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Lyric Wisdom: Alcaeus and the Tradition of Paraenetic Poetry

By William Tortorelli B.A., University of Florida, 1996

Dissertation

Submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy in the Department of Classics at Brown University

PROVIDENCE, RHODE ISLAND MAY 2011

This dissertation by William Tortorelli is accepted in its present form by the Department of Classics as satisfying the dissertation requirement for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.

Date________________

______________________________________ Deborah Boedeker, Advisor

Recommended to the Graduate Council

Date________________

______________________________________ Michael C.J. Putnam, Reader

Date________________

______________________________________ Pura Nieto Hernández, Reader

Approved by the Graduate Council

Date________________

______________________________________ Peter M. Weber, Dean of the Graduate School

ii

CURRICULUM VITAE

William Tortorelli was born in 1973 in Bad Kreuznach, Germany. He studied Biochemistry and Classics at the University of Florida, where he was inducted into Phi Beta Kappa and graduated cum laude in 1996. He attained an M.A. in Classics from the same institution before pursuing further graduate study at Brown University in 1998. He has taught as a visiting instructor at Brigham Young University, Northwestern University, and Temple University.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would first like to thank my advisor, Deborah Boedeker, for nurturing me intellectually throughout my exploration of archaic Greek poetry. I wish to thank Michael Putnam for his guidance as well as for being a model scholar and a model human being. I must thank Pura Nieto Hernández for being kind enough to step in toward the end of the project and guide me toward a steadier footing. All three members of my committee showed incredible patience and helped me to believe in a project I had lost all taste for. What turned out well did so through their input; what weaknesses remain are my fault alone. I thank the faculty of Classics at Brown University for a rigorous program that brought me a long way. Charles Fornara’s seminars were the highlight of my education. René Nünlist helped me with this project at the outset, as well, correcting my tone and keeping me on my toes. I owe a great deal to the Classics faculty at the University of Florida. Gareth Schmeling, in particular, has been a source of guidance, wisdom, and good humor. I cannot ever repay my debt to David Young, who first taught me ancient Greek and left me unable to continue my research in Neuroscience at the University of Florida. I am the teacher he made me, and that is all I will ever want to be. My parents deserve most of the credit for this work, for supporting me from afar in all of my academic endeavors. I am sorry that I kept them waiting so long. I also wish to thank my colleagues in the Intellectual Heritage Program at Temple University for iv

their encouragement along the way. Finally, this project would never have been completed without the input, encouragement, and support of Cornelia Sydnor Roy. She is already twice the scholar I will ever be, and her insights inform much of what I do; but it is to her enormous heart that I owe this and all future work. I would not be who am I without her.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction

1

Chapter 1: The Tradition of Wisdom Literature 1.1. Near Eastern Instructional Literature

10

1.2. Instructional topoi

14

1.3. The Homeric Epics

18

1.3.1. Advisory characters in the Homeric poems

20

1.3.1.1. Phoenix (Iliad 9.434-605)

20

1.3.1.2. Nestor (Iliad 1.254-284)

22

1.3.1.3. Menelaus (Odyssey 15.68-78)

23

1.3.2. The perspective of paroemiology

24

1.4. The Seven Sages

27

1.5. Conclusion

29

Chapter 2: Paraenesis in the Archaic Period 2.1. Introduction

31

2.2. Hesiod

32

2.2.1. Genres in Hesiod

34

2.2.2. Erga: Mythological Frame

40 vi

2.2.3. Addresses to Perses

42

2.2.4. Addresses to the basileis

45

2.2.5. Erga 202-212: The fable of the hawk and the nightingale

46

2.2.6. Erga 618-694: seafaring

47

2.2.7. The Precepts of Cheiron

48

2.2.8. Erga 582-596: When and How to Relax

52

2.2.9. Hesiod’s relationship to other paraenetic poets of the archaic period

53

2.3. Elegy

54

2.3.1. Solon

54

2.3.2. Theognis

62

2.4. The Martial Poets: Callinus and Tyrtaeus

67

2.5. Iambic “advice” in Archilochus and Semonides

70

2.5.1. Paraenetic Address in Archilochus

71

2.5.2. Gnomic Statements in Archilochus

72

2.5.3. Archilochean ainos

76

2.5.4. ainos in Semonides

79

2.6. Conclusions

80

Chapter 3: Alcaeus and the Wisdom Tradition 3.1. Introduction

82

3.2. Lyric Poetry and Genre

84

3.3. Alcaeus’ audiences

88

3.3.1. The audiences of Hesiod and Alcaeus

93

vii

3.3.2. Alcaeus and the Poetic Profession

99

3.4. Gnomai in Alcaeus

101

3.5. Wine and paraenesis

108

3.6. Allegory

119

3.7. Conclusion

121

Chapter 4: Paraenesis in Horace 4.1. Introduction

123

4.2. Horace’s debt to Alcaeus

125

4.2.1. biformis vates: the role of lyric poet

129

4.3. Epodes 13

132

4.4. carpe diem

136

4.4.1. Death

137

4.4.2. Lesbian wine

145

4.5. The golden mean

149

4.6. The unripe grape

151

4.7. Sailing advice for Vergil

154

4.8. The poem for Maecenas: Odes 3.29

158

4.9. Conclusions

160

Conclusion

162

Bibliography

170

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INTRODUCTION

It is a common maxim for any study of Classical literature that “children have a teacher who educates them; men have the poets.”1 A didactic function of literature can be documented in the earliest surviving poems and in a wide variety of genres. This dissertation explores the didactic elements in the poetry of Alcaeus and argues that Alcaeus develops a poetic project of paraenesis in his extant corpus. I define paraenesis as an advisory mode that addresses general advice of a personal nature from a position of authority to a recipient figured as a child or a foolish person in need of instruction. I distinguish this paraenetic mode from other facets of instructional and wisdom literature and I attempt to characterize its deployment in archaic lyric. Alcaeus occasionally displays an intent to instruct using features of instructional poetry seen in Hesiod and the archaic elegiac poets. Analysis of the shared features will create a set of criteria for identifying a paraenetic mode in lyric poetry and for distinguishing lyric wisdom from the epic and elegiac exempla. This analysis will provide a model of Alcaeus’ advisory project that can then be applied to Horace’s Odes to identify a similar, possibly derivative, poetic project. I shall argue that Hesiod’s Works and Days (Erga, hereafter) functions as a

1

Aristophanes, Frogs 1055.

prototype for wisdom literature in the Greek tradition.2 It is in part a didactic work on farming, but most of the poem is concerned with advice about life and with developing a philosophy of justice. The poem is thus less a handbook for the small farmer than a paraenetic vehicle for personal and social instruction. In this respect it is related to ancient Near Eastern examples of what Lambert hesitantly calls Wisdom Literature. 3 Since we are dealing with very fine definitions of genres, subgenres, and traditions, it will be necessary to ask how genres are defined and distinguished. The theoretical work of Todorov and of Conte will be examined to demonstrate that the ancient criterion of meter alone is unsatisfactory and to dismiss the notion of proscriptive categories of genre. The three major categories of criteria for distinguishing literary genres are formal, pragmatic, and thematic. 4 Formal criteria, such as meter, distinguish well between Roman elegy and epic, but can risk lumping Vergil’s Georgics and Eclogues into the same category as his Aeneid. Pragmatic criteria, such as the situation of performance, leave us with too many unanswerable questions about the archaic period.5 We simply do

2

See Ch.2.2.9 for a discussion of the Erga as such a prototype, distinct from the advisory mode represented in the Homeric epics (as discussed in Ch.2.2.1), and of the implications of this designation. 3

Lambert 1960, 1-2, says, of the term Wisdom Literature, “as used for a literary genre the term belongs to Hebraic studies and is applied to Job, Proverbs, and Ecclesiastes.” His main objection to using the term for Near Eastern literature is that, while the Hebrew Bible equates wisdom and morality, the Babylonian terms for wisdom are “only rarely used with a moral content.” This objection could apply to Greek “Wisdom Literature” as well, but I will use the term for a tradition that includes concern for instruction in morality and in the other general areas which make one “wise.” Lambert, too, concedes that Wisdom Literature “may be retained as a convenient short description” (Lambert 1960, 1) and uses it in the title of his book. Fish 1956, 286-287, on the other hand, criticizes Van Dijk for making the category of “Sagesse SuméroAccadienne” too inclusive. 4

Conte 1994, 4.

5

The Alexandrian scholars develop several taxonomies of poetry which vacillate between these criteria of form and function. They prove inadequate especially where they concern genres whose performative context was no longer fully understood, such as paeans, dithyrambs, and partheneia (a list which could

2

not know enough about their contemporary audiences or the potential for dissemination through space and time as the archaic poets saw it. Dividing poetic production by theme is rather too simple—we are left wondering how and why different authors approach similar themes through distinct formal processes and how, in light of the division between public and private verse, 6 the performative mode recasts a work’s possibilities of reception to account for the audiences of the initial performance and of the hypothetical reperformances (both of which audiences, I shall argue, are distinct from the audience constructed within the text). 7 The biggest problem, however, is not in deciding how to classify literary works, but in understanding how an author envisioned his own genre and its relationship to the larger poetic context. 8 In the first two chapters we shall see how works of different formal genres (hexameter, elegy, iambos, and lyric) participate in the same advisory tradition. There have been several scholarly attempts to apply ancient categories of literary works toward a useful understanding of genre. Harvey notes that this type of investigation, “tells us, not of the differences between certain types of poetry which were important when the poetry was written, but only of the differences which were regarded as distinctive when it came to be edited.”9 Conte describes “the precise boundary between genre as generative matrix on the one hand...and the individual classification of single texts on the other.” 10

realistically be expanded to include all archaic lyric). On the inadequacy of their classification schemes, see Kurke 2000, 59-63. 6

For a general discussion of this proposed division, see Kurke 2000, 64-68.

7

See Ch.3.3 for this discussion of the archaic poet’s intended audience.

8

See the fuller discussion of genre below, Ch. 2.2.9.

9

Harvey 1955, 157.

3

Along this boundary, genre study becomes a useful tool, not for the mere categorization of literary works, but for the interpretation of texts based on their authors’ participation in and adaptation of generic strategies. I am not attempting merely to classify Hesiod’s Erga or Alcaeus’ fragments as “Wisdom Literature,” but to explore what it means about each author that they engage the generic conventions of the instructional tradition. I hope to demonstrate that Alcaeus aligns himself with this tradition as a poetic strategy. He adapts an existing genre/tradition, 11 recognizable through comparison to its Greek prototype, 12 Hesiod’s Erga, with the result that his messages attain the recognizable form of sage advice. This generic participation therefore lends authority to Alcaeus’ words. The terms “Wisdom Literature” and “gnomic poetry” are misleading in that they assign works in their entirety to a single category. It is more precise to speak of how other archaic poets share individual properties of discourse with Hesiod’s Erga, our earliest Greek example of an instructional work, than to refer to their sharing a genre. I shall speak instead of the use of elements found in wisdom literature, or of poetic participation in these gnomic traditions shared by works in several different literary categories. This allows for recognition of the particular cultural and social constraints under which a poet composed. Fowler rejects the term "genre" for didactic poetry because he sees specific uses of the didactic mode as specifically determined by their contexts:

10

Conte 1994, 107.

11

We can refer to this as “Wisdom Literature” or “instructional literature.” I use the word “literature” here not to indicate specifically written texts, but rather any species within the literary history. I continue to refer to the generic strategy of a personal advisory mode as paraenetic. 12

As there cannot be certain evidence of Alcaeus’ knowledge of the Hesiodic texts, I will not refer to the Erga as his precursor or model, but rather as the prototype for our purposes of investigating a tradition which presumably existed before our earliest literary records. On Prototype Theory, see below, Ch. 2.2.9.

4

Some [didactic] plots may well be specific to particular generic instantiations of the [didactic] mode. Of more importance, even the plots that might be said to be most easily derived from the primary elements may be recontextualized within a particular culture.13 The social context of Alcaeus recasts the nature of instructional address in ways that obscure the formal connections between his work and that of Hesiod, and thus we regard their writings as disparate genres; but the mode, or “theoretical system based on a priori (and supposedly ahistoric) assumptions,”14 remains the same. Chapter 3 will address this instructional mode in the poetry of Alcaeus as it resembles and differs from that of Hesiod. I am most interested in paraenesis and the way Alcaeus connects his advisory tone to the conventions of the wisdom tradition while recasting these conventions within his lyric project. Paraenesis, as I use the term, refers to an advisory mode. It can be distinguished from other instructional modes such as straight didactic (educative/instructional) and symbouleutic (exhortation / instruction for public deliberation). These terms are not clearly defined, or even consistently employed, by Classical scholars. Francis Cairns offers one classification for the instructional genres: “all ancient didactic literature was probably thought to fall under the heading of symbouleutic. The function of the teacher in antiquity was regarded not as the conveyance of facts but the giving of precepts and therefore as a kind of advising.” 15 Cairns’s “symbouleutic” category includes all advisory literature, but he offers only protreptic and apotreptic (“arguing for” and “arguing against”) as the genres within this category. Friedlander uses the term

13

Fowler 2000, 212.

14

Ibid.

5

hypothekai rather broadly to indicate a genre of Greek poetry, citing the title of a lost work of Hesiod, the ‛ (The Precepts of Cheiron) and Theognis’ use of the verb , “I shall instruct,” to describe his poetic program in 2728. 16 This term is useful for describing lists of precepts, but is unsatisfying for the wide range of advisory modes. 17 I am using the word “paraenetic” to refer to the genre of personal advice, as opposed to civic deliberation, as Lardinois does in his 1995 dissertation, Wisdom in Context. 18 I distinguish this category of instruction from didactic, which offers specific technical instruction, such as Hesiod’s occasional small amount of farming instruction in the Erga. Paraenetic discourse involves general, widely-applicable advice, addressed to a wide audience. This is generically distinct from a letter of advice to a friend, offering topical counsel or recommending strategies for specific occasions. Russo separates proverbs (paroimiai), maxims (gnomai), and anecdotes (apophthegmata), from precepts (hypothekai and chreiai).19 His study focuses on the performance of wisdom, and therefore on the first three types of utterance, which he describes as “emergent and responsive to specific contexts,” 20 rather than on hypothekai 15

F. Cairns 1972, 71-72.

16

Friedlander 1913, 571-572. He concludes that the Erga and the Theognidea are the only extant representatives of the hypothekai genre.

17

Kurke 1990, 91, cites examples of authors’ using the term paraenesis to describe works which contain series of hypothekai, including Isocrates, who refers to his own work as  in Ad Demonicum 5 and Ad Nicoclem 46 and 54. Kurke treats  and  as synonymous, but I would stress that Isocrates uses the general term for personal advice (paraenesis) to describe the purpose of these works as a whole, of which the listing of precepts (hypothekai) is only one part. Kurke also cites Pausanias 9.31.4, Lucian Dial. ad Hes. 8, and Pindar Pyth. 6.23. 18

This is consistent with the use of the term in Lardinois 1997 and Nagy 1996 and 2004.

19

Russo,1997, 50-57 and 144, n. 4.

6

of the sort we get in Hesiod—overtly instructional precepts. This type of performed wisdom, particularly the apophthegma, 21 can be seen in the stories of the Seven Sages, which has consequences for Alcaeus, as discussed in Chapter 3. In Aristotle’s discussion of the appropriate use of gnomai we see the basic tenets of the wisdom literature tradition. Aristotle says that the most effective type of gnome is the most well-known and often quoted.22 He says that the use of gnomai is appropriate for older speakers, but inappropriate to the young. 23 He attributes this to the greater knowledge and experience of an older man, which allow him to use gnomai properly; but it would more accurately describe the generic strategy to say that older men are perceived as having greater knowledge and experience, and are thus more likely to be trusted. Aristotle notes that farmers frequently engage in the use and coining of gnomai. 24 He means this to be an insult to uneducated rustics who demonstrate their ignorance with frequent proverbializing, but there is here an interesting connection to the roots of traditional wisdom in, as we shall see, mainly didactic poetry set within an agricultural context. Chapter 1 will return to the question of genre. The older Near Eastern examples

20

Russo 1997, 50.

21

The reported response of a sage to a particular situation. West 1978, 206 tells us that Perry “observes that the nub of many fables is what someone said under certain circumstances.” This is a fine demonstration of a literary genre designed to resemble the emergent. But fables are not performative in the same way as the utterances of the Seven Sages. Cf. Perry 1940, 398-399: “Neither in early Greek literature nor in the collections of later antiquity do we find any appreciable distinction made between what one thinks of as a typical Aesopic fable on the one hand, and on the other, a clever or sententious saying quoted as having been uttered by Aesop or some other character (historical or fictitious), or by an animal, under special circumstances.” 22

Rhetoric 2.21.11.

23

Rhetoric 2.21.9

24

Rhetoric 2.21.9: . They literally "coin phrases".

7

of instructional literature can shed some light on the various types of advice which occur in the different Greek genres of the archaic period. When I use the term “Greek genres,” I am referring not to the later categories that divide by metrical type, but to the content and literary-historical pedigree of a body of work. In this way I would suggest that Tyrtaeus and Mimnermus, although both using the elegiac meter, are writing in different genres, while the (presumably) “choral” poet Ibycus and the “monodic” lyric poet Anacreon are generically closer. As Nagy contends, “an archaic poem establishes its authority primarily by asserting the traditions upon which it is built.” 25 Archaic poems currently classified by meter as epic, elegiac, iambic, or lyric frequently associate themselves with instructional literature by exhibiting markers of paraenetic intent. These markers include features of syntax or diction common to traditional wisdom literature, particularly Hesiod’s Erga. I shall analyze the shared features of many exemplars of this tradition in order to determine whether and how a Greek instructional genre can be described, with stylistic topoi and formulaic modes of expression. In Chapter 2, I shall describe these features in the Erga and in later archaic poetry, using definitions and theories of genre found in the work of Tzvetan Todorov, Wolfgang Raible, and others, in discussing how paraenetic intent is applied to examples of different literary categories. To provide a context for literary analysis of Alcaeus, I shall address the following categories: (1) the Homeric epics, (2) Hesiodic and pseudo-Hesiodic material, (3) the elegies of Solon and Theognis, (4) the martial elegiac poets Callinus and Tyrtaeus, and (5) iambic “advice” in Archilochus and Semonides. Finally I shall compare evidence of paraenetic speech acts from tales of the Seven Sages, one of whom,

25

Nagy 1999, 6.

8

the Lesbian Pittacus, is especially relevant to an understanding of Alcaeus’ paraenetic intent. Chapter 3 will examine the advisory themes in the fragments of Alcaeus. It is easy to spot the connection of Hesiod’s Erga to the tradition of instructional literature, since it is the earliest extant Greek poem to possess most of its generic features. Therefore when Alcaeus seemingly repeats a passage from the Erga, 26 it raises interesting questions about the nature of Alcaeus’ lyric discourse. How does a lyric poet like Alcaeus position himself in relation to this instructional tradition? How does he envision his status in relation to the reputations of Homer and Hesiod, as well as to the sage-figures among his contemporaries? I shall select several fragments of Alcaeus which seem to participate in the strategies of this tradition and describe the poet’s paraenetic program and discuss its implications for our understanding of lyric poetics. Horace, in turn, repeatedly figures himself as the Roman Alcaeus, so we must also ask whether there is any indication that Horace recognized an instructional intent at work in Alcaeus, and whether he therefore adopted such an intent in his Odes. Chapter 4 will consider the evidence for an advisory project in the Odes, concluding that Horace defines his lyric poetics and his role as a lyric poet in part through the advisory posture Alcaeus develops.

26

Fragment 347 seems to adapt Erga 582-588, as will be discussed in Ch.2.2.8 and Ch.3.5.

9

CHAPTER 1 THE TRADITION OF WISDOM LITERATURE

1.1. Near Eastern Instructional Literature

The oldest examples of instructional literature are set in the remote or mythic past. 1 The Sumerian Instructions of Šuruppak occur in versions as early as 2500 BCE and recount the instructions the legendary Sumerian king Ubartutu gives his son Ziusudra, a Deucalion or Noah analogue who is fated to survive a massive flood.2 The precepts include advice on such activities as animal husbandry, building construction, and settling disputes: 3 Do not disobey the words I have spoken to you. One should not buy an ass who brays too much. One should not locate a cultivated field on a roadway. Do not . . . your field. In your cultivated field do not . . . Do not harm the daughter of a free man, for the courtyard will find out about it.4 The Instructions of Ninurta comprise a 111-line collection of technical agricultural

1

West 1978, 3-25 gives a brief summary of the relevant background. Foster 1993 collects and translates the texts, but with only minimal introduction. See above, p. 2, for Lambert’s objections to the use of the term Wisdom Literature for the Mesopotamian exempla. 2

This figure appears in the Akkadian epic as Atra-hasis and in the Gilgamesh epic as Uta-napishti.

3

Lambert 1960, 92-94; Pritchard 1969, 594-595.

4

Pritchard 1969, 594-595.

10

instruction from the early second millenium BCE. The precepts therein include such details as when and how to plant barley and how to judge its health, the management of household slaves, and what prayers to use in association with daily practices. The collection is introduced with the phrase, “In days of old a farmer instructed his son.” In its conclusion, however, it claims to have been narrated by the Sumerian martial/agricultural god Ninurta to his son. The surviving examples of this literary category from the second millennium BCE all follow this father-to-son model. The Akkadian Wisdom of Ugarit is addressed by the sage Šube-awīlum to his eldest son Zurranku. 5 In The Father and his Misguided Son, a contemporary setting—that of midsecond-millennium Sumer—is first introduced to the tradition.6 This poem, surviving in 183 lines, takes the form of a dialogue between a scribe and his recalcitrant son concerning the importance of a scribal education. The dialogue format gives way to a series of general negative precepts in 41 lines. 7 Some early advice poems are addressed to rulers, such as the Akkadian poem referred to as Advice to a Prince. This roughly 8th century collection of negative precepts takes the form of a list of cause and effect — misdeeds of a ruler and the consequences each will bring, for example: If he takes money of citizens of Babylon and appropriates (it) for (his own) property, (or) hears a case involving Babylonians but dismisses (it) for a triviality, Marduk, lord of heaven and earth, will establish his enemies over him and grant his possessions and property to his foe. 8

5

Possibly another flood hero. Foster 1993, 332.

6

Kramer refers to this work as Father and Son (1959, 12-16) and as A Scribe and his Perverse Son (1963, 243-246). 7

Kramer 1959, 16 omits this section from his translations, referring to it as “an obscure passage of 41 lines which seems to consist of proverbs and old saws.” It is also omitted in his 1963 edition.

8

Foster 1993, 760-761, and Foster 2005, 867-868.

11

Lambert notes that these warnings take the literary form of omens, most significantly in their use of conditional statements. 9 The Akkadian Counsels of Wisdom, from the late second millennium BCE, includes a list of imperative precepts, each beginning with the same formula:10 “Do not marry a prostitute.... Do not talk with a tale-bearer.... Do not loiter where there is a dispute,” and so on. 11 Another category of Mesopotamian instructional literature is the theme of the righteous sufferer. The Ludlul bēl nēmeqi is often referred to as the “Babylonian Job.” It tells the story of a man who has experienced numerous tragedies despite his pious lifestyle. The question of theodicy is common in archaic Greek poetry, 12 but is not crucial for this thesis. The Egyptian tradition of sbōyet, or instruction, puts this type of royal advice in the mouth of the king’s father, as in the Instructions for Merikare (king of Heracleopolis, 2100 BCE). The legitimacy of the injunctions addressed to Merikare is reinforced by threats of divine retribution for misdeeds: “A man remains over after death, and his deeds are placed beside him in heaps.” 13 A king’s father is also credited as the source of the Instructions of Amenemhet I, advice for Sesostris I set in Amenemhet’s voice yet known to have been composed not during Amenemhet’s reign of 1991 to 1962 BCE, but between

9

Lambert 1960, 110: “The completely general protasis, ‘If a king...’, avoided any insinuation against him, and the stressed apodosis conveyed the warning very effectively.” 10

Cf. Erga 707-762., characterized by a recurring  introduction.

11

Pritchard 1969, 426-427 and 595-596; Foster 2005, 412-415. For a text compiled from seven sources, see Lambert 1960, 96-107. 12

See especially Erga 282-284 and Solon 13.29-32. For discussions of the theodicy theme in early Greek literature, with relevant bibliography, see Kullman 1985 and Allan 2006. 13

Pritchard 1969, 415.

12

1500 and 1300 BCE by the scribe Khety. 14 This last example demonstrates how the exigencies of reception will affect the poem’s narrative frame. The authors of these instructional works put their words in the mouth of a figure of authority, whether king or god, in order to establish legitimacy. This is an appeal to the authority of divinity or of human rule, whereby the prestige of the narrating persona lends validity to the author’s message. Homeric instruction speeches often come from elders (Nestor, Phoenix). In the later archaic period this appeal to authority will manifest itself in claims of poetic sophia.15 In addition to this narrating authority figure, every example of early instructional literature includes a direct address to an individual. Konstan takes it as natural that the authors of didactic literature in classical antiquity tended to imagine a specific addressee who was the personal recipient of instruction. Even though poetry, as a public medium, inevitably spoke to a large and anonymous audience, didactic writers singled out a particular narratee, endowed with a more or less individualized persona, as the immediate object of instruction. 16 One can imagine how the invention of a target of exceptional ignorance would augment the authority of the speaker. Or, if one considers instructional literature to have developed from an educative mode, then it follows that a narrative frame would develop that includes teacher and pupil. The presence of a pupil in particular need of education would give cues for specific lessons, as in The Father and his Misguided Son. In this

14

Pritchard 1969, 418. The text is common in school writing exercises from around 1300

15

BCE.

Poetic skill earns name-recognition, as will be shown below, and essentially becomes synonymous with wisdom. Hesiod, in fact, conflates several types of authority when he has the Muses present him with a  at Theogony 30. This rod represents his right to speak authoritatively, and its provenance connects him with the Muses, the source of all poetic wisdom. Detienne and Vernant 1991 discuss the significance of figures of authority and the vocabulary of wisdom in Greek culture. 16

Konstan 1993, 11.

13

dialogue, the son demonstrates individual bad character traits (e.g., avoiding school, wasting time) that each lead the father to pronouncements of what the son should be doing instead. For example, —Where did you go? —I did not go anywhere. —If you did not go anywhere, why do you idle about? Go to School, stand before your ‘school-father’... 17 This provides a framework for the precepts to be imparted. We shall see this paralleled in Hesiod’s character of Perses. In fact, as Clay points out, “After Hesiod, the silent presence of the addressee becomes a convention of didactic poetry.” 18 Menander the Rhetor, a third century CE commentator who wrote treatises on epideictic speeches, discusses the relative status of speaker and addressee in his comments on the propemptikon. When the speaker is inferior in social status to the addressee, the address is predominantly encomium. When the speaker is of higher status, the address is predominantly advice. Cairns points this out and describes the principle as “applicable within many genres as well as the propemptikon.”19 Hesiod will subvert this social constraint, as will be discussed in Ch.2.2.3, but most of the archaic poets seem to maintain it. The question of Alcaeus’ standards of address will be raised in Ch.3.3.

1.2. Instructional topoi

17

Kramer 1963, 244. On this text, see above, p. 11.

18

Clay 2003, 33. Clay describes this feature of the tradition as if Hesiod were its source, but we have seen this since the earliest Near Eastern examples. She correctly does not go so far as to suggest direct influence by Hesiod on the later Greek writers. 19

Men. Rhet. 395.4-32. F. Cairns 1972, 235-236.

14

Richard Martin addresses the need for analysis of the Near Eastern wisdom literature exemplars beyond simple generic categorization: “As one can discern in Martin West’s helpful (though incomplete) survey of such literature, the form of wisdom compositions varies so widely that assignment to the genre by no means settles all the questions regarding the poetics of a given work.” 20 Analyzing these disparate works allows us to identify the shared features which unite wisdom literature across generic boundaries. Before Hesiod, the standard features of this instructional tradition as we have seen them so far are (1) a mythic or historic setting, (2) the direct address of a child or inferior by a father, king, or god, and (3) the presence of a list of negative precepts. In addition to these standard elements of this tradition there are a few significant variations before Hesiod. The Instructions of Šuruppak include a fable involving an ox. Animal fables are a staple of the Greek wisdom tradition. The Akkadian Wisdom of Ugarit slips out of its purported context occasionally to offer discrepant sets of advice. 21 In the beginning Zurranku is setting out on a journey, but much of the advice given later relates to farming practices. 22 The Egyptian Instructions of Ptahhotep, credited to the vizier of King Issi, 2400 BCE, also frequently leaves behind the narrative frame of the vizier addressing his son and addresses advice directly to a variety of other recipients — princes, laborers, etc.: “If thou art a ruler...”, “If thou art a poor man...”, “If thou art a man of standing...”, “If thou art one to whom petition is made...” are among the categories of people addressed in the middle of the narrative purportedly offered by the king’s vizier. 23 This abandoning of

20

Martin 1992, 14.

21

Foster 1993, 332. West 1978, 6 cites evidence that this poem was meant to be performed aloud.

22

Foster 1993, 332-334.

15

the narrative frame is perhaps to be expected if in fact wisdom literature is intended to disseminate instruction to a wide audience, as I argue. 24 Instructional markers occur in other types of composition as well. Hymns to the Sumerian gods Ninurta, Šamaš, and others contain instructional material. 25 West notes the lack of a sharp generic division between instruction and hymn: “as admonitory literature may become hymn-like in its praise of a god, so a hymn may embody moralizing precepts.” 26 The Instructions of Šuruppak frequently repeat the line, “Šuruppak gave these instructions to his son,” a formula indicating the educative nature of the text. Repeated formulae expressing the source of ancient wisdom become more frequent as this tradition develops. The early examples we have seen attribute wisdom only to gods or kings, but later works cite wise men by name. 27 The reputation of these sages is enough to establish the authority of the work and the value of its content. We see explicit statements of the ownership of wisdom as a standard device in the New Mexican Spanish proverbs described by the ethnographer C.I. Briggs. 28 Lardinois

23

Pritchard 1969, 413. Erman 1966 pronounces it unlikely that the text could go back to Ptahhotep.

24

Hesiod’s Erga occasionally demonstrates its wide applicability, as will be argued below, in Ch. 2.

25

Pritchard 1969, 387-389. Lambert’s 1960 collection of Babylonian Wisdom Literature includes several hymns for this reason. 26

West 1978, 7.

27

Khety, for example, as the author of the Instruction of Amenemhet I.

28

Briggs 1988, discussed below, Ch. 1.3.2. On Briggs’s ownership statements, Lardinois 1997, 217-220 quotes only Y decia un viejito de antes, And an elder of bygone days used to say, which is not explicit about the source; but Brigg’s subjects are usually quite specific about the source of each proverb, referring to a complex web of relationships in a community wherein, “given Córdovans’ familiarity with each other’s genealogies, the referent is seldom obscure” (Briggs 1988, 107).

16

notes that this type of ownership statement is rare in Homeric gnomic expressions. 29 Eventually, however, the Greek tradition exhibits a clear sense of the ownership of wisdom. The Milesian Phocylides composed a sequence of philosophical and moral precepts, each of only a few lines, 30 and each opening with the formula  ,31 “This too is from Phocylides.” This seems to be a reaction to the difficulty of regulating the text in the archaic period. Before the possibility of a written text, attribution of wise sayings to the correct author was a difficult matter. Phocylides attempts to preserve his role in the wisdom tradition. Perhaps this is also the significance of the “seal” in lines 22-23 of Theognis of Megara. 32 The poet insists that the collection (in whatever form it took at the time) be attributed to him, and that no one add or subtract anything. This is a far cry from a tradition that before Hesiod established authority by denying personal authorship and putting its words in the mouths of gods and well-known kings. There is a new development, as authors cast their own words in frameworks aligned to the tradition and introduce themselves as worthy inheritors of the instructional mantle. Authority to speak is determined by fame achieved through the quality of utterances rather than by the mythical status of a character-speaker. This new type of authority requires that the poet’s name become well known in order to develop an attributable corpus of wisdom. Theognis, in fact, distinguishes himself in line 23 as

29

Homeric gnomai are infrequently attributed to sagacious elder heroes, but contrast Iliad 9.256, attributed by Odysseus to Peleus. 30

Dio Chrysostom, Orationes 36.10-13, comments on the brevity of each piece, and distinguishes him from Homer, claiming that Phocylides attached his name to each statement to demonstrate the seriousness and import of each sentiment. 31

All archaic iambic and elegiac citations refer to West, Iambi et elegi Graeci ante Alexandrum cantati, (Second edition, 1992). 32

Edmunds 1997, discussed below, Ch. 2.3.2.

17

, “known among all men.” This is a poet claiming for himself the kind of recognition we saw given to learned Egyptian scribes such as Khety long after their own times. 33 There is one case in which it is possible that Hesiod has influenced the Egyptian wisdom tradition. The Instructions of ‘Onchsheshonqy were probably composed in the fifth century. 34 It purports to list the advice of an imprisoned conspirator against an unnamed Pharaoh. The text develops its instructional precepts within a narrative frame involving a dispute between two brothers, much like that found in Hesiod’s Erga. 35 As Podlecki concludes, The Works and Days shows clear affinities with material of this kind and, although some of the books (like ‘Onchsheshonqy) are later than Hesiod, the evidence is sufficient to prove that the admonition, with or without a concomitant complaint, was a widely popular form in the ancient near east. 36

1.3. The Homeric Epics

That any investigation of a theme in ancient Greek literature must begin with Homer is incontrovertible no matter where one stands on the question of Hesiodic priority. 37 The Homeric poems are a representation of a long-brewing tradition, thus they contain much material that should be considered pertinent background to Hesiod’s context of

33

Walcot 1966, 89. Pritchard 1969, 431 gives a date of 1300 BCE.

34

See West 1978, 11-12 and Walcot 1966, 88.

35

Walcot argues for Hesiodic influence in JNES 21 (1962): 215-219.

36

Podlecki 1984, 23.

18

composition. Examination of the occurrence in the Homeric poems of elements found in the Near Eastern tradition of wisdom literature will provide one perspective for an analysis of Hesiod’s employment of the same tradition. The Iliad and Odyssey comprise a wide range of poetic registers and generic versatility. It has been suggested that they incorporate simultaneous non-epic poetic traditions. 38 Alexiou, for example, identifies in the laments of Andromache, Hecuba, and Helen the conventions of an independent tradition of lament poetry. 39 Nagy discusses the traditions of praise and invective as represented in the discourse of speaking characters in the epics. 40 Muellner identifies in epic the formal elements of hymns. 41 Martin addresses the evidence for a tradition of instructional poetry embedded within epic. He analyses a passage found in nearly identical forms in the Odyssey and in Hesiod’s Theogony and argues that the priority of either passage cannot be proven, by pointing out the traditional elements in each which arise from a prior instructional tradition. 42 Martin’s study is one of two major investigations identifying features of the Near Eastern instructional tradition that are found imbedded within the Homeric poems. The second is Lardinois’s analysis of Homeric proverbs from a paroemiological perspective.

37

The question of the relative chronology of Homer and Hesiod is discussed below, in Ch. 2.2.

38

Pavese 1998, on the other hand, describes all Homeric subgeneric intrusions as species within the Homeric epic genre. This is not to imply that such intrusions were not subject to their own evolution within the development of the epic tradition, but rather that it is not possible to isolate them from that tradition. Pavese 1979 provides a working model of generic development in choral lyric. 39

Alexiou 1974, 4-13 and 161-184.

40

Nagy 1999, Chs. 11-15. Sinos 1980, 75, discusses the consolation subgenre associated with praise poetry and . 41

Muellner 1976.

19

These studies will be analyzed below, in section 1.3.2, with regard to Phoenix, Nestor, and Menelaus.

1.3.1. Advisory characters in the Homeric poems

Several speeches in the Homeric epics display an instructional attitude which warrants analysis and comparison to the earlier Near Eastern instructional tradition. Martin argues that these speeches represent the survival of older non-epic literary genres that have become embedded within the epics. He examines these sub-genres as evidence of parallel poetic traditions with stylistic conventions of their own. As Martin points out, “it is theoretically possible that each speaker’s discourse shows signs of belonging to a particular genre. Nestor and Phoenix, for instance, are not just advisors: they become conduits for the genre of paraenetic poetry.” 43 I shall look specifically at three characters whose speeches Martin identifies as participating in the instructional tradition but does not discuss in detail—Phoenix (Iliad 9.434-606), Nestor (Iliad 254-284), and Menelaus (Odyssey 15.68-78)—in order to identify the features they share with the wisdom tradition I described earlier in the chapter and in the Introduction. This will provide a contrast to Hesiod’s development of instructional literature in the Erga, to be discussed in Chapter 2.

1.3.1.1. Phoenix (Iliad 9.434-605)

42

Martin 1984, 30. The passages are Od. 8.166-177 and Hes. Th. 79-93.

20

Phoenix begins his address to Achilles (Iliad 9.434-605) with several elements of traditional instructional literature. These act both as signals to the audience of the nature of the speech he is to give, and as strategies within the text for establishing the authority of the speaker. He addresses Achilles as a child:  (lines 437 and 444),  (line 440),  (line 494),  (line 601). Achilles is clearly no longer a child, but Phoenix addresses him as such in order to assert his own authority to dispense advice. He alludes to Achilles’ former lack of experience,  (line 440), as a contrast to the elder’s wisdom. He discusses their intimacy during Achilles’ childhood, relating embarrassing tales of the child’s helplessness and attachment (lines 485-491). These are reminders for the hero of Phoenix’s status as an elder worthy of respect. Most significantly, Phoenix refers to his employment by Peleus as Achilles’ teacher:        For you old horse-driver Peleus sent me on the day when he sent you from Phthia to Agamemnon, a child knowing nothing of war or of gatherings where men become preeminent. For this reason he sent me to teach you these things and to be a speaker of words and a doer of deeds. (Iliad 9.438-443) This reminder fully establishes the speaker’s authority, both as teacher and in loco parentis. In lines 496-526 he gives his argument, a collection of gnomic statements and exhortations beginning with the specific—Achilles should master his emotion—and growing more general—men should revere attempts to make amends. Phoenix appeals to

43

Martin 1984, 31.

21

the honor due to gods in his praise of —the entreaties of those who have done wrong () but wish to make recompense. Phoenix tells a mythological tale in an attempt to convince Achilles to rejoin the fight. He relates the story of Meleager’s refusal to defend Calydon against the Curetes (lines 529-599). This story is parallel to Achilles’ own, as Phoenix explicitly states in his conclusion. The narration of a myth for instructional purposes becomes a regular feature of the wisdom tradition in Greek literature. 44

1.3.1.2. Nestor (Iliad 1.254-284)

Nestor addresses Agamemnon and Achilles with imperatives. He makes appeals to the wisdom assumed to accompany his advanced age ( , “You are both younger than I,” line 259), and he further bolsters his own authority by mentioning several times the previous generations of heroes of which he was not only a part, but one whose advice was respected (, “and they never disregarded me,” line 261). Supporting this theme, he refers to Achilles and Agamemnon only by their patronymics. He punctuates his advice with gnomic statements, such as , “since it is better to obey/to be persuaded” (line 274). He advises Achilles to back down in the argument, connecting this advice to divine authority, in the reverence due to kings honored by Zeus. The king

44

Cf. Ch. 2.2 on Hesiod and the Pandora story and Ch. 3.5 on Alcaeus and the Sisyphus myth. Alden 2000 provides a useful discussion of the function of mythological paradigms in Homer. See also Willcock 1976 and Nagy 1996b, 113-136. Canter 1933 gives an exhaustive catalog of mythological paradigms in Greek and Roman authors and demonstrates Pindar’s frequent use of this device in lyric poetry.

22

to whom Zeus gives glory is described with the words , “scepter-bearing king” (line 279). This scepter is a symbol of the authority to speak and to render judgement. Hesiod will give such a scepter to the poet in the proem to the Theogony, demonstrating the bard’s divine right to impart wisdom as a gift of the Muses.

1.3.1.3. Menelaus (Odyssey 15.68-78)

Menelaus gives Telemachus a brief lecture on hospitality at Odyssey 15.68-78. He had already established his authority to dispense wisdom on this theme in Odyssey 4.31-36, when he upbraided Eteoneus for poor hospitality. He addresses Eteoneus as a  and compares his behavior to a child’s rambling nonsense ( , “Now like a child you are saying childish things”, line 32). It is interesting that, in his explanation of the importance of hospitality, Menelaus makes an appeal to his own experiences of others’ hospitality (lines 33-35) rather than to divine law. One important aspect of the speech to Telemachus that will bear upon Alcaeus’ paraenetic usage is that, within the narrative frame, Menelaus tends toward generalization. He instructs the young man with reference to what men in general ought or ought not do, as in lines 15.72-73:    It is equally wrong if one hurries a guest not wanting to leave, and if one keeps back one eager to go.

These three passages display a wide range of generic markers found in the Near Eastern 23

instructional tradition. These include explicit address of childlike status, assumption of the roles of teacher and father, arguments in support of the speaker’s authority, gnomicity, and a tendency to generalize the advice given. 45 These advisory speeches follow instructional tradition and maintain a polite tone of social respect within the condescension of elders toward younger men. Other examples of the use of gnomai and paroimiai in Homer, however, subvert these traditional modes of address in order to achieve an insulting tone, as a paroemiological analysis will reveal.

1.3.2. The perspective of paroemiology

Lardinois has identified 154 gnomai in the Iliad and 153 gnomai in the Odyssey. He discusses the features of their “discourse context”, the phrases which surround the gnomic statement itself, and identifies elements that are optional and elements that must be present.46 In this he is again drawing upon the ethnographic work of C.I. Briggs, who provides eight features involved in gnomic discourse:47 (1) the tying phrase — This initiates performance of a proverbial expression, linking the conversational context to the lesson to be imparted. (2) the “owner”/source of the wisdom — This attributes the proverb to an authoritative source, most often elders. In archaic poetry, the poet/speaker is usually this authority, explicitly claiming credit by name (in the case of

45

In contrast, we might compare Achilles’ counsel toward his elder Priam in Iliad 24. This speech is particularly rich in its tension with the norms of social behavior, as the elder king earns sympathy and a lesson in appropriate mourning from the killer of many of his sons. Achilles’ gnomic tendency and his use of the myth of Niobe to make his point demonstrate his participation in the instructional tradition. 46

Lardinois 1997, 217-218.

47

Briggs 1988, 101-135 develops this model while describing specifically the performance context of wisdom in northern New Mexico Mexicano society, as mentioned above, Ch. 1.2. He calls for interdisciplinary study on proverb performance, but notes the difficulties in cross-cultural comparative analysis.

24

Phocylides and Theognis) or using first person statements (in the case of Archilochus and Solon). Hesiod and Alcaeus utilize the format of paraenesis to establish authority without explicitly claiming credit for spoken wisdom, as will be discussed in Chapter 2. (3) quotation-framing verb — A small number of verbs of speaking can introduce authoritative speech, alerting the audience to direct quotation and forming the assumption of attribution to the “owner” of the speech. (4) the proverb text itself (5) special associations — The specifics of a proverb are usually connected to a particular context separate from the context of the proverbializing moment. For example, Nestor’s discussion of his own authority in Iliad 1.259-274 uses the context of a former generation in which it was true that his opinions were valued. (6) a statement about the proverb’s general meaning (7) its relevance to the context — This is almost always left implicit in Greek examples. (8) validation of the performance Of these, Lardinois discusses only (1), (2), (4), (5), (6), and (8), and of these, only (4) the proverb itself, and (6) the proverb’s general meaning, are always present in the vicinity of gnomic statements in the Iliad, the rest being less central to the model of usage. Lardinois demonstrates how the direct address accompanying a gnomic statement will be manipulated according to the social context of the discourse, or in order to insult the addressee.48 Direct second-person address is used to convey the sense that the addressee is of a social status inferior to the speaker.49 At Iliad 17.32 and Iliad 20.198 Greek warriors taunt Trojans with the same gnomic statement accompanied by a command (with the verb ) and addressed in the second-person. The insult is subtle: the speaker establishes his authority to dispense advice in accord with the generic strategies of the wisdom literature tradition, rendering the addressee by contrast not just a

48

Lardinois 1997, 228, n. 74, gives 13 examples.

49

On the other hand, vocative address is combined with imperative verbs as a regular feature of prayers, such as that in Iliad 1.37-42, which begins, . Only the secondary discourse features distinguish supplication from insult.

25

social inferior, but a child in need of instruction. The word , a favorite address of Hesiod in the Erga, occurs in both examples. 50 Between social equals in the Homeric poems, care is taken to avoid this manner of address. Proverbs are related in such a way as to avoid giving offence. For example, at Iliad 11.469 Menelaus addresses Ajax with the maxim that it is best to render assistance as he suggests that they go () to help Odysseus. The use of the first person plural acknowledges the relative social equality of the two generals. Lardinois refers to this as an indirect second person address, 51 and distinguishes it from the direct type which he associates with authoritative discourse. He distinguishes Hesiod from the Homeric narrator in that the Erga avoids this polite form of advice by addressing injunctions directly to its addressee by means of the vocative case and imperative mood, as will be discussed in Ch. 2.2.3. Lardinois’s discussion of Hesiodic gnomai suffers from his dependence on his prior analysis of Homeric gnomic material. Hesiod’s mode of address in the Erga is unusual when compared to that of the characters in Homeric narrative, but is normal when the Near Eastern precedents for instruction to an inferior are considered.52 Hesiod figures Perses as an inferior despite their equal status as siblings (or Perses’ superior status as elder brother, if he is indeed the elder).53 By referring to him as a child or fool, Hesiod sets up the generic expectation of sage advice. 50

See Clay 1993 on , and my discussion in Ch. 2.2.3.

51

Lardinois 1997, 228, n. 75, gives 11 examples from the Iliad and nine examples from the Odyssey. He compares these with several examples of sympotic poets addressing their friends. I shall discuss these below and in Chapter 3. See below, Ch. 2.2.3, and Clay 1993 on Hesiod’s strategic use of . Of course, not all imperatives addressed to a vocative  are instructional. Iliad 21.99,  , is a taunt by Achilles to Lycaon. 52

53

See Hunt 1981 and Clay 2003, 33 for discussion of their birth order.

26

1.4. The Seven Sages

There is an extra-literary cultural phenomenon that must be considered in relation to Hesiod’s Erga, that of the Seven Sages. These are men, mostly composers of poetry, who developed a Panhellenic reputation for wisdom. They lived, for the most part, after Hesiod’s traditional dates, 54 but investigation of their traits will shed light on important aspects of Hesiod’s project in the Erga. Sage status develops from the relationship between author and public that determines the wisdom potential of a work. An author can, by participating in the generic conventions of the tradition, petition for consideration as a source of wisdom. The public reception will determine the author’s success, and translate it for the later reading public into common use of a work’s gnomic material, citation of specific lines or poems, or the attribution of sage status to the author. The Egyptian wisdom tradition records the names of several wise men, and demonstrates the motivation for pursuing such status: Is there any here like Hardjedef? Is there another like Imhotep? There have been none among our kindred like Neferti or Kheti, the foremost of them . . . Is there another like Ptahhotep or Kaires? Those sages who foretold the future, what came forth from their mouths happened. It is found as a saying, it is written in their books. … They concealed their magic from the people, but it is read in their Instructions. 55

54

On Hesiod’s dates, see the discussion below, p. 32, n. 2.

55

Black 2002, 163. This text, from roughly 1200 BCE, is from a papyrus known as the “Chester Beatty Sage List,” originally published by A.H. Gardiner, Hieratic Papyri in the British Museum. Third series: Chester Beatty Gift (London: British Museum, Dept. of Egyptian and Assyrian Antiquities, 1935), vol. I, pp. 38-39; vol. II, pl. 18-19. This is discussed also in Walcot 1966, 88-89.

27

A canon of such Greek sages develops apparently in the 4th century. 56 These so-called Seven Sages display a remarkably homogenous set of indicative features. These features are described by Martin, who discusses the three most commonly appearing in accounts of the Sages: poetic composition, political involvement, and performance.57 The careers of these Sages inaugurate politics into the tradition of wisdom literature, and thus redefine the notion of a wise man to include (and all but require) a statesman. Each of these sage attributes — poetry, politics, and performance — is of particular importance in Alcaeus, and we shall see in Chapter 3 how the poet develops each trait in a strategic manner, perhaps applying for recognition as such a figure, but at least participating in their cultural significance. But what attributes can we consider to have defined the role of a wise man in the centuries after Homer? It is clear from the reporting of apothegms that men considered wise were discussed in their own times. Wise sayings were repeated as performed, in a pithy gnomic form. The authors of the maxims so produced, referred to for the most part as , are described as , literally “coiners of wisdom.” 58 Nightingale describes the designation  as “a certain kind of ‘symbolic capital,’ a payment in the form of power, status, and honour rather than money or goods.” 59 She extends this metaphor to describe the poets who follow Homer and Hesiod as competing with them for a market share of this symbolic capital: “early historical and ‘philosophical’ thinkers

56

Fehling 1985. See Diogenes Laertius 1.13 on the canon and its problems.

57

Martin 1993, 113.

58

The term occurs frequently in Aristophanes, and appears in Aristotle at Rhetoric 2.21.9.

59

Nightingale 2000, 157.

28

found it necessary to compete with Homer, Hesiod, and other wise men in order to put themselves on the map as intellectual authorities or ‘masters of truth’.” 60 Nightingale restricts her analysis to the Presocratic philosophers, but much of this is applicable to the other archaic poets as well. 61

1.5. Conclusion

Instructional works of literature dating from as early as the mid-third millennium BCE share a set of recurring features. The address of a child or inferior by a king or god is one major method of establishing a narrative’s authority to dispense advice. The presence of this immature or ignorant addressee creates a pedagogic setting as the vehicle of advice. The advice itself ranges from specific technical information, usually about the management of a small farm, to daily behavior toward one’s neighbors and superiors. The breadth of the advice is often incongruous with the specific situation of the addressee, indicating that the addressee is merely a generic prop. Formular repetition marks the frequent series of precepts, often expressed in negative terms. Ownership statements connecting texts to royal, divine, or mythic figures are used in order to establish the authority of the advice through the reputation of a sage figure, a feature which will develop into proprietary ownership statements as authors attempt to claim copyright so as to earn sage status. Animal fables are used to illustrate points. Instructional markers occur in other types of Near Eastern composition as well,

60

Ibid.

61

I shall adopt this image of competition in my discussion of Alcaeus and his poetic strategies in Ch. 3.

29

such as hymns. The Homeric epics contain several speeches exhibiting features seen in the Near Eastern instructional tradition, which may indicate the existence of a simultaneous non-epic tradition. On the other hand, Homeric speeches do not engage in the traditional extended listing of gnomai, but rather apply gnomai individually to the narrative circumstances. The archaic period sees the development of a canon of wise men, the Seven Sages. Their canonization is the result of stories which accompany the spread of their gnomic statements. Panhellenic fame was the result of their participation in the tradition of wisdom literature, and became a motivation for others to participate, in order to earn the “symbolic capital” of the designation . After Hesiod we shall see many archaic poets participating in and developing this type of discourse.

30

CHAPTER 2 PARAENESIS IN THE ARCHAIC PERIOD

2.1. Introduction

This chapter will describe the development of the paraenetic tradition from our earliest Greek exemplar, Hesiod’s Erga, to the elegiac, iambic, and lyric poets of the 7th and 6th centuries. The Erga provides a literary model, or prototype, of instructional literature for our understanding of the next generations of Greek poets. I shall identify the features the Erga shares with the Near Eastern instructional tradition as well as literary elements pertinent to its own form of paraenesis. This will provide a conjectural background for the development of paraenetic literature through the archaic period. Schmidt and Lardinois derive all Greek paraenesis from a Homeric model of spoken wisdom. 1 I shall distinguish this Homeric model from the Near Eastern model described in Chapter 1.1 in order to isolate features which are new to extant Greek literature as of Hesiod. The elegiac poets Solon and Theognis both composed advisory poetry, and they share many stylistic features and themes with the Erga while displaying minor variations in composition, including the use of the elegiac meter, as well as Solon’s hymnic motif and Theognis’ pederastic narrative frame, to be discussed below, Ch. 2.3. The martial elegists Callinus and Tyrtaeus composed exhortations that possess several thematic 1

Schmidt 1986; Lardinois 1995 and 2001, to be discussed below. 31

similarities to paraenetic discourse, yet they do not frame these themes in the same advisory instructional format. The iambic poet Archilochus employs many of Hesiod’s poetic strategies for themes both recognizably related to other advisory poets and subtly different. Semonides takes a Hesiodic bit of advice and plays it out into an extended satire with the pretext of instruction. Since these poets each interact with the same tradition that the prototype of Hesiod’s Erga provides, this investigation begins with an analysis of Hesiod’s instructional features.

2.2. Hesiod

Hesiod is not much more firmly datable than Homer, but his connection to Amphidamas and the Lelantine War, mentioned at Erga 654, 2 could place him around 700 BCE. The relative dating of Hesiod’s poems and the Homeric epics has been a subject of debate; 3 but, even if Hesiod’s poems were composed before the Iliad and Odyssey reached their form as we know them, Homeric influence should not be dismissed. There is much to suggest that the archaic hexameter poems as we have them represent a written record of older poetic traditions. 4 This militates against an assertion of direct influence of one upon the other but does not rule out a blending of traditions. The idiosyncrasies of the

2

All Hesiod citations will refer to Solmsen, Merkelbach, and West, Hesiodi Theogonia, Opera et Dies, Scutum, Fragmenta Selecta (2nd edition, 1983).

3

The priority has been debated since the 5th century BCE (Janko 2007). Aristarchus, following Eratosthenes, gave a geographical argument for Homeric priority (Strabo 1.2.14, 1.2.22) in his ‛ (see Schroeder 2007). West 1966, 40 argues that no date before 750 or after 650 fits Hesiod. Most 2006, xxv declares the question of Homeric or Hesiodic priority “probably undecidable.” Janko 2007 faults West and Most for ignoring the Aristarchan treatise On the Date of Hesiod, which argues that Homer preceded. For fuller discussions see Janko 1982 and Nagy 1990a. 4

See especially Nagy 1992, Martin 1992, Nagy 1990a, Griffith 1983.

32

Erga nonetheless distinguish its narrator’s paraenetic style from that of the advisory characters in the Homeric epics. 5 These idiosyncratic features will be seen again in the lyric, elegiac, and iambic poets of the archaic period. Lardinois argues that the Erga is not novel but rather follows conventions throughout that are demonstrable in the Homeric epics.6 He adduces as parallels three rebuking speeches delivered to a sibling in the Iliad, two by Hector to Paris and one by Athena to Ares. 7 His suggestion that the name Perses (from ) may be etymologically connected by a common source to Athena’s insulting address to Ares as , “destroyer,” is intriguing but somewhat tenuous.8 This chapter will represent a critical departure from Lardinois’s assumption of a Homeric context. I agree that the content and form of Hesiod’s poems may have been the result of a long tradition, 9 but I will argue against the conclusion that the gnomic material therein was developed from the Homeric tradition.10 The Erga is generically distinct from the Homeric epics in its paraenetic intent and the instructional format that elaborates this intent.

5

Such characters include Phoenix, as discussed in Ch.1.2.1 and by Martin 1984 and Nagy 1990.

6

Lardinois 1995, 198-200.

7

Il. 3.39-57, 6.326-331, 15.128-141.

8

See Hunt 1981 and West 1978, 34.

9

Contrast the brief argument in West 1978, 34: “It is clear that Hesiod has chosen a traditional literary form, but he is deviating from the usual pattern that a father instructs a son, or a sage a king. As Nicolai [1964] and Walcot [1966] have argued, the deviation is best explained by supposing that Perses is real.” His assumption is that the generic mold is an artistic imperative (an assumption I challenge in Ch. 2.2.1). This reasoning ignores the success of the Erga in including the unusual nature of its paraenetic address in its characterization of the relationship between the narrator and Perses. The background of the brothers’ dispute is expressed to a degree that, although elliptical, is satisfactory even for an audience of  2700 years later. Hesiod’s narrator-persona will be discussed further in Ch.2.2.2.

10

Contra Schmidt 1986, 90-135.

33

2.2.1. Genres in Hesiod

The Homeric poems have been shown to admit a variety of generic modes. 11 But paraenetic discourse is most evident in works, such as Hesiod’s Erga, that fully engage the tradition of wisdom literature, 12 and so it is to this category that we turn in search of the literary background of the advisory posture of Alcaeus’ poetic project. Hesiod himself gives us a programmatic statement about the role of poetry and poets in imparting wisdom and counsel when he describes his receiving a . The Homeric kings carry scepters ostensibly as the symbol of their rule.13 But scepters are carried by priests, 14 heralds, 15 and judges, 16 as well. The scepter seems, then, to represent specifically the right to speak authoritatively. 17 At Theogony 30-31, the Muses present the poet with just such a scepter: 

11

See especially Martin 1984, discussed above in Ch. 1.2.

12

Lardinois 1995 counts 124 gnomai in the Erga.

Il. 9.156: . Cf. Il. 9.38, Il. 6.159, Il. 2.86, Od. 2.231. 13

14

E.g., Il. 1.15, of the priest Chryses.

15

E.g., Il. 7.277, of Talthybius and Idaeus, interestingly ordering Ajax and Hector to cease fighting for the day. 16

E.g., Il. 11.569, of Minos in the underworld.

At Od. 2.37 the herald Peisenor, called , “knowing inspired counsels”, places a  in Telemachus’ hands when he stands up to speak in the assembly. Stoddard 2003, 68 considers various arguments about the authority implied by the  and concludes, “the Muses have bestowed upon him not only the ‘divine voice’ of an inspired poet, but the authority—in particular, as we shall see, the conflict-resolving capacity—of a judge.” 17

34

  Plucking a branch of sturdy laurel they gave me a scepter, a marvel to see. Hesiod here invests poetry with the authority of royal speech, or the speech of figures divinely ordained to dispense wisdom and instruction.18 This investiture will resonate throughout the Erga, defining a role for the poet as advisor throughout the archaic period. 19 Hesiod’s Erga defies simple generic categorization. Just as it differs from Homeric epic, it is also not an unambiguously didactic work. 20 West’s discussion of its place in the tradition of “wisdom literature” or “instructional poetry” elucidates its roots, but does not account for the idiosyncrasies to be discussed below.21 The question of its relationship to instructional passages in Homer can lead to two conclusions: that Hesiod draws from an epic tradition of instruction, 22 or that Hesiod and the Homeric epics both draw from a common extra-generic instructional tradition.23 In either case, I argue that it

18

The divine authority of the Muses may be called into question by their assertion in Theogony 26-29 that they are able to present lies resembling truths. Scodel 2001 argues that these  are, in fact, fictions (such as fables) which carry true moral lessons. Stoddard 2003, 13-15 argues that the Muses gave the  and  to the  for purposes of didaxis, “revealing that he considers his own poetic responsibilities to include not only the delectation but also the instruction of his audience.” 19

20

See Friedlander 1913, West 1978, and Hunt 1981.

21

West 1978. Hunt 1981 considers evidence for reading the Erga not just as an unusual example of wisdom literature, but even as satire.

22

So Lardinois 1995, and Martin 1984 in respect to Od. 8.166-177 and Hes. Th. 79-93. Edwards 1971, 189 argues that it is not necessary to establish priority so long as we do not claim direct influence of the Odyssey on the Theogony, or vice versa. The degree to which West, like Lardinois, assumes a Homeric model results in his basing poor arguments on that dependence. He relies, as do Nicolai 1964 and Walcott 1966, on the supposition that Perses was historically real (and indeed the brother of Hesiod) as a way to explain the poem’s deviation from Homeric patterns of the literary form of advisory material (West 1978, 34). 23

So Duban 1980, and Walcot 1963 and 1966.

35

is specifically the Hesiodic deployment of this tradition that offers the model of paraenesis which archaic personal poetry shares. It is not anachronistic to speak of Hesiod’s awareness of the genre in which he composed. A society institutionalizes its own system of genres, and individual texts are produced and perceived in relation to the constituted norm.24 The relationship between a literary product and its prior tradition is complicated, and in turn complicates our definition of genre. Nagy highlights this problem when he argues that poetic diction is ultimately regulated by thematic content: similar themes give rise to similar diction or formulae.25 Hesiod composed with knowledge of similar thematic content within the poetic tradition whether or not he intended participation in this tradition. The genre of his work must be defined both by the system of discursive properties he shares with the tradition, as outlined below, and by the themes he adds to these prior properties. Furthermore, the picture is complicated by the social dimensions from which generic markers arise, such as the performance context. 26 When we call Hesiod’s Erga a didactic poem, what do we mean by that? It instructs the reader in basic farming techniques, seafaring, and sundry aspects of daily life. 27 It is not, however, a detailed handbook, and no reader would be able sufficiently to learn farming techniques from the poem. In fact, there is no indication before line 381

24

Todorov 1978, 17-18.

25

Nagy 1999, 1-6.

26

Raible 1980, 325.

27

This study is not concerned with the question of whether the Hemerai are a post-Hesiodic addition. For a discussion of the question, and bibliography, see West 1978, 346-350, Hamilton 1989, 78-84, and Beall 2001, 166, n. 35.

36

that the poem will contain any technical instruction. The farming and seafaring instruction itself comes to only 312 lines, of more than 800. The agricultural-didactic framework is the vehicle for a moral-didactic work.28 The poet presents moral lessons in an agricultural context. The theme of agriculture is derived from the narrator’s desire to impress upon his brother a praiseworthy work-ethic. Agricultural labor functions in the poem as one of the foundations of a morally correct life (see Erga 289, 306, 311, 382). There is much technical instruction in the Erga, but more of the poem is dedicated to paraenesis. One major distinction between the Theogony and the Erga indicates the paraenetic nature of the latter as opposed to the didactic nature of the former. The Theogony sets out the genealogy of the divinities of the Greek pantheon. The narrative is consistent and disposed in an orderly manner, whether or not scholars have accurately described this disposition.29 The Erga, on the other hand, does not concern itself with the narration of facts and information, but rather subordinates its own narrative to the exigencies of conveying a moral lesson. The poet himself admits to offering tales with no claim to historical truth, but with a truth of a different sort nonetheless:    Or if you wish I shall sum up another tale well and knowledgeably, so store this in your heart. 30 The two tales, the “Ages of Man” and Pandora, are put on the same footing, and the poet 28

This is similar to pre-19th century Farmers’ Almanacs, as well as the Instructions of Ninurta, often referred to as “the first Farmers’ Almanac” (Kramer 1959, 65-69). 29

See Clay 2003, 13-14 for a discussion of the scholarly debate concerning this poem’s structural arrangement. 30

Erga 106-107

37

makes no attempt to reconcile them or to select one as more valid than the other. He demonstrates thereby that both myths offer equally valid lessons about mankind’s condition to the addressee. This admission that the stories of the mythic/historical frame are inconsistent suggests that the lesson is not in the material narrated but in the morality hinted at. The combination of agricultural instruction and moral edification in the Erga is reminiscent of ancient Near Eastern instruction literature. In addition, several conventional stylistic elements recur, the most obvious of which are direct address and commanding precepts, recognizable in the use of the vocative case and the imperative mood. There is also a loosely organized series of lessons. Many of these are gnomic statements simply addressed, and some take the form of allegory and fable. We also find a standard poetic admonition to give proper regard to the gods. This last element ties into an important feature of the tradition of wisdom literature: appeal to a higher authority. This is not often discussed by scholars, but requires some analysis. The authority of the speaker is established in several ways, such as advanced age, rule, or a reputation for wisdom, but this authority is usually overdetermined by the addition of an appeal to a higher power. The gods are the most usual source of this secondary authority, such as in the Akkadian Advice to a Prince, which threatens the town’s destruction by the gods for various violations of the behavior advised therein.31 This is not dissimilar to Hesiod’s reminder to Perses and the basileis of the retributive nature of divine justice at Erga 238-264. But several other sources of authority will be appealed to in the archaic period as the foundation for advisory material.

31

See quotation above, in Ch. 1.1.

38

Theognis appeals to nobility of birth as the source of righteousness. 32 Archilochus participates in a shame culture that promises censure for improper behavior. 33 Alcaeus, as we shall see in Chapter 3, engages in each of these types of appeal—to the gods, to nobility of birth, and to shame. Shame is a key concept in Hesiod’s advisory mode as well. 34 He points out that labor is not a disgraceful endeavor (, Erga 311). He discusses the flight of the goddesses Aidos and Nemesis when mankind becomes too unjust in the iron age (Erga 197-201), drawing a connection between  and . This directly associates the improper behavior of Perses and the basileis with the degeneracy and corruption that will lead the gods to destroy the entire current race of man. The topic of aidos returns in lines 317-319, each of which opens with the word . This is not part of an exhortation to proper behavior, but it does form the introduction to a general discussion of behavior and righteousness in lines 320-380, a section containing 21 distinct gnomic lessons 35 and 19 imperative constructions, 36 culminating in the following major lesson:  

32

In section 2.3.2, below, we shall see how Kyrnos is trained to resemble the aristocracy of which Theognis counts himself a part. 33

We shall see below, in Ch. 2.5.1, how Archilochus uses the fear of shame to influence his addressee in fragment 13. 34

D. Cairns 1993, 148-156 rightly points out the ambivalent nature of aidos in Hesiod.

35

As catalogued by Lardinois 1995, 301-302.

36

The imperatives promote proper sacrificing (335-341), cultivating a strong relationship with one’s neighbors (342-351), balancing greed and charity (352-360), saving for the future (361-367), and various observations on parsimony, trust, wives, children, and death (368-380).

39

If the spirit in your mind hopes for wealth for you, do this: do work upon work. 37 The theme that hard work is the only way to gain wealth while retaining righteousness motivates the agricultural portion of the Erga. This combination of work and righteousness is the lesson for which the unjust behavior of both Perses and the basileis is a foil.

2.2.2. Erga: Mythological Frame

The first noticeable divergence of the Erga from the earliest examples of the Near Eastern instructional tradition is the lack of a mythological narrative frame. Neither the speaker nor the addressee is a god. 38 There is no impending flood. The poem contains much material that we would consider mythological,39 but the mythic setting has been omitted. The instructional literature that follows Hesiod in the archaic period usually lacks even as much of myth as we see in the Pandora story or the discussion of the ages of man. Hesiod effects an instructional mode without much of the requisite framing we see establishing the speaker’s authority in similar Near Eastern material. He does so by repeatedly focusing on his relationship to his addressee and insinuating the superiority of his own intelligence and integrity.

37

Erga 381-382.

38

West 1966, 278 suggests that we can reconstruct a connection to the minor deity Perses of Theogony 377 and 409, so the Erga may once have had a divine frame; but in the text as we have it Perses is simply Hesiod’s brother. 39

Compare Hesiod’s use of the Pandora story to Homeric use of myth in instructional speeches, such as in Il.9.529-599, discussed in Ch. 1.3.1.1.

40

But first we must determine who this “Hesiod” is. Modern scholarship has called into question the tradition of a historical Hesiod. Welcker’s hypothesis makes the addressee of the Erga a poetic fiction.40 West had disputed this notion with the objection that there is no precedent for instruction of a fictional addressee by a historical narrator. 41 In response, building on Welcker’s theory, Nagy develops the idea that “Hesiod” may be a poetic persona, as well, much like Homer. He derives the name Hesiod from the Greek words  and , meaning “he who emits a voice.” 42 Martin goes beyond this uncertain etymology, developing an argument for understanding the brothers’ conflict as a poetic device.43 He suggests that the audience is expected to be familiar with the character of Perses, as he is not mentioned by name until line 633.44 Griffith gives sound reasons for reading Hesiod’s references to his family and its circumstances as poetic rather than historical statements, but he does not throw the baby Hesiod out with the bath water. 45 He supposes that the events may well have been experienced by the poet Hesiod or by the originator of the tradition. Lardinois summarizes the debate and presents the following argument for a fictional Hesiod: 46 40

Welcker 1826, 77-78.

41

West 1978, 34. He concludes, “it would be exceptional for a pretend person to be addressed by one who is just what he seems to be, namely Hesiod—and no one supposes Hesiod himself to be an assumed character.” This is no longer true; but even if it were, we should not prematurely rule out the exceptional. 42

Nagy 1982a. This idea had appeared in his first edition of The Best of the Achaeans in 1979.

43

Martin 1992, 14-15.

44

Martin, noting that this is an unreasonable expectation outside of archaic Ascra, argues that there must be a tradition of literature framing a conflict with an errant brother named Perses. This argument implies that the Erga does not contain a narrative frame sufficient for the audience to find interest in the poem. I would counter that the poem has found audiences for more than two millennia, including numerous scholars who find enough of a narrative frame therein to account for a “biography” of the poet. 45

Griffith 1983, 58-59.

46

Lardinois 1995, 200, n. 44.

41

Another problem for the literal, biographical reading of the fiction in the Works and Days is that such a reading has to assume that an archaic Greek poet could create and disseminate a poem in which he called the local leaders “gift-devouring fools” (Op. 39-40) and lecture them in propriis personis (both theirs and his own). If so, there is nothing like it in the whole of archaic and classical Greek literature. That the social norms of Hesiod’s time would prohibit such an act in poetry is, perhaps, a greater assumption, especially considering that we do, in fact, have such addresses from Alcaeus regarding Pittacus (fragments 70, 348, et al). These insults directed at Pittacus are more risqué, as Hesiod does not, in fact, name the magistrates he accuses of corruption. If we are right to see this narratorial persona as voiced by a poet named Hesiod who lived in Boeotia at the end of the eighth century, then this leaves a credibility gap for the poem’s speaker, who must account for his own authority in some other way than by claim to mythical or historic fame.47 The discourse is therefore set up as an address from an assumed position of superiority, which uses the conventions of instructional literature as an authorizing force to coerce the audience into accepting its role as the target of instruction. Hesiod accomplishes this by means of attacks on the intelligence and integrity of his addressees, Perses and the basileis.

2.2.3. Addresses to Perses

The poem is addressed to Perses, described as the narrator’s brother. This vocative address is a standard element of instruction, but address to a brother instead of a son is a

47

The issue does not need to be resolved, as this credibility gap would apply either to Hesiod the historical poet or to the first composition attributed to “Hesiod,” a fictional yet non-mythological speaker. The poem needs to establish the speaker’s authority, and it does so in ways to be explained below.

42

startling innovation. This violates the basic rule that instruction be passed from a superior to an inferior.48 In the Near Eastern tradition, even in advice to a king the appeal to a greater authority was necessary, and the instruction was put in the mouth of the king’s father. Scholars will argue over which brother was the elder, 49 but even an elder Hesiod would make this no less unusual. To overcome this, the poet employs several tactics we have seen in Homeric instruction to establish himself as an authority. Perses is addressed with several uncomplimentary adjectives, much as Achilles is in Phoenix’s advisory speech in Iliad 9. Twice Perses is called  (Erga 286, 633). 50 This is common in the Near Eastern wisdom tradition, establishing the recipient of the education as one in need of instruction. In addition, his behavior is reprehensible, lacking dike and exhibiting hubris. In fact, his name may indicate his depredations, if connected to , “to plunder.”51 Perses is inconsistently characterized, at times lazy and destitute, at times wealthy through his immoral actions. West notices this and explains it as a necessary characteristic of the brother as failing according to the requirements of each section of the poem. 52 That is, Perses is always in the wrong. Hunt concludes from this that Perses is a

48

Cf. Lardinois 1997, 228.

49

There is no indication in the text as to which brother was older, but many arguments have circled this rather pointless question. See Hunt 1981 and Clay 2003, 33 for discussion. I would add that in Erga 18, the better strife is described as born first: . Cf. Phoenix to Achilles:  at Il. 9.440, and  at Il. 9.494. Clay 1993 discusses this appellation, as well as the surprising epithet  (line 299), discussed below.

50

51

See above, Ch.2.2, and Hunt 1981. Cf. Thersites and , Margites and .

52

West 1978, 36.

43

figure of satire, alazōn to Hesiod’s eirōn. 53 The alazōn has been associated with an analogous Near Eastern figure, the aluzinnu, a Mesopotamian buffoon with an unclear ritual involvement. 54 But we have already seen a character resembling Perses, as West describes him, in the Near Eastern instructional tradition, in the dialogue of The Father and his Misguided Son. The son in this dialogue consistently disagrees with and annoys his father, in a different way for each point the father is to make. This stock figure provides a framework for the arrangement of lessons to be imparted. Hunt reads Perses as a quasi-comic buffoon, and thus a stock character of satire; but he is even more clearly the perpetually wanting pupil, a stock figure of the tradition of instruction. But, whether “perpetually wanting” or not, the advisory poem needs an addressee. Perses fulfills this role and effects the instructional discourse. As Prince puts it, “Without Perses, the Works and Days would be a cranky series of unspecific addresses and admonitions to fairness— not the sort of text to inspire assiduous attention to the message contained in the admonitions.” 55 At line 299 Perses is addressed not as a foolish child but as . Clay argues that this is a reward for being convinced by the poet’s exhortation: The flattering address, unique in the poem, may be likened to a good conduct medal or, perhaps, a bone for an obedient dog, but it suggests that Perses has indeed been persuaded, if only momentarily, by his brother’s arguments for justice.56

53

Hunt 1981, 32-34. Hunt also cites the unusual brother-to-brother address as an example of the sort of violations of the social hierarchy which characterize satire. 54

West 1994, 2, n. 8.

55

Prince 2003, 152.

56

Clay 1993, 30.

44

This flattering address may, however, be an artifact left over from earlier forms of the instructional tradition, in which the addressee was the child of a king or a god. 57

2.2.4. Addresses to the basileis

As in many of the instructional works in the Near Eastern tradition, we find in the Erga an address to rulers. Who exactly these basileis are is unclear, 58 but from their role in the text we can assume that their authority covers at least the adjudication of legal disputes. Hesiod’s treatment of these basileis is, like that of his brother Perses, admonitory and condescending. This is a far cry from the panegyric of basileis in the Theogony. 59 At Erga 38-40 he refers to them as , once again focusing on the ignorance of the addressee in order to reinforce the poet’s authority for offering instruction. At Erga 202 he offers an ainos, that of the hawk and the nightingale, to the basileis as an instructive lesson. His two direct vocative addresses are at lines 248 and 263. The former warns them of the inevitability of divine retribution for the abuse of justice. The latter addresses them as  60 and enjoins them to make straight their crooked judgements. 61 57

We have no evidence for such a species within the Greek tradition, but see above, p. 40, n. 37.

58

West 1978, 151 discusses this term as it is used in the Homeric poems and by Tyrtaeus, concluding that Hesiod need not be referring to specific titles used in his contemporary Ascra; but rather, as his intended audience extends beyond his specific time and place, the word works as a general poetic equivalent of any term for bearers of such authority as he refers to. 59

  

Theogony 88-90:    There are wise rulers so that they might easily accomplish a change of behavior for people misguided in the assembly, persuading them with gentle words.

60

As at line 39, presumably referring to their accepting bribes, but it has been argued that this may simply be a descriptive term for kings, “living on the tribute of the people.” See West 1978: 151.

45

This is reminiscent of the eighth century Akkadian Advice to a Prince, in which the addressee is warned about the consequences of rendering crooked judgements. 62 This attack on the basileis, taking the form of warnings and fable, is gentle in comparison to the harsh lampoons of Archilochus and the iambographers. Hesiod observes social decorum through his subtlety. Alcaeus will abuse his political enemies in a much less gentle manner.

2.2.5. Erga 202-212: The fable of the hawk and the nightingale

A link has been demonstrated between Near Eastern and Greek instructional literatures in their use of animal fables. 63 Two Sumerian fables involving squealing pigs seem to convey sentiments similar to Hesiod’s in the Erga. 64 In the first, a lion attacks a pig and in response to its squeals the lion replies, “Until now, your flesh has not filled my mouth, but your squeals have created a din in my ears!” In the second, as a butcher kills a pig he scolds him, “Must you squeal? This is the road your sire and your grand-sire traveled, and now you are going on it too! And yet you are squealing!” 65 Similar, too, is the parable of the fisherman related by Cyrus to the Ionians at Herodotus 1.141. Cyrus tells the Ionians of a flute-player who played for fish, attempting to lure them in with music.

61

Cf. Solon 4.36, below.

62

Foster 1993, 760-761: “If he...heard a case involving Babylonians but dismissed (it) for a triviality, Marduk, lord of heaven and earth, will establish his enemies over him and grant his possessions and property to his foe.” 63

See Walcot 1966, 90 (and n. 19), Adrados 1979, 340, and West 1969, 118.

64

West 1978, 205.

65

Both translations in Walcot 1966, 90.

46

Failing at the attempt, he catches the fish in a net, at which point they begin to leap about. The flute-player scolds the fish for dancing after they have been caught, rather than when he first played for them. We see the use of animals in instruction in at least two other archaic poets, Archilochus and Semonides, to be discussed below. The story of the hawk and the nightingale relates a conversation between a powerful carnivore and a weak songbird. The fable bears a counter-intuitive moral, spurring West to pronounce that Hesiod “does not succeed in making effective rhetorical use of it.”66 This response undervalues the subtlety of Hesiod’s message. By the time he explicitly states that the laws for animals and for man are different matters, 55 lines later in Erga 277-279, and specifically that animals are without , in Erga 278, this will have already occurred to the audience. West is disappointed that the fable lacks its conclusion, found in the similar fables in Aesop and Archilochus, in which the hawk receives punishment at the hands of a higher power, a human trapper or the will of the gods. 67 But West’s reaction does not take into account the delayed remark about animal versus human laws. The poet expects the reader to identify the injustice in the hawk’s behavior before he makes explicit that this behavior would be inappropriate to human justice.68

2.2.6. Erga 618-694: seafaring

66

West 1978, 204.

67

Aesop, fab. 1, and Archilochus, frg. 172-181. Perry 1940, 400 accepts the concluding couplet as stating the moral of the fable, not recognizing as West had that the moral has been left unstated.

68

Questions of human and divine justice (theodicy) are common to the instructional tradition, as discussed with respect to Ludlul bēl nēmeqi above, in Ch. 1.1, and Solon 13 below, in Ch. 2.3.1.

47

A section on seafaring is unexpected considering the narrator’s avowed aversion to sea vessels. As Clay points out, Hesiod introduces this section with disparaging terms, using such loaded words as  (of a seductive and dangerous desire) and  (which occurs with only negative connotations elsewhere in the Erga). 69 This raises the important question of this section’s purpose in the poem. The narrator makes it clear that he intends an agricultural profession for Perses. Why then does he spend so much time giving this advice he considers bad? If his goal is merely to instruct his addressee Perses, then he would attempt to dissuade him from seafaring and be done with it. That he elaborates upon the specifics of seafaring reveals that the work is intended for wider public consumption, as is appropriate to the wisdom tradition. This is the only place where Hesiod’s advice to his brother steps outside of the bounds of the narrative frame and gives instruction the poet intends only for this wider audience. 70

2.2.7. The Precepts of Cheiron

Attributed to Hesiod are fragments of a work, usually called the Precepts of Cheiron, 71 69

Clay 1993, 31-32. I would add that, whether or not we read ironic humor into the tale of the narrator’s crossing to Euboea in lines 650-655 (he offers this very short distance over quite shallow water as his version of a sea voyage), this section serves to characterize the narrator as a “landlubber.” 70

West 1978, 313 argues that this is not exactly a slipping out of context, as this section presents only “an optional supplement” to farming, for “the man who has surplus produce,” rather than a suggestion of a nonagricultural profession. This explanation does not satisfy, as the poet makes no attempt to fit this “optional supplement” into an agricultural lifestyle. A more compelling theory comes from Rosen 1990, who argues that seafaring in the Erga represents epic-style poetry, rejected by Hesiod. This is doubly appropriate to my view that the seafaring section must be read as intended for an audience wider than the narrator’s errant brother. 71

Kurke 1990, 91 reports E. von Leutsch’s conclusion [Philologus 29 (1870), 522] that the title Pindar knew for this work was .

48

that was evidently a list of instructions with minimal narrative frame, relating the teachings of the centaur Cheiron to the young Achilles on Mt. Ida. There is some question as to the authenticity of this work. Quintilian, 1.1.15, notes that Aristophanes of Byzantium rejected it as spurious. Quintilian raises the issue in a discussion of whether children should receive a literary education. That Hesiod, in a time without written texts, would have an opinion on this matter, such as we hear was expressed in the Precepts, 72 is rather suspicious, but perhaps not enough to merit rejection. An education “in literature” does not necessarily mean “a literate education,” since oral instruction could include the poems of known composers. Either way, this was a well-known archaic work that should be considered here for its role in the development of the Greek wisdom tradition. The Precepts of Cheiron demonstrate many of the traditional elements of wisdom literature. The speaker, the centaur Cheiron, establishes his authority as both a father figure and a character of great status among mythological sages. The surviving fragments of this work suggest that it comprised a series of independent maxims, but the title suggests a narrative frame developed at least to the point of having characters. We are told that the recipient of the instruction was Achilles, pupil of the centaur, but it is unclear whether he participated in a dialogue. The fragments we possess provide a good measure of the breadth of the Precepts’ contents: The addressee is enjoined to make proper sacrifices to the gods (M-W 283) and to listen to both sides of a dispute when passing judgement (M-W 338). There is a

72

Quintilian 1.1.15: quidam litteris instituendos, qui minores septem annis essent, non putaverunt...in quia sententia Hesiodum esse plurimi tradunt, qui ante Grammaticum Aristophanem fuerunt, nam is primus ‛, in quo libro scriptum hoc invenitur, negavit esse huius poetae, “Some think that children under seven should not be taught literature...That Hesiod was of this opinion many tell us who were before Aristophanes the Grammarian, for he was the first to deny that the Precepts, in which this sentiment is found, was by this poet.”

49

discussion of the longevity of the nymphs and certain animals (M-W 304) and the opinion that children under the age of seven should not be educated in poetry (M-W 285). Pindar gives us an apparent sample of the advice in the Precepts, in Pythian 6, addressing Thrasybulus, son of Xenocrates, the victor of the 490 BCE Pythian chariot race:           You put him at your right hand and support the proper command, the things the son of Philyra advised in the mountains to the son of Peleus, entrusted to his care: To honor the son of Kronos, the loud master of lightning, most of all the gods, and never to deprive his parents of this honor while they live. (Pythian 6.19-27) 73 The poem refers rather specifically to two items from Cheiron’s list of edicts. The first is to honor Zeus above all other gods, and the second is to honor one’s parents. Such precepts are among the most basic and most often repeated bits of wisdom found in the Near Eastern instructional tradition,74 and in Hesiod as well. Erga 331-334 threatens those who abuse their elderly fathers, even with words ( , “who abuses, scolding with harsh words,” Erga 332), with annihilation (, “The gods blot him out, and reduce his house,” Erga 325) and with the personal enmity of Zeus (

73

All Pindar citations refer to Snell and Maehler, Pindari Carmina cum Fragmentis (1970).

74

In the Near Eastern tradition, as well, the sky god is given special prominence.

50

, “Then indeed Zeus himself is angry,” Erga 333). Lines 335340 offer advice regarding the appropriate times to offer sacrifice to the gods and promise monetary rewards for those observing these sacrifices. Line 706 begins a list of precepts with an injunction against angering the gods, presumably suggesting that violation of the principles to follow will earn such anger. Studies of the Precepts of Cheiron discuss the terminology appropriate to the various categories of wisdom literature. Friedländer uses the term hypothekai to represent the entire genre within which advice is given; but he does not distinguish between hypothekai, or pithy gnomic maxims, and other modes of paraenesis, the term I employ for the traditional framework described in Chapter 1.75 He includes the paraenetic discourse of Theognis in the category of hypothekai, based on the programmatic statement in Theognis 27-28. 76 But it will be profitable to use specific terminology to distinguish specific elements employed within the instructional tradition, as Kurke 77 and Slater 78 do, with the term paraenesis, which is used by the Greeks from the fifth century. 79

75

Friedlander 1913, pp. 571-572. Russo 1983, on the occurrence of proverbs in Greek literature, despairs of a definition for . Cf. Taylor 1962. 76

 

This couplet is discussed below, Ch. 2.3.2:    With kindly intent I shall instruct you, Kyrnos, as I myself learned from noble men while I was a child.

77

Kurke 1990, 91.

78

Slater 1979, 79-81.

Pindar, as we saw above, describes Cheiron’s activities as  at Pythian 6.23. Isocrates describes his own advisory work as  in Ad Demonicum 5 and Ad Nicoclem 46 and 54, and Pausanias refers to the  found in Hesiod (Kurke 1990, 91). Lucian seems to make more explicit the distinction between Hesiodic advice (or advisory exhortation) and gnomes, ... 79

51

2.2.8. Erga 582-596: When and How to Relax

The most unusual advice given by Hesiod occurs in his description of the hot season. He abandons the imperative mood and lines up a string of pleasant optatives:      Let there be the shade of a rock and Bibline wine, and a kneaded cake and milk of drained goats, and a wood-fed cow’s meat, one that never birthed, and of young first-born goats, and drinking of bright wine, 80 These lines call for a period of rest and recuperation during the harshness of summer’s heat. The poet demonstrates that the life of labor includes time to rest and to enjoy oneself. But this revelation is couched as well in the terms of instruction. The addressee is told when and how to use this time of relaxation, still from the same position of authority as the rest of the poem’s instructional material, but without the imperative mood. We have a fragment of an Aeolic lyric poem in the greater Asclepiad meter by Alcaeus which relates a portion of this pastoral moment.81 This intriguing poem calls into question the generic nature of many others of Alcaeus’ lyric fragments. Chapter 3 will further explore this poem and the other Alcaic fragments that resemble Hesiod’s Erga.

 (Dialogus ad Hesiodum 8). This distinction is a post-archaic development, as Homer uses  for advising, while  until the fifth century seems to refer to exhortation (Kurke 1990, 92). 80

Erga 589-592.

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2.2.9. Hesiod’s relationship to other paraenetic poets of the archaic period

Greek poetry of the 7th and 6th centuries frequently exhibits an instructive mode. In order to discover to what extent that instructive mode is built upon the same tradition as Hesiod and the Near Eastern exemplars, I shall examine several fragments of the archaic elegiac and iambic poets. To fully understand the interactions at the generic level between the various exemplars of Greek instructional literature after Hesiod, I additionally employ a pragmatic perspective. The field of pragmatics describes how comprehension arises from speech acts within a concrete situation.82 A genre is understood as comprising typesituations with their own recognizable discourse features. But if a genre is classified proscriptively by these defining features, then exemplars with an idiosyncratic style of discourse will be excluded. For example, although Hesiod addresses his brother rather than a child or pupil, it is clear that the address is intended to suggest just such a superiorto-inferior relationship. Paltridge introduces the concept of prototypicality, which allows for a more fluid understanding of generic components than simply asking what features are present or absent.83 As he explains, “the closer the representation of a genre is to the prototypical image of the genre, the clearer an example it will be as an instance of that

81

For discussions of the vexed question of Alcaeus 347a and its dependence or independence of Erga 582587, see Janko 1982, 225, Martin 1984, 30, Page 1955, 305-306, and below, Ch 3.5. All references to Alcaeus will use the numbering of Voigt 1971. 82

Paltridge 1995.

83

Paltridge 1995, 395.

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particular genre.”84 This understanding of generic association is more inclusive of idiosyncratic genre participation than the use of “defining features” criteria.85 I shall attempt to understand how the advisory works of the later archaic poets might be associated with Hesiod’s Erga as the prototype of Greek wisdom literature, even as they individually lack many of the features that constitute the instructional tradition I have described. I accept the Erga as just such a prototype because of its position as the earliest extant example of instructional literature in Greek. Hesiod drew from a traditional type of discourse and gave shape to the literary tradition for a Greek audience.

2.3. Elegy

Archaic elegy merits a full study of its participation in the instructional tradition, but this chapter will be restricted to a brief examination of how two of Alcaeus’ contemporaries utilize some of the paraenetic topoi found in the Erga. This will provide some context for our understanding of how archaic lyric engages in an instructional mode.

2.3.1. Solon

Solon’s productive period seems to be roughly contemporary to that of Alcaeus, so it is difficult, if not impossible, to estimate to what extent they could have influenced each

84

Paltridge 1995, 394.

85

So West 1978, 34, discussed above, in Ch.2.2, n. 7.

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other. 86 But it will be worth considering the similarities and differences in each poet’s participation in the Greek tradition of wisdom literature. Solon shows us to what extent a poet of this era can compose within a poetic dialogue with earlier writers. In fragment 20 he refers directly by patronymic to Mimnermus of Colophon. The earlier poet had argued in fragment 6 for a serene death at 60 rather than the wretched experience of old age. Solon responds in fragment 20: —  —   “” But if you will listen to me now, take this back—and do not begrudge if I reason better than you—and change it, Ligyaistades, and sing this: “May the fate of death come to me at eighty.” Plutarch tells us, introducing Solon fragment 21:    May death not come to me unwept, but let me leave behind for my friends pains and lamentation, that Solon is here, too, disputing an opinion of Mimnermus. This may have come from the same poem, or Solon may have referred frequently to the gnomic statements of the earlier writers. The pseudo-Plutarchan  attributes to Solon the maxim , “the poets tell many lies.” 87 We know that Solon discussed the activities of older poets because of a comment in Ioannes Sardianus’ commentary on Hermogenes to the effect that Solon had credited Arion of Methymna

86

But see Chapter 3 for a discussion of the potential contemporary Panhellenic dissemination of the archaic poets. 87

Solon fr. 29.

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with the first tragic drama. All of these references to poets and their work support the possibility that Solon worked within a Panhellenic poetic community. That he and Alcaeus are known to have traveled makes it likely that they encountered each other’s verses or reputations, but this is not necessary to our considering the possibility of their deliberate commentary on the works of other Greek poets. In the end, we simply do not have enough evidence to credit similarities in their style or diction to direct allusion, but their similar usage of the poetic traditions bears examination. Else describes Solon’s poetic program as the exemplar of Ionian elegy, especially as far as an instructional motive is concerned: Its predominant aim was persuasion and, in a higher sense, instruction. These aims are thoroughly in keeping with the spirit of Ionian elegy, and Solon seems to have done his first writing in elegiac couplets. Elegy was the accepted medium for paraenesis, exhortation or counsel, in the seventh century. 88 As Else suggests, most of the advisory poetry we have from the 7th century is elegiac, 89 but there is much in other meters which engage the same instructional tradition. Greek paraenesis finds its earliest model in the hexameter poems of Hesiod, such as the Erga and the Precepts of Cheiron, even if we ignore the evidence for an independent instructional tradition represented in speeches in the Iliad and Odyssey. In addition, it will be seen below that a form of advisory poetry can be found in 7th century iambic verse. Solon’s fragment 4 contains an allegorical discussion of Eunomia versus Dysnomia. The language of the fragment contains reminiscences of Hesiod’s treatment

88

Else 1965, 39-40 and n. 22.

89

As is most of the exhortative poetry, such as the martial exhortations of Tyrtaeus and Callinus, which would be included in Else’s use of paraenesis.

56

of  versus  at Erga 286-292. The poem’s didactic mode, for example, is apparent from several features. The first of these is an appeal to the greater wisdom of the poet. Hesiod delineates the contrast between the unjust basileis and himself in terms of wisdom. He points out that the basileis do not know that there is advantage to poverty (, Erga 40). The fable of the hawk and the nightingale is for those basileis who understand (, Erga 202), which Jacoby reads as a polite form of address but West suggests is a provocation. 90 Similarly, Solon attacks the understanding of the citizenry. They are destroying the city through foolishness (, Solon 4.5) and because they do not know how to behave properly (, Solon 4.9). But a clearer indication of the allegory’s didactic nature is in its introduction, where the poet explicitly says that his heart urges him to teach the Athenians (, Solon 4.30). Solon uses language similar to Hesiod’s to describe his poetic project. 91 In line 36 he refers to the “straightening” of “crooked judgements”,  , with wording similar to that of Hesiod at Erga 263-264,  , “make straight your judgements...put crooked judgements out of your mind”. Irwin discusses the poem as “a poem of political

90

Jacoby 1961, Kl.phil.Schr.i.389. West 1978, 205-206: “Perhaps it is not so much being polite as pressing the kings to agree.” 91

On the Hesiodic influence, Irwin 2005, 157 argues “the extent of Solon’s affinity with Hesiod in poem 13, which no scholar doubts, suggests the influence and general circulation of the Hesiodic poems at an early date.”

57

disaffection,” and “a harsh critique of kings and abuses of power.” 92 She treats Solon 4 as a response to the Erga, but notes the problematic nature of such a reading: Although a body of justice poetry no doubt existed to which both belong and to which Solon may also be responding, the correspondence of so many themes with the Hesiodic text, and Hesiod’s prominence in early Greek poetry, justify both close analysis of this poem’s relationship to Hesiod and the use of the term ‘Hesiodic allusion’. 93 Even if a direct reference to Hesiod is ruled out, the shared metaphors such as that of straightening out crooked judgments demonstrate Solon’s participation in the tradition Hesiod exemplifies.94 In fragment 4c we see how Solon draws upon the instructional tradition while basically inventing a genre which will allow him to communicate what he thinks is best for the city and to publish his political theory. Aristotle tells us that this fragment is addressed to the rich, urging them to avoid greed. To achieve the proper balance of instruction and reverence, Solon adapts the language of the embassy to Achilles in Iliad 9. 95 The wealthy Athenians are told to calm their bold hearts:  , “Calm the obstinate heart in your chest” (4c.1), as the appeals of Odysseus (Iliad 9.255, quoting Peleus) and Phoenix (Iliad 9.496) request that Achilles let go of his anger. An appeal is made in both contexts to the inappropriateness of the subject’s behavior (Solon 4c.4, Iliad 9.496-497). The Suda tells us that Solon was the source of the maxims  and

92

Irwin 2005, 158. Lewis 2006, 42-59 provides an excellent analysis of Solon’s use of .

93

Irwin 2005, 159-160.

94

Lewis 2006, 5 is cautious about discounting the role of the individual artist in the development of poetic tradition: “His words must be taken as a singular point of view at a particular time – not merely as an appendage to a poetic tradition.”

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. 96 Several fragments indicate a tendency to gnome-coining and/or gnome-quoting. Fragment 6 contains the proverbial , “for satiety/excess breeds hubris”. 97 We have already seen fragment 29,  , “the singers tell many lies”. This enthusiasm for proverbializing seems to be an important feature of Solon’s poetic and/or political program. He readily engages in the sort of sententious speech Aristotle criticizes in . 98 It would probably be anachronistic to consider this characteristic of Solon’s gnomic utterances as a rusticating gesture, but he may have intended something of the earthy wisdom of Hesiod. He certainly tends toward concise gnomic utterances, just as Hesiod. Lardinois cites 51 gnomic statements in the fragments of Solon out of roughly 300 extant lines of text. 99 This reflects a gnomic impulse in the poetic sphere of the time. The era gave birth to most of the Seven Sages, and their activity cannot be omitted from the potential literary context of the archaic poets. Alcaeus worked in direct contact with one such Sage,

95

Anhalt 1993, 67-114 discusses the relationship between Solon fragment 4 and its Homeric and Hesiodic parallels; but she mentions fragment 4c only to mention , “surfeit” (p. 85). For a discussion of the history of , see Wilkins 1926. The maxim’s first appearance in literature is in Theognis, lines 219, 335, 401, and 657. It is credited to the Sage Chilon in the scholia to Pindar, Pythian 2.63.4 and 3.106.5.  would be inscribed on the Delphic Temple of Apollo in the late 6th century BCE. 96

97

This maxim, which may well predate Solon, is paraphrased in Theognis 153-154:    Indeed satiety/excess breeds hubris, whenever prosperity comes to a bad man of unsound mind. Bowie 1997, 66 criticizes Clement (Stromateis 6.8.7) for insisting that this is a deliberate paraphrase of Solon, but the addition of  as a separate category seems like the kind of point Theognis would deliberately add — that aristocrats can handle prosperity, but not the newly rich.  

98

Rhetoric 2.21.9. I wish to thank Deborah Boedeker for the suggestion that Solon may be intentionally adopting the role of the sort of wise elder whose wisdom is valued by the instructional tradition (and whose proverbializing Aristotle would later praise). 99

Lardinois 1995, 312, ff.

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Pittacus, and the rivalry between the two gave rise to many gnomic statements, to be analyzed in Chapter 3. Fragment 7 of Solon,  , states the moral, or epimythium, 100 of a well-known fable of Aesop. Any suggestion of the possible fame of such a fable by Solon’s time would be mere supposition, but one can perhaps safely suppose that this maxim would be known in some form, and that an animal fable, or ainos, would be the form most likely. The   suggests the poet’s application of folk wisdom to a serious contemporary political situation.101 In fragment 11 he brings an animal into his metaphor, comparing the crafty would-be tyrants to foxes, but he does not expand into a full ainos format. Perhaps this is a subtle allusion to the Aesopic tradition, which includes at least one warning about empowering potential tyrants, 102 a theme Solon deals with in fragment 9 as well. Fragment 13 introduces itself as a hymn to the Muses and to Olympian Zeus: , line 2.103 It then proceeds to elaborate a philosophy of wealth and its acquisition. The paraenetic impulse is clear in gnomic statements such as lines 67-68: 

100

Often called  in the manuscripts. For a discussion of epimythia, see Perry 1940.

101

This is a form of “tying phrase” as described by Lardinois 1997, 219.

102

The fable of the kite, hawk, and pigeons.

103

Many attempts have been made to demonstrate that this elegy is heavily interpolated. See Stoddard 2002, 149 n. 2, for a bibliography of the question. The thematic unity of the piece, demonstrated by Stoddard and Linforth, does not settle the question, but rather indicates the futility of attempting to isolate genuine Solonian lines.

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   But the man who tries to do well falls, unexpectedly, into great and difficult destruction. The philosophical tenor of the entire poem is cast, however, in a first-person statement of ethics. This is a departure from the impersonal list of precepts which we see in the Erga. The elegist develops his own code of behavior as a model for his readership. This is not necessarily in conflict with Else’s formulation of the relatively impersonal nature of elegy: Such elegies were essentially personal statements on a mooted or traditional theme: the duty of a citizen on the battlefield; the relative value of health, wealth, and “virtue;” the cheerlessness of old age; and so on. But the personal note was kept within limits. In verse form, diction, and temper, elegy is the closest of all Greek poetic forms to the impersonal epic.104 The elegist uses his own voice, but as a vehicle for impersonal exempla. 105 Fragment 13 includes many of the same themes discussed by Hesiod. 106 The just acquisition of wealth is perhaps the largest theme in Solon’s poem, and arguably in the Erga as well. The concept of divine retribution in the distant future is important in both accounts (Solon 13.17-32, Erga 283-247, and in the moralizing of the myth of the Ages of Man). Solon reinterprets the Hesiodic concept of  in lines 35-36. And in lines 71-74 we may read a response to Hesiod’s characterization of the good Eris in Erga 1724. Solon despairs of any satiety for mankind in language reminiscent of the positive

104

Else 1965, 40.

Wilamowitz 1913, 257 introduces the poem as “Solons Elegie ” and describes the address to the Muses as borrowed from epic. This is a simplification of the complex issues of production and reception at play in this paraenetic work.

105

106

See Anhalt 1993, 11-65 on the relationship between Solon fragment 13 and the Homeric and Hesiodic poems.

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effects of striving for wealth. He uses the verb  in line 73 in the same metrical position as the man seeking wealth in Erga 24. The poem articulates with Hesiod in its discussion of the just acquisition of wealth. Masaracchia argues that the purpose of the poem is to reevaluate Hesiod’s theory of justice. 107 Whether or not that is accurate, it is clear from his poetic discourse strategies and borrowed themes and diction that Solon has developed his poem in conversation with the literary tradition that the Erga represents. But there is a major departure in the verses of Solon from the model I am developing of paraenesis in that he has no addressee. 108 The overriding impression is, therefore, less of instruction than of philosophical or ethical discourse. By introducing fr. 13 as “Solons Elegie ,” Wilamowitz reads this as a self-directed advisory poem rather than as general introspection.109 In this he is in agreement with Else’s contention that the “personal note [of elegy] was kept within limits,” 110 but this seems like special pleading. Solon’s project would be better understood as a radical development from paraenetic elegy than as a set of paraenetic poems addressed to the poet himself. The poet begins with the questions raised by Hesiod, and instead of instructing his audience to follow a particular course of action, he ruminates over different aspects of the problems in a philosophical manner.

2.3.2. Theognis

107

Masaracchia 1956.

108

With the exception of the poet Mimnermus, , in fr. 20.3.

109

Wilamowitz 1913, 257.

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Theognis was an elegiac poet active in Megara 111 in the mid-sixth century. His own words make him an aristocrat living in a time of political turmoil. His poetic corpus, the only one of the archaic period after Homer and Hesiod to maintain a continuous manuscript tradition, is a collection of anonymous works theoretically attached to a core of Theognis’ own material. It is difficult, when not impossible, to account for which lines are original, which lines are by other identifiable archaic poets, and which lines are much later interpolations. This study will not attempt to maintain a discussion of the “real Theognis”, but will rather discuss the elements of the collection which participate in and modify the features of advisory poetry. This is fairly safe, since the programmatic statements which shape the advisory tone of the collection belong to the first 254 lines, generally considered to be by Theognis of Megara. 112 The Theognidean corpus provides an excellent model of an advisory work both addressed to an individual (27-28) and intended for wider circulation (239-250). Edmunds’s discussion of the genre of the Theognidean corpus provides insights easily recognizable as analogous to the Alcaic corpus: a marginal political figure offers opinions—political, moral, social—to a named addressee.113 The Suda tells us that Theognis wrote 2800 lines of ,

110

Else 1965, 40.

111

He is usually placed in mainland Megara; but Plato, in Laws 680A, puts Theognis in Sicilian Megara, and there is not enough evidence to rule this out entirely.

112

See the excellent discussions of the composition of the collection in West 1974, 40-64 and Bowie 1997, 53-66. I agree with the consensus primarily because lines 237-254 seem to provide an epilogue to the frame begun in lines 19-26. 113

Edmunds 1985, 96-111.

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and also a separate  for his beloved Kyrnos. It is difficult to reconcile these two supposed works with the collection we have, fewer than 1400 lines of elegies that may be read partly as collected maxims. 114 We have only confusion as to the nature of a “gnomology.” Plutarch uses the term to refer to collections of maxims.115 Plato uses it to refer to the sententious style of a contemporary figure named Polos. 116 Aristotle uses the term to refer to a theory of maxim usage. 117 None of these seem to fit what in the Suda sounds like it should mean “a coherent work of proverbial intent.” That this is the work addressed to Kyrnos suggests an educative poem, or a collection of small instructional poems. It is unclear whether this instructional poem or collection should be equated with what we have in the manuscripts of Theognis. Theognis begins (after 18 lines of the manuscripts containing three disjointed invocations to Apollo, Artemis, and the Muses and Graces) with an address to Kyrnos. The poet makes it clear that the speaker is an older man, addressing a child:  , “what I learned while still a child” (28) suggests the speaker is not young; while , “and one day you will say” (37) and , “and one day you will remember me” (100) both suggest that Kyrnos is at an early stage in life. The poet describes his work’s instructional intent with a programmatic statement in lines 27-28: 

114

See Carrière 1948, 86, for a discussion of this confusing Suda entry.

115

Plutarch, Cato Maior 2 and Fabius Maximus 1. So also Polybius 12.28.10 and Dionysius of Halicarnassus, de Demosthene 46. 116

Phaedrus 267c

117

Rhetoric 2.21.1

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  With kindly intent I shall advise you, Kyrnos, just as I myself learned from noble men while I was a child. The vocabulary of instruction is fairly explicit:  and  outline the educative process. But the clearest indication of the work’s instructional purpose for the Greek audience would be found in the next two lines:     Be sensible and do not take honors, reputation, or wealth through shameful and unjust acts. The poet here states in two lines what is perhaps the major advice of Hesiod’s Erga. Verbal reminiscences between the two texts, such as the dragging off of justice at Erga 220: , or the description of a wise man at Erga 731: , reinforce the connection to a shared vocabulary of wisdom. This message therefore functions for us as a reflection on the prototype of Greek wisdom literature, 118 which focuses attention on the similarity of features in Theognis to instructional topoi in the Erga. The audience would immediately make the connection and form generic expectations for the rest of the work. The combination of programmatic statement in lines 27-28 and prototype reminiscence in 29-30 strongly suggest that the poet was aiming to align his verses with the tradition reflected in Hesiod. Theognis’ next major allusion to Hesiod is in line 40. He predicts the coming of a , “a corrector of wicked hubris,” reminiscent of the

118

See discussion above and Paltridge 1995, 394-395.

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crooked judgments of Hesiod’s basileis in Erga 263-264. Theognis’ formulation is similar to Solon’s , 119 and notes a manifestation of the justice to come similar to those found in Hesiod and the Near Eastern wisdom literature. It is unclear whether Theognis means that the advent of this “corrector” is a divine punishment or the natural consequence of such civic behavior. Theognis’ value system is evident in his discussions of the , presumably members of the aristocracy of Megara. In lines 53-68 the poet warns Kyrnos to avoid associating with those formerly  who are now . He argues that the original noblemen were trustworthy (69-72) and loyal (111-112), but that the new citizens are deceitful (59-60), disloyal (103-104), and greedy (109). There is little to justify these claims. Throughout the corpus, the poet(s) use  simply as a shorthand to represent all of these bad traits. For Theognis, as Edmunds argues, the instructional value of poetry is a corollary of poetic . 120 Anhalt interprets sophia with reference to lines 667-682, suggesting that the poet’s skill is in disguising his words so that only the  will understand, 121 but Theognis seems here rather to be criticizing the  for lack of understanding skillful poetry rather than praising his own skill in deceiving them. 122 Theognis uses one of the specialized features of wisdom literature described by

119

Solon 36.19

120

Edmunds 1985, 100-106.

121

Anhalt 1993, 20-21.

122

Cf. Edmunds 1985, 106.

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Lardinois in his paroemiological analysis, that of the ownership statement. 123 In lines 1923, Theognis claims a sort of intellectual copyright to the material in his poetic corpus:      “ ”  Kyrnos, let a seal be placed on these verses for me, a wise man. No one will get away with stealing them or changing worse for the good that is here. Everyone will say, “These are the words of Theognis of Megara, famous throughout the world.” He threatens any who would attempt to alter his words or claim them as their own. The irony is that the Theognidean corpus itself is an object lesson in the difficulty of maintaining control over a text in the archaic period.124

2.4. The Martial Poets: Callinus and Tyrtaeus

Callinus is credited with the invention of elegiac verse, most likely due to his antiquity. Clement of Alexandria and Strabo both refer to the argument that Callinus predates Archilochus in that he depicts the Magnesians as still prosperous in his time, 125 while

123

Lardinois 1997, 220. See my Chapter 1 for a discussion of statements of the ownership of wisdom.

124

Nagy 1985, 33 even argues that the name Theognis does not refer to a historical person but to a stock character authority figure. Edmunds 1997, 46 concludes that the poet Theognis might be “a mirage.” His study examines the Theognidean corpus as a sympotic handbook containing a large gnomology intended to provide material for sympotic poets or as a gnomologic collection containing instructions for sympotic poets. 125

Strabo 14.1.40 and Clement of Alexandria 1.131.7-8 argue for Callinus’ priority because he mentions Magnesian prosperity while Archilochus 20 alludes to the Cimmerian sack of Magnesia, but Athenaeus 12.525c cites both poets as mentioning the destruction.

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Archilochus writes after their downfall. 126 The elegiac poetry of Callinus and Tyrtaeus is predominantly martial. In this, it is to be expected that there would be many exhortations to the fighting men. In what way does this type of discourse relate to the instructional or paraenetic discourse we are discussing? Else considers it typical of Ionian elegy to find persuasion as its predominant aim. 127 Persuading soldiers to stand and fight is not quite the same as persuading Perses to pursue a life of honest labor, but we see several of the same instructional features. Tyrtaeus uses a wide array of command syntax, such as a first person plural subjunctive at 10.13, a string of second person plural imperatives in 10.15-10.20, and a third person singular imperative in 10.31. This is an unusual amount of variety, in contrast to Hesiodic usage. Hesiod resists engaging in variation of person and mood. He is consistent in addressing Perses directly in the second person singular imperative, even when, as in Erga 618-694, the advice is meant not for Perses but for those who would pursue sea-faring. 128 This is much like we saw in the Egyptian Instructions of Ptahhotep, in which the second person singular addressee was sometimes wealthy, sometimes poor, sometimes a ruler, and sometimes a lowly man, but always addressed as “you”. These martial poets are more characterized by exhortation than advice. This use of elegiac poetry is in line with Else’s formulation of Ionian elegy. The poets have instruction for the young, and they deliver it with many imperatives and warnings of the shame that will attach to those dismissing their words. This is not exactly paraenesis, but

126

Archilochus 20.

127

Else 1965, 39-40.

128

See argument above. On the narrator’s anti-seafaring intentions for Perses, see Clay 2003, 31-32. West 1978, 313 contends that this section is not at odds with the instructions for Perses.

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it shares several features. The formula has been pared down to a minimal structure of a singular address and a list of precepts. This is all that is necessary to martial exhortation, since the “advice” does not need an elaborate strategy to sell it. Civic duty has been ingrained in each military-age male since birth through the actions of non-poetic social discourse, as well as the themes of epic poetry. The martial poets need make no claim to special authority since they are repeating what every citizen has heard before from figures of real authority. Yet they do not address their exhortations from an equal standing. They do not speak of what “we” must do. There is still the authority of an experienced elder speaking to the young soldiers, 129 an instructional strategy in line with traditional paraenesis. Yet Tyrtaeus employs some distinctive rhetorical strategies. Tarkow 1983 cites his lack of elaborate argumentation: Tyrtaeus is not someone who poses questions, or who tests alternative solutions and sincerely or even rhetorically investigates a range of possibilities available to the men of Sparta. In fact no single question is to be found in the entire corpus of fragments attributed to him. This lack of questions seems to differentiate Tyrtaeus’ poetry from other military, elegiac distich poetry or even from the political elegies of Solon.130 One scholar has linked this strategy to the generation of emotional co-involvement between the author and the audience.131 Tyrtaeus is not presenting and justifying a certain ethic132 so much as reinforcing an ethic already shared within his societal group.

129

In the case of Callinus, I have some doubts as to whether he was an experienced soldier. His repugnant image of throwing one final javelin as you fall dying (fragment 1.5), while poetically powerful, displays the naïveté of one who has not seen soldiers dying. 130

Tarkow 1983, 66.

131

Noussia 2008.

132

As criticized by Fränkel 1957, 157, Shey 1976: 16, and Adkins 1985, 92.

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The instructional mode of Tyrtaeus is evident as well in his Nachleben. We know from several sources that his poems lived on to be used in the education of young Spartan men:  , “For he composed elegies for them and left them so that, hearing them, they are educated in bravery.” 133

2.5. Iambic “advice” in Archilochus and Semonides

I have focused on archaic elegy because of its frequent participation in the strategies of paraenetic discourse, but there are a few species worth noting in archaic iambic poetry as well. Irwin summarizes the importance of iambic poetry for questions of the nature of the instructional tradition: “It must be noted, although it is quite possibly an accident of transmission, that prior to Solon, the poetry with the greatest affinity to the Works and Days does not seem to have been in elegy, but in iambic and epodic metres.”134 Archilochus is, with the possible exception of Callinus, 135 the first extant poet after Hesiod. He composed in a variety of meters, but predominantly in iambics. Archilochus frequently offers advice. The question is how we should understand the relationship of his advisory poems to paraenetic style. His personal poems of advice are not metrically distinct from his non-advisory poems, 136 and in fact beyond thematic

133

Lycurgus, In Leocratem 106. See also Athenaeus 14.630f.

134

Irwin 2005, 157, n. 7. She proceeds to discuss Archilochus 177 and Semonides 6 and 7.

135

See above, Ch. 2.4.

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similarities, 137 there is little evidence to motivate the description of a paraenetic collection within Archilochus’ corpus. This little evidence includes his mode of address, a gnomic tendency, and the use of animal fables. From Semonides, on the other hand, one lengthy ainos has survived, but it lacks much of the paraenetic framework we see in the Erga and in the advisory passages of Archilochus. I include this poem because of the relevance of fables to the instructional tradition, but I shall argue that Semonides has made a satire of instruction.

2.5.1. Paraenetic Address in Archilochus

Archilochus’ advice is often addressed to an individual, as in fragment 13, addressed in line 1 to an unknown Pericles. In lines 5-7 there is a discourse on the prevalence of bad fortune for all men and the perseverance necessary to bear it:      But, my friend, the gods have established mighty endurance as a cure for incurable woes. This woe comes to different men at different times; now it has turned toward us The fragment as a whole addresses this trope to a specific instance of bad fortune causing grief for many. The poet (or character narrator) advises his friend to put aside his grief and get on with life. The situation is personal, and the address is from equal to equal. The meter used is elegiac, but this is clearly unlike what we see elsewhere in the elegiac

136

Dover 1964, 185-189, demonstrates that for Archilochus there was no generic difference between the iambic and elegiac meters. His elegiac poems display the same generic characteristics as his iambics and will be treated in this survey as their equivalent.

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tradition, which gives advice to one further removed in status. We shall see a similar equal-to-equal posture in lyric paraenesis, where the content will be similarly personal and intimate in nature. Fragment 128 expresses the wisdom of moderation, as in Erga 40-41 and 694, but addresses this advice to the speaker’s own . 138 This is an extreme example of the intimate nature of Archilochus’ address. Rather than even a private conversation with a friend, as in fragment 13, we have here represented the narrator’s own inner thoughts in dealing with grief. And these thoughts are phrased in the format of paraenesis. We can connect this introspective invention139 to developments in paraenesis in later poets. 140

2.5.2. Gnomic Statements in Archilochus

Archilochus employs gnomai in several ways, including individual paroemiac lines, statements of personal ethics, and paraenetic addresses. 141 The grammarian Hephaestion connects Archilochus with the invention of the paroemiac, 142 a metrical line originally connected with gnomic statements. Calvert Watkins has demonstrated the Indo137

See below about fragment 5 and the lesson it imparts in the absence of any paraenetic genre features.

138

Aristotle Pol. 7.7.1328a1 tells us that fragment 129 as well was addressed to the poet’s :  because you are being strangled by your friends.

The use of  in these fragments is not wholly unhomeric. Homeric heroes do not address their , but Odysseus addresses his heart in Od. 20.18: . He is instructing it to endure until he gets an opportunity for redress. See Rose 1979, 226 for more on this phenomenon. 139

We see paraenetic address to the poet’s  in Theognis 213, 695, 877, 1029, and 1070a. Ibycus addresses his thumos, apparently wistfully, in 317b:  .  141 Lardinois 1995, 309-310 catalogues 19 uses of gnomai in the extant fragments of Archilochus. 140

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European origin of this meter, 143 and connects it with gnomic statements in the Erga such as in line 694:   Proportion is best in all things Nagy, too, makes note of the paroemiac meter’s connection with gnomic statements in the Erga, 144 as in line 352:   Base profit is as bad as ruin. Theophilus of Antioch cites Archilochus as a gnomic writer. He introduces fragment 126 with the following: Now it happened that some of the poets too expressed these things as (so to speak) oracles for themselves and as testimony against those whose actions are unjust, saying that they will be punished....Similarly also Archilochus: “One great thing I know, to repay with dire evils him who does me harm.”145 The verse expresses a more personal version of the general precepts expressed by the other authors Theophilus cites. 146 It echoes the sentiments of Hesiod at Erga 709-711:

142

Hephaestion, Handbook 8.7.

143

Watkins 1963, 199-201.

144

Nagy 1971, 731.

145

Grant 1970, 93-94 (his translation). Fr. 126 reads:      

  146

Aeschylus, fr. 456: “He who causes suffering must also suffer.” Pindar, Nem. 4.51-52: “For he who does something should also suffer.” Euripides, fr. 1090-1091: “Suffer patiently, for you were glad to act. It is lawful to mistreat an enemy when you have caught him.” Euripides, fr. 1092: “I think it is a man’s part to treat enemies badly.” Theophilus is discussing divine punishment, which may be appropriate to the Aeschylus and Sophocles citations, but is inappropriate to the passages from Archilochus and Euripides. It is in reference to divine punishment that Theophilus speaks of testimony:  , “as testimony against those who do injustice.” This witnessing presupposes the participation of a judge who is not the wronged party.

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        But if he wrongs you first, saying a disagreeable word or action, remember to repay him double. It is striking how Theophilus describes these poetic statements about justice,  , “as if saying learned things to themselves.” The substantive adjective is ambiguous here. Theophilus may indeed mean oracles, or may be referring simply to wise words or pronouncements. By either definition, by using  rather than  he is characterizing the gnomic statements as the utterances of a source of wisdom. Several of Archilochus’ elegiac fragments display a concise gnomicity set in a paraenetic frame of address. Fragment 16 is addressed to a Pericles who may be the addressee of fragments 13 and 124a:   Fortune and destiny give all things to a man, Pericles.147 Fragment 15 is addressed to a certain Glaucus, perhaps the one mentioned in the Sosthenes inscription:148   Glaucus, an ally is only a friend while he fights. Fragment 14 is addressed to an otherwise unknown Aesimides:

Mankin 1989, 137, n. 18, reads this as meaning that  and  are the same thing: “What is chance from a human perspective is fate from a divine one.” I would suggest that perhaps Archilochus does not see  as random, and is here describing two forces outside human (and divine) control. Cf. Treu 1959, 192, f. 147

148

An inscription from an Archilocheion on Paros, IG XII 5 n. 445 col. IVa, line 6, cited by West in IEG2 as the testimonium for fragment 96.

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    Aesimides, no one would experience many delights while concerned about public censure. These three fragments indicate a generalizing gnomic tendency in their author. They do not contain imperatives prescribing a certain behavior, nor negative precepts forbidding behaviors. We cannot conclude from this that the poems represented were not paraenetic, as these features may have been lost with the rest of each poem. In fact, the subject matter would suggest that the poet will in each case draw a conclusion from the gnomai. 149 Archilochus has several fragments that present ethical lessons with neither gnomic succinctness nor the framework of paraenesis. Fragment 5, describing the poet’s loss of his shield in battle, presents a moral objection to the importance placed on objects in the determination of honor. Fragment 114, describing the poet’s ideal general as a short and unattractive man, rejects the Homeric value system which equates external features with inner character.150 Fragment 19, expressing contempt for gold and power, rejects the things most commonly valued by men. Only this last poem is given a context for us. Aristotle tells us that Archilochus put these words:    

149

For example, fragment 14 would have been followed by a command that Aesimides not pay heed to public opinion. Or the gnome may be a generalizing statement about preceding instructions. 150

Russo 1974, 149 rightly points out that fragment 114 does not necessarily express antihomeric preferences. He argues that the descriptions can be compared to the characters of Thersites in the Iliad and Eurybates in the Odyssey. I have argued elsewhere, however, that the poem contains a metaphoric rejection of Homeric poetics [article under review].

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 The possessions of Gyges do not concern me, nor does jealousy seize me, nor do I envy the deeds of gods, and I do not desire tyranny; for it is far from my eyes. in the mouth of a carpenter named Charon. Perhaps this should not be read, with Aristotle, as an example of a wise pronouncement put into a character’s mouth so as to avoid longwindedness, 151 but as an amusing statement about what the poor tend to say about things they cannot have. All three of these fragments seem intended to teach, but they do so in a less overt way than those poems like fragment 13 cast in the traditional framework of paraenesis. Archilochus’ use of animal fables is similarly subtle.

2.5.3. Archilochean ainos

We saw the use of animal fables as a feature of the Near Eastern instructional tradition going back as far as 2500 BCE, and as a feature of the Greek tradition in Hesiod. Several fragments and testimonia of Archilochus give us an impression of a body of ainos fables much more developed than the story of the hawk and the nightingale in Hesiod’s Erga 202-212. 152 Archilochus’ fragments 172-181 belong to a fable about a fox and an eagle, which begins:     

Aristotle, Rhetoric 3.17.1418b28:  , “since to say some things about oneself results in jealousy or longwindedness or controversy...it is right to make another man the speaker.” 151

152

Adrados 1979, 44, ff., discusses the fragmentary fables of Archilochus in relation to earlier and later fable material. Cf. West 1969, 118.

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 There is a fable among men as follows, that a fox and an eagle entered into friendship. Herennius Philo, a grammarian and historian from Byblos in the first to second century AD,

introduces this fragment into a discussion of the difference between ainos and

paroimia. 153 He continues, citing Archilochus’ fable of the fox and the monkey, partially preserved in fragments 185-187. He concludes his discussion of the genre with the following definition of ainos:     A fable is a mythical story delivered by dumb animals or plants as advice to humans, as Lucillius of Tarrha says in his first book On Proverbs. 154 This definition, borrowed from a lost work on proverbs, attributes an advisory purpose to animal fables. It is natural that ainos would be discussed in a work on proverbs, since the fable is itself a vehicle for the maxim at its conclusion. The Roman Emperor Julian, writing in the fourth century CE, distinguishes between ainos and myth: sc.     Fable differs from myth in that it is written not for children but for men and contains not only entertainment but also advice. 155 In pointing out that fables are written for adults, Julian here recognizes the traditional strategies of paraenetic discourse: literature addressed to children or social inferiors but

153

Archilochus 174.

154

Herennius Philo, de diversis verborum significationibus.

155

Julian, Orations 7.207a.

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actually intended for a general audience of adults. It is not this type of fully developed fable that we see in Archilochus 201:   The fox knows many tricks, the hedgehog one big one. In this fragment we see animals used as examples in a simple gnomic statement, rather than in an extended narrative fable, although this may represent the epimythium of a lost fable. Archilochus seems, here and in his fuller development of fables, to be creating his own idiom, in which he cages his educative material in vehicles less explicitly instructional. In the introduction to the fox and eagle fable, he removes the address to an individual and relinquishes his own authorial voice. This introduction of the story as , “a tale among men”, is perhaps a step back from Hesiod’s authorial , “Now I shall tell a tale to the basileis.” 156 The available evidence suggests that Archilochus removes ainos from the paraenetic tradition and gives it a place of its own with conventions comparable to those of the collection of Aesop’s fables. Julian hypothesizes a strategic motive, similar to that claimed by Lucretius in his choice of verse for De Rerum Natura: 157 ’     Archilochus not infrequently uses myth, sprinkling it in his poetry like a sweetener, probably seeing that his subject matter was in need of this sort

156

Archilochus 174.1, Hesiod, Erga 202.

157

DRN 1.921-950 and 4.1-25.

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of entertainment value.158 The poet thus expresses some of his instructional material in an entertaining format, making it easily understood, yet disguising its educative purpose.

2.5.4. ainos in Semonides

Fragment 7 of Semonides is an extended discussion of the basic concept related by Hesiod in Erga 702-703:    For a man gets nothing better than a good wife, and nothing worse than a bad one. Semonides himself is credited with a succinct statement in iambics of this gnome in fragment 6:    A man gets no better possession than a good wife, nor worse than a bad one. 159 But in fragment 7 we see a lengthy discussion of the several types of wife a man can get. It is arranged in a meager mythological frame, in which Zeus fashions each type of wife from a different starting material: a pig, a fox, a dog, mud, the sea, an ass, a weasel, a horse, an ape, and a bee. This seems to be derived from ainos, but lacks most of the

Julian, Orations 7.207b.  is a difficult word to render here. It may simply indicate the entertainment value necessary to make lessons more palatable, or it may refer to the instructional or persuasive nature of simple fable lessons. 158

159

Irwin 2005, 156-157 accepts that such material demonstrates “allusions to Hesiod.”

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distinguishing features of the ainos genre: there is no plot, no dialogue, and no summarizing gnomic conclusion. The lesson is clear, but is not expressed in an address or an imperative. The misogyny of this diatribe reflects an observation common in the instructional tradition. 160 Hesiod expresses warnings about deceitful women and bad wives in Erga 373-375 and 695-705, as well as Theogony 585-612. The differences between these two poems are evident in their treatment of this theme. The Erga passages are instructive, containing the advice that one should be careful when choosing a wife, while the Theogony passage simply lists the problems associated with marriage, linking man’s suffering to the actions of the gods, and despairing of any hope in dealing with women. Although lacking any paraenetic address, Semonides expresses in these two fragments a warning that is common to the instructional tradition. Yet his goal does not seem merely to be instruction. He has adapted the instructional mode of ainos to produce a humorous satire.

2.6. Conclusions

The archaic period sees many developments in and modifications of instructional poetry. Hesiod’s Erga stands as the prototype for Greek instruction, the features of which include: (1) an address from a superior to an inferior, where superiority can be determined several ways: divinity, rule, age, or reputation, (2) an addressee characterized

160

In addition to several Sumerian and Babylonian examples, I found these lines among the sayings of the legendary Irish king Flann Fína: 5.20, “A good wife is the beginning of fortune,” and 5.21, “A bad wife is the beginning of misfortune” (Ireland 1999, 79). This could indicate that these observations are simple enough to be coincidental or that they belong to a shared Indo-European culture.

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by youth and/or ignorance, (3) appeal to a source of authority, such as divine retribution, a reputation for wisdom, nobility, or the threat of shame, (4) the use of ainos, and (5) a tendency toward gnomic statements of the sort characterized by Aristotle as  in Rhetoric 2.21.9. 161 Elegiac instruction includes many of these features, and develops its own separate types, such as the ethical-philosophical ruminations of Solon and the exhortations of the martial poets. Archilochus develops a more personal mode than that of the elegists. He addresses advice on sensitive emotional issues to a seemingly socially equal recipient. But even this personal mode is set within traditional parameters developed from the instructional tradition, such as the requirement of an addressee and a tendency toward gnomic statements. Chapter 3 will explore how Alcaeus employs these traditional features in lyric verse as the vehicle for a different type of advice.

161

I have not listed these gnomai exhaustively, as Lardinois 1995, 298-353 gives just such a list, including such maxims as “a fool learns after suffering,” , Erga 218, and “a man makes ill for himself who makes ill for another, and the wicked plan is most wicked for its planner,”  ʼ , Erga 255-256.

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CHAPTER 3 ALCAEUS AND THE WISDOM TRADITION

3.1. Introduction

This chapter will identify the features of paraenesis that are exhibited in the fragments of Alcaeus and explore the implications of the poet’s participation in this tradition. It will then discuss the nature of Alcaeus’ paraenetic discourse as it incorporates several major themes evident in his poetry. I shall begin by providing some background and discussing what scholars have said about Alcaeus’ social and political context, as well as analyzing what testimonia we can trust to influence our readings of the poetry. Alcaeus is usually dated with respect to the Mytilenean political activities of Pittacus (ca. 600 BCE), who is mentioned directly or indirectly in many of his fragments. He seems to have been a member of the aristocratic class losing power to the popular tyrants. Alcaeus’ faction assisted Pittacus (or vice versa) in deposing the tyrant Melanchrus. 1 Myrsilus then came to power with the help of Pittacus. 2 Alcaeus directs many venomous poems against his former ally. 3 His attitude in these poems is hostile but

1

Diogenes Laertius 1.74. Fragment 75 may refer to this campaign. It is usually taken to indicate that Alcaeus himself was too young to participate (as in Podlecki 1984, 63). 2

Podlecki 1984, 64-67.

3

For example, fragments 70, 72, 129, 348, and the collected insults of testimonium 429.

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impotent. His context resembles that of Solon, but Alcaeus is the voice of the losing faction, which gives us an unusual opportunity to understand the politics of the period from the perspective of the disenfranchised. 4 Pittacus was one of the noted Seven Sages, so Alcaeus’ interactions with him provide for us a dialogue, however lacunose, between two contenders for the status of  in the political arena.5 Nightingale depicts the archaic poets as competing for symbolic capital. 6 In performing demonstrations of sage-like wisdom they codify their paraenetic material and transmit it to an audience whose recognition they seek. This takes the contest outside the political arena. Sage-status was achieved not simply by bettering one’s political opponents, but also through performances of wisdom in any number of other contexts. The extent to which Alcaeus can be seen generating maxims addressing sundry modes of daily life shows that he is thereby engaged in seeking the designation of  “coiner of wisdom,” not just within the context of factional rivalry in Mytilene, but throughout the context of the cultural traditions of the Greek-speaking world. We know that he achieved a fair amount of celebrity for his wisdom in antiquity—Aelius Aristides tells us of at least one Alcaic gnome, fragment 426, discussed below (section 3.4), often borrowed by later writers7—and his advice survives, somewhat attenuated, through the lyric verses of Horace. 8

4

Kurke 1994 discusses the implications of this anomalous historical voice.

5

The only “conversation” we hear of is the interaction reported in Diogenes Laertius 1.76, which credits Pittacus with mercy, as he sets Alcaeus free and declares forgiveness to be superior to vengeance. 6

Nightingale 2000, 157, mentioned above, Ch. 1.4.

7

Aelius Aristides, Or. 46.207.

8

As will be discussed in Chapter 4.

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This formulation of Alcaeus and Pittacus as competitors in the civic arena for the status of sage does not necessarily require that Alcaeus address the city as a whole, so the question of his audience must be addressed 9 in order to untangle the issues of paraenetic posture and tone underlying his direct addresses to Pittacus. 10

3.2. Lyric Poetry and Genre

In order to describe Alcaeus’ lyric paraenetic project, it is first necessary to understand how lyric poetry differs from elegy and epic. This is no easy task, as Budelmann presents the difficulties: Greek lyric varies in almost every respect: subject matter, purpose, length, metre, dialect, tone, geography, period, number and kind of performer(s), mode of performance and musical accompaniment, audience, venue (sanctuaries, streets, convivial settings, homes, etc.). Because of this variety it is difficult to draw a clear line and say what is not lyric. 11 Most modern theories of ancient lyric poetry begin not with the original principles of composition employed by lyric poets, but with the principles on which the Alexandrian critics based their classifications, such as meter, dialect, and assumptions about performance context. This anachronistic approach does not necessarily help us understand how Alcaeus saw his role as poet or how the literary context surrounding him influenced his content. A few studies have attempted to uncover the original principles

9

See below, Ch. 3.3.

10

Too little remains of the poet’s other citations of the Seven Sages for us to draw much of a conclusion about the social status or contemporary fame of these men. In fragment 360 he quotes Aristodemus on the importance of wealth (discussed below), and in fragment 448 we are told that he mentions Thales in a song for a Lesbian festival. 11

Budelmann 2009, 6.

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of composition as well as the environmental conditions guiding poetic composition. Harvey identifies the difference in the terms used originally by the poets and distinguishes them from those employed later by the Alexandrian editors. 12 Michalowska analyzes Plato’s division of poetry into “imitative”, “simple narrative”, and “mixed narrative” found in Republic 3:    They proceed either by simple narrative, or narrative brought about through imitation, or through both 13 The first of these is Plato’s conception of lyric poetry as presented simply rather than accomplished through the imitation of characters. This conception not only is practically insufficient but is indeed misleading in that several surviving lyric fragments are presented as delivered in character.14 Michalowska, therefore, distinguishes between the notion of lyrics and generic classification. She suggests, “lyrics was not a ‘genre’ nor a ‘species,’ but a particular category involving a multitude of species”. 15 This conception of lyric is crucial to my understanding of lyric paraenesis as a coherent category of discourse within the category of lyric poetry.

Harvey 1955 discusses  and . One major problem with Harvey’s analysis is his assumption that the Alexandrians distinguished the genres and used titles in a consistent way and that other scholars did the same after the Alexandrians. 12

13

Plato, Republic 392d.

14

Alcaeus 10, in a female narrative voice; Sappho 137, involving two speakers; and perhaps Sappho 140 demonstrate this type in lyric, as does Archilochus’ character of Charon the carpenter in iambic. 15

Michalowska 1972, 68. This distinction is not stated very clearly, but it is useful in recognizing that there are extrageneric categories of literature that can include some members of a genre and not others. Lament is one such category, as discussed by Alexiou 1974, describing some passages of Homeric discourse.

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The major features of lyric poetry, as I define it, are an association with music (especially the lyre), a set of distinctive (yet related) metrical schemes, 16 a set of occasions of performance requiring distinctive patterns of content, and an emotional function. Stabryla characterizes this emotional aspect: According to Plato, the emotions involved were plaintive, joyous, endearing, convivial, courageous, or tranquil (Prot. 326, Republic IV, Laws 812). Emotions were ever-present in lyrical verse, so that the speaker did not disappear behind the characters of the lyric, as he would have done in epic. 17 This emotional function is really what holds together the notion of lyric poetry and keeps it from splintering into the various lyric subtypes. It is the emotional function that will distinguish lyric wisdom from instructional works like the Erga, and will account for the idiosyncrasies of lyric paraenesis. Archaic elegiac poetry lacks—as Else suggested in his discussion of its impersonal nature 18—this emotional function, in that its primary aim is not to present the speaker’s emotion. I shall demonstrate that lyric advice differs in this way from elegiac paraenesis even when treating the same themes. Fowler discusses the phenomenon of Kreuzung, or cross-breeding of genres, with reference to Kroll’s 1924 formulation of the intentional mixing of generic types. 19 While this had for long been considered appropriate only to the academic poetics of the

16

I am here referring to the Aeolic meters, not to elegy or iambos. The latter two are included in the broad use of the term lyric, but I shall use this term only in its narrow sense (Budelmann 2009, 2 distinguishes between the “narrow” and “comprehensive” senses of the term “Greek lyric”). 17

Stabryla 2000, 43; but note the erroneous Republic reference. This discussion can be found in Republic 3.398-399. 18

See Chapter 2 and Else 1965, 40. Else is not arguing that elegiac poetry lacks an emotional aspect, but that the lyric voice presents the speaker’s own emotion in a way that extant elegy does not. 19

Fowler 2000, 205-219.

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Alexandrian age and beyond, 20 the self-conscious crossing of generic boundaries is now ascribed to the archaic poets. 21 Fowler feels that this phenomenon can best be recognized and understood not by examining the “primary elements” of didactic literature,22 but by focusing on secondary elements, features found in didactic texts but not determinative of a didactic nature: When Anchises in Aeneid 6 (724 ff.) answers Aeneas’s question as to whether the souls in Hades have to return to the light, we do in fact have a teacher, a pupil, and a body of learning, but it is the secondary elements (along with specific intertextualities) that more strongly signal the contamination of epic narrative by didactic discourse. 23 Investigation of these “secondary elements” will prove useful as well in examining lyric wisdom as a genre-Kreuzung between lyric and didactic conventions. The most significant secondary element of the production of archaic lyric poetry is unfortunately the most difficult to define: the context of performance. Taking Hesiod’s Erga as the prototype of Greek wisdom literature, we can examine how subsequent literary models express paraenetic intent through a similar tone of address. The relationship between the narratorial voice and its audience determines and is determined by the principles of generic composition. In order to understand the paraenetic mode of Alcaeus we must identify his audiences.

20

See, for example, Rossi 1971 and Fantuzzi 1980.

21

Depew’s excellent 1992 discussion faults Kroll’s Kreuzung model for buying into the Alexandrian notion of “boundaries” to be “crossed”, depending to some extent on Davis’s 1991 definition of genre as a rhetorical strategy. She describes Alexandrian genre mixing as an imitative process, not of generic elements but of modes of address, with a genus mixtum species relying on an understanding of the performative context of the original species. Carey 2009, 21-24 warns against any taxonomic definitions of archaic genres. 22

The terminology is borrowed from F. Cairns 1972, 6.

23

Fowler 2000, 206.

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3.3. Alcaeus’ audiences

Current scholarship attaches great critical importance to the performance context of the archaic lyric poets. 24 The question of genre is inseparable from the question of the context of performance although paraenesis is, fundamentally, a public genre, regardless of the different instances of initial performance. There is some rather simple conjecture with which one may approach the question of Alcaeus’ audience. Assumptions based on 5th and 4th century Athenian practices depict exclusively male symposia with entertainment provided by prostitutes and the amateur poetic offerings of the guests. 25 The baffling question is: How, then, did it get to us? The amateur status of the performers and the ad hoc immediacy of this sympotic construct make the eventual transmission of archaic poetry difficult to explain. 26 Nonetheless, most recent scholarship on archaic poetry has assumed a limit on not only Alcaeus’ circulation, but his intended circulation. Rösler set the stage by arguing not only that Alcaeus composed only for an audience limited to his adult male political allies, but also that no wider audience was conceivable for him.27 Nagy modifies Rösler’s

24

Good general studies of Greek lyric and its performance contexts include Gentili 1988, Nagy 1990b and 1996, MacLachlan 1997, and Yatromanolakis 2009. 25

Kurke 2000 provides a good example of the scholarly consensus regarding this context. Slater 1979 advises skeptical caution with regard to this model. 26

Hubbard 2004 raises similar questions about the epinicians of Pindar. I am not here addressing the evidence in Pindar or his contemporaries, Simonides and Bacchylides, as much more is known about the performance of poetry in that era than in the Lesbos of Alcaeus. 27

Rösler 1980. Rösler’s hypothesis emends away the scholastic evidence that at least one poem, fr. 74, was delivered to the Mytileneans in general. I would add that it ignores the possibility that Alcaeus may have used his poetry as public political propaganda. This would nicely explain the scene of his capture by

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hypothesis by suggesting a tradition of reperformance within Alcaeus’ hetaireia. 28 Nagy insists that a living oral tradition cannot maintain a text, as the content of each song “will change with each composition-in-performance,” for which he cites “the comparative evidence of fieldwork within living oral traditions.” 29 What Nagy leaves out of this comparison is a major idiosyncrasy of the Greek archaic period—that we are no longer dealing with an anonymous oral tradition, but with an oral artistic tradition that values poetic identity. 30 Hesiod attaches a name to the Theogony and uses first-person statements throughout the Erga, and this name is remembered and transmitted with his words because the receiving audience values the poet’s place in the historical record. This preservation of poetic identity is a side effect of the later use of the cultural capital generated by the archaic poets: Hesiod’s ideas are valued and they must be correctly attributed in reperformances in order for performers to cash in on this value. 31 The question of Alcaeus’ participation in the paraenetic tradition cannot be

Pittacus and subsequent release, as told in Diodorus Siculus 9.12.3, Valerius Maximus 4.1 ext. 6, and Diogenes Laertius 1.76. 28

Nagy 2004. He builds on his model of performance in Nagy 1996.

29

Nagy 2004, 29. He cites Lord 1960 and 1991. Lord’s research is not, I would argue, appropriate to study of the Panhellenic oral culture of the 7th/6th centuries, wherein there was a possibility of “copyright” in attaching works to known sources. 30

Cf. Hubbard 2004 as well as Scheub 1985 on African oral traditions. Contemporary comparative fieldwork can elucidate this transmission process as well. One modern school of music education, the Suzuki Method, teaches through transmission of songs by known composers. Although never seen in a written form, they are learned without the introduction of deteriorations or ameliorations. Compare the sort of transmission implied in the story from Stobaeus (Flor. 3.29.58, quoting Aelian) of Solon’s nephew, singing a poem of Sappho over dinner. Solon asks that the boy teach him the song so that he may “learn it and then die.” One expects this learning process (and Solon’s implied concern with the author’s identity) to preserve the original, as opposed to Nagy’s notion that the persona of the poet (the “reenacted I” of Alcaeus) would change over time with the diachronic changes of his society. Textual deterioration is an inevitable fact of textual criticism, but the value attached to known poets’ original words is not a modern invention.

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separated from the question of the poet’s intended audience. I suggest that the poet composed for an immediate audience, the composition of which we cannot be certain about, but that he also intended his work to be known throughout the Greek world and to survive for posterity. Instructional literature must be aimed at just such an audience. 32 Nightingale’s discussion of poetic competition suggests that from Hesiod onward Greek poetry participates in an economy of ideas, trading for reputation as cultural capital. 33 Anonymous poetic tradition gives way to poets who name themselves and attach their identities to their ideas.34 This economy is predicated on a wide reception and the Panhellenic audience necessary for the achievement of celebrity and its attendant cultural capital. The audience which is the source of this celebrity is incompatible with the audience described by Rösler. One might object that Nightingale’s social-economic construct works within a small system as well. Alcaeus may have vied within his own hetaireia with a mute Pittacus. This would result in a symposium in which Alceus, in effect, “preaches to the choir,” complaining about the man in power to a room full of like-minded aristocrats. As uninspiring as this image is, we cannot rule it out. At this point, however, we can consider at least the paraenetic material to be aimed at those outside Alcaeus’ hetaireia. As discussed in Chapter 1, the Near Eastern tradition of

31

On the other hand, Theognis, at lines 19-23, expresses concern that his poetry will be co-opted by another, or that his words will be altered. I read this, however, as a confirmation that Theognis is composing in a system that ascribes credit, or else he wouldn’t be concerned with its receipt. 32

Nightingale 2000. Cf. Raible 1980, West 1978, Martin 1984.

33

Nightingale 2000, 157.

34

Hesiod, Alcman, Alcaeus, Sappho, Hipponax, Theognis, and Phocylides all name themselves in their extant poems and fragments.

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paraenesis betrayed its universality through the inconsistency between the substance of the advice and its narrative frame. As discussed in Chapter 2.2.6, Hesiod’s Erga demonstrates its own targeting of a wider audience than the narrative frame purports to address. Similarly, the topics addressed in the advisory material in Alcaeus’ poetry will prove to be of a wider scope than the concerns of the poet’s political faction. That Alcaeus’ wide range of poetic output has been described only through the lens of his political fame is due in part to misunderstandings of the nature of the Mytilenean aristocracy and in part to misunderstandings of the nature of archaic Greek poetic reception. The scholarly trend limiting Alcaeus’ poetic audience to a tiny group of his like-minded aristocratic equals has evolved from the appropriate recognition of the aristocratic symposium as a major performance context of archaic poetry to the insistence that “the possibility of addressing a wider audience simply did not exist.”35 This fiction of Alcaeus as a single-minded factional propagandist arises from problematic interpretive strategies. These include the far-reaching scholarly debate of the last two decades concerning poetic I-statements and their implications for the performance and the audience of lyric poetry. 36 Gerber recently concludes, “Alcaeus must have sung his verses before a sympotic gathering of like-minded aristocrats.”37 This is likely true of the most scurrilous of Alcaeus’ political poems, but not of his entire body of work. Dionysius of Halicarnassus exaggerates,  35

R.C.T. Parker, CR 31 (1981), 159-162 (review of Rösler 1980).

36

An extensive bibliography of this topic can be found in Gerber 1997, 9, n. 1. More recent discussions include Griffith 2009, Yatromanolakis 2009, and Budelmann 2009 (with relevant bibliography on pp. 1718). 37

Gerber 1997, 4.

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,  Often if one were to remove the meter, he would find political rhetoric.38 Gerber himself says, “The occasion of performance of a lyric poem depended to a considerable degree on the kind of poetry involved.” 39 This is stated backward. We should instead consider the type of poetry influenced, if not fully determined, by the occasion of performance. Alcaeus’ extant fragments display a wide range of poetic types. Some of the political poems seem a bit too offensive to have been performed publicly in open criticism of the dominant regime, 40 and would be more appropriate and clearer in meaning to those of Alcaeus’ faction.41 On the other hand, hymns like fragments 307 to Apollo, 308 to Hermes, 325 to Athena, and 327 on the birth of Eros would be more appropriate to a public event (although a private dedication would be appropriate as well, but there is even then no reason to assume that this type of private event must be limited to Alcaeus’ political faction).42 Himerius tells us that Alcaeus mentioned Thales in a song for a Lesbian public festival (). 43 It is unlikely that fragment 34, , the song to the Dioscuri,

38

Dionysius of Hlicarnassus, On Literary Composition 24.

39

Gerber 1997, 4.

40

For example, in testimonium 429 Diogenes Laertius gives us a collection of insulting epithets he found applied to Pittacus in the poems of Alcaeus. Pittacus is called  in fragments 67, 75, and 348. 41

This conclusion, however, ignores the possibility that Alcaeus composed these poems for public consumption, as a form of propaganda. Their survival proves that they were, at some point, read or recited beyond the limited community of Aeolic nobility. It is beyond the scope of this study to examine the nature of political discourse and the possibility that Alcaeus was engaging in just such a campaign of propaganda, but such a study would be illuminating for our conceptions of the poet’s role in archaic society. 42

See MacLachlan 1997, 138-139 for a discussion of the performance of Alcaeus’ hymns.

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would be the vehicle for a call-to-arms for the nobility of Alcaeus’ circle, yet one critic, insisting that it is, concludes, “With helpers like these, the men of the hetaireia could begin any enterprise with boyish confidence.”44 

3.3.1. The audiences of Hesiod and Alcaeus

There are two major categories of audience considered in analyses of archaic Greek poetry, the author’s immediate performative context and the audience of reperformances and/or the recorded text. Gentili insists that the initial context governs all aspects of poetic production: “This poetry was conceived of as a means to produce an effect— political, social, satirical, or erotic, and so forth—and not to express idiosyncratic states of mind.” 45 This reading of the social role of poetry limits poetic interpretation to the consideration of an arbitrarily small audience. By denying the role of poetry in expressing “idiosyncratic states of mind”, Gentili ignores the archaic poets’ participation in a professional literary context. 46 Observe how Stehle opens her book Performance and Gender in Ancient Greece: “Like love, Greek poetry was not for hereafter but shared in the present mirth and laughter of festival, ceremony, and party. Before the Hellenistic age (and often later),

43

Himerius, Or. 28.2, listed as Alcaeus testimonium 448.

44

Burnett 1983, 130.

45

Gentili 1997, 127.

46

Nagy addresses the concept of “professionalism” in the archaic poets, Nagy 2004, 32, arguing for a professional nature to the sympotic reperformance of the poems of Alcaeus. He notes, “the ambiance of the Alcaeus persona seems distinctly nonprofessional, securely grounded as he is within the represented environment of his hetaireia.” I shall discuss below, in Ch. 3.3.2, the aspects of Alcaeus’ persona which suggest qualities of professionalism.

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poetry was composed for performance.”47 The surviving fragments suggest, rather, that the archaic poets composed with a view to a contemporary and future dissemination of their poetry. Like lovers, Greek poets composing for their festivals, ceremonies, and parties hoped that their efforts would achieve immortality. The Lesbian poets make this clear if we reconcile these two intentions of the poet, the immediate production for a specific context and the expectation of future audience. In addition to the initial performance context and the future readership, we must create a third category of audience: the poet’s conception of the future audience. This audience is conceived by the poets who imagine either Panhellenic fame or future poetic immortality. In fragment 55, Sappho uses the notion of immortality through poetry as a threat to a woman who would not share this immortality. Implicit in this threat is the notion that Sappho expected her poetry to be known throughout the world and long after her death (cf. fragments 65, 147, 193). Homer is the obvious example of this sort of poetic immortality in Sappho’s time, but there were others remembered already in phrases like , “after the Lesbian poet” (Terpander, test. 9 = Suda M 701). Theognis 237-254 summarizes the poet’s gift of poetic immortality to the young Kyrnos. The poet describes how his verse, featuring the boy’s name, will be sung by many people, , all over the Greek world,  , for all time, . Hubbard argues, in the case of Pindar, that this type of appeal to memory and fame demonstrates the poet’s intention to be known to an audience beyond the initial context of

47

Stehle 1997, 3.

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performance. 48 This audience model, conceived by the archaic poets as extending temporally and geographically beyond the bounds of their initial context of performance—the audience envisioned by Sappho in the , “memory of you”, of fragment 55, by Theognis in the , “in the mouths of many”, of line 240—is a necessary construct if we are to understand the poets’ appeals to posterity, and it is a logical deduction if we consider the role undertaken by any poet participating in the tradition of wisdom literature. I am not attempting to describe a universal reader, removed from all considerations of temporal or physical context,49 but rather projecting an ideal audience from the imaginations of authors who tell us they are composing for all time.50 This constructed audience is the ideal addressee of paraenetic literature. The naming of an actual or fictional contemporary addressee is an important paraenetic generic marker, but most of the instructional substance is intended for wider dissemination, as has been demonstrated for Hesiod’s Erga and the older Near Eastern wisdom literature. Past scholarship on Lesbian poetry tended to limit the audience to the members of the poets’ private acquaintance (Sappho’s thiasos, Alcaeus’ hetaireia),51 but

48

Hubbard 2004, 71-73.

49

See Ong 1986, 148-149: “There is no universal listener. There are only individual listeners, real or fictional, but all time-bound.” This does not contradict my concept of the author’s envisioned future audience, which Ong would consider one of many individual fictional listeners. 50

Alcaeus does not make this claim in the extant fragments as explicitly as Sappho and Theognis. This may indicate that, as Rösler 1980 argues and Nagy 2004 agrees, Alcaeus is only concerned with instructing his contemporary political allies within a sympotic context—a thesis that will be explored below, Ch. 3.5. 51

See especially Rösler 1980, Burnett 1983, and more recently the statement of communis opinio in Kurke 2000.

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some have recently suggested that their poetry may have been public. 52 The discussion of paraenetic intent in the verse of Alcaeus must take into account the possibility that his poetry could reach a wider audience. Current techniques used in the criticism of drama will help us to understand how archaic lyric reception could be approached more effectively. Manfred Jahn divides modern theater scholarship into three schools of drama theory. 53 I shall summarize the divisions made by Jahn, then explain how these schools can clarify our position as readers of archaic poetry. The first school, Poetic Drama, finds a dramatic work’s full potential in the text. Poetic Drama argues that close readings of plays bring out all of the elements frequently lost in performance. The performances are fully dependent on the text and can only detract from the text’s potential.54 Proponents of the school of Theater Studies, on the other hand, deny the independent existence of the text, and even claim that drama is not a branch of literature. These scholars note that every performance is a different experience, and the text itself lacks all of the production value which it needs to reach its full potential.55 The third school, Reading Drama, takes both sides while removing the biases of each. Reading Drama allows to the text its authority and scope while acknowledging the power of performance.56 The onus is put upon the reader to “perform” the text, to play director while reading and to bring out all of the

52

For this view see Carey 2009 and Yatromanolakis 2008 and 2009.

53

Jahn 2003, section D1.5.

54

See especially Brooks and Heilman 1945. Jahn mentions the work of Cleanth Brooks 1947 and James Redmond 1991. 55

Jahn cites especially J.L. Styan, 1975, Richard Hornby 1977, and John B. Priestly 1948.

56

Jahn discusses the studies of Berger 1989, Pfister 1977, and Scanlan 1988.

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mimetic/performative elements lurking within a text. But it must be recognized that the text was written with both frames of audience/readership in mind. The dramatic craft is both literary and performative. Nagy explicitly compares lyric poetry to drama.57 Archaic poetry makes appeals to posterity and situates itself in an immediate local context within a performance. To understand the full potential of an Alcaic poem, the reader must recognize the performative context while acknowledging the literary nature of its production.58 The ideal reader of archaic poetry must be like the ideal drama critic, as Jahn concludes: “an ideal recipient...a reader who appreciates the text with a view to possible or actual performance, and a theatergoer who (re)appreciates a performance through his or her knowledge and re-reading of the text.” 59 While we cannot observe the performance of archaic poetry in its original context, we can at least recognize relevant factors of that context and incorporate them into our criticism. By keeping in mind the plurality of audiences that could have been intended by Alcaeus at the moment of production, we can better describe his poetics. 60 Hesiod’s audience is more easily defined. There are two performance contexts

57

Nagy 1990a.

58

The term “literary” is difficult to define for Alcaeus. It is safest to assume that writing was not widespread enough to be commonly employed in the preservation or transmission of poetic “texts.” But it is useful to refer to the poet’s position in literary history and within a poetic tradition that would correctly be called “literary” with the wider use of written texts. There is already at this time a “literary history” in the Greek speaking world, beginning with Homer and incorporating the poems, proverbs, and apothegms of other named figures. See Russo 1997 and Nagy 1996. 59

Jahn 2003, section D.1.5.3.

60

This is not only applicable to Alcaeus’ advisory poetry. A study of Alcaeus’ political poetry would benefit greatly from the investigation of its potential audiences (i.e., those outside his hetaireia, whether in or beyond Mytilene). Particularly difficult poems such as those involving sailing metaphors and political allegory may reveal new layers of meaning when read outside of their original factional and political contexts.

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built into the Erga. The first is described by the dramatic situation of the poem, in which a poet named Hesiod is lecturing, in verse, his brother named Perses. This framework is not consistent throughout the poem, as we see invocations of the gods and several addresses to basileis. The other dramatic situation is that described by the poet in reference to his own profession in Erga 654-659:        There I crossed to Khalkis for the funeral games of wise Amphidamas. His great-hearted children announced and set up many prizes. There I claim that I won with a hymn and carried off a tripod with handles. This I dedicated to the Muses of Helicon where they first set my path of clearvoiced song. He describes a possible setting for the performance of a poem like the Erga or the Theogony: the poetic competitions held as a part of funeral games. Cashman Prince describes a “didactic doubling,” by which didactic poems address two audiences: the nominal audience of the internal address and the auditores of the performance of the didactic poem itself. 61 In this understanding, all readers are equivalent to the initial audientes, and the work of the poet was simply to emit his voice with no thought to where it would go. This double audience is not sufficient to explain the instructional intent of wisdom literature. The metapoetic moment in which Hesiod describes the performance context of his poetry reevaluates the dramatic address to Perses as a feature of a poem consciously addressed to a wider, plural audience. The general nature of the

61

Prince 2003, 208-209. The phrase is Richard Martin’s: see Martin 2004.

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advice makes this wider audience a logical assumption, just as we saw in the Egyptian Instructions of Ptahhotep, which occasionally abandons its narrative frame to address advice to a variety of recipients. 62 So too, the Erga and the works that follow it are cast in a hypothetical context, but their status as poetry, especially as poetry in this tradition, belies the immediacy and indicates the expectation of and appeal to a wider audience.

3.3.2. Alcaeus and the Poetic Profession

Alcaeus’ participation in the paraenetic tradition is typical of his poetic professionalism. Like Sappho and Theognis, Alcaeus composed with a consciousness of his own production and its place in the Panhellenic poetic world. A note in the Porphyrio scholia to Horace, Satires 2.1.30-31 suggests that Alcaeus may have explicitly discussed his work just as Sappho does hers. With the Horace passage, ille velut fidis arcana sodalibus olim credebat libris, 63 He [Lucilius], once, entrusted his secrets to his books as if to faithful friends, Porphyrio gives this information: Aristoxenus ostendit Sapphonem et Alcaeum volumina sua loco sodalium habuisse, “Aristoxenus tells us that Sappho and Alcaeus held their own volumes in place of friends.” 64 This suggests that Porphyrio read evidence in

62

Pritchard 1969, 413. Cf. the Akkadian Wisdom of Ugarit. West 1978, 6 notes that there is evidence that this poem was meant to be performed aloud, which also suggests that its purpose was not restricted to the original context of address from Šube-awīlum to his son Zurranku. 63

All Horace citations will refer to Bailey, Horatius Opera (3rd edition, 1995), except where noted.

64

Porphyrio on Horace, Satires 2.1.30-31. Horace is discussing the practice of his avowed satire model, Lucilius.

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Aristoxenus that there were references by Alcaeus to his own work, that the poet wrote about taking solace through the composition of poetry. The Horatian poem describes a type of reflective, private composition that cannot be reconciled with any picture we have of the archaic period. We seem to see it in archaic poems lacking an addressee, or in the “” addresses of Archilochus 128 and 129; 65 but these were intended for performance, not for the poet’s own private reflection. 66 The idea of the lonely poet, sharing his pain with his lyre and composing to purge his own emotions, has always been an artistic illusion.67 Poets evoke that image for verisimilitude, and the most successful poets are the ones who can make readers mistake their artefacts for real life experience. 68 But the act of publication calls this image into question. Publications cannot be read as private journals, if for no other reason than that their authors chose to make them public rather than private. Thus Lucilius is not writing down the secrets he cannot contain, he is participating in a literary culture of production of “personal poetry”. The same is true of the volumina of Sappho and Alcaeus. For Alcaeus, this yields an image of a professional poet—professional at least in the sense that he produced works that participate in Panhellenic literary/artistic culture.69 This culture comprises moments of allusion

65

Discussed in Ch. 2.5.1.

66

We would not imagine that the few extant poems with addressees are performatively distinct from the unaddressed poems. 67

Griffith 2009, 81-83 discusses this image and warns against imagining a radical shift in this lyric age (often referred to as “the rise of the individual”). 68

Catullus is among the poets most often subjected to biographical fallacy. His poems depict a woman so ruthless, and a boy so injured, that it takes a feat of scholarly skepticism to remember that he is not his narrator, and did not necessarily waste away for love lost. Cf. Garrison 1989. See Putnam 2006 for recent bibliography. 69

The term “professional” presents difficulties. I am not arguing that Alcaeus made his living as a paid performer of lyric poetry. I use the term “professional” in a sense similar to Nagy 2004, 32-37. Nagy

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between archaic poets, evidence of travel by the poets, and statements within their work regarding its fame. Alcaeus’ poetic strategies presuppose his participation in this culture. Alcaeus presents himself as a source of wisdom, adopting an advisory attitude that is comparable to that found in many of Horace’s Odes (see Chapter 4), and displaying along the way a willingness to work within a poetic tradition of instruction. Nonetheless, he adapts this tradition to lyric poetry, creating a very different type of wisdom poetry.

3.4. Gnomai in Alcaeus

In his dissertation on gnomic statements in archaic poetry, Lardinois suggests that lyric poetry contains very few gnomes compared to iambic, elegiac, or hexameter poetry. The lyric poets or their choruses seem to prefer speaking in a poetic first person who voices personal sentiments that are held up as examples to the audience. 70 He does not draw an explicit comparison to Hesiod, but the similarity is there to be seen: the lyric poets frequently engage in instructional address, but usually in ways that violate the rules Lardinois develops regarding the utterance of gnomai in Homeric epic. Lardinois is not concerned with understanding these gnomai in a context that is not the same as Homeric epic. The lyric poems avoid sententious statements in favor of appeals,

objects to Rösler’s insistence on the amateur status of sympotic performers, and he posits a professionalism of “Alcaic songmaking.” I disagree only with his caveat, that “the ambiance of the Alcaeus persona seems distinctly nonprofessional, securely grounded as he is within the represented environment of his hetaireia.” The fragments we have do not support the restriction of Alcaeus’ poetry, nor the environment it represents, exclusively to the symposia of his political allies. The professionalism I am describing can be further characterized by defining the shared literary/artistic culture of the archaic Greek world—its forms, genres, topoi, and intertextual allusivity. This study is concerned only with a small part of that project. 70

Lardinois 1995, 231, n. 2.

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injunctions, and statements of personal preference. Analysis strictly of gnomai, therefore, is unsatisfying for our study of lyric instruction. In fact, the gnomai we do find in Alcaeus are better understood with reference to Hesiod’s Erga and its style of address than to anything in the Homeric epics. Lardinois discusses one of Alcaeus’ gnomai in reference to his category of indirect second-person addresses. 71 These are the preferred address of instruction in Homeric discourse between social equals. In an indirect second-person address, the lesson is presented in such a way as to avoid giving offense to the recipient. The gnomic statement discussed is that found in fragment 335:      It is not right to surrender our spirit to troubles, for we shall not benefit from grieving, Oh Bycchis; the best of remedies is to bring wine and get drunk. Lardinois compares the address with that to Pericles in Archilochus fragment 13, 72 but by his analysis they have little in common. The opening ()  is an epic signal of gnomic syntax, 73 as is the formula  + infinitive (here ). 74 Direct address to one hypothetically Alcaeus’ social equal is a standard feature of the poet’s paraenetic discourse, but this example is unusual for Alcaeus in its lack of an imperative

71

Lardinois 1997, 228, n. 75.

72

Discussed in Chapter 2.

73

Lardinois 2001, 95 identifies parallels at Iliad 2.24 and Odyssey 15.74.

74

Lardinois 2001, 95 identifies parallels at Iliad 1.274, Odyssey 22.104, and Erga 314.

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verb. Lardinois does not consider Alcaeus’ other uses of gnomai, nor his paraenetic poems such as fragment 38A, in which the addressee Melanippus is commanded with second-person imperatives. Gnomic statements in Alcaeus occasionally employ imperatives, which is unusual when compared to Homeric standards of address, but is reminiscent of Hesiodic usage. Compare fragment 342:   Plant no other tree before the vine. 75 But warnings without an imperative are common as well. The advice in fragment 341 is simply stated in a conditional clause: 76    If you say whatever you want to, you may hear what you do not want to. Alcaeus again uses a clear statement of cause and effect in fragment 117.26-27:     What someone gives to a prostitute he might as well throw into the grey sea. This is the beginning of an argument for avoiding prostitutes which continues for as much as ten more lines, although little is intelligible. The poet’s statement in the next line, however, is quite interesting for this investigation:   (If anyone) does not know this, I (could persuade) him. This is similar to the formulation used by Sappho in fragment 16, in which she states her

75

I am treating the prohibitive subjunctive as the equivalent of an imperative. See Hooker 1977, 40.

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goal of teaching a lesson about the interconnected nature of beauty and love:       It is quite easy to make this understandable to everyone, for the woman far surpassing all humans in beauty, Helen, leaving behind the best husband, went sailing to Troy... This is the clearest indication Alcaeus ever gives that he is instructing; but unlike Sappho’s mythological exemplum, Alcaeus’ advice remains as directly stated as his introduction. He lists the detriment resulting from congress with prostitutes. In addition to the loss of property predicted in lines 26-27, he warns:      Who consorts with prostitutes, these things happen: he must, after the affair . . . shame and much destructive evil... 77 The instructional nature of this fragment is clear, as is the poet’s technique in employing pithy gnomic lines in the course of making his point. The subject matter is not far removed from what Hesiod includes in his advice in the Erga. Some fragments suggest that Alcaeus showed a Hesiodic concern for political theory. His cosmology includes a Hesiodic Zeus in control of all things:   76

Cf. fragment 344, below.

77

Fragment 117.29-32. The unintelligible remainder of this fragment contains the name Sisyphus, on whose significance see below, Ch. 3.5.

104

 Zeus, the son of Cronus, himself controls the end of all things. (Alcaeus 200.10-11) It is not clear whether this observation led to a moral code in the poetry of Alcaeus, explicitly connecting his political theory to a cosmology based on divinely administered justice as Hesiod had done. 78 Aelius Aristides records the Alcaic notion that cities are not stone or wood or architecture, but are found wherever men know how to defend themselves. 79 Aelius Aristides introduces this fragment as a well-known :    the maxim...which the poet Alcaeus said, and many people later took up and employed. (Aelius Aristides Or. 46.207, Alcaeus testimonium 426)  That many subsequent writers borrowed this wise pronouncement from Alcaeus demonstrates the poet’s place in the economy of wisdom literature, and strongly suggests instructional intent on the poet’s part. The poetic tradition has preserved an example of this economy in the recognition of Alcaeus as the owner of this gnome. There seems to be an allusion in Pindar’s Paean 2.37-38 not just to this idea, but to Alcaeus specifically as its author:      The valors of men stand as the highest wall

78

On Zeus and justice in Hesiod, see especially Clay 2003, Tandy and Neale 1996, and Stoddard 2002.

Alcaeus 112.10:  Voigt includes the Aelius testimonium (fr. 426LP):   The fragment is also found in the scholia to Aeschylus’ Persai 352, the scholia to Sophocles’ OT 56, the Suda A 3843 (), and perhaps Pindar’s Paean 2 (as discussed below). 79

105

The plural  is unusual in this context, and is perhaps intended to allude to . Alcaeus is also credited with a proverb repeated by Aeschylus in the Seven against Thebes, 80 as one scholion on the passage points out:     This from Alcaeus: Weapons with insignias do not wound, nor do they have power of their own, unless the one carrying them is noble. (Alcaeus testimonium 427) Similar gnomai are found in isolation among the fragments of Alcaeus. This is to be expected, as gnomai are designed to be repeated independently. A scholion tells us that Sophocles borrowed one such from Alcaeus: “The mind/soul grows old last,”   (testimonium 442). 81 A martial fragment preserves Alcaeus’ opinion that, “it is noble to die in war,”  (Alcaeus 400), but the  demonstrates that this gnome was originally part of a larger piece. Stobaeus quotes two lines on poverty: 82    Poverty, wretched and unmanageable, who overpowers a great people with her sister Helplessness. (Alcaeus 364) There are, as well, several fragments containing gnomai and paroimiai with obscure meanings. Despite this obscurity the instructional intent is still evident from their

80

Aeschylus, Seven against Thebes 398: 

81

Scholion to Sophocles, O.C. 954, 



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discourse features. Fragment 344, like 341 and 117.26, employs a conditional:    I know that if a man moves gravel, stone not easily worked, he will probably get a headache. Zenobius, in his work on proverbs, tells us that Alcaeus used a proverbial phrase,  , “the Nanny-goat of Scyros,” and shows us that its meaning was already contested in antiquity. 83 Athenaeus quotes Alcaeus as discussing how the bass swims at the surface, , which may relate to its ease of capture or to the patency of such greedy creatures.84 Alcaeus’ four line fragment 360 mentions Aristodemus, one of the Seven Sages, and quotes his gnome on the importance of wealth:      For they say that once Aristodemus said this  not unwisely in Sparta: “Money is the man, and not one poor man is good or honorable.” Notice the loaded use of the word  for the wise utterance. 85 Archaic poets use the words , , and  technically to refer to proverbial expressions. 86 Alcaeus here demonstrates his articulation with the traditional tales of sages and indicates

82

Stobaeus 4.32.35.

83

Zenobius 2.18. This is listed as fragment 435 of Alcaeus.

84

Athenaeus 7.86.14. This is listed as fragment 433 of Alcaeus.

85

As in Pindar, Ol. 2.22 and Pyth. 3.80.

86

See Lardinois 2001, 94.

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his concern for the attribution of proverbs. So we have an Alcaeus who coined gnomai and referred to gnomai coined by (other) sages. As he was a political opponent of Pittacus (as discussed above, Ch 3.1), we should consider the possibility that his practice of proverbial expression might be a form of competition in the political sphere.87 The cultural capital to be gained and the potential value of the  designation may have been an integral part of Alcaeus’ political program,88 or it may simply have been an end in itself—the earning of . As we saw in Chapter 2, Lardinois’s 1997 study focused on features of the discourse context of gnomai. Because of the fragmentary nature of archaic poetry it will not always be possible for us to examine the discourse context for Alcaic gnomai. In many cases we even lack what Briggs refers to as the generalizing explanation.89 This deficit can render our image of Alcaic paraenesis as nothing more than a scattering of gnomic statements and a few imperatives addressed to mysterious figures. In the poems about wine, however, we have enough of the formulaic framework to see how Alcaeus participates in the paraenetic poetic tradition.

3.5. Wine and paraenesis

The proverbs regarding the nature of wine and inebriation form a large thematic bloc  87

Martin 1993 has suggested a connection between the Seven Sages and political activity.

88

If Alcaeus was indeed composing political propaganda, it would surely benefit from engaging the traditional strategies of instructional literature. It is unclear to what extent the bulk of the political and stasiotic poems of Alcaeus utilize these strategies, but these fragments merit further study. I shall describe below the most obvious of these applications of instructional discourse, but I shall not attempt in this dissertation to more fully outline the poet’s political program.

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among the fragments. 90 The themes involved are an important part of the poet’s paraenetic program. Fragment 366 addresses a proverbial statement to a youth: 91  Wine, dear boy, and truth. Too little of the context remains to draw conclusions, but the fragment does seem to represent the beginning 92 of a poem of advice imparted according to the strategies of paraenetic discourse, in that it addresses a gnomic truth (somewhat elliptically) to a social inferior (). 93 There is a danger when reading Alcaeus of dismissing his convivial poetry as a mass of trivial , drinking songs. 94 The fragmentary remains allow us to do little more than hypothesize about thematic unity, but we should perhaps consider that wine in Alcaeus may be more than the poet’s best friend. I would argue that it is in fact a formulaic element, used by the father of  to make a few points about human nature. The point evident in fragment 366 is that there is a connection between

89

See the discussion of Briggs’s work above, Ch. 1.3.2.

90

The only study of any depth on Alcaeus and the theme of wine is still that of Trumpf 1973.

 could refer to an actual child, but it could also be used for an adult younger than the speaker or for a servant. For the latter, we have a possible parallel in Horace, Odes 1.38, Persicos odi, puer, apparatus.

91

The line, quoted by a scholiast on Plato’s Symposium 217e, is introduced as,  , “the beginning of a poem of Alcaeus.” 92

93

Liberman 1999, 245-246 and MacLachlan 1997, 144 remark on the parallel in Theocritus 29.2, noting that the context here too may be erotic. This would resemble Theognidean paraenesis. Many anonymous Attic  are known, but it seems that many examples of these drinking songs were attributed (correctly or incorrectly) to the canonical lyricists. Aristophanes fragment 223 refers to  by Alcaeus and Anacreon. Alcaeus fragment 249 contains four lines that occur in Athenaeus’ list of  (15.695a). 94

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inebriation and honesty. He repeats this notion when he calls wine the  of a man in fragment 333.95 This word is usually taken to mean window or means for looking into, 96 but I would suggest that it may, like , refer to a measuring stick. Either way the point is the same: inebriation offers insight into a man’s character. 97 This is perhaps why Alcaeus demands that the vine be planted first of crops (in fragment 342). In fragment 206 wine is also associated with courage. The majority of references to wine and inebriation develop the poet’s carpe diem theme.98 The exhortations in Alcaeus involve wine consumption and the pursuit of relaxation, each instance circling the idea that life is short and should be enjoyed. I would suggest that the poet develops a poetic program around this theme, exploring its various aspects as the theme recurs in his fragments. It is fitting to begin with his most Hesiodic fragment, fragment 347:        Wet your lungs with wine, for the star is coming around, the season is harsh, everything thirsts under the heat, and the cicada echoes sweetly

. Trumpf 1973, 141-142, takes these two lines as proof that Alcaeus was the originator of the theme in vino veritas. Liberman 1999, 163 translates “In uino ueritas, mon cher petit.” 95

96

So Page 1955, 312 and Liberman 1999, 236. The latter dismisses the idea in Somolinos 1998, 263 that it might be a synonym for , “mirror.” 97

Theognis 499-500 gives a similar sense:

98

I am borrowing the phrase from Horace’s Odes 1.11.8, but the Roman poet developed his lyric expression of this concept from Alcaeus, as will be discussed in Chapter 4.4. Nevertheless, Alcaeus does not have such a clear statement of this philosophical impulse.

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from the leaves . . . the artichoke is blossoming. Now women are most foul and men are feeble, since Sirius burns them on head and knees. Fragment 347 is fraught with dangers when compared with Erga 582-588. 99 The scanty remains and the ancient scholarly silence surrounding them cannot satisfactorily answer our obvious questions: Was this a translation of Hesiod’s lines into the Aeolic dialect and Asclepiad meter? Could this, rather, be a parallel Aeolic instantiation of a pre-Hesiodic oral traditional passage? If modeled directly on Hesiod, why? And what form did the entire poem take?100 His terms have caused much consternation among commentators, who look for the reasoning behind his harsh word . 101 Nightingale offers the following insight into all of the Homeric and Hesiodic allusions in the archaic period: “Since Homer and Hesiod were considered the wisest and most important voices in the tradition, the early Greek thinkers were compelled to work

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Text above, Ch. 2.2.8. Alcaeus 347 bears similarities, as well, to Aspis 393-397:      When the dark-winged, shrill cicada, sitting on a green branch, begins to sing of summer to men, whose food and drink are the delicate dew, and all day and at dawn it pours out its voice in the most terrible heat, when Sirius burns the skin.

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These questions have been addressed by several scholars with little agreement and few firm conclusions. Bowra 1953 discusses the fragment as Alcaic treatment of a Hesiodic passage, and he attributes irony to the Alcaic version. Wilamowitz 1913 makes some distinctions of poetics between Alcaeus and Sappho (accepting the attribution of lines 2-3 to her). Page 1955, 305-306 accepts the fragment as intended to “translate” Hesiod and he considers it to have succeeded in this goal. Hooker 1977, 80-81 argues that the imagery is traditional Aeolic inherited separately by Hesiod and Alcaeus. Liberman 1999 calls it a “Retravail d’Hésiode, Travaux 582-596,” noting only that the Alcaic version has moved the “invitation à boire” to the beginning. I discuss, below, the nature of that “invitation.” Powell 1926 attempts unconvincingly to emend to , “plumpest.” Page 1955 dismisses attempts to make the word equivalent to Hesiod’s , and translates ambiguously, “women are at their worst.” If the poet indeed intended the word to indicate pollution, , it would suggest that there is more going on in this poem than anyone guesses. 101

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in their wake.”102 This fragment, however, is more than a mere allusion. This is not simply “in the wake” of Hesiod. The question of Hesiodic priority is not, however, crucial. This fragment still tells us a great deal about Alcaeus’ advisory project despite its mysterious provenance. Its basic form resembles the ancient Near Eastern farmer’s almanac in advising behavior during one of the annual seasons. One might assume that Alcaeus dealt here only with the season of relaxation and the enjoyment of wine, but Athenaeus tells us that he advised drinking at several times of the year. 103 Fragments 338 and 367 discuss winter and spring drinking, respectively. Nevertheless, there is little reason to suppose that Alcaeus created a whole calendar like that of the Erga. Of greater significance is the way Alcaeus develops his theme, here and elsewhere. Traditional features of the Hesiodic sort of farmer’s almanac abound. The season is identified with floral and faunal temporal markers—the blooming , the song of the —and tied to astronomical data with the heliacal rise of the Dog Star Sirius. His participation in this literary tradition is clear whether the allusion to Hesiod is intended or not, but also clear is the distinctly Alcaic handling of the format. 104 His exhortation is not Hesiod’s mild “the time is appropriate for wine and shade,” but an imperative command to drink, , “for all things thirst,”

102

Nightingale 2000, 158.

103

Athenaeus 10.430.

104

Wilamowitz and Bowra each refer to particularly Alcaic handling, but I have not detected Bowra’s perceived irony nor evidence for Wilamowitz’s assertion that Alcaeus is somehow less attuned to nature than Sappho.

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, and Alcaeus is never shy about demanding wine consumption.105 The cicada’s presence, perhaps not just a temporal cue, hints at musical issues. 106 Alcaeus’ concern, here as elsewhere, is a light-hearted (and heart-lightening) expression of the human condition. He does not often, even in his political poems, suggest a Hesiodic preoccupation with greater issues of justice or how to be a good man. This is not an isolated expression of the poet’s advice concerning physical labor, and elsewhere Alcaeus demonstrates an even greater concern for emotional labor. His advice for those with emotional anxieties is the same as his advice for the hot and tired: Relax! Have a drink! 107 In fragment 38A, he begins with this injunction:  Drink and get drunk with me, Melanippus. Melanippus apparently has an unhealthy attitude about death. Alcaeus develops a twofold strategy for restoring his emotional well-being. The first step, naturally, involves drinking; but this is not just the “wet your whistle” of fragment 347.  indicates a

Athenaeus quotes 347.1-2 and follows it with fragment 352,  , “Let us drink, for the star is coming around.” The relationship between these fragments is cloudy at best, but we can say with some certainty that their distinct versions of the Asclepiad meter place them in separate poems. 105

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Gow 1952, pp. 31 and 110-112, discusses the significance of the cicada in poetry. Its music is commonly described with the verb , and its song came to represent that of the poet. I would argue that the cicada’s appearance here stands in a metonymic relationship with song in general, indicating the appropriateness of song to the relaxation suggested in the fragment. While most extant examples of poetic treatments of cicadas as singers come from the Hellenistic period or later (including several in the Anacreontea), Boedeker 1984, 82-83 points out that Archilochus fragment 223 compares the singer/speaker to a cicada, noisiest when captive. Iliad 3.150-152 describes the old men of Troy as “similar to cicadas” in that they are . The insect in this simile is credited with  (“lilylike voice”), which may suggest a delicate or musical voice. Fragments 401A,  and 401B,  were assigned to Alcaeus by Ahrens and Bergk, respectively, apparently because it would not be appropriate for Sappho to be seen drinking. Considering Sappho 2.16, I would place them among the fragments of uncertain authorship.

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state of intoxication rather than a leisurely tipple.108 This is significantly not a mere pastime, but, in light of what follows, the prescription of a remedy. 109 The second step is to provide a mythological exemplum relating to the problem at hand. He does so with several nods to the formulaic strategies of wisdom literature.                  Drink and get drunk with me, Melanippus. Why do you think that when you have crossed the great ford of whirling Acheron you will again see the clear light of the sun? Come on, do not aim for great things. For the king Sisyphus, son of Aeolus, the wisest of men, also thought that he could beat death; but although being clever he twice crossed whirling Acheron at the hands of fate and King Zeus, son of Cronos, planned a toil for him under the black earth. But come on, do not hope for these things. Now, if ever, while young, it is proper to endure whatever the god gives us to suffer. . . . the North wind . . . The mythological material in this fragment is employed in the traditional paraenetic way. In Chapter 1 we saw Homer’s participation in the wisdom tradition take the form of paraenetic speeches embedded in the epic narrative. Phoenix, while advising a course of

 occurs in fragment 58.12. Fragment 332 combines  and . The wine in fragment 338 is to be mixed , “unsparingly,” and that in 367 is to be mixed , “as quickly as possible.”  of 346 is followed by the command to let each cup push the last cup down. 108

109

Cf. fragment 335, above, in which wine is termed .

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action for Achilles, relates a mythological exemplum in the story of Meleager. Achilles later exhorts Priam to eat, using the story of Niobe to make his point.110 Similarly Hesiod’s first-person narrative relates its intention to instruct by means of the stories of Pandora and the metallic Ages of Man. Alcaeus will use myth for etiology111 and instruction, just as Hesiod had. He begins in fragment 38A with the figure of Sisyphus. This choice of mythical exemplum is appropriate to the subject, and Alcaeus is using the formula we find in the didactic tradition. Fowler describes Hesiod’s foray into didactic narrative as beginning with “first principles,” 112 such as why we need to work for food; farming didaxis begins with the history of mankind and agriculture. In the same way, Alcaeus creates a miniature didactic narrative, beginning his discussion of death and mortality with the exemplum of the first man to come back from death. The subjects of myth were familiar to Alcaeus’ audience. This familiarity provides a set of stock character types for reference when discussing certain topics. Sisyphus comes into this poem as the archetype of a human trying to fight death. In this he functions both as proof that it will not work and as a warning about the divine punishments one could expect for attempting to overstep human boundaries. His

Achilles introduces his mythological paradigm with  (Iliad 24.602) just as Alcaeus does here at fr. 38 A.5. Fraenkel 1957, 185 notes a similar passage in Horace: This central part [of Odes 1.22] fulfills the function which in a paraenetic poem of Alcaeus or another Greek lyric, and in several odes of Horace, falls to a , an exemplum, taken from mythology or history. Its beginning, namque, made that function perfectly clear to an ancient reader. The double particle  (namque), when it followed a general maxim or a piece of advice, a , served from the earliest period of Greek literature to introduce a precedent that was to prove the validity of the maxim or to strengthen the advice.

110

111

The hymns, fragments 307, 308, 325, and 327, all seem to contain some etiological material.

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punishment, the  of line 9 (presumably that of endlessly rolling a stone uphill 113), serves additionally as a metaphor for the futility of fighting against death. But there is another aspect of the Sisyphus character important for understanding his presence in this poem. Sisyphus is one of the earliest examples of a man with a reputation for wisdom. Homer calls him the craftiest of men:114    There dwelt Sisyphus, who was the craftiest of men, the son of Aeolus. Sisyphus was sometimes said to be the father of the trickster Odysseus 115 and he was a tricky man in his own right. He managed to thwart death twice before dooming himself to eternal punishment. He could be seen as a model of the . The advisory intent of the poem is thereby rendered more apparent to the audience, for, as Martin suggests, “The presence of speakers with a particular status naturally arouses generic expectations.”116 The status of Sisyphus as  leads this poem’s audience to expect instructive material.117 This designation also establishes the authority behind the lesson implicit in the story. If even the craftiest of men could not outfox death, Melanippus

112

Fowler 2000, 207.

113

Alcaeus does not specify the punishment, and Odyssey 11.593-600 gives us the punishment without an explanation of the crime. Pherecydes fr. 119 gives a full account in the fifth century.

114

Iliad 6.153

115

Sophocles, Philoctetes 417 and scholia.

116

Martin 1984, 31.

117

One might object that Meleager and Niobe, mentioned above, or any other familiar character could be used didactically. While this is true, it should be noted why they work in the context where they appear. Niobe (Iliad 24.602-617) is the model of loss. Having lost twelve children in one day, she is intended to provide perspective for Priam and the lesson that he should recover and eat. Meleager (Iliad 9.529-599) is the model of glory denied through sulking instead of fighting, which is appropriate to the lesson Phoenix is

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should accept its inevitability and proceed to live his life with that end in mind. The rest of the wine-soaked fragments of Alcaeus lead toward a similar message. 118 The poet develops a program throughout his extant corpus in which wine is both part of the substance of the instructive mode and a metonym for the process of instruction itself. Conte identifies that, “drinking water and drinking wine had (also) become symbols of poetics. Both activities entertain metaphoric or metonymic relations with the literary genre they designate.” 119 Just as it would for Horace, 120 wine consumption for Alcaeus stands in a metaphoric relationship with poetry. Outside this metaphor the two share the burden of easing hearts and minds, a tradition that goes back to the Iliad. 121 This effect seems to come across in fragment 38B, despite its poor state:      

     

. . . the North wind . . . city . . . lyre . . . roof . . . share . . . The features of Alcaeus’ advisory mode are present as they will be in fragment 338 below. The wind is to be shut out and the lyre/cithara played and (presumably) wine

trying to impart. Sisyphus is here appropriate for two reasons: he is the only man to have cheated death, and he is the craftiest man. 118

There are a few examples of wine treated with more caution by Alcaeus. In fragment 369 the poet distinguishes between wine that is sweet, , and wine that is sharper than thistles, . This is a metaphor for the duality of Dionysus, whose wine can celebrate friendship or lead to drunken fights. Fragment 358 warns against letting wine cause you to say things you will regret. 119

Conte 1994, 110 and n. 8.

120

As will be discussed in Chapter 4.4.2.

121

Cf. Achilles at Iliad 9.186-189 and Paris at Iliad 3.54-55.

117

shared. This will become a major theme for Horace in poems such as Odes 1.9. The clearest statement of this sort in Alcaeus is in the model for Odes 1.9, 122 fragment 338:                      Zeus is raining, a great storm comes from the sky, and the streams are frozen . . . To hell with the storm. Pile up the fire, mix honeyed wine unstintingly, and put a soft pillow around your head. The advice here is straightforward: Do not fret over the cold, stormy winter. 123 Relax indoors with a fire and wine. Presumably an erotic imperative followed this fragment, as in Horace, Odes 1.9. Liberman presumes an addressee lost in the lacuna: “l’imitation d’Horace suggère qu’Alcée s’adresse à un compagnon qu’il invite à surmonter la tempête et à boire.”124

Notably, the carpe diem theme has its inverse. Fragment 119.9-10 even employs the same metaphor as Horace—that of picking grapes.     122

See the discussion below, Ch. 4.4.1.

Page despairs of finding a parallel for and assumes a meaning of “overthrow, conquer” (appropriate to Horace’s dissolve frigus in Odes 1.9.5). I would suggest that the sense is either that of  in Archilochus 5 or that of “Let it snow” in the 1945 song “Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!” by Sammy Cahn and Jule Styne (although the latter is not supported by the Horatian imitation and would require an unparalleled address to Zeus). 123

124

Liberman 1999, 146. A lost addressee can be inferred from the imperative .

118

For your time has now passed, and what fruit there was has been gathered

The poet points out that there is an appropriate time of life for seizing days. Horace uses this idea in a patently erotic context, 125 but scholars are divided as to whether Alcaeus 119 is a political or erotic allegory. 126

3.6. Allegory

Hesiod demonstrates the instructional value of allegory. His ainos of the hawk and the nightingale, discussed in Chapter 2, represents the power of kings versus the power of poets. His discussion of the metallic “Ages of Man” functions as an allegory. There are several allegorical passages in Alcaeus, the best known involving a metaphor made more famous by Horace in his Odes 1.14, presumably on the “Ship of State.”127 Theognis uses this theme as well.128 Alcaeus’ two great examples of this allegory occur in fragments 6 and 208. 129 Fragment 6, , recounts a storm at

125

Odes 1.25, et al. See below, Chapter 4.6.

126

Frankel 1928, Pfeiffer 1930, and Snell 1931 argue for an erotic allegory, while Perrotta 1936, Luria 1947, and Theander 1952 argue for a political allegory referring to Pittacus in his retirement. Liberman rejects the fragment on tenuous stylistic grounds, arguing that it should be attributed to Sappho, so he does not give a full commentary. 127

For more on this question, see Chapter 4.

128

Theognis 671-682.

129

Heraclitus, Alleg. Hom. 5 discusses these two poems as political allegories. His reading is perhaps reinforced by the commentary in fragment 305(b) which contains the word  and the commentary in fragment 306C which contains the word . The arguments of Page 1955, 184185 in defense of the allegorical interpretation of fragment 6 can be summed up as follows: (1) the exhortation to show courage is less appropriate to the poem’s literal setting, and (2) the storm is being described as if in progress, so it cannot be (a) composed while on board a storm-tossed ship, nor (b) composed after the danger has been survived (as this would be “discordant with the practices of ancient

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sea endangering the crew of a ship. The narrative takes the form of exhortations to the crew. The speaker states no claim to naval authority, but rather appeals to noble ideals like courage, , and the avoidance of shame as filial duty, . These appeals position the crew as the addressees of a lesson in the paraenetic mode. Fragment 208,  , does not utilize these generic conventions, but the allegory itself is an instructional mode. Fragment 73 may be the most interesting example in that it depicts the allegorical ship facing trouble at sea and then proceeds to a wish to forget all of these troubles and enjoy life and youth in the company of friends:     Her/it in this circumstance . . . forgetting these things, to enjoy being young with you and with Bycchis . . . (Alcaeus 73.7-10) The typical Alcaic advice wins out over whatever pursuit the allegorical ship represents.

As with Sisyphus in fragment 38A, Alcaeus uses mythological exempla for instruction elsewhere. Helen is his embodiment of foolish warfare. Fragment 42, perhaps a nearly complete poem, introduces Helen as the source of grief for Priam and his sons. She is the archetype of the bad wife and represents all of female wickedness. The poet provides a counter-example of femininity in Thetis, whose marriage brought all of the gods down

poets at any period”). Not one of these points can be justified. Liberman 1999, 24 understands the new wave of fragment 6 as “un nouveau coup tenté par Myrsile.”

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from Olympus for the last time in human history. This counter-example begins a progression which will lead back in Ringkomposition to the grief of the Trojans as Thetis’ son Achilles brings about the destruction of Troy. Fragment 283 discusses the same cycle, attributing all of the destructive power to the illicit desires of Helen and the hostdeceiver Paris. The tale of Locrian Ajax in fragment 298 proffers a political lesson. Alcaeus tells us that it would have been better for the Achaeans to have stoned Ajax to death to punish his crime against the gods. They did not do so, and many Greeks perished with him. What is left of line 47 mentions the son of Hyrras, Pittacus, which suggests that the poem connected the myth to current political events. The fragmentary nature of the Alcaic corpus doubtless obscures many more paraenetic poems and many more examples of the poet’s utilizing generic features of the tradition of wisdom literature. For example, there is not enough left of fragment 331 to determine whether  has a positive or negative connotation, much less whether the original poem contained a more detailed construction of paraenetic strategy.

3.7. Conclusion

Alcaeus seems to have applied for recognition as a wise man. He engages in the discourse strategies of wisdom literature and arguably participates in political competition with the sage Pittacus and others. Of his performance context we know too little to conclude that he used his poetry in the political arena, but the generic features he employed show that he used his poetry competitively in the arena of cultural significance

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he shared with the Seven Sages. Alcaeus does not seem to be writing instructional poetry of the Erga sort—an extended instructional narrative or a “farmers’ almanac” 130—but his fragments contain many of the features of wisdom literature, such as: direct address of precepts to a named addressee; the use of gnomai, paroimiae, and mythological paradigms; and appeal to figures known for wisdom. The result of his efforts can be seen, at least, in the survival of his own gnomai, transmitted under his name in testimonia 426, 427, 433, 435, 439, and 442. I would suggest that the poet is using elements of the paraenetic tradition strategically to achieve sage-like status by creating a body of instruction of his own style—a corpus of lyric wisdom.

130

The framework of fragment 117 is lost, so it cannot be compared to the Erga; but it does seem to contain a list of precepts. Perhaps his “calendar of drinking” should be considered, as well (see above, Ch. 3.5).

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CHAPTER 4 PARAENESIS IN HORACE

4.1. Introduction

Wilamowitz first suggested that the connection of Horace to Alcaeus could be understood through the paraenetic tradition. He saw parallels in the extant fragments of Alcaeus to Horatian odes with a theme of moral advising. 1 But, he adds, “Horace has only the contents of his paraenesis from elsewhere, his inclination itself taken from the popular philosophy.” 2 Fraenkel echoes this sentiment and persistently resists acknowledging such a developed paraenetic inclination in Alcaeus: “It is quite likely that the poem  also contained a  to the effect that man should enjoy the gift of Dionysus, but it was probably a  of a very different, and much simpler, kind.” 3 This assumption seems rooted in the prejudicial view that the archaic Greek poets were amateurish and simplistic, their work lacking a defined

1

Kleine Schriften vol. 1, p. 393, cited by Fraenkel 1957, 178, n. 1. This connection has become clearer with subsequent papyrus finds, and it promises to elucidate a major principle in Horace’s use and adaptation of his archaic Greek poetic models in the Odes and Epodes. 2

“nur hat Horaz den Inhalt seiner Paränese oft anderswoher, seiner Neigung gemäß selbst aus der Popularphilosophie genommen.” 3

Fraenkel 1957, 178.

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poetics. 4 In this chapter, following up on this abandoned avenue of investigation, I explore how Horace, in the Odes, uses paraenetic themes and generic markers found in the extant corpus of Alcaeus. In the words of Steele Commager, “Perhaps the chief distraction in reading the Odes as poetry is our fondness for regarding them as a repository of home truths.” 5 This is not a new or surprising observation, but he quickly qualifies it, crediting Horace as “the most miscellaneously relevant of poets,” yet maintaining that “Horace had no systematic philosophy to impart.” It is not my goal to describe a systematic philosophy in Horace’s Odes, or even to argue that one exists therein; but I shall argue that Horace’s adaptation of this advisory mode is one major poetic project within the collection, and I shall attempt to construct a model of this paraenetic poetic program. This is not a central organizational principle; it will not redefine the collection as a whole. But it does demonstrate that Horace had a method to his miscellany. The poet who emerges from this analysis possesses fewer of the contradictions of personality that recent scholars find. And his debt to Alcaeus is more evident. Although Alcaeus is discussed in the Epistles, and there is much instructional material in the Satires, Epistles, and Ars Poetica, I will draw conclusions, for the most part, only from the construction of Lesbian poetics in the Odes. 6 I begin with a discussion of scholarship on the nature of Horace’s debt to Alcaeus and proceed to analysis of several themes engaged by both poets in their advisory mode, 4

Consider Nisbet and Hubbard 1970, xii: “[Horace’s] literary sophistication is remote from the simplicities of archaic Greek lyric.” 5

Commager 1962, ix.

6

See below, note 17.

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including death, wine, moderation, and maturity.

4.2. Horace’s debt to Alcaeus

The relationship between Alcaeus and Horace is of critical significance from the first poem of Book 1 of the Odes. Horace sets out his goal of being included among the canonical lyric poets, and he defines this inclusion through the action of the Muse Polyhymnia and her tuning of the barbitos Lesbous. 7 The extent to which Horace envisions his lyric role as that of a “Roman Alcaeus” has been fit soil for conjecture and debate. Tenney Frank argues that Horace finds in Alcaeus only a model for his lyric meters. He suggests that the Alcaic tie-ins in Book 1 of the Odes are present primarily as markers of metrical usage and guides “to afford his reader some aid in rendering these new rhythms.” 8 This argument is compelling for its evidence, but too superficial to explain Horace’s complex relationship to his declared model. Macleod takes a useful approach to the question, arguing that Horace imitates not merely the meters or lines of Alcaeus, but the “whole poet.” 9 McDermott insists that the Alexandrian poets are a greater influence than Alcaeus on the themes of Horace’s Odes. She separates the notion

7

Odes 1.1.33-34. Woodman 2002, 53-55, rightly warns against leaving Sappho out of this allusion; but the surviving Lesbian fragments show a greater paraenetic inclination in Alcaeus, so in this chapter I shall ignore Sappho’s role in Horace’s Lesbian program except in reference to her few pertinent paraenetic moments discussed in Chapter 3. For more on Sappho’s influence on Horace’s lyric voice, see, e.g., Davis 1991 and Woodman 2002. 8

Frank 1927, 291. This opinion is repeated by Wilkinson 1945.

9

Macleod 1979, 89-102.

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of aesthetic tradition from genre, 10 and credits the Alexandrian poets with supplying the former. 11 Feeney builds on Macleod’s formulation, showing how Horace links himself with Alcaeus’ twin roles as public and private poet. 12 Barchiesi presents a Horace for whom generic participation is inseparable from imitation of the Greek lyricists, by the very nature of the archaic genres. In writing lyric, Horace assumes the role of his ancient predecessors: “he not just imitates, but becomes Archilochus, Alcaeus, and Anacreon.” 13 Woodman expands Macleod’s model of a whole poet imitated, citing the observation of pseudo-Longinus, “the genius of the ancients acts as a kind of oracular cavern, and effluences flow from it into the minds of their imitators.” 14 He clarifies by re-asserting Sappho’s share in this imitation and in the Lesbian references in the Odes, concluding that Horace’s Lesbian poet is a conjoined Alcaeus-Sappho model. 15 Hutchinson sees Horace choosing Alcaeus as a limited model, but consistently exceeding him in scope. 16

10

McDermott 1981, 1641-1642: “These two tasks [choosing a genre and choosing an aesthetic tradition] were undoubtedly not sharply separated in Horace’s own mind; but, from our critical standpoint, the disjunction should rather be exaggerated than underplayed, for failure to perceive any such distinction between genre and poetics has frequently led to the faulty assumption that Horace could not have looked to both classical and Alexandrian models at the same time.” 11

McDermott occasionally assumes that certain elements of Horace’s poetics originated with the Alexandrians (notably, the “antithesis of the long, overblown poem and the slight, finely spun one” p. 1642) which were demonstrably at play in archaic Greek poetics (cf. Archilochus 114W and Ibycus 282a). 12

Feeney 1993, 41-63.

13

Barchiesi 2000, 169.

14

Subl. 13.2, Woodman 2002, 57. Cf. Macleod 89, 93, 101-102 for theories of imitation.

15

He recognizes Catullus’s share in this imitation as well, which Putnam 2006 describes to a greater degree. 16

This is not necessarily denigrating to the poetics of Alcaeus. Nisbet and Hubbard, however, want to see Horace as the more mature and sophisticated. They compare Horace’s debt to Alcaeus with “Vergil’s to Hesiod, a matter not so much of intellectual standpoint as of contrived reminiscence” (1970, xii). This judgment is based on their differences of situation: Alcaeus is the political propagandist, a “forthright aristocrat,” while Horace is composing for a reading public: “his literary sophistication is remote from the simplicities of archaic Greek lyric.”

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Horace defines his project in the Odes, at its inception and its conclusion, at least in part through his role as the translator of Lesbian poetry to Rome (Odes 1.1.34 and 3.30.13-14). 17 This definition is most evident in Odes 1.32, surely among the collection’s most programmatic pieces. 18 He invokes the lyre (barbite, line 4) and discusses its relationship with the founder of his lyric genre in lines 3-12: age dic Latinum, barbite, carmen, Lesbio primum modulate civi, qui ferox bello tamen inter arma, sive iactatam religarat udo litore navim, Liberum et Musas Veneremque et illi semper haerentem puerum canebat et Lycum nigris oculis nigroque crine decorum. . . . Come sing a Latin song, barbitus first tuned by a Lesbian citizen who was fierce in war but, between battles if he had tied his storm-tossed ship on the wet shore, used to sing of Liber, and the Muses, and Venus, and the boy always clinging to her, and Lycus, adorned with dark eyes and dark hair. In the surviving fragments of Alcaeus we do not have any of the erotic poetry Horace cites here, but we have plenty of references to the god of wine and to poetry. 19 Fraenkel notes the position of the participial clause—Lesbio primum modulate civi—where, in the invocation of a god, we would find discussion of the god’s birth and youthful exploits. 20 The poet figures his invocation of the lyre as a prayer, but he does not sacrifice his

17

In Epistles 1.19.26-34, Horace discusses his adaptation of Alcaeus; but for this investigation I am only concerned with his construction of his own Lesbian poetics within his lyric corpus. See above, p. 124, for the Satires, Epistles, and Ars Poetica. 18

See McDermott 1981, 1647-9 for a discussion of the programmatic significance of Odes 1.32.

Fraenkel also objects that we have no mention here of the  (1957, 175), but McDermott argues that these are alluded to in the poet’s martial and naval troubles of lines 6-8. 19

20

Fraenkel 1957, 169.

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message for solemn veracity. That this lyre was primum modulate by Alcaeus is historically inaccurate. 21 From this I conclude that Horace is referring not to the generic musical instrument, but to his own lyric poetics, developed to some degree by Alcaeus. In recognizing the influence of one poet upon another we must consider the nature of imitation. Ross soberly considers Horace’s debt to Callimachus: Each generation of Latin poets . . . was to create a different image of Callimachus according to the needs of their own verse, an image that often has little resemblance to the original; and in the process the creation received from the poets directly preceding was qualified and altered to produce something new and sometimes not immediately recognizable. 22 The situation with Alcaeus is neither so complicated nor so simple. Horace’s special affinity for Alcaeus plays itself out in modeling not just the poetry but the poetic project and even the poet himself. Horace deploys himself as an Alcaeus in Rome. He utilizes the Lesbian lyre, 23 he describes his accomplishments in Aeolian terms, 24 and he worships an Alcaic Mercury. 25 Alcaeus is himself addressed at Odes 2.13.26, in a description resembling a hero cult and attributing to the poet both the mythical powers of Orpheus

At least as far as the literary history tells us, the  was in use before the time of Alcaeus. According to Pindar fr. 125 (Athenaeus 14.37.14), it was invented by Terpander.

21

22

Ross 1975, 142-143.

23

See Odes 1.1.34, 1.26.11 (in which he applies a plectrum Lesbium significantly to fides novae), and 1.32.5. 24

See especially Odes 1.1.34, 3.30.13, and 4.6.35.

25

Horace’s hymn to Mercury was inspired, at least in part, by a well-known hymn of Alcaeus, fr. 308 (poem 2 of Book 1 of the Aristarchan Alexandrian edition of Alcaeus, according to a scholion to Hephaestion. See Pardini 1991, 259). Horace is also a Mercurialis vir, protected from falling trees by Faunus at Odes 2.17.26-30 and rescued from the battlefield at Philippi by Mercury himself at Odes 2.7.13. The god’s invention of the lyre figures into the invocation of Odes 3.11 and the centaur’s song at Epodes 13.9. This connection to the lyre’s ability in Odes 3.11 to persuade a coy mistress may explain the otherwise anomalous Mercuriusque of Odes 1.30.8 (Rudd 2004, 81 notes that facunde of Odes 1.10.1 suggests that eloquence “makes a lover more attractive”). Mercury’s association with death in his role as psychopompos (Odes 1.24.18) balances nicely with his lyre’s ability to proffer a form of immortality through poetry (see below, section 4.4.1).

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and the greatest share of the audience of the dead.26 It can safely be asserted that the poetry of Alcaeus was a potent thematic influence on the work of Horace, especially on the lyric project of Odes 1-3. Rather than look vainly for a one-to-one correspondence between their poems, I treat these two poetic corpora as mutually illuminating, the latter offering one Classical poet’s reading of archaic poetics, and the former revealing themes Horace may have read and imitated. The paraenetic/advisory themes in the Odes coincide strikingly with Horace’s borrowing of surviving examples of gnomai from Alcaeus, particularly those involving wine, seasonal imagery, death, and the carpe diem theme. Horace’s advisory posture follows Alcaeus’ stylistic adaptation of the traditional formulae we see represented in Hesiod and other early moral-didactic writers. This chapter will outline the themes and generic features shared by these two poets as they relate to the paraenetic posture described in Chapter 3.

4.2.1. biformis vates: the role of lyric poet

Chapter 3 demonstrated the importance of personal instruction in the surviving fragments of Alcaeus. Horace develops his instructional mode in the belief that this is one of the main societal functions of the poet. Critical to my analysis of Horace’s advisory posture is his implicit assertion that the poet’s place in society includes the role of advisor. In considering this role he uses the archaic term vates. Horace is the first

26

This crowd’s interest (magis...densum...bibit aure vulgus, lines 30-32) may imply some degree of Horace’s own approbation; but the poet tells us elsewhere that he avoids the crowd, odi profanum vulgus et arceo (Odes 3.1.1).

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Roman poet27 to refer to himself as vates. 28 Horace uses miracles to build a supernatural image of the poet. In Odes 1.22 he is saved from a wolf by his singing when wandering in a Sabine wood. In Odes 3.4 he credits the Muses with preserving him three times when death threatened: at Philippi (26), when a tree fell on him (27), 29 and in a storm off the Cape of Palinurus (28). He claims that, as a child, he was covered by doves with laurel and myrtle (11-13) to protect him from bears and snakes. This invests the vates and elevates the artist’s role into that of a spiritual advisor. The Odes contain advice to the state, and to its helmsman Augustus: “Both Virgil and Horace skillfully wove national themes into the substance of their poetry, and by investing the vates with new distinction and dignity, converted the poet once again into the sacerdos Musarum.” 30 Newman focuses on the civic role of the vates—a sacred/prophetic position.31 By limiting the advisory significance of the poet’s role in this way, he is able to conclude that the role was not truly realized until the Carmen Saeculare.32 I focus on the private voice of the vates, for most of the advice in the Odes is of a personal nature.

27

But Vergil has two characters refer to themselves as vates, in Eclogues 7.28 and 9.34. For a full discussion of vates, see O’Hara 1990, 176-182.

28

vate me, Epodes 16.66, cited by O’Hara 1990, 180, who suggests that Horace is playing with prior negative connotations of the word and depicting the vates as spiritual leader. The pessimistic context of Epodes 16 offers a problematic picture of the feasibility of this social role, but the ground is laid for exploration of advisory poetics. 29

This is the tree mentioned in Odes 2.13 and 3.8.

30

Sperduti 1950, 239.

31

Newman 1967.

32

Odes 4.6, about the performance of the Carmen Saecular, concludes “vatis Horati.” On the public and literary significance of vates in reference to the Carmen Saeculare, see Putnam 2001 and Miller 2009, 297.

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The literary culture of Greece from the fifth century to the Alexandrian period is surely relevant to the poetics of Horace’s Odes, but I will not examine the entire history of advisory poetry. Pindar was a major influence for Horace, including his participation in the instructional modes, his frequent gnomicity, and his use of mythical exempla; but for two major reasons I consider Pindaric instruction as a separate influence on Horace’s advisory project. First, Pindar’s extant paraenesis is aimed at Sicilian and Italian tyrants and is thus couched in the context of encomiastic poetry. 33 When Horace adopts a Pindaric voice, as in Odes 1.12, he is approaching his subject within that context as well; but his personal paraenetic advice is not usually framed within encomium.34 Second, while the content of Pindar’s advice is consistent with Greek poetic traditions, 35 it is far from the lyric/sympotic advice found in Alcaeus and adopted by Horace. 36 The Roman poet’s affinity for Alcaeus and usage of his particular advisory themes suggest a direct filiation in the development of the paraenetic mode. This limited investigation is thus only one important part of the larger question of Horace’s advisory project. 37

33

This is not to say that Pindar does not offer instructional gnomic material in the majority of his odes, but rather that such material is not couched in the format of paraenesis as I have defined it. On the nature of encomium in Pindar and his subordination of other aims to praise, see Bundy 1962, especially pp. 28-29 on gnomai within encomium. 34

Significantly, when Horace is at his most Pindaric, in Odes 3.4, his Muses give advice to Augustus (vos lene consilium et datis et dato gaudetis almae, 41-42). See Fraenkel 1957, 273-285 for a discussion of the influence of Pythian 1 on Odes 3.4. 35

Cf. above, Chapter 2.2.7.

36

Epode 13 offers justification for this distinction. The poem’s Cheiron monologue comprises Alcaic, rather than Pindaric, advisory subjects. See below, Chapter 4.3. 37

Study of Horace’s dependence on Pindar begins with Highbarger’s 1935 essay. This is reconsidered in several recent essays, such as McDermott 1981, Feeney 1993, Barchiesi 2000, and Hutchinson 2007. Ross 1975, 152 describes the Pindaric background of the Odes as going “a long way toward explaining how a mere poet could address words of advice to the most powerful figure in the Roman state.”

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4.3. Epodes 13

Epodes 13 shows some signs of the paraenetic tendency the poet would exploit more fully in the Odes. Davis discusses various ways that Roman poets assimilate generic material and styles into their work: “Generic disavowals are best elucidated within the general perspective of a poet’s efforts to forge a distinct identity by both differentiating himself from and incorporating crucial facets of a prestigious Greek tradition.” 38 In the case of Horace, however, “the lyrist eschews overt “disavowal” of a rival genre; instead he employs the clever subterfuge of appropriating select features of the opposing genre within his lyric orbit.” 39 The typical elements of the instructional genres are visible already in Epode 13, and they bear traces of the remodeling Davis describes. The speech of Cheiron to Achilles recalls the traditional Precepts of Cheiron attributed to Hesiod, but the substance of the advice given by the centaur is Alcaic rather than Hesiodic. Cheiron predicts that the young hero will be headed for Troy and will not live to return. He then exhorts: “illic omne malum vino cantuque levato 40 deformis aegrimoniae dulcibus alloquiis.” “While you are there, let all your woes be lightened with wine and song, those sweet consolations of foul grief.”

38

Davis 1991, 11.

39

I am not comfortable with Davis’s characterization of non-lyric genres as “rival” or “opposing.” Horace, in the Odes, makes all other genres and their generic features into appropriate elements of the lyric project, much in the same way that Ovid includes many genres in his “epic” Metamorphoses. 40

The future imperative refers to the future time frame of the command, but it also contributes the sense of a maxim, law, or moral precept: cf. Pliny, NH 18.334.2. Mankin 1995, 220-226 reads this as a second person imperative, which causes him some trouble in relation to levare of line 10 (with object pectora). I read it as an intransitive 3rd person imperative, with omne malum as the subject.

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Occurring only here in Horace, alloquium 41 is a loaded word, the verb alloqui having been used of the consolation in Catullus 101 for his brother. 42 As Putnam says of Catullus 101, “the donum and the munus are the poem itself, the most appropriate gift a poet can offer, his condensed ritual of words,” 43 so too Cheiron’s imperative is itself an alloquium. The boy is told of his doom and enjoined to soothe his troubles with wine and song, the two things most commonly invoked by Alcaeus as a balm for the worst realization of human impotence—the inevitability of death. 44 This theme will be addressed in similar ways in Odes 1.4, 1.7, 1.9, 2.3, 2.14, 4.7, and 4.12 (as well as, toward different ends, Odes 1.11 and 2.16). 45 The mythic paradigm in Epodes 13, with its embedded instructional scene, is intended to convey a lesson about how to weather a storm; but this tempest-raising Thracian wind pops up elsewhere in the Odes with similar import. In Odes 1.25 the winds rise in the winter of Lydia’s discontent, bringing on the lust for which an older woman cannot find relief.46 In Odes 4.12 the Thracian wind is paradoxically presented as

Mankin 1995 compares the Greek , as at Sophocles’ Electra 130,  .

41

42

The noun allocutio occurs twice in Catullus 38 in a demand for consolation in a form maestius lacrimis Simonideis. See Copley 1956 for a discussion of this phrase. He seems to miss the generic implications of his own argument: “the idea that the name of Simonides would suggest to the ancient reader...is the idea of death and of songs of lament for death” (127). Indeed, the term lacrimae Simonideae may evoke the category of Simonidean , in which case Catullus is seeking solace in gloomy talk of death. Horace saw Alcaeus’ obsession with death as the appropriate medium for life-affirming messages. Baker’s 1960 response to Copley argues plausibly for comic hyperbole in the poem. 43

Putnam 2006, 45.

44

See Chapter 3 on Alcaeus fragments 38A, 50, 58, 335, 338, and 347.

45

To be discussed below, in section 4.4.

46

I have argued that this wind is borrowed from Ibycus 286, in which the poet bemoans his erotic affliction (Tortorelli 2004, 374).

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the companion of spring. 47 The poet there advises drinking wine for its power to give hope and to “wash away the bitterness of anxieties” (4.12.19-20). Horace’s participation in the traditions of iambic verse expresses itself frequently in the use of stock characters. 48 Cheiron here is a stock figure of the wisdom tradition. His presence recalls the Precepts of Cheiron and Pindar’s discussion in Pythian 6 of the centaur’s advice to Achilles. 49 Davis notes the oddness of his appearance in this poem: “It is with a certain mischievous tongue in cheek, therefore, that the poet of the Epodes conscripts the pedagogic centaur into his convivial service.” 50 Cheiron’s appearance in this sympotic poem is indeed unexpected: one does not invite a centaur to one’s drinking party. Horace has co-opted an epic figure to sing his own sympotic message. Davis does not comment further on the verb cecinit in line 11 (beyond translating it as a “prophetic chant”), but Lowrie associates the centaur’s song with the poet’s, 51 giving the only Classical example of a singing centaur. 52 Harrison suggests that Horace is using the implied lyric genre “to soften and vary the Archilochean paradigm,” 53 but this ignores the specific relevance of several genres to the poem’s composition: epic, lyric, and iambic. 47

Spring is also accompanied by an ill-omened bird. Commager 1962, 276 discusses this paradox and its connection to the ever-present reminders of death. 48

Mankin 1995, 9 cites Epodes 1.33-34, 2.67, 4.1, 5.15, 25, 29, 41-44, 73, 6.1, 10.2, 11.6, 24, 12.18, 14.16, 15.11. 49

Pindar’s verb is . See above, Chapter 2.2.7.

50

Davis 1991, 13.

51

Lowrie 1992, 419.

52

Mankin 1995, 221, argues (with Davis 1991, 14) that cecinit should mean simply “prophesied,” losing its root reference to song. The parallels he cites, however, reflect similar situations (the Parcae in Carmen Saeculare 25 and Catullus 64.383), so I see no reason to assume that song was not part of both poets’ images. 53

Harrison 2001, 182.

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Furthermore, Epode 13 begins with an Alcaic and/or Anacreontic quotation.54 Davis reads Horace’s use of Cheiron and Achilles as an assimilation of epic material to serve his lyric purposes. 55 He makes the case too gently, however, for Horace has perhaps here re-cast not just Cheiron, but Achilles as well. There is allusion to Iliad 9.186-189, in which the embassy from Agamemnon finds Achilles sitting in his tent with a lyre:    They found him delighting his heart with a clear-voiced lyre . . . With it he delighted his spirit, and he sang the glories of men. (Iliad 9.186+189) Homer’s Achilles nurses his wounded pride with song about the glories of battle that he is missing. Horace’s Achilles is to enjoy music in a sympotic way, not yearning for the battle, but shutting it out within the temporary refuge of convivial pleasantries. 56 Of greatest significance for the discussion of the generic strategies of the paraenetic tradition is Horace’s mode of address. Cheiron assumes his stock role as sophos and advisor, speaking in imperatives addressed to the subordinate puer. The poem’s narrator, however, addresses his convivial equals. The identity of amici/Amici in Recalled are Alcaeus fr. 338 (see Chapter 3.5) and Anacreon fr. 17P,  .  55 The centaur’s song (cecinit, 11) is not necessarily lyric, as Lucretius sings carmina as well (DRN 1.934). Horace’s generic appropriation is not limited to epic and lyric poetry. His instructional mode will draw much inspiration from Lucretian didactic. The theme of “the golden mean” (below, section 4.5) relies heavily on Lucretian Epicureanism. Horace notes his own (former) adherence to Epicurean philosophy in Odes 1.34, in which he turns his renunciation of Lucretian skepticism into an Epicurean proof of the mutability of fortune. 54

Admittedly, I am reading a lot into  when I conclude that Homer’s Achilles is singing of battle. There is a model for Achilles’ song in the songs of Apollo and the Muses in Il. 1. Horace may have felt that the collocation of wine and song would further distinguish the suggested sympotic balm from the hero’s sober behavior in the rest of the Iliad. The wine of Epode 13.17 is a significant addition to the Iliadic scene and essential to the Alcaic program. See below, Ch. 4.4.2. 56

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line 3 is a curiosity; 57 but it has some significance for the question of generic participation. Just as the centaur assumes a role superior to his pupil, the puer of line 12, the poet takes on the authority of an advisor to his addressee. Mankin feels that the anonymity of the addressee needs explanation, so he concludes that the tu of line 6 is a military commander or person of authority over Horace, unnamed to preserve decorum. I would stress that the parallel of teacher and student positions the speaker as the authority, regardless of the poet’s relationship to any actual intended addressee. The genre establishes this alignment. This argument sounds as if it is based on a generic system that Horace has not yet asserted, but I see this passage as the first step toward an advisory poetics. The poet uses Cheiron as the prototype of the wise singer who will be his mouthpiece in the Odes. This singer is formed on a Hesiodic model, but dispenses Alcaic advice.

4.4. carpe diem

Horace develops his paraenetic posture in the Odes (consciously or through an instinctive grasp of the generic conventions), utilizing the conventional features of the instructional genres analyzed in the previous chapters. These features can best be demonstrated in the poems which develop the carpe diem theme. This very injunction, in Odes 1.11.8, is designed along the lines of such traditional terms of personal instruction as the

57

See Lowrie 1992, 417, n. 14, for a summary of the arguments for the mss. amici, Housman’s Amici, or Bentley’s amice, with or without Borzsák’s omission of the comma. I disagree with her assertion that mitte, line 7, cannot parallel tu...move as individual addresses within a sympotic group. A similar shift occurs in Odes 1.27, between the plural addressees of the verbs lenite (line 7) and vultis (line 9) and the singling out of the frater Megyllae (lines 10-24).

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anonymous  58—the imperative is applied in a brief, easily remembered motto. Horace toyed elsewhere with the wording: rapiamus occasionem de die (Epodes 13.3-4), but the agricultural metaphor is employed more often than not. The carpe diem theme addresses the inevitability of death with an exhortation to live, enjoying life in the company of friends and the sharing of wine. Both in his reflections on death and in his use of wine, Horace demonstrates a refinement of the message he found in Alcaeus. I shall examine these two aspects of the carpe diem theme individually.

4.4.1. Death

Horace’s preoccupation with death is expressed most often through seasonal imagery. Odes 1.4 describes the coming of spring as the world loosens itself from winter’s grip. In the celebration we hear the pulsing step of the dance of Venus, but the next step is death’s, kicking at the door: pallida mors aequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas regumque turris. o beate Sesti, vitae summa brevis spem nos vetat inchoare longam. 59 Pale death 60 pounds with equal foot at the taverns of paupers and the towers of kings. Blessed Sestius, the brief extent of live forbids that we take on extensive hopes. 58

Inscribed on Apollo’s temple at Delphi, according to Pausanias (10.24.1), who himself attributes it to eight of the Seven Sages. The Pindaric scholia ascribe it specifically to Chilon. 59

Odes 1.4.13-15.

60

I have not capitalized mors (line 13), as the personified image of death here need not refer to the deified abstraction. Nisbet and Hubbard 1970, 67 capitalize, citing the character of Thanatos in the Alcestis as a parallel; but I feel that Horace is not necessarily here, or at Odes 3.2.14, visually embodying death as in that dramatic persona.

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The shift in line 13 has been criticized as abrupt, or even non sequitur. 61 Nisbet and Hubbard note the “thrilling suddenness” of death’s arrival,62 but it is not hard to follow the poet’s train of thought. The passage of time recalls, and the cycle of the seasons symbolically enacts, the process of aging. The poet’s dark thoughts act as foil to the joy of spring. Specifically, he aims this lesson at the Sestius of line 14, whose wealth will not keep him from meeting the same end as everyone else. The lesson, however, goes unstated. There is no exhortation, no formal paraenesis. The poet does not offer his advice for behavior, nor does he offer the consolation of wine and merriment. In fact, he specifically notes that such enjoyment will be unavailable when life ends. It is possible that Horace felt that he was not in a position to make imperative mood exhortations to the addressee, Sestius, consul suffectus in 23BCE. 63 He reserves the exhortations of the paraenetic mode for the Alcaic “Soracte Ode.” 64 Odes 1.9, the first in the book composed in the Alcaic meter, contains the next

61

Commager 1962, 267 quotes the indignation of Walter Savage Landor, “Pallida Mors has nothing to do with the above!” 62

Nisbet and Hubbard 1970, 60.

63

Anderson 1992, 118 considers the question of status for the addresses of Odes 1.4 and 1.7: In 1.4 and 7 the speaker has virtually no personality other than that of a familiar acquaintance of two notable Roman politicians; in that capacity, he has the status to offer them advice, free of criticism, to enjoy the ways of CD. He is presumably a man of their own age and general status, in other words someone substantially like the historical Horace, who was in his early 40’s when Carmina 1-3 were published in 23 B.C. Since the narrator does not address Sestius with imperatives, however, there may be evidence of a difference of status. Of Horace’s advisory odes, four are addressed to Romans of a significantly higher socio-political rank (ignoring Maecenas for the moment): L. Sestius in Odes 1.4, P. Alfenus Varus in 1.18, Q. Dellius in 2.3, and the ill-fated Licinius Murena in 2.10. All four poems include advice in the form of gnomes and subjunctives, but the only imperative is the presumably intransitive memento of 2.3.1. Imperatives are saved for the pseudonymous Greek addressees and for such social equals as the poet Valgius in 2.9 and the Formian eques L. Aelius Lamia in 3.17. 64

The poet revisits the same imagery again in Odes 4.7, making the connection between the seasonal imagery and death more explicitly. See Commager 1957, 72-73.

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lesson drawn from the seasons. It borrows several images identifiable in the scanty remains of Alcaeus fr. 338: a snowy winter seen from inside a home, a fire dispelling the cold, and wine in its vessel. The narrator advises his addressee to stoke up the fire and pass around the wine. This vocative addressee, Thaliarchus, is exhorted in the imperative mood, marking the advisory mode as paraenetic as opposed to the simple gnomic instruction of Odes 1.4. Thaliarchus can be taken as a stock figure of the convivial setting65 or as a real Greek name.66 The lacuna in Alcaeus 338 prevents us from drawing comparisons between the poets’ addresses, but we can imagine an address to Melanippus, Bycchis, or the like. The imperatives—dissolve, deprome, permitte, fuge quaerere—outline the poet’s sympotic philosophy as adapted from Alcaeus. What cannot be changed is accepted, the future is not put to the question, and the day is spent in comfort and sympotic/erotic refreshment. Absent from Horace’s exhortation is the seeking of oblivion we see in the Greek poet’s drinking strategies, which use verbs of heavy drinking— (fragment 38A),  (fragments 332 and 335),  67 (fragment 347). Alcaeus recommends severe inebriation in the face of death and bad weather, while for Horace the wine is only an accompaniment to the prescribed sympotic cheer. Horace’s wine is, however, served benignius (line 6), which perhaps approximates

65

So Commager 1962, 272: “By addressing himself to Thaliarchus (‘master of the revels’) Horace indicates how little he wished to limit himself to a specific occasion.” 66

Nisbet and Hubbard 1970, 121 offer three occurrences of the name in inscriptions.

67

I assume here that this phrase suggests heavy drinking. Libermann 1999 connects the phrase to tangomenas faciamus in Petronius 34.7 and 73.6, which perhaps implies that the image becomes traditional. One could argue that the English phrase “wet your whistle” is a more accurate parallel and that the exhortation does not prefer heavy drinking.

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the copious  of Alcaeus 338. The imperative  from the model has been rendered three ways in the Horatian poem. The idiom  should mean something like “to Hell with the storm,” but the vivid verb suggests human agency physically casting it away. Horace gives us dissolve and deprome for the practical acts of building a fire and distributing wine. His next imperative, permitte, is closer in formation to the Greek verb, and parallels its idiomatic meaning; but its object is neither the winter storm nor the essentials of the drinking party. Horace more generally dismisses all concerns outside the convivium. The most obvious divergence from the Alcaic model is the absence of a storm. Soracte is burdened with snow, but its silvae laborantes are far away in the narrator’s point of view. The “inconsistency” of having winter’s chill in the first half and a call to the Campus in the second half has troubled scholars. 68 Nisbet and Hubbard have little trouble removing this shift from the literal setting of the ode;69 but I find their refusal to seek consistency unnecessary not just for the literal banquet setting, but also for the temporal imagery. The nunc of line 18 refers not to the day of the symposium, but to the “now” of the donec clause of 17-18: while you are young the locales for erotic adventure are appropriate. Although imposing, Mount Soracte stands far away, and the convivium staves off the concerns of winter to such a degree that the joys of spring can be foreseen

68

See Wilamowitz 1913, 311, Fraenkel 1957, 177, Commager 1962, 270, inter alia.

69

Nisbet and Hubbard 1970, 117-118. They conclude, “If he had regarded ‘continuity’ as all-important he was a skillful enough organizer to achieve it... Artistic harmony does not depend on the unities of time and place, and changes of direction can easily be paralleled in Horace.”

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before the year’s thaw. 70 Commager describes Odes 1.9 as the “antithesis” of Odes 1.4. 71 Perhaps this was the poet’s point in shifting from the grim, pessimistic, lecturing tone of 1.4 to the hopeful, positive paraenesis of 1.9. The seasonal movement is still from winter to spring, but the message shifts from hopelessness in the face of the natural order to specific advice on beating the cold. While the seasonal imagery of Odes 1.9 hints at time and age and death, the only concrete reference to death is the quem dierum cumque of line 14. This phrase could imply quality or quantity, so Rudd translates, “whatever kind of day Fortune sends you;” but we have a parallel for the notion of the amount of days in the quem finem of Odes 1.11.1-2. That poem, however, is not necessarily about lifespan, either. We might read into it an erotic theme, 72 which makes Leuconoe’s consultations with Babylonios numeros aim not at learning how long she has to live, but at learning where her assignations with the narrator will find their finem. The narrator, avoiding giving the answer she seeks, replies to her questions with a clever generalized paraenesis advising against looking to the future when there is enjoyment to be snatched from the here-andnow.

70

For another explanation of the apparent weather discrepancies, see D. West 1995, 43-44. He describes the scenario of a poet consoling a beloved boy whose maturation will make him less attractive to men.

71

Commager 1962, 269. In an earlier article, Commager raises the question of instruction in the way he distinguishes these two poems: “The transition here explicit remains tacit in the Ode’s companion piece, where Spring Song — Solvitur acris hiems (C. 1.4.1) — modulates abruptly into Cautionary Verses” (Commager 1957, 72-73). He notices two different ways Horace presents his carpe diem message. In Odes 1.9 the lesson is “explicit” and in Odes 1.4 “elegy conceals injunction.” I am arguing that the explicit mode is developed from Alcaeus. 72

Nisbet and Hubbard 1970, 135 insist on an erotic dimension to the poem, but they see only the fear of death in the girl’s astrological queries. Anderson 1992, 117-118 discusses the question of eroticism in Odes 1.11.

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Just as Odes 1.9 gives us the paraenetic version of the lessons of 1.4, so Odes 2.3 applies a paraenetic structure to the lessons of 2.14. These two poems contemplate the inevitability of death. Odes 2.14 adapts some of the imagery of Alcaeus 38A, depicting an underworld from which there is no escape. The usual suspects are present, such as Sisyphus, Tityus, and the Danaids. David West describes it as “an ‘Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow you may die’ without the eating, drinking, or merriment.” 73 These Horatian essentials come out, however, in the later poem, 74 Odes 2.3. Horace’s poem to Dellius describes a programmatic setting: quo pinus ingens albaque populus umbram hospitalem consociare amant ramis? quid obliquo laborat lympha fugax trepidare rivo? Why do the huge pine and white poplar like to join into a welcoming shade with their branches? Why does the fleeing water work at hurrying in its slanting stream? 75 (Odes 2.3.9-12) The shady trees by the stream evoke Hesiod’s Erga 582-596, 76 which describes the fitting time, in the annual calendar, for the enjoyment of wine and relaxation in the shade. This is the passage mirrored by Alcaeus 347. The reader cannot help but recall these passages when Horace’s narrator begins to call for vina, unguenta, and flores (lines 13-14) in this particular setting. The paraenetic addressee, Dellius, is enjoined to demand the full panoply of convivial bliss. The flores amoenae rosae remind us of the ephemeral nature

73

D. West 1998, 23.

74

Relative chronology according to Nisbet and Hubbard 1978, 53.

75

Bailey’s text reads qua...et... instead of the two questions beginning in lines 9 and 11, but I have used the better attested readings.

76

Cf. above, Chapter 3.5.

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of this bliss, as befits the carpe diem theme. Seasonal reminders of death return in the fourth book of Odes. The seventh poem begins with the spring thaw, and a general interdiction against hoping for immortality leads to gentle reminders to Torquatus that death is final.77 Lines 9-12 run through the full course of the seasons, bringing in an unexpected note of cyclical rebirth in a poem ostensibly about finality: frigora mitescunt Zephyris, ver proterit aestas interitura simul pomifer autumnus fruges effuderit; et mox bruma recurrit iners. The cold grows mild in the Zephyrs, spring is overcome by summer, which is about to be overcome as soon as fruit-bearing autumn pours forth its fruits, and soon inert winter comes back. (Odes 4.7.9-12) Death is inevitable, and the present must be cherished by those who have no hope of immortality. Putnam reminds us of the etymology of bruma (from brevissima), 78 which makes winter a momentary phenomenon within the annual vicissitudes; but it is also a reminder of impending death. The allusions to Catullus 5 in this poem 79 remind us that bruma—the brevissima lux of the solstice—maps onto the more swiftly passing days of the winter of old age. Odes 4.7 serves a greater purpose in the fourth book. The poet insists that death is the end, yet the next two poems use the notion of poetic immortality to ward off death from their addressees, Censorinus and Lollius. The only way to live on after death is to

77

Putnam 1986, 139-140, considers the parallels in Epistles 1.5.

78

Putnam 1986, 137, n. 10.

79

Discussed in Putnam 2006, 20-22.

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be sung by an immortalizing poet. 80 Odes 4.7 offers no paraenetic exhortation to live and to enjoy what time one has. Such exhortations are reserved for poem 12, 81 addressed to Vergilius. 82 Thirst is aroused in line 13 by the season, although this is not the dog days of summer, but the spring thaw. The poet summons his guest with promises of Campanian wine and the advice that he mix some stultitia in with his consilia: ad quae si properas gaudia, cum tua velox merce veni; non ego te meis immunem meditor tingere poculis, plena dives ut in domo. verum pone moras et studium lucri, nigrorum memor, dum licet, ignium misce stultitiam consiliis brevem. dulce est desipere in loco. If you are eager for these delights, come quickly with your trade. I do not plan to saturate you for free with my cups, like a wealthy man in a full house. But put aside delay and attention to profit; and, mindful of the black fires, while it is possible, mix a bit of folly with your concerns. It is pleasant to be foolish once in a while. (Odes 4.12.21-28) 83 These two stanzas contain three second person imperatives, veni, pone, and misce. 84 With an abrupt transition in line 13 away from the seasonal imagery, the poet sets a

80

Or to be the poet himself: see especially Odes 2.20.6-8: non ego...obibo nec Stygia cohibebor unda (the imagery recalls Theognis 237-249 in which the lasting fame is secured for the poet’s subject, Kyrnos) and 3.30.6: non omnis moriar. 81

Porter, 1972 and 1975, compares these two poems. See bibliography in Porter 1975, 220, n. 56.

82

The question of the identity of this Vergilius has stirred many inkpots but is unimportant for our purposes. See Putnam 1986, 205, n. 13; Belmont 1980; Porter 1972; and Commager 1962, 274. I discuss other addresses to Vergil below, in section 4.7. 83

Bailey emends verum (line 25) to rerum, noting a parallel in Epistles 1.17.21; but I see no compelling reason to do so. 84

While misce has obvious convivial connotations, I hesitate to identify a bilingual allusion in pone (the favorite imperative of Alcaeus).

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Hesiodic-Alcaic scene: adduxere sitim tempora, “The times have aroused thirst.” Recalled is the season of the Dog Star, when Hesiod prescribes wine and relaxation as a cure for the heat, 85 and Alcaeus finds yet another excuse to get drunk. 86 This alignment of poetic tradition sets the scene for an instructive moment. The addressee is expected to be mindful of death, while it is possible (dum licet). While wine is usually employed in forgetting troubles, the oblivion here comes after death. Wine is shared in the celebration of life, which serves as an escape from the forgetting threatened by death (Lethaea vincula, Odes 4.7.27), if the celebrant remains memor ignium nigrorum long enough to live in the present. Folly and convivial joy replace—at least for a time—the serious concerns of the Roman. The playful tone of the invitation serves as an example of this folly. 87

4.4.2. Lesbian wine

In the Ars Poetica, lines 83-85, Horace tells us the traditional subjects of lyric verse: Musa dedit fidibus divos puerosque deorum et pugilem victorem et equum certamine primum et iuvenum curas et libera vina referre. The Muse gave it to lyres to tell of gods and the children of gods, and the victor in boxing and the horse first in the race, and the concerns of young men and carefree wine. 85

Erga 582-588. See above, Chapter 2.2.8..

86

Fragments 347 and 352. As Athenaeus 10.430 tells us, Alcaeus finds excuses for drinking in all seasons and circumstances (cf. fragments 338 and 367). See Ch. 3.5. 87

This tone is achieved in part through a humorous reversal of the invitation in Catullus 13, itself a humorous reversal of common tact and of the traditional expectations of an invitation poem (as described by Edmunds 1982). On the other hand, dulce est (4.12.28) may have the force of a maxim (cf. Lucretius 2.7 and Odes 3.2.13).

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Of the three subjects (mythology, athletics, and sympotic affairs) the last gets far the most of Horace’s attention in the Odes. As Commager suggests that we read wine as a metonym for Horace’s lyric poetry, 88 we must examine the poet’s relationship to his drunken lyric model. Alcaeus describes wine as a , an eraser of cares. 89 For Horace, wine has the positive effects of freedom from concerns, 90 commensality, honesty, eroticism, courage, contemplativeness, and poetic inspiration, and the negative effects of drunken brawls, lust, and the betrayal of secrets. 91 Alcaeus was not wholly unaware of wine’s dangers, 92 but in the extant fragments he focuses mainly on the benefits of inebriation. Horace will expand this notion to include other aspects of the drinking experience, but his introduction of wine is couched in Alcaic terms. The first line of Odes 1.18 is a rendition of Alcaeus 342, in the same Greater Asclepiad meter:   Plant no other tree before the grapevine. nullam, Vare, sacra vite prius severis arborem 93

88

See Commager 1952 and 1962, 264.

89

Fr. 346. See the discussion in Chapter 3.5.

90

Note that in Ars Poetica 85, wine is libera vina, etymologically connected to Bacchus (the Greek Lyaios and Roman Liber) in his power to free the mind from worry. 91

The most thorough studies of the symbolic meanings of wine in Horace are those of McKinlay 1946 and 1947, Commager 1957, and Davis 2007. 92

See fragments 358 and 369, discussed above, in Chapter 3.5.

93

On Alcaeus 342, ee above, Chapter 3.4. Horace’s perfect subjunctive prohibition is a poetic construction that occurs again in Odes 1.11, tu ne quaesieris.

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Sow no tree before the holy94 grapevine, Varus, The poem is less an encomium of wine than a catalogue of its benefits and dangers. The god of wine is eulogized under his Roman names, Bacchus and Liber, and treated with caution under cult names connected to his ritual madness, Euhius and Bassareus. His rites are accorded nearly the austerity granted to the Eleusinian mysteries in Odes 3.2.2528. By isolating the positive side of the god’s influence within Roman cultural references, Horace may be commending a particularly Roman approach to drinking. This approach, however, is here connected to Alcaeus and Hesiod, 95 and is presented in the paraenetic mode.96 This Roman style of drinking is in accord with the poet’s calls for moderation.97 He waters his wine more than Alcaeus. 98 He espouses a verecundus Bacchus in a poem against Thracian drunkenness. 99 His final call for wine and celebration encourages only brevem stultitiam, and only in loco. 100 The bibere of his nunc est bibendum is not madere/madescere to match , and is further diluted into a triple play of

94

Horace adds the adjective sacra. It is unknown whether this renders an adjective lost from the original, but  or  would fit the meter. 95

D. West 1995, 87 notes that line 3, siccis omnia nam dura deus proposuit, is a humorous play on Erga 289-290, “the gods have put sweat in front of virtue.” 96

Odes 1.18 begins, at least, with a paraenetic structure; but the address shifts from Varus to Bacchus to Venus to Bassareus. I take Varus (and the paraenetic audience in general) to be the subject of tene in line 13 (contra West 1995, 87, “Keep in check your wild drums”), which brings the poem’s focus back to advice for Varus on attitudes toward wine. 97

Consider Odes 2.10 and 2.3, discussed below in section 4.5.

98

But he distinguishes in Odes 3.19 between the ratio appropriate for the Graces and for avoidance of fighting and the more potent ratio for poets: insanire iuvat. 99

100

Odes 1.27.3. Odes 4.12.27-28.

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drinking, dancing, and feasting, in contrast to the ebria queen he celebrates. 101 This moderate drinking style is, however, occasionally subverted in the pursuit of Alcaic goals, as when Thaliarchus is encouraged to pour more wine than usual in Odes 1.9.6. This is merum, which comes again in Odes 3.21.12, exculpated by stern old Cato in a poem that addresses a pious wine jar in hymnic terms (at once humorous and serious) and elaborates over wine’s blessings while describing a drinking party that will carry on until dawn. We are reminded that immoderation itself must be engaged in moderately. In erasing cares, wine becomes a symbol that stands in opposition to death. The regna vini of Odes 1.4.18 is both what Sestius will lose after death and what he is missing in life if he misuses his time. This is the central theme of Horace’s use of Alcaic wine. Inebriation was perhaps, for Alcaeus, an end in itself—the freedom from grief and anxiety, the pains of past and future loss. For Horace wine is a symbol of life, especially of life lived in the present with the right attitude. Commager describes the importance of the present: “The claims of the future may be as binding as those of the past, and wine frees us from anxiety as it does from retrospection.”102 Leuconoe is advised not to worry about the future in Odes 1.11. Valgius is told not to grieve over the past in Odes 2.9. 103 Neither is appropriate to the present joy of the convivium (or to the rest of life, represented symbolically in microcosm in the convivium). Horace asks us to live in the

101

Odes 1.37. Lacking the rest of the Alcaeus 332, we cannot be sure exactly the rationale for the Greek poet’s drinking. Is he celebrating the death of a hated rival, or does he have some of the troubled ambivalence commentators have noted in Horace’s treatment of Cleopatra? (See Fraenkel 1957, 160, Garrison 1991, 254, et al.) The particular valence of the benefits of inebriation has several possibilities. 102

Commager 1957, 70-71.

103

Aelius is similarly advised not to dwell on the past in Odes 3.17.

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now—nunc vino pellite curas104—and wine is both the tool to achieve that release and the center of the convivial joy to be achieved. The dangers of not recognizing appropriate timing are, as in Alcaeus, presented with viticulture metaphors, to be discussed below, in section 4.6. But to what extent is Horace taking his own advice about wine and relaxation? Odes 1.17 invites a fellow poet to convivial joys in a pastoral setting, recasting the pastoral to remove elegiac threats to the locus amoenus. 105 The poem employs a setting much like that of Hesiod and Alcaeus—a call to relax in the shade with wine when the Dog Star adds to the summer heat. This scene, with the presence of wine, shade, and the arbutus, 106 finds parallels in poems which bookend the collection. Odes 3.29 summons Maecenas to convivial escape from his labors, 107 and Odes 1.1 describes a farmer’s siesta. The speaker is the source of this wisdom, often advising others to relax with wine and to ignore their concerns; but his own attitude can be inferred from the priamel of the opening poem. For Horace, the concerns of poetry outrank even this primary example of his carpe diem philosophy.

4.5. The golden mean

104

Odes 1.7.31. The words are Teucer’s, a temporary distraction from his “cras ingens iterabimus aequor.” The imperatives of Odes 1.7 are not, therefore, directed at the poem’s addressee, Plancus, perhaps in order to avoid directing imperatives at a social superior.

105

See Putnam 1994 for this point and for the suggestion that Tyndaris should be understood as a poet and counterpart to the poet narrator. 106

The arbutus appears only twice in Horace: Odes 1.1.21 and 1.17.5.

107

On Odes 3.29, see below, section 4.7.

149

Horace’s major divergence from the messages of Alcaeus’ advisory fragments is his praise of moderation. In Odes 2.3, moderation is represented by levelheaded avoidance of irrelevant concerns. The poem’s addressee, Dellius, is enjoined to remember to preserve a level mind (aequam memento . . . servare mentem, 1-2), with the reminder that death awaits everyone (moriture Delli, 4), no matter how they behave (seu...seu..., 56). 108 Alcaeus, in the extant fragments, prefers to obliterate this knowledge with wine. Horace chooses to adopt a balance, neither fleeing mortal dread through escapist practices, nor denying death’s inevitability through naïve attention to the details of life. He develops the paradox that one must always be mindful to put death out of mind. This leads to an equilibrium that, although troubled, is nonetheless the human condition. In Odes 2.10, Horace presents a fuller lecture on the advantages of plenty without excess. The ideal is termed the mediocritas aurea: 109 auream quisquis mediocritatem diligit, tutus caret obsoleti sordibus tecti, caret invidenda sobrius aula. Whoever esteems the golden mean, being safe, lacks the squalor of a worn out house and more sensibly lacks halls to be resented. (Odes 2.10.5-9) The paraenetic injunction comes in the final stanza: rebus angustis animosus atque fortis appare; sapienter idem contrahes vento nimium secundo turgida vela. Be animated and brave in difficult matters; so too, wisely you will draw back sails swollen by too favorable a wind. (Odes 2.10.21-24)

108

Discussed above, section 4.4.1.

109

On medicritas, cf. Cicero, de Oratore 3.199 and Brutus 1.49.

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The addressee, Licinius, is advised on the proper approach to life. Horace uses a sailing metaphor, a favorite of Alcaeus, to promote a course neither too far out to sea nor too dangerously close to the rocky shore. Horace employs such binary oppositions in the manner of a priamel. He rejects both the extreme of surplus and the extreme of poverty, opting for the middle ground of contentment, as in Odes 2.16: nec levis somnos timor aut cupido sordidus aufert. and neither fear nor sordid greed take away his carefree sleep. (Odes 2.16.15-16) This focus on appropriate targets is the basis for the poet’s amatory advice. Proper timeliness of erotic attraction requires the rejection of those too young or too old, as well as the addressee’s realization of his or her own place in the maturation process. The wife of Ibycus, in Odes 3.15, is advised in such terms (fige modum, 2) to set boundaries on her behavior, avoiding excess.

4.6. The unripe grape

Vine symbolism ties into Horace’s advice concerning aging. The poet shows a sensitive concern for questions of maturation, whether that of nubile girls or of the superannuated. Grape/vine/fruit metaphors suggest a variety of forms of maturity. 110 Pursuing someone who is too young leads to problems. A pursuer who is too old is open to ridicule. The erotic subject must be aware of his or her own age and stage in maturation as well as that

110

Commager 1957, 69-70.

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of the desired erotic object. Odes 2.5 presents advice to a man pursuing a girl who is not ready for him. The first two stanzas communicate Lalage’s current developmental state through an animal metaphor—that of a heifer’s sexual life. The next stanza presents paraenetic advice to Lalage’s would-be lover with a seasonal metaphor: . . . tolle cupidinem immitis uvae: iam tibi lividos distinguet autumnus racemos purpureo varius colore. . . . Do away with desire of the unripe grape. Soon motley autumn will distinguish dark clusters with purple coloration. (Odes 2.5.9-12) The unripe/overripe grape is an image found in Alcaeus 119:111         For your time has already passed, and whatever fruit there was has been gathered, but there is hope/expectation that the vine, for it is good, will bear no few clusters . . . for from such a vine . . . I fear that they would harvest grapes when they are unripe. (Alcaeus 119.9-16) Fränkel suggests that Alcaeus’ metaphor is erotic, rather than political.112 This metaphor occurs with a few other subjects in Horace. Chloe of Odes 1.23 is tempestiva viro,

111

Nisbet and Hubbard 1978, 84-85 supply several other parallel passages.

112

Fränkel 1928, 275. Pfeiffer 1930 and Snell 1931 also argue for an erotic allegory, while Perrotta 1936, Luria 1947, and Theander 1952 argue for a political allegory referring to Pittacus in his retirement. See Voigt 1971, 228 for bibliography on the question of the political versus erotic allegories.

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despite her fears of the adventus veris and its new foliage. 113 Rhode of Odes 3.19 is tempestiva for Telephus, not like the neighbor’s wife, seni non habilis Lyco.114 Other plant and animal metaphors accuse Lydia of Odes 1.25, Chloris, the wife of Ibycus in Odes 3.15, and Lyce of Odes 4.13 of behavior inappropriate to their age. Chloe’s “ripeness” is the evidence supporting the narrator’s exhortation that she recognize her sexual maturity and accept the attentions of men: tandem desine matrem tempestiva sequi viro. And so, stop following your mother, (since you are) ripe for a man. (Odes 1.23.11-12) Lydia, of Odes 1.25, is told that she is aging and will soon pass the years appropriate to frequent trysts; but it is Chloris, of Odes 3.15, who is treated to advice: uxor pauperis Ibyci, tandem nequitiae fige modum tuae famosisque laboribus; maturo proprior desine funeri inter ludere virgines et stellis nebulam spargere candidis. Wife of pauper Ibycus, establish a limit to your shamefulness and your notorious deeds. Being more suited to a timely funeral, stop sporting among the maidens and casting a cloud over bright stars. (Odes 3.15.1-6) The addressee of Odes 2.5 is advised not to rush a young woman into the confines of a romantic relationship. Lalage is a heifer not yet strong enough to bear the yoke (nondum subacta ferre iugum valet cervice, 1-2), nor to meet the advance of the mating bull

113

Bailey wrongly reads vepris...ad ventum for veris...adventum. See Commager 1962 for a defense of the manuscripts. 114

It is appropriate, perhaps, that a poem celebrating the induction of an augur would employ the language of appropriateness in discussing wine potency and romantic age-compatibility, even while displaying the celebratory language of revelry.

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(aequare nec tauri ruentis in venerem tolerare pondus, 3-4). Horace exhorts the unnamed addressee to put away his desire for the unripe grape cluster (tolle cupidinem immitis uvae, 9-10). The girl’s stage of maturation is not clear in the poem,115 but the message is clearly that erotic associations must be appropriate to the temporal situations of those involved. 116

4.7. Sailing advice for Vergil

Like Alcaeus’ addressees Melanippus and Bycchis, many of the addressees in the Odes are unknown to us and possibly fictitious. In the case of Glaucus, addressed in five fragments of Archilochus, we have an inscription from Thasos (SEG 14.565) which suggests that he was not an invention. Horace’s address to Vergilius in Odes 4.12 gives us the opportunity to consider a known figure as the recipient of paraenetic discourse. Two of Horace’s advisory poems, while not addressed to Vergil, contain advice for the poet and participate in the paraenetic project in the Odes. Odes 1.3 provides the same basic advice and warning as Odes 1.15, but the latter gives this advice in the framework of paraenesis. Odes 1.3 has been read as an allegorical warning to Vergil as he composed the Aeneid.117 The poem is addressed to a ship that carries Vergil to Greece. It expresses

115

Fantham 1979 suggests a young wife not yet of childbearing age. Ancona 1994 suggests a girl not yet sexually developed. I suggest a sexually mature Lalage who is not yet ready for a committed relationship. 116

Odes 3.11 brings back the temporal uncertainties of Chloe and of Lalage in the context of a seduction. The poem is addressed to Mercury and the lyre (testudo, 3). The narrator asks for a song that will catch the ear of the mature Lyde. Horace is identifying the persuasive power of poetry. Cf. Ibycus 288. 117

See J. Pucci 1992, 695, n. 3 for bibliography on this question.

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antipathy toward sailing with hints, reminiscent of Erga 618-694, that sailing is reckless and impious behavior for humans. Lionel Pearson in 1962 developed the argument that sailing is here an allegory for Vergil’s boldness in writing the Aeneid. 118 The warning is not here addressed to the poet, but Odes 1.15 may express the same warning, in the form of paraenetic advice. Fraenkel says of Odes 1.15 that, “a piece of epic narrative, without any recognizable reference either to Horace himself or to a contemporary person or event...is unparalleled in the Odes.” 119 This violation of Systemzwang, the rule that presupposes a unified corpus, has goaded interpreters either into denying Horatian authorship, or into seeing in this poem an allegory of Antony and Cleopatra. Fraenkel himself does not support this notion, but it does not lack adherents. 120 I, too, would argue that Odes 1.15 is an allegory, but a literary allegory rather than a political one. Horace casts his friend Vergil in the role of Paris, dragging the epic heroine across the sea to his own doom. It is a sort of recusatio-by-proxy, warning the aspiring epic poet that he might be making a mistake. Odes 1.15 is addressed to a pastor. Nisbet and Hubbard gloss this with the Greek , citing references, from Bion and others, to Paris as a cowherd. If Horace is making a literary point, his pastor can be only Vergil, the bucolic poet of the Eclogues, who is now trying his hand at war. This brings to mind Eclogues 6.4-5, in which Vergil puts a recusatio in the advice of Apollo to the shepherd/cowherd Tityrus,

118

Unpublished, but reported by Kidd 1977, 97.

119

Fraenkel 1957, 188.

120

Bibliography supplied by Fraenkel 1957, 188, n. 2.

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“pastorem, Tityre, pinguis pascere oportet ovis, deductum dicere carmen” Tityrus, a shepherd should feed fat sheep, but should sing a slender song. Horace himself borrows that carmen deductum as the formula for his completed project of Odes 1-3. In a departure from the myth, the pastor is described as “dragging” (traheret, line 1) Helen off to Troy. Nisbet and Hubbard point out that the word does not necessarily exclude Helen’s consent, but there does seem to be a bit of unwillingness involved. Significantly, the epic Greek accusative Helenen is used instead of Horace's usual Latinate Helenam. This symbol of Greek epic poetry is being expropriated by a shepherd and dragged against her will to a foreign shore. In lines 3-5, in a scene reminiscent of Neptune in Aeneid 1, Nereus calms the winds and begins to lecture the shepherd on the foolishness of his present course. 121 He tells of the doom to come upon the Trojans, mostly in Homeric language. But his references to the trials awaiting Paris all seem to bear equal reference to Aeneas in the Iliad and in the first book of the Aeneid. First is the hero’s protection at the hands of Venus, lines 13-14. 122 He uses the word caesariem. This is the word’s only appearance in Horace in 32 references to hair. 123 The very next line bears another related Caesarian allusion in the inbellis

121

A Porphyrio scholion to the poem tells us that it imitates a (lost) dithyramb of Bacchylides in which Cassandra recites a prophecy of doom to Paris. 122

Aphrodite pays equal favor to Paris and to Aeneas in the Iliad. Her praesidium rescues Paris from the battlefield in Book 3 and Aeneas in Book 5. Note the praesidium of poetry in Odes 2.29, discussed below, pp. 157-158. 123

The word’s first appearance in Vergil’s Aeneid provides a striking parallel to this scene of battlefield rescue. The protection of Aphrodite that rescues Paris from the battlefield in a cloud of mist proffers the opposite service to Aeneas. Venus has concealed Aeneas in a cloud, which suddenly parts in the midst of

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cithara. 124 While the battle scenes of Odes 1.15 seem at first glance to be a simple catalogue of the mightiest Greek warriors, special attention is paid to two of these. Ajax, Odysseus, and Nestor each get about one line; Teucros slightly more; and Meriones only three words. Diomedes and Sthenelus get three lines and six, respectively. These two have the clearest relevance for the character of Aeneas in the Iliad. The most significant moment for the relatively minor Sthenelus is in Iliad 5.319-324, when he and Diomedes take on Aeneas. While Diomedes beats Aeneas to the ground, fracturing his hip, Sthenelus drives off the hero’s chariot and horses. Horaces’s reference to the horsedriving skill of Sthenelus seems to be an allusion to Aeneas’ ignominious defeat. In lines 29-31, Diomedes is part of a Homeric simile. This chase of the wolf after the deer keeps Aeneas in our minds, but also recalls Eclogues 8.1-4: pastorum Musam Damonis et Alphesiboei, immemor herbarum quos est mirata iuuenca certantis, quorum stupefactae carmine lynces, et mutata suos requierunt flumina cursus, The Muse of shepherds, of Damon and Alphesiboeus; at whom, contending, the heifer marveled, forgetful of grazing; at whose song lynxes were dumbstruck, and rivers were changed and rested their flows; The deer in Odes 1.15.30 is likewise forgetful of grass, but for a different reason. It is not resting in a pasture, but exposed to the sudden violence of the epic world, hunted by wolves.

the Carthaginian host, showing his shining locks. In Odes 1.15 we see the word caesariem alluding to the Iliad and the rescue of both Paris and Aeneas, and to the political protection offered by the Caesar. 124

Horace's recusatio, in Odes 1.6.6-10, declares that there will be no praise for Caesar from Horace's unwarlike lyre, inbellis lyra. This same lyre, now an inbellis cithara, appears in the hands of the pastor of Odes 1.15.15. The lyre and the dandying belong to Hector's scorn of Paris in Iliad 3.54; but note that Homer shows us in Iliad 9 that even the most savage of warriors, Achilles, can pick up a lyre and delight his heart with music. It is only in the hands of Paris (or any other pastor) that it is a thing wholly unsuited to war.

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Allegory is difficult to argue, especially with no clear intrusions, 125 but it is not unreasonable to see a nautical allegory in the Odes. This allegory features paraenetic discourse from a sage-figure, imparting advice to an addressee in trouble. 126

4.8. The poem for Maecenas: Odes 3.29

The relationship between Augustus and Horace—or, indeed, between Augustus and any of the poets—involved a complicated balance of deference and artistic license. Horace nevertheless manages to direct advice toward the princeps. The nature of this advice puts their relationship outside the bounds of this study, 127 but another figure must be considered: Maecenas. Odes 3.29 is not just a final dedication to the poet’s patron. Horace revisits his entire paraenetic program in the exhortations to Maecenas. Unlike the invitation of Odes 1.20, this poem employs the imperative mood. Maecenas is enjoined to avoid delay (eripe te morae, 5), to disregard his wealth (desere copiam, 9), not to prefer the city (omitte mirari...Romae, 11-12), and to maintain a level head (memento componere aequus, 32-33). Each of these commands recalls specific

125

For “intrusion”, and other terms in the interpretation of allegory, see Silk 1974. I would argue that caesariem is not necessarily an intrusion, since the word fits both the tenor and the vehicle of the allegory. That the ships of line 1 are Idaean may be evidence of intrusion. The ships are not Trojan or Phrygian, but are specifically from Ida, the region where Paris tended his sheep in peace before those goddesses got him into epic troubles. The inbellis cithara of line 15 is a bit intrusive. Obviously this is not a tool of combat, so the adjective is surprising. Therefore, Horace’s underlying idea that poetry, especially the art of the pastoral poet, is unsuited to martial themes comes very near to the surface in this scene. 126

Kidd 1977, 102 quotes Albin Lesky quoting Goethe in a letter to Schiller: “‘I certainly do not know myself well enough to be sure if I could write a real tragedy. I am frightened even to undertake it, and am almost convinced that I might destroy myself in the attempt.’ Horace may have been similarly afraid that the composition of the Aeneid might destroy Vergil. Perhaps it did.” 127

Hesiod’s Erga provides a parallel for this question. The poet imparts lessons intended for the basileis (Erga 238-264), but does not address any specific individuals in the paraenetic format (see above, Ch. 2.2.4).

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advice in the first three books of the Odes. The calendar is set to hot summer,128 with the seeking of shade being the highest priority. 129 Worry about the future is mocked by the god (deus...ridetque, 30-31), and priority is given to what is at hand (quod adesto memento componere, 32-33). The philosophical ground of the poem is both Stoic and Epicurean. The poet inserts the two greatest goods in one gnome: ille potens sui laetusque deget, cui licet in diem dixisse “vixi.” The man will be happy and master of himself for whom it is possible to have said each day, “I have lived.” (Odes 3.29.41-43) The Stoic Horace would have his addressee be in control of himself (the Stoic virtue of ). The Epicurean Horace would have his addressee seize each day, unconcerned about the past or future. 130 The poet concludes with a lesson repeated throughout his poetry: non est meum, si mugiat Africis malus procellis, ad miseras preces decurrere et votis pacisci ne Cypriae Tyriaeque merces addant avaro divitias mari. tunc me biremis praesidio scaphae tutum per Aegaeos tumultus aura feret geminusque Pollux. It is not my way, if the mast groans in African storms, to take refuge in wretched prayers and to make a pact with vows so that my merchandise from Cyprus and Tyre will not add wealth to the greedy sea. Then the breeze and twin Pollux will bear me safe through the Aegean tumult with 128

Here, however, we have Procyon and Regulus (18-19) instead of Sirius.

129

As Nisbet and Rudd 2004, 354 suggest, “the heat of the day can be thought of as nature’s parallel to emotional strain, while the shade corresponds to Epicurus’ .” Cf. Epicurus, fr. 490:  . 130

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the protection of my two-oared skiff. (Odes 3.29.57-64) 131 The dangers of sailing come up throughout the history of instructional literature, but here Horace has created a sailing metaphor in which the boat is a symbol for passage through life. 132 Santirocco suggests that the boat symbolizes the power of poetry as well, as the protection of the poet’s patron Maecenas (praesidium, 1.1.2) has been replaced by the protection of his “craft” 133 (praesidio, 3.29.62).

4.9. Conclusions

It is on the collective weight of these instructional moments that Horace builds the foundations of his paraenetic authority. His bold imperatives require that he first be invested with the status of sage, which his poetic project creates in the model of a poet/vates. The traditions of Mediterranean and Near Eastern wisdom literature invest the speaker with authority when this mode is employed. By figuring himself as an Alcaic lyric poet, Horace positions his exhortations in the literary context of Alcaic paraenesis. Horace’s most Alcaic poems are not necessarily those in which he mentions the poet. He figures himself as a Roman Alcaeus, but he adopts the paraenetic mode for imparting Alcaic advice in other contexts throughout the lyric corpus. On the other hand, the scene in the underworld in Odes 2.13 depicting the shades of Sappho and Alcaeus comes in the middle of a poem relating, without a paraenetic framework, the simple

131

Bailey reads ferat in line 64.

132

See Putnam 2006, 27-30 for the influence of Catullus 4 on Horatian sailing metaphors.

133

Santirocco 1984, 252. Bad pun mine.

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lesson that death comes unexpectedly to everyone and that poetry can soothe the troubled mind amid dreadful misfortunes and the spiritual malaise of mortality. This is exactly the sort of thought that sends Alcaeus to the wine jar and the lyre in fragments 38A, 335, and 346.

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CONCLUSION

This dissertation explored the didactic elements of Alcaeus and argued that the poet develops a project of paraenesis in his odes. I defined paraenesis as the advisory mode of Hesiod’s Erga, addressing general personal advice to a figure in need of instruction and incorporating several of the traditional features of Wisdom Literature, such as superiorto-inferior address, the imperative mood, frequent use of gnomai, and advice of a widelyapplicable personal nature. I chose to investigate advisory themes in Alcaeus because he frequently gives personal advice that resembles the precepts in Hesiod’s Erga, and because his fragment 347 so closely mimics Erga 582-588 and Aspis 393-397. Alcaeus’ consistency of address and subject matter suggests a well-defined corpus even in its fragmentary state. The paraenetic project that I have described is the first step toward a model of the poetics of this poorly understood singer. It is also significant that the other lyric poets of the archaic period do not participate in the paraenetic tradition. In the Classical period, and perhaps under the influence of Alcaic poetics, Pindar is more explicit than his predecessors about his instructional intent (Pythian 6.19-27). His advisory mode, however, is tied up with (and hard to separate from) his primary goal of praise. Alcaeus does not explicitly define his role as a poet, but his personal advice is the most consistent feature of his poetry, with the possible exception of political invective. It is this deployment of the paraenetic mode 162

that best explains Horace’s relationship to Alcaeus as one model for the Odes. In order to define the paraenetic tradition, I examined Near Eastern examples of Wisdom Literature and their use of paraenetic instruction. Such works relate personal advice, employing formulaic modes of address and a stated purpose of instructing. Near Eastern instructional literature usually claims a divine or royal authority figure as its source. For example, the Instructions of Amenemhet I, set in the voice of Amenemhet, are known to have been written by the scribe Khety. The primary target of instruction is usually the narrator’s son, but the content of the advice—precepts and admonitions for behavior and lifestyle choices—is more appropriate to a general audience. This reveals the artificiality of the paraenetic narrative framework. I noted several other traditional features, such as an agricultural didactic framework, ownership statements of sage status, and the use of animal fables. Building on two studies of Richard Martin, I examined three paraenetic speeches in Homer, those of Phoenix (Iliad 9.434-605), Nestor (Iliad 1.254-284), and Menelaus (Odyssey 15.68-78). Each exhibits features in common with the Near Eastern examples of Wisdom Literature. These include explicit address of childlike status, assumption of the roles of teacher and father, arguments in support of the speaker’s authority, gnomicity, and a tendency to generalize the advice given. In the fragmentary remains of the canon of the Seven Sages we find recognition of demonstrated sophia as a valuable cultural commodity. Poets engaging in this cultural exchange of sophia-recognition attach their names to their expressions of wisdom in order to achieve the status of sage. By developing a paraenetic persona, poets such as Alcaeus and Hesiod are able to vie for recognition of sage authority.

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Hesiod’s Erga is a useful model for investigating the prototypicality of archaic paraenetic verse. Conventional genre theory focuses on shared defining features; but the archaic poets were not necessarily basing their work on prior models, and the tradition is presumably far older than any extant example. I have not, therefore, treated the Erga as the first installment in a chain of advisory works, but as the prototypical model for understanding the tradition. In the field of cognitive science—specifically in the study of categorization—a prototype is not the first member of a category, but the most central. 1 Centrality is a measure of the degree of participation in a shared tradition. That Hesiod is central to my notion of the paraenetic tradition does not mean that he exhibits all of the discourse features associated with that tradition. For example, although the Erga exhibits many of the traits shared by other examples of Wisdom Literature, its address to a brother and its rough handling of the basileis would not be appropriate to Near Eastern and Homeric instruction. If, however, we read this as poetic manipulation of the tradition, we see how Hesiod figures Perses as a foolish, childlike man. The agricultural-didactic framework of the Erga belies the poem’s primary concern with personal advice and developing a theory of justice. The fable of the hawk and the nightingale, Erga 202-212, is paralleled by several examples from Near Eastern literature and the use of animal fables becomes a common feature of Greek instructional literature. In order to describe the state of the instructional tradition in seventh to sixth century Greece, I investigated similar instructional elements in the poetry of Archilochus, Semonides, Theognis, and Solon. Archilochus and Theognis most clearly exhibit paraenetic discourse, in the iambic and elegiac meters respectively. Archilochus

1

Rosch 1973.

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addresses imperative advice to vocative addressees, employs gnomai, and uses animal fables. Theognis develops an explicit vocabulary of instruction in lines 27-28 and displays two possible allusions to the Erga (in lines 29-30 and 40). The martial elegists, Callinus and Tyrtaeus, engage in exhortation that is similar to, but distinct from, paraenesis. I argue that they do not employ the full paraenetic structure because their exhortations need no special authority beyond the demands of the civic need for fighting men. This notion of the authority of the polis may have implications for reading the political invective of Alcaeus. I would suggest that further study of the crafting of poetic authority within the context of political propaganda is warranted, especially in light of the political involvement of sage figures, as seen in Herodotus, for example. My brief sketch of the non-lyric archaic poets provides a basis for reading lyric paraenesis in Alcaeus. As paraenesis is defined in part by its widely applicable advice intended for an audience beyond its named addressee, I considered the question of Alcaeus’ audience. We can safely assume that he composed for performance, whether for private or public events; but I argue that he also composed with the notion that his work would be reperformed and had the potential to experience a lasting tradition. This means that we would be wrong to insist on looking for a contemporary social or political relevance in poems which meditate on timeless truths. Scholarship that focuses narrowly on the relationship between Alcaeus and the other members of his hetaireia misses the significant influence of the Panhellenic artistic culture in which Alcaeus composed. Alcaeus’ paraenetic mode is employed most often to relate general advice about dealing with death and other sources of anxiety (see especially fragments 335, 38A, 38B, and 338). The advice most often given is that one should avoid grim thoughts and that

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drunkenness will help alleviate anxieties (compare fragments 366, 333, 342, 206, 347). He relates these ideas in the form of imperative injunctions addressed to named individuals. Nothing is known about these individuals, but they appear to be the poet’s social equals. This seems to be unusual usage in archaic Greek poetry, with the notable exception of Hesiod’s address to his brother, Perses. As I have suggested, however, Hesiod explicitly figures Perses as his intellectual inferior. Alcaeus does not base his authority on the foolishness of his addressee, but he may have been attempting to build authority of his own through his interaction with the reported wise sayings of sagefigures, such as Pittacus, Aristodemus, and Thales. Few surviving examples of Alcaic paraenesis display the same frequent, explicit language of instruction as Hesiod or Theognis; but perhaps fragment 117.28, a claim to be able to convince someone of something, is representative of what was lost. Notably, this fragment resembles an explicit instructional statement in Sappho 16.5-9. We can expect to find more of “Alcaeus Schoolmaster” as more fragments of his corpus resurface. One important fact illuminates the model of competition for sophia-recognition which I have described: Alcaeus achieved some lasting fame as a coiner of gnomai—still attached to his name in the Classical and Hellenistic periods—such as his pronouncement that death in battle is noble (fragment 400), that brave men are a city’s walls (fragment 112.10), that insignias on weapons do not wound (testimonium 427), that the mind grows old last (testimonium 427), and that poverty is a wretched lot for man (fragment 364). Alcaeus himself quotes gnomai from known sages, such as Aristodemus (fragment 360). Wilamowitz and Fraenkel have suggested that Horace’s relationship to Alcaeus can be understood in part through the paraenetic mode. I took up this abandoned avenue

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of inquiry in order to understand the paraenetic material in Alcaeus. By describing Alcaeus’ poetic project of paraenesis, I can evaluate the adaptations by which Horace develops his own advisory voice in the Odes. Rather than looking for a one-to-one correspondence, I describe the corpora of these two poets as “mutually illuminating,” with the Odes offering one man’s reading of Alcaeus and the extant corpus of Alcaeus offering insights on themes the Roman poet uses. I would not say that Horace simply adapts Alcaic material for a Roman audience. Horace does figure himself as the Roman Alcaeus, but this does not limit his poetic potential to mere translation. Recent scholarship has gone further, describing Horatian use of Lesbian lyric as one small element in the development of his aesthetic mode. I argue that his special affinity for Alcaeus and his adopting of Alcaeus’ advisory stance is a major part of the constitution of his lyric persona and, in fact, of his definition of the lyric poet’s role. Horace did not leave prose memoirs, but he does discuss the societal role of the poet in the Ars Poetica, the Satires, and the Epistles. In exploring the lyric poet’s role, I avoided dependence on these separate works and focused on how the poet/vates is construed within the Odes. This focus on internal poetics rather than explicit poetic statements may offer a truer view of Horace’s lyric practice. Horace frequently engages the carpe diem theme developed by Alcaeus, and he does so in poems using strategies of the paraenetic tradition. Epodes 13 exhibits some of the paraenetic features that would become common in the Odes. It contains reminiscences of the Hesiodic Precepts of Cheiron: instructional addresses by a sage figure to a young man within a mythic narrative frame. The specifics of instruction in Epodes 13 focus on Alcaic advice regarding wine and song as remedies for anxiety and

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the knowledge of death. We refer to this theme with the imperative Horace employs in Odes 1.11.8: carpe diem. In discussing the carpe diem theme and its relationship to the fragments of Alcaeus, I focused mainly on the poems about death and wine. I found reminiscences of Alcaeus also in poems espousing the “golden mean” and in Horace’s use of viticulture metaphors for the timeliness of human endeavors. Alcaeus shows some concern for the proper time for action, but moderation is seldom evident as a virtue in Alcaeus’ formulations. Horace gives us a distinctly Roman approach to Alcaeus’ carpe diem philosophy. Three figures receive more than one instructional address in the Odes: Augustus, Vergil, and Maecenas. The advice to Augustus is not of the same personal sort as the paraenesis in the rest of the Odes. It resembles Pindaric advice, in that it is couched in the strictures of encomium. For this reason I did not include the advice to Augustus within the bounds of this study, but I would suggest that a study of the distinction between these advisory modes is merited. For advice to Vergil I looked not just to the paraenetic Odes 4.12, but also to Odes 1.3 and 1.15, which use sea voyages as metaphors for Vergil’s poetic project in the Aeneid. Horace warns Vergil of the dangers of such an undertaking. Odes 1.15 uses paraenetic discourse to make this point, with Nereus delivering an advisory speech to a young, foolish Paris. I read Odes 3.29, to Maecenas, as a recapitulation of the poet’s paraenetic project. I concluded that Horace consciously develops, in the Odes, a project of paraenetic advice built on the model of Alcaeus. This paraenetic project is not the central organizational principle behind the Odes, nor is it the main purpose of the collection. It is one of many projects woven through the dynamic tapestry of the Odes, but it is a major element of the way Horace defines the role of the

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lyric poet. Our understanding of the poetics of the archaic period is limited by the fragmentary nature of the remains, but we can identify some of the strains in subsequent literature that build on archaic foundations. We can best proceed by investigating modes of discourse rather than limiting ourselves to the proscriptive generic categories we superficially perceive.

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