Mnemosyne 71 (2018) 593-615

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A Riddling Recipe?
Philo of Tarsus’ Against Colic (SH 690)

Floris Overduin
Radboud University Nijmegen, Dept. of Classics
f.overduin@let.ru.nl

Received March 2016 | Accepted October 2016

Abstract

This article provides a detailed interpretation and suggests a literary background for the
brief (26 verses) elegiac recipe against colic (SH 690), written by Philo of Tarsus in
the first century AD. Although on one level it is a serious pharmacological prescription,
on another level it is also a literary piece, concerned with a marked tone of voice,
Homeric play, and general display of paideia. Particularly its play of substituting certain
ingredients with mythological riddles is striking. Its appeal to both doctors and men of
culture fits the intellectual pattern of the culture of the Second Sophistic. As a poetic
hybrid it also plays on different genres inherited from the previous Hellenistic era.
Moreover, it constitutes a telling example of the late subgenre of elegiac pharmacology,
in an era in which elegiac had all but vanished from Greek literature.

Keywords

Philo of Tarsus – pharmacology – Greek elegiac poetry – riddles

1 Introduction

Among the multifarious types and genres that can be found within the broad
range of Greek verse, a certain group of poems is specifically dedicated to
poetry of a medical nature.1 These poems are concerned with the ­preparation

1  Abbreviations frequently used: CA = Powell, Collectanea Alexandrina; SH = Lloyd Jones and

Parsons, Supplementum Hellenisticum; GDRK = Heitsch, Die griechischen Dichterfragmente

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi 10.1163/1568525X-12342267

594 Overduin

of recipes, the presentation of ingredients, and are usually aimed towards

particular afflictions.2 As such, they should be considered pharmacological
rather than medical.3 Instructions are usually limited to the preparation of the
potion or the direct application of certain ingredients to the body, rather than
addressing which remedy is related to which aspect of the bodily illness.4 This
variegated corpus comprises first of all Nicander’s Theriaca (958 verses) and
Alexipharmaca (630 verses), both long poems in the epic-didactic tradition
from the second century BC. Somewhat similar, though dealing with the rela-
tion between ichthyology and practical pharmacology, is the extant fragment
from Marcellus’ De piscibus (101 hexameters). In addition there is the elegiac
piece by Andromachus the Elder (174 verses), and various short poems in dis-
tichs by Eudemus (16 verses), Aglaias (28 verses), and Philo (26 verses), as well
as the iambic medical poetry of Servilius Damocrates.5 Similar poems deal-
ing with the relation between botany and pharmacology are the anonymous
Carmen de viribus herbarum (216 hexameters), and P.Oxy. 15.1796 (22 hexam-
eters), which contains a fragment on the cyclamen and the persea-tree from
a poem dealing with Egyptian plants or trees. Several poems fall under the
category of theriaca, i.e. prophylactic and curative recipes against venomous
animals in particular (Nicander, Andromachus, Eudemus), with one doctor/
poet following in the footsteps of another, but other ailments are addressed
too. All but Nicander’s poems (2nd century BC), Marcellus’ De piscibus and
the Oxyrhynchus papyrus (both second century AD) are from the first century
AD. This list at least shows that Nicander’s poems, often considered off-beat
with regard to their subject matter, were in fact not isolated at all, but part of a
blooming subgenre of poetry concerned with plants and remedies. Although
these poems are not homogeneous in form, style or scope, they are all subject
to certain particularities: (i) their authors’ choice to write in verse rather than
in prose, (ii) the often less than straightforward presentation of their contents,

der römischen Kaiserzeit; K. = Kühn, Claudii Galeni opera omnia I-XX; W. = Wagner, Apollodori
Bibliotheca; F. = Frazer, Apollodorus. The Library.
2  For Greek pharmacology against the background of ancient medicine, see Nutton 2004,
171-186.
3  It must be noted, however, that as a distinct scientific discipline pharmacology was only
developed in the 19th century.
4  For the distinction cf. Vogt 2005, 54-62.
5  For Nicander see Gow and Scholfield 1953, Jacques 2002 and 2007a, and Overduin 2015.
For Marcellus see GDRK 63. For Eudemus’ Theriaca see SH 412A, for Aglaias see SH 18. For
Andromachus the Elder see GDRK 62. For Servilius Damocrates see Bussemaker 1862. No edi-
tion of the latter has appeared since, but one is being prepared by Vogt, Servilius Damocrates.
Iambische Pharmaka im Corpus Galenicum.

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A Riddling Recipe ? 595

and (iii) their cultural function within a larger context than a strictly pharma-
cological environment.6
In this article I will focus on the verse recipe of Philo of Tarsus (SH 690),
which is a general cure against colic.7 I will start with a detailed reading of the
poem, after which I will give solutions for questions of genre, cultural context,
and the choice of verse, particularly elegy, over prose. I will show that, while
this poem may initially look like an ordinary recipe, despite its odd encoding
of ingredients, it must, on another level, also be intended as a literary piece,
to be read by those who could appreciate literary games involving didactic or
sympotic riddling, Homeric knowledge, and generic hybrids.8 The poem thus
fits a pattern of literature in which usefulness can go hand in hand with the
pleasure of learning and the joy of playful aesthetics.9

2 Text, Translation and General Structure

For practical reasons I include here the poem’s integral text, as printed in the
Supplementum Hellenisticum, followed by a provisional translation.

SH 690

Ταρσέος ἰητροῖο μέγα θνητοῖσι, Φίλωνος

 εὕρεμα πρὸς πολλάς εἰμι παθῶν ὀδύνας,
εἴτε κόλον πάσχει τις, ἅπαξ δοθέν, εἴτε τις ἧπαρ
 εἴτε δυσουρ<ε>ίῃ ἴσχεται εἴτε λίθῳ.
ἰῶμαι καὶ σπλῆνα καὶ ὀρθόπνοιαν ἀνιγρήν, 5
 καὶ φθίσιν ἰῶμαι, σπασμὸν ἐνιστάμενον,
καὶ σφαλερὴν πλευρῖτιν· ἀποπτύων δέ τις αἷμα
 ἢ ἐμέων ἕξει μ’ ἀντίπαλον θανάτου.
πάντα δ’ ὅσα σπλάγχνοισιν ἐνίσταται ἄλγεα παύω,

6  For the conversion of technical prose matter into didactic verse see Hutchinson 2009.
7  For Philo of Tarsus, of whom practically nothing is known, see Touwaide 2000 and 2008, and
Hautala 2014.
8  Philo’s poem shares many characteristics with the recipe of Aglaias (SH 18), which, however,
cannot be treated in detail here. On Aglaias see de Stefani 2007 and 2008, and Overduin,
forthcoming.
9  The idea of learning and practical knowledge within a context of playful presentation and
literary contemplation is of course quite common in e.g. Athenaeus’ Deipnosophists or
Plutarch’s Table Talk.

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596 Overduin

 βῆχά τε καὶ πνιγμόν, λύγγα τε καὶ κατάρουν. 10

γέγραμμαι δὲ σοφοῖσι, μαθὼν δέ τις οὐ βραχύ μ’ ἕξει
 δῶρον, ἐς ἀξυνέτους δ’ οὐκ ἐπόθησα περᾶν.
ξανθὴν μὲν τρίχα βάλλε μυρίπνοον ἰσοθέοιο,
 οὗ λύθρος Ἑρμεία<ι>ς λάμπεται ἐν βοτάναις,
†κρόκου† δὲ σταθμὸν φρένας ἀνέρος· οὐ γὰρ ἄδηλον· 15
 βάλλε δὲ καὶ δραχμὴν Ναυπλίου Εὐβοέως,
καὶ τρίτου ἐν Τρώεσσι Μενοιτιάδαο φονῆος
 δραχμὴν τὴν μήλων γαστέρι σῳζομένην.
ὁλκὰς δ’ ἀργεννοῖο πυρώδεος εἴκοσι βάλλε,
 εἴκοσι καὶ κυάμου θηρὸς ἀπ’ Ἀρκαδίης, 20
δραχμὴν καὶ ῥίζης ψευδωνύμου, ἣν ἀνέθρεψε
 χῶρος ὁ τὸν Πίσῃ Ζῆνα λοχευσάμενος.
πῖον δὲ γράψας, ἄρθρον βάλε πρῶτον ἐπ’ αὐτῷ
 ἄρρεν, ἐνὶ δραχμαῖς πέντε δὶς ἑλκόμενον,
νᾶμα δὲ θυγατέρων ταύρων χέε Κεκροπίδαισι 25
 συγγενές, οὑκ Τρίκκης ὡς ἐνέπουσιν ἐμοί.

5 ἀνιγρήν Haupt: ἀνηρήν codd. 15 κρόκου glossema: ἕλκοι Haupt

22 Πίσσῃ codd. 25 χέε SH: καὶ codd. 26 οὑκ Sichel: oἱ codd.

A great invention for mankind am I, of the physician Philo of Tarsus,

against many pains caused by afflictions, whether someone is suffering
from his colon, his liver, from dysuria, or from stones, once I have been
administered. (5) Spleen too I heal, and grievous orthopnea, and I heal
consumption—incipient spasms—and perilous pleurisy. (7) Someone
who is bringing up blood, or vomiting, will have me as an adversary of
death. (9) All sufferings that settle in the intestines I put to end, coughs
and choking, hiccup, and running nose. (11) I have been written for wise
men, and someone who has learnt me will have me as no mean gift,10 but
I do not long to pass over to those who lack comprehension. (13) Add
yellow hair breathing sweet unguents of the godlike one, of which the
blood shines in Hermes’ fields, and the (number of the) senses of man
worth to the weight (of drachms) of [Crocus]: it is not obscure. (16) Also
add a drachm of Nauplius of Euboea, and a drachm of the third slayer
of Menoites’ son among the Trojans, preserved in the stomach of sheep.

10  Or ‘a man of no little knowledge will have me as a gift’, as proposed by Hautala 2010,
8; contra Jacques 1979, 147: ‘qui saura me comprendre aura en moi un présent non sans
valeur’.

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A Riddling Recipe ? 597

(19) Add twenty drachms of the white fiery one, and twenty of the bean of
the Arcadian swine, and a drachm of the pseudonymous root, which the
land that begot Zeus in Pisa brought forth. (23) When you have written
pion, first add the article to it, the masculine one, taking five drachms of it
twice, and pour the stream of the daughters of bulls akin to the Daughters
of Cecrops, as the inhabitants of Tricca tell me.11

Consisting of thirteen elegiac distichs, this poem was transmitted in the corpus
of Galen.12 It is concerned with the alleviation of pains in the digestive and uri-
nary system. The recipe, which came to be known eponymously as philoneum,
shows a clear structure: the first part of the poem (1-12) is introductory, the
second part (13-26) deals with the recipe itself.13 In more detail, it follows the
general structure of similar therapies: name or origin (προγραφή), indication of
the illness against which the medicine will be effective (ἐπαγγελία), composi-
tion (σύνθεσις), and preparation, with mention of the right dosages (σκευασία).14

3 Voice and Addressee

A striking difference, however, with common therapies is the poem’s voice. It

is not the physician-poet that presents his material, but it is the recipe itself
speaking, an interesting choice that is reminiscent of the Hellenistic innova-
tion of transferring the poet’s voice to inanimate objects, such as votive offer-
ings and graves speaking in the first person.15 Philo’s first-person fiction is

11  My translation. For another translation in English see Hautala 2010, 7-8.
12  De compositione medicamentorum secundum locos 13.267.11-269.2 K. The text was also
included by Sichel 1846, 3-7, together with Galen’s explanatory notes, and in Bussemaker
1862, with an additional Latin translation. For Galen’s ambivalent stance towards poetry
in general and poetry as a vehicle for knowledge and transmission see de Lacy 1966, von
Staden 1998, and Vogt 2005.
13  Naming a successful compound drug after its inventor was not uncommon. Apart from
Philo’s philoneum (φιλώνειον, cf. Gal. 14.24.4 K., Orib. 23.4.4, Quintus Serenus, Liber
Medicinalis 392-394) cf. mithridatium (cf. Dsc. Ther. 3, Gal. 14.2 K.), a prophylactic against
poisoning invented by the Bithynian king Mithridates of Pontus, and zopyrium, after the
physician Zopyrus (cf. Orib. fr. 15, Gal. 14.205, Paul. Aeg. 7.11).
14  See Vogt 2005, 55-56; Jacques 1979, 147 uses συμμετρία for σύνθεσις.
15  An interesting parallel is Meleager’s AP 12.257, in which the coronis, as spokesman of
the papyrus and the poetry it contains, is talking in the first person. For speaking votive
objects cf. AP 6.147 and 149. For speaking gravestones or burial mounds cf. Theoc. ep. 15,
19, 23 Gow; AP 7.2 and 136 etc. Closely related are epigrams in which animals speak in the

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598 Overduin

maintained throughout the first part (5, 7, 9, 11, 12); the second part has a more
general tone in its use of repeated imperatives (13, 16, 19, 23). The poem’s author
is markedly presented as a physician (ἰητροῖο, 1) in the text itself, in its Ionic-
epic form, suiting the elegiac medium chosen. Philo’s diction is otherwise less
markedly poetic, with one notable exception. The adjective ἀνιγρήν (‘grievous’,
5, if the emendation is accepted) instead of ἀνιαρός would show awareness of
at least one Hellenistic rarity.16 The noun εὕρεμα in line 2 (instead of εὕρημα) on
the other hand, betrays a later author.17
To whom is the poem addressed? Although a proper addressee is lacking,
vv. 11-12 (γέγραμμαι δὲ σοφοῖσι, . . . ἐς ἀξυνέτους δ’ οὐκ ἐπόθησα περᾶν) do point at
a select audience. As internal addressee this audience may have consisted of
pharmacological specialists, but one can also easily imagine an audience that
consisted of people who were not practitioners of medicine themselves, yet
enjoyed hearing about pharmacology or medicine in general.18 I will return
to the interpretation of the ‘wise men’ as possible external addressee below.
The haughty and blunt tone of the poem here (‘I never longed to end up with
witless people’)19 points at an address from one elite doctor to another, but
the sophia needed here of course refers to both the learned pharmacological
contents and to the complex riddles. The addressee does not really need to
know all (or even much) about ancient medicine in order to prepare the rec-
ipe. Rather than being a medical expert per se, he needs to be a man of general
learning, who knows his literature.

first person, cf. Posidipp. 73 and 87 AB, AP 7.198 and 215, and epigrams in which inanimate
people (viz. the deceased) speak from the grave, cf. AP 7.15, 26, 172, 465 and 657, Theoc. Ep.
9 Gow, Posidipp. 94, 102-104 and 132 AB. To be sure, epigrams on speaking objects are of
course much older; Wachter 2010, 250-260. The Hellenistic innovation lies in its fictional-
ity (they are not really written on objects) and the literary, rather than genuine, intent of
their makers. Cf. Fantuzzi and Hunter 2004, 306-328 .
16  ἀνιγρός is not found before Callimachus (fr. 75.14, possibly 85.12 Pf.). It is also used by
Nicander, famous for his use of Homeric and Alexandrian rarities (Th. 8, 701, Al. 36, 627),
and his Imperial imitator Oppian (H. 3.188). It is always used at line-end, which, signifi-
cantly, is observed by Philo too.
17  εὕρεμα is first attested in the Septuaginta (only in Ecclesiastes, e.g. 20.9.2, and Jeremiah,
e.g. 45.2.3). In less anomalous Greek texts it occurs first in Posidonius (fr. 57a.5), and later
in e.g. D.S. 17.44.1.2, D.H. 5.17.3 etc.
18  Cf. Galen who wrote both for specialists and for a nonprofessional audience; see Mattern
2008, 20.
19  Perhaps in imitation of Philet. CA 10, p. 92 (= fr. 25 Spanoudakis = fr. 8 Lightfoot), who
uses the same distinction when an alder tree firmly states he will not be taken down by
some lumbering rustic, but only (metaphorically) by a poet; see Spanoudakis 2002, 318-
328; Lightfoot 2009, 43.

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A Riddling Recipe ? 599

4 Ingredients Shaped as Riddles

What makes this poem interesting is not so much its diction, as its arcane ref-
erences. Philo presents a string of riddles, and appears to be another physician
venturing into poetry of an unexpected kind. The first part, in which many dis-
eases against which philonium will be effective are summed up, does not pose
any problems. From line 13 on, however, the uninformed reader finds himself
lost at sea. Fortunately we have Galen’s epexegetical commentary on vv. 13-26,
explaining most issues.20

ξανθὴν μὲν τρίχα βάλλε μυρίπνοον ἰσοθέοιο,

 οὗ λύθρος Ἑρμεία<ι>ς λάμπεται ἐν βοτάναις,
†κρόκου† δὲ σταθμὸν φρένας ἀνέρος· οὐ γὰρ ἄδηλον (13-15)

The first riddle, despite its teasing end (οὐ γὰρ ἄδηλον, ‘it is not obscure!’) is
hard to solve.21 The yellow (ξανθήν, 13) hair refers to the appearance of fragrant
yellow saffron (κρόκος), whose collective thin threads indeed resemble a head
of hair. It is related to Hermes through the youth Crocus (Κρόκος), who was
accidentally killed by Hermes in a game of discus.22 Out of compassion for the
boy the gods transformed him into a flower (saffron, not our modern crocus),
turning his sorry fate into a lasting memory.23 Its shiny appearance reflects
the blood (λύθρος in 14) of the youth turned into a plant, which is here called
Hermes’ plant, as it was ostensibly ‘claimed’ by the god after his loss. Due to
an error in the manuscript the riddle is not so hard to solve after all, as line 15
accidentally has †κρόκου†. This is rightly printed between daggers by Lloyd
Jones and Parsons, as it must surely be a case of a gloss that entered the text,
irretrievably dispelling the original word, thus ruining the riddle.24 The dosage,
a number equal to a man’s φρένες (five ‘senses’), is again cryptic in its use of a
distinctly Homeric designation. Philo’s use of φρένες, rather than similar and

20  See Lloyd Jones and Parsons 1983, 333-335. For the idea that Galen’s notes are a means to
display his own sophia see Hautala 2014, 193; for Galen as a critic in general see Hanson
1998.
21  Cf. Hautala 2010, 8; see also Hautala 2014, 192-193.
22  Philo’s version differs from that in which Crocus is in love with the girl Smilax, briefly—
and only—referred to in Ov. Met. 4.283-284, Fast. 5.227, Servius on Verg. G. 4.182, and
Nonn. D. 12.86.
23  The story is all but a copy of that of Apollo and Hyacinthus, in which the youth is hit by
a discus and transformed into a hyacinth. Cf. Hes. fr. 171 MW, Nic. Th. 902-906, Ov. Met.
10.162-219. Philo may well be mixing up the two stories here.
24  E.g. ἕλκοι, as suggested by Haupt 1873, 177. See app. crit.

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600 Overduin

overlapping terms such as θυμός, κῆρ, ἦτορ and νόος, can probably be explained
by its number, rather than its distinct meaning within the complex semantic
field of ‘senses’ in Homer.25 Another riddle is connected to the first, dealing
not with the ingredient’s selection, but its dosage. A user is to take a certain
number of drachms. The Greek may have σταθμόν (‘standard weight’) in line 15,
but from Galen’s explication follows that such a weight is to be equalled to that
of a drachm. The number of drachms to be added can be deduced from φρένας
ἀνέρος in 15, which can mean a lot of things (‘midriff’, ‘heart’, ‘mind’, ‘thought’,
all based on the plural), but should be interpreted here as ‘senses’, of which
man of course has five.

βάλλε δὲ καὶ δραχμὴν Ναυπλίου Εὐβοέως (16)

The next riddle is found in line 16. One should add a drachm of Nauplius, a
reference to a Greek hero known as the father of Palamedes.26 In order to
understand Philo’s reference here, the addressee needs to recall the story of
Palamedes, which was well-known in antiquity.27 The Greek prince Palamedes
was sent as part of an embassy to raise the generals for the Trojan expedition,
among whom was Odysseus, who was reluctant to leave Ithaca and to leave
his young son behind to go to war. Palamedes tricked Odysseus into coopera-
tion, but was eventually falsely accused of treason and stoned as a traitor in
the Greek camp due to Odysseus’ revenge scheme. Palamedes’ father Nauplius
was bent on revenge: he arranged false fire-signals to be shown to the Greeks
on their way home from Troy, in order for them to crash on Cape Caphareus on
the south-east of Euboea, thus causing shipwrecks and wreaking havoc. The
story of his retaliation by false beacons is known from various sources, includ-
ing Greek tragedy.28 According to Galen, this tantalizing c­ ircumscription refers
to πύρεθρον, a plant identified with modern pellitory, but unfortunately he does

25  Hautala 2010, 9.

26  Apollod. 2.23 W. (= 2.1.5 F.), 3.15 W. (= 3.2.2 F.), Epit. 3.7, 6.8; Luc. Dom. 30.7, Jud. Voc. 5.3.
27  The history and murder of Palamedes was related in the cyclic Cypria (Arg. 5) and is occa-
sionally referred to in later poets (Verg. A. 2.90-91, Ov. Met. 13.56-61; summaries in Apollod.
Epit. 3.7-8 and Hyg. Fab. 105; variants in Paus. 10.31.1 and Dictys Cretensis 2.15). It was a
popular subject of tragedy (A. frr. 181-182 TrGF; S. frr. 478-481 TrGF; E. frr. 578-590 TrGF)
and formed the basis of Gorgias’ Defence of Palamedes.
28  For the story of the false beacons see Lyc. 384-386, Apollod. 2.23 W. (= 2.1.5 F.), Epit. 6.7-
11, Hyg. Fab. 116, Galen (Lloyd Jones and Parsons 1983, 333), and D.Chr. 7.31. In tragedy
Nauplius’ revenge appeared in Sophocles’ Nauplius catapleon and Nauplius Pyrcaeus; frr.
425-438 Radt. Cf. E. Hel. 776-777 and 1126-1131. Philocles (TrGF I 24 T 1), Astydamas the

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A Riddling Recipe ? 601

not tell us why. One clue given by Philo is the additional noun Εὐβοέως, ‘of
Euboea’, which is not, as one would expect, the genitive of origin of Nauplius,
but points at the site of Nauplius’ infamous deed: Euboea’s coasts where the
great fires were lit. Is the addressee to associate Nauplius of Euboea immedi-
ately with fire, thus etymologizing πύρεθρον with one of mythology’s famous
instances of πῦρ? There does seem to be a connection here: πύρεθρον (pelli-
tory) is known to cause a feeling of burning to the taste, with which it may
have earned the name of ‘fireplant’.29 The connection through association of
‘Nauplius on Euboea > fire > fireplant’ is difficult, but not impossible. A tenta-
tive alternative lies in a Greek synonym of πύρεθρον, viz. πυρῖτις.30 Although
the latter is not attested as a noun meaning ‘fire kindler’, it is very close to
πυρίτης, an adjective which does have this meaning. Through lack of other
sources this is hard to prove, but perhaps the association intended by Philo
here is ‘Nauplius on Euboea > fire-raiser (πυρίτης/πυρῖτις) > fireplant (πυρῖτις/
πύρεθρον)’.

καὶ τρίτου ἐν Τρώεσσι Μενοιτιάδαο φονῆος

 δραχμὴν τὴν μήλων γαστέρι σῳζομένην (17-18)

The next riddle is again a Homeric one. In vv. 17-18 a drachm of another plant
is to be added. This plant is referred to as the ‘third slayer of Menoitiades
among the Trojans’ (τρίτου ἐν Τρώεσσι Μενοιτιάδαο φονῆος, 17). A second clue
is more helpful from a medical point of view, as this plant is said to be pre-
served in the stomach of sheep (τὴν μήλων γαστέρι σῳζομένην, 18).31 As to the
first clue, mythology may be helpful, but one really needs Homer’s text here.
The son of Menoetius is Patroclus, as most Greeks would certainly know; no
difficulty here.32 To find out his third slayer, however, one needs to look up
Iliad 16, in which the fatally wounded Patroclus addresses his assailant Hector
(844-850):

Younger (TrGF I 60 F 5), and Lycophron (TrGF I 100 T 3) wrote tragedies on Nauplius.
Timotheus wrote a nomos called Nauplius (fr. 785 PMG).
29  Cf. Chantraine 1968 s.v. πῦρ Ι.10, πύρεθρον: “«pyrèthe d’Afrique», Anacyclus Pyrethum, p.-ê.
ainsi nommé à cause de son effet calorique”; cf. Annalakshmi et al. 2012, 62: “The roots of
the North African plant Anacyclus pyrethrum DC. (pellitory) … give(s) rise to an intense
burning taste.”
30  Chantraine 1968 s.v. πῦρ Ι.9: πυρῖτις = πύρεθρον.
31  See Dsc. 3.82.2.
32  Il. 1.307 et al., Od. 24.77.

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602 Overduin

ἤδη νῦν Ἕκτορ μεγάλ’ εὔχεο· σοὶ γὰρ ἔδωκεν

νίκην Ζεὺς Κρονίδης καὶ Ἀπόλλων, οἵ μ’ ἐδάμασσαν 845
ῥηϊδίως· αὐτοὶ γὰρ ἀπ’ ὤμων τεύχε’ ἕλοντο.
τοιοῦτοι δ’ εἴ πέρ μοι ἐείκοσιν ἀντεβόλησαν,
πάντές κ’ αὐτόθ’ ὄλοντο ἐμῷ ὑπὸ δουρὶ δαμέντες.
ἀλλά με Μοῖρ’ ὀλοὴ καὶ Λητοῦς ἔκτανεν υἱός,
ἀνδρῶν δ’ Εὔφορβος· σὺ δέ με τρίτος ἐξεναρίζεις. 850

For now, Hector, boast mightily; for to you have Zeus, the son of Cronos,
and Apollo granted victory, they who vanquished me with ease, for they
themselves took the armor from my shoulders. But if twenty such as you
had faced me, here would all have perished, vanquished by my spear. But
it was destructive Fate and the son of Leto who slew me, and of men
Euphorbus, while you are the third in my slaying.33

A confusing pair of details, which does not immediately solve the riddle: first
Zeus and Apollo are pointed out as Patroclus’ two slayers (845), whereas a few
verses later Zeus is replaced by Moira, and a human opponent is added (849-
850). This adds up to five agents: Zeus, Moira/Fate, Apollo, Euphorbus and
Hector, who is Patroclus’ fifth and ultimate slayer.34 This is clearly not what
Homer means to convey, as follows from Patroclus’ last line: ‘you, Hector are
my third (τρίτος) slayer’. How to make sense of this mismatch? The issue was
addressed by Aristarchus, whose solution is to count only those who actu-
ally laid hands on Patroclus,35 to wit Apollo (who undid his corselet in 804),
Euphorbus (who cast a spear in his back in 806-809), and Hector (who thrusted
a bronze spear in his lower belly in 818-821). Aristarchus seems to argue from
the perspective of Patroclus, who (unlike the poet) is not aware of the agency
of Zeus/Moira, whose presence he does not sense. The only physical results
he notices are those caused by Apollo, Euphorbus and Hector. If, however, one
argues from Patroclus’ perception, it would make more sense to count only
the assaillants he actually sees, that is Euphorbus and Hector, which would
make the latter not the third, but the second slayer. Alternatively, one can
count Fate (be it Zeus, Moira, or Apollo) as Patroclus’ first slayer, followed by
Euphorbus, who is the second one, and thirdly Hector. Janko, arguing from
Homer’s use of single finite verbs, rightly takes Zeus and Apollo (845), and

33  Translation Murray and Wyatt 1999.

34  The multiplicity of slayers (in decreasing level of importance; Kirk and Janko 1992, 420)
both increases Patroclus’ stature and diminishes Hector’s; see schol. bT to Il. 16.850.
35  Schol. A (Aristonicus) to Il. 16.850.

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A Riddling Recipe ? 603

Moira and Apollo (849) as a hendiadys.36 With regard to Homer at least, this
seems to solve the problem, explaining Hector as Patroclus’ third killer. But
things get even more complicated. Surprisingly, it is Euphorbus Philo is refer-
ring to in 17. Despite Homer’s use of the adjective τρίτος for Hector—regardless
of which agents are to be interpreted as first and second—Philo’s calculation
is clearly a different one: Zeus/Moira is first, Apollo second, Euphorbus third,
and Hector fourth.37 By ‘improving Homer’ Philo partakes in a learned phil-
ological tradition of critical reading of the poet. His observation and conse-
quent correction stand in the Aristarchean tradition of textual criticism, which
is in turn applied to a new literary form. If Philo’s addressee is sharp enough
to pick up this correction, he will be able to connect the Trojan hero to the
plant εὐφόρβιον (‘spurge’), which appears frequently in Galen and later medi-
cal authors.38 This means that the addressee will need to take the same steps
as described above: counting and discounting who was third, and by which
calculation. A learned demand on an addressee who is supposedly looking for
the panacea offered by Philo.

ὁλκὰς δ’ ἀργεννοῖο πυρώδεος εἴκοσι βάλλε,

 εἴκοσι καὶ κυάμου θηρὸς ἀπ’ Ἀρκαδίης (19-20)

The next ingredient on the list (19), of which twenty drachms should be added,
is called ἀργεννοῖο πυρώδεος (‘white fiery one’).39 Galen tells us this is white pep-
per (λευκὸν πέπερι), which is to be preferred to black pepper as it is better for
the stomach (εὐστομαχώτερον) and more pungent (δριμύτερον). The following
ingredient, of which the addressee needs an equal amount, the poet presents
more creatively, combining mythology with etymology: twenty drachms of the
‘bean of the beast from Arcadia’ (κυάμου θηρὸς ἀπ’ Ἀρκαδίης), again formulated
enigmatically. The Arcadian beast, although there are a few other candidates
for the title,40 should refer to the Erymanthian boar, whose defeat came to be

36  Kirk and Janko 1992, 419-420.

37  As pointed out by Lloyd Jones and Parsons 1983, 334. I take ἐν Τρώεσσι in 17 to mean ‘in
the Trojan war’. If the slayer is literally to be counted only among the Trojans, Euphorbus
would be first and Hector second. Zeus, Moira and Apollo, though assisting on the Trojan
side, cannot of course be called Trojans themselves.
38  The plant εὐφόρβιον was indeed thought to have been named after Euphorbus, albeit a
different one, viz. the personal physician of king Iuba (Plin. Nat. 5.16, 25.77).
39  Ostensibly for the sake of variatio, line 19 instructs to take twenty ὁλκάς, which primarily
refers to weights in general, but is also used for drachms in particular (LSJ s.v. ὁλκή iii.2),
as is confirmed by Galen’s summary of the recipe.
40  Other sources (Apollod. 2.81 W. = 2.5.3 F.; Hyg. Fab. 30.5) set the capture of the Cerynitian
deer in Arcadia, rather than that of the Erymanthian boar. Another option for the ‘θήρ

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604 Overduin

the fourth of the canonical labours of Heracles.41 The θήρ in question—and

the word needed to solve the riddle too—is therefore a boar. Boars, particu-
larly the Erymanthian one, are usually called κάπρος,42 but what Philo has in
mind here is not a κάπρος, but a ὗς, which is found too, occasionally, for the
Arcadian beast.43 The recipe should thus include twenty drachms of κύαμος of
the ὗς (κύαμος ὑός/ὑὸς κύαμος), literally ‘bean of the boar’, but the joke is that
ὑοσ-κύαμος, ‘henbane’ is needed.44 This is a complex riddle, which demands
facility of words on the part of the reader, in addition to recognizing a well-
known myth.45

δραχμὴν καὶ ῥίζης ψευδωνύμου, ἣν ἀνέθρεψε

 χῶρος ὁ τὸν Πίσῃ Ζῆνα λοχευσάμενος (21-22)

The following riddle concerns an ingredient that is presented not so much

‘under a false name’, but rather ‘by its wrong name’ (ψευδωνύμου), and which
was raised (ἣν ἀνέθρεψε χῶρος) in the same land as that which brought forth
Zeus (χῶρος ὁ τὸν Πίσῃ Ζῆνα λοχευσάμενος). Zeus was generally thought to have
been born on Crete, although the data about Zeus’ birthplace were contro-
versial in antiquity. Philo seems to ‘help’ us a little by adding Πίσῃ.46 We do
not expect to hear of Pisa, so well-known as the older name of the region of
Olympia, as the birthplace of Zeus, and rightly so: as Galen (our only source)
tells us, this is a region in Crete. ‘Pisa’ is thus our clue, to be interpreted as

from Arcadia’ is the centaur Pholus (Apollod. 2.83 W. = 2.5.4 F.); centaurs are occasionally
called θῆρες (S. Tr. 556, 568, 680, 1162, Palaeph. 1), and Pholus is said to eat his meat raw,
which arguably qualifies him as an animal.
41  The capture of the Erymanthian boar is set in Arcadia by most sources: D.S. 4.12.1, Apollod.
2.83 W. = 2.5.4 F. (who mentions the Arcadian city of Psophis); Ov. Met. 9.191, Sen. Her. F.
228, Stat. Theb. 4.297, 8.746. Euripides, however, places the Erymanthian boar story in
Thessaly (HF 368). Other sources mention no region at all (S. Tr. 1097), or imply that the
boar labour took place outside of Arcadia (Hyg. Fab. 30.4).
42  E.g. D.S. 4.12.1, Paus. 5.26.7, Apollod. 2.83 W. (= 2.5.4 F.), D.Chr. 63.6.4, Demetr. Eloc. 304.5.
43  However, Pausanias (1.27.9, 8.24.5) seems to be the only one who uses ὗς for the
Erymanthian boar.
44  For the sake of the etymological play the older σῦς can of course not be used either.
45  For this type of riddling, involving some morphological dexterity, cf. AP 14.16, 20, 24, 31, 35,
46, 105-106.
46  Zeus’ place of birth is disputed: a cave on Mount Dicte on Crete (Hes. Th. 468-477,
Agathocl. fr. 2, Apollod. 1.5 W. = 1.1.6 F.), where he was brought to safety by his mother
Rhea, or Cretea (Paus. 8.38.2) on the top of Mount Lycaeum in Arcadia (first in Call.
Jov. 4); cf. Cic. N.D. 3.53.

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A Riddling Recipe ? 605

a pars pro toto for Crete or Cretan. This is the connection to the plant called
νάρδος Κρητική, which, according to Pliny, is something like a gladiolus.47 The
adjective ψευδώνυμος merely seems to refer to the proper designation of this
plant, for the ingredient Philo has in mind here is never called a ῥίζα, ‘root’ (as
he says 21), but always a σταχύς (‘spike’), and more particularly νάρδου σταχύς/
ναρδόσταχυς (‘spikenard’). It seems Philo has turned σταχύς into ῥίζα himself
here for the sake of the riddle, wittingly (and wittily) calling it ‘by its wrong
name’ (ψευδωνύμου). The addressee now knows, after a compact but complex
detour, that he is to add a drachm of spikenard: the ῥίζα of 21 must be taken
‘pseudonymously’ as σταχύς, and Πίση of 22 most likely points, by extension or
as a pars pro toto, to a Cretan plant, that is (Κρητική) νάρδος.

πῖον δὲ γράψας, ἄρθρον βάλε πρῶτον ἐπ’ αὐτῷ

 ἄρρεν, ἐνὶ δραχμαῖς πέντε δὶς ἑλκόμενον (23-24)

Verses 23-24 contain another grammatical riddle, but this one is purely mor-
phological. An important variation introduced here lies in the imperative of
βάλλω (23). Whereas elsewhere in the poem the imperative (of the present
stem) is used for adding ingredients to the mix (βάλλε in 13, 16 and 19), the
aorist here points at an entirely different instruction: ‘When you have writ-
ten ‘πῖον’, put the masculine article (ἄρθρον . . . ἄρρεν, 23-24) directly before it.’
The aspectual difference between the two imperatives is clear: this trick, a
piece of morphological surgery solving the riddle, only has to be performed
once. The resulting ingredient then is ὄπιον (‘opium’), the diminutive of ὀπός
(‘poppy-juice’).48

νᾶμα δὲ θυγατέρων ταύρων χέε Κεκροπίδαισι

 συγγενές (25-26)

The last distich presents the addressee with the ‘stream of the daughters
of bulls’. To support the first clue some additional information is given: the
stream is ‘akin to the daughters of Cecrops’ (Κεκροπίδαισι συγγενές). The ‘daugh-
ters of bulls’ are not calves, but bees. Philo’s reference is to the bougonia, a

47  For cretan nard cf. Gal. 13.275, Plin. Nat. 21.115 (cretico . . . nardo). Many types of nard
were distinguished and Dioscorides (1.7-10) mentions several other geonymous types,
viz. νάρδος Κελτική, νάρδος Συριακή, and νάρδος Ἰνδική, as well as νάρδος ὀρεινή and νάρδος
ἀγρία. Galen, ostensibly in doubt, adds that others have said that Pisa is a region in India,
considering the frequent occurrence of νάρδος Ἰνδική elsewhere.
48  As found in e.g. Dsc. 3.152, Gal. 13.269, and Plin. Nat. 20.199.

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606 Overduin

­ henomenon widely attested in antiquity, although not in reality.49 The

p
ancients believed that bees were engendered from the carcasses of oxen, an
idea that perhaps originated from the observation that flies preferably lay
their eggs in dead meat. The νᾶμα (25) for which the bees are responsible, is
of course honey, which is to be poured on top of all the earlier ingredients
added. The relation between honey and the daughters of Cecrops may mean
nothing more than that both came from Attica,50 Attic honey enjoying a very
high reputation.51 But Philo’s use of νᾶμα offers a better interpretation of
Κεκροπίδαισι. Cecrops’ daughters were named, after all, Herse (ἕρση, ‘dew’),
Pandrosos (πάνδροσος, ‘pure water’) and Aglauros (ἄγλαυρος, ‘splendid water’),
all of which are related (συγγενές) to νᾶμα (‘stream, spring’).

. . . οὑκ Τρίκκης ὡς ἐνέπουσιν ἐμοί (26)

The poem’s final reference is to ‘those from Tricca’, an ancient city in western
Thessaly. It was, as Homer tells us, the kingdom of Machaon and Podalirius,
both sons of Asclepius, who served in the Greek army as physicians.52 If
Podalirius and Machaon are those meant by οὑκ Τρίκκης ὡς ἐνέπουσιν (26) it
is not impossible that they are the ones suggesting to use honey medicinally.
In Homer, however, there is no connection between honey and curing. ‘Those
from Tricca’ may therefore not point at Asclepius’ sons themselves, nor at
inhabitants of the city, but to a ‘guild’ of physicians.53 Philo’s statement, ‘as
those from Tricca tell me’ thus seems to point at information obtained from
fellow pharmacologists sharing their knowledge of the salutary qualities of
honey. Both the verb’s present tense and the idea of colleagues are interesting,

49  On the bougonia see e.g. Thomas 1988, 196-201 and Spanoudakis 2002, 182-184. The term
is first found in Varro (R. 2.5.5), but the phenomenon is often described in earlier Greek
literature. See Philet. CA 22, p. 94, Theoc. Syr. 3, Call. fr. 383.4 Pf. (= SH 254.4), Nic. Th. 741,
AP 9.363 and 548. In Latin literature cf. Verg. G. 4.287, Col. 9.14.6, Ov. Met. 15.361-368 etc.
50  As Galen sees it: συγγενὲς ἔφη τοῖς Κεκροπῖδαις, τουτέστι τοῖς Ἀθηναίοις; Lloyd Jones and
Parsons 1983, 334.
51  A connection also made by Philo’s imitator Aglaias; see Overduin, forthcoming. For Attic
honey see Dsc. 2.82, Plin. Nat. 11.13.32, Larg. 16, Str. 9.399-400. The association between
bees and Attica is also illustrated by Hermesianax’ reference to Sophocles as the ‘Attic
bee’, Ἀτθὶς δ’ οἷα μέλισσα (CA 7.57, p. 99 = 3.57 Lightfoot). The daughters of Cecrops were
typically Attic too, Cecrops being the indigenous earth-born king of Attica (Apollod. 3.177
W. = 3.14.1 F.).
52  Il. 2.729-732, 11.833.
53  Galen calls them ‘Asclepiads’, which was a common designation for ‘sons of Asclepius’,
viz. physicians (Thgn. 432; Pl. R. 405d); Lloyd Jones and Parsons 1983, 334.

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A Riddling Recipe ? 607

as they suggest an environment of medical specialists of which Philo pretends

to be part. Moreover, any reference, even an indirect one, to Asclepius serves to
add authority to Philo’s prescription. Interestingly, this claim to authority
rounds off the recipe, rather than opening it.54
It takes a learned reader to gather enough clues and to solve each riddle
before being able to prepare Philo’s recipe.55 Even without implying that his
verses are not really an attempt at disseminating serious medical knowledge,
the modern reader cannot but wonder at the literary nature of this baffling
text.56 Its wealth of obscure mythology, Homeric references, and verbal play
can hardly only be aimed at real doctors singularly interested in the treatment
of colic. The fascinating choice of the first-person voice betrays an author
versed in poetic technique. The verb γέγραμμαι (11), moreover, typical of a book
culture, is reminiscent of the topical κτῆμα ἐς ἀεί: not only the recipe is immor-
talized through writing, but Philo as well, both as an able physician and as a
creative riddler.

5 A Generic Hybrid?

By comparing a prose recipe in Galen with a medical-pharmacological proce-

dure in the Iliad—both involving the treatment of fresh flesh wounds—Vogt
has shown how such diverse medical prescriptions can be considered to repre-
sent two ends of a presentational spectrum, one highly formal and technical,
the other a fictional narrative piece in hexameters.57 Where exactly are we to
put Philo on this spectrum? Close to other mixed forms, such as Nicander’s
Theriaca and Alexipharmaca, or perhaps closer to Galen’s end? And if it is
intended as a miniature didactic poem, why is it not presented in the epic-
didactic metre? Why did these later pharmacological poets choose to write in
elegiac distichs, rather than hexameters or iambics?58

54  See Hautala 2010, 11.

55  It is interesting that Galen, though not apparently interested in poetry for its own sake,
took the opportunity to display his sophia when explaining the riddle posed by Philo, thus
partaking in Philo’s literary game after all; cf. Hautala 2014, 103.
56  As Jacques 2007b, 110 rightly points out, what is surprising here is not so much the presen-
tation in verse itself, as its lack of σαφήνεια, considering Galen’s view that poetry should
facilitate preservation, ease of remembrance and clarity for technical subject matter.
57  Vogt 2005, 54-62.
58  At least four pharmacologists wrote in elegiacs, which is significant considering the
meagre remains of the ‘genre’; see Introduction. For this same point in relation to
Andromachus and Aglaias, see Overduin, forthcoming.

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608 Overduin

It is striking that pharmacological versifiers such as Philo chose to write

elegiacs in an age in which no known Greek poet used this metre any more,
except for writing epigram.59 Unlike in Latin poetry, there is no clear elegiac
tradition left in the first century AD. After the classical period elegy primar-
ily became the medium for erotic catalogue poetry of mythological narra-
tive. Antimachus’ Lyde, Hermesianax’ Leontion, Philitas’ Bittis, and Phanocles’
Erotes ē kaloi all seem to share the same characteristics, in imitation of Hesiod’s
Catalogue of Women (which, however, was in hexameters).60 The genre was
thoroughly renovated by Callimachus, whose Aitia incorporated such diverse
genres as epic, encomium, epigram, and sympotic poetry into its all-encom-
passing form. Moreover, by choosing the elegiac metre for his fifth hymn, he
extended its already flexible use to incorporate even the hymnic genre.61 At the
end of the Hellenistic era, however, all that was left of elegy was the extended
literary epigram, which took up different kinds of generic functions, such as
the older inscribed epigram, love poetry, lyric, and ecphrasis. The poem of
Philo must thus be considered a hybrid made up of several different strands.62
The following types may be relevant for their assessment: cryptic elegiac cata-
logue poetry, (epigrammatic) sympotic riddle poetry, and didactic epic.
To start with the first, Hermesianax’ Leontion is remembered mostly for
its tongue-in-cheek ‘errors’, with Eoie as Hesiod’s girlfriend, Homer courting
Penelope, and both Alcaeus and Anacreon being in love with Sappho.63 But
apart from what seems to be a jibe at poorly informed biographers, the poem
is in fact a catalogue of intertextual riddles, each element being presented as
a different puzzle.64 This may not be a ‘standard’ element of elegiac catalogue
poetry, as far as the limited material transmitted can tell us, but it is a parallel
nonetheless. Could Hermesianax’ Leontion tentatively be considered indicative

59  See West 1982, 181.

60  The works of Nicaenetus (CA, p. 2) and Sostratus (SH 731-734) too appear to have been part
of the same tradition. For an overview of what little we know about (proto-)Hellenistic
elegy see Murray 2010. For Hesiod’s Catalogue of Women as a source of inspiration for later
elegists see Hunter 2005, 259-265.
61  The elegiac metre’s flexibility should warn us against pinpointing its basic generic char-
acter; perhaps it had become a ‘neutral’ genre, capable of fulfulling various tasks, among
which presenting recipes in verse.
62  According to Hautala 2014, 191 the elegiac metre is “probably chosen here because it
involves direct appeals to the reader”. Sensible as this sounds, it does not take into account
the history of elegiac poetry as connected to certain literary genres, which could still play
an important role here.
63  Hermesianax CA fr. 7, pp. 98-100; vv. 21-34, 45-56.
64  See Caspers 2006, 40.

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A Riddling Recipe ? 609

of a minor tradition of cryptically playful elegiac poems? As evidence the frag-

ment is slight indeed, but the combination of a catalogue, a riddling text, and
the elegiac metre is striking.
More directly influential seems to be sympotic riddle poetry. In the
archaic period, the elegiac genre, written exclusively for the symposium, eas-
ily incorporated poetry of wisdom, as is shown by the extant poetry of Solon
and Theognis. Little is known about classical sympotic literature, but in the
Hellenistic era this role was taken up by epigram, a genre that became a much
more literary oriented medium. Many poems in the Greek Anthology from
this period have a sympotic context, and quite a few of them seem to reflect
the sympotic tradition of preparing riddles (γρῖφοι, αἰνίγματα) for one’s fellow
symposiasts.65 It is on this tradition of literary display in epigrammatic form
that Philo’s poem may have been built. As such, it is a vehicle for displaying its
maker’s learning and mastery of different technai, rather than merely a cryptic
recipe for a fellow pharmacologist.
A third generic strand that may have made its mark on Philo’s poem is
epic-didactic poetry, such as Nicander’s. Whereas there are many differences
between the two (length, scope, and metre, to name a few), the similarities are
evident too. Both deal with pharmacological subjects, yet make an effort to
conceal any reading too straightforward. Both present their poems as pieces of
instruction, as teachers to pupils. Their focus is not primarily on their notional
subject, but rather on their playfulness. They may have some genuine knowl-
edge of their subject matter, but probably relied on prose sources for their pur-
poses, which are after all of a literary, not a strictly pharmacological nature.
With regard to riddling in particular, some shared elements can be traced to
Nicander’s didactic forebear Hesiod. His famous use of riddling kennings in the

65  Riddling as a sympotic game of the upper-class is most clearly found in Athenaeus’
Deipnosophistae, in which deipnon and symposium are attended by Greek and Roman
aristocrats. In book ten he discusses the riddle typology of Clearchus, which underlies
the typical character of most riddle games, demanding knowledge of Homer, mythology,
verse citation, and ambiguity, all of which are reflected in Philo’s poem (Ath. 10.69 = 448c).
Most examples of standard riddles—mostly lacking context—are collected in book 14 of
the Greek Anthology, but they appear elsewhere too (e.g. AP 7.429). Cf. Thgn. 667-682 and
861-864, or the riddling nature of Lycophron’s Alexandra. Cf. Fantuzzi and Hunter 2004,
328-338; Luz 2010, 139-146. Although the Alexandra has been labelled ‘oracular’, its aenig-
mata are in fact much closer to riddles, as no genuine oracle demands esoteric knowledge
of this nature.

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610 Overduin

Works and Days is apparently the basis of a broader tradition of riddling within
didactic epic, imitated by Nicander.66
A final strand that can be discerned in the generic origins of Philo’s poem
can be found in the tradition of magical texts. One reason is the similarity
between recipes for magic charms and potions, and proper pharmaceutical
ones. More interesting is perhaps the fact that, at least within the territory of
the so-called Priestly Interpretations, priests replaced the common names of
certain ingredients with more enigmatic ones, as a means to protect knowl-
edge and to shield off their profession from laymen.67 I do not suggest that
Philo is involved in the very same practice here, but rather that his way of pre-
senting riddling ingredients could be meant as a wink to the related discipline.
One could easily image Philo’s readers recognizing this little spoof.
SH 690 is thus a curious hybrid. As a recipe it is clearly not nonsensical, lack-
ing outlandish, superstitious or fantastic ingredients. As an elegy it reminds us
of some of the Hellenistic catalogue poems, particularly Hermesianax’ Leontion.
As an extended literary epigram it is indebted to sympotic riddle poems, but
perhaps also to didactic epigrams such as known from Posidippus. As a didac-
tic work it resembles, in a nutshell, Nicander’s Theriaca and Alexipharmaca,
but also, indirectly, Hesiod’s Works and Days, while as a literary game of mytho-
logical puzzles it calls to mind Lycophron’s Alexandra.

6 Cultural Context

It is hard to believe that this poem was the original recipe for philoneum,
encrypted riddlingly as a safeguard against tampering,68 or as a means to shield
off its secret contents from nosy outsiders. It cannot merely have been versi-
fied to warrant the proper quantities it contains, or to function as a mnemonic

66  Hes. Op. 430, 524-525, 571, 605, 628, 742, 778; Ther. 142, 349, 351-352, 355-357, 388, 397.
Although one thinks primarily of didactic epic as a source here, the Hellenistic age occa-
sioned other didactic forms too. As Sider 2005, 176-182 points out, many forms show char-
acteristics of didactic epic, though they are not epic in scope or metre. A case in point
are some of the epigrams of Posidippus (21-24 AB), which, as Sider shows, share relevant
characteristics of didactic poetry within the epigrammatic format. As such a didactic
mode within poetry of varying length, metre, form and focus can be found in this period,
which may well be at the basis of Philo’s poem.
67  LiDonnici 2002, 367-369.
68  The issue is brought up in Gal. De antidotis 1.5 (14.32 K.) and 1.15 (14.89 K.). Vogt 2005, 68:
“Vorsätzliche Fälschungen . . . waren ganz offensichtlich ein ernsthaftes Problem in der
hochkompetitiven Ärtzeschaft, in der sich Galen bewegte.” Cf. Jacques 2004, Hautala 2014.

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A Riddling Recipe ? 611

aid. The complex riddles do not lend themselves for such purposes easily, if
only because the user will need to remember both the poem and the solu-
tions to the riddles, a highly impractical modus operandi for committing a
short and simple recipe to mind. It is evident that Philo is playing a learned
game here, putting his addressees to the test. These addressees may well be
colleagues in medicine, but the contents are evidently aimed at learned men in
a broader sense. We may therefore expect these poems to have been written for
more than one occasion: literally, of course, for each time their readers suf-
fer from the varying symptoms of colic, as expressed by the multiple present
imperatives, so typical of didactic, and medical didactic in particular. But one
can also imagine a different setting, in which there was occasion for (sympotic)
performance, poetry, and riddling.69 Much like jokes, anecdotes, chreiai, or
parodies, this sort of poem lends itself to social meetings, in which one learned
riddler tried to cap another participant, even if we are not to imagine an actual
symposium. The poems must have functioned in a wider circle than that of the
internal addressee. Moreover, the sympotic riddle can be considered a valid
comparandum too in terms of pain and gain, as the sympotic punishment (e.g.
emptying a cup of salted wine) and reward (e.g. garlands, praise) for failing or
solving the riddle, are easily replaced by the poem’s contents: failure results in
colic, success in bodily relief.
As to the unlikely contents, though unsuitable for poetry, these are not
only paralleled by the poems of Nicander. They also anticipate the Second
Sophistic trend of making markedly unsuitable topics the subject of their
author’s pieces: the popularity of the ἄδοξον within a highly literary context
was typical of the age to come.70 The riddles, their language, and particularly
their Homeric contents, suggest a wider audience of πεπαιδευμένοι who could
appreciate the effort. They are the ‘wise men’ to whom Philo’s recipe is aiming
its learning (γέγραμμαι δὲ σοφοῖσι, 11). The sympotic riddle type concerned with
questions of literary knowledge (first and foremost of Homer) is particularly
close to Philo’s recipes.71 Its appeal to one’s paideia is to be taken quite literally
as school education, the Homeric poems being textbook cases to be learned by
heart by young pupils.72

69  E.g. Plu. Quaest. conv. 5.1 (673ab), 8.1 (717a). Cf. Luz 2010, 139, with references.
70  Anderson 1993, 171-174.
71  This type is discussed by Athenaeus (10.86 = 457ef) as part of the riddle typology designed
by Clearchus of Soloi.
72  Cf. Luz 2010, 143.

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612 Overduin

In showing one’s wit and learning, and in putting to the test someone else’s,
these poems function as display and confirmation of mutual paideia.73 If
Philo was a medical expert after all, he wanted to represent himself as a man
of culture rather than a man of technical learning here. Literary refinement
may have increased his social status in the higher echelons of society. Writing
poetry was a respectable pastime for a physician, just like it was for members
of the Roman elite who filled their otium with literary production.74

7 Conclusion

Galen may have had his own reasons for preferring verse to prose when it came
to medical recipes.75 Yet evidently some pharmacological poems transgressed
the polymath’s criteria by venturing into a new generic realm: that of the rid-
dling recipe. Though technically a medical prescription, the poem by Philo
does not appear to be intended for knowledgeable colleagues; the very same
can be said about the recipe of Aglaias. Their respective addresses to a poet
and ‘wise men’ point at a different kind of readership concerned with more
than medicine. The literary contents of both poems rather reflect a context in
which pepaideumenoi displayed their knowledge of culture, myth, and litera-
ture. As such these poems reflect the very spirit of what came to be a feature a
little later of the Second Sophistic: an antiquarian fascination with (Homeric)
details in genres not necessarily concerned with such learning.76 Moreover, as
both poems are based on medical expertise, they portray a fascinating con-
nection between technical matter, an audience of cultured men of letters, and

73  Clearchus, cited by Athenaeus (10.86). For literary playfulness within a sophistic context
see Anderson 1993, 171-199.
74  That it was not uncommon for ancient doctors to be men of letters as well, is shown by
Nicias of Milete, who is repeatedly addressed by Theocritus as a physician (Id. 11.5, 28.19-
20, Ep. 8.2-3), but who is also a poet (Id. 11.6, 28.7, SH 566, HE 2755-2786). Nicander’s pre-
cursor Numenius of Heraclea appears to have been a knowledgable doctor writing poetry
(e.g. SH 593); Petrichus’ Ophiaca may have been written in elegiac couplets; Jacques 2004,
112. Andromachus, Nero’s personal doctor, left a long elegiac recipe (GDRK 62). Marcellus
of Side (GDRK 63) is praised as poet and physician in AP 7.158 (περικλυτοῦ ἰητῆρος, 1; ἡρῴῳ
μέλψαντι μέτρῳ, 8). Ionicus of Sardis is said to have been a brilliant physician and some-
time poet (οὐκοῦν οὐδὲ ποιήσεως ἀμύητος ἦν, Eun. VS 499); cf. Jacques 1979, 145-146; 2004,
112-114; 2007b, 110.
75  See Hautala 2014.
76  For the idea of learning entering genres merely as sophistic display, see e.g. Schmitz 2004
on Alciphron.

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A Riddling Recipe ? 613

versifiers linking both. Whether these poems were written by technical experts
who considered their self-representation as cultured men of letters fruitful, or
by others who found their material in pharmacological prose sources, these
poems should not be considered hermetic or esoteric, containing truths safe-
guarded against tamperers. They rather reflect the joy of a common literary
past in an elite culture of playful learning.77

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