Nicknames

I

Satyros from Thasos, nicknamed Griffinfox (Γρυπαλώπηξ).* When he was around 25 years old, he started having frequent wet dreams. It happened to him often during the day, as well. Around the time he turned 30, he became consumptive and died.

Σάτυρος ἐν Θάσῳ παρωνύμιον ἐκαλεῖτο Γρυπαλώπηξ* περὶ ἔτεα ἐὼν πέντε καὶ εἴκοσιν, ἐξωνείρωσσε πολλάκις. προῄει δ’ αὐτῷ καὶ δι’ ἡμέρης πλεονάκις· γενόμενος δὲ περὶ ἔτεα τριήκοντα φθινώδης ἐγένετο καὶ ἀπέθανεν.

Hippocrates, Epidemics 6.8.29, 5.354 Littré (nb: I’ve given Smith’s text)

Στρυμάργου: Dioscorides knows this reading, as well—not only Στομάργου [see IV below]. He doesn’t interpret this one as a proper name, either; instead, he says it indicates someone with manic excitement about sex. For many other epithets are also mentioned in Hippocrates in the same way, like Μυοχάνη, Σαράπους, Γρυπαλώπηξ.* But even in Erasistratos, he says, [we find] ῥινοκολοῦρος.

Στρυμάργου: οἶδε καὶ ταύτην τὴν γραφὴν ὁ Διοσκουρίδης, οὐ μόνον τὴν Στομάργου, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῦτο οὐχ ὡς κύριον ὄνομα ἐξηγεῖται, ἀλλὰ τὸν μανικῶς ἐπτοημένον, περὶ τὰ ἀφροδίσια δηλοῦσθαί φησιν. εἰρῆσθαι γὰρ παρὰ τῷ Ἱπποκράτει καὶ ἄλλα πολλὰ κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον ἐπίθετα, καθάπερ Μυοχάνη, Σαράπους, Γρυπαλώπηξ. ἀλλὰ καὶ παρ' Ἐρασιστράτῳ φησὶν ὁ ῥινοκολοῦρος.

Galen, Glossary of Hippocrates’ Terminology, 19.142 K.

*γρυπαλώπηξ: γρύψ (griffin) + ἀλώπηξ (fox). γρύψ enters English as both the griffin and the wyvern, a bipedal dragon.

II

Raw and liquid feces are checked with solid millet cooked in oil—like the sailor-boy and <Myriochaune or the woman with her mouth open or> the joking-woman.

Τὰ ὠμὰ διαχωρήματα καὶ ὑγρὰ κέγχρος στερεὸς ἐν ἐλαίῳ ἑφθὸς ἵστησιν, οἷον τὸ ναυτοπαίδιον, καὶ ἡ Μυριοχαύνη.

Hippocrates, Epidemics 2.1.12, 5.82 Littré (Smith’s text)

Μηριοχάνη: a woman's name.

†Μηριοχάνη· ὄνομα γυναικός.

Erotian, Collection of Words used by Hippocrates, μ 2 (59,8 Nachmanson)

Μυοχάνη: epithet of a woman with her mouth open. But if Μυριοχαύνη is written, she would be a woman who makes lots of jokes.

Μυοχάνη: ἐπίθετον χασκούσης. εἰ δὲ Μυριοχαύνη γράφοιτο, ἡ ἐπὶ μυρίοις ἂν εἴη χαινουμένη.

Galen, Glossary of Hippocrates’ Terminology, 19.142 K.

III

Serapis <or the woman with her toes splayed> was swollen from a moist belly. Itching started—I don’t know on what day. No progress. She had an abscess in her waist; when it blackened, she died.

Ἡ Σεράπις ἐξ ὑγρῆς κοιλίης ᾤδησεν· κνησμοὶ δ' οὐκ οἶδα ποσταίῃ, οὐ πρόσω· ἔσχε δ’ ἔτι καὶ ἀπόστημα ἐν κενεῶνι, ὅπερ μελανθὲν ἀπέκτεινεν.

Hippocrates, Epidemics 2.2.3, 5.84 Littré (Smith’s text)

Σαράπους: A woman having the toes of her feet spread out and splayed.

Σαράπους: ἡ διασεσηρότας καὶ διεστῶτας ἔχουσα τοὺς δακτύλους τῶν ποδῶν.

Galen, Glossary of Hippocrates’ Terminology, 19.142 K.

IV

And <the Babbling-Woman or> the wife of Stymarges, after a confusion lasting a few days, was very constipated. She aborted a female child after the constipation, was healthy for four months, then became swollen.

Καὶ ἡ Στυμάργεω ἐκ ταραχῆς ὀλιγημέρου πολλὰ στήσασα, καὶ παιδίου μετὰ στάσιν θήλεος ἀποφθορῆς τετραμήνου ὑγιήνασα, ᾤδησεν.

Hippocrates, Epidemics 2.2.4, 5.84-6 Littré (Smith’s text and name for the woman)

Στομάργου: In the second book of the Epidemics, Dioscorides writes as follows: ‘and it refers to manic babbling,’ he says. But others write Στυμάργου and interpret it as a proper name.

Στομάργου: ἐν τῷ δευτέρῳ τῶν ἐπιδημιῶν ὁ Διοσκουρίδης οὕτως γράφει καὶ δηλοῦσθαί φησι τοῦ λαλοῦντος μανικῶς. οἱ δὲ ἄλλοι στυμάργου γράφουσι καὶ ὄνομα κύριον ἀκούουσι.

Galen, Glossary of Hippocrates’ Terminology, 19.141 K.

Recreating Democritus’ Party Tricks

I. The Recipe

A while ago, I wrote about a collection of recipes for dinner party games in the Greek magical papyri. The collection is light and frivolous, much more so than its arcane and erotic neighbours. It calls itself paignia—tricks—and it also names its author—Democritus, no less!—something most of the other medical and magical recipes avoid. I doubt anyone thinks Democritus actually wrote these recipes, but I still find the ascription curious. Democritus tends to be associated with magic and alchemy (on this, see Matteo Martelli’s work on the Pseudo-Democritus, and his faculty page + academia.edu), and he’s even sometimes presented as a physician. But these recipes aren’t magic or medicine. They’re party tricks.

Now, along with recipes for drinking without getting drunk and techniques for picking up fellow guests, the text also includes a few practical jokes. The first is a recipe for making bronze tableware look like golden, perhaps an omen of alchemy. I’ll try this one as soon as I get my hands on the materials. Materials for the second one were easier to source: it’s a recipe for making eggs look like apples.

“To make an egg that resembles an apple: having boiled the egg, coat it with a mixture of saffron and wine.”

Ὠὸν ὅμοιον μήλον γενέσθαι· ζέσας τὸ ὠὸν χρεῖε κρόκῳ μείξας μετ’ οἴνου.

PGM VII 170–171

I was recently talking about this recipe with Lucia Raggetti (faculty page, academia.edu) from the AlchemEast project at l’Università di Bologna, who inspired me to try it out. It seemed like a good way to try to understand some puzzles about the text: what kind of eggs would they have used? Did they leave the shell on, like an Easter egg? What kind of wine was it? Does the strength of the wine matter? Could we just use water? And saffron—isn’t it yellow? What kind of yellow apple is this supposed to look like? I would need to experiment.

In the end, with a suggestion from Lucia, I think we’re pretty close to understanding the recipe and getting the joke.

Here’s what I came up with:

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Democritean still life: boiled eggs coated with saffron-infused white wine, cut to resemble peaches (with abnormally large stones).

The goal of the recipe seems to be to make the whites of boiled eggs look like the flesh of peaches or apricots. Maybe this conclusion is a bit speculative, but when I showed the results of the experiments to people, these were the ones they found convincing. The other candidates just looked like badly-dyed eggs.

II. Designing the Experiments

The replication of the recipe taught me that imagination and creativity are about as important for designing such experiments as the text itself. I went into the project with a bunch of assumptions about what the recipe was for, assumptions which turned out to be unjustified. I had assumed, for instance, something about the process, namely that I was going to be making Easter eggs; and I had assumed something about the result, namely that I would end up with things that look like little apples.

Because I was starting from these assumptions, my initial design for the experiment was constrained. I came up with what I thought was a thorough test: I would coat the shells of two kinds of eggs (brown and white) using saffron soaked in two kinds of wine (white and red), and I would run two controls, coating each kind of egg with plain red or white wine.

I didn’t realize how constraining these assumptions were until I ran the experiment. What I got looked… well … the results didn’t make convincing Easter eggs, never mind apples (pictured below).

And as it turns out, I had made two mistakes.

The first was to restrict myself to apples. The word written on the papyrus obviously isn’t the English word “apple”—it’s a Greek word, mēlon (μῆλον). This word is by an interesting historical fluke cognate with the English word “melon,” but in Greek it does not refer to cantaloupes or honeydew. Instead, like its Latin cognate, malum, it refers to some kinds of tree fruit. It is usually translated “apple,” like in the Eve and Adam story; and, indeed, “apple” is what I found in most modern translations of the ps.-Democritean paignia. But of course, mēlon doesn’t really mean apple. Its range of meanings is much wider: peaches, citrons, plums, and apricots are all “apples”, or more accurately mēla. The word covers most of the larger tree fruits, which in Greek are usually distinguished by region. Peaches for example are “Persian mēla”; citrons are “Median mēla”, etc.

I knew this. I’ve even written on it before; but, once I had rashly accepted “apple” as a translation, I forgot about the other possibilities. Instead, I’d anticipated a result that wasn’t implied by the text of the papyrus at all.

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First attempt at the replication. White-shelled eggs with (1) saffron and red wine (left) and (2) saffron and white wine (right). The brown eggs (not pictured) showed no appreciable colour change.

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Peaches, detail, showing characteristic long, slender leaves (left panel of those pictured at the top of the post).

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Dyed eggs sliced with shells on to look like apple slices.

My second mistake was to restrict the experiment to dying shells. I didn’t have a principled reason for doing this and the text itself didn’t suggest it. It was more or less force of habit. I’m just used to dyeing egg shells. That’s not to say it was a bad guess (even though I think it was wrong). What I should have done, however, was set up experiments dyeing all the parts of a boiled egg, because the recipe was vague on precisely this point. It doesn’t say what part of the egg is to be coated after you boil it.

Luckily, Lucia caught the mistake. After seeing my yellow Easter eggs, she suggested that I try slicing them to make them look more like what you might find on a plate at a dinner party. These sliced eggs didn’t come out too badly; and it also opened up the possibilities for experimenting. Once the yolks fell out, the imagination took over. It became clear how close the shape and visible texture of the sliced egg was to a slice of peach or apricot.

Once I coated the slices without the yoke and shell, it was immediately obvious.

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Peach slices, canned. Image from here.

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Boiled egg-white, soaked in white wine infused with saffron.

III. How to Make Eggs that Look Like Peaches

Materials:

• Red wine

• White wine

• Brown eggs

• White eggs

• Saffron (you’ll need lots—I got mine at a market pretty cheap)

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Procedure:

The set up for this experiment is pretty straightforward. It also got a bit messy, so best avoid nice clothes and linens.

1. I placed around 30 saffron stigmata in separate glass bowls and soaked them in approx. 10 ml of red or white wine. I used a lot of saffron—so much you could smell it even at an arm’s distance from the bowl. I might have gotten away with less.

2. I let the saffron soak in the wine for around 15 minutes at room temperature. If you don’t use a lot of saffron, let them soak longer.

3. At first, I tried brushing the wine and saffron onto the egg shells, masking half the egg with tape, brushing on the wine, letting them dry, and then painting on the other half. The difference, though, was so minor that I gave up and simply smeared the mixture onto the shells with my fingers without masking. This got me yellow eggs.

4. Lucia suggested slicing the eggs to hide the egg shape and give the impression of a fruit with a rind. It seemed even better to simply remove the shells altogether and try again.

5. After removing the shells, I rolled the eggs around in the wine and saffron.

6. I then sliced them and coated the slices with the saffron and wine mixture again. Sometimes, I removed a slice and left the yolk intact, dimpled with a pencil to look like a peach stone, so that the whole thing looked like something from the Pompeii frescoes.

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1. Adding wine to the saffron

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2. Letting the saffron soak in the wine

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3. Failed experiment: brushing on the saffron mixture

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4. Sliced egg with shell, resembling white-fleshed quince slices.

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5. Rolling eggs, shelled, in the wine and saffron mixture.

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6. Finished product: sliced, with yolk dimpled to look like a peach pit.

IV. Some Conclusions

I shouldn’t read too much into this experiment, but I can’t help but get excited about it. There is something about the process of replicating an ancient recipe that tempts a feeling of familiarity. It’s like being at their table.

I’d love to believe this experiment counts as a piece of evidence for culinary history, that it tells us people used to serve succulent peach slices at their symposia, maybe even with presentations like those we see in the Pompeian frescoes.

And maybe it’s a stretch, but I’d also like to think it adds something to a passage from Sextus Empiricus about yellow apples that always puzzled me:

“The phenomena that strike our senses seem to be complexes of sensations, just as the apple seems to be smooth, fragrant, sweet, and yellow.”

ἕκαστον τῶν φαινομένων ἡμῖν αἰσθητῶν ποικίλον ὑποπίπτειν δοκεῖ, οἷον τὸ μῆλον λεῖον εὐῶδες γλυκὺ ξανθόν.

Sextus Empiricus, Outlines of Pyrrhonism, 1.94

Maybe Sextus and Democritus went to the same kinds of parties.

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Shopping with Galen (and a bit on the epistemology of drugs)

With the holiday season approaching, why not check in with Galen for some shopping advice? Here is what he tells his friends to do to get the best drugs from the rhôpopôlai, the street vendors at the market (I’ve posted about them here). As a bonus, Galen tells us what he takes to be his own innovation in quantifying the active powers in drugs, even throwing in a bit of epistemology and some critical remarks against hair-splitting logicians.

Happy holidays ✨🎄⚗

Galen has just talked about where to keep drugs in the house and he’s reminded us not to keep them near the food…

I encourage my friends to copy me in the following way, too, at least if they want to produce their medical products well. You see, every year, in order that those damned hucksters sell me the very best drugs from all over the world, I thoroughly harass them. Maybe it would be better to complain not only to them, but rather to their wholesalers, and even more to the root-cutters themselves—that’s what they’re called, even though they import from the mountains and into the city not just roots, but also saps, juices, fruits, flowers and blossoms. These people are the first of all to adulterate the drugs.

Therefore, whoever wants to get their hands on remedies from anywhere easily needs to acquire experience with every material derived from plants, and every material derived from both animals and metals, and all those earthy bodies distinct from metals which we bring in for medical use, so that one can discern which of them are real and which are fake. After that, one needs to train following my book in which I wrote about the capacities of simple drugs. For if one turns to what is useful in these notebooks without having prepared, while he may go as far as a rational understanding with respect to the method, he won’t produce anything worthy of it.

For suppose someone knows the things which we mentioned before about tendon injuries, but, because of their ignorance, introduces adulterated drugs into the compounds, or doesn’t even know their capacities precisely from the start. Won’t it be necessary that they will more often go wrong than right? To me it seems completely obvious, but precisely knowing the capacities differs a great deal from knowing them. For merely knowing them means recognizing whether the drug naturally dries, moistens, cools or heats us, while precisely knowing means also recognizing, in addition to this, the quantity of the capacity. For some drugs have a capacity such that, when they come into contact with our bodies, it produces a warm heat, while others produce a moderate one only a little bit stronger than the former; and others even boil so strongly that they can burn. Accordingly, the doctor needs to aim to recognize not only the quality of the condition, but also, one might say, the quantity in it.

For, while quantity is clearly not properly said to be something in [the category of] quality,* it is said to be all the same, in the way a fever, too, is said to be big or small. And the practice of speaking in this way is so common that already these terms have the force of proper speech, like [the words] ‘boxwood,’ ‘coppersmith,’ ‘animal-drawer,’ ‘oakcutter,’ and, in short, like terms that started off as instances of what grammarians call catachresis, but ended up being taken to be said properly. I’ve said these things for the people who want to get into discussions about logic at inappropriate times, but what I was saying when they interrupted me is this: what needs to be heated does not simply need to be heated, but heated with an appropriate measure.

*i.e., quality is not predicated of quantity, e.g., three is no more a kind of heat than it is a shade of red.

τοὺς δ’ ἑταίρους προτρέπω καὶ κατὰ τοῦτο μιμήσεσθαί με βουλομένους γε καλῶς ἐργάζεσθαι τὰ τῆς τέχνης ἔργα. γιγνώσκετε γὰρ, ὅπως ἐξ ἑκάστου τῶν ἐθνῶν τὰ κάλλιστά μοι διακομίζεται καθ’ ἕκαστον ἔτος φάρμακα διὰ τὸ τοὺς ἐπιτρίπτους ῥωποπώλας, παντοίως αὐτοῖς λυμαίνεσθαι. βέλτιον δ’ ἴσως οὐ τούτους μόνους, ἀλλὰ πολὺ μᾶλλον αὐτῶν τοὺς κομίζοντας ἐμπόρους μέμφεσθαι, κᾀκείνων ἔτι μᾶλλον αὐτοὺς τοὺς ῥιζοτόμους μὲν ὀνομαζομένους, οὐδὲνδ’ ἧττον τῶν ῥιζῶν ὀπούς τε καὶ χυλοὺς καὶ καρποὺς, ἄνθη τε καὶ βλάστας ἐκ τῶν ὀρῶν κατακομίζοντας εἰς τὰς πόλεις· οὗτοι γάρ εἰσιν οἱ πρῶτοι πάντων εἰς αὐτὰ πανουργοῦντες.

ὅστις οὖν βούλεται πανταχόθεν βοηθημάτων εὐπορεῖν, ἔμπειρος γενέσθω πάσης μὲν τῆς ἀπὸ τῶν φυτῶν ὕλης, πάσης δὲ τῆς ἀπὸ τῶν ζώων τε καὶ μετάλλων, ὅσα τε γεώδη σώματα χωρὶς μεταλλείας εἰς ἰατρικὴν χρῆσιν ἄγομεν, ὡς διαγινώσκειν αὐτῶν τά τε ἀκριβῆ καὶ τὰ νόθα, καὶ μετὰ τοῦτο γυμνασάσθω κατὰ τὴν ἐμὴν πραγματείαν, ἐν ᾗ περὶ τῆς δυνάμεως ἔγραψα τῶν ἁπλῶν φαρμάκων. εἰ μὴ γὰρ οὕτως παρεσκευασμένος ἥκει πρὸς τὴν ἐκ τῶνδε τῶν ὑπομνημάτων ὠφέλειαν, ἄχρι λόγου μὲν εἴσεται τὴν μέθοδον, ἔργον δ’ οὐδὲν ἄξιον αὐτῆς ἐργάσεται.

φέρε γὰρ αὐτὰ μὲν ἃ προείρηκα περὶ τῶν νευροτρώτων ἐπίστασθαί τινα, δεδολωμένα δὲ φάρμακα δι’ ἄγνοιαν ἐμβάλλειν τοῖς συντιθεμένοις, ἢ μηδὲ τὴν ἀρχὴν ἐπίστασθαι τὰς δυνάμεις ἀκριβῶς αὐτῶν, ἆρα οὐκ ἀναγκαῖον ἔσται πλεονάκις τοῦτον διαμαρτάνειν ἢ κατορθοῦν; ἐμοὶ μὲν καὶ πάνυ δοκεῖ. τὸ δὲ ἀκριβῶς ἐπίστασθαι τὰς δυνάμεις τοῦ μὲν ἐπίστασθαι διαφέρει πάμπολυ. τὸ μὲν γὰρ μόνον ἐπίστασθαι γινώσκειν ἐστὶν, εἰ ξηραίνειν τὸ φάρμακον ἢ ὑγραίνειν ἢ ψύχειν ἢ θερμαίνειν ἡμᾶς πέφυκε. τὸ δ’ ἀκριβῶς ἐπίστασθαι πρὸς τούτῳ καὶ τὸ ποσὸν τῆς δυνάμεώς ἐστιν ἐγνωκέναι. τινὰ μὲν γὰρ φάρμακα δύναμιν ἔχει χλιαρᾶς θερμασίας γεννητικὴν, ὅταν ὁμιλήσῃ τοῖς σώμασιν ἡμῶν, ἔνια δὲ συμμέτρου, καθάπερ ἄλλα βραχὺ ταύτης ἰσχυρότερα, ἕτερα δ’ ἤδη ζεούσης οὕτως ἰσχυρῶς, ὡς καίειν δύνασθαι. χρὴ τοίνυν τὸν ἰατρὸν ἐστοχάσθαι, μὴ μόνον τοῦ ποιοῦ τῆς διαθέσεως, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῦ κατ’ αὐτὴν ὡς ἂν εἴποι τις ποσοῦ.

λέγεται μὲν γὰρ οὐ πάνυ τι κυρίως τὸ ποσὸν ἐν τῇ ποιότητι. λέγεται δ' οὖν ὅμως, ὅπως καὶ πυρετὸς μέγας καὶ μικρός. καὶ τοσαύτη γε χρῆσίς ἐστι τῶν οὕτω λεγομένων, ὥστ' ἤδη κυρίου δύναμιν ἔχειν αὐτὰ παραπλησίως πυξίδι καὶ χαλκεῖ καὶ ζωγράφῳ καὶ δρυοτόμῳ καὶ συνελόντι φάναι τοῖς ἀρξαμένοις μὲν ἐκ τῆς ὑπὸ τῶν γραμματικῶν ὀνομαζομένης καταχρήσεως, ὕστερον δὲ κυρίοις λέγεσθαι πεπιστευμένοις. ταῦτα μὲν εἴρηταί μοι διὰ τοὺς οὐκ ἐν καιρῷ διαλεκτικευομένους. ὃ δὲ λέγων ἀπέλιπεν ἔστι τοιόνδε, ὅτι τὸ ξηραίνεσθαι δεόμενον οὐχ ἁπλῶς δεῖται τοῦ ξηραίνοντος, ἀλλὰ σὺν τῷ προσήκοντι μέτρῳ.

Galen, On Compound Drugs by Kind (Comp. Med. Gen.) 3.2, 13.570–573 K.

More dream spells

A Dream-Sender. Make a hollow hippopotamus out of red wax. Into this hippopotamus’* belly, place gold, silver and the ‘Ballatha’ of the Jews. Dress it in clean linen and set it on a clean windowsill. Then, take a piece of hieratic papyrus and with myrrh-ink and the blood of a baboon write on it what you want to send. Roll it up into a wick and use it to light a new, clean lamp. Put the foot of the hippopotamus onto the lamp, say the name, and it sends the dream.

ὀνειροπομπόν· ποίησον ἱπποπόταμον ἐκ κηροῦ πυρροῦ κοῖλον καὶ ἔνθες εἰς τὴν κοιλίαν αὐτοῦ τοῦ βιεβετνεησι καὶ χρυσὸν καὶ ἄργυρον καὶ τὸ καλούμενον βαλλαθὰ τὸ τῶν Ἰουδαίων καὶ στόλισον αὐτὸν λίνῳ καθαρῷ καὶ θὲς ἐπὶ θυρίδος καθαρᾶς καὶ λαβὼν χάρτην ἱερατικὸν γράψον εἰς αὐτὸν ζμυρνομέλανι καὶ αἵματι κυνοκεφάλου, ἃ βούλει πέμψαι, καὶ εἰλήσας εἰς ἐνλύχνιον καὶ ἐνλυχνιάσας λύχνον καθαρὸν καινὸν ἐπίθες ἐπὶ τὸν λύχνον τὸν πόδα ἱπποποταμίου καὶ λέγε τὸ ὄνομα, καὶ πέμπει.

PGM XIII, col. vii 47 - viii 7 (lines 312-319)

*alternatively, going with what comes next, ‘from the metals of the miners’, following a note in the scanned copy at Heidelberg. See right: βιεβεσνεητι “Metall des Erzarbeiter”, but I cannot make out the reference.

Before we begin: Oribasius’ Medical Collections

I’ve lately been into scientific prefaces. I think how a writer introduces their work gives us a way of testing our own expectations for what a treatise on a particular subject should look like, especially since what we think an author is saying they are going to do and what they end up doing often don’t match up. This mismatch is useful for asking questions about how scientific writing, teaching, practice and innovation interact, and how they relate to conventions of authority, culture and tradition.

Today, I went to a talk by Christine Salazar about Byzantine medical compilations and their relationship to Galen. Christine emphasized the different approaches the major compilers had to Galen’s work, and from her talk, what stuck out is how complex a tool authority was in promoting and disseminating ancient scientific doctrines. Lots has been written on the topic, and I won’t pretend to present a very subtle analysis. But, when a particular figure like Galen is mentioned as an authority, it tells us a lot more than, e.g., Galen was respected as physician, that people agreed with his methods and trusted his conclusions, or that he was in some positivistic way the culmination of what came before. It tells us something about how later authors see themselves, both in relation to their immediate audience and to posterity. Mentioning an authority is a lot different from accepting that authority’s methods and conclusions; and the conventions and standards around appeals to authority no doubt vary both from author to author and among scientific communities. When Oribasius says he thinks Galen’s methods and definitions are the most accurate, there are many ways to understand his motivations for doing so, and, I think, lots of reasons to question just what such an endorsement means. We need to read Oribasius to find out how committed he is to these ideas in practice, what authority might mean for him, and what other, less authoritative, sources might be in the background.

Oribasius, Medical Collections, I, preface

Regarding the epitomes ordered by your Divinity, Emperor Julian, I completed them some time ago when we were engaged out west in Gaul. As you requested, I produced them solely from the books written by Galen. Since you were happy with them, you ordered me to perform a second task, that I should search through the most important works of the best doctors and collect everything useful for the true end of medicine. This I decided to do eagerly and as best I could, since I believe a collection like this will be extremely useful, as those who consult it will readily find in each case what is beneficial to those in need. But, I considered it superfluous and altogether naive to write down the same things over and over as they are found in both the best writers and those who did not achieve a similar level of accuracy. And so, I will collect only what was rather well said, omitting from the arrangement of topics nothing which Galen alone was the first to mention. He is superior to all those who have written on the same subjects, since he uses the most accurate methods and definitions and follows Hippocratic principles and opinions. In this book, I will use the following arrangement of topics: first, I will collect things from the material part; next, whatever was said about the nature and structure of humans; after that, things from the subject of hygiene and restorative; and after these, whatever has to do with the theories of diagnostic and prognostic; after which, things which concern the improvement of diseases, symptoms and generally what is in contrary to nature. I will start with selections about the capacities in foods.

τὰς προσταχθείσας ἐπιτομὰς παρὰ τῆς σῆς Θειότητος, αὐτόκρατορ Ἰουλιανέ, πρότερον, ἡνίκα διετρίβομεν ἐν Γαλατίᾳ τῇ πρὸς ἑσπέραν, εἰς τέλος ἤγαγον, καθὼς ἠβουλήθης, ἅστινας ἐκ μόνων τῶν ὑπὸ Γαληνοῦ γραφέντων ἐποιησάμην. ἐπεὶ δ' ἐπαινέσας ταύτας δευτέραν ἐπέταξας πρᾶξιν, πάντων τῶν ἀρίστων ἰατρῶν ἀναζητήσαντά με τὰ καιριώτατα συναγαγεῖν καὶ πάντα ὅσα χρησιμεύει πρὸς αὐτὸ τὸ τέλος τῆς ἰατρικῆς, καὶ τοῦτο πράττειν, ὡς οἷός τέ εἰμι, προθύμως διέγνωκα, χρησιμωτάτην ὑπολαμβάνων ἔσεσθαι τὴν τοιαύτην συναγωγήν, τῶν ἐντυγχανόντων ἑτοίμως ἐξευρισκόντων τὸ ἑκάστοτε τοῖς δεομένοις ὠφέλιμον. περιττὸν δὲ νομίσας εἶναι καὶ παντελῶς εὔηθες τὸ ἐγγράφειν τὰ αὐτὰ πολλάκις, καὶ τῶν ἄριστα συγγραψάντων καὶ τῶν μὴ ὁμοίως τὸ ἀκριβὲς ἐξεργασαμένων, μόνα τὰ τῶν ἄμεινον εἰπόντων συνάξω, <τὰ> πάλαι Γαληνῷ μόνῳ ῥηθέντα, μηδὲν παραλιπὼν τάξεως, καθότι τῶν συγγραψάντων ἁπάντων εἰς τὰς αὐτὰς ὑποθέσεις αὐτὸς κρατεῖ, μεθόδοις καὶ διορισμοῖς τοῖς ἀκριβεστάτοις χρώμενος, ταῖς Ἱπποκρατείοις ἀρχαῖς καὶ δόξαις ἐξακολουθῶν. χρήσομαι δὲ κἀνταῦθα τοιαύτῃ τινὶ τάξει· καὶ πρῶτον μὲν οὖν συνάξω τὰ τοῦ ὑλικοῦ μέρους, εἶθ' ὅσα περὶ φύσεως καὶ κατασκευῆς εἴρηται τἀνθρώπου, μεθ' ἃ τὰ τῆς ὑγιεινῆς καὶ ἀναληπτικῆς πραγματείας, καὶ μετὰ ταῦτα ὅσα τῆς διαγνωστικῆς καὶ προγνωστικῆς ἔχεται θεωρίας, ἐφ' οἷς τὰ περὶ τῆς τῶν νοσημάτων καὶ συμπτωμάτων καὶ ὅλως τῆς τῶν παρὰ φύσιν ἐπανορθώσεως· ἄρξομαι δ' ἀπὸ τῶν περὶ τῶν ἐν ταῖς τροφαῖς δυνάμεων.

Oribasius, Collectiones medicae, I. pr., 4,3–24 Raeder

Galen rants against Chrysippus because he’s a immigrant

As part of a project at the Einstein Centre Chronoi on time and ancient medicine, Peter N. Singer, Orly Lewis and I have been reading through Galen’s writings on the pulse. We came across a passage where Galen goes on a racist rant against the philosopher, Chrysippus. Galen tells us that Chrysippus moved to Athens from the town of Soli in Cilicia (in modern day Turkey), and for that reason, has no business using Attic Greek in novel ways. Galen seems to be alluding to (and rejecting) a hypothetical defence of Chrysippus’ language, one based on a story that must have been making the rounds. The story is an attempt to give the etymology of the word “solecise”. It claims that the citizens of Soli, a town supposedly founded by Solon, the legendary Athenian ruler, originally spoke Attic, but over time, spoke a corrupted dialect. Here is how Diogenes Laertius tells it:

When he (sc. Solon) left that place, he arrived in Cilicia and founded a city, which he called Soli after himself. And he settled a few Athenians there, who over time corrupted the language and were said to “solecise.”

ἐκεῖθέν τε ἀπαλλαγεὶς ἐγένετο ἐν Κιλικίᾳ, καὶ πόλιν συνῴκισεν ἣν ἀπ᾽ αὐτοῦ Σόλους ἐκάλεσεν: ὀλίγους τέ τινας τῶν Ἀθηναίων ἐγκατῴκισεν, οἳ τῷ χρόνῳ τὴν φωνὴν ἀποξενωθέντες σολοικίζειν ἐλέχθησαν.

Diog. Laert. 1.51

Here is Galen:

For among other things, [the Pneumatist] school also claims that you should betray your state more quickly than you betray your beliefs. But if you keep quiet while they are making decrees and you don’t say anything in opposition, and then allow them to discuss something, they immediately blurt out something contrary to their own decree. This is very much in line with the forefather of their sect, Chrysippus. For he makes decrees about terminology more than Solon set down laws for the Athenians to write on their wooden tablets. He’s the one who first confused these things, and when you ask his successors who follow his decrees, ‘why on earth isn’t he consistent with his own edicts?’, they say, ‘he is speaking loosely.’ ‘Well then, my my fine fellows, is it possible for people to speak loosely without falling into error by doing so?’ ‘It’s possible,’ they say, since what else could they say when they are, as the saying goes, trapped in a well? Well, why on earth don’t they allow other people [to speak loosely]? Or is it only possible for Chrysippus and his followers to do so? By the gods, why? Because, obviously, he was from the race of Atticans, from the line of Kodros and Erechtheus. But if he really was from this race, then he would not have debased, so to speak, the currency of the customary language of their ancestors. And in fact, the worst thing is that Chrysippus wasn’t born in Athens and wasn’t raised there. Instead, he shows up, fresh off the boat from Cilicia, and before he properly learns any Greek, he makes decrees to the Athenians about terminology, like “the jay imitating the siren”—as if I should say a jay, rather than a jackdaw, or a crow, or another more appropriate word to use for someone so shameless.

τά τε γὰρ ἄλλα καὶ ἡ αἵρεσις αὐτῶν θᾶττον πόλιν ἢ δόγμα φησὶ χρῆναι προδιδόναι, ἀλλ' ἐὰν σιωπήσῃς νομοθετούντων καὶ μηδόλως ἀντείπης, εἶτ' ἐπιτρέψῃς περί τινος διαλέγεσθαι, παραχρῆμα ταῖς ἑαυτῶν νομοθεσίαις ἐναντία φθέγγονται. πολὺ δὲ τοῦτ' ἔστι παρὰ τῷ προπάππῳ τῆς αἱρέσεως αὐτῶν Χρυσίππῳ. νομοθετεῖ μὲν γὰρ ὀνόματα πλεῖον ἢ Σόλων Ἀθηναίοις ἱστᾷν τοῖς ἄξοσι νομίσματα. συγχεῖ δ' αὐτὸς πρῶτος αὐτά. καὶ εἰ ἔροιο τοὺς διαδόχους αὐτοῦ τῆς νομοθεσίας, τί δή ποτε οὐκ ἐμμένει τοῖς ἑαυτοῦ παραγγέλμασι, καταχρῆται, φασίν. ἔξεστιν οὖν, ὦ βέλτιστοι, καταχρῆσθαι, καὶ οὐχ ἁμαρτάνουσιν οἱ τοῦτο ποιοῦντες; ἔξεστι, φασί. τί γὰρ ἄλλο εἰπεῖν ἔχουσιν, ὅταν ἐν φρέατι, τοῦτο δὴ τὸ τοῦ λόγου, συσχεθῶσι; τί δή ποτ' οὖν τοῖς ἄλλοις ἀνθρώποις οὐκ ἐπιτρέπουσιν; ἢ μόνῳ Χρυσίππῳ καὶ τοῖς ἀπ' αὐτοῦ τοῦτο δρᾷν ἔξεστι; διὰ τί πρὸς τῶν θεῶν; ὅτι δηλαδὴ γηγενὴς Ἀττικὸς ἦν τῶν ἀμφὶ Κόδρον τε καὶ Ἐρεχθέα. ἀλλ' εἰ τῶν τοιούτων ὄντως ἦν, οὐκ ἂν παρεχάραττεν οἷον νόμισμά τι τὸ τῆς παλαιᾶς φωνῆς ἔθος. νυνὶ δὲ τὸ δεινότατον οὔτε γεννηθεὶς Ἀθήνῃσιν οὔτε τραφεὶς, ἀλλὰ χθὲς καὶ πρώτως ἥκων ἐκ Κιλικίας, πρὶν ἀκριβῶς αὐτὸν ἐκμαθεῖν ἡντιναοῦν Ἑλλάδα φωνὴν, Ἀθηναίοις ὑπὲρ ὀνομάτων ἐπιχειρεῖ νομοθετεῖν ἃ κίττα τὰν σειρῆνα μιμουμένα, ἵνα κίτταν εἴπωμεν, μὴ κολοιὸν, μηδὲ κόρακα, μηδ' ἄλλο μηδὲν ὧν οἰκειότερον ἦν εἰπεῖν τὸν οὕτω θρασύν.

Galen, De differentia pulsuum, 2.10 (8.630-8.632 Kühn)

Alternative Medicine (or: Three Conversions)

Plutarch (?) on Cleomenes I

Once, Cleomenes contracted a long illness and he started paying attention to practitioners of purification rites and to seers, having paid no attention to them before. When someone expressed surprise, he said, “Why are you surprised? For I’m not the same man I was then, and, since I’m not the same man, I don’t choose the same things.”

Ἑλκυσθεὶς δὲ νόσῳ μακρᾷ, ἐπεὶ καθαρταῖς καὶ μάντεσι προσεῖχε τὸ πρὶν οὐ προσέχων, θαυμάζοντός τινος, ‘τί θαυμάζεις;’ ἔφη ‘οὐ γάρ εἰμι ὁ αὐτὸς νῦν καὶ τότε· οὐκ ὢν δὲ ὁ αὐτὸς οὐδὲ τὰ αὐτὰ δοκιμάζω.’

Plutarch, Moralia 223E

Theophrastus on Pericles

In his Ethics, Theophrastus mentions an anecdote while going over the problem whether character is bent by fortune and gives up on virtue when moved by the body’s sufferings. He says that when Pericles was sick and one of his friends had come to check in on him, he showed to him an amulet that had been hung around his neck by certain women—that’s how bad a state he was in, that he would give in to that silliness.

ὁ γοῦν Θεόφραστος ἐν τοῖς Ἠθικοῖς διαπορήσας εἰ πρὸς τὰς τύχας τρέπεται τὰ ἤθη καὶ κινούμενα τοῖς τῶν σωμάτων πάθεσιν ἐξίσταται τῆς ἀρετῆς, ἱστόρηκεν ὅτι νοσῶν ὁ Περικλῆς ἐπισκοπουμένῳ τινὶ τῶν φίλων δείξειε περίαπτον ὑπὸ τῶν γυναικῶν τῷ τραχήλῳ περιηρτημένον, ὡς σφόδρα κακῶς ἔχων ὁπότε καὶ ταύτην ὑπομένοι τὴν ἀβελτερίαν.

Plutarch, Pericles 38.2

Diogenes Laertius on Bion

Bion often used to make rather atheist proclamations in conversation, since he enjoyed this Theodorean habit.* Some time later—so the people in Chalcis relate, since that’s where he died—he fell ill and was persuaded to wear an amulet and to repent his offences against the divine.

πολλὰ δὲ καὶ ἀθεώτερον προεφέρετο τοῖς ὁμιλοῦσι, τοῦτο Θεοδώρειον ἀπολαύσας. καὶ ὕστερόν ποτε ἐμπεσὼν εἰς νόσον, ὡς ἔφασκον οἱ ἐν Χαλκίδι — αὐτόθι γὰρ καὶ κατέστρεψε — περίαπτα λαβεῖν ἐπείσθη καὶ μεταγινώσκειν ἐφ’ οἷς ἐπλημμέλησεν εἰς τὸ θεῖον.

Diogenes Laertius, Lives of the Eminent Philosophers, 4.54

*Theodorus the Atheist, a Cyrenaic philosopher of the 4th/3rd century.

Dream spells

Here are some dream spells from the collection of magical Greek papyri: one in case you want someone else to have a dream, one in case you want to have a dream.

“If you wish to appear to someone in dreams during the night, say to the lamp that gets used every day, say to it often: Cheiamôpsei, Erpebôth: Let so-and-so, daughter of so-and-so, see me in her dreams, now, now, quickly, quickly. Then the usual, whatever you’d like.”

Ἐάν τινι ἐθέλῃς [ἐ]μφανῆναι διὰ νυκτὸς ἐν ὀνείροις, λέγε πρὸς τὸν λύχνον τὸν καθημερινόν, λέγε πολλάκις· ‘χειαμωψει: ερπεβωθ: ἰδέτω με ἡ δεῖνα, ἣν ἡ δεῖνα, ἐν τοῖς ὕπνοις, ἤδη ἤδη, ταχὺ ταχύ.’ καὶ κοινά, ὅσ’ ἂν βούλῃ.

PGM VII 405-411

“Request for a dream. Draw the god Hermes, upright and Ibis-faced, as accurately as possible on a scrap of linen cloth using quail’s blood, then, using myrrh, write his name above and say the words: Come to me, here, quickly, you who have the power. I call to you, the god of gods who is set over the spirits, to show me this in my dreams. By your father Osiris and Isis, your mother, I summon you to show me some image of you and reveal what I wish to know. By your name, Êiiouathi, Psrêpnousa Nertêr, Diokhasbara, Zarakhô, whom they call Balkham, reveal this, reveal everything that I ask.”

Ὀνείρου αἴτησις· Ἀκριβὴς εἰς πάντα γράψον εἰς βύσσινον ῥάκος αἵματι ὀρτυγίου θεὸν Ἑ[ρ]μῆν ὀρ[θ]όν, ἰβιοπρόσωπον, ἔπειτα ζμύρνῃ ἐπίγραψον καὶ τὸ ὄνομα καὶ ἐπίλεγε τὸν [λό]γον· ‘ἔρχου μοι ὡδὶ αἶψα, ὁ ἔχων τὴν ἐξουσίαν. ἐπικαλοῦμαί σε τὸν ἐπὶ τῶν [πν]ευμάτων τεταγμένον θεὸν θ(εῶν), δεῖξαί μοι καθ’ ὕπνους τόδε. ἐξορκίζω [σε]κατὰ [τ]οῦ πατρός σου Ὀσίριδος καὶ Ἴσιδος, τῆς μητρός σου, δεῖξαί μοί τι[να] μορφήν σου, καὶ περὶ ὧν θέλω, χρημάτισον. ὄνομά σοι· ‘ηιιουαθι, ψρηπνου̣α̣ νερτηρ, διοχασβαρα, Ζαραχω’, ὃν καλοῦσι Βαλχάμ· χρημάτισον περὶ τοῦδε, περ[ὶ π]άντων, <ὧν> πυνθάνω.’

PGM XII  144-152

Why you probably shouldn’t invite Democritus to your dinner party

Dinner parties can be dull, even in ancient Greece. Democritus’ solution was to prank the hosts, eat lots of garlic, and try to sleep with everyone. No wonder he was called the laughing philosopher.

Here is all of his advice, some of it terrible (find the introvert, rub honey on their face, and tell them to lighten up), some not so bad (a cure for garlic breath), some that uses language I wouldn’t have expected (βινεῖν, στύειν, words discussed by sententiae antiquae). It’s almost certainly not by Democritus; still, it says something about how people might have imagined a night like this would go.

The text is included in the collection of Greek Magical Papyri, the edition of which is available online, with German translation, at the University of Heidelberg Library (vol 1) (vol 2). An English translation with notes is available at archive.org.

Democritus’ Party Tricks (paignia)

To make bronzeware look golden: mix unfired (i.e., native) sulfur with chalky earth and wipe it with it.
To make an egg like an apple: after boiling an egg, coat it with a mixture of saffron and wine.
To make it so that the cook can’t light the fire: put a house-leek plant on his stove.
To make it so that those who eat garlic don’t smell: bake some beetroot and eat it.
To make an old woman stop blathering and drinking so much: chop up some pine and toss it in her drink.
To make the painted gladiators fight. Smoke some hare’s head underneath them.
To make cold hors-d'oeuvres burn the person eating them. Soak squill in warm water and give it to him to wash his hands with. Relieve with oil.
To make those who have a hard time mingling more easy going. Give them gum with wine and honey to rub on their face.
To make those who drink a lot not get drunk. Eat baked pork lung.
To make those who have to walk home not get thirsty. Chug an egg beaten in wine.
To be able to fuck a lot. Grind up fifty small pine cones with two ladles of sweet wine and pepper corns and drink it.
To get hard whenever you want. Grind up pepper with honey and rub it on your thing.

Δημοκρίτου παίγνια·
Τὰ χαλκᾶ χρυσᾶ ποιῆσαι φαίνεσθαι· θεῖον ἄπυρον
μετὰ γῆς κρητηρίας μείξας ἔκμασσε.
Ὠὸν ὅμοιον μήλον γενέσθαι· ζέσας τὸ ὠὸν χρεῖε κρόκῳ
μείξας μετ’ οἴνου. Μάγειρον μὴ δύνασθαι τὴν πυρὰν
ἀνάψαι· βοτάνην ἀεί[ζω]ον θὲς αὐτοῦ εἰς τὴν ἑστίαν.
Φαγόντα σκόρδον μὴ ὄζειν· [ῥ]ίζας <σ>εύτλου ὀπτήσας φάγε.
Γραῦν μήτε πολλὰ λαλεῖν μήτε πολλὰ πίνειν· πίτυν
κόψας βάλε αὐτῆς εἰς τ[ὸ] κράμμα. Μονομάχας ἐζωγραφη-
μένους μάχεσθαι· ὑποκάτω αὐτῶν κάπνισον λαγοῦ κεφαλήν.
Ψυχρὰ τρώγοντα κατακαίεσθαι· σκίλλαν εἰς ὕδωρ χλιαρὸν
βρέξας δὸς αὐτῷ νίψασ[θ]αι. λύσις ἐλαίῳ. Τοὺς [μεμ]ει-
[γμ]ένους μόγις ε̣[ὖ] ποι[εῖ]ν̣· κόμι μετὰ οἴνου καὶ [μέλιτο]ς
δὸς εἰς τὴν ὄψιν μυρ[ίσα]σθαι. Πολλὰ πίνοντα καὶ μὴ με-
θύειν· χοιραῖον πνεύμονα ὀπτήσας φάγε. Ὁδοιποροῦντα
μὴ διψᾶν· ὠὸν <εἰς> οἶνον ἀνακόψας ῥόφα. Πολλὰ βι[ν]εῖν
δύνασθαι· στροβίλια πεντήκοντα μετὰ δύο κυά[θ]ων
γλυκέος καὶ κόκκους πεπέρεως τρίψας πίε. Στ[ύ]ειν,
ὅτε θέλεις· πέπερι μετὰ μέλιτος τρίψας χρῖέ σου τὸ πρᾶ̣γ̣μ̣α.

Papyri Graecae Magicae VII 168-186

Some fumigations for lizards, snakes and scorpions

Philumenus’ On poisonous animals and their remedies is only available in one manuscript, Vat. gr. 284. A friend at the CMG has been working on a new edition of the text and hopefully it will be published soon. For now, the manuscript is digitized and available at the Vatican Library (with snake drawings in the margins).

Here is chapter six: on fumigations against snakes (and other things), which includes one recipe from Archigenes.

Fumigations for snakes

From Archigenes' works:

Hooves and hair of goats burnt at a distance. Snakes are repelled by their smell.

A compound incense of Philinus, the Theriac:

Of galbanum, root of kakhru, horn of deer, cumin, one ounce each

Grind all the ingredients, mix with vinegar and make them into tablets.

To use, the incense is soaked in oil and placed in the middle of the house, or if you are out in the open, in the middle of your bed.

Another:

of galbanum, of fat of the Egyptian mongoose, one ounce each.

Dissolve them together and store.

To use, fumigate in the same way as before.

Another one, Egyptian:

an old asp, soaked in oil.

[Place the] incense close to the snake's den and it will immediately come out.

Another, bringing down scorpions and every snake and driving them away from the house:

incense of equal amounts of galbanum, realgar, butter, bryony, fat of goat.

θυμιάματα ἑρπετῶν

ἐκ τῶν Ἀρχιγένους· ὁπλαὶ αἰγῶν καὶ τρίχες θυμιώμεναι πόρρωθεν· ἀναστέλλεται <γὰρ> τὰ ἑρπετὰ τῇ τούτων ὀσμῇ. σύνθετον θυμίαμα Φιλίνου <τοῦ> θηριακοῦ· χαλβάνης, κάχρυος τῆς ῥίζης, κέρατος ἐλαφείου, μελανθίου ἀνὰ 𐆄 α. λεάνας πάντα ἀναλάμβανε <ὄξει>, ποιῶν τροχίσκους. ἐπὶ δὲ τῆς χρείας ἀποβρέξας εἰς ἔλαιον θυμία κατὰ μέσον τῆς οἰκίας, ἐὰν δὲ ἐν ὑπαίθρῳ ᾖς, κατὰ μέσον τῆς κοίτης. ἄλλο· χαλβάνης, στέατος ἰχνεύμονος ἀνὰ 𐆄 α τήξας ἀπόθου· ἐπὶ δὲ τῆς χρείας θυμίασον ὁμοίως. ἄλλο Αἰγύπτιον· γῆρας ἀσπίδος βρέξας εἰς ἔλαιον [ἄλλο] θυμία ἐγγὺς τῶν φωλεῶν καὶ εὐθέως ἀναβήσονται. <ἄλλο> καταφέρον καὶ σκορπίους καὶ πᾶν ἑρπετὸν <ἀπελαῦνον> ἐξ οἰκίας· χαλβάνην, σανδαράκην, βούτυρον, βρυωνίαν, στέαρ αἴγειον ἐξ οἰκίς· χαλβάνην, σανδαράκην, βούτυρον, βρυωνίαν, στέαρ αἴγειον ἐξ ἴσου θυμία.

Philumenus, De venenatis animalibus eorumque remediis (On poisonous animals and their remedies), chapter 6 (p. 10,16-28 Wellmann)