Sport in The Cultures of The Ancient Wor PDF

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Sport in the Cultures of the Ancient World

Sport was practised in the Greco-Roman world at least since the second millennium
BC. Ancient cultures employed sport in a variety of social contexts. Sport served as an
element of ceremonial performance, as a foundation for physical education, and as the
dramatic focus of popular spectacles from the local to the imperial level. In recent years,
the continuous re-assessment of old and new evidence in conjunction with the
development of new methodological perspectives have created the need for a fresh
examination of central aspects of ancient sport in a single volume. This book fills that
gap in ancient sport scholarship.
When did the ancient Olympics begin? How is sport depicted in the work of the
fifth-century historian Herodotus? What was the association between sport and war in
fifth- and fourth-century BC Athens? What were the social and political implications of
the practice of Greek-style sport in third-century BC Ptolemaic Egypt? How were Roman
gladiatorial shows perceived and transformed in the Greek-speaking east? And what
were the conditions of sport participation by boys and girls in ancient Rome? These are
some of the questions that this book, written by an international cast of distinguished
scholars on ancient sport, attempts to answer. Covering a wide chronological and
geographical scope (the ancient Mediterranean from the early first millennium BC to
fourth century AD), individual articles re-examine old and new evidence, and offer
stimulating, original interpretations of key aspects of ancient sport in its political,
military, cultural, social, ceremonial and ideological setting.
This book was previously published as a special issue of The International Journal of the
History of Sport.
Zinon Papakonstantinou is Assistant Professor of Hellenic Studies at the University of

Washington. He has authored Lawmaking and Adjudication in Archaic Greece,
Duckworth: London 2008 and articles on Greek law, sport and commensality.
Provided by Taylor and Francis - Papakonstantinou 29.05.2012


Sport in the Cultures of the

Ancient World
New Perspectives
Edited by Zinon Papakonstantinou

First published 2010 by Routledge

2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN
Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada

by Routledge
270 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
© 2010 Taylor & Francis
Typeset in Minion by Value Chain, India

Printed and bound in Great Britain by MPG Books Group, UK
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any
form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented,
including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system,
without permission in writing from the publishers.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN10: 0-415-49715-9
ISBN13: 978-0-415-49715-2

CONTENTS
Series Editors’ Foreword vii

Other Titles in the Series ix
Prologue: Sport in the Cultures of the Ancient World
Zinon Papakonstantinou xvii
1. Contesting Ancient Mediterranean Sport
Thomas Scanlon 1
2. Whence 776? The Origin of the Date for the First Olympiad
Paul Christesen 13
3. Pan-Hellenism and Particularism: Herodotus on Sport, Greekness,
Piety and War
Donald Kyle 35
4. Sport, War and Democracy in Classical Athens
David M. Pritchard 64
5. Challenged by Egyptians: Greek Sports in the Third Century BC
Sofie Remijsen 98
6. Gladiators in the Greek East: A Case Study in Romanization
Christian Mann 124
7. Gladiators and Monomachoi: Greek Attitudes to a Roman
‘Cultural Performance’
Michael J. Carter 150
8. The Greek Ephebate in the Roman Period
Nigel M. Kennell 175
9. Observations on Boys, Girls, Youths and Age Categories in Roman Sports
and Spectacles
Nigel B. Crowther 195
Epilogue: Fresh Perspectives on Ancient Sport
Zinon Papakonstantinou 217
Index 220


SERIES EDITORS’ FOREWORD
SPORT IN THE GLOBAL SOCIETY was launched in the late nineties. It now has over
one hundred volumes. Until recently an odd myopia characterised academia with
regard to sport. The global groves of academe remained essentially Cartesian in
inclination. They favoured a mind/body dichotomy: thus the study of ideas was
acceptable; the study of sport was not. All that has now changed. Sport is now
incorporated, intelligently, within debate about inter alia ideologies, power,
stratification, mobility and inequality. The reason is simple. In the modern world
sport is everywhere: it is as ubiquitous as war. E.J. Hobsbawm, the Marxist historian,
once called it the one of the most significant of the new manifestations of late
nineteenth century Europe. Today it is one of the most significant manifestations of
the twenty-first century world. Such is its power, politically, culturally, economically,
spiritually and aesthetically, that sport beckons the academic more persuasively than
ever – to borrow, and refocus, an expression of the radical historian Peter Gay – ‘to
explore its familiar terrain and to wrest new interpretations from its inexhaustible
materials’. As a subject for inquiry, it is replete, as he remarked of history, with profound
‘questions unanswered and for that matter questions unasked’.
Sport seduces the teeming ‘global village’; it is the new opiate of the masses; it is one of
the great modern experiences; its attraction astonishes only the recluse; its appeal spans
the globe. Without exaggeration, sport is a mirror in which nations, communities, men
and women now see themselves. That reflection is sometimes bright, sometimes dark,
sometimes distorted, sometimes magnified. This metaphorical mirror is a source of
mass exhilaration and depression, security and insecurity, pride and humiliation,
bonding and alienation. Sport, for many, has replaced religion as a source of emotional
catharsis and spiritual passion, and for many, since it is among the earliest of memorable
childhood experiences, it infiltrates memory, shapes enthusiasms, serves fantasies. To
co-opt Gay again: it blends memory and desire.
Sport, in addition, can be a lens through which to scrutinise major themes in the political
and social sciences: democracy and despotism and the great associated movements of
socialism, fascism, communism and capitalism as well as political cohesion and
confrontation, social reform and social stability.
The story of modern sport is the story of the modern world – in microcosm; a modern
global tapestry permanently being woven. Furthermore, nationalist and imperialist,
philosopher and politician, radical and conservative have all sought in sport a
manifestation of national identity, status and superiority.

viii Foreword
Finally, for countless millions sport is the personal pursuit of ambition, assertion, well-
being and enjoyment.
For all the above reasons, sport demands the attention of the academic. Sport in the
Global Society is a response.
J.A.Mangan, Boria Majumdar

and Mark Dyreson – Series Editors
Sport in the Global Society


Series Editors: J.A. Mangan, Boria Majumdar and Mark Dyreson

New Perspectives


Series Editors: J.A. Mangan, Boria Majumdar and Mark Dyreson
As Robert Hands in The Times recently observed the growth of sports studies in recent
years has been considerable. This unique series with over one hundred volumes in the
last decade has played its part. Politically, culturally, emotionally and aesthetically, sport
is a major force in the modern world. Its impact will grow as the world embraces ever
more tightly the contemporary secular trinity: the English language, technology and
sport. Sport in the Global Society will continue to record sport’s phenomenal
progress across the world stage.
Other Titles in the Series
Africa, Football and FIFA Athleticism in the Victorian and

Politics, Colonialism and Resistance Edwardian Public School
Paul Darby The Emergence and Consolidation of an
Educational Ideology, New Edition
Amateurism in British Sport J.A. Mangan
‘It Matters Not Who Won or Lost’
Edited by Dilwyn Porter and Stephen Wagg Australian Beach Cultures
The History of Sun, Sand and Surf
Amateurism in Sport Douglas Booth
An Analysis and Defence
Lincoln Allison Australian Sport
Antipodean Waves of Change
America’s Game(s) Edited by Kristine Toohey and Tracy Taylor
A Critical Anthropology of Sport
Edited by Benjamin Eastman, Sean Brown Barbarians, Gentlemen and Players
and Michael Ralph A Sociological Study of the Development of
Rugby Football, Second Edition
American Sports Eric Dunning and Kenneth Sheard
An Evolutionary Approach
Edited by Alan Klein Beijing 2008: Preparing for Glory
Chinese Challenge in the ‘Chinese Century’
A Social History of Indian Football Edited by J.A. Mangan and Dong Jinxia
Striving to Score
Kausik Bandyopadhya and Boria Majumdar Body and Mind
Sport in Europe from the Roman Empire
A Social History of Swimming in England, to the Renaissance
1800–1918 John McClelland
Splashing in the Serpentine
Christopher Love British Football and Social Exclusion
Edited by Stephen Wagg
A Sport-Loving Society
Victorian and Edwardian Middle-Class Capoeira
England at Play The History of an Afro-Brazilian Martial Art
Edited by J.A. Mangan Matthias Röhrig Assunção

Other Titles in the Series xi
Crafting Patriotism for Global Dominance European Heroes

America at the Olympics Myth, Identity, Sport
Mark Dyreson Edited by Richard Holt, J.A. Mangan and
Pierre Lanfranchi
Cricket and England
A Cultural and Social History of Cricket in Europe, Sport, World
England between the Wars Shaping Global Societies
Jack Williams Edited by J.A. Mangan
Cricket in Colonial India, 1780–1947 Flat Racing and British Society, 1790–1914
Boria Majumdar A Social and Economic History
Mike Huggins
Cricketing Cultures in Conflict
Cricketing World Cup 2003 Football and Community in the Global
Edited by Boria Majumdar and J.A. Mangan Context
Studies in Theory and Practice
Cricket, Race and the 2007 World Cup Edited by Adam Brown, Tim Crabbe and
Edited by Boria Majumdar and Jon Gemmell Gavin Mellor
‘Critical Support’ for Sport Football: From England to the World

Bruce Kidd Edited by Dolores P. Martinez and Projit B.
Mukharji
Disability in the Global Sport Arena
A Sporting Chance Football, Europe and the Press
Edited by Jill M. Clair Liz Crolley and David Hand
Disciplining Bodies in the Gymnasium Football Fans Around the World

Memory, Monument, Modernity From Supporters to Fanatics
Sherry McKay and Patricia Vertinsky Edited by Sean Brown
Disreputable Pleasures Football in Brazil

Less Virtuous Victorians at Play Edited by Martin Curi
Edited by Mike Huggins and J.A. Mangan
Football: The First Hundred Years
Diversity and Division – Race, Ethnicity The Untold Story
and Sport in Australia Adrian Harvey
Edited by Christopher J. Hallinan
Footbinding, Feminism and Freedom
Doping in Sport The Liberation of Women’s Bodies in
Global Ethical Issues Modern China
Edited by Angela Schneider and Fan Hong Fan Hong
Emigrant Players Forty Years of Sport and Social Change,

Sport and the Irish Diaspora 1968-2008
Edited by Paul Darby and David Hassan “To Remember is to Resist”
Edited by Russell Field and Bruce Kidd
Ethnicity, Sport, Identity
Struggles for Status France and the 1998 World Cup
Edited by J.A. Mangan and Andrew Ritchie The National Impact of a World Sporting Event
Edited by Hugh Dauncey and Geoff Hare

xii Other Titles in the Series
Freeing the Female Body Leisure and Recreation in a Victorian

Inspirational Icons Mining Community
Edited by J.A. Mangan and Fan Hong The Social Economy of Leisure in North-
East England, 1820–1914
Fringe Nations in Soccer Alan Metcalfe
Making it Happen
Edited by Kausik Bandyopadhyay and Lost Histories of Indian Cricket
Sabyasachi Malick Battles off the Pitch
Boria Majumdar
From Fair Sex to Feminism
Sport and the Socialization of Women in Making European Masculinities
the Industrial and Post-Industrial Eras Sport, Europe, Gender
Edited by J.A. Mangan and Roberta J. Park Edited by J.A. Mangan
Gender, Sport, Science Making Men

Selected Writings of Roberta J. Park Rugby and Masculine Identity
Edited by J.A. Mangan and Patricia Edited by John Nauright and Timothy J.L.
Vertinsky Chandler
Global Sport Business Making the Rugby World

Community Impacts of Commercial Sport Race, Gender, Commerce
Edited by Hans Westerbeek Edited by Timothy J.L. Chandler and John
Nauright
Globalised Football
Nations and Migration, the City and the Militarism, Hunting, Imperialism
Dream ‘Blooding’ The Martial Male
Edited by Nina Clara Tiesler and João Nuno J.A. Mangan and Callum McKenzie
Coelho
Militarism, Sport, Europe
Governance, Citizenship and the New War Without Weapons
European Football Championships Edited by J.A. Mangan
The European Spectacle
Edited by Wolfram Manzenreiter and Georg Modern Sport: The Global Obsession
Spitaler Essays in Honour of J.A.Mangan
Edited by Boria Majumdar and Fan Hong
Italian Fascism and the Female Body
Sport, Submissive Women and Strong Muscular Christianity and the Colonial
Mothers and Post-Colonial World
Gigliola Gori Edited by John J. MacAloon
Japan, Sport and Society Native Americans and Sport in North

Tradition and Change in a Globalizing America
World Other Peoples’ Games
Edited by Joseph Maguire and Masayoshi Edited by C. Richard King
Nakayama
Olympic Legacies – Intended and
Law and Sport in Contemporary Society Unintended
Edited by Steven Greenfield and Guy Political, Cultural, Economic and
Osborn Educational
Edited by J.A. Mangan and Mark Dyreson

Other Titles in the Series xiii
Playing on the Periphery Sites of Sport

Sport, Identity and Memory Space, Place and Experience
Tara Brabazon Edited by John Bale and Patricia Vertinksy
Pleasure, Profit, Proselytism Soccer and Disaster

British Culture and Sport at Home and International Perspectives
Abroad 1700–1914 Edited by Paul Darby, Martin Jones and
Edited by J.A. Mangan Gavin Mellor
Rain Stops Play Soccer in South Asia

Cricketing Climates Empire, Nation, Diaspora
Andrew Hignell Edited by Paul Dimeo and James Mills
Reformers, Sport, Modernizers Soccer’s Missing Men

Middle-Class Revolutionaries Schoolteachers and the Spread of
Edited by J.A. Mangan Association Football
J.A. Mangan and Colm Hickey
Representing the Nation
Sport and Spectacle in Post-Revolutionary Soccer, Women, Sexual Liberation
Mexico Kicking off a New Era
Claire and Keith Brewster Edited by Fan Hong and J.A. Mangan
Reviewing UK Football Cultures South Africa and the Global Game

Continuing with Gender Analyses Football, Apartheid and Beyond
Edited by Jayne Caudwell Edited by Peter Alegi and Chris Bolsmann
Rugby’s Great Split Sport: Race, Ethnicity and Indigenity

Class, Culture and the Origins of Rugby Building Global Understanding
League Football Edited by Daryl Adair
Tony Collins
Sport and American Society
Running Cultures Exceptionalism, Insularity, ‘Imperialism’
Racing in Time and Space Edited by Mark Dyreson and J.A. Mangan
John Bale
Sport and Foreign Policy in a Globalizing
Scoring for Britain World
International Football and International Edited by Steven J. Jackson and Stephen
Politics, 1900–1939 Haigh
Peter J. Beck
Sport and International Relations
Serious Sport An Emerging Relationship
J.A. Mangan’s Contribution to the History Edited by Roger Levermore and Adrian Budd
of Sport
Edited by Scott Crawford Sport and Memory in North America
Edited by Steven Wieting
Shaping the Superman
Fascist Body as Political Icon – Aryan Sport, Civil Liberties and Human Rights
Fascism Edited by Richard Giulianotti and David
Edited by J.A. Mangan McArdle

xiv Other Titles in the Series
Sport, Culture and History Sport Past and Present in South Africa
Region, Nation and Globe (Trans)forming the Nation
Brian Stoddart Edited by Scarlet Cornelissen and Albert
Grundlingh
Sport in Asian Society
Past and Present Sport Tourism
Edited by Fan Hong and J.A. Mangan Edited by Heather J. Gibson
Sport in Australasian Society Sporting Cultures

Past and Present Hispanic Perspectives on Sport, Text and the
Edited by J.A. Mangan and John Nauright Body
Edited by David Wood and P. Louise Johnson
Sport in Europe
Politics, Class, Gender Sporting Nationalisms
Edited by J.A. Mangan Identity, Ethnicity, Immigration and
Assimilation
Sport in Films Edited by Mike Cronin and David Mayall
Edited by Emma Poulton and Martin Roderick
Superman Supreme
Sport in Latin American Society Fascist Body as Political Icon – Global
Past and Present Fascism
Edited by Lamartine DaCosta and J.A. Edited by J.A. Mangan
Mangan
Terrace Heroes
Sport in South Asian Society The Life and Times of the 1930s
Past and Present Professional Footballer
Edited by Boria Majumdar and J.A. Mangan Graham Kelly
Sport in the City The Balkan Games and Balkan Politics in

Cultural Connections the Interwar Years 1929-1939
Edited by Michael Sam and John E. Politicians in Pursuit of Peace
Hughson Penelope Kissoudi
Sport in the Cultures of the Ancient The Changing Face of Cricket

World From Imperial to Global Game
New Perspectives Edited by Dominic Malcolm, Jon Gemmell
Edited by Zinon Papakonstantinou and Nalin Mehta
Sport in the Pacific The Changing Face of the Football

Colonial and Postcolonial Consequencies Business
Edited by C. Richard King Supporters Direct
Edited by Sean Hamil, Jonathan Michie,
Sport, Media, Culture Christine Oughton and Steven Warby
Global and Local Dimensions
Edited by Alina Bernstein and Neil Blain The Commercialisation of Sport
Edited by Trevor Slack
Sport, Nationalism and Orientalism
The Asian Games The Cultural Bond
Edited by Fan Hong Sport, Empire, Society
Edited by J.A. Mangan

Other Titles in the Series xv
The First Black Footballer The Nordic World: Sport in Society

Arthur Wharton 1865–1930: An Absence of Edited by Henrik Meinander and J.A.
Memory Mangan
Phil Vasili
The Politics of South African Cricket
The Flame Relay and the Olympic Jon Gemmell
Movement
John J. MacAloon The Politics of Sport
Community, Mobility, Identity
The Football Manager Edited by Paul Gilchrist and Russell Holden
A History
Neil Carter The Race Game
Sport and Politics in South Africa
The Future of Football Douglas Booth
Challenges for the Twenty-First Century
Edited by Jon Garland, Dominic Malcolm The Rise of Stadiums in the Modern
and Mike Rowe United States
Cathedrals of Sport
The Games Ethic and Imperialism Edited by Mark Dyreson and Robert
Aspects of the Diffusion of an Ideal Trumpbour
J.A. Mangan
The Tour De France, 1903–2003
The Global Politics of Sport A Century of Sporting Structures,
The Role of Global Institutions in Sport Meanings and Values
Edited by Lincoln Allison Edited by Hugh Dauncey and Geoff Hare
The Lady Footballers This Great Symbol

Struggling to Play in Victorian Britain Pierre de Coubertin and the Origins of the
James F. Lee Modern Olympic Games
John J. MacAloon
The Magic of Indian Cricket
Cricket and Society in India, Revised Tribal Identities
Edition Nationalism, Europe, Sport
Mihir Bose Edited by J.A. Mangan
The Making of New Zealand Cricket Who Owns Football?

1832–1914 The Governance and Management of the
Greg Ryan Club Game Worldwide
Edited by David Hassan and Sean Hamil
The Making of Sporting Cultures
John E. Hughson Why Minorities Play or Don’t Play Soccer
A Global Exploration
The 1940 Tokyo Games: The Missing Edited by Kausik Bandyopadhyay
Olympics
Japan, the Asian Olympics and the Olympic Women, Sport and Society in Modern
Movement China
Sandra Collins Holding up More than Half the Sky
Dong Jinxia


Prologue: Sport in the Cultures of the

Ancient World
Zinon Papakonstantinou
This special issue brings together contributions from active researchers in the field of
ancient sport. [1] The study of ancient sport is as old as the study of the Classical and
Near Eastern civilizations. However, it is primarily in the last 30 years or so that a
growing number of scholars moved beyond strictly formalist approaches and have
dissected social and cultural aspects of sport in the ancient world. The aim of the
present collection is to highlight the vitality and diversity of current ancient sport
scholarship. Contributors examined old and recently discovered evidence and
subjected long-standing and new problems to fresh approaches. The result will be of
interest not only to ancient historians and other classicists, but also to historians of
modern sport keen to gain valuable comparative insights.
Before proceeding any further two brief definitions are in order. ‘Sport’ is
understood here in its wider sense which includes athletic competition in established
contests but also deliberative physical exercise of any kind, for example, as part of
physical education. ‘Ancient world’ is an equally wide-encompassing expression
which usually denotes the cultures that flourished around the Mediterranean basin
from the beginning of human existence until the fall of the Roman empire (date
disputed, but roughly in the fourth century AD). The geographical and chronological
scope of the present collection is however more restricted, that is, primarily the
Greco-Roman world in the eastern Mediterranean from c.1000 BC until the fourth
century AD. Even these chronological boundaries might seem daunting to the modern
historian unfamiliar with the ancient world. Moreover, historians specializing on
sport in the ancient world face further challenges related to the fragmentary nature of
the extant evidence and the, until very recently, prevalent prejudices towards the
scholarly study of sport in the academic fields of classics and ancient history. Even
though these issues fall outside the scope of this Prologue, readers will find in
Scanlon’s essay an informative and up-to-date synopsis of the current state of ancient
sport history studies.

xviii Z. Papakonstantinou
In what follows I will summarize the content and main conclusions of individual
essays in the remainder of this Prologue. I will then present in the Epilogue some
closing reflections as well as attempt to detect common threads and evaluate the
significance of the volume in the context of recent scholarship on ancient sport.
For millions of sport enthusiasts around the world the Olympic Games is the
greatest athletic legacy of the ancient world. Yet how much do we really know about
the origins and early years of the ancient Olympics? Evidence for ancient sport is
scarce, especially for the earliest phases of its existence. In his essay Christesen,
drawing substantially from his recent monograph, [2] re-examines the evidence
behind the traditional ancient date (776 BC) for the establishment of the Olympic
Games. He argues against the existence of large-scale written records in eighth-
century Olympia and demonstrates quite convincingly that Hippias of Elis, the
historian to whom we owe the traditional date, calculated it on the basis of legends
regarding the Spartan lawgiver Lycurgus and generational reckoning of Spartan kings.
Archaeological evidence from the sanctuary at Olympia suggests systematic religious
use of the site by 1000 BC, but it is doubtful whether large-scale athletic competitions
took place before the end of the eighth century BC. [3] The ongoing excavations will
hopefully yield further evidence that will help scholars illuminate the earlier stages of
the ancient Olympics.
The evidence for the ancient Olympics multiplies in later centuries, and indeed we
are fairly well-informed about the development of the festival, including the athletic
contests, in the late archaic and classical periods. [4] One of the most important
literary sources for exactly that period is Herodotus whose historical and
ethnographic narrative has long been recognized as a turning point in ancient
historiography. As such, historians and literary critics have scrutinized numerous
aspects of this important text. Less attention has been paid to the image of sport in
Herodotus’ Histories. In his contribution Kyle explores the Herodotean horizon of
sport in connection with Greek identity, politics and warfare. Having the Persian
Wars (490–78 BC) as its central theme, Herodotus’ text stands as an emblematic
representation of the perceived cultural antithesis between Greeks and ‘barbarians’
(that is, all non-Greek speakers). [5] It is quite revealing that even though Herodotus,
because of his chosen subject matter and possibly his personal inclinations as well, is
not directly interested in sport, nonetheless in the Histories sport often emerges as a
marker of Hellenic ethnic identity in opposition to Eastern mores and patterns of
social and political organization. Moreover, the Histories are a testimony to the
political and ideological exploitation of sport in late archaic and classical Greece,
especially with regard to the opposing tendencies of regional parochialism and
Panhellenism during the Persian Wars. As Kyle puts it, ‘Herodotus carefully
fashioned and placed highly rhetorical passages as idealistic misrepresentations,
suggesting altruism and harmony but masking Greek tensions, disunity and strategic
calculations’ (p. 184).
Herodotus was preoccupied with war for good reason. Indeed, he was not the only
ancient historian to be so concerned. Warfare is the main subject matter of some of

Prologue: Sport in the Cultures of the Ancient World xix
the most important extant works of historiography from the ancient world, including
those by Thucydides, Polybius and Livy to mention simply a few. This was not simply
a matter of choice. War was truly endemic in the ancient world [6] and historians
could hardly afford to ignore it. Conventions and practices of war were of course
widely different from modern times. Due to the lack of technology, ancient warfare
required a substantial level of physical fitness, so it is not surprising that scholars
frequently associate the emergence and rapid development of sport, especially in the
Greek world, with military training. [7] In his essay Pritchard explores the ‘cultural
overlap’ (p. 223) between war and sport in classical Athens. He initially asserts that
during the classical period poor Athenians held sport and its practitioners in high
esteem, although the equestrian successes of elites were sometimes viewed with
scepticism. But in general athletics ‘escaped the often highly critical assessment that
other upper-class activities met in the city’s popular culture’ (p. 219). At the same
time, lower- class Athenians usually eschewed, due to financial constraints, physical
education as part of their educational upbringing. Overall, the evidence suggests that
sport occupied a somewhat peculiar position in democratic Athens, a fact that can be
partly explained, according to Pritchard, by the ideological affiliation between sport
and war. This affiliation manifested itself in a number of ways, including common
vocabulary and concepts. And because of the omnipresence and importance of war in
the life of the ancient Athenians, the affinity between war and sport also explains the
significance and prestige invested in the latter. In this respect, the increasing
participation of the lower social orders in the war efforts in classical Athens was
critical. Overall, Pritchard argues, even though Athenian democracy did not
fundamentally change the stronghold of the upper classes on sport, ‘the practical
and ideological opening up of war profoundly altered the way lower-class Athenians
perceived of athletes and athletics’ (p. 227).
While a surge of recent studies [8] attest to the growing popularity of the
‘interpretative’ stream of ancient sport scholarship, occasionally archaeological
discoveries enrich significantly our pool of factual knowledge about ancient sport.
One such recent discovery is the corpus of epigrams attributed to Posidippus of Pella.
[9] This important collection comprises a number of poems of athletic themes that
highlight elite equestrian competition practices in third-century BC Ptolemaic Egypt
and reveals new perspectives on epinician poetry and its ideological exploitation.
In her essay Remijsen takes the new Posidippus epigrams as a starting point for a
re-evaluation of sport in Ptolemaic Egypt. So far, papyrological and epigraphic
evidence have attested the practice of sport in Egypt during the Hellenistic period.
However, our knowledge of royal and elite involvement in sport, especially equestrian
competitions in the panhellenic games, was quite limited. The new epigrams fill that
gap extensively. Remijsen argues that since the establishment of the Ptolemaic
kingdom, the royal family and the ruling class invested heavily in the symbolism of
sport as a token of Hellenic identity and an international power symbol. Kings and
queens won victories in the equestrian events of the panhellenic periodos games and
duly advertised and capitalized on their achievements. Beyond the royal court,

xx Z. Papakonstantinou
athletes from Ptolemaic Egypt competed extensively and with significant success in
the traditional periodos games, and particularly the Olympics, on the Greek mainland.
According to Remijsen (p. 256) among the emergent Hellenistic monarchies of the
third century BC ‘apparently only Egypt was ready to challenge the traditional Greek
world at the Olympic games’. The attempts to implant Greek-style agōnes, construct
athletic facilities and sponsor promising athletes in Alexandria and the Egyptian
countryside were also considerable. In short, the new evidence provided by
Posidippus complements the picture of athletic dynamism that other sources suggest
for Hellenistic Egypt.
Besides athletic competitions, sport was also embedded in the educational and
military training systems of communities across the Greek-speaking world. Pritchard
examines various facets of non-competitive sport in classical Athens, and Kennell
examines the evolution of the institution of the ephebeia in the Roman East. The
ephebeia was by and large an established military training period whereby male
youths in their late teens trained, usually for one or two-year periods, under the
supervision of publicly appointed tutors in military and athletic subjects. Local
versions of the ephebeia have been attested in various Greek cities since the classical
period and the evidence, usually inscriptions recording names and activities of
financial sponsors and participating youths, multiplies in the Hellenistic era.
However, there is a decline in the amount of evidence for the ephebeia during the
Roman imperial period, a fact that Kennell attributes to the ‘privatization’ (p. 326) of
the institution. In other words, whereas in the classical and Hellenistic periods
ephebic training was more or less publicly funded, in the Roman era cities increasingly
relied on the subsidies of the local elites, and to a lesser extent on the generosity of the
imperial government, in order to maintain their ephebeiai. This trend might account
for the eclectic nature and reduced number of ephebic inscriptions of the Roman era,
since their content and even their existence was now ‘at the whim of the person
footing the bill’ (p. 325). Kennell’s demographic analysis of the extant ephebic
inscriptions of the Roman period, in conjunction with their reduced number in
comparison with earlier periods, leads him to suggest that many ephebates during the
same period were occasional, ‘held only when a sufficient number of youths could be
found who had reached approximately the qualifying age’ (p. 331). Overall, Kennell
vividly adumbrates the dynamics of ephebic patronage in the eastern part of the
Roman empire, the content of ephebic training as well as the gradual demise of civic
ephebeiai in late antiquity.
While numerous Greek cities in the eastern parts of the Roman empire preserved
the ephebeia as a traditional institution of athletic, military and intellectual training,
in the west Romans developed their own distinctive types of sport and games, most
famously gladiatorial fights, beast hunts and other shows. Among all these activities,
gladiatorial shows are undoubtedly an iconic symbol of Roman life. The popularity of
gladiators was not restricted to the Italian heartland of the Roman state but as the
latter expanded, subject populations embraced gladiatorial games and other shows of
violence (beast hunts, executions). [10] This is the case both in the western provinces

Prologue: Sport in the Cultures of the Ancient World xxi
but also in the Greek-speaking east, a region that had inherited, and continued to
cherish under Roman rule, a long tradition of established sporting competitions,
including the old periodos games (Olympic, Pythian, Isthmian, Nemean) and
hundreds of other local games established during the archaic, classical and Hellenistic
periods.
Given the distinct Roman nature of gladiatorial combat, the presence of gladiators
and gladiatorial shows in the Greek east under Roman rule has usually been seen as a
successful transplant of a Roman institution and by extension as a stage in the
endeavours towards Roman acculturation of the Hellenic east. In recent decades, the
unidirectional view of Roman imposition of gladiatorial shows has been challenged.
Two essays, by Mann and Carter, contribute to this debate by examining the
conditions and dynamics of gladiatorial shows in the Greek-speaking world. Mann
questions models of interpretation of Roman gladiatorial shows in the east that do
not account for the diversity of local responses. He detects a number of similarities in
the organization of the games in both east and west, including the elite munificence
that provided the financial basis, the social origins of gladiators and the link between
gladiatorial shows and the emperor’s cult. Moreover, gladiatorial shows were clearly
distinguished from traditional Greek athletics in a number of ways, including the
physical setting (in amphitheatres, which were not among the traditional Greek
athletic facilities) and the Latin gladiatorial terminology employed by Greek speakers.
However, the most striking difference between gladiatorial practices in the east and
west lies in the self-perception and representation of the gladiators themselves as
revealed in extant funerary inscriptions. Whereas in the west gladiatorial funerary
inscriptions merely convey some very basic information about the deceased (most
commonly age, rank, fighting record), in the east gladiatorial epitaphs make explicit
allusions to Greek heroic athletic ideology and should therefore be read as an
extension of Hellenic athletic epinician literature and inscriptions. According to
Mann, what we see at work in these inscriptions is a gradual process of appropriation
of a product of Roman culture by Greek speakers as well as the renegotiation of its
meaning in the context of Hellenic athletic practices.
In his essay Carter also examines the impact of gladiatorial shows in the Greek-
speaking eastern parts of the Roman empire and explores additional interpretative
possibilities. Following a review of important recent theories on the cultural
significance of gladiatorial games at Rome, especially with regard to the construction
of Roman social and ethnic identities, Carter advocates the use of the notion of
cultural performance [11] as a suitable methodological framework for the analysis of
gladiatorial shows. He states that ‘More than simple entertainment, ‘‘cultural per-
formances’’ are special events, set off from day-to-day realities, at which the com-
munity assembles to watch and consider performances that in some way manifest
their own cultural priorities, their values and their ideologies’ (p. 301). Hence in
ancient Rome gladiatorial and other blood shows promoted ideals and values
(military valour and skills; social hierarchy) endorsed by the official ideology of the
Roman state and as a result negotiated and reinforced Roman identity.

xxii Z. Papakonstantinou
But what about the Greek east? Carter argues that the epitaphs of Greek-speaking
gladiators, with all their heroic and athletic overtones, very likely reflect an
understanding of the status and role of gladiatorial shows adopted by the wider Greek
community. If that is accurate then, similarly to Rome, in the Greek east too
gladiatorial games reproduced values espoused by the ordinary citizens/spectators.
Moreover, in the amphitheatres and converted theatres where gladiators performed
in the east, as well as in the funerary inscriptions addressing a wider Greek audience,
gladiators and their performances were a point of contact between Greek and Roman
and helped generate a discourse addressing fundamental issues of assimilation and
difference between the two cultures.
Cultural exchange is rarely a one-way street. Even though the Romans did not
embrace Greek-style athletics as eagerly as Greek speakers seem to have adopted
gladiatorial shows, one can nevertheless detect possible Greek nuances in Roman sport
and games. Before the Romans even became a superpower, the Etruscans in central
Italy appear to have had a penchant for Greek-style sport, even though the nature of
the relationship between Greeks and Etruscans remains very much disputed. [12]
Moreover, citizens of the old Greek colonies in southern Italy and Sicily practised sport
and organized athletic competitions, similarly to the city-states in mainland Greece.
After the Romans assumed control of the Italian peninsula there are some historically
attested attempts to introduce Greek sports in Rome and other parts of the region, but
none of them was long-lasting or extremely successful. But it is nevertheless revealing
that on these and other sporting occasions, Roman organizers adopted age category
divisions for boys that largely corresponded to their better known counterparts in
Greece. In his essay Crowther meticulously examines aspects related to age divisions in
Roman sports and games. He argues that the adoption of the toga civilis, that is, the
dress of manhood, by Roman teenagers was very likely a benchmark in determining age
categories in Roman sports. In that respect, other criteria besides specific ages, such as
strength, or the growing of the beard might have been important as well. At times
children also performed in gladiatorial games, dances and other types of entertainments,
a fact that is frequently recorded in children’s funerary inscriptions.
The debate on these and other topics raised and explored by the contributors
to this volume will undoubtedly continue. In the ancient world just as in modern
times sport, in all its manifestations, energized, excited and empowered those
who participated in it or watched it unfold as spectators. It was occasionally exploited
and abused by state authorities, the socially powerful or individual athletes. But
it never ceased to be an integral and very popular component of social and political
life.
Acknowledgements
The editor would like to thank all the contributors for agreeing to participate in this
project as well as for their collaboration and professionalism. Special thanks go to
Professor James Mangan who first suggested the creation of this collection and

Prologue: Sport in the Cultures of the Ancient World xxiii
assisted in every step along the way, and to Professor Mark Golden and Dr Jason
König for their valuable assistance.
Notes
[1] Throughout the volume journals are abbreviated according to L’Année Philologique, ancient
Greek authors according to Liddell, Scott and Jones, A Greek-English Lexicon and ancient
Latin authors according to the Thesaurus linguae Latinae.
[2] Christesen, Olympic Victor Lists.
[3] Eder, ‘Continuity of Bronze Age Cult at Olympia?’.
[4] That is, from the beginning of the sixth century BC until 336 BC (the accession of Alexander the
Great to the Macedonian throne).
[5] Besides Herodotus, a native of Halicarnassus who lived and worked in Athens, the evidence
for the stereotype of the Eastern ‘barbarian’ derives almost exclusively from Athens, so the
extent to which these perceptions were shared by the rest of the Greek world is debatable. See
Hall, Inventing the Barbarian; Cartledge, The Greeks, chapter 3.
[6] War was so pervasive in the ancient world that effectively there were very few periods when
citizens of ancient communities did not fight or prepare themselves for war. See, in general,
Raaflaub, War and Peace in the Ancient World; Chaniotis, War in the Hellenistic World; for
archaic and classical Greece in particular see van Wees, Greek Warfare.
[7] Although, as it has been pointed out both in antiquity and modern times, Greek-style sports
were not suitable as training for hoplite warfare. See Poliakoff, Combat Sports in the Ancient
World, 94–115; Golden, Sport and Society in Ancient Greece, 23–8 with references.
[8] See, for example, Golden, Sport and Society in Ancient Greece; idem, Greek Sport and Social
Status; König, Athletics and Literature in the Roman Empire; Nicholson, Aristocracy and
Athletics in Archaic and Classical Greece; Newby, Greek Athletics in the Roman World. See also
the recent overview by Kyle, Sport and Spectacle in the Ancient World.
[9] Editio princeps Bastianini, Gallazzi and Austin, Posidippo di Pella. Editio minor Austin and
Bastianini, Posidippi Pellaei quae supersunt omnia.
[10] For recent surveys of scholarship on gladiatorial games see Welch, ‘Recent Work on
Amphitheatre Architecture’; Kyle, ‘Rethinking the Roman Arena’; idem, ‘From Battlefield to
the Arena’.
[11] In addition to the references in Carter’s essay, see also Parkin, Caplan and Fisher, The Politics
of Cultural Performance.
[12] With particular reference to sport see Thullier, Les jeux athlétiques dans la civilisation étrusque.
References
Austin, C. and G. Bastianini. Posidippi Pellaei quae supersunt omnia. Milan: LED Edizioni
Universitarie di Lettere Economia Diritto, 2002.
Bastianini, G., C. Gallazzi and C. Austin. Posidippo di Pella - Epigrammi (P. Mil. Vogl. VIII 309).
Papiri dell’ Università degli Studi di Milano - VIII, Milan: LED Edizioni Universitarie di
Lettere Economia Diritto, 2001.
Cartledge, P. The Greeks: A Portrait of Self and Others, 2nd revised edn. Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2002.
Chaniotis, A. War in the Hellenistic World: A Social and Cultural History. Malden, MA and Oxford:
Blackwell, 2005.
Christesen, P. Olympic Victor Lists and Ancient Greek History. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 2007.

xxiv Z. Papakonstantinou
Eder, B. ‘Continuity of Bronze Age Cult at Olympia? The Evidence of the Late Bronze Age and Early
Iron Age Pottery’. In Potnia: Deities and Religion in the Aegean Bronze Age, edited by
R. Laffineur and R. Hägg. Liège: Université de Liège, Histoire de l’art et d’archéologie de la
Grèce antique, 2001: 201–9.
Golden, M. Sport and Society in Ancient Greece. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998.
Golden, M. Greek Sport and Social Status. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, 2008.
Hall, E. Inventing the Barbarian: Greek Self-Definition through Tragedy. Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 1989.
König, J. Athletics and Literature in the Roman Empire. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2005.
Kyle, D. ‘Rethinking the Roman Arena: Gladiators, Sorrows, and Games’. Ancient History Bulletin
11 (1997): 94–7.
Kyle, D. Sport and Spectacle in the Ancient World. Malden, MA and Oxford: Blackwell, 2006.
Kyle, D. ‘From Battlefield to the Arena: Gladiators, Militarism and the Roman Republic’. In
Militarism, Sport, Europe: War Without Weapons, edited by J.A. Mangan. London: Frank
Cass: 2003: 10–27.
Liddell, H.G., R. Scott and H. Jones. A Greek-English Lexicon, 9th edn. Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 1996.
Newby, Z. Greek Athletics in the Roman World. Victory and Virtue. Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2005.
Nicholson, N. Aristocracy and Athletics in Archaic and Classical Greece. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2005.
Parkin, D., L. Caplan and H. Fisher, eds. The Politics of Cultural Performance. Providence, RI:
Berghahn Books, 1996.
Poliakoff, M. Combat Sports in the Ancient World: Competition, Violence, and Culture. New Haven,
CT: Yale University Press, 1987.
Raaflaub, K., ed. War and Peace in the Ancient World. Malden, MA and Oxford: Blackwell, 2007.
Thullier, J.-P., Les jeux athlétiques dans la civilisation étrusque. Rome: École française de Rome,
1985.
Van Wees, H., Greek Warfare: Myths and Realities. London: Duckworth, 2004.
Welch, K. ‘Recent Work on Amphitheatre Architecture and Arena Spectacles’. Journal of Roman
Archaeology 14 (2001): 492–8.

Contesting Ancient Mediterranean

Sport
Thomas Scanlon
Not only out of Greece and Rome

Sport is of course a culturally relative but universally present phenomenon, in local
species difficult to define but in genus easy to recognize. The concept shifts within
each culture, often represented by one or several words comparable with our term for
sport: in Greece there are agônes and aethla (‘contests’); in Rome there are ludi and
munera (‘games’; ‘shows’); the Sumerians had lir um (‘athletics’); and the Egyptians
had the term swtwt (‘sport’). Our boundaries must therefore be flexible from culture
to culture, and sensitive to each culture’s own definitions so as to understand the
diverse phenomena in their context. Don Kyle cuts the knot with one useful
definition of sport as ‘public, physical activities, especially those with competitive
elements, pursued for victory and demonstration of excellence’. [1]
Ancient sport did not begin with Greece and Rome, nor even with the cultures of
the Mediterranean. We must qualify the ‘ancient’ aspect of ‘Ancient Sport’ (or
‘Ancient History’) as the term usually assumed to refer to Greek and Roman Sport
(or History), and therefore excludes the rich manifestations of sport in early world
cultures. Ancient Mesoamerican sport, for example, reaches back to 1000 BC and

2 T. Scanlon
evidences a wealth of contests involving not only formal ball games at special courts,
but also boxing matches with contestants wearing heavy leather masks. [2] And even
if we restrict our perspective to the Mediterranean, the Greeks did not invent sport:
the Egyptians, Sumerians and Hittites held regular festivals with contests, some as
early as the third millennium BC. It is a defensible hypothesis that the bull leaping of
Bronze Age Crete began in earlier Syria, where seal stones attest the practice. [3] It is
also arguable that a taste for sophisticated wrestling in mainland Greece may have
been encouraged by practices observed in Egypt, where wrestler images appear from
the early third century BC onward, most spectacularly in the tomb paintings of Beni
Hasan. [4]
The Egyptians had, as mentioned, competitive wrestling, but also notably stick
fighting, not to mention rarer instances of competitive foot races, and non-
competitive (so far as we know) instances of swimming, hunting and chariot riding
for recreation. [5] The Sumerians apparently had foot races as early as the third
millennium BC, culminating in the feats of King Shulgi. [6] They also widely practised
wrestling, belt wrestling and boxing. The Hittite king, we saw, sponsored a ritual race
for his bodyguards, and like the Greeks this was placed in the context of a regular
religious festival. The sheer variety and type of other competitive sports among the
Hittites cover virtually all those found in Homer, but for chariot racing and javelin
throwing. [7] And so the Hittite menu and social context of games most nearly
approaches that of the Greeks. [8] It is therefore easy to see how the Greek games
evolved from these Near Eastern and Hittite, pre-Greek sporting cultures of the early
Mediterranean.
The Greeks embraced the broadest programme of agonistic events, and from the
start highlighted the glory that comes to the individual competitors from athletic
victory. The Near Eastern and Hittite cultures, so far as we know, avoided giving
significant public honour to individual contestants, apart from the ruler himself.
Occasionally an individual, notably a soldier, might win and be cheered, but
documents are always careful to emphasize the beneficence and patronage of the
royal or elite host. Greece had an elite stratum, to be sure, but no ‘mega-ruler’ with
pan-Hellenic supremacy (leaving aside the anomaly of Alexander). Within the system
of smaller city-states in the archaic period, honour could easily shift from one leader
to another. So an athletic victory was more tolerable in local and inter-city contests,
with no major king to squelch the potential rival. And such a contest victory by a
rising leader was much more of a tempting prize – it might afford just the visibility to
edge out a political rival.
Whether, to what extent, and in what ways Near Eastern or Egyptian precedents
served as inspiration or models for Greek festivals is admittedly a matter of
speculation. Yet few scholars today would dispute that there was active exchange
commercially, politically, militarily and culturally around the states of the eastern
Mediterranean that would allow Minoans or Mycenaeans and Dark Age Greeks
(c.1100–800 BC) to hear about or witness sports in neighbouring lands. It would, in
my view, be irresponsible not to allow that many Greeks prior to the Archaic Age

Contesting Ancient Mediterranean Sport 3
probably observed or heard about the sports of other communities, and that some
Greeks consequently adapted and changed their forms of contests in whole or in part
to emulate those other models.
Sources out of Perspective

The Greek tradition of sport is of course not in itself consistent, nor well documented
at every stage. A major handicap for every study of ancient Greek and Roman cultures
(and for many other ancient world cultures) is that our knowledge is bounded and
conditioned by the texts and objects selectively preserved. Random objects recovered by
archaeologists more probably reflect items used and cherished and ways of life followed
by social strata of all levels. But written texts are inevitably biased to the views of the
elite, the wealthy, the powerful and usually the male citizenry. Yes, there are the happy,
though not highly informative, exceptions whereby the common view is reflected, for
example, by the graffiti written in the Greek gymnasium at Priene (‘so-and-so student
was here’) or in the stadium tunnel at Nemea (‘such-and-such athlete is beautiful’), or
on the walls of Pompeii (‘such-and-such gladiator is sexy’). But more typical is the
evidence of the praises sung in the odes of Pindar to victors at the great games, poems
that extol tyrants or aristocrats (in chariot races) and athletes in the track, field or
combat events who can afford the fees of the poet.
Little or nothing is said of the ‘little people’ who were instrumental in the success,
namely, the chariot driver (mostly hired or slaves) and trainers, again of slave or
lowly citizen status. [9] Admittedly some, perhaps many, of all the athletes and
victors in a millennium of ancient Greek festivals were of non-elite status, and some
of these undoubtedly earned enough from their prize money to set up inscriptions
telling of their fame and glory. [10] But the voices of those of non-elite status are few
enough so as not to allow any final certainty in an accurate picture of the sociology of
ancient Greek sport. [11] The social status of gladiators (mostly slaves or criminals,
but varying geographically and over time) has been well studied and is discussed in
ancient and modern sources, but still we lack any documents of the perspective and
voice of the gladiators themselves apart from inscriptions boasting of their successes.
Today, of course, professional athletes in major sports have superstar status, a broad
public voice, and daily stories about their contests and lives in the sports section of
the newspaper. We know, it seems, too much about them. In contrast, of all the
thousands of gladiatorial matches held in the Roman Colosseum, the only account of
a specific gladiatorial bout there is the discussion of a draw between the otherwise
unknown Priscus and Verus in AD 80, recounted in Epigram 31 of Martial’s Book of
Spectacles. [12] The silence of the sources on historical matches is wholly at odds with
the huge public interest in and heroizing of the gladiators among the average Roman,
but it does speak volumes about the unwillingness of the literate and the literati to
memorialize the ephemeral events of popular culture. Greek and Roman literary
sources, in sum, must be read with constant attention to their built-in bias, in order
to approach a reconstruction and appreciation of the total phenomena of their sport.

4 T. Scanlon
‘Useless Activity’ Outside the Borders

Moses Finley used to say that there are few disciplines whose borders are more
heavily patrolled than those of Classical Studies. And for most of the twentieth
century, until the 1980s, the study of Greek and Roman sport lay mostly ostracized to
the hinterland, at best an adjunct to literary, epigraphic or historical studies to the
extent that athletic festivals, gladiatorial contests and the like could not be totally
written out. My observation is that prior to the last 15 or so years in American
academe, a junior scholar with a primary specialization in the study of ancient sport
had difficulty in securing a tenure-track position. A sport scholar was deemed not as
useful to the department unless he or she could also teach and research more ‘central’
topics like Pindar, Homer, or historians, or was a well-rounded archaeologist. The
Classical Studies and Ancient History branches of academe have had an uneasy
relationship with sport, as if trying to keep concerns and thoughts about the body in
the campus gymnasium and the playing field and mostly out of serious research and
academic classroom settings. Studies of the culture of sport had no place within the
disciplinary boundaries. Juvenal’s dictum, mens sana in corpore sano (‘a healthy mind
in a healthy body,’ Satire 10. 356), critical academics seemed to be saying, does not
encourage the healthy mind to reflect upon the role of the body in society, at least
with respect to ancient society.
I recently heard a senior and highly respected Classics scholar in a public lecture
quite seriously define ‘sport’ as a ‘useless activity’. Such a definition is, in my view
and, I suspect, in the view of the vast majority of sport historians, completely
untenable. Yet on this occasion, in the presence of sport historians, it was not
elaborated on but taken as a given. Presumably this scholar and others of similar
mind feel that sport both in antiquity and today has been merely a leisure activity or
entertainment. These pursuits may refresh the mind and build the body, I presume is
the running argument, but they do not intrinsically contribute to society as do
activities performed in more useful pursuits such as service professions, manufactur-
ing, health care, education, and so on. Of course in response one could here cite a
huge bibliography of works, perhaps starting with Homer and Plato, arguing the ways
in which sport contributes to society by the formation of the mind, body and spirit.
My concerns, in the end, are that the view of sport as ‘useless activity’ among scholars
of Classics and Ancient History is a) more widespread than those holding it will
admit; and b) arises from an application of the categories of ‘low’ and ‘high’ culture
(terms marked and debatable, but common in popular parlance); and c) implies that
academic research, deemed elite and ‘high’, ought not to focus on sport, deemed
popular and therefore ‘low’.
This attitude has, I think, changed much in the last two decades, as witnessed by
the proliferation in North American universities of very popular undergraduate
courses on ancient sport, and as evidenced by the flood of new books on the topic
published by top university presses (discussed below). Greek and Roman sports are
certainly in the public view and marketable, through their associations with the

Olympics (notably the nostalgia evoked by the 2004 Athens games), and through
the new interest in gladiators, thanks to Ridley Scott’s Gladiator film (2000). But
it is not only student enrolments and the sales of books that boost the prestige of
ancient sport, but the movement in academe during this same period to validate
within the humanities the studies of gender, sexuality, and the activities of those
of non-elite status (in modern studies including cinema studies, science fiction,
and so on). The greater openness has partly arisen from the questioning of
traditional canons of texts and the elite values that go with them. This movement
is of course in part a result of the counter-culture questioning in the 1960s of all
traditional hierarchy and priorities, affecting modern studies more than ancient in
the first instance. Recent scholarship and curricula in English departments, in
other modern language departments, and in many history and sociology
departments have led the way in incorporating a battery of critical theory
approaches (post-colonialism, new historicism, and so on) that Classicists and
ancient historians have been slow to incorporate. This too has changed within
Classics, Ancient History and Classical Archaeology over the last two decades, and
has led to a new and widespread, though still not universal, validation of
extensive serious research in ancient sport history.
Crossing the Border

The trajectory of scholarship to the present on Greek and Roman sport is,
unsurprisingly, a long one, and it is not the case that the recent new enthusiasm arose
fully armed from the proverbial head of Zeus. In the last two centuries numerous
(though not so numerous for the time span) and noteworthy individuals passionate
about Greek sport did produce pioneering works. The books were at first mostly
broad narratives, notably those by the following: the German scholars J.H. Krause
(1841), Carl Diem (1960), Julius Jüthner (1965 and 1968) and Joachim Ebert (1972
and 1980); [13] the British scholars E.N. Gardiner (originally published in 1910, 1925
and 1930) and H.A. Harris (1964, 1972 and 1976); [14] the Italian scholar Roberto
Patrucco (1972); [15] the Greek scholar Nicholas Yalouris (1976); [16] the US
Classicist Clarence Forbes (1929 and 1933); [17] and the American M.I. Finley and
Dutch H.W. Pleket (1976). [18] On Roman sport and games, Carcopino (1940) and
Friedländer (1908–13, 7th edition) each had sections (45 and 130 pages respectively)
of their general works on Roman ‘daily life’ that discussed spectacles in the arenas,
circuses and theatres. [19] Michael Grant (1967) produced the first general book in
English on gladiators, and it remained the only popular work on the topic until the
late 1980s. R. Auguet (1970, French; 1972, English) proposed provocatively that the
violence of gladiatorial games was a tool for ‘civilizing’ and controlling the empire.
[20] Harris’s book Sport in Greece and Rome (1972) was the only general work in
English on Roman chariot racing and ball games prior to the 1980s. [21] Veyne
(1976, translated in 1990) discussed how imperial patronage of circuses helped
maintain the social order. [22]

6 T. Scanlon
Also in this period up to the 1980s, important monographs appeared on key topics
related mainly to the pragmatic, empirical aspects of the practices and the sites of
Greek and Roman sport. The German excavations of the site at Olympia which began
in 1875 were a major inspiration not only for the modern Olympic movement itself,
but for studies of the history of the ancient games. The stadium at Olympia was
finally uncovered only in the German excavations of 1952 to 1966. [23] Athletic
inscriptions were collected, edited and provided with careful commentary by J. Ebert
(1972) in German and L. Moretti (1953 and 1957) in Italian. A. Hönle (1972, in
German) gave a reliable narrative of politics and the ancient Olympics. Ingomar
Weiler (1974, in German) studied the theme of agôn (contest) in world myths, and,
in another volume, with C. Ulf, (1981; second edition published in 1988) he surveyed
sport in Greece and Rome with impressive summaries of research in each area.
Among Roman studies, Alan Cameron (1973 and 1976) published more specialized
studies of chariot racing in the late empire. Louis Robert (1971) did an archival study
of inscriptions for gladiators in the Roman east, complemented later by G. Ville
(1981) on the phenomenon in the western empire. And of course for the scholarship
of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries prior to the 1980s we cannot recount here
the many contributions of numerous articles that studied aspects of the games,
individual inscriptions, archaeological sites and how particular events were per-
formed. Though this survey of the earlier works may seem substantial in number (as
the individual contributions certainly were in quality for their time), they stand as a
relatively slim body of works for a century of scholarly publication on ancient
phenomena spanning both Greece and Rome over a thousand years. My biblio-
graphic monograph (Scanlon, 1984) is not entirely comprehensive but reasonably so,
and lists over 1,600 monographs and articles on Greek and Roman sport published
up to the early 1980s. A bibliography on ancient warfare, on ancient law, on ancient
religion, or indeed on many canonical classical authors would surpass the number of
publications on ancient sport for a similar period of scholarship. [24]
The standard, annual bibliographic survey of ancient studies, L’Année Philologique,
begun in 1924, did not include a separate section for sport until 1959 when it was
relegated by strange logic to a subsection of ‘Sciences, Engineering and Professions’
(‘Sciences, Techniques et Métiers’) entitled ‘Navigation, Hunting, Sports and Various
Games’ (‘Navigation, Chasse, Sports et Jeux Diverse’). And in that 1959 listing, there
are but ten items of the total 34 that relate to Greek or Roman sport. In 1976, a
bumper year that included the appearance of Finley and Pleket’s book on the
Olympics, Patrucco’s survey of Greek sport, and reviews of recent books by Harris
and Weiler (1974), 30 items of the total 73 treat Greek or Roman contests. Gardiner’s
Athletics of the Ancient World appears in the 1930 volume of L’Année Philologique
under a heading for general items related to ‘Social, Economic and Administrative
History’. In 1996 the bibliographic volumes no longer had a category naming ‘sports’,
and now place most studies of ancient sport under ‘Mentalities and Daily Life’
(Mentalités et Vie Quotidienne’) where sport now oddly resides alongside concepts
(such as luxury, property, gender and slavery), cuisine, perfume and private life.

Bibliographic perusing of items on ancient sport is now moreover impossible to

do with any ease as these are spread irritatingly among six subsections covering
general and chronological categories, and buried among hundreds of entries in each
volume.
To judge from this widely used bibliographical tool, ancient sport was ignored
until about 1959, and since then at least recognized, though in an oddly ghettoized
fashion. The reasons were doubtlessly complex in the history of scholarship: other
fields or author studies were viewed as more central; the other fields had not been as
saturated with academic attention as they had become by the late twentieth century
when ‘fresh’ subfields were sought for theses or new projects; social and cultural
history came of age with the ever greater incorporation of such disciplines in academe
generally; and, to some extent, sport was stigmatized as a low or useless activity in
modern life by some traditionalist scholars of Classics, and its study was of lesser
importance by association. Generally speaking, in my view, scholars of ancient studies
have in the last 20 years been much more receptive to sport scholarship, but the field
is still marginalized with respect to the traditionally prestigious areas of canonical
authors and historical studies focused on political and military, and some privileged
aspects of social history. Even so the sea change in quantity and quality of scholarship
on ancient sport is undeniable, relative to what it had been, but not as well received as
it might be. It remains for us at this point to note some specific highlights of the latest
work.
The period around the 1984 Los Angeles Olympic Games somehow marked a
watershed for Greek sport scholarship. In time for the games, David Young (1984)
published his book challenging the view which supported amateurism in the modern
games based on an anachronistic view of the Greeks. My bibliography of Greek and
Roman sport (1984) also appeared in that year, followed by a complementary
bibliography of Greek athletics by Nigel Crowther (1985). The still definitive study of
athletics in Athens by Donald Kyle (1987) appeared in the same year as Michael
Poliakoff’s book on combat sports (1987). Wendy Raschke’s edited volume (second
edition published in 2002; originally published in 1988) of papers originally given just
prior to the Los Angeles Games has had a lasting shelf-life as a survey of the
Olympics, pan-Hellenic games and other athletic festivals. David Sansone (1988)
intriguingly posited the origin of Greek sport from primitive hunting ritual. Two new
journals of special and enduring importance to ancient sport history and culture,
Stadion and Nikephoros, appeared first in this period. A sourcebook of Greek sport
was published by Waldo Sweet (1987) in the wake of an earlier one by Stephen Miller
(1979; third and expanded edition published in 2004 – see Miller, 2004b).
In the 1990s and 2000s, scholarship on Greek sport escalated further, culminating
in a cluster of books around the time of the 2004 Athens Olympics. In German
studies, Müller (1995) surveyed the criticism of sport in Greece and Rome, and
Christian Mann (2001) discussed athletics in relation to the polis. Decker (1995; an
English translation will be published by the University of Wisconsin Press in 2009)
produced an excellent overview of Greek athletics. My book Eros and Greek Athletics

8 T. Scanlon
(Scanlon, 2002) explores the connections of body culture, competition, initiation and
religion. Stephen Miller (2004a) produced a well illustrated, archaeologically savvy,
and accessible introduction to Greek sport, while David Young (2004) provided a
brief introduction to the ancient Olympics. Nigel Crowther (2004) collected his many
superb, separate studies into one volume of fundamental importance for under-
standing diverse issues in the practice of Greek athletics. Recent books by N.J.
Nicholson (2005) and Jason König (2005) inaugurate important approaches to the
social aspects of sport, respectively on the role of the unseen jockeys and trainers and
on the innate tensions between athletics and literature in the second century AD. A
study by Paul Christesen (2007) painstakingly and convincingly argues how earlier
scholarship may have erred in our fundamental chronology of the Olympics. Edited
collections of essays on Greek sport also mark burgeoning interest in the field: Philips
and Pritchard (2003), Coulson and Kyrieleis (1992), Kaı̈la et al. (2004) and Schaus
and Wenn (2007).
Decker and Thuillier (2004) covers Greek, Etruscan and Roman sport with the
reliable narrative commentary of two major experts. Also highly astute, readable and
judiciously documented is the survey of Kyle (2007), covering all Mediterranean
sport, with the emphasis on Greece and Rome. Roman studies per se also picked up
the pace in the 1980s, but really blossomed in the 1990s. K. Hopkins (1983) writes on
the function of gladiatorial games in the imperial system, Humphrey (1986) on the
location and nature of Roman circuses throughout the empire. Jean-Paul Thuillier
(1985) gives a definitive study of Etruscan sport. Golvin (1988) provides the first
comprehensive study of the arena structure. Barton (1993) diagnoses Rome’s
grotesque fascination with violence and gladiators as stemming from Republican era
civil wars in Rome. Futrell (1997) combines discussions of architecture, religion and
anthropology of human sacrifice in relation to the gladiatorial spectacles. Kyle (1998)
explains the social function of beast games and gladiators from the perspective of the
disposition of bodies both animal and human. Köhne and Ewigleben (2000) offer a
large format summary of gladiatorial games, with excellent illustrations. A book on
Pompeian gladiators by Luciana Jacobelli (2003) gives an excellent documentation of
the phenomenon in that city. Most recently Welch (2007) has given a convincing
genealogy of the arena structure.
With all this high volume of quality publication, we witness the coming of age and
broad ‘legitimization’ of the study of Greek and Roman sport within the borders of
Classical academe. Presses are interested, conferences seem to abound, undergraduate
classes on the subject have become a staple of the curriculum of Classics departments
in North America. Yet there are few institutions where the study of ancient sport can
be pursued with the expertise of more than one faculty expert and with rich library
resources, as is exceptionally possible, for example, at universities in Cologne,
Germany and Graz, Austria. There are many theories on individual aspects of Greek
and Roman sport, but as yet, perhaps happily, no ideological schools of thought, and
no grand theories of the origin or the social dynamics of the phenomena (prolonged
controversies have been over narrower questions, like the class-status of athletes in

Archaic Greece, or the scoring of the pentathlon). A broader clustering of interests,

theories and collective projects may come before long, but for the moment, there are
many enticing and untrammeled corners for future investigation by individuals, for
example, prosopographies of athletes, digital databanks of agonistic inscriptions,
histories of local athletic festivals, comprehensive studies of Roman games in the
Greek east and of Roman games at the fringes of the western empire. Archaeology can
make rich contributions here too, as has been shown by the recent evidence for the
location of the hippodrome at Olympia in summer 2008.
Notes
[1] Kyle, Athletics in Ancient Athens, 10.
[2] Coe, ‘Another Look at the Maya Ballgame’; Orr, ‘Stone Balls and Masked Men: Ballgame as
Combat Ritual, Dainzú, Oaxaca’; and Taube, Olmec Art at Dumbarton Oaks.
[3] Sipahi, ‘New Evidence from Anatolia Regarding Bull-Leaping Scenes in the Art of the Aegean
and the Near East’; and Scanlon, Greek and Roman Athletics: A Bibliography with Introduction
and Commentary.
[4] Decker, Sports and Games of Ancient Egypt, 75–7.
[5] Ibid.
[6] Rollinger, ‘Aspekte des Sports im Alten Sumer. Sportliche Betätigung und Herrschaftsidio-
logie im Wechselspiel’.
[7] Scanlon, ‘Sports and Media in the Ancient World’.
[8] Puhvel, ‘Hittite Athletics as Prefigurations of Ancient Greek Games’.
[9] Nicholson, Athletics and Aristocracy in Archaic and Classical Greece.
[10] Young, A Brief History of the Olympic Games. See the boasting inscription of Markos Aurelios
Asklepiades c.AD 200 quoted in König, Athletics and Literature in the Roman Empire, 1.
[11] Pleket, ‘Zur Sociologie des antiken Sports’; Golden, Sport and Society in Ancient Greece.
[12] Hopkins and Beard, The Colosseum, 49–50; and Coleman, Martial: Liber Spectaculorum,
218–34.
[13] Krause, Die Gymnastik und Agonistik der Hellenen; Diem, Weltgeschichte des Sports und der
Leibeserziehung; Jüthner, Die athletischen Leibesübungen der Griechen; Ebert, Griechische
Epigramme auf Sieger an gymnischen und hippischen Agonen; and Ebert et al., Olympia von den
Anfängen bis zu Coubertin.
[14] Gardiner, Greek Athletic Sports and Festivals; idem, Olympia: Its History and Remains; idem,
Athletics of the Ancient World; Harris, Greek Athletes and Athletics; idem, Sport in Greece and
Rome; and idem, Greek Athletics and the Jews.
[15] Patrucco, Lo sport nella Grecia antica.
[16] Yalouris, The Eternal Olympics: The Art and History of Sport.
[17] Forbes, Greek Physical Education; and Neoi: A Contribution to the Study of Greek Associations.
[18] Finley and Pleket, The Olympic Games: The First Thousand Years.
[19] Carcopino, Daily Life in Ancient Rome; Friedländer, Roman Life and Manners under the Early
Empire.
[20] Grant, Gladiators; and Auguet, Cruelty and Civilisation: The Roman Games.
[21] Harris, Sport in Greece and Rome.
[22] Veyne, Bread and Circuses: Historical Sociology and Political Pluralism.
[23] Weiler, Der Sport bei den Völkern der alten Welt: Eine Einführung, 122–3.
[24] A glance at bibliographies of Petronius to the late 1970s (see Schmeling and Stuckey, A
Bibliography of Petronius) and Sallust to the early 1960s (Leeman, A Systematical Bibliography
of Sallust) evidences respectively 2,074 and 1,252 items.

10 T. Scanlon
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Whence 776? The Origin of the Date

for the First Olympiad
Paul Christesen
Introduction
776 BC, ostensibly the year in which the Olympic Games were held for the first time,
may be the single most well-known date among sport historians of all kinds,
regardless of the period and place in which they specialize. [1] Most sport historians,
however, even those sport historians specializing in ancient Greece, would be hard
pressed to provide a clear explanation of how we know that the first Olympics were
held in 776. That date ultimately goes back to a list of Olympic victors that was
compiled by Hippias of Elis in the late fifth century BC. But how did Hippias reach
the conclusion that athletic contests were first held at Olympia in 776? Despite its
obvious significance, there is very little scholarship that directly addresses this
question, and virtually all of that scholarship is now at least a century old and
thoroughly obsolete.
The purpose of this study is to argue that the date of 776 was not, as one might
expect, taken from written records kept at Olympia, but was calculated by Hippias on

14 P. Christesen
the basis of a list of the kings of Sparta. Hippias used that list to reckon the number of
generations between his own time and what he identified as the first Olympiad, which
he believed was organized by a member of the Spartan royal family named Lycurgus.
He assigned a fixed number of years to each generation and arrived at a date for
Lycurgus and hence for the first Olympics. This means that the date of 776 rests on
very shaky foundations. Generational reckoning is notoriously inaccurate, the
participation of Lycurgus in the founding of the Olympics is uncertain, and widely
variant dates for Lycurgus – and for the first Olympiad – circulated in the ancient
world. The archaeological evidence from Olympia can be used to support a range of
dates for the first athletic contests held there; the excavators at the site have proposed
a date of sometime around 700. There is no reason, therefore, to take the date of 776
as anything more than a rough approximation.
The discussion that follows is broken down into six sections. The first section
provides background information on Hippias and the Olympic victor list. The second
section treats the existence of written records at Olympia. It finds that written records
were not kept at Olympia until the sixth century at the earliest and that, as a result,
Hippias could not have dated the first Olympics on that basis. This is followed by a
discussion of the sources Hippias used in compiling his list of Olympic victors.
Broadly speaking, those sources consisted of oral traditions for the Olympiads held
before c.600 and written records, primarily in the form of lists of victors in individual
Olympiads and victor monuments, for the Olympiads held after c.600. In the fourth
section detailed consideration is given to the question of precisely how Hippias
calculated the date of 776. The reliability of the date of 776 is the subject of the fifth
section. A brief conclusion makes up the sixth and final section of the essay.
This study draws directly on my recent book on Olympic victor lists. [2] That book
was written primarily with classicists in mind. My goal here is to make some
significant new findings about Olympic victor lists more readily accessible to sport
historians whose area of research lies outside the ancient world. I have to that end
supplied more background information than I did in the book and omitted a fair
amount of esoteric material likely to be of interest only to classicists. For readers who
wish to pursue the evidence in greater depth, I have included the requisite citations
both to the original sources and to the pertinent scholarship.
Background
The basic structuring principles of ancient and modern systems of reckoning time
diverge sharply. Most time-reckoning systems in use in the modern world identify
individual years by counting from a fixed date and assigning each year a number. The
most obvious example is the system used in this essay, which numbers years from the
birth of Jesus. The standard practice in ancient Greece was quite different. Greeks
lived scattered around much of the Mediterranean basin and were settled in literally
hundreds of politically autonomous communities. Each community had its own
calendar and system for reckoning time. For example, Athenian years began and

The Origin of the Date for the First Olympiad 15
ended in the middle of the summer, while Spartan years began and ended in the
autumn. One trait that was shared by virtually all Greek time-reckoning systems was
the habit of identifying individual years by associating each one with the name of an
individual, typically a magistrate, who thus served as an eponym. For example, each
year in Athens was named after an archon, the chief magistrate of the Athenian state
(who held office for one year). We would say that the first phase of the Peloponnesian
War began in 431 and ended in 421, but an Athenian would say that it began in the
year that Pythodoros was archon and ended in the year that Aristion was archon. [3]
In order to calculate the interval between the present and an event in the past, it was
necessary to have at hand a complete list of eponyms and to count the number of
names between the current eponym and the eponym in the year in which the event in
question took place. One can see why systems in which years were numbered
eventually became standard.
The date for the first Olympiad was closely tied to the list of Olympic victors,
which was compiled for the first time at the end of the fifth century by Hippias of
Elis. Hippias was an itinerant scholar and a person of some importance in his home
town. His work with the Olympic victor list is most immediately obvious from the
following passage written by Plutarch in the second century AD:
It is difficult to make precise statements about chronology, and especially

chronology based on the names of Olympic victors. They say that Hippias of Elis
produced the list of Olympic victors at a late date, starting with nothing
authoritative that would encourage trust in the result. [4]
The fact that Hippias was from Elis is significant. The Olympic Games were held at a
religious sanctuary called Olympia, in the north-west corner of the Peloponnese (see
Figure 1). Olympia was administered by the Eleans, who also oversaw the Olympic
Games and participated in those contests, alongside athletes from all over the Greek
world. As a prominent Elean, Hippias frequented Olympia and was familiar with the
inner workings of the Olympic Games. [5]
After the publication of Hippias’ list Olympiads rapidly became the basis of a time-
reckoning system that was widely employed by ancient Greek writers. Hippias used
the approach standard among Greeks and identified each Olympiad by the name of a
particular person. He used the victor in the stadion as the eponym for each Olympiad.
The stadion was a short foot race and the signature event of the ancient Olympics.
Ancient Greeks believed that the first 13 Olympiads consisted solely of the stadion
race. [6] The eponym for the first Olympiad was a stadion victor named Koroibos of
Elis. Aristotle, working about 75 years after Hippias, introduced an important
innovation by numbering the Olympiads. The Olympiad in which Koroibos won the
stadion became Olympiad 1 and all subsequent Olympiads were numbered on that
basis. [7] After Aristotle, individual Olympiads were identified by both number and
the name of the stadion victor. For example, the Greek writer Diodorus Siculus starts
his account of the events in the year we would call 348 BC by describing it as the year
in which ‘Theophilos held the archonship in Athens . . . and the 108th Olympiad was

16 P. Christesen
Figure 1 Map of Greece.

Source: Author.
held, in which Polykles of Cyrene won the stadion’. [8] The simplicity of identifying
years by numbered Olympiads and the familiarity of virtually all Greeks with the
Olympics made this system of reckoning time very popular.
A complete list of Olympic stadion victors by definition supplied a precise date for
the first Olympiad for the simple reason that the Olympiad was held every four years.
For instance, someone who was present at the 51st Olympics could easily figure out
that the first Olympic Games took place 200 years earlier. We can state with some
certainty that Hippias’ list placed the first Olympiad in the year we would identify as
776. Hippias’ Olympic victor list in its original form does not survive, but it was
regularly copied and updated throughout antiquity. A complete list of stadion victors
in Olympiads 1–249 is preserved in the work of Eusebius, a Catholic bishop who
composed a massive chronological study in the first quarter of the fourth century AD.
We can synchronize some Olympiads with our own calendar because many
ancient authors associate independently datable events with specific Olympiads.
Eusebius, for example, synchronizes the 15th year of the reign of the Roman emperor
Tiberius with the fourth year of the 201st Olympiad (PE 10.9.2–3), and Diodorus
Siculus records a solar eclipse in the third year of the 117th Olympiad (20.5.5). [9]

These and similar passages indicate that Olympiad 1 was linked to the year corres-
ponding to 776.
Written Records of Olympic Victors

The cumulative result of the somewhat complex collection of evidence reviewed
above is deceptively straightforward. It invites the conclusion that the date for the
first Olympiad, which was taken directly from the list of the names of Olympic
victors compiled by Hippias, must be accurate.
However, this conclusion is potentially quite problematic because the reliability of
Hippias’ list of Olympic victors is open to question. In the late nineteenth and early
twentieth centuries scholars debated this issue vigorously, and over the course of time
two distinct points of view emerged. One view was that Hippias drew on archival
records that provided him with a complete and accurate listing of Olympic victors
and that the date of 776 was established by counting the total number of stadion
victors and hence the number of years that had elapsed since the first Olympiad. This
would mean that Hippias’ date for the first Olympics is unimpeachable. The other
view was that Hippias had no such records at his disposal, and instead drew upon a
diverse and inescapably incomplete and imperfect array of sources such as lists of
victors in individual Olympiads, inscriptions on victor statues, and oral traditions.
This would mean that Hippias’ date for the first Olympiad could easily be incorrect.
No consensus was ever reached, but the staunch defence of the accuracy of the
Olympic victor list written by August Brinkmann in 1915 found fairly wide
acceptance. [10] Scholarly debate on the accuracy of the Olympic victor list died
down markedly after the early twentieth century, and there is a tendency in more
recent scholarship to assume that the Olympic victor list is a reliable source of
chronological information.
This assumption is less secure than it might appear because the seemingly firm
foundations of the arguments brought forward by Brinkmann and other scholars
have gradually eroded over the course of time. In the near century since the
publication of Brinkmann’s article on the Olympic victor list, significant progress has
been made in our understanding of ancient Greek historiography. In part that
progress has come as the result of ongoing scholarly inquiry into Greek historical
practice, and in part it has come as the result of excavations at sites such as Olympia
that have produced masses of important objects and inscriptions. One of the more
significant advances relevant to the questions under consideration here has been the
realization that Greeks happily and regularly fabricated ‘historical documents’ of
various kinds. Those ‘documents’ were formerly taken by many earlier scholars as
genuine records. The significantly greater collection of material, especially
inscriptions, that is now available and the recognition that people in a vast range
of times and places have blithely invented pasts for themselves have made it much
easier to recognize fabricated documents. [11]

18 P. Christesen
Nonetheless, until very recently no fundamental reassessment of Hippias’ work on

Olympic victors was undertaken. The precise reasons for this oversight are not
entirely clear. One factor of some importance was the scattering of the early
scholarship on Hippias’ Olympic victor list in a large number of now obscure
German publications. Another was the very gradual evolution in our understanding
of Greek historical sources, which made the emergent problems with earlier
scholarship on Olympic victor lists less immediately evident.
The re-evaluation of older ideas about the Olympic victor list in light of new
knowledge reveals major difficulties. It now appears nearly certain that Hippias did
not have access to a complete set of written records that ran back to 776. He indeed
had access to reasonably good written sources, but those sources began in the sixth
century. He derived the names of earlier victors primarily from oral traditions, which
were notoriously incomplete and inaccurate. Moreover, Hippias seems to have been
aware of the problems with his sources and to have chosen not to establish the date
for the first Olympiad by counting up the number of stadion victors (and hence the
number of Olympiads) and allotting four years to each Olympiad. Instead, he dated
the first Olympiad by associating it with Lycurgus and using generational reckoning.
This made it possible for him to figure out how many stadion victors’ names he
needed to locate and to supplement his incomplete collection of names accordingly.
That in turn leads to the conclusion that the date of 776 for the first Olympics is
unlikely to be precisely accurate.
The rest of this section of the study is broken down into two parts. It begins with a
concise review of the four basic points that have in the past been brought forward to
support the idea that Hippias had access to written records that contained a complete
listing of Olympic victors. That review will conclusively show that none of those four
points any longer stand up to scrutiny. This is followed by a brief discussion of the
chronologies found in ancient Greek authors for periods in the eighth and seventh
centuries when Elis lost control of Olympia to its neighbour Pisa. It will become
apparent that ancient Greeks could not agree precisely when the Pisatans rather than
the Eleans controlled Olympia. This is significant because the fact that the Greeks
were unable to date major events at Olympia strongly indicates that there was no
substantial collection of written records pertaining to the Olympics from the eighth
and seventh centuries.
The belief that there were at Olympia records listing the names of all Olympic
victors was founded on four bases: the assumption that Greek communities
maintained historical chronicles from an early date; the transmission in ancient
Greek literary sources of lists of eponyms that began well before the eighth century; a
discus mentioned by Aristotle on which the Olympic truce was inscribed; and a series
of passages in the second-century AD author Pausanias that seemed to show that a
catalogue of Olympic victors existed before Hippias. Let us briefly examine each of
these points. [12]
Up through the early twentieth century AD ancient historians generally believed
that magistrates and members of powerful families in Greek communities began

maintaining chronicles of local events starting in the eighth century BC. It was,
therefore, reasonable to assume that Elean officials kept a running account of the
happenings in Elis as early as 776, an account which included the names of
Olympic victors. However, the magisterial studies carried out by Felix Jacoby
and others have conclusively shown that Greeks did not begin writing local
histories until the second half of the fifth century. [13] We can, therefore, be
quite certain that Elean officials were not writing a chronicle of any sort in the
eighth century.
The second basis for the belief in the production of written records at eighth-
century Olympia was the mention in Greek sources of lists of eponyms that began
well before the eighth century. For example, we know from Eusebius that the list of
Athenian archons ran back to the year we would identify as 1068 BC. [14] An eponym
list beginning in 1068 BC made a list of Olympic victors maintained starting in 776
seem entirely plausible. It is now clear, however, that the earlier parts of such eponym
lists were fabricated from the fifth century onwards, based in large measure on pre-
existing mythological stories. It can come as a bit of a shock to the sensibility of a
modern historian that a community could use a list of names of that sort as the basis
of their local time-reckoning system. One must keep in mind, however, that in an
unnumbered eponym list, the eponym is as much a symbol for a year as a factual
datum. Modern scholars are primarily interested in eponyms for prosopographical
and historical purposes, but to ancient Greeks the value in an eponym list lay
primarily in its use as a time-reckoning instrument. As a result, ancient Greeks were
less interested than modern scholars in the question of whether a particular person
actually held office or won a victory in the year indicated in an eponym list. Eponyms
could be and frequently were nothing more than a way of designating a year or an
Olympiad.
There continues to be considerable debate among modern-day historians as to
when Greeks began keeping running records of eponyms. The consensus is that the
practice did not begin until the seventh century at the earliest. Some scholars are of
the opinion that such records were not kept until the fifth century. Moreover, it is
clear that communities that kept records of eponyms did so because those names
were the basis of the local system of telling time. However, the Eleans did not use the
names of Olympic victors as the basis of their calendar, so there was no obvious
reason why they would have bothered to keep scrupulous records of the names of
those victors. [15]
One might also add that Greeks did not show a particularly early interest in having
at their disposal complete listings of victors at their important athletic competitions.
There were four famous sets of contests in ancient Greece: the Olympic, Pythian,
Isthmian and Nemean Games. (The Greeks called this group of four games the
periodos or circuit; a noteworthy feat was to win the same event at all four games, the
ancient equivalent of the Grand Slam in tennis.) We have already seen that the first
complete listing of Olympic victors was compiled by Hippias around 400. Aristotle
and Callisthenes produced the equivalent list of victors at the Pythian Games around

20 P. Christesen
330. Complete lists of victors in the Isthmian and Nemean Games were never
assembled at all. [16]
A final consideration that requires discussion is that if records of Olympic victors
from the eighth century existed for Hippias to consult almost four centuries later,
those records would have to have been inscribed on a durable material such as stone
or bronze, not written on a perishable material such as papyrus. However, early
Greek inscriptions focus on private concerns, such as ownership or artistic creation,
not on public events such as the Olympics. The earliest extant public documents
(decrees and treaties) date to sometime around 650. [17] Moreover, the Eleans show
no signs of having been pioneers in regard to the practice of inscribing public records.
The earliest known Elean inscriptions date to sometime around 550, considerably
later than many other places in Greece. [18] There is, therefore, no reason to think
that Elean magistrates were carving the names of Olympic victors onto stone or
bronze tablets in the eighth century. More broadly speaking, the eponym lists from
certain Greek communities that began well before the eighth century were in large
part fabrications and provide no firm basis for the idea that running records of
Olympic victors were kept from 776 onwards.
The preceding discussion helps us with the third reason why scholars formerly
believed that Hippias had access to a complete set of written records of Olympic
victors: the existence at Olympia of a discus with the Olympic truce inscribed on it.
Aristotle evidently saw this discus when he visited Olympia in the second half of the
fourth century, and Pausanias, a traveller who visited Olympia in the second century
AD, saw the same discus or at least a copy of it. [19] The inscription on the discus seems
to have included the name of Lycurgus. That is significant because Aristotle probably
believed that Lycurgus was one of the persons who organized the first Olympic
Games in 776. Scholars have in the past interpreted this discus, which is no longer in
existence, as a genuine artefact from the eighth century and proof that Elean officials
were at that point in time keeping written records. The problem, of course, is that
the Eleans did not begin cutting inscriptions of that sort until around 550, so it is
extremely improbable that the discus that Aristotle saw was inscribed in 776. [20]
The final basis for the belief in the existence of written records of Olympic victors
was a reference in Pausanias’ description of Olympia to an inscribed list of Olympic
victors. [21] Pausanias saw this inscription on the walls of the gymnasium at Olympia.
Before Olympia was excavated (which happened at the very end of the nineteenth
century AD), it was reasonable to believe that the inscription could have been begun in
the eighth century. As it turns out, the gymnasium at Olympia was constructed in two
phases – the first phase was in the second half of the fourth century. [22]
All the underpinnings of the belief that there were at Olympia complete, written
records of the names of Olympic victors have thus evaporated. There is, moreover,
strong positive evidence that no early records were kept at Olympia, in the form of
inconsistencies in the dating of the struggle between Elis and Pisa to control Olympia.
Olympia was located in an area called Pisa that was about 25 miles from the city of
Elis. The Eleans seized control of Olympia in a final and definitive way some time in

the first half of the sixth century. Prior to that time, the Pisatans and Eleans seem to
have fought repeatedly over which group would run Olympia. There are four extant
ancient accounts of the conflicts between the Eleans and Pisatans. These accounts
present three divergent and irreconcilable chronologies. Each of these chronologies is
based on a synchronization between the outbreak of what modern-day scholars call
the First and Second Messenian Wars (which involved the Eleans and their
neighbours the Messenians, Spartans and Argives) on one hand and temporary
seizures of Olympia by Argos or the Pisatans on the other. The existence of three
variant chronologies based on the Messenian Wars shows that the Eleans did not
have accurate records about the early history of Olympia. Those records would
perforce have supported a single, clear chronology for when the Pisatans and Argives
ran the Olympic Games and would have made it unnecessary to date events at
Olympia by reference to the Messenian Wars. This in turn indicates that the Eleans
did not keep a running victor list from the eighth century onwards. [23]
We are now in a position to state with a high degree of certainty that records of
Olympic victors were not kept starting in 776. This conclusion has important
ramifications because it means that Hippias did not simply collect and publish a pre-
existing collection of names. He had to compile the list of Olympic victors virtually from
scratch. That immediately raises two, related questions: what sources did Hippias use to
generate his list of Olympic victors and how did he date the first Olympiad to 776?
Hippias’ Sources
Hippias did not simply fabricate an Olympic victor list. He had sources, both written
and oral. The written sources consisted of lists of victors at specific Olympiads,
inscriptions on dedications by or monuments in honour of Olympic victors, and
poems written to celebrate athletic victories. However, as we will see, those written
sources were first produced in the sixth century, some 200 years after the notional date
of the first Olympics. He relied on problematic oral sources for earlier periods. [24]
It was a common practice for the officials who ran a particular set of games in a
particular year to produce an inscribed record of their activity, a record that frequently
included the names of victors. The most important extant inscription of this type is IvO
17, one of the two known victor lists from Olympia itself. [25] It was cut onto a thin
bronze plaque sometime around 400. It originally listed all the victors in a particular
Olympiad; it has unfortunately come down to us in very fragmentary condition.
The legible part of the inscription reads as follows:
Enkasan Çp [t on per ---- ]-

-na damiorgon`[t on ---- ]
medŁn ptece[n? ---- to- ---]-
-kost(o) ; Olumpa[sin g
onoj?]
Lampuri on` ;Aq[anaioj?]
. . . e`j A[- ---] [26]

22 P. Christesen
Figure 2 IvO 17. Olympia Museum.

Source: (photo by author).
This translates as
The (following) won when [names missing] were damiorgoi (magistrates of Elis)
with [name missing] as chief magistrate . . . in no way give heed (?) . . . during the
[number missing] Olympiad: Lampyrion of Athens [the rest of the list is missing].
It is impossible to say when magistrates at Olympia started inscribing lists of victors

at individual Olympiads, but the earliest known such lists anywhere in Greece do not
predate 500. Moreover, the lists at Olympia were inscribed one at a time and
displayed outdoors, [27] so Hippias probably had a distinctly incomplete set of victor
lists with which to work.
Hippias very likely also made use of objects dedicated by successful athletes as well
as monuments and poems that honoured Olympic victors. Olympia was a religious
sanctuary sacred to Zeus, and winning athletes frequently made thank-offerings on
which they inscribed their names and information about their victories. In addition,
victors or their home towns dedicated monuments of various kinds, most typically in
the form of statues, to celebrate their successes. Those monuments usually included
an inscription that listed the athlete’s achievements. Another form of victor
monument, poems written to celebrate athletic victories (epinikia), would have been
useful. Hippias probably drew on all these sources, but here again it is important to
emphasize the temporal element: the earliest known athletic victor inscriptions date
to the first half of the sixth century, the earliest epinikia to the middle of the sixth
century. [28]

As is now clear, even if Hippias had made Herculean efforts to collect all the extant,
relevant written sources, he still would have had virtually no names of Olympic
victors from the period before the sixth century. Yet he produced a victor list that
began in 776. In generating the early parts of his list, Hippias must have relied heavily
on oral traditions.
Olympic victories were significant achievements, and memories of such victories
were maintained in the oral traditions of successful competitors’ families. Hippias
travelled extensively and had every opportunity to encounter members of the sort of
prominent, long-established families that would have produced Olympic victors and
preserved memories of their ancestors’ triumphs.
Hippias no doubt gathered a significant amount of valuable information about
Olympic victors from oral traditions, but he must also have encountered at least three
significant difficulties in this part of his researches. First, families could in some
instances place their ancestors roughly in time by counting generations, but oral
traditions were notably lacking in chronological precision. Second, families had a
tendency to exaggerate the prowess of their forebears. A particularly well-
documented case is known from the Pythian Games at Delphi in which a victor’s
family claimed their ancestor had won five times, whereas written records showed
only three victories. [29] Third, oral traditions were by definition lacunose and
subject to error. Modern studies have shown that oral traditions rarely preserve
accurate memories of past events for more than three generations. Close to 400 years,
something in the order of 13 or 14 generations, separated Hippias from the earliest
figures that appeared in his victor list. The passage of time inevitably effaced
memories of some Olympic victors, particularly those from earlier periods. In
addition, Hippias could not have spoken with every family in every Greek
community that remembered an ancestor who had won at Olympia. [30]
In sum, the information that Hippias derived from oral traditions could not be
easily assembled into a neat, chronologically ordered listing of victors. He had to
work around major gaps and deal with potential distortions. Even in cases where he
acquired accurate information, he still had to find a way to start with a statement
such as ‘my great, great-grandfather Aristonikos won an Olympic victory in boxing’
and then attach Aristonikos to a specific Olympiad. Hippias’ reliance on oral
traditions for Olympic victors before the sixth century and the inherent problems
with those traditions mean that the reliability of the early parts of the Olympic victor
list is highly questionable.
The Date of 776 for the First Olympics

The dubious reliability of the early parts of the Olympic victor list raises a further
question, that is, whether Hippias’ date of 776 for the first Olympiad is accurate. If
Hippias could not locate the names of many Olympic victors from earlier periods or
find firm dates for those victors about which he did know, it would have been very
difficult for him to establish the precise number of Olympiads that had been held
before the sixth century. That, in turn, would have made it nearly impossible to

24 P. Christesen
determine when the first Olympiad had been held by counting the number of stadion
victors.
Hippias must have been aware of this problem, and he seems to have adopted a
solution that was not uncommon among ancient Greek scholars who were interested
in dating specific events for which written records were not available: he associated
the event in question (in this case the first Olympiad) with a specific individual (in
this case Lycurgus of Sparta) and then calculated a date by counting the number of
generations between that individual and his own time and assigning a fixed number
of years to each generation. [31]
There is little doubt that Hippias portrayed Lycurgus as playing a central role in
organizing the first Olympiad in his Olympic victor list. A key piece of evidence that
supports this conclusion is the discus at Olympia with the Olympic truce inscribed
on it. Plutarch begins his biography of Lycurgus with the following statement:
Concerning Lycurgus the lawgiver, it is generally speaking possible to say nothing

that is not subject to dispute. The accounts at any rate diverge in regard to his
family and travels and death and especially in regard to his work with the laws and
the constitution. Least of all do the accounts agree as to when he lived. For, on one
hand, some say that he flourished in the time of Iphitos and that they founded the
Olympic truce together. Aristotle the philosopher is one such, offering as proof the
discus at Olympia on which the inscribed name of Lycurgus is preserved. [32]
There has been considerable scholarly discussion as to whether Aristotle was the first
to use this discus as a source for the history of the Olympics or whether Hippias had
done so before him. The latter is by far the more likely possibility. This discus cannot
have been inscribed for the first time in the fourth century since Aristotle was too
perspicacious to be taken in by a recent forgery. It must, therefore, have existed in
Hippias’ time. Hippias can hardly have been unaware of the existence of a discus at
Olympia that had the terms of the Olympic truce and the names of Iphitos and
Lycurgus inscribed upon it. Both individuals were quite famous in the ancient world.
The Eleans believed Iphitos to have been an important early king of Elis, and the
Spartans revered Lycurgus as the founding father of their state. (We will see below
that both Iphitos and Lycurgus were semi-mythical figures whose actual biographies
and activities are impossible to establish.)
Hippias, moreover, had two good reasons to highlight the connection between
Lycurgus and the first Olympiad. The first reason was political in nature. Hippias
produced his victor catalogue sometime around 400. At the end of the fifth century a
long-running, low-level conflict between Elis and Sparta had developed into full-
blown hostilities. The historian Xenophon, who was well connected in Sparta and
lived through the events in question, makes it clear that the Spartans gave serious
thought to stripping control of Olympia from the Eleans and handing it to the
Pisatans. [33] This would have been a devastating blow to Elean prestige, and
Hippias, who frequently served as the Elean diplomatic representative to Sparta, was
no doubt aware of the situation. The claim that Iphitos and Lycurgus had jointly

founded the Olympics would have made it more difficult for the Spartans to
terminate Elean control of the Games, and so Hippias very probably began his victor
catalogue with the Iphitos-Lycurgus Olympics. [34]
The second reason why it was advantageous for Hippias to focus on Lycurgus’ role
in founding the Olympics was that Lycurgus’ genealogy was widely known; Hippias
in fact memorized it. It is, of course, impossible to reckon time on the basis of
generations unless one has a full list of figures in generational sequence that runs
from one’s own time back to the event one wishes to date. By far the best known such
generational sequence in ancient Greece was that of the kings in the two Spartan royal
families. (The Spartans were very unusual in always having two kings, from two
different families, the Agiads and the Eurypontids, ruling at the same time.) A list of
Spartan kings had been compiled and put into circulation before Hippias’ time.
Lycurgus was related to one of the royal families of Sparta and so could be associated
with a specific Spartan king. [35] We know that Hippias memorized the Spartan king
list because he was famous for his amazing powers of recall and appears in one of
Plato’s dialogues in which he claims to have memorized ‘genealogies of heroes and
men’ [36] in order to entertain people during his visits to Sparta. There can be no
doubt that among the genealogies he committed to memory was the Spartan king list.
Hippias, then, seems to have associated the first Olympiad in his victor list with
Iphitos and Lycurgus. One might object that, according to Plutarch, the discus on which
Lycurgus’ name was inscribed was linked to the Olympic truce, not the foundation of
the Games. However, one has to keep in mind that most Greeks believed that the
Olympiad in which Koroibos won the stadion (the first Olympiad in Hippias’ victor list)
was not the first time games were held at Olympia. There seems to have been general
agreement in the ancient world that contests were held intermittently at Olympia from
the ‘heroic’ period onwards (with Herakles or even earlier), so that the Koroibos
Olympiad was not in fact the first Olympics. There was also a consensus that the
continuous series of Olympiads that did not end until the fifth century AD began when
the Games were refounded by Iphitos and Lycurgus, and there was a concomitant
tendency to identify the Lycurgus-Iphitos Olympics as the first Olympiad.
Iphitos and Lycurgus could, therefore, by definition not ‘found’ the Olympics.
However, ancient accounts make it clear that at least some Greeks believed that
Lycurgus and Iphitos refounded the Olympics, at which time they also established the
Olympic truce. This is most clear from the account given by the historian Phlegon of
Tralles, in the introduction to the Olympic victor list he produced in the second
century AD:
It seems to me to be proper to discuss the reason on account of which the Olympic

Games came to be founded. The reason is as follows. After Peisos and Pelops, and
then Herakles, who first instituted the festival and the contests at Olympia, the
Peloponnesians neglected the observance of them for a certain period, until the
period beginning with Iphitos . . . Because they neglected the contest, unrest
threatened the Peloponnese. Lycurgus of Lacedaemonia (son of Prytanis, son of
Eurypon, son of Soos, son of Prokles, son of Aristodemos, son of Aristomachos,

26 P. Christesen
son of Kleodaios, son of Hyllos, son of Herakles and Deianeira) and Iphitos of Elis
(son of Haemon, but according to some son of Praxonidos, one of the
Herakleidai), and Kleosthenes, son of Kleonikos, of Pisatis, wishing to restore
the people to harmony and peace, took it in mind both to revive the Olympic
festival in accordance with the ancient customs and to hold the athletic contests.
They indeed sent to Delphi, in order to inquire of the god as to whether it would be
better for them to do these things. The god said it would be better for them to do
these things. He ordered them to announce a truce for those cities wishing to take
part in the contest. After these things were announced by messengers throughout
Greece, a discus was inscribed for the Hellanodikai, [37] in accordance with which
they were bound to conduct the Olympics. [38]
It is very likely that Hippias, like Phlegon, saw Lycurgus and Iphitos as refounders of
the Olympics and that Hippias’ victor catalogue began with the Lycurgus-Iphitos
Olympics.
One feature of Phlegon’s account merits further attention, which is the fact that he
goes out of his way to give Lycurgus a genealogy going back to Herakles, while no
genealogy is provided for Lycurgus’ cohorts, Iphitos and Kleosthenes. This indicates
that there was something particularly important about Lycurgus’ genealogy in regard
to the founding of the Olympics, which in turn supplies an important piece of
evidence for how Hippias went about calculating a date for the first Olympiad. The
obvious reason why Lycurgus’ genealogy would have been of interest is that it was
directly relevant to the date for the first Olympics. There is, of course, a very
considerable distance, roughly five centuries, between Hippias’ Olympic victor list
and that of Phlegon. As nothing survives of Hippias’ Olympic victor list, it is
impossible to say with any certainty that Hippias’ version included a statement about
Lycurgus’ genealogy. However, there was surprising continuity and consistency in the
contents of Olympic victor lists over long periods of time. This was because each
author who updated the Olympic victor list started with an earlier version and copied
some or all of its contents. [39] There is, therefore, some reason to think that
Lycurgus’ genealogy also appeared in Hippias’ Olympic victor list.
If Hippias did use Lycurgus’ genealogy and the Spartan king list to calculate a date
for the first Olympics, he was in good company; the two most influential
chronographers in the ancient Greek world, Eratosthenes (c.285–c.195) and
Apollodoros (c.180–c.110), later used that exact approach to date a number of early
events. They adopted this approach out of necessity. Chronography did not become a
matter of much scholarly significance in Greece until the end of the fifth century. The
situation with the Olympics was the same for most aspects of Greek life in that there
was a general dearth of written records from before the sixth century. Nonetheless,
Greek scholars wanted to establish the dates for famous people and events from
earlier periods. Without written records with which to work, they did the best they
could, which frequently entailed the use of generational reckoning and the Spartan
king list. Herodotus, who finished his famous Histories about 30 years before Hippias
compiled the Olympic victor list, made heavy use of the Spartan king list to reckon
time. [40] Moreover, we know that both Eratosthenes and Apollodoros, who

produced immensely influential handbooks with dates for a wide array of people and
events, both relied on the Spartan king list in generating a date for Lycurgus. This is
evident from Plutarch’s biography of Lycurgus:
Those who reckon time by means of the succession of kings at Sparta, such as
Eratosthenes and Apollodoros, show that he (Lycurgus) was more than a few years
older than the first Olympiad. [41]
It is quite likely that Hippias generated a date for Lycurgus by the same means. [42]
There was an undeniable logic in dating the first Olympiad via Lycurgus and the
Spartan king list. Hippias must have known that his sources for the early
Olympiads were hopelessly incomplete. Provided that he had some confidence in
his means of calculating a date for Lycurgus (and there is no reason to think that
he did not), he would have believed that the Spartan king list would generate a
more accurate date than any of the alternatives at his disposal. (The most obvious
alternative, adding up the number of stadion victors and hence the number of
Olympiads and adding four years for each Olympiad, was problematic because
Hippias could not generate an accurate count of the number of stadion victors.)
Moreover, the creation of a defined number of Olympiads to which victors needed
to be attached simplified Hippias’ work. He could determine in advance how many
stadion victors he needed and then do what he could to assemble the appropriate
number. [43]
It is worth noting that it remains possible that Hippias calculated the date of 776
by some other means. The various other possibilities are too esoteric to merit
discussion here. The key point to keep in mind is that once one eliminates the
possibility that Hippias used a complete set of documentary records, the precise
means by which he arrived at the date of 776 is not of overriding importance. In any
of the possible scenarios, the date of 776 is nothing more than an educated guess. The
same can be said of the dates assigned to the Olympic victories of particular
individuals from the period before the sixth century.
Assessing 776
We are now in a position to assess the reliability of the date of 776 for the first
Olympiad, and the outcome of that assessment is clearly one that calls for caution in
accepting that date as reliable. Generational reckoning is notoriously inaccurate,
Lycurgus was even in ancient Greece a shadowy figure, and variant dates for Lycurgus
and for the first Olympiad circulated in the ancient world. The archaeological
evidence from Olympia itself suggests a date closer to 700.
The inherent flaws in generational reckoning require little discussion. The
assignment of a fixed number of years to each generation is inevitably inaccurate due
to the inconvenient untidiness of biology. In addition, ancient Greek scholars argued
with some vigour about how many years should be assigned to each generation, with
answers ranging from 25 to 40, with predictably varying results. [44]

28 P. Christesen
Uncertainties surrounding Lycurgus compounded the problems with generational

reckoning. Lycurgus was an enigma even to the ancient Greeks. He was as much or
more a figure of legend than an actual historical person. As we have already seen,
Plutarch opened his biography of Lycurgus with the following statement:
Concerning Lycurgus the lawgiver, it is generally speaking possible to say nothing

that is not subject to dispute. The accounts at any rate diverge in regard to his
family and travels and death and especially in regard to his work with the laws and
the constitution. Least of all do the accounts agree as to when he lived. [45]
Modern historians have found it nearly impossible to say anything certain about
Lycurgus, and he cannot be linked in a definitive way to any event or enactment. His
participation in the founding of the Olympics is, therefore, far from an established
historical fact. [46]
The general difficulties that surround any inquiry into Lycurgus are compounded
in this case by specific problems relating to his genealogy. There were multiple
variants of Lycurgus’ genealogy and hence his position in relation to the Spartan
royal lines. Herodotus records a tradition that he was related to the Agiad royal
family and that he was the guardian of King Leobotes. [47] All other ancient sources
make him a member of the Eurypontid royal family and typically describe him as the
guardian of King Charilaos. Simonides made Lycurgus the son of Prytanis, while
most other ancient authorities made him the son of Eunomos. In addition, there was
considerable disagreement about the sequence of early kings in the Eurypontid line.
As one might expect, Greeks could not agree even in rough terms about when
Lycurgus lived, and his activity was placed in the eleventh, ninth, eighth, and seventh
centuries by different authors. [48]
One result that is not sufficiently appreciated even among classicists is that there
was in the ancient world considerable uncertainty about when the first Olympiad took
place; it was dated by Hippias to 776 but by Eratosthenes to 884. As indicated above,
ancient Greeks generally agreed that contests had been held intermittently at Olympia
from a very early period and that Lycurgus and Iphitos refounded the Olympics after
which the Games were held continuously. Hippias dated the Olympiad organized by
Lycurgus and Iphitos to 776 and listed Koroibos of Elis as the stadion victor in that
Olympiad. The chronographer Eratosthenes, working about 150 years after Hippias,
agreed that Lycurgus and Iphitos organized the first in the continuous series of
Olympiads. However, his calculations placed Lycurgus in the early ninth century, and
he dated the Lycurgus-Iphitos Olympiad to 884, not 776. [49]
This redating of the Lycurgus-Iphitos Olympiad created a major problem because
the date of the Olympiad in which Koroibos won the stadion could not be pushed
back to 884 without completely revamping the list of stadion victors. It would in fact
have been necessary to add 27 new stadion victors to a list that had been widely
accepted and used for a considerable period of time. That solution was completely
unworkable. Eratosthenes solved the problem by describing the Olympiads between
884 and 776 as ‘unregistered’ because the names of the victors in them were not

recorded. This separated the Lycurgus-Iphitos Olympiad (the first in the continuous
series of Olympiads, which Eratosthenes dated to 884) from the Olympiad in which
Koroibos won the stadion (which Eratosthenes, following Hippias, dated to 776.) (In
Hippias’ version of events, Koroibos won the stadion at the Olympiad organized by
Lycurgus and Iphitos in 776.) The rather amusing result was persistent confusion
among ancient chronographers as to precisely what one meant by the first Olympiad.
That term could designate either the Olympiad held in 884, believed by many to have
been the first in the series of continuous Olympiads, or the Olympiad held in 776, the
first Olympiad in Hippias’ Olympic victor list.
The archaeological data from Olympia offers some degree of clarity among all this
confusion. Olympia became a sanctuary of Zeus by 1000 and significant dedications
in the form of monumental bronze tripods began by 875. [50] Tripods frequently
functioned as prizes in athletic contests, and the tripods at Olympia have been seen as
evidence for the existence of games prior to the eighth century. Tripods were,
however, dedicated for a range of reasons, not all of which had to do with athletic
contests. The votives found at Olympia indicate that it was originally patronized
primarily by residents of the immediately surrounding regions and that visitors from
a gradually widening area began to visit the site in the last quarter of the eighth
century. Major work was carried out in the sanctuary at the end of the eighth century,
including the diversion of the river Kladeos and the digging of wells to accommodate
the needs of spectators. This has led the excavators at the site to suggest a date of
around 700 for the inception of the Olympics. [51] It remains possible, nonetheless,
that games of purely local significance were held at Olympia prior to that time.
Conclusion
We have seen that Hippias of Elis produced the first complete list of Olympic victors
sometime around 400 and that Hippias’ list necessarily supplied a date for the first
Olympiad. That is the origin of the date of 776 for the inception of the Olympics. In
the past century most scholars have taken the position that Hippias’ date for the first
Olympiad was based on documentary sources that began in the eighth century and
was therefore accurate. However, the accretion of new evidence in the form of
archaeological finds and inscriptions and advances in our understanding of ancient
Greek historiography have helped make possible a very different conclusion. It now
appears virtually certain that Hippias did not have a complete set of documentary
records at his disposal and that he relied instead on problematic oral sources in
compiling the names of Olympic victors from the eighth and seventh centuries. The
gaps in those oral sources led Hippias to calculate a date for the first Olympiad on the
basis of its association with the Spartan lawgiver Lycurgus. This approach could by its
very nature produce nothing more than a conjecture about the date for the first
Olympiad. The archaeological evidence from Olympia suggests a date about 75 years
later than that supplied by Hippias. Given the inherent limitations in the material at
Hippias’ disposal, the disjunction between the physical remains at Olympia on one

30 P. Christesen
hand and the date of 776 derived from the Olympic victor list on the other should
not be particularly troubling. 776 is nothing more than Hippias’ best guess. If the
excavators at Olympia are indeed correct in suggesting a date of sometime around
700 for the first Olympics, Hippias deserves credit for getting as close to the correct
date as he did.
Acknowledgements
The author would like to express his gratitude to Professor Papakonstantinou for his
kind invitation to contribute to this volume.
Notes
[1] All pre-modern dates are BC unless otherwise indicated. All translations of ancient Greek
sources are those of this author. Abbreviations used for ancient Greek authors and their works
follow the conventions of Liddell and Scott’s Greek-English Lexicon. Abbreviations used for
modern works follow the conventions of L’année philologique. The following abbreviations
are used: FGrH (Felix Jacoby, Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker, 3 vols., Berlin:
Weidemann, 1923–58); and IvO (Wilhelm Dittenberger and Karl Purgold, Inschriften von
Olympia (Olympia Die Ergebnisse der von dem deutschen Reich veranstalteten Ausgrabung,
Olympia Textband V), Berlin: A. Asher & Co., 1896).
[2] Christesen, Olympic Victor Lists and Ancient Greek History (hereafter cited as Christesen,
Olympic Victor Lists).
[3] For an introduction to Greek time-reckoning systems, see Bickerman, Chronology of the
Ancient World, 62–79; Mosshammer, The Chronicle of Eusebius and Greek Chronographic
Tradition, 84–127; and Samuel, Greek and Roman Chronology, 189–248.
[4] Numa, 1. 4, FGrH 6 F2.
[5] For basic information on Hippias, see Christesen, Olympic Victor Lists, 46–50 as well as
Guthrie, A History of Greek Philosophy, 3: 280–5.
[6] On the expansion of the programme of events at Olympia and the veracity of the ancient
tradition on the Olympic programme, see Christesen, Olympic Victor Lists, 15–17, 476–7.
[7] This was a significant advance because numeration made it possible to calculate the temporal
distance between events without consulting a full list of eponyms and engaging in laborious
counting.
[8] 16. 53. 1. On Hippias’ Olympic victor list, see Christesen, Olympic Victor Lists, 46–73 and the
bibliography cited therein. On Aristotle’s work with the Olympic victor list, see Christesen,
Olympic Victor Lists, 170–3 and 179–202 and the bibliography cited therein. Individual years
within an Olympiad were numbered from first to fourth. For instance, 775 would have been
identified as the second year of the first Olympiad.
[9] On the evidence that connects the first Olympiad to the year corresponding to 776, see
Clinton, Fasti Hellenici, 1: 150–2; and Samuel, Greek and Roman Chronology, 189–90.
[10] Brinkmann, ‘Die olympische Chronik’. For detailed listings of the relevant scholarly literature,
see Bilik, ‘Die Zuverlässigkeit der frühen Olympionikenliste’; and Christesen, Olympic Victor
Lists, 73–6.
[11] The examples discussed in Habicht, ‘Falsche Urkunden zur Geschichte Athens’ provide a good
sense for Greeks’ willingness to fabricate documents. On similar practices in other times and
places, see Hobsbawm, The Invention of Tradition.

[12] The relevant scholarship and evidence for all four points are examined in detail in Christesen,
Olympic Victor Lists, 73–112.
[13] See Jacoby, Atthis, The Local Chronicles of Ancient Athens, 1–70, 176–88, 201. For more recent
works on the earliest local histories in Greece, which offer important nuances to Jacoby’s
argument, see Fowler, ‘Herodotus and His Contemporaries’; and Marincola, ‘Genre,
Convention and Innovation in Greco-Roman Historiography’.
[14] Chronographia 85. 29–89. 2 Karst.
[15] The Eleans based their calendar on the names of local magistrates, not Olympic victors.
[16] On victor lists in the periodos games other than the Olympics, see Christesen, Olympic Victor
Lists, 108–12 and 179–202.
[17] See Jeffery and Johnston, The Local Scripts of Archaic Greece, 58–63.
[18] See Siewert, ‘The Olympic Rules’; and Siewert, ‘Due iscrizioni giuridiche della città di Elide’.
The earliest inscriptions from Olympia date to c.600, but the dialect and letter forms make it
clear that they were brought to the site by visitors from other areas.
[19] Aristotle used the discus to help date Lycurgus (Plu. Lyc. 1. 1). See Pausanias 5. 20. 1 for his
comments on the discus.
[20] It is much more likely that the discus was a later creation and can be plausibly dated to the
sixth century. See Christesen, Olympic Victor Lists, 85–8.
[21] See Pausanias, 6. 6. 3, 6. 8. 1.
[22] See Wacker, Das Gymnasion in Olympia, 15–78.
[23] See Christesen, Olympic Victor Lists, 112–22, which draws heavily on Koiv, ‘The Dating of
Pheidon in Antiquity’.
[24] The points covered in this section of the study are discussed in detail in Christesen, Olympic
Victor Lists, 122–46.
[25] The other victor list is Olympia 1148, which dates to the fourth century AD and lists victors
belonging to an athletic guild. On that inscription, see Ebert, ‘Zur neuen Bronzeplatte mit
Siegerinschriften aus Olympia’.
[26] The text of IvO 17 given here is that found in Jeffery and Johnston, The Local Scripts of Archaic
Greece, 59.
[27] One of the fragments of IvO 17, not shown in Figure 2, includes a nail hole. The inscription
must have been attached to a building or a tree at Olympia.
[28] For a brief introduction to epinikia, see Golden, Sport and Society in Ancient Greece, 74–88.
[29] See Miller, ‘The Date of the First Pythiad’.
[30] On the inherent limitations of oral traditions as historical sources, see Finley, The Use and
Abuse of History, 11–33; Henige, The Chronology of Oral Tradition, 1–70; Thomas, Oral Tradition
and Written Record in Classical Athens; and Vansina, Oral Tradition as History.
[31] The scenario discussed here is the most probable of a number of different
possibilities, all of which are discussed in detail in Christesen, Olympic Victor Lists,
146–57, 491–504.
[32] Plu. Lyc. 1. 1.
[33] See HG, 3. 2. 31.
[34] On the conflict between Sparta and Elis, see Schepens, ‘La Guerra di Sparta contro Elide’ and
the bibliography cited therein.
[35] As we will see, there was some debate as to which royal family Lycurgus belonged and with
which king he was associated.
[36] Hp. Ma. 285d.
[37] The Hellanodikai were judges who oversaw the contests at Olympia.
[38] FGrH 257 F1.
[39] On continuity in Olympic victor lists of widely variant dates, see Christesen, Olympic Victor
Lists, 519–31.

32 P. Christesen
[40] On Herodotus’ use of the Spartan king list, see Cobet, ‘The Organization of Time in the
Histories’. Thucydides, who wrote his account of the Peloponnesian War in the last decades of
the fifth century, seems also to have used the Spartan king lists for chronological purposes (see
Mazzarino, Il pensiero storico classico, 3: 432–3).
[41] Plu. Lyc. 1. 2.
[42] There is no immediately obvious way to arrange the extant source material such as to place
Lycurgus in the year 776; the ambiguities inherent in the source material make any number of
reconstructions possible but none notably probable. It is possible but unlikely that Hippias
used a version of the Spartan king list that included regnal years, and hence calculated a date
for Lycurgus on that basis rather by means of generational reckoning. (It is not clear when the
first Spartan king list with regnal years was produced.) Even if Hippias did use such a list, it
would not have been much of a help in calculating an accurate date for Lycurgus because there
was vigorous disagreement in the ancient world about the lengths of the reigns of many
Spartan kings. That disagreement sprang from the fact that regnal years were assigned in the
fifth century at the earliest, by which point in time there was very limited information about
the reigns of earlier kings.
[43] It is likely that Hippias had to fill in some gaps in the collection of Olympic victors by what a
modern-day historian would consider dubious means. There are, for example, a surprisingly
large number of Spartans in the early parts of the victor list; one might well suspect that
Hippias was not averse to appeasing the Spartans by adding the names of ancestors from
powerful Spartan families to his victor list in the absence of any evidence that the men in
question had in fact won an Olympic victory. Here again one should recall that Greeks were
significantly less concerned than modern-day historians about historical accuracy when
constructing eponym lists.
[44] On the mechanics of generational reckoning in ancient Greece, see Ball, ‘Generation Dating in
Herodotus’; den Boer, Laconian Studies, 5–54; and Prakken, Studies in Greek Genealogical
Chronology, 1–47.
[45] See Plu. Lyc. 1. 1.
[46] The ancient tradition on Iphitos was equally confused. See Kroll, ‘Iphitos’.
[47] Herodotus, 1. 65.
[48] For good overviews of the issues surrounding Lycurgus’ biography and chronology, see
Mosshammer, The Chronicle of Eusebius and Greek Chronographic Tradition, 173–92; Shaw,
Discrepancies in Olympiad Dating and Chronological Problems of Archaic Peloponnesian
History, 47–73; and Tigerstedt, The Legend of Sparta in Classical Antiquity, 1: 70–3.
[49] See the discussion in Christesen, Olympic Victor Lists, 151–7. The key ancient sources for
Eratosthenes’ date for the Lycurgus-Iphitos Olympics are Clem. Al. Strom. 1.138. 1–3 and ll.
37–44 in the edition of Eusebius’ Olympic victor list found in Christesen and Martirosova-
Torlone, ‘The Olympic Victor List of Eusebius: Background, Text, and Translation’.
[50] The archaeological data is summarized in Morgan, Athletes and Oracles, 26–105, though see
now also Eder, ‘Continuity of Bronze Age Cult at Olympia?’; and Kyrieleis, ‘Zu den Anfängen
des Heiligtums von Olympia’.
[51] See Mallwitz, ‘Cult and Competition Locations at Olympia’.
References
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Bickerman, E.J. Chronology of the Ancient World. London: Thames and Hudson, 1980.
Bilik, Ronald. ‘Die Zuverlässigkeit der frühen Olympionikenliste: Die Geschichte eines Forschung-
sproblems im chronologischen Überblick’. Nikephoros 13 (2000): 47–62.

Brinkmann, August. ‘Die olympische Chronik’. RhM 70 (1915): 622–37.

Christesen, Paul. Olympic Victor Lists and Ancient Greek History. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 2007.
Christesen, Paul and Zara Martirosova-Torlone. ‘The Olympic Victor List of Eusebius: Background,
Text, and Translation’. Traditio 61 (2006): 31–93.
Clinton, Henry Fynes. Fasti Hellenici: The Civil and Literary Chronology of Greece, from the Earliest
Accounts to the Death of Augustus, 3 vols. Oxford: University Press, 1834.
Cobet, Justus. ‘The Organization of Time in the Histories’. In Brill’s Companion to Herodotus, edited
by Egbert Bakker, Irene De Jong and Hans van Wees. Leiden: Brill, 2002, 387–412.
Den Boer, Willem. Laconian Studies. Amsterdam: North-Holland Publishing Company, 1954.
Ebert, Joachim. ‘Zur neuen Bronzeplatte mit Siegerinschriften aus Olympia’. Nikephoros 10 (1997):
217–33.
Eder, Birgitta. ‘Continuity of Bronze Age Cult at Olympia? The Evidence of the Late Bronze Age
and Early Iron Age Pottery’. In Potnia: Deities and Religion in the Aegean Bronze Age, edited
by R. Laffineur and R. Hägg: Liège: Universite de Liège, Histoire de l’art et archéologie de la
Grèce antique, 2001: 201–9.
Finley, M.I. The Use and Abuse of History. New York: Penguin, 1987.
Fowler, Robert. ‘Herodotus and His Contemporaries’. JHS 116 (1996): 62–87.
Golden, Mark. Sport and Society in Ancient Greece. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1998.
Guthrie, W.K.C. A History of Greek Philosophy, 6 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1962–81.
Habicht, Christian. ‘Falsche Urkunden zur Geschichte Athens im Zeitalter der Perserkriege’. Hermes
89 (1961): 1–35.
Henige, David P. The Chronology of Oral Tradition: Quest for a Chimera. Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1974.
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Pan-Hellenism and Particularism:

Herodotus on Sport, Greekness, Piety
and War
Donald Kyle
Introduction
In Herodotus’ Histories characters tell the Persian invaders, after the battle of
Thermopylae in 480, that the Greeks compete in the Ancient Olympics ‘not for
material gain but for excellence (arete, 8. 26),’ and later in 479 the Athenians declare
that they must reject a Persian offer of alliance because of the need to avenge Persia’s
impious acts and because of their ‘Greekness’ (to Hellenikon) – their blood, language,
shared shrines and sacrifices, and common habits with other Greeks (8. 144. 2). [1]
Herodotus seems to champion sacred crown (stephanitic) games and some Greek
sense of a common ethnicity. This suggested ‘pan-Hellenism’ involved shared shrines
and rites, including interstate sanctuaries and festivals with games, as at Olympia, and
an appreciation of a patriotic duty to defend the freedom of Hellas from foreign

36 D. Kyle
imperialism, but the contexts and historiography of such passages deserve close
scrutiny. Were sport, religion and patriotism part of a Greek miracle or mirage? Did
Greek states in the Persian War base decisions on a newfound, idealistic pan-
Hellenism – a cultural and political sense of shared cultural identity and mutual
military and political interests, or on traditional and persistent parochialism and
particularism – a non-altruistic devotion to the self-interest of their own states? [2]
The overlapping elements invoked by Herodotus – pan-Hellenic athletics, patriotism,
piety and religious customs, were not as positive or harmonious as moderns,
especially Hellenists, Olympists and sport historians from commonwealths and
united nation states, have assumed. Rather, Herodotus carefully fashioned and placed
highly rhetorical passages as idealistic misrepresentations, suggesting altruism and
harmony but masking Greek tensions, disunity and strategic calculations.
This essay examines the intersections and the historical and historiographic
dynamics of Greek games, ethnicity, piety, interstate politics and pan-Hellenism,
especially as revealed in the use of agonistic festivals as excuses for delays or
inadequate involvement in defensive efforts in 490 and 480–79. I focus on Herodotus
as our only major, nearly contemporary Greek prose historical account, upon which
later historians are largely dependent. How and why does his use of sport (agonistic
festivals, athletes) reveal conflicts and inconsistencies between the idealistic theory
and pragmatic practice of Greek politics, warfare, piety and pan-Hellenism? This is
not an examination of the historicity of events or the technical aspects of Persian War
battles. [3] It does not resolve enduring debates about the military value of athletics,
or the relationship of the gymnasium to hoplite warfare or aristocratic athletics. [4]
Although I discuss Herodotus’ presentation of religious factors in warfare, I do not
resolve the debate about Herodotus’ notions of divine intervention in the war. I
suggest that Herodotus was pious and patriotic but essentially honest or balanced in
revealing the inconsistencies and tensions in the history of Greek sport, religion,
politics and warfare. I further suggest from Herodotus that some Greek states
responded to the Persian threat according to a principle of justifiable self-defence.
Herodotus the Historian

Herodotus was not just a charming but credulous storyteller, not just a poetic but
naive tourist. Well-travelled, open-minded, curious and clever, he exercised authorial
control to inspire and instruct, not just entertain, his audience. [5] Not claiming, like
Thucydides, to provide one reliable, accurate reconstruction, he included conflicting
accounts and even ridiculous stories because he felt that he should report what he had
been told (7. 152. 3; 2. 123. 1); but he does not necessarily believe all the stories or
versions equally (1. 5). He offers an inquiry or research (historia), a systematization of
received and represented information from diverse sources (for example, traveller’s
tales, autopsy, guides and priests), not just a simplistic repetition but a gathering,
selection and arrangement of pieces loosely but not haphazardly connected to the
theme of the Persian Wars. Sophisticated but not always systematic, consistent or free

Pan-Hellenism and Particularism 37
of bias (for example, in favour of Greece, Athens, and Alkmaeonidae, against Persia,
Sparta, Themistocles), [6] his work includes mythographic, tragic and artistic
embellishment: good things usually happen to good people, and individuals behave
arrogantly and rashly or ethically and heroically. Looking back from the second half
of the fifth century with concerns about contemporary Greece, [7] Herodotus tells
stories (legetai) or accounts (logoi) to commemorate the achievements and ‘wonders’
or marvels of both Greeks and ‘barbarians,’ to show that different peoples have varied
customs but all share a common humanity, and to enlighten his audience about
moral patterns and divine order in history.
Herodotus on Greek Sport

Sport on its own was not a major interest for Herodotus. His audience was familiar
with athletic festivals, but he still makes surprisingly little, although some significant
use of sport. [8] He usually mentions athletes and agonistic festivals only occasionally
and briefly as peripheral information in the context of military or political topics,
such as battles, tyrants or elite families. [9] He notes incidentally that someone was a
victor in some games (or did feats of strength, practised an event, won crowns or
raced chariots), often with incomplete specifics about the event, games or number of
victories. For example, he mentions Milo of Kroton, the most famous Greek combat
athlete, only once and indirectly while recounting the career of the physician
Demokedes (3. 129–33). Peisistratus’ father Hippocrates turns up as a spectator at the
Olympic Games (1. 59. 1–3) but primarily because of the omen of the self-boiling
cauldrons of sacrificial meat and the advice of Chilon of Sparta, which he ignored.
Herodotus, however, sometimes uses sport creatively and structurally to record
wonders, tell morally didactic stories, or make ethnographic points.
Herodotus’ first reference to athletics comes in Book I in the probably unhistorical
dialogue between Solon of Athens and Croesus of Lydia (1. 29–33). The rich,
hubristic Croesus insincerely asks the wise Solon who is the most ‘fortunate’ man,
fully expecting to be told that he is, but Solon frustrates the king with his answers. In
Solon’s second example (1. 31), after the Athenian Tellos, Herodotus says that the
Argives Kleobis and Biton both had strong bodies and were athletic prizewinners
(aethlophoroi) (1. 31. 2) but he immortalizes them for their devotion and strength in
pulling their mother’s carriage to the temple of Hera, which brought them a
premature but noble death. The uncomprehending king rejects the sage’s wisdom,
proceeds arrogantly and suffers retribution. This contest of wisdom thus integrates an
athletic note about Kleobis and Biton but only secondarily concerning their piety,
and only after praising above all Tellos’ glorious death in defence of his state.
Presenting other athletic examples of immorality or virtue, Herodotus says that the
games of Triopian Apollo awarded bronze tripods as prizes but victors were to
dedicate them and not take them from the temple (1. 144). Long ago, a certain
Agasikles from Herodotus’ native Halicarnassus won a tripod but impiously defied
the rules and took it home with him, causing Halicarnassus to be banned. Later,

38 D. Kyle
Herodotus explicitly criticizes Pheidon of Argos for acting more hubristically

(hubrisantos) than all other Greeks in expelling the Elean officials and organizing
Olympic Games himself (6. 127. 3). At Athens, Kylon misused his Olympic double-
sprint (diaulos) victory to attempt a tyranny (5. 71. 1), and foolish Hippokleides (6.
129, after practising gymnastics, 6. 128. 2) danced away his chance to win the suitor
contest at Sikyon. Books 5 and 6 mention several individuals, who happen to be
athletes, for their patriotic militarism. [10] In his last reference Herodotus notes that
Hermolykos of Athens (9. 105), a man trained in the pankration, was the best fighter
at Mycale and died later in Athens’ attack on Karystos.
Herodotus on Sport and Ethnography

From Homer onwards, Greek authors used sport to differentiate peoples culturally or
morally. Herodotus’ Book 2 on Egypt includes another wisdom contest and a wonder
concerning Greek sport. First he mentions the anomaly of Greek games in Egypt at
Chemmis (2. 91, Grene): ‘ . . . and they do certain Greek things in honor of Perseus:
they hold a gymnastic contest (agona gumnikon) [that is, nude, non-hippic], with all
forms of competition; for prizes they have cattle and clothing and skins’. [11] Later,
he details an Elean embassy of around 590 BC to King Psammis II (595–89 BC) of
Egypt (2. 160, Grene): the Eleans ‘boasted’ about the excellence of their Olympic
games as ‘the justest and fairest (dikaiotata kai kallista agona) festival of all mankind’,
and they claimed that the Egyptians, the ‘wisest’ of men, could not improve on them.
The king assembled wise men who questioned the Eleans about how the games
operated. Again the Eleans challenged the Egyptians to tell them how to make the
games fairer. Upon asking and learning that Elean citizens as well as any other Greeks
(ton allon Hellenon homoios) could compete at Olympia, the Egyptians said that was
entirely unjust because Eleans would favour a fellow Elean and be unfair to an
outsider (adikeontes ton xeinon). They advised that, if the Eleans wanted to operate
games fairly, they should allow only strangers, not Eleans, to compete.
Herodotus stages this interchange as a wisdom contest and as a cultural discourse
about fair and well-ordered games. [12] He reveres the antiquity and wonders of
Egypt, but he finds Egypt a culturally strange, upside-down land of exceedingly
religious contrarians who do things (for example, shaving, mourning) in ways
opposite to Greeks (2. 35–7). [13] The story of the embassy recalls, abbreviates and
inverts the tale of Croesus’ testing of Solon: now the arrogant, insincere inquirers are
Greek, while the wise respondents are Egyptians. Since the account of Chemmis
already mentioned distinctive aspects of Greek athletics (that is, nudity, contests in a
festival, prizes), Herodotus can give a truncated account of the Elean embassy,
highlighting the equal eligibility of all Greeks. The story ends abruptly because
rejection of the non-Greeks’ advice is a given. Individual states, notably Athens,
might exclude Greeks from other states from certain ‘closed’ local events, but no
Greek state would stop its own citizens from entering its own games. Herodotus’
attention to the Olympics as an agonistic festival common to all Greeks anticipates a

structural echo concerning Xerxes (below) and also a story about Alexander I of
Macedon.
As Herodotus has the Eleans declare, the Olympics (like the Eleusinian Mysteries,
8. 65. 4) admitted all Greeks ‘equally’. The less admirable corollary of this ethnic
inclusivism is chauvinistic exclusivism: Olympia excluded all non-Greeks equally
from its games. Determining Greekness, however, might involve politics as well as
culture. [14] A perhaps unreliable but nonetheless significant story (5. 22) says that
King Alexander I of Macedon (498–54) wanted to compete at Olympia but his Greek
opponents tried to exclude him on the grounds that he was not a Greek. After
proving his Greekness by descent from Argives, he supposedly ran in the Olympics
(of 480 or 476). The story perhaps stemmed from Alexander’s legitimizing
propaganda as he claimed Greek status to reinforce his reign, or it may reflect
Greek ethnic bias against Macedonians. If it was the Olympics of 476, the motive
perhaps was Greek resentment about Alexander’s cooperation with Persia. [15]
Alexander had Medized (joined Persia) from 492, even marrying a Persian woman;
he did not oppose the Persian invasions, and he delivered Mardonius’ message
offering Athens an alliance in 479 (see below). Historicity aside, Herodotus again
presents Olympia positively: although rival Greeks tried to exclude Alexander, the
Olympic judges ultimately allowed his entry and he tied in the stadion race.
Greek Ethnicity and Hellenicity

Classical Greece encompassed many small, fiercely independent city-states (poleis),
which were not bound together by a common citizenship or polity, or by the force of
a one imperial power, but the states did have common ethno-cultural features
including religion, language, epic poetry, patriarchal social institutions, predisposi-
tions to competitiveness and warfare, and enthusiasm for athletic contests. Any
strong, positive sense of shared Greek customs and interests, however, arose only
slowly. As J. Hall explains, early Archaic Greeks defined their ethnic identity locally or
‘intrahellenically’ in terms of common myths of descent and shared specific
territories within Greece. Localism long preceded Hellenism or a stronger sense of
shared cultural characteristics and customs. [16]
Hall argues that Greek self-identification by culture rather than by descent or
‘blood’ was not forged, as one might think, simply by colonization and contact with
other indigenous populations, which at best reinforced regional identities. Rather,
shared religious rites at interstate sanctuaries (for example, Delphi, Olympia), helped
define a common ‘Hellenic’ identity in the sixth century, and Greek elites, trying to
balance their external aristocratic connections with their obligations to their poleis,
visited and made dedications at the sanctuaries. [17] A stronger cultural
identification or ‘Hellenicity’, however, emerged through ‘oppositional self-
identification’ due to the shared experience of conflict with Persia, and the stereotype
of the non-Greek ‘barbarian’ became entrenched in drama and art, especially at
Athens. [18] Herodotus used Athens (for example, 8. 144 below) to express and

40 D. Kyle
reinforce that stronger sense of a common Greek cultural identity or ‘Greekness’, but
this still complex and conflicted Hellenism was based on culture and not on political
or territorial unification.
Sport, Festivals and Ethnicity

Sporting performances are culturally engaged and varied, so sport is central to self-
representation and ethnicity. Bronze and Dark Age Greeks probably had physical
contests at funeral games but it is Homer’s articulation of Greek athletic agonism in
Iliad 23 that entrenches agones as distinctively and admirably Greek, as opposed, for
example, to Phaeacian pastimes (8. 244–9) in Odyssey 8. [19] Homer establishes an
early model of events and material prizes in Achilles’ games for Patroklos but he also
notes festal games (Iliad 22. 158–64), and the Homeric Hymn to Delian Apollo (3.
146–61) suggests an ethnic Ionian agonistic festival on Delos. [20] Rather than
irregular funeral games, regular, widely attended agonistic festivals became the
showplaces of Greek athletics.
Ancient Greeks, inclined to embellish and retroject accounts of athletic festivals
and truces, produced inconsistent legends of (re)foundations of Olympic games by
Pelops, Iphitos and others, but recent scholarship prefers to revise and redate such
traditions as later fabrications. Archaeological research and a new work on the
Olympic victor lists argue that the hallowed date of 776, early entries in the lists, and
Pausanias’ programme of early events at Olympia are unreliable. Major games at
Olympia are now redated to around 708–680. [21] Colonization and an emerging
sense of a shared customs helped Archaic Olympia develop into the greatest centre of
Greek sacred crown athletics.
Ironically, the distinctive practice of complete athletic nudity is absent in Homer
and was not original at Olympia (Thuc. 1.6. 5–6). Most studies now agree that nude
exercise and reviews in Sparta spread nudity to Olympia and thence throughout
Greece. By the sixth century gymnastic nudity, with its attendant homoeroticism, was
a costume and a social marker of free, male citizen status and Greek ethnicity. [22]
Various factors combined to make the sixth century the great age of athletic
expansion in Greece, both in terms of a shared periodos or circuit of four sacred
crown games at interstate sanctuaries, which further promoted Hellenicity, and also
the reorganization and expansion of chrematitic (offering material prizes) agonistic
festivals in individual states to foster civic unity and pride. [23] Local festivals might
concern widespread themes of fertility, agricultural cycles or crafts, but some events
focusing on military preparations and skills, including dances in armour and cavalry
performances at Athens, were open only to local citizens, which reinforced polis
particularism.
Modern idealists have exaggerated the pan-Hellenic, peaceful, apolitical influence
of the sacred crown games. Like the modern version, the Ancient Olympics had
positive centripetal qualities but struggled with the centrifugal forces of parochial
patriotism. Olympia was open to all Greeks, but politics and war coexisted with

religion and sport at the sanctuary. Greeks gathered to share their culture and love of
sport, but the fiercely competitive poleis set up military trophies and commemorative
inscriptions from wars against other Greek states at Olympia, and Elean oracular
seers dispensed military advice to Greeks warring against other Greeks.
Olympia was not immune to political interference and exploitation, including the
rivalry of Elis and Pisa and the intervention by Pheidon of Argos (see above).
Olympia was an interstate sanctuary but it lay within the polis of Elis, so there was
always some political context for the hosting of the games by Elis. [24] Olympia’s
judges were called Hellanodikai by the fifth century but they all were Eleans. [25]
Olympic benefactions had political overtones, and an increasingly politicized
Olympia became caught up in the disastrous parochialism and endemic warfare of
Classical Greece. [26]
Interstate warfare increased the need for the much misunderstood Olympic sacred
truce (ekecheiria), which provided not a ‘common peace’ but rather just a ‘hands off’
or right of way for visitors heading to Olympia, essentially as religious pilgrims. [27]
Enforced by religious authority and not by some strong centralized power, the truce
entailed an implied ban against warfare involving Elis. Although the truce may have
had some localized deterrent effect, it did not stop wars among the poleis, but then
neither did wars stop their games.
Greek religion and games were intimately related. Formal, public state and
interstate contests were always held in religious contexts – in or near sanctuaries and
in festivals with rites and celebrations. Participation was a religious act. After Elis
declared the truce and invited delegates, oaths, prayers, processions and sacrifices
took place at Olympia. Olympia and Delphi had oracles and multiple shrines, and
divine favour was sought and believed to influence victory in both games and wars.
[28] Nevertheless, Olympia’s sport history includes cheating, bribery, broken oaths, a
violation of the gender ban and instances of compromised judging. [29] Athletes
competed to honour the gods but also to win for their states and for themselves.
Herodotus the Believer

Religious beliefs and rituals permeated Greek life, politics, sport and warfare, and
anxiety about the Persian threat probably intensified Greek religiosity. A few
intellectuals, for example, Thucydides in rejecting oracles and criticizing Nikias for
military misjudgements influenced by divination (7. 50. 4), might seem to be
atheistic, or better agnostic, but most Greeks retained a sincere, traditional belief in
the existence, power and intervention of the gods and the need to honour and
appease them.
Herodotus wrote and apparently believed that oracles, omens and manteis (seers,
diviners or augurs), while not always unambiguous, patriotic or above manipulation,
articulated divine will and should be heeded (8. 77). Debate continues about his
notions of causality, but Herodotus often reports epiphanies, prodigies and
miraculous events, and he usually asserts a relationship of reciprocity between

42 D. Kyle
mortals and gods. [30] Acknowledging the role of the gods (7. 139. 5) (and heroes 8.
109. 3) as well as human agency in the Greek victory, Herodotus suggests that, even
though the Greek sack of the sanctuary of Cybele at Sardis in 499 incited Darius to
seek vengeance for the gods (5. 101–102.1, 6. 101. 3), the gods aided the more pious
Greeks against imperialistic, impious Persians, punishing them for sacking numerous
Greek sanctuaries (8. 109.3, 8. 143. 2). His work, however, also shows that Greeks
themselves at times acted hubristically, sidestepped religious concerns, and ignored
or misread oracles.
Playing Games during Wartime: Piety and Politics

Far from being incompatible, religion and militarism, including military sacrifices,
trophies, tithes and votive dedications, and war gods, dances and festivals, went
together throughout Greek literature and history. [31] Greeks attended to religious
duties but modern scholars have too easily believed that bellicose Greek states would
risk defeat or conquest simply on religious grounds. Their acceptance of the will of
the gods as shown and interpreted in signs was not absolute. Also, despite Leonidas
and Thermopylae, even Spartans, conscious of their limited citizen population, did
not relish rash suicidal military engagements. [32] Greeks had no notion of
martyrdom or turning the other cheek, of meekly accepting disasters as the will of a
just god and looking to judgement and resurrection. Leaders routinely consulted
oracles and had manteis read omens but they were pragmatic and calculating about
conducting wars. Political and military considerations might override interpretations
of divine will. Given the uncertainties of calendric calculations and possible
manipulations by intercalation, and the susceptibility of oracles to influence and
bribery, some leaders reworked calendars, got second opinions, or reinterpreted or
downplayed oracles.
Extensive studies of the actual practice of Greek hoplite battles have challenged the
traditional acceptance of limited and proper ‘agonistic’ warfare with mutually
understood ethical and religious rules and without complex strategies or deceitful
tactics. Civilized conventions (7. 9. 2) about sparing sanctuaries, respecting truces,
taking prisoners, not pursuing the enemy and pauses for festivals supposedly helped
avoid massive casualties and religious problems in localized, short-term hoplite
battles of Greeks against Greeks in seasonal summer campaigns. [33] Warfare to
defend Greece against non-Greek Persians, however, was traumatically different: not
limited or local but extensive in time and numbers, it required unprecedented
cooperation among Greek states which had strong traditions of particularism, only a
cultural sense of Hellenism, and uneven pan-Hellenic commitment.
Greeks had many festivals and the Persian campaigns were long, so some festivals
and battles conflicted in time, raising tensions between local Greeks’ obligations to
gods and to countries, and inviting political gamesmanship as states decided whether
or not to fulfil obligations to assist other states and defend Greece. Long-standing
enmities and self-interest made substantial alliances difficult and fragile. [34] States

remembered grudges and, not always making consistent, principled decisions, they
pragmatically, even ruthlessly, calculated – however inaccurately – and debated what
was best for their own state in a given situation, as Athens did before Marathon and
Salamis. Intersections of agonistic festivals and war in the Histories show that
Herodotus was painfully aware of the Greeks’ flexible faith or prudential piety.
Agonistic festivals provided convenient excuses in tactics of distraction, delay,
division and desertion. States wanted to be pious but they also compromised or
compounded piety with a principle of justifiable self-defence.
Justifiable Self-Defence
In recounting preliminaries to the battle of Plataea, Herodotus mixes stories and
observations that combine piety, sport, and self-defence. With the armies facing each
other across the Asopos River, the Greeks asked Teisamenos of Elis, a seer of the
Iamidae associated with the oracle of Zeus at Olympia, to perform battlefield
sacrifices. Again mentioning sport incidentally, Herodotus tells a story about
Teisamenos (9. 33–5): misunderstanding a Delphic oracle that he would have five
great wins, Teisamenos lost in the pentathlon at Olympia, but he became a seer and
helped Sparta win five military victories, including Plataea. At Plataea Teisamenos
said the omens turned out bad for attacking but positive for fighting in self-defence.
Significantly, Mardonius’ Elean Telliad mantis also performed sacrifices and got the
same advice (9. 36–8). [35]
The Greeks and Persians waited several days before Mardonius chose to dismiss the
earlier sacrifices and not to force positive omens (9. 41. 4). Manipulating an earlier
oracle saying that Persia would suffer for sacking Delphi, he argued that, since they
had not sacked Delphi, the Persians would not suffer and would defeat the Greeks (9.
42). Herodotus (9. 43) piously asserts that Mardonius was wrong to disregard and
misrepresent oracles, and so the gods sided with the Greeks for their obedience. [36]
More germane here is the agreement by Greek manteis on both sides that the pre-
battle sacrificial omens were favourable for self-defensive actions but unfavourable to
the side that attacked (9.36–7). Piety, then, did not prevent Greeks from defending
their states and shrines from imperialistic and sacrilegious attacks. Unfavourable
sacrifices or omens at state boundaries or rivers, or before battle, might preclude
offensive attacks, [37] but ancient religion and law sanctioned violence and war in
self-defence of a person, a home or a state. [38] Unfortunately, this basic principle
was applied in particularistic, not pan-Hellenic, fashion.
The Ionian Revolt and Marathon

Sparta had warned Cyrus to leave the Ionians alone in 546 (1. 153), but when
Aristagoras of Miletus appealed to Sparta and offered inducements to King
Kleomenes, Sparta declined to support the Ionian Revolt in 499. [39] Only Athens,
for its own reasons, and Eretria, because Miletus had helped them an earlier war

44 D. Kyle
against Chalchis (5. 98), committed themselves to a total of 25 ships but they
withdrew when the revolt was failing. [40] Darius had to respond to this interference
and he sent Datis and Artaphernes across in 490 after Mardonius’ failed northern
expedition. Despite Athens’ appeals, only Plataea, obligated by an alliance, would join
Athens at Marathon. While the troops were still in Athens, Pheidippides, a messenger
rather than a competitive athlete, ran from Athens to Sparta (6. 105–6). His message
requested that Sparta help save the venerable Greek city of Athens from being
enslaved by barbarians, as had happened to Eretria. It did not ask Sparta to protect
itself or Greece overall. Herodotus says the Spartans decided to send help but (6. 106.
3, Grene) ‘ . . . they said it was impossible to do so at once, inasmuch as they were
unwilling to break their law (nomos)’. Since it was the ninth day of the first part of the
month they would not leave Sparta until the full moon, so they waited for the full
moon (6. 107. 1). W.K. Pritchett notes that Herodotus mentions the issue of the ban
on departing but does not mention the Karneia festival (although the Karneia was
specified in 490, see 7. 206). [41] The Karneia, a nine-day Dorian festival to Apollo
Karneios in late summer, included musical contests and a ritualistic group race or
chase of ‘grape runners’ (staphulodromoi). [42]
Sparta’s reply to Athens was the first use of an agonistic festival to excuse delaying
military inactivity in the Persian War. Herodotus reports the excuse but he does not
have to believe it, and he reveals some relevant circumstances. The background to
Marathon included the new Kleisthenic democracy, Athens’ fledgling hoplite army
and Sparta’s bitterness about recent events. [43] The Alkmaeonidae had bribed
Delphi into pressuring Sparta to free Athens from Hippias in 510 (5. 62–5; 5. 90).
[44] When his small force took the Acropolis after banishing Kleisthenes in 508 (5.
72), the Spartan king Kleomenes found oracles foretelling enmity between Athens
and Sparta (5. 90). Upset by Athens’ abuse of the Delphi oracle, regretting driving out
Hippias and the Peisistratids (5. 91), whom Sparta called friends (xeinoi) (5. 90),
angry at being driven from Athens, and fearing Athens’ growing strength, Kleomenes
was ready to help Hippias retake Athens (5. 91.1–2) but he got no support from
Sparta’s allies (5. 92).
Sparta was probably aware that the campaign of 490 was, by Persian standards, a
relatively modest punitive expedition directed against Athens and Eretria (5. 105, cf.
6. 43. 5–44. 1, 6. 48). Darius perhaps expected submission from the Greeks in general
but this was not the full-scale invasion that later sought the conquest of all Greece.
[45] Slighted and angry, like Homer’s Achilles, whose Thessalians (the original
‘Hellenes’) abstained from battle until the Trojans should ‘reach the ships’, Sparta
expected and perhaps wanted Athens to suffer by taking the brunt of the casualties.
The Athenians waited at Marathon, perhaps hoping for Spartan help, and probably
not hindered, as Herodotus suggests, by rotation among the generals. Ultimately
Miltiades ordered the famous charge (6. 109–12). Herodotus flatters the Athenians as
the only Greeks not afraid to face Persians (6. 112), but the Spartans were not afraid
of Persians. After the arrival of the full moon (6. 120), perhaps having delayed as long
as they could and calculating that the battle would be over, 2,000 Spartans hurried to

Athens (not Marathon), arriving in Attica on the third day, too late to help. [46]
They nevertheless proceeded to Marathon, wanting ‘to view the Medes’ – perhaps to
see what equipment and forces they might face later? Praising the Athenians, they
then went home.
Perhaps Sparta had delayed out of religious duty alone or perhaps it acted
consistently with the political ideology of early Greek poleis. Sparta’s piety in 490 does
not negate the principle of self-defence. Sparta did not view Persia’s attack on the
polis of Athens at Marathon as an attack on Sparta itself, which would have required
and justified immediate defensive action, even during a festival or sacred month. [47]
A (Pan-)Hellenic League?
After Marathon the Greeks myopically reverted to local squabbles for much of the
480s: Sparta and Argos quarrelled, and Athens’ conflict with Aegina gave
Themistocles an excuse for a fleet in 483. Well aware of such disunity, Herodotus
has Mardonius comment to Xerxes on the recurrent internecine warfare among
Greeks: they share a language and should join in a common defence but they do
not (7. 9. 2). Many poleis Medized when Xerxes sent messengers, and the Greeks
who decided to resist Persia (7. 132. 2) swore an oath (horkios) to dedicate a tithe
of war spoils from Medizing states to Delphi. Shortly after this Herodotus
famously declares Athens the ‘saviour of Greece’ (7. 139. 5). Despite the Delphic
oracle’s advice to fly to the ends of earth (7. 140), Athens nobly defended the
freedom of Hellas and stirred the rest of (non-Medized) Greece (touto to
Hellenikon pan to loipon) to come together to resist and defeat Persia (7. 139. 5,
translation by Grene): ‘It was the Athenians who- after the gods- drove back the
Persian king.’ [48]
In 481 Greek allies finally met at the strategically located Isthmus of Corinth, which
was the site of the sacred crown Isthmian games and also of the Peloponnesians’ wall
and preferred ‘last stand’ against Persia. Herodotus refers to the Greeks (7. 145,
translation by Grene) ‘who were of the better persuasion’ (that is, were patriotic or
wanted to help), ‘the Greeks who had sworn an alliance against the Persians’ (7. 148.
1), and the cities ‘that had the better thoughts for Greece herself’ (7. 172). He also
mentions a reconciliation among warring states and suggests that the group at the
Isthmus understood the need to unite in a joint defence against the barbarian threat
to ‘all Hellas’ (7. 145). Such remarks traditionally have led readers to assume the
creation of a new ‘pan-Hellenic’ league, but A. Tronson makes a stimulating
argument that the symmachy (military alliance) here was just the Peloponnesian
League with some added support. [49] Arguing that Herodotus does not mention
details of a mutual oath of alliance or refer to a newly institutionalized league,
Tronson suggests that Herodotus (7. 145, 7. 148. 1), influenced by later problems,
imparts an anachronistic pan-Hellenic ideology to these Greeks: ‘Herodotus
preferred to see the Persian war as a ‘‘panhellenic’’ achievement . . . he created the
illusion of widespread Hellenic cooperation’. [50]

46 D. Kyle
Whether via a new league or not, the (Pan-)Hellenic Greek unity (of perhaps
only 31 of many hundreds of states) was late, limited and fragile. Sparta, the
greatest land power and the nominal but reluctant leader, and Athens, having won
at Marathon, were the primary targets in a campaign of revenge and conquest. [51]
Their friends and allies felt some obligation to them but, as Herodotus details,
many states, disliking the odds or feeling safe by distance, geography or prior
relations with Persia, ignored the invitation to join or excused themselves (for
example, Corcyra cited the weather; Gelon of Syracuse cited local warfare against
Carthage). Some states preferred to declare neutrality, and the Delphic oracle
approved the neutrality of Crete (7. 169) and anti-Spartan Argos (7. 148). [52]
Others declined to join because of enmity with states that had joined. Supposedly
Phocia’s resistance to Persia was due to its hostility to Medizing Thessaly, and it
would have Medized if Thessaly had joined the Greek cause (8. 30. 1–2). This
conflicted context of particularistic calculation and interstate tensions sheds light
on Herodotean passages on delays and excuses concerning religious obligations and
agonistic festivals in 480–79.
Thermopylae, Karneia and the Olympics

Greek resistance against the enormous Persian invasion in 480 was hindered by
disunity and complicated by agonistic festivals. [53] Troops sent north to Tempe
earlier were withdrawn due to suspicions of Thessalian Medism, and Herodotus (7.
206. 1–2, Grene) admits that Sparta sent Leonidas and a small advance guard ahead
to Thermopylae out of fear that other allies would Medize if Sparta was inactive:
Afterwards – since the celebration of the Carnean month was presently a hindrance
to them – the Spartans intended, after they had performed the ceremony and left
guards in Sparta, to go to the war speedily and in full force. The rest of the allies
had similar thoughts and were minded to do just the same themselves. For in their
case there was the Olympic festival, which fell in at just the same time as this
outbreak of war. They never dreamed that the war at Thermopylae would be
decided so quickly, and so they sent off their advance guards.
Herodotus says that Sparta delayed the sending of a full force, once again, because
of the Karneia, and that the other allies similarly sent advance guards but were
waiting until the Olympics were over to respond fully. [54] He adds the contrived,
apologetic suggestion that the Greeks ‘never dreamed’ the battle would end so
quickly. The passage raises vexing questions about commitments to Hellas, strategies
and obligations to festivals. Were the Greeks perilously pious sports fanatics, or is
Herodotus explaining away the disunity of the Greeks? [55]
On the effect of the Karneia and the Olympic festival on sending troops, Pritchett
argues that, as with the Hyakinthia in 479 (see below), the festivals ‘ . . . prevailed over
the necessities of defense, and the Lakedaimonians put out of mind both the duties of
fidelity towards an exposed ally, and the bond of expressed promise’. [56] Leonidas

and his band acted nevertheless. Asserting that nothing in Herodotus indicates that
Spartan forces violated the Karneian ban, Pritchett suggests that the advance troops
may have marched out earlier than the festival and its ban on campaigning. [57]
Assisted by manteis, Spartan kings performed and interpreted state sacrifices and
made military decisions about waging wars (6. 56–7), and even Spartans could
manipulate religious signs or schedules. [58] Yet Sparta offered no excuse concerning
signs, omens or unfavourable sacrifices, nor do we hear that the oracle at Olympia
advised against battle. Herodotus simply cites the festivals as religious impediments
to action. [59] Would piety have so hindered the Spartans if Persia was invading the
Peloponnese?
Even non-cynics should question whether the Olympic festival was a serious
impediment to the Greeks’ ability to send larger forces to Thermopylae. Respect
for truces and festivals might apply between Greek antagonists but barbarian
Persia was not limited by, nor deserved to benefit from, such respect. Even if we
grant Sparta some immobilizing piety during the Karneia, several Peloponnesian
and mainland states (for example, Tegeans, Phocians, Thespians and Thebans)
sent advance forces to the pass despite the Olympics (7. 202–3). Were religious
obligations a matter of degree and compromise such that partial but not full
participation was allowed?
The Olympic festival was pan-Hellenic in the sense of being open to all Greeks, and
Elean messengers invited states to send delegates (theoroi), but the main religious
compulsion was on the Eleans themselves to conduct the proper rites and games.
Athletes, especially boys with their male relatives, might resist foregoing their
quadrennial opportunity to compete, but no major portion of the populations of
potential fighters of the allied states, except Elis, went to Olympia. Most Greeks did
not have the time or resources to go, and Olympia could not handle more than
perhaps 100,000. People attended out of piety and also for social reasons –
conviviality, feasting, drinking, and entertainment, but distant and remote Olympia
also was a refuge safe from early attack with close access to sailing routes to the west.
(Perhaps Themistocles was not the only Greek thinking of sailing away; see 8. 62
below.) Elis itself did little in a war whose main targets were Athens and Sparta. [60]
Herodotus panhellenizes the allies’ excuse with the Olympics, but he notes (8. 72)
that even after the Karneia and the Olympics were over some Peloponnesian states
did not join in the effort to secure the Peloponnese. [61]
Herodotus exalts the Spartans’ heroism at Thermopylae but he also frankly
discloses disunity and particularism before and even during the battle. [62] Leonidas
reportedly brought with him Thebans, suspected of Medism, to test their
commitment (7. 205, Grene): ‘The Thebans sent them indeed, but their mind was
not the same as the sending implied.’ [63] When the Persians arrived the non-
Spartan Peloponnesians wanted to return to the Peloponnese and guard the Isthmus.
Perhaps accepting an oracle that a Spartan king must die to save Sparta (7. 220),
Leonidas decided to stay but, seeing his forces so outnumbered, he sent messages to
‘the cities’ seeking help (7. 207). None came.

48 D. Kyle
The claim that the Greeks expected that the fight at Thermopylae would not be
over quickly is special pleading. [64] It is amazing that Leonidas held out as long as
he did. When the traitor Epialtes, expecting a great reward, showed Xerxes the path
by which to outflank the Spartans (7. 213), Leonidas released, or, as Herodotus says,
sent away the reluctant allies, while he stayed out of honour, because of the oracle,
and so that Sparta alone would win glory (7. 220. 2–4). After depicting a Homeric
scene of struggles over Leonidas’ body (7. 225), Herodotus points out Xerxes’
improper mutilation of Leonidas’ body (by putting his head on a spear, 7. 238; 9. 78–
9), and Xerxes’ ridiculous attempt to misrepresent the great numbers of Persian dead
(8. 24–25).
Xerxes and the Olympic Wreath

After Thermopylae Herodotus’ locus classicus on athletics (twice) says that Greeks at
Olympia competed for excellence and not for material gain (8.26. 1–3, Grene):
There came then to them a handful of deserters from Arcadia – needy men, who
would be employed. The Persians brought them into the King’s presence and
inquired what the Greeks were doing . . . The Arcadians said the Greeks were
celebrating the Olympic festival and were watching gymnastic and horse contests.
So the King asked them what was the prize for which they competed. They said it
was the giving of an olive crown. At that, Tigranes, son of Artabanus, said
something very fine, though the King thought him a coward for it. For Tigranes,
when he heard that the prize was a wreath and not money (stephanon all’ ou
chremata) burst out with the words, ‘What, Mardonius! What sort of men have you
led us to fight against, who contend, not for money, but for the sake of excelling
(peri aretes)?’
Arcadian deserters, Greeks who would fight against Greece for money, deliver the
idealized, pan-Hellenic image of pious Greeks gathering at Olympia to watch
virtuous athletes compete not for material wealth but for immaterial arête – the
excellence or achievement symbolized by the wreath. The contrast of profit or self-
interest with arete (8. 26) resonates with references to bribes elsewhere (for example,
below on Themistocles), and it foreshadows Athens’ later refusal to ‘sell out’ Greece
despite Persia’s offer of a profitable alliance (8. 144, below). Tigranes’ reaction – the
gnomic ‘for arete not profit’ – shows proper amazement and respect for Greek
athletic idealism: if Greeks contest with each other just for arete, how fiercely will they
fight for their freedom and homes? [65]
Herodotus cleverly implies that the stephanitic Olympics were typical of Greek
athletics in general, knowing full well that most states held chrematitic games with
material prizes. [66] The ennobling depiction of Greek athletic virtue at Olympia (see
8. 26 was appropriate for Leonidas’ heroic defeat qua moral victory but, intriguingly,
Herodotus places it after Thermopylae but while the Olympics supposedly were still
on. He showcases Greek military arete at Thermopylae before he showcases Greek
athletic arete at Olympia. After Thermopylae and before Salamis, Xerxes shows no

respect for the Greeks, who are morally superior in their athletic and military
altruism, and he has no respects wise Tigranes’ implied warning, thus doubly
demonstrating his own tragic miscalculation and arrogance.
From Artemisium to Salamis

During and after the battle of Artemisium particularism still plagued the defence of
Greece. Herodotus points out (8. 3) that Athens nobly waived its claim and ceded
naval leadership to Sparta in the interest of Greece overall and to prevent disastrous
disunity, [67] but he reports that Themistocles (8. 4. 2–5. 3) accepted a Euboean
bribe, kept 22 of the 30 talents for himself, and used the rest to bribe Spartan and
Corinthian leaders to fight at Artemisium. After Artemisium the allied fleet headed to
the Bay of Salamis, and Athens was not pleased when the Spartans and many
Peloponnesians, on hearing about Thermopylae, started fortifying the Isthmus with a
wall, concentrating on defending the Peloponnese and having no concern for Boeotia
or Attica (8. 40. 2; 8. 71–2, 4). [68]
While revealing Greek disunity before the battle of Salamis, Herodotus incidentally
mentions a famous athlete and works in an athletic metaphor. Phayllos of Kroton, a
thrice victor at Delphi, brought his own ship and was the only western Greek at
Salamis (8. 47). Some allies planned to sail to the Isthmus (8. 57) but Themistocles
was eager to fight at Salamis. When the Corinthian Adeimantos told Themistocles
that those who false start at the games are flogged (8. 59), the witty Athenian
responds that those who start too late do not win – a timely metaphor for taking a
risk (or using trickery) to help the Greeks win. Some allies still wanted to sail to the
Isthmus, so Themistocles threatened the Spartan admiral Eurybiades that if the allies
would not help, the Athenian fleet would sail away to Italy and all would be lost (8.
62). Themistocles’ message to Xerxes saying that the Greeks were divided and would
fight each other rather than joining effectively against Persia was not without basis (8.
75. 3). Herodotus presents the Greeks as heroic in the actual battle but disunity
returned again soon after the victory.
Alexander I and Mardonius’ Offer to Athens

Wintering in Thessaly in 479, Mardonius tried diplomacy. [69] He sent Alexander I
of Macedon to Athens with a message offering an alliance and freedom, and
promising that Persia would rebuild temples and give Athens whatever other territory
they might want (8. 140–4). Claiming fidelity to Athens, Alexander added his own
arguments about Persia’s power and the impossibility of victory (8. 140). Hearing
about the offer and fearing that Athens might accept, Sparta sent envoys who arrived
in time because Athens delayed its response, knowing Sparta would send envoys (8.
141). The Spartans pleaded with Athens to reject the offer, citing honour, praising
Athens’ defence of liberty and offering support for Athens’ women and non-
combatants. They also slandered Alexander as a despot in league with a

50 D. Kyle
dishonourable ‘barbarian’ despot (8. 142). Rejecting the offer and telling Alexander
not to make it again (8. 143. 2), the Athenians told the Spartans that Athens was
above being bribed (8. 144. 1, Grene). They declared that Athens was prevented from
accepting, even if it wanted, by the need to avenge their devastated shrines and
. . . then there is our common Greekness (to Hellenikon): we are one in blood and
one in language; those shrines of the gods belong to us all in common, and the
sacrifices (thusiai) in common, and there are our habits, bred of a common
upbringing. It would be indecent that the Athenians should prove traitors to all
these. [70]
The Athenians champion religious vengeance, a pan-Hellenic ethnicity, and shared

rites, but they also try to coerce Sparta to leave the Peloponnese and fight for Greece.
[71] They add that Sparta should send an army right away because Persia would soon
invade Athens again, and it would be best to fight him in Boeotia first.
The Hyakinthia of 479

Sparta broke its promise to help fight the Persians in Boeotia and did not resist the
return of Mardonius’ forces. Mardonius sent a messenger to Athens extending the same
offer as before; he expected and got a rejection (9. 4). As Mardonius returned to take
Athens, the Athenians left the city for Salamis when the Peloponnesians did not send
their army as expected (9. 6). The Athenians sent messengers to Sparta to express their
anger, to remind Sparta of the Persian offer, and to threaten that if they received no
help they would have to find a way to help themselves (that is, by defecting or
escaping). The Spartans claimed that they were slow to act because at the time they
were celebrating the Hyakinthia festival (9. 7. 1, Grene): ‘ . . . and they made a great
matter of giving the god his due’. The Hyakinthia was an annual three-day festival with
male choruses, boys’ horse races, and a procession of girls in chariots (Paus. 3. 16. 2)
held at Amyclae near Sparta in honour of Apollo and Dorian Hyakinthos. [72] Once
again an agonistic festival proved suspiciously convenient.
Athens’ messengers pointed out that the Spartans had betrayed them as they had
worked on and completed the Isthmus wall instead of helping Athens, and, again they
coercively reminded the Ephors of Persia’s generous offer (9. 7). They said (9. 7. a2)
Athens refused the offer because they respected ‘Zeus Hellenios’ (the form of Zeus
common to all Greeks). Athens had been treated unjustly and could benefit from
allying with Persia, but Athens ‘would never betray Greece’. They reproached Sparta
for not defending Boeotia and Attica and for not caring about Athens now that the
wall was finished.
With delaying tactics, the Ephors postponed their response to the messengers for
ten days (9. 8), but, on the advice of Chileus of Tegea that all Greece would fall if
Athens joined Persia, the Ephors dispatched troops under Pausanias (9. 9–10).
Unaware that troops had left Sparta, the Athenian messengers reproached the
Spartans (9. 11. 1, Grene): ‘stay right here and celebrate your Hyacinthia in playful

spirit (paizete), now that you have betrayed your allies’. The Athenians again
threatened Sparta (9. 11. 2, Grene): ‘The Athenians, being wronged by you, and for
lack of allies, will make their terms with the Persians as best they may.’ [73]
Realizing that they needed the help of Athens’ navy, the Spartans sent out troops to
the Isthmus and the combined Peloponnesian forces advanced to Eleusis, causing
Mardonius to retreat from Attica to Boeotia, where the Battle of Plataea would be
fought.
By 479 Sparta perhaps came to see Xerxes’ invasion as an attack on all Hellas, but it
was Athens, according to Herodotus, that articulated its loyalty to the defence of all
Hellas in anti-particularistic and pan-Hellenic terms. The tragic irony, understood by
Herodotus, was that Athens would revert to particularism as the imperialistic leader
of the Delian League.
Conclusion: Herodotus on Sport and Hellas

Herodotus refers to sport infrequently and incidentally to contrast Greeks and
barbarians (for example, Croesus, Egyptians, Persians) and to present morally
didactic examples (for example, Pheidon, Phayllos) but he also shows that the
customs and ideals of Greek athletics, culture, militarism and religion were tightly
interwoven. He uses Spartan festivals and the interstate Olympics piously and
ethnographically to demonstrate the Greeks’ devotion and distinctiveness in religion
and sport but he also reveals how sport and wars both unified and divided Greeks.
Nationalism, the bane of the modern Olympics, had its ancestor in parochial polis
patriotism, which produced dangerous instability among the poleis. The Greek states
were not divided by ideological schisms as much as by their devotion to local
independence (autonomia). Despite a shared culture, the poleis remained fiercely
independent, willing and sometimes eager to fight each other, and not as eager or
resolute in defence of other Greeks. The glorious defense of freedom against Persia
should have reduced parochialism, but Herodotus shows that the Classical Greeks’
sense of Hellenism was more a matter of cultural sharing than political unity. [74] A
centuries-old mentality did not disappear in just a few years; politics and war
trumped religion and sport, and particularism trumped Hellenism.
Perhaps influenced by later events or by Athenian propaganda understating Sparta’s
crucial involvement, Herodotus champions Athens’ invocation of common Hellenic
customs and Athens’ altruistic role as the ‘saviour of Greece’. His, however, is a
conflicted pan-Hellenism: he retrojects suggestions of pan-Hellenic ideology but he
reveals the grievous enmities and disunity in interstate politics, especially in 490–79.
Like Herodotus, we should applaud the wonders but admit the blunders of the Greeks.
The Persian War – and Herodotus’ Histories – helped encourage a sense of cultural
pan-Hellenism but, while the reality of particularism is shown by actions, the myth of
political pan-Hellenism was largely rhetorical. Ironically, the disastrous Peloponne-
sian War and its aftermath coincided with a growing literary movement in support of
pan-Hellenism, peace and unity. [75] Gorgias, Aristophanes, Lysias, Isocrates and

52 D. Kyle
others ineffectually invoked a shared ethnicity (including festivals and Olympia) to

encourage the Greeks to stop fighting internecine wars, but the Greeks clung to the
polis format and resisted the transition to larger states or empires until it was too
late. Despite the lessons of their early history, their brilliant political experiments
and analyses, and their partial symmachy against Persia, they failed to achieve
lasting unity and peace until Macedon and Rome imposed a level of centralization
and unity.
Political pan-Hellenism was largely constructed even later as an invented tradition.
Major sources on Classical Olympia and pan-Hellenic athletics come from the second
century AD as the Greeks negotiated with Roman imperial rule, and as games became
an increasingly central component of civic life in a Greek athletic world that actually
was larger and more centralized under the emperors. Influenced by Herodotus,
Pausanias inflated the pan-Hellenic influence of the Classical crown games, and
Lucian’s Anacharsis idealizes the positive aspects and military value of Greek sport.
[76] The nostalgia for Classical Greece and its athletics grew as later Greeks wistfully
viewed their ancient sport history through Rome-coloured glasses.
Notes
[1] This essay builds upon my book, Sport and Spectacle in the Ancient World and my study
‘Herodotus on Ancient Athletics, Olympia, and Egypt’. I use Grene’s translation of The
History of Herodotus. All citations of the form (8. 144) are to The History of Herodotus and
all dates are BC unless otherwise indicated. Given the enormous bibliography on Herodotus
and Greek ethnicity, religion and war, I limit citations to representative and recent
scholarship.
[2] Crowther. ‘The Ancient Olympics and Their Ideals’, 69–80, discusses nationalism,
internationalism, war and peace.
[3] Classic studies include Hignett, Xerxes’ Invasion of Greece; and Burn, Persia and the Greeks. See
the recent bibliography in Cartledge, Thermopylae, 265–95.
[4] See Kyle, Sport and Spectacle, 83–5; Spivey, The Ancient Olympics, 4–5, 11–16; Golden, Sport
and Society, 23–8; Cornell, ‘On War and Games’, 37–42; Poliakoff, Combat Sports, 94–103;
Reed, More than Just a Game; and Mann, ‘Krieg, Sport und Adelskultur’, 7–21. Also see
Pritchard’s essay in this volume.
[5] On Herodotus’ method, see, e.g., Immerwahr, Form and Thought in Herodotus; Waters,
Herodotus the Historian; Gould, Herodotus; Lateiner, The Historical Method of Herodotus;
Romm, Herodotus; Bakker, de Jong and van Wees, Brill’s Companion to Herodotus, especially
Harrison, ‘The Persian Invasions’, 551–78; and Derow and Parker, Herodotus and his World.
[6] In his revisionist reading, Cawkwell, The Greek Wars, criticizes Herodotus’ account for its
glorification of Greek heroism and ideals of liberty, its Pan-Hellenist propaganda and its
insensitivity and miscalculation of Persian culture and plans. Cf. Flower, ‘Herodotus and
Persia’, 274–89.
[7] Herodotus’ time in Athens and his knowledge of Athens’ imperialism and later interstate strife
probably influenced his presentation of the Persian War era. Fornara, Herodotus: An
Interpretive Essay, 86–7, and others suggest that Herodotus may have contemporary
developments in mind, but he did not need to invent or exaggerate Greek disunity during
the Persian invasions. On the problematic issues of dates of writing and publication, I assume
that Herodotus was writing c.440s-430s, published the work c.424, and died in the late 420s.

[8] Brown, ‘Herodotus’ Views on Athletics’, 17–29, surveys references to athletes and athletic
festivals, and admits that Herodotus does not specifically comment on the value of athletics.
[9] Book 6 mentions several political figures who won equestrian contests, especially the
tethrippon. Miltiades I, the Olympic chariot victor, from a hippotrophic family (6. 35. 1),
became a tyrant in the Chersonese and was honored with funeral games (6. 38. 1). Kimon of
Athens, noted as the father of Miltiades, won the Olympic tethrippon three times; he gave the
second victory to Peisistratus to be allowed to return from exile to Athens, only to be killed by
the tyrant’s sons after his third victory, and to be buried outside the city with his horses buried
nearby (6. 103). Demaratus of Sparta uniquely transferred his chariot win to the people of
Sparta (6. 70. 3). The Alkmaeonidae of Athens, including Alkmaeon (6. 125. 5), are
understandably prominent for their wealth, politics and hippotrophy. Kallias of Athens (6.
122, probably an interpolation) is presented as famous first for his role in freeing Athens from
tyranny and secondly for his equestrian wins at Olympia and Delphi. Kleisthenes of Sikyon’s
chariot win is barely mentioned as a way to introduce the story of the suitor contest for his
daughter (6. 126–30); he built gymnastic facilities for the suitors (6. 126. 3), whom he had run
and wrestle (6. 128. 1) and compete in social skills, such as proper decorum at banquets.
[10] Like Phayllos at Salamis (see below), Philippos of Kroton, an Olympic victor in an unspecified
event, brought his own trireme and joined the late sixth-century expedition of Doreius of
Sparta to Sicily (5. 47). Herodotus claims knowledge of feats of strength and courage of
Timesitheos of Delphi (5. 72. 4), who won the pankration twice at Olympia and three times at
Delphi (Paus. 6. 8. 6), but he mentions only that he was captured and killed when Kleomenes
was driven from Athens. Praised by Simonides, Eualkides won crowns in contests (event not
noted), but Herodotus mentions him because he led the Eretrians in the Ionian Revolt and
was executed by Persia (5. 102. 3). He mentions Eurybates of Argos incidentally as a man
skilled in the pentathlon, but primarily as the leader of Argive volunteers joining Aegina
against Athens in the 480s (6. 92. 2–3). (On Teisamenos at Plataea, see note 37 below.)
[11] See Lloyd, ‘Perseus and Chemmis (Herodotus II.91)’, 31–42; Lloyd, Herodotus Book II, 1,
164–67; and Lloyd, ‘Egypt’, 79–86; Decker, ‘La délégation des Éléens en Égypte’, 31–42;
Dorati, ‘Un giudizio degli Egiziani sui giochi olimpici’, 9–20; and Kyle, ‘Herodotus on
Ancient Athletics’.
[12] Herodotus mentions a few other items concerning non-Greeks and sport: for example, the
Lydians invented various games with dice, bones, and balls (1. 94. 3–4); Delphi ordered
Etruscan Agylla to hold gymnastic and equestrian games (1. 167. 2); Thracians had funeral
games with all sorts of contests (5. 8); and Xerxes held a boat race among his Persian naval
forces (7. 44), and a race between Persian and Thessalian cavalry horses (7. 196).
[13] Harrison, ‘Upside Down and Back to Front’, 145–55.
[14] On the ethnic exclusiveness of the Olympics, see Crowther, ‘Athlete and State’, 38–42; idem,
‘The Ancient Olympics and Their Ideals’, 69–72; Nielsen, Olympia and the Classical Hellenic
City-State Culture, 18–21. Gender exclusivism also persisted at Olympia in a ban on women:
see Kyle, Sport and Spectacle, 221–8.
[15] See Hall, Hellenicity, 154–7; and Kertész, ‘When did Alexander I Visit Olympia?’, 115–26, with
bibliography. If it was the Olympics of 480, contemporaneous with the battle of Thermopylae,
the Medizer Alexander was playing games while Greece needed defenders.
[16] See Hall, Ethnic Identity; and idem, Hellenicity, 30–89.
[17] See Hall, Hellenicity, 90–124 on colonization, and 134–68 on Delphi, Olympia and Hellenism.
See below on Olympia and the Periodos.
[18] Hall, Hellenicity, 255–75 and 172–89 on Athens’ stereotyping of barbarians, 189–205 on
Herodotus on Greek ethnicity; Hall, Inventing the Barbarian; but cf. Thomas, Herodotus in
Context. Also see Malkin, Ancient Perceptions of Greek Ethnicity, in particular Konstan, ‘To
Hellênikon ethnos: Ethnicity and the Construction of Ancient Greek Identity’, 29–50; Hartog,

54 D. Kyle
The Mirror of Herodotus; Morgan, Athletes and Oracles, 1–25, 191–234; idem, ‘Ethnicity and
Early Greek States’, 131–63; Cartledge, ‘Historiography of Greek Self-Definition’, 26–30.
[19] On athletics as distinctively Greek, and on Olympia and the Persian War as central to a
‘unified city-state culture’, see Nielsen, Olympia and the Classical Hellenic City-State Culture,
especially 12–17, 55–98.
[20] Kyle, Sport and Spectacle, 54–71, 77–8.
[21] See Kyle, Sport and Spectacle, 101–109; and Christesen, Olympic Victor Lists.
[22] See Scanlon, Eros and Greek Athletics, 64–97; Nielsen, Olympia and the Classical Hellenic
City-State Culture, 22–8; and Christesen, ‘The Transformation of Athletics’, 7–37. Herodotus
(1. 10. 3) comments on the barbarian aversion to nudity in the story of Gyges and Candaules,
not concerning sport.
[23] Kyle, Sport and Spectacle, 72–93; and Christesen, ‘The Meaning of Gymnazô’, 59–68. Morgan,
‘The Origins of Pan-Hellenism’, 18–44, suggests that the rise of the periodos influenced the
attestation of Pan-Hellenic aspects to the earliest Olympics.
[24] Crowther, ‘Elis and Olympia’, 61–73, shows that the actions of Elis as a state and as the
supervisor of the games were intimately related. Similarly, see Crowther, ‘The Ancient
Olympics and Their Ideals’, 76–7: ‘ . . . there was no real attempt by the Eleans to foster
‘‘international understanding’’, ‘‘brotherhood’’, or ‘‘peace’’ at the ancient Olympics . . . For
most of its history the Olympic Games did not advance the ideals even of a Greek ethnos,
but the political agenda of the polis to which they belonged.’ Also see Hönle, Olympia in
der Politik der griechischen Staatenwelt; Nielsen, Olympia and the Classical Hellenic City-
State Culture, 29–54; Miller, Ancient Greek Athletics, 216–25; Spivey, The Ancient Olympics,
169–205; and Kyle, Sport and Spectacle, 128–30.
[25] See below on judges. Similarly, calling the treasurers of the Delian League Hellanotamiai did
not prevent abuses.
[26] Ethnic pride and relief after the defeat of Xerxes made the Olympics of 476 a scene of
jubilation, and an Olympic arbitration court seems to have mediated disputes for a few years,
but any glory days of Greek or Olympic unity did not last long; see Sinn, Olympia, 54–7. Elis’
synoecism (complete unification as a polis), its adoption of democracy and its close relations
with Athens further politicized Olympia as the Peloponnesian War loomed. Hardly politically
neutral, Elis allied with Athens and others against Sparta (by a treaty inscribed on a bronze
column at Olympia; Thucydides 5. 47. 11). The Nike of Paionios at Olympia celebrated a
military victory by Greeks (Naupactians and Messenians) over fellow Greeks (Spartans at
Sphacteria) in 425. Elis offended and banned Sparta from Olympia in 420, Sparta avenged
itself by invading Elis in the Elean War around 400, and by 364 a battle between Arcadians and
Eleans intruded into the very Altis itself; see Crowther, ‘Power and Politics at the Ancient
Olympics’, 1–10.
[27] Crowther, ‘The Ancient Olympics and Their Ideals’, 72–6; and Lämmer, ‘Der sogennante
Olympische Friede’, 47–83.
[28] On Greek athletics and religion, see Golden, Sport and Society, 10–23; and Scanlon, Eros and
Greek Athletics, 25–39. Mikalson, ‘Gods and Athletic Games’, 33–40, explains that Greeks
assume and often mention, but do not detail, divine assistance in athletic (and military)
victory. As in Pindar, the god of the festival gave significant but unspecified help as a
supplement allowing or honouring the skill of the victor. Athletes often set up dedications as
thank-offerings but the epigrams stressed the achievement of the human victor. Valavanis,
Games and Sanctuaries, 15, passim, presents Greek games as fundamentally a religious
phenomenon, a matter not just of ritual but also of faith.
[29] See Perry, ‘An Olympic Victory Must Not Be Bought’, 81–8, 238–40; Crowther, Sed quid
custodiet ipsos custodies?, 149–60; Romano, ‘Judges and Judging’, 95–114; and Kyle, Sport and
Spectacle, 130–2, 222–5.

[30] Mikalson, Herodotus and Religion, 15–110, discusses Herodotus’ account of events from the
point of view of religion; idem, ‘Religion in Herodotus’, 187–98. Challenging the traditional
image of a pious Herodotus uncritically accepting divine intervention and religious causation,
Harrison, Divinity and History, 551–78, suggests Herodotus had no consistent conception of
causality and used both religious causation and human responsibility at various times.
Scullion, ‘Herodotus and Greek Religion’, 192–208, sees Herodotus as sceptical of knowledge
of the gods and prone to abstractions like ‘the divinity’ rather than naming gods. He
comments that: ‘Herodotus’ divinity is real and active but remote, intelligible primarily as a
set of principles governing the universe’ (203). That divinity tends to balance extremes,
counter excess, and give signs (omens, oracles, dreams) of what is to come.
[31] Pritchett, The Greek State at War, 3: 1–10, reviews the long-standing debate about the
significance of religious faith or inspiration in Greek military history. He argues that
Herodotus believes in divine intervention (3: 147–8) and he collects and evaluates evidence for
the roles of festivals, sacrifices, manteis, oracles, epiphanies, military dedications and war
festivals in Greek warfare. On Kurke, ‘The Economy of Kudos’, 131–63, arguing for the belief
in talismanic power of Pan-Hellenic athletic victors in war, see Kyriakou, ‘Epidoxon Kudos:
Crown Victory and its Rewards’, 119–58.
[32] Loraux, ‘The Spartans’ ‘‘Beautiful Death’’’, 63–74, on ‘beautiful death’ (kalos thanatos) as a
abstract model and part of the Spartan legend, clarifies that soldiers were to accept death
pragmatically as a ‘necessary last resort’ – not seek it as Aristodamos did at Plataea (65–7,
citing Herodotus 7. 220 and 9. 71). I thank Dr D. Pritchard for directing me to this piece. Cf.
Clarke, ‘Spartan ate at Thermopylae?’ 63–84.
[33] See Vernant, Myth and Society, 38–44. On the brutality but efficiency and conventions of
hoplite phalanx warfare, see Hanson, The Western Way of War; and idem, ‘Hoplite
Technology in Phalanx Battle’, 63–86. On more open formations and individual modes of
fighting, see Krentz, ‘Fighting by the Rules’, 23–39; and Rawlings, ‘Alternate Agonies’, 167–
200. For a revisionist discussion suggesting that Greek warfare was characterized by brutality
and destructiveness rather than civilized conventions and a special agonistic spirit, see Dayton,
‘The Athletes of War’, 17–97, or idem, The Athletes of War. On this debate, now see Van Wees,
Greek Warfare, especially 184–91.
[34] Even after a polis unified politically, regional orientations and tribal allegiances sustained
localism within the state and aristocrats’ guest friendships with external elites hindered unity.
Although Herodotus disagrees in his long discussion of the shield at Marathon (6. 121–4),
Athens seems to have had internal factionalism during the war.
[35] Greeks in the Persian army used their own Greek mantis, who warned against starting the
battle (9. 38. 2). Athens’ favourable pre-battle sacrifices at Marathon while defending own
land should be recalled here (6. 112. 1).
[36] Mikalson, Herodotus and Religion, 93–7.
[37] Pritchett, The Greek State at War, 1: 109–15, 3: 69–79 and 83–90, discusses examples of Greek
armies suffering or delaying action due to unfavourable sacrifices (sphagia) before battles. For
further on the rituals and meaning of sphagia, see Jameson, ‘Sacrifice before Battle’, 197–227.
After the battle of Plataea began, Pausanias and the Spartans did not engage because of negative
sacrifices; they retired with the right wing and suffered casualties from a shower of Persian
arrows, but held off attacking and kept making sacrifices until Pausanias prayed and the seer
Teisamenos said the sacrifice was favourable (9. 61. 3–62. 1). Jameson comments: ‘But the
repeated sacrifices until the desired signs were received says more about the determination of the
sacrificers than their willingness to govern their actions by divine guidance’ (220). He, further
suggests that a delay, for whatever reason, was later given a religious explanation: ‘An element of
local piety has crept into the story’ (224, note 22). On the debate about the possible tactics and
manipulations of Pausanias, see Pritchett, The Greek State at War, 3: 78–9.

56 D. Kyle
[38] Cf. Rome’s politicized religious wars: with roots in localized wars with culturally similar
neighbours, the fetiales’ rituals affirmed ‘just wars’ in defence of Rome or Rome’s friends and
allies. See Warrior, Roman Religion, 55–66, especially 58–9.
[39] Herodotus, 5. 49–51, says Aristagoras asked Kleomenes to help free fellow Greeks from
slavery, arguing that Persia was rich but weak and could be defeated easily, and that Sparta
could rule Asia rather than fight local Greek states, and adding the inducement of 50 talents
for the king, all to no avail. Persia was far too distant and Kleomenes would not be corrupted.
[40] As at Sparta but to the Athenian people in the agora, Aristagoras spoke of the appropriateness
of helping fellow Ionians and also of Persian weakness and potential riches (5. 97). Stadter,
‘Herodotus and the Cities of Mainland Greece’, 248–9, suggests that Athens’ decision to help
Ionia was partly influenced by a sincere desire to help their kin, by ignorance of Persian
power, and also by Spartan and Persian plans to restore Hippias (Herodotus, 5. 91, 96–7).
[41] Pritchett, The Greek State at War, 1: 116–26. He remarks that: ‘Essentially, the question of the
ban is one of the possibility that ancient superstition about the phases of the moon extended
to the military art’ (1: 118). He suggests that ‘The rule may have permitted some proviso of
exceptions to be determined by seers’ (1: 119).
[42] Burkert, Greek Religion, 234–6, sees a festival of atonement and purification after which Sparta
could return to war. On contests at the Karneia, see Kennell, The Gymnasium of Virtue, 65–9. On
the timing discrepancy between Herodotus and Plutarch, see Mikalson, Herodotus and Religion,
28–9. For further information on Spartan beliefs, see Parker, ‘Spartan Religion’, 142–72.
[43] Mikalson, Herodotus and Religion, 28–9, accepts Herodotus’ report of the religious reason for
their delay but he does not discuss the recent enmity between Sparta and Athens. On Athenian
tensions and developments upsetting to Sparta, see Anderson, The Athenian Experiment, 147–
57.
[44] Mikalson, Herodotus and Religion notes that Herodotus does not condemn the Alkmaeoni-
dae’s bribing of Delphi: ‘For Herodotus, in some cases at least, political objectives apparently
override religious scruples’ (18).
[45] Herodotus, 6. 94, suggests that Darius wanted to subdue all Greeks who had not already
submitted, but he also has Darius order Datis and Artaphernes to enslave Athens and Eretria.
On the aims of the expedition, see Flower, ‘Herodotus and Persia’, 276–8.
[46] Cf. How and Wells, A Commentary, 2: 109 on 6. 106: ‘The speed of the Spartan march seems
to show that their desire to help Athens was genuine, and that the battle took place on the first
day it was lawful for them to march.’ Compare the waiting games (below) of Sparta
concerning the Isthmus wall, and Athens concerning Mardonius’ offer.
[47] See Cartledge, The Spartans, 113: ‘ . . . it is reasonable for us to suspect that sometimes divine
commands came to the Spartans at suspiciously opportune moments’. Holladay and
Goodman, ‘Religious Scruples in Ancient Warfare’, 152–60, show that Sparta was renowned
for its attention to religious scruples but would act to defend itself. Desire for divine favour
was always a consideration, ‘a military tactic’, but ‘ . . . in many cases it is impossible to tell
whether the religious reasons given in the sources were invented to explain decisions already
taken on other grounds’ (152). They offer examples of Sparta halting campaigns for religious
reasons (e.g. taboo days), even when inviting disaster and to the tactical detriment of the
interests of Sparta and her allies (for example against Argos, see Thuc. 5. 54), but they also
give examples of Greeks manipulating festival calendars and attacking Greek foes during their
festivals (152–5).
[48] Cartledge, The Spartans, 111–40, discusses Sparta’s role in the war and asserts, that, despite
Herodotus ‘ . . . it was actually the Spartans who . . . deserved the lion’s share of the credit for
the eventual victory’ (111).
[49] See, for example, Brunt, ‘The Hellenic League’, 135–63; and Tronson, ‘The Hellenic League of
480 BC’, 93–110, especially 96–100.

[50] Tronson, ‘The Hellenic League of 480 BC’, 103. He argues that Herodotus developed, and
later historians and moderns reinforced, the ideology of ‘an organized, panhellenic, quasi-
nationalistic or patriotic resistance . . . ’ and ‘. . . the notion of a formal institution – a
representative Hellenic council or synedrion of the Hellenes’ (93–4).
[51] Since Athens and Sparta impiously killed the Persian heralds that Darius had sent demanding
water and soil in 491 (Herodotus 6. 48), Xerxes (7. 133.1) sent no heralds to Athens and
Sparta, which suggests that those two states were clearly targets and that there could be no
expectation of upholding conventions of warfare. Herodotus, 7. 133. 2, says Sparta suffered
for the impiety but he does not believe that the murder at Athens caused the devastation of
Attica.
[52] Suggesting that Argos would rather be ruled by Persia than Sparta (7. 149), Herodotus reports
(7. 152) a rumour that Argos invited Persia to invade because of their own failure in their war
against Sparta (in 494). Nielsen, ‘A Note on ‘‘the Hellenic League against Persia’’’, 165–78,
suggests that, unlike at the three other Pan-Hellenic sites of the Periodos (Herodotus 9. 81. 1),
no victory dedication for the Persian War was made Nemea in part because, ‘. . . the neutrality
of both Argos and Kleonai during the Persian invasion may have tainted these poleis with
Medism, thus making Nemea a most unsuitable place for such a dedication’ (58).
[53] On the idealistic reception of the depiction of Thermopylae, see Clough, ‘Loyalty and Liberty’,
363–81; Cartledge, Thermopylae, 177–98; idem, The Spartans, 257–72.
[54] Mikalson, Herodotus and Religion says of Thermopylae that, as at Marathon, ‘ . . . religious
festivals prevented the full participation of the Spartans and other Greek allies’ (64). The close
proximity or coincidence of the festivals offered excuses for delays and Demaratus knew the
timing of Olympic and Spartan festivals. Cf. Holladay and Goodman, ‘Religious Scruples in
Ancient Warfare’, who suggest that, ‘There is no reason for suspecting that the Persians in this
year, or in 490 and 479, timed their attacks to coincide with Greek festivals: they are unlikely
to have known, and certainly did not care’ (157).
[55] Holladay and Goodman, ‘Religious Scruples in Ancient Warfare’ comment on Herodotus 7.
206: ‘Although no doubt all Greek states would have preferred to respect the festivals if
possible, not all of them were renowned for willingness to sacrifice, or even jeopardize, their
interests in order to do so. We hear of cities which claim a feast as a reason for inaction, or
restricted action, but their motives are often suspect’ (153). Yet they say of Thermopylae in
480: ‘. . . there is no ground for doubting her [Sparta’s] sincerity about the Carneia’ (157).
They suggest that Sparta did not think it necessary to send more than a small force: ‘ . . . her
piety, though remarkable, was not total and suicidal’ (158).
[56] Pritchett, The Greek State at War, 1: 120.
[57] Ibid., 1: 121–6.
[58] Spartan and other Greek generals could decide to defy (or reinterpret) oracles; see Pritchett,
The Greek State at War, 3: 48–9. When Kleomenes received an unfavourable omen against
crossing a river to attack Argos he skirted the problem by putting his men on ships and
attacking from the coast (Herodotus 6.76). When told to flee, the Athenians asked Delphi for
a second and better oracle concerning Salamis, and Themistocles reinterpreted that oracle
about walls according to his naval strategy (7. 139–44); see Mikalson, Herodotus and Religion,
52–6. As Jameson, ‘Sacrifice before Battle’, 197–8, explains, Spartans first reached a decision
about campaigning and then the king performed a sacrifice. Of sphagia he suggests: ‘One is
inclined to suppose that the signs were essentially confirmatory of what had already been
decided by human judgment and the earlier hiera of camp-ground sacrifice, and were simple
and rarely known to fail’ (204). He concludes: ‘The decision to go to war is taken by political
institutions. It may be ratified by divination; or rather the timing and thus also the place, for
the decision’s being put into effect is approved or delayed or, rarely, cancelled altogether by
divination’ (219).

58 D. Kyle
[59] Cartledge, Thermopylae, 221, suggests that Herodotus possibly was persuaded by ‘the
Spartans’ own religious rhetoric’ concerning Marathon, but he is inclined to accept the piety
of the Spartans and Greeks concerning the Karneia and the Olympics in 480 (124–6). He
makes the intriguing suggestion that Leonidas himself may have engineered the oracle saying
that a Spartan king must die to save Sparta (127–8). Cartledge, The Spartans recognizes
religion as, ‘. . . a genuinely powerful historical factor, but we may reasonably suspect that
another, more mundane and less creditable but entirely understandable, motive was more
potently at work here- namely, panic fear . . .’ (120).
[60] Despite respectful celebratory inscriptions at Olympia and Delphi, Herodotus shows
Elis’ poor participation, too little and late, in defending Greece, for which it was later
criticized. See Nielsen, Olympia and the Classical Hellenic City-State Culture, 53–4, note 200.
[61] Crowther, ‘The Ancient Olympics and Their Ideals’, 72–3, observes that competitors in 480
included Greeks from Thasos and Thebes, not just from the vicinity of Olympia.
[62] Making another incidental ethnographic reference to sport, Herodotus says that before the
battle Xerxes’ scout reported that the Spartans were doing gymnastic exercises (gumnazo-
menous) or combing their hair (7. 208. 3). The Spartans were preparing to kill or be killed, but
Xerxes (7. 209) thought their actions were absurd.
[63] Leonidas later kept the Thebans at the battle against their will (7. 222). When the battle was
being lost they deserted to Xerxes, saying they always supported him and were forced to go
with Leonidas (7. 233).
[64] The Greeks sent messengers to the Locrians of Opous and the Phocians ‘. . . alleging through
messengers that they themselves were but an advance guard of the rest, that the other allies
were every day expected’ (7. 203, translated by Grene).
[65] As in 490, the Karneia was Sparta’s excuse in 480 but Herodotus omits the Karneia in 8. 26.
Konstan, ‘Persians, Greeks and Empire’, 61–2, discusses 8. 26 as a stock passage with a
warning presented to an arrogant king before a great event (i.e. Salamis). Tigranes’ remark
recalls the earlier advice of Artabanus, his father and Darius’ brother, warning Xerxes about
invading Greece, saying that the Greeks are great fighters (7. 10–11. 1). Xerxes reacted by
calling Artabanus cowardly rather than wise.
[66] Dramatically, Xerxes himself perhaps asked about the prize hoping to demean Greek culture
before his nobles by ridiculing the wreath prize. Stephanitic Olympia may recall Xerxes’ dream
back in Persia (7. 19) in which he saw himself wearing an olive wreath, but then the wreath on
his head disappeared.
[67] Herodotus 8. 3, translated by Grene: ‘It was their realization of the danger attendant upon lack
of unity that made them waive their claim, and they continued to do so as long as Greece
desperately needed their help.’
[68] Stadter, ‘Herodotus and the Cities of Mainland Greece’ remarks: ‘Sparta does not fight for
Greece, but first for itself, then for the Peloponnese which it controls’ (246).
[69] Demaratus (7. 234–7) and Artemisia (8. 68. 1–2) had both advised Xerxes to take advantage of
Greek disunity, and the Thessalians advised Mardonius that taking the Greeks, if united, by
force would be very difficult, and that rather he should use bribes to divide and conquer them
without a battle (9. 2).
[70] Also see Harrison, ‘The Persian Invasions’, 566–7; and cf. Hall, Hellenicity, 189–94. It should
be noted that Greekness is listed second to the religious duty to avenge sanctuaries; see
Mikalson, Herodotus and Religion, 88–9. It should be recalled that after Artemisium
Themistocles left inscribed messages at watering places urging Ionian troops to leave Xerxes or
fight badly because they were ‘of the same blood’ (Herodotus 8. 22. 2) as the Greeks and their
problems brought Athens into war with Persia.
[71] Friedman, ‘Location and Dislocation’, 175–6, pointing out that 8. 144 does not refer to a
common territory or place [or polity], notes the irony of Herodotus writing 8. 144 from the

context of later disunity. On the appeal to Greek unity, Stadter, ‘Herodotus and the Cities of
Mainland Greece’ comments: ‘This vision was utopian: such unity had not and would not
exist. Herodotus was well aware of the irony of the Athenians’ enthusiasm, which only a few
months later would fade as the Spartans refused to send help’ (249). On the rhetoric of 8. 144
and 9.11 as a threat and ‘a negotiating trick’, see Pelling, ‘Speech and Narrative in the
Histories’, 113–14.
[72] On contests at the Hyakinthia, see Kennell, The Gymnasium of Virtue, 65–6. For more detail,
see Petterson, Cults of Apollo at Sparta; and Richer, ‘The Hyakinthia of Sparta’, 77–102.
[73] Stadter, ‘Herodotus and the Cities of Mainland Greece’, 248 comments: ‘It is a measure, not of
the Athenians’ resolve, but of their abandonment by Sparta, that in spring 479, frustrated by
Spartan delays, they threaten to join the invader (9. 11).’
[74] Konstan, ‘Persians, Greeks and Empire’, says that Greek disunity during the war takes two
forms: ‘. . . a parochian concern for one’s own territory to the detriment of the Greek
campaign as a whole, most characteristic of the Peloponnesians, and a jealous competition for
leadership’ (72).
[75] See Crowther, ‘The Ancient Olympics and Their Ideals’, 74–6, on the Pan-Hellenic rhetoric
and performance context of works by Isocrates, Lysias, etc.; Hall, Hellenicity, 205–26; Spivey,
Ancient Olympics, 184–92; Flower, ‘From Simonides to Isocrates’, 65–101; and Perlman,
‘Panhellenism, the Polis and Imperialism,’ 1–30. On the significance of agonistic festivals for
Greek ethnicity, and also on the rhetoric of Pan-Hellenism in late Classical and imperial times,
see König, ‘Games and Festivals’. I thank Dr Konig for sharing his article with me.
[76] On Herodotus as Pausanias’ chief ethnographic model, see Bowie, ‘Inspiration and
Aspiration’, 25–8. On problems with Imperial era texts and their use by sport historians,
see König, Athletics and Literature, 7–22, 158–204; and Newby, Greek Athletics, 202–28, discuss
Pausanias’ attention to Archaic and Classical victor monuments at Olympia, and they
continue re-evaluations of Pausanias’ recording, ordering and structuring of Olympia as
emblematic of Pan-Hellenic culture in his construction of a Pan-Hellenic past. On the
Anacharsis as a satirical pseudo-Platonic dialogue showing cultural discourse about sport and
reflecting both early criticisms and contemporary debate in the Second Sophistic, see König,
Athletics and Literature, 45–96; Newby, Greek Athletics, 144–52.
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Sport, War and Democracy in Classical

Athens
David M. Pritchard
The Sporting Passions of Classical Athens

The classical Athenians lavished time and money on sporting contests and facilities,
esteemed athletes above other public figures, and handed international victors the
metaphorical keys to the city. Classical Athens had an extensive programme of
festival-based agōnes or contests (Th. 2. 38. 1), apparently celebrating more festivals
than any other Greek city (Isoc. 12. 45–6; Ps.-X. 3. 2; cf. Ar. Nu. 307–10). [1] Many of
these agōnes were established in the democracy’s first 50 years. [2] The most extensive
programme of contests was staged at the Great Panathenaia, which was the large-scale
version of the city’s annual festival for its patron deity. [3] This did not mark the
birthday of Athena (a misinterpretation going back to the nineteenth century) but
celebrated the Gigantomachy and her prominent role in this military victory of the
Olympians over the Giants (for example, Arist. fragment 637 Rose). [4] In the 380s BC

Sport, War and Democracy in Classical Athens 65
this four-yearly festival had agōnes for individuals in 27 distinct athletic, equestrian
and musical events (IG II2 2311.1–82). [5] In addition contests for groups were
staged for pyrrhic and dithyrambic choruses and for tribal teams of torch racers,
sailors and handsome young men (83–93). [6] These events were easily as numerous
as those of the Olympic Games, which explains why the Great Panathenaia ran for ten
days, lasting longer than any other of the city’s festivals. [7] Although this celebration
for Athena only took place every four years and several of the festivals which the city
sponsored did not have athletic or equestrian events, eight other festivals also
supported sporting contests. In particular the annual games for the war dead, the
Eleusinia, which was staged in three out of four years, and the quadrennial Herakleia
at Marathon each had a reasonably large set of athletic, equestrian and musical
events. [8] Five other festivals, which were staged every year, also featured a solitary
athletic or equestrian contest. [9]
For these festivals the Athenian demos (‘people’) not only spent public money
but co-opted the private resources of individual citizens. Upper-class Athenians
were encouraged or, if necessary, conscripted to pay for the training of choruses
and sporting teams and for other festival-related activities. [10] By funding these
liturgies generously elite citizens won the gratitude of the people, which often
translated into political support (for example, Plu. Nic. 3. 1–3) or leniency if ever
they had to face a popular jury (for example, Lys. 18. 23, 20. 31, 25. 12–13). [11]
By the 350s the city’s elite undertook around 100 festival liturgies each year. [12]
However, ancient complaints about the Athenians spending more on their major
festivals than the armed forces are wild exaggerations (D. 4. 35–7; Plu. Moralia
348f-9a); for warfare clearly used up more money than all other public activities,
usually costing several hundred talents or even more than a thousand talents each
year. But such complaints could be made, because the Athenians did fund their
festivals generously: the Great Panathenaia of the early fourth century alone cost 25
talents 1,725 drachmas, while the total figure for public and private spending on
the entire programme of city-sponsored festivals was 100 talents. [13] This last
figure was comparable to the running costs of the democracy and fully justifies
Aristophanes’ association of wealth with the ‘holding of musical and athletic
contests’ (Pl. 1161–3). [14]
The democracy of classical Athens put great store in the upkeep of the city’s
sporting fields. Leading politicians clearly got ahead in their contests for pre-eminence
by helping to develop these publicly owned assets. For example, in the fifth century
Kimon, following the precedent of the tyrants (Ath. 609d; Paus. 1. 30. 1), spent private
money renovating the Akademy (Plu. Cim. 13.7), while Perikles used public funds to
do the same to the Lykeion (Harp. s.v. ‘Lykeion’) and Alkibiades proposed a law
and modified another concerning Kynosarges (Ath. 234e; IG I3 134). [15] In the later
fourth century Lykourgos not only completed the construction of the theatre of
Dionysos in stone but also oversaw the building of the Panathenaic stadium and a
further renovation of the Lykeion (for example, IG II2 457b5–9). Athenian treasurers
also kept a close watch on the finances of these athletics fields (for example, IG I3

66 D. M. Pritchard
369), while the demos introduced an annual tax on the city’s horsemen, hoplites and
archers for the upkeep of the Lykeion (IG I3 138). [16]
By the late 430s the Athenian democracy awarded sitesis (free dining in the
Prytaneion) and ‘other gifts in addition’ for life to those citizens who had won an
athletic or equestrian event at one of the recognized panhellenic or international
games, staged every two or four years at Isthmia, Nemea, Delphi and of course
Olympia. [17] Since the Athenians never gave sitesis without proedria before the
Roman period, these ‘other gifts’ for successful sportsmen presumably included
front-row seating at the city’s dramatic, musical and sporting competitions. [18]
These two awards were among ‘the highest honours paid by a Greek city to an
individual’ and in classical Athens were also given to descendants of the tyrant-slayers
(for example, IG I3 131. 5–7; Is. 5. 47), victorious generals (for example, Aeschin. 2.
80; D. 23. 107) and politicians who had performed an extraordinary service for the
city (for example, Ar. Eq. 281–4, 709, 766, 1404; Din. 1. 101). [19] That sporting
victors were included in such an esteemed group underlines the extraordinarily high
estimation of athletic success in classical Athens.
This high standing and the public support for athletes and athletics were
reflected in the irreverent comedies of the Athenian democracy. The plays of old
comedy give the impression that ‘anyone and everyone in the public eye’ was
subject to comic ridicule’. [20] However, the comprehensive study of known
kōmoidoumenoi (‘targets of comic ridicule’) by Alan Sommerstein shows that one
group of conspicuous Athenians escaped the personal abuse of old comedy: the
city’s athletes. [21] Admittedly comic poets recognized the wrestling school as ‘the
prime arena of pederastic courtship’ and occasionally poked fun at the homosexual
predilections of athletes and their hearty eating habits. [22] In contrast to their
general treatment of other upper-class activities, however, they did not subject
athletics to sustained parody or direct criticism and clearly assumed this pursuit to
be an overwhelming good thing. For example, in Clouds Aristophanes couples the
‘old education’ (961), of which athletics is the main component (for example, 972–
84, 1002–32), with norms of citizenship and manliness. Better Argument suggests
that traditional education flourished at the same time as two of the cardinal virtues
of the Greek city, justice and sōphrosune or moderation (960–2), and nurtured ‘the
men who fought at Marathon’ (985–6). This education – according to Better
Argument – ensures a boy will have ‘a shining breast, a bright skin, big shoulders, a
minute tongue, a big rump and a small prick’ (1009–14; cf. 1002). [23] Depictions
of athletes on red-figure pots reveal most of these to be the physical attributes of
the ‘beautiful’ meirakion or youth. [24] By contrast the ‘new education’ (937–8) of
the sophists, Better Argument complains, results in ‘pale skin’ (1017) and other
undesirable physical features (1015–19), has emptied the wrestling schools
of students (915–8, 1054), and encourages them to reject traditional morality
(1019–23). [25] The play itself supports these complaints of Better Argument: the
students of the ‘new education’ are indeed pale skinned (103, 119–20, 186, 718,
1017, 1112, 1171) and physically weak (986–8) and avoid athletics (407), while

Pheidippides turns conventional morality upside down once fully trained by

Sokrates (1321–492).
These complaints exemplify a well known commonplace of old comedy, which sees
a poet praise the values and practices of the ‘good old days’, while accusing
contemporaries of abandoning them for the sake of questionable alternatives. [26]
Clouds also helps explain why poets who aimed for as many laughs as possible
subjected theatregoers to this kind of abuse. Contrary to the impression Better
Argument gives, a wide range of literary evidence shows that the ‘old education’ had
not been abandoned: although the sophists were offering new courses of study,
contemporary Athenian boys still pursued the three traditional disciplines of
education: letters, athletics and music. [27] Moreover, theatregoers – like the play’s
chorus-leader (959–60) – would have agreed with Better Argument that education
plays a critical part in imparting morality to the young; for they believed the solitary
goal of education was to turn paides (‘boys’) into agathoi andres or virtuous men (for
example, E. Supp. 912–17; Hyp. Epit. 8–9). [28] Therefore, the audience laughed at
this charge against them of having abandoned the athletically centred education of
their ancestors, because they knew it to be completely untrue and another of the
anticipated slanders of old comedy.
Aristophanes levels similar charges concerning athletics in Frogs, first staged at the
Lenaia festival of 406/5. The first occurs in the play’s famous parabasis where
Aristophanes draws an analogy between the city’s debasement of its once celebrated
coinage and its current embrace of scallywags as political leaders (718–37). In
particular the chorus complain (727–33; cf. Eq. 180–3):
Of the citizens those we know to be well born, moderate (sōphronas) and just
gentlemen who have been raised in wrestling schools, choruses and music we
maltreat. We employ instead the copper coins that are foreigners, red-headed
Thracian slaves, wicked men sprung from men wicked in everything, whom the city
formerly would not even have willingly used as scapegoats.
This is another false complaint of decline from the ‘good old days’, since,
throughout the classical period, the Athenians consistently believed that politicians
had to be wealthy and well educated if they were to advise and protect the city
effectively (for example, Ar. Eq. 147–224; Lys. 16. 20–1; Dem. 18. 256–67). [29]
Despite initial impressions, these lines bear out the perceptions that athletics is closely
associated with justice and moderation and an important component in the
normative education of the young. Later in the play Aeschylus suggests that by
teaching adolescents to be chatterboxes Euripides has emptied the wrestling school
(1068–71). ‘Because of a lack of athletic training (hup’ agumnasias)’, he continues,
‘nobody can carry a torch anymore’ (1087–8). Dionysos fully concurs, having
recently witnessed a very poor performance by a ‘pale and fat’ torch racer at the Great
Panathenaia (1089–98). These particular complaints are part of a comically absurd
attack by one dead tragedian against another in Hades and as such cannot be taken at
face value. [30] To do otherwise, we must accept that Euripides has also turned good

68 D. M. Pritchard
citizens into villains (1010–11, 1013–17), encouraged the wealthy to dress as beggars
to avoid trierarchies (1063–6), and made the city’s politicians thieving and deceiving
charlatans (1077–86). Thus we have here another slanderous joke turning around the
‘axis’ or underlying assumption that sport is normal and good. [31]
Comedians and tragedians were of course members of the Athenian upper class.
Nonetheless their plays were performed as part of the dramatic agōnes of Athenian
festivals for Dionysos. Formally the judging of these contests was in the hands of ten
magistrates. [32] But victory ultimately depended on the vocal responses of the
predominantly lower-class audience (for example, And. 4. 20–1; Ar. Av. 444–5, Ra.
778–9; Pl. Lg. 700c–2b). [33] Poets then were compelled to tailor their plays to the
dramaturgical expectations, morality and politics of non-elite citizens. Under the
democracy litigants and politicians faced a comparable performance dynamic: their
agōnes or debates were decided by the votes of lower-class jurors, assembly-goers or
councillors. As a result wealthy contenders also sought to negotiate the perceptions of
poor citizens. Significantly these debates and plays were the main forums for
developing and perpetuating the agreed communal identities and shared culture of
classical Athens. As non-elite citizens had the greatest input into the content of this
civic ideology, we might call it ‘popular culture’ and Athenian plays and oratory
‘popular literature’. [34] Therefore the overwhelmingly positive treatment of athletics
in old comedy, which also occurs in satyric drama and tragedy, reflects an important
aspect of Athenian popular culture: poor Athenians held athletics in very high regard,
which helps explain why comic criticism of known athletes was not tolerated,
panhellenic victors were rewarded lavishly, and public resources devoted to athletic
competitions and facilities. [35]
The Paradox of Sport under the Democracy

For the youths of classical Athens technical instruction and training in athletics were
given in the regular school classes of the paidotribes (‘athletics teacher’). [36] Isocrates
explains how athletics teachers instruct their pupils in ‘the moves devised for
competition’ (ta skhemata ta pros ten agōnian euremena – 15. 183). They then train
them in athletics, accustom them to toil (ponein) and compel them to combine each
of the lessons they have learnt (184). According to Isocrates, this teaching and
training turns pupils into competent athletic competitors as long as they have
sufficient natural talent (185). The picture drawn here of the paidotribes teaching
groups of students competitive athletics and overseeing their training is confirmed by
other classical Athenian authors. A few, for example, have pupils learning athletics
under a paidotribes (Ar. Eq. 1238–9; Pl. Grg. 456c–e; cf. 460d), several have him
supervising those in athletic training and one, like Isocrates, puts the teaching
(paideuō) and training (askeō) of an athlete into his hands (Pl. La. 184e). [37]
Athletics teachers are most frequently represented in classical texts or on red-figure
pots giving lessons in wrestling or in the other ‘heavy’ events of boxing and the
pankration. [38] This is not unexpected, as many of these teachers owned a palaistra

or wrestling school and some of them had been victors in such events in their youth
(for example, Pl. Men. 94c). [39] What is surprising is that we also find them teaching
and training their charges in the standard ‘track and field’ events of ancient Greek
athletics. In his Statesman Plato, for example, outlines how there are in Athens, as in
other cities, ‘very many’ supervised ‘training sessions for groups’ where instructions
are given and ponoi (‘painful toils bringing honour’) expended not just for wrestling
but also ‘for the sake of competition in the foot race or some other event’ (294d–e; cf.
Grg. 520c–d). Likewise, Antiphon has an athletics teacher conducting a class in
javelin-throwing for a group of Athenian boys in a gymasion (3. 1. 1; 3. 2. 3, 7; 3. 3. 6;
3. 4. 4, and so on). Red-figure pots, by contrast, show athletics teachers supervising
discus-throwing and the long jump as well as javelin-throwing and running. [40] All
of these events are of course the standard ones of local and international games. Thus
we can see that athletics in classical Athens consisted of two closely related activities:
festival-based agōnes and the physical education classes of traditional education (for
example, Pl. Lg. 764c–d). [41]
Athletics was one of three subjects of traditional male education in classical
Athens. [42] The other widely agreed disciplines were mousike (‘music’) and grammata
(‘letters’), to which was occasionally added choral lessons in singing and dancing
dithyrambs (for example, Aeschin. 1. 9–11; Ar. Ra. 727–30; Pl. Lg. 654a–b, 672c). [43]
The discipline of music was the preserve of the kitharistes or lyre teacher, who taught
students how to play the kithara and sing lyric poems (for example, Ar. Av. 962–72; Pl.
Prt. 326ab), while that of letters was overseen by the grammatistes or letter teacher. [44]
He instructed students in literacy and numeracy and made them memorize and recite
edifying passages of epic poetry, principally Homer (for example, Pl. Prt. 325e–26a). As
classes in each of the three main disciplines were taken concurrently, students travelled
from one educational establishment to another throughout the day (for example, Ar. Av.
963–4). [45]
Since the democracy did neither finance nor administer education, each family
made its own decisions about how long their boys would be at school and whether
they would take each of the three traditional disciplines: athletics, music and letters.
The Athenians understood very well that the number of educational disciplines a boy
could pursue and the length of his schooling depended on the resources of his
family. [46] This inequality of opportunity is succinctly captured by the Platonic
Protagoras, who explains that the three subjects of the ‘old education’ are taken by
those ‘. . . who are most able; and the most able are the wealthiest (hoi plousiōtatoi).
Their sons begin school at the earliest stage, and are freed from it at the latest’
(Pl. Prt. 326c; cf. Ap. 23c). [47]
Money determined not only whether a family could pay school fees (for example,
Ath. 584c), but also whether they could give their sons the skhole or leisure they
needed to pursue disciplines that were taught concurrently. Contemporary writers
make clear that most poor citizens were unable to afford enough household slaves
(for example, Arist. Pol. 1323a5–7; cf. Hdt. 6. 137). As a result they required their
wives and children to help run family farming or business concerns. [48] They were

70 D. M. Pritchard
aware too how this child labour markedly restricted the educational opportunities of
boys. [49]
In Sport and Festival in the Ancient Greek World I collect the evidence which shows
how, as a result of such barriers, poor Athenian families passed over music and
athletics and sent their sons only to the lessons of the letter teacher, which they
believed to be the most useful for moral and practical instruction. [50] In addition
my chapter refutes the recent argument of Nick Fisher that athletics reached down
to sub-hoplite Athenians and his interpretations of literary testimonia in its support
and demonstrates that the vast majority of the city’s torch racers were also upper-
class young men. [51] It was only wealthy boys, then, who received instruction in
each of the three disciplines of education. As the Athenian people clearly believed
training in athletics was indispensible for creditable performance (let along victory)
in a race or bout, lower-class boys and youths would have been dissuaded from
entering sporting competitions in the first place. [52] Thus in the most fully
developed democracy of premodern times athletes continued to be drawn pre-
dominantly (and possibly even exclusively) from the city’s upper class. [53]
There were other activities in classical Athens, such as the drinking party,
horsemanship, pederastic homosexuality and political leadership, which were also
preserves of the wealthy. [54] However these upper-class pursuits – in contrast to
athletics – were regularly criticized in old comedy and the other genres of popular
literature. Poor Athenians may have hoped to enjoy, one day, the lifestyle of the rich,
but they still had problems with their exclusive pursuits, frequently associating them
with stereotypical misdeeds of this social class. [55] Wealthy citizens, for example,
were criticized for their excessive enjoyment of two staples of the symposion or
drinking party: alcohol (for example, Ar. Eq. 92–4; V. 79–80; Av. 285–6; Ra. 715, 739–
40) and prostitutes (for example, Ec. 242–4). As far as the Athenian demos were
concerned, intoxicated symposiasts were prone to commit hubris or physical or
verbal assault (for example, V. 1251–67, 1299–1303) – a crime considered typical of
wealthy citizens (for example, Pl. 563–4; Lys. 24.16–17; D. 21.98, 158). They also
believed expenditure on a drinking party – along with the fancy dinner before it –
came at the expense of a wealthy citizen’s ability to pay for festival and military
liturgies, such as the chorus sponsorship and trierarchy. [56]
Popular culture also entertained mixed views of the elite’s chariot-racing and their
military service as members of the cavalry corps. We have already seen how the
Athenian demos gave two of the city’s highest honours to citizens who had been
victorious in an equestrian event at the Olympics or one of the other international
games (see above). But they also criticized chariot-racing as a waste of a practitioner’s
private resources (for example, Ar. Nu. 12–24; Th. 6. 6. 1–3, 12. 2, 15. 3) and viewed
even the ownership of a chariot as an indulgence which brought no benefit to the city
(for example, D. 21.158–9, 42. 24; cf. 18.320, 22.5–7). [57] Likewise, the city’s
horsemen may have been judged as something of real military benefit to the
democracy (for example, Ar. Eq. 1369–72; S. OC 706–19). [58] Contradictorily,
however, poor Athenians took a wealthy citizen’s preference for cavalry over hoplite

service as a sign of his cowardice (for example, Ar. Eq. 1369–72; D. 9. 49; Lys. 14. 7,
11–12, 14–15; 16. 13). [59] Pederasty too may sometimes have been viewed in a
positive light by lower-class Athenians (for example, Aeschin. 1. 135–57; Th. 2. 43.1),
but it was normally linked with the stereotypical misdeeds of the wealthy and, at
times, considered akin to male prostitution. [60] Finally, while expecting political
leaders to be wealthy and well educated, poor Athenians actually suspected them of
taking bribes and embezzling state funds (for example, Ar. Eq. 716–18, 779–80, 801–
4; Lys. 27. 6–8; 21. 12–13) and of trying to deceive the demos through manipulative
oratory (for example, Ar. Eq. 650–724; D. 35. 40–2; Lys. 27. 6).
Athletics then was highly valued and practically supported by the Athenian
democracy and escaped the often highly critical assessment that other upper-class
activities met in the city’s popular culture. Why this was the case remains an open
question. This essay argues that a major reason for this unusual treatment is the close
relationship between athletics and the new democratic style of warfare that classical
Athens developed and waged.
Popular Ideas and Modern Theories about Sport and War

There have long been competing popular ideas about the impact of sport on war,
which have spawned a range of modern theories on this relationship and helped
provoke heated debates within the social sciences. [61] Admittedly the use of theory
is not yet standard practice in our discipline, occasionally raising the ire of some of
our more traditional practitioners. However, reviewing social-science literature is of
clear utility for this study of the anomaly of Athenian athletics. [62] Doing so ensures
the discipline-based and apparently common sense assumptions we bring to this
topic are widely accepted and scientifically valid. Social-science models can also help
us to make better sense of the evidence and to develop explanations of phenomena
which go well beyond those of ancient writers.
Although the Duke of Wellington in fact never said that the battle of Waterloo was
won on the playing fields of Eton, from the later nineteenth century generations of
boys at English ‘public’ schools were made to play organized sport for the sake of
their moral fortification. [63] In particular sports such as rugby, cricket and athletics
were widely thought to teach boys of the aristocracy and haute bourgeoisie the
dispositions which they needed to run joint stock companies, administer the British
Empire and fight for the country. [64] Elite contemporaries in Europe and North
America saw these school sports as one of the secrets of Britain’s economic success
and worldwide empire and sought to establish amateur clubs for playing them in the
hope of raising the fortunes of their own countries. [65] These clubs quickly formed
national organizations, out of which were fashioned international sporting
bodies. [66] Most notable of these was the International Olympic Committee
(IOC), which constituted itself in 1894. [67] As the leading proponent of its
establishment Baron Pierre de Coubertin believed revived Olympic Games would
bring hostile countries together and encourage world peace. [68] This represented a

72 D. M. Pritchard
real change of mind on the part of de Coubertin, as, immediately after the Franco-
Prussian War of 1871, he had first been attracted to English schoolboy sports as a way
to ready France for a war of revenge against Germany. [69]
Drawing explicitly on his own experience of a ‘public’ school and the Indian
Imperial Police, George Orwell came to somewhat different conclusions about war
and sport in a newspaper column published in December 1945. The Soviet Union
had recently sent over one of its premier soccer teams to play local British clubs
ostensibly for the sake of maintaining cordial relations between the two wartime
allies. [70] However, things did not go according to plan: after controversies over
team selection and refereeing, violent confrontations on the playing field, and
unsporting behaviour from the spectators, the Soviet team left England prematurely
after only two games. For Orwell this debacle of the Moscow Dynamos was due to
aggressive nationalism and vindicated the widely held scepticism about the supposed
potential of international sport to foster peaceful coexistence. [71] Although he was
not the first columnist to express the view that international sport increases ill will
between nations and hence the likelihood of war, his column has certainly become its
most memorable rehearsal. ‘Even if’, he wrote, ‘one didn’t know from concrete examples
(the 1936 Olympic Games, for instance) that international sporting contests lead to
orgies of hatred, one could deduce it from the general principles’. Orwell suggests that
the linking of a sporting team and its performance to ‘some larger unit’ inevitably
arouses ‘the most combative instincts’. At the international level this encourages
spectators – along with entire nations – to believe that ‘running, jumping and kicking a
ball are tests of national virtue’ and to countenance winning at any cost. [72] As a result,
Orwell concludes, ‘Serious sport has nothing to do with fair play. It is bound up with
hatred, jealousy, boastfulness, disregard of all rules and sadistic pleasure in witnessing
violence: in other words it is war minus the shooting.’ [73]
Needless to say the International Olympic Committee has never heeded any such
criticism of the ‘Olympic ideology’ about international sport and peace. [74] Its
successive presidents have shared de Coubertin’s view that the promoting of world
peace and the reconciling of warring nations are the chief purpose of the games. [75]
Likewise, the organizing committee of the Athens 2004 Olympic Games claimed:
In the ancient Olympic Games, a truce was declared so that what is good and
ennobling in humankind would prevail. The Games today are the greatest
celebration of humanity, an event of joy and optimism to which the whole world is
invited to compete peacefully. [76]
Thus ‘. . . what matters most is to share the common vision of promoting peace and
friendship among all the people of the world, through the noble competition in
sport.’
Although continuing to present the games as a hallowed means of promoting
world peace, the Olympic movement has not explained how ‘noble competition in
sport’ might achieve this pacifying end. By contrast, coherent ideas about the impact
of sport on individual aggression and a nation’s propensity to wage war have long

had currency in the popular cultures of the western world. For example, US coaches
of basketball and American football believe that playing sport is a safe way to reduce
aggression, reinforces socially constructive values and hence reduces the likelihood of
war, while sports journalists cherish the idea that the watching of sport alone can
dissipate aggression. [77] Like sports writers, players of aggressive sports also believe
more strongly than others that spectators of such games enjoy a ‘symbolic catharsis’
of their aggression. [78] Nor are such ideas confined to sports insiders. A recent
social-psychology study of Canadians, for example, suggests that a majority of the
general public think playing or even watching aggressive sport reduces an individual’s
aggressiveness. [79] Moreover, Hollywood movies, self-help books and other
examples of US popular culture consistently endorse the closely related popular
idea that ‘blowing off steam’ by means of playing an aggressive sport or, for example,
punching a pillow is a safe way to reduce one’s anger. [80]
Within the social sciences this popular view of sport as a ‘safety valve’ for
aggression has been integrated into different theories of catharsis, which can be traced
back to Freud and Aristotle. [81] One of the most influential (and certainly the only
one to be the subject of a best-selling book) is the so-called drive-discharge model of
catharsis promulgated by Konrad Lorenz from the early 1960s. [82] As a pioneer of
ethology Lorenz argued that aggression is an innate drive, which constantly
accumulates in animals or humans as aggressive tension. For Lorenz this
accumulation is similar to the operation of a steam boiler: aggressive tension builds
up to a point where it must be released either as a spontaneous explosion or in a
series of controlled discharges. Thus aggression can be safely vented through socially
acceptable activities, such as sport. Notwithstanding the teaching of self-control and
fair play, Lorenz explains, ‘the main function of sport today lies in the cathartic
discharge of the aggressive urge’. [83] In general, his model predicts an inverse
relationship of sport with aggression and warfare. [84]
This drive-discharge model of catharsis may still be drawn on favourably by
historians of ancient Greek sport, but it is now thoroughly discredited within the
social sciences. [85] As Brian Ferguson explains, at the conceptual level it has come
under intense criticism from psychologists and physiologists for oversimplifying

the complex phenomenon of aggression, from physical anthropologists and
biologists for fallaciously extrapolating from animals to humans, and from cultural
anthropologists for ignoring observed cultural variation in responses to threat and
stress and confusing the individual and social levels. [86]
The model has also been repeatedly challenged on empirical grounds. In particular,
for the last 35 years social psychologists have shown that what Lorenz’s model
predicts about competitive sport and aggression – along with comparable popular
ideas – are entirely unfounded: far from an inverse relationship, sport manifestly
increases aggressiveness. [87] For example, an empirical study of students at Indiana
University in the early 1970s found that the everyday level of unprovoked aggression
among those playing contact sports was much higher than those who played no sport

74 D. M. Pritchard
whatsoever. [88] Sport seems to have a similar impact on spectators. Interviews at the
1969 Army–Navy gridiron game in Philadelphia showed that male spectators were
much more aggressive after the event, regardless of whether their preferred team won
or lost. [89] A similar study achieved the same results with Canadian spectators of ice
hockey and professional wrestling: watching either event not only significantly raised
the general aggressiveness of males and females but diminished their ability to
interact cooperatively with others. [90] These results, the study concludes, ‘call into
question an assumption that sports events are necessarily rich social occasions where
goodwill and warm interpersonal relations are fostered’. [91]
Successive social psychologists have also cast doubt on the related popular idea
that ‘blowing off steam’ can safely reduce anger. [92] One to have done so recently is
Brad Bushman, whose study tests how three different ‘safe’ activities moderate the
anger and aggression undergraduates feel, after receiving harsh and demonstrably
unfair comments on a piece of written work. [93] In response to this unjust
provocation, his first group of students pounded a punching bag, while ruminating
about the professor who had enraged them; the second also punched the bag but
thought instead of getting physically fit; and the third simply sat quietly. Bushman’s
results again confound popular thinking. The angriest and most aggressive group
were the first, while the second were less angry but no less aggressive. Those with the
lowest levels of anger and aggression were the ones who had not ‘blown off steam’.
For social psychologists such results lend strong support to alternate models of
human aggression, which postulate that aggressive stimuli reinforce comparable
actions and thoughts, such as the social-learning theory or the cognitive-
neoassociation theory. [94] This last theory – the culmination of three decades of
research by Leonard Berkowitz – proposes that aggression-related experiences form
an associative network in a person’s memory, with similar connections existing
between potential emotional and behavioural responses to aggression. [95] Thus an
aggression-related thought activates memories of earlier averse events and primes
aggressive feelings and potential responses, thus increasing the likelihood of actual
violent behaviour.
Another social science discipline to challenge the drive-discharge theory of
catharsis is anthropology. Its practitioners have habitually assumed that human
aggression is not an innate quality but something that is learnt or, at the very least,
entirely shaped by sociocultural factors. [96] Some have also assumed that common
values inform disparate social activities and that large patterns of a culture tend to
support each other. Claude Lévi-Strauss for one assumes that different structures of
signification in a culture tend to ‘overlap, intersect and reinforce one another’. [97]
Interestingly, evidentiary support for such assumptions has long come from the
cultural history of ancient Greece by Jean-Pierre Vernant, who co-opted some of
the structuralist methods of Lévi-Strauss and Dumézil. [98] Vernant’s research on the
‘historical psychology’ of the Greeks, while sensitive to cultural contradiction and
dissonance, has time and again shown how mythology’s structures of meaning are
implicit in political, religious and social practices and how symmetries and reciprocal

interactions exist between large patterns of thought. [99] Finally Günther Lüschen
has inferred from anthropological case studies and sociological research on modern
societies that ‘sport is indeed an expression of that socio-cultural system in which it
occurs’. [100] For Lüschen sport not only bears out a society’s values and norms
but also ‘socializes’ towards them and helps articulate and legitimize its social
structures. [101]
In a widely acclaimed study Richard Sipes draws these assumptions and findings
together in a new theory concerning sport and war, which he calls the ‘cultural
pattern model’. [102] His model views the ‘intensity and configuration’ of aggression
as ‘predominantly cultural characteristics’. It also assumes ‘. . . a strain toward
consistency in each culture, with similar values and behaviour patterns, such as
aggressiveness, tending to manifest in more than one area of culture’. As a result,
behaviours and cultural patterns ‘relative to war and warlike sports tend to overlap
and support each other’s presence’. [103] His model predicts a direct relationship
between combative sports and war: such sports are more likely to occur in warlike
societies than peaceful ones. In order to test the validity of his cultural pattern model
as opposed to that of the drive-discharge theory of catharsis, Sipes conducts a
quantitative analysis of 20 premodern societies, including the Aztecs, Kung Bushmen
and Copper Eskimos. [104] His results are decisive: of the ten ‘warlike’ societies nine
have ‘combative sports’, whereas eight of the ten ‘non-warlike’ societies lack such
sports. [105] Therefore, his cross-cultural analysis confirms that ‘war and combative
type sports’ are not ‘alternative channels for the discharge of accumulable aggressive
tensions’. [106] Rather, in any one society they ‘appear to be components of a
broader cultural pattern’.
The Cultural Overlap between Sport and War

Classical Athenians described and thought of athletics and war with a common set of
words and concepts. [107] Although no ancient writer comments explicitly on this
cultural overlap or provides concepts for its analysis, the cultural-pattern model of
sport and war highlights its significance for the standing of sport in classical Athens.
Indeed this proven explanation provides a very plausible hypothesis for explaining
the anomaly of Athenian athletics. What is more, this relationship between social
science and ancient history need not be a one-way street; for, if this hypothesis is
proven as well for classical Athens, the wealth of evidence which is available for this
city means we can do what has not been attempted for any other historical case study.
We can detail the so-called causal mechanisms which brought about this mutually
supporting relationship between sport and war. [108]
Athens of the fifth century intensified and transformed the waging of war and
killed tens of thousands of fellow Greeks. [109] By the time its democracy was fully
consolidated, in the 450s, war had come to dominate the politics and popular culture
of the city and the lives of its citizens. War consumed more money than all other
public activities combined (see above), was waged more frequently than ever before,

76 D. M. Pritchard
and was the main topic of debate in the democratic council and assembly. [110] The
city’s military power and frequent victories were constantly glorified and legitimized
in the city’s public art and architecture, public discourse and civic ceremony. [111]
War then was a prominent and highly esteemed subject of Athenian popular culture.
As a consequence, its ideological affinity with sport would have impacted positively
on the general standing of athletics and athletes.
The most fundamental aspect of this cultural overlap was that battle and an athletic
or equestrian competition were considered an agōn or a contest decided by mutually
agreed rules. [112] Today liberal democracies, sometimes, wage war contrary to
international law and break the Geneva Convention in the course of their occupation
of captured territory and open-ended incarceration of ‘militants’ or ‘unlawful
combatants’. In such circumstances it is easy to forget that war in the western world
was once regulated by widely discussed conventions and customs, limited in its scale
and impact on civilian populations, and viewed as a legitimate way to settle
outstanding disputes between nation-states. [113] The regular hoplite battle of
classical Greece was no exception, being as it was ‘a test as rule-bound as a
tournament’. [114]
Thus a Greek city informed another of its intention to attack by sending a herald
(cf. Th. 1. 29. 1). By agreement their phalanxes met in an agricultural plain – the best
topography for Greek land warfare (for example, Hdt. 7. 9. 2; Pl. Moralia 193e). [115]
After hours of hand-to-hand fighting, the decisive moment was the trope (‘turning’),
when the hoplites of one side broke up and ran for their lives (for example, E. Heracl.
841–2). The victors pursued them only for a short distance, as they had much left to
do on the field of battle. There they collected the bodies of their dead comrades,
stripped the bodies of the enemy, and used some of the weapons and armour so
acquired to set up a tropaion (‘trophy’) on the exact spot where the trope had
occurred (for example, E. Heracl. 786–7; Th. 4. 44. 2–3). When the defeated had time
to regroup, they sent a herald to those controlling the battlefield for a truce to collect
their dead (for example, Th. 4. 97. 2). Custom dictated that the victors could not
honourably refuse this request (for example, Lys. 2. 9–10). But asking for such a truce
was recognized as the decisive proof of a concession of defeat (for example, Hdt. 1.82;
Th. 4. 44. 5–6).
For classical Athenians the agōnes of athletics and war also tested the moral fibre
and physical capacities of individual sportsmen and soldiers. The best evidence for
the ideology of athletics comes of course from Pindar, whose poems for victorious
sportsmen were usually performed immediately after their victory at a sporting
festival or upon their triumphal return home. [116] This sporting ideology
remained relatively unchanged from the fifth century until the later Roman empire,
while literary and archaeological evidence confirm its currency in Athens during the
classical period. [117] In the songs of Pindar victory in a ‘heavy’ or ‘track and field’
event depends on, and confirms, the arete or manly excellence of the sportsman
(for example, I. 1. 15–28, 42–5; O. 6. 9–10; N. 6. 23–4), which is frequently
presented as a moral quality inherited from ancestors (for example, I. 3. 13–14;

O. 10. 20–1, 12). [118] Pindar believed that victory also depended on the support
of a ‘divine being’, ‘god’ or a named Olympian deity (for example, O. 13. 104–6; P.
10. 10) and sang of the prayers for victory that sportsmen made (for example, O. 4.
12–14). [119] Athletic victors of fifth-century Athens made dedications to Athena
on the Akropolis (for example, IG I3 826, 893) and at Sounion, presumably as
thanks-offerings for her answering of their prayers, while fellow citizens clearly
believed in divine intervention at sporting contests (for example, S. El. 697–9). [120]
For Pindar few athletes gained victory without ponoi or painful toils bringing
honour (O. 10. 22). [121] A sporting agōn involves many toils (for example, I. 5.22–
5; O. 6. 9–11, 10. 22–3; N. 6. 23–4) and can even be described as a ponos
itself (for example, I. 4. 47). Pindar also made much of the ponoi and expense
of athletic education (for example, I. 1. 42–5, 6. 10–11; O. 5.7–8) and the expertise
of the athletics teacher, which he considered another precondition for sporting
success (for example, I. 4. 70–2; N. 4. 93–6, 6. 66–9; O. 8. 54–66). Classical
Athenians also acknowledged the toils athletes endured in competition (for
example, E. Alc. 1025–6) and in the classes of the athletics teacher, which, along
with Pindar, they saw as a prerequisite for competent sporting performance and
victory (see above). [122] Pindar presented defeat as a source of shame: the
sportsman who does not win must travel home down back streets, avoiding the
taunts of enemies and even the company of friends (O. 8. 69; P. 8. 83–7; fragment
229 Race). [123] What for us is an exceedingly unsportsmanlike attitude is, as
Bowra writes, the logical outcome of Pindar’s general explanation for sporting
victory:
If men win in the Games because they have a natural talent, work hard and enjoy
the support of the gods, it follows that, if they fail, they must be lacking in one or
more of these qualifications. The defeated are those who, when put to the test, fail,
and Pindar feels justified in deriding them. [124]
This moral reasoning was partially explicated by Xenophon: the capable athlete who
chooses not to compete in panhellenic games is deilos or cowardly (Mem. 3. 7. 1; cf.
Paus. 5. 21. 18).
Pindar assumed that sporting contests entailed kindunoi or dangers (for example,
O. 5. 7–8; 6. 9–11) – something which was clearly the case for the ‘heavy’ events of
Greek athletics. [125] For example, the himantes or hand- and arm-bindings of the
boxer were designed (like knuckledusters) to protect his hands and to injure his
opponent, while the winner of a boxing bout emerged only when one boxer gave up
or was bashed unconscious. [126] Unsurprisingly boxers were occasionally killed (for
example, Paus. 8. 40. 1–5; SEG 22. 354), and depictions of them on black- and red-
figure pots frequently show blood streaming from their faces. [127] Wrestling and the
pankration were no less violent (for example, Paus. 6. 4. 2, 8. 40. 3–5). There are eight
documented examples of deaths during such ‘heavy’ events at international games.
[128] ‘Track and field’ events were also perceived as potentially dangerous: for
example, Antiphon assumed a boy might be transfixed by a javelin during an athletics

78 D. M. Pritchard
class (for example, 3. 1. 2, 3. 2. 3, 3. 3. 6), while mythology had Hyakinthos

accidentally killed by a discus (for example, E. Hel. 1469–74). [129]
Classical Athenians accounted for military success in the same moral and religious
terms as sporting victory. In the speeches delivered at the public funeral for the city’s
war dead victory depended, not on tactics or strategy, but on the arete of Athenian
soldiers (for example, D. 60. 21; Lys. 2. 4–6, 20, 64–5; Pl. Mx. 240d), which it was also
said to confirm (for example, Lys. 2. 24; Pl. Mx. 243c; cf. Hdt. 9. 71). [130] For
example, Hyperides explains (Epit. 17): ‘. . . the general is responsible for good
counsel but those willing to run risks (kindunein) with their bodies for victory’.
Courage in battle required a hoplite to remain steadfast in the battle line, with a
secondary requirement being the performance of martial deeds. [131] In doing so a
soldier was without fear (Lys. 14. 15) and voluntarily accepted the possibility of ‘a
sudden wound of the spear’ (E. HF 159–64) or death (for example, Ph. 999–1002;
Lys. 2. 14–15; Th. 2. 42. 4). For classical Athenians such possibilities had to be faced,
as battle was full of kindunoi or dangers. [132] Classical Athenians boasted of course
that they did not have to practise ‘toils’, like the Spartans, to be courageous, since
theirs was a natural arete (Th. 2. 34. 4), which they had inherited from their mythical
and historical ancestors. [133] Nonetheless they firmly believed that battle – like a
sporting contest – involved ponoi and that their toils were responsible for the empire,
military power and greatness of fifth-century Athens. [134] In this moral accounting
of military outcomes defeat was due only to the cowardice of the enemy (for example,
D. 60. 25, E. Or. 1475–88; Lys. 2. 64–5) and aiskhune (‘sense/fear of shame’) had an
important part to play. [135] Cowardice was considered aiskhros (‘shameful’), while
the fear of shame encouraged Athenian soldiers to be brave. [136]
The Greeks believed the gods lent a hand in battlefield victory. [137] Thus classical
Athenians prayed for divine aid before and during battle (for example, Lys. 2. 39; Th.
6. 32. 1), and felt obliged to thank those who had answered their prayers (for
example, S. Aj. 175–7). Indeed Aeschylus has the Theban leader Eteokles, before a
battle, promise trophies, sacrifices and dedications to his city-protecting deities, if
they now save the city (Th. 271–80). [138] In victory Athenian soldiers did use
captured arms and armour to set up a trophy (for example, Th. 2. 92. 4; 4. 44. 3),
which they understood as a thanks-offering to Zeus (for example, E. Ph. 1250–1).
Likewise, their generals made sacrifices to city-protecting gods and demi-gods who
had also helped them win (for example, Paus. 10. 11. 6). [139] Along with other
Greeks, the Athenians also used a tenth of their booty to make dedications in local or
panhellenic sanctuaries (for example, Hdt. 5. 55; IG I3 501), thus helping to turn
temples into ‘virtual war-museums’. [140]
The Democratization Of War

Athens of the fifth century not only revolutionized the waging of war but significantly
broadened military participation. With the emergence of democracy war quickly
became the preserve of every strata of the citizen-body, attracting thousands upon

thousands of lower-class soldiers. Their new experiences of battle were represented in

terms of the traditional moral explanation of victory on the battlefield and sports
field. While Athenian democracy may not have changed the monopoly of the upper
class on active sporting participation, the practical and ideological opening up of war
profoundly altered the way lower-class Athenians perceived of athletes and athletics.
Poor citizens now had personal experience of an activity which was thought to be
very similar to elite sport. As a result they could identify more easily with the goals,
exertions and achievements of wealthy sportsmen. Certainly the cultural overlap of
sport and war in its own right had a positive impact on the standing of sport and
sportsmen. But it was this new non-elite affinity with athletics, made possible by the
democratization of war, which explains more than any other factor the paradoxically
high standing of athletics under the Athenian democracy.
Military affairs did not dominate the public life of Athens in the sixth century as it
did in the next century. [141] Wars were waged very infrequently and initiated
privately by clan leaders (for example, Plu. Sol. 9. 1). The hoplites of each campaign
numbered in the hundreds rather than the thousands and came predominantly from
the city’s upper class. How they represented their soldiering can be seen on archaic
black- and red-figure pottery. [142] Its imagery suggests that upper-class Athenians
drew on the values and ideas of epic poetry to represent and glorify their own martial
deeds. [143] A good example of this epic influence concerns the scenes of a hoplite
killed in action or his corpse being carried back to the city. [144] Homeric heroes
explicate how they will gain everlasting renown and memory of their youthfulness if
they die bravely in battle (for example, Hom. Il. 12. 318–28; 22. 71–3, 304–5; cf. 22.
362–4). [145] By this ‘beautiful death’ a hero gains a categorical confirmation of
his arete, which is reflected in the beauty of his corpse (for example, 22. 71–3,
369–71). [146] Painters sometimes represent this arete of the hoplite killed in action
by painting in a lion – one of the animals Homer uses as a symbol of a hero’s martial
excellence (for example, Hom. Il. 5. 782; Od. 18. 161, 11. 611). [147] They also evoke
his attaining of the ‘beautiful death’ of the heroes by giving him alone of the painted
figures long hair and – along with his bearer – a Boiotian shield. Homer repeatedly
draws attention to the long hair of his warrior heroes (for example, Hom. Il. 3. 43; 2.
443, 472; 18. 359), while warriers who are named on Attic pots as mythical heroes are
given the Boiotian shield. [148]
Fifth-century Athens opened soldiering – like politics – to every strata of the
citizen-body. [149] This marked expansion of military participation began with the
reforms Kleisthenes introduced after 508/7 (Ath. Pol. 20–1; Hdt. 5. 66–73). [150]
These not only made the demos the final arbiters of public policy but formally unified
Athens and its countryside for the first time. [151] Each free male of Attike was now
registered as a citizen of Athens in his local deme and clusters of these villages and
suburbs were linked together in ten tribes. These new registers were used to conscript
hoplites for each tribal corps for most of the classical period (for example, Ar. Pax
1173, 1179–86; IG I3 138. 1–2, 5–6). [152] This was the city’s first-ever mechanism for
mass mobilization, helping it to raise thousands of hoplites in future campaigns (for

80 D. M. Pritchard
example, Th. 2. 13. 6–7). Soldiering was made possible for the majority of citizens
who were too poor to be hoplites by the decision of the Athenian demos, in 483/2, to
build a large navy and by their ongoing commitment to its maintenance. [153] A
changing proportion of sailors in the fleet may have been resident aliens (for
example, Th. 1. 143. 1, 7. 63. 3–4), allies (for example, 1. 121. 3, 7. 13. 2) and slaves
(for example, 7. 13. 2). [154] But the largest portion (numbering thousands per
expedition) was clearly Athenian (for example, Th. 1. 142. 6, 8. 74–7; Ps.-X. 1. 2).
The common performance dynamic of the democracy gave non-elite Athenians
real power to shape civic ideology according to their morality and perspective. As a
consequence, the traditional moral explanation of victory, which had once been the
preserve of epic heroes and the city’s elite, was now applied to their own military
activities. [155] This ideological democratization of war can be observed best in the
collective funeral for the war dead, held each year when Athenians were killed in
action (Th. 2. 34. 1, 7–8). [156] Their ashes were placed in ten caskets (one for each
tribe) and displayed for three days in the city’s marketplace (2). On the day of the
funeral they were carried to the public cemetery (4–5) where they were placed in ‘a
beautiful and grandiose tomb’ (Pl. Mx. 234c; cf. X. HG 2. 4. 7). Such tombs were
adorned with statues of lions and friezes of hoplites killing opponents that signified
the arete of those being buried. [157] They also had epigrams explaining that the dead
had put their arete beyond doubt, leaving behind an eternal memory of gallantry (for
example, IG I3 1179. 3, 8–9; 1162. 48). Finally, each tomb displayed a complete list of
the year’s casualties, including citizen sailors, which was organized by tribes (1142–
93). [158] The funeral oration traditionally delivered after the burial always outlined
how the war dead had met ‘the most beautiful’ death: by falling in battle for the city
they had gained ageless praise and renown and a deathless remembrance not only of
their arete but also of their youthfulness. [159]
Under the democracy non-elite Athenians killed in action were not the only
soldiers to be favourably discussed in the traditional language and concepts of
military performance. The funeral orators themselves were bountiful in this regard.
[160] As Sokrates explains to a young companion,
They laud the city by all means, those who died in war and our ancestors, all men
who went before, and praise us too who are still alive. Being so praised by them, I
for my part, Menexenos, am made to feel very noble. [161]
Thus most battles described by funeral speeches reveal ‘the Athenians’ (not just the
war dead) to be ‘courageous men’ (for example, Lys. 2. 27, 52, 70; Pl. Mx. 245e–46a),
who surpass all other Greeks in arete. [162] Alternatively they make flattering
generalizations about decades of Athenian warfare (for example, D. 60.11). A good
example is the summary of the Athenian empire by Lysias: as a result of their ‘very
many toils (ponōn), conspicuous contests (agonōn) and outstanding dangers
(kindunōn)’, the Athenians made Greece free, ruled the sea for seventy years and
brought political equality to their allies (Lys. 2. 55–6). Critically funeral orators make
no distinction between hoplites and sailors: victory at sea reveals Athenian arete no

less than on land. [163] Nor was this extension of traditional martial values to sailors
confined to the collective funeral. For example, in his tragedy The Persians Aeschylus
acknowledges the bravery of the Athenian sailors at the battle of Salamis (Pers. 394;
cf. IG I3 503/4. 1–4) and draws heavily on epic phraseology to describe their efforts.
[164] Aristophanes sees ‘hard toil’ in fighting land battles, besieging cities and rowing
(V. 684–5), while the Athenian general Phormio, apart from describing a sea battle as
an agōn (Th. 2. 89. 8, 10; cf. A. Pers. 405), thinks it involves ‘dangers’ (11) and bravery
(3; cf. 2. 86. 4, 8–9) on the part of sailors.
Conclusion
The Athenian people authorized the spending of public money on sport, discouraged
attacks on sportsmen by the poets of old comedy, and gave sporting victors lavish
awards. Such public support and high estimation occurred in spite of athletics
remaining a predominantly upper-class pursuit under the democracy. Sport of course
was not the only preserve of elite Athenians. But in contrast to the mannered
drinking-party, pederasty, horsemanship and political leadership, it escaped the
otherwise persistent criticism of upper-class activities in Athenian popular culture. A
major reason for this paradoxical situation is the close relationship between athletics
and the new democratic style of warfare classical Athens developed and waged.
Classical Athenians conceived of athletic contests and battles in identical terms: they
were agōnes involving ponoi, with victory in both depending on the arete of the
competitors. Although Athenian warfare, in the sixth century, was a predominantly
elite activity, in the next it was subject to a profound democratization practically and
ideologically. With the creation of a city-based army of hoplites and a huge navy and
the introduction of military pay, soldiering was opened up to every class of Athenian.
Under the democracy the power non-elite citizens had to shape the city’s culture
ensured that every hoplite or sailor was now recognized for his arete and ponoi in
battle and considered equally responsible for victory. As a result, lower-class citizens
came to believe that upper-class athletes exhibited the same moral qualities and
experienced the same ordeals as they did when fighting battles. This non-elite affinity
with the values of sport ruled out public criticism of athletes and underwrote the
exceptionally high standing of athletics under the democracy. Thus the democratic
style of warfare in classical Athens legitimized and supported elite sport.
Acknowledgements
Earlier drafts of this essay were delivered as papers, in 2008, at the Australian
Archaeological Institute at Athens, India International Centre, Jawaharlal Nehru
University and the University of Texas (Arlington and Austin); in 2007, at the
American University of Beirut and Monash University; in 2006, at the 27th conference
of the Australasian Society for Classical Studies, convened by the University of
Tasmania (Hobart), Brown University and the fourth Celtic Conference, convened by

82 D. M. Pritchard
the University of Wales (Lampeter); in 2005, at the annual meeting of the Canadian
Classical Association, which was held at the Banff Center and conveyed by the
University of Calgary, Cardiff University, Nagoya University, University College
London and an afternoon of papers at the University of Sydney to honour the career of
Dr Jim O’Neil; and, in 2004, at the University of Melbourne, the University of
Canterbury, Otago University, and a conference on Athens from ancient times to the
present, which was convened by the Discipline of Modern Greek at Macquarie
University. The author is grateful for the helpful comments of those who heard the
paper. For their generous responses to his queries or valuable feedback on earlier
drafts special thanks go to Alastair Blanshard, Nigel Crowther, Eric Csapo, Nick
Fisher, Mark Golden, Tom Hubbard, Indivar Kamtekar, Don Kyle, Hideki Ohira,
Patrick O’Sullivan, Harry Pleket, Kurt Raaflaub, Louis Rawlings, Vince Rosivach,
Richard Seaford, Nigel Spivey, Akiko Tomatsuri, Hans van Wees, Peter Wilson and
Sumio Yoshitake. He also acknowledges the valuable suggestions of this volume’s
editor and his anonymous referee.
Notes
[1] The abbreviations of ancient authors and ancient texts which this essay uses are those of
Liddell and Scott, A Greek–English Lexicon. IG abbreviates Inscriptiones Graecae and SEG
stands for Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum. The abbreviations of journal-titles follow
L’année philologique. Unless otherwise indicated, all translations of the Greek are my own.
This essay canvasses some arguments from my forthcoming book War minus the Shooting:
Sport, War and Democracy in Classical Athens.
[2] Osborne, ‘Competitive Festivals and the Polis’, 27.
[3] This so-called Small Panathenaia did not have a programme of agōnes (Tracy, ‘Games at the
Lesser Panathenaia?’).
[4] Shear, ‘Polis and Panathenaia’, 29–38 with primary sources pace Neils, ‘The Panathenaia’,
14–15.
[5] These figures are based on the restoration of this inscribed list of prizes by Julia Shear (‘Prizes
from Athens’, especially 103–5).
[6] Kyle, Athletics in Ancient Athens, 190–4; ‘The Panathenaic Games’, 94–7; and Shear, ‘Polis
and Panathenaia’, 322–49. While the surviving portion of the prize-list does not mentioned
dithyrambic contests, they were probably part of the Great Panathenaia as they certainly
were of the festival’s annual version (Lys. 21. 2; Ps.-X. 3. 4; Davies, ‘Demosthenes on
Liturgies’, 37; Shear, ‘Polis and Panathenaia’, 323–31; and Wilson, The Athenian Institution
of the Khoregia, 40).
[7] Miller, ‘The Organization and Functioning of the Olympic Games’ reconstructs the Olympic
programme at the end of the fourth century. For the duration of the Great Panathenaia,
see Kyle, Sport and Spectacle in the Ancient World, 157–8; and Shear, ‘Polis and Panathenaia’,
383–4.
[8] For the games of the war dead, see Ath. Pol. 58. 1; D. 60. 1; Lys. 2. 80; Pl. Mx. 249b; Kyle,
Athletics in Ancient Athens, 44–5; Parker, Athenian Religion, 132; and Polytheism and Society
at Athens, 469–70. For the Eleusinia, see Pi. I. 1. 57; O. 9. 99; 13. 110; IG I3 988; II2 1672. 258–
61; Kyle, Athletics in Ancient Athens, 47; Parker, Polytheism and Society at Athens, 201–2, 468–
9. For the Herakleia, see Ath. Pol. 54. 7; D. 19. 125; Pi. O. 9. 84–94; P. 8. 78–9; IG I3 3; Kyle,
Athletics in Ancient Athens, 46–7; Parker, Polytheism and Society at Athens, 473. For the scale

of their programmes, see Pritchard, ‘Costing Festivals and War in Democratic Athens’. The
staging of contests at the Olympieia and Theseia is far from certain: there is no evidence their
programmes of Hellenistic times date back to the classical period (Parker, Polytheism and
Society at Athens, 477, 483–4 pace Kyle, Athletics in Ancient Athens, 40–1, 46).
[9] The festivals for Hephaistos, Pan and Prometheus each had a torch race (Hdt. 6. 105; IG I3
82. 3–5; Davies, ‘Demosthenes on Liturgies’, 35–7; Kyle, Athletics in Ancient Athens, 90–3). In
addition there was a torch race on horseback at the Bendideia (Pl. R. 327a–8b) and probably
also a foot race for youths carrying vine-branches at the Oskhophoria (Kyle, Athletics in
Ancient Athens, 47–8).
[10] Pritchard, ‘Kleisthenes, Participation and the Dithyrambic Contests of Late Archaic and
Classical Athens’, 213, note 27 with primary sources.
[11] For this political support, see Wilson, The Athenian Institution of the Khoregia, 109–97. For
liturgies as a means to win the kharis (‘gratitude’) of jurors, see Dover, Greek Popular
Morality in the Time of Aristotle and Plato, 176–7; and Ober, Mass and Elite in Democratic
Athens, 231–3.
[12] Davies, ‘Demosthenes on Liturgies’.
[13] Pritchard, ‘Costing Festivals and War in Democratic Athens’.
[14] Hansen costs the democracy’s honorary decrees and its payment of assembly goers,
councillors and jurors at 92 to 112 talents per year in the 330s (Hansen, The Athenian
Democracy in the Age of Demosthenes, 98, 150, 189, 241, 254–5, 315–6). The salary bill for the
democracy would have been slightly lower a century early (Kallet, ‘Accounting for Culture in
Fifth-Century Athens’, 46).
[15] For the city’s three gymnasia or athletics fields, see Humphreys, ‘The Nothoi of Kynosarges’;
Kyle, Athletics in Ancient Athens, 56–92, Sport and Spectacle in the Ancient World, 168–70;
Miller, Ancient Greek Athletics, 184–5; and Tyrell, The Smell of Sweat, 156–75.
[16] See Jameson, ‘Apollo Lykeios in Athens’.
[17] IG I3 131. 11–18; cf. Ath. 237f; Ar. Eq. 535; Pl. Ap. 36d–e. That these honours were
introduced well before the late 430s is suggested by the so-called Prytaneion Decree (IG I3
131), which confirmed grants of public dining for sportsmen and others that were
considered traditional (5) or had already been mentioned in an earlier decree (14–15, 18).
The letter-forms of IG I3 131 date to the 440s. For the restoration of this fragmentary
inscription, see now Kyle, Athletics in Ancient Athens, 145–7; Morrissey, ‘Victors in the
Prytaneion Decree’; and Thompson, ‘More on the Prytaneion Decree’.
[18] Morrissey, ‘Victors in the Prytaneion Decree’, 124.
[19] Miller, The Prytaneion, 4–13 with primary sources.
[20] Sommerstein, ‘How to Avoid Being a Komodoumenos’, 333.
[21] Ibid., 331.
[22] Quotation from Hubbard, ‘Pindar’s Tenth Olympian and Athlete–Trainer Pederasty’, 142.
Also see Bilinski, L’agonistica sportiva nella grecia antica, 50–7. For the association of athletics
and pederasty, see Ar. Av. 136–42; Nu. 177–9, 972–8, 989, 1014; Pax 762–3; V. 1025; Eup.
fragment 65 Kassel and Austin. A fragment of new comedy has an athlete speak in comically
inflated terms about his eating habits (Theophil. fragment 8 Kassel and Austin).
[23] Translation from Sommerstein, Aristophanes Clouds, 109.
[24] Dover, Greek Homosexuality, 70; and Padgett, ‘The Stable Hands of Dionysos’, 46–7.
[25] Tarrant, ‘Competition and the Intellectual’, 351.
[26] Heath, Political Comedy in Aristophanes, 23–4; Pelling, Literary Texts and the Greek Historian,
135; Pritchard, ‘The Fractured Imaginary: Popular Thinking on Citizen Soldiers and Warfare
in Fifth-Century Athens’, 50; and Redfield, ‘Drama and Community’, 331.
[27] Pritchard, ‘Athletics, Education and Participation in Classical Athens’, 302, 306–7 with
ancient testimonia.

84 D. M. Pritchard
[28] Pritchard, ‘Athletics, Education and Participation in Classical Athens’, 308 with ancient
testimonia.
[29] For such expectations about political leaders, see Pelling, Literary Texts and the Greek
Historian, 13–14; and Pritchard, ‘The Fractured Imaginary: Popular Thinking on Citizen
Soldiers and Warfare in Fifth-Century Athens’, 67–70 with references.
[30] Pace Fisher, ‘Gymnasia and the Democratic Values of Leisure’, 90–1.
[31] Pelling explains (in Literary Texts and the Greek Historian, 126) that: ‘All fantasy, it is
increasingly realised, is historically situated: not just in the sense that one cannot fantasise or
dream about telephones or planes if one has never seen one, but much more substantially in
terms of underlying thought patterns and aspirations. These may form part of the ‘axis’
around which any upside-down turnings take place . . .’
[32] Csapo and Slater, The Context of Ancient Drama, 157–65.
[33] Csapo and Slater, The Context of Ancient Drama, 301–5; and Wallace, ‘Poet, Public and
‘‘Theatrocracy’’’, 98–206.
[34] For these terms and this performance dynamic of elite performers and mass spectators, see
Pritchard, ‘The Fractured Imaginary: Popular Thinking on Military Matters in Fifth-Century
Athens’, 40; idem, ‘The Fractured Imaginary: Popular Thinking on Citizen Soldiers and
Warfare in Fifth-Century Athens’, 2–12; idem, ‘Athletics, Education and Participation in
Classical Athens’, 308; cf. Pelling, Literary Texts and the Greek Historian, 5–9; and Roisman,
The Rhetoric of Manhood, 3–6.
[35] Kyle, Sport and Spectacle in the Ancient World, 173, 176–9. My forthcoming book – War
minus the Shooting: Sport, War and Democracy in Classical Athens – analyzes the functions of
athletics in each of these genres of Athenian drama. In brief, tragedy treated athletics as a
regular pastime of its heroes, crafted sporting metaphors to simplify its agōnes, which
involved challenging contradictions in civic ideology or morality, and employed athletics as
an unambiguous norm, against which the immortality and madness of its malefactors could
be more easily appreciated (for example, E. El. 367–400, 528, 614, 761–2, 781–2, 854–90,
1273). Likewise, satyric drama used athletics as a foil to reveal the moral flaws and anti-social
habits of its satyrs, which was a revelation Athenian audiences found very funny and
expected of the genre (for example, A. fragments 78a, 78c Radt). In addition satyr-plays
regularly dramatized a hero’s slaying of a villain who had been killing travellers as part of a
perverse boxing or wrestling bout (for example, S. fragment 122 Radt; Apollod. 1. 9. 20). The
popularity of this type of play lay in its black-and-white morality: the villain’s end was just,
because of his breaking not only of the customs of xenia or guest-friendship but also those of
sport, which did not mandate the killing of the defeated. The most recent studies of athletics
in old comedy, tragedy and satyric drama are Thiercy, ‘Sport et comédie au Ve siècle’;
Larmour, Stage and Stadium, especially 92–133; and Sutton, ‘Athletics in the Greek Satyr
Play’ respectively.
[36] See Pritchard, ‘Athletics, Education and Participation in Classical Athens’, 302–6 with
primary sources pace Kyle, Athletics in Ancient Athens, 141–3.
[37] For athletics teachers supervising training, see, for example, Arist. Pol. 1279a1–10, 1287b1–2;
Pl. Cri. 47b; R. 389c; Thg 123e; cf. Plt. 295c; and Lg. 720e.
[38] For example, Ar. Eq. 490–2, 1238–9; Pl. Alc. 1. 107e–8e; and Grg. 456d–e. For examples of
athletes practising ‘heavy’ events in the presence of an athletics teacher on red-figure pots, see
Beck, Album of Greek Education, nos. 193–5, 196, 197b-c, 204, 210–11.
[39] For the paidotribes as the owner of a wrestling school, see, for example, Aeschin. 1. 10; Pl. Ly.
204a, 207d; and Grg. 456c–e. For successful ‘heavy’ athletes who went on to be athletics
teachers, see Kyle, Athletics in Ancient Athens, 143–4 with primary sources. For interesting
but tentative suggestions about the class position and motivations of those choosing to teach
athletics, see Hubbard, ‘Pindar’s Tenth Olympian and Athlete–Trainer Pederasty’; Kyle,

Athletics in Ancient Athens, 145; Poliakoff, Review of Young, The Olympic Myth of Greek
Amateur Athletics, 169.
[40] Nicholson, Aristocracy and Athletics in Archaic and Classical Greece, 124–31. See, for example,
Beck, Album of Greek Education, nos. 180–2, 184–6, 188–91. Beck’s catalogue does not
include the red-figure kylix by the Antiphon Painter in the Powerhouse Museum (Sydney),
which depicts a paidotribes supervising two youths training with hand weights and a discus
(inv. no. 99/117/1; and Measham, Spathari and Donnelly, 1000 Years of the Olympic Games,
no. 38).
[41] Pritchard, ‘Athletics, Education and Participation in Classical Athens’, 306; and Pleket,
‘Sport and Ideology in the Graeco-Roman World’, 316.
[42] Current scholarly opinion weighs against the possibility of Athenian girls being sent to
school like their brothers (see Pritchard, ‘A Woman’s Place in Classical Athens’, 174–5).
[43] For athletics, music and letters as the three widely agreed disciplines of the ‘old education’,
see, for example, Pl. Alc. 1. 118d; Clit. 407b–c; and Prt. 312b, 325e, 326c.
[44] For the lessons of these teachers, see Beck, Greek Education, 111–29.
[45] For the concurrent scheduling of classes, see Beck, Greek Education, 81–3; Golden, Children
and Childhood in Classical Athens, 62–3; and Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity,
148 – all with ancient testimonia.
[46] For example, Arist. Pol. 1291b28–30, 1317b38–41; Ar. V. 1174–5, 1183; Ps.-X. 1. 5; and X.
Cyn. 2. 1.
[47] Translated by Lamb, Plato with an English Translation.
[48] For child labour in ancient Athens, see Golden, Children and Childhood in Classical Athens,
34–6 with primary sources. For the contribution of female labour to a family’s livelihood, see
Blundell, Women in Ancient Greece, 135, 145; and Ober, Mass and Elite in Democratic Athens,
134–6. For the extent of slave holding in classical Athens, see especially Wood, Peasant-
Citizen and Slave, 173–84.
[49] For example, D. 18. 256–67; Isoc. 7. 43–5; and Lys. 20. 11–12.
[50] Pritchard, ‘Athletics, Education and Participation in Classical Athens’, 311–22. The evidence
for this restricted education of lower-class boys includes Aeschin. 2. 147, 149; Ar. Ra. 727–33;
V. 1122–64; E. El. 528; and Isoc. 7.45.
[51] Fisher, ‘Gymnasia and the Democratic Values of Leisure’; and Pritchard, ‘Athletics,
Education and Participating in Classical Athens’, 301–2, 326–33. In support of his view
Fisher brings forward E. fragment 282 Kannicht; Isoc. 16.33–4; and Ps.-X. 1. 13; 2. 10.
Pritchard, ‘Kleisthenes, Participation, and the Dithyrambic Contests of Late Archaic and
Classical Athens’ systematically rebuts his related argument that significant numbers of
lower-class boys and men participated in the city’s tribally organized contests for
dithyrambic choruses.
[52] For this recognition of the necessity of training for effective sporting competition, see, for
example, Aeschin. 3. 179–80; A. fragment 78a. 30–1, 34–5 Radt; Ar. Ra. 1093–4; Arist. Pol.
1338b39–1339b4; Isoc. 15. 183–5; 16. 32–3; Pl. Lg. 807c; R. 422b–c; and Plt. 294d–e.
[53] For Athens as the most developed democracy of premodern times, see Pritchard, ‘How Do
Democracy and War Affect Each Other?’, 328–31 with bibliography. Sport historians most
commonly conclude that athletics was a predominantly rather than an exclusively upper-
class activity (for example, Golden, Sport and Society in Ancient Greece, 160; Kyle, Athletics in
Ancient Athens, 123, note 53; and Poliakoff, Combat Sports in the Ancient World, 129–33), for
they do not wish to rule out the possibility that some non-elite families may have been
prosperous enough to have had their boys trained in athletics. In Pritchard, ‘Athletics,
Education and Participation in Classical Athens’ I suggest there may well have been a
significant cultural impediment to the athletic participation of those sitting just below the
upper class (324–6). As non-elite Athenians strongly associated athletics with membership of

86 D. M. Pritchard
the city’s elite, a young man’s sporting pursuits were taken as proof of his family’s elite
status. Lower-class citizens knew that being wealthy attracted expensive public duties and
popular prejudice. Therefore, even if a small number of non-elite families could have
afforded to send their sons to the classes of the athletics teacher, they may have decided
against doing so for fear of being classified inappropriately as belonging to the elite.
[54] For the symposion or drinking party as an elite activity, see Murray, ‘The Affair of the
Mysteries’, 149–50. For horsemanship as the same, see Bugh, The Horsemen of Athens, 29;
and Spence, The Cavalry of Classical Greece, 191–3 – both with ancient references. For
pederasty as an elite preserve, see Donlan, The Aristocratic Ideal in Ancient Greece, 194–6,
208–9; and Dover, Greek Homosexuality, 150–1. For the upper-class background of political
leaders, see Ober, Mass and Elite in Democratic Athens, 112; Pritchard, ‘The Fractured
Imaginary: Popular Thinking on Citizen Soldiers and Warfare in Fifth-Century Athens’,
67–70; and idem, ‘Athletics, Education and Participation in Classical Athens’, 319.
[55] For the desire of poor citizens to be rich one day, see, for example, Ar. Av. 592; Pl. 133–4; Ec.
289–90; V. 708–11; E. Supp. 176–9, 238–45; Med. 1228–30; and Andr. 766–8. For the
contradictory character of popular views about the wealthy, see Pritchard, ‘The Fractured
Imaginary: Popular Thinking on Citizen Soldiers and Warfare in Fifth-Century Athens’,
51–63.
[56] For example, Ar. Ra. 431–3, 1065–8; Lys. 14. 23–5; 19. 9–11; and D. 36. 39.
[57] Ober, Mass and Elite in Democratic Athens, 206–7.
[58] Spence, The Cavalry of Classical Greece, 225–6.
[59] Pritchard, ‘The Fractured Imaginary: Popular Thinking on Citizen Soldiers and Warfare in
Fifth-Century Athens’, 110–5 pace Low, ‘Cavalry Identity and Democratic Ideology in Early
Fourth-Century Athens’, 108, 115–6; and Spence, The Cavalry of Classical Greece, 216–22.
[60] For example, Aeschin. 1. 75–6; Ar. Pl. 149–51; D. 19. 284. See Hubbard, ‘Popular Perceptions
of Elite Homosexuality in Classical Athens’; Pritchard, ‘Athletics, Education and
Participation in Classical Athens’, 330–1.
[61] Several of these popular ideas are usefully summarized at Cornell, ‘On War and Games in the
Ancient World’, 37–8.
[62] For the utility of social-science models and theories in our discipline, see Morley, Writing
Ancient History, 53–96; idem, Theories, Models and Concepts in Ancient History, 1–31; and
Ober, The Athenian Revolution, 13–17.
[63] Guttmann, The Olympics, 9.
[64] See Bourdieu, ‘Sport and Social Class’, 824–6; Cornell, ‘On War and Games in the Ancient
World’, 66; and Pritchard, ‘Athletics, Education and Participation in Classical Athens’, 293
with references. Similarly, several twentieth-century social scientists theorized about ‘sports’
being ‘good training grounds for combat’ (see Sipes, ‘War, Sport and Aggression’, 67 with
references).
[65] Guttmann, The Olympics, 9; and Spivey, The Olympic Games, 243–4.
[66] Stokvis, ‘Sports and Civilization’, 129.
[67] For the founding of the IOC and the actual role played by de Coubertin, see Guttmann, The
Olympics, 12–20; Lucas, ‘The Genesis of the Modern Olympic Games’, 93–4; and especially
Young, The Modern Olympics, 81–105.
[68] Guttmann, ‘The Appeal of Violent Sports’, 437; idem, The Olympics, 8–11; and Lucas, ‘The
Genesis of the Modern Olympic Games’, 89–92, 95–6.
[69] Young, The Modern Olympics, 68–74.
[70] Beck, ‘Confronting George Orwell’, 189–98; and Kowalski and Porter, ‘Political Football’.
[71] Orwell, ‘The Sporting Spirit’, 41. For this pre-existing scepticism, see Beck, ‘Confronting
George Orwell’, 193–4, 197.
[72] Orwell, ‘The Sporting Spirit’, 41–2.

[73] Ibid., 42.

[74] For example, Guttmann, ‘The Modern Olympics’, 437–9; and Heinilä, ‘Notes on the Inter-
Group Conflicts in International Sport’. Quotation from Heinilä, ‘Notes on the Inter-Group
Conflicts in International Sport’, 174.
[75] For example, Guttmann, The Olympics, 1–2, 99, 181; and Lucas, ‘The Genesis of the Modern
Olympic Games’, 95–6.
[76] From its official website, www.athens2004.com, accessed 17 May 2004.
[77] For the outlook of American coaches, see Sipes, ‘War, Sport and Aggression’, 66–7. He
suggests it ‘perhaps would qualify as a general cultural belief in the US’ (67). For sports
writers, see Guttmann, ‘The Appeal of Violent Sport’, 18.
[78] Wann et al., ‘Beliefs in Symbolic Catharsis’, especially 162.
[79] Russell, Arms and Bibby, ‘Canadians’ Belief in Catharsis’.
[80] See Bushman, ‘Does Venting Anger Feed or Extinguish the Flame?’, 724–5; and Russell,
‘Psychological Issues in Sports Aggression’, 159.
[81] See Ferguson, ‘Introduction’, 8–10; Krahé, The Social Psychology of Aggression, 28–33; Russell,
‘Psychological Issues in Sports Aggression’, 159–61; and Sipes, ‘War, Sport and Aggression’,
65–7 – all with bibliography.
[82] First published in German in 1963 and quickly translated into English (see Lorenz, On
Aggression).
[83] Lorenz, On Aggression, 242.
[84] Sipes, ‘War, Sport and Aggression’, 64.
[85] For example, Pleket, Review of Golden, Sport and Society in Ancient Greece, 281; Spivey, The
Olympic Games, 2–3; and cf. Müller, Das Volk der Athleten, 126–41.
[86] Ferguson, ‘Introduction’, 10 with references.
[87] Guttmann, ‘The Appeal of Violent Sports’, 19–20; Russell, ‘Psychological Issues in Sports
Aggression’; and Wann et al., ‘Beliefs in Symbolic Catharsis’, 155.
[88] Zillmann, Johnson and Day, ‘Provoked and Unprovoked Aggressiveness in Athletes’,
especially 146–7, 150.
[89] Goldstein and Arms, ‘Effects of Observing Athletic Contests on Hostility’, especially 188–9.
[90] Arms, Russell and Sandilands, ‘Effects on Hostility of Spectators of Viewing Aggressive
Sports’, especially 278–9.
[91] Ibid., 279.
[92] See Bushman, ‘Does Venting Anger Feed or Extinguish the Flame?’, 725 with bibliography.
[93] Ibid., 726–8.
[94] For example, Bushman, ‘Does Venting Anger Feed or Extinguish the Flame?’, 729; Arms,
Russell and Sandilands, ‘Effects on Hostility of Spectators of Viewing Aggressive Sports’, 276,
278; and Goldstein and Arms, ‘Effects of Observing Athletic Contests on Hostility’, 89. For
the social learning theory, see Krahé, The Social Psychology of Aggression, 41–2.
[95] Berkowitz, Aggression; and cf. Krahé, The Social Psychology of Aggression, 36–8.
[96] See Ferguson, ‘Introduction’, 13–14; and Sipes, ‘War, Sport and Aggression’, 66–7 – both
with bibliographies.
[97] Morley, Theories, Models and Concepts in Ancient History, 123.
[98] For Vernant’s cultural historiography, which he calls ‘historical psychology’, and its various
methodological debts, see Loraux, Nagy and Slatkin, ‘Introduction’, 4–13; Morley, Theories,
Models and Concepts in Ancient History, 123–4; and especially Segal, ‘Afterword’.
[99] Segal explains (in ‘Afterword’, 224–5): ‘. . . Vernant manages an overview of the large
patterns and mental architectonics of the culture without facile oversimplification. He
stresses the dynamic complexities of the mental life of the ancient Greeks. He does not
compartmentalize their ideas or their institutions into airtight boxes, but is deeply aware of
variations, inversions, complicated symmetries and reciprocal interactions. The patterns he

88 D. M. Pritchard
discerns carry conviction because they are not bloodless abstractions and because they
embrace large areas of interrelated phenomena.’
[100] Lüschen, ‘The Interdependence of Sport and Culture’, 87.
[101] Ibid., 93–4.
[102] Sipes, ‘War, Sport and Aggression’, 64–5. This model and the empirical testing to which
Sipes subjected it have been widely endorsed (for example, Cornell, ‘On War and Games in
the Ancient World’, 38; Lüschen, ‘Sports, Conflict, and Conflict Resolution’, 149–50; and
Russell, ‘Psychological Issues in Sports Aggression’, 164).
[103] Sipes, ‘War, Sport and Aggression’, 65 (my italics).
[104] Ibid., 67–73.
[105] See especially ibid., 71, table 2.
[106] Ibid., 80.
[107] Loraux, The Experiences of Tiresias, 45–6; and Pleket, ‘Games, Prizes, Athlete and Ideology’,
76–9.
[108] Lüschen, ‘Sports, Conflict, and Conflict Resolution’, 149–50.
[109] See Pritchard, ‘War and Democracy in Ancient Athens’, 16, 18–21; and idem, ‘How Do
Democracy and War Affect Each Other?’, 332–6 – both with primary sources.
[110] For the higher frequency of battles, see van Wees, ‘The City at War’, 81–2; and Garlan, ‘War
and Peace’, 53. As the main topic of debate in the democracy, see Raaflaub, ‘Father of All,
Destroyer of All’, 319.
[111] See Garlan, ‘War and Peace’, 53–4; and Raaflaub, ‘Father of All, Destroyer of All’, 323–8.
[112] For the description of sporting contests as agōnes, see, for example, Ar. Pax 894; Pl. 583; S.
El. 681–2; and Th. 2. 38. 1. For a pitched battle between city-states as an agōn, see, for example, E.
Ph. 259, 780, 1052; Hec. 314; Lys. 2. 55; Th. 2. 46. 1; and Meiggs and Lewis, A Selection of Greek
Historical Documents to the End of the Fifth Century BC, no. 18. For the agonal organization of
Greek society in general, see Phillips and Pritchard, ‘Introduction’, xiv; Spivey, The Olympic
Games, 4–5, 11–16; Vernant, Myth and Society in Ancient Greece, 29.
[113] See Howard, Andreopoulos and Shulman, The Laws of War.
[114] Quotation from Vernant, Myth and Society in Ancient Greece, 38. The following discussion of
the agonal nature of the traditional hoplite battle draws heavily on Connor, ‘Early Greek
Land Warfare as Symbolic Expression’; Cornell, ‘On War and Games in the Ancient World’,
43–6; Ober, The Athenian Revolution, 56; and Vernant, Myth and Society in Ancient Greece,
38–44. In opposition to this, see van Wees, ‘The City at War’, 93–6.
[115] Connor, ‘Early Greek Land Warfare as Symbolic Expression’, 12; and Hanson, ‘Hoplite Battle
as Ancient Greek Warfare’, 206–11.
[116] Bowra, Pindar, 161–2; Kyle, Sport and Spectacle in the Ancient World, 203–5; and O’Sullivan,
‘Victory Statue, Victory Song’, 75–6.
[117] See Pleket, ‘Games, Prizes, Athlete and Ideology’, 74–89; and van Nijf, ‘Andreia and Askesis-
Culture in the Roman Near East’.
[118] See Bowra, Pindar, 171–2 for further examples.
[119] See ibid., 173–4 with primary sources.
[120] Mikalson, ‘Gods and Athletic Games’. While the relief from the sanctuary of Athena at
Sounion lacks any inscription identifying its dedicator as a victorious sportsman, its
depiction of a naked youth crowning himself strongly suggests this (see National
Archaeological Museum [Athens], inv. no. 3344; Measham, Spathari and Donnelly, 1000
Years of the Olympic Games, cat. no. 56).
[121] Dickie, ‘Phaeacian Athletics’, 237.
[122] Pritchard, ‘Athletics, Education and Participation in Classical Athens’, 300. For the ponoi of the
classes of the paidotribes, see, for example, Isoc. 15. 183–4; Pl. Plt. 294e; R. 410b; and Lg. 646b.
[123] Bowra, Pindar, 182–3; and Crowther, ‘Athlete as Warrior in the Ancient Games’, 124–5.

[124] Bowra, Pindar, 183.

[125] Ibid., 186. For these real bodily risks, see Cornell, ‘On War and Games in the Ancient World’,
41–2; Crowther, ‘Athlete as Warrior in the Ancient Games’, 123, note 9; and Miller, ‘The
Organization and Functioning of the Olympic Games’, 24–5.
[126] For representations of these straps, see, for example, Measham, Spathari and Donnelly, 1000
Years of the Olympic Games, cat. nos. 40–1, 43–4.
[127] See, for example, Miller, ‘The Organization and Functioning of the Olympic Games’, 26–7,
figs. 22–5.
[128] The testimonia are collected by Brophy, ‘Death in the Pan-Hellenic Games’; Brophy and
Brophy, ‘Deaths in the Pan-Hellenic Games II’; and Poliakoff, ‘Deaths in Pan-Hellenic
Games’.
[129] Gantz, Early Greek Myth, 94; and Golden, Sport and Society in Ancient Greece, 24.
[130] Arete is the favoured term for courage in the funerary epigrams for Athenian soldiers (for
example, IG I3 1179. 3, 8–9; and 1162. 48) and the oration traditionally delivered at their public
funeral (for example, Lys. 2. 6, 12, 20, 40, 64–5, 69–70; and Pl. Mx. 240d, 243c; Th. 2. 36. 1, 42. 2),
where it is also used occasionally to describe non-martial aspects of the normative behaviour of a
citizen (for example, Th. 2. 40. 4, 37. 1–2, 42. 2; and cf. D. 60. 3; Hyp. Epit. 19). Comedy, tragedy
and deliberative and forensic oratory prefer andreia and other synonyms for courage. See Balot,
‘Courage in the Democratic Polis’, 407–8; and Pritchard, ‘The Fractured Imaginary: Popular
Thinking on Citizen Soldiers and Warfare in Fifth-Century Athens’, 86–7.
[131] For courage as steadfastness, see, for example, A. Pers. 1025; Ar. Pax 1177–8; E. El. 388–90;
Ph. 1003. For its secondary requirement, see Pritchard, ‘The Fractured Imaginary:
Popular Thinking on Citizen Soldiers and Warfare in Fifth-Century Athens’, 98–9 with
primary sources.
[132] For example, Aeschin 2. 169; E. Supp. 572; Lys. 2. 3, 23, 47, 55, 61, 78; and Th. 2. 39. 1, 43. 4,
62. 1.
[133] For example, D. 60. 3–5; Hyp. Epit. 7–8; Lys. 2. 20, 43, 50–1; and Pl. Mx. 239a–b.
[134] For the toils of battle, see, for example, Ar. Ach. 695–7; Eq. 579; E. Supp. 373; S. Tr. 18–22;
and Th. 2. 38. 1. For the toils undertaken by the Athenians to gain empire, power and
greatness, see Th. 2. 36. 2, 62. 3, 63. 1–3; E. Supp. 576–7; and Lys. 2. 55.
[135] On shame, see Balot, ‘Courage in the Democratic Polis’, 415–19; and van Wees, Greek
Warfare, 192–4.
[136] For cowardice as a source of shame, see, for example, A. Th. 411; E. Tr. 401–2; and Heracl.
700–1. For shame as a motivation, see, for example, D. 60. 25–6; and Th. 2. 42. 2.
[137] Burkert, Greek Religion, 267.
[138] For the votive offerings of military victory, see Jackson, ‘Hoplites and the Gods’.
[139] With Parker, Athenian Religion, 170.
[140] For example, Meiggs and Lewis, A Selection of Greek Historical Documents to the End of the
Fifth Century, no. 25. Quotation from Marinatos, ‘What Were Greek Sanctuaries?’, 230.
[141] For the character, personnel and ideology of sixth-century Athenian warfare, see Pritchard,
‘War and Democracy in Ancient Athens’, 16–18 with bibliography.
[142] For the evidentiary status of Athenian finely painted pottery, see Pritchard, ‘Fool’s Gold and
Silver’.
[143] Lissarrague, L’autre guerrier, 233–40; and cf. Balot, ‘Courage in the Democratic Polis’, 411.
[144] Lissarrague, L’autre guerrier, 71–96.
[145] The classic study of the ‘beautiful death’ is Vernant, Mortals and Immortals, 50–74.
[146] Ibid., 62–4.
[147] Lissarrague, L’autre guerrier, 75–6; and Vernant, Mortals and Immortals, 50. For an example
of such an image, see Lissarrague, L’autre guerrier, 82–5, no. 79 (National Archaeological
Museum [Athens], inv. no. 433).

90 D. M. Pritchard
[148] For the long hair of heroes, see Lissarrague, L’autre guerrier, 75; and Vernant, Mortals and
Immortals, 65–7. For this signification of the Boiotian shield in Attic imagery, see Lissarrague,
L’autre guerrier, 76; and Vos, Scythian Archers in Archaic Attic Vase-Painting, 33, 36.
[149] See Pritchard, ‘War and Democracy in Ancient Athens’, 18–21.
[150] For a penetrating analysis of the events of 508/7 and the roles of Kleisthenes and the
Athenian demos in 508/7, see Ober, The Athenian Revolution, 18–31; and cf. Pritchard,
‘Kleisthenes and Athenian Democracy’, 142–5. For the details of the reforms and their
political significance, see Meier, The Greek Discovery of Politics, 53–81; Ostwald, From
Popular Sovereignty to the Sovereignty of the Law, 15–28.
[151] That this unification was achieved only at the very end of the sixth century as a result of these
reforms is put beyond doubt by Anderson, The Athenian Experiment, 13–42; and cf.
Pritchard ‘Kleisthenes and Athenian Democracy’, 137–40.
[152] See Christ, ‘Conscription of Hoplites in Classical Athens’, 398–403; Frost, ‘The Athenian
Military before Cleisthenes’, 284; Pritchard, ‘How the Athenian Military Was Organised in
the Late Fifth Century’; van Effenterre, ‘Clisthène et les mesures de mobilisation’, 7–17 – all
with primary sources.
[153] For the city’s building of ships throughout the century and its investment in dockyards, see
Gabrielsen, Financing the Athenian Fleet, 131–45; and Raaflaub, ‘The Transformation of
Athens in the Fifth Century’, 22–3.
[154] See Amit, ‘The Sailors of the Athenian Fleet’. The regular employment of slave rowers in the
Greek navies of the classical period has been put beyond doubt by Hunt, Slaves, Warfare and
Ideology in the Greek Historians, 83–101.
[155] Loraux, ‘Hebe et andreia’; and idem, ‘Mourir devant Troie, tomber pour Athènes’.
[156] This form of the funeral and burial of the war dead and the funeral oration itself date to the
second quarter of the fifth century (see Loraux, The Invention of Athens, 56–57; and Parker,
Athenian Religion, 132–5). My description of the funeral owes much to Loraux, The
Invention of Athens, 15–42; Pritchard, ‘Thucydides and the Tradition of the Athenian Funeral
Oration’, 137–8; ‘The Fractured Imaginary: Popular Thinking on Citizen Soldiers and
Warfare in Fifth-Century Athens’, 224–33.
[157] See Stupperich, ‘The Iconography of Athenian State Burials in the Classical Period’, 94, 101,
notes 24–6 with references. For the contemporary meaning of such sculpture, see ‘The
Fractured Imaginary: Popular Thinking on Citizen Soldiers and Warfare in Fifth-Century
Athens’, 91, note 71 with ancient testimonia.
[158] Elsewhere I argue that sub-hoplite citizens were included on these lists (Pritchard, ‘The
Fractured Imaginary: Popular Thinking on Citizen Soldiers and Warfare in Fifth-Century
Athens’, 234–40), despite recently expressed doubts about this (see Hanson, ‘Hoplites into
Democrats’, 306; Raaflaub, ‘Equalities and Inequalities in Athenian Democracy’, 156;
Strauss, ‘The Athenian Trireme, School of Democracy’, 313, 320–1; ‘Perspectives on the
Death of Fifth-Century Athenian Seamen’).
[159] See D. 60.32; Hyp. Epit. 27–30; Lys. 2.79–81; Pl. Mx.247d-48c; Th. 2.43–4.
[160] For the general characteristics of this genre, see Pritchard, ‘Thucydides and the Tradition of
the Athenian Funeral Oration’, 5; and idem, ‘The Fractured Imaginary: Popular Thinking on
Citizen Soldiers and Warfare in Fifth-Century Athens’, 13–26.
[161] (Pl. Mx. 234c–235b).
[162] For example, Lys. 2. 24, 33, 40, 44, 48–53, 57, 58, 61–2, 67–8; Pl. Mx. 239d, 240e–1a, 243a,
243c–d; and D. 60. 6, 17–18, 21–3.
[163] For example, Lys. 2. 33, 40, 42–3, 47, 48; and P. Mx.240e–1a, 242d–e, 243c–d.
[164] For Aeschylus’ epic characterization of this battle, see Pritchard, ‘Thetes, Hoplites and the
Athenian Imaginary’, 125–6; and idem, ‘The Fractured Imaginary: Popular Thinking on
Citizen Soldiers and Warfare in Fifth-Century Athens’, 241.

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Poet, Public, and Performance in Ancient Greece, edited by L. Edmunds and R.W. Wallace.
Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997: 97–111.
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Symbolic Catharsis: The Importance of Involvement with Aggressive Sports’. Social Behavior
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Zillmann, D., R.C. Johnson and K.D. Day. ‘Provoked and Unprovoked Aggressiveness in Athletics’.
Journal of Research in Personality 8 (1974): 139–52.

Challenged by Egyptians: Greek Sports

in the Third Century BC
Sofie Remijsen
Introduction
In 415 BC, the Athenians sent a military expedition to Sicily. Alkibiades, who had
entered the Olympics of 416 BC with seven four-horse chariots and had finished first,
second and fourth, explained why he should be chosen as leader of the expedition.
One of the main arguments of his speech, as recorded by Thucydides, was his image
of power, based on his Olympic victory:
More than to others, Athenians, it is up to me to take the lead. And I think that
I am worth it . . . On the basis of my splendid performance at the Olympic games,
the Greeks thought that our city was very powerful . . . Because of such
achievements, people credit someone with power. [1]
Victory at the Panhellenic games, the equestrian events in particular, was inextricably
bound up with the image of a powerful city or leader.
This image worked in two directions. For athletes the acquired fame could be a
starting point for a political career, as, for example, for the Athenian periodonikes
Kallias, whose career was ended by ostracism. [2] Politicians, on the other hand,

Challenged by Egyptians: Greek Sports in the Third Century 99
could use a victory at the games to enhance their popularity, as did the fifth-century
tyrants from Sicily. They brought their horses to Olympia and Delphi to win and
made their victories public in all possible ways: with bronze monuments in the
Panhellenic sanctuaries, with victory odes by Pindar and Bacchylides and with
commemorative coins. Gelon also paid the best sprinter of the moment to compete
for Syracuse instead of his home town. [3] In the third century BC, the Ptolemaic
kings similarly strived for such an ‘image of power’.
Egypt became part of the Greek world after the conquest by Alexander the Great in
332 BC. After his death, Alexander was succeeded by the Ptolemies. Like many of their
contemporaries, these kings used sport as a means of expressing their Greek identity.
They became prominent on the Greek sports circuit in the third century BC. [4]
A recent discovery has enlarged our knowledge of sport in third-century Egypt
considerably. A collection of 112 Hellenistic epigrams, 110 of them previously
unknown, was published in 2001. This poetry book was written on a papyrus roll in
the third century BC. In the second century BC, it was reused in a mummy cartonnage
and thus preserved. The poems are attributed to Posidippus of Pella, a prominent
epigrammatist of the first half of the third century. Short titles divide the book into
different sections. The section called Hippika contains 18 epigrams for victors of the
chariot and horse races, many of them Ptolemaic royals and courtiers. [5] The
publication of the epigrams has led to an avalanche of studies discussing literary
aspects and the historical context of the poems. It also forms an occasion to
reconsider Greek sports in the third century BC and the position of the Egyptian
contestants in particular.
This study aims to demonstrate that in the third century BC the Ptolemies actively
strived for the image of power evoked by a victory in the games. In the first part I
shall explain what I mean with ‘Egyptian contestant’ and point out some difficulties
of using this modern category. Next I shall give an overview of the achievements of
Egyptians at the Panhellenic games, in the equestrian and athletic events, with the
focus on Olympia. Then I shall discuss the promotion of Greek sports and newly
instituted agones in Egypt. The last section will deal with the publicity of agonistic
successes in the context of royal propaganda.
‘Egyptian’ Contestants
This study uses a broad, modern definition of ‘Egyptian’, meaning ‘a resident of
Ptolemaic Egypt’. I do not use ‘Egyptian’ in the ethnic sense. Athletes came from the
upper layers of society and were mostly Greek immigrants or, in a later phase,
Hellenized Egyptians. Indigenous Egyptians, being barbarians, were not even allowed
to participate.
Being a citizen of a Greek city was a precondition to competing in Greek agones.
Before the start of the Olympic games, the hellanodikai examined the participants.
Barbarians were excluded. About 500 BC, the Macedonian king Alexander I wanted
to participate in the Olympic stadion-race. According to Herodotus, the other

100 S. Remijsen
stadion-runners protested. After examining Alexander’s genealogical tree, the

hellanodikai accepted him because his ancestors came from Argos. [6] Only in the
late fourth century BC, from the reign of Alexander the Great onwards, were non-
royal Macedonians also considered Greeks and allowed to compete.
The athlete’s Greek provenance was more than just a precondition. When on the
final day of the games, a victor was presented with the crown, a herald proclaimed his
name, patronymic and city. Back home, the athlete dedicated his crown in the main
temple. The victory did not belong to the athlete alone, but his family and city shared
in the fame. The name of the city is therefore an essential element in every agonistic
inscription, poem or victory list. [7]
Although Egyptian athletes considered themselves Greeks, many of them did not
live in a Greek city. Egypt was traditionally divided into about 40 nomoi or districts,
each with a capital. These provincial towns formed the basis of the Ptolemaic
administration and were gradually Hellenized by the influx of Greek settlers. They did
not, however, have the same status as a Greek city or polis. In the Hellenistic period
there were only three poleis in Egypt: Naucratis (since the seventh century BC),
Alexandria (since 331 BC) and Ptolemais (since 323–282 BC).
There was, however, a simple solution for athletes from Egyptian towns. One could
participate as the citizen of a polis in which one did not actually live. Astylos, triple
victor of both the stadion and the diaulos, had himself proclaimed as a citizen of his
native city Croton in 488 and 484 BC, but participated as a citizen of Syracuse in 480
BC. Gelon of Syracuse had no doubt offered him a rich reward for this ‘desertion’. At
the Pythian games of 470 BC, Gelon’s successor Hieron had himself proclaimed as a
citizen of Aetna to publicize the foundation of this city by himself. These are just two
examples. Several other men competed for a city other than their native city, for
money or for political reasons. [8]
Third-century Egyptian athletes chose the city from which they or their forefathers
originally emigrated. Also in other contexts, residents of Ptolemaic Egypt called
themselves citizens of this Greek city to identify themselves as a Greek. [9] In the
agonistic context identifying oneself as a Greek was of major importance. The habit is
well illustrated by an inscription commemorating the victors at the Basileia of 267 BC
(see the fourth section below). The inscription recording these gives the impression
that athletes from all over Greece came together for these games: there were four
Macedonian athletes, six Thracians, one Thessalian, one Samian, one from
Halicarnassus, one Boeotian, one Tarentine and one from Naucratis. This agon,
however, did not attract many foreign athletes. These apparent foreigners were in fact
Greek settlers living in Egypt. Because they belonged to the upper strata of society,
some can be identified. The Thessalian Kineas, son of Alketas, for example, was in
263–62 BC eponymous priest of Alexander, which was the highest honorary function
in Alexandria. [10]
Egyptian athletes participating in the Panhellenic games were likewise proclaimed
as citizens of Greek cities. It is not surprising also that the Ptolemies themselves were
celebrated as Macedonians and not as kings of Egypt, which would have been

unthinkable in an agonistic context. In the second-century BC victor lists of the

Panathenaic games, Ptolemaic and Attalid kings are mentioned with their title of
king, but they are not competing as king of Egypt or Pergamon, but as Athenian
citizens, members of the phyle Ptolemais or Attalis. [11]
Since athletes from Egypt competed as citizens of a traditional Greek city, their
actual provenance cannot always be identified. It is therefore possible that there were
far more Egyptian athletes than those we can identify as such.
After the third century BC, for many Egyptian athletes it was difficult to trace their
origin back to a Greek city. There was, however, a second solution: to participate as a
citizen of Alexandria. Alexandria is by far the most frequent city in the victor lists (see
the second part of the second section below). Alexandrian citizenship was easy to
obtain for first-class athletes. Especially in the Roman period, competing as an
Alexandrian was the obvious option for Egyptians. The connection with the native
city of one’s ancestors, still important in the Hellenistic period, had disappeared by
then. This explains Pausanias’ (circa AD 165–80) surprise that the Egyptian king
Ptolemy I called himself Macedonian. [12]
Because only the city for which athletes competed was recorded and not their
actual home town, Alexandria is the only Egyptian city in the surviving victor lists
until about AD 200. [13] Only in the second century AD, did the native towns of
the Egyptian athletes start to get part of the credit. Marcus Aurelius Demetrios
and his son Marcus Aurelius Asklepiades, both successful pankratiasts and officials
of the international federation of athletes, came from Hermopolis in Middle
Egypt. Both competed as Alexandrians. Only Alexandria is mentioned in all
agonistic inscriptions and most of the time it is the first mentioned city, but
sometimes their home town Hermopolis also receives its share of the fame. [14]
About AD 200 Septimius Severus officially made all the Egyptian towns equal to
Greek poleis, by giving them a city-council. From this moment onwards, athletes
were free to compete as citizens from any Egyptian city. This political change
caused an ‘agonistic explosion’ in the third century AD, illustrated by papyrus
documents discussing the privileges of the athletes and by many new games
in Egypt. [15] After AD 200, Egyptian cities other than Alexandria enter the
victor lists.
The Achievements of Egyptian Contestants

Ptolemaic Royals and Courtiers in the Equestrian Events
Even before the discovery of the Posidippus papyrus, Ptolemaic royals were known to
have participated in the Greek agonistic circuit. Ptolemy I’s victory in the two-horse
chariot race for foals at the Pythian games of 314 BC is attested by Pausanias and an
inscription records the victory of his son Lagos at the Arcadian Lykaia in 308/7 BC.
The court poet Callimachus wrote victory odes for Berenike II, the wife of Ptolemy
III, and for Sosibios, a leading figure under Ptolemy III, IV and V. The Panathenaic

102 S. Remijsen
victory lists record the equestrian victories of Ptolemy V and VI and of several
courtiers, for example, Polykrates of Argos, his wife and daughters. [16]
The participation of the Ptolemies is in line with the general practice of Hellenistic
kings. Philip II of Macedon won the Olympic contest for the single race-horses in 356
BC, and in the following olympiads the race for two-horse and four-horse chariots.
Attalos of Pergamon, the father of king Attalos I, won the Olympic four-horse chariot
race for foals about 276 BC. At the Panathenaic games, several members of the Attalid
house, a Nubian king and a Seleucid prince were victorious besides the Ptolemies. All
participated in the horse and chariot races, the most prestigious events and the only
events not demanding personal involvement or talent. [17]
The new poems demonstrate, however, that the Ptolemaic royals participated on a
much larger scale than others. To illustrate their prominence on the circuit, the
example of the Olympic four-horse chariot race for full-grown horses may be taken.
Because the Olympics were the most prestigious games, this victor list is more
complete than those of other games. The four-horse chariot race for full-grown
horses was, moreover, the most prestigious event of all.
Moretti lists the victors for the third century BC as follows:
no 498: Lampos of Philippi (about 304 BC)

no 508: Theochrestos II of Cyrene (about 300 BC)
no 522: Archidamos of Elis (296 BC)
no 531: Telemachos of Elis (about 292 BC)
no 542: Glaukon of Athens (about 272 BC)
no 546: Karteros of Thessaly (268 BC)
no 574: Aratos of Sikyon (about 232 BC)
Only the dates of Archidamos’ and Karteros’ victories are certain thanks to a
fragmentary olympiad chronicle on papyrus. Lampos’ victory can be dated to any
olympiad between 352 BC, that is, after the foundation of Philippi in 356 BC, and the
early third century BC. The date of Theochrestos’ victory is very uncertain. The fourth
century BC is likely, but neither previous nor later centuries can be excluded.
Telemachos’ victory is recorded in an inscription dated paleographically between the
late fourth and the late third century. Aratos won between 243 and 223 BC. [18]
Glaukon was born in the late fourth century BC and was a leading figure in the
Chremonidean war in Athens (268/267–263/262). He lived in exile in Alexandria
from 263/2 onwards and was an eponymous priest – and thus an important
Ptolemaic courtier – in 255/4 BC. He may have participated in the Olympics in the
270s, before the war, or during his exile in Alexandria. As his entry in Athenian
politics was facilitated by his older brother Chremonides, his career did not need any
external boost at that time. At the Alexandrian court, however, he could no longer
manifest himself politically, so he may have found in the horse races an ideal way to
prove himself. Glaukon was a benefactor of the Panhellenic sanctuaries which
organized Greek games. An honorific inscription in Delphi probably predates the
Chremonidean war, but an honorific inscription from Plataea from 261 BC or later

illustrates his involvement with Panhellenic sanctuaries in the second phase of his life.
His presence in Olympia is closely connected to the Ptolemies. His statue in Olympia
stood close to one of Ptolemy II. An honorific inscription for Glaukon, unfortunately
only half preserved, was also set up by Ptolemy II. [19]
With the help of Posidippus we can complete the Olympic victor list
substantially. Ptolemy I, Berenike I, Ptolemy II, Arsinoe II and Berenike Syra all
won one victory with the four-horse chariot. A Spartan, perhaps called Dios son of
Lysimachos, won two. An unknown man – his name perhaps starts with Eu . . . –
might have won three, but since the word ‘Olympics’ is largely restored, he may
have won in other games. [20]
Most victories celebrated in Posidippus’ epigrams must date from Posidippus’
literary career, namely between the late 280s and the early 240s BC. Posidippus
worked in mainland Greece, on the Aegean islands and in Asia Minor, but paid
particular attention to the Ptolemaic court. He visited Alexandria at least twice: in the
mid-270s, when he wrote about the marriage of Ptolemy II and Arsinoe II, and in the
250s, at the time of the victories of princess Berenike. [21]
By dating these new victories approximately, I will try to complete Moretti’s victor
list. Ptolemy I effectively ruled Egypt from 323 BC. In 314 BC he already owned two
foals who reached Panhellenic agonistic standards and won the newly instituted race
for foal pairs at Delphi. [22] Ptolemy’s Olympic victory with the four-horse chariot
should be dated later. Training a team of four excellent full-grown horses asks for
time and experience. The victory should predate that of his wife and son, given the
order of the royal victories in Posidippus 78 and 88. In 304 he adopted the royal title.
A victory in the same year would have been a great propaganda coup, but a date in
the first decade of the third century is also realistic. In 282 BC he died as an old man.
Berenike I married Ptolemy I about 317 BC. She probably died between 279 and
274 BC. The order of the victories in Posidippus 78 and 88 suggests that she won her
Olympic victory after her husband and before her son Ptolemy II. Posidippus
possibly wrote these poems during his first stay in Alexandria, when Berenike was still
the leading lady at the court, but it cannot be excluded that the victories pre-dated
this stay.
Ptolemy II, born in 308 BC, became co-regent in February 284 BC and sole ruler
after the death of his father Ptolemy I in 282. He died in 246 BC. The order of the
victories in Posidippus 78 and 88 shows that his victory preceded those of his wife
and daughter. The Olympic games of 284 BC would have formed an ideal
opportunity to present the recently appointed co-regent to the world. Participation in
this year would have been attended with extra efforts, which might have led to
victory.
Queen Arsinoe won all the chariot races of a single olympiad, according to
Posidippus 78. Since Arsinoe I, the first wife of Ptolemy II, was already disgraced
when Posidippus visited Alexandria, this victor must be Arsinoe II, the sister and
second wife of Ptolemy II. Bennett has shown that the Olympics of 272 BC are the
only games between her marriage to her brother and her death. [23]

104 S. Remijsen
A series of five epigrams (Posidippus 78–82) is dedicated to the equestrian

successes of Berenike. It has been argued convincingly by Thompson that this is not
Berenike II, the wife of Ptolemy III, but his sister, the young princess Berenike,
sometimes called the Syrian Berenike, from her marriage to Antiochos II in 252 BC.
Bennett prefers 256 BC to 260 BC as the date of her Olympic victory. [24]
The victories of Dios took place during the literary career of Posidippus and belong
to two succeeding olympiads. [25] The successes of Eu . . . took place in the same
period, but do not necessarily belong to three successive olympiads; nor were they
necessarily won at the Olympics. [26]
It is disputed whether Berenike II, the wife of Ptolemy III, also won an Olympic
victory. She was the daughter of Magas of Cyrene, but after her marriage she was
called the daughter of Ptolemy II and Arsinoe. Callimachus’ victory ode on a Nemean
victory of a Berenike is partially preserved on papyrus. An incomplete scholion on the
papyrus is supplemented by the editor to read that Berenike was called the daughter of
Ptolemy and Arsinoe, but that she was in fact a daughter of Magas. About 250 years
later Hyginus wrote that several authors, among them Callimachus, said that Berenike,
the wife of Ptolemy III, used to send horses to Olympia. In 211/210, ten years after
her death, a new priestess was appointed for her cult, and she was called athlophoros.
Her title is derived from athlon, the word for a prize won at Greek agones. [27]
Criscuolo doubts if Berenike II won any equestrian contest. She supplements the
scholion differently: Callimachus’ Berenike now becomes Berenike Syra. Hyginus, she
points out, is inaccurate in all that he tells of Berenike II. [28] Criscuolo rightly
stresses that the scholion is too fragmentary to allow any conclusion. However,
Hyginus’ reference to ‘several authors’ and the existence of athlophoroi seem to
indicate that also Berenike II, like the other women at the court, participated in the
horse races and, probably, won.
All this information combined gives us the following schedule (Table 1) for the 14
olympiads from 296 to 244 BC. Most dates are uncertain, but we have an almost
complete list of names.
At least four, but probably five or six of those 14 races were won by Ptolemaic
royals. [29] Moreover, a seventh victor, Glaukon of Athens, was closely related to the
Ptolemaic court. With 30–50% of the victories on their record, the Ptolemies clearly
held supremacy in the Olympic race for four-horse chariots in the first half of the
third century BC. Not even the Sicilian tyrants were so successful in their glory days.
On the other equestrian events and the other games less information is available.
We are badly informed about the Olympic race for two-horse chariots. The only
certain third-century victors are Tlasimachos of Ambracia (296) and an anonymous
victor from Thessaly (268). Nikagoras of Lindos won in the late fourth or early third
century BC. The race for chariots drawn by two foals was introduced in 264 and this
edition was won by the Macedonian woman Belistiche. The race for chariots drawn
by four foals was won in 296 by Tlasimachos of Ambracia (his second victory at these
games), around 276 by Attalos, the father of Attalos I of Pergamon, and in 268 by
Belistiche. [30]

Table 1 Certain and possible victors of the race for four-horse chariots at Olympia
Year Certain Likely Possible More possibilities
296 Archidamos
292 Ptolemy I Berenike, Lampos, Telemachos, Theochrestos,
unknown
288 Berenike I Ptolemy I, Ptolemy II, Lampos, Telemachos,
Eu . . . , Theochrestos, unknown
284 Ptolemy II Ptolemy I, Berenike, Lampos, Telemachos,
280 Dios Ptolemy II, Berenike, Lampos, Telemachos,
276 Dios Ptolemy II, Glaukon, Telemachos,
Theochrestos, unknown
272 Arsinoe II
268 Karteros
264 Dios, Glaukon, Telemachos, Eu . . . ,
260 Glaukon Berenike Syra, Dios, Telemachos, Eu . . . ,
256 Berenike Syra Glaukon, Dios, Telemachos, Eu . . . ,
252 Dios Glaukon, Telemachos, Eu . . . , Theochrestos,
unknown
248 Dios Telemachos, Eu . . . , Theochrestos, unknown
244 Berenike II, Telemachos, Theochrestos,
unknown
Most victors are known for the race of horses with rider: a) Nikagoras of Lindos in
the late fourth or early third century; b) Pandion of Thessaly in 296 BC; c) Trygaios of
an unknown city; d) Phylopidas of Thessaly; e) Amyntas of Thessaly; f) an unknown
Thessalian who won three times – possibly identical with one of the three previous
victors – all (c, d, e, f) during the career of Posidippus; g) M[. . .] of Crannon in
Thessaly – also possibly to be identified with the unknown Thessalian – in 268 BC;
and h) Pantarkes and i) Thrasonides, both of Elis, probably in the second half of the
third century. [31] Since the poem for Trygaios is incomplete, it is also possible that
he won with a foal instead of with a full-grown horse. The race for foals with rider
was introduced in 256 BC, when the victor was Hippokrates of Thessaly, according to
Eusebius’ victor list, or Tlepolemos of Lycia, according to Pausanias. [32] They
probably both won a victory in this olympiad, perhaps in the race for full-grown
horses and in the race for foals. One of the authors made a mistake while selecting
information. Eusebius’ list is generally the more trustworthy source, but since the
introduction of the new event is only mentioned in the Armenian version, not in the
Greek manuscript, this argument should not be pressed.
No Ptolemaic royal victors are known outside the four-horse chariot races. At
Olympia, they apparently focused on the most prestigious event. The traditional
horse breeding regions like Thessaly and Elis, which had to stand heavy competition
of the Ptolemies in the race for four-horse chariots, still succeeded in finding glory in

106 S. Remijsen
the other races. Two victors can be identified as Ptolemaic courtiers: Belistiche, the
mistress of Ptolemy II, and Tlepolemos, son of Artapates of Lycia, eponymous priest
of 247/6 and 246/5 BC, both in a new event – if Pausanias is correct. [33] A victory in
a new event represented a kind of record and was therefore very prestigious. Ptolemy
I himself had won a new event in Delphi. Perhaps Ptolemy II stimulated his courtiers
to participate in these particular races. He did not, however, allow his mistress to
compete in the same event as the women of his family.
Also at the other agones the Ptolemaic presence is noteworthy. The only attested
victor of the Ptolemaic royal family in Delphi is Ptolemy I. As our sources are far less
complete than for the Olympic games, this does not mean that he was really the only
one. Kallikrates of Samos, admiral of Ptolemy II from the 270s until the 250s BC, won
the Pythian race for four-horse chariots, perhaps in 274 BC. In Posidippus 74, one of
the longest epigrams of the Hippika, his victory is dedicated to Ptolemy II and
Arsinoe II. Etearchos, who won the race for single horses with an Arab horse, might
also be a Ptolemaic courtier. [34]
The same Etearchos also won at the Isthmian games. The only known royal victor
in these games is princess Berenike, who won as a young girl accompanied by her
father in the late 260s BC. Because the first two lines of the poem are damaged, it is
difficult to determine which event she won. Because she was proclaimed victorious
‘many times’ at the Isthmus, she won at least three races. Sosibios, who became a man
of importance under Ptolemy III and minister under Ptolemy IV, won with a four-
horse chariot, probably in the 240s BC. [35]
At the Nemean games, princess Berenike was extremely successful, winning all the
chariot races on one occasion. On a second occasion, she probably won the four-
horse chariot race. The aforementioned Etearchos and Sosibios won at Nemea as
well, the latter probably again with a four-horse chariot, the former in the race for
horses with rider. [36] In the second century BC, many members of the Ptolemaic
family and court were victorious at the Panathenaic games.
Egyptians in the Athletic Contests

In the athletic contests, recognizing Egyptians who presented themselves as citizens of
a traditional city is far more difficult. As the participants of the equestrian events were
very prominent, many of them are known from other sources. The athletic contests
were not, however, restricted to the same small elite as the equestrian events. We
probably cannot identify all Egyptian athletes as such. The identification of the
Cyrenean Idaios, stadion-victor of 276 BC, with an eponymous officer of the Egyptian
army is far from certain. [37] All athletes discussed in this section competed at the
Panhellenic games as Alexandrians. Almost all of them are victors. How many
athletes participated without winning is not documented.
A complete list of victors has been preserved only for the Olympic stadion-race. Four
Egyptians won the stadion in the third century (Perigenes in 272 BC, Ammonios in 256
BC, Demetrios in 228 BC and Krates in 212 BC), making 16% of the victories. Moreover,

Apollonios won the diaulos in 296 BC and Kleoxenos, a periodonikes, the boxing in 240
BC. The boxer Aristonikos competed about 212 BC, but was beaten by the great
Boeotian champion Kleitomachos. [38] All these Alexandrians have traditional Greek
names; typical Egyptian names only appear in the first century BC. [39]
A seventh Alexandrian victor could be Phaidimos, who won the pankration for boys
in 200, the year in which this event was introduced. The provenance of Phaidimos is,
however, disputed. In Eusebius’ victor list he is called Alexandrian, but according to
Pausanias he was an Aeolian from Troas and according to Philostratus an Egyptian from
Naucratis. [40] The confusion can be partly explained: there were several cities called
Alexandria. Best known was the capital of Egypt, but in Asia Minor there was also a town
called Alexandria Troas. [41] The list of Eusebius is sometimes sloppy: the city of
Skamandros, stadion-victor in 36 BC and the only Olympic victor certainly coming from
Alexandria Troas, is simply called Alexandria in the Greek manuscript, but Alexandria
Troas in the more accurate Armenian translation. Perhaps ‘Troas’ was mentioned on the
victor lists circulating in Pausanias’ days, but omitted in the versions of the third and
fourth century, used by Philostratus and Eusebius. However, Philostratus’ specification
that Phaidimos came from Naucratis indicates that he used a supplementary source,
besides a possibly inaccurate victor list. Therefore, the possibility that Pausanias used a
corrupted victor list cannot be excluded either.
On the map below all known Olympic victors in athletic events from the period
between 320 and 200 BC whose victory can be dated precisely are represented by a dot
locating their city or region of provenance. [42]
Figure 1 Map indicating the provenance of Olympic victors (320–200 BC).

108 S. Remijsen
Most victors come from Greece or the coastal cities of Asia Minor. All these cities
belonged to the Greek world in the classical period. Alexandria is the only newly
founded city producing Olympic victors. Already in 296 BC, only shortly after Egypt
had entered the Greek world, an Alexandrian won the diaulos-race. Many other Greek
cities had been founded throughout the Eastern Mediterranean in the aftermath of
Alexander’s conquests. They were all eager to demonstrate their Greekness, but they
do not appear in the Olympic victor list in the third century BC. Apparently only
Egypt was ready to challenge the traditional Greek world at the Olympic games. The
number of Alexandrian victors is also higher than those of other cities. This is not,
however, remarkable, since this number represents victors of the whole of Egypt, not
victors from one city or small region, as the other numbers do. Also in the Roman
period, Alexandrian athletes are overrepresented. [43]
Sources on Egyptian victors at other games in the third century BC are scarce. The
aforementioned boxer Kleoxenos won also at the Pythian, Isthmian and Nemean games,
as he was a periodonikes. The only other known Egyptian success at Panhellenic games
was Sosibios’ Panathenaic victory in wrestling as an adolescent. The Alexandrian
Nikostratos, son of Nikostratos, won the pentathlon for boys at the Asklepieia of Cos in
the second half of the third century BC. Two Alexandrians competed at local games with
only one or two foreign victors. A certain Timaios won the boxing and wrestling for men
at local games on Delos in 269 BC. It is very unlikely that he went to Delos especially for
these games. Probably he just happened to be there at that time. Dositheos, son of
Dositheos, won at games in the gymnasion of Samos in the paramilitary event of archery.
Perhaps he stayed there for his education. An inscribed discus, found in Middle Egypt,
was dedicated to Apollo by a certain Apollodoros. On paleographical grounds a date in
the late fourth century is proposed for this object. If this is correct, it might have
belonged to one of the first pentathletes in Egypt. [44]
The Promotion of Athletics in Egypt

The excellent results of the Egyptian contestants at the Greek games were not
achieved without effort. A lot of money was invested in the promotion of Greek
sports in Egypt. A professional approach to sports training demands a professional
infrastructure. The Hellenistic hippodrome-stadion complex – one structure serving
both purposes – in the centre of Alexandria was located near the Sarapeion. The
construction was probably ordered by Ptolemy I in the late fourth century, when he
first demonstrated an interest in horse races. The complex was called the Lageion,
‘after a certain Lagos’ according to second-century AD grammarian Herodian.
The hippodrome may have been a cult place for the father of Ptolemy I, as the fourth-
or fifth-century AD grammarian Horapollon suggests, or for Lagos the son of Ptolemy
I, who might have trained his horses here. The fact that Herodian, although he was
born in Alexandria, did not identify Lagos with the better known father of Ptolemy I
is an argument in favour of the second possibility. [45] Also at Hiera Nesos, outside
the city centre, there was a hippodrome (see the fourth section below).

The normal training complex for athletes was the gymnasion. The gymnasion in
Alexandria dates from the late fourth or early third century BC. Other third-century
gymnasia and palaistrai are attested in Naucratis, Thebes (Luxor) and in Philadelphia
and Samareia in the Arsinoite nome. Most of these were funded by private citizens. In
a letter to Zenon, a rich business man working for the Ptolemaic minister of finance
Apollonios, Hierokles, who takes care of Zenon’s interests in Alexandria, mentions
that the trainer Ptolemaios wants to thank Zenon for all he has done for the palaistra.
Many gymnasiarchs were army officers, for the gymnasion was in the first place a
military training centre. These officers were Greek immigrants, who, by funding a
gymnasion, displayed their cultural background and their loyalty to the Ptolemaic
dynasty, since the deified rulers received cult in the gymnasia. The location of the cult
here is another indication of the great value that the Ptolemies attached to Greek
physical education. [46]
Athletes were held in high esteem by the Ptolemies and were granted privileges.
Around 220 BC Polykrates of Argos and his father Mnasiadas arrived in Egypt.
They enjoyed a great reputation because they belonged to an ancient noble family
and because of Mnasiadas’ athletic career. Therefore, Mnasiadas was appointed
eponymous priest in 218/217 BC. [47] Ptolemy II had exempted trainers and victors
of the Pentaeteris, the Basileia and the Ptolemaia (see the fourth section) and their
descendants from the salt tax, the capitation charge at the centre of the Ptolemaic tax
structure. In a constitutional inscription from Cyrene, with regulations enforced by
Ptolemy I, trainers are exempted from civic duties. [48]
The most gifted athletes received specialized training preparing them for the
Panhellenic games. Polybius tells of the boxing match between Kleitomachos of
Thebes, who had the reputation of being unbeatable, and the Egyptian underdog
Aristonikos.
King Ptolemy had the ambition to put an end to this reputation. With much care
he had trained the boxer Aristonikos, who was considered naturally talented for
this task, and had sent him to Greece.
The public at first supported the Egyptian underdog, who did very well. Then
Kleitomachos, pausing a few seconds to recover, persuaded the public to choose his side.
Didn’t they know that he, Kleitomachos, now fought for the honour of Greece,
while Aristonikos fought for the honour of King Ptolemy? Did they prefer that an
Egyptian conquered the Greeks and won the crown at the Olympics, or that he, a
Boeotian from Thebes, was proclaimed victor in the men’s category? [49]
This text sheds light on how the Egyptian entry onto the Greek sport circuit was
perceived in mainland Greece. While officially all athletes were citizens of Greek
poleis, with their Greekness confirmed by the hellanodikai, the spectators at Olympia
knew very well that Egyptian athletes were not real Greek citizens, competing for the
glory of their own city, but subjects fighting for their king. There was definitely some

110 S. Remijsen
resentment among the traditional Greeks, who doubted whether these foreign
competitors to the title were even entitled to take part.
Talented athletes in Egypt were scouted at a young age. The same private citizens
funding the gymnasia also paid for the athletic training of their protégés. In the letter
to Zenon already mentioned, Hierokles also discussed the progress made by Pyrrhos.
Zenon had charged Hierokles to pay for the education of this boy, both his studies
and – ‘if they were sure that he would win’ – his athletic training. At the moment, the
boy was still lagging behind, because the other boys had started training earlier, but
his trainer Ptolemaios was sure that he would be far superior to his competitors and
he hoped to win a crown for Zenon. A few years later, Zenon paid for another trainer,
named Phanias. Zenon also materially supported Ptolemaia victor Dionysios by
sending him clothes. Boys like Pyrrhos were trained to compete in the category of the
boys. If they excelled, as Aristonikos must once have done, they might receive
support of the palace itself to train for the great Panhellenic games. [50]
In this way, also boys from less fortunate families in Egypt could have an athletic
career, though they were probably still a minority. Not everyone applauded this
development. Dioscorides, an Alexandrian epigrammatist from the second half of the
third century BC, mocks the Alexandrian Moschos, victor of a torch race: he was a son
of a whore and had lived in a pigsty, and therefore his crown made the honour for
himself and his city disappear instead of grow. [51]
Greek Agones in Egypt

Another way to promote sports was giving Egypt its own agones. There were two
categories of Greek agones: crown-games and prize-games. The Olympic, Pythian,
Isthmian and Nemean games were the four original so-called crown-games. Here
athletes won only a symbolic crown, but afterwards they were richly rewarded by
their home town. The organizing cities of the less prestigious prize-games had to
attract athletes with prize-money. Often they had only local participants.
The first prize-games in Egypt were the Basileia. These may go back to the
coronation of Alexander the Great in Memphis. When Ptolemy I made Alexandria
his capital, the games moved. During the reign of Ptolemy II, the Basileia were
connected with the celebrations of the king’s official birthday, on the same day of the
year as Alexander’s coronation. The victors of the Basileia of 8 March 267 BC, listed in
an inscription, belonged to the top of the Ptolemaic high society. This inscription
names only one Alexandrian, without his deme, and its find place is uncertain.
Therefore, Koenen argues that these Basileia were a local version of the Alexandrian
games. It is, however, unlikely that an Egyptian town would organize its own Greek
agones and that the elite would prefer these over the Alexandrian games. Might the
games of 267 be held outside Alexandria for a particular reason, for example, a royal
journey? [52]
In 282 or 279 BC Ptolemy II instituted the Ptolemaia in honour of Ptolemy I. [53]
Ptolemy II imitated the traditional crown-games by sending ambassadors to all Greek

cities with invitations to attend the Ptolemaia and by welcoming ambassadors or

theoroi of these cities during the games. Several cities and leagues of cities
acknowledged the ‘isolympic’ status of the Ptolemaia, which meant that victors of the
Ptolemaia were entitled to the same rewards in their home towns as victors of the
Olympic games. [54] The court poets Posidippus and Callimachus supported their
patron’s initiative, praising the victories of Etearchos with his Arab horse and of
Sosibios in the diaulos for boys in the same way as they praise their victories at the
traditional Panhellenic games. In reality, however, the Ptolemaia probably never
reached the same level as the traditional agones. A third-century inscription from
Tegea lists the victories of a man who was clearly not a professional athlete: he won all
his victories through performances in the theatre, except at the Ptolemaia, where he
won the boxing for men. [55]
An Egyptian papyrus from 29 September 251 BC locates the Ptolemaia in Hiera
Nesos. This is not one of the villages with this name in the Fayum – agones were not
organized in villages – but the Hiera Nesos on the east of Alexandria, a place
connected to equestrian activities. Strabo describes a hippodrome on the east side of
the city, next to which Augustus founded Nikopolis. This hippodrome can be
identified with the Alexandrian Hiera Nesos. Because the name of this location in the
outskirts of the capital was not known to foreigners, the Ptolemaia of Hiera Nesos are
called the Ptolemaia of Alexandria in inscriptions. [56] The Ptolemaia are not attested
after the 240s BC, but it has been suggested that the Actian games in Nikopolis might
have been a continuation of the Ptolemaia. [57]
A festival often identified with the Ptolemaia is the Pentaeteris. The procession of
this festival is known from a detailed description by Callixeinus of Rhodes. Several
papyri mention heifers for the great sacrifice. These sources do not confirm the
identification. The Pentaeteris took place a few months after the Ptolemaia, in mid-
winter, in the centre of Alexandria. The games were not Panhellenic – travelling over
sea was too dangerous in mid-winter – and they were prize-games: the victors
received a golden crown. [58]
Later in his reign, Ptolemy II instituted the Theadelpheia, a festival for the Sibling
Gods, that is, for himself and his sister-wife Arsinoe. This festival also contained
agones. The theoroi visiting Alexandria came for both the Ptolemaia and the
Theadelpheia (in this order), which means that the Theadelpheia were held not long
after the Ptolemaia and that the agones where probably also quadrennial. [59]
Athletic contests might also have formed part of the Arsinoeia, an annual festival
for the deified queen Arsinoe II, since a victor of the Ptolemaia is known to have
travelled to this festival. Other annual athletic and musical contests are attested in the
Alexandrian deme Eleusis and musical contests were also held as part of the Dionysia,
in Alexandria and possibly also in Naucratis and Ptolemais. During the reign of
Ptolemy III, a musical agon was certainly given to Ptolemais by the royal ambassador
Antiphilos, who received the citizenship of Ptolemais in return. [60]
The existence of local versions of Alexandrian agones in Egyptian towns, proposed
in several publications [61], is unlikely. Only Greek poleis could organize regular

112 S. Remijsen
agones. There is not a single certain attestation of agones in Egyptian towns until
Septimius Severus. In the third century AD, when all towns had become poleis, there
was an explosion of agones all over Egypt. For the Ptolemaic period one should make
a clear distinction between religious festivals, celebrated in many towns and on an
annual basis, and the agones that might be connected with such a festival, but only in
Greek poleis and often on a biennial or quadrennial basis.
Publicity on Sporting Victories

Egypt was not only successful, but – as fame means nothing if it is not spread – the
Ptolemies also made sure that the success story was well known by all the Greeks. The
traditional ways to publicize a victory were epinician poetry, statues and inscriptions.
Epinician poetry had become old-fashioned in the course of the Classical period. It
was a typical phenomenon of the first half of the fifth century BC, the time of Pindar
and Bacchylides. For Ptolemaic kings, a new dynasty of kings who ruled a ‘barbarian’
country, but wanted to demonstrate that they belonged to the ‘civilized’ Greek world,
this traditional, aristocratic genre probably recalled the glory of the Sicilian rulers, a
form of Hellenistic kings avant-la-lettre. Therefore, the court poet Callimachus,
author of victory odes for Berenike and Sosibios, reinvented the genre in the middle
of the third century BC. [62]
Posidippus, that other court poet, wrote epigrams, short poems originally meant to be
inscribed on stone, a typical genre of the Hellenistic age. Epinician epigrams on stone
existed since the seventh century BC. Some of these epigrams found their way into
anthologies. The most famous example is no doubt that for the Spartan princess Kyniska,
the first woman to win the Olympic horse races in the early fourth century. When the
necessary connection with the stone disappeared, the epinician epigram became a literary
genre. Many of Posidippus’ epigrams were never meant to be put on stone, not even
those describing an (imaginary) statue. The eternal recollection of the victories was now
guaranteed by the inclusion of the epigrams in poetry books. [63]
In the Hippika, victories of individual members of the Ptolemaic royal family are
carefully placed in the context of the family tradition. Berenike’s victories do not
stand on their own, her merit is enlarged by placing it in a long line of Ptolemaic
victories. Posidippus 82 explicitly mentions that her father accompanied her to the
games. Even victories of courtiers and subjects are connected with the Ptolemaic
‘aptitude for victory’. In Posidippus 74 a single mare decided the outcome when the
victor had to be appointed by lot. Kallikrates dedicated this victory by divine
intervention to the divine couple Ptolemy II and Arsinoe II. [64]
Posidippus stressed the successes of the women of the Ptolemaic court. In the
Hippika, Berenike I and Berenike Syra get most attention. Both were leading ladies of
the Alexandrian court when the poems were written. Especially in the poems for
Berenike I her femininity is stressed. Posidippus 87 says that she has stripped Kyniska
of her glory and Posidippus 88 makes Ptolemy II boast not of his father’s glory, but of
his mother’s victory ‘which is great’. This does not mean, however, that the victories
of women are valued higher than those of the male members of the family. On the

subject of the performance and the intended readership of the epinician epigrams,
there are still many uncertainties. [65]
The epinician epigrams are modelled after real inscriptions on victor monuments.
Real agonistic inscriptions and statues of the Ptolemies are, however, not preserved.
Through other inscriptions and monuments they nevertheless guaranteed a
continuous presence at the Panhellenic sanctuaries in Greece. With gifts to temples,
statues and inscriptions on honorific monuments they demonstrated their wealth and
power. They took initiatives themselves, but also benefited from the initiative of
others who set up statues or monuments, knowing that the kings valued this kind of
publicity.
Olympia is again best documented. Pausanias mentions two statues of Ptolemy I.
Neither of them was a victory monument. The first was a dynastic monument
representing the king with his children. [66] The second depicts him as patron of Elis.
It belongs to a monument honouring four royal protectors of Hellas and Elis: a
personification of Hellas crowned Antigonos and Philippos, son of Demetrios, and a
personification of Elis crowned Demetrios, who fought against Seleukos, and
Ptolemy, son of Lagos. It is debated, however, whether Ptolemy I really figured on
this monument. The words of Pausanias can also mean that Elis crowned Demetrios,
who fought against Seleukos and Ptolemy. Even if the first translation is correct, it is
difficult to find a situation in which Demetrios and Ptolemy I were on the same side,
helping Elis. Demetrios’ general Ptolemaios would be a better candidate. In that case
Pausanias might have identified him wrongly as the son of Lagos. [67]
Pausanias also mentions two statues of Ptolemy II: one was dedicated by the
Macedonian Aristolaos, another depicted him on a horse. This was not a victory
monument either: as Ptolemy II won with a four-horse chariot with a hired
charioteer, his victory monument would have depicted him standing besides the
chariot. On a horse, he was depicted as a king. [68] Two column bases with an
inscription remain of a monument for Ptolemy II and Arsinoe, set up by the admiral
and Pythian victor Kallikrates. Close by it was a monument for the Spartan king
Areus, set up by Ptolemy II. One of the Ptolemies set up a monument for another
Spartan king as well. Furthermore, Ptolemy II honoured the Olympic victor and
courtier Glaukon with an inscription and an unknown man with a statue. Ptolemaic
kings were in turn again honoured by others. [69]
The Ptolemies were of course not the only rulers represented on the monuments of
Olympia, but they are the best represented of the dynasties ruling in the third
century. [70] Nor was their presence restricted to Olympia. Few monuments,
however, seem connected to Egyptian participation in the agones. The frieze of the
Ptolemaion in Limyra depicted horse races. At Argos a statue of one of the early
Ptolemies was set up by two athletes, victorious at the Isthmian and the Nemean
games. This might have been their way of thanking the king for his material support,
which had enabled them to train and launch their careers. [71]
In this way the Ptolemies sent around images of power and the old Greek world could
not fail to notice their influence and financial strength. The Ptolemies also attracted
Greeks to Egypt, to show off even more splendour on their own terrain. Foreign

114 S. Remijsen
ambassadors were well cared for. The king sent them, for example, on a tour of the
country for sightseeing. [72] The Panhellenic Ptolemaia were especially created to attract
foreign visitors and to make Alexandria one of the major centres of the Greek sports
circuit. This gave Ptolemy II an opportunity to invite representatives of all Greek centres,
regardless of current political alliances. That the isolympic status was granted by the
other Greek poleis, and this for the first time in history, was a diplomatic triumph. Also
the procession of the Pentaeteris was an impressive demonstration of power and wealth.
In the words of Éduard Will, ‘The traditional festivals of Olympia, Delphi and the
Isthmus risked to appear pale in comparison’. [73]
Conclusion
One of the major changes in the Hellenistic period was the emergence of empires
with a Greek elite and king, like Ptolemaic Egypt, at the borders of the traditional
Greek world. This created new challenges on the Greek sports circuit.
Egypt demonstrated an unusual agonistic vigour in the third century BC. The
Egyptian competitors were successful right from the moment when they entered the
Greek sport circuit. In the most prestigious racing events, in particular the four-horse
chariot race and new events, the Ptolemaic royals and courtiers dominated the
competition. Also the Egyptian athletes were successful. Egypt was the only new
Greek region able to compete at the Panhellenic level, thanks to the considerable
investments of the Ptolemies, combined with private initiative.
The Ptolemies presented Egypt to the traditional Greek world as a kingdom to be
reckoned with. They created an ‘image of power’ with agonistic successes, using
sports as a tool of propaganda. Therefore, sport was promoted and successes were
publicized appropriately. Fantuzzi has suggested that royal participation in the horse
races might also continue an ancient Egyptian tradition. Considering that all the
publicity of the agonistic successes was completely Greek, I prefer to interpret the
Ptolemaic interest for sport as a message to the Greek world only. [74]
By means of sport, the residents of Ptolemaic Egypt could also stress their Greek
identity. But only the people – and just a part of them – were considered Greek, not
the provincial towns in which many of them were living. This situation had its
implication for agonistic life: third-century Egyptians participated in the games as
citizens of traditional Greek cities or of Alexandria. Moreover, only the Greek poleis
in Egypt could organize Greek games. This did not, however, impede Egypt’s
agonistic vigour. Giving Alexandria isolympic games, the Ptolemies even pushed the
city forward as one of the new centres of the Greek world.
Acknowledgements
The author would like to thank above all Willy Clarysse, for his invaluable suggestions,
and also Dorothy Thompson and Chris Bennett, for their interesting comments and Bart
Van Beek, who offered technical assistance for making the map.

Notes
[1] Thucydides VI. 12. 2. On this ‘image of power’, see Fantuzzi, ‘Posidippus at Court’, especially
262–3. In this study all abbreviations referring to editions of inscriptions are according to the
website http://epigraphy.packhum.org/inscriptions/main. All abbreviations referring to
editions of papyri are according to Oates et al., Checklist of Editions.
[2] IG I3 893 (inscription from the Athenian Akropolis enumerating his victories), IvO 146
(statue base at Olympia, cf. Pausanias VI. 6. 1), Andocides IV. 32 (about ostracism). Some of
the ostraka condemning him have been excavated on the Athenian agora, see Lang, Ostraka,
65: no 310–12. One was painted, which might point to an orchestrated campaign against him.
Cf. Piccirilli, ‘L’ostracismo di Callia’, 325–8.
[3] Pindar, Ol. 1–3, Pyth. 1–3, 6, Isth. 2. The famous bronze charioteer of Delphi is part of a
victory monument for Polyzalos or his brother Hieron. For the hired sprinter, see Pausanias
VI. 13. 1. See Hönle, Olympia in der Politik, 106–18; Antonaccio, ‘Elite Mobility in the West’,
265–85.
[4] Decker, ‘Olympiasieger aus Ägypten’.
[5] Bastianini, Gallazzi and Austin, Posidippo di Pella. The numbering of the poems used throughout
the essay refers to the editio minor: Austin and Bastianini, Posidippi Pellaei quae supersunt omnia.
Almost every year there has been a book publication dedicated to the new epigrams – not to
mention the numerous journal articles – such as Bastianini et al., Un poeto ritrovato; Bastianini
and Casanova, Il papiro di Posidippo un anno dopo; Acosta-Hughes et al., Labored in Papyrus
Leaves; Di Marco et al., Posidippo e gli altri; and Gutzwiller, The New Posidippus.
[6] Herodotus V. 22. Cf. Roos, ‘Alexander I in Olympia’.
[7] See Robert, ‘Sur les inscriptions d’Éphèse’, 354–72, especially 362–7, for illustrations of the
connection between victory and city.
[8] For Astylos and Gelon, see Pausanias VI 13. 1. He names Hieron as tyrant of Syracuse,
but in 480 Gelon was still ruling. For Hieron, see Pindar, Pyth. 1. For other examples see
Robert, ‘Sur les inscriptions d’Éphèse’, 358–62. Add Pausanias VI 7.4. to Robert’s list of
references.
[9] Bickermann, ‘Beiträge zur antiken Urkundengeschichte’, 220–5.
[10] SEG XXVII 1114. See Koenen, Eine agonistische Inschrift, 19–28. For Kineas, see also Clarysse
and Van der Veken, The Eponymous Priests, 6.
[11] SEG XLI 115. See Tracy and Habicht, ‘New and Old Panathenaic Victor Lists’, 188–189. See
also Shear, ‘Royal Athenians’.
[12] Bickermann, ‘Beiträge zur antiken Urkundengeschichte’, 239; Pausanias VI. 3. 1: ‘In the
inscription Ptolemy calls himself a Macedonian, though he was king of Egypt at the
same time’; and X. 7. 8: ‘For the kings of Egypt liked to be called Macedonians, as in fact they
were.’
[13] All known Olympic victors are listed by Moretti, ‘Olympionikai’. Supplements to this list are
given in the journal Klio 52 (1970), 295–303 and in Coulson, Proceedings, 119–28. Two
athletes from Egyptian towns, listed by Moretti, apparently came from outside Alexandria and
seem to contradict this rule. These are, however, no real exceptions. The first (Moretti no 581),
an anonymous athlete from Nibis, is only attested by a short entry in the geographical
dictionary of Stephanus from Byzantium (sixth century AD): ‘Nibis: an Egyptian city. Cf.
Phlegon in his chapter about the 140th olympiad (¼ 220 BC).’ Jacoby, et al. FGrHist II. 2. 257
(Phlegon of Tralles), F10: Step. Byz. s. Nbij< plij AŒgœptou. FlØgwn rm lumpadi.)
Nibis is not known otherwise. Because Stephanus quotes Phlegon from Tralles, author of an
olympiad chronicle, Moretti inferred that Nibis must have been the city of an Olympic victor.
But Phlegon might as well have said that this victor had himself proclaimed as an Alexandrian,
or as a citizen from another Greek city, but that he actually came from Nibis. Or he might
have said something completely different, not even related to a victor. The second, Didas

116 S. Remijsen
(Moretti no 841), fought his countryman Sarapammon in the boxing finals of AD 125 in
Olympia. Sarapammon offered a bribe and Didas accepted it. Strangely, Moretti includes
Didas in his victor list and not Sarapammon, although it is more logical that the one who
receives the money loses in return. When the corruption was discovered, both athletes were
fined for corruption and with this money two statues of Zeus were erected. Pausanias (V. 21.
15) informs us that both men came from ‘the newest district of Egypt, being the Arsinoite
nome’. He does not say that the victor was proclaimed as such. He is just giving background
information about their actual provenance. In the inscription on the statue bases, their actual
origin may have been mentioned after their official status as Alexandrians.
[14] For Demetrios: IGUR I 239 ¼ IG XIV 1104 (late second century AD): Hermopolis, Alexandria;
IGUR I 240 ¼ IG XIV 1102 (c.AD 200): Alexandria, Hermopolis; P. Lond. III 1178 (AD 194):
Alexandria, Hermopolis; I. Porto 16 (early third century AD): Alexandria; For Asklepiades: IGUR
I 239 ¼ IG XIV 1104 (late second century AD): Alexandria and Hermopolis; IGUR I 240 ¼ IG XIV
1102 (c.AD 200): Alexandria, Hermopolis, Puteoli, Naples, Elis, Athens; IGUR I 241 ¼ IG XIV
1103 (late second century AD): Alexandria; OGIS 714 ¼ IGR I 154 (late second century AD):
Alexandria; and SPP XX 58 (after AD 212): Hermopolis. This last papyrus is a letter written to
Asklepiades in his function of prytanis of the city-council of Hermopolis. The date proposed by
the editor, that is AD 256–66, is incompatible with the career of the athlete. See Drew-Bear,
‘Ammonios et Asclépiadès’, 209 for the terminus post quem. Strasser (‘La carrière du
pankratiaste’, 298, note 135) dates all the inscriptions with Asklepiades to the reign of Caracalla.
[15] Frisch, Zehn agonistische Papyri, 12–13.
[16] For Ptolemy I, see Pausanias X. 7. 8. This victory is dated in 310 BC or 286 BC by several recent
articles (Criscuolo, ‘Agoni e politica’, 312; Fantuzzi, ‘Posidippus at Court’, 251; van Bremen,
‘The Entire House’, 363; Bennett ‘Arsinoe and Berenice’, 91), due to a mistaken note in the
Loeb edition of Pausanias. For Lagos, see IG V. 2. 550 and for Berenike, see Lloyd-Jones and
Parsons, Supplementum Hellenisticum, no 254–69. On the identification of Berenike, see below
in the second section. For Sosibios, see Callimachus, fr. 384. For Ptolemies at the Panathenaia,
see van Bremen, ‘The Entire House’, 360–63.
[17] For Philip, see Moretti, ‘Olympionikai’, no 434, 439 and 445; Plutarch, Alexander 3. 8 and 4. 9.
His victories with the single race-horse and the two-horse chariot were commemorated on
coins. For Attalos, see Moretti, ‘Olympionikai’, no 538 and IvP I 10. For kings at the
Panathenaia, see van Bremen, ‘The Entire House’, 361–2; and Shear, ‘Royal Athenians’.
[18] For Archidamos and Karteros, see P. Oxy. XVII 2082. Eleven small fragments of this olympiad
chronicle are preserved, dealing with events from Greek and Roman history from the early
third century BC. F4, the longest fragment, lists the victors of the 121th olympiad (296 BC). Cf.
Christesen, Olympic Victor Lists, 334–6. For Lampon, Moretti (‘Olympionikai’, no 498)
remarks that his statue was surrounded by statues of the fifth and fourth century. It is
therefore very unlikely that he won later than the early third century BC. For Theochrestos, see
Moretti, ‘Olympionikai’, no 508. For Telemachos, see IvO 177 and for Aratos, see Moretti,
‘Olympionikai’, no 574.
[19] See Pouilloux, ‘Glaucon, fils d’Éteoclès’. For the statue, see Pausanias VI. 16. 9. Pausanias gives
only the first name of Ptolemy, not the name of his father or city. Pausanias assumes that his
readers know him. This indicates that he was a king. Because of his connection to Glaukon,
Ptolemy II is the most likely candidate. Inscription: IvO 296 ¼ Syll.3 1462 ¼ SEG XXXII 415. See
Criscuolo, ‘Agoni e politica’, 321–2 for a new reading and for the attribution to Ptolemy II.
[20] Posidippus, Hippika. The reading of the Spartan’s name and of the games in which
Eu . . . won are very uncertain – see Posidippus 75 and 77.
[21] Gutzwiller, ‘Introduction’, 3–4, 15; and Criscuolo, ‘Agoni e politica’, 315–16, 330.
[22] Pausanias X. 7. 8. For the breeding of horses in Hellenistic Egypt, see Rostovtzeff, A Large
Estate, 167–8.

[23] Bennett, ‘Arsinoe and Berenice’, 92–94.

[24] Thompson, ‘Posidippus, Poet of the Ptolemies’, 274–278; and Bennett, ‘Arsinoe and Berenice’,
94–96.
[25] Posidippus 75, l. 3: a#llon Çp’ a#llwi.
[26] Ibid., 77.
[27] Lloyd-Jones and Parsons, Supplementum Hellenisticum, n o 254–69. The scholion is no 255.
See Hyginus, De astronomia II. 24: ‘Hanc Berenicen nonnulli cum Callimacho dixerunt equos
alere et ad Olympia mittere consuetam fuisse’ [‘Several writers, among them Callimachus,
have said that this Berenike used to breed horses and send them to Olympia’]. For
Athlophoroi, see Clarysse and Van der Veken, The Eponymous Priests, 17.
[28] Criscuolo, ‘Agoni e politica’, 313, note 10 and 331–2.
[29] Ptolemy I might have won in the late fourth century and Berenike II’s victory is uncertain.
[30] For Tlasimachos and anonymous Thessalian, see P. Oxy. XVII 2082. For Nikagoras, see
Moretti, ‘Olympionikai’, no 490. For Attalos, see IvP I 10. For Belistiche (268 BC), see P. Oxy.
XVII 2082. The name of Belistiche falls in a gap on the papyrus: [Bilistchj M]aketdoj
pwlik[ ]n [tØJrippon]< a0th Ptolema[ou FiladØlfou Çt]=`[r]=. Criscuolo, ‘Agoni e
politica’, 319–20 argues that the name of any woman at the court may be supplied in the
lacuna. However, two things are certain: she was a woman and was connected to King
Ptolemy II (a connection worth noting in a victor list). In 268 BC, Arsinoe had already died
and Berenike was still a little girl. It is improbable that she won another victory at the
Olympics besides the one celebrated by Posidippus. Inside the royal family, there are no other
possibilities. Because this female victor must have had a notable connection to the king, the
mistress Belistiche is the most likely candidate. Moreover, she is also known as victor in 264.
For Belistiche (264 BC), see Pausanias V. 8. 11. According to Pausanias, the race for chariots
drawn by two foals was introduced in ‘the third olympiad before the 131st (256 BC)’. Eusebius’
list dates it in 264 BC. Either Pausanias counted inclusively, or he was confused because
Belistiche figured in the victor list of 268 BC as well.
[31] For Nikagoras, see Moretti, ‘Olympionikai’, no 491. For Pandion and M[. . .] of Crannon, see
P. Oxy. XVII 2082. For Trygaios, Phylopidas, Amyntas and anonymous, see Posidippus 73,
83–85. For Pantarkes and Thrasonides, see Moretti, ‘Olympionikai’, no 577 and 585.
[32] Pausanias V. 8. 11.
[33] According to IvP I 10 (victory inscription for Attalos) the traditional horse breeding regions,
such as Libya, Argos and Thessaly, still participated with many teams. About the much
discussed identification with the royal mistress, see Kosmetatou, ‘Belistiche’, 18–36. For
Tlepolemos as courtier, see Clarysse and Van der Veken, The Eponymous Priests, 8–10. In SEG
XLII 994, a letter to the city Kildara, he acts as the representative of Ptolemy III.
[34] For Kallikrates, see Bing, ‘Posidippus and the Admiral’, especially 250–1. Also, see Hauben,
Callicrates of Samos. For Etearchos, see Posidippus 76. The poem names the Ptolemaia (see the
third section), which links him to Egypt. Thompson, ‘Posidippus, Poet of the Ptolemies’, 279
identifies him with Etearchos, son of Kleon, citizen of Alexandria and nomarch in the
Arsinoite nome; Criscuolo, ‘Agoni e politica’, 324–6 identifies him with a representative of the
Cyreneans, who had good contacts with Sostratos of Cnidus.
[35] For Berenike, see Posidippus 82. For the date of the victories, see Bennett, ‘Arsinoe and
Berenice’, 95–6. For Sosibios, see Callimachus, fr. 384, ll. 5–15. See also Lelli and Parlato, ‘Le
vittorie’.
[36] For Berenike, the first festival, see Posidippus 79. The incomplete poem 80 probably celebrated the
same victories. For the second festival, see Posidippus 81. It is not certain whether this poem
celebrated an Isthmian or a Nemean victory. She won a celery crown, which is typical for both
games. For Etearchos, see Posidippus 76. For Sosibios, see Callimachus, fr. 384, ll. 21–34.
[37] For all known residents of Egypt in the Hellenistic period, see Peremans et al., Prosopographia
Ptolemaica (PP). PP VI no 17213 ¼ PP II no 1914 (?). Idaios was the eponymous officer of a

118 S. Remijsen
division of the Egyptian army, to which the Cyrenean Antipatros, aged 75 in 236/5 BC,
belonged according to his will (P. Petr.2 I 16).
[38] The Olympic victor list, formerly ascribed to Africanus, was a part of Eusebius’ Chronica and
is preserved in a Greek manuscript from around AD 1500 and in a codex produced between
the early twelfth and early fourteenth century with the fifth-century Armenian translation of
the text. It gives a continuous list of all stadion-victors between 776 BC and AD 217, with some
additional information about victors of other events, for example, when an event was first
introduced or a remarkable combination of victories. For the most recent edition of this, see
Christesen and Martirosova-Torlone, ‘The Olympic Victor List’. For the stadion-victors and
Kleoxenos, see this list. For Apollonios, see P. Oxy. XVII 2082. For Aristonikos, see Polybius
XXVII 9. 3–13.
[39] Although the name Ammonios refers to the Egyptian god Ammon, it is nevertheless a Greek
name, particularly popular in Cyrene, due to the oracle of Ammon in the Libyan desert.
Cyreneans constituted a large group among the Greek immigrants in Ptolemaic Egypt. See
Clarysse and Thompson, Counting the People, II, 320–1. Later athletes had typical Egyptian
names, for example, Agathos Daimon (SEG XXII 354), Anoubion, Isarion, Isidoros,
Sarapammon and Sarapion (see Moretti, ‘Olympionikai’).
[40] Pausanias V. 8. 11; and Philostratus, Gymn. 13.
[41] Bingen, ‘Inscriptions du Péloponnèse’, 631–632.
[42] On the basis of Moretti, ‘Olympionikai’. All entries preceded by a question mark are excluded,
because the date and sometimes other information are too uncertain and mistakes might
distort the result. This leaves: Aetolia 2 þ Amphissa 1, Aegium 1, Alexandria 6 (Phaidimos is
not included), Argos 1, Bargylia 1, Boeotia 2 þ Anthedon 1 þ Thebes 1, Colophon 1, Corinth
1, Cos 1, Cyrene 1, Elis 2, Laconia 3, Macedonia 2 þ Amphipolis 1, Magnesia-on-Meander 2,
Mantinea 1, Messene 1, Miletus 3, Mytilene 1, Neapolis 1, Pharsalos 1, Rhodes 2, Salamis on
Cyprus 1, Samos 1, Sicyon 1, Syracuse 1, Tegea 1, and Tralles 1.
[43] In the period between AD 75 and 220 no fewer than 16 stadion victors, good for 19 victories,
were Alexandrian, which means 53% of all stadion-races were won by an Egyptian.
[44] Names of athletes from Ptolemaic Egypt and references to the sources are listed in PP IV no
17189–17250. For Sosibios, see Callimachus, fr. 384, ll. 35–39. For Nikostratos, see Klee, Zur
Geschichte der gymnischen Agone, 6 l. 19. For Timaios, see IG XI, 2 203, l. 69. For Dositheos,
see Michel, Recueil, no 899 A, l. 14. For Apollodoros, see Michaı̈lidès, ‘Considérations sur les
jeux gymniques’, 300–1.
[45] McKenzie, Gibson and Reyes, ‘Reconstructing the Serapeum’, 101–4; and Maricq, ‘Une
influence alexandrine sur l’art augustéen?’, 26–7. Aelius Herodian, Herodiani Technici
Reliquiae, Vol. 1, p. 371, ll. 1–2 (LÆgeion t ºppodrómion ’Alexandreaj p LÆgou
tinój). Cf. Vol. 2, p. 541, ll. 20–21. This explanation is taken over by several later etymologies.
The Lageion was not called after a certain Alexander Lagos, as Calderini (Dizionario, 124–5)
suggests on the basis of the Etymologicum Gudianum (col. 360: LÆgeion, 1stin ºppodrom j
’AlexÆndrou lÆgou tinój), since the differences with Herodian are obviously caused by bad
copying. Horapollon wrote a Temenika, a work on the morphology of temple names. Of the
Temenika only fragments have been preserved, which are collected by Reitzenstein, Geschichte
der Griechischen Etymologika, 312–15. See Nr. 31: LÆgeion< . . . 5t 4 towu LÆgou towu
patr j Ptolemaou towu AŒgœptou met
’AlØxandron t n Makedóna \rxantoj.
[46] For gymnasia, see Launey, Recherches, 836–46; and Kennell, Ephebeia, 5–6, 35, 127–8. For
Zenon, see P. Lond. VII 1941. For the connection with army and royal cult, see Launey,
Recherches, 846–869.
[47] Polybius V. 63. 4–7. Also see Clarysse and Van der Veken, The Eponymous Priests, 14.
[48] For tax exemption, see P. Hal. 1, 260–5: toøj paidotrbaj . . . ka toøj nenikhkó[t]aj t[ n
penJethrik n] gwna w ka t
Basleia ka t
Ptole[m]a[i]a. Cf. Clarysse and Thompson,
´
Counting the People II, 39 and 53. For Cyrene, see SEG IX 1, 43–6.

[49] Aristonikos is an uncommon, aristocratic name. The young athlete (PP VI 17196) can perhaps
be identified with the general and eponymous priest of the 180s (PP II 2194 ¼ PP III 5022).
The king funding the athlete was Ptolemy IV, since Kleitomachos won the Olympics of 216
and 212 BC. See Polybius XXVII. 9, especially 7–8 and 11–12.
[50] For Pyrrhos, see P. Lond. VII 1941. For Phanias, see P. Cair. Zen. III 59326, R col. 1, 28; col. 9,
81. For Dionysios, see PSI IV 364. For Zenon’s patronage of young boys and their social
background, see Clarysse and Vandorpe, Zenon, un homme d’affaires, 58–62.
[51] Ant. Pal. XI 363.
[52] For Alexander’s games, see Arrian III. 5. 2. For the games in Alexandria, see IG II2 3779, 19–20
(late fourth-early third century): Basleia Çn ’Alexandreai. For the inscription of 267 BC,
see Koenen, Eine agonistische Inschrift, especially 3–8, 19–32 (SEG XXVII 1114).
[53] The date of institution is disputed. SEG XXVIII 60, 55–64 (Shear, Kallias of Sphettos)
states that the first Ptolemaia were held before the first Panathenaia after the revolt of
Athens in 286 BC. Bennett, ‘Alexandria and the Ptolemaic Macedonian Calendar’, 42–5
argues for a date in July 282, about a month before the Panathenaia. This is not
completely compatible with PSI IV 364, which records Ptolemaia in August 251 BC. The
month is not a problem – according to the Macedonian calendar both celebrations fell in
late Daisios or in Panemos – but the year implies that somewhere between 282 and 251
the Ptolemaia were celebrated after three years instead of four. A possible reason for this
might have been that in this way the Ptolemaia no longer fell in the same summer as the
Isthmian, Panathenaic and Pythian games, but moved to a summer that had only the
Nemean games. The second possibility is that the Ptolemaia were first held in 279 BC. This
solves the aforementioned problem and allows more time to prepare for both the
Ptolemaia and the Panathenaia of the next summer. This would mean however, that no
Panathenaia were held in 282.
[54] For Isolympic status, see Syll.3 390 (league of the Nesiotai), CID IV 40 (Delpic
amphictyony). Several sources mention ambassadors: P. Lond. VII 1973, SEG I 366 and the
inscriptions on urns with the ashes of deceased ambassadors listed by Braunert, ‘Auswärtige
Gäste’, 234–7. These texts cannot be used as sources for the agones. Many of them cannot be
dated in a year in which the Ptolemaia and the Pentaeteris took place. Also ambassadors
announcing games of their own city or ambassadors with diplomatic purposes are called
theoroi.
[55] Posidippus 76 and Callimachus, fr. 384, ll. 39–41. For Tegea, see Syll.3 III 1080.
[56] PSI IV 364. About the location of Hiera Nesos, see PSI V 543, 48–60. This text mentions the
repair of a silver bit, the fare to Canopus for the grooms and a nosebag for foals. Cf. Calderini,
Dizionario, III, 18. For the location of the hippodrome, see Strabo XVII 1. 10.
[57] Charvet and Yoyotte, Strabon: Le voyage en Egypte, note 118.
[58] The main arguments for the identification of the two festivals are the – unnecessary –
assumption that Pentaeteris cannot be the official name of the games and the fact that both
games were quadrennial. The identification is accepted by Dunand, ‘Fête et propagande’;
Nerwinski, The Foundation Date, 107–16; Perpillou-Thomas, Fêtes d’ Égypte, 152–8; and
Thompson, ‘‘‘Philadelphus’’ Procession’, but doubted by Fraser, Ptolemaic Alexandria I, 231–
2 and II, 379–81. Rice (The Grand Procession, addendum) leaves the question open. For the
description by Callixeinus, see Athenaeus, Deipnosophistae V 196 A–203 B (mid-winter: 196
D; centre of the city: 197 D; golden crowns: 203 A). The papyri are PSI IV 409, P. Grad. 6, P.
Heid. VI 362. In P. Ryl. IV 562 (16 August 251) Zenon is informed who has taken up the
contract for the supplies for the cavalrymen going to the Pentaeteris. This letter deals with a
village in the Memphite nome, not yet Alexandria itself, and the supplies have not yet arrived
there, so it must have been written weeks or months before the festival, which must therefore
fall in the Macedonian month of Loios at the earliest, but more probably in Gorpaios or
Hyperberetaios. P. Heid. VI 362 is more urgent, stating that on 5 February 226 BC, that is,

120 S. Remijsen
early Gorpaios, they apparently have not yet assembled enough heifers for the sacrifice.
Therefore, export of heifers is forbidden.
[59] See IvO 188: [Q]eadØlfea [su]nwrai [te]ledi. For the theoroi, see SEG XXXVI 1218
(about 243–2 BC). Cf. Bousquet, ‘Lettre de Ptolémée Evergète’, 22–32.
[60] For the Arsinoeia, see PSI IV 364. For Eleusis, see Nerwinski, The Foundation Date, 115. For
the Dionysia, see Nerwinski, The Foundation Date, 113–14; and Perpillou-Thomas, Fêtes
d’Égypte, 81–3. For Ptolemais, see OGIS I 49 ¼ SB V 8853 and OGIS I 51 ¼ SB V 8855. Cf.
Plaumann, Ptolemais in Oberägypten, 25–27.
[61] For example, Perpillou-Thomas, Fêtes d’Égypte, 152–8.
[62] Ferguson, Callimachus, 97.
[63] The epigram celebrating Kyniska’s ‘record’ was inscribed on the basis of her statue at Olympia
(IvO 160) and later included in literary collections of epigrams (Ant. Pal. XIII 16). For more
information about the genre, see Köhnken, ‘Epinician Epigram’; and van Bremen, ‘The Entire
House’, 352.
[64] Kosmetatou, ‘Constructing Legitimacy’, 238; and Fantuzzi, ‘Posidippus at Court’, 265–6.
[65] Van Bremen, ‘The Entire House’, 351, 369–70. For Kyniska as a model, see Fantuzzi,
‘Posidippus at Court’, 253–62.
[66] Pausanias VI. 15. 10.
[67] Pausanias VI. 16. 3. See Kruse, ‘Zwei Denkmäler der Antigoniden’, 273–87.
[68] Pausanias VI. 17. 3 and 16. 9. About the identification with Ptolemy II, see note 19. For the
two types of statues, see Smith, ‘Pindar, Athletes and the Early Greek Statue Habit’, 123–30;
and Laubscher, ‘Ptolemaı̈sche Reiterbilder’, 223–38.
[69] The monument of Kallikrates: IvO 306–307. Cf. Bing, ‘Posidippus and the Admiral’, 252–
54; and Herrmann, Olympia, 181 (with reconstruction). For the Spartan kings, see IvO 308
and 309. For Glaukon, see IvO 296. Cf. note 19. For the unknown man, see Pausanias VI.
3. 1. For the Ptolemies, see IvO 314 (by the Cyreneans), 313, 301 (for Ptolemy VII). For the
position of these monuments in the Altis and their possible interaction with other
monuments, see Schmidt-Donaus, Schenkungen hellenistischer Herrscher, 200–9.
[70] For example, the Antigonids – see IvO 304 and 305.
[71] For Limyra, see Tancke, ‘Wagenrennen’, 100–2. For Argos, see SEG XXX 364.
[72] P. Lond. VII 1973. This is a letter of the minister Apollonios to Zenon, ordering chariots and
baggage-mules for the ambassadors of Argos and of King Pairisades in 254 BC. These were sent
by Ptolemy II to the Arsinoite nome to see the sights.
[73] Dunand, ‘Fête et propagande’; and Will, Histoire politique, 202–3: ‘Les panégyries
traditionnelles d’Olympie, de Delphes, de l’Isthme risquaient de paraı̂tre pâles en
comparaison’.
[74] Fantuzzi, ‘Posidippus at Court’, 250–1. For the Greekness of the Posidippus epigrams, see
Thompson, ‘Posidippus, Poet of the Ptolemies’, 283. For the Greek symbolism in the
procession of the Pentaeteris, see Dunand, ‘Fête et propagande’, 31–4.
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Gladiators in the Greek East: A Case

Study in Romanization
Christian Mann
Introduction
Over the last few years, the cultural development of the Greek world under
Roman domination has aroused lively interest among archaeologists as well as
among historians and philologists. Much attention has been paid to the changes
in material culture, to the persistence of ‘Greek’ identity and to the attitudes of
Greek writers towards the Roman Empire. [1] The extent and intensity of Roman
influence on Greek culture have been estimated differently by various scholars,
but concerning the topic of this essay there seems to be a consensus in two
respects. First, scholars agree that the eastern provinces were less affected by the

Gladiators in the Greek East 125
Roman Empire than the western provinces were: in Germania and Britain, for
example, the Roman occupation came along with new urban patterns,
aqueducts, theatres, and so on, whereas the Greek polis did not undergo a
profound shift from Hellenistic to Roman times. Second, it is generally agreed
that gladiatorial games were among the few elements of Roman culture adopted
by the Greeks. [2]
The communis opinio has not always held this view. Scholars of the nineteenth
and early twentieth centuries hardly acknowledged the spread of gladiatorial games
in the Greek world. According to Ludwig Friedländer, for example, gladiatorial
games were not a common element of Greek polis life in Roman times, but
restricted to towns like Corinth, ‘for Corinth was non-Greek in character, and a
wealthy port with a large corrupted mob’, and some regions in Asia Minor ‘with its
mixed half-Asiatic population’. [3] This was a typical notion of philhellenic
scholars who were not willing to believe that the Greek population enjoyed a
spectacle as cruel as the gladiatorial games. The decisive turnabout was brought
about by Louis Robert. In his milestone monograph Les gladiateurs dans l’Orient
grec and some subsequent articles, Robert presented hundreds of gladiatorial
inscriptions from the Greek east; in addition, he proved that many representations
of armed men did not represent soldiers (as once thought), but gladiators. Given
the striking evidence brought forward by Robert, nobody could doubt any longer
that gladiatorial combats were popular in every part of the eastern provinces and
especially in the centres of Hellenistic polis culture, like Miletus, Smyrna and
Pergamum. [4]
During the last decades, archaeological and epigraphic data have increased on a
big scale: genres relatively neglected by Robert, for example, mosaics, oil lamps,
terra sigillata and coins, have supplied further evidence for the popularity of
gladiatorial games among the Greeks, and even the number of eastern
amphitheatres – considered a rarity for a long time – has increased considerably,
the latest discovery being made in Sofia/Serdica in Bulgaria. [5] The number of
inscriptions has nearly tripled since Robert’s time, and much work has been done
on collecting and publishing the epigraphic data of single cities or regions. The
most important contributions to the topic have been made by Michael Carter,
who has focused on the organization of the games as well as on the status of the
gladiators; in his doctoral thesis, he also presented an updated catalogue of
inscriptions. [6]
The term ‘Romanization’ has caused a great deal of discussion. Many British
archaeologists and historians dealing with the development of Roman Britain have
banned the term completely. ‘Romanization’, it has been argued, is contaminated
by colonialist ideas and implies an inaccurate notion of how the interaction
between Romans and the ‘others’ took place. The concept of ‘Romanization’
established by Mommsen and Haverfield was attacked as being flawed, that is that
the image of Romans deliberately spreading the blessings of civilization, thereby
lifting indigenous peoples to a higher standard of living, did not only trivialize the

126 C. Mann
violence Romans used to establish their Empire, but distorted the process in four
respects:
1) It reduced complex processes that were occurring with participation of many

groups to a polarization of Roman vs. indigenous, and excluded interaction
between Gauls, Celtiberians, Belgians, and so on.
2) It overestimated the importance of the Roman government and underestimated
the role of the conquered peoples in the transfer of Roman culture.
3) It oversimplified cultural interaction to a one-way process without taking into
account that Romans were also influenced by provincial cultures.
4) It concentrated on the elites without paying adequate attention to the lower
strata of the population. [7]
During the 1990s, a majority of scholars shared the opinion that the term
‘Romanization’ could not be cured of these defects, but in recent years both the
term and the concept have experienced a comeback. This is partly due to the fact
that the critics of ‘Romanization’ did not develop an appropriate concept to
describe the cultural changes in the Roman provinces. Many suggestions were
made, for example, creolization, bricolage, identity, syncretism, resistance,
globalization, but none of these achieved acceptance. Another reason for the
increased popularity of ‘Romanization’ is the development of the term itself. It has
been disburdened of much of its imperialistic luggage and is no longer used in a
way that reduces the importance of indigenous peoples or the non-elites. An
elaborate paper by Géza Alfödy and a 100-page section in the ‘Annales’ have
marked the territory for coming studies of ‘Romanization’. [8]
So the debate about Romanization (henceforth without quotation marks) has
brought along useful clarifications, but focus on terminology has often – as Alcock
has put it – prevented ‘other, fresher ways of talking about what happens to
people when they engage in various forms of imperial interaction and the
repercussions of empire’. [9] In this study, I try to offer such a new look on a
specific product of Roman culture and its spread among the Greeks. The Roman
gladiatorial games are peculiar – no similar form of public spectacles has been
detected in Greek or any other culture. The peculiarity is not defined by the
imminent danger of death for the fighters, which can be found in many other
kinds of ‘sports’, for example, the duel in modern times. It was the decision about
life and death after the combat that made it so specific. In most cases, a fight
ended because one of the gladiators was wounded or exhausted. The decision
about his life then lay in the hands of the spectators, who evaluated his
performance in the fight. Had the defeated gladiator fought bravely, his life was
spared; if not, his opponent was ordered to kill him.
If ‘culture’ is not considered as a conglomerate of objects and performances but
considered as a tissue of significances, the simple statement that gladiatorial games

spread throughout the Greek world is no contribution to the study of Romanization.

It rather is a starting point for a set of questions:
. In which ways did the Greek audiences perceive gladiatorial games? We know
they were a specific product of Roman culture, but did the audience notice and
discuss their Roman origin? In recent years, a debate has arisen about the
symbolic character of the amphitheatre – was it a marker of Roman identity or
not? – and this question will be debated with a broad view on the spectacles that
took place in it. [10]
. What happened to the gladiatorial games in the east on the level of organization?
Did the Greeks integrate the gladiatorial games into their set of spectacles, the
agones? Among the Greeks, there was an ancient tradition of tough combat sports,
that is, boxing and pankration, so the experience of men risking severe injuries or
even death while fighting was not completely new.
. In Rome, gladiators had a strong symbolic significance. Despite the popularity of
some stars of the arena, they were outsiders standing at the periphery of Roman
society: they faced death, but if they proved virtus in the eyes of their spectators,
they could be pardoned even in case of defeat; and if they survived several fights,
they were set free and granted citizenship. The meaning of gladiatorial games
cannot be conceived without considering the context: they formed part of a
munus, which also included beast-hunts in the morning and, sometimes,
executions of criminals at noon; gladiatorial fights as the most popular part were
staged in the afternoon. The spectators thus experienced the victory over
ferocious nature, the annihilation of men who could not be included into Roman
society, and, at last, saw outsiders fighting for integration into society. The
spectators themselves had influence on the fate of defeated gladiators; the editor of
the games, who formally had to decide, reacted to the crowd’s shouts and
gestures. It is an important question if this symbolic meaning of the gladiators
was brought along with the institution itself. [11]
Because of their definitively non-Greek origin, their wide diffusion and the variety
and quantity of evidence, gladiatorial games serve as an appropriate case study for
analysing the depth of Roman cultural influence on the Greek world. The main focus
of interest is put on the gladiator himself, which is justified by the character of our
sources. In contrast to Latin authors, who used gladiatorial games as a very popular
topic in many genres, gladiators are rarely mentioned in Greek literature; for this
reason it remains difficult to gain insight into Greek elites’ notion of gladiatorial
games. On the other hand, the sources for the self-presentation of eastern gladiators
are much richer in comparison to Rome and the western provinces: gravestones of
gladiators have been preserved in all parts of the Empire, but whereas the funerary
inscriptions of ‘Latin’ gladiators give little more than technical information, the
gravestones of Greek gladiators are not only decorated with a representation of the

128 C. Mann
fighter, but also contain written information about the ways gladiators thought
about their position in society and their heroic ‘profession’ (see below, p. 284–5).
These tombstones are of special importance because they provide us with
information about a defined group of lower social status. In the debate about
Romanization, it is a commonplace to call for more attention to the non-elites; but
if the intention is to study culture and not only objects, many studies devoted to
non-elites have to cope with a lack of written sources. It is questionable, for
example, if Hingley and Webster achieve their aim when they try to deduce ‘acts of
resistance’ from house architecture or religious beliefs from images of gods. [12]
Regarding the gladiators, in contrast, there is rich documentation, archaeological as
well as epigraphic, offering good prospects for a successful analysis of the set of
values shared by a non-elite group.
The Spread of Gladiatorial Games in the Greek East: Chronology, Regional

Varieties, Driving Forces
In Republican times gladiatorial games were only rarely staged in the Greek world.
An exception is the famous show of Antiochus IV at Daphne in 166 BC. Polybius,
in a fragment included in Athenaeus’ Deipnosophistae, mentions that gladiators
formed part of the sumptuous festivities: 240 pairs of monomachoi participated in
the grand procession, and monomachiai and beast-hunts were among the
spectacles staged by the Seleucid king to demonstrate his power, wealth and
generosity. This passage has provoked much discussion: according to Günther, the
monomachoi were not included in the original text of Polybius; rather they had
been inserted later to demonstrate the greatness of Antiochus’ games on a level
Roman readers could understand. Mittag has more confidence in Athenaeus’ text,
but does not believe in gladiators either. In his opinion, the monomachoi
marching in the procession were not gladiators but elite soldiers; however, this
leaves open why they are numbered in pairs. Another problem is the relation
between the monomachoi in the procession and the monomachiai: if the former
were elite soldiers, what kind of spectacle were the monomachiai? It is more
convincing to accept monomachoi/monomachiai as gladiators/gladiatorial fights,
considering that Livy also records Antiochus’ enthusiasm for gladiators. But there
are still different opinions on their background. Edmondson sees them as ‘true’
Roman gladiators imported from Italy; Antiochus had seen Aemilius Paullus
imitating Greek games during his festivities in 167 BC, and he aimed to do the
same vice versa by introducing gladiatorial games in his kingdom. Carter, in
contrast, questioned this idea, pointing to the extraordinarily high number of 240
pairs, which far exceeds all gladiatorial games that took place in Rome before the
first century BC. In his opinion the gladiators were not imported from Italy, but
were members of the Greco-Syrian youth; like their king, they were fascinated by
Roman gladiatorial games and fought in the manner of gladiators in order to
show their bravery. [13]

A final consensus has not yet been achieved, but whatever the monomachiai of
Antiochus exactly were, they did not form a starting point for a tradition of
munera in the Greek world. In the second century BC, there might have been
gladiatorial games at Colophon and Delos, but the evidence is doubtful: a
restoration of an honorary decree in one case and a disputed dating of a
graffito in the other. Solid evidence for gladiatorial games in the Greek east exists
for the first century BC, but the spectacles mentioned in the sources were not
staged by the Greeks themselves, but by Roman generals, for example, Lucullus.
[14]
It was not until the early first century AD that munera became more common in the
Greek world. Inscriptions from Thasos and Ancyra dating to late Augustan or
Tiberian times show a feature of organization that happened to be the standard
pattern in the following centuries. The munera in the east were organized in
connection with the emperor’s cult, and the local elites paid for them (see below
p. 279). [15] The majority of sources come from the second and third centuries AD,
when the overall production of inscriptions in the Roman Empire reached its peak.
But not only gladiatorial inscriptions are most frequent in this period, but also
representations of gladiators on mosaics. During the fourth century, the gladiatorial
games faced a decline, and by the end of the century they had ceased to be a part of
civic culture, while the beast-hunts continued. This development is very similar in the
west, but the reasons for the end of the gladiatorial games are outside the scope of
this study. [16]
Regarding the regional distribution, gladiatorial games were popular in every part
of the Greek world. Gladiators fought in Athens, Corinth, Thessaloniki, Mytilene,
Cos, Beroia, Ancyra, Side, Jerusalem, Dura-Europos and many other places.
Especially rich is the evidence for the wealthy cities of Asia Minor, like Ephesus or
Miletus, but this fact reflects economic power and does not indicate a specific
popularity of gladiatorial games in these regions. Among all eastern provinces of
the Roman Empire, only Egypt shows a notable scarcity of gladiatorial games.
According to Kayser, the poor evidence – in relation to other regions – must be
explained by the special character of emperor worship in Egypt; he further
mentions that municipal euergetism played a much smaller role there than in other
regions. [17]
It should be mentioned in this context that gladiatorial games were also popular
in Palestine. In 10/9 BC, King Herod staged lavish games in Caesarea, including
fights of ‘a great number of gladiators’, and after his death, King Agrippa is said to
have organized munera with 1,400 convicted criminals. Herod is also said to have
built amphitheatres in Jerusalem, Caesarea and Jericho, but this claim is very
dubious; excavations in these towns have not delivered evidence for amphitheatres,
and most archaeologists have convincingly argued that Josephus’ use of the word
‘amphitheatre’ was imprecise and he actually meant hippodromes. But later on,
amphitheatres were built in Palestine, namely in Caesarea, Eleutheropolis, Neapolis,
Scythopolis and Bostra, and in recent publications a consensus has been reached

130 C. Mann
that the munera in these regions were not only attended by soldiers and
Romans living in the cities of Palestine, but also by parts of the Jewish population.
[18]
This leads to the question about the forces that pushed the spread of the munera
in the east. First of all, it is beyond doubt that the success of gladiatorial games was
connected with the political-military success of Rome. There are many ways for
cultural products to be transferred from one culture to the other; in the case of
gladiatorial games, the Empire took a leading role. The borders of Roman power
were the borders of gladiatorial games, with very few exceptions like Antiochus’
games. But the connection between the Roman Empire and gladiatorial games does
not indicate a diffusion by force. There is no evidence for Roman emperors or
governors actively promulgating gladiatorial games. On the contrary, some years
ago an inscription demonstrated how a Roman Emperor encouraged a Greek polis
to spend their money on other tasks than gladiatorial games. In a letter directed to
the citizens of Aphrodisias, Hadrian backs their enterprise to build an aqueduct;
concerning gladiators he writes: ‘I concede that you should take money from the
high priest instead of gladiatorial shows; not only do I concede but I praise your
proposal.’ [19]
Obviously, the money high priests had to spend during their year in office should
be directed to the aqueduct instead of gladiatorial games. In the following lines of the
letter it becomes clear that the rich people of Aphrodisias were less willing to
undertake the costs of this office when their money was spent on infrastructure
instead of gladiators. The emperor’s surprisingly explicit statement might be
explained as a signal to the wealthy class of Aphrodisias, that is that they should
assume the office of high priest, in the new circumstances no less than before. In this
specific case, at least, some Greeks seem to have been more enthusiastic about
gladiatorial games than the Roman emperor himself.
Modern scholars agree that the Greeks adopted the gladiatorial games voluntarily –
the pull-factors outweigh the push-factors. Once established in some places, the
competition between Greek cities is likely to have promoted the further spread.
According to Dio of Prusa and Lucian, the Athenians introduced gladiatorial games
to their city because they did not want to lag behind Corinth. It is difficult, if not
impossible, to track the ways of the diffusion of this kind of spectacle. Some scholars
have advanced the opinion that gladiatorial games were taken to the eastern
provinces by the Romans who settled there. The first gladiatorial games in the Greek
world were organized by Romans and for a Roman audience, and little by little the
enthusiasm spread to the Greek population; according to this opinion, the Roman
coloniae were of special importance as an example of Roman culture copied
afterwards by Greek cities. [20] This explanation seems plausible at first sight, but it is
not confirmed by the sources. The first cities to have staged gladiatorial games in the
eastern provinces were, as stated above, Thasos and Ancyra, neither of them a colonia.
And generally there is no indication that gladiatorial inscriptions or other data
referring to gladiatorial games occurred earlier or more frequently in coloniae than in

other cities. It was Louis Robert who noticed the missing relation between the
presence of Romans and the popularity of gladiatorial games:
Relevons aussi que, si des munera ont naturellement été donnés dans les colonies
romaines, à Corinthe, à Philippes, à Apri, à Antioche de Pisidie, à Parion, ces villes
ne se sont pas distinguées, sous ce rapport, des villes grecques; rien ne nous autorise
à supposer que les colonies romaines ont servi, sur ce point, d’exemple et de
modèle aux villes grecques, qu’elles ont été imitées peu à peu par les cités grecques.
[21]
The Roman army might have played a role in the spread of the gladiatorial games, for
some amphitheatres were situated close to military camps. However, whether the
civilians living nearby were attending the shows in these amphitheatres remains an
open question.
Organization, Architectural Setting, Provenance of Gladiators

Gladiatorial shows were never integrated into the system of Greek agonistics. Neither
at the Olympic Games nor at one of the numerous other agones did gladiators form a
part of the spectacles. Regarding their organization, gladiatorial games remained
separated from the Greek traditions and were linked to the Roman Empire. Many
inscriptions from all over the Greek world display the connection with the emperor’s
cult. The high priests were responsible for gladiatorial games, at the provincial as well
as at the local level. A difference between the two levels – besides the variety in size
and magnificence of the games – is the obligation for the high priests of a province.
They had to stage gladiatorial games during their year of office, whereas the high
priests of the cities could do this voluntarily. But at least in the wealthier cities, they
were expected to pay for gladiatorial shows once a year. Very similar to the munera in
Rome and the western provinces, gladiatorial games were regularly staged together
with beast-hunts. [22]
The high priests of the provinces, and probably those of the major cities, kept
standing squads of gladiators. After the term in office, they were sold to the successor
who had to fill the gaps. The autobiographical notes of the physician Galen, who was
employed as a gladiators’ doctor for five years, reveal that the whole squad was passed
from high priest to high priest. Smaller cities are unlikely to have had standing
squads; the high priests rather leased the gladiators from a lanista, an owner of a
gladiatorial school. If gladiators were killed in combat or suffered severe injuries, the
costs for the editor were much higher – the jurist Gaius mentions a price of 20 denarii
for surviving gladiators and 1,000 for those who died or left the arena invalid. [23]
The gladiators of a familia gladiatorum (famila monomÆcwn) were organized
according to their armament type. The retiarii, for example, were armed with trident,
net and dagger, their opponents, the secutores, with helmet, shield and sword. Each
armament type demanded special skills, and for practical reasons the gladiators who
fought with the same weapons practised together. Within each armament type, there

132 C. Mann
was a classification by rank, which stabilized a hierarchy necessary in an institution

‘filled with armed, well-trained, and perhaps desperate men’. [24] Besides the
gladiators, a familia included personnel like trainers, cooks, masseurs and physicians;
gladiators were highly specialized and valuable fighters, and their master took care of
them!
Gladiatorial games were integrated into the pattern of euergetism, which played an
important role in the cities of the Roman Empire. Wealthy people paid for public
performances; in return, they were honoured by the community. This system of
exchange helped to stabilize the society. The primary goal of the money-giver was to
gain prestige for himself and outdo the performances organized by other aristocrats.
At the same time, however, he demonstrated the willingness of the ruling class to
spend money for the benefit of the people, and therefore strengthened the acceptance
of the established order. In order to preserve the memory of the shows, high priests
set up monuments in the public space. A typical and well-preserved example of these
rather standardized hypomnemata – commemorative monuments – has been found
in Hierapolis in Phrygia. An inscribed stele contains the relevant information about
the spectacles and the editores: Gnaeus Arrius Apuleius, high priest, and his wife
Aurelia Melitine Atticiana, high priestess, had given gladiatorial games along with
beast-hunts and taurokathapsion, a kind of bullfight. Several reliefs depict the events
mentioned in the inscription: they show bears and boars, several scenes of a man
fighting a bull, and different pairs of fighting gladiators. The effort to give a detailed
account of the games is obvious: inscriptions inform us of the names of the gladiators
and various reliefs depict different phases of each fight. The results of the fights are
shown in images and expressed in inscriptions. [25]
Whereas the euergetic dimension of gladiatorial games was quite similar in the
western and eastern provinces, the architectural setting was different. In the west, an
amphitheatre was an integral part of the major cities, in the east it was not.
Amphitheatres in the Greek world are not as rare as some scholars believe, but large
and wealthy cities like Ephesus, Miletus, Perge or Side were left without one. Instead
of building amphitheatres, many cities preferred to modify existing theatres or stadia.
A famous example is the Theatre of Dionysus in Athens, where the orchestra was
converted for gladiatorial games and beast-hunts. The Athenians built a parapet wall
encircling the orchestra in order to protect the spectators. [26]
The social status of gladiators has been analysed thoroughly by Robert and Carter.
The examination of the inscriptions revealed a substantial similarity between the
eastern and the western provinces. Gladiators were drawn from the lower strata of
society, that is, slaves, convicted criminals, the poor, probably also (but seldom
attested in imperial times) prisoners of war. In the inscriptions, slave origin is
normally indicated by the name of the master in the genitive. The gladiators
Narkissos and Kerasos at Thasos, for example, were the property of Hekataia.
Philostratus mentions criminals in his polemics against the Athenians who had
bought ‘adulterers and fornicators and burglars and thieves and kidnappers and such
rabble’ to see them fighting in gladiatorial combat. Volunteers are attested in literary

sources as well as in inscriptions. If they were willing to join a familia gladiatorum,

they had to sign a contract confirming they would accept the treatment applied to
gladiators who were slaves. [27]
Despite their low status at the beginning of their career, gladiators could hope to
improve their status considerably if they were successful in combat. Numerous
sources document the enthusiasm of the crowd – and also of high-ranking men and
women – for the best fighters in the arena. In this respect the role of gladiators was
quite similar to that of modern sports stars. But despite their popularity gladiators
remained social outsiders; even as free men, they stayed infames, that is, their citizen’s
rights were restricted. Nobody expressed the tension between popularity and low
legal status better than Tertullian:
Take even those who give and who administer the spectacles; look at their attitude
to the charioteers, players, athletes, gladiators, most loving of men, to whom men
surrender their souls and women their bodies as well, for whose sake they commit
the sins they blame; on one and the same account they glorify them and they
degrade and diminish them; yes, further, they openly condemn them to disgrace
and civil degradation. [28]
If gladiators survived some fights – there is no fixed number – they were released.
Among the gladiators documented by gravestones are many free men, but this should
not detract from the fact that the majority of gladiators were not; the sources are
better for the fortunate ones, those who died in one of the first fights left less
information. Retired gladiators often remained concerned with the business, either as
trainers of young gladiators or as referees. Some of the referees could become
honoured members of the community, in the east as well as in the west. An example
is P. Aelius, a summa rudis who died in Ancyra in Galatia; he gained the citizenship of
several cities in Asia Minor. [29]
In the eastern provinces, the home town of gladiators is known in 33 cases
according to Carter. The number is much higher than in the west, and there is
another difference: various inscriptions mention Greek gladiators fighting in Italy
and the western provinces, whereas we do not know of any western gladiator fighting
in the east. This result is rather surprising given the longer tradition of gladiatorial
games in Italy. Some gladiators saw many places – the secutor Phoebus, for example,
was born in Cyzicus and fought in Asia, Thrace, Macedonia and Larissa – but the
majority of them seem to have died near their home town. [30]
Perception
A main aspect of Romanization, and of acculturation in general, is the perception of
the processes by the groups involved. Questions like where and when artefacts or
rituals were adopted by one culture from another illuminate only a part of the
process; to evaluate the cultural impact it is significant to know if and how the
interacting groups – the giving as well as the receiving cultures – perceived that

134 C. Mann
process. When people around the world play or watch soccer, the British origin of
this sport does not play any role; cricket, on the other hand, is still seen as an
expression of British culture. The character of the game is connected with the British
way of life, including teatime, and so on. Given the scarcity of sources, however, it is a
difficult task to analyse the perception of cultural products in antiquity. I will focus
on two aspects: 1) the terminology of gladiatorial games in the Greek world; and 2)
the explicit testimony of Greek writers.
The Greeks did not develop their own gladiatorial terminology, a fact that is well
demonstrated by inscriptions and literary sources. Only the words gladiator
(monomÆcoj) and munus (filotima) were translated into Greek, all other words
were borrowed from Latin. The borrowings include the terms for gladiatorial
schools – familia (famila), ludus (lo’udou in the genitive) – the word for the
training-post as well as for the rank of the gladiator – palus (pÆloj) – and the names
of the armament types, that is, a secutor appears in Greek texts as seko’utwr, a
retiarius as htiÆrioj or htiÆrij, a murmillo in the forms murmllwn,
mourmllon, mermllon or mormllwn, a thraex as Jr=x, w a provocator as
probokÆtor, and so on. Even the Greek word for a left-handed fighter is a Latin
borrowing: skeuaj, w following the Latin scaeva. [31]
It is well known that Romans took over Greek terminology in some fields; but the
other way round is unusual. Even in the field of politics, the most Romanized part of
life in the Greek provinces, the major terms were translated for use in Greek
inscriptions, a Roman praetor appearing as strathgj, a consul as 0patoj. [32] For
gladiatorial games, however, the Greeks did not establish their own terminology,
although the words could have been generated easily using the existing verbs and
nouns of the Greek language. The gladiatorial games remained isolated from the
other spectacles of Greek cities not only in respect of organization, but also in
linguistic respects. The perception of the gladiatorial terms as non-Greek is also
underlined by passages of literature: Artemidorus mentions types of armament, but
apologizes to his Greek readers for using the Latin terms; Cassius Dio adds ‘so-called’
to the word secutor to indicate his own distance from this term. [33] Concerning
the view of the intellectuals, scholars of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries
had favoured the idea of unanimous rejection. In the Greek cities, only the
uneducated mass had enjoyed the games; the educated class, however, did not accept
the cruel novelty imported from Rome. [34] Statements about gladiatorial games in
Greek literature are indeed entirely negative: gladiatorial games are criticized for
being bloody-minded and cruel shows giving joy to the crowd, but doing harm to the
city. But a closer look at the sources reveals that criticism of gladiators is not specific,
but embedded in broader polemics against public spectacles. One example is a
passage in Plutarch’s essay ‘On the art of statecraft’:
So of all kinds of love that which is engendered in states and peoples for an
individual because of his virtue is at once the strongest and the most divine; but
those falsely attested honours which are derived from giving theatrical

performances, making distributions of money, or offering gladiatorial shows, are

like harlots’ flatteries, since the masses always smile upon him who gives to them
and does them favours, granting him an ephemeral and uncertain reputation. [35]
Plutarch criticizes the editores of gladiatorial games for seeking the futile applause
of the masses, but he criticizes the shows in the theatres and distributions of money,
too. It is a general criticism of euergetism – paying money for gaining honour – not a
special distaste of gladiatorial games in favour of Greek traditions. On the contrary, it
seems that Plutarch is embedding gladiatorial games into the panorama of public
spectacles in Greek cities.
Some passages in Greek literature denouncing the cruelty of gladiatorial games
seem to be directed against the imported Roman spectacles in a more specific way.
Dio of Prusa praises the Rhodians for not establishing gladiatorial games on their
island. This decision saved Rhodes from public butchery, in contrast to Athens,
where ‘often a fighter is slaughtered among the very seats in which the Hierophant
and the other priests must sit’. The same notion is expressed by Lucian’s Demonax,
who advises the Athenians to pull down the altar of Mercy before introducing
gladiatorial shows. [36]
Criticism against brutality in public spectacles, however, is not restricted to
gladiatorial games. Since the formation of Hellenistic philosophical schools, Greek
combat sports, especially boxing and pankration, had been confronted with similar
reproaches. These combats led to mutilation of body and face and sometimes even to
death, and they aroused enthusiasm for brutality among the spectators. Not only the
munera incurred the charge of brutality, and some of the passages Robert interpreted
as criticism of gladiators could refer to Greek combat sports as well. [37]
The Imagery of Gladiatorial Games

The previous reflections on gladiatorial games in the eastern and western provinces
have revealed more similarities than differences. The popularity of the games – as
measured by the extant inscriptions – seems comparable, the pattern of organization
(euergetism, staging of gladiatorial games along with beast-hunts) is similar in east
and west, and so is the social origin of the gladiators. Regarding the self-presentation
of gladiators, however, there are fundamental differences: the many hundreds of
gravestones preserved both in the east and the west show striking discrepancies
pertaining to the decoration as well as the text. [38]
The difference in decoration is revealed on first sight. Most of the gravestones of
the east are decorated with a relief depicting the gladiator himself. In some cases, the
gladiator is shown fighting, but in most cases, he stands facing the viewer. The
weapons indicate his armament type, palm fronds and crowns symbolize his victories,
the number of the latter often corresponding with the number of victories mentioned
in the inscription. In Italy and the western provinces, in contrast, only a few of the
extant gladiatorial gravestones are decorated with a relief. [39] Not less striking is the

136 C. Mann
difference regarding the text: in the west, the text is limited to name, age, armatura,
rank and fighting record of the deceased gladiator; it is a simple enumeration without
any individual character. The funerary inscriptions of eastern gladiators, in contrast,
contain much more information than the ‘technical’ data about the deceased. Very
often they are metrical. That is not only a formal difference, but carries a difference in
content, which shall be demonstrated on the basis of a few examples.
The first is from Alabanda in Caria:
...
(Here I rest), bold Polyneikes, having gained glory with my weapons,
I dominated undefeated the entire province in the stadia, fighting
Twenty times without losing. And I was not conquered by [superior] skill,
But a young man overpowered an old body. [40]
This is one of the texts describing specific circumstances of the fights,

circumstances which make a victory appear more glorious or help to explain a
defeat. In this case the author of the inscription gives an explanation as to why
Polyneikes lost his last duel. It was not the superior skill of any opponent that was the
reason; instead he lost because he had to fight against a younger man, and he,
Polyneikes, had run out of strength due to his age.
Another pattern of reference to the last, and deadly, fight of the buried gladiator is
the allusion to victory. An inscription from Cos tells us: ‘He died while he gained
victory and killed his opponent’, and similar passages can be found in gravestones
from other places. Another inscription tells that the opponent perjured himself while
killing, but afterwards was killed by a friend of the deceased. The kind of perjury
committed by the opponent remains unclear, but the pattern of revenge among
skilled fighters is a distinct allusion to Homeric battles where warriors are keen to kill
their friends’ slayers. [41]
This leads to another peculiar element of eastern gravestones: the connection of the
arena to the world of heroes. A rather simple way of ‘heroization’ is the use of the
word heros and its derivations; ‘stage names’ like Achilleus, Odysseus, Polyneikes also
assimilate gladiators to heroes. [42] But some examples are more elaborate, such as
the following from Attaleia/Pamphylia:
You are looking at the beautiful-looking, the fighter who was

victorious in the stadia eight times, the beautiful Meiletos,
as beautiful as once was the son of Cinyras, the beautiful Adonis, while hunting,
or the beautiful boy Hyacinthus who was hit by a discus . . . [43]
First, the fighting record of Meiletos is mentioned – he was victor eight times. But
in the epigram the simple result only plays a minor role, the main topic is the beauty
of the deceased – the adjective kalos (beautiful) is used four times. Gladiatorial
inscriptions of the west do not allude to the beauty of gladiators, and gladiators are
not compared with mythological persons. Here we find both: Adonis and Hyacinthus
are named, two proverbial beautiful youths, and also their field of action is

mentioned. Together with the gladiator Meiletos, the two mythological beauties form
a triple star: Adonis was the most beautiful youth in a beast-hunt, where he suffered
death. Hyacinthus was the most beautiful youth in the stadion, where he was hit by
the discus of Apollon and died. Meiletos was the most beautiful youth in gladiatorial
combat, where he lost his life.
Finally, there is another important motif in the inscription for deceased gladiators,
that is, they brought fame to the polis. A grave-inscription from Thessaloniki uses the
formula: ‘Conquering six times I gained honour for my fatherland.’ [44] Nothing
similar can be found in inscriptions from the west, where the home town of the
gladiators is barely even mentioned (above, p. 284).
Gladiatorial games in the Greek world were an import from the west, but the self-
presentation of Greek gladiators was not rooted in Roman traditions. It was not
rooted in Greek traditions of armed duel either, for, in Greek warfare single combat
played a minor role. Carter has supposed similarities between the training in Greek
gymnasia and the gladiatorial games, but the analogy is not convincing. It is true that,
since the fourth century BC, military exercise had been included in the education of
young citizens; but they practised more the use of missiles than the single combat.
[45]
A Greek tradition of single combat did indeed exert influence on the gladiatorial
games, but in an indirect way. The ethics of Homeric heroes can be traced in the
gladiatorial inscriptions, and they were communicated via Greek athletics. It is the
peculiarly Greek form of sports that provided the basis for the self-presentation of
eastern gladiators. All the patterns observed above can be found in literary and
epigraphic sources referring to athletes. First of all, the participation of the polis in a
victorious athlete’s fame is a common motif in athletic epigrams. Very similar to the
above-mentioned inscription from Thessaloniki is ‘Here lies Dandes of Argos, the
stadion racer, who gained honour by his victories for his fatherland, rich in pasture
for horses.’ Second, the integration of athletes into the sphere of myth is common in
Greek literature. The most artistic examples are the victory songs of Pindar and
Bakchylides, but there are also many epigraphic examples. Third, the victory
inscriptions of athletes praise not only their strength and skills, but also their beauty.
And fourth, winning and dying at the same time was considered the ultimate proof of
an athlete’s fighting spirit. Very famous was the example of the pankratiast Arrachion
from Phigalia, who expired in the Olympic final at the same moment his opponent
gave up; Arrachion was declared victor. [46]
Furthermore, gladiatorial inscriptions borrow athletic language on a large scale.
For example, the gladiatorial fight, which is called monomachia in the records of the
high priests, is named pyx – the Greek word for boxing – in the inscriptions set by
gladiators themselves. The derivations pyktes and pykteuein also occur. According to
Robert, these terms entered the gladiatorial language as translations of the Latin
pugna and pugnare, but they are more likely seen as adoptions from athletic
terminology. Further, the common term for the location of the fights is stadion,
which strictu sensu is not correct. Sometimes, stadia were rebuilt for gladiatorial

138 C. Mann
games, for example, at Perge, but normally they were staged in theatres (if the city
lacked an amphitheatre). Like stadion or pyx, the word agon also evokes an athletic
context. Many other borrowings from athletic language could be added, but I will end
this overview here by pointing to the word aleiptos in the inscription for Polyneikes
(above p. 284). This word is used by athletes very often to underline their untainted
record. [47]
The diverse features of gladiatorial gravestones in the eastern and the western
provinces cannot be explained by general differences between Greek and Latin
inscriptions. Metrical funerary inscriptions are not confined to the Greek world: there
are many Latin examples, and among them also epigrams for underclass people, even
for slaves. Furthermore, there is a comparable institution, the Roman army. The self-
presentation of soldiers is quite similar in east and west; at least, the features are not
as distinct as in the case of gladiators. So the differences between eastern and western
gladiatorial gravestones are not just a facet of differences in epigraphic habit. [48]
It is more plausible to explain the differences as a reflection of a divergent meaning
of gladiatorial games, which is based on the role of participants in public spectacles.
In Rome, any person who took part in public spectacles was discriminated against
concerning his legal and social position. Actors and cart-drivers, as well as gladiators,
were slaves in many cases, at best freedmen or foreigners; the few Roman citizens
among them were stigmatized as infames – which meant they were excluded from any
honourable position. In late republican times some equites and senators began to
perform as gladiators, actors or cart-drivers – and later on, as it is well known, also
emperors – but the majority of senators detested such a transgression of dividing
lines and pressed for more rigorous legislation. The decree of the senate transmitted
in the Tabula Larinas sets down further fines for equites, senators and their families,
in case they perform in the circus, amphitheatre or theatre; the law explicitly aims at
protecting the dignitas ordinis. In Greece, there were also barriers concerning the
group of people who were acting in public spectacles, but the social exclusion of
participants took the completely opposite form. It was considered honourable to
compete in the Olympic or other games: the participation was not only open to the
aristocracy; it was dominated by the aristocracy, at least in Archaic and early Classical
times. Over the centuries athletics lost its exclusive character, but participation in the
agones remained limited to free men. [49]
Against the background of the different sociology of Greek and Roman performers,
the distinct features of gladiatorial self-presentation are not surprising. Greek
gladiators developed a self-perception that had little in common with their colleagues
in Italy and the western provinces, but was based on the high rank of athletes in the
Greek world. The monuments set by gladiators themselves evoke images of heroic
fights, victory and fame. The common relief type, depicting the gladiator holding a
palm branch and accompanied by crowns, was classified by Robert as ‘le gladiateur
dans sa gloire’. The inscriptions, as shown above, transmit the same message. In one
case, a gladiator even dared to rank gladiators above athletes: a funerary inscription
from Gortyn contains the lines: ‘Not a crown is the prize – we are fighting for our

life.’ [50] The message is quite clear: athletes are competing for futile awards (and at
low risks); their fights should not be ranked too high. Instead, it is the gladiator who
gets close to the mythological heroes by facing the danger of death.
Summary: Gladiators and Romanization

The spread of gladiatorial games in the Greek world was a complex process in which
acceptance, appropriation and reinterpretation each had its part. It was linked to the
expansion of the Roman Empire, and the success of Roman arms and politics was a
condition for the spread of gladiatorial games. It is important to stress this point:
concepts like bricolage, globalization or creolization (see above, p. 274) tend to
underestimate the impact of political power on cultural processes, but at least in this
case political power was crucial. Linked to Roman politics is also the feature of
organization: gladiatorial games were organized and paid for by the high-priests, that
is, the magistrates who connected the polis or province with the emperor.
But the Romans never set themselves the target of spreading gladiatorial games
throughout their empire. The staging of this specific Roman kind of public
entertainment by the Greeks was not the result of a centrally controlled and
intentional process. It was rather the result of acceptance by the Greek population.
Gladiatorial games seem to have gained popularity among the masses, and the
members of the elite used the games to demonstrate their generosity. The sources do
not provide enough information to measure the impact of these factors, and it is
difficult to decide whether the pressure of the mass or the elites’ own impulse was
stronger. Competition between poleis and between members of the elite certainly
played an important role.
There is no evidence that suggests that organizing, watching, or participating in the
gladiatorial games was considered an act of Roman identity. But some features
indicate a perception of them as an imported spectacle. The Greeks did not integrate
gladiatorial games in the agones, and they did not integrate them in regard to
terminology. Instead, they borrowed the Latin words for armament types, gladiatorial
schools, and so on. Greek writers were well aware that words like seko’utwr or
htiÆrioj were of foreign origin. It remains an open question whether the Greek
spectator who was watching gladiators perceived the Roman origins. For Rome itself,
the spectators’ view is revealed by many literary sources, but the scarcity of Greek
literary sources on gladiators frustrates a similar approach for the Greek world.
[51] Gladiatorial games in the east were similar to their Roman prototype in many
ways. They formed a part of the municipal euergetism which was important in the
western as well as in the eastern provinces, and the gladiatorial inscriptions set up by
members of the elite show analogous features, that is, the connection between
gladiators and beast-hunts. Further, the social origins of the gladiators were the same,
or, at least, there is no indication of drastic differences between east and west. The
conditions of life and life expectancy also seem to have been quite similar. But there
was a radical difference regarding the imagery of gladiatorial fights. We have no

140 C. Mann
evidence that gladiators were regarded as outsiders fighting for integration into
Roman society. Instead, the gladiatorial games saw the development of a different
imagery in the east: the gladiators pushed the comparison between themselves and
the heroes of Greek mythology. On the gravestones, gladiators presented themselves
as glorious victors in heroic fights; the emphasis on victory is quite peculiar, because
in most cases the gladiator mentioned on the gravestone actually lost his last fight,
which made the gravestone necessary.
This kind of self-presentation has nothing to do with gladiatorial combat in Rome;
it is a reinterpretation of a product of Roman culture against the background of
Greek traditions. Gladiators approximated themselves to athletes in most striking
ways – they used similar visual symbols for victory, similar terminology and phrases,
and similar forms of literary heroization. Therefore, the Greek gladiator appears as a
glorious victor in the extant monuments, not as a struggling fighter. This impact of
Greek traditions on gladiatorial games seems to indicate that Woolf’s paradigm
‘Becoming Roman, staying Greek’ could be applied not only to the Greek elites, but
also to a lower social stratum. The gladiatorial games spread throughout the east, but
they were transformed in a Greek way.
Acknowledgements
Research for this article was conducted at Brown University during 2007–08. It is a
pleasure to thank the people at Brown, especially Kurt Raaflaub, Debby Boedeker and
David Konstan, for their overwhelming hospitality and their advice and criticism.
Furthermore, the author is grateful to Kathleen Coleman (Harvard) for reading an
earlier draft of this study and contributing many valuable comments on substance
and on style. He is also grateful to the anonymous reader for helpful remarks.
Notes
[1] The following abbreviations have been used in this article: CIL (Corpus Inscriptionum
Latinarum); DNP (Der Neue Pauly); EAOR (Sabbatini Tumolesi, Epigrafia anfiteatrale); IG
(Inscriptiones Graecae); IGR (Cagnat et al., Inscriptiones Graecae); Inscr.Delos (Inscriptions de
Délos); Inscr.Cret. (Guarducci, Inscriptiones Creticae); SEG (Supplementum Epigraphicum
Graecum); and SgO (Merkelbach and Stauber, Steinepigramme aus dem griechischen Osten).
The bibliography on this topic is vast. Very useful for an overview of current research are the
following collections of papers: Alcock, The Early Roman Empire; Goldhill, Being Greek;
Salomies, The Greek East; Berns et al., Patris; Colvin, The Graeco-Roman East; and Meyer,
Neue Zeiten; for changes in landscape cf. Alcock, Graecia Capta; Waelkens, ‘Romanization’;
and for the impact of the Roman empire on Greek literature cf. Whitmarsh, Greek Literature.
[2] According to the influential statement of Bowersock, Augustus, 72, the Greek world was not
Romanized at all, but recent studies estimate that the Roman cultural impact was higher (cf.
Hoff and Rotroff, The Romanization). Concerning the gladiatorial games, cf. Brunt, ‘The
Romanization’, 162: ‘and although their love of gladiatorial games and beast-hunts found too
ready a reception among Greeks, in general what was specifically Latin in the common
civilization of the empire made little impact to the east’; Millar, The Roman Near East, 355:

‘Gladiatorial combats and wild-beast-hunts represented some of the relatively few Roman
imports into the popular culture of the Greek East’; and cf. Woolf, ‘Becoming Roman’, 116.
[3] Friedländer, Roman Life, 84–5.
[4] Robert, Les gladiateurs; idem, ‘Monuments des gladiateurs’ (1946); idem, ‘Monuments
des gladiateurs’ (1948); idem, ‘Monuments des gladiateurs’ (1949); and idem, ‘Monuments
des gladiateurs’ (1950); at a later date, Robert intended to write a new monograph on
the topic but did not find the time to undertake the task (cf. Carter, Gladiatorial Spectacles,
2–3).
[5] Cf. Brown, ‘Death’ (mosaics); Nollé, ‘Kaiserliche Privilegien’ (coins); Hope and Whitehouse,
‘The Gladiator Jug’ (glass); concerning the amphitheatres, Robert, Les gladiateurs mentioned
only nine examples in the Greek provinces; at present, the number has increased to 22 (see
below p. 291 n. 26).
[6] Carter, ‘The Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’; idem, ‘A Doctor Secutorum’; idem, ‘The
Roman Spectacles’; idem, ‘Artemidorus’; idem, ‘Gladiatorial Ranking’; idem, ‘Archiereis’; and
idem, ‘’Gladiatorial Combat’. Collections of gladiatorial inscriptions and monuments have
been published for Miletus (Günther, ‘Gladiatorendenkmäler’), Hierapolis/Phrygia (Ritti and
Yilmaz, Gladiatori), Mylasa (Rumscheid and Rumscheid, ‘Gladiatoren’), Ephesus (Grossch-
midt, ‘Gladiatoren’), Patras (Rizakis, ‘Munera’; idem, ‘Munera II’; and Papastolou,
‘Monuments’), Egypt (Kayser, ‘La gladiature’), Aphrodisias (Roueché, Performers, 61–80)
and the northern Balkans (Bouley, Jeux). On gladiators in the east cf. now also Golden, Greek
Sport and Social Status (chapter 3: ‘Greek Games and Gladiators’).
[7] See Syme, Rome, 64: ‘The term ‘‘Romanization’’ . . . is ugly and vulgar, worse than that,
anachronistic and misleading. ‘‘Romanization’’ implies the execution of a deliberate policy.
That is to misconceive the behaviour of Rome, whether republican or imperial.’ Also,
Webster, ‘Creolizing’, 209: ‘Romanization is a simplistic and outmoded model of provincial
culture change.’ For detailed criticism on the term and concept, cf. Freeman, ‘Romanisation’;
Barrett, ‘Romanization’; Krausse, ‘Farewell to Romanization?’; Mattingly, ‘Vulgar and Weak
Romanization’; idem, ‘Being Roman’; and Hingley, Globalizing Roman Culture. For the
origins and development of the concept of ‘Romanization’, cf. Hingley, ‘The ‘‘Legacy’’’;
Freeman, ‘Mommsen to Haverfield’; and Rothe, ‘Die Anfänge der Romanisierungsforschung’.
[8] For Creolization, see Webster, ‘Creolizing’; for bricolage, see Terrenato, ‘The Romanization’;
for identity, see Mattingly, ‘Being Roman’; for resistance, see Bénabou, La résistance; Hingley,
‘Resistance’; and Webster, ‘Art as Resistance’; and for globalization, see Hingley, Globalizing
Roman Culture. For a brief discussion of the development, advantages and disadvantages of
these concepts cf. Schörner, Romanisierung – Romanisation. For a defence of ‘Romanization’,
Alföldy, ‘Die Romanisation’; Schörner, ‘Einführung’, and the section ‘La romanisation’, in
Annales (HSS) 59 (2004): 287–383, with contributions by P. Le Roux, J.-B. Yon, I.
Buchsenschutz, and D. Rousset.
[9] Alcock, ‘Vulgar Romanization’, 227.
[10] For different theories of the origins of the gladiatorial games cf. Ville, La gladiature, 1–8;
Mouratidis, ‘On the Origin’; and Welch, The Roman Amphitheatre, 11–18. The debate about
Etruscan or Campanian origins does not affect the questions treated in this study; there is no
clear evidence for gladiatorial games before they started in 264 BC in Rome, and the Romans
themselves regarded the gladiatorial games as their peculiar kind of spectacle. Concerning the
amphitheatre, Fear, in ‘Status Symbol or Leisure Pursuit?’ has argued against its symbolic
character; in his opinion, amphitheatres were built in the provinces for purely practical
reasons because they fit best for the necessities of gladiatorial games. Fear argued that nobody
would consider a modern soccer stadium a marker of British identity, and in his opinion the
same was true for Roman amphitheatres in the provinces. Welch, in The Roman Amphitheatre,
expressed a contrary view emphasizing the Roman character of the amphitheatre; according to

142 C. Mann
her, this kind of architecture was built and perceived as homage to Roman culture, both by
Romans themselves and by the population of the provinces.
[11] For the symbolic character of the gladiatorial games, cf. Flaig, ‘An den Grenzen des
Römerseins’. The religious interpretation favoured by Wiedemann, ‘Das Ende’, who saw the
gladiator as a symbol for victory over death, seems less likely: in imperial times, gladiatorial
games had lost their connection with funerals. For the executions, cf. Coleman, ‘Fatal
Charades’.
[12] Hingley, ‘Resistance’, 93–6; and Webster, ‘Creolizing’, 219–23. For an elaborate plea against
the reification of the term ‘culture’, cf. Flaig, ‘Über die Grenzen der Akkulturation’.
[13] Plb. 30. 25–6. 1 (¼ Ath. 5. 194c–195f); Liv. 41. 20. See Günther, ‘Gladiatoren’; Mittag,
Antiochos IV, 285–6; Edmondson, ‘The Cultural Politics’, 84–7; and Carter, ‘The Roman
Spectacles’.
[14] With regard to Colophon, concerning the honorary decree for Polemaios (Robert and Robert,
Claros, 11–62), F. Canali de Rossi has suggested the restoration didaskala mono[mÆcon] in
col. V, l. 2 (review of Robert and Robert, Claros in the Athenaeum 69 (1991): 647). With regard
to Delos, a graffito from the Agora of the Italians shows the image of an gladiator and mentions
his name and number of victories (Inscr.Delos no. 1961 ¼ Robert, Les gladiateurs, no.
62 ¼ Carter, ‘The Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’, no. 127); this graffito has been dated
to the second century BC (Hatzfeld, J. and P. Roussel, BCH 34 (1910): 417; and Rauh, ‘Was the
Agora of the Italians?’), but others prefer an imperial date (Carter, ‘The Presentation of
Gladiatorial Spectacles’, 323); see also Bruneau, ‘L’Agora’. Lucullus: Plu. Luc. 23. 1 mentions
gladiatorial games as part of the general’s triumphal festivals held at Ephesus in 71/70 BC.
[15] For Thasos, see Carter, ‘The Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’, nos. 55. 58–61; and for
Ancyra/Galatia, see Carter, ‘The Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’, no. 448.
[16] For various approaches to this question see Ville, ‘Religion et politique’; Wiedemann, ‘Das
Ende’; and Bomgardner, The Story of the Roman Amphitheatre, 201–5.
[17] For the diffusion of the gladiatorial games, see Robert, Les gladiateurs, 239–66; the specific
character of Egypt is discussed by Kayser, ‘La gladiature’.
[18] For the games of Herod, see J. AJ 16. 136–9; for the games of Agrippa, see J. AJ 19. 335–7; for
the so-called amphitheatres of Herod see Porath, ‘Herod’s ‘‘Amphitheatre’’’; Weiss, ‘Adopting
a Novelty’, 39; for the popularity of gladiatorial games among Jews, see Weiss, ‘Adopting a
Novelty’, 40–8; cf. Brettler and Poliakoff, ‘Rabbi Simeon ben Lakish’; and Ben-Sasson,
‘Gladiator’, with reference to Talmudic literature.
[19] The inscription has been published by Reynolds, New Letters. Z. 36–8: suncorw w łmein par
´
w j rcier¼on nt monomaciwn
twn w rgœrion lambÆnein, ka oå sunco rw w mnon, j
w
ll
ka Çpainw tn gn˝mhn (translated by Reynolds). The letter is dated between
December 124 and December 125 AD.
[20] D.Chr. 31. 121; Lucianus, Demon. 57. See Levick, Roman Colonies, 192; Woolf, ‘Becoming
Roman’, 117; Millar, ‘The Roman Coloniae’, 13; and Carter, ‘The Presentation of Gladiatorial
Spectacles’, 171.
[21] Robert, Les gladiateurs, 240. English translation: ‘The inscriptions demonstrate in regard to
the Munera that there is no difference between Roman colonies – Corinth, Philippi, Apri,
Antioch in Pisidia, Parion – and Greek cities. We have no reason to believe Roman Colonies
served as example and model for Greek cities.
[22] The questions of organization are treated at length by Robert, Les gladiateurs, 267–293; and
Carter, ‘The Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’, 104–20, 144–241. For the interaction
between the editor of gladiatorial games and the emperor, see Günther, ‘Gladiatorendenk-
mäler’, 129, who suggests that the emperor’s approval was needed when the programme of the
games transgressed ‘normal’ dimensions, either in the number of days or in the number of
gladiators.

[23] Galen, De compositione medicamentorum, 599–600; and Gaius Inst. 3. 146f.: . . . ut in singulos,
qui integri exierint, pro sudore denarii xx mihi darentur, in eos uero singulos, qui occisi aut
debilitati fuerint, denarii mille. Ritti and Yilmaz, Gladiatori, 537 suggest a presence of a
standing squad of gladiators also in the relatively small Hierapolis in Phrygia.
[24] Carter, ‘The Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’, 106.
[25] On euergetism, see Veyne, Le pain et le cirque; Wörrle, ‘Vom tugendsamen Jüngling zum
‘‘gestreßten Euergeten’’; and Domingo Gygax, ‘Euergetismus und Gabentausch’. The
monument from Hierapolis has been published by Ritti and Yilmaz, Gladiatori.
[26] An example of the underestimation of amphitheatres in the east is Bergemann, Die römische
Kolonie von Butrint, 119. The catalogue of Golvin, L’amphithéâtre romain, lists 14
amphitheatres in the eastern provinces; to these can now be added the amphitheatres of
Serdica (AW 37, no. 5 (2006): 5), Caesarea, Eleutheropolis, Neapolis, Scythopolis and Bostra
(Kloner and Hübsch, ‘The Roman Amphitheater’; Weiss, ‘Adopting a Novelty’, 39–41, 24 fig.
1), Patras (Papastolou, ‘Monuments’), and Cnossos (Hood and Smyth, Archaeological Survey).
On the conversion of theatres and stadia, see Welch, The Roman Amphitheatre, 164–78, with
bibliography; Welch dates the parapet wall of the Theatre of Dionysus to Neronian times,
others prefer a second-century date.
[27] Robert, Les gladiateurs, 283–95; and Carter, ‘The Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’, 78–
83, 136–43. For Narkissos and Kerasos, see IG XII 8, 548 (also Robert, Les gladiateurs, no. 50;
and Carter, ‘The Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’, no. 58). Philostr. VA 4. 22:
crhmÆton te megÆlon ÇonhmØnoi 2gonto moico ka prnoi ka toico rœcoi ka
balantiotmoi ka ndrapodista ka t
toia w uta 1Jnh, oº d’ 9plizon aåtoøj ka
ÇkØleuon xumpptein. For volunteers, see Artem. 5. 58; cf. Robert, Les gladiateurs, no. 25; and
Carter, ‘The Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’, no. 98.
[28] Tert. spect. 22: Etenim ipsi auctores et administratores spectaculorum quadrigarios scaenicos
xysticos arenarios illos amantissimos, quibus viri animas, feminae autem illis etiam corpora sua
substernunt, propter quos se in ea committunt quae reprehendunt, ex eadem arte, qua
magnifaciunt, deponunt et deminuunt, immo manifeste damnant ignominia et capitis
deminutione. (translated by T.R. Glover).
[29] IGR III, no. 215 (also Robert, Les gladiateurs, no. 90; and Carter, ‘The Presentation of
Gladiatorial Spectacles’, no. 450), dated to the reign of Hadrian. The technical terms for the
referees are summa rudis (soummaroœdhj) and secunda rudis (sekoundaroœdhj); cf. Carter,
‘The Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’, 112–15.
[30] For the home towns of gladiators, see Carter, ‘The Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’, 82–
3; cf. Robert, Les gladiateurs, 295–6. The extant inscriptions mentioning Greek gladiators in
the west are: EAOR I, 62, 93, 97; III, 69, 70. An inscription from Beroia (SEG 35. 717 – see
Carter, ‘The Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’, no. 80) identifies the gladiator Publius as
´
’Arpeinoj, which suggests Arpinum in central Italy as his home town; but Allamani-Souri,
‘Monomacik
’, 45–6. has argued convincingly for a birth in Apri in Thracia. The travels of
Phoebus are mentioned in an inscription from Larisa (SEG 32. 605 – see Carter, ‘The
Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’, no. 104).
[31] Cf. Robert, Les gladiateurs, 64–5.; Carter, ‘The Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’, 72–7;
for left-handed gladiators, see Coleman, ‘A Left-handed Gladiator’.
[32] For the use of Latin language and terms in the eastern provinces, cf. Hahn, Rom und
Romanismus; Cameron, ‘Latin Words’; Mosci Sassi, Il linguaggio gladiatorio; Rochette, Le latin
dans le monde grec; Eck, ‘Latein als Sprache Politischer Kommunikation’; and Kearsley, Greeks
and Romans.
[33] Artem. 2. 32; and D.C. 72. 19. 2: towu sekoœtoroj kaloumØnou.
[34] Friedländer, Roman Life, 85: ‘the educated unanimously condemned’; Fuchs, Der geistige
Widerstand, 49: ‘Insbesondere verurteilte und mied man die widerwärtigen Tier- und

144 C. Mann
Menschenabschlachtungen in den Amphitheatern [The educated condemned especially the

abominable slaughter of animals and humans in the amphitheatres].’
[35] O0toj pÆnton Çr˝ton Œscurtatoj ma ka Jeitatj Çstin æ pólesi ka dmoij
pr j 6na di’ retn Çggignmenoj< aº d’ p JeÆtron 2 nemsewn 2 monomÆcon
yeud˝numoi tima ka yeudomÆrturej Åtairikaij Çokasi kolakeaij, 8clon e t_
´ w
didnti ka carizomØn_ prosmeidi˝nton, Çfmern tina ka bØbaion dxan. See
Fowler, Plutarch’s Moralia, for translation.
D.Chr. 31, 121: 9ste poll kij Çn ałtoij tina sf ttesJai toij Jr noij, owł t n
´ ´
[36]
ºerof nthn ka to j llouj ºereij n gkh kaJ zein. Lucianus, Demon. 57.
´
[37] For Greek criticism of combat sports, see Müller, Das Volk der Athleten, 298–316; the
ambivalent sources interpreted by Robert, Les gladiateurs, 249, as criticism of gladiatorial
games are the following: Plu. Moralia 822b–c; [Plutarchus] de esu carnium 2. 997b–c.
[38] Cf. the catalogues of Robert, Les gladiateurs, 75–237; (cf. the addenda in the journal
Hellenica); and Carter, ‘The Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’, 298–390. The character of
these catalogues is different: Robert includes gravestones without inscriptions when the
decoration indicates a gladiatorial context, whereas Carter includes only inscribed stones. The
material of Italy and the western provinces is collected in the series EAOR; for an overview and
statistics of gladiatorial gravestones from Italy, see Hope, ‘Fighting for Identity’.
[39] One example is the decorated stele of Urbicus in the Castello Sforzesco in Florence (EAOR II,
no. 50), which resembles the eastern gravestones not only with regard to the relief, but also
with regard to the composition of the text. It dates to the late second /early third century AD
and might have been influenced by the developments in the east.
[40] [—]raj pr˝th j [—] j Polunekh j æ Jrasøj dxan 1cwn noplon j pw asan parcean
n stadoij scon \leiptoj j eŒkost n pukteœsaj, j o c tØcn+ leifJej, j ll
nØoj
gerar n swjmaw kateirgÆsato (Robert, Les gladiateurs, no. 169; Carter, ‘The Presentation of
Gladiatorial Spectacles’, no. 387; and SgO 23/03).
[41] For Cos, see neiksaj ka j poktenaj t n sœnjzugon pØJanen (Robert, Les gladiateurs,
no. 191; and Carter, ‘The Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’, no. 159); cf. Carter, ‘The
Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’, no. 104 (from Larissa); IG XII, 2 644 (Robert, Les
gladiateurs, no. 285; Carter, ‘The Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’, no. 150 – found on
Tenedos); Robert, Les gladiateurs, no. 34; and Carter, ‘The Presentation of Gladiatorial
Spectacles’, no. 39 (from Philippopolis). Cf. a gladiatorial epitaph from Ephesus (Carter, ‘The
Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’, no. 278 – SgO 03/02/54) containing a Homeric
quotation (Il. 18. 309): [x]un j ; EnuÆlioj, ka tij ktanØonta katØkta.
[42] For example, ‘dying in the combats of the heroes,’ Jannjta twn w n r˝wn mÆjcaij (Carter,
‘The Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’, no. 16, from Tomis). For the names, cf. Robert,
Les gladiateurs, 297–302; and Carter, ‘The Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’, 120–4, with
examples.
[43] t n kal n fJw hnai, t n p`œ`[kthn] | n stadoisin ktÆki nei[ksan]jta kal n
´
Melhton Jreit[e, oº]jon prn Jraij Kinœrou kal [n] j uº n # Adwnin, 2 pote
´
disjkeuJ nta pÆn kal n j j ‘gÆkinJon< (see Robert 1950, no. 331; Carter, ‘The
Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’, no. 433; and SgO 18/12/02).
[44] xÆki niksaj j patrd’ ph5u4klØisa (IG X 2, 1 no. 1019; Robert, Les gladiateurs, no.
13; and Carter, ‘The Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’, no. 88).
[45] Carter, ‘The Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’, 52–57; for military training in the
gymnasion, cf. Kah, ‘Militärische Ausbildung’.
; Argeioj DÆndhj stadidromoj ÇnJÆde keitai j nkaij ºppboton patrd’ Çpeuklei@saj
´ ´
[46]
(Anth. Pal. 13. 14 [Simonides], see Ebert, Griechische Epigramme, no. 15); a similar formula
(eœkle¨sam patrda) is used for fallen warriors (IG I3 1162). For other examples for the
participation of the home town in the athlete’s fame, see Ebert, Griechische Epigramme, no. 35;

36; 41; 46; 57; 67; nos. 71–74; cf. Kurke, The Traffic in Praise, for the relationship between
individual fame and polis in Pindar’s songs. For heroizing, see Ebert, Griechische Epigramme,
no. 55. For beauty, see Ebert, Griechische Epigramme, no. 12; 61 (see Anth. Pal. 16. 24); 76. For
Arrachion, see Paus. 8. 40; Philostr. Im. 2. 6; Philostr. Gym. 21.
[47] For Pyx, and so on, see Robert, Les gladiateurs, 20; and Carter, ‘The Presentation of
Gladiatorial Spectacles’, 73–4. For Stadia, see Welch, ‘Greek Stadia’, 121–131. Aleiptos: very
similar to the inscription for Polyneikes is Ebert, Griechische Epigramme, no. 78: Çn stadoij
pwasin \leiptoj fun.
[48] For Latin funerary epigrams, see Bücheler, Carmina; and epigram for slaves: CIL XIII 8355.
[49] On the social position of Roman actors and charioteers, cf. Leppin, Histrionen; and
Horsmann, Die Wagenlenker. For the Tabula Larinas, see Levick, ‘The senatus consultum’;
Lebek, ‘Standeswürde und Berufsverbot’; and Ricci, Gladiatori e attori. For the social position
of Greek athletes, see Pleket, ‘Zur Soziologie des antiken Sports’; and for musicians, see
Aneziri, Die Vereine.
[50] o ktinoj t J ma, j yucwh j d’ 6neken mac œ mesJa (Inscr.Cret. IV 374, see Robert, Les
gladiateurs, no. 66; and Carter, ‘The Presentation of Gladiatorial Spectacles’, no. 131).
[51] Of special importance for the spectators’ view on the games are the epigrams of Martial;
cf. Coleman, Valerii Martialis: Liber Spectaculorum, for a new edition and valuable
commentary.
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Gladiators and Monomachoi: Greek

Attitudes to a Roman ‘Cultural
Performance’
Michael J. Carter
Introduction: Greeks and Gladiators

Addressing the people of Rhodes at the end of the first century AD, the popular
philosopher and orator, Dio Cocceianus from Prusa, known to history as Dio
Chrysostom, ‘The Golden Mouth’, criticized the Athenians for their decision to
produce gladiatorial shows in the Theatre of Dionysus, ‘under the very walls of the
Acropolis’. He stated that:
As matters now stand, there is no practice current in Athens that would not cause
any man to feel ashamed. For instance, in regard to the gladiatorial shows the
Athenians have so zealously emulated the Corinthians, or rather, have so surpassed
both them and all others in their mad infatuation, that whereas the Corinthians
watch these combats outside the city in a glen, a place that is able to hold a crowd,
but otherwise is dirty and such that no one would even bury there any freeborn
citizen, the Athenians look on this fine spectacle in their theatre, under the very
walls of the Acropolis, in the place where they bring their Dionysus into the
orchestra and stand him up, so that often a fighter is slaughtered among the very
seats in which the Hierophant and other priests must sit. [1]

Gladiators and Monomachoi 151
To accommodate these dangerous spectacles, the orchestra of the Theatre of

Dionysus was enclosed with a parapet wall, most of which is still standing today. The
Athenian interest in these shows attracted the attention – and disapproval – of others
too. Dio proceeds to note that another philosopher, probably the transplanted
Roman Musonius Rufus, had similarly rebuked the Athenians, and when they refused
to listen, he left the city to live elsewhere in the Greek world. [2] Similar indignation
was expressed by the famous neo-Pythagorean philosopher, Apollonius of Tyana. He
refused an invitation from the Athenians to address their assembly specifically
because it was to be held in the Theatre of Dionysus:
He also corrected the following practice at Athens. The Athenians used to assemble
in the theatre below the Acropolis and watch human slaughter, so that it was more
popular there than it is now in Corinth. Paying large sums of money, they
assembled adulterers, pimps, burglars, cut-purses, slave dealers and types like that,
and then armed them and told them to enter combat. This too Apollonius
denounced, and when the Athenians summoned him to the assembly, he said that
he would not enter a place that was impure and full of gore. This he said in a letter,
and added, ‘I am surprised that the goddess has not already left the Acropolis when
you pour out blood of this kind for her. [3]
Writing about a century later, Lucian has Demonax, a cynic philosopher from the
mid-second century AD, similarly reproach the Athenians: ‘When the Athenians, out
of rivalry with the Corinthians, were thinking of holding a gladiatorial show, he came
before them and exclaimed, ‘‘Don’t pass this resolution, men of Athens, without first
pulling down the Altar of Pity!’’’. [4]
One can still feel the outrage directed against the Athenians. It arises not only
because the shows were bloody, but also because they were flagrantlyRoman: all the
passages specifically criticize the Athenians for apeing the Corinthians in their desire
to see gladiatorial combats. Destroyed by Mummius in 146 BC, Corinth had been re-
established by Julius Caesar as the Colonia Laus Julia Corinthiensis (later the Colonia
Iulia Flavia Augusta Corinthiensis) and was now a thriving Roman colony, with a
Roman constitution, Roman institutions and many Italian settlers. No doubt they
brought with them and preserved a Roman passion for these spectacles. The
Athenians were therefore not imitating another Greek polis but were borrowing
cultural institutions from an upstart Roman colonia. [5] To men such as Dio
Chrysostom, Musonius Rufus, Apollonius of Tyana, and Demonax, self-styled
representatives of the Greek intellectual elite, such a Roman show represented a direct
threat to traditional Greek culture.
It is easy to take such explicit passages as evidence for Greek objections to this
bloody and foreign spectacle. But we must be careful not to take the objections of
some to mean rejection by all, for that would be to ignore and dismiss those
thousands of Athenians seated in the Theatre of Dionysus cheering their favourites.
[6] After all, Dio claims that the Athenians emulated the Corinthians ‘so vehemently’
(o tw sf dra) and Philostratus says that they went together to the theatre to watch

152 M. J. Carter
(xuni ntej j J atron) and even that the show was more popular in Athens than it
was in Corinth ( spoud zeto tawuta kei mallon w 2 n Kor nJ_ nwun). Does the
´
opinion of the zealous crowd matter?
The diffusion of Roman gladiatorial spectacles into the Greek regions of the
Roman Empire is now well known thanks to the work of Louis Robert, especially his
seminal volume Les gladiateurs dans l’Orient grec (1940). By assembling and
explicating hundreds of inscriptions from the Greek east which relate to gladiatorial
combat and similar bloody shows, he revealed the extent to which this ostensible
Roman spectacle had spread throughout the eastern Mediterranean during the first
three centuries of the Roman Empire. Yet Robert showed little interest in exploring
the cultural significance of the spectacle. Writing in 1940, he declined to offer a thesis
on the significance of the spectacle, preferring instead to direct the reader to the
works of Ludwig Friedländer and Georges Lafaye from the nineteenth century. [7]
However valuable these works continue to be today for the surveys of primary
(especially literary) evidence that they provide, they remain products of their time,
dismissing evidence of gladiators in the Greek world with the same disgust as that
expressed by Dio and the others. Although Robert generally maintained an admirable
objectivity, he reveals similarly held opinions. In a brief and poignant paragraph
concluding his analysis of the diffusion of Roman gladiatorial combats in the Greek
cities of the east, he was finally moved to describe the phenomenon as a disease which
had infected Greek society: ‘La société grecque a été gangrenée par cette maladie
venue de Rome. C’est un des succès de la romanisation du monde grec.’ [8] He shares
with Dio, Musonius Rufus, Apollonius, and Demonax the same dismay at the
intrusion of so Roman an institution into Greek culture.
It has only been quite recently that scholars have made a conscious effort to put
aside their own moral misgivings and to study gladiatorial combats within the
context of Roman sentiments and practices. Many now argue that gladiatorial
combat, as part of a complex production that typically included fantastic executions
and wild beast-hunts, was a culturally significant institution, perhaps even playing a
role in the production and maintenance of a Roman sense of identity. The spectacle
of two gladiators fighting in ostentatious single combat affected Roman spectators
and presented them with a demonstration of some of the key values at the heart of
what it meant to be a Roman. Jonathan Edmondson and more recently Donald Kyle
have further proposed that the gladiatorial munus could be interpreted as a kind of
Roman ‘cultural performance’, a public celebration which not only reflects a society’s
values, priorities and social relationships but also helps to shape them. [9] This is an
intriguing idea and might explain the mechanisms by which the munus operated to
promote a sense of Roman identity. Neither Edmondson nor Kyle, however, offered
any in-depth discussion of the theory.
It is the intention of this study first to explore whether the theory of ‘cultural
performance’ is suitable for the study of the Roman gladiatorial munus and then to
consider in what ways this understanding of the munus can help us to appreciate the
cultural impact of the show in the Greek world. If the gladiatorial munus was a sort of

Roman ‘cultural performance’ and if such performances did indeed help to shape
society’s values and a community’s perception of itself, then what was the impact of
such a potent show in the provinces of the Empire, and the Greek world in particular?
Do these spectacles represent one of the forces of the romanization of Greek society,
as Robert saw it? [10] If indeed a Roman sitting in the Colosseum watching gladiators
fight somehow felt more Roman for doing so, what did an Athenian think of the
spectacle – and himself – as he watched the same combats from his seat in the Theatre
of Dionysus? What matters is not only what elite writers might have thought, but also
the opinion of the masses of ordinary citizens. Unfortunately, we have left little
written evidence that reveals their attitudes or opinions, and, like Dio above, most
literary sources tend to dismiss them altogether. I propose to explore the attitudes of
these ordinary Greeks reflected – however indirectly – in the epitaphs of Greek
gladiators. These epitaphs were public monuments, directed at an audience. I will
argue that the expectations and ideals presented on the epitaphs were meant to appeal
to the community as a whole – the spectators who came and cheered – and reflected
what they understood gladiators to represent. That is to say, the audience for these
epitaphs was the general community, and not simply fellow gladiators. We may thus
have access to the opinions of the cheering Greeks who came in droves to watch the
gladiators, despite the disapproval of men such as Dio and the others.
Beyond Entertainment: The Gladiatorial Munus as ‘Cultural Performance’

The research into ‘cultural performances’ in other fields has grown considerably over
the last several years as scholars have adopted the concept as a strategy to explain
festive practices around the world. Key to the ‘cultural performance’ is the idea that
what is put on display is important to the gathered community because it somehow
reflects values considered central to their culture. More than simple entertainment,
‘cultural performances’ are special events, set off from day-to-day realities, at which
the community assembles to watch and consider performances that in some way
manifest their own cultural priorities, their values and their ideologies. The spectacle
matters to the spectators in a way that goes beyond simple amusement, and because it
matters and because the community is assembled to watch it, there is created room
for debate in which notions of family, community, ethnicity and cultural identity, for
example, are not only expressed but may also be challenged and changed.
David Guss, in his study of festivals in Venezuela, usefully identifies and describes
four key features of a ‘cultural performance’: 1) the celebration is somehow out of the
ordinary; 2) the central performance embodies and presents values that are important
to the community and encourage the community to reflect upon them; 3) it is
profoundly discursive, encouraging debate about the importance of the performance
and the cultural values on display; and 4) it may result in a range of changes, from
simply a reaffirmation of the established order to a more radical reorganization of
society. To Guss, ‘what is important is that cultural performances be recognized as
sites of social action where identities and relations are continually being

154 M. J. Carter
reconfigured’. [11] Such performances are important to the spectators, not just as
entertainment, though they may be that too, but because they witness and celebrate
some of the ideals that help to define who they are. The spectators gather to celebrate
themselves.
It is a promising theory and if appropriate to the gladiatorial munus, then it may
help to explain the mechanisms by which Roman values and identity were fostered by
this particular spectacle. Do Guss’s four criteria apply?
First, the gladiatorial munus was clearly defined both spatially and temporally and
set off from day-to-day reality. From the first recorded gladiatorial show in Rome at
the funeral of D. Iunius Brutus in 264 BC, [12] for the next 200 years, the spectacle,
known as a munus (‘duty’), grew in size and splendour, though it remained
connected to aristocratic funerals until the very end of the Republic in Rome. [13]
During the imperial period, the munus was directly associated with the emperors in
Rome and with the imperial cult throughout the Empire. Whether as an element in
an aristocratic funeral during the Republic or as an expensive part of the imperial cult
celebrations throughout the Empire, the munus certainly was an event outside of the
ordinary.
Secondly, the ‘performances’ reflected the priorities of Roman society and culture.
During the mid Republic especially, when gladiatorial spectacles were directly
associated with aristocratic funerals, the loss of such important men – the civic and
military leaders – was felt not simply by the family of the deceased, but by the entire
community. The Roman aristocratic funeral offered an opportunity for the
community to come together in a time of crisis that caused the death of a prominent
leader, to mourn his loss, and to celebrate the virtues and achievements of his life. But
more than this, the funeral also celebrated and reaffirmed the values central to
Roman society and vital to its success. [14] That the community also came together
at a gladiatorial munus is key too. Presented in the Forum, the political, religious and
social centre of the city, the munus thus united the Roman people in the presence of
exemplary Roman martial virtues; the Roman community assembled around and
focused on a demonstration of consummate skill in single combat, the extreme
courage demanded of that combat, and strict discipline, all traditional values which
helped to define what it meant to be a Roman.
Rome was a militaristic society that went to war every year virtually without fail.
[15] While this does not mean that all Romans were expected to train or to fight in
hand-to-hand combat like gladiators, it does mean that the martial values put on
display by the gladiators were appreciated as important, somehow, to being a Roman.
Thus, for example, Pliny the Younger praises the gladiatorial games produced by
Trajan:
Then there was seen a spectacle neither feeble nor dissolute nor likely to soften and
break men’s spirits, but the sort which rouses them to beautiful wounds and a
scorn for death, when the love of praise and desire for victory could be seen in the
bodies of slaves and even criminals. [16]

Cicero, Livy, Quintilian and Seneca, for example, have similar praise for the
martial values of the munus and its edifying importance. [17] Moreover, these
displays of combat were imbued with religious overtones of self-sacrifice and
somehow were thought to help preserve the health of the emperor and so of the
whole state (during the imperial period).
By the early Empire, the munus had become a regularized feature of the Roman
festival calendar (though it could still be found as part of aristocratic funerals)
and came to include wild beast displays and hunts (venationes) and extravagant
executions. The most spectacular games were now given by the emperor or his
designates in Rome; in Italy and the provinces where the games soon spread, they
were associated with the imperial cult. The esteem which used to attach itself to
the munerarius and the family of the deceased during the Republic was now
assigned to the emperor and his representatives. The spectacle, moreover, was
generally presented in purpose-built structures of unique design (the amphithea-
tre). During the Republic these amphitheatres were temporary wood buildings,
painstakingly erected in the Roman Forum for the duration of the show and then
removed. [18]
Though gladiatorial combat was always dangerous and life-threatening, the focus
remained on the martial skills of the gladiators rather than their suffering and death.
During the early imperial period, the spectacle developed standardized armament
types, rules and procedures, and well-trained, professional gladiators. When one
gladiator was injured, he could signal surrender by raising a finger (combat ad
digitum) to request release (missio). A referee, either the summa rudis or the secunda
rudis, then stepped in to stop the fight. Whether to continue the fight or allow
reprieve was a decision that was referred to the munerarius who provided the show.
The ultimate decision, however, was probably made by the assembled crowd, who
would have shouted their approval or disapproval. The wise munerarius obeyed the
wishes of the people and would have been rewarded with their appreciation. Thus not
only was the spectacle popular, it could also have an important political dimension
too in giving voice to the people. According to Cicero, writing even before the
assemblies and concilia were shut down in the early Empire, it was at the munera,
along with the theatre and the games, that the voice of the Roman people could most
readily be heard. [19]
The figure at the centre of this complex show, the gladiator, stands as a
paradoxical figure. Although some gladiators could enjoy considerable personal
fame and wealth, they were officially despised for their infamia. Tertullian clearly
expresses the ambiguous social status of the gladiator and similar performers:
‘What perversity! They love those whom they punish, they degrade those whom
they approve, the art they esteem, the artist they stigmatize’. [20] The importance
of the gladiator in demonstrating key Roman virtues explains the ambiguity of the
social position of the gladiator in Roman society. Most gladiators were drawn from
outside of Roman society or from its lowest ranks: from prisoners of war,
criminals, slaves, and the poor who had sold themselves into the profession and

156 M. J. Carter
symbolically left Roman society to perform in the arena. Yet with training and
dedication, such men could became exemplars of perfect Roman military virtues
and achieve great popularity. As long as they demonstrated these values, they had
the approval – even the admiration – of the Roman people and could win their
lives and freedom, not to mention considerable sums of money. But cowardice, a
lack of discipline, or a lack of skill were the betrayal of these Roman virtues and an
insult to the spectators. [21] It was not pathos that won a gladiator his missio, but
his martial skill and courage.
The demarcation between the arena, where the gladiators and other performers
appeared and fought and the cavea where the spectators sat and watched was a line
clearly drawn. The organization imposed on the spectators watching the events has
also been studied as a primary means of visibly structuring Roman society
especially around the person of the emperor in Rome. Seating arrangements at
performances in the theatre and spectacles were regulated following a general
pattern of diminishing importance away from the stage or arena to represent the
hierarchical social structure of Roman society, from the emperor to women and the
lowest ranks of society. According to Suetonius, the scheme was especially the result
of Augustan social reforms and satisfied Roman moral sensibilities. [22] Senators
and equestrians occupied the best seats, but other subgroups in society were
allocated their own sections, and all present were differentiated by dress and certain
privileges, such as permission to use seat cushions or sun-hats. [23] In his study of
the social and political dimensions of the Roman arena during the reign of
Augustus, Jonathan Edmondson has seen the amphitheatre as a key place for the
visible construction of Roman society: ‘on many occasions the sheer splendour of
the occasion and the festive ambience in which it was played out ensured that the
crowd united to celebrate the simple fact of being part of Roman society’ (emphasis
added). [24]
The munus was not just mere entertainment, although it was that too, but it also
united the community as active participants both in the presence of perfect Roman
martial virtues and in the representation of Rome’s civilizing mission. But more, the
assembled people were themselves a representation of the structure and mutual social
relationships binding Roman society together. It is tempting, therefore, to consider
the role that these spectacles might have played in the construction of a Roman sense
of cultural identity. Certainly, we should see the values on display in the munus as
important to the community.
Guss’s third criterion holds that the ‘cultural performance’ encourages debate
about the importance of the values on display. Yet, there is remarkably little (Roman)
criticism surviving from antiquity about the gladiatorial games, certainly none voiced
against the violence. Magnus Wistrand has shown that, of all their ‘entertainment
options’, the Romans took the munus most seriously. [25] Any debate would largely
have been in terms of approval. In other words, the spectators generally endorsed
what they saw there. Though the context of the show shifted from dead leaders in the
Republic to a festival in honour of the emperor during the imperial period, the

spectacle in many ways became even more a celebration of the successes of Rome and
Romans. Thomas Wiedemann has understood the overall significance of the arena in
this way:
The arena was the place where civilisation confronted nature, in the shape of beasts
which represented a danger to humanity; and where social justice confronted
wrongdoing, in the shape of the criminals who were to be executed there; and
where the Roman empire confronted its enemies, in the persons of the captured
prisoners of war who were killed or were forced to kill one another in the arena.
[26]
Both the might and the civilizing mission of Rome were affirmed in the
spectacles associated with gladiatorial combat. [27] Following the beast-displays
and executions, the people then witnessed the combats of well-trained, expensive
professionals, whose single purpose was (ideally) to present performances of pure
martial excellence. All of this, moreover, was witnessed inside a unique, huge and
purpose-built structure – the amphitheatre – that turned the community in to
focus on the action down on the arena. The show thus had much to say to
Romans about who was a Roman, about who was not, about being a Roman and
about the Roman Empire.
Fourth, given the crowd’s general approval of the spectacle and its acceptance of
the hierarchical seating, which arranged the people in the cavea according to their
position in society, I would suggest that the result was not social change, but rather
the reaffirmation of the established order. This is just what a Roman aristocrat or a
Roman emperor wanted to hear.
There is more to this, however. The munus as cultural performance may have
played an important role in the creation and maintenance of a Roman sense of
identity. The Romans, whose traditions and history continually emphasize the
inclusion of foreign peoples and customs rather than their exclusion, did not hold
common descent or even language to be fundamental to their sense of shared
identity, however important these might have been to some people, some of the
time. Thus the Romans were able to enfranchise freedmen, veterans and many
others of their choosing across the Empire without substantially threatening the
fabric of Roman identity. They even took pride in the diversity of their origins, as
the historian Sallust reminded his readers and the emperor Claudius did the
senate. Instead of shared descent, their sense of identity grew primarily from
membership and pride in the Roman political community and participation in the
Roman moral universe. [28] If this is an accurate reflection of the nature of
Roman identity, and if militarism is a key component of Roman values, then the
celebration and approval of these values as presented in the munus might have
been key. Not only were Romans shown central values of their community but
they were also shown their place in that community. They belonged. If identity
requires debate and negotiation among the assembled community, then the munus
provided the perfect arena.

158 M. J. Carter
Greek Attitudes
If indeed a sort of Roman ‘cultural performance’, the gladiatorial munus was a
powerful mechanism for the creation and maintenance of a Roman sense of cultural
identity. But what happened when this institution spread to other areas of the
Empire? Did it function to help to turn the provincials into ‘Romans’ by exposing
them to these ‘performances’ celebrating Rome and engaging them in this same
dialogue? Right away it can be noted that two of Guss’s criteria are satisfied. First, the
presentation of gladiatorial combats in the Greek world was intimately connected
with the imperial cult, and so was a special event outside of the day-to-day events in
any community. And, as is evident even from the controversy sparked by the
Athenians’ desire to provide gladiatorial shows in the Theatre of Dionysus, the
spectacle created debate, in particular, a debate over the nature of Greek and Roman
culture. For Dio, Musonius Rufus, Apollonius, and Demonax (not to mention Louis
Robert), what was most outrageous about the gladiators in Athens was the blatant
Roman-like quality of the show. Yet a key element in the operation of the ‘cultural
performance’, however, lies in the importance of the ‘performance’ to the assembled
people (Guss’s second criterion): the ‘performance’ ought to reflect their values and
priorities. Did the Athenians and other Greeks throughout the east flock to their local
theatre or stadium to see simply an odd and entertaining spectacle? Or did they go to
watch something that mattered to them?
In order to determine this, we must have some idea of the attitudes of the
spectators to what they were presented with. For most of the people living in the
Roman Empire, we have little direct evidence of their attitudes to the spectacles of
gladiatorial combat. The Greek world, however, may provide the best evidence with
which to gauge their point of view. While the literary record may generally ignore the
ordinary people – how they saw and understood the significance of the show – we
may have another way to access their opinions and attitudes. As I suggested above,
the epitaphs of many of the gladiators who died in the Greek east might have been
directed at the wider community, and if so, then the messages contained should have
appealed to their understanding of the gladiators.
Funerary epitaphs set up by comrades, friends and family members in memory of a
fallen gladiator provide most of our information concerning the lives and careers of
gladiators in the Greek east. Honorific in nature, these inscriptions generally present
an idealized and laudatory portrait of the deceased. They are usually accompanied by
a relief depicting the deceased proudly in his profession as a gladiator, what Robert
termed le gladiateur dans sa gloire: the deceased stands facing the viewer, holding aloft
a palm branch of victory, his equipment at his side. Other gladiatorial tombstones
depict the deceased at banquet: the Totenmahlrelief. They represent a traditional
honorific form of representation of the deceased as a heroic figure. For Kathleen
Coleman, what is especially striking about these (Greek) epitaphs is the expression of
professional pride: the gladiators make no attempt to conceal their status as
gladiators. [29] Honour and pride, however, are a reflection of the opinion of others,

and so it is critical to identify the audience. Values claimed are not necessarily the
same as values recognized. If these epitaphs were intended primarily for the family,
friends, and associates of the deceased gladiator, then it cannot be said with any
certainty that the praise elicited by these tombstones was shared by a wider segment
of the population. But if they were meant to be read by any passer-by, as is in fact
most probable, then the epitaphs suggest that there existed a high degree of
familiarity with, or appreciation for, the gladiatorial arena on the part of the typical
Greek citizen. The obvious pride displayed by the gladiators in their profession can be
understood as a reflection of the attitudes of society, however indirectly, for pride,
although personally expressed, must be socially endorsed: one does not publicly show
pride in something deemed unacceptable by society at large. [30]
Few gladiatorial tombstones have been found in situ, so it is difficult to ascertain
what sort of access the ordinary passer-by would have had to be able to read these
epitaphs. Evidence from Nı̂mes, suggests that gladiators in the west may have been
buried together in a segregated but perhaps prominent location, perhaps even in a
gladiatorial cemetery. [31] A recent, sensational discovery at Ephesus of a large group
of gladiatorial graves, however, supports the contention that gladiatorial epitaphs
could be found in prominent locations. The cemetery was discovered in 1993 during
the excavation of the Damian Stoa, some 300 m east of the stadium, on the northern
edge of the Panagiadag (Panagia Hill). [32] That gladiatorial epitaphs should be given
some prominence is not surprising when we recall that memorials both in stone and
as painted tableaux are known from the ancient world, and that those members of the
upper class who provided the spectacles often boasted of having done so in honorific
inscriptions. [33]
The epitaphs which we do possess are typically those of successful gladiators. It
may be presumed that only a successful gladiator of some means could afford the
expense of an inscribed and sculpted tombstone, while younger gladiators may not
have had the funds for elaborate funerary monuments and epitaphs. [34] In general,
therefore, the gladiators who left tombstones are those who prospered in the
profession, although it is uncertain what percentage of the total gladiatorial
population they represent. The tombstone of the gladiator, Melanippus, who died in
Alexandra Troas in what is now north-west Turkey, provides a typical gladiatorial
epitaph (see below). To be sure, not all gladiatorial epitaphs are as lengthy and
descriptive as this one: many, as is typical in the Latin west, simply record the name
of the deceased, along with certain vital statistics about his life. But neither is it
unusual, as a casual glance through Robert’s corpus will reveal. Moreover, it should
be remembered that Melanippus shared the same life, training, and social status as
those gladiators whose epitaphs are less detailed. The epitaph reads as follows:
T n Jrasøn Çn stadoij Çso-

w me [n]Økun, parodeita, Tar`-
[r]=j
´
[sØ]a htiÆrin deœteron pÆlon,
MèlÆnippon. oåkØti calke- 4

160 M. J. Carter
[l]Ætou fwnn sÆlpiggoj ko[œw],

w kØladon -
[oå]d’ nswn aålwn
w negerw< fasn d’ ‘Hra-
[eJ]lwn
w
[k]lØa dœo ka dØka Jla telØss[ai]. 8
_
[ta]åt
d’ Çg˛ telØsaj triskaidÇkat [on]
tÇloj 1skon.
QÆlloj ka Zh Melanpp[_]
w Œdwn
[m]neaj cÆrin Çk t wn 12
Çpoh san. [31]
and translates as:
You see me who was bold in the stadia, dead, traveller, from Tarsis a retiarius of the
second rank, (by the name of) Melanippus. No longer do I hear the voice of the
bronze trumpet, nor when competing do I raise the din of the unequal pipes. They
say that Herakles completed twelve labours, but I completed the same and finished
with thirteen. Thallus and Zoe made this for Melanippus from their own funds in
remembrance.
We should first notice that the epitaph was written in Greek and was therefore
accessible to any passer-by who might have seen it and who is in fact addressed in the
´
second line of the epitaph (parodeita). Addressing the passer-by in this way is
typical and many other gladiatorial epitaphs, like other Greek epitaphs, contain a
similar reference. Melanippus himself might have been Greek: he originated in Tarsis
in Cilicia, no insignificant city, as Paul famously said. [36] Given that Greek identity,
as it had always been, tended to be located primarily in citizenship of a Greek polis,
we should understand this as a claim to belonging to the broader Greek community.
Many gladiators claimed to be Greeks and even the Greek writer, Plutarch,
recognized this. [37] Moreover, Melanippus’ text here is not simple prose koine
Greek; it has instead been composed in six hexameters (lines 1–10), the metre of
Homer and the epic poets. The epitaph was meant to appeal to and appropriate a
thousand years of Greek heroic tradition. Some of his vocabulary echoes the great
epics too. He is called Jras j (‘bold’), the same word used by Homer to describe
Hector in the Iliad, for example (Il. 8. 89–90). In this heroic appeal, Melanippus’
tombstone is not unique, for there are known dozens of gladiatorial epitaphs
similarly written in verse employing heroic terminology. We should see this practice
within a broader Greek traditional of recording verse-epitaphs, however. So
Melanippus and those other gladiators are not simply appealing to heroic precedents,
though they are doing that too, but are situating themselves within established Greek
funerary customs. [38] His epitaph would have been both readable and recognizable
to any Greek parodethj who happened to pass by it.
His name too, though it is probably a stage name or nom de guerre, has been taken
from Greek mythology. The most famous Melanippus fought at Thebes and slew
both Tydeus and Mecisteus, though Homer also knows a Melanippus as do other
ancient writers. Bravery and prowess in battle made names like Achilleus, Aias,

Alkeides, Idomeneos, Patroklos, Hectorios, Eteokles and Polynikes, to name but a

few, attractive to a gladiator and the spectators who watched. [39] Melanippus’
epitaph makes these heroic allusions deliberately, not simply because it was somehow
expected on a tombstone. The qualities and characteristics of heroic figures were
widely known and appreciated in the Greek world and by choosing a mythological
name, the gladiator could draw on this important element in Greek culture.
After describing his life as a gladiator and the music that he heard while fighting,
Melanippus then compares his accomplishments with those of Heracles, indeed
even suggesting that he had gone one better than the greatest Greek hero. Where
Heracles famously had completed 12 labours, Melanippus boasts that he
accomplished 13. Presumably, these 13 labours were his victories in the arena.
While Heracles’ labours were various and did not in general involve combat, it is
not too much for Melanippus to characterize his victories as heroic success. As
many gladiators chose heroic names, so too were they and their combats often
described as heroic. In an epitaph from Tomis, the (probable) gladiator,
Amarantos, is said to have died Çn r˝wn mÆcaij (‘in the battles of the heroes’)
while the gladiator Zeuxes from Cos is honoured as ðHrwj crhst j (‘a deserving
hero’). [40] Gladiatorial combat, fought man to man, was usually referred to in our
literary sources as monomac a and a gladiator as a monom coj. Although not used
by Homer, these terms had been employed by classical Athenian writers as
significant as Aeschylus, Euripides, Aristophanes and Plato, along with Herodotus
and the later Posidippus and Polybius to refer to single combat, usually heroic
single combat. [41] The gladiator Achilleus from Prusa is more explicit: a csaj
´
þArewj stad osin . . . ka pollo j dam saj ce resi tai j fon aij (‘I boasted in
the stadia of Ares, having overpowered many men with these murderous hands’),
perhaps recalling Achilles’ man-slaughtering hands. [42] What could be more heroic
than that?
In addition to heroic references – though related to them – gladiators in the east
often presented themselves as successful athletes, by using terminology that properly
belonged to the world of the stadium and gymnasium. Melanippus himself claims
that he fought n stad oij (‘in the stadia’, the plural is for the sake of the metre), and
this phrase is often found in gladiatorial epitaphs. Sometimes, the spectacles did take
place in the curved end of the stadium (the sphendone), though their usual venue was
the local theatre, converted for these dangerous shows. [43] More obvious parallels to
the world of Greek athletics are made too. Melanippus claims that ‘while competing’
w
( [eJ]lwn), he no longer raises ‘the din of the unequal pipes’ (the water organ) and
that he had won 13 w Jla (prizes). Other gladiators too characterized their combats
as athletic contests: for example, the gladiator Euchrous from Amphipolis claims to
have competed 12 times: dwd katon d’ Jlwn, w while another inscription from
Tomis describes gladiators as ‘athletes of Ares’ (þArewj Jlhtwhrej) and their
combats as ‘Ares-like competitions’ (þAraiwj w Jla). [44] A gladiator’s opponent,
when referred to at all, was an nt paloj, properly a wrestling opponent. [45] As
Robert long ago demonstrated, other gladiators preferred to describe their combats as

162 M. J. Carter
actual boxing, as for example, the gladiator formerly known by the civilian name,
Apollonius. Here are the first several surviving lines (again in hexameters):
...
[m’ rw
´
at]e n kun, parodeitai<
[o5n]om moi paganòn ’Apoll -
[ni]j klJhn ow ł patrj ’Ap -
[mi]a, nw
un dŁ Nikomhde aj me 4
[g]ai= pròj d pedon kat cei me
´
w
mı́toj ka nmata Moirwn<
kt ki neiksaj tòn n sta-
w
d oisin gwnan, tw+ d’ n - 8
w
t+ pugm + tò peprwm non
w̧ de p dwke. Pai ze, g la,
´
´
parodei ta, e d j ti ka
´ ´
sŁ Janein dei. [46] 12
This translates as:
. . . you see me dead, traveller. I was called the paganus (civilian) name, Apollonius,
and my homeland was Apameia, but now in the land of Nicomedeia the threads
and strings of Fate hold me down on the ground. Having won eight times the
contest (agon) in the stadia, but during his ninth fight he thus gave up his fate. Joke
and laugh, traveller, and know that you also must die.
The deceased describes his combats both as an gwn, w an agon or ‘contest’, the
stereotypical word used for Greek competitions, and as a pugm, a boxing match.
[47] Even Epictetus considers the victories of gladiators to be comparable to those of
boxers and pancratiasts: ‘So that, by the gods, justly one could greet him, ‘‘Hail
incredible man!’’ but not those foul boxers and pancratiasts, nor those like them—
the gladiators’. [48]
As well as much athletic terminology, the symbols of athletic victory – the palm
branch and the crown – also came to symbolize gladiatorial victory. The palm had
long been given to victors in traditional Greek athletic and musical agones as an
indication of arete and a symbol for a complex collection of attributes and virtues
cherished by the Greeks. [49] So too the crown. Flammeatus, who was buried in
Beroia, claimed that he was Åpt
stefanwJej: ‘crowned seven times’, and a great
many other tombstones depict the gladiator’s victories with crowns: presumably one
carved to represent each victory.
All of this suggests that Greek gladiators were keen to present themselves as both
heroes and athletes, and their combats as a form of heroic combat or athletic
competition.
There is resistance among some scholars to see gladiatorial combat as a sort of
‘sport’, but I see no reason to reject the possibility that the Greeks might have done
so. [50] The objection may be to the violence and real possibility of death in
gladiatorial combat, but we can find in Greek athletics, not just violence and death,

but a celebration of the same ‘give me victory or give me death’ attitudes. The idea of
dying in victory is also one known from the world of Greek athletics. No longer as
important on the battlefield, the old aristocratic values celebrating individual honour
and victory in single combat were removed to the gymnasium and to the competitive
athletics practised there. [51] In contrast with the contemporary hoplite battlefield,
Greek athletics involved entirely individual competitions for personal honour and
fame. It was not how you played the game. In Greek athletic ideology, victory was all-
important. [52] Masculine and military virtues were emphasized by the athletes
whose bravado often extended to the boast of ‘victory or death’. Arrachion, for
example, was so celebrated because he chose death rather than defeat at Olympia;
seeing him on the point of surrender, his trainer, shouting, urged him even to desire
death, ‘What a noble epitaph, not to have conceded at Olympia!’. [53] Philostratus
states that one contestant was inspired by a message his trainer sent to his mother:
‘Believe it if you hear that your son is dead; do not, if you hear that he has lost’. [54]
A first-century AD pancratiast continued fighting in the final at Olympia believing
that ‘it was better to sacrifice one’s life than to give up hope of winning the wreath’
and a second-century AD boxer, Agathos Daemon, again from Olympia, prayed to
Zeus, 2 st foj 2 J naton (‘either a crown or death’). The epitaph of the boxer,
probably from the second century AD, indicates that later Greeks were still willing to
pay the ultimate price for victory, or at least present themselves as so willing:
’AgaJòj Da mwn ka

K mhloj ’Alexandre j
nr p kthj nemeo-
ne khj nJÆde pukte - 4
wn n t_w stad _ te-
le ta e x menoj
Zhn 2 st foj 7
J naton twnw le’ . caire. [55]
´
8
This translates as: ‘Agathos Daemon, also known as the Camel, from Alexandria, a
boxer in the man category, Nemean victor, who died here while fighting in the
stadium, having prayed to Zeus for a crown (victory) or death. Age 35. Farewell.’
This epitaph reads very like the gladiatorial epitaphs for Melanippus and
Apollonius, quoted above: terminology (p kthj, pukte wn), location ( n t_ w
stad _), the use of a nom de guerre (K mhloj), claims to Greek identity
(; Alexandre j), and victory or death ideology all find parallels in Greek gladiatorial
tombstones. But while an athlete might boast that he preferred victory to his own life,
he rarely lived up to these ideals. The gladiator, on the other hand, presumably risked
his life for victory whenever he entered the arena. He demonstrated his belief that it
was indeed better to sacrifice one’s life than to abandon hopes of victory. When
drawing comparisons between athletics and gladiatura, the gladiators seldom failed to
stress the severity of their ‘sport’ compared even to the brutality of the pancration
and boxing. An epitaph from Gortyn on Crete, for example, proclaims that gladiators

164 M. J. Carter
did not fight for the olive, but rather for their lives: o k tinoj tò J ma, yucw hj d’
6neken mac mesJa. [56] The gladiator thus presents himself as a paradigm of the
Greek agonistic spirit.
Given this heroic and athletic posturing, what modern scholars might find striking
is Melanippus’ use of Latin loanwords and the technical language of the gladiatorial
arena. Yet, Melanippus seems just as proud of his status as a gladiator as he is of his
participation in Greek heroic and athletic culture. He was eager to tell us that he was
a retiarius (here hti rij to satisfy the metre) and that he had reached the second
palus-rank (de teroj p loj). [57] In his use of Latin technical terms from the arena
and ludus, Melanippus is not alone. Gladiators made no attempt to disguise their
profession, despite the disgrace (infamia / tim a) with which they were officially
stigmatized. They regularly and unabashedly stated their armament type using Latin
transliterated into Greek. It is interesting that the gladiators themselves almost never
use the pre-existing Greek term monom coj, the standard Greek translation for the
Latin gladiator, to refer to themselves, but instead prefer their proper technical
designation. So in addition to the hti rioj we have attested in hundreds of
epitaphs, various armament types such as the seko twr (secutor), murm llwn
(murmillo), Jrw x (thracian), ssed rioj (essedarius), probokÆtwr (provocator).
We also have attested the soummaro dhj and sekoundaro dhj (the summa rudis
and secunda rudis), the officials who refereed the contests; troupes of gladiators (the
famil a monomacwn); w ´
and other technical terms such as, teirwn (tiro), p loj
(palus), pagan j (paganus), lowudoj (ludus). This seems so striking to us because of
the almost complete absence of Latin loanwords in the Greek literature of the
imperial period.
The purity of the Greek language was perhaps the single most important feature of
Greek elite identity. Thus our Apollonius, who rebuked the Athenians for their
addiction to gladiatorial shows in the Theatre of Dionysus, wrote a letter to the Koinon
of the Ionians when he read Roman names in an inscribed decree, scolding them for
this barbarism (per towu barbarismowu to tou). [58] Other Greek authors baulked
at the use of Latin technical terminology, especially from the gladiatorial arena.
Artemidorus, for example, who wrote a large book on the interpretation of dreams,
actually apologized to his readers when he came to describe the significance of
dreaming that one was engaged in gladiatorial combat. It seems that the dream was
specific and different types of gladiators foretold the character of the spouse whom
one was to marry. Interestingly, he nevertheless expected his readers to be familiar
with the different types of gladiators and their technical names and attributes. [59]
Latin technical vocabulary was introduced into the Greek language at the same
time that the Roman institution was introduced into Greek society, in order to refer
to technical elements, such as armament types, for which there existed no ready
Greek equivalents. But any suggestion that the Greeks were compelled by an inability
in their own language to express many of these technical Latin terms is unlikely, for
the Greek language is too versatile and the Greek experience too broad. [60] The use
of Latin by the gladiators represents a definite choice, and it should be considered

that the use of these Latin technical terms was considered prestigious both by the
gladiators themselves and by those most closely associated with them. [61]But the
fact that gladiatorial epitaphs were public, honorific memorials suggests that
the Latin terms were appreciated by the Greek people more broadly. Although an
argument ex silentio, it is doubtful that those wishing to commemorate and celebrate
the lives and careers of gladiators would have used language vocabulary deemed
distasteful by the Greek people at large. A widespread appreciation for the use of
precise Latin technical terminology indicates a corresponding appreciation for the
institution itself.
In sum, then we are left with a definite impression of the image that the gladiators
wished to portray. Gladiatorial epitaphs not only celebrate the profession of the
deceased, but praise it and glorify it. The gladiators proudly identify themselves by
their gladiatorial name rather than by their birth name, proudly state their armament
type and other aspects of the institution using Greek athletic or Latin technical
vocabulary, and proudly describe the attributes for which they claim to have been
famous. It is through this pride that we can measure the attitude of the Greek people
more generally, for pride must be socially endorsed and socially maintained. It is
doubtful that the gladiators would have boasted of their proficiency in a profession
which was widely considered ignominious. Better in that case to avoid any filthy
Latin terminology at all, something they clearly did not do. Many of the values
presented and celebrated by the gladiators, moreover, were entirely honourable and
laudable in a Greek context, for gladiatura was not necessarily an especially
murderous or needlessly cruel form of combat, but a display of military bravery and
ability where two champions fought in single combat in an attempt to win
ostentatious victory. The values at the heart of Greek gladiatura were the same as
those at the ideological heart of Greek athletics and Greek agonistic culture more
generally, that is, victory before all else – including one’s own life. Whatever stigma
may have been attached to service as a gladiator among writers of the upper class was
not felt by the gladiators themselves or indeed by the typical Greek citizen who may
have read the epitaphs and so validated the gladiator’s pride.
Conclusion: A Greek ‘Cultural Performance’?

I have argued that the gladiatorial munus can be interpreted as a sort of Roman
‘cultural performance’. While the adoption of such ‘cultural theory’ is not always a
perfect fit with ancient evidence or societies, what such a scheme does do is offer a
model, however imperfect, to explain how the spectacle might have functioned to
help in the creation and maintenance of a Roman sense of cultural identity. The
values of military virtus, order and social hierarchies celebrated in the munus were
important to the Roman people watching and were reaffirmed.
What impact would such a powerful show have in the rest of the Empire, where
evidence of gladiatorial games is often seen simply as ‘romanization’? Could we see
the gladiatorial munus in the Greek east as a sort of cultural performance too?

166 M. J. Carter
Certainly Guss’s first and third criteria are evident: the shows in the east were associated
with the celebration of the imperial cult and they affected a debate, at least among the
intellectual elite, about their impact on Greek culture. What is difficult to gauge is
Guss’s second criterion, the attitude of the majority of the spectators. I proposed that
the Greek world is the one area of the Empire where we might have enough evidence to
reconstruct the opinions of the ordinary spectators, though only as imperfectly reflected
in the claims and boasts made by the gladiators themselves. If I am correct and the
gladiatorial epitaphs were meant to appeal to the wider Greek community and to some
degree reflect the attitudes of the typical citizen, then what we read on these epitaphs
would indicate that the ‘performances’ that the people came to see did reflect values and
cultural priorities important to them. In some ways the gladiators might have been seen
as heroes and athletes par excellence, if only in the opinion of the ordinary spectators.
[62] We can see Guss’s first three criteria thus satisfied. What might the resultant social
changes have been? Here we can reasonably only speculate.
At the very least, gladiatorial combat was a spectacle that was recognizable to the
Greek people gathered to watch, though it may have been seen as so much more:
more athletic than athletic contests and heroic than their heroic myths. The
‘performances’ presented priorities important to Greek culture. Yet they were also
very clearly, and proudly, Roman shows. In this case, the debate engendered among
the assembled people would certainly have included consideration about what was
Greek and what was Roman, just as it so obviously did for Dio and the other
members of the intellectual elite who scolded the Athenians for their Corinthian (that
is Roman) passions. Could the conclusions of the cheering masses have been that the
Romans, and Roman cultural values, were not so foreign after all? There was
something recognizably Greek in such an apparently un-Greek spectacle. Perhaps
these shows functioned to help the ordinary Greek spectators find a place for
themselves in the wider world of the Roman Empire. [63]
With gladiatorial spectacles, the Greeks presented to themselves Roman shows
dedicated to the Roman emperor, in which were found values at the heart of their
own culture (heroic and athletic) and which engendered debate and concern among
the intellectual elite for the cultural impact that they might have. The result is likely
to have been some sort of reinterpretation of what it meant to be Greek. I would
suggest that this takes us beyond Robert’s simple, stomach-turning ‘romanization’ to
at least a more nuanced interpretation that sees cultural interaction as a sort of
dialogue or negotiation.
Notes
[1] Dio Chrysostom, Or. 31. 121 Translation: LCL.
[2] Robert, Les gladiateurs, 246–7, note 6 and 248 note 2. The particular event referred to in
Athens probably occurred c.AD 70–75: see Jones, The Roman World of Dio Chrysostom, 133;
König, Athletics and Literature, 215–16; and Welch, ‘Negotiating Roman Spectacle
Architecture’ (with similar treatment in her 2007 book, The Roman Amphitheatre, 165–83).

[3] Philostratus, VA 4. 22. Translation: LCL.

[4] Lucian, Demonax 57. Translation: LCL.
[5] The constitution of Urso in southern Spain, another of Caesar’s colonies, survives and
includes the requirement that the chief civic officials (duoviri and aediles) were to provide
gladiatorial or theatrical spectacles as part of the duties of their position. Apuleius, writing in
the mid-second century, recounts how a certain Thiasus, the duovir quinquennalis in Corinth
had travelled north to Thessaly in search of the finest gladiators. Apuleius also provides a
detailed description of Thiasus’ munus (Met. 10. 18 and 34–5). König, Athletics and Literature,
215–16 also stresses the importance of the references to Corinth as a Roman centre in these
criticisms.
[6] Robert, Les gladiateurs, 248–53, cautions about taking Greek denunciations of the spectacle as
evidence for widespread disapproval; see also König, Athletics and Literature, 214–15.
[7] Robert, Les gladiateurs, 8: ‘Je n’ai pas voulu redire ce qui était déjà connu sur les gladiateurs en
general’ [‘I do not want to repeat that which is already known about gladiators in general’].
[8] Ibid., 263. Translation: ‘Greek society was infected by this sickness from Rome: It is one of the
successes of the Romanization of the Greek World.
[9] For Roman identity, see Wiedemann, ‘Single Combat and Being Roman’. See also
Wiedemann, Emperors and Gladiators, chapter 1; Welch, ‘The Roman Arena in Late-
Republican Italy’ (and also Welch, The Roman Amphitheatre, 79–82); Plass, The Game of
Death, 1–54; and Hopkins, ‘Murderous Games’. For this difficulty in defining ‘identity’ see
now, Pitts, ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes’, which builds on the work of Brubaker and Cooper,
‘Beyond ‘‘Identity’’’. Despite their reservations, I believe that it is still possible to outline
central features of the belief systems which are shared by different members participating in
the group identity. With regard to executions, Coleman, ‘Fatal Charades’ is especially
important. For cultural performance, see Edmondson, ‘Dynamic Arenas’, 73–4; and Kyle,
Sport and Spectacle, 17–18. Lendon, ‘Gladiators’ notably urges caution and warns against
reading too much into the possible role of the arena in defining Roman identity.
[10] The view expressed by Robert nearly 70 years ago is still very much with us today. Two recent
examples (both from 2007) from leading scholars should suffice, namely, Kyle, Sport and
Spectacle, 9: ‘ . . . but the Romans, through conquest and colonization, so effectively imposed
the arena and circus on provinces that the provincials came to accept new games, like new
cults and coins, as part of a Romanized world’; and Flaig, ‘Roman Gladiatorial Games’, 86: ‘Its
rapid spread across the empire showed the desire of provincial populations to integrate
themselves into the Roman culture of bravery and military values. Those who accepted
gladiatorial combat as a part of cultural life accepted the framework of Roman virtues and
their celebration . . . .Even in the Greek-speaking part of the Roman empire, gladiatorial
combat became successful.’
[11] Guss, The Festive State, especially 7–12 (quotation from page 12). Guss supplies the
background to the evolution of the theory and further bibliography.
[12] Livy Epit. 16; Serv. ad Aen. 3. 67; Val. Max. 2. 4. 7; Auson. Griphus ternarii numeri 36–7. His
sons Decimus Iunius Brutus (Pera?) and Marcus presented three pairs of gladiators in the
Forum Boarium. Livy refers only to one son, D. Iunius Brutus (cos. 266), who presented the
gladiators at his father’s funeral, while Servius refers to the deceased as Iunius Brutus, and
Valerius refers to both Marcus and Decimus (in that order) as the sons of Brutus Pera. The
deceased was probably D. Iunius Brutus Scaeva, cos. 292. For discussion, see, for example,
Edmondson, ‘Dynamic Arenas’, 69–70; Futrell, Blood in the Arena, 21; and Welch, The Roman
Amphitheatre, 19.
[13] Ville, La gladiature, has exhaustively catalogued all known munera and venationes in Rome
down to the end of the first century AD. The frequency and number of gladiatorial
presentations in any given year is difficult to ascertain, however, because of the selective

168 M. J. Carter
reporting of munera in the sources which tend to mention only the most spectacular or
unusual.
[14] The locus classicus is Polybius 6. 53–4. Polybius identifies the aristocratic funeral as one of the
key institutions that helped Rome become a world power. For discussion for the funerals, see,
Flower, Ancestor Masks, 91–127.
[15] Harris, War and Imperialism, 9: ‘Rome went to war every year, except in the most abnormal
circumstances . . . .During the first eighty six years from 327 (BC) onwards there were, as far as
can be seen from defective sources, at most four or five years without war.’
[16] Pan. 33. 1.
[17] For example, Cic. Tusc. 2. 41; Livy, 41. 20. 13; Ps.-Quint. Decl. Minores 279. For lengthy
discussions of Seneca’s view of the arena, see Cagniart, ‘The Philosopher and the Gladiator’;
and Wistrand, ‘Violence and Entertainment in Seneca the Younger’.
[18] Katherine Welch has argued that the elliptical shape of an amphitheatre is a
reflection of the oblong shape of the Roman Forum. Later the amphitheatre became
one of the uniquely Roman building-types. Welch, ‘The Roman Arena in Late-Republican
Italy’; Welch, The Roman Amphitheatre; Futrell, Blood in the Arena; Bomgardner, The Story
of the Roman Amphitheatre; Golvin, L’amphithéâtre romain; and also Hopkins and Beard,
The Colosseum. For the complexity of the design, see Wilson-Jones, ‘Designing
Amphitheatres’.
[19] For gladiatorial rules, see: Carter, ‘Gladiatorial Combat: The Rules of Engagement’; and also
Carter, ‘Gladiatorial Combat with ‘‘Sharp’’ Weapons’. For a recent discussion of the political
role of the games, see Flaig, ‘Roman Gladiatorial Games’; and Cicero, Sest. 115; Att. 1. 16. 11;
and 2. 19. 3. Caesar’s games as aedile in 65 BC included a spectacular munus in memory of his
father (who actually died 20 years earlier) and helped him become pontifex maximus in 63,
praetor in 62 and consul in 59.
[20] De Spectaculis 22. See especially the discussion by Barton, Sorrows of the Ancient Romans, 12–
15.
[21] See Petron. Sat. 45 for Echion’s reaction to the poor quality gladiators provided by
Norbanus.
[22] For the so-called lex Iuliae theatralis, see Suet. Aug. 44: ‘he corrected and organized the
disorderly and haphazard custom of watching spectacles’. For the key works on the topic, see
Kolendo, ‘La réparation des places aux spectacles’; Rawson, ‘Discrimina Ordinum’; Crawford,
‘Arranging Seating’; and Edmondson, ‘Dynamic Arenas’. The inscriptions from the Flavian
Amphitheatre, including seating inscriptions, have now been usefully collected and
republished by Orlandi in EAOR VI (2004).
[23] Clavel-Lévêque, ‘L’Espace des jeux’, 2540 observes that the nobiles were overrepresented in the
cavea, thereby enhancing their prominence. Gunderson, ‘The Ideology of the Arena’, 126 adds
that this prominence helped to establish who the nobiles were during the empire when
senators and equites were increasingly drawn from the provinces rather than from traditional
Roman patrician families.
[24] Edmondson, ‘Dynamic Arenas’, 111.
[25] For a discussion of the religiosity of the games, see Futrell, Blood in the Arena; and an earlier
essay by Le Glay – ‘Les amphithéâtres: loci religiosi’. For the seriousness with which the
Romans took the munus, see Wistrand, Entertainment and Violence.
[26] Wiedemann, Emperors and Gladiators, 46; cf. Ville, La gladiature, 391–3.
[27] See Bouley, ‘La gladiature et la venatio’ for a discussion of the arena and Rome’s civilizing
mission. For the presence of barbarians in the arena, see especially Maurin, ‘Les barbares aux
arènes’; and Zanker, ‘‘Die Barbaren’.
[28] Sall. Cat. 6. 2. For Claudius’ speech before the Senate in favour of extending Roman
citizenship into Gaul, see Tac. Ann. 11. 21; and Woolf, ‘Becoming Roman, Staying Greek’, 120

and 138, note 24. Cf. Wallace-Hadrill, ‘Mutatio Morum’, 7–11 for the importance of mores in
defining Roman culture and identity.
[29] Robert, Les gladiateurs, 47 (le gladiateur dans sa gloire); Coleman, Bonds of Danger, 14; and cf.
Hope, ‘Negotiating Identity’, 191.
[30] MacMullen, ‘The Epigraphic Habit’ draws attention to the ‘sense of audience’ which inspired
and maintained the habit of inscriptional writing. Inscriptions, including epitaphs, were
meant for public consumption and therefore ought to be considered a type of public
monument. Cf. Woolf, ‘Monumental Writing’, 32: ‘Romans seem to have been intensely
aware that they lived their lives in public, and personae were conceived of largely in terms of
publicly validated concepts such as dignitas and aestimatio, honores and fama. This sense that
one’s worth was measured in public—rather than, for example, by one’s own conscious, or in
the eyes of God—constituted a part of MacMullen’s ‘‘sense of audience.’’’
[31] Hope, ‘Negotiating Identity’, 182–4. At Salona a group of funerary urns for gladiators was also
found together, suggesting a dedicated burial spot. See CIL XI 6528 for a donation of land by a
certain Horatius Balbus for a cemetery in which he forbids the burial of those who had
committed suicide and those who had been engaged in immoral professions.
[32] See Fabrizii-Reuer, ‘Gräber im Bereich der Via Sacra Ephesiaca’; and Kanz and Grossschmidt,
‘Stand der anthropologischen Forschungen zum Gladiatorenfriedhof in Ephesos’.
[33] Pliny the Elder describes the great interest in displaying the portraits of gladiators (Plin. HN
35. 52). For other gladiatorial displays and for elite inscriptions, see, for example, Robert, Les
gladiateurs, passim.
[34] See Robert, Les gladiateurs, 287; and Wiedemann, Emperors and Gladiators, 122–3. Certainly
criminals condemned to death in the arena were not permitted such a final privilege and the
fact that gladiators regularly received proper burial immediately distinguishes them from
worthless noxii – see Kyle, Spectacles of Death, 213–41.
[35] Robert, Les gladiateurs, 234 no. 298; most recently republished in Merkelbach-Stauber I, no.
07/05/01. Now in the Louvre (inv. no. MA 2911).
[36] Acts 21. 39.
[37] Plut. Mor. 1099c. Cf. Wiedemann, Emperors and Gladiateurs, 115 and 145.
[38] R. Merkelbach and J. Stauber, in their recent four-volume collection of Greek verse-inscriptions,
(Steinepigramme aus dem grieschischen Osten) include some 40 gladiatorial epitaphs.
[39] Aesch. Sept. 409; Hdt. 5. 67. Homer, Il. 15. 547 and 576. For other Greek gladiator names, see
Robert, Les gladiateurs, index.
[40] For Tomis, see Stoian, Tomitana, 200, no. 4 (plate 51); and for Cos, see Robert, Les gladiateurs,
191, no. 191. The emperor Commodus famously styled himself the Roman Hercules
specifically because of his exploits in the arena – see Hekster, Commodus, 152–4 for discussion.
[41] Aesch. Sept. 798; Eurip. Heracl. 819; Phoen. 1220, 1300, 1325, 1363; Aristophanes Phoenician
Women Frag. 558 (quoted by Ath. 4. 154e); Pl. Cra. 391e; and Hdt. 5. 1, 5. 8, 6. 92, 7. 104, 9.
26 (bis), and 9.27.
[42] Robert, Les gladiateurs, 134, no. 84; cf. 303.
[43] Welch, ‘The Stadium at Aphrodisias’; and Gebhard, ‘Protective Devices’.
[44] For Amphipolis, see Robert, ‘Monuments des gladiateurs’, 77–8; and for Tomis, see Robert,
Les gladiateurs, 101, no. 41. Cf. Scanlon, ‘The Vocabulary of Competition: Agon and Aethlos’.
[45] See Robert, Les Gladiateurs, 82, no. 16 from Beroia in Macedonia.
[46] Merkelbach-Stauber II, no. 09/06/05 (with earlier bibliography).
[47] Robert, ’Pukte ein’; cf. Robert, Les gladiateurs, 16–20. The sophist Polemo (Philostratus VS
541) described a gladiator’s bout as an agon, saying to him that he was so anxious (o twj
gwniw=j); see König, Athletics and Literature, 15. There are other literary references to
gladiatorial combat as an agon.
[48] Arrian Epict. 2. 18. 22.

170 M. J. Carter
[49] See Coleman, M. Valerii, Martialis: Liber Spectaculorum, 226–32; and Carter, ‘Palms for the
Gladiators’.
[50] For example, Lendon, ‘Gladiators’, 400: ‘The underlying assumption of most Romance
scholarship is that gladiatorial combat was a sport much like any modern sport’. Cf. Futrell,
Blood in the Arena, who stresses the religiosity of the arena over an agonistic interpretation
with Carter, ‘Review of Futrell, Blood in the Arena’.
[51] Poliakoff, Combat Sports, 94–115, especially 114: ‘It could be said with greater truth that the
rise of the hoplite phalanx gave impetus to organized competitive athletics than that athletics
supported the phalanx; the games represent displacement of certain military impulses, not
training for them’. Cf. Mann ‘Krieg, Sport und Adelskultur’, agrees that the early gymnasium
was not a facility for training hoplites, but rather a centre of aristocratic culture, especially
aristocratic competition.
[52] Crowther, (‘Second-Place Finishes’) has demonstrated, however, that places other than
first were known in Greek athletics and other competitions. He therefore suggests that the
idea that ‘winning was everything’ is too extreme. Yet some competitions probably
awarded second and perhaps lower prizes in order to attract competitors and reduce their
financial risk. Furthermore, it is not necessary that the reality of Greek athletics fits
precisely with its ideological substructure. For example, Greek athletes may accept a
second place prize, but they were unlikely to ever mention it. Cf. Robert, ‘Les épigrammes
satiriques’, 186–7 for athletes who ‘competed well’ in festivals, a clear indication that they
did not win.
[53] Paus. 8. 40; Philostr. Imag. 2. 6; and Philostr. Gymn. 21 records the words of his trainer. Cf.
Fontenrose, ‘The Hero as Athlete’.
[54] Philostr. Gymn. 23.
[55] Published by te Riele, ‘Inscriptions conservées au Musée d’Olympie’, 186–7. Cf. Robert, ‘Les
épigrammes satiriques’, 199; and Brophy and Brophy, ‘Deaths in the Panhellenic Games II’,
190–4.
[56] Robert, Les gladiateurs, 122, no. 66.
[57] See Carter, ‘Gladiatorial Ranking’, for the palus/p loj ranking system.
[58] Philostratus VA 4. 5. These Roman names reflected the fact that the leading men in Ionia
had received Roman citizenship. For a discussion of recent work on ancient bilingualism,
see Dickie, ‘Ancient Bilingualism’. The situation in the Roman west was quite the
opposite: for the upper classes there it was important to have facility in both Greek and
Latin and to appreciate the context in which each was appropriate. See Woolf, ‘Playing
Games’, 170.
[59] Artemid. Onir. 2. 32. Cassius Dio (73.19. 2) expresses similar discomfort when describing
Commodus as a secutor: skei dŁ ka crw hto tw+ pl sei tw + towu seko toroj
kaloum nou . . . (‘He trained and used the armour of the secutores, as they were called . . . ’).
[60] For example, the Corpus Glossariorum Latinorum offers the translation diktuowucoj for
retiarius, though, as Robert (Les gladiateurs, 40, note 1), is otherwise unattested.
[61] Linguistic borrowing is motivated by expectations of gain, either lexical or social. Lexical
gains are made when a word is borrowed in order to replace an obsolete word in the
borrowing language or, more commonly, to designate a new or unfamiliar element or
concept for which no term exists in the borrowing language. See McMahon, Understanding
Language Change, 201. A social gain, however, depends on perceptions of prestige. In such
situations, one language is regularly perceived as more prestigious than the other(s),
frequently because that language represents the voice of power, whether military, political,
cultural or technological.
[62] The infamia/ tm a with which gladiators were officially stained, would have been a concern
of the elite, not the ordinary citizen. On infamia, see Pietsch, ‘Gladiatoren – Stars oder

Geächtete?’. An embassy to Septimius Severus ended in failure when the emperor discovered
the ambassador had once fought in the arena. Despite his failure, this retired gladiator had
clearly achieved a position of prominence in his own community (Dig. 50. 7. 5. 1).
[63] The imperial cult, with which the production of gladiatorial shows was intimately connected
in the east, operated to find a place for the Roman emperor (and by extension, for the ruling
power in Rome) in the civic and ceremonial structure of the polis and region. See Price’s
classic, Rituals and Power.
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The Greek Ephebate in the Roman

Period
Nigel M. Kennell
In the middle of the fourth century AD, several decades after the imperial powers of
Rome had lent their favour to Christianity, when the cities of the empire were just
beginning to feel the profound effects of their decision, the apostate emperor Julian
(361–63) claimed that, on his way to the festival of Apollo Daphnaeus at Antioch, he
conjured up, ‘as in a dream’, a magnificent parade in honour of the god with
‘sacrificial victims, libations, dances to the god, incense, and ephebes there around
the shrine, souls imbued with the most fitting piety, decked out in sumptuous white
garments’ (Misopogon 34). He was disappointed upon his arrival when, instead of
glittering crowds and endless acclamations, he was met by one priest who could
muster no more than a single goose to sacrifice, the city having seen fit to contribute
nothing.
Julian’s imagined parade contained the salient elements of a traditional civic
festival in honour of a city’s gods that we know from accounts ranging in date from
the fourth century BC to the years not long before Julian himself took the throne at
Constantinople. In addition to the priests, sacred and civic officials, the sacrificial
animals and all the other participants and paraphernalia of a Greek polis at the height
of its vigour, Julian imagined he saw around the sanctuary a crowd of people he

176 N. M. Kennell
called ‘ephebes’ (epheboi). This was no chance phraseology. Ephebes, properly

speaking, were young men in their later teens who trained together, usually for one or
two years, under publicly appointed instructors in military, physical and often
intellectual disciplines. Since the fourth century BC, every self-respecting Greek city of
even moderate resources had possessed an ephebate (ephebeia), the institution in
which young men were instructed in the customary civic and Hellenic values. From
Babylon to Marseilles, from the Ukraine to North Africa, ephebates are attested in at
least 190 Greek cities at one time or another during the institution’s existence. For
earlier Greeks, as undoubtedly for Julian himself, the ephebate was a powerful
emblem of the continuity of a traditional polytheist civic culture. In the following
discussion, I will touch on some aspects of this important institution as it developed
in the Roman period that I believe deserve fuller study. [1]
From their origins in the first decades of the fourth century BC, citizen training
systems gradually spread throughout the Mediterranean world. [2] The earliest
known ephebate, in the strict sense of a permanent, discrete, public institution
whereby citizen youths underwent compulsory gymnasial and military training
together at a legally established age, is Athens. Sometime between 383 and 373 BC
the Athenians transformed a previously existing but moribund age-class system for
aristocratic warriors into a means of training and recruiting young males into
military service, successful completion of which was a prerequisite for citizenship.
Evidence for earlier citizen training shows either that cities undertook it only on an
ad hoc basis, as in the case of the logades at Argos (Thuc. 5. 67. 2; Diod. 12. 75. 7),
or that, as at Sparta, training was intertwined with the fundamentally religious cycle
of ritual activity that accompanied every aspect of social life in a Greek city. After a
reform probably in 334 BC, Athenian ephebes served for two years, in their 19th
and 20th years; the first year they spent in barracks in the Piraeus, where
instructors taught them weapons handling, archery, javelin-throwing, and how to
use a catapult. In the second year, the young men were assigned to patrol the
countryside. [3] By the beginning of the third century, however, the term of service
had been reduced to one year and was no longer compulsory. Thereafter, the
ephebate has been regarded as losing its military purpose and increasingly
resembling an institution of higher learning, as the emphasis shifted from military
training to education in the ‘liberal arts’. Although some weapons training was kept
up right into the Roman period, the later ephebate was never anything more than a
shadow of its former self. Until recently, the Hellenistic ephebate at Athens and
elsewhere has been generally viewed in this way, as a cultural and quasi-athletic
phenomenon, preserving little if any of the military purpose of the earlier
institution. Indeed, the ephebate was viewed as symptomatic of a profound malaise
among Greek cities, where aimless aristocratic youths loitered around the
gymnasium playing at soldiers for a year or two, while the real work was done
by mercenaries. [4] However, even more than serving as a venue for athletic
training and education in the liberal arts, the Hellenistic gymnasium was an
essential element in civic defence, where young members of a city’s elite received

The Greek Ephebate in the Roman Period 177
instruction in the skills thought necessary for effective participation and probably
leadership of the local militia forces. Some historians today deny the efficacy of
ancient athletic events and view ephebic athletic training as essentially self-
contained – in the words of Miltiades Hatzopoulos, ‘paradoxically, the ephebate
was above all preparation for the ephebate itself’ – or driven by ideological rather
than practical purposes. [5] But, despite what modern historians might think of the
stadion race, long jump, or javelin, old military hands like Xenophon had no doubt
of their place in army life: his contingent of Ten Thousand held a set of athletic
contests (gumnikos agon) at Trapezus to celebrate their return to the sea, while the
Spartan king Agesilaus held contests at Ephesus in 395 in order to exercise his
troops, causing the gymnasia and hippodrome to fill with men. [6] Later on, the
soldiers of Hellenistic monarchs, especially the Ptolemies of Egypt, had a close
relationship with gymnasia wherever they were stationed. [7] Because of a
reassessment of this and other evidence concerning the role of citizens in defence of
their own territories, the continuing importance of ephebic training during the
Hellenistic period has begun to be appreciated by a number of scholars. [8]
The ephebate in the Roman period remains understudied, however, apart from
works devoted to specific cities. [9] This may have to do with the state of our sources,
since in the first centuries AD a dramatic diminution in the number of testimonia for
ephebates occurred. In addition, there was an equally radical change in the ethos
behind the evidence we do have. Athens and other cities no longer habitually set up
monumental inscribed catalogues of each year’s graduating ephebes with lengthy
accounts of their activities at public expense, as had been the practice in previous
centuries. Instead, wealthy magistrates or even ephebes themselves from prominent
families often undertook to ‘inscribe their friends and fellow ephebes’ as memorials
to their own prestige and generosity. For example, in Athens during the reign of
Trajan, one year’s crop of ephebes paid to ‘write up themselves and their teachers’.
[10] Often the gymnasiarch, the chief administrator of a city’s gymnasial facilities for
a year and ipso facto a member of the wealthiest class, paid for the inscription of his
subordinates and the ephebes under them, as in Tegea (IG V. 5. 5 50), Thespiai (IG
VII 1777) and Mytilene (IG XII Supp. 690). At Amastris in Paphlagonia, the former
ephebarch Gaius Heliophon commissioned the creation of a satyr and altar and
dedicated the ensemble with a list of the ephebes under him (Marek, Stadt, 161, no.
10). An intriguing piece of negative evidence indicates that this was the practice at
Kios in Bithynia as well: in the single surviving ephebic list from the city, dating to AD
108/9, it is recorded that the manager (praktor) of the city’s treasury funds paid for
the erection of the stele (I. Kios 16). This must be because, as is mentioned on an
earlier line of the document, the city itself was the gymnasiarch – the result of there
being no one willing to assume the financially onerous burden of the gymnasiarchate.
[11]
For the historian, this change means that more or less all the content of ephebic
inscriptions was now at the whim of the person footing the bill, who would indeed
have the final say over whether they would even be inscribed on stone, a decision that

178 N. M. Kennell
might have depended on a number of factors, family connections surely being among
the most prominent. Indeed, a list from third-century Paros proclaims,
These were the ephebes under the gymnasiarch and at the same time archon for the
second time of the illustrious city of the Parians M. Aur. Zenon, son of Pyrrakos,
M. Aur. Zenodotos son of Zosimos being ephebarch. The ‘first ephebe’
(protephebos) was the son of the gymnasiarch and archon himself, M. Aur. Zenon
(SEG XXVI [1976–77], 970).
Even when not explicit in the text, the same process may be at work on other
occasions too, as many lists contain the names of ephebes or junior officials related to
the gymnasiarch or his equivalent. For example, the first two ephebes in a list from
Messene dated to AD 70 are undoubtedly the sons of the two brothers serving as
gymnasiarch for that year, though they are not identified as such (Themelis
‘Anaskaphe’, 91–2); similarly, the name at the head of a first-century list from Oinoe
on Icaria, Metrophon son of Archeitas, is surely that of the son of the gymnasiarch
Archeitas son of Democles, while the second ephebe, Archeitas son of Timarchus, was
probably also a family member (Matthaiou and Papadopoulou, Epigraphes Ikarias,
no. 2). In a list from Tanagra inscribed after the Constitutio Antoniniana, the first two
ephebes, the Aurelii Kallistos and Onesiphoros, who also hold honorific posts, must
be either the younger brothers or, more likely, the sons of the gymnasiarch and
cosmete, Aurelius Eudoxos son of Eudoxos (IG XII. 9 Supp. 646). This phenomenon
began quite early: already in the first century BC at Aigiale on Amorgos, relatives of
the gymnasiarchs and their assistants, the hypogymnasiarchs, appear at the head of
the attached ephebic lists (IG XII. 7 421, 422, 425).
All in all, then, the noticeable decline in the amount of evidence in the Roman
period is not necessarily a sign of a corresponding decline in the numbers of
ephebates. This will not come as a surprise in light of the intense flowering of
athletics in the Greek east under the Empire. [12] But the change in the nature of the
evidence is indicative of a transformation in the nature of citizen training systems in
general, for, like other institutions that had been more or less publicly funded in the
Hellenistic period, the Greek ephebate was transformed by a wave of what can best be
called ‘privatization’. For instance, Cyrene’s ephebes gathered in the private house of
one Jason Magnus once their magnificent Hellenistic gymnasium had been converted
at the turn of the second century AD into a typical Roman-style forum with basilica
and temple of the imperial cult. [13]
Eager though Greek cities might have been to keep their ephebates, their smooth
running had always been a major expense: hiring instructors for military and athletic
subjects, maintaining the infrastructure, and of course, the provision of high-grade
olive oil all consumed significant amounts of money. As it was increasingly the
custom that oil be provided free of charge, the cost of purchase fell increasingly on
the gymnasiarchs. Gymnasia themselves had started out as simple open spaces, with
room to run the stadion race (a little less than 200 m), a convenient water source for
drinking and washing, and several shade trees. After a few centuries, they then

developed into large multi-use complexes, with long porticoes for running in bad
weather attached to special buildings housing lecture spaces, baths, dining rooms,
and storage for the equipment including the all-essential olive oil. In the Hellenistic
period, foundations had been common, set up through grants of various kinds. For
example, when Eumenes II made the Phrygian community of Tyriaion a fully-fledged
polis, he ensured the new city’s gymnasium would function properly by temporarily
forgoing the tax revenues from the local markets (I. Sultan Daǧı I 393, lines 40–3).
Rhodes (Gauthier, Nouvelles Inscriptions no. 3, lines 3–8, pp. 85–91), Metropolis in
Ionia (I. Metropolis I B, lines 24–26), Cos (Iscr. Cos ED 131, lines 7–8), Sardis (Polyb.
5. 88. 5–8), and Halicarnassus (Wilhelm, ‘Inschriften’, 56 no. 2) were but a few of the
major cities to enjoy such royal largesse. Less renowned cities, not able to attract the
attention of the mighty, had to rely on the generosity of locals, who would expect
tokens of their fellow citizens’ appreciation in the form of honorific decrees, statues,
prominent seats at public shows, or even the renaming of a gymnasium in their
honour. Not everything was rosy even at this early date: for instance, a benefactor had
to rescue the demos of Mylasa from financial embarrassment by an infusion of
cash when the funding earmarked for the construction of a new gymnasium ran out
(I. Mylasa 137).
Traditional sources of funding continued to be exploited under the Empire, with
the imperial government replacing the Hellenistic monarchies. The emperor Trajan
paid for the reconstruction of the roof of the gymnasium’s swimming pool at Salamis
on Cyprus after it had collapsed (Pouilloux, Roesch and Marcillet-Jaubert, Salamine
de Chypre XIII, no. 38).
Also in the later first century AD, a fund was established at Ephesus to subsidize the
city’s extensive citizen training infrastructure, which was officially titled the
‘Domitianic eternal gymnasiarchy’. [14] However, in the late first century BC one
of the last Hellenistic monarchs, Herod of Judaea, endeavoured to establish his
philhellenic credentials by creating similar funds on an annual or permanent basis in
several cities, including Cos, where an inscription (Paton and Hicks, The Inscriptions
of Cos, no. 75) confirms the literary evidence of Josephus (BJ 1. 43). Private
foundations also continued to be created. A certain Synallasson made over the
handsome sum of 5,000 denarii to fund the oil distribution in the sixth month of the
year to the ‘young men’ (neoi) of Iasos (I. Iasos II 248). This gift was surpassed at
Cibyra by Q. Viranius Philagrus, gymnasiarch for a impressive 12 (presumably
consecutive) years, who presented the city with 400,000 Rhodian drachmae to
establish a permanent subsidy fund for the gymnasiarchy (I. Cibyra 42). The
increasing concentration of wealth in the hands of the few meant that certain lucky
cities might enjoy the gift of a complete athletic physical plant, with all the most
modern conveniences, as at Ephesus, where, in the mid-second century Publius
Vedius presented the city (his ‘sweetest homeland’) with a gymnasium, which he
proudly announced he had built ‘from the foundations, with all the ornament’,
though it must be admitted that the Ephesians do not seem to have been
overjoyed at this bulky (135 x 75 m) addition to an urban core already crowded with

180 N. M. Kennell
bath-gymnasium complexes. [15] Several decades earlier, a certain Cornificius

Tarantinus made a similar but, as far as we know, less controversial gift of a
gymnasium with all its accoutrements to the Roman colony of Cassandreia, Classical
Potideia (Samsaris ‘La vallée’, 407, no. 59).
As the centuries passed, gymnasia started to show their age, opening up yet another
arena for the competitive generosity that marked civic life under the Empire; for
example, Aurelia Leite, a female gymnasiarch of the Parians in the later third century
AD, was praised for undertaking constructions and renovations to the gymnasium,
‘which had suffered from the long passage of time’ (IG XII. 5 292). At about the same
time, Polyphemus son of Polyphemus was honoured with a statue for repairing the
Histrian gymnasium (ISM I 181), while under the Tetrarchy the ‘imperial’ (sebaston)
gymnasium at Ephesus was renovated by the proconsul L. Artorius Pius Maximus (I.
Eph. III 621).
The involvement of the Roman government in this aspect of citizen training went
further than merely reacting to official requests for cash. In one of his letters to
Trajan, Pliny expressed his concern about the financial implications and the
structural integrity of Nicaea’s new gymnasium (Ep. 10. 39. 4). Such supervision of
large municipal works was merely part of the normal duties of a provincial governor,
but direct intervention in the administration of a city’s gymnasia is also attested. In a
decree dating to the late first or early second century AD, a previously unknown
proconsul of Macedonia named Memmius Rufus prescribed a radical solution to a
funding crisis that had resulted in the extended closure of Beroia’s gymnasium, a
situation he described as ‘utterly disgraceful’. The governor was evidently obliged to
step in after the city’s great and good had failed to come to a mutually agreed
solution. Memmius now ordered that the revenues from the city’s water mills and a
number of previously established foundations, including one set up to finance a
phallus to be carried in the city’s Dionysiac festival, be redirected into a new fund
valued at 100,000 denarii to cover the expenses of the gymnasium; 8.3% of this sum
would go for the purchase of oil during the year and 30% (perhaps) for the
celebration of the games of the Macedonian koinon. Despite the large proportion
earmarked for the provincial games, Memmius’ concern about the expense involved
in the oil is evident in his statement that ‘it will be necessary for the oil distribution to
be carried out more sensibly’ in the future. [16]
For most cities, just the provision of high-grade olive oil for ephebes and other
users of the gymnasium constituted a major expense: for example, the city of Apamea
in Phrygia spent 34,000 denarii on oil in a single year. [17] Providing oil became so
important a part of a gymnasiarch’s duties that the word itself came to signify
someone who supplied oil. [18] As years went by, fewer and fewer of the civic elite
were willing or able to pay for a gymnasium’s oil supply, though there were
ostentatious exceptions, such as the Spartan C. Julius Theophrastos, who made oil
available all year and did not forget to mention the price he paid (SEG XI [1954]
492), or the sophist Heraclides, who was said to have installed a fountain of olive oil
in the gymnasium at Smyrna (Philos. VS 2. 26. 2). At Thyateira, Claudius Antallos

held the gymnasiarchy of all gymnasia for two straight years, when, as the inscription
on the base of his statue stated, ‘oil was extremely expensive’ (TAM V. 2 975). Even
on little Nisyros, the gymnasiarch Gnomagoras won great popularity by making oil
available to all the island’s free inhabitants and visitors for an impressive 13 months –
one month longer, that is, than his official term of office (IG XII. 3 104).
Members of the civic elite of more modest means, who could not aim for such
glory or were unwilling to part with the necessary funds for a year’s worth of oil,
might assume the expense either jointly or for certain periods of the year. At Chalcis,
for instance, an inscription from the Euboian koinon lists monthly gymnasiarchs (IG
XII. 9 916); Messene apparently had two each year (SEG XLIII [1993] 145); and
Tralles’ gymnasiarchs served for four months (I. Tralles und Nysa 75).
Ephebes from wealthy Athenian families commonly showed their civic pride by
acting as monthly gymnasiarchs for their fellows (for example, IG II2 1996, 2004,
2017), while on at least one occasion the entire ephebic corps jointly paid for its oil
for a month (IG II2 2024). If a city was lucky enough to find benefactors willing to
pay, then neither sex nor age constituted a hindrance. Female gymnasiarchs are a
well-known phenomenon of the later Greek gymnasium, as are under-age holders of
the office, though some examples can still surprise, as in the case of Cn. Cornelius
Pulcher, who was gymnasiarch and market inspector for the festival at Epidaurus
when he was four years old. [19]
Funding a city’s ephebeia could lead to magnificent honours. At Sparta, benefactors
of the ephebeia in the Roman period were praised for championing the Lycurgan
customs, thus linking them to the city’s legendary lawgiver, Lycurgus, to whom was
attributed all that had made Spartans unique and powerful in the Classical period.
[20] In two cities, evidence seems to exist for what might today be called ‘sponsorship
deals’. Carved into four rows of the cavea (audience area) of the Roman-era theatre at
Termessos are inscriptions marking the seating areas reserved for epheboi. On two
rows, only the word ephebon (‘of the ephebes’) survives, but the other two read ‘of the
ephebes Automenianoi’ and ‘of the ephebes Heliophorianoi’ (TAM III. 1 872 BIII
grad. 5–6, n. 38, BIII grad. 3–4, n. 37). These titles are derived from the personal
names Automenes and Heliophoros. They are part of a long tradition of such titles
applied to gymnasial groups that stretches back into the Hellenistic period, when we
find groups such as the Heironeioi neaniskoi at Neation in Sicily (IG XIV 240) or the
‘Eupatoristai from the gymnasium’ on Delos (IG XIV, p. 236), named after Heiron II
of Syracuse and Mithradates Eupator respectively. Cordiano has suggested that the
title at Neation was a sign of the Syracusan monarch’s interest in the training of
young men in the cities under his control, and we may expect that the youth of Delos
honoured the Pontic king for benefactions as well. [21] Thus, Automenes and
Heliophoros very likely contributed so significantly to the funding of the ephebate in
their own city that the Termessan ephebes incorporated the two men’s names into
their official nomenclature.
A similar method of honouring a major benefactor can be found at Nicaea in
Bithynia, where, instead of renaming themselves, the neoi of Bithynian Nicaea styled

182 N. M. Kennell
King Sauromates as ‘the founder of the fatherland and their own founder and
benefactor’ (IOSPE 2 39). The idea that the person who contributed significantly
to a city or institution, usually by funding major construction projects on its
behalf, was equivalent to a new founder was widespread in the Greek cities of the
Roman Empire. [22] We also find it in a set of ephebic inscriptions from the city
of Pompeiopolis in Paphlagonia, the earliest of which dates from the turn of the
first to the second century AD and lists ‘the ephebes established by Galatos after
being first gymnasiarch of the eternal gymnasiarchy and gymnasiarch from his
own funds’ (Marek, Stadt, 135, no. 1). Several decades later, two copies of the
same list catalogue ‘the ephebes who have been registered in the ephebeia founded
by the patron Cl. Severus’ during the reign of Commodus. [23] As at Termessos,
individuals evidently subsidized Pompeiopolis’ ephebate in the second century. In
fact, Cn. Claudius Severus, to give him his full name, was more than a donor to
the ephebate; as brother-in-law of the previous emperor, Marcus Aurelius, he had
made such significant contributions to the city that he was named its ‘patron and
founder’ as well (Marek, Stadt, 138, nos. 9–10). The prominence of these men
may well be the reason behind the survival of the three lists, apart from the
strong likelihood that the ephebate’s two patrons would have paid for the stone
and the inscription.
While personal patronage was crucial to the ephebate both operationally (facilities,
supplies and activities) and commemoratively (public honours and inscriptions), it
was not the only reason why so few lists have survived from smaller cities like
Pompeiopolis. Demography was also a factor, as indicated by the number of siblings
who are listed as serving together in later ephebic lists. It has long been known that
the age limit for entry into the Athenian ephebate was relaxed after it became
voluntary in the early Hellenistic period. As Sterling Dow affirmed in his slashing
polemic of 1960 against Otto Reinmuth: ‘of course the presence of non-twins in even
one list proves that at a very early period the age-limit was altered. Brothers served
together as (full) epheboi’. [24] The phenomenon of brothers serving together as
ephebes was not confined to Athens: it was a common occurrence and, as at Athens,
the incidence of brothers serving in the same year increased during the second and
third centuries AD. [25]
Demographers have established that slightly more than 1% of all births should be
for twins, without distinction of sex. [26] Even a quick glance at the percentages
collected in the appendix to this study shows that the ephebic lists have staggeringly
higher rates of male ‘twins’ than are possible in any normal population. Even
conceding that the samples from lists of ephebes are not equivalent to those from the
entire population, it seems highly unlikely that the birth patterns among the ephebic
population would be radically different from the rest of the society. These brothers, as
Dow and others have recognized, simply cannot have been true twins. Age rounding
might explain the high percentage of false twins; Bagnall and Frier have proposed that
most of the twins reported in the Egyptian census returns here were ‘in fact just close
in age to one another’. [27] But such an explanation probably cannot help with the

ephebic numbers, as age-rounding is a characteristic of societies with high illiteracy

rates, and we must assume that the families of ephebes could read and write.
Even if these ephebes are not twins, the simple fact that they are brothers has
consequences for our understanding of the later Greek ephebate. The unspoken
assumption has been that brothers serving as ephebes together were born
consecutively, one right after the other. There is no reason for this to have been
the case. Males have normally only a slightly better than 50% chance of being born
than females; the high infant mortality rates prevailing in antiquity also would have
reduced the numbers of male children surviving into their teens. Finally, post-partum
sterility induced by breast-feeding can delay conception for many months, though it
must be admitted that most mothers of ephebes probably employed wet-nurses. The
cumulative result of these factors is that we cannot blithely assume that two brothers
in the same list were only a year or so apart in age, still less so those groups of three or
even four siblings serving together, as occurs in a list from Apollonis in Lydia (Michel
no. 643).
An explanation for this phenomenon might be found in the small Boeotian town of
Hyettos, where during the Hellenistic period about ten (and no more than 17) young
men every year passed through its citizen training system into the ranks of the
Boeotian League army as peltophoroi (SEG XXVI [1976–77] 498, 499, 504, 509). In
contrast, the single ephebic list surviving from the Imperial period contains the names
of 40 graduating ephebes, including two sets of ‘twins’ (that is, 5.26% of births). The
difference is remarkable, leading Étienne and Knoepfler to ponder whether the
number comprised not just members of a single year’s cohort of Hyettans, but all
those who were about 20 or so years old. [28] Such a practice would account for the
staggeringly high proportion of siblings passing through some ephebates in the
Roman period – almost 18% at Iasos and close to 30% at Kios. The phenomenon of
including youths of widely varying ages within a single ephebic cohort is found in
Egypt, as has been recognized for some time. [29] But this explanation raises another
question in turn. How could a city of modest population maintain an annual ephebate
if the qualifying ephebes did not all enrol at the proper age? Some years would have
been oversubscribed and in others there would have been a shortage of participants.
As a solution, I suggest that not all ephebates in the Roman period were annual.
Instead, in some cities they were occasional, held only when a sufficient number of
youths could be found who had reached approximately the qualifying age. Although
there is no direct evidence to support this hypothesis, such a practice would help to
account for the large number of siblings on some ephebic lists. Furthermore, along
with the change in epigraphic practice mentioned above, it would help to account for
the steep decline in the numbers of lists themselves during the Roman period.
Having considered the factors that have shaped our evidence for the institutional
functioning and population of the ephebate, let us turn to what these texts can tell us
about the content and purpose of the ephebes’ training. The events attested in the
scattering of extant ephebic victory lists from the Roman period are for the most part
the canonical events of the Hellenistic period – those of the gumnikos agon (track and

184 N. M. Kennell
field), the single length (stadion), double length (diaulos) and multiple length
(dolichos) foot races, as well as wrestling, boxing, and the pankration, the ancient
version of all-in wrestling. The other events usually associated with ephebic contests
such as archery, the javelin toss, and weapons handling, which are more obviously
relevant to military training, disappear almost completely. In fact, during the
Imperial period, evidence for ephebic military training is virtually non-existent
outside Athens. After the relative abundance of texts in the late Hellenistic period, the
next centuries are almost completely barren. For their part, Athenians still hired
hoplomachoi to train their sons, although the archery and javelin instructors
disappear from ephebic lists after the end of the second century BC. Training in the
use of the catapult had become obsolete at about the same time (IG II2 1028).
Instead of the catapult, youths learned to use the kestrosphendone, a slingshot-like
affair that hurled a fearsome bolt with a six-inch iron tip: the kestrophulax, evidently
the official in charge of these weapons, is found in ephebic catalogues right through
to the last extant list from 267/8 AD (Oliver, ‘Greek Inscriptions’, 72), while the
ephebes call themselves ‘bearers of the kestros’ (kestrophoroi) on a kosmete herm
from the reign of Trajan (IG II2 2021). The militaristic ideology of the ephebate still
thrived: when the Athenians in the second century AD began to organize their ephebes
into small groups of between 10 and 20, probably as a means of easing the financial
burden on kosmetai, they called the new teams ‘brigades’ (sustremmata) – a name
taken straight from ancient military handbooks (for example, IG II2 2047, 2113). [30]
This ideological framework is exploited to comic effect by Lucian in his Anacharsis,
in which the title character – a stereotypical innocent abroad – converses with the
sixth-century lawgiver Solon about gymnasium training at Athens. Although he sets
the dialogue ostensibly in the archaic period, Lucian playfully inserts many
anachronistic elements ranging from the classical period to his own time to create a
humorous commentary on the contemporary Greek fascination with traditional
athletic training. The Scythian Anacharsis is bemused, as Lucian surely intended his
audience to be, by Solon’s claim that competing naked and covered in olive oil in
events such as wrestling, pankration, discus, and running created invincible soldiers
(Luc. Anach. 24–31). To achieve his aim Lucian downplays the military aspect of
ephebic training to concentrate on the athletic. Solon does mention, rather desperately,
that Athenians do exercise in arms, but only after their bodies have been conditioned
by athletics (Luc. Anach. 35). In fact, as we have seen, Athenian ephebes regularly
practised during the Roman period in arms at the same time as in athletics.
Kestrophulakes are attested alongside trainers in more traditional weaponry
(hoplomachoi) until the later third century AD (IG II2 2103, 2203, 2207, 2223, 2245),
and, as I suggest below, opportunities for using these arms were not completely lacking.
Outside Athens, only a very few notices attest to any sort of military training in the
first centuries AD: an ephebic list from Cyrene dated to AD 3/4 contains the name of
the aporutiazon, the cavalry instructor (SEG XX [1964] 741). A list of victors in a
contest for ephebes and boys at Heraclea Pontica, probably from the early first
century AD, includes a few military-style events – the ‘shield and spear’ (aspidi kai

dorati) and the ‘slingshot’ (sphendone) – as well as contests in discipline (eutaxia) and
physical conditioning (euexia). [31] Though a little earlier in date, an important
inscription from Amphipolis in northern Greece, still unpublished two decades after
its discovery, refers to ephebic training in archery, javelin, slingshot, stone-throwing,
riding, and archery on horseback. [32] From the second century AD, Xenophon of
Ephesus described the typical ephebic education of his romantic hero Habrocomas as
follows: ‘he studied all learning and practised all sorts of music (mousike poikile);
hunting (thera), equitation (hippasia), and hoplomachia were familiar exercises for
him’ (Xen. Eph. 1. 2).The Spartan training system of course still lived up to its
militaristic reputation. Finally, almost the latest evidence for ephebic training, a
papyrus from Oxyrhynchus, dated to 323 AD, is a notice of an ‘assault in arms’
(sumblema) of ephebes (Poxy 41).
This paucity of evidence should not be taken to mean that military training was by
and large abandoned in the Roman period. [33] Once again, the nature of the
surviving evidence needs to be taken into account. For example, only at Athens in the
Roman period do arms instructors (hoplomachoi) appear in the ephebic lists (for
example IG II2 1970, 1993, 2049, 2234).But, in fact, only the Athenians ever included
hoplomachoi in their ephebic lists, because outside Athens hoplomachoi were not civic
officials but itinerant instructors who travelled from city to city providing short
courses of instruction. For example, the famous foundation of Polythrus at Teos
requires the hoplomachos to teach for only two months for a salary close to half the
annual salary of the other teachers (SIG3 578, lines 21–7, especially line 27).This
requirement, usually misinterpreted as showing how little arms teachers were valued
in the Hellenistic period, is in fact evidence for the opposite: so in demand were the
hoplomachos’ services that the Teans had to compel him to stay in the city for a set
period before he could collect his wages. In the later centuries, we can assume that
hoplomachoi continued to travel and continued to teach. An inscription from
Gytheion, whose letter forms date it to the Imperial period, provides some support:
the Gytheiates honoured Laidas, an arms instructor from Sparta, who had reminded
them of his services to the city (IG V. 1 1563).
Was this training ever put to practical use? The evidence is patchy to say the least,
but one thing is certain, that apart from emergencies, ephebes, properly speaking,
were never ever given an active military role except at Athens during the few decades
following the reform of 334 BC. [34] Scholarly opinion seems to be coalescing around
the next oldest age group, the neoi, young citizens who constituted another important
user group of the gymnasium and who are attested in several Hellenistic inscriptions
as engaging in military campaigns on behalf of their city. [35] During the Empire,
Romans still called on Greek cities for military aid: for instance, the people of
Trapezus sent lightly armed soldiers as part of an allied contingent to aid against the
Alans during the reign of Hadrian (Arrian Ect. 7, 14). Also, several reliefs and
inscriptions attest to the participation of young Spartans in Roman campaigns in the
late second and early third centuries. Interestingly, they are shown wearing the
uniform and weaponry of the domestic security forces (diogmitai), which may well

186 N. M. Kennell
have been their function before they were called up. [36] However, the best later
evidence for a levy of neoi comes in the form of an honorific inscription from the
reign of Marcus Aurelius, which gives the names of 80 young men (neoi) from
Thespiae, who, along with their doctor, had set off to join the ‘most fortunate and
pious’ campaign of Marcus Aurelius against Germanic tribes across the Danube. [37]
In recompense for their participation, the new soldiers received the honours of
council members, which the parents of the neoi would enjoy immediately after their
sons’ departure from the city. The inclusion of a doctor (iatros) in the detachment
points to the Thespian neoi being associated with the gymnasium and not just a
group of young citizens, for doctors appear on some contemporary ephebic texts as
well (IG V. 1 159 [Sparta], IG V.2 50 [Tegea], IG II2 2237 [Athens]).
Unfortunately, the only explicit reference to a military component for ephebic
training during the Empire is a negative one. In his encomium of his native city,
Libanius, the fourth-century orator, praises the courage of the people of Antioch in
valiantly resisting the incursions of the Persians in the mid-third century, despite the
fact that the city had abolished ‘training in hoplite tactics’ (Or. 11. 157), how far in the
past, however, he does not say. On the other hand, in Athens, where evidence shows
the ephebate functioning at least until just before the sack by the Herulians in 267, we
can well imagine that the band of 2,000 desperate Athenians under the command of
the historian Dexippus who mounted a counter-attack and recovered their city drew
upon their own previous ephebic training to face down the barbarians. The same
reason may be behind what Millar has called ‘more than a little evidence’ for popular
resistance in the East against barbarian incursions during the third century, since at a
rough calculation ephebates are still attested in 23 cities at this period, indicating the
institution was not yet moribund, and the stadium at Miletus was even embellished
with a monumental gateway at the end of the third century. [38]
The ephebate was, however, clearly under pressure. Antioch can hardly have been
alone in considering an ephebate surplus to its requirements. Certainly, not all cities
maintained their gymnasial facilities: the Eretrian gymnasium had already gone out
of use in the early second century, while the stadium at Ankara evidently ceased to
function in the second half of the third. [39] Most famously, the ephebate at Athens
is not believed to have survived the Herulian invasion.
A sign of the desperate situation into which some training systems fell at this time
can be found at Beroia. The two latest known ephebic lists are unusual, to say the
least (E. Beroias, nos. 137, 138).They are inscribed side by side on the same block of
marble, although they are not from consecutive years. The first, from AD 251/2, starts
with a dating formula according to both the Augustan and Macedonian era, then
records the names of the presiding gymnasiarch and ephebarchos, the junior official
who often did the actual work of the gymnasiarch, followed by nothing – no names,
no list. [40] The editors account for this by suggesting quite reasonably that the
ephebes’ names were probably painted on the stone. [41] The second, from AD 255/6,
presents a knottier problem, in that after the gymnasiarch, ephebarch and the
formulaic wish for good fortune, there appears a single name, that of Rufinianus

Nicander, who is called ‘the ephebe’ (ephebos). As has been pointed out, it is highly
unlikely that Rufinianus had the athletic facilities of Beroea all to himself for a year;
thus, he probably paid for the inscription of his name, with the other ephebes again
contenting themselves with paint. [42] More interesting is the fact that the two texts,
as can be seen in the published photograph, are not in the same hand, indicating that
they were not carved at the same time. But the first was inscribed leaving room for
the second on the right portion of the stone, even though there was a four-year gap
between the two texts. Is this evidence that the Beroians held an ephebate every four
years? It is certainly impossible to found any hypothesis on such flimsy foundations,
but it is intriguing that the two lists were inscribed four years apart, thus
corresponding exactly with the frequency of an ancient penteteric festival. [43]
Levies of neoi still took place at this time; indeed, we can imagine that they became
more common as the Empire was buffeted by severe threats, both internal and
external. For example, in the midst of severe disturbances during the late 270s and
280s in Pisidia in which a band of ‘brigands’ seized Cremna, a Roman dux named
Aurelius Ursio wrote to Hermaeus son of Ascurius in Termessos ordering him as
soon as he received the message to bring a selected band of young men (neaniskoi
epilektoi) to Cremna. [44] But the increasingly assertive role taken by the Roman
army in dealing with internal security would have weakened one of the main
ideological underpinnings for the training of young citizens. [45] Changing mores
also had their effect. Not only were stadia and gymnasia either abandoned or not
rebuilt after natural disasters, but stadia like those of Messene and Aphrodisias were
converted into amphitheatres by the addition of crudely built apsidal walls at the
curved end (sphendone). [46] When the promotion by Constantine and his successors
of Christianity as the religion of the Empire during the fourth century AD and the
allure of Constantinople as a new arena for elite self-promotion are taken into
account, it would seem logical that the ephebic training systems, tied so closely to the
city and its round of sacrifices and festivals would soon wither away.
Still, Sparta’s ephebate survived its Herulian attack in the late third century, and its
most (in)famous ceremony, the ‘Contest of Endurance’, still drew so many spectators
to watch the ephebes being flogged over the altar of Artemis Orthia that an
amphitheatral viewing platform was built to accommodate them. [47] The agoge was
functioning at least to a certain extent in the late 330s, when Libanius visited to view
the Whipping Contest (Liban. Or. 1.23), the latest attestation for ephebes in the
ancient world. And people were still familiar enough with the gymnasium and
traditional athletic festivals for Christian writers to lard their writings with images
drawn from those rich sources. Basil of Caesarea complains about a shameless man
who caused the gymnasia to be ‘full of abuses’ against him (Ep. 289. 1). Basil, John
Chrysostom, and the Gregories (of Nazianzus and of Nyssa) all refer to training in the
palaestra (Greg. Nyss. In eccles. [MPG 5. 278]), contending in the stadium, the duties
of agonothetai (Greg. Nyss. De benefic. [MPG 9. 100]; Ioann. Chrys. In sanc. Pass.
[MPG 52. 772]), and striving for a crown in one of the four great festivals of antiquity,
the Olympics, Isthmian, Nemean, and Pythian games (Basil De leg. Gent. Lib. [MPG

188 N. M. Kennell
8.44–58]; Greg. Naz. In laud. Cypr. [MPG 35. 1193]) – in such a way as to leave no
doubt these are living metaphors. The Olympics also thrived well into the late fourth
century, as the recently published bronze plaque from Olympia has revealed.
[48]Epigraphically, the cities fall silent in the fourth century, but we know that
traditional civic institutions did hang on, and that members of the civic elite still
recorded their benefactions as best they could. Basil of Caesarea deplores this practice:
Some revel in surrounding cities with walls, and others in construction of

aqueducts, and in the building of great gymnasia. So-and-so spends his wealth on
beast hunts and, glorying in the vain clamours of the people, is puffed up with their
praises and exalts, having his repute in this disgrace; who also displays his sin
written up on tablets (epi ton pinakon) in the conspicuous places of his town (Hom.
Super Psalm. [MPG 29. 477]).
For all these tantalizing hints of a more-or-less thriving traditional civic society
outside the doors of fourth-century churches, I doubt the ephebate survived this
new environment for very long. There is nonetheless one very late, intriguing reference
to ephebes. In the early summer of 405, Synesius of Cyrene wrote to his brother about
the situation as his city prepared to meet a Berber attack: ‘By night I patrol the
prominence with the epheboi and provide respite for the women to sleep, knowing that
some people are on watch for them. I also have to hand a troop of Balagritai (mounted
archers)’ (Syn. Ep. 132, line 20). Synesius knew his Aristotle, so it is not surprising that
he uses the technically correct ephebic term (peripolo) to describe his troop patrolling
the hill. Similarly, it would be completely in character for him to apply a classicizing
label such as epheboi to a group of hastily assembled young civilian volunteers.
Whatever the reality behind this appellation, Synesius’ letter shows the abiding power
of the ephebic tradition. And I have no doubt, whether or not the defenders of Cyrene
called themselves epheboi before they stood guard, that their future bishop made
them fully aware of their role as heirs of a venerable military and athletic heritage
reaching back to the acme of Classical Greek civilization. [49]
Notes
[1] This study concentrates on the epigraphical evidence. The literary evidence for ephebic
training will be dealt with in my book-length study, Citizen Training in the Greek World.
[2] For an overview of the history of the ephebate, see Kennell, Ephebeia, vii–xv.
[3] [Arist.] Ath. Pol. 42. 4. For the date of the reform, see Knoepfler, Décrets érétriens, 381–2.
[4] The most influential proponents of this view were Pélékides, Histoire, 256, and Marrou, A
History, 109. Mercenaries supplemented but did not supplant domestic military forces. One
military handbook advises against hiring too many mercenaries, see Aen. Tac. 1. 1–9.
[5] Hatzopoulos, ‘La formation militaire’, 95; and Chankowski, ‘L’entraı̂nement militaire’, 72.
[6] See X. Anab. 48. 25–7. On athletic events and military training, see Kah, ‘Militärische
Ausbildung’.
[7] Launey, Recherches, 836–56.
[8] D’Amore, ‘Ginnasio e difesa civica’; Ma, ‘Fighting Poleis’; Gauthier, ‘Notes sur le gymnase’,
10; Baker, ‘Participation civique’; and Prag, ‘Auxilia’.

[9] Kennell, Gymnasium, 28–97; Newby, Greek Athletics, 150–281; and Perrin-Saminadayar,
‘L’éphébie attique’.
[10] See IG II2 2021. For this phenomenon at Athens, see Perrin-Saminadayar, ‘L’éphébie attique’.
101.
[11] Robert, ‘Études sur les inscriptions’, 449–50. On the financial strains on gymnasiarchs, see
Kennell, ‘Most Necessary’, 121–7.
[12] On this phenomenon, see now König, Athletics and Literature.
[13] Luni, ‘Documenti’.
[14] I. Ephesos IV 1143. The quotation is from Karweise, ‘Die Hafenthermen’, 142.
[15] Quotation from I. Ephesos II 438. On the tension between Vedius and certain elements in his
home city, see now Kalinowski, ‘The Vedii Antonii’.
[16] Nigdelis and Souris, Anthupatos, 47–8, 63–64, 72–74, 97. On generous oil distribution, see
Kennell, ‘Most Necessary’, 120–1.
[17] IGR IV 788. On the high cost, see Mitchell, Anatolia, 1: 17.
[18] For this use of gumnasiarchia and gumnasiarchein, see Robert and Robert, BE, 1983, no. 84.
[19] IG IV. 1 1432. For women, see van Bremen, The Limits of Participation, 217–27.
For children holding gymnasiarchies and other civic offices, see Kleijwegt, Ancient Youth,
243–4.
[20] See IG V. 1 1543, 1554, 1561; and SEG XI [1954] 791. On this phrase, see Kennell,
Gymnasium, 44.
[21] Cordiano, La ginnasiarchia, 61–3. Properly speaking, the neaniskoi were not ephebes but
members of the next age group, aged 20–30, who were charged with patrolling a city’s
hinterland. See D’Amore, ‘Ginnasio e difesa civica’, 157.
[22] Robert and Robert, BE, 1951, no. 236a.
[23] Marek, Stadt, 138, nos. 9–10. Robert, Études anatoliennes, 284, took this as evidence that the
ephebate at Pompeiopolis was actually founded under Commodus.
[24] Dow, ‘The Athenian Epheboi’, 391.
[25] I count as brothers those ephebes with homonymous patronymics who are listed con-
secutively, sometimes with the same demotic. For example, in SEG XLIII (1993) 580 (end of
second century AD), an ephebic list from Kalindoia, lines 24–25 read G. Julius Celer (son) of
Celer/G. Julius Proclus, sons; cousins are surely listed in lines 39/40: Lysanias son of Zoilos/
Zoilos son of Lysanias. From Cyrene, SEG XX (1964) 741 (3/4 AD) is a complete list of names,
with ephebic officials, dedicated to Hermes and Heracles. The two first ephebes (brothers)
make the dedication. See also the appendix to this essay.
[26] Bagnall and Frier, The Demography, 43.
[27] Ibid., 44.
[28] Étienne and Knoepfler, Hyettos, 256. They also offer as an alternative explanation a
hypothetical increase in population caused by people abandoning the Copaic basin, but this
would not account for the unusual number of ‘twins’.
[29] W. Chr. 148; and Delia, Alexandrian Citizenship, 82–3.
[30] Cf. Asclepiodotus Tactic. 6. 3; and Aelian. Tact. 16. 3. 9.
[31] I. Heraclea Pontica 60. The published text of this inscription is inadequate in several places.
I am preparing an improved version.
[32] Lazarides, ‘Anaskaphe’, 37.
[33] The idea that military training was abandoned is linked to the (mistaken) notion that Greeks
in the Roman period valued literary and philosophical pursuits above athletics. See van Nijf,
‘Local Heroes’, 320–9.
[34] This will be discussed further in Citizen Training in the Greek World (in preparation).
[35] For example, Moretti, ‘Una nuova iscrizione de Araxa’; I. Metropolis I; and Laronde, Cyréne,
465.

190 N. M. Kennell
[36] On these reliefs and Greeks enrolling in certain campaigns in the imperial period, see Kennell,
‘Marcus Aurelius Alexys’. Brelaz, La sécurité publique, 188–91, downplays the link between
citizen training and domestic security.
[37] Plassart, ‘Une levée de volontaires thespiens’; and Jones, ‘The Levy at Thespiae’.
[38] Millar, ‘P. Herennius Dexippus’, 28–9. Third-century ephebates were at the following cities:
Alexandria, Athens, Beroea, Cyrene, Cyzicus, Dionysopolis, Edessa, Korone, Kos, Leontopolis,
Nysa, Odessus, Oxyrhynchus, Paroikopolis, Paros, Philadelphia, Rhodes, Sparta, Stuberra,
Tanagra, Termessos, Thasos and Thessalonica. For the gateway at Miletus, see von Gerkan,
Das Stadion, 32–7, 41.
[39] Mango, Das Gymnasion, 66; and Gökray, ‘Ancyra’s Unknown Stadium’, 268–9.
[40] On the ephebarchos, see Kennell, ‘The Status of the Ephebarch’.
[41] A completely uninscribed ephebic list from Hadrianic Athens (Newby, Greek Athletics, 173,
fig. 6.2) provides an interesting parallel.
[42] Tataki, Ancient Beroia, 467, no. 305.
[43] On the problems of identifying festivals at Beroia, see ibid., 482.
[44] Mitchell, ‘Native Rebellion’, 165–6.
[45] Schmitt, Die Bekehrung, 593–5.
[46] For abandonments, see di Vita, ‘Atti’, 417 (stadium at Gortyn); and Themelis, ‘Roman
Messene’, 126. For conversions, see Welch, ‘The Stadium’, 565–6; and Themelis, ‘Anaskaphe’,
90 (stadium at Messene). For the later history of the Messenian gymnasium in general, see
Themelis, ‘Husteroromaike kai protobuzantine Messene’.
[47] Dawkins, ‘History’, 38, 47.
[48] Ebert, ‘Zur neuen Bronzeplatte’.
[49] See also Schmitt, Die Bekehrung, 753–6.
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Empire, edited by S. Goldhill. Cambridge: Cambridge University Pres, 2001: 306–34.
Welch, K. ‘The Stadium at Aphrodisias’. AJA 102 (1998): 547–69.
Wilhelm, A. ‘Inschriften aus Halicarnassus und Theangelia’. JÖAI 11 (1908): 53–75.

Appendix: Percentage of Twin Births in Selected Ephebic Lists

Ephebes with homonymous patronymics on adjacent lines are counted as siblings.
Athens
IG II2 1011 (107/106 BC)
Total number of names recoverable. 229 ephebes. 2 sets of ‘twins’ (0.88% of births).
IG II2 1999 (AD 91/92)

Total number of citizens’ names recoverable. 80 citizen ephebes. 9 sets of ‘twins’
(12.6% of births).
IG II2 2067 (AD 154/155)

Complete. 133 names. Among ephebes: 15 sets of ‘twins’ (13.15% of births); 2 sets of
‘triplets’ (1.75% of births).
IG II2 2097 (AD 169/170)

Complete. 80 names. 154 epengraphoi. Among ephebes: 3 sets of ‘twins’ (3.89% of
births). Among epengraphoi: 4 sets of ‘twins’ (2.7% of births), 1 set of ‘triplets’
(0.675% of births).
IG II2 2193 (AD 201/202)

Complete. 82 names. 27 epengraphoi. Among ephebes: 7 sets of ‘twins’ (9.85% of
births), 2 sets of ‘triplets’ (2.81% of births). Among epengraphoi: 1 set of ‘twins’
(4.16% of births), 1 set of ‘triplets (4.16% of births).
IG II2 2239 (AD 238–242)

Almost complete, total of names recoverable. 222 names. 26 pairs of ‘twins’ (13.4% of
births), 1 pair of ‘triplets’ (0.51% of births).
IG II2 2245 (AD 255/256)

Complete. 308 names. 26 pairs of ‘twins’ (9.30% of births), 1 set of ‘quadruplets’
(0.35% of births).
Cyrene
SEG 20.741 (AD 3/4)
Complete list. 78 names. 8 sets of ‘twins’ (11.76% of births); 1 set of ‘triplets’ (1.47%
of births).
Edessa
SEG XXIV 531 (AD 180–82)
Complete list. 21 names. 2 sets of ‘twins’ (11.76% of births); 1 set of ‘triplets’ (5.88%
of births).

194 N. M. Kennell
Hyettos
SEG III 421 (2nd century AD)
‘Nikarchos and Bio wrote up (anegrapsan) their father’s (the gymnasiarch) ephebes.’
40 names. Complete. 2 sets of ‘twins’ (5.26% of births), þ Nikarchos and Bio, if they
are ephebes (8.1% of births)
Iasos
I. Iasos 269 (AD 87)
Complete. 16 names. 1 set of ‘twins.’ (6.66% of births).
I. Iasos 271 (AD 47)

Complete. 37 names. 2 sets of ‘twins.’ (5.71% of births).
I. Iasos 276 (A.D. 5)

Complete. 33 names. 5 sets of ‘twins’ (17.85% of births).
Kalindoia
SEG XLII 580 (end of second century AD)
SEG XLII 582 (AD 96–98)

Complete. 63 names. 3 sets of ‘twins’ (5% of births)
Odessus
IGBulg I 47 (AD 215)
Igbulg I 47bis (AD 221)

Complete. 91 names. 1 set of ‘twins.’ (1.11% of births)
Paros
SEG XXVI 970 (AD 212–32)
Complete. 21 names. 2 sets of ‘twins.’ (10.52% of births).
Prusias ad mare/Kios
I. Kios 16 (AD 108/109)
Complete: 55 names; at least 10 sets of ‘twins’ (24.39% of births), 2 sets of ‘triplets’
(4.87% of births).

Observations on Boys, Girls, Youths

and Age Categories in Roman Sports
and Spectacles
Nigel B. Crowther
Greek-style Athletics in Ancient Italy and Age Categories

It is uncertain when age categories first appeared in Greek-style athletics in Italy, but
presumably they existed at the early festivals in the Greek cities of the south. [2] In
Rome, no evidence has survived to determine whether boys competed in 186 BC,
when the earliest known Greek athletics took place there, or indeed at most of the
other such games held only on a single occasion. Yet in 80 BC Sulla brought to Rome
all the athletes and spectacles from the Olympic Games, except for the stade race
(Appian BC 1. 99). The victory list for this year records that Epainetos of Argos won
the boys’ stade (at Olympia rather than Rome), but makes no mention of other
events, either of boys or men. It is possible, therefore, but by no means conclusive,
that Sulla held the other boys’ events of wrestling, boxing and pancration in Rome,

196 N. B. Crowther
for these were contests that in general particularly appealed to the Romans, although
one wonders why the boys’ stade took place at Olympia. [3]
Logistically, festival organizers in Rome could have included boy athletes in these
early games, even if they imported them from Greece, as from time to time the
Romans summoned the sons of the princes of Asia and Bithynia to participate, for
example, in the pyrrhic dance (Suetonius Caes. 39. 1 (as mentioned later in the
study); Dio 60. 23. 5, Suetonius Cal. 58. 1 – boys from Asia on stage in Rome).
Certainly, the Romans appear to have had no aversion to boy performers, but to have
encouraged them, as we shall see.
The Romans manifestly followed Greek tradition in having age divisions at the
periodic Sebastan Games in Naples, the ‘Holy Games’ in honour of the emperor
Augustus. [4] On the analogy of the Games at Olympia that had only two age groups
(for boys and men), early editors of the Sebastan inscription IvO 56 believed that
there were also two age divisions at the isolympic Sebasta and filled the lacuna in the
text accordingly. Yet it seems more likely that the traditional three categories, for
boys (paides), intermediates (ageneioi), and men (andres), existed there. [5]
Additionally, there seems to have been three distinct boys’ age groups, namely a
category called the Sebastan boys, paides Sebastoi, in honour of the founder,
Augustus, another known as the Claudian boys, paides Klaudianoi, in honour of the
emperor Claudius, who was associated with this festival, and a diaulos for local boys,
paides politikoi. [6] The exact significance of these special terms for boys remains
unknown, but the association of boys’ categories with the emperors Augustus and
Claudius shows their importance at the Sebasta. It has been conjectured that at the
time of Augustus the festival was local in nature – one presumes both for men and
boys – but with the recognition of Claudius, it began to receive athletes from the
East. [7]
Females also competed at the Sebasta in Naples, where in AD 154 the husband of
Seia Spes honoured his wife as victor in the stade for the daughters of magistrates. [8]
Unlike the other athletic events at the festival (with the exception of the race for
paides politikoi), this was a race only for Italian participants, not Greek. Scholars
usually view this contest as the only surviving evidence for a competition in the
Greco-Roman world where a married female could take part, although it has been
pointed out that Seia Spes’ success may have come before, rather than after, she was
married. Unfortunately the sources do not give the ages of the girl runners at the
Sebasta (or at the Capitolia below), but there seems to have been just one category for
females, which contrasts with the three at the Heraia at Olympia. Without any known
traditions of athletics for girls, even as initiation ceremonies, perhaps some Romans
viewed these events for females as entertainments and curiosities rather than real
contests (agones), although the husband of Seia Spes was proud enough to record the
athletic victory of his wife. [9]
From its foundation in AD 86, there were three age categories at the Capitoline
Games of Domitian in Rome, but no known specially named boys’ groups as at the
Sebasta. Furthermore, it is uncertain to what extent Italian men and boys competed

Boys, Girls, Youths and Age Categories in Roman Sports and Spectacles 197
and/or were successful in these periodic contests in Italy: the surviving victory lists
from these Games reveal the names of no Romans as victors in gymnastic
competition, although the sample is small, with only 64 listed victors. Perhaps some
Greek and Roman contests were too dissimilar for both Greeks and Romans to enter,
or the different societies generally preferred their own contests. Yet Italians did take
part in and succeed in non-athletic events at the Capitoline Games: Statius competed
as a poeta latinus (Caldelli, L’Agon Capitolinus, no. 6) and Palfurius Sura, a member
of the senate, was victorious in oratory (Caldelli, L’Agon Capitolinus, no. 11). There
were also victors from Suessa Aurunca as poetae latini (Caldelli, L’Agon Capitolinus,
no. 9), possibly a poeta latinus from Histonium (Caldelli, L’Agon Capitolinus, no. 17),
a pantomimus from Praeneste (Caldelli, L’Agon Capitolinus, no. 54), a poeta latinus
from Beneventum (Caldelli, L’Agon Capitolinus, no. 68), albeit a doubtful victor. The
only recorded boy victor (pais) is Q. Sulpicius Maximus of Rome, as a poeta graecus
(Caldelli, L’Agon Capitolinus, no. 7). [10]
Unmarried girls competed in a foot race at the Capitoline Games: in stadio vero
cursu etiam virgines. [11] One suspects that they would not be naked like the boys,
nor perhaps have a breast exposed like their Greek counterparts at the Heraia [12],
for the literary sources do not record any (adverse) reaction to their appearance from
the conservative Roman spectators. Dio thinks that this girls’ race is ‘worthy of
mention’, but gives no reasons. [13]
We know nothing for certain about age groups at the Actian festival instituted by
Augustus in Rome in 28 BC. If these Games followed the model of the Actian festival
in Nikopolis re-instituted by the same emperor, then they would have the traditional
division for boys, perhaps with subdivisions. We may add that Actian boys competed
at Antioch in the second century AD, doubtless reflecting the age group at the Actia in
Nikopolis and perhaps even in Rome, although the latter festival appears to have been
distinctly Roman. At the time of Nero, the scholiast on Juvenal says that Palfurius
Sura, the son of a consul, wrestled in competition with a Spartan girl: consularis filius,
sub Nerone luctatus est (cum virgine lacedaemonia in agone). [14] We can probably
discount this isolated and improbable reference to the Roman aristocracy, which does
not necessarily refer to the Neronia held in Rome in A.D. 60 and 64. Little is known
about the Eusebeia founded in Puteoli in AD 138, although it certainly drew athletes
from across the Greek world in the later Empire. [15]
Roman-style Athletics and Age Categories

Two Roman writers define the upper age limit for boys in general in Rome:
Censorinus says that Varro divided life equally into five stages of 15 years, that of the
pueri being up to age 15. Aulus Gellius states that, according to Tubero in his History,
Servius Tullius divided the Roman people into five classes and considered the pueri to
be those younger than 17. [16] Although traditionally boys assumed at the age of 15
or 16 the toga virilis that symbolized the reaching of manhood, some are known to
have been as young as 12 or 13. [17] Hence it is difficult to talk in terms of exact ages

198 N. B. Crowther
for boys. The taking of the toga virilis in Italy seems to have been as important if not
more important than age, just as sometimes size could supersede age in Greek
athletics. How strict these life stages were in Rome and whether they applied to
athletic competition we may observe from the examples given below, bearing in mind
that age categories may have changed over time. [18]
Different age groups competed in foot races at the Robigalia, an agricultural festival
that the Romans celebrated on the Via Claudia in April. [19] Unfortunately, the
meaning of the terms maiores and minores, ‘older and younger’, is by no means clear.
On the one hand, the words may refer to two age categories for boys, older and
younger, as they do in the Lusus Troiae (below), even though the term for boys
(pueri) is not mentioned in this inscription. Pleket, for example, believes that maiores
refers to those in the age group that preceded the iuvenes, or young men, and that
boys in this category had not yet taken the toga virilis. On the other hand, maiores
and minores may refer to an older (men’s) and a younger (boys’) category. Hence,
Thuillier suggests that the races at the Robigalia were for seniors and juniors. So too
Scullard speculates that the games were for men and boys. We can discount the
likelihood that the terms maiores and minores refer to the two divisions of the iuvenes
(below), for the upper-class iuvenes probably would not have competed at an
agricultural festival such as the Robigalia, At all events, these foot races were probably
not contests held in the Greek style, for the Romans appear not have to run this
contest in a formal stadium and may well have competed in different distances from
the Greeks, or even in ‘limitless races’, as in the Circus Maximus (below). [20]
The Romans held foot races of some kind in the Circus Maximus, which appears to
have been a popular place for running, at least in the first century AD. In a brief list of
outstanding running feats, Pliny the Elder records that some ran a long-distance
‘race’ of 128 miles in the Circus, which was a contest to see how far one could run
without stopping. [21] Hence, this form of running would be different from the
athlete-against-athlete type of racing familiar in ancient Greece and today, although it
has been observed that in modern Spain some professional distance racers run
around bullrings. Interestingly, in ancient Rome boy runners also ran similar ‘races’
to the men: Pliny mentions that in AD 48 an eight-year-old boy completed a distance
of 68 miles, running from midday till evening (a meridie ad vesperam). This boy is far
younger than any known competitor in the Greek world. Matthews believes that such
a feat is not credible given the distance and time, but there is no reason to doubt that
boys competed in such contests. It is unknown whether there were specific age
categories for boys in the Circus, or whether this boy was an exception, perhaps
running with the men. [22]
References to boys and hard athletic training were familiar to the Roman reader. In
the late first century BC, the poet Horace speaks of a runner who trained hard as a
boy, sweated, shivered, and abstained from wine and girls so that he might win in
competition. [23] We should be careful, however, in interpreting this as a reference to
athletics in Italy, for immediately after this passage Horace mentions a flautist at the
Pythian Games in Delphi, which may place the setting in Greece rather than in Rome.

Nor is this reference necessarily evidence for competition for boys (though one can
infer with some justification that there were such contests, even if informal), but
rather for the long training needed for athletic success as an adult, which had to begin
in boyhood.
Some wealthy Romans used boy slaves to assist in physical activity including
running. Seneca, for example, before taking a bath practised daily racing against his
young slave Pharius, a progymnastes, whose duty it was to assist his master in physical
exercise. [24] Seneca may be facetious in calling the slave a progymnastes, who may
have been similar to a young palaestrites, although his slave was not associated
primarily with the palaestra. Seneca’s boy, who like his master was losing his teeth,
was probably as young as six or seven. Certainly the age of seven would be a
reasonable conjecture for the time when a boy lost his milk teeth, at least by today’s
standards. Similarly, the Greeks may have based the lower level of the boys’ age
category on the time when they had grown their permanent teeth in the 13th year.
Seneca obviously sees no disgrace in taking part in this private activity, although he
criticizes spectators in Rome who watched boys wrestling in public in the palaestra
(below). For him, the aim of exercise was tiredness (fatigatio) rather than actual
training (exercitatio). In this passage, Seneca speaks of his declining athletic ability.
Obviously he chose a companion runner of an age against whom he could ‘compete’
on equal terms. He claims that he will exchange the boy for someone even younger, as
his slave is becoming too good a runner to race against. This activity of running is for
the benefit of the master and otherwise not relevant for the boy slave, whom we can
assume is not a ‘serious’ athlete, but more of an involuntary assistant, even if an
extremely young one. [25]
We know that boys in Rome practised the heavy events and worked out in a
ceroma, or wrestling area, similar to the Greek palaestra. Writing in the middle of the
first century AD, Seneca [26] uses as an illustration for the brevity of life and the
meaning of leisure the spectator who watches boys (pueri) brawling in the ceroma in
Rome. Seneca also refers to different groups of boys: ‘Qui in ceromate (nam, pro
facinus! ne Romanis quidem vitiis laboramus) spectator puerorum rixantium sedet?
Qui unctorum suorum greges in aetatium et colorum paria diducit? Qui athletas
novissimos pascit?’. This translates as ‘Who sits in the wrestling place watching the
wrestling of boys (for to our shame we toil at vices that are not even Roman). Who
divides the throngs of wrestlers into pairs of the same age and colour?’. [27]
Seneca expresses here the common attitude of Roman intellectuals toward non-
Romans (Greeks) in criticizing wrestling and considering it a vice because of its
nudity and supposed corruption. Although he does not expressly say that boy
wrestlers participated in formal contests in Italy, the orator Quintilian clearly speaks
of boys competing in the palaestra. [28] When discussing the qualities of good
teachers who are able to recognize the skills of their pupils, he refers to individuals
who have the ability when entering a gymnasium full of boys to decide, after testing
them in body and mind in every way, for what contest (certamen) the boys should be
trained. We see here evidence not only for competitions for boys of different kinds in

200 N. B. Crowther
the palaestra, but also apparent allusions to aptitude and perhaps size. Although it is
possible that Quintilian was thinking of a Greek, rather than a Roman, context – he
uses the terms palaestra and gymnasium (rather than ceroma) for a wrestling place –
this passage is not dissimilar to the comments of his older contemporary Seneca
whom we have seen was specifically referring to a Roman setting.
In addition to the Via Claudia, the Circus Maximus, wrestling areas, and other
public venues, boys in Rome also practised athletic activities on the Campus Martius:
Plutarch relates that at the time of Cicero boys stripped naked there for exercise,
paides gegumnasmenoi. [29] One should be careful, however, in believing that
Plutarch is specifically referring to Greek-style exercises, as he gives no precise
description and, as a Greek writer, tends to interpret Roman practices in a Greek
context. The upper-class iuvenes also trained in this locale as we shall see (note 41).
Is the Cirrus, or Topknot, a Mark of Boy Athletes in Rome?

The cirrus, or topknot, appears to be a feature of athletes native to Italy, rather than
Greece, for there are no known illustrations of this hairstyle on sporting figures from
the Greek world. Traditionally, it is believed that the cirrus itself may not have
originated in Italy, for some ancient Egyptian athletes wore a sort of cirrus, as did
liturgical figures from Delos at the end of the second century BC. Yet there is evidence
for an Etruscan cirrus – as in the Tomb of the Monkey at Chiusi (dated to the fifth
century) – that may have influenced the Romans. [30]
Modern researchers generally consider the cirrus to be a feature of the specialized
Roman athlete and in particular a ‘heavy’ athlete. [31] Recently, however, Thuillier
has made an interesting suggestion that the cirrus designates an age category, using
mainly the evidence from iconography (especially the mosaic from Baten Zammour
in Tunisia dated to the fourth century AD). He believes that those athletes depicted
with the cirrus in the Roman world are boys corresponding to the Greek paides;
moreover, those individuals shown with beards and no cirrus are adult athletes,
andres; athletes in representations without the cirrus and without a beard he considers
to be intermediates, ageneioi. [32]
Although it seems not improbable that in the ancient world athletes would sport
different hairstyles – for we know that ‘heavy’ athletes in Greece traditionally wore
short hair [33] – it is by no means certain that the cirrus became a distinguishing
mark for boy athletes in the Roman world. Thuillier’s suggestion about the cirrus
works for some athletes and periods in Italy and Africa, but does not to fit every
example. Not all athletes wearing the cirrus, for instance, seem to be youthful: the
wrestlers depicted in a mosaic from Utica (see Thuillier, Fig. 15) and in a mosaic
from Pompeii dated to the second half of the first century AD (Gassowska, ‘Cirrus in
Vertice’, Fig. 3) certainly do look youthful, while athletes pictured in mosaics from
the Baths of Caracalla with their massive physiques clearly do not.
Some representations show athletes with both a cirrus and a beard, the latter
usually being the distinguishing mark of an adult (Gassowska, ‘Cirrus in Vertice’,

Fig. 4). Thuillier speculates that these scenes depict older athletes whose cirrus was a
reminder of success in their youth. From a practical point of view, this would then
require the regrowing of the cirrus by those athletes who had passed from
intermediates to adults. It is equally possible to deduce from the evidence that those
athletes wearing a cirrus and a beard were the older members of the youth movement
in Rome (the iuvenes below), while those with the cirrus and no beard were the
younger members of this same group, imberbes iuvenes. There are further differences
among those who wear a cirrus: some athletes are bald, others are partly shaved, while
yet others have full hair; there are even variations on the cirrus itself. Thuillier
proposes that these distinctions represent different age groups similar to those found
in Greece, such as Actian boys. We may note also that sometimes athletes with
different hairstyles seem to be taking part in the same event, as in the pancration
(Thuillier Fig. 5). Thuillier likens this intermingling of athletes of different ages in the
same contest to runners with different age classifications taking part in the same race
today, as in the marathon. Yet if boy and adult athletes did compete together, this
would contradict a recent suggestion regarding Greek athletics, namely that boys
competed separately so that there would be no chance of them beating the men.
What seems to tell against the cirrus as a general mark of age (at least in all time
periods) is a representation on a mosaic from Ostia: scholars have identified one
pancratiast depicted here wearing a cirrus as Aurelius Helix of the third century AD,
who is attested in epigraphical records from Rome as an adult victor in the Capitoline
Games in 218 (Caldelli, L’Agon Capitolinus, no. 58). There is no reason to suppose
that he is shown in the mosaic as a boy athlete at this time. [34]
However we interpret the iconography, the literary evidence does not appear to
fully support Thuillier’s thesis. Suetonius states that at a time of famine in Rome
Nero brought sand from Alexandria for the court wrestlers (luctatores aulici),
incurring the anger of everybody and becoming subject to all kinds of insults. [35] A
cirrus was placed on the head of the statue of Nero, together with a Greek inscription:
‘Statuae eius a vertice cirrus appositus est cum inscriptione Graeca; nunc demum
agona esse, et traderet tandem’.
Although the meaning of this text is not entirely clear and translators and
commentators have had their problems interpreting it, the passage seems to refer to a
‘heavy’ athlete surrendering in a contest. The rare Latin word agon almost certainly
denotes that it is a Greek-style event. Moreover, this quotation is not a reference to a
boy athlete, but rather to Nero as an adult Roman ‘heavy’ contestant. Although a
gloss recorded by ThLL s.v. ‘Cirrus’ maintains that the cirrus refers to the lock of hair
of a young child and of an athlete, mall j paidou ka Jlhtow u, this is not
evidence that the cirrus is a mark of an athlete. who is also a child (or boy). [36]
Customs in Italy may have changed over time, and different conventions may have
obtained in different regions, but the cirrus is no proof that the Romans adopted
Greek age classifications in athletics as rigidly as Thuillier suggests. As we have seen, a
cirrus on an athlete’s head does not always denote a boy athlete, although on occasion
it seems to do so.

202 N. B. Crowther
The Youth Movement: The Iuvenes and Age Groups

The iuvenes, or youth movement in Italy that consisted of individuals from the higher
classes, had sporting as well as military associations. There is some evidence that
females were members, although the inscriptional sources are few and incomplete,
and none of them refers to Rome. [37] The iuvenes performed in the arena as
gladiators and hunters, but not in the regular shows of the amphitheatre. At the time
of Augustus and probably later they participated in the circus in chariot racing and in
equestrian events where the rider dismounted and ran around the track. [38]
The whole question of the composition and activities of the iuvenes in Italy is a
complicated one and outside the scope of this study. One cannot even be certain in
some instances whether the term iuvenes refers to this specific youth movement for
the children of senators and knights, or to youths in general in Rome. We will
consider here, however, what is relevant to our main topic, namely the ages of the
members of the youth movement in relation to those of the Roman pueri. Although
scholars have made many suggestions, it appears that those individuals who had just
assumed the toga of manhood, the toga virilis, formed the lower level of the iuvenes,
an event that often, although by no means always as we have seen, would take place at
the age of 15 or 16. We can establish no firm upper age level, although some have
proposed that it could be as high as 50. At all events, both young and old participants
from the ranks of the iuvenes took part in the Roman imperial games: at the Iuvenalia
of Nero, for example – which one might argue Nero shaped to fit his own personality,
Tacitus says that Fabius Valens (consul suffectus in AD 69) appeared in mimes, while
Suetonius mentions old men of consular rank, and aged matrons. [39]
If some of the iuvenes were of the age at which Romans assumed the toga virilis and
others considerably older, then we should assume that the festival organizers would
arrange them into at least two age categories in competition. Some believe that the
expression iuniores (commonly found in inscriptions) may refer to the younger
iuvenes, but this term is as wide-ranging as the term iuvenes itself (Gellius 10. 28. 1
below). It is possible that the Romans divided the iuvenes into the beardless and the
non-beardless, the imberbes and the non imberbes, for Augustus forbade the imberbes
(with no specific noun) to run naked at the festival of the Lupercalia and strike
women they met with goat skins in a kind of fertility ritual (Suetonius Aug. 31. 4).
[40] Suetonius gives no reasons for this ban, but we may suspect moral grounds, for
he states in the next sentence that Augustus would not permit iuvenes of either sex to
participate in any nightly spectacle at the Secular Games unless in the company of an
adult relative. [41]
Boys and Age Categories at the Lusus Troiae

In the famous Lusus Troiae, or Game of Troy, boys (pueri) of different ages and from
the highest social ranks performed equestrian manoeuvres before the public, usually
in the Circus Maximus. [42] This parade clearly shows reverence for the idealized

past, as is seen in the longest account of the Troia, the epic description of Vergil. [43]
Some mistakenly believe that the iuvenes rather than the pueri performed in the Troia,
even though the ancient sources separate the two groups: it is significant that when
Julius Caesar held shows of different kinds in 46 BC boys (paides) of noble birth
practised the Lusus Troiae according to ancient custom, while the neaniskoi (a Greek
word for the iuvenes) of the same rank contested with chariots. [44] Suetonius (Caes.
39. 2) also makes the same distinction between boys and youths, when he speaks of
older and younger boys, maiores minoresque pueri, performing in the equestrian
exhibition [the Troia], while nobilissimi iuvenes drove four and two-horse chariots
and vaulted from one horse to another in the Circus. [45]
We cannot determine precisely the ages of the two groups of boys, the maiores and
minores, in the Troia at this time, but we can make inferences from the first recorded
performance in Italy that took place in the early first century BC, when Sulla revived
the Troia to put the ‘games into the service of the Trojan legend’. [46] Sulla
assembled boys of noble birth and selected two leaders, one a son of Sulla’s wife,
Metella, and the other Sextus, a nephew of Pompey. [47] When the boys refused to
obey Sextus, they chose instead Cato Uticensis. Plutarch remarks that Cato, the leader
of the older group, was friendly with Sulla when he was 14 years old (or in his 14th
year).
At the consecration of the shrine to Julius Caesar in 29 B.C. boys of the noble rank
performed the Troia, while men of the same rank contended with horses and chariots
(Dio 51. 22. 4). The Troia seems to have reflected the policy of Augustus, who among
his spectacles in the Circus presented frequent performances of the Troia by older and
younger boys (maiores minoresque puerum) of the nobility (Suetonius Aug. 43. 2).
[48] As a boy, the future emperor Tiberius actually took part in the Troia in the
Circus games of Augustus and was the leader of the squadron of older boys, ductor
turmae puerorum maiorum. [49] If these games are those of 29 BC, Tiberius would be
13 years old. If Suetonius is referring to the Games of 28 BC, the festival that had been
voted for Augustus in honour of his victory at Actium (Dio 53. 1. 4 above), then
Tiberius would of course have been a year older. At the age of 7, Gaius Caesar the
grandson of Augustus performed the Troia on the occasion of the dedication of the
theatre of Marcellus in 13 BC (Dio 54. 26. 1). Agrippa Postumus was aged 10 in 2 BC
on the dedication of the temple of Mars, when the Romans again celebrated the Troia
(Dio 55. 10. 6). It is significant that Gaius and Lucius Caesar did not take part in this
performance at the ages of 18 and 15 probably since they had already adopted the
toga virilis. [50] Britannicus, the son of Claudius who was to become the emperor
Nero, and Lucius Domitius participated in the Troia in AD 47 at the Circus games of
Claudius. [51] Britannicus was born in February AD 41 and would be 6 years old at
the time. Nero, born in December AD 37, would be 9. Suetonius (Ner. 7. 1) records
that Nero performed well although he was still a physically immature boy.
It seems reasonable to suggest that the pueri minores were aged 6 (or even 5) to
10: in this group would be Britannicus aged 6, Gaius 7, Nero 9, and Agrippa 10.
Those aged 11 to 14 would belong to the pueri maiores, as presumably would older

204 N. B. Crowther
boys who had not yet received the toga virilis. In this group we can place Tiberius
aged 13 or 14 and Cato of a similar age. If there were three boy leaders, as in
Vergil, we can speculate that the age groups would be approximately 6 to 9, 9–12,
and 12 to 16. [52]
Boys and the Transvectio Equitum

Boys of equestrian rank also participated in another equestrian parade in Rome and
elsewhere in Italy, the Transvectio Equitum, celebrated on 15 July. The ages of these
boys corresponded closely to those who took part in the Troia. Some participants
were very young: one in Capua apparently was aged 5. [53] Another inscription
dedicated by his mother (ILS 1316) records that a boy died at age 9. Two other boys
perished at 16 (CIL 6. 3512, 14. 3624), another at 13 (CIL 6. 31847). Hence, we have
evidence that boys took part as young as 5 and as old as 16. It is unknown whether
these youthful participants died from accidents during the performance of the
Transvectio, or from other causes, although we may note that boys in the Troiae
suffered broken legs and other injuries (Suetonius Aug. 43. 2). The high mortality rate
for children in ancient Rome may have been more responsible for these early deaths
than the violence of the shows. [54]
Boys and Chariot Racing in the Roman Circus

Latin inscriptions show that boys often took part as charioteers in the Circus
Maximus in Rome where they learned their trade from their masters. Some of these
young drivers died in competition, such as Florus, for whom Ianuarius erected a
monument in honour of his beloved foster son/pupil (alumnus dulcissimus): [55]
‘Florus ego hic iaceo j bigarius infans qui, cito j dum cupio currus, cito decidi ad umbr.
This translates as ‘Here I, Florus, lie a boy driver of a two-horse chariot, who
suddenly, when I was eager for racing, suddenly descended to the shades of death’
(ILS 5300 ¼ CIL 6. 10078; my translation).
This inscription records in the first person the death of a boy who drove a two-
horse chariot, bigarius infans. From other sources, we know that there was a special
race exclusively for boy charioteers known as the biga puerilis: an inscription (ILS
9348) refers to this kind of race for which Hyla, a member of the blue faction, who
lived for 25 years, recorded seven wins among his numerous other victories. The
words about Florus show a particularly poignant and personal relationship between
an apprentice driver and master.
It appears that an apprentice started racing in the biga before advancing to the
more difficult quadriga (the four-horse chariot), although such a driver was not
necessarily a puer/infans. [56] A bigarius (two-horse charioteer) could also be an
older charioteer who had been prematurely prevented from becoming a quadrigarius
(four-horse charioteer). [57] Such a driver was Eutyches, a slave from Tarragona in
Spain who died at 22, still considered too inexperienced to be able to drive a quadriga

(CIL 2. 4314). [58] Yet there seems nothing to prevent boys in Rome from competing
with adults, if they were experienced and skilled enough.
We have seen that in equestrian displays upper-class Roman boys participated as
young as 5 or 6. Similarly, in horse racing in Greece boys started at an early age, at
about 6 or 7. It is likely that beginning chariot racers in Italy, however, would
usually be somewhat older than this, as their sport required more strength than
horse racing, horseback riding, and equestrian exhibitions. We know that Crescens,
a member of the blue faction in the second century AD, started racing in the Circus
at the age of 13 and died at 22, winning his first victory in his 24th race (CIL 6.
10050; ILS 5285). Diocles first drove a chariot at age 18 (ILS 5287). The Byzantine
driver Constantine seems to have won a victory before growing the first hair on
his face, which suggests that he was 15–17 years old, and Porphyrius the charioteer
was victorious at a similar age. Other drivers, however, started racing later in life, as
M. Nutius Aquilius who began at the age of 23 – he raced in Rome for 12 years
and lived for 35 years (CIL 6. 10065a). [59]. It is difficult to know the age of the
charioteer Florus who is referred to as infans. Some sources, for example, refer to
the term infans in general as an age group preceding that of puer. [60] Yet infans
can also be a synonym for puer; among inscriptions we find that an infans could be
old as 11 (CIL 3. 8934, 9. 1973), 13 (CIL 14. 1324), or even 16 (CIL 6. 6814, 10.
2426). It is likely that Florus belonged to this older category. [61]
Some have suggested on the analogy of divisions in Greek athletics that Roman
(and Byzantine) charioteers raced in three age categories, but this is pure conjecture.
[62] No evidence has survived for formal age groups for charioteers (Roman or
Byzantine), although we have seen that there was a special race in Rome for boys who
presumably did not yet possess the skill and strength to race with the men.
Children, Gladiators and Wild Beast Shows

We have seen that the iuvenes took part in organized gladiatorial shows of some kind
at their own festivals known as the iuvenalia. Children, too, played as gladiators in the
streets of Rome imitating their ‘sporting’ heroes (Epictetus Diss. 3. 15. 5–6). A boy in
Petronius’ novel (75. 4) even bought a suit of Thracian armour out of his allowance.
[63] Yet children rarely participated in the gladiatorial arena, although they appeared
there on occasion. Some took part by force: in the middle of the first century AD, for
instance, Nero exhibited Ethiopian men, women and children in the amphitheatre at
Puteoli, near Naples, a display that made this gladiatorial show both brilliant and
costly (Dio 63. 3. 1). On occasion, high-class children may have participated
voluntarily, or at the bequest of their parents, for mosaics at Piazza Armerina in Sicily
depict children dressed as venatores, or hunters in the arena, pursuing hares, geese
and cocks. Some see these as realistic pictures of the children of senators taking part
in hunts in the arena, which gave an ‘opportunity to have their children admired by
the populace’. [64] Others, however, interpret these scenes as parodies of the hunt, as
in the case of Cupids portrayed as gladiators. [65] It is well known that the future

206 N. B. Crowther
emperor Commodus became adept as a gladiator, although the source does not
mention childhood. [66]
Some Romans appear to have held gladiatorial fights especially involving boys
(who were probably not free born individuals) at private banquets, a practice that
became illegal. Nicolas of Damascus in his Histories, written in the late first century
BC, says that the will of one man stipulated that boys who had been his lovers should
fight as gladiators. The people, however, would not tolerate this transgression of the
law and declared the will invalid. [67]
Children generally acted as attendants rather than fighters in the amphitheatre.
Boys (probably slaves) raked sand in the bloody arena: Martial (2. 75. 5–6) speaks
of two such boys killed by a lion. Petronius (34. 4) states that two longhaired
Ethiopians – although the term for boys is not mentioned – brought wineskins to
a banquet like those who scatter sand in the amphitheatre. [68] Boys were often
spectators at the gladiatorial games. Augustus gave the praetextati (those who had
not yet reached manhood and assumed the toga virilis) their own section in the
amphitheatre (Suetonius Aug. 44. 2). An inscription mentions seats for boys in
the Colosseum (CIL 6. 32098). The relief of Lusius Storax at Chitei shows
children seated in the arena, which to judge from their arrangement predates the
reforms of Augustus. The young emperor-to-be Caracalla attended the shows
reluctantly and wept or turned away his eyes whenever he saw condemned people
thrown to the wild beasts. [69]
The Mystery of the Pueri Gymnici, or Naked Boys

Latin epigraphy records the deaths of very young children (pueri) to whom is given
the adjective gymnici, or ‘naked’. An inscription dedicated by the father honours
three such brothers, gymnici tres fratres, namely Euplus, Elenchius, and Vincentius,
aged 5 years and 8 months, 1 year and 7 months, and 5 years and 9 months
respectively (CIL 6. 10158). The boys are called alumni (foster sons), who had a
patronus (a fosterer/master), two terms that we have seen were also associated with
the young charioteer Florus. Another inscription, dedicated by the parents, pays
tribute to a most sweet child, infans gymnicus dulcissimus, aged 4 years and 8 months
(CIL 6. 10160). Other parents express their reverence for their young son, a [puer]
gymnicus, aged 10 years (CIL 6. 14400). Lovers (amatores) from Puteoli set up an
inscription for a [puer] gymnicus who died a sweet death aged 2 years and 8 months
(CIL 10. 2132). Yet another inscription honours a most sweet boy Erotis, said to be
an alumnus who lived for 16 years and seems to have ‘belonged’ to the daughter of
the one who erected the memorial (CIL 6. 10159). Since these pueri gymnici range in
age from 1 year and 7 months to 16 – assuming that the oldest boy was still a
gymnicus at the time of his death – we can presume that they would be divided into
different age categories. [70]
A precise interpretation of the pueri gymnici is difficult, for we hear of such
children only in a few inscriptions. The word gymnici, a transliteration of the Greek

gymnikoi, almost always in Latin literature modifies ludi or certamina, or Greek-style

athletics practised naked. [71] Whether these boys were totally naked, or merely
lightly clad – as the Latin word could mean – is unknown, but the term probably
implies nudity, even though we may observe that they are not called pueri nudi. Nudi
is a much more common word for naked and does not imply the ‘exercising’ of
gymnici. What did the pueri gymnici do? Mommsen (ad CIL 6. 1058) with some
justification proposes that the Romans exhibited these boys at the agones or contests
in Italy. Unfortunately, the inscriptions we have cited raise more questions than
answers. Did the boys appear at the regular festivals (ludi) in Rome or elsewhere
before spectators? Did they take part in competitions as well as exhibitions? Did they
perform athletic events or feats of some kind? Were these boys young ‘freaks’ or
merely outstanding in what they did? Were these children apprenticed to a master, as
the terms alumni and patroni suggest? Did the boys simply ‘work out’ at an early age,
without performing, or did they assist their fosterers? Did the Romans admire the
beauty of these children?
A possible (although obviously not an exact) parallel from Greece may provide
some answers. The pueri gymnici appear to bear some relationship to parts of the
Gymnopaedia, a festival in Sparta where naked boys performed rhythmical
movements and gently moved their arms imitating the actions of wrestlers and
pancratiasts, while keeping time to the music with their feet (Athenaeus 14. 631b).
Indeed, some Romans are known to have had a penchant for Sparta and for the heavy
events of Greek athletics. A display of young boys dancing naked before spectators
and imitating the movement of Greek athletes may well have appealed to the prurient
Roman psyche. [72]
If we have interpreted the Latin inscriptions correctly, children outstanding in
beauty and grace participated from their early years in some kind of naked physical
activity before spectators that bestowed distinction on both them and their fosterers.
It appears also that some of the pueri gymnici may have been ‘sex boys’, as the term
amatores implies – even though they were mostly free born. Perhaps the name Erotis
(Loved One) is also significant, although this Greek name is found elsewhere in
inscriptions (ILS 1552, 1837, 5428, 7368, 7584, 7626a, 8348). We should not consider
this role to be too surprising, as other young boys known as pueri delicati (usually
slave boys in Latin literature) had sexual relations with their masters. Like the young
participants in the Transvectio Equitum, the pueri gymnici probably were victims of
the high child mortality rate in ancient Italy. Other boys referred to in inscriptions as
alumni but not gymnici also seem to have died at similar ages. [73]
Conclusion
We can draw the following conclusions on children, youths and age categories in
ancient Italy. At the Capitoline Games in Rome, the Sebasta in Naples, and probably
at other similar Greek-style festivals in Italy there were formal age categories for boys
that corresponded to their counterparts in Greece, although they may have varied

208 N. B. Crowther
over time. Despite the limited evidence, we can assume that non-Italian boys
dominated these competitions. In Rome itself, boys were divided into age and other
categories in the wrestling place (ceroma), although it is unknown to what extent
they took part in the ‘heavy’ events in the actual games. Boys competed at agri-
cultural festivals in Italy in running, and children as young as 7 participated in long-
distance events in the Circus Maximus. A young slave could serve as a progymnastes,
or training partner, for his affluent master. The wearing of the cirrus, or topknot,
in Italy did not always denote a boy athlete, although on occasion it seems to have
done so.
In general, specific ages may have been only a guideline for the Romans, for other
criteria seem to have been important, such as size and strength, puberty, growing of
the beard, and the adoption of the dress of manhood (toga virilis) after which one was
no longer a puer. Yet some sources do record the ages of boys. In the Lusus Troiae, for
example, where the Romans divided boys into two categories (the minores and
maiores), we can deduce that the performers could range in age from about 6 to 10
and 11 to 15 respectively. In the Transvectio Equitum boys participated from the age
of 5 to 16.
Youths drawn from the knights and senators became iuvenes after assuming the
toga virilis. They were probably divided into two categories, the beardless and the
bearded (the imberbes and the non imberbes), although no exact ages can be given for
these terms. The imberbes may have been the equivalent of the Greek intermediates,
ageneioi. The older group of the iuvenes appears to have been similar in age to the
Greek ephebes and neoi. The iuvenes participated in Greek athletics, hunting,
gladiatorial and other activities, although it is unknown to what extent they
participated in the regular festivals in Italy.
Boys served as apprentice charioteers in the circus and were successful as drivers of
the biga, before they advanced to the quadriga, which required more skill and
strength. The youngest known charioteer is Crescens who started racing at age 13;
other charioteers may have been even younger, although not as young as performers
in equestrian exhibitions. Sometimes boys raced against each other in the their own
two-horse chariot race, the biga puerilis. When experienced enough, they could
compete against much older individuals such as Nutius, who started racing relatively
late in life at age 23, and Eutyches who was driving the biga at age 22. One can assume
that boy charioteers generally came from the lower classes, including slaves.
In the gladiatorial amphitheatre, pueri rarely performed either voluntarily or
under compulsion, but rather carried out duties in the arena as slave attendants. On
the other hand, the iuvenes participated to some extent in bloodless shows
designed especially for them, as at Pompeii. Higher-class boys had special seats at the
shows.
Boys known as the pueri gymnici seem to have consisted especially of the very
young, some of whom could be under 2 years of age. Probably outstanding in beauty
they appear to have enacted public feats of some kind in exhibitions, entertainments,
or even contests, performing perhaps a naked dance that imitated athletic activities,

which their proud parents (and lovers) admired. It is unlikely that their feats
contributed to their deaths, as was the case with some young charioteers. [74]
The status of children in Roman society and the attitude of the Romans toward
them are topics largely outside the scope of this essay, but two recently published
studies are worthy of note. Rawson has shown that Rome was a civilization that
appreciated and honoured children, as has become apparent throughout this
discussion. She denies that the Romans viewed children as ‘little adults’, but believes
that they treated them for what they were, emphasizing that child participants felt as
much excitement and pride in public appearances as they do today. Uzzi with some
justification sees a major gulf between the treatment of Roman and non-Roman
children and speculates that the subservient roles of slave and non-Roman children
demonstrated the power of the Empire. [75] Neither author, however, comments in
depth on the actual sports, formal competitions, parades, spectacles, exhibitions and
exercises involving children and youths that have been the main focus of this
discussion.
Notes
[1] Unfortunately, no evidence has survived from the children and youths themselves, so that we
must rely on other data. For children in general in Rome and for further secondary literature,
see Uzzi, Children in the Visual Arts of Imperial Rome and Rawson, Children and Childhood in
Roman Italy. For Rome’s ‘obsession’ with boys, we may cite the example of Domitian and his
small confidante (Suetonius Dom. 4. 2. 2).
[2] See Moretti, Olympionikai, i vincitori negli antici agoni olimpici, for boys from Italy who won
at Olympia. The most famous is Milo of Croton in 540 BC (Moretti, no. 115); the earliest is
Philytas of Syberis in 616 BC (Moretti, no. 71).
[3] See Crowther, Athletika: Studies on the Olympic Games and Greek Athletics, 381–5, 421–2; and
Lee, ‘Venues for Greek Athletics in Rome’, for a list of these Greek-style games in Rome. The
Loeb edition wrongly translates the expression, pln stadou drmou, as ‘except for the
races in the stadium’. For the Olympic victory list, see Eusebius (Chron. 1, p. 211); and
Crowther, Athletika: Studies on the Olympic Games and Greek Athletics, 383–5, 421–2.
Matthews, ‘Sulla and the Games of the 175th Olympiad (80 BC)’, 241–2 believes that the
games of Sulla, which he identifies with the Ludi Victoriae, were a counter- attraction to the
Olympics.
[4] For age classes in general, see Golden, Sport and Society in Ancient Greece, 104–16. Classes may
have been introduced in Greece to provide more opportunities for victors, or to avoid boys
competing against and possibly defeating fathers – see Golden, Sport and Society in Ancient
Greece, 139, 177.
[5] For the Sebastan inscription, see Dittenberger and Purgold, Die Inschriften von Olympia, V:
no. 56 (IvO 56) . On ages at the Sebasta, see Crowther, Athletika: Studies on the Olympic
Games and Greek Athletics, 93–7; and Frisch, ‘Die Klassifikation der PAIDES bei den
griechischen Agonen’.
[6] IG 14. 748 ¼ IGR 1. 449. In general on the Sebasta, see Caldelli, L’Agon Capitolinus, 28–37.
Robert, Opera minora selecta, 625–7 comments on Claudian boys and other categories. Paides
politikoi were also found at Aphrodisias (CIG 2758). On the paides pythikoi and other such
boys’ categories in Greece, see Moretti, Iscrizioni agonistiche greche, 158–9; and Ebert, ‘Padej
PuJiko’. Potter, ‘Entertainers in the Roman Empire’, 279 comments on the local nature.

210 N. B. Crowther
[7] For Claudius, see Suetonius (Claud. 11. 3); Dio (60. 6); CIG II add. 2810b; Moretti, Iscrizioni
agonistiche greche, 208; Frisch, ‘Die Klassifikation der PAIDES bei den griechischen Agonen’,
180; and Geer, ‘The Greek Games at Naples’, 214. For the attitude of Augustus and other
emperors to the Greek games, see Spawforth, ‘‘‘Kapetoleia Olympia’’: Roman Emperors and
Greek Agones’.
[8] SEG 14, 1957, no. 602.
[9] Golden, Sport and Society in Ancient Greece, 128 on Seia Spes. A female could also participate
at the Sebasta as a choraula, or flute player (CIL 6. 10120). See Angeli Bernardini, ‘Aspects
ludiques, rituels et sportifs de la course féminine dans la Grèce antique’, for the nature of
athletic festivals for females.
[10] Rieger, ‘Die Capitolia des Kaisers Domitian’, 189; and Caldelli, L’Agon Capitolinus, 28–37, 85–
6, and also 123–63, especially no. 42 – a victor in all three age groups – for a prosopography of
victors. For the origin of athletes at the Capitolia, see Rieger, 174; for social class, Caldelli,
94ff., who comments on the numbers of freedmen and aristocrats. On Greek and Roman
differences in events, see Lee, ‘Venues for Greek Athletics in Rome’, 114.
[11] Suetonius Dom. 4. 4.
[12] Pausanias 5. 16. 2–3.
[13] Dio 67. 8. 1. Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 327, note 143 says that this race
did not survive the rule of Domitian, but gives no evidence. So too does Rieger, ‘Die Capitolia
des Kaisers Domitian’, 189.
[14] Juvenal 4. 53.
[15] See Moretti, Iscrizioni agonistiche greche, 159, 190 on the Actian festival in Nikopolis;
and Caldelli, L’Agon Capitolinus, 86 on age classes. Golden, Sport in the Ancient World from
A to Z, s.v. paides says that the term Actian boys indicates category of subdivisions of
boys. For more on this festival, see Gurval, Actium and Augustus: The Politics and
Emotions of Civil War 87ff., 121–2, who believes that the games were ‘very Roman’;
Weinstock, Divus Julius, 311, 315, note 9; and Caldelli, 21–2 with references. See below
for boys in events other than athletics at this festival. Also see Caldelli, 43–5 on the
Eusebeia.
[16] See Censorinus (De Die Nat. 14. 2) and Aulus Gellius (10. 28. 1).
[17] Wiedemann, Adults and Children in the Roman Empire, 113–17 states that the adult toga was
assumed at about 16 as the preliminary to full citizenship for other divisions of the ‘ages of
man’. See, however, Pleket, ‘Collegium Iuvenum Nemesiorum: A Note on Ancient Youth-
Organizations’, 288–9, following Veyne, ‘Iconographie de la ‘‘transvectio equitum’’ et des
Lupercales’, on the lowering of the age of the assumption of the toga virilis to 12 or 13. See also
Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 325 on the ages of Gaius and Lucius Caesar
(below). Maurin, ‘Remarques sur la notion de ‘‘puer’’ à l’époque classique’, 223–24 defines a
puer as one without access to arms or a wife.
[18] On size, see Frisch, ‘Die Klassifikation der PAIDES bei den griechischen Agonen’.
[19] See ‘. . . ludi cursoribus maioribus minoribusque fiunt’ (CIL 1–2., pp. 316–17; and Fast. Praen.
ad Apr., 25).
[20] Pleket, ‘Collegium Iuvenum Nemesiorum: A Note on Ancient Youth-Organizations’, 288–9;
and Thuillier, ‘Le cirrus et la barbe: Questions d’iconographie athlétique romaine’, 377, note
57. On the Robigalia, see Scullard, Festivals and Ceremonies of the Roman Republic, 108–10,
who points out that it is unknown at what time the Romans added foot races.
[21] See Pliny the Elder (NH 7. 84): in circo quosdam CLX passuum tolerare.
[22] See Matthews, ‘The Hemerodromoi: Ultra Long-Distance Running in Antiquity’, 167–8 on
tolerare; and Crowther, Athletika: Studies on the Olympic Games and Greek Athletics, 87–97 on
ages of Greek boy athletes. See Matthews, 167 on bullrings and Matthews, 168 on the
credibility of the boy’s run.

[23] Horace AP 412–15.

[24] Seneca Ep. 83. 3–5.
[25] See Fortuin, Der Sport im Augusteischen Rom, 324 for progymnastes, a term which is not found
elsewhere in Latin literature and is a rare word even in Greek. See Galen De san. 6. 177, 187;
and Epictetus Diss. 3. 20. 9, 4. 4. 31 for the Greek version of the name. On palaestrites, see
Dickie, ‘Palaistrthj/’palaestrita’: Callisthenics in the Greek and Roman Gymnasium’.
Frisch, ‘Die Klassifikation der PAIDES bei den griechischen Agonen’, 185 comments on teeth
and age.
[26] Seneca Brev. Vit. 12. 2. Author translation
[27] I follow here the reading unctorum (oiled [athletes]¼wrestlers) suggested by Thuillier, ‘Le
cirrus et la barbe: Questions d’iconographie athlétique romaine’, 377, note 57. The
manuscripts have the less satisfactory iunctorum (joined?) or vinctorum (bound?); the Loeb
edition reads iumentorum (herds).
[28] Quintilian 2. 8. 3.
[29] Plutarch Cic. 44. 4.
[30] Gassowska, ‘Cirrus in Vertice - one of the Problems in Roman Athlete Iconography’, 426 on
Egypt and Delos. Thuillier, ‘Le cirrus et la barbe: Questions d’iconographie athlétique
romaine’, 371 (Fig. 16) notes a cirrus on a javelin thrower in Etruria.
[31] Cf. Gardiner, Athletics of the Ancient World, ad Illustration 74; and Jüthner, ‘Cirrus’, for the
traditional view.
[32] Thuillier, ‘Le cirrus et la barbe: Questions d’iconographie athlétique romaine’. Golden,
Sport in the Ancient World from A to Z, s.v. cirrus also accepts that the cirrus may
distinguish younger competitors. Also see Thuillier, 369–70 on athletes with the cirrus
and beard. See Golden (above, note 4) on the fear of boys defeating men (fathers) in
competition.
[33] See for example, Euripides Ba. 453–9; Lucian DMeretr. 5. 3; and Philostratus Im. 2. 32. 1–4.
[34] On the mosaic from Ostia, see Newby, Greek Athletics in the Roman World. Victory and Virtue,
58–9. On Helix, see Jones, ‘The Pancratiasts Helix and Alexander on an Ostian Mosaic’.
Poliakoff, Combat Sports in the Ancient World, 15 (but with no references) says that trainers
also wore the cirrus, which would tell against it being a feature [only] of boys.
[35] Suetonius, Ner. 45. 2.
[36] On the word agon, see Crowther, Athletika. Studies on the Olympic Games and Greek Athletics,
402. See Thuillier, ‘Le cirrus et la barbe: Questions d’iconographie athlétique romaine’, 351–2
for other possible interpretations of Suetonius. The adjective cirratus is used of boys in Persius
(1. 29) and Martial (9. 29. 7), but I have found no reference to the cirrus as a mark of a boy
who is also an athlete.
[37] For females, see Vesley, ‘Gladiatorial Training for Girls in the Collegia Iuvenum of the Roman
Empire’, who bases his evidence on only three inscriptions, especially CIL 9. 4696 from Reate
that refers to a certain Valeria aged 17 years and 9 months. Cf. also CIL 14. 4014 from Ficulea
and CIL 8. 1885 from Numidia. Vesley believes that the collegia iuvenum would be an
appropriate place for females to train to be gladiators and athletes.
[38] For the iuvenes, see Pfister, ‘Die römische iuventus’: Pleket, ‘Collegium Iuvenum
Nemesiorum: A Note on Ancient Youth-Organizations’, 282–3, who cites CIL 11. 4580 and
12. 533; Mohler, ‘The Iuvenes and Roman Education’; and Galsterer, ‘Spiele und ‘‘Spiele’’: Die
Organisation der ludi Juvenales in der Kaiserzeit’. For the iuvenes and the ludi, see Thuillier,
‘‘‘Auriga/agitator’’: de simples synonymes?’; Ville, La gladiature en Occident des origines à la
mort de Domitien, 16–20, 267–70, who cites examples mainly from the provinces; and
Kleijwegt, ‘Iuvenes and Roman Imperial Society’. For the festivals called after them, the
iuvenalia, see Ginestet, Les organisations de la jeunesse dans l’Occident romain, 145ff.; and
Slater, ‘Pantomime Riots’, 133.

212 N. B. Crowther
[39] Tacitus Hist. 3. 62; and Suetonius Ner. 11. 1. Kleijwegt, ‘Iuvenes and Roman Imperial Society’,
84–5 and 97, note 33, mentions the lack of sources about age groups, especially upper levels.
Ginestet, Les organisations de la jeunesse dans l’Occident romain, 128–9 gives no definitive ages.
Brink, Horace on Poetry: The ‘Ars Poetica’, 234–5 suggests that the iuvenes in Suetonius (Aug.
31. 1 below) are the equivalent of the neoi of Aristotle (Rh. 2. 12). Kleijwegt, Ancient Youth:
The Ambiguity of Youth and the Absence of Adolescence in Greco-Roman Society, 102–3
compares the iuvenes with the Greek age groups of ephebes and neoi combined, which could
extend well into what people today would call adulthood. Dio (52. 26. 1 above) uses the term
meirakia of the iuvenes, a word that in itself is vague, but to some suggests an age of 14. It is
even proposed that the age of 12 or13 was the lower limit. Yet it may be noted that normally
the age of 12 or even 14 would overlap with what we know of the pueri in Roman athletics and
in the Lusus Troiae (below).
[40] Suetonius Aug. 31. 4.
[41] On iuniores, see McMullen, Soldier and Civilian in the Later Roman Empire, 137, note 59.
On the imberbes iuvenes who enjoyed horses and hounds on the Campus Martius, see
Horace (AP 161–2 above). Cf. imberba iuventus (Cic. leg. agr., fr. 1), imberbus adulescens (Cic.
Dom. 37). On Augustus and morality, see Yavetz, ‘The Res Gestae and Augustus’ Public
Image’, 18. For the leisure activities of youths in Rome, see Eyben, Restless Youth in Ancient
Rome, 81–127.
[42] For ancient references, see Schneider, ‘Lusus Troiae’.
[43] Vergil Aen. 5. 553–603.
[44] Dio 43. 23. 6; and Xiphilini Epitome 28. 5ff.
[45] On Vergil, see Fortuin, Der Sport im Augusteischen Rom, 161–75. For other boys who
performed in the Circus, see the sections on running and chariot racing (below). Weinstock,
Divus Julius, 88 speculates that the young Octavian was one of the leaders of the boys in the
Troia of 46 BC, a not unusual situation for future emporers, as we shall see.
[46] Weinstock, Divus Julius, 88.
[47] Plutarch Cat. Mi. 3. 1.
[48] Here the reading maiorum in Suetonius is far preferable to the almost meaningless magnorum
of the manuscript W. On Augustus, see Briggs, ‘Augustan Athletics and the Games of Aeneid
V’, 280–2.
[49] Suetonius Tib. 6. 4.
[50] On Gaius and Lucius, see Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 321, 325.
[51] Tacitus Ann. 11. 11; and Suetonius Claud. 21. 3.
[52] Ages are given throughout this section to the nearest year. For a representation of a ten-year-
old boy on horseback with a crown of olives that may show the Troia, see Rawson, Children
and Childhood in Roman Italy, 321–3. In the Aeneid, the three captains of the boys are Priam,
Atys, and Iulus (Ascanius), who according to Servius (Vergil Aen. 5. 560) represented the
three divisions of the Roman knights (Livy 1. 13. 8), though in the historical sources cited here
only two divisions are mentioned.
[53] CIL 10. 3924 ¼ ILS 6305.
[54] On the Transvectio Equitum, see Dionysius Halicarnassus (6. 13); and Humphrey, Roman
Circuses: Arenas for Chariot Racing, 260. For other ages and inscriptions, see Veyne,
‘Iconographie de la ‘‘transvectio equitum’’ et des Lupercales’, 107. For early deaths (especially
from malaria), see Shaw, ‘Seasons of Death: Mortality in Imperial Rome’, 100–38, and for
parents’ reaction to it, see Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 346–51. Yet boys
died in chariot racing as a result of accidents (see below).
[55] We will see that dulcis is also an adjective sometimes used of the puer gymnicus (see below),
where parents or lovers made the dedication to dearly departed children. On the term
alumnus, see Nielsen, ‘Alumnus: A Term of Relation Denoting Quasi Adoption’; and

Bernstein, ‘Mourning the Puer Delicatus: Status Inconsistency and the Ethical Value of
Fostering in Statius, Silvae 2.1’, passim.
[56] Thuillier, ‘Le cirrus et la barbe: Questions d’iconographie athlétique romaine’. 377 note 57.
[57] Thuillier, ‘‘‘Auriga/agitator’’: de simples synonymes?’, 237, note 23.
[58] See Humphrey, Roman Circuses: Arenas for Chariot Racing, 344, who points out that Eutyches
did not die in the arena.
[59] For Greece, see Pausanias 6. 2. 8. Galen (de val. 1. 8, 2. 9) suggests that horseback riding
could begin at 7. Plato (R. 467e) says as young as possible. On Nutius Aquilius, see Harris,
Sport in Greece and Rome, 206–8. On Constantine, see Cameron, Porphyrius the Charioteer,
155.
[60] Martial 9. 8. 9; Suetonius Claud. 2. 1; and Seneca Ep. 121. 15.
[61] For puer as infans, see Seneca (Dial. 4. 10. 2); Tacitus (Germ. 32) who speaks of infantes,
iuvenes, sense; and Ovid (Met. 10. 522), who mentions similar distinctions from childhood to
adulthood: infans, iuvenis and vir. See below on pueri gymnici who are known to have been
under 2 years of age.
[62] Schrodt, ‘Sports of the Byzantine Empire’, 42.
[63] Petronius 75. 4.
[64] Auguet, Cruelty and Civilization: the Roman Games, 116.
[65] Wiedemann, Adults and Children in the Roman Empire, 16.
[66] Historia Augusta Comm. 1. 8.
[67] Athenaeus 4. 154a.
[68] Ville, La gladiature en Occident des origines à la mort de Domitien, 263, note 74, 376–77. Their
hairstyle may designate them as boys. For the remains of children in the cellae of the grand
gladiatorial barracks at Pompeii, see Ville, 303, 377.
[69] Historia Augusta Caracalla 1. 5. On the hierarchical arrangement of seats, see Rawson,
Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 328–9. On the relief, see Ville, La gladiature en
Occident des origines à la mort de Domitien, 436–7.
[70] These inscriptions are rarely discussed, but see Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman
Italy, 336–63 on the deaths of young children and the Romans’ reaction. On women who kept
young slaves, see Roller, ‘Horizontal Women: Posture and Sex in the Roman Convivium’. As a
further example, ThLL cites Inscr. Christ. Diehl 577 ¼ ILCV 1. 557.
[71] For gymnikoi contrasting with musical and hippic contests (agones), see LSJ. For gymnici, see
Crowther, Athletika. Studies on the Olympic Games and Greek Athletics, 401–03.
[72] Cf. Cicero (Tusc. 5. 77) for Sparta. Serwint, ‘The Female Athletic Costume at the Heraia and
Prenuptial Initiation Rites’, 421 suggests that the ritual nudity of boys in Sparta and on Crete
was connected with initiation ceremonies into manhood, which clearly is not the case here.
The boys in Sparta were also of different ages than those mentioned in the Latin inscriptions,
probably ranging from 7 to 20. Robertson, Festivals and Legends, 160, note 41 divides them
into three age groups – over 7, over 14 and over 20.
[73] On sexual relations, see Slater, ‘Pueri, turba minuta’. For comments on pueri delicati in
Roman society, see Bernstein, ‘Mourning the Puer Delicatus: Status Inconsistency and the
Ethical Value of Fostering in Statius, Silvae 2.1’, For other references to outstanding children,
see Kleijwegt, Ancient Youth: The Ambiguity of Youth and the Absence of Adolescence in Greco-
Roman Society, 123–31.
[74] Although not part of our discussion, we should mention that children also participated in
informal, recreational, and largely non-competitive activities such as hunting, swimming,
fishing, boating and ball games, but little data has survived to support organized competition.
On swimming, ball games and other activities, see Fortuin, Der Sport im Augusteischen
Rom, 278–80; Harris, Sport in Greece and Rome, 74–150; Teja, ‘Gymnasium Scenes in the
Stuccoes of the Underground Basilica di Porta Maggiora’; and others. For swimming, Weiler,

214 N. B. Crowther
Der Sport bei den Völkern der Alten Welt, 264 sees ‘nur ein vager Hinweis auf mögliche
Wettkämpfe’.
[75] See Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, especially 319, note 113 on the feelings of
children (not athletes) who participated at the Opening Ceremonies of the 2000 Olympic
Games; and Uzzi, Children in the Visual Arts of Imperial Rome.
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Epilogue: Fresh Perspectives on

Ancient Sport
Zinon Papakonstantinou
From the origins of the ancient Olympic games to athletic training in late antique
cities through civic ephebeiai, the essays contained in this volume examine key
issues in the sport history of the Greco-Roman world. Adherence to specific
thematic or methodological principles was never an objective. One indeed can
argue that thematic and methodological diversity is a blessing in disguise and
should be actively sought. This is because such diversity is not merely a token of
scholarly dynamism but is also more indicative of the future directions of the
discipline as a whole.
In this sense, the contributions to this volume not only illuminate specific issues
and time periods in the history of sport of the ancient world, but also highlight
promising approaches and identify future research needs. Articles by Kyle, Crowther
and Christesen successfully demonstrate how a fresh analysis of old evidence, in their
proper historical context, can yield valuable, and sometimes even surprising results.
For many years scholars have suspected, on the basis of the reports from the
excavations in Olympia, that the traditional date (776 BC) of the first ancient
Olympics was nothing more than an approximation. Christesen’s rigorous analysis of
the mainly late literary evidence has independently confirmed the archaeological
record. Kyle’s essay is a fresh and sustained examination of sport in Herodotus, a
neglected topic, from the standpoint of Herodotus’ subject matter, that is, the
external and internal conflicts of Greece in the fifth century BC. Crowther provides us
with a meticulous examination of certain aspects of age categories in Roman sports
and spectacles. His discussion of a topic that has been largely overlooked in the past
offers original insights on the nature of Roman sports and spectacles and the status of
children in ancient Rome.
These and other essays that offer fresh and revisionist conclusions based on well-
known literary evidence make one wonder how much ideological baggage
other evidence for sport carries and how much rigorous literary analysis, especially

218 Z. Papakonstantinou
for well-studied genres such as Athenian and Roman drama, historiography and
forensic oratory, can further reveal. During the last two decades, authors engaging in
literary criticism in conjunction with a contextual historical analysis have delivered
some of the most informative and illuminating studies in the field of ancient history.
A more extensive application of similar methods with an eye for sport will
undoubtedly yield equally valuable results.
Inscriptions also carry their own subtexts, often reflecting civically endorsed
ideology or the perceptions that the individual author wishes to convey. This is
perfectly demonstrated by Kennell, whose essay is an excellent example on how to
detect common patterns from sources so disparate in origins and date. Remijsen’s
article is a skilful elaboration and integration of the new evidence for sport in
Ptolemaic Egypt that the recently discovered Posidippus epigrams provide. Even
though discoveries of that scale are rare, new evidence for ancient sport will surely
continue to emerge, leading to welcoming challenges to our assumptions regarding
the conditions and status of sport in the ancient world.
To be sure, historians do not challenge their assumptions and beliefs only in
light of new primary evidence. In recent years fertile interdisciplinary dialogue has
helped advance the study of ancient sport as much as the discoveries by
archaeologists in the field. Further cautious, judicious and constructive application
of methods developed in related disciplines is a necessary precondition for the
development of the field. The contributions by Pritchard, Mann and Carter are
a testimony to that. Drawing from various methodological perspectives these
scholars throw new light on well-researched topics (athletics and war in classical
Athens; the position of gladiators and gladiatorial shows in the Greek communities
under Roman rule). In his essay Pritchard makes several original suggestions,
including the limited participation of the Athenian lower classes in sport and the
nature of the ideological overlap between sport and war in classical Athens. With
reference to gladiatorial shows in the Greek-speaking east, Mann and Carter move
beyond the traditional but somewhat outdated paradigm of ‘Romanization’, by
considering and interpreting in an original fashion local responses to an imported
practice. Such approaches are promising, especially in illuminating the relationship
between sport and everyday life, as well as the shifting attitudes towards sport over
time.
What emerges clearly from the studies by Pritchard, Mann and Carter is that
sporting perceptions and ideals are not negotiated only in the stadia, gymnasia and
amphitheatres of the ancient world. Sport resonates in literary genres (for example,
historiography – see the contribution by Kyle) dramatic performances (see, for
example, the discussion of sport in Aristophanes by Pritchard) law courts, markets
and even cemeteries (gladiatorial epitaphs as reflecting local cultural perceptions,
argued by Mann and Carter). In this way the meaning of sport is generated in a
particular cultural context, and the adoption of sporting practices and ideas does not
result in a monolithic unidirectional acculturation, but in a versatile amalgam. This is
very apparent especially when one looks at the points of contact between Greek,

Epilogue: Fresh Perspectives on Ancient Sport 219
Roman and Ptolemaic sport and power, as the essays by Crowther, Remijsen,
Kennell, Mann and Carter do.
These are of course only some of the ways that one can engage with the
contributions in this volume. Readers will certainly discover and pursue many more.
After all, stimulating scholarship always provokes more questions and suggests
further avenues for research. That is a measure of scholarly success that this
collection, due to the quality of the individual essays, will surely live up to.

Index
Actian festival: Rome 197 festivals and contests 64-5, 68; good
Aeschylus 81 old days theme 67; Great Panathenaia
age categories: Actian festival 197; boy 64-5; military participation
slaves 199; Capitoline Games 196-7; expansion 78-81; paradox of sport
chariot racing 204-5; Circus 68-71; pederasty 71; poets and festival
Maximus races 198, 202-3; judging 68; popular culture and the
gladiatorial games 205-6; Iuvenes Athenian elite 70-1, 81; prostitutes
youth movement 202, 203, 205, 208; 70; sporting fields upkeep 65-6;
Lusus Troiae 202-4, 208; milk teeth sporting passions 64-8; traditional
199; naked boys mystery 206-7, male education 69-70; victors’ gifts
208-9; Robigalia 198; Roman sports and esteem 66, 70, 81; war dead
and spectacles 196-216; Roman-style funeral 80-1; war and sport 71-5;
athletics 197-200; Sebastan Games war/sport cultural overlap 75-8, 79
196; toga virilis 197, 198, 202, 204, athletics: Egyptian contestants 106-8
208; training 198-9; Transvectio Attalos of Pergamon 102
Equitum 204, 207, 208; wild beast Auguet, R. 5
shows 205-6; wrestling 199-200
Alcock, S.E. 126 Bagnall, R.: and Frier, B. 182
Alexander the Great 99, 100 Barton, C.A. 8
Alexander I: and Mardonius’ offer to Basileia: Egypt 110
Athens 49-50 Battle of Artemisium: Herodotus 49
Alexandria 101, 106-8; Hellenistic Battle of Marathon: Herodotus 43-5
hippodrome-stadium complex 108 Battle of Salamis: Herodotus 49
Alkibiades 98 Battle of Thermopylae: and Olympic
Anacharsis (Lucian) 184 Games 46-8
Antiphon 77-8 Bennett, C. 103-4
Apollodoros 26-7 Berenike I 103, 106, 112
Aristophanes 66-8 Berenike II 104
Aristotle 15, 20, 24 Berkowitz, L. 74
Arsinoeia: Egypt 111 Bowra, C.M. 77
Athens 64-97; athletics and education boxing 77, 109
68-70; chariot-racing 70; comedies boy athletes: hairstyle 200-1
and athletics 66-7, 68; Brinkmann, A. 17
democratization of war 78-81; Bushman, B. 74
drinking parties 70; Eleusinia 65;
Ephebate 176; festival funding 65; Callimachus 104

Index 221
Cameron, A. 6 prize-games 110-11; Ptolemaia

Capitoline Games: Rome 196-7 110-11; publicizing sporting victory
Carter, M.J. 125, 128, 132, 133, 137, 112-14; Theadelphia 111
150-74, 218 Egyptian contestants: achievements
chariot racing: Athens 70; boys 204-5; 101-7; Alexandria 101, 106-8;
Egyptian contestants 104-6 athletic contestants 106-8;
children: Roman status 209 equestrian events 101-6; Greek
Christesen, P. 8, 13-34, 217 perception 109-10; and Greek Sport
Cicero 155 98-123; participation as Greek
cirrus hairstyle: and boy athletes residents 100; royals and courtiers
200-1, 208 101-6
citizen training systems: Roman Period Eleusinia: Athens 65
175-94 Emperor Julian 175
Classical Studies: ancient sport Ephebate: annual and occasional 183,
scholarship history 4-9 187; athletic training 177, 183-5;
Clouds (Aristophanes) 66-7 catalogues and memorialization
Coleman, K. 158 177-8, 182, 186-7; civic defence
Coubertin, P. de 71-2 176-7; demography 182-3; funding
Criscuolo, L. 104 178-81; and honouring benefactors
Croesus of Lydia 37, 38 181-2; liberal arts education 176;
Crowther, N.B. 7, 8, 196-216, 217 military purpose 176, 184-6; and
cultural pattern model: sport and war 75 neoi 185-6, 187; olive oil provision
cultural performance: effecting change 178, 180-1; privatization 178; Roman
153, 157, 166; and gladiatorial Period 174-94; survival 186-8;
games 153-7; important values 153, training 183-5; twins 182-3; weapons
154, 158-9; key features 153-7; training 176, 184
out-of-ordinariness 153, 154, 166; equestrian events: Egyptian contestants
Roman 150-74; values debate 153, 101-6
156-7, 166 Eratosthenes 26-7, 28-9
Etienne, R.: and Knoepfler, D. 183
dangers: sport and war 76-8 euergetism 132
Decker, W. and Thuillier, J.P. 8
Dio Chrysostom 150-1, 152, 166 female competitors: Capitoline Games
Diodorus Siculus 15-16 197; Sebastan Games 196
Dow, S. 182 Ferguson, B. 73
drive-discharge model of catharsis 73-4; festivals: sport and ethnicity 40-2
anthropology 74-5 Finley, M. 4
First Olympiad dating process 13-34;
Edmondson, J.C. 128, 152 background 14-17; generational
Egypt 2; Arsinoeia 111; athletes’ reckoning 14, 27-8; Hippias’
privileges 109; athletic scouting 110; calculations 23-7; Hippias’ sources
athletics promotion 108-10; Basileia 21-3; Olympia discus 20, 24;
110; crown-games 110; Greek Olympic victor list reliability 15-16,
contests 110-12; gymnasia 109, 110; 17-21; oral traditions 23; reliability of
Hellenistic hippodrome-stadium 776 date 27-9; time-reckoning
complex 108; Pentaeteris 111; principles 14-15

222 Index
Fisher, N. 70 Hall, J. 39
foot racing 2 Harris, H.A. 5
Friedländer, L. 125, 152 Hatzopoulos, M. 177
Frier, B.: and Bagnall, R. 182 Hellenicity: and Greek ethnicity 39-40
Frogs (Aristophanes) 67-8 Herod 129
Herodotus 35-63, 99-100, 217;
Gardiner, E.N. 6 Alexander I and Mardonius 49-50;
generational reckoning: First Olympiad Battle of Artemisium 49; Battle of
dating process 14, 27-8 Marathon 43-5; Battle of Salamis 49;
Gladiator (Scott) 5 Greek ethnicity and Hellenicity
gladiatorial games: Antiochus IV 128-9, 39-40; Greek religiosity 41-2; and
130; architectural setting 132; Greek sport 37-8; and historian role
Athenian criticism 150-2; children 36-9; Hyakinthia (479) 49-50; Ionian
205-6; chronology 128-31; and Revolt 43-5; justifiable self-defence
cultural performance 153-7; driving 43; Mardonius’ offer to Athens 49-50;
forces 130-1; Eastern gladiator Olympic Games and Battle of
gravestones 135-8, 158-65, 166; Thermopylae 46-8; pan-Hellenic
euergetism 132; gladiator release 133; league 45-6; piety and politics 42-51;
gladiator self-presentation 135-8, sport and ethnography 38-9; Xerxes
140, 162, 165; gladiator social status and Olympic Wreath 48-9
132-3; Greek attitudes 158-65; Hippias of Elis: First Olympiad dating
imagery 135-9; meaning in East/West process 13-30; sources 21-3
138; organization 131-3, 139; Hittites 2
Palestine 129-30; perception and Homer 40
Romanization 133-5; regional hoplite battles 76, 79
varieties 129-30; Romanization and Horace 198
Greek East 124-49; spread 128-31, Hyakinthia (479) 50-1
139; terminology 134, 137-8, 164-5; Hyginus 104
Theatre of Dionysus 150-1, 158; Hyperides 78
victory or death 162-4
Glaukon 102-3, 104 Iliad (Homer) 40
Golvin, J.C. 8 International Olympic Committee
Grant, M. 5 (IOC) 71, 72
Great Panathenaia: Athens 64-5 Ionian Revolt 43-5
Greek citizen training systems: Roman Iphitos 24-6, 28
Period 175-94 Isocrates 68
Greek East: and Roman cultural Iuvenes: youth movement 202, 203,
performance 150-74; Romanization 205, 208
and gladiators 124-49
Greek ethnicity: festivals and sport 40-2; Jacobelli, L. 8
and Hellenicity 39-40
Greek sport: Egyptian challenge 98-123; Karneia: Olympic Games and Battle of
and Egyptian contestants 99-108 Thermopylae 46-8
Guss, D. 153-4, 158, 166 Karneia festival 44
Kennell, N.M. 175-94
Hadrian 130 Kleisthenes 79

Index 223
Knoepfler, D.: and Etienne, R. 183 Panhellenic Games: Egyptian

König, J. 8 contestants 98, 99-108
Koroibos 25, 28, 29 Papakonstantinou, Z. 217-19
Kyle, D. 1, 7, 8, 35-63, 152, 217 Pausanius 20, 113
Pentaeteris: Egypt 111
Lafaye, G. 152 Philip II of Macedon 102
L’Annee Philologique 6 Philostratus 151-2, 163
Les gladiateurs dans l’Orient grec (Robert) Phlegon of Tralles 25-6
125, 152 piety and politics: Alexander I and
Lévi-Strauss, C. 74 Mardonius 49-50; Battle of
Lorenz, K. 73 Artemisium 49; Battle of Marathon
Lucian 184 43-5; Battle of Salamis 49; Battle of
Lüschen, G. 75 Thermopylae and Olympics 46-8;
Lusus Troiae: age categories 202-4, 208 Herodotus 42-51; Hyakinthia
Lycurgus 14, 20, 24-8 (479) 49-50; Ionian Revolt 43-5;
justifiable self-defence 43;
Mann, C. 7, 124-49, 218 pan-Hellenic league 45-6; Xerxes
Mardonius: offer to Athens and and Olympic Wreath 48-9
Alexander I 49-50 Pindar 76-7, 99
Mediterranean sport 1-12 Pleket, H.W. 198
Mesoamerican sport 1-2 Pliny the Younger 154
Millar, F. 186 Plutarch 134-5
Miller, S. 7 Poliakoff, M. 7
Milo of Kroton 37 Polybius 128
Mittag, P.F. 128 Posidippus 103, 112
Moretti, L. 102, 103 Pritchard, D.M. 64-97, 218
Müller, S. 7 Pritchett, W.K. 44, 46-7
Ptolemaia Games: Egypt 110-11
neoi 185-6, 187 Ptolemies: Egypt 99-123; Equestrian
Nicholson, N.J. 8 events 101-6
nudity 40 Ptolemy I 106, 108, 113
Ptolemy II 103, 113
Olympia 15, 18-21, 22, 24, 25, 29-30, pueri gymnici: naked boys mystery
40-1; discus 20, 24; excavations 6 206-7, 208-9
Olympic Games: Battle of Thermopylae
46-8 Raschke, W. 7
Olympic truce 20, 24, 25 Rawson, B. 209
Olympic victor lists: Hippias’ sources Remijsen, S. 98-123, 218
21-3; reliability 15-16, 17-21, 26 Robert, L. 6, 132, 137, 138, 152, 159,
Olympic Wreath: and Xerxes 48-9 161-2, 166
Orwell, G. 72 Roman cultural performance: effecting
change 153, 157; and gladiatorial
Palestine: gladiatorial games 129-30 games 153-7; Greek attitudes 158-65;
pan-Hellenic league: and Herodotus identity 157; important values 153,
45-6 154, 158-9, 165; out-of-ordinariness
pan-Hellenism 35-63 153, 154; values debate 153, 156-7

224 Index
Roman sports and spectacles: age Thuillier, J.P. 198, 200-1; and
categories 196-216 Decker, W. 8
Romanization: gladiatorial games and time reckoning systems 14-15
perception 133-5; Greek East and topknot hairstyle: and boy athletes
gladiators 124-49, 165, 166; term 200-1, 208
125-6, 218 track and field: danger 77-8
traditional male education: Athens
Sansome, D. 7 69-70
Scanlon, T. 1-12 Transvectio Equitum 204, 207, 208
Scullard, H.H. 198 Tronson, A. 45
Sebastan Games: age categories 196
self-defence: Herodotus 43 Ulf, C.: and Weiler, I. 6
Seneca 199 Uzzi, J.D. 209
Sipes, R. 75
sociology: sources and perspective 3 Vernant, J.P. 74-5
Sokrates 80 Ville, G. 6
Solon of Athens 37, 38
Sommerstein, A. 66 war and sport 71-5; aggression 73;
spectator aggression: war and sport 74 democratization of war 78-81;
Sport in Greece and Rome (Harris) 5 drive-discharge model of catharsis
sport and war 71; cultural overlap 75-8, 73-4; English public schools 71;
79; cultural pattern model 75 Olympic movement 72; Orwell 72;
stick fighting 2 safety valve notion 73, 74; spectator
Sulla 196 aggression 74
Sweet, W. 7 Weiler, I.: and Ulf, C. 6
Welch, K.E. 8
Tertullian 155 Wiedemann, T. 157
The Persians (Aeschylus) 81 wild beast shows: age categories 205-6
Theadelphia: Egypt 111 Wistrand, M. 156
Theatre of Dionysus: gladiatorial games wrestling 2, 77, 199-200
150-1, 158
Third Century Greek sport 98-123; and Xerxes: and Olympic Wreath 48-9
Egyptian contestants 99-108
Thompson, D.J. 104 Young, D. 7, 8

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Sport in the Cultures of the Ancient World

Zinon Papakonstantinou is Assistant Professor of Hellenic Studies at the University of

Provided by Taylor and Francis - Papakonstantinou 29.05.2012

Provided by Taylor and Francis - Papakonstantinou 29.05.2012