Pindar’s Poetry,

Patrons, and Festivals

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Pindar’s Poetry,
Patrons, and Festivals
From Archaic Greece
to the Roman Empire

Edited by
Si m o n H ornblower and
C atherine Morgan

1
3
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Translations from the Loeb edition of Pindar reprinted by permission
of the publishers and the Trustees of the Loeb Classical Library from
PINDAR: VOL. I OLYMPIAN AND PYTHIAN ODES and
VOL. II NEMEAN ODES, ISTHMIAN ODES AND FRAGMENTS
translated by William H. Race, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press,
Copyright ß 1997 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College.
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 contents

Notes on Contributors vii

List of Illustrations ix
Abbreviations xiii
Map: The Mediterranean World of Pindar xv

1. Introduction 1
Simon Hornblower and Catherine Morgan

Part 1 45
2. The Origins of the Festivals, especially Delphi and the Pythia 47
John Davies

3. Origins of the Olympics 71

Stephen Instone

4. Pindar, Athletes, and the Early Greek Statue Habit 83

R. R. R. Smith

5. Fame, Memorial, and Choral Poetry: The Origins

of Epinikian Poetry—an Historical Study 141
Rosalind Thomas

6. Epinikian Eidography 167

N. J. Lowe

7. Pindar’s Poetry as Poetry: A Literary Commentary

on Olympian 12 177
Michael Silk

8. Pindar, Place, and Performance 199

Christopher Carey
vi c o n te nts

Part 2 211
9. Debating Patronage: The Cases of Argos and Corinth 213
Catherine Morgan

10. Elite Mobility in the West 265

Carla M. Antonaccio

11. ‘Dolphins in the Sea’ ( Isthmian 9. 7): Pindar and

the Aeginetans 287
Simon Hornblower

12. Thessalian Aristocracy and Society in the Age of Epinikian 309

Maria Stamatopoulou

Part 3 343
13. The Entire House is Full of Crowns:
Hellenistic Agōnes and the Commemoration of Victory 345
Riet van Bremen

14. ‘Kapetōleia Olympia’: Roman Emperors and Greek Agōnes 377

Tony Spawforth

15. Conclusion: The Prestige of the Games

Mary Douglas 391

Bibliography 409
Index locorum 447
General Index 461
notes on contributors

Carla M. Antonaccio is Professor of Classical Studies at Duke University in North

Carolina. Previously she taught at Wesleyan University. She works on early Greek
history, ritual, and material culture, and has published extensively on Greek hero and
ancestor cult. Her most recent work focuses on early Greek colonization in the Western
Mediterranean, especially in Sicily. She is co-director of the excavations at Morgantina
on Sicily, working in and publishing the seventh- to fifth-century settlement.
Riet van Bremen teaches Ancient History at University College London. She is the
author of The Limits of Participation: Women and Civic Life in the Greek East in the
Hellenistic and Roman periods (1996). Her research interests include the epigraphy and
history of Asia Minor. She has recently worked and published on Hellenistic Caria.
and is preparing a study of the sanctuaries at Lagina and Panamara.
Christopher Carey has taught at St Andrews, University of Minnesota, Carleton
College, and Royal Holloway and is currently Professor of Greek at University College
London. He has published on Greek lyric poetry, Greek oratory and law, Greek tragedy
and comedy.
Emeritus Professor John Davies FBA was Rathbone Professor of Ancient History and
Classical Archaeology at the University of Liverpool from 1977 till 2003. He has edited
two journals (JHS and Archaeological Reports) and three books, and is the author of
Athenian Propertied Families (1971), Democracy and Classical Greece (1978; 2nd edn. 1993),
of Wealth and the Power of Wealth (1981), and of many articles and chapters on Archaic,
Classical, and Hellenistic Greek history, especially their economic, cultic, and admin-
istrative aspects.
Mary Douglas, DBE was born in Italy in 1921. She taught in the Anthropology
Department of University College London 1951–77, and then in the USA until retire-
ment in 1988; she is now an Honorary Research Fellow at UCL. The enduring research
influence after training in Social Anthropology in Oxford in the late 1940s and early
1950s was fieldwork among the Lele people in the Congo, but civil wars ruled out field
research there. Purity and Danger (1966), which was a reflection on concepts of defile-
ment and taboo, was followed with various exercises in the comparison of cultures.
For the last twenty years she has concentrated on the anthropology of the Bible.
Simon Hornblower is Professor of Classics and Ancient History at University College
London. His most recent book is Thucydides and Pindar: Historical Narrative and the
World of Epinikian Poetry. He has written the chapter on ‘Greek lyric and the politics
and sociology of archaic and classical Greek communities’ in the forthcoming
Cambridge Companion to Greek Lyric. He is now working on the final volume of a
historical and literary commentary on Thucydides for Oxford University Press (vols. i
and ii, 1991 and 1996).
viii notes on c ontributors
Stephen Instone teaches at University College London, where he is an Honorary
Research Fellow. He has published on both Pindar and Greek athletics, and is the
author of Pindar: Selected Odes, Edited with Introduction, Translation and Commentary
(1996). He is currently working on a new Oxford University Press World’s Classics
edition of Pindar’s epinikia, and on a reader of Greek personal religion.
N. J. Lowe is Senior Lecturer in Classics at Royal Holloway, University of London, and
author of The Classical Plot and the Invention of Western Narrative (2000). His research
interests include Greek and Roman comedy, formalist literary theory, and the reception
of antiquity in the nineteenth century. He is currently writing a book on the construc-
tion of ancient Greece in modern fiction.
Catherine Morgan is Professor of Classical Archaeology at King’s College London.
Her main research is in the archaeology and early history of the Peloponnese and
western Greece, with special focus on sanctuaries. She is currently co-director (for
the British School at Athens) of fieldwork at Stavros, northern Ithaka, jointly con-
ducted with the 6th Ephoria of Prehistoric and Classical Antiquities. Her recent
publications include Isthmia viii (1999) and Early Greek States beyond the Polis (2003).
Michael Silk is Professor of Classical and Comparative Literature at King’s College
London. Recent publications include Aristophanes and the Definition of Comedy (2000)
and Homer: The Iliad (2nd edn. 2004). He is currently writing a book on poetic
language, to be published by Oxford University Press.
R. R. R. Smith is currently Lincoln Professor of Classical Archaeology and Art at Oxford
University. His main research is in the visual cultures of the Greek and Roman worlds,
with special focus on the use and significance of statues. He is co-director of New York
University’s excavations at Aphrodisias in Caria, and his most recent book is Roman
Portrait Statuary from Aphrodisias (forthcoming).
Tony Spawforth is Professor of Ancient History at Newcastle University. His books
include Hellenistic and Roman Sparta: A Tale of Two Cities (2nd edn. 2002), co-written
with Paul Cartledge; The Complete Greek Temples (2006); and The Court and Court
Society in Ancient Monarchies, an edited collection to be published by Cambridge
University Press. He is currently working on a book which explores the Roman
reshaping of Greek identity, 1st cent. bc–3rd cent. ad.
Maria Stamatopoulou is Lecturer in Archaeology at Lincoln College, Oxford. She
specializes in the archaeology of Thessaly. She is preparing her D. Phil. thesis on
Thessalian funerary practices in the fifth to first centuries bc for publication and is
also working on the publication of the Archaeological Society of Athens’ excavations in
the cemeteries of Demetrias and Pharsalos. She is co-editor (with Marina Yeroulanou)
of Excavating Classical Culture: Recent Archaeological Discoveries in Greece (2002) and
Art and Archaeology in the Cyclades (2005).
Rosalind Thomas is Fellow and Tutor in Ancient History at Balliol College, Oxford.
She is the author of Oral Tradition and Written Record in Classical Athens (1989),
Literacy and Orality in Ancient Greece (1992), and Herodotus in Context: Ethnography,
Science and the Art of Persuasion (2000).
list of illustrations

The Mediterranean World of Pindar xv

1. Grave kouros of Aristodikos. Athens, NM 3938. Photo: Museum 85
2. Riace B. Bronze statue. Reggio Calabria, Museo Nazionale. Photo: Hirmer 85
3. Foundry Cup. Berlin, Staatlichemuseen 2294. After Fürtwangler and
Reichhold (1904–32) pl. 135 93
4. Olympia. Plan of Altis. After Curtius and Adler (1882) pl. iii 96
5. Olympia. Model of Altis, view from south-west. After Ashmole and Yalouris
(1967) fig. 6 96
6. Inscribed base for statue of Kyniskos of Mantinea. After IvO 149 98
7. Inscribed base for statue of Pythokles of Elis. After IvO 162–3 98
8. Bronze statue fragments from Olympia. Photo: DAIAthen, Neg. 72/3595
(G. Hellner) 104
9. Bronze statue fragment from Olympia. Photo: DAIAthen, Neg. 74/1123
(G. Hellner) 104
10. Bronze statue fragment from Olympia. Photo: DAIAthen, Neg.
Olympia 941 (H. Wagner) 104
11. Bronze statue fragment from Olympia. Photo: DAIAthen, Neg. 72/3607
(G. Hellner) 104
12. Marble torso from athletic statue. Delos Museum A 4277. Photo: École
française d’Athènes, Neg. inv. 46691 (P. Collet) 106
13. Marble torso from athletic statue. Delos Museum A 4275. Photo: École
française d’Athènes, Neg. inv. 46690 (P. Collet) 106
14. Pubis fragment from large kouros. Samos P 143. Photo: DAIAthen, Neg.
1984/615 (G. Hellner) 113
15. Torso fragment from youthful male statue. Athens, Acropolis Museum 6478.
Photo: DAIAthen, Neg. 1975/543 113
16. Pubic hair styling, sixth and early fifth century. Drawing: R. R. R. Smith 114
17. Athlete with right hand raised in prayer. Art market, Smyrna. New York,
Metropolitan Museum of Art, Rogers Fund, 1908 (08.258.10). Photo:
Museum, Neg. 152615 B 117
18. Athlete pouring libation. Syracuse, Museo Nazionale Archeologico 31888.
Photo: Hirmer, Archive 601.3159 117
19. Amelung Athlete. Università di Roma ‘La Sapienza’, Museo dell’Arte Classica,
Gipsoteca, 269. Photo: ICCD 80105, courtesy Marcello Barbanera 119
20. Hoplitodromos. Athenian red-figured amphora, attributed to the ‘Berlin
Painter’. Paris, Louvre G 214. After Hauser (1887) p. 100 119
x list of illustrations
21. Hoplitodromos: bronze statuette. Tübingen, Universitätssammlung. Photo:
Museum, Neg. 196.74 119
22. Youth throwing discus. Obverse of silver tridrachm of Kos. Photo: Hirmer,
Archive 14.0639V 121
23. Athlete with discus in raised hand. Bronze statuette. New York,
Metropolitan Museum of Art, Rogers Fund, 1907 (07.286.87). Photo:
Museum, Neg. 148961 B 121
24. Ludovisi diskobolos. Rome, Museo Nazionale 8639 (Ludovisi collection).
Photo: DAI Rome, Neg. 37.1052 122
25. Detail of Fig. 24. Head. Photo: DAI Rome, Neg. 37.1059 122
26. Head of same type as Ludovisi diskobolos. Vatican, Galleria Geografica 28866.
After Lippold (1956) iii.2, pl. 201 122
27. Gelon’s chariot monument at Olympia. Three surviving inscribed blocks
from base. After IvO 143 125
28. Foundation of chariot monument from Olympia. After Eckstein (1969)
58, fig. 13 125
29. Sicilian chariot coin. Obverse of silver tetradrachm of Syracuse. Photo:
Hirmer, Archive 11.0082V 127
30. Delphi charioteer. Delphi Museum 3484, 3520, 3540. Photo: Bildarchiv Foto
Marburg, Neg. 134.387 127
31. Detail of Fig. 30. Head. After Chamoux (1955) pl. xvi.2 127
32. Delphi chariot monument. Fragment of horse’s tail. Delphi Museum 3541.
After Chamoux (1955) pl. v.2 128
33. Delphi chariot monument. Two rear legs of horse(s). Delphi Museum
3485 and 3538. After Chamoux (1955) pl. iii.1 128
34. Delphi chariot monument. Reconstruction by R. Hampe. After Brunn and
Bruckmann (1902–43) 786–90 129
35. Delphi chariot monument. After Rolley (1990) 293, fig. 7 129
36. Motya, plan. After Moscati (1988) p. 189 131
37–8. Motya charioteer. Marsala, Museo Archeologico. After Bonacasa and
Buttita (1988) pls. 3–4 132
39. Detail of Fig. 37. Head. After Bonacasa and Buttita (1988) pl. 7.1 132
40. Restored base (chariot group) and inscription for Pronapes of Athens:
Athenian Acropolis. Reproduced from Raubitschek (1949), no. 174, by
courtesy of the Antony E. Raubitschek family and the Archaeological
Institute of America 153
41. Inscribed capital for pillar dedication by Alkmaionides son of Alkmaion.
Athenian Acropolis (Raubitschek (1949), no. 317). Illustration by courtesy of
the Antony E. Raubitschek family and the Archaeological Institute of America 155
42. Grave marker for Damotimos of Troezen (originally carrying a tripod).
Illustration by courtesy of the Jeffery Archive, University of Oxford 164
 list of illustrations xi
43. (a) and (b) The sanctuary of Demeter and Kore at Corinth, c.500 bc and
c.400 bc. Reproduced by courtesy of the American School of Classical
Studies at Athens, Corinth Excavations 241
44. The sanctuary of Demeter and Kore at Corinth. Photo: C. Morgan 242
45. Plan of Corinth c.400 bc. Reproduced by courtesy of the American
School of Classical Studies at Athens, Corinth Excavations 245
46. Isthmia, sanctuary of Poseidon c.400bc. Reproduced by courtesy of the
University of Chicago Excavations at Isthmia 248
47. The Early Stadium at Isthmia. Photo: C. Morgan 248
48. Argos: the Classical and Hellenistic Agora. Reproduced by courtesy of
the École française d’Athènes 252
49. The theatre at Argos. Photo: C. Morgan 252
50. The Argive Heraion. Reproduced by courtesy of the American School
of Classical Studies at Athens 253
51. The Argive Heraion. Photo: C. Morgan 253
52. The sanctuary of Zeus at Nemea. University of California, Berkeley, Nemea
excavation archives, no. PD 95.5 258
53. The Temple of Zeus at Nemea. Photo: C. Morgan 258
54. The central Mediterranean. Reproduced by courtesy of
NASA.http://visibleearth.nasa.gov 266
55. The treasury terrace at Olympia. Plan: C. Antonaccio 269
56. Dedications at Delphi. Plan: C. Antonaccio 275
57. Thessaly. Map: C. L. Hayward 314
58. Part of an acroterion from the sanctuary of Apollo at Korope. Photo:
DAIAthen Thessalien 87. W. Wrede 322
59. Part of raking sima from the sanctuary of Apollo at Korope. Photo:
DAIAthen Thessalien 86. W. Wrede 322
60. Part of a frieze from Dendra. Photo: DAIAthen Thessalien 91.
W. Wrede 322
61. Grave stele from Krannon: Larisa Archaeological Museum. 842.
Photo: DAIAthen Thessalien 264. E.-M. Czako 325
62. Head of a youth from Meliboia: Volos Archaeological Museum ¸ 532.
Photo DAIAthen Thessalien 121. H. Wagner 325
63. Grave stele from Rhodia Tyrnavou: Larisa Archaeological Museum 78/74.
Photo DAIAthen 87/131. E. Gehnen 325
64. Grave stele from Sophades: Volos Archaeological Museum BE 2696.
Photo DAIAthen 87/133. E. Gehnen 326
65. Torso of an Athena statue from the acropolis of Pherai: Volos Archaeological
Museum ¸ 738. Photo: DAIAthen 87/123. E. Gehnen 326
66. Fragmentary torso of an athlete from Larisa: Larisa Archaeological
Museum ¸ 88. Photo: DAIAthen 1987/115. E. Gehnen 326
xii list of illus trations
67. Clay female protome from Pharsala: Volos Archaeological Museum M4520.
Photo EFA L5147, 6. F. Croissant 326
68. Clay female head from the Sanctuary of Enodia and Zeus Thaulios at Pherai.
Photo: DAIAthen Thessalien 129. W. Wrede 328
69. Bronze hydria from Pelinna in the National Archaeological Museum
NM18232. Photo: Museum 328
70. View of the Verdelis Tomb. Photo: Peter Marzolff 329
71. (a) and (b) Bronze hydria in Athens, National Archaeological Museum 13792.
Photo: Museum 334
72. Silver Drachm of Larisa: Ashmolean Museum SNG Ashmolean 3849.
Photo: Museum 336
73. Silver drachm of Larisa, Ashmolean Museum SNG Ashmolean 3872.
Photo: Museum 336
74. Bronze coin from Chalkis. Picard (1979) no. 94. Reproduced by courtesy of
Numismatik Lanz (with the assistance of Denis Knoepfler) 356
abbreviations

B. Bacchylides
BE Bulletin Épigraphique
CAH iv J. Boardman, N. L. G. Hammond, D. M. Lewis, and M. Ostwald
(eds.), Cambridge Ancient History, iv. Persia, Greece and the
Western Mediterranean c.525–479 B.C., 2nd edn. (Cambridge, 1998)
CAH v D. M. Lewis, J. Boardman, J. K. Davies, and M. Ostwald (eds.),
Cambridge Ancient History, v. The Fifth Century B.C., 2nd edn.
(Cambridge, 1992)
CAH vi D. M. Lewis, J. Boardman, S. Hornblower, and M. Ostwald
(eds.), Cambridge Ancient History, vi. The Fourth Century B.C.,
2nd edn. (Cambridge, 1994)
CEG P. A. Hansen (ed.), Carmina epigraphica Graeca: saeculorum
VIII–V a. Chr. (Berlin, 1983)
CID Corpus des inscriptions delphiques, ed. G. Rougemont et al. (Paris,
1977–)
CILA Corpus inscriptionum latinarum, ed. A. Böckh, 4 vols. (Berlin,
1828–77)
DK H. Diels and W. Kranz (eds.), Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker6,
3 vols. (Berlin, 1952)
Drachmann i, ii, iii A. B. Drachmann (ed.), Scholia vetera in Pindari carmina, 3 vols.
(Leipzig, 1903–27; repr. 1997)
Eretria Eretria: A Guide to the Ancient City (Fribourg, 2004)
⾻
ø ¯
æØ 
⾻
ø ¯
æØ `æÆØ
 ø ŒÆØ ˝ø
æø  ø 
ı
—:—ˇ:  ¨ƺÆ ŒÆØ  ıææ æØ

ð1990---1998Þ: 1 ¯Ø
ØŒ ı: ´º
; Ø
 1998
(Volos, 1998)
FD Fouilles de Delphes (Paris, 1909–)
FGE D. Page, Further Greek Epigrams (Cambridge, 1981)
FGrH F. Jacoby, Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker, 15 vols.
(Leiden, 1923–58)
Guide de Delphes Guide de Delphes: Le Musée (Paris, 1991)
I. Isthmian ode
IDidyma A. Rehm and R. Harder, Didyma, 2. Die Inschriften (Berlin, 1958)
IEG2 M. West, Iambi et elegi graeci, 2nd edn. (Oxford, 1992)
IG Inscriptiones Graecae
IGR Inscriptiones graecae ad res romanas pertinentes, ed. R. Cagnat, J.
Toutain, and P. Jouget (Paris, 1906–27)
ILS Inscriptiones latinae selectae, ed. H. Dessau, 3 vols. (Berlin, 1892–
1916)
IvO W. Dittenberger and K. Purgold (eds.), Olympia Ergebnisse, v.
Die Inschriften von Olympia (Berlin, 1896)
Larisa —æƌ، 
ı ` 
æØŒ
-`æÆØ
º
ªØŒ
 ı 

ı ¸æØÆ—
—ÆæºŁ ŒÆØ 
ºº
: 26---28 `æغ
ı 1985 (Larisa, 1985)
LfgrE B. Snell (ed.), Lexikon des Frühgriechischen Epos (Göttingen, 1979–)
LGPN A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names, 4 vols. (Oxford, 1997–2005
and continuing)
xiv abbreviations
LSJ H. Liddell and R. Scott, rev. H. S. Jones, Greek–English Lexikon,
9th edn. (Oxford, 1940, with suppl. 1996)
ML R. Meiggs and D. Lewis, A Selection of Greek Historical
Inscriptions to the End of the Fifth Century BC, rev. edn. (Oxford,
1988)
 Æ  Æ  ƪÆ: —æƌ، ıæ
ı <Ø 
ı
ØÆæ
،
  ØÆŒ
 º

ı 
ı ´º
ı ŒÆØ  ıææ
æØ
 ;  ´º
 11–13 Æ
ı 2001 (Volos, 2002)
N. Nemean ode
O. Olympian ode
OCD3 S. Hornblower and A. J. S. Spawforth (eds.), The Oxford
Classical Dictionary, 3rd edn. (Oxford, 1996)
OMS see Robert
P. Pythian ode
—æØ
æØÆ ˙ æØ
æØÆ 
ı ıŒÆœŒ
 Œ
ı: ` ØØ
ØŒ ı Ø

¸Æ Æ, 25–29  æ
ı 1994 (Lamia, 1999)
Pi. Pindar
PLG4 T. Bergk (ed.), Poetae lyrici Graeci (Leipzig, 1878–82)
PMG D. Page, Poetae melici graeci (Oxford, 1962)
Pos. Poseidippos
Pros. Ptol. W. Peremans et al. Prosopographia Ptolemaica (Louvain, 1950–)
RE A. Pauly, G. Wissowa, and W. Kroll, Real-Encyclopädie d.
Klassischen Altertumswissenschaft (Stuttgart, 1893–1980)
Rhodes–Osborne P. J. Rhodes, and R. Osborne (eds.), Greek Historical Inscriptions,
404–323 (Oxford, 2003)
Robert, OMS L. Robert, Opera Minora Selecta, 7 vols. (Amsterdam, 1969–90)
SEG Supplementum epigraphicum graecum (1923–)
SGDI H. Collitz, F. Bechtel, and O. Hoffmann (eds.), Sammlung der
griechischen Dialekt-Inschriften (Göttingen, 1884–1915)
SLG Supplementum lyricis graecis, ed. D. L. Page (Oxford, 1974)
SNG Ashmolean Sylloge Nummorum Graecorum, vol. v. Ashmolean Museum: Part
iv. Paeonia–Thessaly (London, 1981)
Suppl. Hell. H. Lloyd-Jones and P. Parsons (eds.), Supplementum
hellenisticum (Berlin, 1981)
Syll.3 W. Dittenberger, Sylloge inscriptionum graecarum, 4 vols., 3rd
edn. (Leipzig, 1914–24)
TGF A. Nauck, Tragicorum graecorum fragmenta, 2nd edn. (Leipzig,
1889)
¨ƺÆ A, B ¨ƺÆ: ˜ŒÆ
 æØÆ ÆæÆØ
º
ªØŒ 
æıÆ 1975–1990.
`
º
 ÆÆ ŒÆØ æ
،, vols. A, B (Athens, 1994)
Thessaly Games and Sports in Ancient Thessaly (Volos, 2004)
Walbank, Pol. F. Walbank, A Historical Commentary on Polybius, 3 vols.
(Oxford, 1957–79)
 A
D L O K R
R Opous I S
I Delphi Orchomenos
A Thebes
T B O I O T I A
Rome
IT I T H R A C E
Thespiai
AL C
Y S Abdera
Acharnai
E Megara
A MACEDON Sikyon Athens
THASOS
Stymphalos Korinth Isthmus
Metapontion Taras
Phleious Kleonai
EP
Nemea
IRU TENEDOS
Argos
Olympia
THESSALY
S
Dodona LESBOS
Kroton
LOK CHIOS 0 20 40 60 80 km
Delphi RIS
BOIOTIA Sparta 0 10 20 30 40 50 miles
Himera Athens SAMOS
Motya Lokri Epizephyrii Korinth
KEOS Miletos

AI
SI C I LY DELOS

GI
Selin us Aitna (Katana) Olympia

NA
Sparta NAXOS
Akrag as
Gela Syracuse Ialysos Rhodes
Kamarina MELOS Kamiros
Lindos
RHODES
Knossos
CYPRUS

KRETE

M E D I T E R R A N E A N S E A

Kyrene
Euesperides (Berenike/Benghazi)

0 250 500 km

miles
0 250 miles

Map. The Mediterranean world of Pindar

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 one
––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Introduction
Simon Hornblower and Catherine Morgan

About five hundred years ago, there was a heavy snowfall one winter in Florence.
Piero de’ Medici, heir to the great Lorenzo, made Michelangelo build what was
surely the best snowman the world has ever seen. This story is told by Vasari in
his Lives of the Artists. In some ways, much ancient Greek epinikian poetry may
seem to resemble Michelangelo’s snowman: great art, but ephemeral. It is
inconceivable that the only praise poems composed for victors in the games in
the sixth and fifth centuries bc were the forty-four by Pindar and the dozen of
so by Bacchylides which happen to survive. For one thing, these poets had
distinguished predecessors in the genre (Ibykos and Simonides) and we have
only small fragments of their poems. For another, Pindar was active for some
fifty-four years from c.500 to 446 bc, the years between Pythian 10 and Pythian 8,
so that if he wrote no more than one praise poem a year, then we have lost at least
ten such poems. The true number is surely far greater than that. Many will have
been sung ephemerally, at the time of the victory only, and perhaps had no
afterlife at all.1
This book tries to reconstruct the snowman that is epinikian poetry.2 It has its
origins in a University of London research seminar held in autumn 2002, on
Pindar and the athletic festivals which he celebrated in his epinikian odes. In
recent years, Pindar has been at the heart of a wide range of studies in cultural
history, on topics as diverse as colonization, perceptions of statuary, specific
social values, or responses to democracy.3 Even closer attention has been paid
to Greek athletics and the sanctuaries at which major agonistic festivals were held,
especially in the period surrounding the Athens Olympics in 2004.4 In most
cases, however, the values promoted by Pindar have been presented in a rather
general fashion, with less attention paid to variation in his approaches to different

1
But for re-performance see Carey (this volume).
2
For the term, and the genre, see Lowe (this volume).
3
A random selection of publications on such topics might include: Kurke (1991) and (1998); Steiner
(2001), chs. 4, 5, noting also O’Sullivan (2003); Hubbard (2001).
4
See e.g. Miller (2004); Spivey (2004); Stampolidis and Tassoulas (2004); Valavanis (2004); Young
(2004); Phillips and Pritchard (2003) (the well-timed publication of a conference held in advance of the
Sydney Olympics).
2 s imon horn blower a nd ca therine m organ
patrons, events, and communities. Equally, while most such studies are almost by
definition interdisciplinary, only rarely have they done more than build on
perceived or received norms in individual disciplines.
The aims of the London seminar were slightly different. We too sought to
combine the evidence and interpretations of modern literary, historical, and
archaeological scholarship, but we also encouraged contributors to develop the
questions arising and the insights so gained to re-evaluate their own subject areas.
R. R. R. Smith’s appraisal of the nature and role of victory statuary in the context
of the early fifth-century ‘sculptural revolution’ is a striking case, as is Rosalind
Thomas’ discussion of the roots of epinikian in choral poetry and other forms of
written and oral commemoration. Second, in exploring the geographical and
social range of Pindar’s work, we encouraged contributors to focus on the
particular circumstances of patrons and communities. Was Pindar all things to
all men? Did commissions hold the same significance everywhere? Would Pin-
dar’s language and the experience of a performance have resonated in the same
way across the Greek world?
The result is a book in three closely connected sections. In Part 1, contributors
consider what constituted commemoration of athletic success, and the different
forms of evidence that we use to reconstruct it. The physical and myth-historical
context of events at the two senior sanctuaries involved in the periodos, Olympia
and Delphi, are discussed by Stephen Instone and J. K. Davies respectively. The
changing nature of oral, written, and visual commemoration is addressed by
Rosalind Thomas and R. R. R. Smith, and Nick Lowe examines the ancient
(especially Alexandrian) perceptions which underpin received ideas of genre, and
which have in turn shaped our corpus of Pindaric epinikia (both via their
influence on transmission and survival and via their impact on modern
approaches to individual poems). The nature and impact of Pindar’s language
and experience of performance are among the questions raised in Michael Silk’s
close reading of one short ode, O. 12, composed for a Sicilian victor who came
originally from Crete. Part 1 concludes with a discussion of performance by Chris
Carey. In Part 2, some of the regions most prominent in Pindar are examined in
detail, considering, for example, the local significance of patronage, and Pindar’s
use of particular myth-historical imagery. Cathy Morgan’s chapter on the
north-eastern Peloponnese also serves to introduce debates surrounding
patronage further pursued in Carla Antonaccio’s discussion of Sicily, Simon
Hornblower’s chapter on Aegina, and Maria Stamatopoulou on Thessaly
(perhaps the least often considered region represented in the Pindaric corpus).5
These regions have been chosen for the range of circumstances and issues which
they present, but other examples also merit close study. Cyrene, which we discuss

5
Although the subject of a special exhibition in Volos Museum in 2004: see Thessaly.
 introduction 3
ourselves later in this Introduction (Section 3), has been intensively studied
by modern scholars, but it is to be hoped that detailed work on the specific
circumstances of Boiotia, Euboia, and Attica, mentioned more briefly below, will
be undertaken in the near future. In Part 3, Riet van Bremen and Tony Spawforth
look forward to the Hellenistic and Roman ages, and consider the continuing
power of the agōn and traditional modes of commemoration.
The book concludes with comparative reflections by an anthropologist, Mary
Douglas. As well as giving the final paper herself, she attended the whole of the
rest of the series and, at our request, made comments as an ‘outsider’, that is from
an anthropological point of view, after individual papers. Some of these
reflections find their way into her chapter, which has deliberately retained some
of the interrogative feel of her seminar contributions, as she questioned her own
preconceptions and enriched our discussion by advancing themes which had
particular resonance from a comparative perspective. The result is thus both
a contribution in its own right and a kind of summing-up of the seminar and
the book. She observed to us after it was all over that we ought now to have a
second term and a second series of papers, from a comparative and more openly
anthropological point of view. We saw what she meant, but felt that this was a
task best pursued by others as a follow-up to this present book.
Certain general themes emerged from the discussion which followed each
meeting in the seminar series. These can be traced to varying degrees in
the work of individual contributors, but in this Introduction we will take the
opportunity to present them in greater detail, and to fill some of the inevitable
gaps (or at least indicate their existence as directions for future research).
We should begin with a brief explanation. The term ‘Archaic’ in the book’s title
does not imply a belief that Pindar was an Archaic poet. On the contrary, we
think it important always to bear in mind that, although he may have been active
for the first two decades of the fifth century bc, he was essentially a Classical poet;
that is, he was a contemporary of the fifth-century world of the Athenian Empire
which has, however, left so little trace in his epinikian odes, and he overlapped
with the great Attic tragedians. Thus it is quite uncertain whether the Oresteia of
Aeschylus (produced in 458 bc) pre-dates or post-dates, could have influenced or
on the other hand have been influenced by, Pindar’s P. 11, the ‘little Oresteia’.6
But Rosalind Thomas’s chapter does talk about the sixth-century epinikian
precursors of Pindar, and the book title reflects this starting-point.
Finally, it is a premise of this book that the understanding of epinikian poetry
can be enriched by a study of the historical context in which it was composed.7 In
the early 1960s, E. L. Bundy insisted, in two influential essays, on the formal

6
Hornblower (2004) 163 and n. 127, with references.
7
See also Hornblower (forthcoming).
4 s i m o n h or nb lo w e r and catheri ne mo rgan
elements which Pindar’s epinikian poems have in common—praise for the
laudandus and material, including but not confined to myths, which functions
as a foil to the praise.8 Without denying the validity of this approach, we seek
rather to emphasize the differences between poems, especially those for patrons
from different regions. We do this without wishing to return to the unfashion-
able biographical approach of Wilamowitz,9 though in defence of Wilamowitz
we note that, in his onomastic interests and awareness, he was ahead of his time,
and made some brilliant and subsequently neglected combinations (see p. 38
below for the example of Aioladas).

1. elites
One does not have to read far in the modern literature on Pindar before coming
across the word ‘elite’. It is used on numerous occasions by the contributors to
the present book, but its meaning is not easy to agree on, nor is there much help
to be found in social science literature. Marvick’s definition in the Encyclopedia of
the Social Sciences holds elites to be ‘incumbents’, those who are collectively the
influential figures in a society.10 Intuitively it seems obvious that those who
commissioned Pindar, and whose victories he celebrated, must have been influ-
ential in this sense. Testing it is not always easy, however. The autocrats of Sicily
and Cyrene apart, there is little direct prosopographical overlap between victors
in Pindar and Bacchylides and persons known from other literary and epigraphic
sources to have been politically prominent. Only with Aegina is direct compari-
son possible because Herodotus is unusually informative about internal politics
there, and because we find some of the same names and families occurring both in
epinikian poetry and political history (see Chapter 11 below). There is also a
prominent Theban medizer called Asopodoros in Herodotus (9. 69) who may, or
may not, be the father of the Herodotus who is celebrated by Pindar (I. 1. 34).
Yet the definition of elites as incumbents leaves many important questions
unanswered. It tells us nothing of the nature of incumbency in any political
community, of the means and cultural-political referents used to assert or display
one’s right to power, nor of the longevity in power of individuals or families. It is,
for example, commonly and reasonably argued that Sicilian tyrants were
prominent patrons of prestigious Greek poets precisely because they sought to
sustain their perceived right to rule by subscribing to the values of Greek elites,
and their ability to command the products—and usually the presence—of their
finest literary exponents. In the same vein, patronage of southern authors and

8 9
Bundy (1986), originally 1962. Wilamowitz-Moellendorff (1922).
10
Marvick (1995) 237.
 introduction 5
artists by the rulers of Macedon, and their demonstration of Hellenic identity (for
example by participation in the Olympic games),11 may be linked to their
attempts to extend the scope of their personal or family prestige. There are
undoubtedly parallels (if less dramatic) in the old, non-colonial, Greek world
(as Cathy Morgan argues in the case of Corinth). It is clear that athletics and
certain athletic-related objects embodied values of useful currency in a range of
Greek or Hellenizing societies. Consider, for example, the number and contexts
of Panathenaic amphorae outside the old Greek world—in the Bosphoran
kingdom, or southern Italy. In the latter case, finds in certain late sixth–early
fifth-century monumental Tarentine tombs may imply a claim to status via all that
athletics stood for, rather than the marking of actual victories. The four
Panathenaic amphorae which stood outside the sarcophagus in the four corners
of the Via Genova tomb in Taras are a case in point.12 But such currency is
deployed in context, and the suggestion that the act of commissioning a poet like
Pindar, and the reception of the end result, would have the same significance and
impact across the Greek world should therefore be argued rather than assumed.
To what extent did Pindar recognize differences in the local constitutions
according to which his patrons held power? By his comments at P. 2. 86–8 of
c.470 (‘and under every regime the straight-talking man excels: / in a tyranny,
when the boisterous people rule, / or when the wise watch over the city’), Pindar
shows himself aware of democracy, monarchy, and oligarchy as distinctive
constitutions. However, references to the organization of specific societies are
generally rare, and appear in the context of praise of a ruler qua ruler. P. 10.
69–72, lauding the oligarchic rule of the Aleuads of Larisa, is an interesting
exception, not least because of the fact that Thorax of Larisa had commissioned
the ode to celebrate not his own achievement but that of a boy diaulist,13
Hippokleas of Pelinna, thus demanding distinctive praise both of the victor and
of his patron. In other instances, political realities pass unremarked. This is not
peculiar to Pindar, but is equally (if not more) true of his younger contemporary,
Bacchylides. Nowhere is it clearer than in Bacchylides’ treatment of Keos, his
home island, as one entity at a time when it was home to no fewer than four
poleis (squeezed into an area of some 131 square km).14 Archaeological
knowledge of these poleis centres on Koressia thanks to the Kea Survey, which

11
See Herodotus 5. 22 on the early 5th-cent. Alexander I: Hall (2002) 154–6; Hall (2001) sets this story
within the longer-term discourse about Macedonian identity. Interest in the symbols of athletic victory
(even if not the actual achievement itself) is further indicated by the presence of Panathenaic amphorae at a
number of Macedonian sites from the early 5th cent. onwards: Tiverios (2000) 36–7.
12
Vdovichenko (1999). Taras: for a summary see Lippolis (2004) 46–50, noting especially the opposed
arguments of Lo Porto (1967) and Valenza Mele (1991).
13
The diaulos (on which see Instone (this volume) 78 f.) was about 400 m, twice the length of
the stadium or race-track.
14
Echoed by Pindar, Paian 4: see Hornblower (2004) 120–3, 129.
6 s imon hornblower and catherine morgan
covered the city’s entire territory and part of that of Ioulis (Bacchylides’ probable
home town), although both Karthaia and Poiessa have also been surveyed and
publication is awaited.15 There is no evidence that any one city was dominant:
indeed, the second half of the sixth–early fifth century was a period of general
prosperity across the island. Again, we know most about the city centre of
Koressia, which issued its own coinage in the sixth century, and underwent
considerable expansion during this period, with a small late sixth-century temple
on the Ag. Triadha acropolis and a late Archaic first city wall.16 While we know
less of the other centres, there is sufficient evidence to indicate a broadly similar
pattern of development: Karthaia too expanded markedly in the sixth century,
with late Archaic temples to Athena and Apollo,17 and by the end of the sixth
century, all four cities have produced evidence of architectural sculpture and
temple architecture of similar style.18 Bacchylides could hardly have been
unaware of local identities and rivalries, nor of circumstances under which the
island was treated as a whole (as part of the Athenian Empire, for example), but
in his praise of Kean victors he focuses entirely on the latter at the expense of
the former.

It is perhaps unsurprising that scholarly discussion of Archaic and Classical Greek

elites has been directed more towards more accessible (and at first sight more
helpful) horizontal lines of communication, emphasizing the social level at
which interaction took place between elites, and the practical and metaphorical
language of rule. A much-studied feature of Greek society has been the set of
institutions by which individuals, who had at their disposal the wealth for travel
and for gift-exchange, maintained contact with Greeks in distant cities.
Proxeny, ritualized friendship (xenia), intermarriage, kinship diplomacy, isopoli-
teia (exchange of citizenship between communities), commercially motivated
maritime interconnectivity—all these institutions and practices mitigated
polis-particularism and found expression in long-distance reciprocity between
well-off persons, families, and whole communities.19 Nor was this a monopoly of
obvious sailors and islanders like Aeginetans or Rhodians. Few parts of Greece
were far from the sea (and those most so, such as central Arkadia,20 often had
ecologies which left them particularly dependent on long-distance connections).
As Maria Stamatopoulou shows in her chapter, xenia relationships and activity at

15
Mendoni (1998); see also Mendoni (1994) for a review of rural organization and land use on the basis
of survey data.
16
Whitelaw and Davis (1991).
17
Papanikolaou (1998a and b); Touloupa (1998).
18
Sculpture: Trianti (1998). Temple architecture: Kanellopoulos (1996) part 3.
19
Walbank (1978); Herman (1987); Mitchell (1997); Jones (1999); Horden and Purcell (2000);
Zelnick-Abramovitz (2004).
20
Roy (1999).
 introduction 7
Panhellenic sanctuaries were just as much to the taste of Thessalian aristocrats
(too often considered to be introverted and old-fashioned), whereas the long
seaboard of the Pagasitic Gulf was accessible to most cities in eastern Thessaly
and housed the major ports of Iolkos and Pagasai. Equally, it is easy to
underestimate the role of land transport: in the Peloponnese, for example, an
extensive road network was well established by Pindar’s time, and its importance
is clear from Thucydides’ emphasis (1. 13. 5) on Corinth’s distinctive strength,
poised on maritime and land routes (a point further discussed by Cathy Morgan
in connection with the festival network of the north-eastern Peloponnese).21
As for ties between whole communities, the award in 410 bc of a formal en bloc
grant of ‘benefaction and citizenship’ by Antandros in the Troad to far-off
Syracuse, in thanks for services rendered, is a striking, early example of a charac-
teristically Hellenistic phenomenon (Xen. Hell. 1. 1. 26). Similarly, it may seem
surprising to read in Herodotus (8. 75. 1) that the Thespians were ‘taking in
citizens at that time’ (i.e. 480)—again, the flavour is Hellenistic, but that may just
show how little we know about Greek receptivity to outsiders. The surprising
point is the offer of citizenship to those taken in, but it must be emphasized that
the range of solutions to population problems attested elsewhere includes
strategies close to this. The foundation record of Ozolian Lokris (c.525–500),
found near Naupaktos,22 gave the Lokrians the right to decide, under pressure of
war, to bring in at least 200 fighting men as additional settlers (epiwoikoi).
Admittedly there is no explicit indication of the nature of citizen rights bestowed
(if any), but presumably there were sufficient rewards attached to settlement to
offer some inducement to fight. In the colonial world, discussion has focused
around the import of citizen and non-citizen males to address problems of
oligandria, shortage of men, a phenomenon attested at many sites, including
Cyrene and Metapontum (where Carter argues that an endemic problem became
especially acute from the second half of the fifth century onwards).23 While much
of our information comes from the colonial world, there is no reason to assume
that old Greek cities were immune to such problems—quite apart from the more
positive matter of grants and awards made by friendly rulers elsewhere. In the
mid-fourth century the non-Greek but Hellenizing dynasts Mausolus and
his sister-wife Artemisia of Caria, not too fussy about the normal Greek conven-
tions for this sort of thing, perpetrated a startling constitutional solecism24 by
conferring proxeny (normally a grant made to an individual) on an entire

21
Pikoulas (1995).
22
ML no. 13.
23
Mitchell (2000) 86–7, 94–5. Carter (1998) 153–5. We are grateful to Gillian Shepherd for discussion of
a problem which, if gender and age representation in western Greek and indigenous cemeteries in the west
can be relied upon, had been endemic since the 8th cent.
24
For good remarks on this see Rhodes with Lewis (1997) 544.
8 s imon horn blower a nd ca therine m organ
community (Knossos on Crete).25 The decree in question charmingly begins ‘it
seemed good to Mausolus and Artemisia’, just like a two-person polis.26
Networks of the sort so created and celebrated are one main theme of this
book. The people who participated in them constitute an elite along the lines of
Wade-Gery’s ‘international aristocracy’. To give two well-known examples, the
elite status of two fifth-century Olympic victors Alcibiades of Athens and Lichas
of Sparta is indubitable, but in both cases it may have had more to do with
the prestige conferred by their international connections, via proxeny and
intermarriage, than with their political position at home. Both men were viewed
with intense suspicion by their local peers, although it is reasonable to suggest
that the venom directed towards Alcibiades in particular had to do with the
legitimacy of his ‘un-Athenian’ claims in the international, elite currency of
athletic victory (which had been perfectly respectable at Athens too within very
recent memory).27 Indeed, the ambiguity of late fifth-century Athenian attitudes
is evident in the traditions focused on Alcibiades’ chariot victories in particular.
For our purposes, it matters little whether Andocides’ Against Alcibiades
(Andocides 4) was a rhetorical exercise28 or a real speech: the use made of
Alcibiades’ entry of seven teams in the Olympic chariot race in 416 speaks for
itself. It is even more striking to compare Euripides’ epinikian ode, if it is his,29
celebrating the three placements gained from these entries (first, second, and,
according to Euripides, third),30 with the attitudes which Euripides expresses for
a home audience in Autolykos (fr. 282), where he curses the whole race of athletes
as useless to the city in time of war.
Home status and status abroad (the vertical and horizontal lines of elite
identity) were not always in tension, but could be mutually strengthening. In
the west, for instance, elite status at home and amongst fellow rulers might be
reinforced by dedications and victories at Delphi and Olympia. In her chapter
below, Carla Antonaccio considers the long history of western engagement with
Olympia as establishing a secure and widely accepted context for the expression
of elite status by the time of the battle of Himera. As Hanna Philipp has shown,31
many and varied strands combined to make Olympia an attractive place for
western participants, and Olympic victories the most prominent in Pindar’s
western epinikia (see also Morgan below). Geography alone is not enough, as a
brief glance at the much more limited western element in the votive and oracular
record of Dodona shows. Even though the oracle at Dodona had achieved some
renown by the fifth century and the sanctuary was attracting western interest as
noted by Pindar, there is no evidence to indicate that it was consulted by western

25 26 27
Crampa (1972) no. 40. Davies (1993) 244. Hornblower (2004) 258–61.
28 29
Rhodes (1994) 91. Against authenticity, see Lowe (this volume) 176.
30
Bergk, PLG4 ii. 266. 31
Philipp (1992); see also Di Vita (2004) on Sicily.
 introduction 9
elites, let alone on matters of state.32 In considering the appeal of Olympia,
one might cite such factors as the warrior character of Olympian Zeus, the
Peloponnesian origins of some colonies and specifically, Iamid involvement
in the foundation of Syracuse (Herodotus 5. 44–5), the volume of weapons
dedications and the broadly agonistic character of activity here.
Yet the aftermath of the battle of Himera (the landmark Greek defeat of the
Carthaginians in 480 bc) was a very particular period of reflection and commem-
oration which drew on a heritage of connections with Olympia, and of which
Pindar’s odes formed part.33 In Sicily itself, visible manifestations of power were
concentrated in the major cities; the construction of the monumental Temple of
Victory at Himera, the Athenaion of Gelon at Ortygia, and the Olympieion of
Theron at Akragas (Agrigento) were high points in the development of the
distinctive Sicilian architecture style. At Olympia, the form of commemorative
offering (especially arms and armour) accords with a traditional kind of dedica-
tion at this particular site. But as both Guy Rougemont and Anne Jacquemin
emphasize,34 focusing on this particular moment also helps to make sense of a
burst of predominantly Sicilian35 activity at Delphi during the late sixth and the
first half of the fifth century, both in terms of the volume of dedications and of
their form, favouring statuary and other monuments (notably tripods). Behind
this phenomenon is the coincidence of major victories to west and east in 480 bc,
at Himera and Salamis (put by one ancient tradition on the same day). Before the
Greek victory, Gelon had reserved his options: Herodotus (7. 163. 2) recounts
how in 481, he sent Kadmos of Kos with three galleys and a large sum of money
to Delphi to await the outcome of the war, with the instruction to promise earth
and water to Xerxes should he defeat the Greeks. The Greek victory, however,
gave Gelon the perfect opportunity to proclaim parallels between the two
triumphs of Hellenism, and to celebrate his victories in the same location and
in the same way as Greek commemorations of the defeat of the Persians. Thus,
the Deinomenid tripod monuments were juxtaposed with the Salamis Apollo
and the Plataian serpent column which featured a tripod of the same form.
32
Vokotopoulou (1992), noting bronze offerings of Magna Grecian manufacture. As she notes, the
oracular tablets from Dodona rarely mention the origin of the consultor, but among those which do or
which relate in any way to the west, fourteen name western consultors or subjects, and the following four
fall within the period 510–450, with the fifth dating to the end of the 5th cent. The numbers follow
Vokotopoulou’s catalogue: (2) IM (Ioannina Museum) 957, ‘Regin[oi]’; (3) IM 1099, ‘Reginoi’?, probably
an official request; (4) IM 768, ‘if . . . Hipponion’ (probably ‘if I sail towards Hipponion’); (6) no inv.,
‘would it be better to do these things by going to Sybaris’; (11) IM 122, concerning Herakleia, in a matter of
emigration (unclear which Herakleia is concerned). This list suggests some ties to the area of the Gulf of
Taranto, closest to Epirus, but no wider consultation. This should not be taken to imply that Pindar was
uninterested in Zeus of Dodona: for discussion of the relevant hymn or paian fragments, see most recently,
and with past bibliography, Hornblower (2004) 175–6.
33
Mertens, intervention following Phillip (1992) at pp. 57–9.
34
Rougemont (1992); Jacquemin (1992).
35
On the major dedications of the Sicilian tyrants at Delphi, see Amandry (1987) 81–93.
10 simon hornblower and catherine morgan
Here too, Pindar’s celebration of the Deinomenids as defenders of liberty and
Hellenism (most clearly in P. 1 of 470, in the comparison with Salamis and Plataia
at lines 75–80) has a direct material parallel. The concentration on dedication at
Olympia and Delphi is reinforced by the celebration in epinikia primarily of
Olympic, but also Pythian victories almost to the exclusion of all else. Discussion
of Pindar, however, introduces a further layer of comparison, in the rivalry in
dedications between the Deinomenid brothers Hieron and Gelon. Gelon
defeated the barbarian enemy at Himera, whereas Hieron searched him out at
Cumae; Gelon remodelled Syracuse whereas Hieron founded Aetna; Gelon
dedicated a simple quadriga at Olympia, whereas Hieron commissioned Pindar,
Bacchylides, and Aeschylus, and dedicated a quadriga with two flanking horses at
Olympia. As Claude Rolley has suggested, it is possible that Hieron intended to
make a second, similar dedication at Delphi.36 The restored chariot group of
Polyzalos recalls Pausanias’ description (6. 12. 1) of Hieron’s dedication to
celebrate his triple victory at Olympia, made after his death by one of his sons.
Rolley therefore speculates that Polyzalos’ dedication at Delphi was also a pious
duty on Hieron’s behalf (which would bring its date to 470–465). Inevitably,
attention focuses on these most spectacular Sicilian dedications, but it is worth
noting that other western cities added commemorations of their own victories
over barbarians at this time.37 The Tarentines, for example, offered two groups at
Delphi to commemorate victories over the Messapians / Iapygians, one (c.470)
by Hageladas in the lower sanctuary which depicted female captives and horses,
and a second (c.460) by Onatas in the upper, altar, area, showing Taras and the
general Phalanthos with a captive.38 In Greek eyes, these elites earned that name
above all by their championing of Hellenism against its supposed enemies. But
there were twists: in the same Greek eyes, the Messapians could, by a different
sort of victory, be represented as Greeks after all (Hdt. 7. 170 for a curious myth
of Cretan origins).

2. the colonial milieu

It is clear that the origins of epinikian poetry cannot be found in any perceived
threat from democracy to some sort of ‘old order’ of aristocracy. Rosalind
Thomas’ chapter puts this beyond question. The theory does not work for several
reasons: it is too narrowly conceived in terms of Athens, which was in any case
not a city primarily associated with the epinikian genre (on the generic choices of
the big classical cities, see the discussion by Nick Lowe), and it tacitly assumes
too late a date for the beginnings of epinikian poetry.
36 37
Rolley (1990). See generally Rougemont (1992) 161–5.
38
Jacquemin (1992) 197–8; Rougemont (1992) 161–2.
 introduction 11
We would do better to look to the colonial world. So far, the earliest known
practitioner of epinikian poetry is Ibykos of Rhegion in south Italy, and this
geographical location is perhaps a clue. Colonies exalted the powerful military
men who had made them or helped to make them, in the teeth of often ferocious
indigenous opposition, and oikist or founder-cult is a religious expression of this
justified admiration. Equally, praise poetry exalts the individual, though it finds a
means to do so while simultaneously glorifying the community from which he
comes. The categories of oikist and athlete interestingly overlap, and this makes it
attractive to suppose that sung praise of individuals originated in the wild west.39
The origins of their commissioners apart, an extraordinary number of the odes
of Pindar and Bacchylides touch on colonial themes somewhere or other, if only
by a fleeting reference. Thus, for example, N. 11. 36–7 seems, briefly and
obliquely, to imply prehistoric Theban settlement on Aiolian Tenedos far away
in the north-east Aegean opposite Troy (see also below for Thebes and the
‘colonization’ of the Peloponnese). This is true not only of poems for victors
from actual colonial cities like Cyrene or the cities of Sicily and South Italy,40 but
of poems celebrating places not normally associated to any significant extent in
this period with colonization. This is not to imply that Argos and the cities of the
Argolid (notably Asine and Mycenae) were not implicated in the overall process
of colonization, especially with the origins of cults (Bacchylides 11 (10) makes
this plain, and similar arguments have recently been made for the cult of
Hera)41—merely that Argos was not a metropolis. Equally, the qualification (‘in
this period’) is important. Argos would one day be claimed as metropolis by
some very surprising places (e.g. Aspendos in Pamphylia)42 but that was in the
early Hellenistic period, when it was politically expedient to claim descent from
the city which had long been regarded as the metropolis of the contemporary
Planetarchs,43 the Macedonian kings.44 This sort of myth-making is the
equivalent of earlier Greek assertions of affectionate sibling-hood: Aegina and
Thebe were twin sisters and daughters of the river-god Asopos according to the
Theban poet Pindar when he wants to stress in sentimental civic fashion his
closeness to a victor from Aegina (Isthmian 8. 16a, cf. Hdt. 5. 79 and Thuc. 3. 64. 3).
Aspendos similarly becomes a sort of Hellenistic sister of the Macedonian royal

39
Redfield (2003a) 95 for excellent remarks in a study of Lokri as Greek metropolis and Italian
daughter-city.
40
See Dougherty (1994) 42–3 for the use made by epinikian poetry of foundation legends.
41
See e.g. Giangiulio (2002); Osanna (2002).
42
SEG 34. 282. See also the poem discussed by van Bremen, below, p. 347 (Diotimos of Sidon). This
too plays with the idea of ultimately Argive descent: Agenor, first king of Sidon, was son of Phoronis, king
of Argos.
43
Th. Papangelis is ahead of us in using the modern Greek term for the President of the United States in
an ancient context: in an article in To Vima for 8 Aug. 2004 he used it of the emperor Nero.
44
See Hdt. 5. 22 and Thuc. 5. 80.
12 s i m o n h o r n b lo w e r a n d c a t h e r i n e m o r g a n
line. The sibling relationship is the mythical recourse when both places were
long-established and enjoyed rough parity of esteem, so that neither could
pretend to be the other’s colony or mother-city. In the fifth century, the
Macedonian kings themselves were just beginning to assert their Temenid
descent, by means including victory, or acquisition of the trappings of victory,
at the Argive Heraia (see Cathy Morgan’s chapter below). It was not worth
asserting sisterhood with them, and thus Argos does not really feature much as a
metropolis at that time.45 It is therefore unexpected that Pindar talks (N. 10. 5) of
the ‘cities which Argos established in Egypt’. Again, Bacchylides Ode 1 and
Pindar’s Paian 4 take us back to the days of the Minoan settlement of Keos, a
curiously Dorian pedigree for an island which for Thucydides was definitely
Ionian (7. 57. 4). Examples could easily be multiplied.
Yet Pindar is not a predictable writer, and even where a city has a ‘colonial’
aspect, he can reverse our expectations. There is, for instance, no hint at all in
O. 13, for Xenophon of Corinth, that the victor’s home city was once a great
colonizing power (mother-city of Syracuse, Kerkyra, Potidaia, etc.). Ancestral
Corinthians are rather depicted as warlike upholders of justice at home and
abroad, brave warriors whose city was a just and safe haven (O. 13. 49–63).
Likewise, Rhodes was a co-founder of Sicilian Gela (Thuc. 6. 4. 3; the other
founder was Crete), but in the complex narrative of O. 7, the poet prefers to
concentrate on how Rhodes itself was founded in the mythical period. Pindar
sometimes hints at colonizing traditions which are more varied and co-operative
than the single-founder traditions which have come down to us in, for instance,
Thucydides. Thus O. 6 suggests (at line 6) that an Arkadian was fellow-founder
of Syracuse, a city normally treated in our traditions as a purely Corinthian
colony. There may be truth in this: Gela (above) was certainly not the only
mixed colony in Sicily.
The actual noun I
ØŒÆ is reserved by Pindar in his surviving output for one
great colonizing process, that of the Peloponnese in general and of Lakedaimon
(Sparta) in particular:
º Ø 

ƒ Œº


K P
æØ ¸ı
F —
º

 I
ØŒfi Æ,
fame shines for him [Hiero of Syracuse]
in the colony of brave men founded by Lydian Pelops

that is, in the Peloponnese at large (O. 1. 24). And Thebes, in the form Thebe
(i.e. the eponymous nymph),

45
ML 42, an agreement between two Cretan cities, may be an exception in that it seems to imply shared
colonial descent from Argos.
 i n tr o d u c t i o n 13
˜øæ I
ØŒÆ
oŒ OæŁfiH
!ÆÆ Kd ıæfiH
¸ÆŒÆØ
ø
established
on firm footing the Dorian colony
of the Lakedaimonians. (I 7. 12–14)

3. the case of cyrene

Let us look at a fine example of a colonial city which unites some themes we have so
far identified as important: oikist cult, athletic and equestrian success, and a colonial
past inaugurated by Apollo Iæƪ
Æ, ‘Apollo the colony founder’ (P. 5. 60; for
the cult title see Thuc. 6. 3. 1). It is a city not covered by a separate chapter in the
present book: Cyrene in North Africa. There is epigraphic evidence to suggest that
family tradition in Cyrene was indeed tenacious: snobbish claims of descent from
the founding royal family continued to be made into the Roman period. A grave
inscription dating from perhaps the first or second centuries ad46 records a geneal-
ogy going back to a Battos son of Aladdeir. These last two names evoke the world of
Pindar and Herodotus: P. 5. 93 describes the hero-tomb of Battos the founder, and
Herodotus not only describes in detail and with variant versions the founding of
Cyrene by Battos in 630 bc, but also mentions at one point the Libyan name
Alazeir¼Aladdeir (4. 150–64). But there are only eight ancestors of Klearchos,
who is the first on the list, the last in chronological sequence, and the presumed
occupant of the grave. This line of descent cannot be stretched back to the fifth
century bc. So this must be an aristocratic attempt, in the later Hellenistic period, to
assert continuity from the founding era.47 Here is the Greek text of the genealogy:

˚º
Ææ

˚ºæø
˚º
Ææ

4 ˚ºæø
˚º
Ææ

—ÆæıÆ
—ÆæıÆ
8 #غ

øı

46
SGDI 4859.
47
See Masson (1974) esp. 270, for this genealogy as part of an aristocratic family tradition which cannot
be pushed back to even the last royal Battos (IV). The inscription, whose letter-forms are certainly
Imperial, could be a later re-carving of a genealogy which really did go back, or purport to go back, to
the royal line, but in that case the youngest Klearchos could not be the occupant of the tomb but would be
Hellenistic, and the motive for the carving and erection of the list would be hard to see. Thomas (1989)
159 n. 9 interestingly suggests ‘nor can the chronology be calculated literally (as does Masson 1974)’. She
wants the line to go back somehow to a royal Battos.
14 simon hornblower and catherine morgan
#غ

˚ƺºøı
˚ººØ

12 $ºØ øı
$º Æ
½

`ºØæ
½

`ºØæ
16 ´½
½
ø
That is: Klearchos son of Klearchos, Klearchos son of Klearchos, Klearchos son
of Pareubates, Pareubates son of Philoxenos, Philoxenos son of Kallippos,
Kallippos son of Aleximachos, Aleximachos son of Aladdeir, Aladdeir son of
Battos. There are other Hellenistic examples of such genealogizing. It is likely
that the curious inscription about Oinopion’s founding of Chios represents some
sort of claim by a family or families to an antiquity going back to the oikist,48 and
at Dodona Agathon son of Echephylos boasts, in a more explicitly genealogical
claim, that his family have been proxenoi of the Molossians for thirty generations
from the time of Kassandra.49 Pindar is full of genealogies and awareness of
ancestors on both sides, but it would be a mistake to think that this sort of
‘aristocratic’ attitude died out with him.
We have seen that the noun I
ØŒÆ is found twice only in Pindar, of the
Peloponnese invasion. The verb I
،
ø is found just once in Pindar, where he
uses it of another strong and paradigmatic example of colonization, that of Thera
the mother-city of Cyrene:

! 
 ˚ƺºÆ IfiŒÆ æfiø

A
,
in time they settled on the island formerly called
Kalliste [‘the Fairest’, i.e. Thera, cf. Hdt. 4. 147. 5]. (P. 4. 258–9)

The founder of Cyrene elicits from Pindar one of the clearest statements of oikist
cult that has come down to us in classical Greek literature (see below on religion).
But this is only part of an extraordinary picture: P. 5 (with its companion, P. 4)
contains some of the most detailed topographical references in the epinikian
corpus to a patron city and the sanctuary at which the victory was won.

48
Condoléon (1949) (with J. and L. Robert, BE (1950): no. 162); Thomas (1989) 159 n. 9. Note that the
inscription includes a negative assertion about a wife who did not come over with Oinopion. Such
‘presentation through negation’, as narratologists call it, often hints at another version which is being
controverted, but we have no idea what this might have been. The mythical names of Oinopion’s
companions are demonstrably connected with places on Chios. The Chians were ancestor-conscious to
what may have been an exceptional degree: cf. the well-known Heropythos pedigree from the 5th cent. bc
but reaching back to Kyprios in the time of what Wade-Gery calls the Hellenic Conquest of the island:
Wade-Gery (1952) 8–9 and fig. 1 opposite p. 8.
49
Fraser (2003) offers a brilliant discussion of IG ix. 12 4. 1750.
 introduction 15
By 462, when Arkesilas IV won his chariot victory at Olympia, Cyrene had a very
unusual and visually striking city centre (at P. 4. 8, Pindar graphically describes
the white stone ridge on which the city is set as IæªØØ ÆfiH).
Archaeological research at Cyrene and in the Cyrenaica confirms the familarity
with place which underlies Pindar’s dual concern to convey the splendours of the
Battiad capital to the outside world, and to present to the local audience at the
odes’ performance(s) the international status of their capital and the Delphic
context of Arkesilas’ achievement. The funerary monument to Battos which
Pindar reports at P. 5. 93 (‘And there, at the end of the agora, he has lain apart
since his death’) had been a place of public cult since the first quarter of the sixth
century, established outside the ‘oikos of Opheles’ (a minor god of healing and
prosperity) as part of an aggrandizement of the agora which began in the first
quarter of the century following the arrival of new colonists. Further expansion
occurred at the end of the century with an enlargement of the sanctuary of
Demeter and Kore, and monumental buildings (such as the Hestiatorion)
increased in number from the early fifth century: since relatively few government
buildings would have been required under the monarchy, most of those seen
by Pindar were probably shrines.50
The agora, graphically celebrated by Pindar (P. 5. 89–100),51 is a strong
candidate for the place of performance of P. 4 and 5. Pindar mentions the cult
of Apollo on several occasions and Apollo Karneia at P. 5. 80, leading to the
suggestion that the odes were performed during this festival.52 The shrine of
Apollo by the acropolis, although quite small until c.440, received considerable
architectural investment: an oikos temple with a monumental altar dates to the
mid-sixth century, a second temple with an Ionian-style altar followed at the end
of the century, and then an exedra was built between the two temples in the early
fifth, probably to house a cult of the Dioskouroi. The earliest phase of the Greek
theatre dates just after 500: its location at the far west end of the sanctuary area
reinforces the widespread link between Apollo and theatrical performance. The
Gardens of Aphrodite (P. 5. 24), at the far east end beyond the Apollo shrine,
already covered a large area in Pindar’s time and had elaborate sculpture
ornament: they too are an often-cited candidate for the place of performance
of Arkesilas’ odes.53 Finally, the extramural shrine of Demeter and Kore,

50
Bacchielli (1985) 10; Bonacasa and Ensoli (2000) 59–62, 120–3. Preliminary findings from recent
Italian excavations in Archaic levels (‘Imported Greek pottery in Archaic Cyrene: The excavations in the
‘‘Casa del Propileo’’ ’) were presented by Ivan D’Angelo at the 28th British Museum Classical Colloquium
(The Naukratis Phenomenon: Greek Diversity in Egypt), Dec. 2004. CM is grateful to Dr D’Angelo and to
Prof. Ida Baldassare for stimulating discussion of certain aspects of the urban layout seen by Pindar, which
must have been quite new at the time.
51
Chamoux (1953) 173, 176–8.
52
Race (1997) 298; Krummen (1990) 98–151.
53
Bonacasa and Ensoli (2000) 105–8.
16 simon hornblower and catherine morgan
the location of the Thesmophoria, was certainly in existence in Pindar’s time,
albeit modest until after 440.54 In addition to the physical setting, with which
Pindar shows considerable familiarity, we should note evidence of athletic inter-
est in the Cyrenaica in the form of a small cluster of Panathenaic amphorae of the
last quarter of the sixth century and the first quarter of the fifth (with a second,
larger peak in the late fifth–fourth centuries).55 A marble athlete statue of the
mid-fifth century may perhaps have been commissioned for a new Gymnasium,
although it is impossible to test this hypothesis.56 The detail in Pindar’s
description of Cyrene is matched by the care with which he places Arkesilas’
achievement at Delphi. Hence, at P. 5. 34–42, the dedication of the trappings
from the victorious chariot is located physically (and morally, indicating prestige)
‘beside the statue hewn from a single trunk which the bow-bearing Cretans set up
in the chamber on Parnassos’ (40–2).57
Why such attention to physical setting? A number of commentators (including
François Chamoux and Barbara Mitchell) have rightly emphasized that Arkesilas’
victory and the ensuing odes (whoever their commissioner[s]) occurred at a time
of monarchical crisis and were clearly designed to reassert the ruler’s status and
Greek credentials locally and internationally. In 462 the young Arkesilas IV had
not long assumed the Cyrenean throne. The death of Battos IV and the end of
Persian support had encouraged a revolt which Arkesilas was forced to put down
firmly, sentencing his opponents to death or exile.58 According to the surviving
reports and fragments of Theotimos’ history of Cyrene,59 Arkesilas adopted
a double stratagem to restore his position in the face of aristocratic oppos-
ition—installing new settlers at Euesperides, and promoting by Panhellenic
victories his own prestige and that of the city as powerful and independent.
Indeed, the charioteer initially sent to Delphi in 462, Euphemos, was on a
recruiting mission for Euesperides; the importance of his mission is indicated
by the fact that on his death he was succeeded by Arkesilas’ own brother-in-law,
Karrhotos. The context of the commission seems plain enough, although one
must accept, with François Chamoux, that much of what we know of the later
stages of the monarchy derives from Pindar and, especially, the Pindaric scholia—
a problem familiar elsewhere as J. K. Davies emphasizes in the case of Delphi.60
On one level, this context echoes the purpose of tyrannical commissions in Sicily
and southern Italy, but on another, the smaller number and closer chronological
focus of the Cyrene odes, as well as their peculiarly detailed tie to physical setting,
imply a sharper, more impassioned plea to both local and international audiences.

54 55
Bonacasa and Ensoli (2000) 180. Elrashedy (2002) 150–1.
56
Bonacasa and Ensoli (2000) 197, with facing plate.
57
See also Rusnak (2001) 60, and in general on Pindar’s responses to art and architecture, 57–67.
58 59
Drachmann ii. 92. FGrH 470 FF 1 and 2.
60
Chamoux (1953) 169–201; Mitchell (2000) 93–100. Davies (this volume) 47–8.
 introduction 17
The commission was certainly a coup for Arkesilas, since in 462 Pindar must have
been some 56 years of age and at the height of his fame.
P. 4 and 5, which celebrate the same victory, operate as a pair. P. 4 deals with
Cyrene’s founder mythology set primarily outside the city, whereas P. 5 deals, as
we have seen, with the civic and Delphic context. There are clear and telling
differences between this package and the earlier P. 9 which celebrates
Telesikrates’ victory in the hoplite race in the 28th Pythiad. At the time of this
victory, Telesikrates was honoured with the conventional helmeted victory
statue; eight years later, in 466, he returned to win the stadion in the 30th
Pythiad. Chamoux, among others,61 interprets the future tense of P. 9. 73–5,
‘Cyrene will welcome him’, to mean that Telesikrates had yet to be received back
home when the ode was performed, and that the performance probably took
place at Thebes. In support of this argument is the extended reference to Theban
cults and festivals at lines 79–89a. But Chamoux’s claim62 that P. 9 is not strongly
Cyrenean in character seems exaggerated. Admittedly, the nature of the associ-
ation is different, without close reference to cults and places, but the main
narrative concerns the city’s foundation, and the reference at lines 102–3 to local
games, ¼Łº
Ø KØæØ
Ø, makes direct association and comparison with Tele-
sikrates’ Olympic victories, and thus elevates Cyrenean contests. The connection
is far from negligible, but it is patently very different in tone, content, and
expression from P. 4 and 5, which have a real link to the city as a physical entity
and to its political history.

4. colonial characteristics and concepts

As the case of Cyrene illustrates, notions of colonialism in Pindar operate in a
series of interlocking ways, which to varying extents either bind or distinguish the
cities of colonial patrons in relation to their old Greek counterparts. First, there is
the genre of epinikian itself, which, as we have suggested, may have western
colonial origins. Second, the commissions of Bacchylides and Pindar can be
explained historically, without reverting to the sort of biographical approach
against which Bundy was reacting (see above pp. 3–4). Thus it seems that
particular attention was paid to victory—specifically at the oldest and most
prestigious of the festivals of the periodos, namely Delphi and Olympia—at mo-
ments of crisis in authority, when association with ‘Greekness’ was politically
expedient. This may have been most starkly expressed in the case of Cyrene,
where both participation and celebration were focused around a particular set of
local political circumstances. But it is also true of Sicily and Magna Graecia,

61 62
Chamoux (1953) 169–70, contra Race (1997) 338. Chamoux (1953) 171–2.
18 s i m o n h o r n b lo w e r a n d c a t h e r i n e m o r g a n
where the early fifth century was a period of considerable instability and external
threat. In discussing issues such as ethnic distinctions and the practical vulner-
ability of western settlements, attention has often focused on the early years of
colonies. Yet such matters became more, not less, complex over time.63 A steady
flow of imported goods served to enhance a variety of Greek and native statuses
and identities in changing circumstances. At Metapontum, for example, the
division of the chora around c.500 radically changed the context in which the
old colonial families maintained their wealth and position. Both this and solu-
tions to the problem of oligandria in turn had an impact on the practical and
ideological perception of Greek–local relations, the latter exemplified in the case
of Metapontum by depictions in vase-painting and by a renewed fashion for
colonial versions of indigenous jewellery.64 In short, by the time that Pindar and
Bacchylides were commissioned, the discourse of colonization had taken
a significant new turn.
But this is not to imply a diminished role for the third aspect of our equation,
the mythology surrounding migrations and colonial origins. In the late sixth
and early fifth century, colonization, a contested concept65 but in essence the
mechanism by which Greeks made new lives away from their original homes,
either in haphazard and individual migration, or in oikist-led groups from more
than one city, was an extremely potent form of collective memory in the old and
new world alike. Indeed, it was an ongoing process developing, by the fourth
century at least, into state-organized ventures of a ‘Roman’ type: hence, for
example, the Athenian colony sent to the Adriatic in the time of Alexander the
Great, with definite and stated commercial aims,66 or the Syracusan colony sent
to Black Corcyra, with its provisions about inalienability of land.67 This govern-
ing concept of colonization is, we argue, basic to the poetry of Pindar and
Bacchylides and must be examined more closely in relation to that poetry. It is
far from a one-way traffic: while the original movement of peoples and traditions
may have been from east to west, the reverse flow of colonial imagery and ideas
in epinikian poetry brought western achievement onto centre stage just as
effectively as the statue dedications at Delphi discussed above.
Given this background, it is perhaps surprising to find myths of autochthony
represented in Pindar’s epinikia. Indeed, the sheer connectedness of the Archaic
and early Classical Mediterranean left claims of autochthony generally weak by
virtue of their inability to play any useful role in articulating the associations and
nuanced distinctions which defined different groups and forms of contact. Two
instances, from neighbouring Lokris and Boiotia, are striking. In O. 9 (35–46) for

63 64 65
Carter (1998) 196–8, 810–15. Morgan (1997a). Osborne (1996) and (1998).
66
Rhodes–Osborne no. 100, esp. lines 217–20.
67
Syll.3 141 with Fraser (1993) for the Syracusan connection, established onomastically.
 in tro du cti o n 19
Epharmostos of Opous, Deukalion and Pyrrha descend from Mt. Parnassos to
create from stones the race of men who then settled Protogeneia (Opous).
Argument still surrounds the respective involvement of Opountian and
Epiknemidian Lokroi in the foundation of Epizephyrian Lokroi, leaving open
the possibility that Opous could have made more of the colonial connection.
Instead, we find here a myth of autochthony, but constructed in terms which
echo discourses of origin evident in the western world also.68 A sharper
contrast, expressing local distinctiveness in straightforward terms of auto-
chthony, is found in Pindar’s treatment of his home-town, Thebes, where on
four separate occasions he refers to the origin of the Theban aristocracy in the
Spartoi, who sprang from the dragon’s teeth sown by Kadmos (P. 9. 82; I. 1.
30, 7. 10; fr. 29). Traditions tying Thebes to colonial activity were no weaker
than those adduced in the case of Argos noted above (and certainly more
contemporary)69—the decision to depart from the dominant discourse of
colonialism evident throughout the epinikian corpus must therefore have
been deliberate.

5. pindar on myth and religion

Much is taken for granted by the contributors to this book (including the editors
in their own chapters) about Greek religion and Pindar’s attitude to it. It will, we
hope, be helpful to make some or all of this explicit now: to set out the respects in
which Pindar is evidence for normal religious beliefs, but also to say where he
departs from what we now perceive, and/or is presented to us by contemporary
sources, as orthodoxy. We have to notice what Pindar says, but also what he does
not say. For instance, we shall see below that Pindar does not say much about the
‘Olympic truce’, and this is a warning against modern over-interpretation of this
very limited institution. That said, we have to acknowledge straight away the
near-invisibility in Pindar of one central pair of concepts in Greek religion,
pollution and purification.70 The cauldron from which Pelops is pulled by
Klotho, one of the Fates, is firmly said to be ŒÆŁÆæ (O. 1. 26), and this can
be interpreted as part of Pindar’s general repudiation of the story that Pelops was
boiled in it and partially eaten (a gross potential pollution; see below p. 21). On
the other hand, Apollo in P. 3. 43–4 exposes himself to serious pollution when he
snatches the baby Asklepios from the corpse of his mother. On this Parker

68
Hornblower (2004) 168–70, 313–14.
69
Malkin (1994) 100–4.
70
Parker (1983) 16: pollution fears in Pindar are ‘as inconspicuous as in Homer’. For Ixion and the
pollution of homicide of close kin (P. 2. 31–2) see Blickman (1986) 197.
20 simon hornblower and catherine morgan
remarks: ‘the poet who wrote this lived, none the less, in a city that kept temples
and tombs well separated’.71
For some central features of Greek religion, Pindar provides evidence in
practically every poem and every stanza, so that it would be lost labour to cite
everything relevant. He is, with Homer, a basic text for the nature of Greek
polytheism, and for the ways in which the gods interact.72 Religious festivals
are—naturally—everywhere in Pindar; they are timeless facts of life, regardless of
their real antiquity. If we have to single out just one poem it might be O. 10 on
the origins of the Olympic games:

I
b a 

 æÆEØ ŁÆºÆØ
and all the sanctuary rang with singing amid festive joy. (76)

And we shall look shortly at the elaborate description of a Theban polis festival at
the end of I. 4 (see also Stephen Instone’s chapter below).
For some modern authorities, Greek religion is not much more than polis
religion of the kind here described.73 There is some truth in this: even the
autocrats of North Africa and Sicily did not dismantle polis structures, including
the civic festivals at which much epinikian poetry was performed (see Carey, this
volume). And there was a large polis element even in the Panhellenic sanctuaries
such as Olympia.74 Yet poleis need not have been independent entities but were
often contained within ethnē, and we may wish to insist that there was an
important supra- or extra-polis element here at the same time, also documented
by Pindar. The Theban clan of the Kleonymidai rejoice to spend wealth
on horses, ‘competing with all Hellenes [lit. ‘‘Panhellenes’’]’, —ƺºØ
 KæØ% 
Ø (I. 4. 29).
Not all Greek religion was the polis-religion for which Pindar provides
such good evidence. Apart from the Panhellenic sanctuaries and festivals just
mentioned, an important, but until recently neglected, form of Greek religion
was that shared by poleis (although not yet federal in the formal sense).75 Pindar
in O. 7 invokes ‘Zeus, you who rule Atabyrion’s j slopes’ (t ˘F æ,

71
Parker (1983) 67.
72
Howie (1989), an excellent general study of Greek polytheism, draws heavily on Pindar for its
insights. See also Detienne and Vernant (1978) ch. 7 for a particular structuralist case-study which
brilliantly examines the way in which Athena and Poseidon interact in Pi. O. 13 (see below, p. 23).
73
Zaidman and Schmitt Pantel (1992) has for its title Religion in the Ancient Greek City; the French title
was La Religion grecque. The choice, for the translation, of the longer title is explained by the translator,
Paul Cartledge, as follows (p. xv): he says that one of the book’s main aims is ‘to convince us by constant
demonstrations and vehemently insistent repetition that the proper context for evaluating Greek religion is
not the individual immortal soul . . . but rather the city, the peculiar civic corporation that the Greeks
labelled polis. Hence the title chosen for this translation.’
74
Sourvinou-Inwood (1990) 297.
75
Parker (1998) 15, discussing also the central Mesa sanctuary on Lesbos, which similarly seems to have
functioned as a ‘federal’ sanctuary, that is, it served all the communities of the island. Morgan (2003) ch. 3.
 introduction 21

ØØ $Æıæ
ı 
ø, 87–8). The cult of Zeus Atabyrios76 was
pan-Rhodian77 (like that of Athena Lindia).78 From Mt. Atabyrion you can in
good weather79 see the mountains of Crete, and this is reflected in the story of the
origin of the cult: Althaimenes the son of Katreus of Crete fled, Oedipus-like, to
avoid fulfilling an oracle which said he would kill his father, which of course he
eventually did by mistake. He went to Rhodes (landing at a place which he called
Kretinia), climbed Mt. Atabyrion, found he could make out Crete on the
horizon, and ‘calling to mind the gods of his fathers’, founded there an altar
of Zeus Atabyrios (Apollodoros 3. 2. 1, cf. Diod. 5. 59).80 Now Cretans and
Rhodians, as we have seen, joined in founding Gela and then Akragas in Sicily,
and the cult of Atabyrios was exported there. Polybius says of Sicilian Akragas
that ‘on its summit stand the temples of Athena and Zeus Atabyrios as in Rhodes
(ŒÆŁæ ŒÆd Ææa  '

Ø), for since Akragas was founded by the Rho-
dians, this god naturally bears the same title as in Rhodes’.81 This sort of colonial
interconnectivity would have appealed to Pindar, just as, when praising Ergoteles
of Sicilian Himera in O. 12, he registers the victor’s Cretan origins. As for Zeus
Atabyrios, if the settlers who went to Sicily from Rhodes were from all three of
the island’s cities, Lindos, Ialysus, and chalky Kameiros, it would be natural for
them to pool their religion in a pan-Rhodian cult.

We turn now to the content of Greek religion. Pindar’s attitude to the content
of myth is fastidious and respectful. On the myth of the partial eating of Pelops he
protests

K
d  ¼
æÆ ªÆæ Ææ-

ª
 ÆŒæø Ø NE: IÆ ÆØ:
But for my part, I cannot call any of the blessed gods
a glutton [cannibal]—I stand back. (O. 1. 52)

76
For the exiguous remains of what must have been the temple see Tozer (1890) 220–1.
77
Laumonier (1958) 677 ff.; Cordano (1974) 181; Parker (1996) 31; Bresson (2000) 37–8. The cult spread
to the peraia (the Rhodian-controlled Asiatic mainland opposite) as well: Debord and Varinlioglu (2001)
129–30, no. 26 (altar dedicated to Zeus Atabyrios, from Pisye).
78
Momigliano (1975).
79
See Tozer (1890) 221, recording a climb up Mt. Attavyrio in spring 1886. He gets to the top and says:
‘beyond the southern extremity of Rhodes the long broken outline of Carpathos was visible; but the Cretan
mountains, which in clear weather are within view, were now concealed. During our ascent we saw three
fine snow-clad summits at three separate points on the mainland of Lycia, and also the coast of Syme and
the coast beyond it; but these were obscured by gathering mist before we reached the top. The interest of
the view detained us longer than was prudent . . . ’. So they got back to the monastery with difficulty, and
finally by moonlight, and then heard ‘violent thunder and lightning raging on the summit, and the hail and
wind battered the shutters of our dwelling’. This is not absolutely conclusive evidence, but he must have
been told by the locals that Crete was normally visible.
80
Van Gelder (1900) 31 was sceptical about the association of the Atabyrian cult with Crete.
81
Pol. 9. 27. 7, cf. FGrH 566 Timaios F 39.
22 s i mon ho r nblo w e r and catheri ne mo rgan
On the other hand, he draws a sceptical and Thucydidean distinction, and is
perhaps the first to do so, between myth and true logos (reason?):

q ŁÆ ÆÆ 
ºº; ŒÆ 
 Ø ŒÆd æ
H

Ø (bæ e IºŁB ºª

ÆØƺ

Ø łØ 
ØŒº
Ø KÆÆHØ FŁ
Ø
Yes wonders are many, but then too, I think, in men’s talk
stories are embellished beyond the true account
and deceive by means of elaborate lies. (O. 1. 28–9)82

And we shall see below that, despite his reverent attitude to ‘the blessed gods’ he
was prepared to justify the violence of Herakles in a way that some think looks
forward to Euripides or the Athenians of Thucydides’ Melian Dialogue.
Pindar can make clever use of myth to make a contemporary point: a three-line
fragment (nos. 156 and 157) mentions Silenus, and the second part of this has him
saying to the musician Olympos ‘O wretched creature of the day, you babble
nonsense when boasting to me of money’. This is a contribution to an argument
about money and whether or not its invention was an evil.83 In the myth, Silenus
is captured by Midas and then returned to the wild. In gratitude for this,
Dionysos grants that everything Midas touches shall be turned to gold, which
means that Midas cannot eat. In other words money/gold, and greed for it, are
evils. Did Pindar’s poem address this theme? He knew how to turn the argument
in more than one direction: in O. 2, he spoke with ostensible approval of ‘wealth
embellished with virtues’ (º
ı ~
 IæÆ~Ø ÆØƺ

) as ‘the truest light
for a man’ (Kı Æ
 Iæd 
ªª
, lines 53, 55–6).84
This is all relatively subtle and sophisticated. In many respects, however, Pindar
speaks for Olympian religion in its accepted form, and indeed is a prime source for
it; he has become a kind of court of appeal in arguments between historians of
Greek religion. His language is elevated, his sentence-structure difficult and
complex, but the underlying doctrines are relatively simple and devout.
‘Relatively’ simple because it is not enough to say that Pindar piously treats one
god or the other: modern work, especially of the structuralist school, insists that
Greek religion was polytheistic and is best grasped in terms of pairings. Pindar’s
poetry attests this more sophisticated phenomenon and indeed his ode for
Xenophon of Corinth (O. 13) has been used as a paradigm for the structuralist
paired approach. Bellerophon wanted to yoke the winged horse Pegasos. Then

ƒ æı ıŒÆ Œ
æÆ ƺØ

—ººÆ XªŒ , K Oæ
ı  ÆPŒÆ
q oÆæ; Æ  :   ¯ oØ `N
ºÆ ÆغF;

82 83
Richardson (1985) for Pindar’s priority here. Seaford (2004) 307.
84
For Pindar and Bacchylides on money see Hornblower (2004) 256–8.
 in tro du cti o n 23
¼ª ºæ
  ¥ Ø
 
Œı,
ŒÆd ˜Æ Æfiø Ø Łø ÆFæ
 IæªÆ Ææd E
:’’
the maiden Pallas [Athena] brought him the bridle
with the golden bands when his dream suddenly became
reality and she spoke, ‘Are you asleep, prince of Aiolos’ race?
Come, take this horse charm and, sacrificing a white bull,
show it to your father, the Horse-tamer [Poseidon]. (O. 13. 65–9)

Detienne and Vernant show that, and how, the roles of Athena and Poseidon
here are complementary.85
One distinction, traditional in modern scholarship but nonetheless contested, is
that between chthonian and Olympian gods.86 There is no dispute that ‘chthonian
gods’ was a general term for the—almost always unnamed—gods of the under-
world (who are clearly referred to at P. 4. 159: AØ Ł
ø, ‘the anger of those
in the underworld’). It also seems clear that certain gods could be called ‘chthon-
ian’ or not depending on the ritual context: Hermes is an example, but there are
others. But what of the supposedly fundamental Olympian/chthonian distinction?
Pindar offers no support for it and that is itself a powerful argument for thinking
that it mattered less to ancient Greeks than to modern interpreters. At first sight,
his acceptance of the distinction might seem to be implied by his description of the
double status of Herakles as a ‘hero-god’, læø Ł (N. 3. 22), if this is taken
alongside Herodotus’ remark on Herakles’ status. Herodotus says ‘I think those
Greeks are most correct who have two shrines of Herakles, and to the one they
make sacrifice as to an immortal, as to an Olympian, and to the other they perform
funerary offerings as to a hero’, ‰ læøØ Kƪ%
ıØ (2. 44). Guthrie, citing
the Pindar passage alongside the Herodotean, saw this as ‘a combination of
Olympian with chthonian worship’.87 The Herodotus passage is, however, best
interpreted simply as offering a distinction between ‘immortal’ and ‘hero’. And
we shall see that Pindar elsewhere suggests that whereas Herakles’ sons received
hero-cult, he himself was honoured unequivocally as a god.
A related argument concerns heroes and the sort of sacrifice they receive: was it
always chthonian (however we interpret this deeply problematic concept),88 and
were sacrifices to heroes always completely burnt, ‘holocaust’?.89 The problem is

85
Detienne and Vernant (1978) 187–213; cf. also Vernant (1983) 127–74 on Hestia and Hermes. For the
visual association of Athena and Poseidon at Corinth, notably on the votive plaques from Penteskouphia:
Geagan (1970) 44–6.
86
Scullion (1994).
87
Guthrie (1954) 238.
88
For a review of scholarship and issues arising, see Ekroth (2002) 310–25.
89
Ekroth (2002), reviewing previous scholarship; Currie (2005). Feeney (1998) 111 contrasts Roman
ideas about the borderline (contested) between gods, men, and heroes, as illustrated by the opening of
Horace, Odes 1. 12, with Horace’s model, namely the opening of O. 2 (‘what god, what hero, what man
shall we celebrate?’). Feeney treats Pindar’s evidence as clear and unproblematic. This is, sadly, no longer so.
24 simon hornblower and catherine morgan
an old one and is far from resolved. Many years ago, Arthur Darby Nock remarked
and listed the exceptions (mainly Attic) to the rule that hero-sacrifice was holo-
caust and not eaten.90 The point is important. Without the ritual distinction
between gods and heroes there is apparently little left but the (to us) vague,
though still important, difference that heroes tend to be more local than gods.91
Nock’s case now seems overstated, and it is clear that thysia—featuring consump-
tion by worshippers—played a more important and widespread role than he
allowed (as Ekroth has recently argued). Yet there are too many gaps and uncer-
tainties in the evidence to permit us safely to reject Nock’s case in its entirety.92 In
some form or other, the ritual argument must stand, and there are certainly
specific pieces of evidence which directly support it. The sacred law from Sicilian
Selinus, published in 1993, for example, several times distinguishes between
sacrifice ‘as to the heroes’ and ‘as to the gods’.93
Pindar is important here too. Isthmian 4, for Melissos of Thebes, closes with
a very specific description of celebrations; this specificity has led Eveline
Krummen to argue that the poem was performed at a particular festival of
Herakles at Thebes (and see also below).94 For present purposes it is the detail
of the ritual which matters, because it indicates clearly two kinds of sacrifice:
worship of Herakles as a god, and of his sons as heroes.95 Alkmene’s son
[Herakles] ‘went to Olympos’ (ˇhºı  !Æ, line 54b) and received a
‘feast’: ÆEÆ (line 61). But his sons get ‘burnt offerings’ (holocaust, the word
at line 63 is ! ıæÆ), and the sacrifice for them takes place after dark (‘at sunset’,
K ıŁ ÆEØ, line 65).
If we broaden the discussion out, it emerges unmistakably that Pindar knows
of three important categories of heroized human beings: oikists, athletes, and
doctors. For the hero cult of city-founders, Pindar provides a much-cited
and highly specific testimonium concerning Battos, oikist of Cyrene:

!ŁÆ æı 
E Iª
æA !Ø Æ ŒEÆØ ŁÆ.

ŒÆæ b Iæø ~ 
Æ
!ÆØ; læø  !ØÆ ºÆ
 .
and there, at the end of the agora, he has lain apart since his death.
He was blessed while he dwelt among men,
and afterwards a hero worshipped by his people. (P. 5. 93–5)

90
Nock (1972) (a reprint of an article first published in 1944 in the Harvard Theological Review).
91
This is not to imply that they were of purely local significance, however, nor that they could always be
appropriated by single poleis: see e.g. Hall (1999).
92
See Currie’s (2003) review of the revisionist case presented by Ekroth (2002), and summarized by
her at 302–41. Scullion (2000) rightly insists on the importance of the Selinus text in this connection.
93
Jameson et al. (1993) 14–15.
94
Krummen (1990) 41–75; and see Carey here below.
95
Currie (2003) 239.
 introduction 25
Archaeological evidence for this shrine, and for Pindar’s unusually precise
attention to the physical form of the city of Cyrene, has already been noted.
Athletes too were heroized in reality,96 but Pindar (in his last poem, for
Aristomenes of Aegina) warns them not to claim immortality:
K æ
Ø:  
Ø;  
h Ø; ŒØA ZÆæ
¼Łæø
: Iºº ‹Æ ÆYªºÆ Ø

 !ºŁfi;
ºÆ æe 
ªª
 !Ø IæH ŒÆd ºØ
 ÆN.
Creatures of a day! What is someone? What is no one?
A dream of a shadow
is man. But whenever Zeus-given brightness comes,
a shining light rests upon men and a gentle life. (P. 8. 95–7)

There is a more explicit warning in another ode for an Aeginetan:

c ı ˘f ª
ŁÆØ:  !Ø,
Y  
ø
Eæ KŒ
Ø
ŒÆºH.
ŁÆa ŁÆ
EØ æ
Ø.
Do not vainly seek to become Zeus. You have all there is,
if a share of those blessings should come to you.
Mortal things befit mortals. (I. 5. 14–16)

We shall see (below, on Theagenes of Thasos), that athletes might be thought to

have posthumous healing powers. Pindar knows of the link between healing and
heroes; here is his invocation of the patron saint of all doctors:
$ŒºÆØ,
 „æ
Æ Æ
ÆA IºŒBæÆ 
ø,
Asklepios,
hero and protector from diseases of all sorts. (P. 3. 6–7)

There is obvious and important overlap between these three categories.97 Of

oikists, lawgivers (not an obviously Pindaric category), and athletes, Redfield
remarks ‘these people have all in one way or another been separated from society
and not reintegrated; after death the power so demonstrated becomes a
continuing element of community life’.98 The connection between lawgivers
and the divine is clear not only in the divine sanction attached to much written
law, but in the (temporarily) enhanced authority of the lawgiver himself which, at
the point when he undertakes his commission, is conceptually similar to that of a
deity.99 While Redfield does not mention doctors, the connection between
NÆæØŒ and ÆØŒ has been widely observed,100 and we should note the
96
Fontenrose (1968); Currie (2002) for Euthymos of Lokri.
97
For athlete-oikists see Hornblower (2004) 184–5, 235–6.
98 99
Redfield (2003a) 95. Morgan (2003) 78.
100
For discussions of the wider background see, for example, Lloyd (1979) chs. 1 and 2; Parker (1983)
chs. 7 and 8.
26 simon hornblower and catherine morgan
healing properties of the dead athlete-hero Theagenes of Thasos. Fontenrose has
suggested that he was ‘especially valued as a healing deity like Amphiaraos or
Asklepios’,101 although the direct comparison is surely simplistic since, as Parker
notes, the relationship between existing healing heroes and newly established
cults of healing deities during the fifth century was complex, with the two
drawing upon overlapping but distinct clienteles and strands of scientific and
religious knowledge and practice.102
The two central rituals of Greek religion are sacrifice and divination. Sacrifice
has already been considered in connection with the cults of Olympians and heroes.
Military divination may be seen as a sub-category of sacrifice in the sense that
the animal which was slaughtered immediately before the battle (the ªØÆ) was
brought forward by the mantis or seer (see here Thuc. 6. 69. 2; Xen. Anab. 6. 5. 21).
Pindar surely knows about this phenomenon and alludes to it in his own oblique
way: the earth swallows up the seer Amphiaraos (one of the Seven against Thebes)
and Adrastos says

‘‘
Ł
ø æÆØA OŁÆº e K A
I æ
 Ø  IªÆŁe ŒÆd

ıæd æÆŁÆØ’’,
‘‘I dearly miss the eye of my army,
good both as a seer and at fighting
with the spear’’. (O. 6. 17–18)

Of non-military types of divination, consultation of omniscient Delphic Apollo

was the most prestigious as Pindar well knows (although there is an inevitable
circularity in the argument given the prominence of colonial commissions in the
Pindaric corpus and the role of Delphi in the west, as noted above). Cheiron the
centaur says with teasing incredulity to Apollo, who has just asked the lineage of
the nymph Cyrene :

ŒæØ
 n ø 
º


rŁÆ ŒÆd Æ ŒºŁ
ı:
‹Æ  Łg MæØa ºº IÆ
Ø; TÆØ
K ŁÆºfi Æ ŒÆd 
Æ
E ł ÆŁ
Ø
Œ ÆØ ÞØÆE  I
ø Œº


ÆØ
And yet you know
the appointed end of all things and all the ways to them,
and how many leaves the earth puts forth in spring,
and how many grains of sand in the sea and rivers
are beaten by the waves and blasts of wind. (P. 9. 44–8)

101 102
So, in a classic study, Fontenrose (1968) 76 and n. 4. Parker (1996) 175–85.
 introduction 27
Delphic Apollo features most often in Pindar in connection with colonization:
›  Iæƪ
Æ !øŒ $ººø
ŁBæÆ ÆNfiH fiø,
ZæÆ c Æ fi Æ ˚ıæÆ Iºc ª

Ø
Æ ÆØ,
It was Apollo the colony-founder (archagetas) [cf. Thuc. 6. 3. 1 for the title]
who gave over the beasts to panic,
so that he might not fail to fulfil his oracles for the steward of Cyrene. (P. 5. 60–2)
Again:
e b 
ºıæfiø 
 K  ÆØ
#
E
 I Ø Ł
ØØ
—ŁØ
 Æe ŒÆÆÆ æfiø
(
æfiø; Ø 
ºE IªÆªb ˝-
-º
Ø
æ
 E
 

 ˚æ
Æ,
And when at a later time he enters the temple at Pytho,
within his house filled with gold
Phoebus [Apollo] will admonish him through oracles
to convey many people in ships
to the fertile domain of Kronos’ son on the Nile. (P. 4. 53–6)

Some rituals of ancient Greek religion are judged important by modern inquirers,
but are not straightforwardly describable in Greek language or categories.
A good example is initiatory ritual, so-called rites de passage—an expression
which dates back no earlier than the beginning of the twentieth century.103
Naturally, Pindar, who writes for young male athletes about to embark or
newly embarked on full manhood, often alludes, directly or indirectly, to the
rituals marking their in-between status, and their imminent or recent induction
into full social maturity. References to mythical themes such as the teacher
Cheiron and the palaestra-hero Herakles, and relevant real-life themes such as
marriage, are all of them poetically fruitful ways of exploring these concerns.
It has been suggested that Pindar’s odes for young men from Aegina are
particularly full of allusions to coming-of-age.104 He does not actually use the
word ‘ephebe’ anywhere, although this in-between state has been much studied
as a paradigmatic type of transition: boy to man, adolescent to warrior. But it has
been noticed that, for instance, Jason in Pythian 4 is an archetypal ephebe, with
his long hair and his single sandal.105 His appearance, with its feminine aspects, is

103
Dodd and Faraone (2003) generally marks something of a reaction against a tendency to see rites of
passage everywhere; see esp. Faraone’s own contribution: Dodd and Faraone (2003). But see the judicious
remarks of the concluding essay by James Redfield (Redfield 2003b).
104
See Burnett (2005) with p. 294 below, for the prominence of initiatory themes in the odes for young
men from Aegina (but this is not quite peculiar to the Aeginetan odes).
105
For references, see Hornblower (2004) 29 and 87–9.
28 s i mon ho r nblo w e r and catheri ne mo rgan
the antithesis of that of the integrated properly equipped citizen-soldier, and thus
conforms to the regular initiatory pattern by which an individual is prepared for
a given state by emphasis on its opposite.
Religious doctrine is harder to document. It has been well said that personified
abstractions are for Pindar a substitute for a systematic theology.106 Examples are:

#غæ
  ˙ıÆ; ˜ŒÆ

t ªØ
ºØ ŁªÆæ,
kindly Peace (Hesychia), O maker of greatest cities
and daughter of Justice (Dike), (P. 8. 1–2)
¨
Ø Łıªæ 

ƒ ØæÆ º
º
ª
ªÆº

 ¯P
Æ
Themis (Right) and her glorious daughter, Saving Order (Eunomia) (O. 9. 15–16)107

Afterlife beliefs in Pindar are normally conventional: Hades is black, hateful, and
the end.

ºÆØ
Æ F 

#æÆ !ºŁ ; $
E; Ææd Œºıa 
æ
Ø IªªºÆ;
˚ºÆ
 Zæ N
E ; ıƒe Yfi ‹Ø
ƒ 
Æ
μ
Ø Ææ P
Ø —Æ
Kø Œı ø I
Łºø æ
EØ ÆÆ.
To the black-walled house of Persephone go now, Echo, carrying the glorious
news to his father, so that when you see Kleodamos you can say that his son
has crowned his youthful hair in the famous valley of Pisa [Olympia] with
winged wreaths from the games that bring renown. (O. 14. 20–4)

It is, therefore, possible to send messages to the underworld,108 and so to bring

joy to one’s ancestors, who are represented as taking interest and pride in the
achievements of their living descendants. Two Thucydidean speakers hint at a
similar belief: Archidamos, king of Sparta, and Alcibiades (2. 11. 9 and 6. 16. 1),
who are both made to say that ancestors have glory conferred on them by the
deeds of the living.109 This is interesting because normally Thucydides and his
speakers avoid all hint of an afterlife. A special kind of message to the underworld
is a binding curse, and Faraone sees a hint of the agonistic variety of such curses in
Pindar’s Olympian 1 (line 76), where Pelops begs Poseidon 
Æ
 !ª


106
Davies (1997b).
107
Cf. Thummer (1957), who also to a large extent treats Pindaric religion as a series of personifications;
Stafford (2000).
108
Segal (1985).
109
Hornblower (2004) 88 and n. 10 (SH remarks that he forgot the book 2 passage, although Dover
cites it).
 introduc tion 29
ˇN

ı ºŒ
, ‘hold back the bronze spear of Oinomaos’.110 But
Eidinow111 hesitates to follow this because the verb used (ø) is not one
found in curse material.
Immortality is conferred on humans by poetry only:
±  Iæa ŒºØÆE I
ØÆE
æØÆ 
ºŁØ,
excellence endures in glorious songs for a long time. (P. 3. 114–15)

Yet there is also highly unconventional material apparently related to Orphism:

but those with the courage to have lived three times in either realm, while keeping their
souls free from all unjust deeds, travel the road of Zeus to the tower of Kronos, where
ocean breezes blow round the Isle of the Blessed ( ÆŒæø A
), and flowers of gold
are ablaze, some from radiant trees on land, while the water nurtures others; with these
they weave garlands for their hands and crowns for their heads, in obedience to the just
counsels of Rhadamanthys (O. 2. 68–75, and compare O. 3. 41, ‘they preserve the rites
(ºÆ ) of the blessed gods’).

Both poems are for Theron of Akragas, a fact which gains considerable
significance when one considers the widespread distribution of Orphic material
in many parts of southern Italy.112 These finds prove beyond doubt the
link between Dionysos (Bacchos) and Orphism, so that Pindar’s mention of
Dionysos as Semele’s ‘ivy-bearing son’ (ÆE › ŒØ
æ
 O. 2. 27) takes
on new importance. By contrast, the fragmentary thrēnos (lament) fr. 133, for an
unknown patron, may not be Orphic at all: 113

but for those from whom Persephone accepts requital for the ancient grief,
ƺÆØ
F 
Ł
 [for the killing of her son Dionysos, who is more normally son of
Semele and Zeus], in the ninth year she returns their souls to the upper sunlight.

The sentiments are echoed in a thrēnos for Hippokrates of Athens (fr. 137), later
seen by Clement of Alexandria (Strom. 3. 3. 17) in Eleusinian terms: ‘blessed
(ZºØ
) is he who sees them and goes beneath the earth; he knows the end of life
and knows its Zeus-given beginning’.
There is nothing to suggest that Pindar is here representing anything other
than the views of his patrons. If, however, we choose to assume that he person-
ally subscribed to Orphism, then we are forced to consider the possibility that in
later life he became more sceptical. One fragment (169), which was already
known to Herodotus and of which we now have more on papyrus, has been
thought to imply this:

110 111
Faraone (1991) 11. Eidinow (forthcoming).
112
Pugliese Carratelli (1993). See generally Hornblower (2004) 89–91.
113
Lloyd-Jones (1990) 80–109 and Parker (1995); but see now Holzhauser (2004).
30 simon hornblower and catherine morgan
Nomos (law), king of all, of mortals and immortals, guides them as it justifies the utmost
violence with a sovereign hand. I bring as witness the deeds of Herakles, for he drove
Geryon’s cattle to the Cyclopean portal of Eurystheus without punishment or
payment . . .

It is interesting here to compare N. 9. 15 (even though the translation is not

agreed): ‘the stronger man puts an end to what was just before’ [or: ‘puts an end
to a former dispute’]. Overall, however, chronology presents the greatest diffi-
culty with this view of the Nomos poem, since the fragmentary poems are the
hardest of all to date. Quite apart from the difficulty of disentangling Pindar’s
personal beliefs from those of his patrons, the idea of progress from untroubled
belief to cynicism rests on circular assumptions about the dating of poems.114

6. the ‘olympic’ truce and other sacred truces

Many modern assumptions about early Greek athletics have somehow acquired
the status of customary or conventional law. The ‘Olympic truce’ is a notable
example, and it is worth pursuing in detail to illustrate how close reading of
Pindar can be revealing as much for what he does not say as what he does say. Big
claims have been made for the institution of the truce, often as part of a plea
(commonly made around the time of each modern Games) that there should be a
period of world peace. Yet as David Young has recently re-emphasized,115 the
Olympic truce was never a period of cessation of all wars and military hostilities,
but at most a prohibition on invasion of Olympia itself and on stopping anyone
on the way to or from the sanctuary and the games (see below). While not the
sole villain in this case, the International Olympic Committee, as Young argues,
has certainly made fine propaganda of this pious misreading of the sources—not
without irony given that both the 1980 American boycott of the Moscow
Olympics and the subsequent (1984) Soviet retaliation in Los Angeles would
have breached the real terms of the ancient truce.
Nonetheless, this misreading reappears with every modern Games, and noth-
ing is more certain than that it will do so in connection with the Beijing Olympics
in 2008. Thus most recently, Nigel Spivey writes that there was ‘a sixteen-day
cessation of hostilities all around Greece while the festival was convened’, though
he goes on to say that the violent events of 364 (the ‘battle in the Altis’ at
Olympia, Xen. Hell. 7. 4. 28–32) made an ‘absolute mockery’ of this tradition.116
Reviewing Spivey, and chiding him for being so scathing about the truce, Oliver

114
Hornblower (2004) 65–6. Simon Hornblower will argue elsewhere that this poem was written for a
Macedonian prince.
115
Young (2004) 124–5 (citing with approval Lämmer (1982–3), see below).
116
Spivey (2004) 190.
 in tro d u c t io n 31
Taplin goes even further in asserting the supposed tradition: ‘the fact remains
that there was a period of universal peace, however brief, throughout the
much-conflicted Greek world for nearly every one of the more than 100 Olympic
festivals that were held before the Romans came’.117 The truth was stated tersely
by Gomme fifty years ago (to go no further back):118 ‘there was, by the way, no
general truce in wartime during the Pythia or any other festival, only an agreed
safe-conduct for those taking part in it (and even this was not certain, to judge
from the first clause of the year’s truce, 4. 118. 1–2)’.119 An excellent full-length
study by Manfred Lämmer in 1982120 ought to have demolished the myth
completely, but the desire to believe is very strong.
Pindar was well placed to know the exact truth about the truce, and one
should look hard at what he does—or rather does not—say. Referring to the
Akragantine charioteer Nikomachos, he says:

‹  ŒÆd ŒæıŒ T-
æA I
ª
; 

æ
Ø ˚æ
Æ ˘e $ºE
Ø
whom the heralds of the seasons also recognized,
the Elean truce-bearers of Kronos’ son Zeus. (I. 2. 23)

That is all he says anywhere about the Olympic institution.121 Neither here nor in
any of the fourteen Olympian odes is there anything about universal peace
throughout the Greek world during the weeks of the festival. This is a significant
silence of a general sort.122 One important, but small and local, qualification

117
Taplin (2004).
118
Gomme (1956) 629 (explicitly endorsed by Hornblower (1991–6) ii. 422). See, however, below with
n. 125 for a small but necessary qualification to this basically correct statement.
119
This clause, from the armistice of 423 bc, guaranteed access to the sanctuary and oracle of Delphi;
the peace of Nikias contains a broader clause covering all the (four) ‘common shrines’ and specifying the
religious activities so guaranteed: 5. 18. 2.
120
Lämmer (1982–3), cited with apparent approval by Spivey (2004) 261 although the formulation in his
text (the tradition of ‘cessation of hostilities all round Greece’) is almost exactly the position which Lämmer
demolished. See Lämmer (1982–3) 51: ‘Dieser temporäre Schutz der Festteilnehmer war der eigentliche und
vielbeschworene, aber gleichzeitig so oft missverstandene ‘‘Gottesfriede’’ [his italics]’ i.e. ‘this temporary
protection of participants was the real ‘sacred peace’, so often sworn to, but at the same time so often
misunderstood’. For the correct view see already Finley and Pleket (1976) 98–9, who insist that the truce
never stopped a war: ‘what the Olympic truce was meant to do, and succeeded in doing, was to prevent wars
from disrupting the Games, above all by insuring safe-conduct for the thousands, and soon tens of
thousands, who wished to travel to Olympia and then back home. Hence only open warfare by or against
the Eleans was forbidden [their italics] during the truce . . . ’. Golden (1998) 17 agrees. See further below, n. 128.
121
On the word 

æ
Ø (technical or not?) see Popp (1957) 128 n. 167. The word is used in the
Olympia inscription Syll.3 1021 ¼ IvO 64, line 7, but that is rather late (24 bc).
122
Raubitschek is cited by Lämmer (1982–3) 81 n. 106 for a letter making the correct point that our
oldest main sources for the early history of the Olympic games, Pindar and Herodotus, do not mention
Olympia as a symbol of Panhellenic kinship and unity. The first source to do that is Aristophanes, Lys.
1128–34 in 411 bc. Isocrates 4. 43 (380 bc) writes in similar Panhellenic vein about the Olympic games
(‘after concluding truces with each other and putting an end to any current hostilities, we come together in
one place’). See Lämmer (1982–3) on these and similar aspirational passages, which are without historical
value for the 5th cent.
32 simon hornblower and catherine morgan
should be made.123 Strabo (8. 3. 33) implies that only in Elis itself were hostilities
banned—and this was the polis which administered the Olympian sanctuary,
festival, and games. This ban is a complete explanation of Thucydides’ only
reference to the Olympic truce.124 At 5. 49. 1, he recounts how the Spartans
allegedly committed hostile acts against two places which the Eleans regarded as
Elean K ÆE  ˇºı ØÆŒÆE 
ÆE (‘in the Olympic time of libations’).125
It is, however, important to see Elis and Olympia in a wider context. The
Olympic festival has tended to monopolize attention, partly because it was the
most prestigious ancient sanctuary and festival, and partly because of the modern
history of the Olympic games; there are no modern Nemean or Isthmian
games.126 Yet as is clear from Pindar’s reference (N. 3. 2) to ‘the Nemean sacred
month’ (K ƒæ
fi Æ ˝ Ø), the inviolability of Olympia at the time of its
great festival was only one example of a common phenomenon. The other three
Panhellenic festivals had similar truces.127 I. 2. 23 concerns the Nemean festival,
we have already noticed Gomme’s comment on the Pythia, and Thucydides (8. 9.
1 tells us that in 412 the Corinthians did not want to join a naval expedition until
they had celebrated the Isthmian games, which were held at that time,
P
æ
ıŁı ŁÆ ı ºE æd a  ”Ł ØÆ; L  q; Ø
æøØ.
The Spartan King Agis was quite happy to allow them not to break the Isthmian
Ð
truce, and to make the expedition ‘his own’, `ªØ b ÆP
E )
E
 q KŒ
ı
b c ºØ c a 
; )Æı
F b e º
 YØ
 
Ø ÆŁÆØ.
Thucydides then (10. 1) reports the announcement at Athens (of the Isthmian
truce, though he merely says Kªª
ºŁÆ ªæ, ‘for they had been announced,
where the subject is ‘‘the Isthmia’’, neuter plural, i.e. the games) and says that
the Athenians sent sacred ambassadors, KŁæ
ı. Here the reference to ‘‘not
breaking the Isthmian truce’’ implies a mere recognition that the Corinthians, as
the actual organizers of the games and festival, could not be expected to carry on
hostilities while it was in force.128 To return to Olympia and the alleged offence

123
HCT (Gomme revised by Andrewes) is for once quite inadequate here, with no comment on this
aspect of the truce at all. The point ought to have been made either here (on 5. 49) or perhaps on 5. 1 (the
Pythia), for which see above and n. 118.
124
We shall see below that he does also refer (8. 9) to the Isthmian truce.
125
Thucydides also uses the word KŒØæÆ, para. 2, literally a ‘hands-off time’, which therefore cannot
differ much in sense (so correctly Popp (1957) 128 n. 167). For the word see generally Lämmer (1982–3) 49.
Phlegon (FGrH 257 F 1 (3) ) says that Apollo at Delphi ordained the original Olympian KŒØæÆ.
126
The Greek poet Sikelianos, with the help of his American wife’s money, resurrected a kind of
Pythian festival at Delphi in the early 20th cent., but this was essentially a cultural not an athletic event, and
the ‘Pythian truce’ was not part of it. Equally, the staging of ancient-style events in the stadium at Nemea is
a (very informative) kind of experimental archaeology, but not to be compared with the Olympic revival;
for brief notes, see Miller (2004) 42; Miller (2001) 18, 27, 28, 57.
127
Lämmer (1982–3) 53–4.
128
Here Goodhart’s old commentary on book 8 (Goodhart (1893) 16) is more help than Andrewes
(1981) 22. We quote Goodhart in full because he could not be improved on: ‘The sacred truce during the
games bound the state that was actually conducting them, and ensured a safe conduct to all who came to
 introduction 33
committed by the Spartans, the rule against attacks on Elis itself is surely nothing
more than an extension or expression of the commonly invoked (and equally often
violated) principle that it was specially wrong to attack a city when it was having a
festival or sacred month, tempting as this might have been.
We will return to this question presently. It is, however, worth pursuing the
issue of a universal peace a little further, by asking what it would actually have
meant in practice and whether there is any trace of it in the sources. We shall
confine ourselves to the Olympic festival. Thucydides provides us with very
detailed military narratives for several Olympic years, but with no sign of any
cessation of hostilities in the Olympic period (July/August).129 Let us look at
428, 424, and 416. The games and festival of 428 occurred in the middle of the
prolonged siege of Mytilene (a state of war, as Thucydides explicitly calls it at
3. 5. 1). Some Mytileneans, who must have taken advantage of the Olympic truce,
that is, the safe-conduct to make the journey to Olympia (though Thucydides
does not explicitly say so), used the games as a platform for an attack on the
Athenians and an appeal for help from other Greeks (3. 9–14). In their speech
they appealed to Zeus Olympios in a general way (3. 14), but they nowhere
complained that the siege, to which their home city was at that very moment
being subjected, violated the Olympic truce. That this was an available rhetorical
move for Thucydidean speakers is clear from the Plataian complaint (at 3. 56. 2)
that the Thebans had attacked them in a sacred month. Likewise, in 416 the siege
of Melos began before July130 and went on right into the winter (Thucydides 5.
116). One might reasonably doubt the practical meaning of a ‘peace’ from which
such sieges were excluded—and a period of ‘universal peace’ would make equal
nonsense of the detailed military narrative of the summer of 424 in book 4.
Patently, the notion of a universal Olympic truce is unsustainable. Yet the
implications of the wider principle of inviolability of festivals is a subtly different
question in the particular case of the periodos, where elite individuals assembled
over exceptional distances. Far from ‘making a mockery’ of a tradition of peace, as
Spivey claims, we suggest that the ‘battle in the Altis’ of 364 was an outburst of the
violence that was never far from the surface. This is not merely a comment on the
ideological and practical place of military conduct in Archaic and early Classical
elite values, highly relevant as this is (the link between warfare and athletics has
often been made, and recurs in several contributions to this volume).131 The later
sixth and early fifth centuries saw a peak of arms and armour dedications at the

take part in them, or to be spectators, but did not prevent hostilities being carried on by other states in
other parts of Greece’.
129
The point is made, without going into detail, by Harris (1964) 155–6, cited by Lämmer (1982–3) 54
and n. 54.
130
ML 77 shows payments for the Melos expedition in the accounting year 417/6.
131
Morgan (2001), with bibliography.
34 simon hornblower and catherine morgan
major Panhellenic sanctuaries, celebrating victories with the spoils of war where
possible. The result was a statement of war as a lifestyle and a source of wealth, as
well as an inviting arsenal. Hence, perhaps, the deliberate damage (sometimes
regarded as ‘killing’) of offensive weapons evident at Olympia, Delphi, and on the
Athenian Acropolis among other sites. The variety and strength of prohibitions
that protected sanctuaries and festivals surely reflects the scale of the risk.132
This in turn raises questions of changes in the nature and complexity of
sanctuary networks in the late sixth and early fifth centuries, the intensity and
geographical extent of the elite movement involved, and what was at stake as a
result, balancing risk, prestige, and material profit. It is generally true that Pindar
conveys an impression of timelessness in his handling of religious practice, myth,
and belief; there is no discussion of change and innovation, and no sense that any
of what he describes may be recent developments. Cathy Morgan addresses this
problem in discussion of N. 10, which celebrates a new or radically reformed
festival in the Argive Heraia. Yet this is also true of the long-established sanctu-
aries, such as Olympia, and their festivals. Pindar’s silence in this respect means
that we must rely on material and epigraphical sources to restore the dynamism
of the religious context within which he worked, as well as the physical settings
known to him and in which his work may have been performed. As Ulrich Sinn
has argued,133 the Olympia of Pindar’s time was a sanctuary undergoing rapid
physical and political development. Major changes in the 470s included the
completion of the Temple of Zeus, the pedimental iconography of which
conveys a stark warning against internecine conflict in the aftermath of the
Persian Wars. Olympia had long been a local shrine for Eleans (although not,
as sometimes argued, their political centre), but its role in relation to the newly
synoikized and expanding Elean state probably grew more complex through the
fifth century. Indeed, the epigraphical record shows Zeus active in guaranteeing
laws and treaties from states even further afield, including Magna Graecia, and
the sanctuary authorities setting down regulations for the conduct of a wide
range of festival-related activities.134 Likewise, as we have already noted and as is
discussed by Carla Antonaccio in her chapter, the nature of Olympia’s role as
intermediary with the west changed markedly in the fifth century. Little of this
could be detected from the contents of Pindar’s epinikia.
Nonetheless, for many regions, Pindar remains one of the most important—if
not the only—sources of information about the existence of particular festivals or
sanctuaries at this time. His home-region of Boiotia is a case in point. Even a brief
glance at Albert Schachter’s monumental study of the cults of Boiotia shows that
without Pindar and such archaeological work as has been undertaken, we would

132
Jackson (1983); Morgan (2001) 24–7.
133 134
Sinn (1994) esp. 596–7. Morgan (2003) 75–6, 80.
 in tro d u c t io n 35
have almost no contemporary information.135 Yet much of this detail comes
from poems other than epinikia, which unfortunately tend to be more
fragmentary—when they survive at all.

7. a test-case: pagondas and the aioladai

But fragmentary need not mean socially uninformative. We now examine a
test-case, a remarkable Theban family known from just such a fragmentary
poem.136 The family is that of Pagondas son of Aioladas, and the poem is Pindar’s
daphnephorikon (fr. 94b Sn.–M). The Aioladai, as we may call them, well illus-
trate the participation of elite families in three related spheres: military, athletic,
and cultic. They form a nice central Greek equivalent to the Peloponnesian,
specifically Stymphalian, family of Aineias. That family can be traced with
reasonable confidence from the time of the chorodidaskalos mentioned near the
end of Pindar, O. 6 in the years around 470 bc (line 88), through the soldiers
named in Xenophon’s Anabasis and Hellenica, to the author of the mid-fourth-
century bc treatise How to survive under siege.137
The starting-point for the study of the Aioladai is the long-known Theban
boiotarch Pagondas son of Aioladas who commands the Boiotian army against
the Athenians at the battle of Delion in 424 bc (Thucydides 4. 91). His Theban
colleague is Arianthidas son of Lysimachidas, who almost certainly features on
Lysander’s monument for another great Athenian defeat, Aigospotamoi, fought
two decades later (ML 95d, after 405); and Thucydides says there are nine
boiotarchs present from other cities. But it is Pagondas who takes the initiative
in persuading the Boiotians (including his fellow-boiotarchs?)138 to fight, and it
is he who is given a fine, historically specific, speech of encouragement (4. 92).
We are lucky that Thucydides records these two men’s patronymics; contrast the
Theban boiotarch Skirphondas—name but no patronymic—who was a casualty of
the Mykalessos incident (7. 30. 3).
It is an even bigger stroke of luck that since 1904 we possess two poems of
Pindar which celebrate the family of Aioladas, and that one of them, probably

135
Schachter (1981–94), which can now be updated via the site summaries in Hansen (2004a). A case in
point is the Tomb of the Alkaidai, the sons of Herakles and Megara, at Thebes, for which Pindar is the only
source (I. 4. 63–4): Schachter i. 11. Certain sanctuaries to which Pindar refers have been well documented
archaeologically: see, for example, the shrine of the hero Ptoios 2 km east of the acropolis of Akriphaia,
with its tripod dedications from c.525, and a large quantity of charioteer and rider figurines (Schachter iii.
11–21). Many others have yet to be located: thus Pindar (fr. 286) refers to a sanctuary of Delian Apollo
which was probably near the coast somewhere between Oropos and Aulis (Schachter i. 44–7).
136
Kurke (forthcoming) is an excellent study of the poem.
137
Hornblower (2004) 182–6.
138
See Hornblower (1996) nn. on 4. 92. 1 and 93. 1.
36 s i m o n h o rn b l o w e r a n d c a t h e r i n e m o r g a n
a daphnephorikon,139 announces ‘I shall hymn the all-glorious house of Aioladas
and of his son Pagondas’ (fr. 94b, lines 9–10). It thus provides us with exactly the
same name and patronymic as Thucydides. The other, shorter, fragment (94a)
includes a prayer to ‘the children of Kronos to extend success upon Aioladas and
his race for unbroken time’. We shall see that this extravagant prayer was granted—
at any rate for three and a half centuries, if we accept some prosopographic
conjectures at each end of the period. The longer Pindar fragment names the
daphnephoros as Agasikles, presumably son of Pagondas. We shall suggest that
he had an elder brother Aioladas, bearer of one of the two main family names, and
that this man was the father of the boiotarch.
The temptation to identify Pindar’s Pagondas son of Aioladas with the Thu-
cydidean general has always been strong.140 They are surely members of the same
family. The difficulty is that Pindar’s Pagondas, father of the daphnephoros
Agasikles, is already a mature man, and he can have commanded at Delion only
if we place the poem near the end of Pindar’s working life in about 446.
Gomme141 calculated that Pagondas the general would have been over 60 at
the time of Delion.142 He regarded this as ‘not impossible’. It is certainly
possible,143 but it is a tight fit, and it forces a very late dating for the poem (‘in
Pindar’s last period’: Wilamowitz). How old were boiotarchs normally? We have
very little specific information, given that we do not know when such famous
boiotarchs as Epaminondas or Pelopidas were born, but note that if Arianthidas
was still active in 405 (above), this might suggest that in 424 he was relatively
youthful, perhaps no more than 40, and perhaps Pagondas was the same sort of
age. If, however, we posit not one father–son pair but two pairs (Aioladas I,
Pagondas 1, Aioladas II, Pagondas II), we get a much more comfortable
139
See Lehnus (1984) 77, arguing against Schachter, who, however, did not quite deny that it was a
daphnephoric hymn. He said (1981: 85) that he found it impossible to decide if it is or not, and he adds that
it has more in common with epinikia than with what one might expect of a daphnephoric hymn, because it
honours the family rather than the god. He could have strengthened his ‘epinikian’ point by mentioning
the poem’s allusions to chariot victories at Olympia and elsewhere; see below for these. If Schachter had
expressed himself a bit differently and had merely observed that the poem calls to mind features of
epinikian, it would have been hard to quarrel with him.
140
In the course of the fullest recent treatment, Lehnus (1984) 77 hardly bothers to argue the point
(‘come pare probabile, il nobile beotarco’), though he does at 78 glance at the possibility that Pindar’s
Pagondas was grandfather of the boiotarch.
141
Gomme (1956) 560.
142
No inferences should be drawn about Pagondas’ age from his first-person rhetorical appeal to
memories of the battle of Koroneia in 446 (4. 92. 6–7); the use of the first person marks an appeal to
collective memory. It is true that he goes on to say that that victory of 20 years earlier should be borne in
mind ( Ł
Æ) by all of us, both the older men in the army and the younger; but the participle does
not mean ‘remember’, because the younger men do not remember it. For another thing, there is as always
a question of authenticity: as usual when Thucydidean speeches allude to the past, the allusion is taken
either from Herodotus or, as here, from Thucydides’ own narrative (1. 113. 2 for Koroneia). For this point
see Hornblower (1996) on 92. 6.
143
Hornblower tentatively accepted it in (1996) 289 (although he now notes that his (2004) 159
discussion was inadequate).
 in tro du cti o n 37
scheme, and one which does not oblige us to put the poem at any particular date
in Pindar’s career. The poem could, exempli gratia, have been composed and
performed about 460. Aioladas I might have been born in 535, Pagondas I in 505,
and his younger son Agasikles in 476, making him about 16 in 460. His older
brother Aioladas II was born in 480. It was he who in 455 fathered the future
boiotarch Pagondas II, who was thus 31 at Delion.
Another possible imaginary scheme, more exciting because it involves the
battle of Plataia, would produce a Pagondas II who is not exactly youthful
(contrast the above scheme) but who is still well under 60 in 424. The poem
dates from 475, only five years after Thebes’ disgraceful medism. Aioladas I was
born in 550, Pagondas I in 525, and his younger son Agasikles in 490, making him
15 in 475. Aioladas II, the older brother of Agasikles by ten years, was born in 500
and killed at Plataia in 479, aged 21. Towards the end of his short life, he fathered
Pagondas II, who was thus born in 480 and was 56 at Delion.
The poem is also precious for disclosing two female names, Andaisistrota
(listed in LGPN as Daisistrota) and Damaina, who on this reconstruction will
perhaps be wife and daughter of Pagondas I respectively, and, again respectively,
mother and sister of Agasikles and of Aioladas II. These are, depending on the
poem’s date, some of the first named women we have encountered in Greek lyric
poetry since the great days of Archaic Sparta, Lesbos, and Paros, and they
offer some support for Demand’s hypothesis of a ‘feminist oriented religious
atmosphere at [fifth-century] Thebes’.144 But unfortunately the snapshot is
unique, and we cannot use the names, which are not otherwise attested at
Thebes, for prosopographic reconstruction.
The point of all this exempli gratia speculation, which is all it claims to be, is to
show that, once we relinquish the idea of actual identity between Pindar’s
Pagondas and Thucydides’ Pagondas, and think instead in terms of four
generations, or even of what medievalists call ‘floating kindreds’,145 the poem
cannot safely be calibrated with any particular moment in fifth-century Theban or
Boiotian history. No doubt the truth was messier than any of the above schemes,
and in particular it would be wrong to think of an iron alternation of the names
Aioladas and Pagondas down the decades and centuries.
The family was also athletic and equestrian, and magnificently successful in both
spheres. A Pagondas won with his four-horse chariot at Olympia in 680 (Moretti
(1957) no. 33). This event needed money, and a lot of it. We do not know his
patronymic, but Pagondas is not a common name, even at Thebes.146 Even

144
Demand (1982) 101–2. Hornblower (2004) 102 suggested that Athens may not have been too
different, but see Parker (2005) 181–3 for doubts as to whether there were female choruses there. Note,
however, his n. 24 (Jameson).
145
See Hornblower (2000) 131–2.
146
See Hornblower (1996) 289 for some other bearers of the name.
38 simon hornblower and catherine morgan
without this Pagondas, Olympic chariot victories are certain, because the
daphnephorikon specifically claims, for the family, equestrian victories at ‘Pisa’
(i.e. Olympia) ‘both of old and still today’ as well as local victories at Onchestos
and the sanctuary of Athena Itonia (lines 47, 41, 46).
As for Aioladas, this is a very rare name indeed, even at Aiolian Thebes (none in
the Aiolian islands of the north-east Aegean, for instance). But Wilamowitz147
brilliantly emended › ºÆÆ in Pausanias 10. 7. 8 to ‘Aioladas’, to produce a
Theban victor at the Pythia of 346 in a new event, the boys’ pankration; it was this
‘first’ which got him into the record books. This was a very interesting year to be a
Pythian victor from Thebes: it was the last year of the Third Sacred War, fought
for Delphi, begun by the Thebans, but ended by Philip II of Macedon.148 The
emendation, which is so slight as hardly to count as one given the local vagaries of
Greek pronunciation,149 is accepted in LGPN (see vol. iiib under ‘Aioladas’,
no. 4). The same ‘emendation’, more or less, gives another Aioladas as the
colleague of Epaminondas, whom the latter wanted with his last breath to
designate his successor but who like his chief was killed at the battle of Mantineia
in 362 (LGPN ‘Aioladas’, no. 3, accepting this emendation too; cf. Plut. Mor.
194c, where the manuscripts give various forms of the name, and Aelian,
VH 12. 3). Buckler150 does not mention the emendation, and suggests that the
two, whom he calls Iolaidas, are related as father and son. It is true that, as he says,
this x-x naming scheme can be paralleled. From Athens, we think of the orator
Demosthenes son of Demosthenes. But x-y-x-y is more attractive (though
certainly not mandatory), and we should note that, contrary to Buckler’s
assertion, the Pythian victor in 346 won in a boys’ event,151 and this enables us
to squeeze in another generation. The boy-victor Aioladas could have been no
more than 14 or 15. If he was born in about 360, his father—let us call him
Pagondas!—could have been born in 385 to the older Aioladas, the hero of
Mantineia, who could have lived from, say, 407 to 362, dying aged 45, and
missing seeing his grandson by two years.
This is a distinguished elite family, but apart from Pagondas II’s boiotarchy in
424, and the unfulfilled career of the Aioladas who died at Mantineia, it did not as
far as we can see (always a necessary qualification) produce prominent politicians.
The names Pagondas and Aioladas do not feature among the Thebans who are

147
Wilamowitz-Moellendorff (1922) 436. Keil had already emended to  
ºÆÆ.
148
For the resumption of the Pythian games and festival in late summer of 346 see Dem. 19. 128 with
MacDowell’s commentary (2000); Buckler (1989) 140 and n. 52.
149
But note that Iolaidas is not an impossible form; cf. Moretti (1957) no. 578 for an Argive victor at
Olympia in 224 bc.
150
Buckler (1980) 136 and 302 n. 29. He says in n. 29 (of LGPN no. 4) that the name Iolaidas is rare in
Boiotia and not found in the index of IG vii or SEG.
151
Buckler (1980) 136 says he won the horse-race, but this is a misunderstanding of the three-part Greek
sentence (Paus. 10. 7. 8). This is particularly odd since the short RE Iolaidas article he cites gets it right.
 i ntro d uc ti o n 39
said to have led the attack on Plataia which opened the Peloponnesian War, nor
in the politics of the reasonably well-documented first half of the fourth century.
Rather, the Aioladai were prominent militarily, cultically, and in the Panhellenic
games. Merely to have survived with property and prestige intact was something,
in a period which included the Persian Wars and the city’s medism in 480, an
episode which must have split the city and which left a bitterness which is
reflected in some of Pindar’s epinikia.152 It is tantalizing that, if the above is on
the right lines and the poem is not exactly datable, we cannot link the
more political part of the daphnephorikon (‘hateful and unrelenting strife’,
fr. 92c, line 64) to any particular phase of Theban politics.153 But perhaps that
does not matter too much: this was a city from which stasis was never far away in
the entire Classical period.

8. outwards from thebes, and onwards from pindar

We have seen that the Aioladai included Olympic victors, celebrated in a poem
which, though not actually an epinikian itself, manages to suggest that genre.
One might expect that, in epinikian odes proper, Pindar would take a particularly
close interest in his birthplace, Thebes,154 a city in which he may have been
honoured as a hero,155 and we do indeed find here one of the most rounded
treatments of the cults and victors of any single city. Five of the six extant
Boiotian epinikian commissions came from Thebans: the exception is O. 14
(c.488) for Asopichos of Orchomenos.156 Not only did Pindar compose epinikia
for Theban victors (mostly at Isthmia, but one at Delphi), noting their successes
at home and abroad, but he also detailed Theban cults and festivals in
commissions for Thebans and foreigners alike (the latter relatively local in the
case of a Corinthian and two Aeginetans, but more distant in the case of
Telesikrates of Cyrene and Diagoras of Rhodes).157 To epinikia must be added

152
Hornblower (2004) 160–6.
153
Lehnus (1984) 81 rightly characterizes Wilamowitz’s speculations in terms of the politics of 446 as
‘seductive but uncontrollable’.
154
Kynoskephalai, where Pindar was supposedly born, was near Thebes: the first sentence of the Vita
Ambrosiana calls it a village, Œ , of Thebes, and Steph. Byz. a øæ
 of Thebes. See, however,
Wilamowitz-Moellendorff (1922) 58 and n. 3, arguing, from the mention at Xen. Hell. 5. 4. 15 of the Spartan
king Kleombrotos’ advance to Kynoskephalai in 378 bc, for a location away towards Thespiai and Helikon.
Modern accounts of the military activity of the 370s put Kynoskephalai ‘at Rakhi Kendani, about 3.5 km
from Thebes, near modern Loutoupi’: Buck (1994) 88 and 152 n. 21 citing Munn. This is closer to Thebes
than Wilamowitz thought, but the place was not quite a suburb of Thebes either.
155
Clay (2004) 76–8.
156
Hornblower (2004) 159–66.
157
Theban victor: I. 3; I. 7. Theban victor/Theban cult or festival: P. 11 (Ismenion): I. 4 (Iolaia); Theban
victor/Theban cult or festival/victories abroad: I. 1 (Iolaia; Herakleia, also Minyeia at Orchomenos, Eleusis,
Euboia, and Phylaka in Thessaly. Foreign victor/Theban cult or festival: O. 7 (Rhodian victor); O. 13
40 simon hornblower and catherine morgan
a range of other commissions: Ian Rutherford has suggested that, outside
Delphi, the performance of paians was especially linked to Thebes, and important
work in other genres is also attested.158
It is certainly true that we know of at least one victor from another city
(Thespiai) who could have been celebrated by Pindar but was not.159 But before
seeking explanations in civic politics, it is worth noting that, on present evidence,
the case of Thespiai is unique, and that such (admittedly very fragmentary)
material evidence as we have for participation in Panhellenic festivals and athletics
by the citizens of individual Boiotian cities (as opposed simply to ‘Boiotians’)160
shows a Theban bias.161 One thinks, for example, of the sixth-century bronze pail
dedicated to Poseidon at Isthmia by one Moirichos whose ethnic is tentatively
reconstructed as The]bai[os,162 and of the fact that fifth–early fourth century
Panathenaic amphorae are at present found only at the Kabeirion just to the west
of the city of Thebes (36 examples, an unusually large number for this period
outside Athens).163 The case is circumstantial, but it tends to suggest that
Thebans were unusually successful.164
Pindar’s treatment of Boiotia is clearly selective in the sense that different forms
of commission show different geographical biases within the region, but the net
result is still a large body of information about cults and festivals. The same
cannot be said of neighbouring Euboia, with which one might assume that
Pindar was reasonably familiar. He is plainly aware of Euboian games of more
than local significance. At I. 1. 57 he refers to horse racing on ‘Euboia’ (without
precise indication of place), and at O. 13. 112 the list of victories won by the
ancestors of the honorand, Xenophon of Corinth, includes mention of

(Corinthian victor); P. 9 (Cyrenaian victor); N. 4 (Aeginetan victor, noting the allusion to reciprocal
guest-friendship at line 23); I. 5 (Aeginetan victor). One might also cite evidence of foreign participation at
Thebes commemorated in the victor’s home city. Thus the earliest extant inscription from Troezen
(c.550–525) is on the octagonal pillar which bore the tripod won by Damotimos son of Amphidama in a
race at the games at Thebes (it is unclear whether these were funeral games or perhaps those of Apollo
Ismenios): Jeffery (1990) 178, 181 cat. 2.
158
Rutherford (2001a) 32: Hornblower (2004) 159.
159
Hornblower (2004) 160–1, 44–5, on Polynikos, victor in the Olympic boys’ wrestling in 448;
Moretti (1957) cat. 302. As Hornblower notes (45), this name appears almost a quarter of a century later,
together with that of Tisimeneis ‘the Pythian victor’, on the list of 101 warriors buried in the polyandrion
created after the battle of Delion in 424 (IG vii. 1888).
160
Jeffery (1990) 91.
161
Evidence from other cities includes a bronze hydria, found in a tomb at Votonisi in Epirus,
bearing on the rim a prize inscription from the games of Herakles at Thespiai: Jeffery (1990) 435, pl. 73
(A. W. Johnston).
162
Raubitschek (1998) cat. 118; the name and probably also the script are Boiotian. Two earlier
(7th-cent.) examples of bronze vessels from Thebes relate to funeral games: Jeffery (1990) 91–2.
163
See M. Bentz (1998) 223–4 for a summary; the closest finds, in time and space, are two amphorae of
the second half of the 4th cent. from the Amphiaraion at Oropos.
164
See Hansen and Nielsen (2004) 456 col. 1 for a useful selection of evidence for Theban victories at
Panhellenic festivals.
 introduction 41
Euboia.165 But these are tangential references in the context of praise of
victors from elsewhere, and no ode to a Euboian victor survives. Yet while few
Panhellenic victors of the relevant period are attested,166 there is one striking
exception, a man praised by Simonides. He is the general and athlete Eualkides of
Eretria (Hdt. 5. 102 ¼ Sim. fr. 518). Without this item we would be hard-pressed
to identify early festivals or athletics on the island, not least since so little is known
in the archaeological record. An inscription on the rim of a bronze lebes of
c.500–475 from Eretria identifies it as a prize from Herakles’ games.167 But even
though Eretria is the most extensively excavated of any Euboian city, and we have
a little evidence for its festivals, the stadium has yet to be located, the gymnasium
is fourth-century, and Panathenaic amphorae do not begin to arrive until the
mid-fourth century.168
As these two cases well illustrate, epinikia and victor lists may be the best
evidence that we have, but they are blunt instruments for reconstructing
networks. Biases and chances of commission and survival apart, by recording
victory rather than participation they reveal the tip of the iceberg. Nonetheless,
the roll-calls of achievement presented by Pindar, especially in O. 7, O. 13, P. 8,
and N. 10, and by Bacchylides (11 [10]), demonstrate the existence of a network of
athletic festivals (capable of attracting participation from the finest talent) in the
north-east and central Peloponnese (including Megara, Corinth, Sikyon, Nemea,
Argos, Pellene, ‘Arkadia’),169 Aegina, Athens, and Attica. Where we have evi-
dence for their date of institution, expansion, or reorganization, as in the case of
the Argive Heraia, for example, or the Herakleia at Marathon,170 the late sixth
century and the first half of the fifth appear as a period of expansion and ever
greater prize wealth. Patently there were other related networks; Pindar alludes
to some of these in less detail (in east-central Greece as discussed) but others lie
outside the Pindaric circuit, in Lakonia in particular, as the stele of Damonon
attests.171 In short, as the fifth century progressed, athletes may have been
away from home for increasingly long periods of time, facing hazardous journeys
and protected by often fragile religious convention. Far from being a universal
idea of the peace symbolized by athletics, as the modern Olympic myth would

165
There is one non-agonistic reference, to Attic settlement of Euboia, in the fragmentary Paian 5. 35 for
the Athenians.
166
For the frustratingly confused traditions about the boxer Glaukos of Euboian Karystos, who may
(or may not) have been praised by Simonides (fr. 509?), see Fontenrose (1968) 99–103; cf. Hornblower
(2004) 190 and 236. The three known victors from Chalkis are either too early, too late (see Moretti (1957)
cats. 121, 459), or vaguely dated (Pliny, NH 35. 35, 5th-cent.).
167
Jeffery (1990) 88, cat. 16,
168
Eretria 112 (Artemisia festival), 190–1 (Dionysos), 198–203 (gymnasium, stadium). Panathenaic
amphorae: Eretria 220–3; M. Bentz (1998) 223.
169
See also Moretti (1953) cat. 7 for Timokles of Argos’ victories at Nemea, Tegea, Kleitor, and Pellana.
170
Vanderpool (1942) and (1969); see also Morgan this volume.
171
Jeffery (1990) 196–7, 201 cat. 52; SEG 14. 330; for discussion, see Hodkinson (1999).
42 simon hornblower and catherine morgan
have us believe, festival truces must have offered the bare minimum protection
needed by participants.

The picture grew more, not less, complicated through the Classical period. Yves
Lafond’s analysis of epigraphical evidence for victors in local Peloponnesian
games shows not only continuity of agonistic activity initiated or expanded in
Pindar’s time, but a continuing connection between the inauguration of festivals
and the celebration of political power. Some of these events achieved inter-
national renown—the Asklepieia at Epidauros is such a case, as is the Lykaia
among other Argive festivals of the fourth and third centuries.172 But it is striking
that almost all were polis-centred, however small the polis,173 rather than being
located in the ethnic register within which so many aspects of social and political
identity were being constructed by the fourth century. Victors might add ethnics
to their polis identities, but substitutions are rare. And when one considers the
nature and spread of major building projects in the fourth-century Peloponnese,
it is notable that many poleis which gained in power and status with the decline of
the old powers of the north-east chose to invest in athletic facilities (Epidauros
and Kleonai at Nemea are two such cases). Unlike other building forms more
explicitly linked to government, festival facilities (with the partial exception of
Olympia) remained the preserve of rich poleis.174 A direct response to the
growing complexity and hazards of the festival circuit across the Greek world is
found in the development of proxenia into the network of theōroi and theōrodokoi.
This gradually appeared from the early fourth century onwards, and in time
encompassed almost all festivals which attracted an international clientele: this
too remained strongly polis-centred.175 Riet van Bremen’s chapter addresses the
consequences of this complex inheritance of high-status achievement and civic
commemoration for Hellenistic cities, with their central ambiguity of ‘house’ as a
royal and civic concept. This in turn guaranteed that the Classical language
of athletic victory continued to be spoken (or at least understood) across the
multi-ethnic Hellenistic world and its Roman successor. For instance, the
‘victor-father-city’ triad of classical epinikian persists. And the ‘daring females’
and the courtiers of the Hellenistic poems and inscriptions have forebears in the
world of Pindar, as she shows. But there were differences as well as similarities: as
she puts it, the Nile, which had been for Pindar a symbol of the end of the earth,
is now a Panhellenic river. And generally, the conventions of epinikian are
exploited in new and daring ways; and the victory epigram itself undergoes
subtle transformations.

172 173
Lafond (1997). Heine Nielsen (2004).
174
Morgan (forthcoming).
175
Perlman (1995) offers a more general treatment of a subject discussed in detail for the Peloponnese in
Perlman (2000); Hansen (2004b) 103–6.
 introduction 43
It is in these terms—and not in any modern sense—that the inheritance of
Pindar should properly be understood. And this is why we have chosen in this
volume to continue the story into Roman times. Recent work on the popularity
of Greek agōnes in the Roman east has emphasized their appeal to elite Greeks as a
means of identifying with a traditional facet of Hellenism with a deep cultural
resonance in classical Greek literature and art, as shown in earlier chapters in the
book. Spawforth in his chapter, however, argues in effect that the Roman
imperial state encouraged Greek-style athletics to such an extent that their
popularity in the Roman east must also be considered as a function of the
Romanization of the Greek provincial elites as much as evidence for the efflor-
escence of an autonomous Greek Hellenism within the Roman Empire.
It should be clear by now that this book is interdisciplinary. Like the seminar
from which it derives, it seeks to combine historical, literary, archaeological, and
anthropological evidence and insights. No single scholar today could be expert
both in Pindar’s dense and difficult epinikian poetry, and in the rich historical,
epigraphic, and material evidence we possess about Pindar’s world. Equally, no
single scholar could speak with the same authority both about Pindar’s own time,
and about the Hellenistic and Roman periods, which inherited and adapted the
values to which he subscribed. That is why we decided that a collaborative
approach was the right one, and we are warmly grateful to all our contributors,
both those who spoke at the original seminar, and those (Chris Carey, Nick
Lowe, and Riet van Bremen) who agreed to write the additional papers which,
we hope, make the book a rounded whole. It remains only to thank, for financial
subventions and for hospitality, the Institute of Classical Studies of the
University of London, University College London (Department of History),
and King’s College London (Department of Classics). Simon Hornblower
gratefully acknowledges the help of Alan Griffiths with the proofs both of
this Introduction and of Ch. 11, and that of Alan Johnston with the jacket
illustration.
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Part I
This page intentionally left blank
 two
––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The Origins of the Festivals, especially Delphi and

the Pythia
John Davies

Some years ago, in the paper which became Davies 1994, I reviewed the contro-
versy which had been aroused by Robertson’s paper of 1978 on the First Sacred
War. He had argued that the story about it, placed in the 590s and 580s by a
literary tradition which made its appearance only in the fourth century, was a
complete and baseless invention of the 340s. While the processes of engaging
with his and others’ arguments, of attempting to disentangle the layers of the
source material, and of assessing its veracity, took the discourse some way
towards a defensible Third Way between old-style credulity and fashionable
deconstruction, they left a loose end and an unfinished agenda. The specific
loose end, noted by David Lewis at the time, namely the role, or rather the
absence, of Corinth from the First Sacred War narrative, will be tentatively re-
attached in what follows. More generally, though the narrative of the foundation
of the Pythian Games is a barely separable Siamese twin of the war narrative, the
earlier paper was not primarily concerned with it. The present chapter1 focuses
more specifically on it, admittedly at the cost of some unavoidable repetition, but
within a scholarly landscape which has undergone three relevant changes in the
last few years. Each needs brief note.
First, new approaches to the study of Pausanias have transformed the terms of
the discourse through which we can and should approach the antiquarian trad-
ition, especially the Greeks’ view of their own past in the Roman imperial
period:2 though the scholia to Pindar have not yet figured much in that dis-
course,3 they undoubtedly belong there and will have to be revisited in their turn,

1
My warmest thanks are due to the editors, both as organizers of the initial seminar series, which
allowed me to continue my ruminations about Delphi, and as editors of the volume for their advice and
suggestions, which have vastly improved this Mark II version. I am also most grateful to Betsy Gebhard for
early sight of Gebhard (2002a), to Manuela Mari for helpful references, and to Jean-Marc Luce for
pre-publication access to his forthcoming volume in Fouilles de Delphes, ii, and for permission to cite it.
Since the eventual pagination may differ, it is cited by chapter and section.
2
Cf. Habicht (1985); Arafat (1996); Alcock et al. (2001).
3
Though their problematic information on the chronology of the Sacred War has been much discussed
(references in Davies (1994) 197 n. 6).
48 john davies
with all that that means for negotiating in our terms the frontier zone between the
mythic and the non-mythic past which they traversed with such stupefying
insouciance. Second, any discussion of the origins of the Panhellenic festivals
takes us into a second, and even more fraught, frontier zone, which is currently
being contested among three parties: by the largely text-based historians of
Archaic Greece, as they try to move backwards beyond the cognitive horizon of
c.550 bc set inescapably by Herodotos; by the artefact- and site-based archaeolo-
gist-historians of Early Iron Age Greece, as they move forwards into the seventh
and sixth centuries bc; and by the idea- or representation-based cultural histor-
ians of Greece, as they scan their enviably (but misleadingly) synchronic land-
scape. The third change is a particular aspect of the second, namely the impact of
ever more detailed study, (re)-excavation, and publication of early sanctuary sites
and of their material finds. This is beginning to allow the construction of a
tentative narrative of development which is wholly independent of the antiquar-
ian tradition, emphasizes regional differences, and uses a quite different analytical
vocabulary from that hitherto current among ‘historians’.4
Adequately to weave together these disparate strands of evidence and theory is
a task well beyond the scope of this chapter. Its more modest aim is to use a case-
study, that of Delphi, in order to address the history of a group of institutions:
the Panhellenic Games. It will start from the surviving fragments of the antiquar-
ian tradition, but only to set out its inadequacies. It then reports briefly the
various pictures of site use and development which are emerging from the major
sanctuaries, and ends by offering a tentative general model of social action
applicable to those sanctuaries which came to hold contests as part of their
periodical rituals and ceremonies.
Of course, we do have, in the form of the headline summary in the Pindar
scholia, a general model of sorts:

All the ancient contests (agōnes) were celebrated over some deceased persons. The
Olympic contest was celebrated to Zeus because of Pelops, the Pythian to Apollo because
of the serpent, which he slew in Pytho, and the Isthmian to Poseidon,

the text then going on to recount for the Isthmia the tale of Melikertes/Palai-
mon.5 The Nemean contest, interestingly absent from that summary, is never-
theless explained in similar terms elsewhere in the scholia,6 so that all four
festivals of what became the classic periodos are provided with an aition mostly

4
To plot a full conspectus of the flow of such scholarship would be a book in itself. Salient recent
landmarks are Snodgrass (1980); de Polignac (1984); Morgan (1990); Schachter (1992); Marinatos and
Hägg (1993); Morris (1994); Mazarakis Ainian (1997); Morris (1998); Whitley (2001); Morgan (2003).
5
Schol. Pi. I. Proem a, Drachmann iii. 192.
6
As a commemoration of the death of Opheltes-Archemoros (hypoth. Pi. N. a–e, Drachmann iii. 1–5).
 the origins of the festivals 49
couched in straightforwardly mythic terms. The first question is to establish what
value, if any, the antiquarian tradition has.

1. the extant literary tradition about the foundation

of the pythia
There are three core narratives of the foundation of the Pythia, embedded very
variously in contemporary poetry (Alcaeus’ Hymn to Apollo and the Homeric
Hymn to Apollo), in fourth-century speeches, in book 10 of Pausanias, and in
greatest detail in the hypotheseis (prefatory notes) to the scholia (line-by-line
commentaries compiled in antiquity) of Pindar’s Pythians (for translations, see
Appendix, pp. 66–9). The first, offered in its simplest form in hypothesis C, is a
purely mythic timeless narrative centred on Apollo and his act in killing the
serpent Pytho. Its essential components are that act, purification in Crete, an
explanation focused on Tempe in Thessaly of the use of the bay in ritual, and an
explanation (fragmentary in C 5) of why the Pythia were held at a particular time
of year. (I shall return to the intrusive section C 4 shortly.) Hypothesis A gives us
an extended version, which looks backwards to Apollo’s birth (A 2–3), offers an
explanation of the links between Apollo and the lyre (A 5) and the number seven
(A 6), offers a very peculiar and anomalous aition of Apollo’s skill in divination
(A 7), tries to account for the equally peculiar presence of Dionysos in the adyton
of the later temple (A 8), drops into a lacuna, and resumes in the middle of an
elaborate explanation (one of several extant)7 of why the components of the
Pythikos nomos are as they are (A 9). Pausanias starts with what is essentially this
same first narrative (10. 7. 2–3), but earlier ‘wild’ versions are presented in the two
extant Hymns to Apollo. Alcaeus’, brief enough to reproduce in its entirety from
Himerius’ paraphrase (see the Appendix), has a wholly different aition, wherein
Apollo’s cosmic role is ‘to speak thence as a prophet of justice and due order to
the Greeks’, where it is the Delphians who take the initiative to bring him to
Delphi, and where they do so by means of paian, song, and dance. In stark
contrast, the version in the Homeric Hymn (too long to cite in the Appendix) has
Apollo killing a differently named monster—Typhaon, not Python), learning the
art of prophecy not in Arkadia but from three virgins living below Parnassos
(lines 555–6), browbeating a boatload of hapless Cretan sailors, and in general
calling all the shots in a pretty tyrannical fashion.
Two points emerge about the material contained in this first narrative group.
First, its strands are all patently aetiological, concerned to charter Apollo’s
attributes, his place at Delphi, the oracle, and the festival. Second, and to

7
Full list of the components in Fontenrose (1988) 127, with citation of other sources at 139 n.19.
50 john davies
state the obvious: whatever interpretative sense it may convey to those concerned
with symbolic structures and so forth, for historians of real institutions which
developed in historic time-space as responses to social needs, it is virtually
useless.8
I turn now to the second narrative group. This is represented most simply by
Hypothesis B, and is essentially a narrative about the First Sacred War. The basic
structural components are a community identified as Kirrhaioi, preying upon
pilgrims to the oracle, the leadership by Eurylochos the Thessalian of a campaign
of liberation, a set of dates defined in terms of Delphian and Athenian archons,
the notion of the revival of an agōn, and finally its shift from being a contest with
valuable goods as prizes (agōn chrēmatitēs) to being a contest with symbolic
crowns as prizes (agōn stephanitēs). Hypothesis D is nearly identical, while variant
versions presented here bring in the Amphiktyones (A 10, D 1 and 3), a reduction
in periodicity from every eight years (enneaetēris) to every four years ( pentetēris)
(C 4), a list of the first winners (Paus. 10. 7. 4), and notes of subsequent
innovations and first winners (Paus. 10. 7. 5–8). The rest of the narrative of the
First Sacred War as transmitted by Aischines, Plutarch, and others can here be left
on one side, though we should keep in mind that the focus of the fourth-century
bc source-material is overwhelmingly on the Athenian role in the War and on the
imposition by the Amphiktyones of a curse on anyone who ventured to cultivate
the Sacred Land, while the establishment of the Pythian Games passes virtually
unremarked. Thus, though the core of the second narrative group is located in
historical time-space, and may reflect a memory of historical events, its value as an
explanation of why the Pythian Games took their classical form when they did is
minimal.
The third narrative is represented only by the Presbeutikos, a speech preserved in
the Hippocratic corpus9 and ascribed to Thessalos son of Hippocrates. This
source, of disputed date and authenticity, does indeed tie the various develop-
ments together, asserting that the Amphiktyones ‘dedicated the temple to
Apollo, the present one at Delphi, established the athletic and hippic contest
now, having not previously done so, designated as sacred the entire land of the
Krisaians, giving to the Giver what He had given according to His oracle, buried
Chrysos the son of Nebros in the hippodrome, and assessed the Delphians to
offer sacrifice at public cost’. Though it shares with the first two narratives the
characteristic of chartering post-War arrangements, it differs from them (a) by
presenting those arrangements as executive acts, not as a curse, (b) uses, via the
words ıø and 
Øfi, classical-period terminology of public taxation,

8
Though Karl Meuli (1941 and 1968) was far from alone in taking it most seriously.
9
Text in Hipp. 9. 404–26 Littré, at 412–14, in Pomtow (1918) 317–20, and in W. D. Smith (1990). Other
references in Davies (1994) 194 n. 2, and Luce (forthcoming) ch. 7, ii. A. 1.
 the origins of the festivals 51
and (c) introduces (but does not explain) a new component, the burial of an
entity with a speaking name (‘Gold son of Fawn’) which if anything looks not
towards Apollo but towards his sunnaos Dionysos (cf. Hypothesis A 8). For these
reasons, and also because it can be read as reflecting a knowledge that the pre-548
temple was not built until the years 580–550,10 it deserves more attention than it
has had: in particular the motif of a burial will assume importance in a context of
comparison with the other Panhellenic sites. All the same, it is as far away from
providing a historian’s explanation of the start and growth of the festival as are
the other two narratives.
There remains one other potential, though lost, source of written information,
namely, the work of Aristotle and Kallisthenes at Delphi in constructing the pinax
which recorded the names of all the victors in the Pythian Games since their
inception. It too is not promising. That is not just because political contamin-
ation had entered the First Sacred War narrative (or, at the extreme, had engen-
dered it) long before they began their labours, so that the presence on that list of
Kleisthenes of Sikyon as the first victor in race-of-horses (Paus. 10. 7. 6), far from
buttressing the role in the First Sacred War which is given to him elsewhere,11 is
merely a component of the problem. It is rather because the list was plainly a
many-layered construct, in the evolution of which reworking and manipulation is
more than possible. For one thing, we do not now know its era-date. For nearly a
century the text of the extant stone from Delphi which records the honours
bestowed upon Aristotle and Kallisthenes for their work12 was restored on the
basis of B 1 and D 1 to give the Delphian archon-name of the epochal year of the
pinax as Gylida.13 However, two independent examinations of the stone in the
1980s concurred in excluding the restoration of that name, so that the origin of
that Delphic archon-date in B 1 and D 1, and of its synchronism with an Athenian
archon-date, is wholly opaque and more than a little suspect. Second, given the
size of the pinax (Bousquet estimated it as having between 14,000 and 20,000
letters on the basis of the honorarium paid to the stone-mason), it is disappoint-
ing, and perhaps even a little odd, that not a single fragment of it has survived.14
Third, while we must surely assume that the ordinal dates and winners’ names
recorded in Pausanias largely go back to it, some of the information in Paus.
10. 7. 8 post-dates the pinax (but could of course be later additions to it),
while the repeated citation of Euphorion in B 4 and D 7 might suggest that

10
Luce (forthcoming) ch. 7, ii. A. 1.
11
Polyain. 3. 5; Front. Strat. 3. 7, 6, schol. Pi. N. 9 inscr., with Griffin (1982) 52–3.
12
Syll.3 275 ¼ SEG 17. 233 ¼ F de D iii. 1, 400 ¼ CID iv. 10 ¼ Rhodes–Osborne 80, also FGrH 124 T 23.
We do not know (pace its inclusion in CID iv) whether the honours were bestowed by the city or by the
Amphiktyones. Jacoby cites no fragments as coming from the pinax: for its size, cf. Bousquet (1984).
13
See Bousquet (1984) ap. SEG 34. 379 and the reports of recent scrutinies of the stone (S. G. Miller ap.
Mosshammer (1982) 16; Oliver and Chaniotis ap. Rhodes–Osborne 80, app. crit.).
14
Contrast the well-preserved Fasti of the City Dionysia at Athens, IG ii2 2318–25.
52 j o hn d a v i e s
Athens-influenced scholarship (or poetic pseudo-scholarship) had more to do
with this tradition than one likes to admit.15 Finally, there is a real question what
added value such ‘editors’ contributed. The three miserable scraps which are all
that Rose could collect of the Pythionikai (frs. 615–17) suggest that Aristotle and
Kallisthenes added biographical and contextual notes to the list. Though what
Plutarch records of their efforts in respect of the non-winner Solon of Athens
(Solon 11) does not inspire great confidence, fr. 617 on Theron suggests that they
added cross-referencing and maybe a set of ordinal numbers. It is very unclear
that they were in a position to add anything else of historical value.
All in all, it is not too much to say that the extant fragments of the narrative and
antiquarian tradition about the foundation of the Pythian Games are useless,
indeed dangerously misleading. It is not simply that the question ‘How did they
know what they claim to know?’ cannot be answered, so much as that they are
not interested in providing a credible (to us) narrative and analysis. In conse-
quence, as with the Historia Augusta, not one of their statements can be accepted
as true unless corroborated by an independent primary source. They can be given
value as evidence of what at some period was accepted as the legitimating story,
but even that depends on setting them in context, a process the components of
which must come from elsewhere in the forms both of physical evidence and of
models of social action.

2. the early archaeologies of the agonistic

sanctuaries
However, part of the problem has been that if one looks for physical evidence of
the development of the Pythian Games, one draws a complete blank. The
hippodrome, which must have existed, is generally supposed to have been located
in the plain below Delphi in the total absence of a suitable area near the sanctuary,
but is presumably now buried under the biggest olive grove in Europe and has
not been found. The running track appears from the findspot of an extant
inscription to have been located by the Classical period in the area later occupied
by the extant stadium, but the first identifiable stage of its four stages of con-
struction is not thought to be earlier than the late fourth century, perhaps even
later.16 True, musical contests in themselves needed little space (though specta-

15
nb his —æ  Ł ø, with Gebhard (2002a) 225–8 for the antiquarian tradition about the Isthmia.
His education in Athens would help to explain why the Athenian archon-dates are added to the narrative of
the aition.
16
CID i. 3, republished in Aupert and Callot (1979) 33–54, at 36–7, with a suggested date c.450, but
Rougemont (CID i. 3, commentary) favours the hypothesis of an archaizing recutting; Bommelaer and
Laroche (1991) 215 (feature 802).
 the origins of the festivals 53
tors did) and could have been conducted within or near the sanctuary, so that it
would be possible to take seriously the hints in the scholiast tradition that the
musical contests were the first to be instituted and to surmise (against other hints
in the tradition, be it accepted) that the efforts and costs required for a running
track and a hippodrome were invested later. More subversive, however, is the
question of when the sanctuary became a sanctuary. This is not a matter
of addressing the theoretical debate about ‘What makes a sanctuary?’,17 or of
broaching questions of continuity from Late Bronze Age practice,18 but of
interpreting the hard evidence in the ground.
Here, new evidence19 is having a radical impact. Until recently the communis
opinio20 has tended to date the first peribolos wall in the seventh century, and the
second, enclosing a larger area to east, west, and south, during the post-548
period when the whole area was replanned from scratch. While the dating of the
second peribolos is not seriously at issue, excavations under the later Pillar of the
Rhodians (feature 406) have revealed a sequence of houses (maison noire,
maison jaune, maison rouge), the last and most elaborate of which was built
c.625, destroyed and rebuilt twice, and finally destroyed c.585–575. This last date,
ceramically firm, is crucial, for the first peribolos was built over and through the
debris of the final destruction, thereby dating the first peribolos to the 570s at
earliest.21 While it might be adventurous to associate the destructions of the
maison rouge directly with the violence which features in the narrative of the
First Sacred War, the archaeological case for locating a major horizon of change
at the Apollo sanctuary in the years around and after 580 is now becoming
stronger, and will be buttressed still further if one accepts the case persuasively
assembled by Luce22 for down-dating the architectural fragments attributable to
the pre-548 temple to the years 580–550, that is, to the same ‘post-War’ period.
The physical case for accepting as real an event describable as the Sacred War is
therefore becoming firmer, though it is still impossible to associate the founda-
tion of the Pythian Festival with it without invoking the antiquarian tradition
with all its unreal features.
However, the more real that horizon becomes, the more anomalous Delphi
appears within the ‘family’ of Panhellenic sites, for newer physical evidence from

17
Schachter (1992); Whitley (2001) 134–6.
18
A particularly perilous pursuit in a Delphian context, where continuity of settlement, evidence for
which is now becoming ever firmer, and continuity of cult (references in Rolley (2002) 279 n. 1) are two
different things and where the temptation to detect genuine historical recollection behind the myths of the
first temples and of successive ‘owners’ has not always been resisted as firmly as it should be.
19
Summary in Rolley (2002); full publication in Luce (forthcoming).
20
Best set out in de la Coste-Messelière (1969), and summarized in Bommelaer and Laroche (1991)
92–102.
21
Luce (forthcoming) ch. 4.
22
Luce (forthcoming) ch. 7, ii. A. 1. The general issue of the historicity of the First Sacred War is
helpfully revisited by Mari (2002) passim, esp. 163–9.
54 john davies
the other venues, together with the reconsideration of older evidence,23 offers a
pattern within which Delphi can only be fitted with difficulty. Three aspects are
pertinent, (a) the relationship of shrine to settlement, (b) the extent and date of
provision for athletic and hippic contests and for significant numbers of specta-
tors, and (c) the role played by the cult of a dead hero. Each aspect needs a brief
review of relevant evidence.
In respect of (a), for example, Delphi had been a substantial settlement in the
Bronze Age, and can now be seen from the recent excavations to have been so
again already in the later eleventh century bc, thereby noticeably shrinking the
interruption of settlement which extant material has hitherto suggested,24 while
the areas of known Geometric-period settlement, twice the area of Zagora, have
revealed it to be a large agglomeration.25 Olympia, in contrast, still appears to
have been purely a place of cult and regional assembly, with dedications and
pottery related to drinking or dining,26 while Isthmia was likewise purely a ritual
site, but differed in emphasis from Olympia in that the prime evidence of early
activity was of ritual dining.27 Both were therefore ritual sites long before there is
any trace of provision for contests, and the same is probably true for Nemea,
again not a habitation-site, even though the earliest ceramic and other material
thence appears not to pre-date the eighth century.28
Aspect (b), provision for contests and for spectators, presents a similarly
divided picture. As noted above, Delphi remains a near-blank in physical terms
until the late fourth century, and though the Amphiktyonic Law of 380 clearly
envisages, because it regulates, accommodation for visitors (presumably both
spectators and pilgrims) in the stoas, it tells us nothing about the areas for
performance, contest, or viewing.29 Provision at the other three sanctuaries, in
contrast, is plain enough. Olympia remains the bell-wether site, for irrespective of
the debates about the existence or non-existence of an Ur-stadium located further
west30 and therefore closer to the Altar of Zeus, or about whether 776 as the
traditional era-date for the Games reflects historical reality or is a construct
reached erroneously by dead reckoning by Hippias or others,31 the evidence of
the cutting of an increasingly large number of short-term-use wells in the later
stadium area from the Late Geometric period onwards32 is inexplicable save on

23
Bibliography for all four sites up to 1993 in Østby (1993). Add for Isthmia, Gebhard (1993), Morgan
(1999a) and (2002), and Gebhard (2002a); for Nemea, Miller (2002); for Delphi, Davies (1994).
24
Morgan (1990) 107–9; Müller (1992); Luce (forthcoming) ch. 1.
25
Luce (forthcoming) ch. 6.
26
Morgan (1999a) 378–80.
27
Gebhard (1993) 156–9; Morgan (1999a) 369–400.
28
Miller (1988) 148 nn. 8–9.
29
CID i. 10 ¼ iv. 1, lines 21–6.
30
Summary of the debate in Mallwitz (1988a) 94–9, but cf. also Brulotte (1994) and Whitley (2001) 154–5.
31
Beloch (1926) 148–54 remains basic, with Gebhard (2002a) 222–5. Moretti (1957) (updated in Moretti
1970) does not discuss the development of the list of Olympionikai or its credentials.
32
Mallwitz (1988a) 98–9.
 the origins of the festivals 55
the assumption that they were cut in order to cater for a clientele whose numbers
grew sharply from the early seventh century onwards.
At Isthmia, similarly, the emergence of a large-scale attending public can be
read straightforwardly from the constructions and detritus associated with the
first stadium, a first stage, comprising the running track and the ramp linking it
with the altar of Poseidon, being constructed not earlier than c. 550 and a second
(the embankment for spectators and maybe the eastern gateway) ‘securely in the
second half of the sixth century’.33 So too at Nemea, where, however, the case is
more complex and links the discourse inescapably with aspect (c). Earlier excav-
ations from 1979 onwards had already disclosed the existence of an Early Hel-
lenistic enclosure, to which we shall return, comparable to (and perhaps
modelled on) the Pelopeion at Olympia. The more recent excavations reported
by Miller (2002) have filled out that information by revealing that an earlier phase
of the enclosure had been built on top of an artificial mound, datable to the first
half of the sixth century by the ceramic material which had been placed to mark,
and (it is suggested) to sanctify, each of its layers. Since, moreover, traces of the
early stadium were found to its east, and evidence for the location of the
hippodrome to its west, Miller’s attractive preliminary inference is that the
mound was both cultic and (with its northern extension) functional, serving as
a viewing platform for both arenas.
Here aspect (c), the role played by the tomb-cult of a hero, is unmistakable, not
just because Pausanias 2. 15. 2 explicitly identifies the enclosure at Nemea as the
grave of Opheltes and uses the same phrase of it, ŁæتŒe ºŁø (‘fence of
stones’) as he does of the Pelopeion,34 but also because terracotta figurines
appear to associate the mound with the cult of a baby boy. The inference is
inescapable that in the earlier sixth century the site authorities at Nemea deliber-
ately imitated a prominent feature of Olympia. The imitation was no doubt
deemed especially appropriate since both were sanctuaries of Zeus, though
since full publication of the new material at Nemea is yet to emerge it may be
wisest to leave open the question whether, in the light of the new excavations at
the Pelopeion,35 the Mycenaean material recovered from the core mound at
Nemea reflects another superficially comparable aspect of the site of which the
site authorities at Nemea might have been aware.
All the same, that two of the main agonistic sites shared a prominent structural
and ritual feature prompts comparison with the other two, and reveals thereby a
contrast. At Isthmos, the physical link, and presumably therefore also the ritual
link, of the contest area was with the area associated with the principal god of the

33
Gebhard (2002a) 228–30, citation from p. 229.
34
Though, as Miller notes (2002) 249 n. 11, he also uses the phrase elsewhere.
35
Kyrieleis (2002b); Rambach (2002); lucid summary also by Miller (2002) 239.
56 john davies
sanctuary, Poseidon, not with that on which much later, in the Roman period,
the Palaimonion was erected: and this even though already for Pindar the death
by drowning of the boy Melikertes/Palaimon, and the discovery of his body on
the Isthmus by Sisyphos King of Corinth, have become the occasion for the
establishment of the Isthmian Games.36 Even more disconnectedly, the Delphian
material shows not one symbolic death but two, the less prominent of which,
that of Chrysos son of Nebros, had no known tomb-cult. The more prominent,
Python or Typhaon according to source, did indeed serve as the focus of cult, but
of the Septerion festival. Held every eight years, linked to Tempe in Thessaly, and
interpretable only as a purification ritual, this festival plainly has wholly non-
agonistic roots and sits very uncomfortably within the narratives of the Pythian
festival.37 It is difficult to avoid the impression that whereas those responsible for
Nemea imitated Olympia directly, both physically and mythically, in order to
claim isolympic status for their own festival, those responsible for Isthmia and the
Pythia initially felt no such need but later found it convenient to recognize the
existence of imaginative narratives, whether woven by poets such as Pindar or
not, which provided an extra aition for their own festivals and served to assert
isolympic status for them. In this way, as no doubt also via the adoption of forms
of similar contest, one can begin to reconstruct a process of convergence, to be
dated like so much else in the second half of the sixth century.

3. towards a generative model for the agonistic

festivals
So far in this chapter attention has been directed towards the antiquarian trad-
ition and the physical evidence reported from the four major sites. However, in
an important sense to begin thus is to approach the process of crystallization of
the four-venue periodos from the wrong end, thus begging the primary question
of why those four venues emerged and not others. After all, as much recent
discussion has emphasized, tomb-cults and hero-cults sprang up all over
Greece,38 while athletic, musical, and hippic competitions are well attested
elsewhere by the sixth century.39 Of course, their emergence stemmed from,
and was a leading part of, the processes of polity coagulation, leisure class
formation, artistic patronage, and enhanced intercommunication which helped

36
Gebhard and Dickie (1999); Gebhard (2002a) at 225–8, with 232 table 2. The topic is explored in more
detail by Morgan (this volume) 261.
37
Details and references (mostly to Plut. Mor. 293a–f ) in Halliday (1928) 66–71, Jeanmaire (1939)
387–411, and Defradas (1954) 97–101. Cf. also Appendix C 3.
38
Antonaccio (1995) for an overview, with further references in Whitley (2001) 150–6.
39
See e.g. the Delia (see Miller (1988) 146 n. 1) or the Panathenaia (n. 58 below).
 the o rigins of the festivals 57
to form the sense of Greek identity which we term ‘Pan-Hellenism’.40 Yet, even
accepting that competition and display were major motors of the emergence of
the periodos, they did not automatically channel themselves towards a set number
of specific venues, As Stella Miller has put it apropos of Nemea, the last of the
festivals to be accorded Panhellenic status in the Archaic period, ‘That these three
sanctuaries [i.e. Pythia, Isthmia, Nemea] were distinguished in this way and at
this particular time was obviously an answer to certain needs and circumstances
of the time, however poorly these are understood today. Among the many
questions which could be posed in this connection is why, after the beginning
of the sixth century, there were no more Panhellenic festivals founded through-
out the rest of antiquity, despite an abundance of local games, both pre-existing
and newly founded.’ She then goes on disarmingly to comment that ‘Such
questions can give rise to speculation but few, if any, firm conclusions. They
are, moreover, matters which go beyond the scope of this chapter.’41 However,
at the risk of ‘speculating’, what follows here will put and attempt to answer the
questions ‘Why only four mainland venues?’ and ‘Why those locations, and not
others instead?’
To do so requires beginning from further back, by framing analysis in more
general terms and by offering a more explicitly processual approach, specifically
focused on the growth and formalization of agonistic activity within sanctuary
space. The construction of such an approach is no simple matter, for at least seven
processes at work within the relevant periods need to be distinguished:
1. the emergence (or re-emergence) of sites devoted to ritual activity;
2. the selection of certain sites as more attractive or convenient than others for
populations from wider catchment areas;
3. the emergence of a custom of contesting, with increasingly codified forms
and rules;
4. the linkage of that custom with gods and with ritual sites;
5. the creation of a pattern of periodicity;
6. the emergence of a custom of dedicating votive offerings visibly within
ritual sites; and
7. the emergence of an informal hierarchy of arenas of contest.
These processes ran their course in different places at different times and with
different trajectories, while it needed the convergence of them all in order to yield
that exceptional combination of customs, values, and venues which created the
Panhellenic Games as institutions. Hence, such a construction cannot function as
a simple linear model, any more than it can serve on its own as an explanatory
model. Process (6), for example, came to be a universal custom, evidence for it

40
See e.g. Raubitschek (1988); Schachter (1992); Sourvinou-Inwood (1993); C. Morgan (1993).
41
Miller (1988) 142.
58 j o hn d a v i e s
effectively serving to define what we mean by a ritual site, but had nothing
necessarily to do with contests. Process (3), too, will not fit tidily into a linear
narrative, for such activity—codified competition in athletic and musical prow-
ess—had had a very long past by the time serious evidence appears in the Homeric
poems. Whether or not we take seriously claims for Hittite origins, or Minoan-
Mycenaean origins, or Phoenician origins,42 the contests described in the Funeral
Games for Patroklos in Iliad 23 must reflect a portfolio of contests and conven-
tions already well established by 700 or so: indeed, since the Homeric texts know
the Games of Augeias at Elis but are silent about Olympia43 we cannot explain
that portfolio purely by diffusion from Olympia, even if we were to accept the
traditional dates. Likewise, unless Pausanias’ sequence of dates for the introduc-
tion of new contests at Olympia is total invention by Phlegon of Tralles44 or by
Hippias,45 which is unlikely, we are dealing with a continuous flow of activity
and innovation throughout the Archaic period, both at Olympia and elsewhere.
However, we cannot envisage that flow as a continuum, for two major shifts
seem to have taken place. The first, process (5), is that from funeral agōnes to
periodic agōnes. Agōnes in the former category, such as those of Patroklos, or
those which Nestor is made to describe in Iliad 23. 629–42, or those for King
Amphidamas of Chalkis at which Hesiod is said to have won a tripod, were
irregular, unpredictable, and not formally linked to any particular cult or sanctu-
ary, while periodic agōnes took place at regular intervals and were in some sense,
which the participants took seriously, set up in order to honour a god. The
second major shift was from contests where there were real and valuable prizes
(so that contestants might be competing for the prize as much as for the honour
and prestige) (i.e. agōnes chrēmatitai) towards those which brought the victor
only a crown (agōnes stephanitai) of purely symbolic value, made of a substance
which was meant explicitly to evoke the god concerned. That this distinction was
felt to matter is plain from the scholiasts’ narratives for the Pythia, and we have to
take seriously the direction of innovation, away from prizes towards symbols.
These shifts therefore need explanation. So too does the well-known fact that
within the general flow the era-dates of Pythia, Isthmia, and Nemea stand out,
clustered together anomalously in the 580s and 570s.46 The concentration in time
is all the more striking in the light of the cumulatively pretty firm evidence that
the Panathenaia were either remodelled or relaunched in or about the year 566,47

42
Discussions respectively by Puhvel (1988); Renfrew (1988); Boutros (1981).
43
Thus Lee (1988) 112.
44
Raubitschek (1988) 35 and 37 n. 4: FGrH 257 F 1.
45
Paus. 5. 8. 6–11; list in Lee (1988) 115 n. 2.
46
Though the reliability of the chronographic tradition is seriously challenged by Gebhard (2002a) 222–5.
47
Davison (1958) and (1962).
 t h e o r i g i n s o f t he f e s t i v a l s 59
for the assumption must be that the Athenians tried to add a remodelled
Panathenaia to the cluster but failed to gain much external recognition for it.
We have therefore a set of at least five explananda: first that of the nature,
direction, and strength of the general growth of agonistic activity, secondly the
shift from funerary towards cultic contexts, thirdly the shift towards periodicity,
fourthly the appearance of the cluster in the 580s and 570s, and lastly the reasons
why the periodos crystallized as it did. What follows here will tackle this range of
questions indirectly, by thinking in terms first of the effects of performer push,
then of those of provider pull, and then of the wider constituency of attenders
and spectators. That is, we have to try to decide whether (a) we should be
focusing primarily on the needs, ambitions, and desires of contestants and
performers as the principal driving force; or whether (b) we should be looking
towards institutions—either the immediate ‘managers’ of sanctuaries, or the
political classes of the microstates as they sorted out their identities and their
boundaries in the seventh century—who each had ideas of building their own
stadia for the sake of national prestige and profit; or whether (c) we should think
first and foremost of those who came to watch, listen, trade, socialize, and
network. Not, of course, that these three categories of person were mutually
exclusive, but any stakeholder analysis such as this needs to separate out their
varying (and perhaps conflicting) structural interests.

4. stakeholders and locations

I look first at performer push, for in a very basic sense that is primary: there
would be no contests if no contestants were interested. That is not so fanciful an
idea as it sounds, for if one jumps to the other end of antiquity and recalls the
sudden decline in gymnasial activity in the 360s, the Easter sermons of John
Chrysostom with their insistence that the young should be contesting the Devil
in the desert rather than competing naked, and the end of the Olympic Games
themselves at some date after ad 391,48 one has to recognize that the late fourth-
century value-shift drained Classical agonistic institutions of their customers. For
our period, though, that is not the problem. Victory in Patroklos’ Funeral Games
brought glittering prizes well worth competing for and well worth taking home
as keimēlia; victory at Olympia brought immense prestige and even star status, as
the ambitions of Orthagoras in Sikyon or of Kylon in Athens bear witness, not to
mention Alcibiades; the ethos of competition—aien aristeuein kai huperteron
emmenai allōn—had come to be ingrained in the culture.

48
Not that the change was wholly spontaneous or universal, for victors at Olympia are now attested in
ad 381 and ad 385 (SEG 45. 412, 48. 553), and the contests could in theory have survived the formal
suppression of pagan cults in 391; for the conflicting evidence, Drees (1968) 159.
60 john davies
At this juncture, inevitably, one invokes Wade-Gery’s phrase ‘the international
aristocracy’, coined in 1932 when he was writing about Thoukydides son of
Melesias and identified the politician’s father with the wrestling-master Melesias
who is known from N. 4 and 6 and O. 8: ‘I think no one who knows much of
Pindar or indeed of the structure of early fifth-century Greek society will doubt
that poet [Pindar], trainer [Melesias], and athlete [Thoukydides] alike belong to
the same class, the international aristocracy of Greece’.49 Nor is such a group a
baseless invention, for its classic exemplification is the house-party which
Kleisthenes of Sikyon set up for the suitors of his daughter Agariste, probably
in 575 (Griffin 1982: 44). The story in Herodotos (6. 126) is well known: after his
victory in chariot-with-four-horses at Olympia in 576 or (less likely) in 572, he
invited any suitor to appear within 60 days, and found himself hosting young
men from Sybaris and Siris in Italy, Epidamnos, Aitolia, Argos, Trapezous in
Arkadia, an Azen from Palaiopolis, Elis, Athens (two), Eretria, Krannon, and the
Molossoi. This is not the place to scrutinize the historical credentials of the story,
though sceptics might well see it as an elaborate aetiological legend to explain the
origin of the proverb ou phrontis Hippokleidei (‘Hippokleides isn’t bothered’) and
might well question whether Kleisthenes had nothing better to do for a year. It is
also difficult to take as historical what would have to be the earliest reference to a
gymnasion,50 but the catalogue of names at least has to be taken seriously, and
with it the sense of a shared culture, widespread within a leisure class in a specific
and pertinent decade and driving the pattern of dedications in ways analysed by
Raschke (1988b), Morgan (1990), and others.
That much said, the notion of ‘the international aristocracy’ will not take us far.
Though of course wealth in the form of landownership determined who could
race horses, the only formal qualification for entry to Olympia was not economic
but ethnic, as illustrated by Herodotos’ tale (5. 22) of the acceptance of Alexander
I Philhellen at the Olympics of c.500.51 Likewise, at Nemea, the Pindar scholia
report that admission to the contests was initially restricted to those ‘from the
military class’, but that later, ‘when they fell short, and the custom dissolved, it
came to be that all contested’.52 We could of course modify our picture of
demand by contestants by postulating that by the early sixth century their
numbers had increased to the point where extra opportunities for competition
and display were needed, but even that (though probably true and pertinent) will
not serve by itself without also invoking the response mode of the sanctuary
managers.
49
Wade-Gery (1958) 245–6.
50
6. 128, 1. But the word is gymnasia plural, so it could mean gymnastic exercises, as in Pindar fr. 129 and
Hdt. 9.33.
51
For arguments favouring an earlier date than the orthodox 496 see Mari (2002) 31–6.
52
apo stratiōtikou genous epileipsantōn kai tou ethous dialuthentos sunebē tous pantas agōnizesthai (schol.
Pind. N. hypoth. d, Drachmann iii. 5, line 5).
 t h e o r i g i n s o f t he f e s t i v a l s 61
A different approach may help here, while still staying with the notion of
performer pull. If we can trust the tradition in Pausanias at all, the initial contests
which the Pythia offered (e.g. in the diet which he equates with our 586 bc) were
song-to-kithara, song-to-flute, and flutes (Paus. 10. 7. 4). The musical emphasis is
confirmed by our best (because contemporary) witness Alcaeus, who has the
Delphians composing a paian and a song, and instituting dances round the
tripod. Three points arise. The first is theological, in that such contests are
meant to reflect the specific attributes of Apollo in such a way that he who
wins the contest is most like the god—not altogether a risk-free enterprise,
admittedly, as the myth of the flaying of Marsyas bears witness, but one which,
as Bowra analysed it years ago in a brilliant chapter (1964: 159–91), finds echo after
echo in Pindar himself. The second has to do with what one might now call the
musical profession. Plainly, while one can and must infer that the institution of
such contests requires that the various genres of composition-cum-performance
had differentiated themselves in a recognized way, and that musicians had be-
come a recognized constituency with an agenda of their own, then as now
musicians tended not to be particularly wealthy or aristocratic:53 as a constitu-
ency they are most unlikely to have had the numbers, or the political, economic,
or social clout, to be the prime movers in the creation of a new institutionalized
Panhellenic agōn.
These two approaches in terms of performers and contestants therefore yield
only limited results. Let us look instead at the providers and their behaviour,
emphasizing three themes—their limited resources, the motif of liberation, and
the need for a periodical panēgyris. First, their limited resources. Though we
know next to nothing of the modalities of management for each agōn, we can at
least be fairly sure both that their managers were not wealthy personal rulers like
Achilles or Amphidamas, able to offer real euergesiai, and that the sanctuaries
which they managed did not have vast resources available. At least at Delphi later
on in the sixth century, building the temple was a financial struggle, and it will
have been rational for managers to keep on the spot such resources as their own
sanctuary had or earned, rather than see them dissipated into the hands of men
who might be well-off already. Since, moreover, we are trying to reconstruct
behaviour which takes shape before the gradual encroachment of coined money
in and after the mid-century, income will have been a matter of fees paid in kind
(pelanoi) and the remains of sacrificed animals, not of easily convertible bullion.
To offer symbolic crowns rather than real prizes was therefore making a virtue of
necessity, while at the same time both unilaterally claiming to be on a par with

53
Simon Hornblower reminds me that there is one victory ode of Pindar for a musician, Pythian 12 for
the flute-player Midas of Akragas: but he is the only one, his victory coming, moreover, at a period when,
as its temples attest, Akragas was ostentatiously wealthy.
62 john davies
Olympia by imitating Olympic practice and also deliberately asserting their
freedom from subservience to the will and prejudices of an overmighty patron.
That introduces the second theme, that of liberation. If we go back to the
narratives of the Pythia, a persistent underlying theme is that the redefinition of
the Games represented a liberation. One major implausibility of the developed
story of the fourth century and later is that it demonizes the inhabitants of the
coastal town of Kirrha54 while saying no word about Corinth, the power which is
not only generally recognized to have been the most important polity of the Gulf
littoral during the seventh century but had also demonstrably been influential at
Delphi. Since, whatever the contradictions of the dates may be, the relevant
period stretches from the 590s to the 570s, it may be worth hazarding the
hypothesis that Corinth and Kirrha had had complementary interests, but that
the weakening of the Corinthian tyrant regime in the 580s after Periander’s death
left Kirrha exposed to predatory action, and allowed Delphi to be ‘liberated’ by
the Amphiktyony of Anthela.
Perhaps fortunately, that hypothesis does not stand on its own, for there may
be a second link between ‘liberation’ and the (re)-foundation of a festival. Soft-
textured and highly questionable though the transmitted chronology is, it is
consistent in placing the fall of the Corinthian tyranny c.584/3 and the era-date
of the Isthmia in the late 580s.55 I am certainly not the first (Morgan 1990: 214) to
link the two events and to see the foundation of the Isthmia as a symbolic signal
that the Corinthians have got their own state back.56 Admittedly, it is more
difficult to explain Nemea thus, for the tug-of-war between Argos and Kleonai
for control of the sanctuary and the festival seems not to have been fully resolved
until, after the violent late fifth-century destruction of the temple, the Games
were moved to Argos, which remained the controlling power. Later tradition saw
Argos as in control from the start,57 but that is compatible neither with Pindar
himself (N. 10. 42, 4. 17) nor with his scholiast (hypoth. c Pi. N, Drachmann
iii. p. 3. lines 16–18) nor with the ethnic Kleonaios which Aristis son of Pheidon
applied to himself in the 560s for his dedication (ML 9). Though it is tempting to
consider the notion of the liberation of Kleonai from Argive (or perhaps Sikyo-
nian) control, it may need to be accommodated within the wider problem of
what ‘control’ means in a context where Argos could not always even ‘control’ her
own Heraion.

54
References assembled conveniently by Freitag (2000) 114–35.
55
Servais (1969) and (summarily) Salmon (1984) 186 n. 1 for the fall of the tyranny, with the warnings of
Gebhard (2002a) 222–5.
56
The idea of Games as a symbol of liberation (here, liberation from colonial control) was certainly
explicit in the foundation of the Asian Games some 40 years ago.
57
See e.g. Eusebius 101b Helm s.a. 573: ‘Agon Nemeacus primum ab Argiuis actus post eum, qui sub
Archemoro fuerat.’ For the problem Miller (1988); Morgan (1990) 215, etc.
 the o rigins of the festivals 63
At the same time, two reasons offer themselves why a canny Argive regime
should set up agonistic shop at Nemea rather than Argos. First, like Delphi, it
was accessible from all directions and stood equidistant from Corinth, Kleonai,
Argos, and Sikyon, at a liminal point where contrary influences might cancel each
other out and allow autonomy to flourish—a vain hope, admittedly, as its
subsequent history made all too clear. Secondly, to use Nemea meant that the
agōn could be hung round Zeus, which would allow them to compete with
Olympia on equal terms, while the main gods of Argos itself were female (Hera,
Athene) and therefore offered inappropriate role-models for competitors.58 It
will be wisest to leave the problem of Nemea unresolved and to accept that the
theme of liberation contributes part of an explanation but not its core.
That leaves the third theme, the notion of the panēgyris, the general gathering
at a religious festival. The classic description is Livy’s sketch of the Isthmia of 196:

Now came the time appointed for the Isthmian Games. This festival had always been well
attended, not only because the Greeks are by nature keenly interested in a spectacle which
exhibits contests in all manner of accomplishments involving strength and speed, but also
because of the advantages of this site. For its position enabled the Isthmus to supply
mankind with all kinds of commodities imported over two different seas: it was a
commercial centre acting as a meeting place of Asia and Greece.59

We have here two activities, watching the contests and participating in a periodic
market. The first we tend to take for granted: wrongly, for we should be thinking
in terms of football-stadium sized crowds of thousands whose impact can be
sensed, for example, via the vertiginous increase in the wells dug and used at
Olympia, or via the need to shift the stadium at Isthmia from its initial close
proximity to the temple terrace to a more spacious location further east down the
slope. Even without Pindar’s poems it needs little imagination to visualize the
socializing, the politicking, the networking, the side-shows ranging from jugglers
to sophists, or the array of tents such as that of Themistokles at the Olympia of
476. The second activity is increasingly getting its due in a Roman context, but is
still seriously underestimated for Greece, though much can be added to the
Greek material collected by de Ligt and de Neeve 1988.60 However, even as it
stands their approach is valuable because it uses economic geographers’ cross-
cultural comparisons in order to distinguish high-frequency small-reach periodic
markets (nundinae, in Roman terms) from low-frequency long-range markets.

58
Not that that consideration stopped the Athenians from setting up dromos and agōn at the Panathe-
naia (IG i3 507–8), but the festival cannot plausibly be seen as a commemoration of liberation, and was in
any case an old-style agōn chrēmatitēs with prizes which were difficult to carry away. It is hardly surprising
that it remained outside the eventual periodos.
59
Livy 33. 32. 1, from Polyb. 18. 46. 1–2 with Livian expansion and explanation.
60
Cf. the comments offered in SEG 38. 1953.
64 john davies
Polybios via Livy is plainly depicting the latter, as a long-established going
concern by 196. We therefore have to ask when and why that function developed.
In a way, the answer has long been available via the finds from Olympia, with
their clear evidence of craftsman work (on tripods etc.) being conducted on the
spot, such work serving as a trace element for much else which has left no record.
Yet Olympia is a long way away from the area within, say, an 80-km radius of
Corinth, which encompassed the richest and most innovative polities of Greek
mainland society of the early sixth century—Megara, Sikyon, Epidauros, Aegina,
and Athens, besides Argos and Corinth itself. If we were to credit this group of
societies with an unformulated collective need for a secure central place for a low-
frequency long-range market, it would not be long before we looked at Isthmia
(more accessible from the east than Perachora, and probably by the early sixth
century already long used for such a purpose) and wondered whether there was a
site in the vicinity accessible from Arkadia without passing through Argos or
Sikyon. It cannot be chance that Isthmia and Nemea between them gave the
polities of that region an annual fair, timed to allow easy summer travelling, on
secure ground because located in a sanctuary protected by a major god (Poseidon
and Zeus), safely accessible because of the protection which the sanctuary’s
theōroi asked for all travellers, and providing all the amenities and entertainments
which Olympia had made standard.
All the same, I would not want to convey the impression that Isthmia, Nemea,
or Olympia were simply a combination of Aintree racecourse and Manchester’s
King Street. For a corrective, we may return to Delphi and to the evidence for the
Pythia. If the post-Sacred War narrative in the Pindar scholia has any validity, it
dates the initial stages of the agōn earlier than that at Isthmia, and we might even
surmise that those in charge (whoever they were) were feeling their way, partly
perhaps because they were breaking new ground and were unsure what the
‘market’ would respond to. Seen thus, the initial profile of the contests, with its
strong musical emphasis, may not have been a response to performer pressure so
much as to two other influences: first, to the profile of Apollo in respect of his
mastery of the lyre (though, given his mastery also of the bow, the absence of
archery contests at any stage is a remarkable vacat, due presumably to the
irremediably low status of the skill outside Crete), and secondly to the influence
of the panēgyris and the agōn at Delos. There, in the beautiful and affectionate
description of it by the author of the Homeric Hymn to Apollo, ‘The Ionians of
long chitons gather with their children and their lady wives. They enjoy them-
selves vying with each other in boxing and dance and song whenever they hold
the agōn.’ There then follows a sketch of the Delian girls, servants of Apollo, who
sing of Apollo, then Leto and Artemis and delight the crowds of people (HHA
147–64). However, if the Delphian authorities started from that model, it is
significant that they moved rapidly to incorporate the Olympic set of contests
 t h e o r i g i n s o f t he f e s t i v a l s 65
as well—in that respect, presumably, having to accommodate the expectations of
spectators as well as trying to attract the big spenders who would adorn the
sanctuary with monuments and dedications and prompt the construction of
treasuries (a strategy which clearly worked). Perhaps too, faced with rival agōnes
at Isthmus and Nemea, and less conveniently located, Delphi may have found
itself a bit peripheral, but nonetheless can be assumed to have performed the
same functions for a rather different hinterland which extended, via the pass west
of Parnassos, into Sterea Hellas and Thessaly and could offer western Greeks, as
Isthmia and Nemea could not, an alternative to Olympia.61

The argument has therefore moved away from the contests and the competitors,
even away from the ‘managers’ of the sanctuaries, towards elementary locational
analysis and towards a picture of the Panhellenic Games as festivals which
conveniently combined a number of disparate functions on single sites and
whose formats, initially disparate, came gradually to converge. They are best
seen pragmatically, as an economical means of meeting the variegated needs of a
scattered population—providing that spectacle, dance, song, and the various
forms of physical contest can also, as they should, be seen as responses to needs.62
61
References in Freitag (2000) 116; add Rougemont (1992) and Jacquemin (1992).
62
This is not the place to pursue the cross-cultural comparison, broached briefly in the oral version,
between Panhellenic agonistic festivals and medieval tournaments (for which see now Crouch 2005), but
the points of similarity and difference would bear further examination.
Appendix: Translations

i. hypotheseis to pindar 0 s pythian odes

Greek text of the four versions in A. B. Drachmann (ed.), Scholia vetera in Pindari
carmina, ii (Teubner, Leipzig, 1910, repr. Hakkert, Amsterdam, 1967), pp. 1–5. Traditional
citation-mode is by vol., page, line Drachmann. In what follows here, editorial deletions
are inserted in [square], editorial additions in (round), supplements in <angle> brackets,
transliterations in italics. The numbering of sections has been devised by JKD as an aid to
quick reference.
A 1. The contest of the Pythia was founded many years before the Isthmia, and the
following cause is recounted in myth about them. 2. Leto the daughter of Koios son of
Heaven and Earth and of Phoibe daughter of Kronos, with whom Zeus had intercourse in
the guise of a quail, became pregnant and groaned in birth on Zoster in Attica, but gave
birth to Artemis and Phoibos on Delos, previously called Ortygia. 3. When she was adult
Artemis came to Crete, and occupied Mount Diktys, while Apollo was in Lycia: they
assigned Delos to their mother. 4. Now Apollo came to Delphi, herding the cattle for
Python. 5. Hermes, who had created the four-stringed lyre fitted with flax threads instead
of gut-strings, since the use of sinews had not yet been invented, and had been convicted
of the theft of Apollo’s cattle, as recompense for the theft gave Apollo the lyre, taking the
herald’s staff from him. 6. He made it seven-stringed, accommodating it to the pan-pipe,
not that of Hermes and Penelope but of Zeus and Thybreus: or maybe he compounded it
with seven voices because he had been born as a seven-month child. It was, it appears, he
who took away the flax-threads and stretched the lyre with sinews, whence he is said to
have overcome Linos. 7. He also learnt the skill of divination from Pan, for Pan delivers
oracles to all the Arkadians attentively. 8. Then he enters into the oracular shrine, in which
Night was the first to utter oracles, then Themis. Since Python was then controlling the
tripod of prophecy, on which first Dionysos delivered oracles, . . . (lacuna of some
length) . . . 9. and having killed the serpent Pytho he contests the Pythian contest on the
seventh day: peiron, because he ventured upon (apepeirathe) the battle against the mon-
ster: iambon because of the abuse which he incurred before the battle, for iambizein means
‘to abuse’: dactyl from Dionysos, because he is thought to have been the first to deliver
oracles from the tripod: Kretikon from Zeus: metroion, because the shrine is Earth’s:
hissing, because of the hissing of the snake. In this way the contest of the Pythia was
first established. 10. After this, Krisa having been founded above the pass of the road
which leads to Delphi, when the Krisaioi committed many deeds against the Greeks and
despoiled pilgrims to the oracle, the Amphiktyones captured Krisa with the other allies,
and having become masters of them they instituted another contest, in which flute-players
competed too. 11. The winners of the athletic contest, are the following, when Apollo
founded Pythia, in the contest of the Python: Kastor (won) stadion, boxing Polydeukes,
 t h e o r i g i n s o f th e f e s t i v a l s 67
long race Kalais, hoplite race Zetes, discus Peleus, wrestling Telamon, pankration
Herakles. He crowned them with the plant of bay.
B Differently. The hypothesis of the Pythians. 1. Eurylochos the Thessalian having
defeated the Kirrhaioi revived the contest of the god: the Kirrhaioi, deploying a brigand-
ish attack, were slaughtering those who were approaching the (areas?) of the god. He got
the better of them when Simonides was archon at Athens (591/0), and Gylidas at Delphi.
2. The Kirrhaioi, as many of them as were actually left, fled to Mount Kirphis, which lies
by Parnassos. Eurylochos left some of the Thessalians with the general Hippias to defeat
the remainder, and went off to revive the contest, which he founded to be for a money-
prize alone. 3. After a period of six years, when Hippias’ forces had defeated the survivors
of the Kirrhaioi, when Damasias was archon at Athens (582/1) and Diodoros at Delphi,
they subsequently after their success founded a contest for crowns as well. 4. Eurylochos
they called the New Achilles, as Euphorion relates (F 53 Meineke ¼ 80 Powell):

We hear of Eurylochos the younger Achilles,

To whom the Delphian women shouted out below lovely Ieios
When he had sacked <Krisa suppl. Boeckh>, the house of Apollo Lykoreus.

5. While only singers to the kithara had competed in olden times, Eurylochos made the
other contests exist as well.
C Differently. 1. The Pythia were founded, as some say in honour of the serpent
guardian of the oracle in Delphi, which Apollo killed. 2. The contest was named after
the place. The name of the place was Pytho, either from the fact that those who
frequented the oracle were ‘learning’ (punthanesthai), or because the monster rotted
there after being killed, for puthesthai means ‘to rot’, as in Homer’s ‘White bones rot in
deluge’ (Od. 1. 161). 3. Having been purified of the serpent-killing by Chrysothemis in
Crete, Apollo returned from there to Tempe in Thessaly, whence he brought the bay. For
a long time the bay which served for the victors’ crowns was brought from there by a boy
with both parents living. 4. The contest was celebrated at first every eight years [the
Amphiktyones established the contest, Eurylochos the Thessalian having founded it secl.
Drachmann], but it changed to every four years . . . (lacuna) . . . 5. . . . because of the fact
that the nymphs of Parnassos brought late-summer fruits (oporas) as gifts to Apollo after
his slaying of the serpent.
D Differently. 1. The Pythian contest was arranged by Eurylochos the Thessalian
together with the Amphiktyones, after he had defeated certain men who were savage
and were doing violence to the dwellers-round, when Gylidas was archon at Delphi and
Simon at Athens (591/0). 2. After his victory he founded a contest for goods-prizes, for
they used to honour the victors with goods only, there being as yet no crown. 3. He
founded the kithara-singers’ contest as also before, but added the flute-player and the
flute-singing contests. 4. Once the army of the Amphiktyones had retreated, a few were
left behind to destroy Kirphis completely. Hippias the Thessalian led those left behind.
5. In the sixth year after the capture of Kirrha they proclaimed for the god the contest for
crowns, when Diodoros was archon at Delphi and Damasis at Athens (582/1). 6. The
Kirrhaian plain and mountain, which they call Kirphis, through which the river Pleistos
68 john davies
runs, lie to the south of the mountain of Parnassos. 7. That Eurylochos of Thessaly
vanquished the Kirrhaioi is attested by Euphorion (refs. ad B. 4):

We hear of Eurylochos the younger Achilles.

ii. pausanias 10. 7. 2–8

(Based on that of Peter Levi (Penguin), but with some modifications, and with the section
numbers of the Teubner text restored.)
2. The most ancient contest which they recall, and the one at which they first offered
prizes, was to sing a hymn to the god. The one who sang and won by singing was
Chrysothemis from Crete, whose father Karmanor is said to have purified Apollo. After
Chrysothemis they recall that Philammon won for song, and after him Thauris son of
Philammon. They say that Orpheus, out of self-esteem over Mysteries and from other
conceit, and Mousaios out of imitation of Orpheus in everything, refused to be tested in
the contest of music. 3. They also say that Eleuther carried off a Pythian victory by
speaking loudly and sweetly, for the song which he was singing was not his own. They
also say that Hesiod was excluded from the competition because he had not been taught
to play the kithara while he sang. Homer came to Delphi to ask whatever he required, but
even though he had been taught to play the kithara the skill was going to be useless for
him because of the disaster that befell his eyes. 4. In the third year of the 48th Olympiad
which Glaukias of Kroton won (i.e. 586/5), the Amphiktyones offered prizes for
song-to-kithara as from the start, but added a contest of song-to-flute and of flutes. As
winners were proclaimed Melampous of Kephalenia in song-to-kithara, Echembrotos of
Arkadia for song-to-flute, Sakadas of Argos for flutes. This Sakadas also carried off the
two next Pythian festivals after that. 5. They then also offered prizes to athletes for the first
time, both by offering the contests as in Olympia except four-horse-chariot and them-
selves instituting the boys’ race for long course and double course. At the second Pythias
they did not invite to compete for prizes any more, but established the contests as for
crowns from now on. They abolished song-to-flute, condemning it because the sound
was unlucky, for song-to-flute comprised the gloomiest melodies for flutes and elegies
sung to the flutes. 6. As my witness for this is also the dedication of Echembrotos, a
bronze tripod dedicated to Herakles in Thebes. The tripod had the epigram:

Echembrotos Arkadian set up to Herakles

Having won this treasure in contests of Amphiktyones,
Singing to the Greeks melodies and dirges.

Accordingly, then, the contests of song-to-flute was stopped, but they added
race-of-horses, and Kleisthenes the tyrant of Sikyon was proclaimed for the chariot. 7.
In the eighth Pythias (i.e. 558/7) they additionally instituted kithara-players-on-strings-
without-voice, and Agelaos of Tegea was crowned. In the 23rd Pythias (i.e. 498/7) they
added hoplite-race, and Timainetos of Phleious took the bay for this, five Olympiads after
Damaretos of Heraia won. In the 48th Pythias (i.e. 398/7) they also arranged for
race-of-chariot-and-pair: the chariot of Exekestides of Phokis won. In the fifth Pythias
after this (i.e. 378/7) they ran foals-to-chariot, and the équipe of Orphondas of Thebes ran
 t h e o ri g i n s o f t h e f e s ti v a l s 69
first. 8. Many years later they took over from the Eleians boys-pankration, foal-pair-to-
chariot, and <foal>-with-rider, the first-named in the 61st Pythias (i.e. 346/5), when
Iolaidas of Thebes won, and then leaving one (Pythias) out from this they put on a race
for foal-with-rider (i.e. in 338/7), and in the 69th (i.e. that of 314/3) that for foal-pair-to-
chariot. For the foal-with-rider Lykormas of Larisa was proclaimed, and for the foal-pair
Ptolemaios of Macedon, for the Macedonians in Egypt enjoyed being called kings, as
indeed they were. The crown for victory in the Pythian Games is of bay, for no other
reason, it seems to me, but that legend had it that Apollo was in love with the daughter of
Ladon (i.e. Daphne).

iii. alcaeus, hymn to apollo

(Alcaeus F 142 West ¼ F 307 Lobel–Page, 1(c) Diehl, 2–4 Bergk ap. Himerios, Or. xlviii.
10–11 Colonna. Translation (reproduced from Davies (1997b) 46) based on that of Page
(1955) 244–5, but more literal.)
When Apollo was born, Zeus decked him out with a golden mitra and a lyre and gave
him besides these a chariot to drive—swans pulled the chariot. He sent him to Delphi and
the streams of Kastalia, to speak thence as a prophet of justice and due order to the
Greeks. Apollo mounted the chariot, but set the swans to fly to the Hyperboreans. When
the Delphians heard of this, they composed a paian and a song, instituted dances of
youths around the tripod, and summoned the god to come from the Hyperboreans.
Having delivered the law for a whole year among the men there, when he deemed it the
right moment for the Delphian tripods to resound too, he ordered the swans to fly back
from the Hyperboreans. Now it was summer, and indeed the very middle of the summer,
when Alcaeus brought Apollo from the Hyperboreans. So, because summer was aglow
and Apollo was in the land, the lyre flaunts a sort of summer dress in honour of the god.
The nightingales sing him the sort of song you expect the birds to sing in Alcaeus, and
swallows and cicadas sing too, not telling the tale of their own fate among humankind but
uttering all their songs in relation to the god. Kastalia in the poem flows with streams of
silver, and great Kephissos rises up, heaving with its waves, imitating the Enipeus of
Homer: for Alcaeus, just like Homer, forces even the water to be able to perceive the
presence of the gods.

The periodos
(Basic data most clearly set out in Beloch (1926) i2 2, 139–48.)
Julian year 1 Isthmia, July or late June (Andrewes (1981) v. 23–4) rather than May/June
(Beloch 146–7)
Olympia, þ/ Aug. (Eleian month Parthenios or Apollonios), in a year
whose bc number is divisible by 4 (Beloch 139–43: Samuel (1972) 191–4)
Year 2 Nemea, Aug. (18 Panamos ¼ Mak. Gorpiaios) (Beloch 145–6)
Year 3 Isthmia, July or late June
Pythia, Aug./Sept. (Delphian month Boukatios ¼ Ath. Metageitnion)
(Beloch 143–5)
Year 4 Nemea, Aug.
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 three
––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Origins of the Olympics

Stephen Instone

This chapter is not called ‘The Origins of the Olympics’. That would have
introduced an inappropriate suggestion of definiteness, since the very subject-
matter of the formation of both the Olympic festival and athletics events within it
does not allow certainty, straddling as it does the interface of history with myth.
As Aristotle said at the beginning of the Nicomachean Ethics, ‘It is a mark of the
trained mind never to expect more precision in the treatment of any subject than
the nature of that subject permits’ (NE 1. 3). And the ancient Olympic Games are
complex because they embraced not just physical endeavour but also several
other aspects of Greek life, for example, religion and politics. In addition, they
evolved, after the traditional foundation date of 776 bc increasing in size by
adding many new events (and rejecting some others). So if one is looking for
origins both of the Games themselves and of individual events, a multifactorial
approach is useful. As Davies says of the Panhellenic Games in general, they
conveniently combined a number of disparate ends on a convenient site.1
Approaches to ancient athletics have changed recently compared with the
previous century and a half. In the past we had the all-embracing coverage of,
for example, Krause’s Die Gymnastik und Agonistik der Hellenen, Jüthner’s
Die athletischen Leibesübungen der Griechen, Gardiner’s Greek Athletic Sports and
Festivals and Athletics of the Ancient World and Harris’s Greek Athletes and Athletics
and Sport in Greece and Rome.2 As the titles indicate, each author covered a full
spectrum of Greek athletics. But the history of Greek sport is now regarded as
part of Greek social history—an important advance. Thus Golden regards the rise
of Greek sport as occasioned by an increasing need among the Greeks to mark
boundaries between Greeks and non-Greeks, men and women,3 while Scanlon
emphasizes sexual causal factors, such as the influence of increasingly open
homosexuality on athletic nudity, and athletic practice in his view reflecting
(e.g. through age divisions) initiation practices.4 But this newer, often
interdisciplinary approach has to be handled with caution. The application to

1
Davies (this volume) 48 ff.
2
Krause (1841); Jüthner (1965–8); Gardiner (1910) and (1930); Harris (1964) and (1972).
3 4
Golden (1998) 177. Scanlon (2002) 64–97, 211–12.
72 stephen instone
Greek athletics of theories whose original application lay elsewhere can lead to
questionable conclusions in this area of Greek studies as in any other. Sansone
sees Greek sport as an activity analogous to sacrifice: the author’s belief that the
stade race at Olympia was originally run to the altar of Zeus shows that ‘the
athlete is the sacrificial victim’; though, when he turns attention to the victors’
crowns, these are a vestige of hunters’ camouflage suggesting that the athlete is in
origin a successful hunter or sacrificer.5 We see here an amalgam of ideas
connected with sacrifice applied somewhat unhappily to Greek athletics. Young
has shown how it can be a mistake to see ancient Greek sport as something
substantially different from its modern counterpart, especially regarding rewards
and the social status of athletes.6 He drew attention to IG 112 2311 (an inscription
from the first half of the fourth century),7 arguing that a winner in the men’s
stadion at the Panathenaea in the fourth century won a quantity of olive oil
(perhaps 80 amphorae of it, say 6,000 UK pints if you allow 40 litres per
amphora) equating in value to something like £25,000—or what the winner of
the London Marathon might receive as first prize. Hence the title of his book,
The Olympic Myth of Greek Amateur Athletics: top Greek athletes had the potential
to be as mercenary, and in that respect professional, as top athletes nowadays. His
main point, that Greek athletes were in an important way just like modern ones,
itself a reaction against the de Coubertin myth that ancient Greek athletes were
strictly amateurs, was taken to extremes in the article on athletics in the second
edition of The Oxford Classical Dictionary, in which Howland, himself an
international athlete, wrote ‘It seems unlikely that the Greeks would ever have
stripped completely naked for events involving running, though it was an artistic
convention, even in early times . . . to portray athletes naked’.8 Why Howland
believed it ‘unlikely that the Greeks competed naked for events involving
running’, he did not say, but, influenced more by a vision of ancient Greek athletics
coloured by the modern revival of the Olympics than by the ancient evidence, he
thought that modern athletic practice regarding clothing could throw light on
this area of ancient Greek athletics. What emerges from this brief look at past
scholarship is that ancient Greek athletic practice is nowadays interpreted within
the larger framework of Greek life in general, not as an isolated phenomenon, but
that it can be difficult to determine the aspects which are in essence distinctively
Greek. This has a bearing on what follows, because in determining the origins of
the Olympics and of the events in the Olympic programme, distinctively Greek
causal factors such as Greek religion, Greek competitiveness, Greek sexual
practice, have to be weighed against factors common to human nature in
general, the human urge to run, to fight, to win, etc.

5 6
Sansone (1988) 83, 85–7; cf. Hornblower (2004) 5. Young (1984) 115–33.
7 8
For a discussion of the inscription, see Johnston (1987). Howland (1970).
 o ri gi ns o f t he o lympi c s 73
The two main questions needing answers are: (1) What caused Olympia to turn
from being solely a sanctuary of Zeus to being a venue for athletics competitions?
(2) Why did the athletics competitions take the form they did? These two
questions have in recent years, despite an increased interest in Greek athletics,
been somewhat neglected.9 Regarding the first question, a mere sanctuary of
Zeus is what Olympia was in its pre-athletics days, as Morgan has reaffirmed,
since terracotta figurines of Zeus found at the site make it clear that the cult of
Zeus at Olympia was practised in the early tenth century.10 After the inception
of the games, worship of Zeus continued to take place alongside athletics
competitions, but what prompted this new dimension to religious worship,
worship with athletics? Regarding the second question, why the athletics
competitions took the form they did, why for example in the first 17 Olympics
were there according to tradition only running events (and these three in
particular, the stadion, diaulos, and the dolichos)? Why no boxing or wrestling
or chariot-racing despite their evident popularity (witness Homer), and why was
a mule-cart race ever introduced at all (in 500 bc and lasting half a century before
being thrown out of the Olympic programme)? What we are asking here is what
factors shaped the development of the Olympic programme. We must not forget
that from 776 to 728 there was probably the stadion race and nothing else, if the
chronological tradition is to be trusted.
Let us consider the first question. The archaeological evidence suggests that
prior to 776, Olympia was primarily a numinous meeting point for those among
the inhabitants of the west Peloponnese wishing to make dedications to Zeus, an
arena for the enactment of political concerns, perhaps, but not subject to a
mother-state.11 Davies, too, earlier in this volume, mentioned liberation from
political control as a factor influencing the development of the other great
festivals.12 One way of harmonizing the religious and the physical aspects of
Olympia is to suppose that, just as dedication of material goods served to
articulate social status among the higher-standing visitors—one has to imagine
them vying with one another to outdo each other in dedicatory expense—simi-
larly, athletics competitions emerged as the means whereby each of the ‘local
chiefs’ could assert superiority physically: ‘The idea of an athletic festival would
accord well with a picture of competition between local elites’.13 The fact that
Olympia was outside any polis would have made it particularly suitable for this
sort of individual as opposed to group/polis activity. This is not to say that the
area was devoid of local inhabitants; indeed, the shrine may have been founded

9
For a view on the first question, placing the rise of Olympia within more general polis-development,
see Pemberton (2002b).
10
Morgan (1990) 26; cf. Cartledge (1985) 105; Kyrieleis (2002b) 213–20; Eder (2001a) 201–8.
11 12 13
Morgan (1990) 191, 219. Davies (this volume) 62. Morgan (1990) 92.
74 stephen instone
precisely to serve a local population.14 This is a hypothesis which attempts to
fit the archaeology and the athletics into a larger social and political context.
It is tempting to try to fill in the early history of Olympia and the Olympic
Games from stories in Strabo and Pausanias about the growth of Elis. According
to Strabo, ‘After the Trojan War the Aetolians, under the leadership of
Oxylus . . . enlarged Elis and not only seized most of Pisatis but also got Olympia
under their power. What is more, the Olympic Games are an invention of theirs’
(8. 3. 30); according to Pausanias, it was Iphitus, a descendant of Oxylus, who
‘arranged the games of Olympia and re-established afresh the Olympic festival
and the Olympic truce all over again’ (5. 4. 5). But the value of these accounts, and
their relevance to eighth-century history, are questionable. Strabo’s chronology is
extremely vague; we should probably regard him as here explaining by reference
to mythical origins the expansion of Elis and politicization of the area in the sixth
century.15 However, if one looks at the list of victors in Eusebius’ Chronica,
generally thought to derive in the first instance from Sextus Julius Africanus in the
third century ad, the first few Olympics dated to post-776 were predominantly
local events as all the victors listed are local: 3 out of the first 5 stadion-winners are
from Elis (but after the Elean victor at the 5th Olympiad no Elean stadion victor
again until the 52nd), and 7 out of the first 11 from neighbouring Messene;
Spartan victors enter the list at the 15th Olympiad, and then between the 24th
and 50th there are 17 Spartan stadion-victors. One way of construing this evi-
dence is to suggest that interest in Olympia as an athletics venue widened
geographically in the course of time after 776—even if one is tempted to discount
the earliest Elean victor, Coroebus, as a fabrication invented later to justify Elean
control of the Games. Given this picture, the Olympic truce may in origin have
been a means of combating local political strife that might otherwise have
prevented the games, rather than what it later became, namely a guarantee of
safe conduct for the games throughout Greece.
But to what extent did the political dimension really influence the development
of Olympia from sanctuary to games venue before that time (776)? One problem
with the view that the introduction of games at a hitherto purely religious venue
was a means for local chiefs to decide which of them was best, is that we know for
certain nothing about the status of the early victors. The first recorded Olympic
victor, Coroebus is said to have been a cook, though the evidence for this,
a boastful cook in Athenaeus (9. 382c) makes it a matter of doubt. More
importantly, if there was an Olympic Truce from 776 during the time of the

14
For details of finds, both figurative and architectural, in Elis from the 11th cent. onwards, see Eder
and Mitsopoulos-Leon (1999), and Eder (2001b); for the Proto-Geometric graves from Elis, see Eder
(2001c).
15
For Strabo’s ‘historical’ methods, see Clarke (1999) chs. 4–6 passim; for Pausanias’, see Habicht (1985)
95–116; see also Morgan (2003) 75–6, 80.
 o ri gi ns o f the o lympi c s 75
games to allow them to continue without interference, is it plausible to suppose
that they were used as a means to decide political supremacy?
Although it is especially difficult to separate religion from politics at this early
period of Greek history, nevertheless religion rather than politics may have been
the major factor giving rise to athletics at Olympia. A model for the development
of Greek athletics, with the emphasis on religion as the primary causal factor,
might go as follows. Running is a feature of Greek festivals even when not part
of formal athletics competitions. The Karneia festival had grape-runners,
staphylodromoi: a runner is deliberately caught, success in the ‘hunt’ indicating
success for the polis thereafter according to Burkert;16 at the Oschophoria in
Athens, a festival held in honour of Athena Skiras, there is evidence to suggest
that ephebes raced from the temple of Dionysus to Phaleron, and the winner
drank a fivefold cup of oil, wine, barley, cheese and flour.17 There is a connection
between the gods and athletics: the general idea behind these examples is that
success in competition shows that the god in whose honour the festival is held is
there and responsive, in accordance with the fundamental Greek idea that
success requires the help of a god. What this leads to is the idea that athletics
was a natural extension, or even part, of religion, the participants at the festival
validating the power of the gods through success in competition, in athletics
competition in particular because the gods help in particular those physically
successful.
This train of thought does not require that athletics contests, including the
Olympics, developed from funeral games, the Burkert/Meuli hypothesis being
that the ‘prize contest proceeds from the grief and rage of those affected by the
death’.18 It is true that some games may have been prompted by a hero’s death;
it is obviously true of the funeral games for Patroclus in the Iliad, and for
Amphidamas at which Hesiod won (Op. 654–7). And the epitaphios agōn (‘funeral
games’) existed as much as the epitaphios logos (‘funeral oration’): not surprisingly,
for the games, with their basis in individual physical excellence, demonstrate the
essence of what it was to be a hero, to excel physically. But the hypothesis that the
death of a particular hero prompted each of the four major games works better
for the Nemean Games than for the Isthmian, Pythian, or Olympic Games.
Although the first shrine of Opheltes at Nemea dates to the sixth century
when games started there,19 there is no shrine of the Greek period to

16
Burkert (1985) 234–6.
17
See Rutherford and Irvine (1988) 43–51; Hornblower (2004) 252–4. Torch-races were common to
many festivals, generally a race to the altar to light the flame there, with the first to touch the altar the
winner, see RE xii s.v. ¸Æ Ææ
Æ (J. Jüthner); but they probably do not pre-date the 5th cent., see
Parisinou (2000) 36–44, Morgan (this volume).
18
Burkert (1985) 106.
19
Morgan (1990) 216, 227, Miller (2002) 247.
76 s t e p he n i n s t o n e
Melikertes-Palaimon at Isthmia,20 Python was a python, not a regular hero, and
there is a stumbling-block with Pelops, because, although cultic finds in the
Pelopeion go back to the tenth or eleventh centuries, the beginning of the
Pelopeion as specifically a sanctuary to Pelops and hence of the hero-cult of
Pelops dates much later, perhaps to the start of the seventh century.21 This
accords well with the date at which chariot-racing was introduced into the
Olympic programme (680): Pelops, and the myth of his gaining the hand of
Hippodameia by winning a chariot race, validate the Olympic event. In the
course of time, as the chariot event came to be regarded as the supreme event,
Pelops could be regarded as glorifying the whole Olympic programme, as he
does in Olympian 1.22 But as far as the Olympics are concerned, it is not clear that
Pelops’ death occasioned their first celebration, and certainly nothing Pindar says
in Olympian 1, and he has a lot to say about Pelops in that poem, suggests so.
The hypotheseis (‘introductions’) to the scholia on Pindar have already been
referred to by Davies in his chapter.23 Coupled with the funeral games for
Patroclus, they might appear to support the idea that the Olympics have their
origins in funeral games for a dead hero.24 But, first, the scholia to Pindar are
notoriously unreliable on historical matters: hypoth. P. b and d give a different
explanation for the origin of the Pythian Games (having nothing to do with
Python’s death), and the hypothesis to the Olympians themselves, and the scholia
on the parts of Olympian 1 mentioning Pelops, say nothing about Pelops having a
role in the origin of the Olympic Games; those scholia that do give a role to dead
heroes in the establishment of the games owe more to Hellenistic scholars’ search
for aitia (‘origins’) than to eighth-century bc causal factors. Second, it is not
clear why, for example, the epitaphios agōn for Patroclus should be thought to be a
reflection of universal practice any more than the prizes given in those games, or
the remarkably compassionate conduct of the master of ceremonies, Achilles,
should be regarded as typical: contests could be linked to a variety of different
types of event, not only funerals but also marriage, military victory, and
gods per se,25 even to nothing at all as evidenced by the games in Phaeacia
(Od. 8. 97–255), and Il. 4. 370–400 where Agamemnon encourages Diomedes
by recalling the courage of his father Tydeus when he challenged the Thebans to

20
The elaboration of the cult of Melikertes/Palaimon there, as opposed to the myth about him alluded
to in Pindar fr. 6, seems to be Roman; Morgan (1999a) 341–2, 427–8; for an earlier dating see Gebhard and
Dickie (1999).
21
Mallwitz (1988a) 79–89; cf. Kyrieleis (2002b) 219, though it is thought-provoking that the area
eventually chosen for a shrine had a large EH lll tumulus still visible.
22
93–5 e b Œº

 ºŁ 

æŒ A  ˇºı Øø K æ
Ø —
º

.
23
Davies (this volume) 47–8.
24
See esp. hypoth. I. a, init.: Kº
F
b
ƒ ƺÆØ
d  IªH K ØØ ºıŒØ:
KºE
ªaæ › b  ˇºı ØŒe fiH ˜Ød Øa e —
º
Æ.
25
Scanlon (2002) 26–9.
 origins of the o lympics 77
contests: once Tydeus went to Thebes and found a large party of Cadmeians at
dinner in the palace of prince Eteocles. Now as a visitor, alone among a crowd
of strangers, even the gallant Tydeus might have felt some qualms. ‘But
he challenged them to games and won every one easily’ (Iºº ‹ ª IŁºØ
æ
ŒÆº%
; Æ  KŒÆ j ÞØø). The only way in which these could
be said to have been funeral games is in virtue of the fact that subsequently
forty-two Thebans, annoyed that they had been beaten in the games, ambushed
Tydeus—and he killed all of them (bar one)! Cartledge’s conclusion must be
right: ‘The old theory which explained all athletic games as originating in burial
rites for heroes, such as the funeral games held by Achilles for Patroclus in the
Iliad, is now discredited’.26
Cartledge himself advocated religious origins of a different sort: ‘The
suggestion that running races and competitive games in general were conceived
originally as contributing to maintain the energies of nature, following a regular
cycle, is attractive’.27 But there is little to support this hypothesis. How exactly is
running supposed to have been thought to contribute to maintaining nature’s
energies? The thesis would be more convincing if there were something
in Hesiod’s Works and Days to support it. Hesiod advocates hard physical
work, even the need to sweat to reach your goal (Op. 289–90), the benefits of
vying against others (21–6), and the need to sow, plough, and harvest naked
(391–2). Athletics is not far away from Hesiod’s philosophy of agriculture, but it
would be difficult to invent a persuasive causal chain beyond the supposition
that fit men would tend to do better in an active outdoor competitive life
of agriculture.
The conclusion has to be that many factors could have influenced the rise of
Greek athletics at Olympia. But it is impossible to know which, if any, was the
most important factor, though I suspect that religion was, or how much weight
to give to each. This verdict may come as a disappointment, but is actually of
some interest, reminding us of the extent to which both physical competitiveness
and religion were integral to Greek life in general, and how athletics, therefore,
was naturally open to a multitude of influences. The second of the two main
questions that needed answering was why the athletics competitions took the
form they did. I do not propose to discuss in detail every single Olympic event,
but to comment on only a selected few.
I have suggested a reason why a running event in general may have come to
form part of the Olympic festival, as a means of validating the power of Zeus, and
have also pointed out that for the first thirteen Olympiads the only running event
was the stadion. But why was the stadion race the length it was, 192 metres at

26
Cartledge (1985) 106.
27
Cartledge (1985) 107; cf. Morgan (1990) 43; Swaddling (1999) 12.
78 stephen instone
Olympia and a similar length elsewhere? A combination of the evidence
of Philostratus (third century ad) and speculative reconstructions of the
archaeological evidence have led some28 to suppose that the stadion originated
as a run specifically to the altar of Zeus: ‘The single-stade dash competition was
invented in this way. When the Eleans sacrificed, they placed offerings on the
altar, but they did not light the fire. Runners took their place a stade from the
altar and in front of the altar stood a priest with a torch, serving as a judge. The
victor in the race set fire to the offerings and went away as an Olympic winner’
(Gym. 5);29 compare what Philostratus says about the supposed origins of the
diaulos (a race to the end of the stadium and back): ‘When the Eleans made their
sacrifices, all the ambassadors for the Greeks who were present were required to
offer sacrifice. So that their arrival should have some dignity, runners ran from
the altar as if to invite the legation and then doubled back as if to announce that
the Greeks should approach them’ (Gym. 6). But the evidence of Philostratus has
to be used with caution: we also read that ‘The Spartans invented boxing and
Polydeuces was the best at it’ (Gym. 9), ‘Wrestling and the pankration were
introduced because of their application to war’ (Gym. 11). And there is some
doubt that the altar of Zeus was ever the end point.30 If this Ur-stadion race was
within the Altis and ended at or very near the altar of Zeus, it would probably
have been less than 100 metres, compared to the 192 metres it came to be when
the stadium that exists today was constructed; the topography of Olympia itself
may have played a part in determining the 192-metre length, the south side of the
hill of Kronos being very approximately 200 m in length.31
In anticipation of what comes below, another factor determining the length of
the Olympic stadion race, even allowing for slight fluctuations in length during
its early years, may have been a military one, the distance being roughly that
which soldiers were used to in training for, after the initial hurl of the spear,
running up to stab a fallen enemy. Although Coroebus may have been a cook, the
military influence on the Olympics came to be substantial. This is most apparent
with the introduction into the programme in 520 of the race in armour, but one
can suggest also that the reason why, from the 14th Olympics in 724 there was the
diaulos in addition to the stadion and then at the very next Olympics in 720 the
dolichos (probably twelve laps) was added, was as a reflection of three basic
stages of early Greek warfare, the stadion being, as mentioned, the purely athletic
counterpart of the ‘run up and stab’, the diaulos (there and back) being the
athletic counterpart of the military ‘run up and stab and retreat as quickly as

28
Burkert (1985) 106; Swaddling (1999) 29.
29
For the stade as a unit of measurement, see Bauslaugh (1979) 5–6 with n. 22: in Thucydides, at least,
the length varies from c.130 m to c.260 m, perhaps reflecting regional variations in the length of stadia.
30
Golden (1998) 23.
31
For an attempt to squeeze the earliest stadium into the Altis, see Brulotte (1994).
 origins o f t he olympics 79
possible’, and the dolichos (12 laps at Olympia) reflecting the long-distance rout.
The Iliad provides some examples of military counterparts to the three races.
For the stadion, Il. 13. 806–7: ‘Time and again Hector dashed up and probed the
enemy line at various points as he charged under cover of his shield’; for the
diaulos, Il. 15. 567–91 where Antilochus is urged by Menelaus to sally out and
bring a Trojan down, so throws his spear, brings down Melanippus, rushes at
him, but then, confronted by him, withdraws: ‘He leapt out from the front line,
took a quick look round, and let fly with his glittering lance. The Trojans sprang
back from his spear-cast. But noble Hector, who had seen what he had done,
came running through the mêlée to confront him; and Antilochus, for all his
gallantry, did not await his coming. He turned tail like a wild beast that has
committed the enormity of killing a dog or a man in charge of the cattle, and
takes to his heels before a crowd collects to chase him. Thus the son of Nestor
fled, pursued by deafening cries and a hail of deadly missiles from the Trojans and
Hector. But directly he reached his own company, he turned round and stood.’
There, perhaps, we have a precursor of the diaulos. For the dolichos, Il. 5. 87–8:
‘Diomedes stormed across the plain like a winter torrent’; or Il. 11. 158–69: as
Agamemnon routs the Trojans, ‘the routed Trojans were mown down by the
onslaught of Agamemnon son of Atreus . . . Hector was withdrawn by the hand
of Zeus and Atreides was left to sweep on . . . by noon the fleeing Trojans, in their
eagerness to reach the city, were past the barrow made in olden days for Ilus son
of Dardanus, past the wild fig-tree, and half-way over the plain. And still they
were chased by Atreides with his terrible war cry’, long-distance running par
excellence. So in Homer there are signs of the three distances that came to form
the Olympic programme, even if there remains the possibility that pre-existing
athletics practice itself shaped the nature of Homeric fighting.
An argument for trying to discern military origins for these three running
events is that for other events (javelin, race in armour) military origins are self-
evident. Throwing the discus, too, has military origins. The event is a descendant
of stone-throwing which was a games event in its own right, though not at the
Olympics, and was a recognized form of military combat (Il. 4. 517–26, Diores is
hit by a jagged stone on the right leg near the ankle). In the funeral games for
Patroclus one competition is ‘throwing the solos’, a weight of raw metal, an
object intermediate between a jagged stone and an aerodynamic discus (Il. 23.
826–49); and when the discus-throw evolved, the weight of surviving
ancient discuses suggests that it was a strength-event in keeping with its origins
in stone-throwing.32

32
For weights of some surviving discuses, see Gardiner (1930) 154–6. Pindar’s version of the first
Olympics has Nikeus win by throwing a stone or rock further than anyone else (O. 10. 72).
80 stephen instone
It is hard to know to what extent one should posit military origins for other
events. Chariots in warfare, therefore chariot races? The four-horse chariot race at
Olympia was approximately nine miles long. To judge from Pindar, the event was
designed to be as arduous and dangerous as possible; in one poem we are told
that the victor was the lone survivor of forty chariots that started (Pythian 5.
49–53). The ‘no pain, no gain’ ethos was clearly a factor moulding the nature of
the event, but perhaps also the idea that if you cannot in the games use your
chariot to defeat a real enemy, do the next best thing, annihilate as many as
possible of the opposition qua opposing competitors; thus the chariot race in the
games is a peacetime version of war, ‘pretend war’. One can compare, for
example, the end of Iliad 20, Achilles on the rampage in his chariot, and the
messenger’s speech from Sophocles’ Electra, describing the death of Orestes in an
imaginary but realistic account of the Pythian Games: ‘at their imperious master’s
will the horses of Achilles with their massive hooves trampled dead men and
shields alike with no more ado than when a farmer has yoked a pair of broad-
fronted cattle to trample the white barley on a threshing-floor and his lowing
bulls tread out the grain. The axle under his chariot, and the rails that ran round
it, were sprayed by the blood thrown up by the horses’ hooves and by the wheel-
rims. And the son of Peleus pressed on in search of glory, bespattering his
unconquerable hands with gore’ (Il. 20. 495–503). ‘At the last lap he misjudged
the turn, slackened the left rein before the horse was safely round the bend, and
so fouled the post. The hub was smashed across, and he was hurled over the rail
entangled in the severed reins, and as he fell his horses ran wild across the
course . . . the people saw him pinned to the ground, now rolled head over
heels, till at last the other drivers got his runaway horses under control and
extricated the poor mangled body, so bruised and bloody that not one of his
friends could have recognized him’ (Electra 743–56).33
Pindar is aware of the analogies between the games and war: both are contests
IæA 
æØ, ‘in pursuit of excellence’ (O 3. 37), so the victorious athlete and the
victorious fighter are similarly glorious (e.g. I. 1. 50 n  I  I
Łº
Ø j

º %ø ¼æÆØ ŒF
 ±æ, ‘whoever in the games or when at war wins
splendid glory’). Aegina, like Sparta, was famous for athletes and war (P. 8. 25–7)
and several of Pindar’s Sicilian patrons were both generals and games competi-
tors. But while there is clearly an interaction of ethos between athletics and the
military, it is hard to be certain about what causal mechanism was at work.
Perhaps one should admit the likelihood of more than one: the relationship
between athletics and war need not have been all one way, warfare shaping
athletics; athletics could be a training-ground for war, as Nicias argues in the
Laches: ‘we [soldiers] are athletes taking part in a contest, and the only people

33
Cf. van Bremen, this volume, p. 336.
 o ri gi ns o f the o lympi c s 81
who get training for the conditions under which we have to compete are those who
are trained in the use of military equipment. So later on this discipline [hoplomachia,
‘fighting in armour’] will be of some benefit in an actual confrontation’ (182a).34
Equally, experience in war could have been, and doubtless was so for the Spartans,
a training-ground for the athlete.35 Yet there are fundamental differences: one did
not generally compete to the death in athletics, or at least one did not aim to, and in
athletics the primary victor was the individual not the state. It is tempting to admit
psychological causal factors too, athletics as a relatively safe outlet for the
aggression and rivalry otherwise seen on the battlefield, functioning rather as
Aristotle saw Greek tragedy as working on the emotional front. But to see the
military side of the ancient Olympics as dominant rather than an aspect can lead to
overstatements as Cartledge’s suggestion, paraphrasing Clausewitz that, ‘The
ancient Olympics were the continuation of war with or by other, political means’.36
Pindar in Olympian 10 (24–85) gives an account of the first Olympics and their
origins that has both a military and a religious flavour. Heracles founded them,
having gathered together all his army (43–4) after his victory over the Moliones
and Augeas, king of Elis, who had refused to pay him for cleaning his stables. They
were held in honour of Zeus, to whom he dedicated the best of his victory spoils.
The winner of the first stadion, Oionus, is made analogous to Heracles, because he
too had come from the Argolid leading his army; Doryclus, winner of the boxing,
like Heracles had come from Tiryns; and Niceus, who won the stone-throwing
event was applauded by his fighting companions (ı ÆÆ 72). Some have seen
an anti-Elean bias in the way Pindar says that Oionus and Doryclus came from the
Argolid, and Niceus and Samus (winner of the chariot race) from cities in
Arkadia;37 more likely, he is simply adopting his regular strategy of imbuing the
victors with characteristics taken from the mythical figures (here Heracles). The
military slant to the presentation of these first victors is also relevant to the
recipient of Olympian 10 himself: Hagesidamus came from Epizephyrian Lokri
in southern Italy, a city famed for its military prowess (O. 10. 14–15; 11. 19).
Perhaps the most problematic single event, one which has no obvious military
connections, is the long-jump, part of the pentathlon, where haltēres, jumping-
weights, were used, weighing on average between two and four pounds each.
What was the point of these and how were they used? Gardiner claimed, ‘The
jump in the pentathlon was, it seems, a running long-jump with weights’; Harris
thought a running jump was done but that it was a double jump, Swaddling that it

34
A famous example of a great athlete becoming a great fighter in war is the pankratiast Poulydamas, an
Olympic victor who challenged and killed three of the Immortals, the special guard of the Persian kings, in
the time of Darius II, 424–404 bc (Paus. 6. 5. 7).
35
On the interaction between war and athletics, see Hornblower (2004) 50–1.
36
Cartledge (1985) 113.
37
Cf. Huxley (1975) 38–40; Hornblower (2004) 113–14.
82 stephen instone
was a double or triple jump, Ebert that it was a quintuple standing jump, taking
their cue from Themistius’ comment (on Aristotle, Physics 5. 3) that the Greek long-
jump is an example of discontinuous motion. A multiple jump would perhaps get
us near Phayllus’ famed leap of 50 ft. (or 55 ft. according to some sources).38
But the problem is that, although either a standing jump or running jump(s) can
be done holding weights, it is not clear that weights do in fact facilitate such jumps,
despite what has been written on the subject.39 Harris even went so far as to say that
weights can help a high-jumper.40 I myself wonder whether weights were used for a
different purpose, to make the event more arduous. This would be in keeping with
the ethos of other events in the ancient Olympics which seem to have deliberately
been made as hard as possible—for example, running while wearing armour, driving
a chariot nine miles, the pankration—and perhaps explains a curious feature of the
Olympic programme, the absence of the high jump, it being regarded as too much a
matter of skill and too little a matter of physical strength. It is also possible that the
use in this way of weights for jumping could have derived from military training:
weights were used in order to make the jump harder to perform, because that
traditionally was how soldiers had trained to get fitter.41
Another odd event was the mule-cart race. But it lasted only 14 Olympiads
(500–448 bc), though long enough to prompt Pindar to compose O. 6 and (if
authentic) O. 5 for victors in the event. The event was probably instituted at the
instigation of the Sicilian tyrants, Sicily being famous for its mules, as an easy way
to boost the country’s prestige; it stopped being part of the Olympic programme
soon after the end of the Sicilian tyranny.
Despite such novelties, and subsequently competitions for heralds and trum-
peters were introduced (396 bc), the programme of events remained traditional
and focused on athletics, in contrast to the Pythian, Isthmian, and Nemean
Games, with their musical and other competitions. But the factors that moulded
the nature of the Olympics, religious, political, military, social, moral, were
remarkably many, because athletics in the sense of physical competitiveness
permeated so many aspects of Greek life. No single causal factor fully explains
either why the Olympics originated in the first place, or why the programme
developed in the way it did; both their birth and their development were like the
birth and development of life itself on earth, explicable but not fully knowable.42

38
Gardiner (1930) 144; Harris (1964) 80–5; Swaddling (1999) 71; Ebert (1963) 62.
39
Aristotle, On the Progression of Animals 705a16–17,
ƒ 
ÆŁº
Ø –ºº
ÆØ ºE
 !
 
f
±ºBæÆ j c !
. More recently, Minetti and Ardigó (2002) 141–2.
40
Harris (1964) 81.
41
I owe this suggestion to Professor Herwig Maehler.
42
I am greatly indebted to Professors Catherine Morgan and Simon Hornblower for their comments
on an earlier draft of this essay.
 four
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Pindar, Athletes, and the Early Greek Statue Habit

R. R. R. Smith

My subject is victor statues at Olympia and elsewhere in the fifth century bc, seen
as an early and important part of the statue habit in antiquity. They are a good
example of how statues marked special priorities, both by their numbers and by
their visual styling. Naked victor statues were to the fifth century what honorific
statues wearing the citizen suit of himation and chiton were to the Hellenistic
period—defining components of their times. Pindar stands behind the victor
statues as a key text for the whole phenomenon.1

Athletic contest was special for Pindar’s generation. Victory was felt to
be exquisitely sweet, and was savoured in extravagant poems and publicly
memorialized in astonishing statues. Victory was personal, individual, and in-
tensely desirable because so many wanted what so few could have. The charisma
of success (kleos) could be achieved in this realm, it was argued by Pindar and
his customers, only by an unusual combination of money, training, inborn
excellence (good birth), divine favour, and a special kind of swaggering self-
assertion. This was a combination of attributes that of course only the very best of
men could aspire to.
My purpose is to try to describe some aspects of this time-specific phenomenon
through its statues and how the last generation of Archaic privilege rode the back
of the contemporary revolution in statue-making. After a few words on the statue
habit and this revolution (Sections 1–2), we will look at Olympia and its victor
statues and what we can say of their appearance and their makers (3–5). Finally,
I focus on monuments for chariot victories, the grandest of athletic dedications,
and on two surviving examples—the charioteer statues from Delphi and Motya
(6). Pindar is the best way into the thought-world of fifth-century victor statues,
all the more so because his poems say so little explicitly about them. The statues
were, however, a forceful and unavoidable part of his environment.
1
This paper was written for two seminar series of autumn 2002, the one in London out of which this
volume has come, organized by the two editors, and another in Oxford organized by John Ma and the
author on ‘The Statue Habit in Ancient Greek Society’. I am grateful to the participants of both seminars
for their constructive comments. I offer warm thanks also to François Queyrel and Marcello Barbanera for
help in acquiring photographs.
84 r. r. r. smith

1. the statue habit

Statues were everywhere in the ancient world and represent a huge investment in
useless public symbols. This habit is a strange phenomenon and was a distinctive
feature of Greek and Roman culture. It had a definite beginning, around 600 bc,
and a definite end, around ad 600. The statues’ unchanging features can be easily
summarized. They were big lumps of bronze or painted marble, fashioned in
human form, wearing real-looking clothes and hairstyles, standing in life-like
postures (Figs. 1, 2).2 They were set up on separate inscribed bases that gave their
identity and specified the role and occasion they marked. A statue without its
inscribed base became a piece of anonymous art. With its inscription, it was a
functioning image in a particular setting. No other culture before or since
has deployed so many large, public, three-dimensional figures of stone and
metal—not even ancient Egypt.3 As a total phenomenon it certainly bears little
resemblance to sculpture in the modern era.
The statues were potent markers of various interests. They had no practical
function and were made for the most part of materials of low intrinsic worth but
worked with detailed elaboration that carried high added value. They were both
expensively worked totems and highly articulate figured images. Greek statues,
free-standing in real postures in the open, thus attempted a thoroughgoing
coincidence of subject and object, of the image and its support. Greek statue
use arose from and served a display culture closely orientated around the persons
and bodies of the ‘best’ men and of the gods and heroes who had the same human
form and character. In classical statues, support and image, object and subject,
signifier and signified, were collapsed before the viewer. The full extent of this
identification is evident in the way ancient writers talk of statues as people: ‘Near
Kleogenes are Deinolochos, son of Pyrrhos, and Troilos son of Alkinoos’, writes
Pausanias of a group of fourth-century victor monuments at Olympia (6. 1. 4).
The statue habit made a big impact on ancient consciousness and generated a
large and diverse literature. There was a whole catgeory of epigram devoted to
statues, called andriantopoiika.4 There were statue histories written from the point
of view of the craft and lives of the statue-makers (Xenokrates, Antigonos, Duris).
And descriptive works were written from the point of view of the function
and subjects of the statues (Heliodoros, Pausanias).5 In Pliny the Elder’s
universal natural history, nearly two books out of forty are taken up with statues

2
Aristodikos: Karouzos (1961). Riace: Borrelli and Pelagatti (1984).
3
There were crucial differences in Egyptian statue practice. Egyptian stone statues were usually
attached to a back pillar, and functioned like a high relief, carrying in their form and support a prominent
aspect of being an object and a monument. They were also much fewer in absolute numbers, and more
often hidden inside temple complexes out of view of the laity.
4
This is a heading given in the new Posidippos papyrus: Austin and Bastianini (2002) 21.
5
Excellent introduction to this ancient statue literature still in Jex-Blake and Sellers (1896) xiii–lxxxii;
briefer, Pollitt (1974) 73–81.
 p i n d a r , a t h l e t e s , a n d t he s ta tu e h a b i t 85

Fig. 1. Grave kouros of Aristodikos. Youthful Fig. 2. Riace B. Naked bearded warior, with helmet,
naked statue with late Archaic hairstyle and spear, and shield (now missing). Bronze statue, H: 1.97 m.
inscribed base. ‘(sc. sēma) of Aristodikos’. Parian From sea off Riace Marina (S. Italy), c. 460–50 bc. Reggio
marble, H: 1.95 m. From near Mount Olympos in Calabria, Museo Nazionale
SE Attica, c. 500–480 bc. Athens, NM 3938
86 r. r. r. smith
as exemplars of stones and metals (NH 34 and 36). Their part in his encyclopedia
is revealing of the large mental space that statues occupied in the ancient imagination.

Numbers, contexts, colour

It is both their character as real-looking figures in the round, standing in the same
space as the viewer, and their huge quantities that make the phenomenon so
significant, so peculiar. Extant numbers alone are large: there survive, for
example, over 200 marble kouroi from the sixth century bc and over 15,000 marble
portraits from the first and second centuries ad.6 And a considerable proportion of
the surviving epigraphy of the later Greek and Roman periods consists of inscribed
statue bases. Guesses at real totals produced7 mean less than densities we can grasp
at one site or in one locale. For example, on Delos, the dromos that leads from the
harbour to the sanctuary of Apollo had about ninety statue monuments
(third–second centuries bc) set up in front of the flanking stoas; and the forum
of Djemila in Tunisia (ancient Cuicul) displayed about seventy statue monuments
(second–fourth centuries ad).8 The norm was for slow dense accretions of statues
in highly significant locations.
Each statue had a specific function and setting—in a sanctuary, cemetery, or
public space. Each stood at the centre of a set of relationships and negotiations
between (1) the person or collective initiating and paying for the statue, (2) the
god, hero, or notable person represented, (3) the statue-maker and his workshop,
and (4) the section of public aimed at in that setting. We can reduce these
participants to their modern equivalents—patron, subject, artist, viewer—but we
miss something of the ancient historical situation in doing so and can easily
misconstrue the character, balance, and nature of the negotiations involved. In
antiquity the initiator(s) and subject of a statue were primary: the initiator-buyer
had to be identified clearly in an accompanying inscription, and the subject could
also be named and/or might be identified by the statue’s iconography. Adding the
maker’s name was always optional. The presentation or styling of the figure was
shaped by the interests of the initiating buyer and his public, who were informed
both by earlier images and by the real and expected appearance of the subject.
The maker’s technē, his art, was not a goal in itself but rather the means to achieve
what patron, subject, and public wanted—a collective vision of excellence.
The colouring and real-looking character of ancient statues needs emphasis.
For us, ancient marbles bleached white without eyes and hair colour are easily put
6
Kouroi: Richter (1970), but without much of the fragmentary material, for example from the Ptoion
sanctuary. Roman portraits: Fittschen (1996) 751 for informed recent estimate of 15,000–20,000 for the
imperial period.
7
For example, Snodgrass (1983) 21–2 estimates 20,000 for total Archaic kouros production. For
Augustus alone, Pfanner (1989) 178 estimates an empire-wide total of 25,000–50,000 portraits produced.
8
Delos dromos: Bruneau and Ducat (1983) 117–18, fig. 17. Djemila forum: Zimmer (1989) 17–37, fig. 5.
See also contextual material gathered in Stemmer (1995) and Boschung (2002).
 p in dar , athletes, and the statue habi t 87
into the category ‘art/sculpture’. With their original colour (painted clothes, eyes,
and hair for marbles, polished flesh, inlaid eyes, copper lips for bronzes) they
were intended as real functioning presences or substitutes.9 A primary ancient
response to statues was as real persons: they can speak, sweat, move, be tied up,
flogged, prosecuted, and executed.10 For an ancient viewer, white marble statues
without painted eyes would be blind. The statues are of course also highly
structured and artful compositions, but these aspects, so prominent in our
eyes, would be strongly undercut by realistic colouring.
The statues embodied a creative tension between representation of real-life
forms and powerful ideological styling that cannot be reduced always to terms of
artistic artifice. The statues were so deeply involved as active players in ancient
society that we might also see the different kinds of styled human figure as the
way those real subjects were actually visualized by ancient society. Changing
styles in this perspective represent changing ancient perceptions. They are
markers of real historical-mental shifts.11

Victor statues, 500 bc –ad 300

Athletic competitions and festivals remained a central feature of Greek city life
well into the fourth century ad,12 and statues of victorious athletes were a regular
part of the statue habit up to at least ad 300.13 For example, out of c.250 bases for
public statue honours set up at Aphrodisias in Caria in the Roman period, c.25
were for athletic victors;14 few in overall proportion, but still a substantial
presence. The statues were set off from those of city notables in the phrasing
and conventions of the texts on their bases, and they were also immediately
recognizable as athletes, not merely in terms of athletic postures and attributes
but in terms of their personal styling, physiognomy, and body definition.15
This was true of later Hellenistic and Roman representations of athletes more
generally, from the Terme Boxer to the mosaics from the Baths of Caracalla.16
We see and feel in this difference how in the Hellenistic and Roman period
competitive athletics became a separate sphere of life governed by its own rules
and associations, somewhat apart from that of city leaders and society’s notables.
9
Polychromy: Reuterswärd (1958); Manzelli (1994); Brinkmann (1987); Brinkmann and Koch-
Brinkmann (2002).
10
Much material in: Poulsen (1945); Faraone (1992); S.P. Morris (1992) ch. 8, ‘Magic and sculpture’;
Steiner (2001) ch. 3, ‘The Quick and the Dead’.
11
Similar thoughts more fully elaborated in Smith (2002).
12
Important study with long view: Pleket (1974). See now König (2005).
13
Last at Olympia in the mid-3rd cent.: IvO 243, with Herrmann (1988) 120. Newby (2005) is a new
wide-ranging study.
14
Texts in Roueché (1993).
15
Two boxer statues: Inan and Alföldi-Rosenbaum (1979) nos. 190–1, pls. 143–4.
16
Terme Boxer: Smith (1991) 54, fig. 62. Mosaics from Baths of Caracalla: Dunbabin (1999) 68, fig. 71,
with further refs. See also the remarkable athletic mosaic from a bath building at Batten Zamour near
Gafsa, Tunisia: Blanchard-Lemée, Ennaifer, Slim, and Slim (1996) 190–6, figs. 137–42.
88 r. r. r. smith
This is useful background to understanding the different role played by athletes
and their statues in the early period with which we are here principally concerned.
In the sixth and early fifth centuries bc, the wealthy, the aristocratic, and the class
that competed for political leadership also prized athletic contests as one of their
defining activities. Athletic victories were among the highest symbols of prestige.
The victor’s charisma imbued other areas of activity—something peculiar to this
early period. The use of statues (and praise song) to give this concrete expression
came late, in the late sixth and early fifth century, a period that also saw major shifts
in the statue habit. The early victor statues need to be located within the context of
these far-reaching changes. Athletic victors in search of the highest symbolic
expression of their achievement were as a group both a beneficiary and a catalyst
of these changes. New modes of representation made the athletic statue
fully possible—statues that represented at the same time personal excellence and
an athletic body. The victors’ commissions acted as multipliers in the process.

ma to eiko
2. se
n: the fifth-century revolution in
statue-making
The radical changes in statues in the early fifth century were part of a wide and
deep-seated revolution in Greek visual experience and history. The phenomenon
has a lot of different aspects, a lot of different opinions around it, and no
convincing total theory that will fully explain it.17 I outline in brief a few
necessary basic points with some of my own thoughts and opinions.
Important changes occurred in discrete spheres—in the externals of real life
(clothes, hairstyles, beard styles), in the way human figures were seen and
represented in images (style, modes of representation), in the technologies and
materials of statue-making, and in the functions and contexts of statue display.
Some of these changes were connected, but not in obvious or causal ways, and
each affected athletic statues in different ways.

Real-life changes
The real-life changes were dramatic and amounted to a revolution of social mores
and Hellenic identity. On statues of women, the elaborate hairstyles, ostentatious
jewellery, and brightly patterned and revealing twin-set suits of the later sixth
century korai were replaced abruptly by plain austere hairstyles, little or no
jewellery, and thick sack-like woollen dresses that concealed everything.18 Statues

17
Compare, for example—all with good things and differing perspectives: Gombrich (1960) ch. 4;
Pollitt (1972) ch. 2; Robertson (1975) 171–97; Boulter (1985); Hallett (1986); S. P. Morris (1992) ch. 11;
Hölscher (1998).
18
Korai: Richter (1968); Schneider (1975). ‘Peplos’ statues: Tölle-Kastenbein (1980) and (1986).
 p i n d a r, a thl e t e s , a nd t h e s t a t u e h a b i t 89
of men stop wearing the thin chiton under the himation (the chiton was now
considered effeminate), and stop styling their hair and instead cut it short: no
more thin silky shirts, no more tightly crimped and long-flowing Homeric
locks.19 There were to be no more chitons worn on public statues of men until
the later fourth century, and no more artificial male hairstyling until the later first
century ad, and then first at Rome, under Nero and Hadrian.20 If these changes,
that stand out so prominently in the statues, did not also represent real-life
changes in the personal styling of Greek men and women of the fifth century,
then the expenditure on statues was wasted.

Style and theory: visual truth

The statues were also made with a changed mode of representation. They were
meant to be real-looking in shape, posture, and proportions. Technically, the
change was slight but in conceptual terms it was vast and came with an
explicit theory whose terms we know in outline. Its key terms were as follows.
Rhythmos referred to shape, composition, and postures. Symmetria, ‘commensur-
ability’, referred to consistent overall proportions. And alētheia, ‘truth’, was
observed reality, lifelikeness.21 The new athletic statues were showpieces of
the theory.
Statues made in accordance with the new ideas stand in real contingent
postures, rather than the abstract symbolic postures of the kouros. They occupy
a continuous space with the viewer, and ostensibly they obey the same rules of
time, place, and motion as the viewer ’s. Rhythmos referred to this sense of
immanent potential movement, to the quality of a lifelike posture whether static
or action. Not only do the figures have lifelike individual body parts as kouroi
did, they are now composed with a consistent overall proportionality or
symmetria ‘of all the parts to all the (other) parts’.22 This proportionality
or commensurability was based on accurate observation and precise measure-
ment (akribeia, meaning accuracy and precision, was also a key term) as opposed
to the arbitrary ideological manipulations seen in kouros proportions (huge
thighs and shoulders, small arms, tiny wrists and ankles). The modern
word ‘symmetry’ describes the governing principle of kouroi well, but in fifth-
century visual theory symmetria was precisely what kouroi so conspicuously

19
Late Archaic male statue wearing chiton, for example: Payne and Young (1936) pl. 102. Hair:
Steininger (1912) 2119, and below, n. 83. Geddes (1987) presents well the literary and historical evidence
for these vestimentary and social changes.
20
Hairstyling at Rome, ad 50–100: Cain (1993) 58–77, 80–100.
21
Essential: Pollitt (1974) 14–23, with texts quoted and analysed s.vv. alētheia-veritas, rhythmos,
symmetria.
22
Overbeck (1868) 959 (Chrysippos, ap. Galen); Pollitt (1974) 14–15; Stewart (1990) 265, T 69.
90 r. r. r. smith
lacked—the relationship of each part to the whole. From this perspective, kouroi
were pre-theoretical figures, wilful symbolic constructions.
The touchstone of the whole theory was alētheia, which in this context was not
some grand metaphysical notion but the more concrete idea of truth to observed
reality, lifelikeness, visual truth. It refers both to reality itself and its true or
faithful representation.23 Statues produced in accordance with these ideas will
have kallos (fine and handsome appearance, the best appearance, beauty).24
If alētheia and kallos are translated as though they were philosophical absolutes,
truth and beauty, then of course an entirely different kind of interpretation can be
pursued.
The idea that images should try to look like what they represent, that they
should have a verifiable relationship to their subjects—rather than the open-ended
manipulated symbolic relation of Archaic art—was of course deeply radical. Too
radical, some felt. Contemporary reaction may be alluded to briefly in conserva-
tive praise song: ‘Not every precise truth is better for showing its face’, wrote
Pindar (N. 5. 16–17). The metaphor is visual, and picks up two of the key ideas or
terms—accuracy and truth—from contemporary visual theory. The statues may
not look very real to us (we are more impressed by their coded stuctures) but that
is our failure of historical imagination. This visual system was not merely the
result of artistic artifice, it was the way the early fifth century saw the best real
bodies. In the gap between the aim, lifelikeness, and the result, architectural
bodies, lies contemporary social ideology, what was historically specific to the
time. In this period, the gap was wide.
The interpretation of this remarkable shift in ways of seeing and representing
has all kinds of interesting historical ramifications that need here to be left to one
side. The new visual mode and the changed clothes and hairstyles were driven
partly by the Persian Wars experience and the consequent re-evaluation of what a
Hellene was—different and better. The new mode was recognizably distinct and
Hellenic in the way the Archaic manner had not been. Archaic Greek art had been
essentially a fractious subspecies of the larger family of Near Eastern visual
languages. As a contemporary writer put it: ‘One could point to many other
instances where the manners of the ancient Hellenic world are very similar to the
manners of the barbaroi (easterners) today’ (Thuc. 1. 6. 6). Art and visual
representation was one of those instances. The fifth century invented a style
that represented at its beginning an exclusive Greek identity. And if alētheia was

23
Pollitt (1974) s.v. alētheia-veritas has the main texts, with good analysis of the main possible
meanings, but I do not understand the textual basis for a fourth meaning of alētheia (D: the one it is
argued Greek sculptors had in mind) as ‘a theoretical criterion of excellence’ (138), ‘a conceptual reality
in which sense experience is controlled by intellectual principles’ (23). On alētheia from a different
perspective: Gentili (1988) 144–5.
24
Kallos as goal: Chrysippos, ap. Galen, above, n. 22.
 p i n d a r , a t hl e t e s , a n d t h e s t a t u e h a b i t 91
an agreed benchmark, then the new statues as well as being different were also
obviously better. Once articulated and realized, few Greeks would oppose it.
Who could be against truth and Hellenic identity?
The change was relatively sudden, though some people and places held out
against it, especially those with nothing invested in its Panhellenic claims—for
example, Etruscans, Lycians, Cypriots, Persians.25 It is astonishing how easy it is
to recognize the products of these decades, c.490–450, how time-specific they
are. In this period the brash new style informed statues of gods, heroes, and men
and women alike. The style itself was the message. It signified and defined a new
conception of Hellenic identity, of what was felt to be Hellenic superiority.
The essential lifelike quality that informs all later Greek and Roman statues was
consciously felt in this early period as something new and different. Two
examples will suffice. First is the fragment of a satyr play, the Theoroi or Isthmias-
tai by Aeschylus, that is by now well known in this context.26 A chorus of satyrs
wonders aloud at the lifelike quality of their own portraits that they are taking for
dedication to the Temple of Poseidon at the Isthmus. The text is permeated by a
‘shock of the new’ experienced by the satyrs.
Second, at a more basic and generalized level, there was a striking shift in statue
vocabulary that has been less well noted. One of the most common words for
‘statue’ in use in the sixth century was sēma, a ‘marker’, ‘sign’, or ‘symbol’, which
subsequently goes quickly out of use.27 It was a word that privileged function
over representation. From the fifth century we find regular use of the word eikōn,
‘likeness’, for statues, which denotes only the character of the representation.28
Eikōn was of course also used widely to refer to other kinds of representation
(such as paintings and, later, busts), but it is remarkable that it remained one of
the regular words for ‘statue’—still, for example, in Pausanias. The shift from sēma
to eikōn, from ‘sign’ to ‘likeness’, captures much of the essence of the revolution in
statues in the early fifth century.

Technology
Separately, there was also a major shift in materials for prestige dedications, from
marble to bronze, and a revolution in the technology of life-size bronze
manufacture. Large-scale bronze statuary had been available from the mid-sixth
century but had remained lumpy and thick-walled. Thin-walled bronzes were
perfected with great speed in the generation after c.500. They were big,
real-looking figures, with bright polished tan surfaces, that imitate skin, tendons,
25
Boardman (1994) chs. 2 and 7 has a good overview of some of the material, though from a different
perspective.
26
Text: Smyth and Lloyd-Jones (1963) 541–56 (fr. 78a 6–21 Radt); well discussed for example by
Sörbom (1966) 41–53; Hallett (1986) 75–8; S. P. Morris (1992) 217–21; Stieber (1994); Steiner (2001) 45–50.
27
Full discussion of Archaic use of sēma: Sourvinou-Inwood (1995) 108–47.
28
LSJ s.v. eikōn.
92 r. r. r. smith
veins, muscles, inlaid with realist colour for eyes, lips, teeth, nipples, and fine
cold-worked engraving for eyebrows, beards, hair, toenails, fingernails (Fig. 2).29
Bronze technology was not the cause of the revolution, but it responded quickly
to the impetus of the new idea, to the new way of seeing.
The gleaming tanned figures were leaded straight onto the top of stone pedestals
to look like real figures standing on platforms. Statue bases and real-life platforms
looked much like each other.30 The combination of the hard-hitting lifelike body
styling and the sheer technical brilliance of the new big bronzes gave these figures
an extraordinary impact. We see this now in the power and bold effect of the
two Riace bronzes, our first top-level bronze statues of the first revolutionary
generation (Fig. 2).31
We also feel the presence and power of the new statues as a public medium in
some famous and clearly hostile remarks of Pindar (N. 5. 1 and I. 2. 46): he is not a
statue-maker, because, unlike his songs, statues cannot move around and cannot
reach a widespread audience. In what later became a well-worn literary idea,
Pindar claimed too that praise poems were eternal in a way by implication that
monuments were not (P. 6. 10, the poem is an indestructible ‘treasure house of
hymns’; P. 3. 114, verses constructed by wise craftsmen, tektones sophoi, endure—
whereas unstated those of non-sophos craftsmen do not). A statue-maker might
have said, unlike songs, statues were on permanent display where it mattered and
to a much larger audience, and in fact lasted as well as poems. Praise poets like
Pindar clearly felt the competition. Statue-making even appears suddenly at this
time as a subject for interested discussion on symposion pottery—among others,
for example, on the well-known ‘foundry’ cup in Berlin (Fig. 3).32 The new
statues had a big contemporary resonance.

Function
The Berlin cup (Fig. 3) shows a large statue of a striding warrior-hero—a votive
agalma—and a smaller statue representing a pentathlete (jumper or discus-thrower).
It picks the two leading categories of contemporary bronze statuary: big votives and
victors’ statues. They represented new trends in the statue habit, and were part of
29
On bronze statue technology: Bol (1978); Mattusch (1988); Zimmer (1990); Haynes (1992).
30
Good illustrations of this in Shapiro (1992).
31
Borrelli and Pelagatti (1984); most forceful photos now in Moreno (1998).
32
Foundry cup: Neils (2000); Neer (2002) 77–85, a stimulating recent account, but I see here less
‘pervasive facetiousness about the craft of making images’ than intense fascination (of painter, buyer, and
user) with the new big action bronzes. Sculpting and statue-making on other pots: Beck, Bol, Bückling
(1990) 515–17, nos. 15–17. Useful collection of representations of statues on pots: De Cesare (1997). On
Pindar and statue-makers, see now the thoughtful contribution of O’Sullivan (2005), on O. 7. 50–3,
concerning the statue-makers of Rhodes: their statues look as though they live and move but they are
ultimately deceptive. O’Sullivan translates the crucial lines as follows: ‘Then the grey-eyed goddess herself
gave them every kind of skill to surpass mortals with their superlative handicraft. Their streets bore works
of art in the likeness of beings that lived and moved; and high was their fame. But to one who knows (or:
in the hands of one skilled) undeceptive art is even greater (or: art that is even greater is undeceptive).’
 pindar, athletes, and the statue habit 93
Fig. 3. Foundry cup: mortal
and divine workshops.
Exterior has scenes from
bronze foundry. Above, note
headless statue of athletic
victor under construction at
right, in action pose (probably
of diskobolos rather than
jumper). Below, two clients,
or client and master sculptor,
both wearing citizen costume,
in workshop admiring nearly
completed warrior bronze
being scraped off after casting.
Interior. Thetis, divine
customer, visits Hephaistos,
divine craftsman, in his
workshop. Athenian red-
figured cup, W: 30.5 cm. From
Vulci c.500–480 bc. Berlin,
Staatlichemuseen 2294
94 r. r. r. smith
wider changes at this time in the functions, settings, and dedication of statues.
These were by no means exclusive changes but there were marked trends.
At Athens, for example, the late Archaic period had seen huge investments in
big aristocratic marble statues on clan graves and in many smaller middle-level
marble dedications on the acropolis by eager new money.33 The acropolis
sanctuary in the late sixth century was a forest of small marble korai on pillars,
each a personal votive to the goddess for a private or business interest. After the
Persian Wars grave statues were either simply banned as part of packages of
funerary legislation (at Athens and elsewhere) or they voluntarily declined or
disappeared in a collective atmosphere of restraint that marks funerary archae-
ology in the fifth century.34 After 480, small marble votives in the main sanctu-
aries were overshadowed by colossal bronze statues, that is, state and interstate
dedications paid for from war booty and public funds.35 These big statues were
strident markers of local and Hellenic identity and its protectors—Athena at
Athens, Apollo at Delphi, Zeus at Olympia.
Statuary investment by the aristocracy (self-promotion and self-validation
through figured monument) had been concentrated in the late Archaic period
on the great family graves at the Dipylon and in the rich mesogeia of Attica.36
Here funerals, speeches, and marble sēmata had celebrated and justified natural
supremacy. In the fifth century, when this part of the old statue habit had gone,
outlawed or outmoded, aristocratic statue investment seems to have been
redirected to the sanctuary sphere where the victor statue came for a brief period,
say 500–450 and especially after 480, a new favoured object of personal display by
the rich and powerful. It is not necessary to connect these two things causally—the
end of grave statues and the rise of victor statues. It may be enough to observe that
they happened at the same time and that the early victor statues need to be seen in
the perspective of wider changes in statue practice in the early fifth century.

3. victor statues at olympia

The fierce contests of the crown games, especially at Olympia, had long been a
favoured sphere of activity for the interstate aristocracy of the Archaic period. Victory
at the games was something of and for itself. It demonstrated personal excellence
and superiority in a brutally clear manner and brought immeasurable satisfaction
and prestige. Regular gymnasium fitness made a good hoplite, but the kind of
punishing body exertion that an aspiring contest champion needed was something
altogether different. A champion might of course make a good warrior, but that
33
Clan grave monuments: D’Onofrio (1998). Acropolis: Raubitschek (1949); Keesling (2003).
34
From the wide literature on this subject, compare the diverse views and approaches of recent work:
Garland (1989); I. Morris (1992a) and (1992b) chs. 4–5; Engels (1998); Stears (2000).
35
Persian War dedications collected: Gauer (1968).
36
D’Onofrio (1988) and (1998).
 p i n d a r , a t hl e t e s , a n d t h e s t a t u e h a b i t 95
was not why he trained. Working towards and being a crown games contestant
were an independent part of the life and culture of the wealthy, probably prized
precisely because the average hoplite farmer could normally have little part in it.37
Down to the later sixth century, victors had mostly contented themselves
with dedications of simple objects such as a discus or jumping weights and with
the prestige provided by collective memory.38 From the late sixth century, some of
the wealthiest and most ambitious victors commissioned the highly elaborate
Archaic-style victory songs (epinikian odes) of the kind we have in Pindar and
Bacchylides. Outstanding or powerful victors might receive or set up statues of
themselves in a sanctuary or the agora of their hometown.39 And any victors who
could afford it might dedicate statues of themselves at the contest sanctuary—
especially at Olympia, the top sanctuary hosting the top championships. There
were victory statues at the other championship sites—Isthmia, Nemea, and espe-
cially Delphi40—but nothing like the extraordinary density at Olympia. For the
symbolic capital realized by a victor, Olympia was the central bank.

Pausanias at Olympia
Olympia also gives us the best feel of the context and setting of victor statues
(Figs. 4, 5). We are well informed textually and archaeologically. Pausanias saw
that the victor statue phenomenon at Olympia was important and devoted a
whole long section to it (two-thirds of his book 6), separating out the victor
statues from all the others, even though they were clearly interspersed with other
dedications.41 He describes nearly 200 victor statues, which he says is a wilful
selection, as against twenty-five statues of Zeus which he boasts was all of them.42
By the second century ad victor statues were clearly an overwhelming presence in
the sanctuary. Excavation has brought about 100 inscriptions for bases of victor
statues of which c.40 are among those mentioned by Pausanias and c.60 are
additional (Figs. 6, 7).43 Victor statues were clearly something special at Olympia.
Pausanias was both right and wrong that the victor statues constituted a special
category of statue. He tries famously to make a distinction between real religious
votives as on the acropolis at Athens and the victor statues at Olympia as something
different in principle, ‘granted as a kind of prize’ (Paus. 5. 21. 1). He was looking back
from the later honorific culture of the Roman Empire and saw the victor statues as

37
Firm defence of this view: Pleket (1992). The few supposedly lower-class champions of the early
period, such as Glaukos the Euboiean ploughman (Paus. 6. 10. 1–4), were exceptional. Pleket (1992) 150
rightly suspects legend-building aspects in Glaukos’ story. Contrast for example Stephen Miller (2000).
Further on Glaukos: below, at n. 49.
38
Good set of examples gathered by Rausa (1994) 79–80 nn. 15–16.
39
Herrmann (1988) 120 n. 7. Full and useful list of thirty-three examples in Rausa (1994) 66–73.
40
Rausa (1994) 52–66 gathers the evidence.
41
Herrmann (1988) is the indispensable study. Recently on Pausanias: Alcock, Cherry, Elsner (2001).
42
Herrmann (1988) lists 197 victor statues.
43
Herrmann (1988) 122–4 n. 19, 177–83, has the details.
 96 r. r . r . s m i t h

Fig. 4. Olympia. Plan of Altis, main sanctuary area showing bases of statue dedications around Temple of Zeus. North is at top

Fig. 5. Olympia. Model of Altis, view from SW, showing crowded effect of statues, especially at temple’s east front (right in
picture), where athletic dedications jostled with votives of all kinds
 p i n d a r, a thl e t e s , a nd t h e s t a t u e h a b i t 97
public honours which, of course, was one of their effects.44 But they clearly were
not normally awarded to the athletes by third parties (only occasionally were they
set up by the victor’s home city). The statues were generally set up as private
dedications like any other dedications to the gods, by the athletes themselves
(Figs. 6, 7). They were votives, like others, that happen to take the form of the
dedicator, and in the fifth century that became ostensibly a highly lifelike form.
Victor statues began then as regular votives of the pious, but soon took on a life
of their own that required the controls that Pausanias and others mention
(controls of size, number, appearance).45 Permission or the right to set up a statue
therefore came to be seen as part of the prize. Victor statues stood, uncomfortably
many felt, between votives to the gods and public honours. In terms of the later
norms of the statue habit, they were indeed unusual: the dedicator was usually the
same as the honorand.
Pausanias describes some eighty statues of victors down to 400 bc (given in
the List appended below, whose running numbers are used in what follows).
Several of the sixth-century victors probably received their statues only in the fifth
century, and it is clear the practice takes off only after c.500 bc. At the end of his
section on victor statues, Pausanias describes last of all two wooden statues which
he says were the earliest victor statues at Olympia, those of Praxidamas of Aegina
and Rhexibios of Opous (1–2), winners in 544 and 536 respectively. We should
believe this explicit statement, placed in a prominent place in Pausanias’ text. Two
statues that he mentioned earlier in his text for victors at the games in the eighth
and seventh centuries, Eutelidas (6. 15. 8) and Tisandros (6. 13. 8), were probably
set up much later.46
As the early statue of the athlete Arrachion that Pausanias mentions at Phigalia
(8. 40. 1), these first victor statues, of Praxidamas and Rhexibios, were doubtless
kouros-shaped. The dates are strikingly late, and the next victors listed as winning in
the sixth century mostly had their statues made by sculptors known to have been
working only from the end of the sixth century and into the fifth (Glaukias,
Ageladas: 3, 4, 6, 8). The victor statue phenomenon therefore began late and
intensified during the generation of the big changes sketched earlier.
Pausanias’ route around the victor statues can be established with some
confidence.47 It took him from the south-east corner of the Heraion to the
front of the Temple of Zeus, where there was a major concentration of victor
and other statues, along the south wall of the Altis, where two in situ bases
44
Herrmann (1988) 134 n. 75, for this perspective.
45
Controls: Herrmann (1988) 129 n. 50. The important text is Lucian, Pro Imag. 11, on the scale of the
statues (not bigger than lifesize—which is borne out by the bases at Olympia: for example, Figs. 6, 7), and
on controls implemented by the Hellanodikai. cf. Paus. 6. 3. 6: ‘the Eleans allowed him to set up [a statue
of ] his trainer as well’.
46
The possibility of earlier victor statues at Olympia (before the mid-6th cent.) is discussed by
Herrmann (1988) 120 and Rausa (1994) 77–83.
47
Following Herrmann (1988) 132–4, with sketch map of route.
98 r. r. r. smith

Fig. 6. At Olympia, statue bases show victor monuments

were mostly of just life-size scale, of bronze, and set low
down with their inscriptions often on their upper, horizontal
surface. Upper face of inscribed base for statue of Kyniskos of
Mantinea, boy boxer, victor in 460 bc (List 37), by Polyklei-
tos, seen by Pausanias (6. 4. 11). The text is an epigram, written
anti-clockwise, starting at the bottom (front) left: ‘Winning in
boxing, Kyniskos from Mantinea, who has the name of his
famous father, set this up’ (IvO 149). The signature of
Polykleitos, recorded by Pausanias as maker, was probably
(for example) on a missing second, lower step of the base.
Marble W: 61, H: 17 cm

Fig. 7. Front and upper surface of inscribed base for statue of Pythokles of Elis, victor in pentathlon
in 452 bc (List 43), signed by Polykleitos, seen by Pausanias (6.7.10). The base had two phases of use
that show intense care for (and manipulation of) local statue heritage. (1) The original mid-fifth-
century statue faced the short inscribed face that carries the damaged name of the victor, ‘Pythokl[es]’,
while its maker’s name runs on top beside the cutting for the right foot, Polykleitos [ ... ], to be read
from the left. (2) In the first century bc / ad, after the original statue had been damaged, removed, or
stolen (by Nero?), a second statue, with a different foot posture, was set on the base facing the long
right side with new feet cuttings and a re-inscription of the now damaged texts of the original on the
upper surface: ‘Pythokles, Elean. Polykleitos made (it) Argive’ (IvO 162–3). The two inscribed letters
at the (top) back, IB (=12), to be read from behind the base, are probably an inventory number of the
same period as the re-inscribed text. Black limestone, H: 24, W: 50, D: 58 cm

provide fixed points, then back from the Leonidaion across the back of the temple
and along its northern side to the column of Oinomaos (Fig. 4). Victor statues
were set up in a continuous process of accretion and took on new point and new
meaning in relation to other statues. We need to reconstruct and imagine how
their bodies, poses, and inscriptions responded to and dialogued with other
statues. Statues that would have a tedious sameness when viewed in the pictures
of a catalogue had a setting in space and time and a changing relationship to other
and new statues that gave each one the appearance of an individual monument.
 pindar, athletes, and the statue habit 99
Groups, dialogue, response
From Pausanias we can reconstruct in mental outline some potent groupings, by city,
family, political affiliation. There was a dense grouping of dedications by five Spartan
chariot victors near the start of Pausanias’ route close to the north-east angle of the
Heraion (6. 1. 6–2. 3). They began with the victor of 448 and 444 (Arkesilas, 49) and
ended with the chariot monument of the Spartan queen Kyniska, victor in 396.48
The three statues representing Dameretos of Heraia, his son and grandson,
commemorating victories from 520 to 436 (Damaretos 5, Theopompos 18,
Theopompos 54), were a family group, as were the five statues of the great
Rhodian aristocrat Diagoras and his sons, all great champions in the heavy
contests, boxing and pankration, from 464 to 404 (Diagoras 34, Damagetos 44,
Akousilaos 46, Dorieus 59, Peisirodos 73). They were political-military heavy-
weights too, appearing in mainstream Athenian-Spartan history of the fifth
century (Dorieus: Thuc. 8. 35. 1 and 84. 2; Xen. Hell 1. 5. 19). Pindar composed
for Diagoras himself (O. 7), and the ode was later made permanent in a gilded
inscription in the temple at Lindos (Gorgon of Rhodes, FGrH 515 F 18).
A more political group can be reconstructed around the famous chariot
monument of Gelon of 488 (16) which is described with statues of the boxer,
Glaukos (the skiamachos) and his son Philon (3 and 14). Glaukos was the notori-
ously strong ploughman of Karystos on Euboea, much cited as an example of a
proletarian champion, but who is known elsewhere as a henchman of Gelon
(schol. to Aesch. Or. 3. 189: governor of Kamarina). Since all three statues were
made by the same famous Aeginetan sculptor, Glaukias, they were probably
a group, with Gelon the moving force behind it.49
There was also hostile dialogue. Victor statues could respond to and challenge
the claims of other statues. Sometime in the period c. 470–450, the Spartans
commissioned the sculptor Myron to make a statue of their long-dead champion
runner Chionis (40), a supposed triastēs of the mid-seventh century (triastēs
champions—winners in three separate events at the same games—were rare).
The statue is mentioned immediately after, and so stood next to or near a statue
of the great triastēs runner Astylos of Kroton (24), triple champion in the 480s.
The Spartan statue was surely a claim to priority, challenging the claim of Astylos’
statue. In the same period, in 460, the Achaians set up a statue of their
eighth-century runner Oibotas of Paleia (39). Although set up elsewhere, earlier
on Pausanias’ route, this statue was probably part of the same contest for earliest
and fastest, designed to trump the Spartan and Krotonian claims.
There were also important lines of connection between a victor’s statue, his
person, and his patris. This abstract connection was measured by a Spartan victor,
48
The others were: Polykles, 52; Anaxandros, 58; Lichas, 61.
49
So Rausa (1994) 46–7, with further evidence on Glaukos (but see above, p. 41 n. 166). On the statue-
maker Glaukias of Aegina: Walter-Karydi (1987) 35–9.
100 r . r . r . s m it h
a runner, who set up two inscribed stelai, one at Sparta, the other at Olympia
beside his statue there, declaring the precise distance (660 stades) to the other
stele (Paus. 6. 16. 8). Similarly Achaian athletes sacrificed on the tomb of Oibotas
of Paleia (39) before setting out for Olympia, and crowned his statue there if they
won (Paus. 6. 3. 8). In the case of Astylos (24), the connection was deliberately
severed. He had a statue at Olympia, but his statue in his hometown Kroton was
pulled down when he ran as a Syracusan, for the tyrant Hieron. Champions
brought prestige to their cities which was concretely embodied in their statues.

Politics and cult

In our period, athletic champions retained a political dimension. The community
naturally wanted to capitalize on their champions’ prestige, but their contest
prowess was highly individual and could be difficult and awkward to contain, to
incorporate.50 The period of the late sixth century and early fifth century,
especially c.500–470, was the great age of aristocratic victors and titanic cham-
pions, such as Milon of Kroton (7), Theagenes of Thasos (25), and Euthymos of
Lokroi (27), who passed with their statues into legend and cult. These champions
acquired a level of public prestige that without traditional leadership outlets was
dangerous for the delicate organisms of political order in the polis.51 One
response was cult honours with attendant myth-making so fully attested
for Euthymos and Theagenes.52 Another response of course was statue hon-
ours—brilliant bronzes of the champions by the top statue-makers of the day,
such as Pythagoras of Rhegion, set up in the agora. It was later a democratic
boast at Athens that no one, except the Tyrannicides, had a statue in their agora
(until Konon in the 390s).53 One fourth-century orator makes the point explicit:
other cities have statues of athletes in their agoras, the Athenians have generals.54
In the late sixth century, Milon of Kroton had led a whole citizen army in war,
dressed as Herakles (Diod. Sic. 12. 9. 5–6), and some champions were still also
active in politics in the early and mid-fifth century—such as Theagenes (25) and
Diagoras (34), both monstrous-size men. Such figures were equally athletic
champions and politically active aristocrats. Lesser known examples are the
pankratiast Timasitheos of Delphi (8), winner at Olympia in 516 and 512, whom
we find fighting at Athens on the wrong side of the revolution there in 510 (Hdt.
5. 72), and Ergoteles of Himera (31), a champion runner in the 470s and 460s
hymned by Pindar (O. 12), who was a political exile from Knossos on Crete.55

50
Recent study of tension between champion and community: Mann (2001).
51
Important study of politics of champions’ cults: Bohringer (1979).
52
New case-study of Euthymos: Currie (2002).
53
Demosthenes 20. 70; Wycherly (1957) no. 261.
54
Lykourgos, Leokrates 51; Wycherly (1957) no. 268.
55
The boxer Glaukos of Karystos (3), above n. 49, who governed Kamarina for Gelon in the 480s, is
another example. For O. 12, see Silk (this volume).
 pindar, athletes, and the statue habit 101
This was also the period when great athletes of earlier days—like the eighth-
century Oibotas (39) and the seventh-century Chionis (40) already mentioned—
were first honoured in statues. The contemporary myth-making around earlier
champions is vividly expressed on the statue base for Poulydamas of Skotoussa in
Thessaly, victor in 408 (69), honoured by his patris in the mid-fourth century with
a statue made by Lysippos. Pausanias (6. 5. 1–9) describes fantastic episodes from
his life, including two that are featured in the reliefs on the base found at Olym-
pia.56 The giant champion kills a lion with his bare hands and defeats members of
the Persian king’s Immortal Guards, while the Great King and his court women
look on in dismay. For contemporaries, these were real events, and we should
imagine the same for the fantastic activities earlier of Euthymos or Theagenes.57

4. statue-makers
Pausanias and the extant bases give the statue-makers great prominence. The
most fashionable Archaic statue-makers, such as Aristion of Paros, had been
loudly advertised on statue bases.58 The greatest fifth-century bronze-workers
stood even higher. No less than 60 per cent of the fifth-century victor statues
at Olympia were signed (see Appendix). They were big names: Onatas of Aegina;
Polykleitos of Argos; Kalamis and Myron of Athens; Pythagoras of Rhegion.
Most of these made several statues at Olympia. Pythagoras of Rhegion made not
less than eight. The quality of the new bronzes and the steeply rising demand for
them in the early fifth century (the colossal state votives as well as victor statues)
raised the profile of the best statue-makers.
The difference between an adequate bronze statue and a magnificent one with
strong impact (like that of the Riace statues: Fig. 2) was wide.59 There was a
sharp and forceful technical/aesthetic effect that the big names provided, and this
added value above the cost of the materials and labour was surely expensive.

Prices, workshops, entrepreneurs

Competition to secure one of the handful of big-name sculptors, such as
Pythagoras and Myron, with their wonder-working technē, probably drove their
fees up. We have a few statue prices—and they are high—but not enough to make
useful relative comparisons. A scholion to Pindar (N. 5. 1, Drachmann iii. 89)
gives 3,000 drachmas as the price for a bronze statue in Pindar’s day. This is the
56
Relief base: Smith (1991) 52, fig. 46. For a recently identified inscribed fragment from the base:
Täuber (1997).
57
Emphasized by Currie (2002) 39. Their real powers lived on. Statues of Poulydamas, both at Olympia and
elsewhere, as of Theagenes, were known later for their healing powers: Lucian, Council of the Gods 12; Paus. 6. 11. 9.
58
Recent study of Archaic ‘signatures’: Viviers (1992).
59
An example of a typical adequate bronze of this period might be the statue from Kreusis in Boiotia
(the port of Plataia) of c.480, now in Athens: Mattusch (1988) 79–81, fig. 4.20; Kaltsas (2001) no. 146.
102 r . r . r . s mi t h
same price, however, as that given for a standard honorific bronze statue in
the Hellenistic period.60 We may suspect then that the scholiast simply took
this later standard price. At a time of greatly increased production, the Hellenistic
price was probably lower than that of the first generation of the great bronze-
casters. The real interest of the scholiast’s evidence is not so much the sum
mentioned as the clear assumption that the sums needed for a bronze statue
and for a Pindar ode were large and the same.61
Better and contemporary evidence for this early period (but little noticed) is
the implicit but precise minimum price given for a bronze chariot group that was
set up on the Athenian acropolis to commemorate the great double victory over
the Boiotian army and over Chalkis in c.506, as recorded by Herodotus (5. 76).
The bronze chariot represented a tenth of the amount received from ransoming
the prisoners from the campaign at 200 drachmas a head. There were 700
Boiotian prisoners and an unknown number of Chalkidian prisoners. If we
assume for the sake of a minimum calculation that there were no Chalkidian
prisoners, the sum (the tithe) works out to be 14,000 drachmas or 2.3 talents. If
we assume an equal (and more likely) figure of 700 Chalkidian prisoners, then the
tithe-price would be 28,000 drachmas or 4.6 talents. If four horses and a chariot
cost between 14,000 and 28,000, then 3,000 for a single statue is a little low but
in the right order of magnitude.
These are large sums, and high cost should explain why so many clearly chose
not to take up the right to dedicate a victory statue at Olympia. Pre-industrial
prices make little sense compared to prices today, but on any calculation these
ancient statue prices seem high compared to bronzes today.62 The range of 2.3 to
4.6 talents for a chariot group c.500 bc is a large and solid figure. If a chariot
group included the charioteer, the owner, and grooms, then probably the price
would be considerably higher.
Behind the big-name signatures lay large, well-organized workshops. Pythag-
oras of Rhegion, for example, made statues for four champions of the games of
484, a boxer, two runners, and an armed runner—though not necessarily in the
same Olympiad.63 The density of attested works, however, far from complete,
demands a large workshop.
60
IG ii2 555; Diogenes Laertios 6. 35; Stewart (1979) 109; and most recently Gauthier (2000) 48 and n. 31,
with more sources and earlier scholarship on Hellenistic statue prices (a reference I owe to Angelos Chaniotis).
61
Contrast Gentili (1988) 162–5, emphasizing disparity of remuneration.
62
A finished bronze statue today costs c.60,000 (sterling), and taking for foundry workers a low daily
wage and a real daily wage of 80 and 300, then today the statue cost is 200–750 man/days (I thank the
sculptor Trevor Proudfoot of Cliveden Conservation for the modern prices). Taking 1 or 2 drachmas as the
daily wage in the Greek world, the Hellenistic statue cost is 1,500–3,000 man/days. Stewart (1990) 66–7
does interesting and detailed calculations to suggest that the materials and labour cost of a Greek bronze
statue was c.1,000 drs, and c.2,000 drs was profit to the workshop.
63
List 20, 23, 24, 27. The runner Dromeus of Stymphalos (23) won also in 480; the runner Astylos of
Kroton (24), won also in 488; and the boxer Euthymos of Lokroi (27) won again in 476 and 472, and we know
from its base that Euthymos’ statue was set up after his third victory. On Pythagoras: Stewart (1990) 254–5.
 pindar, athletes, and the statue habit 103
Clearly these workshop-owners were also successful entrepreneurs. Probably
they were on hand at the games, like Pindar, ready to be courted by the wealthiest
victors. We should think of preliminary discussions and engagement at the
games, followed, as attested later for Macedonian princes (Pliny, NH 35. 85
and 105), by visits to the workshops for details, poses, attributes, prices, and
contracts. Such a visit is probably what is represented by the citizen gentlemen
standing on either side of the warrior statue on the ‘foundry’ cup in Berlin
mentioned earlier (Fig. 3). Their visit and the workshop are compared on the
inside of the cup to the visit of Thetis to Hephaistos’ Olympian foundry.
The prominence of the statue-makers is striking and important as a social and
cultural phenomenon, but their precise role—the technical realization of a defin-
ing palpable image of the subject in his most recognizable and characteristic
form—was both different from what we expect from artists and in as far as
it might be different from another contemporary sculptor’s work anyway
unrecoverable among surviving statues.

5. surviving statues: body styles and contest action

The inscribed base specified baldly the victor’s name, family, city, and the event
he had won (for example, Fig. 6), sometimes also victories won elsewhere on the
crown circuit.64 The statue body represented other and wider concerns. In a
victory song, the facts of family and contests won are dealt with in a few lines,
leaving the main parts of the poem for juxtaposition with the exploits of heroes
and elevated elitist moralizing about good birth, the favour of the gods, and life
at the top.65 Like the poems, the statues describe the personal excellence and
superiority that achieved victory and justified a permanent memorial.
What survives of the statues at Olympia and elsewhere to set beside the detailed
record of Pausanias and the inscribed bases? On the one hand, few or no surviving
statues match recorded monuments at the great sanctuaries. On the other hand,
we have so many statues from precisely the championship environment evoked
by the bases, by Pausanias, and by Pindar, that precise one-to-one matches of
surviving statues with recorded monuments are a luxury we can do without.

Evidence: fragments, small bronzes, marble copies

Of the statues from Olympia, we have thousands of bronze splinters and frag-
ments—ears, fingers, eye cases with lashes, bits of hair and genitals (Figs. 8–11)—
the remnants of statues later chopped up on the spot for removal and
melting.66 Even in tiny bits, early fifth-century pieces stand out, recognizable by
64
IvO 142–243; Ebert (1972).
65
Stimulating recent study of praise poetry and statue epigrams: Kurke (1998).
66
Excellent catalogue and study of this material: Bol (1978).
 104 r . r . r . s m it h
Figs. 8–11 Bronze statue fragments
from Olympia. Typical remains of
victor bronzes. All early fifth century

Fig. 8. Eye-casings with serrated

eyelashes, W: 2.7–4.9 cm. Bol (1978)
no. 428–f. For their use and effect,
see below, Fig. 31

Fig. 9. Left ear, H: 9.5 cm. Fig. 10. Boy’s genitals, W: 12 cm. Bol (1978)
Bol (1978) no. 131 no. 132. Note closely observed median seam and
slight asymmetry in scrotum of pre-pubescent
age

Fig. 11. Lower right leg, L: 16 cm.

Bol (1978) no.129. Thin casting with remains of
iron armature
 pindar, athletes, and the statue habit 105
their bold formal style and precise technique. They are a powerful reminder of the
time-specific nature of the phenomenon under discussion. There are a few contem-
porary marble figures from elsewhere of this period, sadly battered torsos mostly,
but recognizable as athletic statues by their action postures—for example, from
Thasos and Delos (Figs. 12–13).67 These torsos too are remarkably time-specific.
The main evidence, however, consists of bronze statuettes and later marble
copies of the Roman period. They are from very different contexts but their
evidence is complementary.
The small bronzes were sanctuary votives like the big bronzes, set up instead of
or in addition to a full statue.68 They are often, more often than the later marble
copies, complete figures and give a good idea of the range of postures, actions,
and attributes of victor statues. Their period of greatest density and highest
quality falls in the early fifth century. This was the period of small fine victor
bronzes. They replace the kouros and warrior bronzes of the sixth century and
decline in numbers after the mid-fifth century.
The later marbles belong to Roman culture and stood in entirely different
contexts—villas, baths, gardens—where classic athletic statues stood for taste, edu-
cation, and the gymnasium.69 Many of the marbles are more or less loose essays after
earlier statues or statue ideas, but some are clearly scale-replicas made with the
intention of looking like close marble versions of fifth-century bronzes. These latter
marbles can be used for understanding much about the Greek statues on which they
were based and which are entirely lost—provided that expectations of what they can
give are not set too high. By comparing the different marble versions of the same
figure, we learn about its scale, iconography, pose, attributes, and something of its
broad effect. We can then try mentally to translate the figure into bronze in the
manner of the Olympia fragments (Figs. 8–11) and the statues from Riace (Fig. 2).
More problematic for us than the status of the Roman marbles as later copies
and versions (there is a good method for controlling that status) is their select-
ivity—the preferences in Greek subjects and figures chosen for reproduction. The
selection was far from representative. Among athletic figures chosen, a large
proportion were based on works of fifth-century masters such as Polykleitos.70
And some recognizable reproduction of their ‘classic’ style was clearly felt to be
important. So, for example, not only the pose but also the distinctive formal
manner of Polykleitos’ spear-carrier was translated in some degree in surviving
marbles made after it. This bias, towards early figures and towards reproducing
67
Three torsos from Delos (including Figs. 12, 13): Hermary (1984) 8–19, nos. 5–7, pls. 4–7. Three
torsos from Thasos: Grandjean and Salviat (2000) 248–9, nos. 6–8, figs. 176–8.
68
Full collection of material: Thomas (1981). Lamb (1929) is still useful. Examples below: Figs. 17, 18,
21, 22.
69
Some different approaches to the Roman context: Zanker (1974); Vermeule (1977); Ridgway (1984);
Neudecker (1988); Gazda (2002). Examples below: Figs. 19, 23–5.
70
Zanker (1974); Kreikenbom (1990); Beck, Bol, Bückling (1990).
 106 r . r . r. s m i th
Figs. 12–13. Marble torsos from athletic statues.
From Delos, c.490–70 bc. Both have carefully observed
new style muscle compositions and old-style pubic
‘moustaches’, finely-trimmed and shaped

Fig. 12. Figure stood at rest holding, for example, a Fig. 13. Figure was in action pose, probably throwing javelin,
libation bowl or discus, H: 80 cm. Delos Museum A 4277 H: 77 cm. Delos Museum A 4275

their distinctive classic style more carefully, of course suits our purpose here. But
within that broad choice, there was a clear preference for attractive boys and
youths over men (more congenial to the needs of the Roman domestic envir-
onmnent) and for obviously recognizably athletic and gymnasium poses. So
there is a major bias towards easily recognized discus-throwers and oil-scrapers
over armed runners and chariot groups (there are none of these in the copy
record). Aware of this, we can restore the balance of different kinds of victor
statues mentally, using the small bronzes, the bases, and Pausanias.
More difficult to overcome is the loss of the Greek context. A few statues in the
copy record can be securely identified as versions of famous monuments recorded by
Roman writers such as Pliny the Elder, but in their Roman environment they became
generic icons of great masters: the diskobolos of Myron, instead of, for example, the
pentathlete Pythokles of Elis set up at Olympia in 452 (Appendix, 43). The specific
 p i n d a r , a t h l e t e s , a n d t he s t a tu e ha b i t 107
subject and occasion, which were primary in the fifth-century bronze, are elided in
favour of the big-name artist mediated through a now generic representation of
athletic activity. As the Mona Lisa for us represents Leonardo da Vinci, so the
Doryphoros represented for Rome (and now for us) Polykleitos. Here we have to
keep the list of names and victories in mind beside the context-less copies—two
parallel bodies of evidence whose precise intersections escape us entirely.

Nudity
Probably the most striking and most powerful aspect of the statues is their
nudity.71 They wore no clothes for two reasons, (1) kouroi were naked, (2)
because the contests were entered naked. That is, nudity was both real for athletes
and a symbolic metaphor that had been central to Greek representation from the
beginning. These two things—naked contests in life, and naked statues—were
separate, and both were peculiar on an anthropological level. Even for athletics
the Greeks themselves had no idea what nudity signified or when it began
(for example, Thuc. 1. 6. 5). And concerning the significance of nudity in statues
and art, no ancient writer offers any comment or explanation whatsoever.
Nudity had not one meaning, but a set of changing, overlapping, and different
meanings in different contexts and periods. It never lapsed into an easy conven-
tion but retained its impact despite constant use. It retained impact because the
Greeks did not go around naked. On the one hand, nudity in statues did not refer
to and was not derived from the nudity of gods and heroes: gods and heroes wore
no clothes because they were modelled after the best of men. On the other hand,
however, it escaped no one’s attention that the bodies of the best of men looked
like those of gods and heroes.
There was probably a shift in meaning in the nudity of victor statues in the
fifth century (male nudity had existed since the tenth or ninth centuries in
Greek representation as the symbol first of gender).72 For male statues of the
sixth century, nudity had been part of their elaborate symbolic quality. Repre-
sentations of athletic youths on stelai carry discuses and oil bottles and show that
kouros nudity was not referred directly to athletics: they carry no attributes tying
them to any particular context beyond their aristocratic hairstyles.73 They occupy
an unreal and elevated position—more sēma than eikōn. They have no narrative.
Their nudity signified male Hellene and acted as a metaphorical format in which
their styled bodies represented personal strength, power, and potential at the age
between youth and manhood.

71
From a huge literature, the following recent items represent well the main strands of interpretation
and approach (heroic, athletic, erotic): Bonfante (1989); Himmelmann (1990); Hölscher (1993); Stewart
(1997) ch. 2; Osborne (1997); Golden (1998) 65–9; Stephen Miller (2000); Scanlon (2002) 205–10.
72
Early nudity: Stewart (1997) 34–9.
73
Stelai and kouroi in Richter (1961) and (1970). For a different view: Sourvinou-Inwood (1995) 252–75.
108 r . r . r . s mi t h
Since loincloths were an obvious option and since they would not affect most
interpretations of nakedness in Greek statues, it was the difference and potency of
genital display that was at the heart of the matter.74 A brief glance at the
widespread and deeply peculiar kinds of genital display in Archaic art shows
there is something here more than eroticism—for example, in the large category
of warrior bronzes that show figures in a contradictory costume of breastplate
with naked groin below,75 or the revealing example of a bronze horseman from
south Italy (Grumentum), in which the rider wears a knee-length tunic but with
prominent genitals added on top of the tunic.76 Genital display was clearly a
recognized badge of belonging to the special Hellenic club.
Fifth-century statues eliminated only the more farouche Archaic visual contra-
dictions. They combined the symbolic resonance carried over from sixth-century
practice with nudity made real and immediate by the fictive narrative of an
athletic event—throwing, running, praying, crowning. The athletes and the new
statues demonstrated a paradox, that of showing well what should not be shown
at all (ta aidoia). Outside the appropriate and tightly circumscribed contexts,
genitals displayed in public remained shameful and laughable. Such contexts
were the brotherhood of the gymnasium, the ritual place of the
championships (sanctuaries of the gods), and of course the immediate setting
of a magnificent, perfectly disciplined body. The new statues show the body-
perfect victor explicitly in the ritual uniform of a Hellene competing before his
gods and his peers.

Real bodies and Pindar’s body language

Unlike Hellenistic and later representations, fifth-century victor statues do not
have strongly athletic-specific body styles—either, for example, as wrestler versus
runner, or even as athlete versus hero. They tend to have a monumentally
structured body architecture that speaks to the symbolic ideological aspects of
the best body: it is hard, disciplined, well-ordered, balanced, strong. These
aspects strike us as artificial and ‘ideal’, as artistic improvements on reality
designed to draw attention to themselves as beautiful compositions. But here
we should keep those individual names and specific victories in mind: Pythokles
of Elis, pentathlete in 452, over Myron’s diskobolos. Each statue was a record of
one victor’s personal aretē, and the art of the revolution was put to making his

74
Loincloths discussed by puzzled Greek writer(s) seeking origins and explanations: Thuc. 1. 6. 5;
McDonnell (1991).
75
Many examples among the bronzes collected in Herfort-Koch (1986).
76
Langlotz and Hirmer (1965) 259, pl. 26, where Langlotz comments without explanation (and with
some self-contradiction): ‘The rider wears only a chiton; as is frequently the case in southern Italian figures
the penis is unusually powerful’. Rolley (1994) 402, fig. 435, with interesting comment on possible regional
affiliations of the statuette’s maker, but no remark on this strange and striking feature of its iconography.
 p i n d a r, a thl e t e s , a n d t h e s t a t u e h a b i t 109
body move, breathe, and stand in a real space and to flex with real veins and
sinews.
All forms of realism are culturally contingent—styled, socially constructed,
framed by different historical parameters—so too this first explicit, theoretically
based realism. This is fifth-century Greek realism, different from third-century
Alexandrian, first-century Roman, or seventeenth-century Dutch realism, but
conceived and viewed as such in its day—not as one possible realism among several,
but as the only way of seeing and representing truthfully that was available. The
only alternative, the Archaic manner, lacked visual truth. It is for us to work hard to
imagine how the fifth-century public and its statue-makers visually and mentally
synthesized the finest, hard-trained athletic bodies of their time into these figures.
These bodies may look artificial, but youthful male bodies in constant, all-round
hard training do look artificial. They are indeed ‘made’, and the bodily perfection
seen in contemporary black-and-white photographs of male models for Armani or
Boss, stripped to the waist in our colour supplements, is after all not so far from
that of our statues. Modern body-builders of course look even more artificial.
Each statue body was striving, as in life, to look the best. But the point of
reference for ‘best’ was not art or some idea of beauty in the sky but the best real
trained and muscle-styled bodies. The particular construction put on these
bodies, the aspect that is historically contingent, particular to fifth-century
Greece—their hard, brash, bold, elemental quality—can perhaps be approached
and understood best through the concepts of contemporary praise poetry. For all
their differences and enmities, Pindar and the statue-makers shared one clear aim:
to memorialize the body power of outright winners.77
Pindar compares his poems to a variety of prestigious artefacts (palace,
treasury, phiale, krater, chariot, fillet, stele), but it is striking that his only explicit
comparison to statues, mentioned earlier, is negative and opposite: his poems
sound everywhere, statues stay silent in one place (N. 5. 1). Rivalry and compe-
tition with the new bronzes we saw earlier should explain this attitude. It is less
surprising that the athletes themselves are never described by Pindar in terms of
statues: there was nothing that could usefully be said of statues that could not be
said better of the athletes themselves.
In Pindar, victors have inborn ability, something given by the gods. There was
no contradiction between divine gifts and inborn aristocratic character (to syggenes
ethos: O. 13.13). They were in fact closely connected: ‘what comes by nature is
altogether best . . . but when god takes no part, each deed is no worse for being

77
Compare Steiner (1998), like other recent work, placing the main emphasis on erotic aspects of
the poems and statues. For Pindar’s celebration of athletic body power, see, for example, P. 8. 37, on
‘bold-limbed victory’, O. 8. 19, 9. 65, N. 3. 19, I. 7. 22, all with variations on the idea of victors’ bodies
matching their acheivements, and the passages collected below.
110 r. r. r. smith
left in silence’ (O. 9. 100, 103–4). A person ‘born to aretē’ can achieve kleos with
practice and with the help of theos (O. 10. 20). A victor’s abilities are godly,
daimonioi aretai (N. 1. 9). Inborn qualities carry weight; their opposite, learned or
acquired ability, is shadowy and ineffectual (N. 3. 40; O. 2. 86; O. 9. 100–4).
As men of birth, victors are propertied. Wealth and possessions are assumed
and warmly praised (P. 2. 56 and 6. 44). Theron for example has wealth ‘embel-
lished with virtues’, ploutos aretais dedaidalmenos (O. 2. 53). Only by spending this
wealth (dapanai) can aspiring victors develop and hone their abilities. They
should ‘rejoice to spend money competing with Panhellenes’ (I. 4. 29). With
no need to make money, they can devote themselves to disciplined preparation.
The victor’s body is shaped by hard practice, by labour and toil, mochthos or
ponos. Ponos was a key term for hard training, for exertion, for pushing oneself to
the limit. Few have won joy without ponos (aponon charma: O. 10. 22). To be
remembered, a noble deed (kalon) needs to be accomplished with exertion (O. 6.
12). True success takes makros ponos (P. 8. 73), makros mochthos (I. 5. 57). Achieve-
ment requires suffering, pathein (N. 4. 32). Ponos leads to delight, terpnon (N. 7. 74),
to foresight, promatheia (I. 1. 40). Hard training and unstinting spending are
often linked (I. 3. 17 and 5. 57). Ponos and dapanai strive for aretai (O. 5. 15); they
‘accomplish divinely fashioned deeds of excellence’, theodmatous aretas (I. 6. 10).
The champion is constructed and shaped by the trainer, who is a tektōn of
athletes—a craft metaphor: the trainer is literally ‘a fashioner’ of bodies (N. 5. 49).
The victor’s body (demas) or ‘physical nature’ (phyē) is handsome, beautiful
(kalos), it has fine form (morphē), it is finely shaped, morphaeis (I. 7. 22). A fine
body produces fine deeds, kallista (O. 9. 94). Action and character are said
repeatedly to correspond to appearance. Being kalos, the victor performs deeds
to match his beauty, morphē (N. 3. 19). His deeds (ergon) match his looks (eidos)
(O. 8. 19); his aretē is equal to his phyē (I. 7. 22). Body form and contest-excellence
guarantee and ‘produce’ each other.
Fine bodies are always good to look at (to thaeton demas: N. 11. 11; O. 8. 19),
especially the bodies of young victors, ‘beautiful in form, imbued with the
youthfulness that once averted ruthless death from Ganymede’ (O. 10. 103–6).
They have ‘splendour’, aglaia (P. 6. 46), the ‘youthful excellence’, neara aretē, of
Achilles (I. 8. 47). The appearance of a victor as he passes through a festival crowd
can cause astonished wonder: he is thaumastos (O. 9. 96). Victors’ bodies are
fast, powerful, ‘with . . . nimble legs’, dexioguios (O. 9. 111), and ‘bold-limbed’,
thrasyguios (P. 8. 37). The victors are like heroes, ‘resourceful’ (lit. ‘bold-schem-
ing’), thrasymēchanos (O. 6. 67), ‘straight-fighting’, euthymachos (O. 7. 15), and
‘straight-talking’, euthyglōssos (P. 2. 86). They have endless amounts of force,
strength, boldness, and daring, bia, sthenos, thrasos, tolma.78

78
Bia: N. 11. 11. Sthenos and thrasos: P. 2. 56 and 5. 110, N. 1. 25 and 5. 39. Tolma: I. 4. 45, N. 7. 59.
 p i n d a r , a t hl e t e s , a n d t h e s t a t u e h a b i t 111
Victors are emphatically goal-directed: men have various technai but champions
go by the straight road (eutheiais hodois: N. 1. 25). They go straight for things, with
tolma and dynamis (O. 9. 82). Victors take risks: no honour attends risk-free
achievment, akindynoi aretai (O. 6. 9). They strive for and achieve the ultimate,
beyond the common measure, they push to the limits. Pindar is full of expressions
of furthest edges and highest peaks. One victor family ‘by its ultimate manly
deeds has from its home grasped the pillars of Herakles’ (I. 4. 12), as too does
Theron of Akragas (O. 3. 44). Olympia is the ‘summit of the ultimate contests,
the highest ordinance of Herakles’ (N. 10. 33). Victors embark on ‘utmost deeds
of mankind’ (N. 3. 19–20), they ‘tasted of toils’ and ‘reached the summit of
excellence’, akron aretēs (N. 6. 23). Victors have gone beyond norms, reached
highest and furthest—through their unique combinations of divine favour,
money, birth, ability, exertion, and bold daring. Their bodies achieve and express
supremacy.
It was such culturally specific values, concepts, and words that informed the
peculiar character of fifth-century victor statues: perfect and real-looking figures,
presented in a sharp, bold, in-your-face style. This was an Archaic thought-world
in which the biggest, strongest, boldest, bluntest man was also the best man. The
fruits of the visual revolution were co-opted to make this message more vivid,
immediate, and effective.
This Archaic world-view also promoted championship athletics to the same
plane as fighting in war. A hero’s work can be called athla (I. 6. 48; P. 4. 220), and
Pindar frequently couples athla and polemos, athla and machai, as equal activities
(I. 1. 50; O. 2. 41; N. 1. 16; P. 8. 25 and 5. 19). This absurd claim received scornful
contemporary criticism in some quarters,79 but it is interesting that the
body-styling of athletes in this early period remained very close to, usually
indistinguishable from, that of heroic warriors. This is easily demonstrated by
the countless torsos and even complete statues—such as the Polykleitan
Diskophoros and Doryphoros—in which it is still vigorously contested whether
athletes or heroes are represented.80 There is no need to rush to decide: in
this context it is enough to observe the ambivalence of these and many other
fifth-century figures. Heroes, warriors, and athletes are closely associated
throughout the poems, and the equal status of games and war promoted by the
sixth- and fifth-century aristocracy was a premiss informing the statues.

79
Xenophanes fr. 2 ¼ Athenaeus 10. 413c–414c; Euripides, Autolykos ¼ fr. 282 Kannicht.
80
See for example Stewart (1990) 160–2; Rausa (1994) 106–8; with material collected in Beck, Bol,
Bückling (1990) 111–17 (P. C. Bol), 195–8 (H. von Steuben), with 518–28, nos. 19–30 (Diskophoros) and
537–51, nos. 41–58 (Doryphoros); Kreikenbom (1990) 21–44, 59–94, pls. 1–71 and 104–209. Particular
identifications (the Diskophoros sometimes as Theseus, the Dorpyphoros often as Achilles) are logically
premature while it remains unknown whether athletes or heroes are represented.
112 r. r. r. smith
Hairstyles, long and short
The most obvious real-life components tying the figures to their immediate time
and society were their hairstyles. Sixth-century aristocratic youths had worn long,
flowing, artificially styled hair in a wide array of different formations. In the later
sixth century, some started to wear it mid-length or shorter but still styled with
rows of curls in front and behind (Fig. 1). After the Persian Wars, most Hellenes
cropped their hair short, some aggressively short. Although some images of
sixth-century wrestlers and boxers do show them with short hair, in the gener-
ation after the Persian Wars, short hair was not an ‘athletic’ hairstyle81 but was
widespread and at first part of a social-political choice. It was part of a more
masculine, anti-eastern, anti-aristocratic comportment. Some Greeks maintained
long hairstyles—most conspicuously the Spartans and aristocrats sympathetic to
the Spartan way.82
The political point and cultural importance invested in hairstyles is represented
in a range of contemporary evidence. For example, part of the myth-history
surrounding the ancient ‘Battle of the Champions’ between the Argives and the
Spartans, recounted by Herodotus (1. 83), was surely invented to explain the long
hairstyles of the Spartans, which of course had been normal at the time of the
battle and had become unusual only in the fifth century. The aristocratic signifi-
cance of styled long hair is also clear in the monuments, and is represented on an
Athenian ostrakon against Megakles son of Hipponikos, who is identified as
Megaklēs Hipponikou neas komēs, that is, Megakles ‘of the fancy (lit. new)
hairdo’.83
Short-cropped hair was widespread but by no means universal, and of course
was adopted quickly across a wide range of the social-political spectrum. The
portrait of Pindar, for example, of perhaps the 450s shows him with a short plain
hairstyle. Only his complex beard arrangement, twisted in a tight knot under his
chin retains a personal styled and conservative/aristocratic aspect.84

Styled body hair

As striking and informative, but little noticed and little discussed by writers
ancient or modern, is the styling of pubic hair (Figs. 14–16). Sixth-century kouroi
can look pre-pubescent but their pubic hair was carved in low relief or painted on

81
So rightly Serwint (1987) 244–82, at 251–2.
82
Spartan long hair: Hdt. 7. 208; Xen. Lak. Pol. 11. 3; Plut. Lys. 1 and Lyk. 22. 1. Others, for example,
Kimon at Athens: Ion of Chios, FGrH 392 F 12. cf. Steininger (1912) 2119.
83
Brenne (1992) 166–71, figs. 4–6, with this and another contemporary ostrakon picturing a long-haired
‘portrait’ head and with good discussion of contemporary male hairstyling.
84
Richter and Smith (1984) 176–80, s.v. Pindar; identified by late version from Aphrodisias, Smith
(1990) 132–5, no. 1, pls. 6–7. Interpretation of beard knot as designed to keep long beard-hair out of lyre
during performance by Himmelman (1994) 71–4 seems to me not convincing; cf. Bergemann (1991).
 pindar, athletes, and the statue habit 113
Fig. 14. Archaic body-hair style.
Pubis fragment from large kouros,
with flat-trimmed hair styled with
razor in shape of anvil. Marble, W:
16 cm. From Samos (found 1984), mid-
later sixth century bc. Samos P 143

Fig. 15. Torso fragment from

youthful male statue. Marble,
H: 32 cm. From Athenian Acropolis,
c.480 bc. Probably from same statue
as ‘Blond Boy’ head. Athens,
Acropolis Museum 6478
114 r. r. r. smith
Fig. 16. Pubic hair styling, sixth and
early fifth century: (1) Isches kouros,
Samos: Kyrieleis (1996). (2) Kroisos
kouros, Athens: Richter (1970)
no. 136. (3) Kouros fragment,
Samos: Kyrieleis (1996) 23 ¼ Fig. 17.
(4) Kouros torso, Samos: Freyer- 1 2 3
Schauenburg (1974) no. 139. (5)
Aristodikos kouros, Athens ¼ Fig. 1.
(6) Bronze Apollo, Piraeus:
Mattusch (1988) 74–9. (7) Warrior,
Agrigento: Barbanera (1995). (8)
Torso, Delos ¼ Fig 15. (9) Torso,
Athens Acropolis ¼ Fig. 18. (10)
Miletos torso, Louvre: Richter
(1970) no. 192 (11) Ludovisi
4 5 6
diskobolos ¼ Fig. 24. (12) Riace B ¼
Fig. 2. (1)–(3): early to later sixth
century. (4)–(6): late sixth/early
fifth century. (7)–(9): early fifth
century. (10)–(12): early/ mid-fifth
century

7 8 9

10 11 12

in a wide range of different, sometimes elaborate artificial forms. These are

usually considered, if at all, to be sculptors’ stylizations which help in dating
the statues. This seems to me unlikely. They surely represent styles of body hair
from real life.
Christos Karouzos in his classic work on the Aristodikos kouros (Fig. 1), in an
appendix with the elevated and untranslated title medea lachnoēnta (it means
‘hairy genitals’), gave an elaborate phase by phase developmental chronology of
late Archaic pubic stylizations.85 Following hints from Ernst Langlotz and an
unnamed ‘Frenchman of high social rank’, an early viewer of the Aristodikos

85
Karouzos (1961) 72–83.
 p i n d a r , a t hl e t e s , a n d t h e s t a t u e h a b i t 115
statue, he was aware that this phenomenon might have to do with something
more than statues, but dismissed the matter quickly as too complicated.86
I cannot find other scholarship that has pursued the subject.
In later Archaic representation, great liberties were taken in manipulating
narrative, costume, and the proportional economy of the human figure, but the
individual components of a body—hands, toes, knees, ears—are at least loosely,
and often closely, based on their real-life counterparts. The painted pubic hair of
the Kroisos kouros (Fig. 16.2) or the carved pubic hair of the Aristodikos kouros
(Fig. 16.5) or that of a recently discovered fragment from Samos (Fig. 14)87 come
not even close to a natural counterpart. Instead of invoking convention or artistic
stylization, we might rather think anthropologically.
If genital display was the defining aspect of the athlete’s naked uniform, such
razor styling (what is surely represented) could do several things—in life and in
art. It enhanced and drew attention to a figure’s genital display. It prolonged and
accentuated the appearance of being precisely at the prized age between youth
and manhood, at the acme of bodily power and beauty. And in a uniform that
allowed room for variety only in muscle development and hairstyles, it became a
locus of difference, of individualizing elaboration (Fig. 16). This was an area of
strange, competitive self-styling. Archilochos captures the flavour in his lines
about elegant generals: ‘I do not like a tall general . . . proud of his curly locks
and partly shaved (hupexurēmenon)’.88 This body-styling phenomenon was
widespread and highly varied. If its variety was that of fashion and of individual
choice in life, rather than that of artistic period mannerism, it is less likely to have
followed a chronological pattern.
Most interesting in the present context is perhaps that this distinctive piece of
Archaic self-fashioning was the last to be dropped. It survived on the athletic
figures we are considering through and after the Persian War period, long after
the other parts of Archaic styling in life and art had been superseded. In the
period c.500–480, the pubic shape is still highly stylized, narrow, and trimmed
close and short (Fig. 16.7–9), with individual peaks and flourishes, as on the torso
fragment from the Athenian acropolis broken from the same statue as the Blond
Boy (Fig. 15).89 In these statues, the hair was cut so short that it is not represented

86
Karouzos (1961) 72.
87
Samos fragment: Kyrieleis (1996) 23 n. 57, pl. 37.3.
88
Archilochos fr. 114 W ¼ Dio Chrys. Or. 33. 17. It is not clear what part of an elegant general’s body
was commonly ‘partly shaved’, but at the end of the same oration in which this fragment is quoted (the first
oration to the people of Tarsus, upbraiding them for their low morals), Dio calls on a Homer or an
Archilochos to denounce pervasive improprieties in male self-styling, in particular shaving the body to look
young and elegant: ‘The first innovation consisted in trimming the beard . . . the next step was to shave (as
far as) the cheeks . . . next they shaved the legs and chest . . . then they progressed as far as the arms; then
shifted to the genitals . . . ’ (Or. 33. 63–4). It is clear from the context that for Dio these were practices
originating in the old days.
89
Blond Boy torso: Richter (1970) no. 191.
116 r. r. r. smith
in the marble: it is a plain relief shape that would stand out sharply when painted.
After c.480, the styled patterns became more uniform, with the standard shapes
of a horizontal bar or a flattened diamond, and they now have a fuller growth of
hair represented by heavier relief carved or engraved with small tight curls
(Fig. 16.10–11).90 Then around the mid-fifth century the artificial razored patterns
were abruptly abandoned in favour of an unstyled natural growth, again I mean
both in art and life (Fig. 16.12).
It is significant that this curious old-fashioned habit was widely represented
on the first generation of statues in the new manner. Since it was clearly a
phenomenon of real life, not of sculptors’ artifice, we can see that it was a visible
part of the old aristocratic culture of Pindar’s generation. In the present context,
it was a striking real-life component, along with the short-cropped hairstyle, that
kept these magnificent-looking body structures tied to their real world, to their
precise time.

Statue actions and contest narratives

A new range of actions and postures was used for victor statues in the fifth century.
They constructed pseudo-narratives or mental contexts that characterized the
victors as different kinds of athletic champion. As mentioned already, distinctively
athletic body styles, prominent in the Hellenistic and Roman periods, are absent
in the fifth century, and still in the fourth century the posthumous statues of two
fifth-century Thessalian athletes from the monument of Daochos at Delphi were
little styled by the needs of a runner (Agelaos) and a pankratiast (Agias).91
There was already from the early fifth century a well-developed Herakles iconog-
raphy available for the heavy athletes, but its example was not appealed to as far as
we know in fifth-century victor statues.92 The main distinctions conveyed by pure
body style were age-groups, principally boys versus men, the two championship
categories at Olympia.
Other distinctions were made by narrative pose and by attributes, or not at all.
Specification of the contest could be left entirely to the inscribed base, and the
statue posed as though praying or sacrificing before the games or adjusting the
crown on his head after victory. Praying, libation-pouring, and crown-adjusting
were probably common statue motifs (Figs. 17, 18).93 They might have been
useful choices for runners, who had no athletic attributes to display. Runners

90
The body-hair style of the Athenian Tyrannicide statues, dated 477/6, is of this kind: Brunnsåker
(1971).
91
Best illustrations: Dohrn (1968) pls. 10–25.
92
The Herakles-like ‘boxer’ statuette of the early 5th cent. in the British Museum (Thomas (1981) 58–9,
pls. 23.2–24) held something (probably a bow) in its outstretched ‘boxing’ hand, and is therefore probably
not a boxer but a Herakles: so rightly Walter-Karydi (1987) 36–8, figs. 37–9.
93
Thomas (1981) 97, pl. 53.1–2 (New York, praying, Fig. 17); 114, pl. 56.1 (Syracuse, libation-pouring,
Fig. 18).
 p i n d a r, a thl e t e s , a n d t h e s t a t u e h a b i t 117

Fig. 17. Athlete with right hand raised in atti- Fig. 18. Athlete pouring libation. Phiale would have been held in right
tude of prayer. Bronze statuette, H: 29.8 cm. hand. Note inlaid eyes (missing) and short-cropped hair. Bronze statuette,
From art market in Smyrna. c.470s bc. New H: 19.5 cm. From Adrano, Sicily, c.470s bc. Syracuse, Museo Nazionale
York, Metropolitan Museum 08.258.10 Archeologico 31888
118 r. r. r. smith
could be posed in action, like Myron’s famous Ladas or later the bronze runner
from Kyme,94 or they could concentrate on the intense moments before and after
the event (sacrificing, crowning).
Attributes might specify. One remarkable statue of the mid-fifth century, of
hard perfect body form, brilliantly put together in the copy register by Walter
Amelung, wears amphōtides or scrum-cap-like ear-guards that identify the subject
as a wrestler (Fig. 19).95 The ear-guards are here probably a genre motif alluding
to hard training rather than a contest narrative. The genre motif of oiling and
scraping also alluded as much to gymnasium training as to contests. It is well
known in fifth-century athletic representations (for example, on vases and on the
scraper grave stele at Delphi),96 but not in statues until the fourth century. Oiling
probably became a contest-specific narrative for statues of champions in the
‘heavy’ contests, in wrestling and the pankration.97
Boxers might be characterized by their himantes (boxing leathers) or by pose,
as in the early statue of Glaukos of Karystos (3) that showed him shadow-fighting
or sparring (skiamachos), that is, in a narrative where the viewer supplied the
opponent.98 The kind of physiognomical characterization of a heavy boxer seen
in the well-known bearded fourth-century bronze head from Olympia is absent
from the fifth century.99
The race in armour, in which competitors wore a helmet and carried a shield, was
a prestigious running contest but added only late to the Olympic programme, in
520.100 It was the last race on the last day of the games at Olympia. Few statues are
recorded commemorating hoplite victors, and to avoid visual confusion with
statues of warrior heroes (such as the Riace heroes), who also wore helmet, shield,
and nudity as their uniform, they needed to have a running narrative. Such
a narrative is seen in the early fifth century on vases, in a bronze statuette in
Tübingen, and probably in a well-known fragmentary marble statue from Sparta
(‘Leonidas’) (Figs. 20, 21).101 Hoplite runners are non-existent in the copy record,
both because they would be difficult to distinguish in a statue programme from
warriors and perhaps too because the connection between athletics and good
soldiers that they embodied was generally denied in Roman culture.102

94
Ladas: Overbeck (1868) nos. 542–3. Kyme runner: Uçankuş (1989).
95
Amelung athlete: Rausa (1994) 103–4, 178–80, no. 5, pl. 5.
96
Vases: Boardman (1975) 220, figs. 4 and 24.3. Delphi stele: Guide de Delphes, 64, fig. 24; Rolley
(1994) 358–9, fig. 375.
97
Oiler statues: Rausa (1994) 34.
98
On the ‘boxer’ statuette in the BM, above n. 92.
99
Olympia boxer head: Bol (1978) 40–3, 114–15, no. 159, pls. 30–2; Lullies and Hirmer (1979) pls. 228–9.
100
First victor was Damaretos of Heraia (Paus. 6. 10. 4): List 5.
101
Louvre amphora: Hauser (1887) 100. Other vases: Boardman (1975) 220, figs. 79, 82, 230. Tübingen
bronze: Hausmann (1977). Sparta statue, naked with helmet, greaves, and shield: Tzachou-Alexandri
(1989) no. 217, with references.
102
Tac. Ann. 14. 20 is a classic passage for this attitude. Good account in Friedländer (1965) ii. 122.
 pindar, athletes, and the statue habit 119

Fig. 20. Hoplitodromos. Armed runner at

start, with helmet, shield, and greaves. Single
figure on one side of Athenian red-figure
amphora, attributed to the ‘Berlin Painter’,
c.500–480 bc. Paris, Louvre G 214

Fig. 19. Amelung Athlete. Victor in training puts on ear guards (amphōtides).
Motif indicates heavy athlete (wrestler or pankratiast). Plaster reconstruction by
Walter Amelung combining casts of two separate Roman marbles: (1) head in
Stockholm, National Museum 59; (2) torso, restored with alien head of L.
Verus, in Vatican, Braccio Nuovo, 2217. After bronze victor statue of mid-fifth
century. Height of reconstruction, head to kness: c.130 m. Rome, Università di Fig. 21. Hoplitodromos. Armed runner at
Roma ‘La Sapienza’, Museo dell’Arte Classica, Gipsoteca 269 start, wears helmet and late Archaic hair and
beard style. Shield on left arm is missing.
Bronze statuette, H: 16.4 cm, c.500–480
bc. Tübingen, Universitätssammlung
120 r. r. r. smith
Pentathlete figures are abundant. They were made immediately recognizable
by characteristic actions and attributes, especially javelin-throwing and discus-
throwing. They are easily identified in small bronzes, in later copies, and in
battered action torsos of the early fifth century.103 None of the other contests
of the pentathlon were suitable. The long jump is obviously not statue-friendly,
while running and wrestling were shared with other contests, so unsuitable
to characterize a champion pentathlete’s statue. Both javelin-throwing and
discus-throwing, however, are visually striking and statue-friendly in terms of
pose and composition. A vigorous discus-throwing figure was even chosen to
symbolize local games on coins of Kos (Fig. 22).
Discus-throwers are the most recognizable and abundant in both the small
bronzes and the copies. They begin in the bronzes in the late Archaic period
and continue with several striking, bold, and gauche figures in the early fifth
century—such as the statuette in New York (Fig. 23).104
The earliest full-scale, fifth-century victor statue we have is a pentathlete
discus-thrower known in several marbles of the Roman period: the Ludovisi
diskobolos. A headless version from Side in Pamphylia gives the full pose; the
Ludovisi herm (Figs. 24, 25) preserves the posture of the head on the body and
gives something of the power of the torso; and a head in the Vatican is a weaker,
smoother, but more complete version of the ‘portrait’ (Fig. 26).105 The figure
held the discus up above the head with both hands, poised at the top of the first
swing, a remarkable momentary pose, which exposes and stretches the powerful
torso muscles. This was clearly an extraordinary harsh and hard-hitting figure,
with cropped hair, low Neanderthal brow, and jutting chin.106 The statue should
be of the 470s and among the first brash avatars of the revolution—that is, it is of
the time and style of the statues of the Athenian Tyrannicides and of Pythagoras
of Rhegion.107 This should be what the statues of legendary victors of the 470s
were like—such as Euthymos of Lokroi and Theagenes of Thasos (List 25 and 27).
This statue’s raw, ungainly display of discus-action and fierce ponos is an
essential backdrop to the fluent singing action of Myron’s discus-thrower,
a decade or so later.108

103
Torsos: above, Fig. 13 and n. 67.
104
New York diskobolos: Thomas (1981) 40–1, pl. 15.1–2.
105
Side statue: Inan (1975), 13–18, no. 1, pls. 6–7. Ludovisi herm: Rausa (1994) 98–9, 171–2, no. 1,
pl. 1. Vatican head: Lippold (1956) 463–4, no. 23, pl. 201.
106
The resemblance of the jutting chin and head-shape of the Ludovisi herm (Fig. 25) to those of the
brilliant young English footballer Wayne Rooney (playing at time of writing for Everton) demonstrates
clearly that even the most simplified, artificial-looking ‘ideal’ Classical image might have its main points of
reference and meaning in reality.
107
Tyrannicides: Brunnsåker (1971).
108
Myron’s diskobolos: Robertson (1975) 340–1, pl. 114a; Lullies and Hirmer (1979) pl. 127.
 p i n d a r, a thl e t e s , a n d t h e s t a t u e h a b i t 121

Fig. 22. Youth throwing discus, with tripod

prize to left, stands for prestigious local
games. Obverse of silver tridrachm of Kos.
Diam: c.2.4 cm, c.450 bc. Kraay and Hirmer
(1966) no. 639

Fig. 23. Athlete with discus in raised hand.

Bronze statuette, H: 23.5 cm. Supposedly from
Peloponnese. c.470s bc. New York,
Metropolitan Museum, 07.286.87
 122 r. r. r. smith

Fig. 25. Detail of Fig. 24

Fig. 24. Ludovisi diskobolos. Youthful

pentathlete with close-cropped hair raising discus
above head with both hands, at top of first swing.
The muscles are an aggressive display of hard
athletic training ( ponos) in the manner of the 470s.
The pubic hair is naturally ‘full’, but still styled in a Fig. 26. Head of Ludovisi diskobolos: second version. Smoother,
flat diamond shape. Hip herm (that is, the support leaner, weaker interpretation, emphasizing bronze character of
below the groin is a herm pillar) of second–first original (especially in eyelids). The plain, close cropped cap of hair
century bc, after bronze of c.480–70 bc. Pentelic was no doubt painted. From Hadrian’s villa at Tivoli, second
marble. Full H: 1.96m. H head to groin: c.90 cm. century ad. Mounted on modern herm. Also restored: both ears,
From Rome (acquired 1621), Rome, Museo end of nose. Marble, height of ancient part 28 cm. Height of head,
Nazionale 8639 (Ludovisi collection) chin to crown: 23 cm. Vatican, Galleria Geografica 28866
 pindar, athletes, and the statue habit 123

6. horses, chariots, charioteers

The racehorse and chariot events (the single flat race, two-horse chariot, mule-
cart, and four-horse chariot), though not ‘athletic’ in our sense, were of course
fully part of the same games programme and the same intense contest environ-
ment. Single racehorse victories are prominent in our minds because both Pindar
(O. 1) and Bacchylides (5) wrote victory songs to celebrate in grand terms the
racehorse victory of Hieron of Syracuse, at Olympia in 476 with Pherenikos, the
‘storm-paced horse’ (Bacchyl. 5. 39). But single racehorse monuments were not
common, and what Hieron really wanted was a chariot win.
As today, the wealthy owner and the horse were the winners and the objects of
admiration, not the jockey, and in a racehorse monument the owner might be
included standing by the horse (Paus. 6. 14. 12), just as the owner was regularly
included in chariot groups (below). We have one bronze racehorse later, an
astonishing work from Cape Artemision now in Athens, a fast and noble horse
with a boy-slave jockey.109 A Pherenikos statue would probably have looked
more like the well-known bronze statuette of a horse of c. 480–460 from
Olympia.110 In the early period, the boy jockey was optional but usual. At least
that seems the implication of the riderless horse monument of Pheidolas of
Corinth (508 bc, Paus. 6. 13. 9–10), for which an explanation was later felt
necessary—that the horse had won without its rider.

Chariot groups in Pausanias

The four-horse chariot race was the Formula 1 event, held first at Olympia on the
first day of the games, and victory carried the biggest prestige of all. Since as many as
41 chariots (according to Pindar, P. 5. 49) could compete at once, victory was really
worth having. Chariot monuments were the grandest, most contest-specific vic-
tor symbols at Olympia and Delphi. They were expensive (between 2.3 and 4.6
talents we saw earlier for a chariot group in c.500), and there were not many of them.
Although Pausanias says he was selective in his account of victor monuments at
Olympia and omitted lesser and later examples, he seems to have been very
interested in the chariot victors. The early monuments of chariot victors that he
mentions may well include all of them. Before 400, Pausanias gives only ten
chariot victors (that is, owners and breeders of the horses) who set up statues
at Olympia, and of these dedications only four were life-size groups with
full chariot-teams and personnel.111 All four were made by big-name bronze-
workers. They are as follows.
109
Artemision horse: Kaltsas (2001) no. 603, with earlier literature.
110
Olympia horse: Mallwitz and Herrmann (1980) no. 111—though it has a chariot harness.
111
Of the other six, four were the dedications of early Spartan chariot winners that stood near the later
chariot monument of Queen Kyniska, and it is clear or implied from Pausanias’ wording that they
were single statues of the owners: (1) Arkesilas (49), victor in 448 and 444, statue not specified; (2)
124 r. r. r. smith
1. The monument of Kleosthenes of Epidamnos (6), victor in 516 (Paus. 6. 10. 6).
The chariot group was made by Ageladas of Argos (teacher, according
to some, of Polykleitos), active into the early fifth century. It included
the four-horse chariot team, Kleosthenes himself, and a nameless charioteer.
Pausanias says explicitly this was the first statue (eikōn) of a chariot-owner at
Olympia. The chariot itself carried a verse epigram quoted by Pausanias, and
the name of each of the four horses was inscribed separately on the base
(Phoinix, Korax, inner; Knakias, outer right; Samos, outer left).
2. The monument of the Sicilian tyrant Gelon (16), victor in 488 (Paus. 6. 9. 4).
It was made by the prized Aeginetan bronze-worker Glaukias, and
consisted of a chariot team and Gelon himself. Three inscribed blocks
survive from its base (Fig. 27), which may (or may not) go on top of the
square foundation for a chariot group in situ in front of the Temple of
Zeus (Fig. 28).112
3. The monument of Hieron tyrant of Syracuse (30), victor in 468 (Paus.
6. 12. 1). This was probably the grandest of the chariot groups. It was
commissioned from Onatas of Aegina and Kalamis of Athens, and was set
up by Hieron’s son in 467. In addition to the chariot and four-horse team,
the group included two statues of racehorses with boy jockeys on them that
represented Hieron’s kelēs victories (single racehorse) with his stallion Pher-
enikos in 476 and 472. Onatas made the chariot team, while Kalamis made
the two (presumably flanking) horses. These victories of Hieron at Olympia
and those at Delphi too were heavily publicized also in victory poems
commissioned from Pindar (O. 1 and P. 1) and Bacchylides (3–5).
4. The monument of Kratisthenes of Cyrene (36), who won in 464 (Paus. 6.
18. 1). He commissioned Pythagoras of Rhegion to make it, and the group
consisted of a chariot and team carrying figures of Nike and the owner
himself.
Pausanias records no other full chariot groups until the famous monument of the
Spartan queen Kyniska, victor in 396, which was made by one Apelleas and
consisted of a chariot, four-horse team, charioteer, and the queen herself (Paus.
6. 1. 6). Full chariot groups are even less common thereafter.

Polykles (52), victor in 440, his statue holds a ribbon in the right hand; (3) Anaxandros (58), victor in 428: is
represented praying to the god; and (4) Lichas (61), (controversial) victor in 420: set up tēn eikona. The
remaining two are: (5) Timon of Elis (77), victor in 400, who set up a statue of himself and one of his son
on a horse—the son being a racehorse (kelēs) winner and owner-jockey: the eikones were made by Daidalos;
and (6) Polypeithes of Sparta, victor in 484, who set up an expressly small-scale chariot group, mentioned
by Pausanias later and separately from the main grouping of Spartan chariot victory dedications (6. 16. 6),
which included on the same base (stēlē) a statuette of his father Kalliteles (22), a victorious wrestler.
112
For: Eckstein (1969) 54. Against: Mallwitz (1972) 60–1. Walter-Karydi (1987) 35, pl. 5 B shows the
foundation in situ with the three blocks placed on it.
Fig. 27. Gelon at Olympia. Three surviving inscribed blocks from the base of Gelon’s
chariot monument (List 16), seen by Pausanias (6. 9. 4); text can be restored with certainty
from Pausanias and translated as: ‘[Gelon son of Deinomenes Gele]os (i.e. from Gela)
dedicated (sc. this monument). Glaukias, Aeginetan, made (it)’ (IvO 143). Blocks 2 and 3
were clearly consecutive, blocks 1 and 2 not necessarily. Whether or not they belong to the
large square foundation in front of the Temple of Zeus (Fig. 28), they were from a
monument of the same kind. Found in or near the palaestra at Olympia. Parian marble,
H: 26 cm, W: 82–4 cm. Combined W: 2.50 m

Fig. 28. Chariot monument at Olympia. Foundation in situ in front of SE corner of Temple of
Zeus (see Figs. 4–5). Kind of base and position occupied by chariot group of Gelon (Appendix 16
and Fig. 27) and Hieron (List 30). Upper course is marble, lower course limestone, W: 2.74 m
126 r. r. r. smith
Sicilian chariot groups
What do we have of such chariot monuments? The east pediment of the Temple
of Zeus at Olympia, featuring the preliminaries to the race between Pelops and
Oinomaos, shows two four-horse chariot teams with their drivers, grooms,
and their owner-heroes.113 The groups are of the time and style of Hieron’s
monument (460s).
Victorious four-horse chariots, as well as mule-carts, are also featured on the
coins of several Sicilian cities. In the period 500–450, the chariots are always static
or walking quietly forward, driven by real-looking charioteers, with Nike
sometimes in attendance (Fig. 29).114 In contrast to the better known dynamic
racing chariots driven by Nikai on the coins of these cities in the later fifth
century, these early coin depictions probably drew on the form and style of the
big bronze monuments, such as those of Gelon and Hieron at Olympia, indeed
they may well commemorate such groups. For owners to be included, as we will
see, the chariot groups had to be static.
The cities and tyrants of Sicily were passionately engaged in the crown games
in old Greece, and especially in the prestigious chariot events. Like Sparta,
Syracuse wanted to be known for its chariot victories.115 The tyrants worked
the games hard in practice and in the public media (statues, coins, poems) for the
standing and legitimacy they brought. We have two very different, top-quality
statues from Sicilian chariot monuments of precisely this time, the Delphi and the
Motya charioteers, both of the 470s and both perhaps connected to victories
hymned or referred to by the poets.

Polyzalos’ chariot monument at Delphi

The Delphi charioteer (Figs. 30–5)116 has the second half of a two-line inscription
on the one surviving limestone block from the monument’s base. The second line
was a dedication to Apollo. The first line, mentioning a ruler of Gela as the
dedicator, was erased and re-inscribed naming Polyzalos (brother of Hieron) as
the dedicator. The arguments about the intention of the first version and the
reason for its erasure and re-inscribing are complicated and controversial. On
the most widely accepted hypothesis (of F. Chamoux), Polyzalos was also the
unnamed ruler of Gela in the first version, and the text was adjusted later in more
democratic times at Gela to remove objectionable mention of his overlordship of

113
Ashmole and Yalouris (1967) 14, pls. 28–30.
114
Chariot groups on coins, 500–450: Kraay and Hirmer (1966) nos. 13–16 (Leontinoi); 36 (Catana); 70
(Himera); 72–8, 83, 85, 93 (Syracuse); 157–8 (Gela). Mule bigas: Kraay and Hirmer (1966) nos. 51
(Messana), 281 (Rhegion).
115
Pausanias 6. 2. 1 notes intense Spartan interest in hippotrophia and chariot-racing after the Persian
Wars.
116
Most useful detailed studies are: Chamoux (1955); Rolley (1990); F. Chamoux in Bommelaer and
Laroche (1991), 180–6.
 pindar, athletes, and the statue habit 127

Fig. 29. Sicilian chariot coin. Four-horse chariot team

is driven at prancing walk. The fine-limbed,
throughbred character of the horses is emphasized in
their long, thin, mannered legs. They have finely
trimmed, crested manes, and their heads are held in and
high. The charioteer wears a short-cropped hairstyle and
a charioteer’s ankle-length chiton. He leans forward in
driving posture, and Victory flies above: this is a
narrative scene, close to but not a transcription of a
statue monument. Obverse of silver tetradrachm, diam:
2.55 cm. Syracuse, c.470–460 bc. Kraay and Hirmer
(1996) no. 83

Fig. 30. Delphi

charioteer, 470s bc. Wears
high-belted, long chiton,
and fillet around head.
Stood in the chariot
monument dedicated at
Delphi, first by a ruler of
Gela (Hieron in 482 or
478?), then re-inscribed as
a dedication of Polyzalos
(Hieron’s brother) in 478
or 474. Bronze, H: 1.80 m.
Delphi Museum 3484,
3520, 3540

Fig. 31. Detail of Fig. 30. Upper front teeth and

meander pattern in fillet were inlaid with silver. For
the serrated bronze eyelashes, compare Fig. 8
 128 r. r. r. smith
Fig. 32. Delphi chariot Fig. 33. Delphi
monument. Fragment of chariot monument.
horse’s tail, with sharp Two rear legs from
cold-work typical of early thoroughbred team:
fifth century: long elegant and closely
overlaid strands of hair, observed with
finely chiselled and separately added
engraved. The tail bronze ‘chestnuts’.
projected slightly form Bronze, H: 71 cm
the horse’s rump, (left), 69.5 cm (right).
showing its carefully Delphi Museum 3485
rendered, tapering tail and 3538
muscle underneath.
Bronze, H: 29.8 cm.
Delphi Museum 3541

the city. This is fragile on several points, but it is enough to observe that
Polyzalos’ name is unlikely to have been erased in one part of the line only to
be re-inscribed in another.117 Contrary to the most accepted view, therefore,
Polyzalos is unlikely to have been also the first dedicator (he is in fact nowhere
attested as ruler of Gela). The most likely candidate, as argued most recently and
convincingly by H. Maehler, is Hieron, who ruled Gela from 485 to 478 before
taking over Syracuse. This victory could have been in 482 or 478.118
The re-dedication of the monument by Polyzalos would have involved,
Maehler suggests, a ceding of the victory by Hieron to his brother (as Kimon
the Elder had ceded his Olympic victory of 528 to Peisistratos: Hdt. 6. 103. 2).
Alternatively and less drastically, we might suggest that it might have been only
the monument, not the victory itself, that was ceded by Hieron, in order to allow
Polyzalos to commemorate a victory he (Polyzalos) had won himself. Polyzalos’
victory could have been in either 478 or 474. For Hieron, his brother’s need for
the monument at a particular juncture might have been more urgent than his
own: he had plenty such monuments, poems, and prestige, and he could make,
or may already have had made another, maybe grander monument for himself.

117
This is an acute observation of Ebert (1972) 62.
118
Maehler (2002). Rolley (1990) also argued for Hieron on different grounds and with a less
convincing hypothetical reconstruction that puts the original monument later—a dedication of Hieron
set up in 467/6, commemorating his racehorse victories at Delphi in 482 and 478 and his chariot
victory there in 470, taken over later by Polyzalos after the fall of the Deinomenids—on which, see Maehler
(2002) 21.
 pindar, athletes, and the statue habit 129

Fig. 34. Delphi chariot monument. Old reconstruction (R. Hampe) that shows well the scale and
effect of such a monument, set on a low base in the same space as its viewers. Some details are wrong:
the separate racehorse and groom should be on the same base as the chariot (see Fig. 35), and the
whole monument was probably set up on the terrace above the polygonal wall, not as here on the
temple terrace below it

Fig. 35. Delphi chariot monument. Recent reconstruction (C. Rolley, 1990), based on new study of
the fragments, restoring two flanking racehorses and grooms
1 30 r . r. r . s m i th
The chariot group probably stood on the tall terrace overlooking the temple
from the north where the base block, the charioteer, fragments of the horses and
chariot, and a boy’s arm were found buried. It was once an elaborate group,
including beside the well-preserved driver at least the chariot, four horses, and
one or more grooms (Figs. 34, 35). We come close here to Hieron’s famous
group at Olympia in time and effect. The charioteer is beautifully worked, with
inlaid eyes, fine lashes, a fillet with a meander pattern inlaid in silver, silver teeth
(now difficult to see), and astonishingly realistic feet (Figs. 30, 31).
The horses, of which we have some legs and a tail, were, however, even finer,
more elegant, more closely observed (Figs. 32, 33). In relation to the charioteer
they were the real subject. The horses are at a standstill or gentle mannered walk—
like the bronze statuette from Olympia (n. 110), the temple east pediment (n. 113),
and the early fifth-century coin images (n. 114 and Fig. 29). This was a fictive
moment before or after the race, a moment above all at which the owner could be
present.
None of the modern reconstructions of the group shows an owner figure
(Figs. 34, 35), but all four of the chariot groups described earlier, set up between
516 and 464, and Kyniska’s set up after her victory in 396, included horses,
chariot, and owner. (For the following, see the references given above.) It was
the charioteer who seems to have been optional, not the owner. The owners
Kleosthenes, Gelon, Kratisthenes, and Kyniska were all included. The figure of a
man said by Pausanias (6. 12. 1) to be standing in Hieron’s chariot should also
have been the owner, rather than a charioteer, whom Pausanias always seems to
specify as such. This figure (Hieron?), Kratisthenes, and Kyniska are furthermore
said to be on or in their chariots. For Kleosthenes and Gelon, Pausanias is
not clear whether they are in or beside their chariots. There is therefore a
presumption both that Polyzalos the victor-owner should be included and that
he should be in the chariot with the surviving charioteer. The charioteer’s wilful
blankness takes on, therefore, more significance: he is expressionless, stiff,
motionless, and would probably be slightly smaller than an owner figure. He
defers visually to his employer.

Motya charioteer: style, costume, subject

The second statue, from Motya in west Sicily, found in 1979, came as a great
surprise: an extraordinary, vigorous, top-of-the-line Greek-style marble statue
from a Punic colony (Figs. 36–9).119 But it is hardly the puzzle that many have
found it to be. Punic identifications of the unusual figure (as a priest of Melkart, a
Punic cult official, or a leader such as Hamilcar) have been driven by the rational
119
Bonacasa and Buttitta (1988) for the basic documentation, with a wide range of more than twenty
different learned opinions represented that identify the statue as: a Punic priest, a cult official, Hamilcar,
Ikaros, a slinger, and various charioteers. The best and most careful of more recent studies is Bell (1995).
 pindar, athletes, and the statue habit 131

Fig. 36. Motya, plan (north at top). The charioteer statue was found at the NE of the
island, immediately to the north of the Cappiddazzu complex. Minimum–maximum width of
island: 659–900 m

desire to match the figure’s meaning with the Punic context, but they have poor
support in the form, style, and iconography of the figure.
With the find-place for the moment left to one side, the thin high-belted
costume is obviously the abundantly attested foot-length chiton of a charioteer
(chitōn podēros or xystis: Fig. 29). The date is early in the new manner (c.470s): the
head has the late-Archaic-style snail curls on nape and brow (a small cap or helmet
was added separately in metal), and puffy eyelids and features like those of the
figures in the Olympia pediments. The prominent veins stuck on the upper arms
like strips of tape are gratuitous, rudimentary, and early. Veins were an exciting
novelty in this period, said to have been represented in statues more
convincingly, diligentius, for the first time by Pythagoras of Rhegion (Pliny,
NH 34. 59). The swinging new-style pose has an exaggerated swagger, one foot
forward, one hand on hip, the other raised. The aim was to show at all costs the
form and character of the body under the thin chiton.
 1 32 r. r . r . s m it h

Fig. 39. Detail of Fig 37. Head wore cap or light helmet
attached by bronze pins to rough surface and late Archaic
hairstyle of three rows of tight snail curls at front (two
rows at back), similar to hairstyle of Fig. 1. In contrast to
Delphi charioteer (Fig. 31), features have modulated forms
and portrait-like effect.

Fig. 37–8. Motya charioteer, c. 470s bc. Figure wears thin, high-
belted charioteer’s chiton that reveals hard-trained athletic body
forms beneath. Left hand on hip, right hand raised probably
crowning head. Marble, H: 1.81 m. Marsala, Museo Archeologico

From this styling of the figure, we might deduce two things. (1) The figure was
a self-sufficient statue-monument—not, as sometimes restored, standing in a
chariot.120 The turn of the statue in its own real space—from all views—signifies
an independent figure. In terms of chariot narrative, the subject is out of the
chariot, the raised right hand adjusting his victory crown or helmet. (2) Second,
the display of muscle development and athletic body line (note in profile the
swinging S-curve of the back and the hard prominent backside) are designed to
show that this charioteer is not merely a driver but a youthful, well-muscled,

120
For example in Bonacasa and Buttitta (1988) pl. 44.
 pindar, athletes, and the statue habit 133
hard-trained athlete with all the excellence (aretē) of character and body of a
champion contestant: discipline, poise, hard work, good breeding are all on
display. The statue was of a specific person: this charioteer had a name.
The contrast with the Delphi charioteer (Figs. 30, 31) is not then between a
figure of the mainland and one of the western colonial frontier, nor is it one of
date. It is in fact not possible to be sure on our present evidence which is earlier
than the other. The contrast is to do with the status of the subjects and the
character of the monuments to which they belonged. The Motya statue was
a stand-alone figure, a great champion in a charioteer’s costume, with aristocrat-
ically styled hair. He was the whole subject of his monument. The Delphi figure
was a subsidiary part of a large group, partly concealed inside the chariot, and
wearing a plain short hairstyle. The real subject in the Delphi monument was the
horses and probably too, as argued above, the owner. The Delphi charioteer is
one of the many drivers who failed to appear in Pindar’s songs for chariot
victors—nameless, generic, expressionless.
The Motya statue might represent a champion driver of the kind who achieved
a big name, wealth, and mentions in praise poetry—a man like Karrhotos, the
driver for King Arkesilas of Cyrene (P. 5), or Nikomachos of Athens, who drove
for the tyrants of Akragas (I. 2. 22). Alternatively, it might be the monument of
one of the rarer breed of aristocratic owner-drivers—a man like Herodotus of
Thebes (I. 1) or Thrasyboulos of Akragas, nephew of the tyrant Theron, hymned
hotly by Pindar (I. 2 and fr. 124a, b), who is said by the Pindar scholia to have
driven for his father.121 There is, however, no need to choose a precise name. The
statue loudly asserts hard-trained athlete and independent champion. It repre-
sents a champion from the games in Greece found in Sicily, and this is enough to
make it one of our most important and closely Pindar-connected monuments.

Context on Motya: booty or local monument?

What was this monument doing in a Punic stronghold? One common hypothesis
is that it arrived as booty from the Carthaginian sack of one of the Greek cities of
western Sicily in 406 and 405 bc. This hypothesis could well be correct. Selinus,
Himera, Akragas, and Gela were all sacked and great quantities of booty taken
from temples and homes and shipped to Carthage. Paintings and statues are
mentioned in the case of Akragas, and a large statue of Apollo in the case of Gela
(which was shipped to Tyre).122
Large marble statues, however, require cranes, large crates, and much careful
packing to move them: they make poor booty. They are awkward, intrinsically
worthless, and if broken, totally worthless. Bronzes were of course another

121
Full details for a hypothetical identification as Thrasyboulos: Bell (1995).
122
Diod. Sic. 13. 57 (Selinus); 13. 62 (Himera); 13. 90. 4, 13. 96. 5, 13. 108. 2 (Akragas); 13. 108. 4 (Gela).
1 34 r . r. r . s m i th
matter. The large Apollo statue taken from before Gela and shipped to Tyre is
explicitly said to have been a bronze. It might also be worth noting that the
sculptured decoration of the temples at Akragas, which would have been of marble
or other stone, were not taken but deliberately mutilated (Diod. Sic. 13. 108. 2).
They would have been troublesome to move. What could be one of these
broken temple sculptures from Akragas survives in a high-quality marble torso
of a warrior of c.470–460 found in the city near the Olympieion.123
Although booty from a Sicilian Greek city remains a possible explanation,
others should not be excluded and the context on Motya should perhaps not
be so quickly rewritten. The statue was found in the northern part of the fortress
island, at ‘Sector K’ (Fig. 36).124 It had been broken: there was no plinth, no feet,
and no arms. The statue had therefore been moved but not necessarily far. Close
by was a large open agora-like or sanctuary-like space and a large religious-style
building complex (its local name is the Cappiddazzu complex). This would
make a natural display setting for such a figure—toppled (on anyone’s view) in
the terrible sack by Dionysios’ army in 397 (Diod. Sic. 14. 47–53). Why should
this not have been its first and only context?
The question ‘why a Greek charioteer statue in a Punic settlement?’ is perhaps
posed too starkly. Both the material record and the literary record attest to a
strong Greek presence on Motya in the fifth century bc.125 The resident Greeks
appear prominently in Diodorus’ account of the 397 sack (Diod. Sic. 14. 53. 4).
They were singled out for special punishment by Dionysios—probably their
monuments too.
Such statues set up away from the victory site generally marked the hometown
of the victor. And we have seen that in the fifth century even at Olympia chariot
victories were often commemorated by single-figure monuments. The easiest
reading then that combines the information expressed forcefully by the statue
with its find-place on Motya might be a monument of or for a local resident
(a Greek more likely than a Phoenician, but not certainly) who acquired fame,
fortune, and aristocratic pretensions driving in the games in Greece. It need not
be anyone we have heard of. The bronze runner from Kyme now in Izmir and the
bronze athlete crowning himself from Fano now in Malibu are probably later
examples of far-flung victor monuments from the champion’s hometown.126
Examples less remote from the sanctuaries of the crown games but precisely
contemporary with the Motya statue might be figures such as the marble youths
with hair tied up from the acropolis at Athens (‘Kritian Boy’, ‘Blond Boy’) and the

123
Akragas warrior: Barbanera (1995).
124
On the excavation and find context: G. Falsone in Bonacasa and Buttitta (1988) 9–24.
125
D. Asheri estimates that in the 5th cent. Greeks were half the population of Motya: Asheri (1988)
744.
126
Kyme: Uçankuş (1989). Fano: Frel (1978); Rolley (1999) 331–2, figs. 344–5.
 pindar, athletes, and the statue habit 135
marble statue of an armed runner from the acropolis at Sparta (‘Leonidas’), all
probably of the 480s or 470s.127

Motya charioteer and Herodotus of Thebes

There were probably few charioteer statues like the Motya figure in the
sanctuaries of the crown games because the chariot victory monuments there
were generally set up by the owners. Their monuments, we have seen, featured
the named owners and their horses (also sometimes named, Kleosthenes 6), and
optionally an unnamed charioteer. But if Herodotus of Thebes, the owner-driver
for whom Pindar wrote Isthmian 1, had set up a statue at the sanctuary of
Poseidon at the Isthmos after his victory there, it could well have looked like this.
This poem, Isthmian 1, provides some help in interpreting the statue. The
winning owner-driver, Pindar says, achieved aretē through dapanai and ponos,
excellence through spending and hard training—three key concepts, as
mentioned earlier, often joined by Pindar. We see the discipline of hard training
(ponos) in the body, wealth and expenditure (dapanai) in the fine costume and in
the expensively trained muscle-development. This kind of body-fashioning was
costly: it required a life without other work. With its fine costume and perfect
athletic physique, the champion’s body and statue take on the ‘luxuriant
grandeur’, kudos habron, won in games or war, which praise-song was meant to
bring (I. 1. 50) and which a life-size statue made concrete. The swaggering whole
embodied agonistic aretē as conceived in the early fifth century.

7. conclusion: victors statues, 500–450

The statue habit pervaded Greek and eventually Roman and Mediterranean
society. Statues marked priorities (here, winning in the games) and negotiated
important relationships (here, between the victor and his community). They were
markers of different kinds of power (body power as a symbol of wealth and
personal discipline) and they define for us whole periods of ancient culture
(here 500–450 bc).
Athletes maintained a constant place in the statue population of cities and
sanctuaries down to the third century ad. However, both athletes and their
statues occupied a particularly prominent place in the fifth century, especially in
the still-aristocratic generation of 500–450. In this period, aristocrats exploited
the lifelike revolution in statue-making that occurred at this time and maintained
a prominent position in the symbolic economy of statues when other avenues of

127
‘Kritian Boy’: Payne and Young (1936) pls. 109–17; Hurwit (1989). ‘Blond Boy’: Richter (1970)
no. 191 and here Fig. 15. ‘Leonidas’: Tzachou-Alexandri (1989) no. 217.
1 36 r . r . r . s mi t h
self-promotion were being denied to them. The new-style statues were able to
express the twin ideas of real athletic champion in particular contests and the best
of men in mind and body. Pindar gives the most direct way into their strange
backward-looking thought-world. The Motya statue, the home-monument of or
to a champion driver, is a powerful example that expresses loudly both charioteer
and aristocratic body supremacy.
Appendix: List of victors with statues at Olympia, to 400 bc

Ol. Name Contest Maker Paus. (H) Base

544 1. Praxidamas (Aegina) boxer — 6. 18. 7 (196)

536 2. Rhexibios (Opous) pankratiast — 6. 18. 7 (197)
520 3. Glaukos (Karystos) boxer Glaukias (Aegina) 6. 10. 1 (96)
4. Anochos (Tarentum) runner Ageladas (Argos) 6. 14. 11 (140)
516 5. Damaretos (Heraia) armed runner (2) Eutelidas (Argos) 6. 10. 4 (97)
6. Kleosthenes (Epidamnos) chariot Ageladas (Argos) 6. 10. 6 (102)
7. Milon (Kroton) wrestler (6) (a Krotonian) 6. 14. 5 (136)
512 8. Timasitheos (Delphi) pankratiast (2) Ageladas (Argos) 6. 8. 6 (85)
9. Pheidolas (Corinth) horseracer — 6. 13. 9 (126)
508 10. [Sons of 9] horseracer — 6. 13. 10 (127)
504 11. Philon (Corcyra) boy runner — 6. 14. 13 (144)
500 12. Agametor (Mantinea) boy boxer — 6. 9. 9 (95)
13. Meneptolemos (Illyria) boy runner — 6. 14. 13 (143)
496 14. Philon (Corcyra) boxer (2) Glaukias (Aegina) 6. 9. 9 (94)
492 15. Hieronymos (Andros) pentathlete Stomios (from ?) 6. 14. 13 (145)
488 16. Gelon (Gela/Syracuse) chariot Glaukias (Aegina) 6. 9. 4 (93) 3 base blocks: IvO 143
17. Agiadis (Elis) boy boxer Serambos (Aegina) 6. 10. 9 (106)
484 18. Theopompos (Heraia) pentathlete — 6. 10. 4 (98)
19. Epikradios (Mantinea) boy boxer Ptolichos (Aegina) 6. 10. 9 (104)
20. Mnaseas (Cyrene) armed runner Pythagoras (Rhegion) 6. 13. 7 (123)
21. Polypeithes (Sparta) chariot — 6. 16. 6 (170)
22. Kalliteles, father wrestler — 6. 16. 6 (170)
480 23. Dromeus (Stymphalos) runner (2) Pythagoras (Rhegion) 6. 7. 10 (72)
24. Astylos (Kroton/Syrac) runner (3) Pythagoras (Rhegion) 6. 13. 1 (113)
476 25. Theagenes (Thasos) pankratiast Glaukias (Aegina) 6. 11. 12 (107)
26. Theognetos (Aegina) boy wrestler Ptolichos (Aegina) 6. 9. 1 (86)
472 27. Euthymos (Lokroi) boxer (3) Pythagoras (Rhegion) 6. 6. 4 (59) signed base: IvO 144
28. Kallias (Athens) pankratiast Mikon (Athens) 6. 6. 1 (53) signed base: IvO 146
29. Tellon (Arkadia) boy boxer — 6. 10. 5 (105) base: IvO 147–8
468 30. Hieron (Syracuse) chariot Onatas, Kalamis 6. 12. 1 (108)
464 31. Ergoteles (Knss/Himera) runner (2) — 6. 4. 11 (49) fr. brnz. plate: Ebert no. 20
32. Protolaos (Mantinea) boy boxer Pythagoras (Rhegion) 6. 6. 1 (51)
33. Pytharchos (Mantinea) boy runner — 6. 7. 1 (60)
34. Diagoras (Rhodes) boxer Kallikles (Megara) 6. 7. 1 (65) fr. base: IvO 151
35. Pherias (Aegina) boy wrestler — 6. 14. 12 (131) fr. brnz. plate: Ebert no. 19
36. Kratisthenes (Cyrene) chariot Pythagoras (Rhegion) 6. 18. 1 (194)
460 37. Kyniskos (Mantinea) boy boxer Polykleitos (Argos) 6. 4. 11 (48) signed base: IvO 149

(Continued)
 1 38 r. r . r . s m it h

Ol. Name Contest Maker Paus. (H) Base

38. Sostratos (Pellana) boy runner — 6. 8. 1 (74)

39. Oibotas 756 (Paleia) runner — 6. 3. 8 (29)
40. Chionis 664/56 (Sparta) runner (3) Myron (Athens) 6. 13. 2 (114)
456 41. Timanthes (Kleonai) pankratiast Myron (Athens) 6. 8. 4 (79)
452 42. Leontiskos (W-Messana) wrestler (2) Pythagoras (Rhegion) 6. 4. 3 (40)
43. Pythokles (Elis) pentathlete Polykleitos (Argos) 6. 7. 10 (73) signed base: IvO 162–3
448 44. Damagetos (D, Rhodes) pankratiast (2) — 6. 7. 1 (64) fr. base: IvO 152
45. Lykinos (from ?) chariot Myron (Athens) 6. 2. 1 (12)
46. Akousilaos (D, Rhodes) boxer — 6. 7. 1 (62)
47. Cheimon (Argos) wrestler Naukydes (Argos) 6. 9. 3 (91)
444 48. Alkainetos (Lepreon) boxer (2) — 6. 7. 8 (67)
49. Arkesilas (Sparta) chariot (2) — 6. 2. 1 (13)
50. Charmides (Elis) boy boxer — 6. 7. 1 (61) fr. base: IvO 156
51. Ikkos (Tarentum) pentathlete — 6. 10. 5 (100)
440 52. Polykles (Sparta) chariot — 6. 1. 7 (9)
53. Gnathon (Dipaia-Arkadia) boy boxer Kallikles (Megara) 6. 7. 9 (70)
436 54. Theopompos (Heraia) wrestler (2) — 6. 10. 4 (99)
55. Philippos (Pellana) boy boxer Myron (Athens) 6. 8. 5 (82)
56. Pantarkes (Elis) boy wrestler — 6. 10. 6 (101)
432 57. Lykinos (Elis) boy boxer — 6. 7. 9 (71)
428 58. Anaxandros (Sparta) chariot — 6. 1. 7 (8)
424 59. Dorieus (D, Rh. / Thurii) pankratiast (3) — 6. 7. 1 (63) fr. base: IvO 153
60. Hellanikos (Lepreon) boy boxer — 6. 7. 8 (68) base: IvO 155
420 61. Lichas (Sparta) chariot — 6. 2. 1 (14)
62. Aristeus (Argos) runner Pantias (Chios) 6. 9. 3 (90)
63. Xenombrotos (Kos) horseracer Philotimos (Aegina) 6. 14. 12 (141) fr. base: IvO 170
64. Theantos (Lepreon) boy boxer — 6. 7. 8 (69)
65. Amertas (Elis) boy wrestler Phradmon (Argos) 6. 8. 1 (75)
416 66. Androsthenes (Mainalos) pankratiast (2) Nikodamos (Mainalos) 6. 6. 1 (54)
67. Nikostratos (Heraia) boy wrestler Pantias (Chios) 6. 3. 11 (32)
408 68. Eubotas (Cyrene) runner — 6. 8. 3 (78)
69. Poulydamas (Skotoussa) pankratiast Lysippos (Sikyon) 6. 5. 1 (50)
404 70. Promachos (Pellene) pankratiast — 6. 8. 5 (84)
71. Symmachos (Elis) wrestler — 6. 1. 3 (1)
72. Eukles (Rhodes) boxer Naukydes (Argos) 6. 6. 2 (55) signed base: IvO 159
73. Peisirodos (D, Rhodes) boy boxer — 6. 7. 2 (66)
400 74. Xenodikos (Kos) boy boxer Pantias (Chios) 6. 14. 12 (142)
75. Baucis (Troizen) wrestler Naukydes (Argos) 6. 8. 4 (80)
76. Euthymenes (Mainalos) boy wrestler Alypos (Sikyon) 6. 8. 5 (81)
77. Timon (Elis) chariot Daidalos (Sikyon) 6. 2. 8 (17)
78. Aigyptos (Elis) horseracer Daidalos (Sikyon) 6. 2. 8 (18)
79. Antiochos (Lepreon) pankratiast Nikodamos (Mainalos) 6. 3. 9 (30)
80. Damarchos (Parrhasia) boxer — 6. 8. 2 (77)
 pindar, athletes, and the statue habit 139
Winners with statues are listed under their victory year, and under their latest
victory year if they won more than once (a statue set up after three victories is
expressly attested, for example, for Euthymos (27)). Numbers of victories are
given in brackets after the contest. Victory dates are from Herrmann (after
Moretti). Circuit-victors (periodonikai) are underlined. Oibotas (39) and Chionis
(40) were winners in the eighth and seventh centuries respectively. The date of
Oibotas’ statue is fixed (460), that of Chionis is placed c.460 with the floruit of
its maker (Myron). The statues of Eutelidas and Tisandros, winners in the late
seventh and early sixth century (Herrmann, nos. 157 and 125), probably set up
much later, are omitted. Other statues (especially of sixth-century winners—for
example, no. 4, by Glaukias of Aegina) are likely to have been set up some time
later than the victory year. Some fifth-century winners are known to have had
statues set up only in the fourth century (for example, Cheimon (47), Poulyda-
mas (69)). Only one (possible) victor statue of the period down to 400 bc is
recorded outside Pausanias, by a fragmentary bronze plate—for Pantares of Gela,
victor (in chariot?) in 508: IvO 142; Ebert (1972) no. 5; Herrmann (1988) 177, List
II, no. 1. Chariots are all four-horse. ‘chariot’ marks a full chariot group with
horses and figure(s) of life size. ‘Chariot’ marks a victor in the four-horse chariot
race commemorated with a single figure or, in the case of Polypeithes of Sparta
(21), an expressly small chariot group. D ¼ a Diagorid. H ¼ Herrmann (1988)
151–76, List I. Ebert ¼ Ebert (1972).
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 five
––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Fame, Memorial, and Choral Poetry: The Origins

of Epinikian Poetry—an Historical Study
Rosalind Thomas

Pindar’s choral odes leave no doubt that they brought a victor fame in his
lifetime, and memory far beyond it: to quote only Nemean 6:

Guide straight upon this victor, Muse, a glorious breeze of song.

For when men have passed away, songs and tales (logoi)
carry home for them their noble deeds. (N. 6. 28–30; my tr.)

His odes also tend to portray the victor in a generalized—and so all the more
powerful and seductive—aura of blessedness and happiness, a felicity which is
often quite explicitly linked by the poet to the victor’s ancestors and a hereditary
excellence born from past heroes. This is a central aristocratic ideal, and the
epinikian odes do much to elevate these victors, even while they mention the
victor’s toil. Most victors must have hailed from the very wealthiest echelons
of Greek society.
The starting points of this chapter are various attempts to set the fully-fledged
victory odes of Pindar in relation to large-scale changes in Greek society and
politics from the late Archaic period. Were these victory odes giving eloquent
voice to the last vestiges of aristocratic (and Archaic) Greece? Are they contrib-
uting to an aristocratic display culture that celebrated the values of hereditary
wealth and birth as a reaction to the new democratic ideas of Athens? Is Pindar
even much interested in the values of the Greek city-state as opposed to the
achievements of individuals and their families?1 Interesting suggestions have
been made, for instance, that the rise of the victory ode is in some kind of
counterbalance to the growth in civic festivals; aristocratic families getting their
own back in the face of their declining cult power.2 Or that as city-states tried to
curb aristocratic ostentation and extravagance in other spheres, particularly in
funerary rituals, the victory ode became an increasingly acceptable substitute for

1
Note, however, that Kurke (1991) shows convincingly his interest in the polis.
2
Kurke (1991) 258–9 and ch. 1 generally; cf. also Kurke (1998) ch. 7, esp. the end. Hubbard (2001)
suggests that it was a genre whose aristocratic characteristics were particularly attractive to new wealth.
142 rosalind thomas
either the extravagance or the family symbolism, or even for the poetic perform-
ances connected to the upper-class funeral.3
Peter Rose argued, in an avowedly Marxist literary interpretation which draws
the battle lines most clearly, that the aristocratic ideology as voiced in Pindar was
connected to the rise of democracy and talked of an ‘escalation of ideological
warfare responding to the more threatening aspects of relatively ‘‘democratic’’
tyrannies’.4 But already in this forceful analysis there was a worrying vagueness
about quite which ‘democratic’ tyrannies were envisaged, and a slip from
mention of democracy to the quite different phenomenon of ‘democratic’
tyrannies, which might conceivably include the Peisistratids or the great Sicilian
tyrannies Pindar was happy to celebrate. A further more sophisticated version of
his thesis ten years later elaborated the argument that when Pindar celebrated a
victor’s achievement, he was doing so in terms that glorified the values of the
ruling class, the virtue of aristocratic excellence, and that this was responding to
the challenge to aristocratic Greece from the new Kleisthenic democracy, as well
as from new wealth and Presocratic critiques of the status quo. While he also
shows how Pindar elevated the power and voice of the poet above all this (so the
poet does have the last say after all), he sees the victory ode even in its earliest
stages as ‘already an arena of political struggle’.5 Several interpretations, then, see
the victory ode as a vehicle for aristocratic ideals as other ideals rose in challenge;
and as an opportunity for aristocratic display and predominance as other avenues
were fenced off by the polis.
It is clear that the Pindaric victory ode is a phenomenon mainly devoted to the
aristocratic and wealthy elite of Greece, and celebrates what are essentially
aristocratic values, aretē, beauty, athletic prowess. But it is worth remembering
that the Athenian people applied just the same set of aristocratic ideals to itself,
the democratic dēmos.6 There is also little sign of much self-conscious democratic
ideology (though much anti-tyrant feeling), at least in the early stages of the
democracy. The idea that these values were deliberately elevated by Pindar in
antagonism to the new democratic ideas seems stretched. Besides, as Hubbard
points out, there is some likelihood that Pindar, while aware of the training
involved, might have given aristocratic attributes to some who did not have
a cast-iron pedigree.7 There are some problems also with the nature of the
evidence available and with the selectivity of modern scholarship, which raise
interesting questions. Concentrating so exclusively on the odes of Pindar is risky,
not least since the earliest datable Pindaric ode dates to 498 bc and few historians
of Archaic Greece would wish to see aristocratic anxiety about erosion of power

3 4
Implied by Nagy (1990); Kurke (1991) 258–9. Rose (1982) 55.
5 6
Rose (1992) 159 (we hear nothing now of tyranny). Rosalind Thomas (1989) 213–21.
7
Hubbard (2001).
 fame, memorial, and choral poetry 143
emerging so late in Greek history.8 Pindar wrote few epinikians for Athenians
(note Pythian 7), yet you might expect to hear more from him about embattled
aristocrats from Athens itself if this antagonism was a fundamental basis to his
craft. There is also a clear tendency by literary scholars to compare Pindar and his
world mainly with that of Athens, rather than that of Sparta, say, Sicily, Thebes,
or Aegina. Certainly Athens provides the richest political and literary evidence
from the latter part of the fifth century, but it is still strange to find that Kurke in
her interesting book talks of the impetus behind the victory ode as ‘a kind of
counter-revolution on the part of the aristocracy’, a counter-revolution against
the increase in civic festivals, as opposed to family rituals and aristocratic display,
initiated by Solon of Athens.9 One might add that Solon’s laws were at least a
century older than Pindar, and that aristocratic families generally managed to
maintain a large role in civic festivals even at Athens.
There are also important questions here about how victories were celebrated
earlier than Pindar’s time, whether in stone, ritual, or song; and about the
relation of victory in the games to political and social prestige. The wealthy victor
had other opportunities to celebrate and memorialize his victory, including those
gigantic monuments of stone and bronze which only now survive in fragmentary
pieces—while the epinikian was nicely aristocratic in tenor, it was by no means the
only way to flaunt victory. The political or social implications of victory
and victory celebration may lie along a rather different grid from the simple
democratic/aristocratic antithesis. As every reader of Herodotus knows, the
threat inherent in spectacular victory could often lie in another direction—not
in hazy aristocratic or anti-democratic values, but in tyranny. The victor in the
late sixth century—and indeed earlier—might be a potential tyrant, able to upset
the current political status quo, whatever it was: he could have quite dangerous
power.10 As early as the late seventh century, Kylon, whose attempted coup at
Athens indirectly led to the Alcmaionid curse, was an Olympic victor, a fact
mentioned as if it gave him a political boost (Hdt. 5. 71. 1). In the sixth century,
Miltiades, member of the ancient Philaid genos traced back to Ajax, is introduced
by Herodotus as from ‘a family able to compete in the four-horse chariot race’
(Hdt. 6. 35: Kg
NŒ ŁæØ
æ
ı). By the time he left Athens to found
a colony, he had won the race at Olympia, making him even more of a threat to
the current tyrant Peisistratos. His half-brother Kimon was in exile under the
tyranny and also won the four-horse chariot race at Olympia (from exile). When
he won a second time, he prudently allowed the victory to be declared in favour

8
Cf. the complaints and claims of Theognis (passim), Solon (e.g. fr. 4 W), Alcaeus: Murray (1993) chs.
8–12; note Eric Robinson’s important study (Robinson 1997) for early democratic impulses.
9
See Kurke (1991), also Hubbard (2001), esp. 389–90 on the ‘problematized elite’.
10
Cf. also Kurke (1998), who resurrects the idea of the talismanic power of the athlete (and references
there).
144 rosalind thomas
of Peisistratos on condition he be allowed home; he won a third time with the
same mares and was murdered by Peisistratos’ sons (6. 103), or at least that is how
the story goes. He was too prominent and successful for comfort. Herodotus
adds that his famous mares were even buried near his tomb. These traditions
imply that the successful victor might be an overbearing presence in the city-state
and a potential threat to the citizens as a whole as well as to the aristocracy
and elite.
The rest of this chapter will examine the early development of victory celebra-
tion, asking what kind of victory celebration was possible in the period before
Pindar’s odes; and make some suggestions about other kinds of impetus behind
the escalating nature of victory celebration in the sixth and early fifth centuries.

the celebration of victory

Victory celebration was nothing new, of course, in the late sixth or early fifth
centuries and if we are looking for the beginnings of praise and celebration of a
mortal athlete, we have to look at the fragmentary indications of pre-Pindaric
celebration. It is important to distinguish songs in honour of a victor and songs
which go so far as to celebrate the victor.
As early as Homer there were celebrations of victory, with songs in honour of
the victors. In Iliad 23, Homer describes the contests of athletes in Patroklos’
funeral games: while not formal victory songs, these verses show that already
athletes victorious in games were thought a ‘worthy subject for song’, though
since they are legendary heroes, one might think they were an exceptional
category already worthy of song even without the games.11 Rather different are
songs expressly in honour of the victor, and these need not be about the victor
himself. In the late sixth and fifth centuries, the song by Archilochos could be
sung for victors without a special victory ode in their honour, the so-called
‘kallinikos’ or  ººÆ chant, which was sung as an off-the-peg victory song.
This is mentioned by the scholia to the start of Pindar’s Olympian 9,

e b $æغ
ı
º

øA  ˇºı fi Æ
ŒÆººØŒ
 › æغ
 ŒºÆ
¼æŒ ˚æØ
 Ææ’ ZŁ
 ±ª
FÆØ
ο %
Ø º
Ø  ¯ Ææ fiø f )Ææ
Ø:
Iººa F . . .
The song of Archilochos
resounding at Olympia,
11
See Instone (1996) 7. Hesiod sang at the games in honour of Amphidamas (Works and Days 654–9),
but there is no indication that this was celebrating Amphidamas personally.
 fame, memorial, and choral poetry 145
that triumphal hymn swelling with three refrains,
sufficed for Epharmostos to lead the way by Kronos’ hill
as he celebrated with his close companions,
but now . . . (O. 9. 1–5)12

As the scholiasts tell us, the song was a hymn to Herakles. The refrain of  ººÆ
imitated lyre strings and  ººÆ ŒÆººØŒ was repeated three times as a
refrain. It began, t ŒÆººØŒ ÆEæ ¼Æ  ˙挺, according to Eratos-
thenes (schol. Pi. O. 9.1, Drachmann i. 268. 18–23), and the singing involved
leader (the victor himself) and a chorus of komasts—companions escorting the
victor. There were various theories in antiquity about how tēnella kallinikē
became a separate cry, but even if Eratosthenes is right about it beginning as a
hymn to Herakles rather than an epinikian, it seems to acquire the role of an
epinikian at some point, a celebratory song for the victor but not about the victor
himself. It is interesting that Pindar’s Olympian 9 begins with the mēlos of
Archilochos as a foil to his own celebration, implying that it was still used and
still familiar, though the individualized epinikian would be far superior. It also
carries on being used as a victory chant, appearing several times in Athenian
comedy at moments of victory celebrations, as at the end of the Acharnians, for
instance.13 The victor then presumably disappears off in a rowdy Komos, singing
with his companions in a makeshift ‘chorus’.
When do victory odes tailored to the individual victor and celebrating that
victor come into fashion? This might indicate a growing ‘cult of the victor’
(and of the individual), which I mean in the modern sense, without any
implication of cult rituals, a shift from a celebration of the gods who made it
possible to the individual. The earliest epinikian that is datable is thought to be by
Simonides, for Glaukos of Karystos, winner in the boys’ wrestling in 520 bc.14
There were certainly many epinikia by Simonides known to antiquity, and they
were eventually grouped together in books by the event involved:15 Epinikia for
Runners, for example (e.g. fr. 506 PMG), or For the Horse Race, Pentathletes, etc.,
and attested poems cover victors from Karystos, Eretria, Kroton (Astylus),
Thessaly (Skopas); other patrons were Sicilian. The surviving fragments imply
a kind of jokey informality (Krios), or hyperbole (Glaukos compared to Herakles
and Polydeukes) very far from the lofty tone of Pindar’s odes, and they include
more description of the race itself.16 They were clearly numerous, at any rate, and

12
The fragment is Archilochos fr. 324 W.
13
Acharnians 1227–9 (tēnella kallinikē); Birds 1763–5, sung by chorus. Cf. Macleod (1983) 49–51 on the
encomium of the hero in comedy, including by the chorus. Schol. to O. 9, Drachmann i. 266–8 for
Archilochos and related theories.
14
Kurke (1991) 59; Bowra (1961) 311 (implied). But this is a highly problematic poem and even
attribution; see references at Ch. 1 above, p. 166 [41 n. 166].
15
See Obbink (2001) 76–7. Mann (2001) has an appendix on Simonides’ epinikia.
16
Bowra (1961) ch. 8, esp. 310–17; Hutchinson (2001) 286–8.
146 rosalind thomas
this would pull back the period of the victory ode to the period of the generation
before the Persian Wars, say c.520 (Simonides’ life spans c.550–470/460).
Simonides is the first composer of victory odes we know of, though not
necessarily the inventor,17 and he may have been responsible for some degree
of transformation in the genre. The scholia merely say that Simonides was the
first to compose victory odes for a fee (misthos).18 This is mentioned as a gloss to
the opening words of Pindar’s Isthmian 2, in honour of Xenokrates of Akragas
and addressed to his brother Thrasyboulos: he contrasts ancient poets who sang
for whoever they wished:

± 
EÆ ªaæ
P غ
Œæ  ø  q
P KæªØ

For in those days the Muse was not yet greedy for gain nor up for hire.
(I. 2. 6)

The scholia take this as a reference to Simonides with his reputation for greed. If
they are right then clearly there were individual victory songs before this, and
Simonides represented a further development in poetic composition as a com-
modity which could be commissioned. It is tempting to see this as a symptom of a
growing fashion for more and more elaborate celebrations of the victor. Payment
would presumably widen the potential pool of those able to acquire an ode in their
honour. We may add to this that Pindar himself implies in Isthmian 2 that the
victory song is far older than he (or Simonides), as he harks back to ‘men of ancient
times’ (
ƒ b ºÆØ . . . H, line 1). In Nemean 8, he also declares that
the epikōmios hymnos existed in ancient times, even before Adrastos (N. 8. 51–3; cf.
also O. 10. 76–8, the first Olympic Games). Given the Greek propensity to see
ancient origins in everything they respected, however, this perhaps cannot be
pressed far.
Moreover, Barron has suggested that some new fragments of Ibykos which have
an agonistic tinge could be parts of victory odes. This would take the attested
victory ode even earlier than Simonides.19 Hailing from west Greece, Ibykos was
associated at least with the court of Polykrates the magnificent tyrant of Samos
(from c.535 bc)—and Barron points out that it would be surprising if great victors
were ‘content merely with the ritual cry of  ººÆ until the time of Simonides’20
(what is acceptible to Archaic sensitivities is another matter, to which we return).
It certainly seems significant that Ibykos was the author of a poem praising
Polykrates, thus he was no stranger to personal praise poetry, and claimed outright

17
As e.g. Kurke claims (1991) 59, 258 n. 5. Cf. Barron (1984) 20 on the orthodoxy.
18
Schol. Pi. I. 2, Drachmann iii. 214, on 9a: Simonides.
19
Barron (1984) 20–2 on P. Oxy. 2735 (at p. 20 citing Page and Bowra): one might be for an athlete from
Leontini, and he suggests—but this is quite uncertain—that the Kallias is the Athenian Kallias victorious at
Olympia in 564 bc.
20
Barron (1984) 20. Cf. also Hutchinson (2001) 228–31.
 f a m e , m e m o r i a l, a n d c h o ra l p o e t r y 14 7
in that poem that his song would give Polykrates fame.21 Some curious lines in
Tyrtaeus, however, are suggestive of even earlier poetic celebration, the lines in
which he redefines what is acceptable as aretē, fighting for the city (fr. 12 W, 1–14):
he begins by saying he would not celebrate an athlete ‘for prowess in the foot
race or the wrestling’. This implies that poets were already celebrating athletic
victors in the seventh century, if not necessarily the genre of the victory ode.
If, then, we are looking for a habit of poetic celebration glorifying the victor by
name, we seem to be able to reach further and further back into the sixth century,
probably back into the 530s and very possibly earlier to the mid sixth
century. The remains of victory monuments and epigrams give a similar picture.
The ‘ideological’ content of these early odes is unknown, but the idea of excessive
glorification of a living individual might be regarded as overstepping the mark by
comparison with the usual Archaic reverence to the gods, and that seems to
deserve some explanation in moral as well as political terms.
The suggestion that the impetus behind the victory ode was in part the
democratic threat was tightly tied to the datable first ode of Pindar and the
establishment of the moderate democracy at Athens in 507 bc. The earlier one
finds victory odes the more dubious this correlation looks. But Rose also men-
tioned the longer developments of Archaic society in which the aristocracy had
been losing the monopoly on military achievement, and hoplite warfare had been
diffusing the possibility of military achievement and outstanding courage
through the whole of the citizen body. This seems at first an attractive sugges-
tion, with achievement in the games flowing in to fill the gap left by changing
military roles. But we are then talking about a long-drawn-out set of changes
beginning in at least the early seventh century. In any case generals tended to go
on being drawn from the elite, even in Athens. Historians of Archaic Greece are
familiar with the idea of the aristocracy (either aristocratic clans or very wealthy
old families) resenting or resisting the claims of citizens to have more say in
the running of the developing city-states, but this was evident already in the
seventh century. Archaic poets, themselves prominent in their poleis, voice this
resentment frequently, from Alcaeus to Theognis or Solon (e.g. Solon frs. 5, 6 W).
Polis institutions and laws are often preoccupied with preventing individuals
seizing absolute power. Matters are complicated still further by the fact that
many tyrants seems to have arisen from the aristocracy but had wider popular
support, or claimed to (see Alcaeus and Pittakos). The tyrant Peisistratos of Athens
was the successful one of three leaders of factions led by aristocrats in the
sixth century. It is not obvious that anything so clear-cut as ‘aristocratic’ versus
‘democratic’ ideals was involved in the rash of tyrannies. The spectacular
development of civic festivals in the sixth century, the building of ever more

21
Ibykos fr. 1a (282 PMG), lines 47–8.
148 rosalind thomas
magnificent temples (e.g. Samos, Athens), the architectural accoutrements of
the polis, all imply a growing magnificence in the public sphere, often (or
always) supported and financed by magnificently rich families for the polis.
Such buildings and festivals are often connected with tyrants themselves and tyrant
patronage, and one imagines that these moves were intended to cement the identi-
fication of the tyrant with his city and the magnificence of his city, enhancing popular
support and entrenching his position of power.22 When we also remember that an
athletic victory—and particularly one in the chariot race—could be seen virtually as a
declaration of political ambition, then we are dealing with an inextricable mixture of
power, prominence, ambition, and athletic success, all of which were open to rival
aristocrats, and perhaps would-be aristocrats, in any city-state. As the games
became more important in the sixth century, they could become more and more
the focus for these ambitions.
Rose’s view was premised partly on the Marxist dialectical view of history,
aristocratic ideals being voiced in counterpoint to an opposing set. There may be
something in this in many periods, but the theoretical framework seems to be too
constricting for this period. As we see in the sixth century, political developments
do not form a clear-cut opposition between aristocratic and democratic, and the
whole is complicated by the spate of tyrannies, often populist, and by fear of
tyrannies. The aristocratic ideal of hereditary excellence was so entrenched that it
was adopted even by the radical democracy at Athens, which formed an idea of a
kind of aristocracy of the people, the demos accepting the dominant values of
aristocratic excellence and adapting it to themselves.23
There were, in any case, surely other tensions involved. There was potential
conflict between the successful individual and the polis which was developing as a
political community—over-mighty individuals might threaten the stability of the
polis and often did. A tension between Archaic reverence for the gods and fear of
hubris and the overweening success of the athlete must also be visible. There
must be competition between rival aristocrats. And we might wonder if Pindar’s
stress on innate excellence and heredity is in part a reaction to the way the games
themselves were changing and becoming more prestigious (rather than simply to
a declining aristocracy): as the circuit developed, training and an increasing
professionalism also must have followed eventually, though it is hard to specify
when. A disdain for mere training is linked to the larger and vaguer aristocratic
idealization of birth, certainly, but it is quite specifically tied to the games on a
practical level also.24 A Pindaric ode could turn a victory that was the result of

22
See e.g. on the Peisistratids at Athens: Shear (1978).
23
See n. 6 above—not to mention the new wealthy.
24
Trainers sometimes visible in Pindar, e.g. N. 5. 46–7, but as pointed out by Cathy Morgan in this
volume (p. 226), they almost all occur in Aeginetan odes and particularly for boy athletes. Cf. Hubbard
(1985) 107–4 on the complex relationship between physis and technē in Pindar.
 fame, memorial, and choral poetry 149
long toil and training into a grander evocation of timeless athletic prowess and
divine favour.
I would like to dwell particularly on one form of ‘dialectical’ tension which
bears on the origins of the victory ode. One suspects that there is an almost
hidden competition with other forms of celebration, and between the effective-
ness of the poet and the effectiveness of more physical marks of achievement in
the form of victory monuments and statues.25 The poets occasionally imply that
they see themselves as competing with stone or bronze in their claims to bring the
victor fame, and they were surely right. As R. R. R. Smith’s chapter emphasizes, a
glance at the development of victory monuments, even in the sixth century, is
enough to dislodge the idea that the peak of aristocratic ostentation and display
(rather than poetic excellence, of course) was necessarily to be found in the odes
of Pindar, rather than in the physical monuments.
So in Nemean 6, with which we started, the metaphor of movement is used to
convey the sense that the news—and the song—will travel far in the present and far
into the future (N. 6. 28–30).26 In Nemean 5. 1–5, the comparison is explicit:

I am no maker of statues (
PŒ IæØÆ

Ø N ’)

Who fashions figures to stand unmoved
On the self-same pedestal.
On every merchantman, in every skiff
Go, sweet song, from Aigina,
And spread the news that Lampon’s son
Pytheas has won the wreath of victory.
(Bowra, adapted)

Pindar’s songs travel, unlike mere statues which remain on their pedestal, and the
claim is made strikingly at the very start of the ode. One can perhaps see the same
range of implied imagery in Isthmian 2. 44–6, where he exhorts the victor not to
keep silent about his excellence, nor about these poems: ‘never keep silent
about your ancestral aretē, nor these hymns, for I did not fashion them to stand
still’ (I. 2. 44–6). There is an interesting implication that the poem will be spread
around by the victor’s friends.27 It is also worth noting the Aeginetan emphasis of
N. 5. Since Aegina was the home of a major school of athletic sculptors, any
reference to competition with sculpture might have an edge particularly acute for
an Aeginetan audience.28

25
Some remarks in Thomas (1995) 113–17.
26
See Kurke (1991) ch. 2 for the significance of the metaphor of carrying home safe.
27
The scholiast to N. 5, 1a gives an anecdote which sounds like a back formation from this opening, that
the Aeginetans think a bronze statue would be better value than an ode, then change their mind,
Drachmann iii. 89—but it does at least conceive of people weighing their relative merits.
28
I owe this suggestion to Cathy Morgan: see her chapter in this volume, and the list included in that of
R. R. R. Smith.
150 rosalind thomas
Leslie Kurke has discussed the opening of Nemean 5 along with Isthmian 2,
stressing that Pindar in both is using the language of the tektōn, or craftsman, to
claim the superiority of the poet. She is concerned to point out that this tektōn
imagery underlines ‘the theme of megaloprepeia’ and the relationship between
victor and community, the poet ‘erecting’ as it were, poetic monuments and
dedications to commemorate public service.29 I wonder though if this is not an
unnecessarily oblique approach (though the polis-perspective is well taken). Is it
just the language of the tektōn, or is the metaphor a living, vivid one which reflects
the reality that stone statues and monuments were to be seen crowding every
shrine, every public place, and that they too, claimed to confer fame and mem-
ory? Similarly when Pindar uses the imagery of sanctuary dedications and
works of art of his own poetry: Pythian 6 opens with the image of ‘a Pythian-
victory treasury of hymns’ (P. 6. 5–9: —ıŁØØŒ
 !Ł . . . )
E
 o ø
ŁÆıæe . . . ØÆØ), and goes on to assert that it will never be destroyed
(10–14). Nemean 8 pictures the poet as a suppliant to the hero Aiakos, fastening
onto Aiakos’ knees ‘a loud-sounding Lydian headband’ (i.e. his victory ode) as an
agalma, a dedication (N. 8. 13–16).30 (If agalma at this time still tends to
denote more vaguely something pleasing to the gods, rather than specifically a
‘dedication’, that widens the reference for Pindar’s poetry, but the two senses
obviously converge.)
In her interesting discussion, Kurke saw these passages in terms of the import-
ance of megaloprepeia, and therefore the contractual and civic/polis context of the
poet’s activity.31 I would prefer to see them more directly as reflections of a world
in which the poet elevates his poetry by comparing it to, or imagining it in terms
of, the monuments, statues, treasuries, and the victory dedications which were
the most common means to memorialize a victor’s achievement. The poetry
strengthens its case, as it were, by taking on as metaphor the images of stone
monuments and dedications which were the most obvious and directly visible
signs of victory in any shrine or city.32 The interactive relationship might be even
stronger if these poems were performed, as is very likely, alongside the
stone monuments themselves. A subtle and detailed analysis of Pindar’s ‘speaking
objects’ by Deborah Steiner also shows the extent to which Pindar’s poems use

29
Kurke (1991) 250–1; note also on these passages Svenbro (1976) 190, and Race (1987a) 154–5.
Hubbard’s idea (2001) 392 that Pi. is promoting Aeginetan commerce seems excessive.
30
Cf. P. 7. 1–4, for the Alkmaionidai, but here it is Athens which is the foundation course (krēpis) of
songs.
31
See esp. Kurke (1991) 188–92, with a good collection of examples of dedication imagery used of
Pindar’s work; p. 192: ‘the ethos of megaloprepeia generates the imagery of concrete agalmata and
anathemata as a means of expressing simultaneously the enduring quality and communal scope of Pindar’s
poetry’.
32
This still leaves room for elaborating on the possibly similar attitudes to the victory poems and
monuments as contributions to civic life.
 fame, memorial, and choral poetry 151
the imagery of statues of his own activity, and in some cases perhaps incorporate
hints of real-life statues of victors into his portrayal of victory celebrations
(clasping the knees of (the statue of) Aiakos, in Nemean 8 is a good example).33
She argues that Pindar is not simply dismissing the statues in favour of his
poetry, and tries to show that he incorporates not merely the imagery of
statues and agalmata, and also uses the custom and nature of dedicatory objects
to voice further praise. But in a way we could see this imagery precisely as
an indication of the enduring force of the visible monuments and perhaps
their equal or greater power in the popular mind by comparison to that of
the poet.34
Homer had already sung of the power of the poet to confer fame and memory.
As Alkinoos remarked gloomily to Odysseus, the gods have spun out doom for
men ‘so that there may be song for those to come’ (Od. 8. 203–4). The connection
between poetry and fame may perhaps have been intensified in the sixth century:
it would certainly be helped by the development of genres of poetry which
celebrated living individuals as opposed to long-dead heroes. Tyrtaeus had
implied that a man acquired fame from the city by fighting and dying for it
(fr. 12 W). Ibykos had claimed that it was he, the poet, who conferred fame upon
Polykrates (above), the first of such claims we still have for a living person. But
many others evidently thought a lasting memorial could be preserved in stone,
with the victor’s name simply and prominently engraved. This is the assumption
that Simonides mocks in his poem about a grave inscription on Midas’ tomb by
Kleoboulos of Rhodes, one of the Seven Sages: a stone inscription might seem
imperishable, but ‘that stone even a man’s hand could smash. The man who
thought this was a fool’ (frag. 581 PMG).
Towards the end of Nemean 8, for Deinias of Aegina, Pindar calls his poem
a stone memorial, literally ‘a loud-sounding stone’:

But for your homeland and the Chariadai, I can erect

a loud-sounding stone (ºæ
 (æEÆØ ºŁ
)
of the Muses in honour of those twice famous pairs of feet. (N. 8. 46–8)

So the song is a marker stone, perhaps like a marker stone of a tomb, that is, a
sēma, or perhaps more likely a commemorative stele such as were dotted around
the Panhellenic sanctuaries and whose inscriptions are hinted at in the opening to
Olympian 10, ‘Read me the name of the Olympic victor . . . where it is written in

33
Steiner (1993). Some of the cases where she sees an implied reference to a real statue, however,
seem rather far-fetched: e.g. on N. 5. 48–9, or N. 8. 44–8 (a real statue as well as a metaphorical statue), at
pp. 161–5. See also Steiner (2001) 222–34 on the spectacle of the athlete, live or as a statue, and the power of
the image.
34
Especially since Steiner’s demonstration of the presence of real statues in Pindar’s odes is not as
convincing as that of their metaphorical force.
152 rosalind thomas
my mind’.35 (Here the poet starts as if implying a victory inscription, then admits
he has forgotten the commission.)36
This still seems to leave the very strong possibility of rivalry between poet
and monuments, especially when we recollect the earlier history of victory com-
memoration. While the poet incorporates the imagery of the monuments into his
poetry, we surely should accept that the physical dedications, monuments, statues,
were so central a part of Greek life and athletic commemoration that they are there
in the victory odes because they still had a power and a memorializing force that the
poet had to contend with. The scholiast’s story about the beginning of Nemean
5—that Pindar began it thus because his client was shocked by the price of an
ode and contemplated a bronze statue instead37—is a crude and literal-minded
explanation of Pindaric imagery, but the competition and comparison is there on
the more prosaic level in Greek society nonetheless, and one suspects from the
mass of victory dedications, that many Greeks thought the only really imperishable
memorial was a stone one.
Let us turn now to these monuments, concentrating on those of the sixth
century.

victory monuments
Victory dedications certainly develop alongside the victory ode and most
probably well before. When a man won a contest, he would dedicate an offering
to one of the sanctuaries: it could be the prize itself, set up on a pillar as a thank-
offering, or a specially commissioned statue (small or large) of the god, of the
horse or chariot, or of the victor. During the sixth century there seems to be a
shift from statues which form dedications to the god, to statues which
are outright representations of the victor himself. Many objects dedicated in
sanctuaries before the sixth century may well be dedications in thanks for a
victory including some tripods.38 Without inscriptions, however, or with only
words such as ‘X dedicated this to Zeus’, we cannot be sure that we are dealing
with a victory dedication as opposed to a thank-offering for some other achieve-
ment, unless it is accompanied by a prize object. It is the pillars, columns, and

35
Steiner (1993) 164, 171 discusses N. 8. An alternative reading, translated as ‘it is easy to erect a stone of
the muses’ does not affect our argument here. Cf. Steiner (1993) 167–2 for the idea that Pindar’s victory
goods have inscriptions.
36
Other examples of monument imagery: N. 3, metaphorical agalma; N. 2 (base); I. 8. 61–5 (will be
discussed later, p. 163), agonistic and funerary. Further related imagery in Steiner (1993).
37
See above, and Steiner (1993) 159 for the details. For the price of a victory ode see Smith (this
volume) 101 f.
38
There are too many large tripods in 8th-cent. Olympia for all to be victory dedications. See Morgan
(1990) 43–7; also Amandry (1987); Philipp (1994).
 fame, memorial, and choral poetry 15 3
huge stone bases with tantalizing holes for the statue in the top of base or column
which tend to survive, and again, many of these carry the simplest dedicatory
inscription with name of dedicant and deity (see Figs. 6, 40). Statues of victors
begin to be erected certainly by the mid-sixth century, possibly before. Pausanias
contradicts himself about the first statues at Olympia since he also mentions two
very early statues, one a victor of 628 (6. 15), and another of the early sixth
century. However, both the statues of early victors could have been erected
later,39 and most of the statues he describes at Olympia belong to the latter
part of the sixth century: he mentions eleven between 544 and 504 bc, including
the renowned wrestler Milon of Kroton, though two of these are of the victori-
ous horse only, and there are two more for the year 500 bc. Though Herodotus

Fig. 40. Restored base (chariot group) and inscription for Pronapes of Athens: Athenian Acropolis (Raubitschek
(1949) no. 174)

39
The two early ones are Herrmann (1988) no. 157 (Eutelidas of Sparta) and no. 125 (Tisandros). Smith
(this volume) thinks neither likely to be genuinely that early: see his chronological list of victor statues.
Philipp (1994) 80 believes statues were erected from the 7th cent. citing Herrmann. But the inscr. of
Kleombrotos of Sybaris which she mentions as the earliest surviving agonistic inscription from an
Olympian victor, first half of 6th cent. (¼ CEG 394) has been dated later: Jeffery (1990), 456 no. 1a
(Achaian colonies) with p. 458 dates it to the 2nd half of the 6th cent.; cf. Dubois (2002) Sybaris, no. 5,
prefers the earlier date (for the interesting use of the Homeric phrase =
ð Þ AŒ  
 , see
Hornblower (2004) 366). It calls the statue a tithe to Athena.
154 rosalind thomas
saw a Theban victory inscription in ‘Kadmeian letters’ of the time of Oedipus (5.
60), inscriptions on dedications which mention or boast of a victory start to
appear (on present evidence) in the first half of the sixth century, and they are well
under way by c.550 bc.
The simplicity and gradual development of these sixth-century inscriptions are
instructive.40 Some of the earliest are written on a lead or stone weight, the haltēr
or weight held in the long jump, or on a sandstone weight of a weight-lifter
dedicated with a simple inscription giving name of victor and a marking of the
dedication.41 The custom of marking the victory with an inscription gathers
steam rapidly (not made clearer by the way the scholarly collections tend to
collect one type of inscription only—e.g. victory epigrams). By the mid-sixth
century the habit of victory dedications with identifying inscriptions seems well
established, though they are not necessarily statues of the victor, and by the end
of the century such dedications could be magnificent.
In the mid-sixth century, for example, Aristis of Kleonai dedicated something,
probably a statue, with an inscription which explains, ‘Aristis dedicated me to Zeus
Kronion anax, four times victor in the Pankration of Nemea. Son of Pheidon of
Kleonai’ (Moretti (1957) no. 3). Alkmaionides of Athens left two victory
dedications: one on the Athenian Acropolis, dated by its script to c.550–540,
consisted of a pillar with bowl or tripod: the boustrophedon inscription boasts
that Alkmaionides was winner in the pentathlon and the hippios dromos42
(Fig. 41), and the incomplete text seems to mention another victor (Anaxileos?).
Alkmaionides, son of Alkmaion, is of course a member of the prominent
Alkmaionid family, contenders for power in Athens for much of the sixth
century. In the fifth century, another Alkmaionid, Megakles, commissioned a
Pindaric ode which even in its short span mentioned that the family had eight
victories at the great games. The sixth-century Alkmaionides celebrated another
victory, in the Panathenaia, around the same date at the Ptoion in Boiotia, where
a Doric column was found with an iambic epigram announcing,

I am a beautiful agalma (image?) of Phoebus son of Leto.

Alcmeonides, son of Alcmaeon
Set me here after victory with swift horses,
With a chariot driven by Knopidas, son of . . .
When Pallas’ festival was held in Athens.43

40
Victor inscriptions are collected by Moretti (1953) and by Ebert (1972). For the Athenian acropolis
inscriptions, see now Keesling (2003).
41
Moretti (1953) no. 1 (c.580–570); no. 2, weight-lifter; Ebert (1972) no. 1, first half of the 6th cent.,
another example of an unknown pentathlete. Ebert (1972) no. 9 is another example.
42
Moretti (1953) no. 4; Raubitschek (1949) 317 (I follow Raubitschek’s version of the victory).
43
Moretti (1953) no. 5; Ebert (1972) no. 3.
 fame, memorial, and choral poetry 155

Fig. 41. Inscribed capital for pillar dedication by Alkmaionedes son of Alkmaion, and probably
another man, 550/49 or 546/5 bc. Athenian Acropolis (Raubitschek (1949) no. 317)

We may note that while the inscription is boastful, and makes the name of the
victor clear, the statue is a statue of the god, not the victor, and is primarily a
thank-offering.
Other prominent late sixth-century inscriptions accompanying dedications
now lost include a dedication by Kleosthenes, son of Pontis, from Epidamnos,
of a bronze four-horse chariot, plus victor and charioteer. Pausanias saw it at
Olympia, and said Kleosthenes was the first horsebreeder to dedicate a portrait at
Olympia. It celebrated a victory of 516 bc and while the statue group itself must
have been spectacular, we may note that the simple verse inscription merely
mentioned the victor and the occasion, the victory at Olympia.44 A bronze
plate found at Olympia might have been attached to a small statue of a horse
and proclaimed the victory of Pantares, son of Menekrates, from Gela: the
victory occurred in the very late sixth century,45 the victor father of the first
tyrant of Gela, Kleandros (Hdt. 7. 154), and of Kleandros’ successor Hippokrates
(498–491 bc). Another horse statue was dedicated by Pheidolas of Corinth
towards the end of the sixth century—the horse threw her rider and proceded
to win all the same, as Pausanias describes it. The inscription has been
preserved.46 Another horse plus epigram was dedicated by Pheidolas’ sons with
a boast about victory numbers that Pausanias questions.47
To these early victory dedications, we may add an inscription put up by
an unknown Tegean at the end of the sixth century, proclaiming a mnēma for

44
Paus. 6. 10. 7; Ebert (1972) no. 4.
45
Ebert (1972) no. 5; Jeffery puts it c.525: Jeffery (1990) 273 no. 48 with n. 1, and illustration, pl. 53.
46 47
Ebert (1972) no. 6; Paus. 6. 13. 9. Ebert (1972) no. 7; Paus. 6. 13. 10.
156 rosalind thomas
a victory with the four-horse chariot at Nemea;48 the late sixth-century very
fragmentary dedication at Delphi by Alcibiades I for victory in the chariot-race.49
There were also victory statues described by Pausanias at Olympia which we have
not so far mentioned: the boxer Praxidamas of Aegina (544) and pankratiast
Rhexibios of Opous (536), who had what Pausanias calls ‘the first athletes’ statues’
(NŒ) at Olympia, both made in wood (6. 18. 7); then slightly later victors,
the boxer Glaukos of Karystos, the runner Anochos of Taras, the armed runner
Damaretos of Heraia, the wrestler Milon of Kroton, the pankratiast Timasitheos
of Delphi, and the boy runner Philon of Kerkyra.50
What can we say so far? Many of these sixth-century dedications were quite
modest at least in form, even when the victor is clearly prominent and powerful:
inscriptions are very brief, often barely more than the name, and the dedications
often either statues of the god, or of the horse. But even now, some victory
dedications were clearly spectacular: statues of Apollo on a Doric column, a
four-horse chariot with victor and charioteer, and statues of the victor himself.
The earliest statues at Olympia were of wood (to go by Pausanias 6. 18. 7), leaving
the first stone statue of an athlete reliably described by Pausanias dating to 520.
There is clearly an escalation in the extravagance and daring of these victory
dedications. The pillar dedication by Alkmaionides on the Athenian Acropolis
(Raubitschek (1949), 317, above; Fig. 41) gives an indication of the sheer size of
some of the original monuments. The surviving fragment is a Doric capital
which holds the inscription, and Raubitschek calculated from the size of the capital
that the column itself must have been very high and the column, capital, and
tripod or metal bowl on top would have reached a height of 4.5 metres (or about
14–15 feet).
If we are thinking purely in terms of extravagance, ostentation, and exuberant
boastfulness on the part of the victor, then the victory odes of Simonides must have
been trailing the development of ostentatious victory dedications in stone, bronze,
or wood. Pindar’s odes themselves would have been contemporary to
the further dramatic development of the victory statue in the fifth century
(see R. R. R. Smith’s chapter). This development was not merely in numbers
but with the new style and the dramatic use of bronze rather than stone (cf. the
restoration of the whole group belonging to the Delphic charioteer, c.476 bc: Fig.
35). If we are considering sheer display, these late sixth-century monuments were
offering visual display of a spectacular kind long before Pindar’s own mode of
victory celebration. If we consider the verbal detail of the epigrams, the numbering

48
Ebert (1972) no. 8 (it does not seem to bear a large statue or statue group).
49
Jeffery (1990) 75, no. 39, c.525–500. Daux (1922) 439–45.
50
Add further 6th-cent. victory epigrams in Friedländer (1965) nos. 155 and 156, both dedications of
prizes at Tegea and Delphi respectively (no. 95a, statue of man with weights, is for victory in battle). See n.
39 above for two ‘earlier’ statues in Pausanias.
 fame, memorial, and c horal poetry 157
of victories and the emphasis on sets of family victories, both prominent in Pindar,
are already there in the sixth century (Alkmaionides, Aristis), and both become far
more prominent in the fifth century. In other words the poets were right to
fight their corner in the business of commemoration. The development of the
epinikian was adding the element of elaborate performance to a tradition already
under way of ostentatious dedications and spectacular display of the victor’s
achievement.
Another way to approach this is to consider the visual appearance of a
particular site where victory memorials were erected. Raubitschek’s convenient
corpus of Dedications from the Athenian Akropolis catalogues all inscriptions of the
sixth and fifth centuries on the Acropolis which seem to belong to dedications.51
The vast mass of them are on columns or pillars, or on stone bowls, but nos.
59–177 (that is, almost 120) are on low stone bases which would have served as
bases for marble or bronze statues. No. 174, for Pronapes, son of Pronapides, is a
good example (see Fig. 40 for the restored base), which reminds us just how
large these monuments originally were (cf. also the base from Olympia for
Kyniskos, son of Kyniskos, c.460 bc: Fig. 6). He numbers 384 dedications in
all, most of which have a simple formula, ‘X dedicated to Athena’, and then
sometimes the name of the sculptor. Amidst this forest of dedications it is hard to
tell how many were for victories, since they say nothing about the reason for the
dedication. Some would be for choregic victories. But fourteen are certainly
athletic victory monuments, several on huge marble bases, and there are another
nine which might be for victories.52 The editor must surely be right that many
more were commemorating or giving thanks for a victory than the inscriptions
make clear. The Acropolis alone, then, over the sixth and fifth centuries housed a
considerable number of elaborate monuments and many lesser ones, including
immense pillars (above). The inscriptions say very little: virtually the whole
impact is left to the monument itself.
It is also interesting to compare some dedications which would have been
contemporary to our fifth-century victory odes, a further means of seeing beyond
the beguiling circle of Pindaric celebrations and celebrants, and gaining some
point of comparison to Pindar’s victors. The victory dedications erected in the
early fifth century could be magnificent. That for Hieron tyrant of Syracuse
(horse race 482, 476; chariot race 468) at Delphi was one of the greatest, created
when Pindar and Bacchylides were at the peak of their popularity. Pausanias saw
the massive monument at Olympia (6. 12. 1, 8. 42. 8), and it is very probable that
the Charioteer and chariot group at Delphi dedicated by Polyzalos was also in his

51
See also Keesling (2003) for recent discussion of their social and political significance.
52
See e.g. no. 120 is regarded as a victory monument because Pausanias mentions it as one, but the
inscription alone does not reveal this.
158 rosalind thomas
honour (Rolley 1990). Hieron also commissioned victory odes for the various
victories, keen to use all means in his power to advertise his success (O. 1, P. 1,
P. 2; Bacch. 3).
What about the epigrams and inscriptions of the first half of the fifth century?
Their contents and omissions are often striking. Fifth-century agonistic
inscriptions are longer and more elaborate than in the sixth. The dominant tone
is that of a triumphant mark and memorial, and some can be very crude. Even the
odd, quirky ones are expressive of what it was thought permissible to boast of in
public. Philon, son of Glaukos, of Kerkyra, for instance, boxing champion twice at
Olympia, simply says:

Ææd b ˚æŒıæÆ; #ºø  Z
Æ; N d b ˆºÆŒ
ı

ıƒe ŒÆd ØŒH f  Oºı ØÆ.
My country is Corcyra, the name is Philon. I am son of Glaukos
and I was victor in boxing twice at Olympia.53

Dandis of Argos, victor sometime after 472 in stadion and diaulos, was more
arrogant: an epigram attributed to Simonides which declared he had brought
glory to his homeland (patris) and ‘won twice at Olympia, thrice at the Pythia,
twice at the Isthmus, fifteen times at Nemea’ (if the text is correct), and countless
others:54

Dandis from Argos, runner in the stadion, lies here,

who by his victories brought fame to his horserearing city,
twice at Olympia, thrice at the Pythia,
twice at the Isthmus, fifteen times in Nemea;
and other victories not easy to count.

It is at one and the same time an agonistic epigram and a funerary monument, a
matter we shall return to. No dedication, no thanks to the gods, and a highly
dubious claim about victories at Nemea or elsewhere.
It is striking that they echo in simpler form many of the themes visible in
Pindar’s odes. For example the victory crowns his city. Theognetos of Aegina,
uncle of the wrestler Aristomenes celebrated in Pindar, Pythian 8, won in the
boys’ wrestling at Olympia in the first half of the fifth century. A statue of him at
Olympia proclaimed his beauty and skill, and ‘he crowned the city of his excellent
ancestors’.55 Dandis of Argos had declared the same feat, and the runner Oibotas
from Paleia in Achaia (c.460) declared that his victory ‘adds to the renown of his

53
Ebert (1972) no. 11; cited by Paus. 6. 9. 9 who attributes couplet to Simonides.
54
Ebert (1972) no. 15, Anth. Pal. 13. 14: Alan Griffiths (pers. comm.) has an ingenious theory that the
text should refer to five Nemean victories and thus that the epigram is a clever ‘metrical palindrome’.
55
Ebert (1972) no. 12, with Paus. 6. 9. 1 on statue.
 f a m e , me m o r i a l , a n d c h o r a l p o e t r y 159
fatherland Paleia’.56 Or along a similar strand of ideas, they are a memorial of
excellence for their home city. Ergoteles was an exile from Crete who had settled
in Himera in Sicily. A victor at Olympia, he had a Pindaric ode, Olympian 12, as
well as a later bronze inscription and probably a statue at Olympia. The ode
referred in general terms to his unfortunate exile and celebrated his new city. The
epigram lists the victories and declares that he brought ‘an imperishable memorial
(mnēma) of his excellence’ to Himera, his newly adopted city:57

Ergoteles, son of Philanor, dedicated me,

who beat the Greeks running in the dolichos twice at the Pythia,
and twice at Olympia, twice at Isthmia and twice at Nemea,
and gave to Himera an imperishable memorial of his excellence.

A fragmentary inscription set up by someone possibly called Damnippos and his

son, from Crete in the mid-fifth century said simply, ‘he made his city more
famous’.58 These exactly match the sentiments in many odes of Pindar that the
victor was bringing fame and glory to his city as well as to himself and his family.
The boast was not confined to the Pindaric ode.
The verbal component of both inscription and ode could present these more
nuanced estimations of the way the victor fitted into his city and contributed to
the fame of his fatherland. But many do not take the opportunity for advertising
the breadth of benefits of their victory and simply give a list of the places of
victory, blatantly pushing forward the victor by himself with only the place of
dedication to remind the viewer of the role of the gods. Kallias on the Athenian
Acropolis, for instance, simply gave a list of the victories on a large round marble
base: ‘Kallias [son of Didymios dedicated this]: Olympia; Pythia twice;
Isthmia five times; Nemea four times; Great Panathenaia’.59 The famous athlete
Euthymos of Lokri in Italy had a fine statue set up at Olympia with an epigram
proclaiming that he had won three times at Olympia and ‘set up this image for
mortals [i.e. mere mortals] to see’. He also had a statue at Lokri, and indeed was
probably offered a hero cult even while he was alive.60
The impression of these victory monuments is that they are creating not so
much aristocrats as heroes, outstanding individuals who might stand on their
own or who might bring glory to their cities. I do not mean the type of hero who

56
Ebert (1972) no. 22, Paus. 7. 17. 6–7; victory in footrace, c.460. Cf. the same theme in Ergoteles’
epigram, Ebert (1972) no. 20 and perhaps (restored) Ebert (1972) no. 19.
57
Ebert (1972) no. 20, CEG 393; cf. Paus. 6. 4. 11. See Silk, this volume, p. 181.
58
Ebert (1972) no. 27; cf. also Ebert (1972) no. 24 and perhaps also no. 31, for ‘first of the Ionians’.
59
Moretti (1953) no. 15 ¼ Raubitschek (1949) no. 164; c.450–440. Cf. Moretti (1953) no. 12 for a similar
list, c.475 bc.
60
For the epigram, Moretti (1953) no. 13, Ebert (1972) no. 16, c.470; Pliny, NH 7. 47 for his statue at
Lokri. Fontenrose (1968) looks at a group of stories surrounding hero-athletes like Euthymos: Kleomedes
of Astypalaia, Euthykles of Lokri, Theagenes of Thasos, Oibotas of Dyme. For the most recent, important
study of Euthymos’ honours, see Currie (2002).
160 rosalind thomas
received a cult, but the closeness of some victors to such heroes is clear from the
fact that a few athletic victors did receive a hero cult in the fifth century and before:
athletic heroes were the kind of men who might overstep the bounds of mortal
existence. Philip of Egesta was honoured with a cult in the late sixth century,
‘Olympic victor and the most beautiful of all the Greeks of his time’ (Hdt. 5. 47. 1);
Kleomedes of Astypalaia was eventually offered a cult after he went mad with grief
when his victory was denied because he accidentally killed his opponent (Paus. 6.
9. 6–7); we have already noted the remarkable Euthymos of Lokroi.61 There is not
room here to consider in depth the matter of heroization of athletes,62 but it is a
phenomenon which probably deserves to play a more central part in historians’
picture of Greek society and politics in the fifth century. Similarly, with the
sixth-and fifth-century phenomenon of the astoundingly successful athlete victor
who did not tip over the edge and create devastation (as Kleomedes of Astypalaia
did on his way to becoming a hero), but whose presentation of himself in these
monuments and epigrams is anything but modest.
Such self-display was perhaps all the more enticing in a military system which
dramatically levelled the citizen body and elevated the solidity of the phalanx.
What I find striking is that it is from about the mid-sixth century that dedications
begin to be found which clearly identify themselves as victory dedications with
the name of the victor prominent and remarkably little about the deity, and that
this intensifies in the fifth-century examples. This ‘cult of the victor’ perhaps
developed in tandem with the development of the circuit of Panhellenic games,
and with the increasing complexity of the games, the ways invented to celebrate
victory seem to become less and less a matter of thanking the gods, more of
promoting the victor. Competition between individuals and cities did the rest. So
while some very prominent men used victory as a stepping-stone to further
political power, it is surely also the case that victory was an end in itself.
The very memorials themselves imply this. Victory could bring honours from
the city, respect, even fear, but—a very simple point—it was worth it in its own
right. The set of values voiced by the epigrams and monuments as well as by
Pindar include the desire for fame, glory, and memory against the certainty of
death. As Pindar put it of Pelops’ choice in Olympian 1. 82–4, ‘But since men must
die, why would anyone sit in darkness and coddle a nameless old age to no use,
deprived of all noble deeds?’
Let us, then, turn finally to the question of whether the victory celebrations
and in particular the victory odes bear any relation to changes in funerals. There
are hints in the more sociological approaches to the victory ode that it develops
partly in response to a crackdown on funerary extravagance by the city: as the

61
See above, and n. 60.
62
See, for instance, Bohringer (1979); Boehringer (1996); cf. Kurke (1998) and Currie (2005).
 f a m e , me m o r i a l , a n d c h o r a l p o e t r y 161
polis curbs the aristocratic ostentation at funerals, they seek recourse instead to
more elaborate victory celebrations.63 One element of the funeral would have
been the dirge or thrēnos, and there might be a possible link between the decline of
funeral dirges and attempts to perpetuate memory via the epinikian ode. In
another connection, Nagy suggested that the funerary epigram was a counter-
development in response to Solon’s curbing of funeral extravagance and especially
of the thrēnos.64 The funerary epigram at least would be some compensation for
the loss of poetic celebration; moreover it would be more permanent on the
gravestone, read by passers-by rather than heard only once. However, the picture
seems considerably more complex: the funerary epigram does not suddenly
emerge in the late or mid-sixth century, and Alexiou had suggested more subtly
a shift in tone and expression in the funerary epigrams. She suggested that in the
late sixth to fifth centuries the funerary epigram became more personal, less laconic
and restrained, more expressive of personal loss and grief.65 They move from
being simple markers of death, with name and father, to moving poems of grief.
As for the thrēnos, it is not at all clear that it was restricted in many places in
sixth-century Greece: Solon’s prohibition of the singing of set dirges is widely
cited (Plut. Solon 21. 4), but his Athenian legislation of c.594 bc can hardly be seen
as a wider phenomenon replicated in the rest of Greece. Checking through the
rather extensive evidence for funerary legislation, I can only find two examples of
a place limiting the singing of dirges: the Labyadai clan at Delphi whose sacred
law of the late fifth century, possibly repeating an earlier one, is inordinately
preoccupied with limiting noise of all kinds at funerals, from mourning to
dirges.66 Another relatively late law from Ioulis of Keos of the second half of
the fifth century also limits the women, insisting that they must carry the dead in
silence as far as the tomb.67 But in any case we know that thrēnoi go on being
fashionable in the late sixth and fifth centuries because both Pindar and Simoni-
des wrote them and many were preserved.
The phenomenon of the changing funerary epigrams and the continuing
thrēnoi imply we are dealing with something more profound than elite or
aristocratic quests for display. The reductionist character of these explanations,
whether for the development of the funerary epigram or the victory ode, is highly
unsatisfying. It is as if one form of display is as good as another, as if having

63
Implied tentatively by Kurke (1991) 258–9 with n. 7.
64
Nagy (1990) 18 with n. 7, 152–3, citing Alexiou (1974); followed by Aloni (1997) 20.
65
Alexiou (1974) 106.
66
Sokolowski (1969) 77C: corpse to be carried in silence; no wailing at turnings of road or outside
houses; no dirges; no lamenting at tombs of those long dead. See Alexiou (1974) 14–23, generally on
funerary legislation and the thrēnos. Restrictions on funerary rites are also mentioned in the late traditions
about Charondas’ legislation for Katana.
67
Ioulis of Keos law: Sokolowski (1969) no. 97.
162 rosalind thomas
realized the social importance of certain symbolic actions, the historian can
replace one with another in a scheme of explanation that implies ostentatious
actions are solely about display. In one case, we are dealing with responses to
death, in the other, celebration of victory. In both, there may be a common
factor in the attempt to leave a memorial, but death and victory are hardly
interchangeable events. The changes in funerary epigrams imply some changing
fashion or changing perceptions about how much personal feeling could be
expressed about the deceased in stone and memorial. It seems not only to be a
matter of loss, but making some kind of compensation in the memorial for that
loss. It is very striking how many funerary epigrams and stelai mark a death that
was regarded as in some way premature: young men cut off in their prime, young
women dying before they had married or had children. Some of the most famous
and elaborate, for instance the memorial to Phrasikleia, are to those who suffered
an ‘untimely’ death. A moving epigram to Thessalia in Thessaly on a stele erected
by her parents in the late Archaic period (?) reads as follows:

I died when a child; nor yet did I reach the flower of my days, but came
beforehand to tearful Acheron. Her father Cleodamus, son of Hyperenor,
and her mother Corona placed me here as a monument (mnama) to Thessalia
their daughter.

(Friedländer no. 32; F’s trans.)

In another, dated by Jeffery to c.550–525 bc, Damotimos is given a tomb by his
mother:

This tomb was made for Damotimos by his loving mother. For no children
were born in his house. Here too is the tripod which he won from the footrace
in Thebes . . . unharmed and she set it up over her son.

(Friedländer no. 30; his trans. adapted)

These are not isolated examples, though they are slightly longer and more
moving than most. A brief analysis just of the Archaic epigrams collected by
Friedländer shows that the vast majority of grave epigrams are set up by parents
or older people to men or women or children who are prematurely dead, and that
the epigrams make this clear (i.e. it was something to draw attention to).68 One
might say that the more elaborate ones are precisely those which are memorable
(and which enter collections), but that is presumably the point. The grave marker
and epigram were going beyond the bare minimum to commemorate an even

68
Since epigrams are usually categorized via metre it is hard to give clear numbers. For instance
Friedländer nos. 60–93 are all sepulchral epigrams with a single elegiac couplet: of these the vast majority
are set up by parents for son or daughter, whether the son has been killed in war or not, the exceptions
being: nos. 66, 67, 69a, 74–9, 83–9, 93. Nos. 91 and 92, and possibly no. 90 actually call the death
‘untimely’, IæØ
.
 f am e , memo ri al, and c ho ral po etry 163
greater loss, someone who had died too young. They were attempting through
the inscription to give the deceased the slightly longer memory, the slightly surer
memorial that they would otherwise lack now they had died without offspring
for the next generation.
By contrast with death, of course, victory was a rare event: if a wealthy family
were to wait for a victory for an opportunity for ostentatious extravagance and
the reinforcement of family solidarity, they might wait several generations. This
alone makes it implausible to understand a shift in elite display from funerals to
the victory celebrations. In fact victory celebration and funerary monuments
share one thing, which is the preoccupation with memory and fame (mnēma,
kleos): both were, in a way, trying to avoid oblivion. If we are to try and see these
monuments in terms of Greek values and what the Greeks felt was acceptable in
public display, as well as larger political developments, then memory and
fame are central. Sometimes the agonistic and the funerary are combined in
one monument or ode, and the sense is perhaps of a life well led in courage
and achievement. If we return to Damotimos of Troezen and his immense
grave marker (Friedländer no. 30), we see the funerary marker and the victory
monument together: his grave stele, topped by the tripod, was huge (see Fig. 42).
Here is a young man who died prematurely: his mother set up the stone and
inscription for he had no children. It did not need underlining that his line would
therefore die out. So his main chance of being remembered, along with his
achievement, rested on this vast monolith with its epigram and victory tripod.
There are occasional hints elsewhere of the same combination in funerary
epigrams.69 Towards the end of Isthmian 8, Pindar turns to a memorial
(mnēma) of Kleandros’ cousin Nikokles who also won a victory—both a funerary
and agonistic monument (61–5).70 The epigram for Dandis of Argos (above) was
both a tomb epigram and a victory memorial. The epigram of Ergoteles of
Himera, set up by Ergoteles himself, nevertheless calls the monument ‘an ever-
lasting memorial (mnama) of his excellence for Himera’.71

conclusion
The origins of the victory ode go far back into the sixth century. It was well
enough established as a genre for Simonides to compose a great many epinikians.
He may have established it himself, or more probably he inherited the idea, if
69
Friedländer (1965) no. 136, funerary epigram which also mentions Hyssematas’ victory; cf. also Ebert
(1972) no. 17, set up at Olympia for Hieron by Hieron’s son (Paus. 8. 42. 9).
70
Steiner (1993) 175 on this example (and 172–178 on the wider issue of engaging an audience).
71
Ebert (1972) no. 20; also no. 24, for Charmides of Elis (at Olympia). Two other later cases where
victory celebration and burial are combined are Paus. 6. 4. 6 (late 4th cent.) and Ebert (1972) no. 65,
(3rd cent.) (with Kurke (1993) 147–8).
164 rosalind thomas

Fig. 42. Grave marker for Damotimos of Troezen (originally carrying a tripod). Troezen. c 550– 525 bc

Ibykos composed them also. Even before that, victory had been accompanied by
celebration in song.
The victory ode does not, therefore, have any clear relationship as a genre to
the rise of democracy at Athens, though that is not to say that Pindar and his
victors were not keen on their aristocratic image and ideals. It seems essential to
look at the development of the victory ode in conjunction with the other
methods of celebrating victory, by monument, epigram, memorial. When these
are added to the picture, we see that the Archilochos hymn was probably an early
(and continuing) way of celebrating in song, but that perhaps in the first half of
the sixth century, certainly by c.550–540, celebration of the victor was beginning
to become more focused on celebrating the victor himself personally and expli-
citly, rather than chanting a hymn which was generic or giving dedications which
were thank-offerings to the gods. Epigrams flaunting the victors’ names and
victories were under way by the second half of the sixth century and statues of
 f a m e , me m o r i a l , a n d c h o r a l p o e t r y 165
victors set up in the sanctuaries and elsewhere are reliably attested from
c.544, or at least for a victory of 544 (with the statue erected rather later). So
for an extravagant and permanent celebration of the individual’s achievement, it
may have been the victors’ statues which led the way, the ‘individualized’ odes of
Simonides perhaps following close behind, and Pindar was able to take for
granted an already firmly established genre which he could elevate still further.72
The poets’ celebrations developed in tandem with monumental ones and they
were conscious of a degree of rivalry. Perhaps once the Archaic barrier to
individual glorification was broken by sculptors, poetic celebration could more
easily follow. The shift from the tradition of choral lyric in the service of the gods
and of the polis, to the glorification of a single individual would seem to be a
very significant one.
In a way what is really striking is the arrogance and boastfulness of both statues
and the early and fifth-century epigrams. The monuments show markedly little
overt piety—certainly they seldom give thanks to the deity in the way so many
other dedications do. In this growing ‘cult of the victor’ it is the supreme
elevation of the individual victor as victor (rather than as member of a family or
polis) that is most prominent. It is not hard to understand why some victors were
offered hero cult. The escalation in glorification of the victor must, one suspects,
have a lot to do with the growing importance of the Games in the sixth century,
and the one could enhance the other, as the Games became a focus for compe-
tition between the aristocratic elite of Greece and between the cities. Why the
Games themselves became more and more important is a complex question:
presumably in part because they answered precisely to the desires of the Greek
aristocracy to compete with each other, and excel in athletic prowess amongst the
Greeks. But the sixth-century developments in victory commemoration are
intriguingly close to the formalization of the circuit of the Panhellenic games.
By contrast with the epigrams, it would seem that it was Pindar who did more
to set the victor in the context of family, polis, ancestors, and divine favour
(though as we saw the themes are sometimes visible in the fifth-century epi-
grams). There seems little evidence, or plausible circumstantial arguments, to
connect the emergence of the victory ode with a decline in other forms of ritual,
particularly those of the funerals. If this were a factor, the place we should expect
to find epinikian celebration in vast quantities (but we don’t) would be Athens,
where funerals were most severely curbed. The Athenians prominent in the
Panhellenic games in the late sixth and early fifth century are precisely
those attempting to be prominent in the new democracy (and similarly the late
fifth-century victor Alcibiades commemorated by Euripides). The origins of the

72
On this traditional aspect of Pindar, see Carey (1995). On Pindar’s elevated language, see Michael Silk
(this volume).
166 r o s a l i n d th o m a s
victory ode are more plausibly connected to the dynamics of the games
themselves and their role in Greek culture and politics. Explanations which rely
on the need of aristocrats for display and ostentatious glorification of their house
seem in danger of ignoring some of the fundamental sentiments expressed by the
Greeks themselves in monuments and epigrams. This is not to deny that a funeral
could be an opportunity to show extravagance and solidarity, but the grave
epigrams stress grief and the need to leave a memorial, especially for those who
died young.73 Grief and memorial were at least as much an impetus as display. In
contrast, the victory celebration is really about overweening pride, opulent
display of achievement, supremacy among the Greeks, and therefore a more
fundamental quest for fame, prominence, the kind of individual glory not really
attainable in Archaic Greek warfare but which could instantly raise someone to a
local or even Panhellenic hero. A victor at Olympia or Delphi could transcend his
city. A victory could immediately give political advantage amongst both the
wealthy elite and the mass of the citizens; the boast that a victor had raised his
city to fame could be useful for both tyranny and democracy. The victory ode,
especially the Pindaric ode, added the heroic, mythical, and exquisitely timeless
qualities that only poetry could offer and which might preserve the victor’s fame
even longer. But the very singing of the victory ode by a chorus brought
a particularly elaborate form of performance to the public. Whether it was
performed at a shrine or in some public space of the polis, at any rate it was a
peculiarly public form of performance poetry, and that too made the celebration
and victory an event, a public event that was clearly—but rather indefinably—
better able to involve as audience friends, family, and community than the
erection of a statue. Once the convention of singing of individuals’ achievements
began, it was an irresistible opportunity for communal celebration. And that
communal celebration itself will have become a ritual enactment of the victor’s
supremacy in a society in which choral poetic performances were almost
universally reserved for honouring the gods.74

73
Cf. Sourvinou-Inwood (1995) 421, 440 on the danger of seeing funeral legislation too simply in terms
of social forces, anti-aristocratic intentions.
74
I would like to thank the organizers of the original seminars, and Chris Carey and Bruno Currie, for
comments and suggestions.
 six
––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Epinikian Eidography
N. J. Lowe

What we do not know about epinikian poetry would fill many unwritten
volumes. Even if we leave aside the issues of commissioning and performance
that dominate discussion, it is uncomfortable to reflect how many still more basic
questions about the epinikian genre remain unanswered: how much of this
poetry there originally was; who composed it, and what proportion of their
output (and living) it represented; to what extent, and on what criteria, it was
recognized as a distinct category in the fifth century; and how, whence, and on
what principles it was collected and categorized by the Alexandrian editors, not
all of them firmly identifiable, to whom we owe the survival of such texts as we
have. Yet the standard account of the eidographic problem is now fifty years old,
and in important respects requires updating1—particularly in the light of new
papyrological discoveries, which have not only pushed back the likely beginnings
of the genre to Ibykos2 but have further illuminated, if in some respects rendered
even more puzzling, the workings of the Alexandrian editors’ classificatory
system of which ‘epinikian’ was a part.
One point, at least, seems secure: that by the time the epinikian genre was
invented it had been dead for two centuries. Though the adjective KØŒØ
 has
impeccable Pindaric credentials (N. 4. 78), its use as a genre label came much
later. In 1955 Harvey showed that the regular fifth- and fourth-century term for
victory odes was KªŒ Ø
,3 but that the terminology of lyric genres used for the
canonical Alexandrian editions (whether this terminology was pre-Callimachean,
Callimachean, Aristophanic, or the work of the shadowy Apollonius ‘the
eidographer’)4 reappropriated this term for poems that in the fifth century

1
I am particularly indebted to a superb paper by Ian Rutherford on Pindaric fragments at the Institute
of Classical Studies in October 2004, highlighting among much else the need for a new treatment of the
Alexandrian classification of lyric. This, alas, is not that treatment, but it may help to clarify why one is
needed.
2
Barron (1984); latest discussion by Hornblower (2004) 21–2.
3
Aristophanes, Tagenistae fr. 505 K.–A.; Plato, Laws 822b and cf. Ion 534c, Lysis 205c–e; Chamaeleon fr.
31 Wehrli ap. Ath. 13. 573c–4b (referring to Olympian 13). Pindar himself only ever uses the adjectival form
(O. 2. 47, 10. 77, 13. 29; P. 10. 53; N. 1. 7).
4
D’Alessio (1997) suggests that Apollonius was Aristophanes’ predecessor, not his successor as usually
assumed. See Rutherford (2001a) 146–8.
168 n. j . lo we
would have been called ŒºØÆ, and in its place introduced the new term
KØŒØ
 or K،
.5 As we shall see, even this much is something of a
simplification. The scope of the third-century terms differed in important
respects from that of their fifth-century counterparts; the distinctions between
them were differently drawn; and the whole meaning of generic labels of this
kind operated differently in the two periods.
As Harvey noted, one implication of all this was that in Pindar’s day what we
know as epinikian was not categorically distinguished from other kinds of praise
poetry. Fifth-century lyric was classed not by Alexandrian notions of r 
 but by
positioning within a complex classificatory grid of occasional, musical, thematic,
and performative criteria. As the proliferation of lyric occasions and categories in
the epinikian age shows, this grid was highly sensitive to fluctuations in the cultural
environment of song,6 and the generation after Pindar witnessed a seismic shift
in all four axes of definition that effectively obliterated the environment for
epinikian lyric. In particular, the ‘New Music’ rendered Archaic lyric old-fashioned
and contemporary lyric much more resistant to reperformance, thanks to its
notoriously tricky melodic and metrical intricacy, at the same time as the map of
public poetry changed drastically with the colossal output of Attic tragedy, whose
choral parts alone vastly exceeded the total volume of Archaic lyric surviving to
Alexandria. Meanwhile, the wider discursive map of civic text for performance was
being redrawn (as Kurke especially has argued) by the rise of prose-based forms
and the displacement of traditional musical education by the new sophistic
models of paideia.7
Within this rapidly shifting melic environment, generic labels were peculiarly
vulnerable to flux. The term encomium is a striking example. Literally it means
‘[song] [performed] in a processional revel’, making it originally synonymous
with ‘comedy’—a word that had already moved off on its own deviant trajectory.
The adjective turns up in the 20-year-old Pindar’s earliest ode, and the sense of a
‘song at a celebration’ is always residually present in Pindar’s own usage. But
Pindaric usage is already moving away from the sense of performance at an actual
ŒH
 towards a more virtual celebration of a more specific kind. It was clearly
the later usage that led in the fourth century to the wider usage of KªŒ Ø
 to
mean any literary work of eulogy, verse or prose8—the sense primarily borne by
5
It is tempting to suspect that the term was coined directly from Pindar’s expression at N. 4. 78
(KØØŒ
ØØ I
ØÆE). See below, p. 292.
6
Plato complains about the generic miscegenation of this period in the famous passage at Laws 700a–d,
which remains the nearest thing to a formulation of a pre-Alexandrian notion of lyric Y, but is more
concerned with the ‘divine’ genres and regrettably makes no reference to victory odes or other anthropic
praise-songs. Plato’s complaint is that in the early Classical period musical and metrical form became
uncoupled from subject matter, occasion, and mode of performance, confounding the Archaic generic
labels.
7
On these issues see now Fantuzzi (2004a) 22–6.
8
First in Plato, Symposium 177a, and widely thereafter. For P. 10. 53 see above n. 3.
 epinikian eidography 169
the term ever since. ŒºØ
 is a more complex case again. Harvey argued from
a fragment of Dicaearchus On Musical Contests that fifth-century usage seems to
refer to two different kinds of symposiastic song: the short stanzas sung
unaccompanied by the guests in rotation, which continued to be known by this
name throughout antiquity; and performances of strophic songs to the lyre by
more musically expert individual guests, the taste for which was an early casualty
of the New Music. But the implication of this is that the fifth-century distinction
between scolium and encomium was essentially performative rather than one of
generic content, since the term ŒºØ
 referred exclusively to poems performed
(or reperformed) at symposia, while the ŒH
 root in KªŒ Ø
 seems to have
encouraged its association with more public kinds of performance.
These terminological shifts, and the changes in song culture that drove them,
posed enormous problems for the Alexandrian collectors and editors of the lyric
poetry of two centuries past, who were faced with the task of devising a system
that would allow the huge volume of material preserved to be catalogued
(Callimachus must have made an early attempt at this in the Pinakes), sorted
into books (for Pindar, ancient testimony is unanimous in crediting this to
Aristophanes), and ultimately edited.9 The scale of the Alexandrian headache is
well illustrated by the taxonomy of lyric genres preserved in Photius’ summary10
of Proclus’ Chrestomathy, that enigmatic summa of Greek poetic history to which
we also owe almost our entire knowledge of sub-Homeric epic. Proclus lists 28
Y, apparently all choral, under four superclasses by addressee: songs to gods,
songs to humans, songs to both, and strictly occasional songs to neither in
particular. The second group comprises nine genres, headed by encomium,
epinikian, and scolium. Each gets a brief definition, though Photius’ summary
has infuriatingly lost the definition for encomium. The scheme is usually taken to
represent a model derived, probably at some remove, from the third-century
editors’ attempts to find ways of distributing into books the large corpora of
choral poems collected in Alexandria. But if, as seems likeliest, Proclus’ source is
Didymus,11 we are dealing with a taxonomy as distant from the third-century
cladists as they were from the poems themselves; and though the Proclan scheme
is clearly derived from the terminology of the Alexandrian editions, it does
not describe at all usefully the principles of classification used in the editions
themselves.
In fact, what is known of the Alexandrian editions of lyric poets indicates that a
bewildering variety of classificatory schemes seems to have operated for different

9
Slater (1986) doubts the existence of an Aristophanic edition as such, but it is hard to see how
Aristophanes’ arrangement and colometry could have been promoted in a mere hypomnēma.
10
Bibl. 319b35–320a9; a handy schematic summary in Rutherford (2001a) 102.
11
The Proclan distinction of mobile prosodion versus static hymnos is credited to Didymus by Et. Magn.
690. 35 ¼ 4. 9. 4, 390 Schmidt; see Rutherford (2001a) 105–6 n. 39.
170 n . j. l o w e
poets, and in some cases for the works of single poets. As well as classification by
eidos, we hear of arrangements by metre and by alphabetical order of initial
letter;12 while Apollonius the eidographer is said to have dabbled in musicological
classification, though there is no trace of an actual edition based on his scheme.13
Chronology is never a consideration in the arrangement of ancient editions; and
soberingly, the one distinction never drawn at all is the one that most obsesses
modern scholars, especially when discussing epinikian performance: between
monodic and choral delivery. Some editions mixed criteria: thus Sappho’s
epithalamia had their own book, but the other eight books were distinguished
by metre, while within books the poems may have been alphabetically sequenced.
Some editions, including Sappho’s, had numbered books without further title;
others, such as those of Pindar and Bacchylides, were known by individual
book-titles, and seem to have been known in more than one sequence.14 Other
lyric poets were differently treated again. Stesichorus’ long narrative poems seem
to have been collected as single-poem books known only by title, while the poems
of Ibykos (and others) seem to have been subject to no discernible organizing
principle at all.
Most importantly, the construction of a lyric edition tended to involve
multiple levels of grouping and ordering that implemented different taxonomic
criteria at successive levels of a hierarchy. The nearest thing to a straightforward
case is Bacchylides, whose nine books were arranged by Y, apparently led
by the single book of epinikia; the others were dithyrambs, paeans, hymns,
prosodia, partheneia, hyporchemata, erotica, and encomia. Most of these labels
are occasional or performative, though the last two are thematically distinguished
categories within a broadly symposiastic grouping; and all but one15 of these
titles are duplicated among the Pindaric books, suggesting that the labels at least
were in standard use by the third century. Even here, the sequencing of poems
within Bacchylides’ epinikian book shows other criteria at work,16 among which
the Pindaric grouping by festivals seems to play no significant role. 1–7 group the
odes to multiple honorands (Argeius, Hieron, Lachon); 8–16 are the single

12
Alphabetical arrangements: Rutherford (2001a) 158–9 with nn.
13
Et. Magn. 295. 52; see Harvey (1955) 159 n. 4.
14
This, at least, is the implication of the contradictory evidence for the books of Pindar, where the
Oxyrhynchus Vita has dethroned the order of books in the Ambrosian Life from the canonical position
once supposed, with its neat Proclan division into divine and human genres. The alarming wonkinesses of
the Suda book-list are safest left unconfronted. See Race (1987b).
15
The exception is the erotica—presumably poems like Pindar fr. 122 to Theoxenus of Tenedos,
described by Athenaeus as the poet’s erōmenos, though the poem must have been collected in the book
of encomia.
16
Maehler (1982) 36–7; Rutherford (2001a) 159 with nn. 5, 7; contra, Race (1997) 34 n. 35; an alternative,
epinikian interpretation of B. 14B in Carey (1983) (supplementing ƽºÆØBØ in the title). Rutherford
suggests that the arrangement of the first seven poems, with the Hieronic trilogy flanked by two pairs of
Kean odes, resembles the ‘aesthetic’ arrangements of Hellenistic poets’ own books.
 epinikian eidography 171
honorands, with Panhellenic victors (8–13) in order of event type (missing
for 8, then pentathlon, footrace, combat sports) followed by the solitary non-
Panhellenic victor and the ode honouring the former athlete Aristotle of Larissa
for what was probably a civic achievement.
The Bacchylidean edition may have been conveniently able to fill its books by
eidos alone, but the larger and more generically concentrated corpus of Pindaric
poetry posed more of a challenge.17 Given that far too many epinikians survived
to be collected in just one or two rolls, a criterion of subdivision was required.
Aristophanes’ solution, specific to this eidos and this poet only, was to distribute
the odes among four books by occasion of Panhellenic victory.18 The problems
this gave rise to are well known, and evident in the surviving collection. Pindar
did not compose equal numbers of odes for all the Panhellenic festivals, while
some odes were not for Panhellenic victories at all; these two problems were
made to solve one another, by the use of the miscellaneous odes for local victories
to bulk out the end of the slim Nemean (and perhaps also the Isthmian)
volume.19 Trickier was distinguishing which odes should be classed as epinikian
at all, and where in the Panhellenic sequence the problem odes should go. Pindar
composed epinikian and other encomiastic odes for the same individuals, so that
Pythian 3 finds a place with the Hieronian victory odes solely on the basis of a
passing mention of Hieron’s Pythian victory with Pherenikos (74–5); while fr. 125
was classed by Aristoxenus as a scolium (ŒºØ
), and therefore found its way into
the Hellenistic book of encomia.20
A glimpse of the generations of hair-tearing that lie behind the tidiness of the
surviving edition is the scholiast’s tale of woe in the headnote to Pythian 2
(Drachmann ii 31. 10–14). ‘Some say that it is not an epinikian; Timaeus calls it
a Sacrificial (ŁıØÆØŒ ); Callimachus a Nemean, Ammonius and Callistratus

17
The Ambrosian Life lists the seventeen books as: 1 each of hymns and paeans; 2 each of dithyrambs
and prosodia; 3 of partheneia, of which the last was somehow distinguished from the first two; two of
hyporchemata, one each of thrēnoi and encomia, and the four books of epinikia. Other sources make the
number up differently, but the Ambrosian list seems clearly right. The Life is clearly following a ‘Proclan’
order of divine genres at the front, anthropic genres at the end, and those straddling both categories in the
middle; but the Oxyrhynchus Life gives a quite different order, and we should be wary of assuming the
Ambrosian sequence was the original Aristophanic arrangement, let alone the only ordering known.
18
Other genre-specific principles of grouping and ordering can be glimpsed among the partheneia
(whose final book of three was evidently something of a miscellany) and paeans (for which see Rutherford
(2001a) 159–60, arguing that the book of Pindaric Paeans was arranged in an order that went from greatest
to least conformity to perceived generic norms; something of the same logic can be seen in the consign-
ment of stray poems to the ends of books in the Nemeans and perhaps Isthmians, if Rutherford and Irvine
(1988) are right about the lost Oschophoric song).
19
The low proportion of these is nevertheless surprising. Did Pindar and Bacchylides really compose so
rarely for local victories, especially compared to Simonides? Or are we missing something about the
mechanisms of preservation and collection?
20
Fr. 105ab to Hieron was evidently a hyporchema, but is cited by Athenaeus as a Pythian ode. There
were numerous similar eidographic disputes; for those involving the paean classification see Rutherford
(2001a) 90–1.
172 n. j. lowe
an Olympian, some (such as Apollonius the eidographer) a Pythian, and others
a Panathenaic.’ The term ‘thusiastic’ is presumably a pre-Callimachean usage that
failed to catch on as the occasion of the victory rose in significance as a classifi-
catory criterion in the high Alexandrian period. Aristophanes’ absence from the
list is presumably an indication that the default classification as a Pythian in
the standard edition was taken to represent his judgement. But Callimachus’
appearance here is highly significant, and strongly suggests that Aristophanes
derived the inspiration for his arrangement from the Pinakes; classification by
festival seems to have played no part in the editing of other poets, and may have
been a Callimachean innovation.
But the assignment of odes to books is only a small part of the arrangement of
the Pindaric epinikia, which on closer inspection reveals itself as the product of the
single most elaborate act of literary taxonomy in the ancient world: a hierarchy of
at least seven distinct criteria mapped on to the fundamental divisions of author,
book-roll, and individual poem, and reflected in the system of poem titles
apparently developed as part of the same editorial process.21 It is evidently the
product of considerable reflection on the multiple ways in which lyric poetry can
be classified, and perhaps attempts a synthesis of imperfectly compatible rival
schemes in the generations preceding Aristophanes. The important thing to
appreciate here is that classification involves two operations: the grouping
of items into taxonomic divisions, and the ordering of the groups so formed
according to a ranking. Division into books is a fairly blunt tool, operating at
only three levels (poet, book, and single poem); but the ordering of poems within
books is a far more sensitive instrument, capable of unlimited intermediate
gradations. In particular, the form of the book-roll, where poems at the front of
a book were far easier and likelier to be consulted, encourages a ranking of poems
on a criterion of significance (or consultability) from highest to lowest.
As Diagram 1 attempts to show, this is what we see in the epinikian books of
Pindar. (1) The top-level criterion is that of authorship—though there are higher
levels to the hierarchy in the designation of poets among larger generic categories
such as the new label ‘lyric’ (replacing the earlier ‘melic’), and the Hellenistic fad
for canonized lists such as the nine ºıæØŒ
 headed by Pindar. (2) Whether or not
the Ambrosian order of books was standard, it attests an awareness by the time of
Didymus at the latest that the individual books within the collection followed a
supergeneric rule of classification that could be most clearly articulated by an
ordering of the books on a scale from divinity to humanity.22 There is clearly
a sense here of a gradation of value from the genres N Ł
 downwards to

21
Lobel noted that Simonidean epinikian titles, in contrast to those of Pindar and Bacchylides,
standardly place the event before the name of the victor. See now Obbink (2001) 75 n. 39.
22
Eustathius attributes the popularity of the epinikia to their being IŁæøØŒæÆ.
 epinikian eidography 173

1 poet Pindar 1 author

2 supergenre eis theous eis anthropous

3 genre hymns paeans (etc.) encomia threnoi epinikia 2 book

4 occasion Olympians Pythians Nemeans Isthmians

chariot, horse and combat

5 event mule events sports
footraces other

6 honorands multiple single

7 victor Hieron Theron Psaumis

8 ode 0.1 0.2 0.3 3 poem

greater lesser
importance

Diagram 1

those N IŁæ
ı, whatever the poetic and receptional case for reversing
the value judgement. (3) In contrast to the Bacchylidean edition, where the
distinction between Y is identical with the division into books, the Pindaric
grouping into named genres operates at a level between the poet and the single
book. (4) Within each genre, the books seem to have followed a fixed order, on a
principle (which must have been differently operated for each genre) of most
important first. In the case of Pindar’s partheneia, the enigmatic third book was
distinguished as ‘poems separated from the partheneia’; in the case of the epinikia,
the Panhellenic festivals were ranked in order of status. (5) Within each book,
the odes are grouped first by event. Here there was some scope for disagreement;
the Bacchylidean epinikia put the solitary footrace ode ahead of the combat
sports, but the Pindaric arrangement groups the running events consistently
174 n . j. l o w e
behind. There are no Pindaric pentathletes or Bacchylidean auletes to refine the
comparison further, but if Maehler is right to see a Nemean 11-style pendant in
Bacchylides 14 then the ends of books were used for more marginal odes that
did not fit the main sequence. (6) Rutherford and Obbink, following Irigoin,
summarize the system as status of event followed by status of victor, but in fact the
criteria seem to have been more mechanical: in both the Pindaric and Bacchyli-
dean epinikian books, victors with multiple odes precede victors with only a single
ode each. The single exception confirms the rule: Chromios’ Sikyonian victory in
Nemean 9 led to a positioning at the head of the non-Nemean group at the end of
the book, rather than alongside his bona fide Nemean ode at the front, because
criterion (5) overrides (6). (7) Within the former sequence, odes to a particular
victor are grouped together, and the victors arranged in order of significance as
assessed primarily by number of odes. (8) Only at the level of the individual ode
does the clarity of the system break down, though the guiding principle of ‘most
significant first’ seems to hold, even if some of the judgements here may seem
arbitrary.23 (Thus the dubiously epinikian Pythian 4 precedes its unimpeachably
epinikian sibling.) Note that in all this there is no trace of the criterion of victor’s
origin which seems to have been used to group Bacchylides’ odes for Kean and
Aeginetan victors.
This brings us to the single largest gap in our knowledge of these Alexandrian
editions: the number and organization of the books of Simonides. The Suda
entry is notoriously problematic; though the Plataia elegy now casts doubt on
the extent of actual textual corruption, the list of genres (threnoi, encomia,
epigrams, paeans, tragedies,24 ‘and others’) is incomplete and cannot correspond
in any simple way to books of an Alexandrian edition, while from other sources
we hear additionally of partheneia, prosodia, dithyrambs, and the enigmatic
kateuchai.25 Other Simonidean titles do not seem to fit an eidographic series
at all. Strabo refers tantalizingly to a group or collection of poems known
collectively as the Deliaca which included the dithyramb Memnon, and a scholiast
on Apollonius (1. 763) cites something called the  ØŒÆ, which remains a
puzzle.26 The Battle of Artemisium was widely known under its own title, as
apparently were the other longer historical elegies, comprising two further
Naumachiae (Salamis and Xerxes), plus the Reign of Darius and Cambyses.27

23
We are told by the Vita Thomana that Aristophanes himself placed Olympian 1 first; see Slater (1986)
145–6.
24
The least unsatisfactory salvage operation would identify these with the dithyrambs; but a deeper
confusion seems likelier.
25
Ps.-Plutarch, De Mus. 17; Strabo 15. 3. 2.
26
FGrH 8 F 3, with commentary; Poltera (1998).
27
West was properly suspicious of the existence of some of these, but the Plataea elegy has tilted the
balance of credibility back again; see Rutherford (2001b) 35–6.
 epinikian eidography 175
Rutherford (2001b: 33–4) suggests that these were collected in larger books
outside the Suda series.
We have distressingly little notion of what proportion of Simonides’ collected
works were classifiable as epinikian. The Suda list makes no mention of epinikian
books, unless they are included in the encomia; but the striking fact, established
by Lobel on P. Oxy. 2431, that the Simonidean epinikia were classified primarily
by event suggests a substantial series, if we are to imagine entire books of Boxers,
Wrestlers, and Mule-Carts to supplement the attested book-titles Runners,
Pentathletes, Four-Horse Chariots, and perhaps also Horseraces.28 Obbink (2001:
75 n. 40) suggests that Simonides was less scrupulous than Pindar about
indicating the occasion of the victory commemorated, making the Pindaric
classification by occasion inoperable; d’Alessio (1997), that Simonides composed
more odes for non-Panhellenic occasions.29 The truth is likely to be more
complex still, but even on our limited evidence the statistics are striking: four
epinikian books out of seventeen for Pindar, but only one out of nine for
Bacchylides. If we could only be sure that Simonides’ attested event-groups
represented one (or more?) books each, his epinikian output surviving to
Alexandria would seem to surpass both combined—though we would still be
ignorant of the proportion of his works represented.
All this suggests that for the third-century editors the epinikian existed pri-
marily, and perhaps was originally coined, as a book-title. This is not to question
the usefulness of that title for us as a generic label for an extraordinary and
distinctive phenomenon within fifth-century lyric. But for the Alexandrian
eidographers, such titles operated within a wider cladistic system in which
generic labels were only one of a number of variables which could be
hierarchically organized in more than one classificatory system. In constructing
their editions of the epinikian poets, the Alexandrian editors had available what
was in effect a complex database of information on victor, event, and occasion,
which could be sorted and sub-sorted in different ways for different poets, and
applied at a level above or below the unit of the individual book. The choice of
system for a particular poet seems to have been determined by a combination of
the peculiarities of individual poets’ output, the legacy of earlier attempts
at classification, and the practicalities of producing a physical edition in
appropriately sized books. Within this general framework, however, poems
seem to have been sorted into books by a kind of successive filtration. A reference
to a victory, however passing, would tend to result in classification with epinikia;
no extant poem classed as an epinikian lacks such a reference. In the absence of

28
The evidence is collected by Obbink (2001) 75–7.
29
Certainly odes for non-Panhellenic victories are strangely thin on the ground for Pindar and
Bacchylides. Bacchylides’ extant epinikians comprise four Olympian odes (3, 5, 6, 7), two Pythian (4, 11),
three Isthmian (1, 2, 10), and three Nemean (9, 12, 13, and perhaps 8), and one local (14).
176 n. j. lowe
such a reference, a poem of praise becomes eligible for the category of encomium,
unless its erotic content seems sufficient to divert it into a distinct book of similarly
themed odes (if available). There is still an expectation that an KªŒ Ø
 will
be more intimate and symposiastic in its address; but any hard distinction between
public, choral epinikia and private, convivial encomia is hard to see either in the
extant odes or in their Alexandrian arrangement.
Finally, a famous puzzle. Given that Pindar and Bacchylides, as Carey notes in
this volume, advertise themselves as operating in a populous and competitive
market, why is evidence for epinikian poetry by other hands so curiously thin on
the ground? Olympian 5 is the lone suspected cuckoo in the Pindaric nest, and
there are good grounds for suspending judgement even there; while from the
following generation we have two doubtfully epinikian fragments of Diagoras of
Melos, and an ode for Alcibiades widely (but probably falsely) attributed to
Euripides.30 It is hard not to suspect that something in the Alexandrian collection
and editing process itself has tended systematically to filter out minor figures.31
One factor here must have been the importance of the book as a unit in any
classificatory scheme. It is not that Simonides, Bacchylides, and Pindar were the
only epinikian poets; rather, it is that no other poets left enough attributable
work to fill a complete book two centuries later, so that any epinikia in their
collected works were not included in books under that title—just as Pindar’s
handful of KæøØŒ had to be included under KªŒ ØÆ. As Pindar observed to
Hieron, ‘Excellence endures in glorious songs for a long time. But few can win
them easily.’32

30
Hornblower (2004) 28 is inclined, as in other such cases, to accept both in the absence of stronger
counter-evidence. But there is nothing specifically epinikian in Diagoras’ Philodeman fragments; the boxer
Nicodorus, we are told, was his lover, which if true (and not an inference from an encomiastic poem)
makes an epinikian context less likely; and even the lines on Alcibiades’ chariot victory preserved by
Plutarch (whose Euripidean authorship he elsewhere notes had been questioned) could be a passing
reference in an encomium of wider scope in the mould of Pythian 3 or Nemean 11.
31
One possible explanation of the Aeginetan question (‘Why Aegina?’, as Hornblower (2004: 208–35)
puts it, and further in this volume) is that Aeginetan odes were better preserved locally for subsequent
collection—perhaps as a paradoxical result of the Athenian ethnic cleansing of 431, at a time when Pindar
was still a symposium favourite.
32
P. 3. 114–15 (trans. Race).
 seven
––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Pindar’s Poetry as Poetry: A Literary Commentary

on Olympian 12
Michael Silk

i. preliminaries
The simplest way of illuminating Pindar’s poetry ‘as poetry’ is through a close
reading of a Pindaric ode. For this purpose Olympian 12 is of a convenient size (it
is one of Pindar’s shortest victory odes), and one on which, conveniently, there is
no satisfactory commentary.1 The text of the poem is not controversial, though
my translation may be.
º
ÆØ; ÆE ˘e  ¯ºıŁæ
ı, 1
 
æÆ PæıŁ
 I غØ; ØæÆ Æ: 2
d ªaæ K fiø ŒıæHÆØ Ł
Æ 3
A; K 
æfiø  ºÆØłæ
d º
Ø 4
ŒIª
æÆd 
ıºÆæ
Ø: Æ¥ ª b IæH 5
ºº ¼ø; a  Æs Œø 6
ł Æ ØÆ  
ØÆØ Œıº
 Kº: 6a
 
º
 
h  Ø KØŁ
ø 7
Øe I d æØ
 K

Æ yæ ŁŁ: 8
H b ººø ºøÆØ æÆÆ . 9

ººa  IŁæ
Ø Ææa ª Æ !, 10
! ƺØ b 
æłØ
;
ƒ  IØÆæÆE 11
IØŒæÆ %ºÆØ 12
Kºe ÆŁf  Æ
 K ØŒæfiH  ØłÆ æfiø. 12a
ıƒb #غ
æ
; X
Ø ŒÆd  Œ 13
K
Æ – Iº
Œøæ ıªªfiø Ææ )fi Æ 14
IŒºc Ø a ŒÆıºº
æ 
H, 15
N c Ø IØØæÆ ˚øÆ  ¼ æ æÆ. 16
F   ˇºı fi Æ Æø 
 17
ŒÆd d KŒ —ıŁH
  Ł
E  ;  ¯æªº, 18
Łæ a ˝ı A º
ıæa Æ%Ø › غ
ø Ææ
NŒÆØ Iæ
æÆØ. 19
15 ŒÆıºº
æ Hermann
1
The only significant commentary is Verdenius (1987), a piece of work that, typically of its author,
combines in equal measure odium philologicum, literary-critical insensitivity, and extensive knowledge of
Pindar’s Greek and relevant reference. Gildersleeve (1899) retains its value, unlike most earlier work on Pindar.
178 michael silk
Daughter of Zeus who keeps us free,
Luck, Saviour, hear our cry:
Help strong Hı́mera. Yours is the power
That makes swift
Ships, wise parliaments, wars nimble, steer,
While human hopes, adrift
On self-deception, toss in indifferent air.

None of us has had a clear

Sign from heaven of life in store:
Directives on the future are born blind.
Things come out
Often against our judgement: joys upturned,
Or dire squalls, ill-met,
To deep advantage soon confined.

Like the cock that always fought

At home, son of Philánor,
Lost leaves, oblivion at the hearth, were the honour
Even of your feet,
But civil
Conflict, manmatch unnatural,
Took your Cnossos.
Now, though, a crown
At Olympia, two from Delphi and the Isthmus,
Ergotéles, means you can
Take in your hands the Nymphs’ warm waters,
With fields, friends, to call your own.

This translation is offered not as a crib, but as a paraphrase designed to hint at the
emphases, textures, and (if possible) powers that are operative in the poem.2 In
some cases I have translated connotations instead of denotations, or recast, or
missed out words. Among other things, I have tried to convey the overall shape
of the poem (albeit not its specific rhythms). Pindar’s ode consists of a single
series of three stanzas in an AAB configuration: strophe and rhythmically
matching antistrophe (AA); rhythmically related but distinct epode (B). The
metre, as often in Pindar, is dactylo-epitrite, made up predominantly of
shapes like º
ÆØ ÆE (epitrite, – –x) and ˘e  ¯ºıŁæ
ı (dactylic
hemiepes, – – –).3 The broad dactylic character of the metre recalls the
dactylic hexameters of Homeric epic. Pindar’s verse thus accommodates itself
(as necessary) to epic phraseology and evokes (as appropriate) the heroic world
2
Paraphrase, in terms of Dryden’s classic distinction between metaphrase, paraphrase, and imitation
(Preface to Ovid’s Epistles, 1680).
3
Full schematic analysis in Snell–Maehler (1987) ad loc.
 p i n d a r’s po etry as po etry 179
of the old epic. The perceptibly least dactylic part of the whole sequence is the
end, where the last two lines (fifteen words, ŒÆd d . . . Iæ
æÆØ) is over-
whelmingly epitrite, with only a single element – – at the end of 18
(this relatively unexpected element, likewise, at the end of 2  8, and 4  10).
More specifically, the rhythmical pattern established in 1 (– –x– – –) is the
basis for the two stanzas A, the reverse sequence (– – –x– –), with which
13 and 14 both begin, for epode B. An ode that focuses on reversals of fortune has
its overall rhythmic construction based on a reversal in its turn: stylistic
enactment.
In my translation, as in Pindar, stanzas I (A) and II (A) respond (albeit not, as
in Pindar, precisely), with III (B) distinct. In all three stanzas, my English uses
pararhyme (‘free’/‘cry’, ‘power’/‘steer’), along with rhyme proper (‘swift’/‘adrift’),
approximately like late Yeats:

Many times man lives and dies

Between his two eternities,
That of race and that of soul,
And ancient Ireland knew it all . . .
Poet and sculptor, do the work,
Nor let the modish painter shirk
What his great forefathers did,
Bring the soul of man to God.4

And Yeats, though in some ways a thousand miles from Pindar (and who isn’t?),
is like Pindar in some others (and not only the aristocratic, metaphysical-aesthetic
value system).
In modern English it is not possible to convey the elevated tone of Pindaric
language. Like most lyric poets of early and classical Greece, Pindar writes in an
elaborately elevated idiom, broadly in the tradition of the already elaborately
elevated idiom of Homer, but with additional ‘Doric’ dialectal colouring,
reflecting the Alcmanic (or similar) prototype of historic choral lyric. So Pindar’s
Greek naturally includes words, forms of words, and uses of words that must be
common to all versions of the ‘ordinary’ Greek of his age (from ÆE in the first
sentence to Łæ  in the last)—meaning, by ‘all’, both the prose and the less
elevated verse that we possess and the unattested vernacular(s) that we do not5—
but also includes specific vocabulary, specific morphology, specific word-usage,
which is exclusive to, or exclusively characteristic of, the not so ordinary verse
tradition(s) to which his own belongs. In addition, Pindar’s Greek involves a
freer word order than could conceivably be ascribed to any Greek vernacular that

4
Yeats, ‘Under Ben Bulben’, II, IV, from Last Poems (1939).
5
On the lexicographical issues involved here, cf. Silk (1974) 27–56, esp. 34–51.
180 m i c ha e l s i l k
one might attempt to reconstruct or, indeed, to any non-elevated Greek that we
possess; and it is characterized, not least, by a general exclusion of distinctively
(presumptively) colloquial or prosaic usage. Exceptions to this last ‘rule’ (there is
one notable example in O. 12) are significant.
It is of the essence, furthermore, that Pindar does not simply adhere to
traditional elevation (though he does adhere to it), or even simply adhere to it
with minor adjustments (though he does that too). He affirms the tradition as
part of his affirmation of the value system which that high-verse tradition
(especially at its Homeric fountain-head) broadly upholds, and, partly by the
peculiar nature of his affirmation, develops the tradition too. So Pindar’s verse is
not incidentally elevated. Its elevation is, and is shown to be, the linguistic
corollary of its aristocratic ideology; and in this sense every little elevated detail
makes a miniature political point.
But then again, Pindar’s verse is not only elevated: it is also—indispensable
distinction—heightened.6 Unlike much Greek lyric poetry, from Alcman to Bac-
chylides, it lives up to Ezra Pound’s definitive prescription for poetic
language: ‘language charged with meaning to the utmost possible degree’.7
Pindar cultivates what Horace calls the ‘callida iunctura’ and what Eliot, almost
paraphrasing Horace, called ‘that perpetual slight alteration of language, words
perpetually juxtaposed in new and sudden combinations, meanings perpetually
eingeschachtelt [‘boxed’] into meanings’8—where ‘alteration of language’,
crucially, means, not alteration from the unelevated norm to the elevated
norm, or from one elevated norm to another, but alteration from some notional,
pre-existing, conventional linguistic norm (which might be, and here would
be, an elevated norm) to what defies identification in terms of norms or conven-
tions at all. Pindar’s language, characteristically, mobilizes and confronts
connotations, enacts meanings, defamiliarizes subjects—as the Russian formalist
theorists like Shklovsky, who formulated the theory of defamiliarization nearly a
century ago, thought poetic language should and does: through poetic eyes, the
world looks—is shown to be—different.9

ii. context
Olympian 12 was composed in celebration of a victory in the ‘long race’ (app-
roximately 5,000 metres).10 The ode, traditionally classified as an Olympian,
honours a once famous runner, Ergoteles from Himera in Sicily. In fact,

6 7
On the distinction, see further Silk (forthcoming). Pound (1954) 23.
8
Horace, Ars P. 47–8; Eliot (1920) 128.
9
See briefly Silk (2000) 157–8 and, in more detail, Silk (forthcoming).
10
Twelve lengths of the stadion.
 pindar’ s p o e tr y a s p o e tr y 181
Ergoteles was not a native Himeran, and the poem itself was probably composed
in connection with a Pythian victory. Discussing the statues of Olympic victors in
his guide book to Greece (second century ad), Pausanias (6. 4. 11) writes:

Ergoteles, son of Philanor, won twice in the long race at Olympia, as also at [sc. twice
again at] Delphi, the Isthmus, and Nemea. The inscription on his statue says he was
originally from Himera, but the story is that he was actually from Cnossos in Crete. He
was driven from Cnossos by political enemies and went to Himera, where he was granted
citizenship and gained many other honours besides. It was therefore natural that he
should be acclaimed as a native of Himera at the games.

This account is confirmed both by the circumstantial detail of Olympian 12 and by

the inscription itself, which survives in a fragmentary state (SEG 11. 1223a ¼ CEG
393: above, p. 159). At the time of Pindar’s writing, Ergoteles’ eventual tally of
victories was not complete: vv. 17–18 mention only one victory at Olympia,
perhaps only one at the Isthmus (see on 18), and none at Nemea. The dates of
the Isthmian and Nemean victories are unknown. The other four belong to 472
(Olympia), 470 (Delphi), and (as argued by Barrett (1973) 23–8) 466 (Delphi),
464 (Olympia), with the victory of 466 as the occasion of the present ode. The
poem, on this reconstruction, would have been taken for an Olympian by the
scholars of Alexandria (whose confusion about such matters is well attested)11
because an Olympian victory is mentioned first (v. 17).
It was doubtless the new lustre of fifth-century Sicily that attracted Ergoteles
to Himera, but he must have found political upheavals there to match anything
he might have known in Crete. Since the early years of the fifth century Himera
had experienced instability and oppression, with a local tyranny succeeded by the
domination of Acragas (till c.470) and then Syracuse (till c.466).12 The ode
reflects both Himera’s chequered past and her recent liberation from Syracusan
power.

iii. commentary 13
1 kßssolai: unlike earlier lyrics (e.g. Sapph. 5, Anac. 3), P’s epinicians do not
normally begin like this with a ‘real’ prayer, though they often begin with an
invocation (as to the Muses): Hamilton (1974) 17.

11
Confusion typified by such eccentricities of classification as the designation of the Aristagoras ode as
‘Nemean’ 11 or, relatedly, by the ancient dispute about the identity of the honorand in Isthmian 5 (on which
see Silk (1998) 61–2).
12
See succinctly Woodhead and Wilson (1996) 707.
13
In this commentary the following special abbreviations are used: E ¼ Ergoteles; P ¼ Pindar. Poems
or fragments by Pindar are generally cited without specification of author (so ‘fr. 1’ ¼ Pindar, fr. 1).
Lexicographical claims about Greek word usage refer to pre-Hellenistic usage: cf. Silk (1974) 38–9, 82.
182 michael silk
 Ekeuheqßou: a newish cult-epithet for Zeus, perhaps coined in gratitude
for the deliverance of Greece from the Persians. It occurs first in ‘Simonides’
Epigr. xv, commemorating the battle of Plataea in 479 (cf. Thuc. 2. 71), then here,
then in mid-fifth-century prose inscriptions and elsewhere: IG v. 1. 700, SEG 12.
64, Mel. Adesp. 60(c). Neither KºıŁ
æØ
 nor any other member of the
KºıŁæØ- word-group is definitely attested before the fifth century (instances
at Thgn. 539, 916, belong to poems of uncertain date); hence Herodotus (3. 142)
may be anachronistic when he refers to an altar of Zeus E. erected in Samos
after the death of the tyrant Polycrates (in 522). P’s use of the new title both
(tactfully) alludes to Himera’s recent liberation from Syracuse and, as we shall
see, is programmatic for the poem as a whole. Pindarists commonly allude to
the epinician ‘programme’—see especially Schadewaldt (1928)—meaning such
recurrent generic features as specification of the victor’s name and city and the
athletic event commemorated, and a myth. As O. 12, which has no myth,
indicates, such features vary in degree of indispensability, and it is characteristic
of a Pindaric ode that its often diverse features have their own distinctive unity
(compare and contrast Heath (1989) 143–5, 160–1). In this more important sense,
each ode has its own ‘programme’, whether made up of predictable elements
or not.
2 ePqusheme† ‘ : a rare adjective favoured by P, who uses it nine times (Slater
(1969) s.v.), usually of gods or men. Outside P, it occurs three times in Homer as
epithet of Poseidon (Il. 7. 455, 8. 201, Od. 13. 140), and elsewhere in classical
Greek only once (in Bacchyl. 19. 17, of Zeus), except as a man’s name (e.g. Hdt. 4.
147). The personifying title decidedly flatters Himera, and one might (but need
not) take it as proleptic with future reference (cf. examples in Kühner–Gerth
(1898) 276). Its Homeric association with the sea-god quietly introduces a
maritime theme into the ode. (Péron (1974) offers a discursive treatment of the
more striking ‘images’ under this heading, but often without attention to the
more subtle evocations, like those in question here.)
Ilvip¸kei: I Ø
ºE is a fifth-century bc equivalent of the older
I Ø
ºØ, ‘look after’, usually with things as object (cf. LSJ s.v.). The
tacit personification of Himera rather evokes the verb’s original sense, ‘be an
I 
º
 (waiting-woman)’, a use attested with I Ø
ºØ once in Hes-
iod (Op. 803).
sþteiqa Túwa: ø æ and ØæÆ are often used as epithets of protective
deities, especially ø æ of Zeus (LSJ s.vv.). Hence P makes Zeus’ partner
Themis ØæÆ (O. 8. 22) and likewise Zeus’ daughter Tyche here, producing
a rare collocation (dub. in SEG 11. 442, III ad; cf.  ø æ, Aesch. Ag. 664
etc.). For P both Æ and ØæÆ carry aristocratic-political connotations:
 . is æ

ºØ (‘carries the city’: fr. 39), and . is used as epithet of Themis and
of the aristocratic buzz-word ¯P
Æ (O. 9. 15: cf. Gerber (2002) ad loc.), just
 p i n d a r’s poetry as poetry 183
as for Alcman (fr. 64)  . was Eunomia’s sister. In early Greek thought  is an
elusive notion, either (a) associated with eudaimonia as good fortune (so Hom.
Hymn 11. 5) or (b) an unpredictable divine principle associated with moira and
working for good or ill (fr. 41, I. 3/4. 31–3, Archil. 16). Here the collocation with
ØæÆ and the evocation (via P’s genealogy) of ˘f ø æ point at first, as
at the end of the ode, towards the positive: the doubts come in the long between.
From the fourth century bc, Tyche was a real divinity with a cult, but here P is
manoeuvring with a personification of an abstract principle (cf. Nilsson (1961)
200–10, and see Stafford (2000) for the general issues here), and the genealogy is
his own: Hesiod (below) makes her a daughter of Ocean. In many such cases,
the modern typographical practice of capitalizing all proper names, including
clear-cut (but only clear-cut) personifications, imposes an alien and unwelcome
decisiveness onto a notoriously elusive linguistic-conceptual continuum; here,
capitalizing the ‘T’ is wholly appropriate.
Like PæıŁ
 ; ØæÆ and Æ carry faint maritime associations: the
Dioscuri are æ
H K ±ºe Þ
Ł
Ø øBæ (Eur. El. 992–3, see Thomson
(1966) on Aesch. Ag. 669 (¼664) and cf. Péron (1974) 127), while Tyche is a
daughter of Ocean (Hes. Theog. 360) or a Nereid (Hom. Hymn 2. 420).
The postponement of Æ (as often with names in P: cf. Gildersleeve (1899)
on O. 10. 34) is significant. Since both the relationship with Zeus and the
collocation with ØæÆ are novel, the name is unexpected and attracts
emphasis, while its personification is only felt to be such in retrospect (‘retro-
spective imagery’: Silk (1974) 167–72). This is a classic defamiliarizing effect—and
carries the classic defamiliarizing implications of fresh perception of perceived
‘reality’, albeit here reality in traditional-sounding theological terms. For P, the
aesthetic is the experiential is the sacred: poetic theology, or theological poetry.
3 tßm: Doric dative of (¼ ), ‘by you’, i.e. dative of agent with passive verb
(in such constructions usually perfect passive, but cf. Od. 4. 177, Soph. Ant. 1218:
Schwyzer (1950) 150). Not ‘dative of interest’ (‘for you’), as the logic of the
invocation now makes apparent.
c›q: completes a standard prayer-formula consisting of deity’s name in the
vocative þ second-person pronoun þ ªæ, the usual logic being ‘I pray to
thee . . . , because thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory’: so O. 4. 1 and
14. 15, P. 8. 6, Alc. 308. 2(b), Thgn. 373, Bacchyl. 10. 1, Eur. Heracl. 770–1, Ar. Pax
582–3 and Ran. 403–4; cf. Od. 5. 29, Denniston (1954) 69.
jubeqmHmtai: zeugma: ‘steered’ (literally), of ships; ‘controlled’, of º
Ø
and Iª
æÆ , in which sense the word is V/IV literary cliché (Silk (1974) 28–31):
Æ ø . . . Æ Œıæfi A Parm. 12. 3, so Hippoc. Vict. 10, Heraclit. 41,
Diog. Apoll. 5, Antiphan. Com. 42. 8, Trag. Adesp. 348g; in a specifically political
context, ºØ Œıæfi A Bacchyl. 13. 185, so Xen. Cyr. 1. 1. 5, Pl. Euthd. 291d; of
individual behaviour, fr. 214. 3, Bacchyl. 17. 22, Antipho 1. 13. The verb tends to
184 m i c ha e l s i l k
imply providentiality, because a Œıæ  (in Aristotle’s words) ‘looks to the
good of those in his charge’ (Œ: Œ
E e H Iæ

ø IªÆŁ Pol.
1279a5).
hoaß: a verse word, in this application to ships heavily evocative of epic: there
are about a hundred instances thus in Homer (Ebeling (1885) s.v., cf. Most (1985)
153). As in epic, the epithet is generic (it is not that slow ships are not subject to
Tyche), but, unlike in epic, the epithet here is also proleptic: ships are not ‘swift’
unless steered by Tyche. Pindar’s language constantly evokes Homer—but works
much harder than the language of Homer.
4 Km we† qsy — : a fifth/fourth-century phrase used in verse (N. 1. 62, Aesch. Supp.
32, Eur. Rhes. 67, Ion Trag. 38. 1) and also plain prose (as Theophr. Caus. Pl. 3. 13. 3),
unlike K fiø, a pure verse idiom with epic pedigree (Od. 3. 294; Hes. Op. 247,
Theog. 189, etc.; also para-high in comedy, Axionic. Com. 4. 4). For the sake of
formal parallelism P conjoins phrases of different colour; the opposition is not
‘proverbial’, as alleged by LSJ (s.v. 
æ
) and others.
kaixgqoß: a fairly rare verse-word, predominantly used of legs and feet: of
ª
FÆ, Il. 20. 93 (þ 5, Ebeling (1885) s.v.); of 

, N. 10. 63, Bacchyl. 7. 6 and
fr. 20(c). 9, Eur. Hec. 1039, El. 549, Hel. 555, Ion 718 (adv.). The reapplication to

º
 is unparalleled (albeit assisted, no doubt, by association of ideas with
º: 
ºÆ, Il. 21. 278); it evokes, metonymically, the swift feet of soldiers on the
charge, but also looks ahead to the special ‘feet’ of the victor (15). It is famously
characteristic of P to use imagery (metaphor, metonymy, whatever) from athletic
events to inform his celebrations of athletics, and not least to use imagery from
the given event to inform the particular ode (see variously Steiner (1986) 111–26,
Lefkowitz (1991) 161–8, Dornseiff (1921) 58): the kinship of all things.
5 boukav¸qoi: the word is largely confined to Homer (17 occurrences,
Ebeling (1885) s.v.; also Hes. fr. 280. 26 (¼ Minyas, fr. 7. 26 Bernabé), a Miletus
inscription (no. 47 in Sokolowski (1955): but probably third century bc), and
(adv.) Men. Dis Ex. fr. 2 Sandbach), and usually reserved for individual policy-
makers (Iæe Icæ . Il. 1. 144), but the metonymic phrase Iª
æÆd . in fact
occurs once at Od. 9. 112 (quoted by Pl. Leg. 680b).
ai“ . . . Kkpßder: notable hyperbaton (cf. Dornseiff (1921) 107). The phraseology
is drawn out like the perilous hope: stylistic enactment. See further on Kº
(below).
ce le† m: an archaic collocation, usually (as here) adversative: Denniston (1954)
386–7 (though his comment on O. 12. 5 itself, p. 388, is misleadingly indecisive).
±mdqHm: effectively a double genitive, a compressed equivalent to those at
N. 11. 22, Thuc. 2. 89; partly subjective (men are doing the hoping), but primarily
objective (the hopes we have of men), as the logic requires: Tyche rules, and
expectations of human self-sufficiency are misplaced.
6 p¸kk(a) . . . t›: adverbial, ‘often . . . , while at other times’: high-style variatio.
 pindar’ s p o e tr y a s p o e tr y 185
±my jtk.: P several times uses maritime imagery for vicissitudes (Péron (1974)
57), but this is a brilliantly original metaphorical complex. As often in early Greek
thought, ordinary hopes are comforting but treacherous (cf. West (1978) on Hes.
Op. 96, Silk (1998) 51–2), but now they are seen to be like ships tossed at random
on a sea of deceptions and self-deceptions. The image is interactive (Silk (1974)
195). The only fully figurative elements are  
ØÆØ Œıº
 . The maritime
scene is prepared in advance by the literal K fiø . . . A, then eased in by
the neutral terms ¼ø . . . Œø, which in fifth- and fourth-century Greek is
standard, perhaps colloquial, usage to designate confusion in human affairs (¼ø
ªª
ÆØ ŒÆd Œø a æª ÆÆ, ‘it’s all gone wrong’, Com. Adesp. 1088. 5,
so Aesch. Eum. 650, Hdt. 3. 3. 3, Ar. Nub. 616, Dem. 9. 36, Din. 3. 17), but also
equally applicable to waves and to vessels tossing to and fro on them (¼ø  ŒÆd
Œø ÞE Pl. Phlb. 43a,

º
Ø Øƺ

ıØ ¼ø  ŒÆd Œø Hippoc.
Aer. 15). ¼ø Œø is not strictly ‘up and down’, either physically or of human
fortune, despite much loose talk from commentators and translators (most
recently Race (1997), whose Loeb translation ad loc. has ‘rise . . . roll down’;
rightly Verdenius (1987) ad loc., p. 94 n. 23). So this is not actually vicissitudes,
after all: just bad news.
letalþmia: within the image also neutral, reinforces the illusoriness of the
ł, and adds the notion of winds to the scene. This rare word, a glossa used in
epic and lyric verse, meant ‘vain’ ( Æ ØÆ Łæø IŒæ
Ø KºØ P. 3.
23, þ 6 in Homer (Ebeling (1885) s.v.), þ Stesich. S23. 2), but was felt to be
connected with ¼
: Simon. 11, Ar. Pax 117 (lyr.). Æ- in compounds tends
to connote change (LSJ s.v. G.VIII), as e.g. in ƺºØ, and though no part
of the ‘ordinary’ meaning of Æ Ø
, this implication is also elicited by the
context, serving both to reinforce the switch from hope to hopelessness (N
PıÆ KŒ ııÆ j K PıÆ N ııÆ ÆººØ Arist.
Poet. 1451a13–14) and to evoke the tossing from wave to wave (
 KΠ
ı
ƺºØ Arist. Top. 122b34–5).
t›lmoisai: Doric ¼ Attic 

ØÆØ. The verb is regularly used in verse
for ships ‘cleaving’ the sea: P. 3. 68, Od. 3. 175, 13. 88, Bacchyl. 17. 4, Mel. Adesp.
21. 17, Trag. Adesp. 668. 6; Soph. fr. 271. 5 (ØÆ-).
jukßmdomtðaiÞ: another verse usage, current from Homer on, of ‘rolling’
waves (Il. 11. 307, Od. 5. 296, 9. 147, Alc. 326. 2, Iamb. Adesp. 2. 2) and things
carried on them (Od. 1. 162, 14. 315, Aesch. fr. 300. 3, Telecl. Com. 1. 8, Matro
Conv. 534. 19 Suppl. Hell.). The straight and powerful movement suggested by
 
ØÆØ immediately becomes irregular and helpless: the juxtaposition of the
two verb-forms pinpoints the dramatic moment.
Kkpßder: at first the noun to go with Æ¥ ª is unpredictable: it might e.g. be
Iª
æÆ (5) or 
ıºÆ (from 
ıºÆæ
Ø, 5) or A (4). When the noun does
186 michael silk
come, with an inevitable release of suspense, but also a sense of inevitability, the
hoping and its discomfort are the more crushingly present.
7–9 súlbokom . . . vqadaß: the general sense is: ‘we are not masters of our
destiny, but dependent on heaven; however, signs from heaven about the future
cannot be relied on, rather [or because] they are obscure’. That is, 
in 9 is partly
causal (Denniston (1954) 169–70), and  
º
 I d æØ
 K

Æ
virtually ¼ H ººø æÆÆ . The 
of 7 likewise has some causal force:
‘hope is treacherous, and [or because] the gods are reluctant to explain the future
to us’.
súlbokom: an elusive word, which might mean oracles, omens, or dreams.
The scholia, following the historian Philochorus (fourth century bc), refer P’s
use of it to the sense ‘omen’, which is attested with neuter  
º
 (Aesch. Ag.
144) and masculine  
º
 (‘Aesch.’ PV 487, Soph. fr. 148, Xen. Ap. 13, cf.
Philochorus fr. 192 FGrH) and (as in P here) with indeterminate gender (Hom.
Hymn 4. 30, Ar. Av. 721, Xen. Mem. 1. 1. 3; cf. also the title of Philochorus’
treatise, æd ı ºø (¼ testim. 1 FGrH); in Archil. 218 sense and gender are
doubtful). In itself, however, . denotes any token of or guarantee about the
future (e.g. Anaxag. 19 calls a rainbow . of an approaching storm, and in Dem.
15. 4 : B øæÆ refers to a guarantee of security): cf. Jac. in FGrH iii.b
(Suppl.) 1. 556. For recent discussion of the word, see Müri (1976) 1–44, and
Struck (2004) 78–110.
pq›nior Kssole† mar: an unparalleled phrase for ‘future events’ and an unusual
idiom for r ÆØ, perhaps modelled on Hes. Op. 56, IæØ K


ØØ.
he¸hem: an archaic type of formation (surviving in Ł etc.: Schwyzer (1953)
628), but in this form attested only once before the fifth century bc (Od. 16. 447;
also conjectured in Mel. Adesp. 37. 2).
tHm lekk¸mtym: a more familiar-looking phrase, here as objective genitive
with æÆÆ ; cf. Isaeus 9. 19 H c ª

ø Ø (‘an assurance about
what has not happened’), Thuc. 1. 140, Soph. Aj. 1419; cf. Schwyzer (1950) 132. In
Aristotle’s technical idiolect (Div. Somn. 463b29, cf. Gen. Corr. 337b4), e
ºº

¼ what is likely to happen, e K 
 ¼ the future; there is no such opposition
with æAØ K

Æ here.
tetúvkymtai: a portmanteau metaphor: (a) messages are obscure and (b)
men are blind to their real meaning. Sense (b) involves the primary usage of
the verb, ‘to blind’, metonymically applied to the messages, rather than their
recipients. Sense (a) involves a quite separate established usage, ‘block up’
(so Aen. Tact. 2. 1 and 2. 5 of roads, Theophr. Caus. Pl. 5. 15. 7 of plant growth;
cf. ıº of body passages, Arist. Part. An. 675b7). The perfect tense implies
not simply ‘are obscure / blind’, but ‘always have been, and still are, kept like that’,
i.e. by the divinities alluded to in ŁŁ and æÆÆ (below). The pessimistic
point is not the irreligious notion that oracles (etc.) are untrue (cf. O. 8. 2), but
 pindar’ s p o e t r y a s p o e tr y 187
that the gods are inscrutable (Aesch. Supp. 86–103) and keep the keys to life
hidden (Hes. Op. 42).
vqadaß: a verse word, wrongly taken by schol. ad loc. as ¼ ªØ, and ever
since mistranslated as ‘understanding’, ‘knowledge’, ‘perception’. The word has
only one attested meaning, advice or instructions obtained from a god: Ø

. Stesich. 222(b). 227 Davies (¼ Pap. Lille 76a. 52), Ł
F . IG v. 2. 261. 15 (sixth
century bc, prose, Mantinea), :˜Ø Bacchyl. 19. 17; sim. Aesch. Cho. 941, Eur.
Phoen. 667, CEG 247 and 321. 2 (both fifth-century bc Attic verse inscriptions)
and 888. 8 (fourth-century bc Lycian verse inscription). All other known
occurrences are fragmentary (Alc. 113. 2, Bacchyl. fr. 65(c). 1. 1; cf. Ibyc. 1(b) fr.
5. 7) or metaphorical (Aesch. Eum. 245), but compatible with the same sense.
10 d : consecutive, ‘and so’ (rightly, Verdenius (1987) ad loc.); as with the use
of the particle in 7 and 9 (of which this is a more decisive instance), a largely verse
idiom (cf. Denniston (1954) 170).
’pesem: this use of the simplex verb is ordinary fifth-century bc idiom (here in
the gnomic aorist), not metaphor. Ø, ‘happen’, is attested widely: O. 7. 69,
Hdt. 8. 130, Eur. Hipp. 718, Theophr. HP 3. 5. 5 (see further Silk (1974) 94, 96).
11 ’lpakim lºm te† qxior ¼ 
E b ! ! : : (‘to some it has turned
out opposite to joy’), a typical, slightly defamiliarizing, Pindaric compression at
the expense of ‘empty’ words.
ImiaqaEr: another miniature, but more abrasive, defamiliarizing touch. The
word is usually applied to people or conditions (cf. LSJ s.v.), not, as here, to
physical happenings. The closest parallel is Archil. 12 IØæa —
Øø
 . . .
HæÆ, conceivably (given the maritime preoccupations of the ode) a model for
P’s use here.
12 Imtijúqsamter: like the much commoner Œıæð
ÞØ (‘meet with’: ¼ºº


  ŒÆŒfiH ‹ ª ŒæÆØ; ¼ºº
  KŁºfiH Il. 24. 530), but with a hint of
IØ- in its reciprocative sense (as IØØÆØ; IØºÆ Ø). The sentence
evokes not simply change, but reversal: in Aristotelian terms, æØ
ØÆ; not
just Æ
º (Poet. 1452a22–3).
f›kair: a rare (but not exclusively verse) word, with eight classical occur-
rences, including the present one (all in LSJ s.v., except Aesch. Ag. 665: there is
another, distinctive usage in Hippoc. Cord. 11, but the treatise is post-classical),
without known etymology, and first attested in the fifth century bc. %ºÆØ are
unrestricted topographically (‘Aesch.’ PV 371, Hippoc. Insomn. 89, Pl. Resp.
496d), but the maritime strain of the ode inevitably evokes squalls at sea (cf. %.
at Aesch. Ag. 656 and 665, Soph. Aj. 352, Pl. Tim. 43c).
12a Ksk¸m: ?Aeolic-poetic (Buck (1955) 77) ¼ Attic-Ionic KŁº-. The word,
largely confined to verse (LSJ s.fin.), is used as noun, with epic precedents, on the
model of the common ŒÆŒ. Crucially, the resemblance of ! ƺØ b . . .
IØŒæÆ . . . Kº to Il. 24. 530 ¼ºº
 b . . . ŒæÆØ . . . KŁºfiH (see
188 michael silk
12 above) serves to call up this particular epic precedent as a defining allusion. The
Homeric sequence belongs to the memorable statement of Greek pessimism
voiced by Achilles for the benefit of his unexpected guest, the wretched and
desperate Priam. With the onset of the Trojan war, and not least the related
deaths of Patroclus and Hector, both their lives—Achilles’ and Priam’s—have been
and will be subjected to the harshest reversals (cf. 534–48, immediately following
the quoted phrase). A fraught hint of that harshness is momentarily evoked—as it
turns out, per contra—here.
bahú: in itself an unspecific metaphor (cf. Silk (1974) 127–8), ‘deep’ or ‘high’,
but (as with %ºÆØ, 12) the maritime atmosphere of the ode evokes deep water,
one of the common applications of the word (e.g. P. 5. 88, Il. 1. 532, Hippoc. Aer.
7, Arist. Mete. 354a20).
pÞlator: virtually a literal equivalent of %ºÆØ, therefore (unusually in P)
redundant, except by way of completing the grammatical construction with the
verb following (to which it is alliteratively linked:  -   -).
ped›leixam: equivalent to Attic  ØłÆ ( ¼  in Aeolic and
some Doric dialects), with another gnomic aorist. As ! ƺØ Œº. indicates
movement from good to bad fortune for the
 clause, the movement in this 

clause (we sense) must be from bad to good, with the verb meaning ‘get [accusa-
tive] in exchange for [genitive]’, like I Ø at Eur. Hel. 1187, ØÆ Ø at
Eur. IT 397 (no exact parallel with Æ Ø itself)—albeit the habitual fluidity
in construction of both the simplex and compounded members of this verb group
(cf. LSJ s.vv.), along with the contortedness of the sentence as a whole, is such as to
make us strain for a moment to be quite sure that the getter is not, even here, giving
some good fortune up.
13 Vik›moqor: the first allusion to the victor is allusion to the victor’s family
(in itself an epinician topos: Thummer (1968) 49–65), which has the particular
function here of preparing for the evocation of E’s original homeland.
jaß: ‘even your . . . ’: in Bundyan terms, ‘encomiastic’.
te› jem:  (Doric, or Doricized Epic, equivalent to Attic-Ionic  : Buck
(1955) 98) stands in painful hyperbaton from its noun (Ø , nine words later) as
Œ does from its verb (ŒÆıºº
æ, likewise nine words later): suggestion
of identity crisis, stylistically acted out.
14 Kmdol›war a” t Ike† jtyq: one would expect this to turn out to be a
compendious comparison (‘your fame—like the fame of a cock’), but possibly not
(see on ŒÆıºº
æ, 15 below). The cock was associated with Himera and
appears as an emblem on the city’s coins—which adds nothing to the logic of the
simile, but something to the programmatic unity of the ode. The fighting cock
was a familiar creature in the Greek world, and one liable to figure in proverbs
(see Fraenkel (1950) on Ag. 1671), though the only passage at all close to P’s
(Aesch. Eum. 861–6) is more likely influenced by it (below) than clear evidence
 p i n d a r’s po etry as po etry 189
that both imply a common proverbial source. The implication of P’s phrase is that
the bird was not entered for fights in public, whether at humble gaming houses
(Aeschin. 1. 53) or grand official buildings (like the Theatre of Dionysus at
Athens, even: RE vii. 2. 2211), and so could only have a reputation of a limited
kind.
Kmdol›war: probably P’s coinage, and certainly a very rare type of formation.
Apart from simple derivatives (!
Ł etc.), the only other K
- compound
attested in the classical period is K ı
 (Soph. Phil. 1457, conceivably
suggested by P’s compound); then again, -  compounds, mostly one-off
formations, favoured by P (who also uses IŒÆ Æ
-; IØæ
-; PŁı-; %
-),
are rare too (cf. the list in Buck–Petersen (1944) 9–10); so designated, the bird
gains an almost recherché quality, in anticipation of tonal shifts in store (cf. on
Iº
Œøæ below). Within the simile, K. is interactive (though not discussed in
Silk 1974). Its elements suit the fighting cock (K
-, ‘in the house’: %fiø . . .
H !
 æ

ø Hippoc. Vict. 2. 49, sim. I. 1. 67, Il. 6. 374, Ar. Ach. 395,
Lys. 1. 23; Æ- of birds, Il. 16. 429, Aesch. Eum. 866, Hdt. 2. 76. 1, Theophr.
Sign. 39), but also anticipate the impending reference to civil war (16), where
 takes place between those !
 Z, ‘in the city’ (!
 thus, Eur.
Phoen. 117, Xen. An. 7. 1. 17, Dem. 59. 99, cf. !
ŁØ, Il. 18. 287). The association
of cock with civil war seems to have helped engender Aesch. Eum. 861–6 (written
eight years after O. 12), ŒÆæÆ IºŒæø . . . @æ K ºØ
 . . . K
،
ı 
ZæØŁ
 . . . : the acknowledgement of one exploratory poet to another.
Ike† jtyq: the word is a high lyric/tragic equivalent to IºŒæı (low lyric
and comedy: cf. the spreads in LSJ svv.), but etymologically looks like an agent
noun of Iº
Ø, ‘defend’ (Frisk (1954), s.v. IºŒæı), whose martial epic
associations - Æ serves to evoke (

. . . Iº
ÆØ 
 . . .
fi !Ø Il. 17. 364–8). The conjunction of so much elevation with so (relatively)
low a subject produces a moment’s humour, such as one finds elsewhere in P’s
odes—discreet, charming, take-it-or-leave-it, open-ended. The clash involved is
somewhere short of the full-blooded incongruity that one associates with the
neoclassical (like Bryant’s mosquito, ‘Fair insect! that, with . . . filmy wing . . . ’),14
but a perceptible clash nonetheless—and the perception is duly confirmed by a
matching stylistic adjustment, but downwards, with ŒÆıºº
æ (below) a
few words later.
succ¸my — : fifth-century bc high-verse equivalent of ıªª , favoured by P
(nine occurrences in all: Slater (1969) s.v.), though not attested elsewhere in
classical lyric, and here used as (modestly defamiliarizing) metonym: ‘kindred
hearth’ ¼ ‘hearth of the kinsfolk’ (cf. Soph. fr. 911).

14
William Cullen Bryant, ‘ To a Mosquito’: Silk (2000) 194. On humour in Pindar, cf. Silk (1974) 170–1
and (1998) 79–80; Newman and Newman (1984) 45, 57–8; Rosenmeyer (1969); Kurz (1974).
190 michael silk
e“stßa‰ : a stock metonym, this time, for house and household (common
throughout classical prose and verse: LSJ s.v., I. 2, 3), and an emotive word,
evoking home, family, and household cult (see e.g. Vernant (1965) 97–143). The
emotive evocation (rather than the terminology per se) nudges our thoughts away
from the animal kingdom towards the human subject.
15 Ijkecr til›: not a paradox. The adjective is proleptic, and Ø and Œº


are distinct: . refers to the esteem felt by one’s own circle (e.g. Od. 1. 117), Œ. to a
more widespread and enduring recognition (μ

 Pæf ŒÆd K


ØØ
I
Ø  Od. 3. 204). The phraseology here is strikingly value-laden: within five
words P appeals to ª

, )Æ, and now the aristocratic-heroic Œº

 and
Ø .
Why would E have forfeited μ

 by staying in Crete? Not because of the
Ø (16) there: it was the Ø that got him out of there. Nor because
Cretans could not, or did not, compete in the big games: e.g. a fellow-Cretan
won the long race at Olympia in 448 (Pap. Oxy. 222. II. 26 (=FGrH 415); cf. van
Effenterre (1948) 40–2). Rather because in a great city like Himera the honour
due to achievement is transmitted and perpetuated (as by P here and now),
whereas in a backwater like Crete it is and remains parochial ()fi Æ 14), therefore
transient. The logic, certainly, is encomiastic, in favour of E’s new city.
jatevukkoq¸gse: the verb is a hapax in all Greek, and the only known
instance of a compound of ıºº
æ
E, a verb attested in classical prose (first
in Hippoc. Insomn. 90, cf. Democr. 14.3) and comedy (Ar. Av. 1481, Pherecr. 137.
10), but not otherwise in high verse: this is to be thought of, then, as one of P’s
few ‘low’ usages. Back in Crete, of course, E would have been permanently
low; he escaped that fate by coming to Himera: stylistic enactment. The termin-
ation – (codd.) gives the extended dactylic length – – – –, which
is rare in dactylo-epitrites and easily removed by adding  KºŒıØŒ
(cj. Hermann, followed by most edd.), yielding the familiar – – – – –.
However, (i) there is no responding stanza to provide a check; (ii) such lengths
do occur elsewhere in P’s dactylo-epitrites (e.g. N. 1. 6); (iii) the long dactylic run
suits the appeal to heroic values by a closer evocation of the rhythms of epic. The
verb itself has a multiple significance: (a) as metaphor, ‘would have shed its
leaves’, hence ‘come to nothing’ (as in the famous simile of leaves and men
at Il. 6. 146–9). The image might seem infelicitous in that (as in the Iliad simile)
-ıºº- points to an effortless seasonal revival in the future. As against that, (b)
‘leaves’ carries a pointed allusion, programmatic in the narrower sense of ‘pro-
gramme’ (see on 1, above), to the victor’s wreath (ººÆ . . . ŒÆd 
ı
P. 9. 124), therefore evokes the idleness of unrecorded achievement (‘bare of
laurel they live, dream, and die’: Keats, Fall of Hyperion, I. 7). (c) ıºº
æ
E may
also be current usage of birds moulting (Borthwick (1976) 198–9), albeit the
lexicographical evidence is thin (Arist. Gen. An. 783b18 (text. dub.), cf. ººÆ at
 p i n d a r’s po etry as po etry 191
Emped. 82. 1). If so, the verb picks up the cock image interactively (as ‘support’
for the vehicle: Silk (1974) 134–7), and Iº
Œøæ and Ø  are indeed directly
compared (cf. on 14, above).
podHm: the source of E’s Ø . The genitival construction (modelled on
usages like Œ ÆÆ . . . I
ø Il. 2. 396, cf. Verdenius (1987) on 13–15 and
Kühner–Gerth (1898) 332–3) involves a startling abstract-concrete compression;
ÆYªºÆ 
H (O. 13. 36) is superficially similar, but less startling, because ÆYªºÆ,
like 
H, is concrete. The phrase a Ø a 
H could be analysed (as in my
translation) in terms of transferred epithet (i.e. ¼ H Ø c 
H, cf. Bers
(1974) 23), but the untranslatable hyperbaton from  gives Ø a 
H the
force of a single compound.
16 st›sir . . . Jmysßar s ±leqse p›tqar: ‘s’ assonance enacts the ugly
subject matter of the line. From the sixth century, at least, the sound was felt
to be peculiarly harsh (Stanford (1967) 8, 53–4).
st›sir: P presupposes the Greek notion of two kinds of !æØ (Hes. Op.
11–26), a good ‘competitive spirit’ and a bad ‘internal strife’, destructive of the
› 
ØÆ on which communal life depends (cf. e.g. Ehrenberg (1960) 90–1),
therefore unnatural—an evaluation confirmed by IØØæÆ (below). Thucydi-
des’ famous discussion (3. 82–3) has a similar basis.
Imti›meiqa: a remarkable usage, and a test case for sensitive awareness of the
workings of heightened language, and P’s in particular. This is the only known
classical reusage of a rare Homeric epithet, found at Il. 3. 189 and 6. 186, both
times of the Amazon warrior-maidens. Homer’s phrase is $ Æ%
IØØæÆØ: his Amazons are ‘manlike’ (i.e. in battle), with IØ- as in
IŁ
 etc. P’s use is widely taken to involve re-etymology: Ø ‘sets man
against man’. As it stands, this is wrong, because when IØ- in compounds
denotes hostility (I as preposition never does), IØ-xxx means not ‘(be)
against-xxx’, but ‘(be) xxx-against’. Thus IØ
º E means ‘fight against
someone’, not ‘be a pacifist’. The few known exceptions like Plb. 11. 25. 5,
IØ
ºØÆ ŒÆd Ø, are post-classical; so is a tradition that Homer’s
phrase itself meant ‘against men’ (see e.g. Hsch. s.v. IØØæÆØ, and LfgrE s.v.),
perhaps influenced by idioms like $ Æ%ø æÆe ıª
æÆ, ‘Aesch.’
PV 723). Rather, the epithet functions almost as metaphor, with its sole—epic—
context as referent. I. evokes Amazons, so Ø is like the Amazons, i.e. (let us
say) a destructive but, especially, unnatural agency (cf. Tyrell (1980) 1–5), that
makes man’s activity pervertedly unnatural in its turn; and the anti-natural mode of
expression enacts the perverted antinaturality at issue. So the word cannot, and
does not, denote hostility. Conversely, though, a connotation of hostility certainly is
present, through diffuse evocations of (a) the compounds in which IØ- does
indeed mean ‘against’ (albeit not ‘against-the-following’), like Iƪø%ŁÆØ;
Iƺ
, IØ
º E, and (b) the parallel formations ˜ØØæÆ (‘destroyer
192 michael silk
of man/men’: name of an Amazon, Diod. Sic. 4. 16. 3, and of Heracles’ wife,
Soph. Trach. etc.) and ŒıØØæÆ, stock epithet of  in Homer (Il. 4. 225
etc.), together with (c) the fact that Amazons are indeed hostile to men, and men
indeed hostile to them: ‘Amazons exist in order to be fought, and ultimately
defeated, by men’ (Dowden (1996) 69). To this extent, but only to this extent, the
hostility latent in (but not denoted by) the epithet is properly operative as a
connotation of hostility directed at this man in particular, along with other men
(-ØæÆ) in general. My translation, ‘manmatch’, represents an attempt, faute de
mieux, to suggest the evocation of ‘manlike’, the connotation of hostility, and the
abrasive alienness of the stylistic mode. P’s poetry is not soft or easy, and its
precondition for the human value it celebrates is—in G. M. Hopkins’s phrase—
‘thick thousands of thorns, thoughts’ (‘Tom’s Garland’). Hopkins, aptly enough,
supplies models for my coinage: ‘manshape’ and ‘manmarks’ (‘That Nature is a
Heraclitean Fire’).
±leqse p›tqar: both elevated words, largely epic and lyric in provenance
(LSJ s.vv.).
17 stevamys›lemor: the force of the middle is ‘having had yourself crowned’
(cf. Verdenius (1987) 54 on O. 7. 15), with the victorious athlete’s effort fore-
grounded. The terseness of this and the next line evokes ‘official’ epigrammatic
idiom: the catalogue of victories on the Olympia inscription (p. 181 above) is
comparable.
18 Kj PuhHmor: like the structurally parallel  ˇºı fi Æ (dative) and  Ł
E
(locative), this obviously refers to a victory at Delphi. Apart from stylistic
variatio, the unexpected KŒ þ genitive gives the bald list a touch of narrative
immediacy: E is just back from Delphi (K IªºÆH I
Łºø, P. 5. 52, cf. KŒ at Od.
1. 326–7, Isae. fr. 12), where his most recent victory has evidently taken place
(p. 181 above).
‘ IshloE : does  go with   . as well as with KŒ — .? The  (binding the two
names together) tends to suggest it. If so, E had already won his two Isthmian
victories (p. 181 above).
‘ Eqc¸teker: unusually, the victor’s name is saved for the end of the—admit-
tedly short—poem.
19 heqla . . . Iqoúqair: the spare idiom of (almost) officialdom makes way
for a last line of richly connotative language. E belongs in his new home
(
NŒÆØ), participates in its society (› غ
ø), enjoys its natural features
(Łæ a . . . º
ıæ), has made contact (Æ%Ø). The implicit contrast is
with the archetypal lonely exile, like Homer’s Odysseus, away from his people
and yearning for home. There is a significant parallel (per contra) at the end of
P. 4, where the exile longs to see his home, ‘and at Apollo’s spring . . . take up the
lyre among his fellow-citizens and touch peace’, $ººø  Œæfi Æ . . . ! 


E . . . æ تªÆ Æ%ø 
ºÆØ +ıfi Æ ŁØª
 (P. 4. 294–6).
 pindar’ s p o e t r y a s p o e t r y 193
K 
ºÆØ there corresponds to › غ
ø here, Œæfi Æ to º
ıæ, ŁØª
 to
Æ%Ø, while the use of Æ%ø in that passage too (albeit in a somewhat
different referential context) confirms the evocative force of words of touching
and holding, as metonyms for ‘togetherness’, in such contexts. Victory celebra-
tions bring celebrants together; and togetherness often is evoked near the con-
clusion of a victory ode: cf. O. 5. 23 ıƒH . . . ÆæØÆ
ø, O. 6. 98
غ
æ
ÆØ, P. 6. 53 ı ÆØØ › غE, I. 8. 65a ±ºŒø . . . Ø; also
P. 2. 96 
E IªÆŁ
E › غE (of the poet); and most decisively, again, the end
of P. 4, where the exile’s yearning for home encompasses the solidarity of the
symposium (ı 
Æ K
ø, 294) and the acknowledgement of hospitality
associated with the poet’s own gift of song (yæ ƪa I æ
ø
K
ø . . . ¨ fi Æ øŁ, 299: cf. Braswell (1988) ad loc.).
heqla MulvAm koutq›: by itself, º
ıæ (epic º
æ) is ‘bath’ or ‘bath-
ing place’, and Łæ a º
ıæ can refer simply to ‘hot baths’ (Il. 14. 6 and 22. 444
(see below), Hom. Hymn 4. 268, Aesch. Cho. 670, Crates Com. 17. 2, Hippoc.
VM 16, Xen. Oec. 5. 9), but from the sixth century the phrase also becomes an
established name for warm springs (Pisand. (sixth century bc) 7. 2 Bernabé, Hdt.
7. 176. 3, Soph. Trach. 634, cf. Ibyc. 19: distinction widely ignored, as e.g. by LSJ
s.v. º
ıæ, Janko (1992) 151 on Il. 14. 6). º
æ on its own is already used of
Ocean’s waters in Homer (Il. 18. 489, Od. 5. 275). The springs at Himera were
famous (Aesch. fr. 25a, Diod. Sic. 5. 4. 4), as they still are (under the name
Termini Imerese, with ‘Termini’ the direct derivative of Greek Łæ Æ ); they
were said to have been created by the water goddesses, the ˝ı Æ (Diod. Sic.
4. 23. 1, 5. 3. 4). The contrast between warm baths and stasis, refreshment and the
destruction of war, looks back poignantly to the heroic precedent of Il. 22. 442–6,
where the unwitting Andromache prepares  ‚Œ
æØ Łæ a º
æa  KŒ

 ÆØ (444).
bast›feir: much misunderstood (diverse interpretations in Verdenius (1987)
ad loc.). The verb means ‘hold’, ‘lift’, ‘clasp’ (cf. Cope–Sandys (1877) iii, 147, on
Arist. Rh. 1413b12, Fraenkel (1950) on Aesch. Ag. 35), and frequently connotes
belonging and commitment: so Simonides (fr. 25. 6 West) uses it of lifting the
wine-cup to toast a friend, Euripides (Alc. 917) of Admetus holding his wife’s
hand, Aristotle (Rh. 1413b12) of carrying favourite books around, an early epic of
(apparently) Odysseus lifting up the corpse of his comrade Achilles (Il. Parv. fr.
dub. 32. 21 Bernabé), P elsewhere (I. 3. 8) metaphorically of ‘clasping’ the
victorious athlete with song. The ancient scholia and most modern scholars
take the word here, and at I. 3. 8, as ‘exalt’, explained as ‘bring glory to’ (as by
athletic prowess) or ‘praise’ (as if by way of worship), but (with either implica-
tion) ‘exalt’ is not a sense the word can be shown to have elsewhere, nor indeed
one that would suit the context here. The point is not what E does for Himera,
but what it does for him: he would have had no μ

 in Crete, but has it now
194 michael silk
because now he has a home worth calling a home, which he is happy to be back in
(back from Delphi). As Himera’s best-known feature, the refreshing ‘warm
springs’ stand in effect as metonym for the city, while . is half-metaphorical,
half-literal: E ‘clasps’ the waters, i.e. greets them (cf. . at I. 3. 8), and actually
takes them to him (in handfuls, presumably) as the expression of his feelings at
being home, just as Homer’s home-coming Agamemnon takes hold of his native
soil (Ææø K 
Ææ
 ÆY j ŒÆd ŒØ ± 
 m ÆæÆ
Od. 4. 521–2, cf. Men. fr. 1 and Fraenkel (1950) on Ag. 503).
˙like† ym (rhythmically –ø, by synizesis): absolute, ‘living in company’ (cf.

(
Od. 4. 684).
oNjeßai: E has presumably been granted the privilege of owning property in
his adopted, now ‘own’, city. And ‘own’ is P’s last word. E belongs, and P’s
epinician poetry is about belonging, both on this and a higher plane. (For a
related discussion of the importance of e
NŒE
 in P, see Hubbard (1985)
33–60.)

iv. critical review

Olympian 12 is one of Pindar’s shortest, most homogeneous, and most intensively
organized victory odes. Like other short odes, it has no myth, opens expansively,
and finishes with the programmatic concerns of the victor, but unlike most odes,
short or long, it makes no reference to the poet. It has a clear theme, the power,
ambiguity, and irony of luck (or ‘Luck’), which is closely related to the poem’s
occasion: we have a prayer to luck for Himera (1 ff.), general reflections on the
nature of luck (3 ff.) and on life’s associated uncertainties and reversals (7 ff.), then
the particular reversals in Ergoteles’ life which have given him unhoped-for
successes in Himera, his new home (13 ff.). The logic, for once in Pindar, is
pellucid. The opening prayer develops organically into the series of reflections
which provide a general context for Ergoteles’ particular case. Life depends on
luck, and luck produces reversals; and this thesis is acted out by a series of
antithetical patterns—fiø and 
æfiø (3–4), war (º
Ø) and peace
(Iª
æÆ ) (4–5), ¼ø and Œø (though not strictly an antithesis, 6),
KØŁ
ø and ŁŁ (7–8), bad fortune (! ƺØ
 . . .) and good (
ƒ

. . .) (11)15—until antithetical form is translated back into content. First come
the ugly conflicts of Ø (16), then at last the beautiful about-turn in our
hero’s career: deprived of opportunity and eventually uprooted from home, he
has found a better home and the highest fulfilment elsewhere (17–19). The poem

15
The Archaic world-view encompasses the connectedness of all things, with the perception often
articulated in terms of polarities: see, above all, Lloyd (1966) 1–86. It is characteristic of Pindar both to
articulate the perception in such terms and to destabilize them: Hubbard (1985) 163–4.
 p i n d a r’s po etry as po etry 195
thus enacts the ambiguity inherent in the Greek conception of Æ (see on 2).
Seemingly innocent of providential intent, ‘fortune’ can mean good fortune, as
the prayer to Himera implies and Ergoteles’ history confirms. There is thus an
implicit analogy between Ergoteles and his new city: both have had their
troubles, their reversals, and now their øæÆ and KºıŁæÆ (1–2).
This positive conclusion is assisted by the architectonics of the poem. First, the
stanzas. Stanza I begins with the city, but that beginning rapidly gives way to a
series of generalities, largely sobering and encompassing stanza II; stanza III
deals with the inspiring particularities of Ergoteles and, again, his city—as if the
particular was, thanks to luck, more encouraging than the general truths about
luck gave one any right to expect.16 Second, the positive evocations of ØæÆ
Æ and KºıŁæÆ at the beginning recur tacitly, almost in ringform, at the
end. And third, the motif of the sea: after earlier hints in 2 (PæıŁ
Æ,
ØæÆ, Æ), this materializes with the literal fiø (3) and the images at
the end of stanzas I (6–7) and II (12–13). At the end of III the motif is alluded to
once more, but in place of a sea of deception (6a) or trouble (12), we now have
the comforting º
FæÆ of Himera (19).17 While the epic background of the word
recalls the awesome Ocean, its predominant evocation is of welcome and calm.
Except for a few sequences (notably 17–18), the style of the ode is elaborate and
highly articulated. Besides the antitheses, Pindar gives us some intensive sche-
matizing in stanzas I and II: in 3 ff. the exact parallelism of K fiø  K

æfiø is succeeded by a chiastic sequence, ºÆłæ
Ø º
Ø ŒIª
æÆd

ıºÆæ
Ø (adjective, noun: noun, adjective), while in 7–8 we have the
matching  
º
  Ø located at the beginnings of successive cola, the
contrasting KØŁ
ø  ŁŁ at the ends. For all its apparent fluidity, life, it
seems, is disposed in a series of formal patterns. Each of the three stanzas,
meanwhile, has its own major image, maritime in I (6–7) and II (12–13), the
fighting cock in III (14–15), the first of which—the black and very beautiful
dismissal of human hope—epitomizes the darkly felicitous Pindar familiar to
even the casual reader, the last (the cock) the elusively humorous Pindar,
whose discreet switches of tone tend, indeed, to escape the notice of the earnest
Bundyan, the anxious neohistoricist, and many others between and besides.
In all this detail, and as a whole, the poem unfolds as a delicate, yet powerful,
complex: an assured and satisfying demonstration, in miniature, of poetic trad-
ition and exploratory creativity in action. In stanza II, however, the pressure of
the writing relaxes. As if he had established a scale of expression that proved to be

16
The clear contrast in tone between the first two (generalizing and rhythmically responding) stanzas,
on the one hand, and the third (particularizing and rhythmically independent), on the other, in no way
justifies a reductive interpretation in terms of a lengthy priamel before the ‘real’ subject (so Race (1982a) 81;
cf. Bundy (1962) 36).
17
Cf. Smith (1959) 17.
196 m i c ha e l s i l k
at odds with his given subject, Pindar (by his own high standards) seems to be
expanding out of duty.  
º
 . . . ŁŁ (7–8) is suddenly wordy by
comparison with the movements of stanza I, while the virtual equivalence of
æØ
 K

Æ and H ººø (8–9), %ºÆØ and  Æ
 (12–12a),
is (despite the characteristic audacity of much of the writing) symptomatic; by
corollary, the knots of emotional intensity that follow in III (14–16, 19) feel
almost painfully tight.
If all that survived of Pindar was stanza II of this ode, one would be citing him
as a prime exponent of the articulated commonplace—‘what oft was thought, but
ne’er so well expressed’—which some critics indeed suppose sums up Pindar, even
sums up Greek poetry as a whole.18 For obvious reasons, that model also makes
sense, not just of stanza II, but of what any reader of the victory odes can see are
programmatic bits, generic acknowledgements, like 17–18. The model is, never-
theless, inadequate for Pindar in general, just as it is liable to be for any substan-
tial poetry (Greek or other) in general. In this ode overall, ‘thought’ is seen to be
co-extensive with expression and constituted specifically by its expression.
This ode—albeit unrepresentative because of its shortness—nevertheless
prompts some thoughts about the epinician genre as such. Within its short
compass, both the potential and the oddity of this assemblage of conventions
and expectations are apparent. Of Keats’ mostly very different ‘Odes’, Leavis says
that there Keats is ‘making major poetry out of minor’19—and that seems to me a
helpful formula for Pindar’s victory odes too. The victory ode so obviously lacks,
say, the modest charm of the Sapphic epithalamium, but equally the scope, the
scale, the firm foundations, of Homeric epic or Attic tragedy.20 The epinician (as
Pindar (re)creates it) is a celebration of, but also around, athletic victory: enacted
celebration (as Pindar’s concentrated language makes it) of victor, kin, city, of the
aristocratic value system, of the plasticity of a mythic-ideological tradition (albeit
this is elided in Olympian 12), of the inherited poetic-linguistic tradition in which
all the above are embodied.
There is no need, and no good reason, to vulgarize Pindar’s celebration, as a
host of influential interpreters (from Elroy Bundy to Leslie Kurke) have done, by
loose and tendentious talk of ‘praise’.21 There is, of course, praise in Pindar, but
praise is seldom the ‘point’ of an ode.22 Pindaric odes, of course, tend to assume
the particular occasion of an athletic event and its societally approved outcome,
and correlatively to include praise—especially, though not necessarily only, of the
victorious athlete—but in the event, to offer a celebration of value arising from and
connected with that outcome and that occasion. And yet: victory odes must,
and do, presuppose the outcome and occasion as an irreducible starting point.

18 19
Pope, An Essay on Criticism, 293. Leavis (1936) 251, on ‘Ode to a Nightingale’.
20 21 22
Cf. Silk (1998) 80. Kurke (1991); Bundy (1962). Cf. Silk (1998) 65–6.
 p i n d a r’s p o e t r y as po e t r y 197
In that sense, their expansiveness, their enacted connections—their glorious
(because enacted) glorification of connections with momentary events—is like
an inverted pyramid, precariously balanced on a tiny ‘point’.
Looking back over Olympian 12, we may well ponder the relation between the
disturbing water image at the climax of stanza I and the parallel image at the
climax of stanza II, but then the relation of both with the reassuring drops of
warm water at the close of stanza III. This is less a musical resolution than an (on
reflection) imponderable balancing act. Poetic life, life as conveyed, or created, by
this poetry, is—if not sweet—at least possibly glorious, or gloriously possible, but
only as long as the oh-so-precarious inverted pyramid stays in its place. Cough
sceptically at any of Pindar’s connectings and enactings, and the whole construc-
tion seems to wobble. But unlike (say) the poetry of Aristophanes, where a
comprehensive vision is constructed on the broad base of a cityful of mundane
materiality,23 Pindar’s poetry, aristocratic to the end, calls for readers, as it once
called for listeners, attuned to a configuration—of the physical, cultural, symbolic,
and poetic—within which the mere thought of a cough has no place.24

23
On the ‘vision’, cf. Silk (2000).
24
This account of Olympian 12 originated in an abortive attempt, some years ago, at a formal commen-
tary on Pindar. My thanks, for valuable criticism, to Pat Easterling and Ted Kenney then, and to members
of the London seminar audience, notably Alan Griffiths, and the two editors of this volume for further
helpful comments on this recast and revised version.
This page intentionally left blank
 eight
––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Pindar, Place, and Performance

Christopher Carey

The emphasis in several contributions to this volume on the local or regional

aspect both of athletes and athletics and of Pindar’s activities as a panegyrist offers
an opportunity to revisit the issue of performance in order to tease out some of
the variables between locations, occasions, and contexts.
It is as well to start by confessing ignorance and stressing—if warning were
needed—the speculative nature of much that follows. Facts are few. There is much
about the physicality of performance we would like to know but cannot recover.
The music can only be recreated by speculation. The poetry is uninformative about
dance.1 It is only intermittently informative about precise location—and even then
only by implication. Unlike the singers of the partheneion,2 the chorus of Pindar
and Bacchylides are silent about their costume, beyond the detail (in itself com-
mon in choral performances) that they wore garlands.3 Some of this is certainly
strategic, in that one obvious effect of the lack of specificity about the physical
aspects of the première is to elide the difference between the first and subsequent
performances.4 This elision in turn facilitates the process of projecting the song
and its honorands beyond their polis into the larger performative context of
Greece in fulfilment of the boast/promise of the panegyrists that their song
provides a fame which transcends the boundaries of time and space, a claim
neatly summed up by Pindar’s comments on the aftermath of Aias’ suicide at
Isthmian 4. 36–45:

Iºº  … æ 
Ø  ÆŒ Ø IŁæø; n ÆP
F

AÆ OæŁÆØ Iæa ŒÆa Þ
 !æÆ
Łø K
ø º
Ø
E IŁæØ.

F
ªaæ IŁÆ
 øA ,æØ
Y Ø P Yfi Ø: ŒÆd ªŒÆæ
 Kd ŁÆ ŒÆd Øa 
 
ƌ
Kæª ø IŒd ŒÆºH ¼
 ÆN .
1
We know nothing about formation, while our sources even for the movement (as distinct from the
gestures on which we are almost completely ignorant) of the chorus are late; see Mullen (1982) 225–30.
2
Alkman 1. 64–76 PMG.
3
O. 3. 6, I. 7. 39, I. 8. 6a; ambiguous are O. 8. 10, O. 13. 29. Cf. e.g. Pindar’s maiden chorus, fr. 94b. 11.
4
The point is made by K. Morgan (1993) 12. Its importance has been impressed on me by Peter Agocs,
who is currently researching on Pindar for his Ph.D. at UCL.
200 christopher carey
æ
æø 
ØA 
Ø 
ŒE
 –łÆØ ıæe o ø
"
ŒÆd ºfiø; ƪŒæÆ
ı ø KØ

!æœ ºØÆ.
But Homer, to be sure, has made him honoured
among mankind, who set straight
his entire achievement and declared it with his staff
of divine verses for future men to enjoy.
For that thing goes forth with immortal voice
if someone says it well, and over the all-fruitful
earth and through the sea has gone
the radiance of noble deeds forever undimmed.
May I find favour of the Muses
to light such a beacon-fire of hymns
for Melissos too, Telesiadas’ offspring.

This nicely captures the twin elements of longevity in time and diffusion in space,
while both explicitly (with the comparison with Homer) and implicitly (with
the language of durability IŁÆ
; ¼
) claiming affinity with the
ultimate model for the preservation of achievement through word and the ultim-
ate product of epic poetry, kleos aphthiton. In a world without a significant
readership or book market, repeat performability5 was critical and vagueness
about specifics of performance was a useful way of promoting this. The epinikian
poets are also (unsurprisingly) unspecific about the negotiations (about cash,
length, form and content) which turned victory into song. Elements of these
negotiations can be inferred for instance from the precision of the victory cata-
logues or the occasional statement about recent and past family history.6 But the
seeming frankness of Pindar’s references to his financial relationship with the
victor at P. 11. 41–2. and I. 2. 6–8 (as so often with Pindar’s statements about his
poetry) conceals as much as it reveals.
Among the many things we do not know is the level of state interest in
performance in most cases. This is self-evident only in cases where the victor is
the state, that is, in the great odes for the Sicilian tyrants and the two Pindaric

5
Reperformance has recently been discussed by Currie (2004). In the same volume, Hubbard (2004)
argues for the importance of written texts for the diffusion of the odes. That written texts in addition to the
author’s copy must have existed seems inescapable; one would expect at the very least that the victor’s
family—and in the case of civic performance perhaps the state—would retain and reproduce a copy (we have
a certain case in O. 7—see n. 13 below). Performers (including the musicians) would presumably have their
own copy and some at least would retain it, thus allowing the possibility of informal circulation within the
local, and as appropriate within the Panhellenic, elite. But I find no evidence for the view that written texts
played a major role in the circulation of the odes as early as the 5th cent.
6
E.g. O. 2 (tantalizing rather than informative), O. 6, O. 12 (see Silk in this volume), P. 5, P. 7, P. 9, N. 4,
N. 10, I. 4.
 pindar, place, and p erformance 201
odes for Arkesilas of Cyrene.7 It comes as no surprise that the most persuasive
cases for the performance of odes at civic festivals—O. 3 and P. 5—concern songs
commissioned by autocrats.8 But the natural inference from P. 10. 64–6 is that
the ode in celebration of Hippokleas’ victory was commissioned by the Aleuads9
and that they also managed the occasion at which the ode was performed.
We cannot exclude the possibility that non-autocratic states on occasion took
financial responsibility for the celebration. Certainly what we know about the
lavish receptions and generous rewards for successful athletes10 makes intermit-
tent civic gratitude on this scale entirely plausible.11 The likelihood surely
depended on variables such as the prominence or obscurity of the state and the
frequency of success (the prospect of paying for eleven Pindaric odes cannot have
been an attractive one for Aegina,12 while for states which rarely registered a
Panhellenic success, a victory even at Nemea may have been worth special
treatment), the prominence of the victor and prior athletic career (for instance,
a periodonikēs might well merit a public gesture of gratitude),13 the athletic festival
(Athens reserved its free meals in the Prytaneion for Olympic victors), and
(in oligarchic states) proximity to the centre of power. But we have no reason
to suppose that public resourcing of the celebration was the norm, just as we have
no reason to suppose that the victor statues at Panhellenic sites were normally
civic dedications. There were, however, other ways available for the state to
register its interest and confer honour. Some odes for non-rulers appear to be
linked to a particular shrine or cult event. Krummen has suggested that Pindar’s

7
Though we have evidence for collective state entries in the games from non-autocratic poleis (witness
the ‘civic Argive chariot’ of P. Oxy. 222, 31 (¼FGrH 415. 5), noted also by Morgan here below), it is
interesting that we have no instance of an epinikian commissioned from a Panhellenic poet for such a
victory, despite the fact that state commissions to the great lyric poets for non-athletic events were
relatively common. Whether the reason is chance or ideology is unclear.
8
See in particular Krummen (1990) 98–151, 217–66.
9
Cf. Stamatopoulou (this volume).
10
See Bowra (1964) 185.
11
Currie (2004) 64–9, picking up a point made by Herington (1985) 56, argues for formal civic
reperformance. The possibility cannot be ruled out, though the case is tendentious; the only certain
reference in Pindar to public reperformance of a song of praise (P. 2. 13–20) has (as Currie rightly notes
at p. 68) no connection with the epinikion. Except in the case of autocrats, or states which had few and
infrequent victories to celebrate, there can have been little incentive for the community to sanction a civic
celebration of an old victory.
12
For Pindar’s odes for Aeginetans see Hornblower (this volume).
13
Though Diagoras of Rhodes was not yet a periodonikēs at the date of performance, O. 7 suggests itself
as a possible example, given its focus on Rhodian myth with limited direct or indirect relevance to the
victor’s own immediate circumstances and the statement in the scholia (schol. O. 7. inscr., Drachmann
i. 195) that a copy inscribed in gold letters was preserved in the temple at Lindos. But it is equally possible
that Diagoras made a dedicatory gift of the ode to the temple analogous to the setting up of a statue, and
even that as an aristocrat located at the centre of Rhodian politics he commissioned an ode with
a pronounced emphasis on the island precisely to align himself so firmly with the collective fortunes of
his city.
202 c h r i s t o p he r c a r e y
Isthmian 4 was performed at a civic festival.14 Though possible, this is far from
certain. We can be more confident about Olympian 9, which appears to have been
performed at a feast of Lokrian Aias (O. 9. 108–12):


F
b æ

æø ¼Łº
,
ZæŁØ
 þæıÆØ ŁÆæ
ø,
 I
æÆ ÆØ
fi Æ ªª 
hØæÆ; تıØ
; ›æH IºŒ,
"
`ØÆ;   K ÆØ;  ºØÆ,
ØŒH Kø ø .
But when you present this prize
boldly shout straight out
that with divine help this man was born with
quick hands, nimble legs, determination in his look;
and at your feast, Aias son of Ileus,
the victor has placed a crown upon your altar.

Pythian 11. 1–6 advertises itself as performed at the Ismenion at Thebes, though it
does not make clear whether the context was a recurrent festival or a special
occasion, that is, whether we are witnessing the harnessing of a state event or
simply the use of a civic sanctuary. Nemean 8 may have been performed at a
heroon of Aiakos.15 Any performance at a public festival, great or small, presup-
poses the agreement of the civic authorities, and one would expect that approval
was equally necessary for performance at a public sanctuary. In most cases there
were gains to both sides in performance in such a context. The polis could bask in
the reflected glory of the victor’s success while cementing the goodwill of
powerful individuals, at little or no cost ( just as Athens allowed successful
chorēgoi to use public space for celebratory tripods erected at their own expense).
The victor simultaneously demonstrated his piety, expanded the space for
celebration and thereby the audience, and through a feast on scale larger than
even a substantial private house would allow took the opportunity to display his
generosity and exploit the potential for patronage; while the state sanction
conferred acceptability on this conspicuous consumption and personal display.16
Finally, not all civic locations need have been exclusively religious. The wording
of Pindar’s Nemean 3. 68–70, though it need indicate no more than that the victor
was an office bearer at the time either of the games or the celebration, may also

14
Krummen (1990) 33–97.
15
Cf. N. 8. 13–16: ƒŒ
Æ `NÆŒ
F j  H ª
ø ºØ Ł (æ ºØÆ j IH Ł (æ H
–
ÆØ 
æø j ¸ıÆ æÆ ŒÆÆa 
،غ
Æ j ˜Ø
 ØH Æø j ŒÆd
Ææe 
ªÆ ˝ ÆE
 ¼ªÆº Æ (As suppliant I am clasping the hallowed knees j of Aiakos, and on
behalf of his beloved city j and of these citizens I am bringing j a Lydian fillet embellished with with ringing
notes, j a Nemean ornament for double stadion races j of Deinias and his father Megas).
16
For the performance of the victory ode as an opportunity for prestige display see Kurke (1991)
258–9.
 pindar, p lac e, and performance 2 03
indicate that the performance was somehow associated with the public building
in which he served.
However, the absence of mention of civic space in most victory odes strongly
suggests that state involvement was intermittent at most and that most celebra-
tions took place at a private house. We are still dealing with highly public events,
and the recurrent stress on the civic dimension to victory and celebration by
Pindar and Bacchylides clearly reflects a collective audience perception of athletic
success as an achievement shared more generally with the polis of a sort readily
recognizable from modern international competition. But the liturgist for the
epinikion was with very rare exceptions the victor himself or his family.17 The
lavishness of the event must in these cases have depended on the wealth and
prodigality of victor and family. The importance of success in the Panhellenic
games, asserted so emphatically by Pindar and Bacchylides is confirmed, if
confirmation were needed, by the substantial sums athletes were prepared to
hazard on the competition,18 suggesting that the celebration would be both large
and costly. Unlike the Athenian19 chorēgia, where the individual was making an
investment in civic activity in the hope of a return which was always uncertain,
not least because the performance took place within a competitive environment
which might put you in a three-legged race with a theatrical turkey, in the case
of the victory ode there was good reason to spend. The victor was the key focus
of attention, not one of a number of competitors for glory. However, this in itself
was not free from complication. Both Pindar and Bacchylides stress the patron’s
exposure to phthonos,20 both because of his success and because of celebration,
including and especially the victory ode; this is a rhetorical topos, but like most
rhetorical topoi persuasive precisely because it corresponds to elements of
lived or perceived experience. And the ambiguities surrounding conspicuous
consumption21 meant that though athletic competition was perceived as a
laudable way to spend disposable resources, lavish self-praise would not be.
This is not the least of the reasons for the restrained presentation of aspects of
the victory by Pindar and Bacchylides.22 But a good balancing act has always been
17
An obvious exception is P. 4, which one would suppose (though we cannot prove) was
commissioned by the exile Damophilos, for whom the ode pleads at 263–9.
18
Reflected in the dapana motif, which places the sums risked by the victor on a level with the
effort (ponos) expended in pursuit of honour; see O. 5. 15, P. 1. 90–2, P. 5. 106, I. 1. 42, I. 3. 17b, I. 4. 29,
I. 5. 57, I. 6. 10.
19
Athens was not alone in having institutionalized chorēgia; see Rhodes (2003) 108. For the Athenian
chorēgia in general see Wilson (2000).
20
For phthonos see O. 6. 3, 74–6, O. 8. 54–5, P. 1. 85–6, P. 2. 89–90, P. 7. 19–20, P. 11. 29, 54, N. 4. 39–41,
N. 8. 21–2, I. 1. 44, I. 2. 43, I. 5. 24; Bacchylides 3. 68–71, 5. 188–90, 13. 192–202. See also Kurke (1991)
178–82, 195–218, on the potential suspicion of political over-ambition attracted by athletic success. Though
she over-generalizes on the basis of limited evidence, it is clear from the case of Alcibiades at Athens that
excessive self-display could arouse suspicion.
21
See Smith (this volume). See also n. 10 above.
22
Again see Smith (this volume).
204 christopher carey
the prerequisite for the task of praise, and the risks of offence and annoyance
attendant on the public praise of one member of the community were offset by
the possibility (again reflecting the shared perception of the significance of
athletic success for the Panhellenic status of the polis) of presenting personal
success as collective aggrandizement and glorifying the city and its traditions.
Since he was banking time and charis within the embedded economy of the city,23
the victor had every reason to spend lavishly on the celebration.
Though we cannot cost the performance, any more than we can cost
the victory ode,24 we can immediately discern significant expenditure headings.
Although the odes are coy about their performative context, so that any discus-
sion inevitably has a degree of circularity, we can be reasonably sure both on
external and on internal grounds that one recurrent context of performance was a
feast. This was the case even in democratic Athens, as we know from the reference
to the rather disorderly feast of Chabrias at Cape Kolias in the fourth century
([Dem.] 59. 33). Pindar occasionally speaks explicitly of the victory banquet, as at
N. 1. 19–22:
"
!Æ  K ÆPºÆØ ŁæÆØ
Iæe غ

ı ŒÆºa º 
,
!ŁÆ
Ø ±æ Ø

E
 ŒŒ ÆØ
And I have taken my stand at the courtyard gates
of a generous host as I sing of noble deeds,
where a fitting feast
has been arranged for me . . .

Almost as explicit is N. 4. init.:

¼æØ
 Pæ
Æ ø ŒŒæØ
ø
NÆæ
The best healer for toils judged successful
is joyous revelry . . .

Though Bundy’s assertion that euphrosyna here is nothing more than the victory
revel25 is too narrow (in that it fails to note the subjective alongside the objective
aspect of the word), the sympotic associations of euphrosyna are strong; we
appear again to have a victory feast, though with an implied emphasis on drink
rather than food. The same is true of the close of Nemean 9 (49–52):26

ŁÆæƺ
Æ b Ææa ŒæÆBæÆ øa ªÆØ.
KªŒØæø  Ø, ªºıŒf Œ
ı æ
Æ,
23
See Kurke (1991) 7–9 and chapters 4–5.
24
For the negligible information available see Hornblower (this volume, p. 301).
25 26
Bundy (1962) i. 2. For other references see Carey (2001).
 pindar, place, and p erformance 205
Iæªıæ
ÆØØ b ø ø غÆØØ ØÆ
I 
º
ı ÆE . . .
And the voice becomes confident beside the winebowl.
Let someone mix that sweet prompter of the revel,
and let him serve the powerful child of the vine in the
silver bowls . . .

Here, however, we meet a feature of Pindar’s poetry which impedes any attempt
to recover the precise context of performance. Though we can be reasonably
confident that there was some element of eating and drinking in such cases (on
the grounds that the whole context is unlikely to be fictive, since this would
undermine the rhetoric of hospitality and largesse), the impression given in this
passage that the song is sung at an informal gathering seems implausible. The
suspicion that Pindar is cloaking a rather grand occasion in the homespun cloak
of the simple symposium is increased when we look at a passage like O. 1. 14–17.
The image created there of Hieron relaxing at play with his friends around the
table is effective in context, where combined with the presentation of his political
role as that of the Homeric basileus it offers us an understated but appealing blend
of stable authority, civic concern, and affable approachability. But it is precisely
the effectiveness of the composite picture created which should alert us to the
poet’s manipulation. It is inherently implausible that a grand song of praise like
this was squandered on an informal gathering. Pindar’s feasts are probably grand
affairs, and his representation of them as informal symposia is a fiction. As Bundy
rightly noted,27 the victory celebration itself made an important statement about
the civic virtue and philoxenia of the victory and his family. It also offered the
opportunity for patronage. There was nothing casual about the occasion.
The degree of formality and complexity of organization will have been still
greater in those cases where the performance was actually embedded in a civic
occasion, pre-existing or manufactured. In cases of performance at a private feast,
the outlay will have varied according to the status of the patron (since even elites
have pecking orders); but presumably laying on a substantial feast was always
a costly affair.
We are also badly informed about the size of the chorus, a factor which has
implications for the grandeur of the performance and (in more than one way) the
cost of the event. We are never given any indication by Pindar or Bacchylides of
the number of chorus members at an epinikian performance. There is no reason
to suppose that the size was consistent across the Greek world. An island like
Aegina which experienced a high frequency of epinikian performances may
conceivably have evolved a consensus about the best size, though it is equally
possible that this was subject only to the competitive urges, taste, and pocket of

27
Bundy (1962) 87, 89.
206 christopher carey
the patron. But in the context of Greece as a whole the numbers must have been
highly variable, given the absence of shared Panhellenic experience (since festivals
differed from polis to polis) or the regulatory framework which controlled the
scale of performance within intra-state choral events.
The absence of anything beyond a passing reference to the performers in the
odes means that we can never estimate how easy it was to assemble the chorus.
However, the role of singing both in education and in the symposium across
the Greek world meant that the ability to sing was widespread. Dance must have
been a less common skill. But choral activity was firmly embedded in the
collective religious life of the Greeks and choruses were regularly assembled not
only for major state festivals but also for state theōriai to Panhellenic shrines.
With the exception of Pythian 4, the victory ode was either broadly comparable in
length with choral odes composed for cult activity or considerably shorter.28
So however we imagine the dance, it is unlikely that it was excessively demanding
for performers experienced in cult song and dance. There must of course have
been variations within this picture, based on local traditions and structures.
Paradoxically (in view of the paucity there of epinikian performances involving
the great Panhellenic poets)29 Athens must have been one of the easiest places to
assemble a chorus, given the sheer volume of choral activity; for instance in the
City Dionysia alone (if we combine the figures for the boys’ and men’s dithyramb
and the choristers engaged in tragedy and comedy) there were by the middle of
the fifth century over eleven hundred choral performers involved each year. But
multiple choruses were by no means an exclusively Athenian phenomenon, as we
can see from Herodotos’ brief account (admittedly of female choruses) of Aegi-
netan practice at 5. 83. And given the importance of competition in Greek religion
in general, choral competitions on the Athenian lines (if different in scale) were
probably more widespread in Greece than our limited evidence would suggest.
There must also have been in many states some experience of secular choral
activity. Both Pindar and Bacchylides present themselves as leaders in an environ-
ment in which there were many competing poets.30 They may exaggerate. But
again, if we operate with the assumption that successful rhetoric is rhetoric which
corresponds to some degree with real experience, we must reckon with the
likelihood that there were local poets who could put together a victory ode,
presumably at a more modest price than the great Panhellenic masters. In states

28
For Pindar’s single triad odes, see Gelzer (1985).
29
We have only two odes of Pindar for Athenians, one fragmentary ode of Bacchylides. Given the
paucity of the remains of Simonides and Bacchylides, we should be cautious in using the evidence
(especially in view of the evidence amassed by Morris (1992b) 144–9 to support the view that changes in
funeral display patterns in Athens are part of a larger Greek trend and the cautions of Rhodes (2003)
against assuming too readily that Athenian practices and values are distinctive); but it may be that the
disadvantages of prestige display of an overtly individualistic kind were especially felt in democratic Athens.
30
Pindar, O. 2. 86–8, P. 4. 248, N. 3. 80–2; Bacchylides 5. 16–24.
 pindar, place, and p erformance 20 7
where the Panhellenic masters had performed, it may often have been possible to
reuse performers with an experience of the same poet. We may have an instance
of just this phenomenon in the case of the odes for Melissos of Thebes, where we
appear to have two odes composed on separate occasions for a single victor
but (uniquely for Pindar) cast in the same metrical form; it is a reasonable
(if unprovable) hypothesis that the second ode (I. 4) uses the same form as the
earlier (I. 3) in order to facilitate performance without retraining the chorus.
The combined presence of the civic and religious dimensions of the Athenian
festivals gave Athenian choral performances a coercive force on all participants
absent from the victory celebration. Except for the courts of the autocrats,
presumably only persuasion was available as a means of getting the requisite
number of singers. But what kind of persuasion? In democratic Athens the
chorēgos was required to cover the costs of the chorus, including the salary—
which presumably included rehearsal time as well as performance time. Though
Pindar on occasion notes the fact that the poet is for hire,31 he never suggests that
the chorus members are other than volunteers. We have in fact no objective
evidence for the status of the chorus which sang the victory ode. We are informed
about gender and age. These are male, and (it seems) young men.32 The nearest
we get to a socio-economic description is at I. 8. 66, where they are described
as halikes. In itself this need mean no more than that the chorus is of an age
with the victor. And one would imagine that at least part of the explanation for
the consistent use of choruses of young men is a perception that it is less
appropriate to have physical prowess praised by men who are past their prime,
while female choruses might raise awkward issues of social propriety. But the
word halix not infrequently suggests intimacy as well as age.33 The word suggests
without stating that the singers are associates of the victor. Here again it is
difficult to get beyond the Pindaric rhetoric. We would naturally assume from
the spare description of Pindar that these are friends of the victor, co-evals and
status equals who act out of friendship. The opening of I. 8 strongly suggests an
impromptu gathering of young celebrants at the victor’s door:

˚ºÆ
æfiø Ø ±ºØŒfi Æ

 ºæ
 h

; T 

Ø; ŒÆ ø
Ææe IªºÆe ºæ
ı Ææa æŁıæ

Ng IªØæ
ø
ŒH
 . . .
In honour of youthful Kleandros, let one of you go,
O young men, to the splendid portal
of his father Telesarchos
to awaken the revel . . .
31 32
P. 11. 41–2, I. 2. 1–11. Pindar P. 5, P. 10, N. 3, I. 8; B. 13.
33
Cf. e.g. Hdt.1. 114. 1; Eur. Hipp. 1180 (though with philos), HF 513; Ar. Wasps 245.
208 c h r i s t o p he r c a r e y
The celebration at home thus replicates the spontaneous celebration at the games
immediately after the victory, as at O. 9. 4, were the kōmos at Olympia explicitly
consists of hetairoi. This impression is reinforced by O. 6. 87, where the chorus
are presented as a band of hetairoi. But precisely because we have seen reason to
suspect that the informal event described by Pindar is a fictional reshaping of the
actual celebration experienced by his audience as the epinikian is sung, we should
be cautious about the presentation of the chorus. They may in some cases be
hired performers. Or they may include volunteers from lower social groups who
will need to be compensated for their time. But even if they are usually unpaid,
we should at least register some caution about the social relationships Pindar
depicts in his presentation of the chorus. This is an idealized world in which,
despite the gritty presence of factors such as phthonos, poet, performers, and
audience unite in the desire to see achievement honoured. But motives for
participating probably varied. Clearly everyone wants to be part of a success.
For social equals, active participation was also a way both avoiding any intim-
ation of phthonos and of cementing social and political links (and creating debts of
gratitude) between families. In the case of more high-profile aristocrats and the
autocrats, the desire to curry favour (or with kings and tyrants the desire to avoid
disfavour) may have prompted the decision to join the chorus, irrespective of the
social status of the performers.
We can probably be more confident about the status of the instrumentalists.
Our epinikian sources speak sometimes of lyre and pipe, sometimes of lyre or
pipe alone as the accompaniment. Though many men of substance learned to
play the lyre, there is no reason to believe that aristocrats outside Athens were any
more inclined to learn to play the pipe than their Athenian counterparts.34 So the
aulete is likely to have been a professional. And since one imagines with difficulty
the mixing of professional and amateur instrumentalists, we should probably
assume that, whatever the case may have been with the chorus, the instrumental
support at least was hired.
We also know from Alkman that in Sparta maiden choruses performing at civic
festivals were splendidly attired.35 We know from Demosthenes that the same
held good for the civic choruses in Athens.36 It is unlikely that the epinikian
chorus was as gorgeously attired as the chorus participating in civic ritual, except
on those occasions when the city incorporated the victory celebration within
a larger public festival, since the display on this scale might elicit a hostile
response. But presumably the costume was appropriate to the grandeur of the
occasion; and again one assumes that the victor or his family pay.

34
See Wilson (1999) 74–5 for the status of aulos players in Athens.
35 36
N. 2 above. Dem. 21. 16.
 pindar, place, and performance 209
The lyric epinikians had a rich afterlife. As was noted above, the victory ode both
predicts and invites reperformance.37 Some of the odes must have been dusted off
for subsequent performance on anniversaries. One Pindaric ode—Nemean 3—was
explicitly written to be premièred at the anniversary celebration (N. 3. 2).
Another—Isthmian 2—appears to have been composed for posthumous celebra-
tion of success (I. 2. 48). We need not suppose that such reperformance would
necessarily be choral.38 Indeed, given the logistics of assembling a chorus and the
absence of the urgency of recent success, one would most naturally suppose
that such reperformance would involve solo singing, or at most performance by
a small group. And the implication of N. 4. 16 seems to be that—unsurprisingly—
solo reperformance of song without dance would be the norm.
But parochial performability of this sort was not enough. This we know from
the rhetoric of the panegyrists, which we may reasonably take to reflect the
aspirations of their patrons. The ideal of any lyric poet was to enter a larger
repertoire of circulating song. This is what Pindar has in mind at the opening of
the eminently quotable (and much quoted) Nemean 5, where he envisages his
songs travelling the world on everything from big merchant ships to tiny vessels.
It is what Bacchylides promises Hieron at the end of his third Ode (3. 96–8):

f  IºÆŁÆØ ŒÆºH

ŒÆd ºØªº
ı Ø (  Ø æØ
˚Æ I
.
And with the truth of noble deeds
men will hymn too the gracious gift
of the Keian nightingale.

The ideal was to free the victor’s fame from the confines of its own polis by
creating poetry of sufficient appeal to achieve reperformance in other cities. How
frequently this was achieved in practice we cannot know. What we have is
aspiration, not data. But the aspiration was sufficiently plausible to prompt
commissions. And the boasts of the panegyrists are consistent with the pattern
of commission. Pindar’s earliest surviving ode, Pythian 10, was commissioned
from another state when he was 20 years old. His commissions (religious and
secular) ranged from Abdera in the north to Africa and from the Greek west to
the coast of modern Turkey. As contributors to this volume have repeatedly
stressed, using the formulation of Wade-Gery, the elite which competed at the
games and commissioned epinikian poetry in Pindar’s day were an international

37
Though Pfeijffer (1999) 1–20, is right to stress the occasionality of the victory ode, he gives
insufficient weight to reperformance.
38
Currie (2004) 58 rightly observes that P. 1. 97–8 opens up the possibility of choral reperformance,
though his case for N. 4. 13–16 as referring to choral reperformance is not persuasive. The description of the
hypothetical performance of the ode by the victor’s dead father lacks any term which suggests plural voices.
210 c h r i s to p h e r c a re y
aristocracy. They must have exchanged recommendations; presumably—given its
cultural importance—they also exchanged music.
Our limited evidence for reperformance, largely Aristophanes, confirms this
picture. But it tells us more. For it testifies to a fascinating cultural ‘trickle down’.
The fact that songs, including epinikians, composed by Pindar and Simonides to
honour rulers and toffs could be cited and parodied for a mass audience in
democratic Athens39 suggests that knowledge and enjoyment of praise songs
for members of the international elite were not restricted by ideological or social
boundaries.40 The observation of Eupolis (fr. 139) that by the late fifth century
interest in the poetry of the lyric classics was declining attests at least some
continuing familiarity. We cannot of course hope to know how often (one’s
instinct says: ‘very’) knowledge was confined to the prooimion or a memorable
purple passage (like the eruption of Mt. Etna in Pythian 1), though a song like
Olympian 12 is very easily memorized in its entirety. Indeed we cannot know how
often this knowledge was confined to name/title recognition; the Krios example
at Clouds 1356 may be a case in point, since it relies only on the recognition of
name and a memorable pun. For the fame industry the difference is immaterial.
The name is the issue. The names crossed polis boundaries and were remem-
bered; and epinikian poetry was crucial to that process.
It is precisely the Panhellenic fame conveyed by Pindar, Bacchylides, and
Simonides which has guaranteed the survival of these names to the present.
Though a star like Diagoras of Rhodes would be remembered anyway, not
least from Cicero’s famous anecdote,41 most of the laudandi were of no signifi-
cance outside their own city. They became significant only because of the
intervention of the panegyrists. The canon of serious lyric masters was almost
complete by the middle of the fifth century,42 and it was cemented in place by the
influential views of conservative commentators like Plato. Pindar and Simonides
were clearly classics across Greece by the middle of the fifth century bc.43 This in
turn guaranteed their place within the body of hoi prattomenoi and (complete with
scholiastic apparatus) ultimately the survival of the Pindar text to the age of print
and CD-ROM. The panegyrists earned their fee.

39
Clouds 1356: fi pÆØ Ø ø
ı
º
; e ˚æØ; ‰ K
Ł. Birds 927–30: %ÆŁ
ø ƒæH
› ı ; e K d ‹ Ø æ fi A Œƺfi A; Ł
ºØ ææø  .
40
To anticipate and meet the obvious response that parody may reflect mass hostility to such composi-
tions, I note first that Simonides’ poem for Krios is not parodied by Aristophanes, secondly that parody is
not ideologically loaded in an author who parodies tragedy, oracles, laws, hymns, dithyrambs, and
elements of secular and sacred procedure and ritual.
41
Tusc. 1. 111.
42
For the basic facts see OCD3 s.v. Lyric poetry (Greek).
43
It is surprising that of all the famous lyric poets Bacchylides is the only one not mentioned or cited by
Aristophanes.
Part II
This page intentionally left blank
 nine
––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Debating Patronage: The Cases of Argos and

Corinth
Catherine Morgan

This chapter focuses on the circumstances of, and motivation for, patronage of
epinikian poets, and of Pindar in particular, in relation both to other forms of
elite status expression and to the various charges upon local elites in the provision
of athletic festivals and facilities during the early fifth century. The Archaic
cultural heritage of Pindar’s poetry is often emphasized. Yet as is widely acknow-
ledged, the immediate, fifth-century, circumstances of the commissions which he
fulfilled add a critical dimension. How this should be understood is, however,
more problematic. Arguments have ranged from a perceived (and surely errone-
ous) contrast between the ‘conservatism’ of the old oligarchies who patronized
Pindar and ‘advanced’ new democracies like Athens, to the rise of new money
trying to buy into the values of the old aristocracy.1 Was Pindar attempting to
reposition an aristocracy in imminent danger of obsolescence by promoting the
new ethos of megaloprepeia, as Leslie Kurke has suggested?2 Most such arguments
have been advanced at a relatively general level, seeking to understand the
phenomenon of epinikian poetry, and specifically Pindaric epinikian, as a
whole. At issue, however, is not merely the commissioning of a particular
form of poetry, but its place within the wider context of victory and status
commemoration, and the growing range of calls on the aristocratic purse. This
demands close study of the local circumstances of each patron’s polis. If, as Kurke
argues, a central function of epinikian was to bind the various interests of
the athlete’s polis, oikos, and aristocratic peers,3 the manner in which this was
done would inevitably need to be sensitive to these circumstances. It is precisely this
specificity, combined with the accessibility of the heroic values expressed, which are
the characteristics of Pindar’s poetry most set to appeal to early fifth-century

I am grateful to Simon Hornblower for the initial invitation to share in the organization of the ICS seminar
which gave rise to this book, for encouragement to write this chapter, and for invaluable discussion
thereafter. Nancy Bookidis and Betsy Pemberton kindly commented on the Corinthian passages and allowed
me to refer to their continuing research, and I also thank Hans van Wees for helpful criticism of earlier drafts.
1
Hubbard (2001), contrasting Athens and Aegina, and with a review of former scholarship; see also
Thomas (this volume).
2
Kurke (1991) chs. 7 and 8, also including a wide-ranging review of approaches to the 5th-cent. context
within which Pindar worked (her argument is summarized at 257–62).
3
Kurke (1991) passim. See also Mann (2000) for analogous arguments.
214 c a the r i n e mo r g a n
aristocratic patrons (by contrast with the by now Panhellenic Homer, whose heroes
were firmly located in a separate sphere).4
Pindar’s career was, as often noted, rather long—just over fifty years according
to the most likely termini of c.498 (P. 10) and 446 (P. 8). Naturally, it would be
fascinating to assess in detail trends in patronage over this period, but while P. Oxy.
222 (=FGrHist 415) lists Olympic and Pythian victors, chronological problems
remain with the Isthmian and Nemean corpora in particular. The Pindaric corpus
is for all practical purposes indivisible, and issues of chronology will therefore be
raised only when they have a direct bearing on specific arguments. My concern is
rather with geographical variation in the approaches taken within the odes, and
the circumstances of patronage which produced them.

n
the ago
Two general premises underpin the arguments which follow. First, it is wrong to
see the agōn as an Archaic phenomenon which declined with the rise of democ-
racy.5 Whatever the form of government of individual states during the fifth
century, contests remained high-consequence events with emphasis placed on
personal victory and prestige, and they played a major role in articulating rela-
tions between states of different political complexions. Public and private ex-
penditure on them was not merely maintained, but generally rose; the records of
the Great Panathenaia may be unusually clear in this respect, but they are not
untypical.6
Although these observations are uncontroversial, there is less consensus on the
conclusions to be drawn from them. In seeking to evaluate the effects of contests
on democracies, Poliakoff concentrated on the nature of the agōn pursued,7 and
suggested that through the fifth century it was deliberately directed away from
those areas of military and civic life where it would disturb the security of the
state. Thus in Athens, military victories were won by the city, and generals were
dissuaded from claiming honours for themselves.8 The consequence of this line
4
Nagy (1990) 191–3.
5
A view most recently reiterated by Poliakoff (2001), with previous bibliography.
6
Poliakoff (2001) 53–5, citing IG i2302 for allotments in 418/7 and 415/4 for the athlothetai of the Great
Panathenaia, and IG ii2 2311 on the value of prizes during the first half of the 4th cent. On the number of
amphorae, see also Johnston (1987); Young (1984) 115–27.
7
Poliakoff (2001) 60–1.
8
Poliakoff (2001) 61 and n. 31, citing Detienne (1968), see esp. 126–9 (an article which argues, perhaps
too strongly, for the levelling role of the phalanx and its close ideological integration with the democratic
ethos of the 5th-cent. state), and Aischines, Ctes. 185–6. The latter certainly implies that Aischines’ audience
over a century later must have been familiar with a tradition that the demos had the power to deny
commemoration by name to Miltiades (on the Painted Stoa) and Kimon (on statues commemorating
Persian War victories). But one cannot ignore the rhetorical appeal to ancestral morality that forms the
context of this reference; compare Cole (2001) 206–7.
 d e b a t i n g pa t r o n a g e : a r g o s an d c o r i n t h 215
of argument, put in the simplest terms, is to reduce the athletic agōn to a
displacement activity, channelling certain urges while reflecting usefully on the
city: and from this it follows that the often claimed connection with military
preparation and commemoration can be only indirect at best. As the arguments
presented in this article show, even if one accepts this case for Athens (and it is
by no means clear that one should), it cannot be universally applicable even to
fifth-century democracies.
Sparta is an interesting test case.9 While it shows predictable idiosyncrasies, it
is in many ways closer to the wider Greek mainland than might be expected if the
expression of agonistic values and behaviour was so closely tied to political
structure. Admittedly, there are important differences.10 In particular, the social
values which sustained Spartiate society were positively reinforced by team events
and contests for women (both of which were unusual in the contemporary Greek
world), as well as by more orthodox individual success across the whole spectrum
of events (setting aside the problem of whether Spartiates really did compete in
the pankration and boxing contests).11 Much has been made of the lack of
epinikia for Spartiate victors (with the likely exception of Ibykos fr. S166). But
as Stephen Hodkinson points out,12 this very specific omission may relate to the
form taken by the usual occasions for the performance of such poetry under
circumstances of state control, and should not imply any more general parsimony
or restraint. Considerable investment was made in a range of local contests: victor
lists for the Karneia begin in the fifth century,13 and those for festivals held at the
sanctuary of Athena Chalkioikos and at Geronthrai may go back slightly further
into the late sixth.14 Spartiate participation in festivals outside Lakonia is also
well attested, with many victories recorded especially at the Olympics,15 but also
in other festivals at home and abroad. See, for example, the lists of victories
on the stelai of Aigletes, [G]laukat[ias], Ainetos, and most spectacularly
(and somewhat later) Damonon and his son Enymakratidas,16 as well as the
9
As Poliakoff (2001) 57 acknowledges, although he is obliged to minimize the role of competition in
Spartan society to sustain his argument.
10
Hodkinson (1999) 148–52.
11
The evidence is reviewed by Hodkinson (1999) 157–60; Mann (2001) ch. 4.
12
Hodkinson (1999) 170–3; and (2000) 317–19. Contra Hornblower (2004) 235–43, who, as part of a
more extensive discussion (emphasizing Pindar’s familiarity with Sparta), points out how little we know of
what was, or was not, possible in Classical Sparta, as well as the implications in this context of the lack of
scholarly agreement on the public or private nature of performance.
13
Compiled by Hellanicus of Lesbos (FGrHist 4 F85a), according to Ath. 635e–f; Jeffery (1990) 60.
14
Jeffery (1990) 60, 195, 201, cats. 44, 47 (Athena Chalkioikos), cats. 45, 46 (Geronthrai). Here one
might also note Jan Sander’s suggestion that the distinctive local amphorae depicted on Dioskouroi reliefs
(e.g. Sparta Museum 613) may be prizes, noting that their peaked lids are similar in shape to those of
Panathenaic amphorae: Sanders (1992) 206.
15
Hodkinson (1999) 161–70, 173–6; only in equestrian events can Spartan crown victories be traced
outside Olympia, see Hodkinson (2000) 307–12.
16
Jeffery (1990) 199, cat. 22 (Aigletes), 200, cat. 31 (Glaukatias), 201, cats. 51 (Ainetos) and 52
(Damonon). Hodkinson (1999) 153–6; Hodkinson (2000) 303–7.
216 catherine morgan
large number of Panathenaic amphorae dedicated at Lakonian shrines.17 Not
least thanks to Hodkinson’s work, it is now widely accepted that Sparta shared in
most of the wider trends in dedicatory practice evident across the later sixth- and
fifth-century Greek mainland,18 including increasing monumentality, and in the
case of statue dedications, direct representation of the athlete.
Nonetheless, the absence of epinikia continues to be seen as a particular
problem, reflecting the importance accorded in modern scholarship to this
form of commemoration above all other.19 Hodkinson is surely correct to
advance specific explanations in terms of the structure of Spartiate society, but
we should also consider the broader question of whether epinikian should be
privileged in this way. Indeed, I share the view, expressed in different ways by
several contributors to this volume, that if we see it rather as one element of a
package of expenditure on athletics, victor commemoration, and elite status
display, different local patterns of investment become more readily comprehen-
sible. In the case of Sparta, it is interesting to note similarities with neighbouring
Arkadia and Achaia, where no epinikian commissions are attested, but where
games with rich prizes attracted outside competitors,20 and local athletes were
victorious and offered (or were commemorated with) dedications, especially at
Olympia.21 It is worth re-emphasizing that citizens of very few states commis-
sioned odes, let alone in any number (Diagram 1). Aegina, here considered in
detail by Simon Hornblower, is wholly exceptional, and citizens of otherwise
prominent cities such as Argos and Corinth made just one or two commissions.
Under such circumstances, as suggested above, it seems more sensible to begin
discussion from the full local context of commemoration and patronage than
from the phenomenon of epinikian itself, not least since (as Michael Silk here
demonstrates) Pindar’s epinikia are about so much more than just victory.
Pace Poliakoff, I shall therefore begin from the premise that athletics played a
continuing and expanding role in articulating interactions between Greek states,

17
M. Bentz (1998) 225 lists amphorae from the shrine of Athena Chalkioikos, one dating c.510–500 and
the others c.500, plus a further example of c.520 from the Menelaion. Hodkinson (1999) 161 notes the large
number of unpublished fragments from Athena Chalkioikos and the Menelaion.
18
Hodkinson (1999) 156, 175–6; and (2000) 319–23.
19
Hodkinson (1999) 171 ‘the primary method by which the most prominent victors in the crown games
sought to immortalise their success’. See also Hornblower (2004) 235–43.
20
O. 7. 84–6, O. 9. 96–8; O. 13. 108; N. 10. 44–8. Bacchylides, Ep. 9. 33. Morgan (1999b) 396, 407–8.
21
The earliest epigraphically attested Arkadian is Tellon of Oresthasion, Olympic victor in 472
(IvO 147, 148; Heine Nielsen (2002) 208 n. 284), although the literary tradition has Mantineian Olympic
victors dating back to c.500: Moretti (1957) cats. 163, 193, 202, 254, 256, 265. See also Morgan (1999b) 392;
Moretti (1957) cats. 188, 189 (Dromeus of Stymphalos). In Achaia, Pataikos of Dyme was victorious at
Olympia (Moretti (1957) cat. 171); Oibotas of Paleia (a deme of Dyme) had his Olympic victory of 756
commemorated with a statue at Olympia c.460 (Pausanias 7. 17. 7); Ikaros, victor at Olympia in 688, is
designated Hyperesiseus (Pausanias 4. 15. 1); Patamos of Dyme won the Olympic trotting race in 496
(Pausanias 5. 9. 1). It is salutary to note that Olympic victors for the period 776–500 (following Moretti
(1957) ) include athletes from 45 poleis: Heine Nielsen (2002) 222 n. 329.
 debating patronage: argos and corinth 217

18

16

14

12

10

0
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
= Pindar = Bacchylides

Diagram 1. Patronage of Pindar and Bacchylides by Region

1 Central Greece 2 Sicily / S. Italy 3 East Greek world 4 Aegina 5 Argos 6 Corinth
7 Cyrene 8 Athens 9 Thessaly 10 Kea

and specifically, in this context, between regions in the northern and central
Peloponnese. Significant elements of this dense network are mentioned in
Pindar’s epinikia,22 but the numerous participant poleis did not all produce
victors who patronized poets. Taking into account that our period was one of
political change in many cities, and that it spanned one major set of alliances
against Persia and the formation of others which underpinned the Peloponnesian
wars, the continuing role of the agōn in the creation of new ritual contexts and
associations acquires particular significance. Emphasizing that many fifth-century
political innovations were constructed (and often legitimized) in established
ritual terms, Susan Cole23 has examined the way in which competition, compe-
tition locations, and the language and imagery of the agōn (stephanōsis as a form of
political honour, for example)24 were exploited, ideally in a manner which would
avoid or minimize the destructive envy, or phthonos, which agonistic victory
inevitably attracted. In the aftermath of the Persian Wars, it may have seemed
less contentious to use ‘established’ means (albeit sometimes with quite radical
adaptation and stretching of meaning) than to find new ways of evaluating and
honouring political excellence. Hence, for example, Herodotus’ account (8. 123)
of the unsuccessful attempt to use the setting of the main altar of Poseidon at

22
O. 7. 83–6; O. 9. 95–9; O. 13. 106–13; P. 8. 78–9; N. 3. 83–4; N. 4. 21–2; N. 5. 44–6, 54–5; N. 9; N. 10; N.
11. 19–20; I. 4. 25–6, 70; I. 8. 67–8.
23 24
Cole (2001). Cole (2001) 205–7; Blech (1982) 155–61.
218 catherine morgan
Isthmia, an established context for the crowning of athletic victors, for a vote
to decide which commander had most distinguished himself at Salamis.
The difficulty of establishing mechanisms for rewarding political excellence was
considerable and enduring, and it undoubtedly remained easier, if not always
satisfactory, to fall back upon established ideas. But this still left the problem of
ensuring that phthonos was as far as possible avoided, or at least presented in such
a manner as to reinforce what should properly be valued. It is therefore not
surprising to find the problem of phthonos both prominent and pervasive in
Pindar’s epinikia—a conspicuous example being P. 7. 18–21 for the ostracized
Megakles of Athens.25
If, by the early fifth century, the agōn, its values, and imagery were becoming
increasingly pervasive in politically and morally charged situations, one might
expect the commemoration of victory to become an equally important and
sensitive matter. Further support for this line of argument may be found in the
very specific phenomenon of cults of named athletes. Cults of a small number of
Olympic victors were established in widely scattered cities, from Epizephyrian
Lokroi (Pausanias 6. 6. 4–11) to Astypalaia (Pausanias 6. 9. 6), usually during the
relatively short period c.490–470, contemporary with Pindar’s epinikia (whatever
the date of the individual’s victories) and in times of civic unrest.26 On one hand,
athletics formed an established and valued aspect of aristocratic aretē, but on the
other, these specific instances of cult represent the appropriation by the cities
concerned of exceptional, but contradictory personalities.27 This is not to suggest
that such heroization was purely a promotion of civic politics. As the case of
Euthymos of Epizephyrian Lokroi shows,28 one should also consider the wider
religious context, and the personal role played by these athletes during their
lifetimes. But since the city provided the fundamental context, it is appropriate
to emphasize the communal concerns which could be so served. As Bohringer has
argued,29 the heroized athletes were often people who had in some way strayed
from proper behaviour. According to Pausanias (6. 9. 6), Kleomedes of Astypa-
laia pulled down a pillar supporting the roof of the town school and thus killed
sixty children. But as symbols for troubled times, they could also be seen to have
faced different forms of physical and moral weakness. I will not dwell on athlete
cults, but merely note that the date of their establishment is directly relevant to
issues central to this chapter, namely the promotion of athletic festivals in relation
to civic image, and the way in which victory commemorations, via epinikia
among other means, formed part of this process.

25
Bulman (1992) offers the fullest examination of the issue. P. 7: Siewert (2002) 167–70. See also Carey
(this volume).
26 27
Bohringer (1979) 5–10. Bohringer (1979) 10.
28 29
Currie (2002). Bohringer (1979) 10–18.
 d e b a t i n g pa t r o n a g e : a r g o s a n d c o r i n t h 219

patronage
The second, and directly related, premise behind this chapter is that, as already
emphasized, within the common framework of aristocratic values, the commis-
sioning of epinikian odes did not hold exactly the same meaning and significance
in all parts of Greece. There is little to be learned from the geographical spread of
the extant Pindaric corpus considered simply in terms of the numbers of odes
commissioned by citizens of each city (Diagram 1). There are clear peaks in Sicily,
Aegina, and central Greece, a small number in east Greece, and then occasional
commissions of one or two odes by cities scattered in a wide area from Athens
and the north-east Peloponnese, to Thessaly and Cyrene. The picture is not
substantially changed by the addition of the much smaller corpus of Bacchylides’
epinikia (the only viable comparison given the patchy and problematic record of
Simonides). Obvious differences reflect the poets’ home regions (favouring Kea
rather than central Greece and especially Thebes), and the lack of east Greek
commissions of Bacchylides. But it is hard to read much into these observations
given the small sample size.
To look more deeply at the local significance of patronage, we should first
consider geographical and social variation in the contents of the poems. A pre-
liminary, heuristic exercise is revealing. Quantification of Pindar’s references to
crown game victories by region or city (taking into account multiple
commissions celebrating a single victory), and comparison of the results with
figures for commissions, reveals three distinct patterns (Diagram 2). The patterns
themselves are clearly more reliable than the exact figures, since while Pindar
is generally precise when enumerating crown game victories, he frequently
resorts to vaguer formulations for local games and in a very few instances one
can only estimate the exact number. Hieron of Syracuse’s horse Pherenikos is
simply noted as winning ‘crowns’ at the Pythian games (P. 3. 73–4),30 at O. 12. 18
an ambiguity in the Greek leaves it uncertain whether Ergoteles had won twice at
Delphi and twice at Isthmia or just once at each, and at P. 4. 65–8, Pindar refers to
Arkesilas of Cyrene as the eighth generation of ‘those sons to whom Apollo and
Pytho granted glory from the hands of the Amphictyons in horse-racing’. The
order of magnitude in these cases seems clear, and there is rarely any suggestion
that large numbers of victories passed without a precise account. The exceptions
are N. 10. 41–3, concerning Argive victories at the Isthmus, and O. 13, where at
98–100, Pindar qualifies his earlier likening (44–7) of the countless victories of
the family of Xenophon of Corinth at Nemea and Delphi to the pebbles of the
sea, by stating that sixty victories were proclaimed ‘from both these places’,
although with an ambiguity in the Greek similar to that at O. 12. 18, it is unclear
30
The ambiguity is discussed by Jebb in his commentary on Bacchylides, Ep. 5, which celebrates an
Olympic victory with the same horse: Jebb (1905) 198 n. 2.
220 c a t he r i n e m o r ga n

80

70

60

50

40

30

20

10

0
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
= Odes = Victories

Diagram 2. Regional Patronage of Odes vs Victories

1 Central Greece 2 Sicily / S. Italy 3 East Greek world 4 Aegina 5 Argos 6 Corinth
7 Cyrene 8 Athens 9 Thessaly

whether this means sixty from each or sixty in total.31 But considering the specific
poleis involved, Argos and Corinth, it is clear that these exceptional statements
confirm a pattern supported in other ways and discussed further below. Whatever
figure one puts on these victories makes no material difference to the overall
picture. Perhaps more seriously, however, it must be borne in mind that although
there have been no recent Pindaric discoveries to match those of Simonides, the
corpus of choral lyric is hardly a fixed entity.32 The corpus of Pindaric epinikia as
we have it forms the tip of an iceberg: beneath it lie numerous fragments which
cannot be attributed to author or even lyric genre. And I also acknowledge the
complex history of the definition of the genre as discussed by Nick Lowe in this
volume.
31
Barrett (1978) 1 assumes sixty at each, whereas Gildersleeve (1890) 236 takes sixty as the total: neither
justifies his position or comments on the ambiguity in the Greek.
32
Simonides: P. Oxy. 3965þ2327 (¼IEG2 Simon. 22), published in 1992 and with numerous discussions
and re-editions thereafter. In the case of Pindar, relatively little has followed the substantial collection
P. Oxy. 2438–51 published in 1961, and such fragments as have been published subsequently are rarely
attributable with certainty either to author or genre: P. Oxy. 2736 (ed. pr. 1968, Pindaric attribution
discussed by Lavecchia and Martinelli (1999) ); P. Oxy. 2621 (ed. pr. 1967, not attributed although hints
of both Pindar and Bacchylides); P. Oxy. 2622 fr. 1 (ed. pr. 1967, may be Pindar); P. Oxy. 2623 frs. 21a–22
(ed. pr. 1967, Pindar ¼ SLG 399, 340); P. Oxy. 2624 (ed. pr. 1967, probably Simonides; van der Weiden
(1986), probably Pindar); P. Oxy. 2627 (ed. pr. 1967, probably Pindar); P. Oxy. 2636 (ed. pr. 1967, Pindar);
P. Oxy. 3822 (ed. pr. 1989, Pindar, Paeans). As Hornblower emphasizes ( (2004) 239–40, citing Pindar fr.
6a–b), Pindar himself mentions the composition of at least one ode (to a Megarian victor at Isthmia) of
which we have otherwise no record.
 debating patronage: argos and corinth 221
Nonetheless, on present evidence, real trends can be detected in the way that
Pindar assembled honorific elements and for whose benefit. One distinction lies
in the number of references to additional victories, and the emphasis placed on
certain crown games. While no one festival is universally singled out, there are
regional differences in the prominence accorded to individual festivals or groups
of festivals. This more or less correlates with (or is nuanced by) the extent to
which other local festivals, kin, and trainers are mentioned, and with the
number of individual honorands from each city. These are sometimes distinc-
tions of degree rather than kind (echoing Simon Hornblower’s observations on
Pindar’s treatment of Aeginetan philoxenia), and occasionally other connections
cross the lines drawn here. The Lokrian colonial connection which binds O. 9,
10, and 11 (here included in groups one and two) is perhaps the clearest
such case.33 Nonetheless, the groupings here proposed are arguably the most
consistent, and form a useful starting point for comparison with other kinds
of material investment made by the states concerned. They thus promise a
fuller context for the evaluation of any alternative associations which may be
identified.

Group One
The first, and in some ways the most straightforward, of the three groups
comprises O. 1–6, 10–12, P. 1–6, 9, 10, 12, N. 1, 9, and I. 2. While odes for
Sicilian and south Italian honorands are the most striking examples (not least
for the sheer quantity of poetry involved), this group also includes three
Pythians (4, 5, and 9) for Telesikrates and Arkesilas IV of Cyrene, and the
only Pindaric commission (P. 10) for a Thessalian victor. Where we have direct
evidence for the constitution of the city concerned (i.e. in the majority of cases),
commissions came from, and/or celebrated, oligarchs or absolute rulers and
their immediate circles. The victories celebrated are overwhelmingly Olympic
and Pythian, and by comparison with the two other groups, little attention is
paid to Nemea and Isthmia, let alone to more local events (with the notable
exception of N. 9 discussed below). As Diagram 3 illustrates, odes for Sicilian
and south Italian patrons in particular include very few references to other
victories, and such as there are also favour Olympia and Delphi (see, for
example, O. 2 for Theron and I. 2 for Xenokrates of Akragas, neither compar-
able with, for example, O. 7 or O. 13), or praise a periodonikēs. Instead, attention
focuses on the person of the victor/ruler (either directly, when the honorand
is the ruler, or indirectly, when it is one of his close circle), and multiple
commissions from one or more poets to celebrate the same victory are unique
to this group. Mention may be made of immediate family (or in the case

33
Hornblower (2004) 313–15.
222 c a th e ri n e m o rg a n
Isthmia Isthmia
Nemea 6% 10%
Nemea
12%
5%

Olympia
Olympia 47%
53%

Delphi Delphi
29% 38%

(a) Sicily: Victories by ode (sample = 17) (b) Sicily: Victories by festival (sample = 21)

Diagram 3

of equestrian events, the charioteer or horse), but family history and wider
connections are not stressed. They would probably have been irrelevant if access
to poetry of this kind was controlled and part of a wider phenomenon of literary
patronage.34 Treatment of family is well illustrated at Akragas, where the
Emmenid brothers Theron and Xenokrates were honoured in a total of four
odes35 which feature praise of each other’s successes and those of Xenokrates’
son, Thrasyboulos. Xenokrates was also praised by Simonides,36 and Thrasy-
boulos was the subject of an enkomion by Pindar (fr. 124a, b).37
Perhaps the clearest, if most extreme, illustration of this combination of trends
is Syracuse under Hieron. Hieron himself celebrated his single horse victory
at Olympia in 476 by commissioning both Bacchylides (Ep. 5) and Pindar
(O. 1)38—and subsequently did the same for his chariot victory at Delphi in
470 (Bacchylides, Ep. 4; P. 1).39 Yet only two other contemporary Syracusans,

34
Conveniently summarized by David Asheri in CAH v2, ch. 7; see Vallet (1984), discussing also
Pindar’s engagement with Sicilian cities after the fall of their tyrannies. Mann (2001) ch. 7 reviews the wider
phenomenon of Sicilian participation in mainland Greek athletic festivals.
35
Theron: O. 2 and 3 (tethrippon, 476). Xenokrates: P. 6 (chariot, 490) and I. 2 (posthumous,
commemorating an Isthmian chariot victory among other achievements).
36
As reported by a scholiast to Pindar, I. 2: Drachmann iii. 212. The circumstances of the commission
are discussed by Molyneux (1992) 233–6.
37
Throughout, fragment references follow Snell.
38
The achievements of the horse in question, Pherenikos, are also celebrated in P. 3 (a celebration of
Hieron’s qualities and a prayer for his health during a period of illness), which mentions Pythian victories
(probably in 478) as well as that at the 476 Olympics.
39
Two further epinikia celebrate Hieron’s chariot victories: Bacchylides, Ep. 3 (Olympia, 468) and P. 2
(location and date unknown).
 debating patronage: argos and corinth 223
both close associates of Hieron, were honoured by Pindar, and then in very
careful terms. O. 6 celebrates Hagesias’ victory in 472/68—an Olympic victory for
sure, but in the much less prestigious mule race (an event not listed in P. Oxy.
222). The form of praise offered is also notable, not least for the way in which it
builds to a tribute to Hieron. We begin (lines 4–9) with the juxtaposition of
Hagesias’ Olympic victory and his Iamid descent, which not only helps to justify
the attention paid to this particular victory but also, as Pindar stresses, establishes
Hagesias’ good fortune as descendant of a family which (according to a version of
the foundation legend reported by a scholiast to this passage)40 co-founded
Syracuse with Archias of Corinth. It is Hagesias’ Peloponnesian heritage that is
most fully celebrated, both in terms of the legendary history of the Iamidai and of
his Arkadian connections on his mother’s side. Even the ode itself, performed
first in Hagesias’ ancestral home town of Stymphalos rather than in Syracuse, is
depicted as a gift which Pindar hopes will be welcome and pleasing to Hieron
when it reaches Syracuse. Chromios, the other Syracusan praised by Pindar, was
an outstandingly successful general in the service of both Gelon and Hieron. The
two odes dedicated to him (N. 1, celebrating a Nemean chariot victory, and N. 9,
also a chariot victory but at Sikyon in c.474, and possibly also celebrated by
Simonides)41 include direct and lavish praise of his personal qualities (hospitality,
strength, wisdom, and proper use of wealth; N. 1. 19–33; N. 9. 31–47). Yet in both
cases this is balanced by praise of Sicily and of Hieron. Thus while the manuscript
tradition designating Chromios as ‘of Aitna’ may allude to his role as the city’s gov-
ernor (if the scholia are to be believed, and noting that the city features promin-
ently in both odes),42 it is an obvious tribute to Hieron as that city’s founder (an
event celebrated in P. 1). Furthermore, reference to Olympic victories in an ode
whose honorand achieved none (N. 1. 18) calls to mind the conspicuous acheive-
ments of Sicilian rulers, and especially Gelon and Hieron. Finally, the decision to
celebrate victories at a lesser crown event and a local festival at Sikyon surely
represents judicious modesty in comparison with the achievements of Gelon and
Hieron.
The wider implications of Sicilian patronage, and in particular the long
history of Italian engagement with Olympia (a sanctuary which cannot be fully
understood from a purely Greek, let alone eastern mainland, perspective), are
discussed in detail by Carla Antonaccio and in the introductory chapter. Here
I merely observe that some city ruling elites (but curiously not all) commissioned
odes which set athletic victory firmly in the context of civic virtues, usually as

40
Drachmann i. 156.
41
This rests on a speculative identification of P. Oxy. 2430 fr. 84. 1: Podlecki (1979) 12–13 ; see also
Molyneux (1992) 231.
42
Drachmann iii. 6, 149–50.
224 c a t he r i n e m o r ga n
exercised by the ruler.43 This phenomenon is echoed in the material record,
noting for example the presence of Panathenaic amphorae in Sicilian and south
Italian elite graves (notably at Syracuse and Taras) and dedicated at the Athenaion
at Syracuse.44 In turn, it belongs within the well-documented exploitation of the
old Greek world as a source of cultural referents in the west, strikingly, but hardly
exclusively, in times of tyranny. This is made most explicit by Bacchylides, who in
Ep. 3, for example, praises Hieron’s lavish dedication of golden tripods at Delphi,
a gesture juxtaposed (at 60–6) with the pious generosity of Kroisos.45
In the case of Cyrene, as noted in the introductory chapter, Barbara
Mitchell46 has argued persuasively that Arkesilas IV drew upon the precedent
of Telesikrates’ victory in the Pythian race in armour in 474 (P. 9, the culmination
of a series outside the crown circuit) in competing in (and winning) the presti-
gious four-horse chariot races at Delphi (in 462) and Olympia (in 460), and in
commissioning Pindar47 to celebrate the former (P. 4 and 5). This enabled him at
a stroke to outdo his aristocratic rivals at home, to recruit Greek soldiers for his
prospective colony of Euesperides, and, by playing on Greekness, to distance
himself from previous alliances with Persia at a time when those neighbouring
states upon whose support he relied were in open revolt against Persian rule. But
if Arkesilas’ patronage was a relatively straightforward matter of political strategy,
the picture in Thessaly is more complicated, as Maria Stamatopoulou emphasizes
in this volume. Thessalian engagement at Delphi, widespread interest in
horse-breeding, and a well-developed luxury economy would seem fertile ground
for the patronage of epinikian poets. Yet only five odes have survived—one
fragment for the ‘sons of Aeatius’48 which is probably by Simonides, and two
each by Bacchylides and Pindar. Clearly, though, the record is incomplete, given
Theocritus’ statement (16. 34–47) that the wealth and fame of the Thessalian
ruling houses (the Echekratidai, Aleuadai, and Skopadai), and their equestrian
victories, survived thanks to the praise of Simonides. The explicit mention of

43
See for example P. 1. 41–55 on Hieron’s military prowess, or P. 3 on the qualities of a ruler, again
addressed to Hieron.
44
M. Bentz (1998) 97–9, 103, 115, 225–6; Caruso (1990); Neils (2001); see also p. 5 here above.
45
Luraghi (1994) 354–68. The maritime perspective on Delphi implied in Bacchylides’ reference to
‘sea-girt Kirrha’ (Ep. 4. 9), and the west–east direction of travel in Ep. 5 are rightly emphasized by Freitag
(2000) 35 n. 177, 40 n. 206, 120 n. 635. A related example of the use of epinikian to establish or reinforce key
aspects of state-political identity is Ep. [11] 10 for Alexidamos of Metapontum, where Bacchylides provides
a rather recherché Peloponnesian Achaian pedigree, via Lousoi, for the cult of Artemis Hemera in
Metapontum: recent discussions include Osanna (2002) 277–8; Giangiulio (2002) 290–306; Cairns (2005).
46
Mitchell (2000) 94–5. For the long history of participation in the Great Panathenaia (in both athletic
and equestrian events) indicated by the Panathenaic amphorae found mostly in local graves, see Maffre
(2001); Elrashedy (2002) 98–109.
47
Or, in the case of P. 4, accepting an ode in his honour, if the terms in which Damophilos is
mentioned at 277–99 imply that he commissioned the poem: Race (1997) 258.
48
P. Oxy. 2431, fr. 1a, b (¼ Simon. fr. 6, PMG 511).
 debating patronage: argos and corinth 225
equestrian victories surely implies epinikia, but we cannot know how many and
for whom.49 So the picture is by no means as bleak as sometimes suggested, but
much remains conjectural. Of the better preserved extant odes, Bacchylides, Ep.
14B [16] commemorates the double Pythian chariot victory won by Aristoteles of
Larisa. P. 10, commissioned by the Aleuad Thorax of Larisa for Hippokleas
of Pelinna (boy victor in the diaulos of 498) presents, most unusually, a
straightforward opportunity to praise the good, aristocratic government of the
patron and his brothers. Praise of the boy’s athlete father further reflects on
Thorax’ good judgement. But while in P. 4, Pindar shows himself familiar with
aspects of Thessalian mythology (in this case the story of the Argonauts), in
marked contrast to his treatment of Euboia, Boiotia, Attica, and the central
Peloponnese (see below), he makes no mention of local Thessalian festivals.
For this we must turn again to Bacchylides, Ep. [14] 13, dedicated to
Kleoptomelos of Thessaly, victor in the chariot race at the Petraia (a festival the
location of which is attested to only by a scholiast to Apollonios Rhodios 3. 1244,
see p. 333 below). Furthermore, a bronze hydria (Athens NM 13792) of the first
quarter of the fifth century (Fig. 71), of unknown provenance, bears a
prize inscription which attests to games in honour of Protesilas, by the town or
area of Phthia (the piece is fully discussed by Stamatopoulou, pp. 333–4 below).50
Even accepting the caveats entered above, the limited evidence for Thessalian
commissions of epinikian poetry and for local athletic festivals in the sixth and
fifth centuries seems to imply contrasts with almost every other region touched
upon by Pindar.

Group Two
The second group of odes (O. 8, 9, 14; P. 7, 8, 11; N. 2–8; I. 1, 3–9) is defined by a
higher proportion of athletic and contact sports than the equestrian events
favoured in group one,51 and by the presentation of victory in the context both
of a personal career and of a family tradition of success in crown and local events
over a wide area of the Peloponnese, central Greece, and Attica. Aeginetan
commissions alone account for just over half of this group, with twelve odes
for some ten individuals from a number of leading families—an exceptional
number from a single area, as Simon Hornblower emphasizes in this volume.
As Diagram 4 shows, all four crown games are represented in Aeginetan
commissions, but Nemean victories account for just under half overall, whereas

49
Molyneux (1992) 117–38 discusses this passage in the context of a wider examination of the Thessalian
ruling houses’ patronage of Simonides (although his characterization of the region as backward requires
revision in the light of the archaeological evidence, as presented here by Maria Stamatopoulou).
50
Amandry (1971) 617–18.
51
The ratio is 15 : 3 plus one unknown (with the latter three chariot victories achieved by an Athenian,
P. 7, and two Thebans, I. 1, 3–4), as opposed to 4 : 14.
226 catherine morgan
Olympia Olympia
9% 11%
Isthmia Delphi Delphi
27% 9% 5%
Isthmia
37%

Nemea Nemea
53% 47%

(a) Aegina: Victories by ode (sample = 12) (b) Aegina: Victories by ode (sample = 38)

Diagram 4

consideration of all victories mentioned increases the proportion of Isthmian.

The two senior festivals, Olympia in particular, are certainly represented, but
there is a much stronger emphasis on the two junior but geographically closer
games. In addition to details of the victor’s career and family, the Aeginetan odes
are distinguished by the attention paid to the trainers of boy athletes, primarily in
contact sports (wrestling, boxing, and the pankration). Indeed, of the eight odes
in the Pindaric corpus which mention trainers, seven belong in group two and six
celebrate Aeginetans. O. 10, for Hagesidamos of Epizephyrian Lokroi, is the sole
example outside group two; he is also the only boy athlete in group one and the
only boxer. And when it comes to the age of the contestants, the adult exceptions
prove the rule. The pankratiast Melissos of Thebes (I. 4) won by skill and, as
Pindar remarks, despite his small stature, but the foundation of his career was laid
as a boy when he listened to his trainer’s wise advice (71–2). Likewise, Phylakidas
of Aegina was celebrated both as a boy (I. 8) and an adult (I. 5), in both cases
trained by a family member (initially his father and then his brother). Here praise
of the trainer fits within the established context of family tradition.
Clearly, emphasis on athletic education was not confined to Aegina, but it was
exceptionally strong here, and it is also worth noting that within an otherwise
fairly homogeneous (and geographically close) group of odes, other cities
emphasized natural talent in a way that Aegina did not. The Aeginetan corpus
contains nothing to match the praise of natural talents over taught skills at O. 9.
100–7 for the wrestler Epharmostos of Opous. The statement at N. 3. 40–2
(for the adult pankratiast Aristokleidas), that mere learning is not enough,
tends in this direction but is much milder. In comparison with Pindar, Bacchy-
lides’ treatment of Aegina may be more laconic, but in Ep. [13] 12 he praised the
 debating patronage: argos and c orinth 227
trainer Menander of Athens who got ‘countless’ crown game victories for his
pupils (1. 196 ff.),52 and cited the pankration (the event most celebrated in this
group) as a major achievement of Aegina. Robert Parker has argued persuasively
that Pindar’s approach reflects the twin importance in Aeginetan political society
of the oikos and the patra.53 It is, however, worth noting similarities in the
treatment of ancestors in both Theban and Athenian commissions. The victori-
ous ancestors of three of the four Theban honorands are mentioned (P. 11, I. 3
and 4, I. 7). In the fourth case (I. 1), the father of Herodotus of Thebes is
mentioned only briefly to note his past misfortune, although Pindar’s emphasis
on the city of Thebes and the great achievement of Herodotus, who drove his
own chariot, is explicable since as the poet himself stresses, he is singling out just
one of six victors in a single Isthmian festival to come from his home city. In
Athens, both Megakles of Athens (P. 7) and Timodemos of Acharnai (N. 2) have
victorious ancestors. In short, while the group is perhaps the most homogeneous
in terms of its geographical focus and the themes to which praise is directed, the
Aeginetan odes show an especially intense focus on kinship networks, training,
and family heritage, a subject explored in greater detail by Simon Hornblower.54

Group Three
The final group, on which the remainder of this chapter will focus, consists of
four rather disparate odes (O. 7, 13; N. 10, 11) which celebrate the distinctive
achievements of outstanding individuals. Perhaps the most striking and often
cited example is also unique. O. 7 honours the boxer Diagoras of Rhodes at an
advanced stage in his career (he had already won an exceptional number of
victories in both crown games and other contests). The ode celebrates Rhodian
history, praises the city’s good government, and mentions Diagoras’ father
Damagetos (but as a just man, not an athlete; 11–19); and a fragmentary Isthmian
ode to the boxer Kasmylos (perhaps also celebrated by Simonides)55 attests to a
second Rhodian commission. But the real focus of O. 7 is on the stellar career of
one individual, with no mention of any family or regional athletic tradition. In
marked contrast, his victor statue at Olympia56 formed part of a family group.57
His antithesis is surely Aristagoras of Tenedos, who took the opportunity of his
installation on his city’s governing council to commission N. 11, which includes
(22–9) the Larkinesque complaint that, despite his and his family’s sixteen
victories at local games in wrestling and the pankration, his parents held him
back from wider competition at Delphi and Olympia.

52 53
Celebrated also at N. 5. 46–9. Parker (1996) 62–3 n. 26.
54 55
See also Mann (2001) ch. 6. Maehler (1989) frs. 2, 3, AP 16. 23: attributed to Simonides.
56
Herrmann (1988) cat. 65; IvO 151.
57
Pausanias 6. 7. 1; Herrmann (1988) cats. 62–6; Frazer (1965) 25–8.
228 c a th e ri n e m o rg a n
The two remaining odes in this group form a distinctive and closely related
pair. O. 13, for Xenophon of Corinth, double victor in the stadion and pentathlon
in 464, and N. 10, for Theaios of Argos, a victorious wrestler at the Argive Heraia
or Hekatomboia,58 are both rare commissions from cities which were near
neighbours and deeply implicated in the organization and practice of athletics.
O. 13 echoes the emphasis on family which characterizes the odes of group two:
the very first word of the poem, æØ
ºı Ø
ή, is an eloquent testimony to
father and son, and the number of victories won by the Oligaithidai is initially
likened to the pebbles of the sea (line 48). The tradition is further strengthened
by the fact that a fragmentary ode (SLG 399, 340), probably by Simonides, refers
to the same family members mentioned at O. 13. 35–45, namely Xenophon’s uncle
Namertidas and Namertidas’ brother Erotimos (and perhaps also his son of the
same name). Pindar also mentions a further relation, Ptoiodoros, who was
perhaps the grandfather.59 However, O. 13 differs in the sense that the occasion
of a highly significant, double victory is exploited not merely to celebrate the
victor and his family, but to praise the orderliness and inventiveness of his city
(1–23), where, for example, the dithyramb, bridle and bit, and ‘aetomata’—
pediments or acroteria—were invented. The family’s commission may well
have been a status-enhancing move which finds echoes in other forms of display
in the city at this time, as will be discussed. But it is hard to avoid the conclusion
that the poem also reflects communal Corinthian interests—logically so, since if
the Oligaithidai were powerful in Corinth, then their status can only have been
enhanced by identifying their interests with those of the polis. In this respect,
there is a contrast to be drawn with Aegina where, as Simon Hornblower
demonstrates, despite clear evidence for the political activities of at least some
of the individuals mentioned by Pindar, the polis per se plays a relatively minor
role. In short, as with N. 10, both the content of O. 13 and the fact of its
commission imply a political burden missing in the odes of group two. Further-
more, as Diagram 5 shows, both odes refer primarily to victories in the more local
crown games, at Nemea and Isthmia, with a significant percentage of Olympic
victories celebrated in N. 10 also.
N. 10, which is harder to date (see below), contains many of the same honorific
elements.60 Yet as will be argued, the overall thrust is directed slightly differently,
towards the specific circumstances of Argive politics. The ode reverses the usual

58
During the 5th cent., the festival at the Heraion was described simply in terms of the deity. Of the two
later terms for it, Heraia and Hekatomboia, the latter is plainly the earlier, attested on two early 4th-cent.
inscriptions from Delphi which list 5th-cent. victors, but replaced by Heraia before the end of the 3rd cent.:
Amandry (1980) 220, 226–9, 244–8; Amandry (1983), emphasizing the earlier work of Paul Wolters (1901)
on the subject.
59
Barrett (1978), hypothesizing (7) the existence of at least one further lost ode, perhaps for Thessalos,
as a source for the Alexandrian genealogical tradition evident in the scholia.
60
The most recent commentaries are provided by Palaiogeorgou (2000) 126–62; Henry (2005) 91–118.
 d e b a t i n g p a tr o n a g e : a r g o s an d c o r i n t h 229
Olympia Isthmia
4% Delphi 19%
11% Olympia
31%

Isthmia
42%

Delphi
6%
Nemea
Nemea
43%
44%

(a) Corinth: Victories by Festival (sample = 71+?) (b) Argos: Victories by Festival (sample = 16)

Diagram 5

tripartite structure (praise-myth-praise) by opening with a celebration of the

mythology of the city of Argos and her heroes from the Danaids onwards,
moving to list Theaios’ other crown and local victories followed by those of his
maternal relatives (and dwelling on the rich, especially metal, prizes won), and
finally recounting the myth of the Dioskouroi. The Homeric feel of the language
and structure of certain passages (especially the myth of the Dioskouroi at 55–90)
is notable.61 But the paratactic structure adopted throughout also recalls parallels
in early fifth-century visual arts for the placing of contemporary, usually divinely
favoured, episodes within a temporal sequence running back into the heroic past,
thus creating a specific framework of mutual legitimacy for the past and present
events. The panels of the Painted Stoa in Athens offer a good example of such a
construction.62 Pindar attributes (49–54) Theaios’ family’s success to the divine
protection of the Tyndaridai, to whom their ancestors had shown theoxenia.
The crux of the ode (29–36), Theaios’ prayer for the Olympic victory needed
to become a periodonikēs, is set within the context of the heroic achievements of
the Argives, and of the piety of his family which had already resulted in divine
favour and thus material rewards. The choice of a victory at the Hekatomboia
for such a powerful prayer is, I suggest, fundamental to interpreting this
commission.
Even taking into account the additional evidence from Corinth cited above
(noting that it pertains to the same family), the rarity of epinikian commissions

61
Palaiogeorgou (2000) 148–9; Henry (2005) 91–2, 110–18.
62
Castriota (1992) 3–13 et passim, see 130–3 on the Painted Stoa.
230 catherine morgan
seems striking for two cities so deeply embroiled in the practice of, and provision
for, athletics. Corinth was not only patron of the Isthmian games, but also held
its own local festival, the Hellotia, linked by Pindaric scholiasts to the cult of
Athena Hellotis (of which O. 13. 40 offers the earliest attestation, see below).63
This may not be the only local event: a plaque from Penteskouphia carries an
inscription which is likely a victor’s dedication, and may more controversially
place the victory at a village Peraion in the area Peraia, implying a local contest of
which we have no other record.64 Testaments to Corinthian victories abroad
include Panathenaic amphorae (two dedicated at Isthmia in the period
c.500–480, and four prior to 480 displaced into various contexts in the area of
the Roman forum of Corinth).65 Argos too was patron of a major local festival in
the Hekatomboia, and was certainly casting envious eyes upon Nemea at this
time, although perhaps not yet in control of it. Setting aside statuary, which will
be discussed presently, commemorations of Argive victories abroad include the
small bronze dedicated in celebration of Dandis’ Olympic victory in 476.66
If the record of epinikian commissions seems slight, there is no clear evidence
that these two cities positively favoured other archaeologically visible forms of
commemoration. Both R. R. R. Smith and Rosalind Thomas (in this volume)
emphasize connections between epinikian and statue dedications. Both were
explicitly called agalmata and featured descriptions or claims related to a victory
(or a career of victories by the time of the commission) designed to be
spoken. The comparison is emphatically drawn in the opening words of N. 5
(
fŒ IæØÆ

Ø N ’). As R. R. R. Smith notes, the mutual self-awareness
here expressed between poet and statue maker has a general import when
considering the development of athlete statues.67 Yet since Pindar commonly
directs observations of this kind, the Aeginetan context cannot be ignored. It is
surely no coincidence that Aeginetans and Argives were prominent among the
sculptors credited with fifth-century victor monuments at Olympia (see the
Appendix to Chapter 4 above). And while Pindar’s comments are directed against
his immediate ‘rivals’, the makers of free-standing human images, it is worth
noting the substantial investment recently made in four pediments for the temple

63
Drachmann i. 367–9; Broneer (1942) 140–3; Herbert (1986) 32–3; Williams (1978) 41–3, 155–6.
64
Berlin Antikensammlung F838: Wachter (2001) COP 85.
65
M. Bentz (1998) 224. For later Panathenaic amphorae at the sanctuary of Demeter and Kore, see n. 133
below.
66
Moretti (1953) 22–3, noting the tradition that this athlete was praised by Simonides; Hampe and
Jantzen (1936–7) 77–82; Mitsos (1952) 65, s.v. ˜`˝˜˙ ; Ebert (1972) 66–9, cat. 15.
67
In discussing this passage, I deliberately avoid implications of systematic hostile rivalry between
practitioners of the two crafts, noting, with Steiner (2001) 251–65, the extent to which this view relies on an
explanatory anecdote recounted by a scholiast on N. 5 (Drachmann iii. 89, 1a), and fails to take account of
complexity of the interaction between, and mutual dependency of, the two media of which Pindar shows
himself well aware. This is not to imply that rivalry did not exist, merely that N. 5 does not provide the
direct evidence for it that is sometimes inferred.
 d e b a t i n g p a t r o n a g e : a r g o s a n d c o r i n th 231
of Aphaia, with the latter two recalling stylistic debts to the renowned Aeginetan
metalworking industry. It is hard to think of a better setting for a conceit upon
the complex relationship between statuary and epinikian poetry than Aegina,
which was an avid consumer of both.68
The general parallel is attractive, and as Deborah Steiner rightly emphasizes,
the impact of epinikian poetry cannot be fully understood without the contribu-
tion of statuary, and the imagery so conveyed, to the physical context of
performance.69 If epinikian odes are about more than just the victories which
created the occasions for them, so the full range of statue images must form part
of this context.
Indeed, when one tries to focus specifically on victor statues during the period
of Pindar’s career, there are obvious problems in tracing the relationship in detail
in each region. With very few exceptions (ironically, including a substantial
number of Lakonian figurines),70 explicitly athletic imagery on free-standing
statues or reliefs is relatively rare (especially outside Attica) until well after the
Persian Wars.71 More often than not, inscriptions seem to have been the main
means of attaching specific meaning to types such as kouroi, chariot groups, or
(in Athens and Delos) riders.72 Corinth is notoriously short of Archaic or
Classical inscriptions other than on vases, and even though the pre-Roman
Agora has yet to be securely located, this seems unlikely to be a matter of chance
or excavation.73 Only one (late fifth-century) statue base has been identified in
the sixth- and fifth-century record, but with only the maker’s details preserved.74
So while a number of late Archaic–early Classical male statues, as well as animals
and sphinxes, from both Corinth and Isthmia seem by their context to be

68
The exact nature of these debts, and the scope of a late Archaic Aeginetan ‘school’, remain contro-
versial subjects beyond the scope of this paper: see Walter-Karydi (1987) for a maximal view. On the temple
and its role, see Sinn (1987). On commemoration of victory on Aegina, see now Walter-Karydi (2004).
69
Steiner (2001) especially, with reference to Pindar 251–65.
70
Hodkinson (1999) 153–6.
71
There are of course exceptions, perhaps the clearest (and also quite late) being the late Archaic statue
by Kritias and Nesiotes on the Athenian acropolis, showing the victorious Epinarchos practising the
hoplitodromos: Pausanias 1. 23. 9; Raubitschek (1949) cat. 120; Keesling (2003) 29 (see also 88).
In general, however, Keesling (2003) 170–1. On relief bases, see Kosmopoulou (2002) 37–41 on Archaic
evidence (noting, 48–50, the contrast with funerary monuments where athletic imagery is incorporated
into a broader set of statements about the persona of the deceased). As Kosmopoulou notes (65–9), the
picture changes during the Classical period, when a high percentage of votive relief bases have scenes
related to contests, but this process begins only in the late 5th cent.
72
Keesling (2003) ch. 2, 66–7, 87–90, 99–102; Eaverly (1995) 47–67; Raubitschek (1949) cats. 21, 111, 171,
174 (the form of cat. 76 is unknown, and of cat. 164, it is possible now only to say that the pose shows
motion). Kosmopoulou (2002) 75–7, 80–3, also emphasizes the role of the inscription on Archaic statue
bases, and contrasts the later Classical habit of reduplication, i.e. a tighter link between image and inscribed
text. Rausa (1994: ch. 2) sets Archaic victor images within the broader context of honorific statuary—the
shift towards more specific treatment is documented by R. R. R. Smith (this volume).
73
Dow (1942) esp. 113–18; Jeffery (1990) 114–32, 440–1. Agora: Williams (1970) 35; and (1978) 18–19,
38–40.
74
Statue base: Kent (1966) cat. 15.
232 catherine morgan
dedications rather than grave markers,75 it is rarely possible to tell why they were
erected and what they might represent. An interesting (but non-athletic) excep-
tion, to which we will return, is a series of some forty terracotta statues dedicated at
the sanctuary of Demeter and Kore on Acrocorinth from the third quarter of the
sixth to the fourth century, almost all of which depict draped youths (probably
votaries) bearing offerings.76 But as yet only one depiction of an athlete has been
found in the region, on the first of a series of six (fifth-century to Roman) reliefs
dedicated at Isthmia. This fragmentary head of a bearded adult male wearing a
victor’s fillet dates c.470, close to O. 13 and to the dedication at Isthmia of a
Panathenaic amphora of the Kleophrades Painter or his circle.77 Direct evidence
for bronze life-size or near life-size statuary is very rare and apparently largely
confined to Isthmia; extant fragments date from the late sixth century at the
earliest, and similar problems of identification pertain. It should, however, be
noted that the evidence of uninscribed statue bases from Corinth, when fully
studied, may cause this rather bleak general picture to be revised.78
Pausanias (2. 1. 7) describes the Isthmian sanctuary as adorned ‘on one side’
with statues of victorious athletes, a picture similar to that of the other crown
game sites. Yet there is nothing to suggest that this was a creation of our
period.79 The bases preserved on the north side of the temenos and by the
stadium at Isthmia,80 and by the racetrack at Corinth,81 date by context and
75
Corinthia: Weinberg (1957) esp. 304–6 and nb cat. 7; Bookidis (1995) 241–8. Ridgway (1981) 425–6;
Wiseman (1967) 421–2. The large collection of terracotta statues from the sanctuary of Demeter and Kore,
noted by Bookidis and Fisher (1972) 317, are in process of publication. Isthmia: Sturgeon (1987) 68–73, cats.
3–13 were all but three casualties of the temple fire of 470–450, noting also two terracottas, 74–5 cats. 15–16.
It is worth emphasizing that funerary sculpture is very rare: an unusual case, identified by its findspot in an
area of known tombs, is a severe style kouros of c.480: Krystalli-Votsi (1976); Bookidis (1995) 240–1, 247.
76
Bookidis (1995) 245–6; see n. 128 below.
77
Sturgeon (1987) 126–7, cat. 49 pl. 57h (for the full series, see 126–30, cats. 49–54, noting that whether
or not these include victor dedications as Sturgeon suggests, 49 is the only representation of an athlete; cat.
55, included by Sturgeon as the seventh piece in the series may, as she suggests, be a fragment from a
Byzantine templon screen or capital). Panathenaic amphora: M. Bentz (1998) 140 cat. 5.020; Broneer (1958)
30–1, no. 35, pl. 15a.
78
I am grateful to Nancy Bookidis (pers. comm.) for drawing to my attention the many ‘Classical’ (but
undatable) uninscribed bases at Corinth, and for pointing out that the many fragments of dark blue stone
reported by the excavators of post-146 debris over the Sacred Spring and the Captives’ Façade/North
Basilica must come from statue bases. Mattusch (2003) fig. 13.6 illustrates an inscribed example (with the
name of Lysippos) in this blue limestone from the area of the later, Hellenistic, racetrack. In the absence of
detailed study, it is as yet impossible to assess the impact of these bases on our understanding of Corinthian
dedicatory sculpture and, following Bookidis (pers. comm.), I merely emphasize that they will surely have
an impact. Extant bronze statuary: Mattusch (2003) 223–4. Isthmia: Raubitschek (1998) 1, cats. 19 (1st half
5th cent.), 20 (5th), 22 (late 6th), 23 (late 6th), 25–6 (Classical), 37? (early Classical, staff or sceptre probably
held by lost figure), 43? (late Archaic–early Classical, spear butt probably held by lost figure), p. 163 app.
A1 for body sections, p. 164 A2 for probable patches. There is, however, an Archaic bronze figurine of
an athlete: Gebhard (1998) 100. Non-figurative, explicitly athletic dedications at Isthmia include the
often-cited inscribed halteres: Broneer (1958) 36, pl. 17e, f.
79
Sturgeon (1987) 5–9.
80
Sturgeon (1987) 9; Broneer (1973) 24–6; Gebhard and Hemans (1998) 51–7.
81
See n. 151 below.
 debating patronage: argos and corinth 233
technique only from the late Classical period onwards. And while it is in most
cases unclear exactly where the small body of earlier statuary at Isthmia was
positioned, there is nothing to indicate what it commemorated or that any parti-
cular areas were favoured. The wider picture therefore seems to reflect patterns of
elite patronage at Isthmia and the development of local athletics as part of
the Corinthian civic tradition in the city centre, as will be further discussed.
Equally, the record of Corinthian patronage abroad is slight. At Olympia,
Pausanias (6. 13. 9–10) reports the dedication of a statue of his victorious horse
by Pheidolas (victor in 512?), recording also the victories of his sons (in 508). No
base has been discovered, and as Smith concludes (p. 123) this is best counted
among a group of statues erected sometime later than the victories they cele-
brated. The sculptor is unknown and cannot therefore provide any chronological
help, but looking at the parameters of the group as a whole, there is a strong
possibility that it dates around the first half of the fifth century.82 In short, if
Corinthians did put up victor statues in our period, with the exception of the
Isthmia relief they advertised them in a way which was both archaeologically
irretrievable and different from their neighbours, and preservation problems
arising from the local tradition of terracotta sculpture cannot provide a complete
explanation.83
Surprisingly, perhaps, the archaeological record at Argos is not much clearer or
more substantial. At the end of the sixth century, Timokles dedicated an inscribed
Doric column at the Argive Heraion recording victories at Nemea, Tegea,
Kleitor, and Pellana.84 In the city itself, the first victor dedication is an altar/
base of c.500–480 dedicated to the Anakes by Aischylos son of Thiops in thanks
for four stade victories, plus three in the hoplitodromos, at games of which we
know nothing other than that they were Æ Ø
Ø.85 Given the rarity of his
name, it is tempting to suggest that this might be the same Aischylos mentioned
in a kalos inscription on the foot of an early fifth-century cup from Nemea,
although the excavator is suitably cautious.86 At Nemea, excluding early and
clearly Kleonian evidence,87 none of the extant sculptural monuments can be
securely identified, although all are later than our period, a fact which likely

82
Herrmann (1988) cats. 126, 127.
83
Bookidis (1995) 236, emphasizes that limestone and terracotta are attested in Corinth from the
beginning, with marble added from the mid-6th cent. (and see also Pfaff (2003a) 103–4 on the materials
used for architectural decoration, noting, 118, 120, the use of marble for the roofs of the prestigious late 6th
cent. Great Temple and the Temple of Hera Akraia at Perachora). Terracotta was, however, used for public
projects; see e.g. Bookidis (2000), and note also the Amazonomachy pediment Weinberg (1957) 306–7.
84
Moretti (1953) no. 7.
85
Moretti (1953) no. 10; Jeffery (1990) 162–9, cat. 17. Of the seven attestations of the name reported by
Mitsos (1952) 21–2, only two are 5th cent. (this athlete and a victim of the battle of Tanagra) and the
remaining five are all 3rd cent. or later.
86
Miller (1979) 74, pl. 19c.
87
See n. 205.
234 catherine morgan
reflects limited excavation near the Early Stadium, between the Heroon of
Opheltes and the Temple of Zeus.88 Most evidence (bases and a large deposit
of bronze statue fragments) relates not to the sanctuary of our period, but to the
early Hellenistic stadium some distance from the temenos, which was con-
structed as part of a wider building programme in c.330–300, after the games
returned from Argos.89 Delphi adds less of our period than might have been
expected, and while there is of course much more literary evidence for ‘Argive’
dedications, it is complicated by the problem of disentangling the epic from the
city ethnic. On the other hand, as the Appendix to Chapter 4 shows, Argive
sculptors (unlike Corinthian) were particularly active from the first half of the
fifth century in creating monuments to past and present victors from other poleis.
Here, however, it is worth pausing to emphasize that observations on the role
and development of free-standing statuary based on physical remains rather than,
for example, the testament of Pausanias, almost inevitably rely on Athenian
(and to a lesser extent Sicilian) evidence. The extraordinary coincidence of at
least three episodes of clean-up or destruction and reburial of dedications from
the Acropolis and Agora, covering exactly the early years of the democracy,
enables us to document in unparalleled detail shifts in thinking about certain
genres and the depiction of personal roles and statuses.90 Athenian evidence
would seem to suggest that athlete depictions form part of a broader trend
towards increasingly precise role definition from the last decades of the sixth
century onwards, distinguishing aspects which, as noted, had previously been
covered by broader genres.91 Hence, for example, groups commemorating
public activities (perhaps the dokimasia in the case of equestrian sculpture and
perhaps even involving the so-called Secretary Group)92 and political events
(notoriously the Tyrannicides). But in cases where we have evidence of context,
it is clear that it can contribute significantly to the reading of such images. For
example, Aileen Adjootian has highlighted the way in which the likely position of
the Tyrannicides, by the dromos in the Agora, juxtaposed community politics,
athletic, and heroic values.93 Yet how far we can generalize from Athenian
evidence when for very good reason the record as preserved is unique?

88
Birge (1992) 31–4, 48–61. Early Stadium: Miller (2001) 241–2; and (2002) 245, 247–8.
89
Miller (2001) 59–60, 93–6 (stadium chronology 90–3).
90
Keesling (2003) esp. ch. 7. That deliberate burial of statuary was a widespread practice is shown by
Donderer (1991–2): what differs in the case of Athens is the scale and timing.
91
And as Steiner (2001) 222–34 notes, able to draw on a well-established and complex approach to the
depiction of athletes in vase-painting. For Athens, see Keesling (2003) ch. 7 (esp. 170–5).
92
Compare the very different conclusions drawn by Trianti (1994) and Keesling (2003) 182–5, who
restates the older identification of the largest ‘scribe’ statue (Acropolis 629) as the portrait of a tamias and
dedicated by Alkimachos son of Chairion.
93
Ajootian (1998); along the same lines, see Keesling (2003) 171–4.
 d e b a t i n g p a t r o n a g e : a r g o s a n d c o r i n th 235
As R. R. R. Smith shows, it is clear that some changes can be traced across
Greece, and western innovation should not be underrated. But the evidence is
uneven, and while it is clear that early fifth-century attitudes to statue dedication
were in some regions very complex, it is unclear that this was always the case. And
this in turn raises the question of the extent to which an emerging ‘international’
consensus about statue dedications at inter-state sanctuaries carried through to
commemorations at home. Not least for these reasons (and noting also changing
fashions in fifth-century lyric commented upon by Chris Carey and Nick Lowe in
this volume), I cannot accept Mark Golden’s explanation for the demise of
epinikian in terms of a shift from song to statue, the closure of one channel and
opening of another.94 As Golden himself notes, important issues surround the
contexts of statue display and epinikian performance,95 and a related, if probably
unanswerable question, is whether (or how) perceptions of athletic imagery
differed from those of other genres at the time they were created. In the case of
the athlete heroes noted earlier, it is true that the power of the statue itself could
form part of the heroic tradition, but arguably, this owes more to notions of
embodiment in divine or semi-divine statuary than to athletics per se.96 On a
more mundane level, however, did the use of athlete statues as a regular form of
commemoration add a new and in some way heroic aspect to the victory
celebration, and how did this compare in terms of audience expectations with the
experience of attending an epinikian performance, especially when it featured the
work of one of the three great poets? To what extent did either mode of expression
move outside, or enhance, the expectations of its audience (the comparative degree
of heightening and/or elevation, to use Michael Silk’s important distinction), and
did the relationship between them add to the already established interplay of the
previous century? As has been emphasized, the commissioning of an epinikian ode
from one of these poets was in most poleis a rare event. On what level can this
be compared with the statuary represented by, for example, the large quantity
of bronze eyelashes found at Olympia? In short, the existence of an issue of
comparability is plain, but what exactly this meant in any region is far from clear.

corinth
Let us return to Corinth and Argos, and consider other factors which affected
not only the buying power of elites, but also the rationale for commissioning

94
Golden (1998) 84–6.
95
Golden (1998) 85, although attempts to introduce sumptuary legislation into the argument rely on
belief in the historicity of Cicero, De Leg 2. 57.
96
Steiner (2001) 8–9. In the case of Athens, Keesling (2003) 177–80 argues that the two are uniquely
connected.
23 6 c a the rine mo rgan
epinikian poetry and what this may reveal about the role of contests in a period of
growing tension between the two cities. In Corinth, it is clear that victory in a
crown event was highly valued, although such hints as survive record commem-
oration at the expense of the victor rather than the city. In an enkomion or
skolion for the same Xenophon of Corinth, Pindar (fr. 122) refers to ‘a hundred
bodied herd of girls’ brought ‘to graze in gladness at the fulfilment of his prayers’, a
gift which ‘Athenaeus’ (Deip. 573e–574b: see p. 167 n. 3 above) explains as a thank-
offering of prostitutes to Aphrodite in fulfilment of Xenophon’s vow to her before
setting out for Olympia. The dedication of what might be described (somewhat
politically incorrectly) as archaeologically invisible luxury consumables finds echoes
in long-standing Corinthian practice. The description ‘wealthy’ or ‘prosperous’,
used by Pindar (O. 13. 4) among many others, has seemed something of an
archaeological puzzle. On one hand, the coastal plain of Corinth is very fertile,
and the territory as a whole is well watered with easy access to (and a rare ability to
integrate) land and maritime trade (a point emphasized in the fifth century by
Thucydides 1. 13. 5).97 Yet, on the other, from the mid-eighth century to the late
sixth, Corinth has produced no significant record of conspicuous consumption of
durable resources, especially metals, in domestic or burial contexts.98 With the brief
exception of the so-called Kypselid dedications (Pausanias 5. 17. 5–5. 19. 10; Herod-
otus 1. 14; Plutarch, Mor. 164a, 399e),99 evidence from sanctuaries, while cons-
picuously richer during the second half of the eighth and seventh centuries, is also
far from exceptional by wider Greek standards.100 The standard form of adult tomb
from the mid-eighth century to the mid-fifth, the monumental stone sarcophagus,
represents the persistence of an egalitarian (though far from frugal) approach
through major changes in political circumstances. From the early fifth century
onwards, more expensive grave goods are found, but these are mostly strigils or,
in female graves, jewellery and bronze mirrors, and cannot be said to represent a
major shift towards the material expression of social status.101

97
Stroud (1994) 271–6 (the point holds good irrespective of whether one accepts Stroud’s argument
that Thucydides’ account rested on close personal experience of the region); Bynum (1995) 1–13; Munn
(1984) 1–11, 313–16, 323–57; Wiseman (1978) passim remains the only archaeological-topographical overview
of the region.
98
Dickey (1992) 100–11; Pfaff (1999) 114. A Geometric cemetery recently discovered in the course of
rescue excavation has produced a comparatively large number of metal items by Corinthian standards,
although a preliminary impression suggests that many come from graves earlier than Late Geometric:
Aslamatzidou (2004) 63–4; Aslamatzidou and Kasimi (2004). A collection of late eighth- or early seventh-
century gold bands acquired by the Berlin Antiquarium in 1882 was reported by Fürtwangler ( (1884) esp.
100, pl. 8) to come from a grave near Corinth. But the provenance is questionable: the 1882 inventory entry
for this collection (Misc. 7751) does not refer to a burial, but to ‘Goldschmuck aus Korinth, von Lambros,
gekauft mit Vasen V.I. 2769–79 und TC 7714–26’ (I thank Dr Gertrud Platz for this information).
99
Carter (1989) with extensive previous bibliography. Chest of Kypselos: Snodgrass (2001) on
Pausanias’ account; Splitter (2000) on the history of scholarship, and reconstructions.
100
Pemberton (1996).
101
Pemberton (1999) 139–42.
 d e b a t i n g pa t r o n a g e : a r g o s a n d c o r i n t h 237
As Betsy Pemberton has suggested, patterns of public consumption in a society
best described as an oligarchy of the wealthy are likely to have been more stable
and less characterized by expensive, assertive display than those in poleis with
more complex, and less stable, social ranking.102 Yet this should not be taken to
imply total restraint in public. Lavish consumption of meat, wine, and other
foodstuffs had been a feature of Corinthian festivals since the establishment of the
Isthmian sanctuary in the eleventh century.103 By the sixth century, Corinth was
supporting one of largest sacral economies of any comparably sized polis.104 This
continued to grow through the fifth, with the establishment of new shrines
especially in the south-western Corinthia,105 and expansion at, for example, the
sanctuary of Demeter and Kore (discussed below). One further point should be
emphasized. It may be that by the early fifth century, income from temple estates
played the same major role in festival economics as it did elsewhere (Argos
included, as will be discussed). We simply lack the epigraphical evidence needed
to assess this proposition. In general terms, however, we can emphasize the likely
importance of liturgies. The existence of a major regional festival at Isthmia
from the eleventh century created opportunities for festival provision and the
acquisition of by-products (bone, hides, etc.), which must surely have promised
considerable social and economic benefits for those with the greatest social power
to exploit them.106 And in the same vein, it is hard to see those already
entrenched in such a system becoming permanently disengaged as opportunities
grew through the Archaic period (whatever temporary dislocations resulted from
the tyranny). Victor dedications of luxury consumables should therefore be
understood in the context of a long-standing tradition of liturgy.
Against this background, there are a few notable instances of exceptional
personal investment from the early fifth century onwards. Xenophon’s family
commissions of Simonides and Pindar form such a case. Another is an excep-
tional early fifth-century panoply burial in the North Cemetery,107 which
includes (in addition to pottery) a strigil, a dinos, eyelets which may come
from boots, leather and cloth remains of what may have been a cuirass or jerkin,
and a bronze helmet best paralleled at Olympia in a cache of armour dedicated by
the Argives, probably at the very end of the sixth century, as spoils from the
Corinthians from an as yet unknown battle.108 The circumstances of this
individual’s death and burial are matters of speculation (noting the paucity of

102
Pemberton (1996) 366.
103
Morgan (1999a) 373–5.
104
Morgan (2003) 150–3.
105
As e.g. Kivouria, beside the road to Kleonai through the Longopotamos valley, a Classical cemetery
and sanctuary with a temple: Bynum (1995) 40–2; Stroud (1992–8) 240.
106
Morgan (2002) 256.
107
Blegen, Palmer, and Young (1964) 215–16, grave 262.
108
Olympia: see most recently Jackson (2000), with previous bibliography.
238 catherine morgan
skeletal remains in the grave).109 I merely note the combination of athletic and
military items used to commemorate personal status.
In exploring this association, it may also be significant that Isthmia was
apparently the first Panhellenic shrine at which the practice of dedicating Greek
armour stopped (and abruptly so, as no post-470 types have been found).
Similar, but more protracted, trends can be traced at Olympia, but the change
from sixth-century practice at Isthmia is rather sudden, leading Alastar Jackson to
interpret it as a deliberate attempt to play down memorials of conflicts between
Greeks to reinforce the shrine’s ‘Panhellenic’ role in celebrating resistance to
Persia.110 A coincidence of interests would have furthered such a claim; the
protection of Poseidon at Salamis, the proximity of the Isthmian defensive wall
(Herodotus 8. 72),111 the fact that the Isthmian games of 478 were the first crown
games to be held after the Persian Wars, and Corinth’s own contribution in terms
of the size of her forces and, by at least one account, the bravery of her men.
Corinth sent forty ships both to Artemision and Salamis, a fleet second only in
size to that of Athens (Herodotus 8. 1, 43), and the bravery of the Corinthians
in the centre of the battle line at Plataia was praised soon afterwards by
Simonides.112 Monumental victory dedications made at Isthmia from Persian
spoils included a Phoenician trireme after Salamis (Herodotus 8. 121) and a
bronze statue of Poseidon made from the sanctuary’s share of spoils after Plataia
(Herodotus 9. 81). It also seems that Corinthian literary patronage extended to
the commissioning of epigrams on the subject of Salamis, reputedly from
Simonides. Tradition ascribes to him the epitaph of the Corinthians buried on
Salamis, an epigram on a cenotaph on the Isthmus, a record of a dedication of
arms in the temple of Leto by the crew of the trierarch Diodoros, an epigram
inscribed in the temple of Aphrodite concerning the prayers of the women of
Corinth to inspire their menfolk in battle, and the epitaph of the Corinthian
admiral Adeimantus.113 While none of these attributions can be regarded as
wholly secure, and Adeimantus’ epitaph in particular may post-date Simonides’
death, it is intrinsically probable that Simonides was responsible for some, if not

109
Blegen, Palmer, and Young (1964) 215, report ‘very few traces of bones, some in lebes’. As they note,
the length of the coffin would suit a young boy, but the presence of the bones (if human) in the lebes could
also represent the token remains of an adult who died and was cremated abroad (although there is no
mention of burnt matter in the excavation record). Pemberton (1999) 141, suggests that the deceased may
have died in this same battle against the Argives, and notes the lack of parallels for cremation in the
Corinthian record.
110
Jackson (1992) 142–3. At Olympia, Siewert (1996) links the decline of metal offerings of all kinds
with an increase in ‘votive’ ingots of standard size, and suggests that this reflects a trend towards melting
down offerings into bullion (perhaps with a formal order to this effect in the third quarter of the 5th cent.).
111
Wiseman (1963) 255–6, 263, 270; and (1978) 59–62, although compare Gregory (1993) 5.
112
Boedeker (1995) 219, 224–5; Luppe (1994).
113
Page (1975) Simon. xi, xii, xiii, xiv, x.
 debating patronage: argos and corinth 239
all, of the other epigrams, as Molyneux argues.114 Overall, therefore, during
the first half of the fifth century we find a small but innovative collection of
statements reinforcing both collective image and elite conduct with respect to it,
which gain weight by comparison with the behavioural traditions within which
they are made. The coincidence, in both public and private contexts, of athletics,
military success, and aristocratic status is clearly shown.
Before pursuing this connection, it is worth pausing briefly to consider one
further way in which Pindar contributes to our understanding of fifth-century
Corinth. The occurrence of the few but costly, and/or materially distinguished,
statements of personal or family status discussed above raises the question of
more personal motives for asserting status and achievement, and thus the possi-
bility of rivalry within the Corinthian oligarchy. A fragmentary dithyramb by
Pindar (fr. 70c), probably the remains of a Corinthian commission, makes a
tantalizing reference to stasis.115 The text is too fragmentary to determine
whether the wish expressed is that stasis should not happen or that it should
cease, although the balance of probability favours the latter.116 At first sight, this
seems surprising, given Pindar’s praise of Corinthian order, justice, and peace at
O. 13. 6–8, and the common image of stability and comfort.117 In truth, however,
we know next to nothing of the internal order of fifth-century Corinth, and have
neither grounds for dismissing Pindar’s reference nor evidence with which to
evaluate it. Only one other fifth-century source refers to internal dissent in the
city. According to Thucydides (1. 105–6), in 460 the Athenians sent an army of
those very old and very young men who happened to have remained in the city,
to dislodge Corinthian invaders from Megara. The resulting battle was perceived
as a victory by both sides, but whereas the Athenians lingered to erect a trophy,
the Corinthians went straight home—only to be so reviled by their elders that
they returned to set up their own trophy on the battlefield, were ambushed, and a
portion of the army trapped and stoned to death. Clearly, the passage reveals
tension in Corinth between different age groups,118 but it is unclear whether this
was something endemic or a specific reaction to behaviour which was first
incompetent and then improper. It is naturally tempting to relate two sources
which seem to indicate social tensions at much the same time, but we know too
little to be sure that the coincidence is more than fortuitous. It is, however, worth

114
Molyneux (1992) 192–9, with a review of previous scholarship.
115
P. Oxy. 1604. 2: Lavecchia (2000) 42–3, 218–28.
116
On the grounds that the latter is implied by three of the four restorations of
Ø
so far proposed by
commentators (between which it is hard to discriminate, see Lavecchia (2000) 219–20, adding now Wilson
(2002) ), namely the compounds of ºø; ŒÆƺ
Ø
and Øƺ
Ø
(Wilson 2002), and ÆÆØ
,
whereas only ª

Ø
would fit the former.
117
Pemberton (1999) 142, 160–1.
118
Stroud (1994) 279–80.
240 catherine morgan
reiterating that fifth-century Corinth had much worth contesting, from access to
trade and its profits119 to land, and the comforts of growing domestic luxury.120
Pindar’s reference to stasis is made in the context of a dithyramb which is
commonly conjectured to have been intended for performance at the sanctuary
of Demeter and Kore, a sanctuary where Dionysos was also worshipped (as fits
the imagery of the fragment).121 This context adds an important further dimen-
sion. The sanctuary was founded within a long-settled area, and as Christopher
Pfaff has noted, while the cult was probably established in the eighth century
and expanded through the latter part of the seventh, the exact point at which
settlement gave way is not clear. Demeter’s later epithet, K
ØŒØ, which is
unique to this site, further emphasizes her domestic origins and affiliations.122
(Figs. 43, 44) From the mid-sixth century, however, a major programme of
architectural aggrandizement saw the religious centre on the middle terrace
(which was probably already well established)123 clearly distinguished from a
lower terrace newly designated for communal dining and served by a new road
from the agora. Some ten banquetting halls were built on this lower terrace
during the last decades of the sixth century and the early fifth. These provide a
current total of fifteen dining rooms (both free-standing and within larger
buildings), with more units remaining to be excavated. Variation in the size of
dining rooms is inevitable, given topographical constraints, but the result is
a range of small, replicating units containing five to nine built couches or
half-couches. The first appearance of the adjunct facilities which were to become
more popular through the fifth century (a service room and possible bathing
room in unit L: 16–17) dates to the very end of the sixth or early fifth century.124
The practice of ritual dining may not have been new, but the formality of the
setting, and the form and scale of the provision, were highly innovative, and grew
ever more elaborate through the fifth century. New rooms and complexes
continued to be built during the first half of the century, and from c.450 onwards,
a new entrance was added (with a stepped processional way running up through
the heart of the sanctuary), and new dining rooms built and existing ones
remodelled with the addition of rooms for washing, cooking, or sitting.125

119
Munn (1984) and (2003).
120
Pemberton (1999).
121
Lavecchia (2000) 223; the material evidence is somewhat later: Bookidis and Stroud (1999) 247,
259, 427, 433.
122
Pfaff (1999) esp. 119–20 (see also Bookidis and Stroud (1999) 424–5; Bookidis (2003) 248), although
see also the suggestion of Bookidis and Stroud (1999) 72 n. 23, that the house-like form of the Archaic oikos
(or thesmophorion/telesterion) on the middle terrace, which may have held the cult statue, gave rise to
‘Demeter dwelling in her little house’.
123
Bookidis and Stroud (1999) 53–83.
124
Bookidis and Stroud (1999) 19–51, 393, 427–8.
125
Bookidis and Stroud (1999) 19–21, 85–151, 428–30, and for an overview of all periods, 393–421.
 de b ating patro nage: argo s and c o ri nth 24 1

Fig. 43. The sanctuary of Demeter and Kore at Corinth: (a) c. 500 bc and (b) c. 400 bc
242 c a t he r i n e m o r g a n

Fig. 44. The sanctuary of Demeter and Kore at Corinth

But who dined in these rooms and on what occasion? Despite the discovery of
the debris of rich meals using a wide range of foodstuffs and cooking methods,
nothing in these remains points to a consistent season when dining took place.126
The estimated minimum number of individuals who could be accommodated
(c.101 in the late sixth–early fifth century, rising to c.182 later in the fifth, noting
limitations of excavation) must be many more than that of the cult personnel. As
Nancy Bookidis stresses, the small votive record strongly favours female interests,
and while it is likely that men dined, there are also parallels for banquets
for women (excluding men) in sanctuaries of Demeter and Kore. A further
representation of the dominant presence of Corinthian elite families is provided
by the forty or so large terracotta statues of youths carrying offerings, mentioned
earlier. These are mostly males in their teens, but there are also some girls and a
few children and Temple Boys—a variety of images which would seem to
preclude their interpretation as deities. While their exact meaning (fulfilling
cult roles, for example, or celebrating age and/or social status) and the
occasion(s) of their dedication are the subjects of continuing research, we can
at least suggest that the vast majority represent real or idealized sub-adult
members of Corinthian elite families.127 They were certainly prominent: after

126
Bookidis et al. (1999).
127
Statues: Bookidis and Stroud (1999) 259–60; Bookidis, pers. comm. I am most grateful to Nancy
Bookidis for information about her continuing research on the iconography and ritual significance of these
pieces.
 deba ting pa tronage: argos an d corinth 243
the construction of the processional stairway, this route and the upper terrace
were favoured places for their display, accompanying worshippers on their
journey up through the sanctuary.
It seems likely that elite men (and probably also women) formed the majority
of diners, although we can only speculate about whether they divided by family,
interest group, area of residence, or tribe, and whether they ‘owned’ or leased the
rooms in which they met.128 Dining was a pervasive Corinthian ritual, depicted
in vase-painting and practised at other major sanctuaries.129 At Perachora, for
example, the sixth-century so-called temple of Hera Limenia may have been a
predecessor of the hestiatorion (dated by Tomlinson to the late sixth century,
but likely somewhat later), but neither facility is large, and most worshippers
probably dined outdoors.130 The same is true of Isthmia, where dining in two
underground cult caves took place during the fifth and fourth centuries, in a
location suggestive of specific (perhaps Dionysiac and/or hero) cult interests, but
accommodating very small groups of people.131 The contrast with Demeter and
Kore could not be more marked. Its location in the city centre, the involvement of
both genders, the family epithet attached to Demeter, the lavish consumption
of a wide range of foodstuffs, and the sheer scale of provision for dining
(both in absolute terms and as a proportion of the sanctuary area) housed in
small, replicating, and increasingly self-sufficient units, are all unique or rare
features.132 Together they provide a striking context for the performance of
Pindar’s dithyramb. Addressing the issue of stasis at a sanctuary of Demeter
K
ØŒØ, where elite family interests are vividly depicted, would surely bring
the message home.133
I have dwelt on what might otherwise have seemed a small Pindaric footnote
because of the light shed on likely tensions in Corinthian society at a time when
one member of the Oligaithidai chose to celebrate his success in a costly and
unusual way, and one which emphasized his and his family’s close identification
with the history and achievements of his city. There is, however, more to say

128
Bookidis (1990) and (1993).
129
Pemberton (2000a) 100–4.
130
Hestiatorion: Tomlinson (1969) 164–72; Tomlinson (1990) favours this earlier date: Menadier
(1995) 81–3 notes that the only fixed point is a terminus post quem of c.500 reported (Tomlinson (1969)
170, in fact stating ‘fifth-century’) as provided by the ceramics from the foundation trench which
Tomlinson (1990) 96 subsequently interpreted as contamination; see also 88–9, 110–11 on the ‘hearth
building’ (‘Hera Limenia’). Tomlinson (1969) 170 interprets a single post-pit as suggestive of a 6th-cent.
predecessor to the hestiatorion. See now Pfaff (2003a) 128–31 for a summary overview, favouring a
4th-cent. date for the hestiatorion.
131
Gebhard (2002b). Mylonopoulos (2003) 184–6 speculates that the worship of Melikertes-Palaimon
may have been practised here, an interesting but untestable hypothesis.
132
Bookidis and Stroud (1999) 393–4.
133
As a minor footnote, the use or dedication of athletic prizes here is attested by the presence of two
post-359 Panathenaic amphorae among a rather small collection of imported pottery: Pemberton (1989)
138–9, cats. 305þ306, 307; M. Bentz (1998) 105.
244 catherine morgan
about the role of athletics in fifth-century Corinth. Accepting that the liturgical
obligations upon the Corinthian elite may have been considerable, their level and
nature are of some interest. Following extensive sixth-century public building for
various purposes in the city centre134 and (notably among sites in the chora) at
Isthmia (where the establishment of the games was accompanied by the
construction of a massive artificial stadium bank),135 the only major public
projects which can be securely dated to the first half of the fifth century were
the sports and cult complexes in the Lechaion Road Valley, which remained in
continuous use until the sack of 146. (Fig. 45) The first race track here was laid
down by the end of the sixth century, with a starting platform perhaps contem-
porary or slightly later. The maximum possible length of the track, c.165 m, is
shorter than a conventional dromos, and the unusual form of the starting line,
where the widely separated front and back toe grips of the seventeen positions
imply a striding stance, has also given rise to debate about the nature of the events
staged.136 While there is no absolute bar to its use for conventional running, it
is unparalleled as a normal athletic facility, and would thus be highly inconvenient
as a training facility. As Charles Williams has argued, the starting stance seems
more suitable for an event such as a torch-race or race in armour.137 Such an
event may have been one inspiration for a series of small red-figure vessels
(mostly bell kraters), perhaps trophies or dedications, which depict athletic
scenes, including torch-races, and were produced from the third quarter of the
fifth century until the mid-fourth.138 For straightforward reasons of clay chem-
istry, good red-figure is not easy to produce in Corinth, and so the choice of
technique is as surprising as the subject, especially as there are few precedents for
cultic iconography in Corinthian vase-painting.139 The torch-race was probably
not the only event celebrated in this area at this time: a platform, most likely for
contact sports, was constructed beside the track during the Classical period
(although its exact date remains unclear).140

134
Pfaff (2003a) passim.
135
Gebhard (1992), although see now Gebhard (2002a) 228–9; Gebhard and Hemans (1992) 68–70.
136
Williams and Russell (1981) 2–10; Pfaff (2003a) 137 for a summary based on previous excavation
reports.
137
Williams and Russell (1981) 7, 13–15.
138
Herbert (1977) 1–4 (suggesting that the choice of technique may reflect a difficulty in communicat-
ing special orders to Attic painters during the Peloponnesian War, even though Attic imports continued to
arrive), esp. 33–55 (see discussion at 35); further examples are noted by McPhee (1983) with securely
identifiable examples cats. 1, 37; Herbert (1986). Depictions of torch-racing occur on 5th-cent. Corinthian
vases in other techniques, but are rare; see, for example, the silhouette oinochoe, Broneer (1942) 152–3,
fig. 8.
139
Archaic precedents: Pemberton (2000a). This applies also to athletics; a further exception is the late
6th-cent. cup Louvre MNC 332, which bears an inscription apparently relating to the depiction of a boxer
pursuing his defeated opponent: Wachter (2001) Cor 131.
140
Williams and Russell (1981) 15–19.
 de b ating patro nage: argo s and c o ri nth 24 5

haion
to Lec
Ro a d
Dye
works

Fountain house
Archaic
temple Northing
build
Peirene
Glauke
Sacred
spring
Ro
ad Altar

Fountain house
Race
course

Tavern of
Aphrodite

Stele

Fig. 45. Corinth c.400 bc

The torch-race has usually been associated with the festival of Athena Hellotis
(the Hellotia), and while other patron deities (Dionysos or Artemis, for example)
cannot be dismissed, this seems most likely.141 This cult is of paramount import-
ance in establishing the depth and nature of the connection between athletics and
the Corinthian civic image. One of the three traditions behind the celebration of

141
Williams (1978) 41–5, with previous bibliography; Herbert (1986) 32–5 offers the most recent
appraisal of the range of possible associations.
246 catherine morgan
Athena Hellotis reported by scholiasts to O. 13 has Hellotis as a daughter of
Timandros who was burnt to death in the temple of Athena, where she was
taking refuge from the invading Dorians.142 Her sister, Kotyto, has plausibly
been linked with the neighbouring Sacred Spring shrine.143 Cult here may date
back to the eighth century,144 but the temenos was substantially enlarged during
the latter part of the sixth or early fifth, with a triglyph terrace wall constructed
during the second quarter of the fifth, along with a horos on the north side.
An apsidal shrine building dates no later than the mid-fifth century, and may be as
early as the late sixth.145 Reorganization continued through the second half of
the fifth century, and it is clear that the temenos was required to accommodate
large gatherings.146 If the cults linked to the race track and Sacred Spring are
correctly identified, it seems that at around the time that O. 13 celebrated the city
of Corinth and its civic history, the same trends can be found in cult develop-
ments focused in the key area of the upper Lechaion Road Valley (immediately
south of Temple Hill, and along the line of the main route up to Acrocorinth).
Athletic events were integral to this process. While it would be wrong to suggest
that the entire area was given over to these functions at this stage,147 later public
buildings, such as the Centaur Bath of the second half of the fifth century, with its
lavish mosaic pavement, may have contributed to them.148 The association of
communal history and cults may in turn help to explain why this area was later
favoured for the display of victor monuments (both military and athletic), and for
hero worship (to the south and west).149 The circular monument south of the
racetrack is perhaps the earliest such addition; this dates to the fifth century, likely
before the last quarter,150 and is followed by a probably early fourth-century
quadriga base. After the mid-fourth century, among extensive alterations to the
142
See n. 63.
143
For archaeological evidence for cult practice, and tentative identification with Kotyto, see most
recently Williams (1978) 113–19, 131–6; Steiner (1992). Both authors note the apparently satirical treatment
of these rites in Eupolis’ Baptai (Edmonds (1957) Eupolis frs. 68–89).
144
Williams (1978) 93–4.
145
Williams (1978) 11, 95–111, revising Williams (1969) 38–43 (phase 1); Pfaff (2003a) 123–4 favours a
6th-cent. date.
146
Williams (1978) 112–25.
147
See, for example, Buildings II, III, and IV: Williams (1978) 14–15.
148
Williams and Fisher (1976) 109–15; Pemberton (1999) 152–5. Both liken the bath to a lesche rather
than a specifically athletics-related facility. As noted by Munn (2003) 213 n. 161, it is also tempting to relate
the Punic Amphora Building, from which both fish and wine were sold, to the needs of the crowd at the
racetrack, along the lines of a modern fast-food outlet.
149
The picture is summarized by Williams (1978) 158–62, emphasizing the poor representation of
straightforward Olympian cults in this area. See the series of hero reliefs which dates from the late 5th-/
early 4th cent. to 146 bc: Broneer (1942). See also Williams (1978) 30–5 (36–7 on figurine deposits), noting
(34–5) the fragmentary inscription on the hydria C-28–131, ˙'-ˇ `'ˇ ˝¯ˇ¸` , the last
word of which may tentatively be restored in the nominative (noting the poorly preserved sixth character)
as ˝¯ˇ¸`—`˜` . On the underground shrine and heroon of the crossroads (probably and
certainly earlier than the developments discussed here), see Williams (1978) chs. iv and v.
150
Williams and Russell (1981) 20–1.
 debating patronage: argos and corinth 24 7
Sacred Spring complex a substantial new triglyph terrace wall gave space to
support such monuments,151 and from the fourth century onwards, it is notable
that Isthmian victors were honoured in this area.152
No sooner was the Lechaion Road Valley complex established, than the
Temple of Poseidon at Isthmia was destroyed by fire (probably late in the period
c.470–450)153 (Figs. 46, 47). Clearly, it must have taken time to remove the ruins
of the Archaic temple, but the sequence of construction in the sanctuary as a
whole reveals the priority given to expanding athletic and assembly facilities, in
many cases utilizing fire debris which could not otherwise be recycled. The road
access to the shrine was renewed with the construction of Classical Road 1 in the
north temenos, replaced late in the century by Road 2, cut through by post-holes
which perhaps supported dedications or tents.154 Second, the stadium was
improved by raising and enlarging the embankment and making a second
entrance, laying a new paved starting line, and setting water basins and channels
alongside the track.155 Only after this had been completed, a new altar and dining
facility established in the north-east temenos (discussed below), and an extended
assembly area (East Terrace 6)156 constructed beside the altar, was the temple
finally finished around the end of the century.157 We do not know exactly when
the new temple was started, but clearly its completion was not a high priority and
overall, the level of investment in the city centre seems higher during this
period.158 Unfortunately, a second fire followed in 390 (Xenophon, Hell. 4. 5. 4),
and this time repairs were not completed until the end of the fourth or early third
century. Nor, indeed, was any other construction undertaken in the sanctuary. As
the excavators point out, this may reflect the difficult times endured by Corinth after
the Corinthian War, but it should be noted that the city centre fared rather better,
especially during the second half of the century.159
Evidence from Corinth has been considered in some detail for two principal
reasons. First, it is essential to understand the increasing intensity and complexity
of the relationship between athletics and ‘the Corinthian civic image’ (for want of
a better term) as background to the decision to commission epinikian poetry. The

151
Williams (1978) 15, 119–25. On the monuments, see Williams (1978) 128–31, 143–7. During the 4th
cent., these included the monument celebrating Timoleon’s victory over the Carthaginians at the Krimesos
river: Kent (1966) cat. 23.
152
Williams (1970) 38–9.
153
Gebhard (1998) 110; J. Bentz (1998).
154
Gebhard and Hemans (1998) 15–19.
155
Gebhard and Hemans (1998) 33–8; Broneer (1973) 48–51.
156
Gebhard and Hemans (1998) 26–32.
157
Gebhard and Hemans (1998) 6–10.
158
See above, also Bookidis and Stroud (1999) 430.
159
Gebhard and Hemans (1998) 10–12, noting the date of East Terrace 7 and Road G which included
debris in their fill (43–51). Bookidis and Stroud (1999) 430. South Stoa: Broneer (1954) ch. I.III (see 94–9
on the date and function of the building).
 248 c a t he r i n e m o r g a n

Fig. 46. Isthmia, the sanctuary

of Poseidon c.400 bc

Fig. 47. The Early Stadium

at Isthmia
 d e b a t i n g pa t r o n a g e : a r g o s an d c o r i n t h 249
Hellotia is mentioned in a timeless fashion by Pindar, but we have no earlier
direct evidence for it, and if the association with the race track is to be relied
upon, it was likely a very new creation and one which added a notable dimension
to the local role of athletics. Second, echoing J. K. Davies’ observations in this
volume, festivals were costly concerns for individual states to sustain, and while
there were obvious benefits, the charges on elites, however organized, were
surely considerable. Hard choices had to be made, especially in times of
prolonged warfare or when there were rival attractions, for example in costly
domestic fashions.160 There was indeed some building of at least a semi-public
nature in central Corinth during the second half of the fifth century (much of it,
like the Centaur Bath, associated with the athletic area), but Isthmia lacked a
working temple for much of the second half of the fifth and the fourth centuries.
This is not the place to discuss the impact (or lack of it) on the festival; I merely
note that priorities for investment seem to have lain elsewhere.

argos
Many of the same issues arise in Argos, albeit in a slightly different form. The
persuasive suggestion that N. 10 was commissioned to celebrate a new cult order at
the Heraion has been made most recently by Jonathan Hall,161 and the ode’s
opening emphasis on Argos and Hera, with the use of past heroic achievements to
establish a legitimative context for a specific present (the victory celebrated and a
hope for the future) would fit such circumstances. Indeed, the very commission
promotes a perception of comparability between a local festival and the crown
games for which there are rather few parallels in the work of the three great
epinikian poets (N. 9 celebrates a victory at Sikyon; Bacchylides, Ep. 13 [14], the
Thessalian Petraia; and Simonides may also have moved beyond the crown circuit,
although the extant corpus is too fragmentary to determine when and where).162
The choice of an epinikian ode for this purpose is interesting, and it is worth
examining whether N. 10 really does relate to innovation at the Heraion, and if so,
how it fits into wider patterns of Argive myth-historical construction.163
The first clear evidence of contests at the Argive Heraion comes in a funerary
epigram of c.500 on a Doric capital set up near the sanctuary.164 The epitaph, in

160
Pemberton (1999) 155.
161
Hall (1995) 612.
162
Thus, for example, Simon. fr. 9 (PMG 514), celebrates a chariot or mule car victory by Orillas, but
only a scholiast links this to Pallene.
163
See most recently D’Alessio (2004), who reconstructs from Pindaric fragments a small group of
commissions in other genres to celebrate festivals across the Argolid—a group with which N. 10 shows
close connections in mythological content.
164
CEG 136 (Argos E 210): most recently discussed by McGowan (1995) esp. 628.
250 c a the r i n e mo r g a n
elegaic couplets on two faces of the abacus, reads as follows: [A] ‘I, Kossina, have
buried Hyssematas near the hippodrome, providing a memorial for many men
today, and those who will come after, of a brave man [B] who died in battle and
lost young manhood [ . . . ] prudent, a winner of victories and wise among his
peers.’ As Elizabeth McGowan has observed,165 the epic tone of the language,
the choice of a column (reminiscent of a turning post), the proximity to the
hippodrome, the youth’s athletic (or equestrian) success, and his early death,
combine to raise his status to the heroic. Yet it is also worth considering the
public perspective of permitting such a burial close to a shrine in an area which
was not an established burial ground. Not only was a special honour being done
to an outstanding individual, but the epic/heroic connotations attached to the
manner of memorialization, explicitly mentioning agonistic victories, must surely
have been attractive.166 Overall, the monument bears comparison with the highly
visual qualities of N. 10, recalling the way in which, as noted, the ode’s paratactic
opening section and graphically visual end accord with trends in myth-historical
construction in visual art.167 The monument and the ode draw on similar values
to convey a similar message, but chronologically, they are probably separated by
the period of the servile interregnum, to which we will return.
Epigraphical records of the Hekatomboia also point to a new beginning. Its
existence and place in the athletic circuit are confirmed by victory lists on two
monuments to outstanding athletes set up at Delphi during the first half of the
fourth century, which purport to span the period 490/80 to 470/60 and
440–420.168 The earlier, which contains one victory at the Heraion, is that of
Theagenes of Thasos (later heroized in his home city).169 The later, while
partially preserved, may be that of Dorieus of Rhodes; it lists three victories in
an equally distinguished career.170 Earlier evidence for athletic events at the
Heraion is lacking, and even the main source for the existence of the festival
procession in the sixth century is open to question. A reference attributed to
Solon in Herodotus’ account of his discussion with Kroisos at Sardis (Herodotus
1. 3 1) seems to place the festival of Hera and its procession early in the sixth
century. This date can no longer be supported by reference to the famous Argive
dedication at Delphi of twin kouroi long seen as depicting Kleobis and Biton, as
they have plausibly been reidentified as the Dioskouroi.171 Herodotus’ reference

165
McGowan (1995) 628, 632.
166
Pemberton (2002b) 121.
167
Carne-Ross (1985) 79–90, hints in the same direction in speculating about the process of creating
distinctive compositions with particular reference to N. 10.
168
Amandry (1980) 220–3.
169
Delphi Museum 3835: Moretti (1953) cat. 21. On epigraphical evidence for the career (and heroization)
of Theagenes, see Pouilloux (1994) with previous bibliography.
170
Delphi Museum 2526: Moretti (1953) cat. 23; Amandry (1980) 223.
171
I follow here the arguments of Faure (1985) rather than Vatin (1982), although the end result is the same.
 d e b a t i n g pa t r o n a g e : a r g o s an d c o r i n t h 251
is therefore isolated, and evidence is too slight to make a judgement about its
historicity. However, Hall is surely right to emphasize that the central aspect of
the story of Kleobis and Biton as recounted by Herodotus, sleep after exertion
on behalf of a god, also appears in the story of Trophonios and Agamedes
attributed by Plutarch (Mor. 108f–109b) to Pindar, since these heroes fell asleep
after building the first temple of Apollo at Delphi.172 If there was conscious
emulation, rather than separate recourse to a topos, which story was modelled on
which?173 Such uncertainties about the date of the procession are especially
unfortunate, since this aspect of ritual above all ties the festival most firmly to
Argos among the communities of the eastern plain, and its composition, armed
youths, maidens, and cattle, to the expression of the communal values of the
polis. As a tie to Argos, it therefore represents the same order of specificity as the
city’s patronage of the Hekatomboia.
The date of N. 10 is unknown. But whether it celebrated a concerted revival of
an older festival or a major reform or innovation,174 it most likely post-dated the
eclipse which followed Argos’ defeat at Sepeia (during which Mycenae claimed
the right to administer the Heraion).175 A date in the 460s, around the time of
the destruction of Mycenae and Tiryns in 468, is plausible.176 Yet Pindar’s
celebration of the festival is only a small part of this Argive renaissance
(Figs. 48, 49). By contrast with Corinth, public building in the centre of Argos
(excluding surrounding areas such as the Deiras) was limited during the Archaic
period. The Agora was graded, a number of small shrines established, especially
along the south side, and in the mid-sixth century the construction in the Agora
of the Heroon of the Seven against Thebes forms a noteworthy precedent for the
public commemoration of communal myth-history so evident in the fifth.177 But
the first monumental temple (perhaps that of Apollo Lykaios) was begun only on
the turn of the century, probably immediately before Sepeia,178 and there
followed a hiatus until a positive explosion of public and religious construction
in the city centre179 and at the Heraion between c.460 and 440, coincident with
the installation of democracy (Figs. 50, 51). In the city, the Hypostyle Hall,

172
Hall (1995) 594–5.
173
A further twist is added by Sansone (1991), who recognizes both Herodotus’ presentation of Kleobis
and Biton in the style of sacrificial victims, and their previous athletic success. They therefore have the right
characteristics for heroes of a new or refounded event (including a ‘historical’ pedigree established by the
Solonian dialogue), although this is, of course, a matter of pure speculation.
174
Amandry (1980) 242.
175
Diodoros Siculus 11. 65
176
Supported by the dates of the two other Pindaric odes which mention the contest: O. 9 (468), and
O. 13 (464).
177
Morgan (2003) 64 n. 65; des Courtils (1992) 241–2; Barakari-Gleni and Pariente (1998) 166–8;
Pariente, Pièrart, and Thalmann (1998) 211–13. Heroon: Pariente (1992).
178
Des Courtils (1992) 242–4.
179
Pariente, Pièrart, and Thalmann (1998) 213–18.
 252 catherine morgan

Fig. 48. Argos:

the Classical and
Hellenistic Agora

Hypostyle K
O
Hall

Racecourse
SH
D
G
E

South Stoa
N
EL
L
L'

Fig. 49. The

theatre at Argos
 debating patronage: argos and corinth 253
Fig. 50. The
Hypostyle Hall
Argive Heraion
IV Z
Archaic
Temple
III

Classical
Temple
XI

II

South VI
Stoa

VII
VII o
I

IX

0 10 40m

Fig. 51. The

Argive Heraion,
view from the
first temple
terrace
254 c a the r i n e mo r g a n
a building of uncertain but probably political function (perhaps a bouleuterion),
may date as early as c.460[/450].180 At the Heraion, the South Stoa is dated to
much the same period both on internal evidence and by its architectural similar-
ities to the Hypostyle Hall.181 It was probably planned to support a new temple,
although this was not built until after the destruction of the old temple by fire
in 423.182 The construction of the South Stoa was followed soon after 450 by
that of the city’s theatre/assembly place (perhaps for the Aliaia),183 and perhaps
also the first race track in the city.184
This simultaneous building in the city and at the Heraion marked the end of an
exceptionally difficult period after the huge loss of citizen male life at Sepeia. It
has plausibly been suggested, in the context of extensive public construction
linked to the new democracy and elaboration of the sanctuary which Argos now
controlled, that athletics were promoted partly as an Argive patriotic state-
ment,185 but also as a means of reasserting elite values after the so-called servile
interregnum, whatever form this may have taken (noting the tensions which
may have accompanied democratic reforms in the 460s).186 The similarities in
language and imagery evident in Hyssematas’ column and N. 10, before and after
the interregnum, further reinforce the point, and the monument of the Epigonoi
at Delphi has also been linked to the reassertion of aristocratic domination.187
The choice of the Heraion for the domestic aspect of this process demonstrated
most effectively Argos’ domination of the eastern plain after the humiliation of
Mycenae’s attempt to take control.188
But the issue of who paid for, and benefited from, these developments is
problematic given the major dislocations of the recent past. Here bronze public
inscriptions (including a significant collection of new finds) studied by Chara-
lambos Kritzas are of particular interest.189 One in particular, dating c.450, details
arrangements for the payment of large but unequal sums of money by twelve

180
Bommelaer and des Courtils (1994) see 29–30 on date, 45–8 on function (noting similarities in
appearance and location with the later hypostyle hall at Sikyon).
181
For a review of earlier scholarship on the South Stoa and discussion of the chronological arguments,
see des Courtils (1992) 244–9, whose chronology I follow.
182
Amandry (1980) 236–40. The key argument for an early decision to build a temple on this site is the
relationship between the Hall and the temple: other aspects of Amandry’s case, and especially
the significance of Thucydides 4. 133, are discussed by Hornblower (1996) 412–13. As Christopher Pfaff
notes (Pfaff (2003b) 191–4, noting also 6–8), the evidence of the extant sculpture and architectural members
together seems to indicate that the temple was begun not long after 423 and completed either at the end of
the 5th cen. or just into the 4th.
183
Ginouvès (1972) see 75–82 for discussion of function.
184
Pariente, Pièrart, and Thalmann (1998) 216.
185
Des Courtils (1992) 251.
186
On the interregnum: Herodotus 6. 83; Kritzas (1992) 232–4; Tomlinson (1972) 96–100; Pièrart
(1997) 327–31; van Wees (2003). On democracy: Pièrart (2000) esp. 307–8; and (1997) 332–6.
187
Pariente (1992) 223–5; Jeffery (1990) 163–4.
188
Hall (1995) 611–13.
189
Kritzas (1992) 235–40; AR (2003–4) 19–20.
 d e b a t i n g pa t r o n a g e : a r g o s an d c o r i n t h 255
magistrates to twelve groups (as Kritzas suggests, probably a new arrangement of
phratries, with the inequalities reflecting either different group size or money
derived from different sources). The text on the other side of this tablet deals with
the distribution of income from the hides (probably of sacrificial victims) to be
spent on the ‘pentaetiris’, surely the great festival of Hera. As Kritzas notes, the
tribal structure and magistracies likely reflect a reform of the new democracy,
but the sources of the large sums of money involved vary, from fines and
confiscations to booty, interest on loans, and perhaps most importantly, sacred
and/or public land. Indeed, this last is the one source of state income likely to
have been sustained through this difficult period (and its continuing importance
through the fourth century is also attested epigraphically).190 Proper distribution
of the benefits of the festival was also a public concern. In 460–450, Argive
officials (probably the hieromnemones of the four tribes) dedicated at the
Heraion proceeds which had accrued to them from some part of the games.191
Whatever the precise details, provision for the Heraion therefore featured large in
what may have been radically new fiscal arrangements.
If Nemean 10 was part of a publicity campaign, did it work? The festival
merited mention in two other Pindaric odes of the 460s (O. 9 and 13), as well
as the undatable Bacchylides, Ep. 10. It therefore seems to have found a place
in the cycle of the more prestigious local games rather quickly.192 Victory
dedications citing the festival, along with those inscribed bronze prize vessels
so far discovered, may also suggest that the promotion worked. Six inscribed
bronzes survive, marginally more than from any other festival apart from
the Panathenaia. All probably date to the period between the Persian and
Peloponnesian Wars.193 The earliest are three hydriae of c.460. One (Ankara
11047) comes from a grave in the Sinop area, the second found its way to Pompeii
(where it was discovered in the house of C. Julius Polibius in the via dell’Abbon-
danza),194 but the provenance of the third, now in New York (MMA 26.50), is
unknown (as is that of a fourth, slightly later hydria of c.450–440, Ny Carlsberg
Glyptotek I.N. 3293 Br36). The same form of inscription is found on two rather
later vessels (c.430–420),195 a tripod from the ‘tomb of Philip’ at Vergina, and a
lebes from the so-called tomb of Aspasia in the vicinity of Piraeus (now in the

190
Kritzas (1992) 237; AR (2003–4) 20.
191
Jeffery (1990) 164–5, 170 cat. 32.
192
That this place was maintained is confirmed by the careers listed in later victory dedications,
including that erected at Delphi probably to the illustrious pankratist Dorieus of Rhodes in the first half
of the 4th cent.: Delphi 2526, Amandry (1980) 220–3, listing also later examples of such inscriptions.
193
Amandry (1980) 211–17; Amandry (2002).
194
Amandry (2002) 31–2; Lazzarini and Zevi (1988–9).
195
The chronology of these two pieces has been a matter of debate: for a summary, see Amandry (2002)
30 n. 6 (I cite here his preferred dates).
256 catherine morgan
British Museum, Elgin Collection). As Pierre Amandry notes,196 given the
continuing fame of Argive metalworking it is likely that these were local prod-
ucts. Certainly, bronze was widely used at this time, for example for the Argive
civic inscriptions noted above, and at Olympia, Argive sculptors were active in
producing bronze monuments for past victors from other states.
The choice of metal vessels as prizes also fits fifth-century fashion (albeit
perhaps self-consciously archaizing). There are parallels from Attica (notably at
Marathon, where the Herakleian games expanded after the Persian Wars),197
Boiotia (Thebes and the Herakleia at Thespiai), Euboia (the Eretrian Herakleia),
Thessaly (see above), Rhodes (Halieia), Lampsacus, and Cumae198—not to
mention Argos’ hostile neighbour Sikyon (N. 9. 53, 10. 43). The fact that more
than one vessel type is represented among the Argive prizes is, as Amandry points
out, not uncommon (compare, for example, the Marathonian Herakleia).
Indeed, where Pindar mentions the prizes at the Heraion (N. 10. 40–2; O. 7.
22–3), he refers simply to ‘bronze’, and a scholiast to O. 7199 comments that this
could be given in a range of forms, from tripods to shields. By the end of the first
century ad, the shield had come to be identified as the Argive prize par excellence,
to the extent that the shorthand reference for the games themselves became
+ K @æª
ı I.200 But during the fifth century, there is no evidence that
shields were favoured among the range of bronze items that could be offered.
Where they were not dedicated, metal festival prizes often ended up as crema-
tion urns in the victor’s home city. At first sight, the wide and swift spread of the
Hekatombaion prizes might seem to mark them out as unusual. In one case it
least, it is clear that the Argive origin was significant: at Vergina, the Macedonian
Royal Family’s claim to Argive descent (both ethnic and geographical,
i.e. Temenid) makes it wholly plausible that the tripod was won by a member
of that family at the festival which symbolized their genealogy par excellence.201
But this is the exception, and in the two other cases where vessels reached remote
places, Pompeii and Sinop, they did so by indirect routes. The hydria from Sinop
bears a later inscription which reveals its secondary use as a prize in the games to
the Dioskouroi at Pheneos.202 And that from Pompeii, the shape (and function)

196
Amandry (2002) 30; on provenance, see also Diehl (1964) 23–5.
197
Vanderpool (1969) (see also Amandry (1971) ), noting the provenance of a prize hydria from a
destroyed tomb near Karabournaki (Thessaloniki); on the reorganized festival, see Vanderpool (1942).
198
For references to all of these prizes, see Amandry (1971) 602–19, augmented by Amandry (1980)
211–12 n. 4.
199
Drachmann ii. 230–1.
200
Amandry (1980) 231–3.
201
Amandry (2002) 31 (citing Herodotus 5. 22, 8. 137–8, Thucydides 2. 99. 3, 5. 80. 2). Hall (2002) 154–6
with previous bibliography.
202
Amandry (1980) 212 n. 6; Kritzas (1989) noting (165) the parallel case of a bronze lebes which had
served as a prize at two separate funeral games before being dedicated on the Athenian Acropolis; Pheneos:
Tausend (1999) 374–7. A further parallel for such reuse is found in two vessels from the Pydna south
 debating patronage: argos and corinth 257
of which had been greatly altered, may have been looted from a Greek tomb.203
In short, the Vergina tripod does indeed highlight a prestigious long-distance
collection, and even though one cannot conclude from the other Argive prizes
that they achieved the direct and wide circulation that their findspots seem to
imply, there is nonetheless every reason to suspect that Argos was regarded as
a generous provider of bronzes of all kinds.

No discussion of fifth-century Argos can be complete without mention of Nemea

(Figs. 52, 53). Nemea is unique among the crown games sites for having no
archaeologically documented long cult tradition (a particular point of contrast
with Olympia and Isthmia).204 In comparison with Olympia, Delphi, and
Isthmia, there is nothing to suggest that it had any significant local role to give
it a year-round function outside the games. As a creation for one festival with no
strong ties into any civic cult system, political control of it was a potential item of
exchange (as distinct from economic profit, which surely always fell to Kleonai, a
mere 6.5 km away).205 During the sixth century, and likely connected with the
establishment of the games, an extensive building programme created a temenos
which replicated the physical appearance of the early Altis at Olympia. This took
the form of a hero shrine to Opheltes centred on an artificial mound, which
augmented an existing (perhaps Geometric) mound to create a monument which
both emulated the ‘Pelopion’ (in fact an EH III tumulus) and served as an
embankment for the stadium and hippodrome.206 Nemea may have been the
parvenu in the crown cycle, but its cult myth-history was exceptionally
strongly legitimized by reference not merely to hero tradition, but to the physical

cemetery: Kephalidou (1996) 117, cat. 22aII, prize inscription from the Athenian Anakeia on the lip of a 5th-
cent. bronze hydria used as a funerary urn, recut in the 3rd cent.; cat. 24, lip of a 5th-cent. bronze hydria,
prize from the Athenian Poseidonio held at Sounion.
203
Lazzarini and Zevi (1988–9), noting 39–41 on putative origin (Zevi). The passage used to support
this argument, Strabo 8. 6. 23, is worth quoting in full, since although it indeed reports the looting of
Corinthian graves, it stresses pottery at least as much as metalwork: ‘And when these [i.e. the Roman
colonists of Corinth] were removing the ruins and at the same time digging open the graves, they found
numbers of terracotta reliefs and also many bronze vessels. And since they admired the workmanship they
left no grave unransacked: so that, well supplied with such things and disposing of them at a high price,
they filled Rome with Corinthian ‘‘mortuaries’’, for thus they called the things taken from the graves and in
particular the earthenware. Now at the outset the earthenware was very highly prized, like the bronzes of
Corinthian workmanship, but later they ceased to care much for them, since the supply of earthen vessels
failed.’ The anonymous author of De Viris Illustribus makes the more general claim (at lx) that the city was
so looted of its treasures that it filled all Italy, although for suitably sceptical discussion of this subject and
the specific problem of identifying as geographically Corinthian the bronzes so-claimed in Roman sources,
see Payne (1931) 350–1; Mattusch (2003).
204
See Kyrieleis (2002b) and Morgan (2002) for summaries.
205
Wright et al. (1990) 586 fig. 2, 610–16, 647–52, note the lack of evidence for settlement from the wider
area outside the higher order sites of Nemea, Phlious, and Kleonai. On the road from Kleonai to Nemea,
see Pikoulas (1995) 47–9; Marchand (2002) 73–120.
206
Miller (2002).
 258 catherine morgan

Fig. 52. The

sanctuary of Zeus
at Nemea

Fig. 53. The

Temple of Zeus at
Nemea
 d e b a t i n g pa t r o n a g e : a r g o s a n d c o r i n t h 259
appearance of Olympia. It is often argued that Kleonai was in control of the
games at least until late in the fifth century, and certainly the earlier of the two
extant sixth-century victor dedications (c.560) was made by a Kleonian, Aristis
son of Pheidon, four times victor in the pankration.207 The shrine continued to
be well provided for, with a rich collection of bronze vessels dedicated to Zeus as
cult equipment late in the sixth century,208 and a second major construction
phase during the first half of the fifth, when nine oikoi, perhaps storerooms,
meeting, or cooking places (although not treasuries) were built.209 Oikos 8
subsequently became a workshop for bronze sculpture during the third quarter
of the century.210
It is sometimes assumed that this enhanced development reflects close Argive
‘friendship’ with Kleonai, if not direct control of the games. The excavators
associate change in actual control with the violent destruction of the temenos
c.415/10 and the subsequent temporary transfer of the festival to Argos. However,
there is strong evidence that Kleonai remained an independent polis into the
fourth century, and may also have retained the games later than previously
thought.211 During the first half of the fifth century, matters may indeed have
been rather complicated. That Corinth attempted (perhaps successfully) to gain
control of the games in the 460s is implied both by Plutarch, Kimon 17. 2 and a
scholiast in the hypothesis of Pindar’s Nemean odes.212 Certainly, Kleonai and
Nemea are very readily accessible from neighbouring Corinth.213 Of the various
routes linking Corinth with the Argive plain, what was probably the main,
much-travelled road for wheeled traffic into the Peloponnese via the Longopo-
tamos valley ran directly via Kleonai. There are many indications that this road
was of some antiquity and certainly in use during our period: sites along the way
include Aetopetra (a substantial Late Bronze Age settlement where activity

207
Illustrated by Miller (1990) 37–8, fig. 11. Ie; see also Jeffery (1990) 150, cat. 5. On the tenuous
evidence linking Kleonai with the Nemean games, see Marchand (2002) 172–98, sceptical of purely
Kleonian control from the start, and noting that N. 4 and 10 are key to the association.
208
Miller (1990) e.g. 41–2, fig. 12.
209
Miller (1990) 117–27, 160–8.
210
Miller (1990) 162–4.
211
Miller (1982) 106–7; Miller (1990) 42–3, 61–2. Contra Perlman (2000) 138–49 (and see also Marc-
hand (2002) 142–5), who reviews evidence for the nature of the ‘friendship’ between the two states, noting
that, according to Strabo (8. 6. 19), the Kleonaians aided the Argives against Mycenae in the 460s. As
Perlman notes, Kleonai is more accessible from, and vulnerable to, Corinth than Argos, and the protection
afforded by topography may have been a factor in the decision to join Argos rather than Corinth. Little
archaeological research has so far been undertaken at Kleonai: Marchand (2002) 3–4, 71–2, 110–16 n. 116,
ch. 5; Dickerman (1903) 147–54, ed. pr. of a sacred law of c.575–550 (¼ Jeffery (1990) 150 cat. 6); RE 11 (1921)
s.v. Kleonai, cols. 721–8 (F. Bölte); Roux (1958) 171–3; Sakellariou and Faraklas (1971) 127–31. See, however,
Mattern (2002) for a preliminary report of a mapping and publication project, and AR (2003–4) 18 for
subsequent excavation.
212
Drachmann iii. 3–5 (N. hypoth. c–d).
213
Marchand (2002) 120–7. On the location of the land border between Corinth and Kleonai, see
Marchand (2002) 145–67, who does not wholly agree with Bynum (1995) 45–8.
260 catherine morgan
resumed by the Classical period at the latest), the Classical Kivoria shrine and
cemetery noted above, and possibly also the shrine at which the Penteskouphia
plaques (found out of context) were dedicated.214 Kleonai’s nearest neighbour,
Phlius, seems to have been pro-Corinthian and anti-Argive during our period,
emphasizing the openness (or vulnerability) of this area to overtures from both
sides.215 The strategic importance of the region is considerable: as Bynum points
out, the fifth-century alliance between Kleonai and Argos gave Argos the
ability to control two of the main routes between the Isthmus and the central
Peloponnese.216
To the north, Sikyon was also an interested party, noting Lolos’ argument that
a direct route along the Nemea river linked her with the sanctuary. Here too,
Lolos argues for an Archaic date for the road, and there is no reason to doubt that
it was in use by our period.217 Sikyonian participation at Nemea during our
period is attested by the Sikyonian script of two inscriptions of c.500, one on a
jumping weight offered as a victory dedication and found north of the shrine of
Opheltes, and the other on a bronze plaque which probably comes from an
equestrian statue.218 Geography apart, such interest is unsurprising. Sikyon
was famed for horse-breeding, and two of her sixth-century tyrants, Myron and
Kleisthenes, were victorious at Olympia (the latter also at Delphi).219 According
to Herodotus (5. 67), Sikyon’s own games were instigated by Kleisthenes in
honour of Pythian Apollo, and their status by Pindar’s time is confirmed not only
by N. 9, but by the evidence of a fragmentary base or stele from Sikyon of the first
quarter of the fifth century, on one face of which were recorded the many victories
of Agatha[rchos] at Delphi, Isthmia, Nemea, Sikyon, Athens (and presumably
more as the inscription is partial).220 In N. 9, however, as well as Bacchylides, Ep. 8
(for Automedes of Phlius), the foundation of the games is attributed to Adrastos
during his exile from Argos. Adrastos, and the third candidate for founder,
Amphiaraos, were both of Argive, Protid, descent, being among the Seven against
Thebes during whose stay at Nemea the child-hero Opheltes-Archemoros died.
Indeed, the cult of Adrastos was expelled from Sikyon by Kleisthenes as one of his
anti-Argive measures (Herodotus 5. 67–8)—the beginnings of a hostility which
continued into the fifth century.221 While attention has focused on this aspect
of Argive and Sikyonian myth-history, it is also worth emphasizing that the

214
Bynum (1995) passim, see ch. 2 on the Longopotamos valley route; also Marchand (2002) 31–6,
40–64. Pikoulas (1995) 33–73, see 33–5 on the Longopotamos valley route.
215
Jeffery (1990) 146–8.
216
Bynum (1995) 75.
217
Lolos (1998) 38; compare Marchand (2002) 160–7.
218
Weight: SEG 49 (1999) no. 346 (illustrated AR 45 (1998–9), 25). Plaque: Miller (1990) 3–9.
219
Lolos (1998) 23–4; Pausanias 6. 19. 2, 10. 7. 6; Herodotus 6. 126. 2.
220
Jeffery (1990), 141, 143 cat. 13.
221
Lolos (1998) 48–54.
 d e b a t i n g pa t r o n a g e : a r g o s a n d c o r i n t h 261
prominence of the Dioskouroi in N. 10 (49–90), while easily taken as an assertion
of the Argive importance of a cult strongly associated with Lakonia (and noting
the Argive kouros dedications at Delphi mentioned above), also reflects a
favoured Sikyonian theme, to judge by the sculpture of the monopteros at Delphi
(assuming it to be a Sikyonian construction).222
Against this background, and that of the struggle for Kleonai between Corinth
and Argos during the first Peloponnesian war,223 the emphasis placed on
Nemean as well as Isthmian victories in O. 13 and N. 10 gains considerable
significance. From a Nemean point of view, the need to assert local identity
may well help to explain why the hero shrine of Opheltes was such an elaborate
monument, whereas that of his Isthmian counterpart Melikertes-Palaimon was
likely a Roman (probably Neronian) creation, despite the importance of the
dominant (albeit not the only) Isthmian founder legend in earlier times
(of which Pindar was aware, as fr. 5 attests).224 Certainly, there is as yet no
secure evidence for the worship of Melikertes-Palaimon before the opening of
Palaimonian Pit A. While one might suggest that Pausanias’ observation (2. 1. 3,
2. 2. 1) of an altar by the shore, where the child’s body was brought to land, points
to the earlier location of the cult, we have no physical evidence for this, and such
a distant site hardly matches the central, focal position of both the Greek
Opheltion at Nemea and the Roman Palaimonion, which rapidly grew in scale
and architectural complexity.225

conclusion
Examination of the precise circumstances surrounding commissions of Pindaric
epinikia brings to the forefront the conflicts and uncertainties of the early fifth
century, which extended beyond rivalry between the crown games. Most of the
Peloponnesian poleis which sponsored major festivals and participated in the
festivals of others (directly, as corporate entities in the case of Argos, or indirectly
via their citizens) were more or less hostile to each other, and used the publicity
of victory to assert their own status. As noted in the introductory chapter also,

222
Parker (1994) 414. In the absence of a corpus of Sikyonian sculpture to compare, the case for
a Sikyonian attribution rests primarily on the treatment of architectural remains: Laroche and Nenna
(1990). The case for a western attribution rests primarily on sculptural style and subject—see among others
Szeliga (1986); de la Genière (1983); Ridgway (1991) 98–9; and (1993) 339–43, 361–2.
223
However the meagre ‘facts’ are interpreted: compare e.g. Lewis (1981) 74–6, with Perlman (2000)
140–1.
224
Hawthorne (1958); Pièrart (1998); Morgan (1999a), 341–3. The case for a Greek cult was first made
by Will (1955) 168–80, 210–12, and is reformulated, largely on the basis of Pindar fr. 5, by Gebhard and
Dickie (1999); see also Mylonopoulos (2003) 184–6, 196–7.
225
Gebhard, Hemans, and Hayes (1998) 416, 428–33 (see 436–44 for subsequent development).
262 catherine morgan
the density of the festival network in the north-east and central Peloponnese,
crossing hostile boundaries, is remarkable. Pindar certainly alludes to other
circuits (in central Greece, for example; O. 9. 99, I. 1. 11–12, 56–8, I. 4. 69–70),
but this one is particularly closely observed. The result, however, is presented as a
timeless entity, even though such evidence as we have suggests very different time
depths for individual festivals. By contrast, as Simon Hornblower has argued,
Thucydides seems to take such religious concerns largely for granted, perhaps to
the extent of deliberately ignoring them.226 The truth lies somewhere in between
and is far more complex.
Pindaric commissions must have been rare events. Epinikia were costly things
commissioned by people with real power in the state (as Hornblower concludes
in the case of Aegina, and may be inferred for Xenophon in Corinth).227 There is
substantial evidence (not least in victor lists) to show that by the sixth century at
the latest, athletes were almost invariably closely identified with their poleis.228
The links between victory, epinikia, elite status, and identification with the
political interests of the polis, here explored in the cases of Argos and Corinth,
are merely an extension of that principle. In the case of Argos, however, it is
possible to go further and to see the commission as promoting a state agenda. It
is not unparalleled to find the entire polis participating in the victory, and
celebrated in the resulting ode (see e.g. O. 9), but the force with which a
state-political agenda seems to be promoted in N. 10 is distinctive. This may
seem paradoxical if victory was at heart an individual achievement, albeit one
which redounded to the credit of the city and its elite, but it is not the first time
that it has been proposed. In noting how Pindar passes from the victories of
the individual to those of the larger kinship group, and then to the city, Horn-
blower cites (inter alia) N. 10.41–2, where, as emphasized above, the catalogue of
victories won by Theaios is followed by those of his relatives and the city of
Argos.229 That the latter could be more than just a cipher is clear from the
Olympic victory won by an Argive corporate chariot (½`æª
ø  Ø


ŁæØ
) in 472.230 Given the date of this victory, it is hard to see claims of
this kind simply as a ‘democratic’ manifestation.231
As noted in the introduction to this chapter, a variety of interpretations have
been proposed for the way in which Pindar emphasized certain values in the
context of a period of social change. It is clear that the Athenocentric case for
a last-ditch defence of elitist ideology cannot hold good for the north-east
Peloponnese, whatever nuances are put upon it. Thus, for example, drawing on

226 227
Hornblower (1992). Stephen Miller (2000) 281–2.
228
Heine Nielsen (2002) 203–10.
229
Hornblower (2004) 228–9, noting a parallel structure in N. 5 (at 46).
230
P. Oxy. 222, line 31 ¼FGrH 415; see also Carey (this volume, p. 201 n. 7).
231
As suggested by Poliakoff (2001) 55.
 debating patronage: argos and corinth 263
the fact that the majority of commissions are from Aegina and the western
colonies, Hubbard has concluded that they reflect a desire on the part of those
newly wealthy from trade and commerce to purchase the trappings of the old
aristocracy—and in the case of Athens, he reverses the argument by suggesting
that the old landed aristocracy used epinikian poetry to rehabilitate their reputa-
tions after exile or ostracism.232 Whatever one’s view of their appropriateness for
Aegina or Athens,233 neither argument fits the circumstances of Corinth or
Argos. Argos may seem superficially similar to the Athenian model, but we
know too little of the relationship between the old aristocracy and the servile
population, or of the circumstances of the democratic ‘revolution’, to sustain any
such conclusion,234 and the strongly civic, corporate feel of N. 10 is unusual. In
the case of Corinth, there is no good parallel for the way in which the commis-
sioning of epinikia is comprehensible within a tradition of aristocratic liturgy, yet
represents a new and more intensive manifestation of it. Emphasizing the rarity
of Pindaric commissions, Gregory Nagy has linked them to the kind of political
power enjoyed by tyrants or quasi-tyrants, not in the sense that commissions
were confined to actual or aspiring tyrants, but rather that there is a pervasive
thematic parallelism between the reality of an athlete’s victory and the potential of
a tyrant’s power.235 At first sight, this observation may seem to bear little
resemblance to the circumstances of post-tyrannical, oligarchic Corinth. But at
the risk of building an edifice with no sound foundations, in the context
of Pindar’s refence to stasis and the material evidence for intensification and
innovation in public and private display outlined in this chapter, Nagy’s obser-
vations offer food for thought. What this chapter has shown, however, is the
painful reality which lay behind creating, sustaining, or reviving athletic events
that continued to acquire ever greater and more complex significance in civic life.
Even in Corinth, fifth-century mores were no more conservative than the poetry
which they inspired.

232 233
Hubbard (2001) 390. See Hornblower (this volume).
234 235
As emphasized by van Wees (2003). Nagy (1990) 152–98 (paraphrasing 187).
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 ten
––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Elite Mobility in the West

Carla M. Antonaccio

Pindar’s patrons were located all over the Greek world, from Thessaly and
Macedon to Cyrene, from Sicily and Italy to Ionia. He was particularly favoured,
however, by patrons in the west. Of forty-five poems in four books of Pindaric
epinikian, seventeen were commissioned for victors from what is customarily
called ‘Western Greece’ or Magna Graecia (Fig. 54). Most of the epinikia for these
so-called western Greeks, moreover, were composed for Sicilians—only two
celebrated south Italian victories, both of Hagesidamos of Epizephyrian Lokroi
(Olympian 10 and 11), a victor in boys’ boxing in 476.
Aegina, with eleven Pindaric compositions, is the only single community to
have nearly so many as the westerners; five poems went to victors from the poet’s
native Thebes; and a colony, Cyrene, brings up the rear with three. Seven poems
were composed to honour various other mainland and island victors; finally, the
surviving fragments of epinikia inform us of additional victors from Rhodes,
Aegina, and Megara.1 The Sicilian victors, therefore, comprise the largest group
by geographical origin. A significant number of these poems are connected just
with the Sicilian tyrants of the early fifth century, especially the Deinomenids
who came to power when Gelon, son of Deinomenes, seized power at Gela after
the death of the tyrant Hippokrates whom he had served as commander of
cavalry.2 Gelon ruled from 491 to 485; in that year he gained control of Syracuse
and left Gela in the hands of his younger brother, Hieron. Gelon consolidated his
power with alliances to the Emmenids of Akragas. He married the Emmenid
tyrant Theron’s daughter, Damarete, and Theron in turn married the daughter
of Gelon’s other brother, Polyzalos. (Theron’s niece, the daughter of his brother

I am exceedingly grateful to the organizers of the seminar, Cathy Morgan and Simon Hornblower, for
inviting me to participate, and for their very generous hospitality while I was in England. I am particularly
indebted to Cathy for her generosity and her many suggestions and references that substantially improved
the final paper. It should go without saying that all omissions and errors are mine alone.
1
Cf. Race (1997) 9–10. Although other forms of lyric composed by Pindar are not the focus here, as
Race notes, encomia were also composed for individuals from Syracuse and Akragas, but no westerners are
among the honorands of either dithyrambs or paeans.
2
On Pantares, father of Gela’s first tyrant Kleandros, succeeded by Hippokrates, who had a win at
Olympia in 508, probably in the quadriga race: Herrmann (1988) list II, no. 1 and Hdt. 7. 154.
266 carla m. antonaccio

Fig. 54. the central mediterranean

Xenokrates, was married to Polyzalos’ brother Hieron.) In 480, Gelon defeated the
Carthaginians at Himera, an event that made him pre-eminent in the island, and is
alluded to in both Pindar’s poetry and in major dedications, as will be seen.
In 479 Gelon died, Hieron took over at Syracuse, and Polyzalos ruled Gela,
having married Gelon’s widow, Damarete. Hieron founded the new city of Aitna
on the slopes of the eponymous volcano, in 476, populating it with settlers
from Syracuse, the Peloponnese, and other towns in Sicily, though his son
Deinomenes actually ruled there. He, too, defeated a barbarian enemy, the
Etruscans, at Cumae in 474. After his death in 467, the last of these four brothers,
Thrasyboulos, took over at Syracuse, but was driven out after a year, following
which the Syracusans established a democracy. The Emmenids, meanwhile, had
fallen shortly after Theron’s death in 472, when the city established a democracy
after a brief period of rule by Theron’s son Thrasydaios.3
Of these figures, Pindar wrote for Hieron in particular: four epinikians, a
hyporchema (fr. 105), and an encomium (frs. 124d, 125, and 126). Indeed, the
compositions for colonials chiefly concern not only Sicilians, but the two tyran-
nical clans of the early fifth century, the Deinomenids of Gela and Syracuse, and

3
See Luraghi (1994) 255–62 and passim, for the interrelations of the two houses, as well as Bell (1995).
 elite mobility in the west 26 7
the Emmenids of Akragas.4 It is on the poems composed for them and their
close associates that this chapter centres. I set aside the two Olympians composed
for Hagesidamos, a boy victor,5 and also Olympians 4 and 5 for Psaumis of
Kamarina, victor in the chariot race of 452 and the mule cart race of 448, who
won after the age of the Sicilian tyrants was done. Ergoteles of Himera’s Olym-
pian 12 will be briefly invoked. That leaves only one other victory poem not
written for a tyrannical victor: Pythian 12, for Midas of Akragas, who won in the
aulos competition in 490, a musical contest not comparable to the athletic,
especially the equestrian, competitions.6 There are, nevertheless, eleven poems
of the seventeen with which we began left to consider. These are Olympian 1, for
Hieron of Syracuse, winning the single horse race, in 476;7 Olympian 2, for
Theron of Akragas, who won the chariot race in 476 also, and not forgetting
Olympian 3, composed for the same occasion but focused on a theoxenia for the
Tyndaridai, to whom Theron was specially devoted.8 476 saw the first Olympics
to be held after two significant events in the west: the Battle of Himera in 480
(synchronized by Herodotos inter alii with the battles of Salamis and Plataia);
and the founding by Hieron of the new city of Aitna on the slopes of Mt. Etna.9
It was in 476–475 that Pindar was in Sicily and for that year’s wins that he
composed no fewer than four victory odes, three for Hieron. It was probably
in 476 that Xenokrates won the chariot race at Isthmia, for which Simonides may
also have composed a poem, at the same time that this poet moved to Sicily
permanently. (Of course Aeschylus visited Syracuse in connection with his play,
Aitniai, that he wrote on the occasion of the foundation of the new city
of Aitna.)10
In either 472 or 468 Olympian 6 was written for Hagesias of Syracuse, closely
linked to the Deinomenids, in honour of his victory in the mule cart race (apēnē).
It was Bacchylides who celebrated Hieron’s chariot win at Olympia in 468, with
his third ode. Olympian 4 was for Ergoteles of Himera (formerly from Knossos),

4
See McGlew (1993) 35–51; see also Vallet (1984).
5
Malcolm Bell notes in an article forthcoming in studies offered to Giovanni Rizza, that a quarter of
the epinikians were for boy victors. For a western Greek example, the poet composed Olympian 10 and 11 in
476, for the aforementioned Hagesidamos of Lokri Epizephyri, a winner in the boys’ boxing.
6
Bell (1995) suggests that the tyrants essentially rigged the equestrian competitions so that they never
competed directly against each other in the decade 480–470, and possibly before.
7
Pausanias mentions a chariot group by Kalamis in connection with the tethrippon victory in 468, set
up by his son Deinomenes after Hieron’s death; it was flanked by two horses that won for Hieron at
Olympia in 476 and 472, these by the sculptor Onatas. See Bell (1995) 20; Herrmann (1988) list I, no. 108,
Pausanias 6. 10. 1, and Smith (this volume). Bacchylides composed his 5th epinikian for the chariot win
of 476 as well.
8
Race (1997) 76–7.
9
Race (1997) 8.
10
Bell (1995) for concise discussion of the cultural ties between mainland artists and the tyrants.
Simonides and Bacchylides may also have been guests at Syracuse, in addition to Pindar. See, Molyneux
(1992) 233–6, with extensive discussion of the date of this ode and his time in Sicily, on which see also p. 225.
268 carla m. antonaccio
who won the dolichos in 466 (probably), and whose adopted city was recently
delivered from the control of Akragas by Hieron.11 Of the Pythians, 1 was for
Hieron, winner in the chariot race of 470, also celebrated by Bacchylides’ fourth
ode; 2 was also for Hieron, another chariot race victory of uncertain date, but
on the same occasion Pindar composed the hyporchema for his patron (schol.
P. 2. 69). Pythian 3 alludes to Hieron’s illness in 476–467 and mentions the
Pythian victory of his celebrated horse Pherenikos. Pythian 6, was for Xenokrates
of Akragas, the younger brother of Theron but devoted to his son Thrasyboulos,
for a chariot victory probably in 490 in which he was probably the charioteer.
As mentioned, Pythian 12 was for Midas of Akragas who won the aulos in 490.
Of the Nemeans, 1 and 9 were composed for Chromios, Hieron’s general who had
previously served Gelon, Hieron’s older brother. Finally, Isthmian 2 was also
composed, like Pythian 6, for Xenokrates of Akragas, possibly around 470 after
his death; it also addresses his son Thrasyboulos and also praises a win in a
chariot race.12
Poetic expressions of colonial, and tyrannical, patronage are of course only one
manifestation of western elite participation in Panhellenic interactions and com-
petitions. These were also materially expressed, though most of the victory
monuments are now lost. An exception is the famous charioteer from Delphi,
celebrating the victory of Polyzalos in either 478 or 474 (or perhaps of Hieron, in
482 or 478) (Figs. 30, 31; see further below).13 The numerous treasuries (Fig. 56),
too, are also testaments to a mobility, a circulation, of persons between the
western colonies and the homeland ritual centres. This circulation is of competi-
tors, poets, and sculptors, among others. Hired poets celebrated the victories of
elite winners who sometimes, as in the case of chariot or mule-cart racing, even
paid someone else to compete, but took credit for the win.14 Statues continually
proclaim the victory, recording the name and origins of the victors for future
generations to know.15 Winning charioteers secure the victory for the owners of
the teams, but in two victory monuments they may embody and express their
own victories, as well as those of their patrons (see below). As Malcolm Bell has
observed of chariot racing in particular, ‘Although the Sicilian tyrants were hardly
the first political leaders to compete in the games, as a class they consistently

11
Ergoteles was recorded by Pausanias (6. 4. 11) as periodonikēs twice over in this event; cf. Herrmann
(1988) list I, no. 49. See also Silk and Thomas, this volume.
12
On this see most recently Bell (1995). Simonides also composed for Xenokrates but only a fragment
(505) survives: see Molyneux (1992) (above n. 10); Pindar composed an encomium (frs. 118, 119) for
Xenokrates as well as an encomium for Thrasyboulos, his son (fr. 124ab). On the possibility that Simonides
also wrote for Chromios, see Molyneux (1992) 231.
13
On the Delphi charioteer, see Smith (this volume), and cf. Maehler (2002), who has re-examined the
recut inscription on the base and concluded that the monument was originally dedicated by Hieron after a
win in either 482 or 478, and subsequently usurped by Polyzalos after he became master of Gela.
14
Bell (1995) 17–19; Nicholson (2003).
15
Herrmann (1988) 119.
 elite m obility in the west 269

X XI XII
I II III IV V VII IX
VI VIII
W R A2

A1
A3
Prahist 1 2

bauten
Heraion

Pelopion

Echo-Halie
3

6 7
A A

-Bau
B
12
10

Fig. 55. The treasury terrace at Olympia

sought the prestige of victory as a way of enhancing and dramatizing their

authority. For them participation in the games was far more costly than for
their competitors in Greece, requiring long voyages for horses, staff, and equip-
ment; and their celebrations of victory were more elaborate, including the
commissioning of choral odes and sculptures, the offering of hospitality to the
poets, and the issuing of silver coins.’16
This mobility has a context beyond that of Archaic and Classical Panhel-
lenism and the periodos of the games, however: early western involvement with
Panhellenic sanctuaries before they were truly Panhellenic—when they were,
instead, regional sanctuaries—in the ninth and eighth centuries. Although only
Greeks could compete in the games (at least in the Olympics),17 and only Greeks
won the praise of epinikian poetry, dedications could be made by Greeks and
non-Greeks alike. This activity is not only ‘pre-colonial’ but non-Greek as well,
and it will be argued in this chapter that it helps prepare the way for the western
Greek patronage of epinikian poetry, and its particular linking of the west and

16
Bell (1995) 15. See also Nicholson (2003) on chariot racing.
17
See the extensive discussion of Hall (2002) 154–8 on Olympia as a locus for the formation and
proclamation of Hellenic identity as expressed by mythological descent (rather than cultural identity). Hall
points out (p. 154) that participation is explicitly limited to Greeks only at Olympia.
270 carla m. antonaccio
sanctuaries ‘at home’. Moving back and forth within and among the texts and
following paths to and through the sanctuaries as well, allows examination of
material manifestations of these movements and the patronage and power they
display.

homelands and temene
In the Greek homeland, the Panhellenic sanctuaries had their start as local or
regional gathering places for cult and competition. Cult activity at Olympia and
Delphi can be traced to the eleventh and eighth centuries respectively (although
at Delphi, settlement dates back considerably further, as J. K. Davies notes in this
volume).18 This early use, however, as Catherine Morgan has argued, does not
support the notion that Panhellenism may be extrapolated backward from the
late Archaic into the late Early Iron Age and early Archaic periods. Taking into
account the variety of forms of activity and of formalized facilities, as well as the
disparate dates of these, across Greece in the Iron Age, Morgan suggests that in
the late Early Iron Age there was ‘a growing consensus of opinion on the
appropriate monumental development of major community cult places, but
also of community investment’.19 Morgan notes that building a temple was a
state prerogative from at least the Archaic period. Monumental construction
within states (or polities) takes place earlier, however, than in sanctuaries outside
the territories of particular polities—that is, the later Panhellenic ones, which do
not have such facilities before the seventh century, the eighth-century oracular
function of Delphi and Olympia notwithstanding.20
Since there were regional cult centres in Greece as early as the middle of the
Iron Age, and state sanctuaries in the colonies and their territories from the start,
one may ask why were there no Panhellenic sanctuaries in Sicily—or at least, no
regional sanctuaries. The island was colonized at the time when the sanctuaries of
Olympia and Delphi were coming into their own, but had not yet achieved the
prominence they would attain in the Archaic period. Indeed, these mainland
sanctuaries were more regional affairs, and did not become interregionally
prominent until the establishment of their games at varying times, so why did
not the colonies in Sicily, in particular, develop comparable cult centres?
While the history of Pindar’s century, the fifth century, is one of particularly
widespread dis- and re-location, from the start of the colonial movement, new
18
Morgan (1988), (1993); see most recently Eder (2001a; 2001b) and Kyrieleis (2002b).
19
C. Morgan (1993) 19. This view (indeed, with reference to this very quotation) has been challenged
recently by Umholz (2002) 280 for the Classical period (and earlier); temples could be built and dedicated
by individuals who had been responsible for financing their construction.
20
The view that Delphi and Olympia developed outside the polis is, however, no longer unchallenged,
as Cathy Morgan points out to me; see Davies (this volume).
 elite mobility in the west 271
settlements featured mixtures of individuals of different origins and the resultant
cities, cultures, and populations were both independent of their homeland
origins and still participants in Greek cultural and ritual forms. Recent scholar-
ship has suggested that the western colonies in particular were innovators in
many spheres from their very foundations more than two centuries before
epinikian flourished. Orthogonal city planning, some of the most impressive
early monumental buildings in the entire ambit of Greek culture, even hero
cult, have all been suggested to be colonial formations. This raises the now
venerable question of when the polis came into being and what, exactly, defines
it—formally, archaeologically, socially. Thus, it may be asked, does it take a polis
to found a colony? or, does it take a polis to found a polis? While opinion
certainly differs on these important questions, some recent scholarship has
moved toward the view that ‘what was at work in the eighth century bc was a
process of general demographic mobility which resulted in groups of Greek
settlers being disseminated all over the Mediterranean, rather than a structured
colonizing movement, and that we should think in terms of Greek settlement—
some of it within existing communities—rather than colonial foundation’.21
Indeed, Robin Osborne has pointed out that during the last generation of the
eighth century south Italy or Sicily saw the foundation of a new settlement every
other year on average.22
Colonies mapped out living and ritual space immediately, including sacred
space, locating both urban and rural sanctuaries along with housing blocks,
agora, and cemeteries, as often illustrated with the site of Megara Hyblaia.23
The chōra, the territory, was also ordered, put to use in ways different from those
of the indigenous inhabitants, as can be documented best, perhaps, at Metapon-
tum. Other surveys, in the words of Joseph Carter, ‘provide evidence for a
pattern of life in the countryside that can now be said to have been habitual for
the Greeks in the West’.24 As Carter notes, the orthogonal ordering of both city
and countryside are striking parallels, although the emplotment of the landscape
in lots of equal size may not be as early a feature of colonization as that of the
cityscape’s division and order. Yet, taken as a whole, the reordering of the land-
scape, and creation of new kinds of settlements, are hallmarks of the settlement
movement.
There is no space here to investigate in detail the development of Greek
sanctuaries in the west,25 but we may at least raise some of the factors involved
in demarcating the use of space in colonial territories, and operating against the
formation of Panhellenic or pan-regional centres. For, as much remarked, the

21 22
Lomas (2000) 172; see also Osborne (1998). Osborne (1996) 129.
23
On which see Malkin (2002b).
24
See the essays in Pugliese-Carratelli (1996); quote from Carter p. 361.
25
See Bergquist (1990) for one review.
272 carla m. antonaccio
colonies invested heavily at the Panhellenic sanctuaries of the old country, espe-
cially the western colonies. This is predicated on the apparently simple fact that
there are no Panhellenic sanctuaries in the colonial west. Neither are there major
investments by the colonies in sanctuaries of their founding cities.26 As with burial
customs in Sicilian colonies, this investment, argues Gillian Shepherd, was aimed
not at preserving metropolitan ethnic identity or political or cultural ties, but at
colonial self-promotion. The general independence of the early colonies from
their founding cities in matters of religion is of a piece with their political
independence. So, too, Catherine Morgan suggests that, early on, the western
colonies ‘chose to invest in those mainland sanctuaries most removed from the
contemporary state structure’ and that the expression of colonial identity was a
more important factor, in the final analysis, than the mere proximity of Italy to
western Greece. The use by colonials of Olympia and other sanctuaries like it
‘would have had the advantage of maintaining general links with the source of a
colony’s Greek identity, while avoiding the kind of close connection with the
mother city which might compromise its independence’.27 At the same time the
absence of a shared sanctuary in the west itself also allowed the colonies to interact
with each other, but outside colonial, and disputed, territories. This is reinforced
by the report of an attempt by Sybaris and Kroton to transfer the Olympic contests
to southern Italy in the last quarter of the sixth century, without success.28
On the other hand, Irad Malkin has argued that there did indeed exist a
Pansikeliote shrine: the altar of Apollo Archegetes at Naxos, the first colony on
Sicily. In Malkin’s judgement, all Sicilian Greeks sacrificed at this altar before
beginning a journey on official business (theōria). The basis for Malkin’s view is
Thucydides, who reported the sanctuary’s foundation by the founder of the
colony: ‘Thoukles established the altar of Apollo Archegetes which is now out-
side the city, on which, when theōroi sail from Sicily, they first sacrifice’ (6. 3. 1).
Because this altar and any sanctuary associated with it remains unexcavated, its
features are unknown, but in Malkin’s account it was a sort of Plymouth Rock for
Sicily.29 Thucydides, however, does not actually state that all Sikeliote theōroi
sacrificed here, so the passage may refer to Naxian theōroi bound specifically for
Delphi, or just those Sicilian envoys headed for Delphi; it is doubtful that every
theōria from every Greek city in Sicily would have had to go first to Naxos before
embarking. Nevertheless, even if all Sikeliote theōroi did sacrifice at the altar of

26
Shepherd (1995) 73–6.
27
C. Morgan (1993) 20.
28
Philipp (1992) 46 and n. 50, citing Athen. 12.
29
Malkin (1987) 19 and nn. 23, 24; Malkin (1986) 964: Octavian landed here, and the sanctuary (hieron)
supposedly had a statue, of whom we are not told. See also Morgan (1990) 176 and n. 66, who sides with
Malkin on the importance of the cult of Apollo for the foundation of Naxos, calling it of ‘pan-colonial
importance’. Malkin has also suggested that the Panhellenion at Naukratis may have had a similar function
for the Greeks of Egypt, but the context, specifically, and the name, reflect a different formation.
 elite mobility in the w est 273
Apollo the Founder, this specialized and restricted function does not compare
with those of the sanctuaries at Olympia or Delphi, nor is the sanctuary compar-
able even with the federal sanctuaries of ethnē. As I have argued elsewhere, ‘the
identities of the Sikeliōtai, either as a group or as individual communities . . . do
not find expression at a shared sanctuary in Sicily, but back in the homeland’.30
If we agree to leave aside the altar of Apollo at Naxos, then we are left without
a Pansikeliote sanctuary. The obvious reasons for its lack are that for much of the
time the colonies were in existence, there was a near constant state of struggle
over territory with both the indigenous Sicilians and between colonies, to say
nothing of the Carthaginians and Athenians. Moreover, no Pansikeliote—or
Panitaliote—federation or league had any other than the most fleeting existence.
Without previous Greek habitation, a mythological or cultic charter or pedigree
is lacking for the west, as are the tomb cults and hero cults that played an
important role in the late Iron Age and early Archaic period in the Greek
homeland. Instead, in the colonies such cults were centred on communal found-
ers and on Herakles’ Panhellenic travelling road show.31
In any event, a distinctive colonial identity does find expression in the
ambitious but eclectic architecture of the colonies. The Syracusan temple to
Apollo with monolithic columns, dedicated by a singular inscription, is a build-
ing that Dieter Mertens has suggested as the ‘forerunner of the entire set of
temples built in the first half of the sixth century B.C.’ in the old country.32 As
Mertens argues, the colonies never established a consistent colonial architectural
vocabulary. Nevertheless, distinctive coroplastic traditions will make it possible
to identify colonial treasuries by their roofs, as will be seen.

olympia, ‘territory common to all’

Thus, elite mobility in the Archaic period took the form of the circulation of
persons to and on the mainland. It entailed participation in networks of presti-
gious exchange, display, competition, and feasting; and, in the fully colonial
world of the sixth and fifth centuries as well as before, of mobility even for native
or non-Greek elites who make dedications (even without participating in the
games). Sicilian or Italian elites went to Olympia and Delphi for the opportun-
ities afforded by the sanctuaries that developed as a regional common ground—
what Pindar, in Olympian 6, would later describe as back to ƪŒ

 æÆ
(l. 63). The regionally prominent sanctuaries that already existed in what we are
accustomed to call the homeland, moreover, were completely within the sphere
of these westerners, something that needs stressing, and might help account for

30
Antonaccio (2001) 134; on agōnes in Sicily, see Arnold (1960) 249.
31 32
See Antonaccio (1999). Mertens (1996) 324.
274 carla m. antonaccio
the lack of a western centre like Delphi or Olympia. Olympia and Delphi were
perhaps no more difficult of access for westerners than for a distant inhabitant of
the Peloponnese or islands (Fig. 54). Hanna Philipp has even characterized
Olympia as a Peloponnesian-West Greek sanctuary, rather than a Dorian one
(although, of course, Ionian Greeks competed and won there) until the end of
the fifth century. Though not so exclusive and bounded as the Panionion of the
East Greeks, Olympia was, nevertheless, ‘Das ‘‘Panionion der Westgriechen’’, das
ihnen gemeinsamen Zentrum’.33
Philipp supports this argument with the limited, but still telling, evidence of
victories, votive statues, and epinikian poems: the poetry of Bacchylides as well as
of Pindar, the descriptions of the sanctuaries by Pausanias, the victor lists.
Carefully noting how small is the percentage of surviving votives, and that victors
do not tell us anything about who actually participated—but lost—Philipp still
demonstrates very early participation of the western Greeks in the games. The
earliest west Greek victor at Olympia was Daippos of Kroton in 672, and that
century saw an additional 3 from western Greece, although the number of
Peloponnesian victors was overwhelming (41 according to her count) while 9
other mainlanders came from outside the Peloponnese. In the sixth century, 24
victors were from western Greece, however; 34 were Peloponnesians, and 24
from the rest of Greece. In the fifth century, it was 39 westerners, 85 non-
Peloponnesians, and the Peloponnesian victors were 74 in number. By the fourth
century, the number of western Greek victors had fallen dramatically, to 11,
compared to 73 Peloponnesians and 59 from the rest of Greece, unsurprising
given the events of the late fifth and early fourth centuries.34
The corollaries to victory, their performed and material expressions, were
poems and statues. As mentioned at the outset, 17 out of 45 Pindaric epinikia
were for western Greeks (9 for Olympic victories). The poems took the fame of
victors from the sanctuaries to their homes and beyond. So did the victory
monuments, which were seen by subsequent visitors to Panhellenic sanctuaries
for generations, indeed for centuries, to come; victory monuments could also be
erected at home. Indeed, the earliest known victory monument was erected in the
seventh century, by one Kleombrotos of Sybaris, who put one up at both
Olympia and at home, as recorded in an inscription from Francavilla Marittima.35
33
Philipp (1994) 88, 91; see also her earlier article (1992).
34
On victors, see also Giangiulio (1993) 99–102, and Hall (2002) 160. Hall also points out that the first
known inscription of any kind from Olympia (bronze, early 6th cent.) may have been dedicated by an
Achaian west Greek colony, at just the time that an Achaian ethnic identity was being promulgated for
colonies in south Italy (loc. cit. and n. 145).
35
Philipp (1994) 80; see also Giangiulio (1993) 100 with references in n. 18; Giangiulio dates the
Kleombrotos dedication well into the 6th cent., but notes that the date is uncertain. See Hornblower,
Morgan, and Smith in this volume as well. On victor statues at Olympia see also Herrmann (1988),
discussing the record of Pausanias in conjunction with the epigraphic sources, and Smith, this volume, for
a list of attested victor statues at Olympia.
 elite mobility in the west 275

Fig. 56. Dedications at Delphi

276 carla m. antonaccio
Steiner has written eloquently of the symbiotic relationship of poems and monu-
ments (as well as other artefacts): ‘the artefacts simultaneously evoke actual
monuments to a victor or hero, and serve as images for song and songmaking’,
and, further, of the poems that ‘like the inscriptions on statues and other
agonistic dedications, their texts permit the celebrants to proclaim a second
time the formulaic statement of the win’.36 A fifth-century example of such a
monument at home is the so-called Motya charioteer, a marble, rather than
bronze, figure found on the island of Punic Motya off the western coast of Sicily,
but certainly a Greek work of the earlier fifth century. Though many identifica-
tions of this figure have been offered, Malcolm Bell has recently, and convin-
cingly, identified the figure as Nikomachos, the Athenian charioteer who won for
Xenokrates of Akragas at Isthmia, and also, as told in Isthmian 2, for Theron at
Olympia (476), and at the Panathenaia as well (474?) (Figs. 37–9). This figure
may be seen as a corollary to the bronze charioteer from Delphi mentioned
above, of the same decade.37 As is true of the poems, among the non-Pelopon-
nesian victors down to the end of the fourth century western Greeks seem to have
commissioned about a third of the statues, according to Philipp.38

treasuries, dedications, and the early west

Statues were not the only monuments with western connections. As is often
noted, half of the eleven treasuries documented by Pausanias at Olympia belonged
to the western colonies (Fig. 56). The rest were erected by polities located chiefly
in the Peloponnese; pre-eminent states such as Athens and Sparta had none, and
most of the others were connected with the mother cities of colonies in the west.
According to Pausanias, one of the last treasuries built was a dedication of the
Syracusans and of Gelon, after the Battle of Himera in 480 (6. 19. 7). As Philipp
notes, there was never any ‘Olympic’ style building or votive, and in the case of
the treasuries a very definite local, colonial expression was clearly made in the
different, local types of architectural terracottas on their roofs.39 At Delphi,
36
Steiner (1993) 167, 172; see now Steiner (2001) 259–61, and Thomas, Smith, and Morgan in this
volume. Steiner (1993) 161, notes the prominent mention of agalmata in the poems of Pindar, especially in
those for Aeginetan victors, which she connects with the prominence of sculptors from the island.
37
On dates, Bell (1995) 18–20. The statue was taken from Akragas after the sack of that city in 409 to
Motya by the Carthaginians; see further below. Bell also suggests that the figure might instead represent
Thrasyboulos, the son of Xenokrates. Nicholson (2003) 121 is sceptical of the identification of the figure as a
charioteer because he argues against their inclusion in victory monuments generally; he regards the Delphi
figure as part of the representation of the chariot, rather than sharing in the victory (104). On the Motya
figure see also Smith (this volume).
38
Philipp (1994) 87 and n. 45.
39
See also Neer (2003) 129, who says that treasuries comprise ‘a little bit of the polis in the heart of a
Panhellenic sanctuary, so that when it is placed in a treasury, a dedication never really leaves home at all’.
On the treasuries at Olympia, see Mallwitz (1972).
 elite mobility in the west 277
approximately thirty small structures lining the Sacred Way (a number that
includes two that are located in the Marmaria) may all have functioned as treas-
uries. Of these, perhaps a half-dozen were colonial dedications: of Massalia,
Sybaris, Syracuse, Cyrene, and Kerkyra, fewer in proportion to those at Olympia,
but a respectable number.40 Treasuries are, in fact, invoked by Pindar in Pythian 6,
composed for Xenokrates of Akragas, where a thesauros of songs forms part of the
imagery.41 There is also an invocation of a building, a megaron this time, as a
metaphor for praise in Olympian 6 for Hagesias of Syracuse (see further below).42
It is striking that this colonial dedicatory behaviour is prefigured by early material
originating in pre-colonial Italy. Italian or Sicilian offerings, beginning at Olympia
with fibulae dating as early as the ninth century, are indicators of widening horizons
for the sanctuary, and as Catherine Morgan suggests, ‘the beginning of the espe-
cially close relationship between Olympia and the west which is already evident in
the relatively large number of treasuries constructed by colonial cities’.43 Naso,
however, records 250 bronzes in the Iron Age and Orientalizing periods from
Olympia, Delphi, Samos, and Dodona as well as other sanctuaries, of which a
third are fibulae.44 Among the early, pre-colonial dedications, Philipp noted the
presence of what might be termed ‘exotic’ metal dedications, but with a few
exceptions, for example two shields from Cyprus and one that may be identified
as late Hittite, all the non-Greek material at Olympia is either Etruscan or
south Italian.45 Apart from jewellery, most of the imports are weapons.46
To understand these western objects in Olympia and also in Delphi, which
at the very least prefigure the later colonial investment and activity, means
confronting the meaning of uninscribed votive dedications in the sanctuaries
and votary intention. For jewellery the offerings may, at least in many cases,
reveal most about the interests, identities, and moments of importance in the
lives of their donors, rather than about the divinity or cult per se. Thus the pins
and fibulae—and perhaps also clothing that they might have secured—could be
the dedications of women facing marriage or childbirth or some other event or
crisis, like illness. It ought not to be forgotten, however, that men used some of
40
Treasuries at Delphi: Bommelaer and Laroche (1991) and Partida (2000). Remarkably, two treasuries
were also dedicated by Etruscan cities (see below). Based on the architectural terracottas, it has also been
suggested that other Sicilian or S. Italian cities, perhaps Kroton or Gela, dedicated treasuries as well
(Rougemont (1992) 172–3; Jacquemin (1992) 193–4). See further below.
41
See Steiner (1993) 169–70 for further discussion. The ancient word for the buildings termed treasuries
by modern scholars is either thesauros or oikos in ancient sources: Bommelaer and Laroche (1991) 59; see
Partida (2000) 25–6.
42
Lines 7–8, Steiner (1993) 170 and n. 43, suggests that the porch of this megaron is like the façade of a
treasury, inscribed with the name and occasion of the votive; see also p. 173.
43
Morgan (1990) 34; n. 18 with refs.
44
Naso (2000) 196.
45
Philipp (1994) and (1992).
46
Philipp (1994) 86; C. Morgan (1993) n. 37 on p. 40; cf. the comments of von Hase in Atti Taranto 31
(1992), 280–3: 25% of the Italian dedications at Olympia are weapons. See also von Hase (1997).
278 carla m. antonaccio
these items, too.47 If this is the case, then there are two possibilities for the Italian
jewellery: these items, either acquired by trade or pre-colonial contacts, were
dedicated by Greeks, or they were the dedications of Italian visitors themselves.48
Before discussing the jewellery further, the other dedications should be ad-
dressed. Dedications of weapons and other booty in later periods are state votives
that commemorate military victories. May the early ex-votos of weapons be
considered personal dedications, like the jewellery? The practice of dedicating
weapons at Olympia is already current in the eighth century, and not restricted to
this sanctuary, but known at Delphi and Isthmia as well (though to a much lesser
degree in the Corinthia).49 All three sanctuaries had Italian weapons.50 Herrmann
identified twenty fragments of south Italian and Etruscan shields of the eighth
century from Olympia, a number revised downward to sixteen by Naso, who
noted, however, that many fragments had been pierced for nailing in display.51
Kilian identified an Etruscan helmet fragment at Delphi and one from Olympia as
well, dating them to about 800 bc.52 Herrmann also lists a greave fragment at
Olympia of a type known from Etruria, northern Italy, and the Balkans, as well as
Calabria and Cyprus, and ranges in date from the Late Bronze Age to the seventh
century.53 The Olympic example is late in the series. There are also giant
spearheads from mid-peninsular Italy which probably date to the first half of the
eighth century, some of them deliberately broken, a gesture that is paralleled by
the Iron Age Greek custom of ‘killing’ a weapon (or other object) before
depositing it in a grave.54 This would perhaps parallel the later dedications of
the Tarentines at Delphi, celebrating their victories over the local natives.55

47
Morgan (1990) 34–5; see also Morgan (1999a) 330–2.
48
Shepherd (2000) details dedications of Italian fibulae, very few in number, at other homeland
sanctuaries in the 8th and 7th cent., and explains them as ‘likely to be odd ornaments picked up by
mainland Greeks on trading expeditions and deposited in return for a safe passage’ at Perachora, for
example (p. 68), or ‘convenient dedicatory trinkets picked up by . . . traders wheeling and dealing around
Italy and Sicily’ at Lindos (p. 64), etc. Naso (2000) emphasizes the dedication of clothing, not just
jewellery. See also von Hase (1992) 281–2 (above, n. 46) and von Hase (1997) esp. 307 ff.
49
Philipp (1994) 82, Morgan (1999a), with references.
50
Naso (2000) presents a convenient summary with comprehensive bibliography.
51
Naso (2000) 198. The author also suggests that some of the sheet bronze belongs to the decoration of
Etruscan thrones of the 7th cent., which he connects with a reference in Pausanias to a throne dedicated by
the Etruscan king Arimnestos, ‘the first barbarian to honour Zeus at Olympia with a votive offering’ (198
n. 20; Paus. 5. 12. 5); see also Colonna (1993) 53–5.
52
Kilian (1977); Naso (2000) 198 suggests that the fragment, which is very small, may instead belong to
a sword scabbard of Italian origin.
53
Herrmann (1984) 279–82; Naso (2000) 198–9 places it late in the group and notes Bosnian influence
on the category.
54
Herrmann (1984); Naso (2000) notes 13 examples from Olympia, 7 from Delphi, and elsewhere, with
parallels in the Mendolito bronze hoard from an indigenous site on the slopes of Etna (p. 200 with references).
55
Bommelaer and Laroche (1991) 117–18, no. 114 (‘Tarentins du bas’, first quarter of the 5th cent.,
located on the lower Sacred Way near the Sikyonian Treasury) which celebrated a victory over the
Messapians, and 163–4, no. 409 (‘Tarentins du haut’, near the Plataian dedication), of the first half of the
5th cent., commemorating the defeat of the Iapygians—both indigenous foes.
 elite mobility in the w est 279
Morgan advocated the view that the dedication of weaponry was linked to the
notion of warfare as a common enterprise, rather than an individual one. Local
sanctuaries would have been more appropriate venues for display for expensive
personal—or captured—weapons by individuals, or, possibly, such dedications
may have represented communal identity, insofar as dedicating such objects to
the gods in a shared sanctuary may be regarded as a kind of levelling ideology.56
This personal motivation may have pertained at Isthmia, definitively still a local
shrine in the eighth century. At Olympia and Delphi, however, early dedications
of arms and armour might have been the actions of members of the elites that
took place outside their own communities, but still among their own kind.
Indeed, while Morgan has documented instances of individual dedications,
booty is much more frequent from the sixth century onwards. Nevertheless,
even booty might originate in individual action (i.e. stripping the dead on the
battlefield). ‘There is no reason to assume that dedications of equipment and
spoils did not reflect a wide spectrum of interests, ranging from the purely
personal to the purely communal’.57
From the foregoing, there are three ways to think about the meaning of early
foreign arms in Panhellenic sanctuaries: (1) They were obtained by Greeks in
trade and dedicated by individuals, males presumably, as personal and occasional
dedications in much the same way as jewellery. (2) They were dedicated by
Greeks as individuals or communally as booty, perhaps a tithe, in the aftermath
of a victory, in which case they commemorate early conflicts between Greeks and
Italians. (3) They were the dedications of Italians themselves, either individually
or in common. Philipp, Shepherd, and others certainly prefer the explanation of
Greek booty, a practice that can be traced from the eighth to the fifth centuries.
Thus, Herrmann believes the Italian shields mentioned above not to be exotic
trade items but to originate in armed conflict between Greeks and Etruscans, and
the foreign arms to be booty from battles fought by Greeks with Italian enemies.
This might also explain the single Sicilian spearhead from Isthmia, which could
be a trophy from early Corinthian colonial violence, perhaps at the founding
of Syracuse.58
This view is supported by much of the later evidence. The vast majority of arms
and armour, helmets and greaves in particular, dedicated at Olympia come from
the Peloponnese. They seem to have been displayed mostly at the bank of the

56
Morgan has modified this view of warfare as a communal activity in more recent work: Morgan
(2001) esp. 24–7 on dedication of arms.
57
Morgan (2001) 26.
58
See Naso (2000) 194 for a summary of all the opinions about early votives, leaving out the work of
Morgan, however. He concludes, ‘It is preferable not to formulate an overall interpretation valid for all the
different objects; they arrived in Greece as a result of exchange circuits activated by relationships of various
different kinds’ (p. 194).
280 carla m. antonaccio
stadium, rather than in the Altis itself.59 These are taken to be the result of the
countless battles fought between groups of Greeks and with their enemies, as
sometimes proved by inscription, especially from the sixth century on. Kunze
counts about 200 greaves, 14 inscribed. That the western colonies participated in
this way is demonstrated by the 5 or 6 examples inscribed by western Greeks, and
the roughly 20 inscribed items of weaponry from western Greeks in all.60 These
provide context for the famous dedication of inscribed helmets by Hieron and
the Syracusans after the victory over the Etruscans at Cumae in 474, a victory
invoked by Pindar in Pythian 1 (72), for Hieron (about which more below).
Explaining ninth- or eighth-century dedication of arms, however, as the spoils
only of Greek victors projects later practice onto the past. Philipp quite rightly
asks whether a late Hittite shield should be explained in the same way, or Cypriot
helmets. As with other heirlooms and exotica, less common at Olympia than in
eastern sanctuaries like the Samian Heraion, these may have another explanation
for their presence, one that accounts for them as valued for their rarity and age.
But such materials do shed doubt on the idea that all the other dedications of
weaponry from afar are Greek celebrations of victory over foreign adversaries.
It seems possible that the earliest, at least, together with the metal objects of
jewellery that are imported, might come instead from the dedications of Italians
as individuals.61
This possibility, it must be admitted, has been considered by scholars working
on metal votives from all over Greece and the Mediterranean, and rejected.
Herrmann himself suggests that it might be the case for dress ornaments, but is
not likely for weapons, at least at Olympia.62 At least it is not demonstrated by
epigraphic evidence. A famous example that would seem to be an exception, the
inscribed helmet of Miltiades also from Olympia, is according to Herrmann
not the helmet worn at Marathon, but instead a dedication originating in his
ventures in the Chersonese between 524 and 493. Herrmann suggests that the
Etruscan material is connected with conflicts around the settlement of Italian
Cumae. Philipp, meanwhile, suggests that it is small victories that would be
particularly important for the western Greeks to advertise by commemorating
them at Panhellenic sanctuaries—in the same way that Miltiades’ helmet would
inform the wider Greek world of his exploits in the Chersonese, rather than the

59
See the comments of Rolley in Atti Taranto 31 (1992) 288–91, noting the different dedicatory
behaviour at Olympia and Delphi, emphasizing the very small number of Italian arms at Delphi, and
insisting on a strong contrast between the dedication of objects in the 8th cent. and later periods.
60
Philipp (1994) 83; (1992) 37.
61
Naso (2000) 196 refers to the work of Sordi (1993), which indicates a similar custom of dedicating a
portion of booty to the gods among Italians as well; see also the comments of Sabbione as cited in
Jacquemin (1992) 214–17, on the dedications of weapons in S. Italian sanctuaries.
62
Herrmann (1984).
 elite mobility in the west 281
famous Marathon.63 An inscribed joint dedication of a shield from a victory of
Hipponion and Medma over Kroton is a west Greek example of this imperative;
we do not otherwise know of this conflict and victory. Another example is a
victory of Taras over Thurii some time in the 430s, as recorded in an inscription
on a bronze spear butt found in Olympia.64
An explanation stressing hostility between Greeks and non-Greeks reinforces
the Greek/barbarian divide and invokes sources on Etruscan piracy.65 But the
early history of Greek and Etruscan interactions is very complex, and clearly not
always hostile. In the earliest period, it was enabled by the early Euboian presence
in the Bay of Naples and nearby.66 The adoption of elite Greek culture by
Etruscans includes epic poetry, drinking customs, artistic conventions, and so
on in the pre- and early colonial period. There is a large number of Etruscan
dedications at Olympia from the seventh century, exceeding those of the ninth
and eighth centuries. This cannot all be booty, nor need it be: we have the
evidence to demonstrate that Etruscans made dedications at both Delphi and
Olympia. For example, a basin, possibly of gold, was offered by the Etruscans
around 490–480 in conjunction with their struggle with the Liparians (that is,
Knidian colonists) over the Straits of Messina. This dedication was made near the
entrance to the temple, very close to the dedications of gold tripods by the
Deinomenids that commemorated their victory over the Carthaginians at
Himera.67 The Liparians, meanwhile, upon achieving more than one victory,
apparently over the Etruscans, themselves made two dedications, one very large,
at Delphi in the second quarter of the fifth century.68 To this we may juxtapose
the find of a helmet dedicated by Hieron after the battle of Cumae in 474.
Sources also relate that two treasuries at Delphi were erected by the Etruscan
cities of Agylla (Caere) and Spina, the former after 535, the latter about a decade

63
Philipp (1994).
64
ML, p. 154 no. 57 with references.
65
For a convenient summary, see Torelli (1996).
66
This traffic left traces in Greece as well as in Italy; note the 8th-cent. Etruscan bronze belt from
Euboia: Naso (2000) 200 and fig. 4, now in the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris, the exact findspot
unknown. From the latest Bronze Age in Euboia, interestingly, are examples of painted carinated cups with
high-swung handles from LH IIIC Xeropolis (Lefkandi), of a type common in Sicily and S. Italy: Popham
and Milburn (1971) 338, fig. 3.5, 6, 7 (also noting handmade, burnished examples). A handmade mug, also
possibly Italian in origin, from the same level: Popham and Sackett (1968) 18, fig. 34.
67
Colonna (1989) discusses the limestone base (‘cippus’) that survives and its inscription, restoring the
first line as ‘from the Knidians’; the usual restoration is ‘dekatan’, a tithe (see Naso (2000) 202; (2003) 321),
although akrothinion is a possible restoration, or apo laistōn (Colonna (1993) 61–6, with complete references
to prior publications). The rest of the inscription is, however, completely clear, declaring that the Turranoi
(Etruscans) dedicated the object on top to Apollo. On the involvement of Anaxilas of Rhegion in this
struggle: Luraghi (1994) 116 n. 183 with references. On the Deinomenid tripods, Krumeich (1991);
Bommelaer (1991) no. 518, 188–9; see also Molyneux (1992) 221–4.
68
Torelli (1996), citing Pausanias 10. 11. 3, on the Liparian dedications, see Bommelaer (1991) 126, map
no. 123 (next to Siphnian Treasury); 150–3, no. 329 (analemma around the temple, with inscriptions and
dedications).
282 carla m. antonaccio
earlier—the only non-Greek polities to do so, but the presence of much older
votives provides some context.69
Thus, it seems reasonable to propose that the earlier Italian booty and other
objects are the traces of early Italian visitors to the Greek mainland sanctuaries
who made offerings to the gods of Olympia and Delphi, at least, on their own
account. The choice of Olympia in particular, but also Delphi, for such dedica-
tions by Greek and non-Greeks is not difficult to understand. In the earlier Iron
Age, Olympia was ‘a meeting place for the petty chiefs of the west, at which they
reinforced their status at home and amongst their fellow rulers via the dedication,
and perhaps also circulation, of prestige goods’.70 The societies of Sicily and Italy
in the Iron Age were not so incommensurate with, say, that of Arkadia in the
early period. The distribution of sanctuaries in this region probably reflects
settlements’ territorial boundaries, and these sites were the main focus for ritual
activity in a given local territory. Yet, there was a discernible amount of Arkadian
activity at Olympia, too, meaning that it was used at least on occasion by
Arkadians, and Morgan suggests that ‘participation at Olympia meant different
things to different societies’.71 Yet all participated in the cult of a warlike Zeus,
one who from the time of the earliest votives is shown as a helmeted fighter, and
the choice of the stadium site for dedications of booty in later times seems
apropos, in the context of the athletic agōn. (As an aside it is interesting to note
that armour and arms at Isthmia, originally dedicated in the northern sector of
the temenos, were apparently brought inside the temple at some point.)72
It is, then, possible that the early Italian dedications, at Olympia in particular,
provide a trackway for investment in the sanctuary by the colonies, and help to
explain the later colonial architectural investment at interpolity sanctuaries in the
form of treasuries and the prominence of westerners among victors in the seventh,
sixth, and fifth centuries. Among the ‘petty chiefs of the west’ frequenting
Olympia in the early Iron Age were those who established pre-colonial routes
to Italy, as suggested by Malkin, and their Italian counterparts.73 Indeed Naso
also suggests that ninth-century Italian objects in Greek sanctuaries demonstrate
69
Naso (2000) 200–1; Bommelaer and Laroche (1991) 231–2, no. 342 (x), to the immediate west of the
Treasury of the Athenians, as ‘the Treasury of the Etruscans’, possibly of Spina; cf. Partida (2000) 199–211,
rejecting the identification and arguing for no. 228 (ix) just to the south. Bommelaer suggests that the
Treasury of Agylla/Caere might have been just below on the Sacred Way, no. 209 (xii): cf. p. 143, where
this structure is discussed but the hypothesis is not developed.
70
C. Morgan (1993) 21; cf. von Hase (1997) 307–8: the small Etruscan ornaments likely to have been
dedicated by occasional Italian visitors; the weapons, however, he believes to have been dedicated by
Greeks victorious over Etruscan opponents as noted above.
71
C. Morgan (1993) 21–2.
72
Jackson (1992) 142: votives set up on the north side would have been visible from the Archaic road;
Jackson’s distribution map shows other areas where weapons have been found, including the interior of the
temple and to the east. See also Gebhard (1998).
73
Malkin (1998) 88–92; and (2002a). von Hase (1997) 307, speaking of the number of Etruscan metal
objects at Olympia in particular, reflects privileged connections with the west.
 elite mobility in the w est 283
‘the re-starting of relationships with the Italian peninsula’ in this pre-colonial
period.74 What motivated the earliest Greeks in Italy was metals, says Herrmann
among many others, and Morgan suggests that early dedicatory activity among
Greeks at interstate shrines in general is probably related to pre-colonial pro-
specting for metals, and the location of the sanctuaries of both Delphi and
Olympia on the route to Italy by way of the Corinthian gulf and north-west
Greece.75 The western Italian elites may be, then, integral to the earliest sphere of
meeting, exchange, and dedication—that in the pre-colonial and possibly early
colonial period west is west, rather than Greek and Italian. Indeed, Malkin
suggests that early Italian elite interlocutors of Greek elites were regarded as
xenoi, with all the social, cultural, and economic baggage of the concept, rather
than barbaroi.76 This would change, however, with colonization, especially
once the initial interest in coastal settlement and trade shifted to territory and
expansion—something that happened very fast.

conclusions
This extended discussion of early dedications at Olympia and Delphi leads us
back, finally, to Pindar. In Pythian 1, composed for Hieron’s victory in the
tethrippon in 470, the victory at Cumae is likened to the battles of Salamis and
Plataia, which also saved the Greeks from the burden of slavery. The victory at
Himera, synchronized with Salamis, is also invoked (71–80). This was probably
monumentalized with the treasury known as the Treasury of the Carthaginians in
Pausanias’ time, but he records dedications there by Gelon, Hieron’s brother, and
the Syracusans, and the ascription of the treasury itself to Carthage seems to be
mistaken (6. 19. 7). Gelon and Hieron dedicated gold tripods at Delphi, mean-
while (covering that front), in order to advertise the victory at Himera (see
above), in a form and at a location precisely juxtaposed (even in basic form)
with the serpent column and tripod at Delphi, the allied Greek dedication for
Plataia, and, as we have seen, with the Etruscan monument to victory over the
Liparians which comprised another golden vessel. Pindar does all this in a poem

74
Naso (2000) 197; 194–6 on the presence of Italian Bronze Age artefacts in Greece; Crete is a major
destination especially for metal, and it is interesting to note the presence of a sword of Sicilian type on the
Ulu Burun wreck of the very late 14th or early 13th cent. bc.
75
See Morgan (1990) 199 with references as well as Morgan (1988); cf. Malkin (1998), who argues for an
earlier investment by pre-colonization explorers and traders in the sanctuary of the Polis cave on Ithaka,
and Shepherd (1999) 289, against Olympia as ‘an obvious stopping-off point for traders’. On the position
of Delphi, see now Freitag (2000) passim; on approaches to Delphi in particular, 114–35, noting Bacchy-
lides’ mention of Kirrha, Delphi’s port, in Ep. 4. 9 (p. 120 and n. 635).
76
Malkin (1998); see my review in AJP 2000; I do not accept Malkin’s further suggestion that this xenia
operated into the 5th cent., given the raw realities of the oppositional colonial experiences in S. Italy and
Sicily.
284 carla m. antonaccio
commemorating a victory at Delphi in a way that manages to move us to
Olympia as well, since the treasury dedicated by Gelon in the aftermath of
Himera is at Olympia.77 In this ode, moreover, Hieron is invoked as oikistēr of
Aitna—an echo of hero cult—and the poet invokes Hieron’s son Deinomenes,
who is basileus of Aitna; it was as a citizen of Aitna that the herald announced
Hieron’s victory at Delphi. Indeed, the ode celebrates the foundation and
Deinomenes, but though linking Sicily, Delphi, and Olympia, the occasion
seems clearly to be Hieron’s victory.
Aitnian Zeus is also invoked in Nemean 1, an ode to Chromios, the general who
served both Hieron and Gelon. Of course, another, intimate link between
Olympia and Syracuse is the mention of Ortygia and the Alpheios, which is
said to issue forth at the spring of Arethusa on the island. In this ode Pindar
notices the prominence of Olympic victors who are Sicilians, again moving us
from one Panhellenic venue to another; moreover, these victors recreate the
Alpheios’ course to return to Syracuse. This movement back and forth between
Sicily and the homeland is especially pronounced in Olympian 6, for Hagesias of
Syracuse, who won the mule cart race in 472 or 468. As Sarah Harrell notes,
Hagesias is celebrated as a Syracusan, a citizen of his adopted city as well as an
Arkadian of the Iamidai, the family of seers centred on Olympia; he is also named
a synoikistēr, a co-founder with Hieron, presumably of Aitna.78 As despotēs of the
kōmos that is the celebration in which the victory ode is sung, Hagesias leads this
moving revel which returns the victor to his city, from Olympia to Arkadia and to
Syracuse, according to Harrell: the kōmos is received at Syracuse by Hagesias.
This is, moreover, the third place in which Pindar invokes buildings as metaphors
for songs: opening the ode by comparing it to a splendid palace (thaeton megaron)
whose well-built porch is supported by golden columns, a façade shining from
afar (ll. 1–4). The gift of prophecy, moreover, which is his family’s, is a double
treasury, thesauron didymon.79 Finally, Pindar makes explicit several times the
closeness of Olympia with Syracuse in particular by mention of the Alpheios
which, as specifically alluded to in Pythian 3 as well as Nemean 1, composed for

77
Dinsmoor proposed a mid-6th-cent. Syracusan Treasury at Delphi (Paus. 10. 11. 5). Its location has
proved elusive, however; Dinsmoor (1950) 116–17 located it on the lower Sacred Way, on the foundation
no. 216, but recently the consensus seems to be to place it on the slope between the two main switchbacks,
just within the eastern peribolos, and date it to the late 5th cent. associating it with the Syracusan victory
over the Athenians. Bommelaer (1991) 140–1, suggesting no. 203 or 209; cf. Partida (2000) 135–43, who
assigns no. 203. See also Rougemont (1992) 168–9, 172–3, arguing against an Archaic Syracusan treasury.
78
It is interesting to note that Hieron is said to have founded agōnes, the Aitnaia, to celebrate the founding
of Aitna: Arnold (1960) 249 and n. 62, referring to schol. Pindar O. 6. 96, Drachmann I. 192. See Molyneux
(1992) 229–30 on a possible poem by Simonides for Hieron connected with the founding of Aitna.
79
Steiner (1993) 169–71 on the metaphor of a treasury or other building; cf. Nemean 3. 3–5, the young
men of the kōmos are described as tektones (cited on p. 165). In Nemean 8. 46–8, notes Steiner, Pindar speaks
of the stone of the Muses (pp. 165, 171).
 elite mobility in the west 285
Hieron at a time of illness, was thought to be directly linked to the Arkadian river
which flowed by Olympia.
To sum up: the very early links between Italy and Olympia, in particular, but
also at Delphi would later make these two sanctuaries appropriate, even natural,
places to assert colonial claims to status and identity as visible in the half of the
Olympian treasuries dedicated by Sicilian or Italian Greek communities. It is also
especially true of tyrannical claims of an authentic, but hybrid, complex identity,
expressed in the context (and normative terms) of Olympic and other victories.
The high number of epinikian poems for westerners and monuments dedicated by
western tyrants celebrating both athletic and military victory proclaim multiple
identities, as Sarah Harrell notes—identities grounded in specific locations and
lines of descent rather than ethnic groups or ties with mother cities. An insistence
on a local, often civic identity (and sometimes on multiple local identities) is
constantly made in both the odes and in the dedications. Thus Olympia and
Delphi became the prime venues for the proclamation of western identities,
especially for the tyrants of the west, but also for their precursors.80 The early
western activity at Olympia and elsewhere breaks the path which leads to the peak
of this investment in the late sixth to fifth centuries.81

80
Harrell (1998) ch. 3. I am indebted to the author for allowing me to cite her unpublished dissertation
here.
81
For other sanctuaries, see the papers collected in La Magna Grecia e I grandi santuari della Madrepa-
tria (Atti del 31 Convegno di studi sulla Magna Grecia) Taranto 1991 (pub. 1995).
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 eleven
––––––––––––––––––––––––––

‘Dolphins in the Sea’ (Isthmian 9. 7): Pindar and the

Aeginetans
Simon Hornblower

1. introduction: the island

The title of my chapter1 alludes to the creatures whom Pindar memorably
compares to the Aeginetans, maritime and music-loving worshippers of Apollo
Delphinios (see below, n. 3). My subtitle declines the obvious ‘Pindar and
Aegina’, because it is Pindar’s people I am chiefly interested in, and I want to
avoid the usual scholarly misuse of single geographical abstractions to designate
plural political agents (‘Corinth’, ‘Sparta’, and so on, meaning the male decision-
taking elite).2 But one must start with the island itself, because Pindar was acutely
and eloquently conscious of its singularity as a place.3 He memorably called it

island whose name is famous indeed,

you live and rule in the Dorian sea,
O shining star
of Zeus Hellanios. (Paian 6. 123–6)

1
Which provides some of the detailed argument and statistics taken for granted in the Aegina section of
Hornblower (2004), that is pp. 207–35. On the other hand, I have tried, in the present chapter, to avoid
repeating detailed arguments and evidence already set out fully in that section of my book, although
I continue to maintain my explanation in terms of Aeginetan hospitality, indeed one of the aims of the
present discussion is to substantiate that explanation.
2
Hornblower (2002) 14–15.
3
Burnett (2005) is an excellent treatment of Pindar’s eleven fully-surviving ‘Aeginetan’ odes, discussed
chapter by chapter, with four introductory chapters about Pindar’s reception, the island and the Aiakidai,
the Aphaia pedimental sculptures, and ‘Contest and Coming of Age’. There is an Afternote ‘Audience as
Participant’. She does not deal separately with the short and incomplete Isthmian 9, which is for an
Aeginetan. That poem, however, deserves attention: the lovely comparison of the Aeginetans to dolphins
(
x
Ø  Iæ j ºE K fiø, ‘as for their excellence, they are like dolphins in the sea’, lines 6–7; cf.
the title of this chapter), recalls what he says at N. 6. 64, about Melesias. Isthmian 9 could thus have been
drawn on with advantage by Burnett at her p. 163 and n. 24. She there aptly cites Pi. F 140b for dolphins as
fond of music and calm seas (cf. also F. Hel. 1454–6). Now, Apollo Delphinios was specially worshipped at
Aegina: Burnett (2005) 144. This fact is surely relevant to the poet’s choice of the dolphin to represent
Aeginetan values, because the Greek word for dolphin begins delph- not dolph-. See Burkert (1994) 55: ‘It
is not at all clear whether the cult of Apollo Delphinios is originally related to the dolphin at all [on this see
Graf 1979], but in the sixth century the association was definitely made’. For Pindar’s Aeginetan odes see
also Walter-Karydi (2004).
288 simon hornblower
These lines do not come from a victory-ode, or even for a poem written directly
for Aeginetans or an Aeginetan. It is inscribed for ‘the Delphians to Pytho’.4
The one-polis5 island of Aegina is a not specially fertile triangle of land in the
Saronic Gulf. Pausanias (2. 29. 6) says it was the most unapproachable,
I
æø, of all the Greek islands and that Aiakos intended that this should
be so, as a protection against pirates. Pausanias evidently means that there was no
alternative to using the main polis harbour, which was, and is, a good one:
Aegina is not Ikaria, harbourless and therefore virtually without history. Strabo
(8. 6. 16) says that Aegina was barren except for some barley. It is situated due
south of Salamis and in clear sight of Athenian territory. For this reason Pericles
called it ‘the pus in the eye of the Piraeus’, º  
ı~ —ØæÆØ
ø (Arist. Rhet.
1411a15; Plutarch, Per. 8. 7). Philip Stadter convinces me that the traditional
rendering ‘eyesore’ is too weak and actually misleading with its suggestion of
mere unprettiness (as in ‘that new Engineering building is an eyesore!’); it refers
to the very nasty effects of conjunctivitis.6
Aegina’s main architectural glory was the temple of Aphaia, a minor goddess
who was identified with the Cretan Britomartis or Diktynna and like them was
eventually merged with Artemis (Paus. 2. 30).7 Pindar never mentions either the
goddess or temple in any epinikian ode. This is surely a curious omission, given
the sheer bulk of epinikian material we have for victors from Aegina. The neglect
is in a way only apparent, because we know from Pausanias that Pindar wrote a
separate poem to the Aphaia temple for the Aeginetans (F 89b Maehler: $ÆÆ
ƒæ; K m ŒÆd —Ææ
 fi p Æ `NªØ ÆØ K
). Modern editions
classify this among the prosodia or processional odes. One might speculate
whether the families who looked to the Aphaia temple in the east of the island,
and those families which supplied the athletic victors and were perhaps concen-
trated round the harbour-city of Aegina in the west, were different and in rivalry
with each other.8 I return to this point at the end of my chapter. In any case, the
mere existence of the poem is a warning that we do not have every poem that
Pindar wrote even about Aegina for whose citizens he wrote so much.
The temple can still be visited, but much of its late Archaic pedimental
sculpture is in Munich. Plenty of sculpture, however, remains in situ or rather

4
Rutherford (2001a) 298–338. See also Walter-Karydi (2004) 508.
5
Strabo cf. 5 says the island has a polis of the same name. The point is not discussed by Reger (1997).
Figueira (1986) 321 thinks that unity (i.e. synoikism) came with independence, sc. from Epidauros in the
Archaic period; before that (he conjectures) the island will have been a collection of villages like those of
Megara. See now Figueira (2004) 620–2.
6
Stadter (1989) 108.
7
Sinn (1987) and above all Burnett (2005) 29–44. The identification with Athena sometimes canvassed
seems to me unlikely.
8
For stasis at Aegina see Hdt. 6. 88–9 and 91 with Hornblower (2004) 218–21 so, rightly, Hansen and
Nielsen (2004), app. 19. Herodotus does not use the word stasis but that is clearly what it is.
 pindar and the aeginetans 289
in the apotheke or storehouse where I saw it in 1989; to me its most striking
feature was the amount of garish paint preserved. Burnett9 well discusses the
unusual history of the sculptures of the pediment: it seems that there was a radical
change of mind on the part of the commissioning authorities about what themes
to present. It is hard precisely to correlate the eventually chosen sculptural
themes with Aeginetan political history. Nor is literature’s relationship with the
sculptures straightforward. Aiakid achievements, as sculpturally depicted on the
Aphaia temple, are reflected by Pindar in a general sort of way, and this is
excellently brought out in Burnett’s book. But as she also shows, there are
sometimes small but significant mismatches between the sculptural and the
Pindaric handling of the same episodes.10
The island of Aegina had a glorious and prosperous early history, never
matched by local literary talent. We know of only two Aeginetan historians,
Pythainetos and Theogenes (FGrH 299 and 300). Both seem to be late and to
have been interested mainly in mythology; Pythainetos filled at least three ‘books’
with it. They were thus useful to the Pindaric scholiasts. Jacoby, introducing
these two figures, said rather severely that Aegina was ‘spiritually unproductive’
and ‘got its poets from abroad’ (FGrH iiiB p. 2 n. 5). Aegina was never isolated:
at one time it belonged to a sacred league or amphiktyony centred on Kalaureia,
modern Poros. It is surprising that no Aeginetan features in the list of early sixth-
century notables in a famous chapter of Herodotus (6. 127). What we miss is an
Aeginetan equivalent of the Argive member of the list, who is Leokedes, a
relation of the great Pheidon of Argos. These young men were suitors for the
hand of Agariste, daughter of another tyrant Kleisthenes of Sikyon. This fam-
ously Homeric gathering was a constellation of what Wade-Gery in another
connection called the ‘international aristocracy’.11 Another member of the family
(though perhaps in exile) is celebrated in what has been called ‘one of the earliest
surviving agonistic dedications’. He is Aristis, son of Pheidon, who won the
pankration at the Nemean Games in about 560 bc.12
Traditions that made the tyrant Pheidon strike the first silver coins on Aegina
are now discounted. But certainly coinage was struck early on Aegina. And it

9
Burnett (2005) ch. 2, esp. 44, where she imagines the lords of Aegina saying to themselves that the
Rape of Aegina and the Battle with the Amazons ‘must stand down as we now proclaim ourselves heirs to
Aiakid warriors who were twice victorious at Troy’. She makes the interesting point (43–4) that
the sculptural themes on this temple are not ‘propaganda’ in the usual sense because the temple was little
visited by strangers. (Are we sure of this?)
10
See for instance Burnett (2005) 86 on the change implied by the choice (in Isthmian 6) of Herakles,
rather than Athena (as in the sculptures), as the central figure in the first taking of Troy.
11
Hdt. 6. 127. 3 (with an apparent muddle about the men called Pheidon); ‘international aristocracy’:
Wade-Gery (1958) 246 and Davies (this volume) 60.
12
ML 9; the quotation in my text is from p. 188. Aristis’ father is not likely to have been the well-known
tyrant but a relative, perhaps a grandson and the same as the father of Leokedes.
290 s i mo n h o r n b lo w e r
must say something important about Aegina that Pindar and Bacchylides cele-
brate exclusively athletic not equestrian activity in their many Aeginetan victory
odes, which are for events like wrestling, running the pentathlon, and the
pankration. This was not a landed horse-breeding upper class like those of Sicily
or Thessaly or even Athens. In support of the theory that Aegina was a great
trading state it has been calculated that it had a population of 41,000 on territory
which could support only 4,000 from its own agricultural resources, and those
resources do not include the pistachios for which Aegina is nowadays celebrated.
This population count, which Hansen has now reduced to 20, 000, rests mainly
on two sorts of data: fleet totals and tribute paid to Athens after 458.13 Aegina
paid 30 talents, an enormous total, given that 1 talent is 6,000 drachmas. 30
talents is the highest total of any tributary ally, equal to that of mineral-rich
Thasos in the early years. In their recent book on the Mediterranean Sea,
Peregrine Horden and Nicholas Purcell cite these demographic findings and
say ‘the conclusion that Aegina was heavily dependent on a complex, reliable
and large-scale trade in staples seems inescapable’.14 Not everyone believes that
Aegina was a great trading state. A chapter in Geoffrey de Ste. Croix’s posthu-
mous essays on Greek economic history denounces this picture of Aeginetan
trade as anachronistically modernizing.15
De Ste. Croix is right that if (a) colonization and commerce necessarily went
together and (b) Aeginetans were commercially hyperactive, then it is odd that
Aegina as a community did not colonize. More accurately, Aegina was not one of
the early and entrepreneurial colonizing mother-cities, though it participated in
the multi-polis Egyptian trading station of Naukratis (Hdt. 2. 178. 3), and
Aeginetans were said to have settled at Kydonia, modern Chania, in Crete, and
in Italian Umbria (Strabo again). But in fact there are all sorts of reasons why
Greek communities did and did not send out settlements (a better if clumsier way
of describing the process than the word colonization with its Roman-style state-
sponsored overtones); and I am not sure what it proves about Aegina’s economy
that no other community that we know of called Aegina its metropolis. Let us
think instead in terms of mobility and ‘interconnectivity’. The scale and geo-
graphical spread of Aeginetan naval activity, some of it presumably commercial
despite de Ste. Croix, was commented on by contemporaries and is attested by
inscriptions. Nemean 5 starts like many Pindaric odes with a bang. The poet
contrasts the manufacture of statues which do not move, with the different
sorts of merchant vessels which go out all the time from Aegina and which the
poet instructs to carry his precious cargo of song. Rosalind Thomas discusses
these lines elsewhere in the present book (above p. 145 f.) and Carol Dougherty

13 14
Figueira (1986) 22–52; Hansen (2006). Horden and Purcell (2000) 119 and 381–3.
15
De Ste. Croix (2004); but see Hansen (2006) 12–14.
 pindar and the ae ginetans 291
has analysed them in her recent book Raft of Odysseus.16 Dougherty overdoes the
commercial aspect for her own purposes and unduly minimizes the Aeginetans’
reputation as fighting sailors referred to in line 9, hÆæ
 ŒÆd ÆıŒºı
,
‘brave men and renowned for sailing’, where the first adjective has a definite
warlike resonance. Aeginetan valour at Salamis was praised by Pindar and is a
fact. To this extent I side with de Ste. Croix’s impatience with attempts to see
Aeginetan trade everywhere. I return to this important topic below.
But though the Aeginetans did not colonize collectively, there is no doubt that
the island was a prime supplier of examples of individual mobility. I give two
examples from inscriptions, one from the beginning and one from the end of the
fifth century. An Aeginetan, Sostratos, was singled out by Herodotus as the man
who made the greatest trading fortune we know of, and a stone anchor dedicated
to Apollo by this or a related Sostratos of Aegina in about 500, and found thirty
years ago in central Italy, suggests that this trade was with the Etruscans.17
Another Aeginetan, son of Pytheas, was honoured at the end of the fifth century
at Lindos on the island of Rhodes, as an inscription now in Copenhagen tells us
(Syll.3 110; see below, p. 304 for more detail). The man’s own name ended in -as
but is not fully preserved; but we can read the precious lines which say that this
X, son of Pytheas, was an interpreter at Naukratis. Now Pindar and Bacchylides
both composed victory-odes for a Nemean victory won by an Aeginetan called
Pytheas son of Lampon, and Pindar wrote other odes for members of this family;
while Herodotus has an unpleasant story about an Aeginetan, Lampon son of
Pytheas.18 The later X, son of Pytheas, moved between Egyptian Naukratis and
the Pindaric and Dorian islands Aegina and Rhodes, and is thus a prime example
of mobility. There is a clustering of the name Pytheas on Aegina and one might
wonder if the Naukratis interpreter was an enterprising member of the old
athletic and military family, forced to make a new life for himself in Egypt after
the Athenians took his home from him in 431.

2. the epinikian poems for aeginetans

Michael Silk observes above (p. 196) that epinikian poetry was a very strange
genre. Was it a separate genre at all? The expression is in fact not nearly as well
established in antiquity as modern use of it might lead one to think. ‘Epinikian

16
Dougherty (2001) 41–3. The contrast between statue-making and poetry has been much discussed.
See for instance Gentili (1988) 163–5, who interestingly compares Isok. 9 Evagoras 73–4 (cf. Hornblower
(2004) 63 and n. 24 for other similarities between Pindar and Isokrates’ Kyprian orations) and Burnett
(2005) 63, who detects in the Pindar opening a reference to the fixed pedimental sculpture of the Aphaia
temple.
17
Hdt. 4. 152; Jeffery (1990) 439 no. E.
18
I discuss Aeginetan prosopography elsewhere (Hornblower (2004) 218–21).
292 s i m o n ho r n b l o w e r
poetry’, that is ‘poetry for (athletic) victory’, does indeed go back to Pindar
himself, who, however, uses it only once. Nemean 4, for the boy wrestler Tima-
sarchos of Aegina, refers to ‘victory [lit. ‘‘epinikian’’] songs’, KØŒØ
Ø I
ØÆ
(line 78). It might therefore seem obvious that epinikian was thought of as a
distinct genre. But the position is not so straightforward, as Nick Lowe shows
(this volume, p. 167 f., drawing on Harvey): for Pindar ‘epinikian’ is an adjective
and in any case the normal fifth-century word for a victory-ode was ‘enkomion’.
And epinikian poetry borrowed freely from and imitated other poetic genres.
Pindar borrows characteristics of hymns, funeral dirges, and military poems.19
Of the ‘epinikian’ odes, Nemean 11 is strictly non-athletic (it was written for the
installation of Aristagoras of Tenedos as councillor), and might have been classed
as an encomium. It presumably found its way into the epinikian group only
because it has much about Aristagoras’ early athletic successes. All this is relevant
because I shall be making use of non-epinikian poems of Pindar which deal with
Aegina, such as Paian 6. The poem I referred to above, Nemean 4, does not only
contain Pindar’s only use of the expression ‘epinikian poems’. What the relevant
strophe or stanza says is even more valuable for our purposes:

¨ÆæÆØØ  Iتıø I
Łºø
Œæı )
E
 !Æ
ˇPºı fi Æ  ŒÆd  Ł
E ˝
fi Æ  ıŁ

,
!ŁÆ EæÆ !

YŒÆ Œºı
Œæø

P 

 ¼ı ø; æÆ ¥ IŒ

,
Ø Ææ; a KØŒ
ØØ I
ØÆE
æ
º
 ! ÆØ,
It is for the Theandridai that I contracted to come
as a ready herald of their limb-strengthening contests
at Olympia and the Isthmos, and at Nemea.
From there, when they compete, they do not return
without the fruit
of glorious crowns to their home, where we hear,
Timasarchos, that your clan is devoted
to victory songs. (Nemean 4. 73–9)

There are three important points here. First, the Theandridai are a patra or clan:
odes for victors from Aegina stress to a quite exceptional extent the contribution
of the wider kinship unit and this stanza illustrates that. Other kinship groups
feature in the odes (the genos of the Iamidai at Arkadian Stymphalos, the oikos of
the Emmenidai at Akragas), but to an unusual degree these Aeginetan victories
are treated as family achievements.20 Second, the stanza warns, by its reference to

19
Hornblower (2004) 30.
20
Parker (1996) 63 n. 26, noting esp. P. 8. 35–8 and I. 6. 62–3. See further below p. 303.
 pindar and the a eginetans 293
Olympia, against associating victors from Aegina too exclusively with the
sanctuaries and games at nearby Nemea and Isthmus. It is true that of the twelve
(or eleven) Aeginetan odes, 6 are for the Nemean games and 4 for the Isthmian,
but Olympian 8 and Pythian 8 (for Delphi) should not be forgotten. Third, the
line ‘your clan is devoted to victory songs’ implies special addiction to athletic
victory odes on the part of this family of Aegina. That expresses succinctly, and
forms a good transition to, my main problem: why did the elite of Aegina
commission so many victory odes?
Before I address this problem, a word is needed about the character of the
Aeginetan odes.21 In terms of literary quality the Aegina group of poems is not as
distinguished as a group as are the six odes for Sicilian rulers, that is the first three
Olympian and the first three Pythian odes, for Hieron of Syracuse and Theron of
Akragas. The three Cyrene odes are also more varied and interesting as a group,
including as they do the witty Pythian 9 which has the sexually excited young
Apollo asking advice about girl-pursuit from the old centaur Cheiron, who has to
remind the young god that oracular Apollo is supposed to be omniscient; not to
mention the Argonautic pocket epic Pythian 4. In the Aegina odes by contrast
there is (it may be felt) altogether too much about the Aiakid family, that is,
unmemorable material, of uniform character, about the doings of Achilles, Ajax,
and Peleus. But the Aegina odes are peaks and troughs, and the greatest of the
peaks is one pure masterpiece, Pythian 8. This was Pindar’s last poem, written in
446 according to a good tradition of a kind not available for any of the Nemean
and Isthmian odes, which float undatably in a way particularly frustrating for the
student of Aegina and its history. Pythian 8 ends with a famous stanza about the
ephemerality of human life; this stanza, as Michael Silk showed in a brilliant
recent article,22 provoked a reply from Plato in the myth of Er at the end of the
Republic.
No fewer than eleven23 of Pindar’s forty-four victory-odes—and two of
Bacchylides’ sixteen (12 and 13)—are dedicated to Aeginetan victors from Aegina,
nearly all of whose names are known to us (the anonymous exceptions are
the subjects of one fragmentary poem each by Pindar and Bacchylides).24
Why Aegina?—that is, why did Pindar (and Bacchylides) write so many odes
for Aeginetans?

21
O. 8 (460 bc); P. 8 (446); N. 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8; I. 5, 6, 8, 9, fr. 4 (all undated and undatable). See also fr.
89b ‘for the Aeginetans to Aphaia’. Bacchylides 12 and 13 (both epinikians for Aeginetans). For Paian 6 see
above, p. 287.
22
Silk (2001).
23
Add the brief Isthmian 9 and the even more fragmentary Pindaric Isthmian ode fr. 4 to Meidias of
Aegina; the evidence is a quotation from a scholiast on I. 5.
24
Simonides’ poem for Krios of Aegina (fr. 2, PMG 507) may have been less than encomiastic, though it
probably did have an athletic aspect.
294 s i mo n h o r n b lo w e r

3. why aegina and aeginetans?

There are really two related questions: why did the Aeginetans go in for sport so
much, and why did Pindar write about them so much? In other words, there is a
historical and a literary question. But there is little historical evidence outside
Pindar and to a lesser extent Bacchylides for fifth-century Aeginetans as sports-
men.25 The two Aeginetans in Ebert’s collection of inscribed athletic epigrams,
Theognetos and Pherias, are known to us already from Pindar and Pausanias
respectively.26 The question is in the end a Pindaric one. No completely satisfac-
tory solution has been found.
One way into the problem is to ask whether the Aeginetan odes have anything
distinctive in common, apart from being written for people from that distinctive
island. Anne Pippin Burnett has come up with a simple answer: they are all for
young men (so that her book is called Pindar’s Songs for Young Athletes of
Aigina).27 She seems further to want to say, though she does not quite do so
explicitly, that this group of poems is distinctive for its stress on initiation and
rites of passage to manhood.28 As for the first feature (youth), she is quite right,
but this is, in a way, another way of saying that there are, as we have seen, no
Aeginetan equestrian victors in Pindar or Bacchylides:29 equestrian events were a
way in which older men could compete and win.30 As for the second point
(transition to manhood), this too is a good one, but Pindaric use of initiatory
themes is not of course confined to young Aeginetans (cf. above, p. 27 n. 104).
If Nemean 3 treats the education of Achilles by Cheiron and sketches the career
of Herakles, ‘patron of youth and the palaestra’,31 then much the same is true of
Pythian 9 for Telesikrates of Cyrene. That poem features Cheiron as a teacher-
figure (but of Apollo not Achilles), Herakles—and marriage.
Is Aeginetan prominence in Pindar to be explained by the kinship connection
between Pindar’s home city Thebes and Aegina? (The tie was symbolized by the
myth, set out most clearly in Isthmian 8, which made the nymphs Thebe and
Aegina into daughters of the river-god Asopos and thus sisters.) Was it ‘wealth of
heroic saga’ which drew Pindar to Aegina?32 Did Pindar like the Aeginetans
because they were archetypal Dorians?33 Is the Aeginetan commitment to Pin-
daric values of the kind the games represented in contrast with ‘what Athenians
were choosing in the same period’?34 In another book I have discussed these
various modern answers to this question and I do not want to repeat all that here.

25
See above, pp. 137–8.
26
Paus. 6. 9. 1 and 6. 14. 12; Ebert (1972) nos. 12 and 19. Theognetos is maternal uncle of Aristomenes
the honorand of Pindar, Pythian 8: see line 36 and below p. 306.
27 28 29
See esp. Burnett (2005) 45 Burnett (2005) 46 and n. 7. Burnett (2005) 46.
30
Hornblower (2004) 29, citing Golden (1998) 119–20. See van Bremen (this volume) 358.
31 32
Burnett (2005) 141. Carne-Ross (1985) 67; cf. Mullen (1982) 144.
33 34
Race (1986) 101. Osborne (1996) 326.
 pindar and the ae ginetans 295
One theory I shall say more about, because it leads into my own suggestion.
Were the Aeginetan patrons of Pindar a ‘problematized elite’, meaning new-rich
families who aspired to traditional landed status35 whom Pindar celebrates
because he values the success brought by trade and commerce?36 Hubbard
relies on the findings of Figueira. This old ‘commercial Aegina’ or ‘mercantile
aristocracy’ position (as in effect it is) was challenged long ago by de Ste. Croix in
a long footnote in 1972, and a full treatment by him has now appeared posthu-
mously.37 De Ste. Croix’s very thorough chapter was written in the 1960s, before
the new evidence about Sostratos of Aegina came to light (see above). But some
of de Ste. Croix’s arguments38 still have force, especially some details of his
discussion of the evidence of Pindar. But he was too absolute in his insistence
that the oligarchy of Aegina in c.600–450 bc was a ‘rich land-owning class of
archaic type’.39 Figueira more plausibly concludes that the Aeginetan elite must
in fact have been involved in the island’s undoubted commercial activity, and not
just as passive consumers and participants either.40 Pindar is crucial to the
argument here, in two ways: through maritime metaphors and imagery, and
through stress on xenia, hospitality or guest-friendship.
As their aristeia implies (p. 302), and as de Ste. Croix insists, the ships of
Aegina which Pindar glorifies are, in their context, not only merchant ships41 but
more obviously the warships which triumphed at Salamis, a battle celebrated
explicitly as an Aeginetan triumph (Isthmian 5. 48). In particular, ‘renowned for
sailing’ (Nemean 5. 9) refers in its context to prowess in war. The same is true of
‘long-oared Aegina’, 
ºØ æ
 `YªØÆ (Olympian 8. 20), where the de-
scription is appropriate only to triremes, that is, warships. Even the celebrated
opening of Nemean 5, which tells some unspecified abstract person to go forth ‘on
board every ship and every boat’, Kd Æ ›ºŒ
 !  IŒfiø, and spread
the praise of Lampon, should not be over-interpreted, though the ship-words
used are indeed mercantile. De Ste. Croix observes: ‘[t]here is nothing here of
an Aeginetan merchant fleet: Pindar is thinking of all the merchants who trade

35
Osborne (1996); Hubbard (2001) esp. 390.
36
Hubbard (2001) 391–2.
37
De Ste. Croix (1972) 267 n. 61 and (1981) 120. For the full treatment see de Ste. Croix (2004).
38
Figueira (1981) 297 n. 98 does cite Ste. Croix (1972) 267 n. 61—for Aeginetan metics: Lampis at Dem.
23. 211, mid-4th-cent., is the chief exhibit. Clearly, for those who deny the mercantile aristocracy view of
Aegina, the hypothesis of a large metic population of an Athenian type is an obvious recourse. But for the
Pindaric period we have simply no evidence.
39
De Ste. Croix (1972) as above; cf. (2004): no different from ‘the other land-owning oligarchies of
that time’.
40
Figueira (1981) 321–2.
41
On the other hand de Ste. Croix denies the mercantile aspect to Pindar’s Aeginetan ship-references
and ship-metaphors too completely. He gets rid of the opening of N. 5 (see below), but for
Æı
º

, in which the notion of cargoes is certainly dominant, see below. The question is, how
far we see these as references and how far as metaphors with a job to do; see below.
296 simon hornblower
from and with Aegina’.42 This seems to me a better way of taking the words if we
have to choose, but perhaps the whole argument is misconceived. This exhort-
ation comes from the discursive opening to the poem.43 Pindar has just said that
he is not a sculptor, to fashion statues which stand on the same base and which
are thus signifiers for absence of movement. Then he goes on to say: go forth on
ships and boats, which are signifiers for movement. That is all. He was not
writing with the economic historian in mind. But if we were going to press the
reference to the statues, it would have to be said that the Aeginetan sculptural
tradition was a real one, and statue bases were an alternative form of commem-
oration to epinikian poetry, which is interesting to find associated so strongly
with Aegina in the relevant books of Pausanias.44
It has been suggested45 that the Bassidai, the Aeginetan family praised in
Nemean 6 (line 30), were themselves shipowners, because of the metaphor at
line 32, Æı
º

, ‘carrying a shipload’ of victory-songs. But though this is
certainly a mercantile figure of speech,46 the basic idea here is simply that of the
‘ship of song’, found also in Nemean 4, another Aeginetan ode: turn the ship’s
tackle, !Æ Æ, back to Europe (line 70). That Pindar was specially fond of
using maritime imagery for Aegina is agreed.47 But Deborah Steiner has shown
that the ship-of-song motif turns up in non-Aeginetan and non-maritime
connections also;48 she cites for instance Pythian 11 for Thrasydaios of Thebes,
where the poet pretends (line 39) to wonder if he was thrown off course by the
wind like a small boat at sea. Chris Carey, discussing IÆ
ÆØ (‘I shall
embark’) in Pythian 2 for Hiero of Syracuse (line 62), observes that ‘the ship of
Pindar’s song usually appears, as here, in transitions (e.g. P 11.39–44, N 4.70)’.49
Aeginetan maritime imagery in Pindar is, we may conclude, an extension of a
predilection well attested in other contexts. This does not drain it of specific

42
De Ste. Croix (2004); contra, Hubbard (2001) 393 and above all Figueira (1981) 323 and esp. 324.
43
Race (1982b) 18. Hubbard (2001) 393 sees this essentially literary point and puts it well, but
nevertheless presses it as evidence for Aeginetan maritime commerce. Even on its own terms, this
argument needs to recognize that the ‘static foil of statuary’ is just as Aeginetan as is the maritime imagery.
44
Thomas, Smith, and Morgan in the present volume, pp. 149, 166, and 109, and Steiner (1993) for
statue-imagery in Pindar; also Walter-Karydi (2004) 510. See further below, pp. 230 f.
45
Gerber (1999) 66, cf. Figueira (1981) 323.
46
Note, however, that the poet immediately goes on to talk, in a characteristic mix of metaphors
(Hornblower (2004) p. 44 n. 181, and for the switch here see Gerber (1999) 66 ‘the imagery now shifts
from nautical to agricultural’), about how much the Bassidai of Aegina can supply the ploughmen of
the Muses to sing about. But nobody has yet tried to use this as evidence for Aeginetan landed interests.
For the conceit cf. P. 6. 1 with Steiner (1986) 44.
47
Steiner (1986) 67 who, however, also has just remarked in the same breath that ‘many of the city-states
for whom [Pindar] wrote were dependent on the sea’. For sea language in Pindar’s Aegina odes cf. also
Gzella (1981) 6 n.1 and Hubbard (2001) 393.
48
Steiner (1986) 73–4.
49
Carey (1981) 46. We should also recall the famous comparison, a few lines later, between Pindar’s
song and Phoenician merchandise being sent over seas, P. 2. 67–8.
 pindar and the aeginetans 297
aptness for a seafaring island, but historical and economic arguments should
show cautious respect for poetic convention.50
As for the many Pindaric references to Aeginetan hospitality, Æ, and
‘strangers’, 

Ø, these too have been somewhat over-interpreted. A proper
statistical treatment is called for. Clearly, the Aeginetan references must be
balanced against the non-Aeginetan. Both kinds of reference must be looked at
in detail.

4. were the aeginetans specially hospitable?

Were Aeginetans, on the evidence of Pindar and Baccylides,51 thought of as
specially hospitable and alert to the demands of hospitality?52 As already men-
tioned, it will not be enough to assemble passages about Aeginetan hospitality
(first list) without also listing those which speak of other places and individuals as
hospitable (second list). The following passages are the most relevant (all from
Pindar except nos. 12, 13, 14, 15, and 27, which are from Bacchylides).
First list: Aegina
1. Paian 6. 131: ‘the virtue of just regard for strangers’, Ł 
 Iæ½
2. O. 8. 21–3: Zeus Xenios (Of strangers/hospitality) sits next to Themis
(personified Right) on Aegina; this Zeus is venerated here i.e. on Aegina
‘most among men’, !
 IŁæø
3. O. 8. 26: sea-girt Aegina has been set up as a divine pillar ‘for foreigners from
all places’, Æ
Æ
EØ . . . 

Ø
4. N. 3. 2–3: the Muse is entreated to ‘come in the Nemean sacred month to
this much-visited Dorian island of Aegina’, a 
ºı
Æ K ƒæ
fi Æ
˝ Ø ¥ Œ
˜øæÆ A
 `YªØÆ
5. N. 4. 12: Aegina ‘that beacon of justice protecting all foreigners’, Œfi Æ
ÆæŒ Œ
Øe 
ªª

6. N. 4. 23: an Aeginetan victor will come in glory to the ‘welcoming city’,

Ø
 ¼ı, of Thebes; here 
Ø
 refers to reciprocal guest-friendship
with Aegina and says something about Aegina too
7. N. 5. 8: Aegina a ‘land welcoming to foreigners’, ºÆ 
ø ¼æ
ıæÆ
8. N. 5. 33: Peleus (Aeginetan archetype) fears Zeus Xenios, god of hospitality,
so he resists Hippolyta’s sexual advances
9. N. 7. 70: Sogenes from the clan of the Euxenidai, ¯P
ØÆ æÆŁ
ª; the name of the clan means something like ‘hospitable’, and it

50
N. 6. 32 (Æı
º

) is not, however, located at a point of marked transition.
51
There is not much other literary evidence.
52
So Instone (1996) 154 on N. 3. 2–3 (my no. 4), also citing nos. 2–3, 7, and 11 below.
298 s i m o n ho r n b l o w e r
has been suggested53 that its mention is intended to ‘evoke the theme of
guest-friendship’; this seems plausible, especially since the words come
so soon after lines 61 and 65 with their references to guest-friendship,
E N Ø and æ
fi Æ 

ØŁÆ; for proxeny, see also below, p. 300.
10. I. 6. 70: Lampon ‘is beloved for his acts of kindness to foreigners’, 
ø
PæªÆØ IªÆAÆØ
11. I. 9. 6: Aeginetans praised as ‘transgressing neither divine law nor justice
due to strangers’,
Pb ŒÆ ø (溺

12. B. 12. 4–7: not easy to translate (K ªaæ OºÆ 
Ø  ØÆ ˝ŒÆ
A
 `NªÆ IæØ KºŁÆ Œ
 BÆØ Ł Æ
 ºØ) but
Victory is apparently ordering the poet to go to the blessed island of
Aegina and adorn its god-built city for his hosts/friends; the difficulty is
in the dative plural 
ØØ which stands apart from the grammar of the
sentence and seems to say emphatically that he is to do this ‘for his hosts’,
i.e. in exchange for their hospitality? Slavitt (1998) 57 translates ‘for my
hospitable friends’; see also Figueira (1981) 325
13. B. 12. 34:

ı½ may be part of a ‘hospitality’ word
14. B. 13. 95 (restored): the eponymous Aegina is ‘queen of a hospitable land’,


ØÆ ƪ
ı Ł
 . . .
15. B. 13. 224: Lampon’s ‘splendour-loving hospitality’, Æ 
½غ
ªºÆ
.
Second list: places other than Aegina
16. O. 2. 6: Theron of Akragas is ‘just in his regard for guests’, ZØ ŒÆØ


ø
17. O. 4 for Psaumis of Sicilian Kamarina, lines 4–5: ‘when guest-friends are
successful, ø  s æÆø, good men are immediately
cheered’
18. O. 4. 15: Psaumis ‘delights in acts of all-welcoming hospitality’, Ææ

 ÆØ ÆŒ
Ø
19. O. 11. 16–17: the Muses will find that the Western Lokrians are not ‘people
who shun a guest’, ıªØ
 æÆ; the form of the expression is
typically Pindaric, a strongly positive thought disguised as a negative
thought or litotes54
20. O. 13. 3: the house of Xenophon of Corinth is ‘an assiduous host’ for
foreigners, 

ØØ b Łæ
Æ
21. P. 3. 69–71: Hiero of Syracuse is called ‘Aitnaian host . . . to guests
a wondrous father’, `NAØ
 

 . . . 
Ø b ŁÆı Æe Æ æ
22. P. 10. 64: the ‘comforting hospitality’ of Thorax of Thessaly, fi Æ
æ
Æ
53 54
Carne-Ross (1985) 147. Köhnken (1976) and Race (1983).
 pindar and the a eginetans 299
23. N. 1. 19–24: the ‘home’ of the ‘generous host’ Chromios of [Sicilian] Aitna,
Iæe غ

ı, is ‘not unfamiliar with guests from abroad’
Iºº
Æø ~
ıŒ IæÆ
Ø 
Ø K (for the negative thought cf. on
no. 19 above with n. 54)
24. N. 7. 43: the Delphians are ‘hospitable’, ƪ
ÆØ (but note that this ode
is for an Aeginetan)
25. N. 11. 8–9: Zeus Xenios (Zeus the god of hospitality, Zeus protector of
strangers) is venerated in feasts at Tenedos
26. I. 2. 39–40: the table of Xenokrates of [Sicilian] Akragas is hospitable,
Æ . . . æ%Æ
27. B. 14. 22: Pyrrhichos father of the Thessalian victor Kleoptolemos is
‘hospitable and right-judging’, غ

ı  ŒÆd OæŁ
Œ
ı
Inevitably, when compiling a list of this sort, one comes up against doubtful
passages, but I hope I have not tilted the list in favour of the conclusion
(‘the Aeginetans were a hospitable lot’) which I started out trying to test.
I have, for instance, confidently excluded mere references to generosity such as
the ‘ungrudging hand’ of ‘beneficent’ Theron, O. 2. 94 (he gets in anyway, cf. 16
above). I am slightly less confident about my exclusion of O. 1. 16–17, the ‘friendly
table’, ºÆ æ%Æ, of Hiero of Syracuse, and line 103 of the same poem which
calls him a 

 which means ‘host’ in the context (cf. 21 above for Hiero: he too
gets in anyway). But if we allow those passages in, we might want to add a
compensating item to the ‘Aegina’ list: the fragmentary closing lines of Paian 6
(lines 178–9): reference to the ‘homeland city’, ºØ ÆæÆ, and to the ‘kindly
people of friends’, ½ºø
 K½æ

Æ ºÆ.
Perhaps arbitrarily I have allowed in the Euxenidai (no. 9) without adding in
the name of the Aeginetan Xenarkes of P. 8 (line 70)—or Xenophon of Corinth or
Xenokrates of Akragas.
In Paian 10 (A2 Rutherford), line 15 begins 
ή[ which Slater in his
Lexicon to Pindar thinks is part of ‘caring for strangers’, but this poem is as Ian
Rutherford says ‘an enigma’.55
I exclude references to hospitality shown to the Dioskouroi, as Nemean 10. 49,
the Dioskouroi came for hospitality, Kd Æ, to the house of Pamphaes,
ancestor of Theaios of Argos whom the poem celebrates, or Olympian 3. 40 (the
Emmenidai of Akragas). I have also, perhaps wrongly, excluded Pythian 5. 56–7,
the ancient prosperity of Battos is a ‘bastion for the city [Cyrene] and most
splendid light for foreigners’, æª
 ¼
 Z Æ  ÆÆ
. This56
has a certain similarity to Pythian 3. 71 (which I have included as no. 21 above),
but I suspect that Pythian 5. 56–7 is no more than an expression of the ‘citizens and
foreigners alike’ variety, that is, it is just a flowery way of saying ‘everyone’, as at

55 56
Slater (1969) 357; Rutherford (2001a) 201. As Gildersleeve (1899) 310 notes.
300 s i mo n h o r n b lo w e r
Isthmian 1. 51, ‘tongues of citizens and foreigners’, 
ºØÆA ŒÆd 
ø
ªºÆ. Finally, I do not think that the Corinthian sacred prostitutes belong
in the conventional ‘hospitality’ category, though it is true that Pindar calls them
‘young women who welcome many guests’, 
ºÆØ Ø (F 122 line 1).
Finally, æ
Ø (I. 4. 8) and æ
ÆØ (fr. 94b, 41) probably refer to
Theban hospitality. My conclusion is that over the corpus of poems by Pindar
and Bacchylides there are fifteen references to Aeginetan hospitality and twelve to
hospitality manifested everywhere else (fourteen if we include Theban æ
Æ,
above), and that this is indeed a definite and impressive Aeginetan lopsidedness,
though equally it would be wrong to say that hospitality is confined to Aegina
(and it would have been absurd to expect it to be). Among the non-Aeginetan
places, Sicily and Thessaly score well, but there is a fairly even spread of places
with one score each (Tenedos, Corinth, and so on).

5. inferences
Hubbard interprets the references to Aeginetan xenia as evidence that Aegina was
a great commercial centre, and even suggests that Pindar is ‘using the pan-
Hellenic stature of his odes to promote the island’s economy’ like a modern
‘chamber of commerce or advertising agency’.57 He is again following the lead of
Figueira, for whom Pindar is alluding to the ‘Aiginetan legal apparatus’ when he
talks of ‘foreigner-protecting justice’, Œfi Æ ÆæŒ
Ø (N. 4. 12, my no. 5) or the
‘virtue of just regard for strangers’, Ł 
 Iæ½ (Paian 6. 131, my no. 1).
But only a few of the Aeginetan xenia references can do this serious work (and if
we are going to work these references hard we must also be willing to see a
reference to private international law in the description of Theron of Akragas, ‘a
man just in his regard for guests’, ZØ ŒÆØ
 
ø, O. 2. 6, my no. 16). In
Nemean 3. 2 (my no. 4), Aegina is just the ‘much-visited’, 
ºı
Æ, Dorian
island, and in Bacchylides (13. 95) the eponymous Aegina is ‘queen of a hospitable
land’. These are hardly ways of stressing Aeginetan business probity (de Ste.
Croix: ‘it is an absurd error to treat this as essentially mere friendliness to
traders’). De Ste. Croix is right that most of them refer more simply to Aeginetan
‘aristocratic hospitality’ or guest-friendship.
My conclusion on this issue is a compromise one. I do not think that either the
sea and ships in Pindar’s Aeginetan odes, above all Nemean 5, or his allusions to
Aeginetan Æ, would have suggested a commercial aristocracy if we were not
looking for it. De Ste. Croix was, however, wrong to deny so fiercely the
existence of any such thing, and to discount the possibilities that Pindar’s patrons

57
Hubbard (2001) 394.
 pindar and t he aeginetans 301
engaged in trade and that Pindar was aware of this and even alluded to it. But the
allusions are secondary (and some of them metaphorical), and here de Ste. Croix
was right. What Pindar stresses primarily and unequivocally are the glorious
recent achievements of the Aeginetan navy in battle, and their attention to
guest-friendship and hospitality as normally understood.
These allusions to Æ are, I argue, the clue to the question which remains
whatever view we take of the Aeginetan elite, and I suspect they did not feel
themselves problematized but perfectly normal. That question is, Why so many
poems about these people? As with so many problems to do with Pindar’s
varied social world, the answer to the question ‘why Aegina?’ is no doubt
multi-factorial: there is force in several (though not all) of the explanations
considered above. We should not shrink from biographical explanations for the
disproportion, unless we are to regard Pindar as a purely passive recipient of
patronage with no choice in the matter. I myself argue elsewhere that Pindar’s
wholly disproportionate attachment to Aegina, and his very marked emphasis on
Aeginetan hospitality and guest-friendship, reflect the friendly and attractive
Aeginetan reality, individual and collective.58 Pindar found there an unusually
hospitable ethos even among hospitable Greeks. Aegina was not so much his
ideal place as his favourite place, and the allusions to Æ disclose the fact. ‘How
much was Pindar paid per ode?’ is a question we would much like to know the
real answer to (3,000 drachmas has come down to us in one unreliable-looking
anecdote, cf. Smith, above pp. 101–2 n. 62).59 But in any case perhaps payment
mattered to him less than did the attraction of congenial sympotic company for
private performances of his odes,60 or the knowledge that for public perform-
ances he could rely on finding local choruses with exceptionally high standards in
dancing.61 He found Aeginetan social characteristics and cultural traditions
specially congenial and returned there again and again.
One of the attractive Aeginetan characteristics for a poet who was far
from parochial himself, was surely cosmopolitanism. Aegina was an unusually
prosperous island with plenty of rich families. In Greek communities everywhere
and of every political type, conspicuous expenditure at the games and in the form
of patronage of poets was a good way of spending your wealth. Perhaps the

58
Figueira (1981) 328 maintains that Pindar regularly praises the hospitality of Aegina as a community
whereas elsewhere hospitality is something he predicates of individuals. There is truth in this, but Figueira
himself notes P. 5. 56–7 (Cyrene) and on the other side there is the individual praise for Lampon of Aegina
at I. 6. 70 and Bacchylides 13. 224.
59
Scholiast on N. 5. 1a, Drachmann iii. 89. See Gzella (1971) 193. The point of the story is the relative
value of poems and statues. At first the poet asks for 3,000 drachmas and the Aeginetans say it would be
better to get a bronze statue made for the same money but then they realize they have made a mistake, etc.
The anecdote seems obviously generated by the opening of the poem, ‘I am not a sculptor . . . ’.
60
For Pindar and the symposium see Hornblower (2004) 35.
61
For this explanation see Mullen (1982) 145.
302 s i m o n ho r n b l o w e r
Aeginetan elite was particularly mobile (though hardly more so than the
Athenian). Certainly some Aeginetans worked and traded at great distances
from home, as illustrated by Sostratos’ anchor and the inscription from Lindos
on Rhodes honouring the Aeginetan interpreter (above, p. 291). Aeginetans got
around. Accordingly we should expect all four Panhellenic festivals to exhibit
Aeginetan victors, and they do.
The distribution of the Aeginetan odes is, however, lopsided: of Pindar’s
eleven fully surviving odes for Aeginetans, and Bacchylides’ two, all but two are
for Nemean or Isthmian victories (six and three respectively, and Snell–Maehler
print the fragments of a further Isthmian ode as Isthmian 9, clearly for another
Aeginetan, see n. 3 above). The exceptions are one Olympian and one Pythian ode
(Pi. O. 8 and P. 8). But this lopsidedness is partly chance, because Pindar’s Nemean
6 for Alkidimas of Aegina (line 35) has an incidental reference to a Pythian victory
by a relative. So it would be wrong to infer Aeginetan disdain for Delphi. On the
contrary: Herodotus (8. 122) mentions the gold stars dedicated there by the
Aeginetans from their aristeia (prize) for the Battle of Salamis in 480. The
distribution of epinikian odes surely has something to do with proximity:
Nemea and Isthmia were closer to Aegina than were either Delphi or Olympia.
One obvious difference between Aegina and Athens was that Aegina—like
Sicily, another great producer of Panhellenic victors—was a literal island, as
opposed to the metaphorical island to which ancient commentators compared
Athens (Th. 1. 143. 5 and Ps.-Xen. Ath. Pol. 2. 14). And Aegina’s population was
quite unusually large. In their brilliant study of the Mediterranean Sea and
region, Peregrine Horden and Nicholas Purcell explain ‘why islands have large
populations’ (answer: zones of easy movement have the highest concentrations
of peoples), and they cite Aegina as ‘the clearest case of all’.62 To be sure, Athens
and Attica had a large population as well, but the total area of Attica was vast
compared to that of Aegina.

6. herodotus and the aeginetan patrons of pindar

So much for the collective ethos of the Aeginetans of Pindar’s time. I now wish to
try to pin down some particular patrons prosopographically, so as to see how far
Pindar was writing for the governing class. Onomastic evidence will concern us
particularly; ‘It is the naming which immortalizes’. So wrote Chris Carey in 1989,
in the course of a study of Aeginetan prosopography in two odes of Pindar.63
62
Horden and Purcell (2000) 381 and 119, drawing on Figueira (1981) 22–64.
63
Carey (1989a) 3, or as he put it earlier on the page ‘[f]or immortality the naming is essential. To be
preserved in song as an anonymous father, uncle or grandfather is not to be preserved at all. In contrast,
to be named in song without having one’s precise relationship to the patron defined is still to be
 pindar and the a eginetans 303
The Lexicon of Greek Personal Names (first volume 1997 and publication ongoing)
enables us to speak with greater confidence about names and their regional
distribution, rarity and meaning.64
The main control on Pindar’s people is Herodotus’ narrative. Prominent
Aeginetans of the Persian War generation feature in both Herodotus and the
epinikian poets. One of these is Krios, ‘the Ram’, who confronted King Kleo-
menes of Sparta (Hdt. 6. 50 and 73) and who was also the subject of a mocking
poem by Simonides. It seems that Simonides as well as Herodotus played on his
name, and that the poet laughed at him for an athletic failure. Krios was both son
and father of a Polykritos, and the younger Polykritos of Aegina won glory in his
own right at the battle of Salamis (Hdt. 8. 93, cf. 92 for the patronymic).
Another great Aeginetan family, that of Pytheas, was celebrated in three odes of
Pindar and one of Bacchylides; but Herodotus, perhaps transmitting Athenian
malice,65 gives a less than glorious role to one of its members. Pytheas son of
Lampon was the honorand of Pindar’s Nemean 5 and of Bacchylides 13, which
celebrate the same Nemean victory; while Pindar’s Isthmian 5 and 6 were for
Pytheas’ brother Phylakidas. They were from the patra or clan of the Psalychiadai
(I. 6. 63) and from the oikos of Themistios, Pytheas’ maternal grandfather (Schol.
N. 5. 50): the stress on collective achievement, and the careful balancing of paternal
patra and maternal oikos, are as we have seen characteristic of Pindar’s Aeginetan
odes.66 Now Herodotus tells us (9. 78) that an Aeginetan called Lampon son of
Pytheas made the disgraceful suggestion that Pausanias the Spartan regent should
mutilate the corpse of the Persian general Mardonius; Pausanias indignantly
repudiated this. A close relationship between Herodotus’ Lampon son of Pytheas,
and Lampon the father of Pindar’s Pytheas, seems irresistible.67 But there is an
obstacle to actual identity68 in that Pindar (Isthmian 6. 16) calls his Lampon ‘son of
Kleonikos’, ˚º
Œ
ı ÆE. How and Wells suggested that strict identity could
be preserved if we either suppose that Kleonikos was a ‘remoter ancestor’ (sc. than
father); alternatively and even more ingeniously, they wondered if ˚ºØŒ
,
a compound of ‘glory’ and ‘victory’, might have been ‘a title given to Pytheas
from the numerous athletic victories of the family’.69 But the name Kleonikos
is not uncommon, and we need not suppose it was a nickname any more than

preserved . . . ’. He then gave examples from Pindar, and continued in good Pindaric ring-fashion with the
quotation in my text. The odes he studied were O. 8 and N. 6.
64
Note that Aegina is covered in LGPN vol. iiiA (the Peloponnese etc.) rather than in vol. i where one
might have expected it (the Islands etc.).
65
Jacoby (1913) col. 465. But individual Aeginetans do not always come off badly in Herodotus: see
below for his signalling of the bravery of Polykritos son of Krios and of Pytheas son of Ischenoos.
66
See above, n. 20 citing Parker. The Scholiast: Drachmann iii. 99.
67
Pfeijffer (1999) 104.
68
Identity is accepted by LGPN vol. iiiA under ¸ ø (1). Cole (1992) 50 prefers to think that the
two Lampons were close relatives, perhaps cousins.
69
How and Wells (1912) ii. 321.
304 s i mo n h o r n b lo w e r
was the name Pytheas itself which may suggest a victory at Delphi somewhere along
the line. Similarly, the prominent Aeginetan Nikodromos son of Knoithos, called
an Icæ ŒØ
 by Herodotus (6. 88), has a name which suggests paternal or
ancestral victory on the running track. It is enough for our purposes if Herodotus’
Lampon belongs to the same family as the father of Pindar’s victors, as he surely does.
Pindar’s patrons were clearly the governing elite.
The father of Lampon is not the only Aeginetan Pytheas known to Herodotus:
there was also Pytheas son of Ischenoos, who was on one of three Greek look-out
ships captured by the Persians in the run-up to the battle of Artemision. He was
cut to pieces in the fighting with the Persian boarding-party and then solicitously
bandaged up again (7. 181). If he were part of the Pindaric clan we have been
discussing, there would be a coincidental connection between the two athletic
families of Krios and Lampon, because it was in the ship of Polykritos son of
Krios that Pytheas son of Ischenoos finally returned to Aegina, after Polykritos
rammed the Sidonian ship which was carrying Pytheas (9. 92). There is, however,
no overwhelming reason, though there is a temptation, thus to bring him into
some relation with Pindar’s Pytheas.
The same is true of a very intriguing epigraphic attestation of an Aeginetan
Pytheas, whose son (his name ended in -Æ) was honoured towards the end of the
fifth century at Rhodian Lindos, at a time of transition shortly before the
synoikism of the island in 408 (for which see Diod. 13. 75 and above p. 291).
In the inscription (Syll.3 110, ILindos 16) he is given proxeny ‘of all the Rhodians’,
an expression which seems to indicate a federal set-up intermediate between the
old three-city arrangement known to Homer and Pindar, and the new synoikized
state of Rhodes which had such a brilliant Hellenistic future ahead of it.70
The honorand had been an (?) interpreter at Naukratis and so presumably
spoke Egyptian (or Aramaic?).71 He moved between Naukratis and the Pindaric
and Dorian islands of Aegina and Rhodes, and is a choice illustration of elite
mobility even if we decline to integrate him directly into Pindar’s world.
Olympian 8 of about 46072 is for Alkimedon of Aegina. The date is tricky
and I have discussed it elsewhere; the victor’s family has been sorted out
prosopographically in some of its aspects by Chris Carey but Herodotean big

70
For this interpretation of the inscription see Andrewes (1981) 92 n. on Th. 8. 44. 2, following Hiller
von Gaertringen (1931) col. 763; cf. also Hornblower (2002) 176. For Homer see Iliad 2. 655–6 with Kirk
(1985) 225; Pi. O. 7. 18 and 75–6. The three cities are Lindos, Ialysos, and ‘chalky Kamiros’, as Homer calls it,
¸
  ºı  ŒÆd IæªØÆ ˚ Øæ
.
71
Syll.3 110; ILindos no. 16, !
 AØ 

ºAØ Kd æ½ıÆø 
H I d ˜ؽ . . . . . . . . .
Æ
—ıŁ
ø `Nª½ØÆ 
e Kª ˝ÆıŒæ½Ø

): æ: : ½Æ

Æ æ
 ½q
  '
ø ø etc.; cf.
LGPN iiiA ‘—ıŁ
Æ’ no. 5.
72
This is a suitable moment to say that I regard most of Burnett’s datings for the Aeginetan odes as too
confident, for the reasons given at Hornblower (2004) 207–35, cf. 41–4.
 pindar and t he aeginetans 305
names, or names attested in other sorts of control sources such as inscriptions, are
lacking.73
The last Pindaric honorand in chronological sequence was Aristomenes son of
Xenarkes (in Pythian 8 of 446 bc). An inscribed funerary monument from Aegina
discovered and published in 2002 commemorates an Aristouchos son of
Aristomenes. The lettering is fourth-century, so this Aristomenes could be a
near relative of Pindar’s wrestling champion; it might even be the wrestler
himself.74 Aristomenes is a very common name all over the Greek world, but
this new attestation is only the second from Aegina, the son of Xenarkes being
the first. The monument is a modest one and this fits the view of Aegina
offered above: it was not an island of showy spenders. Pindar’s Aristomenes
was a wrestler not a wealthy equestrian victor; we have seen that none of Pindar’s
Aeginetans were that. We shall discuss Aristomenes’ family in the next section as
well, when we look at another sort of sculptural commemoration, namely victory
monuments made for athletes by Aeginetan sculptors.

7. aeginetans as sculptors: patterns of patronage

Pindar began Nemean 5 ‘I am not a sculptor’
PŒ IæØÆ

Ø N  , and we
have already discussed the contrast implied here between stationary and moving,
and between sea and land. (And see Thomas, this volume p. 149.) We have also
seen that the lines imply a contrast between two ways of commemorating success
at the games: epinikian poetry and bronze statues. But the choice of sculpture for
the opening metaphor was entirely appropriate for Aegina, which was, as the
Appendix to Chapter 4 shows, a great centre for the manufacture of bronze
victor-statues.75 Glaukias of Aegina is a particularly big name in this department;
he specialized in expensive victory monuments for high-profile athletes and
equestrian victors: Gelon the tyrant of Syracuse, Glaukos of Karystos, and
Theagenes of Thasos, an extraordinary figure who was worshipped as a
hero after his death.76 It might have been expected that Aeginetan sculptors, a
numerous class, would be commissioned by Aeginetan victors or their families,
another numerous class, but this is noticeably not so for the most part. There is
one exception: Theognetos of Aegina whose statue was by Ptolichos—also of

73
Hornblower (2004) 230–1; Carey (1989a) 1–6.
74
Polinskaya (2002).
75
Overbeck (1868) 78–84 collects the evidence for a dozen identifiable Aeginetan sculptors from this
period.
76
Overbeck (1868) p. 82 for Glaukias; the Gelon quadriga is Overbeck (1868) no. 429 (Paus. 6. 9. 4) and
the statues of Glaukos and Theagenes are nos. 432 and 431 (Paus. 6. 10. 1 and 6. 11. 2). All these were to be
seen at Olympia. For Theagenes see Pouilloux (1994) and for both Glaukos and Theagenes see Fontenrose
(1968) and above, p. 41 n. 166.
306 simon hornblower
Aegina;77 and this commission is out of line in another respect, as we have seen,
because Theognetos also features in Pindar (see above, pp. 294 n. 26, 305 for
Pythian 8, in which he is one of the maternal uncles of Aristomenes). It is true
generally that there is little overlap between commissioning epinikian odes and
commissioning bronze victory statues, but there are some Sicilian examples of
such double commemoration, notably Ergoteles of Himera (see Thomas, and
Silk (this volume) pp. 100, 159, and 181), and certain of the tyrants. But of all the
‘Pindaric’ Aeginetan victors, only one can be proved to have got a statue as well as
an ode, and even he was not the direct honorand but a relative (maternal uncle).
So, to recapitulate, the family of Aristomenes—unusually for Aeginetans—com-
missioned an ode from Pindar as well as a bronze statue from a sculptor, and this
statue was commissioned by Aeginetans from an Aeginetan sculptor and this too
was unusual because Aeginetan sculptors seem to have worked for non-Aegine-
tans on the whole.
Can these negative tendencies (Theognetos apart) be explained? Thomas’s
chapter explores odes and statues as alternatives methods of commemoration
(p. 157: ‘the poets were right to fight their corner in the business of commemor-
ation’). Smith discusses Aeginetan sculptors. Perhaps money is the answer to
both peculiarities. We may conjecture that Aeginetan sculptors were usually
too expensive for their own fellow-countrymen to afford.78 And if you were
immortalized by Pindar, why bother with a statue? Leave that sort of double
commemoration to prestige-hungry colonials in the western Mediterranean,
with money to throw around (Himera not Ergoteles paid for the statue, one
suspects, and perhaps also for Pindar’s fee and expenses). After all Pindar was—
financially—cheap: I have suggested that what he liked about Aegina and Aegi-
netans was the network of warm hospitality (above, Section 5) and perhaps also
the knowledge that his poems would be properly performed by a chorus person-
ally known to him and which would do what he told them. Aristomenes’ family
seem to have been exceptional; but even they put up a modest enough funeral
monument if the identification is correct (above, p. 305 and n. 74).
There is a further absence of overlap, that with which we began. The temple in
the Aphaia sanctuary and its surely rich rituals and festivals play absolutely no part
in the epinikian odes or for Aeginetans. In Pindar’s native Thebes, the local
festival of Herakles is fully integrated into the close of Isthmian 4, so that
Krummen79 suggested that this epinikian poem was performed in a firmly civic

77
Paus. 6. 9. 1; Overbeck (1862) no. 411. His father has the most unusual name ıø.
78
For the anecdote about the relative value of statues and victory odes in the scholion to Nemean 5 see
Thomas (this volume) p. 301 above, n. 59 and p. 149 n. 27. I suspect that it has little value, and was merely
generated by the opening words of the poem, ‘I am not a maker of statues’.
79
Krummen (1990) ch. 1.
 pindar and the aeginetans 30 7
context, ‘above the Elektran gates’ of the city (line 61). Is there anything of this
sort in the Aeginetan odes? In Pythian 8, we are told that

. . .
YŒ
Ø b æŁ ±æƺ

Æ Ø
ÆŁº
ı f )
æÆ~Ø ( ÆE KªÆª
and earlier at home you [Apollo] bestowed the coveted gift
of the pentathlon during the festivities for you both. (lines 65–6)

Here the scholiast says that Aristomenes had been victorious K
YŒfiø;

ı
Ø K `NªØfi IªHÆ ƒæe `ººø
 
ÆŁº
: ¼ªÆØ b I
`Nªfi ˜ºØÆ `ººøØ, ‘at home, that is to say in the sacred contest of
Apollo, the pentathlon; the Delphinia are held for Apollo on Aegina’, and then he
glosses the plural ‘you both’, ( ÆE, as plural for singular, but adds: Ø AÆØ b
æÆ K `Nªfi `ººø ŒÆd ` . æ Ø, ‘Apollo and Artemis receive much
cult on Aegina’. In Nemean 5, Pindar says of Pytheas that

± ˝
Æ b ¼æÆæ
  KØæØ
; n º `ººø,
Nemea stands firm for him,
as well as the local month that Apollo loved. (line 44)

The last words are not quite transparent but are thought to refer once again to the
Delphinian games for Apollo, which were famous for some sort of contest
involving running with amphorae, the ‘Hydrophoria’ or ‘amphora contest’.80
The ode ends (line 53) with an exhortation to bring flowers to æ
Łæ
ØØ
`Nƌ
F, ‘the portals of Aiakos’ temple’. We know that this Aiakeion was close to
the harbour (Paus. 2. 29. 6)81 and the temples of Apollo and Artemis were also
clearly in this region (Paus. 2. 30. 1). Olympian 8 opens with an invocation of
Olympia which has been thought to show that it was performed there, but the
poem also speaks of ‘this sea-girt land’, ’ ±ºØæŒ
Æ æÆ and of how
Aiakos was escorted ‘here’, ı~æ
(lines 25, 51) and I agree that this probably
indicates local performance—in the vicinity of the Aiakeion? But these local
allusions are all to the cults of Aegina city, not to the Aphaia temple and cult.
We can imagine that something like Krummen’s picture of Thebes might apply to
Aegina city. But Aphaia is out of the picture. So who were the collectively
described ‘Aeginetans’ for whom Pindar wrote his poem for the Aphaia temple
(fr. 89b, see above, p. 288)? Obviously we cannot say without even a fragment of
the poem itself; we can only hope that something will turn up on papyrus. It will
not do to say that the explanation of Pindar’s silence about Aphaia in the
epinikians is that the temple was remote from the polis and harbour where
the returning athletes would have disembarked if their victories were won on

80 81
Pfeijffer (1999) 174. Pfeijffer (1999) 192.
308 s i m o n ho r n b l o w e r
the mainland, or where the victories if local would have actually been won. After
all, the temple, though distant, was not in any other sense marginal but clearly the
focus of huge financial investment by the community of Aegina, and there must
have been many processions, 
Æ from polis to temple. I suspect that there is
some explanation in terms of local politics and family or clan rivalries but cannot
see further than that. How the so-called thearoi, magistrates attested epigraphic-
ally on Aegina from the Hellenistic period,82 might fit into the religious politics
of the island is not easy to see, but the thearoi are evidently connected with the
cult of Apollo and with the physical polis of Aegina not with the temple and cult
of Aphaia. The names of several of the Aeginetan patrai are known, such as the
Meidylidai of Pythian 8 (line 38), but it is frustrating that without other evidence
we can do nothing with these names.

8. conclusion
I have tried83 to explain the unprecedentedly large number of odes for Aegine-
tans not in terms of Aeginetan wealth—they were not in the ‘quadriga’ class, and
mostly did not commission bronze statues as well as victory odes—but in terms of
the hospitable appeal that the island held for Pindar. He seems to have been
drawn mainly to the polis and its harbour in the west of the island, and to its civic
cults, rather than to Aphaia in the east; and perhaps the eventual locus of
performance reflected this geographical, social, and cultic lopsidedness—in
which case the analogy with Thebes, where no such pattern is detectable, is
intriguingly imperfect. But the intriguing existence of a poem to the Aphaia
temple shows that this may not have been the whole story.
Finally, a word on the Athenian dimension. One reason for writing and
listening to these peaceful celebrations of Dorianism was surely political: the
best way of countering Athenian polypragmosynē was simply—to pretend that the
Athenian empire did not exist. To ignore someone is the most provocative and
infuriating form of rejection.

82
Figueira (1986) 314–21.
83
For an interesting and quite different explanation, see Lowe above, p. 176 and n. 31.
 twelve
––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Thessalian Aristocracy and Society in the Age of

Epinikian
Maria Stamatopoulou

‘ ˇºÆ ¸ÆŒÆ ø; ŒÆØæÆ ¨ƺÆ , ‘fortunate is Lakedaimon, blessed is

Thessaly’.1 With this emphatic statement begins the earliest known epinikian ode
of Pindar, the 10th Pythian, composed for the Thessalian aristocrat Hippokleas of
Pelinna, victor at the boys’ diaulos at the Pythia of 498, when Pindar was about
20 years old.2
Thessaly, through a favourable comparison with Lakedaimon— ŒÆØæÆ
instead of OºÆ—appears to be even more fortunate than the most powerful
state in Greece at the time.3 The reason for this good fortune is given in the next
lines: both regions are governed by descendants of Herakles. Therefore from the
beginning the ode is as much a matter of praise for Thessaly and its ruling family
as it is a celebration of the boy’s athletic success.
In the next few lines (3–9), Pindar states the impetus for the composition of the
ode: Pytho, the place of victory, Pelinna, the hometown of the victor, and the
sons of Aleuas, are calling upon him to honour Hippokleas, victor in the boys’
diaulos at Delphi: —ıŁ  ŒÆd e —ººØÆE
 IØ $ºÆ  ÆE;
 
μ
fi Æ Ł
º
 IªÆªE KØŒø Æ IæH ZÆ, ‘Rather, Pytho and
Pelinna are calling upon me, and Aleuas’ sons, who are eager to bring to
Hippokleas men’s glorious voices in revelry’.4 This is the single known case of
an epinikian ode commissioned not by the victor or his family, but by a third

1
I would like to thank Simon Hornblower and Catherine Morgan for the kind invitation to participate
in the seminar series. I should also thank H. Kim (Ashmolean Museum), E. Stasinopoulou and H. Moraiti
(National Museum, Athens), and P. Marzolff for providing photographs; also M. Mili and M. Kalaitzi for
their useful suggestions and D. Saw for proofreading the text and for help with illustrations. I dedicate this
chapter to Prof. V. Lambrinoudakis with gratitude for his continuous help and support.
2
On the ode: Burton (1962) 1–14; Donlan (1999) 95–110; Kirkwood (1982) 235–44; Kurke (1991) 53–7,
141–3; Brown (1992).
3
Burton (1962) 2; Helly (1995) 139; Bowra (1964) 104–5 and Hornblower (1992) 181; Hornblower
(2002) 97 have seen in this comment evidence for an alliance with Kleomenes of Sparta. See also: Andrewes
(1971) 219; Lazenby (1993) 85–7; Parker (1997).
4
On the type of performance of the odes: see below, p. 310 and nn. 20–1. For Hippokleas’ victories at
the Olympic games: schol. Pi. P. 10. (Drachmann ii. 242).
310 maria stamatopoulou
party, the Aleuads.5 What is the significance of this? It is well known that Larisa
was the seat of the Aleuad family: it was, and still is, the richest and most
powerful settlement in Thessaly, profiting from its position by the Peneios
river, near major routes of communication and with extremely fertile agricultural
land.6 Pelinna, the home of the victor, has been identified with the ancient city at
Petroporos, formerly Palaiogardiki. Pelinna lay a few kilometres to the west of
Larisa on the opposite bank of the Peneios river, and guarded the pass leading to
western Thessaly. Very little is known about Pelinna before the fourth century,
when the city flourished under Macedonian control.7 The dearth of evidence
about Pelinna’s early history precludes the possibility of successfully interpreting
the relationship of the town, and that of the aristocratic family of Hippokleas, to
the Aleuads. Were the two families linked by friendship, as is suggested in a
scholion to the ode (schol. Pi. P. 10. 5 and 64) where Aleuas’ sons are called
)Æ~Øæ
Ø, and the commission on the part of the Aleuads therefore a token of this
philia, so typical of Archaic elite families?8 Or could there have been an additional
motive behind the commission of the ode by the Larisaean ruling family? Studies
by Kurke and Stehle have demonstrated the importance of choral performance
for the self-definition of aristocracies within a community.9 According to
Stehle, choral performance was ‘one of the ways in which prestigious families
traditionally staged their centrality in the community, and their right to speak for
it and to identify its interests with their own’.10 In the light of this, could it be
that the Aleuads, by the commission and performance of the ode, were also
aiming to stress their charisma and the legitimacy of their rule to their neighbour-
ing communities, where other elite groups might also be interested in exercising
power?11 In the absence of any relevant evidence, all we can do is speculate.
Further on in the poem, Pindar explains that the victory of Hippokleas was
prompted by divine favour—a favourite motif in his odes—but surely was also due
to the ability inherited from his father, Phrikias, twice an Olympic victor in the
5
On the Aleuads: Helly (1995) 112–24; also RE s.v. Aleuadai; Axenidis (1947b) 43–8; Kirkwood (1982)
239 on l. 5; Molyneux (1992) 118–21 (very hypothetical). On the commission of the odes: Kurke (1991)
21 and n. 18.
6
On Larisa: Axenidis (1947b); Helly (1984) and (1987); Tziafalias (1994 a).
7
On Pelinna: Tziafalias (1992). Virtually nothing is known from the region for the Archaic period,
except for the mid-6th-cent. hydria (Fig. 69) from a tomb, now NAM 18232: Verdelis (1953–4); Stibbe
(2000) 52–4, no. 24. For finds of the Classical period: Tziafalias (1992) and Stamatopoulou (1999) vol. ii,
cat. no. 48. Helly has challenged the identification of Petroporos with Pelinna, and suggested instead that
Petroporos should be identified with ancient Pharcadon: BE (1995) 481, no. 334; SEG 43. 293.
8
Drachmann II 242, 251 f. (8a, 99a). On philia: Herman (1990) 85. On aristocratic gift exchange: Kurke
(1991) 85–107. Most believe that Pelinna at that time was dependent on Larisa: Axenidis (1947b) 47, 96; but
as Tziafalias (1992) 88–9 rightly notes, our evidence for 6th-cent. Pelinna is too meagre to allow for certainty.
9
Stehle (1997) 12–25, 319; Kurke (1991) 5 (for the audience of the odes), 258–9 for the epinikia as outlets
for prestige displays.
10
Stehle (1997) 23–5, esp. 25.
11
See Kurke (1991) 163–224: on the epinikion in relationship to the polis community, as a means to
reintegrate the patron.
 t he s s a l y i n t h e a g e o f e p i n i k i a n 311
hoplite race and once at the Pythia (lines 10–16).12 Pindar thus sets out the
athletic pedigree of the family. The victory of Hippokleas is a logical extension
of the kleos of his family, already secured by the Olympic victories of his father.13
After briefly stating his wish (line 20) that Hippokleas, having been granted
successes, should ‘encounter from the gods no envious reversals’, Ł
æÆE KŒ
ŁH Ææ
ÆØ,14 Pindar turns his attention to the boy’s father in lines 22–6.
He comments on his great fortune, having been a victor himself and living to see
a victorious son. Using a geographical metaphor and the world of the Hyper-
boreans as an example of the limits of human accomplishment,15 Pindar paves the
way for the mythical narrative, which recounts the deeds of Perseus (lines 27–48,
especially 31–6). At first glance the choice of Perseus as the protagonist of a myth
for a Thessalian victor might appear surprising, especially given the very frequent
references to famous Thessalian heroes, namely Peleus, Achilles, or Jason, in
other odes, especially those for Aeginetan victors.16 However, Perseus is ‘genea-
logically’ linked to Herakles, who has already been said by Pindar to be the
ancestor of the Aleuads.17 Therefore Perseus is a hero who can be used to glorify
the victory of the boy, whose achievement can be compared with his deeds, but
also to subtly enhance the glory of the aristocratic/ancestral lineage of the
Aleuads. Therefore, it might be not too far-fetched to suggest that Perseus was
chosen exactly because of his relation to the Herakleid Aleuads.18
In the 4th strophe (lines 55–9) Pindar returns to the victory at hand, and he
wishes that the performance of the ode by the Ephyraeans around the river
12
On Phrikias and Hippokleas: Moretti (1957) nos. 150, 156, 175, 184. On the importance of inborn
ability in Pindar: Bowra (1964) 100, 171; Donlan (1999) 97–8 and on divine charis: Kurke (1991) 104–8.
13
Kurke (1991) 15–61 esp. 19–20, on the importance of the family in the negotiation of symbolic capital
(as defined by Bourdieu (1977) 171–83) conferred by athletic victory and the performance/commission of
the victory song.
14
On phthonos: Bowra (1964) 190. It should be noted that in this ode the phthonos motif is used only
with reference to the gods, as in the odes for Sicilian rulers.
15
On the Hyperboreans as a boundary beyond which mortals cannot pass and the use of metaphors in
Pindar: Kirkwood (1982) 242–3; Kurke (1991) 21–3, 53; Pfeijffer (1999) 287. Lefkowitz (1991) 27–9 sees the
myth as a digression of the story. See also Helly (1995) 139.
16
Odes with Thessalian element in their myths: P. 3. 100–3; 4. 71–246; 9. 5–25; N. 3. 32–63; 4. 46–68;
5. 9–13 and 19–39; 6. 49–53; I. 5. 38–45, 6. 25–6; 8. 21–60. Also references to Thessalians in hyporchemata
fr. 107a: Plut. Quest. Conv. 9. 15. 748b, On the use of myth in Pindar: Kurke (1991) 195–224, esp. 200. It is
certainly interesting that Achilles, Peleus, Pelias, or Jason, heroes appropriated by cities such as Pharsalos
and Pherai-Iolkos respectively, were used by Pindar in an Aeginetan, and not a Thessalian, setting.
However, I think that Molyneux (1992) 117–45 and Podlecki (1980) 382–7 are exaggerating when they
suggest that it is possible to identify exclusive links between specific aristocratic families and epinikian
poets, for example a link between Pindar and the Aleuads and Simonides and the Skopads and Echekratids.
The evidence is inadequate, both in terms of preserved epinikian songs, esp. for Simonides and Bacchy-
lides, and also for the history of Thessaly in the late 6th cent.–early 5th cents. The increasing rivalry that we
see among the various elite groups in Thessalian cities in the course of the 5th cent. may have started earlier,
in the 6th cent., but at present there is no way of proving this.
17
On Perseus and the Aleuads: Bowra (1964) 30.
18
On the use of mythical/legendary ancestors for forging a heroic past by Archaic aristocrats: Thomas
(1989) 106–7, 173–7; and (1992) 109. On the importance of noble birth in the Archaic period: Donlan (1999)
95–101. On genealogies: Hornblower (1994) 14: McInerney (1999) 29–33. Although the historicity of
Pindar’s odes is, justly, a very debatable issue, I agree with Pfeijffer that an epinikian ode is more than
312 maria stamatopoulou
Peneios will make Hippokleas even more glorious and attractive in the eyes of his
contemporaries, especially the girls.19 These lines have been discussed extensively
in the debate regarding the choral or solo performance of the odes. Lefkowitz
and Heath have seen them as evidence for a subsequent informal performance of
the ode.20 If we assume a choral performance by a chorus of men, which
seems the most likely scenario,21 then the setting of the victory celebration is
somewhere near the river Peneios, at a locality which is definitely Thessalian, but
not specified. It is noteworthy that a third group, besides Pelinna and the
Aleuads, appears in the ode—the Ephyraeans. Their identity is elusive: it is
generally believed that the Ephyraeans must be identified with the inhabitants
of nearby Krannon, another leading Thessalian city and the seat of the aristocratic
family of the Skopads, and therefore that a third community is participating in the
celebration of the victory of Hippokleas.22 However, we should not exclude
the possibility that the Ephyraeans were a phratry, as suggested in a scholion to
the ode (schol. P. 10. 55, Drachmann II. 251 (85c)).23 In the absence of epigraphic
or other evidence the question must remain open.
To return to the ode, in lines 63–8 Pindar turns his attention to his patron,
Thorax, first mentioned by name in line 63.24 The poet emphatically states his
trust in the xenia, real or metaphorical, of his patron.25 Thorax has proved to be a
real friend, as he has yoked the four-horse chariot of the Muses, the song, ‘as
"
friend a friend’, غ
ø غ

Æ.26 The choice of words—غ
ø غ

 ,
¼ªø ¼ª
Æ—stresses the equality and reciprocity of their relationship: an
aristocratic guest-friendship between equals.27

anything else occasional poetry integrally linked to a specific event and a specific victor, is commissioned by
a specific patron, and is composed for a specific audience and setting: Pfeijffer (1999) 1–20. For an
alternative interpretation of the myth of this ode: Burton (1962) 6–8; Bowra (1964) 288–9; Köhnken
(1971) 154–87; Kurke (1991) 57; Brown (1992).
19
On the importance of beauty and erotic elements in Archaic aristocratic lifestyles: Donlan (1999)
52–75, 106; Sourvinou-Inwood (1995) 235–6, 252–70. See also Pi. P. 10. 23–4: which, according to Pfeijffer
(1999) 188, refers to the admirable physical qualities of the young victor.
20
Heath and Lefkowitz (1991) 175 n. 4, 185–6; Kurke (1991) 54.
21
On choral performance of the epinikian odes: Carey (1989b) 547–8; and (1991) 196; Stehle (1997)
16–18; Kurke (1991) 5 n. 16. On the setting of the odes: Kurke (1991) 3 and n. 8; Thomas (1992) 119; Morris
(1999) 163, 182–4, 186–9.
22
On Ephyraeans: schol. (see text); Strabo 9. 5. 21; also Tziafalias (1994b). On the choral performance
as a strong visualization of the community as a whole repaying their debt to the victor: Pfeijffer (1999) 514.
23
On the existence of gentilician groups in Thessaly: Helly (1995) 317–24; Tziafalias (2000a) 85
(for Atrax).
24
On Thorax: Axenidis (1947b) 92–6; Helly (1995) 114–16.
25
On the motive of xenia and gift-exchange in Pindar: Kurke (1991) 135–59, esp. 141–3; Pfeijffer (1999)
62–3, 111–12; 513–14 (on the chreos motif). Also Burton (1962) 12–13; Bowra (1964) 387; Donlan (1980)
103–4; Kirkwood (1982) 244; Herman (1987) 16–17.
26
On chariot of song: Bowra (1964) 12, 39; Kurke (1991) 139–41.
27
Kurke (1991) 141–3; Pfeijffer (1999) 8, 111–12, 396. The philoxenia of the poet’s patron was also stressed
in the 14th ode of Bacchylides, for Kleoptolemos of Thessaly, l. 23: Maehler (1982) 301. On the hospitality
of the Thessalians: see below nn. 128, 191, and above, pp. 298 ff.
 t h e s s a l y i n t he a g e o f e p i n i k i a n 313
The ode concludes with a reference (lines 69–72) to the Kº
 brothers of
Thorax, who deserve praise because they maintain and increase the 
, ‘state’,
of the Thessalian cities by governing according to custom and tradition.28
This praise of the type of governance of Thessaly surely has relevance to the
opening statement ŒÆØæÆ ¨ƺÆ. Thus, in a circular composition,29 Pin-
dar’s ode confers praise at various levels: it celebrates the Pythian victory of
Hippokleas and the glory of his oikos, while at the same time it exalts the good
fortune of Thessaly, privileged to be ruled in the traditional way by descendants
of Herakles, the Aleuads, who have commissioned the ode and whose glory is
assured via their genealogical connection to Herakles and their just rule.30
Therefore, this ode brings to the fore points I would like to discuss in this
chapter, namely the ‘good fortune’ of Thessaly and its cities in the sixth and fifth
centuries (i.e. in the period of creation and flourishing of the victory song), the
conduct, modes of self-representation and self-promotion of the Thessalian elite
during this period, and the interaction of Thessalian leading families at a regional
and Panhellenic level. In order to examine the latter, I will try to trace the
mobility of the Thessalian elites by discussing their patronage of the arts in
Thessaly, their presence at the great Panhellenic sanctuaries through participation
in the crown games and dedication, and their relationship with other states/elite
groups via alliances/xenia relationships.

Thessaly is situated at the ‘heart’ of the Greek peninsula (Fig. 57). It was an
extensive plainland, well watered by the Peneios and its tributaries, surrounded
on the north, west, and south by mountainous areas. This plain is divided by a
series of hills—modern Revenia—into two smaller ones. The western or upper
plain, around the area of modern Trikala, is the larger. However, it seems that a
substantial part of it was forested or often marshy, flooded during winter by the
Peneios and its tributaries, and suffering from severe drought in the summer.31
The eastern plain was drier, well placed on the main inland routes leading to
northern Greece, and offered access to the sea via the Tempe pass to the north
and especially via the Pilaf Tepe pass to the Gulf of Pagasai (modern Volos) to the
south.32 Thessaly was renowned in antiquity for its wealth. Unlike most southern

28
On the brothers of Thorax: Helly (1995) 114–16; also Donlan (1999) 96–8. On the importance of
traditional law and the nomos of the Thessalian cities: Helly (1995) 113; Morgan (2003) 77, 86–7.
29
Carey (1989b) 548 and n. 7; Köhnken (1971) 155.
30
There is no reference to the victor as benefactor of the city: the Aleuads appear to take on this role for
the entire region. On this, see Kurke (1991) 163 n. 1, and ch. 8.
31
On the geography of Thessaly: Georgiadis (1894); Westlake (1935) 2–7; Philippson (1950); Larsen
(1968) 14; Morgan (2003) 18–20, 169–70 (on floods of Nessonis and the importance of roads). Also Garnsey,
Gallant, and Rathbone (1994) esp. 31–3 on the lower plain. On changes in climate: Reinders et al. (1997) 125.
32
On the road systems of Thessaly: Décourt and Mottas (1997); Doulgeri-Intzesiloglou (2000a) 346;
Arachoviti (2002) 52 for remains of the ancient road connecting Pherai and Pagasai, found near Agios
Georgios Pheron.
 314 maria stamatopoulou

Land over 900 m

Mt. Olympus Land 200-900 m

Land below 200 m

N
km
Gonnoi Homolion 0 10 20 30
Perrhaibia
Mt.Ossa
Mopsion
Phalanna
is Marmariani
ot
iai

ios
Dendra
st
He
ene
Larisa Volos/
Pelinna Ma
Gremnos gn Nea lonia
R.P
Petroporos Atrax Magoula es
ia
Krannon Pelasgiotis Mt Pelion
Trikka
Ag. Georgios
Athamania

Pherai
Moschato Arne-Kierion Latomion
Aerino
Skotoussa
Thessaliotis Amphanes/Soros
Ktouri Phthiotis Korope?
Phthiotic Pagasai
Philia Pharsalos Thebes
Pagasitic
Proerna? Gulf
Do Achaia Platanos
lo Almyrou/
pi Phthiotis Halos
a Melitaia
Theotokou
Kamila Mt. Othrys

Sp
erc
hio EUBOIA
sV
alle
y Malian Gulf

Fig. 57. Thessaly

Greek states it had plentiful resources: fertile land for agriculture and favourable
conditions for breeding horses and livestock, both in the plains and in the mountain
pastures.33
In antiquity, Thessaly ‘proper’ covered only the fertile plains, while the adja-
cent mountainous regions were inhabited by the perioikoi, that is the neighbour-
ing peoples—the Perrhaiboi to the north, Magnetes to the east, Achaian

33
On the resources of Thessaly: Westlake (1935) 1–7; Garnsey, Gallant, and Rathbone (1984), esp. 30–5;
CAH vi. 558–9 (on the occasional role of Thessaly as an exporter of corn in the 4th cent. see 213); Sprawski
(1999) 52–6; Archibald (2000). Also Hornblower (1991) 10–11 (on Thuc. 1. 2. 3).
 t he s s a l y i n t h e a g e o f e p i n i k i a n 315
Phthiotes to the south, and Dolopes to the west.34 Also related to the Thessalians
until the fifth century, although more loosely, were the peoples inhabiting the
valley of Spercheios, an area of strategic importance with a good harbour and
control of the Thermopylai pass.35
Thessaly is often considered one of the leading powers in the Greek world in
the seventh and sixth centuries bc. It is credited with a leading role in the early
amphiktyonies at Anthela and Delphi and its wealth was renowned in antiquity.36
However, at the same time it is portrayed as a backward area, surrounded
by mountains that hindered outside contact, and in close proximity to semi-
Hellenized peoples such as the Macedonians and the Epirotes. Because of this
‘isolation’ Thessaly is seen as a feudal state, un-urbanized until the fifth century,
ruled by a few aristocratic families, essentially war-lords who owned vast estates
and controlled a very large number of penestai, the indigenous population of the
plains who were reduced to serfdom.37 Although their ‘Hellenic identity’
was never in question, Thessalians were considered to be provincial and crude
compared to the rest of the Greeks. The fact that the region was organized as an
‘ethnos’, rather than forming independent city-states, has been seen by some
scholars as another sign of its backwardness.38
However, recent studies of the organization of early ethne, most notably by
McInerney and Morgan, have shown that these assumptions are not necessarily
true.39 Despite the problems caused by inadequate archaeological exploration of
the region, it seems that as early as the Early Iron Age, Thessalian communities,
especially those in the eastern part of the region, were in close contact with the
Aegean world.40 Because of the bias of exploration, the evidence is predomin-
antly funerary: however, excavation in settlement areas has shown that by the
34
On the perioikoi: Westlake (1935) 15–18, 36; Larsen (1968) 13, 18–19; Hammond and Griffith (1979)
291–2 for the perioikoi in the 4th cent.; Hall (2002) 139; Shipley (1997) esp. 196, 217; Sprawski (1999)
17, 104–5. Neither the perioikoi nor the penestai (see n. 37 below) are identifiable in the archaeological record.
It seems that their dependence was economic rather than strictly political since they retained their votes in
the Amphiktyonic council: Helly (1995) 131–2, 167–9, 181–6, 283–7; Lefèvre (1998) 84–90; Sánchez (2001)
42–4, 466–9; Morgan (2003) 23.
35
Westlake (1935) 7–14; Béquignon (1937a).
36
On the early Amphiktyony: Helly (1995) 131–42, 167–9, 187; Jacquemin (1999) 51; Lefèvre (1998) 14,
84–6; Sánchez (2001) 32–57, 80; Hall (2002) 145–53.
37
On penestai: Ducat (1994); (1997); Helly (1995) 98–9, 184–6, 303–9; Sprawski (1999) 17, 108–9 (for the
4th cent.); Morgan (2003) 190–2.
38
See e.g. Westlake (1935) 29–32; Larsen (1968) 14–24; Jeffery (1976) 71–7; Lintott (1982) 269–71 (on
staseis). Sprawski (1999) 18–20 for an overview of scholarship; Morgan (2003) 8–16 on the concept of tribe
and ethnicity, 24 for the criticism of the assumption of a feudal aspect of Thessalian society.
39
Morgan (2003) esp. 16–24, 79–105; 124–42; Archibald (2000) esp. 213–17. McInerney (1999) esp.
11–33.
40
Excavations in Thessaly are nearly always rescue operations, therefore the available data are not
always representative. In addition, surveys in the region are few and concentrate in the eastern plain: Gallis
(1979); Stamatopoulou (1999) vol. i. pp. 8–12; Morgan (2003) 21, 88–9. The best synthesis of the
archaeological evidence for Early Iron Age Thessaly is Lemos (2002) 12–21, 146–50 (settlements), 173–8
(cemeteries), 205–7, 217–20 (on the prominence of Thessalian elements in epic), 236–7.
3 16 m a r i a s ta ma to p o u l o u
eighth century large settlements existed in the region, similar to those of
southern Greece (e.g. Argos), most notably Pherai, Larisa, and Nea Ionia.41
Large sanctuaries, such as those at Pherai, Philia, perhaps Gonnoi, and Phthiotic
Thebes reveal considerable organization and investment by the communities.42
Moreover, Thessalian cemeteries are remarkable for the variety of burial modes,
rites, and tombs, which often reveal social differentiation among the members of
the burying communities.43 A notable and recurrent feature of Thessalian elites is
their deliberate wish to associate with the past by choosing to build tholos tombs
similar in appearance to those of Late Helladic IIIC, and often in close proximity
to them.44 Funerary offerings reveal close contacts with the outside world,
especially Euboia, the islands, Attica, and Macedonia.45
Thessalian political organization is closely linked in ancient sources to the fate
of its aristocratic families.46 Aleuas the Red, the quasi-mythical founder of the
leading family of Larisa, is credited with organizing the Thessalian politeia some-
time in the sixth century, by dividing the land into tetrads/
EæÆØ—Pelasgiotis (to
the north and north-east), Hestiaiotis (to the north and north-west), Thessaliotis
(to the south), and Phthiotis (to the south and south-east). He is also credited
with a military reorganization of the region, dividing it into ŒºBæ
Ø, each
offering 40 cavalry and 80 hoplites (Aristotle, Rose frs. 497–8).47 Each tetrad
was led by a magistrate chosen from the ranks of the aristocratic families, the
basileis.48 The leader of the ethnos of the Thessalians was probably the archōn or

41
Lemos (2002) 236–7; Morgan and Coulton (1997) 91–2, 121; Morgan (2000) 191; (2003) 45–6,
92–102. For the recent excavation of an apsidal building at Halos, contemporary with the graves found
at Platanos Almyrou: Malakasioti and Mousioni (2004) 353–6. Houses of the Geometric period are also
known from Larisa: Tziafalias (1994a) 155; Delt. 51 (1996) B1, 365–8 (7 Asklepiou St.).
42
Pherai: Morgan (1997b) 170–5; Morgan (2003) 92–5, 135–42: I am no longer certain that there are
actually funerary connotations in this sanctuary. The chronological gap between the cessation of burial and
beginning of cult is not known and the later development of the sanctuary shows that the cult of Enodia
was ‘civic’; Chrysostomou (1998) 25–42 (with earlier bibliography). Philia: Kilian (1983); Kilian-Dirlmeier
(2002); Morgan (2003) 140–1.
43
Tziafalias and Zaouri (1999); Arachoviti (2000); Lemos (2002) 173–8.
44
Lemos (2002) 178, 205–7, 217, and 220; Morgan (2003) 93–4, 101. Also Georganas (2000) esp. 52–4
who, however, wrongly infers that in cemeteries where tholos tombs are found, no other tomb types of
graves were attested. The cist tomb excavated in the cemetery of Marmariani shows otherwise: Delt. 39
(1984) B, 151; Lemos (2002) 176. Recently P. Arachoviti reported the discovery of an extended cemetery at
Aerino, in continuous use from LH III to the 9th cent., where there is continuous presence of tholos
tombs: Arachoviti (2000) 367–8, and (2002) 49–50. On evidence for Archaic occupation at Aerino:
Salvatore (1994) 96.
45
Lemos (2002) 173–8, 217–20. Also Malakasioti (1997); Tziafalias and Zaouri (1999).
46
Archibald (2000) 213 sees the social cohesion of Thessaly depending on ‘a caste of leaders with bases
in different cities’.
47
On the organization of Thessaly and the importance of the tetrads/moirai: Meyer (1909) 227–49, esp.
227–9; Axenidis (1947b) 43–56; Helly (1995) esp. 150–91, 287–315; Davies (1997a) 31; Beck (1997) 119–34;
Corsten (1999) 178–84; Sprawski (1999) 15–25, esp. 17; Morgan (2001) 30; (2003) 21–3; Hall (2002) 140.
The date of such an organization and the level—regional or local—is still in dispute.
48
Archibald (2000) 230. Helly (1995) esp. 10–101, 124–9; 344–5; Sprawski (1999) 18; Morgan (2003)
22–3.
 thessaly in the age of epinikian 317
tetrarchos (not the tagos, at least until Jason).49 Possibly during the earlier part of
the sixth century, another Thessalian aristocrat, Skopas, of the family of Kran-
non, is credited by Xenophon (Hell. 6. 1. 19) as levying the tribute paid by the
perioikoi.50
It is true that elite families dominated political life in Thessaly and that their
power was mostly based on the exploitation of large estates. However, contrary
to the traditional view, I agree with Morgan that they acted and/or competed
within a ‘civic’ context rather than against it, and that their conduct was not that
dissimilar to that of the elites of southern Greek communities.51 The major
families of Thessaly are nearly always mentioned in ancient sources in relation
to a polis, the Aleuads to Larisa, the Echekratids to Pharsalos, and the Skopads to
Krannon.52
Morgan has identified patronage of the arts, participation in Panhellenic
games, and the forming of xenia relationships, as among the prerogatives of
Archaic elites.53 Although our sources for Thessalian history prior to the end of
the sixth century are very problematic,54 they reveal considerable mobility on the
part of the Thessalians. Ancient tradition considered the Thessalians and their
perioikoi among the original/early members of the amphiktyonies at Anthela and
later at Delphi. Although the archaeological record does not indicate a prominent
early Thessalian presence at Delphi via dedications,55 the number of authors
associating Thessalians with the early history of the sanctuary at Delphi, and
the traditions regarding the enmity with the Phokians, seem to suggest that there
is an element of truth in the ancient testimonia.
Tradition has recorded a series of military events involving Thessalians in this
period, especially in relation to the neighbouring Phokians—for example, the
‘First Sacred War’ (with Eurylochos),56 the campaigns in Phokis which resulted
in defeat due to stratagems of the Phokians,57 and the Battle of Keressos in
49
Helly (1995) 39–68; Sprawski (1999) 15–25. On the similarities of the supreme leader of the Thessalian
state to a monarch: Davies (1997a) 34.
50
Meyer (1909) 221, 240; Sprawski (1999) 17; Helly (1995) 108, 171–2.
51
Morgan (2003) 24, 46, 86; Archibald (2000) 213.
52
Echekratids: Molyneux (1992) 127–31 (who examines the possibility of intermarriages); Helly (1995)
104–6. On the Skopads: Pl. Prt. 339a–340e; Theoc. Id. 16. 26, 16. 36; Cic. De Or. 2. 351–3; Quint. Inst. 11. 2–11. 16.
Also Meyer (1909) 240–1; Kurke (1991) 59–60 and n. 47; Molyneux (1992) 121–5; Helly (1995) 97, 107–12. On
the Aleuads, above, n. 5.
53
Morgan (2003) 23–4, 203. Also Herman (1990) 91–2 for xenia as a means of maintaining international
aristocracy. See also above, p. 315.
54
Davies (1994) 200 on the problems inherent in the study of Archaic sources. For Thessaly: Morgan
(2003) 21, 120–31; Hall (2002) 141–51.
55
For discussion of the role of Thessaly in the Delphic amphiktyony: Morgan (2003) 114–31, esp. 129–
31, 207, and (1990) 149–90; McInerney (1999) 163–4 (for the Archaic period); Lefèvre (1998); Jacquemin
(1999) 51; Sánchez (2001) 489–505.
56
Davies (1994); McInerney (1999) 165–78; Sánchez (2001) 58–80; Morgan (2003) 124–7. Also Robert-
son (1978) esp. 64–5; Helly (1995) 40–1, 132, 141–2; Hall (2002) 145–6.
57
Hdt. 8. 27–9; Paus. 10. 1. 4–9. On the confrontation of Thessaly and the Phokians: Hall (2002)
142–4; Morgan (2003) 26–7, 114; Helly (1995) 222–3.
318 maria stamatopoulou
Boiotia.58 The date, and occasionally the historicity, of these events is under
discussion,59 however these traditions reflect a strong Thessalian interest in a
southward expansion, into the region of Phokis and perhaps as far south as
Boiotia during the sixth century which seems to have come to an end sometime
late in the century.60
Moreover, ancient tradition has preserved the existence of extensive xenia
bonds between some Thessalian aristocrats and their peers in other Greek
communities. This is reflected in the undertaking of military campaigns to assist
xenoi in other regions, the earliest attested case being that of Kleomachos
of Pharsalos, who allegedly aided Chalkis in the Lelantine war (Plut.
Mor. 760e–761b).61 As Gabriel Herman has shown, such ritualized friendships were
of paramount importance for external relations; they could last for more than one
generation and they helped shape state politics.62 Such a long-standing bond had
existed between the Peisistratids and some Thessalian elite families. Peisistratos
had named a son Thessalos, possibly in honour of a Thessalian xenos.63 Later in
the sixth century, the Thessalians showed themselves to be trustworthy friends to
their Athenian xenoi: Herodotus informs of a military campaign in c.510 bc by the
Thessalian cavalry led by Kineas in aid of the Peisistratids (5. 63. 3–64),64 and of
Hippias having been offered Iolkos by the Thessalians when he was expelled by
the Athenians (5. 94. 1).65 Other ritualized friendships with southern elite groups
are probably traceable by way of patronymics:66 during the sixth century we
know of another Thessalos, the father of the famous athlete Xenophon from
Corinth, praised by Pindar in Olympian 13 (line 35). Thessalos, son of Ptoiodoros,
was an Olympic victor himself in the 69th Olympiad and also a victor at the
Panathenaia, therefore he must have been active in the last decade of the sixth
century.67 Moreover, among the suitors of Agariste, daughter of Kleisthenes of
Sikyon, Herodotus (6.127. 4) names a Thessalian: Diaktorides from Krannon,
probably a Skopad.68 All the above—the military campaigns, the expansionist
policy, and the active interaction with other aristocratic families outside the
region—reveal that Thessalian aristocrats, rather than inward looking, were
58
Helly (1995) 41; Beck (1997) 87; Corsten (1999) 50–1; Hall (2002) 142 (he accepts a date before 570);
Morgan (2003) 131 sees it as a precursor of the defeat of Thessaly by the Phocians.
59
See the critical approach of Davies (1994); Sánchez (2001) 80; Morgan (2001) 31.
60
McInerney (1999) 155–85, esp. 173–8; Hammond (1986) 137–8.
61
On Kleomachos and the Lelantine war: Helly (1995) 16 (citing Carlier), 39–40, 136–40; Parker (1997)
110–11, 145–7, 159–60 (for aggressive expansion). Hall (2002) 141.
62
Herman (1987) esp. 16–22, 45–7, 150–1, 156–60.
63
Thuc. 1. 20; 6. 55. 1. CAH iv. 279, 361. Herman (1987) 21.
64
On Kineas: Davies (1994) 204–5; Helly (1995) 103–4, 133, 220–2; Sprawski (1999) 18: as the first
evidence for a structure, making joint decisions in Thessaly; Morgan (2003) 23.
65
Hall (2002) 140; Morgan (2003) 23, 105.
66
Herman (1987) 19–21; Morgan (2003) 209.
67
Moretti (1957) no. 154.
68
Meyer (1909) 240 n. 1; Hall (2002) 156–7.
 thessaly in the age o f epinikian 319
actively seeking contact with their peers abroad and were affluent enough to
undertake costly expeditions to help their allies.

But what about the archaeological evidence? Does it confirm this state of
affairs? Due to the bias of excavation, very little is known about seventh- and
early sixth-century Thessaly. Excavations have concentrated on sanctuaries,
and only one burial ground—that of Agios Georgios—has been extensively
published.69 However, it seems that the sources claiming prosperity for the
region in the seventh and sixth centuries are not wrong. During the seventh
century, the wealth of the Thessalians can be discerned through the numerous
and costly dedications at the large sanctuaries, both intra-regional, such as the
sanctuary of Athena Itonia at Philia and that of Enodia and Zeus Thaulios at
Pherai,70 or local, such as those of Athena Polias on the acropoleis at Gonnoi and
Phthiotic Thebes.71 The large number of votives, the preponderance of metal
artefacts, and the presence of valuable objects such as decorated metal vessels and
orientalia, reveal trade links with the outside world and show a pattern of
dedication that is not dissimilar to that at the large sanctuaries of the south.72
Equally extraordinary are the burials at Agios Georgios, near Krannon (ancient
Ephyra?). Here two tumuli have been partially investigated at Xirorema and
Karaeria. They were used from the mid-seventh to the mid-sixth century, and
the second half of the sixth century, respectively.73 Although we lack comparative
material for the period, it is clear that these are elite burials. Considerable
attention had been devoted to the burial itself, which is highly visible and required
considerable consumption of wealth. Cremation in bronze vessels which were
often of symposium-type (like kraters)74 was the predominant method of
disposal of the body, while among the offerings metal objects predominate.
The high preponderance of offensive weapons, often ‘killed’, reveals a wish to

69
Morris (1998) 36–40 provides an interesting discussion of the evidence, but because of numerous
mistakes, must be used with extreme caution. For example, tumuli do not cease to be used in the first
quarter of the 5th cent. The Sarmanitsa tumulus which he uses as an example was used throughout the 5th
cent. The assumption that sarcophagi are ‘poor, simple’ forms of grave (p. 36) is not true, at least for the
Classical period; the assumption that in the 6th cent. ‘new, simple and homogeneous cemeteries began in
Thessaly’ with Prodromos and Demetrias as examples is based on very limited evidence (Demetrias did not
exist in the Archaic period!); the Paspalia tholos is Early Iron Age in date and not 6th cent.
70
Philia: Kilian-Dirlmeier (2002) esp. 201–29 for full publication and analysis of the finds. Pherai:
Béquignon (1937b) 57–70, pls. vi, xix—xxi; see also nn. 42, 88 of this chapter.
71
On Archaic temples in Thessaly: Morgan (2003) 86, 141–2. Also Gonnoi: Helly (1973) 72–4 with
earlier bibliography. Phthiotic Thebes (modern Mikrothives): Arvanitopoulos (1907) 166–9; (1908)
176–80; Delt. 49 (1994), B1, 323–4. Morris (1998) 39 inexplicably dates the sanctuary at Mikrothives no
earlier than 550 bc.
72
Kilian-Dirlmeier (2002) 214–29; Morgan (2003) 86, 123.
73
Delt. 30 (1975) B1, 194–6, 198; Delt. 31 (1976) B1, 181–3; Delt. 38 (1983) B2, 208–11; Delt. 39 (1984) B,
150–1; Delt. 42 (1987) B1, 274–6; Tziafalias (1978); (1994b) with earlier bibliography.
74
Tziafalias (1994b) 181–3, figs. 4–5. On the connotations of weaponry and symposium equipment in
graves: Crielaard (2000) 500. On the symposium and aristocratic lifestyle: Morris (1999) 182–3.
320 maria stamatopoulou
stress military and/or warrior-like prowess.75 The presence of imported objects,
such as orientalia and Corinthian pottery, reveals contacts with outside commu-
nities.76 Finally, the discovery of the remains of hearses in the Karaeria tumulus
hints at lavish funerary rituals.77 That these burials belong to members of an elite
group is beyond doubt; similar patterns of burial were present in the earlier graves
at Platanos Almyrou.78 It is clear that this burial group valued military prowess,
lavish display, and sympotic connotations. However, the dearth of comparative
material for this period does not enable us to establish whether such display was
typical of the period or whether this was a minority rite, practised by a certain elite
family group.79
A good reminder of our ignorance of Thessalian material culture prior to the
end of the sixth century is a recent find, the Doric temple at Moschato, in the area
of ancient Thessaliotis. It deserves special mention as it is one of the best
preserved examples of Thessalian temple architecture of the Archaic period, and
reflects the interests of the Thessalian elite. The Doric temple is located in a region
that until recently was virtually unexplored.80 It is of monumental dimensions,
with 5  11 columns in the peristasis, an interior row of posts to support the roof,
and architectural decoration which may imply links with the Aegean and the
west.81 The echinoi of the Doric capitals bear relief decoration that recalls that of
Rhodian phialai,82 and the simas show south Italian, in particular Paestan,
features. Although the role of the aristocratic families in temple building cannot
be proved,83 the sculptural decoration of the temple mirrors their interest: a
horse (later a symbol on most Thessalian coins) was chosen as the acroterion for
one of the pediments.84 Moreover, the bronze hollow-cast statue of a hoplite,
perhaps part of a cult-statue group, if indeed it represents Apollo, is also
suggestive of the emphasis on warrior prowess of the Thessalian elites.85 The
sanctuary and the statue are both dated to c.540 bc. Their monumentality and

75 76
Tziafalias (1994b) 184 figs. 8–10. Tziafalias (1994b) 183–5.
77
Delt. 31 (1976) B1, 182–3, grs. 1–2, pl. 129ª; Tziafalias (1994b) 184–5.
78
Platanos Almyrou: Efstathiou, Malakasioti, and Reinders (1990) 34–5. Also Georganas (2002).
79
Morgan (2001) 32–44; (2003) 90, 192–5. Also Morris (1998) 36–40, who, however, based his discussion
of the Agios Georgios tumuli on the assumption that the Paspalia tholos is Archaic in date, which is wrong
(see above n. 69). Morgan (2001) 32–4. For recently excavated Archaic graves, see below, n. 97.
80
Intzesiloglou (2002 a) with earlier bibliography. The sanctuary is located near the LH IIIB tomb at
Georgikon, one of the most monumental samples of funerary architecture in Thessaly, where there is
evidence for tomb/hero cult in relation to the Mycenaean tomb: Intzesiloglou (2000b); (2002b). Morgan
(2003) 189–90 for discussion of tomb cult and the role of ancestors in Thessaly.
81
On the architectural form/plan of the temple: Intzesiloglou (2002a) 112 and fig. 3. The central row of
posts and the bench along the walls are also features met in the cult building at Soros. See below, n. 90.
82
Intzesiloglou (2000b) 376 fig. 8.
83 84
Morgan (1997b); (2003) ch. 3. Intzesiloglou (2002a) pl. 32A.
85
Intzesiloglou (2000a); (2000b) 376 (here Intzesiloglou is not as certain about the identity of the
statue); (2002a) pl. 30A.
 thessaly in the age of epinikian 321
quality suggest that our perception of the western part of the Thessalian plain as
insular and backward may be wrong.
Morgan has proposed that monumental architecture and the demarcation of
public space in settlements were phenomena of the sixth century.86 This seems to
apply for Thessaly too. Besides the Moschato temple, there is evidence for cult
buildings from a number of sites, although in most cases only parts of the
superstructure of the buildings are preserved: cornices, antefixes, poros capitals,
and parts of acroteria. Roughly contemporary with the Moschato temple were
the buildings at Korope and Dendra (Figs. 58–60), whereas an early date has been
proposed for the temples at Mopsion and Gonnoi.87
On present evidence it seems that architectural activity increased in Thessalian
cities in the last decade of the sixth century and continued throughout the fifth.
During the last decade of the sixth century and in the first quarter of the fifth, a
number of sanctuaries took monumental architectural form, as for example the
sanctuary of Zeus Thaulios and Enodia at Pherai, where a poros Doric temple was
erected;88 the temple of Athena Polias at Gonnoi which was repaired;89 and the cult-
building at Soros, perhaps part of a sanctuary of Apollo.90 Moreover, clay architec-
tural members dating from the end of the sixth to the early fifth century are known
from Gonnoi in Perrhaibia,91 Latomion (between Pherai and Volos),92 Gremnos
Magoula (in Pelasgiotis),93 and Theotokou (on the south-east coast of Magnesia),94
while early-looking capitals are reported from Pharsalos and Krannon.95
As mentioned above, by the eighth century there seem to have been large
settlements in Thessaly. The state of urbanization of the region before the
last quarter of the sixth century cannot be estimated, because of the dearth of
relevant evidence.96 From the end of the century, however, evidence becomes
86
Morgan (2003) 63, 74; Morgan and Coulton (1997) 104.
87
Marzolff (1994) 261. On the sanctuary of Apollo at Korope: Arvanitopoulos (1906) 123–6; Stählin
(1924) 53–4; van Buren (1926) 44; Papachatzis (1960); Winter (1993) 195; Marzolff (1994) 261. Dendra:
Biesantz (1965) L43, pl. 46. On Mopsion: Tziafalias (2000b) 98. Gonnoi: Arvanitopoulos (1910) 252 fig.
23A. Also Morgan (2003) 87.
88
Pherai: Béquignon (1937b) 29 ff., esp. 43–7; pls. vi–vii; van Buren (1926) 57–8; Østby (1994);
Chrysostomou (1998) 25–43, esp. 38–41; Winter (1993) 198–9.
89
Gonnoi: Helly (1973) 74 and n. 3; Lang (1996) 278 no. 94.
90
Soros: Milojčić (1974); Triantaphylopoulou (2002); Efstathiou (2001) 10–11; Marzolff (1994) 256,
261, figs. 16–17; and (1996) 47–9. Marzolff identifies the city with ancient Pagasai whereas Intzesiloglou,
followed by Lang, identifies it with Amphanai: Intzesiloglou (1994) 33, 46–7 and Lang (1996) 275–6, no. 87.
On the cemeteries associated with the city: Delt. 40 (1985) B1, 186–1; Delt. 42 (1987), 246–51.
91
On Gonnoi: above, n. 89, and van Buren (1926) 38–9; Winter (1993) 196.
92
The existence of a sanctuary at Latomion was first noted by Arvanitopoulos (1911) 300–1; (1915) 157. It
was recently confirmed by the works of the 13th ¯'˚`, which revealed remains of an Archaic temple on
the northern slopes of the hill: Doulgeri-Intzesiloglou (2000a) 346. On the site also: Salvatore (1994) 105.
93
Gremnos Magoula: Milojčić (1960) 169, fig. 20; Winter (1993) 196.
94
Theotokou: Wace and Droop (1906–7) 314, fig. 5; Winter (1993) 199, 201.
95
Doric capitals: Marzolff (1994) 262. Pharsalos: Arvanitopoulos (1910) 181, Stählin (1924) 141.
On Krannon: Biesantz (1959) 76–8, fig. 17.
96
On the concept of urbanization: Davies (1997a) 29–31; Morgan (2000) 196–8; Morgan (2003). On
the use of archaeological remains as indicia of state status and urbanization: Morgan and Coulton (1997).
 322 maria stamatopoulou
Fig. 58. Part of an acroterion
from the sanctuary of Apollo
at Korope

Fig. 59. Part of raking sima

from the sanctuary
of Apollo at Korope

Fig. 60. Part of a frieze from Dendra

 thessaly in the age o f epinikian 323
increasingly plentiful, both in the settlements and the cemeteries.97 A large num-
ber of settlements have been identified, albeit often by pottery evidence from the
sites of later towns.98 Fortifications dating to the end of the sixth or early fifth
century are known from Pharsalos, Pherai, Soros, perhaps Atrax and Gonnoi,99
while parts of houses have been discovered in Larisa,100 Gremnos Magoula in
Pelasgiotis,101 Pherai, and a number of other sites.102 During this period,
evidence increases for sculptural dedication and for the setting up of inscriptions
in sanctuaries—laws and public decrees which demonstrate the existence of civic
magistracies filled by members of the elite.103 All the above imply considerable
involvement of, and investment by, the Thessalian cities, which we assume were
being led by aristocratic families, towards ‘modernizing the region’.104
During the same period, roughly 520–450, is there evidence for Thessalian
interest in promoting monumental art? Morgan has rightly emphasized the
unevenness of the evidence, and has further suggested that Archaic ‘aristocratic
97
Archaic graves have been reported but not published at: Sarantaporos, ancient Doliche: Lucas (1997)
178. Also Anatoli Agias: Delt. 48 (1993) B1, 253; Stomio Larisas: Delt. 30 (1975) B1, 196 (locality Vigla: late
6th cent.); Pharsalos: Tziafalias (2000a) 85; Stavros Pharsalon: Ergon ——ˇ 2 (1998) 112.
98
See: Morgan and Coulton (1997) 91–2. Lang (1996) 275–80; Morgan (2003) 88–90. In recent years
there has been a significant increase in rescue excavation throughout Thessaly, and 6th- and early 5th-cent.
layers have been excavated in various sites. Examples include Larisa: Tziafalias (1994a) 157; Nees Pagases:
Delt. 45 (1990) B1, 199 (G. Goudaras’ plot); Kierion: Chatziaggelakis (2000) 384; also Delt. 50 (1995) B1,
376–7 (locality Kotronolakes for a cemetery with graves dating from the beginning of the 5th to the mid-
4th cent.; Palamas: Ergon ——ˇ 1 (1997) 94. The settlement near Drimona, through the survey of the
Dutch team under R. Reinders: Reinders et al. (2000) 89. Tziafalias (2000b) esp. 98: for the discovery of an
early Archaic temple and 6th-cent. funerary inscription at Gyrtoni, ancient Mopsion. Evidence for
6th-century habitation has been proposed for Phalanna, at Kastri Tyrnavou, by Tziafalias (2000b) 100.
Evidence of workshops dating to the Archaic period and the early 5th cent. is attested for Pherai: Doulgeri-
Intzesiloglou (1994) 78 (also attested is local pottery imitating Attic and Corinthian examples);
Nees Pagases: Delt. 45 (1990) B1, 199 and pl. 95ª–: a kiln with black-figure sherds at B. Goudaras’ plot.
On the settlement at Palia, see recently Malakasioti and Efstathiou (2002) 144–5.
99
Ducrey (1995); Morgan (2003) 45, 87; Morgan and Coulton (1997) 91, 105–7. For Thessaly: Marzolff
(1994) 259–60. Pharsalos: Katakouta and Toufexis (1994). Pherai: Doulgeri-Intzesiloglou (1994) 79 fig. 9;
Soros: Doulgeri-Intzesiloglou (1994) n. 88; Atrax: Tziafalias (1995) 74 fig. 2. Gonnoi: Kontogiannis (2000) 125.
100
At 28 Oktovriou St.: Doulgeri-Intzesiloglou (1985) 84–6, figs. 14–15, plan 2. In the same building,
fragments of a good-quality red-figure cup of the Euergides Painter, bearing the inscription Hipparchos
kalos, were collected: Doulgeri-Intzesiloglou (1985) fig. 24; Gallis (1982) 56, fig. 10.
101
Biesantz (1957) 47–9.
102
In Pherai there is evidence of metalworking activity in the settlement; a 5th-cent. circular building,
probably of public character, has been investigated: Doulgeri-Intzesiloglou (1994) 78.
103
On the significance of public inscriptions: Archibald (2000) 216; Hornblower (2002) who, however,
considers the 5th cent. as the beginning of ‘political self-consciousness after prolonged backwardness’; Morgan
(2003) 76, 79–80. On early inscriptions from Thessaly: Doulgeri-Intzesiloglou (2000b). Also: Jeffery (1990)
96–99, 436; Effenterre and Ruzé (1994) 358–9; (1995) 78–9 no. 19 (IG ix . 2. 1226 from Phalanna in Volos
Museum ¯ 1025), 300–1 no. 82 (law from Korope): IG ix . 2. 1202 (sacred law from Atrax: SEG 27. 183); Helly
(1995) 30–8. Also Rhodes with Lewis (1997) 175–7 (decrees); Lorenz (1976) nos. 1, 2, 3, 10, 11 for funerary epi-
grams; Décourt (1995) 102, VE 82 for the lid of the osteotheke of Agapa from Pharsalos; 134, VE 120: dedication
to Apollo (IG ix 2, 199); Tziafalias (2000b) 98, fig. 3 from the cemetery of ancient Mopsion, modern Gyrtoni.
104
Hornblower (2002) 98 (for the 4th cent.). It is generally believed that during this period, sometime
after 500 bc, coins began to be issued in Larisa, probably in the Aeginetan standard: Herrmann (1925);
Martin (1985) 34–5. J. Kagan has recently proposed that coins in Thessaly began to be issued only after the
Persian Wars and in a local reduced Aeginetan standard: Kagan (2004). On the importance of coinage for
the polis and elite communities: Martin (1995) esp. 265–7, 277; Morgan (2003) 17, 81–2.
324 maria stamatopoulou
patronage of the arts in Thessaly did not extend in any great measure to sculpture,
since neither free-standing nor relief is common until the fifth century’.105
However, as she too stresses,106 excavations in Thessaly have tended to
concentrate on graves and not on sanctuaries or settlements, and are mostly
rescue operations. Given that what we know about Archaic Thessaly is hardly
representative of what was originally there, there is surprisingly abundant evi-
dence for large-scale sculpture in the late sixth and first half of the fifth centur-
ies.107 We have discussed the bronze hoplite found in the temple at Moschato.
Another monumental building of c.540 which had been decorated with the stone
relief animal frieze was found near Dendra (close to Gremnos) (Fig. 60).108
Evident on this frieze is the flat-shallow relief style that was to characterize the
later sculptural production of nearby Krannon (Fig. 61).109 Ridgway has rightly
stressed the influence of Ionia on the frieze from Dendra.110 Ionian influence is
also evident in the sculpture of the late sixth or early fifth century, for example
the palmettes of some late sixth-century stelai from Atrax,111 the Severe
Style head from Meliboia (Fig. 62),112 or later, the Pharsalos stele.113
Material evidence increases towards the end of the sixth century. A relatively
large number of kouroi, albeit in a very poor state of preservation, are known from
various sites, for example from Latomion (between Pherai and Iolkos),
Skotoussa, Larisa, Philia, Trikka, and Gonnoi;114 while kore fragments are said
to have been found at Latomion and possibly Kierion (Mataranga).115 Most have
no secure findspots, however the kouros heads from Latomion and Philia
seem to have been found in sanctuaries and not cemeteries. In the same
period, continuing to the middle of the fifth century, we have an increasing
numbers of reliefs (Figs. 63, 64) and some very fragmentary life-sized statues
(Figs. 65, 66),116 at least one funerary statue of a sphinx,117 and some very good-
quality large-scale clay protomai, such as the one from Pharsala (Fig. 67),118 and

105 106
Morgan (2003) 87. Morgan (2003) 87–9.
107 108
Biesantz (1965); Morgan (2003) 88. See above, n. 87.
109 110
Biesantz (1965) 120–1. Ridgway (1993) 403 n. 9.12.
111
Tziafalias (1995) 78, no. 1, pl. 7. On Ionian influences on the grave stelai of Atrax: Helly (1995) 189.
112
Volos, ¸ 532: Biesantz (1965) L17, pl. 35; Bakalakis (1973) 14.
113
For East Greek and Ionian influences on the art of Thessaly and Macedonia during the late 6th and 5th
cents.: Biesantz (1965) 160–4; Hiller (1975) 89–90; Allamani-Souri (1983); Tölle-Kastenbein (1980) 110–22 (she
followsLanglotz(1975) 121–5 inseeingthe Pharsalos stele as a Cycladic import). Also Wolters(1979) 97nn.24, 26.
114
Latomion: Volos ¸ 531: Biesantz (1965) L5, pl. 29; Skotoussa: Volos ¸ 485: Biesantz (1965) L3, pl.
29; Trikka: Biesantz (1965) L6; Philia: Delt. 18 (1963) B1, 138, pl. 173a–b; Gonnoi: Bakalakis (1973) 14, fig. 9.
115
Latomion: Volos ¸ 530: Biesantz (1965) L1, pl. 28; Pyrgos Mataranga: Delt. 43 (1988), B, 258.
116
Biesantz (1965); Bosnakis (1990) esp. 20–39; for recent summary: Stamatopoulou (1999) vol. i, 160–2,
164, 168–73, pls. 39–42. For free-standing statues of the Severe Style from Thessaly, see Bakalakis (1973).
117
On the inscribed base which originally bore a sphinx in the Volos Museum (¯ 650) SEG 15. 381;
Biesantz (1965) L8; Lorenz (1976) 97–101; Sourvinou-Inwood (1995) 271–2; Doulgeri-Intzesiloglou
(2000b) 96–100, cat. —` 3.
118
Pharsala: Delt. 21 (1966) B2, 254, pl. 246. See also Croissant (1983) 355–7, nos. 236–9.
 thessaly in the age of epinikian 325

Fig. 62. Head of a youth from Meliboia: Volos

Archaeological Museum ¸ 532

Fig. 61. Grave stele from Krannon: Larisa

Archaeological Museum 842

Fig. 63. Grave stele from Rhodia Tyrnavou: Larisa

Archaeological Museum 78/74
 326 m ari a s ta ma to po ul ou
Fig. 64. Grave Fig. 65. Torso of
stele from an Athena statue
Sophades: from the
Volos acropolis of
Archaeological Pherai: Volos
Museum BE Archaeological
2696 Museum ¸ 738

Fig. 66. Fig. 67. Clay

Fragmentary female
torso of an protome from
athlete from Pharsala: Volos
Larisa: Larisa Archaeological
Archaeological Museum
Museum ¸ 88 M 4520
 t h e s s a l y in t h e a g e o f e p i n i k i a n 327
the near-life-size head from the sanctuary of Enodia at Pherai (Fig. 68).119 Besides
sculpture, good-quality bronzes—for example, the hydria from Pelinna (Fig. 69)120 —
and good quality Athenian pottery had reached the region, especially the cities of the
eastern plain.121
As we have observed, Thessaly was renowned in antiquity for its wealth,122 but
as early as Alkman (fr. 16 PMG), it was also notorious for the extravagant lifestyle
of its aristocracy, which enjoyed display, luxury, and licentious activities. Rather
than being refined, Thessalian aristocrats are described by later authors as lazy,
ignorant, immoral, and gluttons.123 Whereas it is true that much of this is a
stereotype,124 similar to the presentation of Thessaly as a land of magic and warm
hospitality, there must have been a layer of truth in the keenness of Thessalian
aristocrats for an excessive lifestyle. Whatever the level of sophistication of the
Thessalian aristocrats in earlier times, patronage of poets figured prominently
among the pursuits of Thessalian aristocrats in the late sixth–early fifth century.
Even if we do not accept Anacreon’s relations with Thessalian aristocrats,125
Simonides,126 Pindar, and Bacchylides127 all composed for Thessalian nobles,
most notably the Skopads of Krannon, and the Aleuads of Larisa. As not much is
known of Thessalian history of the time, it is not possible to determine whether
what attracted the poets to Thessaly was the proverbial غ
Æ, hospitality,
and congeniality of the rich families (later sources offer a conflicting picture for
Skopas, son of Kreon) or their wealth, or both.128 For the Thessalian ‘notables’
of the plains, the performance of the odes, be it in a civic context or the more
private symposium, could be—besides pleasing—very accommodating, since
their power was praised and presented in relation to a mythical hero or ancestor.
As Stehle and Kurke have demonstrated, the choral performance of the ode

119 120
Biesantz (1965) L10, pl. 65. See above, n. 7.
121
See also nn. 100, 136. For the Panathenaic amphora of the Kleophrades Painter from a tomb in Nea
Ionia: Malakasioti and Efstathiou (2002) 145, fig. 9.
122
Sprawski (1999) 52–6, on the most detailed discussion of the issue. Also Martin (1985) 60.
123
Pl. Meno 70a–b; Cri. 53d–e; Ath. 14. 662f–663a (1 ¼ Mor.); Theoc. Id. 16. 34–47; Plut. Aud. Poet. DK
88 Kritias B 31 15c; Theopomp. fr. 49 ¼Athen. 527a; fr. 162¼ Ath. 260b–c. On the wealth of Thessalian
aristocratic families: Westlake (1935) 40–6 (on ‘national characteristics’); Axenidis (1947b) 69; See above, n.
33. On Theocritus and Id. 16. 34–47: Gow (1965) ii. 305–7, 312–16.
124
Theopompos’ slander on the Pharsalians was surely also politically motivated. Flower (1994) 67–71
(with ancient testimonia).
125
From the epigrams in the Palatine Anthology attributed to Anacreon, the epigrams FGE 516–17, 502–
3 (‘Anacreon’ XIII and VII) are (according to most scholars) related to Thessalian patrons. See Podlecki
(1980) 385; Donlan (1999) 57; Helly (1995) 42–4.
126
On Simonides and Thessalian patrons: Kurke (1991) 59–60; Molyneux (1992) esp. 117–45 (who over-
interprets the evidence); Podlecki (1980) 383; Helly (1995) 104–5, 108–11. Also Donlan (1999) 113–15; Mann
(2001) appendix.
127
On Bacchylides: see below, n. 152.
128
Burton (1962) 1; Molyneux (1992) 133 sees the patronage of poets not as a token of ostentatious
living but as a result of keen interest in choral poetry. On Thessalian hospitality: Sprawski (1999) 55–7.
328 maria stamatopoulou

Fig. 68. Clay female head from the Sanctuary Fig. 69. Bronze hydria from Pelinna. Athens,
of Enodia and Zeus Thaulios at Pherai National Archaeological Museum 18232

conferred considerable ‘symbolic capital’ on the victor and helped increase his
prestige. The odes could also serve to stress links among the elite families of the
region (as in the case of the Aleuads and the family of Hippokleas of Pelinna),
underline kinship ties or alliances among Thessalian aristocrats and outside
communities (such as Sparta), and glorify their customary aristocratic rule.129
Moreover, forging a link with the past is evident in the choice of grave type
used by some Thessalian elite groups. We have noted that in the Early Iron Age,
some elite groups chose to bury their dead in built tholos tombs which closely
resemble in architecture and setting those of the Mycenaean period. This trend
continues until the late fourth century, most notably in the cemeteries of Pharsa-
los and Krannon.130 In the late sixth–early fifth century a built tholos tomb
surrounded by a stone enclosure and covered by a mound was erected over a
Late Helladic IIB chamber tomb in the western cemetery of Pharsalos (Fig. 70).
The location of the tomb, its type, and some of the finds from the tholos seem to

129
On ‘symbolic capital’ see Bourdieu (1977) 171–83. On intermarriage between members of various
Thessalian families: Hornblower (2002) 96; Molyneux (1992) (n. 126 above), n. 124 with earlier bibliog-
raphy.
130
Stamatopoulou (1999) 36–47 with earlier bibliography.
 thessaly in the age o f epinikian 329

Fig. 70. View of the entrance of the Verdelis Tomb

indicate that this was an act of deliberate archaizing.131 Another late sixth-century
tholos is known from the same cemetery, located among graves of other types.132
Similarly, in Krannon tholoi and later chamber tombs with corbelled roofs seem
to have been favoured by some elite groups during the fifth century.133 Choice of
tomb type and burial rite is rarely accidental, especially when considerable
expenditure is involved.134 The discovery of built tholos tombs in areas such
as Krannon and Pharsalos, homes of known elite families (the Skopads and
Echekratids), seems to imply that some Thessalian aristocrats deliberately chose
to forge a relationship with their past.135 The lack of excavation at Larisa does not
enable us to test this hypothesis further. Moreover, since all the excavated tholos
or chamber tombs with corbelled roofs were found plundered, their context is
of little use.136 But it is surely significant that during this period there were
alternative modes of burial available for elite groups, as is evident from the stone
131
On the Verdelis Tomb: Verdelis (1951) 157–63; (1952) 185–203; (1953) 128–32; (1954) 153–6. Marzolff
(1994) 267 (he identifies it as a heroon for Achilles); Antonaccio (1995) 137.
132
Verdelis (1955) 142–4, no. 3. Stamatopoulou (1999) 38.
133
Krannon, tholos tomb B: Stamatopoulou (1999) vol. i, 36–9. Although the tomb was found looted,
fragments of a red-figure krater of the Syleus Painter with a Dionysiac scene were collected.
134
Verdelis (1955) 142–4; Stamatopoulou (1999) vol. i, 38.
135
Stamatopoulou (1999) vol. i, 45–7; Morgan (2003) 180 and 187–96.
136
For example, fragments of a black-figure krater in the manner of Exekias, depicting the battle over
the body of Patroklos (possibly a heirloom) was found in the dromos and tholos of the tomb. The tomb
also contained vases whose dates seem to range from the early 5th to the late 4th cent. The final publication
330 maria stamatopoulou
sarcophagi at Soros, Nees Pagases, Sarmanitsa, and Pharsalos, and the elaborate
cists from Pherai.137
So far we have seen that Thessalian elites chose to represent themselves in similar
ways to their peers in other communities, by forging alliances and forming xenia
relationships with other aristocrats, and by showing keen interest in epinikian
poetry. Another attribute of the aristocratic life-style was participation in Panhel-
lenic athletic contests. Until the late fifth century, participation in games was
limited to aristocrats or to the very wealthy.138 The contests mirrored their
everyday pursuits, through the considerable consumption of wealth and/or effort,
and through the range of musical, athletic, and equestrian competitions. The
crowns, symbolic in value, raised the prestige of the winners not simply among
their peers, but also within their own communities. Social historians agree that
during the late sixth and especially the fifth century, the power of aristocracies in
many parts of the Greek world was under threat from the rising civic communities
of the poleis. Under these conditions, the focus on athletic competition and
victory at a Panhellenic level, especially in equestrian events, was promoted by
the elites as a mode of self-representation and differentiation from their civic
communities.139 As Christiane Sourvinou-Inwood has aptly remarked: ‘In
the archaic period athletic agōnes, especially the Panhellenic ones, were also a
privileged locus for the complex interaction of the international aristocracy, on
the one hand competitive and agonistic (like war) and on the other co-operative
and integrative (like intermarriages and the institution of xenia), and thus also of
the definition of the international aristocracy as a group’.140
So did the Thessalians participate in the great games during the sixth and fifth
centuries? A brief look at Moretti’s list of Olympic victors reveals that although
not outstanding, there was a constant Thessalian presence among the Olympic
victors until at least the early fourth century (Table 1).141 Moreover, the epinikian

of this tomb and of the other graves excavated by N. Verdelis for the Archaeological Society of Athens in
Pharsalos (1948–55) will be published by this author. The choice of subject matter may be relevant if one
considers how Achilles was appropriated by Pharsalos in the 4th cent. We should bear in mind that the
famous dinos of Sophilos depicting the funeral games for Patroklos in the National Museum of Athens
(NM 15499) was also found in nearby Ktouri: Bakir (1981) cat. no. 3; Tzachou-Alexandri (1989) cat. no. 25.
The latter was possibly a special commission by a Thessalian: Baurain-Rebillard (1999) 157. On Ktouri:
Décourt (1990) 102, 196–8.
137
Stamatopoulou (1999) vol. i, pp. 28–31 and n. 117. On the Thymarakia tumulus: Adrymi-Sismani
(1983), grave 12 (late 5th cent.); Stamatopoulou (1999) vol. i, pp. 23–5.
138
On the social background of the athletes participating in the Panhellenic games: Pleket (1992)
147–52; Golden (1998) 5–8, 27; Mann (2001) 26, 36–7.
139
On the social significance and the prestige of the Panhellenic games: Donlan (1999) 99–101; Kurke
(1991) 3–4, 98–106; Thomas (1992) 119, 147–52; Golden (1998) esp. 74–103; Mann (2001) 11–12, 26–37.
140
Sourvinou-Inwood (1995) 236.
141
Moretti (1957). For reservations about the validity of the list of Olympic victors: Wacker (1998);
contra Mann (2001) 59–62. Hall (2002) 160–1. We should also include in the list of Thessalian athletes
Skopas, son of Kreon, from Krannon, the bon viveur who perished, according to the Simonidean anec-
dotes, while celebrating an athletic victory at a lavish symposium. See Kurke (1991) 59–60 n. 47.
 t h e s s a l y i n t he a g e o f e p i n i k i a n 331
Table 1. Thessalian Olympic Victors (after Moretti 1957)

Moretti No. Name of victor Origin Event Olympiad Date

53 Krauxidas (or Kraxilas) Krannon horse race 33rd 648

107 Phaidros Pharsalos stadion 56th 556
128 Menandros Thessaly stadion 64th 524
150 Phrikias Pelinna hoplite race—1st victory 68th 508
156 Phrikias Pelinna hoplite race—2nd victory 69th 504
165 Thersias/Thersios Thessaly apene 70th 500
175 Hippokleas Pelinna track event—1st victory 72nd 492
184 Hippokleas Pelinna track event—2nd victory 73rd 488
190 Telemachos Pharsalos wrestling 74th 484
192 Agias Pharsalos pankration—1st victory 74th 484
258 Echekratidas Thessaly (Larisa?) horse race 79th 464
259 Torymbas Thessaly stadion 80th 460
(or Toryllas.Torymnas)
281 Lykos Larisa stadion 82nd 452
291 Lykos Thessaly hoplite race 82nd 452
316 Theopompos Thessaly stadion 86th 436
348 Poulydamas Skotoussa pankration 93rd 408
351 Krokinas Larisa stadion 94th 404
367 Krokinas Larisa diaulos 96th 396
384 Eupalos Thessaly boxing 98th 388
523 Pandion Thessaly horse race 121st 296
534 Philomelos Pharsalos stadion 124th 284
546 Karteros Thessaly tethrippon 128th 268
547 M[.. . . . ] Krannon horse race 128th 268
548 .... ... Thessaly synoris 128th 268
558 Hippokrates Thessaly foals’ race 131st 256
669 Demostratos Larisa stadion 174th 84

odes of Pindar and Bacchylides, and references in Pausanias, reveal that there was
also some Thessalian participation in the Pythian games, especially during the
fifth century.142 Two of the most famous Thessalian athletes, Agias of Pharsalos
and Poulydamas of Skotoussa, won their crowns in the course of the fifth
century.143
We have seen that there was an active interest on the part of the Thessalian
elites in the prestige conferred by the victory song during the late sixth and early

142
Phrikias, Hippokleas, Aristoteles of Larisa are all mentioned as Pythian victors in Pi. P. 10 and Bacch.
14B respectively. It is possible that an ode by Simonides, fr. 6, PMG 511 ¼ P. Oxy. 2431, was for a Thessalian
who had won at the Pythia. And the base of the Daochos monument lists the victories of Agias,
Telemachos, and Agelaos: Moretti (1957) nos. 190, 192. See also below, p. 340 and n. 200.
143
See also, p. 340 n. 200.
332 m a r i a s ta ma to p o u l o u
fifth centuries. The near absence of epinikia in the fifth century may at first appear
noteworthy, especially when compared with the twelve epinikian odes by Pindar
for Aeginetan victors.144 However, it may not be that significant in itself:
although the corpus of Pindaric victory songs is comparatively large, we lack a
considerable body of Simonides’ and Bacchylides’ poems. The two extant odes by
Bacchylides celebrate a victory in an equestrian event at a local festival,145 and
perhaps the accession of Aristoteles of Larisa to a civic office.146 It is possible that
in the years immediately following the Persian Wars, the memory of Thessalian
medism and, as we shall see, the internal situation in Thessaly may have
contributed to a more subdued representation of Thessalian elites in Panhellenic
events, or even to the absence of commissions of victory song.147
The possible absence of victory odes is perhaps not an isolated phenomenon.
Thessalian dedications—statues or athla—to commemorate athletic victories in
the fifth and early fourth centuries,148 are nearly absent from the Panhellenic
sanctuaries, especially Delphi, where Thessalians were supposedly playing a
leading role in the administration of the Amphiktyony.149 Although at first it
might appear that this limited visibility in the Panhellenic sanctuaries could be
indicative of limited ‘mobility’ of the Thessalian nobles, ancient sources reveal
that this was not the case. Xenia bonds continue during this period, the most
notable example being the expedition of Meno of Pharsalos in c.477 bc to help
the Athenians in the Battle of Eion, and the subsequent naming of a son of
Kimon, Thessalos (Plut. Vit. Alc. 19. 3; Vit. Cim. 14. 4).150 It is worth exploring
whether this absence of dedication by Thessalian aristocratic families at
Panhellenic sanctuaries was a conscious decision, similar to Sparta where during
this period the emphasis lay on local sanctuaries and agōnes, and commemoration
of athletic victory through the dedication of statues at Panhellenic sanctuaries,

144
For an analysis of Aeginitan athletic successes in the first half of the 5th cent. Mann (2001) 192–235.
145
Ode 14. Maehler (1982) 6–7, 132–3, 294–301; Burnett (1985) 51; Campbell (1992) 202–5.
146
Ode 14B: Maehler (1982) 136, 302–7; Campbell (1992) 207; Helly (1995) 318–19. Rutherford
(2001a) 159 n. 5.
147
Siewert (1992) 115 on the interpretation of an inscribed bronze plaque from Olympia, of the first half
of the 5th cent., where two Eleans pass judgement on Boiotians and Thessalians in favour of Athenians and
Thespiaeans, in the light of the medism of the former ethne, that is as fines imposed by hellanodikai on the
pro-Persian states. See now SEG 51. 532.
148
On the dedication of statues to commemorate athletic victory and its importance: Kurke (1993);
Golden (1998) 84–5 and the criticism by Pleket in Nikephoros 13 (2000) esp. 286–8; Mann (2001) 45–9; on
prizes-athla dedicated in sanctuaries: Kephalidou (1996) 97–117; Mann (2001) 28–36.
149
On the Thessalian dedications at Delphi: nn. 55, 200; on the Pythia and their proximity to central
northern Greece: Golden (1998) 35.
150
On the events of the 460s: Hornblower (1991) 159–60 (on Thuc. 1. 102. 4). We should note here the
base of the grave stele of Pyrrhiadas from Kierion, Lorenz (1976) 39–44. On Meno of Pharsalos: Helly
(1995) 303–6, who refutes the existence of private armies; Hanson (2000) 210. See also the bonds of
intermarriage between Philip and members of Thessalian elite families in the 4th cent.: CAH vi. 733–4
(Philinna); Sprawski (1999) 50 (Nikesipolis).
 thessaly in the age o f epi ni ki an 333
when attested in the fourth century, was posthumous and prompted by political
motivation.151
What is the evidence for local Thessalian games? Although our sources for the
pre-Roman period in Thessaly are very few and often problematic, the following
athletic contests are known.
The Petraia, first attested in the early fifth century, was a festival celebrated in
honour of Poseidon Petraios, and included equestrian events. This is inferred
from the 14th epinikian ode of Bacchylides for the Thessalian Kleoptolemos,
victor in the chariot race at these contests.152 The festival must have been related
to the myth about the creation of the Thessalian plain in which Poseidon opened
the Tempe gorge.153 The location of the festival is not known.154 Given the close
association of Poseidon with horsemanship, these games were an appropriate
venue for equestrian contests, games quite fitting to the Thessalian horse-rearing
aristocracy.155
A bronze hydria in the National Archaeological Museum in Athens (inv. 13792)
(Fig. 71), dated to the second quarter of the fifth century, bears the inscription:
::
``` : ` #¨` : ¯¨¸ˇ˝ : —`' —'ˇ¯¸½`ˇ.156
Although the provenance of the hydria is unknown and the reading of the
inscription problematic, especially in relation to ``` , it seems certain
that it was a prize in the games of the mythical hero Protesilaos.157 We hear of
games in honour of Protesilaos in Isthmian 1 (line 58), where Pindar enumerates
Herodotus’ victories, among which was a chariot victory at Phylake, in the games
in honour of the hero Protesilaos.158 Another reference to Phylake as a venue for
151
On Sparta: Hodkinson (1999); Mann (2001) 121–63, esp. 136–8. On a discussion of local versus
Panhellenic games: Golden (1998) 33–45; Mann (2001) 121–63.
152
On Bacchylides’ 14th ode: Maehler (1982) 132–2, 294–301; Jebb (1905) 173–5, 217; Donlan (1999) 118. It is
possible that Simonides also composed an ode for a victor in these games: fr. 14, PMG 519 P. Oxy. 2340, fr. 148.1.
153
On Poseidon Petraios and his cult/games in Thessaly: Hdt 7. 129. 21; schol. Pi. P. 4, 246 and 246b
(the latter for Hippios Poseidon). See Ringwood (1927) 19; Moustaka (1983) 21–3.
154
Many scholars suppose that it might have been near the Tempe pass, in the region of Perrhaibia:
Maehler (1982) 294. In the schol. Apoll. Rhod. 3. 1244a: Petra is mentioned as the location of the games,
while at Hdn I. 343. 20 (Lentz), a site Lytai is mentioned in connection with the games. Moustaka (1983) 23
suggested that the festival was celebrated in a city Orthre of Perrhaibia. The evidence is not sufficient to draw
a secure conclusion. I would like to thank Maria Mili for discussing with me the evidence for this festival.
155
Poseidon is credited with creating the first horse, Skyphios, and bore the epithet Hippios: Etymo-
logicum Magnum, s.v. Ippios; Hesych. i. 791; Pindar, I. 1. 58). In P. 4. 138, Pindar calls Pelias son of
Poseidon Petraios. On coins with representations of Skyphios: Moustaka (1983) 21–3; Martin (1985) 36
with earlier bibliography.
156
Diehl (1964) 218, B115; Amandry (1971) 617–18, no. vii, fig. 15; Tzachou-Alexandri (1989) 132–4,
no. 33; Kephalidou (1996) 115, no. 15; Doulgeri-Intzesiloglou (2000b) 156–60, cat. AI1.
157
Amandry (1971) rejected the reading of Diehl: ½¯/g ``` : ` #¨`; —`'
—'ˇ¯¸`½ˇ. Helly (1995) 137–40, supposed the existence of a city Aia in Malis, mentioned in
Callimachus’ Delian Hymn (Callim. iv. 287).
158
In a scholion to Pindar’s 1st Isthmian: schol. Pi. I. 1. 58 (Drachmann III. 209 (83)), there is further
information that there was a temenos of Protesilaos in Phylake where funerary games in honour of the hero
took place. On Protesilaos’ cult and Thessalian coins: Moustaka (1983) 64. On Phylake in the Homeric
Catalogue of Ships: Morgan (2003) 102–5.
 334 maria stamatopoulou

Fig. 71. (a) and (b) Bronze hydria from Pelinna. Athens, National Archaeological Museum 13792

international athletic contests by the early fifth century, roughly contemporary

with the bronze hydria in Athens, is found in Pausanias’ narrative of the career of
the legendary hero-athlete Theagenes of Thasos. At 6. 11. 5, Pausanias describes in
detail how Theagenes won in the games of Phthia near Phylake not as a boxer but
as a runner.159 Unfortunately, the exact location of Phylake is not known,
although it must have been in southern Thessaly, perhaps in Achaia Phthiotis.160
Therefore, all available evidence suggests that as early as the beginning of the fifth
century there were athletic contests in honour of Protesilaos somewhere in the
southern Thessalian orbit.
Another festival with a probable Thessalian setting and athletic competitions
is mentioned in Callimachus’ Hymn to Demeter (6. 74–7) where Eurysichthon,
the king of the Dotian plain, received an invitation to participate in the games
of Athena Itonia.161 The Thessalian location of the games is highly probable
given the context of the poem and the reference of Athena Itonia. However, on
present evidence it is not possible to determine whether the festival took place at
159
On Theagenes of Thasos and heroized victors: Bohringer (1979) esp. 6–9; Kurke (1991) 149–53;
Golden (1998) 86; Mann (2001) 57–8; Hall (2002) 149–51.
160
Ringwood (1927) 15. On Phthia: Décourt (1990) 204–6.
161
Ringwood (1927) 15; Hopkinson (1984) 24–5, 100, 140–1; Helly (1995) 99–100 for Eurysichthon.
 t h e s s a l y i n t he a g e o f e p i n i k i a n 335
the site of the federal sanctuary of Athena Itonia at Philia, or perhaps at another
location.162
Coinage of the fifth and fourth centuries from a number of Thessalian cities,
especially Larisa, depicts bull-wrestling games—taurothēria and/or the aphippo-
dromas.163 Both events were celebrated in the Eleutheria, the international
contests inaugurated after the liberation of Thessaly by Flamininus in 198, and
in the local games near Larisa during the late Hellenistic and Roman periods.164
Bearing in mind the popularity of equestrian and bull-fighting events in the later
agōnes in Larisa, and the continuous representation of those themes on many
Thessalian coin issues of the fifth and fourth centuries, it is reasonable to assume
such athletic contests existed already in the fifth century. For the taurothēria in
particular, the coins of the fifth and fourth centuries depict the various stages of
the contests—from the jumping of the mounted rider next to the bull to the final
submission of the animal—and suggest wide Thessalian participation in the
games (Figs. 72, 73).165 The popularity of bull and horse events in a horse-rearing
region, where livestock were a main source of income and the military was famed
for its horsemanship, needs no comment.
As we have seen, the evidence for athletic contests in Archaic and Classical
Thessaly is very fragmentary, relying on a few references from ancient authors
and on mainly numismatic evidence. A good reminder of our ignorance of games
in the periods before the Eleutheria is a silver obol from Trikka in a private
collection, published by Aliki Moustaka.166 The coin, dated to the end of the fifth
century, bears on the reverse Apollo as a musician and the word `¨¸`,
an iconography which hints at musical contests at Trikka, the leading city of
Hestiaiotis, in the late Classical period.167
Thessalian interest in musical contests might be implied by another recent find,
a red-figure volute krater found in Larisa in 1986 and attributed to the Painter of

162
Hopkinson (1984) 140 thinks that the festival was celebrated at the sanctuary of Athena Itonia at
Koroneia in Boiotia. On Itonos in Thessaly: Décourt (1990) 154–5; Helly (1995) 88–9. On the Dotian plain:
Helly (1987). I would like to thank Maria Mili for her helpful suggestions on the Itonia sanctuaries.
163
Coins depicting the taurothēria were minted mainly in Larisa, but also in Krannon, Pharkadon,
Pherai, Skotoussa, Trikka, Pernhaibia, and later Pelinna: Gardner (1883) xiii–xvi; Herrmann (1925) 24–6;
Franke (1973) 9–10; Kraay (1976) 375–6; SNGAshmolean (1981) pl. lxxxi nos. 3849–54, 3856–8, 3871–2
(Larisa), 3908–9 (Pharkadon), 3927–8 (Pherai); 3931–3 (Trikka); Martin (1985) 36; Liampi (1996) esp.
116–23. Aphippodromas is depicted on 4th-cent. coins of Larisa and Pherai: Herrmann (1925) 36–9, pl. iv.4;
SNGAshmolean (1981) pl. lxxxi no. 3872.
164
On the Eleutheria and the local games near Larisa (sta Stena) during the late Hellenistic and Roman
periods: Ringwood (1927) 15–19; Axenidis (1947a); Gallis (1988) esp. 218–25; Helly (1983) esp. 364–75;
Golden (1998) 37.
165
Herrmann (1925) 24–5 thinks that these were games that were inaugurated after the Persian Wars.
Moustaka (1983) 74–6, and recently Liampi (1996) 118 identified the man taming the bull as Thessalos and
related the festival to the cult of Poseidon in Thessaly. Also LIMC s.v. ‘Thessalos’.
166
Moustaka (1997).
167
On musical contests and tradition in Thessaly: Tiverios (1989) esp. 134; Moustaka (1997) 90–3.
 336 maria stamatopoulou

Fig. 72. Silver Drachm of Larisa, Ashmolean Fig. 73. Silver Drachm of Larisa: Ashmolean Museum
Museum SNG Ashmolean 3849 SNG Asholean 3872

Munich 2335 by Michalis Tiverios.168 The krater depicts scenes related to

Panathenaic contests, mainly the announcement of victory in musical contests
and the hoplite race;169 all the participants are named.170 Tiverios has persua-
sively suggested that, on the basis of the iconography and inscriptions, the
krater must have been a special commission from a Larisaean who wanted to
commemorate his successful participation in the Panathenaia sometime in the
440s, a time of alliance with Athens.171 The findspot of the vase is not secure:
however, it seems that the sherds from which it is restored were collected from
the vicinity of the presumed area of the Free Market of Larisa, an area which
suggests a civic sanctuary and not a funerary context.172 It is interesting to see,
then, a Larisaean in the mid-fifth century ordering a symposium-type vessel from
Athens, to display his participation/connection to a Panathenaic victory in his
home town rather than abroad.173
A similar pattern of dedication has been suggested for an inscribed bronze
jumping weight of the second half of the fifth century in the Ortiz Collection.174
The weight, which bears an incised dedication to Apollo Hekabolos by Eumelos,
was shown by Knoepfler to have Thessalian connections on the basis of the
character of the lettering, the orthographic transcription of the name Eumelos,
and the form of the patronymic. He interprets it as a dedication by a Thessalian
pentathlete who won at the Pythia but chose to dedicate his haltēres at a local
sanctuary.175 Although evidence consisting of two artefacts is hardly adequate for

168
Archaeological Museum of Larisa 86/101: Tiverios (1989); Kephalidou (1996) 211 cat. no. ˆ 97;
Moustaka (1997) 91–2, pl. 13a–b.
169
Tiverios (1989) 19–58; Kephalidou (1996) 49, 51, 60, 125.
170
On the inscriptions and names painted on the vase: Tiverios (1989) 113–22; Kephalidou (1996) 121,
125.
171
Tiverios (1989) 127–9; Kephalidou (1996) 125, 158.
172
Tiverios (1989) 13–14 for the discovery of the vase.
173
On the Panathenaic amphora of the Kleophrades Painter from the cemetery of Nea Ionia Volou,
ancient Iolkos: Malakasioti and Efstathiou (2002) 145 fig. 9.
174
Knoepfler (1994); Ortiz (1994) cat.128bis.
175
Knoepfler (1994) esp. 370–7 on the inscription.
 thessaly in the age o f epinikian 337
drawing safe conclusions on patterns of dedicatory behaviour, it may hint at a
trend favouring dedication in Thessalian rather than Panhellenic sanctuaries.
Therefore, rather than suggesting a limited mobility of the Thessalian elite in
the fifth century, we may look at another solution: although future excavations
may disprove this view, it is possible that during the fifth century, Thessalian
notables although present at the international gatherings of their peers, especially
at Olympia and Delphi, did not invest in the symbolic capital of display through
commissioning athletic statues or other monumental dedications, but rather
focused their dedications and interest in their own territories.
This apparent lack of interest on the part of the Thessalian elites in dedicating
permanent symbols of their victories at Panhellenic sanctuaries, and their focus
on their home crowds, could be linked to social circumstances and, perhaps to
social and historical conditions in the region.
We have briefly discussed the sixth-century evidence. But what do we know
about the fifth century? As we shall see, during the fifth century Thessaly attracted
the interest and attention of the leading Greek states. It was fertile, had a
remarkable cavalry force (Hdt. 7. 196), an excellent port for trade, and was well
situated along the main inland roads connecting southern and central Greece
with Epirus and the Adriatic to the west, and the far richer Macedonia to the
north—another area of considerable interest for both the Athenians and the
Spartans.176 Although not strictly political, Thessalian pre-eminence and control
of the votes of the Amphiktyonic council must have been of interest, if only for
prestige and propaganda reasons, to both Spartans and Athenians.177 It has been
repeatedly stated that during this period the increasing antagonism between the
principal cities/elite families of Thessaly facilitated foreign penetration.
Leaving aside the question of the existence of a federal leader at the time, let us
briefly examine some of the events of the fifth century involving Thessaly.178
The medism of Thessaly is well-known. From Herodotus’ account it is clear that
the Aleuad brothers so dearly praised by Pindar were instrumental in the
submission of the region to the Persians, and that there might have been some
opposition from other Thessalian power groups.179 Immediately afterwards, we
hear of a campaign by the Spartans led by Leotychidas (Hdt. 6. 72; Plut. Vit.
Them. 20), who was bribed by the Thessalians. The date of this campaign and its
objectives are under dispute: some see the whole event as evidence of Spartan

176
Hornblower (2002) 97–8. On the resources and wealth of Thessaly: see above, p. 314. On the
importance of Thessalian cavalry: Spence (1993) 23–5; Hanson (2000) 209–10.
177
I agree on this point with Hornblower (2002) 98 and (1991) 168–9 (on Thuc. 1. 107. 2). Contra:
Sánchez (2001) 110–18, esp. 114.
178
For an overview: Hornblower (2002) 97–9; Sprawski (1999) 25–48 (for the period starting in c.431).
179
On the Aleuads and their relationship with the Persian king: Herman (1987) 156–7; C AH iv. 542–86;
Lazenby (1993) 108–10; Gehrke (1985) 185–6; Helly (1995) 114–16.
338 m a r i a s ta ma to p o u l o u
expansionist policy in the north, while others consider it purely punitive in
character, aimed at overthrowing the Aleuads.180
A few years later, in 457, Thucydides and Diodoros inform us that at the battle
of Tanagra the Thessalian cavalry changed sides and, contrary to the alliance with
the Athenians, joined the Spartans (Thuc. 1. 107; Diod. 11. 80. 1–6). It is supposed
that a few months later the Thessalians allied themselves with the Athenians
again, and contributed to the Athenian victory at Oinophyta.181 Two sculptural
monuments are connected to those events: the dedication of a statue of a horse
by the Thessalians at Delphi, and the grave stele of Theotimos son of Menyllos
from Atrax.182 Some see in these events the first signs of internal strife in the
region, and explain the unsuccessful Athenian campaign against Pharsalos to
restore Orestes, son of Echekratidas, in 454/3 as another sign of turbulence in
Thessaly (Thuc. 1. 111).183
At the beginning of the Peloponnesian war, the Thessalians were allied with
the Athenians (Thuc. 2. 22. 3).184 Thereafter things became more complicated,
with shifts in alliances and with xenia/ritualized friendships playing the most
active role in the stance taken by the Thessalians.185 The most prominent case is
the march of Brasidas through Thessaly. Thucydides (4. 78–9) tells us that the
KØ Ø
Ø, friends, of Brasidas in Pharsalos and Larisa were very important in
securing a safe passage for him, even though pro-Athenian feelings existed
among the majority.186 The events of those years are interpreted variously by
scholars. But it seems true that rivalry among elite families for pre-eminence
in Thessaly increased during the course of the fifth century.187 After the
Peloponnesian war, the emergence of Pherai as a leading power in the region188
led to the escalation of internal unrest and the open intervention of foreign
180
On Leotychidas’ campaign: CAH vi. 97–9 (Lewis); Gehrke (1985) 186 (as purely punitive).
On Spartan ambitions in the north: Andrewes (1971) esp. 219–26; Lazenby (1993) 111, Hornblower
(1991) 159–60. On the events of the 460s: Hornblower (1991) 168–9 (on Thuc. 1. 102. 7).
181
Sánchez (2001) 106–9; Herman (1990) 95; Hornblower (1992) 178–81; and (1991) 171; Sprawski
(1999) 25.
182
On the statue: Daux (1958); Jacquemin (1999) no. 466, n. 111c.; Pritchett (1996) 169. On the stele of
Theotimos in the Archaeological Museum of Larisa, inv. no. 78/5: SEG 34. 560, 46. 646; Gallis (1982) 52,
fig. 4; Tziafalias (1985) 57–60; Bosnakis (1990) 177–8, cat. N4; Helly (1995) 226–33; Pritchett (1996) 170;
Doulgeri-Intzesiloglou (2000b) 75–9, cat. ¸`10. Also Helly (1995) 226–33.
183
On Orestes: Herman (1990) 95, 97; Hornblower (1991) 178; (2002) 97. Also CAH v. 119; Gehrke
(1985) 186–8; Helly (1995) 106.
184
On the events of 431: Rechenauer (1973); Herman (1990) 95–7 Hornblower (2002) 87, 277–8; and
(1991) 277–8. Helly (1995) 233–8: he interprets stasis as a military unit. Sprawski (1999) 25–6. Also Gehrke
(1985) 188–9 sees this episode as indicative of deep stasis in Larisa.
185
Herman (1987) 150–1; (1990) 95–7; Sprawski (1999) 26–30.
186
Brasidas: Andrewes (1971) 219–21; Hornblower (1996) 103, 256–61, 408. Herman (1990) 95–7.
Décourt (1990) 84–6; Sprawski (1999) 26–31 accepts that Thessaly was ruled by an extreme oligarchic
dynasteia. On the Thessalian cavalry during this campaign: Hanson (2000) 213.
187
Hornblower (2002) 98–9; Sprawski (1999) 26–48.
188
Sprawski (1999) 46–7 believes that Lykophron belonged to the aristocracy and that it was not an
opposition aiming at democracy but at widening the ‘inner circle of power of the dynasteia’.
 thessaly in the age of epinikian 339
powers, ending in the successful annexation of the region to the Macedonian
sphere of influence under Philip II.189
Therefore, contrary to the sixth century, when the Thessalians were proactive
in pursuing their expansionist dreams against their southern neighbours, during
the fifth century they were rather more inwardly orientated. As Sprawski has
stated, during the late fifth and early fourth centuries, the particular bonds
between aristocrats and various friends determined Thessalian politics: ‘They
[the country’s leaders] were guided in politics not by interests but by expectations
of warring parties’ (1999: 29). The internal conflicts in the region did not
necessarily involve the ordinary people. Wealth in the region and the ability
to organize expeditions abroad continued, as is clear from the aid offered to
Amyntas in 391 (Diod. 14. 92. 3).190 Participation in the games continued
(see Table 1), and as with poets in the early fifth century, philosophers were
very popular among the wealthy aristocrats.191 It is clear that Thessalians during
this period were no longer the significant ‘players’ in the Greek world. It was
more profitable for them to focus their attention on their local audiences—lavish
commemorations abroad would have conferred less politically useful symbolic
capital on them during these fractious times, and therefore would have offered
them no real gain.
Although this picture is highly hypothetical, it may receive some support when
we compare it to the situation in the fourth century, during Jason’s tageia and
especially in the last third of the century. One of the first things planned by Jason
after he was elected tagos was to organize a lavish display at the Pythia of 370,
with an impressive sacrificial procession and an army march. He was assassinated
before he could live to see it through (Xen. Hell. 6. 4. 30; Isocr. Philip. 119–20;
Valerius Maximus 9. 10 ext. 2).192 In the second half of the fourth century there
was a marked increase in monumental dedications abroad, both at Delphi and
Olympia, especially by the Pharsalians.193 Best known among them are the
posthumous dedications of statues of successful athletes of the fifth century,
namely Poulydamas of Skotoussa at Olympia (Paus. 6. 5) and Agias of Pharsalos
at Pharsalos, both made by Lysippos and dated to the last third of the fourth

189
On the events of the last years of the 5th cent. and the date of Peri Politeias: Hornblower (2002) 98;
Gehrke (1985) 189–94, considers the period following the victory of Lykophron in Sept. 404 as a period of
great changes in the region, postulating moderate oligarchy in Larisa. For an alternative view: Sprawski
(1999) 31–4.
190
Sprawski (1999) 45, 47.
191
On the wealth and hospitality of Thessaly in the first half of the 4th cent.: Sprawski (1999) 47–8
and n. 114.
192
On Jason’s preparation for the Pythia of 370: Sánchez (2001) 164–6. Sprawski (1999) 115–23, thinks
that this move by Jason aimed to consolidate his position among the Thessalians rather than the foreign
crowds.
193
Jacquemin (1999) 51–2. Also Bourguet (1929) nos. 164, 232, 401 for decrees conferring honours on
Thessalians.
340 maria stamatopoulou
century.194 As with other posthumous dedications of athletic statues, the motiv-
ation behind these dedications must have been political.195 During this period,
Pharsalos figures prominently in dedications abroad. We hear of a statue of
Pelopidas, made by Lysippos and dedicated by the Pharsalians at Delphi,196
and another statue of Achilles and Patroklos.197 However, the best known
Thessalian dedication of any period is the Daochos monument at Delphi.198
According to recent studies by the French School, the group was probably set in a
leschē-type building at the sanctuary—a sort of Thessalian treasury—erected
during the second half of the fourth century.199 The Daochos monument is a
family monument, demonstrating the aristocratic pedigree and the credentials
of the then hieromnemon at Delphi through the display of his distinguished
ancestors who had also excelled in athletics (Agias, Telemachos, Agelaos),
politics (Aknonios, Daochos I), and the art of war (Sisyphos I).200 During this
period, besides the statue of Agias, a statue of Homer was set up in Pharsalos.201
The appropriation of Achilles and Patroklos by the Pharsalians, and the wish to
stress their earlier successes, are better explained in the light of the political
background. We know from Demosthenes (De Cor. 18. 295–6) that Daochos
was one of Philip’s agents. His dedication at Delphi, at the seat of his office,
aimed to assert his power by reminding the visitors at Delphi, as he had done
earlier at home, of his aristocratic lineage. His ancestors like him were bene-
factors not just of Pharsalos, but of Thessaly as a whole. The epigram under the
statue of Daochos could surely be explained in this light.202
In conclusion, in this chapter I have tried to show that contrary to widespread
assumption, Thessaly, at least from the mid-sixth century onwards, was not that
different from other Greek states. Thessalian aristocratic families in the Archaic
period shared the same values as their peers in southern Greek communities.
Like them, they were interested in the glory conferred by athletic victory at

194
Poulydamas’ statue base (Olympia Archaeological Museum ¸45): Täuber (1997) esp. 240 for
relation with 4th-cent. events; Kosmopoulou (2002) 200–1, cat. 26, figs. 55–7; SEG 48. 548. Agias’ statue:
IG ix. 2. 648: Ebert (1972) 137–45, esp. 140. On heroized athletes see above, n. 159.
195
Täuber (1997) 240–2; Hall (2002) 151. Cf. above, p. 334, on Theagenes.
196
Jacquemin (1999) cat. 465; Helly (1995) 257–60.
197
Paus. 10. 13. 5. Jacquemin (1999) cat. 390.
198
Jacquemin (1999) 51–2 and cat. 391; Lörn (2000) 118–23. On the sculptural decoration: Bommelaer
(1991) 91–8; Palagia and Herz (2002). On the inscriptions: Ebert (1972) 137–45, nos. 43–5; Pouilloux (1976)
134–8, no. 460; Décourt (1995) 73–5, VE 57.
199
Jacquemin (1999) 52; Jacquemin and Laroche (2001); also Bommelaer (1991) 200, no. 511.
200
There has been considerable speculation surrounding both Aknonios and Daochos I. Especially for
the latter, if indeed he was archon of all the Thessalians for 27 years starting sometime in the 440s, the
absence of references in Thucydides is intriguing. On Daochos I: Sprawski (1999) 29–30.
201
For the base of the statue of Homer (IG ix. 2. 246): Décourt (1995) 73, VE 56, who sees in the light
of appropriation of the Homeric past relevant to Achilles the sanctuary at Thetideion: Décourt (1990)
205–8, 211–12.
202
Täuber (1997) 240; Stella Miller (2000) 268; Morgan (2003) 131.
 thessaly in the age of epinikian 341
Panhellenic and local level, they broadcast their worth by commissioning victory
songs, and formed xenia relationships with other aristocrats. Where they differed
was in the pattern of dedication. Even if we take into account factors such as
excavation bias or the disinterest of Pausanias in victors at the Pythia, the absence
of Thessalian monumental dedications at Delphi and Olympia until the second
half of the fourth century is significant.203 In the fifth century, sculptural
dedications at Delphi, where Thessalians supposedly held the presidency of
the Amphiktyonic council, were mostly related to military events. It seems
that during the fifth century, even if Thessalian aristocrats competed in the
Panhellenic games with the same frequency as in the past, they do not seem to
have been interested in gaining, or perhaps were not able to gain, the symbolic
capital conferred by the dedication of a statue in a Panhellenic sanctuary.
Contrary to the sixth-century picture, Thessalians in this period were not initiat-
ing military campaigns, but were rather trying (either as a group or as conflicting
cities/factions) to ally themselves with the most likely victor on each occasion:
Sparta or Athens. Increased international participation of the Thessalian elite in
Greek affairs and at the great sanctuaries began only when they were again able to
influence things, namely with Jason, and especially during the Macedonian
period. In the latter respect, their attitude towards the Panhellenic sanctuaries
recalls that of their Macedonian neighbours. The Temenid kings, despite their
wealth, were quite coy until the fourth century.204 Archelaos may have been
responsible for modernizing his kingdom and extending its power, and may have
been the patron of arts par excellence, but that patronage was confined to a local
milieu.205 It was only when Philip II acquired the power to confront and
compete with other Greeks that we see the Macedonians/ Thessalians actively
displaying their wealth and power in southern Greek sanctuaries.206

203
Paus. 5. 24. 5 for a statue of Zeus with Ganymedes in the Altis, a dedication of the Thessalian
Gnathis, made by Aristokes; 10. 16. 8, for the votive of Echekratidas of Larisa, supposedly the first ever
dedication at Delphi and 10. 15. 4 for a statue of horsemen by the Pheraeans. For the first dedications at
Delphi: Jacquemin (1999) 51–2 and cats. 333 and 393; Morgan (2003) 130–1. On the reliability of Pausanias:
Golden (1998) 58; Mann (2001) 55–7.
204
On the Macedonian kingdom and its similarities to the Thessalian state: Hatzopoulos (1996) esp.
463–86; Archibald (2000).
205
Hornblower (2002) 95; Hatzopoulos (1996) 469–74.
206
For Macedonian dedications at Delphi: Jacquemin (1999) 65; Stella Miller (2000).
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Part III
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 thirteen
––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The Entire House is Full of Crowns: Hellenistic

Agōnes and the Commemoration of Victory
Riet van Bremen

1. crowns and houses

The descendants of Telephos crowned you in the [games] of Herakles,

and Miletos gained the fame of your victory in wrestling.
Nemea, too, crowned you, by the [opulent altar] of Zeus,
Nikomachos; and neither was Babon, your father, without glory in athletics:
he [won] the Delphic [leaves] of Phoibos the Saviour,
The entire house is full of [crowns].
(On a statue base found in the Delphinion in Miletos)1

The crown as symbol of victory had lost none of its meaning in the world after
Alexander. As even this brief epigram of the late second century bc shows, there
were in fact now substantially more ‘crowned’, Panhellenic, games (agōnes
stephanitai), from which men like Nikomachos could return triumphant, than
before.2 This Milesian twice brought glory to his city: from the Pergamene
Herakleia Sōtēria (renewed as crown games after 129 bc)3 and from the Nemean
games. His father’s athletic victory had been gained in the Delphic Sōtēria
(‘Isopythian’, ‘Isonemean’, and ‘crowned’ from 246/5 bc).4 The epigram’s final

I should like to thank D. Knoepfler for making available a photograph of the coin from Chalkis (Fig. 74)
and for discussing with me, per. ep., his current views on the dating of Theokles (p. 355 n. 56).
1
After 129 bc. For the date see Milet i. 3, 164, with Milet vi. 1, 194, at no. 164; Moretti (1953) 52;
Merkelbach and Stauber (1998) 01/20/12; Ebert (1972) no. 74; cf. also Robert (1984b) 16 (¼OMS vi. 466).
2
On agōnes stephanitai see in particular Robert (1984a) (¼OMS vi. 709–19); Robert and Robert (1989)
20–1; Vial (2003) is a good general overview. Chaniotis (1995: Anhang, 164–8) ends with a catalogue of
new and newly instituted civic agōnes throughout the Greek world.
3
Probably from earlier, local, Herakleia. Cf. Robert’s comments (1984b) 16 (¼ OMS vi. 466), and Ebert
(1972) 222. The Telephidai are the Pergamenes, whose founder-hero was Telephos, son of Herakles, who
linked the Attalid dynasty to that of the Macedonian royal house. On Attalid propaganda see Kosmetatou
(2002).
4
i.e. ‘equal to the Pythian/Nemean games’ etc. in their categories of competition. The Delphic Sōtēria
were among the first of the newly declared Panhellenic games. They were declared crowned, Isopythian in
their musical competitions, Isonemean in athletics and equestrian events, in 246/5 bc, and as such
recognized by kings and cities. Cf. Syll.3 402 (recognition by Chios in 246/5 bc) and IG ii2 680
(recognition by Athens). They would soon be followed by many others, equally ‘upgraded’ from local
346 r i e t v a n b re me n
line: º æ 
rŒ
 –Æ ½ø
5 refers of course, with some poetic
exaggeration, to Nikomachos’ paternal house but behind it and through it we see
the collective houses of the Milesians to whose city he brought fame. The sense of
multiple households making up a city is banal but also fundamental to the idea
of the Greek polis; the crowning of his home city by the returning victor—
KŒ ŒÆd Kø c ºØ—was an essential component in the com-
plex of rituals that gave meaning and permanence to athletic victory.6 We find the
same notion used explicitly in the final lines of an ambitious victory epigram for
the Pergamene Attalos (father of the future king Attalos I, and adoptive son of
Philetairos, the dynasty’s founder), who won the chariot race at Olympia with a
quadriga of foals, possibly in 276 bc (11–12): # Æ  N #غ
ÆØæ
 I
Ø

qºŁ ŒÆd
YŒ
ı j —æª
ı; $ºfiø ½
ØÆ
Æ øØ: ‘Much-lauded
Fame came to Philetairos and to the houses of Pergamon, honouring them with
the crown from Elis’.7 Philetairos is cast in the role of the athlete’s father while
the houses of Pergamon represent his city in the familiar epinikian triad of victor,
father, city.8 Philetairos was, however, also Pergamon’s first citizen, its ruler and
protector, on whose door Fame appropriately knocked first, before she allowed a
share to the city.9
The symbiosis of dynast and city, and the unequal juxtaposition of the
ruler’s ‘house’ and the houses of ordinary citizens is not in itself peculiar to the
Hellenistic period: the underlying political reality is familiar from the late Archaic
and early Classical period and the theme occurs in many of Pindar’s odes. Pythian
4. 279–80, celebrating the victory, in 462 bc, of the Battiad king Arkesilas IV
of Cyrene shows it well: ˚ıæÆ ŒÆd e ŒºÆ

ªÆæ
 ´
ı,

games. The agōnes stephanitai were always penteteric, timed to fit into a Panhellenic cycle. On age-classes,
including designations such as paides Pythikoi or Isthmikoi which refer to the age-categories adopted at those
particular games, see Klee (1918) 43–51 and Frisch (1988).
5
Or I
½Łºø
, ‘prizes’, as Rehm thought he could read (but see Ebert 222). The implication is the same.
6
‘Phrase si souvent répétée’ wrote Robert (1978) 288 (¼ OMS vii. 692); cf. also (1967b) 18–25 (¼OMS v.
358–65) for examples. Compare the following 5th-cent. epigram’s final line: ‹ Æ
æø IªÆŁø ~
Kø ºØ: ‘who crowned the city of good fathers’ (Anth. Pal. 16. 2 ¼ Ebert (1972) no. 12,
from Aigina)—where there is an additional historical dimension, in the sense of multiple ancestors. On the
crown’s kudos-bestowing capacities see Kurke (1998).
7
Ebert (1972) no. 59; Moretti (1953) no. 37. Possible dates are 280, 276, or 272 bc. Three blocks of this
large base were found in the precinct of Athena’s temple at Pergamon, a second epigram was inscribed on
the block adjoining this one but is largely lost. For the news of victory coming to the victor’s city see also
Kallimachos’ victory ode for Berenike (below, pp. 349–50) in which the ‘golden word’, æ
 !
,
came to Egypt (l. 6); an epigram for Hagesistratos of Lindos (below, p. 353 n. 43 and pp. 357–8) has
ŁÆ  Æ, divine Fame, announcing his victory to his city, Rhodes. Fuhrer (1993: 84 and 92) points
out the difference with the Classical ode in which the poet himself is the announcer.
8
As in the epigram attributed to Simonides, AP 16. 23; FGE xxxi: N; ; 
 KØ; 

Ææ
;   KŒ, ‘tell your name, your father’s, your city, your victory’, as quoted in Race (1997) 16,
with Race’s further comments at 16–17. But see Ebert (1972) at no. 62, on the possible Hellenistic origin of
this epigram; cf. also Hornblower (2004) 142.
9
In Pergamon the founding of a royal dynasty lay still in the future—only in 241 bc did its third ruler,
Attalos, assume the royal diadem under the title of Attalos I Sōter.
 th e e n t ir e h o u s e i s f u l l o f c r o w n s 34 7
‘Cyrene and the most celebrated house of Battos’. The Sicilian tyrannies, too,
are obvious cases in point of monarchically run poleis whose rulers’ victories
simultaneously underpinned the legitimacy of their power and secured the
eternal glory of their cities. A late third-century epigram for Diotimos, chief
magistrate (ØŒÆ , or suffet) of Phoenician Sidon, victorious with the four-
horse chariot at the Nemean games, can still play on the same interdependence of
the ruler’s house and his city (5–6): IHª ªaæ æØ
 I  ¯ºº

ƒØŒe ½
s
 j ¼ªÆª N IªÆŁH
rŒ
 $ª
æØA: ‘As first of your
fellow citizens you brought equestrian fame from Hellas to the noble house of
the Agenoridai’. Diotimos could presumably not claim direct descent from the
first king of Sidon, and it is clear that, by ‘the house of the Agenoridai’, Sidon is
meant. But the traditional phrasing, with its Pindaric resonances, nevertheless
feeds off the older symbiosis, and suggests the possibility that there existed a
direct line between the old mythical ruling family and the present suffet and
Nemean victor. The accompanying prose inscription shows that it was the city
which honoured Diotimos and set up his statue.10
But these apparent continuities should be set against the wider changes that
were taking place in the course of the third century bc. The equestrian victories of
Attalos and Diotimos were gained in a world in which the new kingdoms carved
out of Alexander’s vast but short-lived empire were rapidly becoming the main
centres of power and wealth, and the courts of the Ptolemaic, Antigonid, Attalid,
and Seleukid kings developed as cultural and political alternatives to the polis on a
scale not seen before.11 The main innovation of the Hellenistic period in terms of
elite- and patronage-culture was precisely the formation of networks based on
these courts, in effect the creation of a Graeco-Macedonian elite of philoi who
were first and foremost attached to the kings they served. Even here, of course,
there are precursors as there always are in history: the powerful condottiere-like
figure of Chromios of Aitna, philos and general of Hieron of Syracuse, for
whom Pindar wrote Nemean 1 and 9, was already ‘Hellenistic’ in outline,12
foreshadowing men like Sosibios, minister to Ptolemy IV, for whose Nemean
and Isthmian victories Kallimachos wrote one of his few epinikian odes, or
Kallikratos of Samos, admiral of the Ptolemaic fleet under Ptolemy II, whose

10
Ebert (1972) no. 64, with commentary on 189–93. Moretti (1953) no. 41. Sidon was Ptolemaic at this
time. The epigram’s date is derived from the sculptor’s signature. The Agenoridai were the descendants of
Agenor, first king of Sidon.
11
The Macedonian king Philip II had himself competed at Olympia with the Œ
º, or single horse, in
356 bc, very much ‘in the old tyrannical manner’ (Hornblower (2004) 28): Plutarch Alex. 3. He proudly
commemorated the Olympic victories of his horses on coins, both the single horse and the quadriga: Alex.
4, cf. Le Rider (1996) 37 and 50, with (1977) for a more detailed discussion of the iconography. Philip’s
ancestor Archelaos had won the four-horse chariot race at Olympia in 408 bc (Moretti (1957) no. 349) and
had been responsible for setting athletic and agonistic life in Macedonia on a new footing: Gauthier and
Hatzopoulos (1993) 156.
12
As Simon Hornblower reminds me.
348 r iet v an bremen
Pythian victory was commemorated in an epigram of Poseidippos (on both see
below). Like their tyrant predecessors, the newly established Hellenistic dynasties
and their entourage bought into the aristocratic glamour and Panhellenic
credibility that equestrian victory at one of the main games conferred, and the
celebration of royal victories became one of the elements in the elaborate
machinery of royal image-making that developed in particular—or at least most
visibly to us—at the courts of the Ptolemaic and Attalid kings. In what Silvia
Barbantani has aptly called this ‘new society of victors’ (victors both in agonistic
competitions and in war), a court-based variant of commemoration through
monumental dedications and praise poetry developed, which, though based on
traditional forms and using traditional ingredients, manipulated both form and
content to serve the new purpose of glorifying Hellenistic kingship.13
In celebrating athletic and equestrian victories, the two poles of the Hellenistic
world, the court and the city, both used the traditional language of the victorious
athlete bringing back his crown and with it fame to his father’s house and to his
city,14 but the elements that constituted the familiar triad in the Classical epini-
kian odes now served more complex social and political realities. In the new
world of kings and courts the idea of the ‘house’: oikos, or dōma, and related
concepts like lineage (genea, genos) acquired a royal dimension which stood both
outside the predominantly civic framework of the Classical ode, and self-
consciously referred back to it. Several epigrams of the Ptolemaic court
poet Poseidippos of Pella, celebrating equestrian victories of kings and queens,
illustrate well this privileging of the dynastic element: ‘Olympia saw these
triumphs from a single house ([K )
e
YŒ
ı) and the children’s children
winning prizes (ŒÆd Æø ÆEÆ IŁº
æ
½ı
)’, says the voice of the
young Berenike, daughter of Ptolemy II and Arsinoe I, in one,15 while in another
the poet addresses her: ‘You, the [much garlanded?] Macedonian child (c b
½
ºı
Æ

 ƌ
 . . . ÆEÆ) pronounced your house so often
victorious (IŁº
æ
 H Æ), a princess all by yourself.’16 Ethnic origin,
too, acquired new layers of meaning in the international world of the court,
13
Barbantani (2001) 78, pointing out that the historic-political elegy, too, in the Hellenistic period no
longer celebrated the merits of the polis and its ideals, but the fortunes of single individuals: monarchs,
members of the court, and of the military hierarchy (ibidem: 11–12; the comparison is between the Plataian
elegy of Simonides and Suppl. Hell. 958 and 969—the subjects of B’s excellent book).
14
Ebert (1972) 11, no. 2, with examples, and above, n. 6.
15
Austin and Bastianini (2002) 78. ll. 11–12; she was the daughter of Ptolemy and Arsinoe, married, 252
bc, to the Seleukid king Antiochos II, therefore Berenike ‘the Syrian’. That she, rather than Berenike II,
daughter of Magas of Cyrene and wife of Ptolemy III Euergetes, was the subject of Poseidippos’ epigrams
has been convincingly argued by Criscuolo (2003) and Thompson (2005); see also below, p. 364.
16
Austin and Bastianini (2002) 82, 5–6: KŒ æıÆ ªaæ K  Ł HØ j 
ŒØ IŁº½

æ
 H Æ
 Æغ. I have transposed part of ll. 3–4, about the Macedonian child, into the next sentences. On
the translation of this sentence see n. 121 below. There are, of course, prize-bearing houses in Pindar, too,
such as that of the Alkmaionid Megakles in Pythian 7: five Isthmian victories and two each at Delphi and
Olympia. But Megakles had to pay for his glorious descent and his horse-rearing habits. See below, n. 70.
 the entire house i s full o f crowns 349
and the answer to the once unambiguous question of 
 Ææ
, ‘which is
your father-city?’ could be under- or over-played depending on context.17 And
even the question without which no victory ode could exist: ‘and what is your
victory?’ at times appears lost behind a more general emphasis on what Marco
Fantuzzi has called a royal ‘aptitude to victory’.18

2. commemorating victory
Kings and their courtiers will be central to this chapter, as by right and by might
they were in their own world. Although they were not the only patrons for whom
victory poetry was composed or victory monuments set up, they were the most
conspicuous. They could also afford to buy artistic quality. The only two ‘true’
epinikian odes known from this period, not surprisingly come from the context
of the court (that of the Ptolemies), composed by Kallimachos of Cyrene
(c.305–240s bc). One celebrates the victories of Sosibios, minister of Ptolemy
IV,19 the other that of Berenike II, wife of Ptolemy III and mother of Ptolemy IV
(though for a different identification of this Berenike see below, p. 364).20 Only
one line is preserved of a third, among Kallimachos’ Iambi, but it is said to have
celebrated the victory of a certain Polykles in the Aiginetan Hydrophoria, a contest
for which the poem also provided an aition.21
An important feature of Kallimachos’ two surviving epinikia is that they are
composed not in the lyric metre of the Classical odes (presupposing singing and
musical accompaniment) but in the elegiac distichs suited to reciting. They were
therefore very probably publicly recited, possibly by the poet himself, at the court
during some appropriate celebration.22 What the celebration was is perhaps most
easily answered in the case of the so-called Victoria Berenices, whose introductory
section (Suppl. Hell. 254. 1–10) contains the traditional triadic announcement of
Berenike’s chariot victory at Nemea, her name (or rather identity: nympha,
‘bride’?) and (double) filiation (1–3) and a learned indication of her patris (5–6):

to Zeus and Nemea I owe a gift of gratitude, bride, sacred blood of the brother and sister
gods, my epinikion for the victory of your horses. For but now there came from the land of

17
So Ebert (1972) 21: ‘die Tradition bleibt hier doch so stark, dass bis in späte Zeit die enge Bindung an
die Heimat im Epigramm anklingt’. On the concept of Ææ referring almost exclusively to one’s polis,
at least in the Classical period, see the discussion in Hansen and Nielsen (2004) 49–52.
18
Fantuzzi (2005) 265, 266.
19
Fr. 384 Pf. Sosibios: Pros. Ptol. 17239; on the disagreements about identity (the well-known minister
of Ptolemy IV, or an ancestor of the same name under Ptolemy I) see most recently Barbantani (2001) 82 n.
60, with all refs.
20
Suppl. Hell. 255–268C.
21
Fr. 198 Pf. For this iambus (viii), and especially for its relation to traditional epinikian poetry, see
Kerkhecker (1999): 197–204.
22
Barbantani (2001) 8–37; Fuhrer (1992) 89–97; Cameron (1995) ch. 2.
350 r iet van bremen
Danaus born of a cow to the island of Helen and to Pallene’s seer, shepherd of seals, the
golden word.23

Even if the rest of the 150 surviving lines (and very likely also most of the 50 or so
that are lost) is taken up with the narration of a myth, a meeting of Herakles and
the peasant Molorchos, which contains the aition for the awarding of the parsley
crown at Nemea,24 we may expect the occasion for this strangely unbalanced
ode—‘epinikion embraces aition’ is Parsons’s pithy characterization, but ‘epini-
kion sitting on the shoulders of aition’ is perhaps closer to the truth—to have been
the celebration of this one particular victory.25 The same cannot be said of the
victory ode for Sosibios, which, in the fragmentary form in which it is preserved,
contains five distinct sections. Its style is elusive, its structure complex, and the
poem gives little clue as to the specific occasion for which it was composed. Two
chariot victories, an Isthmian and Nemean, are commemorated in the first two
sections (1–15 and 16–34) but in the next, Sosibios himself is heard talking of
youthful victories at the Panathenaia and Ptolemaia (35–43), after which dedica-
tory offerings in sanctuaries are mentioned (at Argos, and Pelusium: 44–52); in
the final section, Sosibios’ qualities are praised: ‘friendly to the people, and
forgetting not the poor, a thing so rarely seen in a rich man, whose mind is not
superior to his good fortune’ (53–5). It has been suggested that this hybrid of
epinikion and enkomion may have been performed at a commemoration towards
the end of the minister’s career rather than on the occasion of one of his victories.
If so, this is another illustration of the tendency to celebrate ‘aptitude to victory’
as part of a wider enkomiastic scheme, rather than victory itself.26
The discovery and recent publication (in 2001) of a late third-century bc
collection of epigrams, preserved on papyrus, by another Ptolemaic court poet,
Poseidippos of Pella (c.315–250 bc), has not only greatly expanded our knowledge
of the Ptolemies’ pursuit of equestrian fame at the Panhellenic games but has also
renewed discussion about the context, the performance, and the purpose of
Hellenistic enkomiastic poetry.27 Among the 112 poems that make up this poetry
book, eighteen, grouped together in a distinct section called the Hippika,
are dedicated to equestrian victories; of these, seven commemorate victories
of Ptolemaic kings and queens.28 They have been called ‘mini-elegies’ and

23
‘Pallene’s seer and shepherd of seals’: Proteus; on the connection see Parsons (1977) 9.
24
Not for the games themselves: so, rightly, Fuhrer (1992) 80.
25
On the original length of the poem and its likely structure, see Parsons’s original edition (1977). The
ode opens the third section of Kallimachos’ Aitia. Barbantani (2001: 79–80) and Fuhrer (1992: 96).
26
See the discussion in Fuhrer (1992) 151, 154, 174–8, 218, and in Barbantani (2001) 82–4. Does a
‘retirement ode’ not presuppose a very elderly Kallimachos?
27
Acosta-Hughes (2003).
28
Editions: Bastianini, Gallazzi, and Austin (2001): P. Mil. Vogl. viii. 309, followed by Austin and
Bastianini (2002), which contains all of Poseidippos’ surviving poems, including those on the new Milan
papyrus. Most scholars accept that Poseidippos is the poet, although there is some dissent. Since its
 t h e e n t i r e h o u s e is fu l l of cr o w n s 35 1
‘épinicie en réduction’29 perhaps to draw attention to their ambiguous nature.
Celebrations of equestrian (or any athletic) victories are rare among the many
epigrams in literary collections (although they survive on stone—see below),30
and we must therefore ask about their purpose, both in terms of the context of
their performance (if any) and their intended readership. Were they recited?
Where? At symposia? But they are enkomiastic, and quite a few celebrate female
victories. Was their context that of the poetry contest, or of great agonistic
festivals such as the Ptolemaia? Were they intended primarily as literature?
The Hippika have been described as ‘a section that attempts to mould the reader’s
perception of the Ptolemies’, within a more general programme of ‘constructing
legitimacy’31 or as ‘advertisements of a royal dynasty’,32 assessments that echo
recent work in its emphasis on Alexandrian court poetry’s importance as a
‘political medium and creative socio-cultural force instrumental in the creation
and propagation of a cultural program’.33 The poets, Poseidippos, along with
Kallimachos and Theokritos, are seen as ‘image makers of the Ptolemaic kings’.
The persuasiveness of these interpretations—and it is only for the Ptolemaic court
that we can even begin to formulate them at all—depends to a large extent on how
we reconstruct the performance (and the reading-) culture at the court itself and
assess its impact on a wider audience.
These are big issues whose discussion far exceeds the scope of this chapter,34
but they need to be kept in mind when trying to understand the continuing
importance of agonistic victory, and victory commemoration, in the Hellenistic
world at different levels. It has been said that, while the survival of the Classical
epinikian ode lay in its being sung, and remembered, and repeatedly performed in
the victor’s home city, the Hellenistic ode’s future fame, and with it that of its
subject, was to be guaranteed instead by its survival en bublois: in written-down
form.35 The contrast is too stark: there is no need to postulate an ‘either-or’

publication, an industry has already sprung up around P. Mil. Vogl. viii. 309 and several conferences have
been dedicated to it whose participants have extensively discussed all its aspects, both literary and historical.
I cannot discuss here any issues of composition and organization of the Hippika, but see: Bing (2003),
Fantuzzi (2004b, 2005), Kosmetatou (2004), Thompson (2005). Collections of papers: Acosta-Hughes,
Kosmetatou, and Baumbach (2004), with the important review and essential corrections by Bremer
(2004), Gutzwiller (2005). For all aspects of Hellenistic poetry books see also Gutzwiller (1998).
29
Bingen (2002a) 185.
30
Gutzwiller (1998) 27.
31
Kosmetatou (2004) 227, and the title of the chapter.
32
Fantuzzi (2005) 266.
33
Acosta-Hughes (2003).
34
See the cautious remarks on poetry as ‘propaganda’ in Barbantani (2001: 34–40).
35
Barbantani (2001) 12: ‘Mentre il futuro dell’ode arcaica, nell’ottica di Pindaro, è la sua riproposizione
canora e musicale durante il simposio, quello di un encomio ellenistico è la soppravivenza K º
Ø; cf.
also 81. Similarly, Fantuzzi (2005) 266. For a discussion of the term en bublois, Barbantani (2001) 103–6; see
also Cameron (1995) 29–46, who is dismissive of the exclusively ‘bookish culture’ postulated by many
scholars (whom he cites).
352 riet van bremen
situation, as both Alan Cameron and Silvia Barbantani have extensively argued.36
Even so, the awareness of transmission in written form is emphatically part of
how Alexandrian poets conceptualized a text’s survival and imagined its fame
being spread, as in the following military victory odes written for the Ptolemaic
court (Suppl. Hell. 969. 1–4):37


ººŒØ b æd E
Ø ½ØŒæ
 qºŁ

½ªÆE
Æ ‹ K½ ˝
º
ı½. . .
Æ ½
!½Æ 
ø f æ
H ½æ

æŁÆØ ¼ªÆº Æ?

¼Ø
 K º
Ø Æ Iؽº
Æ
Announcement of victory came to you many times, when to the land (?) of the Nile . . .
amongst all people you set up (a precious monument?) worthy (of) eternal glory in
books . . .

But such an awareness of what it is that guarantees future fame does not preclude
the poem’s (repeated) performance at court: the two modes were simply not
mutually exclusive—the same can be said, mutatis mutandis, of Classical epinikian
poetry: an awareness of the primacy of (choral) performance as a way of guar-
anteeing immortal fame does not preclude survival in written form.38 There was
in the Hellenistic period a continuing culture of public performance of poetry
(including epic-historic and enkomiastic poetry, as well as hymns) which was
recited during agōnes of all kinds, at religious festivals and civic celebrations, and
during celebrations at the court, including symposia. A large—and relatively well-
attested—class of itinerant poets of varying talent coexisted with the more rar-
efied, intellectual milieu of court poets for whom the reciting of their work must
almost always have been a prelude to its publication in written form.
The court was by no means the only area in which commemoration of
agonistic victory flourished. Nor was it exclusively here that innovation and
experimenting with form, genre, and content took place. In fact, what is distinct-
ive about this period is the extent to which literary and non-literary forms and
genres cross-fertilized and mutated, even more than they had done before, not
only in the major cultural centres and in the creative hands of poets like
Kallimachos and Poseidippos, but outside these, in the ‘real’ world of the cities.39

36
Above, n. 22.
37
As restored by Terzaghi: Barbantani (2001) 225–6, with other suggested restorations on p. 226; cf. 81:
‘il poeta encomiastico ellenistico non resta ancorata alle manifestazioni figurative o epigrafiche della lode,
ma diffonde ovunque giunga il commercio librario la gloria del suo committente: le scoperte ad Ai
Khanoum e nella æÆ egiziana assicurano che i testi greci potevano raggiungere i confini dell’ecumene
ellenofona.’
38
See Cameron (1995) 47–70, Barbantani (2001) introduction.
39
To characterize these developments, scholars use the terms ‘playing with forms’—Kallimachos’ use of
new metre for old genre is an example—and also ‘crossing of genres’: the adaptation of (elements of) one
genre such as the choral epinikian ode to the different genre of the victory epigram. See Fuhrer (1993)
esp. 95, with further refs. For crossing of genres in Pindar’s time, see Hornblower (2004) 30.
 th e e n t ir e h o u s e i s f u l l o f c ro w n s 353
We can observe Kallimachos playing with genre as he inserts into his victory ode
an epigram inscribed on the base of a (victory?) dedication set up by Sosibios in
the sanctuary of Zeus in Pelusium (l. 50), or breaking all the rules of the Classical
epinikion by having the laudandus himself announce his earlier victories—a
practice, however, well known from victory epigrams (ll. 35–43).40 But we
can also see the victory epigram itself, the bread and butter of agonistic
commemoration, beginning to lead a life of its own, acquiring what Ebert has
called a ‘gewissen monumentalen Eigenwert’,41 after having for so long been
subordinate to the monument on which it was inscribed, allowed only to indicate
the essentials of name, father, city, and victory.
Most of the surviving epigrams inscribed on stone come from monuments or
statue-bases set up in the victors’ home cities or in the major Panhellenic sanctu-
aries. These victory epigrams are longer and structurally more complex than
those of earlier periods, showing elements and motifs borrowed from Classical
epinician lyric such as narrative, or mythical allusions; and using words and verbal
forms that hark back to the language of Pindar and Bacchylides. Some of those
surviving are of high quality and have been described as ‘kurze Epinikien’, which
is perhaps a little fanciful given that most are not longer than 12 lines, and all,
despite their borrowings, retain what Ebert has called the ‘syntactic and intellec-
tual transparency of the old epigram’.42 But is is here, perhaps more than in
Kallimachos’ creative reworkings, that we come closest to the spirit and the
purpose of the Classical epinikion.43
It is useful, all the same, to realize that the verse-epigram was never the only, or
even the main, commemorative form: Moretti’s collection of Greek agonistic
inscriptions (published in 1953), along with many similar texts preserved in the
epigraphical corpora of Greek cities, show that prose inscriptions of great
factual succinctness—simple formulaic dedications or catalogues of victories—
continued unabated.44 And we must not forget that a new monumental
commemorative genre developed in cities, in the form of the honorific career
inscription, whose text could run to hundreds of lines. These records of civic

40
Fuhrer (1993) 95.
41
Ebert (1972) 18; general discussion of these developments: 10–25.
42
Ebert (1972) 21: ‘Auch in sprachlicher Hinsicht sind hier jene schon oben hervorgehobenen hellenis-
tischen Epigramme besonders zu erwähnen; nirgends sonst findet man so zahlreiche Anklänge an das alte
Epinikion, nirgends sonst so viele seltene Wörter (darunter mehrere hapax legomena) und Verbforme wie
gerade hier.’ It has been suggested, by Peek, that some may have been the products of a ‘school of poets’:
Ebert (1972) 19 and in the comments at no. 64, for Diotimos of Sidon, esp. 191, and no. 69, 205–8 with ref.
to Peek (1942).
43
In the case of a particularly fine Rhodian epigram for Hagesistratos, Ebert even wonders whether the
final three lines might not imply that a real victory song was sung in the victor’s home city (Ebert (1972) at
no. 72, p. 217): Ł½Æ b
 '

d ÆæÆ  Æ ¥Œ I Æ
 æ Æ 
æ
ıÆ ø;
K
x  e ŒÆººØŒ
 IŁ Œº

. See also above, n. 7 and below, n. 64.
44
Moretti (1953) ch. iii: good examples of the catalogue form are 35, 40, 44, 45.
354 r iet van bremen
excellence, typical of the third and second centuries bc, are uniquely revealing
documents, veritable mini biographies, recounting in great detail the education
and civic career of elite politicians and praising their moral qualities. What they
show most of all is the way in which, at least at elite level, athletics and competing
at the games were built into the careers of local benefactor-politicians. Bringing
back crowns from Panhellenic games as a hieronikēs was an ingredient of the ideal
elite career, just as frequenting the gymnasium had become a prerequisite of elite
education.45 One such inscription of the late second century, from Kolophon,46
mentions how Polemaios, son of Pantagnōtos applied himself to exercising in the
gymnasium, ‘training his mind with the best intellectual studies and his body
with regular athletic activity’ (col.i, 1–7). He then competed, and was crowned, in
sacred games, ‘and he brought those (crowns) back to his father city, sacrificing the
customary sacrifices to the gods’ (col. i, 7–11). Before embarking on a political career,
in other words, Polemaios became a hieronikēs, participating in the solemn home-
coming procession of hieronikai to which the text refers, and receiving the
privileges that were extended to such men, such as an honorary place in future
processions, at sacrificial ceremonies, and civic agōnes.47 His further career
contains elements that still link him to the world of agonistic festivals: he became
a theōros, or sacred ambassador,48 and was elected agonothete of his city’s own
sacred crown games.49
Honorific inscriptions such as this were themselves part of a complex of rituals
which culminated in the crowning of the honorand by the agonothete and the
proclamation of his name and title by the herald during the city’s main agonistic
festivals.50 These were rituals and honours directly derived from, and closely
associated with, the conferring of the victor’s crown and the proclamation of his
name by the herald during the Panhellenic games.51 It is this interweaving of the
agonistic and the political that I hope to bring out in the next section, which is
concerned with cities, in order to show—selectively, of necessity—at what
different levels, and how, the idea of agonistic victory and its commemoration
mattered.
45
On gymnasial education at this time, and on gymnasial games see now in particular Kah and Scholz
(2004), especially the chapters by Weiler and Kah, with Hatzopoulos’ response.
46
Robert and Robert (1989) 11–17; SEG 39. 1243.
47
Robert and Robert (1989) 21. ¯NªØ e 
Æ
 refers to the solemn procession in which the
hieronikai enter into the city and bring back their wreaths. Cf. Robert (1981) 347 n. 43 (¼ OMS vi. 441) and
(1967b) 17–18 and 21–7 (¼ OMS v. 357–8 and 361–7), with many examples, both poetic and from prose
inscriptions. ‘Le retour a lieu naturellement sur un char, NºÆØ, ce qui entraı̂ne à l’époque impériale
l’épithet NºÆØŒ pour un concours sacré (oecuménique) ‘‘qui donne le droit d’entrer dans la ville
‘sollennellement’ sur un char’’ ’ (21).
48
i. 29–38, with comment on pp. 26–7.
49
iv. 35–53, discussion pp. 51–6.
50
An example among many: I. Lampsakos no. 33, ll. 18–23, quoted in Robert and Robert (1989) 52 with
n. 26, with further discussion. See also Robert and Robert (1989) 58.
51
On the similarites see Gauthier (1985) 12.
 t h e e n t i r e h o u s e is fu l l of cr o w n s 35 5

3. crowns and civic careers

In an agonistic catalogue from the gymnasium at Chalkis, on Euboia, the names
of the young victors in the local gymnasial Herakleia are displayed in three tightly
packed rows of sculpted crowns: one of laurel, one of oak, and the third of
olive;52 each of the thirty-three crowns surrounds a victor’s name. Among
the names is that of Theokles, son of Pausanias, of Chalkis, victor in the pankra-
tion in the category of paides. The same Theokles was recognized by Denis
Knoepfler in a fragment of an unpublished agonistic catalogue of very similar
type. Here we find him, somewhat older, among the neōteroi, or young men, as
victor in eutaxia: ‘discipline’, during the Hermaia, another gymnasium-based
competition.53 Theokles’ name next occurs on two bronze coins of Chalkis
(Fig. 74),54 which, on the obverse, have the legend /ƺŒØ
ø, and an image
of a quadriga and charioteer spurring on his horses with his kentron, much in the
manner of the charioteer on the well-known gold staters of Philip II,55 while the
reverse shows an olive or laurel crown with inside it the name of ‘Theokles
Pausaniou’. In a brilliant argument too detailed to repeat here, Knoepfler
convincingly showed that the magistrate on the coins and the young athlete
were one and the same person. The coins had originally been dated to the time
of Augustus, or Nero, but Knoepfler placed them in the early years of the first
century bc, the gymnasial catalogues a few decades earlier.56 While others had
seen in the minuscule figure on the chariot Hera, holding her sceptre,57 and had
identified the coinage as stephanephoric, Knoepfler makes the point that the
mentioning of the magistrate’s father’s name on a coin is unusual (and in Chalkis
or Eretria is never attested at all), as is the placing of the magistrate’s own name
within the crown. Both can, however, be explained more easily if the context is an
agonistic one and the coin was meant to celebrate this monetary magistrate’s

52
IG xii 9. 952; Knoepfler (1979), photo on p. 168. The choice of leaves is aesthetic: there is no relation
to Panhellenic crowns.
53
Published in Knoepfler (1979) 169–71 with drawing and photo (fig. 3); cf. SEG 29. 806.
54
BMC Central Greece 115 (cf. lxiv) and pl. xxi.
55
Above, n. 11.
56
The argument is on pp. 184–6. Since the appearance of Knoepfler’s article, the date of this emission
has been much discussed, with O. Picard in particular now advocating a date in the late 1st cent., around the
time of Mark Antony, thereby revoking his earlier view that the issue belonged in the early years of the
Empire (Picard (1990) 257–8, referring to Amandry (1981) 55–6; Picard in Ducrey et al. (1993) 151–2).
Knoepfler himself somewhat lowered his original dating in light of a new agonistic catalogue from Thebes
which is prosopographically linked to that of Chalkis (Knoepfler (1992) 477; SEG 37. 388), but only to the
early decades of the 1st cent., pointing out (per. ep.) in support, that specimens of the Theokles coins
found in the Swiss excavations of Chalkis belong almost certainly to a destruction layer linked to the
Mithradatic war.
57
According to Picard it is she who also occurs on the city’s tetradrachms, on a chariot, holding her
sceptre, but majestically upright rather than wielding it like a charioteer’s goad: Knoepfler (1979) 187 with
nn. 111 and 112. Even on this earlier coin there are, in fact, no attributes to identify the figure unambiguously
as Hera.
3 56 riet van bremen
equestrian victory: the father’s name was a crucial element in commemorating the
victorious athlete, and the crown was the symbol of his victory. The Chalkidians,
in other words, respected the agonistic tradition even if it went against their usual
monetary customs.

Fig. 74. Bronze coin from Chalkis.

Obverse: a chariot and driver to r. with
the legend /`˚¸˜¯-˝ (split into
two: /`¸˚ above the chariot and
˜¯-˝ below). Reverse: wreath with
inside it the inscription
¨¯ˇ˚¸˙ —``˝ˇ

Not even the numismatist’s trained eye can be absolutely sure if the crown
surrounding Theokles’ name consists of laurel or olive leaves, but between
them, they may point to either a Pythian or Olympic victory, or just possibly a
Panathenaic one. Knoepfler, championing his man all the way to the hippo-
drome, saw no reason why the tiny figure on the obverse might not be Theokles
himself rather than a generic charioteer, an interpretation that has been rightly
questioned. But, having in all other respects so cleverly linked the boy-athlete and
the elite-politician, he must be allowed his final, confident, character sketch of the
Boiotian high-flyer in full: ‘The indisputable agonistic character of the coins is in
perfect accord with the brilliant athletic future promised to young Theokles by
the crowns he won as a boy in the Herakleia and as a young man in the Hermaia:
it is not surprising that this boy, so solid and resistant (the pankration, in which
he excelled when still small, is an extremely violent sport), as well as disciplined
(he gained a prize for eutaxia when a young man), hardly paused for breath on
the way to success.’58
The use of an athletic metaphor to sum up young Theokles’ career is entirely in
keeping with the language of Hellenistic honorific decrees in which benefactor/
politicians are routinely praised for competitive qualities such as philotimia, ‘love
of honour’, and ekteneia, ‘effort’, qualities they needed when participating in what
was to all intents and purposes a ‘course aux bienfaits’, a ‘race to be generous’, in
which they were æd H K

ø IªøØÆ , ‘competitors for the
58
Coins with generic charioteers (as against recognizable individual ones) on the obverse are
well known already in the 5th cent., e.g. from Syracuse, Gela, Kamarina, Leontinoi, with the driver
often crowned by a flying Nike. See e.g. Klose and Stumpf (1996) 65–75. O. Picard was doubtless right
to question Knoepfler’s identification of the charioteer with Theokles, but I do not understand why it
should also be impossible for the figure to be a mortal: ‘Qu’il tienne un sceptre ou, comme le pense
Knoepfler, un aiguillon, le cocher qui figure au droit ne peut être un simple mortel, même vainqueur
olympique; ce ne peut être qu’un dieu, et pour les Chalcidiens, Héra’. In fact, Picard denies the
coin’s agonistic symbolism altogether, both of the crown and the quadriga (Picard in Ducrey et. al.
(1993) 152 n. 4).
 t h e e n t i r e h o u s e i s fu l l o f cr o w n s 357
greatest glory’,59 with as their reward a victor’s crown.60 It is at this time that the
word philoponia, ‘love of effort, hard work, sweat’, taken directly from the world
of the gymnasium, entered the mainstream of honorific political vocabulary and
became one of the civic politician’s much-praised qualities.61 Implying physical
rather than mental effort, the word is derived from the ponoi endured while
training or engaging in heavy athletic competition during which one drives
oneself to the limit. L. Robert has collected many examples, among which the
most striking has to be this little epigram for young Dorokleidas of Thera, boxer
and pankratiast (ll. 3–6):

< ŒÆ ŒÆØØ Ø Æ¥ Æ
: Iºº !Ø Łæ e

F Æ 
:
æø ŒºæA ÆE Ie ıª ÆÆ
!Æ ƪŒæÆ
ı Ææf K 
½:
± b Æ Ig
d ˜øæ
ŒºÆ r  IŁº
æ
.
Victory comes to boxers with (much) blood; and yet the boy, his breath still hot after the
tough boxing contest, applied himself (straightaway) to the heavy ponos of the pankration,
and one single day saw Dorokleidas twice victorious.62

More exalted, and with clear references to the language of the Classical epinikion,63
is an early second-century epigram from Rhodes for the boy Hagesistratos,
son of Polykreon, much praised for its language and form by both Ebert and
Peek.64 Here, too, the emphasis is on ponoi and the ‘heavy-handedness’ of the
wrestling-match (ÆæØæÆ ºÆ: a hapax word reminiscent of Homeric
formulations).65

The heavy-handed wrestling match, Olympian Zeus, was won at your agōn
—so I announce—by a boy from Rhodes, without falling,
Hagesistratos son of Polykreon,
first to grant the happy gift to sacred Lindos
O ruler, when he obtained the Pisaian prize,

59
From a decree for the Milesian benefactor-politician Eirenias (c. 165 bc): P. Herrmann, MDAI 15
(1965) 73, ii and ii, l. 11.
60
Gauthier (1985) 12.
61
Wörrle (1995) 244.
62
Robert, (1967b) 12 n. 2 (¼OMS v. 352 n. 2): ‘#غ

Æ est un des termes typiques du gymnase’; also
Hellenica 11–12: 342–9: —
 et 
Ø s’emploient pour les fatigues de la guerre, pour celles aussi de la
chasse. Ils s’appliquent aux exercises physiques du gymnase’ (344). Cf. Ziebahrt (1914) 121, 142–4.
The epigram for Dorokleidas is Moretti, (1953) 55 (1st cent. bc).
63
In l. 2: IHÆ, cf. Pindar, Olympian 9. 92; ŒÆººØŒ
 μ

 in l. 9: cf. N. 3. 18; I. 1. 12; 5. 54; cf.
the comments of Ebert (1972) ad loc.
64
Ebert (1972) no. 72 with extensive comments; Peek (1942); cf. above, nn. 7 and 43. The epigram has a
slightly earlier (late 3rd-cent.) pendant in Ebert (1972) no. 69, also from Rhodes, for Kleonymos’ victory in
the two-horse chariot race at the Nemean games, of whose unusual hymnic opening lines Peek writes that
it finds a parallel ‘nur im pindarischen Epinikion’: Peek (1942) 209, drawing further parallels.
65
Ebert (1972) at no. 72. EæÆ ÆæEÆ in Homer Iliad 1. 219, quoted in Ebert (1972) 215, with further
parallels. Cf. Peek (1942).
358 riet van bremen
by wrestling three boys of his own age down onto the broad earth.
To his father-city Rhodes came glorious Fame
bringing everlasting joy for the efforts ( ponoi)
for which the glory of beautiful victory is sung.

Philoponia, transferred onto the educational plane, became one of the categories
in which paides like Theokles, Dorokleidas, and Hagesistratos competed: in
gymnasia all over the Greek world, crowns were awarded to young victors
in philoponia, euexia, and eutaxia (‘physical endurance’, ‘manly appearance’, ‘dis-
cipline’).66 The paides of Pergamon were even divided into groups called eutaktoi,
philoponoi, euektai.67 The politician, willing to lay himself on the line for his city
and to give it his all, the ‘Polisfanatiker’, as M. Wörrle has memorably called him,
was philoponos: no effort was too great for him, he would literally bite the dust for
his city.68 That he was, even so, no longer an athlete in the real sense of the word
is, however, also true: the sweaty reality of hard physical training belonged to the
formative stages of the elite-politician’s youth, before the serious political life
took over, and equestrian glory became an honourable alternative. This is, of
course, a generalization, because boundaries were always fluid, as Mark Golden
has shown: some men went on competing longer than others, some took to
horse-racing already in youth, but the broad pattern of athletic competition in
youth, followed by equestrian competition later in life, seems to hold pretty well,
for this period as much as before; for an elite male it certainly constituted the
ideal. It may be mentioned here that Sosibios, too, had been a runner and a
wrestler before he owned chariots: winning a prize amphora at Athens, ‘a token
of prowess in wrestling’ (35–7), and ‘Ptolemy, son of Lagos, at your games [the
Ptolemaia, at Alexandria] I won the victory prize in the double course’.69 If, like
Theokles, one had the wealth to keep a racing stable, and to compete in the great
equestrian events, then age was no hindrance to victory (nor, as we shall see, was
being female) and the glory of an equestrian crown reflected as brilliantly on one’s
home city as did a hard-won victory in the pankration: there is no sign, in this
period, of the suspicion and envy aroused by being a horse-breeding aristocrat.70
Even so, equestrian victors are relatively rare among the elites of the eastern
Greek cities, reflecting the fact that few of the new Panhellenic agōnes that were
created here in the course of the third and second centuries bc had equestrian
competitions on their programme: they were too expensive, and the chances of

66
The terms are approximations. The categories occur in the well-known gymnasiarchic law from
Beroia. For a discussion see Gauthier and Hatzopoulos (1993) 102–5.
67
The paides of Pergamon: Ziebahrt (1914) 143; philoponia in general in gymnasial victor lists: 142–4
with examples; philoponia of the neoi, 144.
68
Wörrle (1995) 244.
69
Golden (1997) 331–3.
70
Cf. Hornblower (2004) 250–61, on Alkibiades and Megakles, both of whom ‘fell foul of the
democracy’.
 t h e e n t i r e h o u s e is f u l l of cr o w n s 35 9
attracting enough competitors for what were often regional events (even if
Panhellenic in name) must have been slim for many.71 The exception were the
games instituted by kings, such as the Ptolemaia of Alexandria, founded by
Ptolemy II, or the Nikephoria of Pergamon.72
No glorious epinikion survives for Antenor son of Xenares, of Miletos,
although it might have done. I single him out to end this section not so much
because he was yet another philoponos pankratiast, and an athlete of some renown
(a periodonikēs no less), nor even because of his amorously athletic activities with
the Athenian hetaira Mania (Machon, in Athen. 578 f.),73 but because his was the
kind of family from which the new court aristocracy of the Hellenistic period
emerged (compare Polykrates of Argos in the next section). Antenor, of the
generation of Polykrates’ father, belonged to one of Miletos’ leading political
families, whose importance continued into the Roman period. His athletic fame
came from having won the pankration at Olympia in 308 as well as the other three
Panhellenic festivals of the same cycle. He received the rare honour of Athenian
citizenship in 306 and was praised in a decree for his philotimia and eunoia
towards the Athenian people. Even though the details of his further career escape
us, it was important enough for the Milesians to grant him the great honour of a
burial in the gymnasium of the neoi (an honour also extended to his two sons, his
grandson, and great-grandson).74 Men like Antenor moved easily in international
circles: from families such as his, ambassadors and theōroi were recruited, whose
diplomatic contacts with kings and their entourage served as a lifeline for their
home cities. For that very reason they were, or became, themselves ‘court
material’ and it was through these men in particular that the world of the cities
and that of the court intersected, politically and agonistically.
71
Even for non-equestrian events there could be competitions for which no one entered: the Rōmaia
catalogue from the Letōon at Xanthos shows the agonothete several times laying the victor’s wreath ‘on the
altar of Roma because nobody had entered’, Øa e 
Æ I
ªªæŁÆØ. Robert (1978) 277–8 (text);
282–6 for discussion and further examples (¼ OMS vii. 681–2 and 686–90).
72
Vial (2003) 313, 319. On the Ptolemaia see Huss (2001) 320 ff. Instituted in 279/78 as funeral games
and sacrifices for his parents, the Saviour Gods (Syll.3 390. 21; cf. SEG 28. 60) they were conceived as
isolympic even though they had a musical element which the Olympics never had. Among the civic games,
the Rhodian Halieia, the Leukophryena at Magnesia on the Maeander, and the Rōmaia celebrated at
Xanthos by the Lykian koinon had equestrian events. The anonymous competition on Chios, in which
Mithradates VI of Pontos famously competed, also had equestrian events: Robert (1935) (¼ OMS i. 520–1).
73
‘The pankratiast Leontiskos was once the lover of Mania, and kept her for himself like a wife. When,
later, he discovered that she had been two-timing him with Antenor he was furious. But she said: ‘‘Do not
be upset, my darling, I just wanted to learn and experience what two athletes, Olympic victors, could do,
blow by blow, in a single night.’’ ’
74
The family is known in particular from a long early imperial inscription from Didyma (I Didyma 259)
in which a prophet of Apollo lists his many illustrious forefathers. On the family see Habicht (1991); on
Antenor, Osborne (1983) 83–5, with all further refs. including to his activities in Miletos in the 280s and
270s (though omitting I Didyma 259, which only Habicht mentions); Moretti (1957) 488. Doubtless
because of Antenor’s reputation and connections with Athens, his great-grandson Euandrides was sent
by the Milesians at the head of a delegation of sacred ambassadors to the Eleusinian Mysteries in the early
2nd cent.
360 r i e t v a n b re me n

4. kings and courtiers

At the end of the third century bc, in the Panathenaic games of 202 bc, Zeuxo,
Eukrateia and Hermione, daughters of Polykrates of Argos, the governor of
Ptolemaic Cyprus, were victorious in three separate equestrian events.75 The
girls’ mother, Zeuxo, daughter of Ariston of Cyrene, gained a victory in the
Panathenaia of 198 bc in the four-horse chariot drawn by colts, while, in that
same year, the victor in the four-horse chariot was Polykrates son of Mnasiades of
Argos, her husband and the girls’ father.76 That Zeuxo Aristonos Kyrenaia, the
name and ethnic by which she was listed on the victor list, was the wife of
Polykrates, is known only from an inscription on two statue bases from the
sanctuary of Aphrodite at Paphos, inscribed: ‘to Aphrodite of Paphos, Stratonike
Nikiou, of Alexandria (set up the statue of) Zeuxo Aristonos, of Cyrene, the wife
of Polykrates the stratēgos and high priest’. The second statue was set up by the
city of Paphos.77 Both belong to a large Polykratean family group of which
other bases survive for Polykrates himself, for Hermione and Zeuxo, and for
Polemaios, their brother.78 Zeuxo’s home city, Cyrene, was a city famous for its
fine horses and chariots: hØ
 (Pindar, P. 4. 2) and Pæ Æ
 (P. 4. 8)
where, in the words of Louis Robert ‘le goût des chars était spécialement dével-
oppé et où les grandes familles tenaient à honneur d’entretenir des chevaux de
course’.79 It is even possible, Robert speculated, that the female name Zeuxo
(derived from the root %ıª- or yoke), like the male name Zeuxippos, was
traditional in these families because of their taste for race horses. In fact, LGPN
(vol. i) does not bear out Robert’s suggestion: apart from this mother and
daughter, there are only two other attestations of the name, both later.80 But
that does not invalidate the more general point about the Cyrenean elite’s taste
for racing, even if on this occasion the horses with which the members of this
family were victorious at Athens may well have come from the Argive stables of

75
IG ii2 2313, l. 9: Zeuxo, with the the colt-drawn chariot; l. 13: Eukrateia, with the two-horse chariot; l.
15: [Hermio]ne, with the full four-horse chariot. On these catalogues see now Tracy and Habicht (1991).
Zeuxo: Pros. Ptol. 17212; Eukrateia: Pros. Ptol. 17210; Hermione: Pros. Ptol. 17209—she served still in 170/69
as athlophoros of Berenike Euergetis in Alexandria (Clarysse and van der Veken (1983) 26). Polykrates: Pros.
Ptol. 2172 and 15065; Walbank, Pol. i. 589 and iii. 203–5; Tracy and Habicht (1991) 230, point out that he was
probably related to Polykrateia of Argos, the mother of the Macedonian king Perseus. Polybios 5. 64. 6 for
his father; statues on Cyprus: Mitford (1961) 15–18 nos. 40–6; statue on Delos: IG xi. 4. 1177.
76
The mother’s victory: IG ii2, 2313. 59–60; Pros. Ptol. 17211. Polykrates: IG ii2 2313. 62. Tracy and
Habicht (1991) 230; BE (1949) 202: 152; Pros. Ptol. 2172 and 15065. On the impossibility of Polykrates’ name
and that of his daughter, Hermione, being restored in IG ii2 2314 in ll. 95–6 and 103–5 respectively, see
Tracy and Habicht (1991) 223.
77
Mitford (1961) nos. 41 and 44.
78
Polykrates: nos. 42 and 43; his father Menekrates (also 43) Zeuxo and Hermione: no. 45; Polemaios:
nos. 44 and 46. For a possible reconstruction of the monument see Mitford’s commentary at no. 45, p. 18.
79
BE (1949) 202.
80
LGPN s.v. ˘Ø
 is not attested at all for Cyrene, one ˘ØÆ belongs to the first cent.
bc/ad and there is one ˘FØ in the 3rd cent. bc.
 t h e e n t i r e h o u s e is f u l l of cr o w n s 36 1
Polykrates himself: transporting horses and chariots over long distances was
something to be avoided if possible, and Argos, too, had a reputation for
horse-rearing.81
This family embodies many of the aspects that characterize the new Hellenistic
elites: its roots were in the Greek world of the cities but in all other ways it was
firmly focused on the court. The marriage of Zeuxo and Polykrates was across
city-state boundaries. Though once an aristocratic prerogative, this kind of
connection had all but disappeared in the world of the Classical city-states
where civic endogamy had become the norm; it was still unusual in Hellenistic
cities. Among the families that became part of the new court aristocracy, how-
ever, such marriages must once again have become functional—and perhaps even
fashionable.82 It is all the more interesting then to see how carefully the recording
conventions of the Panathenaia adhere to the traditional ‘name, father, city’ triad
in designating the victor: Argos for Polykrates, Cyrene for Zeuxo (from the
lists alone we would not have known of the marriage), Argos for their three
daughters. For all of them the court at Alexandria must have been a second
home. One of the daughters, Hermione, is on record, in 170/69 bc, as athlophoros
(‘prize-bearer’—on the title see below), or priestess, of Berenike II Euergetis in
Alexandria.83
Both in the conspicuous family monument in Paphos and in the grand victor-
ies of mother and daughters, the new, dynastic, family-orientated ideology of the
Ptolemaic court is in evidence. The family’s equestrian passions echoed the
Ptolemies’ own enthusiasms, and the women’s prominence reflects that of the
Ptolemaic queens and princesses.84 Whether the Athenian Greater Panathenaia
was a particular focus for members of the Ptolemaic court, or whether it is simply
the accident of survival that allows us a snapshot of several Panathenaic years is
not easy to say. Political relations between Athens and the Ptolemaic kings were
certainly good in the period for which we have evidence.85 The Panathenaic
victor lists that survive (202, 198, 182, 178, 170, 166, 162, 158, 150, and 146 bc
(or 146 and 142 bc) read, in their equestrian sections, much like a royal roll-call,
with several members of the Attalid dynasty also in evidence.86 It is worth
running through these names in some detail.

81
Argos and horses: cf. already Homer’s ` . æª
 ƒ

; Pindar’s ` . æª
 ¥ Ø
 (I. 7. 11), also
Eur. Or. 1621 and Iph. T. 700.
82
Van Bremen (2003) 317–22.
83
Clarysse and van der Veken (1983) 26.
84
See below, Section 5.
85
Cf. Huss (2001) 520–1; Habicht (1994) 148–56.
86
New lists, covering the years 170, 166, and 162 bc and preserving almost complete the record of the
victors in the equestrian events, were published by S. Tracy and Chr. Habicht in 1991 (SEG 41. 115); the ‘old’
lists are IG ii2, 2313–17, covering the games of 202 and 198 bc (2313), 182 and 178 bc (2314), 158 bc (2316),
and 150 and 146 bc or 146 and 142 bc (2317—but here most of the names are lost); 2315 may be part of the
‘new’ lists: see Tracy’s discussion 217–21. As Tracy points out, none of the lists in fact specifically names the
362 riet van bremen
In the games of 202 bc, besides Polykrates’ daughters, we meet Alkemachos of
Epeiros (IG ii2 2313, 24), whose father, Charops, is well known as a statesman
and ambassador to the Seleukid and Ptolemaic courts; Demetrios, Charops’
brother, was Ptolemy V’s commander of Kourion on Cyprus: another Cyprus
connection.87 The catalogue of 198 bc, as we saw, has Polykrates himself and
Zeuxo; that of 182 bc lists Ptolemy V Epiphanes and his elder son Ptolemy VI
Philometor (IG ii2 2314, 41 and 56); in 178 bc all four sons of King Attalos I of
Pergamon gained equestrian victories (2314, 83–90). In 170 bc two women
of the Ptolemaic court did the same: Eirene of Alexandria, daughter of
Ptolemaios, Polykrates’ successor as governor of Cyprus (Tracy and Habicht,
‘New’ lists, col. i, 33; cf. SEG 41. 115, ibidem), won the colt chariot race,88 while
Olympio, ‘from Lakedaimon’, daughter of Agetor and sister of Pedestratos,
who was in the service of Ptolemy VI Philometor, won in the four-horse
chariot race (i. 34).89 In that same year, Eumenes II of Pergamon won the
chariot race competing KΠH 
ºØØŒH, that is, in the competitions open
only to citizens (i. 38; his Athenian tribe is listed, here for the first time, as
Attalis) and his brother Attalos (II) the straight course with a two-horse
chariot: ıøæØ IŒ Ø
 (also competing among the citizens: same
tribe, i. 48). In 162 bc, Kleopatra II, sister and wife of Philometor, won in
the long-distance horse race: ¥ øØ 
ºıæ
½øØ
^ competing among the
citizens (iii. 22), while Philometor himself won an unknown event (iii. 32)
competing among the citizens; his tribe is listed as Ptolemais. In the same year
Agathokleia, daughter of Noumenios, governor of the Thebais and priest of
Ptolemy I Soter, won the single horse race in the open competition (iii. 18),90
and Eumenes II of Pergamon won the war-chariot race: –æ ÆØ

º Øæø½Ø
(iii. 24). Ptolemy VI Philometor was victorious again in
158 bc (2316, 45), and we also meet Mastanabas, son of Masinissa, king of
Nubia, who won with the chariot drawn by two colts (2316, 41). In either 150
or 146 bc the Seleukid Alexander Balas, son of Antiochos IV Epiphanes, makes
an appearance as the only royal Seleukid competitor and victor in these lists.91
festival (190–2) but he convincingly argues for their status as Panathenaic lists. I am much indebted to these
authors’ exemplary discussion of the individuals in these lists and refer to their pp. for a more detailed
discussion than I can give here. Ptolemaic and Attalid kings ‘very probably had hereditary citizenship and
were members of the tribe named for their ancestors, they sponsor events in the hippodrome, often among
those restricted to citizens’ (Tracy and Habicht (1991) 202 with n. 48).
87
Habicht (1973–4) 316–18.
88
Pros. Ptol. 5104; Tracy and Habicht (1991) 213–14; Clarysse and van der Veken (1983). She too received
a statue, set up by her son, on Cyprus, in the temple of Artemis Paralia at Kition. She was first priestess of
Arsinoe Philopator, continuously from 199 to 170 bc. Her father’s ancestral city was Megalopolis.
89
Tracy and Habicht (1991) 214.
90
Agathokleia: Pros. Ptol. 14617; Mooren (1975) 70, no. 024; 88, no. 049; Tracy and Habicht (1991) 213.
91
Tracy and Habicht (1991) 233. There are, however, several victors from Antioch on the Kydnos
(Tarsos renamed): ii. 27, 29, 31, and 33, including a woman, Eugeneia, daughter of Zenon (i. 29) and 2316,
47. Citizens of Antioch on the Pyramos gained victories at the Nemeian games and at Olympia as well as at
 t he e n t i r e ho u s e i s f u l l o f c r o w n s 363
As C. Habicht remarked, ‘since only the victors are registered on the surviving
Panathenaic victory lists it can . . . be assumed that more members of the (Ptol-
emaic) king’s family and entourage participated than those listed as victorious; it
can also be assumed that if we had complete records, more of them would appear
as victors.’92 Even without the benefit of perfect knowledge the main point about
these victory catalogues is clear: participation in the equestrian events of the
Panathenaia was very much a matter for the new Graeco-Macedonian elite of the
Ptolemaic court, plus a sprinkling of other royalty. The Athenian Greater
Panathenaia ranked in status alongside the four traditional games of the periodos:
Olympia, Nemea/Argos, Corinth, and Delphi, and were thus grand enough for
kings and their courtiers to compete in. The equestrian programme was elaborate
and extensive (it was divided between events open only to citizens and others
open to all),93 and attracted, in the ‘open’ events, in the hippodrome, a wide
range of non-royal competitors, from places as far apart as Seleukeia on Tigris,
Kition on Cyprus, Liguria, Cilicia, and Thrace.94
No Panathenaic lists survive for the third century bc, but from a number of
sources, including, now, Poseidippos’ Hippika, we know that earlier generations
of Ptolemaic kings and their courtiers are on record as competitors at the (other)
four Panhellenic sanctuaries, always in equestrian events (although see below,
Section 6 for a boxer sponsored by Ptolemy Philadelphos, and the list below for
two other athletes possibly also competing for Ptolemy I). The list below owes
much to Lucia Criscuolo’s recent discussion and redating of the victories referred
to in Poseidippos’ epigrams.95
kings
Ptolemy I Soter: a victory with the ıøæ (pair of horses) at Delphi in 310
bc (Paus. 10. 7. 8).96 A chariot victory at Olympia (Pos. 78 and 88). At Nemea a
statue of Ptolemy (I?) was set up by two athletes, victorious in the Nemean
and Isthmian games (SEG 30. 264; cf. below, p. 374 n. 131). Lagos, a son of
Ptolemy I, was victorious at the Arkadian Lykaia in 308/7 bc (Syll3. no. 314V);
Ptolemy Philadelphos, chariot race at Olympia (Pos. AB 88). An equestrian
statue of him at Olympia (Paus. 6. 16. 9). Arsinoe i gained a triple Olympic

the Herakleia in Thebes. Refs. in Savalli-Lestrade (2005) 31–2, who comments on the wealthy horse-
breeding elites of the Cilician plains and suggests that they would have been able to ‘faire briller leurs
écuries aussi plus près de chez elles, notamment lors des fêtes organisés par les Séleucides en Syrie’ (32).
92
Habicht (1994) 150–1.
93
See the discussion in Tracy and Habicht (1991) 198–201: equestrian events took place either in the
hippodrome, where they were divided into citizens only and open events, and in the dromos in the city,
where events had a military character and were open only to citizens.
94
Tracy and Habicht (1991) 214–16, 229–32.
95
Criscuolo (2003).
96
Pausanias does not mention a victory at Olympia. Paus. 6. 3. 1. is not a statue of Ptolemy, as Criscuolo
(318) thinks, but one set up by him; nor is there a statue of Ptolemy mentioned in 6. 16. 2.
364 r i e t v a n b re me n
victory ‘for harnessed races’ in a single competition, celebrated by Poseidippos
(AB 78.7–8). Berenike i: a chariot victory at Olympia, eclipsing Kyniska’s
Spartan glory (Pos. AB 87), same (?) victory reported by her son Ptolemy II,
who refers to her kleos and that of her husband, Ptolemy I (AB 88), also by the
young Berenike (AB 78. 5); Berenike II (daughter of Magas and Apama,
adopted by Ptolemy II Philadelphos and Arsinoe, then wife of Ptolemy III) is
usually thought to be the subject of Kallimachos’ Victory of Berenike (Suppl. Hell.
254–68), though it has now been suggested, by Criscuolo, that in this ode, too,
the subject was Berenike ‘the Syrian’.97 The title of athlophoros, prize-bearer, for
the priestess of her cult (instituted by her son Ptolemy IV) is probably derived
from the task the priestess had of carrying the many prizes gained by Berenike in
equestrian competitions.98 Her equestrian enthusiasms are also referred to in a
later Latin source: Hyginus, Astronomica ii. 24: ‘Hanc Berenicen nonnulli cum
Callimacho dixerunt equos alere et ad Olympia mittere consuetam fuisse’.99
Berenike the Syrian: daughter of Ptolemy II and Arsinoe I, given in marriage
to Antiochos II in 252, as a (young) princess gained many victories, which are
commemorated in Poseidippos (AB 78, 79, 80? 81, 82). No. 79 has her winning
‘all the crowns for harnessed racing en bloc’ at Nemea; 78 records a victory at
Olympia with a full four-horse team; in 81 though not named, she gains the
‘Doric celery crown’ with the four-horse chariot twice (so Nemea or Isthmus); in
80, which is a fragment, there is perhaps a Nemean victory; there is another
Isthmian in 82 with the four-horse chariot, as a girl, with her father, Ptolemy II.
Criscuolo (2003: 317) argues that it is highly unlikely that a Ptolemaic princess
would have been competing at Argos in or after the late 250s since from that date
the tyrant Aristomachos I caused the city to go over to the Antigonid side: this is
a strong argument both for an earlier dating of the victories mentioned in these
epigrams (260s and early 250s) and, implicitly, for attributing them to Berenike
the Syrian, before her marriage to Antiochos, rather than Berenike II.
courtiers
Tlepolemos son of Artapates, of Xanthos, governor of Lykia, eponymous
priest of Alexander and the Theoi Soteres and Adelphoi in 247–245 (Clarysse and
van der Veken 1983: 44a and 45), was victorious in an equestrian event at
Olympia in 256 bc.100 Glaukon son of Eteokles of Athens and brother of

97
Criscuolo (2003) 331–3 suggests a different, and very plausible, restoration of the scholion to Suppl.
Hell. 254–5 which explains the  Æ; ŒÆ½ت
ø ƒæe Æx Æ ŁH (above, pp. 349–50).
98
Parsons (1977) 45 discussing Kallimachos’ Victoria Berenices; cf. Bingen (2002b: 51): ‘quand Ptolémée
IV a voulu honorer sa mère par une prêtrise alexandrine éponyme, il s’inspira de ses exploits aux courses
attelées et créa la dignité d’athlophore de Bérénice Euergétis’; n. 9: ‘je ne crois pas qu’on peut hésiter
surtout après le témoignage de Posidippe, sur le sens d’IŁº
æ
’. Ironically, neither author may be right
about the identity of ‘his’ Berenike.
99
But on the dubious nature of this source see Criscuolo (2003) 313 n. 10.
100
He is the author of a recently much discussed letter to Kildara in Karia: SEG 42. 994.
 t h e e n t i r e h o u s e is f u l l of cr o w n s 36 5
the famous Chremonides, eponymous priest in Alexandria in 255/54, gained a
victory at Olympia with the quadriga (IvO 178; Pausanias 6. 16. 9) in 272 bc (so
Moretti (1957) 542) but 268 or 276 are possible too, cf. Criscuolo (2003) 320–2).
SEG 32. 415 (IvO 296) is a statue base from Olympia in honour of Glaukon
convincingly redated by Criscuolo to Ptolemy II, rather than III. Kallikrates
of Samos: a victory at Delphi, probably in 274,101 commemorated by Poseidip-
pos (AB 74). Etearchos (AB 76) whose horse won the single race at the
Ptolemaia, the Isthmian, Nemean, and Pythian games, was most probably
Etearchos of Cyrene who set up a statue of Sostratos of Knidos on Delos in 279
(Criscuolo (2003) 324–5 for his identity). Sosibios, minister of Ptolemy IV, in
Kallimachos’ Victory of Sosibios (fr. 384 Pfeiffer); ?Belistiche/Bilistiche, mis-
tress of Ptolemy II: perhaps to be identified with the woman who won victories at
Olympia in 268 and 264 bc, but this is not certain. Paus. 5. 8. 10–11: ‘At the ninety-
ninth festival they resolved to hold contests for chariots drawn by foals, and
Sybariades of Lakedaimon won the garland with his chariot and foals. Afterwards
they added races for chariots and pairs of foals, and for single foals with rider. It is
said that the victors proclaimed were: ‘‘for the chariot and pair, Belistiche, a
woman from the seaboard of Macedonia . . . ’’, etc.’ The restoration of P. Oxy.
:
2082 ¼ FGrH 257a: ½´ØºØ 
ƌ
 øºØŒ½e
 ½
ŁæØ

Æh
—
º ƽ
ı #غÆ
º
ı )
Æ ½æ
Æ K, the only source, perhaps to identify
this woman with the mistress, is on the imaginative side and should be treated
with some scepticism.102
One of Poseidippos’ shorter epigrams (AB 76), for Etearchos (of Cyrene),
catches some of the enthusiasm with which these courtiers must have followed
the achievements of their horses:103

It is stretched flat out, galloping on the tip of its hooves, as for Etearchos this [famous]
Arab horse bears away the prize. Having won the Ptolemaic and Isthmian contests, and at
Nemea twice, it refuses to overlook the Delphic crowns.

101
Bing (2003) 251, on the date, arguing that the victory would have been gained before Kallikrates
became first priest of the Theoi Adelphoi in 272/1.
102
Moretti (1957) 549. Most scholars accept the identification, based mainly on P. Oxy. 2082. Recently
however, Criscuolo (2003: 319–20) has questioned the reliability of the restored text and has argued that
the Macedonian woman and the Ptolemaic ‘mistress’ may not have anything in common but their name.
On the ‘mistress’ (¼ Pros. Ptol. vi. 14717) Bingen (2002b: 51) writes: (elle) ‘semble avoir été un personnalité
de la cour beaucoup plus influente que ne l’eût été la favorite d’un moment pour Ptolémée II’ (as she is
more or less described in Cameron, below); ‘Bilistiche fut canéphore d’Arsinoé Philadelphe en 251/50
(IJsewijn (1961) n. 35; Clarysse and van der Veken (1983) n. 40) et fut honorée après sa mort d’un culte en
tant qu’Aphrodite Bilistichè . . . Il n’y a pas lieu, à mon avis, d’ajouter au dossier de Bilistiche, ni à celui de
Posidippe, l’épigramme APV 202, comme le propose A. Cameron.’ Cameron’s attribution (1990: 295–304;
1995: 17, 243–6) does not work in any case if Criscuolo is right about the over-confident identification of the
‘mistress’ as the Olympic victor.
103
‘In the choice of horses these men were connoisseurs’ writes D. Thompson (2005: 280) with refs. to
several passages in the Zenon papyri which show the buying and selling of horses, concern about feed, etc.
Fantuzzi (2005) 250 suggests a link with pharaonic passion for horse-racing, referring to Decker (1987) 54–62.
366 r iet v an bremen
Or another, for Molykos (AB 72):
Behold the colt’s tenacity, how it draws its breath with all its body and its flanks are all
stretched as when it ran at Nemea. It brought Molykos the celery crown as it triumphed
by a mere dip of its head.

Of course, the poet wants us to admire the (imaginary?) sculptor’s craft in

creating a horse so lifelike that it appears to be galloping as we admire the bronze
image, and stoop simultaneously to read the epigram on its imaginary base. That
clever imitation of life, and the vivid immediacy of the impression—typical of
Hellenistic epigrams though they are—do not diminish the immediacy with
which the original events themselves are evoked: the excitement of the race is
tangible in the poems as we read them, and as we know they were (also) read in
antiquity, without the benefit of the bronze images, among the other Hippika
in this particular epigram collection. The virtue of these epigrams is precisely to
bring home to us the context of Panhellenic competition, and the reality of
the excitement and the glory of victory: for kings and their courtiers as much as
for others.104
It is perhaps tempting fate to quote in support the Pergamene epigram
commemorating Attalos’ victory in the chariot race at Olympia (above, p. 346),
not least because it so obviously takes as its example the description, in
Sophokles’ Elektra (698 ff.), of Orestes’ fatal chariot race: ‘Many chariots had
come from Libya, and many from Argos, many from fertile Thessaly, among
them was also Attalos’, and so on, in an extraordinarily vivid, tense, reporting
style, from the snapping of the starting ribbon all the way to the final release of
victory and acclaim by the ‘myriads of Hellenes’.105 Conscious, and clever,
imitation of a literary model it may be, but this is the text that was chosen
to be inscribed on the large base which once carried a glorious equestrian
monument, prominently placed in the precinct of Athena’s sanctuary. It, together
with the—now largely lost—epigram alongside it commemorating another
victory,106 was meant to be read by all who stopped to admire the monument,
so that they might recreate in their minds the clouds of dust and the galloping
of Attalos’ victorious horses.
One of the longer epigrams in the Hippika, too, celebrates a tumultuous
victory, this time in the four-horse chariot race at Delphi of Kallikrates of
Samos, admiral of the Ptolemaic fleet under Ptolemy II (the two events were

104
In one of the epigrams we read of young Berenike (the ‘much-garlanded Macedonian child’),
‘whom, near the citadel of Corinth, Peirene’s majestic water admired, together with her father Ptolemy’
(Pos. 82. 3–6). Was the young princess there? Did she cheer on her horses? D. Thompson (2005: 272)
assumes her presence: ‘Successful racing stables are the stuff of queens and kings, today as in the Hellenistic
world and, as now, a Ptolemaic princess was prepared to travel to watch her horses win.’
105
Ebert (1972) 59, with extensive commentary.
106
Ebert (1972) 178.
 t h e e n t i r e h o u s e is fu l l of cr o w n s 36 7
very close in time: 276 bc for Attalos’ victory; 274 for that of Kallikrates, and there
are sufficient echoes in the latter to suspect that Poseidippos may have been
familiar with the former). I give the text in full, even though it has already been
much discussed,107 because it too so vividly depicts what it must have been like to
‘be there’.

At Delphi this filly, competing in the four-horse chariot race,

nimbly made it neck-and-neck with a Thessalian carriage,
and won by a nose. There was then great uproar of the drivers,
Phoebus, before the Amphiktyonic judges.
The umpires cast their rods to the ground, to make
the drivers draw lots for the victory crown.
But she, the right-hand tracer, nodding down her head
in pure innocence picked up a rod herself,
a daring female among the males. The myriads all together
then roared with unanimous voice
to proclaim the great crown hers. Amidst the applause
the Samian Kallikrates obtained the laurel.
And to the Sibling Gods as a visible sign of that [contest]
he thus108 dedicated a bronze chariot with its team and driver.

Would Kallikrates—first eponymous priest of the Theoi Adelphoi, tireless diplo-

mat, major image-maker of the Ptolemaic royal couple and promoter of the cult
of Arsinoe in the Aegean region—not himself have been present to receive the
laurel crown amidst the tumultuous roar of the crowd (K Ł
æ½øØ
) and to
hear his name pronounced by the herald?109
Given this kind of appetite for the reportage style, which is new,110 it seems to
be missing the point to place too much emphasis on the fact that equestrian
107
Austin and Bastianini (2002) no. 74. Bing (2003); Kosmetatou (2004); Janko (2005: 128–9).
I follow Janko’s brilliant emendation of æÆ
 (umpires) for æÆ
 in 1. 5, but do not think his translation
of the poem’s first two lines can be right: ‘At Delphi once the filly raced her Thessalian car, among quadrigas . . . ’.
108
Criscuolo has rightly questioned the translation in Austin and Bastianini (followed by most others)
of z’ !Ł
in the final line as ‘set up here’ and has suggested ‘thus set up’ which has some repercussions
for the argument of Bing (2003), that the equestrian statue was set up to the Theoi Adelphoi in a place
other than Delphi, in which the poem’s first line locates the scene of the race: K ˜º
E + Hº
 . . .
Bing suggested it was most likely Alexandria.
109
On his career and influence at the court see Hauben (1970), Mooren (1975) 58–60, no. 010, and now
Bing (2003), taking into account the new epigrams (Austin and Bastianini (2002) 39, 74, 116, 119: three are
concerned with the shrine to Arsinoe-Aphrodite which Kallikrates dedicated at Cape Zephyrion;
Barbantani (2001) 44–5. Kallikrates’ eponymous priesthood: P. Hibeh ii. 199 line 12; Clarysse and van
der Veken (1983) 4–5; Hauben (1970) 64–5. Dedication of a bronze chariot to the Theoi Adelphoi: Austin
and Bastianini (2002) 74. Dedication by the Samian people to the nauarch Kallikrates: Hauben (1970) 48–9
and appendix 83–4. His name is mentioned in another dedication found on Samos: SEG 1. 370. His statue
erected by the League of the Islanders on Delos: IG xi. 4. 1127. A statue of Kallikrates stood in the
sanctuary of Aphrodite at Old Paphos on Cyprus, perhaps a royal dedication: Mitford (1961) 9 no. 18.
110
And very different from the conventions of the Classical epinikian odes which almost never contain
an actual report of the contest: so Fuhrer (1992) 93 n. 81. (For the very few Pindaric exceptions see
Hornblower (2004) 342 n. 43.)
368 riet van bremen
victories were recompense for wealth alone, not for personal valour or strength,
and that royal and aristocratic owners could, technically, gain their victories in
absentia, without leaving their country, sending only their teams and their
drivers.111 It is almost impossible to imagine these royal chariots and horses
devoid of the pomp and splendour that we know was lavished on other forms
of conspicuous royal display.112 The display, together with the vivid
commemoration, were part of the royal way of ‘doing the Games’.

5. daring females among the males

The recording and celebrating of female victories (always in equestrian events) is
a new theme in this period, both in the epigraphic records and in praise poetry.
Competing at the games was not confined to royal women and their entourage as
the following list shows (it is not exhaustive, nor does it include women already
mentioned in the previous section):
Euryleonis of Sparta (Paus. 3. 17. 6): ‘By what is called the skenoma (tent)
there is a statue of a woman whom the Lakedaimonians say is Euryleonis. She
won a victory at Olympia with a two-horse chariot’;113 [ . . . . . . . . . . . . ] adou
from Alexandria: victory in the Panathenaia in 180 bc with the two-horse chariot
(IG ii2 2314, ll. 52–3), possibly a woman of the court; Eugeneia d. of Zenon of
Tarsos/Antioch on the Kydnos, in the single-horse race at the Panathenaia in 170/
69 bc (Tracy and Habicht (1991) ii. 29 and p. 215 ¼ SEG 41. 115); Archagate, d.
of Polykleitos from Antioch on the Pyramos, formerly Magarsos, with the
four-horse chariot –æ ÆØ ºøØ at the Panathenaia (Tracy and Habicht (1991)
i. 32); Lysis Hermonaktos from Magnesia on the Maeander: a victory in
the race for single foal at the Amphiaraia in Oropos; Mnasimacha Phoxinou
from Krannon in Thessaly, with the chariot drawn by a pair of foals at the
same Amphiaraia in Oropos (both Arch. Eph. (1925/6) pp. 26, 30): ‘Hellenistic’;
Aristokleia Megakleous, with the chariot drawn by a pair of foals in the
Eleutheria of Larisa, early 2nd cent. bc (IG ix. 2. 526); Eukleia, with the
½?–æ ÆØ
øºØŒfiH (?chariot drawn by a pair of foals) in an unnamed competi-
tion on Chios which also has multiple victories of Mithridates VI Eupator (Arch.

111
‘It is well known that winners of such equestrian contests as those recorded for members of royal
families did not have to be present at the event in question: they sent their horses, chariots and jockeys’
write Tracy and Habicht (1991: 216–17), quoting Robert (1935) 460–2 (¼ OMS i. 519–21), who in turn
quotes A. Martin, Les Cavaliers athéniens (1887) 168–9: ‘la couronne d’olivier n’est donc plus la récompense
de la force, de la valeur personelle, il suffit maintenant d’être riche; on verra désormais décerner la victoire à
des étrangers qui n’auront pas quitté leur pays, et, ce qui est plus grave, à des femmes, elles qui ne sont pas
même admises à regarder les jeux’.
112
On the procession: Rice (1983); Thompson (2000).
113
Moretti (1957) 418, listed under 368 bc, but all we know is that her victory came after Kyniska’s.
 the e n t ire ho u s e i s f u l l o f c r o w n s 36 9
Delt. 9 (1927–28), par. 27, no. 8; cf. L. Robert (1935) 459–65 (¼ OMS i. 518–24).
Robert remarks that the ed. pr. had restored ½–æ Æ
Ø (chariot) instead of
½Œ
º
Ø (single horse) because the victor was a woman: ‘la raison que donne
M. Segre n’est pas bonne: ‘‘notendo che la vincitrice è una donna, ho preferito
credere che essa abbia corso sul carro piuttosto che sul puledro Œ
º’’ ’; Peitho
daughter of Makedon of Ephesos and Apollonia (in Lykia): in the Rōmaia
catalogue from Xanthos, above, p. 359 n. 71 (ll. 42–4), with the chariot and pair
of foals: —ØŁg ÆŒ
  ¯Æ m ŒÆd Iªæı )Æıc
$
ººøØAØ, ‘Peitho daughter of Makedon, of Ephesos, who had also de-
clared herself citizen of Apollonia’ (where she doubtless owned racing stables).
Damodika of Kyme: a victory in the chariot race (BCH 51 (1927) 387 ¼ I Kyme
46), 1st cent. bc; Habris d. of Kaikos, of Kyme, with the chariot and pair of
foals in the Amphiaraia at Oropos: IG vii. 417. 60–1.
Most of these are simple records of name and event, but among them one
funerary epigram for Damodika from Kyme stands out in its simple but telling
pairing of the traditional motif of child-bearing with the unusual and glamorous
one of equestrian fame: (4)
h
Æ ˜Æ
ŒÆ; Ø IªºÆe  ¯æ
ª


Ø,—(6) ŁŒø 
PŒ IÆ
; Kd ŒÆd ÆEÆ º
º
ØÆ j ŒÆd Œº

 Kª
ŒÆ –æ ÆØ Œıƺ ÆØ, ‘My name is Damodika; Hermogenes was my noble
husband. . . . I die not without reputation, for I have left a child as well as fame in
achieving a glorious victory with the chariot’.114
From Kallimachos’ Victory of Berenike we already knew that Ptolemaic queens
competed in the Panhellenic games, but, until Poseidippos’ new epigrams were
published, we did not know quite how intensely they were involved in the
pursuit of equestrian victory, or how important a contribution such female
victories made to Ptolemaic self-representation. Just as the Cyrenean Berenike
(II)’s fame was sung (if indeed it is she) by her compatriot Kallimachos, so the
Macedonian Berenike (I), Arsinoe (Philadelphos), and Berenike (the Syrian)
were glorified by the poet from Pella. The emphasis in the Hippika section of
the Milan papyrus is on the victories of queens and princesses of the Ptolemaic
dynasty much more than on kings, whose victories, though referred to, are
secondary. Why this should be so is an intriguing question. The answer (if it
is not simply an accident of survival) cannot be that the women competed
more, or more often: the men of the first two generations of Ptolemies were
equally active at the four Panhellenic games—just as the later Panathenaic
victor lists show male and female members of the Ptolemaic court in roughly
equal number.

114
Cf. Robert (1935) 461–2 n. 5 (¼ OMS i. 520–1): ‘Les Kyméens ne sont pas rares parmi les vainqueurs
aux concours hippiques; le cheval bridé est figuré sur les monnaies de la ville; l’aristocracie des chevaliers de
Kymè est bien connue par FHG ii. 216, p. 11.’
370 r iet v an bremen
Is it possible that military victory odes such as Suppl. Hell. 958 (‘Ode pour un
roi partant en guerre’)115 were deemed more glorious and therefore the preferred
form of commemoration in the case of kings? The victories of the Ptolemaic
women certainly served to reinforce the message of the Ptolemies’ overall
‘aptitude’ to victory, of which military victory could be said to be the ultimate
expression. At the end of the fifth century, the Spartan princess Kyniska had
served as a useful frivolous foil to her brother Agesilaos’ moral superiority:
‘Seeing that, just because they bred horses, some of the citizens arrogantly
thought themselves to be quite something, he (Agesilaos) persuaded his sister
Kyniska to compete at the Olympic games by entering a chariot, since he wanted
to show the Greeks that this kind of activity was unconnected with excellence,
but simply a matter of having wealth and spending it’ (Plutarch, Sayings 49; a
very similar interpretation already in Xenophon).116 The purpose is of course
diametrically opposite but the principle is the same. To see the glorification
(or the belittling in Kyniska’s case) of the women’s victories purely as strategies
of male rhetoric would, however, be reductionist, and would also ignore the very
Greek and very real, awareness of what I have elsewhere called the ‘city
of women’, to which Kyniska herself appeals, as well as the reality of the
competing.117 Kyniska herself says this about her two Olympic victories:

My fathers and brothers were Spartan kings;

I won the chariot race with swift-footed horses
and put up this image, I, Kyniska. I say that I am alone of all
Greek women to have taken this crown.118

Hers was an achievement to be proud of for its own sake, but spectacular even
more in its breaking with male traditions, and this Kyniska knew. Pausanias
(3. 8. 1), whose concern is not with Agesilaos’ moral superiority, provides more
useful background information: ‘Archidamos also had a daughter, whose name

115
In the words of Cahen, as quoted in Barbantani (2001) 12.
116
Mor. 212ab, cf. Xen. Ages. 9. 6: ‘he kept many hounds and war horses, but he persuaded his sister
Kyniska to breed chariot horses (±æ Æ
æ
E) and showed by her victory . . . that a victory in the
chariot race over private citizens would add not a whit to his own renown’ etc. See on the ideological
aspects of the Agesilaos/Kyniska opposition the interesting discussion by Hodkinson (2000) 327–8. See
also Fantuzzi (2005) 257.
117
Van Bremen (1996) 145–56. See also below, n. 119, on the symbolic significance of the location of
Kyniska’s hero-shrine.
118
IvO 160; IG v. 1. 1564a; Moretti (1953) no. 17; (1957) 373, 381; Ebert (1972) no. 33; the epigram is also
in the Anth. Pal. 13. 16. The dates of her victories are uncertain. Traditionally, 396 or 392 bc are given for her
two Olympic victories. Simon Hornblower has recently argued that a date in the late 5th cent. is equally
possible and perhaps preferable: Hornblower (2004) 100 n. 54, referring to Hornblower (2000) on the
exclusion of Spartans from Olympia, but the demographic argument he uses seems not compelling.
Xenophon’s catalogue of Agesilaos’ virtues (which include his reluctance to breed horses for racing)
appears throughout to refer to the time that he was king, i.e. 398–358 bc (cf. e.g. Ages. 1. 6). Cf. also
Alain Bresson (2002) 43 n. 60: ‘Kyniska précise qu’elle était sœur de rois (au pluriel): ces rois sont Agis (roi
de 427 à 398) et Agésilas (roi de 398 à 358). Il faut donc que la première dédicace soit de 396 au plus tôt’.
 t h e e n t i r e h o u s e i s fu l l o f cr o w n s 371
was Kyniska; she was exceedingly ambitious to succeed at the Olympic games,
غ
Ø ÆÆ b K e IªHÆ ! e  ˇºı ØŒ, and was the first
woman to breed horses and the first to win an Olympic victory. After Kyniska
other women, especially women of Lakedaimon, have won Olympic victories,
but none of them was more distinguished for her victories than she.’119 The
following epigram, the penultimate one in the Hippika section, in honour of
Berenike I, wife of Ptolemy Sōter, self-consciously picks up the theme (AB 87):

When we were still fillies, we won the Olympic crown of Macedonian Berenike, you men
of Pisa, which has well-known fame; and with it we took away the long-standing glory of
Kyniska in Sparta.

Equally aware of the importance of Berenike’s record-breaking, her son Ptolemy

(II) can be heard saying in the next, and final epigram (AB 88): ‘To my father’s
great glory I add my own, but that my mother won a chariot victory as a woman,
that is truly great’ (Iºº  ‹Ø æ x º ªıa ŒÆ –æ ÆØ; 
F

ªÆ).120
There are clear echoes also of Kyniska’s language (
½Æ
 K
Æ Ø
ªıÆØŒH  ¯ºº
 KŒ Æ ½
 ºÆE 
Æ
) in several of the
epigrams for young Berenike (‘the Syrian’).121
This awareness both of a new departure and of a separate genealogy of
victorious females starting with Kyniska is a striking feature of the Hippika and

119
Also 6. 1. 6. and 5. 12. 5. In 3. 15. 1 Pausanias writes: ‘At Plane-tree grove there is also a hero shrine
(+æfiH
) of Kyniska, daughter of Archidamos king of the Spartans. She was the first woman to breed horses
and the first to win a chariot race at Olympia.’ Was it Kyniska’s victory that made her worthy of heroic
honours? Hodkinson (2000) 328 points out the significance of the central location of the hero shrine: ‘close
to the Dromos, where the young girls ran; close to the sanctuary of Helen, model for the young female
Spartiate; close to the tomb of Alkman, the educator of young girls’. M. Fantuzzi (2005: 261–2) builds rather
a lot on this assumption, arguing that her heroization may have served as a model for the deification of
Berenike I, who ‘lacked the divine lineage from Zeus that was ascribed to Soter . . . . via Alexander (cf. Theocr.
17. 16–25) or later . . . both Ptolemy II and Arsinoe as children of divinized parents . . . So Berenike was
divinized for her own virtues.’ (As was Kyniska, is the implication.) But we do not know, because Pausanias
does not tell us, when the hero-shrine was built, or precisely what Pausanias saw when he saw a herōon.
120
I follow R. Janko’s (2005: 129–31) restoration of the first l. of AB 87: ½Hº
Ø
!Ł ± b K
FÆØ
 ˇºı ½ØÆ
Œe ´æŒÆ ( ½Hº
Ø
A.-B.: ¥ ½
Ø
), which seems to make better sense of the !Ł ; I also
follow his translation. On AB 88 see Fantuzzi (2005) 266 with n. 60 for the different emphasis required if
hŒi
 is restored at the beginning of 1. 5 instead of æðæ
ı pap): ‘I do not claim for myself the great
glory of my father’.
121
In Austin and Bastianini (2002) 82, the poet directly addresses the princess, who has triumphed at
the Isthmian games (5–6): KŒ æıÆ ªaæ K  Ł HØ j 
ŒØ IŁº½

æ
 H Æ  Æغ:
‘you proclaimed at the Isthmus your house so often victorious, as a princess all by yourself’. Fantuzzi’s
translation ‘you were the only queen to proclaim . . . ’ does not, I think, quite catch the meaning, and
neither does ‘Only you queen brought it about that your house was so many times heralded as victorious at
the Isthmus’ of Gutzwiller (2004: 91). Austin and Bastianini (2002) come closest with ‘a Queen on your
own’. The contrast has to be with the ‘house so often victorious’: she has repeated the multiple achieve-
ment of her dōma, all by herself. The reference to Kyniska is implicit even if the context is different. On
Æغ=ƺØÆ meaning ‘princess’ as well as ‘queen’ see Thompson (2005) 276. Cf. also 80 and 81 and
the eulogistic 78 (‘speak all ye poets, of my glory . . . ’) which ends with the poet asking the chorus of
Macedonian women to ‘sing of her crown’.
372 r i e t va n b r e m e n
is their most important theme alongside that of fame transmitted down the
generations of one dynasty. For Poseidippos, the Ptolemaic women’s third
defining quality, besides their gender and their royal blood, is their (female)
Macedonian-ness: they are ƌ
ÆØ, women of Macedon’.122 In 78, a chorus of
ƌ
ÆØ is urged to sing in praise of the crown brought back by young
Berenike. In 82, the same princess is called the ‘Macedonian child’ as she
gains an Isthmian victory. In 87 (discussed above) Berenike I, the mother of
Philadelphos was ‘Macedonian’. In the next and final section I argue that
this emphasis on Macedonian-ness is best explained within the conventions of
Panhellenic participation and commemoration.

6. and your city?

In the second section of Kallimachos’ ode for Sosibios, the latter brings back his
double Isthmian and Nemean victory to his patris Alexandria, personified in the
poem by the Nile, who can be heard speaking (ll. 28–34):

A beautiful prize has my nursling (Łæ) paid back to me for no one has yet brought
a trophy back to this city (½
P
ªæ  Ø K½d
ºØ XªÆª ¼Łº
) from the
sepulchral festivals, and, great though I am, I, whose sources no mortal man knows, in
this one thing alone was more insignificant than those streams which the white ankles of
women cross without difficulty, and children pass over on foot without wetting their
knees.123

Sosibios is presented as a citizen of Alexandria in a conscious allusion to the

conventions of the Classical epinikion. The mighty river’s claim in the poem
would not make quite as much sense if it were personifying Egypt, for Egypt,
as we know, had seen earlier—Ptolemaic—victory crowns. Even so, in the back-
ground there is also an allusion to what the Nile had still represented to Pindar
and his generation, namely the end of the world (cf. Isthmian 6. 22–3).124 Now,
at last, the Nile, too, had become a Panhellenic river.
In the Poseidippan epigram for Kallikrates of Samos, discussed earlier, the
emphasis is different even if the traditional ingredients are (almost) all there:
towards the end of the poem Kallikrates, the victor, is called Icæ  Ø
, and
although it is he who obtained the laurel:  XæÆ (both in l. 12), and his
name must have been proclaimed by the herald in precisely that way at Delphi,
the final lines of the poem make it clear that the triumph and the token of his

122
So, rightly, Thompson (2005) 270 with n. 5; the translation in Austin and Bastianini (2002) 78, l. 14
of ƌ
ÆØ as ‘O ye Macedonians’ overlooks this point.
123
Fr. 384 Pf. Translation as in Bing (2003) 252, with modifications.
124
So, perceptively, Barbantani (2001) 97 n. 112, quoting also Bacchylides 9. 40–1, and 98.
 t h e e n t i r e h o u s e is f u l l of cr o w n s 37 3
victory (a bronze chariot and driver) belong squarely at the feet of the Ptolemaic
couple to whom the monumental offering was dedicated, in a deliberate
obfuscating of the usual victor’s dedication to the gods and the bringing home
of the victory crown, to father, home, and city (his father, Boiskos, is quietly
omitted from the poem).
The world had become larger, and to be a Samian did not sum up one’s
identity, or one’s allegiance, quite in the way it had once done. But inside the
world of the Panhellenic games, in which kings and citizens alike were Hellenes,
the convention of naming one’s patris still served as a kind of Greenwich mean
time, by which everybody set his watch; and this was reflected in commemor-
ation as much as in records and rituals. And so, as Kallikrates was ‘Samian’,
Attalos ‘Pergamene’, and Zeuxo ‘Cyrenean’, the Ptolemies were ‘Macedonian’.
Dorothy Thompson has rightly pointed out the great emphasis on the Ptolemaic
kings’ ‘Macedonian-ness’ in all the Poseidippan victory epigrams.125 She, and
others, have suggested that Poseidippos’ own origin—he was from Pella—may
have played a part in his favouring of the ethnic because of his obvious pride in
his homeland ZæÆ  Ø øØ ÆŒ 

¥  Kd ½ ø
j
¥  $
 ª
 MØ
; j —ººÆE
 ª

 I , ‘so that the Macedonians
may honour me, both the islanders(?) and the neighbours of all the Asiatic
shores, Pellaian is my family’.126 That the choice was, however, not Poseidippos’,
is shown by the fact that Pausanias noticed the same habit on Ptolemaic
commemorative inscriptions at Panhellenic sanctuaries, and found it interesting
enough to merit a comment (6. 3. 1—discussing a dedication of Ptolemy I at
Olympia): ‘Ptolemy calls himself ‘‘Makedon’’ in the epigram, even though he was
king of Egypt’. And also (10. 7. 8): ‘for the kings of Egypt liked to be called
Makedones, as in fact they were’.127 Marco Fantuzzi has argued that it was
perhaps the Ptolemies’ ‘interest in and support for the impulses of Greek poleis
to revolt against the predominance of Antigonid power in continental Greece’
which made them emphasize their Macedonian-ness.128 One could further
invoke the strong ideological links with their Macedonian roots, and the
Ptolemies’ specific claims to Alexander’s heritage. There is truth in all of this,
but the simplest explanation is that, in an agonistic context, Panhellenic conven-
tions determined the choice. Macedonia simply was the patris of Antigonid,
Seleukid, and Ptolemaic kings. At the Panathenaia, both Ptolemaic and
Attalid royalty also competed as Athenians, if they so chose, giving their tribe
as Ptolemais or Attalis. This rather supports the general idea: for all these kings

125
Thompson (2005) 269–70.  ¯
æÆÆ ª
Æ in 88. 4 can be seen as a poetic variation.
126
Austin and Bastianini (2002) 118, 15–17.
127
Ptolemy I’s victory at Delphi in 310 bc is mentioned in Pausanias 10. 7. 8. and 6. 3. 1, where he called
himself ‘Makedon’.
128
Fantuzzi (2005) 251.
374 r iet v an bremen
Athens was a second patris, whose citizenship they had obtained. Presenting
oneself as Athenian was to choose an alternative identity (and to give the victory’s
credit to that city): relevant or useful depending on circumstances.129
The Ptolemaic kings may well have claimed for themselves proud Macedonian
(and ultimately Argive) descent, as a guarantee of their Greekness, but others did
not always share that view. When Ptolemy IV sent a pankratiast to Olympia
specially to defeat the star-pankratiast, boxer, and wrestler Kleitomachos of
Thebes, whose many victories were beginning to annoy the crowds (æe e
ŒÆƺFÆØ c Æ ÆP
F),130 the latter reminded his audience that it was he
who represented the Greeks while Aristonikos, his opponent, represented only
the Ptolemies: ‘What do you want?’ he called out, ‘that an Egyptian carries away
the Olympic crown after having defeated the Greeks or that a Theban and
Boiotian is proclaimed victor in boxing category men?’ The crowd, at first on
Aristonikos’ side and cheering him on to defeat the favourite, then changed its
mind and by its encouragement helped the Theban to victory.131
Kleitomachos was a Theban, a Boiotian, and a Greek, which we know not only
from Polybios but also from a victory epigram, perhaps by Alkaios of Messene, in
which the ‘seven-gated Thebes’ is proudly crowned with the triple crown of
Kleitomachos’ Isthmian victory.132 A Theban too, though once removed, was
his contemporary, the Phoenician ruler Diotimos of Sidon: the first of his city,
and very likely the first Phoenician, to have competed at one of the main
Panhellenic games, something not really conceivable before the Hellenistic
period, as Ebert rightly points out.133 The fine epigram telling of his chariot
victory at Nemea, explains the connection (ll. 3–8):

As first of your fellow citizens you brought equestrian fame from Hellas to the noble
house of the Agenoridai. Pride also fills the sacred city of Kadmeian Thebes, as she sees
her own mother-city glorious through the fame of the victory.134

129
In IG ii2 2314. 41–2, Ptolemy V Epiphanes is listed as being from the —
º ÆØ
 ıºB;
Ptolemy Philometer competes in open contest as an Athenian in 158 bc (IG ii2 2316. 45) while in 162 he had
competed among the Athenians (iii, l. 32 in Tracy and Habicht (1991) 232–3). For members of the Attalid
royal family competing among the citizens, see above, pp. 361–2. On Ptolemaic and Attalid citizenship in
Athens see also Osborne (1983) s.v.
130
On whom see in particular Ebert (1972) at no. 67 (an epigram for Kleitomachos).
131
Polybios 27. 9. 7–13 gives the story; cf. Robert (1967b) 25–6 (¼ OMS v. 365–6) and in Hellenica 11–12:
348–9: ‘la gloire des Grecs et Aristonikos pour celle du roi Ptolémée? il y a là un argument intéressant pour
l’attitude envers les rois’. Cf. BE (1981) 262, on a dedication to a king Ptolemy (I?) by two athletes (SEG 30,
364; cf. above p. 363), suggesting that this king may have trained these victors and that they had crowns
announced in his name, cf. Robert (1967b) 18–22; 25–6 (¼ OMS v. 347–424).
132
In boxing, pankration, and wrestling, all in a single day. Ebert (1972) 67.
133
See the discussion in Ebert (1972) at no. 64, esp. 190: ‘Doch ist das Auftreten von Phöniziern an
hellenischen Spielen insgesamt wohl kaum vor hellenistischer Zeit denkbar’. For the interesting suggestion
that a young Persian noble, son of the satrap Pharnabazos and guest-friend of King Agesilaos of Sparta,
may have competed at Olympia through Agesilaos’ mediation, see Bresson (2002).
134
See also above, p. 347.
 t h e e n t i r e h o u s e i s fu l l o f cr o w n s 375
Thebes was the home of Kadmos, who was himself son of the Sidonian Agēnōr; a
mythical blood tie that must have been used by Diotimos to remind the judges at
Nemea that Sidon was mother city to Thebes. By thus making his claim to
Greek kinship, he proved his right to compete at one of the great, traditional,
Panhellenic events. And so the chauvinist boxer, pankratiast and wrestler from
Thebes and the horse-breeding barbarian aristocrat from Sidon, could both
claim, in a language heavy with allusions to that of the Classical epinikion, and
with absolute respect for Panhellenic conventions, that their victories had
brought pride to the city of Pindar. This perhaps sums up best what was new,
and what traditional, about the agonistic culture of the Hellenistic world.
This page intentionally left blank
 fourteen
––––––––––––––––––––––––––

‘Kapetōleia Olympia’: Roman Emperors and

Greek Agōnes
Tony Spawforth

This chapter1 begins by discussing two inscriptions from a classic collection of

agonistic texts which shed light on what back in 1953 Luigi Moretti could—in
more innocent days—call the ‘Romanization’ of Greek agōnes.2 Second, it
comments briefly on recent research on Greek agōnes in the Roman Empire.
Thirdly, it returns to the question of Roman influence on Greek agōnes, with
particular reference to Augustus and Olympia.

nes
1. roman power and greek ago
The following two inscriptions from Moretti’s corpus illustrate some key aspects
of Greek agonistics under Rome. The first is an inscribed portrait-herm from
Athens (IG ii2 3769).3 On prosopographical grounds the text dates to the later
240s ad—to what Moretti termed the ‘advanced’ imperial age. But time—and this
is the real point here—seems to have stood still: we could almost be back in the
world of Pindar. Two Athenian brothers proudly celebrate their father’s victories
in chariot-races, the Homeric sport of the rich in Classical Greece. The victories
specified are in the four traditional Panhellenic festivals of the Greek mainland,
and of these Olympia is still given pre-eminence as the Panhellenic gathering par
excellence, with victory there said to have been conferred by ‘all Hellas’

1
This is an adapted version of the paper given by the writer in December 2002 at the kind invitation of
Simon Hornblower and Cathy Morgan. He thanks them, and others present, for helpful discussion
afterwards. He is grateful to Susan Walker and Chris Pfaff for discussing Olympia with him, and Jason
König for showing him a draft chapter, ‘Pausanias and Olympic Panhellenism’, of König (2005). The
general approach which this chapter espouses was first developed during the writer’s British Academy/
Leverhulme Senior Research Fellowship in 1995/1996, spent as a Member of the Institute for Advanced
Study, Princeton.
2
Moretti (1953) entitled the fourth chapter of his collection ‘La romanizzazione degli agoni’.
‘Romanization’ is now a problematic concept: with specific reference to the Greeks, see Sue Alcock’s
remarks in Rotroff and Hoff (1997) 1–7.
3
Moretti (1953) no. 89.
378 to n y s p a w f o r t h
( ¯ººa –½ÆÆ
).4 The very form of the text is artfully traditional, opening
with an honorific statement in prose, followed by four crowns detailing the
victories, and closing with an epinician poem.
On the agonistic plane, this text illustrates what Timothy Whitmarsh calls the
‘secondariness’ of Greek cultural production in this period.5 Roman-period
agōnes articulated the extreme self-consciousness of educated Roman Greeks
that they were living in a post-classical age, one in which classical models of
Greek culture were to be zealously preserved, imitated, or reinvented. What
contemporaries called the second sophistic, a revival of Greek oratory, is the
best-known example of this phenomenon. But Greek agōnes too were now a field
for the projection of this pervasive sense of cultural belatedness.
A second text (IGR iii. 1012), dated to ad 221, illustrates some different
realities about Greek agōnes under the Roman Empire.6 It suggests how the
world of agonistics was now an inextricable mélange of Greek and Roman. The
victor, a Syrian Greek champion-boxer, was proud to identify himself as a Roman
colonus (Œºø, with reference to the Roman promotion of his home-city
Laodicea-Mare to the rank of a colonia). In contrast to his younger Athenian
contemporary, he detailed a tranche of victories won mostly in agonistic festivals
first founded in Roman imperial times. These victories bear witness to the huge
expansion of cyclical Greek-style agōnes under the empire, both in absolute
numbers and in geographical reach—from Macedonian Beroea to Zeugma on
the Euphrates.
The agonistic titulature, moreover, shows that the Roman imperial state was
deeply implicated in this expansion. It was implicated reactively, in the sense of
permitting to subject Greeks the use of agōnes as vehicles for emperor-worship—
so we have here games named for, and no doubt celebrating ruler-cults of, the
emperors Commodus (the Heraclea Commodea in Tyre), Septimius Severus
(the Severan World-Wide Pythian Contest in Caesarea), and Caracalla (the
World-Wide Antoninian Contest in Laodicea-Mare).
But the imperial system was also implicated proactively in this agonistic
expansion. One of this boxer’s victories was in the Actian games at Nicopolis in
north-west Greece. These were fourth-yearly Greek games founded well over
two centuries earlier by a Roman emperor, none other than Augustus himself, as
the text is at pains to emphasize by describing the festival as ‘the Actia of
Augustus’ (line 10: ` . ŒØÆ `Pª

ı). As an agonistic foundation by a
Roman emperor in the provinces, the Actia for a long time remained an isolated

4
The Panhellenism of the crowds at the Roman Olympia was a literary topos, e.g. Arr. Epict. Diss. 3. 22.
52; Philostr. VS 617. It was echoed by the origines of the contestants, on which see now Farrington (1997)
and Scanlon (2002) ch. 2.
5
Whitmarsh (2002) esp. 41–89.
6
Moretti (1953) no. 85.
 roman emperors and greek ag

ones 379
phenomenon. But in the second and third centuries, when the number of
provincial Greek games mushroomed, Roman emperors alone exercised the
right to approve new games of the highest rank, the so-called sacred and iselastic
games. Games of this type entitled victors to claim lucrative privileges from their
home-cities, including daily maintenance at public expense, and victory in them
conferred more prestige than victories in games of lesser rank: here the ‘sacred’
victories accordingly are listed first, with the so-called ‘talent-games’, where the
prize was in cash, given last.7
In exercising their patronage in this area, Roman emperors could of course
be passive respondents to initiatives from subject communities, as in the
well-known ‘Fergus Millar’ model of imperial governance.8 At least for the
third century ad, studies by Ruprecht Ziegler and Christian Wallner have argued
for a more dynamic linkage between these so-called ‘gifts of sacred games’ and
imperial military campaigns in the east. For instance, in about ad 243 Gordian III
endowed the Pamphylian seaport of Side on the south coast of Asia Minor with
an iselastic contest. Peter Weiss was the first to suggest the connection with
Gordian’s Persian expedition, arguing that the gift of games was a form of
compensation to a city involved in the logistics of the campaign—in Side’s case
as a port of departure for the Roman army’s annona or food supply.9 According
to Wallner, the largest number of these imperial gifts of games belonged to the
reign of the emperor Valerian in the 250s, and in broad terms they reflect the use
of these regions and their cities as staging posts, ports, and supply bases during
Valerian’s Persian campaign.10 One could argue of course that all this is rather
late, which is true. But the fact remains that it was in the third century, in a quite
specific Roman-imperial context, that we witness the last great blossoming of
civic agōnes, in northern Greece, in Asia Minor, and in Syria and Phoenicia.
This third-century evidence stresses the stimulus to Greek agonistics of the
emperor’s personal presence in the provinces. Of course Roman emperors had
turned up in the Greek east before, albeit less frequently. The emperor Hadrian is
a special case in the sense that he erected provincial journeys into a tool of
governance on a scale unmatched before or since; also because he was so keen
on Greek culture. The foundation of new agōnes was certainly part of the package
of support which Hadrian offered for Greek city-culture in the Roman east.
According to Mary Boatwright’s recent book, ‘games in twenty-one cities carried
some form of Hadrian’s name in their titles’.11 Of course the inclusion of the
emperor’s name does not necessarily prove an imperial gift. But Hadrian is
known for sure personally to have founded some new agōnes in the provinces—
such as those for Antinous in Mantinea (Paus. 8. 10. 1; 8. 9. 7–8).
7 8
See e.g. Spawforth (1989) 193–4 with refs. Millar 1992.
9
Weiss (1981) 332, citing AE (1972) no. 628, lines 19 ff., an inscription honouring the first agonothete.
10 11
Wallner (1997) 230–1, with the table on p. 165. Boatwright (2000) 99.
380 t o n y s p a w f o r th
The case of Hadrian raises another question, namely, the extent of direct
Roman influence on the content, as well as the absolute number, of Greek agōnes
in this period. The largest single item of new evidence for agōnes in recent years is
the long Greek inscription from Oenoanda in Lycia, published by Michael
Wörrle.12 This inscription details the creation of a new periodic agōn at
Oenoanda, called the Demostheneia after the local worthy who founded them
in ad 124, C. Iulius Demosthenes. Christopher Jones has since pointed out the
rarity of an agōn with an entirely artistic programme, as in the case of the
Demostheneia, which was an agōn mousikos only, that is, devoted exclusively to
contests of musicians, poets, tragic actors, and so on, with no athletics. He goes
on to suggest that ‘when Demosthenes [of Oenoanda] designed his contest, he
was influenced by [the] tastes . . . of the emperor’.13 This is a rather interesting
suggestion, although it may need qualification in the light of one of the finds
from Hadrian’s villa at Tivoli—a marble maquette of a Greek athletic stadium.14
This model stadium, whether ever actually built or not, tends to point in the
other direction, to a personal interest on Hadrian’s part in Greek athletics.
Staying with the possibility of Roman imperial influence on festival content,
there is arguaby more mileage to be had from the inclusion in the Demostheneia
of a contest for writers and performers of encomia, show-speeches in praise of a
given subject.15 Alex Hardie and Thomas Schmitz have both discussed some of
the evidence for a marked increase in contests in encomium, both prose and
poetry, in the imperial period.16 For instance, an encomium contest was added to
the programme of the Pythian games at Roman Delphi, perhaps in the second
century ad.17 There were also contests for encomiastic poets, especially epic
poets. Time and again the subject-matter, unsurprisingly, turns out to be the
Roman emperor and members of his family. The advent of monarchy at Rome,
then, was the chief stimulus to this particular development.

2. current research trends

This brief excursus emphasizes recent work which relates to the question of
Roman influence on Greek agōnes. There has been, of course, a constant drip-drip
of new discoveries, if none as sensational as the Oenoanda text discussed earlier.
One is a Greek inscription which Peter Siewert has just published, found at Elis,

12
Wörrle (1988). The text is usefully translated in Mitchell (1990) 183–7.
13
Jones (1990) 488.
14
Charles-Gaffiot and Lavagne (1999) 187, no. 34.
15
Wörrle (1988) 8, lines 39–40.
16
Hardie (1983) esp. 17–27; Schmitz (1997) 110–12.
17
I. Iasos no. 111, for the pais Q. Samiarius Chilo, ‘the first of the Romans and Hellenes to have won in
the encomium contest at the Pythia . . . ’.

n e s
roman emperors and greek ago 381
host-city of the Olympian festival.18 The letter-forms are early third-century ad.
Enough survives to show that the text is an official Roman edict regulating
problems of transport and accommodation during the festival. There is mention
of visitors (lines 1–2: 
f I،
ı
½
ı
), of the Roman senate (line 4:

ıªŒº 
ı), of rest-houses (lines 4–5: ½ŒÆ
ƺØ), and of wagons twice,
once (line 6:  O ÆØ) in the context of a ban. On one level, this text

reflects the banal end of the Roman imperial state’s involvement in Greek
agonistics—as a function of its increasingly close supervision of municipal
governance as the imperial period advanced. On another, it provides one of the
latest pieces of evidence for that state’s particular involvement with Olympia and
its festival, a topic returned to below.
As for the secondary literature, work on imperial gifts of games was mentioned
earlier; research on Greek games in Roman Italy itself will come up below. For
the rest, the most interesting trend in current research is in the other direction:
that is, to emphasize the Greekness of agōnes under the empire, as part of the recent
problematization of elite-Greek identity in Roman imperial times.19 By ‘elites’
here, what are meant are the pro-Roman governing classes of the provincial
Greek cities, the educated benefactor-politicians who formed the city councils,
collected Rome’s taxes, kept the local peace, fed and entertained the hoi polloi, as
well as constituting the bulk of the so-called pepaideumenoi, the educated stratum.
On the view in question, these elite Greeks saw agonistic culture as a vital element
of to Hellēnikon, ‘Greekness’. When they wrote about Greek agonistic traditions,
as, for instance, Pausanias in his Description of Greece, and when they themselves
sought agonistic success, mainly as athletes, these were strategies for the
construction or projection of their sense of what it meant to be Greek in the
face of their subjection to Rome.20
The good evidence for elite- Greeks in this period continuing to seek athletic
success was stressed by earlier researchers such as Harry Pleket.21 It is less clear, at
least to the writer, that Greek athletics in this period were demonstrably domin-
ated by this social stratum. But a strong presence is not in doubt, as exemplified
by an honorific inscription from about ad 165 for a champion pankratiast
from Aphrodisias, said to be from ‘a renowned leading family’ (lines 7–8:
ª½

ı æ
j
ı ŒÆd K
ı).22 Identity comes into athletics, it is argued,
because Greek agōnes in Roman times were a site for the projection and
reinvention of Greek cultural traditions. Athletics in particular stuck to the

18
Siewert (2001) 249–52.
19
Swain (1996) is now the standard work in this area, to which research on Greek authors of the time
increasingly situates itself: on Pausanias see now Alcock, Cherry, and Elsner (2001).
20
Van Nijf (1999) and (2001); Elsner (2001). König (2005) also engages with these concerns.
21
Pleket (1975) 73–4.
22
Moretti (1953) no. 72.
382 to n y s p a w f o r t h
traditional core-specialities of Archaic and Classical days—foot-races, boxing,
pankration, pentathlon, and so on. Athletic success therefore offered elite-Greek
males an opportunity to affirm and project their Greek (male) identity through a
highly traditional Greek cultural practice. This aspect, by now beginning to look
well explored, leads into Section 3 of this chapter.

nes
3. the romans as consumers of greek ago
The focus of this section is on another group of consumers of the classical legacy
of Greek athletics and agōnes broadly: namely the Romans themselves. The writer
shares the view, well put by Greg Woolf, that:

Greeks remained Greeks, at least in part, because Romans allowed them to. By valuing the
Greek past and permitting the Greek language to operate as an official one throughout
the early empire, Romans made no assault on the central defining characteristics of
Hellenism.23

In some ways, as the writer believes, so-called Greek identity in this period is
arguably better called ‘Graeco-Roman’ identity, in the sense that the flourishing
of the Greek cities and their traditional cultural life under Roman rule was
unthinkable without the active support and endorsement of the ruling power.
More than that, the various classicizing foci of Greek-elite identity in this period,
such as memories of fifth-century Greece and Alexander the Great, linguistic
atticism, and Greek agonistics, were all aspects of the Greek cultural heritage to
which the ruling power, at the latest under Augustus, had given the Roman seal
of approval and which in varying ways the Romans expropriated and promoted
for themselves.
When it comes to Greek agonistics specifically, we need to look behind the
official Roman dislike of Greek sport going back at least to Ennius, cited by
Cicero (Tusc. 4, 33, 70) for the view that ‘Shame’s beginning is the stripping of
men’s bodies openly’, and still to be found under Trajan, as the righteous
abolition of an agōn at Vienne, related by the younger Pliny, reminds us.24 In
fact, Greek agōnes were exploited and taken over by the Romans just like other
areas of Greek culture such as literature, art, and philosophy.25 That is, agōnes
came to be incorporated into the Roman cultural scene alongside the traditional
Roman ludi, games celebrated at Roman religious festivals, broadly speaking

23
Woolf (1994) 131.
24
Plin. Epp. 4, 22. The Vienne episode is illuminatingly discussed in a paper by Greg Woolf to be
published in a collection on Roman Hellenism by the Center for Hellenic Studies, Washington, DC, based
on a 2001 colloquium there.
25
Fortuin (1996), harshly reviewed by Slater (1999), explores some of this terrain, with a useful
collection of ancient texts.
 roman emperors and greek ag

on e s 383
comprising chariot-racing; stage-spectacles, including Roman drama (itself, of
course, heavily influenced by the Greek theatre); and shows of gladiators and
wild beasts.26
Alongside these Roman entertainments, by the late first century ad imperial
Rome had come to constitute the real capital of Greek agonistics. This emerges
clearly from the informative recent study by Maria Caldelli of Domitian’s
Capitoline agōn. This was the first major cyclical agōn on the Greek model in
Rome itself to survive beyond the reign of its imperial founder (a point to be
returned to). It was provided with amenities on a grand scale, including the
first permanent Greek-style athletic stadium in Rome, now the Piazza Navona.
Subsequent Roman emperors upheld the imperial connection. According to
Herodian (1. 9. 2–3), the emperors habitually presided over these games in person
as judges.27 In doing so they followed in the footsteps of Domitian. According to
Suetonius (Dom. 4. 10), on these occasions Domitian used to wear a version of
the dress of a Greek agonothete or president of the games, complete with Greek
half-boots.
One way of understanding the Capitoline games is as another demonstration
of Rome’s conquest yet again by captive Greece. Not everyone nowadays would
subscribe to this characterization of the relationship between the two cultures.
For instance, to quote Thomas Habinek:28

the continuing focus on Greek models or Roman-Greek rivalry perpetuates a Romantic

view of the superiority of Greek culture over Roman, one which has little to do with the
historical attitude of the Romans towards the Greeks . . . to the extent that Greek culture
was admired, it was as much for its potential to augment Roman power as for any
immanent qualities or characteristics.

On this view, we are looking at less a reverential borrowing, more smash and grab.

4. the romans and the olympia of elis

The rest of this chapter is devoted to further observations about the Romans and
the Olympics of Elis, or ‘Pisa’ as contemporaries would have it. These were the
conceptual model for Domitian’s Capitoline agōn, which likewise was fourth-
yearly, was dedicated to Olympian Zeus’ Roman counterpart, and could be
specifically styled ‘Olympian’, as the text from Aphrodisias cited earlier tells us.29

26
See OCD3 entry for ‘ludi’ by A. B. van Buren, W. Beare, and S. R. F. Price. More recently: Bernstein
(1998).
27
See the other texts cited by Caldelli (1993) 108–12.
28
Habinek (1998) 34.
29
Caldelli (1993) 59 and 138–9, no. 31, citing Moretti (1953) no. 72, line 29:  '  ˚ƺØÆ
 ˇº ØÆ.
384 t o n y s p a w f o r th
Foundation of the Capitolia definitively entrenched in the capital a long-
standing Roman engagement with the Olympian model of Greek athletics
which first surfaces under Sulla. Sulla’s homage to Olympia by contrast was
crudely expropriatory. According to Appian (Rom. 1. 99), he transposed a
whole Olympiad, the 175th, falling in 80 bc, with nearly all the Greek athletes
taking part, to Rome. The Olympia on this occasion became a form of exotic
imported entertainment like the animals from Africa increasingly available for use
in Roman wild-beast shows. Sulla’s expropriated Olympiad was one of several
occasions in the late Republic when Roman magistrates put on Greek-style
games in Rome. Their relative infrequency might suggest that Greek athletics
were less popular than traditional Roman ludi, although Sulla’s pretext for
transposing the Olympics was, according to Appian, to oblige the Roman
people. Roman elite hostility to Greek athletics, as much as or more than
plebeian tastes, may have been an inhibiting factor in the first century bc.
We turn next to Augustus, an absolutely crucial figure in understanding the
evolution of Roman attitudes to Greek culture in imperial times. For two
reasons. First, within the imperial system which he founded, Augustus became
the paradeigmatic emperor. As is well known, his rule repeatedly furnished an
authoritative example to imperial successors, for whom imitatio Augusti offered a
powerful legitimating trope. Second, what Karl Galinsky has called ‘Augustan
culture’ was shot through and through with Greek borrowings and adaptations.
Much of this citation was official in context, such as the replica caryatids built into
Augustus’ new Roman forum. Its effect, and perhaps purpose, was ‘to usher in
the new by appealing to the past’.30 In a sense, Augustan Rome ‘politicized’
Greek culture, by making aspects of it—as the writer has emphasized elsewhere—a
matter of ‘state interest’.31 Hellenists tend to minimize the impact of Rome on
Greek culture under the Principate. But to the writer’s mind the huge political
asymmetry between Roman domination and Greek subjection makes it hard to
believe that subject-Greek elites were uninfluenced by Roman endorsement of
certain forms of Greek cultural expression (see further below). If correct, this
observation is potentially important for the development of Greek agonistics, if
these turn out to have been a target of Augustan interventions.
And they certainly were. Hans Langenfeld has drawn attention to Octavian’s
striking choice of vehicle for the perpetual commemoration of Actium.32 Beyond
the confines of Italy, in north-west Greece, he founded a new Greek city on the
site of his land-camp, Nicopolis, ‘City of Victory’, which he endowed with a
major new fourth-yearly agonistic festival of Greek type, the Actian games,
encountered earlier in this chapter. The ideological value which Octavian’s
regime attached to these games is suggested by their mythical prefiguration in

30 31 32
Galinsky (1996). Spawforth (2001) 375. Langenfeld (1975) 230, 238–40.

n e s
roman emperors and greek ago 385
the Aeneid, where (3. 278–83) Vergil has Aeneas and his men land on the Actian
shore, strip naked and oil themselves in the manner of Greek athletes, and engage
in wrestling bouts.
On the other hand, there is nothing about Nicopolis and the Actia in the Res
Gestae. It is as if Octavian as early as 29 bc was addressing at least two quite
different audiences. Nicopolis and the Actia were gestures aimed at the Greeks.
They signalled that Antony’s victor, no less than Antony himself, was a philhel-
lene, well disposed to the institution of the Greek city and to Greek culture.
It may not have looked quite like that to the local Aetolians who were turned out
of their homes to populate Nicopolis (Paus. 7. 18. 5; 10. 38. 2). But the Jewish
writer Philo of Alexandria, two generations later, had surely got the intended
message. In a remarkable passage the first princeps attracts praise as a Greek-style
culture-bringer, ‘who brought gentle manners and harmony to all unsociable and
brutish nations, who enlarged Hellas by many a new Hellas, and hellenized the
outside world in its most important regions, the guardian of the peace’ (Embassy
to Gaius 147, Colson’s Loeb translation).
For what must have been somewhat different reasons, Augustus also
promoted Greek agonistics in Italy itself. In the first book of the Epistles Horace
refers to a famous Greek pankratiast of the day called Glycon (Epist. 1. 1. 130).
This Glycon has been recognized in the Pergamene champion of the same name
whose verse-epitaph is preserved in the Palatine Anthology (Anth. Pal. 7. 692),
and in the honorand of a Pergamene inscription, likewise said to have won
victories in Italy.33 Glycon presumably took part in the athletic contests which
Augustus is known to have staged in Rome. Suetonius (Aug. 45. 1) and Cassius
Dio (53. 1. 4–5) both mention Augustus’ wooden stadium for athletic contests in
the Campus Martius,34 a disposable precursor of Domitian’s. According to
Suetonius (Aug. 45. 3), Augustus increased the privileges of athletes and was an
avid follower of so-called Greek contests. It is perhaps less clear whether this was
from personal taste or from a wish to be seen to enjoy demotic pleasures, in the
manner of British Prime Minister Tony Blair’s ostentatious attachment to foot-
ball. Either way, the actions of so shrewd a political operator underline that there
really was a Roman popular audience for Greek athletics in his day (some of it, of
course, made up of Rome’s many residents of Greek extraction).
I turn now to Augustus and Olympia. His Actian games paid the Olympics a
compliment in the sense that they were, according to the contemporary Greek
geographer Strabo (7. 7. 6, C 325), an agōn Olympios. That is, victors enjoyed the
same privileges as they would in the Olympics of Elis, which may also have
provided an organizational model for the Actian athletic programme. On the

33
Moretti (1953) no. 58 and commentary.
34
As Fortuin (1996) 89 suggests, its temporary nature perhaps a sop to Roman critics of Greek athletics.
386 t o n y sp a w f o r t h
other hand, Langenfeld, once more, has argued that Augustus and his regime
were indifferent to Olympia itself. But here proper account must be taken of the
activity of Marcus Agrippa, whom the Greeks rightly saw, on his two tours of the
east, as the official representative of the princeps. From the Greek point of view,
the Augustan regime was a benefactor of Olympia, and advertised itself as such.
The evidence on this point was curiously overlooked by Jean-Michel Roddaz
in his major and otherwise comprehensive 1984 book on Agrippa. It comes in the
form of a fragmentary building inscription in Latin, first published by Wilhelm
Dittenberger and Karl Purgold in 1896 as IvO no. 913. The stone is a yellow and
violet marble, said to be Phrygian pavonazetto, 5 or 6 centimetres thick. This type
of marble, from Asia Minor, came into use in Roman architecture precisely under
Augustus, who employed it in his new forum in the capital. There are cuttings for
the attachment of large letters of bronze, now lost, some 16 centimetres high.
As published the seven fragments make up a rectangular slab, of which the
right-hand edge is partly preserved, as well as parts of the top and bottom edges;
but the left-hand edge is lost. The first fragment, as has since been pointed out,
does not belong—it is a different type of stone apparently, and the lettering
is smaller.35 The editors’ facsimile also indicates an interpunct after the last
preserved letter, followed, it seems, by the right-hand edge of the stone. The
text should therefore have continued onto a neighbouring stone. The original
edition reads:

[M(arcus) Ag]rippa.

It now should read:

[---- Ag]rippa [----]

The fragments were found in the vicinity of the temple of Zeus, where exactly the
same coloured stone was used in a Roman-period repaving of the front porch.
These are the persuasive grounds for the editors’ assumption in their commen-
tary, which no one has challenged, that the inscription was once attached to the
temple, that this Agrippa must be the Agrippa, and that the text advertised
Agrippan renovations to the building, evidently on a substantial scale. It has
been suggested to the writer that the inscription may have been set into the
pavement itself, rather than high up on the building as its original editors
envisaged. Roman building inscriptions were not uncommonly displayed in
this way.36

35
Mallwitz (1988b) 45 n. 16.
36
Pers. comm. Chris Pfaff at a colloquium on Augustan Greece organized (Nov. 2002) by the
Department of Classics, Florida State University. Susan Walker points out that the thickness of the marble
would suit paving. An interesting comparandum is offered by the building inscription beneath the pulpitum
in the theatre at Italica in Spain, probably Augustan or Tiberian and coinciding with the introduction of

n e s
roman emperors and greek ago 387
The date of this inscription in the writer’s opinion needs to be tied in more
precisely to the Augustan principate than it has been hitherto. Not only does
the choice of coloured marble have Augustan resonances: the bronze letters
are typical of the ‘explosion of inscriptions as a by-product of the Augustan
building program’.37 But on an argument from silence, that is, because there is
no mention of any of Agrippa’s three consulates in the text as preserved, its
original editors proposed a date before Agrippa’s first term as consul in 38 bc.
Although it has slipped into the literature,38 this date seems impossibly early—
long before Agrippa’s first official contacts with Greece, for instance. In fact, as
has just been argued, the inscription as we have it is incomplete. After ‘Agrippa’
we would expect at least his filiation to follow and perhaps his consulships, not
to mention a main verb. If there was more of the inscription on one or more
additional slabs, the chief obstacle is removed to dating this text where it
otherwise would seem most naturally to belong—during Agrippa’s political
ascendancy under Augustus, with a strong preference for the period between
17 and 15 bc when he is known to have toured mainland Greece and been its
benefactor.
One might go further. There was an Olympic celebration precisely in 16 bc,
and it is not an unreasonable speculation that Agrippa attended it in person,
leaving behind him the funds for the repaving of the temple porch in the new
marble style of Augustan Rome. This speculation receives support from the
recent redating of the remains of a monumental arch straddling the main ancient
approach to Olympia. For a long time the German excavators linked this arch to
Nero’s visit to Olympia in ad 67. In a posthumous publication by Alfred
Mallwitz, on archaeological grounds the arch has now been shown to be earlier,
and almost certainly Augustan. It is an honorific arch, it can surely only honour a
Roman from the imperial family, and of the two apparent possibilities, Agrippa
or Augustus himself, Agrippa on circumstantial grounds now seems the stronger
candidate.39

5. the proliferation of ‘olympian’ festivals

This final section addresses the question as to why so many of the new sacred
agōnes of Roman imperial times were modelled on the Olympia and, to a lesser

coloured marbles into local architecture: CILA no. 83; see respectively S. Keay and P. León in Caballos and
León (1997) 41–2 and 161–2 (with the illustrations on 161 and 165). Closer to Olympia there is the famous
Erastus inscription from colonial Corinth: Kent (1966) no. 232.
37
Galinksky (1996) 352 citing Alföldy (1991) 293–9.
38
See e.g. Scanlon (2002) 43.
39
Mallwitz (1999) 274.
388 to n y s p a w f o r t h
extent, the Pythia. The phenomenon is a well-known one. Wallner’s list of new or
renewed agonistic festivals under Valerian shows that it was still going strong in
the mid-third century ad, when even such ancient festivals as the Asklepeia of
Epidaurus or the Herakleia at Thebes have the fashionable epithet ‘Olympian’.40
The self-conscious ‘secondariness’ of Greek agōnes in imperial times offers one
explanation: cities hosting new sacred games wished to situate them in the great
tradition of Greek agonistics going back to the ancient Panhellenic games of the
Greek mainland.
There was also the force of Roman example. In the period from Augustus to
the Flavians successive Roman emperors did a great deal to renovate in particular
Olympia and Delphi and to promote especially the Olympian games.41 In the
case of Augustus, there is a further item to mention: the foundation of copy-cat
Olympic games in his honour by Naples in 2 bc, the so-called Sebasta. The
connection with Olympia was underscored by an inscribed copy, displayed at
Olympia, of what Louis Robert called the ‘act of foundation’ of the Neapolitan
games. This view of the text, that it was set up by Neapolis when the Sebasta were
founded, is supported by the letter-forms (e.g. broken-bar alpha, the shortened
right-hand hasta of pi). These in the writer’s view pose a problem for the dating to
the second century ad found in some of the more recent secondary literature.42
Augustus is likely to have been consulted in advance of games intended to
honour him, and their imitation of the Olympics was surely meant to comple-
ment his earlier signs of interest in Olympia and its festival. Moreover, Augustus
not only attended the Sebasta in person (Suet. Aug. 98, 5; Vell. Pat. 2. 123. 1) but
on one occasion, just before his death, presided in person (Cass. Dio 56. 29. 2).
Such was his power of example that other emperors followed in his footsteps:
Claudius is known to have presided (Suet. Claud. 11. 2), as did Titus in ad 70
(in absentia), 74, and 78.43 Augustan precedent, it turns out, lay behind Domitian’s
presidency of the Capitoline games.
More generally, this precedent, in fact, now looks far more decisive in
the development of agōnes under Rome than is usually acknowledged. In this
connection Nero has yet to be invoked. Caldelli draws attention to a passage in
Suetonius describing how this emperor laid his victor’s wreath before a statue of
Augustus after winning the lyre-playing in his newly instituted Greek games at
Rome, the short-lived Neronia (Nero 12. 3).44 The point, she suggests, is that

40
Moretti (1953) no. 87, lines 9–11.
41
This imperial involvement, especially for Olympia, has been noted elsewhere, most recently by
Scanlon (2002) ch. 2. The writer’s discussion does not aim to be exhaustive.
42
IvO no. 56 (SEG 37. 356) with Caldelli (1993) 8–37, citing Robert (1970) 9. For the later dating see SEG
11. 200; 14. 39.
43
AE (1988) no. 32.
44
Caldelli (1993) 43.
 roman emperors and greek ag

ones 389
Nero wished to show that in founding the Neronia he was only following in
the authoritative footsteps of Augustus, himself instigator of Greek games
in Rome.
The detail cannot be gone into here, but a somewhat similar story can be
pieced together in regard to the early Roman emperors and Delphi, in what
looks like a pattern of activity aimed at associating imperial benevolence with
these exceptionally venerable Greek cults, of which support for the ancient
sacred games was one aspect. Here Domitian is already known to have repaired
the temple of Apollo, and current German work at Olympia reveals his activity
there too.45 Claudius too took an interest in Delphi. In a well-known letter of
ad 52 he intervened in support of measures to repeople the city of Delphi,
where there was evidently a manpower shortage in the mid-first century ad. He
is now known as well to have accepted an invitation from the Delphians to serve
as their eponymous archon. Delphian indebtedness to Claudius is suggested by
a number of statues of the emperor attested in the sanctuary, including the one
before which, in a recently-published inscription, a Delphian citizen solemnly
acknowledged a freed slave as his daughter.46
In conclusion, the classicism of Augustan culture, well described by Karl
Galinsky, helps to explain why Olympia became an ideal model for the Actian
and Sebastan games, and why Agrippa chose to renovate (but also ‘Romanize’)
the temple of Olympian Zeus. Augustus also turns out to have been deeply
implicated in Greek agonistics, promoting them even in Rome. Later emperors
who founded agōnes in Rome, especially Nero and Domitian, could both claim
Augustan precedent. The Augustan regime’s support for Olympia and the Olym-
pics helps to explain how Olympia recuperated its traditional prestige under the
empire. This in turn helps explain the later waves of copy-cat Olympics in the
eastern provinces. Acceptance by subject-Greek elites of the Roman estimation of
Greek culture was a form of political obeisance to Roman power, an expression
of subject loyalty no less than its more instantly recognizable manifestations such
as the imperial cult, declarations of pistis on Greek local coins, pursuit of Roman
office, and so on. Elite Greeks internalized this Roman estimation of their
cultural traditions, much of it condemnatory; but, where it was favourable,
they could, and did, adjust their own cultural comportment accordingly.
The now-unfashionable weasel-word ‘Romanization’, to pick up where this

45
ILS no. 8905. He is also named ‘explicitly’ in a building inscription from Olympia, where the Roman
refurbishment of the Leonidaion is also now dated to the Flavians. The resemblances of this refurbished
building to the Domus Flavia on the Palatine suggest a Roman, and quite possibly an imperial, patron:
Specht (1996) 210, 214–15.
46
A. Plassart, FD III, 4, no. 286 (letter of Claudius) with Ferrary and Rousset (1998) 313. For the two
inscriptions published by Mulliez (2001) see now SEG 51 (2001) nos. 606 (statue) and 607 (archonship).
For the correct interpretations of the first of these two texts see Rigsby (2004).
390 t o n y sp a w f o r t h
chapter began, in the writer’s view is still useful to convey the flavour of the
politico-cultural process at work here. It is hard to see how agōnes would have
flourished in the Greek world to anything like the extent that they did in the first
three centuries ad without active imperial support. Augustus, followed by
Nero and Domitian, can be said to have transformed Greek agonistics into
Graeco-Roman agonistics.
 fifteen
––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Conclusion: The Prestige of the Games

Mary Douglas

The editors of this book have made a grand interdisciplinary gesture. It was a
happy thought to put poetry and sport (in its widest sense) into the same frame,
and in itself a bold idea to bring together classical scholars from all branches of
the discipline to talk about the Panhellenic crown games and Pindar’s Odes
celebrating the games’ victors. Academically speaking, it was also a postmodern
gesture. The earlier (modern) idea used to be that sport is sport, a branch of play,
a genre of its own, one which has much to say for the education and mental and
bodily well-being of the individual performers, and something to do with school
and national morale, but nothing else. That narrowly bounded view is dead and
done. Nowadays sport is one branch of the ‘Performative Arts’, which include
play, dance, ritual, emotion, celebration, theories of public events, religion, the
media, and much more besides.

some questions arising

All great cultures create climactic moments in which the community celebrates
itself with its own standardized, awe-inspiring rites. The Hellas-wide, self-cele-
brations of the games have rightly been compared to victory parades, or to kings’
coronations, or to state funerals, but there are many differences. The games were
not provoked by a national disaster or triumph. They started at sporadic intervals
at the shrines of different gods, and were not initially (or in many cases ever)
Hellas-wide events. Over several hundred years the major games became regu-
larized, held on a four-year cycle: four festivals eclipsed the others and ended up
at the heart of networks which spread round the vast archipelago as one cultural
system. Why did they spread so completely, and so fast? When the games are
simply presented as an example of competition for glory the thing looks quite
different. If the games were so popular, why were they, at least in pre-Roman
times, confined to the Hellenes? Even in the Roman Empire, they were still called
the Greek games. And how did the religious aspect of the games, dedicated to
different deities, contribute to the integration of the region?
392 m ar y do ugl as
In Greece, at least from the fifth century onwards, barbarians were not eligible
to compete. Games became both an enactment and an exhibition of Hellenism,
hedged around by codes, rules, judges, and administrators. Essentially the games
were an exhibition to the world of Hellenes enjoying their Hellenic heritage.
There is perhaps a puzzle here. One might expect that ethnic exclusivity would
have hindered the expansion, although ethnic identity is, of course, often claimed
and ascribed (as the case of the Macedonian ruling house demonstrates). Unless
the peace was already established, how could competitive games make for peace
without using military force? These were questions in my mind at the beginning
of October 2002. But now I have a different perspective for reflecting on
competition for prestige. Helping to keep the peace cannot be the central
point, for the peace was not kept; outsiders caused many invasions, sanctuaries
suffered violent disruptions, and fights occurred between Greek states
In the sociologist’s standard terms of inquiry the usual questions are posed in
terms of competition for power and wealth.

‘Why did athletes compete in the games?’

‘Presumably because they individually got something out of it.’

But apart from personal satisfaction, what did they get in return for all the
effort they make and the physical risks they take? Wealth? Not likely. Com-
mercial profits were certainly to be made for the city and/or sanctuary in
providing for a mass of visitors. In smaller competitions the cities gave quite
rich prizes but in the big four games (at Olympia, Delphi, Nemea, and Isthmia)
the victorious athlete only received wreaths. As Davies points out, athletes got
their rewards from their home cities. Influence too—and power? Glory, cer-
tainly, but how do we set about studying that? What about evidence? Com-
pared with what we hear about our football stars, do we know anything about
the relative wealth of the Greek players, or about the forms of patronage which
enabled them to play? What sort of trail should we follow to trace the
distribution of power? It turns out that where the power used to reside in
the Greek games system is obscure. The games must have been expensive to
organize, and without gate money it is difficult to see how they could generate
big profits, or who got them.
The results of this search for pecuniary reward for individuals, or access to
power, or other political and economic privileges distributed through the ma-
chinery of the games, are thin. The usual theories based on individual advantage,
psychological or economic, do not tell us how a super-star emerges. We don’t
know where to look for other advantages which make a strenuous competition
worth while. Answers based on individual cost-benefit do not seem to apply. We
can transfer our curiosity away from that line of questioning and try to make a
fresh start. We have been used to thinking of power and domination as the
 con cl u s i o n: the presti ge o f the games 393
sources of influence. Prestige is something quite other.1 It is defined as freely
conferred deference; it is completely different from dominance achieved by force
or threat of force. To appreciate how it works we have to shift up one level, stop
focusing on individuals, start thinking of a system developed by individuals for
themselves, think of culture. Prestige is a cultural phenomenon, not susceptible
to questions about individual gain.

prestige systems
The theory of Prestige will open up different questions about cultural transmis-
sion. The Panhellenic crown games were obviously a full-blown prestige system
based on deference freely conferred on the heroes. They provide a splendid
exemplar for the new theory of prestige proposed by Joseph Henrich and
Francisco Gil-White (2001) It carries us beyond piecemeal observations to ap-
preciate some systemic aspects of competition. We will have to look for different
kinds of evidence to recognize the limits and strength of prestige systems. The
theory may even be able to settle the chicken-and-egg question: were the games
dependent on a peace already enforced? Or did the prestige of the games bring
the peace with them? John Davies’ chapter touches lightly on this—and the
editors themselves raise the question in their Introduction, when they evaluate
modern interpretations of the sacred truce. I am aiming at a form of argument
that can show that the games contributed to the level of peace which made
themselves, the games, possible.
We normally have a rather scrappy idea of how a prestige system works.
Perhaps our own dislike of snobbism and self-interested behaviour makes the
subject unpalatable, so that sociology hardly goes beyond disparaging individual
efforts to ‘keep up with the Joneses’. The theory of prestige that is now beginning
to emerge consolidates and systematizes what we only know naively. It comes
from Evolutionary Psychology via Rational Choice and ‘Information Goods’.
This sounds a heavy brew, but it is in practice a clever move towards practising
what it preaches: it manages to ground a theory about prestige on the most
prestigious theories in the social sciences. We can’t afford to ignore it.
The theory starts off from evolutionary assumptions about natural selection. It
focuses strongly on the survival of groups, rather than on survival of individual
members. In other words, it is about the process of achieving a public good. It
starts by linking the collective need for high-quality information to the individual
interest in acquiring it. The theory assumes that a group will be at risk if its
members are not interested in seeking the best available information. It states

1
Henrich and Gil-White (2001).
394 mary douglas
that, to acquire good-quality information, individuals look for skilled experts
from whom to learn. Humans have developed talents for judging and ranking
each other for expertise; natural selection favours learners who can select the
most successful models. The big issue for the quality of transmission is how
individuals decide whom to copy, and how they can persuade their chosen model
to give access for learning. This is where freely conferred deference comes in.
Prestige is a powerful draw. The drive to be near to high-prestige holders
accounts for much of social life. One simple method for choosing the best and
most compliant expert model for copying is to use success as an indicator. The
choosing confers prestige on successful individuals. At this point we leave the
evolutionary model in order to study the social relations between high-prestige
individuals and their deferential following of copiers.
A big following is not only the result of success, it is an important sign of
success. Success breeds more success, and more prestige from bigger bands
of followers. The process is a positive feedback. In the primitive conditions of
hunters and foragers, prestige bestows many individual advantages: influence,
power to persuade, choice of sexual partners; a flow of gifts to the successful
individual in return for access to the model. Hunters and gatherers are favourite
exemplars (understandably) in evolutionary psychology, but there is no need to
stay with them. Success does the same for us moderns. Anthropologists have put
on record many examples of patronage systems, or political systems where the
leaders who surface through a competition for prestige are known as ‘Big Men’.2
Having arrived at the top, the good things of life start to flow towards them. They
become rich. They advertise their success and affluence by giving away their
surplus. The successful man’s daughters attract a queue of suitors. Rich, success-
ful, and well-connected by marriage, according to the theory the model of success
exerts influence. Even arrived at that high point, the Big Men can’t sit back and
collect the benefits. They have to work hard to protect their prestige rating against
challenge; hence the interest in costly display and the dispensing of generous gifts.
And so, the competition for prestige expands the field. The Big Men will use their
influence to stop wars they can’t control. This line of argument can be a help in
thinking about how the games spread; it can redirect our search for information.
The theory of prestige is not complete without a theory of rejection. It
describes competition as generating a series of positive feedbacks. For any such
system to persist it would have to be complemented by a series of negative
feedbacks too. Most societies try to curb individual competition, some curb it
just a little, others try to control it more severely, some let it go free. Without any
internal controls the system of prestige which the theory describes would be
running towards its own destruction. Fortunately for us, who want to use the

2
Godelier (1982).
 c o n c l u s i o n : t h e pr e s t i ge o f t h e ga m e s 395
theory, we don’t have to assume the Greek games were rushing towards their
own ruin. The theoretical complement has been at hand for over twenty years. It
falls to us to combine Prestige Theory with Rubbish Theory, to the benefit of our
study of the games.
Michael Thompson’s theory of rubbish,3 published in 1979, was widely
applauded as an essay in aesthetic philosophy. The front players in his book are
not people but objects. The book is about treasures which have once been famous
and costly, and which a change of fashion has directed to the trash bin. The pattern
traces out the same destiny for these one-time valuables now become rubbish as
for many social processes, as for example the destiny of concepts in the history of
ideas, and the fate of persons’ reputations in a competitive social system.
Prestige is a generating process. Unless there is something to stop it, as it
unfolds it creates more and more prestige until a saturation point is reached.
From lowly beginnings a steepening path leads on to dizzying heights and puts
huge distances between persons, so that the humblest is worlds below the top.
However, anyone who reaches near the top of the system finds that opportunities
of increasing scale begin to fade. There are not enough large halls or theatres. The
current superstars are riding so high on their triumphs that they can rise no
further. Michael Thompson considers the dilemmas that face a hero when his
agent has exhausted all the resources for drumming up yet bigger audiences: he
has to risk failing altogether or decide upon a new orbit, or find a new career.
The central idea is that the nature of rubbish is determined by the kind of
society that has discarded it, above all it depends on social attitudes to competi-
tive behaviour. The conservative hierarchical society seeks to limit competition,
and conserves its treasures. The competitive society lightly discards its old
treasures and its tastes change quickly. Eventually, it runs out of new valuable
objects; long before that stage has been reached, discerning people have been
going back to the attic and bringing out old discarded furniture, textiles, or
ceramics, unpacking the old-fashioned silver from the trunk in the cellar, and
representing it as a new thing, ‘an antique’, valued for its age. Rubbish theory
suggests that the students of competitive processes should watch the failures as
carefully as they watch the successful ventures. The processes of decay and of
enhanced prestige are complementary and both turn out to be dynamic.4

the holiness rat race

Ernest Gellner wrote the best description of how a prestige system generates its
own validation. Saints of the Atlas is a book on success as the proof of sanctity in

3 4
Thompson (1979). Thompson (1980).
396 ma r y d o u g la s
the society of the Berbers.5 Every spring these camel herders make a wild
competitive scramble for the best pasture lands. Boundary disputes will lead to
fighting unless they can call in a reputed Holy Man to adjudicate. He will
administer oaths to reveal the truth of the conflicting claims. The more important
a dispute, the larger and richer the population involved in it, the less likely it is to
be settled peacefully. He has to be someone very impressive for his authority to
be accepted by all parties.
The tribes are divided between warrior lineages and holy lineages. The latter
compete just as energetically for reputation and commissions as the former do for
pastures. To become a powerful and respected adjudicator a holy man has to be
known as the holiest and the most discerning and authoritative judge in the
region. Success breeds, and every successfully conducted negotiation adds to a
growing reputation. This is the competition which takes place between different
lineages of holy men, jockeying for position in the eyes of the warrior lineages
who rely on them to settle their disputes about pastures.
The same competition is played out at another level within the holy lineage
itself. There is no rule of succession which indicates who is to be the leader of
their branch. A hopeful candidate has to prove his superior holiness against his
own brethren. The sign of great holiness is generosity. They all start out as poor
as each other, to be successful a holy man must acquire the wherewithal to be
conspicuously generous by acumen. This is what he does. He goes to the look-
out post at the top of the house in which the large family of holy men and their
wives and children live together. The trick is for his servant to be there and to spot
the cloud of dust heralding a troop of horsemen in the distance. As they draw
near, the ambitious holy man must assess whether the strangers are rich or poor,
needing alms or able to bestow them. If they look poor, the clever man will leave
them to be received by the other brethren. If they are rich, he sends out his
servants to welcome them on the road, lead them in, pressing his hospitality on
them. When they leave, they repay his generous welcome with lavish gifts. This
strategy enhances the store of wealth which enables him to be even more
generous to the next batch of rich visitors. The more generous he is, the holier
he is esteemed to be; the more astutely he distributes his gifts, the wealthier he
becomes, and more able to justify his reputation for holiness. The system endows
authority while concealing its inherent inequality.
Within his own lineage his guileless brethren have been getting poorer as their
brother gets richer, but it is an advantage for them to have in their midst a big
leader to speak for them in the assemblies. In a competitive system there are
bound to be losers. The same pattern of negative feedbacks applies between holy
lineages. Eventually it may become politic for the losing lineages to give up their

5
Gellner (1969).
 c o n c l u s i o n : t he p r e s t i g e o f t he g a m e s 397
identity and merge with one of the other lineages. The result of all the excitement
and effort is that the community as a whole has gained a way of limiting warfare
between its members.

dominant prestige systems

The theory of prestige should allow for a cyclic element: a prestige system is
inherently unstable, eventually it turns against its champions. When it moves into
a new phase they find themselves losing rank to their rivals. Prestige systems are
greedy. Ever attracting new members, they come into competition with each other
and eventually one system will win, and be dominant. We are familiar with this in
our own lives: in various spheres, sports heroes, pop stars, politicians, find them-
selves the pawns of fashion. Given time, the same generative process can make one
prestige system so successful that it absorbs the others. So if it is a commercial
system, profit-seeking provides a model for all other behaviour; everything in the
social process may become buyable or sellable. If it is a political system, the hustings
model dominates. We could illustrate the greediness of a dominating prestige
system in sport with the history of English cricket, or fox hunting. As the games
moved off the village greens and local farms to become great national games, they
were quickly absorbed into the stream of competitions supporting gentlemanly
prestige. Prestige systems tend to converge and coalesce. Several of the chapters in
this volume have described the way in which states may suddenly choose to
commemorate victors retrospectively, to suit the changing political circumstances.
A competitive prestige system is inherently inegalitarian. It raises some com-
petitors to the stars, making a huge unaccountable gap between winners and the
rank and file. This might explain how in a list of Olympic winners only a happy few
are commemorated by an ode. It is the generative principle at work, the prestige of
the games attracting more followers, swelling the number of adherents and
creating more prestige. For the Prima Donna or the Superstar, prestige is based
on returns to scale. Success of the singer or actor depends on managing to perform
in the biggest halls.6 However, at some point in the process the knock-on effect
produces saturation, maybe because there are no bigger halls to hire. At that point,
a downturn is liable to follow unless some adjustments can be made.

choice of marriage partners and other social effects

of prestige
You may have noticed that anthropologists of my generation yearn for systematic
information about kinship and marriage; the status of women; demographic and
family structures; political, economic, and ecological pressures. Prestige theory
6
Meyer (1960); Rosen (1981).
398 m ar y do ugl as
starts by assuming that the possessor of prestige has better choice of mating
partners. Did a winner in the Games have a better choice of potential brides (as
prestige theory would predict)? This is a very important question for anthropo-
logists, but not much is said about it in ancient sources. Yet there is a specific
reference in Pindar: Maria Stamatopoulou reminds us that in P. 10. 55–9, Pindar
says that Hipplokleas’ victory will make him more attractive to girls.
Just as important would be whether the prestige of the young men’s games
would have affected the balance of power and authority between old and young
in Delphi. I imagine it might be harder to be an old man in Greece than in some
other places not so obsessed with excelling in strength and speed. Were the best
young athletes and the best trainers in the pay of powerful patrons (as market
theory would assume)? Did their patrons pay the poets for their congratulatory
odes? There is certainly one instance of this in Pythian 10, as Maria Stamatopou-
lou again describes, but we can only guess at how typical this was.
What about gambling? I recall Peter Brown’s account7 of the chariot races in
Byzantium on whose outcomes major political issues hung. And Clifford
Geertz’s account of the Balinese cockfights, on which princes and their depend-
ants betted heavily.8 Were there laws against betting? and fixing? At Olympia at
least, the measures taken to publicize cheating imply that it must have been a
problem. Candidates took an oath not to cheat at the altar of Zeus Horkios
before the temple, and those caught cheating were fined and the fines used to pay
for bronze statues (Zanes) set up along the athletes’ way into the stadium.
Evidence for betting is less direct. At Nemea, the presence in the late fourth-
century stadium of contingents of spectators from Argos, Sikyon, Phlius, and
Kleonai, is illustrated by the distribution of coins from these cities, and the fact
that these are mostly small change may suggest that they were used for betting
and gaming.9
In this seminar there were some information gaps that would be easy to fill,
and others that would entail hard work and not be worth the trouble. And of
course any systematic research develops ways of ignoring information that does
not meet its current needs, information one can really do without. Paul Bohan-
non had a little joke about a book that ‘filled a much-needed gap’. The restricted
focus of a scholarly discipline necessarily creates gaps in curiosity. Some ques-
tions are just not worth asking because there is no valid way of answering them.

‘much-needed gaps’
Simon Hornblower’s chapter is an exercise in rejecting unnecessary questions.
He demonstrates that many of Pindar’s odes referred to victors from Aegina, and

7 8 9
Brown (1970). Geertz (1971). Knapp (2005) 22–30.
 conclusion: the prestige of the games 39 9
discusses several possible explanations for their preponderance. He dismisses
them all in turn and ends by discarding the whole issue as too contrived,
unnecessary, over-sophisticated. Instead he urges the simple explanation that
Pindar would have had a special affection for the island, and many good friends
there; the people were famous for their welcoming generosity, they loved a good
time. No wonder they got so many odes from the poet who enjoyed their
hospitality. According to the evidence, these lovable features of the Aeginetan
personality were, and still are, characteristic of all Greek culture, and so Horn-
blower went on to show that Pindar thought that the people of Aegina had these
virtues to a higher degree than other Greeks. In other words, he regarded the
whole question as unnecessary, and sought to defend simple everyday explan-
ations. The academic questioning was either probing into inevitable gaps, or
plain wrong-headed. So now I try to defend my choice of what I hope are
worthwhile questions.

the expanding colonies

The Greek colonial expansion kept surfacing in our discussion as the background
of the games. I am interested in colonies, having lived through the decline
and end of the British Empire, and I have read about its earlier period of growth
and conquest. It had to be explained to me that in this seminar the word colony
means quite simply a settlement of Greeks in other lands, more to do with
plantations than with military conquest and colonial administration. There is
no real evidence that the incoming groups were technologically, economically, or
militarily superior. They were definitely at a disadvantage numerically, even
though the ethnic divisions were more fluid than one might suppose.10
This made what Carla Antonaccio said about elite mobility even more intri-
guing. By mobility she did not mean social mobility up and down the vertical axis
of a class structure. She focused on the physical journeys of elite settlers from
their colonial sites to their ancestral homes and back again. The settlers would
have had a permanent stake in the land; certainly the climate was good enough to
stay all the year round and rear children. My first question is why, if these Greeks
had settled as traders or farmers, gaining their livelihood on a remote peninsular
or island, did they keep returning? It was hardly a question of going ‘home’ since
they made their home on their western farms and cities. They may have wanted to
keep in touch with their old folks, though they probably could not afford to
return frequently and such personal connections may have weakened over time.
Traders obviously have to travel to pick up and sell their wares; regular trips

10
Morgan (1997a).
400 mary douglas
home would help them to assess demand for their products. I am angling for an
answer that relies on their pride in Hellenic identity, and the role that the games
played in maintaining it.
The main sociological interest in elites focuses upon the vertical dimension of
social stratification. Whether the players belonged to the elite would be answered
by reference to a ranked occupational structure, such as whether a cook like
Coroebus of Elis was allowed to compete. If they did travel back and forth, it is
worth recalling the effect on local solidarities of travelling out of their territory
together and joining in sporting competitions away from home. How far would
they have to travel to get from the outposts of civilization to where the games
were being held? How long would it take? How much did it cost? How many
days? Would it be the equivalent of flying to America for a baseball game? Did
they go on foot, riding a mule, or in a bullock cart, and over water in a boat? Did
the men go, and their families stay behind? Or did the wives and children follow
with the baggage train?
Of course the distances travelled varied a lot according to starting point; it
would be easier to sail to Olympia at least from Sicily than from the Aegean
islands. But we can still ask what the travellers did with the children. If they
accompanied their parents travelling back and forth, it says much for the safety of
the route. Carla Antonaccio told us that the settlers sent remittances to their
family at home; she called it a kind of investment. What, and how much, did they
send? And why did they send anything? This reminds me of the Central African
migrant workers in the Copperbelt who regularly sent remittances back to their
family. That was a worthwhile investment which they made, they said, to ‘keep
their place in the village warm’. They hoped thereby to have preserved their
kinship links, so that on retiring from the mines they would still be entitled to
claim their lineal right to office in the village. Would there be a Hellenic equiva-
lent? Did the settlers plan to retire to Greece, or did they try to make a sustainable
local community to live and die in? The latter, I think—although the question of a
‘right of return’ is much debated.

demography: a city needs to hold its members

A range of the questions which recurred from week to week during the seminar
have now been treated at greater length in the editors’ introduction. We argued
around encyclopaedia definitions of the word ‘elite’. Marxist views were occa-
sionally scanned. Were the games the effort of a declining aristocracy to regain
visibility and prestige? Or were they just for the pleasure of the Greek elites?
Or again, did anyone suggest that games in which all Greeks could compete
prevented status differences turning into social classes?
 conclusion: the prestige of the games 401
We in England have had the same question raised about fox hunting. The
claim that the conviviality of hunting together in the fields and dancing to-
gether at the annual Hunt Ball welds the rural community into a single social
unit (which is not the same as a classless society) is open to challenge. More
likely, the solidarity is a feature of urban life. I would expect in each city a
shared concern for its survival and prosperity. The honour paid to a victorious
athlete would be part of an attempt to bind him to his place of origin (see
Rosalind Thomas’s chapter).
In Central Africa every village would be very concerned to maintain its size and
quality of life. Among the Lele, for example, anxiety about defection of the young
men was a major preoccupation. On a night following a day of squabbling the
village announcer would warn the old people not to offend the young men or to
make them feel unwelcome. ‘Who will hunt for us, who will build our houses, if
they leave?’ Visiting the absent sick was an occasion to calumniate the people of
the patient’s present abode. The sick man would be berated for leaving home,
warned that his new village was full of jealous sorcerers deceitfully plotting to
poison him, and that if he would only come back where he belonged he would
make a quick recovery.
I imagine that smaller Greek communities could also have been afraid of losing
a successful athlete. The games furnished seductive occasions for social climbing.
According to prestige theory, the young athlete would want to live near his role
models. This explains why the prizes for victors came from their own towns, and
it suggests that by offering other sources of support for the games the aristocracy
hoped to retrieve a passing glory. A local benefactor who generously supplied the
alcohol or other material things for the games was not just doing himself a favour
by becoming even more notable than before. He was also contributing to the
movement which involved smaller regions into a great Panhellenic unity. He was
cranking up the machinery of an expanding prestige system. The growing stabil-
ity and dignity of the society increased the scale of his rewards, and so increased
his incentives to be a contributor, so more alcohol and good things, and so more
demand for festivals. It would be another positive feedback leading to more
stability and dignity.

memorialization
Bert Smith said that the Greeks had ‘the statue habit’. Rosalind Thomas enlarged
upon an intriguing parallel between odes and monuments. She also referred to
the Greeks’ passion for commemoration, and suggested (unexpectedly) that to
commission a monument cost less than a poem. There is not much known about
the relative prices, but the two forms of commemoration imply two different, if
402 mary douglas
interacting, prestige systems. Most monumental sculptors probably worked for a
more local clientele than poets (although the existence of star sculptors is well
illustrated in the appendix to Smith’s chapter). Some families wanted to com-
memorate members who died prematurely—young persons whose lives will not
otherwise be remembered because they have no descendants. The sculptors
themselves would have had a professional interest in making the parents feel
bad about uncommemorated dead, a parallel with unburied dead. Indeed, Greek
sympathy for the unfulfilled life extended to making statues of unfulfilled
women.
The passion for memorializing would very likely have been carried along on
the ever-expanding prestige system. It would have been an accepted form of
public relations for the successful families and their imitators. Alternatively,
commemorative rites can be strongly imposed on mourners by the community,
sometimes expecting the heir to make lavish disbursements of cash or property. It
comes as no surprise that epinikian odes fit well into the picture of a society
engrossed with competition for prestige. Translations of odes tend to suggest a
rather portentous style. One expects the poetry of another language to be lost on
the outsider. However, Michael Silk’s chapter on Olympian 12 corrected these
expectations with a subtle analysis of a single, complex, poem. It was shown to be
much more highly structured than a first reading of the English version suggested
to me. In the event, I was delighted to find that the discussion of poetic form
managed to transcend disciplinary boundaries. I hope one day to read how
Pindar compares with other commissioned praise-song writers, poet laureates,
or imperial bards. (I am thinking of Kipling’s verse at the height of the British
Raj.) It would be interesting if expatriate cultures tend to prefer a particular genre
of poetry. Does absence from home lead to pride of place and pride in perform-
ance? Do expatriates like ironic, teasing, paradoxes? Some wistfulness, some
irony, stiff upper lip, and moral uplift? Are these the regular components of
diaspora literatures? If the very idea of Pindar as a poet of the diaspora seems
strange, it is at least supported in the editors’ introduction and in Carla
Antonaccio’s chapter.
In all this, however, we said very little about the athletes themselves, their
strains and pains, or about the rigours of their training, camaraderie, or envy.
Stephen Instone made me want to know more about the sporting contenders
themselves. For example, the rule of nudity was one of the things that the early
Roman elite held against Greek games. Evidently the two cultures had very
different ideas of decency, but their differing does not mean that the Greeks
were lacking in that respect. Indeed, the Greeks were scandalized by the state of
undress of the Spartan women who were allowed to compete in the Spartan
games.
 con cl u s io n: the presti ge o f the games 403

naked or nude?
Nudity came up again in Bert Smith’s chapter on its sculptural treatment, and
again in Tony Spawforth’s account of the Greek games in the Roman Empire.
Various reasons for the Greek games’ nudity rule have been offered. The simplest
is that it was a practical concession to the conditions of athletics. The disadvan-
tage of wearing clothes for heavy exercise is the sweat and smell; it makes sense to
wear no clothes at all. A more fanciful idea is that nudity upholds equality
between men: the naked man is utterly simple and natural, the genuine person,
no faking with elaborate dress. A convention of this kind would make nudity a
value in itself. But in one sense it is absurd, because equality in nakedness is an
illusion. Remember Thomas Mann’s hero, the handsome young Felix Krull, who
had to take off his shirt to be examined by the Board that could grant him
exemption from military service. Aware of his physical advantages, he stripped
off completely and walked in to the interview room stark naked. The examining
board were so moved by his uncovered beauty that they agreed unanimously that
it would be iniquitous to let him risk combatant status. He got his exemption,
enjoying a secret smile about the inequality of nature’s endowments.
The rule of nudity for contestants was linked in antiquity to the absence of
women at the games. My own experience in Africa of inter-village wrestling
matches supports the connection, but in term of modesty rather than confirm-
ation of the biological sex of the participant. The Lele were extremely circumspect
in dress and speech, and men never exposed themselves naked in front of women.
It was easy for a loincloth to slip in the course of a wrestling match. For this
reason the polite wrestlers banned women from approaching the ‘ring’, in case an
accidental glimpse of their genitals gave offence. But the practicalities of
nakedness should not be confused with the aesthetics of nudity—the latter at the
heart of Smith’s paper. Kenneth Clark defines nudity as ‘an art form invented by
the Greeks in the fifth century’. He insists that the nude is not the subject of art,
but a form of art. This form of art uses the human body to exemplify the central
Greek concept of human wholeness.11 Nakedness and nudity are defined in terms
of each other. The two concepts have to be a central contrast in every culture. They
are used normatively to express the difference between child and adult, member
and outsider, human and animal, public and private, savage and civilized.
The presentation of the body can be neutral, but usually it carries heavy social
implications. The Greeks were shocked at the depiction of a deformed body.
The most powerful analysis of the body as a moral indicator is Bernadette
Bucher’s study of the illustrations in De Bry’s Les Grand Voyages.12 These were

11
Clark (1956) 18–22.
12
Bucher (1981) (trans. from the French original, La Sauvage aux Seins Pendants; Paris, 1977).
404 mary douglas
popular reports on the explorations of the Caribbean and American shores in the
late sixteenth century. The artists had never seen the people they portrayed, and
at first, inspired by the thought of a new race of humans, not descended from
Adam and Eve so untainted by original sin, drew their models from Greek statues
of gods and goddesses. But the history of exploration turned into the history of
conflict between natives defending their lands and the intruding settlers. They
were discovered to be cannibals, not innocent at all. The later illustrations took
up the moral theme with verve. Women chewing on human bones or tending the
fire for the cannibal feast, had long pendulous breasts. Warriors’ bodies were old
and wrinkled, children’s bodies were clumsy as one carried a severed head and
another a dismembered arm. Formerly the population had been presented as
nude, but now they were utterly, repulsively naked.
Clothing and covering are not the same. One can be naked under a blanket.
A naked woman in one culture can be very embarrassed if she has taken off her
nose-ring to show it to the English traveller (trying to hide her face, looking
away), but completely at ease once she has put it on again. Nakedness is all right
in intimacy, but not among strangers or honoured visitors. The Lele feel ‘un-
dressed’ if they are not wearing red paint on a formal occasion. In this light, the
very fact of taking part in the games would have been enough to transform
nakedness into acceptable nudity. The context of the games would serve as well
to frame the body in a noble aura just as the context of an art gallery makes nudity
presentable.
From these discussions I got the idea of a team-spirited set of sportsmen in
Italy, and a ruthlessly ego-focused set in Greece. The Greeks maintained that the
games were a good preparation for war, which amused the Romans whose army
(not trained in the games but in the gymnasium) had carved up the Greek
military defences in no time at all. One can suppose that the military competence
of the Romans was greater: Greek individualism, a strength in the games, would
have been a weakness in confronting Roman coordination, discipline, and strat-
egy. The potential exception is Sparta where, as Cathy Morgan’s chapter shows,
recent scholarship has struggled to come to terms with the apparently paradoxical
implications of athletic and equestrian competition in a military state.

sportsmanship
A by-blow of this very basic cultural difference might show in contrasted ideas of
good- sportsmanship. If that difference existed it could irritate both parties trying
to join the same games. I would suppose the Romans might have had more
protocol about team spirit and fair play, and the Greeks might play a more
uninhibited game. The late Victor Turner told me that when he first visited
 conclusion: the prestige of the games 405
the States, he was challenged to a game of ping-pong, lost the game, and
shruggingly retired saying, ‘Never mind, it’s only a game.’ Whereupon his
winning opponent furiously dragged him back to play again, shouting: ‘Don’t
you ever say that! You are in America now! Here you play to win.’ From that day
on, he always played to win, and generally did.
In some countries the competitive aspects of games is deliberately damped. At
the end of the seminar I showed a film on Trobriand Cricket. The game was very
dramatic, enhanced by vigorous singing and dancing. Only at the end was it
revealed that Trobrianders observed strict conventions of courtesy and that it was
unthinkable for them to let the visiting team lose the match. Tennis players at
Wimbledon used to walk decorously to the net to shake hands after a game, the
winner would say something kind to the loser. Compare that with TV in summer
2002, and observe Tim Henman dancing on the court after a winning match,
throwing up his arms in wild exultation, no eyes for his vanquished opponent
creeping ignominiously away—a familiar image in the Greek world.
I dwell on this cultural difference because it ought to show up in the statuary.
Romans also had the ‘statue habit’. We saw a fine upstanding Greek charioteer,
wrestlers, and a discus thrower, but their posture didn’t seem to be specially
exhibitionist. Did the Romans present their sportsmen in the same postures?
Their victors should show very different body language.

religion and mythical origins

Religion was touched upon in many papers: the shrines and the role of the gods,
religious obligations, sanctuaries. This makes it very credible that there would
have been a strong religious concern, with the god of the city backing his home
team and expecting due offerings when the victory was gained.
John Davies considers these athletics to be a natural extension of religion,
backed by the idea that the gods gave success. In his piece on the origins of the
games he recounted several myths in which a god appeared to a worshipper and
told him to make a festival in his honour. The idea that the endeavours of the
champions and the god’s gifts of success were reciprocal is clearly present in the
ancient sources, and the sense of athletics as a cultic service has long been present
in modern scholarship. Can we connect the asceticism of the runner with reli-
gious asceticism? I have gained the impression that this was very much the case,
and that visions of the gods were not accidental features of the origins of the
games.
There might be another mechanism for self-renewal concealed here. Remem-
ber that physical deprivation, such as extreme hunger, thirst, or exhaustion,
induces states of dissociation, and that long-distance runners have hallucinatory
406 mary douglas
experiences. Mystics preparing for a trance experience often force their physical
resources to the limit. This confirms a strong link between the games and the
gods. We have been hearing of myths in which the gods command new festivals.
There is a positive feedback:

Runners have visions of Gods,

The Gods ask for more races;
More runners have more visions
of Gods commanding more races.

On this showing, nothing could be more conducive to the rise of ‘nationalism’

(for want of a better term), the strengthening of religious faith, and the adherence
of scattered peoples to the cultural centre, than the games. No one underrates
their central contribution to the spread of Greek culture.

religion and physical pain

A possible support for this version of the history of the games is suggested by a
recent book on religion. Steven Whitehouse’s Icon and Argument (2000)13 starts
from initiation rituals in Papua New Guinea, a region which has been covered
extensively by anthropological fieldwork. He asks why initiation rites often seek
to terrorize the initiates and do them physical violence. His answer throws a new
light on some old theories of violence practised in religions. Walter Burkert has
had some credence for his theory that all religions are originally based on bloody
sacrifice, violence, and bloodshed, and have progressed gradually to non-sacrifi-
cial modern rituals. It is a modern version of moral evolution illustrated from
Greek sources. Whitehouse has reformulated the question on the basis of two
kinds of religions. He uses modern brain science to distinguish religions using
violent rituals and what he calls ‘imagist religiosity’, from religions using non-
violent rites, and ‘doctrinal religiosity’.
The theory is about how religious beliefs get transmitted, and how different
kinds of memory are engaged. Most remembering depends on reiteration, very
complex sequences can be recalled without major losses of information if they are
repeated with regular frequency. Specialists are assigned the responsibility of
developing a good memory, and have much practice in learning by rote and
public recitation. This type is the sort of religion that develops elaborate doc-
trines. It suits a community which has the benefit of literacy, which is why it
survives so well into the present world. By contrast, something that is learnt on
an occasion of great pain, horror, and terror is never forgotten. It remains fresh

13
Whitehouse (2000).
 conclusion: t he prestige of the games 40 7
and vivid even if only recalled to mind irregularly at long intervals. The religious
teaching that is transmitted in this way naturally tends to be much simpler and
more personal.
On a modest and contemporary scale, compare the rite of baptism in the
Catholic Church with the Baptists’ rite of total immersion. The former uses
constant reiteration and an elaborate doctrinal inheritance, and its rite consists
of such gentle sprinkling that the baby barely notices. The latter, plunging the
adult bodily into cold water administers a violent shock, and their doctrines are
much simpler and more emotive.
A type of religion closely associated with festivals which demand extraordinary
athletic feats will be of the latter type. Spectators can see athletes’ fear of losing,
see them burst their lungs, strain their sinews, break their bones, bleed, even die.
The risks the athletes incur add to the emotion of the event. No one is going to
forget the principles of the religion associated with these stupendous displays of
courage and endurance. I would like to hear the comparison of Roman and
Greek religions tried out on these lines. Presumably the old Romans tended
towards a more reiterative doctrinal religion, the Greeks, towards more violent
imagist religion.
These rather disjointed thoughts suggest a picture of prestige systems, with
their internal competitive pressures to expand, focusing and concentrating all
their values, competing, one prestige system against another, one dominating the
rest. In Greece the games went hand in hand with religion; methods of warfare
were influenced by the individualism of competitive games; attitudes to the body
and clothing, and the demographic concerns of cities, literature and sculpture,
could not help but be drawn into the dominant prestige system. It seems to have
been so pervasive that the one form of prestige coloured all the others.

summing up the positive feedback

Prestige theory can take a series of unanswerable, unnecessary questions, and
extract from the background information a set of systematic interactions. The
theory tells us that prestige tends to expand because of positive feedbacks.
The copiers want to copy the successful, trying to get near to the models they
want to imitate; they form a following. The following demonstrates that the
model is a success, which attracts more followers. The followers have gathered to
learn, they also hope the success and the prestige will rub off on themselves.
A limit to the size of the following can be caused by crowding at the top. When
too many people are allowed to join an elite club, the prestige value of member-
ship is diminished. Or the system may be confronted by a failure in demand for
the particular kind of expertise, or by competition between models. Warfare puts
408 mary douglas
a severe limit on the expansion of prestige. When it is blocked, for whatever
reason, the leaders at the top are less secure. They feel the pressure to play to
bigger audiences. These pressures and responses create a cyclic effect for prestige
systems.14
The Greek games were patently a competition for prestige. If they had not
excluded slaves and barbarians the pressure to expand could have gone on
indefinitely, but the Greeks in that case might have lost control of the games to
other ethnics. Rival centres might have had a chance to get established, each with
its own cycle of expansion and impending limit. On the other hand, ethnic
exclusivity might have led to a check after all the Greeks were enrolled as
followers. But for the overseas colonies and northern ‘margins’ the system
might have toppled. The competition for prestige would make it easy for the
games to spread through the archipelago. It became an outlet for competition
between cities; individual athletes were the role models, objects of adulation, but
their cities claimed them. These interacting social pressures made for integration.
The people of all the islands were deeply involved with each other. At every level
an emotionally powerful engagement in the competition for prestige would have
worked against the constraints that war would impose. This is why I come down
on the side of the games as co-evolving with cultural integration.
None of this means that more international games will produce world peace—
the editors make this point clearly for the Greek world in the Introduction.
Remember that the objective of primitive warfare is not domination. The reason
is simple: conquest is possible, but dominating a conquered people requires an
administrative apparatus. It takes generations to build up an effectively co-
ordinated bureaucracy. The effort is hampered by problems of transport and
communication. The great empires of antiquity were blessed with extensive
waterways and resources for horse-breeding. The Greek mainland and islands
are mountainous and rugged. With this infrastructure the games prestige system
could not be nested inside a dominant governmental system, nor was it intersti-
tial within a market system. In a complex industrial society there are multiple
prestige systems, not well co-ordinated, not necessarily peaking in synchrony.
But in a simple agricultural economy one prestige system could influence every-
thing else that was happening. This is why the influence of the Greek games, co-
ordinated with Greek religion, and interlocked with competition between Greek
cities, sweeping all together in the competition for prestige, was so powerful.

14
Michael Thompson (1979) developed a theory of cycles of prestige. The theory would help us to
rephrase our questions about the spread of the Games. His theory of self-generating fashion cycles and
credit cycles applied Norbert Weiner’s account of cybernetic systems and the concepts of ‘negative
feedback’ and ‘positive feedback’ which in economics and politics are routinely applied to any systematized
human relations, voting for example, or consumer behaviour.
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index locorum (literary texts,
inscriptions papyri)

aelian, vh ‘anacreon’ (fge) Wasps

12. 3 38 516–7 (fr. XIII) 327 245 207
aeneas tacticus n. 128 n. 33
2. 1 186 502–3 (fr. VII) 327 Tagenistai
2. 5 186 n. 128 fr. 492 Kock¼ 507 K/A 167 n. 3
aeschines anth. pal. aristotle
1. 53 189 7. 692 385 IA (de incessu
aeschylus 13. 14 158 and animalium)
Ag. n. 54 705a 12–19 82 n. 39
35 193 13. 16 370 and Div. Somn.
656 187 n. 118 463b29 186
664 182f. antiphanes Gen. An.
665 187 42. 8 183 783b18 190
1671 188 antiphon Gen. corr.
Cho. 1. 13 183 337b4 186
670 193 apollodoros Mete.
941 187 3. 2. 1 21 354a20 188
Eum. appian ne
245 187 Rom. 1. 3 (1094b24f.) 71
650 185 1. 99 384 Part. An.
861–6 188 archilochos 675b7 186
866 189 fr. 12W (IEG2) 187 Physics
PV fr. 16W 183 5. 3 82
371 187 fr. 114W 115 and Poetics
487 185 n. 88 1451a13–14 185
723 191 fr, 324W 145 1452a22–3 187
Suppl. aristophanes Politics
32 184 Ach. 1279a5 184
86–103 187 395 189 Rhetoric
fr. (TrGF) 1227–9 145 and 1411a15 288
25a 193 n. 13 1413b12 193
78a 6–21 91 and 1481 190 Topics
n. 26 Birds 122b34–5 185
300. 3 185 721 186 fr. (Rose)
alcaeus 1763–5 145 n. 13 497–8 316
fr. 113. 2 L-P 187 Clouds 615–7 52
fr. 142 W ¼ 307 L-P 69 616 185 arrian
fr. 308 (2)b L-P 183 1356 210 and Epict. Diss.
fr. 326. 2 L-P 185 n. 39 3. 22 378 n. 4
alcman Lys. athenaeus
fr. 16 327 1128–34 31 n. 122 382c 74
fr. 64 183 Peace 573–574 168
anacreon 117 185 n. 3; see
3 181 582–3 183 under
chamaeleon
448 index locorum
athenaeus De Or. 13. 90. 4 133
578f. 359 and 2. 351–3 317 n. 52 n. 122
n. 73 2. 86 13. 96. 5 133
axionicus Tusc. n. 122
4. 4 184 1. 111 210 and 13. 108. 2 133
n. 41 n. 122,
bacchylides 4. 70 (33) 382 134
3. 60–66 224 com. adesp. 13. 108. 4 133
3. 68–71 203 1088. 5 185 n. 122
n. 20 crates 14. 47–53 134
4. 9 224 n.45 17. 2 193 14. 53. 4 134
5. 16–24 206 critias see kritias 14. 92. 3 339
n. 30 de viris illustribus diogenes of
5. 39 123 LX 257 apollonia (dk 64) 5 183
5. 188–90 203 n. 203 diogenes
n. 20 laertius
7. 6 184 democritus 6. 35 102
9. 33 216 14. 3 190 n. 60
n. 20 demosthenes (and
9. 40–1 371 Ps. dem.) empedocles
n. 124 9. 36 185 82. 1 190
9. 98 371 18. 295–6 340 epic cycle see il. parv.
n. 124 19. 128 38 n. 148 et. magn.
10. 1 183 20. 70 100 n. 53 295. 52 170
12. 4–7 298 21. 16 208 and n. 13
12. 34 298 n. 36 473. 42–5 333
13. 95 298 23. 211 295 n. 38 n. 155
13. 185 183 59. 33 204 690. 35. 4 ¼ 4. 9. 4, 169 n. 11
13. 192–202 203 59. 99 189 390 Schmidt
n. 20 dinarchus euphorion
13. 224 298, 3. 17 185 fr. 53 Meineke, 80 67f., cf.
301 n. 58 dio chrys. Powell 51
14 (title of poem) 170 33. 17 115 eupolis (K/A)
n. 16, 333 n. 88 fr. 139 210
14. 22 299 33. 63–4 115 fr. 68–89 246
14. 23 312 n. 27 n. 88 n. 143
17. 4 185 diodorus of euripides
17. 22 183 sicily Alc.
19. 17 182, 187 4. 16. 3 192 917 193
fr. 20 (c). 9 184 4. 23. 1 193 El.
fr. 65 (c).1. 1 187 5. 3. 4 193 549 184
cassius dio 5. 4. 4 193 992–3 183
53. 1. 4–5 385 5. 59 21 hf
56. 29. 2 389 11. 65 351 n. 175 513 207
11. 80. 1–6 338 n. 33
chamaeleon 12. 9. 5–6 100 Hec.
fr. 31 Wehrli 167 n. 3, 13. 37 133 1039 184
236 n. 122 Hel.
cicero 13. 62 133 1187 188
De Leg. n. 122 1454–6 287
2. 57 235 n. 95 13. 75 304 n. 3
 index locorum 449
Heracl. 1. 114. 1 207 8. 123 217
770–1 183 n. 33 8. 130 287
Hipp. 2. 44 23 8. 137–8 256
718 187 2. 76. 1 189 9. 33 60
1180 207 2. 178. 3 290 n. 50
n. 33 3. 3. 3 185 9. 69 4
Ion 4. 147 182 9. 78 303
718 184 4. 147. 5 14 9. 81 238
IT 4. 150–64 13 9. 92 304
397 188 4. 152 291 and hesiod
700 361 n. 81 n. 17 Theogony
Or. 5. 22 5, 11 360 183
1621 361 n. 81 n. 44, Works and Days
Phoen. 60, 256 11–26 191
117 189 n. 201 21–6 77
667 187 5. 47. 1 160 42 186
Rhes. 5. 60 154 56 186
67 184 5. 63. 3–64 318 96 185
fr. 282 Kannicht 8, 111 5. 67–8 260 247 184
n. 79 5. 71. 1 143 289–90 77
eusebius 5. 72 100 391–2 77
101b 62 n. 57 5. 79 11 654–7 75, 144
FgrHist 257a and 415: 5. 83 206 803 182
see p[ap] oxy. 5. 94. 1 318 fr.
5. 102 41 280. 26 184
frontinus 6. 35 143 hesychius
3. 7. 6 51 n. 11 6. 50 303 1. 791 333 n. 155
6. 72 337 hippocrates
6. 73 303 Aer.
galen
6. 83 254 7 188
de plac. Hipp. et Plat.
n. 186 15 185
5 89 n. 22,
6. 88 304 Cord.
90 n. 24
6. 88–91 288 n. 8 11 187
gorgon (FgrHist 515)
6. 103 144 Insomn.
fr. 18 99, cf.
6. 103. 2 128 89 187
201 n. 13
6. 126 60 190 190
6. 127. 1 289 Presbeutikos
hellanicus 6. 127. 4 318 9. 404–26 50 and
(FgrHist 4) 6. 128. 1 60 n. 50 n. 9
fr. 85a 215 n. 13 7. 154 155, Vict.
heraclitus 265 n. 2 2. 49 189
41 183 7. 163. 2 9 10 183
herodian 7. 170 10 VM
(grammarian) 7. 176 193 16 193
1. 343. 20 333 7. 181 304 homer
n. 153 7. 196 337 Iliad
herodian (historian) 8. 1 238 1. 144 184
1. 9. 2–3 383 8. 43 238 1. 219 337
herodotus 8. 72 238 n. 65
1. 3. 1 250 8. 92–3 303 1. 532 188
1. 14 236 8. 121 238 2. 158–69 79
1. 83 112 6. 122 302 2. 396 191
45 0 i nd e x l oc or um
2. 655–6 304 Hymns 393 159 and
and 2 (to Demeter) n. 56; 181
n. 70 420 183 394 n. 39 153 n. 39
3. 189 191 3 (to Apollo) 888. 8 187
4. 517–26 79 147–64 64 cid
4. 370–400 76f. 4 (to Hermes) I. 3 52 n. 16
5. 87–8 79 30 186 1. 10 54 and
6. 146–9 190 268 193 n. 29
6. 186 191 11 (to Athena) IV. 1 54 and
6. 374 189 5 183 n. 29
7. 455 182 horace IV. 10 51 n. 12
8. 201 182 Ars Poetica cila
11. 307 185 47–8 180 and 83 387 n. 36
13. 806–7 79 n. 8 Debord
14. 6 193 Epistles and
15. 567–91 79 1. 1. 130 385 Varinloglu (2001)
16. 429 189 Odes 129–30 no. 26 21 n. 77
17. 364–8 189 1. 12 23 Doulgeri-Intzesiloglou
18. 287 189 n. 89 (1985) fig. 24 323
18. 489 193 3. 96–8 209 n. 100
20. 93 184 n. 99
20. 495–503 80 iambica adespota Ebert (1972)
21. 278 184 2. 2 185 1 154 n. 41
22. 442–6 193 ibycus 2 348
23. 257–897 58, 144 fr. 1 (a) (282 pmg) 147 n. 14
23. 629–42 58 n. 21 3 154 and
23. 826–49 79 fr. 1(b) 5. 7 (282 pmg) 187 n. 43
24. 530 187f. fr. 19 (300 pmg) 193 4 155 and
24. 534–48 188 il. parv. n. 44
Odyssey (little iliad) 5 139, 155
1. 117 190 dub. 32. 21 Bernabé 193 and
1. 161 67 inscriptions (for abbrevations of n. 45
1. 162 185 the type ‘Jeffery (1990)’, see 6 155 and
1. 326–7 192 Bibliography; for others, n. 46
3. 204 190 e.g. ceg, see pp. xiii–xiv, 7 155 and
3. 175 185 Abbrevations). n. 47
3. 204 190 ae (1988) 32 388 8 155f. and
3. 294 184 n. 43 n. 48
4. 177 183 Amandry (1971) 9 154 n. 1
4. 521–2 194 617–18, 333 and 11 158 and
5. 29 183 no. VII, fig. 15 nn. 156 n. 53
5. 275 193 and 157 12 158 and
5. 296 185 Arch. Delt. 9 (1927–28) n. 55,
8. 97–255 76 par. 27, no. 8 368f. 294 and
8. 203–4 151 Arch, Eph. (1925/6) n. 26,
9. 112 184 p. 26, 30 368 346 n. 6
9. 147 185 CEG 15 158 and
12. 5 184 136 249f. n. 54
13. 188 185 and 16 159 and
13. 140 182 n. 164 n. 60
14. 315 185 247 187 17 163
16. 447 186 321. 2 187 n. 69
 index locorum 451
19 294 and Friedländer (1965) VII 417. 60–1 369
n. 26 30 162f. VII 1888 40 n.159
20 159 and 32 162 IX. 2. 199 323
n. 57, 163 60–93 162 n. 103
and n. 71 n. 68 IX. 2. 246 340
22 158f. and 66 162 n. 201
n. 56 n. 68 IX. 2. 249 340
24 159 67 162 n. 68 n. 194
n. 58, 69a 162 n. 68 IX. 2. 526 368
163 n. 71 74–9 162 n. 68 IX. 2.1202 323
27 159 n. 58 83–9 162 n. 68 n. 103
31 159 n. 58 90 162 n. 68 IX. 2. 1226 323
33 370 91 162 n. 68 n. 103
n. 118 92 162 n. 68 IX. 12 4750 14 and
43–5 340 95a 156 n. 50 n. 49
n. 198 136 163 n. 69 XI. 4. 1127 367
59 346 and 155 156 n. 50 n. 109
n. 7 156 156 n. 50 XI. 4. 1177 360
62 346 n. 8 Gauthier and 358 n. 68 n. 75
64 347 and Hatzopoulos (1993) XII. 9. 952 355ff.
n. 10, Herrmann, P., mdai igr
353 15 (1965) 73 356f. and III. 1012 378
n. 42, n. 59 I Kyme
374f. Hesperia (2002) 46 369
65 163 n. 71 see Polinskaya I Labraunda
67 374 and I Iasos 40 7f.
nn. 130 111 380 and I Lampsakos
and 132 n. 17 33 354
69 353 I Didyma n. 50
n. 42, 259 359 n. 72 ILindos
357 IG 16 291, 304
n. 64 I3 302 214 n. 6 and nn.
72 346 n. 7, I3 507–8 63 70–71
353 II2 555 102 ils 8905 389
n. 43, II2 680 345 n. 4 and n. 45
357f. and II2 2311 72, IvO
nn. 64f. 214 n. 6 56 388 and
74 345f. II2 2313 360 and n. 42
and n. 1 nn. 75f. 64 31 n.121
Effenterre and Ruzé (1995) II2 2313–7 361ff. 142 139
no. 19 323 and 143 125, 137
n. 103 n. 86 144 137
no. 82 323 II2 2314 146 137
n. 103 360 n. 76, 368, 374 n. 129 147–8 137.
F de D II2 2316 216 n. 20
III. 1. 164 339 374 n. 129 149 98, 137
n. 193 II2 2318–25 51 n. 14 151 137
III. 1. 232 339 II2 3769 377 152 138
n. 193 V. 1. 700 182 153 138
III. 1. 400 51 n. 12 V. 1. 1564a 370 155 138
III. 1. 401 339 n. 118 156 138
n. 193 V. 2. 261. 15 187 159 138
452 index locorum
160 370 and LSAM 13 159 and
n. 118 47 184 n. 60
162–3 138 ml 15 159 and
170 138 9 62, 289 n. 59
178 365 and 21 250 and
243 87 n.13 n. 12, cf. n. 169
296 365 154 23 250 and
913 386 and 13 7 n. 170
n. 36 42 12 n. 45 35 353
57 281 and n. 44
Jameson et al. (1993) 24 n. 64 37 346 and
Jeffery (1990); page references are 77 33 n. 130 n. 7
given first, then catalogue nos. 95d 35 40 353
75 no. 39 156 and Milet n. 44
n. 49 I. 3. 64 345f. 41 347 and
143 no. 13 260 and n. 1 n. 10, cf.
and VI. 1. 194 345f. 374f.
n. 220 and 44 353
150 no. 5 259 n. 1 n. 44
n. 207 Miller (1990) 45 353
150 no. 6 259 p. 39 260 and n. 44
n. 211 n. 218 52 345f.
169 no. 17 233 Mitford (1961) and n. 1
n. 85 18 367 n. 55 357 and
199 no. 22 215 and 109 n. 62
n. 16 40–46 360 and 72 381 and
200 no. 31 215 and n. 75 n. 22,
n. 16 41 360 and 383 and
201 no. 44 215 and n. 77 n. 29
n. 14 42 360 and 89 377 and
201 no. 47 215 and n. 78 n. 3
n. 14 43 360 and Mulliez (2001) 389 and
201 no. 51 215 and n. 78 n. 46
n. 16 44 360 and Polinskaya (2002) 305 and
201 no. 52 215 and n. 77 n. 74
n. 16 45 360 n. Raubitschek (1949)
273 no. 48 155 and 78 21 231 n. 72
n. 45 Moretti (1953) 59–177 157
439 no. E 291 1 154 76 231 n. 72
456 no. 1a 153 n. 41 111 231 n. 72
n. 39 2 154 120 157 n. 52.
n. 41 231 n. 71
Kent (1966) 4 154 n. 164 159 and
232 387 42 n. 59,
n. 36 5 154 231
Kephalidou (1996) n. 43 n. 72
cat. no. G97 334 and 7 233 n. 171 231
n. 168 84 n. 72
Knoepfler (1994) 334 and 10 233 n. 85 174 157,
nn. 12 159 n. 59 231 n. 72
174–5 317 155f.
 in dex locoru m 453
Rev. Phil. 23 (1949) 42. 994 364 Hymn 6 (To Demeter)
5–16 14 and n. 100 74–7 334 and
n. 48 43. 293 310 n. 7 n. 161
Robert (1935) 359 45. 412 59 n. 48 fr. (Pf.)
n. 72 46. 646 338 198 (iambus VIII) 349 and
Robert (1978) n. 182 n. 21
pp. 277–8 359 48. 548 340 384 349 and
n. 71, n. 194 n. 19,
369 48. 553 59 n. 48 353, 358,
Robert and Robert 49. 346 260 and 365, 371
(1989) n. 218 and n.
pp. 11–17 354 and 51. 532 332 n. 128
nn. 147 kallisthenes
Rhodes-Osborne 51. 606 389 and (FgrHist 124)
100 18 and n. 46 T 23 51 n. 12
n. 66 sgdi kritias (dk 88)
80 51 nn. 12 4859 13f. B31 327
and 13 Siewert (2001) 381f. n. 123
SEG Sokolowski (1955) livy
1. 370 367 47 184 33. 32. 1 63
n. 109 Sokolowski (1969) lucian
11. 200 388 77C 161 and deorum concilium (Council
n. 42 n. 66 of the gods)
11. 422 182 97 161 and 12 101
11. 1223a 181 n. 67 n. 57
12. 64 182 Syll3 pro imag.
14. 39 388 110 291, 304 11 97 n. 45
n. 42 and nn. lysias
17. 233 51 n. 12 70–71 1. 23 189
27. 183 323 141 18 and matro (Suppl. Hell. 534
n. 103 n. 67 19 185
28. 60 359 275 51 n. 12 mel. adesp.
n. 72 314V 363 21 (PMG 939). 17 185
29. 806 335 n. 53 390 359 37 (PMG 955) 2 186
30. 364 363, 374 n. 72 60c (PMG 978) 182
n. 131 402 345 menander
32. 415 365 n. 4 fr. 1 194
34. 282 11 and 1021 31 Dis Ex.
n. 42 n.121 fr. 2 184
34. 379 51 n. 13 Tracy and Habicht (1991) see
34. 560 338 SEG 41. 115 old oligarch see [xen.]
n. 182 Wörrle (1988) 380 p[ap] hibeh
37. 356 388 and ion II . 199. 12 367
n. 42 38. 1 184 n. 109
37. 388 355 n. 56 isaeus p. mil. see poseidippos
38. 1953 63 n. 60 9. 19 186 p[ap]. oxy.
39. 1243 354 and fr. 12 192 222 (¼FgrHist 415) 190,
nn. isocrates 200
41. 115 361ff. 4 Paneg. 43 31 n. 122 n. 7, 214,
and 5 Philip 119–20 223, 262
n. 86, kallimachos (and see under and
368 Suppl. Hell. 254–68) n. 239
45 4 i nd e x l oc or um
2082 (¼ FgrHist 257a) 365 and 6. 3. 6 97 n. 45 6. 10. 7 155
n. 102 6. 3. 8 100, 138 6. 10. 9 137
2327 220 6. 3. 9 138 6. 11. 2 305 n. 76
n. 32 6. 3. 11 138 6. 11. 5 334
2430 fr. 84.1 223 6. 4. 3 138 6. 11. 9 101 n. 57
n. 41 6. 4. 6 163 n. 71 6. 11. 12 137
2438–51 220 n. 32 6. 4. 11 137, 159 6. 12. 1 10, 130,
2621 220 n. 32 and n. 157
2622 fr. 1 220 n. 32 57, 181, 6. 13. 1 137
2623 frs. 21a–22 220 n. 32 266 n. 12 6. 13. 2 138
2624 220 n. 32 6. 5 339f. 6. 13. 7 137
2627 220 n. 32 and 6. 13. 8 97
2636 220 n. 32 n. 194 6. 13. 9–10 123, 137,
2736 220 n. 32 6. 5. 1 138 155 and
3822 220 n. 32 6. 5. 1–9 101 nn.
3965 220 n. 32 6. 5. 7 81 46–47.
parmenides (dk 28) 6. 6. 1 137f. 233
12. 3 183 6. 6. 2 138 6. 14. 5 137
pausanias 6. 6. 4 137 6. 14. 11 137
1. 23. 9 231 n. 71 6. 6. 4–11 218 6. 14. 12 123,
2. 1. 3 261 6. 7. 1 137f. 137f.,
2. 1. 7 232 6. 7. 2 138 294 and
2. 2. 1 261 6. 7. 8 138 n. 26
2. 15. 2 55 6. 7. 9 138 6. 14. 13 137
2. 29. 6 288, 307 6. 7. 10 98, 137f. 6. 15. 8 97
2. 30 288, 307 6. 8. 1 138 6. 16. 2 363 n. 96
3. 8. 1 370f. 6. 8. 2 138 6. 16. 6 124
3. 17. 6 368 6. 8. 3 138 n. 111
4. 15. 1 216 n. 21 6. 8. 4 138 6. 16. 8 99
5. 4. 5 74 6. 8. 5 138 6. 16. 9 363, 365
5. 8. 6–11 58 6. 8. 6 137 6. 18. 1 124, 137
5. 8. 10–11 365 6. 9. 1 137, 6. 18. 7 137, 156
5. 9. 1 216 n. 21 158 n. 55, 6. 19. 2 260
5. 12. 5 278 n. 293 and n. 219
51, 371 n. 26, 6. 19. 7 283
n. 119 306 n.77 7. 17. 6–7 158f. and
5. 17. 5–19. 10 236 6. 9. 3 138 n. 56,
5. 21. 1 95 6. 9. 4 124, 305 216
5. 24. 5 341 n. 76 n. 21
n. 203 6. 9. 6 218 7. 18. 5 385
6. 1. 3 138 6. 9. 6–7 160 8. 9. 7–8 379
6. 1. 4 84 6. 9. 9. 137, 158 8. 10. 1 379
6. 1. 6 124, 371 and n. 53 8. 40. 1 97
n. 119 6. 10. 1 137, 305 8. 42. 8 157
6. 1. 6–2. 3 98 n. 76 8. 42. 9 163
6. 1. 7 138 6. 10. 1–4 95 n. 37 10. 7. 4 61
6. 2. 1 126, 138 6. 10. 4 118 10. 7. 6 51, 260
6. 2. 8 138 n. 100, n. 219
6. 3. 1 363 137f. 10. 7. 8 38, 51,
n. 96, 6. 10. 5 137f. 363, 373
373 and 6. 10. 6 124, and n.
n. 127 137f. 127
 index locorum 455
10. 11. 3 281 2. 94 298 9. 35–46 18f.
n. 68 3. 6 199 n. 3 9. 44–8 26
10. 15. 4 341 3. 37 80 9. 65 109
n. 203 3. 40 299 n. 77
10. 16. 8 341 3. 43–4 19. 111 9. 82 111
n. 203 4. 1 183 9. 92 357 n. 63
10. 38. 2 385 4. 4–5 298 9. 94 110
pherecrates 4. 15 298 9. 95–9 217 n. 22
137. 10 190 5. 15 110, 9. 96 110
philo 203 n. 18 9. 96–8 216
Embassy to Gaius 5. 23 193 n. 20
147 385 6. 1–4 284 9. 99 262
philochorus 6. 3 203 9. 100–4 110
(FgrHist 328) n. 20 9. 100–7 226
T. 1 185 6. 4–9 223 9. 108–12 202
fr. 192 185 6. 6 12 9. 111 110
philostratus 6. 9 111 10. 1–3 151f.
Gym. 6. 12 110 10. 20 110
6. 9. 11 78 6. 17–18 26 10. 22 110
VS 6. 44 110 10. 24–85 81
617 378 n. 4 6. 63 273 10. 34 183
phlegon (FgrHist 257) 6. 67 110 10. 69–72 5
fr. 1 32 n. 6. 74–6 203 10. 72 79 n. 32
125, 58 n. 20 10. 76 20
n. 44 6. 87 208 10. 77 167 n. 3
photius 6. 88 35 10. 76–8 146
Bibl. 6. 98 193 10. 103–6 110
319b35–320a9 169 and 7. 15 110, 192 11. 16–17 298
n. 10 7. 22–3 256 11. 19 80
pindar 7. 50–3 92 n. 32 12. 1–19 177–97
O. 7. 69 187 passim
1. 14–17 205 7. 83–6 216 12. 18 219
1. 16–17 299 n. 20, 13. 1 228
1. 24 12 217 n. 22 13. 1–23 228
1. 26 19 7. 87–8 21 13. 3 298
1. 28–9 22 8. 2 196 13. 4 236
1. 52 21 8. 10 199 n. 3 13. 6–8 239
1. 70 29 8. 19 109 13. 13 109
1. 82–4 160 n. 77, 13. 29 167 n. 3,
1. 93–5 76 and 110 199 n. 3
n. 22 8. 20 295 13. 33 318
1. 103 299 8. 21–3 297 13. 35–45 2228
2. 2 23 n. 89 8. 22 182 13. 36 191
2. 6 298, 300 8. 25 307 13. 40 230
2. 27 29 8. 26 297 13. 44–7 219
2. 41 111 8. 51 307 13. 48 228
2. 47 167 n. 3 8. 54–5 203 13. 49–63 12
2. 53 110 n. 20 13. 65–9 23
2. 53–6 22 9. 1–9 144f. 13. 98–100 219
2. 86 110 9. 4 208 13. 106–13 217 n. 22
2. 86–8 206 9. 15 182 13. 108 216
n. 30 9. 15–16 28 n. 20
45 6 i n de x lo co r um
13. 112 40 4. 294–6 192f. 10. 12–16 311
14. 15 183 4. 299 193 10. 20 311
14. 20–24 28 5. 19 111 10. 22–6 311
P. 5. 24 15 10. 23–4 312
1. 41–55 224 5. 34–42 16 n. 19
n. 43 5. 49–53 80 10. 27–48 311
1. 71–80 283 5. 52 192 10. 49–90 261
1. 72 280 5. 56–7 299, 10. 53 167 n. 3,
1. 75–80 10 301 n. 58 168 and
1. 85–6 203 5. 60–2 13, 27 n. 8
n. 20 5. 80 15 10. 55–59 311f., 398
1. 90–2 203 5. 88 188 10. 63–8 312
n. 18 5. 89–100 15 10. 64 298
1. 97–8 209 5. 93 13, 15 10. 69–72 313
2. 13–20 201 n. 11 5. 106 203 n. 18 11. 1–6 202
2. 31–2 19 n. 70 5. 110 110 n. 78 11. 29 203
2. 56 110 and 6. 1 296 n. 20
n. 78 n. 46 11. 39 296
2. 62 296 6. 7–8 277 and 11. 39–44 296
2. 67–8 296 n. 42 11. 41–2 200,
n. 49 6. 10 92 207 n. 31
2. 68–75 29 6. 10–14 150 11. 54 203
2. 86–8 5, 110 6. 46 110 n. 20
2. 89–90 203 6. 53 193 N.
n. 20 7. 1–4 150 n. 30 1. 6 190
2. 96 193 7. 18–21 218 1. 7 167 n. 3
3. 6–7 25 7. 19–20 203 1. 9 110
3. 23 185 n. 20 1. 16 111
3. 41 29 8. 1–2 28 1. 18 223
3. 68 185 8. 6 183 1. 19–23 204, 223
3. 69–71 298 8. 25–7 80, 111 1. 19–24 299
3. 71 299 8. 35–8 292 1. 25 110
3. 73–4 219 n. 20 n. 78, 111
3. 74–5 171 8. 36 293 1. 62 184
3. 100–3 311 n. 16 n. 26 3. 2 209, 300
3. 114–5 29, 92, 8. 37 109 3. 2–3 297 and
176 n. 77, n. 52,
4. 2 360 110 300
4. 8 15. 360 8. 65–6 307 3. 3–5 284
4. 53–6 27 8. 70 299 n. 79
4. 65–8 219 8. 73 110 3. 19 109
4. 71–246 311 n. 16 8. 78–9 217 n. 77,
4. 138 333 n. 155 n. 22 110f.
4. 159 23 8. 95–7 25 3. 22 23
4. 220 111 9. 5–25 311 n. 16 3. 32–63 311 n. 16
4. 248 206 9. 73–5 17 3. 40 110
n. 30 9. 79–89a 17 3. 40–2 226
4. 258–9 14 9. 82 19 3. 68–70 202f.
4. 263–9 203 n. 17 9. 102–3 17 3. 80–2 206
4. 277–9 224 9. 124 190 n. 30
n. 47 10. 1 309 3. 83–4 217 n. 22
4. 279–80 346f. 10. 3–9 309f. 4. 1–2 204
 index locorum 457
4. 12 297, 300 7. 70 297f. 2. 6–8 200
4. 13–16 209 7. 74 110 2. 22 133
4. 17 62 8. 13–16 150f., 2. 23 31
4. 21–2 217 202 and 2. 39–40 299
n. 22 n. 15 2. 43 203
4. 23 297 8. 21–2 203 n. 20
4. 32 110 n. 20 2. 44–6 149
4. 39–41 203 8. 38 308 2. 46 92
n. 20 8. 44–8 151 and 2. 48 209
4. 46–68 311 n. 16 n. 33 3. 8 193f.
4. 70 296 8. 46–8 284 3. 17 110
4. 73–9 292f. n. 79 3. 17b 203 n. 18
4. 78 168 n. 5, 8. 51–3 146 4. 12 111
292 9. 15 30 4. 25–6 217 n. 22
5. 1ff. 92, 109, 9. 31–47 223 4. 29 20, 110,
149, 9. 49–52 204f. 203 n. 18
230f., 10. 5 12 4. 31–3 183
290f., 10. 29–36 229 4. 36–45 199f.
295f. 10. 33 111 4. 45 110 n. 78
and n. 10. 41–3 219, 256 4. 54–65 20, 24,
41, 301 10. 42 62 306f.
n.59, 10. 44–8 216 4. 61 305f.
305. 306 n. 20 4. 63–4 35 n.135
n. 78 10. 49 299 4. 69–70 262
5. 8 297 10. 49–54 229 4. 70 217 n. 22
5. 9 291, 295 10. 55–90 229 4. 71–2 226
5. 9–13 311 n. 16 10. 63 184 5. 14–16 25
5. 16–17 90 11. 8–9 299 5. 24 203
5. 19–39 311 n. 16 11. 11 110 and n. 20
5. 33 297 n. 78 5. 38–45 311 n. 16
5. 39 110 n. 78 11. 19–20 217 n. 22 5. 48 295
5. 44 307 11. 22 184 5. 57 110,
5. 44–6 217 n. 22 11. 36–7 11 203 n. 18
5. 46–7 148 I. 6. 10 110,
5. 48–9 151 1. 4. 8 300 203 n. 18
5. 49 110 1. 11–12 262 6. 25–6 311 n. 16
5. 53 307 1. 30 19 6. 48 111
5. 54–5 217 n. 22 1. 34 4 6. 62–3 292
6. 23 111 1. 40 110 n. 20
6. 28–30 141, 149 1. 42 203 n. 18 6. 63 303
6. 30 296 1. 44 203 n. 6. 70 298,
6. 32 296 and 20 301 n. 58
n. 46. 1. 50 80, 111, 7. 10 19
297 n. 135 7. 11 360
50 1. 51 300 n. 81
6. 35 302 1. 56–8 262 7. 12–14 12f.
6. 49–53 311 n. 16 1. 57 40 7. 22 109
6. 64 287 n. 3 1. 58 333 n. 155 n. 77,
6. 70 296 1. 67 189 110
7. 43 299 2. 1 146 7. 39 199 n. 3
7. 59 110 2. 1–11 207 n. 31 8. 1–4 207f.
m. 78 2. 6 146 8. 6a 199 n. 3
458 index locorum
8. 16a 11 133 29 and 194c 38
8. 21–60 311 n. 16 n. 113 212ab 370 and
8. 47 110 137 29 n. 116
8. 61–5 152 n. 140b 287 n. 3 399e 236
36, 163 156–7 22 760e–761b 318
and 169 29f. 1136f (de Musica 17) 174
n. 70 214. 3 183 n. 25
8. 65a 193 286 35 n.135 Alc.
8. 66 207 pindar scholia: see under 19. 3 332
8. 67–8 217 n. 22 scholia Kimon
9. 6 298 pisander 14. 4 332
9. 7 287 and 7. 2 Bernabé 193 17. 2 259
n. 3 plato Pericles
fr. Crit. 8. 7 288
2–3 227 53d–e 327 Solon
n. 55 n. 123 21. 4 161
4 293 n. 23 Euthyd. Them.
5 261 and 291d 183 20 337
n. 224 Ion polyainos
6 a–b 220 534c 167 n. 3 3. 5 51 n. 11
n. 32 Laches polybius
29 19 182a 80f. 5. 64. 6 360
39 182 Laws n. 75
41 183 680b 184 9. 27. 7 21 and
52f (Paian 6) 123–6 287f., 700a–d 168 n. 6 n. 81
297, 822b 167 n. 3 11. 25. 5 191
299f. Lysis 18. 46. 1–2 63
52l (Paian 10) 15 299 205c–e 167 n. 3 27. 9. 7–13 374 and
70c 239 and Meno n. 131
nn. 115 70a–b 327 poseidippos (Austin and
and 116 n. 123 Bastiniani¼AB)
89b 288, 307 Phlb. 39 367
94b 35–39, 43a 185 n. 109
199 n. 3, Protag. 72 366
300 339a–340e 317 n. 52 74 366f.
105ab 171 Republic and nn.
n. 20, 496d 187 107–9
266 Symposium 74, 12 372f.
107a 311 n. 16 177a 168 n. 8 76 365
118 268 Timaeus 78 363f.,
n. 12 43c 187 371
119 268 n. 12 pliny nh n. 121
122 170 7. 47 159 78. 5 364
n. 15, n. 60 78. 7–8 364
236, 300 34. 59 131 78, 11–12 348 and
124a, b 133, 222, 35. 85 103 n. 15
268 35. 105 103 78, 14 372 and
n. 12 plutarch (and Ps.-Plut.) n. 122
124d 266 Mor. 79 364
125 171, 266 15c 327 80 364, 371
126 266 n. 123 n. 121
129 60 n. 50 108f–109b 251 81 364, 371
164a 236 n. 121
 index locorum 459
82 364 P. 10. 5 (II. 242) 310 and XXXI 227 and
82, 3–6 366 n. n. 8 n. 55,
104 P. 10. 55 (II. 251 312 and 346
82, 5–6 348 and (85c)) n. 22 n. 8
n. 16, P. 10. 64 (II. 251f.) 310 and simonides (the
371 n. 8 genealogist, FgrHist 8)
n. 121 N. hypoth. 48 n. 6, fr. 3 174 and
87 364, 371 a–e (III. 1–3) 62 n. 26
88 363f., 371 N. hypoth. c–d 259 and solon
and n. (III. 3–5) n. 212 fr. 4W (ieg2) 143 n. 8
120 N. hypoth. d 60 n. 52 fr. 5W 147
116 367 (III. 5 line 5) fr. 6W 147
n. 109 N. 5. 1 (III. 89) 101f. , sophocles
119 367 149 Ajax
n. 109 n. 27, 352 187
230 1419 186
quintilian, Inst. n. 67, Antigone
11. 2. 11–16 317 301 n. 59 1218 183
n. 52 N. 5. 50 (III. 99) 303 and Electra
n. 66 698ff. 366
sappho N. 6 inscr. (III 6) 223 and 743–56 80
5 181 n. 42 Trach.
scholia on N. 9 inscr. (III. 149) 51 n. 11, 634 193
aischines 223 and fr. (TrGF)
3. 189 99 n. 42 148 185
scholia on apollonius I. Proem a (III. 92) 48 n. 7 271. 5 185
rhodius I. 1. 58 (III. 209 (83)) 911 189
3. 1244a 333 I. 2 (III. 214) 146 n. 18 stesichoros
n. 154 simonides S23. 2 185
scholia on pindar fr. 22W (ieg2) 220 222b.227 Davies 186
(Drachmann refs. in n. 32 pmgf
brackets) fr. 25. 6W 193 strabo
O. 6. 96 (I. 192) 284 fr. 1 (506 PMG) 145 7. 7. 6 385
n. 78 fr. 2 (507 PMG) 293 8. 3. 30 74
O. 7 inscr. (I. 195); 200 n. 24 8. 3. 33 32
and see under n. 13 fr. 6 (511 PMG) 224 8. 6. 16 288
gorgon n. 48, 8. 6. 23 257
O. 7. 83 (I. 230–1) 256 and 331 n. 203
n. 199 n. 142 9. 5. 21 312
O. 9. 1 (I. 266–8) 145 and fr. 9 (514 PMG) 249 n. 22
n. 13 n. 162 suetonius
O. 13. 40 (I. 367–9) 230 and fr. 11 (516 PMG) 185 Aug.
n. 63, cf. fr. 12 (518 PMG) 41 45. 1, 3 385
245f. fr. 14 (519 PMG) 333 n. 52 98 388
P. hypoth. a–d 47–51, fr. 148. 1 Claud.
(II. 105) 66–68 fr. 76 (581 PMG) 151 11. 2 388
P. 2 inscr. (II. 31, 171f. slg 340 228 Nero
lines 10–14) slg 399 229 12. 3 389
P. 2. 69 (II. 52) 268 feg Dom.
P. 8. 65–6 (II. 215) 307 XV 182 4. 10 383
P. 10 inscr. (II. 242) 309 Suppl. Hell.
n. 4
460 index locorum
254 349f. 1. 13. 5 7, 236 8. 84. 2 99
and nn., 1. 20 318 n. 63 timaios (FgrHist 566)
364 1. 102. 4 332 fr. 39 21
255–268C 349f and n. 150 n. 81
nn., 364 1. 105–6 239 tragica adespota
958 348 1. 111 338 348g 183
n. 13, 1. 197 338 668. 6 185
370 1. 107. 2 337 tyrtaios
969 348 n. 177 fr. 12W, 1–14 147
n. 13, 352 1. 113. 2 36 valerius maximus
and n. 37 n. 142 9. 10 ext. 2 339
tacitus 1. 140 186 velleius
Annals 1. 143. 2 302 paterculus
14. 20 118 2. 11. 9 28 and 2. 123. 1 389
n. 102 n. 109 virgil
teleclides 2. 71 182 Aeneid
1. 8 185 2. 89 184 3. 278–83 385
theocritus 2. 99. 3 256 xenophanes
Id. 16 3. 5. 1 33 (D/K 21)
26 317 n. 52 3. 14 33 B2 111
36 317 n. 52 3. 56. 2 33 n. 79
34–47 224f., 3. 64. 3 11 xenophon (and
327 3. 82–83 191 Ps.xen.]
n. 123 4. 78–9 338 Ages.
theognis 4. 91–3 35 and 1. 6 370
189 184 n.138 n. 118
539 182 4. 118. 1–2 31 9. 6 370 and
373 183 4. 133 254 n. 116
916 182 n. 182 Anabasis
theophrastus 5. 1 32 n. 123 7. 1. 17 189
Caus. plant. 5. 18. 2 31 n.119 6. 5. 21 26
3. 13. 3 184 5. 49 32 n. 123 Apol.
5. 15. 7 186 5. 80 11 n. 44, 13 185
hp 256 Ath. Pol. (‘Old Oligarch’)
3. 5. 5 187 n. 201 2. 14 302
Sign. 5. 116 33 Cyropaedia
39 189 6. 3. 1 13, 27, 1. 1. 5 183
theopompos 272 Hellenica
(FgrHist 115) 6. 4. 3 12 1. 1. 26 7
fr. 49 327 6. 16. 1 28 1. 5. 19 99
n. 123 6. 55. 1 318 4. 5. 4 247
fr. 162 327 n. 63 6. 1. 19 312
n. 123 6. 69. 2 26 6. 4. 30 339 and
theotimos 7. 30. 3 35 n. 192
(FgrHist 470) 7. 47. 4 12 7. 4. 28–32 30
F 1–2 16 and n. 8. 9–10 32 Mem.
89 8. 35. 1 99 1. 1. 3 185
thucydides 8. 44. 2 304 Oec.
1. 6. 6 90 n. 70 5. 9 193
general index

Entries in italic denote illustrations. For individual athletes and victors, see ‘athletes, named’,
and ‘equestrian victors, named’.

Achaia: sculpture in 149, 230–1, 288–9, 291 n.16,

colonies of 274 n.34 296, 305–6, 308
games and victors 216 stasis in 288
see also athletes, named Theandridai 292
Actian games, see Augustus and Thebes 11, 294
Adrastos 260 trade and traders 289–91, 295–7, 300–2
Aegina 64 victory monuments 304
Aiakos, heroon of 202, 307 warfare 291, 295–6
Aphaia, cult and temple of 230–1, 288–9, see also athletes, named; boy contestants;
306–8 Kleisthenes of Sikyon; sculptors;
Apollo Delphinios, cult of 287 statues; trainers
and Athens 294, 302, 308 Aeschylus:
Bassidai 296 Isthmiastai 91
choruses 206 Oresteia 3
cosmopolitan nature 301–2 Aitniai 267
Delphinian games 307 afterlife 28–30
Euxenidai 299 Agrippa, Marcus 386–7, 389
families celebrated 291 see also Augustus
favoured by Pindar 294–5, 301 agones, see games
geography of 288, 302 Agylla:
history 289 treasury at Delphi 281–2
hospitality of 297–301, 308 Aioladai of Thebes 35–39
hydrophoria 349 Aioladas of Thebes, see Aioladai
Isthmia and Nemea favoured by 225, 293, Aitna 266, 267, 284
302 see also equestrian victors, named; Etna,
Krios ‘the ram’ 210, 303–4 Mt.; Sikyon
Lampon, son of Pytheas 303–4 Akragas:
maritime strength of 295–7 Emmenidai, oikos of 292
Meidylidai 308 Midas, aulos victor 267, 268
metalworking in 231 Olympieion 9
mythology of 289, 293 Pindar and 267–8
nature of epinikia commissioned 225–7, Rhodian foundation 21
293–4 sack, debris of 133–4
non-epinikian commissions 292 See also Motya charioteer; Theron of
number of epinikian commissions 201, Akragas; Xenokrates of Akragas
205, 216–17, 265, 288, 293 Alcibiades of Athens 8, 28, 59, 165
oikos, importance of 163, 227, 303 Aleuads of Larisa 5, 201, 224, 309–13
overseas settlement 290 Aleuas the Red 316
patra, importance of 163, 227, 292, 303 medism of 337–8
preferred sports 226–7, 290 see also Larisa; Thorax of Larisa
prosopography of 302–5 Alexandria 372
Psyalchiadai 303 Ptolemaia at 350, 358
Pytheas, son of Ischenoos 304 see also Ptolemies, courtier-victors
462 general index
Alkmaionidai 154, 156 see also athletes, named; Iamidae; Kleitor;
Antandros 7 Mantineia; Pellana; Pheneos; Tegea;
Aphrodisias: Stymphalos
honorific inscription from 381, 383 Arkesilas IV of Cyrene 15–17, 201, 219, 221,
victor statues at 87 224, 346–7
Archemoros, see Opheltes see also chariot racing; Cyrene
Archilochos, see lyric poetry, kallinikos Artemision, battle of 304
Argive Heraion: Aspendos, Pamphylia 11–12
building at 251–4, 50, 51 Atabyrion, see Rhodes
bronze prizes 255–7 Athens 64
in epinikian 255, see also Argos, Nemean 10 ancestry in epinikian 227
festival, origins of 250–1 attitudes to competition 8
finance 254–5 Chabrias, feast of 204
Heraia/Hekatomboia 12, 41, 228–30, 249–51 City Dionysia 206
Hyssematas’ monument 163 n.69, 249–50, choregia 202–3, 207
254 choruses 206–8
procession 250–1 and Delphic tradition 50–2
victor dedications 233 Kimon 128, 143–4, 332
see also Theaios of Argos Kylon 143
Argos Megakles, son of Hipponikos 112, 154, 218,
Aliaia 254 227, 348 n.16
building programmes 251–4, 48 Miltiades 143, 280–1
and colonisation 11–12 Oschophoria 75
Corinth, relations with 237–8, 259–60 parody of epinikian 210
and Delphi 234, 250–1 Peisistratids 128, 143–4, 318
democracy 251, 254–5, 263 Piraeus, ‘tomb of Aspasia’ 255–6
Epigonoi, monument of 254 public commemoration 100, 214 n.8,
equestrian tradition 360–1 234
Hera, cult of 11, 249 rewards to victors 201
inscriptions, public 254–5 shortage of epinikia 143, 165–6, 206 n.29
Kleobis and Biton 250–1 statue dedications 94, 95, 102, 153, 154, 155,
Lykaia 42 157, 234
and Nemea 62–3, 230, 257, 259 see also Aegina; Alcibiades of Athens;
Pi. Nemean 10 and 229, 249, 254 Alkmaionidai; athletes, named; Attalids;
Pindar and 219, 228 Corinth; democracy; elites; equestrian
sculpture 230 victors, named; Marathon, Herakleia;
Sepeia, battle of 251, 254 Panathenaia, Great; Ptolemies;
servile interregnum 250, 254 Ptolemies, courtier-victors; sculptors;
state chariot victory 201 n.7, 262–3 Solon of Athens; statues; Thessaly;
theatre 254, 49 trainers
victor dedications 230, 233 athletes:
see also Adrastos; Argive Heraion; athletes, attractive to women 359, 398
named; Nemea; Theaios of Argos; Hellenistic and Roman 87
sculptors heroized 24–6, 100, 159–60, 165–6, 218,
Aristagoras of Tenedos 11, 227, 292 250, 305, 334
aristocracy, see athletes, social status; elites mobility, political 100, 159, 181, 267
Aristophanes, comic poet 210 motivation of 59–61, 165–6, 392–3
Arkadia: and patris 99–100, 158, 159, 262, 349, 373,
early dedications at Olympia 282 400–1
games in 216 political careers of 354–9
Lykaia 363 political role of 100–1, 165–6, 217–18
victors 216 under Roman empire 381–2
 general i ndex 463
social status of 60–1, 74–5, 94–5, 110, 135, Oibotas of Paleia 99–100, 158–9
400–1 Pherias of Aegina 294
see also boy contestants; inscriptions; Philip of Egesta 160
nudity; Pindar; Sparta; statues; travel; Philon of Kerkyra 156, 158
truces, sacred; women victors Phylakidas of Aegina 226, 303
athletes, named: Pytheas of Aegina 291, 303
Agatha[rchos] of Sikyon 260 Polemaios of Kolophon 354
Agias of Pharsalos 331, 339–40 Poulydamas of Skotoussa 101, 331,
Aigletes of Sparta 215 339–40
Ainetos of Sparta 215 Polykles 349
Aischylos of Argos 233 Praxidamas of Aegina 97, 156
Alkidimas of Aegina 302 Pythokles of Elis 98, 106, 108, 7
Alkimedon of Aegina 304–5 Rhexibios of Opous 97, 156
Alkmaionides of Athens 154, 156, 41 Theognetos of Aegina 158, 294, 305–6
Anochos of Taras 156 Timasarchos of Aegina 292
Antenor of Miletos 359 Timasitheos of Delphi 100, 156
Aristis of Kleonai 154, 259 Timodemos of Acharnai 227
Aristokleidas of Aegina 226 Timokles of Argos 41 n.169, 233
Aristomenes of Aegina 305, 306, 307 see also Alkmaionidai; Argive Heraion;
Aristonikos of Egypt 374 Arkadia; Aristagoras of Tenedos;
Arrachion 97 Chalkis; Damonon of Sparta; Diagoras
Astylos of Kroton 99–100 of Rhodes; Eretria; Hippokleas of
Automedes of Phlius 260 Pelinna; Oligaithidai; Telesikrates of
Chionis of Sparta 99 Cyrene; Theagenes of Thasos; Thessaly
Daippos of Kroton 274 athletics, language of 217–18
Dameretos of Heraia 99, 156 athlophoros, see Ptolemies
Damnippos of Crete 159 Attalids 348
Damotimos of Troizen 162–3, 42 and Athens 361–2, 373–4
Dandis of Argos 158, 163, 230 Attalos, charioteer 346, 366–7, 373
Dorokleidas of Thera 357 Attalos I, sons of 362
Epharmostous of Opous 226 Attalos II 362
Ergoteles of Himera 100, 159, 163, 180–1, Eumenes II 362
193–5, 219, 267 Philetairos 346
Euthymos of Lokroi 100, 120, 159–60, 218 see also Pergamon
[G]laukat[ias] of Sparta 215 Augustus
Glaukos of Karystos 41 n.166, 99, 118, 145, Actian Games, Nicopolis 378–9, 384–6
154, 305 Greek games in Italy 385, 388–90
Glycon 385 and Greek culture 384
Hagesidamos of Epizephyrian Lokroi 226, Sebasta, Naples 388
265, 267 autochthony 18–19
Hagesistratos of Rhodes 357
Kallias of Athens 159 Bacchylides
Kasmylos of Rhodes 227 and Aegina 226–7
Kleandros of Aegina 163 and Argos 11
Kleitomachos of Thebes 374–5 classification and ordering of works
Kleombrotos of Sybaris 274 170–1, 173–4
Kleomedes of Astypalaia 160, 218 commissioning of 219–20
Kyniskos of Mantinea 98, 6 and Kea 5–6, 12
Melissos of Thebes 207, 226 reputation 210
Milon of Kroton 100, 153, 156 and Thessaly 327, 332
Nikokles of Aegina 163 and western Greece 224, 267–8
Nikomachos of Miletos 345–6 Battos, see Cyrene; hero cult
464 g eneral index
Boiotia: burial evidence 236, 237–8
festivals 34–35, 40; Corinthian War, impact of 247
Ptoion 154–5 and Delphi 47, 236
see also Thebes; Thespiai. Demeter and Kore, sanctuary of 232, 237,
body styling, see statues 240–3, 43
boy contestants 38, 265, 355 dining, see sacral economy (below)
from Aegina 226–7 Dionysos, cult of 240
Hellenistic events for 358 epinikian commissions 237, 263
praise of 5, 225, 267, 309–13 Hellotia 230, 245–6
Brasidas 338 hero cults 246
Bundy, Elroy 3–4, 195, 196, 204–5 inscriptions, shortage of 231, 237
Burnett, Anne Pippin 287–8, Kotyto, worship of 246
291 n.16 and Nemea 259–61
and Olympia 233
Caere, see Agylla Penteskouphia 230, 260
Caria 7–8 Peraion, games at 230
Carthage 9, 133–4, 273 Pindar’s image of 12, 228, 239
treasury at Olympia 283 poetry, commissions 236
Chalkis: Poseidon, cult of 23
Herakleia victor list 355 prostitution, sacred 236, 300
Hermaia 355 racetrack 232, 244–6, 249, 45
Theokles of Chalkis 355–6, 358 Roman looting of 257 n.203
chariot racing: sacral economy 237, 240, 242–3
cost of 37 Sacred Spring shrine 246, 45
origins of 80 Simonides, commissions of 238–9
prestige of 8, 16, 60, 76, 143–4, 224, stasis at 239–43, 263
268–9, 346–7, 350–1 statues 231–3, 242–3
victory monuments 23–35, 155–6, 157–8, vase-painting 244
268–9 victory, commemoration of 230, 236
see also equestrian victors, named; Motya victor monuments 233, 246–7
charioteer; Polyzalos of Gela; women warfare 237–9, 249
victors wealth of 236–7
cheating 398 See also Argos; athletes, named; equestrian
Chios victors, named; Isthmia; Oligaithidai;
foundation of 14 Palaimon; Perachora; Simonides; torch-
games on 368 races
chorus, see performance Crete:
citizenship, 6–7 and colonisation 10, 21
city 42, 361 Delphi 67–8
household and 346–7 exiles from 159
see also athletes; elites; Ptolemies statis in 190, 191, 194
Claudius, emperor 388 victors 190
at Olympia and Delphi 389 see also athletes, named; Knossos
coin imagery 120, 126, 269, 355–6, 22, 29 crowns 58, 61–2, 69, 350
colonisation 18, 271–2, 399–400. in the Hellenistic period 345, 354–6
See also Bacchylides; epinikian poetry; chthonian gods 23–24
oikist cult; Pindar Cumae 256
Corinth 64 battle of 266, 280, 281, 283
Athena, cult of 23 Cyprus see Paphos; Ptolemies, courtier-
Athens, war with 239 victors
athletics and civic image 243–9 Cyrene:
building programmes 244–7, 249 athletic competition 224
 general ind ex 4 65
city 15–16, 299–300 mobility and networks 6–8, 63–5, 273–4,
equestrian tradition 360–1 304, 399–400
Pindar and 13–17, 265, 293 and the polis 141–2, 147–9, 400–1
treasury at Delphi 277 identity under the Roman empire 381–2,
See also Arkesilas IV; athletes, named; 389–90
equestrian victors, named; Ptolemies, see also athletes; victors; victory
courtier-victors; women victors Elis 32, 34, 74, 380–1
see also athletes, named;
Damonon of Sparta 41, 215 Emmenids, see Akragas; Theron of Akragas;
Deinomenids, see Gelon; Hieron; western Polyzalos of Gela
Greece Epidauros 42, 64
Delos 64, 86 Asklepeia 42, 388
Delphi: epigrams, see inscriptions; Kallimachos of
and Cyrene 16 Cyrene; Poseidippos of Pella
Daochos monument 116, 340 epinikian poetry:
encomium contest at 380 classification/taxonomy of 145, 172–6
oracle 26–7 colonial themes in 11–19
Pythian games, influence on Roman genre 167–72, 291–2
agones 387–9 for non-Panhellenic victories 174, 175,
Pythian games, origins of 49–52, 64–9 249
Roman emperors at 389 origins of 10–11, 144–52, 163–6
sanctuary development 52–4 parodied 210
Soteria 345 survival of 1, 176, 206–7
and western Greece 9–10, 65, 224, 273–4, values expressed in 141–3
277, 283–5 see also inscriptions; funerals, display;
see also Argos; athletes, named; Corinth; Kallimachos of Cyrene; lyric poetry;
Etruria; music; Polyzalos of Gela; Pindar; Poseidippos of Pella; statues,
Sacred War; Thessaly; weapons victory.
dedications; western Greece, equestrian victors, named:
democracy: Alcibiades I 156
athletics and 214–15, 262–3 Aristoteles of Larisa 225
elites and 141–4, 147–8, 164, 213–14, Chromios of Aitna 174, 223, 284, 299,
358 347
Diagoras of Melos, poet 196 Diotimos of Sidon 347, 353 n.42, 374–5
Diagoras of Rhodes 39, 99, 100, 201 n.13, Hagesias of Syracuse 223, 267, 277, 284
210, 227 Karrhotos of Cyrene 133
Dionysos 29 Kratisthenes of Cyrene 124
Dioskouroi 215 n.14, 229, 250, 256, 261, 267 Pheidolas of Corinth 123, 155, 233
hospitality shown to 299 Pronapes of Athens 40
divination 26–7 Psaumis of Kamarina 267, 298
see also Dodona Kleoptolemos of Thessaly 299, 333
Djemila, Tunisia 86 Kleosthenes of Epidamnos 124, 130, 155
Dodona 8–9, 14, 277 Nikomachos of Athens 276
Domitian, emperor: Pantares of Gela 155
and Greek athletics in Rome 383, see also Alcibiades of Athens; Arkesilas IV
388–90 of Cyrene; Athens; Attalids; Gelon;
at Olympia and Delphi 389 Herodotos of Thebes; Hieron; Kyme;
Mastanabas of Nubia; Ptolemies,
eidos, see epinikian poetry; lyric poetry courtier-victors; Ptolemies, royal
elites 4–10 victors; Theron of Akragas; Seleukids;
competitive ethos 59–61, 73, 141, 165–6 Sparta; Stymphalos; Thessaly;
court circles, Hellenistic 347–9, 360–8 Xenokrates of Akragas
466 general index
Eretria: monuments 94, 161–2
Eualkides of Eretria 41 see also hero cult; inscriptions
Herakleia 41, 256
see also Euboia gambling 398
Etna, Mt. 210, 267 games:
see also Aitna circuit 41–42, 69, 216–17, 262, 391
Etruria: Hellenistic innovations 345–6, 358–9
dedications at Delphi and Olympia management 61–2
281–2 origins of 56–65
trade 291 Roman creations 378–9, 387–9
treasuries at Delphi 281–2 under Roman Empire 378, 380
warfare 281 see also crowns; events; Imperial Cult;
weapons dedications 77–8, 280 prestige; prizes
see also Lipari Gela 12, 21, 155
Euboia: Hippokrates, tyrant of 265
presence in Bay of Naples 281 see also equestrian victors, named; Gelon;
games 40–41 Hieron; Polyzalos of Gela
horse racing on 40 Gelon of Gela and Syracuse 9–10, 223
Simonides 145 career of 265–6
see also athletes, named; Chalkis; Eretria chariot monument 99, 124, 130, 27
Euesperides 16, 224 dedications by 283–5
Eupolis 210, 246 n.143 epinikian commissions of 266–7
Euripides: victory monuments 305
epinikian attributed to 8, 165, 176 see also chariot racing; coin imagery; Gela;
events: Hieron; Syracuse
boxing 118 genealogies 13–14
chariot and foals 365 genre, see lyric poetry
diaulos 78–9 Golden, Mark 235, 358
discus 79, 120 Gordian, emperor 379
dolichos 78–9
euexia 358 Hadrian, emperor 379–80
eutaxia 355 healing, see athletes, heroized.
hoplite race 118 Herakles 23, 24, 27
horse race 123 hero cult 23–6, 55–6, 75–7, 218, 243, 273
javelin 79, 120 see also Adrastos; athletes, heroised;
long jump 81–2, 120 Opheltes; Palaimon; Pelops
mule-cart race 82, 126 Herodotus of Thebes, charioteer 133, 135,
Olympic programme 73 227, 333
pankration 118, 227 see also Thebes
pentathlon 120 Herodotus, historian:
philoponia 358 on hero worship 23
Pythian programme 68–9 Theban victory inscription 154
race in armour 78, 118 See also Aegina, prosopography
stadion 77–9 Hieron of Gela and Syracuse 123, 124, 125,
wrestling 118, 120 127–8, 130, 157–8, 205, 219
see also games career of 265–6
chariot monument at Delphi 268 n.13
Fano 134 dedications at Delphi and Olympia 281,
Francavilla Marittima 274 283–5
funerals: Deinomenes, son of 284
display at 160–63 hospitality of 298–9
games 58, 75–7 patronage of Pindar 222–3, 267, 293
 general i nd ex 4 67
see also Aitna; chariot racing; Cumae, battle see also coin imagery; equestrian victors,
of; Gela; Gelon; Syracuse named
hieronikes, privileges of 354 Kea 5–6, 12
Himera: Kerkyra:
battle of 9–10, 266, 267, 276, 281, 283 treasury at Delphi 277
city 9, 159, 163, 181, 193–5, 267–8 see also athletes, named;
see also athletes, named kingship, Hellenistic 348
Hippokleas of Pelinna 5, 201, 225, 309–13, 398 Kleisthenes of Sikyon 51, 60, 68, 260,
Phrikias, father of 310–11 289, 318
Hipponion 281 Kleitor, games at 233
Homer 144, 179–80, 184, 191, 200, 214, 229 Kleonai 42, 60, 62–3, 259–61
statue in Pharsalos 340 see also athletes, named; Nemea and
hospitality 298–300 Kleonai
see also Aegina; Thessaly kleos 83, 109–10, 160, 163, 200
Knossos 7–8, 100, 181, 191, 267
Iamidae 9, 223, 284, 292 Krannon 312, 317, 324, 327, 328–9, 61
Ibykos of Rhegion: Diaktorides of Krannon 318
ordering of works 170 see also women victors
origins of epinikian genre 11, 146, 151, Kroisos of Lydia 224, see also Solon of Athens
163–4, 167, Kroton 274, 281
and Sparta 215 see also athletes, named;
Imperial cult 378 Kurke, Leslie 1 n.3, 141–2, 150–1, 196,
initiation 27–8 203 n.20, 213, 310, 327–8
inscriptions: Kyme 134, 369
funerary 161–3, 250, 369 Damodika of Kyme 369
Hellenistic victory epigrams 346–7, 353,
357–8, 366–7, 371, 374–5 Lakedaimon, see Sparta
honorific inscriptions 353–5, 356–7, 381, Lampsacus, games at 256
383 Larisa 310, 329, 336, 66
Roman imperial 377–83, 386–7 Aristoteles of Larisa 332
on victory dedications 154–66, 181, 231, and Brasidas 338
370, 377–8 Eleutheria 335, 368
see also Argos; prizes; statues; victor lists; games at 335
victory see also Aleuads; Thessaly
Isthmia: lawgivers 25–6
building programmes 247, 46 Lipari 281, 283
dedications at 40, 232 n.78, 238 Lokroi:
dining at 237, 243 Epizephyrian Lokroi 19, 218, 298
games 32, 63–4 mythology 18–19
origins of festival 52, 62 Ozolian 7
Persian War commemorations 238–9 see also athletes, named;
sanctuary development 54, 55 ludi, see Rome
stadium 244, 247, 47 lyric poetry 172
statues at 231–3 classification and ordering of
Temple of Poseidon 247–9 genres 167–76
victory monuments 135 encomium 167–9, 176, 292, 380
see also Palaimon; Panathenaia, Great; kallinikos 144–5, 164
weapons dedications partheneion 199
Proclus Chrestomathy 169
Kallimachos of Cyrene, poet 347, 349–53, Sappho 170
364, 369, 372 scolium 168, 169
Kamarina 99, 267 Stesichoros 170
468 general index
lyric poetry (cont.) coin finds 398
see also Bacchylides; epinikian poetry; control of 62–3, 230, 257, 259
Ibykos of Rhegion; inscriptions; development of 257, 259
Kallimachos of Cyrene; performance; games 32
Pindar; Plato; Poseidippos of Pella; and Kleonai 257, 259
Simonides and Olympia 257, 259
sanctuary 54–56
Macedon: stadium, Hellenistic 234
coin imagery 355 statues 233–4
dedications 103 victory dedications at 155–6, 259, 260
rulers and panhellenic festivals 5, 60, see also Adrastos; Opheltes
347 n.11 Nero, emperor 388–90
Temenid descent 11–12, 256, 392 Nicopolis, see Augustus
and Thessaly 339, 341 Nile, river 372
Tomb of ‘Philip’, Vergina 255–7 nudity, 107–8, 382, 402–4
see also Ptolemies see also Rome; statues
Mantineia:
games for Antinous 379 Octavian, see Augustus
see also athletes, named Oenoanda, Demostheneia 380
Marathon, Herakleia 41, 256 oikist cult 14, 15, 24–25
see also Athens; prizes Oligaithidai of Corinth 40–1, 219, 298
Massalia, treasury at Delphi 277 Erotimos 228
Mastanabas of Nubia 362 Namertidas 228
Medma 281 Ptoiodoros 228
megaloprepeia 150, 213 Simonides’ ode for 228, 237
Megara 64 status in Corinth 228, 243
Corinthian invasion of 239 victories of 228
Pindar’s ode for a Megarian 220 n.32, 265 Xenophon 228
Megara Hyblaia 271 see also Corinth
melic poetry, see lyric poetry Olympia 64
Melikertes, see Palaimon Alpheios 284
Messapians 10 dedications at 238
Metapontum 7, 18, 224 n.45, 271 participation at 269 n.17
Miletos 359 Roman building at 386–7, 389
see also athletes, named; sanctuary development 34, 54–5, 282
mobility, see elites Temple of Zeus 126
Motya charioteer 130–5, 276, 37–39 victor statues at 94–101, 137–9, 155–6, 157,
music: 159, 227, 276
contests 52–53, 61, 64, 66–9, 335–6, 380 and western Greece 8–10, 82, 223, 271–4,
Dicaearchus On Musical Contests 169 276–85
musicians 68, 208, 267–8 see also chariot racing; Pelops; Syracuse;
‘New Music’ 168–9 western Greece
see also lyric poetry; performance Olympic games:
Mycenae 251, 254 early victors at 274
mythology, and colonisation 18 influence on Roman agones 383–90
origin of 73–82
Naples, see Augustus Roman management of festival 380–1
Naukratis, 290–1, 304 see also cheating; Thessaly; truces, sacred
Naxos, Sicily: Opheltes, cult of 48, 55–6, 75, 257, 260–1
Altar of Apollo Archegetes 272–3 Opous 18–19
Nemea 52, 53 see also athletes, named
access to 259 oracles, see Delphi; Dodona
 general index 469
Oropos, Amphiaraia 368, 369 Pharsalos 317, 323, 328–9
Orphism 29 and Brasidas 338
Ortygia, see Syracuse at Delphi and Olympia 339–40
Kleomachos of Pharsalos 318
Pagondas, see Aioladai Meno of Pharsalos 332
Palaimon, cult of 48, 55–6, 75–6, 243, 261 See also athletes, named; Delphi, Daochos
Panathenaia, Great 58–9, 63 n.58, 276, 318, monument; Thessaly
327 n.121, 336, 350, 358 Pheneos, games to Dioskouroi 256
prize amphorae 5, 16, 40, 72, 216, 224, 232, Pherai: 316, 319, 321, 323, 324, 327, 330
243 n.133, 336 Jason of 339
see also Attalids; Ptolemies; Seleukids; prominence of 338
women victors Phlius 260
panhellenism 20, 56–7, 391–2 see also athletes, named
in Roman world 377–8, 380–1 phthonos 203, 208, 217–18, 311
Paphos: Pindar:
Polykratean statue groups 360, 361 career 214
patronage 203–4, 205–6, 219–30, 262, classification and ordering of works 170–4
398, 401 and colonisation 11–19, 34, 402
Pausanias: commissioning of 200, 209, 213–14,
at Olympia 95–8, 181 219–21, 262, 309–10
earliest statues 156 epinikia, quantity of 171
Greek games under Roman rule 381 epinikian, development of 163–6, 196, 292
Pelinna 309–10 fragments, classification of 220
See also Hippokleas of Pelinna; Thessaly idiom 179–80
Pellana, games at 233 language and imagery 179–80, 181–94
Pelops, worship of 55–7, 76, 257, 259 and money 22, 152, 200, 301
Perachora 64, 278 n.48 and myth 21–3, 293
dining at 243 and political constitutions 5–6, 19–20, 142,
Pergamon: 213, 262–3
Herakleia Soteria 345 portrait 112
Nikephoria 359 regional variation 221–9
paides, division of 358 religion 19–30, 34, 262
periodos, see games scholiasts, use of 16, 47–8, 76
performance: and tragedians 3, 188–9
appearance of 199 and visual art 90, 109, 150–1, 229–31, 250,
chorus 35, 199, 205–8, 284, 311–12 276, 277, 284
cost 204 see also Aegina; Argos; Bacchylides; elites;
event 166 Homer; Simonides; statues; Thebes;
of Hellenistic encomia 349–52 threnos; truces, sacred
impact of 235 Plataia, battle of 10, 37, 182, 238, 267, 283
location of 15, 17, 199–203, 231, 306–7, 312 serpent column, Delphi 9
partheneion compared with 199 see also Simonides
reperformance 199, 200, 209–10, 284 Plato 168 n.6, 210, 293
at shrines 201–2 polis, see athletes; city; democracy;
state involvement 200–3 performance; Pindar
written texts 200 n.5 political constitutions 5–6, 42
see also music; patronage; statues pollution 19–20
Persian empire: Polykrates of Samos 146, 151
and Greek statuary 91 Polyzalos of Gela 265–6
Poulydamas of Skotoussa in 101 chariot group at Delphi 10, 126–30, 157–8,
Persian wars, commemoration of 9–10 268 n.13, 276, 30–35
personification 28 Pompeii 255, 256, 257
470 general index
Poseidippos of Pella 348, 350–2, 363, 364, Ptolemy Philadelphos 363
365–6, 369 Ptolemy VI Philometor 362
prestige systems 393–8, 402, 407–8 Pytheas, see Aegina, traders
prizes 58, 61–2, 72, 215 n.14, 225, 255–7, 333–4, Pythian games, see Delphi
392, 71
recycling of 256–7 religion, and physical experience 405–6
see also crowns; Panathenaic amphorae Rhodes:
prosopography 4, 35–9 and colonisation 12, 21
Ptolemies: cult of Zeus Atabyrios 20–1
and Athens 360–3, 373–4 Halieia 256
athlophoros 361, 364 Lindos 278 n.48, 291, 304
court of 348–52, 361 Pindar and 227, 265
and Cyprus 360–1 statue makers 92 n.32
equestrian enthusiasm 360–1, 365–8 and victors 201 n.13
‘Macedonian’ identity 372–4 see also athletes, named
military celebrations 370 Rome:
queens at Panhellenic games 369–72 attitudes to Greek sport 382–4, 402–3
see also Kallimachos of Cyrene; Poseidippos Capitoline games 383–4, 388
of Pella ludi 382–3
Ptolemies, courtier-victors: Neronia 388
Agathokleia daughter of Noumenios 362 stadia in 383, 385
Belistiche/Bilistiche 365 see also Actian games; Agrippa, Marcus;
Eirene of Alexandria 362 athletes; Augustus; games; Imperial
Etearchos of Cyrene 365 cult; inscriptions
Eugenia, daughter of Zenon 362 n.91 Rose, Peter 142, 147–8
Eukrateia of Argos 360 rubbish theory 395
Glaukon of Athens 364–5
Hermione of Argos 360 sacred laws:
Kallikrates of Samos 365, 366–7, 372–3 Delphi (Labyadai) 161
Kallikratos of Samos, admiral 347–8 Ioulis, Kea 161
Molykos 366 Sacred War, First 47, 50–1, 53, 62, 64, 317
Olympio of Lakedaimon 362 sacrifice 23–4
Polykrates of Argos 360–1 Salamis, battle of 9–10, 218, 238, 267, 283
Sosibios, minister to Ptolemy IV 347, Aeginetans at 291, 295, 303
349–50, 353, 358, 365, 372 Samos 182
Tlepolemos of Xanthos 364 Heraion, dedications at 277, 280
Zeuxo of Argos 360 see also Polykrates of Samos
Zeuxo of Cyrene 360–1, 373 sanctuaries, federal 20–1
Ptolemies, royal victors sculptors 101–2, 137–9
Alkemachos of Epeiros 362 Ageladas of Argos 124
Arsinoe Philadelphos 369 Apelleas 124
Arsinoe I 363 Aristion of Paros 101
Berenike the Syrian 348, 364, 369 Glaukias of Aegina 99, 124, 305, 27
Berenike I 369, 371–2 Hageladas 10
Berenike II 349, 361, 364, 369 Kalamis of Athens 101, 124
Demetrios of Epeiros 362 Lysippos 101, 339–40
Kleopatra II, wife/sister of Philometer Myron 99, 101, 106, 118, 120
Ptolemais 362 at Olympia 97, 137–9
Lagos, son of Ptolemy I 362 Onatas of Aegina 10, 101, 124
Ptolemy I Soter 363 Polykleitos of Argos 98, 101, 105, 111,
Ptolemy II 371 6, 7
Ptolemy V Epiphanes 362, 374 n.131 Ptolichos of Aegina 305–6
 general index 471
Pythagoras of Rhegion 101, 120, Kyniska, chariot victor 99, 124, 130,
124, 131 370–1
Workshops 102–3 Lichas 8
Seleukids: local festivals, preference for 332
Alexander Balas 362 Olympic victors 74, 215
Macedonia as patris 373 prizes 215 n.14
and Panathenaia, Great 362 and Thessaly 309, 328, 337–8
Sicily, see western Greece victory dedications 98–100, 135, 251–6,
Sidon 347 370
see also equestrian victors, named see also athletes, named; Damonon of
Sikyon 59, 64 Sparta; women victors
Chromios’ victory at games 223, 249 Spina, treasury at Delphi 281–2
games, foundation of 260–1 sport, Greek 71–2, 77
horsebreeding 260 see also athletes; events; games
Myron, tyrant of Sikyon 260 sportsmanship 404–5; see also cheating;
and Nemea 62–3, 260–1 gambling
prizes 256 statues:
treasury at Delphi 261 bases 98, 103, 125, 153, 231–2, 296, 353
victory dedication 260 body styling 88–9, 104, 108–11
see also athletes, named; Dioskouroi; cost 101–3, 306
Kleisthenes of Sikyon; sculptors eikon 91
Simonides: equestrian monuments 123–35, 155
classification and ordering of works evidence for 103–7
174–5 fifth-century styles 88–94, 235
epigrams 158 hair styles 112–16
epinikia 145–6, 163–5, 175, 249 in literature 84, 86
historical elegies 174–5 Pindar and 92, 109, 149–52, 156–7, 230–1,
Plataia elegy 174, 220, 238 290–1, 296, 305, 401–2
reputation 210 poses 116–22, 131–4, 405
Rhodes 227 positioning of 96–100
victory commemoration 156 posthumous 100–1, 116, 339–40
and western Greece 222, 267, 268 n.12 role of dedications 84–7
see also Aegina; Corinth; epinikian poetry; sema 91, 94, 107, 151–2
Oligaithidai; Thessaly technology 91–2
Sinop 255–6 victor 87–8, 94–101, 116–39, 134, 152–9,
Solon of Athens 52, 143, 161, 231, 360;
and Kroisos of Lydia 250–1 see also Aegina; Corinth, Isthmia, Argos,
song, see epinikian poetry; performance Argive Heraion, Athens; Delphi; events;
Sophokles, Elektra 366 funerals; inscriptions; Motya charioteer;
Sostratos of Aegina, see Aegina, traders Nemea; nudity; Pausanias; Polyzalos of
South Italy, see Western Greece Gela; Sicily; Thessaly
Sparta 12–13 Steiner, Deborah 1 n.3, 87 n.10,
Athena Chalkioikos, sanctuary of 215 109 n.77, 150–2, 184, 230 n.67, 231, 276,
attitudes to athletics 215–16, 404 296
chariot victors 123–4 n.111, 126 Stymphalos:
choruses 208 Aineias of Stymphalos 35
and epinikia 215 see also Iamidae; Syracuse
Euryleonis, Olympic chariot victor 368 Sulla 384
figurines, athletic 231 Sybaris:
Geronthrai, games at 215 treasury at Delphi 277
hair styling 112 see also athletes, named; Francavilla
Karneia 75, 215 Marittima
472 general index
Syracuse 265–7 Thrasydaios, son of 266
Arethusa as source of the Alpheios 284 See also Motya charioteer
Athenaion, Ortygia 9 Thespiai 7
chariot racing 126, 227, 29 Herakleia 256
city 9–10, 279 victor from 40
Hagesias of Syracuse 223 Thessaly 5, 6–7
and Olympia 284–5 Ahippodromas 335
patronage 222–4, 266–7 aid to xenoi 318–9
Temple of Apollo 273 Anthela, amphictyony 315, 317
treasury at Delphi 277 aristocratic government 225, 309, 310, 313,
treasury at Olympia 276 315, 316–17, 341
see also Antandros; coin imagery; Athena Itonia, games of 334–5
equestrian victors, named; Gelon; and Athens 318, 332, 336, 338
Hieron burial customs 316, 319–20, 323, 328–30
cities in 315–17, 321, 323
Taras 5, 10, 278 and Delphi 65, 67, 224–5, 315, 317, 332, 337,
victory over Thurii 281 338, 339, 341
see also athletes, named Echekratidai 224, 317, 329
Tegea 156 n.50 Ephyraeans 312
games at 233 external relations 315–16, 320, 337
Telesikrates of Cyrene 17, 39, 221, 294 families and patronage 311 n.16, 327–8,
see also Cyrene 339
Tenedos: festivals of 39 n.157, 225, 332
Zeus Xenios worshipped 298 funerary monuments 162
see also Aristagoras of Tenedos geography of 313–15
tenella, see lyric poetry, kallinikos good fortune of 309–10, 313
Theagenes of Thasos 25–6, 100, 120, 250, horses 224, 333, 335
305, 334 hospitality 312, 327, 332
Theaios of Argos 228–9, 262, 299 Kineas of Thessaly 318
Thebes 17 luxury 327
agonistic catalogue 355 n.56 medism 332, 337
Aspodoros of Thebes 4 monumental art 323–7, 338
ancestors in epinikian 227 Moschato, Temple of Apollo 320–1, 324
and colonisation 11, 12–13, 19 musical contests 335–6
Echembrotos of Thebes, song victor 68 mythology 225, 309, 311–12
Ismenion 202 Olympic victors from 331
Herakleia 306–7, 388 and panhellenic sanctuaries 330–3, 337, 338,
Kabeirion 40 339, 341
Kleonymidai 20 patronage of poets 327–8, 331–2
mythology 19, 374–5 penestai 315
Pindar and 39–40, 227, 265, 306–7 perioikoi 314–15, 317
sanctuaries and festivals 17, 24, 40, 256 Petraia 225, 249, 333
victors 37–40 and Phokis 317
See also Aegina; Aiolidai; athletes, named; political organisation of 315–17
Herodotos of Thebes Protesilas, games for 225, 333–4
theoroi 42, 206, 354 prizes 256
theoxenia 229, 267, 272 sanctuaries and temples in 316, 319, 321,
Thera, see athletes, named; Cyrene 324, 327, 58–60
Theron of Akragas 29, 52, 111, 133, 221–2, Simonides and 145, 224, 327, 331 n.142
265–7, 293, Skopads 145, 224, 312, 317, 318, 327, 329
Damarete, daughter of 265–6 Taurotheria 335
hospitality of 298–300 use of the past 328–30
 g e n e r a l in d e x 473
victory dedications 336 use of 17, 42, 74–5, 88, 148, 261–2
victor monuments 116, 332 see also kleos; statues
warrior elite 318–20
see also Aleuads; athletes, named; Delphi; warfare:
equestrian victors, named; Krannon; and athletics 78–82, 94–5, 111, 160, 214–15,
Larisa; Pharsalos; Pherai; Thorax of 239, 392, 404–5
Larisa; Sparta and sanctuaries 9, 31–4
Thorax of Larisa 5, 225, 298, 312–13 wealth 110, 135
see also Aleuads; Larisa see also athletes, social status; elites
threnos 161 weapons dedications 33–4, 237–8,
Thucydides, historian 12, 28, 35–39, 277–83
ignores religion 262 western Greece:
on tyranny 289–90 and Italian elites 277–83
see also afterlife lyric genres favoured 265 n.1
Tiryns 251 monumental building 9
Titus, emperor 388 monumental dedications 9–10, 99, 126–35,
torch-races 75 n.17, 244–6 274, 281
trainers 60, 110 and panhellenic sanctuaries 268–73, 282–5
on Aegina 226 and Pindar 221–4, 265–8, 273–4, 283–4
Melesias, trainer 60 sanctuaries in 270–3
Menander of Athens 227 treasuries at Delphi and Olympia 273,
Ptolemies as 374 n.131 276–7, 283–5
training 94–5, 110, 118, 132–3, 135, 148–9, 398 tyrants 4, 82, 222
travel 6–7, 64, 399–400 warfare 273
truces, sacred 30–4 see also Akragas; chariot racing; Delphi;
Tyndaridai, see Dioskouroi Dodona; Gelon; Hieron; Himera;
tyrants 142–3, 147–8, 263, 289–90 Olympia; Polyzalos of Gela; Syracuse;
see also Gelon; Hieron; Kleisthenes of Theron of Akragas; Xenokrates of
Sikyon; Polykrates of Samos; Theron of Akragas.
Akragas; western Greece; Xenokrates of women in lyric poetry 37
Akragas women victors:
Hellenistic, 368–72
Valerian, emperor 388 see also Sparta; Ptolemies, courtier-victors;
Vergil, Aeneid 384–5 Ptolemies, royal victors.
Vergina, see Macedon
victor lists 41–2, 51–2, 66–8, 74, 215, 250, 355 Xanthos, Romaia 359 n.72, 369
victors, qualities of 109–11, 356–8 xenia 6–7, 283, 318–19, 332
see also athletes, heroised; chariot racing; Xenokrates of Akragas 221–2, 265–6, 268,
hero cult 299
victory: Thessalos, father of 318
commemoration of 94, 144–66, 205, 268, Thrasyboulos, son of 133, 222,
401–2 268, 276
feasts 202, 204–5 See also Moyta charioteer
Hellenistic attitudes to 348–54 Xenophon of Corinth, see Oligaithidai