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'Amicus Plato sed…': Fowler's New Mathematical

Reconstruction of the Mathematics of Plato's
Academy

Sabetai Unguru

To cite this article: Sabetai Unguru (2002) 'Amicus Plato sed…': Fowler's New Mathematical
Reconstruction of the Mathematics of Plato's Academy, Annals of Science, 59:2, 201-210, DOI:
10.1080/00033790110099819

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Annals of Science, 59 (2002), 201–210

Essay Review

‘Amicus Plato sed . . .’: Fowler’s New Mathematical Reconstruction of

the Mathematics of Plato’s Academy

David Fowler, The Mathematics of Plato’s Academy. A New Reconstruction, 2nd

edn. Oxford: Clarendon, 1999. xxvi+441 pp. 11 plates. £62.50. ISBN 0-19-850258- 3
(hbk).

Reviewed by
Sabetai Unguru, The Cohn Institute for the History and Philosophy of Science and
Ideas, University of Tel-Aviv, Israel

He knew perfectly well that what you call criticism is engendered by respect
and aVection, not by any feelings of aversion. (Peter Ustinov)1

Like the Druzes, like the moon, like death, like next week, the distant past is
one of those things that can enrich ignorance. It is inŽ nitely malleable and
agreeable, far more obliging than the future and far less demanding of our
eVorts. It is the famous season favored by all mythologies. (Jorge Luis Borges)2

Professor Ryle has produced a biography in which almost none of the central
facts and events has ever appeared in writing before. . . . What cannot be
re ected in short compass is the intricacy and ingenuity with which it is all
pieced together out of hints, echoes, incongruities and inconsistencies. For
there is not one explicit ancient textual basis for a single one of the substantive
statements. ‘We have to make do with straws,’ writes Professor Ryle. True,
but though we know all about making bricks without straw, this must be the
Ž rst serious attempt in history to make them with straw alone. . . . The fact is
that the materials are lacking for a biography of Plato. And, though it comes
oddly from a historian to a philosopher, I suggest that it doesn’t much matter.
(Moses I. Finley)3

‘This is an updated second edition of a very well received and controversial book,
in which the author presents a highly original interpretation of early Greek mathemat-
ics’, brags the publisher on the dust cover of the new edition. It is an essentially true
claim, although, for the sake of accuracy, I would have moved ‘very’ and placed it
before ‘controversial’; but there is no question that the interpretation, in its fullness
and detailed speciŽ city, is highly original, even if drawing on ideas put forward in

1 Dear Me (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1977), p. 266.

2 ‘I, a Jew’, in Selected Non-Fictions (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1999 ), p. 110.
3 This comes from a review by Finley of Gilbert Ryle, Plato’s Progress (Cambridge, 1966), published
in the New Statesman.

Annals of Science ISSN 0003-3790 print/ISSN 1464-505X online © 2002 Taylor & Francis Ltd
http://www.tandf.co.uk /journals
DOI: 10.1080/00033790110099819
202 Essay Review

1933 by Oskar Becker.4 What is new in this edition is an updated Bibliography, with
corresponding brief remarks in the body of the book, minor corrections and various
small additions, an enlarged dedication, including the prematurely deceased Wilbur
Knorr among the dedicatees, a new Preface, the chapter ends Addenda from the
paperback edition, a rewritten Chapter 5, three new plates, and, primarily, a new
Appendix, Chapter 10, summing up the main ideas of the proposed reconstruction
and various other lucubrations, and attempting to draw together the various strands
dealt with in this rich and exciting book; Ž nally, an Epilogue, ‘A Brief Intellectual
Biography’, dealing with the main intellectual signposts marking Fowler’s road from
mathematics to its history, beginning with his Ž rst historical article and ending with
the second edition of The Mathematics of Plato’s Academy.
There is no question that this is a book well worth reading and pondering about,
although I think that the owners of the Ž rst edition need not worry excessively
about acquiring the second, if they are short of money: they know everything
important and substantive already, which is left unchanged in the new rendition.
The book is thorough, learned, creative, written in a lively, enthusiastic, almost
visionary style, and it is divided into three main parts, containing eleven chapters.
The Ž rst part, ‘Interpretations’, containing Ž ve chapters, treats primarily Fowler’s
own interpretation of the extant Greek mathematical texts. The second, ‘Evidence’,
in two chapters, handles mainly the early manuscript tradition dealing with numbers
and fractions, while the third, ‘Later Developments’, in four chapters of unequal
length, is given over chie y to a discussion of the theory of continued fractions from
the seventeenth century onwards to Gauss, containing also the new Appendix and
Epilogue.
What is Fowler’s new interpretation? It is the expression of his unshakeable
belief that early Greek mathematics was centred around a theory of ratios and that
these ratios were handled anthypairetically , by continuous reciprocal subtraction, à
la Euclid, according to what is called the Euclidean algorithm, as it appears in
propositions X.2,3 of the Elements. What is this imperturbable belief based on? It
is based on one phrase (italicized below)5 in Book VIII, Chapter III of Aristotle’s
Topics, the context of which is as follows: ‘It seems likely that in mathematics also
the construction of geometrical Ž gures is sometimes rendered diYcult through lack
of deŽ nition, for example, in the proof that the line cutting the superŽ cies parallel
to the side of a parallelogram divides both the line and the area similarly. If the
deŽ nition of ‘‘similarly’’ is stated, the meaning immediately becomes clear; for the
areas and lines undergo the same corresponding diminution [antanairesis =anthy-
phairesis], and this is the deŽ nition of ‘‘in the same ratio’’ ’ (158b29–34).6
On this meagre evidence, Fowler erects his reconstruction with ingenuity, invent-
iveness, and the passion of a true believer. Its two sustaining pillars are the just

4 ‘Eudoxos-Studien I. Eine voreudoxische Proportionenlehre und ihre Spuren bei Aristoteles und
Euklid’, Quellen und Studien zur Geschichte der Mathematik, Astronomie und Physik, Abt. B, Studien, 2
(1933), 311–33.
5 There may be another statement implicitly relating to anthyphairesis in the Metaphysics (D 15 at
1021a5 –9), but this is far from clear.
6 This is E. S. Forster’s translation in the Loeb Classical Library edition (Cambridge, MA, 1986),
p. 699; Fowler’s translation (p. 17 ) is slightly diVerent. Incidentally, Ch. Mugler, in his Dictionnaire
Historique de la Terminologie Géométrique des Grecs (Paris, 1958 ), while pointing out that the term
anthanairesis is a hapax legomenon, translates tēn gar autēn antanairesin echei ta choria kai hai grammai
as ‘les segments de droite ont même rapport que les aires’, and goes on to explain why: ‘puisque la
recherche de la plus grande commune mesure se fait d’une manière identique pour les aires et pour les
segments’ (p. 65). That is all. Mugler’s Dictionary does not appear in Fowler’s Bibliography.
 Essay Review 203

quoted sentence from the Topics and, again, one sentence from Plato’s Parmenides :
‘Now, if an equal time is added to a greater time and to a less, the greater will
exceed the less by a smaller fraction’ (154d ).7 Fowler transcribes this statement, ‘in
a slightly more general form’ than the direct transcription of Plato’s words, as ‘. . . if
p : q<r : s then p : q<(p+r):(q+s)<r : s ’, and calls it ‘the Parmenides proposition’
(p. 41 ). Together with Aristotle’s sentence from the Topics, Plato’s remark serves
him for calculating increasingly sophisticated anthyphaireses that he needs for his
new interpretation of Greek ratio theory and, by the same token, of early Greek
mathematics as a whole.
Let us see, for clariŽ cation purposes, addressed to the innocent reader, a simple
example of anthyphairesis, formulated by Fowler’s Socrates8 as follows: ‘Tell me,
boy, what is the relationship of size between this heap of sixty stones, and that
heap of twenty-six stones?’ ( p. 24). Using the Euclidean algorithm, it is clear that,
60=2×26+8, 26=3×8 +2, 8=4×2, which tells us that 2 is the greatest common
divisor of 60 and 26. The procedure can also be applied to magnitudes and obtain
their greatest common measure, when commensurable ( X.3), or, when incommen-
surable, the process never ends ( X.2, Elements). Using common fractions, which
the Greeks never did, the former calculation can be given the following form:
60/26=2 +8/26; 26/8=3+2/8; 8/2=4. This shows the succession of coeYcients
also appearing in the representation of the algorithm as continued fraction:
60 1 1 1
=2+ =2+ =2+
26 26 1 1
3+ 3+
8 8 4
2
The original fraction (or its simpliŽ ed equal ) can easily be regained by performing
backwards the indicated operations, this meaning that one can deŽ ne ratio by means
of the coeYcients appearing in the algorithm of Euclid, or, equivalently (but historic-
ally impermissible), by its continued fraction expansion. It is, therefore, possible to
say that 60 : 26=[2,3,4]. This procedure, which always ends in the case of arithmoi,
can also be applied to lines, and will end for commensurable lines, or, lead to an
inŽ nite, but periodic, development for all the cases of incommensurable sides of
squares whose ratios are of the form ã n : ã m.
This suYces for Fowler, who uses dexterously mathematically developed, and
symbolically written, relationships between ‘The Parmenides Proposition’ and ‘The
Topics Proposition’ to establish to his own satisfaction that Book II of the Elements
is nothing but a collection of Ž gures and results meant to verify the periodicity of
the anthyphairetic expansion of incommensurable ratios of sides of squares,
ã n :ã m (p. 101 ).9 This, i.e., the use of Fowlerian algorithms for the calculation of
this ratio for various n, m, is also, by the way, what Plato must have meant by
(theoretical ) logistic. Indeed, to a very large extent, the mathematics of Plato’s
Academy was anthyphaireti c mathematics. Thus, Plato’s great emphasis on the
importance, and yet the neglect, of solid geometry in Republic VII is a direct
7 Fowler has, reasonably, ‘part’ for ‘fraction’ (p. 41 ).
8 As an integral part of his reconstruction, Fowler enriches and enlarges the Meno considerably.
9 It is also, not surprisingly, through the all-powerful anthyphairesis that Fowler solves the question
of side and diagonal numbers, by means of the so-called Pell equation, x2­ ny2=±1 and deals with
Archimedes’ cattle problem through the equation nx ­ my=1, claiming that the equations are mere
convenience devices which are easily replaceable by ordinary language (p. 60 ).
204 Essay Review

expression of the fact that the anthyphairetic expansion of ã 3 2 :1 is not periodic(!),

which makes the problem of duplicating the cube and ‘counting it up’ (p. 114)
intractable.
However, this is not all, since Fowler believes that what he calls ‘Academic
Astronomy’ is an undertaking that is also graspable by means of an ‘anthyphairetic
understanding of astronomical ratios’ (p. 124). Moreover, ‘Academic Music Theory’
too, dealt with in a confessedly speculative and highly sophisticated subchapter, that
also includes a discussion of compounding ratios and of the Sectio Canonis
(pp. 125–48), reveals, at least partially, its secrets, when accessed by means of
logistike, i.e. anthyphairesis, which turns out to be the clavis universalis of early
Greek mathematics.10
According to Fowler, Book X of the Elements is nothing but the embodiment
of a qualitative classiŽ cation of certain lines by means of anthyphairetic ratios of
‘sides of squares’: ‘The implied underlying theme of the book is some qualitative
description of the ratios of certain kinds of lines, and [the] words rhētos and alogos
are indeed referring speciŽ cally to the ratios of lines. . . . The idea of ratio that
underlies Book X is . . . anthyphairetic ’ (p. 190). When these ‘sides of squares’, ã n,
ã m, are commensurable à la Euclid, i.e. either in length or in square, their anthyphai -
retic expansion is either Ž nite or periodic, and they are expressible, rhētos, by means
of ratios, while the others, which are inexpressible, incommensurable, alogos, without
ratio, such as ã 3 n and ã 3 m, have an interminable, non-periodic expansion.11
Anthyphairesi s helps us also to explain convincingly, thinks Fowler, the Euclidean
stricture on constructions by means of ruler (straight line) and compass (circle)
alone. After all, only quadratic problems are so constructible and only such problems
have ‘nice’, i.e. Ž nite, or inŽ nitely periodic, anthyphaireses. The conclusion is in-
escapable. Clearly, ruler and compass are the only kosher tools because of the
anthyphairetic origin of the Elements: ‘I propose [that] the bias of the Elements
towards ruler-and-compas s constructions and its exclusion of neusis-constructions
may be a consequence of its anthyphairetic origins. . . . [ T ]he apparent concern for
ruler-and-compas s constructions in the Elements may well be the in uence of the
language developed around the successful treatment of anthyphairetic phenomena,
and the absence of higher degree constructions may re ect the paucity, even today,
of any anthyphairetic results about anything other than linear or quadratic
phenomena’ (pp. 288–89).
There is much more in the book, some of it non-controversial ,12 and a lot of
very valuable information on mathematical manuscripts, including papyri, on trans-
mission, translation, calculation with fractions, continued fractions, etc., but what
precedes should suYce to give an accurate impression of the originality and sweep

10 This subchapter is especially distinguished by wild speculations, anachronism, sometimes acknow-

ledged (‘I beg the reader to ignore any distortions of chronology . . .’ (p. 126)), and daring risk-taking
even for a skilful mathematical historian: ‘My reason for introducing non-Euclidean Geometry is to bring
the little set of dialogues [authored by Fowler and playing a central role in his reconstruction, in which
Meno’s slaveboy carries on sophisticated mathematical dialogues with Socrates, Eudoxus, Archytas, and
an Accountant(!)] . . . in a full circle . . . and so point to a further level of mathematical subtlety underlying
Socrates’ example of doubling a square in the Meno’ (p. 148).
11 Saying that ã 3 n and ã 3 m are commensurable in cube will not help, since their anthyphairetic ratio
is alogos.
12 An example of this is Fowler’s rightful insistence that the concept of common fractions was foreign
to the Greeks, that Greek geometry is non-arithmetized and, therefore, any arithmetized treatment of
Book X, say, like that of Stevin, in terms of surds, should be rejected, that there is no evidence of a
foundational crisis following the discovery of incommensurable magnitudes, etc.
 Essay Review 205

of Fowler’s interpretation and of its main ingredients. According to it, then, Greek
mathematics started with the problem of the dimension of squares and it developed
an anthyphairetic algorithm to deal with the problem. The algorithm led to the
‘appearance of a compelling pattern’, periodicity, ‘followed by the realization of the
need for a proof’, since approximation, no matter how good, is no proof for the
Greeks. This eventually led to ‘a complete change of technique, viewpoint, and
language’, and to ‘the turn towards geometry’, which ‘becomes a theory in its own
right’ (this is the Greek geometry we know), ‘and only vestiges remain of the original
problems, which may be forgotten’ (p. 373). How convincing, then, is this, not
entirely novel, interpretation? The remainder of this essay will be devoted to
answering this question.
As historians of mathematics, we must deal with the written mathematical record.
This is where our information comes from. This is our only source. When we frame
hypotheses, an unavoidable, necessary interpretive process, they should be consistent
with, and draw sustenance from, the historical record. Basically, David Fowler’s
historical methodology lives up to those standards. However, anthyphairesis is
introduced by him Deus ex machina like into the Greek mathematical corpus to
explain an alleged earlier lost stage in the development of mathematics, wholly
unlike the one in our preserved texts. For it is a fact that there is not one speciŽ c,
particular anthyphairesis in the known Greek mathematical corpus. Moreover,
except Aristotle’s sentence in the Topics, no other ancient Greek thinker, philosopher
or mathematician alike, has anything to say about an anthyphairetic deŽ nition of
ratio. This state of aVairs is not normal, making Fowler’s hypothesis problematic,
and demanding a satisfactory answer.
I Ž nd Fowler’s answer unsatisfactory. Let it be stated, however, from the outset
that there is nothing absurd or impossible with Fowler’s interpretation. It is simply,
I think, literally incredible, historically unlikely. That is all. I shall try to justify this
assessment.
Fowler is in love with his Ž ndings and yet fully aware of the dubious character
of his interpretation. He asks: ‘. . . the single most serious objection to the reconstruc-
tions of early Greek mathematics developed here must be that if the exploration of
ratio theories in general and anthyphairesi s in particular did play a role such as I
have proposed, then why do our sources, both early and late, not refer to these
topics?’ (p. 394). Indeed, why? His answer, stretching over almost eight full pages
(pp. 394–401), is a valiant, but vain, eVort, I believe, to respond to various criticisms,
some of them levelled at his book in its Ž rst edition. Let us analyse succinctly his
answer. ‘First,13 our sources are not silent [!]. Some of them may be explicitly
referring to these topics if only we could understand them [emphasis provided ]’. This
strikes me as a non sequitur. Do they or do they not refer explicitly to ‘these topics’?
How can we know, if we do not understand them? Also, if we do not, how does
Fowler understand them? The passage goes on: ‘in other cases, we get a comprehens-
ive and straightforward explanation of otherwise perplexing features when the mat-
erial is explained from this point of view [emphasis provided ]’, i.e. ‘if only we interpret
[it] correctly’. Amazing, but that is what is said: evidence for anthyphairesis is
obtained by interpreting the sources adequately and insightfully, i.e. anthyphairet-
ically. Who would deny that?
‘[ T ]he only mathematically meaningful explanation of the basic distinction
between the rhēte and alogoi lines . . . that I know is the one based on
13 There is no ‘second’, ‘third’, ‘fourth’, etc., despite the length of the answer.
206 Essay Review

anthyphairesis . . .’. This is not so. C. M. Taisbak’s Coloured Quadrangles: A Guide

to the Tenth Book of Euclid’s Elements, reviewed by Fowler, is an illuminating
explanation of Book X, including, of course, the rhēte and alogoi lines without any
appeal to anthyphairesis. Fowler’s own understanding of Book X is heavily in u-
enced by Taisbak’s: ‘My geometrical descriptions [in the chapter dealing with, among
other things, Book X ] will be based on the treatment in Taisbak[’s book], to which
I shall add an anthyphaireti c motivation’ (p. 152); quite an addition. So it goes on:
‘. . . Plato may tell us a great deal more about this ‘‘ratio theory’’, in his many
references, if only we interpret him correctly’ (my emphasis, p. 394). This is, again,
a funny tautological sequitur: Plato may tell us a lot about an anthyphairetic ratio
theory, if only we interpret his many references as references to anthyphairesis.
Of course.
Furthermore, Fowler’s references to Nicomachus and later Arab commentators
are pointless, as are those to Archimedes, the Antikythera mechanism, etc., because
ultimately circular.
Fowler feels uncomfortable: ‘Nevertheless, the situation is curious. If anthyphair-
esis . . . did provide an impetus to the development of mathematics, as in my
reconstruction, then why does nobody tell us this more clearly?’ (p. 395). Indeed,
why? Why is the historical record undeŽ led by anthyphairesis à la Fowler? As far
as I can see, the lengthy ruminations following this crucial self-questioning do not
provide a convincing argument for explaining this ‘deplorable’ historical state of
aVairs.
Granted, Greek mathematicians were not a homogeneous group. So what? They
may have lacked time to leave ‘a clear and correct historical account’ of their work
(ibid.). So what? Granted, the ancient Greek mathematical record is badly incomplete
and its interpretation controversial. So what? How is this condition supportive of
anthyphairesis as the central ingredient of early Greek mathematics? It is not.
Yes, ‘. . . the study of continued fractions, our version of anthyphairetic ratio
theory, runs broad and deep through our mathematical heritage since the
Renaissance, [and ] some of the most in uential and celebrated mathematicians have
drawn inspiration from, and made contributions to, the theory, and . . . its properties
lie behind some well-known and widely studied parts of mathematics today.’ So
what? How and why is the omission of any serious discussion of the history of
continued fractions from standard histories of mathematics a serious argument for
the absence of anthyphairesis from the ancient Greek record? I submit it is not,
since it argues e silentio and by analogy. Nor is it a serious argument to insinuate
that the record is innocent of anthyphairesis, because it belonged to the informal,
oral activity of Greek mathematicians (pp. 396–97).
‘[M ]any of the explorations and algorithms I have described . . . simply cannot
be expressed within the constraints of this formal Euclidean style . . . it is not easy
to see how to give a deductive proof of these results without using the machinery
of symbolic algebra and complete induction [!!!], let alone to see how this . . . could
be expressed in formal Euclidean style’ (pp. 397–98). This is certainly true and it is
why, I think, it is highly unlikely that we are dealing with ancient Greek stuV.
Fowler goes on: ‘This then becomes the kind of material that belongs to the
mathematician’s craft, the everyday skills that are learnt orally, which are an essential
part of his trade, but which often die along with the community that is investigating
a particular corner of mathematics’ (p. 398). Although this may be true, in the
present context it strikes me as a gratuitous, ad hoc assumption meant to save the
 Essay Review 207

cherished, undocumented hypothesis, namely, the existence of an unwritten anthy-

phairetic mathematical theory. If it is unwritten, it is not open to historical inquiry.
Finally, coming to the end of the lengthy reply to the self-asked question, Why
is there no evidence, Fowler remarks: ‘[I ]f . . . early Greek mathematics was non-
arithmetized, then we may not be able to understand or translate its motivations
and some of its methods into our arithmetized point of view. So there would be a
tendency for it to be misunderstood from the second century BC onwards’ (p. 400).
What is the point of this remark? If it is meant to emphasize the impossibility of
grasping Greek mathematics from within a non-Greek, ‘arithmetized’ point of view,
then I think Fowler is right. However, his implied message is broader: since our
only way of understanding the mathematical past is through our mathematical
present, and since this will not work, historical understanding, at least of this speciŽ c
anthyphairetic issue, is inachievable. With this conclusion I respectfully disagree. As
historians we live and die with the highly diYcult and problematic attempt of
understanding the (mathematical ) past in its own right, or, as Fowler would put it,
from its own point of view. I do not deem this eVort fruitless in principle. It is a
fact that, before Fowler’s anthyphairesis, a lot of historically pleasing writing on
Greek mathematics, including ratio theory, has been published, which Fowler does
not like, but which, on the whole, was more approbatory of the extant evidence
than is anthyphaireti c theory. Simply put, we are not powerless when faced with the
preserved Greek mathematical record, and we should not raise our hands in despair
and stop objecting to anthyphairesis, which, allegedly, explains a vanished, non-
textual tradition, to which Fowler has somehow access, and which gave birth, in
immaculate fashion, to the extant Greek geometrical tradition. Furthermore, I
believe Fowler’s achievement (and an achievement it is) in displaying the remarkable
mathematical powers of anthyphairesis stems ultimately from an arithmetized
approach to Greek mathematics, translated post factum into geometrical language,
by adapting it to the extant Greek geometric texts.
‘So while I can understand a skeptical reader remaining worried by the lack of
any clear and explicit anthyphairetic explanation of early Greek mathematics in the
last two thousand and more years [!], I cannot agree that this absence is fatal to my
reconstruction’ (ibid.). Too bad.
Still, what is this steadfast belief based on? First and foremost, on the speculative,
ahistorical character of the competitive interpretations. It is, Fowler says, in the
nature of all explanations of the matter at hand to be speculative, so why not
another speculation, which is, moreover, not ahistorical? He is aware that his own
interpretation ‘may be irrelevant or wrong’, but thinks plausible rational reconstruc-
tions like his are all one can attempt for non-documented episodes in the history of
mathematics (p. 401). He goes on: ‘In a subject with the logical coherence of
mathematics, there is a tendency for the mathematical reconstruction to precede
and determine the biographical reconstruction’ (ibid.). This is doubly the case with
historical (not just ‘biographical’) reconstructions of past mathematics. Indeed, I
believe Fowler’s own reconstruction is a case in point for a mathematically motivated
reconstruction of early Greek mathematics. Had this not been the case, I cannot see
how Fowler could have written his book.
Plato’s Meno is not suYcient for Fowler. He enriches the Platonic text with
newly invented dialogues between the slaveboy and Socrates, Eudoxus, Archytas,
and an Accountant. These new dialogues are crucial and constitutive of Fowler’s
reconstruction, they develop his anthyphairetic ideas, and then force them into the
208 Essay Review

Greek mathematical mould. That this is possible Fowler’s book shows convincingly.
However, I am afraid this says little, very little, about genuine Greek mathematics.14
What it does show is that it is possible, although not always easy, to bend the theory
of continued fractions and to make it somehow Ž t the cast and temperament of
Greek mathematics. What is required, however, for a historical reconstruction is to
show how, starting with the Greek text, innocent of any knowledge of continued
fractions, or anthyphairesis, one is led naturally, without importing any non-Greek
ideas and procedures, to the complicated rules and operations Ž lling Fowler’s book,
none of which is extant in the mathematical corpus relevant to his mathematical
reconstruction.
That the preceding paragraph is a fair description of Fowler’s historiography is
abundantly clear to any careful, historically minded, reader of his book. Just a
couple of examples, drawn at will, should suYce. There is no Euclidean theory of
disproportion in Elements VII, but Fowler needs one; so, he patches one up, by
inventing new deŽ nitions, propositions, etc., ‘extend[ing] a proposition into a new
deŽ nition’ ( p. 42), and thus enriching what we have, modifying and/or generalizing
extant propositions, giving for them symbolic proofs (which he considers mere
abbreviations for rhetorically possible statements) , and thus reaching conclusions
which he deems supportive of his (ahistorical ) reading of ancient Greek texts
(pp. 42–43).
Having  exed his mathematical muscles with anthyphairesis for the Ž rst three
chapters, according to his idiosyncratic standards of what is permissible when dealing
with Greek texts containing no anthyphairetic calculations, Fowler says: ‘It is, I
hope, now clear that it is possible to handle exact calculations, ratios of incommen-
surable magnitudes, approximations , and other such manipulations without tran-
scending any of the restrictions on the arithmoi . . .’ (p. 109). Indeed, it is, but not
for an ancient Greek. He continues with the supremely valid statement, ‘The essential
liberating step comes from rejecting the techniques and preoccupations of our own
present-day brand of arithmetized mathematics, . . . and developing in its place
techniques more suited to the Greek context’ (ibid.), as if to show that genuine
historical considerations can lead one to totally unacceptable, ahistorical conclusions:
‘The study of ratio is intimately bound up with the use and manipulations of the
arithmoi; in fact [?] ratios are characterized [by whom?] by various kinds of patterns
that can be described by sequences of numbers. [ Who says that? Certainly, no
Greek.] In this manner arithmētike and logistikē enter in a fundamental way. As
Plato says: ‘‘Is it not true of them that every art and science must necessarily partake
of them?’’ ’ (ibid.). The inescapable impression one gets from this brief passage is
that Plato subscribed to an anthyphairetic deŽ nition of ratio. While I believe that
this is not a conscious insinuation, the insidiousness of the procedure is obvious.15
It is also obvious that Fowler’s guiding light, in his numerous reconstructions
spread throughout the book, is mathematical not historical. A case in point is
supplied by his discussion of the circumdiameter and side of the pentagon.16 ‘It is

14 Fowler himself is sometimes ambiguous about these matters. Thus, the dialogue between the boy
and Archytas contains an arithmetic and geometry totally unlike their Greek counterparts, which, for
example, admit of (1) the multiplication of two lines to obtain a rectangle, (2) multiplication of fractions,
etc. There is even a questioning of the validity of Euclidean geometry (p. 132 ). On the one hand, Fowler
knows that such speculations are non-Greek, but on the other hand, he sees them, somehow, as warranted
by the Greek mathematical materials (p. 148).
15 There are other examples of this misleading procedure, for instance, on pages 116–17.
16 There are many, many more, e.g. pages 156–57, 195 (note 10), 277–78, 301–02, etc.
 Essay Review 209

not that Euclid is unable or unwilling to articulate this kind of result.17 We can
write these formulae as ã (10(r/2 )2±rä ã 5(r/2)2 and describe them [my emphasis],
within the idiom of Books II or XIII 1–5 . . .’ (p. 154).18 ‘Euclid suppresses[!] all of
the numerical constants that give essence to our evaluations and enunciates only
qualitative results’ (p. 155). How does Fowler know that Euclid suppresses numerical
information? Why should he? It is abundantl y clear that Fowler knows precisely
what he is after, through the use of what are, to my mind, faulty historical means,
and that he, post factum, translates his conclusions into Greek geometrical language.
This, in and of itself, says nothing about the Greek procedures.
This essay is long, but I think the book, which I deem important, deserves it. It
is a mathematically imaginative tour de force, but not a proper historical reconstruc-
tion. Be that as it may, it is time to wrap things up. In a fair and balanced survey
article, J. L. Berggren says (and I wholeheartedly agree, since it fully applies to
Fowler’s book too), referring to Knorr’s contributions to the history of the Greek
theory of proportion:19 ‘It is, after all, a hazardous business to reconstruct a theory
on the basis of arguments that, being entirely inferential, are unsupported by extant
testimonia.’20 Also, speaking of Fowler’s initial articles on anthyphairesis, which are
substantively part and parcel of the book under review, Berggren remarks: ‘As for
Fowler’s . . . point, that an anthyphairetic theory of ratios gives us a means of
interpreting what seem to be cryptic references in Plato, one can agree with him
that it does provide an interpretation, while still wondering about the validity of
interpretations that see in the Charmides 116A [sic; should actually be 166A] ‘‘Thus
reckoning (logistikē), I suppose, is concerned with the even and odd in their numerical
relations to themselves and one another . . .’’ ’ a reference to the fact that ‘the
ordering by size of two ratios (expressed as continued fractions) does not follow a
simple lexigographical rule . . . but has this rule reversed in the odd-numbere d places
of the anthyphairetic sequence . . .’ ( ibid., p. 400). Absolutely!
I believe Fowler’s conviction that his reconstruction is not arithmetized is not
entirely convincing. Actually, I think his reconstruction is possible only while switch-
ing freely between an arithmetized account and its geometrical counterpart, a con-
tinuous shifting between these representations which is actually guided by an
arithmetized way of thinking, all this contrary to his many confessions of faith,
which set his reconstruction against the ‘arithmeticians’. In the same vein, although
continued fractions are dealt with only in Chapter 9, it seems obvious (and there is
as explicit a confession of this as one can hope for, on p. 303) that knowledge of,
and familiarity with, continued fractions, and their arithmetic and algebraic idiom,
served actually as the genetic impulse for Fowler’s reconstruction of ‘The
Mathematics of Plato’s Academy’. Strange as it is to Ž nd a chapter as Chapter 9 in
a reconstruction of Greek mathematics, its inclusion seems to serve, unwittingly,
beyond its declared purpose, both as a warning sign for the ahistoricity of the
reconstruction and as an indicator of its mathematical genesis and delayed,
anachronous historical use.
This is also the place to say a word about the capacity of Fowler’s interpretation
to unify so many apparently ‘disparate’ threads in Greek mathematics. There is

17 ‘[S ]ide of pentagon=r/2ã (10­ 2ã 5) diagonal of pentagon=r/2ã (10+2v5)’ (p. 154).

18 For the sake of completeness, cf. the whole discussion on pages 152–61.
19 W. R. Knorr’s work brought Fowler to the history of Greek mathematics.
20 ‘History of Greek Mathematics: A Survey of Recent Research’, Historia Mathematica, 11 (1984),
394–410 (p. 399) .
210 Essay Review

nothing miraculous about this and it should not necessarily be seen as illustrative
of the historical strength and adequacy of this interpretation. It uniŽ es and integrates
because it is the outgrowth of a unifying non-Greek super theory, the theory of
continued fractions, which, as Fowler himself confesses, takes Greek ingredients,
but Ž ts them ‘together to create a completely diVerent picture’, ‘developing . . . ideas
[which] take . . . us into a diVerent world’ (p. 369).
It is not easy to read this greatly challenging book, since Fowler has so much to
say in favour of his interpretation that he leaves many things unsaid where they
belong, sending the reader to later chapters, where the main topic dealt with is
diVerent, deferring important considerations in medias res, for later in the same
chapter, but in another paragraph, repeatedly ‘encouraging’ the reader to do things
on his own, etc., all this making this generally well-written book non-reader-friendl y
and somewhat chaotic in its organization. Add to this the numerous topics not
directly related to the main subject of the book, together with the inherent diYculties
of the mathematical calculations involved, and you are faced with sensible diYculties
for mastering the necessary details of the argument.
I Ž nd the style sometimes too metaphorical, allusive, ‘dreamy’ (pp. 393–94), too
oppressively suggestive for my tastes, and rebarbative for a true historical argument.
Also, strangely, new misprints have occurred for correctly printed words in the Ž rst
edition. However, all in all, the book is a serious challenge for any historian of
Greek mathematics.
This essay is, needless to say, my personal view of Fowler’s book. Its contents,
I believe, will not surprise Fowler, who is my friend. It represents my best judgement.
In this context, I can do no better than quote Friedhelm Neidhardt:
Book reviews are indeed Ž rst, and often unfortunately foremost, instructive
about their authors, and this to such an extent that, at least in the humanities
and social sciences, one should advise all appointment committees to read
carefully, if nothing else, the reviews written by the candidate. In reviews one
can discern not only what standards their author has, but also, and more so,
how he handles these standards. In reviews it is apparent if, and to what
extent, the reviewer is able, and willingly in the position, not to take only
himself seriously. Writing a good review is always also a question of character.21

21 ‘Würdigung. Laudatio zur Verleihung des Arthur-Burhardt-Preises 1991 an Renate Mayntz’, Kölner
Zeitschrift für Soziologie und Sozialpsychologi e, 43(2 ) (1991) , 402–04 (pp. 402–03). I thank Ba for
bringing this wonderful passage to my attention.