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Clearly transitional between the Eclogues and the Aeneid, this poem shows generic strain in its second half, especially in the proem to Book 3 with its anticipation of martial epic, and in the Aristaeus section at the end of Book 4, where the interplay of questions of literary form and political commitment is brilliantly explored (Homeric, neoteric, Hesiodic, Hellenistic).

This chapter considers the influence of a performance mode depicted by Homer — Demodocus the singer surrounded by a dancing circle — upon the phonological and semantic features of Homeric verse. A circle dance is a locus of conjuration and chanted noun-and-epithet phrases, delimited metrically by the turning points of the dance, become uniquely evocative ‘choral signifiers’. Paolo Vivante’s aesthetic theory of these phrases thereby receives a grounding in attested performance practice, although ‘choral theory’ is required to account for both the poetics and the aesthetics of Homeric verse. The effects of a non-linguistic dance rhythm upon Homeric and Hesiodic phonology, morphology, and diction are discussed. It is shown that ‘poetic license’ is a necessary component in an honest analysis of epic usage. Gregory Nagy’s derivation of the hexameter from smaller, later lyric metrical segments is critiqued in light of Pierre Chantraine’s observation that the Greek language is demonstrably maladapted to the hexameter, as is not the case with lyric metres. The choral signifier cannot be reduced to a purely linguistic phenomenon.

The two creation accounts are pervaded by the complementarities: time and space; humanity as in the image of God, and humanity as made of clay; humanity as ruling the earth, and humanity as serving the earth; the divinity as transcendent (Elohim), and the divinity as closer to earth (YHWH Elohim), and so on. Even in the first words (1:1; 2:4b):“In the beginningGodcreatedthe heavens and the earth.”

“On the dayYHWH God madeearth and heavens.”

each word or phrase of the second line involves a precise complementarity with the first. It reflects the first, but in a down‐to‐earth way. The two accounts do not warrant the reconstruction of two hypothetical sources (P and J, priestly and Yahwistic, as in the documentary theory). Rather, the two accounts form a diptych, a single harmonious picture that is true to the complexity of creation. The account of the creation of woman (2:18–23) counterbalances the misogynistic account of Hesiod.

This chapter examines two passages in which characters catalogue women or heroines (Iliad 14.315–28, Odyssey 11.225–329). In the first (Zeus recounts his past erotic conquests), the discussion continues to focus on the divine perspective implied in the catalogue form and how it is undermined, in this case through the humor of the whole episode (Dios apate). In the second case (Odysseus’s catalogue of the famous women he saw in Hades) the emphasis is on how the catalogue reflects the hero’s limitations both as a viewer and as a speaker or poet. These catalogues also have a kind of paradigmatic tendency and threaten to impose a pattern or interpretation on the narrative in which they appear; yet in each case, formal or rhetorical properties of the catalogue distort or undermine that tendency. In both cases, the discussion considers whether Homer interacts directly with a Hesiodic tradition of catalogue poetry.

Chapter 1 takes as its starting point the end of the Theogony, a conclusion that has been troubling to both ancient and modern scholars. At line 963, the poet invokes the Muses and sings about one subset of divinities, the goddesses who lie with and have children by mortal men. While many contend that the Theogony proper ends at some point before the catalogue of goddesses, I argue that the end as we have it is genuinely Hesiodic and look at how this interpretation affects the meaning of the Theogony. The conclusion of the Theogony encapsulates an essential truth about the poem and about ancient Greek culture: men acquire names and histories when they become objects of desire for goddesses, and ritual becomes established when Aphrodite chooses Phaethon as her temple keeper. The narrative of the Theogony is thus framed by two different versions of nympholepsy, which in turn recapitulate both the poetic and the cultic manifestations of the phenomenon. From an ancient Greek’s perspective, the catalogue of goddesses—and, more specifically, the goddesses’ interest in mortal men—represents the beginnings of human history.

This chapter looks for a deeper affinity between Plato and Hesiod in this study of the myth of the races of man in the Republic. The central idea is that Plato does not just ‘rework’ the Hesiodic narrative of the five races, but reads its contribution to the Works and Days as an antecedent to, and a model for, his own, self-critical practice of philosophy. In this sense, it can ask us to think of Hesiod's races as ‘our own’ too (546e): they set the pattern for our continued philosophical reflection.

This chapter takes the Timaeus-Critias as the basis for an exploration of the way in which Plato constructs his own, philosophical ‘epic’ by developing and improving Hesiodic rhapsody. It argues that two principles in particular guide Plato's creative reception of Hesiod: the ‘moralizing’ rule (exemplified in the justice of the operation of the ‘will of Zeus’ in Plato), and the ‘broadening’ rule (exemplified in the more comprehensive nature of the creation account of the Timaeus).

This chapter explores in detail how Plato's creation narrative in the Timaeus is presented as a ‘scientific’ reworking of the Theogony, taking up and transforming the primal figures from that work, and central polarities embodied by them (especially male/female).

This chapter asks what the Theogony can teach us about the advent of evil in the Timaeus, and in so doing, uncovers a ‘a remarkably deep isomorphism’ between the two texts: both, for example, introduce first the potential for evil (Hesiodic Chaos and its descendants, Platonic matter) and then its realization (Hesiodic and Platonic woman).

This chapter looks at Timaeus 41a, where the demiurge addresses the gods, and shows how Hesiodic reminiscences enable Plato to combine the need for a memorable account with a claim to superior sophistication. Hesiod's well-known etymology dia (‘through’) = Dia (Zeus) triggers an intellectual journey from Hesiodic poetry to a Platonic understanding of the world.

The central myth of the Politicus, concerning the cyclical nature of the cosmos, has been the subject of much exegetical controversy. This chapter explores the passage within the wider context of Greek Golden Age imagery (from Hesiod to Attic Comedy), and defends the view that Plato's myth describes two (not three) stages of cosmic development. Plato's message is that in neither state of the cosmos can the art of statesmanship be perfectly exemplified.

This chapter defends (partly against El Murr in this volume) a reading of the Politicus myth as describing three phases to the cosmos, from the world under Kronos, via a transitional second phase, to the present regime of Zeus. It suggests a reason why Plato might have chosen not to remove the ambiguities that underlie the controversy this myth has aroused: the myth springs a trap for Athenian readers eager to fall back on their own misguided sense of superiority.

This chapter argues that Hesiod shapes the history of his own reception by way of an elaborate biographical narrative, leading his readers from a conception of knowledge as Muse-inspired poetry in the Theogony, to one that centres on the human world and which must be acquired through reflection and personal experience, in the Works and Days. This vision of intellectual progress informed the reception of Hesiod in classical Athens, and may also have had a role in the wider intellectual developments of the 5th and 4th centuries BC.

This chapter argues that Hesiod's praise of one form of eris (‘strife’) makes him a symbol and archetype for what Plato sees as the unproductive squabbling of much subsequent philosophical debate. His own philosophical methodology, underpinned by the assonant language of eros, is presented as a transformation of this eris, a transformation which retains what is positive in its drive for progress, while freeing itself of its tendency to polemic for polemic's sake.

This chapter surveys the relationship between Homer and Hesiod in Plato's work, focusing on the ways in which different Platonic characters portray and invoke the two poets. Tabulating and analysing Platonic allusions to Hesiod, it concludes that Plato depicts Socrates as a lover of Homer, whereas his interlocutors draw more freely on Hesiod. Moreover, there appears to be a tendency among Platonic speakers to be more optimistic about the truth of ‘Homeric’ myths (i.e. myths constructed from Homeric elements) than that of ‘Hesiodic’ ones.

This chapter shows that Plato's view of Hesiod is shaped not only by a critical tradition that pairs him with Homer, but also by sophistic appropriations of a more specific kind. Prodicus in particular, with his concern for the ‘correctness of names’, recognized Hesiod as an intellectual ancestor. More generally, Hesiod could be appropriated to represent particular philosophical interests, including etymology and epistemological atomism. As such, he became a convenient target for Plato's attacks on those approaches.

This chapter places Plato's use of Hesiod in broader contexts, from rhapsodic performances to public speeches. It argues that Hesiodic poetry formed a battleground for sexual politics in the 4th century BC, and that Plato's reception of Hesiod is fundamentally bound up with ongoing debates about education. In this context, quotable lines from Hesiod could take on a life entirely of their own.

This chapter examines the extent to which Hesiodic poetry became associated with specific contexts of reading, from the courts to school-room teaching and philosophical debate. The Theogony and Works and Days acquired a very different Sitz im Leben by the time Plato encountered them. Indeed, their very status as texts ‘in their own right’ (i.e. outside specific contexts of consumption), and the idea of an overarching Hesiodic oeuvre, appear to have become rather less important to many readers than the traditions and institutions of reading that had accrued around specific passages.

Starting from the song of Phemius in Odyssey 1, with the divergent reactions to it of the suitors, Penelope, and Telemachus, this chapter introduces some of the competing views of poetry which developed in ancient Greek culture. In particular, it formulates the book's organizing contrast between the values of ‘ecstasy’ (poetic experience as a transformative act of imaginative and emotional engagement) and ‘truth’ (whether descriptive or normative). In considering ideas of poetry's relationship to reality, the chapter also poses the complex question whether ancient Greeks had a concept of fiction. The themes of the book are illustrated through two preliminary case studies: the Muses' message to Hesiod in the Theogony, and the counterpoint between poetry and history in Thucydides. There is also a full synopsis of the remaining chapters.