations at most. Xenophanes offers five. Furthermore, his blandishments to hymn, drink, praise, speak and think constitute a coherent programme. First, opening observations on the need to sing hymns, make libations and pray to the gods (1.13–16) are met by the closing injunction always to keep the gods in mind (1.24). Secondly, the recommendation to avoid insolence, or hybris, in action (1.16–17) chimes with the rejection of those hybristic bogies of Greek mythology, the Titans, Giants and Centaurs, who challenge the power of the gods and disrupt human society and sociability (1.21–2).18 The poem thus harnesses a common style for displaying sympotic wisdom and talks about the symposion in typical ways but extends its content innovatively. Xenophanes’ prescriptions might also be provocative. Much has been made of the apparently implicit criticism of epic as the source of ‘the fabrications of yesteryear’ (πλάσμα τῶν προτέρων) involving battles between Titans, Giants and Centaurs, amongst others.19 But equally on the horizon might be lyric songs such as those attributed to Alcaeus that reference civic upheaval (70, 141, 332, 348 LP), or the scenes circulating visually on painted pottery, where gigantomachies and centauromachies were not uncommon, not to mention other scenes of mortal combat involving Amazons, Iliadic heroes and generic warriors.20 Xenophanes’ recommendations for sympotic conversation become proscriptions on alternative discourses. When performed at the symposion, in addition to displaying gnomic wisdoms, the song demonstrates its singer’s mastery of a well-known poetic form, as well as his ability to participate in a common sympotic discourse in an inventive and engaging fashion. Sung by the radical thinker Xenophanes to the aulos, they appear to propose an alternative model of entertainment to the one rejected. Re-performed on later occasions, with different speakers, the thirdperson recommendations still advocate a distinctive and potentially competitive mode of sympotics. These dynamics cast additional light on the representational first half of Xenophanes’ first poem, which provides the setting and foundation for Xenophanes’ gnomic vision. Moreover, the extended description of a 18 19 20

Noted by Fisher (1992) 204–5, with 205, n. 25 for references to further analyses of their transgressions. See Ford (2002) 46–66, for example. The corpus of the late-sixth-/early fifth-century Attic vase-painter Douris is an excellent example of this: see Buitron-Oliver (1995). A number of his martial scenes on drinking cups were juxtaposed with symposia on other fields.

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sympotic space similarly develops an established theme. In the Introduction we encountered a fragment by Alcman that gave a snapshot of the andrōn: ‘seven couches and as many tables brimming over with poppy-seed bread, linseed and sesame, and in bowls chrysokolla’ (κλίναι μὲν ἑπτὰ καὶ τόσαι τραπέσδαι | μακωνιᾶν ἄρτων ἐπιστεφοίσαί λίνω τε σασάμω τε κἠν πελίχναις | πεδεστε χρυσοκόλλα, 19 Davies). Again, drinking is not directly referenced, but rather the furniture that is associated with the symposion in other representations is drawn to the audience’s attention. Although differing in length, these lines share a number of features with Xenophanes’ verse. Both dwell on the physical environment and essential paraphernalia of the symposion; their reflections stimulate their audience’s visual senses; and they describe the abundance of the event with detail and relish. They are performative of, that is in performance they give definition to, the event they describe. These traits, and some of the attributes of Xenophanes’ party, also make an appearance in a poem by Ion of Chios (27 W), which begins its exhortations with reflections on the current surroundings: χαιρέτω ἠμέτερος βασιλεὺς σωτήρ τε πατήρ τε· ἡμῖν δὲ κρατῆρ’ οἰνοχόοι θέραπες κιρνάντων προχύταισιν ἐν ἀργυρέοις· ὁ δὲ χρυσὸς οἶνον ἔχων χειρῶν νιζέτω εἰς ἔδαφος. σπένδοντες δ’ ἁγνῶς Ἡρακλεῖ τ’ Ἀλκμήνῃ τε, Προκλεῖ Περσείδαις τ’ ἐκ Διὸς ἀρχόμενοι πίνωμεν, παὶζωμεν· ἴτω διὰ νυκτὸς ἀοιδή, ὀρχείσθω τις· ἑκὼν δ’ ἄρχε φιλοφροσύνης. ὅντινα δ’ εὐειδὴς μίμνει θήλεια πάρευνος, κεῖνος τῶν ἄλλῶν κυδρότερον πίεται. Hail our king, saviour and father both! For us let the wine-pouring attendants mix the krater from silver pitchers; and another holding the gold wine in his hand, place it on its base. Making libations reverently to Heracles and to Alcmene, and to Proclus and the sons of Perseus, beginning with Zeus, let us drink and let us play; let our song go through the night, let someone dance; willingly begin our friendship. And for whomever a well-formed bedfellow is waiting in his chamber, that man drinks more lustily than others.

Dating from the second half of the fifth century, this verse is later than our previous examples, but in style and substance it is familiar. The audience, addressed as ‘we’ (ἡμῖν) and issued with instructions to drink, play, sing, dance, and embark upon friendship (φιλοφροσύνης), first hear a salutation to their ‘king, saviour, and father’ – possibly wine, the god Dionysus, or a symposiarch – and then observe servants in action around the drinking

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crockery.21 Moreover, with the incitement to pour libations and engage in revelry, the audience is invited to enter the sympotic stream. While Alcman’s verse remains reflective, Ion’s describes the andrōn and its ongoing activities, and then prescribes events to come. In this respect, it echoes Xenophanes’ constructive dynamics, directing the experience of the listening symposiasts by engaging their attention in aspects of the here and now. Moreover, as in Xenophanes’ poem, the description is a prelude to authoritative utterances. Ion’s group imperatives are issued in a different format to the gnōmai that comprise Xenophanes’ verse, but they also purport to convey wisdom. For the singer, whether Ion or another, these lines promote a particular mode and mood of entertainment. It is a very different style, reflecting more closely the playful symposia attended by the fifth-century Athenian generals Cimon and Sophocles that Ion records in his Stays (to be discussed in Chapter 3). But ultimately the appropriateness of his advice will be verified (or otherwise) in the generation (or otherwise) of friendship. If Xenophanes’ symposion aims at the recollection of virtue, Ion’s makes shared experience and mutual bonding a central component of the party. This self-supportive structure, wherein the opening description of the symposion paves the way for recommendations that seek to shape it and at the same time establish its singer’s wisdom, can be found too in the abstract observations and gnomic statements of Xenophanes’ poem. Although the poem lacks the self-referential ‘we’, both belong firmly in the here and now. The second half of the poem begins with a ‘tying phrase’, δέ, which indicates the applicability of the information related to the aforementioned occasion.22 In conjunction with the opening νῦν γὰρ δή and the collapsing of the imagined symposion into the real-life event, this situates the singer’s gnomic wisdoms firmly in the present, lending immediacy to his expressed ideas, as well as his authoritative self-positioning. The veracity of his recommendations, however, do not depend upon the progression of the party. Instead they are embedded within his song. First, as already noted, 21

22

The identity of the recipient of the opening greeting is the subject of much dispute: Bartol (2000) 185– 6 summarizes arguments in favour of a salutation to Dionysus, to wine, to a master of the symposion, or to Archidamus II of Sparta. Taking account of the competitive dynamics of sympotic performance, he proposes that χαιρέτω is not a greeting but a farewell, designed to dismiss the subject of a previous poem. However, although he settles on the Spartan king as the intended subject, his analysis allows for a flexibility of meaning in the re-performance of the poem. Whitby (1998) 209–10 is equally noncommittal and adds that a symposiarch or equivalent is also a possible addressee. On the drinking crockery, note that lines 3–4 of Ion’s verse are uncertain. An alternative reading proposed by Campbell (1992) 362–3 provides a golden basin, rather than wine: ὸ δἐ χϱʋσοῦν | δῖνον ἒχων χειϱοῖν νιʒέтω εἰs ἒφαδοs, ‘and let him who holds in his hands the golden jug wash our hands on to the floor’. See Lardinois (1995) 61.

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there is consistency within Xenophanes’ poem between the recommended hymns, libations and prayers to the gods, and the closing observation about keeping the gods in mind. By drawing attention to these necessities – especially their power to ensure just conduct on the part of their supplicants – the singer also brings the gods to mind. Secondly, he denounces conversations without benefit (οὐδὲν χρηστόν), and he praises the man who reveals good things (ἐσθλά) and thereby promotes remembrance and the pursuit of virtue (ἀρετῆς). In this rhetoric, Xenophanes’ poem – performed here and now – is a good thing. On the one hand, its observations promote mindful reflection (μνημοσύνη). On the other, its dictates encourage its audiences towards virtue. Those who conduct themselves according to Xenophanes’ gnōmai are ‘men of sound mind’. The singer, who is already following his own recommendations, is one such person. But if his audience accepts his self-positioning and embraces his prescriptions, they too will become this sort of man. In effect, the singer deserves his companion’s praise.23 To return to the whole, Xenophanes’ poem not only expounds anew his ideas about sympotic conduct and conversation with each performance but enables its singer to pursue authority amongst his drinking companions through the display of poetic skill and wisdom – the cleverness of his composition, or the topicality of his recall. Together the sympotic representation (lines 1–12) and the corralling of the conversation through gnomic recommendations (lines 13–24) attempt to refine and direct the audience’s immediate experience too. Xenophanes’ metasympotic poem is highly rhetorical and potentially effective.

spectacles of symposiality Xenophanes’ first elegy is intricate, interactive and ambitious, yet the incorporation of sympotic representations into an authoritative display of wisdom resonates with other metasympotic verses. The fragments attributed to Anacreon of Teos (c. 575–490), a rough contemporary of the philosopher from Colophon, are especially renowned for their sympotic immediacy.24 They relate singers’ experiences in the andrōn, spur serving staff and drinking companions to action and issue advice relevant to the occasion. They too shape awareness of the symposion and build 23

24

Compare Yonezawa (1989) 438, who recognizes an act of self-promotion but places the value in other poems that Xenophanes might sing, rather than the potential of the present poem and its singer to generate benefit of their own accord. Kantzios (2005) 233.

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authoritative positions for the singer-symposiast. However, despite some use of gnomic wisdom (‘it is necessary . . .’) and imperative instruction (‘let’s . . . .’), the dynamics of Anacreon’s poems are quite different.25 For, unlike the poems introduced above, they deploy the lyric ‘I’.26 In Greek poetry the first-person ‘I’ is a performative ‘I’: it conjures worlds for speakers to inhabit, crafts identities for them and creates narratives for them to operate within.27 It is thus fictive. Yet, first-person fictions that denote sympotic action have a particular effect when set within the symposion. Through the metasympotic ‘I’, the very essence of what it means to be a symposiast is allegedly on display – allegedly, because the performance gives definition to the essential action and character. The singer is thus transformed into a ‘spectacle of symposiality’. This strategy of self-presentation is not unique to Anacreon. Some near-contemporary fragments from the Theognidea and an earlier Archilochean verse merit comparison because they also represent the singer at the focal point of the communal gaze and communal ear. Quite what this entails and how it might work we shall now investigate with the help of an anthropological example drawn from Europe today: the Norwegian vorspiel. The importance of being seen to participate at that modern-day drinking party and its performative statement of social cohesion appears close to the dynamics of symposiast-focused representations in metasympotic poems from Archaic Greece. Symposiast as spectacle In Anacreon’s metasympotic poems, the world conjured by the lyric ‘I’ is (obviously) the symposion, the identity inhabited is that of symposiast, and the narrative centres on his sympotic activity. Take the following fragment assigned to Anacreon and noted by Hephaestion (Enchiridion 10.4) for its metrical exemplarity as a priapean: 25

26 27

Poems referencing the symposion in Alcaeus’ poetry largely fit into the latter category of imperative instruction, e.g. Ion 27 W, (p. 32 above), and Ades. eleg. 27 W, (p. 57 below). When he calls for perfume to be poured over his head and chest (50 LP), instructs his companions to set the krater (206 LP), mix wine (367 LP), ready the wine cups (346 LP) and drink (332, 346, 347, 352, 401a, 401b LP), he may deictically draw attention to the sympotic setting and his participation in the luxuries of the symposion, and he may even position himself as a leader of the drinking. However, his performances are not self-enforcing. Beyond the issuing of advice, Alcaeus’ singer does not engage in complex selfauthorizing strategies, nor does he style himself as a spectacle of sympotic competence. Instead, after issuing his instruction he will fade out of view and into the communal mêlée. According to Kantzios (2005) 232, there are forty-six first-person statements in Anacreon. The five metasympotic poems discussed below account for eight of these. For this reading of the subject in Greek poetry, see Calame (1995) 1–26.

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Metasympotics ἠρίστησα μὲν ἰτρίου λεπτοῦ μικρὸν ἀποκλάς, οἴνου δ’ ἐξέπιον κάδον· νῦν δ’ ἁβρῶς ἐρόεσσαν ψάλλω πηκτίδα τῇ φίλῃ κωμάζων παιδὶ ἁβρῇ.

(Anacreon 373 Campbell)28

I breakfasted, breaking off a small portion of delicate sesame and honey cake, and I polished off a jar of wine; and now gracefully I pluck my charming lyre, revelling by my dear, graceful girl.

The cake recalls the overflowing tables in Alcman’s andrōn; however, these are not the main focus here. With his first-person statements, ‘I breakfasted’, ‘I polished off’ and ‘I pluck’, the singer becomes the primary visual referent as he sets the sympotic scene and describes his own performance: the small table foods and jar of wine he consumes, the instrument he plays, and the pretty girl beside whom he revels together invoke a convivial atmosphere of music and desire. With this act of deixis, ‘pointing out’ or ‘pointing at’ Anacreon and his environs, the fragment extends the opening temporal and spatial locative of Xenophanes 1 (νῦν γὰρ δή) to encompass what Depew (2000, 62–3) terms ‘a threefold axis of reference’: ‘the person who is speaking or gesturing (the “I”), the place of utterance (the “here”) and the time of utterance (the “now”)’ are all highlighted in the declaration of performance.29 By setting himself physically on display in the andrōn as an ongoing participant in the symposion’s distinctive pleasures, the singer conjures in the flesh an image that the sympotic audience might otherwise observe on its drinking vessels. A pared-down parallel is offered by the reclining, garlanded lyre-playing singer of love poetry featured on the neck of an Attic red-figure amphora decorated by Euphronius, c. 520 bce (Figure 2), a date coinciding roughly with Anacreon’s acme and his sojourn at Athens.30 Like the painted symposiast, the singer of Anacreon’s poem becomes the target of his audience’s gaze. Meanwhile, that viewing audience observes a carefully constructed sympotic scene with the self-professed eating, drinking, lyre-playing, revelling singer at its core. The result of the singer’s visual manifestation is a heightened immanence. This is enhanced by the song’s correlative construction (μέν . . . δέ . . .) and its manipulation of tense. While the accumulation of detail defines a composite sympotic performance incorporating a range of possible entertainments, these 28 29 30

Note, παιδὶ ἁβρῇ is an uncertain restoration. Campbell (1988) 66–7 suggests it may be a proper name instead, following Wilamowitz’s Πολιάρχῇ. For Felson’s (2004) definition of deixis, see n. 8 above, with n. 11. Paris, Musée du Louvre G30 (ARV 15.9, 1619; BD 200071): Lissarrague (1990a) 133, fig. 103.

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Figure 2 Attic red-figure amphora attributed to Euphronius, c. 520, neck.

syntactic components establish a disjunction between and progression in the described action. Accompanying the clausal shift from ‘on the one hand’ (μέν) to ‘on the other’ (δ’), the aorist ‘I breakfasted’(ἠρίστησα) and then ‘I polished off’ (ἐξέπιον) moves towards the present, ‘I pluck’ (ψάλλω), as the singer deploys the locative ‘now’ (νῦν). Anacreon’s verse steers the audience from initial contemplation of completed action in the past – eating and drinking – towards the moment when the singer plucks his strings: in other words, the immediate performance. By consequence of this visual and verbal play, the singer of Anacreon’s poem becomes a metasympotic spectacle: he is on display as a symposiast in action. A similar result is achieved by an earlier Archilochean couplet: ‘On the spear my kneaded bread, on the spear wine from Ismaros, and I drink on the spear, reclining’ (ἐν δορὶ μέν μοι μᾶζα μεμαγμένη, ἐν δορὶ δ’ οἶνος | Ἰσμαρικός· πίνω δ’ ἐν δορὶ κεκλιμένος, 2 W). Once again, through firstperson assertion and references to andrōn objects and ongoing events, the singer focuses attention on himself and delineates his sympotic activity. In this instance, that activity is given a martial cast, which might have been appropriate to a party of comrades in arms, perhaps the citizen hoplites to whom Archilochus’ elegies of martial exhortation, like those attributed to Tyrtaeus and Callinus, could speak.31 The repetition of ‘on the spear’ (ἐν δορί) construes a military identity for the singer that might articulate the shared experience of a drinking group at war, or men for whom hoplite

31

See E. L. Bowie (1990); and on Archilochus, E. L. Bowie (2009) 106–7, citing especially 105 W. An elegiac fragment attributed to Archilochus imagines an alternative military setting, as the symposiasts are invited to fill up their cups with wine on ship, unable to stay sober ‘on this guard’ (ἐν φυλακῇ τῇδε) (4 W).

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soldiering is a defining activity. In both scenarios eating, reclining and drinking Ismarian wine are accompaniments to the poet’s constant military endeavours.32 In this self-styling performance, the martial and the sympotic combine. In Anacreon, by contrast, the encoding is whole-heartedly sympotic. But still, it is the immediate action which gains solidity as the singer generates a sympotic persona for himself that is validated in his performance, as his companions witness him in action. Performing Anacreon’s poem, representing oneself as such a symposiast, intensifies the singer’s inhabitation of the here and now. From the resulting fusion between imaginary and ‘real’ symposia, or conjured and actual performance, the singer emerges as the consummate symposiast, or consummate at least on his own terms: a man who enjoys food, drink, music, revelry and girls. More specifically, as the audience is informed, and members are led to observe with their eyes and ears, the singer plays his lyre ‘gracefully’ (ἁβρῶς). This refinement of the action has two consequences. First, together with his description of his girlfriend as ‘graceful’ (ἁβρῇ), the singer situates himself in a world of luxury, or habrosynē.33 Building on Kurke (1992) and Morris (1996), we might consider this a display of separatist, elitist, anti-polis sentiment. However, Hammer (2004) has undermined the opposition they draw between anti-polis ideologies of luxury-loving elites and the pro-polis engagements of ‘middling’ elites who shun luxury.34 Revisiting their evidence he argues that the actual scenario is ‘almost amusing: an aristocracy desperately attempting to distinguish itself through its refined tastes, while a middling group copies it. Aristocratic gentility, apparently, did not lie on the other side of an unbridgeable ideological divide but could be learned and practiced by the people’ (498–9). That extravagant displays of habrosynē could be restricted, for example by Solon’s sumptuary reforms at Athens in the early sixth century, merely reinforces its desirability and attainability – if not therefore 32

33

34

For Ismarian wine, in the Odyssey the eponymous hero receives from Maron, the priest of Apollo at Ismaros, a wineskin filled with ‘a sweet, unmixed, divine drink’ (ἡδὺν ἀκηράσιον, θεῖον ποτόν, Hom. Od. 9.205; the passage is discussed in Chapter 2). With his claim to drink wine from this region Archilochus might seek to capture the rarefied, enthused experience; although note that, unmixed, Maron’s wine causes the Cyclops’ doom. For pleasure-inducing wine drinking as a stimulus to martial camaraderie, including its perceived centrality to feasting amongst Homeric warrior elites, see Murray (1991). Although see n. 28 above on the uncertainty of the final words παιδὶ ἁβρῇ. For the place of female symposiasts, or hetairai, in this economy of luxurious living, see Kurke (1997), although see now the reappraisal of her scheme by Corner (2011) 75–7. The primary charges against Kurke and Morris is that they over-read, or even misread, evidence and shoe-horn it into a schematic model, the validity of which Hammer’s article as a whole attacks.

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its all-round acceptability.35 Anacreon’s language pertains to a lifestyle of abundance and pleasure which symposia-going Greeks might aspire to and enjoy. With his sympotic self-representation, the singer thus declares the character of his performance and its positive contribution to an event he marks as infused by habrosynē. Secondly, before the professionalization of lyre-playing in the fifth century, skill in music (mousikē), especially in playing stringed instruments, was a defining element of ‘cultural capital’ for Greek elites. As P. Wilson (2003, 181–4; cf. 2004, 273) observes, ‘the ability to perform on the instrument in the symposion, and to accompany oneself in song, was a vital sign of cultural accomplishment – as well as allowing access to an important medium of social expression and political affiliation’. A second fragment reinforces Anacreon’s commitment to this agenda: ‘Holding the magadis I pluck its twenty strings, Leucaspis, while you are in the bloom of youth’ (ψάλλω δ’ εἴκοσι | χορδαῖσι μάγαδιν ἔχων, | ὦ Λεύκασπι, σὺ δ’ ἡβᾳς, 374 Campbell). There is superlativity here: the magadis with its twenty strings would be a mammoth instrument of utmost complexity.36 Just as the singer of Xenophanes’ first poem demonstrates his prowess in mousikē through the extension of common poetic forms sung to the aulos, the singer declares his competence in this field. (His addressee, by contrast, is cast as being in the spring of youth.)37 However, unlike the former, who relies upon the contents of his contribution for testimony to his skill, the talent of the latter is physically on display. The singer does not simply play and sing but can be seen and heard to play and sing. By drawing attention to his performance – essentially, making a spectacle of himself for his companions – he becomes a vision of sympotic competence, an embodiment of that cultural capital. He is, in other words, a spectacle of symposiality. The sympotic self-reflexivity of Anacreon’s verse enables its singer to install himself within the symposion twice over, through a declaration of presence and skill, and the spectacular affirmation of them. The singer’s ability to participate in the symposion – his enjoyment of luxurious living and possession of elite cultural capital – is proved by sight and sound. A 35

36 37

On habrosynē as an ambivalent quality open to challenge, see Yatromanolakis (2007) 128–9. Note, however, that Solon’s sumptuary reforms (introduced by Yatromanolakis as evidence at 129, n. 269) – as they were understood by fourth-century Attic orators and Plutarch (Sol. 21) anyway – particularly address extravagant displays of private wealth and prestige in public space. The concepts of public and private are of course tricky when discussing the symposion (see the Introduction, above). For this instrument, see Mathiesen (1999) 272–5. It is likely that its strings were tuned in pairs, sounding octaves. Sexual prowess (and promise) or one-upmanship in relation to youth may also be implied: one anonymous reader encourages me to see a double entendre here.

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fragment from the Theognidea acts to similar effect. However, instead of narrating its singer into the symposion with descriptive passages, it presents a statement of opinion: αἰεί μοι φίλον ἦτορ ἰαίνεται, ὁππότ’ ἀκούσω αὐλῶν φθεγγομένων ἱμερόεσσαν ὄπα· χαίρω δ’ εὖ πίνων καὶ ὑπ’ αὐλητῆρος ἀείδων, χαίρω δ’ εὔφθογγον χερσὶ λύρην ὀχέων. (Theognis 531–4 W) Always my dear heart warms when I hear the charming voice of the pipes sounding. I delight in drinking well and singing to the aulos player, and I delight in carrying the sweet-sounding lyre in hand.

By proclaiming his own enjoyment of the symposion, the singer establishes its pleasures: listening to the pipes, drinking, singing, and playing the lyre. As before, his contribution falls within these categories: the audience observes him singing his elegy to the aulos, perhaps with lyre close to hand, generating the pleasure that he claims derives from this action. An apparently personal statement of preference, perhaps put forward like other statements in the Theognidea as advice, becomes an exhibition of the singer’s presence and of his proficiency too. Furthermore, it crosses the generic boundaries with its declaration of pleasure in the performance of elegiac (the current mode) and lyric, in its stricter sense of music to the lyre. This bid for comprehensiveness might not simply assert the singer’s musical dexterity, by claiming a prowess in lyre-playing that is not currently on display in the present elegiac performance. It may also claim full immersion and pleasure-taking in the range of discourses expressed through these poetic forms.38 A second fragment from the Theognidea proceeds in a slightly different fashion by outlining its singer’s priorities and aspirations: μήποτέ μοι μελέδημα νεώτερον ἄλλο φανείη ἀντ’ ἀρετῆς σοφίης τ’, ἀλλὰ τόδ’ αἰὲν ἔχων τερποίμην φόρμιγγι καὶ ὀρχηθμῷ καὶ ἀοιδῇ, καὶ μετὰ τῶν ἀγαθῶν ἐσθλὸν ἔχοιμι νόον, μήτέ τινα ξείνων δηλεύμενος ἔργμασι λυγροῖς (Theognis 789–94 W) μήτέ τιν’ ἐνδήμων, ἀλλὰ δὶκαιος ἐών. No other concern would appear fresher to me than virtue and wisdom, and holding this always, I would enjoy the lyre and dancing and song, and with good men I 38

Carey (2009a) 34 allows for certain themes to be generically defined, or to work in the definition of genre, and for crossovers in themes between genres. The comprehensiveness claimed here seems to cover all bases.

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would keep the good in mind, hurting neither a stranger nor citizen with baneful deeds, but always being just.

Uniting themes from Xenophanes’ elegy and previous Theognidean and Anacreontic fragments, music and conversation between good men about good things are identified as the primary route to virtue (ἀρετῆς) and wisdom (σοφίης). As an example of the entertainments that the singer aspires to enjoy in perpetuity, his own sung performance (ἀοιδῇ) is incorporated into this nexus. His hopes for the future gain substance in the present. In addition, with the musical requirements fulfilled, the rest of the symposion takes shape around him: a group of good men paying attention to the good, replete with virtue, wisdom and justice. Optative statements of aspiration to enjoy (τερποίμην) and to hold in mind (ἔχοιμι) are thus constructive not only of the singer, but of the sympotic group. The singer finds a space for himself in the symposion and for his companions too. Thus, while the above items draw attention to the singer in situ, this second Theognidean piece, like Xenophanes’ poem, presents the audience with a reflection of itself. The affirmation of sympotic/musical competence that arises from the performance of Anacreon’s poem and the first Theognidean verse is extended now by association to the group, who provide the context for the singer’s contribution. Not only does their experience gain definition in its articulation, but, because their enjoyments lead to virtue and wisdom, they are also idealized as the ‘freshest’ (νεώτερον), and so most desirable, of pursuits. Indeed, this description enhances the general suitability of their conduct to the symposion, where singers repeatedly style one another as ‘young’ (νέοι), or as in Anacreon’s magadis poem above (374 Campbell), in the bloom of youth (ἡβᾳς).39 (As we shall see in Chapter 3, sympotic youthfulness could become problematic in the public eye in Classical Athens.) By consequence, although conditionally posed, the construction of a communal symposion through individual observation and performance is not so different from previous poems. In their self-promotion and their establishment as sympotic exemplars, the singers are united in their comprehension of the expected remit for good sympotic practice, where participation in mousikē, playing and singing, is central to individual self-promotion. To perform, and to be seen 39

See Slings (2000) 432–5, together with the anonymous Drinking Song which encourages youthful pursuits at the symposion: ‘Drink with me, be young with me, love with me, wear garlands with me . . .’ (σῦν μοι πῖνε συνήβα συνέρα συστεφανηφόρει . . ., 902 Campbell). Davidson’s (2006) reading of age-classes in Archaic and Classical Greece provides a potential social and political context for understanding this rhetoric.

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to perform, is also to participate in the symposion. Hence, when another Theognidean singer promises, ‘Near to the aulos player, I shall sing, standing like so to the right, praying to the immortal gods’ (ἐγγύθεν αὐλητῆρος ἀείσομαι ὧδε καταστὰς | δεξιός, ἀθανάτοις θεοῖσιν ἐπευχόμενος, 943–4 W), he too projects himself before his listening companions as a performer in a shared sympotic space. The presentness and competence of the symposiast is again confirmed in the first-person utterance, or more precisely in the spectacle arising from the self-constructive, self-promotional, self-oriented representation of sympotic participation. From Archilochus’ military sympotics focused on bread, wine and the spear, to the all-embracing sympotics claimed by Anacreon and beloved of, aspired to, or promised in the Theognidean corpus, the singer sets himself centre stage as a spectacle of symposiality. In the interplay between verbal utterance and visual display, where the song and person of the symposiast converge, a supreme (in its own terms) symposiast emerges. This process is echoed in the tondo of an Attic red-figure wine cup attributed to the Antiphon Painter (c. 500–480) (Figure 3).40 A garlanded young man stands in the centre with his head thrown back, an inscription pouring from his mouth: ΕΙΜΙ ΚΩ[ΜΑ]ΖΩΝ ΗΥΠΑΥ[ΛΟΥ], ‘I go revelling to the aulos.’ The visual field confirms this proclamation of komastic performance. The tilt of the youth’s head is typical for sympotic singers and Dionysian revellers in the red-figure repertoire, as is the lyre he holds.41 With his legs bent and drinking cup in hand, and invoking the sound of the aulos, which plays off stage, the cup offers a snapshot of a dynamic performance that incorporates dance, wine and mousikē. Moreover, a second inscription, ΗΟ [Π]ΑΙΣ ΚΑΛΟΣ, ‘The boy is beautiful’, eroticizes the singer.42 All aspects of the sympotic experience alluded to by our poets are on display. For Lissarrague (1990c, 198), this tondo scene is the very definition of a kōmos, the post-party revelry that took drinkers outside the andrōn and into the streets. However, for an audience familiar with the iconographic tradition, the signs of revelry define the young man. He is caught in the very act he purports to enjoy. Moreover, the sense of immediacy this lends his performance is intensified by the incompleteness of the inscribed song. Unusually, the inscription, which follows the arc of the cup from the 40 41 42

Erlangen, Friedrich-Alexander-Universität 454 (ARV2 339.49; BD 203407): Lissarrague (1990c) 199, figs. 17–18. On this pose, see Lissarrague (1990a) 131–2. The workings of ho pais kalos are explored by Lissarrague (1999) 365–7: in addition to qualifying the depicted youth, the inscription might also find a referent in the symposion where the painting is viewed and the inscription read.

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Figure 3 Attic red-figure kylix attributed to the Antiphon Painter, c. 500–480, tondo.

singer’s head down to his feet, is written orthograde (left to right). To read it, the viewer must follow its trajectory in reverse.43 This has the effect of leading the viewer back to the source of the utterance: the singer’s mouth. ΗΥΠΑΥ[ΛΟΥ] is missing its final letters because they have not yet been or are still being sung.44 The immanence that Anacreon and the Theognidean poets generate when they make first-person statements to depict their current and future occupations and that is visually enforced through their performances (‘I pluck my lyre . . . revelling’; ‘I shall sing’) is iterated in the Antiphon Painter’s tondo.45 Furthermore, the tondo scene has the potential to propel a viewing symposiast into a similar performance. When read aloud, inscriptions become utterances, enabling the reader/speaker to make a statement or adopt a position, like any speech act.46 In this instance, the symposiast, who must have finished his drink of wine in order to witness 43

44 45

46

This is unusual because the words are normally written so that they emanate from the singer’s mouth in the direction that he faces: see P. Anderson (2005) 270, who notes the a-typicality of our scene at n. 13. Yatromanolakis (2007) 102, n. 167 also highlights the unusual length and direction of the inscription. Csapo and Miller (1991) 381: ‘ΑΥ are more emphatically the last letters voiced with ΛΩΝ anticipated.’ According to Lissarrague (1990c) 199 n. 21, Griefenhagen (1929) proposes the following lines from the Theognidea as a comparison for the Antiphon Painter’s singer: ‘It is best to sing revelling with the aulos player’ (ἔστι δὲ κωμάζοντα μετ’ αὐλητῆρος ἀείδειν, 1065 W). This verse could play similar selfauthorizing games to Thgn. 531–4, 789–94, 943–4 W, above, although the poem it belongs to (1063–8 W) lacks their first-person investment. These dynamics are explained by N. W. Slater (1999). For the potential interplay between image and inscription on figured pottery and the interactive exchanges it facilitates at the symposion,

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events on the inside of his cup, would, by completing the singer’s formulation out loud and perhaps even extending the composition, declare himself to be revelling. With cup in hand and words in mouth, visually mimicking the painted symposiast, he too becomes a vision of symposiality.47 The style of performance encoded on the tondo of the cup and generated by it thus also produces spectacles of symposiality, centred on a lyre-playing, singing, drinking, revelling ‘I’. Both the painted and real-time symposiast engage in self-fashioning that demonstrates their submersion in the symposion, reminiscent of the metasympotic songs studied above. A modern comparison, the Norwegian vorspiel, might provide insights into the effects of such sympotic posturing. The vorspiel is a drinking party enjoyed by friends before they embark on carousal on the streets of their town and in public houses. At this event, drinking and drunkenness are performances, individually and communally staged and consumed, by which partygoers together affirm their equality and unity. Through drinking, being seen to drink and seeing others drink, and by being drunk, being seen to be drunk and seeing others drunk, the group gains cohesion and coherence: ‘sameness achieves its salience through visibility’, concludes Garvey (2005, 89). Of course, the inferences of the performances of the vorspiel are specific to Norwegian culture: the sameness and submersion of the self corresponds to the society-wide importance of equality, convention and integration.48 But the performative displays that confirm and define drinkers as participants in the vorspiel echo the verbal and visual strategies of our putative symposiasts. Self-assertive demonstrations of sympotic enjoyment and aptitude might be considered statements of collegiality, shared experience, and belonging. A similar fluidity between personal and communal performance is initiated by the Antiphon Painter’s cup. First, the sole reveller on the tondo is accompanied on the outside by groups of komasts. Only the lower portions of these exterior scenes remain, but there is enough to identify cavorting legs, a cup, and two kraters (one on each side) wreathed with ivy. The singing komast on the interior is physically isolated from these escapades but integrated into the cup’s broad iconographical scheme. Indeed, when his performance is revealed to the drinker, he automatically gains a

47

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see Lissarrague (1994) and R. Osborne (1998) 139–41 on potter and painter signatures in the visual frame, with Lissarrague (1999) on kalos inscriptions specifically. These belong within the sympotic gaming culture identified by Murray (2009). By N. W. Slater’s (1999) reading, the scene’s kalos inscription would similarly draw the viewer into a display of erotic sentiment, which, following our analysis of Anacreon, might also be considered a performance of symposiality. Garvey (2005).

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real-life audience. Likewise, the drinker who recreates the performance on the cup does so amongst others. For both the painted and the real-time symposiast, without the audience – whose members will in turn become the focus of the group gaze – there would be no spectacle. There would be no syn- (‘together with’) in the symposion. To summarize so far, the symposiast who foregrounds his sympotic endeavours in first-person statements of performance makes assertions about his competence at the symposion. Through this legitimizing and authorizing strategy, he not only enacts his membership of the symposion but invites everyone to recognize and affirm their shared symposiality through his sympotic style. Sympotic style, sympotic challenges If sympotic self-representation was a strategy of self-promotion for the individual that enhanced the communality of the group, the style of sympotics on display was not uniform. Performances were nuanced differently by different poets, disseminating specific visions for specific drinking groups or occasions. Already Archilochus’ military aesthetic, the focus on luxury in Anacreon’s self-projection, and concerns with achieving pleasure, virtue, wisdom and justice in the elegiac excerpts from the Theognidea highlight the potential for variety. In addition, deploying the metasympotic ‘I’, a singer might project visions of symposiality that push at the boundaries of propriety or challenge alternative modes. This is especially true for Anacreon’s fragments, although there are parallels in the Theognidea and Solonic elegy. Metasympotic performances were thus not normative, in the sense of realizing some external norm. Rather, by setting their own terms of engagement, they bid to be definitive. The potential contestation implicit in the following fragments demonstrates the conditionality of this definition and complicates the facilitation of individual-group dynamics and communality established so far for sympotic self-representations. For example, in lines attributed to Anacreon by Athenaeus (427a–b), the presentation and pursuit of a sympotic style are combined within an imperative instruction: ἄγε δὴ φέρ’ ἡμὶν ὦ παῖ κελέβεν, ὅκως ἄμυστιν προπίω, τὰ μὲν δέκ’ ἐγχέας ὕδατος, τὰ πέντε δ’ οἴνου κυάθους ὡς ἀνυβρίστως ἀνὰ δηὖτε βασσαρήσσω.

(Anacreon 356a Campbell)

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Come then and bring us a jar, boy, so that I might drink a long draught, filling ten ladles of water and five of wine, so that without insolence (hybris) I might rave like the Bassara once more.

The verse establishes the singer in the andrōn with more of the interchangeable sympotic accoutrements observed so far – a serving boy, jars of mixed wine – and amidst the ‘we’ (ἡμίν) of the drinking group, to whom the wine should be brought. Yet, although his commands are made on the group’s behalf, the singer’s motivation is phrased in personal terms: setting the ratio of wine to water, the ‘I’ proclaims his desire to drink deeply and to comport himself like the Bassara, a female follower of Dionysus, without hybris. Issuing instructions is thus a guise for proposing how the party should proceed, or more specifically how wine should be mixed in order for drinking to ensue without unpleasantness and disruption. The singer’s authority is embedded first in an assertion of long-standing experience, succinctly conveyed with ‘once more’ (δηὖτε), and secondly, in his personal intent.49 The optimum model for drinking that aims (like Xenophanes) at the avoidance of hybris will soon be observed in his forthcoming conduct. That conduct, moreover, is graphically foretold: the singer will draw wine from the cup with his mouth open wide (ἄμυστιν), so that like a Bassara – kitted out in the imaginary in the Thracian woman’s fox-skin costume? – he will enjoy the Dionysian revels. By contrast to earlier fragments, the simile does not so much construct an immediate spectacle as anticipate one. When wine is brought in, the vision of open-mouthed Bassaridic drinking that forms in the imagination might be realized in the flesh. The sympotic style that the singer aims to inhabit is quite distinctive and at first glance appears incongruous: to drink deeply and at the same time avoid hybris seems a tall order. The more familiar association between heavy drinking and insolent or outrageous conduct is drawn in a famous fragment from Semele, or Dionysus by the fifth-century Athenian comic playwright Eubulus (93 KA). His character (Dionysus?) locates hybris at the start of the descent towards madness and death that accompanies drinking beyond the third krater, by which point wise men should have stopped drinking and gone home. However, amongst the advisory fragments of the Theognidea, the goal was not to act at all times with utmost decorum, but to negotiate the potential dangers inherent in drinking wine so as to avoid descending 49

Mace (1993) traces the use of δηὖτε in Anacreon’s erotic poetry to convey ‘a fresh experience with desire from a veteran’s point of view’ (338), and notes that in the sympotic fragment, 356a Campbell, the speaker, a ‘veteran of raucous symposia’, is ‘taking control and speaking with the voice of authority’ (363).

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into rudeness. Wine empties the minds of foolish and moderate men alike (497–8 W), and while one singer promises that wine will never so fortify him that he says terrible things about a friend (413–14 W), a drunken symposiast fears lest he speak foolishly and invite blame. In this latter fragment, the Theognidean ‘I’ almost revels in his proclaimed intoxication: οἰνοβαρέω κεφαλὴν Ὀνομάκριτε, καί με βιᾶται οἶνος, ἀτὰρ γνώμης οὐκετ’ ἐγὼ ταμίης ἡμετέρης, τὸ δὲ δῶμα περιτρέχει. ἀλλ’ ἄγ’ ἀναστὰς πειρηθῶ μή πως καὶ πόδας οἶνος ἔχει καὶ νόον ἐν στήθεσσι· δέδοικα δὲ μή τι μάταιον (Theognis 503–8 W) ἔρξω θωρηχθεὶς καὶ μέγ’ ὄνειδος ἔχω. I am heavy in my head with wine, Onomacrites, and wine forces me, and I am no longer the controller of our gnōmai, and the room spins. But come, I shall try to stand; perhaps wine holds my feet and the mind in my breast. And I fear lest I do something foolish, being fortified, and I achieve great blame.

Drawing attention again to his performance, the singer sets himself at the tipping point at which drunkenness gains censure, by his own argument. Wine has a physical hold on his body: his head, feet and mind suffer its effects. Despite this, he offers a thoroughly articulate expression of his predicament to his Onomacrites and the audience at large. There is no sign of the foolish talk that he fears will invite censure. He claims no longer to be in charge of ‘our gnōmai’, the wisdoms the drinking group shares: he can no longer direct the discourse. Yet, his performance incorporates its own lesson by explaining the effects of drinking and demonstrating where to draw the line, making a virtue of his drunkenness to participate actively in that communal discourse. Elsewhere in the corpus, drinking a copious amount of wine (οἶνος πινόμενος πουλύς) is beneficial to the man who understands himself (509–10 W), and it is only shameful (αἰσχρόν) to be sober amongst drunken men or to be drunk amongst the sober (627–8 W). For advocates of these Theognidean sympotics, neither drunkenness nor sobriety was inherently good or bad; both might be censured, and drunkenness could even be useful. The implication of this discourse is that while symposiasts must beware impropriety, lusty drinking need not automatically result in hybris. Panyassis’ symposiasts in the Heracleia echo this.50 One encourages a friend 50

Note, Matthews (1974) 78–80 identifies correlations in theme and vocabulary between Panyassis’ sympotic conversations and Theognidean fragments and suggests the epic poet may have been familiar with the corpus.

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to drink, making a virtue (ἀρετή) of the man at the feast who can drink the most and preserve his understanding (ἐπισταμένως), whilst also commanding other men (12.1–3 K). Yet, the gnomic ending, introduced above, cautions against gluttonous over-consumption, lest euphrosynē be forgotten. Another fragment from the Heracleia predicts that drinking a third portion will bring Insolence (Hybris) and Force to men, and hence a companion is ordered to desist from drinking a lot (πολὺν πότον) (13.7–15 K). These do not simply represent contrasting views but rather, like the Theognidean verse, are part of an intra-sympotic discourse which recognizes that the benefits of wine also bring the drinker dangerously close to consequential action.51 The conversation conducted through the elegiac fragments comes alive in Panyassis’ (equally fragmentary) staged symposion. The Anacreontic singer’s aspiration towards drinking large draughts without hybris navigates the tension: his companions will see him drinking fully a heady mixture of ten parts water to five parts wine – and thus immersing himself in the symposion – whilst avoiding its dangers.52 Likewise, when the singer aspires to rave like the Bassara, he promotes a mode of revelry that seems to skirt the bounds of propriety. Drawing upon fragments attributed to Archilochus and Anacreon, Stehle (1997, 227–9) observes that male singers at the symposion were prone to initiate a ‘disconnection from women’ and to feminize others to iambic effect. To follow this line of thought, by assimilating himself to a female follower of Dionysus, the would-be Bassara inverts this practice, envisioning himself as 51

52

‘Contrasting views’ are identified by Fisher (1992) 206–7. I use ‘consequential’ in a similar manner to Halliwell (1991) on laughter, where ‘consequential’ qualifies laughter that is potent and damaging. Paralleling our present discussion, his study of sympotic laughter emphasizes the perpetual navigation between sympotic pleasures (playful laughter) and dangers (laughter that abuses and denigrates): Halliwell (2008) 100–54. We will return to this in Chapter 3. Anacreon’s dosage of ten to five (or two to one) is slightly stronger than the three to one Hesiod (Op. 594–5) desires in his rural idyll and that Ion’s Palamedes demands of the Greeks for a successful journey by ship (Ion FGrH 392 F2), but weaker than the measure of four to three that Euenus (2 W) considers the delight of Dionysus and a spur towards desire. Rather than rate Anacreon’s recommended measure as ‘relatively sober’, as does Fisher (1992) 205, we might follow the poem’s internal logic and view it as conducive to sympotic revelry, as is presently recommended. Elsewhere the same poet recommends a slightly stronger mix of five to three (409 Campbell), which is still weaker than that proposed by Euenus. However, it is worth noting that mixtures of five to two and three to one are cited as propitious and normal by the Archaic, Classical and Hellenistic sources quoted by Athenaeus’ dinner-party sophists, when they discuss how the ancients mixed their wine (the conversation is sparked when the sophists debate the proportion of their own beverage). Anacreon’s measures are a far cry from the recognizably strong mixture of one to one, and it is only when wine outweighs water or the latter is absent entirely that the measure becomes (humorously and deadly) problematic (Ath. 426c–427e, 430a–431c). Compare Alcaeus’ request for cups filled with one part water to two parts wine (346 LP): on this measurement and the problem it has caused biographers, ancient and modern, see Page (1955) 308.

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a woman and thus turning the mocking gaze towards himself. However, a mocking component seems at odds with the pictorial representation on painted pottery of figures once labelled ‘Anacreontic’, but recently recast as ‘elaborately dressed revellers’. Like the bearded men on a red-figure krater, c. 470, attributed to the Pig Painter, these characters may be robed in the female chiton and himation, wear a headdress and/or earrings, carry a parasol and play castanets.53 Their identity is hotly debated. Over the past century the figures have transmogrified from women in beards into Anacreon and his boon companions, revellers enjoying an Eastern lifestyle, Dionysian and/or transvestite komasts, burlesque performers and Greek Ionian poets.54 In fact, apart from the women-in-beards option (now roundly rejected), these readings are not mutually exclusive, and for our purposes it is the visualization of the reveller in (quasi-)feminine guise that is important. Whether he saw a Dionysian figure, a singer from Ionia or a man indulging in lydopatheia (Lydian licentiousness), the viewer of these late Archaic Attic vase paintings was used to imagining revellers feminized. Drinkers from these vessels were thus accustomed to seeing (visual representations of) symposiasts in what might be called today ‘Other’ guises. Whether or not they did so with amusement, derision or aspiration – or as a fantasy or reflection of reality – must remain speculative.55 Here, our singer’s specific ambition to rave like a Bassara may be important. Arguing forcefully for an interpretation of the ‘Anacreontic’ images as scenes of transvestite revelry, Miller (1999, 229, 232–4, 237) highlights their overwhelming presence on vessels associated with Dionysian celebration, and their approximation with other Dionysian scenes; she also observes that cross-dressing was particularly, if not exclusively, associated with rituals of Dionysus.56 There are even parallels between the dancing posture of the painted komasts and the movement of maenads, Dionysus’ regular female companions, on red-figure pots.57 What better way to style one’s revelry at a symposion than as a Bassara? 53 54

55 56

57

Cleveland, Museum of Art 26.549 (ARV2 563.9; BD 206434): Frontisi-Ducroux and Lissarrague (1990) 250, fig. 7.27, with other examples. For critical discussions of scholarship on these vases to date see Miller (1999) 230–6 and Yatromanolakis (2007) 110–40, esp. 122–31. ‘Elaborately dressed revellers’ is Yatromanolakis’ revisionist label. Note that Price (1990) makes ‘Anacreontic’ burlesque performers a comic tradition that satirizes Ionian poets at Athens: hence, they ‘parody a foreigner by means of female costume’ (155). Miller (1999) 242–3; cf. 244, where she also proposes that cross-dressing is intrinsic to the kōmos. However, her literary evidence derives from the Early Hellenistic period onwards, and the examples given seem to suggest that attitudes towards the practice might be complex. Price (1990) 166, with n. 103; Miller (1999) 234 also cites Delavaud-Roux (1995) 262 and raises concerns about whether this should be viewed as parodic, as proposed.

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Dionysus is, of course, the primary god of the symposion whose androgyny, satyric company, and occasional dips into madness foreground its complications.58 Bassaridic self-styling thus enabled the singer ‘to play at becoming the other’, as Frontisi-Ducroux and Lissarrague (1990) argue the painted komasts do, and to indulge in truly Dionysian revelry.59 However, it also allowed him to do so without actually donning female costume, which may mitigate the tension that Stehle might foresee in such self-fashioning – a tension perhaps enhanced by the wildness of the Bassarides, who tore Orpheus limb from limb in service to their god in Aeschylus’ eponymous tragedy.60 With his desire for deep drinking and his imagined Bassaridic transvestism, Anacreon ventures towards the boundaries of the symposion as he issues his recommendations for the party and sets himself up in the mind’s eye as the very image (in his own terms) of symposiality. This selfconstructive dimension distinguishes the call for wine from a companion piece, described as ‘carrying on’ (προσελθών) the verse by Athenaeus (427b): ἄγε δηὖτε μηκέτ’ οὕτω πατάγῳ τε κἀλαλητῷ Σκυθικὴν πόσιν παρ’ οἴνῳ μελετῶμεν, ἀλλὰ καλοῖς ὑποπίνοντες ἐν ὕμνοις.

(Anacreon 356b Campbell)

Come now, let us no longer in this way, amidst clatter and hullabaloo, pursue Scythian drinking over wine, but rather sip to fine songs.

The poem begins with the same imperative ‘come now’ (ἄγε δηὖτε), followed by injunctions for developing the present event. However, the singer’s skills of persuasion are focused directly on his companions, who are encouraged with a plural imperative to join the singer in desisting from their present distractions and to embrace a new form of drinking and conversation. This command to the group may be read in two ways. First, if these lines belong to the foregoing poem as Athenaeus implies, they extend its chain of thought, turning the focus away from the serving boy and the singer, towards the sympotic group. The singer’s ambition to drink without hybris is explicitly recommended to his companions, who must replace their 58 59 60

On ‘transvestite Dionysus’ in his ritual settings, see Bremmer (1999). Frontisi-Ducroux and Lissarrague (1990) 229. Moreover, becoming a Bassara may be the ultimate strategy for avoiding hybris, because it inherently involves reverence for the god: see Hobden (2011) 44. See the summary of Aeschylus’ Bassarides provided by Pseudo-Eratosthenes: Orph. test. 113 Kern.

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outlandish drinking habits and raucousness with moderate sipping and fine songs (καλοῖς ὑποπίνοντες ἐν ὕμνοις). The self-promotional display of wisdom continues apace, and the projected vision of symposiality moves from the singer to the drinking group. Yet, with its invitation to cease Scythian drinking (the resonances of which are unpacked in Chapter 2) and exuberant noise, this advice stands in contrast to the promotion of deep drinking and Bassaridic revelry. Luckily, the closeness in their first-line formulae (ἄγε δή, ἄγε δηὖτε) raises another possibility: the second set of lines constitutes a distinct new verse. Certainly, the formulation is echoed at the beginning of the fragment of Panyassis discussed above, which opens with the invitation ‘come now friend and drink’ (ξεῖν’ ἄγε δὴ καὶ πῖν’, 12.1 K), before proceeding to its recommendations for the drinking. There too it is an opening refrain. Further support for their separation comes from Collins’ (2004, 111–34) study of sympotic gaming, where the repetition of word forms between lines of similar length or content, often attributed to the same poet and recorded side by side in written collections, can be an indicator of their potential mutuality and interaction. Add to this the proposal by Faraone (2008, 86–92) that Athenaeus probably compounded distinct poems into a single verse on at least one other occasion, and it becomes entirely feasible that Anacreon 356a and 356b were composed individually, if not necessarily independently.61 They could even be performed in response to one another, which might explain their joint transmission. With that shared opening formulation, their mutual interest in how to drink, and repeat claims to experience (δηὖτε, with its sense of ‘once more’), the songs contain the ‘built in performance options’ that permit one to cap (follow on and surpass) the other.62 Uttered in their preserved order, the second singer supplements the instructions to the wine pourer with recommendations for the group. The first singer’s self-confessed desire to play the Bassara is usurped by the communal proposal to replace raucous drinking and uproar – attributes intended to characterize the previous contribution and imply difficulties with its sympotic ambitions? – with sips of wine and fine songs. Of course, the pair might be sung the opposite way round, with the former urging a more convincingly Dionysian experience through the singer’s sympotic self-styling over the latter’s exhorted communal singsong. 61

62

Faraone alleges that Thgn. 467–96 W (Euenus 8a W) constitutes three distinct poems; these are presented by the scribe of the Theognidean manuscript as one verse, and Athenaeus (428c–d) allies the second poem to the third. See the final section of this chapter, below. ‘Built-in performance options’: Collins (2004) 134.

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The potential interplay between these two fragments, which ostensibly encourage good sympotic practice but advocate alternative modes (Dionysian immersion versus controlled revelry), emphasizes the debatability of sympotic conduct, already suggested by Xenophanes’ attempts to direct conversation away from expected topics. Once metasympotic assertions become potentially challenging, sympotic self-styling can acquire multiple edges. In this light, the elegiac assertion attributed to Anacreon, ‘I have been made (pepoiēmai) a wine drinker’ (οἰνοπότης δὲ πεποίημαι, el. 4 W), is intriguing. This concise statement self-consciously exposes and exploits the constructive processes of the symposion witnessed so far: at the same time as the singer alleges that he has literally been made into a wine drinker, he fashions himself as one. The verb ποιέω, which can be used equally for crafting poetry as for physical manufacture, succinctly embodies the dynamic: the singer is made a wine drinker as much by his own constructive verse as by his actual consumption of wine. Whatever sentiments accompanied this exclamation in the longer poem to which the fragment belongs are irrecoverable. However, the completed action signalled by the perfect tense sets the singer if not at the end of a drinking bout, then deep into it. Cast in a competitive light, this performative display might operate as an implicit challenge to a companion to prove his sympotic credentials: ‘I’m a wine drinker, but what about you’ . . . ?’ Similarly, the following Anacreontic elegy might be an affirmation of correct sympotic conversation or a rebuke: οὐ φιλέω, ὃς κρητῆρι παρὰ πλέωι οἰνοποτάζων νείκεα καὶ πόλεμον δακρυόεντα λέγει, ἀλλ’ ὅτις Μουσέων τε καὶ ἀγλαὰ δῶρ’ Ἀφροδίτης (Anacreon el. 2 W) συμμίσγων ἐρατῆς μνήσκεται εὐφροσύνης. I do not love the man who, drinking by the full krater, speaks of conflict and tearful war, but he who, mixing the splendid gifts of the Muses and Aphrodite, gives heed to lovely merriment (euphrosynēs).

The content partly aligns this poem with Xenophanes’ first verse, which shares its rejection of strife-filled tales and thereby reactivates that elegiac rejection of epic themes. However, the gnomic wisdom is replaced by a firstperson statement of opinion, akin to the self-styling expressions of pleasure in drinking and mousikē from the Theognidea, above. Indeed, in sentiment and ambition it more closely resembles a fragment attributed to Solon of Athens that also generates a sympotic stance for its singer: ‘Dear to me now are the deeds of Aphrodite, Dionysus and the Muses, which establish

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merriment in men’ (ἔργα δὲ Κυπρογενοῦς νῦν μοι φίλα καὶ Διονύσου | καὶ Μουσέων, ἃ τίθησ’ ἀνδράσιν εὐφροσύνας, 26 W). Yet, the expression of dislike and like – a common ‘bipartite contrast’ that prefigures praise of a person or conduct with condemnation of the alternative – extends beyond the authorial statement to incorporate a rejection and validation of two modes of sympotic conversation: one devoted to war and strife, and the other to music and desire.63 Given its fragmentary state, one can only speculate whether subsequent lines of Anacreon’s elegy proceeded to display the acclaimed attributes; certainly other songs in the corpus have erotic themes. But whether or not the singer lauds his own performance, the expression of distaste, ‘I do not love . . . ’ (οὐ φιλέω), might be turned against a man who purportedly sits round the krater and sings of conflict and war. Such explicit criticism is not unknown for Anacreon: a short fragment chastises a companion who takes his contribution too far (λίην δὲ δὴ λιάζεις, 430 Campbell). The singer may raise his song into a ‘paradigmatic genre’ or himself ‘to the status of paradigmatic symposiast’ by aiming at euphrosynē with his musical contribution.64 However, he also criticizes those whose performances do not satisfy his requirements. Alternatively, he may even praise those who do. The audience’s gaze could move back to the singer during the second half in anticipation of love songs, but possibly also on to another companion whose contribution already meets the grade. In these fragments of Anacreon, the singer styles himself as symposiast through the generation of a spectacle in the imagination to be realized in the drinking and by issuing instructions or uttering preferences that allow for a range of sympotic self-positioning. He may be directly or indirectly challenging, as well as self-assertive. Set against broader cultural concerns with heavy drinking, there is also a potential ambivalence when the ‘I’ sets himself up as a deep-drinking Bassara who will avoid hybris, and in the claim to have been made into a wine drinker (how much drinking is required to turn a man into one?). Or at least the self-representation sets the symposiast firmly within the symposion, in a style and in a depth that some might find uncomfortable. To return to our first Anacreontic example (373 Campbell, above), even the coding of the performance through the language of habrosynē could be provocative in certain circumstances, or at least a proactive contribution to a conversation that variously revels in and critiques luxury. There is no evidence in Archaic poetry to suggest that drinking shortly after breakfast was considered problematic, but in the early 63 64

For this pattern of praise/blame and other examples, see E. L. Bowie (2002) 194–5. Quoting Ford (2002) 42 and Lear (2008) 56, respectively.

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fourth century Lysias at least expected his Athenian lawcourt audience to be horrified at the younger Alcibiades’ day-time revelry (see Chapter 3, below).65 Anacreon’s early drinking may heighten and thereby potentially complicate the level of all-round immersion on display in his sympotic selfpresentation. Multiple interpretations are similarly possible for one last Anacreontic fragment: ‘Bring water, bring wine, boy, bring us flowering garlands; bring them so that I might spar with Eros’ (φέρ’ ὕδωρ, φέρ’ οἶνον, ὦ παῖ, φέρε ἀνθεμόεντας ἡμὶν | στεφάνους· ἔνεικον, ὡς δὴ πρὸς Ἔρωτα πυκταλίζω, 396 Campbell).66 Sympotic preparations pave the way for a tussle with the god of desire, and perhaps even with the servant that the singer commands. On the one hand, this is another display of immersion in sympotic delights. On the other, if the scope is extended to the wider corpus, Anacreon’s erotic adventures are not always successful. A Lesbian girl, who anyway is attracted to another woman, is put off by his white hair (358 Campbell), and he must search for love elsewhere when a male object of affection refuses to share his youth (378 Campbell).67 The poet is also subject to his passions (359 Campbell) and enjoys his lack of self-control.68 Striving for love – sparring with Eros – might be more important at the symposion than its consummation, but equally if an ‘Anacreontic’ subtext is read into the promise to engage with Eros, failure and defeat might be anticipated. Kantzios (2010) relates this trend to the circumstances of the historical Anacreon’s composition and performance. His erotic poems set the aged, unsuccessful, frustrated lover outside the mainstream, educational relationship between older lover (erastēs) and younger beloved (erōmenos). They thereby echo his position on the social and political margins of the symposia of tyrants at which he sang. In these circumstances, Anacreon’s professed competence and enjoyment of music, drinking and love might represent a reverse strategy of over-incorporation, a styling of deep sympotic immersion that at once intimates and overcomes the singer’s social and political disjunction 65 66

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Lys. 14.25. Note that there are two textual traditions for this poem: the fifth-century ce version followed by Page and quoted here, and an older manuscript and mosaic that replace the δή of the final clause with μή. See MacLachlan (2001), who tentatively comes down in favour of the earlier version, although parts of her rationale are disputed by Lear (2008) 69–70. For present purposes, the difference is marginal. Whether the singer wishes or does not wish to engage Eros in pugilistics – wishes to tussle with god or feels it futile to resist – erotic adventure is anticipated. Lear (2008) 61–2 observes Anacreon’s lack of distinction between homo- and heterosexual adventures. This may be another strategy of over-incorporation, as proposed below: a passion for boys and girls offers further indication of Anacreon’s full-blown immersion in the symposion. See Whitmarsh (2004) 63–6, and Lear (2008) 68–9.

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from the sympotic group. However, as for his erotic incompetence, the movement towards the boundaries of acceptability in some of his sympotic self-projections keeps him on the edge. This rationale fits the first-time performances of Anacreon’s songs at symposia hosted by the tyrants Polycrates of Samos and Hipparchus of Athens, with whom he resided during the latter part of the sixth century. Yet, his poems may have had particular appeal also for newcomers to the elite lifestyle in years following. To start with, in the Greek imagination Anacreon was the symposiast par excellence. Hence, his statue on the Athenian Acropolis depicted a man singing while drunk (Paus. 1.25.1). This perhaps echoes the attitude of revelry that led the poet’s name to be inscribed on the lyre of an ‘elaborately dressed reveller’ on an Attic redfigure krater from the late sixth or early fifth century decorated by the Kleophrades Painter, and to be written alongside lyre-playing komasts on an oil jar and drinking cup produced around the same time.69 Thus, the man in the andrōn who sang poetry attributed to Anacreon automatically adopted the voice of an arch-symposiast.70 By ‘re-enacting’ and inhabiting the Anacreontic ‘I’ and deploying his strategies of over-incorporation, individuals moving in from the margins could express their immersion in the sympotic culture with which they were simultaneously getting to grips.71 The inhabitants of a late Archaic house near the Altar of Aphrodite at Athens may have been one such group. Sympotic activity there is demonstrated by well deposits of locally produced figured drinking ware amidst the household pottery. The house was destroyed during the Persian invasion of 480, and the red-figure style marks the pottery as ‘recent’ purchases made perhaps by the last generation to live there. As their excavator, John Camp, observes, these pots were largely decorated by second-rank painters and on occasion display poor draughtsmanship.72 However, this may indicate not 69

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For references to Anacreon’s sympotic persona see Kantzios (2005) 228, 241; and in more detail, Rosenmeyer (1992) 12–36. The inscribed vessels date to the late sixth/early fifth centuries: Copenhagen, National Museum 13365 (ARV2 185.32; BD 201684); Syracuse, Museo Archeologico Regionale Paolo Orsi 26967 (ARV2 36.2, 1621; BD 200207); London, British Museum E18 (ARV2 62.86, 1600.20, 1700; BD 200522). The distinctiveness and recognizability of Anacreon’s work are two of the reasons that Budelmann (2009b) 234–5 gives for its openness to re-performance: the transferability of its contents and its flexibility in nuance were also important. On the ‘re-enacting I’ of Archaic lyric, see Nagy (2007): it ‘retains the idea of the real presence of a speaking person’ and ‘observes the rules of the medium within which the expression takes place’ (27) so that ‘the person itself keeps coming alive in the here and now of performance. And each different performance may bring back to life a different – even ever so slightly different – persona’ (31). Camp (1996) 242–52, with pls. 71–6, nn. 21–34, 36. The contents of Well J 2:4, which contains discarded pottery from this house, are now analysed in toto by Lynch (2011).

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that only the finest vessels were exported or deposited as votives, as he proposes, but that this hoard was of relatively low value. Even if artistic quality cannot be correlated to original cost, their owners were probably not Athens’ wealthiest citizens: like all the figured pottery discussed here, the ceramic drinking ware may have been affordable substitutes for the metal vessels used by Athens’ super-rich.73 Two red-figure vessels found at the house sport komastic scenes on their interiors. The depiction in particular of a bearded man carrying a cup on the tondo of a kylix attributed to the Ambrosios Painter and a lyre on a pelike, near to the Pioneer Pezzino Group, supports the owner’s visual engagement with images akin in spirit to the komast in the tondo of the Antiphon Painter’s cup.74 As argued above, the self-proclaimed revelry that fully incorporated the depicted reveller into the symposion and the sympotic group was a painted analogue for the wholesale immersion in sympotic culture claimed by singers of Anacreon. With members of this less well-off household buying into this iconography, Anacreontic songs that emphasize the drinking, music, desire and merriment of the singer-symposiast – and indeed, that challenge other participants in their sympotics – could have had particular resonance here. Across the board, first-person statements of intent, instruction and opinion construct visions of the symposion, how it is and how it should be. They therefore set criteria for the event. However, these criteria were variable and open to challenge. While a singer might embody a certain sympotic style or lay out definite guidelines, these were not dogmatic articulations of a standard, communal norm, but personal attestations of symposiality within a conversation that allowed competition and contestation. This discursivity pervades Anacreon’s poems, from all-embracing displays of symposiality to attempts to point the conviviality in new directions, to statements of criticism and praise. In each instance the aim is to persuade and control. Even within their own rhetoric, the full immersion in sympotic delights may seem uncomfortable or edgy, and other modes of sympotic performance are visible: controlled revelry versus Scythian drinking, conversations about war and conflict versus music and desire. Fragments from the Theognidea conjure up their own sympotic styles. In performance, first-person metasympotic poetry could be selfpromotional, discursive and challenging. It thereby continued the conversation on appropriate behaviour at the symposion pursued through gnomic 73 74

See Introduction, n. 34, above, for the theory by Vickers and Gill (1994) and its critics. Athens, Agora Museum P32420 (BD 25983) and P32418 (BD 25984): Camp (1996) pls. 73.27, 74.28. For the attribution of these pots and their iconographies, see Lynch (2011) 81–3, 127–30.

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verses. The metasympotic discourse is fundamental to the personal and communal negotiation of sympotic conduct. competition, conflict and communality In making recommendations for the symposion, Xenophanes (1 W), Anacreon (356b Campbell, el. 2 W, 430 Cambell), and Solon (26 W) all criticize alternative modes of performance. However, it is impossible to tell whether these poems expressed abstract ideas or were targeted at particular drinking companions. Other metasympotic poems are, by contrast, antagonistic. The following anonymous verse, whose date of composition is uncertain but which appears to be complete, deploys many of the stratagems witnessed already. In this instance, however, the self-fulfilling recommendations are accompanied by a challenge to another member of the sympotic group, the leader of the drinking (potarchōn): χαίρετο συμπόται ἄνδρες ὁμ[. . . . . . · ἐ]ξ ἀγαθοῦ γὰρ ἀρξάμενος τελέω τὸν λόγον [ε]ἰς ἀγα[θό]ν. χρὴ δ’, ὅταν εἰς τοιοῦτo συνέλθωμεν φίλοι ἄνδρες πρᾶγμα, γελᾶν παίζειν χρησαμένους ἀρετῇ, ἥδεσθαί τε συνόντας, ἐς ἀλλήλους τε φ[λ]υαρεῖν καὶ σκώπτειν τοιαῦθ’ οἷα γέλωτα φέρειν. ἡ δὲ σπουδὴ ἑπέσθω, ἀκούωμέν [τε λ]εγόντων ἐν μέρει· ἥδ’ ἀρετὴ συμποσίου πέλεται. τοῦ δὲ ποταρχοῦντος πειθώμεθα· ταῦτα γάρ ἐστιν ἔργ’ ἀνδρῶν ἀγαθῶν, εὐλογίαν τε φέρειν.

(Adespota elegiaca 27 W)

Greetings fellow drinkers [and age-mates]! Having begun from the good (ex agathou) I bring my speech to a good end (eis agathon). It is necessary, whenever we friends come together on occasions such as these, to laugh and play using virtue, to find pleasure in being together, to chat with one another and to joke such as to raise laughter. But then let seriousness follow, let us listen, talking in turn; for this virtue comes from the symposion. But let us obey the potarch; for this is the act of good men, to bring fair conversation.

A preliminary acclamation (χαίρετο), first-person-present statement of performance (‘beginning, I bring to an end’, ἀρξάμενος τελέω), and injunctions for a gathering of ‘we’ friends akin to the immediate event embed the singer in the here and now. A gnomic proclamation utilizing ‘chrē plus infinitive’ urges the companions to laugh, sing, find pleasure, chat and joke. This representation of good sympotic conduct establishes protocol. And first-person-plural exhortations to listen (ἀκούωμέν) and obey (πειθώμεθα)

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encourage the group towards communal action. In addition to these familiar structural and stylistic features, the poem utilizes vocabulary and themes belonging to other exhortatory verse. Prescriptions on the mode of conversation and a concern with goodness (ἀγα[θό]ν) and virtue (ἀρετή) are brought to a close with the endorsement of good speech (εὐλογίαν). In short, the singer deploys standard techniques to establish his immediate authority, styling his wisdom as directly applicable and worth acting upon in order to bring the event to its proposed conclusion. Furthermore, the poem’s wisdom achieves sanction within the terms of its own delivery, for the structure of proposed events echoes the structure of the poem itself. The singer begins with a hearty greeting and proceeds to make a witty wordplay, as well as a promise: having started from the good (ἐ]ξ ἀγαθοῦ), he will conclude his conversation to the good ([ε]ἰς ἀγα[θό]ν). This sentence is cleverly structured. Ex agathou and eis agathon sit at the beginning and end of the clause respectively, echoing their introductory and concluding positions in the conversation. Furthermore, the opposites ‘beginning’ (ἀρξάμενος) and ‘bring to an end’ (τελέω) sit side by side. The poem thus begins in a witty fashion, amusing to the ear. Attention then proceeds to the serious matter of inculcating virtue in the symposion. The symposiasts are instructed to laugh and play, making use of virtue (χρησαμένους ἀρετῇ), taking pleasure in their own company and making jokes; seriousness should then follow, with speaking and listening in turn. In essence, the progression of the poem from pleasing wordplay to sober advice encapsulates the desired development of the symposion. The singer thus succeeds on his own terms, bringing pleasure and virtue to the symposion. This analysis reveals the song’s complexity, but there is little here that is surprising. The self-promotional demonstration of skill and knowledge is familiar in style and content to other metasympotic verses analysed above. However, it diverges in its closing call, for it issues not only an instruction but a challenge. The singer, having set out and fulfilled his own programme for the symposion, gives a final piece of advice: that the group submit to the recommendations of the potarch. The potarch is thus required to continue the conversation, to cap the foregoing contribution with a new display of wisdom on sympotic matters, or to reiterate the previous advice. But whichever way he responds, the leader of the drinking must implement the singer’s instruction, as both men, and their shared audience, sing and listen in turn. The singer’s recommendations thus gain sanction in the forthcoming performance. While the singer proclaims subservience to the potarch’s will, he seeks to rule the party himself. Moreover, the challenge is heightened by the final reminder that it is the responsibility of good men

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(ἀνδρῶν ἀγαθῶν) to bring fair conversation. The singer has already proved that he is such a man; the leader of the drinking must now reveal his character and competence in the sympotic conversation. The initiated rivalry between the singer and the leader of the symposion echoes the dynamics established by a poem from the Theognidea attributed to the fifth-century poet Euenus of Paros (8a W). Its dictates are more flexible, but they are directed towards ‘Simonides’, whom the singer addresses as responsible for the comings and goings in the andrōn. The elegy begins: μηδένα τῶνδ’ ἀέκοντα μένειν κατέρυκε παρ’ ἡμῖν, μηδὲ θύραζε κέλευ’ οὐκ ἐθέλοντ’ ἰέναι· μηδ’ εὕδοντ’ ἐπέγειρε Σιμωνίδη, ὅντιν’ ἂν ἡμῶν θωρηχθέντ’ οἴνῳ μαλθακὸς ὕπνος ἕλῃ, μηδὲ τὸν ἀγρυπνέοντα κέλευ’ ἀέκοντα καθεύδειν· πᾶν γὰρ ἀναγκαῖον χρῆμ’ ἀνιηρὸν ἔφυ. τῷ πίνειν δ’ ἐθέλοντι παρασταδὸν οἰνοχοείτω· οὐ πάσας νύκτας γίνεται ἁβρὰ παθεῖν. αὐτὰρ ἐγώ, μέτρον γὰρ ἔχω μελιηδέος οἴνου, ὕπνου λυσικάκου μνήσομαι οἴκαδ’ ἰών. (Theognis 467–76 W) Do not detain anyone of those beside us who is unwilling to remain, nor order anyone to the door who does not wish to go; nor awaken anyone who sleeps, Simonides, whichever of us, intoxicated by wine, gentle sleep might seize; nor order the man who is awake to sleep against his will. For everything compelled is by nature distressing. To the man wishing to drink, let the servant standing by pour wine; luxuries are not experienced every night. But I, since I hold the measure of honey-sweet wine, shall give heed to evil-ending sleep and go home.

Issuing a string of negative prescriptions (μηδέ . . . μηδέ), and allowing for flexibility in conduct, the poem varies significantly in tone and effect from previous examples. However, as for the anonymous poem, the establishment of a direct recipient makes the act of instruction competitive. Simonides – who shares his name with Simonides of Ceos, the sixth-/ fifth-century composer of sympotic (and other) poetry – might be imagined as a real-life symposiast, either the original recipient of the verse or a man attributed with his persona during a later performance. Or he may have been an imaginary target for the singer’s wisdom. Either way, the instructions are designed to convince Simonides – and the listening audience too – to adopt a hands-off approach to the symposion. This is justified through statements to the effect that compulsion is unpleasant, and luxury (ἁβρά) is rare. Through injunction and persuasive explanation, the singer aims to influence Simonides’ actions in the andrōn, and hence to dictate the course

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of the symposion. Moreover, this is a pre-emptive and closing blow. The singer, switching to the first person, declares he has drunk his measure, and claims to be heading out of the door. His contribution thwarts any attempt by Simonides to hinder him by encouraging a laissez-faire attitude towards his fellow symposiasts. As before, Simonides’ response is potentially conditioned by the contents of his companion’s song: to hinder his departure would be to cause distress. Just how Simonides and his companions might have responded to the arguments of their fellow symposiast is suggested by the remaining lines attributed to Euenus. Faraone (2008, 86–92) has argued that the poem above is the first in a chain of three ten-line stanzas, erroneously preserved by the scribe of the Theognidea as one work. These independent stanzas share a metasympotic theme, and they respond to one another.75 Following this reading, the imprecations of the first verse, ending as it does with a declared intention to depart, are met with a first-person assertion of moderate sobriety and drunkenness, a commentary on the dangers of wine to the individual and his conversation, and instructions for the symposiast to leave or go, depending on his intake: ἥκω δ’ ὡς οἶνος χαριέστατος ἀνδρὶ πεπόσθαι· οὔτέ τι γὰρ νήφων οὔτε λίην μεθύων· ὃς δ’ ἂν ὑπερβάλλῃ πόσιος μέτρον, οὐκέτι κεῖνος τῆς αὐτοῦ γλώσσης καρτερὸς οὐδὲ νόου, μυθεῖται δ’ ἀπάλαμνα, τὰ νήφοσι γίνεται αἰσχρά, αἰδεῖται δ’ ἔρδων οὐδὲν ὅταν μεθύῃ, τὸ πρὶν ἐὼν σώφρων, τότε νήπιος. ἀλλὰ σὺ ταῦτα γινώσκων μὴ πῖν’ οἶνον ὑπερβολάδην, ἀλλ’ ἢ πρὶν μεθύειν ὑπανίστασο - μή σε βιάσθω γαστὴρ ὥστε κακὸν λάτριν ἐφημέριον (Theognis 477–87 W)76 ἢ παρεὼν μὴ πῖνε. But I have reached the point when wine is most agreeable for a man to drink, being neither especially sober nor exceedingly drunk; but whoever overshoots the measure of his drink, that man is no longer in control of his own tongue or mind, and he speaks of silly matters, which are shameful to sober men, and he feels no shame at anything he does whilst drunk: a moderate man before, but now a fool. But you, knowing these things, should not drink wine to excess, but either rise up before you 75 76

The theme is shared also by Anacreon’s question: ‘Will you not allow me to go home, being drunk once more?’ (οὐ δηὖτέ μ’ ἐάσεις μεθύοντ’ οἴκαδ’ ἀπελθεῖν; 412 Campbell). Note that sundering the poem disrupts the scansion of the recorded text. To explain the metrical problem created by the separation of the second and third stanzas of the lines as they are recorded in the Theognidea, Faraone (2008) 90 proposes that a scribe placing the poems together altered their last and first lines to fit.

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are drunk – lest your stomach force you like a worthless day-slave – or stay and don’t drink.

The first singer’s attempt to forestall deliberation over his departure is ignored, as the second embarks upon his own self-promotional diatribe. Immediately setting himself centre stage (ἥκω, ‘I have come’), he now appears before them as the model of balanced inebriation at the point of greatest pleasure (χαριέστατος) – neither sober nor exceedingly drunk (οὔτέ τι γὰρ νήφων οὔτε λίην μεθύων). An authoritative statement then ensues. The rational discourse proves that the poet has not exceeded his measure and lost control of his tongue and mind. He does not speak in a shaming fashion; having not yet drunk too much wine, he remains a moderate man (σώφρων) rather than a fool (νήπιος). The poet’s observations support his adopted style. By placing himself at the centre of attention and showing himself also a moderate drinker, the singer usurps the position claimed by the previous performer. From here, he offers new advice: that his interlocutor leave before he becomes drunk (πρὶν μεθύειν ὑπανίστασο) or stay but abstain (παρεὼν μὴ πῖνε). This closing proposal contrasts with the earlier laissez-faire approach. The onus remains on his companion to decide what to do – to fulfil his intention to leave if he is in danger of behaving like a wretched slave – but the options are prescribed. But now, whether he stays or goes, the addressee is compelled by this new rationale; and if he leaves he recognizes the legitimacy of his instructor’s advice. Despite previous injunctions against interfering in their companion’s enjoyments, ‘Simonides’ remains in control. The third segment or poem continues the theme of drunkenness and conversation, and it equally urges measure in drinking; this time the entire audience is encouraged to stay and talk. However, unlike previous stanzas, it begins in a confrontational manner with a direct reproach to a companion for his sympotic behaviour: σὺ δ’ “ἔγχεε”· τοῦτο μάταιον κωτίλλεις αἰει· τούνεκά τοι μεθύεις· ἡ μὲν γὰρ φέρεται φιλοτήσιος, ἡ δὲ πρόκειται, τὴν δὲ θεοῖς σπένδεις, τὴν δ’ ἐπὶ χειρὸς ἔχεις, ἀρνεῖσθαι δ’ οὐκ οἶδας. ἀνίκητος δέ τοι οὗτος, ὃς πολλὰς πίνων μή τι μάταιον ἐρεῖ. ὑμεῖς δ’ εὖ μυθεῖσθε παρὰ κρητῆρι μένοντες, ἀλλήλων ἔριδας δὴν ἀπερυκόμενοι, εἰς τὸ μέσον φωνεῦντες, ὁμῶς ἑνὶ καὶ συνάπασιν· (Theognis 487–96 W) χοὔτως συμπόσιον γίνεται οὐκ ἄχαρι. But you [singular] say ‘fill it up’. Such inanities you always prattle; for this reason truly you are drunk. For a cup of friendship comes along, and another is set down,

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and you pour one in libation to the gods, and you hold one in your hand, and you do not know how to say no. But this man truly is unconquerable, who drinks a lot yet says nothing inane. But you [plural] tell stories well, as you tarry by the krater, desisting from strife with one another for a long while, speaking in the middle to one and all alike. In this way a symposion proceeds without unpleasantness.

In previous verses singers drew attention to their sympotic style through first-person assertions. Here, a second party becomes the object on display, as his sympotic performance falls under scrutiny: ‘you’ ask for a refill; ‘you’ speak inanely; ‘you’ are drunk; ‘you’ cannot refuse a drink. His contributions are shown to be lacking: unlike the victorious man (ἀνίκητος) who drinks deeply and avoids banality (μή τι μάταιον ἐρεῖ), the symposiast’s excessive calls for draught after draught constitute inane prattle (τοῦτο μάταιον κωτίλλεις αἰει). It is tempting to view the target as the previous singer, his claims to moderate drinking and high-quality conversation undercut by the conduct described here. Certainly the closing instructions for a symposion without unpleasantness (οὐκ ἄχαρι) pick up his earlier claim to be in a ‘most pleasurable’ condition (χαριέστατος). But even if the gaze has moved on to a new target, the instructions renew the framework for a good symposion. With praise now heaped on whoever can drink heavily and still converse sensibly (drink deeply but retain his measure?), the focus broadens out to the group as a whole. His companions should remain by the krater, tell stories and avoid strife. Dismissing once more the possibility of departure, disputatious conversation is rejected without any apparent irony. Furthermore, the extension of focus to the group closes the competition between the individuals built up during the exchange. In this way, the poem attempts its own harmony-inducing victory. While the thematic interactions and progressions identified here support Faraone’s division of Euenus’ poem into three distinct verses, a question must remain over whether these poems were ever – or perhaps only – performed exactly in the transmitted order. In this chapter the potential for sympotic verse attributed to named individuals to be re-performed after their initial composition has been central to our analysis. But how and when did the poems filter out from the symposion and into the manuscript tradition that ended up being the Theognidea? Were they ever sung back to back, and did the dynamics described above ever come into play in exactly this way? Answers are unattainable.77 But even if the juxtaposition 77

Although Hubbard (2007) posits some ideas on how the poems made it from song into text. We await Ewen Bowie’s exposition on the role of Euenus of Paros in the creation of a Theognidean manuscript.

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and running together of these poems can be unsettled, each item draws upon the same content and language as other metasympotic verses, expressing opinions on suitable modes of conversation and drinking in a bid to create an ideal symposion. They also deploy similar authoritative strategies: reinforcing their presence amongst the symposiasts by addressing them individually and as a group (poems 1–3); displaying themselves physically as models of sympotic practice (poems 1–2), with their interlocutor as antimodels too (poems 2–3); and inciting their audience towards a recommended course of action (poems 2 and 3). Their strategies could operate on numerous occasions, and each poem could work in combination with alternative contributions. Through their confrontational dynamism, the anonymous poem and the Theognidean stanzas assigned to Euenus reveal how the conventions of metasympotic discourse could be deployed in a more aggressively agonistic form than previously attested, with representations of potential and actual performance antagonistically juxtaposed. The poems of Xenophanes, Anacreon, Archilochus, and other portions of the Theognidea advance their singer’s mastery of the symposion through self-reinforcing, promotional demonstrations of their knowledge and skill. Victory, as far as it might be achieved, lay in the acceptance of the singer’s self-positioning by the viewing, listening audience. However, the self-promotional displays of wisdom centred on sympotic conduct found in the anonymous poem and Euenus’ verses contain challenges to the authority and positioning of other performers that make the competitive potential of metasympotic poetry explicit. Thus, although all poetic representations of sympotic conduct operated constructively and deployed similar strategies, they accomplished this with varying effects. The rhetorical thrusts of metasympotic poetry thus correspond to the dynamics of the symposion identified by Pellizer (1990) and refined by Collins (2004). According to Pellizer, who provides an overview of entertainment in the andrōn, sympotic conversation undertook ‘the role of a contest’; it was a ‘confrontation in performance’ that generated unity through the collective demonstration of poetic skills and was presented for sanction by the group. However, it was not merely the singer’s ‘ability and his technical and executive capacities’ that were tested.78 Confrontation 78

Pellizer (1990) 179: although deictic indicators, personal pronouns and vocatives are viewed as important in the ‘enunciative context’ of the symposion, it is ultimately the ‘individual artistic and intellectual abilities of each’ that are put forward for the group’s evaluation. Cf. 183 on the confrontational dimension.

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also put the symposiast and his carefully constructed persona at risk. For Collins, focusing closely on literary representations of the drinking party from the Classical period and beyond (and again interested largely in the demonstration of poetic skill), the consequences were twofold: the creation of a ‘win-win’ competition that consolidated the symposiasts’ social status and affiliations, and the perpetual threat of conflict between individual symposiasts on the other.79 Because it was ultimately self-promotional, metasympotic performance could operate in both of these ways. The display of wisdom concerning the symposion and the assertion of competence in sympotic performance might offer testimony to the singer’s membership of the symposion, but they could also challenge the wisdom and competence – and hence membership – of others. Indeed, through rival versions of good conduct, the event itself could fall under critique. However, the metasympotic discourse also softened the competitive blows by continually combining attacks on sympotic knowledge or prowess with new claims to them. To explain, the capping stimulated by the anonymous poem and engaged in by the singers of Euenus’ poems is cumulative in its consequences. A singer who trumps his companion’s contribution may soon find himself victim to someone else’s clever formulations, and vice versa. Any ‘loss’ was masked or elided, rather than exposed, by the ‘triumph’ of a future contribution and perhaps quickly forgotten as the poetic conversation progressed. As in the skolion game, when shorter verses of two to four lines passed rapidly between individuals in capping displays of poetic skill, defeat and victory in the metasympotic discourse was transitory. And, indeed, the merits of sympotic victory were even open to critique: ‘What virtue is it to win a prize over wine while drinking? Often a bad man vanquishes the good’ (τίς δ’ ἀρετὴ πίνοντ’ ἐπιοίνιον ἆθλον ἑλέσθαι; | πολλάκι τοι νικᾶι καὶ κακὸς ἄνδρ’ ἀγαθόν, Thgn. 971–2 W). Theognis’ formulation churlishly, but helpfully, minimizes the consequences of defeat. At the same time, however, it also conveys a typically Theognidean worry about the ability to distinguish those who possess virtue from those who do not (56–68 W): sympotic victory is no true measure of quality. Metasympotic representation was thus a diverse but regular feature of sympotic conversation, pursued through poetry as much as art. The focus might shift from the paraphernalia of the andrōn to the performances of the singer, to others in the room. The mode of delivery could also vary from reflection to self-presentation, recommendation, instruction and critique. However, in each instance metasympotic song enabled singer and audience 79

Collins (2004) 66–73.

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to shape and define their immediate experience in a discursive and sometimes disputational fashion. Performers initiated conversations on sympotic conduct, prioritizing themselves as authorities on the topic and presenting themselves as models for good practice. While they shared strategies and an appreciation of the symposion as a space for drinking, music-making, conversing and loving, the specifics of individual proposals were contingent upon a desire by singers to authorize their contributions, or to challenge their companions. In these performances, the audibility and visibility of the singer played a key role in formulating ideas, and no doubt also in stimulating (now irretrievable) responses. The rhetorics of the symposion were not only pursued through the spoken word and its sympotic representations but expressed in action. This holistic aspect of the sympotic performance, the fusion of word and action to construct identities and positions for the symposiast, will be evident in the following chapters, when attention moves on from the andrōn to representations of the symposion in other poetry and prose which contribute cumulatively to conversations on identity and ethics.

chapter 2

Ethnopoieia and ēthopoieia

As noted in the Introduction, historians today view the symposion as central to ancient Greek culture, and they examine it to understand the Greeks. The current study offers a case in point: it proceeds on the assumption that we can learn about the Greeks by investigating how they pursued and conceptualized their drinking parties. For the earliest Greek ethnographers, eating and drinking were key cultural practices and, hence, cultural markers too. Already in the Odyssey the peoples encountered by Odysseus on his journey home to Ithaca were distinguished by their victuals in their nomenclature and/or habits.1 Fruit- and flower-eating Lotus Eaters, milkdrinking and flesh-eating Cyclopes, and their cannibal counterparts, the Laestrygonians, all feature in the hero’s narrative of his adventures (Od. 9.84; 9.194–535, 10.80–132). Hecataeus of Miletus and Hellanicus of Lesbos likewise remarked upon the preferences of the peoples they surveyed. Arcadians dined on barley-cake and pork, and Egyptians ate bread and drank ground barley (Hecat. FGrH 1 F9, F323); Thracians and Paeonians partook of fomented barley and a potion made of millet and fleabane (Hecat. FGrH 1 F154; Hellanic. FGrH 4 F66). Hyperboreans ate the fruits of trees instead of meat, and at Magnesia upon the Sipylus, beer was drawn to drink from the river (Hellanic. FGrH 4 F187b; F191). This evidence might be fragmentary and weighted by its preservation in the third-century ce Dinner-party Sophists by Athenaeus, a vast compendium of fragments from earlier literature on commensal themes presented within a series of sympotic conversations. Nonetheless, eating and dining habits were clearly privileged in Greek eyes as a means of ethnic identification. Indeed, Hellanicus’ presentation of Libyan nomads makes consumption of food 1

On the Odyssey as ethnography, or at least containing ethnographic strands, see Hartog (2001) and Dougherty (2001). The latter’s discussion of the ‘ethnographic imagination’ is a useful corrective to Hall (1989) 49, for example, who dismisses the relevance of ethnography, along with geography, from the Odyssey. Generally, this chapter takes a wide view of ‘ethnography’ as the discursive ‘writing’ of peoples in diverse media, as recommended most recently by Skinner (2012).

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and drink basic: except for a portable tent, these people possess nothing but a drinking cup, knife and water jug (FGrH 4 F67). Pared down to life’s essentials, people eat and drink. What they consume might vary, but, as for the ‘Mare-milking milk eaters’ (Ἱππημολγῶν γλακτοφάγων) whom Zeus regards as he maps out the land north of Troy with his gaze in the Iliad (13.1–6), the specifics of their consumption qualify them to the outside observer. Within the Odyssey’s epic narratives, moreover, it is not only the substance of a people’s subsistence which distinguishes them, but also their commensal practices. Indeed, it is in the moment of sharing food and drink that the character, or ēthos, of Odysseus’ new acquaintances is revealed. As is frequently noted, the ever-feasting Phaeacians, who welcome Odysseus to Scheria with convivial banquets, stand in opposition to the Cyclops Polyphemus, who makes a meal of Odysseus’ men and drinks himself into a vulnerable oblivion.2 The contrast is particularly brought into focus through each party’s use of wine. When Odysseus first enters the palace of Alcinous he finds the Phaeacian leaders drawing their drinking to a close with a libation to Hermes Argeiphontes (7.134–8), and at gatherings wine is mixed in a krater and distributed equally, libations are poured for the gods, and each man drinks however much he wishes (7.182–4, 228). Here wine is closely allied with song and dance, so that at the evening entertainments they blend seamlessly to promote delight, or charis, amongst the banqueters.3 Such shared endeavours also underpin the structure of Alcinous’ court: when he calls upon the other Phaeacian leaders to help Odysseus, the king appeals to the fact that they drink wine in his halls and listen to song together (13.7–9). Joyous festivity in perpetuity is essential to Odysseus’ experience at the court of the Phaeacians and is foundational to their society. In the Cyclops’ cave, by contrast, wine is wolfed down unmixed; there is no dancing or song. Odysseus’ men ‘share’ in the feast only by literally becoming the meal. The distance of Polyphemus’ revelry from the types of enjoyments experienced at Phaeacia is emphasized by the origins of the wine that Odysseus supplies. The juice had come into Odysseus’ possession as a gift from Maron, a priest of Apollo, ‘a sweet unmixed divine drink’ (ἡδὺν ἀκηράσιον, θεῖον ποτόν, 9.205). As the hero recalls: τὸν δ’ ὅτε πίνοιεν μελιηδέα οἶνον ἐρυθρόν, ἓν δέπας ἐμπλήσας ὕδατος ἀνὰ εἴκοσι μέτρα 2 3

For example, Redfield (1983) and Dougherty (2001) 123–7. On the role of charis at Alcinous’ feasts, see W. J. Slater (1990) 218–19.

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Ethnopoieia and ēthopoieia χεῦ’, ὀδμὴ δ’ ἡδεῖα ἀπὸ κρητῆρος ὀδώδει, θεσπεσίη· τότ’ ἂν οὔ τοι ἀποσχέσθαι φίλον ἦεν.

(Homer, Odyssey 9.208–11)

And whenever they drank the honey-sweet red wine, filling one goblet he would pour twenty measures of water, and there would be a sweet smell from the krater, divine. Then, there would be nothing pleasurable in holding back.

Maron’s reverent ritual, the sensual savouring of the mixture and his anticipation are not only close to the atmosphere evoked by Xenophanes’ first poem (Chapter 1) but also resonate with the gracious drinking of the Phaeacians. And it is the absolute reverse of the Cyclops’ rapid and reckless draining of the cups passed to him by Odysseus in quick succession (9.345–63). The consequence for Polyphemus is not pleasure. Instead, the wine seizes his wits, and he falls asleep, dead drunk and vomiting (9.360, 371–4). Odysseus’ tale of the Cyclops’ demise, sung by its hero for the Phaeacians at their banquet, is the most developed of several examples of failed hospitality (xenia) and/or inappropriate consumption experienced by Odysseus and encapsulated in his song.4 It poignantly juxtaposes what Redfield (1983) labels the ‘hypo-xenia’ of the Cyclopes with the ‘hyper-xenia’ Odysseus currently experiences.5 In narrative terms it encourages the Phaeacians to crown their glorious hospitality with aid, and thematically it plays out further when Odysseus returns home to Ithaca and discovers the suitors’ abuses at his dinner table.6 For the poem’s Archaic audience, it also sketches in fantastical terms how wandering Greek colonists might be received as they venture abroad.7 But its significance lies also in establishing the character and attitude of the peoples concerned, as manifest in their conduct. Both encounters with the Phaeacians and the Cyclops are prefigured with Odysseus’ musings on the kind of people who occupy the land: ‘Are they hybristic and savage and without justice, or are they hospitable to 4

5

6

For example: the Lotus Eaters generously share their fruit with Odysseus and his men, but this results in the recipients’ memory loss (Od. 9.82–104); Odysseus and his men are entertained for a month by Aeolians, who are always feasting (10.1–12); on arrival at the court of the Laestrygonians, one of Odysseus’ men is seized and prepared for dinner (10.116), and when others flee from the giants, they are speared like fish and carried off for the feast (10.124); and sharing poisoned wine with Circe ends in the transformation of Odysseus’ men into pigs (10.233–43). Cf. Most (1989) 25, for whom ‘Odysseus’ apologoi are designed to define the proper duties of hospitality – negatively.’ This is not necessarily the case for the Aeolian episode, however, where Odysseus is properly received and has his second request for hospitality refused only when the king judges him cursed by the gods, after his men release the bag of winds formerly gifted by Aeolus (Od. 10.56–77). W. J. Slater (1990) 217–18. 7 See Dougherty (2001) 122–40.

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strangers with god-fearing in mind?’ (ἦ ῥ’ οἵ γ’ ὑβρισταί τε καὶ ἄγριοι οὐδὲ δίκαιοι, ἦε φιλόξεινοι, καί σφιν νόος ἐστὶ θεουδής; Od. 6.120–1; cf. 9.175–6). The instances of superlative and inverted hospitality offered to Odysseus by the Phaeacians and Polyphemus, respectively, make commensal customs a fundamental demonstration of the utopian and savage natures of the encountered communities. The ethnographic imagination of the Odyssey thus embraces commensality as an ethical indicator. Where Hecataeus and Hellanicus used food and drink to describe their recorded peoples, in the Homeric epic the notion that ‘you are what you eat/drink’ is accompanied by a sense that ‘you are how you eat/drink’. Both premises collide neatly in the character of the Cyclops, who not only is a bad drinker of wine but also dines on human flesh, and whose normal non-agrarian diet involves milk and cheese. These are the ‘raw’ autotrophic produce of animals herded on the land and, combined with the absence of any social and political structures, their consumption intimates the pre-civilized nature of Polyphemus’ nomadic tribe.8 In short, the ethnographic and the ethical collide in the realm of commensality. Representing a foreign people or tribe (ethnos) – what we might call ethnopoieia – goes hand in hand with assigning customs and character (ēthos) – the act of ēthopoieia – to a people through their commensal and sympotic practices. Eating and drinking in company provides a measure of another people’s ethical disposition. This pattern of thinking is not confined to epic, nor indeed ethnography proper, but is manifest across genres and time. From the poetic and visual imagery of the Archaic symposion to Classical historiography and later philosophical writings, ethnopoieia and ēthopoieia coincide and work in tandem through descriptions of and allusions to the convivial customs of other peoples. This pervasive and constructive conversation gives particular priority to drinking, which may take place in conjunction with a banquet but is frequently depicted in its own terms. It is the purpose of this chapter to tease out the layers of this conversation, to demonstrate further the workings of the symposion in the Greek thought world. Most strikingly, while convivial customs repeatedly give definition to other peoples, Greek ethics are equally implicated in the interplay between ethnicity and ēthos that emerges through the representation of foreign symposia. 8

See Segal (1974) 299, for whom ‘His [Polyphemus’] milk and cheeses, like his herding and his cave, ambiguously straddle the line between savagery and civilization.’ Dougherty (2001) 131–42 more firmly locates the Cyclopes on the side of a savage primitivism, contrasted with the Phaeacian’s Golden Age utopia. For the Cyclopes as nomads, and the resonances of this within Archaic and Classical Greek thought, see Shaw (1983–4) 21–3.

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On the basis of its episodic structure and banquet-laden narrative, Murray (2008) has recently argued that the Odyssey was created for the symposion. One effect of the poem’s intricate layering of song within banquets, and banquets within song, was to draw listeners into the events narrated by the singer so that ‘they too take part in a series of feasts of more or less exotic type, they visit the Cyclops’ cave and partake in the feast as guests and as reluctant sacrificial meat . . .’ (and participate in other adventures too).9 There is an element of whimsy in Murray’s closing division of the Odyssey into thirty-nine cantos of appropriate length for a series of symposia. Moreover, his reference to ‘often sceptical comments’ from colleagues regarding his argument implies some indulgence in light-hearted game play when he makes the poem a metasympotic masterpiece. Yet, his architectural exposition of the Odyssey and his integration of this epic into the perennial Archaic debate about suitable modes of sympotic conversation (see Chapter 1, above) and the evolution of sympotic poetry are convincing.10 If we accept this reading of the poem and the resulting premise that it enables an audience of drinking companions to accompany the titular hero on his odyssey, then the ethnographic and ethical articulation of Polyphemus becomes active in that audience’s shared imagination. The perverted sympotics of this foreigner are not merely set up for reflection but by implication are experienced and, with the drinkers firmly on the side of Odysseus’ suffering companions, are understood to be hybristic, savage and unjust. Indeed, it is not just Polyphemus. The alternative feasting of the Lotus Eaters, Laestrygonians, Phaeacians, Aeolians and suitors, the last of whom are outsiders to Ithaca or at least Odysseus’ home, sits in counterpoint to the present symposion where their lifestyles are observed in epic song.11 9 10

11

Murray (2008) 168. Murray (2008) 173–5, with 173 n. 27. The interpretation of the placement by Classical artists of Odysseus’ encounter with the suitors amidst couches and reclining gents as a reflection of their recognition that the Odyssey belonged at the symposion is more tenuous and unnecessary. For example, on a mid-fifth-century Attic vase-painting by the Penelope Painter (discussed in Chapter 4, n. 17, below), the possibility rejected by Murray that it utilized a readily available banqueting schema to make the story intelligible to contemporary viewers seems more convincing. Bruce Gibson points out to me that Odysseus’ men – who might be considered correlates for male Greek audiences – also engage in alternative feasting when they run out of the civilized victuals of grain and wine and turn to the forbidden cattle of the Sun for sustenance (Od. 1.8–9, 12.327–425). See Nagler (1990) 339–40 on how this act and its preliminary sacrifice brings them into alignment with the suitors, although his primary concern is with the event as a sacrilegious killing, not sacrilegious

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The fact that other sympotic poems do not similarly portray the outside, non-Greek world so vividly may support Murray’s proposition that the Odyssey’s reworking of Homeric epic for Archaic drinking parties ultimately lost out to shorter, snappier, inwardly orientated song. Yet, foreigners did not exit the symposion entirely, as two Archilochean fragments demonstrate. The first draws upon an ethnographic motif familiar from Hecataeus and Hellanicus: ‘just as a Thracian or Phrygian man drinks beer through a straw she sucked; and stooping forward she was worked upon’ (ὥσπερ αὐλῷ βρῦτον ἢ Θρέϊξ ἀνὴρ | ἢ Φρὺξ ἔμυζε· κύβδα δ’ ἦν πονεομένη, 42 W).12 Here the famous drinking habits of the Thracians and Phrygians, embellished with the vital addition of the straw, are worked into a graphic sexual simile.13 Such ribald ‘euphemism’ is common to Archilochus.14 Moreover, the fragment’s epodic metre and obscene tone matches his denigration of Neoboule, the daughter of Lycambes, who is rejected as over-ripe (πέπειρα) and insatiable (κόρον. . .οὐκ) (196a W) and whom one speaker grubbily fantasizes about manhandling (118 W). Of the straw sucking specifically, for Archaic iambos ‘the appetitive and debased body constitutes a central common element, a body whose needs are focused around the open mouth’.15 The assimilation of the woman’s oral engagement (fellatio) to a foreign drinking practice thus comically imbues Archilochus’ standard iambic misogyny with ethnographic colour. It also strengthens the invective. Iambic verse was targeted verse, heaping ridicule and shame upon its victim. Unlike

12 13

14

15

consumption. Following Murray, the sympotic audience would then also experience the men’s transgressions and punishment. The resultant blurring between ‘us’ and ‘them’ would fit nicely with my coming argument regarding sympotic representation of foreign drinking in image and song, which invites audiences to reflect on the differences (or the lack of them) between Greek and foreign practices. The opening line of the poem is incomplete: see Gerber (1976). The addition of the straw is unlikely to be an Archilochean invention, but rather a reflection of an awareness of how beer could be drunk. See Homan (2004) 86 for a brief synopsis of archaeological, epigraphical and literary evidence (from Xenophon) of beer being drunk through a straw in the ancient Near East from the Middle Bronze to Iron Ages. We must join M. L. West (1994) 2–3 in being unsure what to do with another set of comparative evidence: the images of women being taken from behind whilst drinking through a tube from a jar on clay plaques, cylinder seals and seals from, respectively, Mesopotamia in the mid second millennium bce, fourteenth- or thirteenth-century Cyprus, and Achaemenid Persia (the last being potentially contemporary with Archilochus’ poem). Do Archilochus and the Near Eastern imagery draw upon a shared metaphor, one that is literally depicted on the plaques and seals (viewers would interpolate the sexual act for the straw sucking they saw) but which remains allusive in the former, so that both drinking and fellatio are simultaneously perceived? Either way, Archilochus introduces an ethnographic element into the analogy, an element that would be superfluous in the beer-drinking Near East. So, a seducer encourages his ‘tyrant mistress’ to conquer his unvanquished city with her spear (23 W), a prostitute bounces around in pleasure just like a kingfisher flapping on a projecting rock (41 W), virgins drive someone away from their doors (47 W), and a workman euphemistically ‘falls to his wineskin’ (πεσεῖν . . . ἐπ’ ἀσκόν) (119 W). Worman (2008) 44.

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the poems detailing the sexual proclivities of Neoboule and her sister, the present fragment has no discernible narrative context. But, like these verses, which form part of a wider campaign against the father, Lycambes, they may constitute an attempt to shame a woman and by consequence her menfolk through her portrayal as sexually vigorous and well used.16 If performed at the symposion, whether the intended male target was present or not, the simile draws the woman into the erotics of the sympotic realm, making her explicit sexual antics more risible through their similarity to amusing foreign drinking habits, or more precisely through her comparison to a beer-sucking Thracian or Phrygian male.17 A convoluted network of association, allusion and comparison playing on gender and ethnicity is instigated.18 Archilochus’ analogy utilizes foreign drinking customs to generate distance between the sympotic group and the female foreign victim of the poet’s abuse. Difference is identified and manipulated, keeping the winedrinking, male symposiasts at a remove from the imagined spectacle. A second iambic fragment attributed to Archilochus similarly projects foreign practices onto its target; this time the second person ‘you’ marks that target as a member of the real-time sympotic audience (if the fragment is read as a direct address) or an imagined drinking companion (if it is a line in a narrated conversation). The ‘foreigners’ to whom this symposiast is compared also lives much closer to home, residing on Mykonos, a Cycladic island directly across the water from Paros, where a resident Archilochus may first have found an audience for his verse. Pericles, Athenaeus (7f) states, was chastised for acting ‘in the manner of the Myconians’ (Μυκονίων δίκην, Archiloch. 124a W) by bursting into symposia uninvited: . . . πολλὸν δὲ πίνων καὶ χαλίκρητον μέθυ, οὔτε τῖμον εἰσενείκας < − ⏑ − x − ⏑ −> 16 17

18

For the damaging effects of Archilochus’ attack on Lycambes through Neoboule, see C. Brown (1997) 50–68. This argument assumes that Archilochean iambos was performed at symposia. The cultic origins of this genre have been well established by C. Brown (1997), and he especially demonstrates how Archilochus’ criticism of Lycambes and his daughters is socially potent. However, Carey (2009b) notes repeatedly how the basic topics and themes are shared by other genres comfortably located at the symposion, and the social dynamics that Brown envisages through the attacks on Lycambes work equally within a closed group, as demonstrated by Stehle (1997) 240–5. Although composed over a century earlier, the fragment’s dynamics of shaming through erotic display may provide a context for viewing an Attic red-figure kylix decorated by the Brygos Painter, c. 490, which features a ‘sympotic orgy’ amidst which a shorn-haired woman with a saggy stomach is penetrated orally and from behind, whilst violence is threatened against other cowering females: Florence, Museo Archeologico Etrusco 3921 (ARV2 372.31, 398; BD 203929). On the denigration of the ‘Other’ – women who, as pornai or prostitutes, were probably also foreigners and slaves – in this vase painting, see Sutton (2000) 196–7.

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οὐδὲ μὲν κληθεὶς < ⏑ − x > ἦλθες οἷα δὴ φίλος, ἀλλά σεο γαστὴρ νόον τε καὶ φρένας παρήγαγεν (Archilochus 124b W) εἰς ἀναιδείην. . . . drinking large quantities of unmixed wine, you neither brought a contribution . . . you came without being invited as a friend would, but your stomach led your mind and wits into shamelessness.

Athenaeus (8a) finds meaning for this comparison in the Myconians’ alleged reputation for greed and niggardliness, which he supports with a fragment of Cratinus. But this extrapolation is unnecessary. What it means to behave like a Myconian is articulated in the detail of Archilochus’ rebuke, and it extends beyond arriving uninvited to include heavy drinking, impropriety and behaving without shame. The central charges of breaching hospitality – acting as a friend, or philos, would not – and of gluttony are turned against Pericles. His sympotic faux pas are social transgressions that send him beyond the pale of the friendship group, into a space occupied elsewhere by the Odyssean beggar Irus and the suitors, who devour the estate of their absent host, and Semonides’ animal-women, whose consumption of food outweighs their contribution to the household.19 The ‘Myconian’ label confirms Pericles’ remove from the group. In this second iambic example, interplay is thus established between the ethics of men external not just to the sympotic community but to their polis and the conduct of a sympotic insider, which is consequently condemned. Similar thinking underlies Anacreon’s invitation to his companions to cease their Scythian drinking (356b Campbell). In Chapter 1 we noted the internal oppositions this song creates between types of drinking and conversation, as well as its possible responses to another Anacreontic verse (356a Campbell). A ‘Scythian drink’ (Σκυθικὴν πόσιν) is to be replaced by ‘sipping’ (ὑποπίνοντες), whilst fine songs (καλοῖς ὕμνοις) are to take the place of ‘clatter and hullabaloo’ (πατάγῳ τε κἀλαλητῷ). Within this evaluative framework, Scythian drinking is exuberant drinking, an accompaniment to or perhaps even inspiration for boisterous behaviour. But it is in fact a style of drinking that the sympotic group currently enjoys. Thus, although Anacreon’s playful blandishments lack the pointed vitriol of Archilochus’ iambos, foreign habits are again projected into the symposion to assert the undesirability of present

19

On these parallel cases, see C. Brown (2006) 37–9.

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participants’ conduct. An elegiac address from the Theognidea proceeds in a similar fashion when the singer asks: πῶς ὑμῖν τέτληκεν ὑπ’ αὐλητῆρος ἀείδειν θυμός; γῆς δ’ οὖρος φαίνεται ἐξ ἀγορῆς, ἥ τε τρέφει καρποῖσιν ἐν εἰλαπίναις φορέοντας ξανθῆισίν τε κόμαις πορφυρέους στεφάνους. ἀλλ’ ἄγε δὴ Σκύθα κεῖρε κόμην, ἀπόπαυε δὲ κῶμον, (Theognis 825–30 W) πένθει δ’ εὐώδη χῶρον ἀπολλύμενον. How does the spirit in you (plural) dare to sing to the aulos player? From the marketplace is visible the boundary of the land, which provides for the fruit-laden feasts where you wear purple garlands in your golden hair. But come now, Scythian, cut your hair, stop your revelry, and lament as our sweet-smelling land is destroyed.

The complaint in the first instance is directed to the group, but when one particular individual is addressed as ‘Scythian’, the peoples north of the Black Sea once more become a reference point for undesirable sympotics, his and theirs. This time, the charge is one of inappropriate revelry. With violence in the very fields that supply the banquet, singing to the pipes and enjoying the kōmos is indecently celebratory, a rejection of propriety. The view from the agora and the call to cut the long garlanded hair demands a physical and symbolic end to the komastry, the embracing of grief, and participation in the communal lament.20 To draw this together, while Archilochus’ metaphorical refashioning of Thracian and Phrygian beer sucking humorously draws upon common knowledge of these peoples’ drinking practices, other poetic imaginings of foreign (Myconian, Scythian) sympotics primarily delineate conduct considered unsuitable for members of the sympotic group. An observation by Herodotus provides an interesting corollary. Frequently cited as proof that the Greeks thought the Scythians drank unmixed wine, it tops the historian’s presentation of the Spartan theory that their king Cleomenes became an unmixed-wine drinker (ἀκρητοπότην) after spending an inordinate 20

The epic habit of cutting hair as a sign of mourning for a fallen comrade (e.g. Il. 23.45–6; Od. 4.197–8) is witnessed at a communal level when the Argives keep their formerly long hair short following the loss of Thyreae to the Spartans, and the Milesians shave their heads when Sybaris is destroyed (Hdt. 1.82, 6.21). Lysias (2.60) also says it would have been proper for Greece to shear its hair and lament the end of its freedom following defeat by Persian ships, presented here in the Funeral Oration as a consequence of Sparta’s victory over Athens at the end of the fifth century. As Todd (2007) 260 comments, the event referred to is the battle of Aegospotami. He also draws a hair-cutting parallel with Euripides’ Trojan Women 480. The cutting of hair when grieving, demanded in the Theognidean fragment, is later theorized in Aristotle’s Symposium (101 Rose).

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amount of time with Scythian ambassadors: ‘so they [the Spartans] themselves say, whenever they wish to drink purer wine, they call for a Scythian drink’ (ὡς αὐτοὶ λέγουσι, ἐπεὰν ζωρότερον βούλωνται πιεῖν, Ἐπισκύθισον λέγουσι, 6.84). Again, the allusion is entirely self-referential. Scythian practices are cast in order to define specific Spartan conduct, to separate it out from the norm. In light of the implicit connection to Cleomenes’ fate, his hybris, self-harm and madness, the label ‘Scythian’ cannot be neutral, despite the fact that this style is embraced frequently enough for the dictum to arise. As for Anacreon and Theognis, Spartans acquire a reference point for their own drinking habits through the Scythians, who are conveniently imbued with modes of drinking that are considered inappropriate or difficult. This self-positioning represents a shift from the epic narratives of the Odyssey, which featured the exposition of foreign peoples and their ethics through observation of their commensal practices, towards a definition of foreign practices through the classification of present misconduct as symptomatic of other peoples. The real ‘ethical others’ are of course inside the symposion. This fluidity between the actual and imagined sympotics of Greeks and others denotes an ambivalent attitude: everyday drinking might be ribald and indulgent and foreign, but it gains censure only when it is identified as such. In image At Athens paintings on red-figured drinking vessels from the late sixth and early fifth centuries tread a middle road between these trends, offering visions of difference through the figure of the ‘Scythian’ drinker and, at other times, collapsing that difference. The term ‘Scythian’ requires inverted commas because the ethnic identity of the characters who wear high-topped hats with long lappets has recently fallen under review. At issue is the frame of reference available to painters and drinkers in the fifth century: on the basis of their experience and knowledge, would they recognize wearers of this alien hat as Scythian (did Scythians wear it, and/ or did Athenians think Scythians wore it)? Or would they recognize a vague Persian or Eastern type (could or did Athenians distinguish peoples by their haberdashery)? Two arguments point in the latter direction. First, while pointy-hatted Scythians, or Saka in Old Persian, are attested on contemporary Achaemenid monuments and in Herodotus’ description of their forces (7.64), a precise parallel with the iconography of vase painting cannot be secured. Persians too were thought to wear hats, and there is enough variation in the Attic repertoire to allow for the possibility that

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non-Scythian Easterners or generic foreigners are implied.21 Secondly, the Attic black-figure ‘Scythian archer’ who first sports the hat has been reevaluated as a standard ‘second-rank companion’, fashioned according to the costume of ethnically indeterminate archers in the Median and Persian armies.22 If this new reading is correct, then the identity of symposiasts who share their attire equally requires re-evaluation. Two observations seem appropriate. First, with regard to Scythian dress, finds from burial mounds in modern-day Ukraine indicate that by the fourth century, at any rate, inhabitants of the area north of the Black Sea were consuming images of themselves in the high hat with lappets familiar from the earlier Attic ceramic repertoire.23 Indeed, a much earlier artefact from further east, found in a seventh- or sixth-century kurgan at Kelermes on the Dnieper, depicts a man holding an axe (the weapon on which he appears) and wearing a high hat with lappets upon his head.24 Of course, Scythian selfrepresentation does not answer the question of exactly what early fifthcentury Athenians saw when they looked at capped symposiasts on their drinking vessels, but if Archaic Greeks encountered Scythians at home or abroad they may have seen and recognized the special hat on their heads.25 But they may also have identified generic ‘Persians’. Bovon (1963, 593, figs. 17–18) presents contemporary iconographical parallels for the ‘Persian’ costume of patterned pantaloons and tunic on Attic pottery from the first half of the fifth century on a cylinder from Persepolis and an Achaemenid statuette: both figures wear the high hat. This chain of thought returns us to the crux of the problem: the difficulty in assigning a precise perceived origin to the hat. Perhaps more convincingly, and this is our second observation, in the literary 21

22 23

24 25

See Miller (1991) 61–6. The monuments are the Bisitun and Apadna reliefs erected by the Persian kings Darius and Xerxes c. 510 and c. 490 respectively. Miller (1991, 63) speculates that hat-wearing foreigners depicted before the Persian Wars were probably Scythians, while those afterwards were Persians, but she demonstrates the inconclusiveness of the evidence for precise perceptions of Scythian dress. Ivantchik (2006). Relevant fourth-century Graeco-Scythian items featuring men in hats include: a golden jar from the Kul’-Oba kurgan, purportedly showing scenes from a Scythian foundation myth: Jerusalem, Israel Museum: Schiltz (1994) 171, fig. 24; a gold scabbard from Chertomlyk on which a ‘Scythian archer’ battles with Greek-style warriors: St Petersburg, Hermitage Museum; and a comb from the Soloka hoard: St Petersburg, Hermitage Museum: Schiltz (1994) 136–9, figs. 102–3. Alekseyev (2005) outlines possible Scythian narratives for the comb and identifies parallels between the costumes of the warriors and other items in the Solokha hoard. For the axe, see Schiltz (1994) 99, fig. 74. For Scythians ‘at home’, the slave population may have been an important constituent: see D. Lewis (2011) 91 n. 5 for bibliography. Lewis, however, argues for a larger proportion of slaves from the Persian empire at Athens than has previously been accepted, which puts (hat-wearing?) Near Easterners ‘at home’ too.

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material above Scythians are the automatic non-Greek reference point for Anacreon, Theognis, and Herodotus’ Spartans when evaluating drinking. Although the drinking habits of other cultures were known, no one else is located in sympotic space before the Persian Wars.26 Yet, an absence of evidence cannot be conclusive. For now the attribution of the domed hat with lappets on Attic pots must remain open, allowing potential specificity (Scythian, Persian) and generalization (‘Eastern’, but probably not at this date ‘barbarian’) in readings of the symposiasts who wear them. There is in fact a benefit here: we can avoid drawing upon modern assumptions about precise ethnicities (which largely build on later literary sources, many of which we will encounter below) and approach the hats and their wearers within their immediate iconographical contexts.27 The vase paintings can be divided roughly according to their narrative content: one pattern depicts hat-wearing drinkers reclining alone, and another sets them amidst sympotic revelry. A fragmentary red-figure cup now in Florence and dated c. 510–500 is typical of the former (Figure 4).28 Decorated only on the tondo, its interior scene belongs to a series attributed to or considered near the work of the Pithos Painter. With over forty extant examples, these vary in their level of detail or abstraction but largely share the same basic scheme: a man naked except for his cap reclines on the floor, cushions, or what may on occasion be a boulder; his gaze focuses backwards or down, to where a drinking horn is commonly silhouetted on the red ground.29 As on the Florence cup, the foreign hat is one of several referents that define the drinker. While his open posture is typical for a reclining symposiast, the ‘natural’ setting, intimated by an absence of couches and cushions, may project him into the primitive past, as well as into the rugged outdoors.30 The vocabulary of foreignness and rusticity is extended by the gently curving drinking horn that captures the reclining man’s gaze. Drinking horns were the preferred vessels of herding and hunting societies, 26

27 28 29 30

To return to the iconography, a ‘Persian’ – i.e. a person dressed in a patterned costume with tightfitting sleeves – seems to recline holding a rhyton with an animal protome on a mid-fifth-century redfigure cup: Oxford, Ashmolean Museum 1966.688 (ARV2 829.38, 1671; BD 210293): see Miller (1997) 143. Side-stepping the unavoidable problems with ethnic identification, this symposiast is distinguished from the hat wearers because he adopts full ‘Persian’ garb. The sympotic hat wearers bear no other ethnographic indicators. Note that all bar one of the painted pots analysed below were produced before the Persian Wars. Compare Pipili (2000), whose study of workmen on Attic figured pottery prioritizes their headgear, but as one active signifier amongst others in a scene. Florence, Museo Archeologico Etrusco 11B1, DB4 (ARV2 141.3, 352.12; BD 201233). The rhyton is absent on Florence, Museo Archeologico Etrusco 20B19 (ARV2 140.35; BD 201192). On natural settings and primitivism, especially with regard to the Pithos Painter’s drinkers, see Topper (2009).

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Figure 4 Fragments of an Attic red-figure kylix attributed to the Pithos Painter, c. 510–500, tondo.

who relied upon the animals they raised and killed for the fabrics of their existence: societies such as the Scythians, in fact.31 They also held neat wine and, unsurprisingly therefore, are found predominantly (although not exclusively) in the hands of Dionysus and satyrs on Athenian figured ware.32 Reclining alone, wrapped in upon himself, and focused on the

31

32

The drinking horn and its place in Scythian society is discussed by Jacobson (1995) 216–18, who describes fragments of engraved silver that adorned an otherwise decomposed drinking horn from the Kelermes burial (cf. figs. 95–6). He also presents fourth-century Graeco-Scythian dress plaques from Soloka that depict Scythians drinking (173, with figs. 55–6). The Persians also drank from gold and silver drinking horns (rhyta), some ending in the head or bust of an animal. These were exported in the fifth and fourth centuries as prestige items to Scythia, Thrace and Athens. While these passed into the Athenian ceramic repertoire, the basic horn depicted by the Pithos Painter did not. For Scythia, see Jacobson (1995) 218; for Thrace, see Ebbinghaus (1999); and for Athens, see Miller (1997) 141–3. For Dionysus and the drinking horn, see Gericke (1970) 19–21, 177–86 (cited by Lissarrague (1990b) 146, n. 80), and Carpenter (1986) pls. 7a –11a . For satyrs with drinking horns, see, for example, the interior and external fields of Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum 137 (ARV 104.1; BD 287); by comparison one of the human komasts who parallel the maenads and satyrs on the exterior carries a skyphos. However, it is worth noting that drinking horns are also carried by komasts and hang on walls on early Attic black-figure pots: for examples, see Carpenter (1986) 87–9. On scenes like the KX Painter’s procession, where the horn is one of several vessels carried by komasts in addition to the lyre, it is likely that any resonances of rusticity are Dionysian rather than ‘foreign’: Athens, National Archaeological Museum CC631 (ABV 26.21; BD 300299). See also the large drinking horn held by the man who rides a giant satyr perched upon a phallus pole carried by six men, a strand of ivy waving

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drinking horn, the foreign-hatted drinker enjoys a basic, enthusiastic consumption of undiluted wine. On this cup, the foreign hat is thus part of a package establishing a distinct mode of drinking, connoted by the combined elements of the miseen-scène. A symposiast finishing a draught of (presumably) mixed wine comes face to face with a rustic, foreign and quasi-Dionysian drinker. It is at this point, when the symposiast is literally ‘in his cup’, isolated from the group as he drains the vessel and locks his gaze on its central apparition, that he views an individualistic and intense style of drinking to compare to his own. Exactly where such comparison would lead any one symposiast on any particular occasion is of course impossible to pin down.33 However, the foreign headgear, setting and horn are markers of difference, and the downturned gaze of the tondo drinker, circumscribed within his painted circle, invites no communion. The depicted drinker opens up the symposiast’s present experience to reflection and definition, from a starting position of difference. How much and in what manner the symposiast currently enjoys the symposion would determine whether the end-point on the imaginative journey would preserve the contrast or result in virtual assimilation. Through its appearance in such scenes, the foreign hat acquires associations with rustic, Dionysian revelry; the ‘foreigner’ who wears it indulges in deep, inward-focused drinking. If this signification is carried forward with the hat into scenes of revelry on near-contemporary and later vessels, then an interesting disjunction emerges. For beyond the Pithos Painter’s repertoire, the high hat with lappets appears on the heads of men indulging in a variety of more or less conventional sympotic occupations. They recline on couches and cushions, converse with their neighbours, play kottabos, make music, embark upon erotic adventure and join the kōmos.34 In other words, they behave just like any other symposiast. While the hat singles out its wearer, other aspects of the composition integrate him into the group. For example, the exterior of a red-figure cup decorated by the Colmar Painter c. 500 presents two reclining triplets, one on each side of the vessel (Figure 5).35 In attire and action, these triplets are nearly identical. The left-hand and right-hand figures are drawn in the same posture. The youth on the

33

34 35

above them, on an unattributed drinking cup, c. 540: Florence, Museo Archeologico Etrusco 3897 (BD 547). Of this imagery, Lissarrague (2001) 215 notes, ‘the ivy, drinking horn, and the phallos convey the power of Dionysos, the god of wine and vegetation which is always green’. And, of course, the audiences for this image were not confined to Athens. The provenance of the Florence cup is presumably Italian, and, in addition to Athens and its agora, Lissarrague (1990b) 145 gives provenances for comparable cups by the Pithos Painter at Thebes, Corinth and Delos. See Miller (1991) 78–81, nos. 3–12. New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 16.174.41 (ARV2 355.35; BD 203718).

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Figure 5 Attic red-figure kylix attributed to the Colmar Painter, c. 500, sides A and B.

left-hand side holds a cup in front of him with his left hand; raising his right arm, he turns his head to face the right. The right-hand youth reclines with his back to the viewer and turns towards the left. Both gaze at a central figure who on one side, dressed in the distinctive hat, plays an aulos and on the other raises his cup to drink, or perhaps to make a kottabos throw. The effect is to distinguish the pipe-playing symposiast, who stands out on account of his foreign attire, whilst simultaneously undermining that difference through his compositional equivalency to the cup-holding figure diametrically opposite. If the hat conveys a distinctive mode of drinking, one that is primitive, intense and non-Greek (Scythian?), how far is it also shared by his coeval, and perhaps others who are not similarly attired? Is the ‘odd man out’ really so different from his companions?36 These questions might complicate the present occupation of the viewing symposiast too. The issue is raised in a slightly different manner on a contemporary redfigure cup attributed to the Triptolemos Painter, who decorated the outside 36

I adopt the terminology of Heinemann (2009) 35, who applies it to characters on late Archaic redfigure ware whose physiognomy or actions distinguish them from their sympotic colleagues. These figures also operate discursively.

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with two pairs of reclining youths.37 In one pair, the right-hand figure who reaches towards his friend’s genitals wears a domed cap; in the other, the cap sits on the head of the left-hand youth who holds a drinking cup. The body posture is otherwise so close that when the viewer turns the cup around, the hat appears to migrate from one symposiast to another. A final symposiast in the tondo is also implicated in this scheme by other iconographical connections. Although the youth depicted here does not wear the hat, he is garlanded like the hatless symposiasts on the exterior and, as he dances, he balances his skyphos on an outstretched hand, mimicking the right-hand figures. The mutuality of the symposiasts is enhanced by the repeated inscription ‘the boy is beautiful’ (ho pais kalos) in every frame. Eroticism, wine and, in the tondo, dancing and music (indicated by the presence of the animal-skin pipe case) pervade the scenes. Once more the hats add nuance to their wearers, while the generic qualities and iconographic parallels potentially extend this to their companions. Thus, on the Colmar and Triptolemos Painters’ cups, the iconographic associations of the foreign hat, as articulated by the Pithos Painter, encourage the sympotic viewer to see a rustic and intensive drinking in the revelry depicted for him, and potentially unfolding around him. We might imagine his gaze travelling from the painted symposion to the musical performances, drinking, gameplaying or love-making of his real-world companions. Indeed, just as the drinking horn of the Pithos Painter’s tondo scenes evoked Dionysian and satyric revelry, some wearers of the ‘Scythian’ cap indulge in a style of revelry that is distinctly satyric, or rather has close parallels in the vase-painting repertoire of satyric sympotics. For example, on an unattributed red-figure cup from the end of the sixth century, a naked youth in a ribboned cap straddles a fallen amphora.38 Like the wineskin hanging behind him, the amphora is a carrier of neat wine, and in form the scene is reminiscent of those in which satyrs playfully straddle and grapple with their wineskins.39 In a fragment from another unattributed cup of similar date (Figure 6), a beardless cap-wearing male reclines, holding an amphora decked with ivy in his lap.40 Again there is an element of play. Not only does the figure look as though he might lift the amphora with his two arms and drink from it, but because his legs are spread the bulbous amphora takes the place of his erect penis. This playful eroticism may be enhanced by 37 38 39 40

Leipzig, Kunstgewerbemuseum 781.03 (ARV2 364.51; BD 203843). Geneva, Collection Fondation Thetis, Zimmerman-Camay 105 (BD 30501): Miller (1991) fig. 2. See Lissarrague (1990a) 74–5, figs. 56–7. Moscow, Pushkin State Museum of Fine Arts F1410 (BD 24953).

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Figure 6 Fragment of an unattributed attic red-figure kylix, c. 510, tondo.

a kalos inscription, assuming the . . . AI . . . of the fragments belong to the common phrase ho pais kalos. The interchangeability of the drinking vessel and phallus also has satyric parallels. For example, on a fragment of a redfigure cup painted by Euthymides c. 520, a standing satyr bends forward to grab the end of a pointed amphora, the top of which nestles into his groin. Again, the erotic associations of wine are recalled.41 Of course, garlanded, rather than high-hatted, youths might also indulge in similar physical and visual game play, as Lissarrague has shown (1990a, 68–75). The foreign hat is thus one in a series of markers for exuberant, erotically charged drinking with satyric resonance. Indeed, hat-wearing symposiasts and satyrs might be closely juxtaposed. Around the rim of a ram’s head rhyton dated c. 480–470, the Brygos Painter depicted a hat-wearing symposiast playing the aulos to two companions who sing and drink.42 Under the handle and behind the ram’s horns their Dionysian counterparts process, including a balding, pointy-eared satyr draped in an animal skin who also plays the pipes. Both characters’ cheeks puff out, lending them an iconographical affinity (as depicted in Figure 7). Finally, two sympotic pairs on either side of a cup decorated by the Thorvaldsen Group in the late sixth century are accompanied on the tondo by a bushy-bearded satyr running with a full swag of wine swung across his back and a drinking horn in his hand.43 There is no visual correspondence between the interior and exterior scenes: the symposiast in the high hat drinks from a cup, as does his female companion, while a game of kottabos is in progress on the other side. Instead the tondo scene 41

42 43

Paris, Musée du Louvre CP11072 (ARV2 27.7; BD 200148): Lissarrague (1990a) 80, fig. 66. A satyr also copulates with an amphora in a similar fashion in the tondo of a red-figure cup attributed to Skythes from the second half of the sixth century: Palermo, Museo Archeologico Regionale V651 (ARV2 1578.12; BD 200431). Cleveland, Museum of Art 88.8 (BD 44593). Berlin, Antikensammlung F2270 (Para. 377; BD 212304).

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Figure 7 Attic red-figure ram’s head rhyton attributed to the Brygos Painter, c. 480–470, detail from rim and under handle.

introduces a satyric world of neat-wine drinking to which the ethnic hat in part alludes. To Lissarrague (1990b, 141–9), the high hat indicated an intention amongst its wearers to ‘faire le Scythe’. Satyric resonances might be understandable in light of a perceived connection between the drinking habits of Scythians and satyrs, as witnessed in an exchange between two characters in the satyr drama Aethon by the mid-fifth-century tragedian, Achaeus. Mixing water (the river Acheloos) with wine is not the custom of their tribe, says one satyr, to which his companion remarks ‘we like to drink like the Scythians’ (καλῶς μὲν οὖν ἄγειν σκύθη πιεῖν, 9 N).44 However, if the assumed ‘Scythian’ associations of the hat and this later retrojection are set aside, then the hat, as a token of non-Greek ethnicity, operates within a chain of indicators of rustic, intense, eroticized, satyric consumption. On its introduction a robust revelry is inferred and standard sympotics acquire a foreign hue. The alien hat thus complicates drinking by subtly (or in some cases, not so subtly) setting its potential extremes in full view. This is somewhat similar to the full sympotic immersion witnessed in the poetry of Anacreon and on contemporary vessels in Chapter 1. On this occasion, however, a Greek symposiast, reflecting on his current occupation, might ask: are we not all ‘Scythians’?

the ethnography and ethics of drinking in herodotus So far, representations of and allusions to the drinking practices of other peoples have been intimately bound to Greek ethics. Circulating in poetry and image at the symposion, they offer a prism on problematic aspects of drinking at home rather than a coherent analysis of foreign customs. 44

Lissarrague (1990b) 147.

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Herodotus, by contrast, utilizes the communal drinking practices of the peoples he surveys in the Histories to construct detailed portraits of their customs and character. For example, as part of an ethnographic package incorporating the origins, language and religion of the Caunians, their custom of drinking together by age group and friendship, men, women and children too, marks their difference from everyone else, including their Carian neighbours (1.172). Egyptians too enjoy distinctive symposia. After dinner a wooden icon of a corpse in a coffin is shown to each guest, who receives the following instruction: ‘looking upon this, drink and enjoy; for so you will be when you are dead’ (ἐς τοῦτον ὁρέων πῖνέ τε καὶ τέρπευ· ἔσεαι γὰρ ἀποθανὼν τοιοῦτος, 2.78). Much attention is paid to whether Herodotus describes a true Egyptian practice; however, more importantly for the ethnographical discourse, the performative display of wisdom imparts a moral sensibility to the people currently under scrutiny.45 Indeed, this sensibility chimes thematically with the coming report of the Egyptian king Mycerinus’ attempt to postpone his foretold death by drinking and enjoying himself in day-long revelry, hoping to extend his promised six years into twelve by turning night into day (2.133). Moving well beyond the minutiae of diet that preoccupied Hecataeus and Hellanicus, the representation of foreign sympotics adds depth to Herodotus’ ethnographic study and also coherence to his narrative. This is most in evidence in his treatment of the Scythians and Persians, the likely foils for those hat-wearing symposiasts on the figured pottery examined above. For each people, Herodotus weaves distinctive patterns of consumption that prioritize and unsettle their difference to facilitate the Histories’ ethical and political examinations: not just his ethnographic investigations, but his exposition through inference on contemporary Athens. Foreign sympotics once again enable the target Greek audience to reflect upon its own conduct and attitudes. Scythian drinking: wine, blood, and war Given the sympotic vision of Scythian drinking outlined above, the most striking aspect of Herodotus’ description of Scythian practice is the absence of 45

For comparative effigies and poetry from the Egyptian record, see A. B. Lloyd (1976) 336–7. His conclusion that Herodotus’ banqueting scene is plausible on their account is unsettled by the reminder from Grotanelli (1995) 77–82 that the Old to New Kingdom poems were inscribed in tombs, where they addressed the deceased rather than the living, more often inciting him to enjoy his afterlife than to ‘seize the day’. Lichtheim’s (1945) extensive survey of the so-called ‘orchestra’ and ‘banquet’ songs demonstrates the range of sentiment within these songs, which are frequently inscribed alongside banqueting scenes.

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raucous revelry or neat-wine drinking.46 The ethnographic analysis begins with a description of how the Scythians milk their horses (4.2); one subgroup, the Agrippaei, are further reported to drink milk mixed with juice extracted from the fruit of a local tree (4.23). This sets them in the mould of the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women’s ‘mare-milking Scythians’ (Σκύθας ἱππημολγούς, 150 MW) and the nomadic Scythians of Hippocrates’ Airs, Waters, Places, who ‘drink the milk of horses’ (πίνουσι γάλα ἵππων, 18).47 With this daily diet, Herodotus’ Scythians are also reminiscent of the cave-dwelling Polyphemus. But unlike this drunken lout, whose antics would soon be staged at Athens in Euripides’ Cyclops (and possibly already had been in Callias’ comedy, Cyclopes), they shared wine productively: ἅπαξ δὲ τοῦ ἐνιαυτοῦ ἑκάστου ὁ νομάρχης ἕκαστος ἐν τῷ ἑωυτοῦ νομῷ κρίναται κρητῆρα οἴνου, ἀπ᾽ οὗ πίνουσι τῶν Σκυθέων τοῖσι ἂν ἄνδρες πολέμιοι ἀραιρημένοι ἔωσι. τοῖσι δ᾽ ἂν μὴ κατεργασμένον ᾖ τοῦτο, οὐ γεύονται τοῦ οἴνου τούτου, ἀλλ᾽ ἠτιμωμένοι ἀποκατέαται· ὄνειδος δέ σφί ἐστι μέγιστον τοῦτο. ὅσοι δὲ ἂν αὐτῶν καὶ κάρτα πολλοὺς ἄνδρας ἀραιρηκότες ἔωσι, οὗτοι δὲ σύνδυο κύλικας ἔχοντες πίνουσι ὁμοῦ. (Herodotus, Histories 4.66) Once a year each provincial governor in his own territory mixes a krater of wine, and all the Scythians who have killed an enemy that year drink from it. Anyone who has not managed to do this does not partake of the wine, but sits to one side dishonoured; this is the greatest reproach to them. Any of them who have killed large numbers of men are given two cups to drink together (trans. Waterfield (1998), adapted).

These sympotics are both alien and familiar. At a formal level, the mixing of wine in and its distribution from a krater recall Greek practice. Conceptually, the primary process of apportioning praise and blame through distributions is also intelligible, recalling two common modes of discourse in sympotic poetry, and transferring the Homeric practice of awarding the best cuts of meat as a prize to the most honoured warrior into the sympotic plane.48 Yet, the disbarment of men who fail to kill from 46

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Scythians become drunk on only one occasion in the Histories: when the group of Scythians who ruled Asia for twenty-eight years were hosted by the Medes, made drunk (καταμεθύσσαντες) and then slaughtered (1.106). This story follows a pattern in which hybristic autocrats are lured into mortal peril through the over-consumption of alcohol: see Chapter 4. It is not a measure of Scythian practice. Note, Scythians are also eaters of hippakē in Aeschylus’ Prometheus Unbound 198 N. The Iliad’s ‘maremilking milk eaters’ are usually considered to correlate with the northern mare milkers identified later as Scythians (13.1–6). For this characteristic see Thomas (2000) 57–61, and for Hippocrates’ Scythians see S. West (1999) 30–1. At the Iliad’s ‘equal feasts’ (the δαίς, e.g. 7.313–22) the distribution of particular portions of meat conveys relative honour, that is honour relative to the portion of meat attributed to others: see Rundin (1996) 194–5. However, withholding meat as a mark of dishonour does not feature. Perhaps,

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the drinking group constitutes a visible act of segregation that creates hierarchies of honour and shame within the community. It thus has a perceptible and meaningful sociological function. This distinguishes the reported Scythian practice from an alleged parallel in Xenophon’s Constitution of the Lacedaemonians.49 While at Sparta it would be shameful to have a coward (τòν κακόν) for a messmate (Xen. Lac. 9.4), at their annual symposion the Scythians actively reproach those deemed deficient. A similar value structure focused on martial accomplishment is deployed, but in Scythia the rejection of underperformers in the local community from the sympotic group is physically enacted in a face-to-face assignment of honour through the apportionment of wine.50 Moreover, the tone and purpose of the sympotic ritual advances Herodotus’ development of the Scythians’ martial character. In foregoing chapters Herodotus reports on their conduct in war, representing the Scythians as drinking the blood of first kills and fashioning drinking cups from enemy skulls (4.64–5) – sympotic variants, perhaps, on Achilles’ wrathful desire to cannibalize the dying Hector in the Iliad (Il. 22.346–7). Indeed, the Scythian display of valour through drinking is reinforced when the skull cups become testimony to ‘what they call courage’ (ταύτην ἀνδραγαθίην λέγοντες, 4.65), as props that prompt the retelling of past conquests when they are presented to guests. Herodotus’ qualificatory aside might suggest that the Scythian view of courage diverges from the Greek, but when Scythians drink, their prowess in war is always on display. The same characterization is embedded in the description of a sympotic oath-taking ritual practised by the Scythians. To swear an oath, wine was poured into a large ceramic cup; each party then cut themselves to allow their blood to mingle (συμμίσγουσι) with the wine. After their weapons were dipped into the mixture and prayers were offered, the oath-takers and the most worthy of their followers drank the cocktail (4.70). This procedure has similarities to oath making in Arabia. There the palms of those making the oath are cut and their blood is smeared on seven stones, and the oath is secured by deities equivalent to Dionysus – who we might consider present at the Scythian process in the wine – and Urania (3.8). However, two

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as Saïd (1979) 22 observes of the Odyssey, ‘Le festin permet, par les exclusions qu’il suppose, de définir une communauté’ (quoted by Rundin, 196, n. 33), but there is no explicit expression of exclusion from the gathered group in the Iliad. On Homeric distributions, see also Sherratt (2004) 309–10. Proposed as a Spartan parallel by Munson (2001) 114. A closer parallel is perhaps found in Ctesias’ Persica (F40 Lenfant), where those whom the king dishonours (ἀτιμάσῃ) use ceramic cups. This lacks the martial foundation but shares the performative attribution of merit through exclusion from normal drinking practice.

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dramatic episodes from the Histories highlight more clearly the martial ethic that is evoked by the Scythian ritual. First, during the preliminaries to a battle against the Persians near Pelusium, mercenary troops fighting for the Egyptians, angry with the turncoat Phanes, seized his sons. Setting a krater between the two armies – ‘in the middle’ (ἐν μέσῳ), the usual position for a krater at the symposion – they cut each child’s throat over the bowl, in full view of his father.51 The soldiers then added wine and water and drank the resulting mixture, before entering battle (3.11). In this instance the shared consumption of the bloody potion is a performance and a promise, a display of vengeance and an intimation of the bloodletting to come. Secondly, claiming to satisfy the bloodlust (αἵματος κορέσω) of the invading Persian king Cyrus, Tomyris, queen of the Massagetae, immersed his severed head in a wineskin filled with blood (1.214). (Cyrus’ deadly use of wine against Tomyris’ son is discussed below.) Her practical metaphor reinforces the association between blood drinking and martial violence witnessed at Pelusium and in the Scythian practice of drinking the blood of first kills, and which is coded also in communal bloodletting and blood drinking during the Scythian oath-taking ritual.52 Herodotus’ presentation of Scythian drinking is thus consistent. At the level of basic consumption, these people are milk drinkers, wine drinkers and blood drinkers, a tripartite coding that Hartog (1988, 166–70) maps onto broader representations of the Scythians and views as fundamental to their aporia, a diversely established difference. However, in terms of how Scythians drink, their sympotics proceed in a socially significant and internally coherent fashion that confirms they are a fighting people. As in all of Herodotus’ ethnographic sections, there is an element of titillation in the presentation of customs at variance from the Greek norm.53 However, it is not found in the uncontrolled sympotics attributed to the Scythians by Spartan drinkers (6.84). Indeed, Scythians reject Dionysian worship for its inebriating effects, as demonstrated by the deposition and decapitation of their monarch Scyles, a part-Greek philhellene who entered the Bacchic 51 52

53

On the location of the krater centre stage as the visual focus and symbol of the drinking group’s shared endeavour at the symposion, see Lissarrague (1990a) 27–36 and (1990c). Herodotus (1.214; cf. 1.95) knows several other accounts of Cyrus’ death but chooses this one as ‘most trustworthy’ (πιθανώτατος) – presumably the tale most in tune with what he knows about Cyrus and the Scythians. Some other possible, but less resonant, endings for the king are suggested by SancisiWeerdenburg (1985), who is primarily interested in locating the peaceful demise granted to Cyrus by Xenophon within Greek and Persian traditions. A trend identified by Redfield (1985) 97. Cf. Lévy (1981) 65, for whom gilding enemy skulls and drinking blood are examples of Herodotus’ macabre preference for painting foreign and cruel customs.

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rites at Borysthenes (4.78–80).54 Thus, while the historian conforms to a broader vision of the ‘Scythian nomad’ as a milk drinker and continues to define Scythian drinking as different, the terms of this difference are skewed away from the raucous and inappropriate revelry referenced in fragments of Anacreon and the Theognideia. (From this retrospective position, the martial tenor and blood mixing would add nuance to the primitive rusticity of the Florence cup’s hat-wearing drinker.) Herodotus’ ethnographic construction does not so much rectify earlier traditions as imprint a particular vision upon the Scythians.55 Possibly, ‘knowledge’ of Scythian customs was gleaned and elaborated from conversations in the Greek cities of the Black Sea or with individuals who may have encountered Scythians through travel and trade, or perhaps even from wandering Scythians.56 But most tellingly, the martial character expressed through Scythian acts of symposion corresponds precisely to their primary historical accomplishment narrated by Herodotus (4.89– 142), namely the successful expulsion of invading Persians led by Darius. The ethics constructed for the Scythians through their drinking therefore provides an explanation for their success against the Persians. They might convey something about the Greeks too. In the Histories the Scythians are the one people to share Greek success against the Persians and their passion for freedom: two hardy peoples who see off the aggression of a softer nation.57 Lateiner (1989, 156) even argues that through Darius’ campaign the Scythians offer a proto-parallel to the Athenians who will defeat the Persians by making ‘nomadism’ their central defence strategy during Xerxes’ invasion.58 Is there, then, something of the Scythian martial character in the Greeks? The question is never explicitly posed, and certainly there are no precise parallels for Scythian sympotics amongst Herodotus’ Greeks to make obvious connections. But the Egyptian mercenaries who imbibed the blood-and-wine mixture on the battlefield at Pelusium were 54 55 56

57 58

For the dynamics of this episode, see Hartog (1988) 62–84. See for instance Lévy (1981), who proposes an Archaic idealization of the Scythians as noble and wellordered nomads for Herodotus to modify. The banishment of the ‘liar school’ of scholarship which at its extreme presented Herodotus as an armchair historian with a lively imagination allows some credence to be given to the possibility of a Herodotean sojourn in the Greek cities of the Black Sea: see Braund’s (2008) interpretation of Herodotus’ Scythian logos as the product of conversations and interactions within the region between Greeks and non-Greeks. Even if Herodotus did not personally visit the area, the identification by Kim (2010) of Scythian narrative patterns in Herodotus’ account of this people’s origins, organization and actions from a comparative Central Asian perspective suggests some active engagement with circulating traditions deriving from the Scythian region. On Scythian slaves at Athens, cf. n. 25, above. This is Redfield’s (1985) 111 terminology. The premise of Persian softness will be picked up shortly in the next section. That is to say, the Athenians ‘abandon their city. . . send away their families, become inaccessible to the Persian army, stymie the greater military machine’s strategy and tactics’.

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Greek. Recent studies of similarities between Spartans and Scythians suggest some blurring of the boundaries between Greek and foreign peoples in Herodotus’ work and make this an ambition of the historian.59 Indeed, a quite different example involving the Massagetae, a people whom Herodotus claims resemble, are confused with and are said to be Scythian (compare 1.202 and 1.215–16), points towards shared aspects of experience between the Greeks and this people: ἄλλα δέ σφι ἐξευρῆσθαι δένδρεα καρποὺς τοιούσδε τινὰς φέροντα, τοὺς ἐπείτε ἂν ἐς τὠυτὸ συνέλθωσι κατὰ ἴλας καὶ πῦρ ἀνακαύσωνται κύκλῳ περιιζομένους ἐπιβάλλειν ἐπὶ τὸ πῦρ, ὀσφραινομένους δὲ καταγιζομένου τοῦ καρποῦ τοῦ ἐπιβαλλομένου μεθύσκεσθαι τῇ ὀδμῇ κατά περ Ἕλληνας τῷ οἴνῳ πλεῦνος δὲ ἐπιβαλλομένου τοῦ καρποῦ μᾶλλον μεθύσκεσθαι, ἐς ὃ ἐς ὄρχησίν τε ἀνίστασθαι καὶ ἐς ἀοιδὴν ἀπικνέεσθαι. (Herodotus, Histories 1.202) They have also discovered a kind of plant whose fruit they use when they meet in groups. They light a bonfire, sit around it, throw this fruit on the fire, and sniff the smoke rising from the burning fruit they have thrown on to the fire.The fruit is the equivalent there to wine in Greece: they get intoxicated from the smoke, and they throw more fruit on to the fire and get even more intoxicated, until they eventually stand up and dance, and burst into song (trans. Waterfield (1998)).

The inhalation of vapours released by the burning fruit offers a precise alternative to the drinking of wine enjoyed by the Hellenes, which likewise promotes drunkenness (μεθύσκεσθαι) and can culminate in music and dancing, as the betrothal party hosted by Cleisthenes of Sicyon shows (6.129). Ideas of primitivism may be at play here in the Massagetae’s reliance upon wild produce for their high, rather than the cultivated vine, but essentially, the Greeks and this Scythian tribe share an underlying convivial form. Difference belies similarity.

59

For the Spartan–Scythian connection, see Hinge (2003) and Braund (2004). Hinge looks for Spartan parallels for Herodotus’ Scythians beyond the text and focuses particularly on structure and ritual: for example drinking the blood of a first kill and the ‘festival of shame’ are compared to liminal and aggregative components of the Spartan krypteia, a rite of passage for young males (62). The scholar thus moves from Herodotus’ textual constructs to ‘reality’, and in doing so imagines an ‘othering’ of the Spartans through similarity and allusion. Braund more sensibly confines himself to an examination of contact points between the two peoples within the Histories and proposes instead that the possession of shared qualities and habits by the two groups lessens the ‘othering’ of the Scythians: ‘The effect of all this is not to make the Spartans barbarians (an “internal other” amongst the Greeks, as some would have it) or the Scythians Greek, but constructively to problematize the crude dichotomy of Greek and barbarian. For such, after all, was the broader purpose of Herodotus’ Histories’ (40). This is the conclusion of Pelling (1997) on the Histories too.

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Persian symposia are at once more familiar and less visible in the Histories. This is because consuming wine whilst reclining on couches, standard features of the Greek symposion thought to have emerged through contact with the ‘East’, takes place within the context of banqueting. While communal drinking again plays an active role in the ethical construction of the Persians, it is effective within a blended commensal package. This is apparent from the first glimpse of dining customs at a moment of transition for the Persians. Intent upon leading a revolt against the Median king Astyages, Cyrus first puts his Persian tribesman to labour in the fields, then on the next day stages a reclining banquet for them, for which livestock are slaughtered and the most suitable food and wine are supplied. After dinner he invites his guests to decide which activity they prefer. When they choose ‘all good things’ (πάντα ἀγαθά) over toil he promises his army more of the same if they stand up to Astyages – and they do (1.126). So the roughliving Persians embark upon a lifestyle of conquest and luxury. As the occasion for enjoying good food and wine, the banquet tout ensemble is a stimulus for the Persian’s transition in fortune and character. In the historical run up to their defeat by the Greeks it also becomes a marker for this transition. The likely consequences of the Persians’ new lifestyle are signalled early on in the Histories, when Croesus is advised against attacking the Persians because they are the kind of people who wear leather and live on rugged terrain: they drink water instead of wine, and figs are their only delicacy. Herodotus in narratorial persona confirms that before the Persians conquered Croesus’ kingdom of Lydia, in their homeland ‘there was no luxury nor anything good at all’ (ἦν οὔτε ἁβρὸν οὔτε ὰγαθὸν οὐδέν) (1.71). As predicted, the Persians do defeat their Lydian attackers and proceed to conquer the country. By the time when Cyrus marches into Scythia, Croesus can propose that the ‘good things of Persia’ (ἀγαθῶν τε Περσικῶν) be presented to the Massagetae in the form of a banquet lavishly set with kraters of unmixed wine and every manner of food (1.207). At this banquet the inexperienced northerners lie down (κλιθέντες) to eat, take their fill of food and wine, fall asleep and are slaughtered; it is this assault which leads Tomyris to confront Cyrus and submerge his severed head in a blood-filled wineskin (2.211–14). Temporarily succumbing to the ‘good things’ they currently lack proves hazardous for the Massagetae, but in the end they overpower the Persians, who, following their conquest of Lydia and other territories, now enjoy such delights on a regular basis.

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The point is reiterated when, following the defeat and retreat of Xerxes from Greece, the Spartan regent Pausanias encounters the king’s furnishings and requests the preparation of a Persian feast and then a Spartan one. The gold and silver couches draped with embroidered covers, the gold and silver tables and the magnificence of the dinner with its spread of good things (τὰ προκείμενα ἀγαθά) are compared with the wretched (ὀϊζυρήν) Spartan fare (9.82). The distinction between the indulgent Persians and the rugged Spartans is made manifest in their rival dining customs and brought to bear on their respective defeat and victory. Pursuing a lifestyle focused on the good things embodied in the banquet effects a change in their national character (in Herodotus’ vocabulary, ēthea), which impacts on their military prowess. Like the Lydians before them, they are now susceptible to hardier forces. The nature of this change is articulated in the Histories’ closing lines, which flashback to Cyrus warning his troops against over-extending themselves through further conquest. The Persians, Herodotus concludes, ‘chose to rule and live in a harsh land rather than to cultivate fertile plains and be slaves to others’ (ἄρχειν τε εἵλοντο λυπρὴν οἰκέοντες μᾶλλον ἤ πεδιάδα σπείροντες ἄλλοισι δουλεύειν, 9.122). The good things which Cyrus commends to his men in the shape of a reclining banquet with food and wine, and which are subsequently symbolized through Persian dining style, transforms them in the long run from rulers to slaves. Contemporary Persian commensality is thus desirable, but ultimately deleterious, and it is no coincidence that Croesus recommends that to ensure Lydian docility, Cyrus require this newly conquered people to wear slippers and play the kithara and lyre, or in other words to take up a sympotic life (1.155). What precisely Persian banqueting may have entailed is identified during Herodotus’ ethnographic survey. He first mentions the tukta, or birthday party, before proceeding to give details of Persian drinking customs. Enjoyment of good things is on display, with rich Persians serving the roast meat of large animals and eating multiple courses spread out over time. They are exceedingly fond of wine (οἴνῳ δὲ κάρτα προσκέαται), and although they guard against vomiting and urinating in front of other people, they deliberate on the most serious matters whilst drunk (μεθυσκόμενοι δὲ ἐώθασι βουλεύεσθαι τὰ σπουδαιέστατα τῶν πρηγμάτων). As a consequence, all decisions are reviewed when sober, but equally all decisions made whilst sober are re-examined when drunk (1.133). This depiction can be read in several ways. For example, a Persian ‘ideology of prosperity’ could be identified in the copious consumption of food and drink. Like the surrounding descriptions of social practice that Herodotus also claims to know about (1.140), the description of the tukta may, if we follow Munson (2009, 465), stem from the oral

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accounts of Persians in the Ionian area who revel in their lavish lifestyle. However, as this interpretation depends on imagining Persian sources behind Herodotus’ writing, it is difficult to substantiate. Herodotus’ account can be compared more fruitfully with the banqueting experienced by the Athenian ambassador to Persia in Aristophanes’ Acharnians, staged in 425. Dressed in Ecbatana fashions, the ambassador recalls for the assembly how at a banquet hosted by the Great King he was served whole pan-roasted oxen followed by a huge bird (85–9), echoing the serving of large meats in turn at the birthday parties of rich men recorded by Herodotus. A Persian propensity for wine also merits a mention: ξενιζόμενοι δὲ πρὸς βίαν ἐπίνομεν ἐξ ὑαλίνων ἐκπωμάτων καὶ χρυσίδων ἄκρατον οἶνον ἡδύν . . . οἱ βάρβαροι γὰρ ἄνδρας ἡγοῦνται μόνους τοὺς πλεῖστα δυναμένους καταφαγεῖν καὶ πιεῖν.

(Aristophanes, Acharnians 73–5, 77–8)

We were entertained as guests, and hosted under compulsion we drank sweet unmixed wine from glass and golden cups . . . for the barbarians believe only men who eat and drink up are most powerful.

At one time similarities with Herodotus’ account meant this comic depiction was considered to be dependent upon the historical work. However, dismissing elements of the Acharnians that were supposedly parodic of the Histories, Fornara (1971, 25–7) instead puts the two representations within a shared cultural milieu. Like Herodotus, Aristophanes’ ambassador identifies big eating and extreme drinking from precious vessels as central to Persian hospitality. He even undertakes an ethnographic analysis, explaining the importance of large-scale consumption to Persian value judgements and power relations. In a fashion typical of Old Comedy this all unravels. The play’s protagonist Dicaeopolis first compares the ambassador’s luxurious travel arrangements, reclining in covered wagons, to his own time spent reclining amidst the rubbish on Athens’ battlements. He then makes lewd comments to the effect that Athens judges men by their debauchery (surely no better), and denounces the ox-eating ambassadors as liars. The whole tale emerges as a fraud (86–120). The fictional ambassador, it transpires, has conjured up his Persian encounter, utilizing (in tandem with the playwright) the same imaginative framework for presenting Persian dining that was available to Herodotus. In both instances, eating and drinking are combined within a rhetoric of commensality aimed at constructing potent

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images of Persian practice. In Acharnians, these are directed at creating contrasts and humour. In the Histories, the ‘good things’ that the Persians enjoy receive elaboration. Recent studies might dispute the entrenchment and vigour amongst the Greeks of any supposed ‘theory of “Persian decadence”’, centred on the representation of luxury.60 Nonetheless, by plugging into an ongoing conversation on Persian living, Herodotus’ ethnographic description adds substance to the Histories’ correlation between enjoyment of the good life and military defeat. In a clever twist, Herodotus even makes the Persians contribute to his argument when he reports their explanation for the difference in Greek customs: Greek people leave the table hungry because nothing worth speaking of is presented after dinner. Were they to be served some dessert, they would never stop eating (1.133). In this formulation, the Greeks become potential Persians, as susceptible to the lure of good things as this people before it conquered Lydia. Thus the warning from Cyrus about the fate of men who trade their hardy lifestyle for conquest and slavery that concludes the Histories could equally be directed towards the Greeks.61 An audience might be aware, for example, that Pausanias’ mockery of the extravagant dining enjoyed by the Persian king was shortly followed by his alleged Medism, which included in Thucydides’ account setting his table in a Persian fashion (τράπεζάν τε Περσικὴν παρετίθετο, 1.130).62 The Aegean world of the mid-to-late fifth century in which Herodotus writes is in continual contact with the Persian empire, with the paraphernalia of Persian dining flooding into Athens alongside other luxuries, as Athens in particular seeks to extend its dominance into new territories.63 How hardy are the present-day Greeks? What would happen if they were to be invaded by Persia again (a possibility during the Peloponnesian War years, as Flower (2006, 287) notes)? The questions are neither raised nor addressed directly in the Histories but emerge in part through the mapping of Persian commensality. Both Scythian sympotics and Persian banqueting develop an ēthos for each people that facilitates a primary theme in Herodotus’ Histories and stimulates outward reflection on the Greek character, albeit in different ways. In the case of the Persians, wine drinking is not singled out from the banquet. Their 60 61

62 63

See T. E. H. Harrison (2010) 119, n. 52, with references. For such flash-forwards to Greek circumstances beyond the Histories see Dewald (1997) 69, 72–5; Pelling (1997); and Flower (2006) 287: ‘Cyrus’ advice points a moral and gives a warning, but one whose full significance was yet to be realized’. Noted by Flower and Marincola (2002) 251. On Persian dining paraphernalia at Athens, see Miller (1997) 59–61, and 135–52 for Athenian reproduction of Persian metalware in ceramic.

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alleged making and reviewing of political decisions whilst drunk and sober remains a curious custom: nowhere are Persians seen to engage in policy deliberations at a drinking party. This ethnographical feature has no ramifications within the historical narrative. However, by Herodotus’ account the Persians are exceptionally fond of wine, and a final episode indicates that drinking could be fundamental to Persian problems. Having conquered Egypt and setting his sights further afield, Cyrus’ successor Cambyses sent Fish-Eater spies to Ethiopia, where they were interrogated about Persian customs by the local king. On completing a short ethnographical survey, the Ethiopian king identified the consumption of wine as the only way in which his people were inferior to Persians: they drank it, the Ethiopians did not. Because he has already mocked their costume, misconstrued their fine gold chains as shackles and ridiculed their consumption of bread as grown from manure, this unprecedented praise seems sincere (3.22). But the consequences of Persian drinking are almost instantly apparent, as Herodotus switches track to narrate Cambyses’ insane deeds, including his ill-planned march against the Ethiopians, his impious disregard for Egyptian festivals and gods, and the double-fratricide of his brother and sister-wife (3.25–33). We quickly learn that the Persians (like Cleomenes’ Spartan subjects) attribute such madness to his drinking, saying that he is unduly fond of wine (τῇ δὲ φιλοινίῃ σε φασὶ πλεόνως προσκεῖσθαι, 3.34). Verbal echoes of Herodotus’ earlier statement on Persian wine loving help to call into question the advisability of their drinking practices, especially as Cambyses proceeds to prove his madness by killing his wine pourer (3.35). The Ethiopians, prone like the Scythians (and of course like the ill-fated Cyclops Polyphemus) to drink milk, might be advised to steer clear of the more ‘civilized’ product lest they follow in the footsteps of ever-conquering, soft-living Cambyses and the Persians.64 Herodotus’ Greek audience might heed this warning.

beyond herodotus: the moral dimension Persians and Scythians, continued Aspects of Herodotus’ presentation of other peoples’ sympotic/commensal habits and character – or at least aspects reflecting the ongoing conversations to which he contributes – persist beyond the Histories, especially with regard 64

See Romm (1992) 57, for whom there is ‘an implicit critique of Persian sophistication at work’. He notes that the Ethiopian king commends wine for its medicinal qualities and proposes that in Herodotus’ view it is only ‘advanced’ people for whom wine causes problems (58).

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to the Persians. Pausanias’ incredulity at the comparative wealth and poverty of the Persians and Greeks displayed in their banquets continues in, for example, Antiphanes’ Oenomau¨s, or Pelops. In this middle comedy, dated c. 385, a Persian makes the contrast. The Greeks are ‘small of table’ (μικροτράπεζοι) and ‘leaf-eaters’ (φυλλοτρῶγες) who can purchase four small pieces of meat for one obol. His ancestors, by comparison, ate whole oxen, pigs, deer and lambs, and the Great King was recently served a hot camel (170 KA). By locating the observation in a Persian mouth, the basic dichotomy between Persian luxury and Greek poverty is maintained, but its implications in Herodotus – that the good life is deleterious to the people who enjoy it – are ironically inverted. Perhaps comically, the Persian’s question, ‘what could the Greeks do . . . ?’ (τί δ’ ἂν Ἕλληνες . . . δράσειαν), disparages their potential to accomplish anything because of the poverty of their dining. In a similar vein, the listing of abundant courses of the King’s dining table becomes a keystone in the representation of Persians into the fourth century, where it is particularly caught up in the discourse on Persian luxury, or tryphē, that seeks to ‘explain’ the moral bankruptcy and military weakness of contemporary Persians – or in other words imparts those qualities to them.65 Drinking also plays its part. Thus, at the end of the Cyropaedia, when Xenophon builds his contrast between Cyrus and his successors, and hence between the Persians of the past and those of the present (see 8.8.5), he describes how previously they ate once a day so as to make full use of their time; now they eat and drink from breakfast until bedtime (8.8.9). And where formerly Persians did not carry jugs into symposia to protect their bodies and minds against the excesses of drinking, now, although they still follow this custom, they drink until they are carried out (8.8.10). Alongside impiety and injustice, a propensity for Median softness in furniture and costume and poor military training, feasting reflects the ‘new’ national character that has contributed to (by Xenophon’s account) the moral disintegration of Cyrus’ empire. The implications are strengthened by the playful but restrained performance of Cyrus at banquets earlier in the narrative, and most recently at celebrations for his conquest of Babylon (8.4.1–27).66 Sympotics help Xenophon establish a progression between past and present which closely 65

66

Briant (2002a) 286–92 weaves through Greek representation and Persian sources for royal banqueting; Briant (2002b) 201–10 demonstrates how the superficial presentation of Persians as luxury-loving is complicated by Greek awareness of the continuing might of the Persians, for whom conspicuous consumption is a demonstration of power, and essentially constitutes a wishful response to their fear. On Cyrus’ sympotics, see Gera (1993) 132–91, who at one stage labels the Cyropaedia’s parties ‘puritanical’ and suggests that Xenophon ‘wishes to portray model symposia of sensible and temperate men’ (152). See also Noël (2006).

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follows the developmental trajectory proposed by Herodotus for the Persians: Cyrus’ warnings about the dangers of conquest in the Histories are realized in the habits of his successors in the Cyropaedia, which are also witnessed elsewhere in descriptions of Persian luxury at the banquet. To move away momentarily from banquets and symposia, the fourth century also sees the introduction of Persians as eaters of cardamum and terebinth (pistachios), meagre fare rustled from the undergrowth.67 To some extent this depiction is analogous to Herodotus’ rustic world of preconquest Persia. Hence, in Ctesias’ Persica a defeated Astyages complains of Cyrus’ troops: ‘Alas! How brave these terebinth-eating Persians are’ (οἴ μοι τοὺς τερμινθοφάγους Πέρσας οἷα ἀριστεύουσι, F8d§34 Lenfant). However, in Xenophon’s hands the ethical component acquires a moralizing edge. As youths, Cyrus and his contemporaries were taught self-control (ἐγκράτειαν) in food and drink through limiting their meals to bread with a topping (ὄψον) of cardamum and water drawn from the river (Cyr. 1.2.8). Contemporary Greek anxieties about insatiable opson-eating charted by Davidson (1997, 21–5, 143–7) provide a clear frame of reference for such meagre consumption and its association with the virtue of self-control. The training received by Cyrus’ generation accustoms them to a hardier life than the day-long banqueters who succeed them, and it imbues them with a virtuous character. While Strabo and Aelian will later make the consumption of terebinth and cardamum generic Persian customs, at this stage the ethnographic custom contributes to a view of Persian moral decline, through their alleged past and present modes of consumption.68 Not everyone subscribed to the negative evaluation of Persian luxury through commensality, however. Xenophon’s depiction of Persian parties might be compared with an account of royal banqueting in the Persica written c. 350 by Heracleides of Cumae (FGrH 689 F2). Typical features include drinking to excess at symposia, so that guests go home drunk (ὑπερμεθυσθέντες), and a long list of animals killed on a daily basis to supply the feasts. Yet, the picture of banqueting and drinking parties also demonstrates the enactment of hierarchy through dining. Except at public festivals the king and his guests dine in separate rooms, divided so that he can see 67 68

See Sancisi-Weerdenburg (1995). Strabo 15.3.18; Aelian, VH 3.39. The archaic aspect of terebinth is further indicated by its inclusion in a royal initiation (βασιλικὴν τελετήν) that Plutarch’s Artaxerxes completes at Pasargadae (Art. 3.2). Entering what would be designated a ‘liminal’ state by modern scholars, Artaxerxes first discards his own robe; he then dons the garment worn by Cyrus before he was king and eats a fig cake and terebinth, and drinks a cup of sour milk. This is not so much a ritual that keeps alive the ‘good old days’, as argued by Sancisi-Weerdenburg (1995), 287, as one that enacts the austerity and rusticity of Persians from yesteryear.

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them, but they cannot see him.69 At symposia everyone drinks together, but the king and his guests are not served the same wine, nor do they enjoy an equal seating arrangement: the king reclines on a gold-footed couch while guests sit on the floor. For Heracleides, Persian commensal forms are tied to the power structure of the court and empire. There are echoes of Herodotus in the demonstration of the character of Persian society through its customs. Moreover, Heracleides takes the unusual step of denying that royal banquets are overblown (μεγαλοπρεπές), claiming instead that they are conducted economically and precisely (οἰκονομικῶς καὶ ἀκριβῶς). The thousand horses, camels, oxen, donkeys, deer, ostriches, geese and cockerels that are cooked for the king are ultimately distributed amongst the household in exchange for their services. The historian deliberately contradicts moralizing judgements on Persian living through a ‘factual’ rationalization of apparent luxury and even praises the administration.70 Thus, beyond Herodotus’ Histories Persian sympotics participate in a moralizing discourse centred upon the banquet, giving potential insight into the alleged degeneracy of this people and their monarchical rulers. They are especially embroiled in the issue of luxury and tend to be orientated towards the royal court, as the broader focus for this discourse.71 Although features like the consumption of multiple animals and drinking to excess reappear, the past/present dichotomy allows two contrasting Persian modes to emerge. Further more, in Heracleides’ hands, standard perceptions might be challenged. Scythian drinking is similarly dichotomous, although with different results. In the fourth century, the milk-drinking Scythian continued to assert himself, but with added emphasis on his general abstention from wine. This could be a source of humour, as when a character in Antiphanes’ Bacchae posited that the only men not to become ill-fated upon marriage were inhabitants of Scythia, because ‘there alone the vine does not grow’ (ἐκεῖ μόνον γὰρ οὐχὶ φύετ’ ἄμπελος, 58 KA).72 Aristotle also knew of a saying attributed to the Scythian sage Anacharsis that there were no aulos players in Scythia because there were no vines (APo. 78b29–31). In the shared imagination, Scythia is an a-sympotic society because it lacks the basic hardware for 69

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The (in)visibility of the Persian king at the symposion has parallels with the ‘restricted access and limited public visibility’ that Tuplin (2010) identifies underlying the depiction of Cyrus’ reign in Xenophon’s Cyropaedia. For a eulogizing quality, see Lenfant (2009) 280. Seen particularly in the sources compiled by Athenaeus: see Lenfant (2007) 54: ‘the tryphē of the Persians is really the tryphē of their king’. The implication is that elsewhere wives drink wine and make life difficult for their husbands; a lack of vines in Scythia equates to an absence of wine. Fragments on Scythian milk drinking in Attic comedy are gathered by Long (1986) 9.

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producing wine. But equally, in theoretical treatises, Scythians increasingly became drinkers of neat wine. This supposed propensity, perceived already by the Spartans according to Herodotus, becomes integral to Chamaeleon of Heracleia’s definition of neat-wine drinking in his work On Drunkenness (F31 Köpke), and to the etymological explanations of Hieronymous of Rhodes. He makes skyphos, a type of cup, a homonym of skythos on the basis that ‘to get drunk is to act the Scythian’ (τὸ μεθύσαι σκυθίσαι, F2 Hiller). The author of the pseudo-Aristotelian Problems (772a3–8) similarly took advantage of the Scythian love of wine (philoinoi) to construct his physiological theories. In late Classical and early Hellenistic investigations, the Scythian propensity for wine became ingrained and fixed for future generations to draw upon, as they were used to develop understanding of the social and natural world. Hence, the second- or third-century ce miscellenarian Aelian could eventually gloss Anacharsis’ heavy drinking at the court of Periander with the explanation that ‘It is the custom of the Scythians to drink unmixed (wine)’ (Σκυθῶν γὰρ ἴδιον τὸ πίνειν ἄκρατον, VH 2.41). Indeed, this pervasive vision is integral to Strabo’s description of the ‘Sacaea’, a festival that carries the Persian name for Scythians, in his Geography. Whereas the Babylonian historian Berossus (FGrH 680 F2; known also to Ctesias: F4 Lenfant) understood this to be a five-day festival native to his homeland that involved role reversal between masters and slaves, with one slave clothed like the king, Strabo (11.8.5) makes this a Bacchic festival during which men dressed up in Scythian fashion (Σκυθιστί), drank, and enjoyed amorous dalliances with one another and with female symposiasts. The ‘time of misrule’ is transposed from an inversion of the social hierarchy (envisaging Scythians as slaves?) to an immersion in a Scythian identity, concentrated on vigorous sympotics. This variation may be connected to the etymology of the ritual postulated by Strabo: Cyrus supposedly instituted the festival to mark his victory over Sacae troops who, like Herodotus’ Massagetae, had been lured to an abandoned Persian camp where they found an abundance of everything, especially wine, and proceeded to indulge themselves to the limit. On their return, Cyrus and his men found the Sacae taken by the wine and madness; some were killed in a torpor or sleeping, and others while they danced and revelled (βακχεύοντες) naked. There is thus a circularity or synergy between the foundation myth and the ritual.73 Again Greek understanding of the 73

For the Sacaeae as festivals of misrule and the ritual patterning of the episode/event, see A. Bowie (2003) 103. At 102 Bowie assumes that Strabo’s events should be connected to the end of the 28-year period of Scythian rule in Asia, recorded by Herodotus (1.106). However, the story patterns are not

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Scythians also shapes the supposedly ‘Persian’ response. When Cyrus had lured the Massagetae to their death in Herodotus’ Histories, he had bet on their inexperience with ‘good things’. By contrast, but in line with the times, there is no suggestion that the Sacae are unaccustomed to drinking. Instead their drunkenness becomes the mark of their identity, when celebrants take on their clothes and customs and re-enact their revelry. Although it is Persians who act the Scythian at the Sacaea festival, they do so in the Dionysian manner imagined for the Scythians by the Greeks. By contrast to his vision of Persian consumption, Herodotus’ nuanced depiction of Scythian sympotics thus takes little hold. Or, to put it another way, while Herodotus’ presentation of Persian commensal culture accorded with a broader version that continues to be useful and influential, the precise definition he afforded to Scythian sympotics becomes redundant in the face of the continuing representation of this people as straightforwardly milk drinking or lovers of wine. Even when Herodotean features crop up in Strabo’s Geography, it is in modified form. Now skull-cups are evidence of the Scythians’ exceptional savagery (ὡμότητος, 7.3.7) towards foreigners whom they sacrifice and whose flesh they consume. By linking this custom to cannibalism, an alternative evaluatory framework is deployed, one that sets Scythians – described as one of the most rustic peoples inhabiting lands around the distant Axine Sea (cf. τὴν ἀγριότητα τῶν περιοικούντων ἐθνῶν, 7.3.6) – conceptually at the furthest reaches of humanity.74 However, when Strabo presents the problematic drinking custom, he is not specifically attempting to characterize the Scythians. Rather, he is responding to complaints from Apollodorus and Eratosthenes that Homer was ignorant of remote peoples like the Scythians.75 Broadly equating them with the ‘Mare milkers, Milk drinkers, and Abii’ whom Homer called ‘most just people’ (δικαιοτάτους ἀνθρώπους), and citing Aeschylus’ description of cheese-eating Scythians as ‘well ordered’ (εὔνομοι), Strabo asserts that to Greeks the Scythians are most straightforward (ἁπλουστάτους), least prone to mischief (ἥκιστα κακεντρεχεῖς), most frugal (εὐτελεστέρους) and most independent

74

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identical. In Herodotus, the Scythians are invited to a banquet, where they are made drunk and slaughtered (see Chapter 4, and n. 46 above); here, as noted, events follow more closely the fate of Tomyris’ Massagetae at the hands of Cyrus (2.211). On the relationship between cannibalism and nomadism and the ‘cultural map’, see Shaw (1983–4); for a more historicist perspective that traces cannibalism in the Steppe region through archaeology and funerary ritual, see Murphy and Mallory (2000). The cannibalism of distant peoples (eschatoi) is discussed by Kim (2009) 108, in the context of paradigms of primitiveness and brutality in the representation of Herodotus’ Scythians. Praise and defence of Homer’s reliability on geographical matters – a Stoic position – is pervasive throughout the Geography: see Dueck (2000) 31–8.

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(αὐταρκεστέρους).76 He then draws upon a familiar argument to explain why the Scythians no longer live up to this reputation. ‘Our’ mode of life (ἡμᾶς βίος) has changed the Scythians and other such people for the worse (πρὸς τὸ χεῖρον) by introducing them to luxury and pleasure, leading to concomitant acts of greed and general corruption (7.3.7). Only those who live beyond the reach of everyone else, and so avoid the lure of seafaring and trade, preserve their lawful existence (7.3.9). Within this argument, the ritual of crafting and drinking from wine cups made from enemy skulls whilst sharing stories of courage, reported in Herodotus’ Histories to project a martial ethic, becomes a minor component in the stylization of Scythian savagery. It is therefore one indication that these Scythians are more morally degenerate than their predecessors, known to and accurately depicted by Homer. Further sympotics, however, might lie unspecified within the lifestyle of luxury and pleasure that has ruined this people’s character (διαφθείρει δὲ τὰ ἤθη, 7.3.7).77 This reflects Strabo’s fundamental perspective on ethics: ‘human character is not natural but is based on habit and custom’, and it is mutable.78 The good living that in Herodotus was enjoyed by Persians and, by implication, threatened Greeks like Pausanias, is now ‘our’ habit that is detrimental to the moral fibre of others.79 (Im)morality at home and abroad: Theompompus’ sympotics The connection between drinking and ethical disposition that carries forward into Strabo’s scientific survey of the inhabited world, composed during the early years of the Roman empire, had already reached an apex in the Philippics of Theopompus, written in the fourth century. His strident moralizing judgements centred on sympotic action further muddle the boundaries between Greeks and others. As Theompompus’ historical eye surveys the commensal customs of communities abroad and at home, the ‘ethnographic’ dimension is systematically enhanced by evaluations framed in a contemporary fourth-century vocabulary of shame, incontinence, 76 77

78 79

Hom. Il. 13.5; Aesch. 198 N. Note that Clearchus 46 Wehrli charts a similar trajectory for the Scythians from lawfulness to worthlessness and hybris on account of extreme luxury. Greek practices, however, are not implicated in this account, and the claim is verified through descriptions of the Scythians’ luxurious dress and hybristic violence towards conquered people and their neighbours. Quoting Dueck (2000) 63. For changes within cultures (‘Civilizations may decay. Rule is lost through luxury and decadence.’) see van der Vliet (2003) 266. ‘Our’ might of course extend to the Romans. See van der Vliet (2003) 269–70 for Strabo’s complex personal identity and his location within overlapping Greek and Roman worlds. Dueck (2006) 64 and 115 makes Roman luxury and extravagance a target for Strabo’s critique.

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intemperance and licentiousness.80 So, the attendance of women at banquets where they toast whichever man they wish, their deep drinking and the frequent drinking of the men emphasize the shamefulness (αἰσχρόν) of the Etruscans, alongside their mixed gymnastics, indiscriminate copulation, luxurious lifestyle (τρυφερῶς διαιτώμενοι) and depilation (FGrH 115 F204). The presence of women at banquets and their free toasting of men are also characteristic of the Illyrians, whose men sit down to dine and drink and are later led home from the symposion by their wives. Their hard living (κακόβιοι) is measured by the fact that the men tighten their belts as they move from moderate to heavy drinking (F39). Shrimpton (1991, 104) may be right when he identifies a Hartogian prism of ‘othering’ for the Etruscans, and indeed for the Illyrians too. Both peoples behave in ways that the Greeks by inference do not. However, these are not ‘detached and clinical’ descriptions but build an ēthos. Repeat descriptions of Etruscans as shameless and the classification of the Illyrians as hard living present moral judgements. This evaluative component is even clearer when attention turns to the Ardiaeans who get drunk every day, hold parties and are disposed to great incontinence (ἀκρατέστερον) in their eating and drinking. Like Herodotus’ Massagetae and Strabo’s Scythians (and many others beside), this people is lured to a banquet by enemy Celts and killed, this time debilitated by poison cooked in the food.81 The framing, however, differs considerably. The Celts plot to take advantage of the Ardiaeans’ lack of self-control (ἀκρασίαν), and some throw themselves into the river because they lack control (ἀκράτορες) over their stomach (F40). Convivial habits are morally defined, and the consequence of the Ardiaeans’ immorality is destruction. A similar pattern dictates the fate of the Thessalians, whose lifestyle carries the hallmarks of the symposion: they spend their days with dancing-girls and aulos-girls in dice, drink and such intemperances (ἀκολασίαις), and they are concerned more with setting a 80

81

Luxury, as will be seen, is crucial in these evaluations. Note, however, that the appearance of tryphē within Theopompan criticism might be attributed to Athenaeus, who preserves almost all the fragments discussed above. Lenfant (2007) has demonstrated that luxury is a primary concern of the compiler and cannot always be assumed to originate with the ‘quoted’ source. Cases in point might be the near-identical introductory descriptions of Cotys and Straton, attributing hēdypatheia and tryphē to both in superlative quantities (n. 84, below). The Etruscans, Chalcedonians and Chares also enjoy the latter. However, R. Gorman and V. Gorman (2007) 56 suspect some interference in Theopompus’ presentation of the Chalcedonians (F62), tentatively restoring διεφθάρησαν ἐξοκείσαντες εἰς τρυφήν, a thoroughly Athenaean phrase. A slightly different mode of attack, then, from Aeneas Tacticus’ (16.5–6) recommendation that invading forces (like Herodotus’ Persians in Scythia) attack when the enemy has eaten and drunk its fill because men under the influence of wine are careless and disobedient, and they are worthless in battle and retreat.

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good table than correctly ordering their lives (F49).82 It is because they are intemperate (ἀκολάστους) and licentious (ἀσελγεῖς) in their lifestyle that Philip of Macedon is able to overpower them, not by force but by providing dancing, revelry and every kind of intemperance (πᾶσαν ἀκολασίαν) to overcome their resistance (F162). The commensal habits of these two peoples relate directly to their moral character and provide the platform for their destruction. A similar fate might even be anticipated for the Illyrians.83 Theopompus’ moralizing gaze does not fall only upon barbarians, however, but upon Greeks too. Chalcideans in Thrace despised the best pastimes (βελτίστων ἐπιτηδευμάτων), preferring drinking, relaxation and much intemperance (πολλὴν ἀκολασίαν) (F139). The Byzantines and Chalcedonians suffered similar deficiencies, and as a direct consequence of democracy, no less. Intemperate citizens (ἀκόλαστοι) of Byzantium were prone to spend their days getting together, eating and drinking at the tavern as they occupied themselves at the agora and harbour (remember, the introduction to trade would corrupt Strabo’s Scythians too). By comparison: Καλχηδόνιοι δὲ πρὶν μὲν μετασχεῖν αὐτοῖς τῆς πολιτείας ἅπαντες ἐν ἐπιτηδεύμασι καὶ βίῳ βελτίονι διετέλουν ὄντες· ἐπεὶ δὲ τῆς δημοκρατίας τῶν Βυζαντίων ἐγεύσαντο, διεφθάρησαν εἰς τρυφὴν καὶ τὸν καθ’ ἡμέραν βίον ἐκ σωφρονεστάτων καὶ μετριωτάτων φιλοπόται καὶ πολυτελεῖς γενόμενοι. (Theopompus, FGrH 115 F62) The Chalcedonians, before sharing in their constitution, all pursued better in their daily affairs and life; but when they tasted the democracy of the Byzantines, they were corrupted into luxury and in daily life they went from being the most selfcontrolled and moderate to become drink-lovers and profligates.

Through the ‘before’ and ‘after’ scenarios, changes in constitution, lifestyle and morality are crucially aligned; new preferences for drinking and extravagance are juxtaposed with prior character and attributed to democracy. At Athens, too, the democracy is synonymous with corruption. According to Theopompus the general Chares dedicated his life to luxury (πρὸς τρυφὴν ἤδη ζῶντος), to the extent that he was accompanied on campaign by aulosgirls, kithara players, and ‘foot-girl hetairai’ (courtesans instead of male footsoldier hetairoi). This man not only spent money acquired during 82

83

Note that by playing dice, the Thessalians embrace a habit that the Greeks considered to originate in Lydia: see Kurke (1999) for the semantics of kuboi. Pownall (2009) tackles Thessalian decadence in Greek literature. Proposed by Pownall (2004) 152.

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campaigns on such outrageous behaviour (ὕβριν) but gave it to speakers and men who wrote decrees and defended his private interests at court. The dēmos was unperturbed by this, because it enjoyed a similar lifestyle: the young spending time with aulos-girls at the house of hetairai, the older men drinking and dicing and enjoying other dissolute activities (ἀσωτίαις), while the citizens collectively spent more on festivals than war (F213). Again there is a sympotic tenor to the misdemeanours of the populace, although these extend beyond the act of drinking in company. On this basis, criticism might be read into Theopompus’ report that at Tarentum ‘The mob of private citizens is always concerned with parties and drinking bouts’ (τὸ δὲ τῶν ἰδιωτῶν πλῆθος αἰεὶ περὶ συνουσίας καὶ πότους ἐστί). These people openly reject hard work as a preparation for a life of partying and pleasure in favour of living that life now (F233). In their moral disapproval, Theopompus’ exposés on the lifestyles of Greek communities are akin to Archilochus’ much earlier stylization of his friend as a Mykonian on account of his wayward appetites. However, his ethnographic critique also possesses political flavour. This flavour extends beyond ‘peoples’ to incorporate individuals: kings, tyrants, oligarchic leaders and prominent citizens who succumb to incontinence and intemperance as much as lovers of drink are prone to luxury and the indulgence of pleasures. At the positive end of the spectrum, the historian commends the tyrant Cleomenes for putting an end to the reclining and drinking that marked the Methymnians’ extravagant but fruitless pursuits, and for removing the pimps (F227). Philip II of Macedon stands most prominently at the negative end. He is the eponymous king of Theopompus’ work, whose encouragement of intemperance amongst the Thessalians, to their deteriment, was noted above. In the Philippics, Philip presides over perpetual parties, attracting to his court disreputable types who prefer drunkenness to sobriety (F225), and generally surrounding himself with men who spend their time in drink-loving (φιλοποσίαν) and buffoonery (βωμολοχίαν) (F81). The king himself is a lover of drink (φιλοποτῆς) and intemperate (ἀκόλαστος) in his manner: after defeating the Greeks at Chaeroneia he drank with dancers, musicians, symposiasts and laughtermakers until dawn, when, drunk, he went revelling (ἐκώμαζεν) to meet the Athenian ambassadors (F236; for Philip as philopotēs again, cf. F163).84 84

But see also Cotys of Thrace, ‘who of all the kings of Thrace was the most indulgent of pleasures and eager for luxury’ (ὃς ἁπάντων τῶν βασιλέων τῶν ἐν τῇ Θράικῃ γεγενημένων μάλιστα πρὸς ἡδυπαθείας καὶ τρυφὰς ὥρμησε). This king enjoyed setting up feasts in the countryside, until he blasphemed against Athena by preparing a marriage banquet, then getting drunk and killing two

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Under Theopompus’ guidance sympotics are core to a range of activities that provide a measure of moral competence, whether the historian is talking about foreign peoples, Greek communities or anyone else he wishes to enervate during his analysis of how and why Philip of Macedon was able to rise to power.85 Because of this historical agenda, the communities that fall under Philip’s yoke are open to a shared evaluation and consequently acquire similar (disreputable) tempers, whether they be Greek or foreign. Virtue through drinking: embracing the other The assumed moral equivalency of Greek and non-Greek practice underlying Theopompus’ study is intriguingly paralleled in the arguments presented in the first book of Plato’s Laws. However, where Theopompus reduces all practices to a negatively aligned grid, the Athenian Stranger seeks to convince his Doric interlocutors of the merits of a foreign approach to drinking. The Laws begins with the Athenian Stranger’s criticism of customs established by the Spartan lawgiver for their failure to train men in withstanding pleasure. Because Spartans are drilled in overcoming fear and pain alone, they receive only a partial education in courage, or andreia. The solution is drunkenness: λέγω δ᾽ οὐκ οἴνου περὶ πόσεως τὸ παράπαν ἢ μή, μέθης δὲ αὐτῆς πέρι, πότερον ὥσπερ Σκύθαι χρῶνται καὶ Πέρσαι χρηστέον, καὶ ἔτι Καρχηδόνιοι καὶ Κελτοὶ καὶ Ἴβηρες καὶ Θρᾷκες, πολεμικὰ σύμπαντα ὄντα ταῦτα γένη, ἢ καθάπερ ὑμεῖς· ὑμεῖς μὲν γάρ, ὅπερ λέγεις, τὸ παράπαν ἀπέχεσθε, Σκύθαι δὲ καὶ Θρᾷκες ἀκράτῳ παντάπασι χρώμενοι, γυναῖκές τε καὶ αὐτοί, καὶ κατὰ τῶν ἱματίων καταχεόμενοι, καλὸν καὶ εὔδαιμον ἐπιτήδευμα ἐπιτηδεύειν νενομίκασι. Πέρσαι δὲ

85

messengers (F31). Straton, king of Sidon, who went a step further by exceeding all men in his hēdypatheia and tryphē, spent much of his time feasting and drinking and listening to kithara players and rhapsodes, like the Phaeacians from Homer’s Odyssey. But whereas the Phaeacians drank with their wives and daughters, he invited aulos players, harp players, kithara players, hetaira from the Peloponnese, female musicians from Ionia, and singers and dancers from Greece. This slave to pleasure (δοῦλος ὢν φύσει τῶν ἡδονῶν) even tried to outdo his friend Nicocles in pleasant and relaxing living, although both were ultimately killed violently (F114). The Greek tyrants of Sicily are characterized in a similar fashion to these monarchs of foreign lands. Dionysius throws away his life in drinking and dice and such intemperance (ἀκολασίαν) (F134); one son, Apollocrates, is intemperate (ἀκόλαστος) and a lover of drink (φιλοπότης) (F185); Apollocrates and another son, Nysaeus, drink heavily (F188); the younger Dionysius drinks so much he becomes blind (F283, unassigned). Compare also the oligarch Hegesilochus of Rhodes (F121) (discussed in Chapter 4, below), Charidemou of Oreus who was awarded Athenian citizenship (F143), the Spartan Pharax (F192), Timolaus of Thebes (F210) and Alcibiades (F288, unassigned), who all stand accused of similar charges. Note, here Alcibiades drinks heavily under Thracian influence. For this agenda, see Flower (1994) 63–79. Pownall (2004) 144–74 pursues a similar line, locating the problematic drunkenness of various peoples and individuals within a trajectory of decline and fall (i.e. conquest by Philip).

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σφόδρα μὲν χρῶνται καὶ ταῖς ἄλλαις τρυφαῖς ἃς ὑμεῖς ἀποβάλλετε, ἐν τάξει δὲ μᾶλλον τούτων. (Plato, Laws 637d5–e7) I am not speaking about drinking wine absolutely or not, but about drunkenness itself, whether we ought to use it like the Scythians and Persians, and again the Carthaginians and Celts and Iberians and Thracians, those races being warlike in every way, or like you. For you, as you say, abstain entirely, but Scythians and Thracians use unmixed wine fulsomely, women and men both, pouring it down their shirts, and believe themselves to pursue an honourable and well-favoured practice. And the Persians especially use this and other luxuries which you reject, but in better order than them.

The aim is to adopt the style of drinking akin to those peoples who indulge fully in drinking. This is an abstract style, however. In the subsequent dialogue Spartans are neither encouraged to join their women in drinking unmixed wine, nor to dribble the potion down their fronts, like Scythians and Thracians – new additions to the repertoire of these peoples’ drinking habits.86 Instead they should ‘use’ wine as these martial peoples do. Rather than banishing symposia and punishing drunkenness (described at 637a–b), the Spartans would do better to embrace the opportunity to experience and, through practice, eventually overcome pleasure and desire and their associated perils and debasements. If they do this, Spartans will achieve full andreia. The drinking habits of foreign peoples here help to construct and debunk the ‘Spartan mirage’, as a point of difference from and a superior mode to the sober Spartan syssition.87 In this respect they play a similar, if inverse role to Spartan sympotics in a poem by the late-fifth-century Athenian Critias. In his prose Constitution of the Lacedaemonians, Critias set the routine for distributing wine amongst 86

87

As noted already, the Thracians were represented in Archaic poetry and ethnography as beer drinkers. Indeed, an early narrative strand paints their mythological king Lycurgus in opposition to Dionysus: see Tsiafakis (2000) 381–2, with sources. General insobriety amongst the Thracians was not so deeprooted in the Greek tradition as were Scythian and Persian fondness for wine, although their king Cotys of Thrace falls subject to Theopompus’ judgemental gaze (n. 84, above) and was also lambasted for his crude and overblown sympotics in the Middle Comedy Protesilaus by Anaxandrides (42 KA). Thracians drink from horns when Xenophon and the Greek generals join their banquet in the Anabasis (7.3.24), but while the eating and drinking follow a distinctive pattern, there is no drunkenness at Seuthes’ table. Compare the preference that Callimachus (Aetia F178.11–12), in narratorial persona, attributes to a drinking companion from Icos for a small cup over drinking wine in greedy large Thracian draughts. Fisher (1989) traces fully the depiction of Spartan sympotics, constructing a systematic understanding of the syssition from external sources from the late fifth century onwards, in effect outlining the ‘Spartan mirage’. Rabinowitz (2009) demonstrates the contingency of this mirage: the Spartan syssition was not – as is claimed in Plato’s Laws – a long-standing institution introduced by an Archaic lawgiver and at odds with the practices of all other peoples – but a consolidation of Archaic sympotic culture, with an emphasis on equality, stability and limited didacticism.

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the Chians, Thessalians and Athenians against that of the Spartans. Each of these peoples pass cups around the circle of drinkers to the right, the Chians and Thessalians using large cups, the Athenians small cups, and the Thessalians also making toasts. The Spartans, however, sup from their own cups, which are topped up only with the volume already consumed (DK 88 b33). In an elegiac version (DK 88 b6 = 6 W), Critias provides additional detail that distinguishes Spartan sympotics further. The ‘Asianborn Lydian hand’ (Λυδὴ χεὶρ . . . Ἀσιατογενής) finds its cup, toasting to the right and calling by name whomever one wishes to pledge. The results are loosened tongues telling shameful tales (αἰσχροὺς μύθους), enfeebled bodies (σῶμά ἀμαυρότερον), the clouding of eyes, and loss of memory and mind. An intemperate ethos (ἀκόλαστον . . . ἦθος) amongst house slaves and the ruin of the household through extravagance follow. Spartan drinking, however, introduces merry hopes (ἱλαρὰν ἐλπίδα), and tongues governed by friendly feeling and measured laughter (φιλοφροσύνην γλῶσσαν μέτριόν τε γέλωτα), to the benefit of body, mind and property.88 These contrasts have resonances with the sympotic imaginings studied above. The moralizing discourse that later embraces all Theopompus’ target peoples is nascent here in the division between the Lydian drinking and the practice attributed to the Spartans. However, Critias’ position is quite distinct. Where his poetic predecessors Archilochus, Theognis and Anacreon chastise companions for their foreign sympotics, Critias simply details different customs. We might postulate that accompanying gestures or glances may have singled out a symposiast for praise or blame during the poem’s performance. Certainly, the double reference to Lydia and Asia sets the morally dubious style of drinking in an Eastern frame, with the destruction of the household echoing the deleterious drinking increasingly attributed to the Persians (who learned about the good things in life from the Lydians, according to Herodotus). Like the hat-wearing symposiasts adorning earlier Attic pottery, the Lydian drinker engages in an intense form of consumption, which Critias makes explicitly dangerous.89 Critias’ criticism of Lydian-Asian drinking thus belongs within the same conversational sphere as earlier sympotic representations. But the Athenian Critias also presents an alternative set of foreign sympotics as morally desirable, just like the Athenian Stranger in Plato’s .

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ἐλπίδα (Bergk), rather than ἀσπίδα (W). For sympotic ribaldry by ‘Lydians’ in turbans and kothornoi (boots) on contemporary pots, see DeVries (2000) 358–60, who makes the case for an entrenched association between this headgear and Lydians in the Persian imagination, and between the boots and Lydians in the Greek imagination.

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Laws. Their evaluations of the sober Spartan syssition might diverge, but in both scenarios ‘home’ sympotics might be improved by embracing foreign customs. For the leader of the Spartan-sponsored oligarchy installed at Athens in 404, Critias’ sentiments are unsurprising; but their articulation through a prism of difference introduces a moral foundation to his preference for a Lacedaemonian lifestyle that may also support his broader ethical and political position.90 Especially when read against his assignation of circulating cups and toasting to Athenians (and Chians and Thessalians) in the prose Constitution, Critias’ articulation of differing sympotic styles between Asian-born Lydians and Spartans helps to construct his personal ēthos at Athens. The shift towards self-criticism exemplified in both Critias’ praise of Spartan sympotics and the Laws’ rejection of them turns on its head the normal pattern of discourse. And yet, the creation of fresh perspectives on Greek practice and ēthos through detailing other peoples’ sympotic habits, on their own or as part of a larger commensal event, has been fundamental to the conversation generated by many of the representations analysed above. It is time to invite Anacharsis to join the final round of our symposiastic conversation. The Scythian sage enters the written record in the fifth century, but his sympotic adventures take us forward to the second century ce, when Greek literary culture flourished under Roman rule. There, as an observer of Greek practice, Anacharsis’ ‘Scythian’ performances at and reflections on the symposion facilitate an interrogation of ‘Greek’ customs in which potentially problematic features are highlighted once more. enter anacharsis Anacharsis is a composite figure, (i) as the product of a diverse textual tradition, and (ii) in terms of his assigned ethnicity. He makes his first appearance in Herodotus’ Histories as an exception – along with the Scythian people as a whole – to the general rule that no one from across the Euxine river speaks wisely (4.46). In the traditions that follow, Anacharsis is variously a visitor to Greece, a practitioner of Greek customs, and a half-Greek.91 Physically, culturally and biologically he crosses the 90

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See Iannucci (2002) 107, for whom Critias’ verse continues his project to Laconize Athens. McGlew (2002) 125–7 proposes that the final attribute of the Spartan party, sōphrosynē or moderation, links Critias’ vision to a rhetoric by which oligarchs in late fifth-century Athens positioned themselves against the immoderate dēmos. For Anacharsis’ alleged birth from a Scythian man and a Greek woman, see D.L. 1.101.

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borders between the Greek and non-Greek worlds. Indeed, he is killed after celebrating Greek mysteries and, hence, because he ‘forgot the existence of frontiers’.92 Anacharsis also has an eye on both Greek and Scythian society, having allegedly written a poem on each (D.L. 1.101) and even transmitted Hellenic culture back to his homeland. Drawing upon an unnamed source, Athenaeus makes him reveal the power of the vine to the Scythian king: presumably this means getting drunk for the elucidation of Scythians who do not drink wine (428e). From this cross over vantage point as observer of, participant in, and educator in Greek practice, Anacharsis offers reflections on Greek cultural practices. It is difficult to pin down exactly when Anacharsis first became a commentator upon or participant in Greek drinking culture. Ephorus (FGrH 70 FF42, 158, 182), like Herodotus (4.76), knows Anacharsis as a wise man, but neither remarks upon any drinking-party antics. Statements are attributed to the sage which contain standard Archaic sentiments on drinking, but these are preserved by Diogenes Laertius and Stobaeus, two much later writers from the Imperial period compiling earlier material for their biography and anthology, respectively. In short, Anacharsis’ sympotic indulgences and criticisms may have circulated from earlier times, and certainly Aristotle was familiar enough with his alleged correlation between the lack of aulos-girls and vines in Scythia to reject it as illogical (APo. 78b29–31, mentioned above), but they exist today within a later strand of representation. The best approach is to sketch out the parameters of Anacharsis’ sympotic analyses where they appear. Anacharsis’ fullest sympotic performance is in Plutarch’s Symposium of the Seven Wise Men (Mor. 146b–164d), the dramatized narrative of a drinking party hosted by the Corinthian tyrant Periander. The dramatic date may be the sixth century, but the work was written in the late first or early second century ce. As a sympotic dialogue set in the past featuring men renowned in antiquity for their wisdom, it utilizes a format popularized first by Plato and Xenophon and adopted by subsequent thinkers to examine philosophical ideas (cf. Chapter 5).93 Readers of Plutarch’s 92 93

Quoting Hartog (1988) 4. The antiquity of the banqueting-sages tradition is disputed. On the ‘Seven Sages’ in Greek culture, see R. P. Martin (1993), who picks up the debate on their antiquity at 112–14 (with references) and relates the ‘seven wise men’ to the Archaic practice of performing wisdom. In the absence of positive evidence, however, it seems a leap to call Plutarch’s Symposium of the Seven Wise Men a ‘relic’ of an older tradition, grounded in banqueting practice (123). A long-standing tradition of ‘the biography of the wise’ (Gray (1992) 75), which by Plutarch’s time had developed into literary Symposia featuring philosophers at the drinking party, may provide a firmer platform for Plutarch’s Symposium of the Seven Wise Men and allow it to be a more innovative work, rather than a literary fossil. Vela Tejada

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Symposium encounter Anacharsis at the same time as the guests who travel by foot to Periander’s party and find him having his hair dressed by Cleoboulina. He is introduced obliquely by Thales, who first applauds these ministrations for making the guest (ξένον) beautiful, ‘so that, being most civilized, in appearance he should be neither fearsome nor savage to us’ (ὅπως ἡμερώτατος ὢν μὴ φοβὲρος ᾖ τὴν ὄψιν ἡμῖν μηδ’ ἄγριος, Mor. 148c). A short while later he explains the reason for Cleoboulina’s devotion: Anacharsis is a man of sound mind and great learning (σώφρων ἀνήρ ἐστι καὶ πολυμαθής), who has already imparted special knowledge of Scythian medicine to her (148e). Anacharsis thus enters the symposion every bit the visiting Scythian sage. In this guise, he makes his first contribution, when Ardalus follows the withdrawal of the aulos-girl to ask whether there were aulos-girls amongst the Scythians. Anacharsis gives the expected answer, ‘Nor vines’ (οὐδ’ ἄμπελοι), but this is not the end of the matter.94 Puzzled, Ardalus asks whether there are gods in Scythia. Anacharsis confirms that Scythians have gods who understand human languages but explains that they do not believe, as do the Greeks, who consider themselves better at speaking than the Scythians, that the gods take pleasure in listening to bone and wood (150d–e).95 He thus takes advantage of the notion of difference introduced by Ardalus to present Scythian customs as eminently more sensible than their illogical Greek counterparts. Despite the resonance of Anacharsis’ comments for Greek religion in general, this piece of wisdom is in part targeted at the symposion: after all, wine has just been poured to the gods, accompanied by the aulos.

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(2009) proceeds on this assumption; Mossman (1997) 121 more cautiously argues on account of literary gatherings of wise men in Plato’s Protagoras and reported in Diogenes Laertius that ‘It seems probable that Plutarch was by no means the first to imagine a banquet of the Seven Wise Men’ but is nonetheless sensitive to specifics of the author’s representation. To the literary evidence we might add a red-figure kylix painted by Oltos, c. 510–500: London, British Museum E19 (ARV2 63.95; BD 200531). Neer (2002) 150–4, with figs. 66–7 and nn. 46–8, notes that its six named komasts include Chilon and Solon, two of the seven sages, and so offers it in support of an early tradition. However, the young revellers undertake a quite different type of sympotic performance than later becomes standard. Neer explains the pot’s focus on the kōmos in terms of political ideology: in public Chilon and Solon show Spartan–Athenian camaraderie and ‘an essentially pro-Spartan, oligarchic view of the Athenian revolution’ (152) that drinkers might be inspired to adopt through their own imitation of their revelry. Wisdom and the display of wisdom are not really at issue, so much as the Wise Men’s political personae (which of course were linked to their reputations for wisdom). Expected by anyone familiar with the Anacharsis tradition, that is. In addition to Aristotle, Anacharsis’ apothegm was also known to Strabo 15.1.22, and later to Maximus of Tyre, Oratio 17.4e, D. L. 1.104, and Eustathius, ad Il. 1.9, p. 22 (= a23b, d–f Kind). An imagined Scythian antipathy to the aulos is apparent in King Ateas’ remark, on listening to music performed by the captured aulos player Ismenias, that he would prefer to listen to his horse whinnying: Plut. Mor. 174f, 334b, 1095f. Again a Scythian belittles Greek habits.

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Each of Anacharsis’ major contributions to the sympotic conversation exposes inconsistencies in Greek thinking. Challenged to contribute to the discussion on household management when he takes pride in being homeless as the driver of a wagon, he claims that Aesop mistakes the outer shell of wood and stone for a home, when in fact it is the inner components of children, wife, friends and servants that constitute it (155c). And when he is accused by Pittacus of misconduct at a previous symposion, getting drunk first and then asking for a crown as a prize, he implies that it is the Greeks whose behaviour is at fault: “Τί δ’ οὐκ ἔμελλον”, ἔφη ὁ Ἀνάχαρσις, “τῷ πλεῖστον πιόντι προκειμένων ἄθλων πρῶτος μεθυσθεὶς ἀπαιτεῖν τὸ νικητήριον; ἢ διδάξατέ μ’ ὑμεῖς, τί τέλος ἐστὶ τοῦ πολὺν πιεῖν ἄκρατον ἢ τὸ μεθυσθῆναι.” (Plutarch, Moralia 156a) ‘Why’, said Anacharsis, ‘when prizes are set for drinking the most, should I not have demanded the victory prize, being drunk first? Otherwise, you (plural) teach me what is the goal of drinking a great deal of unmixed wine other than drunkenness.’

The reasoning is not quite impeccable, for Anacharsis was the fastest drunk, not the biggest drinker. However, he highlights the incongruity in offering prizes for consuming huge volumes and then complaining that a person reaches the only possible end state. Pittacus’ laughter and the group’s failure to meet his request for correction admit the point. This apparent acknowledgement is interesting, given that Pittacus raised the Scythian’s earlier conduct as evidence that he insolently (ἐξύβρισας) disregarded the Mytilenean tyrant’s law punishing those who caused offence while drunk with a double penalty (155f). Anacharsis had branded this law harsh, and in light of the subsequent conversation it may be so. Indeed, stepping back further in the conversation, Anacharsis took recourse to Pittacus’ law to explain Solon’s failure to drink, which the tyrant-host had mocked as a violation of Solon’s professed longing for the deeds of Aphrodite, Dionysus and the Muses (155f).96 Should he be so rebuked? Anacharsis’ insights reverberate backwards through the scene, unsettling Pittacus’ position and raising questions about other complaints that some members of the group – including Pittacus – toast one another with big cups, leaving others with no opportunity to drink, and that Solon fails to pass on his cup although he refuses to drink (155e). After Anacharsis’ contribution, the conversation continues with a proposal from Mnesiphilus that in the present company the wine jug remain atop the krater, because the Muses set conversation in 96

Solon 26 W, quoted at pp. 52–3, above.

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the middle like a sober krater (ἀλλ’ αἱ Μοῦσαι καθάπερ κρατῆρα νηφάλιον ἐν μέσῳ προθέμεναι τὸν λόγον). This symposiast prioritizes the pleasures of serious and playful disputation and the development of friendly feeling (φιλοφροσύνην) through conversation over drinking (156d). Who is right here? In Chapter 5 we will examine Plutarch’s Sympotic Questions, a series of conversations that took place at symposia which the author compiled for his friend Sossius Senecio as a heuristic tool. As in that text, the symposiasts’ conversations present a plethora of opinions, with the sages frequently expressing different ideas in response to single questions that might be considered witty or apposite or incomplete by other symposiasts but that are never more correct than any other answer.97 Although the contents of their missives might develop out of circulating traditions about wise men, they are deployed inquisitively and innovatively, rather than dogmatically.98 What is important here is that the Scythian Anacharsis takes part in the discourse and provides a critique that supports the heavy consumption of some symposiasts, whilst opening up objections from others to scrutiny and presenting an argument that highlights the inconsistencies in Greek thinking about drinking. R. P. Martin (1996, 145) observes that, with regard to drinking, Anacharsis ‘views this social practice from the wrong end’. Yet, it is precisely by getting the ‘right end’ of the stick that the Scythian provides provocative insights into Greek drinking culture. The behaviour that Pittacus comments upon is not the revelry of a stereotypical Scythian, but a visiting Scythian acting out the implications of Hellenic practice. The tamed savage, who comes from a land without wine, not only makes a consummate symposiast at Plutarch’s symposion but can critique the drinking of his companions and identify the absurd. A similar positioning is apparent in Diogenes Laertius’ biography of the sage: ‘and he said that he was amazed at how the Hellenes drink from small cups when they start out and from large cups when they have had their fill’ (καὶ θαυμάζειν φησὶ πῶς Ἕλληνες ἀρχόμενοι μὲν ἐν μικροῖς πίνουσι, πλησθέντες δὲ ἐν μεγάλοις, 1.104). Anacharsis’ comment initiates a role reversal of the ethnographic investigative norm, with the foreigner becoming the watcher 97 98

König (2008) 88–90 identifies these as defining attributes of Plutarch’s Sympotic Questions. Anacharsis’ invitation as a xenos to a party of wise men may allude to the story, known to Diogenes Laertius, that the Scythian was hosted by Solon and sought hospitality with Croesus. In addition to the incorporation of ‘nor vines’ into a conversation about aulos players, the story of Anacharsis’ behaviour at a party hosted by Alcaeus’ brother on Mytilene has its analogue in Athenaeus’ Dinnerparty Sophists. There, Anacharsis was offered a prize for drinking when at the court of Periander, which he demanded for getting drunk first (Ath. 437f); cf. Ael. VH 2.41, without the reference to a competition or any moralizing content. Verbal parallels suggest Plutarch’s Symposion of the Seven Wise Men may be the source of this (mis-cited) story, but earlier variants are also possible.

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of wonders amongst the observed Greeks. The allegedly common drinking pattern of the Greeks (borne out in a scene from Euripides’ Ion) looks odd to this Scythian, and by dint of noting this, Anacharsis makes problematic what is claimed to be standard.99 The ability to articulate drinking habits and their consequences is witnessed also in Anacharsis’ incorporation into the tradition of sympotic wisdom that identifies the dangers of drinking by attributing qualities to different levels of consumption. In Diogenes’ version, ‘He said that the vine bears three bunches of grapes: the first for pleasure, the second drunkenness, and the third shamelessness’ (οὗτος τὴν ἄμπελον εἶπε τρεῖς φέρειν βότρυς· τὸν πρῶτον ἡδονῆς· τὸν δεύτερον μέθης· τὸν τρίτων ἀηδίας, 1.103 = a26a Kind). Stobaeus (Flor. 3.18.25 = a27a Kind) more imaginatively puts Anacharsis to mixing kraters at a festival, and at the same time dispensing his wisdom: the first krater is for health, the second for pleasure, the third for hybris, and the fourth for madness. These performances throw Anacharsis into the role of sympotic sage, as he adopts an ‘Archaic’ mode and sensibility, echoing in both instances the progression of drinking sung about in Panyassis’ Heracleia (13 K), and more famously parodied in Semele, or Dionysus by Eubulus (93 KA) when kraters are filled in turn for health, love and pleasure, sleep, hybris, shouting, revelry, black eyes, summons, bile and madness.100 As noted above, it is impossible to date when these ideas became associated with Anacharsis, even if the sentiments are longstanding.101 Quite intriguingly, they make no play with Anacharsis’ Scythian identity. The sage has become a standard purveyor of Greek wisdom. It is in this guise that Anacharsis emerges in the Cynic tradition, although the situation is more complicated. Anacharsis peddles Greek ideas, but does so as a Scythian. The gaze he turns on Greek culture is therefore that of an outsider and an adherent to an alternative lifestyle: exactly the position that Cynics carved for themselves within Greek communities. In particular, Anacharsis highlights the effects of drinking in such a way as to make them undesirable. At a party he requests that a slave pour him a strong mixture, so he might make his ugly wife beautiful (Ath. 445e–f = a31a Kind). And he recommends that a person avoid becoming a lover of drink (φιλοπότης) by keeping the formlessness (ἀσχημοσύνας) of drunken men 99 100

101

E. Ion 1178–80: the scene is discussed in Chapter 4, below. In Panyassis’ Heracleia the first portion is assigned to the Graces, Seasons and Dionysus, the second to Aphrodite, and the third to insolence (Ὕβριος) and force (Ἄτης) (13 K). Its likely companion piece, 12 K, is discussed in Chapter 1 above. Kindstrand (1981) 56 would date them as early on this basis.

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before his eyes (D.L. 1.103 = a28a Kind). In both episodes he upsets Greek norms, first (one might infer) by attending the symposion with his wife, and secondly by implying that one should mix with men who drink in order to learn how not to drink. At the same time, the Scythian demonstrates the delusional and debilitating effects of wine on those who consume it. The latter in particular reverses the Theognidean maxim that one should drink, eat and sit with good men to learn what is good (31–8 W). Where Theognis warns that mixing with bad men will destroy your mind, Anacharsis finds lessons in poor sympotic etiquette instead. These witty maxims offer a milder version of the sympotic critiques offered by the Cynic Diogenes of Sinope, whose antics at the symposion constituted a practical performance of his ‘doggish’ rejection of its excesses.102 So too does a third sympotic anecdote. On this occasion, Anacharsis remains unmoved by a troupe of laughter-makers brought into the symposion. However, when a monkey is led in, he laughs: the monkey is by nature laughable, but man only by practice (οὗτος μὲν φύσει γελοῖος ἐστιν, ὁ δ’ ἄνθρωπος ἐπιτηδεύσει) (Ath. 613d = a11a Kind). The monkey may have been a source of amusement and ridicule for symposiasts for some time: as an indulgent symposiast on Attic figured pottery the monkey occupies a similar interrogative space on the boundaries to our foreign-hatted symposiasts.103 On this occasion, however, a specifically Cynic preference for nature over culture is embedded in Anacharsis’ response. In these instances, Anacharsis’ Scythian identity is not openly at issue, although his debunking of sympotic practice shows an outsider’s grasp of its illogicalities, or at least the observations set him at a remove from the norm. However, this component comes more fully into play in the Cynic Epistles, a series of letters allegedly written by Anacharsis to prominent thinkers and rulers of his time but probably composed c. 300–250.104 The following was addressed to Hipparchus, the tyrant of Athens, advising him on the dangers of heavy drinking: Οἶνος πολὺς ἄκρατος ἀλλότριον τοῦ καλῶς τίθεσθαι τὰ καθήκοντα. συγχεῖ γὰρ φρένας, ἐν αἷς ἴδρυται ἀνθρώποις τὸ λογίζεσθαι. τὸν δὲ ὀρεγόμενον μεγάλων οὐκ εὐχερὲς καλῶς πρᾶξαι, ἃ ἐπιβάλλεται, ἐὰν μὴ νήφοντα βίον καὶ μεριμνητικὸν ἐνοτήσηται. ἀφεὶς οὖν κύβους καὶ μέθην τρέπου πρὸς τὰ δι’ ὦν ἄρξεις, κατὰ τρόπον εὐεργεσίας πατρὸς ἑαυτοῦ φίλους καὶ προσαίτας εὖ ποιῶν. εἰ δὲ μή, 102 103

104

On Diogenes at the symposion, see Desmond (2008) 88. The interrogative role of monkeys at the symposion was identified by Deborah Steiner in ‘Making monkeys: Archilochus frr. 185–87 W in context’, presented at the Network for the Study of Archaic and Greek Song conference on The Look of Lyric: Greek Song and the Visual, 17–20 July 2009. For the question of dating, see Malherbe (1977) 6.

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πρὸς τῷ αἰσχρὸς εἶναι κινδυνεύσεις ἰδίῳ σώματι. τότε μνησθήσονταί σου φίλου ἀνδρὸς Σκύθου Ἀναχάρσιδος. (Anacharsis, Epistle 3) Much undiluted wine is the enemy of properly performing one’s duties. For it confounds one’s mind, in which man’s ability to reason is situated. It is not easy for the person who strives for great things to accomplish what he attempts unless he enters upon a sober and careful life. So, renounce dice games and drunkenness, and turn to the things through which you will rule, doing good, as you follow the custom of your father’s beneficence, to your friends as well as beggars. But if you do not, you will be close to being base and will be in bodily danger. Then your friends will remember Anacharsis the Scythian (trans. Malherbe (1977)).

Some of this is familiar from Theopompus’ Philippics, with drunkenness once again aligned with dice as principal causes or symptoms of political and moral degeneracy. Yet, these are set within a more extensive analysis of the consequences of drinking too much unmixed wine: an impaired ability to reason, the subsequent failure to rule well to the benefit of everyone, and the debasement of the body. A ‘Cynic’ rejection of pleasures as a hurdle to virtuous living is evidence here.105 There is also, however, evidence of a ‘Scythian’ perspective, as expressed elsewhere in the corpus. The priority awarded to doing good (εὖ ποιῶν) echoes the praise that Scythians show to men who act well (εὖ πράττουσι), albeit working with a different set of criteria for what constitutes good from the avoidance of dark passions that are the enemy of the soul in Epistle 4. The closing promise that failure to follow advice will lead Hipparchus’ friends to remember ‘Anacharsis the Scythian’ likewise draws attention to the ethnic identity of the advisor. In another letter this character goes bare-footed in a ‘Scythian cloak’, uses the earth as his bed and considers milk, cheese and flesh the best meal (Ep. 5); he prefers the arrow and bow to auloi and purses, and, along with his fellow citizens, is free (Ep. 6). His lifestyle lacks amongst other things the indices of sympotic enjoyments: wine (an automatic opposite to milk), music (the aulos) and wealth (purses). This is the ‘Scythian’ lifestyle that offered a model for the Cynics, for whom Anacharsis was the essence of a nomadic wanderer, free and self-sufficient.106 And this Anacharsis is the antithesis of a drunken Hipparchus, sated on wine and dicing and, like the drunks conjured as a lesson against the love of drink in Diogenes Laertius’ anecdote, bodily debased. Although at first glance the advice offered to Hipparchus resonates with generic contemporary morals, the Scythian 105 106

A Diogenean quality is noted by Muir (2009) 192 in the promotion of austerity by Anacharsis, a ‘lifestyle adviser’ to multiple nations. For this Cynic ‘primitivism’, see Lovejoy and Boas (1935) 117–52. Montiglio (2000) 102–4 considers Anacharsis as a model Cynic.

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identity of the advisor adds special nuance. In this Cynic scenario a Greek receives advice on his sympotics from a foreigner who embodies an alternative set of Greek ideals. Whenever it originated, Anacharsis’ sympotic persona takes shape for us in the Hellenistic and Roman periods. The active ethnographic examinations that helped fifth- and fourth-century Greeks navigate the peoples they increasingly encountered, and the stereotyping that helped them to critique and patrol their own conduct, passes into a more abstracted philosophical positioning of the foreigner as an interrogator of Greek culture, and even a proponent of it – or in Cynic mode of a Greek counter-culture. The multiple positions that Anacharsis can occupy vis-à-vis sympotic style arise from his basic representation as a visitor. In one sense his perambulations in the Greek world must bring Greek customs into focus through a prism of touristic wonder (thaumazein). As Romm (1996) observes, early ethnographic encounters between proponents of two cultures necessitate the identification by one party of the perceived absurdities in practice of another.107 ‘Wonder, astonishment, as Aristotle says, is provoked by aporias’, and it is the source of philosophy.108 The cultural dissonance encapsulated in Anacharsis’ Scythian persona and generated by his sympotic performances, sayings and advice automatically stimulates critical analysis. Outside the sympotic discourse, this is embraced by Lucian in the Anacharsis when he sets the eponymous sage and Solon in a debate on the value of another key cultural practice amongst the Greeks, namely athletics. The dialogue ends in aporia. Not only are the Scythian and Greek unable to convince each other of the legitimacy of their position, leaving the ambiguous aspects of athletics both defended and exposed, but the cultural identities of Anacharsis and Solon as representatives of their native traditions are complicated by their fluidity, from a second-century ce perspective.109 Anacharsis’ ‘mis’-understandings of sympotic practice in Plutarch’s Symposion of the Seven Wise Men and the apophthegms cited by Diogenes Laertius and Athenaeus may derive in part from an ongoing fascination with the comparative merits of Greek versus foreign wisdoms in the Second Sophistic. This was an issue that particularly exercised Plutarch in his treatise On Isis and Osiris. There Plutarch equates the mysteries of Isis to the doing of philosophy, subordinating the Egyptian cult to a Greek 107 108 109

A variant on Redfield’s (1985) proposition, cited above at n. 53. Quoting Llewellyn (1988) 174, citing Arist. Metaph. 982b. Consider here the description by Hartog (1988) 170 of the Scythian character as an ‘aporia’, noted above. Branham (1989) 82–104, esp. 101–3; König (2005) 80–94.

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cultural process.110 Indeed, the integration of Anacharsis’ sympotic insights into the sympotikos logos of Plutarch’s seven sages – six of whom are Greek – simultaneously utilizes Anacharsis’ destabilizing perspective and subsumes his Scythian wisdom into what by this time has become the Hellenic cultural and textual forum for the display of wisdom: the Symposium (see Chapter 5 for this literary form). With Anacharsis we have come almost full circle: from observing Greeks classifying problematic sympotic behaviour as ‘Scythian’ to witnessing a Scythian at the symposion conducting his own critique. Moreover, his shift from savage Scythian to a purveyor of Greek wisdom, albeit one informed by his external perspective, is a reminder of the malleability of traditions surrounding foreign sympotics, whether they were employed to demonstrate a people’s character, or to facilitate a universally extendable or neatly targeted critique of moral value. From the symposion to historical and ethnographical writings, and from the Attic stage to philosophical inquiry and drama, communal drinking practices provided a means of envisaging an ethnic community and its character. The cultural conversation was not always consistent between occasions and genres or over time, and the specifics of communal drinking could communicate similarity as well as opposition, whether a Greek drinker interrogated his own behaviour, or a reader of Herodotus identified an Athenian attitude in Scythian drinking and Persian commensality. Depictions of and references to sympotic practices possessed a flexibility that facilitated the fashioning of ethical and ethnic identities for Greeks and foreigners alike in the Greek thought world. In the following chapter this discursive dynamic will be witnessed again, as attention turns to the demonstration of a particular type of ethics through sympotic performance, namely political attitude. 110

See Richter (2001).

chapter 3

Politics in performance

ἐν μὲν συσσίτοισιν ἀνὴρ πεπνυμένος εἶναι, πάντα δέ μιν λήθειν ὡς ἀπεόντα δοκοῖ, εἰς δὲ φέροι τὰ γελοῖα· θύρηφι δὲ κρατερὸς εἴη, (Theognis 309–12 W) γινώσκων ὀργὴν ἥντιν’ ἕκαστος ἔχει. At common meals (sussitoisin) a man should be discrete, everything escapes his notice so he seems absent, but he should bring laughter. Then outside he might be stronger, knowing what sort of temper (orgēn) each man possesses.

As we have just witnessed, observation is at the core of ethnography. Whether out in the field or drawing upon second-hand accounts, the ethnographic reporter looks upon other peoples’ customs from an outsider’s perspective. And when reporters portray these customs in writing or through art, they provide a spectacle for their audiences, so that the reader or viewer adopts the same position. So, in the previous chapter, symposiasts observed the foreign drinkers painted on their cups, Herodotus reconstructed Scythian drinking practices, Aristophanes staged Persian dining, and Plutarch inserted Anacharsis amongst a group of wise men to observe Greek customs from within. As often in ancient Greece, to look is to learn.1 The fragment from the Theognidea quoted above recognizes the relationship between observation and knowledge and explicitly recommends its exploitation at common meals, or syssitia. A savvy man participates just enough to avoid drawing attention to himself, so he is free to learn the temper (ὀργήν) of his companions through their performances. Sympotic self-display, which we encountered in one form in Chapter 1, is eschewed in favour of observing the self-display of others. Just as Herodotus’ reader learns about the martial character of the Scythians through their drinking, Theognis’ symposiast comes to understand his companions’ character through their performances. 1

A premise encapsulated in the perfect verb οἶδα: ‘I see with the mind’s eye, i.e. I know’ (LSJ s.v. εἴδω b).

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This is precisely the dynamic at work in a series of symposia where the performances of hosts and guests demonstrate their political attitudes. By watching symposiasts in action, intratextual and extratextual audiences – that is to say drinking companions within a sympotic narrative, and the people who read or listened to such narratives – could identify political attitudes and intentions within their sympotic style. The case studies below demonstrate once again the importance of the symposion in the Greeks’ identification, comprehension and presentation of ēthos. Intriguingly, the politics on display are often unsettling. Revolutionary tyrannical ambitions, unpleasant domination of allied cities, anti-Athenian allegiances, dangerous democratic practices, and anti-democratic sentiment are all in evidence at their symposia. This may convey unease about the symposion and the people who attended it in the late fifth century, especially at Athens and amongst democracies. However, it also indicates the primacy of the symposion in the Greek cultural imagination as a political space, and it demonstrates once more the discursive opportunities offered by the symposion. Representing politics in performance at symposia afforded writers, orators, playwrights and the dēmos an opportunity to express and explore contemporary political anxieties.

look out for tyrants! empedocles at the symposion By the time that Timaeus of Tauromenium composed his Sicilian History in the late fourth or early third century, it was not unusual to find a philosopher at the symposion. Socrates, of course, brightens the parties of Agathon and Callias with his erotic theorizing, instructive conversation, and repartee in Plato’s and Xenophon’s Symposia, texts that inspired amongst others Plutarch’s Sympotic Questions and Lucian’s anarchic Symposium, or the Lapiths by setting wise men in action at the dining table (these and other Symposia are discussed in Chapter 5). Thus, when Timaeus (FGrH 566 F134) sends the mid-fifth-century natural scientist Empedocles of Acragas by invitation to the dinner party of a local archon, he follows established literary precedent. However, by contrast with these philosophically infused symposia, the depicted event is not an occasion for the exposition of the wise man’s wisdom. Instead, the party is politically inflected: it is attended by government officials, and their performances contain undercurrents of revolutionary sentiment. At the same time, Empedocles’ response to the sympotic action signifies the beginning of his political activity. The symposion offers a space for expressing political

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ambition through performance and consequently provides Empedocles with a direct route to the political stage. Both the revelation of tyranny and Empedocles’ transition to active citizen begin when the archon’s party does not proceed according to expectations. After dinner, drinking is delayed; other guests remain silent at this impropriety, but Empedocles, ‘hating wickedness’ (μισοπονήρως), orders the drink to be brought in. This attempt to kick-start the party is knocked back by the host, however, who awaits the servant of the council (τὸν τῆς βουλῆς ὑπερέτην). When the official finally arrives he is ordained ‘ruler of the symposion’ (συμποσίαρχος) by arrangement of the host and promptly imposes the rule of a tyrant (ὑπεγράφετο τυραννίδος ἀρχήν), ordering guests to drink or have their drinks poured over their head. Empedocles holds his peace at the party, but afterwards he convicts the host and symposiarch in the lawcourts, where they are sentenced to death. In Timaeus’ narrative, poor hostmanship and the abuse of sympotic authority are synonymous with a tyrannical position, and ‘tyrannical’ behaviour – by men who hold office in the city, no less – is transmogrified into a threat to the polity. Concomitantly, Empedocles, the disgruntled partygoer, becomes its defender: ‘in fact this was the beginning of his life as an active citizen’ (ἀρχὴ μὲν οὖν αὐτῷ τῆς πολιτείας ἥδε). This tale of sympotic intrigue has been condemned as lacking credence from historicist and literary perspectives. It is a novel caricature of Empedocles, influenced perhaps by a pasquinade and possibly even disbelieved by its author, and it details an unverifiable conspiracy.2 It is also a ‘ridiculous story’ invented to make the philosopher into a politician, as necessitated by biographical readings of an Empedoclean poem that lists politics as an occupation for men destined for divinity.3 Yet its veracity is beside the point. For Timaeus and, later, for Diogenes Laertius, who recounts the tale anew in his biography of Empedocles, the symposion offered a convincing venue for delineating their subject’s political inclinations. In Timaeus’ work, Empedocles bursts onto the political scene in fifthcentury Acragas with an anti-tyranny agenda. Hence, according to Diogenes at least, Timaeus found in this episode the philosopher’s origins (αἰτίαν) as a man of the people (δημοτικὸν τὸν ἄνδρα) (8.64). Diogenes himself uses the episode to substantiate Empedocles’ freedom (ἐλεύθερον) and hostility to any rule (πάσης ἀρχῆς ἀλλότριον), qualities alleged for him 2 3

T. S. Brown (1958) 52; Pearson (1987) 127–8, with 127, n. 14, tracing the accusation of ridiculousness back to Bignone (1906) (sic), actually (1916) 302, n. 1. Chitwood (1986) 177: the poem is F146.

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by Aristotle and visible in his denunciation of the symposiarch. Indeed, similar qualities are displayed twice more: when Empedocles expels an assembly of one thousand men, the act of a man concerned for the affairs of the people (δημοτικὰ φρονούντων) (8.66), and when he convinces the citizens of Acragas to cease their in-fighting and instead practise equality in their politics (ἰσότητα δὲ πολιτικὴν ἀσκεῖν) (8.72). The expulsion of the Thousand appears to disband an oligarchic group, and the persuasion towards a democratic style of governance aims to halt a growing tyranny. Add to this Xanthus’ reported observation that Empedocles eschewed kingship because he preferred a simple life (8.65), and the philosopher weaves a pro-democratic path through Acragas’ inchoate politics.4 Hence, along both narrative trajectories – the historian Timaeus’ description of Empedocles’ political action and the biographer Diogenes’ exposition of temperament through action – Empedocles’ sympotic adventure is a showcase for his political sympathies, played out at the lawcourts in the aftermath of the party and affirmed for Diogenes in his subsequent career. It might be argued that the sympotic setting is convenient rather than significant. In his discussion of revolution in the fifth book of the Politics, Aristotle observes that all constitutions are vulnerable to assaults from within (1307b20–4); this might especially occur should men be entrusted to the guardianship of a constitution they do not love (1303a17–21). In Empedocles’ town, which had been the centre of a powerful tyranny until 471 and, for the sympotic narrative, must be imagined at this moment at least to be a quasi-democracy to account for its magistracies, council and court of law, the perceived threat comes from the ranks of government officials.5 A private social gathering attended by an archon and a council official might be a good place to spot any revolutionary intent and so set Empedocles on course to political action. By masking his concern at the symposion, the philosopher thus mimics the behaviour recommended by Theognis, above: keeping quiet he carries away precise knowledge of the host’s and symposiarch’s temper, gleaned from their sympotic performances. Moreover, their tyrannical aspirations are intrinsically countersympotic. Drinking is postponed unconscionably and then foisted upon 4 5

To this extent, Diogenes’ picture accords with the general character of Sicilian politics in the mid fifth century, when the collapse of earlier tyranny left political vacuums in cities: see Asheri (1992) 154–61. Diogenes must perceive Empedocles’ home town of Acragas (or Agrigentum) as democratic to describe his perspective as dēmotikos (‘on the people’s side’), but Empedocles’ expulsion of the limited assembly of the Thousand presents a more complex picture. Indeed, the derivation of Empedocles’ biography from his poetry, noted by Chitwood (1986), warns against taking any historical information in this tradition as fact.

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guests on pain of a physical punishment that subverts sympotic practice: those who refuse to imbibe their drink will wear it. Sympotic misdemeanour is a token of external ambition; disruptions to the sympotic order anticipate disruption to the present political order. This fluidity between the symposion and the polis is reiterated when the accused are put to death: they are not refractory government officials but ‘the host’ (τὸν κλήτορα) and ‘the symposiarch’ (τὸν συμποσίαρχον). Moreover, although they are brought to trial in a lawcourt, it is their affronted guest, not a jury, who kills them (ἀπέκτεινε καταδικάσας ἀμφοτέρους). The symposion does not simply bring out or frame their offence against the polis and their revolutionary identities: it defines them. Yet, the tenor of Empedocles’ response might be queried. Empedocles finds fault in party conduct and imagines tyranny in action, but his indictment of city officials and his usurpation as executioner of the power of law may seem an extreme reaction to sympotic frivolity, and they certainly show him acting unilaterally in a quasi-democratic state. His first appearance on the political stage is confrontational and deadly. Where tyrant-hating Timaeus may have identified a pro-democratic Empedocles, a less sympathetic storyteller – one, perhaps, inclined towards the enemies who eventually enforced Empedocles’ exile (D.L. 8.67) – might be concerned about the consequences of his churlish overreaction to the symposiarch exercising his legitimate authority.6 In this scenario Empedocles would upset the sympotic hierarchy, along with the bonds of reciprocity and obligation expected between host and invited guest. But even within this alternative reading of events at Acragas, sympotic performance would remain central to the demonstration and evaluation of political temper. imperialism at play: ‘at home’ with sophocles and cimon The symposion occupies a similarly definitive role in two episodes sketched by Ion of Chios, the polymath who apparently lived in Athens for long stretches of time during the middle decades of the fifth century.7 By reputation, Ion was a consummate symposiast: the third-century historian Baton of Sinope described him as a devotee of drinking (φιλοπότην), the 6 7

On Timaeus’ negative attitude towards tyranny and its ramifications on his history, see Schepens (1994). For a list of Ion’s extensive accomplishments in metred verse and prose, see the Schol. ad Ar. Pax 835 (FGrH 392 T2). Webster (1936) 263–4 places him at Athens c. 470–461, 451–433, and c. 433–after 428. Cf. M. L. West (1985) 71–3.

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most ardent of lovers (ἐρωτικώτατον) and the composer of elegies expressing his erotic desires (FGrH 392 T8). Indeed, our two fragments lend credence to this depiction: they place him alongside eminent men at drinking parties, where wine, song and erōs flow. The first, featuring Sophocles, belongs to the Epidemiai, a title which Pelling (2007, 76) translates as Spells of Residence or Stays rather than the more common Visits or Travels in order to reflect an ‘at home’ dimension. The second, involving Cimon, may also derive from this work.8 Certainly, the scope of each episode is similar: two Athenian generals enjoy centre stage as guests at drinking parties.9 Moreover, the sympotic performance of each man draws attention to the nature of Athenian imperialism and expansion. Ion’s reports of their conversations and games generate a vision of their political competence and agendas that comments upon Athens’ relationship with allied cities such as the author’s home town of Chios. Ion’s depiction of Sophocles at the symposion appears in Athenaeus’ Dinner-party Sophists, where it offers proof that, in contrast to womanloving Euripides, Sophocles preferred young boys (Ath. 603e–604d = FGrH 392 F6). Indeed, Ion does explain how the tragedian once lured a young wine pourer into a kiss, but the passage demonstrates that his interest in this fact lay not with Sophocles’ sexuality but rather with his performance at the party where he executed this manoeuvre. Ion as narrator explains that his encounter with Sophocles took place when the poet was sailing as general (στρατηγός) to Lesbos – giving the episode a dramatic date of 440 – and was entertained on the way at Chios by his guest-friend, the Athenian proxenos Hermesilas. He is characterized up front as ‘a man playful and clever over wine’ (ἄνδρι παιδιώδει παρ’ οἶνον καὶ δεξιῷ), and events at Hermesilas’ party seem to bear this out. Sophocles eruditely employs a line of poetry from Phrynichus to illuminate the blush of the boy who brings the 8

9

The other possible provenance for this episode is the Memoirs, mentioned by the Scholia to Aristophanes’ Peace (n. 7, above). However, the relationship between the Memoirs and the Stays is disputed, with some scholars suggesting that the former may even be the latter by a different name: see the discussion of this possibility by Webster (1936) 263 and Jacoby (1947) 1, 15 Appendix 1. The concerns of Webster and Jacoby with this interpretation seem to revolve around the meaning and translation of Epidemiai. The attributed Sophocles episode, which takes place at Ion’s home town of Chios, might belong within a Visits but not a Travels. The encounter with Cimon at Athens would be more suited to a Travels; if the Epidemiai were Visits, it would need housing elsewhere. By implication Pelling’s (2007) 77–8 preferred translation of Spells of Residence or Stays allows for the Cimon episode to be part of this work, if Ion is considered to be ‘at home’ in Athens. Note that despite his concerns in the attribution of fragments in FGrH, Jacoby (1950) 279 appears to connect the Cimon fragment to the Stays with more confidence. On the basis of their shared sympotic structure, Blanshard (2007) 172 has no problem in treating both fragments as deriving from (and even, he hints, characteristic of) the Epidemiai.

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wine, and, when challenged on the logic of his comparison by a schoolmaster from Eretria or Erythrae, he wins his point with assistance from Simonides, Pindar and Homer. He then performs an elaborate ruse, inviting the wine pourer to blow a piece of straw from his cup so that their heads come close together. Seizing him with his hand, he claims a kiss. Both manoeuvres are greeted with laughter and acclaim. But the performance is not yet over. Spurred on by praise from his successful conquest of the boy, Sophocles adds: μελετῶ (εἶπεν) στρατηγεῖν, ὦ ἄνδρες, ἐπειδήπερ Περικλῆς ποιεῖν μέν ἔφη, στρατηγεῖν δ’ οὐκ ἐπίστασθαι. ἆρ’ οὖν οὐ κατ’ ὀρθόν μοι πέπτωκεν τὸ στρατήγημα; I practise (he said) being the general (stratēgein), gentlemen, since Pericles told me that although I make poetry, I do not understand how to be a general (stratēgein). And so has not the stratagem (stratēgēma) fallen correctly to me?

This final witticism, which correlates erotic and military success, permits the narrator to conclude of the poet-general, ‘many such things he spoke and accomplished in a clever fashion, whenever he drank’ (τοιαῦτα πολλὰ δεξιῶς ἔλεγέν τε καὶ ἔπρησσεν, ὅτε πίνοι). In his various performances at the party hosted by Hermesilas, the visitor to Chios confirms his sympotic aptitude. So far, so sympotically consummate. This is not Ion’s full conclusion, however, nor is his characterization of Sophocles complete. For, as the symposion fades into the background, the authorial voice-over compromises Sophocles’ abilities. His sympotic contributions may have been clever, τὰ μέντοι πολιτικὰ οὔτε σοφὸς οὔτε ῥεκτήριος ἦν, ἀλλ’ ὡς ἄν τις εἶς τῶν χρηστῶν Ἀθηναίων. But certainly in political matters he was neither wise nor effective, but was just like any one of the useful (chrēstōn) Athenians.

In essence, Pericles is correct. In Ion’s stated opinion Sophocles does not really understand the art of generalship: or, at least, his stratagems at the symposion do not translate into useful political action. The man who by name holds wisdom (σοφία) as his fame (κλέος) is not wise (σοφός); nor is his conduct efficacious. Moreover, with irony, Ion adds that in this respect Sophocles was identical to other Athenian chrēstoi. ‘Chrēstos’ means literally ‘useful’, but in the late fifth century at Athens, when and possibly where Ion was writing, it was a loaded term by which self-styling elite segments of the polity outlined the moral parameters of their political superiority. Productive citizens (‘farmer-hoplites, naval personnel, taxiarchs, generals, trierachs, men of prestigious birth, aristocratic education and culture, and

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high moral value’) promoted their qualifications to rule by emphasizing their utility to the polis.10 Ion thus wields the language of cultural validation that delineates Athens’ chrēstoi against them: without wisdom or effective action, the ‘useful’ citizens lack utility. Ion’s sympotic narrative thus paves the way for criticism of Athens’ political class.11 Far from being out of character, Ion’s comment squares with his apparent antipathy to the new populist order, evidenced in his negative evaluation of Pericles.12 Sophocles, a colleague of Pericles in 441/0 and possibly of his ally Nicias from 426 to 424, is part of this order.13 Sophocles’ sympotic strategy may be successful, but to his closing witticism Ion adds his own unease over the prowess of contemporary politicians. Indeed, Sophocles’ actions at the symposion may testify to a broader anxiety relating to Athens’ imperialistic ventures. The general, at the house of an Athenian proxenos, ‘conquers’ (ὑπηγάγετο) the serving boy by a clever ‘stratagem’ (στρατήγημα). In its execution, Sophocles identifies his own military prowess. When he seizes (περιλαβών) him and imposes a kiss, ‘Athenian politics is being played out on the body of the Chian youth.’14 The Eretrian or Erythraean schoolmaster, another resident of an allied polis – this time one that had already felt the full force of Athens’ military aggression – equally finds himself subdued.15 Again Sophocles’ weapons are his words; they not only refute the Eretrian’s challenge but also cause the

10

11

12

13 14

15

Rosenbloom (2004) 56–7, 59–66, quoting 56, n. 5 on the diverse groups considered chrēstos in late fifth-century comic and tragic texts. At this time, the chrēstoi are rhetorically set against the ponēroi, whose production is aimed at private economic advantage: Rosenbloom unpacks this antithesis and its ideological implementation. Compare the comic contestation in Aristophanes’ Frogs, noted by Goldhill (1991) 203–4, where the quest to find a useful man (χρηστοῖσιν) (735) to advise the city is compromised by attribution of this quality to the slave Xanthias (he is also γεννάδας, noble) (179; cf. 650). On Ion and Pericles, see Geddes (2007) 127–38. Note that in contrast to the present argument Geddes views Sophocles’ alleged membership of the chrēstoi as a positive attribute (138). This ignores the tone of Ion’s comment and the malleability of chrēstos as a value term. Although Athens’ anti-democratic elite do define themselves as chrēstoi, this is a contested label which, in the way of many aristocratic qualities, was co-opted by whoever wished to promote their own ability to contribute to the democratic city. Following Rosenbloom (2004), cited above (n. 10), this might include participants from the upper echelons, but the chrēstoi whom Ion references need not have been men of oligarchic sympathy. On Sophocles’ political career at Athens in the second half of the fifth century, including his friendship with Pericles, see Woodbury (1970). Quoting Blanshard (2007) 173–4. The military connotations of ὑπηγάγετο, and the episodes’ imperialistic overtones are also noted by Katsaros (2007) 227. My analysis extends hypotheses first presented in these two articles. Blanshard (2007) 172–3, n. 58 favours Erythrae, because the city had been a victim of Athenian aggression in the late 450s, only a decade before the current event is set. But the Eubeoian town of Eretria also came into conflict with the city in 446: see Meiggs (1972) 178–81.

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partygoers to laugh at him.16 The derision of the drinking group signals the Chians’ acquiescence to his victory and, hence, arraigned against the loser, it constitutes the assault as much as Sophocles’ verbal dexterity: ‘when they laughed, the Eretrian became downcast at the blow’ (γελασάντων δέ, ὁ μὲν Ἐρετρειὺς ἐνωπήθη τῇ ἐπιραπίξει).17 When Sophocles turns his attention from the Eretrian to the Chian and ‘holds’ (εἴχετο) him with words, the Athenian general advances from one verbal assault to another – and the symposiasts laugh once more. And, as he promotes his erotic manoeuvres as evidence of military accomplishment, he leaves behind him two allied citizens quelled by his stratēgēmata and by the audience’s complicit laughter. In effect, Sophocles enacts Athenian imperialism at the symposion. Sophocles’ refutation of the Eretrian and his erotic entrapment of the Chian fulfil the expectations for paideia and dexiotēs, playfulness and cleverness, attendant upon symposiasts.18 But at the symposion the line between playfulness and social consequence is always in the balance.19 It is in this tension that the unsettling undertones of Sophocles’ performances materialize. The laughter of the symposiasts is crucial here. It establishes a happy communality through a shared display of appreciation for Sophocles’ sympotic dexterity, whilst also separating out and reducing its targets: a schoolmaster from Eretria and a Chian youth. The narrative setting of the party lends this spectacle an edge. As already noted, Sophocles is stopping off on his way to Lesbos: both Chios and Lesbos will soon lend the general ships to help to subdue rebellious Samos (Thuc. 1.115–17). The Chian symposiasts’ complicit laughter echoes the polis’s proactive role in Athens’ military domination of its allies. Yet, rather than being viewed as criticism of either party, which would be a surprising stance for this sometime resident of Athens whose son is later killed for his Athenian sympathies (Thuc. 8.38.3), Ion’s metaphorical presentation of Athenian-allied relations might be read more profitably against contemporary political deliberations on Athenian power. In Thucydides’ version of speeches delivered at Sparta (1.76) and Melos (5.105), Athenian representatives assert that their dominance in the Aegean is the consequence of a long-standing and natural law that others recognize and would adhere to too, if they became the supreme military 16 17 18

19

See Halliwell (2008) 108–9, who observes that ‘Sophocles controls the merriment of the drinking group to his own advantage, while turning it against the schoolteacher’. The ‘blow’ felt by the Eretrian metaphorically fulfils the observation by Halliwell (1991) 284: ‘the idea that what starts as verbal badinage may end in physical blows becomes something of a Greek topos’. Alongside lyre-playing (see Chapter 1), cleverness and playfulness are part of ‘an index of sociocultural distinction’, and ‘in the private realm of the symposion, it is precious cultural capital’: see Power (2007) 184. See Halliwell (2008) 100–54, esp. 109–27.

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force amongst the Greeks. It is this political reality that is encoded in Ion’s sympotic drama. Certainly, towards the end of Ion’s life, some Chians were re-evaluating their city’s relationship with Athens. Exiles from the island were probably contributing to the Spartan war effort already in the 430s; by 425 Athens was worried enough about dissent to demand that citizens demolish their own walls.20 In 428 citizens of Mytilene on neighbouring Lesbos went so far as to revolt. Although Quinn (1981, 40) warns against accepting the address of the Mytileneans to the Spartans in Thucydides’ History (3.10) as evidence for Chian opinion, the Mytilenean’s presentation of themselves and Chios watching other poleis being overpowered and ‘enslaved’ (ἐδουλώθησαν) by Athens one after another may provide some insights into the dilemmas that allies such as Chios faced. Should they hold fast and join in the enslavement of other poleis or make a bid for freedom? The sympotic encounter featuring Sophocles dramatizes the complexities of the allied position. Rather than adding fuel to a fire of revolution, Ion’s depiction of Sophocles’ stratagems might equally imply that the Chians have no choice but to preserve the Athenian connection. The demonstration continues in Ion’s writing through the performances of another arch-symposiast: Cimon (FGrH 392 F13). This time, the excellence of his sympotic performance is not only stated by the narrator but asserted by companions present at the house of Laomedon: καὶ τῶν σπονδῶν γενομένων, παρακληθέντος ἆισαι καὶ ἄισαντος οὐκ ἀηδῶς, ἐπαινεῖν τοῦς παρόντας ὡς δεξιώτερον Θεμιστοκλέους· ἐκεῖνον γὰρ ἄιδειν μὲν οὐ φάναι μαθεῖν οὐδὲ κιθαρίζειν, πόλιν δὲ ποιῆσαι μεγάλην καὶ πλουσίαν ἐπίστασθαι· When the libations were poured, and having been called upon to sing he sang not unpleasantly, those present praised him as cleverer than Themistocles; for that man said that he had not learned to sing or play the lyre, but he understood how to make a city great and wealthy.

The audience is in accord over Cimon’s copious talents: he surpasses Themistocles because he combines sympotic prowess with political success, and the general’s demonstration of exactly how he enhanced Athens’ coffers – making the city great and wealthy – in a story fit for drinking (εἰκὸς ἐν πότῳ) ensues. Shortly after victories against the Persians at Sestos and Byzantium, Cimon duped allied poleis into taking the lesser spoils. Separating the prisoners from their rich and sumptuous belongings, Cimon invited the allies to choose their share. Dazzled by the golden armlets, torques, necklaces, and robes of purple, they opted for the goods instead 20

Observed by Blanshard (2007) 164–5.

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of the prisoners and judged Cimon to be a laughable distributor (γελοῖος εἶναι δοκῶν διανομεύς). However, when Persians arrive to ransom captive relatives and friends, the joke is on the allies: Cimon can feed and pay his fleet for four months from the proceeds and also hand over a considerable sum of gold to the city. This deception, which Cimon judges to be his greatest accomplishment (τῶν μεγίστων) and wisest stratagem (στρατήγμα σοφώτατον), cements the general’s superiority over his long-standing rival, Themistocles.21 While Cimon’s singing and storytelling mark his sympotic accomplishment, his strategy mimics the style of Themistocles.22 Wisdom and a superlative cleverness (σοφίης δὲ καὶ δεξιότητος) were Themistocles’ defining attributes, to the extent that he was crowned with olive at Sparta after victory at Salamis on their account (Hdt. 8.124). Thus, Cimon’s performance is an act of political one-upmanship: to the acclaim of his drinking companions, the general trumps his rival’s sympotic prowess and in the process proves himself to be cleverer (δεξιώτερον) than Themistocles, all the while appropriating his defining attribute. On the surface, Cimon fares better than Sophocles. Ion brings no authorial judgement to bear on his subject: Cimon’s sympotic cleverness appears to complement political acumen.23 Yet, Cimon’s wisest stratagem is problematic. While his dissimulation benefits Athens, the hoodwinked allies find their own fortunes affected. They do not receive a fair share in the war booty. This has not only financial implications. In the heroic tradition at least, the award of spoils corresponds to the award of honour.24 When Cimon’s trick is exposed, the allies are doubly reduced. With the connotations of Ion’s Sophoclean symposion in mind, it is difficult to dismiss the allied perspective.25 Furthermore, the usurpation of Themistoclean qualities brings its own complications. In a sympotic verse from the 470s by Timocreon of Rhodes, Themistocles is a ‘liar, unjust man, 21 22

23

24

25

This underlying dynamic is noted by R. Harmon (2003) 356–8. For the generic appropriateness of Cimon’s tale, cf. Ar. V. 1186–7, where Bdelycleon’s instructions on good sympotic etiquette include stories that are impressive (μεγαλοπρεπεῖς) and cover, for example, official engagements: see below. Further praise of Cimon is attributed to Ion by Plutarch in a passage used to support Ion’s friendship with the general (Per. 5.3 = Ion FGrH 392 F5). Is it possible, however, that the care (ἐμμελές), suppleness (ὑργόν) and musical cultivation (μεμουσωμένον) in social intercourse that Plutarch says Ion praised derive from his reading of the depiction of Cimon’s sympotics, which is known to us from the present extract in Plutarch’s biography of the general? Thus Ion’s alleged ‘friendship’ with the general would be dependent upon this scene. An unfair redistribution of the spoils of war is the starting point for the Iliad, and the negotiation of heroic status through awards of gifts and prizes is a continuing theme: see Donlan (1989, 1993; both articles are reprinted in Donlan, 1999), and D. F. Wilson (2002) in her study of the poem’s ‘compensation theme’. Cf. Blanshard (2007) 174, who identifies ‘the unpleasantness of the empire’ in Cimon’s swindling tale.

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and traitor’ (ψεύσταν ἄδικον προδόταν) persuaded by ‘knavish silver’ (ἀργυρίοισι κοβαλισκοῖσι) to a life of plunder and rogue action in the Aegean (727 Page). His deceit is tied to the betrayal of friends (specifically his xenos Timocreon, whom he refused to take home and instead sailed away from with 30 talents) and the forced return of unjust exiles, and the pursuit and slaughter of others. It is on account of this, no doubt, that Timocreon claims Themistocles earned the hatred of Leto, a reference to the Delian League of allies under Athens’ command, whose members he too abuses.26 Cimon’s deceit of the allies certainly matches Themistocles’ accomplishments. That such critical evaluation of Themistocles’ talents was circulating when Ion was writing is supported by the comparison established by Herodotus through narrative parallels between tricky Themistocles and the self-serving treachery of a Medizing Greek called Histiaeus of Miletus.27 To this outside observer from Halicarnassus, similarly uncomfortable with the dynamics of Athenian imperialism, the wiles of men like Histiaeus and Themistocles were potentially hazardous to the Greeks.28 Even at Athens, Themistocles was an ambivalent hero. In forensic rhetoric, for example, he is a great leader, but later generals who achieved positive results for the polis without deception are greater still.29 Athens’ ‘cultural enmity’ to deception was flexible enough to permit and tentatively praise duplicity against military opponents, when the survival of the city was at issue.30 Yet, while Cimon’s ruse certainly brings financial benefit to his home town, his victims are allies, not an enemy bent on destroying the city. The actions that prove him cleverer than Themistocles are thus problematic, even within the negotiable framework of Athenian public discourse. In Ion’s narrative, sympathetic symposiasts may endorse Cimon’s exploits; the informed reader need not. Whether or not Ion’s two sympotic episodes derive from the same text, the performances of his two Athenian generals at the party articulate the 26 27 28

29

For the allusion to the Delian League, see McMullin (2001) 57. See Greenwood (2007) 136–8. Herodotus’ relationship with Athens, encountered in Chapter 2 through the nexus of foreign drinking practices that resonate with aspects of Athenian ethos and action, was complex. However, from Wells (1928) onwards, scholars have almost universally agreed that while Herodotus recognizes Athens’ contribution to the Greek war effort against Persia (for example in the so-called ‘Encomium’ at 7.139, which can also be read as proof that the gods rather than the Athenians were primarily responsible for Greek victory: see Demand (1987)), the Histories also points forward to aspects of Athenian politics that proved problematic in the post-Persian War period, that is when Herodotus was conducting his inquiries. Crucial reading on this topic includes Forrest (1984), Derow (1995) and Moles (1996). For wider bibliography and discussion of the issue, consult Moles (2002) and Fowler (2003) 305, n. 1. Hesk (2000) 46–48. 30 Hesk (2000) 106.

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relationship between Athens and its allies. A shared vocabulary of strategy and cleverness lends the theme continuity and priority. Ion’s symposia thus constitute political exposés. Performances open up the faultlines between sympotic and political competence and dramatize the difficulties of Athens’ imperialism for allied cities. It is striking that the narrator does not partake in either symposion, although Ion’s presence is alleged by the conceit of his Stays, and by outright assertion when Laomedon’s party is introduced. Despite Ion’s reputation as a drinker, lover and singer, his authorial counterpart remains an observer rather than a participant. He too follows that Theognidean advice to fade from view and observe the true tenor of his companions. When the reader adopts his voyeuristic perspective, the characters of Sophocles and Cimon unfold. Moreover, the temper of Athens is apparent in the words and actions of its citizen generals. For Athenaeus and Plutarch, who redeploy Ion’s symposia and so preserve them for us, the interest lies primarily in establishing the personalities of the influential figures who currently claim their attention. But, in Ion’s text, the words and actions of Athenian citizens and sympathizers are more significant: it is Athens’ political stance that is ultimately in performance. At a time when the pros and cons and rights and wrongs of Athens’ imperialism were under discussion, Ion presented the reality of allied experience through Sophocles’ and Cimon’s reported sympotics. commensal misconduct on the false embassy So far Timaeus and Ion, writing over one hundred years apart but each reporting past gatherings, represent the symposion as a place for politically inspired performance and utilize it to establish the political character of participants and/or regimes. Although the specifics vary according to their interests and their discursive contexts (one recording history and the accomplishments of Empedocles, the other recalling sympotic encounters and demonstrating Athenian imperialism), in both instances the politics on display intimate the dangers that symposiasts as individuals plotting tyranny or generals in the service of Athens pose to a wider community, be it the democratic polis or cities allied to Athens. A third text, a lawcourt oration produced at Athens between the two, plays comparable games. The date is 343: Demosthenes is prosecuting Aeschines for accepting bribes during an embassy to Philip II of Macedon three years earlier. Amidst the accusations of greed and betrayal that permeate the prosecution speech, On the False Embassy, the symposion operates within a subtle network of commensal scenes by which Demosthenes exposes the extent of his opponent’s

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corruption and the menace he poses to the dēmos on whose behalf he purports to work. In the absence of hard evidence of wrongdoing, sympotic performances in Macedonian contexts play a role in establishing Aeschines’ political sympathy towards Philip, the principal source of danger to the Greeks at this time, as Demosthenes seeks to persuade an audience of citizen jurors towards a conviction. In the process, dangers latent in Philip’s royal hospitality, or xenia emerge. As discussed in Chapter 2, by the mid fourth century, as part of a royal banqueting culture, Macedonian sympotics had become a source of moral rebuke to the historian Theopompus: participants at Philip’s court are characterized primarily by intemperance and licentiousness, and the spread of Macedonian revelry is responsible for the enervation of neighbouring people and their conquest by Philip. Demosthenes too indulged in such characterization when he pressed the Athenians to aid the Greek city of Olynthus against the Macedonian aggressor in 349. Drawing upon the report of an anonymous yet irreproachable source on the character of Philip’s soldiers, the orator asserts that sober (σώφρων) and just (δίκαιος) men cannot survive at his court, only those who can stomach the intemperance (ἀκρασίαν) of daily life, drunkenness and dancing the kordax. Amongst their number are thieves and flatterers, and the sort of men who are expelled from Athens for being wanton (ἀσελγεστέρους) (Second Olynthiac 2.17–19). In the attempt to convince the citizen Assembly that Philip will be easy to defeat, his court becomes a venue for debauchery, coded through the sympotic misdemeanours of excessive drinking and lewd dance.31 However, this is not the picture presented in the speech On the False Embassy. Instead, as Demosthenes narrates events surrounding the Athenian embassy to Philip’s court, he constructs a series of short commensal episodes amongst which the only party to descend into drunken chaos is led by the son of an Athenian exile and attended by the Athenian ambassadors (although see below on the identity of the host) (19.196–8). Given the realities of Macedonian royal practice, or perceptions of them, these banquets may not all conform to what might be described as a ‘standard’ Greek symposion, as far as such a thing existed.32 Nonetheless, 31 32

See MacDowell (2009) 230–2. For a similar depiction of Philip’s sympotics by Theopompus, see Chapter 2, above. It is after all a premise of the present study that a ‘standard’ symposion is to some degree a composite mirage which bestrides practices that were fluid and diverse. Carney (2007) 152–61 pulls out some of the differences between ‘standard’ Greek and Macedonian practices as presented in a range of literature, insisting that ‘Macedonian drinking habits were disorderly and excessive by Greek standards’ (159). She notes particularly amongst Macedonians a stronger interest in hired entertainments, a lack of concern with either sōphrosynē or equality, the absence of a symposiarch, a propensity for day-

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such events provided a forum for invited guests to drink and converse with the king, and they proved useful to the prosecutor for tracing Aeschines’ antipathy to Athens and its allies. Demosthenes’ narration of the first of these Macedonian events is brief but succinct. At a victory feast hosted by Philip at the Pythian Games following his conquest of Phocis on behalf of the Delphic Amphictyony, as narrated by Diodorus Siculus (16.60.1), Aeschines makes an appearance: οὗτος εἰς τἀπινίκια τῶν πραγμάτων καὶ τοῦ πολέμου, ἃ Θηβαῖοι καὶ Φίλιππος ἔθυον, εἱστιᾶτο ἐλθὼν καὶ σπονδῶν μετεῖχε καὶ εὐχῶν, ἃς ἐπὶ τοῖς τῶν συμμάχων τῶν ὑμετέρων τείχεσι καὶ χώρᾳ καὶ ὅπλοις ἀπολωλόσιν ηὔχετ᾽ ἐκεῖνος, καὶ συνεστεφανοῦτο καὶ συνεπαιώνιζεν Φιλίππῳ καὶ φιλοτησίας προὔπινεν. (Demosthenes 19.128) This man, travelling to the victory sacrifices which the Thebans and Philip celebrated on account of these matters and the war, was a guest at the feast and shared in the libations and prayers which that man offered in thanks for the destruction of our allies’ walls, land and arms. He wore garlands (sunestephanouto) and joined in the paean (sunepaiōnizen) with Philip and pledged a cup of friendship (philotēsias) to Philip.

Aeschines joins in with gusto. He integrates himself into the celebratory group, sharing their rituals and the wearing of garlands, praising Apollo by joining in the paean, and toasting Philip’s friendship. At any other event his conduct would be perfect. Yet, Demosthenes’ rhetoric deems it inappropriate: the friend to whom Aeschines drains his cup is the conqueror of Athens’ allies. The Athenians, Demosthenes informs his audience, regarded the fate of the Phocians as ‘terrible and grievous’ (δεινὰ καὶ σχέτλια), and they had actually forbidden representatives to attend Philip’s celebrations (19.128). Hence, when Aeschines joins his friend Philip in thanksgiving for victory over the Phocians, he distances himself from the dēmos and even disobeys its instructions. Indeed, Demosthenes takes the argument further: the prayers made by Philip and the Thebans asked for strength and victory in war for themselves and their allies, and the opposite for the friends of Phocis: ‘Therefore this man joined in these prayers and cursed his fatherland’ (οὐκοῦν ταῦτα συνηύχετο οὗτος καὶ κατηρᾶτο τῇ πατρίδι, 19.130). Aeschines’ participation in the feast is problematic for the polis because it establishes communality between Aeschines and his host, Philip, which long drinking bouts, a preference for large cups, the consumption of food whilst drinking, and an apolitical character. This list is useful, but possible discrepancies between reality and representation, and especially the preconceptions and preoccupations of the Greek writers merit further consideration. For example, the display of luxury (tryphê) at the Macedonian royal banquet fits with the longer Persian trajectory and moralizing rhetoric identified in Chapter 2, above.

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overrides his commitment to the city and its allies and could even harm them. The potential strength of Demosthenes’ argument is confirmed by Aeschines’ three-pronged defence in his counter-speech, also entitled On the False Embassy: (i) he was only one of two hundred communal diners invited epi ta xenia, including other Greek ambassadors; (ii) there is no evidence that he partook in the paean to Apollo; and (iii) if he had, there would have been nothing outrageous about it, given that Athens and its citizens were safe (following the resolution of conflict) and not dishonoured by his actions (2.163). The snapshot that Demosthenes conjures of Aeschines in a virtual tête-à-tête with Philip, garlanded alongside him, singing the paian with him, and toasting him, dissolves into the inoffensive performance of one man amongst many at a communal dinner. Demosthenes insists that his point is irrefutable (19.129); Aeschines disputes Demosthenes’ spin. In this reply Aeschines does not address the toasting of Philip with a loving cup, attempting to elide it perhaps from the memory of the jurors. But he strikes back with his own commensal counter-attack: ‘Am I then because of this a man without pity, but you pious, the accuser of men who share your libations and food?’ (ἔπειτα ἐγὼ μὲν διὰ ταῦτα ὰνηλέης τις εἰμὶ ἄνθρωπος, σὺ δὲ εὐσεβὴς ὁ τῶν ὁμοσπόνδων καὶ συσίτων κατήγορος; 2.163). Aeschines now accuses his prosecutor of a crime against commensality. This is in fact the truncated reprisal of an earlier accusation that Demosthenes plotted against the ambassadors who were his messmates (ἐπιβουλὰς κατ’ ἀνδρῶν συσσίτων καὶ συμπρέσβεων) in a fashion that would be out of proportion even for an enemy (2.22). If Aeschines allegedly built bonds with – demonstrated his allegiance to – Philip through sharing in the feast, then Demosthenes destroys the bonds established by – demonstrates his disallegiance from – the common table of Athens’ chosen representatives. We will leave this strand on one side for now, however, because it in turn responds to a prosecution argument that follows a depiction of Aeschines in action at the symposion (19.189, see below, pp. 134–7). The next Macedonian party does not directly involve Aeschines, yet it is nonetheless central to the developing assault. To set the scene, Demosthenes leads the jurors back in time to the period before the destruction of Phocis. Philip and some Theban ambassadors are drinking together after a sacrificial banquet, or thusia. It is here that the Thebans persuade the king to unite with them against the Phocian enemy. They accomplish this by rejecting Philip’s gifts of slaves and precious cups and pushing instead for an expression of his friendship (φιλανθρωπίαν) to their city as a whole (19.140). Using words more worthy of Athenians than Thebans, they achieve three results for their

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city: peace and security, the absolute destruction of Thebes’ enemies, and the acquisition of Phocian territory (19.141). This is a picture of Philip in operation at a banquet that resonates with general Greek perceptions about how kings conduct their business: from Herodotus onwards Persian kings are similarly depicted offering favours to those with whom they dine.33 The scenario is at once alien to Greek cultural practice, and familiar from long engagement with and representation of royal courts in action. The point of its representation becomes clear when Demosthenes explicitly draws a comparison with Aeschines’ embassy to Philip. The Thebans at Philip’s court received nothing for their efforts beyond what they accomplished for their fatherland. The esteem of virtue and reputation that they gained was analogous with what the Athenian ambassadors gave away in exchange for money (19.142). This charge of bribery imagines Aeschines and his companions in a similar commensal setting; they, however, accepted Philip’s gifts and so failed to improve Athens’ situation. Aeschines has progressed from disregarding the city by his participation in Philip’s victory celebrations to actively failing to pursue its interests. The charge is reprised a short while later when Demosthenes proudly declares his resistance to Philip’s bribes of gold, offered under the pretext of guest-friendship (ξένια δὴ πρόφασιν) (19.167–8). While other ambassadors allegedly folded, Demosthenes stood firm and encouraged Philip to release the captives. The problem here is the corrupting power of Macedonian xenia, which Aeschines profits from to the city’s detriment (cf. 19.248), but the Thebans and Demosthenes attempt to divert to useful causes. The allegation of self-service at the expense of the commonwealth is reiterated in a parallel scene where, once again, Philip’s standard gifts are rejected in return for an altruistic favour. This is the first of two events described as symposia and whose performances are set up explicitly for comparison. Satyrus, a comic poet from Athens, is being hosted by Philip at a victory feast during the local Olympic Games not long after the Macedonian sack of Olynthus. When pressed by the king to make his request, Satyrus asks for the daughters of his friend, Apollophanes of Pydna, who were captured at Olynthus. This request is thoroughly selfless: Satyrus asserts that he will gain no profit (ἐγὼ κερδανῶ μὲν οὐδέν), and in fact plans to give the women away with dowries. Communal acclamation ensues:

33

Often with dire consequences: see Herodotus’ Histories 9.110–11, where Xerxes is confined by the law (ὑπὸ τοῦ νόμου ἐξεργόμενος) to grant his wife’s request for Masistes’ wife, whom she subsequently mutilates, assuming her to be Xerxes’ lover. See Briant (2002a) 302–12 for the Persian royal prerogative of gift-giving, which was not confined to the dinner table.

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ὡς δ’ ἀκοῦσαι τοὺς παρόντας ἐν τῷ συμποσίῳ, τοσοῦτον κρότον καὶ θόρυβον καὶ ἔπαινον παρὰ πάντων γενέσθαι ὥστε τὸν Φίλιππον παθεῖν τι καὶ δοῦναι. (Demosthenes 19.195) So when those present at the symposion heard, there was such clapping and roaring and praise from everyone that Philip was moved and granted it.

The sympotic group boisterously sanctions Satyrus’ performance. His speech and his response to Philip’s offer of gifts are deemed entirely appropriate. Like the Thebans, Satyrus is disinterested in personal advancement; he is reluctant to ask for the king’s favour and expects it to be turned down, for his friend Apollophanes has killed the king’s brother. While Philip once more expresses his royal prerogative at this ‘symposion’, an Athenian, paralleling the selflessness of Demosthenes, has prioritized his responsibilities to his friend over acquiring the usual gifts. Again Demosthenes’ praise of a performance at a royally sponsored party highlights the deficiencies of Aeschines and his fellow ambassadors. This time, however, they are reinforced through a direct sympotic comparison. The introduction to Satyrus’ story indicates the direction the argument will take: Demosthenes desires to turn attention to a trivial matter that will nevertheless prove the ambassadors to be by contrast ‘the most wretched and most despicable’ (φαυλότατοι καὶ πονηρότατοι) of all Philip’s guests (19.192; comparison implicit at 196). The selected event returns the jurors to the trial at hand: Demosthenes is recounting an episode from the embassy during which Aeschines allegedly accepted gifts from Philip in exchange for favours at Athens. Its likely direction is signalled by the identification of the host as Xenophron, whose father had been a member of the Thirty, the oligarchic junta that ruled Athens briefly in 404/3. There is some dispute over this character because when Aeschines refutes Demosthenes’ story he names Xenodocus, a hetairos of Philip, as the host (2.157).34 Rather than being a blip in the manuscript tradition, the difference in details might result from either a pre-circulation revision of Demosthenes’ speech or, following MacDowell (2009, 334), the pre-trial state of the speech as it survives. The issues are complex and thankfully do not need resolving here.35 Suffice it to say that in one draft, Demosthenes may have drawn upon that familiar tradition of drunkenness and lewdity amongst the 34 35

Paulsen (1999) 207; MacDowell (2000) 287. Hobden (2009b) 79–81 discusses some of the issues, examining the possibility of revision. MacDowell (2009) 7–8 is sceptical whether Demosthenes’ work was revised before circulation and suggests on the basis of its unusual length and the omission of arguments referenced by Aeschines that the surviving speech On the False Embassy represents the notes from which Demosthenes spoke, making adjustments as the trial necessitated. However, in a passage to be discussed below, Demosthenes (19.191)

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hetairoi at Philip’s court, deployed earlier in the Second Olynthiac. But in the other (the surviving version), he intensifies accusations relating to Aeschines’ political allegiances by making him associate with a family that contributed to the overthrow of democracy. Given the negative characterization of their rule as violent and unlawful in surviving lawcourt rhetoric, Aeschines’ attendance at this man’s party can only end badly.36 At whatever stage it entered the speech, the introduction of an oligarchic host contributes to a building sense of foreboding. This foreboding is enhanced by the distance that Demosthenes, who was also present on this embassy, places between himself and narrated events (compare the orator’s presentation of details about Philip’s court through an anonymous source in the Olynthiacs, 2.17–19, above). He did not undertake the journey to Xenophron’s house (19.196), and he relies upon the testimony of someone who did (19.197). Not only was he absent; the narrative is not his own. The events that follow, the events from which Demosthenes was conspicuously absent, constitute a devastating litany of hybris, ‘outrage’, and paroinia, ‘drunken abuse’. It begins when Xenophron introduces a captive Olynthian woman into the symposion just as the drinking commences. The guests initially badger her into drinking and eating sweetmeats, but as the party progresses and they are warmed by the wine, they demand that she recline and sing. When she refuses, ‘neither wishing to nor knowing how’ (οὔτε ἐθελούσης οὔτ’ ἐπισταμένης, 19.197), Aeschines and Phryno accuse her of an arrogance (ὕβριν) that is intolerable in an enemy of the gods and a sinful Olynthian spear-won slave. They then order her to be whipped. After falling to the ground, she is rescued by Demosthenes’ source, Iatrocles: καὶ εἰ μὴ ἐκεῖνος ἀφείλετο, ἀπώλετ’ ἂν παροινουμένη· καὶ γὰρ ἡ παροινία τοῦ καθάρματος τουτουὶ δεινή. (Demosthenes 19.198) And if that man had not lifted her away, she would have been destroyed, being drunkenly abused (paroinoumenē); for the drunken abuse (paroinia) of that piece of refuse is terrible.

Aeschines’ performance at the symposion confirms that he and his companions are the most wretched and despicable of men. In fact, Aeschines’ behaviour is also garbed in impiety: he is described as the off-scouring cleansed from the altar following a sacrifice (καθάρματος).

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appears to anticipate an argument that Aeschines will make (2.22, 2.163), suggesting some postperformance embellishment, or at least the sharpening of an earlier point. This issue is complicated further because possible revisions in Aeschines’ text must also be considered. For example, Lysias’ Against Eratosthenes (12) portrays the rule of the Thirty as violently illegal: see Hobden (2007) 160–5 on this rhetorical strategy and its broader contexts.

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This conclusion is effected by a series of associations that reflect Demosthenes’ wider arguments in the Embassy speech or carry broader cultural resonance.37 First, the woman whom the ambassadors mistreat is a captive, taken in Olynthus just like the women rescued by Satyrus, and the captives whom Demosthenes requested be released too. Despite her present circumstances, she remains, by Demosthenes’ account, a well-presented woman who shows herself by her actions to be free and modest (εὐπρεπῆ μέν, ἐλευθέραν δὲ καὶ σώφρονα, ὡς τὸ ἔργον ἐδήλωσεν, 19.196). Her dislike for drinking and her refusal to recline or sing are thoroughly in keeping with this; her sympotic performance is in exact accord with Greek ideals for womanhood. Where Themistocles is forced to excuse his inability to sing using claims to great statesmanship, her lack of competence in the sympotic arts requires no such apology. To demand that she lie on a couch and sing is to cast the Olynthian woman wrongly as a hetaira.38 Thus, although Aeschines and Phryno accuse her of hybris, they, not the Olynthian, are guilty of ‘insulting, brutal or sexually shaming behaviour’.39 Indeed, Demosthenes imbues her with sōphrosynē, or modesty, the ideological antithesis to hybris.40 Moreover, the drunken abuse of a ‘free’ Olynthian woman does not simply initiate a comparison with Satyrus’ sympotic request. Until its destruction, Olynthus had been allied to Athens. Aeschines’ attitude at Xenophron’s party resonates with his earlier offence of joining Philip and Thebes in praying for weakness amongst Athens and its friends during the feast at Delphi. Aeschines’ performance at Xenophron’s symposion therefore offers testimony to his character, which immediately undergoes further assassination (19.199–200). Plus, more alarmingly for the jurors, it indicates a political malaise. He cavorts hybristically with the relative of a former Athenian oligarch, and his performance demonstrates his disrespect for Athens’ allies, making him an active participant in their demise. Although he is not depicted as receiving gifts from Philip at a symposion, the comparisons with Satyrus – to which we might add the responses of the Thebans and Demosthenes to Philip’s generous xenia – indicate where and how Aeschines might have been induced to enhance his personal wealth at the expense of his city, where he now purportedly pursues Philip’s interests. These comparative performances, moreover, emphasize how Aeschines’ 37 38 39 40

An extended discussion of the strategies identified here is found in Hobden (2009b) 71–5. As noted by Paulsen (1999) 208. For this process of hetairization in lawcourt oratory, see Glazebrook (2005, 2006). A succinct definition of hybris provided by Fisher (1992) 115. On this opposition, see Fisher (1992) 111–21.

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acceptance of the king’s money represents a missed opportunity to advance the Athenian and allied cause. Towards the end of the speech, these various strands are brought together when Demosthenes recites a poem composed by Solon, the lines we know today as Solon’s Eunomia (4 W). After declaring Athens’ immunity from destruction by the gods and the city’s patronage from Athena, the poem continues: αὐτοὶ δὲ φθείρειν μεγάλην πόλιν ἀφραδίῃσιν ἀστοὶ βούλονται, χρήμασι πειθόμενοι, δήμου θ᾽ ἡγεμόνων ἄδικος νόος, οἷσιν ἑτοῖμον ὕβριος ἐκ μεγάλης ἄλγεα πολλὰ παθεῖν. οὐ γὰρ ἐπίστανται κατέχειν κόρον, οὐδὲ παρούσας εὐφροσύνας κοσμεῖν δαιτὸς ἐν ἡσυχίῃ. ...... πλουτοῦσιν δ᾽ ἀδίκοις ἔργμασι πειθόμενοι. (Demosthenes 19.255) The citizens themselves wish to destroy the great city by their foolishness, persuaded by money, and the purpose of the leaders of the people is unjust, and they are certain to suffer many pains because of their great insolence (hybris). For they do not understand how to hold in check their greed, nor to order (kosmein) their present cheerful feasts peacefully (en hēsuchiēi). And they grow wealthy, trusting in unjust deeds.

Solon’s poem picks up the themes of injustice and the destruction of the city. In terms of the Embassy speech, his complaint is consonant with the situation in Athens as Demosthenes portrays it. The defendant is one of the city’s leaders; he is inspired to wrongful conduct by a desire for money; he inflicts hybris on innocent bystanders; and his behaviour in commensal settings – albeit sympotic rather than festive (δαιτός) – is disorderly rather than peaceful. In Demosthenes’ rhetoric, destruction of the city at the hands of its leaders looms on the horizon. The remaining Solonian verses expound upon the consequences of civil war before closing with a call for justice. To conclude his recitation, Demosthenes remarks that the audience has now heard Solon’s thoughts about men of that sort (περὶ τῶν τοιούτων ἀνθρώπων, 19.256), meaning Aeschines and his comrades. However, the poem, harnessed to Demosthenes’ agenda, is not merely deployed as a character sketch. It is a summary of Demosthenes’ prosecution and an incitement to his audience: a conviction must be brought against Aeschines – the poet’s advice must be taken – or else the Solonian vision of an Athens destroyed from within will come to pass. The twin symposia featuring Satyrus and Aeschines comprise only a small portion of Demosthenes’ speech, yet as part of a broader network of

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commensal events at the royal court they work to substantiate the prosecution argument and to promote Aeschines’ political allegiances and temper. The efficacy of the sympotic scene at Xenophron’s house in particular is emphasized by Aeschines’ refutation of the charge of drunken hybris and paroinia against a free Olynthian woman during his defence speech on two separate occasions. Both times Aeschines asserts that the jurors protested the argument (Aeschin. 2.4, 2.135). Yet he still takes pains to combat the charges, calling upon Aristophanes of Olynthus, a relative of the captive woman he allegedly assaulted, to testify that Demosthenes had paid him to support this fiction (2.155). Had the jurors believed Demosthenes or had Aristophanes supported his case, ‘I would have been destroyed unjustly by these shameful accusations’ (ἐπ’ αἰσχραῖς αἰτίαις ἀπωλόμην ἂν ἀδίκως, 2.158). Aeschines recognizes the power of Demosthenes’ sympotic rhetoric. Moreover, as noted above, Aeschines engages in his own commensal argument, levelling a charge that Demosthenes anticipated he would bring: ‘Where then is the salt? Where is the table? Where are the libations?’ (ποῦ δ’ ἅλες; ποῦ τράπεζα; ποῦ σπονδαί; Dem. 19.189). As MacDowell (2000, 284) comments, the listed items are ‘symbols of fellowship at dinner and symposium’, found first in a fragment attributed to Archilochus. Already in that epode they testify to broken bonds: ‘you have abandoned the great oath made by salt and table’ (ὅρκον δ’ ἐνοσφίσθης μέγαν | ἅλας τε καὶ τράπεζαν, 173 W). Whatever the possible narrative and sympotic settings for the Archaic poet’s rebuke, Aeschines and Demosthenes turn this commensal offence into a civic one: ‘For he (Demosthenes) says that it is the salt of the city [and the public table] that he holds in highest esteem’ (τοὺς γὰρ τῆς πόλεως ἅλας [καὶ τὴν δημοσίαν τράπεζαν] περὶ πλείστου δή φησι ποιεῖσθαι, Aeschin. 2.22).41 Hence, it is this commitment to the city which is undermined when he plots and makes accusations against the ambassadors with whom he dines (2.163). So too Aeschines’ crimes have wider repercussions: πότεροι οὖν τοὺς ἅλας παρέβαινον καὶ τὰς σπονδάς, Αἰσχίνη, οἱ προδιδόντες καὶ οἱ παραπρεσβεύοντες καὶ οἱ δωροδοκοῦντες, ἢ οἱ κατηγοροῦντες; οἱ ἀδικοῦντες δηλονότι τὰς ὅλης γε τῆς πατρίδος σπονδάς, ὥσπερ σύ, οὐ μόνον τὰς ἰδίας. (Demosthenes 19.191)

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On the likely setting and force of Archilochus’ epode within the Lycambes narrative see Gagné (2009), who also emphasizes its consequences on the sympotic group: ‘Lycambes, formerly a ἑταῖρος united with the poet in a bond of commensality and friendship, now becomes an enemy of the sympotic social code’ (266).

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So who transgressed the salt and libations, Aeschines? The traitors and the false ambassadors and the bribe-takers, or their accusers? Clearly the wrongdoers transgressed the libations of the entire country, like you, not only their own.

This time Aeschines’ offences, which Demosthenes establishes in part through his commensal scenes, break the bonds shared by the whole Athenian community. This charge is, of course, immediately followed by the performances of Satyrus and Aeschines at their respective symposia. When a table is knocked over during the curfuffle at Xenophron’s party, the defendant’s transgression of the civic table returns to view. In Demosthenes’ lawcourt rhetoric, communal drinking occurs within a chain of convivial occasions that dramatize or help to construct his opponent’s pro-Macedonian, anti-Athenian stance. The Macedonian and royal banquet settings for symposia (in the loosest sense) may reflect the emergence of the Macedonian court as a venue for political negotiation accompanying Philip’s ascendancy in Greece. Demosthenes may have sought to tap Athenian anxieties about the conduct of their representatives when they encountered reputedly extravagant and generous Macedonian xenia.42 Would opportunities for personal gain on offer at the Macedonian court generate new bonds to supplant those of the civic community? Demosthenes explicitly associates Aeschines’ alleged preference for the xenia and philia of Philip and its profits with a disregard for the offices the Athenians bestowed upon him and for Athens’ wellbeing: he cares not whether he ‘sinks’ the ship of state or delivers it to the enemy (19.248–50). Yet, even within the chain of commensal rhetoric, it is at the most ‘standard’ symposion at the house of an Athenian exile with oligarchic sympathies that Aeschines’ moral and political fibre is most succinctly on display. For this forensic orator, as for Ion before him and Timaeus a short while later, performances at drinking parties can ‘reveal’ a symposiast’s politics. Not surprisingly, in light of Demosthenes’ lawcourt audience and agenda, the politics embedded in Aeschines’ sympotic performance are specifically detrimental to Athens. As already noted, this has particular resonance for a contemporary Athens witnessing Philip’s brutal and effective interventions in Greek affairs. Indeed, the accusations against Aeschines help Demosthenes pursue his broader 42

Herman (1987) 79–81 relates this anxiety to the practice and ideology of gift-exchange which created relationships between individuals within and outside the polis: ‘outsiders were by definition enemies, and a nexus with an enemy might become a threat to the whole community’ (79). While shunned and feared by the polis, gift-exchange remained the modus operandi for the ‘a-political world’, such as the Macedonian and Persian monarchies.

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political agenda against Philip, whom he continues to portray as a menace to Athens and repeatedly incites his fellow citizens (of whom the present jury are a subset) against.43 from waspish revelry to oligarchic revolutionaries In the literary representations discussed so far, individuals enact their political attitudes through their sympotic performances, whether playing the tyrant, subjecting allied citizens or betraying Athens and its allies. Yet, each representation is distinguished not only by the particulars of its setting or action, which may be strictly sympotic or more broadly commensal, but also by its potential resonances. They are, for us, textual creations, but the symposia of Timaeus, Ion and Demosthenes operated within their own frames of reference, whether constructing historical events at Acragas, or stimulating ideas about Athenian power for Ion’s contemporary readers, or fashioning Aeschines’ allegiances in a lawcourt prosecution and thereby evaluating Macedonian influence in Greece and at Athens. Across the texts and genres, the symposion provides a hook for constructing positions on a range of political developments and issues and thus contributes to larger debates. This is equally true of the sympotic scenes in Wasps, a comedy staged at Athens in 422. Here the spotlight shines on the antics of a common citizen, the lawcourt-obsessed Philocleon. His sympotic escapades also reflect his political character as a juror and thereby contribute to Aristophanes’ broader analysis of the damage that the Cleon-loving dēmos wreaks upon the city. Moreover, much of the comedy derives from the projection of rude Philocleon into a luxurious elite world. His crimes against ordinary folk when acting in an exaggerated sympotic mode echo a wider association between sympotic adventure and anti-democratic action focused around controversial members of Athens’ elite towards the end of the fifth century. In public conversations, as witnessed in lawcourt orations and assembly decisions, sympotic performance not only conveyed a political stance but could be actively political. Demotic sympotics in Aristophanes’ Wasps At one level, Wasps is a tale of failed redemption. Bdelycleon attempts to convert his irascible father, Philocleon, from a life of service on Athens’ 43

On Demosthenes’ career-defining antipathy to Philip, see Ryder (2000).

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juries to one of leisure, and although he successfully dissuades him from the former, the old man’s retreat into the private realm of sumptuous feasting simply provides him with another forum in which to exhibit the base instincts that marred his jury service. Two sympotic episodes are involved: a virtual party at which Philocleon receives training in etiquette from Bdelycleon, and a real symposion attended by the two men and some high-living Athenians. At each event Philocleon is an anti- and archsymposiast, a man of little refinement who obstinately subverts the niceties of sympotic conversation, whilst mastering its forms to an extreme and abusive extent. First, when trying out Philocleon’s sympotic skills, Bdelycleon asks his father whether he knows impressive stories (λόγους σεμνούς) to tell in the company of learned and clever men (ἀνδρῶν παρόντων πολυμαθῶν καὶ δεξιῶν). The old man responds with vulgar myths and a trivial story featuring a mouse and ferret (1174–85). The only magnificent (μεγαλοπρεπεῖς) endeavour that he might boast of is having joined a delegation to Paros as a ship’s rower, his bravest (ἀνδρειότατόν, ἀνδρικώτατον) deed involved theft, and his most youthful (νεανικώτατον) victory over a runner transpires to be a lawcourt conviction (1186–1207). Philocleon’s incongruous contributions to the sympotic conversation emphasize his boorish lack of education and moral worth, his low status as an oarsman-citizen, and his commitment to the lawcourts’ vicarious pleasures. Indeed, the old man displays open contempt for the conversation he is invited to participate in, deriding Bdelycleon’s supposedly better contribution as illogical (1194–5). Yet, in the next instance, invited by Bdelycleon to imagine that he is reclining to the sounds of an aulos and drinking, he plays the skolion game like an old pro. In a series of poems artfully adapted or improvised in response to verses proposed by Bdelycleon, who poses in the first instance as Cleon, Philocleon continues the Harmodius song (on which, see Chapter 5) with lines that characterize the demagogue as a wicked thief (1227). Then, when the horrified Bdelycleon remarks that Cleon will reply with promises of ruin, destruction and exile, Philocleon offers a couplet akin to one by the sympotic poet Alcaeus to imply that Cleon’s madness for power will upset the city, poised as it is for a fall (1234–5). Responses to other imaginary singer-symposiasts and their poetic challenges are equally inopportune. When he strikes the Admetus, Theorus is cautioned against playing the fox and befriending two sides (1238–41), and the clever, musically accomplished Aeschines (ἀνὴρ σοφὸς καὶ μουσικός) is accused of boasting after he introduces the Cleitagora (1243–7). Philocleon’s skolion playing thus delivers pointed criticism of the character, intentions and effect of Cleon’s political

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set.44 This is not merely typical Aristophanic fodder; it signals the old man’s recent disaggregation from their cause. Having just been convinced by his son that Cleon and his ilk have ‘enslaved’ the dēmos, that is they cheat ordinary Athenians of the fruits of empire and take them for themselves (652–728), his first song/accusation of thievery against Cleon is particularly pertinent. The second takes the implications further: by reformatting Alcaeus’ warning about the consequences of Pittacus’ lust for power (Alc. 141 LP), Cleon is assimilated to a would-be tyrant, with implications for Athens’ wellbeing.45 Philocleon’s sympotic conversation and skolia confirm his political personality and sentiment. The full implication of this posturing becomes apparent when Philocleon’s antics at the ‘real’ party are related by the slave Xanthias. Indulging deeply in the drinking, the old man leads the symposion’s verbal game play in outrageous directions yet again. His earlier ire-raising skolia are matched by insulting eikasmoi, or comparisons, levelled against another guest. So, when Lysistratus compares him to a new wine or donkey because he jumps up, prances and farts, Philocleon caps this twice over, comparing Lysistratus to a wingless locust and then to a tragedian lacking verse, intimating in both cases his rival’s poverty. Again Philocleon is adept at the game, even winning the applause of his companions (1309–14). However, his mockery of companions in turn (περιύβριζεν αὐτοὺς ἐν μέρει), the rusticity of his ensuing jokes (σκώπτων ἀγροίκως) and the recitation of the most ignorant stories (λόγους λέγων ἀμαθέστατ’) were completely unfitting to the circumstance (οὐδὲν εἰκότας τῷ πράγματι) (1319–21).46 They were also sandwiched between acts of violence: the vigorous beating of the slave Xanthias (1307) and a solo kōmos, characterized by pugilistics, vandalism, and insults against random citizens on the street (1322–5). Hence, although Philocleon’s rampage ultimately concludes with his vocal rejection of lawsuits, the voting-urn and jurors (1335–41), it compounds his earlier characterization at the virtual symposion. Moreover, it confirms his ongoing possession of the very characteristics the waspish jurors were attributed with or displayed earlier in the play: their aggressive impulses (225–6, 422–5, 430–2), their mockery of wealth (575–6) and their selfish disregard for other citizens combined with a 44

45

46

The assumed political relationship between Philocleon’s three victims is accepted by Storey (1985) 317. Philocleon certainly packages Cleon and Theorus together as a political unit (Ar. V. 596–600), and Aristophanes takes a pop at Aeschines elsewhere (459). See Collins (2004) 104. However, his proposal that ‘Cleon’ (i.e. Bdelycleon) does not find this second accusation as insulting as the first because he fails to respond overlooks the fact that the son has already stepped out of character in 1229–31, when he describes Cleon’s likely reaction. Or his abusive comparisons go too far: see Hesk (2007) 133.

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dangerous lack of self-control.47 Philocleon may have exchanged his diseased passion for the lawcourts for a love of drinking characteristic of the chrēstoi (80), but his performances under the influence of wine unleash a juristic attitude. Entangled in the comic burlesque of Philocleon’s sympotics, then, is the sense that a juror who acts to the detriment of his fellow citizens under Cleon’s guidance will behave in exactly the same way when set free from political commitments. Indeed, the old man’s revelry emphasizes this continuity in two specific ways. Described by Halliwell (2008, 210) as a ‘contradiction in terms’, his solo kōmos with its violent denouement parallels the upside-down kōmos that opened the play: the arrival of the old men led by Comias (Κωμία, komast) early in the morning at the house of Bdelycleon to call out his father to the courts to do some harm (κακόν τι δράσῃ) (230–47).48 The malicious outcome of both transgressive kōmoi remains troublingly the same. Moreover, what initially appears to be an amusing comic inversion, namely the ‘youngering’ of the old man at the symposion and in the kōmos, foregrounds the danger he poses to the city. As observed in Chapter 1, symposiasts frequently styled themselves as ‘young’ through their song as a way of emphasizing their unity.49 In Wasps Philocleon is made young by Xanthias’ description of Philocleon beating him youthfully (νεανικῶς) (1307), by the eikasmos from Lysistratus that compares him to a new wine (νεοπλοῦτῳ τρυγί) (1309) and by an angry victim of the revelry who promises to indict Philocleon, despite his being a young man (νεανίας) (1333).50 Philocleon himself confirms his youth, telling the stolen aulos-girl ‘I am young’ (νέος γάρ εἰμι, 1355) and looking forward to jeering like a youth (νεανικῶς) at his son (1362–3). The youthfulness of this symposiast is thus marked by hybris and violence at the party and on the city streets. Instead of uniting Philocleon with other symposiasts, Philocleon’s youthful overexuberance distinguishes him from them and pits him against fellow citizens too. Furthermore, earlier in the play, the youth (νεανίαν) Bdelycleon had triumphed over his father in their forensic competition, proving the crowd of old men no longer have any utility at all (οὐκέτι πρεσβυτῶν ὄχλος χρήσιμος ἔστ’ οὐδ’ ἀκαρῆ) (526–45).51 Now, in his hybristic and violent revelry the old man has usurped the authority of the young, embarking upon a revolution – neōterizein, ‘to younger’, ‘to make or 47 48 50

On mocking wealth and the pursuit of pleasure, see Pütz (2007) 102. The danger posed by Philocleon to citizens as juror and symposiast is noted by Olson (1996) 144. For this earlier ‘kōmos’, see A. Bowie (1997) 9. 49 See Slings (2000) 232–4. Line 1309: reading τρυγί with MacDowell (1971) 304. 51 Davidson (2006) 61.

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act young’, in its literal and political sense. Philocleon’s revolutionary revelry demonstrates the hazards of abandoning the existing political system entirely, whilst also establishing the former juror’s lack of aptitude (or overaptitude?) for the replacement lifestyle of sumptuous feasting that Bdelycleon wishes for his father. Philocleon’s sympotic performances thus actively express an ingrained attitude amongst the dēmos that is inimical to the wellbeing of the city. They not only convey his new-found political stance (in the criticism of Cleon) but also entrench the qualities of the waspish jurors. They facilitate, then, an appraisal of Athens’ current leaders – of thieving, power-hungry Cleon and his crew, in the insulting skolia hurled at them – and of the dēmos itself. Set alongside the Wasp’s broader condemnation of Cleon and his colleagues for failing to deliver a universally profitable democracy, the sympotic scenes expose Aristophanes’ preoccupation with the non-workings of the present democracy and, following Olson (1996, 148–9), sets out what the dēmos needs: leaders who will filter Athens’ wealth down to the citizens, whilst also keeping the people’s tendencies in check. Alcibiades (Senior and Junior) versus the people Aristophanes’ Philocleon is a comic anti-hero, a common everyman instead of a political leader, yet his transgressive sympotic performances equally connote a distinct attitude characteristic of the present Cleon-loving citizen body that is detrimental to Athens. During his fling with elite sympotics, however, he disregards the wellbeing of other ordinary folk and even commits violence against them. As a rampant symposiast, Philocleon is as much a danger to residents of the city as when he was a rabid juror in Cleon’s grasp. The comic inversions may be humorous, but the position of antagonism Philocleon adopts as an extreme symposiast mirrors the antithetical stance constructed for other symposia-going Athenians around this time. To step forward three decades, Against Alcibiades I (14), one of a pair of prosecution speeches written by Lysias and delivered in 395 bce, equally focuses on the misdemeanours of a disaffected Athenian citizen, but one who is a fully-fledged member of Athens’ elite: Alcibiades, the son of the infamous general of the same name, who dazzled and betrayed the dēmos in equal measure in the late fifth century. The legal charge is the avoidance of military duty. Whilst the shorter supporting speech, Against Alcibiades II (15), largely consists of a plea to the jury and presiding generals to convict Alcibiades because he is guilty, much of the former is concerned with demonstrating to the sitting soldiers that the younger Alcibiades is as

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much a menace to Athens as his notorious father was.52 Alcibiades’ lifestyle (ἐπιτηδευμάτων) is an indicator of the kind of citizen he is (τοιοῦτον πολίτην), and through contemplation of it, the credibility of Lysias’ draftdodging accusations are enhanced (Lys. 14.1). Hence, the symposion comes into play. The assumed convergence of lifestyle and political sentiments is conveyed in the first instance through Alcibiades’ conduct whilst drinking in company: οὗτος γὰρ παῖς μὲν ὢν παρ᾽ Ἀρχεδήμῳ τῷ γλάμωνι, οὐκ ὀλίγα τῶν ὑμετέρων ὑφῃρημένῳ, πολλῶν ὁρώντων ἔπινεν ὑπὸ τῷ αὐτῷ ἱματίῳ κατακείμενος, ἐκώμαζε μεθ᾽ ἡμέραν, ἄνηβος ἑταίραν ἔχων, μιμούμενος τοὺς ἑαυτοῦ προγόνους καὶ ἡγούμενος οὐκ ἂν δύνασθαι πρεσβύτερος ὢν λαμπρὸς γενέσθαι, εἰ μὴ νέος ὢν πονηρότατος δόξει εἶναι. (Lysias 14.25) When this man was a child at the house of Archedemus the bleary-eyed, who purloined no small amount from you, with many people watching, he drank while reclining under the same cloak. He revelled (ekōmaze) during the day, and though not yet a man he kept a courtesan (hetairan), imitating his ancestors and believing he would be incapable of becoming famous when older unless he seemed to be utterly worthless (ponērotatos) while young.

In a neat inversion of old man Philocleon’s youthful excesses, young Alcibiades does the symposion in a precociously transgressive fashion, drinking and reclining like a man although still a boy. By the calculations of Plato and Aristotle, at this stage in life he should have been sitting quietly at the party.53 In addition, he certainly should not have been conspicuously sharing a cloak with an older man. At Athens the relationship between boys and older males was complicated, so that even proponents such as Pausanias in Plato’s Symposium (180c1–185c2) were forced to recognize that not everybody shared their enthusiasm; they therefore sought to define appropriate conduct in the hope of defending their own behaviour, avoiding opprobium, or casting it on others. Hence, in order to attack the alleged child prostitute Timarchus, Aeschines, a self-proclaimed lover of boys, commends the love of those who are beautiful and self-controlled and considers it noble for such a boy to be loved (1.137), but he also adds that relationships between men and boys should remain chaste until the latter reach maturity (1.139–40).54 Within the context of Athenian anxieties regarding the 52 53

54

On the relationship between the two speeches Against Alcibiades, see Todd (2000) 161–2 and Hansen (2003). The strategy in Lysias 14 is discussed by Carey (1989) 147. See Booth (1991) 116, referring to Pl. Leg. 666a and Arist. Pol. 1336b. The current passage also contributes to Booth’s argument that at Athens full sympotic participation was the preserve of men once they had reached maturity at the age of eighteen. Discussed by Booth (1991) 117.

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seduction of under-age boys, Alcibiades’ premature participation in the symposion and its sexual delights is morally reprehensible.55 Additionally, it may connect the defendant to his father, whose fame he supposedly aspires to and who also reclined under a cloak with an older man, in Plato’s Symposium at least. There, the elder Alcibiades’ advances are humorously depicted, as his youthful self overcomes some initial shame to proposition the older Socrates while they recline together after dinner. When conversational overtures fail, Alcibiades wraps himself around the philosopher under his cloak, although still to no avail (217c–219d). Plato’s dramatic dialogue was composed approximately ten years after Lysias’ speech, so viewing Lysias’ representation of Alcibiades through the lens of his father’s later Platonic manifestation may appear sophistic. Yet, the elder Alcibiades’ erotic behaviour was notoriously transgressive.56 Even if the existence of a shared tradition about his sexual precocity must remain speculation, Alcibiades Junior’s unseasonable association with hetairai certainly foregrounds the familial connection. To Andocides, the putative author of a speech Against Alcibiades, dated dramatically to 415 but probably written after the Peloponnesian War, the elder Alcibiades’ over-the-top relationships with hetairai, whom he even invited into his home, were further indications of hybris (4.14).57 However, it is not only hybris that is involved: in Athenian eyes more broadly, an unreasonable devotion to sex indicated weakness and effeminacy.58 In Lysias’ attack, the younger Alcibiades’ premature immersion in the symposion’s sexual delights are indicators of an all-round disreputability. Even worse, his companion under the blanket is an alleged swindler of the public purse. Moral depravity and political malignancy are aligned in the defendant’s sympotic dalliances. The younger Alcibiades’ excessive behaviour – revelling all day instead of only at night, an act which in Demosthenes’ speech Against Conon (54.3) leads inevitably to hybristic violence against other citizens – also contains echoes of his father’s sympotic exuberance.59 Day-long komastry would be unsurprising for the son of a man whose revelling would later interrupt Agathon’s sober gathering in Plato’s Symposium, and who filched Anytus’ expensive drinking ware when he arrived at his home on a kōmos after some 55 56

57 58 59

That is under the age of eighteen: see Davidson (2007) 418–44 for the ‘Athenian system’. Wohl (2002) 124–70 demonstrates the diversity of Alcibiades’ erotic perversity: he not only is ‘a sexually aggressive eromenos’ (130) but more broadly lives a life of ‘sexual paranomia’ (131), in other words sexual lawlessness that includes effeminacy, prostitution and kinaideia. For the dating and authenticity of the speech, see Rhodes (1994) 88–91. Davidson (1997) 159–66. The correlation with sentiments expressed in Demosthenes, Against Conon, is noted by Carey (1989) 63.

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heavy drinking (Plut. Alc. 4.5). Indeed, the comic playwright Eupolis (385 KA) made Alcibiades claim responsibility for introducing morning drinking, an act which his unimpressed interlocutor colourfully derides as ‘cistern-arsed’ (λακκοπρωκτίαν).60 Furthermore, the elder Alcibiades had been at the heart of the most controversial and politically potent sympotic performances of his generation: the mutilation of the Herms by drunken youths and the performance of the Mysteries in private homes amongst friends (on which more below). As Thucydides reports, with a little help from Alcibiades’ rivals these events were interpreted by the masses as a direct assault on democracy (6.27–8). Because the elder Alcibiades’ controversial erotics and sympotics were intrinsically connected to his political persona, the danger that Alcibiades Junior poses to the city is subtly contained in the brief description of the son’s parallel sympotic misadventures.61 By mimicking his father, he proves himself utterly worthless (πονηρότατος). As for the adjective chrēstos, where ‘utility’ is both a moral and a political virtue, ponēros, its ideological opposite, connoted a pervading worthlessness that penetrated these inseparable spheres. The younger Alcibiades’ under-age sympotic participation might be critiqued under contemporary moralizing rhetorics concerning desire and drinking, but it also conveys a certain (Alcibiadean) attitude towards the city. This is explicit in the remainder of Lysias’ speech. The defendant’s sympotic misdemeanours initiate a litany of accusations. The younger Alcibiades conspires against his father with Theotimus, before imprisoning, abusing (ὕβριζεν) and ransoming the latter. He dices away his fortune and attempts to drown his friends at sea, so that even his father despises him (14.26–8). In essence, Lysias concludes, a man who should have been the most orderly of citizens (κοσμιώτατον εἶναι τῶν πολιτῶν), in apology for his father’s wrongdoings, instead tries to outrage (ὕβριζειν) others (14.29). The younger Alcibiades’ sympotic depravities are thus symptomatic of his general hybris, and his youthful bid to become as worthless as his immediate progenitor is indicative of his temper as a citizen. His sympotic performances might be less directed or pointedly dramatized than the tyrannical instructions of Timaeus’ symposiarch or Sophocles’ imperializing 60

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At least Alcibiades is assumed to be the boastful interlocutor in this unattributed fragment: see Storey (2003) 30. For this translation of λακκοπρωκτίαν, see Jeffrey Henderson (1975) 210, who includes it in the category of homosexual insults but highlights its loose application to people and activities that are not necessarily ‘pathic’. For its moralizing effect here, we might compare the pejorative use of ‘gay’ by children today, who channel but do not consciously deploy adult homophobic attitudes when they use the term to designate something or someone as generally suspect. Again, see Wohl (2002).

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stratagems, and they are only one element in Lysias’ broader narrative of dissolution, but they are instrumental in proving that the younger Alcibiades is just the kind of man to avoid hoplite service and, more broadly, to act against the interests of the polity – an argument designed to appeal to the jurors in their dual role as citizen soldiers. With their help, Lysias establishes Alcibiades Junior as a hereditary enemy to the city (πατρικὸν ἐχθρὸν τοῦτον εἶναι τῇ πόλει) (14.40). As happens roughly fifty years later in the Athenian lawcourts when Demosthenes prosecutes Aeschines, performances at the symposion are symptomatic of the perpetrator’s disregard for the safety of his home town. The affairs of the Herms and Mysteries, referred to above and also briefly alluded to by Lysias (14.42), demonstrate further the assumed associations between sympotic living and antipathy to fellow citizens or the city, an association which spilled over from the public imagination to embroil the symposion in political offence. In 415, with Athens on the verge of sending ships to conquer Sicily, the city’s Herms were ‘chopped’: in other words, their faces, beards, or priapic genitals were mutilated.62 This was interpreted as part of a revolutionary action taken by an oath-sworn group intent on destroying the dēmos (ἐπὶ ξυνωμοσίᾳ ἅμα νεωτέρων πραγμάτων καὶ δήμου καταλύσεως γεγενῆσθαι, Thuc. 6.27.3) and was linked to earlier assaults on statues ‘by revolutionaries under the influence of playfulness and wine’ (ὑπὸ νεωτέρων μετὰ παιδιᾶς καὶ οἴνου, 6.28.1). Andocides’ later testimony supports the sympotic connection. In his speech On the Mysteries, Andocides alleges that the plot (βουλήν) to deface the Herms was first proposed by Euphiletus whilst drinking (πινόντων) and was carried out on a later occasion in Andocides’ absence as a pledge (πίστιν) (1.61–2, 76). Quite why this could be seen as a political act has been extensively explored. Where previously the impiety of the chopping and the odium it brought to Athens’ coming naval expedition were prioritized, recent analyses have focused on the demotic aspect of the Herms and on their patronage of public space.63 In each scenario, an assault on the Herms constituted an 62 63

See the response by Crawley Quinn (2007) 90, n. 21 for a recent discussion of what the ‘chopping’ of the Herms involved. The beard is specifically suggested as a target by Davidson (2006) 64. See R. Osborne (1985) 47 for a discussion of earlier religious interpretations; cf. Furley (1996) 13–30, who highlights the religious and revolutionary tone of the assault. For the mutilation as a more or less direct assault on the Athenian dēmos, see R. Osborne (1985) 64–7; McGlew (2002) 132–5; and Crawley Quinn (2007). Murray’s (1990b) explanation that the mutilation was part of a cultural opposition by aristocrats displaying their difference allows for that action to become a protest vote in the eyes of the dēmos, as does the observation by Davidson (2006) 64 that the pruning of the fatherly Herms by mature adults, returning the god to juvenile status, is a carnivalesque ‘act of juvenalienation, a denial of coevalness’. Hornblower (2008) 367–72 offers a snapshot of arguments to date.

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assault on the dēmos’ authority by an elite segment of the population, whatever the original intentions of these perpetrators. Like Philocleon’s tumultuous kōmos, itself a travesty of elite practice, the marauding symposiasts set loose in the city harmed the citizen body, albeit with grander ideological purpose and/or practical consequence than his anarchic assaults on individual citizens. Bound as it was by a pistis, a pledge or mark of trust, the drinking group focused its loyalty inwards: bonds established in communal drinking were prioritized over civic responsibility.64 When this trust manifested itself physically in the destruction of Athens’ Herms, it was no step at all for the dēmos to perceive sympotic self-allegiance as opposition to democracy. By contrast, the outrageous performance of the Mysteries in private homes (ἐν οἰκίαις ἐφ’ ὕβρει, Thuc. 6.28.1) and at home amongst others (ἐν οἰκίᾳ μεθ’ ἑτέρων, And. 1.11) appropriated sacred rites for private performance. In the guise of high priest, torch-bearer and herald, Alcibiades and two friends took on the role of officials and initiated their companions into the Eleusinian Mysteries (Plut. Alc. 22.3). Eleusinian offices were normally occupied by Athenians, and the Mysteries, although open to all Greek speakers, whether male or female, free or slave, were administered by the Athenian state and operated effectively within its calendar as a polis cult.65 Their hybris thus constituted an actual usurpation of civic office and citizen prerogative.66 There may have been little explicitly sympotic about the Mysteries, beyond the presence of an aulos player amongst the slaves initiated at Polytion’s house (And. 1.12) and the description of the cuplrits as hetairoi, ‘friends’, in the indictment against Alcibiades recorded by Plutarch (Alc. 22.3).67 In Andocides’ speech the accused are not even described in this fashion: rather the metic Teucer admitted his role not as a friend or drinking companion but as a ‘co-worker’ (συνεργός), a term appropriate for one performing the ‘works’ (τὰ ἔργα) of Mystery ritual, (1.15).68 Moreover, the testimony of the respectable Agariste, the wife of 64 65 66

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68

On the centrality of trust (pistis) and its role in generating an ‘integrative community’ (244) at the symposion, see Donlan (1985), who discusses Theognis’ anxiety at its lack. For the Athenian angle, see Cavanaugh (1996) and Sourvinou-Inwood (1997). As observed by McGlew (2002) 122, whose analysis emphasizes that the performance of the Mysteries was not a parody, but a serious recreation of the rites. These are, as Todd (2004) 88 remarks, ‘in the wrong place, at the wrong time, with the wrong personnel’. Note, hetairoi need not have a sinister, secretive or anti-democratic cast: see Andrewes (1981) 128, who comments that it is ‘at all times a word in common use for persons engaged in any sort of joint enterprise’. For this mystery vocabulary, see the description of the Eleusinian Mystery chant by Clement of Alexandria, Exhortation to the Greeks: ‘I have fasted, I have drunk the kykeon, I have taken from the

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Alcmaeonides (1.16), argues against a symposion proper.69 However, on becoming aligned with the mutilation of the Herms, it offered another instance of political attitude in performance amongst a group of friends bound otherwise by oaths and drinking. In both events the attitude displayed in their sympotic or quasi-sympotic performances spilled over into political action. It is curious that at a time when the archaeological record shows sympotic culture to be infiltrating civic dining practices in the agora, Athens’ democratic hub, and the homes of moderately wealthy Athenians, such a polarized view of the symposion dominated the public imagination.70 Yet, despite this ‘reality’, it is not the everyday symposia of ordinary people that cause concern or even make it into the surviving representational repertoire: for all that Philocleon’s revelry might comically raise serious questions about what happens to ordinary Athenians when they adopt a lifestyle of sumptuous feasting, his antagonism to the wellbeing of the city is already in evidence in his juristic performances. He does not ‘go bad’; attending the symposion simply expands his opportunities for malevolence. Rather, it is the closed-doors gatherings of Athens’ elite political classes, the men who are either running the city or have the means and wherewithal to do so that cause concern – a concern based on suspicions of their attitudes towards the dēmos. The character of Alcibiades may also be crucial here. He has appeared so far as a template for his son’s misdemeanours at the symposion and a symbol of his antipathy to the city, and as an alleged mutilator of the Herms and officiator at the false Mysteries. Gribble (1999, 78) also notes that in Plato’s Symposium, set at Agathon’s house in 416, Alcibiades supplants the elected symposiarch and introduces his own rules for drinking. Again sympotic performance and political stance align. Of course, in this dialogue there is no attempt by Plato to suggest that Alcibiades aims for tyranny, but the philosopher does portray in nearparodic form his subject’s character and ethics in his subsequent speech.71 Generally, the stories that reference Alcibiades’ sympotic personality and adventures from Eupolis to Plato, right down to Plutarch, treat them as part of a package that connect his lifestyle to his personal morality and to his perceived anti-democratic, tyrannical ambitions.

69 70 71

chest, having done the work (ergasamenos), I have placed in the basket, and from the basket into the chest’ (ἐνήστευσα, ἔπιον τὸν κυκεῶνα, ἔλαβον ἐκ κίστης, ἐργασάμενος ἀπεθέμην εἰς κάλαθον καὶ ἐκ καλάθου εἰς κίστην, 2.18). McGlew (2002) 121 attributes Agariste’s knowledge of events to her presence as an initiate. For ‘new’ symposiasts, see the Introduction and Chapter 1, above. See Gribble (1999) 245–9, and Chapter 5, below.

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Yet, Alcibiades was not the only Athenian whose allegiance to the dēmos was questioned, although his service to the city was most spectacularly complemented by his betrayal of the city to the Syracusans, his subsequent defection to the Spartans and his eventual plan to abandon the dēmos to oligarchs in a bid for Persian support (Thuc. 6.74; 6.89–93, 7.18, 8.6, 8.11–17, 8.26; 8.45–56). Hetaireiai focused their loyalties inwards and by default away from citizens outside their social group. Participants in symposia were conspicuous for their wealth, and their clothing, comportment and lifestyle set them apart from the masses. This is humorously observed in Wasps when Philocleon embarks upon a life of sumptuous feasting: he must shed the old and tatty clothes he has worn since the Persian Wars and adopt soft Laconian boots and a cloak woven in Ecbatana that offend his sensibilities as much for their softness and warmth as for their origins, and he adopts the buttock-swaying posture, or schēma, of rich men (1122–73). For all that Wasps emphasizes Philocleon’s deleterious attitude, it also establishes a distance between the pursuits of poor jurors and rich men at Athens. Moreover, Philocleon’s horror at the Spartan boots – ‘You do me wrong, sending my foot into enemy territory’ (ἀδικεῖς γέ με | ἐς τὴν πολεμίαν ἀποβιβάζων τὸν πόδα, 1162–3; cf. 1164–5) – highlights the perceived sympathies of these elite symposiasts towards the Spartans, with whom the Athenians were currently at war. Indeed, an antagonism between elite symposiasts and the dēmos is suggested by Philocleon’s expectations for the party. Before his son starts to train him for a long evening of drinking, he complains about the evils of drinking: it leads to knocked doors, punches, battery and afterwards the payment of fines (1252–5). His son responds, ‘not if you are with men who are beautiful and good (kalois te kagathois)’ (οὐκ, ἢν ξυνῇς γ’ ἀνδράσι καλοῖς τε κἀγαθοῖς, 1256), but this is of course exactly how Philocleon’s party with notable Athenians pans out. To quote Murray (1990b, 150), the kōmos in Athens at this time appears to be a ‘drunken riot at the end of the symposion, performed in public with the intention of demonstrating the power and lawlessness of the drinking group’, and ‘an alien world of licence and misbehaviour’. With the aid of Philocleon, who resists and then embraces the sympotic lifestyle, Aristophanes introduces a firm disjunction between the dēmos and the self-styled kaloi kagathoi that interrogates the allegiances of Athens’ party people, rich citizens whose luxurious lifestyle sets them apart, who favour the Spartans, and whose boisterous revelry could burst destructively and antagonistically onto the streets of Athens. As for Alcibiades Senior and Alcibiades Junior, their allegiance to the democracy was suspect. Indeed, disaffected rich Athenians may have used their sympotic pursuits to effect a ‘cultural resistance’, to

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demonstrate their socio-cultural superiority in a polis that prioritized equality amongst its citizens.72 On the flipside, the circulation of tales of sympotic misdemeanour on the comic stage and in the lawcourts and ready suspicion over the Herms and Mysteries may say more about the dēmos’s anticipation of aristocratic self-expression and menace than their lived experiences of it. But, either way, the symposion plays out perceived tensions between Athens’ elite citizens and the wider polis in the political arenas of the comic stage, assembly and lawcourts. In the Athenian democratic imagination of the late fifth century the symposion was thus politically pregnant. Sympotic performance connoted political attitude, and these attitudes might spill out into the polis. Associations between symposiasts and oppositional politics were no doubt furthered by the oligarch coups of 411/10 and 404/3, which involved hetaireiai. A final example from Xenophon’s Hellenica belongs within this context. The episode takes place at Athens in 404/3, shortly after the government of the Thirty had been established, when moderate oligarchs were seeking to restrain the violent proscriptions of their more radical colleagues. In this environment, the ringleader Critias convicted his associate Theramenes to death: καὶ ἐπεί γε ἀποθνῄσκειν ἀναγκαζόμενος τὸ κώνειον ἔπιε, τὸ λειπόμενον ἔφασαν ἀποκοτταβίσαντα εἰπεῖν αὐτόν· Κριτίᾳ τοῦτ’ ἔστω τῷ καλῷ. (Xenophon, Hellenica 2.3.56) And when, being compelled to die, he [Theramenes] drank the hemlock, they said that throwing out the dregs as if playing kottabos, he said, ‘Let this be for beautiful Critias.’

Kottabos was the sympotic game par excellence. Each player aimed his cup towards a target floating in a basin or elevated on a pole and flicked his wrist so that dregs of wine flew from the cup towards it. If he hit the target, the player was awarded a prize, usually a kiss from a previously named companion. By tossing the poisonous dregs and toasting his murderer as though praising his beauty and bidding for his affection, Theramenes recreates the game to political effect. Xenophon commends Theramenes for his presence of mind and playfulness in the face of death, and it is this ironic joie de vivre, a hallmark of the symposion, that gives his throw its force. At a basic level, the sympotic pledge calls attention to the breakdown in bonds between men whom Xenophon describes as friends and intimates (φίλος, 2.3.15; οἰκείως, 72

As argued by Papakonstantinou in an article in progress on ‘A mysterious affair at Athens: night, deviance and subversion in the Athenian imaginary’.

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2.3.16), – the type of men perhaps to share a symposion. In his defence speech Theramenes emphasizes that the unjust killing perpetrated by the Thirty and their greed constituted a betrayal of friends (φίλους) because they strengthened their enemies (2.3.43). The conviction of Theramenes at the behest of a former friend in a kangaroo court is an instantiation of that betrayal, poignantly articulated by the kottabos throw. When reporting this episode, Xenophon comments that such apophthegms are not usually worth recording, and he claims to make an exception here because the story sheds light on Theramenes’ character (2.3.56). Structurally, however, the kottabos throw also stands at the apex of the Hellenica’s account of the rise of the Thirty. With Theramenes’ death, the Thirty consider themselves free to act the tyrant (τυραννεῖν), thereby causing citizens to flee the city and form the resistance force that will eventually expel them and restore democracy (2.4.1–43). The trial and death of Theramenes is a turning point in the narrative, and the kottabos throw marks this symbolically. At play here may also be Critias’ sympotic reputation. As seen in Chapter 2, in his sympotic poetry and other writing Critias states his preference for a Spartan style of drinking to the Lydian mode of toasting shared also by Athenians and other Greeks (DK 88 b6 = 6 W; cf. b33). This is essentially a preference for moderation, or sōphrosynē. Kottabos does not fit this mould: as Pownall (2008a, 2008b) convincingly argues, Critias’ famous description of the game as a ‘remarkable product’ of Sicily (ἐκπρεπὲς ἔργον, DK 88 b2) is ironic. To his contemporaries, kottabos was emblematic of soft living and self-indulgence, and Sicily was a hot-house of decadence. Against this background, Theramenes’ kottabos throw ‘to beautiful Critias’ seems designed to irritate his former friend by integrating him into the type of event he despised.73 This parting shot may also represent a wholesale break with Critias’ and the Thirty’s pro-Spartan stance. For Critias’ praise of Spartan drinking corresponds to his political allegiances, in so far as they are depicted through the 73

I am unconvinced by the suggestion of S. Usher (1979), accepted by Pownall (2008a) 6–7 and (2008b) 20, that Theramenes accuses Critias of hypocrisy, ‘a failure in private life to practice the Spartan austerity which he professed to admire’ (41). There is no accusation that in real life Critias plays kottabos. To explain the incongruity between Usher’s proposition and the kottabos-loathing Critias, whose sympathies are revealed in his political poetry, Pownall (2008a, 7) makes Xenophon/ Theramenes’ presentation of Critias a false one. In a further paper on ‘Critias in Xenophon’s Hellenica’ delivered at the University of Liverpool conference on ‘Xenophon: Ethical Principle and Historical Enquiry’ (8–11 July 2009), Pownall connected the episode as reported to Xenophon’s desire to make Critias the chief architect of the Thirty and so distance himself from its misadventures. The present reading fits this trend but also makes the jump between text and reality unnecessary: Theramenes’ toast now makes sense beyond Xenophon’s Hellenica, as well as within it.

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actions of the Thirty narrated in the Hellenica and criticized by the character Theramenes therein. During his trial Theramenes expresses suspicion of Spartan motives for confiscating Athenian weapons (cf. Xen. Hell. 2.3.20) and displeasure at the installation of a Spartan garrison (cf. 2.3.13–14), suggesting that the new regime could have secured itself more profitably with the aid of Athenian citizens (2.3.41–2; 46). In his defence speech Theramenes rejects Critias’ deference to the Spartans at the expense of Athenian security; on his deathbed, he eschews Critias’ philo-Laconism by indulging in louche ‘Athenian’ sympotics. In his sympotic enactment, a physical representation of the symposion, Theramenes simultaneously adopts a sympotic and political style. the politics of the symposion (i) In sum, from the mid fifth century onwards at Athens and beyond, the symposion filtered into different literary genres and onto the public stage as a means of portraying the attitudes of individuals involved in the political sphere, be they magistrates and council officers at Acragas, Athenian generals and ambassadors, or members of the citizen body. Strikingly, these attitudes were not conveyed simply through the depicted symposiasts fashioning a political position for themselves by lamenting the state of the city or its citizens through song, although in Wasps Philocleon uses his skolia to this effect. Rather, political expression was a matter of style: how a man conducted himself whilst drinking in company mattered as much as what he said. Politics and parties were intertwined in the rhetoric of critics and the popular imagination that they stoked. Every aspect of the symposion was implicated in this, from the ordering of drinks to the display of wisdom, erotic adventure, self-promotional storytelling, the sharing of garlands, prayers and praise, toasting friendship, committing drunken abuse, exchanging skolia and comparisons, the kōmos, and kottabos. Furthermore, despite the different inferences, contexts and purposes of our symposia, the political attitudes revealed in performance can all be defined as detrimental to an existing political form or citizens or allies. At Acragas, the symposiarch and host supposedly behave like tyrants, so that Empedocles at least perceives a danger to the quasi-democratic city. Sophocles and Cimon both act out Athens’ abusive hegemony over its allies, the former subjecting citizens from Eretria and Chios with his sympotic stratagems and the latter glorying in his deception of allied cities during his applauded contribution to the sympotikos logos. (Cimon, of course, also positions himself as superior to his bête noir, Themistocles.)

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Bribed by the Macedonian king Philip, Aeschines intimates his disregard for the interests of the Athenian dēmos, just like Philocleon at the parties, imagined and real, on the Aristophanic stage, while Lysias signals the younger Alcibiades’ enmity to the city through his morally reprehensible indulgence in the symposion at an early age. Even Theramenes pits himself against the ruling authority, albeit an oligarchic one. The rhetorical force of the symposion in characterizing an individual or regime generates an impression of it as not only politically charged, but also politically suspect. Events at Athens in 415 may have boosted this notion, but it was already circulating in the city at least a decade earlier, when Aristophanes’ Wasps was performed and Ion was probably composing his memoirs. It is noteworthy that these marginally earlier authors both belonged to the section of society that enjoyed symposia: or at least Plato had no problem in sending Aristophanes to Agathon’s party in the Symposium, and Ion earned himself a reputation as a lover of drinking, as we have seen. Their detailed representations are thus the products of men of wealth, status and connections at the highest levels of society who had firsthand experience of the phenomenon they portray. There may be, then, an element of reality in their heavily orchestrated events. Certainly, by the time the Herms were chopped, the Athenian dēmos at large was so ‘conscious’ (i.e. was convinced) of the political potency of sympotic performance that it quickly switched from suspicion of the Corinthians to accusations of sinister drunken high jinks and private performances of sacred rites against elite Athenian citizens.74 When Lysias turned the symposion against Alcibiades Junior, he was thus not only recalling his father’s misdemeanours but drawing upon the dēmos’s (and therefore the jurors’) broader apprehensions about the lifestyle, morality and political ambitions of Athens’ wealthiest citizens, be they renowned lushes like the elder Alcibiades or Laconophiles like Critias. And when Demosthenes reconvened the symposion to depict Aeschines’ antipathy to his fatherland and its allies, he drew upon the same discourse, even embedding Aeschines in a party hosted by the son of a former member of the Thirty.75 However, the danger that Aeschines posed was not that of a disaffected oligarch who might surrender Athens to the Spartans, but that of a traitor who had moved his loyalty from the polis he purported to serve to 74 75

This initial reaction is recorded by Cratippus, FGrH 64 F3. It is interesting to note that while the hetaireia continues to be a source of concern in lawcourt orations down to this time, the affairs involving the Herms and Mysteries rarely merit a mention: see Roisman (2006) 70–2.

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an external enemy, Philip. Demosthenes moulded the politics being performed to reflect the current source of danger to Athens: Macedonian power. When Timaeus later picked up the theme for his presentation of Empedocles’ first political action, he may have been influenced by a literary tradition (one that may also have been orally embedded) that stretched back to the practices and circumstances of late fifth-century Athens as much as, if not more than, reported events at Acragas. Or perhaps the symposion was always a source of concern in a fledgling democracy. However, this is not the full picture. As the next chapter will reveal, the symposion could also be a venue for disputing autocratic government. Opportunities afforded by wine for deceit in particular made sympotic occasions popular for conducting practical assaults on ruling powers (divine, tyrannical and monarchic). The perceived potential for oppositional politics at drinking parties continues in narratives about historical events and gives structure to them.

chapter 4

Politics in action

μή μοι ἀνὴρ εἴη γλώσσῃ φίλος, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἔργῳ· χερσίν τε σπεύδοι χρήμασί τ’, ἀμφότερα· μηδὲ παρὰ κρητῆρι λόγοισιν ἐμὴν φρένα θέλγοι, ἀλλ’ ἔρδων φαίνοιτ’ εἴ τι δύναιτ’ ἀγαθόν.

(Theognis 979–82 W)

Not for me the man who is a friend by tongue, but also in deed, who will exert himself by hand and money both. Nor the man who ensorcells my wits with talk around the krater, but rather reveals by action if he is capable of some good.

As Theognis observed (309–12 W) and our previous chapter showed, a man may reveal his temper through his sympotic performances. However, the value of Theognis’ accompanying advice to watch and learn is jeopardized by the potential for a companion to conceal his character and intentions. In the fragment above, a distinction is drawn between the man who speaks as a friend and the man who acts like one. Not only might someone fail to live up to his words in deed, but he may ‘ensorcell’ or ‘beguile’ (θέλγοι) a fellow drinker, leading him to believe in friendship that is not supported by his conduct. This observation from the Theognidea echoes one of the corpus’s wider concerns. Warnings against duplicitous friends coexist with protestations of honesty that presuppose suspicion, and the failure of friends to act honestly is bemoaned repeatedly.1 By contrast, some poems actually encourage deception: listeners should change their temper or hue (ὀργήν) like an octopus moving from rock to rock (215–18 W; cf. 1073–4 W), and hold back their intentions and speak mild words so as to hide their true feelings (365–6 W). These recommendations can be read positively: adaptability and the effacement of individuality amongst drinking companions might facilitate a group consciousness.2 Nonetheless, our other examples show that the sublimation of thought and attitude was not considered unproblematic. 1

Thgn. 87–90; 529–30; 415–18, 575–6, 641–4, 963–70 W.

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2

Neer (2002) 16–17.

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Another verse articulates the underlying problem. Everyone is changeable (ποικίλα ἔχειν); the difference lies in whether a man acts upon the impulse to weave wiles (δολοπλοκίαι) (221–6 W). Theognidean poetry is anxious about dissimulation at the same time that it is anticipated. Theognis’ concern about symposiasts who beguile their companions with words but show themselves other than a friend in deed must relate to ‘real life’ experiences and circumstances of the poet and his audiences, and the challenges they faced at a time of social mobility and change.3 Yet sympotic deceits pervade ancient narratives, especially those concerned with challenges to power. Whether relating divine power struggles, heroic ventures or more recent ‘historical’ events, wine is the perfect medium for perpetrating deadly deceits. It is not that wine is dangerous per se, although drunkenness through wine is ever immanent and it facilitates dangerous intrigues. Rather, sharing wine in company creates opportunities for duplicity, for one companion to ensorcell another and then strike. The settings for such conspiracies are not only symposia in the most restricted sense, that is small private gatherings of elite men, but civic feasts and royal banquets, as appropriate to the occasion. However, repeatedly, deceit is pursued through activity familiar from the symposion. In addition to wine, the revel, laughter-making by an uninvited guest, libations, female companions, boasting, frank speaking, and capping all provide a means of attack. By focusing on episodes from the Odyssey down to the Alexander narratives, this chapter explores the allure of the symposion for visualizing challenges to power. This takes us beyond Theognis’ concern with the impact of deceit on personal relationships – although the Archaic symposion was ‘part of the fabric of the polis’, so its ramifications may have automatically had political effect.4 And it leads us back to the symposion as a place for the demonstration of politics. Now, however, politics are not merely in performance, but in action. Setting politics in action at convivial events marked by the shared consumption of wine is not unique to ancient Greece. The premise of duplicitous drinking in the pursuit and display of power can be found in neighbouring Near Eastern texts too. Although these pre-date the Greek material by centuries, the parallels are worth noting for the reminder that the symposion emerged through cultural interaction with the East. This 3 4

See Lane Fox (2000) on the political context that Theognis’ poetry presupposes/imagines, and esp. 44–5 on the workings of dissimulation within it. Quoting Corner (2010) 375. Cf. Levine (1985), for whom the sympotic group and civic community blend through the poetry of Theognis.

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involved the arrival of not only luxury goods and practices but stories and ideas. One factor to emerge from the present study is the role of the symposion in historiography, using this term in the broadest sense of constructing narratives about the past. As a frequent source of political action, the activities of the symposion become fundamental to how Greeks think about – represent and thereby remember – challenges to political power. As foils, the Near Eastern examples suggest that this connects in some way to wider modes of thinking about and structuring history, at the level of cosmology at any rate. More significantly, points of difference demonstrate the distinctive dimensions of comparative Greek narratives and thus draw attention to some specific workings of the symposion in the Greek thought world.

drunk and disorderly: cosmological confrontations For tracing the pursuit of politics in convivial contexts, a short scene from Aeschylus’ Eumenides provides a useful starting point. Although it is neither the earliest nor the most detailed example, it demonstrates in a succinct fashion how wine can be turned against a powerful character – in this case divine persons – to challenge and even usurp their authority. Performed at Athens in 458, this tragedy depicts the pursuit by the Furies of Orestes, a matricide under the protection of Apollo, and his eventual trial and exoneration at Athens. During a vociferous exchange between the Furies and Apollo, the avenging goddesses reprimand Apollo for his behaviour in a previous encounter with the Fates in response to his prediction of victory: Χο. τοιαῦτ’ ἔδρασας καὶ Φέρητος ἐν δόμοις· Μοίρας ἔπεισας ἀφθίτους θεῖναι βροτούς. Απ. οὔκουν δίκαιον τὸν σέβοντ’ εὐεργετεῖν, ἄλλως τε πάντως χὤτε δεόμενος τύχοι; Χο. σύ τοι παλαιὰς διανομὰς καταφθίσας οἴνῳ παρηπάφησας ἀρχαίας θεάς.

(Aeschylus, Eumenides 723–8)

chorus: Just the sort of things you accomplished at the house of Pheres. You persuaded (epeisas) the Fates to make men immortal. apollo: Is it not just to benefit a pious man, especially when he happens to be in need? chorus: You destroyed the age-old distributions and deceived (parēpaphēsas) ancient goddesses over wine.

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The Furies allude here to the story that prefaces Euripides’ Alcestis (10–14): Apollo rescues Admetus, son of Pheres, from Hades by tricking the Fates into accepting another corpse (Alcestis) in his place, rendering Admetus immortal.5 In the Eumenides, Apollo accomplishes this by persuading (ἔπεισας) and deceiving (παρηπάφησας) the Fates with the aid of wine. That wine opens its consumers to deception is of course central to the encounter between Odysseus and Polyphemus, where the former plies the latter with strong wine in order to escape his clutches (9.105–542; see Chapter 2). But Apollo’s deception is particularly an assault on the longstanding distributions of authority (παλαιὰς διανομάς) amongst the oldest order of the gods. This is particularly relevant to the current trial, because it parallels the dishonour that the young Apollo is accused of showing to his elders with his defence of Orestes: ‘Since the youth tramples over me, an old woman . . .’ (ἐπεὶ καθιππάζῃ με πρεσβῦτιν νέος . . ., 731). The earlier overpowering of the older goddesses by the younger Apollo corresponds to their present predicament: forced to submit their primordial justice to the scrutiny of young Athena’s court, the Furies will surrender their retributive or social justice to a new order founded on the rule of law.6 Like his submission of Orestes to Athena’s judgement, Apollo’s deceit of the Fates over wine constitutes an assault on the powers of an older generation of deities by a younger one that facilitates a usurpation of their authority. In terms of divine power struggle, there is no story quite like it in the surviving Greek tradition. However, the inter-generational dimension is reminiscent of the trouble between Enki and his daughter Inanna in Old Babylonian cosmology. The story of Inanna and Enki (c. 2000–1600) relates how the goddess acquired the ME, or ‘cultural norms’, from her father when they drank wine and beer and competed together.7 Possession of the ME enhances the prestige of the deity and her city, Uruk, and without them Enki’s power is reduced.8 While Enki hands these over to his daughter, an element of deception is involved: she departs while he is asleep – she had in fact visited her father in order to ‘speak coaxingly’ to him – and he laments his actions once sober. Inanna thus took advantage of his drunkenness to advance her divine profile and undermine Enki’s.9 To 5

6 7 8

The mythological allusions are identified by Podlecki (1989) 181. Apollo’s deception of the Fates may have featured also in the Alcestis by Aeschylus’ older contemporary Phrynichus, and Sophocles’ Admetus, but details are lacking for these fragmentary and lost plays: see Gantz (1993) 195. See Mitchell-Boyask (2009) 98–100 for the justice theme in Eumenides. Cf. Goldhill (1986) 33–56, who explores the issue in further detail with reference to Aeschylus’ trilogy, the Oresteia, as a whole. Following the abbreviated English translation by Farber (1997) 522–7. A full translation is provided by the Electronic Corpus of Sumerian Literature: http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/ (accessed 25 January 2010). As noted by Farber (1997) 522. 9 The ME are thus not strictly stolen: contra A. Bowie (2003) 100.

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argue that Aeschylus was influenced in his brief visualization of a divine power struggle over wine by the older Babylonian narrative would be naive. However, stronger parallels in Near Eastern and Greek cosmology enable Woodard (2007b, 150) to argue that Hesiod plays with ‘inherited IndoEuropean mythic, religious, and ritual tradition’ and to speak of ‘inherited notions and conventions’. ‘Inheritance’ here need not be confined to an imagined genetic continuity over aeons. Stories and ideas might also circulate through long-standing contacts between the Greeks and the older civilizations of the East (a spreading of memes). Homeric epic and the Homeric Hymns also display ‘shared conceptual motifs’ that, whatever their precise manifestation and application, point to common understandings of the world.10 Aeschylus’ story of Apollo’s deceit of the fates over wine thus mobilizes a concept with parallels in Near Eastern thought. The Old Babylonian tale of Inanna and Enki shares with it a comprehension of the utility of drinking together (symposion in its broadest sense) to divine power play through opportunities for dissimulation. The narrative of Apollo’s usurpation in Aeschylus’ Eumenides is brief. However, a light-hearted scene from Plato’s Symposium suggests that the idea may have been more entrenched than the play alone suggests. During his encomium on Eros, Socrates voices Diotima’s new cosmology for the god. His conception takes place during Aphrodite’s birthday celebrations (γενεθλίοις), after dinner: ὁ οὖν Πόρος μεθυσθεὶς τοῦ νέκταρος – οἶνος γὰρ οὔπω ἦν – εἰς τὸν τοῦ Διὸς κῆπον εἰσελθὼν βεβαρημένος ηὗδεν. ἡ οὖν Πενία ἐπιβουλεύουσα διὰ τὴν αὑτῆς ἀπορίαν παιδίον ποιήσασθαι ἐκ τοῦ Πόρου, κατακλίνεταί τε παρ’ αὐτῳ καὶ ὲκύησε τὸν Ἔρωτα. (Plato, Symposium 203b5–c1) And so Resource, being drunk on nectar (for wine did not yet exist) went into the garden of Zeus and being weighed down fell asleep. And so Poverty, plotting because of her own lack of resource to make a child from Resource, lay down beside him and conceived Eros.

Like Inanna, Poverty takes a power she lacks from a deity who possesses it when he is overpowered by excessive drinking, fulfilling a preconceived plan. Plato’s myths are roundly regarded as inventive, engaged and believable tales: they are new myths that work in the context of existing traditions.11 Generational conflict is missing from this tale, and while in Hesiod’s Theogony or the Homeric Hymns, for example, procreating a new deity is the prerogative of supreme male deities, Poverty’s appropriation of this 10

Mondi (1990).

11

For Plato riffing on Greek myth, see D. Clay (2007).

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generative power is not prioritized here.12 Nonetheless, Eros’ new ontology, deployed by Socrates to challenge the orthodox cosmologies of other speakers at the symposion, innovates upon the theme. Another cosmological narrative from an earlier neighbour extends the premise of power play over wine in a different dramatic direction, but one which again has Greek parallels. The older version of the Hittite ‘Illuyanka tale’ (c. 1500–1190) pits the Storm God and other deities against the serpent, Illuyanka, who had recently defeated him, at a feast.13 Wine and beer are prepared by Inara, who then invites the serpent to join them. On arrival with his family, the serpent empties every vessel and becomes drunk. Hupasiya, whom Inara had previously hidden, appears and ties up the serpent with a rope. The Storm God then arrives and kills him in the presence of the other deities (§§3–12). The Storm God’s rightful rule is thereby reclaimed through a ‘sympotic’ deceit. Again the struggle for cosmological supremacy – celebrated perhaps in the Purulli festival to which the story belongs (§1) – is facilitated by the debilitating effects of wine and the susceptibility of a drinker to be deceived.14 In the Greek imagination this scenario is transferred into the heroic world of the Odyssey.15 In this epic poem, where feasting is the focus of heroic life and wine is generally a positive force, drinking is not so much at issue as dining, and in this pre-polis world ruled by kings the ‘power struggle’ relates to control of the household (oikos) as much as of the kingdom.16 There are two near parallels, which operate within the epic theme of Odysseus’ return. In the first, Aegisthus completes his usurpation of Agamemnon’s position, signalled already by his marriage to Agamemnon’s wife, Clytemnestra (Od. 1.32–43), by inviting him to dinner at his home, and then killing him like an ox at his manger (11.409–11). A ghostly Agamemnon describes the scene: 12 13 14 15

16

For example, see J. S. Clay (1989) 239–45, 262–5 on attempted female ‘procreations’ in the Hymn to Demeter as challenges to Zeus’s divine patriarchy. ANET 125–6, but here following the English translation of Version 1 by Hoffner (1998) 11–12. For the workings of the Illuyanka tales within the Perulli festival, and its likely seasonal allusions, see Green (2003) 147–51. Again a distinction between ‘Near Eastern’ and ‘Greek’ traditions should not be overplayed, because there was ongoing interaction between the two: so M. L. West (1997) 402–37 discusses parallels between the Odyssey and neighbouring poems. He does not pick up this particular narrative strand but does find a historical exemplar for the murder of Agamemnon in the murder of the Hittite king, Mursili. Perhaps relevantly, according to the story as it is recorded in an edict issued by the latesixteenth-century king Telibinu (CTH 19.ii.a), one of the assassins, Hantili, was cup-bearer to the king (pp. 473–4). On wine in the Odyssey, Papakonstantinou (2009) observes that although the Homeric poems recognize that wine can lead to intoxication, it is not problematic for the integrated society depicted therein.

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περὶ δ’ ἄλλοι ἑταῖροι νωλεμέως κτείνοντο, σύες ὣς ἀργιόδοντες, οἵ ῥά τ’ ἐν ἀφνειοῦ ἀνδρὸς μέγα δυναμένοιο ἢ γάμῳ ἢ ἐράνῳ ἢ εἰλαπίνῃ τεθαλυίῃ.

(Homer, Odyssey 11.412–15)

All around the rest of my companions were put to death without pause, like whitetusked swine in the home of a rich and very powerful man at a wedding or a banquet or a sumptuous feast.

Agamemnon’s companions become the meat they might ordinarily expect to consume at a dinner. The simile that Agamemnon’s ghost deploys makes Aegisthus’ duplicitous murder of his guests a transgression and inversion of commensality. In contrast to the celebratory Illuyanka tale, there is no wine or drunkenness involved, the power ‘overthrown’ is the legitimate authority, and events are told from the vantage point of the vanquished. The deceit lies in the falseness of the invitation (in Theognidean terms, true feeling is initially hidden behind words and then revealed in action). Aegisthus has usurped Agamemnon’s authority, but characters in the poem describe it as a monstrous act of treachery that will bring its own punishments (cf. 1.32–43, 3.229–312, 4.514–37). The second episode, Odysseus’ trouncing of the suitors and his reclamation of authority on Ithaca, follows the basic power play of the Hittite text more closely. Odysseus, however, enters the feast as an unknown beggar, an uninvited guest who will overpower the suitors who ‘host’ him. His motives and intentions are hidden from his fellow diners not by wine but by disguise. Yet the convivial setting for his attack is graphically foregrounded in the first strike: as the suitor Antinous lifts his golden cup to take a draft of wine, an arrow passes through his throat. He drops the cup and knocks over the table from which he dines (22.8–21; cf. the death of Euryalus, 22.83–6).17 This is a surprise. As the narrator remarks, ‘who would think, feasting among men, a single man in the crowd, even if he were very strong, would bring upon him evil death and black doom?’ (τίς κ’ οἴοιτο μετ’ ἀνδράσι δαιτυμόνεσσι | μοῦνον ἐνὶ πλεόνεσσι, καὶ εἰ μάλα καρτερὸς εἴη, | οἷ τεύξειν θάνατόν τε κακὸν καὶ κῆρα μέλαιναν; 22.12–14). Odysseus reclaims his home, his family and his kingdom through the deception and slaughter of usurping suitors at the banquet. 17

The event is given a sympotic character on a red-figure skyphos decorated by the Penelope Painter c. 440: Berlin, Antikensammlung F2588 (ARV 2 1300.1 = BD 216788). In this scene two suitors meet or await their fate on a cushioned klinē, while another shields himself from Odysseus’ arrows behind a raised table. However, there is no element of deception in this depiction: an inscription identifies the perpetrator. This is the moment of revelation and action.

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Despite variations in action, a ‘threat from within’ is shared by all these stories of convivial power play. A guest poses a threat to a host or is lured into danger by them. Stories in epic that echo Near Eastern traditions and project struggles between gods and heroes for control of their dominions into convivial gatherings may have resonated with the experience or expectations of Archaic drinking companions. Audiences familiar with the Theognidea would certainly relate. As poems attributed to Theognis circulated, the theme of deceit too circulated, rendering the symposion potentially and problematically deceptive. Or perhaps such expectations of deceit were defined in part not by actual experience, but by familiarity with the mythic pattern exemplified in the Odyssean tales: unlike Antinous at the banquet, a listener would not necessarily be surprised at his sympotic fate.18 Whatever the relationship between actual experience and expectations informed by poetry and myth, the threat from within is a pattern that recurs again and again, as the remainder of this chapter shows. Whether Creusa plots against the guest of honour at Ion’s birthday party, or Theban polemarchs or Persian ambassadors in Macedon are murdered whilst drinking, or royal authority is preserved by the removal of a rival at the royal courts of Persia and Macedon over wine, there is always an element of deceit, pursued through the symposion.

sympotic plots against civic threats in euripides’ ion The tragic stage, which provided Aeschylus’ brief allusion to the deceptive deployment of drinking in an inter-generational conflict over authority, provides us with another conflation of drinking, deceit and political action in the heroic past. Euripides’ Ion was first performed at Athens c. 412 during a period of deepening crisis in the city’s relationship with its Ionian allies.19 It dramatizes the recognition of Ion as the son of Creusa, the daughter of Erechtheus, and as heir to the Athenian throne, an event which anticipates Ion’s advent at Athens and the propagation of his eponymous tribe at Attica and across the Aegean (as detailed at 1569–1618) in affirmation of Athenian autochthony and Ionian descent. As might be expected of a tragedy, the process of recognition is not straightforward: Ion must follow the basic 18 19

As noted in Chapter 2, following Murray (2008), the Odyssey may indeed have been performed at symposia. Thus it would contain its own lessons on deception and deceit for the symposiasts. A 412 date is convincingly argued for this play on contextual grounds by Zacharia (2003) 3–7, with 3, n. 11 for a full bibliography on the issue.

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heroic trajectory of a young man overcoming tribulations before he can claim his rightful inheritance.20 In this instance, the main tribulation is the attempted murder of Ion by Creusa during his ‘birthday’ party. The set-up is complicated. Guided by Apollo, Creusa’s non-Athenian husband, Xuthus, has misidentified Ion, a temple-hand at Delphi, as his son. He therefore orders a celebration of Ion’s paternity, which will facilitate his eventual usurpation of the Erechtheid throne (650–67). Creusa’s intervention at the party is intended to neutralize this threat to her household and her country. She does not yet know that Ion is actually the product of her union with Apollo and, therefore, is the destined heir. The party thus becomes a battleground for the future leadership of Athens. In the Ion’s narrative arc, it is also a stepping-stone towards Ion’s political destiny – his integration into the Athenian polis – because it results in the flight by Creusa to the temple of Apollo and the subsequent revelation of his true identity. In this play, as at the deadly banquets of the Odyssey, events do not unfold at a closed-group elite symposion but at a celebration that bears the hallmarks of symposia and civic dining, in effect blurring their boundaries. Moreover, the key political action, the attempted murder of Ion, is pursued through a sympotic ruse, while the death of the birds in his stead is sympotically coded. Danger lurks once more in the communal occasion. Ion’s ‘birthday’ party is in fact a blend of different commensal forms, leading Schmitt Pantel (1992, 210) to label it ‘un repas bien étrange’, a very strange meal. It is described variously as a feast (δαιθ’, 852; δαῖτες, 1131) and common feast (δαῖτα πρὸς κοινήν, 652; κοινὴν δαῖτα, 807), a dinner (δειπνῶν, 711; δεῖπνα, 1124), a sacrificial feast (θοινᾶι, 982) and a communal meal (συσσιτίῳ, 1165).21 Sacrifices take place in the name of guestfriendship (ξένια, 805), and it is a birthday celebration (γενέθλι’, 653; γενέθλια, 805) too. A full array of commensal terminology marks Xuthus’ party as a communal affair with sacrifice and consumption by a group related by civic and social bonds. However, the main action, or at least the action reported by Creusa’s servant, is sympotic. The plot unfurls as the participants move on from dining to drinking; hands are washed, incense is burned, and music, kraters and cups are prepared (1170–6; cf. 1029–39).22 Indeed, the libations that inaugurate the symposion provide the means for the attempted murder when Creusa’s old servant slips poison into Ion’s cup 20 21 22

For the underlying heroic narrative, see Lee (1997) 22. For δειπνῶν at 711, see Lee (1997) 293–4, contra Diggle (1974) 21. The sympotic dimensions are recognized by Schmitt Pantel (1992) 220–1; Zacharia (1995) 55; Lee (1997) 285; and Pellegrino (2004) 301.

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(1182–6). The communal feast develops into a communal drinking party, although the drinking is peremptorily ended when the plot is revealed. This progression is entirely concomitant with social practice, where drinking usually followed dinner. Yet, the constituents of Xuthus’ party make it distinctive. When Xuthus first conceives of the celebration, he instructs Ion to invite a full complement of his friends (τῶν φίλων φλήρωμ’) to share the pleasures of the ox sacrifice (663–5). Later, the old servant imagines killing Ion amidst friends (φίλους) (982), while Ion prepares the dining tent for a feast to entertain his friends (φίλοις) (1131). But, in the end, Ion invites everyone in the Delphi area, sending out the heralds to the extremes to invite ‘those in the country wishing to come to the feast’ (τὸν θέλοντ’ ἐγχωρίων ἐς δαῖτα χῶρειν) (1166–8). Although the guests are figured as philoi, the sympotic group is not a small, closely bound friendship group, but rather the inhabitants of Delphi: in effect, the polis.23 The civic banquet and symposion are amalgamated in the personnel and action of Xuthus’ party. This duality articulates the conflicting political positioning of participants that swirls through the event. One the one hand, the gathering proclaims Ion’s arrival on the political stage. Xuthus tells his son, θέλω γὰρ οὗπέρ σ’ ηὗρον ἄρξασαι, τέκνον, κοινῆς πραπέζης, δαῖτα πρὸς κοινὴν πεσών, θῦσαί θ’ ἅ σου πρὶν γενέθλι’ οὐκ ἐθύσαμεν . . . . . . ἄλλὰ τῶν φίλων πλήρωμ’ ἀθροίσας βουθύτῳ σὺν ἡδονῇ πρόσειπε, μέλλων Δελφιδ’ ἐκλιπεῖν πόλιν.

(Euripides, Ion 651–3, 663–5)

I wish to begin where I found you, my child, with a common table, providing a common feast, and to perform the sacrifices we did not perform at your birth . . . but gathering together the full complement of your friends, salute them at the ox sacrifice with pleasure, since you are about to depart the city of Delphi.

The gathering of friends or townsmen will mark Ion’s coming departure and so play witness to his transition from temple slave to Xuthus’ son. Before long he will take possession of his father’s sceptre at Athens (σκῆπτρα τἄμ’ ἔχειν χθονός, 660), even though, as Lee (1997, 652) observes, the common feast sets in process a chain of events that lead to the revelation that Ion has no relationship with his ‘father’. In a real sense, the party marks Ion’s political birth day, the day on which his identity is declared – albeit a 23

Schmitt Pantel (1992) 211.

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false or partial one. The Delphic crowd is a surrogate for the Athenian community to which he will soon be introduced. From the perspective of Creusa’s household, moreover, the party binds Xuthus and Ion together in enmity towards her family and, hence, to Athens. From the moment that Ion’s supposed paternity is discovered, the Chorus anticipates an assault on Athens. Noting that the new father and son are preparing a dinner (711–12), it appeals to Bacchus for Ion’s death, expecting that the polis will otherwise need to ward off an invasion of foreigners (ξενικὸν ἐσβολάν) (714–24). Given the earlier ekphrasis of Bacchus Bromius defeating a giant – ‘invaders’ in the divine realm – with his ivy staff in sculpture on the temple of Apollo (217–19), this is an appropriate choice of deity. The departure for Athens which Ion and the Delphians celebrate is, in Athenian eyes, an assault on their city, and Ion is to be destroyed by the god incarnate in wine.24 Later, the Chorus’s report that Xuthus honours his new son with the sacrifices of xenia and the genethlia and a common feast (804–8) leads the old servant to declare to Creusa that ‘we have been betrayed’ (προδεδόμεσθα, 808) by Xuthus’ plotting, and ‘we are outraged and expelled from the house of Erechtheus’ (ὑβριζόμεσθα δωμάτων τ’ Ἐρεχθέως ἐκβαλλόμεσθα) (810–11). By using the perfect and present tenses, the old servant locates these outcomes in the here and now. The treachery lies in Xuthus’ pretence that he is feasting a guestfriend and not holding birthday celebrations for his new-found son.25 Thus, the feast constitutes an act of betrayal against the house of Erechtheus and makes its downfall inevitable. In the vocabulary of Creusa and her household, Ion is henceforth an enemy (ἐχθροῖν, 848; πολέμιον, 1291) Before the party ends – and as a consequence of it – Ion’s enmity will be activated, and he will verbally attack the Erechtheid heiress, promising violence. Strikingly too, between the murder attempt and Ion’s confrontation with Creusa, his friends and fellow feasters (συνδείπνοις, 1172; θοινάτορας, 1217) will acquire a political identity: Ion states that it was to his advantage that he was amongst allies (ἐν συμμάχοις) when he learned of Creusa’s intention to kill him (1271–2). The communal gathering of local inhabitants, friends and allies authenticates Ion’s new position and offers tangible support when he comes under threat. Ion’s new-found claim to the Athenian throne is therefore iterated through the provision of a communal feast, as it is conceived by Xuthus and as it is perceived by Creusa and her cronies. The orchestration of a counter-assault at the banquet – a strike at the source of his power and in 24

For Dionysus as wine see Hobden (2011) 45–6.

25

Lee (1997) 252.

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front of the community that recognizes him – is thus an appropriate response, even if it is adopted initially to avoid suspicion and for the convenience of a swift kill (1020–7). Ion’s ambitions for the Athenian throne will be thwarted in the place where they are stealthily proclaimed. The correspondence is driven home by the nature of Creusa’s attack, for it is not merely an attack at the feast but embedded in the action of the symposion, as narrated by a servant: ὡς δ᾽ ἀνεῖσαν ἡδονὴν, < >παρελθὼν πρέσβυς ἐς μέσον πέδον ἔστη, γέλων δ᾽ ἔθηκε συνδείπνοις πολὺν, πρόθυμα πράσσων· ἔκ τε γὰρ κρωσσῶν ὕδωρ χεροῖν ἔπεμπε νίπτρα κἀξεθυμία σμύρνης ἱδρῶτα, χρυσέων τ᾽ ἐκπωμάτων ἦρχ᾽, αὐτὸς αὑτῷ τόνδε προστάξας πόνον. ἐπεὶ δ᾽ ἐς αὐλοὺς ἧκον ἐς κρατῆρά τε κοινόν, γέρων ἔλεξ᾽· Ἀφαρπάζειν χρεὼν οἰνηρὰ τεύχη σμικρά, μεγάλα δ᾽ ἐσφέρειν, ὡς θᾶσσον ἔλθωσ᾽ οἵδ᾽ ἐς ἡδονὰς φρενῶν. ἦν δὴ φερόντων μόχθος ἀργυρηλάτους χρυσέας τε φιάλας· ὁ δὲ λαβὼν ἐξαίρετον, ὡς τῷ νέῳ δὴ δεσπότῃ χάριν φέρων, ἔδωκε πλῆρες τεῦχος, εἰς οἶνον βαλὼν ὅ φασι δοῦναι φάρμακον δραστήριον δέσποιναν, ὡς παῖς ὁ νέος ἐκλίποι φάος· κοὐδεὶς τάδ᾽ ᾒδειν.

(Euripides, Ion 1170–87)

When they had given up this pleasure [eating to repletion], an old man came forward into the middle and stood, and he caused great laughter amongst the dining companions with his eager bustling; for he sent round water from the pitchers as water for washing hands, and burned myrrh as incense, and ruled over the golden cups, appointing this task to himself. When it reached the point for the auloi and the common krater, the old man said, ‘We must take away the small wine cups and bring in big ones, so that they may come to the pleasures of their minds more swiftly.’ Then there was the work of bringing gold and silver bowls (phialas); and taking the chosen bowl, as if doing a favour to his new master, he gave him the full cup, having thrown into the wine a deadly poison, which they say his mistress had given him, so that the young boy would depart the light; and no one knew this.

First, the old servant plays the laughter-maker, humorously taking responsibility for the crockery to hide his delivery of the poison into Ion’s cup – the phialē associated with libations. His antics exploit the performance dynamics of the venue: he places himself in the centre of the floor (ἐς μέσον πέδον

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ἔστη), thus replacing the golden kraters put there by Ion at the focal point of the room (1165–6), and he acts in an overly enthusiastic fashion (πολὺν πρόθυμα) that elicits laughter from the diners.26 By his own authority (αὐτὸς αὑτῷ τόνδε προστάξας πόνον) he brings water for them to wash their hands, burns incense, takes control of the drinking cups and eventually pours Ion’s wine. The old man thus takes on with gusto the tasks normally performed by young serving boys. The comedic persona he adopts has its roots in the character of the aklētos, the uninvited guest who in the Archaic tradition acts out his own inadequacies to the occasion in a ridiculous fashion that entertains the gathering.27 Like his Homeric counterparts and the ‘laughter-maker’ (gelōtopoios) Philip, who will later appear in Xenophon’s Symposium, there is a heavy physicality to the performance of this uninvited guest.28 However, unlike the standard aklētos, the aim of the old man’s spectacle is not to earn his place at banquet, but murderous deceit. The poisoning of wine is performed in the open but is obfuscated by his gelōtopoieia. Ion’s guests are too busy laughing (as good symposiasts should) to notice the sleight of hand. Secondly, Ion’s death is planned to occur whilst he partakes in the symposion’s opening libation, and although this outcome is averted, the means by which the crime is revealed mimics a sympotic death. After a blasphemous cry disrupts the libation and all cups of wine are poured onto the ground, a new libation begins, as the servant explains: κἀν τῷδε μόχθῳ πτηνὸς ἐσπίπτει δόμους κῶμος πελειῶν (Λοξίου γὰρ ἐν δόμοις ἄτρεστα ναίουσ᾽) ὡς δ᾽ ἀπέσπεισαν μέθυ ἐς αὐτὸ χείλη πώματος κεχρημέναι καθῆκαν, εἷλκον δ᾽ εὐπτέρους ἐς αὐχένας. καὶ ταῖς μὲν ἄλλαις ἄνοσος ἦν λοιβὴ θεοῦ· ἣ δ᾽ ἕζετ᾽ ἔνθ᾽ ὁ καινὸς ἔσπεισεν γόνος ποτοῦ τ᾽ ἐγεύσατ᾽, εὐθὺς εὔπτερον δέμας ἔσεισε κἀβάκχευσεν, ἐκ δ᾽ ἔκλαγξ᾽ ὄπα ἀξύνετον αἰάζουσ᾽· ἐθάμβησεν δὲ πᾶς θοινατόρων ὅμιλος ὄρνιθος πόνους. θνῄσκει δ᾽ ἀπασπαίρουσα, φοινικοσκελεῖς χηλὰς παρεῖσα.

(Euripides, Ion 1196–1208)

26 27 28

On the central location of the krater, see Lissarrague (1990a) 27–36 and (1990c). For this definition, see Fehr (1990) 187. On Philip see Hobden (2004) 130–1, with 131, n. 38; Halliwell (2008) 144–5. The gelōtopoios is also related to the kolax and parasitos, ‘flatterer’ and ‘parasite’, who appear in Athenian comedy exchanging laughter for food: see Bremmer (1997) 13–16, and Wilkins (2000) 71–86.

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While we were at work, a winged revel (kōmos) of doves fell into the tent (for they dwell in Loxias’ house without fear), and where they had poured out the wine, the doves lowered their beaks to it, desiring the drink, and they drew it down their well-plumed necks. And to others the drink offering of the god was harmless; but the dove who sat where the new-found son poured his libation and tasted the drink, immediately she shook her well-plumed body and fell into a Bacchic frenzy (kabakcheusen), and crying she screeched an unintelligible sound. The entire crowd of feasters was astonished at the bird’s distress. She died gasping, stretching out her scarlet-legged talons.

The birds that arrive to guzzle up the dregs of the wine are a revel (κῶμος); the aborted drinking continues on the avian plane. Moreover, as they imbibe the spilt libations, one of their number becomes inspired with a Bacchic frenzy (κἀβάκχευσεν), utters unintelligible cries and promptly dies. In the Odyssey the death of Agamemnon and his men at a banquet was assimilated to the slaughtering of sacrificial animals. At this symposion the birds take the place of human drinkers when they meet their death. This sympotic death highlights the proximity of an alternative ending, an ending in which Creusa’s ‘contrivance by the cup’ (πώματος τε μηχανάς, 1216) comes to fruition and Ion is unable to complete the necessary transition to adult status. In that stream, Creusa, the audience knows, loses her son and the Ionians lose their progenitor. Instead, with this obstacle overcome, Ion can complete his heroic trajectory: to discover his true heritage and legitimate claim to the Athenian throne. The fate avoided – a sympotic and political fate – is acted out in the demise of the revelling, Bacchanizing dove. In Euripides’ Ion the politics of Ion’s maturation and of the Athenian city are worked out through the banquet. For Xuthus, the communal gathering sanctions the identity and ambitions that he imparts to his new son; for Creusa the symposion provides an opportunity for eliminating a danger to her household and city. Moreover, by emerging unscathed from the sympotic machinations, Ion and Athens can both achieve their potential: for the fifth-century theatre audience, the relationship between Athens and its Ionian allies is affirmed anew. The civic banquet/symposion is an important staging post for the young leader’s development and for the development of his city too. It is a place of friendship and support where identity is crystallized (if, in this case, erroneously) and alliances are expressed, but also a source of danger lurking unseen. The symposion is firmly bound up in the struggle for power. When Creusa and the old man thwart Xuthus’ and Ion’s usurpation, symbolized by the banquet, with a pre-emptive assault acted out in the symposion, political ambitions are enforced and derailed. By consequence, the wellbeing of the civic community and its future heritage are also preserved. Politics in action, indeed.

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tyrants look out! or, why despots should not drink If drinking is dangerous for gods and heroes who bid for power at parties by taking advantage of wine’s inebriating qualities or sympotic forms, the same is true for historical figures. A political revolution at Thebes in 379 recounted in Xenophon’s Hellenica provides one example. As in the symposion at Acragas attended by Empedocles and narrated by Timaeus (Chapter 3), the partygoers are a collective of ruling citizens. However, they are not would-be tyrants but Spartan sympathizers who have already turned the city over to the Lacedaemonians. Nonetheless, as polemarchs they exert a tyrannical rule (ὥστε αὐτοὶ τυραννεῖν, 5.4.1; cf. τὴν περὶ Φίλιππον τυραννίδα, 5.4.2). The details of the rebellion are as follows. Led by Melon and aided by Phillidas, a servant to the government, seven exiles returned to Thebes to overthrow these ‘tyrants’. The occasion for their attack was the Aphrodisia, a festival to Aphrodite which the polemarchs celebrated on leaving office. After dinner, at Phillidas’ encouragement, they became exceedingly drunk and demanded hetairai. They then followed Phillidas to an antechamber, whereupon the exiles, garbed as veiled ladies (δεσποίνας) and maids (θεραπαίνας), joined the party and slaughtered the polemarchs with their daggers (5.4.4–6). At least, Xenophon reports, this is one version of events: ‘but others say that, entering as though they were revelling, Melon and his companions killed the polemarchs’ (οἱ δὲ καὶ ὡς κωμαστὰς εἰσελθόντας τοὺς ἀμφὶ Μέλωνα ἀποκτεῖναι τοὺς πολεμάρχους) (5.4.7). In both accounts the accoutrements or performances of the symposion become vehicles for political assassination, an act concomitant with the destruction of their tyrannical rule by seven lone fugitives (τὴν τούτων ἀρχὴν ἑπτὰ μόνον τῶν φυγόντων ἦρκεσαν καταλῦσαι, 5.4.1). Death by hetairai has especial irony because the polemarchs were celebrating a festival of Aphrodite (note, this symposion also occurs in a civic setting). But the sympotic allusions are compounded by literary precedents. Again the story pattern is a diffuse one. The use of disguise to facilitate the sympotic murder recalls not only Odysseus’ infiltration of the suitor’s banquet in the garb of a beggar, but an older Near Eastern adventure, the tale of Aqhat from Ugarit (c. 1450–1200), which may have had a ritual context.29 Early in the tale 29

The narrative trajectory and extensive descriptions of ritual in the Aqhat tale have led scholars to insert its performance into seasonal rituals: see Wright (2001) 4–6. Note, given the ritual contexts of this and the Illuyanka myth, above, the observation by Burkert (1991) 11 that these tales reveal the dangers of drinking seems inadequate.

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the hero Aqhat is slain by the Sutean warrior Yatupan on the instructions of the goddess Anat. After obtaining proof of the murder, his sister Pughat approaches Yatupan as he dines, either in disguise as the goddess or, by another interpretation, as a courtesan.30 Beneath these female garments she wears a hero’s costume with knife and sword. Whilst Yatupan drinks the wine she has brought, these garments conceal and then facilitate her true ambition.31 In this tale, Pughat’s revenge is particularly fitting because the warrior had killed her brother at dinner by equally deceptive means: angered by Aqhat’s refusal to obey her, Anat had set Yatupan to circle in the sky amidst the birds, and it was from this concealed position that he struck the hero while he dined, unseen. Thus, in fact, the Ugaratic narrative contains two commensal threads, each of which results in death, facilitated by deceit. Aqhat’s murder is a demonstration of divine power; the killing of his murderer by Pughat in double disguise, and with the aid of wine, is an attempt by a human to find justice against this display. Obviously this Near Eastern tale is not a direct predecessor of Xenophon’s account of events at Thebes. But as for the cosmological narratives examined above, the two tales share a conceptual motif. Pughat’s retribution against a wrongdoing authority chimes with the attack on the Theban polemarchs, even if their assault takes place in the human plane and features men in female guise (as opposed to a woman dressed as a man dressed as a goddess/courtesan). Xenophon’s episode is also highly reminiscent of a banquet in Herodotus’ Histories hosted by the Macedonian king Amyntas for some Persians who were visiting to demand allegiance to their monarch. Once the pledge had been given, the new guest-friends (they are invited epi xenia) were hosted with a sumptuous dinner. Afterwards, with competitive drinking under way (διαπίνοντες), the Macedonians brought their womenfolk to mingle at the party to gratify a request by one of the Persians. At this point, the Persians, being exceedingly drunk with wine (πλεόνως οἰνωμένοι), 30 31

On this divine disguise, see Wright (2001) 210–12, who favours the former suggestion over the latter. Frustratingly, the cuneiform tablet preserving the description of the murder of Yatupan by Pughat is not extant. However, Parker (1997) 50, with 78, n. 2, proposes that parallel narratives of deceit from the biblical books of Judges (3.15–30) and Judith (8–13) virtually guarantee Paghit’s success; cf. Wright (2001) 217. Both involve the concealment of a sword under the clothing of a vengeful Israelite and conclude with a deadly attack on the wrongdoer. The Israelites then advance into victorious battle. Note that in Judith, a second-century text, the murder takes place following a banquet when the offending general, Holofernes, is ‘full of wine’ (King James edition). The components of our earlier Mediterranean narratives are all here in the Hebraic tradition, wrapped up in divine sanction: disguise, female deceit, extreme drunkenness and sexual debauchery.

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began to molest the women (Hdt. 5.18).32 In response, the Macedonians pretended to indulge their guest-friends but asked that the women be allowed to depart and wash before the Persians took their full pleasure. When the women returned, however, they were not the wives and daughters of the Macedonians, but Macedonian youths in female clothing, each armed with a dagger. The slaughter of the Persians naturally followed (5.20). Crossovers between the Xenophontic and Herodotean tales are clear: the masquerading of armed men as sexually available women is followed by the slaughter of drunken enemies with daggers.33 The overlapping narratives reveal once again how the political character of symposiasts can be manifest in their performances. Like Aeschines at the symposion of the son of a former oligarch in Macedon (see Chapter 3), the Theban polemarchs and Persian representatives treat respectable women as if they are sexually available hetairai. In Xenophon’s story this is symbolized when the ‘mistresses’ and ‘maids’ adopt a seated pose beside the men and unveil. Had these been the most beautiful and most revered women in the city (γυναῖκας . . . τὰς σεμνοτάτας καὶ καλλίστους τῶν ἐν Θήβαις, 5.4.4) promised by Phillidas, by lifting their veil they would have been robbed of their modesty and social identity.34 This dramatization nuances the action that Plutarch will later depict at length in his dialogue On the Sign of Socrates (30–1 = Mor. 596d–597c) and in the biographical Life of Pelopidas (11.1–3), where rebels dressed in female costume and with garlands on their heads burst into the party to the excitement of the waiting tyrants but attack immediately. The implications of Xenophon’s version can be emphasized through comparison with the charges laid by Apollodorus in the midfourth-century Athenian lawcourt in his speech Against Neaera. In order to prove that Neaera is not a citizen woman and acts ‘as if she were a hetaira’ (ὡς ἂν ἑταίρα οὖσα, [Dem.] 59.24), the prosecutor paints a scandalous portrait that includes frequent attendance at symposia. There her alleged lover/owner Phyrnion ‘used her without decency or restraint, and he journeyed with her to dinners all over the place, wherever he might drink, and she always revelled with him’ (ἀσελγῶς καὶ προπετῶς ἐχρῆτο αὐτῇ, καὶ ἐπὶ τὰ δεῖπνα ἔχων αὐτὴν πανταχοῖ ἐπορεύετο, ὅπου πίνοι, ἐκώμαζέ τ’ ἀεὶ μετ’ αὐτοῦ) (59.33). This involves Neaera in having sex in public with 32

33 34

For the Persian love of wine see Herodotus 1.133 and Chapter 2. As we shall see shortly, the behaviour of Persians in this passage sheds further light on Greek perceptions of Persian drinking customs as ‘other’. For the close structural parallels in the cross-dressing assault episodes, see Gray (1989) 65–8. Cairns (2002) and Llewellyn-Jones (2003) 121–54 chart the general connection between veiling and social identity that is mobilized here.

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Phrynion and engaging in drunken sexual encounters with other men, including servants. As Glazebrook (2005, 170) concludes, ‘how could the juror consider a woman exhibiting such behaviour to be someone’s wife?’35 Xenophon’s Theban narrative deploys a reverse rhetoric to Apollodorus’ forensic attack, making the polemarchs treat respectable wives from the community as if they were hetairai, and therefore available for sex at the drinking party.36 This offence is particularly damning because in the historiographical tradition the sexual denigration of decent women is a hallmark of the autocratic ruler. Consider in Herodotus’ Histories the Lydian king Candaules, who invites Gyges to ogle his naked wife (1.8–15), the Athenian tyrant Peisistratus’ unconventional sex with his wife (1.61), and Periander of Corinth’s necrophilia (5.92).37 Or one might compare the oligarch Hegesilochus of Rhodes. In typical moralizing form, and using vocabulary familiar to us from our study of the Philippics in Chapter 2, Theopompus reports that Hegesilochus’ propensity for drunkenness (οἰνοφλυγίας), dicing and everything disreputable was such that he received criticism for profligacy (ἀσωτίαν) from friends and citizens alike. He was also the most enthusiastic player of a game favoured by his oligarchic group. They were so depraved (ἀσελγείας) that they shamed (ηἴσχυναν) many women from good families and houses of leading citizens by playing dice for free women; and when throwing knuckle-bones, the man with the lowest score had to fetch a citizen woman to have sexual intercourse with the winner (FGrH 115 F121). Anticipating the future actions of Hegesilochus and his circle, the polemarchs’ planned mistreatment of women at their symposion is highly appropriate to a group who rule Thebes like tyrants. In the Hellenica the arrival of the ‘hetairai’, their seating beside the polemarchs, and the reported attack while unveiling dramatizes this. By focusing on these details, Xenophon creates a sympotic spectacle through which readers can observe the moral depravity of the polemarchs, as well as their comeuppance.38 By comparison, Plutarch knows the story, but the treatment of 35 36 37 38

Cf. Glazebrook (2006). So they commit a similar offence to that of Aeschines in Demosthenes’ speech On the False Embassy (19.197–8), discussed in Chapter 3. Cf. R. Osborne (2004) 59–61, who adds to the first two examples Nicolaus of Damascus’ (FGrH 90 F61) story that Myron of Sicyon indulged in rape and adultery. For this aspect of the Hellenica, see Schepens (2012): dealing with an entirely different episode, Timocreon’s mission to Greece at the beginning of the Corinthian War, he recognizes the dramatization of ideas as a Xenophontic technique. Cf. Harman (2012) on the presentation of Agesilaus as a spectacle for observation and evaluation in the encomiastic Agesilaus. ‘Look and learn’ is a standard Xenophontic mode of historical and ethical inquiry: see Hobden and Tuplin (2012b) 20–1.

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the women and the sympotic setting is only of passing relevance in his descriptions of events at Thebes.39 Furthermore, in both Xenophon’s and Herodotus’ account of events at Thebes and Macedon, the sympotic counter-strikes are acts of political opposition. This is most obvious in the Theban tale, when the death of the ‘tyrants’ (declared as such to the people, 5.4.9) leads to a full-scale uprising against the Spartans lodged on the acropolis (5.4.10–12). But murdering profligate Persians whilst they drink is a political challenge too, for in this tale the difference between Macedonian and Persian dining customs becomes a site for negotiating power.40 In the treatment of the Macedonian women at the banquet, the Persians assert their dominance. Amyntas is compelled to comply with the demands of his ‘masters’ (δεσπόται) and to suppress Macedonian habits: Persian political primacy is witnessed in the priority awarded to their practice (νόμος). Yet, this supremacy is ultimately denied when Amyntas’ son Alexander leads the sympotic assault with his father’s blessing. Alexander first promises to provide all that is necessary to their guests (πάντα τὰ ἐπιτήδεα παρέξω τοῖσι ξείνοισι, 5.19). Then, on returning with the ‘women’ he informs the Persians that they might learn how much they are honoured by the dining and women awarded to them. As promised, the Macedonian’s true esteem for the Persians is demonstrated in the hospitality they ultimately receive. Amidst the slaughter, Persian cultural (banqueting) hegemony is rejected; Macedonian (banqueting) customs are avenged and their priority is confirmed. Alexander’s actions – as Amyntas intimates to his son when urging caution (5.19) – are a challenge to Persian power. The Macedonians, of course, do not make the slaughter of the Persians the starting point of a wider revolution; instead Alexander buys off the investigating official (5.21), and the Macedonians continue to represent the Persians in Greece. But the episode may have become part of the rhetoric by which Alexander I of Macedon subsequently masked his compliance with the Persians.41 39

40

41

On Plutarch’s concerns and methods and the relationship between the two texts and their narratives of events at Thebes, see Pelling (2008). Compare also the minimalist account of Diodorus Siculus (15.25.2), in which pro-Spartans are murdered in their private homes, and the attack on Leontiades, who emerges from his bedchamber in both Plutarchan narratives (On the Sign of Socrates 32 = Mor. 597d–e; Pel. 11.4). Cornelius Nepos’ Theban leaders are simply all killed during the night whilst intoxicated with wine (at illi omnes, cum iam nox processisset, vinolenti ab exulibus duce Pelopida sunt interfecti, Pel. 3). See A. Bowie (2003) 106. These practices include also Greek and Persian treatment of women, intimated through banqueting practices, as mentioned by Fearn (2007b) 105. The ethnographical perspective, to which Fearn alludes, is discussed in Chapter 2, below. Alexander’s probable intentions are reconstructed by Badian (1994), 108–13; cf. Fearn (2007b) 115.

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However falsely and retrospectively, resistance to Persian customs at the banquet – and specifically while the drinking is underway – signifies a broader opposition to the Persian king. With the plotting of murder by a drinking companion, debilitating indulgence in wine, the attempted treatment of respectable women as hetairai, and cross-dressing killers, Xenophon and Herodotus deploy similar motifs in their depiction of rebellion against a political regime or its representatives whilst drinking. However, Xenophon continues the sympotic narrative in a distinctive fashion. As noted already, the author knows of another version of events. In this strand, the kōmos, a procession of drunken revellers that rowdily traversed the city moving to and from symposia, is key. At the time, Xenophon gives little depth to this alternative beyond reporting that the exiles entered ‘as though they were revellers’ (ὡς κωμαστάς) and killed the polemarchs (Hell. 5.4.7).42 However, the very next episode in which Phillidas and three of his men slaughter the polemarchs’ associate Leontiades somewhat resembles a kōmos: λαβὼν δὲ ὁ Φιλλίδας τρεῖς αὐτῶν ἐπορεύετο ἐπὶ τὴν τοῦ Λεοντιάδου οἰκίαν· κόψας δὲ τὴν θύραν εἶπεν ὅτι παρὰ τῶν πολεμάρχων ἀπαγγεῖλαί τι βούλοιτο. ὁ δὲ ἐτύγχανε μὲν χωρὶς κατακείμενος ἔτι μετὰ δεῖπνον, καὶ ἡ γυνὴ ἐριουργοῦσα παρεκάθητο. ἐκέλευσε δὲ τὸν Φιλλίδαν πιστὸν νομίζων εἰσιέναι. οἱ δ᾽ ἐπεὶ εἰσῆλθον, τὸν μὲν ἀποκτείναντες, τὴν δὲ γυναῖκα φοβήσαντες κατεσιώπησαν. (Xenophon, Hellenica 5.4.7) And taking three of his men Phillidas journeyed to the house of Leontiades, and knocking at the door he said that he wished to bring a report from the polemarchs. And Leontiades happened to be alone, still reclining after dinner, and his wife was seated beside him working wool. And believing Phillidas to be trustworthy he ordered him to enter. But when they came in, they killed him and frightened the wife into keeping silent.

As on a revel, the conspiratorial group undertake a journey that concludes with a knock on a door. A slave answers and the conspirators seek permission to enter. The master of the house consents, and the new arrivals join him where he reclines on a couch after dinner. This basic schema could be sympotic: for example, it mirrors precisely the arrival of Alcibiades at the house of Agathon in Plato’s Symposium (212c6–213a4). However, other details counter this illusion. In sympotic poetry and literary representations including the Symposium, the reception of a kōmos is crucial for its 42

Cf. Plutarch, On the Sign of Socrates 30, when the assassins arrive at the party, some garlanded with fir and pine and others dressed as women: ‘they resembled drunks on a kōmos in the company of women’ (μεθύοντας ἀπομιμούμενοι κώμῳ χρωμένους μετὰ γυναικῶν, Mor. 596d).

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progression into a symposion.43 Certainly Phillidas gains admittance, but only on the pretence that he brings a message: he acts deceitfully and is received as a messenger, not a friend. Nor is Leontiades hosting a drinking party. Although he reclines on a couch, he is beside his seated wife. Visually, in silhouette, the couple might conform to the conjugal pairing of gods and goddesses on a red-figure kylix attributed to the Codrus Painter, c. 430, or perhaps more pertinently for the time, to fourth-century funerary reliefs.44 Either way, this is a domestic scene involving husband and wife. Indeed, far from offering sexual gratification, the wife works wool. While recent scholarship suggests that wool-working may not always be a straightforward indicator of feminine virtue, being a task for women of all statuses, in this instance it is a clear indicator of domesticity.45 Thus, what begins as a komastic venture does not end in a symposion, even though the action keeps it firmly in mind.46 However, like the kōmos whose duplicitous attack on the polemarch Xenophon briefly reports, it ends in death. The journey of the three would-be murderers to be received at the house of a reclining man enacts a false and deadly kōmos, developing the komastic variant alluded to immediately beforehand. Xenophon is interested in events at Thebes for their demonstration of divine action against the Spartans and their polemarch stooges, whose 43 44

45

46

On the reception of the kōmos in sympotic poetry and literary representation, see Heath (1988), with Lape (2006) and Pütz (2007) 121–50 on comic kōmoi. London, British Museum E82 (BD 217212). In a formal sense the scene looks like a symposion, but Carpenter (1995) argues that with each couple self-contained, the sympotic elements help to contribute an erotic tone that is consonant with the depiction of married couples on nuptial couches: but see Avramidou (2006) for an alternative reading. For two examples of fourth-century funerary stelai depicting wives seated on chairs beside their reclining, drinking husbands, see Athens, National Museum 1501 and Tombstone of Melanos, Thebes: Keuls (1985) 216, figs. 189 and 190. Note, hetairai do appear on chairs alongside reclining men on a red-figure kylix dated c. 500, attributed to the Hegesiboulos Painter: New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 07.286.47 (BD 201603). Here the women’s sexual identity is marked by their turbans and by the flower and wreath each holds in her hand, as well as by the swan chair they sit upon. With lyre-playing, a wine jug, and a naked young boy to be fondled, this symposion is in full swing. For the gender dynamics at this party, see S. Lewis (2002) 113, with fig. 3.16. For example, examining its depiction on red-figure vessels, Davidson (1997) 88–9 assigns woolworking to prostitutes as well as women who did not sell their bodies: ‘The symbols of virtuous dedication were transformed into something altogether more suggestive, sticky threads of seduction and enchantment, woollen webs and spider-snares.’ Wrenhaven (2009) more subtly focuses on the malleability of the wool-working theme. Depending on context, as a symbol in a vase painting working wool can denote a wife or a prostitute, and in the attribution of the title ‘wool-worker’ to manumitted slaves, it can even elide their dubious sexual conduct. We might read into this literary conflation of imagery the combination of komastry and violence depicted on the Panagjurischte Amphora. This golden vessel from the mid fourth century is emboldened with scenes that have been interpreted as a kōmos and as a representation of the exiles’ revolt at Thebes in 379 (although one that follows Plutarch’s source, rather than the Hellenica narrative): see Griffith (1974), with a response by Borthwick (1976).

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tyranny was destroyed by just seven men (5.4.1). It is thus a compact moral exemplum that fits the Hellenica’s presentation of divine retribution.47 But moralizing aside, narrative correspondences to a broader storytelling tradition, including Herodotus, problematize the historicity of his account. In the presentation of political action it is impossible to discern how far recent events at Thebes possess a sympotic setting because of a general ‘knowledge’ (Xenophon’s or his source’s) that power struggles were played out in convivial settings, aided by the large-scale consumption of wine. In other words, tales of cosmological and heroic power play and historical action over wine may have informed general conceptions of how political revolts happened. Hints that the narrative is shaped to some degree by wider story patterns can be found in the deployment of seven men to bring down the tyranny. Seven is the number of warriors led by Polyneices who return to Thebes to confront the usurper Eteocles and reclaim royal power in the Theban Cycle. Seven Persians conspire to overthrow the Magoi usurpers in Herodotus’ Histories (3.7).48 In the Hellenica Jason of Pherae will die at the hands of seven youths (6.4.30). In this respect, the man feared by the Greeks lest he become a tyrant (μὴ τύραννος γένοιτο, 6.4.32) meets a similar fate to the polemarchs who rule as tyrants. The number of Theban conspirators who take part in Xenophon’s story of opposition to illegal rule is thus culturally suitable.49 Does his presentation of the events at a symposion similarly respond to trends in the construction of history? A segue to Xenophon’s Hiero and Cyropaedia might provide one answer to the question. The Hiero reports a conversation between the eponymous fifth-century tyrant of Syracuse and Simonides; the Cyropaedia tells the life story of the Persian king Cyrus the Great. In each text Xenophon presents an understanding of commensal occasions as fundamentally dangerous to autocratic rulers. As Hiero explains, when a man assumes supreme power, one of the casualties is his social life. To illustrate, the tyrant compares the merriment (εὐφροσύνας) he enjoyed as a private person to his present situation: ἐγὼ γὰρ ξυνῆν μὲν ἡλικιώταις ἡδόμενος ἡδομένοις ἐμοί, συνῆν δὲ ἐμαυτῷ, ὁπότε ἡσυχίας ἐπιθυμήσαιμι, διῆγον δ᾽ ἐν συμποσίοις πολλάκις μὲν μέχρι τοῦ 47 48 49

See Pownall (2004) 89. Gray (1989) 65–6 sits the Persian story beside the Theban escapade; cf. 203, n. 1 on the ubiquity of the number seven in Herodotus. For tyranny as illegal rule in the fourth century, see Mitchell (2006). This meaning permits us to treat Eteocles’ appropriation of his brother’s power, the Magoi’s usurpation of Persian rule, the polemarch’s imposition on Thebes, and Jason’s overweening ambition and military conquests in Greece as equivalent.

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ἐπιλαθέσθαι πάντων εἴ τι χαλεπὸν ἐν ἀνθρωπίνῳ βίῳ ἦν, πολλάκις δὲ μέχρι τοῦ ᾠδαῖς τε καὶ θαλίαις καὶ χοροῖς τὴν ψυχὴν συγκαταμιγνύναι, πολλάκις δὲ μέχρι κοίτης ἐπιθυμίας ἐμῆς τε καὶ τῶν παρόντων. νῦν δὲ ἀπεστέρημαι μὲν τῶν ἡδομένων ἐμοὶ διὰ τὸ δούλους ἀντὶ φίλων ἔχειν τοὺς ἑταίρους, ἀπεστέρημαι δ᾽ αὖ τοῦ ἡδέως ἐκείνοις ὁμιλεῖν διὰ τὸ μηδεμίαν ἐνορᾶν εὔνοιαν ἐμοὶ παρ᾽ αὐτῶν· μέθην δὲ καὶ ὕπνον ὁμοίως ἐνέδρᾳ φυλάττομαι. (Xenophon, Hiero 6.2–3) I enjoyed the company of my age-mates, bringing pleasure to them as they brought pleasure to me, and I enjoyed my own company whenever I desired peace and quiet, and I spent time at the symposion, often until I became forgetful of every single sorrow in human life, often until my soul blended with the songs and festivities and dancing, and often until the desire for bed came upon me and everyone present. But now I am robbed of all of those who brought pleasure to me because slaves instead of friends are my companions (hetairous), and again I am robbed of pleasurable association with them, because I can see no goodwill towards me in them. Drunkenness and sleep I guard against in the same manner as an ambush.

Hiero’s present-day symposion is a frigid, fretful affair. Where previously drinking with friends provided an opportunity for companionship and the transcendent pleasures of forgetfulness, singing, and dancing into sleep, now it is hampered by the impositions of tyrannical rule. Isolation is an unavoidable outcome of tyranny, with the necessary replacement of friends who bring pleasure by ill-intentioned slaves.50 Moreover, the drinking and sleeping that Hiero previously enjoyed are now a source of tension and suspicion. Characters like Phillidas, hetairoi who are maliciously inclined and will take advantage of the symposion, seem to be the problem here. This is confirmed when, extending the military metaphor, Hiero encourages Simonides to view the tyrant’s position as akin to a man entrenched at the front line of battle: he adopts the same attitude to food and sleep. But, even worse, the tyrant believes himself surrounded on all sides by enemies (6.7–8). Indeed, Hiero has heard time and again that children, brothers, wives and friends pose a frequent danger to even their nearest and dearest tyrant (3.7–9). The happy companionship of the symposion that Hiero fondly recalls cannot exist for a tyrant, who, in his mind at least, is permanently under siege. The vulnerability of the autocrat when drinking that Hiero identifies is reiterated in the Cyropaedia when Xenophon reveals the rationale by which the Persian king, Cyrus, chose his guards: ‘knowing that men are never weaker than when eating and drinking and washing and in bed or asleep, he 50

On the development of isolation as a theme in this passage, see Gray (2007) 130.

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looked out for the most trustworthy men he could have around him in these instances’ (γνοὺς δ’ ὅτι οὐδαμοῦ ἄνθρωποι εὐχειρωτότεροί εἰσιν ἢ ἐν σίτοις καὶ ποτοῖς καὶ λουτροῖς καὶ κοίτῃ καί ὕπνῳ, ἐσκόπει τίνας ἂν ἐν τούτοις περὶ αὑτὸν πιστοτάτους ἔχοι, 7.5.59). To ensure his own safety during these activities, Cyrus rejects men with families from his guard, because they love them more than their monarch, and selects instead eunuchs and the very poor (7.5.60–8). Cyrus’ response to the conundrum that Hiero raises is to employ guards that are entirely dependent upon their king for their fortune and wellbeing. His enjoyment of eating and drinking is undiminished, and indeed throughout Xenophon’s work Cyrus is the consummate symposiast.51 Hiero, by contrast, refuses to believe any guards are trustworthy (Hiero 6.9–11) and so withdraws from sympotic life. Of course, Hiero stands in need of instruction from Simonides. If he works to the common good and shares the love and wealth around, as recommended, then his anxieties will be unfounded.52 One might imagine that happy symposia will return. Cyrus, however much he might sometimes fall short of being a model prince, has achieved a sympotic equilibrium for himself by different means.53 The Theban polemarchs, by contrast, neither adhere to Hiero’s abstention nor think through the repercussions as Cyrus does. As a result, their fears are realized. However, the polemarchs are not alone in this oversight. In the Hellenica drunken frolics facilitate the murder of Alexander, a successor of the would-be tyrant Jason of Pherae, who was slain by seven youths. Like the polemarchs, whose government is objectionable even to their servant Phillidas, Alexander’s harsh (χαλεπός) and unjust (ἄδικος) rule encourages opposition (6.4.35). By contrast to the Theban episode, the murder occurs at the end of an evening once a drunken Alexander has returned home. Hiero would not be surprised to learn that the tyrant’s closest family were responsible: his wife tucked her husband up in bed, then sent her brothers into the chamber to eliminate him (6.4.36).54 Although the symposion is not a venue for revolt here, drinking to the point of drunkenness is foolhardy for despots when disgruntled rivals hover around. 51 52 53

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See Gera (1993) 154–91. On happiness as the end to which Simonides’ advice is addressed, see Gray (2007) 8, 30–8. The extent to which Cyrus should be read ironically or as a model of good leadership is much disputed, as is the ironic character of other Xenophontic heroes and texts: see Gray (2007) 14, n. 14 for references to both sides of the debate, and Gray (2011) for more extensive discussion. For a repositioning of the argument on irony, see Hobden and Tuplin (2012b). Of interest here, Nadon (2001) 148 emphasizes that Cyrus is not the Hiero’s ideal ruler: rather, ‘Some of the advice that he [Simonides] gives to Hiero could also have been heeded with profit by Cyrus.’ Cf. Xen. Hell. 6.4.34, where an earlier successor of Jason, Polydorus, was similarly slaughtered while he slept, this time by his brother, Polyphron.

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The sympotic strike against the polemarchs at Thebes reported in the Hellenica thus puts into play the concerns imparted by Xenophon to Hiero and Cyrus pertaining to conviviality. For incautious autocrats whose rule is offensive to the ruled, a violent end is achieved when enemies take advantage of his consumption of wine, either at the drinking party or in the hazy, drunken aftermath. Yet, for all that he theorizes the problem, the perception of this danger to despots is not unique to Xenophon’s history. Herodotus (1.106) had already attributed the sympotic murder of the Scythians who ruled Asia for twenty-eight years to the hybris and contempt (ὕβριος καὶ ὀλιγωρίης) expressed in their indiscriminate imposition of taxes and plundering. Cyaxares and the Medes hosted them, got them drunk and slaughtered them (ξεινίσαντες καὶ καταμεθύσαντες κατεφόνευσαν). Like the Storm God reclaiming his realm from the Dragon in the Hittite cosmology, the Medes recovered their empire and Cyaxares ruled for forty years.55 With the Scythians, like Agamemnon, lured to their deaths at a feast, the precise scenario is different from the events at Thebes portrayed by Xenophon. Indeed, as a revolt arising from within the polemarch’s drinking group, Phillidas’ rebellion appears closer to Odysseus’ slaughter of the overweening suitors. However, the death of overbearing rulers duped while drinking is the same for the Scythian and Theban tales. In addition, many other autocrats meet their end at the hands of rebellious drinking companions and family members when drunk. According to Theopompus (FGrH 115 F186), the tyrant Hipparinus, son of Dionysius of Syracuse whom Philistus (FGrH 556 F57a) knew as ‘little satyr’ (satyriscum), had his throat cut whilst drinking. And again beyond the symposion itself – anticipating also our next section on Persia and Macedon – drunkenness proves troublesome in Ctesias’ Persica when a recently enthroned Xerxes II is killed whilst sleeping by his half-brother and a eunuch, after becoming drunk at a festival (μεθύοντος ἐν ἑορτῇ) (F15§48 Lenfant). The so-called Pages Conspiracy that besets Alexander the Great will follow a similar pattern.56 Thus, when Hiero recalls many examples of tyrant-slayers arising amongst friends and family and plans his symposia accordingly, he accurately reflects the fourthcentury historiographical record. Xenophon’s sympotic revolution at Thebes is thus an imaginative development on a broader theme that has 55

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Later in time, but earlier in Herodotus’ narrative (1.77), some Scythians would commit a commensal offence against Cyaxares’ son Astyages by serving his son in a cannibal banquet: for this narrative strand, see the final section of this chapter. The youths stand in wait at Alexander’s bedroom in anticipation of his return from a drinking party: Arr. An. 4.13–14. The plot, however, is thwarted. We return to the Alexander narratives in the next section.

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its roots in the interwoven traditions of historiography (telling stories about the past) and perceived realities. For all its individual features, the political action progresses along very familiar lines. persian plots and macedonian murders So far, sympotic tales of political power play have focused on assaults against existing rulers; or, in the Ion, this is a pre-emptive strike against a man whose new-found status as heir to Athens anticipates his eventual, wrongful rule. In the divine realm, the heroic past and recent history, the symposion offers a venue for challenging autocratic authority from within. In Xenophon’s purview this is a cross-cultural phenomenon, as possible under a Greek tyrant or oligarchy as under the Persian king. However, another strand of action occurs specifically at royal courts: the deception and murder of potential opponents to the reigning monarch whilst drinking. Despite such events unfolding at courts in Persia and Macedon, the deceptions are again delivered through acts that are recognizably ‘Greek’. Truth, wine and death at the court of Artaxerxes II Reflecting on Herodotus’ Persian stories, Murray (2001, 41) writes that ‘They are court novels, of palace plots, of cruel punishments and even crueller vengeance, of faithful viziers and treachery, of harem intrigue and bedroom scenes, where women have equal power with men to decide history.’ He could equally be talking about Ctesias’ Persica. The narrative of Persian history, stretching all the way back to the Assyrian empire and down to the period of Achaemenid rule, experienced at first hand by the author during a stint as a doctor at the Persian court during the late fifth century, possesses many of these elements. Indeed, they are exemplified in our ‘political’ symposion: a drinking party hosted by the eunuch Sparamizes, an attendant of the queen mother Parysatis. Analysis of this passage as the product of Ctesias’ research and imagination, however, is not straightforward. The episode survives in Plutarch’s Life of Artaxerxes 14–16 (F26 Lenfant). As Stronk (2007, 33–5) observes, Plutarch was dependent upon the earlier writer for much of the biography, but literary and moralizing interests generally inform how he deploys his source material.57 This is clear from a recent demonstration that events at Sparamizes’ party 57

Stronk’s (2007) concern is the accuracy of the historical picture; how far the details of historical episodes were altered or rewritten is impossible to ascertain. Binder (2008) 238–42 goes further:

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contribute to Plutarch’s wider evaluation of his subject’s love of honour, or philotima.58 However, the basic premise of the party, namely that on account of Mithridates’ boasting at a banquet (ἐπὶ τραπέζης μεγαλαυχήσαντα) he is killed by Artaxerxes, was known to the Byzantine Photius, who summarized Ctesias’ work (F16§67 Lenfant).59 In the absence of an easy resolution to the issue of where Ctesias stops and Plutarch begins, the sympotic and political dynamics at the Persian court which derived in the first instance from Ctesias will be the focus of attention. However, Plutarch’s possible role in constructing a post-prandial affair at which the chief eunuch will invoke the dynamics of the Greek symposion to spur Mithridates into rebellious talk and thereby guarantee his conviction for sedition must be acknowledged. The background to this event is the Persian king Artaxerxes II’s defeat of his rebellious brother Cyrus in battle at Cunaxa in 401. According to Ctesias, the king wished his subjects to believe that he had slain Cyrus by his own hand, so he donated gifts to the two men who had delivered the actual blows, pretending they were rewards for bringing tokens of his brother’s demise. One of the culprits, a Carian, refused to keep quiet. Corrupted by the good things he had received, he foolishly aspired for more (literally ‘beyond himself’, ὑπὲρ αὐτον). This personal enactment of the trajectory imagined by Herodotus for the Persian people as a whole (see Chapter 2), leads to the Carian’s unpleasant death on the rack with molten bronze poured into his ears (F26§14). The second, Mithridates, accepted the gifts silently. However, he eventually succumbed to the same idiocy and so met an equally grizzly end, eaten alive by insects from the inside out whilst strapped between two upturned boats. His downfall commences at a dinner party hosted by Sparamizes, the most powerful eunuch belonging to the queen mother, Parysatis, and the catalyst is wine. Or more specifically, the catalyst is the encouragement Mithridates receives from his host to conform to the Greek adage that ‘truth is wine’ (οἶνον καὶ ἀλήθειαν εἶναι) and to reveal how he really won his prize. The mutuality of truth and wine appears to have been a central compact of the symposion. It is encountered

58 59

weighing up arguments relating to character and content, he concludes that Plutarch clearly used Ctesias as a source but must also have incorporated an independent source to some extent or interfered with Ctesias’ representation (although the precise details of what happened at the drinking party are not specifically identified). Llewellyn-Jones and Robson (2010) 35–6 are particularly hesitant to attribute the salacious aspect of Ctesias’ Persica as it survives to the original: ‘It is important to remember that later authors selected parts of the Persica for specific purposes and that these selections may be contextualized in a way that transforms the original meaning of the text’ (36). Almagor (2009). Although cf. Almagor (2009) 133, n. 9, with references, for the question of whether Photius was working directly from the Persica or an adaptation of it.

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first in a fragment by Alcaeus where it ‘expresses the compulsion on the sympotes to expose his thoughts frankly and completely’.60 When it is imported into the Persian drinking party, frank speech duly follows. Because he is intoxicated (μεθύων), and wine has made him talkative and reduced his self-control (ἀκρατοῦς), Mithridates declares that he killed Cyrus with his javelin (F26§15). In other symposia, as parodied in Aristophanes’ Wasps (1186–96) and witnessed in the sympotic speech of Ion’s Cimon (see Chapter 3), boasting about great deeds might be welcome, but here at the Persian court the revelation of Mithridates’ battlefield exploits amongst royal retainers precipitates its author’s terrible end. When the manipulative eunuch reports Mithridates’ words to Parysatis, and she conveys them to Artaxerxes, the king orders his death. Mithridates’ desire for recognition and reward for the slaughter of Cyrus challenges the king and his projected world view. His true speech refutes (ἐξελεγχόμενος) the king and destroys the best and most pleasurable aspects of his victory (F26§16). By encouraging his victim to speak truth in wine, and taking advantage of wine’s debilitating effects, Sparamizes manoeuvres him into politically dangerous action. By prompting seditious talk now, he pre-emptively stimulates and will subsequently neutralize subversion against the king. At the Persian banquet, frank speaking in wine unleashes Mithridates’ true sentiments towards the king, just as the characters discussed in Chapter 3 and the Theban tyrants, above, demonstrate political dispositions through their sympotic performances. However, when read alongside poems from the Theognidea, sympotic resonances also emerge for Sparamizes’ duplicitous conduct. Like Empedocles, Ion, and the audiences of Demosthenes and Aristophanes, the eunuch observes and listens to his guest and leaves with knowledge of his temper. He also exemplifies the dining companion imagined – and repudiated – by Theognis. ‘That sort of companion and friend is not so good, the man who speaks with a smooth tongue but is minded otherwise’ (τοιοῦτός τοι ἑταῖρος ἀνὴρ φίλος οὔ τι μαλ’ ἐσθλός, | ὅς κ’ εἴπῃ γλώσσι λεῖα, φρονῇ δ’ ἕτερα, 95–6 W). Or, as in our opening verse, Mithridates is ensorcelled around the krater, while the eunuch’s true intentions are revealed in his subsequent actions (979–82 W, above). In short, the eunuch commits the offences attributed to false friends. His speech is disingenuous. When he requests the truth, Sparamizes already knows the answer: ‘he did not speak these things in ignorance of the truth’ (ταῦτα δ’ οὐκ ἀγνοῶν τὸ ἀληθὲς ἔλεγεν) (F26§15). Mithridates’ frank speaking, which, when mutually enjoyed, might normally evoke fellow feeling and 60

οἶνος, ὦ φίλε, καὶ ἀλάθεα (Alcaeus 366 LP). See Rösler (1995), quoting 107.

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mutual acceptance, is not reciprocated.61 Hence, the host fails to convey to Mithridates the danger that he has led him into. Other eunuchs, when they recognize their guest’s impending doom, bow down to the earth, but Sparamizes invites them all to join in eating, drinking and less weighty conversation, as though nothing were wrong. Thus, by hiding his enmity and dangerous intentions behind words of friendly interest, in essence by speaking and acting deceitfully, Sparamizes is Theognis’ worst kind of drinking companion. In this way, he is therefore supremely anti-sympotic, even though his type may be thoroughly expected at the symposion whether by Theognis’ audience, or those familiar with the narratives of political action discussed above, or indeed by Ctesias’ or Plutarch’s readers.62 Distinctively, however, Sparamizes is a royal eunuch working with the queen mother Parysatis to protect the reigning Persian king, Artaxerxes. Like Parysatis’ poisoning of her daughter-in-law Stateira during a shared meal (F29b Lenfant), an act designed to remove her rival for influence (δύναμιν) with the king, the party exemplifies the power dynamics of the Persian court in Ctesias’ history.63 At Sparamizes’ party, the Greek custom of truth in wine, when paired with deceptive speech, facilitates the removal of a challenger to the Persian king. The queen mother, it should be added, is also able to avenge herself on the man who killed her other son, the rebellious Cyrus.64 Killing Cleitus and other murders at the royal court of Macedon The removal of political enemies through deceit at the drinking party is characteristic too of the Macedonian court, or at least of the politics of the court in the Greek imagination. The earliest example is provided by Plato in the Gorgias. Socrates is attempting to convince Polus that only a good man can be happy, a position Polus finds difficult to accept. To counter this argument he introduces the present Macedonian monarch Archelaus, who ruled between 413 and 399 and is presumed by Polus to be happy on this account. His lack of justice and worthlessness is demonstrated by the means by which he secured his throne: ὅς γε πρῶτον μὲν τοῦτον αὐτὸν τὸν δεσπότην καὶ θεῖον μεταπεμψάμενος ὡς ἀποδώσων τὴν ἀρχὴν ἣν Περδίκκας αὐτὸν ἀφείλετο, ξενίσας καὶ καταμεθύσας 61 62 63 64

On the sociological consequences of uniting truth and wine, see Rösler (1995) 109. The symposia in Plutarch’s Lives are awash with treachery, so the author continues the trend identified here. See Paul (1991), esp. 162–6, and Titchener (1999). See Brosius (1996) 105–19, esp. 109–16 on Parysatis, whose murder of Stateira is mentioned at 110–11. For her motivations, see F26§17.

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αὐτόν τε καὶ τὸν ὑὸν αὐτοῦ Ἀλέξανδρον, ἀνεψιὸν αὑτοῦ, σχεδὸν ἡλικιώτην, ἐμβαλὼν εἰς ἅμαξαν, νύκτωρ ἐξαγαγὼν ἀπέσφαξέν τε καὶ ἠφάνισεν ἀμφοτέρους. (Plato, Gorgias 471b1–6) First of all sending for this self-same master [Alcetas, his father] and uncle [Alcetas’ brother Perdiccas II], as if going to return the realm which Perdiccas had taken away from him; entertaining and making drunk both him and his son Alexander, his own cousin, roughly his equal in age; and throwing them into a carriage and driving them away by night, he murdered and made away with them both.

In intent, Archelaus behaves just like an Aegisthus. The usurper invites members of the former ruling family (his family, although in Polus’ account Archelaus is the product of Alcetas’ union with a slave) to dine, and in doing so contrives their drunken incapacity and eventual death – although as at Artaxerxes’ court the murder takes place away from the party. A much later Macedonian ruler, Demetrius, son of Philip V, allegedly went a step further by murdering Greek ambassadors at the drinking party. The secondcentury ce travel writer Pausanias relates how, ‘at symposia he toasted them with the right hand of friendship with cups not of wine, but of drugs that were deadly to mankind’ (προπίνειν δὲ παρὰ τὰ συμπόσια ἐπὶ δεξιότητι καὶ φιλίᾳ κύλικας οὐκ οἴνου, φαρμάκων δὲ ἐς ὄλεθρον ἀνθρώποις, Paus. 7.7.5). As in Euripides’ Ion, the wine becomes a vehicle for poison, but this time the host is eliminating his guests. Philip II is a spectre here. Not only do toasts to friendship strike a chord with the hospitality enjoyed by Aeschines under Philip’s auspices at the Delphi festival (Chapter 3), but Pausanias explicitly says Demetrius sought to imitate his ancestor by flattering Greeks into betraying their city for personal gain. However, he adds, even Philip did not stoop to poison. The similarity in political practices over wine strengthens the moral difference. Theopompus may be able to accuse Philip of overpowering the Thessalians by indoctrinating them into a sympotic life of dancing, revelry and incontinence (Chapter 2), but he does not murder guests at the table. There are Macedonian kings, and there are worse Macedonian kings. Indeed, Demetrius’ sympotic murders are symptomatic of his hybris towards the Greeks, whose cities he garrisons and attacks (Paus. 7.7.6). Demetrius does not merely pursue internal politics over wine. Like Philip, as represented in Demosthenes’ speech On the False Embassy, he negotiates foreign relations through commensal encounters, but in a more direct and deadly fashion. Both stories are moralizing, building an ēthos for each monarch that demonstrates their undesirable characteristics. But they also show Macedonians working the drinking party to their political advantage, to

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eliminate internal and external enemies. For the interplay between drinking and political intrigue, however, the Alexander narratives provide the best examples. Although the principal surviving accounts of the life of Alexander III ‘the Great’ were composed during the Roman period long after his reign from 336 to 323, their stories originally took shape around the Macedonian king, whether emanating directly from the royal court or inspired by it. His drinking prowess was legendary, and parties punctuate his career: from the burning of Persepolis in a kōmos led by the Athenian hetaira Thais (Plut. Alex. 38), to a deadly drinking competition with neat-wine loving Indians (Chares, FGrH 125 F19), to the overindulgence that allegedly led to his death.65 For this last episode, the Liber de morte testamentumque Alexandri Magni (96–9) even dramatizes the crucial moment, when Iollas, son of Antipater and brother of Cassander, presents him with a poisoned cup at a private party.66 This is a much-contested version of events, but it was nonetheless prevalent and probably early: Diodorus Siculus (17.118.1–2) explains that Antipater was regent of Macedon, and after gaining power in Europe for himself as a result and passing it on to Cassander, true events were quashed.67 In the popular imagination, Alexander’s death was a politically motivated murder at a private party, accomplished through wine. Here Alexander is the victim, but he too participates in power play over wine. Plutarch (Alex. 9.5–10) reports a confrontation early in his career between Alexander and his father, Philip, at the wedding banquet celebrating Philip’s union with Cleopatra, daughter of Attalus. Fuelled by drunkenness, Attalus prays for a ‘legitimate’ heir for Philip, and when Alexander responds angrily, Philip draws his sword against Alexander but, overcome ‘by rage and wine’ (διὰ τὸν θυμὸν καὶ τὸν οἶνον), he trips, leading Alexander to mock (ἐφυβρίζων) his political accomplishment. Plutarch’s narrative ends with a report of Alexander’s withdrawal from court following this 65

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The burning of Persepolis could be seen as a political act, enacting Alexander’s conquest of Persia: see Arrian (An. 3.18), who makes no mention of drinking and instead views the destruction of the temple as retribution on behalf of the Greeks against the Persians. The Liber de morte is a difficult text to place: it was appended to the late antique Metz Epitome, but its relationship with this epitome of an obscure Alexander history is unclear, and it follows long-standing traditions. See Baynham (1995) for issues and bibliography. For hints of suspicions of a conspiracy led by Antipater and sons shortly after Alexander’s death, see Bosworth (1971) 113–14. A similar tale was reported also by Justin in his Epitome of Pompeius Trogus (12.14): the Thessalian Medius invites Alexander and his friends to join a party where he was poisoned by Antipater’s sons Iollas and Philip. Diodorus Siculus (17.117.1–2) describes events at a party with the Thessalian Medius; by his initial account Alexander falls ill after drinking neat wine and draining the ‘cup of Heracles’, but he reports rumours of poisoning by Antipater’s son, acting as wine steward (17.118.1). Cf. Plutarch (Alex. 75), who explicitly denies the ‘cup of Heracles’ tradition, and Arrian (An. 7.27), who likewise makes short shrift of these variants. Ephippus (FGrH 126 F3) foregoes all conspiracy theories and attributes Alexander’s death after drinking to an angry Dionysus.

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paroinia: the disruption at the banquet signals the breakdown in relationship between king and heir apparent. The primary event for our theme, however, must be the murder of Cleitus by Alexander during the drinking that followed a feast in 328. Several accounts of this encounter survive. In Arrian’s Anabasis the king is motivated by a growing, uncontrollable anger at Cleitus’ drunken abuse (paroinia) and outrage (hybris), those undesirable but prevalent attitudes that inevitably accompany the drinking of wine (4.4–7; cf. 4.9.1).68 In particular, Cleitus’ praise of Philip and belittlement of Alexander lead the king to declare himself akin to the deposed Persian monarch Darius who, when imprisoned by Bessus, was left nothing but the name of king (4.8.8). Alexander perceived the drunken insults as an assault on his authority, and their architect was despatched accordingly. The party in Plutarch’s Life of Alexander follows a similar course, with anger and death arising as a consequence of Cleitus’ verbal harangues. Indeed, the quarrel begins as a tussle about what it is appropriate to say – a theme that stretches back to Archaic sympotic poetry (see Chapter 1). Alexander’s decision to allow songs that shame and ridicule Macedonian generals for misfortunes in battle is condemned by Cleitus as hybristic (50.4–6). Alexander responds that Cleitus excuses his own cowardice as misfortune, to which Cleitus replies that this supposed coward once saved Alexander’s life. The angry king then accuses his companion of aiming to raise a faction (διαστασιάζων) amongst the Macedonians with his words (51.1). This accusation, however, does not put an end to Cleitus’ subversive, but sympotically appropriate, frank speech (παρρησιαζομένου) – his revelation of truth in wine. In reply Alexander’s supporters abuse him (λοιδορούντων), thus indulging in an unsavoury, inflammatory and undesirable form of speech, and the king himself insults the Macedonians (51.3). Cleitus then instructs Alexander to desist from inviting to dinner free men who speak openly (ἄνδρας ἐλευθέρους καὶ παρρησίαν ἔχοντας, 51.5). This challenge sparks Alexander’s first attack on Cleitus and his flight, but the death blow follows Cleitus’ closing words on returning to the andrōn: a line from Euripides that summarizes his opinion of the king, ‘Alas, in Hellas what evil government!’ (οἴμοι, καθ’ Ἑλλάδ’ ὡς κακῶς νομίζεται, 51.8).69 With this capping verse, Cleitus closes the verbal duel: Alexander is overcome with anger and slaughters his friend (51.6). So by contrast with Arrian’s narrative, Plutarch’s Cleitus is not the purveyor of drunken 68 69

The very qualities displayed by Aeschines whilst partying in Macedon: Dem. 19.197–8 (see Chapter 3). Thus it is not only what Cleitus says but how he says it that angers Alexander: on the significance of throwing out a line of poetry, see Collins (2004) 81–2.

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abuse, but a negotiator of appropriate conversation, and victor in a capping game. But it is in this suitably sympotic performance that Alexander perceives Cleitus’ opposition and names it as revolt-rousing. While Cleitus, like Mithridates at the banquet with Parysatis’ eunuch, reveals his true sentiments in wine, Alexander encounters Hiero’s great fear: a revolution in progress amongst his closest dining companions. Arrian and Plutarch are both keen to lessen Alexander’s culpability for the murder of his friend by immersing him in deep remorse (Arr. An. 4.9.1–4; Plut. Alex. 52.1).70 The king’s mortification implies that the murder was an overreaction and can ultimately be forgiven. But Curtius’ narrative of the Cleitus affair, although typically melodramatic, suggests that Cleitus’ sympotic performances were treated with a degree of seriousness. For he reports that ‘the Macedonians formally declared that Cleitus’ death was justified’ (8.2.12). As Badian (2000, 68) remarks, Alexander ‘genuinely suspected (it seems) a conspiracy by his hetairoi and perhaps even his guard when they tried to prevent him killing Cleitus in a drunken rage’. Moreover, it has been suggested that Alexander was prone to invent conspiracies – or massage the details – to facilitate the removal of rivals.71 It is therefore conceivable that in ‘real life’ Alexander used Cleitus’ sympotic conduct to justify an essentially political murder. So while Plutarch’s and Arrian’s audiences accept that sympotic performance constitutes a display of political sentiment, and that the symposion can provide a setting for political revolt, within the same tradition we might also envisage Alexander’s execution of a political rival at the symposion as superbly – if not necessarily laudably – sympotic. The symposion is effective not only in the presentation of political action, but by enabling Alexander to pursue his politics. The line between history and fiction is especially blurred in the Alexander narratives, where story builds upon story, circulating across space and time, to shroud the Macedonian king in layers of interdependent and everinventive myth. Certainly, as noted already, Alexander’s sympotics become central to the tradition. Athenaeus (537d–540a) devotes a section of the conversation by his dinner-party sophists to Alexander’s luxurious lifestyle, and fragment after fragment of writing on Alexander builds a picture of a ruler constantly immersed in drinking and its paraphernalia in private and in public on a massive scale. In particular Polycrates of Larisa (FGrH 128 F1) 70

71

This is related to their overall approach to the king. Arrian, who is writing an epic for an unsung hero (An. 1.12.1–5), explicitly criticizes Cleitus in defence of Alexander (An. 4.9.1; compare praise of Alexander’s remorse, 4.9.5–6). Plutarch, by contrast, views Alexander’s actions and their aftermath as a stepping-stone in his subject’s ethical development (Alex. 50.4). In addition to Badian (1960, 2000), see Heckel (1977) and Carney (1980).

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asserts that Alexander slept on a couch of gold, had male and female aulos players at his military camp and drank through until dawn. In other words, he is permanently in a state of revelry, even on campaign. Yet, this also builds upon ideas about Macedonian conduct demonstrated in Chapter 2, above. This is reflected in the remark by Ephippus On the Burial of Alexander and Hephaestion that: Μακεδόνες δ’ . . . οὐκ ἠπίσαντο πίνειν εὐτάκτως, ἀλλ’ εὐθέως ἐχρῶντο μεγάλαις προπόσεσιν, ὥστε μεθύειν ἔτι παρακειμένων τῶν πρώτων τραπεζῶν καὶ μὴ δύνασθαι τῶν σιτίων ἀπολαύειν. (Ephippus, FGrH 126 F1) The Macedonians did not understand how to drink in an orderly fashion but immediately made big toasts, so that they got drunk while the first tables were still lying beside them and were unable to enjoy the food.

Ephippus of Olynthus was a contemporary of Alexander, and a citizen of the town much abused by his father, Philip II. He understands Alexander, and this statement suggests he represents him, according to standard Greek perceptions of Macedonian drinking culture. The pursuit of politics whilst drinking fits Philip’s commensal mode, but as with tales of his ancestor Archelaus and later (unrelated) successor Demetrius, the Macedonian king can wield his monarchic authority, strike at enemies and quell dissent via the symposion. the politics of the symposion (ii) To the late-fifth-century orator Antiphon (2.1.4), extemporizing upon how a murder victim met his end, death amongst drinking companions (συμποτῶν) incited to violence by the influence of wine (παροινήσας) would be no surprise. But at the parties outlined above, sympotic dangers are politically inspired and politically potent. The deceit and betrayal by friends that Theognis fears becomes a standard feature of dining, with the twist that the actions of the symposion – libations, wine-pouring, laughtermaking, uninvited guests, courtesans, frank speech, toasting and capping – are their primary mode. At the banquets of the rich and powerful, dangers lurk behind every performance. In this representation Greek authors perpetuate a long-standing tendency in Mediterranean cosmology to make banquets the setting for the negotiation, overthrow and establishment of power. This is firmly embedded in the Odyssey by means of the commensal murder of returning king Agamemnon by the usurper Aegisthus, and the defeat of would-be usurpers on Ithaca by Odysseus, who reclaims his household and his kingdom from the suitors. There are thus two mutually

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supportive and intertwined forces at work: narrative tradition and lived experience. Story patterns might dictate expectations for reality, as much as real events give rise to stories that solidify into blueprints for narrative action, albeit flexible blueprints that permit variety and nuance. This was witnessed already in the coincidence between sympotic performance and political attitude in Chapter 3, when the suborning of reality to rhetoric became apparent as the conversations and games of the symposion gave testimony to the sympathies and ambitions of real-life persons vis-à-vis the citizen body, the city and allied states. In particular, the antics of Athens’ late-fifth-century elite may have caused concern when sympotic performance was perceived to spill over into political action, but the interpretation of the chopping of the Herms and performance of the Mysteries was informed by assumptions about the actions and intentions of these groups. The symposion provided a useful tool for representing dissent, whether or not the individuals involved actually embarked upon revolt. Or to approach the phenomenon from a reverse perspective and return to Alexander, Bosworth (1971) might be right that Alexander was murdered. But given his persona as a heavy drinker and Greek conceptions of Macedonian sympotics, Alexander almost needs to be murdered at a drinking party in order to meet expectations of how and why events happen. Stories that make the symposion deceitful and deadly had their roots in the complex merging of storytelling and experience, reinforced perhaps by the type of reflection exemplified by Xenophon, through which Greek culture comprehends (reshapes and affirms) how and why the world works. In the playing out of politics, the symposion thus lends structure to historical action. Again this symposion is a diverse affair: drinking most traditionally takes place after eating but might occur at civic festivals or at royal courts in Persia and Macedon, where drinking might be combined with eating at a banquet. Perhaps most intriguingly, none of the examples above are staged at private parties hosted by plotting oligarchs of the type feared in democratic Athens. Instead, they are communal events at which leadership of the city is asserted or undermined, or the parties of tyrants and monarchs whose authority is challenged or confirmed. The Persian and Macedonian parties may also have an ethnic cast that reflects Greek perceptions of the ēthos of these peoples (see Chapter 2). Furthermore, the symposiasts are members of royal households or government officials and their lackeys. As the architects of power in their communities or opponents to that power, they are automatically politically engaged. Thus, rather than betraying anxiety about any one type of political group, such as demotic suspicion of elite practices at Athens, these tales respond to a specific concern with the dynamics of drinking

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together, when those who are drinking are invested in pursuing, challenging or defending political power. That the particulars are fundamentally drawn from a style of party traditionally enjoyed by Archaic Greek elites whose relationship to the wider citizen body may or may not have been antagonistic is not unimportant. By the time our stories were produced in the fifth and fourth centuries (and beyond for the Alexander narratives), private symposia, whilst no doubt continuing to carry prestige as a luxurious pastime, were more widespread. Yet, it is parties hosted by the rich and influential that remain most problematic in conversations about the pursuit and loss of power. In short, in the Greek imagination the symposion was deeply political. While political attitude and style were embedded in the symposion’s performances, the same conversations and games facilitated the pursuit of politics: whether to unmask or dispense with a potential foe, or to implement the removal of rivals for power. Parallels within Near Eastern traditions have been useful in focusing attention on the power dynamics on display and demonstrating their connection with wider traditions – wider ways of thinking – that reach across cultures and time. Their action also highlights the distinctively ‘sympotic’ character of Greek tales. Connections have not yet been drawn with another prominent strand of commensal action with a long-standing provenance: the cannibal banquet. The earliest version, the myth in which Tantalus serves his son Pelops to the gods at a banquet, is difficult to pin down. In its first surviving appearance, it is a contested tale: Pindar refuses to call the gods gluttons and so finds another offence to explain Tantalus’ punishment by Zeus (a punishment depicted but not explained in the Odyssey, 11.582–92). The replacement crime is a sympotic offence of sorts: stealing the nectar by which the gods confer immortality upon him for his drinking companions (συμπόταις) (Pind. Ol. 1.35–64). While this alternative version may have resonance with cosmological challenges carried out by Apollo and Inanna, through the theft of divine powers, there is little direct overlap with our broader themes. However, in the next generation, Atreus kills his brother Thyestes’ children and serves them to him as dinner. Aeschylus’ Agamemnon provides the longest description of this heinous crime (1219–22, 1590–1604), attributing it to Thyestes’ bedding of his brother’s wife (1191–3). This is a strike at his household and power, a manoeuvre which is reflected in the alternative tradition in which the two brothers quarrel over the possession of a golden ram, a valuable resource.72 Of course, this cannibal crime motivates the 72

The substance of this myth is pieced together through brief allusions and fragments of lost poetry and tragedies by Gantz (1993) 545–50.

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vengeance of the son of Thyestes against the son of Atreus, which in the Odyssey leads to the slaughter of Agamemnon at a feast hosted by Aegisthus. It is this pattern of punishment-offence followed by retribution that makes its way into Herodotus’ accounts of cannibal banquets in Media. The Median monarch Astyages feeds Harpagus his son at a banquet to punish him for failing to kill Cyrus as a child (1.119), but Harpagus will soon join Cyrus in arms against Astyages, and Cyrus will win. Asheri, Lloyd and Corcella (2007, 134) regard the cannibal feast as ‘a motif of popular saga’, but specifically the motif portrays conflicts in power, whether an offender is punished for working against an existing ruler, or that ruler is opposed as a consequence of his terrible feast.73 Politics are carried out at the banquet again, but these are of a different character and style to the sympotic events studied above. Thus, while both sympotic stories and cannibal tales might be combined together as ‘fatal feasts’, the two commensal events have very distinct narrative potentials. Both are structuring points for depicting power struggles in the Greek thought world, but in different ways. The distinct role played by the symposion reflects its format as well as possibilities and anxieties particular to drinking in company. These include especially the opportunity for deceit and concerns regarding the trustworthiness of drinking companions, when an individual’s expected allegiance is compromised in the pursuit of a personal agenda. Royal and despotic banquets, where relationships between host and guests are already unequal, are particularly troubling in this respect. Thus, to sit our two studies of sympotic politics side by side, when politics are in performance, the relationship between symposiasts and the outside world of the polis is at issue; when politics are in action, it is the relationship between symposiasts that are put under strain, with potential consequences for the polis (or kingdom, or empire) beyond. In the former situation, Theognis’ recognition of the symposion as a place for learning – and therefore displaying – temper is key. In the latter, it is Theognis’ doubts about friends by the krater, who might speak falsely or change their hue, that are reflected in the fabrication of power politics. In our final chapter we will find another Theognidean vision at work. In Xenophon’s Symposium (2.6), his maxim that one will learn good from the good (35–6 W) is cited by Socrates as a model for learning virtue. However, 73

Although compare Herodotus’ other cannibal banquet, during which the Scythians feed Astyages his son as punishment for mistreatment. The Scythians then flee to the Lydians, who wage war on their behalf (1.73–4). Unlike in the case of Harpagus, no resolution is met.

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the dynamic is also set at the heart of the Symposium: read his work, and you will learn about virtue from Xenophon. This harnessing of the symposion to the task of philosophy through extended sympotic dramas featuring philosophers from Plato onwards gives an alternative structuring role to the drinking party in Greek thought, as we shall now see.

chapter 5

Symposion and Symposium

So far, we have encountered the symposion in a broad array of Greek literature. Across genres, individuals are repeatedly brought together to drink, talk and engage in other appropriate (and inappropriate) activities. In the process, the symposion acquires shape and meaning: as a dynamic social event, as a vehicle for exploring ethical and political issues and as a structuring device for understanding the world, past and present. We have not yet, however, discussed the most famous representation of all: Plato’s Symposium. This fourth-century work sets the controversial philosopher Socrates at a symposion hosted by Agathon, the day after the tragedian’s victory at the Dionysia in 416. It is core reading today for students of ancient Greek language, philosophy and sexuality.1 And from Renaissance letterwriters to Classicizing painters to modern theatre and television producers, film-makers, theorists and novelists the Symposium continues to provide dramatic models for exploring provocative themes and to offer settings for historical action.2 If it were not for its author, this fame and influence might seem disproportionate. Plato was hardly the first to dramatize a symposion, or even to stage it in prose. Nor was his injection of Socrates into the proceedings entirely innovative. The philosopher is prefigured by Ion’s depiction of clever 1 2

See, for example, Pratt (2011). The broad range of Platonic influences is indicated by Lesher (2004), whose outline for a taught course on the ‘Afterlife of Plato’s Symposium’ includes amongst its topics Renaissance writings, sixteenthand seventeenth-century poetry, modern theory, the visual arts, music and musicals, and stage and television drama (extensive bibliographies are provided). Cf. Jeanneret (1991) and Kodera (2005) on the Renaissance angle, and Lesher (2006, 2008) on artistic responses in painting, sculpture and cartoon since Rubens, together with McGrath (1983) and John Henderson (2006). Hunter (2004) 113–34 introduces a swathe of receptions, ancient and modern. This includes treatment of Aristophanes’ speech in the 2001 ‘rock opera’ Hedwig and the Angry Inch, on which see also Sypniewski (2008) and Blood (2008). The latter extends the analysis to Being Human: Core Readings in the Humanities (New York, 2004), commissioned by the US President’s Council on Bioethics. Plato’s Symposium in the German philosopher Friedrich Hölderlin’s Hyperion oder der Eremit in Griechenland, Parts 1 and 2 (Tübingen, 1797, 1799) is examined by Billings (2010). For a comic re-imagining of Socrates at the symposion in a historical novel, read Tom Holt’s The Walled Orchard (London, 1989) 114–16.

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Sophocles in conversation with drinking companions in the Stays, and perhaps also by a lost oral tradition involving the Seven Wise Men.3 Socrates may even have appeared at the symposion already, if a party was the setting for the philosopher’s dissection of drinking styles in a fragment from Antisthenes’ Protrepticus (18d Caizzi), or for Aeschines of Sphettus’ conversation on sexual desire in the Alcibiades.4 However, for the secondcentury ce philosopher Plutarch, Plato headed a list of individuals who considered it worth while ‘to write up conversations over drink’ (ἀναγράψασθαι λόγους παρὰ πότον). Along with Xenophon, Aristotle, Speusippus, Epicurus, Prytanis, Hieronymus and the Academician Dio, his endeavours give validity to Plutarch’s own Sympotic Questions (Mor. 612d–e). Plato’s Symposium was thus considered the first in a series of ‘philosophical symposia’, written by and featuring recognizable men of learning who converse on philosophical matters.5 However, these are not merely conversations, but sympotic conversations. They cover topics relevant to the symposion and, more significantly, possess the dynamics of the event. Features familiar to us from earlier representations of the symposion now give special shape to the philosophical conversations pursued both by individuals at Agathon’s party and by the author through his written text. The sympotic setting is crucial to this Symposium, and to later versions of the form.6

3 4

5

6

For Sophocles in Ion’s Stays, see Chapter 3. The antiquity of the Seven Wise Men tradition is debated: see Chapter 2, n. 93 above for details. For the debate on Antisthenes’ Protrepticus see Huss (1999a) 13, n. 3, with bibliographic references. It is at least a possibility: the fragment records a comparison of drinking styles by Socrates: as we shall see, discussion of drinking and modes of drinking are pervasive in literary Symposia. A sympotic venue is also suggested for Aeschines of Sphettus’ Alcibiades by J. Martin (1931) 301–8. Certainly, a speech on desire with a Bacchic Alcibiades might equally be suitable to a symposion, but it is not necessary: note that Kahn (1994) 89, with n. 10, argues in favour of a gymnasion setting for Aeschines’ work based on a possible fragment. As noted by Hunter (2004) 22, the existence of alternative oral versions of the party related in the Symposium is one of the text’s primary conceits. While the tentative proposal by Bury (1932) xvii–xix that Polycrates may have been the author of a rival text denigrating Socrates that Plato seeks to correct can remain only speculation, the potential existence of lost philosophical symposia circulating in written and oral form need not be dismissed out of hand. It is useful to think of these Symposia as sharing a form, rather than belonging to a ‘genre’, at least for earlier texts. They deploy some basic underlying structures but are responsive to existing items/ traditions and are creative. They do not work within strictly established generic conventions, although by the Second Sophistic the form had been played with frequently enough to constitute a ‘genre’. They also operate also within a broader category of sympotic imaginings that continue to play out without deploying philosophers: these are glimpsed in our discussion of sympotic letters but also especially appear in biographical excurses, for example Socrates of Rhodes on Antony and Cleopatra (Ath. 147f–148c). Our study thus approaches the material in a different way from J. Martin (1931), the first extended analysis of sympotic literature, and Relihan et al. (1992), who traces generic developments. For the significance of the setting, compare Lysis and Protagoras, where the venues of the gymnasion and the gathering of sophistically educated Athenians at the house of Callias are more thematically

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This chapter begins with a study of those dynamics, demonstrating how the sympotic character of the conversation in Plato’s work – self-promotional statements, responsion and capping, laughter-making, and frank speaking by uninvited guests – generates a particular style of philosophical discourse. As the sympotic conversation flows, ideas are staged, undercut and improved upon in the pursuit of temporary victories, as individuals present themselves centre stage. The Symposium tests ideas, criticizing some and adopting others, through the sympotic contributions. Thus, in Plato’s Symposium we witness the progression of sympotic representation from a vehicle for demonstrating ethics and attitude (which it remains) to a forum for interrogating philosophical issues through the textual filter of the Symposium. This is a new activity for the imagined symposion and, as we shall see in the remainder of the chapter, it becomes foundational to future representations of philosophers at drinking parties. For instance, conversations in Xenophon’s Symposium share some of these dynamics. Spoken contributions are shorter and more varied, but ideas are nonetheless tested, disputed and revised in seriousness and in play. However, this work also includes a variety of visual performances by guests and hired entertainers, and the efforts of an unofficial symposiarch. These add a further element to the philosophical critique, as the identities and ethics of the performers are presented and evaluated through their reported actions, independently and in tandem with their spoken accounts. Again the judges are the immediate sympotic audience, and the reader of the Symposium. By animating the symposion in their distinctive fashions, both Plato and Xenophon make their Symposium the site of philosophical endeavour and ethical critique. Transposed into text, the dynamics of the ‘real life’ event are accessed through the written symposion. It is now the Symposium that operates discursively and, for Xenophon in particular, the philosophical prowess of the author is on display through his Sympotic performance. This self-authorizing dimension pervades later Symposia. In post-Socratic literature, the author himself may appear in situ. From the meagre fragments of Symposia composed by Aristotle and Epicurus, it appears these philosophers represented themselves at a party dispensing wisdom on sympotically relevant topics. And Plutarch’s Sympotic Questions purports to record conversations that the author was party to whilst drinking. In some ways his ninety or so events are like miniature versions of Plato’s and Xenophon’s Symposia. Conversations frequently start with a description of the occasion, and they record competing opinions on philosophical topics. But, as we shall see, these pertinent to the conversations on beauty and friendship and on Protagorean educational methods. And although the Timaeus takes place in a convivial setting, Socrates leads the dialectic in a thoroughly standard fashion: he could be anywhere.

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conversations have a distinctively Plutarchan style. They thereby make a claim for Plutarch as intratextual symposiast and as author of Symposia. At the same time, the dynamics of the Symposium could open up such claims to critique. The Cynics’ Symposium by Parmeniscus is a rambunctious affair with jokes, capping, body-centred performances, hetairai and displays of wisdom. However, embedded in a letter and then recast in Athenaeus’ Dinner-party Sophists, these features generate a Cynic ethos that undercuts sympotic norms and the pretensions of philosophers at symposia. These may even problematize the written Symposium. Certainly, Lucian extends the attack from symposia-going philosophers to the Symposium itself. For example, his Symposium, or the Lapiths implies that the only lesson philosophers at the symposion might offer is that they have no lessons to give. In sum, Plato and Xenophon harness the core dynamics of the symposion to encourage the readers of their Symposia to think through philosophical issues, and many successors follow suit. Lucian, by comparison, harnesses elements from such prose representations to criticize the Sympotic project. As this chapter traces these developments in written Symposia, the continuing utility of the symposion as a vehicle for thinking about the world is apparent. Furthermore, as authors cap and challenge one another and posture through their sympotic representations, through their displays of wisdom and their responses to earlier Symposia – initiating a conversation on the literary-philosophical form which we might call meta-Sympotic – they too engage in the activities and rhetorics of the symposion.7 ‘testing the truth and ourselves’ in plato’s symposium Synousia and symposion/Protagoras and Symposium A short passage in Plato’s Protagoras seems to clarify the style of party enjoyed in his Symposium.8 In conversation with the eponymous sophist, Socrates sketches two symposia. The first is populated by common folk who 7

8

Symposia were also popular with Christians such as Methodius, whose version featured twelve renowned virgins discussing virtue; influences of the Symposium form have also been identified in the biography of Jesus at Luke 11.37–54: see Springs Steele (1984). For this Christian strand, not taken up here, see König (2008 and 2012). Symposia – some attended by philosophers – also feature in texts characterized as ‘Menippean satire’. Their dramatics and content, however, are quite removed from the full-scale philosophical events that are the focus of this chapter, nor do they pursue the crucial educational and self-authorizing dynamics. Therefore, they will be considered only for comparison. Possible interactions are discussed most fully by Tecuşan (1990); the connection between the texts is noted also by Taylor (1991) 148.

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frequent the agora (τῶν φαύλων καὶ ἀγοραίων ἀνθρώπων). Their lack of education (ἀπαιδευσίας) means they are unable to converse with one another through their own voices and with their own words while they drink. Thus, they hire aulos players and come together through the voice of the pipes (διὰ τῆς ἐκείνων φωνῆς ἀλλήλοις σύνεισιν). By contrast, the second party is attended by educated symposiasts who are also ‘beautiful and good’ (καλοὶ κἀγαθοί συμπόται καὶ πεπαιδευμένοι). They eschew the aulos and its players, preferring their own voices: ‘speaking and listening to each other in turn in an orderly fashion, even if they consume lots of wine’ (λέγοντάς τε καὶ ἀκούοντας ἐν μέρει ἑαυτῶν κοσμίως, κἂν πάνυ πολὺν οἶνον πίωσιν) (Pl. Prt. 347c–e). Each style is necessitated by the moral quality of its participants, whose level of education determines whether they are capable of conversation. This is not an abstract definition of bad and good symposia, however, but a rhetorical one. Socrates conjures the drinking parties of market-going folk to criticize the mode of conversation currently under way at his meeting with Protagoras, reliant as it is upon the voice of ‘others’, the words of poets, for its content. The symposia of educated worthies offer a better option: τοὺς τοιούτους μοι δοκεῖ χρῆναι μᾶλλον μιμεῖσθαι ἐμέ τε καὶ σέ, καταθεμένους τοὺς ποιητὰς αὐτοὺς δι’ ἡμῶν αὐτων πρὸς ἀλλήλους τοὺς λόγους ποιεῖσθαι, τῆς ἀληθείας καὶ ἡμῶν αὐτῶν πεῖραν λαμβάνοντας· (Plato, Protagoras 348a3–6) It seems to me that you and I should rather emulate this sort, setting aside the poets and making conversation with one another independently, testing the truth and ourselves.

Having first discredited the analysis of poetry as a means of approaching virtue with one sympotic comparison, Socrates challenges Protagoras to establish the preferred ‘sympotic’ discourse at the sober daytime gathering at the house of Callias. The sophist, who had previously asserted that the understanding of poets was a crucial part of education (339a), needs to be prodded to respond, clearly thrown off track by the proposal (score one to Socrates). Socrates’ elaboration on the symposion is thus heavily loaded. The philosopher characterizes, critiques and consequently rejects a mode of discourse favoured by the expensive educationalist, Protagoras, whose method and wisdom he currently interrogates. At the same time, he encourages a different sort of dialogue. When Protagoras takes up the challenge, the gathering at Callias’ house, if not transformed into a symposion, takes on the conversational format defined for it by Socrates. Or, at

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least for a while, Socrates and Protagoras address and listen to one another in turn, testing their ideas. Before long, both men settle into the roles more usually assigned by Plato to Socrates and his interlocutors: the former poses long-winded questions and propositions, which the latter briefly answers or gives assent to. Symposia as imagined by Socrates provide models and antimodels of discourse, but the good symposion is not a form which, ultimately, the philosopher embraces. In light of this rhetorical spin and eventual deviation, it is too strong to conclude that in the Protagoras Socrates ‘delivers a manifesto for the symposion itself’.9 Nonetheless, the party narrated in Plato’s Symposium does generally adhere to the format attributed to the well-educated elite. Early in the proceedings Eryximachus gains assent to his proposal that each man should drink as much as he desires without compulsion, the aulos-girl should depart and ‘we entertain one another with talk’ (ἡμᾶς δὲ διὰ λόγων ἀλλήλοις συνεῖναι) (176e). From an intertextual perspective, Agathon and his guests enact the difference iterated in the Protagoras. By rejecting the aulos and embracing conversation they align themselves with educated individuals whose all-round superiority is proclaimed by the label ‘beautiful and good’ (kalos kagathos).10 In events that follow, drinking is de-prioritized, and the partygoers speak and listen to one another in turn, even once Alcibiades bursts onto the scene. Interestingly, whereas in the Protagoras Socrates sets out to improve the gathering by transforming it into the recommended symposion, the Symposium’s narrator and Agathon’s guests describe their meeting by the term synousia, rather than symposion. Literally, they ‘are together’ (συνεῖναι) in their spoken exchanges.11 The drinking is de-prioritized again.12 If for a short period the Protagoras’ 9 10

11

12

Quoting Tecuşan (1990) 256. Kalos kagathos and its abstract form, the virtue of kalokagathia, is a term that had social and moral resonances in the late fifth and fourth centuries, with the latter grounded in heroic ideals (see Donlan (1973, 1999)) and also redeveloped within democratic rhetoric at Athens (see Loraux (1986) 171–220) and in philosophical writings (especially by Xenophon: see Hobden (2004) 130–6; Roscalla (2004)). Bourriot (1995) 1–96 provides a summary of scholarship on the topic, followed by a prosopographical investigation into it. In the narratorial frame: Pl. Smp. 172b1, 172b8, 173a4, 173b3; by the group: 176e2; and by Eryximachus: 176e9. Only with the entrance of Alcibiades are the group addressed as symposiasts: see below. For the uses of synousia in the platonic dialogues see Tarrant (2005), who argues against the notion that gatherings thus labelled were specifically envisaged as elements in a Socratic education. Note that the verb σύνειμι, ‘to be together’, is also used to denote sexual associations by Pausanias (Pl. Smp. 181d4, 184e3), Eryximachus (197d3) and Diotima/Socrates (211d7, 212a2). The terminology is flexible and blatantly lacks this dimension in Protagoras. But perhaps it is not too much to suggest that suneinai is prioritized particularly by Apollodorus and Aristodemus, who request and recount the story of what was said on the topic of desire over dinner at the synousia of Agathon (172a5–b4), seeing the gathering as one big dialectical ‘love-in’.

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gathering becomes sympotic, in the sense defined by Socrates, then the symposion of the Symposium remains for the most part a conversational affair. Thus, while Socrates invites Protagoras to emulate the type of people who hold symposia by conversing with one another and making a trial of each other’s ideas, the Symposium sets its characters (most of whom are also present in the Protagoras) within a symposion that equally takes the form of that ‘model’ party. Yet, there are moments of rebellion against it. Socrates’ failure in the Protagoras to fully embrace his own model is matched in the Symposium by the philosopher’s introduction of dialectical inquisition in advance of Agathon’s speech (194c1–e3), as a build-up to the recollection of his own interrogation by Diotima on the subject of Eros (198a3–c9); and it returns in the closing scenes when he forces (προσαναγκάζειν) Agathon and Aristophanes to agree that the same man could write tragedy and comedy (223d2–4). And of course the conversational mode threatens to break down, and eventually does so, on the arrival of Alcibiades and later revellers. Plato is not simply dramatizing or authorizing a ‘Socratic’ ideal expressed in another of his works. Rather, by making verbal exchange and testing the overriding feature of Agathon’s party, the author harnesses broader features of the symposion to construct a consciously combative, corrective and selfpromotional series of encomia that ‘test the truth and ourselves’. In this way, Plato’s Symposium not only facilitates but constitutes a distinctive style of philosophical conversation. Sympotic strategies The topic chosen for Agathon’s guests to converse upon is Eros, the divine manifestation of sexual desire (erōs). Phaedrus had often complained that such a worthy god had received no encomium, so Eryximachus recommends that each person should give the most beautiful speech he can manage in praise of Eros, moving from left to right, starting with Phaedrus as ‘father of the speech’ (177a2–d5). The erotic atmosphere of the symposion, conveyed through imagery and song, is channelled into sequential exhortations of praise that mimic the usual circulation of cups and toasts.13 The pleasures and perils of this programme are immediately highlighted by Socrates, who anticipates its popularity with everyone present but also observes the pressure on those 13

The appropriateness of the erotic motif is noted by Hunter (2004) 15–20. On this drinking pattern, see Węcowski (2002a) 629–31, (2002b).

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like himself who are seated on the final couches to speak sufficiently well (ἱκανῶς καὶ καλῶς) (177d7–e7). With Socrates outlining and thereby actively raising the stakes, ‘entertaining one another with talk’ acquires a sporting air. Like symposiasts exchanging (for example, as in Chapter 1) metasympotic verse, each person will demonstrate his understanding and competence through extemporized verbal exchange. The symposiasts will be put to the test, as the Protagoras’ Socrates would expect. Hence, almost every speaker opens by criticizing the foregoing contribution, before pointing out how his attempt is superior. Only the first, Phaedrus, need not engage in this type of rhetoric. If he bids at all for authority it is through the poets and myths that he cites to construct his vision of Eros as the oldest god, who inspires humans to feel shame and act with valour (178b1–11). But he is soon a target of attack, as the co-instigator of the task along with Eryximachus. In Pausanias’ opinion they have not put forward the topic well (οὐ καλῶς μοι δοκεῖ) because they have fundamentally misunderstood Eros to be a single entity. It would be more correct (ὀρθότερόν) first to introduce the type of Eros to be praised. Hence, after promising to attempt this correction (ἐγὼ οὖν πειράσομαι τοῦτο ἐπανορθώσασθαι), Pausanias implements his own recommendation by stating which Eros one should praise and then praising him as is worthy of the god (180c1–d3). He thereby rescues the flawed endeavour. The proof that if there are two Aphroditai then there must be two Erotes further anticipates the basic premise of Pausanias’ presentation: that only the Eros who belongs to Heavenly Aphrodite should be praised. By focusing on the practices of adherents to that deity, he will soon demonstrate why. In a neat bit of self-positioning, Pausanias’ opening address to Phaedrus undercuts his predecessor’s version explicitly (with reference to the setting of the question) and implicitly (by presenting a different, ‘correct’ vision of Eros). The terms of investigation are thereby redefined to his benefit. This manoeuvring is reminiscent of Anacreon’s statement that he does not love the man who talks of war and strife around the krater but prefers whoever blends the Muses and Aphrodite to achieve merriment – while his own poems attempt this very feat (el. 2 W; see Chapter 1, above). In both instances, authority is claimed through challenging alternative performances, whilst proposing a superior model to which the present performance conforms. Pausanias then falls victim to a similar ploy. In Eryximachus’ opinion Pausanias embarked upon his speech well but failed to bring it adequately (ἱκανῶς) to a conclusion – failed in other words to fulfil the basic standard of acceptability that Socrates worries about. So, he muses,

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‘it is necessary for me to try to establish a conclusion to the speech’ (δεῖν ἐμὲ πειρᾶσθαι τέλος ἐπιθεῖναι τῷ λόγῳ) (185e6–186a2). In other words, he will make up the deficit. By contrast with Pausanias on Phaedrus, Eryximachus accepts Pausanias’ understanding of Eros as double, but his own skill as a doctor (ἐκ τῆς ἰατρικῆς, τῆς ἡμετέρας τέχνης) affords him insights that enable him to cap that account, to extend the premise in a new and original direction (186a7–8; cf. 186b2–3: ‘I will begin speaking from the vantage point of doctoring’, ἄρξομαι δὲ ἀπὸ τῆς ἰατρικῆς λέγων). To Pausanias’ observation that it is good to gratify (χαρίζεσθαι) the best of men, but shameful if the man is licentious (183d4–8), Eryximachus can add that ‘what we call doctoring’ is the gratification (χαρίζεσθαι) of the good and healthy in each body (186b8–c6). Medical expertise involves understanding the erotics of the body and, indeed, by his account a doctor acts like Eros, making hostile elements in the body love one another. Whilst establishing himself as a medical and erotic authority, or indeed an Eros, Eryximachus also extends Pausanias’ double-Eros from medicine to the fields of music, astronomy and prophecy. His predecessor’s limited vision is proved, and surmounted by a more complex one. Yet, Eryximachus admits, he too may have omitted something from his encomium: ‘but if I have left out anything, it is your task, Aristophanes, to fill it in; or if you have in mind to give an encomium to the god in some different fashion, then give one, since your hiccups have stopped’ (ἀλλ’ εἴ τι ἐξέλιπον, σὸν ἔργον, ὦ Ἀριστόφανες, ἀναπληρῶσαι· ἢ εἴ πως ἄλλως ἐν νῷ ἔχεις ἐγκωμιάζειν τὸν θεόν, ἐγκωμίαζε, ἐπειδὴ καὶ τῆς λυγγὸς πέπαυσαι, 188e2–4). The challenge is passed on. Like the anonymous poet who sets out how the symposion should progress but then recommends his audience follow the potarch, thereby obliging him to agree or offer fresh instructions (Ades. Eleg. 27W; see Chapter 1), Aristophanes must take up the challenge: to cap the previous contribution, or to confirm its correctness and renew the discussion once more. What the sympotic patterning adds, then, is an engagement with ideas at an intratextual level. The requirements to speak, put ideas to the test and generally meet the grade generates on-the-spot, cumulative criticism of the content of each person’s encomium. Jibes at the intellectual premise or style of each speech are really targeted at the speaker’s grasp of Eros.14 Ideas are rejected, re-evaluated or redefined as the topic moves around the circle. Indeed, the evaluatory component is made explicit when Eryximachus sets himself up in judgement on Aristophanes’ contribution. This was a 14

So not just their encomia: on which, see Nightingale (1993) 119–30 and (1996) 110–32.

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responsive move, brought about by Aristophanes’ strike (βαλών) against the doctor’s hypothesis. Using metaphors from the lawcourts, the doctor promises to call him to account (δώσων λόγον) or acquit him (ἀφήσω). By policing Aristophanes’ buffoonery, making Aristophanes wary of saying what is utterly ridiculous (καταγέλαστα) rather than simply funny (γελοῖα), Eryximachus makes the comic playwright’s craft a liability, and sets himself up as jury over him (189a1–c1).15 Aristophanes must maintain his comic perspective but avoid the offence that laughter can bring. As we saw in Chapter 3, the laughter solicited through Sophocles’ witty subjection of the Eretrian/Erythraean schoolmaster and the Chian serving boy singles out and demeans them. In the process, the Athenian tragedian-general who is ‘clever and playful over wine’ reveals an unsettling imperialist intent (Ion, FGrH 392 F6). Laughter might contribute to the merriment of the drinking party, but it also puts the drinking group and the laughter-maker himself at risk.16 Eryximachus challenges Aristophanes to toe the line between laughter and abuse, between successful sympotic participation and disruptive ridicule or self-denigration. In the event, Eryximachus judges Aristophanes’ performance pleasurable (ἡδέως, 193e4), refusing, as requested, to make a comedy out of it (μὴ κωμῳδησῃς αὐτόν, 193e1), to add his own ridicule. The dangers of laughter are twice avoided. However, once Aristophanes finishes speaking, Eryximachus ups the ante for the remaining speakers by stating that it is just as well that Socrates and Agathon are experts in erotic matters because otherwise they would have nothing to say after so many varied speeches (193e3–7).17 Socrates’ reply, that Eryximachus might well be blasé, having already competed well (καλῶς γὰρ αὐτὸς ἠγώνισαι, 194a1), is illuminating. For Agathon and Socrates, the competition is still on. Indeed, as the banter between the pair escalates, so do the stakes: Socrates fears how he will top Agathon’s contribution; Agathon accuses Socrates of jinxing him with praise; Socrates cannot imagine why Agathon is worried about performing in front of a small group when he has appeared before the entire theatre; Agathon claims this is nothing compared with performing for a few intelligent men (194a1–b8). Each man negotiates the situation, downplaying his 15

16 17

διδόναι λόγον is the formulation by which magistrates were held to account: see Dover (1980) 112. ἀφίημι crops up in the Attic orators to describe a release from charges: LSJ 290 provides some examples. See Halliwell (2008) 109–27, with a summary of the dangers at 125. With its focus on who will compete adequately, this competitive banter has quite a different style to the type Emlyn-Jones regards as typical of interludes in Platonic dialogues: see Emlyn-Jones (2004) 397, with references at n. 27 to Euthyphro, Laches, Gorgias, Protagoras and Meno.

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own abilities and/or building up the other’s in order to relieve the pressure – but ultimately also to make their eventual contributions seem more brilliant as they submit themselves to a trial of their wisdom (διαδικασόμεθα ἐγώ τε καὶ σὺ περὶ τῆς σοφίας) with Dionysus as their judge (δικαστῇ), promised early on (175e8–11). Praise abounds following both their encomia (198a1–3, 212c4), as the group acts in lieu of the god of the symposion (Alcibiades will enter later in Dionysian form to crown both). The upshot of all this manoeuvring and one-upmanship is that the contents of each encomium are continually reviewed, as competing visions of Eros are presented. While emphasizing the novelty of his encomium and correcting the allegedly universal under-appreciation of Eros’ power, Aristophanes accepts a number of earlier premises: that Eros is a philanthropic god (Phaedrus’ claim), a guardian of mankind (Pausanias’ conclusion) and a doctor whose cures bring happiness (Eryximachus’ formulation) (189c3–d2). Aristophanes’ comedic cosmology of human erōs embraces and adapts elements of the foregoing accounts, and at the same time supersedes them. Agathon, too, strikes at the heart of earlier contributions, whilst also redeploying some of their motifs. He tries first a new tack: Eros has not been misunderstood or the topic misappointed, but rather everyone has so far failed actually to give an encomium: they call men happy for the good things for which Eros is responsible without demonstrating the character he gives them. There is only one correct (ὀρθός) way to praise any subject, and of course Agathon will do that now for Eros (194e4–195a1). He then contradicts earlier observations, addressing Phaedrus and his poetic authorities specifically when he disputes the antiquity of Eros (195a8–d1), and apparently shunning Pausanias’ distinction between good and bad Eros, and good and bad ways of loving. Eros never wrongs nor is wronged: the customs of cities declare just whatever two parties agree upon with regard to erōs. There is no place here for Pausanias’ criticism of the erotic customs beyond Athens and under tyrannical regimes (196b5–c4; cf. 182a8–d2). Agathon, moreover, expressly adopts Eryximachus’ strategy of honouring his own expertise and turning Eros into a doctor by redefining the god as a poet like him, wise enough to create poets (196d6–e2). As he constructs his Eros, born from a love of the beautiful that creates all good things (παντ’ ἀγαθά, 197b7–9) and superlative in beauty and goodness (κάλλιστος καὶ ἄριστος, 197c2, 197e3), Agathon gives an encomium that his audience will applaud as appropriate to the god and to the young man himself (198a1–3). It is as if the gathering almost recognizes the beautiful young poet Agathon, whose name means ‘the Good’, in the Eros he describes. This is achieved through an account conceived partly in jest and partly in measured

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seriousness (197e6–8). In a harmonizing of opposites that Eryximachus’ Eros might appreciate, Agathon claims to toe another sympotic line between light-heartedness and over-seriousness.18 Socrates continues the game. His opening praise of the beauty and variety of Agathon’s speech is immediately qualified as praise of its ending only: the beginning of Agathon’s speech, by comparison, was unremarkable (οὐχ . . . θαυμαστά) (198b1–4).19 Moreover, in an ironic tone he declares himself unable to take his turn, because in light of the foregoing contributions he realizes now that giving an encomium is a different task from what he had first envisaged. Socrates appears to set himself up to fail, but he actually goes on to show exactly how earlier speakers fell short according to his criteria for a speech of praise. Truth is a particular issue here. By trying to make Eros appear most beautiful and good, packing in anything that comes to mind to achieve this goal, previous efforts have bypassed truth. Socrates, however, can only contribute if he is allowed to speak the truth (198b6–199b5). Given permission to do this, he then deconstructs Agathon’s Eros by deploying his eristic dialectic, forcing the poet to admit the error in his conception. The ‘truth’ is that Eros is relational because he desires what he lacks, so if he desires the beautiful he cannot be beautiful, nor, because what is good is beautiful, can Eros be good (199c5–201c9). Socrates dismisses Agathon’s lauded understanding at the same time as he approaches the irrefutable truth through his elenchus. Crucially, whereas other encomiasts assert the correctness or superiority of their accounts, he does not claim that truth as his own. Instead, the philosopher continues his unconventional approach by surrendering all claims to knowledge of Eros to Diotima of Mantinea, ‘who was wise in these matters [ta erōtika] and much else’ (ἣ ταῦτά τε σοφὴ ἦν καὶ ἄλλα πολλά) (201d1–5). In ways that his Protagorean counterpart might find uncomfortable, Socrates now speaks in the voice and with the logos of another, or more specifically two ‘others’, the woman Diotima and his younger self, a jeune naïf who shares Agathon’s current understanding. Through their deliberations, Eros is demoted from a god (θεός) to a great spirit (δαίμων μέγας), an intermediary between gods and mortals, because he lacks a share in beauty and goodness (πῶς ἂν οὖν θεὸς εἴη ὅ γε τῶν καλῶν καὶ ἀγαθῶν ἄμοιρος;) (202d4–e1). He also acquires a new genealogy to 18 19

A serious–playful combination evidenced mostly in Xenophon’s Symposium, discussed below: cf. Halliwell (2008) 139–54. A damning accusation if one brings to bear Socrates’ observation in Plato’s Theaetetus (155d) that wonder (τό θαυμάζειν) is the beginning of philosophy: see Llewellyn (1988) on this sentiment. For wonder leading to observation and understanding in ethnographical investigations, see Chapter 2, above.

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account for his character, making him the son of Resource and Poverty.20 Now he/Diotima describes Eros as though he were the Socrates of the popular imagination, whose shared characteristics will be emphasized anew when Alcibiades praises Socrates: both wander barefoot, endure hardship, plot after the beautiful and good, search for wisdom and permanently philosophize (203b1–e5).21 So far, the central premise of the task that Eros is a god in want of praise is undercut, the cosmological imaginings of Phaedrus, Pausanias, Aristophanes and Agathon are superseded, and the self-as-Eros tactic of Eryximachus and Agathon is usurped. Other specific wisdoms are also implicitly put to the test by the newly cast daemon who desires to possess beauty and wisdom, or more accurately to procreate and give birth in the beautiful, and in the process shares in immortality, being pregnant in his soul with wisdom and other virtues (φρόνησίν τε καὶ τὴν ἄλλην ἀρετήν) that require a beautiful body and, even better, soul to come into generation (204d1–210e1). In the final stage of this ‘initiation’, the desire to ‘give birth’ moves beyond one beautiful body or soul to many, on to beautiful activities and to learning (τὸ μάθημα), and then to ‘the beautiful’ (τὸ καλόν). From this stems understanding of what pure beauty is, the birth of ‘true virtue’ (ἀρετὴν ἀληθῆ), and immortality (210e1–212a7). There is no place for a humanitarian, doctor-like or poetic Eros in Socrates’/Diotima’s initiatory mysteries.22 Aristophanes’ myth of sundered individuals seeking out their other halves is dismissed and Phaedrus’ explanation of Alcestis’ and Achilles’ self-sacrifices is corrected (205d10–206a1; 208d2–e1). Pausanias’ preoccupation with self-improvement by gratifying the right sort is quite inadequate in its understanding of how philosophy and virtue are pursued through Eros.23 And yet, within this innovative and self-promotional encomium, Sheffield (2006, 31–8) identifies ‘nuggets of truth’ from earlier speeches. These include Agathon’s presentation of a relationship between erōs, beauty, and the divine, and his further sense that erōs is creative. Also present are Aristophanes’ notion that erōs is predicated upon lack,24 20 22 23

24

For this genealogy, see Chapter 4, above. 21 As traced in detail by C. Osborne (1994) 94–101. On the initiatory aspects of Socrates’ presentation, see Nightingale (2004) 83–6. Note, Diotima’s inclusion of ‘wisdom and all other virtues’ (209a3) amongst the things that it is fitting for ‘pregnant’ men to bring to birth, cited above, seems directed specifically towards Pausanias, who had earlier used the same formulation to explain what his Heavenly lover is capable of contributing to the pederastic relationship (184e1). Or in the words of von Möllendorf (2009) 98, ‘the search for wholeness’. His article pursues further overlaps in the Socratic and Aristophanic accounts of erōs, noting the unsettling effects of reading the former through the latter’s account of hybris and monstrosity.

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Phaedrus’ assumption that lovers will love honour, and Pausanias’ preference for the desire of the soul. Of course, their understandings are incomplete and offer only starting points. To understand the dynamics, we might usefully compare Socrates’ contribution – and more broadly the general conversational exchange so far – with the popular fifth-century ‘Harmodius song’, of which three variations survive. These are thought to interact like skolia, passed between singers for improvisation. The first two begin by declaring that the singer will carry his sword in sprigs of myrtle like Harmodius and Aristogeiton (ἐν μύρτου κλαδὶ τὸ ξίφος φορήσω | ὥσπερ Ἁρμόδιος καὶ Ἀριστογείτων), the lovers lauded in fifth-century Athens for murdering Hipparchus, the son of Peisistratus and brother of Hippias in 514. One verse continues ‘when they killed the tyrant and made Athens a city of equal rights’ (ὅτε τὸν τύραννον κτανέτην | ἰσονόμους τ’ Ἀθήνας ἐποιησάτην, 893 Campbell). The other responds ‘when at Athens’ festival, they slew the tyrant Hipparchus’ (ὅτ’ Ἀθηναίης ἐν θυσίαις | ἄνδρα τύραννον Ἱππαρχον ἐκαινέτην, 895 Campbell). The second proceeds on the basis of the material provided by the first but develops the theme in an innovative way to say something different about the couple’s actions. A third song preserves the second section of the first but makes it an explanation for the fame of Harmodius and Aristogeiton: ‘You two will always have fame on earth, dearest Harmodius and Aristogeiton, because you killed the tyrant and made Athens a city of equal rights’ (αἰεὶ σφῶιν κλέος ἔσσεται κατ’ αἶαν, | φίλταθ’ Ἁρμόδιε κἀριστόγειτον, | ὅτι τὸν τύραννον κτανέτην | ἰσονόμους τ’ Ἀθήνας ἐποιησάτην, 896 Campbell). A final verse picks up only one phrase, ‘dearest Harmodius’ (φίλταθ’ Ἁρμόδι’), and proceeds to ruminate on his afterlife on the Isles of the Blessed (894 Campbell). In a similar vein to singers of these verses, Socrates pulls in, redeploys and supersedes material to cap earlier encomia, making his the crowning contribution in substance and sympotic style (although Aristophanes seeks to continue the conversation, in response to what Socrates had said about his speech: 212c4–6). Eryximachus’ encouragement of his companions to entertain themselves thus results in the kind of testing envisaged by the Protagoras’ Socrates for the symposia of educated and refined individuals. Moreover, the contributions by Agathon and his guests conform in their competitive capping and responsion and their self-promotional performances to the dynamics of sympotic poetry, and they reflect the underlying anxieties about selfperformance and display related to laughter and play. As the conversation progresses and the symposiasts put themselves forward in turn, a varied and interrogative analysis of Eros emerges. Furthermore, the symposion merges momentarily into an eschatological experience. When Socrates replicates

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the words of the priestess Diotima and introduces the mystery language of initiation and immortality, he sets himself over and above his companions as a mantic figure. In this respect, if not in precise content, his education of prominent Athenians at the symposion echoes the activities of Salmoxis. According to Herodotus (4.95), he introduced Ionian ideas on immortality to Thracian nobles in the andrōn on his return from slavery in Samos. Curiously, Herodotus refuses to decide whether Salmoxis was a human being or a local daemon of the Thracian Getae (4.96). Agathon’s party momentarily merges into a symposion marked by eschatological revelation and knowledge, as the symposiasts are instructed by a man who resembles the daemon Eros, who in turn initiates men in true virtue and immortality. The initiatory dimension is continued by the unexpected arrival of a drunken Alcibiades, who reconfigures the sympotic entertainments and effects a Dionysian deconstruction of Socrates’ understanding of Eros. Garbed in the ivy-wreath worn by the god Dionysus and his initiates and accompanied by an aulos-girl, the revelling gatecrasher declares himself ‘a man who is entirely and exceedingly drunk’ (μεθύοντα ἄνδρα πάνυ σφόδρα), and he requests entry on agreement that Agathon and his guests will join in the drinking (συμπίεσθε) (212d5–213a2).25 He subsequently appoints himself ruler of the drinking until they catch up (ἄρχοντα οὖν αἱροῦμαι τῆς πόσεως), asks for a ‘large cup’ (ἔκπωμα μέγα), downs a huge wine-cooler and sets it into circulation by way of Socrates (213e7–214a6), all the while addressing himself and his companions as ‘fellow drinkers’ (συμπότην, 212e4; cf. 213b7, 216d6–7). With the appearance of all the usual accoutrements of the symposion – drinking cups, wine and serving boys – the party is poised to move from a cosy synousia to a ‘proper’ symposion. A compromise is apparently met when Alcibiades adapts Eryximachus’ proposal that he continue the round of Erotic encomia into a promise to praise Socrates truthfully. However, Alcibiades maintains a Dionysian mode, developing a series of comparisons between Socrates and satyrs – or specifically the aulos-playing Marsyas and his statue-containing icons – and reminiscing about the ‘madness and Bacchic frenzy of philosophy’ (τῆς φιλοσόφου μανίας τε καὶ βακχείας, 218b3–4) that drives his relationship with the philosopher. He consequently transforms the object 25

The ivy wreath is standard attire for Dionysus in the black- and red-figure tradition, and for symposiasts too: see Hobden (2011) for some examples. It is worn by initiates Tiresias and Cadmus in Euripides’ Bacchae (170–7; cf. 205, 254), where the Chorus also encourage Thebes to crown itself with ivy in honour of Dionysus (105–6). D. E. Anderson (1993) 13 adds that Alcibiades is here ‘bawling’ (βοῶντος) (Pl. Smp. 212d6) like a Dionysian bull. On the ‘revelling Dionysus’ of Aristophanes’ Clouds, see S. Rosen (1968), 286, n. 35.

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of his desire into the version of Eros earlier outlined by Socrates himself and puts him at the top of Diotima’s ladder to virtue. There, as a source of revelation to whomever listens to his ‘satyric piping’ (τῶν αὐλημάτων . . . ὑπὸ τοῦδε τοῦ σατύρου) and experiences his hidden ‘statues’, ‘divine and golden and utterly beautiful and amazing’ (θεῖα καὶ χρυσᾶ εἶναι καὶ πάγκαλα καὶ θαυμαστά), Socrates actualizes the mysteries earlier assigned to Eros (216c4–217b2). By Alcibiades’ account, presented in fulfilment of the traditional sympotic saying ‘wine is truth’ (οἶνος . . . ἦν ἀληθής, 217e3–4; see Chapter 4), Socrates is the embodiment of his earlier theorizing, cast in a Dionysian frame. The competitive conversation continues, as this selfconfessed Corybant (215d8–e2) – an allusion that casts Alcibiades again in the role of Bacchic reveller and initiate – trumps Socrates’ encomiastic truth with a true (or more true?) account of his experience of erōs/Socrates.26 The Dionysian hue of Alcibiades’ contribution mirrors his sympotic style, setting it apart from previous encomia. However, he operates in exactly the same capping mode. The ramifications of the interplay between the speeches of Socrates and Alcibiades are disputed. Most at issue is the discrepancy between Alcibiades’ insight into Socrates’ erotic character and his failure to grasp the implications: he expects to gain Socrates’ hidden treasures through sexual gratification, an exchange the philosopher derides as ‘gold for bronze’ (χρύσεα καλκείων) (219a1–2), and he actually flees from Socrates’ piping (216a6–7), thereby shunning the proper means of acquiring those treasures. This could be a piece of Platonic apologetics, designed to dissociate the philosopher from the wayward politics of his wrong-headed pupil. Alternatively, Socrates’ failure to cultivate Alcibiades in accordance with his own principles might bring their utility into question.27 Both positions are tenable and irreconcilable. The verdict of the immediate audience on Alcibiades’ speech is to laugh, particularly at the frankness (ἐπὶ τῇ παρρησίᾳ) with which Alcibiades exposes his continuing infatuation with Socrates (222c1–3). Frank speaking is consonant with the sympotic ethos of ‘truth in wine’ which Alcibiades consciously pursues, but it can be dangerous, as observed 26

27

Corybantes were associated primarily with the cult of Cybele, but already in Euripides’ Bacchae they appear amidst the retinue of Dionysus, as inventors of the drum that plays with the Phrygian aulos in their Bacchic revelry (βακχεία). They mingle with the raving satyrs that worship the mother goddess too (120–34). On the Corybantes and ‘Corybantic Mysteries’, see Bowden (2010) 91. Alcibiades’ Dionysian self-positioning as a Corybant is surprisingly not picked up by Anton (1962) and Sider (1980) in their attempts to outline Plato’s antipathy to the Dionysian through Alcibiades’ speech and to pin down the Symposium as a reworking of a Dionysian civic festival, respectively. Compare Schein (1974), Sheffield (2001), and M. D. Usher (2002) with Gagarin (1977) and Nussbaum (1986) 165–99.

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at the Persian and Macedonian courts in Chapter 4. Speaking freely reveals true sentiments that it may or may not be wise to expose, depending on your audience. Alcibiades’ self-advertised abasement to Socrates deviates from any of the reified notions of Eros – and good erotic conduct – that have circulated so far. It is unclear whether the surprised laughter of the symposiasts is playful or critical, that is, sympathetic or derisive. As an uninvited guest (aklētos), a companion whose performances reflect his place on the margins of the group, it is not surprising that Alcibiades, in his Dionysian extreme, occupies this difficult ground.28 Certainly, in the gap opened up by that laughter, the reader of the Symposium might perceive the painful reality of his failure to understand Socrates, and Socrates’ failure to nurture his enthusiastic young friend. The vision of Socrates captured in Alcibiades’ truth-perceiving ‘wine-goggles’, together with Alcibiades’ selfprojection, creates an aporia, literally a ‘lack of passage’, that retrospectively endorses Socrates’ vision of Eros and presently calls it into question.29 Once again the sympotic dynamics of capping and contestation put the contributions in conflict and response, but this time without victory or resolution. By shaping his examination of erōs as a sympotic conversation, executed in the manner preferred by Socrates in the Protagoras and reminiscent of contemporary sympotic style, Plato deviates from his standard model of Socratic conversation. Nonetheless, the Symposium reaches the same position of constructive aporia that characterizes his other works. Under pressure to perform well, the symposiasts identify weaknesses in their companions’ encomia in order to surpass them, only to be trumped in the same way in turn. As a result, the analysis of Eros is not only manifold and various but continually criticized and refined. Following the conversation as it circles left to right, the audience to Agathon’s symposion is introduced to ideas about the god and forced to re-evaluate them with every new encomium. The final contribution, however, is not the winner but, rather, with its appropriately Dionysian perspective, it forces the reader back to the ‘victorious’ contribution of Socrates and unsettles its cumulative and monolithic vision. These narrative dynamics reflect Plato’s sensitivity to the openness of writing to interrogation, as ascribed by Yunis (2003). To adopt his terminology, the sympotic mode is an ‘artistic provision’ by means of which the author might ‘accommodate, encourage, or direct interpretation on the part of their reader’. Socratic drama generally draws 28 29

On the aklētos, see Chapter 4 at p. 169, with nn. 27–8. Utilizing the definition of aporia as a stalemate position offered by Balot (2006) 97.

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the reader in through the ‘effect of the real’: ‘to experience the tension of a Platonic dialogue, the reader must follow the dialectic as it develops in the text’, and critical reading necessarily follows (210). In the Symposium, as the above analysis shows, the ‘realistic’ sympotic structure takes this dimension to a heightened level. Like other early and middle dialogues, Plato’s text forces a critical reading upon itself.30 The layering and inquisition of argument through multiple speakers, competing with and capping one another in turn, intensifies the process by which the reader is led to a state of informed puzzlement. It is as if Plato is trying out Socrates’ proposition in the Protagoras that they imitate (μιμεῖσθαι) the conversations of educated kaloi kagathoi to see where that mimēsis leads. Whereas Socrates fails to follow through on that occasion, in the Symposium Plato carries the recommendation to its logical conclusion, with fruitful results. Of course, the Symposium is not merely a dramatization of Agathon’s party. Rather, the text fixes this dramatization within an oral monologue delivered in the first instance by a former guest, Aristodemus, and repeated now by Apollodorus for an interested audience – and for the reader too.31 It is tempting to fit this elaboration within the generative mode of philosophy outlined by Socrates-qua-Diotima, to see Aristodemus’ monologue as the progeny of his erotic relationship with Socrates. After all, Aristodemus is Socrates’ lover (ἐραστής) and another philosopher akin to the barefooted Eros (173b1–4).32 Or one might at least, in the sharing of the story, witness the actions of the man who has found a beautiful body and soul to impregnate: ‘and to this man he immediately abounds in speeches concerning virtue and what sort it is necessary for the good man to be and what to practice, and he tries to educate him’ (καὶ πρὸς τοῦτον τὸν ἄνθρωπον εὐθὺς εὐπορεῖ λόγων περὶ αρετῆς καὶ περὶ οἷον χρὴ εἶναι τὸν ἄνδρα τὸν ἀγαθὸν καὶ ἃ ἐπιτηδεύειν, καὶ ἐπιχειρεῖ παιδεύειν, 209b7–c2). As this speech is passed on through Apollodorus to his companion, and through the Symposium to Plato’s reader, the education continues. Harnessing the dynamics of the symposion, Aristodemus’/Apollodorus’ monologue, or rather Plato’s dramatic dialogue, constructs and criticizes competing versions of Eros (the god is claimed variously as an inspiration to great deeds, to 30

31 32

The latitude offered to an extra-textual audience to ‘pass judgement on the players in the drama, what they say, and crucially, how they react’ is noted by Emlyn-Jones (2004) 405. He is usefully attuned to the sympotic setting but focuses more on the Symposium’s undermining of theatre through a critique of Socrates’ and Agathon’s interaction, rather than taking a holistic view. The narrative layering is extensively exposed by Halperin (1992) 97–100; cf. John Henderson (2000) 291–8. C. Osborne (1994) 98.

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beneficial relationships, to healthy relationships and happiness, to blessings and happiness through bodily reunification, and to the poiēsis of beauty and goodness). Furthermore, it promotes and then unsettles a conquering Socratic model of virtue generation. The competitively responsive conversation of the symposion encapsulated in the text thus constitutes a practical lesson on virtue (the end-point of Socrates’ erōs) for Plato’s audience. To quote Alcibiades on Socrates, Plato’s Symposium directs people who listen ‘towards everything of the sort it is appropriate to investigate for those intending to become kaloi kagathoi’ (ἐπὶ πᾶν ὅσον προσήκει σκοπεῖν τῷ μέλλοντι καλῷ κἀγαθῷ ἔσεσθαι, 222a5–6). The sympotic style of educated kaloi kagathoi might be worth emulating for a while to discomfort the sophist Protagoras, but its textual rendition in the Symposium offers readers a chance to actively pursue these qualities. The sexual activity expected of the symposion is channelled and expressed through a conversation on Eros that redefines and reconfigures erotic relations as a path to wisdom and virtue, which the Symposium is a product of and a stimulus to. Represented within a Platonic dialogue, the symposion has been co-opted into and formatted to facilitate the doing of philosophy.

xenophon’s sympotic display The integration of the symposion into the Platonic oeuvre, with Socrates in attendance and the pursuit of virtue at issue, introduced a new direction in sympotic representation. Where other sympotic narratives might shed light on the ethical and political identities of participants through their performances (and this is true of Plato’s work also), the Platonic Symposium harnessed sympotic dynamics to generate an educational process for its readers: chiefly an interrogation of the ethics and practice of erōs, en route to philosophy.33 Xenophon’s Symposium, which probably postdates its Platonic counterpart, similarly co-opts aspects of the symposion into a textual event that promotes examination of issues raised.34 The conversation 33 34

On the characterization of Plato’s symposiasts through their spoken contributions, see Corrigan and Glazov-Corrigan (2004) 51–103. Plato’s Symposium is widely assumed, following Dover (1965) and most recently Huss (1999a), to predate Xenophon’s. It has alternatively been suggested that Xenophon amended his work after Plato wrote the Symposium in response to an earlier Xenophontic version: see Thesleff (1978) and Danzig (2005). The argument depends to a large degree on a secure date for Plato’s text and on deciding whether apparent cross-references between the two Symposia and between Xenophon’s work and other Platonic dialogues indicate Xenophon’s response to Plato, or vice versa, or whether they consulted other mutually available works. Answers are necessarily speculative. Post-production, of course, both texts were in circulation and available to be read in conjunction and against one another.

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at Callias’ house is familiar for its responsive, competitive and playful– serious tone. However, the round of speaking at the heart of the dialogue (sections 3–4) is supplemented by music and acrobatics and pantomime from a hired troupe, a beauty competition, the antics of a laughter-maker, and more casual debate. The topics for discussion are also much wider. A speech from Socrates on erōs (section 8) is preceded by debates on how to teach kalokagathia and virtue, on justice, wisdom, beauty, wealth, poverty and politics, and on the symposion itself. Physical performances also contribute. Critics might consider the intellectual content limited by comparison with Plato’s Symposium, but Xenophon’s symposion is a more vibrant and wide-ranging affair.35 Xenophon’s Symposium also signals its strategies and agendas. Plato’s work begins with a conversation in which Apollodorus declares himself to be ‘not unpractised’ (οὐκ ἀμελέτητος) in telling the story of Agathon’s party, explaining to his unnamed interlocutor that he had heard it from Aristodemus and then verified it with Socrates (172a1–173b6). However, Aristodemus could not remember everything, and Apollodorus has partially forgotten his account. Thus, the narrator presents ‘that which he remembered best and those who seemed to me to be worth remembering’ (ἃ δὲ μάλιστα καὶ ὧν ἔδοξέ μοι ἀξιομνημόνευτον) (Pl. Smp. 178a1–4). In effect, Apollodorus’ version is a partial second-hand description told to an anonymous audience, received at third hand by the reader of the Symposium. Plato, the actual architect of the tale, remains out of sight. Xenophon’s Symposium, by contrast, begins with a positioning statement of authorial intent: ἀλλ’ ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ τῶν καλῶν κἀγαθῶν ἀνδρῶν ἔργα οὐ μόνον τὰ μετὰ σπουδῆς πραττόμενα ἀξιομνημόνευτα εἶναι, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὰ ἐν ταῖς παιδιαῖς. οἷς δὲ παραγενόμενος ταῦτα γιγνώσκω δηλῶσαι βούλομαι. (Xenophon, Symposium 1.1) Well, it seems to me that the accomplishments of men who are beautiful and good (kalōn kagathōn) are worth remembering, not only those done in seriousness but also in play. And I wish to show those I was with when I learned this.

This preface asserts the personal insight of the author-narrator, the value of that insight and the utility of his account. The distinctiveness of Xenophon’s ambition is particularly highlighted by verbal resonances with Apollodorus’ introduction, especially in the priority afforded to the speaker’s judgement (Xen. ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, Pl. ἔδοξέ μοι) and the worthiness of his recollections (Xen. ἀξιομνημόνευτα, Pl. ἀξιομνημόνευτον). While Plato 35

For the negative assessment, Guthrie (1969) 335 is symptomatic.

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complicates the veracity of Apollodorus’ account, Xenophon claims authority for himself. Indeed, the mode is almost Herodotean.36 In its preface the Histories declares itself to be a display (ἀπόδεξις) of the inquiry of Herodotus of Halicarnassus. Its ambition is to prevent the great and wondrous accomplishments (ἔργα μεγάλα τε καὶ θωμαστά) displayed (ἀποδεχθέντα) by Greeks and Persians becoming without fame (ἀκλεᾶ). Transferred into the first person, Xenophon in narratorial persona is equally inspired by personal reflection and a wish to recall accomplishments or ‘deeds’ (ἔργα). Like Herodotus, he will display the results of his own observation and learning. Such an approach is fitting for Xenophon, whose oeuvre is permeated by staged performances, which the reader can watch and derive lessons and benefit from (we saw one such example from the Hellenica, at another symposion, in Chapter 4).37 In the Symposium, however, this general methodology coincides with the tendency for individual self-presentation through performance that is central to the symposion. By putting his symposiasts on display, by setting their spoken and physical performances side by side and letting them play off one another, Xenophon directs his reader to look and learn. What is at stake in Xenophon’s opening premise, or promise, is intimated in the first event of the Symposium: the encounter between Socrates and Callias that results in the invitation to the philosopher and his friends to join the celebrations for Autolycus’ pankration victory at the Panathenaea and thereby sets the scene. (The encounter, dated historically to 422, also establishes a conversation with Plato’s work, with ‘Callias’ the Beautiful replacing ‘Agathon’ the Good, and a nod to the occasion of Agathon’s party following his victory at the Dionysia.) Callias gilds his invitation with the statement that his preparations will seem more glamorous (λαμπροτέραν) if his dining room is adorned by men of pure souls (ἀνδράσιν ἐκκεκαθαρμένοις τὰς ψυχάς) rather than generals, cavalry leaders and political wannabes (1.4). Socrates replies, ‘You are always joking, looking down on us because you have given a great deal of money to Protagoras, Gorgias, Prodicus and many others for wisdom, but you see us as some do-it-yourself philosophers’ (ἀεὶ σὺ ἐπισκώπτεις ἡμᾶς καταφρονῶν, ὅτι σὺ μὲν Πρωταγόρᾳ τε πολὺ ἀργύριον δέδωκας ἐπὶ σοφίᾳ καὶ Γοργίᾳ καὶ Προδίκῳ καὶ ἄλλοις πολλοῖς, ἡμᾶς δ᾽ ὁρᾷς αὐτουργούς τινας τῆς φιλοσοφίας ὄντας, 1.5). Callias admits his offence, saying that previously he hid his ability to say many clever things, ‘but now, if you come with me, I will show you (plural) that I am 36 37

As briefly noted by Gray (1992) 70. For this characteristic of Xenophon’s work, see Chapter 4, n. 38, above.

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worth very serious attention’ (νῦν δέ, ἐὰν παρ᾽ ἐμοὶ ἦτε, ἐπιδείξω ὑμῖν ἐμαυτὸν πάνυ πολλῆς σπουδῆς ἄξιον ὄντα, 1.6). This is the first seriocomic exchange hinted at in the opening scene, as accusations of joking are replaced with promises of seriousness. It also represents Callias’ attempt to establish a framework for his party and for his forthcoming sympotic participation. Hot on the heels of Xenophon’s pledge to show the people whose activities are worth remembering (ἀξιομνημόνευτα), the future host promises to display himself worthy (ἄξιον) of consideration. Will the action and conversation that ensues prove him able? The answer will reveal why Xenophon considers these particular events – these particular people – worthy of his reader’s attention. The dynamics of the symposion, and especially its propensity for spectacle and self-display, are core. Sympotic spectacles, sympotic responses In the opening moments of Callias’ symposion, the self-assertions of our author-narrator and his host appear to coalesce. As the guests settle into position in the andrōn, the authorial voice-over booms in: ‘Straightaway anyone reflecting upon what happened would believe that beauty was by nature something regal, if one possessed it together with shame and selfcontrol, like Autolycus then’ (εὐθὺς μὲν οὖν ἐννοήσας τις τὰ γιγνόμενα ἡγήσατ᾽ ἂν φύσει βασιλικόν τι κάλλος εἶναι, ἄλλως τε καὶ ἂν μετ᾽ αἰδοῦς καὶ σωφροσύνης, καθάπερ Αὐτόλυκος τότε, κεκτῆταί τις αὐτό, 1.8). By indicating what response a viewer ought to have to the scene, the narrator directs his or her understanding of it. Seated beside his father in Callias’ dining room, the young Autolycus captures the gaze of the reclining guests with his beauty. At their response, some falling silent while others gesture, the narrator continues: ‘Everyone who is possessed by one of the gods seems to be worth seeing’ (πάντες μὲν οὖν οἱ ἐκ θεῶν του κατεχόμενοι ἀξιοθέατoι δοκοῦσιν εἶναι). Some people might adopt a gorgon’s stare and talk fearfully and react most vehemently, but those influenced by a self-controlled desire will keep their eyes friendly, moderating their voice and conducting their gestures (τὰ σχήματα) like a free man. Because he responds in this fashion, Callias particularly is ‘worth seeing for initiates of this god’ (ἀξιοθέατος ἦν τοῖς τετελεσμένοις τούτῳ τῷ θεῷ) (1.9–10). The lessons on offer are intricately layered, with insights into beauty by way of Autolycus and also in the appropriate response of his chief admirer. The symposiasts might all stare at Autolycus, but Callias himself is the focus of the authorial gaze, and while he provides a lesson to those who look at him – he is axiotheatos to the reader – the narrator identifies and defines the terms of that lesson himself.

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Callias appears for now to be living up to his promises, and so too is Xenophon. The authorial intervention here is the most elaborate in the Symposium but, importantly, it establishes up front a mode of engagement that extends the opening authorial proposition that the playful deeds of the kaloi kagathoi are worth remembering: Xenophon puts the symposiasts on display for the contemplation and erudition of his reader-viewer. We will return to Callias shortly. In the meantime, the sense that performances at this symposion are spectacles, to be examined and responded to, develops further as events unfold under the guidance of Socrates. A series of acrobatic feats performed by a mixed troupe of dancers and musicians, supervised by a Syracusan, sparks a series of Socratic observations. A girl who dances and juggles twelve hoops to musical accompaniment leads Socrates to comment that a woman’s nature is inferior to a man’s only in reasoning and strength, concluding thereupon that women can be educated (2.8–9). Her confident diving through a ring of swords is evidence that bravery (ἀνδρεία) can be taught (2.11–12). And the dancing that makes the beautiful boy even more beautiful demonstrates the value of this exercise (2.15). Each of these gambits is then developed through a capping banter that teases out the argument: Socrates is forced by Antisthenes to defend the teachability of women when he possesses such a difficult wife (2.10); Antisthenes and Philippus joke that the sword-jumping woman might teach the Athenians and their leaders masculine courage if displayed to the city (2.13–14); and the benefits of dancing are proved (or otherwise) in their physical enactment by Philip, the party’s official laughter-maker (gelōtopoios), to everyone’s amusement (2.21–3). The entertainments of the symposion are stimuli for investigation into serious issues, carried out in a playful fashion. Socrates’ earlier praise of Callias for providing ‘pleasurable sights and sounds’ (θεάματα καὶ ἀκροάματα ἤδιστα) in the form of the Syracusan’s troupe (2.2) acquires a special nuance when he harnesses ‘sights’ or ‘spectacles’ to continue an earlier debate on the teachability of virtue. That conversation had become rowdy, with everyone speaking at once in opposite directions and so was brought to an end as ‘arguable’ (ἀμφίλογόν) by Socrates (2.6–7). By turning attention to the dancers, Socrates uses these delightful sympotic spectacles to encourage more insightful, controlled and fruitful examinations. The physical and spoken contributions interwine, as the reader observes Socrates’ demonstration of how to respond to sympotic performances.38 38

For this final point see Baragwanath (2012) 637–45, for whom Xenophon shows how to look and learn through scenes in the Symposium.

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To some degree Socrates acts as an unappointed symposiarch for Callias and his guests throughout the symposion, not only employing Xenophon’s model of ‘look and learn’ when leading responses to the acrobatics, but also steering the symposiasts’ entertainments and even endorsing a pattern of drinking. Callias’ proposal to enhance the sensual pleasures of the symposion, its sights and sounds, by adding perfume is dismissed by a Socratic excursus on the scents suitable to free men, namely those inspired by their daily labours. This paves the way for a conversation that makes kalokagathia the proper perfume for an older person (2.3–4). As well as redirecting activity when debate over its teachability becomes unmanageable, Socrates dampens Charmides’ ardour following a musical performance by the Syracusan’s boy. Thematically and verbally capping Socrates’ comment that wine soothes troubles of the soul and awakens friendliness (τὰς ψυχὰς τὰς μὲν λύπας . . . κοιμίζει, τὰς δὲ φιλοφροσύνας . . . ἐγείρει, 2.24), Charmides remarks how the mixture of the youngsters’ youthful bloom and their sounds soothes troubles and awakens Aphrodite (τὰς μὲν λύπας κοιμίζειν, τὴν δ’ ἀφροδίτην ἐγείρειν, 3.1). Socrates intervenes: οὗτοι μὲν δή, ὦ ἄνδρες, ἱκανοὶ τέρπειν ἡμᾶς φαίνονται· ἡμεῖς δὲ τούτων οἶδ᾽ ὅτι πολὺ βελτίονες οἰόμεθα εἶναι· οὐκ αἰσχρὸν οὖν εἰ μήδ᾽ ἐπιχειρήσομεν συνόντες ὠφελεῖν τι ἢ εὐφραίνειν ἀλλήλους; (Xenophon, Symposium 3.2) These people, gentlemen, appear competent to entertain us; but I know that we believe ourselves to be much better than them. And so would it not be shameful if, being together (sunontes), we did not try to bring some benefit (ōphelein) or to cheer (euphrainein) one another?

The philosopher takes advantage of this direction towards the symposion’s sexual pleasures to divert the symposiasts away from precisely such entertainments and to embark instead upon his preferred activity. His companions interpret this as an invitation to talk, and at their encouragement Socrates proposes to take up Callias’ promise that he would display his wisdom, and he extends it on Callias’ request to the group: everyone will reveal what he considers most worth knowing in a round of speaking (3.3; 3.4–4.64). Once again sensual experiences have been sidelined, and the conversation now flows in tandem with the wine: short contributions circulate constantly like the drinking cups which Socrates promises will facilitate greater playfulness (πρὸς τὸ παιγνιωδέστερον) (2.26). Socrates directs the symposion towards a specific kind of pleasure. To similar ends, Socrates patrols the party. Hermogenes’ silence is branded as an instance of paroinia, defined here as ‘causing grief over wine’; the Syracusan is chastised for inviting ‘frosty’ (ψυχρά) humour

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through ill-chosen questions; Philippus is prevented from making an inappropriate comparison; and order is imposed on the rabble with a song (6.1–10, 7.1). The performances of each threaten the playfulness, utility and merriment that constitute Socrates’ sympotic programme. Indeed, when the dancers reappear with a potters’ wheel on which to do more stunts, Socrates intervenes more forcefully than before, enquiring first how the boy and girl can continue so that ‘we might be cheered watching them’ (εὐφραινοίμεθα θεώμενοι αὐτούς), and thereby reiterating his earlier commitment to bring cheer. Jumping through daggers is deemed to be dangerous and ‘unbefitting the symposion’ (συμποσίῳ οὐδὲν προσήκει). Reading and writing whilst spinning on a wheel might be a wonder (θαῦμα), but where is the pleasure? And watching bodies twisting and imitating hoops brings no more pleasure than observing their beauty and youthful bloom whilst at rest (7.1–3). These imagined spectacles reflect closely some of the earlier entertainments that Socrates had hijacked to more beneficial ends; the philosopher now rejects them.39 In place of the hired entertainers, the symposiasts might be stimulated to contemplation by other wonders in the immediate vicinity: the lamp, which confounds expectation by producing a bright flame although its bronze bowl does not, and oil, which increases flames although water, which is equally wet, does not, and wine (7.3–4).40 This final stimulant will soon elevate Socrates to speak out on the topic of Eros (8.24). Having been at first reluctant to attend Callias’ symposion, Socrates spends his time there orienting the entertainments away from sensual pleasures towards a certain type of disquisition: one that is grounded in the symposion and allows for wine and merriment and harnesses these to useful ends. Hence, the beauty competition between Socrates and Critoboulus descends into a Socratic dialectic that redefines beauty as what is useful (5.1–9). Even his discourse on Eros, styled as a fitting response to the daemon’s likely presence, seeks to pin down a proper way of loving that shuns physical consummation and subordinates desire to achieving good for the city (8.1–43). This self-appointed symposiarch continually imposes his order and his vision on the proceedings anew. As in the Platonic text, an apologetic element may be at work here. Xenophon’s Memorabilia is forthright in its desire to excuse Socrates from the alleged corruption of young men like Charmides, whose politics damaged the dēmos, and a similar purpose has been postulated for the

39 40

Or alternatively, with Baragwanath (2012) 640: ‘the assertion may well be designed to prod symposiasts and readers to reflect more consciously on how very fruitful these thaumata have been’. On this conversation see Hobden (2004) 123–30.

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Symposium.41 Huss (1999b, 410) goes so far as to propose that Xenophon presents a Socratic Golden Age, ‘with Socrates as the man who leads the cheerful discussions of the aristocrats in a noble, peaceful way, and who communicates the most moral views on Love and other Socratic subjects to his fellow symposiasts, so that in the end even (and precisely) his future accuser [the character Lycon] has to acknowledge Socrates’ superior kalokagathia’.42 According to this view, Socrates is a consummate symposiast. However, there is more going on. While the symposiasts acquiesce to Socrates’ programme and even enjoy their own company (ἀλλήλοις δὲ ἡδομένους), as grumpily noticed by the Syracusan (6.6), the most praise the philosopher receives from either the symposiasts or the Symposium’s narrator is that his defence of his marriage to Xanthippe in the conversation on education for women ‘seemed to be spoken not far from the mark’ (οὐκ ἄπο τοῦ σκοποῦ ἔδοξεν εἰρῆσθαι, 2.10). At least one associate is openly, if light-heartedly, critical of his sympotic performance. When charged with offending his companions by his silence, Hermogenes responds that it would be impossible to fit a word in edgeways with Socrates talking (6.3–4). Moreover, in the beauty competition the dancing girl and boy remain unconvinced by his performance, awarding their vote and their kisses to Critoboulus (5.9). Socrates had earlier blamed Critoboulus’ disordinate passion for Cleinias on dangerous kisses and warned that anyone wishing to be capable of self-control should stay away from the kisses of youthful beauties (4.25–6). As the symposiasts encourage Critoboulus to claim his prize, they welcome this danger into their midst. The philosopher might attempt to direct them away from thoughts of Aphrodite, but his companions are still happy to embrace beauty and desire. This dissonance between the intentions of Socrates and his fellow symposiasts is most apparent in the closing pantomime, through which sex becomes immanent. Socrates’ criticism of the acrobatics of the Syracusan’s troupe was followed by a request for a dance to the aulos following the form in which the Graces, Seasons and Nymphs are depicted. So the performers would have an easy time of it and ‘the symposion will be more charming’ (τὸ συμπόσιον πολὺ ἐπιχαριτώτερον εἶναι). The Syracusan impressario considers this a great idea and promises that ‘I will bring in a spectacle which you will enjoy’ (ἐγὼ εἰσάξω θεάματα ἐφ’ οἷς ὑμεῖς εὐφρανεῖσθε, 7.5). What 41 42

Most recently interrogated by Danzig (2004); cf. Bowen (1998) 7, where the apologetic intent is taken for granted. Cf. Waterfield (2004). Cf. Huss (1999a) 38–49.

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he actually produces is a simulation of the wedding night of Dionysus and Ariadne performed to a ‘Bacchic rhythm’, and enjoy it the symposiasts do, clapping and shouting for more (9.4). ὡς δὲ ὁ Διόνυσος ἀνιστάμενος συνανέστησε μεθ᾽ ἑαυτοῦ τὴν Ἀριάδνην, ἐκ τούτου δὴ φιλούντων τε καὶ ἀσπαζομένων ἀλλήλους σχήματα παρῆν θεάσασθαι. οἱ δ᾽ ὁρῶντες ὄντως καλὸν μὲν τὸν Διόνυσον, ὡραίαν δὲ τὴν Ἀριάδνην, οὐ σκώπτοντας δὲ ἀλλ᾽ ἀληθινῶς τοῖς στόμασι φιλοῦντας, πάντες ἀνεπτερωμένοι ἐθεῶντο . . . ἐῴκεσαν γὰρ οὐ δεδιδαγμένοις τὰ σχήματα ἀλλ᾽ ἐφειμένοις πράττειν ἃ πάλαι ἐπεθύμουν. (Xenophon, Symposium 9.5, 6) And when Dionysus stood up and raised Ariadne with him, then there were gestures of kissing and embracing one another to see. And they saw that Dionysus really was beautiful and Ariadne was in the bloom of her youth, and they were not joking but were kissing earnestly with their mouths, and everyone watched in eager expectation . . . for they did not look like people who had been taught gestures, but who had been let loose to do that which they long desired.

Sex – or at least the illusion of sex – has now fully entered the symposion, and everyone is enthralled. When ‘Dionysus’ and ‘Ariadne’ leave to consummate their marriage, wedded symposiasts jump up to complete their own sexual unions, to perform their own mimēsis of a tipsy Dionysus and his bride, riding home on their horses to their wives.43 Certainly the Graces, Seasons and Nymphs are frequent companions of Dionysus in the Attic vase-painting tradition.44 When Ariadne enters the repertoire as Dionysus’ wife on a blackfigure amphora, dating to the late sixth century and decorated in the manner of the Lysippides Painter, nymphs and satyrs accompany the couple.45 However, the Syracusan’s raunchy rendition is far from the gentle tableau originally called for, and its effects on the party are cataclysmic: Socrates had done his best to curtail expressions of desire, and now sexual arousal breaks it up.46 Socrates’ best efforts have been to no avail. Off he goes with Callias to join Autolycus and Lycon on their journey home (9.7). The Symposium draws to a close. As a symposiarch of sorts, Socrates’ ambitions for the symposion appear in constant competition with the sensual pleasures and underlying erotics that his companions embrace at every opportunity. Through staged 43 44 45 46

For the marriage bed as a suitable end to a party, see Panyassis 13 K and Ion 27 W. Carpenter (1986) 19–21, 76–90 (Nymphs); Carpenter (1997) 52–69, esp. 55, n. 23 (Seasons), 60–2 (Graces and Nymphs). Cambridge, Fitzwilliam Museum G48 (ABV 259.17 = BD 302249): see Carpenter (1997) 65. For the dances in which they are depicted (γράφονται) Socrates perhaps has something closer in mind to the well-ordered and graceful reliefs of three dancing Charites sculpted on temples and as votive dedications in a number of Greek cities during the sixth and fifth centuries, including the socalled ‘Charites of Socrates’, a copy of which stood on the Acropolis and was attributed by Pausanias (1.22.8) to Xenophon’s philosopher: see E. B. Harrison (1986) 195–7, nos. 19–25.

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interventions, Socrates advances an alternative route towards euphrosynē that makes sympotic spectacles useful. However, the impression remains that without Socrates’ guidance, others at the party, including his own associates, would remain otherwise engaged: enjoying perfume, marvelling lustily after dancers, discussing matters in a higgledy-piggledy fashion or keeping themselves aloof from the entertainments. At a party where Callias promises to display himself worth serious attention, it is the efforts of Socrates that make the playful and serious deeds recorded in Xenophon’s Symposium worthy of recall. Callias versus Socrates and his ‘do-it-yourself’ crew With his focus on mutual entertainment and benefit through conversation, Socrates creates plenty of opportunities for his host and their companions to demonstrate their worth, especially in the round of speaking which he instigates in direct reference to Callias’ opening promise. Each participant will display what he knows about that is good (ἀγαθόν). This is phrased alternatively as what he believes most worth while to know (πλείστου ἄξιον ἐπίστασθαι, 3.3–4), what he considers useful (ὅ τι ὠφέλιμον ἔχει, 3.5), the knowledge which is his greatest pride (ἐπὶ ποίᾳ ἐπιστήμῃ μέγα φρονεῖς, 3.5; cf. 3.4, 7, 8, 9), or whatever is his special glory (ἐπὶ τίνι μάλιστα ἀγάλλῃ, 3.14). The precise terminology shifts during the conversation, with each symposiast outlining his topic in turn and then expounding upon it more fully, when Socrates again solicits ‘that which each man promised to display that is of great value’ (ἅ ἕκαστος ὑπέσχετο ἀποδεικνύναι ὡς πολλοῦ ἄξιά ἐστιν, 4.1). The resulting contributions are shorter and punchier than their Platonic counterparts, and they are interspersed with questions from various guests: especially from Socrates and his follower Antisthenes, working in tandem. These questions challenge, undercut and cap each premise, forcing its proponent to defend his assertion. The same basic dynamics that structure the orations at Agathon’s house are given greater immediacy and intensity, with contributions trapped continually in the interchange between seriousness and play. The two sophist-taught symposiasts, Callias and Niceratus, fare worst.47 The host is proudest of his ability to make people better (βελτίους), that is,

47

For a fuller break-down of the arguments, see Gray (1992) 73–4 on Callias, Hobden (2005) 99–101, and now also Pangle (2010) 143–4, whose narrative commentary treats the Symposium as a ‘gentle Socratic self-satire’ (140). Pangle particularly exposes the extent to which Socratic pronouncements were open to criticism in the Symposium. This chimes with the present reading. However, seeing the

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to morally improve them. Asked by Antisthenes to clarify whether this is by teaching a banausic skill or kalokagathia, he answers, ‘If kalokagathia is justice’ (εἰ καλοκὰγαθία ἐστὶν δικαιοσύνη) (3.4). His interlocutor confirms that it is the most indisputable form. But when Callias comes to defend this proposition, Antisthenes easily pulls the argument apart with his elenchus. Callias claims that while Socrates and his chums puzzle (ἀπορούντων) over the nature of justice, he makes people more just by giving them money, so that they no longer need to commit crimes. However, he is forced to admit that these people are ungrateful. As Antisthenes points out, it is amazing that he has made people more just towards others, but not towards himself. Callias pulls out a vehement retort about builders building houses they do not own, thinking to cross-examine Antisthenes (καὶ ἀνάσχου μέντοι, ὦ σοφιστά, ἐλεγχόμενος). Socrates lends some support with the observation that soothsayers also foresee the future for everyone but themselves. Nonetheless, Antisthenes’ criticism must stand: Callias’ lessons in justiceas-kalokagathia are incomplete and conceptually flawed (4.1–5). Niceratus too fails to substantiate the value of the Homeric education that he pursued in order to become a good man (ἀνὴρ ἀγαθός) (3.5). The hidden meanings revealed to him by Stesimbrotus and Anaximander, which initially save him from Antisthenes’ implication that reciting Homer is the preserve of foolish rhapsodes (3.6), are not in evidence. Instead the guidance he gleans from ‘the wisest man’ (ὁ σοφώτατος) is archaic. He claims to know about estate management, addressing the dēmos, and generalship. Yet he proves his Homeric wisdom with quotations about chariot racing and sweetening wine with onions. The latter could have some immediate relevance: ‘And so if someone should bring an onion, you will especially benefit from it right now; for you will drink with pleasure’ (ἐὰν οὖν ἐνέγκῃ τις κρόμμυον, αὐτίκα μάλα τοῦτό γε ὠφελημένοι ἔσεσθε· ἥδιον γὰρ πιεῖσθε). In ambition this recommendation is no different from Socrates’ wish to bring benefit and pleasure to the symposion. However, it is roundly ridiculed by Charmides and Socrates. Together they point out the infelicity of onion breath at a party, where kisses might be on the agenda (4.6–10). Neither of the symposiasts who paid for their learning is a match for Socrates and his associates, the formerly scorned ‘do-it-yourself philosophers’. Callias in particular has failed to display himself as worth serious consideration. Symposium as a playful portrait of life with Socrates underplays the ethical and educative aspects of the text, where issues such as justice and gentlemanliness (kalokagathia), which Pangle notes are not ‘puzzled over’ by Socrates himself (141), are explored through the conversation and action of the text.

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These two contributions are quickly passed over as the conversation continues around the circle. There are no immediate ramifications. But Callias’ positioning of his justice as equivalent to kalokagathia draws attention back to the conversation on its teachability that was started, truncated and then redirected by Socrates through his responses to the entertainments posed by the Syracusan’s troupe. When queried by Lycon regarding the best place to ‘buy’ kalokagathia, Socrates, in good sympotic form, had quoted two lines of Theognis: ‘You will learn good from the good; but if you mix with the bad, you will destroy your own mind’ (Ἐσθλῶν μὲν γὰρ ἀπ’ ἐσθλὰ διδάξεαι· ἢν δὲ κακοῖσι | συμμίσγῃς, ἀπολεῖς καὶ τὸν ἐόντα νόον, 2.4 = Thgn. 35–6 W). The implication that one would learn kalokagathia from the kaloi kagathoi is carried through an analogy concerning how Autolycus learned wrestling. The manuscript is slightly damaged, but essentially Socrates concludes ‘whoever seems to him to be most proficient in the daily pursuit of this thing, he will spend time with him’ (ὃς ἂν δοκῇ αὐτῷ ἱκανώτατος εἶναι εἰς ταῦτα ἐπιτηδεῦσαι, τούτῳ συνέσται, 2.5). If Callias misunderstands justice and therefore kalokagathia, how equipped is he to indoctrinate young Autolycus – or anyone else, for that matter – in this virtue? Indeed, Callias is later subject to a lesson in educational erotics by Socrates: if he wishes to be honoured by Autolycus and to please him, then he himself must examine what Athens’ great leaders Themistocles, Pericles and Solon knew to win their successes as a liberator of Greece, counsellor to the city, and lawmaker respectively; and he must enquire how the Spartans remain such strong leaders. At the same time as becoming popular with Autolycus, Callias will also take the city in his hands (8.37–41). Socrates praises Callias’ natural advantages, but the need for him to learn from the ‘good men’ of the past tells him where he must go to acquire wisdom. The sense that Callias is in need of instruction in matters erotic and political – both interconnected and requiring wisdom – is strengthened by Hermogenes’ intervention as Socrates spells out how a good lover should behave: ‘ “By Hera, Socrates,” he said, “I wonder at you very much because now, at the same time as complimenting Callias, you are also teaching him what sort of man he should be” ’ (νὴ τὴν Ἥραν, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἄλλα τέ σου πολλὰ ἄγαμαι καὶ ὅτι νῦν ἅμα χαριζόμενος Καλλίᾳ καὶ παιδεύεις αὐτὸν οἷόνπερ χρὴ εἶναι, 8.12). Furthermore, when Callias asks Socrates if he will ‘pimp’ him to the city, a reference to the skill claimed by the philosopher during the round of speaking, Socrates replies: ναὶ μὰ Δί᾽, ἔφη, ἂν ὁρῶσί γέ σε μὴ τῷ δοκεῖν ἀλλὰ τῷ ὄντι ἀρετῆς ἐπιμελούμενον. ἡ μὲν γὰρ ψευδὴς δόξα ταχὺ ἐλέγχεται ὑπὸ τῆς πείρας· ἡ δ᾽ ἀληθὴς ἀνδραγαθία, ἂν

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μὴ θεὸς βλάπτῃ, ἀεὶ ἐν ταῖς πράξεσι λαμπροτέραν τὴν εὔκλειαν συμπαρέχεται. (Xenophon, Symposium 8.43) ‘Yes, by Zeus,’ he said, ‘if they should see you not simply seeming to cultivate virtue, but really to be doing so. For a false reputation is quickly refuted (elenchetai) under trial; but true manly goodness, unless a god does harm, always brings more brilliant (lamproteran) glory in action.’

This cuts close to the bone: Callias of course has already succumbed to Antisthenes’ elenchus: his claims to teach justice and to possess hidden wisdom more generally have recently been refuted in a sympotic trial. Moreover, it throws back to Callias the original terms of his invitation to Socrates, to make his andrōn more brilliant (λαμπροτέραν) (1.4). Socrates already has the reputation that Callias should aspire to. Lycon’s departing salutation to Socrates gains extra resonance when his future prosecutor declares in the very next paragraph, ‘By Hera, Socrates, you seem to me to be a beautiful and good man’ (νὴ τὴν Ἥραν, ὦ Σώκρατες, καλός γε κἀγαθὸς δοκεῖς μοι ἄνθρωπος εἶναι, 9.1). Returning to Theognis’ maxim, here is the man whom one might associate with and learn from in pursuit of the ‘scent’ of kalokagathia; here is the man who helped Xenophon recognize that the playful and serious deeds of the kaloi kagathoi were worthy of recollection. By this reading, Xenophon’s tightly honed Symposium is a display of Socrates in action. With its reassertion of his brilliant reputation and kalokagathia, the work belongs alongside his Memorabilia as a further attempt to exculpate the philosopher from the general charges laid against him in 399.48 It shows Socrates, in Waterfield’s (2004, 86) words, ‘as an educator – someone whose company and conversations did others good’. By Xenophon’s account the philosopher at least attempted to lead his companions into useful interactions. Yet, this sympotic representation is not just a showcase for Socrates’ wisdom. As demonstrated above, the firstperson manoeuvring of the opening lines claims a position of authority for the narrator. In the definition of the playful and serious deeds of kaloi kagathoi as ‘worth remembering’, Xenophon signals the value of his report. The lack of wisdom demonstrated by Callias and Niceratus not only exposes the failings of a sophistic education but offers a Xenophontic lesson on the value of Socratic wisdom, of puzzling over matters such as justice. The value added by Xenophon’s Sympotic reminiscences is most transparent in episodes that deal with beauty, where various sympotic performances 48

On which see Gray (1998).

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combine to interrogate the virtue and reach a position distinct from that of Socrates. Xenophon on beauty, or authorizing the Symposium Following Callias and Niceratus, Critoboulus declares his beauty to be his greatest pride. Like these speakers on justice and education, he argues he has the capacity to improve his audience on its account (3.7). And like them, his comprehension is proved to be inadequate. This is accomplished primarily by the speaker’s depiction of his own experience. Declaring himself to believe that his companions are men of goodness and beauty (κὰλους γὰρ καὶ ἀγαθοῦς ὑμᾶς ἄνδρας νομίζω) and accepting their judgement as evidence that he is beautiful (καλός) (4.11), Critoboulus expounds upon the benefits of his beauty by explaining the effects that beautiful Cleinias has upon him. He is captivated by Cleinias; he would give away all his money to him, surrender his freedom to become Cleinias’ slave, and endanger himself (4.12–14). Some of the ‘complete perfection’ (πᾶσαν ἀρετήν) that Critoboulus will next claim beauty inspires is visible here. Under its influence men supposedly become more free (ἐλευθεριωτέρους) in their attitude towards money, and more loving of toil (φιλοπονωτέρους) and of honour (φιλοκαλωτέρους) in dangerous situations. Critoboulus easily conforms to these. However, the idea of becoming more ‘free’ sits oddly with Critoboulus’ declaration that he would find it more pleasurable to be enslaved than free (ἥδιον δ’ ἂν δουλεύοιμι ἢ ἐλεύθερος εἴην) under Cleinias’ command (ἄρχειν). Furthermore, Critoboulus also regards an increased sense of shame (αἰδημονεστέρους) and self-control (ἐγκρατεστέρους) as attributes of the man influenced by beauty (4.15). Yet, by his own account he demonstrably lacks these very qualities: anger at night and sleep for blinding him to Cleinias is a far cry from self-control (4.12). Some of this might be excused by its playful tone, but the point is driven home by Socrates, who intervenes with first-hand testimony of Critoboulus’ relationship with Cleinias. The young man had come to Socrates when he was already terribly inflamed with passion (ἰσχυρῶς προσεκαύθη), so that he gazed stonily, ‘like men staring at Gorgons’ (ὥσπερ οἱ τὰς Γοργόνας θεώμενοι). Although Critoboulus had progressed to blinking with Socrates’ help, he had kissed Cleinias: a big problem if he wants to be capable of self-control (τῷ σωφρονεῖν δυνησομένῳ) (4.23–6). Critoboulus is not a good example of the virtue he claims his beauty inspires. So far, the sympotic disputation interrogates Critoboulus’ understanding of the improving nature of beauty.

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As before, and as at Plato’s Symposium, the contributions of the symposiasts open up their arguments to criticism. However, by casting a gaze back to the symposion’s opening performance – the symposiasts’ captivation by Autolycus’ beauty – Critoboulus’ premise crumbles further. There, the narrator made Callias a vision of self-controlled desire (σώφρονος ἔρωτος) (1.10). His friendly eyes, soothing voice, and ‘free’ gestures are the opposite of Critoboulus’ stony stare, incessant talk, and longing for enslavement. Through this prism, Critoboulus also fails to make the grade. Within the symposion Charmides can jokingly accuse Socrates of a self-interested and disingenuous response to explain his criticism of Critoboulus: Socrates scares his friends away from this beautiful young man in order to enjoy his beauty himself (2.27). Xenophon’s earlier authorial pronouncement steps beyond these intra-sympotic arguments to add a further level of critique for the readers of the Symposium, to help them negotiate an argument that, as the narrator further observes, mixes seriousness and jest (2.28). The interplay between these performances across the symposion also complicates Socrates’ attempts to dismiss beauty as a suitable preoccupation for the symposiasts. Through that opening spectacle the author finds value in the contemplation of beauty, as a means of understanding its nature, and shapes those who contemplate beauty under the influence of sober Eros into a lesson to one another. Perhaps the judges in the beauty competition (5.1–9) are correct to be persuaded by Critoboulus’ traditional good looks rather than Socrates’ utilitarian, satyric visage, reformulated as ‘beauty’ through clever words. We might add the closing spectacle to this equation: the sexual realism of the dance is not what Socrates ordered, but it does present an alternative vision of erōs to the harmonious blending of desire and education recommended by Socrates in his Platonic-style monologue (8.1–43). As Wohl (2004, 358) observes, ‘the truth of this performance runs counter to the truth of Sokrates’ philosophy. In retrospect, it also casts doubt on that truth.’ The apologetic element of the text does not prevent Xenophon from pursuing his own analysis of beauty and desire, or of a sophistic versus a Socratic education, not to mention all the other ethical and political issues that the symposiasts open up to investigation through their conversations, even if this involves contradicting his Socrates.49 Xenophon’s Symposium is thus deliberative and directive. What makes the recorded events worth remembering (ἀξιομνημόνευτα) is the propensity for each performance to stimulate conversation and debate. This is achieved 49

A similar process has been identified by Hindley (1994, 1999) with regard to the attitude towards erōs that Xenophon attributes to Socrates, which differs from that which the author appears to validate in his works.

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through some specific interventions from Socrates, as he attempts to foster useful and beneficial interactions. But it is a characteristic of the work that every spectacle and verbal exchange offers a stimulus to the reader. In sum, Xenophon’s Symposium shares with its Platonic counterpart the appropriation of sympotic dynamics to explore ethical ideas, which are open to criticism from symposiasts within the party and ultimately from the extratextual reader. However, that prefatory authorial statement makes a stronger assertion of the Symposium’s value. Plato’s sympotic conversations build towards aporia. The performances projected by Xenophon equally open up interpretations, but the ‘look and learn’ dynamic of the first performance establishes a mode of engagement – later replicated by Socrates – that encourages more concrete conclusions. It is not merely from Socrates that drinking companions might learn ‘good from the good’. By capturing the spectacles and conversations of the symposion, especially the propensity for self-display and competitive response, Xenophon’s Symposium enables its reader to fulfil Theognis’ maxim too. meta-sympotics The adaptation of the symposion witnessed in Plato’s and Xenophon’s Symposia marks a shift in sympotic representation: in each text an entire party plays out at length, with entertainments that pursue distinct philosophical agendas. The symposion’s multiplicity of voices, characterized especially by competitive capping and self-promotional claims, facilitate the interrogation of critical issues. In the centuries that follow, depictions of philosophers at drinking parties proliferate. Sometimes the narration and the lesson are brief. So, in Timaeus’ Sicilian History (FGrH 566 F158), Xenocrates wins a golden garland in a drinking competition set by Dionysius of Syracuse at the Choes festival by downing his jug first. He then astonishes everyone by treating the garland as if it were made of flowers and hanging it on his Herm. The wider context of this short episode is unclear, but the philosopher/drinking champion certainly makes a statement through his performance, visually contesting the value of his prize (a new take on the issue raised by Theognis 971–2 W, quoted in Chapter 1 above). Other authors innovate upon the basic premise to create extended philosophical discourses. These might present and extol the ideas, merits or methods of a key participant – frequently the author – or alternatively criticize their subjects’ philosophical attitudes. Through such literary endeavours, thinkers in the Hellenistic and Roman periods continued to re-imagine the symposion to rhetorical (constructive, persuasive) ends.

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However, there is a fundamental distinction. In contrast to fourth-century Symposia, later representations were not primarily creative engagements with an existing convivial form, but rather meta-Sympotic responses to the literary tradition in which they operated. While philosophical symposia remain educational experiences, the lessons vary from the pursuit of philosophy through represented conversation to criticism of the literary form. An author might pursue self-promotion by conforming to conventions and locating himself within the Sympotic tradition; or he might utilize these conventions to expose the philosophical bankruptcy of his participants and even the futility of writing a Symposium. So far this study has examined self-projection at the symposion in various guises: in the metasympotic game play of real-life symposiasts; in the rejection, adoption, praise and criticism of foreign and Greek drinking practices; and in the demonstration of political sentiment. At the drinking party and in the diverse cultural conversations in which literary and artistic representations were active, identities and attitudes were imagined through sympotic performances. Now, in this final section, picking up a central strand in Xenophon’s work, attention turns to philosophical selfprojection of the author through the act of writing sympotic prose. Author into text One development to follow hot on the heels of Plato’s and Xenophon’s works was the appearance of writers as full-blown participants in the drinking parties of their own Symposia. For the earlier pair, famous characters from Athens’ recent past, especially Socrates, afforded vehicles through which to explore philosophical concerns. If other associates of the philosopher, Antisthenes and Aeschines, did indeed set Socratic dialogues at symposia, they too made use of him. Plato is entirely absent from his own proceedings; Xenophon hovers on the sidelines thanks to his opening promise and the occasional authorial intervention. Neither author represents himself as active in the symposion he narrates. Later philosophers, by contrast, set themselves at the symposion. This might be true of Aristotle, although the tendency for later commentators and excerpters to attribute all statements from a text to its author, regardless of the dramatic context in which it was uttered, makes it difficult to be certain.50 By Athenaeus’ 50

This emerges from Zadorojnyi’s (2010) study of how later writers frame Plato’s ‘writtenness’ versus orality. In Galen, for example, ‘Plato speaks’ through his characters (471). Cf. Ath. 178a, where ‘Plato in his Symposium says’ something expressed by the character Socrates, shortly before Aristotle’s pronouncement on attending the symposion is cited.

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account ‘Aristotle says’ (φησὶν Ἀϱιστοτέλης) it is inappropriate to attend symposia covered in dirt and sweat (178f), and ‘Aristotle in his Symposium says . . .’ (Ἀϱιστοτέλης δʾ ἐν τῷ ∑υμπоσίῳ φησίν . . .) (674e). As presented in excerpts from Athenaeus’ Dinner-party Sophists at least, the disputational aspect of the Symposium has collapsed into a series of pronouncements by the author on ethical matters. Many of these appear to have been relevant to the symposion, because not only are bathing (100 Rose), garlanding (101 Rose), table foods (104–5 Rose), the nature and effects of beer and wine on men and women (106–11 Rose), and the circulation of cups (110–11 Rose) discussed, but the work seems also to have been known as a book entitled On Drunkenness. The philosopher’s introduction of himself would be consonant with a known shift in some of his other dialogues.51 But it also turns the character of the philosopher at the symposion into an authoritative pronouncer, an avatar for the author on whose behalf he speaks.52 If any dramatics added nuance or criticism to a debate in Aristotle’s Symposium, they are no longer visible. The Hellenistic philosopher Epicurus appears more securely to have written himself into a symposion, as did Plutarch in the Sympotic Questions. And in both instances, the authors are more obviously engaged in conversation. To judge from the complaints offered by one of Athenaeus’ guests, Epicurus’ Symposium apparently launched straight into sympotic conversation without any preliminaries, neither dramatic setting nor libations nor offerings to the gods: ‘and so it is necessary to divine how at some time one man, suddenly holding a drinking cup, advances topics for investigation as if he were speaking at a philosophical school’ (δεῖ οὖν μαντεύσασθαι πῶς ποτ’ ἄνθρωπος ἐξαπίνης ἔχων κύλικα προβάλλει ζητήματα καθάπερ ἐν διατριβῇ λέγων, Ath. 186e; cf. 179d). His guests are all philosophers, pejoratively, if also appropriately, labelled ‘atom prophets’ (προφήτας ἀτόμων, 187b), and as ‘a crowd of flatterers who praise one another’ (κολάκων ἐστὶν ἄγυρις ἀλλήλους ἐπαινούντων, 182a). Yet, Epicurus himself poses questions for discussion and pursues matters too (187c). In this set-up there is even some potential for debate. In an excerpt cited by Plutarch in Against Colotes, Polyaenus challenges Epicurus over the warming properties of wine, and the philosopher responds appropriately, making atomic motion responsible for generating heat when wine collides 51 52

A feature noted by Ross (1952) x. Compare the first-century philosopher Heracleides of Tarentum’s Symposium (69 Guardasole): the surviving fragment dictates how much food should be eaten before drinking, giving a scientific proof. Athenaeus (120b) again styles Heracleides as the narrator (φησί, ‘he says’).

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with bodies (Mor. 1109f-1110b). Elsewhere Plutarch portrays the philosopher leading a conversation on sexual matters (653c-d). And finally, in another topic generically suitable for the symposion recorded by Diogenes Laertius, he warns the wise man to avoid conducting inquiries when drunk (10.119). The cumulative picture suggests that in his Symposium Epicurus presents himself in conversation and leading conversation at the drinking party and afterwards, theorizing with fellow philosophers and younger followers alike.53 In line with his preference for didactic first-person statement and address in surviving texts, the philosopher is master of the sympotic discourse.54 Plutarch’s self-positioning in his Sympotic Questions is slightly more complex. Having introduced himself as working in the manner of Plato, Xenophon, Aristotle, Epicurus and others, he in fact writes books of letters that focus almost exclusively on conversations between guests at a variety of celebratory events at Greek and Roman locations. In this format, wider dramatics are kept to a minimum, except where they inspire a particular topic.55 Moreover, the narrator Plutarch is also a discussant in the majority of recorded episodes.56 Klotz (2007) observes that even within a broad framework in which the author presents ‘himself, his friends and his family, as philosophical paradeigmata whose behaviour should be emulated’ (652), Plutarch is the symposiast whose arguments are often longest and frequently round off discussion, unless sidelined in favour of his own teacher’s words.57 Moreover, the alleged historicity of the parties lends this self-positioning an extra dimension. The first letter’s opening salve to Sossius Senecio outlines 53

54 55

56 57

If Epicurus pursued an explicit metasympotic critique like that of Xenophon and his Socrates, there is no trace in the surviving fragments. However, his work On Kingship apparently included advice to dismiss questions on music and poetry, asking his addressee to prefer the recitation of stratagems and vulgar buffoonery at his symposia (Plut. Mor. 1095c–d). Cameron (1995) 76 mistakenly describes Epicurus’ statement as a preface to the Symposium, addressed to Ptolemy Soter. There is no indication in Plutarch’s passage – the only surviving reference to the work – of whom Epicurus addresses. Plutarch, in fact, proposes what Ptolemy might have said if he had happened upon Epicurus’ right royal commands (1095e). The Symposium fragments are collected by Bailey (1979) 121–3, along with other extant fragments. As, for example, when seating arrangements fall under study after a xenos leaves a party announcing that there is no place worthy of him (1.2), or Plutarch’s nomination as symposiarch prompts discussion of the sort of man a symposiarch should be (1.4), or the distribution of garlands encourages a conversation on their suitability to the symposion (3.1). Non-sympotic topics also arise, for example, when Plutarch and his companions are spurred to examine why sounds carry best at night when they hear noises outside (8.2); in a similar way the late arrival of Plutarch’s sons to dinner encourages a slew of remembered witticisms on the topic (8.4). Excluding 1.5, 2.6, 2.10, 3.3, 3.4, 3.6, 4.3, 4.5, 4.6, 5.6, 5.9, 6.7, 7.7, 7.9, 7.10, 8.4, 8.5, 8.10, 9.1, 9.4, 9.5, 9.6 and 9.15, where speakers are identified. König (2007) 52 likewise recognizes Plutarch as ‘the figure who speaks last and most authoritatively’. Cf. Brenk (2009).

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Pluatrch’s remit: to record learned conversations over table and cup (ἅμα τραπέζης καὶ κύλικος φιλολογηθέντων) that he has enjoyed with his correspondent and others (Mor. 612e). This conceit is carefully reprised with every book of questions, a number of which are prefaced with some historical or geographical scene-setting and emphasize Plutarch’s presence. To give examples from just one epistle, the first investigation in book 8 takes place at a celebration of Plato’s birth held only the year before and recounts what was heard and said (717a; 8.1); Plutarch attends the private banquet of Sospis during the Isthmian games with the man’s best friends and philosophers (723a; 8.4); and he is welcomed to the house of Sulla the Carthaginian on his return to Rome (727b; 8.7). In contrast to the authorial obfuscation of Plato, as well as the Xenophontic narrator who recedes quickly from view, Plutarch’s personal experience at the symposion is at the heart of his representation. It is important to note, however, that although Plutarch has the dominant voice, his contributions do not always possess special merit in the sense of developing unique philosophical positions. Rather, the character of Plutarch is ‘a skilled sympotic conversationalist’, able to offer comments that are valuable because they creatively develop appropriate new perspectives on chosen topics which, taken together with other speeches, offer a set of answers for the reader to think his way through.58 This is precisely the scenario in Plutarch’s Symposium of the Seven Wise Men, where the eponymous symposiasts present varying opinions on drinking without any obvious internal dénouement (see Chapter 2). In that text, there are narrative echoes of earlier Symposia in the opening frame: the conversational narration of a past but recent celebration on a feast day that is already being misremembered (the narrator is one Diocles, a friend of the Archaic tyrant Periander of Corinth who attended that man’s party) (146b–c). However, Plutarch is entirely absent: the author is content for his archetypal wise men to propound their own wisdoms. The juxtaposition of the two sets of symposia brings Plutarch’s contributory role in the Sympotic Questions further to the fore. Nonetheless, there is a difference between his self-inclusion and that of Epicurus. While the latter gives voice to his own theories on scientific and sympotic issues, Plutarch provides one voice amongst many, albeit the most preponderant. At the symposia composed and attended by (possibly) Aristotle and (certainly) Epicurus and Plutarch, the words worth recording are 58

Quoting König (2011) on the dynamics of Plutarch’s self-presentation in the text. For the mode of reading encouraged by the Sympotic Questions, and its relationship with Plutarch’s treatises On Reading and On Listening, see König (2007).

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ultimately the author’s own. This constitutes a serious difference from the authorial self-positioning of Plato and Xenophon, but one that nonetheless orientates itself by their written Symposia. The authors take the role of Socrates, in the (limited) sense that each is the primary philosopher amongst a gathering of like-minded individuals and friends. In the Sympotic Questions the disjunction is strengthened by Plutarch’s own referencing of these earlier texts. As already noted, in the programmatic presentation of the first book they are set up along with other writers of Symposia as justification for Plutarch’s overturning of the sympotic maxim, ‘I dislike a drinking companion who remembers’ (μισέω μνάμονα συμπόταν, 612c), and so for recording conversations from past symposia. Later in the collection Plutarch gives greater nuance to his approach by prioritizing the recollection of philosophical inquiry over a party’s prandial delights – and also, one might observe, akousmata (things heard) over theamata (things seen). Plutarch, in narratorial persona, argues that, unlike the table foods and wine, the memory of a philosophical discussion continues to be a source of pleasure when recalled equally to those who were present and to learned men (φιλολόγοις) who share in them after the event (686c). More specifically Plato and Xenophon ‘set out philosophical matters in their writing, combining seriousness with play, and they left paradigms not only of how to be with one another in conversation over drink, but how to remember what was said’ (τὰ δὲ φιλοσοφηθέντα μετὰ παιδιᾶς σπουδάζοντες εἰς γραφὴν ἀπετίθεντο, καὶ κατέλιπον παραδείγματα τοῦ μὴ μόνον συνεῖναι διὰ λόγων ἀλλήλοις παρὰ πότον ἀλλὰ καὶ μεμνῆσθαι τῶν λαληθέντων, 686d). Perceiving the Socratic symposia of Plato and Xenophon as essentially philosophical affairs, Plutarch presents his preference for conversation over lesser components of the symposion as following in their footsteps. Yet, Plutarch has already set himself upon an independent path. The very first sympotic problem addressed is ‘whether it is fitting to do philosophy over drink’ (εἰ δεῖ φιλοσοφεῖν παρὰ πότον, 612e). In character, Plutarch puts forward ways of conversing at symposia where the company are not learned men, at parties therefore different from those populated by Agathon and Callias and their guests. Mixing seriousness with play and introducing topics inspired by history, current events, and philosophy might incite courage, great-heartedness and philanthropy. ‘If someone were to use them surreptitiously to entertain and guide drinkers, not least the evils of drunkenness will be lifted’ (αἷς ἤν τις ἀνυπόπτως χρώμενος διαπαιδαγωγῇ τοὺς πίνοντας, οὐ τὰ ἐλάχιστα τῶν κακῶν ἀφαιρήσει τῆς μέθης, 614b). This is the flexible and pervasive but nonetheless educational

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philosophy on display at the described symposia.59 Moreover, the development of a distinctive educational forum is paralleled by Plutarch’s fulfilment of terms laid out by his speakers for ‘the most sympotic man’ (συμποτικώτατον, 620c). Not only does his character act as symposiarch at the party when invited to do so here but, through the continuous discourse of his Sympotic Questions, the author blends wine and conversation as recommended.60 Plutarch’s parties thus have their own dynamic, one that owes more to the author’s preferred philosophical method – a method for reading that filters into his meetings – and sympotic vision than to the particulars of earlier Symposia. Platonic and Xenophontic paradigms take Plutarch only so far. This authorial self-staging at the symposion, the demonstration of sympotic and philosophical competence and the attention to but reworking of foregoing Symposia all reflect the author’s deep engagement with – indeed his investment in – Hellenic culture, intellectual and literary. Indeed, Sympotic Questions confirms the extent to which the two are interlinked. We might interpret Plutarch’s Greek-style feasting as criticism of contemporary Roman dining styles or extend to these an educative air.61 In her reading of Roman Questions, Preston (2001, 100–1) proposes that Plutarch envisages Hellenism as a possible teleology for the barbarian Romans, but one that needs to be worked at through paideia. Without pushing this too far, Plutarch’s demonstration of sympotic prowess may be a loaded invitation to his Roman pen pal, Sossius Senecio, to continue his beneficial paideia through a ‘Greek’ form, or at least a route grounded in a Greek philosophical tradition/educational practice. Or perhaps the presentation of the recipient’s active participation at such events extends a compliment to him.62 As reader and sympotic participant, he doubly shares in Plutarch’s endeavour. Whatever the intention here, writing the Sympotic Question’s mini-Symposia, and indeed improving upon the earlier tradition, facilitates Plutarch’s presentation of himself, his philosophical pursuits and his Hellenicity at once. Disrupted symposia The projection by philosophers of themselves into Symposia extends the fourth-century form in an innovative direction that allows authors to pursue 59 60 62

This is the argument pursued by Klotz (2007) 656–9. On Plutarch sympotikōtatos, see Stadter (1999). 61 Argued by Stadter (1999). I thank Jason König for this alternative proposal.

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philosophical discussions in their own voices. In Plutarch’s case, this selfauthorization is enhanced by the application of his typical pedagogical method, and by the proclamation, through reference to paradigmatic predecessors, that his work is intrinsically worth while. Aristotle, Epicurus and Plutarch reinforce the Symposium’s educational and philosophical potentials. Parmeniscus and Lucian, by contrast, create Symposia that undermine the erudition of their symposiasts. In doing so, they challenge the very form they deploy. Writing Symposia still enables the author to position himself vis-à-vis the pursuit of philosophy, but this time by harnessing and disrupting expectations for a philosopher’s symposion. The Cynics’ Symposium by Parmeniscus survives in Athenaeus’ Dinnerparty Sophists, where it is narrated by Cynulcus, the ‘Cynic’ or ‘Dog Master’. This layering makes Parmeniscus’ text interesting in itself, and for its role in Athenaeus’ work. To read it independently first, the sympotic action is embedded within a letter which begins: Παρμενίσκος Μόλπιδι χαίρειν. πλεονάζων ἐν ταῖς προσφωνήσεσι πρὸς σὲ περὶ τῶν ἐπιφανῶν κλήσεων ἀγωνιῶ μή ποτε εἰς πληθώραν ἐμπεσὼν μεμψιμοιρήσῃς. διὸ καὶ μεταδοῦναι σοι βούλομαι τοῦ παρὰ Κέβητι τῷ Κυζικηνῷ δείπνου· προπιὼν δ’ ὑσώπου τὴν ὤραν ἐπάναγε ἐπὶ τὴν ἑστίασιν. (Athenaeus, Dinner-party Sophists 156d) Parmeniscus to Molpis, greetings! Being excessive in my addresses to you regarding my distinguished invitations, I am anxious lest at some time you criticize me for having fallen into repletion (eis plēthōran empesōn). Wherefore, I wish to share with you a dinner at the house of Cebes of Cyzicus. So drink up some hyssop and direct your attention towards the feast.

Like the Sympotic Questions, this work is styled as an address to a friend describing a party that the author has attended. The date of composition is unclear, and this format need not reference Plutarch directly.63 Writing to friends about dining experiences was under way already by the late fourth or early third century bce, when Lynceus of Samos and Hippolochus the Macedonian exchanged experiences of a party hosted by Demetrius Poliorcetes for the aulos player Lamia and of the nuptials of Caranus of Macedon (Ath. 128a–b), respectively. The preface is unusual, however, because it anticipates the recipient’s dissatisfaction with previously received 63

Olson (2006a) xiii suggests ‘1st century bce or later’, presumably because the letter includes quotations from the Cynic’s ‘ancestor’ Meleagor of Gadara, who wrote c. 100 (noted by Olson (2006b) 251, n. 273), or perhaps because Molpis may be the author of a Spartan Constitution (FGrH 590 FF1–2), also cited by Athenaeus. This would certainly give a dramatic date of c. 150–50, if not necessarily a historical one.

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accounts of other events. In allusive language, Parmeniscus offers up his report as a tonic for the indigestion caused by Molpis’ epistolary overindulgence in richer parties. Satiated (εἰς πληθώραν εμπεσών) on earlier accounts, he is invited to drink up this ‘hyssop medicine’ – the verb used is προπινεῖν, to toast – and observe the feast. The Cynics’ Symposium is, in effect, an antidote to other Symposia penned by the same author. A sporting element is already in evidence through the blurring of literary and sympotic worlds. This element continues in the narration of the event itself. The story bears some of the hallmarks of earlier Symposia. The party is predictably scheduled at the time of the Dionysia at Athens, and the guests at Cebes’ house are all philosophers. Like Xenophon, and Aristodemus in Plato’s Symposium, Parmeniscus is a silent symposiast: he observes and reports but does not participate in the action. At a schematic level, events unfold in good Sympotic form, with a focus on the conversations of the dinner guests. However, the content and tone is utterly parodic. The philosophers are six Cynic ‘dogs’ and another kunoulkos, or ‘dog master’: the chief Cynic, Carneius the Megarian. Molpis’ treatment for over-consumption through the delivery of a parsimonious Cynic affair commences when these guests interrogate what sort of water tastes best, praising it by its provenance as if talking about fine wine.64 Following this comical twist on a sympotic theme, the conversation continues in a sympotic mode. Philoxenus’ conclusion that the best water is that poured over one’s hands caps previous contributions, picking up and redirecting the topic in a fashion that thwarts expectations, whilst alluding to another aspect of sympotic practice. The subversions continue when dinner arrives in the form of lentils. Two guests quote lines of tragedy to bemoan the fare, each playing inventively on the verbal similarity between phakoi (lentils) and kakoi (evils) to curse those responsible for the soup, to the laughter of their peers (156f).65 These improvised displays of learning and capping make the lentil dinner a source of ridicule, even amongst the Cynic gathering. In fact Parmeniscus, as author, makes an extra-sympotic contribution here, prefacing the exchange with his own riff on a tragic pronouncement, observing ‘we drained off one lentil soup, and another flowed in’ (καὶ τὴν μὲν ἐξηντλοῦμεν φακῆν, ἡ δ’ ἐπεισέρρει, 156e).66 The addition of ‘lentils’ to this tragic formulation marks 64 65 66

See, for example, the verse by Archestratus that weighs up the comparative merits of wine from Lesbos, Phoenicia and Thasos (SH 190). The workings of these puns are detailed by Olson (2006b) 249 nn. 166–7. καὶ τὴν μὲν ἐξηντλοῦμεν, ἡ δ’ ἐπεισερέει, Adespota tragica 89 N.

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their usurpation of circulating wine in the sympotic proceedings. Parmeniscus may remain silent at Cebes’ party, but through his report he joins the sporting fray in ways that emphasize the absurdity of this symposion. In the action and conversation that follow, the Cynics’ lifestyle and philosophy continue to be undercut. The primary instrument here is Nicion the ‘dog-fly’ (κυνάμυια), one of two hetairai who enter and cast a critical eye on events, laughing at the food in amazement. Addressing the ‘beard-gathering men’ (ἄνδρες γενειοσυλλεκτάδαι), she enquires why they do not eat fish. Perhaps they are influenced by their ancestor Meleager of Gadara who thought Homer omitted to mention fish because he was a Syrian (i.e. like Meleager), or have they read his comparison between bean and lentil soups (157a–b)? These mocking questions are followed by a derisive recommendation, through Antisthenes, that the men would do well to take their own lives if this is really their diet. Nicion thus exploits the writings of earlier Cynic thinkers to belittle the food currently on offer. The dog master responds with his own quotations against suicide drawn from the Peripatetic Clearchus, citing the Pythagorean Euxitheus, and concluding ‘these are the doctrines we believe’ (τούτοις τοῖς δόγμασιν ἡμεῖς πειθόμεθα, 157c). Nicion’s reaction is biting: ὑμῖν δὲ φθόνος οὐδὲ εἷς ἐλέσθαι ἕν τι τῶν τριῶν ἔχειν κακῶν. οὐ γὰρ ἐπίστασθε, ὦ ταλαίπωροι, ὅτι αἱ βαρεῖαι αὗται τροφαὶ φράττουσι τὸ ἡγεμονικὸν καὶ οὐκ ἐῶσι τὴν φρόνησιν ἐν αὑτῇ εἶναι. (Athenaeus, Dinner-party Sophists 157d) Nobody would begrudge you [plural] choosing to have one of the three evils.67 For you do not understand, wretches, that such heavy food blocks your reason and does not allow your mind to be in itself.

With more possible puns lurking in the background – no one would object to your choosing one of the three evils (kakoi), or lentils (phakoi)? – the hetaira rejects Cynic practice and wisdom and insults the symposiasts. Their philosophical aptitude is not demonstrated in the present conversation and is even undermined by the food they now consume enthusiastically. Carneius’ response is to ignore the criticism and assert a Cynic’s contentment with small portions, making it an indication of their temperament (thumon): although they emulate Heracles in every way they would not take a small portion as an insult and kill the offender’s son over it, as Heracles did at Eurystheus’ house (157e–158a). As a whole, the conversation is jagged and not entirely sequential. Even the Cynic’s claim to be like and not like 67

Glossed as ‘three methods of suicide’ by Olson (2006b) 252, n. 175.

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Heracles seems problematic. Can they truly be like the mighty Heracles, an inveterate lover of pea soup, when they claim frugality rather than a hearty appetite?68 As a critique, this discourse mimics neither the directive aporia of Plato’s Symposium nor even the gentle interrogation of Xenophon’s symposiasts. Instead, with the help of the laughing hetairai and, indeed, the laughing Cynics themselves, Parmeniscus makes the frugal banquet, its participants and their conversations ridiculous and absurd.69 At face value, Parmeniscus utilizes the format of the Symposium to criticize one sympotic form and the tribe of philosophers who adopt it. Desmond (2008, 88) might argue that ‘Cynics should not be at a symposion at all.’70 Yet, the game play of this ‘antidote’ fits a Cynic mode. Laughter and paradox are the hallmarks of the diverse discourses identified as ‘Cynic’, and in the antics of the earliest ‘dog’, Diogenes of Sinope, these were frequently self-directed. Audiences were provoked to find his performances risible, and in their laughter and his immunity to it, absurdities in social practice were revealed.71 Parmeniscus’ symposion equally revels in its own ridiculousness. The symposiasts’ application of sympotic discourse on wine to water and their exuberant citation and capping only underlines the unpleasantness of their own experience. It is especially revealing that Nicion, the hetaira who exposes Carneius, is a ‘dog-fly’, an associate who deploys the gelastic tactics of the ‘dogs’ she hovers around. Carneius’ failure to address her complaints properly and his later contradictory claims about Heracles might show him unwilling and unable to continue a logical sympotic disputation; but equally it allows her criticisms of a lentil diet and of lentil-fuelled discourse to stand. The Cynics’ self-mockery, Nicion’s abusive inquisition and the inconsistent retorts of the ‘dog master’ make a travesty of the usual sympotic conversations, as much as their opening parries over the best water and the circulation of lentils in place of wine. With the Cynics prepared to laugh at themselves, and set up for ridicule by Parmeniscus, this parodic symposion is the ‘tonic’ to relieve Molpis’ overconsumption of reports of more famous affairs. Overloaded with lentils, however, it remains questionable whether the turgid conversation of this Symposium will assuage the literary indigestion. 68

69 70 71

For Heracles and pea soup, see Ar. Ra. 61–5, 503–7. The comic association between the hero and his broth is noted generally by Desmond (2008) 84. On the ‘primitive’ Heracles treasured by Cynics, see Galinsky (1972) 107. For the interrogative role of the laughing hetaira, see McClure (2003), esp. 272–3 on Nicion’s performance here. Desmond (2008) 88. See Branham (1993) on Cynicism as an ideology grounded in practice, centred in the Diogenes tradition on actions that problematized social norms.

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The likelihood that this is some Cynic game play, rather than simply a pointed criticism of the Cynics, gains support from the frame within which the Cynics’ Symposium is retold in Athenaeus’ Dinner-party Sophists. This late second/early third ce compendium presents men of learning talking over dinner. Thus, in basic shape, it is akin to other Symposia. However, it proceeds on a mammoth scale, and the conversation primarily consists of the exchange of quotations drawn from the available corpus of Greek literature relating to food and drink. As already observed, the Cynics’ Symposium is brought to mind by one of the dinner-party sophists who recommends Parmeniscus’ party as preferable to the current event, which offers tantalizing glimpses of circulating food in its conversation without allowing the symposiasts to taste anything. It would be better to eat lentils, or at this feast of words to hear about lentils. Hence, following his recitation of the Cynics’ Symposium, Cynulcus continues to deliver quotation after quotation, course after course, devoted to the food in quasi-imitation of Parmeniscus’ observation that as one bowl of lentils finishes, another arrives.72 Like the dinner at Cebes’ house, Cynulcus’ verbal fare is met with derision (158d, 159f). He even translates his companions’ failure to appreciate his discourse on lentils into a dislike of lentils, leading Cynulcus to call for a lentil dish to be brought in. At Athenaeus’ party the Cynic embraces Parmeniscus’ vision, emulates it figuratively and even attempts to instantiate it. Once more the consumption of food and words is blurred. Here, however, the conversation sweeps away, and Cynulcus’ ambition remains unrealized, as fine titbits of food and drink are once more dangled tantalizingly before the diners by means of their discourse. Although ultimately ineffective, his verbal imitation of the lentil dishes circulating at the Cynics’ Symposium draws attention to one infelicity in the format of Athenaeus’ conversation-rich symposion. A Cynic’s symposion as imagined by Parmeniscus is thus an absurdity, one that usefully co-opts the form of the Symposium to destabilize sympotics norms without presenting any clear or logical alternatives, any coherent philosophical vision – a standard Cynic ploy. This disruptive element is echoed by Lucian of Samosata in his Lexiphanes and Symposium, or The Lapiths. Romeri (2000; 2002, 23–60, 193–246) suggests that both texts challenge their Platonic predecessor. Because the Symposium is narrated by Lycinus, a Lucianic alter ego, it particularly picks up a conversation from the Lexiphanes, where the same character listens to and condemns the efforts 72

A blurring of discourse and eating which maps onto the broader observation by Romeri (2000) 271 that ‘for the Deipnosophists (and for Athenaeus) intellectual and corporeal pleasure are one’.

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of the eponymous interlocutor to ‘out-symposion’ or ‘write a counter symposion to’ (ἀντισυμποσιάζω) the son of Ariston (Lex. 1).73 Lexiphanes’ challenge to Plato is set up to fail and allows Lycinus to equate listening to its neologisms and outlandish expressions to being covered in sewage (16–18). But it is worth while to look more closely at how Lexiphanes proceeds with his challenge. Like Plutarch and others, Lexiphanes makes himself a prominent participant in his symposion and a first-person narrator. He gives his symposiasts an extended excursion to the gymnasion for exercise and a bath, following guests at the parties attended by Xenophon’s Socrates and Plutarch’s seven sages. At dinner, the array of food and vessels is listed in all its variety, in a manner reminiscent of the sympotic letters of Lynceus and Hippolochus mentioned above, which focus on what was eaten and how.74 There is also some juggling and dancing, reminiscent again of Xenophon’s Symposium. The guests, though, are disreputable types: a man who pursues lawsuits, a goldsmith and a broken-eared boxer, all of whom show up late and whose conversation then centres on their escapades (8–9). Lexiphanes and his chums do drink, but in large draughts (8), and the conversation is dire. Their pretensions are summed up by the advice offered by the lawsuit-chaser Megalonymus: ‘And so let’s drink . . . And after drinking we shall chat in the way that is our custom; for it is in no way inappropriate to blether over wine’ (πίνωμεν οὖν . . . μετὰ δὲ τὸν ποτὸν συνυθλήσομεν οἷα καὶ ἅττ’ ἐώθαμεν· οὐ γὰρ ἄκαιρον δήπουθεν ἐνοινοφλύειν, 13). He follows in a well-tested metasympotic vein, outlining what is appropriate to the present event: unfortunately it is nonconsequential chatter. This proposal meets with Lexiphanes’ approval, for ‘we are the flowering height of Atticism’ (ὄφελός ἐσμεν τῆς ἀττικίσεως ἄκρον, 14). Lexiphanes believes their sympotic conversation to be the epitome of Attic fashion. In fact, it is quite the opposite. Lexiphanes’ Symposium is certainly a counter-symposion, a usurpation of sympotic themes. However, it is also a degeneracy. In contrast to its rival text from the First Sophistic, there is no philosopher, wine flows readily, and conversation is inconsequential and opaque. Tellingly, the symposion and Symposium are brought to an end at the same time, when Lycinus interrupts: ‘Enough, Lexiphanes, of both the drinking and the reading’ (ἅλις, ὦ 73

74

Romeri (2002) 23–60. On the relationship between Lucian and his Lycinus, see Goldhill (2002) 66–7, who warns against treating the character as a substitute for the author, or envisaging ‘a more sophisticated version of role-playing’. For the workings of the relationship in the Symposium, or the Lapiths, see below. Dismissed as unimportant by Plutarch, however, in imitation of Plato and Xenophon: see Mor. 686c. On Hippolochus’ text, see Dalby (1988).

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Λεξίφανες, καὶ ποτοῦ καὶ ἀναγνώσεως, 16). In sum, Lexiphanes has failed to out-Symposium the son of Ariston. The activities enshrined in his prose are demonstrative not of flowering Atticism, but an inability to successfully pursue an Attic mode. At the same time, the actual author, Lucian, reveals the intellectual inadequacies of his deluded character, Lycinus’ interlocutor, through the same Symposium. In Lucian’s Symposium, or the Lapiths, there are again crossovers, deconstructions and innovations that unsettle the competence of the philosophersymposiasts.75 However, the author also builds a Symposium that ultimately interrogates its own utility. Although reminiscent of Cynulcus’ criticism of the sympotic conversation amongst Athenaeus’ diners (and so of his text), the degree of introspection and self-scrutiny not only is higher but threatens to collapse the work and the genre. Lucian’s philosophical self-positioning through sympotic prose is thus unique. To begin with, strategies familiar from other Symposia are pursued in the introductory frame, when Philo asks Lycinus to tell him about events he had witnessed at the house of Aristaenetus, which had descended into philosophical fisticuffs. A familiar layering of narratives combined with disputations over and claims to truth and knowledge ensues. Charinus is Philo’s source, but he was not present. His source, the doctor Dionicus, was. However, he came late to events, so he only witnessed the fighting. Hence, for a true account Lyncinus must be consulted (1–2). Yet, unlike Plato’s Aristodemus, who is ‘not unpractised’ in talking about Agathon’s party, Lycinus plays the reluctant witness. Adopting an opposite stance to that of Plutarch, he supports the poetic adage ‘I dislike a drinking companion who remembers’ (μισῶ μνάμονα συμπόταν): it is bad manners (κακοήθων) to attempt an accurate account (τὸ ἀκριβῶς) of past symposia. Yet, this is revealed as bluster: once Philo threatens to seek out the story elsewhere, Lycinus is suddenly happy to share his memories (3–4). The story of another silent symposiast unfolds. Events that follow also pick up on diverse aspects of the Sympotic tradition, incorporating amongst other things a conversation about seating (9; cf. Plut. Mor. 148e–149b; 615c–619a), an uninvited guest playing the ‘Menelaus joke’ (12; cf. Pl. Smp. 174a5–d4; cf. Plut Mor. 706f–710a), a disreputable seduction of a serving boy (15; cf. Ion, FGrH 392 F6) styled as paroinia, a Cynic who induces laughter by distorting his body (18; cf. Xen. Smp. 2.21–3), and philosophers in conversation. The most unusual eventuality is the party’s descent into combat, although even fighting philosophers are not without precedent at the symposion. For example, when 75

This is not, then, the ‘opposite of a symposion’, as Relihan et al. (1992) 227 would have it.

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reflecting on suitable conversation for and conduct at a symposion in his Sympotic Notes, the third-century bce Stoic Persaeus recalls the philosopher who attended a party hosted recently by the Macedonian king Antigonus Gonatus (Ath. 607b–d). Having initially disdained the company of an aulos-girl, during an auction at which the same woman was sold, the obstinate philosopher (ὁ σκληρὸς ἐκεῖνος φιλόσοφος) became ‘very highspirited’ (πάνυ νεανικός) or literally ‘youthful’ (a term used also of Philocleon in Aristophanes’ Wasps; cf. Chapter 3) and launched blows. For Persaeus this is evidence that even those who desire to be restrained (σωφρονικοί) will display indecorum (ἀσχημοσύνην) under the influence of wine: even philosophers behave badly. Lucian, by contrast, makes fighting an unavoidable outcome of a gathering of philosophers over wine. Indeed, it begins in a most sympotic fashion, with what is effectively a misaimed kottabos throw: ‘and with that, for he happened to be drinking, as much dregs as remained in his cup, roughly about half-full, he flung over them’ (καὶ ἅμα, ἔτυχε γὰρ πίνων, ὁπόσον ἔτι λοιπὸν ἐν τῇ κύλικι, περὶ ἥμισυ σχεδόν, κατεσκέδασεν αὐτοῖν, 33). The whole event is even tragi-comic, infused with laughter throughout but ultimately deserving of a quotation with which Euripides commonly concludes his tragedies, and by which Lycinus here brings his story to a close (48).76 Socrates’ closing argument in Plato’s Symposium that the same man could write tragedy and comedy is renewed in Lycinus’ account of the symposion. Lucian’s Symposium thereby incorporates a swathe of themes witnessed in other sympotic writings, demonstrating a grasp of the usual forms. The aggressive behaviour of the philosophers, however, is quite exceptional. Yet it fits with depictions of their drinking elsewhere in the Lucianic corpus. In both The Wisdom of Nigrinus and Timon, or The Misanthrope, philosophers fail to live up to their allegedly high ethical ideals. In the former, ‘pretend philosophers’ (τῶν φιλοσοφεῖν προσποιομένων) act even more ridiculously (γελοιότερα) than ill-educated folk (ἀπαιδευσίαν), mixing in a crowd of flatterers (ἀναμεμιγμένον κολάκων ὄχλῳ, 24). “ἃ μὲν γὰρ ἐν τοῖς συμποσίοις ἐργάζονται, τίνι τῶν καλῶν εἰκάσομεν; οὐκ ἐμφοροῦνται μὲν ἀπειροκαλώτερον, μεθύσκονται δὲ φανερώτερον, ἐξανίστανται δὲ πάντων ὕστατοι, πλείω δὲ ἀποφέρειν τῶν ἄλλων ἀξιοῦσιν; οἱ δὲ ἀστειότεροι πολλάκις αὐτῶν καὶ ᾆσαι προήχθησαν.” καὶ ταῦτα μὲν οὖν γελοῖα ἡγεῖτο. (Lucian, Nigrinus 25)

76

The plays are Alcestis, Andromache, Bacchae, Helen and, with a minor alteration, Medea: noted by A. M. Harmon (1913) 463, n. 1.

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‘For what they do in symposia, to what good shall we compare it? Do they not take their fill more vulgarly, and get drunk more conspicuously, and make their exit last of all, and expect to carry away more than others? And the more urbane among them have often been lead on to sing.’ These things he [Nigrinus] considered ridiculous.

The final slight might suggest that these are the thoughts of a curmudgeonly and hypercritical man, and indeed they are representative of Nigrinus’ general attitude towards philosophers who ‘sell’ wisdom. How far the reader is expected to take seriously the substance of his thought when the ‘drunkenness’ and obsessive ‘madness’ (5–6, 37–8) induced by his speech seems most at issue in this work is typically unclear. The same might be remarked of the misanthropic Timon’s summary of Thrasycles as a man who teaches virtue (περὶ ἀρετῆς) by day, but by night is gluttonous and uncontrolled, drunken and offensive, sings and dances, and even becomes abusive and angry, all the time still prating about self-control and orderliness (Timon 54–5).77 In the Symposium, despite the hyperbole, the implicit criticism of philosophers who are unable to transfer what they preach into what they practise is neatly summed up in Lycinus’ closing reflection on events at Aristaenetus’ celebrations: ‘this I learned then, that it is not safe for the inactive man to feast with such wise men’ (ἐκεῖνο γε μὴν μεμάθηκα ἤδη, ὡς οὐκ ἀσφαλὲς ἄπρακτον ὄντα συνεστιᾶσθαι τοιούτοις σοφοῖς, 48). By contrast with the many Symposia where philosophers engage in disputation to the illumination of their companions and to the elucidation of the reader, Lucian’s symposiasts demonstrate only their inability of to teach anyone anything.78 In this respect, the drama encourages the same kinds of criticism as Trimalchio’s dinner in Petronius’ Satyricon, a first-century ce Latin novel composed in the style of Menippean satire. At that party the pretensions of sham intellectuals to virtue are equally open to view: it is ‘a completely negative symposion at which nothing of cultural significance is said’.79 Indeed, remarking upon Menippean satire more generally, Relihan (1993, 185–6) observes: ‘the essence of philosophical parody in the Menippeans, as in Lucian’s Symposium, or the Lapiths, is the discordance between the lives 77

78

79

Cf. Lucian, Pisc. 34, where Frank Speaking tells Philosophy of his angst at pretenders who immerse themselves in philosophical writings, but practise a lifestyle opposite to the type they read about: greed, unenjoyable and disharmonious philosophizing, and failure to handle unmixed wine at dinner feature again, and make such men a source of ridicule. Männlein (2000) examines some other ways in which a disjunction emerges between what philosophers do and what they say in Lucian’s Symposium. Cf. Branham (1989) 121–3, who understands Lycinus’ criticism as a response to the preference for philosophy amongst elites in the second century ce. Coffey (1989, 200–1), quoted by Relihan (1993) 97.

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and the beliefs of wrangling pedants, not the expression of philosophy through the medium of a dinner party’. Lucian’s philosophers at the Symposium have more in common with the sympotic scenes from Varro’s Menippean satires, with their intertwined parodies of philosophy and philosophers, than with the constructive philosophizing of Plato, Xenophon and Plutarch.80 Even more than Parmeniscus’ gathering of Cynics, Lucian deploys and inverts the norms of the symposion and Symposium, but this time Symposia as much as the event are under attack. For a form which depicts philosophers in action and thereby pursues philosophy is necessarily compromised when its chief protagonists misbehave. This is reinforced by the Symposium’s opening and closing frames. When Philo first asks Lycinus to repeat his story, he says ‘so be quick and feast us this pleasurable feast, of which I know nothing more pleasurable to me, especially as we shall be feasted soberly in peace without bloodshed and away from missiles’ (ὥστε οὐκ ἂν φθάνοις ἑστιῶν ἡμᾶς ἡδίστην ταύτην ἑστίασιν, ἧς οὐκ οἶδα τίς ἡδίων ἔμοιγε, καὶ μάλιστα ὅσῳ νήφοντες ἐν εἰρήνῃ καὶ ἀναιμωτὶ ἔξω βέλους ἐστιασόμεθα, 2). Lycinus’ story becomes a substitute for the symposion, and a superior one because it can be enjoyed without the dangerous fighting that actually unfolded. Lycinus makes a similar comparison when he complains that by telling Charinus about the party Dionicus ‘flung many dregs of wine over men of philosophy’ (πολλὴν τὴν ἑωλοκρασίαν κατασκεδάσας ἀνδρῶν φιλοσόφων, 3). The imagery, with its parallel verb (κατασκεδάζω), anticipates the later launching of the fight between the symposiasts with a throw of kottabos. To recall the symposion, to compose a Symposium, is to engage in the very type of sympotic misdemeanour the philosophers undertake at the symposion. So, while Plutarch sees benefit for everyone who attends and reads about/listens to stories of past symposia, Lycinus – who was reluctant to recollect the party at all – reveals the futility of spending time with philosophers either in person or in literary form. The reader learns with Lycinus that one should not mix with philosophers, and from Lucian that there is nothing to be gained from enjoying literary variants. It is typical of Lucian and his method that to learn this lesson one must read his highly allusive and carefully crafted Symposium. The fact that Lycinus is a cipher of sorts for Lucian and that Lucian is the actual progenitor of his narrated symposion introduces an authorial layering that enhances the artifice. Lucian’s Symposium must also be read within its author’s wider intellectual programme. Although, like Plutarch, he was writing during the so80

Cf. Relihan (1993) 65.

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called Second Sophistic, his works undercut as much as emulate the literary genres and cultural practices of the Greeks. Hellenic models are still the orientation point for his demonstration of acumen, but in contrast to Plutarch, who invests himself within them, Lucian pulls them apart. No alternative set of philosophies or wisdom is offered; like that of Cynic practitioners, the force of Lucian’s work lies in its deconstruction of socialliterary norms.81 Yet, in the process of debunking philosopher-symposiasts from all the prominent schools, Lucian advertises the superiority of his own skill and vision: he at least has a lesson to offer. The Symposium gives Lucian a platform for self-positioning as much as those thinkers who set themselves at the symposion, either to voice their own doctrine or to enjoy their recommended method. It is in the destabilizing of that platform that his authority is pursued. This critique of how to do a Symposium is quite the meta-Sympotic topic. The majority of Epicurus’ fragments survive because one of Athenaeus’ dinner-party sophists, Marsurius, decides that his work is an inadequate account of a symposion, compared especially with Homer, although the approaches of Aristotle, Hesiod, Plato and Xenophon are also brought to bear (Ath. 186e). The presence of ‘atom philosophers’ at his party is all the worse for the fact that Epicurus had these earlier paradigms available (187b). The excerpts from Epicurus on erōs that feature in Plutarch’s Sympotic Questions are similarly discussed – and this time defended – because some young partygoers criticize the philosopher for introducing the topic of sex into his Symposium (or symposion), comparing this even to Xenophon’s Symposium. Plutarch-as-narrator explains that they have not had long association with the old texts (οὐ πάλαι τοῖς παλαιοῖς λόγοις προσπεφοιτηκότες) and makes Zopyrus defend the inclusion of erotics as entirely suitable to the reported occasion (Mor. 653b–e). Lucian thus continues a conversation that has its roots in the very tradition he simultaneously trumps and undermines. Indeed, one might see each (surviving) Symposium reorienting the form, providing a variation that foregrounds the philosophy of its author through his Sympotic style. For Plato the dynamics of sympotic conversation facilitated his reader’s critique, while he remained off stage entirely, leaving his ideas to be glimpsed through the teasing apart of alternative visions of desire and their conflagration in the speech of Socrates, a masterpiece of sympotic responsion. But already Xenophon’s more expansive self-staging enables an 81

G. Anderson’s (1993) 72 comment on Lucian’s Symposium that ‘where there is a notion of a Classical norm, there will be an urge to subvert it’ summarizes a general tendency but underplays its force in this instance.

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interrogation of ethics by the man who tells the story, lending his own Symposium a particular authoritative force. When Aristotle, Epicurus and Plutarch launched themselves into the symposion, this was a logical progression of that self-promotion, one that gave authority to the contents of the discourse, or in Plutarch’s case its style. Parmeniscus’ gathering of Cynics and Lucian’s two narrated symposia complicate the assumed utility of the symposion and its literary manifestation in different ways. But the act of reconstitution, not simply reshaping but critiquing the Symposium in the act of its recreation, is itself a challenge, authorized by the letter-writing Parmeniscus and, more allusively, by Lucian/Lycinus. Of course Athenaeus’ Dinner-party Sophists – a work whose conversations have at times been approached in their own right in the present study and are otherwise glimpsed throughout in surviving fragments of lost texts – makes its own contribution to the conversation by providing a dinner party replete with conversation on food and drink, conducted primarily through the quotation and citation of earlier writing on these subjects. It is another variation on the Symposium that makes a claim for itself through a comprehensive and extravagant scope. The competitive self-promotion of symposiasts as authors of metasympotic verse at the Archaic symposion, examined in Chapter 1, has been transposed entirely into the literary sphere, where writing a Symposium involves the adaptation and capping of previous contributions in a bid for authority. The rhetorics of the symposion, especially the construction of identity for symposiasts through their performances at ‘real’ and ‘imaginary’ levels, manifests itself anew in authorial acts of philosophical self-promotion through sympotic prose.

conclusion

The rhetorics of the symposion

Representations of the symposion were manifold in Greek culture, and they operated on two principal levels: in the ‘real’ world of social and political intercourse, and in the more abstract realm of the Greek thought world. Conjured at gatherings of drinking companions or of Athenian citizens, depictions of the symposion and its performances built narratives and identities for participants that communicated ideas. At the party itself, poetic pronouncements on the space and activities of the symposion established prisms for viewing current experience. The exhortative, deictic and competitive dynamics of metasympotic verse enabled a symposiast to adopt a stance and thereby negotiate a position for himself amongst the sympotic group. Demonstrations of sympotic excellence in composition and performance coexisted alongside declarations of full immersion in sympotic delights. The details of what this comprises might vary from Theognidean to Archilochean to Anacreontic verse, and so across the diverse events where such poems may have been executed, but representing oneself in action at the symposion constituted an assertion of sympotic competence. Representing the performances of companions equally undermined their symposiality, and potentially their membership of the group. Again, at Classical Athens when citizens met to celebrate the Dionysia, to determine political action through the assembly and to dispense justice in the lawcourt, sympotic performances – staged at the theatre or formed in the imagination through oral storytelling – gave definition to the represented symposiasts. So the fictional Philocleon demonstrates his juristic antipathy through his extreme symposiastry in Aristophanes’ Wasps; Alcibiades and other Athenian notables were perceived to endanger democracy through their allegedly sympotic antics, involving the mutilation of Herms and inappropriate performance of the Mysteries, and were prosecuted on this account; and Demosthenes could paint a picture of Aeschines’ antipathy to Athens and its allies, and therefore his supposed bribery by Philip II of Macedon, through his conduct in commensal settings. Not only were 247

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imagined symposiasts given specific identities, but ideas about Athens’ legal system, the political ambitions of its elite citizens and the danger of Macedonian xenia to the integrity of Athenian representatives were articulated through their depiction. The symposion thus actively contributed to ongoing conversations about Athens’ democracy, dangers to that democracy, and its foreign policy. It was through this discursive faculty that the symposion entered the Greek thought world. Although very much a conceptual space where ideas were explored and cultural understandings of the universe were thereby formed, the Greek thought world is nonetheless tangible through its artefacts, the cultural products that survive as literature and art. For it was composed of conversations, carried on through everyday communications between individuals operating within Greek society. From a modern vantage point this discursive landscape may be fractured and disparate, its conversations now fragmentary and fossilized and detached from their original contexts, but the issues and arguments are still on view. Thus, when Archaic singers described the sympotics of their companions as Scythian, on the one hand they gave definition to these foreigners’ practice, but on the other they chastised companions who behaved in this unacceptable way. So they formulated a view of themselves and others centred on their alien performances. When set alongside other representations of foreign sympotics on drinking vessels from late Archaic Athens, in Herodotus’ Histories and its successors, in Attic drama and in philosophical writings, the symposion appears repeatedly as a means of establishing and evaluating the character (ēthos) of peoples (ethnē) and, from the fourth century onwards, it possessed a moralizing slant. Moreover, in almost every manifestation there is an element of reflection back on Greek culture, whether drinkers are invited to see themselves in the introspective, Dionysian revelry of hat-wearing symposiasts, or Plato encourages the Spartans to embrace drinking as the Scythians and Persians do, or the Scythian Anacharsis highlights the infelicities and incongruities in Greek drinking culture. Across time, genres and place, representing foreign sympotics affords Greeks an opportunity to reflect upon their own ethics. Similarly, the sympotic patterning of power struggles amongst deities and heroes, and in the mortal ‘historical’ realm against autocratic rulers, be they oligarchs, tyrants or kings, expresses persistent understandings of how and why political revolt occurs. Even if perceptions of the connection between deceitful drinking and political assault are shared by wider Mediterranean traditions, they have a very specific character in Greek historiography, where the politics are mobilized through constituent elements of the

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symposion – not only its wine, but also the uninvited guest or laughtermaker, the kōmos, hetairai, capping, and the sympotic ideology of ‘truth and wine’. This makes the symposion a potentially subversive space, expressing again a cultural unease with its politics in certain scenarios. But equally, it is a structuring device for political action, giving it a central place in historiographical conversations by which the Greeks conceptualized the past and understood their contemporary world. The prominent individuals who demonstrate their antagonisms to other citizens and allied poleis through their sympotic performances, not only at Athens but in Timaeus’ later Sicilian History, might be viewed as similarly creating and/or reflecting a shared understanding of the symposion’s political potentials. In each of these three trajectories, the sympotic event (representation) is a node in the specific and ongoing discourses which make up the Greek thought world, awarding the symposion a dynamic role in the generation of ideas. The tradition of writing Symposia embraces both these aspects. If the symposion was a tool for Greeks to reflect upon the world, in Plato’s hand it became a means of doing philosophy, that is of actively interrogating the world through dramatic prose. But it is in subsequent manifestations that composing a Symposium – representing a symposion featuring philosophers – becomes a way for thinkers to construct philosophical positions for themselves, to make a claim to authority within their cultural and intellectual milieux. At the same time, Symposia variously make assertions or raise questions about the merits of sympotic endeavour, the priority of Hellenic culture and even the utility of First Sophistic prose forms such as the Symposium. In the hands of philosophers, who appear to cap one another in turn with their meta-Sympotics, the symposion lends a structure to their philosophical endeavours and self-promotion. Representations of the symposion retain their competitive and discursive edge. Investigating the rhetorical dynamics of sympotic representation obviates the assumption that such depictions of drinking parties in ancient Greek literature and art reflected some unmediated historical reality, and indeed the stylization and workings of the representation identified by this approach demonstrate how problematic that assumption might be. Yet, there is an opportunity here to understand how the Greeks conceptualized the event. For the purpose of this study, a very loose definition of symposion was taken, making episodes involving communal drinking our target. This means that the symposion attested through lyric poetry has been set side by side with civic festivals, and drinking has also been set at times within royal banquets. The intention was not to allege that all drinking occasions were equivalent; rather this was dictated by continuities in the representations.

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Many features commonly associated with the ‘symposion’ in its restricted Archaic manifestation crossed into other types of events. Indeed, while events labelled ‘dinner’ or ‘feast’ might involve distinctive drinking elements, the label ‘symposion’ was used pervasively from the exclusive gathering of kaloi kagathoi attended by Philocleon in Wasps, to the Olympic celebrations attended by Satyrus hosted by the Macedonian king in Demosthenes’ Embassy oration. The most ubiquitous sympotic element was wine. This was mixed in a krater by Scythians at their yearly ritual of honouring the brave and at the civic ‘birthday’ party for Ion at Delphi, an event which anyway blurs many commensal events into one. Furthermore, hetairai – or at least women treated as hetairai – appear at a private symposion in Macedon, a banquet hosted by Amyntas I of Macedon, the polemarch’s celebration of Aphrodite in Thebes, and the absurd Cynic’s symposion. Alcaeus’ maxim of ‘truth and wine’ makes its way into a eunuch’s dinner party at the Persian court. Poetic capping allows Sophocles victory at the home of an Athenian proxenos on Chios, and causes trouble for Cleitus at a party hosted by Alexander the Great. An uninvited laughter-maker joins Ion’s birthday party, Xenophon’s select gathering and Lucian’s burlesque gathering of philosophers. Alcibiades, murderous Theban rebels, and Philip II of Macedon all embark upon a kōmos, as does the Bacchanizing dove that dies in place of Ion. This is not to claim that all gatherings are equivalent. Significant differences have been noted (for example) in the Scythians’ mixing of blood with wine, Heracleides’ demonstration that Persian seating arrangements at symposia reinforced the royal hierarchy, and Ephippus’ criticism of Macedonians for not finishing their food before embarking upon drinking. However, overlaps in form suggest that whatever the specific practices of Greeks, and however they might have varied on occasions, in different communities, and over time, they did not always draw huge conceptual distinctions between different types of convivial gatherings. Or rather, Greek writers drew upon what they knew, deploying a common imaginative vocabulary, when they constructed their diverse parties. While difference could sometimes be important, representations of communal drinking in a wide variety of scenarios, genres and texts operated within a shared imaginative frame. The constant reflection of foreign drinking back onto the Greeks witnessed in Chapter 2 demonstrates the collapsibility of boundaries, as much as their existence. More specifically, the representations analysed in this study share a number of socio-psychological aspects. Across the board, sympotic performances express identity. This is not only integral to the discussion of

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ethnography and ethics and witnessed in the promotional self-constructions of ‘real’ symposiasts through their metasympotic performances; it also underlies the stylization of political attitudes for the imperializing Athenian generals Sophocles and Cimon, the rascally juror/violent komast Philocleon, and Aeschines, a man deemed antagonistic to Athens and ‘most wretched and most despicable’ on account of his sympotic mistreatment of a captive Olynthian woman. Philosophical symposiasts are equally on display, whether Plutarch enacts his authority as a writer of Symposia through his knowledgeable participation in the symposion, or, in Parmeniscus’ version, the Cynics demonstrate their essential qualities by conducting a lentil-fuelled symposion. Of course, it is this characteristic which writers of Symposia also pick up when they indulge in philosophical self-promotion through this sympotic prose form. Theognis’ (309–12 W) remark that at the syssition one can identify a companion’s temper by quietly observing him seems valid across the board. Communal drinking is an occasion for identity construction by participants, whether the symposiast performs poetry, pursues erotic stratagems, embarks upon a violent kōmos or leads the sympotic conversation (for example). The stories of political performance and action seem also to convey a general concern about the intentions and actions of individuals who participate in symposia, whether the symposion provides a setting for the metaphorical demonstration of antagonism or for actual strikes against political authority. This chimes in part with the Theognidean anxiety about the hidden intentions and dubious reliability of drinking companions, encapsulated in his warning about the propensity for a drinker to ensorcell a friend over wine (979–82 W). Transferred into representations of notable citizens and powerful figures at the party, this becomes a problem. The symposion in the Greek imagination was politically potent, and whether or not everyday symposiasts viewed their drinking companions with suspicion, that potency created difficulties. That it was especially perceived as detrimental at Athens in the fifth century is further suggested by the anti-sympotic reputations of its popular leaders. As reported by Plutarch, Themistocles claimed not to sing or play the lyre, although he could make a city great (Them. 2; cf. Cim. 9), and Pericles deliberately refrained from convivial gatherings with friends (Per. 7). Nobody ever demonstrates their beneficence or allegiance to a wider political unit through their allusive sympotic performances. In fact, showing favour to drinking companions is a feature of the Macedonian and Persian monarchs. As Aeschines’ implied encounter with Philip suggests, this was equally problematic.

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In brief, much of the action examined in this study seems to resonate with sentiments attributed to Theognis: from the parties where ethics are on display to observers – present drinking companions and those who watch from outside the text – to the political coups staged during drinking parties, to the philosophical events where readers enhance their virtue courtesy of their authors’ sympotics (see 35–6 W), by means of their Symposium. This is not to say that Theognis presents a universal truth about what happened at the symposion. Like all the material so far examined, his sympotic wisdom equally constructs a particular vision of the symposion, one that possibly resonated strongly with his audience, or at least, given their tone, was intended to dictate listeners’ perception of and participation in the event. However, set in tandem with our representations, his fragmentary verses help to articulate a strand of thinking about the symposion that is contiguous with some basic understandings of its processes, dynamics and potential in later representations. For all that symposia were increasingly enjoyed by people of lesser wealth who did not necessarily form the type of aristocratic group Theognis’ Archaic poetry conjures, in some ways his style of symposion permeates imaginary drinking parties, whether they are set at civic festivals or royal courts or at ‘traditional’ gatherings of select socio-political elites. To conclude, the symposion was as pervasive and diverse in the ancient Greek imagination as in the historical world. At a time when the practice of drinking together varied in its setting, personnel and socio-political dynamics not only from community to community but also across the centuries from the Archaic period to the Imperial, the represented symposion remained a constant presence in the conversations of Greeks about themselves, their identities, their ethics, their politics, their histories and their authority, and about those of other people too. The shape and dynamics of the convivial event certainly changed as participants and scenarios shifted from elite gatherings to civic festivals to royal courts, but the act of drinking in company retained a discursive prominence. A person might wish to demonstrate his immersion in the symposion, evaluate the ethics of drinking, dissect the political attitude of prominent citizens, narrate a political coup or conduct philosophy and philosophical self-promotion by writing a Symposium. In such instances, depicting oneself and others in performance at the drinking party remained a useful strategy. For symposiasts, epic poets, historians, tragedians, comic playwrights, political and forensic orators, and philosophers alike, the symposion offered a means of constructing personas, pursuing arguments and persuading audiences. Representing the symposion was an act of rhetoric, and the power of the symposion was rhetorical.

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This conclusion, however, is not the final word on the matter. Eschewing those historicist questions about who really drank what, where, when and with whom, questions that others more ably pursue, my method in this study has been to bring together individual representations of the symposion and, whilst taking into account their special contexts, build a crossgenre crochet that illuminates their workings in ancient Greek society and thought. The results confirm the priority of the symposion as a key cultural phenomenon by highlighting its discursive role. Represented in a variety of media on diverse occasions, the symposion was active in political and social spheres and in the Greek thought world. However, for all that a wide selection of examples have been deployed from a broad range of material, the above survey is far from exhaustive. Not only do other symposia appear within the genres covered here, but Athenaeus’ Dinner-party Sophists is bursting with fragmentary symposia from across Greek literature and is yet to be fully mined. Epinician poetry deploys sympotic motifs, with Pindar even fashioning the performance of his song as the mixing of kraters at a symposion (Isthm. 6.1–9), yet this genre has been barely mentioned here.1 Comic fragments are similarly under-used, there has been no discussion of Theocritus, and Menippean satire is referenced only in passing.2 Set side by side, other symposia might tell different tales. Moreover, aspects of the symposion’s representation during the Second Sophistic period has been examined, but its appearance in Latin texts and the Roman imagination merits a more comprehensive examination.3 Finally, were the material to be aligned in a different fashion, perhaps according to the identity of participants, or the particular style of symposion they enjoy, alternative discourses and the symposion’s importance within these might be glimpsed. Just as this study has built on earlier analyses of sympotic representations but combined texts and artefacts in novel ways, future work will no doubt create new scholarly representations of the symposion’s role in the Greek cultural imagination. The conversation on the symposion continues. 1

2 3

For epinician already, see Fearn (2007a) 37–70 on a Bacchylidean symposion (F20 B). Discussion of Pindar’s sympotic references focuses largely on determining the performance contexts of his verse: for example, see J. S. Clay (1999) and Budelmann (2012). A good number of comic fragments relating to the symposion have been collected by Olson (2007) 292–320. Cf. Konstantakos (2005). On Theocritus, Idyll 14, see Burton (1992). Building, for example, on Murray (1985) and Nisbet (2002) on Horace’s symposia, the latter identifying intertexts with a lost Latin Symposium by Maecenas.

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Index locorum

Achaeus Aethon 9 N, 83 Adespota elegiaca 27 W, 28, 35, 57, 203 Adespota tragica 89 N, 236 Aelian Varia historia 2.41, 98, 111 Aeneas Tacticus 16.5–6, 101 Aeschines Against Timarchus (1) 137, 145 139–40, 145 On the False Embassy (2) 4, 138 22, 132, 135, 138 135, 138 155, 138 157, 134 158, 138 163, 132, 135, 138 Aeschines of Sphettus Alcibiades, 196 Aeschylus Agamemnon 1191–3, 192 1219–22, 192 1590–1604, 192 Eumenides 723–8, 159 731, 160 Prometheus Unbound 198 N, 85, 100 Alcaeus 50 LP, 35 70 LP, 7, 31 130 LP, 23 141 LP, 31, 142

206 LP, 35 332 LP, 31, 35 346 LP, 35, 48 347 LP, 35 348 LP, 31 352 LP, 35 366 LP, 184 367 LP, 35 368 LP, 7 401a LP, 35 401b LP, 35 Alcman 19 Davies, 9, 32 98 Davies, 30 Amos 6.4–7, 9 Anacharsis a11a Kind, 113 a23b Kind, 109 a23d–f Kind, 109 a26a Kind, 112 a27a Kind, 112 a28a Kind, 113 a31a Kind, 112 Epistle 3, 113 5, 114 6, 114 Anacreon 356a Campbell, 45, 46, 51, 73 356b Campbell, 50, 51, 57, 73 358 Campbell, 54 359 Campbell, 54 373 Campbell, 35–7, 53 374 Campbell, 39, 41 378 Campbell, 54 396 Campbell, 54 409 Campbell, 48 412 Campbell, 60 430 Campbell, 53, 57

276

Index locorum el. 2 W, 52, 57, 202 el. 4 W, 52 Anaxandrides Protesilaus 42 KA, 105 Andocides Against Alcibiades (4) 14, 146 On the Mysteries (1) 11, 149 12, 149 15, 149 61–2, 148 76, 148 Antiphanes Bacchae 58 KA, 97 Oenomau¨s, or Pelops 170 KA, 95 Antiphon 2.1.4, 190 Antisthenes Protrepticus, 196 18d Caizzi, 196 Archestratus 190, 236 Archilochus 2 W, 37 4 W, 37 23 W, 71 41 W, 71 42 W, 71 47 W, 71 118 W, 71 119 W, 71 124a W, 72–3 124b W, 72 173 W, 138 196a W, 71 Aristophanes Acharnians: 73–5, 77–8 85–9, 92 86–120, 92 Clouds 1353–79, 16, 24 Frogs 61–5, 238 179, 124 503–7, 238 650, 124 735, 124 Wasps

80, 143 225–6, 142 230–47, 143 422–5, 142 430–2, 142 459, 142 526–45, 143 575–6, 142 596–600, 142 652–728, 142 1122–73, 151 1162–3, 151 1164–5, 151 1174–85, 141 1186–7, 127 1186–96, 184 1186–1207, 141 1194–5, 141 1227, 141 1229–31, 142 1234–5, 141 1238–41, 141 1243–7, 141 1252–5, 151 1256, 151 1307, 142, 143 1309, 143 1309–14, 142 1319–21, 142 1322–5, 142 1333, 143 1335–41, 142 1355, 143 1362–3, 143 Aristotle Analytica Posteriora 78b29–31, 97, 108 Metaphysics 982b, 115 Politics 1303a17–21, 120 1307b20–4, 120 1336b, 145 Symposium 100 Rose, 230 101 Rose, 74, 230 104–5 Rose, 230 106–11 Rose, 230 [Aristotle] Problems 772a3–8, 98 Arrian Anabasis 1.12.1–5, 189 3.18, 187

277

278 Arrian (cont.) 4.4–7, 188 4.8.8, 188 4.9.1, 188, 189 4.9.1–4, 189 4.9.5–6, 189 4.13–14, 181 7.27, 187 Athenaeus 7f, 72 8a, 73 120b, 230 128a-b, 235 147f-148c, 196 156d, 235 156e, 236 156f, 236 157a-b, 237 157c, 237 157d, 237 157e-158a, 237 158d, 239 159f, 239 178f, 230 179d, 230 182a, 230 186e, 230, 245 187b, 230, 245 426c-427e, 48 427a-b, 45 427b, 50 428c-d, 51 428e, 108 430a-431c, 48 437f, 111 445e-f, 112 537d-540a, 189 603e-604d, 122 607b-d, 242 613d, 113 674e, 230 Bacchylides F20 B, 253 Baton FGrH 392 T8, 122 Berossus FGrH 680 F2, 98 Callimachus Aetia F178, 105 Chamaeleon

Index locorum On Drunkenness F31 Köpke, 98 Chares FGrH 125 F19, 187 Clearchus 46 Wehrli, 100 Clement of Alexandria Exhortation to the Greeks 2.18, 149 Cornelius Nepos Pelopidas 3, 175 Cratippus FGrH 64 F3, 155 Critias DK 88 b2, 153 DK 88 b6 = 6 W, 106, 153 DK 88 b33, 106, 153 Ctesias Persica F4 Lenfant, 98 F8d§34 Lenfant, 96 F15§48 Lenfant, 181 F16§67 Lenfant, 183 F26 Lenfant, 182 F26§14 Lenfant, 183 F26§15 Lenfant, 184 F26§16 Lenfant, 184 F26§17, 185 F29b Lenfant, 185 F40 Lenfant, 86 Curtius 8.2.12, 189 Demosthenes Against Conon (54) 3, 146 On the False Embassy (19) 128, 131 129, 132 130, 131 140, 132 141, 133 142, 133 167–8, 133 189, 132, 138 191, 134, 138 192, 134 195, 133–4 196, 134, 135, 136 196–8, 130 197, 135 197–8, 174, 188

Index locorum 199–200, 136 248, 133 248–50, 139 255, 137 256, 137 Second Olynthiac (2) 17–19, 130, 135 [Demosthenes] Against Neaira (59) 24, 173 33, 173 Diodorus Siculus 15.25.2, 175 16.60.1, 131 17.117.1–2, 187 17.118.1, 187 17.118.1–2, 187 Diogenes Laertius 1.101, 107, 108 1.103, 113 1.104, 109, 111 8.64, 119 8.65, 120 8.66, 120 8.67, 121 8.72, 120 10.119, 231 Edict of Telibinu CTH 19.ii.a, 162 Ephippus FGrH 126 F1, 190 F3, 187 Ephorus FGrH 70 F42, 108 F158, 108 F182, 108 [Eratosthenes] Orph. Frag. T113 Kern, 50 Eubulus Semele, or Dionysus 93 KA, 46, 112 Euenus 2 W, 48 8a W, 51, 59–63 Eupolis Incertae fabulae 385 KA, 147 Euripides Alcestis 10–14, 160 Bacchae

120–34, 210 170–7, 209 205, 209 254, 209 Ion 217–19, 167 650–67, 165 651–3, 166 652, 165 653, 165 660, 166 663–5, 166 711, 165 711–12, 167 714–24, 167 804–8, 167 805, 165 807, 165 810–11, 167 848, 167 852, 165 982, 165, 166 1020–7, 168 1029–39, 165 1124, 165 1131, 165, 166 1165, 165 1165–6, 169 1166–8, 166 1170–6, 165 1170–87, 168 1172, 167 1178–80, 112 1182–6, 166 1196–1208, 169 1216, 170 1217, 167 1271–2, 167 1291, 167 1569–1618, 164 Trojan Women 480, 74 Eustathius ad Il. 1.9 p. 22, 109 Hecataeus FGrH 1 F9, 66 F154, 66 F323, 66 Hellanicus FGrH 4 F66, 66 F67, 67 F187b, 66

279

280 Hellanicus (cont.) F191, 66 Hephaestion Enchiridion 10.4, 35 Heracleides of Cumae FGrH 689 T2, 96 Heracleides of Tarentum Symposium 69 Guardasole, 230 Herodotus Preface, 215 1.8–15, 174 1.61, 174 1.71, 90 1.73–4, 193 1.77, 181 1.82, 74 1.95, 87 1.106, 85, 98, 181 1.119, 193 1.126, 90 1.130, 93 1.133, 91, 93, 173 1.140, 91 1.155, 91 1.172, 84 1.202, 89 1.207, 90 1.214, 87 1.215–16, 89 2.78, 84 2.133, 84 2.211–14, 90 3.7, 178 3.8, 86 3.11, 87 3.22, 94 3.25–33, 94 3.34, 94 3.35, 94 3.121, 9, 11 4.2, 85 4.23, 85 4.64–5, 86 4.65, 86 4.66, 85 4.70, 86 4.76, 108 4.78–80, 88 4.89–142, 88 4.95, 209 4.96, 209 5.18, 173

Index locorum 5.19, 175 5.20, 173 5.21, 175 5.92, 174 6.21, 74 6.84, 75, 87 6.129, 89 9.82, 91 9.110–11, 133 9.122, 91 Hesiod Works and Days 594–5, 48 [Hesiod] Catalogue of Women 150 MW, 85 Hieronymous F2 Hiller, 98 Hippocrates Airs, Waters, Places 18, 85 Homer Iliad 7.313–22, 85 13.1–6, 67, 85 13.5, 100 22.346–7, 86 23.45–6, 74 Odyssey 1.8–9, 70 1.32–43, 162, 163 3.229–312, 163 4.197–8, 74 4.514–37, 163 6.120–1, 68–9 7.134–8, 67 7.182–4, 67 7.228, 67 7.238–9, 30 9.82–104, 68 9.84, 66 9.105–542, 160 9.175–6, 69 9.194–535, 66 9.205, 38, 67 9.208–11, 67–8 9.345–63, 68 9.360, 68 10.1–12, 68 10.56–77, 68 10.80–132, 66 10.116, 68 10.124, 68 10.233–43, 68 11.412–15, 163

Index locorum 11.582–92, 192 12.327–425, 70 13.7–9, 67 22.8–21, 163 22.12–14, 163 22.83–6, 163 Illuyanka tale §1, 162 §3–12, 162 Inanna and Enki, 160 Ion 27 W, 32, 35, 221 FGrH 392 F2, 48 F5, 127 F6, 122–5, 204, 241 F13, 126 T2, 121 Judges 3.15–30, 172 Judith 8–13, 172 Justin Epitome 12.14, 187 Liber de Morte 96–9, 187 Lucian Anacharsis, 115 Lexiphanes 1, 240 8–9, 240 13, 240 14, 240 16, 241 16–18, 240 Nigrinus 5–6, 243 24, 242 25, 242 37–8, 243 Symposium 1–2, 241 2, 244 3, 244 3–4, 241 9, 241 12, 241 15, 241 18, 241 33, 242 48, 242, 243

The Fisherman 34, 243 Timon 54–5, 243 Luke 11.37–54, 198 Lysias Against Alcibiades I (14) 1, 145 25, 54, 145 26–8, 147 29, 147 40, 148 42, 148 Against Alcibiades II (15), 144 Against Eratosthenes (12), 135 Funeral Oration (2) 60, 74 Maximius of Tyre Oratio 17.4e, 109 Molpis FGrH 590 FF1–2, 235 Nicolaus of Damascus FGrH 90 F61, 174 Panyassis Heracleia 12 K, 29, 47–8, 51, 112 13 K, 48, 112, 221 Pausanias 1.22.8, 221 1.25.1, 55 7.7.5, 186 7.7.6, 186 Petronius Satyricon, 243 Philistius FGrH 556 F57a, 181 Phocylides 11 Bergk, 28 Pindar Isthmians 6.1–9, 253 Olympians 1.35–64, 192 Plato Gorgias 471b1–6, 185–6 Laws

281

282 Plato (cont.) 637a–b, 105 637d5–e7, 104–5 666a, 145 Protagoras 339a, 199 348a3–6, 199 374c-e, 198–9 Symposium 172a1–173b6, 214 172b1, 200 172b8, 200 173a4, 200 173b1–4, 212 173b3, 200 174a5-d4, 241 175e8–11, 205 176a1–4, 13 176e, 200 176e2, 200 176e9, 200 177a2-d5, 201 177d7-e7, 202 178b1–11, 202 180c1–185c2, 145 180c1-d3, 202 181d4, 200 182a8-d2, 205 183d4–8, 203 184e1, 207 184e3, 200 185e6–186a2, 203 186a7–8, 203 186b2–3, 203 186b8-c6, 203 188e2–4, 203 189a1-c1, 204 189c3-d2, 205 193e1, 204 193e3–7, 204 193e4, 204 194a1, 204 194a1-b8, 204 194c1-e3, 201 194e4–195a1, 205 195a8-d1, 205 196b5-c4, 205 196d6-e2, 205 197b7–9, 205 197c2, 205 197d3, 200 197e3, 205 197e6–8, 206 198a1–3, 205 198a3-c9, 201

Index locorum 198b1–4, 206 198b6–199b5, 206 199c5–201c9, 206 201d1–5, 206 202d4-e1, 206 203b1-e5, 207 203b5-c1, 161 204d1–210e1, 207 205d10–206a1, 207 208d2-e1, 207 209a3, 207 209b7-c2, 212 210e1–212a7, 207 211d7, 200 212a2, 200 212c4, 205 212c4–6, 208 212c6–213a4, 176 212d6, 209 212d5–213a2, 209 212e4, 209 213b7, 209 213e7–214a6, 209 215d8-e2, 210 216a6–7, 210 216c4–217b2, 210 216d6–7, 209 217c-219d, 146 217e3–4, 210 218b3–4, 209 219a1–2, 210 222a5–6, 213 222c1–3, 210 223d2–4, 201 Theaetetus 155d, 206 Plutarch Alcibiades 4.5, 147 22.3, 149 Alexander 9.5–10, 187 38, 187 50.4, 189 50.4–6, 188 51.1–8, 188–9 52.1, 189 75, 187 Artaxerxes 3.2, 96 14–16, 182 Cimon 9, 251 Moralia 146b-c, 232

Index locorum 148c, 109 148e, 109 148e-149b, 241 150d-e, 109 155c, 110 155e, 110 155f, 110 156a, 110 156d, 111 174f, 109 334b, 109 596d, 176 596d-597c, 173 597d-e, 175 612c, 233 612d-e, 196 612e, 233 614b, 233 615c-619a, 241 620c, 234 653c-d, 231 653d-e, 245 686c, 233 686d, 233 706f-710a, 241 717a, 232 723a, 232 727b, 232 1095, 109 1095c-d, 231 1095e, 231 1109f-1110b, 231 Pelopidas 11.1–3, 173 11.4, 175 Pericles 5.3, 127 7, 251 Solon 21, 39 Themistocles 2, 251 Polycrates FGrH 128 F1, 189 Scholiast ad Ar. Pax 835, 121 Skolia 893 Campbell, 208 894 Campbell, 208 895 Campbell, 208 896 Campbell, 208 902 Campbell, 41

Solon, 224 4 W, 137 26 W, 52–53, 110 Stobaeus Anthology 3.18.25, 112 Strabo 7.3.6, 99 7.3.7, 99, 100 7.3.9, 100 10.4.18, 30 11.8.5, 98 15.1.22, 109 Tale of Aqhat, 171–2 Theognis 31–8 W, 113 35–6 W, 193, 224, 252 39–52 W, 11 53–68 W, 11 56–58 W, 64 69–72 W, 11 87–90 W, 157 95–6 W, 184 183–92 W, 11 215–18 W, 157 219–20 W, 11 221–6 W, 158 237–54 W, 23, 30 295–8 W, 7 309–12 W, 18, 117, 157, 251 365–6 W, 157 413–14 W, 47 415–18 W, 157 467–76 W, 59 467–96 W, 51 477–87 W, 60 487–96 W, 61 497–8 W, 47 503–8 W, 47 509–10 W, 47 529–30 W, 157 531–4 W, 40, 43 541–2 W, 11 575–6 W, 157 627–8 W, 47 641–6 W, 157 789–94 W, 40, 43 825–30 W, 9, 74 943–4 W, 42, 43 963–70 W, 157 971–2 W, 64, 228 979–82 W, 19, 157, 184, 251 1063–8 W, 43 1065 W, 43

283

284 Theognis (cont.) 1073–4 W, 157 1103–4 W, 11 Theopompus FGrH 115 F31, 103 F39, 101 F40, 101 F49, 102 F62, 101, 102 F81, 103 F114, 104 F121, 104, 174 F134, 104 F139, 102 F143, 104 F162, 102 F163, 103 F185, 104 F186, 181 F188, 104 F192, 104 F204, 101 F210, 104 F213, 103 F225, 103 F227, 103 F233, 103 F236, 103 F283, 104 F288, 104 Thucydides 1.115–17, 125 1.76, 125 3.10, 126 5.105, 125 6.27.3, 148 6.27–8, 147 6.28.1, 148, 149 6.74, 151 6.89–93, 151 7.18, 151 8.11–17, 151 8.26, 151 8.38.3, 125 8.45–56, 151 8.6, 151 Timaeus FGrH 566 F134, 118–119, 121 F158, 228 Timocreon 727 Page, 127 Xenophanes

Index locorum 1 W, 13, 25–8, 31, 33, 36, 57, 68 22 Lesher, 28, 29–30 Xenophon Constitution of the Lacedaemonians 9.4, 86 Cyropaedia 1.2.8, 96 7.5.59, 179 7.5.60–8, 180 8.4.1–27, 95 8.8.5, 95 8.8.9, 95 8.8.10, 95 Hellenica 2.3.13–14, 154 2.3.15, 152 2.3.16, 153 2.3.20, 154 2.3.41–2, 154 2.3.43, 153 2.3.46, 154 2.3.56, 152, 153 2.4.1–43, 153 5.4.1, 171, 178 5.4.2, 171 5.4.4, 173 5.4.4–6, 171 5.4.7, 171, 176 5.4.9, 175 5.4.10–12, 175 6.4.30, 178 6.4.32, 178 6.4.34, 180 6.4.35, 180 6.4.36, 180 Hiero 3.7–9, 179 6.2–3, 178–9 6.7–8, 179 6.9–11, 180 Symposium 1.1, 214 1.4, 215, 225 1.5, 215 1.6, 215–16 1.8, 216 1.9–10, 216 1.10, 227 2.1, 13 2.2, 217 2.3–4, 218 2.4, 224 2.5, 224 2.6, 193

Index locorum 2.6–7, 217 2.8–9, 217 2.10, 217, 220 2.11–12, 217 2.13–14, 217 2.15, 217 2.21–3, 217, 241 2.24, 218 2.26, 218 2.27, 227 2.28, 227 3.1, 218 3.2, 218 3.3, 218 3.3–4, 222 3.4, 222, 223 3.4–4.64, 218 3.5, 222, 223 3.6, 223 3.7, 222, 226 3.8, 222 3.9, 222 3.14, 222 4.1, 222 4.1–5, 223

4.6–10, 223 4.11, 226 4.12–14, 226 4.15, 226 4.23–6, 226 4.25–6, 220 5.1–9, 219, 227 5.9, 220 6.1–10, 219 6.3–4, 220 6.6, 220 7.1, 219 7.1–3, 219 7.3–4, 219 7.5, 220 8.1–43, 219, 227 8.12, 224 8.24, 219 8.37–41, 224 8.43, 224 9.1, 225 9.4, 221 9.5–6, 221 9.7, 221

285

Index vasorum

Athens, Agora Museum P32418, 56 P32420, 56 Athens, National Archaeological Museum CC631, 78 Berlin, Antikensammlung F1727, 13 F2270, 82–3 F2588, 163 Cambridge, Fitzwilliam Museum G48, 221 Cleveland, Museum of Art 26.549, 49 88.8, 82 Copenhagen, National Museum 13365, 55 Erlangen, Friedrich-Alexander-Universität 454, 42–5, 56 Florence, Museo Archeologico Etrusco 11B1, DB4, 77–9 20B19, 77 3897, 79 3921, 72 Geneva, Collection Fondation Thetis Zimmerman-Camay 105, 81

Leipzig, Kunstgewerbemuseum 781.03, 80–1 London, British Museum E18, 55 E19, 109 E82, 177 Moscow, Pushkin State Museum of Fine Arts F1410, 81–2 New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 07.286.47, 177 16.174.41, 79–80 Oxford, Ashmolean Museum 1966.688, 77 Palermo, Museo Archeologico Regionale V651, 82 Paris, Musée du Louvre CP11072, 82 E629, 3–4, 8, 9, 26 G30, 36 Syracuse, Museo Archeologico Regionale Paolo Orsi 26967, 55 Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum 137, 78

286

General index

Achaeus, Aethon, 83 Acragas politics at, 120–1 Aeschines, 18, 251 antipathy to Athens, 131, 133, 139, 247 at Philip II’s victory feast, 132 hybris and paroinia at Xenophron’s party, 134–6, 138–9 Aeschines, speeches Against Timarchus (1), 145–6 On the False Embassy (2), 132, 134, 135, 137–8 Aeschylus, 164 Aeschylus, plays Agamemnon, 192 Eumenides, 159–60 Agamemnon murdered at banquet, 162–3, 170, 181, 190, 193 Agrippaei (Scythians) mix milk with fruit, 85 Alcaeus of Lesbos, 1, 8, 35, 48 on civic upheaval, 31 on Pittacus’ symposia, 7, 11 on truth and wine, 184, 250 poetry in Aristophanes’ Wasps, 141, 142 politicized verse, 8, 11 sympotic representations, 8, 48 Alcaeus of Lesbos, fragments, 7, 8, 11, 23, 31, 48, 184, 250 Alcibiades Junior, 54, 155 compared to his father, 147 hereditary enemy to Athens, 148 hybris, 147 imitates his father, 146, 147 sympotic misconduct, 144–6 Alcibiades Senior, 19, 104, 155, 247 antipathy to Athenian democracy, 150–1 drinks in the morning, 147 erotic reputation, 146 in Plato’s Symposium, 146, 150, 176, 200, 201, 205, 207, 209–11, 213, 250; as Dionysian

reveller, 20, 205, 209–10, 211; self-styling as Corybant, 210 mutilation of Herms/performance of Mysteries, 147, 149–50, 247 steals Anytus’ drinking ware, 146 Alcman, 11 Alcman, fragments, 9, 30, 32, 33, 36 Alexander I of Macedon, 175–6 Alexander III ‘the Great’ of Macedon, 158, 192, 250 argues with Philip II over wine, 187–8 burning of Persepolis, 187 conspiracy theories, 189 death, 187, 191 drinking competition with Indians, 187 luxurious lifestyle, 189–90 murder of Cleitus, 188–9 Pages Conspiracy, 181 Alexander of Pherae, 180 Amyntas I of Macedon, 172, 175–6, 250 Anacharsis, Scythian sage, 17, 107 at Periander’s court, 98, 111 commentator upon Greek sympotics, 107–16, 248 Cynic traditions, 112–15 in Plutarch’s Symposium, 108–11, 117 letter to Hipparchus, 113–15 outsider perspective, 115–16 prize for drinking, 110, 111 Scythian-Greek identity, 107–8, 116 xenos of Solon, Croesus and Periander, 111 Anacharsis, Scythian sage, sayings, 97, 109, 111–13 Anacreon of Teos, 1, 24, 63, 75, 77, 106, 247 at Athens, 11, 36, 55 at Samos, 9, 11 habrosynē, 38, 53 self-styling of symposiast as, 24, 55, 56 sympotic persona, 55 sympotic self-styling, 45, 48–56: as Bassara, 45–6, 48–50

287

288

General index

Anacreon of Teos, (cont.) virtuoso symposiast, 16 Anacreon of Teos, fragments, 35–7, 38–9, 41, 44, 45–6, 48–56, 57, 60, 73–4, 83, 88, 202 Anacreontic revellers, 49–50, 55 Andocides mutilation of Herms, 148 performance of Mysteries, 149, 150 Andocides, speeches Against Alcibiades, 146 On the Mysteries (1), 148, 149, 150 andrōn, 9, 10–11, 12, 22, 26, 27, 32, 33, 34, 36, 37, 42, 46, 55, 59, 63, 64, 65, 188, 209, 216, 225 Anonymous poem (Ades. eleg. 27 W), 29, 30, 31, 57–9, 63, 64, 203 Antiphanes, plays Bacchae, 97 Oenomau¨s, or Pelops, 95 Antiphon, Tetraologies, 190 Aphrodisia festival, 171 Arabia oath-taking ritual, 86–7 Archelaus of Macedon, 185–6, 190 Archilochus of Paros, 1, 24, 48, 63, 74, 103, 106, 247 military aesthetic, 37, 45 sympotic self-styling, 37–8 Archilochus of Paros, fragments, 37–8, 42, 71–3, 138 Ardiaeans lured to banquet by Celts, 101 Aristophanes, 117 in Plato’s Symposium, 155, 201, 203–4, 205, 207, 208 Aristophanes, plays Acharnians, 92–3 Clouds, 16, 24, 209 Frogs, 124, 238 Wasps, 19, 127, 140–4, 151, 155, 184, 247, 250 Aristophanic symposia, 5, 6, 140–4, 151 Aristotle, 196, 229, 231, 235, 245, 246 Aristotle, works Analytica posteriora, 97, 108 Politics, 120 Symposium, 229–30 Arrian, Anabasis, 188, 189 Assos temple of Athena, 10 Athenaeus, 129 Athenaeus, Dinner-party Sophists, 20, 66, 73, 122, 189, 198, 229, 230, 235, 239, 245, 253 Athenian comedy, 16, 24, 46, 85, 92–3, 95, 97, 140–4, 147, 151 Athenian imperialism, 19, 122–9, 170 Athenian lawcourt oratory, 129–40, 144–8

Athenian satyr drama, 83, 85 Athenian sympotics, 12–13, 55–6, 106 Athenian tragedy, 159–60, 164–70 Athens, 247 alliance with Olynthus, 136 Anacreon at, 11, 36, 55 andrōnes at, 10, 12 communal drinking at, 12–13 dangers to democracy, 141–4, 150–2 dangers to the city, 129–40 democracy and corruption, 102 embassy to Philip II, 346 bce, 129–40 figured pottery from, 1, 10, 12, 36, 42–5, 55, 75–83, 109, 163, 221, 248 Herms and Mysteries affair, 18, 147, 148–50, 155, 191, 247 Herodotus on, 17, 84, 128 house near the Altar of Aphrodite, 55–6 Ion of Chios at, 121 oligarchy at, 107, 134, 152 pederasty at, 145 Persian luxuries at, 93 Solon’s depiction of, 137 sumptuary reforms at, 38 Attic black-figure amphora manner of Lysippides Painter, 221 Attic black-figure skyphos, by KX Painter, 78 Attic red-figure amphora, by Euphronius, 36 Attic red-figure krater, by Kleophrades Painter, 55 Pig Painter, 49 Attic red-figure kylix, by Ambrosios Painter, 56 Antiphon Painter, 42–5, 56 Codrus Painter, 177 Colmar Painter, 79–80 Euthymides, 82 Pithos Painter, 77–9 Thorvalsden Group, 82–3 Triptolemos Painter, 80–1 unattributed, 81–2 Attic red-figure pelike, by Pioneer Pezzino Group, 56 Attic red-figure ram’s head rhyton, by Brygos Painter, 82 aulos absent from Anacharsis’ life, 114 accompaniment to elegy, 24, 28, 31 at Ion’s party, 168 Cyrnus praised to, 23 played at Bdelycleon’s imagined symposion, 141 played at Plutarch’s Symposium, 109

General index played by Corybantes, 210 aulos, music of the Socrates’ conversation compared to, 210 aulos, revelling to the on Attic red-figure kylix, 42 aulos, singing to the demonstration of sympotic proficiency, 39 Theognis 531–4 W, 40 Theognis 825–30 W, 74 Theognis 943–4 W, 42 aulos player abducted by Philocleon, 143 accompanies Alcibiades Senior, 209 ejected from Agathon’s party, 200 ‘initiated’ into Mysteries, 149 Ismenias, captive of the Scythian king, 109 Lamia, guest-of-honour at Demetrius Poliorcetes’ party, 235 Marsyas, Socrates compared to, 209 object of a philosopher’s affections, 242 Theognis 1065 W, 43 withdraws in Plutarch’s Symposium, 109 aulos players absent from Scythia, 97, 108, 109 accompany Chares, 102 enjoyed by: Alexander, 190; Athenian dēmos, 103; Straton of Sidon, 104; Thessalians, 101 eschewed by kaloi kagathoi, 199 hired by common folk, 199 aulos-playing on Attic red-figure kylix, 80 on Attic red-figure ram’s head rhyton, 82 Badian, E., 189 Bassara (female follower of Dionysus) Anacreon styles self as, 45–6, 48–50 Bassarides murder Orpheus, 50 Berossus on the Sacaea festival, 98 Blanshard, A., 124 boasting, see sympotic boasting Boeotian black-figure tripod-kothon, by Komast Group, 13 Bosworth, A. B., 191 Bovon, A., 76 Bowie, A. Aristophanic symposia, 6 symposia in Herodotus, 6 Bowie, E., 24 Burkert, W., 10 Cambyses envoys to Ethiopians, 94 fate of, 94

289

kills wine pourer, 94 lover of wine, 94 Camp, J., 55 cannibal banquets, 192–3 Astayages serves up Harpagus’ son, 193 Atreus serves up Thyestes’ son, 192–3 Scythians serve up Astyages’ son, 193 Tantalus serves up own son to gods, 192 capping, 64, 158, 190, 197, 228, 246, 249 by Cleitus, 189, 250 by Parmeniscus’ Cynics, 198, 236–7, 238 by Philocleon, 141–2 by Plato’s symposiasts, 201–8, 210, 211, 212 by Sophocles, 123, 250 by Xenophon’s symposiasts, 217, 218, 222 Caunians drinking customs, 84 Cimon, 18, 19, 33, 122, 127, 154, 184, 251 compared to Themistocles, 126–8 enacts Athenian imperialism, 126–8, 129 treatment of allies, 126–7 Cleomenes I of Sparta, 94 drinker of unmixed wine, 74 fate of, 75 Cleomenes of Methymnia, 103 Cleon, 142 Bdelycleon poses as, 141 criticism of, 142, 143, 144 Collins, D., 51, 63–4 comparisons (eikasmoi) by Philocleon, 142 competition, see sympotic competition Corinth figured pottery from, 1, 3–4, 8, 9, 26 Corinthian black-figure krater, by Athana Painter, 3–4, 8, 9, 26 Corner, S., 12 Corybantes, 210 Cotys of Thrace, 101, 103, 105 Critias of Athens, 16, 19, 107, 155 object of Theramenes’ kottabos toast, 152–4 on good and bad sympotics, 105–7 Critias of Athens, fragments Constitution of the Lacedaemonians, 105–6, 107, 153 poetry, 106–7, 153 Croesus, 90 advises Cyrus, 90, 91 hosts Anacharsis, 111 Ctesias, Persica, 86, 96, 98, 182–5 Curtius, History of Alexander, 189 Cynic Epistles, 113–15 Cynic traditions, 114, 235–9, 245 Anacharsis, 112–16

290

General index

Cyrus I of Persia, 178–81, 193 at the symposion, 95 imposes sympotic life on Lydians, 91 institutes Sacaea, 98 killed by Tomyris, 87, 90 lures Massagetae to banquet, 90, 98–9 lures Scythians to banquet, 98–9 presents ‘good life’ to Persians, 90 successors constrasted to, 95–6 warning about the good life, 91, 93 dancers at Xenophon’s Symposium, 217, 219 Phlip II drinks with, 103 dancing at Phaeacian feasts, 67 at Xenophon’s Symposium, 220, 227 by drunken philosopher Thrasycles, 243 by Massagetae, 89 by men at Philip II’s court, 130 by Scythians lured to banquet by Cyrus, 98 by the Charites, 221 by Thessalians encouraged by Philip II, 102 in Lucian’s Lexiphanes, 240 Ion 27 W, 26, 32 on Attic red-figure kylix, 42, 81 previously at Hiero’s symposia, 179 Theognis 789–94 W, 40 deceit, see sympotic deceit deixis, 247 Anacreon 373 Campbell, 36 Ion 27 W, 26–7, 33 Xenophanes 1 W, 27, 33 Demetrius Poliorcetes, 235 Demetrius, son of Philip V of Macedon, 186, 190 Demosthenes, 18, 247 on Aeschines’ commensal misconduct, 129–40 on the court of Philip II of Macedon, 130 Demosthenes, speeches Against Conon (54), 146 On the False Embassy (19), 18, 129–40 Second Olynthiac (2), 130, 134–5 [Demosthenes], Against Neaera (59), 173–4 Depew, M., 36 Desmond, W., 238 Diodorus Siculus, Library, 187 Diogenes Laertius on Anacharsis, 111–12, 113 on Empedocles, 119–20, 121 Diogenes Laertius, Lives, 111–12, 113, 119–20, 121 Diogenes of Sinope, 113 Dionysia, 247 Plato’s Symposium as, 210 setting for Cynics’ Symposium, 236 venue for Agathon’s victory, 195

Dionysian revellers, 42 Dionysian revelry, 52, 81, 99, 248 by Alcibiades Senior in Plato’s Symposium, 20, 205, 209–10, 211 by hat-wearing symposiasts, 78–9 by poisoned dove, 170 conjured by Anacreon, 46 on Anacreontic vases, 49, 50 Dionysus, 46, 48, 50, 79, 86, 105, 205 as wine, 167 associated with drinking horn, 78 Creusa appeals to, 167 deeds praised by Solon, 52, 110 first portion assigned to, 112 on Corfu pediment, 10 on Delphic temple of Apollo, 167 rejected by Scythians, 87 responsible for Alexander’s death, 187 saluted by Ion 27 W, 32, 33 transvestite rituals, 49, 50 wears ivy wreath, 209 wedding of, 221 drinking competition, 160, 228 Alexander and the Indians, 187 Anacharsis’ victory, 110 Xenocrates’ victory, 228 drinking cup circulated by Alcibiades Senior, 209 on Attic red-figure kylix, 42, 80, 81 skyphos named after Scythians, 98 drinking cups Alcaeus 346 LP, 35 at Ion’s party, 168 circulate at symposia in Athens, Thessaly and Chios, 105–6 made from skulls by Scythians, 86, 99 drinking horn Attic ram’s head rhyton, 82 marker of difference, 79 on a Corfu pediment, 10 on Attic red-figure kylix, 77, 81, 82 on Corinthian black-figure krater, 8 rustic, primitive, Dionysian, 77–9 used by: Dionysus, satyrs and symposiasts, 78–9; Scythians, Persians, Thracians and Athenians, 78; Thracians, 105 Egyptians battle Persians at Pelusium, 87 eating habits, 66 symposia, 84 Empedocles, 18, 129, 156, 171, 184 at the symposion, 118–21 Ephippus, 187, 250

General index Ephippus, On the Burial of Alexander and Hephaestion, 190 Epicurus, 196, 230, 231, 232, 235, 246 Epicurus, Symposium, 230–1 Eros Anacreon spars with, 54–5 subject in Plato’s Symposium, 201 Ethiopians ignorant of wine, 94 ethnicity and ethics, 18, 19, 66–116 Etruria Corinthian krater in, 3–4 Greek pottery in, 4 sympotic scenes in, 4 Etruscans enjoy luxury, 101 lifestyle, 101 Eubulus, Semele, or Dionysus, 46, 112 Euenus of Paros, 1, 16 Euenus of Paros, fragments, 60–4 euphrosynē, 30 Anacreon el 2, 53 Panyassis 12 K, 48 previously enjoyed by Hiero, 178 Socrates encourages symposiasts towards, 218, 222 Xenophanes 1 W, 26 Eupolis, 150 Eupolis, unattributed fragment, 147 Euripides, 242 Euripides, plays Alcestis, 160 Cyclops, 85 Ion, 19, 164–70, 182 Faraone, C., 51, 60 Flower, M., 93 Fornara, C., 92 frank speaking, 158, 190 by Alcibiades, 210–11 by Cleitus, 188 by Mithridates, 184, 185 frankincense Xenophanes 1 W, 26 Frontisi-Ducroux, F. and Lissarrague, F., 50 garland, golden won by Xenocrates, 228 garlands, 154 distributed/discussed in Plutarch’s Sympotic Questions, 231 worn by: Aeschines, 131; symposiast on Attic red-figure amphora, 36; symposiast on Attic red-figure kylix, 42; symposiasts, 26, 41, 54, 74; Theban rebels, 173

291

Garvey, P., 44 Glazebrook, A., 174 gnomic wisdom (gnōmai), 15, 25–34, 35, 47, 52, 57 Greek sympotics, 75, 104–7, 250 according to Theopompus, 102–4 corrupt Scythians, 100 critiqued by Anacharsis, 108–16 imagined by Persians, 93 similarities to Scythian, 89 Gribble, D., 150 habrosynē, see luxury hair, cut in mourning, 74 Halliwell, S., 143 Hammer, D., 38 Hartog, F., 87 Hecataeus on commensal practices, 66 Hecataeus, fragments, 66 Hegesilochus of Rhodes, 104, 174 Hellanicus on commensal practices, 66–7 Hellanicus, fragments, 66, 67 Heracles, 29 Alexander drinks ‘cup of Heracles’, 187 Cynics emulate, 237–8 love of lentils, 238 recipient of libation, 32 sympotics in Panyassis’ Heracleia, 29 Herms and Mysteries affair, 18, 147, 148–50, 152, 191, 247 Athenian suspicions of Corinth, 155 Herodotus, 117 on a Scythian martial ethic, 100 on Anacharsis, 107 on Athens, 17, 84, 128 on Caunian drinking customs, 84 on dangers of the good life, 95, 96, 100 on Egyptian symposia, 84 on Persian banquets, 90–4 on Scythian sympotics, 84–9, 99 on Spartan perceptions of Scythian drinking, 74–5, 98 presentation of ethics through sympotics, 83–94 Herodotus, Histories, 9, 11, 17, 19, 74–5, 83–94, 96, 97, 98–9, 101, 107, 108, 116, 128, 133, 172–3, 174, 175–6, 178, 181, 182, 183, 193, 209, 215, 248 Hesiod, 161, 245 Hesiod, works Theogony, 161 Works and Days, 48 [Hesiod], Catalogue of Women, 85 hetaira, 136, 173–4, 145, 187, 238, 250

292

General index

hetaira, (cont.) death by, 171–6 laughing, 237–8 Olynthian woman treated as, 136 Thais, 187 hetairai, 102, 103, 146, 158, 171, 190, 198, 249 Theban women treated as, 173–4 hetaireia (friendship group), 11, 19, 151, 152, 155 hetairoi, 149 conspiracy against Alexander, 189 hetairos, 102, 134, 135, 149, 179 Hiero of Syracuse, 178–81 Hipparinus, son of Dionysius of Syracuse, 181 Homer ethnographic imagination, 67–9 Homer, works Iliad, 67, 85, 86, 127 Odyssey, 66, 68, 160, 162–3, 170 Homeric feasts, 7 Homeric Hymns, 161 Huss, B., 220 hybris accompanies third krater, Panyassis 13 K, 48 Anacharsis’ third krater, 112 Anacreon seeks to avoid, 47–8, 50, 53 at Alexander’s symposion (with Cleitus), 188 Athenians charged by Solon with, 137 avoidance recommended, Xenophanes 1 W, 31 by Aeschines at Xenophron’s party, 134–6, 138–9 by Alcibiades Junior, 147–8 by Alcibiades Senior, 146 by Athenian Chares, 103 by Demetrius towards Greeks, 186 by Philocleon at symposion and in kômos, 143 by Scythian rulers in Asia, 181 by Scythians corrupted by Greek practices, 100 Eubulus’ fourth krater, 45–6, 112 Herms and Mysteries, 149 linked to Cleomenes’ ‘Scythian’ drinking, 75 punished by Pittacus, 110 Illyrians, 102 Ion of Chios, 16, 121, 129, 139, 140, 155, 195 politics, 124 reflections on Athenian imperialism, 125–6, 128–9 relationship with Cimon, 127 sympotic reputation, 121–2, 155 Ion of Chios, fragments Foundation of Chios, 48 poetry, 32–3, 35, 221 Stays, 18, 33, 122–9, 196, 204, 241

Isthmian Games venue in Plutarch’s Sympotic Questions, 232 kaloi kagathoi, 151, 199, 200, 212, 213, 217, 224, 225, 250 kalokagathia, 200, 214, 218, 220, 222–3, 224, 225 Kantzios, I., 54 Klotz, F., 231 komast on Attic red-figure kylix, 44, 56 komasts Anacreontic, 55 Chilon and Solon, 109 on Attic black-figure skyphos, 78 transvestite, Anacreontic vases, 49 kōmos, 14, 74, 154, 249, 250, 251 at Persepolis, 187 by Alcibiades Junior, 145, 146 by Alcibiades Senior, 146–7 by Anacreontic revellers, 49–50 by Philip II after Chaeroneia, 103, 250 by Philocleon, 143, 149 by Theban rebels, 19, 176–7, 250 jurors on, 143 Murray’s ‘alien world of license and misbehaviour’, 151 of doves, 170, 250 on Attic red-figure kylix, 42–4 on Boeotian black-figure tripod kothon, 3, 13 on Panagjurischte Amphora, 177 on red-figure drinking vessels, 79 pro-Spartan and oligarchic, 109 reception of, 177 transvestism, 49 kottabos, 79, 152, 154 in Lucian’s Symposium, 242, 244 on red-figure kylix, 80, 82 originates from Sicily, 153 played by Theramenes, 152–4 krater, 3, 22, 26, 33, 53, 62, 87, 110 Alcaeus 206 LP, 35 Anacharsis’ three kraters, 112 Anacreon el 2 W, 52, 202 at Ion’s party, 165, 168, 169, 250 at Phaeacian feasts, 67 at Sparamizes’ symposion, 184 Attic red-figure, Kleophrades Painter, 55 Attic red-figure, Pig Painter, 49 centrality to symposion, 87, 169 Corinthian black-figure, Athana Painter, 3–4, 8, 9, 26 Eubulus 93 KA, 46, 112 in Sicilian cities, 10 Ion 27 W, 32 metaphor for Pindaric performance, 253

General index mixed by: Maron, 68; mercenaries, 87; Scythians, 85, 250 on Attic red-figure kylix, 44 set for Massagetae, 90 sober, 111 Theognis 487–96 W, 62 Theognis 979–82, 157, 193 Xenophanes 1 W, 26 Laconia figured pottery from, 10 Lardinois, A., 28 Lateiner, D., 88 laughter, 169, 236 Adespota elegiaca 27 W, 57 anxieties over, 204, 208 at Ion’s party, 168, 169 Critias DK88 b6, 106 directed towards Alcibiades, 211 in Ion’s Stays, 123, 124–5 in Lucian’s Symposium, 241, 242 in the Cynics’ Symposium, 238 Pittacus in Plutarch’s Symposium, 110 Theognis 309–12 W, 117 laughter-maker (gelōtopoios), 169, 249 at Ion’s party, 19, 168, 250 in Lucian’s Symposium, 241, 250 in Xenophon’s Symposium, 169, 214, 217, 250 laughter-makers Anacharsis unamused at, 113 Philip II drinks with, 103 laughter-making, 190 Lee, K., 166 libations, 158, 190 at Ion’s party, 165, 169–70 at party attended by Cimon, 126 at Phaeacian feasts, 67 Ion 27 W, 32, 33 missing from Epicurus’ Symposium, 230 shared by Aeschines, 131 shared by Athenian ambassadors, 132 Theognis 487–96 W, 62 transgressed by Aeschines and Demosthenes, 138–9 Xenophanes 1 W, 27, 31, 34 Lissarrague, F. Erlangen 454, 42 ‘faire le Scythe’, 83 symposion on figured pottery, 4 Lloyd, G. E. R., 18 Lucian, 198, 235, 244 Lucian, works Lexiphanes, 20, 239–41 Nigrinis, 242–3 Symposium, 20, 118, 198, 241–5

Timon, 243 luxury habrosynē, 38–9, 53 rare, 59 tryphē, 95, 101, 102 unknown to Persians, 90 Lydians drinking practices, 106 lydopatheia, 49 lyre accompaniment to sympotic song, 24 Alcaeus 70 LP, 7 Anacreon 373 Campbell, 35–7, 38 invitation to Pheidippides to play, 16, 24 magadis, 39 on Attic black-figure skyphos, 78 on Attic red-figure amphora, 36 on Corinthian black-figure krater, Athana Painter, 3, 8 played at Pittacus’ symposia, 11 Theognis 531–4 W, 40 Theognis 789–94 W, 40 lyre-playing by Anacreontic revellers, 55 imposed upon Lydians, 91 index of sympotic proficiency, 39, 40 on Attic red-figure kylix, 42, 177 on Attic red-figure pelike, 56 Themistocles’ lack of skill, 126, 251 Lysias, 155 on Alcibiades Junior, 144–8 Lysias, speeches Against Alcibiades I (14), 144–8 Against Alcibiades II (15), 144 Against Eratosthenes (12), 135 MacDowell, D., 134 Macedonian drinking, 190 Macedonian symposion, 130–1, 172–3, 191 Persians at, 175–6 political murders at, 185–90 Martin, R., 111 marzeah, 9 Massagetae inhale fruit vapours, 89 lured to banquet by Cyrus, 90, 99, 101 relationship to Scythians, 89 Menelaus joke, 241 Menippean satire, 243–4, 253 metasympotic ‘I’, 35–57 Miller, M., 49 monkey, 113 Munson, R., 91 Murray, O. Herodotus’ Persian stories, 182

293

294

General index

Murray, O. (cont.) kōmos in late fifth-century Athens, 151 Odyssey as sympotic poetry, 70 symposion as Männerbund, 1, 11, 12 Mycerinus, king of Egypt day-long revelry, 84 Mykonos, 72 myrrh at Ion’s party, 168 Near Eastern narratives, 158–9 comparators for Greek, 161, 162–4, 172, 192 Edict of Telibinu (Hittite), 162 Illuyanka tale (Hittite), 162 Innana and Enki (Babylonian), 160–1 tale of Aqhat (Ugaritic), 171–2 Norwegian vorspiel, 35, 44 Odysseus at Phaeacia, 67 in Cyclops’ cave, 67–9 murders suitors at banquet, 163, 190 Olson, S. D., 144 Olynthus andrōnes at, 10, 12 sack of, 130, 133, 136 paean Alcman 98 Davies, 30 sung by Aeschines, 131 Panathenaea setting for Xenophon’s Symposium, 215 Panyassis, Heracleia, 29, 30, 47–8, 51, 221 Parmeniscus, 235 Parmeniscus, Cynics’ Symposium, 20, 198, 235–9 paroinia Aeschines at Xenophron’s party, 134–6, 138–9 at Alexander’s symposion (with Cleitus), 188 at Philip II’s wedding celebration, 188 by Hermogenes, 218 in Lucian’s Symposium, 241 might lead to death, 190 Parysatis, mother of Artaxerxes II, 182, 183–5 Pausanias, Description of Greece, 55, 186, 221 Pausanias, Spartan regent, 91 mocks Persian banquets, 93 sets Persian table, 93 Pelling, C., 122 Pellizer, E., 63 perfume, 222 dismissed by Socrates, 218 kalokagathia as, 218 Xenophanes 1 W, 26 Periander of Corinth Anacharsis at the court of, 98, 111

host of Plutarch’s Symposium, 108, 232 necrophilia, 174 Pericles, Athenian leader, 123–4, 224 avoids convivial gatherings, 251 Pericles, uninvited guest, 72–3 Persaeus, Sympotic Notes, 242 Persian banquets, 90–4, 191, 250 at royal court, 96–7, 250 compared to Spartan custom, 91 imagined by Athenian ambassadors, 92–3 Persian luxury, 95, 96, 97 disputed by Heracleides, 96–7 Persians, 84 at Macedonian symposion, 175–6 celebrate Sacaea festival, 98–9 critique Greek dining practices, 95 dress, 75, 76 drinking practices, 248 eat terebinth and cardamum, 96 fondness for wine, 91, 92, 94, 105 ransom captives to Cimon, 127 transformed by good life, 90–1, 93 tukta (birthday party), 91–2 Petronius, Satyricon, 243 Phaeacian feasts, 30, 67 Philip II of Macedon, 186, 251 argues with Alexander over wine, 187–8 Athenian embassy to, 129 bribes Aeschines (allegedly), 136, 155 corrupts and conquers Thessalians, 101–2, 186 danger to Athens, 130, 139–40, 156, 247–8 Demosthenes’ antipathy towards, 140 does not poison guests, 186 entertains Thebans, 132–3 imitated by Demetrius, 186 in Theopompus’ Philippics, 102, 103–4, 130 kōmos after Chaeroneia, 103, 250 praised by Cleitus, 188 pursues politics at feast, 132–4, 190 royal court in Demosthenes, 130, 135 victory feast: at Olympic Games, 133–4, 250; at Pythian Games, 131–2, 136, 186 wine-lover (philopotēs), 103 Phocylides, fragments, 28, 30 Phrygians beer drinkers, 71, 74 Pindar, 1 commensal terminology, 13–14 performance as mixing of krater, 253 Tantalus’ sympotic offence, 192 Pindar, works Isthmians, 253 Olympians, 192 pistis (pledge of trust), 149

General index Pittacus of Mytilene Alcaeus on, 7, 11, 142 in Plutarch’s Symposium of the Seven Wise Men, 110–11 punishment for drunken hybris, 110 Plato, 20, 108, 150, 211, 229, 231, 232, 233, 245, 249 challenged in Lucian’s Lexiphanes, 240 harnesses sympotic dynamics, 198–213 in Plutarch’s Sympotic Questions, 233 mimēsis of ‘Protagorean’ symposion, 212 on Spartan syssition, 104–5, 248 riffing on Greek myth, 161 Plato, works Gorgias, 185–6 Laws, 6, 104–5, 107, 145 Protagoras, 109, 198–201, 202, 206, 208, 211–12, 213 Symposium, 13, 118, 145–6, 150, 155, 161–2, 176, 195–215, 219, 222, 227, 228, 229, 236, 238, 240, 241, 242, 244, 245 Theaetetus, 206 Plutarch, 117, 129, 150, 174, 183, 231, 232, 235, 240, 241, 244, 245, 246, 251 authorial self-positioning, 231–4 engagement with earlier Symposia, 196, 233 Hellenic perspective, 234 Plutarch, works Against Colotes, 231 Alcibiades, 146–147, 149 Alexander, 187, 188–9 Artaxerxes, 96, 182–5 Cimon, 251 On Isis and Osiris, 115 On Kingship, 231 On the Sign of Socrates, 173, 175, 176 Pelopidas, 173, 175 Pericles, 127, 251 Solon, 39 Symposium of the Seven Wise Men, 108–11, 115, 232 Sympotic Questions, 20, 111, 118, 196, 197–8, 230, 231, 232, 235, 241, 245 Themistocles, 251 Polycrates of Samos, 9, 55 Polyphemus, 67, 85 hospitality to Odyssey, 67–8 potarch, see also symposiarch challenged in Ades. eleg. 27 W, 57–9 Pownall, F., 153 prayer, 154 at Scythian oath-taking ritual, 86 shared by Aeschines, 131–2, 136 Theognis 943–4 W, 42 Xenophanes 1 W, 27, 31, 34 Preston, R., 234

295

Quinn, T., 126 Redfield, J., 68 Relihan, J., 243 representation, see also sympotic representation approaches to, 1, 2–3 responsion, 197, see also capping in Plato’s Symposium, 201–8, 211, 213 in sympotic poetry, 51, 59–63 in Xenophon’s Symposium, 214 Romeri, L., 239 Romm, J., 115 Rossi, L. E., 22 Sacaea (‘Scythian’) festival, 98–9 Salmoxis, Thracian mantic, 209 Samos sanctuary of Hera, 10 Schmitt Pantel, P. Euripides’ Ion, 165 symposion as civic event, 1 Scythia Cyrus in, 90 Scythian drinkers on Attic figured pottery, 17 Scythian drinking, 56, 248, 252 Anacreon 356b Campbell, 50, 51, 73–4 at Sparta, 74–5 Theognis 825–30 W, 74 Scythian hats, 75–7 Scythian sympotics, 74, 248 in Herodotus’ Histories, 84–9 on Attic figured vases, 75–83 Scythians, 84, 94 antipathy to the aulos, 109 compared to Spartans, 89 corrupted by Greek practices, 99–100, 102 distribution of wine and honour, 85–6, 250 drink from skull cups, 86, 99 drink milk, 84–5, 97 drunkenness, 85 eat cheese, 85 fondness for wine, 83, 105 host cannibal banquet, 181, 193 ignorance of wine, 97–8, 108, 109 lovers of wine, 98 lured to banquet by Cyrus, 98, 101 martial ethic, 84–8 mix blood with wine, 86, 250 oath-taking ritual, 86 reject Dionysus, 87 rule Asia and killed whilst drunk, 98, 181 ‘use’ unmixed wine, 105 seven against Thebes, 178 Seven Wise Men

296

General index

Seven Wise Men (cont.) at the symposion, 108–9, 196 in Plutarch’s Symposium, 240 Shrimpton, G., 101 Sicily andrōnes at, 10 Athenian expedition to, 148 decadence, 153 origin of kottabos, 153 Simonides recipient of sympotic advice, 59–60 skolion, 16, 64, 154 Harmodius song, 208 sung by Philocleon, 141–2, 144, 154 Smith, T. J., 13 Socrates in Plato’s Protagoras, 198–200, 206 in Plato’s Symposium, 118, 195–6, 204–5, 206–8, 208–13 in Xenophon’s Symposium, 118, 214, 215–16, 217–28, 240 Solon of Athens as komast, 109 Eunomia (4 W), 137 hosts Anacharsis, 111 in Lucian’s Anacharsis, 115 in Plutarch’s Symposium, 110 praise for deeds of Aphrodite, Dionysus and the Muses, 52–53, 110 sumptuary reforms, 38, 39 Solon of Athens, fragments, 52, 57, 110, 137 song, 16 Anacreon 356b Campbell, 50, 51, 73 at parties amongst the Massagetae, 89 at Phaeacian feasts, 67 compared by Pindar to mixing of kraters, 253 imposed by Socrates, 219 insult to Macdonian generals, 188 Ion 27 W, 32 Ion’s Stays, 122, 126 on Attic red-figure kylix, 42 previously at Hiero’s symposia, 179 Theognis 789–94 W, 40 Xenophanes 1 W, 26, 27 Sophocles, 33, 124, 196, 250 enacts Athenian imperialism, 18, 19, 121–6, 129, 154, 251 sympotic strategms, 121–6, 204 Sparamizes, chief eunuch, 182, 183–5 Spartan symposion, 14, 30 Spartan syssition, 30, 105, 107 Plato’s advice for, 104–5, 248 Spartans banquets compared to Persian, 91 drinking practices, 105–6

‘Scythian’ drinking, 74–5 spectacles of symposiality, 24, 34–57, 252 Stehle, E. Alcaeus 130 LP, 23 feminizing performances, 48 Strabo on Scythians, 99–100 on the Sacaea festival, 98–9 Strabo, Geography, 30, 98–100 Straton of Sidon, 101, 104 symposiarch, see also potarch Alcibiades Senior as, 150 Plutarch as, 231 Socrates as, 218–22 tyrannical aspirations, 119 symposion anxieties about, 19, 150, 155–6, 251 archaeological evidence, 9–11 civic-religious aspects, 12–13 compared to Norwegian vorspiel, 44–5 dangerous to despots, 171–82 entertainments, 7–8 eschatological dimension, 208–9 ēthos revealed at, 66–107, 186, 191, 236–8, 240–1, 248 furniture and form, 8–9 in Greek thought world, 21, 248–9 metasympotic event, 23 participants, 11–12 plurality and diversity, 7–15, 21 political potency, 152, 251 political temper revealed at, 117–56, 247–8 politics staged at, 157–94, 248–9 relation to Near Eastern practices, 9 rhetorics of the, 20, 65, 198, 246, 247–53 socio-political aspects, 8–9, 11–13 socio-psychological aspects, 23, 250–2 terminology, 7 trends in scholarship, 1–2, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10, 11–12, 14 venues and occasions, 10–11 Symposium (literary form), 20–1, 195–246, 249, 252 authorial self-positioning, 21, 215, 225–6, 229–34, 237, 240–1, 244–5, 249 capping, 245–6 competitive, 239–41 critique of, 229, 239–45, 249 Cynic parody of, 235–9 deliberative, 227–8 interrogative, 211–12, 228, 232, 249 vehicle for doing philosophy, 213, 228, 249 sympotic boasting, 158 by Cimon, 126–7 by Mithridates, 184

General index by Philocleon, 141 sympotic competition, 31, 57–65, 122–3, 201–8, 209–10, 213, 214, 228, 236–7 sympotic conversation, 222–6 in Plutarch’s Sympotic Questions, 232–4 interrogative, 211 sympotic deceit, 157–94 Agamemnon’s homecoming, 162–3 at Ion’s party, 164–70 facilitated by laughter, 169 Odysseus’ homecoming, 163 of Alcetas by Archelaus, 185–6 of Enki by Innana, 160–1 of Greek representatives by Demetrius, 186 of Mithridates by Sparamizes, 182–5 of polemarchs by Theban rebels, 171 of Resource by Poverty, 161–2 of Serpent by Storm God, 162 of the Fates by Apollo, 159–60 sympotic ēthos created, critiqued, challenged, 17, 22–65, 66–116, 72–83, 117–56, 188–9, 235–9, 243, 248 sympotic fisticuffs, 187, 241–2 sympotic furniture and paraphernalia, 8–9 Alcman 19 Davies, 32 Ion 27 W, 33 Near Eastern origins, 9 Xenophanes 1 W, 26, 32 sympotic mirage, 7–15 sympotic misconduct, by Aeschines, 129–40 Alcibiades Junior, 144–8 Alcibiades Senior, 146–7 host and symposiarch, 118–21 Philocleon, 141–4 philosophers, 242–3 sympotic murder, 171–82, 185–90 attempted, 164–70 sympotic performance constructs identities, 16–21, 22–65, 247, 250–1 reveals ēthos, 66–107, 186, 191, 236–8, 240–1, 248 reveals political temper, 117–56, 184, 188–9, 247–8 sympotic poetry circulation of, 23 competitive dynamics, 23, 31, 51–3, 57–64, 247 critiques sympotic performance, 31, 50–1, 52–4, 60–4 displays of sympotic proficiency, 22, 28, 31, 34–63 first-person statements, 23, 35–57

297

gnomic wisdom, 22, 25–34 metasympotic verse, 15–16, 22–65 performative dynamics, 32 recommendations for the symposion, 25–34, 50–1, 57–64 responsion, 51 rhetorical dynamics, 34, 247 self-fashioning through, see sympotic selffashioning sympotic representation approaches to, 1–7; see also representation competitive, 57–65, 239–41, 243–4, 245–6, 249 discursivity, 22, 116, 118, 248, 249 in Greek thought world, 17–18 priority and multiplicity, 14–15 rhetorical, 4, 22, 253 workings of, 15–21 sympotic self-fashioning, 23, 247 as Anacreon, 55 as Bassara, 45–6 as speaker of gnōmai, 28 as spectacles of symposiality, 34–57 as young, 41, 143–4 sympotic space, 9 sympotic spectacles, 34–57, 216–22 deliberative, 227 educational value, 217 value critiqued, 219 synousia (gathering), 198–201, 209 syssition (communal meal) Spartan, 30, 105, 107 Theognis 309–12 W, 117, 251 Tecuşan, M., 200 Thebans at sacrifical banquet with Philip II, 132–3 sympotic rebellion, 171–178 Themistocles, 126–8, 154, 224, 251 betrays xenos, 127–8 lack of sympotic skill, 126, 136 reputation for cleverness, 127, 128 Theocritus, 253 Theognidea, see Theognis of Megara, fragments Theognis of Megara, 1, 8, 11, 23, 24, 51, 75, 77, 106, 120, 149, 157, 158, 164, 247, 252 competitive exhortations, 59–63 criticism of ‘Scythian’ sympotics, 74 effects of wine, 46–7 learning a companion’s temper, 117, 193, 251 learning good from the good, 113, 193, 224, 225, 228, 252 on deceit, 157–8, 184–5, 190, 193, 251 statements of sympotic performance, 39–42 value of sympotic prizes, 64, 228

298

General index

Theognis of Megara, fragments, 7, 8, 9, 11, 16, 18, 19, 30, 39–42, 43, 45, 46–8, 52, 56, 59–63, 64, 74, 88, 113, 117, 157–8, 184–5, 193, 224, 228, 251, 252 Theopompus of Chios, 17, 130 Athenian decadence, 102–3 Byzantines and Chalcedonians, 102 corrupting influence of democracy, 102–3 Etruscan lifestyles, 101 Illyrian drinking practices, 101 Philip II of Macedon, 103–4 Thessalian intemperance, 101–2 Theopompus of Chios, works Philippics, 100–4, 174, 181 unassigned fragment, 103–4 Theramenes, 152–4, 155 Thessalians corrupted and conquered by Philip II, 101–2 dice-playing, 102 drinking practices, 106 intemperate lifestyle, 101–2 thiasos (celebratory group) Alcman 98 Davies, 30 thoinē (banquet) Alcman 98 Davies, 30 Theognis 237–54 W, 23 Thracians beer drinkers, 66, 71, 74 drinking practices, 105 influence Alcibiades Senior’s heavy drinking, 104 ‘use’ mixed wine, 105 Thucydides mutilation of Herms, 148 performance of Mysteries, 149 Thucydides, History, 125–6, 147, 148, 149, 151 thusia (sacrificial banquet), 132 Timaeus of Tauromenium, 18, 118, 121, 129, 139, 140, 156, 171 Timaeus of Tauromenium, Sicilian History, 118–21, 228 toast poisonous, 186 to men by Etruscan women, 101 to men by Illyrian women, 101 to Molpis by Parmeniscus, 236 to Philip II by Aeschines, 132, 186 toasting, 105–6, 154, 190 by Plutarch’s symposiasts, 110 critiqued by Critias, 105–7, 153 Macedonian habits, 190 sympotic conversation mimics, 201 Tomyris, queen of the Massagetae, 87, 90

uninvited guest (aklētos), 72–3, 158, 190, 197, 249 Alcibiades, 211 at Ion’s party, 169, 250 Menelaos joke, 241 Odysseus, 163 Waterfield, R., 225 West, M., 28 Whitmarsh, T., 23 Wilson, P., 39 wine, 13, 14, 43, 51, 236, 249, 250 absent from Scythia, 97, 111 aids deceit, 19, 156, 158, 159–64, 172, 251 Alcaeus 367 LP, 35 Anacreon 356a Campbell, 45–6, 50 Anacreon 356b Campbell, 50 Anacreon 373 Campbell, 36 Anacreon 396 Campbell, 54 and truth, 183–4, 185, 187–90, 210, 249, 250 Archilochus 2 W, 37, 42 Archilochus 4 W, 37 Archilochus 124b W, 73 at marzeah, 9 at Persian banquets, 97 at symposion, 22, 79 benefits of, 48, 219 blended with conversation, 234 consumed by kaloi kagathoi, 199 dangerous to despots, 171–82 dangers of, 46, 60, 90, 94, 98 Dionysus as, 167 drunk by doves, 170 effects of, 9, 45–6, 60–1, 101, 110–11, 113, 210–11, 230 erotic associations, 82 from Ismaros, 38 influence on: Aeschines, 18; see also paroinia; Herm-choppers, 148; Philocleon, 143; philosophers, 242 instructions for mixing, 46 introduced by Alcibiades Senior, 209 Ion 27 W, 32 Ion, Stays, 122 leads to paroinia, 135, 190; see also paroinia lentils circulate like, 237, 238 Lexiphanes’ conversation over, 240 medicinal qualities, 94 mixed with blood by: Greek mercenaries, 87, 89; Scythians, 86, 250 not enjoyed by Anacharsis, 114 overindulgence in, 176 Panyassis 12 K, 29 Persian fondness for, 91, 92, 94, 105, 173 Persians drunk on, 172 Philocleon compared to, 142, 143

General index Phocylides 11 Bergk, 28 Plato, Laws 637d5–e7, 105 poisoned by: Circe, 68; Creusa’s servant, 168, 169; Demetrius, 186 poured in libation, 109, 169–70 pursuit of politics through, 186 ratio to water, 46, 48 role in power struggles, 159–64, 170, 178, 181, 183 route to andreia, 105 saluted at symposion, 32 scent of, 26 Scythian abstention from, 97 Scythian fondness for, 98, 99, 105 soothes troubles, 218 Sophocles playful and clever over, 122, 204 stimulates inquiry, 219 sweetened by onions, 223 Theognis 467–76 W, 59 Theognis 477–87 W, 60–1 Theognis 503–8 W, 47 Theognis 971–2 W, 64 Thracian draughts, 105 toasting with, 106, see also toast, toasting token of the good life, 91 unknown in Scythia, 98 unknown to Ethiopians, 94 unmixed, 81, 110; satyric associations, 83 unmixed, drunk by: Alexander, 187; Alexander and Indians, 187; Athenians at Persian court, 92; Cleomenes, 74; Cyclops, 38, 67; Hipparchus, 113–14; inexperienced Massagetae, 90; philosophers, 243; Scythians, 74, 98; Scythians and satyrs, 83; Scythians, Thracians, and Persians, 105; Spartans, 75; symposiast (wearing foreign hat), 79; uninvited guest, 73 unmixed, gifted by: Maron to Odysseus, 67 warming properties, 230 water praised as, 236, 238 wives drink, 97 Xenophanes 1 W, 26 Xenophanes 22 Lesher, 28 wine drinker self-styling as, 52, 53 wine drinking at Persian banquets, 93 from skull cups by Scythians, 100 stimulates martial camaraderie, 38

299

wine pourer, 51, 59 harassed by Sophocles, 122, 123 killed by Cambyses, 94 wine-pouring, 190 on Corinthian black-figure kothon, 13 wine skin, 81 Archilochean euphemism, 71 carried by satyr, 82 gift from Maron, 38 satyrs play with, 81 Wohl, V., 227 Woodard, R., 161 xenia (guest-friendship) at Philip II’s court, 130, 132, 133, 136, 139, 248 gift-exchange, 139 in the Odyssey, 68–9 Persians at Amyntas’ court, 172 sacrifices offered for Ion, 167 Xenophanes of Colophon, 1, 25, 34, 46, 52, 63 Xenophanes of Colophon, fragments, 13, 25–34, 36, 39, 41, 52, 57, 68 Xenophon, 108, 182, 191, 196, 216, 229, 231, 232, 233, 245 at Thracian banquet, 105 authorial strategies and self-positioning, 20, 225–6, 229 dramatization of ideas, 174 in Plutarch’s Sympotic Questions, 233, 234 ‘look and learn’, 174, 217, 218, 228 on Critias, 153 on Persian dining customs, 95–6 on Theramenes, 153 Xenophon, works Anabasis, 105 Constitution of the Lacedaemonians, 86 Cyropaedia, 87, 95–6, 97, 179–81 Hellenica, 19, 152–4, 171, 178 Hiero, 178–81 Symposium, 13, 118, 169, 194, 197, 206, 213–28, 229, 236, 238, 240, 241, 244, 245 xenos (guest-friend), 16, 23 Anacharsis as, 111 Themistocles’ betrayal of, 128 Xerxes I of Persia, 133 Xerxes II of Persia, 181 Yunis, H., 211–12