6

Romane, memento: Antisthenes, Dio and Virgil on the education of the strong

†John Moles

This paper starts from propositions that are widely, though not universally, acknowledged: Antisthenes, the first-generation Socratic who stands at the head of the Cynic tradition,¹ had a distinctive education doctrine, which was deployed by Dio of Prusa, the Greek sophist, philosopher and politician of the first century AD, in at least two of his works.² The paper then proceeds to make two much more audacious claims: that Antisthenes’ education doctrine underlies Virgil, Aeneid 6.847–53 (excudent alii …), with enormous consequences for the interpretation of that most controversial passage; and that Dio was aware of Antisthenic influence upon Virgil and incorporated this insight into one of his own reworkings of Antisthenes, in a way that crystallises currently much-debated questions about the knowledge of Roman culture possessed by Greek intellectuals in the early Empire, about the knowledge of that culture which those Greek intellectuals could assume in at least some of their contemporary (Greek)³ audiences and about the differing ways in which Greeks responded to the phenomenon of Roman power. The paper, then, may be regarded alternatively as falling into four more or less discrete parts or as unified by such themes as the whole ancient philosophical debate about the value of conventional education, the reception of Antisthenes, the adaptation of Antisthenes to Roman contexts, and the general Graeco-Roman culture–power debate.

I Antisthenes’ education doctrine

The relevant fragment of Antisthenes is embedded in a fragment from the On Virtue by Themistius, the Greek orator and philosopher of the fourth century AD:⁴

‘But if you wish truly to learn that wisdom is something lofty, I invoke neither Plato nor Aristotle as witnesses, but the wise Antisthenes, who taught this road. For he says that Prometheus spoke to Heracles as follows: “your labour is very cheap, in that your care is for human things, but you have deserted the care of those things which are of greater moment; for you will not be a perfect man until you have learnt the things that are loftier than human beings, but if you learn those things, then you will learn also human things; if, however, you learn only human things, you will wander like a brute animal”. For the man who studies human things and confines the wisdom and intelligence of his mind in such cheap and narrow things, that man, as Antisthenes said, is not a wise man but like to an animal, to whom a dung pit is pleasing. In truth, all celestial things are lofty and it behoves us to have a lofty way of thinking about them.’

Themistius’ statement that he is ‘invoking’ Antisthenes verbatim – in the absence of any evidence to the contrary – has to be accepted as accurate. Since the fragment is preserved only in Syriac, it might be thought that we are operating at one remove from Antisthenes himself, but in fact there is good reason to suppose that the Syriac translation is very close to the original.⁵

Heracles’ prominence in the fragment has led scholars generally, and no doubt rightly, to attribute it to Antisthenes’ Heracles. The essential theme is Heracles’ ‘education’ (note the repeated use of the word ‘learn’). Prometheus criticises Heracles’ care for ‘human things’, which are associated with the animal world, and his desertion of ‘loftier things’. Acquisition of the loftier/celestial things guarantees acquisition of the human things; moral perfection needs both. This mythical paradigm concerning a choice set before Heracles naturally resembles the famous Choice of Heracles by Antisthenes’ contemporary Prodicus, but differs in that it has both a sort of ‘either-or’ quality (if the choice is between human and heavenly things, the heavenly are much preferable) and a ‘both-and’ quality (both are needed for perfection). The use of the term ‘labour’ in the criticism of Heracles’ ‘labour’ as ‘very cheap’ inevitably recalls Heracles’ Labours and suggests a contrast between misguided ‘labour(s)’ and true philosophical Labours. The mention of ‘wandering’ recalls Heracles’ role as one of the great ‘wanderers’ of myth (here, of course, philosophical myth), but seems also to play on the well-known relationship between literal and metaphorical wandering, the latter in its negative role of moral ignorance.

So much for the quoted words of Antisthenes within the fragment. The extent to which Themistius’ introductory comments (‘But … road’) and closing comments (‘For the man … about them’) also reflect Antisthenes requires careful consideration. Though the explicit quotation from Antisthenes does not include a ‘road’ metaphor, this metaphor was of course extremely common in moralising and philosophical texts, both Cynic and other. It is part of the Prodican Choice, and it could be regarded as already implicit in metaphorical ‘wandering’. Probably, therefore, Antisthenes used the ‘road’ metaphor elsewhere in the Heracles. Themistius’ restatement of the lofty/ celestial–human/animal contrast in terms of wisdom/intelligence and ‘animalism’ might simply be a restatement of Antisthenes’ quoted words, with ‘as Antisthenes said’ merely picking up ‘for he says’ and ‘cheap’ merely echoing ‘very cheap’. But the whole restatement is, I think, better read as a summary of Antisthenes’ own exegesis of the story about Heracles and Prometheus, with Themistius’ own gloss beginning at ‘In truth …’, picking up the very beginning (‘truly’). Antisthenes certainly lauded ‘wisdom’ and ‘intelligence’, and the former quality is given emphasis by another ring structure. The restatement generalises from the myth to human behaviour, uses a new image (‘confinement’ in ‘narrow things’) and ends on an appropriately crude Cynic note (‘to whom a dung pit is pleasing’). Consequently, we may infer that the connection between merely human wisdom/intelligence and animalism does indeed belong to Antisthenes’ exegesis of the myth, in which case we may suspect here the influence of the Aeschylean (or pseudo-Aeschylean) representation of the relationship between Prometheus and Heracles’ father, Zeus, as being between intelligence and (mere) power.⁶ Antisthenes also seemingly used a ‘virtue–pleasure’ contrast, which is a feature of the Prodican myth and appears with extreme frequency in Cynic material, and seems here to be reflected in ‘to whom a dung pit is pleasing’.

Three other general factors must affect our interpretation of the fragment. First, Antisthenes certainly elsewhere projected Heracles as a paradigm of positive moral virtue: hence the fragment presents Heracles at the start of his philosophical learning curve. Secondly, Antisthenes lauded philosophical ‘strength’ and On Strength is recorded as an alternative title to Heracles. ‘Strength’, therefore, must be part of the education package. Antisthenes might then here be making an implicit contrast between ‘brute’ strength and philosophical strength. It is even likely that Antisthenes played on the significance of his own name, as meaning ‘strength’. And, given that Antisthenes himself was a rough, tough moralist who wrote well, one might wonder whether he gave his educational doctrine metaliterary application in the Heracles, whether, that is, the work itself instantiated the doctrine. Thirdly, it may of course be plausible in some cases to infer additional elements from the Antisthenes-influenced texts, though this procedure naturally risks circularity.

Before we leave Antisthenes, it is worth registering – if only to dismiss – an objection made by certain modern Platonists: namely, that the fragment fails to provide any very distinctive doctrine. Now it is of course true that a contrast between the ‘good’ philosophical education and the inadequate conventional education is found everywhere in the Socratic/Platonic tradition and true also that this contrast may imply a distinction between ‘divine’ and ‘human’ education (as in the Apology, where Socrates’ quest for wisdom is Apollo-driven, or in Alcibiades I,⁷ where the Apolline precept ‘know thyself’ is taken to mean ‘know one’s godlike soul’). Nonetheless, in his Heracles Antisthenes, himself one of the earliest Socratics, evidently gave his own version of that divine–human educational contrast, and he and others, like the much later Themistius, evidently regarded that version as being sufficiently distinctive.

Since much of the rest of the paper will be taken up with the tracing of parallels between Antisthenes, Dio and Virgil, it will be useful here to number the elements of the Antisthenic education doctrine in order of appearance as analysed above:

(A1)Work as whole Cynic

(A2)Education the general theme

(A3)Immediate context an educational lesson

(A4)Philosophical teacher–pupil relationship

(A5)Prometheus as teacher

(A6)Heracles as pupil

(A7)Education split into two parts

(A8)One part ‘human’, the other ‘lofty / celestial’

(A9)‘Lofty / celestial’ much more important

(A10)‘Human’ associated with animals

(A11)Both parts needed for perfection

(A12)Possession of the ‘lofty / celestial’ leads to possession of the human

(A13)Evocation of Choice of Heracles

(A14)Myth has both ‘either-or’ and ‘both-and’ quality

(A15)Evocation of Heracles’ Labours

(A16)Wandering literal and metaphorical

(A17)Road metaphor

(A18)Contrast between higher intelligence and brutishness

(A19)Evocation of relationship between Prometheus and Zeus as in PV

(A20)Confinement in narrow things

(A21)Cynic scatology

(A22)Virtue–pleasure contrast

(A23)Heracles at start of philosophical learning curve

(A24)Fully educated Heracles as philosophical paradigm

(A25)Generalisation from myth to human behaviour

(A26)Endorsement of ‘strength’

(A27)Contrast between mere ‘brute’ strength and philosophical strength (note that Cynic ‘strength’ combines physical and mental capacities)

(A28)Pun on word/name ‘strength’ (Antisthenes)

(A29)Metaliterary application.

I shall use these numbers below (printed in bold) to identify parallels to Antisthenes in Virgil. Obviously, ‘parallels’ need to be numerous and sustained if real influence is to be proved and then analysed. We must now begin with Dio.

II Antisthenes in Dio

I confine myself to two cases where Dio uses Antisthenes in what are, in some senses, Roman contexts. The first case occurs in Dio’s Fourth Kingship Oration, which takes the form of a dialogue between Diogenes and Alexander. Whether the Fourth Kingship was actually delivered to Trajan is disputed,⁸ but at least it dramatises an encounter between Trajan (~ Alexander) and Dio (~ Diogenes), i.e. between a Roman emperor and a (self-styled) Greek philosopher, which is enough for present purposes. As the use of Diogenes as main speaker implies, the general ethos and much of the doctrine of the speech are Cynic.⁹ Sections 29–33 are commonly thought to reflect Antisthenes’ education doctrine as preserved in the Heracles fragment.¹⁰ For Trapp, however, the doctrine of 29–33 is not Antisthenic but merely one of a series of items drawn from Alcibiades I, which Trapp holds to be the Platonic ‘master-text’ of the whole of Kingship 4.¹¹

The parallels between Kingship 4 and Alcibiades I are as follows:

Kingship 4	Alcibiades I
1 Alexander’s longing for world renown (4)	1 Alcibiades’ progressive ambitions for primacy, eventually extending to all mankind (105a–c)
2 Alexander’s long-standing desire to see Socrates and benefit from him (11)	2 Alcibiades’ previous desire to see Socrates (104c–d); Socrates’ claim to have the power to crown Alcibiades’ achievements (105d)
3 Diogenes’ insistence that Alexander, well educated in a conventional sense, lacks the true education needed for kingship and is therefore premature in his ambitions (29 ff.; 70)	3 Socrates’ insistence that Alcibiades, well educated in a conventional sense, lacks the knowledge of statecraft and is therefore premature in his ambitions (118a; 106e ff.)
4 This education is a prerequisite for kingship (24–5, 53)	4 This knowledge is a prerequisite for kingship (121a–124b, esp. 122a)
5 Diogenes’ insistence on ‘knowing thyself ’ (47)	5 Socrates’ insistence on ‘knowing thyself ’ (124a–b, 128e ff.)
6 ‘Knowing thyself ’ requires knowledge of one’s daimon (75)	6 ‘Knowing thyself ’ requires knowledge of the god-like soul (129e ff.; 133c)
7 Diogenes’ illustrations from Homer and the customs of the Persians (39 ff.; 66 ff.)	7 Socrates’ illustrations from Homer and the customs of the Persians (112b; 121c ff.)
8 Alexander’s present slavish state (75)	8 Alcibiades’ present slavish state (135a–c)
9 The dress of the daimon of hedonism (102)	9 The sweeping robes of the Persians (122c)
10 Finally, the need for the good daimon and ‘sound culture and reason’ (139)	10 This is effectively the main theme of Alcibiades I.

These parallels, which also include one clear verbal echo,¹² are compelling and prove that Dio is, indeed, using Alcibiades I as his ‘architectural’ text for the Fourth Kingship.¹³ On Trapp’s view, therefore, sections 29–33 are sufficiently explained in terms both of the broad thematic correspondences between the two speeches (items 3–4) and of that general Socratic/Platonic distinction already mentioned between the ‘good’ philosophical education and the inadequate conventional education. However, in my opinion, just as the general Socratic/Platonic distinction between the good and bad forms of education is insufficient to dispose of the distinctiveness of the Antisthenic version of it, so, here, these two factors are too general to explain the specifics of Dio 4.29–33, which now requires full quotation (for reasons that will emerge, I shall take the text as far as 38). Diogenes is addressing Alexander:

(29) ‘Do you not know that education is double, the one part divine [daimonios], the other human? Now the godlike [theia] part is great and strong and easy, but the human is small and weak and has many dangers and not a little deception; nevertheless, it is necessary for it to be added to the other, if there is to be a correct product. (30) But the majority call this human part ‘education’ [paideian], just – I suppose – like ‘child’s play’ [paideian], and they think that the man who knows the most written languages, Persian and Greek and Syrian and Phoenician, and chances to read the most books is the wisest and most educated, but then again, when they chance upon scoundrels and cowards and money lovers among these, they say that the fact and the man are worth little. The other kind they sometimes call ‘education’, sometimes ‘manliness’ and ‘highmindedness’. (31) And it was for this reason that men of former ages called sons of Zeus those who successfully chanced upon the good education and were manly in their souls, having been educated like the famous Heracles. Whoever, then, being noble by nature, possesses that education easily becomes a possessor of this other one too, having heard only a few things on a few occasions, but those things that are the greatest and most authoritative, and he becomes initiated and guards them in his soul, (32) and no one could any more take any of these things away from him, neither time nor any sophist, not even one who wished to burn them out by fire; but even if someone burns the man, as they say that Heracles burned himself, his principles would remain in his soul, just as – I suppose – they say that the teeth of corpses that have been utterly burnt remain intact, when the rest of the body has been consumed by the fire. (33) For he does not have to learn but merely to remember; afterwards, he immediately knows and recognises, as having had these principles in his mind from the beginning. In addition, if he falls in with a man who as it were knows the road, that man easily demonstrates it to him, and he learns it and departs immediately. But if he falls in with some ignorant and vagabond sophist, he will wear him out by leading him in circles, dragging him sometimes to the east, sometimes to the west, sometimes to the south, knowing nothing himself but merely conjecturing, and having wandered much himself under the lead of similar vagabonds. (34) Just as ignorant and unruly dogs in the hunt understanding nothing and failing to recognise the trail deceive others thoroughly by their voice and behaviour, as if they knew and saw, and many – chiefly the most foolish – follow these ones that make random sounds. (35) But of these some which make no sound and remain silent are only themselves deceived, but others, the most impetuous and most mindless, imitating the ones at the front, make a din and zealously deceive others, such is the large crowd of simple-minded people that you would find sometimes following along around the so-called sophists. And you will learn that a sophist is no different from an unruly eunuch’. (36) Hearing this, Alexander wondered in what respect he had compared the sophist to a eunuch and asked him. ‘Because’, he said, ‘the most wanton of the eunuchs say that they are men and have desire for women, and they sleep with them and pester them, but no further product accrues, even if they go with them for whole nights and days. (37) And among the sophists you will find many growing old, wandering in their speeches much worse than Homer says that Odysseus did upon the sea, and any one of them would sooner arrive in Hades, as that man did, than become a good man by speaking and listening. (38) And you, since your nature is such, if you chance upon a man who knows, one day is sufficient for knowing the thing itself and the art, and there will be no need thereafter for intricate sophistries or speeches. But if you do not chance upon a teacher who is a disciple of Zeus or another like him, who says speedily and clearly what must be done, there will be no profit for you, not even if you wear out your whole life sleepless and foodless among the accursed sophists.’

This lengthy, but sparkling and amusing, passage contains other elements, notably ad hominem appeals to Trajan and lashings of Dio’s habitual polemics against (contemporary) sophists. Nevertheless, its essential philosophical provenance is clear from the numerous and sustained parallels with Antisthenes’ Heracles, a text that contains the following elements:

(i) the idea of the ‘double education’, one part of which is divine, superior, strong and ‘easy’, and which effectively equals moral virtue; the other part of which is human, inferior and weak, and which effectively equals conventional education;

(ii) the idea that both these parts are necessary for complete education;

(iii) the claim that knowledge of the divine education easily confers knowledge of the human;

(iv) the idea that Heracles represents the divine education;

(v) the idea that the sophists, of whom Prometheus is one, represent the human education;

(vi) road imagery (both good and bad roads);

(vii) a comparison between human education/sophists and errant dogs.

Elements (i), (ii) and (iii) are substantially represented in the fragment: although the latter does not use the term ‘double education’, it effectively divides ‘education’ into ‘divine’ and ‘human’; it asserts the great superiority of the former but makes both necessary for moral perfection; it also says that acquisition of the heavenly education enables acquisition of the human. The emphasis in Dio on the ‘easiness’ of the educational programme, which is characteristically Cynic¹⁴ and alien to the general Socratic/Platonic tradition, could have had Antisthenic precedent, Antisthenes being at the very least a proto-Cynic. Element (vi) could be Antisthenic, since his Prometheus–Heracles encounter has something of the flavour of the Prodican Choice of Heracles, which has the ‘two roads’ motif, ¹⁵ and Themistius’ introductory ‘the wise Antisthenes, who taught this road’ might reflect this. The errant dogs of item (vii) may gloss Antisthenes’ human education as animal/bestial. The association of human education with sophists is also plausibly Antisthenic: having begun as a pupil of Gorgias, Antisthenes later attacked him (e.g. in the Archelaus).¹⁶ And – strikingly enough (in view of the fact that the Themistius fragment is preserved in Syriac) – there is even one apparent verbal parallel between Dio and Antisthenes: 4.31 ‘whoever, then, being noble by nature, possesses that higher education, easily acquires this other also’ resembles the fragment’s ‘but if you learn those [loftier] things, then you will learn also human things’.

By contrast, Alcibiades I lacks not only the Cynic emphasis on ‘easiness’ but also the explicit distinction between human and divine education, the claim that acquisition of the heavenly education enables acquisition of the human, the motif of the two roads and the comparison of human education to errant animals. In all these respects, Dio is far closer to the Antisthenes fragment. Furthermore, although Alcibiades I does invoke Heracles (120e 9), and the invocation is strategic,¹⁷ it is wholly undeveloped, and there is no mention at all of Prometheus.

Now it is true that these last two factors themselves highlight a big difference between Antisthenes and Dio, a difference which Antisthenic and Dionian scholars have hitherto found hard to explain. This difference is the switch of roles between Heracles and Prometheus: in Antisthenes, Heracles represents human education and Prometheus divine; in Dio, Heracles represents divine education, Prometheus sophistic/human. But there is no cause for excitement. In Cynicism generally, and already in Antisthenes’s Heracles, the educated Heracles is one of the great moral paradigms;¹⁸ in the Heracles fragment Antisthenes is dealing with Heracles precisely at the point where he has not been properly educated, whereas Dio is dealing with the developed, properly educated Heracles, because this is the Heracles he needs as an inspiring paradigm for Trajan, philosophical learner and devotee of Hercules.¹⁹ Dio therefore correspondingly demotes Prometheus to the role of sophistic exponent of human education – a role Prometheus could fulfil from the Prometheus Vinctus on. And if the Antisthenic fragment already plays with the PV, as suggested above, Dio would also be playing games with Antisthenes’ use of the PV, choosing the negative characterisation of Prometheus available there instead of the positive one chosen by Antisthenes. In short, once we accept the possibility of Dio’s being not a passive reproducer, but a creative adapter, of his philosophical sources,²⁰ the switch of roles between Heracles and Prometheus does not disturb the general pattern of Antisthenic influence: it even reinforces it. Sections 29–38, then, are based on Antisthenes’ double paideia and the apparent verbal parallel is revealed to be a true parallel and a sufficient indication that Dio had himself read Antisthenes’ Heracles, as he had certainly read other texts of a Socratic whose works were widely read in the ancient world.²¹

The general pattern of Antisthenic influence once established, we may turn to other elements in Dio 4.29–33. Dio’s emphasis on philosophical ‘strength’ is characteristically Cynic and already Antisthenic: Antisthenes’ Heracles praised such virtues as ischus, and Antisthenes (I am sure) played on the sthenos-element in his own name.²² Cynic philosophical strength has both mental and physical aspects. The strong–soft contrast suits a Choice of Heracles colouring²³ and was also exploited by the virile Antisthenes. Clearly, Antisthenes’ Greek philosophical paradigm can usefully be transferred into a Roman political context, even though Cynicism generally – and already, to some degree, Antisthenes – rejected worldly power. Finally, the double education has here some metaliterary application: the Fourth Kingship Oration itself embodies it, combining robust Cynic moralising with literary sophistication. This presumably also applied to Antisthenes, who was, as already noted, a rough moralist who wrote well. So, if the Roman emperor Trajan follows the teaching of the Greek philosopher, Dio, he will acquire both divine and human education and achieve perfection.

A year later, in Oration 13, Dio is telling his Athenian audience about his education of the Romans. The overall ‘feel’ of this speech, too, is Cynic;²⁴ as already noted, Höistad has plausibly argued for a general influence of Antisthenes’ double paideia;²⁵ and there is one virtually certain Antisthenic trace at 13.30.²⁶ Now the closing words of the speech are as follows (37):²⁷ ‘I did not, however, say that it was difficult for them [the Romans] to be educated, “since” (I maintained) “when you were better than nobody in the past, you learned easily all the other things that you wished.” I speak of the arts of horsemanship, bowmanship and hoplite warfare …’. The theme of this passage is education (cf. ‘educated’, ‘learned’). Education has two parts. The superior pertains to moral virtue, which the Romans do not (yet) have; the inferior embraces the arts of horsemanship, bowmanship²⁸ and hoplite warfare, and consists, in effect, of the Romans’ general military supremacy: their – allegedly – easy acquisition of that supremacy should make their acquisition of virtue ‘not difficult’. The bipartite division of education, the Cynic emphasis on ‘easiness’, and the thought ‘if you’ve got the one form, the other is easy’ – these things show that Dio is again reworking Antisthenes for a Roman political context, though, as in the Fourth Kingship, with creative modifications.

He has taken the thought ‘the superior form of education makes the inferior form easy’ and inverted its terms – to obvious protreptic effect. He has discarded the human–heavenly/divine terminology, presumably as being unnecessarily obtrusive in the present context. Nevertheless, throughout the speech the superior form of education, which produces true moral virtue, is validated by the divine. For Antisthenes’ human education, Dio has substituted Roman military supremacy. One effect of this substitution is to leave the Romans (scilicet unlike the Greeks) without any conventional education. Here Dio is trading on a standard demarcation between Greeks and Romans: namely, that the Romans do war, not culture, which is left to the Greeks.²⁹ But the implicit dismissal of conventional education also accords with the more radically Cynic or Diogenic position on this issue³⁰ that the speech as a whole adopts rather than the Antisthenic view that conventional education has some, albeit minimal, value. But another effect of this substitution is to give greater elevation to this human education equivalent, thereby increasing its protreptic appeal. Earlier, Dio criticises the Romans’ moral weakness, but says that if they choose the right education their city will become strong (34): this conventional pun on Rome³¹ is well placed when Romans are being taught Antisthenic and Cynic educational doctrine, which teaches philosophical strength. Thus the Romans’ military supremacy hovers, as it were, between mere strength (rômê) and philosophical strength, which itself has a physical element, and thus aspires towards the philosophical strength, which is the ‘true’ Rome. Here Dio is trading on another common assumption: namely, that there is some affinity between Roman virtue and Cynic virtue.³² The emphasis on the alleged ‘ease’ with which the Romans acquired their supremacy further suggests their Cynic potential, as well, perhaps, as investing them, already, with something of the divine, ‘ease’ being an attribute of the gods.³³ (I shall return to this latter point.)

In sum, Antisthenes’ double paideia doctrine underlies 13.37; Dio again shows considerable creativity in his reworking of it; and the doctrine itself again emerges as highly adaptable to a Roman political context, and one here, moreover, that compares and contrasts Romans and Greeks.

III Virgil and Antisthenes

Lines 847–53 of the sixth book of the Aeneid run as follows:

‘excudent alii spirantia mollius aera

(credo equidem), uiuos ducent de marmore uultus,

orabunt causas melius, caelique meatus

describent radio et surgentia sidera dicent: 850

tu regere imperio populos, Romane, memento

(hae tibi erunt artes), pacique imponere morem,

parcere subiectis et debellare superbos.’

‘Others will hammer out bronzes breathing more softly (I certainly believe), they will mould expressions from marble that live, they will plead cases better, and the courses of the heavens they will write out with the rod and they will tell of the rising stars: you, Roman, remember to rule the peoples with power (these will be your arts), and to impose civilisation upon peace, to spare the subjected and to war down the proud.’

This epilogue – Anchises’culminating advice to Aeneas – is of course one of the most crucial passages in the Aeneid. It seems not only to define the Roman imperial mission but also to make a key statement about the respective geniuses of Greece and of Rome and to subordinate the Romans’ pursuit of ‘the arts’ (in our usual sense of that term) to that mission, defined as ‘arts’ of a different kind. The description of war and imperialism in terms of arts is on one level paradoxical, in as much as it contrasts with ‘the (liberal or fine) arts’, on another level not so, because any pursuit demanding technical competence can be described as an art.³⁴ The passage has effectively three structuring elements: the first is priamel form; the second is the contrast between various ‘fine arts’ and the ‘arts’ of war and imperialism; the third is a contrast between Greeks and Romans, it being well understood that alii can refer only to the Greeks.³⁵ The second of these contrasts itself suggests other contrasts: between otium and negotium,³⁶ between pleasure and virtue, between soft and hard, between heavenly and earthly, between peace and war.

The first structuring element serves to privilege the Roman imperial mission among the various ‘artistic’ activities, though it is itself rather overtaken by the third element: in the hierarchy of values the arts of 847–50, although actually performed by different artists, are lumped together as the preserve of a generic alii. But when the passage is taken together with the immediately preceding 845–6 tu Maximus ille es, | unus qui nobis cunctando restituis rem (which quotes Ennius’ famous judgement on Fabius Maximus, unus homo nobis cunctando restituit rem, Annales 363 Sk.), a fourth element comes into play, that is, a ring structure concerning the ‘arts’ of war and empire. This ring structure further emphasises the pre-eminence of those arts, and the first member of the ring structure illustrates the defence and restoration of the state, the second its imperialist aggrandisement.

Most modern discussions see Romane (851) as having double reference: to each future Roman (Anchises as it were addresses the Romans down the generations) and to Aeneas, who is, so to speak, proleptically a Roman and, in being thus pregnantly addressed by his father, is yet further encouraged to make his own contribution to the Roman project. By contrast, E. Norden (1957) and R. Jenkyns (1998) argue that the reference is only to each future Roman. They claim that Anchises’ long speech gradually moves away from Aeneas as addressee and that its contents must become progressively less real to him, so that Romane is Anchises’ excited address to future Romans, in disregard of his son. This interpretation is wholly untenable. The whole passage has a sliding temporal focalisation: from ‘now’ in the heroic past, to ‘the future’, stretching down the generations, to ‘now’ in the Rome of Virgil’s day, to ‘the future’ as from Virgil’s day, a future that will extend for the duration of the Roman state. Consequently, the voice of Anchises is both the voice of Anchises the dramatic character and at least to some extent the voice of Virgil the poet speaking both to his contemporaries and to subsequent generations. Consequently also, Romane acquires triple audience reference: to Aeneas, to each future Roman ‘in history’, to Virgil’s own audience/readership.

I shall now try to show that Antisthenes must be brought into the picture. In order to do so I will attempt to bring out some of the similarities between the words of Anchises and the Antisthenic education doctrine as outlined above. The numbers in bold refer to the elements there listed.

Aeneid 6 is a katabasis, whose main narrative purpose is the education of Aeneas ((2)); there is sustained comparison with Heracles, alike structural, explicit and implicit ((6, 13, 15, 23, 24)).³⁷ Anchises, whose role plainly includes that of philosophical teacher, places before Aeneas a ‘Choice’ ((13)). This choice element is repeated, in a recognisably Herculean vein, in 892 (fugiatque feratque laborem), in the specific ‘spelling-out’ of the general programme ((15)). The contrast between the activities of alii and those of tu … Romane contains a direct contrast: between various ‘fine’ arts and the ‘power’ arts of warfare and politics. As in Dio 13.37 and in Greek and Latin generally, the term ‘arts’ can gloss the term ‘education’ ((2)). This, then, could be Antisthenes’ ‘double education’ ((7)). The priamel form indicates that the ‘power’ arts of war and imperialism are preferred; in Aeneid 6 these arts are nothing if not divinely ordained; ‘the whole tone of Anchises’ expression of the Roman mission suggests an utterance of a divine sanction’;³⁸ and these ‘power’ arts fulfil the moral demands of being Romanus, or ‘strong’ (both individual Romans in general and Aeneas in particular are exhorted to be both ‘Roman’ and ‘strong’: the one entails the other) ((26)).³⁹ Whence also a strong–weak/soft contrast: 847 mollius, which, in context, becomes slightly pejorative.⁴⁰ The ‘power’ arts themselves implicitly contain a contrast between ‘mere power’ and ‘civilising power’ (852 morem) ((27)).⁴¹ As in Dio 13, the larger bipartite (as it were) subject contrast goes with a bipartite ethnic contrast between Greeks (alii) and Romans, represented as potentially ‘strong’ ((26)).

Like the Greek Dio in his Oration 13, Roman Virgil is here evoking the standard trade off, ‘Romans do power, Greeks do culture’.⁴² Nevertheless, the passage shows persistent points of contact with the Antisthenic educational doctrine as reconstructible from the extant fragment, from other Antisthenic fragments, from Dio 4.29–33 and from Dio 13.37. Clearly, then, Virgil, like Dio, is transferring the Antisthenic educational paradigm into a Roman political context, though substituting Roman power not (as Dio) for the human education, but for the divine one. He has elevated the ‘power’ or ‘strength’ arts to the status of full philosophical ‘strength’. This Antisthenic background immediately disproves modern scholars’ claims that ‘philosophy’ is significantly absent from these lines.

What are the consequences? There are several fairly obvious ones. From the point of view of Quellenkritik, it surely matters if Antisthenes is the main source of one of the most famous passages in Roman literature. This particular case also strengthens F. Cairns’s thesis that the Aeneid’s general representation of kingship and heroism is essentially Cynic.⁴³ Interpretatively, the apparent correctness of the Roman choice of the power arts is reinforced by the evocations of Heracles and of his Choice; by the implication that the choice made corresponds to the divine education; and by the appropriation of philosophical ‘strength’.⁴⁴ Further, this Cynic paradigm helps, I believe, to explain one of the items most frequently adduced in the ‘further voices’ approach to Virgil: namely, the apparent ‘contradiction’ between the Sibyl’s statement about Aeneas’ plucking of the Golden Bough (6.146–7 ipse uolens facilisque sequetur, | si te fata uocant) and the actuality (6.210–11 corripit Aeneas extemplo auidusque refringit | cunctantem.⁴⁵ For Cynicism itself is from one point of view ‘easy’ (as we have repeatedly seen), but from another point of view ‘laborious’, and Aeneas himself in his encounter with the Golden Bough is both Aeneas, the man of destiny who can ‘easily’ surmount the obstacle that others cannot surmount at all, and ‘Romans in general’ (6.851 Romane), for whom cunctatio is an inevitable constituent of the imperialist process (6.846 unus qui nobis cunctando restituis rem).

One question cannot be ducked: can Antisthenes help with the question which has dominated recent discussion of Aeneid 6.847–53: namely, where, if anywhere, within this culture–power, Graeco–Roman, debate, is Virgil here locating the Aeneid? Anchises’ whole protreptic of Aeneas imitates Ennius’ Annales;⁴⁶ as already noted, the ringing echo of one of Ennius’ most famous lines (846) immediately precedes the epilogue itself; and, while, on one level, lines 847–50 allude to different types of sculpture, to forensic oratory,⁴⁷ and to ‘observational and theoretical astronomy’,⁴⁸ on another level, they must be read as alluding to ‘sculpture, oratory and astronomy in general’, even to ‘the [fine] arts’ in general, and this for a range of reasons: first, the Ennian allusions bring at least epic poetry into the picture; second, lines 847–53 also make a broad contrast between ‘fine arts’ and ‘power arts’; third, as I have argued, the ‘fine arts’ correspond to Antisthenes’ ‘human education’ and the ‘power arts’ to Antisthenes’ ‘divine education’ (that is, there is a level on which the two groups combine to cover the whole of education); and, fourth, ‘Aeneas has not encountered the observational and descriptive astronomy of 6.849–50’,⁴⁹ and so has to take it as ‘astronomy in general’, which he has encountered (the Song of Iopas, 1.742–6). In short, like Ennian epic, like ‘the arts in general’, the Aeneid itself must come ‘within the frame’.

Not a few scholars have herein detected a Virgilian disavowal of the importance of the arts, including poetry and the Aeneid itself, though their inferences, emphases and methods of detection vary. Johnson has Virgil ‘throwing doubt on the value and validity of the artistic process’.⁵⁰ J. Griffin states a typical ‘cost of empire’ case:⁵¹

This unrivalled speech is at once a boast and a lament, a proud claim by a conqueror and a sigh of regret for the cost. Virgil, poet, philosopher, and aesthete, in the middle of his great poem, in which the Latin language and the Roman destiny alike were carried to a beauty which must have seemed impossible, yet must surrender to the Greeks (alii – he cannot bring himself to name them) the arts and the sciences. The traditional claim of the Roman patriot, that native morals outshone Greek accomplishments…, is given a pregnancy and a pathos which transform it. Hae tibi erunt artes: these are your arts, man of Rome – not the seductive beauties of Greece, which meant so much to Virgil as a man, and without which his poems could not have come into existence, but the hard and self-denying “arts” of conquest and dominion. It is the price of empire that the Roman must abandon for this imperial destiny, splendid and yet bitter, so many forms of beauty.

For D. Feeney, ‘the irony is not inert, as we hear Anchises proclaim that the Romans must abjure a faith in ideals of artistic attainment, when the very existence of the poem in which [Anchises] is a character is witness to the power of that faith’.⁵² H. Hine, from this passage and others in the Aeneid, infers ‘Virgil’s pessimism about the role of the poet at Rome’.⁵³

R. O. A. M. Lyne writes in a similar vein to J. Griffin:⁵⁴

there is a striking paradox to notice, introducing ambiguity. Anchises’ dismissal of art occurs, of course, within Rome’s greatest work of art, the Aeneid. This is not a paradox of which Vergil will have been unaware, or thought that we should ignore. Anchises himself unwittingly calls attention to it by his ironical play on the word artes: claiming for the Romans the manly arts (hae tibi erunt artes) he alludes also to the fine arts he disclaims: and in so doing surely reminds us that his disclaimer occurs within a work of consummate fine art. Another fact adds to the paradox: immediately preceding these art-eschewing lines, Anchises is made to include a resounding quotation from the poet Ennius. There is in fact a great irony to the passage, again a type of dramatic irony. Considered in character, as Anchises’ speech, the lines require the clear, patriotic interpretation given to them above. Considered in Vergil’s context, they have a different colour: to us, in this context, they should mean something different. At the very least we could say that Vergil’s context and the irony it produces suggest that Vergil cannot be at one with his character in his view of art, government, and the Roman mission. How much at odds with it we cannot, from this evidence, say. But the dramatic irony must make us wonder. It intrudes a striking further voice at this crucial part of the epic.

A more robust statement of ‘the cost of empire’ thesis (though with some close resemblances to Griffin’s) is R. Jenkyns’: ‘the message [is] that the greater the price, the greater the reward must be. The splendour and the profundity of the passage are due to this: that Virgil counts the cost and counts it fully; and yet he accepts’.⁵⁵ Eloquent as these formulations are, they are all badly overstated. The comparatives of 847 (mollius) and 849 (melius), which must carry over into 848 and 850, allow that Romans will achieve some competence in these arts, indeed, surely, that in them they will be second only to the Greeks.⁵⁶ Hence most scholars, while properly registering the force of these comparatives, have taken Virgil to be implying that the Aeneid must take second place, both to the superior importance of the ‘Roman mission’ and, in consequence, to the artistic achievements of the Greeks. Is it, however, possible to eliminate any depreciation of the Aeneid? A very few scholars have tried to do so. M. Wigodsky thinks that Virgil is implying that Ennius rivals the Greeks and that maybe he himself does too. D. West, in explicit repudiation of readings such as those quoted above, writes: ‘this is not time … to praise himself … He leaves that to his readers. And they were saying it … This is not a poignant disclaimer of artistic achievement … It is a ringing boast which covers areas which it does not specify’.⁵⁷ Both these interpretations remain allusive and elusive, although I believe that they are both on the right general lines.

The starting point must be that it is counter-intuitive to read this passage of the Aeneid, Virgil’s greatest poem, as, on one level, encouraging/inculcating/stating and itself instantiating the Roman imperial mission and as, on another level, making a separation between that mission and its own status as epic poetry and, moreover, depreciating (however ‘ironically’, ‘regretfully’, etc.) that epic status. Several contextual considerations reinforce the implausibility of such a reading and combine to show that, on the contrary, Virgil is here making the highest possible claims for his epic, imperialist as it is.

First, as M. Wigodsky seems to sense, the quotation from Ennius (Annales 363 Sk.), whom Virgil is here extensively imitating but – obviously – comprehensively outdoing, signals that Roman epic can be alike commemorative, protreptic, restorative and itself on the same level as that which it commemorates. Already, then, the Aeneid must be a tertium aliquid, distinct both from the liberal arts and from the power arts but partaking of both and thus transcending the apparent polarisation between 847–50 and 851–3. The point is further reinforced by the ‘recapitulation’ of 851–3 in 888–92, where Anchises performs the role of poetic historiographical paraenesist, again like Ennius and again like Virgil himself. H. Hine’s conception of ‘Virgil’s pessimism about the role of the poet in Rome’ thus seems badly misplaced.

Second, line 851 clearly echoes a phrase in Lucretius 5.1129 f. ut satius multo iam sit parere quietum | quam regere imperio res uelle et regna tenere. To what effect? Lucretius is asserting the superiority of Epicurean quietism to regal and imperial ambitions; Virgil controverts Lucretius by proclaiming the superiority of Rome’s imperial mission. But this is a debate within poetry, indeed, again, within epic poetry, which, again, emerges not as distinct from political discourse but implicated within it.

Third, it is, I believe, impossible to deny the descriptions of ‘the arts’ in 847–50 some metaliterary application – as is true of almost all the Aeneid’s artistic descriptions – although the only previous scholar to argue this case seems to be W. R. Johnson. Obviously, both describo and dico can be used of literature, including poetry; further, the process uiuos ducent de marmore uultus must stimulate thoughts about debates concerning the relationship between mimesis and life, debates which obviously include poetry; further again, to the extent that the descriptions of the arts must be read as, on one level, general allusions to sculpture, oratory and astronomy, even as glossing ‘the arts’ in general, the Aeneid itself obviously contains sculpture, oratory and astronomy and indeed ‘the arts’ in general. Even when read as allusions to specific types of sculpture, oratory and astronomy the Aeneid contains enough material to be adjudged as to some extent inclusive of them. There is, indeed, not much forensic oratory but there is some. There is, indeed, no technical astronomy but there are the philosophical cosmologies of Iopas and Anchises. As for sculpture, 848 would remind readers of Roman veristic portraiture of the second and first centuries BC.

Now it is true that H. Hine has argued that the specific arts of lines 847–50 are mainly absent from the Aeneid and that the reason for this is that they are implied not to be valuable in Roman public life or Roman imperialism. On both fact and explanation he is largely correct, though I would qualify the fact in two respects: first, 847–50 are not to be read only on the level of specific arts; second, there is somewhat more exemplification of the specific arts than he concedes. But to the extent that he is correct, the effect is not to detach the Aeneid from all the arts or from sculpture, oratory and astronomy tout court but to emphasise those arts that are particularly compatible with the imperial Roman mission. And, again, the Aeneid contains them: it is the tertium aliquid.

Hence the fourth contextual consideration. In Book 6 itself, astronomy is represented by Anchises’ philosophical cosmology; veristic sculpture by the parade of heroes; oratory by Anchises’ whole speech, all of which surely ‘trump’ the precise forms of sculpture, oratory and astronomy described in lines 847–50. Now it is true that Anchises’ cosmology and philosophy are Greek-inspired, that all Roman oratory owed much to Greek oratory and that so-called Roman veristic sculpture was probably modelled on the work of Greek artists, though the influence of early Roman portraiture may be disputed. Nevertheless, all these phenomena are here ‘delivered’ through the Aeneid, again, the tertium aliquid which preserves, inculcates and instantiates the arts most valuable for the Roman mission. In short, all the considerations so far show that just as it is impossible to detach poetry, or epic poetry, from the Roman mission, so it is impossible to detach the arts, or at least the most important ones, from the Aeneid.

Fifth, given the fluidities of reference imported by the multiple and fluid focalisations, some space must at some point open up between Anchises the dramatic character – and indeed between Anchises’ addressees: Aeneas and every future Roman – and Virgil the poet. Where and at what point? Precisely, with the Aeneid itself. Anchises’ prophetic powers – and his artistic powers, that is, his ability to bring ‘life’ to the parade of dead heroes – extend extremely far – down to the death of Marcellus in 23; but they do not – and cannot – include the Aeneid, within which he is a character and which was written by Virgil, not Anchises. The words credo equidem (848) open the possibility that there might be other opinions about these artistic matters, and, as F. Bömer (1952) and H. Hine (1987) have pointed out, Anchises uses the technical artistic terms excudo and duco the wrong way round. Yet again, then, the Aeneid is the tertium aliquid which transcends Anchises’ foreshortened polarities in 847–53. And Virgil the poet is himself both a ‘Roman’ in the sense of a ‘strong’ exponent of the Roman mission, and the master of the arts from which that strong Roman is to some extent excluded.

I now attempt to plot this highly complex relationship between ‘arts’ and the Roman mission in relation to Antisthenes. As before, I will attempt to bring out the similarities between the words of Anchises and the Antisthenic education doctrine by referring to the elements listed above on pages 108–9. Even by Anchises’ imperfect aesthetics, the Romans in general will be second only to the Greeks in the specific arts of 847–50. Even on this level, therefore, the Romans, possessors, potentially and actually, of the ‘arts’ of imperialism, will be well on their way to complete education; and Virgil already preserves both his Antisthenic original’s ‘either-or’ quality (the imperial arts are better than the artistic arts) and its ‘both-and’ quality (the truly educated are masters of both categories) ((14)). But the Aeneid itself transcends both Anchises’ imperfect aesthetics and his one-sided focus on Roman power. The artistic arts – at least the most important of them – have been appropriated by the Aeneid, which unites within itself, at the highest possible level, both forms of Antisthenic education, human as well as divine, and so achieves educational and philosophical perfection ((7–11)). This metaliterary enactment of the double education is, as we have seen, itself Antisthenic ((29)). But at this point we must factor in the full import of the Graeco–Roman debate embedded in 847–53. The Aeneid enacts Rome’s military conquest of Greece (explicit in 6.836–40 and included in 851–3). But it also enacts a Roman cultural imperialism parallel to, and consequent upon, the Romans’ military imperialism, exactly as in the Antisthenic paradigm possession of the human education follows from possession of the divine ((12)). Pace Anchises, in the Aeneid the Romans have defeated the Greeks both militarily and culturally. Thus the ‘strength’ of the Greek ANTISTHENES here yields to the ‘strength’ of Roman RHÔMÊ ((28)).

IV Dio, Virgil and Antisthenes

Back, or forward, to Dio of Prusa. Dio’s Thirteenth Oration cleverly plays external Athenian and internal Roman audiences against each other and past time (Socrates’ criticisms of his contemporary Athenians) against present time (Dio’s relations with his contemporary Athenians), exploiting double audience and double temporal focalisations and the whole Graeco–Roman cultural–political debate rather in the manner – one could say – of Aeneid 6.847 ff. Socrates’ criticisms of his contemporary Athenians culminate in an attack on the epitaphios, the Athenians’ national myth; Dio’s education of the Romans culminates with the thoughts that what is good about their existing education is their military supremacy, which they acquired easily (cf. the Sibyl on the Golden Bough) and which is one definition of ‘Romanness’/ ‘strength’, and that they (unlike the Greeks) have no conventional education. The listening Romans might have recalled one of the most famous passages, even then, in Latin literature, as it were, their national myth. So the Greek Dio, a sharp literary critic, has seen what Virgil is doing in that passage, which means that he has seen something important that has escaped all modern Virgilian scholars. And, having seen it, he uses it in his own address to the Romans. He is implying: Virgil’s message to you qua Romans was an imperial mission. My message to you is: you’ve done that, build on it and/but (it’s both those) acquire moral strength (implement a higher definition of ‘Roman-ness’). Further: Virgil highjacked the Greek Antisthenes and made him subserve Roman imperialism. I am taking him back and reinstating his real philosophical message, which rejects worldly power in favour of true virtue. Further again, although Anchises left you second only to the Greeks in ‘the arts’, I am taking that away too, because, pace even Antisthenes, such education contributes nothing to virtue (this being the more radical Cynic view): you don’t need it nor do the listening Athenians, who are so foolishly proud of their education. Dio, that is, has chosen to interpret 847–50 in the mistaken way of J. Griffin, R. Jenkyns, D. Feeney and R. O. A. M. Lyne. Thus Dio pursues both with his Roman and with his Athenian audiences – and, in a way, with Virgil himself – the Graeco–Roman culture–virtue debate which underlies Anchises’ advice to Aeneas.

Dio’s attempt to reverse the clock and re-establish some distance between Antisthenes and Roman power was both a noble and a clever move, but, alas, a futile one: that attempt had already been comprehensively hollowed out by the most imperialist of Roman writers and indeed by the very progress of history.

Appendix

In this Appendix, in which the argument of the chapter is summarised schematically, A = Antisthenes, D = Dio, and V = Virgil.

1. Antisthenic elements explicit in the fragment preserved by Themistius or inferable from other Antisthenic fragments (i.e. A1–A29) are listed above, pp. 108–9.

2. Antisthenic elements present in this passage of Dio and other related passages of Or. 13:

(A1) Work as whole Cynic
(A2) Education the general theme
(A3) Immediate context an educational lesson
(A4) Philosophical teacher-pupil relationship
(A7) Education split into two parts
(A8) One part ‘lofty/celestial’	[explicit elsewhere in speech]
(A9) ‘Lofty/celestial’ much more important
(A11) Both parts needed for perfection	[explicit elsewhere in speech]
(A12) Possession of the one leads to possession of the other
(A26) Endorsement of ‘strength’	[elsewhere in speech]
(A27) Contrast between ‘brute’ (mere) strength and philosophical strength
(A29) Pun on word/name ‘strength’	[pun on ‘Rome’ elsewhere in speech, with implication that Romans will become truly ‘strong’ once they’re properly educated]

3. Five new and non-Antisthenic elements (also found in Aeneid 6.847–53) are:

(D36) Ethnic demarcation: Romans do war, Greeks culture

(D37) Romans have defeated Greeks militarily [implicit]

(D38) Affinity between Roman virtue and Cynic virtue

(D39) Glossing of ‘education’ in terms of ‘arts’

(D40) Use of specific ‘arts’ to exemplify all the arts that make up the human education

4. The essentials of Dio’s reworking of Antisthenes in Dio Or. 13:

ANTISTHENES	DIO OR. 13
Human education (= conventional education)	Human education substitute (Romans implicitly without any conventional education at all): Roman military supremacy
Human education weak, divine education strong	Human education substitute (Roman military supremacy) represents a sort of strength (affinity between Roman virtue and Cynic virtue), providing ‘lift off ’ for acquisition of true (divine) education
Divine education strong	True (divine) education will make the ‘Romans’ truly ‘roman’ (pun)
Possession of divine education leads to possession of human education	Possession of human education substitute (Roman military supremacy) leads to possession of true (divine) education [inversion for protreptic effect]
Acquisition of both forms of education ‘easy’	Acquisition of both forms of education ‘easy’
Acquisition of both forms of education leads to ‘perfection’	Acquisition of both forms of education leads to ‘perfection’

5. Antisthenic elements in Virgil:

(A1) Work as whole Cynic(?) [Cairns (1989): Aeneid’s representation of kingship and heroism basically Cynic]

(A2) Education the general theme of book 6 [759, 891, etc.]

(A3) Immediate context an educational lesson [cf. also 891 ‘docet’]

(A4) Philosophical teacher–pupil relationship

(A6) Heracles as pupil [explicit and implicit parallels throughout Book 6]

(A7) ‘Education’ split into two parts [‘arts’ can ~ ‘education’, i.e. the ‘ “arty” arts’ correspond to Antisthenes’ ‘human’ education, the imperialist arts to the ‘divine’]

(A9) ‘Lofty/celestial’ part much more important [for Antisthenes’ divine education Virgil substitutes the Roman imperial mission and ‘the whole tone of Anchises’ expression of the Roman mission suggests an utterance of a divine sanction’ (Austin ad loc.)]

(A13) Evocation of Choice of Heracles [‘polar’ choice between ‘arts’; explicit at 892]

(A15) Evocation of Heracles’ Labours [labores throughout Book 6; explicit at 892]

(A17) Road metaphor [900 tum se ad Caietae recto [< 851 regere] limite portum]

(A22) Virtue–pleasure contrast

(A23) Heracles figure at start of philosophical learning curve

(A25) Spelling out of consequences of ‘myth’ for Aeneas’ behaviour [890–2]

(A26) Endorsement of ‘strength’ [Romane]

(A27) Contrast between mere power and civilising power [852 morem]

(A28) Pun on word/name ‘strength’ [Romane]

I also argue for:

(A11) Both parts of education needed for perfection

(A12) Possession of the ‘lofty/celestial’ leads to possession of the human

(A14) Myth has both ‘either-or’ and ‘both-and’ quality

(A29) Metaliterary application

As it happens (maybe), the passage also includes:

(DV36) Ethnic demarcation: Romans do war, Greeks culture

(DV37) Romans have defeated Greeks militarily

(DV38) Affinity between Roman virtue and Cynic virtue

(DV39) Glossing of ‘education’ in terms of ‘arts’

(DV40) Use of specific ‘arts’ to exemplify all the arts that make up the human education

6. The essentials of Virgil’s reworking of Antisthenes in Aen. 6.847–53:

ANTISTHENES	VIRGIL
Human education (= conventional education) vs. divine education	“Arty” arts vs. ‘arts’ of imperialism
Human education weak, divine education strong	“Arty” arts ‘soft’/weak, ‘arts’ of imperialism ‘strong’

7. The Antisthenic motifs used by Virgil and those used by Dio

VIRGIL, Aeneid 6.847–53 and context	DIO Or. 13.37 and context
(A1) Work as whole Cynic(?)	(A1) Work as whole Cynic
(A2) Education the general theme	(A2) Education the general theme
(A3) Immediate context an educational lesson	(A3) Immediate context an educational lesson
(A4) Philosophical teacher–pupil relationship	(A4) Philosophical teacher–pupil relationship
(A6) Heracles figure as pupil
(A7) ‘Education’ split into two parts	(A7) Education split into two parts
(A8) One part ‘lofty/celestial’	(A8) One part ‘lofty/celestial’
(A9) ‘Lofty/celestial’ part much more important	(A9) ‘Lofty/celestial’ much more important
(A11) Both parts needed for perfection	(A11) Both parts needed for perfection
(A12) Possession of the ‘lofty/celstial’ leads to possession of the human	(A12) Possession of the ‘lofty/celstial’ leads to possession of the human
(A13) Evocation of Choice of Heracles
(A15) Evocation of Heracles’ Labours
(A17) Road metaphor
(A22) Virtue–pleasure contrast
(A23) Heracles figure at start of philosophical learning-curve
(A25) Generalisation from myth to human behaviour, i.e. spelling out of consequences of ‘myth’ for Aeneas’ behaviour
(A26) Endorsement of ‘strength’	(A26) Endorsement of ‘strength’
(A27) Contrast between mere ‘brute’ strength and philosophical strength	(A27) Contrast between mere ‘brute’ strength and philosophical strength
(A28) Pun on word/name ‘strength’ (Antisthenes)	(A28) Pun on word/name ‘strength’ (Antisthenes)

8. Parallels between the two authors which are independent of Antisthenes:

Aeneid 6.847–53 and context	DIO Or. 13.37 and context
(DV36) Ethnic demarcation: Romans do war, Greeks culture	(DV36) Ethnic demarcation: Romans do war, Greeks culture
(DV37) Romans have defeated Greeks militarily	(DV37) Romans have defeated Greeks militarily
(DV38) Affinity between Roman virtue and Cynic virtue [implicit]	(DV38) Affinity between Roman virtue and Cynic virtue [implicit]
(DV39) Glossing of education in terms of ‘arts’	(DV39) Glossing of education in terms of ‘arts’
(DV40) Use of specific arts to exemplify all the arts that make up human education	(DV40) Use of specific arts to exemplify all the arts that make up human education

9. The ways in which Virgil and Dio ‘cash out’ the Antisthenic and non-Antisthenic motifs are sharply different:

VIRGIL	DIO
1) Roman military supremacy substituted for the divine part of education	Roman military supremacy substituted for the human part of education
2) Roman military supremacy stands for true ‘strength’ (pun on ‘Rome’)	Roman military supremacy stands for an inferior sort of strength (pun on ‘Rome’), which yet provides an earnest of acquisition of true philosophical strength (pun on ‘rome’)
3) Antisthenes’ philosophical ‘strength’ ‘trumped’ by Roman ‘strength’	Philosophical ‘strength’ left unchallenged
4) Romans left considerable competence (second only to Greeks) in ‘fine arts’	Romans implicitly without any conventional paideia at all

An earlier version of this chapter was given at a previous one-day conference at Newcastle in 2003. I thank A. J. Woodman for comments on a first draft, all those who commented at the conference and David West for subsequent comment. Some of the material of the paper overlaps closely with that of two other papers: Moles (2001) and (2005). I thank M. Schofield for comments on the former and M. Trapp for comments on both. All translations are my own.

¹Whether Antisthenes was the actual ‘founder’ of Cynicism was disputed in the ancient world and remains so, but he at least influenced the Cynic tradition and could be co-opted into it, which is enough for present purposes. On this debate see e.g. Giannantoni (1993), Moles (1995) 129 n. 3, Brancacci (2005) 10, 13, 85, 101, 145 n. 37. Of course, the ultimate ‘head’ of the Cynic tradition is Socrates himself, as was widely recognised by the Cynics themselves and by others.

²For the terms of the debate about Dio, Antisthenes and Cynicism see e.g. Brancacci (2000), Trapp (2000) and Moles (2005).

³I put this bracketed qualification because Dio, like Plutarch and other Greek philosophers and sophists, sometimes performed in Rome (though they spoke in Greek and their audiences in Rome will have included Greeks).

⁴Them. De virt. p. 43 Mach; Antisth. F27 Decleva Caizzi, SSR V A 96 Giannantoni, F96 Prince.

⁵See on Dio 4.29–33 below.

⁶Fitton-Brown (1959); Kitto (1961) 61; cf. further p. 114 below.

⁷For the direct relevance of Alcibiades I to the present enquiry see p. 110 below; the authenticity question concerning Alcibiades I (see e.g. Giannantoni (1997) 365–6; Denyer (2001) 14–26), a dialogue anciently esteemed as one of Plato’s most important pedagogic works (Trapp (2000) 226 and n. 37), matters little here; authenticity was unquestioned in antiquity and is now strongly advocated by Giannantoni and Denyer (contra Trapp (2000) 226).

⁸See Moles (1983a) for discussion of this and related matters. The question of its dating involves the question of whether it was ever actually delivered and matters little here.

⁹See e.g. Höistad (1948) 213–20; Moles (1983a), esp. 268–9 n. 65; and – rather uncritically – Giannantoni (1990) 4.554–9; Jouan (1993) 387. Dio’s use of Alcibiades I (main text below) as his ‘architectural’ text does not make against this characterisation, since: (a) the characterisation of the speech as generally Cynic does not dispute Platonic ‘wrappings’ (Moles (1983b) 118–19); (b) Alcibiades I is itself a strongly pedagogic/protreptic text; (c) Dio in any case ‘radicalises’ Alcibiades I’s prescriptions.

¹⁰Thus e.g. Dümmler (1882) 14; Weber (1887) 241; von Fritz (1926) 78; Höistad (1948) 56–9; Brancacci (1990) 95–6, 104–9; (1992); (1997) 171–6; (2000), esp. 254–5; Giannantoni (1990) 4.312–13; cf. also Moles (1983a) 270; Whitmarsh (2001) 191 n. 43.

¹¹Trapp (2000) 226–7, cf. 232–4.

¹²4.102 ἐσθήτων τε μαλακῶν çλξεις ~ Alc. 1. 122c ἐσθῆτας ἱματίων θ’ çλξεις (Cohoon (1932) 217 n. 1; Trapp (2000) 227 and n. 40).

¹³This picture of the relationship between the two texts may, however, be complicated by the fact that Antisthenes also wrote an Alcibiades (and a Cyrus minor containing material on Alcibiades), which plausibly predated Alcibiades I, and there is therefore the possibility of Platonic, as well as Dionian, interaction with Antisthenes. There are certainly thematic parallels between Alcibiades I and Antisthenes’ Alcibiades: see e.g. Giannantoni (1997) 371–2; for possible interaction between Plato’s Gorgias and Antisthenes’ Archelaus see e.g. Dodds (1959) 242; interaction between the pseudo-Platonic (or Platonic) Clitophon and Antisthenes is sure: see e.g. Slings (1999) 94–6, 211–12; Brancacci (2000) 251; Moles (2005) 115–20.

¹⁴E.g. D.L. 6.44, 70; further, p. 115 below.

¹⁵Xen. Mem. 2.1.21.

¹⁶Athen. 5.220d (Herodicus); Dodds (1959) 242; Decleva Caizzi (1966) 101; Brancacci (1990) 210–11.

¹⁷Denyer (2001) 173.

¹⁸Cf. e.g. Höistad (1948) 22–73.

¹⁹See Moles (2001).

²⁰This is now widely recognised: cf. e.g. Whitmarsh (2001) 156–67; Brunt’s patronising dismissal of Dio’s philosophical powers (Brunt (1973)) now seems very ill judged.

²¹This is wholly plausible: see e.g. Brancacci (2000) 246.

²²Cf. e.g. D.L. 6.2; 6.14–15.

²³Cf. Xen. Mem. 2.1.21; Dio 1.70–84, Dio’s own reworking of the Prodican Choice of Heracles, on which theme see in general Harbach (2010).

²⁴Dudley (1937) 150–1; Moles (1978) 99–100; (2005) 118–19; Jouan (1993) 393.

²⁵Höistad (1948) 171–3; cf. also Höistad (1948) 50–7; 86–94 and Moles (2001) for this influence on other Dionian works.

²⁶This concerns Archelaus’ attempt to persuade Socrates to come to Macedonia: the item, absent from Plato and Xenophon, was recorded in Antisthenes’ Archelaus. Cf. Dümmler (1882) 8–11; Giannantoni (1990) 4.350; Brancacci (2000) 249–50; Moles (2005) 124–5; Trapp (2000) 233 n. 57 concedes a ‘non-Platonic’ source here.

²⁷The ending is lost: first pointed out by Reiske (1798); then e.g. von Arnim (1893) xxxiv ff.; Cohoon (1939) 120–1; Desideri (1978) 254; Highet (1983) 80; Verrengia (2000) 169; Moles (2005) 113 (arguing that the lost portion is small and insignificant).

²⁸This apparently odd illustration of Roman military supremacy is explained ‘internally’, that is, by the fact that it makes a parallel with the Persians of section 24: ‘[Socrates] would say that when the Persians came they had not been educated in any education nor did they know how to deliberate about public matters but they had been trained to shoot with the bow, to ride horses and to hunt’: Moles (2005) 118 n. 52.

²⁹See, for example, Petrochilos (1974) 58–62; Whitmarsh (2001) 9–17.

³⁰Cf. e.g. D.L. 6.73; 6.103–4.

³¹Erskine (1995); Whitmarsh (2001) 21, 149.

³²Cf. in general Griffin (1993) 251–8; (1996) 197–204.

³³Hes. W&D 5–8; some Cynic fragments associate Cynic ‘easiness’ with the divine, e.g. SSR V A 135 Giannantoni; cf. Dio 4.29–33; Dio’s representation of the Romans’ ascent to world power, here and at 11.137–42, has something in common with the thesis of Plu. De virt. Rom., with e.g. Swain (1996) 151–61.

³⁴Key discussions: Norden (1957) 334–9; Austin (1977) 260–4; Feeney (1986); Hine (1987); West (1993); Whitmarsh (2001) 15–17; Lyne (1987) 214–16; Race (1982) 121; Horsfall (2013) 577–86.

³⁵As to why Anchises does not name the Greeks, two main explanations have been canvassed: (1) ‘Virgil cannot bring himself to name the Greeks’ [sc. because he is conceding their superiority in the arts] – so J. Griffin (1979) 66 = (1985) 169 and R. Jenkyns (1998) 666 n. 93; (2) Anchises is sparing Aeneas’ feelings (H. Hine (1987) 174) – better. But account should also be taken of priamel conventions.

³⁶To be sure, (forensic: p. 120 below) oratory does not sit with entire comfort within the category of otium, but it will become clear that no category within this complex passage is absolutely discrete, so a broad otium–negotium may still be felt. The Lucretian echo in 851 (p. 123 below) ‘helps’ this contrast.

³⁷Galinsky (1972) 134–6 = (1990) 279–82.

³⁸Austin (1977) 263.

³⁹Cf. p. 116 and n. 31 above.

⁴⁰Even though mollis is also a term of art criticism (Austin (1977) 262; Hine (1987) 180).

⁴¹For 852 morem ~ ‘civilisation’ see Austin (1977) 263–4.

⁴²Though he is of course modifying it: see p. 125 below.

⁴³Cairns (1989) 33–8, building on Moles (1983b), (1986).

⁴⁴I am here talking only on the level of a first reading, without excluding the possibility of there being other considerations, both here and elsewhere in the Aeneid, which might entail that reading’s having to be qualified, to a greater or lesser degree.

⁴⁵See the discussions of Lyne (1987) 214–16, West (1993), Horsfall (2013) 163–4.

⁴⁶Hardie (1986) 78.

⁴⁷Hine (1987) 179.

⁴⁸Hine (1987) 179.

⁴⁹Hine (1987) 180; on the other hand, I do not think it is quite right to say, as Hine does, that ‘forensic oratory plays no part in the action of the poem’; if (Hine (1987) 180) ‘Highet (pp. 67–79, 310) finds only two “legalistic” speeches, Aeneas’ at 4.33–61, and Juno’s at 10.63–95’, then at least Aeneas’ at 4.33–61 does constitute some evidence, and Sinon’s speeches in Book 2 surely have ‘forensic’ elements.

⁵⁰Johnson (1976) 108.

⁵¹Griffin (1979) 66 = (1985) 169–70.

⁵²Feeney (1986) 15.

⁵³Hine (1987) 182.

⁵⁴Lyne (1987) 215–16.

⁵⁵Jenkyns (1998) 668.

⁵⁶Hine’s formulation is not open to this objection, though it will become clear that I disagree with it on other grounds.

⁵⁷Wigodsky (1972) 7, 72 f., West (1993) 293.