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DOSSIER THÉMATIQUE
Danse — Hommage à Sarah Müller-Moaty

Dance in Antiquity: An Outline of a General Theory

L’art de la danse dans l’Antiquité : contours d’une théorie générale
Sophie Marianne Bocksberger

Résumés

Cet article propose une reconstitution de la théorie grecque antique de la danse sur la base du discours d’Ammonius à la fin des Propos de table de Plutarque. Il est soutenu que, malgré la place centrale qu’occupe la danse dans la culture grecque, aucune théorie systématique n’a encore été identifiée par les chercheurs modernes. Après une analyse sémantique de termes essentiels tels que ῥυθμός, σχῆμα et ὑπόκρισις, et une lecture attentive de plusieurs textes antiques (Aristote, Poétique, 1447a ; Aristide Quintilien, De Musica, II, 4 ; Lucien, De la danse, 83‑84), l’étude se concentre sur la discussion de la danse dans les Propos de table de Plutarque (747a‑748b), interprétée comme une tentative cohérente de théoriser cet art. La danse y est définie à partir de trois éléments constitutifs : φορά (mouvement abstrait), σχῆμα (configuration mimétique) et δεῖξις (geste indicatif), trois manières distinctes de concevoir le mouvement dansé, correspondant à trois modes possibles de production du sens : ἐμφατικόν, μιμητικόν et δεικτικόν. En conclusion, un quatrième élément (μεταφορά) est évoqué, introduisant un mode supplémentaire de signification (μεταφορικόν). Loin d’être fragmentaire ou rudimentaire, la théorie grecque antique de la danse apparaît ainsi comme un système de pensée structuré, toujours pertinent pour comprendre comment le mouvement peut signifier aujourd’hui.

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1. Introduction

  • 1 See, for instance, Lada-Richards (2007), Webb (2008), Garelli (2007), Peponi (2004, 2009, 2015), Gi (...)

1The study of ancient dance has seen remarkable growth in recent decades, particularly following the publication of Frederick Naerebout’s Attractive Performances (1997), which offered the first extensive historiographical survey of scholarship on Greek dance from the Renaissance to the twentieth century. In this work, Naerebout exposed the widespread—and often unexamined—assumption that it was possible to reconstruct ancient dance by combining literary references, visual representations, and modern folk dance parallels. He further argued that much of the existing scholarship was constrained by antiquarianism and lacked a coherent theoretical framework, focusing primarily on dance’s function in ritual, cult, or other social contexts while neglecting its aesthetic and performative dimensions. Since then, scholars have increasingly approached dance as an art form and a practice, often drawing on the conceptual tools of Dance Studies. Important work has focused, for instance, on spectatorship and aesthetics, on the interplay between dance and literature, and on the embodied experience of dancers in Antiquity.1

  • 2 Russell (2020).
  • 3 Russell (2020, xx).

2Yet, despite this flourishing research, one major gap remains: there is no systematic study of ancient Greek dance theory. In fact, few scholars have even considered the possibility that a general understanding of dance as an art form may have existed in antiquity. This absence is not incidental, but reflects a deeper issue within the field of Dance Studies itself. The scarcity of theoretical texts on dance in the Western canon is, in itself, striking. Russell’s anthology of writings on dance theory—spanning from the 4th century BCE to the present—fills barely 250 pages, even with his extensive contextual commentary.2 In his introduction, he remarks that “like a Leitmotif recurring in every century since the sixteenth, theorists have continually asserted the lack of any pre-existing dance theory”.3 This refrain, repeated by many of the authors who have attempted to reflect on dance as an art form, underscores how limited the tradition of theoretical writing on the subject has been.

  • 4 On this passage, see Garelli-François (2001), Esposito (2010), Schlapbach (2011; 2018, 25–26, 34–61 (...)

3In this paper, I will explore the limits and challenges of reconstructing ancient dance theory before examining a key passage from Plutarch’s Table-Talk (747a–748b). I argue that this passage outlines a concise and coherent theory of dance—one that has gone largely unrecognized by modern scholars, in part due to issues of translation and to insufficient familiarity with dance as a mimetic art.4

2. Reconstructing ancient dance theory: challenges and insights

  • 5 While the mimetic capability of dance is important, it is only one among several dimensions a chore (...)

4Appreciating and critically engaging with any form of art—whether painting, literature, or dance—requires more than just instinctive reactions; it demands a structured way of seeing, interpreting, and understanding. Without the right tools and, in particular, a vocabulary that allows for meaningful distinctions, one’s appreciation of and response to a work of art may be reduced to superficial impressions such as finding something beautiful or incomprehensible, impressive or trivial, without being able to articulate why. In the case of mimetic forms of art, a deeper understanding comes from learning to examine the relationship between content (i.e. what the work means) and form (i.e. how the meaning is expressed).5 Moreover, understanding both the possibilities and the limits of a given artistic medium is essential for grasping the choices an artist makes and developing a more nuanced, informed perspective. In many artistic disciplines, established frameworks exist to guide this process. Painting, for instance, can be examined through principles of colour theory, perspective, and composition, just as literature can be analysed in terms of plot structure, or themes, to name a few. However, dance presents a challenge—unlike painting and literature, it lacks a widely shared theoretical foundation and descriptive vocabulary, making critical engagement more elusive.

  • 6 For instance, in the 18th century, Diderot bemoaned the fact that dance was still barely considered (...)
  • 7 On the connection between the mimetic dimension of dance and narrativity, see Bocksberger (2021, 72 (...)
  • 8 Thuries (2014).

5The absence of a widely shared and enduring vocabulary for talking about dance, both in academic and in everyday cultural discourses, can be traced back to the complex history of dance as a discipline. Unlike other mimetic arts, dance was long marginalised within the Western canon and only recently gained disciplinary legitimacy.6 The story ballet was invented in the 18th century which gave rise to the creation of many narrative pieces that exploit the mimetic capability of dance to create characters and represent what they experience.7 However, dance had to wait until the late 20th century before becoming an established academic discipline, and by that time, as Aude Thuries notes in her thesis: “L’étude de la création de sens, cependant, fut largement délaissée, alors même que la question de la nature de la danse se plaçait au cœur des recherches du xxe siècle.8

  • 9 See for instance Gianvittorio (2017, 25–26) and Catennaci (2017, 18).
  • 10 Aristotle, Poetics, 1447a, 26–28.

6However, dance had a very different status in Antiquity, especially in archaic and classical Greece where it was omnipresent in society.9 It was used in cults to worship the gods, played a fundamental role in the education of youth (male and female), occupied centre stage in the public festivals that punctuated civil life, and was also used as a form of entertainment at private dinner parties (συμπόσια). It was one of three components of μουσική: music, poetry, and dance. More importantly though, it was recognised as a mimetic art form capable of creating meaning and was theorised as such.10 It is therefore highly probable that a general understanding of the medium of dance existed in Antiquity.

  • 11 Naerebout (2017, 58).

7Reconstructing ancient dance theory poses various challenges: the amount of direct evidence we have about the way dance was used and understood as an art form is inversely proportional to the importance it had in this period. Given that no dance notation survives (and probably was never widely used in Antiquity),11 the only access we have to ancient performances is through words and images, two media which present great limitations in capturing a multi-dimensional art form that moves in space and unfolds in time. Anyone who has ever tried to capture a dance performance in words or in a drawing knows how difficult it is to translate any piece, no matter how short, created in this medium into another medium. For instance, reviews of the same dance performance often differ so markedly that they appear to describe entirely different works and they rarely provide enough detail to allow for even a partial reconstruction of the choreography.

8Let me illustrate these limitations with some ancient pictorial and textual evidence:

9On these three vases, we can tell that each painter is trying to represent a different type of dance but not much more. The dancers are depicted in a dynamic position, but the position is simply meant to be representative of a certain type of dance. On Image 1, we have a female solo dancer, perhaps holding crotala accompanied by a female barbitos player. On Image 2, we probably have some padded dancers, while Image 3 is usually thought to depict a tragic chorus, since we can see six dancers wearing a mask and moving in unison. Although these images provide valuable insights into performance contexts—such as gender roles, costumes, instruments and props used, and group dynamics—they offer little evidence about the actual movements performed. It is not different from looking up the word “dance” on Google Image (Image 4):

Image 4. – Image search of the term “dance” on Google Image.

Image 4. – Image search of the term “dance” on Google Image.

10It is certainly possible to distinguish different types of dance. However, recognizing ballet from an arabesque tells us nothing about the nature of a story ballet like Giselle, nor does it explain how dancers transition between positions. Similarly, textual evidence presents significant limitations, as illustrated in the following excerpt of one of the richest surviving descriptions of a dance performance from the classical period. The passage appears in Xenophon’s Symposium (IX), a philosophical dialogue set at a banquet where the guests are entertained by a series of dance performances. In this scene, a male and a female dancer perform a mimetic duet representing Dionysus and Ariadne, accompanied by music. The theme of the performance is announced to the audience before its start.

  • 12 Xenophon, Symposium, IX, 3.

οὔπω δὲ φαινομένου τοῦ Διονύσου ηὐλεῖτο ὁ βακχεῖος ῥυθμός. ἔνθα δὴ ἠγάσθησαν τὸν ὀρχηστοδιδάσκαλον. εὐθὺς μὲν γὰρ ἡ Ἀριάδνη ἀκούσασα τοιοῦτόν τι ἐποίησεν ὡς πᾶς ἂν ἔγνω ὅτι ἀσμένη ἤκουσε·12

  • 13 Translated by E. C. Marchant, O. J. Todd. Revised by Jeffrey Henderson (Loeb Classical Library).

“Before Dionysus was visible, the Bacchic tune was played on the pipes. Then they truly admired the dancing master, for as soon as Ariadne heard the tune, her action was such that every one would have perceived her joy at the sound;”13

11This passage reveals little about the actual performance Xenophon may have had in mind, nor does it describe the dancers’ specific movements. At best, we can infer the following:

  • the performance involves two dancers;

  • it represents Dionysus and Ariadne;

  • the dancers are perceived as Dionysus and Ariadne;

  • it has a suitable music for its subject (a βακχεῖος ῥυθμός played on the pipes), and perhaps also a suitable style of dance given that the meaning of the word ῥυθμός is also connected to movement, as will be discussed below;

  • the audience is able to appreciate the meaning of the performance since they admire the choreographer, not the dancers;

  • the work of the ὀρχηστοδιδάσκαλος consists in creating meaning with movements and a successful mimesis in order to meet the audience’s expectations.

12As these examples illustrate, reconstructing an ancient dance performance in its original form is impossible. However, this does not mean we cannot gain valuable insights into ancient dance—or indeed, dance more broadly. Rather than attempting to reconstruct specific performances or movements, we can shift our focus to how dance is described in ancient texts to better understand its theoretical framework. What were its governing principles? Its rules? What was dance believed to be capable of achieving? How was it used, and how was meaning conveyed through this medium?

13These questions can be addressed by piecing together and analysing systematically all extant ancient evidence to reconstruct the overarching framework of ancient dance theory. I believe that the fundamental principles of dance, along with the vocabulary used to articulate them, remained relatively stable throughout antiquity, even as dance itself—its actualization in performance—was constantly evolving. Painting provides a good analogy: before the turn of Modernity, painting was understood as one of the mimetic arts. Its aim was to capture an aspect of reality through light and colours. This principle can be applied to works produced centuries apart. A fresco from Pompeii, a mediæval triptych, a painting by Sandro Botticelli or one by Edouard Manet all depict figures that are recognisable by the viewer (e.g. a man, a woman, a god, a goddess, or a specific character) which are painted on a two‑dimensional surface with pigments, and enable the painters to combine colours and imitate the effect of light. And yet the styles in which these are painted could not be more different given that the painters use different techniques and have different priorities. Just as there is an infinite number of actualisations of a play by Sophocles within a finite frame (in this case the text), there is an infinite number of ways in which Ariadne and Dionysus could be danced on the same piece of music. The key for understanding ancient dance is to think about how one can make an audience recognise through movement that they are seeing Ariadne and Dionysus, and how that experience is formulated into words rendered into a written text.

  • 14 Many concepts found in later sources are already latent in earlier ones which suggest a certain con (...)
  • 15 The formal vocabulary of ballet is of course well‑established but it has nothing to do with how mea (...)

14The premise underlying this study is that the vocabulary used in ancient Greek to talk about dance (e.g. words referring to kinds of dance, different dance steps or figures, types and conceptions of movements, distinctive ways of looking at dance) has often been misunderstood and mistranslated. Furthermore, this vocabulary has yet to be systematically collected, categorized and analysed. This oversight stems from two primary factors. First, the vocabulary of dance in archaic and classical Greece, given how widespread dance practice was, belonged, to a large extent, to everyday language. Basic principles of dance theory would have been understood by a large community of speakers and as such been quite stable and uniform.14 The Greeks’ great familiarity with dance, in the archaic and classical period, contrasts with the present state of affairs: dance vocabulary in the Western tradition at least is technical and lacks uniformity even among practitioners and specialists.15 In fact, particular communities of dancers often develop their own usage to describe and communicate with precision about certain aspects of dance which is only understood within their own small community. Second, dance theory, because of its currency in archaic and classical Greece, appears to have been more sophisticated and developed than it is today, as we shall see.

  • 16 On mimesis, see Woodruff (2015) and Halliwell (2002, especially p. 16 regarding the difficulty to t (...)

15Consequently, ancient Greek, through its vocabulary, can make distinctions regarding dance that can only be translated into English by a long periphrasis. For instance, if one translates μίμησις by imitation, it becomes hard to see the core meaning of this term in the arts: the transformation of some material (colours for painting, stone for sculpture, body for dance) into what it is meant to represent so that the material might become on some level what it is meant to imitate.16 It is thus my contention that dance theory was more generally developed and established in ancient Greece than it is nowadays and that fundamental new insight into ancient dance theory and practice can be gained through a careful contextual and etymological study of that vocabulary. Moreover, by understanding the distinctions made in Greek and reconstructing ancient theory of dance, we can establish a rich theoretical framework for understanding dance that remains relevant to all forms of dance today.

16Now that the theoretical groundwork has been established, I would like to illustrate how crucial it is to work on the meaning of technical terms related to dance by discussing briefly Aristotle’s definition of dance in the Poetics as well as the meaning of the term ὑπόκρισις in relation to dance. This will in turn provide important insight for analysing the discussion on dance in Plutarch’s Table‑Talk.

3. The words schêma and hypokrisis in the context of dance

17In the Poetics, Aristotle includes dance among the “mimetic arts”, offering a definition that highlights its capacity for representation:

  • 17 Aristotle, Poetics, 1447a, 18–28.

ὥσπερ γὰρ καὶ χρώμασι καὶ σχήμασι πολλὰ μιμοῦνταί τινες ἀπεικάζοντες (οἱ μὲν διὰ τέχνης οἱ δὲ διὰ συνηθείας), ἕτεροι δὲ διὰ τῆς φωνῆς, οὕτω κἀν ταῖς εἰρημέναις τέχναις ἅπασαι μὲν ποιοῦνται τὴν μίμησιν ἐν ῥυθμῷ καὶ λόγῳ καὶ ἁρμονίᾳ, τούτοις δ᾿ ἢ χωρὶς ἢ μεμιγμένοις· οἷον ἁρμονίᾳ μὲν καὶ ῥυθμῷ χρώμεναι μόνον ἥ τε αὐλητικὴ καὶ ἡ κιθαριστικὴ κἂν εἴ τινες ἕτεραι τυγχάνωσιν οὖσαι τοιαῦται τὴν δύναμιν, οἷον ἡ τῶν συρίγγων, αὐτῷ δὲ τῷ ῥυθμῷ χωρὶς ἁρμονίας ἡ [τεχνῆ ἡ] τῶν ὀρχηστῶν (καὶ γὰρ οὗτοι διὰ τῶν σχηματιζομένων ῥυθμῶν μιμοῦνται καὶ ἤθη καὶ πάθη καὶ πράξεις)·17

  • 18 Earlier (1447a, 14–16), Aristotle mentioned hexametric poetry (ἐποποιία), tragedy (ἡ τῆς τραγῳδίας (...)
  • 19 Translated by S. Halliwell (Loeb Classical Library) with my own modifications.

“Just as some people represent (μιμεῖσθαι) many things with colours and schêmata (some by formal skill, others by exposure) by copying them, while others do it through the voice, so too, in the arts we have mentioned,18 all of them produce mimesis in rhuthmos, language, and melody, whether separately or in combinations. That is, melody and rhythm alone are used by music for aulos and lyre, and by any other types with this capacity, for example music for panpipes; rhuthmos on its own, without melody, is used by the art of dancers (since they too, through rhuthmoi rendered with schêmata, create mimesis of character, emotions, and actions).”19

  • 20 He names different types of poetry and music (cf. no. 13) which he says are πᾶσαι τυγχάνουσιν οὖσαι (...)
  • 21 It is not clear what art he is referring to when he says that some people produce a representation (...)

18The words used in this passage are simple, but tricky to understand precisely because their use is technical. In order to understand Aristotle’s definition of dance, it is necessary to start by contextualising it, since it is part of a larger discussion about mimesis in different arts. Indeed, it is important to note that it comes at the start of the treatise, when Aristotle introduces the different genres (εἴδη) that belong to the “poietic arts”—what he calls at the start ἡ ποιητική [τέχνη]—as mimetic on the whole.20 He then clarifies what he means by mimesis, by making a comparison with other types of art: painters and sculptors can produce a representation (μιμεῖσθαι) through their art by using colours and σχήματα, while the “poietic arts” do so with rhythm (ῥυθμῷ), language (λόγῳ), and melody (ἁρμονίᾳ).21 Since the “poietic arts” combine the three elements of μουσική (dance, poetry, and music), he specifies that they achieve mimesis through different means, used alone or in combination, depending on the specificity of each of these “poietic arts”. He then briefly discusses how music and dance can create mimesis on their own. Music uses both ῥυθμός and ἁρμονία, while dance uses ῥυθμοί σχηματιζομένοι.

  • 22 My own translation from Benveniste (1966 [1951], 333).
  • 23 “[M]ouvement réglé et mesuré” (Bailly s.v. ῥυθμός).
  • 24 This “time-frame” is usually provided by the ῥυθμός of music, although it is obviously possible for (...)

19The term ῥυθμός in the context of music ought to refer to something distinct from the ῥυθμοί σχηματιζομένοι of dance—a distinction implied by the contrast between the singular and the plural forms as well as the use of σχηματιζομένοι. In order to understand ῥυθμοί in the context of dance, it is important to be aware that it does not mean “rhythm”, as it is understood in English. As Benveniste explains “rhythmos designates a form at the very instant at which it is assumed by something that is otherwise moving, mobile, fluid—the form of something that has no organic consistency”.22 The point is that ῥυθμός has form because it is a measured movement.23 Therefore, Aristotle means that the art of the dancer, at its core, consists of making movements that fit a certain “time frame”.24

  • 25 Bocksberger (2021). The article also discusses in depth how to understand the term σχῆμα in the con (...)
  • 26 “[Σ]χῆμα […] was conceived as the most meaningful constitutive pattern of orchestic performances an (...)
  • 27 Pace Peponi (2017) and Rocconi (2017) who understand σχῆμα as a figure. It is made clear that it ca (...)
  • 28 Aristoxenus, fr. 104 Wehrli.

20These movements are said to be σχηματιζόμενοι which is what makes them mimetic, because the σχῆμα, as I have argued elsewhere, refers to the elements in a form (whether static or in movement) that enable it to be identifiable.25 This is precisely what artists ought to imitate in order to represent something, and it is thus a fundamental term to discuss the mimetic dimension of all visual arts.26 Since dancers use their body as the material in which the mimesis is created, they can imitate a given σχῆμα with it, thereby embodying what this σχῆμα gives form to. What a dancer can embody, according to Aristotle, are ἤθη (characters), πάθη (emotions, or what happens to one) and/or πράξεις (actions). However, it is crucial to understand that a certain σχῆμα can be sustained in motion, and so while dancing.27 The point becomes clearer when we consider the distinction made in ancient sources between different “styles” of dance: ἐμμέλεια for tragedy, κόρδαξ for comedy, and σίκιννις for satyr plays.28 Although each of these styles would probably fit the type of characters we find in each of these dramatic genres, it would still be possible to represent the same σχῆμα in each style. For instance, if one of the characteristics of the chorus was to be old or female, it would be possible to sustain the σχῆμα of “old age” or “femininity” (i.e. their particular physicality) throughout their dance.

21Therefore, if we return to the passage from Aristotle’s Poetics, his definition suggests that the mimetic dimension of dance lies in the embodiment of particular ἤθη, πάθη and/or πράξεις through the imitation of their σχῆμα which is realised while doing formal and measured movements (ῥυθμοί). It is not the steps themselves that carry meaning (i.e. are mimetic), but the σχῆμα (in movement) that the dancer adopts in order to execute them: a member of the chorus can do any given movement (for instance walking on orchestra, stepping, turning) while imitating a given σχῆμα at the same time (e.g. that of a woman, a maenad, a Persian, an old man, an animal, or a satyr). The key point is that the same sequence of steps can be performed while adopting different σχήματα, altering the mimetic effect. By successfully imitating a recognisable σχῆμα, the chorus-dancer would appear to the audience to embody what he “imitates”, thereby creating mimesis.

22The importance of embodiment in relation to the mimetic dimension of dance is highlighted by the use of the word ὑπόκρισις in the context of performance. At first glance, this term may not appear to be connected to dance in archaic and classical Greece. It frequently appears in Herodotus in the sense of an oracle’s “response” and is more commonly associated with “acting” in Greek drama. However, Aristides Quintilianus, though a later source, applies it explicitly to dance, drawing on earlier traditions:

  • 29 Aristides Quintilianus, De Musica, II, 4.

μόνη δὲ μουσικὴ καὶ λόγῳ καὶ πράξεων εἰκόσι παιδεύει, οὐ δι’ ἀκινήτων οὐδὲ ἐφ’ ἑνὸς σχήματος πεπηγότων ἀλλὰ δι’ ἐμψύχων, ἃ καθ’ ἕκαστον <τῶν> ἀπαγγελλομένων ἐς τὸ οἰκεῖον τήν τε μορφὴν καὶ τὴν κίνησιν μεθίστησιν. δῆλα δὲ ταῦτα κἀκ τῆς τῶν παλαιῶν χορῶν ὀρχήσεως, ἧς διδάσκαλος ἡ ῥυθμική, κἀκ τῶν περὶ ὑποκρίσεως τοῖς πολλοῖς συγγεγραμμένων.29

“Only music teaches both by words and by images of actions, and through agents that are not static or fixed in a single schêma, but are alive, and alter their form and their movement to fit every detail of what words express. This is clear both from the dances of the choruses of ancient times, whose teacher was the science of rhythm, and also from what has been written by most authors about hypocrisis.”

  • 30 The fact that these πράξεων εἰκόνες are said to change according to what is told (τὰ ἀπαγγελλόμενα) (...)
  • 31 [Ο]ὐ δι’ ἀκινήτων οὐδὲ ἐφ’ ἑνὸς σχήματος πεπηγότων suggests that a distinction is made between τὰ ἀ (...)

23Aristides Quintilianus’ reference to dance movements as πράξεων εἰκόνες underscores their mimetic nature, reinforcing that ὑπόκρισις, as understood by many authors, was linked to the physical expression of meaning in performance.30 His description of dance as dynamically adapting to the content it expresses supports the broader idea that mimesis in dance is not about fixed forms but about fluid, expressive transformation.31

  • 32 The use of ὑπόκρισις in the context of dance can in fact be traced back as early as Pindar. He uses (...)

24The use of ὑπόκρισις in the context of dance is also evident in a passage from Lucian’s On the Dance, where it is explicitly applied to a dancer’s mimetic dance performance (that of Ajax’s madness) and connected to the term σχῆμα:32

  • 33 Lucian, On the Dance, 83.

Οἷον ἐγώ ποτε μέμνημαι ἰδὼν ποιοῦντα ὀρχηστὴν εὐδοκιμοῦντα πρότερον, συνετὸν μὲν τὰ ἄλλα καὶ θαυμάζεσθαι ὡς ἀληθῶς ἄξιον, οὐκ οἶδα δὲ ᾗτινι τύχῃ εἰς ἀσχήμονα ὑπόκρισιν δι’ ὑπερβολὴν μιμήσεως ἐξοκείλαντα. ὀρχούμενος γὰρ τὸν Αἴαντα μετὰ τὴν ἧτταν εὐθὺς μαινόμενον, εἰς τοσοῦτον ὑπερεξέπεσεν ὥστε οὐχ ὑποκρίνασθαι μανίαν ἀλλὰ μαίνεσθαι αὐτὸς εἰκότως ἄν τινι ἔδοξεν.33

  • 34 Translated by A. M. Harmon (Loeb Classical Library).

“Something of that sort, I remember, I once saw done by a dancer who until then had been in high esteem, as he was intelligent in every way and truly worth admiring; but by some ill‑luck, I know not what, he wrecked his fortunes on an ugly bit of acting through exaggerated mimicry. In presenting Ajax going mad immediately after his defeat, he so overleaped himself that it might well have been thought that instead of feigning madness he was himself insane.”34

  • 35 I understand this as meaning that he either became too much like reality (i.e. an absence of stylis (...)

25Here the translator of the Loeb, understands εἰς ἀσχήμονα ὑπόκρισιν δι’ ὑπερβολὴν μιμήσεως as “an ugly bit of acting through exaggerated mimicry”. However, Lucian makes it clear that he is talking about a dancer (ὀρχηστής) and not an actor, for he uses the noun ὀρχηστής and the verb ὀρχεῖσθαι in the next sentence. Moreover, we know that pantomime artists were wearing masks and so what is translated by “exaggerated mimicry” (ὑπερβολή μιμήσεως) ought to refer to the way the dancer is embodying Ajax. In fact, Lucian explicitly states that the artist is “dancing Ajax” (ὀρχούμενος τὸν Αἴαντα). Therefore, when one realises that the word ἀσχήμων in the context of dancing refers to movements that lack a proper σχῆμα and that ὑπόκρισις refers to physical imitation, it becomes clear that the phrase εἰς ἀσχήμονα ὑπόκρισιν δι’ ὑπερβολὴν μιμήσεως ἐξοκείλαντα means that the dancer drifted towards an unrecognisable/inadequate representation (ἀσχήμων) of Ajax because of the exaggeration of the mimesis/embodiment. That is, instead of incarnating a believable mad Ajax through stylised and controlled movements, he went too far in his imitation.35 What follows some lines later in the passage also illuminates how mimetic dance works:

  • 36 Lucian, On the Dance, 84.

μάλιστα δὲ αὐτὸν ἠνίασεν ὁ ἀνταγωνιστὴς καὶ ἀντίτεχνος· τοῦ γὰρ ὁμοίου Αἴαντος αὐτῷ γραφέντος οὕτω κοσμίως καὶ σωφρόνως τὴν μανίαν ὑπεκρίνατο ὡς ἐπαινεθῆναι, μείνας ἐντὸς τῶν τῆς ὀρχήσεως ὅρων καὶ μὴ παροινήσας εἰς τὴν ὑπόκρισιν.36

  • 37 Translated by A. M. Harmon (Loeb Classical Library) with my own modifications.

“What irked him most was that his antagonist and rival, when cast for Ajax in the same role, enacted his madness so discreetly and sanely as to win praise, since he kept within the bounds of the dance and did not do violence to the representation.”37

  • 38 Lada-Richards reads the anecdote as a moral critique of theatre and pantomime which “forces us to t (...)

26We see that enacting madness through dance (τὴν μανίαν ὑπεκρίνατο) is meant to be done κοσμίως καὶ σωφρόνως, that is in an ordered/organised and controlled way. If the performance strays beyond these limits, it ceases to be dance and instead falls outside the proper boundaries (ὅροι) of the art. Lucian thus suggests that excessive imitation undermines the mimetic power of dance, turning it into something unrecognizable or inappropriate. The rival dancer, by contrast, remains ἐντὸς τῶν τῆς ὀρχήσεως ὅρων, preserving the integrity of the performance and embodying Ajax’s madness in a way that adheres to the conventions of ὑπόκρισις.38 Although he is embodying madness, he is able to do so κοσμίως and σωφρόνως. This contrast reinforces the idea that effective mimetic dance requires a balance between expressive embodiment and formal restraint—too much realism, or too much exaggeration, risks undermining the performance altogether.

4. Plutarch’s discussion of dance: general principles of dance theory

  • 39 Schlapbach (2018, 36).
  • 40 Lawler already warned that “writers on the dance, then, who state on the authority of Plutarch’s pa (...)

27Now that the meaning of mimetic dance, and its connection to ὑπόκρισις and σχῆμα has been clarified, we can finally turn to Ammonius’ discussion of dance in the final chapter of Plutarch’s Table‑Talk. This passage is embedded in a sympotic setting, where a performance of dance precedes and frames its philosophical analysis. As Schlapbach notes, Ammonius’ speech is not an isolated reflection, but a display of erudition which draws on a now largely lost tradition of philosophical and technical writings on dance.39 In his account, he identifies three constitutive parts (μέρη) of dance (φορά, σχῆμα, and δεῖξις), thereby offering a framework for understanding ancient dance theory. Although the discussion has been criticised for its lack of technical utility,40 I argue that it not only offers a coherent framework for the understanding of ancient dance theory, but one that is also applicable to any type of dance. This becomes clear once the term σχῆμα is understood as inherently mimetic and dynamic because this understanding sharpens its contrast with φορά and δεῖξις. The passage is rich in content, and I do not have the space here to explore every detail. I will focus solely on the distinction between the three components of dance to demonstrate how they form the backbone of ancient dance theory:

  • 41 Plutarch, Table‑Talk, 747c.

φορὰς μὲν οὖν τὰς κινήσεις ὀνομάζουσι, σχήματα δὲ τὰς σχέσεις καὶ διαθέσεις, εἰς ἃς φερόμεναι τελευτῶσιν αἱ κινήσεις, ὅταν Ἀπόλλωνος ἢ Πανὸς ἤ τινος Βάκχης σχῆμα διαθέντες ἐπὶ τοῦ σώματος γραφικῶς τοῖς εἴδεσιν ἐπιμένωσι. τὸ δὲ τρίτον, ἡ δεῖξις, οὐ μιμητικόν ἐστιν, ἀλλὰ δηλωτικὸν ἀληθῶς τῶν ὑποκειμένων·41

  • 42 My own translation.

“So they call movements phorai, and the states and arrangements which the danced movements result in are schēmata; [as] when they sustain, in the manner of painting, the ideas [sc. of Apollo, Pan, or that of a Bacchant] in the body, by arranging the schēma of Apollo, Pan, or a Bacchant. The third element, deixis, is something that is not mimêtikon, but dêlôtikon (indicative), since the things are actually being suggested/are implied.”42

4.1. Φορά

  • 43 I suspect that the misunderstanding comes from the fact that what I have translated by the three co (...)

28Ammonius states that φοραί is the term used for movements. While the word φορά is often translated as “phrase” in this passage, there is no textual basis for this interpretation.43 Rather, since φορά refers to the actual movements a dancer performs, and is contrasted with σχῆμα, which, as discussed earlier, refers to the mimetic dimension of dance, it must denote the formal or structural dimension of dance—movement in its abstract nature. One might compare this to the viewing of a picture: one may either focus on what it represents or on the arrangement of lines that compose the image. Likewise, in dance, one can consider what a dancer embodies (i.e. the subject of mimesis) or the various lines the dancer traces (i.e. the steps) during the performance. Φορά pertains to movement as such, in its abstract aspects, considered independently of what it signifies.

  • 44 οὕτως ἐν ὀρχήσει τὸ μὲν σχῆμα μιμητικόν ἐστι μορφῆς καὶ ἰδέας, καὶ πάλιν ἡ φορὰ πάθους τινὸς ἐμφαντ (...)

29It must be noted though that there is nonetheless a way for φοραί to convey meaning. Ammonius explains later that abstract movement can be expressive (ἐμφαντικόν) of πάθος, πρᾶξις, and δύναμις.44 I suspect that it refers to the way the quality of a movement (i.e. of its execution) can be expressive of the state the character the dancer embodies is in. A lot more research remains to be done on the term ἐμφαντικόν in the context of dance though.

4.2. Σχῆμα

30Ammonius states plainly that σχῆμα is mimetic (τὸ σχῆμα μιμητικόν ἐστι). As discussed earlier, σχῆμα does not refer to a pose or a single figure. Rather, it is a sustained mode of embodiment designed to be legible to an audience. The σχῆμα of a specific character (ἦθος) or of an emotion (πάθος) can be maintained across all the dancer’s movements (φοραί), giving consistency and recognisability to the subject of mimesis. Imitating a given σχῆμα consists in identifying its defining features (i.e. how a certain ἦθος or πάθος manifests itself in the body) and reproducing them. What matters is that a σχῆμα, or even multiple σχήματα, can be sustained while executing a choreography. Certain steps may reinforce the mimetic character of the dance. For instance, in the case of a satyr play, the movements of the σίκιννις are particularly suited to the imitation of satyrs by the chorus, but the σχῆμα of a satyr could still be recognised independently of the steps that make up that specific type of dance.

31The apparent fixity of a σχῆμα arises from its alignment with a crystallised mental image of the subject of imitation. When I think of a horse, I do not picture a moving animal but a stable image—a side view with clearly defined features. This image is already schematic: it condenses a complex, living being into a legible form. Dance engages with this process of abstraction. The σχῆμα does not attempt to reproduce the full reality of what it represents but to isolate what makes it recognisable. Fixity, in this context, is not a property of the body but a function of representation: it is the result of selecting and sustaining the visual and kinetic elements that allow the subject of mimesis to be perceived and identified.

4.3. Δεῖξις

  • 45 Plutarch, Table‑Talk, 747c.
  • 46 Esposito (2010, 66) arrives to similar conclusions regarding the meaning of δεῖξις, although she on (...)

32The third dimension, δεῖξις, is described as δηλωτικόν, often translated as “indicative” or “displaying”, because it allows the performer to refer precisely to something. However, δεῖξις in ancient dance should not be understood simply as “pointing”. Ammonius observes, in what follows in the passage, that the dancers indicate (δηλοῦσι) the things themselves (αὐτὰ τὰ πράγματα) through δεῖξις, and adds that this resembles the use of proper names (κύρια ὀνόματα) in poetry.45 The analogy is significant. It suggests that the relation between a “deictic gesture” and its referent is not mimetic but semiotic: like a proper name, the gesture does not resemble what it refers to but designates it directly. In this sense, δεῖξις operates like a signifiant in relation to a signifié. The gesture functions as a name for the thing it indicates.46

33Meaning, therefore, does not arise from imitation, since it is not intelligible through likeness but through convention. Ammonius indeed specifies that δεῖξις is not mimetic (οὐ μιμητικόν ἐστιν). Take, for example, the gesture of raising a thumb. Its meaning—approval or success—does not arise from any resemblance to the concept it signifies, but from a culturally defined system of signification. Δεῖξις in ancient dance functions not through μίμησις (unlike σχῆμα), but by indicating meaning directly through the use of an encoded gesture: it does not depict what it refers to but signals it in a way that is conventionally recognisable to the audience. Δεῖξις, then, defines a third and distinct mode of meaning-making within ancient dance—one that operates through signification rather than imitation. It is an act of reference, not of resemblance.

5. Conclusion

34In this paper, I have examined how dance was conceptualised in Antiquity as a meaningful art form. Through a close reading of sources such as Aristotle’s Poetics, Aristides Quintilianus’s De Musica, Lucian’s On the Dance, I have shown that the three constitutive parts of dance identified by Ammonius in Plutarch’s Table‑Talk—φορά, σχῆμα, and δεῖξις—correspond to three distinct dimensions of movement, or ways of understanding movement. Together, they form a coherent theoretical framework to interpret dance. Each term captures a different manner in which meaning can arise from movement. Φορά refers to the abstract dimension of motion. Σχῆμα denotes the mimetic configuration of the body in movement, by which the dancer can express ἤθη, πάθη and πράξεις. Δεῖξις, by contrast, is indicative. It does not imitate a subject but refer to it by convention. The three categories correspond to three different modes of creating meaning: expressive (ἐμφαντικόν), mimetic (μιμητικόν), and indicative (δηλωτικόν). Each operates according to a distinct logic, and together they offer a structured typology of how dance may convey meaning. However, these dimensions, like the parts of a living body, are not mutually exclusive but can be integrated and operate concurrently.

  • 47 Bocksberger (2017, 172–174).

35To this system, I would like to propose a fourth dimension, which I refer to as metaphorical (μεταφορικόν). In a previous study, I suggested that the term μεταφορά may have originated from dance vocabulary before being applied to literature.47 It is composed of μετά and φορά, the latter of which is used, as we have seen to refer to the abstract dimension of dance movement. On this basis, the word μεταφορά could be understood to designate the meaning which is conveyed beyond the dance steps. While it does not appear in ancient theories of dance, it may be understood as describing a more abstract process by which movement acquires metaphorical or symbolic value.

36Unlike σχῆμα or δεῖξις, the metaphorical dimension of dance does not correspond to a category of movement. It describes a mode of reception: the possibility that the spectator will interpret movement metaphorically, as carrying a meaning that is neither directly embodied nor indicated. A fall may suggest failure; a leap may evoke elation. These interpretations are to be inferred by the audience. To create such interpretations dance can literalise metaphors already present in language. For example, a dancer may perform movements that appear heavy, and this heaviness may be associated by the spectator with familiar expressions such as “feeling heavy” or “having a heavy heart”. These readings depend on cultural context and individual perception. Like poetry, this mode of meaning-making is open-ended, responsive to nuance, and requires active engagement from the audience.

37Dance, then, may be said to operate on four levels: kinetic, mimetic, indicative, and metaphorical. By recovering the distinctions embedded in the ancient vocabulary, we gain access to a conceptual system that allows us to analyse dance as an art form in its own right. This system does not only concern the mechanics of movement but the ways in which movement was thought to mean. The ancient theory of dance was neither rudimentary nor unsystematic. It was grounded in observation and practice, and remains a valuable model for thinking about meaning-making in dance.

Image 5. – The four dimensions of dance and their mode of creating meaning.

Image 5. – The four dimensions of dance and their mode of creating meaning.
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HALLIWELL Stephen, The Aesthetics of Mimesis: Ancient Texts and Modern Problems, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 2002.

LADA-RICHARDS Ismene, “Becoming Mad on Stage: Lucian on the Perils of Acting and Spectating”, BICS, 49 (1), 2006, pp. 145–164.

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PEPONI Anastasia-Erasmia, “Dance and Aesthetic Perception”, in P. Destrée & P. Murray (eds), A Companion to Ancient Aesthetics, Malden, MA / Oxford / Chichester, Wiley-Blackwell, 2015, pp. 204–217.

PEPONI Anastasia-Erasmia, “Aristotle’s Definition of Dance”, in L. Gianvittorio (ed.), Choreutika: Performing and Theorising Dance in Ancient Greece, Pisa / Rome, Fabrizio Serra, 2017, pp. 215–243.

ROCCONI Eleonora, “Moving the Soul through the Immovable: Dance and Mimesis in Fourth-Century Greece”, in L. Gianvittorio (ed.), Choreutika: Performing and Theorising Dance in Ancient Greece, Pisa / Rome, Fabrizio Serra, 2017, pp. 178–197.

RUSSELL Tilden, Dance Theory: Source Readings from Two Millennia of Western Dance, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2020.

SCHLAPBACH Karin, “Dance and Discourse in Plutarch’s Table Talks 9.1”, in T. Schmidt & P. Fleury (eds), Perceptions of the Second Sophistic and Its Times, Toronto, University of Toronto Press, 2011, pp. 149–168.

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STEINER Deborah Tarn, Choral Constructions in Greek Culture: The Idea of the Chorus in the Poetry, Art and Social Practices of the Archaic and Early Classical Period, Cambridge / New York, Cambridge University Press, 2021.

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WHALLEY George, Aristotle’s Poetics: Translated and with a Commentary (ed. by J. Baxter and J. P. Atherton), Montreal / Kingston, McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1997.

WOODRUFF Paul, “Mimesis”, in P. Destrée & P. Murray (eds), A Companion to Ancient Aesthetics, Malden, MA / Oxford / Chichester, Wiley-Blackwell, 2015, pp. 329–340.

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Notes

1 See, for instance, Lada-Richards (2007), Webb (2008), Garelli (2007), Peponi (2004, 2009, 2015), Gianvittorio (2017), Olsen (2017, 2020), Schlapbach (2018, 2022), Steiner (2021), Hall & Wyles (2008), Gianvittorio & Schlapbach (2021), Briand & Schlapbach (2023), Alonso Fernández & Olsen (2024).

2 Russell (2020).

3 Russell (2020, xx).

4 On this passage, see Garelli-François (2001), Esposito (2010), Schlapbach (2011; 2018, 25–26, 34–61) and Rocconi (2017, 92–94). Russell notes that one limiting factor in the tradition of dance theory is that “writers in every age theorized prescriptively, according to their own needs and ideals” (2020, xx). By contrast, Plutarch’s discussion succeeds in capturing the essential nature of the art form precisely because it is not prescriptive. It is notable that major theorists of ballet d’action, such as Menestrier (1681) and Noverre (1760), were influenced by this passage.

5 While the mimetic capability of dance is important, it is only one among several dimensions a choreographer may choose to focus on—just as visual artists do in their own mediums.

6 For instance, in the 18th century, Diderot bemoaned the fact that dance was still barely considered to be un genre d’imitation (Diderot, 1946 [1757], 1294 f.).

7 On the connection between the mimetic dimension of dance and narrativity, see Bocksberger (2021, 72–73).

8 Thuries (2014).

9 See for instance Gianvittorio (2017, 25–26) and Catennaci (2017, 18).

10 Aristotle, Poetics, 1447a, 26–28.

11 Naerebout (2017, 58).

12 Xenophon, Symposium, IX, 3.

13 Translated by E. C. Marchant, O. J. Todd. Revised by Jeffrey Henderson (Loeb Classical Library).

14 Many concepts found in later sources are already latent in earlier ones which suggest a certain continuity of dance vocabulary. Authors such as Aristotle presuppose a mimetic understanding of dance as he reflects on its capacity to express meaning, while Aeschylus and Phrynicus, for instance, were credited with inventing σχήματα for their choruses (Aristophanes, fr. 696 PCG; Plutarch, Table‑Talk, 732f [= TrGF I T13]). This continuity of terminology is also evident in Memorabilia, III, 10, where Socrates engages in discussions about the mimetic arts with the painter Parrhasios (III, 10.1–5) and the sculptor Cleiton (III, 10.6–8).

15 The formal vocabulary of ballet is of course well‑established but it has nothing to do with how meaning is created.

16 On mimesis, see Woodruff (2015) and Halliwell (2002, especially p. 16 regarding the difficulty to translate the term). Whalley sees the problem that the translation “to imitate” poses when he states: “[i]n this paragraph, as in many other places, Aristotle uses mimeisthai—the verb cognate to mimesis. If the verb is translated ‘to imitate’, the meaning is deflected towards an assumed commonplace definition for ‘imitation’. In order to keep clear that mimesis is an activity or process and not a thing or product, I use the phrase ‘they do their mimesis’” (1997, 46).

17 Aristotle, Poetics, 1447a, 18–28.

18 Earlier (1447a, 14–16), Aristotle mentioned hexametric poetry (ἐποποιία), tragedy (ἡ τῆς τραγῳδίας ποίησις), comedy (κωμῳδία), dithyrambic poetry (ἡ διθυραμβοποιητική), and most of the music for aulos and kithara (καὶ τῆς αὐλητικῆς ἡ πλείστη καὶ κιθαριστικῆς). In my discussion, I shall call them “poietic arts”, since Aristotle says that they all are the concern of ἡ ποιητική.

19 Translated by S. Halliwell (Loeb Classical Library) with my own modifications.

20 He names different types of poetry and music (cf. no. 13) which he says are πᾶσαι τυγχάνουσιν οὖσαι μιμήσεις τὸ σύνολον (Aristotle, Poetics, 1447a, 16).

21 It is not clear what art he is referring to when he says that some people produce a representation διὰ τῆς φωνῆς. Nonetheless, it is certainly possible to “imitate” (μιμεῖσθαι) sounds with one’s voice.

22 My own translation from Benveniste (1966 [1951], 333).

23 “[M]ouvement réglé et mesuré” (Bailly s.v. ῥυθμός).

24 This “time-frame” is usually provided by the ῥυθμός of music, although it is obviously possible for a dancer to do so with no music. The point is that the ῥυθμοί of the dancers are structured movements (Esposito, 2010, 62–63). Interestingly, Aristoxenus (Elementa Rhythmica, II, 9) states that time can be divided by three ῥυθμιζόμενα in the context of μουσική: λέξις, μέλος, κίνησις σωματική. This supports the idea that ῥυθμός manifests itself differently in poetry, music, and dance.

25 Bocksberger (2021). The article also discusses in depth how to understand the term σχῆμα in the context of dance.

26 “[Σ]χῆμα […] was conceived as the most meaningful constitutive pattern of orchestic performances and believed (by most, at least) to have a prominent role in conveying mimetic contents” (Rocconi, 2017, 192).

27 Pace Peponi (2017) and Rocconi (2017) who understand σχῆμα as a figure. It is made clear that it can be sustained in motion by Socrates, in Xenophon’s Memorabilia, III, 10.5, when he says that ἤθη can be revealed by the σχῆμα of men, when they are immobile or in movement (διὰ τῶν σχημάτων καὶ ἑστώτων καὶ κινουμένων ἀνθρώπων).

28 Aristoxenus, fr. 104 Wehrli.

29 Aristides Quintilianus, De Musica, II, 4.

30 The fact that these πράξεων εἰκόνες are said to change according to what is told (τὰ ἀπαγγελλόμενα) makes it clear that Aristides Quintilianus is talking about dance.

31 [Ο]ὐ δι’ ἀκινήτων οὐδὲ ἐφ’ ἑνὸς σχήματος πεπηγότων suggests that a distinction is made between τὰ ἀκίνητα and ἓν σχῆμα which is relevant to the argument I made above on the meaning of σχῆμα. Aristides Quintilianus seems to distinguish between “fixed positions” (τὰ ἀκίνητα) and the embodiment through dance of only one subject of mimesis (ἓν σχῆμα). The chorus would have to embody different ἤθη, πάθη and/or πράξεις to match the content of the poetry.

32 The use of ὑπόκρισις in the context of dance can in fact be traced back as early as Pindar. He uses the word in fr. 140 in the context of representing/embodying dolphins through dance.

33 Lucian, On the Dance, 83.

34 Translated by A. M. Harmon (Loeb Classical Library).

35 I understand this as meaning that he either became too much like reality (i.e. an absence of stylisation which would blur the boundary that separates ‘art’ and ‘reality’), or that his physical enactment of Ajax’s madness was so dramatic and over-the-top that it was laughable, which would enable Lucian to express his wit: given that the dancer dared enact the mad Ajax in such an exaggerated (and grotesque?) way, he must have been the one who was really mad.

36 Lucian, On the Dance, 84.

37 Translated by A. M. Harmon (Loeb Classical Library) with my own modifications.

38 Lada-Richards reads the anecdote as a moral critique of theatre and pantomime which “forces us to take a vertiginous plunge into the perilous depths of mimetic representation, where the distinction between reality and the pretence of reality is blurred, and where ‘playing’ the other and ‘being’ the other are disturbingly braided” (2006, 150). She does acknowledge that Lycinus (the dance advocate who tells the story in the dialogue) treats it as an instance of “technical lapse” (2006, 149), but she does not mention that he also refers to the rival dancer who is able to embody a mad Ajax adequately.

39 Schlapbach (2018, 36).

40 Lawler already warned that “writers on the dance, then, who state on the authority of Plutarch’s passage that the three constituent elements of the ancient Greek dance are phora, schēma and deixis, and who regard these as precise and mutually exclusive technical terms, are in error” (1954, 12). This critique is echoed, though in more nuanced terms, by Rocconi (2017, 193–194) and Schlapbach (2011, 154; 2018, 42–50), who read these categories as a mixture of heterogeneous interpretative tools embedded in Plutarch’s rhetorical and philosophical context.

41 Plutarch, Table‑Talk, 747c.

42 My own translation.

43 I suspect that the misunderstanding comes from the fact that what I have translated by the three constitutive parts of dance (τρία μέρη τῆς ὀρχήσεως) may have been understood as the different “elements” that can be combined to make a choreography.

44 οὕτως ἐν ὀρχήσει τὸ μὲν σχῆμα μιμητικόν ἐστι μορφῆς καὶ ἰδέας, καὶ πάλιν ἡ φορὰ πάθους τινὸς ἐμφαντικὸν ἢ πράξεως ἢ δυνάμεως· (Plutarch, Table‑Talk, 747a).

45 Plutarch, Table‑Talk, 747c.

46 Esposito (2010, 66) arrives to similar conclusions regarding the meaning of δεῖξις, although she only tentatively states that its meaning “sarebbe plausibile anche gestualità”.

47 Bocksberger (2017, 172–174).

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Sophie Marianne Bocksberger, « Dance in Antiquity: An Outline of a General Theory »Gaia [En ligne], 28 | 2025, mis en ligne le 10 juillet 2025, consulté le 13 février 2026. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/gaia/5775 ; DOI : https://doi.org/10.4000/14bdi

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