Let us suppose that a man A caused the death of another man B. Obviously this event could occur either (1) in an accidental manner, without the least possible foresight or culpable neglect, as for instance in a wrestling-match or in a javelin-throwing competition: or (2) in circumstances which implied a certain amount of culpable neglect, or ἀφυλαξία, because the slayer did not take the usual or the necessary precautions—as, for instance, if a drug was administered, in illness, to B, and A did not see to it that the drug was of the proper kind: or (3) in a manner which involved a certain amount of intent or deliberation, though not necessarily ‘malice aforethought,’ on the part of the slayer, as, for instance, if A struck B in a drunken bout, or in a sudden fit of anger, jealousy or revenge. Plato,[15] in the _Laws_, makes the clearest possible distinction between these cases, and so does Antiphon[16] in his _Tetralogies_. But the Greek words ἄκων and ἀκούσιος were applied indiscriminately to all three cases! The Greeks of historical times actually put on trial inanimate objects which had slain a man. Why? Was it because these objects were regarded as polluted and it was necessary to discover the extent of the pollution? We do not think so, for such objects were either polluted or they were not. There could have been no question of degrees of pollution. The purpose of such a trial was rather, we think, to inquire whether the objects were guilty or not. But why was this question of such importance? Clearly because there was a human, as distinct from a divine, interest in such trials. We suggest that these trials were instituted primarily in order to establish the innocence of an accused man. In Greek law, unlike modern law, it was necessary for a man to prove his innocence. He could only do this, very often, by proving that somebody else, or something else, was guilty. We do not agree with Müller[17] and Philippi[18] in regarding these trials (δικαὶ ἀψύχων) as sham trials. Presided over by five ‘kings,’ as Aristotle[19] assures us that they were, they cannot have been so altogether meaningless and absurd. They were, we think, almost as important as a modern Coroner’s inquest. Now, who, we may ask, were the five ‘kings’ who sat at the Prytaneum ‘murder’ court in the time of Aristotle? They were, simply, the King-Archon, and the four Phylobasileis, or Tribe-Kings, who still survived as the religious and judicial representatives of the old Ionian tribes of Attica. These kings are therefore the aristocratic descendants of the Elders who ‘sat on smooth stones in a sacred circle,’ in the Pelasgian Age.[20] The Prytaneum, as Glotz[21] points out, was the oldest court at Athens. Coulanges[22] connects this court with the worship of the ancestral-hearth; it was, he thinks, the divine ‘hearth-stone’ of the nation, the source of its vitality, the symbol of its immortality. Yet this court Müller and Philippi regard as a mock or sham-court, in which a