The Ideology of Classicism: Language, History, and Identity in Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Untersuchungen zur Antiken Literatur und Geschichte) issue 1862-1112

Nicolas Wiater The Ideology of Classicism Untersuchungen zur antiken Literatur und Geschichte Herausgegeben von Heinz...

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Nicolas Wiater The Ideology of Classicism

Untersuchungen zur antiken Literatur und Geschichte Herausgegeben von Heinz-Günther Nesselrath, Peter Scholz und Otto Zwierlein

Band 105

De Gruyter

The Ideology of Classicism Language, History, and Identity in Dionysius of Halicarnassus

by

Nicolas Wiater

De Gruyter

Ph.D. dissertation, Bonn University, 2008

ISBN 978-3-11-025658-1 e-ISBN 978-3-11-025911-7 ISSN 1862-1112 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Wiater, Nicolas. The ideology of classicism : language, history, and identity in Dionysius of Halicarnassus / by Nicolas Wiater. p. cm. − (Untersuchungen zur antiken Literatur und Geschichte, ISSN 1862−1112) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-3-11-025658-1 (hardcover : alk. paper) ISBN 978-3-11-025911-7(ebk.) 1. Dionysius, of Halicarnassus − Criticism and interpretation. 2. Classicism − Greece − History. I. Title. PA3967.Z6W53 2011 880.91.001−dc22 2011010091

Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available in the Internet at http://dnb.d-nb.de. © 2011 Walter de Gruyter GmbH & Co. KG, Berlin/New York Typesetting: Rhema − Tim Doherty, Münster Printing: Hubert & Co. GmbH & Co. KG, Göttingen ⬁ Printed on acid-free paper Printed in Germany. www.degruyter.com

For Pamela, Tino, and Fabi

Preface This book is a revised version of my Ph.D. dissertation which was accepted by the Philosophische Falkultät der Rheinischen Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universität Bonn in 2008. I am grateful to my referees, Professor Thomas A. Schmitz and Professor Konrad Vössing, and the other members of the examining board, Professor Dorothee Gall and Professor Otto Zwierlein, for their criticism and support, and to the editors of the Untersuchungen zur antiken Literatur und Geschichte, Professor Otto Zwierlein, Professor Heinz-Günther Nesselrath, and Professor Peter Scholz, for accepting my manuscript for publication in the series; in particular, I wish to thank Professor Nesselrath who read the entire manuscript with extraordinary diligence and care and intercepted more than one error. To Professor Zwierlein I am most grateful not only for recommending this manuscript for publication in the UaLG series but also for his extraordinary support and encouragement over the years. Many thanks also to Katrin Hofmann and Dr Sabine Vogt of de Gruyter for their prompt assistance in bringing the manuscript through the final stages of publication. Many people have contributed to this book with their advice and support. First and foremost I would like to mention Professor Thomas A. Schmitz, to whom I owe more than could be expressed here. The longer I work in Classics, both as a researcher and a teacher, the more I realize how much I have learned from him. It was his work on Greek literature under the Roman Empire which first roused my interest in later Greek literature in 2004, when I wrote my Masters thesis on Diodorus Siculus, and the years since have been the most intellectually stimulating and rewarding of my life. Among many other things, Thomas Schmitz supported my application for a doctoral scholarship from the German National Academic Foundation (Studienstiftung des Deutschen Volkes) which gave me two years in which I could pursue my research on Dionysius of Halicarnassus without teaching obligations and administrative duties. I am grateful to the Studienstiftung for their financial support during this time, especially during the wonderful year as a visiting research student at Pembroke College, Cambridge. I would like

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Preface

to express my gratitude to Professor Simon Goldhill and Professor Richard Hunter for discussing my ideas with me and for their manifold support both during my time at Cambridge and afterwards. Furthermore, I would like to thank my parents, Susanne and Alfred Wiater, without whose support this book would never have been written, as well as my godfather and his wife, Heinz and Ute Kutzner, and my grandparents, Josef and Lydia Müller, for their generous and constant support and interest in my work. Jamie Sutherland read the manuscript at an earlier stage and greatly helped me with my English. Among the numerous people who have, in one way or another, contributed to this project, I would like to single out the following three: Fabian Meinel and my partner, Pamela Hutcheson, who read the entire manuscript, discussed my argument with me, corrected my English, and provided moral support. Tino Schweighöfer, my oldest and closest friend, was, as always, an unfailing source of encouragement and sanum iudicium. The only adequate way to show them my gratitude and affection is to dedicate this book to them.

Table of Contents

Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1. Introduction: The Aims and Methods of This Study

........

VII 1

1.1 ‘Webs of Significance’ – A Novel Approach to Dionysius’ Classicism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1.1 Dionysius’ Classicism as a Cultural Phenomenon . . 1.1.2 Dionysius – an ‘Augustan’ Author? . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1.3 A Cultural Identity Approach to Dionysius’ Classicism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2 The Conceptual Framework of Dionysius’ Classicism . . . . 1.2.1 Criticism as a Struggle for Authority . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2.2 Dionysius’ Critical Method as Heir to the Tradition of Classical Rhetoric . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2.3 The Power of the Text: Creating a Discursive Tradition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2.4 Criticism as Constituent of Communities of Intellectuals . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.3 Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

47 52

2. Reviving the Past: Language and Identity in Dionysius’ Classicism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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2.1 Introduction: Language and Time in Dionysius’ Classicism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2 FilÏsofoc Anàgnwsic Trofò LËxewc: Reading and Distinction in Dionysius’ Classicism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.2 ‘Authentic Reading’: Becoming a Classicist Critic . . . . . . . 4.2.1 The Failures of Scholarship Past: Redressing the Balance between Theory and Practice . . . . . . . . . . 4.2.2 Misreading Tradition: Deconstructing Chrysippus . . 4.2.3 Refuting the Idea of a ‘Natural Word Order’ . . . . . .

230 235 235 239 243

Table of Contents

4.2.4 On Literary Composition : A Normative Aesthetics of Classical Style . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.2.5 Dionysius’ Writings: A Classical Course of Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.3 The Mysteries of Education: Being an Elite Critic . . . . . . . 4.3.1 Knowledge and Elitism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.3.2 The Mysteries of Knowledge . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.3.3 Classical Politicians and Classicist Readers: Knowledge and Leadership . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.4 Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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246 257 263 264 267 270 277

5. Enacting Distinction: The Interactive Structure of Dionysius’ Writings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 279 5.1 Criticism as Dialogic Interaction: Creating an ‘Imagined Community’ of Classicists . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.2 Strategies of Distinction: Out-Group Reading . . . . . . . . . 5.2.1 ‘Objective Critic’ vs ‘Subjective Critic’: The Peripatetic on Trial . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.2.2 The Aesthetics of Criticism: Dionysius vs the Platonists . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.3 Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6. Conclusions References

281 297 303 310 348

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 352

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 361

Indices . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 387 1. Key Notions, Persons, Places . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 387 2. Greek Terms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 391 3. Passages Discussed . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 392

1. Introduction: The Aims and Methods of This Study 1.1 ‘Webs of Significance’1 – A Novel Approach to Dionysius’ Classicism 1.1.1 Dionysius’ Classicism as a Cultural Phenomenon Ever since Bonner’s study of the development of Dionysius’ thought, now a classic itself, scholarly interest in the rhetorical works of Dionysius of Halicarnassus has increased steadily.2 70 years after the publication of Bonner’s treatise, Dionysius’ linguistic and rhetorical theories seem to have been exhaustively explored; scholars have examined Dionysius’ conceptual vocabulary (and its consistency), such as Schenkeveld’s and Damon’s detailed analyses of Dionysius’ notions of aesthetic evaluation, especially his use of älogoc a“sjhsic, Vaahtera’s study of ‘Phonetics and Euphony in Dionysius of Halicarnassus,’ 3 or Pohl’s study on the Çreta– and qarakt®rec t®c lËxewc.4 Dionysius’ critical methods too attracted attention: Viljama examined Dionysius’ analysis of sentence structures; 5 de Jonge focused on the use of metathesis, the technique of re-writing a passage from a Classical author, 6 and assessed Dionysius’ importance as a historian of linguistics. 7 The linguistic-historical approach to Dionysius’ works culminated recently in de Jonge’s dissertation ‘Between Grammar and Rhetoric. Dionysius of

1 Geertz (1973) 5. 2 Bonner (1939); earlier studies of Dionysius’ critical works, or aspects of them, are, e.g., Blass (1863); Roessler (1873); v. Wilamowitz-Moellendorff (1899); Kalinka (1924) and (1925). 3 Schenkeveld (1975); Damon (1991); Vaahtera (1997); cf. also Görler (1979). 4 Pohl (1968). 5 Viljama (2003). 6 de Jonge (2005a). 7 Id. (2005).

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1. Introduction: The Aims and Methods of This Study

Halicarnassus on Language, Linguistics, and Literature,’ 8 the most comprehensive study to date not only of the sources of Dionysius’ ideas, but also of how he combined theories from such various strands as musical, grammatical and rhetorical theory, and (mainly Stoic) philosophy in his own, original system of thought. Dionysius is concerned with questions of grammar, rhetoric, and the aesthetics of speech, and every scholar working on his œuvre has to be familiar with this linguistic side of his. But even a study like de Jonge’s, which takes Dionysius seriously as a theoretician of rhetoric in his own right, represents a shift only in the evaluation of Dionysius as a thinker, but not in method. With his predecessors de Jonge shares an approach to Dionysius which remains reconstructional in purpose: he, like the other representatives of the linguistic approach, attempts to identify the sources on which Dionysius drew,9 which elements he adopted from each of them, and how he used these elements as the constituents of his own approach. The individual studies adopting the linguistic approach thus differ from each other mainly in the degree to which the authors allow for Dionysius’ influence on the material he found in his sources. Such an approach neglects (and maybe has to neglect) the fact that the various rhetorical, grammatical, musical, and philosophical theories which Dionysius applied in his criticism were not an end in themselves, but served a purpose beyond satisfying a purely intellectual interest in classical language and literature. de Jonge rightly remarks that ‘Dionysius’ views on literature are always subservient to the production of (rhetorical) texts through imitation of classical models,’ 10 but he does not inquire further into the reasons for Dionysius and his addressees’ desire to write ‘Classical’ (or what they thought to be Classical) texts: 11 focusing on the What and the 8 de Jonge (2008); as I was writing this study, de Jonge’s book had not yet been published. I am very grateful to Dr de Jonge for sending me a copy of his study and granting me invaluable insights into the results of his research. 9 de Jonge’s approach should not, however, be confused with traditional nineteenth-century source criticism from which he rightly distances himself ([2008] 7–8). He explicitly rejects the attempt to speculate about concrete sources; instead, he defines as the aim of his study to ‘point to the possible connections between Dionysius’ discourse and that of earlier and contemporary scholars of various backgrounds’ in order to ‘draw a general picture of the set of ideas and technical theories that were available in the Augustan age’ (ibid .). 10 de Jonge (2008) 7. 11 As ch. 2 will show, ‘Classical’ is a highly symbolically charged term for Dionysius with not only aesthetical and stylistic but also moral and political implications. His conception of ‘Classical’ rhetoric is therefore very different from ours. Hence whenever reference is

1.1 ‘Webs of Significance’

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How, the linguistic approach neglects the Why. The emphasis on mimesis as the aim of Dionysius’ criticism thus pushes the problem only one stage further back: understanding the purpose of Dionysius’ evaluation of the style of the classical authors helps us accept the fact that his at times harsh criticism of such authors as Plato or Thucydides is so different from our own. Accepting that Dionysius’ criticism served a specific purpose enables us to study his ideas and methods on their own and to appreciate Dionysius’ intellectual achievement, instead of criticising him for his lack of taste. 12 But it does not help us to understand this desire for mimesis itself which motivates his criticism and thus leaves a crucial element of Greek classicism unexplained. This study proposes a different way of looking at Dionysius’ classicism. Rather than as a linguistic, I will approach Dionysius’ classicism as a social-cultural phenomenon. This approach rests on the assumption that the fact that a group of Greek and Roman intellectuals in the first century BCE attempted to speak and write like authors who had lived three hundred or so years before their times is a phenomenon which requires explanation. Underlying this approach is a ‘semiotic concept of culture’ 13 and human interaction which was developed by the cultural anthropologist Clifford Geertz. Following Max Weber, Geertz describes man as ‘an animal suspended in webs of significance he himself has spun,’ culture constituting those webs. 14 Human actions are never neutral, but acts of communication; they carry a significance which needs to be interpreted by the recipient whose re-action will be determined by this interpretation. Human action is ‘symbolic’: made to Dionysius’ particular notion of the ‘Classical’ and the world view bound up with it, ‘Classical’ will be written with a capital ‘C’ in order to distinguish it from other uses of the term. In the same way, ‘Classicists’ will designate those intellectuals who adopted Dionysius’ Classicist ideology as opposed to ‘classicists’ meaning ‘modern scholars of classics.’ ‘Neo-Classicists’ did not seem an appropriate term to refer to Dionysius and the members of his community because they conceived of themselves as genuinely ‘Classical’ (see ch. 2.2 below), an aspect of Dionysius’ self-definition which the prefix ‘neo’ might obscure to a certain extent. Consequently, ‘Classicism’ with a capital ‘C’ will refer specifically to Dionysius’ conception of classical language and way of life as opposed to other ‘(neo-)classicist’ movements at other times, for example in 19th-century Germany. See the discussion below, pp. 48–49 with n. 148. 12 de Jonge (2008) 7; however, de Jonge correctly points out that the latter attitude has been abandoned in recent scholarship (ibid. 8–9). 13 Geertz (1973a) 14. 14 Ibid. 5.

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1. Introduction: The Aims and Methods of This Study the peculiar and distinctive character of interaction as it takes place between human beings [is] the fact that human beings interpret or “define” each other’s actions instead of merely reacting to each other’s actions. Their “response” is not made directly to the actions of one another but instead is based on the meaning of one another’s actions. This mediation is equivalent to inserting a process of interpretation between stimulus and response in the case of human behaviour. 15

The meaning of actions is understandable only from within the particular context in which they are performed. This context is culture: culture provides the parameters in which human beings expect each other’s actions to be interpreted: As interworked systems of construable signs (what, ignoring provincial usages, I would call symbols), culture is not a power, something to which social events, behaviours, institutions, or processes can be causally attributed; it is a context, something within which they can be intelligibly – that is thickly – described.16

Therefore understanding human interaction depends on understanding how members of communities interpret each other’s actions. The anthropologist makes actions of members of a foreign society understandable to the members of his society by explaining the principles according to which the members of the foreign society invest their actions with meaning. Geertz calls this process the ‘thick description’:17 ‘descriptions of Berber, Jewish, or French culture must be cast in terms of the constructions we imagine Berbers, Jews, or Frenchmen to place upon what they live through, the formulae they use to define what happens to them.’ 18 In the past, archaeological and historical studies of the ancient world in particular have greatly profited from cross-fertilization with anthropological methods: reading the Odyssey with the system of gift-giving explored by Marcel Mauss, Moses I. Finley offered exciting new insights into the society of the Dark Ages; 19 Eric R. Dodds’ The Greeks and the Irrational explored Greek religion applying, among others, anthropological theories of shame and guilt cultures; more recently, Leslie Kurke has furthered our 15 Blumer (1962) 180; cf. Cohen (1985) 42: ‘any behaviour, no matter how routine, may have a symbolic aspect if members of society wish to endow it with such significance.’ This approach to human interaction ultimately goes back to George Herbert Mead and is now known under the name of ‘symbolic interactionism,’ a term coined by Herbert Blumer in 1969; see the overview in Rose (1962a) and the contributions collected in Rose (1962). 16 Geertz (1973a) 14. 17 Ibid. 6. 18 Ibid. 15. 19 The World of Odysseus (New York 1977).


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understanding of the social mechanisms lying behind Pindaric praise poetry on the basis of native Indian potlatch. 20 This list could be extended considerably.21 Yet, apart from the novel ways of looking at individual areas of ancient culture and society such as age-setting, agriculture, burial-rituals, the family, gender-protocols, law, sexuality, slavery, and drama provided by anthropology, 22 ‘the greatest value to the classicist in the dialogue’ with anthropology, as Finley pointed out, is ‘the cultivation of an approach, a habit of thought – I might say a methodology.’ It seems to me that an investigation of Greek classicism can profit from this last aspect in particular. Anthropological studies remind us that the overwhelming influence of ancient culture on Western thought and civilisation can engender a sensation of familiarity with the ancient world which blinds us to the differences separating our culture from antiquity. In some aspects of ancient society these differences are blatant; Greek pederasty, the role of women, or slavery are obvious examples. In these cases comparison with other, non-Western societies can help us understand these phenomena. Intellectual activities such as studying classical Greek language and literature, by contrast, are more problematic because we seem to share these practices with the ancients. Here anthropology warns us against such cultural ‘false friends’ by reminding us that similar practices in different cultures can be deceptive as their respective meaning depends on the context in which they are performed, rather than on the activity being performed itself. To a Greek scholar from Halicarnassus, studying and teaching classical Greek grammar and rhetoric in Augustan Rome has an entirely different meaning than the same activity has to a twenty-first century Western European scholar. An in-depth discussion of the similarities and differences of classics and anthropology is beyond the scope of this study. Nevertheless, I would like to suggest certain aspects in which the work of an anthropologist attempting to give a thick description of, for example, Balinese cock fight can be viewed as comparable to that of a classicist investigating Greek classicism in the first century BCE.23 I hope that such a comparison will help to clarify my approach to Dionysius’ classicism. Anthropologists and classicists alike aim to interpret actions of members of a foreign culture and to make 20 The Traffics in Praise. Pindar and the Poetics of Social Economy (Ithaca 1991). 21 See the discussion of anthropological methods in classical studies by Humphreys (1978), esp. 17–30; Cartledge (1995a); Finley (1986); cf. French (1982); Kluckhohn (1961). 22 These and other topics are listed by Cartledge (1995a); cf. Finley (1986), 116–117. 23 The example of Balinese cock fight is from Geertz (1973b).

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them comprehensible to their audiences. An important difference is that anthropologists seem to be in a more advantageous situation than classicists in that they focus on societies which are contemporary, but separated from them by space. Classicists, by contrast, deal with a society from which they are separated by time and space. Therefore anthropologists can rely on first-hand evidence for their interpretations: they are able to travel to Bali and watch a cock fight while classicists have to reconstruct the performance of a Greek drama, or the activity of Greek and Roman intellectuals, from literary and archaeological evidence alone. This difference notwithstanding, both disciplines appear to be similar in that the very interpretation of the foreign culture, the ‘thick description,’ depends in both cases on informants from within the society which is being studied: the classicists’ informants are texts and archaeological evidence, whereas anthropologists rely on observations which they seek to contextualize by means of statements of people. Again, anthropologists seem to be in the more advantageous position because they are able to ask specific questions and thus obtain more comprehensive information. But this information itself must be evaluated by the anthropologist because even an informant from within a foreign society does not, and cannot, provide the one correct explanation of a phenomenon but only his own interpretation of it. A classicist’s and an anthropologist’s work might therefore be regarded as similar in the one fundamental aspect that both seek to render foreign cultural practices familiar to themselves and their recipients by interpreting interpretations, i. e., by providing a ‘thick description’ of the practices of a foreign culture on the basis of partial and selective information from within this foreign culture.24 Classicists and anthropologists thus seem to differ mainly in the kind of sources on which they draw, but the process of interpretation, which is carried out by each of them, is similar: it has a similar aim, it employs similar methods to achieve this aim, and it is subject to similar imponderables. 25 24 Cf. Geertz (1973a) 20; ibid. 15. 25 Cf. Lévi-Strauss (1949) 18: ‘the fundamental difference between the two disciplines [history and anthropology] is not one of subject, of goal, or of method. They share the same subject, which is social life; the same goal, which is a better understanding of man; and, in fact, the same method, in which only the proportion of research techniques varies. They differ, principally, in their choice of complementary perspectives. History organizes its data in relation to conscious expressions of social life, while anthropology proceeds by examining its unconscious foundations.’


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The purpose of this book is to provide such a ‘thick description’ of Greek classicism, an interpretation, that is, of what meaning Dionysius and his readers attributed to reading and writing classical texts within their culture. Therefore the question I will pursue in this study is why it made sense to these intellectuals at this particular time and at this particular place to attempt to speak and write like classical authors. 26 An explanation of this phenomenon cannot be provided by an analysis of Dionysius’ critical and aesthetical categories, his criteria of evaluation, or by tracing similarities and differences between Dionysius’ opinion on classical texts and those of other critics, such as Ps.-Demetrius’ On Style or Philodemus’ essays. It must be sought in the way in which these scholars imagined their literary and rhetorical activity to be connected with their social and cultural surroundings, in their interpretation of the world, and of the role they ascribed to themselves in it, their self-definition. Such an approach is concerned with what may be defined as Dionysius’ ‘imaginary universe’ 27 which endowed his literary criticism with meaning. Recently, two studies have shown how fruitful it is to approach Dionysius’ critical writings from such an angle: Hidber’s Das klassizistische Manifest des Dionys von Halikarnass. Die praefatio zu De oratoribus veteribus: Einleitung, Übersetzung, Kommentar and Porter’s ‘Feeling Classical: Classicism and Ancient Literary Criticism.’28 Hidber shows that Dionysius’ Classicism implies an interpretation of Augustan Rome as the continuation of the Classical past and that Dionysius conceived of himself and his educational programme as the successor of Isocrates and his conception of civic identity. Porter draws attention to the importance of the reading experience for a ‘Classicist’s’ 29 construction of identity: Classicists saw reading classical texts as a means to overcome the temporal distance between present and Classical past and, in this way, to feel classical themselves. These studies have demonstrated that Dionysius’ literary criticism is bound up with a particular world view and a conception of identity; they have provided important insights into constituent elements of Dionysius’ ‘imaginary universe,’ and suggested ways of how to explore it. But their scope is necessarily limited: Hidber deals with only one, albeit programmatic, text of Dionysius’, and Porter 26 For an attempt to locate Dionysius within the culture of his times see Hurst (1982). 27 For this term see White (1969) 623; cf. Gehrke’s ‘imaginaire,’ which he glosses as the ‘Vorstellungshorizont einer Gesellschaft’ ([2005] 51). 28 Hidber (1996); Porter (2006b); cf. id. (2006a). 29 On my use of this term see above, p. 2 n. 11.

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confines himself to the role of the reading experience. Moreover, neither of them develops a theoretical framework in order to define their approach to Dionysius’ Classicism, to base their findings on a solid methodology, and to create a foundation for further investigations. Thus while paving the way for a fresh view on Dionysius’ criticism, they call for a comprehensive, systematic study of Dionysius’ Classicism as a social-cultural phenomenon. The present study aims to fill this lacuna. It will discuss Dionysius’ Classicism from the angle of cultural identity and explore the outlook on the world which is bound up with literary criticism and the study of classical texts and language. Dionysius’ criticism, I will argue, makes classical Greek language and literature constituents of a conception of Greek identity in Augustan Rome. Such an approach will, I hope, not only offer us a novel way of looking at Dionysius’ criticism; it will also permit us to re-evaluate Greek classicism as an integral part of the intellectual culture of Augustan Rome. In the following section I will explain the concept of ‘Augustan culture’ that underlies this study and offer some suggestions as to how discussing Dionysius’ literary criticism might influence our way of thinking about this concept. In section 1.1.3 I will then develop a theoretical framework which allows us to address Dionysius’ Classicism as a discourse of cultural identity.

1.1.2 Dionysius – an ‘Augustan’ Author? Based mainly on the works of Galinsky, Wallace-Hadrill, and Barchiesi, 30 our approach to the ‘Age of Augustus’ 31 has undergone what could be called a ‘discursive turn.’ 32 We have given up the idea of a uniform image of society and culture in Augustan Rome the different elements of which can easily be categorized as ‘pro-’ or ‘anti-Augustan.’ Instead, the prevailing notion of ‘Augustan culture’ is now that of ‘a time of transition, of continuing

30 See Galinsky (1996); (2005); the series of articles by Wallace-Hadill (1988); (1989); (1990); (1997); (1998); and, most recently, his comprehensive study (2008), esp. 3–37 (ch. 1: ‘Culture, Identity, and Power’); Barchiesi (1994), esp. 1–44. Other important works on the subject include the contributions collected in Powell (1992); Elsner (1996); cf. Phillips (1983). Further titles relevant to this subject are cited in my discussion of the relation of Dionysius’ historical work, the Antiquitates Romanae, to its Augustan context below, pp. 206–223. 31 For this term see the title of Galinsky (2005). 32 Cf. Barchiesi (1994) 8.


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experimentation’ 33 in which many institutions ‘were in a state of nascence and evolution.’ 34 Augustan society is no longer seen as controlled by a monolithic ideology which the princeps sought systematically to impose on all different spheres of society, but as a complex and ‘dynamic tension’ between ‘authorial intent’ (identified by Galinsky as Augustus’ auctoritas) and ‘latitude of response’: Augustus and his conception of rulership represented a ‘strong center of ideas’ which ‘encourage[d] creative response and interpretation’: 35 We are not dealing with a political, let alone cultural, model that involves constant top-down commands and Augustus as the sole agent. Instead of a rigidly hierarchical “organization of opinion” in particular, the emphasis is on the initiatives of many, especially in the areas of art and literature. 36 […] [Augustus’] actions suggested the broad themes […]. These themes were expressed, elaborated, and extended by individuals in their own way. By connecting them with other themes of their own choice, these participants extended the range of references even further. 37

The present study builds on this notion of ‘Augustan’ culture as a dynamic dialectics of different discourses (social, political, cultural, etc.) and the ‘master discourse’ of Augustus’ imperial ideology, which evolved by mutually influencing and shaping each other. The most important consequences of this new approach are, first, that we have realized that Augustus’ power was as much shaped by the different discourses as it sought to shape them: the notion of the principate itself was not a stable, monolithic given, but evolved and changed through the dialectics with other discourses. And second, we no longer view Augustan power as a process of actively imposing a political programme, or ‘propaganda,’ as it is often called, 38 on society. This does not mean, of course, that Augustus did not endeavour to influence different spheres of society and even use political reprisals to achieve his objectives – the fate of Ovid or Gallus clearly contradict such a view, and it is hard to imagine how Augustus could have achieved any kind of stability and control 33 34 35 36

Galinsky (1996) 9, following Feeney (1992). Ibid. 8. Ibid. 12. Ibid. 13; cf. ibid. 20: Augustus’ rulership was not based on propaganda but ‘a reciprocal and dynamic process in which the emperor’s role is hard to pin down’; therefore, Augustus’ auctoritas was ‘directly reflected’ in, yet not imposed upon ‘literature and the arts, including the coinage.’ 37 Ibid. 37. 38 Cf. the essays collected in Powell (1992).

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without a certain political pressure. But the crucial point is that Augustus did not exert such pressure systematically to suppress elements of contemporary society that did not fit some sort of a predefined and unchangeable set of rules. Consequently, no attempt should be made to explain the politics, culture, and society of the first century BCE as the result of any such ‘master plan’ of the princeps and discuss their different elements in terms of ‘pro-’ and ‘anti-Augustan.’ Yet, this discursive conception of ‘Augustan’ culture is sometimes employed in a way that seems problematic in that it onesidedly focuses on those spheres of society which are known, or can at least be reasonably assumed, to have directly interacted with the ‘master discourse’ of Augustan power. This narrow focus risks making the direct interaction with Augustan power the only standard by which we define (or exclude) certain elements of first-century Roman culture as constituents of ‘Augustan’ culture and, therefore, as relevant to our image of it. As a result, we are presented with an image of ‘Augustan’ culture which is as Augustus-centred as the one which the ‘discursive’ approach was supposed to correct. When applied in this limited way, the ‘discursive’ approach falls short of its possibilities: instead of offering the reader a novel conception of ‘Augustan’ culture it only offers a different way of conceiving of the way in which Augustus exerted his power within contemporary culture and society. This tendency, however, does not concern the increasing number of specialized studies of individual authors of the first century BCE. Primarily, it is found in those studies that endeavour to present a comprehensive account of ‘Augustan culture,’ such as Galinsky’s Augustan Culture. An Interpretive Introduction or The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Augustus. 39 Therefore, in the following pages, I would like to address certain problems that seem to me to be inherent in the image of ‘Augustan’ culture offered in such comprehensive studies. Naturally, such studies have to be very selective in which aspects of ‘Augustan’ culture they discuss because it was so multifaceted. But for this very reason, they risk presenting a somewhat distorted image of their subject. This seems particularly problematic because titles such as Augustan Culture might lead readers to assume that all essential aspects of ‘Augustan’ culture have been covered. Moreover, because of their 39 The following discussion is therefore primarily concerned with Galinsky (1996) and (2005). Focusing on Galinsky’s conception of ‘Augustan culture’ seems justified as his Augustan Culture can and has, in fact, been regarded as ‘the most important single volume about the Augustan period since Zanker’s Power of Images’ (Smith [1997]).


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apparent comprehensiveness such studies might often be the first or, indeed, the only works consulted on ‘Augustan’ culture and therefore have considerable impact on the prevalent image of first-century BCE Roman society and culture. The difficulties of the concentration on Augustus can be illustrated with Galinsky’s notion of ‘Augustan’ culture which he bases on Augustus’ own conception of auctoritas at RG 34,40 the essence of which he paraphrases as ‘Augustus navigated on the stream of history and was successful because he did not oversteer. He saw himself that way […].’ 41 This metaphor implies that ‘the stream of history’ is relevant only insofar as it directly interacted with the ‘steersman’ Augustus who attempted to find the middle ground between influencing and being influenced. The core of the metaphor is the idea of a direct reciprocity between Augustus and cultural and societal discourses which implies that only those spheres of first-century Roman society are relevant to (our image of) ‘Augustan’ culture which can be shown to have interacted with Augustus. Hence, ‘Augustan’ culture and society as a whole appears to be of interest only inasmuch it can help us understand the nature of Augustus’ principate and the structure of his power. Sculptures, coins, texts, paintings, and other artifacts are thus reduced to testimonies which further our understanding of the nature of Augustan power by allowing us to study the interrelation of political power and cultural discourse. 42 The focus of Galinsky’s studies 40 […] auctoritate omnibus praestiti, potestatis autem nihilo amplius habui quam ceteri qui mihi quoque in magistratu conlegae fuerunt. The fragments of Augustus’ works are cited by Malvocati’s edition, Caesaris Augusti Imperatoris Operum Fragmenta (Torino 1928). Galinsky gives a detailed discussion of Augustus’ auctoritas in (1996) 10–20. I do not intend to deny that authority and the re-definition of authority are crucial, probably the crucial elements of the Augustan principate without which an understanding of ‘Augustan culture’ is impossible; the importance of authority to Augustus’ rulership and its interaction with different areas of culture has also been demonstrated by Wallace-Hadrill in an illuminating study (1997). My point here is that the focus on authority risks reducing the complexity and diversity of ‘Augustan culture.’ For a similar criticism (although for different reasons) see Wendt’s (2007) discussion of Galinsky (2005). Heinze (1925) remains the fundamental discussion of the meaning of auctoritas. 41 Galinsky (2005a) 6. 42 The close connection between exploring different elements of ‘Augustan’ culture and understanding the specific nature of Augustus’ power is emphasised by Wallace-Hadrill (1997) 7: ‘that power is restructured and exercised in different ways under Augustus is obvious. What makes the Augustan restoration revolutionary is that it involves a fundamental relocation and redefinition of authority in Roman society. By focusing on authority, it may be possible to grasp something of the links between the refashioning of political

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is clear from his distinction between two types of power on which political superiority lasts: ‘hard power,’ i. e., military domination, and ‘soft power,’ i.e., ‘culture in its various aspects.’ Any investigation of ‘Augustan’ writers is thus centred on the question of how Augustus ‘appropriated [the] practitioners’ of ‘cultural activity.’43 Underlying Galinsky’s approach to the ‘Age of Augustus’ is what Homi Bhabha has described as the assumption of a ‘preconstituted holistic cultur[e], that contain[s] within [it] the cod[e] by which it can legitimately be read.’ 44 With Augustus’ conception of auctoritas Galinsky provides such a ‘code’ to first-century Roman politics and culture the legitimacy of which is supposed to be guaranteed by the fact that it was introduced by the princeps himself: ‘he saw himself that way …’ The main problem with approaching first-century Roman culture and society through the spectacles of Augustan auctoritas is that it implies accepting a hermeneutical framework which pre-determines the questions which we address to social-cultural phenomena of first-century BCE Rome and the criteria by which we select certain phenomena as relevant while leaving others aside. Not enough attention has been paid to the fact that Augustus’ conception of auctoritas is not to be taken as an objective, factual description of the nature of his rule. Rather, Augustus’ definition of auctoritas, as opposed to potestas, as the foundation of his power is itself part of Augustus’ strategy to justify and maintain his superiority: defining himself as a primus inter pares, Augustus offered his subjects a conception of rulership which concealed his actual influence as much as possible and downplayed his attempt actively to impinge on the lives of his subjects. Augustus’ notion of auctoritas was thus a cornerstone of the illusion that the principate was firmly inscribed in the traditional constellation of power (potestas) of the res publica libera which Augustus claimed to have restored.45 Res Gestae 34, authority on the one hand, and the refashioning of moral, social and cultural authority on the other […].’ 43 Galinsky (2005a) 4. 44 On the attempt to understand other cultures by extrapolating from them ‘the codes by which they can be legitimately read’ see Bhabha (1994) 179. 45 It is significant that Augustus introduces the notion of auctoritas in the concluding sentence to the very paragraph in which he describes that his rise to power was based on the consent of the whole populace; that he had used this power to restore the res publica to the senate and the people; and that this was the reason why he was awarded the title Augustus (in consulatu sexto et septimo, postquam bella civilia extinxeram, per consensum universorum potitus rerum omnium, rem publicam ex mea potestate in senatus populique Romani arbitrium transtuli. Quo pro merito senatus consulto Augustus appellatus sum […], emphasis mine).


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and the self-definition of Augustus which it proclaims, are themselves means of exerting power, of achieving unity and homogeneity by convincing the subjects to accept Augustus’ leadership. 46 By constructing a homogeneous image of ‘Augustan’ culture and society based on Augustus’ auctoritas, we are, in fact, adopting an Augustan perspective on the culture of his times. Augustus’ aim to control society by establishing cultural, moral, and political homogeneity through auctoritas lurks behind the current image of ‘Augustan’ culture as centred on Augustan power. Imposing this idea of unity on the culture and society in Augustan Rome can itself be seen as an act of cultural imperialism which excludes all those authors from consideration who cannot be assumed at least potentially to have influenced the princeps or been influenced by him. As a result, discussions of ‘Augustan’ literature are usually concerned exclusively with Latin authors and among these only those who were directly connected with the princeps. ‘Augustan’ literature thus appears to consist almost exclusively of Virgil, Horace, and Ovid, whose works are discussed under such headings as: how did these authors position themselves towards key topics of Augustus’ moral and political programme? how did they negotiate, transform, or even undermine Augustus’ power? what was the exact nature of their relationship with the princeps? The chapter on ‘Augustan literature’ in Galinsky’s Companion is a case in point:47 as has been pointed out, 48 all contributions in this chapter deal exclusively with poetry, re-investigating the relationship between the works and Augustan power. 49 The image of ‘Augustan’ culture emerging from this approach is highly paradoxical because it defines ‘Augustan’ culture as a self-enclosed entity within the culture and society of first-century BCE Rome at large. ‘Augustan’ culture thus appears as a ‘culture within a culture’ the constituents of which are selected according to their relevance to our understanding of Augustan power. Maybe the most problematic aspect of this conception is that it implies that the only factor relevant both to the formation of a

46 Although the exact meaning and implications of this passage are controversial, this point is acknowledged by virtually all interpreters, see, e.g., Eck (2007), 54; Hohl (1946), 114–115; Hoben (1978), 17–18; Diesner (1985), 34–36, 39. 47 Galinsky (2005) 281–360. 48 Brice (2006). 49 The same is true for Galinsky’s (1996) chapter on ‘Augustan Literature’ (pp. 224–287), Galinsky’s brief discussion of Livy’s preface (ibid. 281–283) notwithstanding.

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culture and society and our understanding of it is the dominating political discourse. This is not to deny that the political discourse and its interaction with other discourses are objects worth studying, and the exciting new insights into the nature of Augustus’ principate which have been provided by the studies discussed in this section prove this. But the reduction of ‘Augustan’ culture to those artifacts which Augustan power could have directly influenced is at variance with the conception of ‘Augustan’ culture as a system of discourses interacting freely with each other because it reduces the diversity of cultural production in first-century BCE Rome. Yet, as Foucault has emphasized, it is the very diversity and co-existence of different, sometimes incompatible themes, which distinguishes a discursive approach to culture. Culture, as Foucault puts it, is a ‘system of dispersions’:50 What one finds are […] various strategic possibilities that permit the activation of incompatible themes, or, again, the establishment of the same theme in different groups of statements. Hence the idea of describing these dispersions themselves; of discovering whether between these elements, which are certainly not organized as a progressively deductive structure […] nor as the œuvre of a collective subject, one cannot discern regularities in their simultaneity, assignable positions in a common space, a reciprocal functioning, linked and hierarchized transformations. Such an analysis would not try to isolate small islands of coherence in order to describe their internal structure; it would not try to suspect and to reveal latent conflicts; it would study forms of diversion. Or again: […] it would describe systems of dispersion. Whenever one can describe, between a number of statements, such a system of dispersion, whenever, between objects, types of statement, concepts, or thematic choices, one can define a regularity (an order, correlations, positions and functionings, transformations), we will say […] that we are dealing with a discursive formation. 51

In the contemporary debate about ‘Augustan’ culture, Foucault’s stress on the co-existence of incompatible themes has been profitably employed to explain the broad range of reactions to the principate and thus to refute the idea of Augustus’ rule as a monolithic, top-down system of propaganda and control. Yet, paradoxically, the focus on the nature of Augustan power carries the danger of turning the contemporary debate itself into an attempt to ‘isolate small islands of coherence in order to describe their internal structure’ rather than describing ‘Augustan’ culture as a ‘system of dispersions.’ 50 Foucault (1966) 41. 51 Ibid.


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One possible solution to this problem might be not to address the question of Augustus’ influence upon culture and society solely or primarily in terms of the diffusion of political power. Approaching Dionysius’ classicist criticism as a cultural phenomenon suggests a way of exploring ‘Augustan’ culture as a system of ‘discursive formations’ which owe their existence to Augustus but not to any direct influence of Augustus’ power or direct interaction with it. Although Dionysius seems to have had close connections with the Roman upper class there is no question of him being in direct contact with or in any way immediately influenced by the princeps in the same way as, say, Horace, Virgil, or Ovid. 52 Nevertheless, as will be shown in the next chapter, Augustus and the image of himself and the principate which he proclaimed were an integral part of what I will call Dionysius’ ‘Classicist ideology.’ 53 And although we can trace classicizing tendencies in Greek literature at least as far back as the third century BCE,54 it is only with Dionysius, as far as we can judge, 55 that classicism turned into a Weltanschauung, a world view, and classical Greek language became a model of identity of Greek intellectuals under Roman rule. It is only when the pre-existing classicist discourse interacted with the novel discourse of the principate and the responses it stimulated in a variety of other discourses that it was transformed from a rhetorical phenomenon into a model of cultural identity. Hence, though not directly influenced by Augustus and, compared with the works of Virgil, Horace, or Ovid, existing on the margins of the culture and society of his times, Dionysius’ criticism is nevertheless deeply informed

52 The social background of Dionysius’ intellectual activities will be discussed in the next section. 53 On my use of ‘ideology’ see below, pp. 21–22. 54 A Hibeh Papyrus (edd. B.P. Grenfell/A.S. Hunt, vol. 1, London 1906, No. 15, pp. 55–61, dated c. 280–240 BCE) contains a rhetorical exercise in classicizing style; furthermore, Photius (Bibl. cod. 176, p. 121b 9 Bekker) mentions that one Cleochares wrote a synkrisis of Isocrates and Demosthenes in the third or second century BCE, and Cicero reports (Orat. 67.226) that Hegesias of Magnesia, heavily criticised by Dionysius for ruining the classical style, regarded himself as an ‘imitator’ (imitari) of Lysias, see Dihle (1977) 168. As Dihle (ibid. 167) points out, this ‘rhetorical’ ‘Atticism’ should be distinguished from the grammarians’ attempt, equally dating back to the third century BCE, to install the vocabulary and grammar of the Attic dialect as the standard of correct Greek (<EllhnismÏc), on which see ibid. 163–167 and most recently, Czapla (forthcoming) with a good overview of this complicated intellectual phenomenon; cf. Swain (1996) 22. 55 Cf. Dihle (1977) 168.

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by the princeps and the principate.56 Unlike the works of the three poets, Dionysius’ writings might not grant us any insight into the mechanisms of Augustus’ power. But just like the poems of his famous Latin contemporaries, Dionysius’ works contributed to implementing the principate into the culture and society of his times by turning key ideas of Augustus’ conception of leadership into the cornerstones of his Classicist ideology. Like Virgil, Horace, and (at least partially) Ovid, Dionysius disseminated Augustan ideas among his contemporaries. Adapting these ideas to and combining them with his own, he produced a discourse which was both ‘Augustan’ and ‘Dionysian’ and which inscribed the classical Greek cultural and political heritage into an Augustan framework, while re-interpreting this Augustan framework in terms of the classical Greek heritage. In order to explore ‘Augustan’ culture as a system of discourses, as a ‘group of statements’ in Foucault’s sense,57 we would therefore have to shift the focus from Augustus’ immediate influence on and interaction with the inner circle of society, his ‘appropriation’ of those who were closest to him. Instead, we would have to consider alongside each other the various ways in which the whole variety of discourses that constituted first-century BCE Roman society were shaped by the principate not by virtue of any political influence but because practitioners of culture such as Dionysius incorporated different aspects of ‘the principate’ into their systems of thought by adopting, adapting, and re-interpreting it. With regard to literature this means that Strabo’s Geography and Dionysius’ critical essays and Antiquitates Romanae are as important to our understanding of ‘Augustan’ culture as Virgil’s Aeneid, Horace’s Odes, and Ovid’s elegies. Only by studying the works of these authors in their variety, without giving priority to those closest to the princeps, will we be able to detect the regularities between their different statements and thus to describe ‘Augustan’ culture as a ‘system of dispersions.’ This might enable us to discard the Augustocentric notion of ‘Augustan’ culture and to conceive of ‘Augustan’ less in terms of a relationship between society and power (auctoritas) than a flexible construct 56 Luzzatto (1988) 240, too, stresses the importance of the cultural environment of Augustan Rome for the formation of Dionysius’ Classicism; similarly, Hidber (1996) 42–43 (the conception of education underlying Dionysius’ Classicism ‘conformed to the requirements implied in the Augustan empire,’ ‘[war ausgerichtet auf] die implizierten Bedürfnisse des augusteischen Weltreiches,’ ibid. 43); v. Wilamowitz-Moellendorff (1900) 45–46 (the instalment of the principate prompted the Greeks to review their attitude towards their own language and literature). 57 Foucault (1966) 40.


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that applies to authors and their works regardless of whether they were Greek or Roman; 58 wrote poetry, scholarly literature, or historiography; were acquainted with the princeps or not; or even lived in Rome or abroad. Such a full scale analysis of ‘Augustan’ culture remains a desideratum and would probably require the joint effort of an equipe of scholars. It is, at any rate, far beyond the aims of this study although I will repeatedly read Dionysius’ works against those of contemporary Latin authors in order to locate his ideas within the larger intellectual context of his times. But discussing Dionysius’ Classicism as an element of ‘Augustan’ culture will, hopefully, make some contribution to paving the way for such an undertaking by demonstrating how central tenets of the dominating political discourse in first-century Rome cross-fertilized Greek rhetorical and literary criticism. This resulted in what might appear to us a somewhat idiosyncratic (re)interpretation of the principate and Augustan Rome but was, in fact, a conception of identity that seems to have appealed to Greek literati as much as to upper-class Roman politicians and intellectuals. Thus, although it is not the primary aim of this study to re-valuate Dionysius as an ‘Augustan’ author, it would certainly be a welcome effect if the subsequent discussion of his ‘ideology of criticism’ contributed to making us re-consider the parameters in which we conceive of ‘Augustan’ culture. I have argued in section 1.1.1 above that we have to shift the focus from classicism as a linguistic to classicism as a social-cultural phenomenon in order to appreciate Dionysius’ Classicism as an integral element of ‘Augus58 This point in particular deserves to be stressed as there is a noticeable discrepancy between scholarly interest in Roman cultural identity in the late Republic and early Empire and Greek identity in the Second Sophistic on the one hand and Greek cultural identity in the first centuries BCE and CE on the other: on Roman cultural identity see, e.g., WallaceHadrill (1988), (1989), (1990), (1997), (1998), (2008); Woolf (1994); Habinek (1998), and cf. the literature cited in ch.s 2.3 and 3.3 below; there is an impressive number of excellent studies on Greek identity in the Second Sophistic such as Bowie (1970); Gleason (1995); Swain (1996); Schmitz (1997); Goldhill (2001); Borg (2004); Whitmarsh (2001), (2010). The number of works with a similar interest in Greek intellectuals in the Roman Republic and early Empire, by contrast, is still remarkably small: see, e.g., Dueck (2000) and Dueck/ Lindsay/Pothecary (2005) on Strabo; Sacks (1990), Clarke (1999), Schmitz (forthcoming), and Wiater (2006) and (2006a) on Diodorus Siculus; Wiater (2008) and (forthcoming) on Dionysius of Halicarnassus; a wide range of different authors and genres is discussed in Schmitz/Wiater (forthcoming) with further literature; for a more detailed discussion of the state of the research on Greek cultural identity in the first centuries BCE and CE and how this research might affect our view of the Second Sophistic see Schmitz/Wiater (forthcoming-a).

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tan’ culture. For focusing exclusively on the linguistic side of his criticism entails perceiving classicism as a preposterous retrograde activity which sacrificed the present to worshipping the better days long past. After all, the aim of Dionysius and his recipients was to reinstall classical Greek style and authors active in Athens in the fifth and fourth centuries BCE as the only acceptable standard of literary and oral expression in first-century BCE Rome. 59 The question is therefore: how can we address Dionysius’ Classicist criticism as an activity which productively and creatively interacted with the cultural-political discourse in Augustan Rome? Or, putting it in the terms explained in the preceding section, how can we produce a ‘thick description’ of Dionysius’ Classicism? It is to this question that I will turn in the following section.

1.1.3 A Cultural Identity Approach to Dionysius’ Classicism Clifford Geertz’s notion of culture as a ‘web of significance’ and his conception of ‘thick description’ provide a helpful general framework in which to approach a foreign culture. But Geertz’s discussion is too abstract to provide an efficient heuristic tool for investigating concrete cultural phenomena. In particular, Geertz’s conception of the constitutive elements of culture requires some qualification. Statements such as ‘descriptions of Berber, Jewish, or French culture must be cast in terms of the construction we imagine Berbers, Jews, or Frenchmen to place upon what they live through, the formulae they use to define what happens to them’ 60 show that Geertz risks equating ‘culture’ with national identity. Hence his notion of ‘culture’ suggests a homogeneity of human beings’ perception of their actions which has no match in reality and produces a somewhat simplified image of social interaction. Social Identity Theory can help to devise a more complex conception of culture. Dealing not with culture as an abstract notion but with

59 See, e.g., Kennedy (1963) 330: ‘Atticism is the reaction against the excesses of Hellenistic prose style, but instead of creating good standards of contemporary usage, the new movement demanded an archaic return to the language, rhythms, and style of the classical period. Thus it is intertwined with classicism, the view that the great literary achievements of the Greeks was past.’ The relationship of past and present implied in Dionysius’ Classicism will be discussed in detail in ch. 2 below which will also argue against the view expressed by Kennedy. 60 Geertz (1973a) 15, quoted above.


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the question of how culture is realized in everyday social action, it can be fruitfully employed to complement Geertz’s discussion and thus provide the foundation for a ‘thick description’ of Dionysius’ Classicism. Contrary to Geertz’s assertion, people seldom define themselves and their actions exclusively, or even mainly, in terms of their being Berber, Jew, or French. Rather, ‘a society not only has a culture expected to be learned by all, but also distinctive groups with their own subcultures.’ 61 Living within the confines of the same city, obeying the same laws and regulations, completing the same course of education, or being subject to the same authorities constitute an overarching community and are important elements of the self-definition of the people who live in it. But social life is organized in a variety of sub-groups or ‘social worlds’ 62 within this overarching community, and the various social roles an individual plays in different sub-groups provide the framework for his/her interpretation of his/her own actions and the actions of others. 63 Social Identity Theory therefore speaks of ‘compartmentalized lives, shifting from one perspective to another as they participate in a succession of transactions that are not necessarily related. In each social world they [human beings] play somewhat different roles, and they manifest a different facet of their personality.’ 64 The various social worlds can take on very different, more or less flexible shapes, but this, it is important to note, does not necessarily affect their members’ feeling of ‘togetherness’:

61 Rose (1962a) 16. 62 Shibutani (1962) passim. 63 Cf. Hinkle/Brown (1990) 48: ‘our sense of who we are stems in large part from our membership of and affiliation to various social groups, which are said to form our social identity.’ 64 Shibutani (1962) 139. The term ‘compartmentalized lives’ should not give rise to the idea that these ‘compartments’ are hermetically closed units and that human beings live in a constant state of ‘social schizophrenia.’ Rather, the individual ‘compartments’ should be imagined as circles which partially overlap. It is the sum of all the different ‘compartments’ which constitute an individual’s personality in all its complexity. But the prominence and importance of different sides of an individual’s personality will vary according to the ‘compartment’ in which s/he is bound up at a given time, and some changes of context will require a more flexible role switching than others. For the present study this entails that Dionysius’ texts will allow us insight into only one ‘compartment’ of his life: reference to Dionysius’ identity should therefore be understood as referring to Dionysius’ social role as a literary critic in Augustan Rome, to Dionysius, that is, as a ‘social actor’ in one of the many ‘compartments’ that constituted his life, but not to his ‘personality’ as a whole; see the discussion below.

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1. Introduction: The Aims and Methods of This Study Social worlds differ considerably in their solidarity and in the sense of identification felt by their participants. Probably the strongest sense of solidarity is to be found in the various sub-communities – the underworld, ethnic minorities, the social elite, or isolated religious cults. Such communities are frequently segregated, and this segregation multiplies intimate contacts within and reinforces barriers against the outside. Another common type of world consists of the networks of interrelated voluntary associations – the world of medicine, the world of organized labor, the world of steel industry, or the world of opera. […] Finally, there are the loosely connected universes of special interest – the world of sports, the world of the stamp collector, or the world of women’s fashion. Since the participants are drawn together only periodically by the limited interest they have in common, there are varying degrees of involvement, ranging from the fanatically dedicated to the casually interested. […] Although these arenas are only loosely organized, the participants nonetheless develop similar standards of conduct, especially if their interests are strong and sustained. 65

The decisive factor for solidarity in the various groups is thus not how often their members meet, how closely acquainted they are with each other, or how limited the interests are they have in common; nor are the boundaries of groups, which distinguish a community from the outside,66 set by territory or formal group membership. Groups are constituted by the discursive practice, the communication among their members, and each social world is a ‘culture area, the boundaries of which are set […] by the limits of effective communication.’ 67 This communication keeps present the interests shared by all members and the symbolic value they all attach to them and it is responsible for the members’ adopting, and sharing, ‘special norms of conduct, a set of values, a prestige ladder, and a common outlook toward life – a Weltanschauung.’ 68 At the same time, the discursive practice of a group and the Weltanschauung created by it distinguish a group as an ‘in-group’ from the discursive practice and the Weltanschauung of other, ‘out-groups’:69 knowing who and what we are is as important as knowing who and what we are not. The existence of the boundaries which separate the different communities is ‘not a matter for “objective” assessment: it is a matter of feeling, a matter which

65 66 67 68 69

Ibid. 135–136. Cohen (1985) 2. Shibutani (1962) 136. Ibid. 137. Hinkle/Brown (1990) 48; cf. Abrams/Hogg (1990a), esp. 3–4.


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resides in the minds of the members themselves.’ 70 Therefore, ‘boundaries perceived by some may be utterly imperceptible to others.’ 71 Communities, and the commonality on which they rest, are mental constructs, they ‘exist in the minds of [their] members, and should not be confused with geographic or sociographic assertions of “fact.” ’ 72 Instead of ‘culture,’ we should therefore speak of the ‘cultures’ of different communicative networks of which an individual is a part. 73 The Weltanschauung provided by each of these networks is the common basis for the members’ ‘understanding and experiencing of their social identity, the social world and their place in it.’74 Thus it becomes the reference point for their perception of their own actions and for their anticipation of the other members’ interpretation of, and reactions to, them: 75 men living in groups do not merely coexist physically as discrete individuals. […] On the contrary they act with and against one another in diversely organized groups and while doing so they think with and against each other. These persons, bound together into groups, strive in accordance with the character and position of the groups to which they belong to change the surrounding world of nature and society or attempt to maintain it in a given condition. […] In accord with the particular context of collective activity in which they participate, men always tend to see the world which surrounds them differently. 76

Following Paul Ricœur, I shall refer to the discursive practices through which a ‘group [gets] an all-encompassing comprehensive view not only of itself, but of history and, finally, of the whole world,’77 as a community’s specific ‘ideology.’ Thus understood, the term ‘ideology’ describes not, as in its Marxist use, the conscious manipulation of the lower classes by the ruling 70 71 72 73

74 75

76 77

Cohen (1985) 20–21. Ibid. 2. Ibid. 98. Cf. van Dijk (1988) 130; Davies/Harré (1990) 45 refer to such communities as ‘social practices,’ which they define as ‘all the ways in which people actively produce social and psychological realities.’ Davies/Harré (1990) 45–46. The group that provides the conceptual framework which a human being accepts as the standard for his behaviour is called the ‘reference group,’ as opposed to ‘the others’; see Shibutani (1962) 132, who defines ‘reference group’ as ‘that group whose presumed perspective is used by an actor as the frame of reference in the organization of his perceptual field’; cf. ibid. 138–139: ‘For each individual there are as many reference groups as there are communication networks in which he becomes regularly involved.’ Mannheim (1936) 3; cf. Cohen (1985) 2; Blumer (1962) 182. Ricœur (1978) 46.

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elite; rather, it describes a characteristic of human perception in general, the selective perception and concomitant shaping of the world according to a set of rules or norms which are provided by the social worlds in which we are organized – ‘something out of which we think, rather than something that we think.’ 78 Social Identity Theory thus helps us to complement Geertz’s conception of ‘thick description.’ The observer of a foreign culture has to take into account that the symbolic meaning of an action cannot be explained sufficiently when it is considered only within the general framework of a human being’s society. There is no uniform culture which permits us to explain all actions of a Berber, a Jew, or a Frenchman alike, but the significance man attributes to his actions varies according to the Weltanschauung of the different social worlds in which they are performed. An observer’s access to a foreign society is therefore limited to different compartments of the lives of the actors, and understanding the way in which a human being acts in one social world does not allow conclusions about how s/he will act in another, let alone about his or her identity in general. On the contrary, the compartmentalization of life often results in actions which are incompatible with each other, because an action which is acceptable, maybe even required, in one group might be unacceptable in another. 79 Social Identity Theory offers a novel perspective on a well-known historical fact, namely that Greek classicism was performed within a ‘circle’ or, as some prefer to call it, ‘network’ of Greek and Roman intellectuals to whom Dionysius addressed his writings. 80 His collection of essays On the Ancient Orators and his First and Second Letter to Ammaeus (Amm.I and Amm.II ) are addressed to one Ammaeus, about whom nothing else is

78 Ibid. 47; Ricœur also calls ideology a ‘code of interpretation’ (ibid.). 79 Shibutani (1962) 140. 80 Wisse (1998) rightly points out that this ‘circle’ should not be compared with ‘circles’ that were centred around one patron, e.g., the circles of Maecenas or Messalla. There is no evidence that Dionysius’ ‘circle’ was such a ‘tightly knit group,’ and the degree of Dionysius’ acquaintance with the individual addressees of his essays obviously varied: Pompeius Geminus, for instance, was certainly ‘not one of Dionysius’ closer associates’ (Usher [1985] 352 n. 1, quoted by Wisse ibid.). Nevertheless, this is no reason to abandon the term ‘circle’: pace Wisse (ibid.), it need not necessarily refer to such ‘ “circle[s]” in the stricter sense, i.e., in the sense in which we talk of the circle of Maecenas,’ or to any ‘tightly knit group’ in general (italics mine); it might simply be used (as in the present context) synonymously with ‘community’; cf. Luzzatto (1988) 235–237.


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known than that he corresponded with Dionysius.81 Dionysius also wrote a letter-essay to a certain Pompeius Geminus who had received a copy of On the Ancient Orators from a common friend, Zeno, and had criticized Dionysius for his judgment on Plato; the Letter to Pompeius (Pomp.) replies to, and refutes, Pompeius’ objections. 82 Furthermore, Dionysius communicated with Roman nobles, politicians, and writers like Q. Aelius Tubero, 83 the dedicatee of Dionysius’ essay On Thucydides (Thuc.), and Metilius Rufus, to whom he addressed his On Literary Composition (Comp.). 84 The

81 See Klebs (1894) 1842; Bowersock suggests plausibly that he might be Roman (Bowersock [1965] 130 n. 4). On the Ancient Orators consists of a preface, Dionysius’ ‘Classicist Manifesto,’ which is commonly abbreviated as Orat. Vett., and a series of essays on individual orators, On Lysias (Lys.), On Isocrates (Isoc.), On Isaeus (Is.); probably, also Dionysius’ treatise On Demosthenes (Dem.) was part of On the Ancient Orators, but see below p. 233 n. 606. 82 Hidber (1996) 7 n. 50 points out that attempts to identify Pompeius Geminus with the astronomer and mathematician of the same name (see Géminos. Introduction aux phénomènes, ed. Germaine Aujac. Paris 1975, XXII–XXIII) are as hypothetical as the assumption that he was a freedman of Pompey the Great (Schultze [1986] 122) or that he may in some way have been connected with him (Rhys Roberts [1900] 439). His nationality (Greek or Roman) is still a matter of dispute: some scholars assume that he was Greek (Lendle [1992] 239; cf. Bowersock [1965] 130 n. 4; Rhys Roberts [1900] 439– 440), but there is epigraphic evidence that in 98 CE one Pompeius Geminus was senator, most likely even consular, which implies that this person must have been a free-born Roman (Hanslik [1952]); Delcourt (2005) 32; cf. Goold (1961). 83 Tubero was part of the Roman patrician gens of the Aelii: he himself was a historian (HRR, 308–312 = Beck/Walter [2004], 346–357) and jurisconsult (in 68 BCE he lost a case against Ligarius, who was defended by Cicero); his sons, Q. Aelius Tubero and Sex. Aelius Catus, were consules in 11 and 4 BCE, respectively (Bowersock [1965] 129; Beck/ Walter 346–348; see further Wiseman [1979] 135–139; Bowersock [1979] 68–71). Dionysius refers to Tubero’s historical work at Ant. 1.80.1–3 (HRR F 3 = Beck/Walter F 4), and Tubero most likely defined himself as an ‘imitator’ of Thucydides (cf. Beck/Walter [2004] 347). Whether Dionysius’ contact with the Tuberones brought him in touch with other Greek and Roman acquaintances of theirs, such as Strabo (the only contemporary author to mention Dionysius at 14.2.16) or the Roman politician Sejanus (Bowersock [1965] 124, 129), is, at best, a plausible conjecture; even more speculative is the idea that it might have been via the Tuberones that Dionysius became familiar with Roman Atticism and with intellectual and literary discussions and trends among the contemporary Roman educated elite in general (ibid. 68–69). For a reassessment of the influence of Cicero’s rhetorical theory and practice on Dionysius see now Hidber (forthcoming); Fox (forthcoming). 84 Rufus Metilius might be identical with the proconsul of Achaea and legate to Galatia under Augustus; references in Bowersock (1965) 132 with n. 2; id. (1979) 70; Hidber (1996) 6; Delcourt (2005) 33.

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renowned Greek critic Caecilius of Caleacte was also among Dionysius’ closer acquaintances. 85 So far, this information has been used only to place Dionysius’ writings into a historical framework. Social Identity Theory allows us to assess the literary circle from a social perspective and, thus, offers a novel interpretation of the role of Dionysius’ writings in it. We can now identify the literary circle as one of the social worlds constituted by an ideology which is shared by its members and endows their activity with significance, thus allowing them to define their place in the world. Heterogeneous though they were, Dionysius’ addressees were united by their common interest in and knowledge about Classical Greek language and literature, by a common repertoire of methods and a common conceptual vocabulary with which they expressed their knowledge and shared it amongst each other, and by the common purpose of their studies, to write Classical texts themselves. 86 Analyzing, discussing, and writing classical texts is the discursive practice which defined them as a community.87 The ideology which provided them with an interpretation of the world, a Weltanschauung, in which their attempt to be Classical made sense is the Classicist doctrine which Dionysius expounds in his critical writings. Being the medium through which the discursive practice is carried out, his writings created and sustained the communicative network, and thus the common ideology, on which the members’ shared outlook on the world was based. It is not of importance that the literary circle, as Wisse asserts, was not ‘a closed school of thought, with official members, and an official policy and

85 Caecilius of Caleacte, whom Dionysius mentions in his Letter to Pompeius Geminus (Pomp. 3.20; Bowersock [1965] 124 n. 1), is regarded as the second most important representative of Greek classicism after Dionysius and probably was a younger contemporary and friend of the latter (cf. Hidber [1996] 5 n. 43 and ibid. 41 n. 184). His œuvre included critical writings as well as an Atticist lexicon, historical works, and works on the theory of history, cf. Brzoska (1897); Kennedy (1972) 364–369; Weißenberger (1997); the fragments of his works are collected by Ofenloch (Leipzig 1907). 86 Dionysius’ conception of mimesis will be discussed in ch. 2.2.2 below. Suffice it here to point out that Dionysius does not mean by mimesis simply combining characteristics of the styles of various Classical authors (quite to the contrary, this he regards as a serious mistake) or imitating the style of one Classical author in particular; mimesis means writing as the Classical authors would have written, in the ‘Classical spirit’; for a comprehensive discussion of Dionysius’ notion of mimesis see now Hunter (2009). 87 Cf. Meyer (1992) 396 on the function of the term ‘practice’ in discourse theory; on classicism as a ‘discursive practice’ cf. Porter (2006a), esp. 51.


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programme.’ 88 Apart from the fact that it is questionable whether anything like ‘a closed school of thought, with official members, and an official policy and programme’ ever existed in antiquity at all, the above considerations have shown that social identity is not a matter of objective assessment, but of subjective experience of those involved in it. A person’s identity is shaped by the communicative frameworks of the different communities in which s/he is engaged. These communities do not require such physical realities as Wisse’s official membership, policy, or programme in order to be experienced by the social actors as real; they are mental constructs which are constituted by their members’ feeling of being part of them. Dionysius’ writings prove that a regular, communicative structure united him and his addressees. This is sufficient for the literary circle to qualify as a ‘social world’ with a specific ‘culture’ which informed the members’ perception of the world and of themselves. 89 Dionysius’ essays are the ‘informants’ on which our ‘thick description’ of Classicism is based. They grant us access to one compartment of the lives of a group of Roman and Greek intellectuals and allow us glimpses into their world view and their self-definition as intellectuals in Augustan Rome, in short, into their ‘imaginary universe.’ Therefore the task of this study is not to go ‘beyond the text’ and to use Dionysius’ writings as documents to discover ‘historical realities,’ such as how closely acquainted Dionysius and his addressees were, if they were Greeks or Romans, or whether Classicism was a ‘movement’ with real political or cultural influence in Augustan Rome. Instead, it addresses questions such as how Dionysius and his addressees defined their activity within their social and cultural context; what outlook on the world, what interpretation of history it implied; what ideals and ideas the Classical past represented for them so as to make this past so desirable to them; how they imagined their relationship with the Classical past; finally, how they conceived of the relationship between Roman present and Classical past.90 It might be objected that such an approach is hampered by the fact that we have access to the culture of the literary circle through the testimony of

88 Wisse (1995) 70. 89 Cohen (1985) 98 aptly paraphrases ‘culture’ as ‘the community as experienced by its members’ (emphasis mine). 90 For a discussion of such an approach to culture see Gottowik (1997), esp. 299; for an exemplary analysis of Maori culture see Hanson (1989) with the comments by Linnekin (1991).

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only one of its members. There is no denying that it would be preferable if the voices of other members of the circle had also been preserved so as to set Dionysius’ conception of Classicism in perspective. Yet, this objection does not hold, because it relies on the dubious assumption that all members of a community share the exact same outlook on the world. As seen above, communities exist first and foremost in the minds of their members and are not based on objectively assessable criteria. A community’s ideology is not a monolithic set of rules which imposes a certain world view upon each individual member of the group. Individual members of a group might not attribute the same significance to their actions, but this does not affect the feeling of community among them, provided that all members are convinced that a certain action has the same meaning to all of them. As Benedict Anderson has shown, what the members of a community think they have in common is more important than what they really have in common. 91 The decisive point is that the discrepancies between the world views of individual members of a community are kept within certain limits or, at least, pass unnoticed. The degree to which the world views of members of a community can differ without affecting the feeling of togetherness depends on the communicative structure which sustains the group. In large communities, such as nations, in which direct communication between all members is impossible, a feeling of community is more likely to be preserved despite great differences between the world views of individual members; smaller communities with a closer communicative network, such as the literary circle, by contrast, allow for less flexibility in the Weltanschauung of their members. But this does not entail either that all of them share one, uniform world view. Culture is a necessarily subjective experience and, therefore, accessible only through an individual’s ‘private, idiosyncratic mode,’ ‘for it is here that we encounter people thinking about and symbolizing their community. It is in these depths of “thinking,” rather than in the surface appearance of “doing” that culture is to be sought.’ 92

91 Anderson (1991), on which see below, p. 297 with n. 723; Cohen (1985) 18: the ‘symbols,’ on which the togetherness among the members of a community is based, ‘ “express” other things in ways which allow their common form to be retained and shared among the members of a group, whilst not imposing upon those people the constraints of uniform meaning.’ 92 Cf. Cohen (1985), the quotation 75.


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Even if the writings of all members of the literary circle had survived, a comprehensive study of the culture of the literary circle would nevertheless have to assess the conception of Classicism and the concomitant outlook on the world of each member individually. Therefore studying Dionysius’ conception of Classicism alone is not an insufficient substitute for a comprehensive analysis of the culture of the whole community. The Classicist outlook on the world does not exist; what exists, is the members’ conviction that they all share the same outlook on the world. Thus Dionysius’ writings permit us to study the constituents of the world view which one member of the circle thought he shared with all others. And even if we were able to compare Dionysius’ Classicist world view with that of his addressees and to extrapolate the elements all of them have in common, we would not have discovered the Classicist world view, but constructed an abstract concept of classicism detached from the individuals’ ideas and beliefs and their enactment in everyday discursive practice. But such an abstract construction would be of no heuristic value to understand the social reality of the individual actors each of whom performed their own actions and interpreted them and those of the others from within their idiosyncratic perspective. However, keeping these precautionary remarks in mind, we might argue that the fact that the literary circle appears to have been a relatively small community makes the assumption plausible that Dionysius’ conception of Classicism was shared by most of his addressees. A relatively high degree of conformity between the members’ Weltanschauung is more likely to occur in such a small community than in a large one; we might therefore take Dionysius to a certain extent as a representative of the world view shared by most of the members of the circle. Such an assumption is supported by the fact that Dionysius, as we will see in the second part of this chapter, claimed a leading role within the literary circle: his writings provided the ‘canon’ (Thuc. 1.2) to which his addressees were expected to subscribe, and according to the information which Dionysius gives us on the origins of his essays, most of them were written on request of his addressees who had asked for Dionysius’ advice on literary and critical matters. 93 This suggests that Dionysius’ conception of Classicism influenced that of his addressees and that his addressees willingly accepted this influence. Therefore, although we have no testimony from any other member of the circle to confirm this assumption, there is good 93 See the discussion pp. 22–23 above.

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reason to suppose that an interpretation of classicism based on Dionysius’ writings provides a fairly accurate idea at least of the major tenets of the Weltanschauung which was accepted by most members of the literary circle. It will be the purpose of the remainder of this study to explore the individual constituents of this Classicist Weltanschauung which is at the same time implemented and represented by Dionysius’ writings. Although this approach relies heavily on heuristic concepts drawn from anthropology and sociology, this study does not purport to contribute to an ‘anthropology’ or ‘sociology’ of the ancient world in the way in which the works of Moses I. Finley, Leslie Kurke, and Sarah C. Humphreys have so masterfully done.94 Rather, it is more appropriate to conceive of it as employing anthropological and sociological approaches to write a chapter of intellectual history. As Felix Gilbert defined it, the task of the intellectual historian is to ‘reconstitut[e] the mind of an individual or of groups at the times when a particular event happened or an advance was achieved.’95 This is an accurate description of the purpose of this enquiry: to reconstitute the outlook on the world and the conception of identity of a Greek intellectual (and, potentially, his recipients) in one of the most crucial and most influential periods of ancient history and, probably, of the development of Western civilization at large, the reign of Augustus. We can now undertake the first step of this enquiry. The second part of this chapter will be centred on the introduction to Dionysius’ First Letter to Ammaeus. As I will demonstrate, this text can be read as a programmatic statement in which Dionysius defines himself and his recipients as the members of a community of literati whose knowledge about and methods of dealing with classical texts distinguishes them from other communities of intellectuals, especially the representatives of the traditional philosophical schools. On the one hand, the introduction to the First Letter to Ammaeus will thus lend further support to the interpretation of the literary circle as a social sub-group; on the other, it will allow us to identify the conceptual framework in which Dionysius expects his recipients to conceive of their activities as literary critics. On this basis we will be able to define individual 94 See above, pp. 4–5 with nn. 19, 20. 95 Gilbert (1971) 94. The tasks and methods of intellectual history have been the subject of intense debate over the last few decades, see LaCapra (1982); id. (1983); id. (1985); White (1969); id. (1997); Kellner (1982); Poster (1982); Henning (1982). Cf. also the discussion of the ‘histoire des mentalités’ approach of the French Annales School, such as Barthes (1960) and Chartier (1982), in Schulze (1985) and Reichardt (1978).

1.2 The Conceptual Framework of Dionysius’ Classicism

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elements of the collective identity which constituted the literary circle. These will be discussed in the subsequent chapters of this study.

1.2 The Conceptual Framework of Dionysius’ Classicism In a programmatic paper on ‘Method and Ideology in Intellectual History’ Hayden White has pointed out that a specific interpretation of the world, such as I argue Dionysius’ essays aim to provide, is not conveyed to the readers through the content of the texts alone, but through a ‘dynamic process’ between texts and readers. Therefore, White argues, the relevant question is not What do Freud, Foucault, and so on, assert, allege, argue? but How do they establish, through the articulation of their texts, the plausibility of their discourse by referring to the ‘meaning’ of these, not to other ‘facts’ or ‘events,’ but rather to a complex sign system which is treated as ‘natural’ rather than as a code specific to the praxis of a given social group, stratum, or class? This is to shift hermeneutic interest from the content of the texts being investigated to their formal properties, considered not in terms of the relatively vacuous notion of style but rather as a dynamic process of overt and covert code shifting by which a specific subjectivity is called up and established in the reader, who is supposed to entertain this representation of the world as a realistic one in virtue of its congeniality to the imaginary relationship the subject bears to his own social and cultural situation. 96

There is no need to go as far as White does and to argue for a complete ‘shift’ of hermeneutic interest from the content of a text to the strategies by which an author invites the reader to accept his/her representation of the world as ‘natural’ and ‘realistic.’ But White’s point is crucial: in order to be convincing, an outlook on the world proposed by a text must be embedded into an appropriate reading situation which shapes the reader’s perception of the content. The relationship an author establishes between him-/herself and his/her reader as well as the way in which s/he links his/her texts and the very act of reading them to his/her and his/her readers’ particular ‘social and cultural situation’ already constitute the readers’ view on the world: the reading situation provides the framework in which alone both what the author says and how s/he says it will make sense to and be accepted by the reader. 96 White (1982) 193.

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Therefore a reconstitution of Dionysius’ world view, as this study proposes to undertake, needs to be preceded by an investigation of the general framework which Dionysius creates for his Classicist ideology which enables his readers to locate themselves and their intellectual activity in the context of their time. This section explores Dionysius’ view of contemporary critical discourse; what place he claims in it for his Classicist criticism; how he positions his recipients towards his criticism, and how he defines his relationship with his envisaged audience. It will be evident that Dionysius does not provide an objective description of contemporary critical discourse. Rather, he is constructing a framework in order to constitute a common basis between himself and his readers, a shared view on the function and nature of criticism in their times, which makes his Classicist ideology appear useful, even necessary, to his recipients. Once recipients have accepted the role which Dionysius ascribes to himself and his critical method and the position he offers them in this process, they will be ready to subscribe to the individual tenets of his ideology. The following discussion will be centred on the introduction to Dionysius’ First Letter to Ammaeus. In this ‘letter-essay’ 97 Dionysius argues against a Peripatetic who had claimed that Demosthenes had acquired his superb rhetorical skills from Aristotle’s Rhetoric (Amm.I , 1.1). 98 In the introductory paragraphs (ibid. 1–2) Dionysius explains to Ammaeus the purpose of the letter, to refute the Peripatetic. The argument itself evolves in four steps:

97 This term was coined by Stirewalt (1991) 147–148, who argues that Dionysius’ letters were not for private use, but were supposed to be read by a larger audience; therefore a more appropriate term for them would be ‘letter-essays.’ For the sake of convenience I will refer to Dionysius’ letters as either ‘letters’ or ‘essays’ indiscriminately, while conceiving of them as ‘letter-essays’ in Stirewalt’s sense. For a general introduction to Amm.I see Aujac V, 43–48; on the structure of the letter and the interrelation of its different parts see Stirewalt (1991) 156–169. 98 By omitting a detailed exposition of the Peripatetic’s argument, Dionysius makes his competitor’s statement seem more absurd than it might actually have been. Whereas Dionysius conceives of oratory in terms of language and style, i.e., endorses an essentially aesthetical approach to oratory, the Peripatetic might have referred to a conception of oratory primarily as the art of arguing. In a similar way, Cicero in Tusc. 2.9 defines the ability to ‘discuss both sides of every question’ ([consuetudo] de omnibus rebus in contrarias partes disserendi) as ‘the best practice in oratory’ (maxima dicendi exercitatio); this method, Cicero points out, was invented by Aristotle and continued to be practised by his successors (qua [exercitatione] princeps usus est Aristoteles, deinde eum qui secuti sunt). The Peripatetic’s statement might therefore not have been as bizarre as Dionysius makes it appear.


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Dionysius starts with demonstrating that Aristotle’s Rhetorics was published when Demosthenes was already at the height of his life and career (ibid. 3–7). In order to do so, he first presents his readers with a short biography of Demosthenes, including a chronology of major speeches of Demosthenes, which demonstrates that Demosthenes had already given a great number of important symbuleutic as well as dicanic speeches before the Rhetorics was published (ibid. 4). Dionysius then presents a biography of Aristotle drawn from external historical sources (ibid. 5), followed by statements from Aristotle’s work concerning his life and writings. On this basis Dionysius constructs a relative chronology of Aristotle’s rhetorical writings and concludes that Aristotle wrote the Rhetorics at an older age (ibid. 6–7). In paragraphs eight and nine Dionysius forestalls a potential objection: the relative chronology, which he has presented in the preceding paragraphs, might be correct; this does not preclude, however, that Aristotle wrote all of his rhetorical treatises while still being a student of Plato’s. Dionysius refutes this view by citing passages both from Aristotle’s works and works of local Attic historians in which Aristotle’s writings are related to historical events. Having thus established an absolute chronology of the philosopher’s writings, Dionysius proceeds to proving that all important speeches of Demosthenes were delivered before the Rhetorics was published (ibid. 10). In the final two paragraphs, he adduces further passages from Aristotle which support this assertion (ibid. 11–12.7) and concludes the letter with the assertion that the Peripatetic’s statement has definitively been refuted (ibid., 12.8). From the discussion of the introduction to the First Letter to Ammaeus four main constituents of the general framework in which Dionysius places his Classicist ideology will emerge: first, Dionysius defines literary criticism as a highly competitive activity in which elite critics are engaged in a struggle for authority; second, Dionysius claims that in the struggle of criticism he and his critical method represent the tradition of Classical rhetoric itself; third, elite critics are representatives of communities of critics which are constituted by their members’ adoption of the standards provided by the elite critic and subscription to his opinions about the Classical texts; and fourth, in this process of distinction from other communities of intellectuals Dionysius ascribes a crucial role to his letter, and his writings in general, as material documents, i. e., as published texts.

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1.2.1 Criticism as a Struggle for Authority At the very beginning of the letter Dionysius describes the intellectual culture of his times (Â kaj+ômêc qrÏnoc) as teeming with ‘strange and paradoxical pronouncements’ (pollÄ xËna te ka» paràdoxa Çko‘smata, 1.1) about the Classical authors. 99 Dionysius’ emphasis on the multitude of such pronouncements and on their verbal diffusion (Çko‘smata; Çko‘santi parÄ so‹) creates the image of criticism as a constant and vehement dispute among competing scholars. In his essay On Literary Composition Dionysius even describes criticism as an Çg∏n in which the critic is under constant attack (katadrom†n) from other scholars.100 The quality of the individual pronouncements that constitute this Çg∏n, however, varies according to (and is thus indicative of) the competence of the scholars who utter them. Therefore not all of them deserve the same respect; on the contrary, most statements about the Classical authors are uttered by ‘someone out of the masses’ 101 (t¿n poll¿n tina, Amm.I , 1.2), i. e., by average scholars, and can therefore be disregarded. Only occasionally do the statements of a distinguished critic require deeper investigation, such as those of the Peripatetic: ‘but when I heard his name and found him to be a man whom I respect for both his char-

99 Amm.I , 1.1.: Poll¿n met+ällwn xËnwn te ka» paradÏxwn Çkousmàtwn ¡n ‚n†noqen Â kaj+ômêc qrÏnoc, Èn ti ka» to‹to ‚fành moi pr∏twc Çko‘santi parÄ so‹ […] (‘Our age has brought forth many strange and paradoxical pronouncements; and the statement which you told me about seemed to me to be one of them when I first heard it from you,’ Usher’s transl. modified). Though Dionysius does not explicitly say that the ‘strange and paradoxical pronouncements’ are made by scholars about the Classical authors, this is evident from the fact that he counts the Peripatetic’s ideas about Demosthenes and Aristotle among them; cf. Aujac V, 50 n. 1. 100 Comp. 25.29: Õfor¿ma– tina pr‰c ta‹ta katadromòn Çnjr∏pwn t®c m‡n ‚gkukl–ou paide–ac Çpe–rwn, t‰ d‡ Çgoraÿon t®c ˚htorik®c mËroc Âdo‹ te ka» tËqnhc qwr»c ‚pithdeuÏntwn, pr‰c oœc Çnagkaÿon Çpolog†sasjai, mò dÏxwmen Írhmon ÇfeikËnai t‰n Çg¿na (‘I suspect that certain persons who have no general education but practise rhetoric on a street corner level without method and art, will inveigh violently against these statements. I must defend myself against these for fear of appearing to have left the battle-ground,’ Usher’s transl. modified). 101 Usher’s translation ‘an ordinary layman’ misses the fact that no layman in antiquity could have made a statement on the relationship between Aristotle and Demosthenes, because this required higher education in rhetoric and literary criticism which was available only to the elite. I therefore prefer the more literal translation ‘someone out of the masses (of average scholars).’


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acter and for his scholarly works, 102 I was astounded; and after much private thought I concluded that the matter needed more diligent enquiry […]’ (±c d‡ ka» to÷noma to‹ Çndr‰c ‚pujÏmhn, Án ‚g∞ ka» t¿n öj¿n Èneka ka» t¿n lÏgwn ÇpodËqomai, ‚ja‘masa, ka» polÃc ‚n ‚mautƒ genÏmenoc ‚pimelestËrac æmhn deÿsjai skËyewc t‰ prêgma […], Amm.I , 1.2). Dionysius distinguishes between two categories of critics, the majority of ordinary critics and elite critics whose competence in rhetorical and literary matters (lÏgoi) and whose personalities (¢jh) distinguish them from the masses, but also from each other. 103 The Peripatetic is one example of such an elite critic, and Dionysius, who deems the Peripatetic worthy to argue with, is another. Competence in criticism is a criterion of distinction: by their statements about a Classical text critics substantiate their status as elite critics and, in this way, arrogate power and influence in the field of criticism (cf. ÇpodËqomai; ‚ja‘masa above). At the same time, such a position of superiority is fragile: Dionysius’ remark that at first hearing he had taken the Peripatetic’s claim to be one of the absurd statements usually made by ordinary critics (Amm.I , 1.2) shows that an incompetent statement can easily jeopardize the elite critic’s status and authority. In order fully to appreciate the role of authority and prestige in Dionysius’ debate with the Peripatetic, it is important to remember the Peripatetics’ powerful position in contemporary intellectual discourse. In Dionysius’ times, the Peripatetics were often regarded as the ‘leaders in the study of rhetoric.’ 104 Thus at On the Orator 1.43, Scaevola relates that Peripatetici autem etiam haec ipsa, quae propria oratorum putas esse adiumenta atque ornamenta dicendi, a se peti vincerent oportere, ac non solum meliora, sed etiam multo plura Aristotelem Theophrastumque de istis rebus, quam omnis dicendi magistros scripsisse ostenderent.

102 Dionysius is here referring to the Peripatetic’s pronouncements as a critic and not to his ‘literary accomplishments,’ as Usher translates lÏgoi. 103 Ch. 2.2.2 will show that it is one of the major tenets of Dionysius’ Classicism that a person’s statements and his character are two sides of the same coin. 104 Kennedy (1963) 272. Kennedy (1963) 272–290 gives an overview of the most important stages of the development of rhetorical studies in Peripatetic philosophy (esp. Theophrastus and Demetrius of Phaleron) and discusses the Peripatetics’ theories against the background of Hellenistic rhetoric in general (264–336); see Aujac V, 50 n. 2. On the tradition of Aristotelian-Peripatetic philosophy after Aristotle see Richardson (1993); Meijering (1987); Schenkeveld (1993); Wooten (1994); Abbenes/Slings/Sluiter (1995).

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1. Introduction: The Aims and Methods of This Study The Peripatetics […] would prove that it is to them that men shold resort for even those very aids and trappings of eloquence which you deem to be the special aids of orators, and would show you that on these subjects of yours Aristotle and Theophrastus wrote not only better but also much more than all the teachers of rhetoric put together.

In order to understand why Dionysius took the Peripatetic’s claim so seriously, it is important to keep in mind that the Peripatetics not only claimed leadership in their own domain, philosophy. They also contested the orators’ competence and authority in rhetorical education (quae propria oratorum putas esse). Moreover, the Peripatetic’s arrogation of leadership in rhetorical education occurred against the backdrop of the controversy between philosophy and rhetoric the origins of which dated as far back as Plato’s controversy with Isocrates and the Sophists in the fourth century. 105 Mainly, this debate seems to have been centred on the question of whether or not rhetoric was to be considered an art. 106 Given the close interrelation of rhetoric and politics in antiquity, however, this rather abstract question was bound up with a topic of much more concrete implications, namely the controversy over whether rhetoricians or philosophers were entitled to train statesmen and politicians and, thus, profit from the Roman demand for Greek culture and education. 107 105 A detailed discussion of this complex issue is beyond the scope of this study. The classic treatment is still von Arnim (1898) 1–114; more recent discussions include North (1981) and Brittain (2001) 298–312; cf. Luzzatto (1988) 233, who argues that it was in the rich intellectual climate of Rhodes that the opposition between rhetoric and philosophy turned into a ‘competition among schools of thought’ (‘concorrenza fra scuole’). On the role of Plato’s criticism of Sophistic rhetoric for the Hellenistic controversy see North (1981) 251. 106 The main arguments are collected in Brittain (2001) 299–300 who also gives a helpful overview of the attitude towards rhetoric adopted by the representatives of the different philosophical schools (Critolaus, Diogenes the Stoic, and Charmadas) ibid. 301–302. 107 von Arnim (1898) 88 already suggested that the Romans’ interest in Greek education was one of the reasons for the reawakening of the controversy between rhetoric and philosophy in the second century BCE; similarly North (1981) 240–250. Brittain’s (2001) 302 sceptical remarks notwithstanding, the ancient evidence shows that the controversy was not simply an intellectual dispute over the status of rhetoric as an art but had strong political implications. Already at the early stages of the conflict the debate about rhetorical education was inextricably bound up with the question of who was entitled to educate the elite, especially the future political leaders. Thus the Stoic Diogenes asserted that ‘good speech presupposes political wisdom or the virtue of justice’ (Brittain [2001] 301) which he claimed to be the exclusive domain of philosophy. And in his account of the philosophers’ chief arguments against rhetoric Cicero has Crassus remark that ‘there


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The philosophers had turned out to be the winning party of the dispute, and among them the Academics and Peripatetics in particular. In Dionysius’ times these two philosophical schools played a leading role in the market of rhetorical education, as shown by Cicero’s assertion that ‘for the budding orator – and hence for the budding statesman’ it was these two schools that provided the best training. 108 Moreover, at On the Orator 3.71 it is precisely the ability to produce orators of the rhetorical perfection of Demosthenes that is explicitly ascribed to the Peripatetics:109 Sin veterem illum Periclem aut hunc etiam, qui familiarior nobis propter scriptorum multitudinem est, Demosthenem sequi vultis et si illam praeclaram et eximiam speciem oratoris perfecti et pulchritudinem adamastis, aut vobis haec Carneadia aut illa Aristotelia vis comprehendenda est. If […] you chose to follow the famous Pericles of old, or even our friend Demosthenes with whom his many writings have made us better acquainted, and if you have grown to love that glorious and supreme ideal, that thing of beauty, the perfect orator, you are bound to accept either the modern method of Carneades or the earlier method of Aristotle. 110

The Peripatetics’ claim to leadership in rhetorical education and literary criticism was supported by the fact that they took pride in a long tradition of literary criticism 111 and that both Academics and Peripatetics ‘taught a form of argument useful to the orator,’ the Peripatetics the ‘practice in debating both sides of the question’ and the Academics the ability to rebut any

108 109 110

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were many other men outstanding in philosophy and society all of whom unanimously postulated that orators should be driven from the steering-oar of State’ (multi erant praeterea clari in philosophia et nobiles, a quibus omnibus una paene voce repelli oratorem a gubernaculis civitatum […] videbam, de or. 1.46; transl. mine); cf. the similar statements ascribed to Charmadas ibid. 1.85 and see further ibid. 3.63 (the ideal orator is both an excellent speaker and statesman); 3.76. Griffin (1997) 9, citing Cic. de or. 3.57[–76]; Brut. 119[–121]; Tusc. 2.9. Cf. Luzzatto (1988) 218–219 on the role of Demosthenes in ancient literary criticism and ibid. 240–241 on Demosthenes as a model of oratory. Rackham’s transl. modified. An appropriate rendering of vis, translated here as ‘method,’ is difficult. According to Leeman/Pinkster/Wisse (1996) on 3.71 (262), the term probably refers to the philosophers’ oratorical competence (vis dicendi) but might also be taken to refer to their ‘intellectual powers’; they point out, however, that it is improbable that the term refers to their ‘dialectic power’ (a translation suggested by Wilkinson). On the role of literary criticism in Peripatetic philosophy see Podlecki (1969); there is a good overview of rhetoric in Peripatetic philosophy in Luzzatto (1988) 220–225.

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argument. 112 These considerations remind us that the controversy between Dionysius and the Peripatetic did not take place in an intellectual void. The Peripatetic against whom Dionysius is arguing in his letter was not simply an isolated figure whose statement on the superiority of Aristotle’s rhetorical theory over Demosthenes’ rhetorical practice could easily be dismissed. He was a representative of a community which had been the most serious competitors of professional critics and teachers of rhetoric like Dionysius for several centuries and which denied Dionysius both the competence and the right to provide rhetorical education. Moreover, there is another element of the Peripatetic’s claim, and Dionysius’ response to it, the full significance of which becomes evident only when considered against the particular situation of Peripatetic philosophy in the first century BCE. The Peripatetic, as mentioned above, claims that his assertion is firmly based on the writings of Aristotle himself. The last sentence in On the Orator 1.43, which was quoted above, suggests that in the competition for leadership between Peripatetics and teachers of oratory it was a common strategy to legitimise one’s claims by attributing them to the founder of the philosophical school (or his immediate successor). 113 This demonstrates that being able to lay claim to representing a long and distinguished scholarly tradition played a crucial role in the process of distinction between (communities of) intellectuals in Dionysius’ times. In an important study, David Sedley has shown that ‘in the GrecoRoman world, especially during the Hellenistic and Roman periods, what gives philosophical movements their cohesion and identity is less a disinterested common quest for the truth than a virtually religious commitment to the authority of a founder figure.’ 114 Both Stoics and Epicureans ‘equally were ruled by a set of canonical texts,’ the Stoics by the writings of Zeno, the 112 Griffin (1997) 9–10. An important exercise employed by both Peripatetics and Academics was the thesis which taught pupils to argue for and against a general question; as this question was generally of a philosophical content (at de or. 3.107 Cicero enumerates possible topics of a thesis including virtue, duty, equity and good, moral worth and utility, etc.), the thesis represented the most obvious area in which rhetoric and philosophy overlapped; on the role of the thesis in Philo’s Academy see Reinhardt’s (2000) instructive study, on the differences between the Academics’ and the Peripatetics’ use of the thesis see ibid. 542–543. 113 Cf. Gottschalk (1990) 65: ‘Much of [the work of the Aristotelian commentators] consisted of straight exegesis and even where they disagreed with Aristotle’s doctrine or were dealing with different problems from his, they often chose to present their views as an interpretation or development of his ideas’; cf. Donini (1994) 5038. 114 Sedley (1997) 97.


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Epicureans by the works of Epicurus himself and his leading co-founders Metrodorus, Hermarchus, and Polyaenus; 115 and the dissent within the Academy and among Plato’s successors notwithstanding, ‘there is every reason to believe that all academics presented themselves as loyal to Plato’s thought, on some interpretation of what that thought amounted to.’116 To a Peripatetic, by contrast, being able to employ the same pattern of reasoning, to endow his own position with autority by stressing the conformity of his ideas to the writings of Aristotle, had a particular significance, as, even at the beginning of the first century BCE, such a claim would have been impossible. It was only in about the middle of the first century BCE that Aristotle’s writings had been made accessible again in Andronicus of Rhodes’ edition, which included a commentary on selected treatises.117 The publication of Andronicus’ edition ended a period of eclipse during which philosophical schools took startingly little notice of Aristotle’s philosophy. 118 David Sedley has argued convincingly that part of the reason for this situation was the importance of the existence of a ‘set of canonical texts’ for the identity of Hellenistic philosophical schools: as the Peripatos did not have any such set of Aristotelian writings, ‘there was simply no motive for Stoics, Epicureans, Academics, or Pyrrhonists to seek out Aristotelian authority for their doctrines.’ 119 After the publication of Aristotle’s writings, by contrast, activity in the Peripatetic school experienced an upsurge: no less than five commentaries

115 Ibid. 97–98. 116 Ibid. 99. 117 On Andronicus’ edition, which was the culmination point of a process of consolidation that can be traced back to the beginnings of the Peripatetic school, see Gottschalk (1990) 55–60. The exact date of Andronicus’ edition is a matter of debate, see Gottschalk’s discussion ibid. 62–63, who argues that Andronicus began his work in the sixties and published its individual parts (potentially separately) during the subsequent decades (63). It is doubtful whether there also existed a ‘Roman edition’ of the works of Aristotle and Theophrastus by Atticus, as was first suggested by H. Usener; see Gottschalk (1990) 60–61. It seems relatively certain, however, that Andronicus cooperated with Tyrannio of Amisus who provided him with copies of Aristotelian works brought from Athens to Rome by Sulla in 86 BCE (ibid. 55). For a balanced discussion of the fate of Aristotle’s writings see Gottschalk (1987) 1083–1088. 118 Gottschalk (1990) 55; Sedley (1997) 118. 119 Sedley (1997) 118. Gottschalk (1987) 1083 remarks that it was well know already in antiquity that the intellectual activity of Aristotle’s school declined about fifty years after the death of its founder, and this decline is attributed by ancient authors to the loss of Aristotle’s writings (Strabo 13.1.54, 608–609C Radt; cf. Cic. fin. 5.13).

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on the Categories were published before the end of the first century, two by a Stoic and an Academic, respectively, the other three by Peripatetics. 120 Moreover, between 68 and 51 BCE Ariston and Cratippus left the Academy for the Peripatus. 121 As Gottschalk points out, this only makes sense ‘if there was some organisation recognised by contemporaries as the legitimate successor of Aristotle’s school and official representative of his teaching.’122 Moreover, this also points to an increase in prestige and authority of the Peripatetic school which had now become again a serious competitor of the other philosophical schools and the Academics in particular.123 The fact that two Academics joined the Peripatus is all the more remarkable as only at the beginning of the first century Antiochus of Ascalon had attempted to establish Plato’s philosophy as the ‘master doctrine’ and its representatives, the Academics, as a sort of ‘master school’ which incorporated all other philosophical schools: 124 Antiochus appreciated Aristotle as ‘an important Platonist’ and blamed the Stoics for systematically having drawn on, or worse, having stolen Plato’s doctrines while trying to conceal this ‘behind their sophisticated philosophical jargon.’ 125 Andronicus’ publication of Aristotle’s work changed this situation radically. His edition ‘presented 120 Simplicius enumerates five early commentators on the Categories: the Academic Eudorus, the Stoic Athenodorus, and the Peripatetics Andronicus, Boethus, and Ariston, see Gottschalk (1990) 69; cf. id. (1987) 1121–1139. 121 Index Acad. Herc. col. 35.8–16, pp. 112–113 Mekler. 122 Gottschalk (1990) 61, thus convincingly contesting the view, put forward mainly by Glucker (1978) and Lynch (1972), that after Sulla’s sack of Athens in 86 BCE Peripatetic philosophy existed only as an ideology but not as a proper philosophical school: ‘the life of a learned institution does not depend on buildings or even administrative continuity; what matters is that there should be an identifiable body of men whose members feel that they are the heirs and representatives of an intellectual tradition and that their claim should be admitted by those contemporaries who are sufficiently interested to hold any decided view on the matter’ (ibid. 62). 123 On the popularity of the different philosophical schools at Rome see Griffin (1997) 5–11. 124 The most detailed discussion of Antiochus of Ascalon and his philosophical doctrine is Glucker (1978). Antiochus’ claim that Platonic philosophy represented the master discourse from which all other philosophical schools were derived is itself part of his attempt to gain prestige and authority for his own philosophical community. Antiochus rejected the ‘sceptical school’ in the Academy, which was represented by its head Philo of Larissa, and founded his own school which he programmatically called the ‘Old Academy.’ It was his school, rather than the sceptical Academy, he claimed, that was the true heir to the Platonic tradition, see Glucker (1978) 102, 111; cf. Griffin (1997) 7. On Philo of Larissa see now Brittain’s (2001) comprehensive study. 125 Karamanolis (2006) 58, citing fin. 5.12 for Antiochus’ view of Aristotle and fin. 5.22 for his view on the Stoics (cf. Cic. Acad. 43); cf. ibid. 57. On Antiochus’ ‘syncretism’ see


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Aristotle’s philosophy as a system like those of the Stoics and Epicureans, which his adherents were expected to understand and propagate.’126 And the case of Ariston and Cratippus suggests that the Peripatetics were rather successful in propagating their philosophy: instead of being appropriated and subsumed under Platonic dogmatism by Academics like Antiochus, now it was the Peripatetics who sought to subsume as many discourses as possible under the heading of Aristotelian philosophy. The preceding considerations provide us with the intellectual-historical backdrop of Dionysius’ controversy with the Peripatetic. We have to consider the Peripatetics’ outstanding position in contemporary intellectual culture, namely their claim to be the specialists in rhetorical education and, hence, political leadership, and their recent increase in prestige and authority due to the publication of Aristotle’s writings, in order to appreciate the significance and implications of the Peripatetic’s statement for Dionysius. Antiochus of Ascalon had rather successfully attempted to deny Aristotelian philosophy its independence by defining it as an element of Platonic dogmatism and to reduce Stoic philosophy to a mere derivative of Plato’s doctrines. Dionysius might have perceived a similar threat to the independence of rhetorical theory and literary criticism and, going hand-in-hand with this, to his own standing in the intellectual culture of his times, if the Peripatetic’s claim was accepted by a majority of intellectuals. In the wake of their new success, it might not have seemed unreasonable that the Peripatetics would eclipse Dionysius’ Classicist ideology; after all, philosophical schools had already threatened (successfully) the independence of rhetorical education in previous centuries. Furthermore, this intellectual background also helps us understand better why Dionysius emphasized certain aspects of the controversy with the Peripatetic and employed specific argument strategies. It explains, for example, why prestige and authority play such a prominent role in Dionysius’ reply to the Peripatetic; furthermore, the image of contemporary intellectual culture as a struggle for intellectual leadership between different schools of thought seems to have had a certain foundation in reality. 127 This does not mean, however, that we should take Dionysius’ statements on his intellecBarnes (1997), esp. 79; cf. Sedley (1981) 73 (Antiochus based his epistemology on ‘the “corrections” of those minor Platonists Aristotle and Zeno’). 126 Gottschalk (1990) 64. 127 Luzzatto (1988) 239 points out that there must have been an intense competition also among different schools of rhetoric, as is shown by the ‘Atticist’ opposition to ‘Asianism’; she refers to Seneca the Elder’s characterisation of the orator Craton, an ‘outspoken

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tual environment simply at face-value. Dionysius uses prominent tendencies of his times to locate his Classicist ideology within a framework of competition among different schools of thought and the (traditional) opposition of philosophy and rhetorics. This allows him to define Classicist criticism not as a neutral activity but as a contested field of intellectual pursuit in which defining oneself as a ‘Classicist’ necessarily entails not defining oneself as a Peripatetic, Stoic, Epicurean, or the like. This aspect of Classicist criticism as a constituent of a distinct community of intellectuals will be discussed in section 1.2.4 below. In the following sections I will turn to two elements of Dionysius’ argument with the Peripatetic which are directly connected with the preceding considerations: Dionysius’ emphasis on the unity of theory and practice as the distinctive characteristic of the tradition of Classical rhetoric (section 1.2.2), and the stress he lays on his letter as a published document as opposed to the oral statement of the Peripatetic (section 1.2.3).

1.2.2 Dionysius’ Critical Method as Heir to the Tradition of Classical Rhetoric In a striking passage Dionysius condenses the consequences for the tradition of Classical rhetoric and his own activity as a literary critic, should the Peripatetic’s opinion turn out to be right or be accepted by a majority of intellectuals (Amm.I , 2.3): [To‹to dò pepo–hka] —na mò Õpolàbwsin Ìti pànta perie–lhfen ô peripathtikò filosof–a tÄ ˚htorikÄ paraggËlmata, ka» o÷te

o… per» JeÏdwron ka» Jras‘maqon ka» >Antif¿nta spoud®c äxion oŒd‡n e›ron, o÷te >Isokràthc ka» >AnaximËnhc ka» >Alkidàmac o÷te o… to‘toic sumbi∏santec toÿc Çndràsi paraggelmàtwn teqnik¿n suggrafeÿc ka» Çgwnista» lÏgwn ˚htorik¿n, o… per» JeodËkthn ka» F–liskon ka» >Isaÿon ka» KhfisÏdwron Isokràtouc te ka» >Isa–ou kosmÏumenoc paraggËlmasin, e mò tÄc >AristotËlouc Asianist’ (professus Asianus), as ‘fighting a war against all Atticists’ (qui bellum cum omnibus Atticis gerebat, contr. 10.5.21; transl. mine); cf. the discussion in ch. 2.3.4 below.


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tËqnac ‚xËmajen. OŒk Íst+Ítumoc lÏgoc o›toc, ¬ f–le >Ammaÿe, oŒd+ ‚k t¿n >AristotËlouc teqn¿n t¿n ’steron ‚xeneqjeis¿n o… DhmosjËnouc lÏgoi sunetàqjhsan […]. I should not want them [the Peripatetics] to suppose that all the precepts of rhetoric are comprehended in the Peripatetic philosophy, and that nothing has been discovered by Theodorus, Thrasymachus, Antiphon and their associates; nor by Isocrates, Anaximenes, Alcidamas or those of their contemporaries who composed rhetorical handbooks and engaged in oratorical contests: Theodectes, Philiscus, Isaeus, Cephisodorus, Hyperides, Lycurgus, Aeschines and all their associates. 128 Indeed, even Demosthenes himself, who surpassed all his predecessors and contemporaries, and left his successors with no scope for improvement, would not have achieved such greatness if he had equipped himself only according to the precepts of Isocrates and Isaeus, and had not thoroughly mastered the handbooks of Aristotle. “That story is not true,” my dear Ammaeus, nor in fact were the speeches of Demosthenes composed in accordance with the precepts of Aristotle’s Rhetoric, which was published at a later date.

At first sight, the impressive list of names seems little more than a boastful attempt of Dionysius’ to show off his knowledge about the tradition of rhetorical doctrine and the art of speaking. But this passage contains the key to Dionysius’ self-definition as a critic and explains why the Peripatetic’s assertion presented such a threat to him. The sheer length of the list of names demonstrates to the reader (and, above all, to the Peripatetic) the length of the tradition of classical rhetoric and represents a history in nuce of its development. The most striking characteristic of Dionysius’ conception of classical rhetoric is the interaction of theory and practice, of o… paraggelmàtwn teqnik¿n suggrafeÿc and Çgwnista» lÏgwn ˚htorik¿n.129 The rhetorical skills of a Demosthenes can be explained only as the result of this combination: Demosthenes was the pupil of the two men who excelled in both rhetorical theory and practice, Isocrates and Isaeus (toÿc >Isokràtouc te ka» >Isa–ou kosmo‘menoc paraggËlmasin).130 Demosthenes and his 128 On these names see Aujac’s V commentary, 51 nn. 1–5. 129 In the context of Dionysius’ controversy with the Peripatetic it is important to note that Aristotle, as Luzzatto (1988) 221 points out, was the first to separate rhetorical theory and practice. 130 Dionysius might be referring here to a handbook on rhetoric written by Isaeus, on which nothing else is known, see Thalheim (1916) 2051–2052 (his reference to Ps.-Plutarch’s Life of Isaeus is erroneous). According to the Pseudo-Plutarchian Life (840F), Isaeus taught Demosthenes rhetoric (kajhg†sato d‡ DhmosjËnouc), an information found also in Dionysius’ essay On Isaeus 1.1 and 1.2. Isocrates was for Dionysius the most outstanding

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accomplished rhetorical technique thus encapsulate Dionysius’ conception of the Classical rhetorical tradition. If the Peripatetic’s claim were accepted by a majority of scholars, the entire tradition of Classical rhetoric, as Dionysius conceives it, would be annihilated and accomplished oratory would be reduced to a product of one work of rhetorical theory alone, Aristotle’s Rhetoric. This, in turn, would entitle the Peripatetic ‘to suppose that all the precepts of rhetoric are comprehended in the precepts of Peripatetic philosophy’ 131 and thus corroborate his and his school’s claim to be the ‘leaders in the study of rhetoric.’

teacher of rhetoric in Classical times (Isoc. 1.5: […] toÃc krat–stouc t¿n >Aj†nhsi te ka» ‚n t¨ äll˘ <Ellàdi nËwn paide‘sac, ¡n o… m‡n ‚n toÿc dikanikoÿc ‚gËnonto äristoi lÏgoic, o… d‡ ‚n t¿ polite‘esjai ka» tÄ koinÄ pràttein di†negkan [‚tele‘ta t‰n b–on], ‘[he passed away having become] the teacher of the most eminent men at Athens and in Greece at large, both the best forensic orators, and those who distinguished themselves in politics and public life’); Ps.-Plutarch reports that ‘some people’ (tinËc) held that Demosthenes was the pupil of Isocrates (844B), but that the opinion prevailed that Demosthenes was a pupil of Isaeus who, in turn, had been taught by Isocrates (ibid.; cf. Is. 1.2). In Dionysius’ day Isocrates was thought to have composed a handbook on rhetoric: Cicero, inv. 2.7, mentions an ars by Isocrates which he was sure existed, but which he could not get hold of (cuius ipsius [Isocratis] quam constet esse artem non invenimus, ‘although it is certain that a handbook on rhetoric of Isocrates exists, I have not found it,’ transl. mine), and Quintilian, inst. 2.15.4, bears witness that in his time an ars was circulating which was ascribed to Isocrates but of which the authenticity was debated (haec opinio originem ab Isocrate, si tamen re vera ars quae circumfertur eius est, duxit, ‘this idea originated with Isocrates, provided that he really is the author of the rhetorical handbook generally ascribed to him,’ transl. mine); see the discussion in Münscher (1916) 2224, who regards the ars as pseudepigraphal. 131 Dionysius might have in mind such claims as that made by Piso, himself a representative of Antiochus’ ‘Old Academy,’ regarding the early Peripatetics (Peripatetici veteres) and Academics at Cic. fin. 5.7: Ad eos igitur converte te, quaeso. Ex eorum enim scriptis et institutis cum omnis doctrina liberalis, omnis historia, omnis sermo elegans sumi potest, tum varietas est tanta artium ut nemo sine eo instrumento ad ullam rem inlustriorem satis ornatus possit accedere. Ab his oratores, ab his imperatores ac rerum publicarum principes exstiterunt. Ut ad minora veniam, mathematici poetae musici medici denique ex hac tamquam omnium artificum officina profecti sunt (‘Do you then join them, I beg you. From their writings and teachings can be learnt the whole of liberal culture, of history and of style; moreover they include such a variety of sciences, that without the equipment that they give no one can be adequately prepared to embark on any of the higher careers. They have produced orators, generals and statesmen. To come to the less distinguished professions, this factory of experts in all the sciences has turned out mathematicians, poets, musicians and physicians’).


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This would directly affect Dionysius’ position as a literary critic in the present. Dionysius’ conception of the tradition of Classical rhetoric as an interaction of theory and practice provides the legitimation for his critical method: it is precisely the combination of theoretical reflection and rhetorical practice which is the cornerstone of Dionysius’ criticism. 132 This emerges clearly from Orat. Vett. 4.2, where Dionysius defines the aim of his criticism as identifying ‘who are the most important of the ancient orators and historians? What manner of life and style of writing did they adopt? Which characteristics of each of them should we imitate, and which should we avoid?’ 133 Like Demosthenes’ speeches, the texts of Dionysius’ recipients will be based on sound theoretical foundations which will be provided by Dionysius. This implies that Classical rhetoric can be learned only with Dionysius’ method, because it alone is based on the same principles as Classical rhetoric itself and offers teaching along the lines of Isocrates and Isaeus. 134 Therefore it is a vital question to Dionysius whether rhetorical skills of the quality of a Demosthenes can be acquired from studying Aristotle’s Rhetorics or whether they have to be acquired from a guided study of the Classical texts. Dionysius’ authority as a critic is based on the assertion that his method continues the Classical tradition of rhetoric; if it turned out that the most exemplary representative of this tradition did not owe his skills to the particular combination of theory and practice but to Aristotle’s theoretical work alone, Dionysius’ criticism would be superfluous and reduced to a useless appendix to Peripatetic philosophy. Thus what at first glance appeared to be a slightly absurd question of purely philological interest, ‘Who was first, Demosthenes or Aristotle?,’ 135 and, consequently, ‘Who

132 Cf. de Jonge (2008) 11 (following Gelzer [1979] 10–11): ‘it is typical of classicism that the creation of new works of art is based on an explicit theory.’ 133 Orat. Vett. 4.2: t–nec e s»n Çxiolog∏tatoi t¿n Çrqa–wn ˚htÏrwn te ka» suggrafËwn

ka» t–nec aŒt¿n ‚gËnonto proairËseic to‹ te b–ou ka» to‹ lÏgou ka» t– par+·kàstou deÿ lambànein £ fulàttesjai […]. 134 Dionysius conceives of his essays as providing an original, Classical programme of rhetorical training, see below, ch. 4.2.5; on the role of Isocrates in Dionysius’ Classicism see below, ch. 2.2.1. 135 Cf. Amm.I , 2.1: [‚maut‰n pËpeika] DhmosjËnouc Çkmàzontoc ¢dh ka» toÃc ‚pifa-

nestàtouc e rhkÏtoc Çg¿nac tÏte Õp‰ >AristotËlouc tÄc ˚htorikÄc gegràfjai tËqnac (‘[I have satisfied myself that] it was not until Demosthenes had already reached his prime and had delivered his most celebrated orations that the Rhetoric was written by Aristotle,’ emphases mine) with ibid. 3.1.

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learned from whom?,’ 136 touches upon the very foundations of Dionysius’ legitimation as a critic and his authority in contemporary critical discourse. The controversy with the Peripatetic thus turns out to be a controversy between two mutually exclusive conceptions of Classical rhetoric and of how – and by whom – it is to be taught. 1.2.3 The Power of the Text: Creating a Discursive Tradition Dionysius further underlines the claim for superiority of his position by investing the fact that his letter is a written and published document with a symbolic value: until now the Peripatetic’s claims are part of the multitude of Çko‘smata, oral pronouncements, with which the field of criticism is teeming. But another stage of the controversy would be reached if the Peripatetic succeeded in publishing his ideas: thus fixed permanently, they would gain wide-spread acceptance among the masses of scholars and would then become a real threat to Dionysius and his conception of criticism. It is at this crucial point of the controversy that Dionysius interferes with the publication of his own letter in order ‘to persuade the person who has adopted this view and is prepared to put it in writing, to change it [his opinion] before giving his treatise out to the masses’ 137 (—na t‰n o’twc ‚gnwkÏta ka» gràyai ge pareskeuasmËnon, pr»n e c Óqlon ‚kdÏnai t‰ s‘ntagma, metabaleÿn pe–saimi tòn dÏxan, Amm.I , 1.2). Thus the publication of the letter is directly linked to the elite critic’s authority in the field and his influence among the multitude of scholars (Óqloc). 138 Forestalling the pub136 Dionysius illustrates the perversion of the normal relationship between theory and practice, which the Peripatetic’s claim entails, at Amm.I , 10.1: the term which describes the usual development of style through one author ‘emulating’ another, z†lwsic, is here applied to the orator Demosthenes ‘emulating’ the philosopher-theoretician Aristotle: >ApÏqrh m‡n ofin ka» ta‹ta ˚hjËnta fanerÄn poi®sai tòn filotim–an t¿n Çxio‘ntwn tÄc >AristotËlouc ‚zhlwkËnai tËqnac DhmosjËnh (‘enough has been said to expose the exaggerated claims of those who assert that Demosthenes emulated the Rhetoric of Aristotle,’ emphases mine; Usher’s transl. modified). 137 Usher’s transl. modified. 138 The word Óqloc need not be pejorative (‘crowd, throng,’ LSJ, p. 1281, s.v. I.1) and may simply mean ‘mass, multitude’ (ibid . s.v. I.2). However, given the fact that Dionysius carefully distinguishes between elite critics and the multitude of average critics, the word is likely to have negative implications in the present context. As o… pollo– in Amm. I , 1.2, Óqloc does not refer to the masses in general, but to the multitude of intellectuals and scholars active in Dionysius’ day whom he regards as ‘average intellectuals,’ cf. p. 32 with n. 101 above.


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lication of the Peripatetic’s opinion, Dionysius settles the dispute with the Peripatetic before the latter has even had a chance to get the support of ‘the many’ for his claim. As will be shown in chapter 5.2.1, Dionysius designs the whole letter as a trial in which the Peripatetic, represented by a fictus interlocutor, is defeated by Dionysius and Aristotle himself, who participates in the controversy through verbatim quotations and confirms Dionysius’ point of view. Thus the letter represents a permanent document of how Dionysius reveals the absurdity of the Peripatetic’s claim and how he defeats him with the support of the founder of the very tradition which the Peripatetic claimed to represent. Reading the letter, the reader will re-enact the dispute in which Dionysius dethroned the Peripatetic’s authority and through which the Peripatetic lost his status as an elite critic. Any real controversy which might have arisen from a publication of the Peripatetic’s statement has forever been substituted with the virtual controversy acted out in Amm.I . Thus as a published document, in contrast to the unpublished assertion of his adversary, Dionysius’ letter is a symbol of the superiority of Dionysius’ method over the Peripatetic’s and substantiates his claim to leadership in the study of rhetoric. The symbolic value with which Dionysius charges Amm.I sheds new light on the function of the numerous cross-references to other works of his which pervade his writings. One example of such a cross-reference is found in Amm.I itself (Amm.I , 3.1):

OŒk Íst+Ítumoc lÏgoc o›toc, ¬ f–le >Ammaÿe, oŒd+‚k t¿n >AristotËlouc teqn¿n t¿n ’steron ‚xeneqjeis¿n o… DhmosjËnouc lÏgoi sunetàqjhsan ÇllÄ kaj+·tËrac tinÄc e sagwgàc; Õp‡r ¡n ‚n d–¯ dhl∏sw graf¨ tÄ doko‹ntà moi; polÃc gÄr Â per» aŒt¿n lÏgoc, Án oŒ kal¿c e⁄qen ·tËrac graf®c poi®sai pàrergon. “That story is not true,” my dear Ammaeus, nor in fact were the speeches of Demosthenes composed in accordance with the precepts of Aristotle’s Rhetoric, which was published at a later date. His speeches are indebted to other treatises, about which I shall disclose my view in another work, since the subject demands full discussion, which could not properly be made a subordinate part of a work on another topic.

Dionysius is referring his reader to a treatise which has not yet been written but which, once published, will be based on his successful argument with the Peripatetic. As such it adds another piece of evidence for Dionysius’ claim to superiority to the already existing Amm.I and provides further proof

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that Dionysius’ method is the only appropriate way to learn the Classical language. Dionysius’ individual writings are thus connected to a network, ‘a stone-by-stone construction of an edifice’139 and result in what could be called a ‘field of statements.’ Dionysius’ individual statements, i. e., every single one of his works, are ordered to ‘enunciative series,’ the elements of which mutually depend on and refer to each other. 140 In their totality, then, Dionysius’ writings bit by bit constitute a tradition of Classicist criticism. The opening chapter of Dionysius’ essay On Thucydides, considered briefly above, is particularly illustrative of this aspect of Dionysius’ writings (Thuc. 1.1–4): 141

>En toÿc proekdojeÿsi per» t®c mim†sewc Õpomnhmatismoÿc ‚pelhluj∞c oœc Õpelàmbanon ‚pifanestàtouc e⁄nai poihtàc te ka» suggrafeÿc, ¬ KÏinte A“lie ToubËrwn, ka» dedhlwk∞c ‚n Êl–goic t–nac Èkastoc aŒt¿n e sfËretai pragmatikàc te ka» lektikÄc Çretàc, ka» p¨ màlista qe–rwn ·auto‹ g–netai katÄ tÄc Çpotuq–ac […], —na toÿc proairoumËnoic gràfein te ka» lËgein efi kalo» ka» dedokimasmËnoi kanÏnec ¬sin, ‚f+¡n poi†sontai tÄc katÄ mËroc gumnas–ac […]; 142 ÅyàmenÏc te t¿n suggrafËwn ‚d†lwsa ka» per» Joukud–dou tÄ doko‹ntà moi, suntÏm˙ ka» kefalai∏dei graf¨ perilab∏n […] t®c eŒkair–ac t¿n grafomËnwn stoqazÏmenoc […]. So‹ d‡ boulhjËntoc d–an suntàxasja– me per» Joukud–dou grafòn âpanta perieilhfuÿan tÄ deÏmena lÏgwn, ÇnabalÏmenoc tòn per» DhmosjËnouc pragmate–an õn e⁄qon ‚n qers–n, ÕpesqÏmhn te poi†sein, ±c pro˘ro‹, ka» telËsac tòn ÕpÏsqesin Çpod–dwmi. In the treatise On Imitation which I published earlier, Quintus Aelius Tubero, I discussed those poets and prose authors whom I considered to be outstanding. I indicated briefly the good qualities of content and style contributed by each, and where his failings caused him to fall furthest below his own standards […]. I did this in order that those who intend to become good writers and speakers should have sound and approved standards by which to carry out their individual exercises […]. When I came to deal with the historians, I gave my opinion of Thucydides, but expressed it in a brief and summary manner […] because I was concerned with presenting my material on a scale appropriate to the work in 139 I am adopting this expression from Foucault (1969) 62. 140 Cf. ibid. 62–70, esp. 62–63. 141 Cf. Amm.II , 1.1–2; Pomp. 2.1; 3.1; Thuc. 1.4; Din. 11.4; Lys. 34.1; see Bonner (1939) 25–38 for further references; cf. above, p. 27. 142 Due to its length the sentence is an anacoluthon and lacks a main verb.


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hand […]. But when you expressed the desire that I should write a separate essay on Thucydides, including everything that required comment, I promised to set aside the work on Demosthenes that I had in hand, and do as you preferred. Here is the essay, in fulfilment of my promise.

This passage not only demonstrates that Dionysius conceived of his treatises as elements of a network of both works already written and works yet-tobe written and that he expects his recipients to do likewise. It also points to another constituent of Dionysius’ Classicism: his essays are inextricably bound up with a lively discussion within a community of intellectuals. As in the First Letter to Ammaeus, Dionysius presents his essays as both the product of and the driving force behind Classicist discursive practice. His essays regulate the discursive activity within the community by providing guidelines of how to deal with the classical texts. 143 And the exercises and discussions which they provoke might, as with Tubero, result in requests for further treatises. Dionysius’ essays document and represent the existence and activity of a community of literati from which they are sprung and to which they are directed. Constituting an archive of the knowledge that defines ‘those who make a serious study of politiko» lÏgoi,’ they provide this community with a discursive history. This aspect of Dionysius’ Classicist ideology will be discussed in the following section of this chapter.

1.2.4 Criticism as Constituent of Communities of Intellectuals Dionysius presents himself and the Peripatetic as representatives of communities of scholars. It is striking that throughout the letter the Peripatetic remains anonymous – in stark contrast to Dionysius and Ammaeus. Therefore, an attempt has been made to identify the Peripatetic with Andronicus of Rhodes.144 But the fact that the Peripatetic remains anonymous serves a purpose. It signals to the reader that Dionysius’ adversary is less important as an individual scholar than as the representative of the Peripatetic school of thought. As Dionysius says at Amm.I , 1.1, the motivation for the Peripatetic’s attempt to make Classical rhetoric depend on Aristotle is the desire ‘to show all respect to Aristotle, the founder of his school’ (pànta qar–zesjai boulÏmenoc >AristotËlei tƒ kt–santi ta‘thn tòn filosof–an). 143 Cf. above, p. 27. 144 Wooten (1994) 121–123.

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The underlying purpose of Dionysius’ letter itself, to convince (par§noun, Amm.I , 1.2) Ammaeus to side with him against the Peripatetic, reveals that Dionysius too conceives of himself as the representative of a community: subscribing to or denying a particular opinion on the Classical texts is not a neutral task but implies associating oneself with one elite critic and, necessarily, distinguishing oneself from others. The group Dionysius claims to be representing is named explicitly at Amm.I , 2.3: the letter against the Peripatetic is written ‘for the gratification of all those who make a serious study of politiko» lÏgoi’ (t®c Åpàntwn t¿n per» toÃc politikoÃc lÏgouc ‚spoudakÏtwn qàritoc). 145 This passage suggests that the term ‘o… per» toÃc politikoÃc lÏgouc ‚spoudakÏtec,’ and similar expressions which pervade Dionysius’ works,146 does not refer to ‘those who make a serious study of civil oratory’ in general, as Usher translates it. Rather, the ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi’ are Dionysius’ ideal readers, i.e., those readers who are defined, and define themselves, by adopting Dionysius’ conception of Classical rhetoric (politiko» lÏgoi) and by subscribing to his critical methods.147 Given this specific meaning of politiko» lÏgoi in Dionysius’ writings, it is not adequately rendered with the expression ‘civil oratory.’ In most quotations I have therefore decided to leave the term untranslated; a possible, albeit not entirely satisfying, alternative rendering of expressions such as ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi,’ of which I shall make occasional use, is ‘Classicists.’ 148 The opening paragraph of On Thucydides (Thuc. 1.1–4) provides further evidence that Dionysius conceives of the ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi’ as a distinct community that is defined by the particular competence provided in his writings: 149 145 Usher’s transl. modified. 146 o… Çsko‹ntec tòn politikòn filosof–an/toÃc politikoÃc lÏgouc: Orat. Vett. 4.2, Comp. 1.3, Pomp. 6.5; o… filÏlogoi: Thuc. 2.4, 25.2; also expressions like eŒpa–deutoi, Comp. 22.35, Dem. 46.3, or e dÏtec, Dem. 14.2, 23.3, Comp. 16.18, 22.35, belong in this category; cf. further Dem. 32.1, 35.2 (list not meant to be exhaustive); cf. Hidber (1996) on 4.2 (p. 130) and see the discussion of knowledge as constitutive of the Classicist community in ch. 4 below. 147 For a more detailed discussion of the implications of the notion politiko» lÏgoi see ch. 2.1, below, where I will demonstrate that the expression is a technical term for a conception of language and identity which Dionysius adopts from Isocrates. 148 This translation, too, is problematic, because it imposes our view on Dionysius’ and his readers’ activity; to us, they are classicizing, but, as the next chapter will show, they conceived of themselves as being Classical. Cf. my remarks in n. 11 above. 149 Cf. the discussion of this passage under a different aspect above, pp. 46–47.


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>En toÿc proekdojeÿsi per» t®c mim†sewc Õpomnhmatismoÿc ‚pelhluj∞c oœc Õpelàmbanon ‚pifanestàtouc e⁄nai poihtàc te ka» suggrafeÿc, ¬ KÏinte A“lie ToubËrwn, ka» dedhlwk∞c ‚n Êl–goic t–nac Èkastoc aŒt¿n e sfËretai pragmatikàc te ka» lektikÄc Çretàc, ka» p¨ màlista qe–rwn ·auto‹ g–netai katÄ tÄc Çpotuq–ac […], —na toÿc proairoumËnoic gràfein te ka» lËgein efi kalo» ka» dedokimasmËnoi kanÏnec ¬sin, ‚f+¡n poi†sontai tÄc katÄ mËroc gumnas–ac mò pànta mimo‘menoi tÄ par+‚ke–noic ke–mena toÿc Çndràsin, ÇllÄ tÄc m‡n ÇretÄc aŒt¿n lambànontec, tÄc d‡ Çpotuq–ac fulattÏmenoi […]. In the treatise On Imitation which I published earlier, Quintus Aelius Tubero, I discussed those poets and prose authors whom I considered to be outstanding. I indicated briefly the good qualities of content and style contributed by each, and where his failings caused him to fall furthest below his own standards […]. I did this in order that those who intend to become good writers and speakers should have sound and approved standards by which to carry out their individual exercises, not imitating all the qualities of these authors, but adopting their good qualities and guarding against their failings.

The summary of On Imitation recalls Dionysius’ Classicist programme in Orat. Vett. 4.2. 150 His analyses of the Classical texts, of their style and their contents, and his judgment on their quality are the ‘sound and approved standards’ for his readers. Dionysius envisages his readers as a group of recipients who all share his approach to and aesthetic judgment on the Classical texts and who implement it in daily exercises along the standard set up in his writings. 151 It is Dionysius who defines which features of the Classical texts are worth imitating and which are not. Thus he creates a specific idea of what is ‘Classical’ to which he expects his readers to subscribe 150 Cf. above, p. 43. 151 Cf. Comp. 20.23, where Dionysius describes his treatise as incomplete in so far as his explanations need to be complemented (prosupoj†somai) by daily exercises with Rufus: Ìsa d‡ oŒq oŸà te ™n, ‚làttw te Ónta to‘twn ka» ÇmudrÏtera ka» diÄ pl®joc dusper–lhpta miî graf¨, ta‹t+‚n taÿc kaj+ômËran gumnas–aic prosupoj†soma– soi, ka» poll¿n ka» Çgaj¿n poiht¿n te ka» suggrafËwn ka» ˚htÏrwn martur–aic qr†somai (‘But there are others [elements of an attractive and beautiful style], less important and more obscure than these, which I could not mention because their numbers made them difficult to include in a single treatise; and these I shall submit to you in our daily exercises, and shall support my case with evidence from many good poets, historians and orators’). In so doing, Dionysius defines what at first sight seems to be an autonomous work as firmly embedded in the larger discursive practice of the community of o… Çsko‹ntec toÃc politikoÃc lÏgouc (Comp. 1.3); see below, ch. 5.1.

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and which they are supposed to implement in their writings; only thus will they become not only competent critics, but also competent writers and speakers whose excellence is due to the (itself Classical) combination of a sound theoretical knowledge and practical exercise. The common pursuit of Dionysius’ conception of the Classical distinguishes the ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi.’ All those who adopt a conception of the Classical other than Dionysius’ are excluded from the community of Classicists. 152 The frequent use of the first and second person and of the vocative in Amm.I , 2.1–2 substantiates Dionysius’ claim to be acting on behalf of a community of literati. At Amm.I , 2.1, for example, Dionysius addresses Ammaeus directly and praises him:

OŒk ‚laq–sthn dË moi sÃ parËsqou ˚opòn e c t‰ mò parËrgwc ‚xetàsai tòn Çl†jeian, parakal¿n faneroÃc poi®sai toÃc lÏgouc oŸc ‚maut‰n pËpeika DhmosjËnouc Çkmàzontoc ¢dh ka» toÃc ‚pifanestàtouc e rhkÏtoc Çg¿nac tÏte Õp‰ >AristotËlouc tÄc ˚htorikÄc gegràfjai tËqnac. The strongest of my motives for making a systematic investigation of the truth was supplied by yourself, urging me to publish the arguments with which I have satisfied myself that it was not until Demosthenes had already reached his prime and had delivered his most celebrated Orations that the Rhetoric was written by Aristotle.

‘And again,’ Dionysius goes on immediately afterwards, ‘you seem right to urge me not to rest my case upon mere signs or probabilities or pieces of evidence extraneous to it, […] but rather to call as my witness Aristotle himself […]’ (‚dÏkeic tË moi ka» to‹to Êrj¿c paraineÿn, mò shme–oic mhd‡ e kÏsi mhd+Çllotr–aic t‰ prêgma pist∏sasjai martur–aic […], Çll+aŒt‰n >AristotËlh parasqËsjai […], 2.2). Dionysius’ essay is thus presented as the result of a discussion between two intellectuals who share the same knowledge about Classical texts and who agree on the method with which this knowledge has to be acquired. This agreement unites Dionysius and Ammaeus and sets them in opposition to the Peripatetic and his point of view. As the consequence of this agreement, the letter itself testifies to the community of literati to which it owes its existence. Within this community, Dionysius claims a leading role for himself. He is keen to point out that he had already decided on the 152 The connection between knowledge and aesthetics and their importance as criteria of distinction will be discussed in detail in ch. 4 below.


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procedure of how to refute the Peripatetic before Ammaeus suggested it (toÃc lÏgouc oŸc ‚maut‰n pËpeika […]) and that Ammaeus’ suggestions needed to be approved by him before they could be applied (‚dÏkeic tË moi […] Êrj¿c paraineÿn). Moreover, it is Dionysius who is writing the letter, and not Ammaeus. Developing his own approach in opposition to the Peripatetic’s, Dionysius creates an image of ‘the Classicist critic’ and of his position in contemporary critical discourse to which he invites his reader to subscribe. This procedure might be called identity through distinction: on the one hand, Dionysius envisages his readers (and invites them to see themselves) as a community like the Peripatetics, which is defined by a distinct approach to the Classical texts and which represents a long tradition. In order to do so, he adopts and adapts crucial elements of the strategies of self-definition and self-distinction of the philosophical schools such as the claim to be continuing an intellectual tradition which owes its present accomplished state to Demosthenes as its quasi-founding father (chapter 1.2.2); the assertion that this attitude towards this tradition is shared by others and that this shared attitude is a bond strong enough to define himself and them as a distinct community (chapter 1.2.4); 153 and the emphasis on the role of his works as constituents of a written discursive tradition (chapter 1.2.3). On the other hand, this entails that he and his Classicist community need to distinguish themselves from the philosophical communities, and the Peripatetics in particular, and this distinction is acted out in the quarrel over the relationship between Aristotle and Demosthenes. The tradition of Classical rhetoric is represented by the ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi’ alone and therefore Classical rhetoric is their domain. As seen above, the agonistic nature of criticism entails that one community can establish its discourse only at the expense of other communities, as the Peripatetics 153 Based on Seneca the Elder, Luzzatto (1988) 238 has argued that there were several schools of ‘Asianist’ declamations, each led by one famous orator, cf. below, p. 113 n. 326. If she is right (but see Wooten [1975] 94), these ‘Asianist’ communities would provide an interesting parallel in the field of rhetorical education to Dionysius’ attempt to define himself and his (ideal) recipients as a community of Classicists, especially because the ‘Asianists’ served Dionysius as the paradigmatic out-group in opposition to which he conceived his ideal of ‘Classical’ language. It is important to note, though, that because of this importance of ‘Asianists’ as the antagonists of ‘Classicists,’ the image of ‘Asianism’ which Dionysius presents in his writings differs fundamentally from the historical reality of ‘Asianist’ style and ‘Asianist’ schools of declamation, see the discussion in ch.s 2.3.1, 2.3.2, and 2.3.4 below, esp. pp. 113–116 with nn. 326, 328.

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had established their claim for superiority in intellectual discourse at the expense of the Academics (chapter 1.2.1). Dionysius now claims the same right for himself and his community whose authority he seeks to establish at the expense of the Peripatetics. As the visible ‘monuments’ of the power and influence of Dionysius’ critical method, Dionysius’ writings themselves demonstrate that he is the worthy heir to and representative of the tradition of Classical rhetoric and that his Classicist criticism can easily compete with or even overpower such long-established and renowned schools of thought as the Peripatetics. The First Letter to Ammaeus thus turns out to be a manifesto which demonstrates that the Classicist community is on a par with and claims the same authority as such renowned schools as the Peripatetics and that the ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi’ are prepared to challenge the Peripatetics’ position as the ‘leaders in the study of rhetoric.’ 154

1.3 Conclusions In the first chapter of this study I have argued that Dionysius’ Classicist criticism can fruitfully be approached as a cultural rather than linguistic phenomenon. So far discussions of Dionysius have focused on the grammatical and rhetorical traditions which Dionysius combines in his discussions of and judgments on the classical authors, and on the methods by which he combines them to create his own, unique critical approach. Such a linguistic approach to Dionysius, however, leaves a question unanswered which is essential to our understanding of Dionysius’ Classicism: why did it make sense to Greek and Roman intellectuals in Augustan Rome to attempt to speak and write like Lysias, Isocrates, or Demosthenes? What was their outlook on the world, their Weltanschauung, that made this intellectual pursuit seem worthwhile to them? The relevance of such an approach to Dionysius’ critical and historical writings, I have argued, extends beyond the confines of Dionysian scholarship. It challenges us to view Classicist criticism as a cultural strategy to cope with and constructively adapt crucial elements of Dionysius’ cultural and political environment rather than as a retrograde ‘movement’ which sacrifices the present to the preposterous attempt to resuscitate a past buried centuries ago. This, in turn, invites us to reconsider our conception of 154 For a detailed analysis of Dionysius’ argument strategy in the letter and of the image of Dionysius and his critical method which results from it see ch. 5.2.1.

1.3 Conclusions

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‘Augustan’ culture itself: so far, definitions of ‘Augustan’ have generally been based on the notion of a (potentially) direct and mutual interchange between Augustan power and the various spheres of society. Dionysius’ Classicism suggests a different, more flexible conception of ‘Augustan’ culture: although we can safely exclude any direct influence between Dionysius and Augustus’ power, his Classicist ideology, as will become apparent in the next chapters, is deeply informed by Augustus and the image of himself and his reign which the princeps disseminated. Thus Dionysius’ Classicism helps us to understand how the principate was implemented in the intellectual culture in Rome in the first century BCE and how it shaped contemporary culture beyond the boundaries of political power. Social Identity Theory provides a suitable theoretical framework to approach Dionysius’ Classicism as a cultural phenomenon. It allows us to conceive of Dionysius’ ‘literary circle’ as a social sub-group which provides its members with an ideology in Paul Ricœur’s sense, i. e., with a set of discursive practices through which a ‘group [gets] an all-encompassing comprehensive view not only of itself, but of history and, finally, of the whole world.’ 155 Dionysius’ writings allow us insight into this discursive practice and the conception of identity that united Dionysius and the members of the ‘literary circle’ or, as Dionysius prefers to call them, the ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi.’ A discussion of the introductory chapters to Dionysius’ First Letter to Ammaeus has shown that Dionysius himself conceived of himself and his ideal recipients as a community of intellectuals and presents himself as the head of this community. In this process Dionysius adopts and adapts the strategies of identity and distinction of the traditional philosophical schools of thought, especially the Peripatetics. Like the communities of philosophers Dionysius lays claim to a long scholarly tradition, the tradition of Classical rhetoric itself. The distinctive feature of this Classical tradition is the combination of oratorical theory and practice which also distinguishes Dionysius’ critical method. Dionysius thus presents his method as the only legitimate continuation of the tradition of Classical rhetoric and himself as its only legitimate representative. His writings represent the discursive tradition of the community of Classicists. As written and published documents they demonstrate the continuity of the tradition of Classical rhetorical practice-cum-theory, but they also underline Dionysius’ claim to be the leader of a school of thought 155 Ricœur (1978) 46.

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the writings of whom have the same canonical status to his followers as the works of Epicurus, Zeno, Plato, or Aristotle have to theirs. At the same time, as both the driving force behind and the product of the discussions among the members of the Classicist community, they represent the existence of this community itself and its claim to be on a par with or even superior to the traditional philosophical schools of thought. This claim is further substantiated by the very act of turning the strategies of self-definition of Dionysius’ competitors, the philosophical schools, into constituents of the discourse of Classicist criticism: the similarities between the philosophical and the Classicist discourse are a demonstrative assertion that Classicist criticism has the same right to authority in Augustan intellectual culture as the communities of philosophers, while at the same time underlining the differences between philosophy and criticism. It will be the aim of the subsequent chapters to explore further the outlook on the world and conception of self and other that are bound up with defining oneself as a ‘practitioner of politiko» lÏgoi.’ The first major part of this study, consisting of chapters 2 and 3, will explore the interpretation of Classical past, Augustan present, and Roman history and their interrelation that is conveyed by Dionysius’ Classicist ideology. It will examine the way in which language becomes the basis of the self-definition of Dionysius and his ideal addressees as Greek intellectuals working and living in Augustan Rome: which role did they ascribe to their Greek literary, cultural, and political heritage in the Roman present? How did they define their own position in relation to this heritage? What was their view of their Roman contemporaries and their history? How did they define their own role as intellectuals between Greek education and Roman power? The focus of Classicism, I will show in chapter 2, is on the present rather than the past. Dionysius offers his recipients an interpretation of history which allows them to integrate the Classical Greek cultural and political heritage and the spread of Roman power under Augustus. Rather than an escapist attempt to turn back time to the Golden Age, Dionysius’ Classicism is an attempt to overcome the temporal and spatial gap separating Classical past and Augustan present; Dionysius, one might say, invites his recipients to read Augustan power through the lenses of Classical Greek language and literature. The preceding discussion has shown that the term politiko» lÏgoi plays a key role in Dionysius’ Classicism. After a brief consideration of the role of time in Dionysius’ Classicism in chapter 2.1, my investigation of the

1.3 Conclusions

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Classicist conception of identity will begin with a discussion of the meaning and implications of the notion politiko» lÏgoi. This will lend further support to the assertion that politiko» lÏgoi does not simply refer to the rather vague notion of ‘civil oratory,’ as it is often translated; rather, the term refers to a specifically Isocratean conception of language and civic identity. Drawing on an analysis of Dionysius’ On Isocrates, chapter 2.2.1 will show that Dionysius conceived of language as the carrier of a set of moral and political values which were acquired and implemented through language; to Dionysius, practising Classical language meant implementing Classical identity in the present. A discussion of On Mimesis and On Dinarchus in chapter 2.2.2 will then illustrate Dionysius’ conception of mimesis, the process through which Classical identity is acquired and enacted through language. Since Classicists aimed to implement Classical Greek identity in the Roman present and to achieve continuity between Classical Athens and Augustan Rome, chapter 2.3 will focus on how Dionysius interprets the role of the Romans and their relation to the Classical Greek past in order to accommodate them in his Classicist world view. Chapter 2 being centred on the conception of the present inherent in Dionysius’ Classicist ideology, chapter 3 will turn to Dionysius’ image of both the Classical Greek and the Roman past. Recently, there has been a controversial discussion about the construction of the past through historical texts, the relation between historytelling and past realities, and narration as a means of historical understanding. Our view on and assessment of Dionysius’ construction of the past can benefit from the results of this controversy. Chapter 3.1 will offer a brief overview of the major tenets of this debate and thus provide the background against which Dionysius’ image of the past will be discussed in the subsequent sections of chapter 3. Drawing on Dionysius’ discussion of the principles of good historiography and his criticism of the portrayal of the Athenians in Thucydides’ History in the Letter to Pompeius and On Thucydides, chapter 3.2 will explore Dionysius’ vision of the Classical past. Dionysius uses criticism to substitute Thucydides’ ‘inappropriate’ image of the Athenians with an image that he regards as ‘appropriate.’ This offers us novel insights into how Dionysius imagined the Classical Athenians as historical actors and furthers our understanding of the foundations on which Dionysius’ image of the Classical past was based. Chapter 3.3 will then discuss Dionysius’ historical work, the Antiquitates Romanae, and its relation to his Classicism. The Romans, as chapter 2.3 will have demonstrated, are an integral part of Dionysius’ ideology, which is

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based to a large extent on the idea that Augustan Rome is the continuation of Classical Athens. This was not a commonly accepted idea among either Greeks or Romans and therefore required justification. Chapter 3.3 will demonstrate how the Antiquitates substantiates the interpretation of the Roman present on which Dionysius’ Classicism is based, by proving that the Romans had been Greek, both ethnically and ethically, from the very beginnings of their history. A main concern of Dionysius’ Classicism is the definition of the relationship between Romans and Greeks. It is a concern which Dionysius shares with major Roman writers, such as Cicero and Virgil, who deal with the same questions but propose answers which are entirely different from Dionysius’. The essential elements of Dionysius’ view of the relationship between Greeks and Romans will emerge clearly only when read against alternative interpretations of Dionysius’ Latin contemporaries. There is no direct evidence that Dionysius ever read the works of either Virgil or Cicero, and it is difficult to assess his competence in Latin. The fact that his acquaintance (friend?) Caecilius of Caleacte wrote a comparison (s‘gkrisic) of Demosthenes and Cicero makes it plausible that Dionysius was familiar with at least Cicero’s writings, but we cannot be sure. Therefore, when comparing Dionysius’ approach with that of Latin authors, I do not presuppose that Dionysius is deliberately reacting to their views or that he had first-hand knowledge of their works. Rather, these comparisons help set Dionysius’ point of view in context and, thus, highlight aspects of his Classicism which have passed unnoticed so far or shed new light on already well-known features of his works. The first part of this study explores the world view implied in the discursive practice, the literary and rhetorical criticism of the Classical texts, which constitutes the literary circle as a community. The second part, chapters 4 and 5, will then turn to this discursive practice itself. While chapters 2 and 3 discuss the self-definition of Dionysius and his addressees as Greek intellectuals in Augustan Rome, chapters 4 and 5 investigate their self-image as literary critics and the discourse of authority and superiority associated with it: how did Dionysius and his addressees imagine their relation to the Classical authors? How did this influence their image of themselves and their critical method vis-à-vis scholarly tradition and, in particular, with regard to alternative approaches to the Classical texts? How is this image of self and others implemented in Dionysius’ texts? How do they contribute to constituting the community of ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi’ by means of strategies of integration and exclusion?

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Chapter 4 will therefore return to the notion of criticism as a struggle for authority and explore further the role of literary criticism as a criterion of distinction in Dionysius’ writings. Reading the Classical texts plays a crucial role in the formation of a community of Classicists because reading is the primary means to connect with the past. Chapter 4.1 will assess the general importance of reading in Dionysius’ Classicism. Chapter 4.2 will then demonstrate that Dionysius promises to provide his readers with a reading technique that enables them to experience the Classical texts authentically, i. e., as the Classical authors intended them to be experienced by their audiences. Such an ‘authentic reading’ requires Classical competencies in literary composition: writing Classical texts was based on knowledge of a complex set of rules of literary composition which enabled the Classical authors to determine the emotional effects of their texts upon the recipients. Therefore readers in the first century BCE need to acquire the same competence in literary composition as the Classical authors in order to be able to reconstruct what effects their texts were intended to have. Classicist reading is a process of analysis and reconstruction which presupposes Classical knowledge. This knowledge can be obtained from Dionysius’ On Literary Composition which claims to provide the original, Classical rules of composition and a Classical course of education. Since ‘authentic reading’ requires a long and demanding training in the Classical art of composition, defining oneself as a ‘practitioner of politiko» lÏgoi’ goes hand-in-hand with an awareness of elitism. Chapter 4.3 demonstrates that Dionysius constantly reminds his readers that the specific knowledge, which they can acquire exclusively from his works, distinguishes them as elite readers. Reading and learning from Dionysius’ essays, they become members of an exclusive circle of literati comparable only to the Orphic mysteries or the Classical elite itself. This feeling of communion, and its counter-part, exclusion, is conveyed not only through explicit statements and comparisons of the Classicist readers with other elite communities but is also deeply ingrained in the very design of Dionysius’ writings. Chapter 5 will argue that the very act of reading Dionysius’ texts creates a feeling of being part of an exclusive circle of Classicists – or of being excluded from it. The peculiar reading situation created by the design of Dionysius’ works implements a feeling of elitism: his essays perform criticism as an ‘in-group’/‘out-group’ reading. Chapter 5.1 will be centred on what I suggest to call the ‘dialogic’ or ‘interactive’ structure of Dionysius’ criticism. In Dionysius’ writings criticism is enacted as a virtual dialogue between Dionysius, his addressee,

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(virtual) adversaries, who are represented by a fictus interlocutor, and the Classical authors themselves, who participate in the discussion through extensive verbatim quotations. Through various formal devices, such as direct questions, addresses to the reader, and use of the first person plural, Dionysius invites the recipient to participate actively in the process of criticism and to subscribe to his interpretation of the texts and his judgment on them; thus his texts aim to establish a virtual communis opinio between himself and his recipients. By making the creation of a feeling of communion (or exclusion) an integral part of criticism itself, Dionysius’ texts transcend the historical readership to which they were originally addressed. In accordance with Dionysius’ aim to spread Classical Greek identity over the whole world, they are designed to include all readers, no matter where or when, into an ‘imagined community’ of ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi.’ This process of integration is inseparable from the self-image of Dionysius and his addressees as privileged representatives of the Classical literary tradition itself and is bound up with a process of exclusion. Dionysius frequently couches his discussions of the Classical texts in terms of virtual controversies with adversaries, who are often identified with representatives of renowned schools of thought such as the Stoics, the Peripatetics, and the Platonists. In these virtual arguments Dionysius unmasks the incompetence of his opponents and demonstrates the superiority of his particular approach. This reminds the readers of the force of criticism as a criterion of distinction. Dionysius’ texts urge the readers to make a choice: they can accept Dionysius’ point of view and consider themselves members of the Classicist community or they can reject it and consider themselves excluded from Classicist criticism and, with it, from continuing the Classical tradition. Practising Classicist criticism can thus not be abstracted from asserting the superiority of one’s own method over that of other communities. Chapter 5.2 will discuss two examples of such virtual discussions: first, Dionysius’ controversy with the Peripatetic, which he stages as a trial in which Aristotle himself supports Dionysius’ position as his ‘witness’ through verbatim quotations (chapter 5.2.1); second, Dionysius’ controversy with the ‘Platonists,’ who claim that Plato, rather than Demosthenes, should be the only model for any kind of literary expression. Dionysius refutes this claim by developing two ‘styles of criticism’: his own, a simple, ‘true-to-nature’ (Çlhj†c) kind of criticism – which corresponds to the plain and ‘true-to-nature’ style of Lysianic rhetoric and, like the latter, is the direct representative of Athenian democracy – and a ‘dithyrambic’ style of the Platonists which distorts reality just as Plato’s ‘dithyrambic’ style, which he

1.3 Conclusions

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employs in political passages of his works such as the Funeral Oration in the Menexenus, distorts the image of Classical Athens and thus risks debasing its dignity and splendour (chapter 5.2.2).

2. Reviving the Past: Language and Identity in Dionysius’ Classicism 2.1 Introduction: Language and Time in Dionysius’ Classicism Being a Classicist is bound up with a distinct interpretation of past and present. At the very beginning of his ‘Classicist Manifesto,’156 Dionysius expounds the Classicist model of history which provides the framework for his and his readers’ activity and gives it a general historical dimension (Orat. Vett. 1.1–2; 3.1):

Pollòn qàrin ™n e dËnai tƒ kaj+ômêc qrÏn˙ d–kaion, ¬ kràtiste >Ammaÿe, ka» ällwn mËn tinwn ‚pithdeumàtwn Èneka n‹n kàllion ÇskhmËnwn £ prÏteron, oŒq °kista d‡ t®c per» toÃc politikoÃc lÏgouc ‚pimele–ac oŒ mikrÄn ‚p–dosin pepoihmËnhc ‚p» tÄ kre–ttw. >En gÄr dò toÿc pr‰ ôm¿n qrÏnoic ô m‡n Çrqa–a ka» filÏsofoc ˚htorikò prophlakizomËnh ka» deinÄc ’breic ÕpomËnousa katel‘eto, ÇrxamËnh m‡n Çp‰ t®c >Alexàndrou to‹ MakedÏnoc teleut®c ‚kpneÿn ka» mara–nesjai […]. A t–a d+o⁄mai ka» Çrqò t®c tosa‘thc metabol®c ô pàntwn krato‹sa Isokràtouc lÏgwn] oŒ lËgein mÏnon Çpergàsait+ãn toÃc prosËqontac aŒtƒ t‰n no‹n, ÇllÄ ka» tÄ ¢jh spouda–ouc, o“k˙ te ka» pÏlei ka» Ìl˘ t¨ <Ellàdi qrhs–mouc. Kràtista gÄr dò paide‘mata pr‰c Çretòn ‚n toÿc >Isokràtouc Ístin eÕreÿn lÏgoic; ka» ÍgwgË fhmi qr®nai toÃc mËllontac oŒq» mËroc ti t®c politik®c dunàmewc Çll+Ìlhn aŒtòn kt†sesjai to‹ton Íqein t‰n ˚†tora diÄ qeirÏc; ka» e“ tic ‚pithde‘ei tòn Çlhjinòn filosof–an, mò t‰ jewrhtik‰n aŒt®c mÏnon Çgap¿n ÇllÄ ka» pragmatikÏn, m†d+Çf+¡n aŒt‰c älupon Èxei b–on proairo‘menoc, Çll+‚x ¡n polloÃc ≤fel†sei, parakeleusa–mhn ãn aŒtƒ tòn ‚ke–nou to‹ ˚†toroc mimeÿsjai proa–resin. The influence of these [Isocrates’ speeches] would make anyone who applied himself to his works not only good orators, but men of sterling character, of positive service to their families, to their state and to Greece at large. The best possible lessons in virtue are to be found in the discourses of Isocrates: I therefore affirm that the man who intends to acquire ability in the whole field of politics, not merely a part of that science, should make Isocrates his constant companion. And anyone who is interested in true philosophy, that is, who does not confine his studies to the speculative branches of philosophy but enjoys studying its practical branches as well, and is seeking a career by which he will benefit many

198 In a similar vein, Dionysius stresses that Isocrates’ advice to Philippus of Macedon is valuable to anyone in a ruling position, see Isoc. 6.1: ‘What man in high office and power would not delight [in Isocrates’ letter to Philip of Macedon]’ (t–c d+oŒk ãn Çgap†seie mËgejoc Íqwn Çnòr ka» dunàme∏c tinoc ôgo‘menoc […]); ibid. 6.3: ‘any potentate reading this letter’ (toÃc Çnagign∏skontac ta‹ta dunàstac). Since the Greek origins of Isocrates’ addressee were at least debatable, this points again to the universal applicability of Isocrates’ moral and political precepts. Furthermore, Dionysius emphasizes that Isocrates’ advice to Archidamus is directed not only to the Lacedaemonians but ‘to all Greeks and all men’ (ka» toÿc älloic ìEllhsi ka» pêsin Çnjr∏poic, Isoc. 9.10). Finally, the general appeal of the rhetorical questions (t–c oŒ […]; see below) by means of which Dionysius summarizes the main themes of Isocrates’ major speeches implies that Isocrates’ works exert their moral influence not only on his original addressees but on everyone, including Dionysius and his readers in the first century BCE.

2.2 FilÏsofoc Arq–damoc […];). 211 The attempt to standardize the image of the Classical Athenian past and his readers’ reception of the Classical works plays a key role in the constitution of a Classicist collective identity in Dionysius’ works (see ch. 4.2 below). 212 For an overview of the Çreta– of the ancestors in Isocrates see Jost (1936) 138–139. The virtues listed here above are commonly ascribed to the ancestors in classical rhetoric and are familiar especially from the Attic Funeral Oration, see, e.g., Dem. 60.4 (gegen®sjai kal¿c ka» pepaide‹sjai swfrÏnwc ka» bebiwkËnai filot–mwc), 7 (dikaios‘nh), 23 (‚leujer–a); Lys. 2.7–10, 17–19, 22, 24, 41; Plt. Mx. 237c7, d7. 213 On Isocrates’ conception of unity among the Greeks under (preferably) Athenian leadership cf. Perlman (1976) 25–29; Too (1995) 147; further Perlman (1957), (1967), and (1969); on ÂmÏnoia and its importance for Greek political thought see, e.g., de Romilly (1972); Sheppard (1984); West (1977); Funke (1980); Spawforth (1994).

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2. Reviving the Past

ical’ or ‘civil oratory.’ Such a rendering is not entirely wrong. As generic names these expressions do refer to Classical political oratory as opposed to, for example, Homeric poetry or Plato’s dialogues. 214 The translation ‘political’ or ‘civil oratory’ is correct, insofar as it grasps that in Dionysius’ view he and his readers, as the ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi,’ continued specifically the tradition of Classical political oratory, and not that of Homeric verse or Platonic dialogue. But in a larger sense for Dionysius, as for Isocrates, politiko» lÏgoi are the carriers of a conception of Classical identity. Classical language is seen as encapsulating the essence of the Classical past. 215 By practising Classical language, the speaker revives the past itself and thus glosses over the gap which separates it from his own times: Classicism is a ‘politically and culturally charged act of repetition.’ 216 Speaking or writing as Isocrates or any Classical author would have spoken or written217 implies subscribing to certain Classical moral and political values. They are the standard of Classicist behaviour (proa–resic), and the texts (lÏgoi) are the most important means of expressing this Classical way of life.

214 At Dem. 23.4 Dionysius distinguishes between the genres of ‘ethical philosophy,’ represented by the Socratic tradition, and ‘political oratory,’ the most outstanding representative of which is Demosthenes. See my discussion below, ch. 5.2.2, esp. pp. 325–332. 215 Such a conception of language as the carrier of a conception of the past is by no means unique to Dionysius but has been studied by socio-linguists in various cultures and civilizations: ‘[t]he context and patterns of use tend to become understood as features of the language. […] Language users tend to view these attributes not as social or cultural effects but as essential characteristics of their language as against another language. A consequence of language characterization is the habit of identifying patterns of life, allegiances, and identities with the language itself’ (Bloomer [2005a] 2); ibid. 6. 216 Hunter (2005) 196, commenting on the use of Greek local glosses in Hellenistic inscriptions. Their function appears to have been similar to my interpretation of the role of practising Classical language in Dionysius’ Classicism: at the court of the Ptolemies, the Doric dialect was regarded as the language of Argos and Macedonia and was thus ‘marked’ ‘as the preserver of genuine Greek tradition, in particular of the rightful claim of the Ptolemies to be heirs of Heracles and Alexander.’ At the Ptolemaic Court, use of the Doric or of Doricizing language was tantamount to a ‘linguistic mimesis of Greek heroic culture’ (ibid.). 217 The difference between written and oral texts is of secondary importance for our purposes, and ‘text’ is meant to cover both: for the same reasons, ‘speaker’ or ‘author’ are used here for the agent of both an oral or a written utterance alike. As Hidber (1996) 47 points out, in Dionysius’ times the ideal of efi lËgein referred to written, rather than spoken, prose.

2.2 FilÏsofoc Ajhna–wn), which is explicitly labelled as such by Dionysius at Din. 9.2 and 11.11.246 Dinarchus’ behaviour must be read against the ideal of a Classical way of life which Dionysius extrapolates from Isocrates’ writings. Dinarchus’ acts are in neat contradiction to the main tenets of Isocrates’ conception of Athenian civic identity. Dinarchus could hardly count as a man ‘of sterling character, of 245 The ms has Õfor∏menoc, which Aujac adopts, but ka» màlista requires a precision of örejismËnouc, and this can only be ÕforwmËnouc, which was proposed by Radermacher: the Athenian people were already angry with Dinarchus, but in particular they disliked his wealth. This construction of the sentence requires a comma after ÕforwmËnouc. 246 Din. 9.2: ‘during the latter’s [Anaxicrates’] year [307/6 BCE] the oligarchy which had been set up by Cassander was removed and those who were impeached went into exile, inlcuding Dinarchus’ (‚p» to‘tou [>Anaxikràtouc] ô katastajeÿsa Õp‰ Kassàndrou Êligarq–a katel‘jh, ka» o… e saggeljËntec Ífugon, ‚n oŸc ka» De–narqoc ™n); 11.11: ‘it is surely not likely that Dinarchus, a friend of those who had established the oligarchy, should collaborate with those who were trying to overthrow it […]’ (o÷koun e k‰c f–lon Ónta t‰n De–narqon t¿n Êligarq–an katasthsàntwn toÿc katal‘ein ‚piqeiro‹sin sunagwn–zesjai […], emphases mine).

2.2 FilÏsofoc As–a, as Greece’s geographical as well as cultural opposite. Space is thus ‘semanticized’:266 Classical and Asianist rhetoric represent the Western and the Eastern part of the oikumene, respectively. This sets the struggle between the two rhetorics into the framework of the opposition between the two parts of the oikumene and its archetypal manifestation, the Persian Wars. The ‘semanticization’ of space gains further support through terms of movement. Dionysius describes the expansion of Asianist rhetoric as an east-west movement which eventually reached Greece itself (ô […] Ík tinwn baràjrwn t®c >As–ac […] ÇfikomËnh, Orat. Vett. 1.7, cf. ibid. 1.4).

262 263 264 265

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loss of this position by creating a geographical centre of Classical rhetoric in the West in opposition to the geographical concentration of Asianism in the East; cf. Schmitz/ Wiater (forthcoming-a). Schmitt (1963). Cf. Münzer (1903) 1330. Radermacher (1914). Ibid. 30. Nothing justifies Radermacher’s inference that Dionysius has Hybreas specifically in mind when calling Asianist rhetoric a Karik‰n kakÏn (Orat. Vett. 1.7) or when complaining that Asianist rhetoric ‘not only came to enjoy greater wealth, luxury and splendour than the other, but actually made itself the key to civic honours and high office’ (oŒ mÏnon ‚n eŒpor–¯ ka» truf¨ ka» morf¨ ple–oni t®c ·tËrac di®gen, ÇllÄ ka» tÄc timÄc ka» tÄc prostas–ac t¿n pÏlewn […] e c ·autòn Çnhrt†sato, ibid. 1.4) (Radermacher [1914] 31; similarly, Rohde [1886] 175). It is also hard to see what qualifies the few lines of speeches quoted in Plutarch (Ant. 24) and Strabo (14.2.24, 695C, 17–660C, 14 Radt) as a ‘specimen of the Asianist style’ (ibid.). The term ‘semanticization’ of space refers to the process by which space is endowed with meaning. Clarke (1999) 37 describes it as space and time linked by ‘emplotment’ or narrative; see in general Tilley (1994), esp. 10–33, and the introductory chapters in Clarke (1999).

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This is now reversed by the Romans who set filÏsofoc ˚htorik† back to her former rights (Orat. Vett. 3.1):

A t–a d+o⁄mai ka» Çrqò t®c tosa‘thc metabol®c ‚gËneto ô pàntwn krato‹sa Asian¿n pÏlewn, aŸc di+Çmaj–an bradeÿà ‚stin ô kal¿n màjhsic). This implies an advance of filÏsofoc ˚htorik† from Rome towards the cradle of Asianism, Asia. 267 The notion of a spatial advance notwithstanding, Dionysius identifies the 267 Reducing Rome’s role to that of a simple model or exemplar for the other cities, as do Hidber (1996) 119 and Usher (1974) 10 n. 2, does not do justice to the strong political and spatial metaphors which characterize Dionysius’ text. The notion of an exemplar or ‘Vorbild’ implies that the other cities can choose whether to adopt filÏsofoc ˚htorik† or not, but this is clearly not what Dionysius has in mind. To him, re-installing filÏsofoc ˚htorik† is an act of exerting political power; thus Heldmann (1982) 128 n. 194 rightly explains the expression ‘she [Rome] forces every city to focus its entire attention upon her’ (pr‰c ·autòn Çnagkàzousa tÄc Ìlac pÏleic ÇpoblËpein, Usher’s transl. modified) as a ‘technical term for the domination of one state over others’ (‘terminus technicus für die Herrschaft eines Staates über andere Staaten’).

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spread of Roman power over the oikumene with the spread of Classical Greek culture. Dionysius’ Roman contemporaries are the representatives of politiko» lÏgoi and help the Greeks to re-establish the dominating position of Classical Greek values and rhetoric which they had had in Classical times. 268 Dionysius thus turns the limits of the Roman Empire into ‘symbolic boundaries.’ 269 Rather than political lines of demarcation of the Roman territory, they mark out the sphere of influence of Classicism. 270 What is beyond them is the ‘Other’ which, like the last remaining Asianist cities, must be thoroughly e-liminated. Modelling the struggle between Classical and Asianist rhetoric after the fight of the Greeks against the Persians in Classical times, Dionysius turns the Hellene-Barbarian antithesis into a pattern of historical interpretation. 271 He associates Greek superiority with the predominance of politiko» lÏgoi and Barbarian superiority with the predominance of Asianism. The style of a certain period is only the expression of the political and moral values which prevail in it. The alternating periods of Classical and Asianist rhetoric, on which the Classicist Three-period model is based, thus couch history into terms of the Greek fight against the Barbarians: in the Classical times, Greek morals and politics prevailed, until, after Alexander’s death, the Barbarians rushed in; in the present, the alliance between filÏsofoc ˚htorik† and power has been re-established. There is only one difference between the struggle against the Barbarians in Classical times and its renewal

268 Wallace-Hadrill (1989) 162 points out the geographical character of the ancient debate of classicism vs. Asianism: ‘I suspect we could get further if we shifted the focus of discussion away from “classicism,” and thought more about the moral values Augustus attaches to the West.’ Dionysius’ interest in space and his attempt to ‘semanticize’ Roman political space fits into the construction of an ‘imaginary geography’ that is characteristic of the intellectual culture and political discourse in Dionysius’ times, see Nicolet (1991); Clarke (1999). On the conception of oikumene in Greek and Roman literature in Augustan times and beyond see the volume edited by Aigner Foresti/Barzanò/Bearzot et al. (1998), esp. the contributions of Schepens, Martin (on ‘œcuménisme’ in Dionysius’ Antiquitates), and Cresci Marrone. 269 Cf. Luhmann’s (1971) 73 notion of ‘Sinngrenzen.’ 270 Similarly, Philo, Leg. ad Gaium 147, praises Caesar for ‘extending the boundaries of Hellenism’ (cited in Momigliano [1975] 8). Cf. Clarke (1999) 321, commenting on Dionysius’ use of Greek chronology in his Roman Antiquities: ‘The assimilation of Roman history to the Greek past, and particularly to the events of the Homeric epics, was a major preoccupation of the writers on early Rome […].’ 271 Dionysius’ model of history can thus be seen as yet another instance of ‘Orientalism,’ as explored in Edward Saïd’s influential study Orientalism (New York 1978).


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after Alexander’s death: the controversy between Classicists and Asianists is not a physical fight. It is a fight between two different models of identity and the concomitant moral and political values which are symbolized by two different styles of rhetoric; but this makes it no less a fight for political power, at least for Dionysius. The association of rhetoric and political power explains Dionysius’ much criticized preference of Alexander’s to Demosthenes’ death as the end of the Classical period: Alexander’s military campaigns in the fourth century were regarded as the continuation of the successful fight against the Persians from the fifth century and of the political superiority established by the Athenians after the Persian Wars. 272 In Dionysius’ eyes, Alexander’s empire represents the climax of the superiority of Greek politics and morality in Classical times. Dionysius’ characterisation of Asianism reflects the historical changes of the power structure after Alexander’s death and re-interprets them as the result of Barbarian influences. Alexander’s empire fell apart and was split up into the rival realms of the Diadochs. Now Greek power was distributed among several rulers, who used it not to fight the Barbarians but to fight each other. The idea of Greeks fighting each other and thus causing the loss of their superiority is incompatible with Dionysius’ image of the Greeks which is based on the binary opposition of ‘the Greek’ vs ‘the Barbarian Other.’ Therefore he suggested a different explanation for the demise of Greek political influence after Alexander: the usurpation, and corruption, of Greek power by Asianism. The same association of rhetoric and power also permitted Dionysius to define Augustus and the Romans’ relation to the Classical Greek past. Dionysius draws a parallel between Alexander and Augustus. Alexander’s death marks the end, and Augustus’ principate the beginning of a period of filÏsofoc ˚htorik†. The political and spatial dimension with which Dionysius endows the struggle between Classical rhetoric and Asianism strengthens this parallel: the alliance of the spread of Roman power and the expansion of Classical Greek culture over the o koumËnh evokes Alexander’s military campaigns against the Persians. The Asianist interlude, by contrast, appears as the reversal of Alexander’s successful campaigns: in the time between Alexander’s death and Augustus’ principate the struggle between Greeks and Barbarians broke out again and is now ended by Augustus and the Romans. The expansion of Roman power under Augustus is thus implicitly defined as the re-enactment of Alexander’s fight against the Per272 Cf., e.g., DS 17.4.9.

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sians: 273 Augustus and his principate are the successors to Alexander and his empire. Dionysius thus re-interprets the crucial event in contemporary Roman history, Augustus’ principate, as a turning point in the prolonged, Greek struggle against the Barbarians.

2.3.2 Dionysius’ Interpretation of the Roman Present in Context In order to appreciate fully the implications of Dionysius’ interpretation of the Augustan principate, we have to read it against alternative contemporary models of history and how these defined the relationship of Greeks and Romans. Such a comparison shows that it was not unusual to employ Alexander or the Hellene-Persian antithesis to define Roman power and its relationship with the Greek past; but it also reveals the distinctive feature of Dionysius’ interpretation: the role of the Barbarian Other which has usurped a position to which only the Greeks are entitled is usually attributed to the Romans. The following passage from Livy, for example, sums up, as Alonso-Núñez has argued, how the Greek intellectual opposition against Roman rule saw the Romans. 274 Far from being the heirs to Alexander’s empire, the Romans are described as Alexander’s opponents whom he would easily defeat if he were still alive (9.18.6): 275 Id vero periculum erat, quod levissimi ex Graecis qui Parthorum quoque contra nomen Romanorum gloriae favent dictitare solent, ne maiestatem nominis Alexandri, quem ne fama quidem illis notum arbitror fuisse, sustinere non potuerit populus Romanus. But there was forsooth the danger – as the silliest of the Greeks, who exalt the reputation even of the Parthians against the Romans, are fond of alleging –

273 Clarke (1999) 307–312 considers the importance of Alexander’s campaigns as a model for the interpretation of the Roman conquests, esp. 312: ‘[…] the new, extended geographical horizons of the first century BC and the attendant re-evaluation of the world would inevitably be formulated, at least in part, against the backdrop of previous periods of such expansions.’ 274 Alonso-Núñez (1982) 132. 275 In Pompeius Trogus, epit. 41.1, the Parthians figure as successors of the Persians. This sets the opposition between Romans and Parthians into the tradition of the Persian Wars. This interpretation is probably due to an influence of Timagenes’ per» basilËwn on Trogus’ historical work: see Matthews Sanford (1937) 440–441; Alonso-Núñez (1982) 134–135; on Timagenes see the discussion below.


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that the Roman People would have been unable to withstand the majesty of Alexander’s name, though I think that they had not so much as heard of him. 276

A similar view is expressed by ‘some’ authors whom Dionysius attacks in the preface to his Antiquitates and whose erroneous assumptions his work is meant to refute (1.4.2). 277 In their opinion, Rome does not deserve treatment in historical works, because [Ekeÿnoc [Ajhna–wn ka» Peloponnhs–wn […]. Kreÿtton d+™n diexeljÏnta pànta teleutòn poi†sasjai t®c …stor–ac tòn jaumasiwtàthn ka» màlista toÿc Çko‘ousi keqarismËnhn, tòn kàjodon t¿n fugàdwn t¿n Çp‰ F‘lhc, Çf+©c ô pÏlic ÇrxamËnh tòn ‚leujer–an ‚kom–sato. He might have begun his narrative not with the events at Corcyra, but with his country’s splendid achievements immediately after the Persian War (achievements he mentions later at an inappropriate point in a rather grudging and cursory way). After he had described these events with all the good will of a patriot, he might then have added that it was through a growing feeling of envy and fear that the Lacedaemonians came to engage in the war, although they alleged motives of a different kind. He might then have described the events at Corcyra and the decree against the Megarians, and anything else of the kind that he wished to mention. The concluding portion of the narrative is dominated by an even more serious fault. Although he states that he was an eye-witness of the whole war, and has promised to describe everything that occurred, yet he ends with the sea-battle which took place off Cynossema between the Athenians and the Peloponnesians […]. It would have been better, after describing all the events of the war, to end his history with a climax, and one that was most remarkable and especially gratifying to his audience, the return of the exiles from Phyle, which marked the beginning of the city’s recovering of freedom.

Dionysius is re-writing Thucydides’ version of the past in Herodotean terms: as Herodotus’ History described how the Greeks were wronged by

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Deconstructing Thucydides

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the Barbarians and ended with their splendid triumph, Thucydides should have attributed all responsibility to the Lacedaemonians: out of personal and irrational motives (fjÏn˙ ka» dËei) they attacked the Athenians whose integrity was beyond doubt because of the extraordinary service they performed for their country in the Persian War. In the end the Athenians re-establish the cornerstone of Athenian democracy, freedom (‚leujer–a), despite the sufferings they endured during the Peloponnesian War, just as Herodotus’ account ends with the assertion of Greek virtue and ‚leujer–a over Barbarian vices and slavery by the ‘punishment and the retribution’ of the Persians. A version of the Peloponnesian War which creates a favourable image of the Athenians would have conformed to the first rule of good historiography and presented the reader with an agreeable subject ([ÕpÏjesin] jaumasiwtàthn ka» màlista toÿc Çko‘ousi keqarismËnhn); this positive portrayal of their idols, in turn, would have allowed them to identify with the Classical past emotionally. Dionysius’ alternative version of Thucydides’ presentation of the Peloponnesian War is not only inspired by the key elements of Herodotus’ interpretation of the Persian War. Dionysius also combines two strategies from Classical Athenian rhetoric to play down the Peloponnesian War: 389 as mentioned above, it was common practice in Classical speeches to divert attention from the negative events of the War by focusing on the Athenians’ achievements against the Persians. But the defeat at Aigos Potamoi was also re-interpreted as a ‘moral victory’ of the Athenians and as an example of Athenian bravery by, for example, Demosthenes (22.15), Lysias (2.58), and Isocrates (14.39–41). 390 In a similar way, Classical orators glossed over the rule of the ‘Thirty Tyrants’ after the Peloponnesian War: although, as Pownall points out, the orators sometimes mention the terror exerted by the Thirty, ‘they usually draw out of this episode something that reflects positively upon the Athenian democracy,’391 for example by focusing on ‘the reconciliation that took place after the democratic victory, when the opposing groups vowed to put aside their differences and live in harmony.’392 Dionysius’ suggestions for a different order of the events in Thucydides’

389 390 391 392

Cf. Aujac V, 89 n. 8. Pownall (2004) 43. Ibid. Pownall (2004) 42–43 and n. 27, citing as evidence Andocides 1.140, Lysias 2.63–65 and 25.28, Isocrates 7.67 and 18.46, Demosthenes 40.32, and Aeschines 1.39, 2.176, and 3.208.

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History, which would have resulted in a positive portrayal of the Athenians, implement Classical rhetorical practice. At the same time, these suggestions further substantiate his allegation that Thucydides deliberately refused to write a historical work that was favourable to the Athenians: Thucydides could have easily presented an entirely different image of the past, but chose not to. Dionysius substantiates this point throughout his discussion: Thucydides, he says, was aware that ‘he has chosen a bad subject’ (Ìti d‡ ponhrÄn e“lhfen ÕpÏjesin, ka» aŒtÏc ge to‹to poieÿ faner‰n ‚n tƒ prooim–˙, Pomp. 3.4), and Dionysius repeatedly attributes peculiarities of Thucydides’ account to logismÏc, ‘reasoning,’ (e.g., Thuc. 15.2; 18.1) or intentions (e. g., Thuc. 19.1; 24.2; cf. boulÏmenoc and ·k∏n at Pomp. 3.6–7 below). 393 In so doing, Dionysius demonstrates that the interpretation of an event depends on its presentation and, thus, on the intentions of the historian. This casts doubt on the reliability of Thucydides’ image of the past: the negative image of Athens and of the Athenians in Thucydides’ work is the result of a choice, and not an absolute truth. The motivation behind Thucydides’ choice was his desire to take revenge on the Athenians for his exile. His interpretation of the past is the result of his alienation from Athens and the Athenians, and this causes the readers’ alienation from his work. 394 As the next quotation shows, Dionysius thinks of an author as encapsulating his attitude towards his subject in the structure and arrangement of his account, its ‘disposition’ (diàjesic). Thus the author transfers his own feelings into reading experience and thus enables his readers to share it (Pomp. 3.15):

Ajhnaÿon oŒk Ídei poieÿn (ka» ta‹ta oŒ t¿n ÇperrimmËnwn Ónta, Çll+¡n ‚n pr∏toic ™gon >Ajhnaÿoi strathgi¿n te ka» t¿n ällwn tim¿n Çxio‹ntec), Pomp. 3.9). 403 This un-Athenian character of the History culminates in Dionysius’ description of Thucydides’ diàjesic as ‘revealing the grudge which he felt against his native city for his exile’ (t¨ patr–di t®c fug®c mnhsikako‹sa, Pomp. 3.15). In Classical oratory mò mnhsikakeÿn is a technical term meaning ‘to pass an act of amnesty.’ This procedure was official Athenian policy after the defeat in the Peloponnesian War and the overthrow of the Thirty in order to restore civic order between the democratic and the oligarchic parties. But the expression had been used in a more general sense already in Aristophanes’ Lysistrata (411 BCE) where it referred to the refusal to speak about the horrible events of the Peloponnesian War.404 Thucydides’ diàjesic mnhsikako‹sa contradicts both senses of the term: Thucydides did speak about the Peloponnesian War, although he should not have, and, by doing so, he himself refused to pass an act of amnesty on the Athenians for his exile. 405 Thucydides’ bitterness and hostility is the reason for his choice of 403 This statement might imply a contradiction to Polybius who argued that historians might well and, indeed, should be patriots and loyal to their friends in their private lives, but should drop this attitude in their works (Plb. 1.14.4–5, criticizing Philinus and Fabius): ‘In other relations of life we should not perhaps exclude such favouritism; for a good man should love his friends and his country, he should share the hatreds and attachments of his friends; but he who assumes the role of a historian must ignore everything of the sort […] (‚n m‡n ofin tƒ loipƒ b–˙ tòn toia‘thn ‚pie–keian “swc

oŒk än tic ‚kbàlloi ka» gÄr filÏfilon e⁄nai deÿ t‰n Çgaj‰n ändra ka» filÏpatrin ka» summiseÿn toÿc f–loic toÃc ‚qjroÃc ka» sunagapên toÃc f–louc. ìOtan d‡ t‰ t®c …stor–ac ™joc Çnalambàn˘ tic, ‚pilajËsjai qrò pàntwn t¿n toio‘twn […], Paton’s transl. modified). On Dionysius and Polybius see below, ch. 3.3.1, pp. 194–198. 404 Lys. 590, quoted in Shrimpton (1997) 171; he translates mnhsikakeÿn as ‘to call (past) evils to mind’ (ibid. 165). The passage suggests that already during the war the events of the war were a taboo subject in Athens. 405 Shrimpton (1997) gives an interpretation of the History which is similar to Dionysius’, without mentioning him. He refers to Andocides, who relates in 1.79–80 that after the terror of the Thirty the Athenians had sworn not to ‘mnhsikakeÿn against any citizen, barring only the Thirty and their senior executive officers from prosecution’ (165). Reading this passage alongside Lys. 586–590 (see preceding note and discussion in the text), Shrimpton argues that although ‘technically Thucydides’ investigation of the last years of the war was no breach of the amnesty […] it would be difficult for him to

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an ugly subject and for the improper arrangement of his material and thus creates the bitter and hostile disposition of his work. The History reflects Thucydides’ refusal to identify with his native city and the Athenians and transfers his alienation from Classical Athens to the readers, in whom it manifests itself as an alienation from both the text and the past. This allows Dionysius to define Thucydides’ work as not representative of Classical historiography. Thucydides deliberately refused to write an account which conformed to the Classical standard. Technically, Thucydides is a Classical author, but he is an isolated figure and stands outside the Classical tradition. Therefore, Classicist readers do not have to take his image of the Athenians and his account of the Peloponnesian War seriously. Thucydides achieved this alienating effect of his work by consequently rejecting not only traditional subjects, but also traditional modes of presentation. His deliberate isolation as a Greek and an Athenian goes hand-in-hand with his isolation within literary tradition. The result is his idiosyncratic mode of diction and narration: in order to compose his un-Greek version of the past, he had to reject the usual forms of Greek historical narrative. The most compelling proof for Thucydides’ rejection of tradition is found in his ‘archaeology’ (Pomp. 3.6–7):

oŒd‡ gÄr oŒd‡ to‹to Ínestin e peÿn Ìti di+Çnàgkhn ™ljen ‚p» ta‘thn tòn graf†n, ‚pistàmenoc 〈m‡n ±c〉 ‚keÿna kall–w, boulÏmenoc d‡ mò taŒtÄ ·tËroic gràfein; pên gÄr toŒnant–on ‚n tƒ prooim–˙ dias‘rwn tÄ palaiÄ Írga mËgista ka» jaumasi∏tata tÄ kaj+ ·aut‰n ‚pitelesjËnta fhs»n e⁄nai, ka» fanerÏc ‚sti ta‹ta ·k∞n ·lÏmenoc. OŒ mòn Ajhnaÿoi strathgi¿n te ka» t¿n ällwn tim¿n Çxio‹ntec), Pomp. 3.9). Therefore neither his portrayal of the Athenians needs to be taken at face-value nor are his diction or his presentation of the material to be regarded as an example of Classical language and style, let alone proper Classical historiography. The remainder of this section will pursue two aspects which are related to the foregoing considerations. The first one concerns Dionysius’ conception of Classical historiography. Can we get a more precise idea of how Dionysius imagined proper history to be written? Dionysius’ discussion of Theopompus of Chios provides an answer to that question. Dionysius describes Theopompus’ work as an example of ‘Isocratean’ historiography: Theopompus focused on the moral motivations of the historical actors; he pointed out their virtues and laid bare their vices, so that his work has the same ‘ethical’ influence upon the reader as Isocrates’ speeches.412 The second aspect regards Dionysius’ criticism as an instrument to shape his reader’s image of the past. Dionysius’ proposal for a different beginning and ending of Thucydides’ History shows that criticism not only points out Thucydides’ mistakes, but aims actively to correct Thucydides’ distorted image of the Classical past. Dionysius’ discussion of the Melian Dialogue is a good example to illustrate how Dionysius uses his criticism to substitute Thucydides’ ‘inappropriate’ portrayal of the Athenians with an appropriate, Isocratean, one. 3.2.2 Classicist History: Theopompus’ ‘Isocratean’ Approach to the Past Although Isocrates never wrote a historical work proper, Dionysius lists him as a model for historical writing alongside Herodotus and Thucydides in his discussion of Xenophon, Philistus, and Theopompus in the Letter 412 On the moral effect which Dionysius ascribes to Isocrates’ speeches see ch. 2.2.1 above.

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to Pompeius 4–6. Dionysius categorizes the three fourth-century historians according to the model they followed. Xenophon was an emulator of Herodotus (Ajhna–wn, É LakedaimÏnioi kajeÿlon, afijic Çn–stantai, ibid.). This passage should be read alongside Dionysius’ criticism of the ending of Thucydides’ History at Pomp. 3.10. 414 Thucydides, he argued there, should have ended his account with ‘the return of the exiles from Phyle, which marked the beginning of the city’s recovering of freedom.’ Dionysius approves of the Hellenica, because Xenophon’s account corrects Thucydides’ failure; furthermore, starting with a positive event in Athenian history, Xenophon demonstrates his positive attitude towards Athens. Xenophon’s adherence to Classical virtues manifests itself also in his ethos, his qualities of character, which are revealed by his work. Xenophon is conspicuous for ‘piety, justice, perseverance, and affability – a character, in short, which is adorned with all the virtues’ (™jÏc te ‚pide–knutai jeoseb‡c ka» d–kaion ka» karterik‰n ka» eŒpetËc, Åpàsaic te sull†bdhn kekosmhmËnon Çretaÿc, Pomp. 4.2). These virtues recall the set of virtues on which Isocrates’ conception of Athenian identity is based; Xenophon implemented them in his work and, in so doing, provided positive moral examples for his readers. 415 Just as Dionysius had compared Herodotus with Thucydides, he compares Xenophon, an emulator of Herodotus, with an emulator of Thucydides. Philistus’ narrative presents the same, or even worse flaws than Thucydides’ (Pomp. 5). His ethos is incompatible with Classical values:

413 Contrast Cic. de or. 2.14.58: Cicero points out Xenophon’s philosophical background but does not mention that he was a follower of Herodotus (a philosophia profectus princeps Xenophon, Socraticus ille […]); cf. Pownall (2004) 110 on the influence of Socratic ideas on Xenophon’s historical method. 414 See above, pp. 136–140. 415 On Xenophon’s Hellenica see Pownall (2004) 65–112; she points out that Xenophon is ‘the first historian to make the moral paradigm the central focus of his works’ (85); thus he became the model for historians in the late fourth century and in Hellenistic and Roman times (110).

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he was ‘a fawning tyrant-lover, mean and petty’ (™jÏc te kolakik‰n ka» filot‘rannon ‚mfa–nei ka» tapein‰n ka» mikrolÏgon, Pomp. 5.2).416 Dionysius reserves the most detailed treatment for the historian whom he appreciates most: the entire sixth chapter of the Letter to Pompeius is devoted to Theopompus, and the length of Dionysius’ discussion is an indicator of Dionysius’ high opinion of the historiographer. 417 Theopompus is distinguished from both Xenophon and Philistus because he was as accomplished an orator as a historian. Since he had learned his skills from no less than Isocrates (Pomp. 6.1), 418 his work is of the highest quality. Dionysius approves of Theopompus’ choice of subject and praises his arrangement of material (o konom–a) as ‘lucid and easy to follow’ (eŒparakolo‘jhtoi ka» safeÿc, Pomp. 6.2), a quality which sets Theopompus apart from the choice of subject and its arrangement in both Thucydides’ and Philistus’ works. The variety of Theopompus’ subject matter (t‰ pol‘morfon t®c graf®c, Pomp. 6.3) and the broad range of knowledge it offers to the readers (Pomp. 6.4) provide the wealth of information necessary for the ‘practitioners of filÏsofoc ˚htorik†’ (toÿc Çsko‹si tòn filÏsofon ˚htorik†n, Pomp. 6.5); additionally, they make his work an enjoyable read (yuqagwg–a, Pomp. 6.4).419 Dionysius makes special mention of ‘the philosophical comments

416 In contrast to Dionysius, Cicero, de or. 2.13.57, does not judge Philistus for his close acquaintance with the Sicilian tyrant Dionysius, but confines himself to mentioning that he was Dionysi tyranni familiarissimus. 417 On Theopompus’ Philippica see the discussion in Pownall (2004) 143–175; on Theopompus in general see Flower (1994). Avenarius (1956) 161–162 argued that Dionysius’ discussion in Pomp. 6 is directed against Polybius’ criticism of Theopompus at 8.10.1–2 and 12, a view which is accepted by Gozzoli (1976) 162. 418 Cf. ibid. 419 ‘Who will not admit that it is necessary for “practitioners of filÏsofoc ˚htorik†” to acquire a thorough knowledge of the many customs of the barbarians and the Greeks, to hear about the various laws and forms of government, the lives of their men and their exploits, their deaths and their fortunes? For them he has provided an absolute abundance of material, not divorced from the events narrated, but side by side with them’ (t–c oŒq

Âmolog†sei toÿc Çsko‹si tòn filÏsofon ˚htorikòn Çnagkaÿon e⁄nai pollÄ m‡n Íjh ka» barbàrwn ka» <Ell†nwn ‚kmajeÿn, polloÃc d‡ nÏmouc Çko‹sai politei¿n te sq†mata, ka» b–ouc Çndr¿n ka» pràxeic ka» tËlh ka» t‘qac; To‘toic to–nun âpasin Çfjon–an dËdwken oŒk ÇpespasmËnhn t¿n pragmàtwn ÇllÄ sumparo‹san, Usher’s transl. modified). The idea that history provides the orator-politician with information that is essential for effective speeches dates back at least to Aristotle (Rh. 1360a31– 37). It plays an important role in the discussion of the relation between rhetoric and historiography in the second book of Cicero’s De Oratore (2.15.62–63) and is part of the

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scattered throughout the whole of his history in which [Theopompus] reflects at length on justice, piety and the other virtues, and utters some fine statements’ (filosofeÿ par+Ìlhn tòn 〈suggrafòn per»〉 dikaios‘nhc ka»

eŒsebe–ac ka» t¿n ällwn Çret¿n polloÃc ka» kaloÃc diexerqÏmenoc lÏgouc, Pomp. 6.6).420 Dionysius probably has these moral tendencies of Theopompus’ work in mind when turning to what he calls Theopompus’ ‘final and most characteristic accomplishment […] which no other historian, either before or since, has achieved with comparable exactness or effect’ (teleutaÿÏn ‚sti t¿n Írgwn aŒto‹ ka» qarakthrik∏taton, Á par+oŒden» t¿n ällwn suggrafËwn o’twc Çkrib¿c ‚xe–rgastai ka» dunat¿c o÷te t¿n presbutËrwn o÷te t¿n newtËrwn, Pomp. 6.7): t‰ kaj+·kàsthn prêxin mò mÏnon tÄ fanerÄ toÿc polloÿc Ârên ka» lËgein, Çll+‚xetàzein ka» tÄc Çfaneÿc a t–ac t¿n pràxewn ka» t¿n praxàntwn aŒtÄc ka» tÄ pàjh t®c yuq®c, É mò ˚ådia toÿc polloÿc e dËnai, ka» pànta ‚kkal‘ptein tÄ must†ria t®c te doko‘shc Çret®c ka» t®c ÇgnooumËnhc kak–ac. It is the ability, in the case of every action, not only to see and to state what is obvious to most people, but to examine even the hidden reasons for actions and the motives of their agents, and the feelings in their hearts (which most people do not find easy to discern), and to reveal all the mysteries of apparent virtue and undetected vice.

larger notion of history as magistra vitae (ibid. 2.9.36), on which see, e.g., Gabba (1981), esp. 54; Malitz (1990) 325–326. 420 Pownall (2004) 148–151 provides a list of virtues which Theopompus seems to have approved of: ‘justice, piety, trustworthiness and loyalty toward one’s friends and allies, moderation, and self-control are important moral virtues for Theopompus’ (151); cf. Flower (1994) 63–97. It is a controversial question in modern scholarship whether Theopompus really was a pupil of Isocrates, cf. Flower (1994) 42–62 (contra) with Pownall (2004) 27–29. The moralizing tendencies and the values and ideas propagated by Theopompus (but also by Xenophon and Ephorus) are thought to reflect the views of the intellectual elite of the fourth century BCE in general rather than Isocrates’ in particular; Pownall (2004) 141–142, 151; Flower (1994) 90–97. Nevertheless, both scholars note the striking similarities between key ideas of Isocrates’ and Theopompus’ works, e.g., Flower (1994) 90; Pownall (2004) 175. However, for Dionysius there is no doubt that Theopompus’ historical method and the moral tendency of his work were due to his teacher Isocrates. Dionysius would certainly not have subscribed to Flower’s (1994) opinion that Isocrates influenced only Theopompus’ style but not the ‘form and content’ of his works (62), but see Bradford Welles (1966) 12.

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The antithesis of ‘obvious’ and ‘hidden’ causes is reminiscent of Thucydides’ distinction between ‘true’ and ‘apparent’ causes. Theopompus, however, seems to have laid stronger stress on the reasons hidden in the souls of the actors (tÄ pàjh t®c yuq®c), thus giving his work a moral slant: the enquiry into the ‘hidden motives of the agents’ permitted Theopompus to distinguish between actions which were really motivated by the actors’ virtues and actions in which noble motives were only a pretext for selfish interests.421 The central role of Isocrates as the theoretician of Classical moral and political virtues in Dionysius’ Classicism explains why Dionysius so strongly approves of the emphasis on the ‘feelings in [the] hearts’ of the historical actors and of ‘virtue’ and ‘vice’ in Theopompus’ narrative. Theopompus made virtues and vices the decisive forces in history; he pointed out which motivations were worthy of praise or blame, showed the consequences of actions which were motivated by either, and thus provided models of behaviour for his readers. Dionysius regards Theopompus as an ‘Isocrates of historiography’: like his teacher, he used his works as an instrument of civic education and, in particular, aimed to correct moral and political misbehaviour through harsh judgments on the historical actors and their achievements or failures. Dionysius illustrates the salutary effects of Theopompus’ works on the soul by comparing it to a surgeon’s ‘cut[ting] and cauteris[ing] the morbid parts of the body’ (Pomp. 6.8). 422 Their moral 421 Various ancient historiographers and critics accused Theopompus of pikr–a, i.e., of expressing his opinion on the historical actors and their actions in a harsh and judgmental fashion, e.g., Polybius (8.11–12); Nepos, Alc. 11; Lucian, Quomodo 59; Cicero sets ‘Theopompean’ on a par with ‘polemical’ at Att. 2.6 (these references are quoted in Gozzoli [1976] 173 n. 79). Gozzoli (1976) argues convincingly that Dionysius seeks to mitigate this criticism by re-interpreting Theopompus’ alleged harshness as honest judgment (‘franchezza,’ 173 and n. 80); cf. Marincola (2003) 309–310. It was a commonplace in ancient historical criticism that frank judgment was the prerequisite for the historian’s task to blame or praise the historical actors when necessary so as to offer a balanced account of the past which alone was thought to benefit the reader, see, e.g., Plb. 1.14; cf. Pownall’s (2004) discussion of Pomp. 6.7 at 147–148. 422 ‘Indeed, I feel in some way that the fabled examination before the judges of the other world, which is conducted in Hades upon the souls that have been released from the body, is of the same searching kind as that which is carried out through the writings of Theopompus. This gave him a reputation for malice, because he added unnecessary details to the criticisms of famous persons that he was compelled to make; but in fact he was acting like surgeons who cut and cauterise the morbid parts of the body, operating to a certain depth, but not encroaching upon the healthy and normal parts’ (ka–

moi dokeÿ pwc Â mujeuÏmenoc ‚n ìAidou t¿n yuq¿n Çpolujeis¿n to‹ s∏matoc

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impact and educational purpose make Theopompus’ historiography the equivalent to Isocrates’ civic education through speeches: 423 Theopompus created ‘Isocratean historiography’ and is therefore an ideal model for Classicist historical writing.

3.2.3 Between History and Criticism: Re-writing the Melian Dialogue Dionysius uses his literary criticism to turn Thucydides’ Melian Dialogue at Thuc. 37–41 into a piece of such an ‘Isocratean historiography.’424 Discussing the paragraphs of the Dialogue one by one, he points out in which respects Thucydides’ portrayal of the Athenians is mistaken and suggests what Thucydides should have written instead. Dionysius’ discussion of the Melian Dialogue is exemplary of his attitude towards Thucydides’ History in general because he regards the Melian Dialogue as paradigmatic of Thucydides’ view of the Classical Athenians: Thucydides was not present at the negotiations and, according to Dionysius, could not have obtained any reliable information from any of the participants (Thuc. 41.3). Therefore, the image of the Athenians in this scene is all Thucydides’, and Thucydides used his freedom to turn the Melian episode into a cornerstone of his systematic attempt to make his native city ‘universally hated’ in revenge for his exile (e mò ära mnhsikak¿n Â suggrafeÃc t¨ pÏlei diÄ tòn katad–khn ‚xetasm‰c ‚p» t¿n ‚keÿ dikast¿n o’twc Çkribòc e⁄nai ±c Â diÄ JeopÏmpou graf®c gignÏmenoc. Di‰ ka» bàskanoc Ídoxen e⁄nai, proslambànwn toÿc Çnagka–oic tinÄ Êneidismoÿc katÄ t¿n ‚ndÏxwn pros∏pwn oŒk Çnagkaÿa pràgmata, ÌmoiÏn ti poi¿n toÿc atroÿc oÀ tËmnousi ka» ka–ousi tÄ diefjarmËna to‹ s∏matoc Èwc bàjouc tÄ kaut†ria ka» tÄc tomÄc fËrontec, oŒd‡n t¿n ÕgiainÏntwn ka» katÄ f‘sin ‚qÏntwn stoqazÏmenoi); for an illustration of how Theopompus implemented these virtues in his narrative see, e.g., FGrH 115 F 27 (cited and discussed by Pownall [2004] 149). 423 Gozzoli (1976) provides a detailed discussion of similarities between Dionysius’ historical method and the characteristics of Theopompus’ historical work; cf. Pownall (2004). Pownall acknowledges the educational purpose of historical works such as Xenophon’s Hellenica, Ephorus’ History, and Theopompus’ Philippica, but believes that these works were addressed to the oligarchic elite and that they aimed to undermine the influence of political oratory (177–178). Dionysius, by contrast, conceives of Theopompus’ historiography as complementing Isocrates’ political rhetoric. 424 On the Melian Dialogue, esp. on the question of why Thucydides chose the dialogue form for this particular scene, see MacLeod (1974); Hudson-Williams (1950).

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ta‹ta tÄ Êne–dh kateskËdasen aŒt®c, ‚x ¡n âpantec mis†sein aŒtòn Ímellon, Thuc. 41.8). Moreover, Thucydides has an Athenian spokesman represent the Athenians, and Dionysius points out that readers will take the spokesman to represent the attitude and mentality of the entire Athenian people (Thuc. 41.8). The Melian Dialogue is thus the primary example of how Thucydides acts out his mnesikakia in his work. Hence by refuting Thucydides’ version of the Melian controversy, Dionysius refutes Thucydides’ characterisation of Athens in the History as a whole. Dionysius focuses on the moral and political ideas which lie behind the statements of Thucydides’ Athenian spokesman in the Dialogue and compares them with the values and ideas on which Isocrates’ conception of Athenian identity is based. Dionysius’ assessment of Theopompus’ historical works shows how he thinks Thucydides should have portrayed the Athenians, namely as the representatives of Classical-Isocratean virtues. But the behaviour of Thucydides’ Athenians neatly contradicts the Isocratean conception and needs to be corrected. Thus Dionysius’ discussion of the Melian Dialogue also illustrates how Dionysius imagined the Classical Athenians and the motivations for their actions. A few examples will suffice to illustrate this procedure. At Th. 5.89 the Athenian envoy refuses to justify the Athenians’ methods to enlarge their dominion. This, says Dionysius at Thuc. 38.2, ‘conjures up a sentiment which is both unworthy of the Athenians, and does not fit the situation’ (e’rhken ‚nj‘mhma o÷te t®c >Ajhna–wn pÏlewc o÷t+‚p» toio‘toic pràgmasin ÅrmÏtton lËgesjai), because such an attitude is ‘tantamount to an admission that the expedition is against innocent victims’ (to‹to dË ‚stin Âmologo‹ntoc tòn ‚p» toÃc mhd‡n Çdiko‹ntac stràteusin). Thucydides’ portrayal of the Athenians collides with the idea of dikaios‘nh, and it is at odds with the role of the Athenians as the defenders of helpless victims against aggressors in various battles at all times, from the raids of the Amazons to the fight against the Persian invasion on behalf of all Greeks. 425 Furthermore, the Athenian’s assertion that the stronger are entitled to do whatever they please because they are stronger, contradicts the role of the Athenians as liberators of Greece from the Barbarians and as prÏmaqoi of ‚leujer–a. Such a statement would not only be impossible for a genuine Greek, it is appropriate only to a Barbarian (Thuc. 39.1): ‘These would have been suitable words for barbarian kings to address to Greeks, but no Athenian should have spoken thus to Greeks whom they had liberated from the 425 For referencess see my discussion above, pp. 66–68.

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Persians, saying that right is a matter of reciprocity between equals, whereas force is exerted by the strong against the weak’ (basile‹si gÄr barbàroic

ta‹ta pr‰c ìEllhnac °rmotte lËgein; >Ajhna–oic d‡ pr‰c ìEllhnac oœc öleujËrwsan Çp‰ t¿n M†dwn, oŒk ™n pros†konta e r®sjai Ìti d–kaia toÿc “soic ‚st» pr‰c Çll†louc, tÄ d‡ b–aia toÿc squroÿc pr‰c toÃc Çsjeneÿc). Dionysius regards the inversion of the usual roles of Greeks and Barbarians as one of Thucydides’ main strategies to construct a negative image of his native city (Thuc. 41.5–6): flAr+ofin πsper toÿc Mhl–oic o keÿoi ka» pros†kontec ™san o… per» t®c ‚leujer–ac lÏgoi parakalo‹ntec toÃc >Ajhna–ouc mò katadoulo‹sjai pÏlin <Ellhn–da mhd‡n Åmartànousan e c aŒto‘c, o’twc ka» toÿc >Ajhna–wn strathgoÿc prËpontec ™san o… per» t¿n dika–wn m†t+‚xetàzein ‚¿ntec m†te lËgein, ÇllÄ t‰n t®c b–ac ka» pleonex–ac nÏmon e sàgontec, ka» ta‹t+e⁄nai d–kaia toÿc ÇsjenËsin Çpofa–nontec Ìsa toÿc squrotËroic dokeÿ; Eg∞ m‡n gÄr oŒk o“omai […]. The arguments about freedom, calling upon the Athenians not to enslave a Greek city that has done them no wrong, were fitting and appropriate for the Melians. But were the speeches of the Athenian generals equally appropriate, when they did not allow discussion or even mention of justice, but introduced the law of violence and greed and declared that for the weak justice is the will of the stronger? I don’t think so … 426

Instead of liberating the Greeks, Thucydides’ Athenians bring slavery over other Greek cities (katadoulo‹sjai), even over those that are their suggeneÿc. 427 But bringing violence and slavery are common characteristics of the Barbarian despÏthc in Classical rhetoric, and not of the Athenians; and the Athenians’ refusal to ‘allow discussion or even mention of justice’ is incompatible with Athenian justice and equal right of speech ( shgor–a), both of which were constituents of Classical Athenian democracy (eŒnomwtàthc in the next quotation) (Thuc. 41.6):

>Eg∞ m‡n gÄr oŒk o“omai toÿc ‚k t®c eŒnomwtàthc pÏlewc ‚p» tÄc Íxw pÏleic ÇpostellomËnoic ôgemÏsi ta‹ta pros†kein lËgesjai, oŒd+ãn Çxi∏saimi toÃc m‡n mikropol–tac ka» mhd‡n Írgon ‚pifan‡c ÇpodeixamËnouc Mhl–ouc plËona to‹ kalo‹ poieÿsjai prÏnoian £ to‹ Çsfalo‹c, ka» pànta ·to–mouc e⁄nai tÄ deinÄ ÕpofËrein —na mhd‡n 426 Usher’s transl. modified. 427 Cf. Thuc. 40.4.

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äsqhmon Çnagkasj¿si pràttein, toÃc d‡ proelomËnouc t†n te q∏ran ka» tòn pÏlin ‚klipeÿn katÄ t‰n Persik‰n pÏlemon >Ajhna–ouc —na mhd‡n a sqr‰n Õpome–nwsin ‚p–tagma, t¿n taŒtÄ proairoumËnwn ±c Çno†twn kathgoreÿn. O“omai d+Ìti kãn e“ tinec älloi, parÏntwn >Ajhna–wn, ta‹ta ‚peqe–roun lËgein, ‚paqj¿c ¢negkan ãn o… t‰n koin‰n b–on ‚xhmer∏santec. I do not think that such arguments as these would be fittingly used by the leaders of the city with the best laws in the world when they are on missions abroad, nor should I expect the inhabitants of a tiny state like Melos, who never did anything to distinguish themselves, to prefer the nobler to the safer policy and to be prepared to undergo every kind of suffering in order to avoid the necessity of a discreditable course of action; while the Athenians, who during the Persian War chose to leave their land and their city rather than submit to any base imposition, accuse them of being senseless when they follow the same principles. I think that if anyone else had attempted to express these views in the presence of the Athenians, the latter, who had civilised the life of all mankind, would have been offended.

The frequency of terms meaning ‘appropriate’ in this and the other passages shows that Dionysius is constantly comparing Thucydides’ Athenians with the image of the Athenians as the heroes of the Persian War (katÄ t‰n Persik‰n pÏlemon) which he adopts from Classical oratory. 428 Thucydides turned the distinction between the virtuous and civilized Athenians (o… t‰n koin‰n b–on ‚xhmer∏santec) and the Barbarian Other upside-down:429 428 Cf. Thuc. 39.1. See the brief discussion in Fox (2001) 83, who concentrates on the ‘overlap between the moral and the aesthetic’ (ibid.). 429 Cf. Thuc. 19.3–4: ‘[It was unnecessary for Thucydides] to drag in that lengthy disparagement of the greatness of Greece: that at the time of the Trojan War the whole of Greece was not yet called by that single name [Th. 1.3], and that it was through shortage of food that they had begun to cross by sea into one another’s territory, and “attacked cities that were unwalled and inhabited in small settlements, and made most of their livelihood by this means” [Th. 1.5]. Why was it necessary to mention the luxury enjoyed by Athenians in early times: how they plaited up their hair into top-knots and wore gold cicadas on their heads [Th. 1.6.3]?’ (πste tÄ pollÄ ‚keÿna ka» katablhtikÄ t®c <Ellàdoc oŒk Çnagka–wc aŒtƒ parËlkesjai, Ìti katÄ t‰n Trwik‰n pÏlemon o÷pw s‘mpasa ‚kaleÿto ·n» ÊnÏmati ô <Ellàc, ka» Ìti peraio‹sjai naus»n ‚p+Çll†loic o…

trof®c Çporo‘menoi ¢rxanto ka» prosp–ptontec pÏlesin Çteiq–stoic ka» katÄ k∏mac o koumËnac °rpazon ka» t‰ pleÿston to‹ b–ou ‚nte‹jen ‚poio‹nto. T– d+™n Çnagkaÿon per» t®c >Ajhna–wn truf®c ≠ t‰ palai‰n ‚qr¿nto lËgein, Ìti krwb‘louc te ÇneplËkonto ka» qruso‹c tËttigac e⁄qon ‚p» taÿc kefalaÿc; Usher’s transl. modified) Dionysius criticizes Thucydides for depicting the Greeks as an assem-

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Classical Athenians would have never given up dikaios‘nh and ‚leujer–a for which they had fought against the Persians and left their home. 430 But Thucydides’ attempt to throw a bad light on the Athenians by making them act like Barbarians fails. Instead, the absurd inversion of the usual roles proves all the more Thucydides’ disturbed relationship with his Greek and Athenian identity (Pomp. 3.9 above): only someone who refuses to write as an Athenian and a Greek should write could blur the difference between Athenians and Barbarians. It was not the Athenians who acted in an un-Greek manner, but Thucydides. During Dionysius’ discussion of the Dialogue, the boundaries between rhetoric and history, and criticism and historiography, have become increasingly uncertain. 431 Subjects of historical works are suitable if they conform to prominent topics in Classical oratory, such as the Hellene-Barbarian antithesis and Isocratean ethics, and these subjects have to be dealt with according to Classical rhetorical theory and practice: the Peloponnesian War is to be glossed over by focusing on the Athenians’ achievements in the Persian War and on the return of the exiles from Phyle, and historiographers are supposed to improve on traditional subjects, arrangements, and modes of expression, as Isocrates had postulated it for oratory at the beginning of the Panegyricus; in his discussion of the Melian Dialogue, Dionysius applies blage of heterogeneous groups instead of stressing their unity, which is a prominent topic in Isocrates’ Panhellenic speeches, and for portraying them as subjected to luxury: wearing gold and precious ornaments was regarded as an oriental and degenerate custom which should not have been attributed to the Athenians. ‘Why was it necessary?’ (t– d+™n Çnagkaÿon) recalls Dionysius’ first rule of good historical writing, the choice of an appropriate subject, which entails the historiographer’s obligation not to mention events and details which could do damage to the reputation of the Classical Athenians. 430 Dionysius restores a further virtue, eŒsËbeia (combined with dikaios‘nh), to the Athenians in his comment on Th. 5.103.1 (Thuc. 40.3): ‘I do not know how these words can be considered appropriate in the mouths of Athenian generals. They imply that divinely-inspired hope is harmful to men, and that oracles and prophesy are of no use to those who have chosen a pious and just way of life. Now if one aspect of Athenian life is to be singled out for special praise it is that they followed divine guidance on every matter and in every crisis, and took no decisive action without consulting soothsayers and oracles’ (ta‹t+ofik o⁄da p¿c än tic ‚painËseien ±c pros†konta e r®sjai strathgoÿc >Ajhna–wn Ìti luma–netai toÃc Çnjr∏pouc ô parÄ t¿n je¿n ‚lp–c,

ka» o÷te qrhsm¿n Ófeloc o÷te mantik®c toÿc eŒseb® ka» d–kaion pro˘rhmËnoic t‰n b–on. E gàr ti ka» ällo, t®c >Ajhna–wn pÏlewc ka» to‹t+‚n toÿc pr∏toic ‚st»n ‚gk∏mion, t‰ per» pant‰c pràgmatoc ka» ‚n pant» kairƒ toÿc jeoÿc Èpesjai ka» mhd‡n äneu mantik®c ka» qrhsm¿n ‚piteleÿn, emphases mine). 431 Cf. Pritchett (1975) xxvii: ‘the two strands of style and history are interwoven.’

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another principle of rhetoric to historiography, the prËpon. 432 In so doing, Dionysius is replying to Thucydides’ principle of method which he had stated in his proem (Th. 1.22.1), that he would report the words of the historical actors ‘adhering as closely as possible to the general sense of what was actually said.’ Dionysius means his discussion of the Melian Dialogue to be a test-case of whether Thucydides’ account implements this principle (Thuc. 41.4): 433

Le–petai d‡ skopeÿn e toÿc te pràgmasi pros†konta ka» toÿc sunelhlujÏsin e c t‰n s‘llogon pros∏poic ÅrmÏttonta pËplake diàlogon ‚qÏmenon ±c Íggista t®c sumpàshc gn∏mhc t¿n Çlhj¿c leqjËntwn, ±c aŒt‰c ‚n tƒ prooim–˙ proe–rhken. It now remains to consider whether he has composed the dialogue in such a way that it is consistent with the facts and fits the character of the delegates to the meeting, “adhering as closely as possible to the general sense of what was actually said,” as he said he would do in his introduction.

It is of minor importance whether Thucydides implied by this statement that his speeches were as faithful reconstructions of the actual words of the historical actors as possible or whether he composed them himself in their entirety. 434 For Dionysius there is no doubt that all speeches were written by Thucydides, and, as mentioned above, he regards the entire Melian Dialogue as invented by the historian without any first-hand evidence. But whether 432 Dionysius defines t‰ prËpon as a style ‘adapted […] satisfactorily to the speaker, the audience and the subject, and it is in these, and in relation to these, that propriety is found’ (lËxic prÏc te t‰n lËgonta ka» pr‰c toÃc Çko‘ontac ka» pr‰c t‰ prêgma (‚n to‘toic gÄr dò ka» pr‰c ta‹ta t‰ prËpon) Çrko‘ntwc ôrmosmËnh, Lys. 9.1). Cf. Usher (1985) 374 n. 2, who points out that Dionysius’ discussion of the Melian Dialogue at Thuc. 37–40 is an example of the ‘application of the rhetorical concept of “propriety” to historical subject-matter’; Pritchett (1975) xxvi: ‘Dionysius […] romanticized t‰ prËpon in history as he romanticized t‰ prËpon in style. His sentimental view of Periclean Athens led him to misread history.’ 433 According to Greek rhetorical practice, the most probable reconstruction of an event was to be accepted as true if factual evidence was unavailable, as Dionysius says it was in the case of the Melian Dialogue (Thuc. 41.3); see Gagarin (1994), esp. 56–57. 434 The meaning of this phrase is still controversial and need not be discussed here, but see, e.g., Winton (1999); Plant (1999) 69; MacLeod (1974), esp. 384–385, provides a discussion of the relation between Thucydides’ statement of method and the Melian Dialogue; Rokeah (1982); Badian (1992) offers, in my opinion, the most convincing interpretation of the passage. On speeches in Thucydides in general see the contributions in Stadter (1973) and Scardino (2007), the most recent and as yet most comprehensive discussion; cf. Yunis (1991).

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or not the speeches are Thucydides’, they could still be ‘true’ – according to one possible reading of Thucydides’ methodological statement – if they reveal the actual attitude of the speakers: the Athenian spokesman might not actually have spoken like a Barbarian king at the historical encounter at Melos, but his attitude might have been that of a Barbarian king nevertheless; therefore his words in the Dialogue might still be an appropriate characterization of his, and the Athenians’, attitude. 435 The prËpon in this sense refers to Thucydides’ speeches as being ‘appropriate’ to historical reality. The problem is that this historical reality is the reality which Thucydides (re)constructed from reports, testimonies, and his own experiences and insights – the speeches in the History conform to Thucydides’ interpretation of the past, not to the past itself. Dionysius’ criticism draws attention to this point: historical writings are texts, and as texts they can never offer an immediate view of the world; texts are re-presentations of the image of the world in the mind of the author. The prËpon thus marks the intersection of rhetoric and history because it is concerned with the relationship between the text and the object the text claims to represent. This process is essential since the past is present only through the mediation of the texts, as a representation, and it remains meaningful only if the appropriateness of this re-presentation is constantly questioned and adapted to the circumstances. History is a dialectical process in which the observer constantly positions himself to different versions of the past and decides which one is ‘true.’ This process of questioning and adaption of a re-presentation of the past is acted out in Dionysius’ criticism of Thucydides’ History. At this point, I should like to repeat my cautionary note from the introductory section of this chapter: Dionysius was far from being a ‘Hayden White of antiquity.’ He never reflects about the preconceptions of his own view of the past. Therefore he never goes the decisive step and acknowledges that if Thucydides’ image of the past is questionable because it relies on preconceptions, this holds also for his own image of the past. But applying the prËpon to historical texts is not to be easily dismissed as silly. Dionysius might not have realized this, but his procedure is due to a deep-level affinity of rhetoric and history: the questions (a) how the past is constituted through

435 Thus Badian (1992) 189 (explaining ô x‘mpasa gn∏mh) states: ‘Thucydides tells us that he is going to make up suitable words for the speakers’ occasions, but that he will keep as close as he can to the entire intention of a speech: he will not falsify that intention in any detail by the words he chooses to put in the speaker’s mouth.’

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the text, and (b) which text is accepted as a ‘true’ representation by the observer from within his culturally and socially determined standpoint. Dionysius is aware that Thucydides could have presented an entirely different image of the past and justly questions Thucydides’ version because his vision of the Classical past is based on a different paradigm, the representation of the past in Classical and, especially, Isocratean rhetoric. We do not have to accept Dionysius’ allegation that Thucydides’ History deliberately distorts the character of the Classical Athenians and their motivations and we do not have to adopt Dionysius’ idealized vision of the past as our own paradigm. But we should acknowledge that Dionysius’ procedure is not mistaken in principle: it rests (consciously or not) upon the assumption that historians prefigure their material according to patterns in their minds and thus impose meaning upon the facts, rather than discover it in them. Hayden White’s work has shown that this assumption is justified, and ever since Cornford’s ‘Thucydides Mythistoricus’ (London 1907) it has been realized that Thucydides’ work is no exception. Like all other historians, Thucydides selected events and included or emphasized some, while omitting or downplaying others; he judged every event ‘by his own standards’ and decided whether or not it was ‘relevant and meaningful. “Fact” though it was, [an event] might have gone unrecorded, had Thucydides not seen its significance and raised it to the level of history. Just as the latter is an act of mind, so its product, the historical fact, is informed by mind.’ 436 Dionysius’ discussion of the Dialogue shows that rhetorical and literary criticism is bound up with a distinct vision of the past. Dionysius uses criticism to censure works which do not conform to this vision and thus to implement it in the mind of the reader. Historiography is text, therefore it has to follow the rules of politiko» lÏgoi concerning subject matter, arrangement, and style. Historytelling is the domain of the critic, not of the historian, and Dionysius’ criticism of the Melian Dialogue is a programmatic demonstration of his arrogation of power in historiography and his influence on his readers’ perception of the past. Not only does Dionysius disavow Thucydides’ version of the past; his criticism as a whole reads like a counter-programme to Thucydides’ historical method. As mentioned above, at Thuc. 41.4 Dionysius defines his discussion of the Melian Dialogue as a test-case for whether Thucydides 436 Hunter (1973) 93 (italics in the original); cf. ibid. 104–105 (‘By seeking out in all honesty the typical and recurrent in history, he [Thucydides] imposed [italics mine] such patterns on events, 105), 151, 177, and passim.

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really ‘adher[ed] as closely as possible to the general sense of what was actually said’ (Th. 1.22.1). Also the main point of Dionysius’ conception of historiography, the central role of pleasure in reading history and the link between pleasure and the acceptance of an account as ‘true,’ is an attack against Thucydides’ famous statement at the end of his chapter on method (Th. 1.22.4):

Ka» ‚c m‡n ÇkrÏasin “swc t‰ mò muj¿dec aŒt¿n ÇterpËsteron faneÿtai; Ìsoi d‡ boul†sontai t¿n te genomËnwn t‰ saf‡c skopeÿn ka» t¿n mellÏntwn pot‡ afijic katÄ t‰ Çnjr∏pinon toio‘twn ka» paraplhs–wn Ísesjai, ≤fËlima kr–nein aŒtÄ Çrko‘ntwc Èxei. Kt®mà te e c Çe» mêllon £ Çg∏nisma ‚c t‰ paraqr®ma Çko‘ein x‘gkeitai. It may well be that the absence of the fabulous from my narrative will seem less pleasing to the ear; but whoever shall wish to have a clear view both of the events which happened and of those which will some day, in all human probability, happen again in the same or a similar way – for these to adjudge my history profitable will be enough for me. And, indeed, it has been composed, not as a prize-essay to be heard for the moment, but as a possession for all time.

There is no need to go into the various problems raised by this passage. 437 It is certain that Thucydides conceives of the lack of pleasure (ÇterpËsteron) of his account and its reliability (t‰ safËc) as interrelated; this, in turn, makes the History useful (≤fËlima) for future generations (probably because it enabled them to recognize similarities between their times and the past and to identify patterns in history, but this is a matter of dispute).438 Thucydides thought of the unpleasant reading experience of his work as an indicator of its truth: he did not play down the sufferings of the Greeks during the War nor let his affiliation with Athens and his fellow citizens influence his uncompromising account of Athenian realpolitik. Dionysius turns this relationship between displeasure and truth upside-down and defines pleasure as the historian’s first and most important task; pleasure, in turn, is an indicator of truth because it reflects that the historian and the reader share the same view on and attitude towards the past. Thucydides had attempted to make truth a value of its own which is independent of whether readers identify 437 Especially the meaning of t‰ [mò] muj¿dec is debated, cf., e.g., Flory (1990) (‘stories which exaggerate and celebrate the stories of war’ so as to give ‘pleasure to the listeners by encouraging them to feel flattered by praise of their own,’ 193); de Romilly (1966) (rhetorical techniques employed by orators and, above all, the sophists, 143); cf. Lateiner (1977). 438 Flory (1990) 197–198; de Romilly (1966) 142; cf. Rutherford (1994) 53.

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with his representation of the past and approve of it; Dionysius nullifies this attempt by re-interpreting the unpleasantness of Thucydides’ account as a proof of Thucydides’ bias and, therefore, of the lack of reliability of Thucydides’ image of the past. Some scholars have argued that Thucydides’ rejection of the muj¿dec was directed against the rhetorical practice to deceive the audience by pleasing it and that his historical programme was meant as an opposition to contemporary rhetorical practice. 439 Although Dionysius does not take the muj¿dec as referring to deception through rhetoric in particular, 440 it is a reasonable assumption that he realized that Thucydides’ historical method in general borrowed conceptions from Classical forensic rhetoric,441 but gave them a different, virtually anti-rhetorical meaning. One might speculate, then, as to whether he was trying to restore to rhetoric the influence on historiography which Thucydides had taken away from it. Dionysius’ rejection of the link between lack of pleasure and truth goes hand-in-hand with his rejection of Thucydides’ notion of the usefulness of history. As mentioned above, Dionysius’ criticism of Thucydides’ choice of subject is implicitly directed against Thucydides’ assertion that his contemporaries might not enjoy the History, but that future generations will appreciate its benefits (Ìsoi d‡ boul†sontai t¿n te genomËnwn t‰ saf‡c

skopeÿn ka» t¿n mellÏntwn pot‡ afijic katÄ t‰ Çnjr∏pinon toio‘twn 439 Flory (1990); de Romilly (1966). Plant (1999) points out the similarities between the principles of Thucydides’ historical method and those of contemporary forensic rhetoric; Gagarin (1994) 64 describes Thucydides as a critic of rhetoric who ‘was fully aware of the potential danger of rhetorical manipulation’ and whose ‘work as a whole could be taken as a conservative warning against this danger.’ 440 At Thuc. 6.5 Dionysius interprets t‰ muj¿dec as elements of an account which aim to deceive the masses; Thucydides refused to write a work which contained such elements (‘[Thucydides differed from the earlier historians] by his exclusion of all legendary material and his refusal to make his history an instrument for deceiving and captivating the common people,’ [Joukud–dhc di†llaxe t¿n pr‰ aŒto‹ suggrafËwn] katÄ t‰ mhd‡n muj¿dec prosàyai, mhd+e c Çpàthn ka» go†teian t¿n poll¿n ‚ktrËyai tòn graf†n). But Dionysius was not thinking of rhetorical techniques, but of fantastic tales which were occasionally inserted into historical works, such as ‘female monsters at Lamia rising up out of the earth in the woods and glades, and amphibious Naiads issuing forth from Tartarus, half-human and half-animal […] and other stories which seem incredible and largely ridiculous to us in these days’ (Lam–ac tinÄc …storo‹ntec ‚n ’laic ka» nàpaic ‚k g®c ÇniemËnac, ka» NaÚdac Çmfib–ouc ‚k Tartàrwn ‚xio‘sac […] ka»

ällac tinÄc Çp–stouc tƒ kaj+ômêc b–˙ ka» polÃ t‰ ÇnÏhton Íqein doko‘sac …stor–ac). 441 Plant (1999).

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ka» paraplhs–wn Ísesjai, ≤fËlima kr–nein aŒtÄ Çrko‘ntwc Èxei, Th. 1.22.4). 442 Dionysius’ conception of Isocratean historiography, which he found realized in Theopompus’ work, reveals his conception of the benefits of historiography: the purpose of historytelling is not learning about the past for its own sake, as Thucydides had envisaged it, but the moral edification of the reader. Thus Dionysius corrects Thucydides’ portrayal of the Athenians by replacing it with an ‘Isocratean’ one with which his readers can identify and on which they can model themselves. With the Antiquitates, Dionysius demonstrates how history should be written that is both useful and pleasurable, and an important part of this project is the fact that the readers’ moral and political education through the examples of the Roman ancestors is one of the main goals of his historical work (1.6.4). The only way for Dionysius to deal with Thucydides’ portrayal of the Athenians is to de-construct it and to replace it with a more pleasant, and more acceptable, image of the Classical ancestors. The passages of the History which Dionysius actually re-writes are thus symptomatic of the process which Dionysius expects his criticism to initiate in his readers’ minds: in the same way Dionysius wipes out the passages of Thucydides’ work which do not conform to his Classicist paradigm of the past by rewriting them, his readers are supposed to re-write in their minds Thucydides’ image of the past along the lines suggested by Dionysius. 443 At the same time, Dionysius presents himself as defending the reputation of the Classical Athenians against Thucydides’ attempts to make Athens the object of universal hate (Thuc. 41.8 above). Dionysius thus demonstrates his commitment to Classical Athens, and his criticism is an expression of the Greek and Athenian identity which Thucydides rejected, and even betrayed, through his work. Dionysius, the critic in the first century BCE, proves to be more filÏpolic (Isoc. 5.1), even more Classical, than Thucydides himself. So far this chapter has explored how Dionysius imagined the Classical Athenians, their role in the past, their actions, and their motivations for their actions. But the Classical Greek past is not the only past with which Dionysius’ Classicism is concerned. Chapter 2.3 has shown that Dionysius aims to integrate the Greek and the Roman past so as to make them the foundations for his interpretation of the present as the rebirth of the Classical times: in his preface to On the Ancient Orators, Dionysius defines his Roman contempo442 See above, p. 134. 443 Wilson (1966) compares Thucydides’ and Isocrates’ image of the Athenian empire and concludes that they are separated by an insurmountable gap.

3.3 A Greek Past for the Roman Present

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raries as the representatives of filÏsofoc ˚htorik†. Although Dionysius’ interpretation of Augustan Rome and Roman power in Greek terms was in general favourable for his Greek readers, 444 such an interpretation was not uncontroversial. Apart from Dionysius’ Roman readers, who might not have liked the idea that their culture and their power were explained as merely the continuation of the Classical Greek past, many Greek intellectuals preferred to keep the Roman and the Greek spheres separate: they viewed the Romans as Barbarians who had usurped the superiority to which only the Greeks were entitled (1.4.1–2). 445 The view of the Romans which underlies Dionysius’ Classicism called for a more substantial justification, and the Antiquitates provided it.

3.3 A Greek Past for the Roman Present: The Project of Dionysius’ Antiquitates Gabba’s study Dionysius and The History of Archaic Rome in 1991 marks a turning point in scholarship on Dionysius’ Antiquitates Romanae. 446 Previously scholars had often found fault with Dionysius’ positive attitude towards Rome, which was interpreted as an attempt to flatter the ruling class of his day, and with his interest in early Roman history in general, which was regarded as unworthy of a genuinely Greek mind. 447 Since Gabba scholars have realized that Dionysius’ work did not try to be even remotely similar to the kind of ‘objective’ historiography which Schwartz and his colleagues expected from him in the wake of German positivism. The Antiquitates implements a political and cultural programme. The aim of Dionysius’ work is not to describe the history of early Rome, but to create it along the lines of Classical Greek past and culture: 448 ‘Dionysius

444 445 446 447

See ch. 2.3.3 above. For a detailed discussion of this passage see below, pp. 185–187. Cf. the brief assessment of the Antiquitates in Gabba (1982a). See Schwartz (1903) 934; his view is still adopted by Lendle (1992) 242, almost one hundred years later; cf. the overview of scholars’ opinions about the Antiquitates in Hidber (1996) 74 n. 313 and Delcourt (2005) 71–76. 448 Hartog (1991) 160: ‘Among others and after others had done the same, Dionysius intends to re-work the past, re-visit a culture, in short, re-invent a tradition’ (‘Denys, avec d’autres et après d’autres déjà, entend réélaborer un passé, revisiter une culture, brèf réinventer une tradition’).

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is recreating classical Greece in Italy before its time.’ 449 His work was to provide Rome with a Greek past so as to demonstrate that the Romans were Greeks, both ethnically and ethically: 450 originally, the Roman people were Arcadians who left their home forced by shortage of land and food and founded a Greek Çpoik–a in Italy under their leader Oenotrus, son of Lycaon (1.11.1–2). 451 Centuries later, when Rome had been founded and the Roman people had come into existence, the Romans imported customs and institutions from their Greek countrymen, most prominently from the Athenians, 452 and lived a genuine b–oc ìEllhn in Italy. Moreover, since the Romans avoided or even corrected mistakes made by their Greek models, they were more successful than the mainland Greeks. 453 Greek influence on Roman society and the early Romans’ self-definition is especially prominent in the first books, but there can be no doubt that Delcourt’s claim is justified that Dionysius’ Greek vision of Rome is the key to our interpretation of the work as a whole.454 The process by which Dionysius (re)constructs the Roman Regal Period in Greek terms has been explored in great detail in such excellent studies as Fox’s Roman Historical Myths. The Regal Period in Augustan Literature (Oxford 1996) and Delcourt’s Lecture des Antiquités romaines de Denys d’Halicarnasse. Un historien entre deux mondes (Brussels 2005) and need not be repeated here.455 It is not within the scope of this section to provide a comprehensive analysis of Dionysius’ historical work. Rather, the following discussion will focus on Dionysius’ historical programme and its relation to his Classicism, especially on the question of whether Dionysius’ Classicist ideology explains his choice to write specifically an early Roman history, from the beginnings. Therefore I will concentrate on the preface of Dionysius’ work (1.1–8), in which he describes his methodological principles and defines the scope of his work, and on the first books of Dionysius’ 449 Fox (1993) 36. 450 Hidber (1996) 77; the development of the literary topos that Rome is a Greek city is traced by Delcourt (2005) 81–127. 451 See Hartog (1991) 162; Delcourt (2005) 105–114, 129–156. 452 As Delcourt (2005) 129–195 has shown, Dionysius reduces Greece in the Antiquitates to Arcadia, Athens, and Sparta. 453 Hartog (1991) 165–167 (with examples); Delcourt (2005) 190, 290–291. 454 Delcourt (2005) 79; Martin (2000) has shown that references to Dionysius’ main topic, the ‘hellénisme de Rome’ (151), are found also in the fragments of the now-lost books of the Antiquitates. 455 For a detailed discussion of Delcourt’s book see my review in BMCR, Wiater (2005a).


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account, which deal with the very beginnings, the Çrq†, of Roman history; since Dionysius, as will become apparent, conceives of Roman history as a whole as determined by its beginnings, I will refer to the later books whenever this is suitable. Due to the fragmentary state of the Antiquitates, it is impossible to find out whether or not Dionysius implemented his historical programme throughout his narrative. But the present discussion is not concerned with the internal consistency of Dionysius’ interpretation of Roman history. Dionysius’ preface and the preserved parts of Dionysius’ work will provide sufficient evidence to advance a hypothesis of why the beginnings of Roman history were important to Dionysius and how his historical project relates to his Classicist ideology. Scholars have pointed out mimesis as the main link between Dionysius’ Classicism and his historiography. In the preface to the Antiquitates (1.1–8) Dionysius sets out three main goals of his work: 456 first, the eternal glorification of the great achievements of Rome’s virtuous men (ändrec Çgajo–, 1.6.3); second, rewarding Rome for the education and other benefits (paide–a ka» tÄ älla Çgajà) which she bestowed upon Dionysius, the Antiquitates being an expression of his gratitude (qarist†rioi Çmoiba–, 1.6.5); finally, providing models of behaviour to his Roman readers (1.6.4). 457 As suggested in the preceding section, especially the last point fits Dionysius’ conception of an ethico-moral historiography in the tradition of the Isocratean ‘rhetoric of identity.’ The Antiquitates describes the exemplary behaviour of the Roman ancestors so that Roman readers can model their lives on them.458 Dionysius expects his Roman contemporaries to continue ancestral ethics and to carry them on into the future: ‘in the idealized vision of Roman society proposed by Dionysius there is an intimate and privileged 456 For an analysis of the proem see Verdin (1974); Martin (1969). 457 Dionysius states that he has chosen early Roman history specifically so that ‘both the present and future descendants of those godlike men will choose, not the pleasantest and easiest of lives, but rather the noblest and most ambitious, when they consider that all who are sprung from an illustrious origin ought to set a high value on themselves and indulge in no pursuit unworthy of their ancestors’ (toÿc d+Çp+‚ke–nwn t¿n sojËwn Çndr¿n

n‹n te ofisi ka» ’steron ‚somËnoic mò t‰n °distÏn te ka» ˚îston a…reÿsjai t¿n b–wn, ÇllÄ t‰n eŒgenËstaton ka» filotimÏtaton, ‚njumoumËnouc Ìti toÃc e lhfÏtac kalÄc tÄc pr∏tac ‚k to‹ gËnouc ÇformÄc mËga ‚f+·autoÿc pros†kei froneÿn ka» mhd‡n Çnàxion ‚pithde‘ein t¿n progÏnwn); cf. Martin (1969); Verdin (1974). 458 Dionysius’ interest in the Roman ancestors had a match in contemporary Roman society; cf. Hölkeskamp (1996); Maslakov (1984). Fornara (1983) argued that this Roman exempla tradition might be the reason for Polybius’ emphasis on ‘the study of history as a sound inferential basis for present and future political activity’ (112–115, the quotation p. 113).

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relationship between the individual and his or her past, because imitation enables emulation.’459 Similarly, Hidber states: ‘Apart from a wealth of generally useful information, [the Antiquitates Romanae] provides specimens of exemplary conduct and political activity.’ 460 Thus in principle, the aim of the Antiquitates is the same as that of Dionysius’ criticism: both parts of Dionysius’ œuvre aim to implement an ancestral way of life in the present, the main difference being that Dionysius’ Greek readers acquire and enact Classical lifestyle mainly through language, whereas the Antiquitates expects the Roman readers directly to imitate the behaviour of their ancestors. Along these lines the present section will explore the role of mimesis in the Antiquitates. Two different kinds of mimesis need to be distinguished: intratextual mimesis and extratextual mimesis. Intratextual mimesis describes the process of Hellenization of early Roman life and society and will be discussed in section 3.3.1. The section will start with an assessment of the role of Greek ideas and values in Roman society in the Antiquitates. Dionysius’ Romans adopt Greek manners, customs, and institutions and make them the constituents of their cultural, social, and political life. This process begins at the very origins of Roman history, with Romulus’ constitution. More than just a set of political rules, the Constitutio Romuli is a systematic attempt of the first king to define Roman identity, and the basis of this definition are Greek political and moral values. Romulus’ laws implement these values in Roman society, establish them as the guidelines of Roman public and private behaviour and make them the standard of Roman behaviour for all centuries to come. The discussion will therefore be centred on Romulus’ constitution and on how Dionysius defines its place in the whole of Roman history. Intratextual mimesis has a double role to play in this process: on the one hand, Romulus adopts Greek models for his constitutional project; thus intratextual mimesis connects the Romans with the Greeks. On the other hand, Romulus and the early Romans, whose lives enacted these Greek models, become themselves, as maiores, models of behaviour for later generations; following the model of the maiores, the Romans preserve

459 Delcourt (2005) 46–47 (‘dans la vision idéalisée de la société romaine proposée par Denys, il s’instaure entre l’individu et son passé une relation intime et privilégiée, car l’imitation permet l’émulation’). 460 Hidber (1996) 74 (‘[Die Antiquitates bieten] nebst einer Fülle allgemein nützlicher Informationen Beispiele nachahmenswerter Lebensführung und staatsmännischen Handelns’); cf. Delcourt (2005) 39–40.


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Greek virtues as the foundations of their society and continue the political and moral tradition which was established by Romulus. Against this background we will then consider the significance of Dionysius’ emphasis on the fact that Roman life was constituted from the very beginnings (eŒjÃc ‚x Çrq®c) by Greek values and institutions for his interpretation of the Roman past and the role of the Romans in history in general. Dionysius, it will turn out, employs the Romans’ Greekness to explain Roman power. The Antiquitates is directed against the opinion of ‘certain’ Greeks who refused to accept the Romans’ right to rule. According to them, the Romans’ power had not been achieved in a long, continuous process and was not justified by any particular achievements of the Romans, but had been bestowed on them only recently by fortune. The Antiquitates, by contrast, explains Roman power as the result of the Greek moral and political virtues on which Roman society had been based from its very beginnings, i. e., ever since Romulus’ constitution (eŒjÃc ‚x Çrq®c). 461 Dionysius’ Classicist ideology, I will argue, provides an answer to why it was so important to Dionysius that Roman power was based on a long tradition of Greek values. In Classical rhetoric the Athenians’ claim to hegemony and power was legitimized by their tradition of autochthonous, ancestral virtues, which had been preserved and handed down by the prÏgonoi from the origins of Athenian history. The Antiquitates creates such a tradition of virtues for the Romans and thus provides Roman power with a justification that meets the standards of Classical rhetoric. This justification, in turn, is essential for Dionysius’ claim that Augustan Rome is the heir to the Classical Greek past and that the Roman present is the time of the rebirth of politiko» lÏgoi. Therefore Dionysius’ historical project, to write Roman history eŒjÃc ‚x Çrq®c, is comprehensible only within his Classicist world view. Since Dionysius’ Antiquitates is often read alongside Polybius’ Histories, 462 this section will also provide a brief assessment of the relationship between their respective approaches to Roman power. 461 This point is often stressed by Dionysius, see, e.g., 1.3.4 (eŒjÃc […] ‚x Çrq®c metÄ t‰n o kismÏn), 1.5.2 (metÄ t‰n o kism‰n eŒjËwc), 1.5.3. 462 The works of both Polybius and Dionysius aim to explain the phenomenon of the spread and duration of Roman power, which had no precedent in history; cf. Plb. 1.1.5 with Ant. 1.1.2 and 1.2.1: at 1.1.2 Dionysius declares that only ‘noble and lofty’ (kala» ka» megaloprepeÿc) subjects are suitable for historical treatment; later on, at 1.2.1, he points out that it is the unique extent of Roman power which defines early Roman history as such a subject (ÕpÏjesin) that is ‘noble, lofty and useful to many’ (kalòn ka» megaloprep® ka» pollòn ≤fËleian toÿc ÇnagnwsomËnoic fËrousan).

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Chapter 3.3.2 will then turn to extratextual mimesis. This term describes how Dionysius expects his readers to interact with the text. As mentioned above, the Antiquitates is supposed to exert an immediate ethical influence on its Roman readers by providing models of behaviour. This process is extratextual mimesis. Extratextual mimesis is the means by which continuity with the past is achieved and, since the behaviour of the ancestors is thoroughly Greek, by which Greek values are made the standard of the way of life also of Dionysius’ Roman contemporaries. The key message of the Antiquitates is that such ethical continuity of the ancestral tradition in the present is essential to the Romans because Roman superiority is based on the virtues and morals of the ancestors. If the Romans neglect their moral and political tradition, they will lose their Greekness and, with it, their superiority. Dionysius claims a crucial role in this process for his historical work because it is the only work available, or so Dionysius alleges, which provides a detailed account of the achievements and the way of life of the ancestors. Therefore the Romans have to rely on Dionysius’, a Greek’s, work in order to maintain their present state of power. Intra- and extratextual mimesis are interrelated: the early Romans set the standard to which Dionysius’ contemporaries aspire (extratextual mimesis) because of their moral and political excellence, and they owed this excellence to the virtues they adopted from the Greeks (intratextual mimesis). The educational purpose which is implied in extratextual mimesis defines the Antiquitates as an example of ‘Isocratean historiography.’ The strong emphasis on the behaviour of the Roman ancestors as the standard for Romans in the first century BCE raises the question of whether, and how, the Antiquitates is related to Augustus’ restorative programme. This question will be addressed in the concluding part of section 3.3.2. Scholars have pointed out that while certain aspects of Dionysius’ work are reminiscent of Augustus’ political programme, his general thesis, the Romans’ Greekness, is at odds with the Virgilian version of the origins of the Roman people endorsed by the princeps. These ambiguities have so far been explained in terms of a pro- or anti-Augustan slant to the Antiquitates; I will argue that this explanation is unconvincing. On closer inspection, Dionysius’ model of Roman identity is at variance not with Augustan authors specifically, but with alternative conceptions of Roman identity that claimed politics and morals as genuinely Roman domains which were, and had always been, free from Greek influence. Therefore, Dionysius’ work should not be approached in terms of pro- or anti-Augustan; rather, the relationship between Greeks and Romans in general, which underlies the


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Antiquitates, needs to be reconsidered. There is a tendency in contemporary scholarship to see Dionysius as the first theoretician of an ‘ecumenical’ Graeco-Roman world in which differences between Greeks and Romans are overcome by their shared Hellenic education and culture. The discussion will show that this is too idealistic a view of Dionysius’ work: Dionysius defines the Romans’ political and cultural achievements from the beginnings of their history as dependent on Greek culture. Thus far from offering a Graeco-Roman vision of the world, with the Romans being on a par with the Greeks, the Antiquitates re-asserts the distinction between the culturally superior Greeks and the Romans. 3.3.1 EŒjÃc ‚x Çrq®c: The Archaeology of Roman Power It is a recurring theme throughout the Antiquitates that Romans consciously adopt Greek models: ‘Romans,’ as Hill put it, ‘display an extensive knowledge of Greek political theories, institutions and history.’463 Seeking to invest his words with more authority, Numa Pompilius, for example, followed the ‘Greek examples’ (<EllhnikÄ parade–gmata) of Minos and Lycurgus and invented the alliance with the nymph Egeria (2.61.2); when Sextus Tarquinius, son of the Roman king, had taken the town Gabii by fraud, he asked his father for advice on how to set his power on stable foundations. His father answered by mimicking the Milesian tyrant Thrasybulus, who had replied to the same question of Periander, tyrant of Corinth, by chopping off the heads of the tallest halms, thus suggesting that Periander should kill the most influential people in Corinth (4.56.3). The Greeks remain the models of Roman behaviour also after the Regal Period. Roman dictatorship, for example, is modelled on the Greek institution of the ‘Aisymnetes’ (5.73.3), and the ovatio is adapted from the Greek eŒast†c (5.47.2–3). Furthermore, the decemviri legibus scribundis, who were responsible for reforming the Roman laws, sent messengers to Magna Graecia and Athens to bring back the ‘best laws and such as are most suited to our ways of life’ (kràtistoi nÏmoi ka» màlista toÿc ômetËroic ÅrmÏttontec b–oic, 10.51.5). In this period of their history the Romans deal with the Greek models in a more self-confident way than at the beginning: the Greek laws are selected according to the requirements of Roman life (kràtistoi;

463 Hill (1961) 89; Martin (2000); cf. Gärtner (1989).

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ÅrmÏttontec). Nevertheless, long after the end of the Regal Period the Greek world is still the point of reference for the Romans. Although the Romans have had their own legal system for centuries when the decemviri are charged with the reform, Roman tradition alone is insufficient and needs to be complemented with the Greek. Thus the decemviri are assigned the task to ‘select both from the Roman usages and from the Greek laws brought back by the ambassadors the best institutions and such as were suitable to the Roman commonwealth, and form them into a body of laws’ (Ík te t¿n patr–wn ‚j¿n ka» ‚k t¿n <Ellhnik¿n nÏmwn, oœc ‚kÏmisan o… prËsbeic, ‚klexamËnouc tÄ kràtista ka» t¨ AllÄ to‹to °dion Çkousj®nai ka» megaloprepËsteron; Pên ofin toŒnant–on öfàniken aŒt®c t‰ semn‰n ka» lel‘mantai. Here again, what is the purpose of adding “as we are bound to” at the end? Does it make the meaning clearer? It is clear without this addition. If it were written as follows: “It remains to pay tribute to these heroes in words, as the law ordains.” Who would have criticised it for obscurity? But perhaps the form that we have sounds better and is more impressive? Quite the contrary: its dignity has been removed and destroyed.

The interplay of questions and answers invites the reader actively to engage in the discussion. Questions such as ‘Who would have criticised it for obscurity?’ elicit agreement and urge the addressee to subscribe to Dionysius’ opinion. A question like ‘But perhaps the form that we have sounds better and is more impressive?,’ on the other hand, verbalizes an objection which might have come to the minds of some readers. Dionysius seems to be arguing with these readers, and his words seem to reply to their objections. Other readers, by contrast, who had not thought of such an objection, are challenged by Dionysius’ question to consider this alternative assessment of the passage and to position themselves toward it. 708 Such a dialogic interaction culminates in a passage such as Dem. 13.1–3 which presents the whole argument as a dialogue between Dionysius and his addressee:

708 I will return to this passage in ch. 5.2.2, pp. 344–345 below.

5.1 Criticism as Dialogic Interaction

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Ta‹t+oŒ kajarÄ ka» Çkrib® ka» saf® ka» diÄ t¿n kur–wn te ka» koin¿n Ênomàtwn kateskeuasmËna πsper tÄ Lus–ou; – >Emo» m‡n gÄr Õpàrqein dokeÿ. – T– dË; OŒq» s‘ntoma ka» strogg‘la ka» Çlhje–ac mestÄ kajàper ‚keÿna; – Pàntwn m‡n ofin màlista. – OŒq» d‡ ka» pijanÄ ka» ‚n ¢jei legÏmenà tini ka» t‰ prËpon toÿc ÕpokeimËnoic pros∏poic te ka» pràgmasi fulàttonta; Ol–ga d‡ lhfjËnta t¿n poll¿n …kanÄ tekm†ria, ka» âma pr‰c ‚pistamËnouc (oŒ gÄr d† ge toÿc Çpe–roic to‹ Çndr‰c tàde gràfw) t‰ deÿxai tÄ pràgmata sumbolik¿c ÇpÏqrh. I do not think I need to support my thesis here by examining specimen passages from his speeches to see whether they are as I say: for this would make my treatise much longer, and it would be in danger of assuming the character of a textbook instead of an essay. A small selection from the many examples available is enough to prove my point; and besides, for those who know the orator’s work (and this treatise is not intended for those who do not), a token proof is quite sufficient.

Dionysius distinguishes Õpomnhmatismo– from the sqolik‰c qarakt†r. The decisive difference between them is their length (dËoc m†pote e c toÃc sqolikoÃc ‚kb¨ qarakt®rac ‚k t¿n Õpomnhmatism¿n), and the reason for this difference in length is the authors’ different use of quotations. Whereas the sqolik‰c qarakt†r is characterized by an overabundance of quotations, Dionysius employs quotations only ‘symbolically’ (sumbolik¿c). 713 In antiquity symbolon referred to one half of a token which was broken between two parties when concluding a contract. Each party kept one half as proof of identity: any negotiation regarding the contract required 712 EboulÏmhn Íti ple–w parasqËsjai parade–gmata t®c to‹ suggrafËwc Çgwg®c; squrotËra gÄr ô p–stic o’twc ãn ‚gËneto. N‹n d+


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his work to grow out of proportion. Although Dionysius does not explicitly say so, the phrasing and context, especially when compared with the similar passage Dem. 46.3–4 (above), suggest that Dionysius implies here, too, that such a lack of proportion (Çkair–a, Dem. 42.1) would bring about a shift to the sqolikÏn mode. Fortunately, though, this can be avoided and more examples are not necessary, ‘for passing reference is enough for those who are familiar with them’ (ô gÄr ÕpÏmnhsic ±c ‚n e dÏsin …kan†). At Comp. 3.12 Dionysius points out that a wealth of verses from Homer (toia‹ta d+‚st» parÄ tƒ poiht¨ mur–a) could be quoted in order to demonstrate that the combination of words (s‘njesic) is more important than the choice of words (‚klog†). But since he is ‘sure that everyone is aware’ of this, ‘it is enough for me to quote this single passage as a reminder’ (±c eŒ o⁄d+Ìti pàntec “sasin; ‚mo» d+Õpomn†sewc Èneka lËgonti Çrkeÿ ta‹ta mÏna e peÿn). Similarly, Dionysius stresses in numerous passages that he deliberately limits the number of examples because he can rely on the knowledge of his eŒpa–deutoi/e dÏtec readers.716 Length is an important generic criterion of Dionysius’ essays: it defines them as Õpomnhmatismo– as opposed to sqoliko» essays. The length depends on the number of quotations, which, in turn, is determined by the reader’s knowledge. Dionysius’ addressees do not need to be overloaded with examples because their competence enables them to recall the entire work of a Classical author on the basis of a few passages. The type of reader Dionysius envisages for his essay thus shapes the arrangement and presentation of his material: Dionysius’ Õpomnhmatismo– bear their name because they are brief, having been designed to serve only as ‘reminders’ (Õpomn†sewc Èneka, Comp. 3.12 above) – everything Dionysius chooses not ‚xe–rgomai, spe‘dwn ‚p» tÄ proke–mena ka» âma dÏxan Õfor∏menoc Çkair–ac. […] Arkeÿ gàr, ±c ‚n e dÏsi lËgontac, Ìti f‘sin Íqei mhd‡n t¿n spouda–wn ˚hmàtwn ämoiron πrac e⁄nai ka» qàritoc d–ac, toso‹ton mÏnon e peÿn); 20.3; Comp. 16.18 ‘As I am addressing men who know their Homer, I do not think that more examples are necessary’ (>En e dÏsi lËgwn, oŒk o“omai pleiÏnwn deÿn paradeigmàtwn); 19.11: ‘I do not think that many words are needed on this part of my subject. I believe everyone knows that, in discourse, variation is a most attractive and beautiful quality’ (OŒ poll¿n

d+o⁄mai deÿn lÏgwn e c to‹to t‰ mËroc; Ìti gÄr °distÏn te ka» kàlliston ‚n lÏgoic metabol†, pàntac e dËnai pe–jomai); 22.35: ‘I need not say, when all educated people know it as well as I […]’ ([…] ±c pr‰c e dÏtac Âmo–wc eŒpaide‘touc âpantac oŒd‡n dËomai lËgein […]) (list not exhaustive).

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5. Enacting Distinction

to say his addressees can supply on their own. Dionysius’ discussions and the reader’s knowledge are like two symbola which complement each other. The particular design of Dionysius’ essays is informed by the notion that his works are virtual dialogues with elite readers whose knowledge distinguishes them from the ‘other,’ ordinary readers: length and use of quotations distinguish his essays from other critical writings and define them as Õpomnhmatismo–. This, in turn, reflects upon the self-image of his addressees: if they prove to be able to follow Dionysius’ discussions without needing further examples, they are justified in regarding themselves as elite readers. Otherwise they would be unable to deal with this kind of text. Dionysius’ works thus create a particular reading situation. They constantly confront the readers with the question of whether or not they can define themselves as ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi.’ If they have the knowledge that enables them to side with Dionysius, they are allowed to regard themselves as members of the ‘in-group’ of competent readers; if they do not, they reveal their lack of knowledge and are relegated to the ‘out-group’ of incompetent readers. Literary criticism in Dionysius’ essays is a performance of ‘in-group’/‘out-group reading.’ 717 The interactive structure of Dionysius’ criticism has important implications for our understanding of the nature of the community of ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi.’ The embedding of the original discursive context into the text itself by way of the introductory chapters combined with the dialogical design of the discussions uncouples the texts from their contexts; Dionysius’ essays are ‘decontextualizable.’ 718 Independent of the time and place in which they are read, the essays preserve their original character of spontaneity and immediacy. The ‘in-group’ of Classicists, which is created through the reading process, is therefore not bound to a historically specific 717 It is important to remember that in antiquity texts were usually read aloud so that the readers literally enacted the different voices in the text; Porter has pointed out that reading viva voce was of special importance to Classicists because it allowed them to resuscitate the voices of the Classical authors and thus to ‘reliv[e] the authentic past’ (Porter [2006b] 319; cf. ibid. 314–315, 320). 718 In linguistics this process is known as ‘entextualization.’ Bauman/Briggs (1990) 73 define it as ‘the process of rendering discourse extractable, of making a stretch of linguistic production into a unit – a text – that can be lifted out of its interactional setting. A text, then, from this vantage point, is discourse rendered decontextualizable. Entextualization may well incorporate aspects of context, such that the resultant text carries elements of its history of use within it.’ On decontextualization in general see ibid. 72–78 (‘Decontextualization and Entextualization’).


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time or place; it is a function of the text and it is created through reading the text. Dionysius’ criticism may have started as the activity of a more or less well-defined group of people, his ‘literary circle.’ But Dionysius’ essays stretch out beyond this group: their interactive structure invites any and every reader to take part, albeit virtually, in the discussions about the Classical texts. Through their dialogic, interactive structure, Dionysius’ essays themselves constitute the space in which the virtual community of Classicist readers convenes. 719 The historical discussions of the ‘literary circle’ are now substituted, and continued, on a virtual plane by the readers’ dialogue with Dionysius about the Classical texts, which is enacted through the reading process. This conforms to the general purpose of Dionysius’ writings as he defines it at Orat. Vett. 4.1: they are part of the struggle between Classical and Asianist rhetoric and aim to bring home the final victory of politiko» lÏgoi over Asianism. As shown in chapter 2, Dionysius imagines this struggle as a global one in which the whole oikumene is involved; his writings are supposed to spread the philosophy of Classicism, filÏsofoc ˚htorik†, over the oikumene so that the last few ‘Asian cities, where the progress of culture (ô kal¿n màjhsic) is impeded by ignorance (di+Çmaj–an)’ (Orat. Vett. 2.4), will give up resistance. Dionysius’ works are the instrument by which Çmaj–a is to be replaced with t¿n kal¿n màjhsic; this fits Dionysius’ claim to be the heir of Isocrates. At Isoc. 1.6 Dionysius praises Isocrates because ‘his school came to represent Athens herself in the colonies of education (katÄ tÄc Çpoik–ac t¿n lÏgwn) abroad.’ 720 In the same manner, Dionysius envisages his critical writings (as well as the works of 719 This conception is inspired by Bakhtin’s ‘chronotope,’ the creation of the world in the text through the reading process. The notion ‘chronotope’ (‘time-space’) was developed by Bakhtin to describe how real historical time and space become constituents of the narrated world of the novel; cf. his ‘Forms of Time and of the Chronotope in the Novel. Notes Toward a Historical Poetics’ (published 1937–1938) in Bakhtin (1981) 84– 258, esp. 84. ‘Chronotope’ designates ‘the intrinsic connectedness of temporal and spatial relationships that are artistically expressed in literature’ and ‘the inseparability of space and time […] as a formally constitutive category of literature’ (ibid. 84). This mutual interaction of time and space is for Bakhtin the prerequisite for the creation of a coherent world in literature: ‘In the literary artistic chronotope, spatial and temporal indicators are fused into one carefully thought-out, concrete whole. Time, as it were, thickens, takes on flesh, becomes artistically visible; likewise, space becomes charged and responsive to the movements of time, plot and history. This intersection of axes and fusion of indicators characterizes the artistic chronotope’ (ibid.; cf. ibid. 85, 250). 720 Usher’s transl. modified.

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politiko» lÏgoi which they are supposed to engender) as representing Rome, the city of politiko» lÏgoi (Orat. Vett. 3.1), all over the oikumene and to install the hegemony of Classical rhetoric by founding ‘colonies of Classical education’ with the help of Roman power. 721 Therefore Dionysius conceives of the community of Classicists as principally open, in terms of both space and time; the more people he convinces to subscribe to Classicism, the better. Thus not only will Asianism be defeated soon (Orat. Vett. 3.3); Dionysius’ Classicism will also gain more influence in the field of literary criticism in general and will be able to compete more efficiently with other communities of critics, such as the Stoics, the Peripatetics, and the Platonists. The historical ‘literary circle’ plays a crucial role for this conception of a community of Classicists: the way Dionysius’ approach to the Classical texts united him and his addressees in a group and distinguished them from others provides a model for Dionysius’ readership in general. It gives them an idea of how to imagine the community of which they are becoming a part through the reading process; the ‘literary circle’ might also serve as an example of how readers are supposed to form groups of Classicists and to discuss the Classical texts in other parts of the world, in the Çpoik–ai t¿n lÏgwn. The community of Classicists which is created by Dionysius’ writings is therefore even less based on personal acquaintance of, or even direct communication among, its members than the ‘literary circle.’ It relies entirely upon the readers’ feeling that they are sharing with each other a distinct knowledge about the Classical works as well as a distinct approach to them, and this feeling is created by Dionysius’ texts. The discussion of symbolic interactionism in chapter 1.1.3 has shown that this does not preclude solidarity among the members; on the contrary, what people think, or feel, they have in common with others is much more important for the existence of a community than what they really have in common. Communities are constituted around symbols, and Dionysius’ conception of politiko» lÏgoi is such a symbol. It implies an outlook on the world with which Dionysius invites his readers to identify. 722 But these symbols are flexible: every reader might have a slightly different idea of what politiko» lÏgoi mean to them. For the readers’ self-definition as Classicists it is more important that they think they all share the same conception of Classical rhetoric than that they actually do. This makes Dionysius’ community of ‘practitioners 721 Cf. above, ch. 2.2.1, p. 69, and ch. 2.3.1, esp. pp. 97–100. 722 See chs. 2 and 3 above.

5.2 Strategies of Distinction: Out-Group Reading

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of politiko» lÏgoi’ what Benedict Anderson has called an ‘imagined community,’ i.e., a community in which most of the members ‘will never know their fellow-members or even hear of them, yet in the minds of each lives the image of their communion.’ 723

5.2 Strategies of Distinction: Out-Group Reading The previous paragraph illustrated how Dionysius’ essays create an ‘imagined community’ of ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi’ through the dialogic design of the critical discussions. At the same time, it has become clear that this process of inclusion cannot be separated from a process of distinction and exclusion. Reading Dionysius’ writings is therefore a process with an ambiguous outcome, as the wish to identify oneself as a Classicist elite reader implies the risk of being excluded from the elite community. For only those can get access to this exclusive circle who already have the necessary knowledge and the ability to follow Dionysius’ explanations. Dionysius stresses this point at Dem. 46.4: 724 ‘for those who know the orator’s work (and this treatise is not intended for those who do not), a token proof is quite sufficient.’ Passages such as this, as well as the entire design of Dionysius’ essays which reflects the elitist status of their envisaged addressee, are thus also a warning to the recipients: the shorter the work, the more they will be expected to supply from their own knowledge, and the reading process will inevitably single them out as belonging to the one category of reader 723 Anderson (1991) 6; see especially his remarks on the importance of a shared language (in Dionysius’ case, the common interest in, and adoption of, the Classical language) through which ‘pasts are restored, fellowships are imagined, and futures dreamed’ (ibid. 154). I am aware that Anderson develops his notion of the ‘imagined community’ to describe the interrelation of members of the same nation, and I do not pretend that the community of literati constituted by Dionysius’ writings is comparable to a nation. Classicists, for example, do not have a well-defined territory, nor is there an institutional apparatus, like common schools, ministries, a common military body; above all, print and other mass media, which Anderson regards as essential for the existence of an ‘imagined community,’ did not exist in Dionysius’ day, a fact which limited the dissemination of his ideas. I borrow Anderson’s conception to illustrate an important factor which ‘imagined communities’ of nations have in common with other communities, be they Greek intellectuals or twentieth-century Christians: communities are constituted and persist not because the individual members know each other, but because all of them assume that they share the same values and ideas; cf. the discussion pp. 24–26 above. 724 Above, p. 291.

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or other. Participation in Dionysius’ criticism requires knowledge, and the ÕpomnhmatismÏc-design of Dionysius’ writings reflects this. The theoretical discussion in chapter 1.1.3 has shown that feeling of being, or becoming, part of a community depends on strategies of inclusion as much as on strategies of exclusion. 725 The perception of being part of a group depends on the perception of the boundaries of this group; these boundaries are established by distinction from other, ‘out-groups.’ The contrast with the ‘excluded,’ the äpeiroi, is therefore essential to a group’s developing a distinct profile of its own and is a primary constituent of collective identity. The preceding discussion was centred on structural devices by which Dionysius invites his reader to join the critical discussion by creating a feeling of togetherness between himself and his recipients. This section will explore the down-side of this process, the image of the excluded which is created in Dionysius’ essays, and the different strategies through which Dionysius distinguishes himself and his critical method from them and invites his ideal addressee to do likewise. Dionysius frequently couches his discussion of Classical texts in terms of a refutation of pronouncements of (real or imaginary) representatives of other communities of critics. It is of secondary importance whether these opponents really existed or, if they existed, whether they really made the (often unfounded) statements Dionysius ascribes to them. The discussion of the First Letter to Ammaeus in chapter 1.2 has suggested that the truth probably lies somewhere in the middle: given the outstanding position of the Peripatetics in Hellenistic literary criticism, it seems a plausible assumption that Dionysius might have perceived statements such as that of the anonymous Peripatetic as a real threat to the foundations of his critical method and his legitimation as a critic. 726 Nevertheless, the fact that it is always Dionysius whose opinion proves to be superior and that of his opponents to be untenable or even absurd, casts serious doubt on the reliability of Dionysius’ portrayal of his opponents’ positions and of their style of argumentation. The only conclusion which Dionysius’ essays allow us to draw is that Dionysius might have had discussions with a Peripatetic or Platonists, but the way Dionysius presents them in his essays hardly allows us to reconstruct them.727 Once incorporated into Dionysius’ essays, these discussions 725 See above, pp. 20–21. 726 See above, p. 39. 727 The case of Dionysius’ argument with the ‘Platonists’ is particularly difficult because sources for the role of ‘Academics’ or ‘Platonists’ in the first century BCE are scarce.


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become virtual controversies, that is, controversies which are ‘staged’ and acted out in Dionysius’ texts and are, as such, ‘de-contextualized.’ For this reason they preclude any reliable conclusions on the intellectual culture of Dionysius’ times: our enquiry cannot go beyond the texts. But they do grant us insight into Dionysius’ conception of literary criticism and the crucial role which distinction plays within it: in Dionysius’ writings, literary criticism is inseparable from competition. Hence for the present investigation the question of whether or not critical discourse actually was a struggle is less important than the fact that Dionysius’ essays constitute criticism as a struggle. Therefore the following discussion will not be concerned with the historicity of these controversies, but with their function in Dionysius’ argument. Introducing the voices of adversaries into his essays, Dionysius reminds his reader of the competitive and exclusive nature of literary criticism: expressing an opinion on the style or content of a particular Classical author, and the general approach to Classical literature which lies behind it, is a criterion of distinction. Contrasting his own method of criticism with that of his adversaries, Dionysius highlights the distinctive characteristics of Examining the evidence for the fate of the Academy after Philo of Larissa’s death, Glucker (1978) 120 concludes that by 44 BCE the Academy had virtually ceased to exist: ‘there was now, to the best of our knowledge, no official successor of Plato’: ‘between Theomnestus’s lectures attended by Brutus,’ Glucker continues ibid. 121, ‘[…] and Ammonius the teacher of Plutarch […] we meet with no philosopher living in Athens and described in our sources as an “Academic” or a “Platonist.” ’ This does not preclude, however, that there did exist a community of philosophers in Rome in the first century BCE who regarded themselves as the successors of Plato. The Academic tradition seems to have continued in Rome although those intellectuals who presented themselves as ‘Academics’ were not officially appointed or the acknowledged successors of Plato: Strabo (14.5.14, 674C, 7–8 Radt), for example, refers to Nestor of Tarsus, the teacher of Marcellus, as an ‘Academic’ (ÇkadhmakÏc), and L. Aelius Tubero is known to have been a fellow-student of Aenesidemus at the Academy, probably under Philo (Glucker [1978] 122–123). The case of Dionysius’ ‘Platonists’ is further complicated by the fact that Dionysius clearly associates them and their argument strategies with philosophical principles commonly associated with Plato and Socrates, such as the dichotomy of Çl†jeia and dÏxa and the use of irony (e rwne–a) (see pp. 315–318 below). But it seems impossible to determine whether their claim that Plato should be the supreme model of all rhetorical and philosophical writing originally had any philosophical implications or derived from any philosophical allegiance with the Academy. It seems equally possible that the connection between the Platonists’ rhetorical doctrines and their failure to implement the principles of Platonic philosophic enquiry is a trick of Dionysius with the sole purpose of disavowing their position. See the discussion in ch. 5.2.2 below, esp. pp. 317–318.

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Classicism and creates a sharp profile of himself and his ideal addressee as ‘Classicist critics.’ At the same time, by confronting the recipients with different approaches to and competing interpretations of Classical texts Dionysius urges them to make a choice. This choice implies defining themselves as members of one or another community of critics. Dionysius’ superior position in these virtual arguments demonstrates that only his approach is successful; the negative image of his adversaries, by contrast, which is created in the virtual discussions, is a warning example to the reader: any reader, it implies, who rejects Dionysius’ opinion and subscribes to the ‘wrong’ approach of his opponents, would expose themselves to the same degree of ridicule as Dionysius’ virtual adversaries. This negative foil is even more effective when Dionysius identifies his adversaries with representatives of actually existing communities of scholars, such as the Stoics, the Peripatetics, or the Platonists. Often, as in the first example of out-group reading which will be discussed below, these controversies are shaped as a dialogue between Dionysius, his readers, and the voice of the opponent(s). But Dionysius also has the Classical authors themselves take part in the argument as ‘further voices.’ The interaction of voices constitutes Dionysius’ essays as a virtual space in which temporal and spatial boundaries are blurred and in which the Classical authors regain their voice through verbatim quotations. They support Dionysius’ point of view and confirm that it is in accordance with their own statements. This argument strategy is not new in itself: writers before Dionysius have used quotations from Classical authors to substantiate their statements. What distinguishes Dionysius from them is the way he integrates these quotations into the discussions as voices in a dialogue between himself, his readers, and his adversaries. The Classical authors become Dionysius’ ‘witnesses.’ 728 This evokes a subtext for the dialogic shape of Dionysius’ essays which is firmly associated with Classical oratory, the trials in the Athenian courts. During a speech in the Attic court, the voices of the witnesses temporar-

728 See, e.g., Pomp. 1.9 (Plato as Dionysius’ witness); Amm.I , 10.2; 11; 12.1 (Aristotle as witness); similarly, Dionysius refers to the quotations as parade–gmata to prove his point, cf., e.g., Isoc. 15.1: ‘I think it may now be time to turn to examples, and to show through these where our orator’s strength lies’ (πra d‡ ãn e“h ka» t¿n paradeigmàtwn âyasjai ka» deÿxai t–c ‚sti to‘toic ô to‹ ˚†toroc sq‘c) – notice Dionysius’ pun on the etymology of parà-deigma and deÿxai.


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ily substituted the speaker’s voice: the witnesses did not appear in court themselves, but their statements were read aloud. 729 In the same way, the Classical authors are not themselves present in Dionysius’ texts. They interfere only through their voices, which have to be enacted by the readers: just as the statements of human witnesses temporarily substitute the voice of the speaker in Attic court speeches, the quotations from the Classical authors temporarily speak to the readers on behalf of Dionysius. 730 The difference is that Dionysius uses quotations from literary works as witnesses, whereas in the Attic court the statements read out were usually those of living persons. But this would hardly present a problem to Dionysius’ readers, as Aristotle in the Rhetorics had already declared the words of famous authors to be the most trustworthy (pistÏtatoi) witnesses: being màrturec palaio–, their

729 Hence the blank spaces typical of the texts of Attic orations which mark the point when the speaker stops to have the statements of the màrturec take his place. 730 Fornaro has shown that Dionysius shapes the whole discussion of Plato’s style against the objections of his addressee Pompeius as a trial (Fornaro [1997] 10–11 and cf. her comm. on 1.17.24). In this letter-trial Dionysius has the role of the accused (Pomp. 1.15: ‘I have sufficiently defended’ (…kan¿c ÇpolelÏghmai), defines the first part of the letter as an Çpolog–a against Pompeius). He was blamed by Pompeius for having unjustly accused Plato (Pomp. 1.1: ‘the accusation against Plato’ (t¨ Plàtwnoc kathror–¯, Usher’s transl. modified); ibid. 1.4: ‘I admit that I am in the wrong and am transgressing the laws which we have established for eulogies’ (Çdikeÿn fhmi ka» parekba–nein toÃc kajest∏tac ômÿn ‚p» toÿc ‚pa–noic nÏmouc)). From Pompeius’ point of view, Plato himself is involved in this ‘trial’ as the wrongly accused. Dionysius, by contrast, cites Plato as his ‘witness’: Plato testifies that comparing his style with Demosthenes’, Dionysius was applying a standard procedure of the Platonic Ílegqoc (cf. Pomp. 1.9: ‘But if you require also to be furnished with proofs […] I will […] use Plato himself as my witness’ (e d‡ deÿ ka» ‚k t¿n marturi¿n parasqËsjai soi p–steic […] aŒtƒ qr†somai màrturi Plàtwni) with ibid. 1.11: ‘Thus, when engaging in the most banal and invidious of tasks, praising his own oratorical ability, Plato did not think that he was doing anything worthy of censure in claiming that his own speeches should be examined alongside those of the best orator of the day, and in calling attention to Lysias’ failings and his own successes. In these circumstances, what was there so surprising in my action when I compared the speeches of Plato with those of Demosthenes, and took account of anything that is not good in them?’ (ÂpÏte ofin Plàtwn t‰ fortik∏taton ka» ‚paqjËstaton t¿n Írgwn proelÏmenoc, aÕt‰n ‚paineÿn katÄ tòn d‘namin t¿n lÏgwn, oŒd‡n æeto poieÿn

kathgor–ac äxion e parÄ t‰n äriston t¿n tÏte ˚htÏrwn toÃc d–ouc ‚xetàzein öx–ou lÏgouc, ‚pideikn‘menoc Lus–an te ‚n oŸc ômàrthken ka» ·aut‰n ‚n oŸc kat∏rjwke, t– jaumast‰n ‚po–oun ‚g∞ toÿc DhmosjËnouc lÏgoic sugkr–nwn toÃc Plàtwnoc ka» e“ ti mò kal¿c ‚n aŒtoÿc Íqein æmhn ‚pilogizÏmenoc;)). For a more detailed discussion see Wiater (2008).

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testimonies are ‘incorruptible’ (Çdiàfjoroi)731 and, inserted into speeches, they count as much as the testimony of a living person, potentially even more. 732 Dionysius’ use of the term e sàgein to introduce such quotations (Dem. 17.1; ibid. 21.1) further supports the interpretation of the verbatim quotations as participants in a dialogic interaction. This term either describes an actor or a speaker being brought forward on the stage to give his speech 733 or refers to a passage in a speech in which the speaker’s voice is temporarily replaced with the voice of another person. This rhetorical device, the ethopoiia, 734 was regarded as giving a work a dialogic character, and some rhetoricians preferred to call it diàlogoi or dialogismÏc instead of ethopoiia. 735 Dionysius’ use of this verb indicates that he conceives of the voices of the Classical authors as addressing the reader on his behalf. Similarly, Dionysius introduces a verbatim quotation from Plato’s Menexenus by telling his readers

731 732 733 734

Rh. 1376a16–17. Cf. ibid. 1375b28–1376a2. See LSJ, pp. 492–493, s.v. II. On ethopoiia/sermocinatio see the references collected in Lausberg (1990) §§ 820–825; Dionysius uses e sàgein in this sense at Thuc. 18.4: ‘[Why does the historian] introduce the most illustrious public orator, Pericles, to enact his performance of high tragedy’ ([…] Â suggrafeÃc ka» t‰n ‚pifanËstaton t¿n dhmagwg¿n PeriklËan tòn Õyhlòn trag˙d–an ‚ke–nhn e sàgei diatijËmenon […]); ibid. 40.4: ‘[Thucydides] makes the Athenian retort in an even more arrogant manner’ ([…] aŒjadËsteron Íti t‰n >Ajhnaÿon ÇpokrinÏmenon e sàgei); cf. imit. 2.13: ‘Euripides does this often in the rhetorical performances’ (Â d‡ EŒrip–dhc polÃc ‚n taÿc ˚htorikaÿc e sagwgaÿc, here the term probably refers to the rheseis; transl. mine) and a passage from the most likely spurious Ars Rhetorica, p. 378, l. 2 U–R: ‘Plato introduces the Egyptian to say […]’ (Â Plàtwn t‰n A g‘ption lËgonta e sàgei, transl. mine). In so far as Dionysius’ quotations from the Classical authors introduce a second voice into the text they are comparable to ethopoiia; but they differ from ethopoiia in the important aspect that the speaker in the ethopoiiae was invented by the author, whereas Dionysius inserts actual words of other authors into his works. The effect of ‘dialogicity’ remains the same. 735 For diàlogoi see Lausberg (1990) § 820 (p. 407), who quotes Quint. inst. 9.2.31: ‘They prefer imaginary conversations between historical characters to be called Dialogues, which some Latin writers have translated sermocinatio’ (sermones hominum adsimulatos dicere dialÏgouc malunt, quod Latinorum quidam dixerunt sermocinationem); for dialogismÏc ibid., referring to Rufinus 20 (p. 43–44 Halm): ‘This happens when someone is arguing with himself or is considering what he should do or what he thinks should be done’ (haec ita fit, cum quis secum disputat et volutat, quid agat vel quid agendum putet, transl. mine); the term ‘polyphony’ for insertions of direct speech into oral narratives is used and analysed from a linguistic perspective by Macauley (1987).


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to ‘listen to’ 736 what Plato ‘says’ (Çko‘swmen d‡ aŒto‹ p¿c lËgei, Dem. 26.1).737 My first example of ‘out-group reading,’ Dionysius’ virtual trial against the Peripatetic in the First Letter to Ammaeus, is a powerful demonstration of how Dionysius employs polyphony as a strategy of self-definition and distinction.

5.2.1 ‘Objective Critic’ vs ‘Subjective Critic’: The Peripatetic on Trial The introduction to the First Letter to Ammaeus has been discussed in detail in chapter 1.2. I will therefore recall here only the main points concerning its origin and purpose. The letter is directed against an anonymous Peripatetic who claimed that Demosthenes had learned his superb rhetorical skills from Aristotle’s Rhetoric. If the Peripatetic’s opinion turned out to be true or if it were accepted by the majority of critics, the foundations of Dionysius’ criticism would be shattered: a teacher of Classical oratory like Dionysius would be superfluous if rhetorical skills of the quality of a Demosthenes could be obtained from Aristotle’s treatise. Dionysius’ letter is aimed at refuting the Peripatetic before he is able to publish his thesis and to make it known to a wider public. Whereas the discussion in chapter 1.2 has shown that distinction from the Peripatetics is an essential concern of Dionysius, in this chapter I will demonstrate how this distinction is enacted through the very process of reading the text. Dionysius acts out the controversy with the Peripatetic by confronting the Peripatetic’s erroneous thesis with the ‘testimony’ of his ‘witness’ Aristotle. In so doing, Dionysius ‘stages’ the controversy as a trial in the Attic court: Dionysius defends Aristotle against the wrong and selfish claims of the Peripatetic and gives Aristotle the opportunity to testify against his successor (Amm. I , 6.1):738 736 Thus convincingly Porter (2006b) 335 with n. 90, against Schenkeveld (1992) 133–134, who takes ÇkÏuein to mean ‘to read.’ 737 >Ako‘ein is found in this sense only once again in the works attributed to Dionysius, in the spurious Ars Rhetorica, p. 301, l. 4–5 U–R: ‘Let us listen to the style of the orator’ (Çko‘swmen t®c lËxewc to‹ ˚†toroc […], transl. mine). 738 See also Amm.I , 1.1: The Peripatetic ‘wish[es] to show all respect to Aristotle, the founder of his school’ (pànta qar–zesjai boulÏmenoc >AristotËlei tƒ kt–santi ta‘thn tòn filosof–an […]), and 10.1: ‘Enough has been said to expose the craving for reputation of those who assert that Demosthenes modeled his style after the Rhetoric of

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√A d‡ aŒt‰c Â filÏsofoc Õp‡r ·auto‹ gràfei, pêsan Çfairo‘menoc ‚piqe–rhsin t¿n qar–zesjai boulomËnwn aŒtƒ tÄ mò pros†konta, pr‰c polloÿc älloic ¡n oŒd‡n dËomai memn®sjai katÄ t‰ parÏn, É tËjhken ‚n t¨ pr∏t˘ b–bl˙ ta‘thc t®c pragmate–ac […] tekmhr–wn ‚st»n squrÏtera. What the philosopher says of himself completely nullifies the efforts of those who wish to accord him honours to which he is not entitled. In addition to many other proofs, none of which I need mention at the present time, there is the passage he has written in the First Book of the treatise under discussion. Here we have the strongest proof […].

This passage is the beginning of the second part of the letter (chs. 6–12) which is distinguished by an important change of voices: in the first part (chs. 4–5), Dionysius presents the relevant ‘data’ about Demosthenes and Aristotle, which he has drawn from historical and biographical works. Throughout this historico-biographical section, Dionysius is speaking in his own voice, ‘putting forth’ (proeipeÿn, Amm.I , 3.3) what he has found in the sources. From Amm.I , 6 onwards, by contrast, quotations from Aristotle’s writings predominate, whereas Dionysius confines his interventions to simply reminding the reader of what Aristotle has said (memn®sjai, Amm.I , 6.1). Dionysius temporarily cedes the place of the authorial voice to Aristotle and lets him speak for himself through the verbatim quotations (É d‡ aŒt‰c Â filÏsofoc Õp‡r ·auto‹ gràfei, Amm.I , 6.1, emphasis mine).739 It is now Aristotle’s voice which directly addresses the reader, and the Peripatetic in particular, in order to ‘completely nullif[y] the efforts of those who wish to accord him honours to which he is not entitled.’ This change of voice does not mean that Dionysius is completely faded out of the discussion. Dionysius is arguing Aristotle’s case, and Aristotle takes part in the controversy as Dionysius’ màrtuc; though speaking for himself and in his own voice, Aristotle testifies for Dionysius (tekm†rion). 740 Dionysius provides Aristotle with a virtual courtroom so that he may save his reputation by refuting the absurd allegations of his (and Dionysius’) Aristotle’ (ÇpÏqrh m‡n ofin ka» ta‹ta ˚hjËnta fanerÄn poi®sai tòn filotim–an t¿n Çxio‘ntwn tÄc >AristotËlouc ‚zhlwkËnai tËqnac t‰n DhmosjËnh […], emphasis added; Usher’s transl. modified). 739 See further, e.g., Amm.I , 6.2, 7.1, 8.1, 11.2. 740 E.g., Amm.I , 8.1, 10.2, 11.1, 12.1, 12.4; quotations of ancient authors are called ‘witnesses’ and ‘testimonies’ also by other writers, cf., e.g., Strabo 9.1.6, 392C, 36–37 Radt (tekm†rion) and 9.1.10, 394C, 14 Radt (màrtuc).


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adversary. The result is a polyphonic space, 741 which is constituted by the voices of Dionysius, Aristotle, and the Peripatetic, who is represented by a fictus interlocutor (Amm.I , 8.1):

E dË tic o’twc Ístai d‘seric πste ka» pr‰c ta‹ta ÇntilËgein, Ìti m‡n ’steron ‚gràfhsan a… ˚htorika» tËqnai t¿n Çnalutik¿n te ka» mejodik¿n ka» topik¿n, Âmolog¿n Çlhj‡c e⁄nai, oŒd‡n d‡ kwl‘ein lËgwn Åpàsac ta‘tac kateskeuakËnai t‰n filÏsofon tÄc pragmate–ac Íti paideuÏmenon parÄ Plàtwni, yuqrÄn m‡n ka» Çp–janon ‚piqe–rhsin e sàgwn, biazÏmenoc d‡ t‰ kakourgÏtaton t¿n ‚piqeirhmàtwn poieÿn pijan∏taton, Ìti ka» t‰ mò e k‰c g–neta– pote e kÏc, Çfe»c É pr‰c ta‹ta lËgein e⁄qon, ‚p» tÄc aŒto‹ trËyomai to‹ filosÏfou martur–ac […]. But if, even in the face of these arguments, some person should be so quarrelsome as to object, saying that while he admits the truth of the statement that the Rhetoric was written after the Analytics, the Methodics and the Topics, there is no reason why Aristotle should not have composed all these treatises while still a disciple in Plato’s school, such a contention is feeble and improbable, and is merely a violent attempt to make the most mischievous of paradoxes seem more credible, that even what is unlikely is likely to occur sometimes. Omitting, therefore, what I could have said in reply to this, I shall turn to evidence provided by the philosopher himself […].

The fictus interlocutor is reacting to one of Aristotle’s ‘testimonies,’ 742 a long verbatim quotation in the preceding chapter, accompanied by Dionysius’ comment. The occurrence of three different speakers within two chapters would have sufficiently marked the dialogicity of this part of the letter. But Dionysius additionally emphasizes the interaction of the different voices by using terms which explicitly characterize the different pronouncements as statement and reply: ÇntilËgein marks the objection of the fictus interlocutor as the direct response (Çnti-lËgein) to the quotation from Aristotle as well as to Dionysius’ comments in the preceding chapter; the term is then picked up by lËgwn in the fictus interlocutor’s statement. Taken together, both terms characterize the whole scene as a live argument in which different partners react spontaneously to each other’s words. >Epiqe–rhsic further supports this impression. The term means ‘attempt to prove, argue

741 Cf. my remarks on Bakhtin’s ‘chronotope’ above, n. 719. 742 Amm.I , 7.1–2; notice marturÏmenoc, ibid. 7.2.

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dialectically’ 743 and characterizes the communicative situation that results from the interlocutor ’s ‘reply.’ Furthermore, towards the end of the above quotation, Dionysius declines to respond to the interlocutor ’s statement and lets Aristotle himself reply to it (Çfe»c É pr‰c ta‹ta lËgein e⁄qon, ‚p» tÄc aŒto‹ trËyomai to‹ filosÏfou martur–ac). 744 This entire section of the letter is thus constituted by an interchange of statements, responses, and counter-responses, as in a real verbal dispute. The dialogic design of Dionysius’ letter is an essential element of Dionysius’ attempt to create an image of himself as an ‘objective critic,’ whose opinion is true because it is based exclusively on the textual testimony. This goes hand-in-hand with the definition of the Peripatetic as a ‘subjective critic’ who uses the texts for his personal interests. The Peripatetic’s intention (boulÏmenoc in the next quotation), Dionysius states, is to enhance the glory of Aristotle, the founder of his philosophical tradition (pànta qar–zesjai boulÏmenoc >AristotËlei tƒ kt–santi ta‘thn tòn filosof–an, Amm.I , 1.1). Therefore the Peripatetic deliberately ‘accords him [Aristotle] honours to which he is not entitled’ (qar–zesjai aŒtƒ tÄ mò pros†konta, Amm.I , 6.1), although he has to ignore both factual and textual evidence to do so. The terms filotim–a and filoneik–a (filoneik¿n, 12.4; d‘seric, 8.1), which characterize the Peripatetic’s behaviour, reveal why the Peripatetic is so keen on enhancing Aristotle’s reputation: in so doing, he enhances his own reputation (tim† in filotim–a) as Aristotle’s representative and thus strengthens his position in the struggle of criticism (neÿkoc in filoneik¿n). 745 He instrumentalizes the Classical texts in order to achieve his aim. Dionysius explicitly rejects this subjectivism (Amm.I , 2.2, above): truth, Çl†jeia, he declares at 2.3, is his major concern and that of the community of ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi,’ which he represents.746 He even claims to 743 LSJ, p. 672, s.v. III. 744 Cf. Amm.I , 9.1: Aristotle himself ‘proves’ or ‘demonstrates’ a point (oÕtws» m‡n dò saf¿c aŒt‰c Â filÏsofoc Çpodeikn‘ei […]); Amm.I , 12.4 represents a communicative situation similar to the one described above: ‘Now if one of those habitual quibblers is going to suggest […] I undertake to demonstrate, using the philosopher himself as my witness, that this oration too was completed before the publication of the Rhetoric’ (E dË tic ‚reÿ t¿n pr‰c âpanta filoneiko‘ntwn […] ka» to‹ton ‚pide–xein Õpisqno‹mai t‰n Çg¿na pr‰ t¿n >AristotËlouc teqn¿n ‚pitetelesmËnon, aŒtƒ qrhsàmenoc tƒ filosÏf˙ màrturi); ibid. 12.7. 745 On the role of tradition for a critic’s claim to authority see ch.s 1.2.2 and 1.2.3 above. 746 Dionysius states that he wrote this letter ‘both out of regard for the truth, which I think should be the object of every enquiry, and for the gratification of all those who make


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be willing to reconsider his own position and to subscribe to the Peripatetic’s opinion despite the potential damage this would cause to his own reputation, if this were necessary to do justice to the Classical authors (Amm.I , 1.2).747 It is important to note that such claims to ‘objectivism’ along with his extensive discussions (and, in all cases, refutations) of alternative opinions, such as the Peripatetic’s, are by no means expressions of Dionysius’ modesty.748 They are part of Dionysius’ self-fashioning as the ‘advocate’ of the Classical authors. His claim to ‘objectivism’ is an element of the argument strategy which Dionysius uses to assert the superiority of his method over that of others. Taking these claims at face-value means to succumb to a carefully crafted self-image which Dionysius seeks to propagate and which is an important part of his attempt to arrogate authority for himself and his critical method. In this case, Dionysius’ programmatic claim to truth prepares the declaration of his ‘objective’ method at Amm.I , 2.2: the arguments of a ‘practitioner of politiko» lÏgoi’ are based only on the words of the Classical authors themselves. Ammaeus was right, Dionysius says there, to urge him ‘not to rest my case upon mere signs or probabilities or pieces of evidence extraneous to it […] but rather to call as my witness Aristotle himself’ (mò

shme–oic mhd‡ e kÏsi mhd+Çllotr–aic t‰ prêgma pist∏sasjai martur–aic […], Çll+aŒt‰n >AristotËlh parasqËsjai […]). The verbatim quotations from Aristotle’s works implement this programme. Letting Aristotle speak on his behalf, as his ‘witness,’ Dionysius substantiates his claim to ‘objectivity.’ Aristotle himself confirms that Dionysius’ pronouncements are ‘true.’ The whole dialogic structure of the letter is an essential part of the construction of Dionysius’ self-image as the representative and defender of a serious study of politiko» lÏgoi’ (t®c te Çlhje–ac pronoo‘menoc, õn ‚p» pant‰c o“omai deÿn pràgmatoc ‚xetàzesjai, ka» t®c Åpàntwn t¿n per» toÃc politikoÃc lÏgouc ‚spoudakÏtwn qàritoc, Usher’s transl. modified). 747 ‘After much private thought I concluded that the matter needed more diligent enquiry, in case the real truth had escaped me and the man had not spoken at random. I should then have either discarded my earlier view, on learning for certain that the Rhetoric of Aristotle preceded the speeches of Demosthenes, or tried to persuade the person who has adopted this view […] to change it’ ([…] polÃc ‚n ‚mautƒ genÏmenoc ‚pimelestËrac æmhn deÿsjai skËyewc t‰ prêgma, m† pote lËlhjË me tÇlhj‡c o’twc Íqon ka» oŒd‡n e k¨ tƒ Çndr» e“rhtai, —na £ tòn dÏxan õn prÏteron aŒt‰c Ísqon 〈Çfe–hn〉,

beba–wc maj∞n Ìti protero‹si t¿n DhmosjËnouc lÏgwn a… >AristotËlouc tËqnai £ t‰n o’twc ‚gnwkÏta […] metabaleÿn pe–saimi tòn dÏxan). 748 Such a view of Dionysius as a ‘modest’ critic is adopted by, e.g., Bottai (1999) 139 and Aujac I, 16.

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the Classical tradition and, thus, contributes to establishing his position of superiority in the field of criticism. Whereas Dionysius’ ‘objectivism’ strengthens his bonds with the Classical tradition, his characterization of the Peripatetic as ‘subjective’ disavows the Peripatetic’s claim to be the representative of the Aristotelian tradition. Estimating Aristotle’s (and his own) reputation higher than truth (filotim–a above), the Peripatetic acts against what had already been a ‘commonplace of Platonism,’ namely the principle that truth is the philosopher’s ultimate goal and must be the only standard of all his inquiries.749 This principle applied in particular if the quest for truth implied contradicting one’s friend and master and threatened to do harm to his reputation: amicus Plato sed magis amica veritas. 750 Some similar expressions in Plato’s dialogues notwithstanding, 751 the ultimate source of this principle is a passage from Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics (1096a13–14). 752 Discussing the universal good, Aristotle finds himself forced to criticize the theory of ‘ideas’ (e“dh) which had been introduced by ‘his friends’ (f–loi ändrec). 753 Hence the dilemma arises of what counts more, the thoughts of the friends or the investigation into the true nature of the universal good, even if this implies that the position of the friends must be abolished. Aristotle’s answer is clear: a philosopher always has to prefer truth to affection and respect for people who are dear to him (EN 1096a13–14): ‘Both are dear to us, but it is a sacred duty to put truth first’ (Çmfoÿn gÄr Óntoin f–loin Ìsion protimên tòn Çl†jeian). By claiming that the Peripatetic attempts to accord Aristotle ‘honours to which he is not entitled’ (qar–zesjai aŒtƒ tÄ mò pros†konta, Amm.I , 6.1) in order to gratify him (Amm.I , 1.1), Dionysius implies that the very attempt of the Peripatetic to enhance Aristotle’s reputation (and his own authority) 749 Tarán (1984) 102. 750 Tarán (1984) explores the origins of this saying and its different forms from Plato to Cervantes. 751 Esp., Plt. Resp. 595b9–c3, where Socrates says that although he loves and respects Homer, he is forced by truth to speak up and to criticize his poetry as harmful for education: ‘Yet all the same we must not honour a man above the truth’ (Çll+oŒ gÄr prÏ ge t®c Çlhje–ac timhtËoc Çn†r, 595c2–3) (Tarán [1984] 99), and Phd. 91b7–c5, where Socrates is warning Simmias and Cebes against ‘misology’ and says they should care less for Socrates and more for truth: ‘[But you will] give little thought to Socrates and much more to the truth’ (smikr‰n front–santec Swkràtouc, t®c d‡ Çlhje–ac polÃ mêllon, 91c1–2) (Tarán [1984] 100). 752 Tarán (1984) 98. 753 I agree with Tarán (1984) 98 that although Aristotle speaks of ‘his friends’ in the plural, his criticism is in fact directed against Plato.


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neatly contradicts one of the main principles of Aristotelian philosophical enquiry. The Peripatetic’s strategy itself thus undermines his claim to be a representative of Peripatetic tradition and to be acting on behalf of Aristotle. Dionysius, by contrast, establishes the uncompromising quest for truth as the main principle of his criticism. This makes Dionysius and his critical practice appear to be much closer to the discursive principles of Aristotle and the Peripatetic tradition than the Peripatetic himself. Dionysius’ strategy, to employ Aristotle’s own words to refute his adversary’s claims, further substantiates the close bond between Aristotelian philosophy and Dionysius’ critical method. For here Dionysius is following Aristotle’s advice in the Rhetoric on how to use quotations from respected authors as màrturec Çdiàfjoroi to support one’s case in a trial.754 Thus Dionysius not only annihilates his adversary’s attempt to reduce his critical method to a useless appendix of Peripatetic philosophy.755 He also disavows the Peripatetic’s claim to be a representative of the Aristotelian tradition. And by losing the affiliations with his tradition, the Peripatetic also loses his authority. The First Letter to Ammaeus is particularly illustrative of the inseparable interrelation of knowledge, criticism, the critic’s self-image, and distinction in Dionysius’ Classicism: Dionysius’ essay provides the reader with both factual knowledge about Classical texts, the relation between Aristotle and Demosthenes, and processual knowledge, i.e., how to deal with Classical texts in order to obtain reliable factual knowledge. Both the factual and the processual knowledge can be acquired only by re-enacting Dionysius’ controversy with the Peripatetic and the latter’s defeat which it inevitably entails. Dionysius’ attempt to distinguish himself and his method from the Peripatetic goes hand-in-hand with reminding the reader of the superiority of the community which is represented by Dionysius. From the introduction readers know that Dionysius is arguing with the Peripatetic on behalf of ‘all those who make a serious study of politiko» lÏgoi’ ([pronoo‘menoc]

t®c Åpàntwn t¿n per» t¿n per» toÃc politikoÃc lÏgouc ‚spoudakÏtwn qàritoc, Amm.I , 2.3). As they read how Dionysius establishes the principles of his criticism by refuting the Peripatetic, they realize that both Dionysius’ judgment on the Classical texts and his method define the ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi’ as much as they distinguish them from the Peripatetics. 754 Rh. 1376a16–17; cf. above, p. 302. 755 See above, ch. 1.2.2, esp. p. 43.

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The demonstration of the advantages and disadvantages of the different approaches to the Classical texts and of the superiority of Dionysius’ critical method invites the reader to identify with Dionysius and the ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi’ and to side with them in the controversy. Thus the dialogic structure of Dionysius’ argument contributes to creating a feeling of togetherness between Dionysius and his addressees.

5.2.2 The Aesthetics of Criticism: Dionysius vs the Platonists Dionysius’ dispute with the Peripatetic was concerned with factual evidence, the chronology of Aristotle’s Rhetoric and Demosthenes’ speeches, and the method by which Classical texts have to be approached. In On Demosthenes 23–30 Dionysius presents his readers with another virtual controversy; this time he is arguing against admirers of Plato (‘Platonists’). 756 The argument is centred on the aesthetic judgment on a piece of political oratory, the Funeral Oration in Plato’s Menexenus. Dionysius is arguing against the Platonists’ claim that Plato should be the model not only of philosophical writing, but also of political rhetoric. In a detailed discussion of the style of Plato’s Funeral Oration Dionysius demonstrates that this claim would do considerable damage to the dignity of the Classical past: political oratory has to re-present the dignity of the subject of the speech, in this case Athenian democracy and the tradition of Athenian political and moral values. But Plato’s style does not meet this requirement; on the contrary, Plato’s way of dealing with political topics risks making Classical Athens appear ridiculous. Dionysius’ detailed discussion of the Funeral Oration in chapters 23–30 of On Demosthenes elaborates on themes which he introduces in an earlier section of his essay (Dem. 5–7). Since this section sets the scene for the longer discussion, it will be discussed first. At Dem. 5–7 Dionysius is concerned with the ‘mixed style,’ which is represented by the works of Plato, Isocrates, and Demosthenes, whom Dionysius judges as superior to the other two. Dionysius’ judgment provokes objections from the Platonists who hold that Plato should be regarded as the best model of ‘mixed style.’ Dionysius replies by establishing a correlation between the aesthetic sensibilities of the Classical authors and the critic’s aesthetic competence (Dem. 6.1–4): 756 Ancient judgments on Plato’s style are collected and discussed in Walsdorff (1927), on Dionysius’ criticism of Plato see ibid. 9–24.


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Mhde»c dË me tÄ toia‹ta Õpolàb˘ lËgein Åpàshc katagin∏skonta t®c ‚xhllagmËnhc ka» ‚gkataske‘ou lËxewc, ≠ kËqrhtai Plàtwn. Mò gÄr dò o’tw skai‰c mhd+Çna–sjhtoc ‚g∞ geno–mhn πste ta‘thn tòn dÏxan Õp‡r Çndr‰c thliko‘tou labeÿn, ‚pe» pollÄ per» poll¿n o⁄da megàla ka» jaumastÄ ka» Çp‰ t®c äkrac dunàmewc ‚xenhnegmËna Õp+aŒto‹. […] >Eg∞ d‡ öx–oun thliko‹ton ändra pefulàqjai pêsan ‚pit–mhsin. TaŒtÄ mËntoi o… kat+aŒt‰n ‚keÿnon genÏmenoi ±c Åmartànonti tƒ Çndr» ‚pitim¿sin, ¡n tÄ ÊnÏmata oŒj‡n dËomai lËgein, ka» aŒt‰c ·autƒ; to‹to gÄr dò t‰ lamprÏtaton. óHisjeto gàr, ±c Íoiken, t®c d–ac Çpeirokal–ac ka» Ónoma Íjeto aŒt¨ t‰ dij‘rambon, Á n‹n ãn ûdËsjhn ‚g∞ lËgein Çlhj‡c Ón. But no one should suppose that in making these criticisms I am condemning all the forms of unconventional and ornate style which Plato employs. I hope that I should not be so obtuse and insensitive as to take this view of such a great man, for I know that he has produced many works on a variety of subjects that are great and admirable and show the highest ability. […] But I should have expected such a great writer to have insured himself against all forms of criticism. In point of fact, contemporaries of his whose names I need not mention reproach him with this very fault; and the most striking thing is that he acknowledges it himself. He apparently noticed his own tendency towards want of taste, and called it his “dithyrambic” style, a term which I should have been ashamed to introduce myself at this point, apt though it is. 757

The idea behind Dionysius’ criticism of Plato is that knowledge and aesthetics are interrelated. This conception is familiar from the discussion in chapter 4.2: the aesthetics of a text, its effect on the audience, is based on the author’s knowledge of the rules of synthesis. For Dionysius that means that Plato’s stylistic shortcomings could and should have been avoided: they are unworthy of a man of Plato’s intellectual capacities. 758 Therefore it is Plato himself, and his carelessness, which are to be blamed for the stylistic failures of his texts. 759 It is illuminating to compare Dionysius’ controversy with the Platonists and his debate with the Peripatetic which was discussed in the preceding 757 Usher’s transl. modified. 758 See Çndr‰c thliko‘tou; pollÄ per» poll¿n o⁄da megàla ka» jaumastÄ ka» Çp‰ t®c äkrac dunàmewc ‚xenhnegmËna Õp+aŒto‹; öx–oun thliko‹ton ändra pefulàqjai pêsan ‚pit–mhsin in the above quotation. 759 Dionysius expresses a much more favourable judgment on Plato’s use of prose rhythm, in which he places him second only to Demosthenes (Comp. 18.12–15).

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section of this chapter. In the latter, Dionysius was able to represent himself as the defender of a Classical authority whose works were in danger of being abused by one of his followers pursuing a selfish agenda. The fundamental difference in the controversy with the Platonists is that here Dionysius cannot avoid criticising one of the venerated Classical authors. The first sentence (mhde»c dË me […] Õpolàb˘ […]) of the above passage shows that such criticism was an inherently ambivalent enterprise because it risked undermining the authority (cf. ûdËsjhn) of the Classical authors on which, in turn, not only the Platonists’ authority and legitimation was based but also Dionysius’. The controversy with the Platonists thus allows us interesting insight into the relationship between critic and Classical author: how do you criticise someone who, by definition, should be beyond criticism? At the same time, it is in Dionysius’ interests to disprove the Platonists’ claim because they threaten his own authority which is based on the claim that political oratory in general, and its most outstanding representative, Demosthenes, in particular, are the supreme models of all forms of prose discourse. Dionysius manages to keep the balance between the two tasks by aligning his aesthetic position with both the critics of Plato in Classical times and, more important, with Plato’s own aesthetic judgment on his style. 760 Dionysius thus protects his position from the potential charge of a lack of respect for the Classical author – elsewhere Dionysius is even reproached with committing an act of sacrilege by criticising Plato (Pomp. 1.4) 761 – and declares the ambivalence to be a quality of the Classical author’s style itself rather than of his aesthetic judgment. He constructs the image of a bipartite tradition of aesthetic assessment of Plato’s style which was well established already in Classical times and ultimately went back to Plato himself, who acknowledged his lack of taste by calling it t‰ dij‘rambon. 762 Now the 760 Aujac II, 57 n. 2 refers to the Letter to Pompeius where Dionysius cites the names of Plato’s contemporaries who criticised his style, such as Aristotle, Cephisodorus, Theopompus, Zoilus, Hippodamas, and Demetrius of Phaleron. 761 See the detailed discussion in Wiater (2008) 14–22. 762 As Aujac II, 57 n. 3 points out, Dionysius is alluding here to Plt. Phdr. 238d2–3, where Socrates remarks that his own style ‘is not far from dithyrambs any longer’ (oŒkËti pÏrrw dijuràmbwn) which he interprets as a sign that he is becoming ‘possessed’ (numfÏlhptoc, d1). DeVries (1969), on Phdr. 238d2–3, remarks that the dithyramb was mocked already in the fifth century; he cites the scholiast on Ar. Av. 1392 who quotes the proverbial saying ‘you have even less brains than a dithyramb’ (ka» dijuràmbwn no‹n Íqeic ‚làttona, transl. mine). It is worth adding that the scholiast quotes the proverb to illustrate a sentence distinguished by overwhelming style (ple–sth […] lËxic) and minimal content (no‹c ‚làqistoc) (the scholia on Aristophanes are quoted from D.


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Platonists appear to be following the ‘wrong’ line of criticism of Plato’s style while Dionysius turns out to be following the judgment of Plato himself and Plato’s critics in Classical times. This points to a connection between the critic’s aesthetic judgment and the author’s taste: if it were not confirmed by Plato’s own judgment, Dionysius’ criticism of Plato’s Çpeirokal–a would reveal his judgment on Plato’s style as an expression of his own, rather than Plato’s, lack of taste (skaiÏc; Çna–sjhtoc). Dionysius forestalls this objection by proving that his aesthetic judgment is based on the same criteria for style which were recognized, though not always followed, by Plato (cf. ¶sjeto [Plato]): 763 Dionysius’ aesthetic judgment represents Classical taste in the present and is therefore beyond criticism: it is as ‘true’ as Plato’s own judgment on his style (Çlhj‡c Ón). Hence rather than Dionysius, it is the Platonists whose appreciation even of Plato’s stylistic failures reveals that they suffer from the same lack of aesthetic sensibility as their master occasionally did. Dionysius strengthens the parallel between his aesthetical competence and the Classical standards of style through an intertextual allusion. Usher notes that Dionysius’ words ‘I hope that I should not be so obtuse and insensitive’ (Mò gÄr dò o’tw skai‰c mhd+Çna–sjhtoc ‚g∞ geno–mhn) recall Demosthenes’ On the Crown 18.120: ‘but, really now, are you so unintelligent [literally, ‘devoid of perception’] and blind, Aeschines […]’ (ÇllÄ pr‰c je¿n o’tw skai‰c e⁄ ka» Çna–sjhtoc, A sq–nh […]). Dionysius models his controversy with the Platonists on Demosthenes’ dispute with Aeschines: he proves his adversaries to be skaio– and Çna–sjhtoi, as Demosthenes had proved Aeschines to be. Moreover, Dionysius is arguing against the Platonists because he wants to establish Demosthenes, the author of On the Crown, as the champion of style. In Classical times, Demosthenes defended his position against Aeschines himself; in the present, Dionysius is arguing on Demosthenes’ behalf against those who refuse to accept his authority. The main idea behind On Demosthenes 6.1–4 is thus that Classical rhetoric and literary criticism are correlated. Through the parallel with On Holwerda’s edition, Groningen 1991). As will become apparent below, the central point of Dionysius’ criticism of Plato’s style, too, is the misrepresentation of extra-textual reality in Plato’s ‘political’ passages which is caused by his ‘dithyrambic’ style. DeVries further mentions that Plato uses the term dij‘rambon for ‘a long and irrelevant answer’ at Hp. Ma. 292c7 (ibid. 88) and for a ‘striking’ word at Cra. 409c3 (ibid. 89). 763 I have discussed the intertextual relation between this passage and the Letter to Pompeius in Wiater (2008); cf. de Jonge (2008) 354 with n. 107.

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the Crown Dionysius suggests thinking of the controversies between the different schools of thought in his times as the continuation of the controversies between leading orators in Classical Athens. In Dionysius’ times, though, the focus has changed: the subject of the controversies between the critics is aesthetics rather than politics. But the question of whether Demosthenes or Plato is the champion of style is as important to the critics’ authority as the political questions were to the authority of the Classical orators. A critic’s influence depends on the authority of the Classical author with whom he identifies; the authority of a Classical author, in turn, depends on his stylistic qualities. Only an author whose speeches are aesthetically flawless is a suitable model of Classical style, and those critics who define themselves as the representatives of this author will control the standard of Classical writing in the present. Discussions about the aesthetic merits of an author, like the one between Dionysius and the Platonists, are concerned with establishing their favourite author as the main model of style. Therefore, the critic’s judgment on the style of the author which he favours must be as flawless as the style of the author itself: if the Platonists had had more aesthetic sensibilities, they would have realized from the start that Plato’s Çpeirokal–a prevented him from being ranked above Demosthenes. Dionysius, by contrast, realized this because his aesthetic judgment conforms to the Classical standards of style, including Plato’s own, and therefore is true. Thus neither Demosthenes’ authority as the primary exemplar of Classical style can be disputed nor Dionysius’ authority as Demosthenes’ representative. Dionysius picks up and elaborates on these themes in his detailed discussion of Plato’s Funeral Oration at Dem. 23–30. From the very beginning, Dionysius points out that the discussion of Plato’s style has immediate consequences for either his or the Platonists’ position in the field of literary criticism. The controversy over style is a controversy over influence (Dem. 23.1–3): […] per» d‡ Plàtwnoc ¢dh dialËxomai tà g+‚mo» doko‹nta metÄ parrhs–ac, oŒj‡n o÷te t¨ dÏx˘ tÇndr‰c prostije»c o÷te t®c Çlhje–ac Çfairo‘menoc, ka» màlista ‚pe– tinec Çxio‹si pàntwn aŒt‰n Çpo-

fa–nein filosÏfwn te ka» ˚htÏrwn ·rmhne‹sai tÄ pràgmata daimoni∏taton parakele‘onta– te ômÿn Ìr˙ ka» kanÏni qr®sjai kajar¿n âma ka» squr¿n lÏgwn to‘t˙ tƒ Çndr–. óHdh dË tinwn ¢kousa ‚g∞ legÏntwn ±c, e parÄ jeoÿc diàlektÏc ‚stin ≠ t‰ t¿n Çnjr∏pwn kËqrhtai gËnoc, oŒk ällwc Â basileÃc øn aŒt¿n dialËgetai je‰c £


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±c Plàtwn. Pr‰c dò toia‘tac Õpol†yeic ka» terate–ac Çnjr∏pwn ômitel¿n per» lÏgouc, oÀ tòn eŒgen® kataskeuòn oŒk “sasin ° t–c pot+‚st»n oŒd‡ d‘nantai, pêsan e rwne–an Çfe–c, ±c pËfuka, dialËxomai. I shall […] pass on […] to Plato. I shall speak freely, making no concessions to the man’s reputation or being less than truthful. This impartial treatment is especially necessary because some claim that he is the supreme literary genius among all philosophers and orators, and urge us to regard him as the definitive norm for both plain and forceful writing. I have even heard it said, that if the gods speak in the same language as men, the king of the gods can only speak in the language of Plato. In dealing with these extravagant flights of fancy men who are only half-educated in rhetoric, and who do not and cannot know what noble style is like, I shall speak, setting aside all dissimulation, as is my way. 764

As in the First Letter to Ammaeus, Dionysius presents himself as engaged in a discussion with representatives of a philosophical tradition who claim authority not only in philosophical, but also in rhetorical discourse: the Peripatetic attempted to make Aristotle’s Rhetoric the standard of oratory, the Platonists try to install Plato as the ‘the definitive norm for both plain and forceful writing.’ The arrogation of power, which is implied in this claim, is brought out by expressions like ‘some claim that he is the supreme literary genius among all philosophers and orators’ (tinec Çxio‹si pàntwn

aŒt‰n Çpofa–nein filosÏfwn te ka» ˚htÏrwn ·rmhne‹sai tÄ pràgmata daimoni∏taton, emphasis mine) and ‘they urge us’ (parakele‘ontai), but also by the Platonists’ (alleged) claim that the king of the gods speaks like Plato. 765 As he did with the Peripatetic, Dionysius claims that also the Platonists use criticism to enhance the glory (dÏxa; cf. ûdËsjhn, Dem. 6.4 above) of the founder of the tradition of which they regard themselves as the representatives. Thus, as Plato’s representatives, they will define the standard of speech and establish a monopoly of criticism which threatens to suppress the voices of other critics (parrhs–a). Dionysius’ expression ‘I have even heard it said’ (¢dh dË tinwn ¢kousa ‚g∞ legÏntwn) creates the impression that 764 Usher’s transl. modified. 765 The identical statement made by Cicero Brut. 121 suggests that this judgment on Plato’s style was a cliché long before Dionysius arrived in Rome. However, this does not allow either a positive or a negative conclusion as to whether there actually existed a community of intellectuals in Rome in the first century BCE who endorsed this view; cf. the discussion in nn. 698 and 727 above.

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the Platonists’ claim is steadily gaining influence. Dionysius presents himself as reacting against an immediate threat to the community of ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi’ for whom Demosthenes, if any, is the example of any kind of writing, be it plain or forceful (kajar¿n âma ka» squr¿n lÏgwn). Dionysius contrasts his opponents’ concern for dÏxa with his own concern for ‘truth,’ Çl†jeia. In the above quotation Çl†jeia is part of a wider semantic field of similar expressions the common denominator of which is Dionysius’ ‘authenticity’ or ‘naturalness’: ‘I shall speek freely’ (tÄ g+‚mo» doko‹nta metÄ parrhs–ac), ‘setting aside all dissimulation (irony)’ (pêsan e rwne–an Çfe–c) and ‘as is my way’ (±c pËfuka). Dionysius’ judgment on the texts is ‘unfiltered,’ because it relies only on examination of the texts, whereas the Platonists’ claim is distorted by their concern for extra-textual factors, namely Plato’s and their own reputation (dÏxa). The chiastic structure underscores the main topic of the passage, Dionysius’ ‘authenticity’: dialËxomai at Dem. 23.3 resumes dialËxomai at Dem. 23.1, tÄ g+‚mo» doko‹nta corresponds to ±c pËfuka, and metÄ parrhs–ac picks up pêsan e rwne–an Çfe–c. The elaborated structure, similar to a ring-composition, invests the whole discussion about Plato’s style with a programmatic character: the following controversy is not simply about style, it is a controversy about principles of criticism. To his own ‘authenticity’ Dionysius opposes his opponents’ ‘distorted’ approach: whereas Dionysius’ words represent the text, he faults the Platonists for a discrepancy between Plato’s text and their assessment of it. E rwne–a is a key term in his argument: by so overtly refusing ‘irony,’ Dionysius implies that his opponents’ endorsement of Plato as the supreme model of all philosophers and orators is so absurd that it would be explicable only as an attempt to feign ignorance on a given subject in the Socratic manner with the sole purpose of stimulating a critical discussion that might eventually lead to the truth. Poignantly using the term that describes a typically Socratic method of argumentation, Socrates’ feigned ignorance, 766 Dionysius demasks the Platonists’ real ignorance (Çnjr∏pwn ômitel¿n per» lÏgouc, oÀ tòn eŒgen® kataskeuòn oŒk “sasin ° t–c pot+‚st»n oŒd‡ d‘nantai) and their neglect of Çl†jeia. Their assessment of Plato’s style is ‘ironic’ because the qualities they ascribe to it are incompatible with the textual evidence. This discrepancy is caused by the Platonists’ statements 766 See Plt. Resp. 337a4–5: ‘Socrates’ usual irony’ (ô e wjuÿa e rwne–a Swkràtouc, transl. mine); Arist. EN 1124b28–30, where, as in Dionysius, e rwne–a is contrasted with parrhs–a and Çl†jeia (these references in LSJ, p. 491, s.v. I).


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being based on their concern for Plato’s, and their own, reputation rather than on a thorough knowledge of rhetoric. The terms terateÿai and Õpol†yeic, literally meaning ‘fairy stories’ 767 and ‘assumptions,’ 768 with which Dionysius characterises his opponents’ opinion, substantiate this view. Like e rwne–a, ÕpÏlhyic is a word with philosophical connotations. Aristotle, for example, joins it with dÏxa at EN 1139b17 when dealing with a seemingly true, but actually erroneous assumption; Epicurus, Ep. 3, p. 60 Us., qualifies Õpol†yeic as ‘false’ (yeudeÿc), and Philodemus, Mus., p. 49 K., calls them ‘fallacious’ (moqjhra–). The common denominator of e rwne–a, ÕpÏlhyic, and terate–a is the idea of a false statement which pretends to be true, or, in more general terms, a lack of correspondence between a statement and the object about which the statement is made. Since the Platonists’ ignorance thus turns out not to be faked but real, Dionysius implicitly characterises them as people who believe themselves to be experts in a subject without realizing that they actually know nothing at all. They are portrayed, in other words, as those people whose mistaken view of themselves and their competence, their dÏxa, the Platonic Socrates programmatically set out to replace by an accurate, a true (Çlhj†c) vision of the world and their role in it. 769 In the present controversy, though, it is Dionysius who appropriates the Socratic role and corrects the mistaken views of Plato’s avowed successors. It is worth pointing out the similarities between Dionysius’ strategy to disavow the Peripatetic in the First Letter to Ammaeus and the one he applies in his argument with the Platonists. In both cases he seeks to prove his adversaries’ methods to be incompatible with the principles of discourse established by the very men whose traditions they claim to be continuing. The Platonists’ judgment on Plato’s style aims to enhance Plato’s dÏxa, ‘reputation’; therefore it is only dÏxa, ‘a wrong assumption,’ and reveals 767 LSJ, p. 1776, s.v. 1. 768 LSJ, p. 1887, s.v. II. 769 See, e.g., Plt. Ap. 21b9: ‘one of those who think that they are experts’ (tina t¿n doko‘ntwn sof¿n e⁄nai); 21c5–7: ‘this man seemed to me to seem to many other people as well as, above all, to himself to be an expert, but not to be one’ (ÍdoxË moi

o›toc Â Çnòr dokeÿn m‡n e⁄nai sof‰c älloic te polloÿc Çnjr∏poic ka» màlista ·autƒ, e⁄nai d+o÷, emphases mine); 33c3: ‘those who think that they are experts but are not’ (toÿc o omËnoic m‡n e⁄nai sofoÿc, ofisi d+o÷) (all translations mine). DÏxa and Çl†jeia are often contrasted in Platonic thought, see, e.g., Sym. 218e6, Phdr. 275a6; dÏxa and ‚pist†mh are contrasted at Resp. 477b7, 478a6–b2, 506c6–7; cf. the following note.

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the Platonists’ ignorance in political oratory. Dionysius, by contrast, is concerned only with the text – his judgment is based exclusively on the textual evidence, but not on his personal interests; therefore, it is ‘true’ (Çlhj†c). Dionysius thus models his argument with the Platonists on the philosophical opposition between dÏxa and Çl†jeia. Since the idea of replacing dÏxa with Çl†jeia through dialectic discussion plays a prominent role in many of Plato’s writings, one would expect the Platonists to follow this line of enquiry; but as the Peripatetic had preferred the reputation of Aristotle and his tradition over truth and thus contradicted Aristotle himself, the Platonists’ critical method, too, turns out to be at odds with the tenets of Platonic philosophy. The relationship between dÏxa and Çl†jeia (and ‚pist†mh) in Platonic philosophy is, of course, much more complicated than that of a simple opposition, as Dionysius’ discussion implies. 770 But it is important to keep in mind that Dionysius’ purpose was not to present a philosophical discussion of Plato’s uses of dÏxa and Çl†jeia. Rather, he polemically appropriates key terms of Platonic philosophy for his own critical method in order to discredit the Platonists’ position and strengthen his own. We can observe the same principle behind Dionysius’ use of parrhs–a, ‘outspokenness, frankness, freedom of speech.’ 771 In the Gorgias, Plato’s Socrates defines parrhs–a as one of the three essential indispensable intellectual qualities of a competent critic (t‰n mËllonta basanieÿn …kan¿c, 487a1), alongside ‚pist†mh and e÷noia. 772 In this context, parrhs–a is defined as, in Hellwig’s words, ‘the positive and active liberty of stating one’s opinion frankly and without being prevented by any consideration of the opinion of the audience and their

770 See, however, the passages quoted in the preceding note. Dionysius makes no mention, for example, of Plato’s conception of Çlhjòc dÏxa which is acknowledged by Socrates as a guide to rightness of action on a par with frÏnhsic at Men. 97b9–10; cf. Tht. 194b3, where Socrates distinguishes between dÏxa yeud†c and Çlhj†c. On the different conceptions of dÏxa in Plato’s writings see the brief but helpful overview in Poulakos (2004) 46–51 (the passages from the Meno and the Theaetetus referred to here are discussed ibid. 51 and 47, respectively). Poulakos remarks that Plato ‘placed doxa between knowledge and ignorance’ (ibid. 51). He also points out, though, that the ‘philosophico-religious tradition’ clearly distinguished between ‘the bright path of aletheia and the dark path of doxa’ (ibid. 47). On the role of Çl†jeia in Isocrates’ and Plato’s respective conceptions of rhetoric and rhetorical education see Asmis (1986). 771 LSJ, p. 1344, s.v. 1. 772 Grg. 487a2–3; b1–6; d5. There is a good discussion of parrhs–a in Plato’s rhetorical theory in Hellwig (1973) 298–321.


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potential negative reaction to it.’ 773 The opposite of this outspokenness, through which alone philosophical dialogue can lead to uncovering the truth (Çl†jeian, Grg. 487a5–6), is a mistaken sense of shame (a sq‘nh) which is the result of the speaker’s fear of damaging his reputation with the audience.774 The entire phrasing of Dionysius’ programmatic statement of his critical method, that he will ‘speak freely’ about Plato, ‘making no concessions to the man’s reputation or being less than truthful’ (per» d‡ Plàtwnoc ¢dh dialËxomai tà g+‚mo» doko‹nta metÄ parrhs–ac, oŒj‡n o÷te t¨ dÏx˘ tÇndr‰c prostije»c o÷te t®c Çlhje–ac Çfairo‘menoc, Dem. 23.1), picks up the key notions of this principle of Socratic/Platonic philosophical enquiry (note dialËxomai): a speaker’s words must never be determined by a false respect for what (he thinks) his audience expects him to say in order to enhance his reputation, but he must speak frankly, guided by the sole concern for truth.775 It is Dionysius, not the Platonists, who continues this Socratic/Platonic tradition of philosophical argument. The term parrhs–a (and its close relation to Çl†jeia in particular) connects the Platonic quest for truth with another subtext of Dionysius’ discussion, Classical Athenian democracy and political oratory, which was prominent already at Dem. 6.1–4. The Athenians claimed parrhs–a to be one of the outstanding characteristics of their democracy, 776 and the notion was 773 Hellwig (1973) 298 (‘die positive aktive Freiheit, die darin besteht, ohne Rücksicht auf die Anschauungen des Zuhörers and dessen mögliche negative Reaktion, unbeirrt das zu sagen, was man denkt’). 774 See, e.g., Grg. 482e1–2 (Callicles criticising Polus): ‘he too in his turn got entangled in your argument and had his mouth stopped, being ashamed [a squnje–c] to say what he thought’ (aŒt‰c Õp‰ so‹ sumpodisje»c ‚n toÿc lÏgoic ‚pestom–sjh, a squnje»c É ‚nÏei lËgein); 487a7–b5: ‘our visitors here, Gorgias and Polus, though wise and friendly to me, are more lacking in frankness [parrhs–ac] and inclined to bashfulness [a squnthrotËrw] than they should be: […] they have carried modesty [a sq‘nhc] to such a point that each of them can bring himself, out of sheer modesty [a sq‘nesjai], to contradict himself in the face of a large company […]’ (t∞ d‡ xËnw t∏de, Gorg–ac te ka» P¿loc, sof∞ m‡n ka» f–lw ‚st‰n ‚m∏, ‚ndeestËrw d‡ parrhs–ac ka» a squnthrotËrw mêllon to‹ dËontoc; […] p¿c gÄr o÷; π ge e c toso‹to a sq‘nhc ‚lhl‘jaton, πste diÄ t‰ a sq‘nesjai tolmî ·kàteroc aŒt¿n aŒt‰c aÕtƒ ‚nant–a lËgein ‚nant–on poll¿n Çnjr∏pwn); 487d5: Callicles’ professed aptness to ‘speak out frankly and not be bashful’ (parrhsiàzesjai ka» mò a sq‘nesjai). 775 Cf. Hellwig (1973) 299. 776 Among the references quoted by LSJ s.v. I see esp. Eur. Hipp. 421–423, where parrhs–a is associated with another constitutive of Athenian democracy, ‚leujer–a: ‘[My husband

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linked with Çl†jeia in a political context already in Classical times by the very author on whose behalf Dionysius is arguing against the Platonists: Demosthenes couples parrhs–a with tÇlhj® at 6.31 (tÇlhj® metÄ parrhs–ac ‚r¿) and thus provides another reference for Dionysius’ use of parrhs–a and Çl†jeia as the principles of his critical method. As in Dem. 6.1–4, Dionysius grounds his approach to the Classical texts in the tradition of Classical oratory. Furthermore, eŒgenòc kataskeu† (‘noble style’), the knowledge of which Dionysius denies to his opponents, also evokes Classical rhetoric and Athenian democracy. EŒgËneia is a typical attribute of the Athenians in the Attic Funeral Oration, and it is a Funeral Oration about which Dionysius is arguing with the Platonists. Demosthenes’ speech and the Attic Funeral Oration are no doubt important models for the connection of Dionysius’ criticism with Classical oratory. But, as I will now argue, Dionysius himself creates a precedent, too, which allows him to link his ‘authenticity’ of criticism (f‘sic in ±c pËfuke dialËxomai, Dem. 23.3; Çl†jeia, 23.1) with Classical oratory. ‘Naturalness’ and ‘authenticity,’ f‘sic and Çl†jeia,777 are the outstanding characteristics of Dionysius’ portrayal of Lysias’ rhetorical technique in On Lysias;778 these, in turn, Dionysius explains as an expression of Athenian democracy: only a ‘natural’ style, which represents reality but does not distort it, made communication in the institutions of Classical Athens possible. A brief discussion of Dionysius’ characterisation of Lysias’ style in On Lysias will reveal how Dionysius imagines Lysias’ ‘natural’ style to be connected with Classical Athens. This discussion will enable us to assess the full implica-

and my children] may live in glorious Athens as free men, free of speech and flourishing’ (‚le‘jeroi œ parrhs–¯ jàllontec o koÿen pÏlin œ klein¿n >Ajhn¿n); Plt. Resp. 557b (on the constitution corresponding to the ‘democratic sort of man,’ Çnòr dhmokratikÏc): ‘[Such a city is] chock-full of liberty and freedom of speech’ (‚leujer–ac ô pÏlic mestò ka» parrhs–ac g–gnetai); Plb. 2.38.6: ‘[The political system of the Achaean league is the most favourable to] equality and freedom of speech, in a word [no other system is] so sincerely democratic’ ( shgor–ac ka» parrhs–ac ka» dhmokrat–ac Çlhjin®c); cf. Isoc. 8.14; on the crucial role of freedom in Greek political thought see Raaflaub (1985). On the close interrelation of Dionysius’ conception of Classical language and Isocrates’ conception of Athenian civic identity see chapters 2.2.1 and 2.3.1 above. 777 On Lysias’ ‘natural’ style cf. de Jonge (2008) 81–82, 253–258. 778 It is interesting to note that Dionysius’ contemporary Caecilius of Caleacte seems to have compared Plato’s style with Lysias’ and judged the latter far superior to the former, see Ps.-Longin. 32.8; cf. ibid. 32.7; Caecilius’ criticism of Plato is discussed in Walsdorff (1927) 24–33.


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tions of Dionysius’ association of his critical method with Çl†jeia and the function of this association in the argument with the Platonists. Dionysius declares both Lysias and Isocrates sign-posts in the evolution of Classical political oratory. Dissatisfied with the shortcomings of rhetorical tradition, mainly represented by Gorgias and Protagoras, each of them was responsible for significant changes in rhetorical technique. 779 Isocrates, as mentioned in chapter 2.2.1, brought about a paradigm-shift in content, the pragmatik‰c tÏpoc, of political rhetoric. Lysias’ impact on the development of Classical oratory was equally strong, but Lysias was an innovator of style: he was the first to develop a proper ‘democratic’ mode of rhetorical expression. 780 Lysias modelled his language (gl∏tta) on the language of the average citizen, di∏thc, of his times (ô kat+‚keÿnon t‰n qrÏnon ‚piqwriàzousa, Lys. 2.1). In this Lysias differed from his predecessors (toÿc d‡ protËroic oŒq a’th ô dÏxa ™n, Lys. 3.3) who had employed a jeatrikÏc, ‘disguised, theatrical,’ 781 style (Lys. 3.3):782

BoulÏmenoi kÏsmon tinÄ proseÿnai toÿc lÏgoic ‚x†llatton t‰n di∏thn ka» katËfeugon e c tòn poihtikòn fràsin, metaforaÿc te pollaÿc qr∏menoi ka» Õperbolaÿc ka» taÿc ällaic tropikaÿc dËaic, Ênomàtwn te glwtthmatik¿n ka» xËnwn ka» t¿n oŒk e wj∏twn sqhma779 See p. 69 above. 780 Time and space preclude a more detailed discussion of the relation between Lysias and Isocrates in Dionysius’ thought. I am aware that reducing the former to style and the latter to content is overly simplistic, although this is the emphasis of Dionysius’ discussion of each of them. Nevertheless, Dionysius does not regard either Lysias’ or Isocrates’ style on their own as perfect. Lysias marks the beginning of a continuous evolution of Classical rhetoric which, via Isocrates, eventually results in Demosthenes, whom Dionysius regards as the apogee of Classical speech. Dionysius anticipates this further evolution of political oratory already in On Lysias: at Lys. 15.6, e.g., he criticizes Lysias’ pragmatik‰c tÏpoc, esp. his ‘ordering and development’ for being ‘less effective than they should be’ (tòn d‡ tàxin ka» tòn ‚rgas–an aŒt¿n, ‚ndeestËran ofisan to‹ pros†kontoc). Also Lysias’ ability to evoke pàjh (ibid. 19.5) requires improvement: Lysias did not ‘arouse his audience as powerfully as Isocrates and Demosthenes do theirs’ (oŒ diege–rei d‡ t‰n Çkroatòn πsper >Isokràthc £ DhmosjËnhc, ibid. 28.2). Lysias is the norm by which the others are measured, but his style is far from perfect; his deficiencies in subject matter will be compensated by Isocrates who is also better at arousing emotions in the audience. 781 For Dionysius jeatrikÏc encapsulates the un-Classical par excellence and is therefore also a main feature of Asianism (Çnaide–¯ jeatrik¨, Orat. Vett. 1.3); cf. Isoc. 12.15. 782 On ‘Language, thought, and reality’ in Dionysius cf. de Jonge (2008) 53–59; on Lysias cf. ibid. 81.

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tism¿n t¨ diallag¨ ka» t¨ äll˘ kainolog–¯ kataplhttÏmenoi t‰n di∏thn. Whenever [Lysias’ predecessors] wished to add colour to their speeches, they abandoned ordinary language and resorted to artificial expression. They used a plethora of metaphors, exaggerations and other forms of figurative language, and further confused the ordinary members of their audiences by using recondite and exotic words, and by resorting to unfamiliar figures of speech and other novel modes of expression.

The frequency of words meaning ‘un-usual’ or ‘strange’ in this short passage (‚x†llatton, ÊnÏmata glwtthmatikÄ ka» xËna, o… oŒk e wjÏtec sqhmatismo–, diallag†, kainolog–a) points to the major difference between Lysias and his predecessors. They used unusual and strange words and expressions to scare (kataplhttÏmenoi) the ordinary hearer, the di∏thc, so as to ‘alienate’ (cf. ‚x†llatton, xËnoc) him from both speech and speaker. Communication between the speaker and a large part of his audience was thus rendered impossible and was probably not even desired (boulÏmenoi). The ‘theatrical style’ is centred upon the speaker and serves to show off his rhetorical skills by overwhelming the hearer. Lysias took the diametrically opposite route. His words do not distort reality, because he ‘does not make his subject the slave of his words, but makes the words conform to the subject; and he achieves elegance not by changing the language of everyday life, but by reproducing it’ (oŒ toÿc ÊnÏmasi doule‘ei tÄ pràgmata par+aŒtƒ, toÿc d‡ pràgmasin Çkoloujeÿ tÄ ÊnÏmata, t‰n d‡ kÏsmon oŒk ‚n tƒ diallàttein t‰n di∏thn, Çll+‚n tƒ mim†sasjai lambànei, ibid. 4.5). Dionysius emphasizes the degree to which Lysias’ style is authentic to extra-textual reality by calling it ‘the archetype of authenticity [t®c Çlhje–ac] […] differing in no way from it’ 783 (ÇrqËtupÏn tina […] t®c Çlhje–ac diafËronta ‚ke–nhc oŒd+Âtio‹n, Is. 11.1). An ‘authentic’ style represents nature, f‘sic, as it really is (Isoc. 12.3–4): 784 783 Usher’s translation modified. 784 f‘sic and Çl†jeia are joined also at Lys. 8.7: ‘the student of realism and naturalism would not go wrong if he were to follow Lysias in his composition, for he will find no model who is more true to life’ (Tòn Çl†jeian ofin tic ‚pithde‘wn ka» f‘sewc

mimhtòc g–nesjai boulÏmenoc oŒk ãn Åmartànoi t¨ Lus–ou sunjËsei qr∏menoc; ·tËran gÄr oŒk ãn e’roi ta‘thc ÇlhjestËran). For more examples of f‘sic and similar expressions characterizing Lysias’ style cf., e.g., Lys. 7.3: ‘He was the best of all the orators at observing human nature and ascribing to each type of person the appropriate emotions, moral qualities and actions’ (Kràtistoc gÄr dò pàntwn ‚gËneto


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Kràtiston d‡ ‚pit†deuma ‚n dialËkt˙ politik¨ ka» ‚nagwn–˙ t‰ ÂmoiÏtaton tƒ katÄ f‘sin; bo‘letai d‡ ô f‘sic toÿc no†masin Èpesjai tòn lËxin, oŒ t¨ lËxei tÄ no†mata. Sumbo‘l˙ d‡ dò per» polËmou ka» e r†nhc lËgonti ka» di∏t˘ t‰n per» t®c yuq®c trËqonti k–ndunon ‚n dikastaÿc tÄ komyÄ ka» jeatrikÄ ka» meiraki∏dh ta‹ta oŒk o⁄da °ntina d‘naito ãn parasqeÿn ≤fËleian, mêllon d‡ o⁄da Ìti ka» blàbhc ãn a t–a gËnoito. The most effective style to cultivate in political and forensic oratory is that which most resembles natural speech; and nature demands that the words should follow the thought, not vice versa. I certainly doubt whether these affected, histrionic and juvenile devices could be of any assistance either to a politician advising on matters of war and peace or to a defendant whose life is at stake in a law-court; on the contrary, I am sure that they could cause considerable damage.

This quotation reveals what lies behind Dionysius’ appreciation of ‘authenticity’ and his aversion to ‘theatrical,’ ‘un-authentic’ speech. Dionysius conceives of the ‘naturalness’ of Lysias’ style as directly correlated with Classical Athenian democracy; the ‘distorting’ style of Lysias’ predecessors (tÄ komyÄ ka» jeatrikÄ ka» meiraki∏dh ta‹ta), by contrast, he regards as incompatible with the requirements of a Classical assembly (sumbo‘l˙ d‡ dò per» polËmou ka» e r†nhc lËgonti) and law-court ( di∏t˘ t‰n per» t®c yuq®c trËqonti k–ndunon ‚n dikastaÿc).785 These key institutions of Athenian democracy depended on communication among the citizens, but communication would have been made impossible by the ‘theatrical’ style. The close connection between Classical Athenian democracy and Lysias’ style is even more evident in the following passage (Lys. 9.1–2):

˚htÏrwn f‘sin Çnjr∏pwn katopte‹sai ka» tÄ pros†konta ·kàstoic Çpodo‹nai pàjh te ka» ¢jh ka» Írga); ibid. 8.3: Lysias’ style is ‘thoroughly familiar to everyone. All forms of pompous, outlandish and contrived language are foreign to characterisation’ ([tòn lËxin Çpod–dwsi] pêsin Çnjr∏poic sunhjestàthn; Â gÄr Ógkoc ka» t‰ xËnon ka» t‰ ‚pithde‘sewc âpan Çnhjopo–hton); ibid. 8.5 (on the characteristics of Lysias’ style): ‘not contrived’; not ‘formed by any conscious art’; giving the impression of not having been ‘deliberately and artistically devised, but [as] somehow spontaneous and fortuitous’ (Çpo–htoc; Çteqn–teutoc; Çnepithde‘twc ka» oŒ katÄ tËqnhn, aŒtomàtwc dË pwc ka» ±c Ítuqe s‘gkeitai). 785 Dionysius’ judgment on Demosthenes’ ‘mixed’ style as superior to both the ‘plain’ and the ‘remote-from-nature’ style is also based on the alleged effectiveness of the ‘mixed’ style in the Athenian assemblies rather than on purely aesthetic or stylistic criteria, see the discussion of Dem. 15.2–6 in ch. 4.3.3, pp. 270–272 above.

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O“omai d‡ ka» t‰ prËpon Íqein tòn Lus–ou lËxin oŒjen‰c ©tton t¿n Çrqa–wn ˚htÏrwn, krat–sthn Åpas¿n Çretòn ka» teleiotàthn, Âr¿n aŒtòn prÏc te t‰n lËgonta ka» pr‰c toÃc Çko‘ontac ka» pr‰c t‰ prêgma (‚n to‘toic gÄr dò ka» pr‰c ta‹ta t‰ prËpon) Çrko‘ntwc ôrmosmËnhn. Ka» gÄr ôlik–¯ ka» gËnei ka» ‚pithde‘mati ka» paide–¯ ka» b–˙ ka» toÿc älloic, ‚n oŸc diafËrei t¿n pros∏pwn prÏswpa, tÄc o ke–ac Çpod–dwsi fwnÄc prÏc te t‰n Çkroatòn summetreÿtai tà legÏmena o ke–wc, oŒ t‰n aŒt‰n trÏpon dikast¨ te ka» ‚kklhsiastik¨ ka» panhgur–zonti dialegÏmenoc Óql˙. I think that in propriety, too – the most important and crowning virtue – Lysias’s style yields to that of none of the other ancient orators; for I observe that he has adapted it satisfactorily to the speaker, the audience and the subject, and it is in these, and in relation to these, that propriety is found. For characters differ from one another in age, family background, education, occupation, way of life and in other respects: Lysias puts words in their mouths which suit their several conditions. Similarly, with regard to his audiences, his words are gauged to suit their several purposes: he does not address a jury, a political assembly and a festival audience in the same style.

As at Isoc. 12.3–4, which was discussed above, Dionysius refers to central institutions of democratic Athens, the court, the ecclesia, and festivals, and the corresponding kinds of rhetoric, the genus iudiciale, the genus deliberativum, and the genus demonstrativum. Lysias managed all of them in an equally accomplished manner because he adapted (t‰ prËpon) his style to reality: the speakers’ words expressed their social status and were apt to the requirements of the different institutions. In order to work properly, Athenian democracy required a style which made the plain representation of extra-textual reality (Çl†jeia) the standard of rhetorical expression, and Lysias created such a style. 786 786 Also Lysias’ other stylistic qualities contribute to the ‘authenticity’ of his style. Dionysius lists ‘purity’ (kajarÏthc, ibid. 2.1), ‘lucidity’ (saf†neia, ibid. 4.1), ‘brevity of expression’ (t‰ braqËwc ‚kfËrein tÄ no†mata, ibid. 4.4) and ‘manner of expression in which ideas are reduced to their essentials and expressed tersely’ (ô sustrËfousa tÄ no†mata ka» strogg‘lwc ‚kfËrousa lËxic, ibid. 6.3). Lysias’ ‘purity’ and ‘lucidity,’ e.g., contributed to the success of his rhetoric in democratic institutions (Lys. 3.3–8, esp. 3.7); his ‘lucidity’ ensured that his speeches were comprehensible ‘even to someone who is supposed to be totally removed from the sphere of political speech’ (ka» tƒ pànu pÏrrw doko‹nti politik¿n Çfestànai lÏgwn, ibid. 4.2), i.e., to the di∏thc, and his ‘brevity of expression’ was yet another way of avoiding ‘both inexact and obscure language.’ Lysias’ brevity, both in terms of subject matter and style, reflects the way an ordinary


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Due to its authenticity, Lysias’ style provides an authentic image of Classical Athens and her citizens; Lysias is a champion of vivid representation, ‚nàrgeia, the power ‘of conveying the things he is describing to the senses of his audience’ (d‘nam–c tic Õp‰ tÄc a sj†seic ägousa tÄ legÏmena, Lys. 7.1). For Dionysius and his readers this is true in a double sense: as Lysias’ style made his audience see the things he was describing, it grants Dionysius and his contemporaries an unfiltered view on Classical Athens. As Dionysius puts it at On Isaeus 4.5, the style itself, rather than the content (tÄ pràgmata), of Lysias’ (and Isocrates’) speeches encapsulates the constituents of Classical Athenian democracy, ‚leujer–a and dikaios‘nh. 787 As a medium of aesthetic expression, Lysias’ style (kÏsmoc, Lys. 4.5) encodes Classical Athenian democratic values. In the controversy with the Platonists in On Demosthenes, Dionysius uses the antithesis between an ‘authentic,’ true-to-nature style, and a ‘distorted’ style in Classical oratory as a basis for two different styles of criticism. Dionysius’ ‘authentic’ criticism, which claims to present truth (Çl†jeia) unfiltered, implements Lysias’ ‘democratic’ style in critical discourse. Dionysius thus authorizes his critical method by establishing a structural homology between his criticism and Classical political oratory: just as Lysias’ style gives a true-to-nature picture of Athenian democracy, Dionysius’ judgment on the Classical texts is an unfiltered representation of the textual evidence. The Platonists, by contrast, represent the distorted style of criticism, and as Dionysius links his own style with Lysias’, he links the Platonists’ style with Plato’s. Dionysius, as mentioned above, classifies Plato as a representative speaker argued his case in court: ‘[…] he does this [brevity] […] in order to keep within the time allowed for the delivery of his speeches. The short amount of time available was adequate for the ordinary citizen to explain his case, but insufficient for an orator who was anxious to display his rhetorical powers’ (summetr†sei to‹ qrÏnou, pr‰c Án Ídei genËsjai toÃc lÏgouc. Braq‘c ge mòn o›toc, ±c m‡n di∏t˘ dhl¿sai boulomËn˙ tÄ pràgmata Çpoqr¿n, ±c d‡ ˚†tori perious–an dunàmewc ‚nde–xasjai zhto‹nti oŒq …kanÏc, ibid. 5.1–2). Finally, the Lysianic ‘manner of expression in which ideas are reduced to their essentials and expressed tersely’ is ‘most appropriate, and indeed necessary in forensic speeches and every other form of practical oratory’ (o ke–a pànu ka» Çnagka–a toÿc dikanikoÿc lÏgoic ka» pant» Çlhjeÿ Çg¿ni, ibid. 6.3). 787 Is. 4.5: ‘[The speeches of] Isocrates and Lysias seem the most genuine [Çlhjeÿc] and just [d–kaioi] of all, even when the facts of the case suggest otherwise, because they display nothing malicious in their presentation, but are straightforward [literally, ‘free’] and simple’ (o… d‡ >Isokràtouc ka» Lus–ou [sc. lÏgoi] pant‰c màlista d–kaio– te ka» Çlhjeÿc, kãn mò toia‹ta tÄ pràgmata ‚n aŒtoÿc, Ìti kako‹rgon oŒd‡n ‚pifa–nousin ‚p» t®c kataskeu®c, Çll+e s»n ‚le‘jero– tinec ka» Çfeleÿc).

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of the ‘mixed style,’ miktò lËxic (Dem. 3.1; 5.1). This classification is based on Dionysius’ distinction between the ‘authentic’ and the ‘distorted’ style (Dem. 23.4):

>Eg∞ tòn m‡n ‚n toÿc dialÏgoic deinÏthta to‹ Çndr‰c ka» màlista ‚n oŸc ãn fulàtt˘ t‰n Swkratik‰n qarakt®ra, πsper ‚n tƒ Fil†b˙, pànu ägama– te ka» teja‘maka, t®c d‡ Çpeirokal–ac aŒt‰n oŒdep∏pot+‚z†lwsa t®c ‚n taÿc ‚pijËtoic kataskeuaÿc, πsper Ífhn ka» prÏteron, ka» pàntwn °kista ‚n oŸc ãn e c politikÄc ÕpojËseic sugkaje»c ‚gk∏mia ka» yÏgouc kathgor–ac te ka» Çpolog–ac ‚piqeir¨ gràfein. ìEteroc gàr tic aÕto‹ g–netai tÏte ka» kataisq‘nei tòn filÏsofon Çx–wsin. I feel nothing but wonder and delight at Plato’s skill in the dialogues, especially those in which he preserves the Socratic character, like the Philebus; but, as I said earlier, I have never admired the tasteless use of the secondary devices of style, especially in those dialogues in which he introduces themes of praise and blame into political discussions and tries to make them into speeches for the prosecution and the defence. In these cases he writes in a manner foreign to his nature and dishonours his profession as a philosopher.

Dionysius explains at Dem. 3.1 that the miktò lËxic is ‘mixed’ because it combines two types of style: ‘the striking, elaborate style which is remote from normality and is full of every kind of accessory embellishment’ (ô

‚xhllagmËnh ka» perittò ka» ‚gkatàskeuoc ka» toÿc ‚pijËtoic kÏsmoic âpasi sumpeplhrwmËnh lËxic), the main representative of which is Thucydides (Dem. 1.3), and the ‘plain and simple’ style, the ‘artistry and power’ of which lies ‘in its resemblance to the language of ordinary speech’ (litò ka» Çfelòc ka» doko‹sa kataskeu†n te ka» sqÃn tòn pr‰c di∏thn Íqein lÏgon) and which is represented by Lysias (Dem. 2.1). The above passage shows that Plato is a representative of the ‘mixed’ style not because he combines the two types of style in a new, homogeneous diction; his style is ‘mixed’ because some parts of his œuvre are written in the Lysianic, plain style, and others in the Thucydidean, remotefrom-normality style. The plain style, Dionysius says at Dem. 2.2, was the standard for philosophical dialogues and especially ‘the entire Socratic school’ – the only exception being Plato because he did not preserve the plain style throughout his œuvre:788 when Plato follows his teacher Socrates 788 Dem. 2.2: ‘[The plain and simple style was chosen by, among others,] the natural philosophers and the moral philosophers who wrote dialogues, including the entire Socratic


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and writes philosophical dialogues, he employs the Lysianic style, and his works ‘ai[m] to use standard vocabulary and cultivat[e] clarity, spurning all superfluous artifice […]’ and their ‘piercing clarity seems not to give rise to garrulity, nor [their] elegance to mere show,’ just like Lysias’ speeches (t†n te koinÏthta di∏kei t¿n Ênomàtwn ka» tòn saf†neian Çskeÿ, pàshc Õperido‹sa kataskeu®c ‚pijËtou. […] Ka» o÷te t‰ ligur‰n Íoiken ‚mfa–nein làlon o÷te t‰ komy‰n jeatrikÏn, Dem. 5.3–4). This part of Plato’s work meets with Dionysius’ full approval (pànu ägama– te ka» teja‘maka). But whenever Plato tries his hand (‚pi-qeir¨) at political oratory and inserts pieces like the Funeral Oration into his works, he falls prey to ‘tastelessness’ (Çpeirokal–a) and ‘writes in a manner foreign to his nature’ (Èteroc […] tic aÕto‹ g–netai):789 Plato’s stylistic failure, his Çpeirokal–a,790 turns out to be un-Platonic. It occurs only when Plato arrogates competence in a type of discourse, political oratory, which is alien to his proper discursive tradition, Socratic philosophy (kataisq‘nei tòn filÏsofon Çx–wsin). Plato’s ‘writing in a manner foreign to his nature’ and the stylistic deficiencies which result from it, are an indicator of his ‘doing something foreign to his nature.’ 791 The ‘Thucydidean’ passages in Plato’s work which, like the Funeral Oration, claim to be political oratory, are not only bad style; Thucydides’ diction (in this case in his speeches) is similar to that of Lysias’ predecessors,

school except Plato’ (o… tÄ fusikÄ filosof†santec ka» o… t¿n öjik¿n dialÏgwn poihta–, ¡n ™n t‰ Swkratik‰n didaskaleÿon pên Íxw to‹ Plàtwnoc). 789 Cf. Dem. 5.4: ‘[Whenever Plato employs “impressive and decorated language,” tòn perittolog–an ka» t‰ kalliepeÿn, he] does himself far less than full justice’ (pollƒ qe–rwn ·aut®c g–netai). 790 Cf. Dem. 5.5: Plato’s ‘impressive and decorated language’ (see previous note) ‘abandons itself to tasteless circumlocutions and an empty show of verbal exuberance and, in defiance of correct usage and standard vocabulary, seeks artificial, exotic and archaic forms of expression’ (‚kqeÿtai d+e c Çpeirokàlouc perifràseic plo‹ton Ênomàtwn ‚pideiknumËnh kenÏn, Õperido‹sà te t®c kur–wn ka» ‚n t¨ koin¨ qr†sei keimËnwn tÄ pepoihmËna zhteÿ ka» xËna ka» Çrqaioprep®), and Dem. 7.3, where Dionysius describes Plato’s style in the Phaedrus as poihtikò Çpeirokal–a, with Dionysius’ characterisation of the style of Lysias’ predecessors at Lys. 3.3 (quoted above). In each of these cases, un-Lysianic ‘unnaturalness’ and artificiality of language are qualified as an aesthetic failure. 791 de Jonge (2008) 272 points out Dionysius’ similarly ‘ambiguous’ attitude towards Thucydides.

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Gorgias and Protagoras, 792 and therefore equally incompatible with Classical democracy and social life in general (Thuc. 49.2–3):793

O÷te gÄr ‚n taÿc ‚kklhs–aic qr†simÏn ‚sti to‹to t‰ gËnoc t®c fràsewc, ‚n aŸc Õp‡r e r†nhc ka» polËmou ka» nÏmwn e sforêc ka» politei¿n kÏsmou ka» t¿n ällwn t¿n koin¿n ka» megàlwn a… pÏleic bouleusÏmenai sunËrqontai, o÷t+‚n toÿc dikasthr–oic, Ínja per» janàtou ka» fug®c ka» Çtim–ac ka» desm¿n ka» qrhmàtwn ÇfairËsewc o… lÏgoi pr‰c toÃc ÇneilhfÏtac tòn Õp‡r to‘twn ‚xous–an lËgontai (〈ka» gÄr a… toia‹tai ˚htoreÿ〉ai lupo‹si t‰n politik‰n Óqlon oŒk Óntwn t¿n toio‘twn Çkousmàtwn ‚n Íjei), o÷t+‚n taÿc diwtikaÿc Âmil–aic, ‚n aŸc per» t¿n biwtik¿n dialegÏmeja pol–taic £ f–loic £ suggenËsi dihgo‘meno– ti t¿n sumbebhkÏtwn ·autoÿc £ sumbouleuÏmenoi per– tinoc t¿n Çnagka–wn, £ noujeto‹ntec £ parakalo‹ntec £ sunhdÏmenoi toÿc Çgajoÿc £ sunalgo‹ntec toÿc kakoÿc; ‚¿ gÄr lËgein Ìti t¿n o’twc dialegomËnwn oŒd‡ a… 792 See Dem. 1.3; 2.3. 793 Cf. de Jonge (2008) 265: ‘Dionysius’ objections to Plato’s style closely correspond to his criticism of Thucydides’ “unnatural” style’; see his list of the aspects of Thucydides’ style which Dionysius criticizes ibid. 268 n. 68. Dionysius associates Plato’s style with Thucydides’ not only at Dem. 3.2 (quoted above); at Dem. 23.10 Dionysius states that Plato appropriated Thucydides’ style in the Funeral Oration in his Menexenus (Joukud–dhn paramimo‘menoc); consequently, both of their styles are characterized by the same features and attributes, above all, the ‘tasteless’ dijurambikÏn (Plato: Dem. 6.4, quoted above; ibid. 7.4: ‘mere high-sounding bombast’ (yÏfoi ka» dij‘ramboi); Thucydides: Thuc. 29.4: ‘[A phrase] more at home in a poetical, or rather dithyrambic setting’ (poihtik®c, mêllon d‡ dijurambik®c skeuwr–ac o keiÏteron)); use of strange and artificial words and expressions which terrify the recipients (Plato: Dem. 5.5; Thucydides: Thuc. 50.2: ‘shock’ (katapl†xewc, transl. mine); ibid: ‘[Thucydides’] recondite, archaic, figurative language, which diverges from normality towards the novel and the extravagant’ (tòn fràsin tòn glwtthmatik†n te ka» ÇphrqaiomËnhn ka» tropikòn ka» ‚xhllagmËnhn t¿n ‚n Íjei sqhmàtwn ‚p» t‰ xËnon ka» perittÏn)) and lack of kairÏc (Plato: Dem. 7.5; 24.8 (Çkair–a); Dionysius joins Çkair–a with Thucydides’ Çpeirokal–a, which is also a main characteristic of Plato’s dithyrambic style, Thuc. 51.3: ‘Whenever he [Thucydides] uses it [the recondite, archaic, figurative language, see previous note] with controlled moderation he is superb and in a class of his own; but when he uses it excessively and in breach of good taste, without discrimination of circumstances or regard for the degree required, he deserves censure’ (Ìtan m‡n ofin tetamieumËnwc aŒt¨ [sc. ta‘t˘ t¨ ·rmhne–¯] qr†shtai ka» metr–wc, jaumastÏc ‚sti [sc. Joukud–dhc] ka» oŒden» s‘gkritoc ·tËr˙; Ìtan d‡ katakÏrwc ka» Çpeirokàlwc, m†te toÃc kairoÃc dior–zwn m†te tòn posÏthta Âr¿n, memptÏc, emphasis mine)).


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mhtËrec ãn ka» o… patËrec Çnàsqointo diÄ tòn Çhd–an, Çll+πsper Çlloejno‹c gl∏sshc Çko‘ontec t¿n ·rmhneusÏntwn ãn dehjeÿen. It serves no useful purpose to employ this manner of address in public assemblies, where the communities of citizens come together to deliberate on questions of peace and war, on legislation and on the ordering of the constitution, and other important matters of common concern. Nor is it suited to the law-courts, where the audience is a jury empowered to impose these penalties: 〈for such displays of rhetoric〉 antagonise the average citizen body, which is not accustomed to hear that sort of thing. And it is not suitable for private conversations, in which we discuss everyday matters with fellow-citizens, friends or relations, describing some experience of ours, considering some urgent problem, giving advice or asking for help, and sharing other men’s joys and sorrows. I shall pass over the fact that if people spoke like this, not even their fathers or mothers could bear the unpleasantness of listening to them: they would need an interpreter, as if they were listening to a foreign tongue. 794

The basic idea behind this passage is familiar from the discussion of the ‘naturalness’ of Lysias’ style. A style like Thucydides’ would have made life in democratic Athens impossible on all levels because the citizens would not have been able to communicate. Dionysius’ statement that average citizens would have needed an interpreter to understand Thucydidean language underscores the paradoxicality inherent in Thucydides’ style: it is Greek, but it is so distorted that it does not seem to be Greek. In the same way, Plato’s ‘political discourses’ distort the diction appropriate to Socratic philosophy: they are written by Plato, but they are so alien from his philosophy that they do not seem to be written by Plato; Plato is not himself, Èteroc ·auto‹. Moreover, like Plato’s un-Platonic passages, Thucydides’ un-democratic style is an aesthetic failure (Çhd–an); ‘tastelessness’ has grave political implications. In a wider sense, it is an indicator of an author’s being out of line with the culture, politics, and society of his times: as Dionysius sees it, Thucydides, as shown in chapter 3.2.1, refused to identify with his native city and its political and moral values; the result was his un-Classical historical work. The un-democratic style of his speeches, too, reflects his attitude towards Athens. In a similar manner, Plato ‘dishonours his profession as a philosopher’ (Dem. 23.4 above) whenever he inserts pieces of political oratory into his works. The idea of a two-faced Plato, Plato the philosopher and the ‘Thucydidean’ Plato who is ‘not himself’ (Èteroc aÕto‹), is an important part of 794 Usher’s transl. modified.

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Dionysius’ argument strategy against the Platonists. This distinction permits Dionysius to criticize Plato without questioning his exemplary status as a Classical author (cf. thliko‹toc Çn†r; ûdËsjhn at Dem. 6.1–4 above; t¨ dÏx˘ tÇndrÏc, ibid. 23.1). There is no doubt that Plato is Classical, but occasionally he falls out of his role; more important, Plato himself knew that and used the term dij‘rambon for the tasteless, ‘political’ passages in his work. Dionysius thus justifies his criticism of Plato’s style: it does not diminish Plato’s dignity but simply states what Plato himself acknowledged. The half-knowledge about rhetoric of Dionysius’ adversaries (änjrwpoi ômiteleÿc per» lÏgwn, Dem. 23.3 above), by contrast, prevents them from recognizing the two facets of the work and style of their master. Their failure in criticism reflects Plato’s failure in political oratory: in the same way Plato fails when embarking on a kind of activity which is foreign to his profession, the Platonists fail when assessing the qualities of an author as a model of political oratory. If they had the necessary knowledge, they would realize, like Dionysius, that the ‘Thucydidean’ Plato is un-Platonic, a Plato not being himself. They would never have tried to enhance Plato’s reputation by postulating that he be the model for political rhetoric. Plato’s alleged authority, dÏxa, as a model of political oratory is incompatible with the textual evidence, the truth. Dionysius’ statement of his principles of argumentation leaves no doubt about this: he will discuss Plato’s style ‘freely,’ he claims at Dem. 23.1, ‘adding nothing to the man’s reputation or taking away anything from the truth’ (oŒj‡n o÷te t¨ dÏx˘ tÇndr‰c prostije»c o÷te t®c Çlhje–ac Çfairo‘menoc).795 The wording is suggestive: ‘adding’ (prostije–c) something to Plato’s reputation entails ‘taking away’ (Çfairo‘menoc) something from the truth. But this is what the Platonists do: they present a distorted assessment of Plato’s style, which is at odds with the text and, above all, with Plato’s own judgment. Dionysius’ characterisation of the Platonists as ‘half-finished in rhetorical education’ 796 (ômiteleÿc per» lÏgouc, ibid. 23.3) corresponds to his categorization of Plato’s style as ‘mixed’: Plato is competent only in philosophy, but fails in political rhetoric. In the same way, his followers should stick to the philosophical contents of his works rather than arrogate competence in the field of politiko» lÏgoi. The fact that they do so is a faux-pas in literary criticism, just as Plato’s adoption of the Thucydidean manner is a faux-pas in style. Both Plato and the Platonists are guilty of Çpeirokal–a (Dem. 23.4): 795 Translation mine. 796 Translation mine.


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Plato in terms of distorting reality through the Thucydidean ‘remote-fromnormality’ style, the Platonists in terms of distorting the textual evidence in their assessment of Plato’s style. Dionysius thus sets up a clear divide between natural and ethical philosophy, the domain of ‘the entire Socratic school,’ on the one hand, and the kind of ‘philosophy’ he and his addressees pursue, ‘political philosophy’ (politikò filosof–a) in the tradition of Isocrates, on the other. As far as the philosophical content of Plato’s dialogues is concerned, the Platonists may claim their right of interpretation. But whenever the political domain, the domain of power,797 is concerned (politika» ÕpojËseic, Dem. 23.4 above), it is up to the specialist in politiko» lÏgoi to judge and decide about good and bad. Both Plato’s attempt to write politiko» lÏgoi and the Platonists’ claim that their master should be regarded as ‘the supreme literary genius among philosophers and orators, and […] the definitive norm for both plain and forceful writing’ (pàntwn aŒt‰n Çpofa–nein filosÏfwn te ka» ˚htÏrwn

·rmhne‹sai tÄ pràgmata daimoni∏taton parakele‘onta– te ômÿn Ìr˙ ka» kanÏni qr®sjai kajar¿n âma ka» squr¿n lÏgwn to‘t˙ tƒ Çndr–, Dem. 23.1 above) exceeds their field of authority: Plato may be the standard for all philosophers, but for Dionysius it is out of the question that he should be the standard also for all orators (pàntwn filosÏfwn te ka» ˚htÏrwn) (Dem. 23.5): KÇmo– ge pollàkic ‚p®ljen e peÿn, ‚p» t¿n toio‘twn aŒto‹ lÏgwn, Á pepo–htai par+Afrod–thn Â Zeuc lËgwn; O÷ toi, tËknon ‚mÏn, dËdotai polem†ia Írga, ÇllÄ s‘ g+…merÏenta metËrqeo Írga gàmoio, Swkratik¿n dialÏgwn, ta‹ta d‡ politikoÿc ka» ˚†torsin Çndràsi mel†sei. It has often occurred to me to describe his essays in this vein in the words with which Homer makes Zeus address Aphrodite: “Fell deeds of war are not for thee, my child: Go now, your work is wedded love’s delights” [Iliad, 5.428–429]. “Socratic dialogues are your métier, Plato: let orators and politicians concern themselves with this kind of writing” [ibid. 430].

We have seen several times that quotations from Classical authors are an important part of Dionysius’ arguments, but this passage is particularly sophisticated. Not only does Dionysius employ a quotation from a Classical author to justify the sharp division of political rhetoric and philosophy; by 797 On the close interrelation of politiko» lÏgoi and power see above ch. 2.3.

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associating philosophy with Aphrodite and ‘wedded love’s delights’ and political oratory with warfare, the domain of men, and its god Ares, he also establishes a hierarchy between philosophy and criticism. Philosophy is a nice spare-time occupation, but political rhetoric is a man’s world and should be left to those who can handle it, ‘orators and politicians.’ 798 Zeus’ sentence is a mixture of his actual words in the Iliad and of Dionysius’ words. The king of the gods speaks on behalf of Dionysius; he decides the quarrel with the Platonists to Dionysius’ favour and confirms the hierarchy between philosophy and rhetoric. This recalls, and refutes, the statement of ‘some’ Platonists, reported at Dem. 23.2, 799 that ‘the king of gods can only speak in the language of Plato’; in the above passage, the king of gods is, in fact, speaking in the language of Dionysius. Thus Dionysius’ conception of different ‘styles’ of criticism, which correspond to different Classical styles, invests the originally philosophical opposition of dÏxa and Çl†jeia, in which Dionysius sets the controversy with the Platonists, with an additional, political dimension. Not only has this opposition turned into a general antithesis between philosophy and rhetoric. The discussion about the primacy of the one or the other, and about who has the right to determine what is ‘good’ style and what is not, is now also a discussion about the question of who has the right to leadership in political power. The controversy between Dionysius and the Platonists thus appears to continue the conflict between Plato and Isocrates

798 This quarrel over competencies resurfaces later in the controversy when the Platonists (represented by a fictus interlocutor) try to turn the tables and accuse Dionysius of measuring Plato by the wrong standard, namely rhetoric and style; a philosopher, they claim, should be judged by his ideas, not by his style (Dem. 25.1): ‘But perhaps someone will say: “You are misrepresenting the matter, demanding beauty of language and elegance of style from an author who is not expert in these matters. Examine his ideas, and see whether they possess nobility and grandeur, and are uniquely his. Ideas were his concern, and it was in these that his genius lay. Call him to account for these, and leave his style alone” ’ (Sukofanteÿc t‰ prêgma, tàq+ãn e“poi tic, eŒËpeian Çpait¿n ka» kallilog–an parÄ Çndr‰c oŒ ta‹ta sofo‹. TÄc no†seic ‚xËtaze, e kala» ka» megaloprepeÿc e si ka» par+oŒjen» t¿n ällwn ke–menai. Per» ta‘tac ‚keÿnoc ‚spo‘dazen, ‚n ta‘taic dein‰c ™n; to‘twn eŒj‘nac par+aŒto‹ làmbane, t‰n d‡ trÏpon t®c lËxewc Ía). Dionysius replies that it is a well-known fact (âpantec “sasin) that Plato ‘prided himself more on his powers of expression than upon his subject-matter’ (ple–oni kËqrhtai filotim–¯ per» tòn ·rmhne–an Â filÏsofoc £ per» tÄ pràgmata, Dem. 25.2); cf. the discussion of this passage p. 289 n. 709 above. 799 Quoted above, pp. 314–315.


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whose respective definitions of ‘philosophy’ already blurred the distinction between rhetoric, philosophy, and politics. 800 Moreover, the antithesis between the Platonic and the Isocratean conceptions of philosophy is a constitutive element not only of Dionysius’ quarrel with the Platonists. Rather, it seems to be of fundamental importance to Dionysius’ image of himself as a critic and his place in the tradition of rhetorical criticism. This is suggested by a programmatic passage in which

800 A detailed discussion of this intricate question is beyond the scope of this study. Noël (2004) argues convincingly that Plato criticised rhetoric so severely because professional teachers of rhetoric like Gorgias claimed that rhetoric was not simply the art of speaking but the art of successful political leadership (‘l’art politique’) par excellence and, as such, a rival of philosophy (140–141, the quotation at 140). Isocrates’ ‘philosophy’ was centred on the idea of teaching the ability to judge a political situation appropriately (a quality to which he refers as frÏnhsic at, e.g., 15.271) and to make successful decisions on the basis of this assessment, see Poulakos (2004) 60–61. This assessment Isocrates calls dÏxa and directly contrasts it with any ‘knowledge on the basis of which we know what to do or to say’ (‚pist†mhn […], õn Íqontec ãn e deÿmen, Ì ti praktËon £ lektËon ‚st–n, 15.271, my translation) which, he claims, man is unable to attain. Therefore ‘wise men’ (sofo‘c) are those who succeed due to their dÏxa (taÿc dÏxaic ‚pitugqànein) and ‘philosophers’ (toÃc filosÏfouc) those who strive to achieve this ability (ibid.). Schiappa (1999) 162– 184 has an excellent discussion of Isocrates’ conception of ‘philosophy’; above all, he argues compellingly that ‘Isocrates’ training would have been regarded by most Greeks as every bit as “philosophical” as that of his later rivals Plato and Aristotle’ (ibid. 172; cf. ibid. 181); see also Morgan (2004), esp. 135; cf. MacAdon (2004) 31 and ibid. 30–34 for a comparison of Plato’s and Isocrates’ notions of philosophos and philosophia. The locus classicus for Plato’s relation to Isocrates is Phdr. 279a2–b2. There Socrates judges Isocrates superior to orators such as Lysias and expresses the hope that some divine inspiration (Ârmò jeiotËra) will lead him to nobler achievements (‚p» me–zw); for he detects, Socrates says, ‘a certain philosophy’ (tic filosof–a) in Isocrates’ mind (t¨ to‹ Çndr‰c diano–¯) (279a8–b1). Scholars are still divided as to whether this judgment is ironic or an honest appreciation of Isocrates’ intellectual potential; see, e.g., de Vries (1969) 17 for the former, Erbse (1971) for the latter view (which I find more convincing). At any rate, when the Phaedrus was published, Isocrates was not a young man anymore and it would have been evident to any reader that Isocrates had not chosen the career of which Socrates (and, by implication, Plato) would have approved, see Erbse (1971) 196–197; de Vries (1969) 17. On the role of rhetoric in Platonic philosophy see further, e.g., Coulter (1964); Murray (1988); Coventry (1989); Hellwig (1973). Hence while assuming a ‘binary opposition’ between Plato and Isocrates is certainly an oversimplification (Morgan [2004] 125; similarly, Konstan [2004], esp. 107), Plato and Isocrates remain the most outstanding representatives of (in many ways) fundamentally different conceptions of ‘philosophy’ and the role of rhetoric in it. This opposition provides the background to Dionysius’ polemical antithesis of Platonic vs Isocratean ‘philosophy’ in his argument with the Platonists.

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Dionysius defines the ethical content and purpose of Isocrates’ philosophy as the standard for all ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi’ (Isoc. 4.3–4):801

>Ex ¡n [t¿n >Isokràtouc lÏgwn] oŒ lËgein deinoÃc mÏnon Çpergàsait+ãn toÃc prosËqontac aŒtƒ t‰n no‹n, ÇllÄ ka» tÄ ¢jh spouda–ouc, o“k˙ te ka» pÏlei ka» Ìl˘ t¨ <Ellàdi qrhs–mouc. Ka» ÍgwgË fhmi qr®nai toÃc mËllontac oŒq» mËroc ti t®c politik®c dunàmewc Çll+Ìlhn aŒtòn kt†sesjai to‹ton Íqein t‰n ˚†tora diÄ qeirÏc; ka» e“ tic ‚pithde‘ei tòn Çlhjinòn filosof–an, mò t‰ jewrhtik‰n aŒt®c mÏnon Çgap¿n ÇllÄ ka» t‰ pragmatikÏn, mhd+Çf+¡n aŒt‰c älupon Èxei b–on proairo‘menoc, Çll+‚x ¡n polloÃc ≤fel†sei, parakeleusa–mhn ãn aŒtƒ tòn ‚ke–nou to‹ ˚†toroc mimeÿsjai proa–resin. The influence of these [Isocrates’ writings] would make anyone who applied himself to his works not only good orators, but men of sterling character, of positive service to their families, to their state and to Greece at large. I therefore affirm that the man who intends to acquire ability in the whole field of politics, not merely a part of that science, should make Isocrates his constant companion. And anyone who is interested in true philosophy, and enjoys studying its practical as well as its speculative branches, and is seeking a career by which he will benefit many people, not one which will give him a carefree life, would be well advised to follow the principles which this orator adopts.

Although Dionysius does not mention Plato explicitly, the contrast between the ‘theoretic’ philosophy and the ‘true’ philosophy recalls the opposition between delightful love and warfare in the passage from the Iliad and evokes the controversy between Plato and Isocrates. 802 801 On this passage and the following remarks see my discussion above, ch. 2.2.1, pp. 70–71. 802 Since the term ‘true philosophy’ (and the active political life that is associated with it) clearly refers to Isocrates, it is unlikely that Dionysius, as Aujac I, 121 n. 1 suggests, is referring to the Stoic ideal of the ‘man of action.’ This conforms to Dionysius’ image of Isocrates, whose conception of Athenian civic identity significantly shaped Classical Athenian democracy and Classical Greek identity, see esp. Isoc. 1.5: ‘He [Isocrates] became the outstanding figure among the famous men of his day, and the teacher of the most eminent men at Athens and in Greece at large, both the best forensic orators, and those who distinguished themselves in politics and public life. Historians, too, were among his pupils, both those who wrote of Greek affairs and those who included the outside world, and his school came to represent Athens herself in the eyes of literate men abroad’ (‚pifanËstatoc d‡ genÏmenoc [>Isokràthc] t¿n katÄ t‰n aŒt‰n

Çkmasàntwn qrÏnon ka» toÃc krat–stouc t¿n >Aj†nhsi te ka» ‚n t¨ äll˘ <Ellàdi nËwn paide‘sac, ¡n o… m‡n ‚n toÿc dikanikoÿc ‚gËnonto äristoi lÏgoic, oÀ d‡ ‚n tƒ


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Moreover, both content and phrasing of the passage above recall Isocrates’ definition of his own philosophy, ‘properly conceived’ (tòn dika–wc ãn nomizomËnhn), as opposed to the ‘what some people call philosophy’ (tòn kaloumËnhn ÕpÏ tinwn filosof–an, 15.270) in the Antidosis (15.270–285). The entire passage is dominated by the opposition between a conception of ‘philosophy’ which aims at enabling the student to both succeed in civic life and benefit the community and one that concentrates on idle, purely theoretical speculation. 803 Isocrates emphasizes that the distinctive criterion of his philosophy is not the futile pursuit of any ethical or practical ‘knowledge’ (‚pist†mh […] Ìti praktËon £ lektËon, 271). Instead, it focuses on the ability (frÏnhsic) to assess situations in everyday political life properly and act successfully on the basis of this dÏxa (ibid.). 804 In stark contrast, any ethical speculation which seeks to convert people to virtue (Çret†) and justice (dikaios‘nh) is bound to fail, unless those who practice it will dedicate (filot–mwc diatijeÿen; ‚rasjeÿen) themselves to the ‘art’ (tËqnh) of speaking well (lËgein efi) and persuasion (pe–jein) (ibid. 274– 275). It is this art alone which combines both ethical excellence with political success because only an ethically flawless character can be truly persuasive in the first place (ibid. 278). 805 Therefore, the term ‘philosophers’ is not for those who ‘ignore our practical needs’ (t¿n m‡n Çnagka–wn Çmelo‹ntac) and ‘delight in the mental juggling of the ancient sophists’ (tÄc d‡ t¿n palai¿n sofist¿n teratolog–ac Çgap¿ntac); only those are entitled to it who pursue such things as ‘will enable us to govern wisely both our own households and the commonwealth’ (‚x ¡n ka» t‰n “dion o⁄kon ka» tÄ koinÄ tÄ t®c pÏlewc kal¿c dioik†sousin). As Schiappa points out, ‘it scarcely can be doubted that he [Isocrates] includes Plato’ in the group of the representatives of ‘what some people call

polite‘esjai ka» tÄ koinÄ pràttein di†negkan, älloi d‡ tÄc koinÄc t¿n <Ell†nwn te ka» barbàrwn pràxeic ÇnËgrayan, ka» t®c >Ajhna–wn pÏlewc e kÏna poi†sac tòn ·auto‹ sqolòn katÄ tÄc Çpoik–ac t¿n lÏgwn [‚tele‘ta]); cf. pp. 68–69 above. 803 Cf. Schiappa (1999) 175: ‘It is clear from passages in Antidosis and in Helen that Isocrates does not approve of the sort of Eleatic metaphysical speculation with which Plato’s academy would have been associated […]. The problem, from Isocrates’ perspective, is that eristical disputation becomes an end in itself, rather than contributing to civic virtue.’ 804 See the passages quoted and discussed in n. 800 above. 805 ‘Therefore, the stronger a man’s desire to persuade his hearers, the more zealously will he strive to be honourable and to have the esteem of his fellow-citizens’ (πsj+Ìs˙per än tic ‚rrwmenestËrwc ‚pijumhj¨ pe–jein toÃc Çko‘ontac, toso‘t˙ mêllon Çsk†sei kal‰c kÇgaj‰c e⁄nai ka» parÄ toÿc pol–taic eŒdokimeÿn).

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philosophy’ (15.270, quoted above).806 Isocrates’ strong focus on political activity; his claim that training in his philosophy will result not only in oratorical competence but also in ethical excellence; and his assertion, going hand-in-hand with this, that any ‘knowledge’ of matters ethical such as dikaios‘nh and Çret† can be attained through rhetorical education are diametrically opposed to central tenets of Socratic-Platonic philosophy. 807 These considerations strongly suggest that we are to see the PlatonicSocratic tradition behind the ‘speculative’ philosophy (t‰ jewrhtikÏn) criticised by Dionysius in the passage above: it is the ‘ethical philosophy’ of ‘the entire Socratic school’ (Dem. 2.2) that lacks the practical part, t‰ pragmatikÏn, through which theoretical knowledge (whether ethical or political) has to be implemented in everyday civic life in order to be useful. This practical part is the power of speech: not only does reading Isocrates’ speeches have a moral impact upon the recipients and make them ideal citizens. Rhetoric is also the medium through which civic identity is enacted in every day life and through which political life is acted out. 808 Isocrates’ philosophy provided both, civic education and the means to implement it. Plato, by contrast, dealt with political theory but argued for a complete withdrawal of the philosopher from Athenian political life: only the ideal polis conceived in his masterpiece of political theory, the Politeia, in which political power would be contingent on philosophical insight, would provide the environment appropriate for a Socratic-Platonic philosopher to participate actively in civic life. Moreover, according to the ancient biographical tradition, Plato failed utterly when he attempted to realize his theories in the court of Dionysius II. These intertextual references inscribe Dionysius’ Classicist programme, which he defines as the continuation of the Isocratean conception of language and identity, 809 into the controversy about the true conception of 806 Similarly, Morgan (2004) 135; de Vries (1969) 17. 807 E.g., Ap. 32a9–b1 (Socrates deliberately does not participate in political life); Tht. 172c3– d2; 174b8–175b7 (philosophy in Socrates’ sense is incompatible with an active political life); 173a1–b3 (a professional activity as orator corrupts the yuq†); on these passages from the Theaetetus see Eucken (1983) 274–281, who thinks that Socrates’ polemic against oratory and its negative ethical implications is directed at Isocrates. Cf. Grg. 500c1–8 on which Schiappa (1999) 172 remarks that ‘Plato’s Gorgias champions a separation of philosophy from direct involvement in civic affairs that was anathema to Isocrates’; similarly, Morgan (2004) 131, 133. 808 See above, ch. 2.2.1, pp. 65–66. 809 See ch. 2.2.1 above.


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philosophy between Plato and Isocrates. 810 The Platonists’ defeat in the controversy with Dionysius in On Demosthenes demonstrates that he conceives of his work not simply as the continuation of this Classical quarrel but as its final settlement in favour of Isocrates and the tradition of filÏsofoc ˚htorik†. By claiming that Plato should be the model for all kinds of rhetoric, the Platonists maintain that Plato can provide also the ‘practical part’ of political philosophy and attempt to establish the primacy of Plato’s conception of philosophy over Isocrates’. But this claim is contradicted by the very style of the ‘political parts’ of Plato’s œuvre which, like Thucydides’ style, is incompatible with the Athenian democracy itself. Philosophy and filÏsofoc ˚htorik† are two different genres of discourse and each of them is associated with a particular diction which is responsible for the success of the latter and the failure of the former. Plato and Isocrates might both have dealt with similar moral and political questions. But the style of the passages of political oratory in Plato’s works shows that competence in the theoretical element of civic life does not qualify for a leading position in political and cultural discourse. For it is through an appropriate style alone that the jewrhtikÏn can be turned into actual, successful civic practice. Dionysius’ discussion of individual passages from Plato’s Funeral Oration illustrates the impact of style on the effect of political oratory. The general idea which underlies Dionysius’ argument with the Platonists and on which his judgment on Plato’s style is based, namely that the style is supposed to present an ‘authentic’ image of the extratextual reality described by the text, also provides the key to his discussion of the Funeral Oration. In this case, the interrelation of text and extratextual reality is of particular importance because the Funeral Oration is supposed to represent the dignity and political authority of Classical Athens. Dionysius’ critical analysis of the speech is designed to prove that contrary to the Platonists’ claim, Plato’s style in the ‘political’ passages of his œuvre is far from being an adequate mode of expression for matters of political importance. On the contrary, it even risks jeopardizing the dignity of Classical Athens: not only is it ineffective, it is dangerous. Dionysius’ discussion of the Funeral Oration is not only a highly illustrative example of how the design of Dionysius’ texts constitutes an ‘imagined community’ of Classicist critics while creating an image of the excluded Other. It also offers fascinating insights into how Dionysius imagined a 810 Cf. Walsdorff (1927) 17–18.

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period of the past, and certain notions and values associated with it, to be directly reflected in style and language. Dionysius’ discussion of the Funeral Oration has several aims. First, it is designed to refute the Platonists’ claim that Plato should be the supreme model of both philosophical and oratorical texts; second, in so doing, Dionysius contributes to settling the controversy (itself Classical) between Plato’s and Isocrates’ competing conceptions of ‘philosophy,’ and their respective definitions of the interrelation of philosophy, oratory, and politics, in the favour of the Isocratean ‘philosophical rhetoric’; finally, by eliminating Plato as a potential model of political oratory, Dionysius disavows the Platonists’ claim to leadership in the field of rhetorical training and literary criticism. At the same time, he corroborates his own assertion that he and the community of intellectuals which he represents are the only scholars entitled to represent and preserve the Classical heritage. Going hand-inhand with this, he provides further evidence for the central statement of his preface to On the Ancient Orators – a claim he reasserts throughout his essays – that a thorough training and education in filÏsofoc ˚htorik† unites its practitioners in an exclusive circle of intellectuals who alone have the right to occupy leading positions in society and politics. 811 Dionysius’ general objection to Plato’s ‘Thucydidean’ style is the relation between reality and text: 812 whereas Lysianic style gives a faithful image 811 See, above all, Orat. Vett. 1.3–4: ‘civic honours and high office’ (tÄc timÄc ka» tÄc prostas–ac pÏlewn) are ‘a power which ought to have been reserved for filÏsofoc ˚htorik†’ (Éc Ídei tòn filÏsofon Íqein, Usher’s transl. modified) and his characteristic of Rome’s leaders (aŒt®c o… dunaste‘ontec) as successful and exemplary politicians (Çp‰ to‹ krat–stou tÄ koinÄ dioiko‹ntec) as well as ‘thoroughly cultured and in the highest degree discerning’ (eŒpa–deutoi pànu ka» gennaÿoi tÄc kr–seic, ibid. 3.1). For a detailed discussion of these passages see above, ch. 2.3.1; on training in filÏsofoc ˚htorik† and social and political elitism in Dionysius see ch. 4.3. 812 The focus of the present discussion will be on the structure of Dionysius’ argument; on the means through which he reminds his recipients that literary criticism and aesthetic jugdment are criteria of distinction; on the intermingling of aesthetical and political categories in Dionysius’ conceptual vocabulary; and on the self-image of the critic as the preserver of the dignity of Classical Athens and the role of criticism as the instrument to achieve this aim. I will not be concerned, however, with the various grammatical and rhetorical categories (and their combination) which Dionysius employs in his discussion of Thucydides’ and Plato’s style, on which see now the excellent discussion in de Jonge (2008) 214–250. Suffice it to say that Dionysius’ main concern is the shift ‘from the object being signified to the word that is signifying it, and vice versa’ (pr‰c t‰ shmaÿnon Çp‰ to‹ shmainomËnou pràgmatoc […] Çpostrof[ò] £ pr‰c t‰ shmainÏmenon Çp‰ to‹ shma–nontoc, Amm.II , 13.1) (ibid. 242), i.e., the ‘interchanging of the accidentia of


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of reality, Thucydidean style distorts the noble subject of the Funeral Oration and thus belittles the dignity of Classical Athens. Dionysius dealt with a similar problem in his discussion of Thucydides’ History which distorts the character of the Classical Athenians. When discussing the History, Dionysius focuses on the content of Thucydides’ work; in his discussion of the Funeral Oration, Dionysius demonstrates the distorting effects of Thucydidean style. From this point of view, Dionysius’ criticism of Plato’s style is a complement to his criticism of Thucydides’ work: in both cases Dionysius arrogates the role of preserving the solemn and impeccable image of the venerated past. As in the First Letter to Ammaeus, Dionysius performs his criticism of the Funeral Oration as an in-group/out-group reading (Dem. 23.6):

Poio‹mai d‡ t®c ‚mauto‹ dÏxhc koinoÃc kritÄc toÃc filolÏgouc âpantac, Õpexairo‘menoc e“ tinËc e si filÏtimoi ka» pr‰c tÄc dÏxac ÇllÄ mò pr‰c tòn Çl†jeian kr–nontec tÄ pràgmata. I invite all lovers of literature to examine the validity of my opinion, except those who are ambitious, and make their judgments with an eye to their own reputations rather than the truth.

Dionysius uses the Çl†jeia-dÏxa antithesis to categorize the opposite opinions about Plato’s style which distinguish two different groups of critics: Dionysius represents the group of filÏlogoi, which is characterized by its adherence to truth, whereas the Platonists represent the filÏtimoi, whose judgment is based on their concern for ‘reputation.’ This distinction makes the following discussion a process of inclusion or exclusion (Õpexairo‘menoc): Dionysius’ readers are aware that they will be confronted with two diametrically opposite judgments on Plato and that subscribing to either of them defines them as belonging to the community of filÏlogoi or to the community of filÏtimoi. There is no neutrality in criticism: agreement with Dionysius or his adversaries defines them as Classicists or Platonists, as adherents of the tradition of Classical political oratory or of Platonic philosophy, and as representatives of a critical method based on truth or one based on a concern for reputation. Reading Dionysius’ discussion creates a feeling of togetherness (koino‘c) or of being excluded, depending on which side of the controversy the reader takes. the parts of the speech,’ such as voices, numbers, genders, tenses, and cases (ibid. 226); Dionysius’ criticism of Thucydides is probably influenced by Stoic ideas on ‘analogy’ and ‘anomaly’ (ibid. 56–57; van Ophuijsen [2003]) and solecism (de Jonge [2008] 244–245; Vainio [2003]; Hyman [2003]).

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The point at issue with Plato’s style in the ‘political’ sections of his works is the representation of world in text (·rmhne‹sai tÄ pràgmata, Dem. 23.1), i. e., how the diction (·rmhne–a) influences the representation of extra-textual reality as the subject matter (tÄ pràgmata/t‰ Õpoke–menon). 813 Dionysius’ discussion of Lysias shows that Dionysius’ ideal of representation of the world in text is a true-to-nature representation of extra-textual reality, Çl†jeia. Such an effect can be achieved by synthesis. If properly done, it ‘imitat[es] the things’ (mimhtik‰n […] t¿n pragmàtwn) so that there is no difference between reading about an event and being an eyewitness (πste mhd‡n ômÿn diafËrein ginÏmena tÄ pràgmata £ legÏmena Ârên). 814 Plato’s stylistic choices, by contrast, often result in a distorted image of extratextual reality. 815 Dionysius quotes the second part of the opening sentence of the Funeral Oration (Mx. 236d4–6) to illustrate this flaw: óErg˙ m‡n Õmÿn o—de Íqousi tÄ pros†konta sf–sin aŒtoÿc, ¡n tuqÏntec pore‘ontai tòn e…marmËnhn pore–an […] propemfjËntec koin¨ m‡n Õp‰ t®c pÏlewc, d–¯ d‡ Õp‰ t¿n o ke–wn. The first part of the period (Írg˙ […] pore–an), Dionysius says, is flawless, even ‘admirable and appropriate to the sub813 See in general de Jonge’s (2008) ch. 2.3 ‘Language, thought, and reality.’ de Jonge points out that Dionysius employs Õpoke–menon for ‘either the thought (e.g., tòn ÕpokeimËnhn diànoian […]) or the referent (person or object) in reality’ (for the latter de Jonge refers to Comp. 16.1: words ‘suit and illustrate’ an author’s subject (o keÿa ka» dhlwtikÄ t¿n ÕpokeimËnwn tÄ ÊnÏmata)); ‘Dionysius frequently specifies t‰ Õpoke–menon by the words pràgmata (things) and prÏswpa (persons)’ (ibid. 58–59), but does not seem to distinguish consistently between prêgma meaning ‘thought’ and prêgma meaning ‘referent’ (ibid. 59). 814 Comp. 20.6–7: ‘Even when the same men in the same state of mind report events at which they have actually been present, they do not use a similar style of composition to describe them all, but even use their word-order to represent what they are reporting […]. Bearing this principle in mind, the good poet or orator should be ready to represent the things which he is describing in words, not only in the choice of the words but also in the composition. This is what Homer, that most inspired poet, usually does […]’ (o… aŒto» änjrwpoi, ‚n t¨ aŒt¨ katastàsei t®c yuq®c Óntec Ìtan ÇpaggËllwsi pràgmata oŸc ãn paragenÏmenoi t‘qwsin, oŒq Âmo–¯ qr¿ntai

sunjËsei per» pàntwn ÇllÄ mimhtiko» g–nontai t¿n ÇpaggellomËnwn ka» ‚n tƒ suntijËnai tÄ ÊnÏmata […]. Ta‹ta d‡ parathro‹nta deÿ t‰n Çgaj‰n poihtòn ka» ˚†tora mimhtik‰n e⁄nai t¿n pragmàtwn Õp‡r ¡n ãn toÃc lÏgouc ‚kfËr˘, mò mÏnon katÄ tòn ‚klogòn t¿n Ênomàtwn ÇllÄ ka» katÄ tòn s‘njesin. √O poieÿn e“wjen Â daimoni∏tatoc ìOmhroc […]; Usher’s transl. modified). 815 Cf. Hyman (2003) 180: ‘Ancient grammarians were aware of the difficulty of extricating syntactic from semantic and pragmatic structure; of the close relation between verbal and nonverbal planes of language; and of grammatical phenomena that appear in linguistic contexts larger than a single sentence.’


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ject in the beauty of the words, their dignity and melody’ (jaumastò ka» prËpousa toÿc ÕpokeimËnoic pràgmasi kàllouc te Ênomàtwn Èneka ka» semnÏthtoc ka» Årmon–ac, Dem. 24.2). The diction (ÊnÏmata) gives a faithful image of the described event (tÄ Õpoke–mena pràgmata) so that the recipients experience the semnÏthc of the event through its description, as though they had been eyewitnesses.816 The problem is the second part, propemfjËntec koin¨ m‡n Õp‰ t®c pÏlewc, d–¯ d‡ Õp‰ t¿n o ke–wn. At first glance, Dionysius’ critique might seem trivial, but in his mind it has grave consequences: the second part is repetitive and does not add any new information. According to Dionysius, Íqousi tÄ pros†konta sf–sin already implies that the funeral procession for the glorious dead was attended by both representatives of the polis and their families, ‘so that it was unnecessary to say the same thing again’ (πste oŒk Çnagkaÿon ™n pàlin taŒt‰ lËgein, Dem. 24.3). The problem with this prosj†kh (Dem. 24.5) is not simply that it is gratuitous; it lays stress on the wrong aspects of the ceremony and thus misrepresents the Athenian festival (Dem. 24.4–5):

E mò kràtiston Åpàntwn t¿n per» tÄc tafÄc nom–mwn to‹to Õpelàmbanen Â Çnòr e⁄nai, lËgw dò t‰ pareÿnai polloÃc taÿc ‚kkomidaÿc, ka» oŒj‡n ätopon ‚dÏkei poieÿn sumperilab∏n te aŒt‰ toÿc polloÿc ka» qwr»c Õp‡r aŒto‹ mÏnou lËgein. >Hl–jioc ära tic ™n e to‹ton ‚dÏkei toÿc teleut†sasi lamprÏtaton e⁄nai t¿n kÏsmwn oŸc ô pÏlic aŒtoÃc ‚kÏsmei. ìIna gÄr Çf¿ pànta tÄ älla, t‰ dhmos–¯ ghrotrofeÿsjai toÃc patËrac aŒt¿n äqri janàtou ka» paide‘esjai toÃc u…eÿc Èwc °bhc pÏs˙ kreÿtton ™n to‹ propËmpesjai tÄ s∏mata dhmos–¯; >Emo» m‡n dokeÿ makrƒ. [It was unnecessary to say the same thing again,] unless the speaker thought this to be the most important of the customs relating to state funerals, that the procession should be attended by a large crowd, and saw nothing incongruous in singling it out for reference after including it among other details. Certainly anyone who thought that the procession was the most splendid distinction which the state bestowed upon its dead would be silly: for, to pass over everything else, what of the provision that their fathers should be maintained for the rest of their lives and that their children should be educated until adulthood at public expenses? How much more important is this than the public funeral procession? Much more, I think! 816 On the style-contents distinction in Dionysius and the different terms which designate each of them cf. de Jonge (2008) 53–59.

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The speaker’s elaborating on one particular point is a signal that this point is the most important. 817 Plato’s emphasis on the funeral procession implies that Athens had nothing more to offer to her fallen citizens than a wellattended funeral. Dionysius corrects this impression by listing other, more important honours which Athens bestowed upon her war dead, towards the end of the passage. He has the knowledge necessary to correct this ‘silly’ view. But what happens if a recipient does not have such a thorough knowledge about Classical Athenian state burials? Plato’s diction misrepresents how generously Athens honoured her heroes and belittles both this generosity and the exceptional achievements of her citizens. An uninformed reader would accept this distorted image and get the wrong idea about Classical Athens and her citizens. Like Thucydides’ negative portrayal of the Athenians in the Peloponnesian War, Plato’s account of the funeral procession is far from presenting the admirable image of Classical Athens which Dionysius favours. Readers in the present establish an emotional relationship with the past through the texts, and Dionysius wants this relationship to be positive. Plato’s style has the opposite effect because it precludes the reader from feeling the dignity and solemnity of the past; Dionysius’ criticism corrects this distorted image and restores a positive image of Classical Athens and her citizens. This correction is acted out as a short dialogue which gives the passage an interactive character. The question points out Plato’s mistake and provides additional information as to why Plato’s version is wrong, while the affirmative makrƒ lays weight on Dionysius’ assertion. This invites the readers to position themselves in the discussion. Dionysius’ own reply to this question, ‘much more, I think’ (‚mo» m‡n dokeÿ makrƒ), demonstrates which position Dionysius expects his readers to take: could they really not agree with him after the evidence he has provided? The mËn solitarium in ‚mo» m‡n increases the pressure on the addressee to make a decision for or against Dionysius’ point of view. Stressing ‚mo–, it underscores that Dionysius has made a clear statement. The effect is similar to that of a question: ‘I made my point, how about You?’ MËn creates a blank space which is left for the readers to fill and which invites them to join Dionysius and the filÏlogoi against the Platonists – Dionysius’ ‘I’ calls for a ‘We.’ Dionysius’ concluding sentence emphasizes again that the discussion about Plato’s style is a discussion about the primacy of Isocratean or

817 On this point see above, ch. 3.2.1, pp. 141–142, and 3.3.1, pp. 192–193.


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Platonic philosophy: ‘so this addition, Plato, was unnecessary’ (oŒko‹n oŒk Çnagka–a, Plàtwn, °de ô prosj†kh, Dem. 24.5). Addressing Plato directly, 818 Dionysius blurs the distinction between the present controversy and the one in Classical times: Dionysius is arguing on behalf of the Isocratean tradition, and his quarrel with the Platonists continues, and brings to an end, what had begun in the Classical past. 819 Dionysius’ comment on Mx. 237c7–d2820 provides further illustration of how closely Plato’s style and the dignity of Classical Athens (äxion) are interrelated (Dem. 28.2–4):

Tapein† moi dokeÿ ka» äzhloc ô lËxic ka» oŒd‡n Íqousa t®c perimaq†tou pÏlewc äxion, ±c ‚mo» dokeÿ. Poÿoc gÄr ‚njàde plo‹toc Ênomàtwn; Po–a semnÏthc; Poÿon ’yoc; T» oŒ malak∏teron t®c Çx–ac; T– d+oŒk ‚ndeËsteron t®c Çlhje–ac; O’twc ‚qr®n Õp‰ Plàtwnoc e r®sjai tòn >Ajhnêc ka» Poseid¿noc Õp‡r t®c >Attik®c stàsin Írin te ka» kr–sin; O’twc t‰n Írwta Án Ísqon o… jeo» t¿n ‚n aŒt¨ tim¿n, e c fa‹lÏn ti ka» mËtrion o’tw ˚®ma Çgageÿn õn d‡ jeo» ‚p§nesan e pÏnta; This seems to me a mean passage, and one not to be imitated, for I think it contains nothing worthy of the city which the gods fought over. Does it contain any rich language? Any dignity? Any sublimity? Is it not all pitched in a lower key than it should be? Is it not all smaller than life-size? Is this the way in which the quarrel over Attica between Athene and Poseidon should have been described by Plato, as “strife and judgment?” Should he have thus reduced the desire which the gods felt for honour at her shrines to the common, ordinary phrase “which the gods praised?” 821

The sublime dignity of Classical Athens (semnÏthc; ’yoc; äxion; Çx–a; tim¿n) can be represented adequately only through a true-to-nature style

818 See Ps.-Longin. 38.2 for a similar virtual address to a Classical author, in this case Isocrates. 819 For a similar blurring of the boundaries of classical past and present cf. Ps.-Longin. 14.2, where he recommends that an orator should always imagine how Homer or Demosthenes would react to his words if they were present. 820 ‘The strife of the gods who contended over her and their judgement testify to the truth of our statement. And how should not she whom the gods praised deserve to be praised by all mankind?’ (Martureÿ d+ômÿn tƒ lÏg˙ ô t¿n Çmfisbhthsàntwn per» aŒt®c je¿n Íric 〈te ka» kr–sic〉. √Hn d‡ jeo» ‚p§nesan, p¿c oŒq Õp+Çnjr∏pwn ge sumpàntwn dika–a ‚paineÿsjai;) 821 Usher’s transl. modified.

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(Çl†jeia); only thus will the reader experience Classical dignity and adopt an attitude of admiration and veneration towards Classical Athens. Plato’s diction distorts Athens’ grandeur, it ‘belittles’ it (malak∏teron, ‚ndeËsteron), and couches the ‘sublime’ in a ‘common, ordinary phrase,’ where it should have expressed the desire of the gods for being honoured in Athens, thus making Athens’ greatness experienceable to the reader. The paradoxical effect is that Plato’s words undermine the content. Plato mentioned the strife between the gods as an argumentum a maiore: how could human beings not pay all honours to Athens if even the gods praised her (√Hn d‡ jeo» ‚p§nesan, p¿c oŒq Õp+Çnjr∏pwn ge sumpàntwn dika–a ‚paineÿsjai;)? But Plato’s ‘common, ordinary phrase,’ which describes the gods’ praise of Athens (õn d‡ jeo» ‚p§nesan), makes it impossible for the readers to feel the admiration which the content commands. Dionysius’ indignant questions, by contrast, demonstrate his veneration for Classical Athens; furthermore, Dionysius’ questions are also a particularly efficient instrument of his criticism, insofar as they denounce Plato’s stylistic failures. Criticism thus becomes an instrument to implement the critic’s veneration for the past by ensuring that Athens’ reputation and greatness remain intact. At the same time, the questions express Dionysius’ astonishment at his adversaries: their inability to see the obvious incongruity between Plato’s style and his subject matter is a further proof of their lack of competence in rhetoric: the entire discussion of the Funeral Oration would be superfluous if the Platonists were not such incompetent critics. Proper critics would not need a theoretical analysis of Plato’s stylistic shortcomings, they would simply feel them (Dem. 24.9–10, on Mx. 236d7–e1):

To‘toic ‚keÿna ‚pit–jhsin Â Çn†r; LÏg˙ d‡ dò t‰n leipÏmenon kÏsmon Ì te nÏmoc prostàttei to‘toic Çpodo‹nai toÿc Çndràsi ka» qr†. t‰ ka» qrò pàlin ‚nta‹ja ke–menon ‚p» teleut®c, t–noc Èneka pare–lhptai ka» diÄ t–; PÏtera safestËran poi®sai tòn lËxin; >AllÄ ka» qwr»c t®c projËsewc ta‘thc ‚st» saf†c. E“ ge ofin o’twc e⁄qe; {LÏg˙ d‡ dò t‰n leipÏmenon kÏsmon Â nÏmoc Çpodo‹nai prostàttei toÿc Çndràsi}, t–c ãn ta‘thn ‚mËmyato ±c oŒ saf®; >AllÄ to‹to °dion Çkousj®nai ka» megaloprepËsteron; Pên m‡n ofin toŒnant–on öfàniken aŒt®c t‰ semn‰n ka» lel‘mantai. Ka» to‹to oŒ lÏg˙ deÿ majeÿn Èkaston, Çll+‚k t¿n ·auto‹ gn¿nai paj¿n. Taÿc gÄr ÇlÏgoic a sj†sesin âpanta tÄ ÊqlhrÄ ka» ôdËa kr–netai, ka» oŒj‡n deÿ ta‘taic o÷te didaq®c o÷te paramuj–ac.


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After this our author writes: “It remains to pay tribute to these heroes in words, as the law ordains, and as we are bound to do.” Here again, what is the purpose of adding “as we are bound to do” at the end? Does it make the meaning clearer? It is clear without this addition. If it were written as follows: “It remains to pay tribute to these heroes in words, as the law ordains.” Who would have criticised it for obscurity? But perhaps the form that we have sounds better and is more impressive? Quite the contrary: its dignity has been removed and destroyed. It needs no word of mine to show this: every reader is aware of it through his own feelings, for it is the senses, untutored by reason, that decide in all cases what is distasteful and what is pleasant, and they need neither instruction nor persuasion in these matters.

As in the preceding quotation Dionysius criticizes Plato because his diction is at odds with the content. The purpose of a Funeral Oration is to confer ‘honour’ or ‘credit’ (kÏsmoc) 822 on the fallen soldiers, but Plato’s words fail to create the appropriate solemnity (t‰ semnÏn, megaloprepËsteron); on the contrary, they destroy it (öfàniken aŒt®c t‰ semn‰n ka» lel‘mantai) and thus also preclude the reader from feeling it. Dionysius’ metathesis 823 confronts Plato’s faulty diction with a lËxic that does represent the content appropriately. Thus Dionysius demonstrates that he, in stark contrast to Plato and the Platonists, has the aesthetic sensibility which the dignity of the subject requires, and by re-writing Plato’s sentence he corrects Plato’s mistake and renders Classical Athens the honour she deserves. The fact that it is just a small detail, the added ka» qr†, which makes the difference, demonstrates that it would have been easy to achieve the desired effect. But this requires a sense of aesthetics (älogoc a“sjhsic) which is as developed as Dionysius’. Such a sense of Classical aesthetics, as shown above in chapter 4.2, depends on the proper education in rhetoric and style. This is the education which Dionysius provides and it is also the education which the Platonists, the ‘half-educated in rhetoric,’ lack. The whole passage demonstrates this interrelation of aesthetics and knowledge.

822 LSJ, p. 985, s.v. II.2. 823 On the critical practice of metathesis see de Jonge (2008), esp. 57: Dionysius ‘intends to recover the (unchangeable) meaning that underlies a certain expression rather than giving an alternative phrasing. Dionysius’ idea seems to be that there is a fixed meaning underlying all utterances, which one can represent in different ways (more or less accurately, more or less clearly, or with different sounds and rhythms)’; on the Stoic influences behind this idea and a similar use of metathesis in Apollonius Dyscolus cf. ibid. 56–57 and his ch. 7 ‘Rewriting the classics. Dionysius and the method of metathesis.’

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On the one hand, Dionysius’ analysis of Plato’s sentence shows that its aesthetic effect can be explained rationally (lÏg˙) and can be learned through instruction (didaq®c ka» paramuj–ac), if necessary: the sentence is ruined by the added ka» qr†. Yet at the same time, it intimates that such an explanation should not be necessary (to‹to oŒ lÏg˙ deÿ majeÿn Èkaston), and it is not necessary for all those who, like Dionysius and his ideal addressees, already have internalized the rules of Classical synthesis.824 The filÏlogoi have älogoc a“sjhsic and simply feel what is wrong with Plato’s diction; for them, Dionysius’ explanations are superfluous. It is only to the filÏtimoi, whose judgment is based not on knowledge but on ambition, that Dionysius has to demonstrate that Plato’s style is an unsuitable model of political rhetoric because it distorts the image of Classical Athens and thus might do considerable damage to the dignity of the Classical past. The whole section of On Demosthenes is thus defined as a process of exclusion. Whoever needs Dionysius’ explanations (and the Platonists’ absurd claim proves that they need them) reveals their lack of both the knowledge which is indispensable for a competent assessment of Classical texts and the awareness of aesthetics which goes hand-in-hand with it. Such readers are excluded from proper critical discourse. To Dionysius’ Classicist readers, like his addressee Ammaeus, by contrast, Dionysius’ quarrel with the Platonists demonstrates that their education and their ability to feel what is good or bad style defines them as the community of ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi’ and sets them apart from the Platonists. This distinction is not only acted out in the ‘theoretical part,’ t‰ jewrhtikÏn, the judgment on Plato’s style in the critical discussion; it also concerns the ‘practical part,’ t‰ pragmatikÏn, when theoretical knowledge is turned into literary production. Approving of Plato’s style disqualifies the critic, adopting Plato’s style disqualifies the speaker. Dionysius’ verdict on Plato is clear: Plato’s style is unsuitable for imitation (äzhloc), even more, it is an ‘anti-model’ (paràdeigma […] dihmarthmËnhc lËxewc, Dem. 29.2) which excludes the speaker from the group of all those who strive to speak ‘pure language’: ‘What kind of men who practise clarity of expression,’ Dionysius comments on Plato’s expression gËnesic Íphluc (Mx. 237b3–4), ‘will talk of “children of the soil” and “foreign?” ’ (poÿon Íjnoc Çnjr∏pwn kajarî lËxei qr∏menon ‚reÿ gËnesin tòn m‡n aŒtÏqjona, tòn d‡ ‚p†luda; Dem. 27.3). Shortly afterwards he adds: ‘What serious student of discourse would see fit to say that the circumstances of their ancestors’ 824 See above, ch.s 4.2.4, 4.2.5, 4.3.1.


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birth “revealed” that their descendants would be native and not immigrants into the lands in which they were born?’ (t–c d+ãn Çxi∏seie t¿n efi

dialËgesjai spoudazÏntwn e peÿn Ìti ô gËnesic ô t¿n progÏnwn toÃc ’steron genhsomËnouc Çpef†nato aŒtÏqjonac ka» mò meto–kouc e⁄nai t®c q∏rac ‚n ≠ ‚gËnonto; Dem. 27.4). The message can hardly be missed: incompetent critics make incompetent speakers. Dionysius’ sarcastic comment at Dem. 29.1 is an even more efficient warning to the reader than the preceding statement. It illustrates the fate which Dionysius envisages for intellectuals who would actually accept the Platonists’ claim and adopt a style modelled on Plato’s political passages. At the same time, it shows how powerful a criterion of distinction style is. Dionysius alludes again to the alleged statement of some Platonists that the king of gods speaks like Plato. Dionysius replies that Plato’s style may well be that of the king of gods, but then its use should be confined to heaven: ‘if any one of us earthly groundlings had said “best and noblest” [Mx. 238a1–2], how much ridicule would he have provoked!’ (e t¿n ‚pige–wn tic ôm¿n qama» ‚rqomËnwn kàllista ka» ärista e⁄pen, Ìson ãn ‚k–nhse gËlwta;).825 Speakers who adopt the wrong model expose themselves to ridicule; their style excludes them from serious discourse as much as their judgment on the style of their model excludes them from serious criticism. At the same time, they provide a contrastive foil, an ‘out-group,’ to all those who define themselves as practitioners of ‘pure language’ and of serious criticism (ôm¿n in the preceding quotation). 826 825 Cf. Ps.-Longinus’ remark that Gorgias is being ridiculed (gelêtai) for phrases like ‘Xerxes is the Zeus of the Persians’ (XËrxhc Â t¿n Pers¿n Ze‘c) and ‘vultures are living tombs’ (g‹pec Ímyuqoi tàfoi) (3.2). 826 It is important to note that only a few pages later, at Dem. 32.1, Dionysius contrasts Demosthenes’ style with Plato’s by comparing the former with ‘weapons of war’ (polemist†ria Ìpla), ‘real things’ (Çlhjina» Óyeic, literally, ‘true appearances’), and ‘bodies developed by hard work in the sunlight’ (‚n ôl–˙ d‡ ka» pÏnoic tejrammËna s∏mata), while likening the latter to weapons ‘used in ceremonial processions’ ([Ìplwn] pompeuthr–wn), mere ‘images’ (e d∏lwn), and bodies ‘that pursue a life of ease in the shade’ ([swmàtwn] t¿n skiÄc ka» ˚¯st∏nac diwkÏntwn). The stress on the physical quality of language (s∏mata; Óyeic) further illustrates the unsuitability of a style modelled on the passages of ‘political oratory’ in Plato’s works (cf. above, pp. 80–83). Moreover, the opposition of polemist†ria and pompeut†ria Ìpla foreshadows the quotation from the Iliad at Dem. 23.5 by which Dionysius defines ‘fell deeds of war’ (polem†ia Írga) as the domain of politiko» ka» ˚†torec ändrec, while equating Aphrodite’s ‘wedded love’s delights’ with Plato’s métier, Socratic philosophy (see above, pp. 331–332). Finally, the expression Çlhjina» Óyeic, as opposed to e d∏lwn, evokes the

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The Classicists’ ‘pure’ diction is thus a sign of their sound theoretical approach to the Classical texts, and the correspondence between style and content, between political theory and political practice, is the distinctive feature of Dionysius’ approach. But Dionysius also regards this close correspondence between theory and practice as the distinctive characteristic of Classical political oratory in general (Amm.I , 2.3) and of Isocrates’ ‘philosophical rhetoric’ in particular (Isoc. 4.4): 827 only his Classicist ideology provides success in both theory and practice because it is the only critical method which continues the Classical rhetorical tradition. The dialogic design of Dionysius’ essays emphasizes this point; even more, it urges the readers to choose sides: do they prefer to be members of the ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi’ or of one of the philosophical communities, whether the Platonists, Peripatetics, or Stoics, which might be more prestigious than Dionysius’ community but whose training is highly inadequate to the requirements of the period of the rebirth of filÏsofoc ˚htorik†.

5.3 Summary Chapter 5 complemented the discussion of chapter 4. In chapter 4 I argued that Dionysius keeps his readers aware that attaining knowledge from his writings unites them in a community of elite critics on a par with the Classical authors. Chapter 5 examined how Dionysius implements the awareness of elitism in his reader through the very process of reading his essays. Dionysius’ essays are distinguished by their interactive design. The introductory passages associate his essays permanently with the controversies and debates from which they originated in the first place. The historical context of the essays thus becomes an interpretive framework which makes Dionysius’ literary analyses and aesthetic judgments inseparable from intellectual debate and competition among different assessments of the same texts or authors. Furthermore, by means of direct questions to the reader, the use of first and second person personal pronouns, the introduction of a fictus interlocutor , and verbatim quotations from the Classical authors, Dionysius opposition between Çl†jeia and dÏxa, which is central to Dionysius’ entire argument with the Platonists, with e d∏lwn containing perhaps an ironic allusion to the Platonic forms (e“dh). 827 On Amm.I see ch. 1.2, esp. pp. 41–43; on Isoc. 4.3–4 see above, pp. 334–337, and ch. 2.2.1, pp. 70–71.

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organizes his texts as virtual dialogues between himself, his addressee, his adversaries, and the Classical authors themselves. This dialogic design might even have influenced Dionysius’ choice of the generic name with which he refers to his writings: as Õpomnhmatismo–, ‘reminders,’ his works present only the most essential quotations and pieces of information (Dionysius calls this use of quotations ‘symbolic’) because Dionysius expects his addressees to be able to supplement everything else from their own knowledge. This dialogicity makes Dionysius’ essays decontextualizable: the historical controversies over the Classical works have now become the properties of Dionysius’ texts and are re-enacted every time they are read, no matter when and by whom. This conforms to the purpose of Dionysius’ writings as he states it programmatically in the preface to On the Ancient Orators, namely that his works are supposed to contribute to spreading filÏsofoc ˚htorik† over the whole oikumene and making it the universal standard of both language (lÏgoi) and way of life (proa–resic) for all time. For the community of ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi’ this means that they are no longer confined to any specific time and space. They are an ‘imagined community’ (Anderson) centred on (reading) Dionysius’ works. As Çpoik–ai t¿n lÏgwn they provide the virtual space in which the ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi’ convene and which keeps reassuring them of their shared political, moral, and aesthetic values and, thus, of the sense of communion which unites them (chapter 5.1). The creation of the imagined community of Classicists entails the creation of ‘the Other’ from which Dionysius and his ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi’ distinguish their particular methods and system of beliefs: ‘in-group reading’ is inseparable from its counterpart, ‘out-group reading.’ Chapter 5.2 discussed two examples of how Dionysius couches his discussions in terms of an argument with (and defeat of) adversaries, who represent long-established and influential schools of thought, namely the Peripatetics and the Platonists. Discussing a Classical text and judging an author’s style or content is thus inextricably bound up with distinguishing oneself from other critics and proving their point of view untenable. In both controversies Dionysius seeks to demonstrate that the critical method of his adversaries is at odds with the principles of philosophical investigation established by the very philosophers whose representatives they claim to be. In order to do so, Dionysius appropriates key concepts of Platonic and Aristotelian philosophy, respectively, for his own critical method. In particular, this concerns the distinction between dÏxa and Çl†jeia. Dionysius asserts that his criticism is based on the sole con-

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cern for truth, Çl†jeia, and therefore provides an unfiltered assessment of the textual evidence; the judgment of his adversaries, by contrast, is clouded by their concern for their own reputation (dÏxa) and that of the founder of their tradition. Dionysius’ critical method thus continues the philosophical tradition and the principles of philosophical enquiry which were established by Plato and Aristotle much more than that of his adversaries. In so doing, Dionysius contests his adversaries’ authority as representatives of these renowned schools of thought, while associating himself and his criticism with Platonic and Aristotelian philosophy. Moreover, when arguing with the Platonists in On Demosthenes, Dionysius associates his concern for truth with the ‘authenticity’ of Lysias’ style, and the Platonists’ critical method with Plato’s ‘distorted’ Thucydidean style: as Lysias’ style presents a true-to-nature image of Athenian democracy, Dionysius’ opinion is true to the evidence in the text, and as Plato’s style creates a distorted image of reality, also the Platonists distort the textual evidence. The different styles of critical discourse, the democratic Lysianic and the un-democratic Thucydidean style, continue the opposition between the respective styles of political oratory and imply the same attitude towards Classical Athens as the rhetorical styles: Dionysius’ ‘authentic’ criticism is a means to preserve the dignity of the Classical past by choosing only those authors and works as models for mimesis whose style is suitable to represent and preserve the greatness of the Classical past. As such, his critical method is an ‘authentic’ expression of his veneration for Athens, as Lysias’ style is an ‘authentic’ expression of Athenian democracy; the Thucydidean style, by contrast, is incompatible with the greatness of Classical Athens and belittles Athens’ authority by drawing a distorted image of the Classical past. Dionysius’ argument with the Platonists in particular grants us new insight not only into his strategies of self-definition and distinction. It also demonstrates to what extent Dionysius’ aesthetics are intermingled with his ideas of Classical Athenian democracy and its political and moral values. Lysias’ ‘authenticity’ and ‘naturalness’ are not simply aesthetic categories but encapsulate for Dionysius the very essence of Classical Athenian politics. In Dionysius’ system of thought, aesthetic and political ideas are deeply ingrained and mutually influence each other: Lysias’ style aestheticizes Classical Athenian politics and Classical Athenian politics politicize Lysianic aesthetics. The way in which criticism is acted out in Dionysius’ essays leaves no doubt that criticism is not a neutral activity: a critic’s judgment on a Classical text defines him as belonging to one community or another, and

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the interactive design of Dionysius’ texts constantly compels the reader to side with Dionysius and the principles of his criticism or (usually the less recommended option) with his adversaries and theirs. Dionysius’ essays thus create a particular reading experience: for readers who adopt Dionysius’ approach they create a feeling of togetherness, of being part of the same community, while creating a feeling of being excluded from proper, Classicist criticism for those who disagree with Dionysius. Dionysius’ essays make the reader perform criticism as an in-group/out-group reading.

6. Conclusions This book is a study in cultural difference. Ancient literature and culture is such an integral part of our own world that it is easy to forget that when we are reading and discussing Isocrates, Lysias, or Thucydides, and when Dionysius is reading and discussing Isocrates, Lysias, or Thucydides, we are not doing the same thing. The meaning of actions depends on the socialcultural environment in which they are carried out. In twenty-first century Germany being able to read (let alone write) texts in classical Greek is not a very prestigious activity and certainly has no political implications. The situation was remarkably different less than one hundred years ago, and even more so in first-century Rome, where Augustus had made classical Greece and its culture a constituent of his political programme: practising Greek oratory was an essential part of intellectual culture, and a ‘classical’ education was the prerequisite for a political career. Like every human action, reading and writing classical texts, mimesis, is symbolic, and it carried meaning for the community of Greek and Roman scholars, the ‘literary circle,’ in and for which Dionysius wrote his essays. This circle, I have argued, should be seen as one of the sub-groups, or social worlds, which constitute social life and provide their members with an ‘ideology’ (in Ricœur’s sense) that shapes their outlook on themselves and on the world. Dionysius’ writings grant us access to this ideology. They help us understand what practising Classical language meant to these intellectuals: it carried with it a conception of Classical identity, an interpretation of past and present, and a claim to intellectual as well as social elitism. Dionysius did not read Classical texts, politiko» lÏgoi, for purely aesthetic delight but because they were carriers of Classical identity. Adopting Isocrates’ conception of ‘rhetorics of identity’ (Yun-Lee Too), Dionysius regarded Classical texts as the carriers of a Classical ethos, a set of moral and political virtues (dikaios‘nh, ‚leujer–a, swfros‘nh, eŒsËbeia), which is acquired by, and expressed through, language. Mimesis is not simply reading and writing Classical texts; it is a process of self-fashioning through which the Classicist first internalizes the Classical ideal – makes it his nature

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(aŒtofu†c), as Dionysius says – and then enacts it in the present. Dionysius imagines this enactment to be of an almost physical immediacy, language being a means of the speaker’s self-presentation as important and efficient as his body and clothes. Speaking and writing Classical language is a demonstration, to the speaker himself as to others, that he has a genuinely Classical character and is living a Classical way of life (proa–resic): he is living the Classical past, thus rendering the gap separating past and present obsolete. Never would a Classicist have thought of himself as classicizing – he was no less Classical than Isocrates and Demosthenes had been (chapter 2.2). It is against the background of this Isocratean conception of Classical identity that we have to read Dionysius’ treatment of historiography. Dionysius’ discussion of Herodotus and his criticism of Thucydides, especially of the Melian Dialogue, shows that he imagined the Classical Athenians as representatives of the Isocratean conception of identity. The image of the Athenians in classical, especially Isocratean, rhetoric provided the paradigm of Dionysius’ image of the Classical past. Dealing with Classical Athenian history is therefore an emotionally charged process: the past can, and must, be felt through the texts. Classical rhetoric thus becomes a historical paradigm: truth is what conforms to the idealized image of the Athenians propagated in Isocrates’ Speeches and the Attic Funeral Oration. Therefore, for Dionysius, in stark contrast to Thucydides, truth and pleasure are two sides of the same coin: Herodotus’ History, which describes how the Greeks asserted their superiority over the Barbarians, is pleasurable because it confirms the Classicists’ self-image, their idea of the Classical which they strive to live in the present and, in particular, the notion of cultural and political superiority and elitism that is bound up with this self-image. Dionysius’ idea of historical accounts of the Classical past can be compared to a mirror which presents him with historical actors who behave and act as he wants to behave or act. The experience of history which Dionysius envisages is not far from Hernadi’s notion of the readers’ ‘ego-trip’: history has to assure the readers emotionally of their (image of the) past and their image of themselves and their role in the present which is based on it. This also explains Dionysius’ appreciation of Theopompus. He regarded the latter’s ‘moralizing’ narrative as a specimen of an ‘Isocratean’ historiography which should have the same beneficent influence on the reader’s character as Isocrates’ works (chapter 3.2.2). Dionysius’ interpretation of the Roman present, too, is based on Classical Greek rhetoric. Dionysius turns the Hellene-Barbarian antithesis into a pattern of historical interpretation which permits him to define his own

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times as the continuation of the Classical Greeks’ fight against the Barbarians. Although the fight against the Barbarization by Asianism is a symbolic one, its political implications for Dionysius are no less real: Classical rhetoric and education alone entitle to political power, and Dionysius envisages his readers re-enacting the Isocratean ideal of the statesman (and invites them to do so). Drawing on the classicizing tendencies of the moral and political culture of Augustan Rome, Dionysius defines the Romans as the Greeks’ partners in the fight against the Barbarian Other. Dionysius’ Roman contemporaries are the representatives of filÏsofoc ˚htorik†. Being dunaste‘ontec and eŒpa–deutoi pànu ka» tÄc kr–seic gennaÿoi (Orat. Vett. 3.1), they have re-established the Classical alliance of education and power. They use their power to spread Classical Greek identity and culture, filÏsofoc ˚htorik†, over the oikumene, and the art of politiko» lÏgoi is again, as in Classical times, the key to power and hegemony over the Barbarian Other, which is represented by Asianism (chapter 2.2). We have to consider Dionysius’ historical project, to write an early Roman history eŒjÃc ‚x Çrq®c, from within the framework of the interpretation of the Roman present on which his Classicist ideology is based. Dionysius’ vision of the Romans as the successors of the Classical Greek past was not universal: many Greeks saw the Romans as the Barbarians who had usurped the power to which only the Greeks were entitled. The power of Classical Athens had been justified by the centuries-long tradition of superior moral and political virtues; Rome’s power, by contrast, was not based on merit, whether political or moral, but solely on Fortune. Dionysius’ Antiquitates presents the Romans as Greeks, ethically and ethnically, from the origins of their history: Roman identity was based on the Greek values which had been made the standard of Roman conduct by the very first king, Romulus. Thus Dionysius’ work justifies Roman power in the present by rewriting Roman history along the lines of the justification of Athens’ superiority in classical literature. In so doing, he bases the interpretation of Roman power as the representative of filÏsofoc ˚htorik† in his critical writings on solid historical foundations (chapter 3.3). However, Dionysius’ vision of the Romans and Roman power should be seen neither as a crude attempt at flattery nor as the conception of a ‘Graeco-Roman’ world in which the Greek and the Roman have been integrated in a novel, symbiotic relationship. In fact, Dionysius’ image of the Roman past constantly asserts the superiority of its Greek element. Dionysius’ work claims as Greek all those spheres of Roman life that many Romans tried to define as originally Roman, most prominently Roman

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power itself and the ancestral virtues (virtutes maiorum). The Antiquitates emphasizes the Romans’ debt to the Greeks: from the beginnings of their history onwards, the Romans have depended on Greek culture, and it is to this deeply formative Greek influence that they owe their leading role in the world. The Romans’ superiority exists, and is justified, only because the Romans have made a deliberate effort to be Greek throughout their history. This, however, implies that the Romans can easily lose their current state of superiority if they neglect to maintain the Greek heritage of their ancestors, and several warning examples illustrate the catastrophic consequences of such neglect for the Roman commonwealth. Dionysius locates his work in this dialectic of Hellenization and Roman power: the Antiquitates enables its Roman readers to model their lives on their ancestors’ political and moral values, which were adopted from the Greeks and on which the preservation of Rome’s greatness depends (chapter 3.3.2). In the same way Dionysius’ interpretation of Roman power as the representative of Greek culture, which underlies his Classicism in the critical writings, reduces the role of the Romans in history to being the successors to the Classical Greek past. Their power is justified only because it is based on Classical Greek virtues (chapter 2.3.3). Dionysius’ interpretation of Roman power also allows him to invest his criticism and the role of Classical Greek language and paide–a with considerable symbolic significance: filÏsofoc ˚htorik† is the language of Roman power, and practising Classical rhetoric is the key to being part of the ruling class. The Classicists’ claim to intellectual elitism is coupled with the claim that their education entitles them to leading positions in society. Classicist rhetoric is therefore a criterion of distinction. This has deeply influenced Dionysius’ criticism: Dionysius constantly reminds his readers that the knowledge they can attain from him defines them as both the intellectual and the political leaders of their times (chapter 4.3). Moreover, through various strategies of distinction Dionysius seeks to establish a unique position for himself and his critical method both in contemporary intellectual discourse and vis-à-vis scholarly tradition (chapters 1.2; 4.2.1; 4.2.2; 4.2.3; 5.2). In fact, the traditional philosophical communities such as the Peripatetics, the Platonists, and the Stoics, play a crucial role in Dionysius’ conception of his own community of ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi’ as well as in the strategies by which he seeks to assert the equality, even superiority, of his own community over the prestigious philosophical schools of thought. On the one hand, Dionysius models the community of Classicists on the

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philosophical communities, in particular the Peripatetics; on the other hand, this entails that these philosophical schools now become his competitors, from which he has to distinguish himself. Thus just as the Peripatetics’, Stoics’, and Platonists’ authority relied on their long intellectual tradition and philosophical allegiance to their founders, Dionysius seeks to establish an intellectual tradition on which to base his claim to authority in contemporary intellectual discourse. Yet, in order not to appear as a mere appendix to one of the philosophical schools, Dionysius has to find a way to associate his critical method with a tradition at least as old and prestigious as the philosophical schools but also clearly distinguished from them. Dionysius achieves this aim by defining his critical method, and the community of intellectuals based on it, as the heirs to the tradition of Classical political oratory itself. The idea that Dionysius and his (ideal) recipients continue the Classical tradition is the core of Dionysius’ conception of the Classicist critic. Like Classical oratory, Dionysius asserts, his method is distinguished by a combination of theory and practice (chapter 1.2.2); moreover, he claims to be the first and only critic to have recovered the original, Classical rules of synthesis and thus to have rendered an ‘authentic’ experience and production of Classical texts possible for the first time since the end of the Classical period: he teaches his readers the same knowledge and techniques which the Classical authors themselves had to internalize. Moreover, since the Classical authors, too, had to internalize the rules of synthesis in a long and tiresome process, not only is the knowledge Dionysius offers his readers genuinely Classical but also the very process of learning itself (chapter 4.2.5). Furthermore, the attempt to assert the exclusivity and superiority of his Classicist ideology while distinguishing it from competing communities of intellectuals has deeply influenced the design of Dionysius’ criticism (chapter 5). His essays enact criticism as an ‘in-group/out-group reading’: various structural devices such as dialogic passages, direct questions, the use of first and second personal pronouns, the introduction of a fictus interlocutor , and long verbatim quotations from the Classical authors give Dionysius’ writings a particular interactive character. This dialogicity involves the readers in the discussions and invites them to share Dionysius’ interpretation of the Classical texts in order to define themselves as members of the community of Classicists. As a consequence, Dionysius’ Classicist community is not confined to the literary circle any longer but has become a property of the text. It is created by the process of reading and convenes in the virtual space constituted by the text. Therefore

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the community of ‘practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi’ can be defined as an ‘imagined community,’ which is based on a shared feeling of togetherness that is created by the reading process and access to which can be obtained only by following the course of Classical education which Dionysius’ essays prescribe (chapter 5.1). This ‘integrative’ element of Dionysius’ writings is complemented by a process of exclusion. Dionysius leaves no doubt that those readers who lack the knowledge which Dionysius defines as essential, pursue a different approach to the Classical texts, or refuse to adopt Dionysius’ methods and subscribe to his aesthetic judgments, are excluded from the elite community of Classicists. The same reading process that is designed to engender a feeling of togetherness in the readers who subscribe to Dionysius’ view thus also creates an image of the ‘others,’ an ‘out-group’ against which they can define themselves. At the same time, this image of the ‘others’ warns the readers of the negative consequences if they choose to subscribe to the erroneous critical method or join the wrong community of intellectuals: anyone who chose to subscribe to the Platonists’ notion of style, for example, would expose themselves to ridicule. Sometimes this ‘out-group’ remains an undefined ‘others,’ but more often Dionysius couches his critical discussions in terms of arguments with representatives of the very philosophical schools which provide both the most important model for Dionysius’ conception of the Classicist community and its most influential competitors. Dionysius has thus made this process of ‘identity through distinction’ a constitutive element of his criticism. Dionysius’ virtual arguments with the Peripatetics and the Platonists clearly reveal his ambivalent attitude towards the philosophical sects. For he does not simply reject the position of his adversaries and their methods. Instead, he seeks to undermine their affiliations with their own communities by proving their opinions and methods of inquiry to be incompatible with the principles of discourse established by the very founders of their traditions. At the same time, Dionysius appropriates key elements of Classical philosophical discourse as constituents of his own critical method, most prominently the opposition of dÏxa and Çl†jeia and the ideal of objectivity and unconditional commitment to truth as opposed to the philosophers’ concern for their own reputation or that of the founder of their schools (chapters 5.2.1; 5.2.2). From this point of view, Dionysius’ argument strategy against the Peripatetics and the Platonists is closely related to his attempt to associate his

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critical method with the tradition of Classical oratory. This close affiliation can be observed particularly well in Dionysius’ controversy with the Platonists. Dionysius here defines Çl†jeia and parrhs–a as key elements of his critical method. These terms have been shown to be determined in multiple ways: on the one hand, they refer to crucial constituents of the PlatonicSocratic elenchus and thus link Dionysius’ method with Platonic-Socratic dialectic and its professed absolute and unconditional concern for truth. On the other hand, they associate Dionysius’ method with Lysias, a major representative of Classical political rhetoric whose style Dionysius defines as the aesthetic equivalent of Classical Athenian democracy. Dionysius thus inscribes his controversy with the Platonists into the broader framework of the interrelation of rhetoric, politics, and philosophy which, in turn, evokes its archetype, the conflict between Plato and Isocrates and their different conceptions of philosophy. This invites the recipients to read the Platonists’ defeat in the controversy with Dionysius as the final conclusion to this Classical struggle (and to its aftermath in the subsequent centuries). Furthermore, the way in which Dionysius associates his controversy with the Platonists with a Classical precedent points to another aspect which should be emphasized here. It is often tacitly assumed that the contact between past and present is established solely by way of mimesis of the Classical texts. The virtual debate with the Platonists shows that Dionysius also regarded his critical practice itself as a means of connecting with and continuing the Classical past. The same can be said for his criticisms of Thucydides (chapter 3.2) and the Funeral Oration in Plato’s Menexenus (chapter 5.2.2). In both instances Dionysius blurs the distinction between criticism and history by using his criticism to implement actively his vision of the Classical past. There is no doubt that Dionysius conceives of himself, as a critic, as the representative who has been entrusted with the preservation of the dignity and greatness of the Classical past. I should also like to point out two issues related to Dionysius’ argument with the Platonists which could not be discussed in detail but deserve further investigation, namely the basis of Dionysius’ aesthetic categories and the critic’s relation to the Classical authors. Regarding the first, both Dionysius’ appreciation of Lysias’ ‘natural’ style and his rejection of Plato’s ‘theatrical’ or ‘dithyrambic’ style, which according to Dionysius ultimately goes back to Gorgias and Thucydides, were revealed to be inextricably intertwined with Dionysius’ image of the political realities of Classical Athenian democracy. Lysias’ style is ‘natural’ because it was modelled on the style of the average Athenian citizen. This, in turn, Dionysius explains as the result of the

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necessities of the Classical democratic system: otherwise communication in the assembly or the court would have been impossible. The style of Thucydides’ speeches, by contrast, is criticized by Dionysius because it would have had precisely this effect on Athenian civic and private life. If the Athenians had really spoken like this, Dionysius holds, they would have needed an interpreter. The question of an authentic representation of Classical Athenian civic life seems to be crucial in both cases: Thucydides’ representation of Athenian communication in his speeches is inaccurate because the Athenians cannot have spoken like this, while Lysias’ speeches represent a faithful image of the way of speaking of the average Athenian citizen in Classical times. Behind this lies the idea that the Classical past can be represented and experienced aesthetically through rhetorical style regardless of the content. This complements the results of our discussion of Dionysius’ conception of historiography as a means of connecting with the past emotionally (chapter 3.2.1). Regarding the second issue, Dionysius’ criticisms of Plato and Thucydides alike reveal a certain ambiguity in the relationship between critic and Classical authors. On the one hand, as Classical authors Plato and Thucydides are entitled to the utmost respect. On the other hand, Dionysius has to deal with the problem that neither their works nor their style correspond entirely to his image of the Classical Athenians and his conception of the dignity of the Classical past. This should be read alongside Dionysius’ programmatic statement in the preface to On the Ancient Orators, that the aim of his essays is to teach his reader which aspects of the Classical authors to preserve and which to avoid (Orat. Vett. 4.3) (chapter 2.3.4): ‘the classical’ is a construction of the critic and, as such, is a prescriptive, not a descriptive category. Therefore the Classicist critic’s relation to the Classical authors is not one of unconditional admiration; rather, he has to negotiate his notion of the Classical with the realities of the texts and find a way to establish his idea of the Classical without undermining the authority of the Classical authors which is the source of his legitimation and that of his competitors alike. Yet, this coexistence of different conceptions of the Classical also lies at the heart of classicism as a cultural phenomenon because it is the controversy over these different ideals which fuels the discussion among the members of the literary circle as well as between competing communities of intellectuals. And as much as we have to remember that Dionysius’ controversies are not factual descriptions of the intellectual culture of his time, they remind us that

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at least we have to be careful not to limit Greek classicism to Dionysius and his works because they are the only ones that have survived. If there is only a kernel of historical truth behind the arguments with the Peripatetic, the Stoics, or any of the nameless ‘others’ against which Dionysius defends his judgments, classicism seems to have been an incredibly multi-faceted and lively discourse in first-century BCE Rome in which representatives of many different intellectual communities and scholary traditions were involved. At any rate, we should be wary of regarding Dionysius’ Classicism as taking place in a sort of isolated ‘bubble,’ disconnected from the cultural and intellectual realities of his time. However, this study did not aim to explore the historical reality behind the debates in Dionysius’ texts but their function in the texts and his conception of literary criticism. It is my hope that maybe these observations motivate others to do what could not be done here. Summing up, Dionysius’ Classicism is a powerful model of Greek cultural identity which allowed his Greek readers to conciliate their Classical Greek heritage with the Roman present and offered his Roman readers a justification for actively pursuing their Hellenization. His interpretation of Roman power and of the role of Greek rhetoric and culture within it allowed his Greek addressees to conceive of themselves as an integral part of contemporary Roman society by pursuing their interests in Classical Greek texts and culture and by simply preserving their Classical heritage (chapters 2.2; 3.3). Moreover, Dionysius’ interpretation of Roman history and power in both his critical and his historical works stresses the Romans’ dependence on Classical Greek culture: the essence of Roman identity is the constant effort to be Greek from which stems the very basis of Roman power itself. Dionysius offers his Greek recipients a world-construct in which to view themselves as the exclusive representatives of this Classical culture and as the only ones who can provide what the Romans need. Being Classical thus always involved a consciousness of being superior to the Romans, at least intellectually.

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Indices

1. Key Notions, Persons, Places Academics 35, 37, 38, 39, 52 acculturation 222 Alexander the Great 62, 64, 85, 86, 88, 90, 98–100, 104–105, 111, 118, 120, 187 ancestors see prÏgonoi and maiores Anderson, Benedict 26, 297 anthropology 3, 4–6, 28 Antiochus of Ascalon 38–39 antiquarianism 209–210 archive of knowledge 47 Aristotle 30, 31, 36, 37, 38, 39, 42, 43, 45, 51, 54, 58, 75–76, 280, 282, 303–310, 318, 349– 350 Asia Minor 95–97, 102 Asianism 51 n. 153, 63, 64, 93–100, 103, 105, 111–116, 118, 119, 137, 228, 237, 274–275, 282, 295–296, 321 n. 781, 354 Asiarchs 95–96 Asinius Pollio, C. 212 Athens/Athenians 18, 56, 58, 59, 65–68, 85, 86, 87, 93, 95 n. 261, 102, 117, 122, 131, 132, 134, 137, 138, 139–140, 141, 142, 144, 145, 146, 147, 148, 149, 150, 154–165, 166, 171, 187–188, 191–192, 193, 223–225, 227, 251, 270, 280–281, 310, 319–320, 323–325, 334 n. 802, 336–337, 339, 341–346, 350, 353, 354, 358–359 Atticism 15 n. 54, 63 n. 170; Roman 23 n. 83, 114 n. 328, 115 auctoritas 11 n. 40, 12–13, 16 Augustan, culture 8–18, 53, 54, 104–106, 108, 118, 210–213; pro- and anti- 8, 10, 170, 206– 213; propaganda 9, 14, 210–213; Rome 5, 7,

8–18, 25, 54, 56, 71, 78, 92–119, 165, 169, 187–188, 209–210, 225, 227, 228, 354 Augustus 8–18, 28, 53, 54, 61, 64, 99–100, 104–106, 107, 108, 170, 206–213, 352 authenticity (cf. nature/natural(ness); truth) 316, 320–326, 338–339, 350, 356, 359 authority 11 n. 40, 31, 32–40, 43, 44, 45, 52, 54, 56, 57, 83, 228, 239, 242, 244, 278, 281, 307, 308–309, 312–314, 315, 325, 330–331, 350, 356, 359 autochthony see aŒtoqjon–a Bakhtin, Michael 284 n. 699, 295 n. 719 Barbarization 221–223 Caecilius of Caleacte 24, 56 canon 37, 54, 314, 315, 331, 349 Chrysippus 238–242, 278 Cicero 15 n. 53, 30 n. 98, 56, 76, 102–103, 104, 106, 109, 172, 180–181, 182–185, 216, 217 Cincinnatus, L. Quinctius 203, 205 classical 5, 7, 8, 18, 209; vs. Classical/ (neo-)classicist 2 n. 11, 353 Classical, Dionysius’ conception of the 7, 49– 50, 51 n. 153, 112–113, 132, 148–149, 235–263, 296–297, 352; education 233–234, 235–263, 267, 270–276, 356–357; identity 55, 58, 64, 65–77, 86, 87, 117, 131, 136, 137, 145–146, 147, 148, 164, 175, 186, 227, 257–263, 270– 278, 334 n. 802, 352–353; mentality see Èxic; past, Dionysius’ image of 25, 55, 112, 117, 120–165, 223, 227, 270–272, 339–346;

388

Indices

style 270–272, 280–281, 337–338, 340–348, 350, 353, 358–359 Classicism, vs. (neo-)classicism 2 n. 11, 15, 17, 48 n. 148; as a strategy of re-appropriation 119, 223; and privileged access to the Classical past 40–44, 52, 91, 230–278, 307–309, 310–314, 338, 340–348, 356 classicism 15, 18, 360 Classicist(s) 7, 48, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 56, 57, 58, 64, 65, 73, 74, 77, 83, 92, 93, 116–117, 120, 137, 151, 204 n. 525, 223–224, 226, 227, 228, 229, 234, 235–278, 279, 280, 283–284, 293– 297, 299–300, 306–310, 316, 334, 339, 346– 348, 349, 355–357; model of history 60–65 clupeus virtutis 207 collective identity 29, 193, 285 collective memory 136 commonality see communion, feeling of communication see discursive practice communion, feeling of 19, 21, 25, 26, 30, 56, 57, 58, 104 n. 291, 229, 280, 281–297, 298, 310, 339, 349–350, 357 community 4, 19, 20, 21, 22, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 31, 36, 47–52, 53, 54, 56, 57, 58, 82, 116, 226, 227, 228–230, 234, 239, 264–270, 276, 278, 279–348, 355–356; imagined 58, 280, 281– 297, 298, 337, 349, 350, 352, 356–357, 359 composition see synthesis Constitutio Romuli 168, 169, 172–185, 190, 198, 202, 204, 205, 207, 214, 224 contextualization 282–283, 294–295, 348 continuity 40–44, 55, 58, 65–92, 99–100, 106, 108, 117, 118, 146–147, 148, 165, 169, 170, 173, 178–180, 184–191, 193, 194–195, 197, 198–221, 225, 227, 238, 242, 246, 263, 314, 317, 319, 336–337, 348, 350, 354, 355, 356, 358, 360 controversy see struggle Crassus, M. Licinius 201, 203–204 criticism and history 122, 132, 149, 154–165, 227, 358 cross-references 45 cultural identity 8, 15, 18–29, 110, 118, 228, 360 cultural strategy 52 culture, semiotic concept of 3, 21, 22, 296, 352

democracy/democratic 58, 67, 85, 86, 87, 139, 156, 251, 270–271, 280–281, 310, 319– 329, 334 n. 802, 337, 350, 358–359 Demosthenes 15 n. 54, 30, 31, 36, 41, 43, 51, 56, 58, 63, 85, 99, 111, 139, 231, 236, 253– 257, 258, 259–262, 264–265, 266, 270–271, 278, 286, 289, 303, 309, 310, 311 n. 759, 312– 314, 316, 320, 321 n. 780, 323 n. 785, 353 dialogicity 45, 57, 58, 91 n. 252, 229, 246, 279–348, 350, 356 diction see lËxic Dinarchus 84–91, 112, 113, 117 discursive history 44–47, 53, 267 discursive practice 20, 21, 24, 25, 26, 27, 47, 53, 56, 226, 227, 228, 283 discursive tradition see discursive history distinction 33, 36, 40, 56, 57, 58, 228–230, 230– 235, 263–278, 279–348, 350–351, 355–357 dithyrambic see dij‘rambon, tÏ education (cf. paide–a) 54, 68, 70, 71, 97, 105, 167, 170, 175, 188, 205, 217, 224, 227, 229, 259–260, 262–278, 296, 338, 345–346, 351, 354, 355 elite/elitism 33, 44, 45, 48, 57, 105, 233–235, 263–278, 279, 297, 355; and knowledge 226–278, 293–294, 297–298, 338, 348, 352, 353, 357 emotional experience, of Classical texts 231– 233, 246–263, 338–348; of the past 123, 128– 129, 130–165, 223, 231–233, 338–348, 353, 359 empathy see emotional experience, of the past emplotment 115, 121, 124–127, 130 Epicureans 36, 37, 40 Epicurus 54 ethos see ™joc exclusion see distinction fictus interlocutor see dialogicity field of statements 46 Foucault, Michel 16 Funeral Oration 59, 193, 223, 310, 314, 320, 327, 328 n. 793, 337–348, 353

Key Notions, Persons, Places Gallus, C. 9, 212 n. 560 Geertz, Clifford 3, 18, 19, 22 Golden Age 54, 115, 120 Gorgias 69, 321, 328, 358 Gracchus, Sempronius 212 n. 560 Graeco-Roman 217–223, 225, 354 Greekness (cf. Hellenization; b–oc ìEllhn) 67, 93, 169, 170, 175, 185, 188–189, 205, 214, 217–218, 222, 225, 355, 360 habitus 77, 92 Hegesias of Magnesia 15 n. 54, 111, 112, 114 Hellene-Barbarian antithesis 66–67, 93–100, 103–104, 107, 110–111, 115–116, 118, 137, 147, 155–158, 187–188, 220–223, 225, 227, 353 Hellenism (cf. Greekness; Hellenization) 221, 225 Hellenization (cf. Greekness; b–oc ìEllhn) 107 n. 308, 165–225, 227, 355, 360 heritage/heir see continuity Herodotus 131, 132–149, 193, 223, 292, 353 history and memory 133–134, 192 Homer 74, 244, 293 Horace 13, 15, 16, 209, 211 iconic structuring 200–201 identity through distinction 51, 53, 239, 357 ideology 9, 15, 16, 17, 21, 24, 30, 31, 39, 40, 53, 54, 55, 64, 93, 116, 166, 167, 169, 216, 224, 226, 263, 352, 354, 356 imaginary universe 7, 8, 15, 20, 21, 22, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 52, 56, 104, 106, 107, 111, 116, 169, 188, 225, 226, 227, 228, 278, 296, 352, 360 imitation see mimesis in-group (cf. reading, ‘in-group/out-group’ ) 20, 228, 230, 294–295 integration see communion, feeling of intellectual culture 8 intellectual history 28, 29 interactive design of Dionysius’ criticism see dialogicity interpretive framework see contextualization irony see e rwne–a Isaeus 41, 43, 236

389

Isocratean historiography 131–132, 149–154, 170, 224, 353 Isocrates 7, 15 n. 54, 34, 41, 43, 55, 64, 65–77, 86, 92, 93, 97, 111, 117, 120, 131, 132, 137, 139, 147, 148, 149, 150, 151, 153–154, 155, 158, 161, 167, 193, 223, 224, 227, 231, 236, 240, 270, 286, 295, 310, 321, 325, 331–337, 342, 348, 352, 353, 354, 358 Klassizistischer Dreischritt see Three-period model of classicism language, and identity 55, 60–119, 145, 147, 189, 226–227, 234, 235–278, 352–353; and power 63, 64, 69, 71, 83, 92–116, 118, 189, 204 n. 525, 223, 270–276, 278, 295–296, 336, 354, 355; and time 60–92, 84–92, 114– 116, 117, 147, 189; physical quality of 80– 84, 89, 92, 117, 227, 347 n. 826, 353 Larcius Flavus (Rufus), Titus 202, 204, 205 Latin, Dionysius’ knowledge of 56 leadership 33, 34, 35, 36, 39, 45, 50, 52, 53, 228, 235, 270–276, 337, 338, 355 legitimation 44, 53, 103, 188, 225, 229, 298, 312, 359 literary circle 22–29, 53, 56, 226, 227, 280, 295–296, 352, 359 Livy 205 n. 528, 209, 210 Lysias 15 n. 54, 58, 111, 112, 113, 114, 139, 270– 271, 280, 289, 320–327, 340, 350, 352, 358 maiores 168, 170, 175–176, 183, 185, 201–205, 207, 213, 222, 225, 227, 355 Melian Dialogue 128, 132, 149, 154–165, 191– 192, 224, 227, 353 metahistory 123 metathesis 265, 345 mimesis (cf. self-fashioning; continuity; language) 2, 3, 15 n. 54, 24, 49, 55, 65–92, 117–118, 145–146, 167, 234, 245–246, 254, 277, 285, 346, 352; intratextual vs. extratextual 168–170, 198, 227, 358; intratextual 171–198; extratextual 198–221 mnemonic signs 201

390

Indices

nature/natural(ness) (cf. style, true-tonature) 58, 89, 90, 118, 183, 185, 254, 280, 285, 316, 320–326; word order 238–239, 243–246, 278, 350, 352–353, 358 network see community ‘objectiv’ vs. ‘subjective’ critic 303–310 objectivity (cf. true/truth) 306–309, 357 oikumene 61 n. 161, 67, 96, 96–100, 101, 118, 186, 189, 295, 349 Orphism 269–270, 278 out-group (cf. reading, ‘in-group/out-group’ ) 20, 228–230, 294, 297–348, 357 outlook on the world see imaginary universe Ovid 9, 13, 15, 16, 211 n. 548 Peloponnesian War 120, 122–123, 134–135, 138, 139, 143–144, 145, 147, 158, 223, 342 Peripatetic(s) 30–52, 53, 58, 226, 228, 263, 280, 282, 284, 296, 298, 300, 303–310, 315, 317– 318, 348, 349, 355–356, 357, 360 Persian Wars 66–67, 96–100, 105, 111, 118, 120, 134, 137, 139, 145, 148, 155–158, 187 Philistus 131, 149–151 Plato 3, 34, 37, 39, 54, 58, 74, 240, 280, 281, 284, 286, 298 n. 727, 301 n. 730, 302, 303, 308, 310–319, 325–348, 349–350, 358, 359 Platonists 58, 284, 296, 298, 300, 310–348, 349, 350, 355–356, 357–358 Polybius 143 n. 403, 169, 180, 182, 184, 194– 198, 216 polyphony/polyphonic space 284–285, 305 power (cf. language, and power) 9–16, 33, 53, 54, 61, 65, 92, 93, 95, 98, 99, 103, 107, 108, 110, 118, 119, 165, 169, 170, 171–223, 224– 225, 272–275, 278, 296, 315, 331, 354–355, 360 practitioners of politiko» lÏgoi see Classicists prestige 33, 38, 39, 308, 316–319, 330, 339, 350, 355–356, 357 princeps see Augustus principate see Augustus Protagoras 69, 321, 328

Quintilian 76 reading (cf. Classicism, and privileged access to the Classical past), and elitism 230–235, 263–264; and knowledge 251–263; authentic 57, 232–233, 235–263, 264, 277– 278, 279; experience 8, 29, 132–149, 192– 193, 223–224, 230–278, 286, 296, 303, 342, 348; ‘in-group/out-group’ 57, 229–230, 280, 294, 297–348, 349, 351, 356 reputation see prestige rhetoric, and historiography 123, 130, 139–140, 147–148, 157, 158–161, 163, 169, 223, 225; and initiation 267–270, 275–276, 278; and politics/power see language, and power; vs. philosophy 34, 39–40, 240, 303–348, 358 Ricœur, Paul 21, 53, 226, 352 Romans, and Greeks 56, 92–119, 165–225, 354–355; Dionysius’ interpretation of 56, 92–119, 120, 165–225, 228, 353–355, 360 Rome 17, 97, 105, 172, 177, 178, 184, 185, 187, 190, 198, 204, 205, 208, 216, 298 n. 727, 338 n. 811, 352, 354, 360 Romulus 172–185, 189, 199, 201, 204, 205, 207, 214, 216, 224, 354 self-fashioning 75, 77–92, 117, 227, 277, 307, 352 semanticization of space 96 semiological approach to history 63–64 Social Identity Theory 18–29, 53, 226, 228 social world see sub-group Socrates/Socratic 316–319, 326–327, 330, 336, 358 Sophists 34 standard see canon Stoics 36, 38, 39, 40, 58, 235, 238–242, 243– 244, 263, 266, 278, 300, 348, 355–356, 360 Strabo 16, 23 n. 83, 95–96 struggle 31, 32–40, 57, 58, 93–100, 108, 111–116, 118, 119, 228–229, 238, 239–240, 242, 263, 274–275, 278, 279–348, 349, 358, 359 style (cf. synthesis; lËxic), and authenticity 320–327, 350; and democracy 320–329; and representation of extra-textual reality 320– 325, 340–348, 350; dithyrambic (cf.

Greek Terms dij‘rambon, t‰) 281, 312–314, 358; mixed 325–327, 330; of criticism 58, 280–281, 310– 348; theatrical see jeatrikÏc; true-tonature 280–281, 321–326, 340, 343–344, 350 sub-group 19, 20, 22, 24, 28, 53, 226, 352 superiority see power; struggle; leadership Sulla, L. Cornelius 202–204 symbolic action see culture, semiotic concept of symbolon see sumbolik¿c synkrisis see s‘gkrisic synthesis 233–234, 235–263, 264–267, 273, 275–276, 277, 278, 293, 311, 340; vs. syntaxis 238–242, 356 taste 3, 312–313, 328 n. 793, 329–330 technical perfection see filoteqn–a theatrical see jeatrikÏc Theopompus 131, 149–154, 194, 224 theory and practice 41–43, 44 n. 136, 50, 53, 235–239, 245, 251, 263, 356 thick description 4, 6–7, 18, 19, 25 Three-period model of classicism (cf. language, and time) 60–65, 98–100, 114–115 Thucydides/Thucydidean 3, 55, 121, 122–123, 128–129, 130–165, 191–192, 194, 223–224,

391

227, 270–271, 272, 281, 282, 286, 325, 327– 331, 338–339, 350, 352, 353, 358–359 Timagenes of Alexandria 101–102, 211–212 togetherness see communion, feeling of tradition 31, 35, 36, 40–43, 45, 46, 51, 52, 53, 56, 58, 64, 65, 73, 78, 90, 103, 110, 117, 120, 144–146, 148–149, 169, 170, 172, 173, 185, 187, 189–192, 201, 218, 224, 228, 230, 235– 245, 263, 269, 278, 280, 284, 308–309, 315, 317–320, 333, 348, 350, 355–356, 357 truth/true (cf. objectivity; Çl†jeia; prËpon) 307–309, 313–314, 316–319, 325, 330, 334– 337, 339, 350, 353 verbatim quotations see dialogicity Virgil 13, 15, 16, 56, 170, 172, 208–209, 211, 213–216, 217 virtual controversy 58 Weber, Max 3 White, Hayden 29, 123, 124–126, 160–161 Weltanschauung see imaginary universe world view see imaginary universe Xenophon 131, 145 n. 407, 149–151, 194 Zeno 54

2. Greek Terms Çl†jeia/Çlhj†c (cf. truth; nature/ natural(ness)) 58, 306, 316–326, 340, 344, 358; vs. dÏxa 298 n. 727, 316–319, 330, 332, 339, 347 n. 826, 349–350, 357 älogoc a“sjhsic 113, 345–346 Çndre–a 67 Çpeirokal–a 313–314, 327, 328 n. 793, 330 aŒtoqjon–a 67, 93, 169, 187, 188, 225 b–oc ìEllhn see Hellenization/Greekness diàjesic 131, 140–144 dij‘rambon, tÏ 58, 312, 328 n. 793, 330 dikaios‘nh 67, 73, 117, 155, 158, 174–175, 186–187, 205 n. 528, 207, 325, 335, 336, 352

e rwne–a 298 n. 727, 316–317 Ílegqoc 301 n. 730, 358 ‚leujer–a 67, 73, 93, 117, 139, 158, 174 n. 473, 177, 186–187, 325, 352

‚nàrgeia 129, 193, 325 ‚xergas–a 141–142, 192–193 Èxic 236, 252–254, 257–263 ‚pitàfioi lÏgoi 67 eŒgËneia 67 eŒmous–a 259, 267 eŒsËbeia 67, 73, 117, 158 n. 430, 186–187, 207, 352

z†lwsic/zhlÏw (cf. mimesis) 44 n. 136

392

Indices

™joc 33, 68, 71, 75–77, 92, 106, 117, 150–151, 189, 352

jeatrikÏc 321–323, 327, 358 shgor–a 156 kalokÇgaj–a 73 kat†qhsic 91, 245, 285 krêsic 249–250 lËxic (cf. synthesis) 233, 235, 257, 262, 270– 272, 277, 340–348

m–mhsic see mimesis (mò) mnhsikakeÿn 143–144, 155 Âmoe–deia 88, 89, 117 ÂmÏnoia 73, 104, 117, 174–175 paide–a (cf. education) 93, 103, 104 n. 291, 167, 175, 273–275, 355

paràjesic see krêsic parrhs–a 315–316, 318–320, 358 politikò filosof–a 64 politiko» lÏgoi (for o… per» toÃc politikoÃc lÏgouc ‚spoudakÏtec vel. sim. see Classicists) 48, 54, 55, 61, 63, 64, 65–92, 93–100, 101, 103, 108, 110, 117, 118, 121, 161, 165, 169, 188–189, 204 n. 525, 225, 240–241, 274–276, 295–296, 330–331, 337, 348, 349, 352, 354, 355

prËpon 159–160 proa–resic 68, 71, 74, 77, 92, 117, 189, 253, 349, 353

prÏgonoi 67, 73, 93, 137, 169, 175, 186, 201– 202, 221, 224

s‘gkrisic 56, 131, 284 n. 700 sumbolik¿c/s‘mbolon 291–294, 349 s‘njesic see synthesis s‘ntaxic 238–242 suntrof–a 91, 118, 245, 285 sqolikÏn/sqolik‰c qarakt†r 291–294 swfros‘nh 67, 73, 93, 117, 174–175, 188, 205 n. 528, 207, 352

tËqnh 82–83 ÕpomnhmatismÏc 280, 290–294, 298, 349

filÏsofoc ˚htorik† see politiko» lÏgoi filoteqn–a 251–252, 262, 277 f‘sic (cf. nature/natural(ness); authenticity) 254, 320–322

qàric 111 n. 320, 112 qrÏnioc äskhsic 253, 260–262

3. Passages Discussed Aristotle Rh. (Rhetorica) 1356a1–13 . . . . . . . . . . . . 75 Augustus (C. Iulius Caesar Octavianus) Res Gestae 34 . . . . . . . . 11, 12–13 Cicero, M. Tullius De or. (De oratore) 1.43 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33–34 2.43 . . . . . . . . . . . 76 n. 223 3.71 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Rep. (De re publica) 2.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . 180–182 2.21 . . . . . . . . . . . 173 n. 468 2.22 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 180 2.37 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 181

Tusc. (Tusculanae Disputationes) 1.1–2 . . . . . . . . . . . . 182–183 1.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 216 2.9 . . . . . . . . . . . . 30 n. 98 Dionysius of Halicarnassus Amm.I (Ad Ammaeum I ) 1.1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32, 306 1.2 . . . . . . . . . . . 32, 33, 307 2.1–2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50 2.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 307 2.3 . . . . . . . 40–41, 48, 306, 309 3.1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45 6.1 . . . . . . . . 303–304, 306, 308 8.1 . . . . . . . . . . . . 305–306

Passages Discussed Comp. (De compositione verborum) 1.1–3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 276 1.1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 275 1.3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 275 3.12 . . . . . . . . . . . . 290, 293 4.14–15 . . . . . . . . . . 235–236 4.16–18 . . . . . . . . . . . . 237 4.16 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 240 4.20–21 . . . . . . . . . . . . 241 4.21–22 . . . . . . . . . . . . 243 5.11 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 244 5.12–13 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 245 14.8–9 . . . . . . . . . . 247–248 14.19–20 . . . . . . . . . 246–247 15.13 . . . . . . . . . . . 249–250 17 . . . . . . . . . . . . 248–249 18.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249 20.6–7 . . . . . . . . . . 340 n. 814 23.16–17 . . . . . . . . 260 n. 660 25.5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 268 25.29 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 273 26.17–18 . . . . . . . . . . . . 260 Dem. (De Demosthenis dictione / De Demosthene) 2.2 . . . . . . . . . 326 n. 788, 336 5.3–4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 327 6.1–4 . . . 310–311, 313–314, 319–320, 330 10.1 . . . . . . . . . . . . 285–286 13.1–3 . . . . . . . . . . . 288–289 15.2–6 . . . . . . . . . . . 270–271 21.3–4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 286 22.1–3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231 22.4–5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231 23–30 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 314 23.1–3 . . . . . . . . . . . 314–315 23.1 . . . . . . . . 319, 320, 330, 331 23.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 332 23.3 . . . . . . . . . . . . 320, 330 23.4 . . . . . . . . . . 326, 330–331 23.5 . . . . . . . . . 331, 347 n. 826 23.6 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 339 24.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . 340–341 24.3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 341 24.4–5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 341 24.5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 343

393

24.9–10 . . . . . . . . 288, 344–345 27.3–4 . . . . . . . . . . 346–347 28.2–4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 343 29.1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 347 29.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 346 32.1 . . . . . . . . . . . 347 n. 826 36.3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 251 42.1 . . . . . . . . . 290, 292–293 42.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 287 46.3–4 . . . . . . . . . . 290, 291 46.4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 297 47.1 . . . . . . . . . . . . 254–255 47.2–4 . . . . . . . . . . . 255–256 47.4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 256 48.1–5 . . . . . . . . . . . 256–257 48.9–10 . . . . . . . . . . 264–265 49.1–2 . . . . . . . . . . . 258, 266 51.2–6 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 252 51.3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 261 51.6 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 261 52.1 . . . . . . . . . . . . 253–254 53.3–5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 233 55.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 250 Din. (De Dinarcho) 2.2–4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85 2.5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 86 5.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87–88 6.5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88 7.1–2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113 7.5–6 . . . . . . . . . . . . 89, 285 7.5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 245 7.6 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 254 8.7 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89 Imit. (De imitatione) 1.1–5 . . . . . . . . . . . . 78–79 Is. (De Isaeo) 4.5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 325 11.1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 322 Isoc. (De Isocrate) 1.1–6 . . . . . . . . . . . . 68–69 1.3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69 1.6 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 295 4.3–4 . . . . . . 70–71, 86–87, 334 5.1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72 6.1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72 6.3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72

394

Indices

7.1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72–73 12.3–4 . . . . . . . . . 322–323, 324 Lys. (De Lysia) 3.3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 321–322 4.5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 322 7.1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 325 9.1–2 . . . . . . . . . . . 323–324 Orat. Vett. (De antiquis oratoribus) 1.1–2 . . . . . . . . . . . . 60–61 1.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93 1.3–4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 338 1.3–6 . . . . . . . . . . . . 94–95 1.3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93 1.4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93, 188 1.5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93 1.6 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93, 188 1.7 . . . . . . . . . . . 93, 96, 188 2.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93, 188 2.4 . . . . . . . . . . . 93, 97, 295 3.1 . . . . . . . 60–61, 97, 296, 354 3.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . 188 n. 491 3.3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 296 4.1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 295 4.2 . . . . . . . 43, 72, 91, 135, 285 Pomp. (Epistula ad Pompeium Geminum) 3.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 132 3.3–4 . . . . . . . . . . . . 132–133 3.4–5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 136 3.6–7 . . . . . . . . . . . 144–145 3.8–9 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 136 3.9 . . . . . . . . . . 142–143, 149 3.9–10 . . . . . . . . . . . 138, 141 3.15 . . . . . . . . . . . . 140–141 4.1–2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 150 6.1–6 . . . . . . . . . . . . 151–152 6.7 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 152 6.8 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 153 Thuc. (De Thucydide) 1.1–4 . . . . . . . . . 46–47, 48–49 1.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 14.3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141 15.1–2 . . . . . . . . . . . 141–142 19.1 . . . . . . . . . . . 142 n. 399 19.3–4 . . . . . . . . . . 157 n. 429 38.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155 39.1 . . . . . . . . 155–156, 191–192

40.3 . . . . . . . . . . . 158 n. 430 41.4 . . . . . . . . . . 159, 161–162 41.5–6 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 156 41.6 . . . . . . . . . . . . 156–157 41.8 . . . . . . . . . . . . 154–155 49.2–3 . . . . . 142 n. 402, 328–329 51.3 . . . . . . . . . . . 328 n. 793 Ant. (Antiquitates Romanae) 1.1.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135 1.1.3 . . . . . . . . . . . 76 n. 223 1.2.1 . . . . . . . . . . . . 92, 192 1.2.2–4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195 1.3.1–2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195 1.3.3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 92 1.3.3–5 . . . . . . . . . 189–190, 195 1.4.2 . . . . . . . . 93, 101, 186, 220 1.5.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191 1.5.3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190 1.5.4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 192 1.6.3–4 . . . . . . . . . 193 n. 499 1.6.3–5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 167 1.6.4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205 1.7.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 206 1.8.3 . . . . . . . . . . . 204 n. 525 1.70.4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 206 1.89.3 . . . . . . . . . . 221 n. 583 1.90.1 . . . . . . . . . . . 190, 221 2.3.1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 173 2.3.2–8 . . . . . . . . . . 176–177 2.3.3–4 . . . . . . . . . . 176–177 2.3.5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177 2.3.6 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177 2.6.1 . . . . . . . . . . . . 179, 201 2.6.4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 201 2.11.2–3 . . . . . . . . . . . . 184 2.18.1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 174 2.23.4–6 . . . . . . . . . . . . 180 2.27.3–4 . . . . . . . . . . 179–180 2.63.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 178 2.70.3–4 . . . . . . . . . . 218–219 3.22.7 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 219 3.22.8 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 219 3.36.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 178 3.68.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 200 4.10.3 . . . . . . . . . . . 178–179 4.18.2 . . . . . . . . . . . 219–220

Passages Discussed 4.24.4–8 . . . . . . . . . . . . 202 5.2.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179 5.71–77 . . . . . . . . . 205 n. 528 5.75.1 . . . . . . . . . . 204 n. 525 5.77.1–4 . . . . . . . . . . 202–203 5.77.4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 204 10.17.6 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203 10.55.5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 172 Isocrates 4.8–9 . . . . . . . . . . . 146 n. 409 4.50 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 221–222 15.270–285 . . . . . . . . . . 335–336 Livy 1.7.3 . . . . . . . . . . . . 173 n. 469 1.8.1 . . . . . . . . . . . . 173 n. 469 2.18 . . . . . . . . . . . . 205 n. 528 3.26.7–12 . . . . . . . . . . 205 n. 528 9.18.6 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100–101 Ps.-Longinus 14.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 343 n. 819 18.1–2 . . . . . . . . . . . 290 n. 710

395

Polybius 1.1.5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195–196 1.3.6 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 196–197 1.5.5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 196 1.14.4–5 . . . . . . . . . . . 143 n. 403 6.10.12 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 182 6.10.13–14 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 182 Thucydides 1.22.1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 159, 162 1.22.4 . . . . . . . . . . 134, 162–164 1.23.1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145 Valerius Maximus 2.2.2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 108–109 Virgil (P. Vergilius Maro) Aen. (Aeneid) 6.847–853 . . . . . . . 208, 215–216 12.820–828 . . . . . . . . 214 n. 567

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The Ideology of Classicism: Language, History, and Identity in Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Untersuchungen zur Antiken Literatur und Geschichte) issue 1862-1112

Untersuchungen zur Gestaltung und zum historischen Stoff der Johannis Coripps (Untersuchungen Zur Antiken Literatur Und Geschichte)

Language in Vergil's Eclogues (Untersuchungen Zur Antiken Literatur Und Geschichte, Bd. 60)

Language in Vergil's Eclogues (Untersuchungen zur antiken Literatur und Geschichte - Volume 60)

Apuleius Philosophus Platonicus: Untersuchungen Zur Apologie (de Magia) Und Zu de Mundo (Untersuchungen Zur Antiken Literatur Und Geschichte)

Dionysius of Halicarnassus: Roman Antiquities

Die Quellenangaben bei Herodot: Studien z. Erzahlkunst Herodots (Untersuchungen zur antiken Literatur und Geschichte) (German Edition)

Apollodoros 'Against Neaira' (D.59) (Untersuchungen Zur Antiken Literatur Und Geschichte, Bd. 53)

Der Euagoras des Isokrates: Ein Kommentar (Untersuchungen Zur Antiken Literatur Und Geschichte)

Hellenische Identität in der Spätantike: Pagane Autoren und ihr Unbehagen an der eigenen Zeit (Untersuchungen Zur Antiken Literatur Und Geschichte)

Sobria Ebrietas: Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der antiken Mystik

Die Leserlenkung durch Tacitus in den Tiberius- und Claudiusbuchern der ''Annalen'' (Untersuchungen Zur Antiken Literatur Und Geschichte)

Redesigning Achilles: 'Recycling' the Epic Cycle in the 'Little Iliad' (Ovid, Metamorphoses 12.1-13.622) (Untersuchungen Zur Antiken Literatur Und Geschichte)

Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der Gracchen

Untersuchungen zur buddhistischen Literatur (Sanskrit-Worterbuch Beihefte)

Untersuchungen Zur Geschichte Des Kaisers Hadrianus

Vorlesungen zur Geschichte der Französischen Literatur, Vorklassik

Vorlesungen zur Geschichte der Französischen Literatur, Frühaufklärung

Untersuchungen uber drei Quellen zur altesten Geschichte und Kirchengeschichte Polens

Petrus in Rom: Die literarischen Zeugnisse: Mit einer kritischen Edition der Martyrien des Petrus und Paulus auf neuer handschriftlicher Grundlage (Untersuchungen Zur Antiken Literatur Und Geschichte)

Hellenische Identität in der Spätantike: Pagane Autoren und ihr Unbehagen an der eigenen Zeit (Untersuchungen zur antiken Literatur und Geschichte - Band 97)

The Arabic language and national identity: a study in ideology

The Arabic language and national identity: a study in ideology

Redesigning Achilles: 'Recycling' the Epic Cycle in the 'Little Iliad' (Ovid, Metamorphoses 12.1-13.622) (Untersuchungen zur antiken Literatur und Geschichte - Band 89)

Anonymität und Autorschaft: Zur Literatur- und Rechtsgeschichte der Namenlosigkeit (Studien und Texte zur Sozialgeschichte der Literatur)

Das einfache Leben. Wort- und motivgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zu einem Wertbegriff der antiken Literatur (Studienhefte zur Altertumswissenschaft 11)

Geschichte der estnischen Literatur

The Spirit in First-Century Judaism (Arbeiten Zur Geschichte Des Antiken Judentums Und Des Urchristentums)

Geschichte der syrischen Literatur

Language, Ideology and Japanese History Textbooks

Zur bardesanischen gnosis: literarkritische und dogmengeschichtliche Untersuchungen

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