In the Poetics, Aristotle uses two terms to describe extent: μῆκος and μέγεθος. Scholars have been largely unable to determine the difference between these two terms in the text, often concluding Aristotle uses them “interchangeably” (for example Elizabeth Belfiore, Dramatic and Epic Time: ‘Magnitude’ and ‘Length’ in Aristotle’s Poetics, in Making sense of Aristotle: essays in poetics, 2001). But the meaning of μῆκος is described by D. W. Lucas in his commentary as “one of the major problems of the Poetics.” The definition of μέγεθος is no less controversial, with some resorting to the translation of “grandeur” in at least one passage (1449a18, see for example Halliwell’s Loeb translation). Here I argue Aristotle assumes the plot could be shorter than the play, and these two terms reflect this: μῆκος refers to duration in any sense (play duration, number of lines, duration in fictional time, number of plot parts), and μέγεθος refers to the proportion of the plot in the entire play. This argument gains support from looking at the plots of Aristophanic comedies, which consistently feature plots that end about halfway through the play. That our own narrative habits assume the plot and play begin and end at the same time has probably obscured our understanding of these two terms in the Poetics.

I will first take all the instances of these two words in the text one by one and apply my hypothesis.

Section 1449a18:

ἔτι δὲ τὸ μέγεθος: ἐκ μικρῶν μύθων καὶ λέξεως γελοίας διὰ τὸ ἐκ σατυρικοῦ μεταβαλεῖν ὀψὲ ἀπεσεμνύνθη, τό τε μέτρον ἐκ τετραμέτρου ἰαμβεῖον ἐγένετο.

Some have translated μέγεθος as “grandeur” here, because the sentence continues to compare tragedy with the “laughable” Satyr play. But it could also mean the Satyr play featured a smaller proportion of plot (μικρῶν μύθων). As we will see with Aristophanic comedies, some comedies regularly featured a plot that was a much smaller proportion of the play. Aristotle is here assigning that feature to the Satyr play as well, instead of referring to the seriousness or “slightness” of their plots.

Section 1449b12:

ἔτι δὲ τῷ μήκει: ἡ μὲν ὅτι μάλιστα πειρᾶται ὑπὸ μίαν περίοδον ἡλίου εἶναι ἢ μικρὸν ἐξαλλάττειν, ἡ δὲ ἐποποιία ἀόριστος τῷ χρόνῳ καὶ τούτῳ διαφέρει, καί τοι τὸ πρῶτον ὁμοίως ἐν ταῖς τραγῳδίαις τοῦτο ἐποίουν καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἔπεσιν.

Commentators have debated whether μήκει here refers to the run-time of the play taking less than a day to perform or the fictional time in the play occurring within a single day. For my purposes, either definition is acceptable. μῆκος always refers to duration, and both fictional time or performance time are measured in duration, not proportion.

Section 1449b23:

ἔστιν οὖν τραγῳδία μίμησις πράξεως σπουδαίας καὶ τελείας μέγεθος ἐχούσης, ἡδυσμένῳ λόγῳ χωρὶς ἑκάστῳ τῶν εἰδῶν ἐν τοῖς μορίοις, δρώντων καὶ οὐ δι᾽ ἀπαγγελίας, δι᾽ ἐλέου καὶ φόβου περαίνουσα τὴν τῶν τοιούτων παθημάτων κάθαρσιν.

Section 1450b:

κεῖται δὴ ἡμῖν τὴν τραγῳδίαν τελείας καὶ ὅλης πράξεως εἶναι μίμησιν ἐχούσης τι μέγεθος: ἔστιν γὰρ ὅλον καὶ μηδὲν ἔχον μέγεθος. ὅλον δέ ἐστιν τὸ ἔχον ἀρχὴν καὶ μέσον καὶ τελευτήν.

These two passages both refer to the wholeness or completeness of the plot in relation to its μέγεθος. But why does Aristotle need to establish that a plot has some extent? How could any conceivable plot not have some extent? An indication is found in the second passage, where Aristotle states something can be whole without having a μέγεθος. Lucas explains Aristotle is describing “an entity so small that it has no meaningful dimensions”, and compares to Physics 266a10: Ὅτι δὲ τοῦτ’ ἀμερὲς ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι καὶ μηδὲν ἔχειν μέγεθος, νῦν λέγωμεν, πρῶτον περὶ τῶν προτέρων αὐτοῦ διορίσαντες. But in that passage from the Physics, the size of the entity in question is not established, only that it has no parts and no magnitude. Aristotle assumes that anything with magnitude must also be dividable into parts (see also for example Metaphysics 1020a, “λέγεται δὲ πλῆθος μὲν τὸ διαιρετὸν δυνάμει εἰς μὴ συνεχῆ, μέγεθος δὲ τὸ εἰς συνεχῆ”).

The following sentence in the passage then defines a whole plot as having three parts: a beginning, middle and an end. So a plot with μέγεθος is a plot with parts, and these parts are at least three. If we imagine a plot with a single part, it could conceivably be simply a single event. An event cannot be meaningfully divided into any parts in a play, and so cannot be described as a plot. Wholeness for a plot is not enough. It must take up some meaningful proportion of the play, and that for Aristotle means at least three events. So μέγεθος in this passage does not refer primarily to smallness of length as Lucas assumes, it refers to the plot’s proportion of the play.

Section 1450b – 51a:

ἔτι δ᾽ ἐπεὶ τὸ καλὸν καὶ ζῷον καὶ ἅπαν πρᾶγμα ὃ συνέστηκεν ἐκ τινῶν οὐ μόνον ταῦτα τεταγμένα δεῖ ἔχειν ἀλλὰ καὶ μέγεθος ὑπάρχειν μὴ τὸ τυχόν: τὸ γὰρ καλὸν ἐν μεγέθει καὶ τάξει ἐστίν, διὸ οὔτε πάμμικρον ἄν τι γένοιτο καλὸν ζῷον （συγχεῖται γὰρ ἡ θεωρία ἐγγὺς τοῦ ἀναισθήτου χρόνου γινομένη） οὔτε παμμέγεθες（οὐ γὰρ ἅμα ἡ θεωρία γίνεται ἀλλ᾽ οἴχεται τοῖς θεωροῦσι τὸ ἓν καὶ τὸ ὅλον ἐκ τῆς θεωρίας） οἷον εἰ μυρίων σταδίων εἴη ζῷον: ὥστε δεῖ καθάπερ ἐπὶ τῶν σωμάτων καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν ζῴων ἔχειν μὲν μέγεθος, τοῦτο δὲ εὐσύνοπτον εἶναι, οὕτω καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν μύθων ἔχειν μὲν μῆκος, τοῦτο δὲ εὐμνημόνευτον εἶναι.

In this comparison of the parts (τινῶν) of plots to the parts of animals, I would suggest the translation “proportions” for the all the instances of μέγεθος. The organization of the parts is important, but also their proportions. An animal with enormous proportions or tiny proportions escapes perception and so cannot be beautiful. The same is true of a plot. But Aristotle confusingly uses the word μῆκος in a parallel construction with μέγεθος in the last clause, as if they were equivalent. That is because μῆκος here is referring to the total number of parts in the plot, what we might call plot points. The number of parts in the plot is an absolute quantity and therefore has a μῆκος, while μέγεθος is only used to express proportion. So the question of whether a plot can be εὐσύνοπτον is not a function of its proportion of the play, the run-time of the play or the fictional time it covers. It is a function of how many parts it has. If it has too many parts, it becomes impossible to keep them all in mind at once.

As if himself aware that the use of μῆκος in this sentence may be confusing, Aristotle immediately follows this with an often misunderstood clarification of the relationship between plot length and play length:

Section 1451a:

τοῦ δὲ μήκους ὅρος <ὁ> μὲν πρὸς τοὺς ἀγῶνας καὶ τὴν αἴσθησιν οὐ τῆς τέχνης ἐστίν: εἰ γὰρ ἔδει ἑκατὸν τραγῳδίας ἀγωνίζεσθαι, πρὸς κλεψύδρας ἂν ἠγωνίζοντο, †ὥσπερ ποτὲ καὶ ἄλλοτέ φασιν†. ὁ δὲ κατ᾽ αὐτὴν τὴν φύσιν τοῦ πράγματος ὅρος, ἀεὶ μὲν ὁ μείζων μέχρι τοῦ σύνδηλος εἶναι καλλίων ἐστὶ κατὰ τὸ μέγεθος: ὡς δὲ ἁπλῶς διορίσαντας εἰπεῖν, ἐν ὅσῳ μεγέθει κατὰ τὸ εἰκὸς ἢ τὸ ἀναγκαῖον ἐφεξῆς γιγνομένων συμβαίνει εἰς εὐτυχίαν ἐκ δυστυχίας ἢ ἐξ εὐτυχίας εἰς δυστυχίαν μεταβάλλειν, ἱκανὸς ὅρος ἐστὶν τοῦ μεγέθους.

Now the distinction between the two terms is made clear. Aristotle states that the run-time (μήκους) of a play dictated by contests or the audience’s patience does not change the demands on the writer’s craft. Regardless of the run-time, the plot has natural limits. The best size for the plot is as large as possible proportionally within the play (κατὰ τὸ μέγεθος), so long as the whole does not escape perception (μέχρι τοῦ σύνδηλος) by having too many parts. The minimum limit of the plot proportion is one that allows a change of fortune for the characters. It is interesting that now Aristotle mentions a change of fortune instead of the beginning, middle and end minimum he established before. This must add to the minimum of beginning, middle and end offered above: the beginning and the end must also provide a contrast in fortunes.

Section 1456a:

χρὴ δὲ ὅπερ εἴρηται πολλάκις μεμνῆσθαι καὶ μὴ ποιεῖν ἐποποιικὸν σύστημα τραγῳδίαν (ἐποποιικὸν δὲ λέγω τὸ πολύμυθον) οἷον εἴ τις τὸν τῆς Ἰλιάδος ὅλον ποιοῖ μῦθον. ἐκεῖ μὲν γὰρ διὰ τὸ μῆκος λαμβάνει τὰ μέρη τὸ πρέπον μέγεθος, ἐνδὲ τοῖς δράμασι πολὺ παρὰ τὴν ὑπόληψιν ἀποβαίνει.

The question here is why the entire plot of an epic cannot be handled by a single tragedy. If the two terms μῆκος and μέγεθος are equivalent, the meaning of this passage is: “because of the length of epic, the parts of the plot can have the appropriate length”, which verges on a tautology. But if we translate “because of the length of epic, the parts of the plot can take up the appropriate proportion of the poem, but in drama the result is far from what was intended”, the point is altogether different. This means by constructing a tragedy from the plot of the Iliad, the problem is not necessarily that the episodes are too short. The problem is that there would be nothing but plot, and so the proportion of plot would be too high. The epic has enough room for a larger plot and the other elements appropriate to the genre.

Section 1456a – 56b:

ἔστι δὲ κατὰ τὴν διάνοιαν ταῦτα, ὅσα ὑπὸ τοῦ λόγου δεῖ παρασκευασθῆναι. μέρη δὲ τούτων τό τε ἀποδεικνύναι καὶ τὸ λύειν καὶ τὸ πάθη παρασκευάζειν（οἷον ἔλεον ἢ φόβον ἢ ὀργὴν καὶ ὅσα τοιαῦτα）καὶ ἔτι μέγεθος καὶ μικρότητας.

Here the subject is the parts of the element of tragedy Aristotle calls “speech”. This is another instance where scholars have resorted to “grandeur” or “importance” to translate μέγεθος . By translating “proportion”, the passage shows instead that the principle of proportion applies to other elements of the play. Since an important aspect of plot is its proportion of the play, it follows that the same would be true of other elements. Aristotle first distinguishes three parts of the element of speech: proof, refutation and producing emotions, then adds that this element as a whole can take up a larger proportion of the play (μέγεθος) or a smaller proportion (μικρότητας).

Section 1456b:

ταῦτα δὲ διαφέρει σχήμασίν τε τοῦ στόματος καὶ τόποις καὶ δασύτητι καὶ ψιλότητι καὶ μήκει καὶ βραχύτητι ἔτι δὲ ὀξύτητι καὶ βαρύτητι καὶ τῷ μέσῳ:

This use of μήκει in the discussion of syllable length shows that Aristotle consistently uses this word to mean only absolute duration.

Section 1459a:

διὸ ὥσπερ εἴπομεν ἤδη καὶ ταύτῃ θεσπέσιος ἂν φανείη Ὅμηρος παρὰ τοὺς ἄλλους, τῷ μηδὲ τὸν πόλεμον καίπερ ἔχοντα ἀρχὴν καὶ τέλος ἐπιχειρῆσαι ποιεῖν ὅλον: λίαν γὰρ ἂν μέγας καὶ οὐκ εὐσύνοπτος ἔμελλεν ἔσεσθαι ὁ μῦθος, ἢ τῷ μεγέθει μετριάζοντα καταπεπλεγμένον τῇ ποικιλίᾳ.

The words τῷ μεγέθει μετριάζοντα in the concluding phrase of the passage are commonly understood to refer to the length of the epic. For example, Lucas comments “the whole story of the Trojan War told in the compass of the Iliad would have been excessively compressed.” But a closer look at the passage shows it is not possible that the length of the poem is the subject of the last phrase. Aristotle writes that either the plot would be too big or it would be too compressed. Lucas interprets the passage as if Aristotle wrote either the poem would be too big or, if the poem was of a moderate length, the plot too compressed. Yet in the first phrase of the either/or proposition, the plot is explicitly the subject, not the poem. If the subject of the second phrase were the poem itself, then the either/or proposition makes no sense: either the plot is too big (but the poem is the normal length), or the poem is the normal length and the plot too compressed.

If however we understand the passage to be about the proportion of the plot to the entire poem, as we would expect since Aristotle writes μεγέθει, these difficulties disappear. The passage then states either the plot is too big, i.e. that it takes up far too great a proportion of the poem, or, if it takes up only a moderate proportion of the poem, then it is too compressed. This was the same problem Aristotle found above with using an entire epic plot for a tragedy, that its proportion in the play would be too high. So Aristotle assumes it is possible to tell the entire story of the Trojan War over the standard length of an epic, but then there would be no room for the other required elements of an epic.

Section 1459b:

διαφέρει δὲ κατά τε τῆς συστάσεως τὸ μῆκος ἡ ἐποποιία καὶ τὸ μέτρον. τοῦ μὲν οὖν μήκους ὅρος ἱκανὸς ὁ εἰρημένος: δύνασθαι γὰρ δεῖ συνορᾶσθαι τὴν ἀρχὴν καὶ τὸ τέλος. εἴη δ᾽ ἂν τοῦτο, εἰ τῶν μὲν ἀρχαίων ἐλάττους αἱ συστάσεις εἶεν, πρὸς δὲ τὸ πλῆθος τραγῳδιῶν τῶν εἰς μίαν ἀκρόασιν τιθεμένων παρήκοιεν. ἔχει δὲ πρὸς τὸ ἐπεκτείνεσθαι τὸ μέγεθος πολύ τι ἡ ἐποποιία ἴδιον διὰ τὸ ἐν μὲν τῇ τραγῳδίᾳ μὴ ἐνδέχεσθαι ἅμα πραττόμεναπολλὰ μέρη μιμεῖσθαι ἀλλὰ τὸ ἐπὶ τῆς σκηνῆς καὶ τῶν ὑποκριτῶν μέρος μόνον: ἐν δὲ τῇ ἐποποιίᾳ διὰ τὸ διήγησιν εἶναι ἔστι πολλὰ μέρη ἅμα ποιεῖν περαινόμενα, ὑφ᾽ ὧν οἰκείων ὄντων αὔξεται ὁ τοῦ ποιήματος ὄγκος.

In this chapter Aristotle is comparing epic and tragedy. The word σύστασις is frequently modified by τῶν πραγμάτων in the Poetics, meaning the construction of the plot. So in the first sentence we can assume the topic is the plot, not the length of the poem, as it is often translated. In addition, Aristotle refers back to the ὅρος defined above in 1451a, where we saw the subject is the number of parts of the plot, not poem length. Therefore, μῆκος here means the number of parts of the plot, and Aristotle is simply establishing that epic has more plot parts than tragedy, but that as with tragedy the maximum acceptable number of plot parts from beginning to end is determined by how many can be kept in mind at once. He goes on to define a rough general maximum for plot points: the amount of plot points that are contained in three typical tragedies.

This is commonly interpreted to refer instead to the actual run-time of three tragedies. Although the confusion is understandable given Aristotle’s use of μῆκος, the passage explicitly refers back to 1451a where the topic is parts of the plot and μῆκος was used in that context. In fact the passage would make less sense if it referred to performance time. That would mean that any epic that lasted about the length of three tragedies would satisfy the limit for plot. But Aristotle has also clearly stated in 1451a that length of performance is not related to correct plot length, so this interpretation is highly doubtful.

Aristotle follows this point with a description of how epic is able to accommodate a larger proportion of plot. The proportion of plot can be extended even further in epic because it can narrate more parts at once. This passage has been typically understood to mean epic can “describe in rapid succession a number of different events which happened at the same time”, as Lucas comments. But it is more likely Aristotle simply means διήγησισ can use language to refer to aggregate actions in a way that is impossible on stage, where every action must be physically played out. To take an example at random from the Iliad, here are the first two lines of Book 3:

αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ κόσμηθεν ἅμ᾽ ἡγεμόνεσσιν ἕκαστοι,

Τρῶες μὲν κλαγγῇ τ᾽ ἐνοπῇ τ᾽ ἴσαν ὄρνιθες

This action of the entire Trojan army assembling and charging would take many minutes at a minimum on stage (if that were possible) or for example in a film. These actions must actually be shown, there is no way to gloss them over when the actors are physically in front of you. But in an epic, that can be passed over in two lines, and the rest is left to the imagination.

Whether parallel action is meant or not, this passage confirms that the subject of the previous sentence was parts of the plot, and not run-time. Here again Aristotle only discusses whether one part or many can be shown on stage conveniently, and how that effects the proportion of plot to other elements in the epic. Furthermore, his use of ὄγκος is particularly revealing. Although one meaning of the word is “dignity” and is certainly a correct translation, another more literal meaning is “volume”. Since Aristotle is talking about how much plot is filling the vessel of the play or epic, this word is particularly appropriate when we understand he is discussing plot proportion, not run-time or plot length.

Section 1462b:

ἔτι τῷ ἐν ἐλάττονι μήκει τὸ τέλος τῆς μιμήσεως εἶναι（τὸ γὰρ ἀθροώτερον ἥδιον ἢ πολλῷ κεκραμένον τῷ χρόνῳ, λέγω δ᾽ οἷον εἴ τις τὸν Οἰδίπουν θείη τὸν Σοφοκλέους ἐν ἔπεσιν ὅσοις ἡ Ἰλιάς）: ἔτι ἧττον μία ἡ μίμησις ἡ τῶν ἐποποιῶν（σημεῖον δέ, ἐκ γὰρ ὁποιασοῦν μιμήσεως πλείους τραγῳδίαι γίνονται）, ὥστε ἐὰν μὲν ἕνα μῦθον ποιῶσιν, ἢ βραχέως δεικνύμενον μύουρον φαίνεσθαι, ἢ ἀκολουθοῦντα τῷ τοῦ μέτρου μήκει ὑδαρῆ: λέγω δὲ οἷον ἐὰν ἐκ πλειόνων πράξεων ᾖ συγκειμένη, ὥσπερ ἡ Ἰλιὰς ἔχει πολλὰ τοιαῦτα μέρη καὶ ἡ Ὀδύσσεια <ἃ> καὶ καθ᾽ ἑαυτὰ ἔχει μέγεθος: καίτοι ταῦτα τὰ ποιήματα συνέστηκεν ὡς ἐνδέχεται ἄριστα καὶ ὅτι μάλιστα μιᾶς πράξεως μίμησις.

In the beginning of the passage, μῆκος is now again simply run-time. Aristotle explicitly tells us that by referring to the number of lines and directly to time. The reason an epic with a single plot would be diluted or too short is a question of proportion: because a single plot has too few plot points, either the proportion is correct and the epic too short (perhaps the length of a tragedy), or the epic is the correct length and the proportion too low. The use of the word for diluted is similar to the use of the word for volume above, in that it clearly shows proportion in the most literal sense is Aristotle’s concern. The conclusion of the passage simply establishes that an epic achieves the correct plot proportion by adding plot sections each of some smaller proportion (καθ᾽ ἑαυτὰ ἔχει μέγεθος).

By defining the terms μῆκος and μέγεθος in the Poetics in terms of proportion, we gain a clearer and, in some ways, completely new picture of Aristotle’s understanding of plot. The plot is not ubiquitous in the play, yet some proportion of the play must be plot. Other elements such as speech also have certain proportions in the play. The proportion of plot should not to be too high or too low, though more plot is always more desirable within the limits Aristotle describes. A plot must have a minimum of three parts, a beginning middle and an end, with the end showing a change in fortune from the beginning. But a plot with too many parts escapes perception and should be avoided.

In addition, this analysis solves several problems in the text. It explains why Aristotle uses two different terms, μῆκος and μέγεθος, when discussing extent. It makes the somewhat awkward and inconsistent translation of μέγεθος as “grandeur” no longer necessary. And it clarifies several questions that have persistently confused scholars, such as why Aristotle refers to plays timed by a water clock in 1451a.

There are also an important group of ancient plays that, unlike most modern examples, have plots that end before the play. The second half of comedies by Aristophanes typically consist of “revue-like scenes which do not advance the plot, which is often effectively concluded before the parabasis” as Henderson writes in his Loeb introduction. This has also been observed by other commentators, for example Whittaker (1935) and Zimmermann (2006). That curious feature of Aristophanic comedy is too consistent to be accidental or novel to ancient audiences. It is clear that Greek audiences had different expectations when it came to plot proportions than we do today. Given that is the case, it would be surprising if Aristotle’s discussion of plot did not address this special feature of the narrative of his time and the ramifications it has on overall construction in various genres. These two terms illustrate that Aristotle did discuss these issues in the Poetics.

Caesar assumes his readers agree Rome have a right to dominate Gaul and little consideration is given to the Gauls’ experience of the war. So passages where Caesar confronted the disturbing side of imperialism drew my attention.

“Collateral damage” and civilian casualties have always been serious concerns for occupying forces. The problem is even worse here, because Caesar’s enemies often bring their families to war (all translations here taken from McDevitte and Bohn):

…omnemque aciem suam raedis et carris circumdederunt, ne qua spes in fuga relinqueretur. Eo mulieres imposuerunt, quae ad proelium proficiscentes milites passis manibus flentes implorabant ne se in servitutem Romanis traderent.

[They] surrounded their whole army with their chariots and wagons, that no hope might be left in flight. On these they placed their women, who, with disheveled hair and in tears, entreated the soldiers, as they went forward to battle, not to deliver them into slavery to the Romans.

Book 1, Chapter 51

Then, when Caesar wins, of course some of the women are killed in the slaughter that follows:

Duae fuerunt Ariovisti uxores…utraque in ea fuga periit; duae filiae: harum altera occisa, altera capta est.

Ariovistus had two wives…both perished in that flight. Of their two daughters, one was slain, the other captured.

Book 1, Chapter 53

Caesar uses a construction that avoids specifying who killed them, making their deaths impersonal and somehow inevitable. But Caesar prides himself on the discipline of his soldiers and his own clemency with his enemies. Why didn’t he simply give his soldiers orders not to kill non-combatants?

In the case above, it appears the civilian deaths were accidental, the inevitable casualties of a chaotic melee. But later Caesar’s culpability is clear, and he just as clearly tries to avoid responsibility, even offering an excuse:

Sic et Cenabi caede et labore operis incitati non aetate confectis, non mulieribus, non infantibus pepercerunt.

Thus, being excited by the massacre at Genabum and the fatigue of the siege, they spared neither those worn out with years, women, or children.

Book 7, chapter 28

He admits children were killed but even here uses a circumlocution to refer to the elderly. Caesar offers a motivation for the soldiers’ slaughtering of innocents: they were exhausted from the siege and he also mentions just before they had no interest in plunder. This entails two assumptions: that soldiers are responsible for their own actions, which is sort of like a man blaming his penis for a rape; and soldiers will by default kill women, children and the elderly if they are in a bad mood and undistracted by plunder. If these assumptions are unconvincing, then it can be concluded that Caesar actually ordered the soldiers to kill civilians to punish the enemy and serve as a warning to the rest. Given this war took place in a time when such tactics were hardly unacceptable, it’s interesting to note Ceasar still goes out of his way to conceal them.

A final passage describing the death of Dumnorix shows Caesar’s conflicted sympathy for the Guals’ cause, who after all were only fighting for their freedom as the Romans would if the tables were turned:

…quod longius eius amentiam progredi videbat…, dabat operam ut in officio Dumnorigem contineret….At omnium impeditis animis Dumnorix cum equitibus Aeduorum a castris insciente Caesare domum discedere coepit. Qua re nuntiata Caesar intermissa profectione atque omnibus rebus postpositis magnam partem equitatus ad eum insequendum mittit retrahique imperat; si vim faciat neque pareat, interfici iubet, nihil hunc se absente pro sano facturum arbitratus, qui praesentis imperium neglexisset. Ille enim revocatus resistere ac se manu defendere suorumque fidem implorare coepit, saepe clamitans liberum se liberaeque esse civitatis. Illi, ut erat imperatum, circumsistunt hominem atque interficiunt: at equites Aedui ad Caesarem omnes revertuntur.

Because [Ceasar] perceived [Dumnorix's] insane designs to be proceeding further and further…he exerted himself to keep Dumnorix in his allegiance…. But, while the minds of all were occupied, Dumnorix began to take his departure from the camp homeward with the cavalry of the Aedui, Caesar being ignorant of it. Caesar, on this matter being reported to him, ceasing from his expedition and deferring all other affairs, sends a great part of the cavalry to pursue him, and commands that he be brought back; he orders that if he use violence and do not submit, that he be slain; considering that Dumnorix would do nothing as a rational man while he himself was absent, since he had disregarded his command even when present. He, however, when recalled, began to resist and defend himself with his hand, and implore the support of his people, often exclaiming that “he was free and the subject of a free state.” They surround and kill the man as they had been commanded; but the Aeduan horsemen all return to Caesar.

Book 5, Chapter 7

Caesar uses two words for “insane” in reference to Dumnorix, although it’s hard to determine what’s insane about the Gaul’s actions, except that the Romans present an overwhelming force and he will most likely lose. Even more intriguing is that Ceasar reports Dumnorix’s words, which are anything but insane. Instead, Dumnorix sounds like he is valiantly fighting for a noble but lost cause: Gallic freedom. To me, this shows that Caesar was in some way a conflicted imperialist: coming from a culture that unequivocally celebrated domination and therefore Roman freedom, he couldn’t help but sympathize with those who fought for their freedom, as Romans themselves would have in the same situation. The Gaul’s words must have moved him, even as he felt compelled by his chauvinistic nationalism to call them irrational.

καὶ μὴν καὶ ἡ διὰ τοῦ κενοῦ φορὰ κατὰ μηδεμίαν ἀπάντησιν τῶν ἀντικοψόντων γινομένη πᾶν μῆκος περιληπτὸν ἐν ἀπερινοήτῳ χρόνῳ συντελεῖ. βράδους γὰρ καὶ τάχους ἀντικοπὴ καὶ οὐκ ἀντικοπὴ ὁμοίωμα λαμβάνει. (46)

Moreover, in the absence of any collision, the idols’ voyage through the void will cross any conceivable distance in an imperceptible amount of time. Because here collision or freedom from collision are like slowness and speed.

What this means is that an idol that allows us to perceive a body can travel at atomic speed, i.e. can instantaneously reach us for all intents and purposes so there is no lag in our perception. But Epicurus specifically explains here that an idol can go slower than atomic speed, meaning there would be a lag.

The passage that follows has confounded scholars, but I think its meaning is explained by this last point. I will quote the Greek passage first and then the various different translations over the decades to give an idea of how controversial and challenging the language here is.

Οὐ μὴν οὐδ᾽ ἅμα κατὰ τοὺς διὰ λόγου θεωρητοὺς χρόνους αὐτὸ τὸ φερόμενον σῶμα ἐπὶ τοὺς πλείους τόπους ἀφικνεῖται — ἀδιανόητον γάρ,– καὶ τοῦτο συναφικνούμενον ἐν αἰσθητῷ χρόνῳ ὅθεν δήποθεν τοῦ ἀπείρου οὐκ ἐξ οὗ ἂν περιλάβωμεν τὴν φορὰν τόπου ἔσται ἀφιστάμενον: ἀντικοπῇ γὰρ ὅμοιον ἔσται, κἂν μέχρι τοσούτου τὸ τάχος τῆς φορᾶς μὴ ἀντικόπτον καταλίπωμεν. (47)

At all events, a body in motion does not find itself, at any moment imaginable, in two places at the same time; that is quite inconceivable. From whatever point of infinity it arrives at some appreciable moment, and whatever may be the spot it its course in which we perceive its motion, it has evidently quitted that spot at the moment of our thought; for this motion which, as we have admitted up to this point, encounters no obstacle to its rapidity, is wholly in the same condition as that the rapidity of which is diminished by the shock of some resistance. (C.D. Yonge)

Not that, if we consider the minute times perceptible by reason alone, the moving body itself arrives at more than one place simultaneously (for this too is inconceivable), although in time perceptible to sense it does arrive simultaneously, however different the point of departure from that conceived by us. For if it changed its direction, that would be equivalent to its meeting with resistance, even if up to that point we allow nothing to impede the rate of its flight. (R.D. Hicks)

On the other hand, a moving body cannot arrive at several places at once in the shortest conceivable period of time. That is unthinkable. But when in a perceivable period of time a body arrives along with others from some point or other in the infinite, the distance covered will be extraordinary. If it were otherwise, collisions would have been involved – though we still allow some limit to speed of motion as a result of non-collision. (Erik Anderson)

By no means, in any case not in time measured in thinkable units, does a body in motion arrive at several places at once – because that is unthinkable –, and when it arrives within a perceptible unit of time from anywhere in space, at that very moment the body will not have moved from the spot where we perceive it be to begin with. Because that would be similar to collision, even if we allow the speed of the body’s motion to be as fast as it would be without collision. (Hans-Wolfgang Krautz, my translation from the German)

And finally in an article in Classical Philology, Vol. 36, No. 4 (Oct., 1941) specifically on this passage, Norman W. Dewitt concluded this was the correct translation:

It certainly must not be thought, however, that the moving mass also arrives at the same time at the greater distances in units of time discernible only by reason, for it is unthinkable, and this [the moving mass], arriving suddenly at a perceptible moment out of the infinite [that is, out of the invisible], will be inseparable from the spot where we shall first discern the motion, for it [the fact of its becoming visible] will be equivalent to retardation, even if down to this point we leave the velocity of the motion unimpeded.

Without even trying to understand what errors these translators made, it’s clear with the exception of Dewitt’s translation that none of them actually make any logical sense in English at all, and Dewitt’s translation is simply too far from the original Greek to be accurate (e.g. ἐπὶ τοὺς πλείους τόπους cannot mean “at greater distances” and must mean “at several places”, which does not fit his argument). It’s also clear that there are several words and phrases that are the chief cause the problem: κατὰ τοὺς διὰ λόγου θεωρητοὺς χρόνους, “in time perceived by reason”, συναφικνούμενον “arriving together” (this word appears only here in all extant Ancient Greek texts, i.e. a hapax legomenon), and ἐν αἰσθητῷ χρόνῳ, “in perceptible time”. No translator has managed to reconcile the idea of an object arriving at several places at once with the previous discussion of idols and then the final mention of collision.

My solution is this: Epicurus specifically sets up a contrast in 46 between slow and fast idols. The next section, 47, explains the consequences of slow idols. If an airplane is moving across the sky, and light from the plane (in the form of an idol) meets my eye without any obstruction, then I see the plane at exactly the place where it actually is, because the idol travels at a speed so inconceivably fast there is no delay. But if at a moment previously an idol emitted by the same plane was slowed by a collision, that idol might reach me (or another observer) at the same time as the later, unobstructed idol. Then it would seem that the plane is in two places at once – where the faster later idol shows it to be and the slower previous idol. So this is why Epicurus affirms that a body can arrive at two places at once (συναφικνούμενον) but only in “perceptible time” (ἐν αἰσθητῷ χρόνῳ). That it arrives at two places at once in time perceived by reason (κατὰ τοὺς διὰ λόγου θεωρητοὺς χρόνους) or in actual reality since time perceived by reason is the smallest unit of time in the universe, is, according to Epicurus, “unthinkable” or “inconceivable” as all have translated those words in the sentence.

The words in the last phrase that have caused the most confusion are “τὸ τάχος τῆς φορᾶς” or “the speed of the motion”. Translators have overlooked the difference between “φορὰ” which means motion or path of motion, and the other words Epicurus uses to describe the place where a body is at one moment. Taking that into account, it appears the last phrase here just establishes that even if we see a body in two places at once, that doesn’t mean that in between those two places the body took any other path than the one we would imagine, which is shown in A in the illustration here:

Epicurus means that the path the body takes will be the one we should perceive in the absence of a distortion of our perception, if we assume there has not been any collision in between. In other words, just because our perception misses some part of the trajectory doesn’t mean the body’s trajectory is entirely uncertain, as in B in the illustration.

Finally, looking at a related passage that has caused similar problems, I think the conclusions above help unravel the meaning there too. After explaining that even though composite bodies move at different speeds, the atoms within them do not due to vibrating atomic motion, Epicurus concludes:

τὸ γὰρ προσδοξαζόμενον περὶ τοῦ ἀοράτου, ὡς ἄρα καὶ οἱ διὰ λόγου θεωρητοὶ χρόνοι τὸ συνεχὲς τῆς φορᾶς ἕξουσιν, οὐκ ἀληθές ἐστιν ἐπὶ τῶν τοιούτων: ἐπεὶ τό γε θεωρούμενον πᾶν ἢ κατ᾽ ἐπιβολὴν λαμβανόμενον τῇ διανοίᾳ ἀληθές ἐστι. (62)

This passage is central to understanding Epicurus, because many commentators have taken it as a credo, translating for example:

For the assumption that beyond the range of direct observation even the minute times conceivable by reason will present continuity of motion is not true in the case before us. Our canon is that direct observation by sense and direct apprehension by the mind are alone invariably true. (R.D. Hicks)

Dewitt has rightly contested that approach and in fact shown the clause means close to the opposite:

…for the gratuitous inference of opinion concerning the unseen, that naturally units of time discernible only through reason will also be characterized by motion in a straight line, is not true of such things [as atoms endowed with motion]; because, of course, it is the universe of atoms and void as viewed by reason or received by intuition through the intellect that is true.

As in 46-7, Epicurus is stressing that sometimes our senses deceive us, and what we understand about the atomic world using reason alone is more accurate. So sometimes a body appears to the senses to be in two places at once, but reason perceives that is false. Or we see a body moving faster than another body in space, but the atoms we cannot see that compose these bodies are in fact moving at exactly the same speed in a variety of directions.

Interpreting these passages as I have shows that Epicurus believed there were two ways to perceive the universe, with the senses and with reason. With the senses, we have to rely on idols to get information about the universe. So essentially, knowledge by reason is knowledge about the universe without idols. But then how would we ever get this knowledge? How could reason ever approach the things themselves when our only contact with them is through idols?

For Epicurus, there is simply a division between the “thinkable” and the “unthinkable”. What is thinkable is knowable, even without perception or idols. What is unthinkable is knowable too – in the sense that it is known not to be possible. In this sense, I think epicurean epistemology is impressively cohesive, presenting a self-consistent system. But it leaves open a wide area for disagreement on what we define as the thinkable. In conclusion, here are my translations of the two passages above based on my analysis:

Moreover, in the absence of any collision, the idols’ voyage through the void will cross any conceivable distance in an imperceptible amount of time. Because here collision or freedom from collision are like slowness and speed. But in time perceivable by reason, a body in motion will not arrive at more than one place at once, because that is inconceivable. And although in perceptible time a body can arrive from anywhere in space at more than one place at once, the body will not be elsewhere than where we perceive its path to be, if we allow the motion of its voyage to be free from collision up to that point. (46-7)

So this assumption that the body’s motion at the atomic level is continuous in the same way as its motion in perceptible units of time is not the truth in such cases; because the truth of the universe is perceived either with intuition or by the understanding. (62)

“Quare ergo tu fortius loqueris quam uiuis? Quare et superiori uerba summittis et pecuniam necessarium tibi instrumentum existimas et damno moueris et lacrimas audita coniugis aut amici morte demittis et respicis famam et malignis sermonibus tangeris? Quare cultius rus tibi est quam naturalis usus desiderat? Cur non ad praescriptum tuum cenas? Cur tibi nitidior supellex est? Cur apud te uinum aetate tua uetustius bibitur? Cur aurum disponitur? Cur arbores nihil praeter umbram daturae conseruntur? Quare uxor tua locupletis domus censum auribus gerit? Quare paedagogium pretiosa ueste succingitur? Quare ars est apud te ministrare nec temere et ut libet conlocatur argentum sed perite struitur et est aliquis scindendi obsonii magister?” Adice si uis: “cur trans mare possides? Cur plura quam nosti? <Cur> obsonii aut tam neglegens es ut non noueris pauculos seruos aut tam luxuriosus ut plures habeas quam quorum notitiae memoria sufficiat?”

“Why then do you talk more bravely than you live? Why do you speak humbly to your superiors and think money a necessary tool, why are you moved by loss and shed tears when you hear your wife or a friend has died, why are you concerned with reputation and affected by those who speak badly of you? Why do you have an estate that produces more than your natural need requires? Why isn’t your diet in keeping with your principles? Why do you have such luxurious furnishings? Why do you serve wine older than yourself at your house? Why is your table set with gold? Why do you plant trees only to provide shade? Why does a wealthy family’s income hang from your wife’s ears? Why do you dress your young servants in expensive clothes? Why is being served at your house considered an art? Why is the silverware not placed at random but expertly set out, and why do you have a professional carver for your food?” Add this if you like: “Why do you have property overseas? Why do you own more than you even know? Why are you so disgracefully indifferent that you can’t even recognise your own few servants, or so extravagant that you have more servants than you can remember at once?” (17)

The letter is asking what it is right to do with wealth that exceeds your natural needs. Does having property abroad you’ve never seen — investments in our language — make you a materialist? Does having more employees than you can know individually make you insensitive? If you enjoy the fruits of your investments by buying luxuries, are you decadent?

Wealth is identified with an ignorance of philosophy here. In contrast, today the wealthy are the ones most closely associated with philosophy, or at least with a set of theoretical ideas. The defense of capitalism in our world is led by free-market zealots and philosophers of individual freedoms. In Seneca’s time, no one had yet written a philosophy defending wealth as an advantage to both yourself and the world.

And for Seneca, it would be going too far to argue wealth means progress. Instead, Seneca argues that wealth has no bearing on philosophy or the higher good. Wealthy or not, the philosopher judges happiness by other criteria, taking advantage of what both wealth and poverty have to offer in the service of virtue. Wealth is neither evidence of virtue nor an ignorance of philosophy. Addressing the idea of where wealth comes from, Seneca adds this:

Habebit tamen etiam quo glorietur, si aperta domo et admissa in res suas ciuitate poterit dicere “quod quisque agnouerit tollat.”

[A rich man] will have something to brag about if he can open his home to the public, show them what he has and say “Take whatever you recognize as yours.” (23)

Seneca means nothing was stolen in the house. But where did that extra wealth come from? Why are some people wealthy and some people poor? Even if nothing was literally stolen from the public and placed in your home, can you still be called a thief? If you didn’t violate anyone to attain wealth, is there still blood on your hands? These questions belong to another branch of philosophy that had yet to be invented: economics.

I was hired to read this book for a research project on the historical Dracula (Vlad the Impaler). The region where Dracula was from, Wallachia in modern-day southern Romania, went back and forth between the Turks and western powers during the period, and Dracula was at different times in his life both an ally of the invaders and a fierce enemy, depending on domestic politics. His cruelty with his enemies and rivals and his preferred method of torture, impaling, are well known, and the partial basis of Bram Stoker’s fictional character.

The challenge of reading an untranslated ancient text is there is no way to check your translation, you can’t “cheat”. The book includes a Latin translation, but I found going through it that the Latin often glossed over difficult passages in the Greek or ignored them altogether. To compound matters, Chalkokondyles was writing in a language he learned at school not spoke at home (modern Greek was his mother tongue), so he makes grammatical mistakes or uses odd phrases and vocabulary not found in an Ancient Greek dictionary. The names of people and places are particular to the period as well, and some research was required to determine the modern equivalents. Yet once I learned the peculiarities of his language and style, the reading began to go more smoothly.

These chapters describe a chaotic world where even relatively small players like Venice were able to leverage significant power. Meanwhile, the Turks consolidated their power in Asia and started to make inroads in Europe. Chalkokondyles describes the military prowess of the Sultans and my impression is that he respects their achievements, even as a Greek. But he also shows that the empire was constantly beset by internecine struggles for power, especially when it came to succession. The Turks also seemed to lack a system for integrating people they conquered into their empire. There was no such thing as citizenship like in Roman times. They seem indifferent to fitting local religions or cults into a Muslim framework to help give their rule permanence. Their strength off the battlefield seems to lie mostly in exploiting local rivalries to expand their power.

Focusing on Dracula’s story puts that strength in sharp relief. Dracula not only sometimes allied himself with the Turks, he even partially grew up at the Ottoman court. His father left him there for a long period as a guarantee of his loyalty to the empire. As an adult, the Turks sometimes used Dracula to defeat common enemies in his region — or he used them, depending on how you look at it.

Even though Dracula is today in Romania and Hungary viewed as a national Christian hero who resisted a Muslim invader, the more I read about him, the more I begin to appreciate the influence of the Turks on his methods and success. Impaling itself is a sophisticated, almost scientifically precise form of torture that is more characteristic of Asia at that time than the West. His willingness to switch sides and play rivals and enemies off each other resembles Ottoman strategies as well. In many ways, Dracula’s unique role and why we remember him could come as much from his extraordinary experience growing up in both Asia and Europe as his cruelty and ruthlessness. When the job starts up again in a couple months, I hope I’ll find evidence in the rest of the book of whether he actually spoke Turkish and to what extent his experiences in Asia made him question his identity as a European or feel emotionally conflicted about his allegiances.

…cum semper alioquin spretorem matronalium amplexuum sic tuis istis micantibus oculis et rubentibus bucculis et renidentibus crinibus et hiantibus osculis et flagrantibus papillis in servilem modum addictum atque mancipatum teneas volentem.

…I’ve always rejected the embraces of ladies, but you’ve made me a willing and devoted prisoner, virtually a slave to your shining eyes, blushing cheeks, luxurious hair, open-mouthed kisses and rosy nipples. (3.19)

The character is saying he’s never been attracted to women before. The passage makes an even more explicit statement in the Greek version:

…ἐπεί με τὸν πάλαι ἀδαμάντινον, ὡς ἔλεγον αἱ γυναῖκες, ἐς μηδεμίαν γυναῖκα τὰ ὄμματα ταῦτα ἐρωτικῶς ποτέ ἐκτείναντα συλλαβοῦσα τῆι τέχνηι ταύτηι αἰχμάλωτον ἔχεις ἐρωτικῶι πολέμωι ψυχαγωγοῦσα.

…women have always said I’m made of stone, and my eyes have never looked with desire at any woman. But you seized me with your powers and now I’m your prisoner, seduced and captured in the battle of love. (11)

Here the word for women is “γυναῖκες”, but in the Latin it is “matronalium”. E. J. Kenney in his edition therefore translates the Latin as “the embraces of matrons”. He goes on to explain in a note:

“A young bachelor of good family in search of sexual satisfaction had, for practical reasons, to choose between resorting to household slaves or prostitutes or intriguing with married women…Lucius had hitherto high-mindedly set his face against yielding to sensuality even to the extent of what was generally condoned by society. His total enslavement to Photis, herself a slave, represents abrupt and catastrophic moral degradation, as the priest of Isis eventually tells him (11.15).”

Kenney’s interpretation, and one shared by most critics, is that the passage suggests the narrator refused to sleep with women for moral reasons. But isn’t it more plausible that he’s never been attracted to women until now, but has been to men and boys? Kenney seems to assume any search for “sexual satisfaction” would lead to women. That’s a very strange assumption given what we know about ancient attitudes towards homosexuality.

It’s also quite clear from the dialog here that love is not the topic, it’s lust. He goes into detail about her body, not her charming personality. He’s talking about physical attraction. The narrator is telling the girl that she is the first woman to attract him, and he attributes her success to the use of magic. As if this were not clear enough, the Latin passage concludes with this coda:

Omnibus abiectis amiculis hactenus denique intecti atque nudati bacchamur in Venerem, cum quidem mihi iam fatigato de propria liberalitate Photis puerile obtulit corollarium….

Stripping off all our clothes until we were both totally naked, we revelled in lovemaking and then, since I was tired of Photis’s natural gifts, she presented me with the treat offered by boys. 3.20

The narrator seems to know very well what boys offer. Beyond that, it sounds like something resembling homosexual sex is welcome at any time, whereas sex with a woman is still unfamiliar and tiring.

Although not entirely different from the conventional interpretation of the novel as an allegory of a man who falls into the grip of servile pleasures, this interpretation would view the novel as an allegory of a man who falls into the grip of heterosexual pleasures specifically. Plato considered homosexual relations a higher form of love. Maybe the author viewed heterosexual sex as more narrowly about the ass.

πολλὰ γὰρ ἂν ποιήσειεν ὁ τύπτων, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, ὧν ὁ παθὼν ἔνι’ οὐδ’ ἂν ἀπαγγεῖλαι δύναιθ’ ἑτέρῳ, τῷ σχήματι, τῷ βλέμματι, τῇ φωνῇ, ὅταν ὡς ὑβρίζων, ὅταν ὡς ἐχθρὸς ὑπάρχων, ὅταν κονδύλοις, ὅταν ἐπὶ κόρρης. (72)

The man doing the hitting can do a lot of things, Athenians, some of which the victim would not be able to describe to another person — a gesture, a look, a tone, doing it with hubris or with hatred, using his fist or slapping him.

Demosthenes claims there are some things the victim could experience that are beyond words. But why? Why can’t Demosthenes go into pages of detail about the perpetrator’s gestures, look, tone? Or if language fails, why not have illustrations done and show them to the jury, like we use photographs and video today? It’s as if the orator assumes there can be no representation at this level of psychological detail of the experience of either the perpetrator or the victim. I often find the same is reflected in their literature. The “superflat” quality of their literary characters doesn’t always seem to come from a lack of skill or even understanding. Like this passage here, the Greeks can allude to greater depth in literature only to dismiss it as off the topic. If Demosthenes had attempted to describe the victim’s experience in prose, he would have had to invent an entirely new literary genre for the purpose.

So why is the fundamentally psychological concept of hubris so important in Athenian law to begin with? In both speeches, it’s striking that the concept seems tied to a particular state of things in the public sphere in Greece. For example, here’s how Demosthenes describes the result of hubris going unpunished:

ὁρᾶτε δέ: αὐτίκα δὴ μάλα, ἐπειδὰν ἀναστῇ τὸ δικαστήριον, εἷς ἕκαστος ὑμῶν, ὁ μὲν θᾶττον ἴσως, ὁ δὲ σχολαίτερον, οἴκαδ’ ἄπεισιν οὐδὲν φροντίζων οὐδὲ μεταστρεφόμενος οὐδὲ φοβούμενος, οὔτ’ εἰ φίλος οὔτ’ εἰ μὴ φίλος αὑτῷ συντεύξεταί τις, οὐδέ γ’ εἰ μέγας ἢ μικρός, [ἢ] ἰσχυρὸς ἢ ἀσθενής, οὐδὲ τῶν τοιούτων οὐδέν. τί δήποτε; ὅτι τῇ ψυχῇ τοῦτ’ οἶδε καὶ θαρρεῖ καὶ πεπίστευκε τῇ πολιτείᾳ, μηδέν’ ἕλξειν μηδ’ ὑβριεῖν μηδὲ τυπτήσειν. (221)

Think about it: right after this when the court is adjourned, each of you will go home, maybe some quickly and some taking your time, not worried or looking over your shoulder or afraid you’ll meet a friend or a stranger, or someone big or small, strong or weak, or anything like that. And why? Because deep down each of you know, and is confident, and puts his trust in the State that no one will grab, insult or hit him.

What’s missing from this description? The police. Even if they fail at times, today the police deter these kinds of attacks coupled with the law. In Athens, the only deterrent was the law, and not even that necessarily, since such attacks were considered private affairs between two individuals and if no court case was brought, the state ignored them. So it could be this is why hubris was so important: to prove that a particular act of violence was not just an act against an individual, but an act against the state.

Sometimes the letters give a glimpse of the the kind of managed chaos that was probably the norm in a province even under a good emperor. Here Pliny consults Trajan about a number of people he’s found on the public payroll:

In plerisque civitatibus, maxime Nicomediae et Nicaeae, quidam vel in opus damnati vel in ludum similiaque his genera poenarum publicorum servorum officio ministerioque funguntur, atque etiam ut publici servi annua accipiunt. Quod ego cum audissem, diu multumque haesitavi, quid facere deberem. Nam et reddere poenae post longum tempus plerosque iam senes et, quantum affirmatur, frugaliter modesteque viventes nimis severum arbitrabar, et in publicis officiis retinere damnatos non satis honestum putabam; eosdem rursus a re publica pasci otiosos inutile, non pasci etiam periculosum existimabam. (31)

In many cities, especially in Nicomedia and Nicea, some people who have been convicted and sentenced to serve in the games or similar punishments are actually holding the offices and functions of public servants, and as such get an annual salary. When I heard about this, I hesitated for a long time about how I should handle it. I thought it was too severe to send them back to their punishments after so long, since many of them are already old and, as I understand it, leading orderly and sober lives. But to let convicted criminals continue to hold public offices seemed not entirely appropriate. I also thought it wasteful to allow them to live off public money while doing nothing at all, but dangerous to cut them off completely.

The story behind this letter must be that previous members of the provincial government were actually friends with these criminals and gave them jobs. Moreover, you can imagine that the crimes they committed could also have been ones that involved corruption, maybe on behalf of those who eventually saved them from their punishments. When their enemies managed to secure a conviction, the convictions were in effect overturned by further corruption: making their “punishment” a sinecure as a public servant, a reward for whatever crime they committed.

τῇ μέντοι περὶ τὸν βίον κατασκευῇ καὶ τῷ μεγέθει τοῦ φρονήματος ἁρμόζοντα λόγον, ὥσπερ ὄργανον, ἐξαρτυόμενος παρενέτεινε πολλαχοῦ τὸν Ἀναξαγόραν, οἷον βαφὴν τῇ ῥητορικῇ τὴν φυσιολογίαν ὑποχεόμενος.

Moreover, by way of providing himself with a style of discourse which was adapted, like a musical instrument, to his mode of life and the grandeur of his sentiments, he often made an auxiliary string of Anaxagoras, subtly mingling, as it were, with his rhetoric the dye of natural science. (8.1)

The word παρεντείνω is very rare and technical, but you could guess the meaning in connection with a musical instrument. Still the metaphor is a bit obtuse, since it’s not natural for us to think of adding a string to an instrument. Perikles’ rhetoric is then compared to a fabric or maybe a work of art that has been made with a special philosophical dye. Both metaphors are slightly awkward, but mixed together as here the thought behind them is almost totally lost.

εἰς δὲ τὸν Πόντον εἰσπλεύσας στόλῳ μεγάλῳ καὶ κεκοσμημένῳ λαμπρῶς ταῖς μὲν Ἑλληνίσι πόλεσιν ὧν ἐδέοντο διεπράξατο καὶ προσηνέχθη φιλανθρώπως, τοῖς δὲ περιοικοῦσι βαρβάροις ἔθνεσι καὶ βασιλεῦσιν αὐτῶν καὶ δυνάσταις ἐπεδείξατο μὲν τῆς δυνάμεως τὸ μέγεθος καὶ τὴν ἄδειαν καὶ τὸ θάρσος ᾗ βούλοιντο πλεόντων καὶ πᾶσαν ὑφ’ αὑτοῖς πεποιημένων τὴν θάλασσαν, Σινωπεῦσι δὲ τρισκαίδεκα ναῦς ἀπέλιπε μετὰ Λαμάχου καὶ στρατιώτας ἐπὶ Τιμησίεων τύραννον. (20.1)

He also sailed into the Euxine Sea with a large and splendidly equipped armament. There he effected what the Greek cities desired, and dealt with them humanely, while to the neighboring nations of Barbarians with their kings and dynasts he displayed the magnitude of his forces and the fearless courage with which they sailed whithersoever they pleased and brought the whole sea under their own control. He also left with the banished Sinopians thirteen ships of war and soldiers under command of Lamachus to aid them against Timesileos.

It’s a long sentence, but the grammar is perfectly clear until the clause ” ᾗ βούλοιντο πλεόντων καὶ πᾶσαν ὑφ’ αὑτοῖς πεποιημένων τὴν θάλασσαν”. πλεόντων and πεποιημένων must be part of a genitive absolute referring to the entire force of Perikles’ army. That’s confusing enough given up to that point the entire force is contained in Perikles himself as a singular subject (“he effected what the Greek cities desired”). Also confusing is that there is another genitive plural in the sentence, referring to neighboring barbarian nations, that is not the subject of the genitive absolute, a sort of grammatical red herring. And by placing the clause ᾗ βούλοιντο right next to the genitive absolute, we read the subject of the genitive absolute in the nominative first and then encounter the genitive subject in the very next word. I think that even for a native speaker this sentence could lead to confusions because of the careless construction of the genitive absolute.

ἀλλ’ ὁ Περικλῆς κατεῖχε τὴν ἐκδρομὴν ταύτην καὶ περιέκοπτε τὴν πολυπραγμοσύνην, καὶ τὰ πλεῖστα τῆς δυνάμεως ἔτρεπεν εἰς φυλακὴν καὶ βεβαιότητα τῶν ὑπαρχόντων, μέγα ἔργον ἡγούμενος ἀνείργειν Λακεδαιμονίους καὶ ὅλως ὑπεναντιούμενος ἐκείνοις, ὡς ἄλλοις τε πολλοῖς ἔδειξε καὶ μάλιστα τοῖς περὶ τὸν ἱερὸν πραχθεῖσι πόλεμον.

But Pericles was ever trying to restrain this extravagance of theirs, to lop off their expansive meddlesomeness, and to divert the greatest part of their forces to the guarding and securing of what they had already won. He considered it a great achievement to hold the Lacedaemonians in check, and set himself in opposition to these in every way, as he showed, above all other things, by what he did in the Sacred War. (21.1)

It’s the last clause after ὡς that caused me trouble in this passage. After two datives referring to the Lacedaemonians, there is the dative plural “ἄλλοις τε πολλοῖς”. Once it was clear that didn’t refer to the previous datives, it seemed logical it was the indirect object of ἔδειξε, i.e. to show something “to many others.” But in the end it turns out this dative plural is not dependent on ἔδειξε at all and just means “in many other situations”. It’s an absolute use of the dative that is quite unusual I think and especially confusing in the context of the other dative plurals nearby. The clause ends with τοῖς περὶ τὸν ἱερὸν πραχθεῖσι πόλεμον. If you didn’t know there was such a thing as the Sacred War, as I didn’t, it would be more logical to read this as “the things having been done around the shrine”, with the word πόλεμον maybe being some kind of internal accusative “in respect to the war”. The problem is that ἱερὸν is written exactly the same whether it’s a noun or an adjective since it’s simply the neuter of the adjective used as a noun. And the author makes it even more likely the reader will read ἱερὸν as a noun by separating the words “sacred” and “war”.

διὸ καὶ πρὶν ἐμβαλεῖν εἰς τὴν Ἀττικὴν τὸν Ἀρχίδαμον ἔχοντα τοὺς Πελοποννησίους προεῖπε τοῖς Ἀθηναίοις, ἂν ἄρα τἆλλα δῃῶν ὁ Ἀρχίδαμος ἀπέχηται τῶν ἐκείνου διὰ τὴν ξενίαν τὴν οὖσαν αὐτοῖς, ἢ διαβολῆς τοῖς ἐχθροῖς ἐνδιδοὺς ἀφορμάς, ὅτι τῇ πόλει καὶ τὴν χώραν καὶ τὰς ἐπαύλεις ἐπιδίδωσιν.

Therefore also, before Archidamus invaded Attica with the Peloponnesians, Pericles made public proclamation to the Athenians, that in case Archidamus, while ravaging everything else, should spare his estates, either out of regard for the friendly tie that existed between them, or with an eye to affording his enemies grounds for slander, he would make over to the city his lands and the homesteads thereon. (33.2)

The word ἐκείνου here refers to the subject of the sentence, Perikles. Why didn’t Plutarch use a reflexive pronoun? The result is that the clause at the very least leaves the possibility open that Archidamus might spare the property of a third party who’s not named, which is not at all the author’s intention. A more minor point is that the author has left out the first “ἢ”, added in the translation here as “either”, so the reader may not be aware at first it’s an “either/or” clause — especially because the grammatical construction of the first option uses “διὰ” while the second shifts to a participial construction.

Plutarch’s Greek is hundreds of years later than the 5th century Greek we learn in text books. It’s actually surprising how few differences there are between his Greek and classical Greek except a sprinkling of words not found in the lexicon or used only by him. It’s possible the awkwardness in his writing style stems from an attempt to mimic a style of Greek he knows only from books, a style from another era. It’s equivalent to a writer today adopting Shakespearean English as a style.