1

PANHELLENISM AND THE COMMUNITY OF
THE HELLENES

Panhellenism and the Hellenic community

Panhellenism, as it is understood in this volume, is political and is intimately connected to the self-conscious Hellenic community. Panhellenism created community, not only by providing limits for it, but also by providing it with a shared past, at least a ‘joined-up’ present, and the prospect of a common future. Panhellenism, or at least Panhellenic themes, were generated out of Hellenic identity, but were also generative themselves, as they ‘told the story of’ the Hellenic community in terms of ‘unity’, ‘war against the barbarian’, ‘liberation’, Hellenic simplicity and Asian luxury, common action, joint leadership, and freedom. Panhellenism, however, was also a means of critiquing the community and its activities, and locating the community both in time and space and in relation to the non-Greek world. If we are going to understand Panhellenism, therefore, we need to understand the nature of identities, how they are formed and shaped through representations and the stories we tell about ourselves, and how Panhellenism created and maintained the community of the Hellenes. In this chapter we will begin by considering communal identities, and their nature, formation and maintenance. We will then turn to Hellenic identity in particular, and show how Panhellenism imagined the community of the Hellenes into being, by considering the range and scope of Panhellenic themes and stories. Finally, we will turn to the role of the ‘barbarian’ in the Hellenic identity before considering the extent to which Panhellenism was a panhellenic phenomenon, rather than simply an Athenian one as has sometimes been claimed.

The symbolic community of the Hellenes

It is now generally recognized that ‘identity’, whether of an individual or a collective, is constructed through systems of representations. That is, identity is something that is ‘imagined to be’ (though it is no less real for that) rather than something that ‘is’, something that is intrinsic or ‘essential’. I am (literally) who I say, think and write that I am, through the stories that I tell about myself which arise out of the places in which I have lived, the people by whom I have been influenced, and the ways that I represent myself, both to myself and to others.1

Identities are also not monolithic, but any one individual can have multiple identities, and multiple ways of talking about any one of these identities.² I can tell different kinds of ‘stories’ about myself at different times, in different places and according to different circumstances. I am (among other things) ‘mother’, ‘working mother’ and ‘professional academic’, as well as (or perhaps in spite of these) ‘Greek historian’. Identities also change, and develop. Although the stories of identity often assume continuity with the past, identities are in a continual state of ‘production’ as they interact constantly with the present, forming ‘new’ stories.³ The account of my childhood in rural Australia forms part of my identity, but I am no longer that child, and even my identification with ‘Australianness’ has been compromised in complex ways by fifteen years or so of life in Britain (though I still call myself ‘Australian’ and tell myself and others the story of my ‘Australianness’).

In the same way, a communal identity is what a community imagines itself to be, by the ways in which it talks about itself, organizes and makes sense of its past,⁴ and by the systems of symbols it uses to describe and characterize itself in the present and to order the future. In fact, communities are primarily ‘imagined’, for as Benedict Anderson has said ‘...even the members of the smallest communities will never know most of their fellow members, meet them, or even hear of them, yet in the mind of each lives the image of their communion’, and that ‘[c]ommunities are to be distinguished, not by their falsity/genuineness, but by the style in which they are imagined’.⁵

The way in which communities are ‘imagined’ is through the accounts that they give of themselves, about who they are in the present and how they were formed from their past.⁶ Put another way, a community identity is a system of cultural representations which gives the community substance, limits and coherence, and structures the ways in which it thinks about itself in the past as well as in the present and the future.⁷ As Stuart Hall notes for the modern nation-state: ‘People are not only legal citizens of a nation; they participate in the idea of the community as represented in its national culture.’⁸Thus being ‘Australian’ is not just a matter of having legal title to Australian citizenship, it is also a sharing in the ‘idea’ of Australianness as it is told through (for example) stories of mateship, playing cricket, eating meat-pies and owning (at least when I was a child in the seventies) a Holden Kingswood. It is this symbolic community that not only supports and validates the political entity of ‘Australia’, but also creates identity within and allegiance to the nation.

Panhellenism and the power of identity

At least by the mid-sixth century, the Hellenes participated in the idea of a community. Although it is anachronistic to talk about the ‘community of the Hellenes’ in terms of the modern nation-state, the idea of the symbolic and imagined community is helpful in thinking about Hellenic identity and Panhellenism. As has now long been established, the Hellenes did not try to achieve or even conceive the possibility of ‘nationhood’,9 and ‘Hellas’ and ‘the Hellenes’ were not political in the sense that membership of the Hellenes was a political status. Nevertheless, the Hellenes certainly did come to think of themselves as being at least on some level a unified community, and told stories about themselves of unity and community so that in the late-fifth century Herodotus could famously say that Greekness (τὸ ‘Ἑλληνικόν) is based on common cult, common blood, common language and common ways of life (8.144.2).

However, the ‘Hellenes’ as a self-conscious community was more than just a Kulturstaat, a community of shared culture.¹⁰ The ‘community’ of the Hellenes existed at the level of the imaginary and symbolic. The Hellenes existed because the Hellenes said that they existed; as a result, it was also a ‘political’ community with a self-consciously shared identity.¹¹ The Hellenes imagined their community into being because the ‘idea’ of ‘the Hellenes’ was recognized as one which carried power, that is, it was an idea that was necessary to the self-interest of the group.¹² Although the development of a cultural community created the preconditions for the politicization of the community, the existence of the cultural community did not of itself fulfil the conditions for the existence of the political community.

Nevertheless, ‘culture’ was an important medium for expressing identity. However, since culture exists only as it is represented, accessing and understanding what it can tell us about identity is not always straightforward. Different types of cultural material will yield up (or perhaps ‘act out’) their stories in different ways, and so must be read on their own terms.¹³ In fact, the readings which different cultural artefacts offer can depend on the ways in which they intersect within the wider social, political and cultural matrix. As a consequence, though vase-painting is sometimes thought to be a private and social genre largely impervious to public issues,¹⁴ the choices that are made about what will be represented on a pot (monsters, hoplites, Persians, Scythians or Negroids) and how they are represented (‘tamed’ monsters, nude hoplites, clothed Persians, bow-and-arrow-bearing Scythians, caricatured Negroids) and on what they are represented and for what purpose (bronze ceremonial shields, ceramic drinking cups, sympotic perfume bottles) can tell us a great deal about political values which obtain in a particular society, what level or levels of the society held those values or aspired to them, and how these political values changed and developed over time. Moreover, Arafat emphasizes the potential liberty vase-painters had for experimentation, given that their costs were lower and the expectations placed on them by external agencies were minimal.15 Greek vases, though social in function, can tell us a great deal about the political attitudes of the people who bought and used them.

Yet Greek culture and Hellenic representations of identity were not static but were continuously being recreated and modified. The fact of making a representation of the community and its values can also challenge those values.¹⁶ Public buildings, for example, which are more obviously political than pots since they represent (at some level) a statement of the collective values of a community, also have a complex relationship with those values, and through the very act of representing them, on one level asserts them, but also challenges and even changes them. As Hölscher notes:

Monuments have their place in public space. They mark its public character, claiming it and unfolding their effect in it. They inevitably address the community and, precisely because of their public nature, challenge it, provoking consent or contradiction; they do not allow indifference because recognition automatically means acceptance. They do represent the public power of certain persons or ideological concepts. They proclaim a public message and demand its general and collective approval. In this sense monuments represent and create ideological identity; in fact they are the concrete examples of identity, be it of a whole community or of groups within this community, and their destruction signifies the annihilation of that identity. Toward the outside, they fence off their community and turn aggressively against foreign or hostile communities.¹⁷

Thus the frieze on the Parthenon (to consider just one element of this complex building) asserts the communal values of the Athenians as they share a civic and ritual activity. At the same time, however, the frieze seems to draw an implicit comparison between its procession (on a building commemorating, by its existence, the Greek – or more particularly Athenian – victory over the Persians) and the procession of subjects on the Persian palace at Persepolis, and thereby makes a statement to the Greeks, the allies (particularly in the imperial context of the Panathenaea) and to the Athenians themselves about the Athenians’ role in the Hellenic community and their aspirations for empire.¹⁸ The frieze then represents at the same time a celebration of community, a constant and recurring ritual enactment playing out a relationship between gods and men, and an assertion of the relationship between the Athenians and their subject allies (a claim and a challenge directed both at the allies and the Athenians themselves). It (and the building which houses it) opens up rather than closes down interpretative possibilities for the viewer, and so is available for more than one level of analysis and understanding.

Likewise, Athenian drama (another public and civic cultural medium) has received much attention for the complex ways in which it reflects, supports and challenges the civic, social, political and democratic values of fifthcentury Athenian society.19 The tension between the private and the civic is tested in Sophocles’ Antigone. Euripides’ Trojan Women in the context of the Peloponnesian War challenges war, as does Aristophanes’ Lysistrata, though in a different way. And the challenging is important and intrinsic both to polis culture generally and especially to the Athenian civic context, so that Pelling can say: ‘we can see this questioning [on the tragic stage] as itself ideologically authorized: one of the marks of the good citizen is to feel the problems which the polis raised, or at least to feel them in the right setting; and the tragic theatre is the right setting.’²⁰

Telling the story of the Hellenic community

Panhellenism told the story of Hellenic identity and the Hellenic community existed because Panhellenic themes told the story of the community of Hellenes: who they were, what they were, and where they had come from.²¹At the heart of Panhellenism was the body of representations about the community, either in literature, the visual arts or drama, which explained why and how the Hellenes were a community. This did not mean, however, that all these stories were consistent with each other. On the one hand, they reflected the needs of the community in particular situations and at particular times. They also changed and developed over time, both as the needs of the community changed, and as the representations themselves interacted with each other. In this sense, Panhellenism remained dynamic, as the stories of the community were continuously retold and reinvented, taking on new shapes and heading in fresh directions. As a result, unity was expressed at different times through stories of common cult, kinship, friendship, or culture, and focused on both inclusion and boundaries, providing reasons for the Hellenes to exist as a community as well as marking out its limits.

In what follows we will set out in broad outline the chief themes of Panhellenism that were current from the archaic period to the mid-fourth century: community through cult, through kinship and friendship, through joint action in a war against the barbarian, and through shared culture and common values. We will look at how they developed and how they interacted with each other in order to get a feel for their range and scale.

Cult and community

In the first instance, Hellenic identity could be expressed through stories associated with cult,²² and the Homeric Hymn to Apollo is a poem that provides a good illustration of the ways in which the symbolic community of the Hellenes could be brought to life through the stories told about it. Probably linked to cultic and ritualized occasions, the Homeric hymns in general not only use epic as their interpretative framework, but also de-emphasize local cult and bring out the wider and more ‘panhellenic’ (in the looser sense) significance of the cult.23 The Hymn to Apollo, however, goes beyond this generalized sense. Instead, the boundaries of belonging and of the community are clearly defined by participation in the worship of Apollo as well as by the geographical boundary marked out through the cataloguing of those places which belonged to the god. In this sense, the Hymn to Apollo is not just ‘panhellenic’ in a weak sense, but is Panhellenic in the sense that it attempts to define the community.

The poem itself was composed in two parts. The first, and earlier, part of the poem is concerned not with the community of the Hellenes but with the Ionians, and focuses on the Delian Apollo, providing a catalogue of places throughout Asia Minor and the islands where Leto stopped in her search for a place to give birth to her baby (30–49). On the basis of this catalogue the poet is trying to define a remit for the god which takes in the islands and the Greek cities of Asia Minor, and to provide an aetiology for the specifically Ionian festival for Apollo on Delos, since:

You of the silver bow, lord, far-shooting Apollo,

at one time walked on rugged Cynthus,

and at another you would wander through the islands and among men.

Many are your temples and wooded groves;

and all your mountain-peaks are dear to you as are your towering ridges

of lofty mountains and rivers flowing to the sea.

But on Delos, Phoebus, you particularly delight your heart,

since there are the trailing-tunicked Ionians with their children and modest

wives.

And they delight you with boxing and dancing and song

whenever they hold their contest in memory of you.

(140–50)

This first part of the poem defines Ionianness by participation in cult, and the limits of inclusion in the community are further supported and limited geographically by the story of Leto’s travail.

The second part of the poem, on the other hand, deals specifically with Pythian Apollo. Here the god is deliberately contextualized and located within the Olympian pantheon (179–206), and then travels from Olympus, through Perrhaebia to Euboea, then on through Boeotia to Crisa where he kills the monster and founds his temple (216–387). Finally, the god looks for men to serve at his sanctuary, and brings a Cretan merchant ship around the Peloponnese to Crisa, providing another catalogue of all the geographical points along the way (388–439).

The composer of the second part, however, meant his section of the poem to be read together with the first (Ionian) part. Not only do transitional verses at the beginning of the Pythian hymn link the two parts of the poem, deftly transferring Apollo from Delos to Olympus (179–85), but also a reference to Leto in the final lines of the Pythian hymn (545) neatly draws us back to Delos. As a result, the poem as a whole works to create a Panhel lenic framework for the cult of Apollo.

While the Hellenes as such are not mentioned in the poem, taken as a whole it provides a means of defining and limiting the Hellenes and Hellas. Although the first section of the poem is local in the sense that it explicitly defines the Ionianness of Apollo, and so Ionianness itself, this more parochial view is both undermined and extended by the second part of the poem. In his wandering in search of a place to establish his oracle, Apollo is clear that he wishes to found a sanctuary at which ‘all those who live in both the rich Peloponnese and Europe and the washed-about islands’ will participate (250–1, 290–1).24 In this way the poem provides geographically a Panhellenic framework for Apollo’s cult. Just as the earliest Greek geographers created continental space by plotting locations, as we shall see, so the cultic space is also created and defined geographically through the catalogues of ‘places’ visited first by Leto, then by the god, and finally by the Cretan sailors. It is these boundary markers which give the proper Panhellenic aspect to the poem. Although the god has wider influence, specifically in Lycia and Maeonia (179), the catalogue of place-names pins down the limits not of the god’s influence but of the cult through the naming of specifically and exclusively Greek cities in the catalogues. Thus while ‘Hellas’ (always a difficult geographical concept) is not named, it is implicit in the poem. Those who belong to Apollo’s cult are defined by their location, and these locators together with participation in the cult define (by implication) the Hellenes. Identity includes and excludes, and it is the coincidence of these two strands that gives force and meaning to the identity of the cult and to the community which participates in it.

The Homeric Hymn to Apollo then is Panhellenic (in the sense that it is an expression of Panhellenism) because it tells the story, in cultic and geographical terms, of a Hellenic identity, for the roots of identity and its boundaries, explaining and justifying them. While Hellenic identity is the realization that the Hellenes form a symbolic community, Panhellenism tells the stories within which the symbols of identity have meaning. In this sense, the Panhellenism of the Hymn to Apollo is different from the more generally ‘panhellenic’ nature of Homeric epic. The great Homeric sagas were instru mental in the formation of a Hellenic identity because communities came to own them and their values. As a result, Homeric epic as it was formulated in the archaic period is panhellenic in the more generalized sense because it became the shared possession of peoples who were to understand themselves as being a community, but it does not itself tell stories for that community of it acting as a community in order to justify its existence, though by the fifth century the epic stories were understood in this way. Even the Homeric ‘Catalogue of Ships’ does not go this far, though it comes close to it. We will return to this in the next chapter.

However, although it is also implicit in the Hymn to Apollo that Apollo is the Panhellenic god, Apollo was neither the only focus for Hellenic identity, nor Delphi the only cult-centre to claim to be the centre and essence of Panhellenism. In the early-fifth century, Bacchylides cast Nemea as the centre of the Panhellenic world through Heracles (who becomes in this context a Panhellenic hero) who fought his first contest there against the lion,25 and in the early-fourth century Lysias pointed to Heracles’ foundation of the Olympic games at Olympia in order to create a community of ‘friendship’ among the Hellenes (23.2).

Cult remained an important focus for Hellenic identity down through the classical period. The sanctuary of Zeus Hellenius at Aegina was established by at least the early-fifth century (Pindar, Nem. 5.10–11, Paean 6.125–6; Isoc. 9.15, κοινὸν τῶν Ἑλλήνων).²⁶ Likewise, Aristophanes in the Lysistrata reproaches the Greeks for destroying each other though they ‘besprinkle altars with the same holy water like kinsmen at Olympia, Pylae, and Pytho’ (1128–34), suggesting that it was cult that bound the Greeks to each other in a family-like relationship.

However, as we will see in later chapters, the plurality of foci for Panhellenic stories and representations of identity points to some of the deepest problems for the integrity of the symbolic community. That there was no single location for the generation of identity meant that local stories prolif erated. As a result, there was an entrenched competition between the local stories to assert their claim to being the principal source of Hellenic identity itself. So while on the one hand, plurality created richness and diversity within the collective identity, it was also the root of its crisis.

Community through kinship and friendship

Kinship was closely linked to cult as a means of defining community. Although for Aristophanes cult created a bond like kinship, Isocrates in the fourth century said that cult activity should remind the Hellenes of their kinship (συγγενεία) (Isoc. 4.43; cf. 5.126), and at least by the fifth century participation in the Olympic Games was limited to those who could prove Greek descent (Hdt. 5.22). In fact, kinship was also important not only for defining membership of the Hellenes (Herodotus says that the Greeks shared ‘common blood’, ὅμαιμος: 8.144.2), but also for creating community. In the sixth century, the Catalogue of Women, the genealogy of the Hellenes as the sons of Hellen, tells the story of community through kinship, though not in altogether straightforward ways.27

However, in the late-fifth century Herodotus himself undermines ‘common blood’ as a defining criterion of Greek identity when he talks about the Greeks being made up of two tribes (γένη), the Ionians and the Dorians (cheerfully ignoring any other tribes, such as the Aeolians, Achaeans, Boeotians).²⁸ The Dorians, he says, were Hellenic (τὸ Ἑλληνικόν ἔθνος) and always spoke the same language. The Ionians, on the other hand, were Pelasgians, a barbarian tribe, who spoke a language that was not Greek, and only became Greek by becoming assimilated to the Hellenes (Hdt. 1.56–8; cf. 2.51.2).

The growing complexities of competing identities and models for the development of Hellenic identity, meant that kinship as a means of under standing and expressing the relationship between the members of the symbolic community of the Hellenes was not always an easy fiction to sustain (e.g. Hdt. 1.56–8). As a result,philia, ‘friendship’, which was closely linked to kinship and incorporated kinship,²⁹ also gained acceptability as a way of understanding and explaining the Hellenic community. Lysias begins his mpic Oration by reminding the Greeks that the founder of the Olympic games was Heracles:

who first assembled this contest out of goodwill (εὔνοια) for Hellas. For up till this time the cities were estranged from each other, but when this man put an end to tyrants and prevented the violence, he instituted a contest for the body, the ambition of wealth, and display of intellect in the fairest part of Hellas, so that we might join together for the sake of all these things alike, both for what we would see and hear. For he considered that the assembly here would be the beginning for the Greeks of friendship (φιλία) towards each other.

(33.1–2)

The Greeks needed to remember that they were united in philia, and in their common desire for freedom (cf. Lys. 2.19: ‘it was the duty of men to limit justice by law, and in theory to persuade but in fact to serve both of these, being ruled by law and being taught by reason’). This meant firstly that anyone who did not stand for freedom under the law was an enemy and by implication a barbarian (an important qualification since, according to Lysias, Dionysius, the tyrant of Syracuse, put himself outside the Greek fraternity by putting himself beyond the law). Arguing that ‘we ought not to consider the misfortunes of those who have been destroyed as the misfortunes of others, but as our own’ (Lys. 33.8), Lysias thought that the sufferings of friends (φίλοι) belonged to all friends (cf. Eur. Or. 735), and that it was necessary to avenge the sufferings of compatriots (Lys. 33.8), those with whom they were united by philia expressed through participation in the Panhellenic games established by Heracles.30 So for Lysias membership of the Greek community was defined politically, culturally and socially: those who believed in freedom, those who participated in the games, and those who shared and were prepared to defend the concerns of the community. However, for Lysias the Greek community was threatened both internally and externally: externally by those who would rule outside the law, and internally by a rivalry that destroyed the sense of community and broke down the co–operative ties of philia (cf. Lys. 2.48).

Philia was a relationship of community and, though it incorporated kinship, went beyond it since it was generally seen as the primary relationship binding the members of the community together. For Aristotle ‘all philiai involved koinōniai (‘associations’, NE 1161b11), and it is philia which facilitates the relationships in koinōniai since ‘the purpose of communal life is philia’ (Pol. 1280b38–9; cf. Pol. 1255b13).³¹ Friendship was an easy and flexible way of understanding and telling the story of the Hellenes, and philia, since it assumed ‘goodwill’ (εὔνοια), had an emotional impact similar to that of kinship. ³² As we shall see in a later chapter, Aristophanes explicitly claims that it is philia which should ease tensions between the Greek states, and others also suggested it should be so.

But not all Hellenes were philoi (‘friends’), or behaved to each other as philoi should. Isocrates complains that the Athenians had problems with their allies because they had not treated them as philoi (8.134), and Demosthenes argues in 353 that a war against the King would be foolish because the Greek states were not philoi with each other (14.3). Further, barbarians were not always echthroi (‘enemies’). In the mid–sixth century the Greek city Sybaris formed a ‘friendship’ (φιλότης) with the barbarian Serdaei (ML 10), and probably in the 420s the Athenians made a ‘philia for all time’ with the Great King (Andoc. 3.29). Nevertheless, as a way of describing the relationships between the Greek states philia was generally easier to handle than kinship, since, while it included kinship within its remit, it also allowed membership of the Hellenes to be more broadly based than kinship.

Community through war against the barbarian

Panhellenic stories of unity were also often based on common action. In fact, although the Greek states were transparently not united in their resistance to the Persian invaders, the Persian Wars were responsible for one of the most powerful Panhellenic themes: the war against the barbarian. Reinvented as a symbol of unity in the face of the common barbarian enemy, the Persian Wars were the basis of a unifying story which both glorified the past and looked to the future.

The war against the Persians was a war of liberation, and epigrams celebrating the Greek victories refer to the ‘rescuing’ (ῥυσάμενοι) of Greece from slavery (e.g. [Simonides] XVII (b), XX (a) Page FGE).33 Nevertheless, once the immediate threat was over in mainland Greece, the war quickly changed from a defensive war liberating Greeks on the mainland to an offensive war conducted in Asia for the liberation of all Greeks. After the battle of Plataea was fought and won on the Greek mainland, a naval force, which had sailed from Delos to Mycale on the coast of Asia Minor, attacked and defeated in a land battle the Persian naval contingent (Hdt. 9.99–104; Herodotus says the battle of Mycale was on the same day as the battle at Plataea).³⁴

The notion of an offensive war against the Mede probably developed in the final stages of the war against the Persians in 479. Indeed Simonides seems to suggest, if West’s restoration is right, that the purpose of this new phase of the war was to drive the Persians from Asia (fr. 14 West IE²).³⁵Certainly after Mycale, the Athenians remained in Asia Minor and with the Ionians laid siege to and took Persian–occupied Sestos (Hdt. 9.114–18; Thuc. 1.89.2),³⁶ while in the summer of 478 the Greek alliance under the command of the Spartan Pausanias campaigned against Cyprus, where they had some success, and later Byzantium, both being held by the Persians (Thuc. 1.94; Diod. 11.44.1–3).³⁷

The idea of the ‘war against the barbarian’ quickly gained currency, and its symbolism was powerful. Pindar used the theme of the barbarian wars (equating the wars of mainland Greece against the Persian invader with the wars of the Sicilian Greeks against the Carthaginians) in order to heroize Hieron of Syracuse (Pyth. 1.72–8), and Aeschylus’ Persians hints that there would be a retributive war against the barbarians to exact revenge. In addition, one of the original purposes of the Delian League was said to be the liberation of all Hellenes from Persian slavery (Thuc. 3.10.3; cf. Thuc. 6.76.3–4; Ar. Lysis. 653). Although the alliance formed in 481 continued to exist until 461 (Thuc. 1.102.4), many of the early actions of the new league under Athenian leadership, which may always have had a wider remit than just the prosecution of war against Persia, focused on driving the Persians out of the Aegean.³⁸ Nevertheless, the Athenians moved quickly from fear of the Persians to self–interest (Thuc. 1.75.3, 76.2), and the high–minded principles they originally espoused (if they were ever so pure) soon became subverted for more imperialist aims.³⁹

Rhetorically, the war against the barbarian was a war of revenge. Revenge formed part of the justification for the Delian League (Thuc. 6.76.3; cf. Plut. Per. 17),⁴⁰ and Thucydides says that the League was founded on the pretext of avenging the sufferings of the Greeks by ravaging the land of the King (1.96.1).⁴¹ The idea of revenge seems, at least in part, to have been based on avenging the destruction of temples, shrines and sanctuaries. Aeschylus blames the Persians’ defeat at Plataea on this (Pers. 805–22), and the Greeks may have sworn an oath before the battle of Plataea not to rebuild the sanctuaries burnt down by the Persians (Lyc. in Leocr. 81, Diod. 11.29.3), though Theopompus thought the oath was a fabrication (FGrHist 115 F 153) and Isocrates attributes a similar oath to the Ionians (4.155).42 Herodotus, writing at the end of the fifth century, has the Athenians say that the first and greatest of the reasons why they could not countenance an alliance with the Persians after Salamis (when Mardonius sent Alexander of Macedon to them) was that the statues and temples of the gods had been burnt down and destroyed (8.144.2).

By the end of the fifth century, however, the focus of the rhetoric of this retributive war was unity, harmony and freedom. Philostratus, describing Gorgias’ Olympic Oration which was probably delivered in 408, says that Gorgias, because he saw that the Greeks were divided among them selves, advocated concord (ὁμόνοια) ‘by turning against the barbarian and persuading them to make the prize of arms not the cities of each other, but the land of the barbarians’ (DK 82 B 8a).⁴³ In 384 Lysias in his Olympic Oration called for the Greeks to put an end to their wars and attack the enemy (which he saw as the tyrant Dionysius of Syracuse and the Persian King),⁴⁴ while Isocrates made repeated pleas to Athens, Sparta and Philip to undertake a war against the barbarian. He also makes it clear that others were also calling for a barbarian war (e.g. 4.15, 19–20, 166, 173; 5.9, 16, 56; 12.13-14), claiming in the Philip that a minimum result would be the liberation of the Asiatic Greeks (5.123, cf. 24), whom he concedes in the Panegyricus had been given up to the King by the Athenians and Spartans (4.137). Demosthenes imagined war against Philip as a war against the barbarian who threatened to enslave all Hellas (6.2, 8.46, cf. 18.72), while Philip for his part planned a putative war of liberation against Asia (Diod. 16.91.2).⁴⁵

Yet the generality of language which framed the barbarian war also allowed it to become a relatively loose phenomenon, and the ‘enemy’ was not necessarily fixed. Whereas for Isocrates the barbarian threat could only be the Persian King, for Demosthenes a new barbarian had come into view. As the recognition dawns for Demosthenes that Philip and the Macedonians could present a threat to the independence of the Greek states (or more particularly Athens), he shifts the location of barbarity away from ‘Asia’. Although in 354/3 Demosthenes is able to say in conventional terms that ‘the King is the common enemy of the Greeks’ (14.3), by 351 he compared Philip of Macedon with the King (15.24), and in 341 he suggests that the Athenians send ambassadors to the King to join an alliance against the Macedonians (9.71), which they apparently did ([Dem.] 12.6).⁴⁶ He shifts the rhetoric of ‘eternal enmity’ from the King to Philip. He claims that Philip is plotting against all the Greeks (6.2), and plans to enslave them (1.23; 3.20; 8.46, 59–60; 9.22), and that the Thessalians (who made Philip archōn of their Federa tion, probably in 352: Diod. 17.4.1; Justin 11.3.2)47 were already enslaved to Philip and desired to be free (ἐλεύθεροι, Dem. 2.8, cf. 8.62). But just as the tyranny of the King threatened freedom under the law in Greece, so Philip was the ‘irreconcilable enemy of constitutional government (πολιτεία) and democracy’ (8.43), because ‘every king and tyrant is an enemy to freedom (ἐλευθερία) and opposed to law (νόμοι)’ (6.25). Nevertheless, Demosthenes (spuriously) claims that the Macedonian kings were not always the enslavers; rather, when Athens was at the height of her power the king of the Macedonians was subject to the Athenians ‘as it is right for barbarians to be subject to Greeks’ (3.24).

Yet calls for the war against Asia were often no more than a thinly veiled justification for imperialism. In 396 the Spartan Agesilaus tried to give his Asian campaign Panhellenic credentials by launching it from Aulis as Agamemnon did the Trojan War, although the Theban Boeotarchs arrived in time to put a stop to the sacrifices (Xen. Hell. 3.4). Jason the tyrant of Pherae in the 360s allegedly talked of undertaking a war against the King (Isoc. 5.119), and Alexander the Great, although overtly undertaking an imperialist campaign, worked the rhetoric of Panhellenism hard. He conducted the first phase of the war under the banner of the liberation of the Greeks of Asia Minor (Diod. 17.24.1). He also represented the war as one of revenge for the atrocities of480–79, sending the trophies from the battle at the Granicus to Athens and restoring to Athens the statues of Harmodius and Aristogeiton taken by Xerxes (Arrian Anab. 1.16.7, 3.16.7, 7.19.2; cf. 3.18.12).⁴⁸ He probably also burnt the palace at Persepolis ‘in retribution’ for the destruction of Greek temples (Arrian Anab. 3.18.11–12; Q.C. 5.7.1–10; Plut. Alex. 38; Diod. 17.72).⁴⁹

The power of the war against the barbarian was not only that it had a living present, but also that it was given a ‘deep’ past and became embedded in a new history of war and counter-war. The Trojan Wars were recast as part of the sequence of barbarian wars, and the Athenians, appropriating Panhellenism for their own purposes, produced a sequence of barbarian wars in which the Athenians featured as the saviours of the Greek world (Lysias 2.4–16; Isoc. 4.51–70, 5.33–4), which culminated in the Persian Wars (the final and best example of Athenians as ‘saviours’; we will return to this in chapter 3).

Deliverance from slavery, however, implied a deliverer, though the honours for securing the victory over the Persians were contested. In the aftermath of the Persian Wars (aside from their role within it when they seem to have been the – not necessarily unchallenged – leaders of the Greek resistance), the Spartans and particularly Pausanias, their regent, seemed to have tried to write for themselves the role of heroic leader of epic proportions, and styled themselves as ‘liberators of Hellas’ (see further chapter 3). The Athenians, for their part (at least in their own self-affirming rhetoric), were insistent that they were chiefly responsible for the deliverance from slavery on the grounds that they had been prepared to sacrifice Athens in 480 for the greater good.

Indeed, the Athenians liked to represent themselves as having been the traditional joint leaders of Greece alongside Sparta, and so to promote themselves as rightfully leading, with Sparta, the war against the barbarian. This particular Panhellenic strand probably dates to Athens’ assumption of the leadership of the Delian League. Aeschylus in the Persians hints at ‘joint leadership’ through the implied Athenian victory at Salamis (230–44, 285–9) and the Spartan one at Plataea (805–6), though he of course highlights the role of Salamis (and so Athens) in providing Greek victory in the war (249–55, 532–96). Pindar in 470 was both more even handed and more explicit by attributing the liberation of Hellas from slavery to the that the Athenians were only second after them (8.93.1). In the 420s Ion of Chios, looking back to the 460s, said that Cimon, known for his pro Spartan leanings, exhorted the Athenians ‘neither to allow Hellas to become lame, nor to allow the city to become unevenly yoked’ (τὴνπ όλιν ἑτερ όζυγα περιιδεῖν γεγενημένην , FGrHist 392 F14 = Plut. Cimon 16.6). Herodotus (probably also writing in the 420s) says that Croesus of Lydia, when looking for an ally among the Greeks, discovered the Spartans to be pre-eminent among the Dorians and the Athenians among the Ionians (1.56.2), and that Aristagoras of Miletus came both to Sparta and to Athens looking for allies for the Ionian revolt (5.49–51, 55, 97). However, Herodotus had his own agenda which may have meant that he overplayed the impor tance of Athens this early, since Croesus made an alliance only with Sparta (1.69.1–70.1), in the Persian Wars Sparta alone led the Greek alliance, and Herodotus concedes that the Athenians were forced to lay aside their claim to a joint leadership (8.3.1). However, the Athenians were not the only (or necessarily the original) claimants to the joint leadership crown. When the Argives asserted their right to joint leadership in the resistance to the Persians, Herodotus says that the Spartans rejected their claim on the basis of their dual kingship (7.149.2). Gelon of Syracuse apparently also suggested the idea of joint leadership in return for his help, but was rejected (Hdt. 7.160–2).

The importance and persistence of this theme of joint leadership is most obvious in appeals for Panhellenic unity in late-fifth- and fourth-century drama and literature, when Sparta and Athens are picked out as leaders of Greece and are called on to rally the Greek states. For example, Trygaeus in Aristophanes’ Peace (1080–3) asks whether Athens and Sparta should not have made an end of war, ‘Or cast lots for whoever would shout the louder, when it was possible to make a treaty and rule Greece together?’ Lysistrata in the play named after her also assumes Athens and Sparta as historic leaders of the symbolic community and the war against the barbarian (Ar. Lysis. 1114–23, 1247–61). That thejoint leadership of Hellas was important affirmation of the community of the Hellenes is perhaps suggested by Isocrates, who in the Panegyricus claims to advocate the joint command of Athens and Sparta in a war against the barbarian (4.15–17). Yet, he complains that the Spartans think they have the right to lead the Greeks (4.19), and at the same time declares that Athens and Sparta must divide the leadership of Greece between them (4.17). He also praises Spartan valour (4.73), and claims that both Athens and Sparta deserved special honour ‘since throughout the whole history of Greece they had held positions of power among the Greeks’ (4.178; cf.75). Nevertheless, as Too has pointed out, one of Isocrates’ major aims is in fact to present a eulogy of Athens and to show why Athens is the pre-eminent Greek state.50

While part of the force of the story of the war against the barbarian was to emphasize joint activity and unity, it was also a means of defining relations with the non-Greek world, and particularly with the civilizations of Asia. Disturbing tales of the unknown and its dangers already formed part of one of the Greeks’ earliest travel stories, the Odyssey, which probably reflected on some level real travel and encounters. The mid-sixth-century invasions of Ionia, and then the invasion of mainland Greece itself brought these concerns about the non-Greek world into sharper relief. With the Persian invasions of the Greek mainland in the early-fifth century, the non-Greek, the barbarian, was to be feared, and now in a specific and tangible sense. Thucydides says, for example, that the Delian League was established out of ‘fear’ of the barbarian (1.75.3, 76.2), and in Aristophanes’ Lysistrata, the heroine urges the Greeks to lay aside their wars because ‘the enemy is at the gate’ (1132). At Athens ‘fear of the barbarian’ was also institutionalized through civic prayers (Ar. Thesm. 334–6, 357–60; cf. Isoc. 4.157). By telling stories about a united and just war against the barbarian, the existence of the symbolic community was reinforced and reinvented. The ‘community of the Hellenes’ existed, and it had a history of joint activity through a joint war against the barbarian to prove it, though the only barbarians Isocrates thought worth fighting were the Persians (Epist. 2.11).

The theme of war against the barbarian not only linked the past causally to the present, but also to the future in a continuous and unbroken sequence of events: war against the barbarian was inevitable because there had always been war against the barbarian. Herodotus sets up his Histories of the Persian Wars on this basis, starting his account with the mythical ‘snatch and counter-snatch’ of the Greek and barbarian heroines (1.1–5.1). While he distances himself from the truth of these stories, saying that they were what the Persians and Phoenicians said, he still uses them as the paradigm for Greek/barbarian relations, which he understands in terms of war and counter-war (cf. 1.5.3, 6.2). The trajectory of the continuous war provided a forward thrust for action: Isocrates reminds Philip II of Macedon that Heracles had also fought a war against the barbarian, and urges him to emulate his heroic ancestor (5.111–13).

The construction of the barbarian wars as a continuous and on-going sequence gave them a moral loading, and so political power. It was right to lay claim to Asian wealth because of Asian wrongs against the Hellenes. Yet even Greeks could act barbarically, and the war against the barbarian could also be treated ironically to reflect on the condition and motives of the Hellenic community itself.51 In the Iphigeneia at Aulis, the war against the barbarian was ‘naturally’ a just war, because of the ‘snatching of Greek wives’, and was justly retributive. This play, attributed to Euripides, is explicitly Panhellenic: Agamemnon is lord of the Panhellenes (Πανελλήνων ἄναξ, 414) and leads the army of the Panhellenes (350; cf. 753, 1264, 1526) on a campaign that affects all Hellas (e.g. 272, 370, 411, 748); Agamemnon says that in so far as it lies in him or Iphigeneia Hellas must be free, and that he must sacrifice Iphigeneia for the sake of Hellas (1271–3); and Iphigeneia herself (somewhat incoherently) declares that she gives her body for Hellas (1397, 1553–6), that she was born as a ‘common thing for Hellas’ (cf. Erechtheus fr. 360.38–9 Nauck TrGF) and not for her parents alone (IA 1386), that in dying she will liberate Hellas (1383–4), and that she will give ‘victorious salvation to the Hellenes’ (1473; cf. 1420).

But the Panhellenism of the play is corrupt. The campaign serves the ambition and pride of its leaders. While Menelaus is jealous of Agamemnon’s success (385: Agamemnon asks: ‘Does my ambition [τὸ φιλότιμον] gall you?’) and Menelaus desires only the sensuous pleasure of owning a beautiful woman (385–7), the leadership of the Greek contingent was based on Agam- emnon’s ambition. Although the Argive king declares that ‘some other man ought to have this honour instead of me!’ (85–6), Menelaus complains that Agamemnon had been eager to lead the Greeks to Troy, and that he had courted the honour (337–43),

...shaking people by the hand,

and having an open door for those of your demesmen who wanted you,

allowing everyone to accost you one after another, even if they were shy,

and by these means seeking publiclyto buy ambition (τὸ φιλότιμον).

However, when he had the command, he ‘changed to other ways’: ‘You were no longer to your friends as you had been before, difficult to get hold of and rarely indoors’ (343–5). Agamemnon lays the blame on Menelaus for Iphigeneia’s doom (97–8), but Menelaus claims that when the army of the Panhellenes were unable to leave Aulis and asked to be disbanded, Agamemnon was miserable that he might not be able to attack Troy, and, readily agreeing to the sacrifice of his daughter, sent for her willingly – ‘not by force, you cannot say this’ (350–62).

The motives of Odysseus and Achilles are also corrupt. Once Iphigeneia arrives in Aulis, Agamemnon realizes he cannot save his daughter because the army, stirred up by Odysseus, who ‘is always shifting with the mob’ and ‘caught up in ambition (φιλοτιμία)’ (526–7), will require her death (513–36). Even Achilles, young, arrogant and ridiculous, declares that he will prevent her father killing her, though not for her own sake but because of the insult to him (919–74): ‘I would have given this [the use of his name] to Greece,’ he says, ‘if the journey to Troy had taken place because of this. I would not have refused to augment the common cause (τὸκοινόν) of those with whom I marched to war’ (965–7).

The mob, too, are out of control. Agamemnon says to Menelaus: ‘Like you, Hellas is sick by the will of some god’ (411). Menelaus (who can afford to be conciliatory once it is too late) asks Agamemnon who could force him to kill his own child. ‘The whole company of the army of the Achaeans’, their leader replies (513–14). If he deceives them by not sacrificing his daughter to Artemis, Agamemnon says Odysseus would bid them to kill him and sacrifice Iphigeneia, and even if he escaped to Argos, they would come and destroy the city (528–35; cf. 1267–8). Agamemnon knows, when Iphigeneia arrives in Aulis, that the mob will not let her escape.

Indeed, the mob’s desire to sack Troy is erotically driven – not for a woman, but for blood-lust. Achilles says: ‘Such a terrible desire (ἔρως) for this campaign has fallen on Hellas by the will of the gods’ (808–9), and Agamemnon, in response to Iphigeneia’s pleas, says that he must go ahead with the deed, since the army cannot destroy the citadel of Troy unless he sacrifices her. He says: ‘Some lust (ἀφροδίτη) has maddened the army of the Greeks to sail to the land of the barbarians as quickly as possible, and to prevent the snatching of Greek wives’ (1264–6). Achilles, when he spoke against the army, was almost lynched, and his own Myrmidons were the first to turn against him (1345–57).

But the sacrifice is not necessary. Iphigeneia has to die only if the Greeks want to sail to Troy and destroy it (89–93).52 Arising from the double-edged oath sworn to Tyndareus, the motivation for the expedition is recognized as being a cause of doubtful value. Agamemnon asks Menelaus bitterly:

Tell me, spurt out these terrible words, you with your blood-shot eyes:

Who is wronging you? What do you want? Do you want to find a good wife?

I could not find one for you. The one you had,

you ruled badly.

(381–4)

Yet, in order to justify the integrity of the campaign and the sacrifice that will allow it, the purpose of the campaign must be recast in a positive light. Menelaus presents the expedition as something desirable and even noble. He berates Agamemnon:

It is wretched Hellas that I feel sorry for,

our country who, wanting to do something good, must let the good-for-nothing,

mocking barbarians go because of you and your daughter.

(370–2)

It is Agamemnon, however, who finds a rhetoric that shockingly distorts the true nature of the expedition. He explains to Iphigeneia:

It is Hellas for whom I must sacrifice you, if I am willing or unwilling.

We cannot resist this. For as far as it lies in you or me, child,

it must be free, and those who are Greeks

must not be robbed forcefully of wives by barbarians.

(1271–5)

The expedition has developed a gloss of pre-emptive self-defence: ‘to put a stop to the snatching of Greek wives’ (1266).

Tragically, Iphigeneia decides to accept her fate and die gloriously (1374–6). Since the cause in itself is inglorious, she adopts the self-deluding rhetoric of her father, and transforms herself and her death into the salvation of Hellas:

All great and mighty Hellas now looks to me,

and I am responsible for the sailing of ships and the destruction of the

Phrygians,

and in case the barbarians do anything to the wives of the future,

no longer is the snatching allowed of these happy women from Hellas,

these women having paid already for the ruin of Helen, whom Paris took.

In dying, I will provide deliverance (ῥύσομαι) from all these things, and my

fame,

since I liberated (ἐλευθἐρωσα) Hellas, will be blessed.

And I ought not to love life too much,

for you bore me as a common thing for all Greeks, and not for yourselves

alone.

(1378–86)

In order to preserve her dignity and to make her death worthwhile, Iphigeneia transforms the expedition into a truly Panhellenic event. Building on the words of her father, she invents a barbarian threat: ‘It is right for Greeks to rule barbarians, but not, mother, for barbarians to rule Greeks. For the former are slavish (τὸ δοῦλον), but the latter free (ἐλεύθεροι)’ (1400–1). Achilles, impressed by her nobility, is overcome by a desire to marry her, but Iphigeneia, now she has found her cause, tells him not to die for her, as she is determined to offer her life as a benefaction and means of salvation for the Greeks. She says: ‘Let me save Hellas, if I may’ (1420; cf. 1446). It is not the sacrifice itself that is ironic, but it is the reason for which the sacrifice is made. The tragedy and the pity is created not by the fact that Iphigeneia died for a Panhellenic cause, but that she died melodramatically for a cause which was not grand, noble or worthwhile, but about the self-seeking ambition of the leaders, and the uncontrolled blood-lust of the Greeks.

The war against the barbarian looked back in order to provide a justifica tion for the actions of the present and a template for the future. In Greece, war seemed the ever-present reality, and the politics of the fifth and fourth centuries was the politics of power-mongering. In 370 Xenophon has the Spartan ambassadors at Athens remind

...the Athenians how always at the times of greatest crisis they stood by each other for the good causes. They spoke about the tyrants being thrown out of Athens, and about the Athenians giving their eager support when they were laying siege to the Messenians. They talked about all the good things that happened when they did things together, reminding them how they fought off" the barbarian together, and how the Athenians had been chosen by the Greeks as leaders of the fleet and keepers of their common resources, and how the Spartans had supported it. They talked about how the Spartans themselves by the common consent of all of the Greeks were nominated leaders of the land forces, and how the Athenians had supported this too. And one of them even said something like this, ‘If the two of us could come to an agreement, there would then be a chance, as the saying goes, of making mincemeat of the Thebans.’

(Hell. 6.5.33–4)

The war against the barbarian created unity through a shared past, but it also was a means of eliding, avoiding or encouraging the real war: the war among themselves.

Community through shared culture

Another way of telling the story of community was through culture.53 Like kinship, the point was not that the Hellenes did share cultural traits, but that they thought and said that they did: that is, that there were certain things and values that the Hellenes were supposed to share because ‘they were’ Greeks. Thucydides suggests that Greeks were, by definition, civilized and went about unarmed, since he says that Greeks who carried arms were like barbarians (1.6.1). In the fourth century Isocrates shockingly declared that Hellenicity is defined according to those who shared an Athenian education (4.50). Certainly, Herodotus and Thucydides claim that language defined membership in the Hellenic community (though whether a common Greek language could be identified easily is another matter). Herodotus, in his discussion of Athenian/Pelasgian antecedents, says that, since the Pelasgians spoke a barbarian language (βάρβαρος γλῶσσα), the Athenians, when they became Greek, also changed their language (1.57.2–3), implying that at least in some sense Greekness resided in, or was at least denoted by, a putative common language. Thucydides is more explicit. The people of Amphilochian Argos, he says, were ‘hellenized’ in respect of their language through contact with the Ambraciots, whom they invited to join them as fellow colonists, and he contrasts these with the other Amphilochians who were barbaroi – that is, those who did not speak Greek (2.68.5).54

But what is at stake here is not just shared cultural traits, but shared values. These were often defined negatively, and were rooted in the philosophically based geographical division of the world into Europe and Asia. In the Hippocratic Airs, Waters, Places, the world is divided into Europe and Asia,⁵⁵and the peoples of Asia are enfeebled and enslaved not only as a result of the climate, but also because of their laws and institutions (esp. 16). Similarly, Aristotle says that the people of Asia are more servile than those of Europe (just as the barbarians are more servile than the Greeks), since kingship among barbarians is like tyranny, and so the barbarians accept despotism without complaint (Pol. 1285a14–22).⁵⁶

The philosophical correspondence between the continental division of Europe and Asia and the theorizing of freedom and slavery began at an early stage. The Greek victory at Plataea over the Persians was framed in terms of deliverance from hateful slavery (δουλοσύνη στυγερά, Diod. 11.33.2 = [Simonides] XVII (b) Page FGE), although the association between Persian rule and slavery may not have originated in the Persian Wars themselves. It is likely that the Greeks of Asia Minor made a link between Persia and tyranny under Darius, who generally supported tyrants in the Greek cities,⁵⁷ and tyranny and slavery had already been associated with some of the empires of Asia. In the seventh century Archilochus connected the Lydian Gyges with tyranny though the connection is not necessarily a negative one (fr. 19 West IE), but at the turn of the sixth century Xenophanes bitterly recalls being ‘without hateful tyranny’ (DK 21 B 3 = fr. 3 West IE²) before the Lydian conquest.⁵⁸

From the sixth century, there was also a persistent undercurrent of resent ment and a latent sense of contempt for Asian cultures, which was political as well as cultural. The post-invasion poets, Hipponax and Anacreon, refer to those who do not speak Greek as ‘soloecian’ (while Strabo also guesses that soloecizing, τὸ σολοικίζειν, derives from the inability to speak Greek properly; 14.2.28).59 Hipponax uses soloikoi as a pejorative term to refer to non-Greeks (fr. 27 West IE), while Anacreon calls on Zeus to silence the soloecian rabble (σόλοικος φθ ;όγγος, fr. 313a Page SLG), and warns the addressees of his poem lest they speak barbaric things, barbara (fr. 313b Page SLG). Phocylides says slightingly: a small and orderly city on a height is superior to foolish Nineveh’ (fr. 8 West ThPhF); the slavishness of Phrygians is also noted: Hipponax says that ‘if they catch soloeci they sell them, Phrygians to Miletus...’ (fr. 27 West IE).⁶⁰ While Xenophanes’ rather melancholy and wistful poem (which asks ‘what age were you when the Mede came?’: DK 21 B 22) is not the stuff of political ferment, there are indications from Herodotus that the Greeks of Asia Minor felt themselves to be politically oppressed. Although he is using the episode as a vehicle for rehearsing his rhetoric of servitude and freedom (which may mean the sentiments are genuine enough if not the actual terms), Herodotus recounts the suggestion of Bias of Priene after the Greek defeat that the Ionians should relocate to Sardinia where they could escape slavery (δουλοσύνη); staying where they were would mean they would never see freedom (ἐλευθερία, 1.170.1–2; cf. 5.49.3–4).⁶¹

The polarization of ‘free Europe’ and ‘slavish Asia’ provided a means of reaffirming and bolstering the Greek principle of equality, which perhaps found its most radical manifestation in the Athenian democratic polis, although Athens was not by any means the only or indeed the first city in Greece which had political equality for all as its fundamental principle.⁶²Aeschylus writing in the Persians in the late 470s connected rule by one man and slavery (226–46), and also defines the marks of slavery. On learning of Xerxes’ disaster in Greece, the Chorus lament that the ‘Asian land’ will no longer have to pay tribute and prostrate themselves, and will now be allowed free speech (584–94).⁶³

Also linked to this division of Europe and of Asia was the theme of Greek simplicity and Asian wealth. In his Hellenica the fourth–century polymath, Xenophon, recounts a meeting in 396 between the Spartan king, Agesilaus, and the Persian satrap, Pharnabazus (4.1.29–39). In Xenophon’s descrip tion Agesilaus and his Thirty companions, sitting on the grass, wait for the Persian. When Pharnabazus appears he comes wearing a ‘robe worth much gold’, and his attendants carry couches so that he can recline in comfort. On the other hand, when Pharnabazus saw Agesilaus’ simplicity and lack of ostentation (φαυλότης), Xenophon says the satrap was ashamed at his luxury, and joined Agesilaus as he sat on the ground. This carefully-drawn vignette comments on the character of the Spartan king (who had no need of luxury), and of the Persian (who, though immersed in decadence, had nobility enough to be ashamed of his ostentation), and so makes the point that moral worth resides in character as a true mark of status rather than appearances. In the previous century, and heading in a different direction, Aeschylus transforms Agamemnon into an Asian king, another Priam, who walks on tapestried carpets and receives obeisance, before he meets his death at the hands of his wife (Ag. 905–113, 919–20, 935–6, 944–57). Aristophanes, for his part, can afford to laugh at Persian wealth (Acharn. 80–3).

Wealth and simplicity also came to be associated with themes of slave and free. In Aeschylus’ Persians, the barbarians possess the wealth of Asia but they are also enslaved. The Hippocratic Airs, Waters, Places says of Asia that neither courage, endurance, hardwork nor high spirits could exist there, but that pleasure must rule (12). For Herodotus, Xenophon and Plato, on the other hand, there is a direct causal link between the soft-life produced by Asian wealth and soft-living that brings slavery. Herodotus, for example, has Cyrus say: ‘Soft lands breed soft men’ (9.122.3), and it is implied that though Cyrus brought the Persians freedom (3.82.5, cf. 1.125–30) the subsequent soft life of the Persians led to their enslavement. Xenophon says explicitly that the Persians went into decline in the period after Cyrus when they adopted the Median robe and Median habrosynē, luxury (Cyrop. 8.8.15), and Plato agrees that it is luxury that has prevented the proper education of the Persian Kings (Laws 3.694a–696a).

The stereotype of wealthy and luxury-loving Asia is also important for Euripides, particularly once more in its inversion. In Trojan Women, Hecuba accuses Helen of abandoning Greece for Troy because her mind was corrupted by the sight of Paris’ ‘barbarian robes’ and his gold, when in Sparta life had been simple (991–3). Hecuba says that Helen hoped, having left that city behind, ‘to flood with extravagances the city of the Phrygians which was flowing with gold’, because Menelaus’ halls could not satisfy her desire for the softer things of life (993–7). In addition, she would not leave Troy, though Hecuba urged her to, because she wanted to vaunt about Alexander’s house and to be fawned upon (προσκυνεῖν) by barbarians (1020–1). In the opening lines of Andromache, Andromache introduces herself as an Asian queen who was once arrayed in ‘golden luxury’ (πολύχρυσος χλιδή) (1–4), but it is Hermione who is adorned with ‘golden luxury’ (χρυσέα χλιδή) about her head and a costume of ‘broidered robes’ about her person (147–8), and it is Hermione who requires Andromache to prostrate herself before her, to clean the house using Hermione’s golden vessels, and to ‘know where in the world you are’ (165–8). So Greeks could be barbarian after all.

However, the desire to acquire the wealth of Asia for the Hellenes became an important strand of the story of the war against the barbarian. One of the purposes of the Delian League was to seek financial retribution from the land of the King (Thuc. 1.96.1). Aeschylus in the Persians hints at the possibilities of the Greeks’ acquiring the great wealth of Asia (249–52, 751–2), while Herodotus is more explicit about the financial advantages of a barbarian war (5.49.4–5, 97). For Isocrates, on the other hand, Asia was a wealthy land waiting to be plundered by Greeks (4.133, 188; 5.126; cf. Epist. 9.19). In the Philip he exclaims ‘how disgraceful it is to see Asia faring better than Europe and the barbarians more prosperous than the Greeks’ (5.132). Isocrates also suggests that Asia offered itself as an appropriate place to off-load the exiles and mercenaries that were making trouble in Greece (5.120; cf. 8.24, 46; Epist. 9.9–10), and through an implicit comparison with the colonization of the Ionians suggests that the Greeks might be able to send another colony to Asia and thereby to get rid of all the undesirables in Greece (12.13–14, 167; cf. 165–6).

Yet Asia had its dangers. Xenophon in the Anabasis makes liberal use of Panhellenic motifs, though his treatment is by no means straightforward. A ‘home-coming’ story, the Anabasis deliberately looks back to the Odyssey, and compares the home-coming of Xenophon and the army of the Ten Thousand with Odysseus’ return (Anab. 3.2.25, 5.1.2).64 Xenophon also locates his Anabasis within the framework of the war against the barbarian (Anab. 5.2.11–13), and expects his audience to be aware of Herodotus’ geographies and cultural polarities (Anab. 5.4.32–4; cf. Hdt. 2.35–6). Xenophon, too, has Cyrus say that it is freedom that makes the Greeks strong, and that he envies them their freedom (Anab. 1.7.3–4), and Xenophon claims that, although Cyrus was a ‘slave’ (δοῦλος), no one deserted him for the King (a claim that was not, in fact, true, Anab. 1.9.29). While there are constant suggestions that the army should found a city in Asia (Anab. 5.6.15–33; 6.4.7–8, 6.6.3), there are always some who object because they want to go home. Even Xenophon (who supported the plan, at least in the first instance), warns that there is a danger in staying in Asia too long. ‘I am afraid,’ he says, ‘that once we learn to live in idleness and to pass our days without want, and to mix with the beautiful and tall women and maidens of these Medes and Persians, like the lotus-eaters we might forget the road home’ (Anab. 3.2.25). In this subtle, elegant and (in many ways) Herodotean story, Asia poses a threat to the Greeks not because of its warriors, who are weak because of their soft lives, but because of the fairness of the land, which may make the Greeks forget their homes.

In fact, Hellenic values were a matter of choice. All barbarians may have been slaves by nature (for Aristotle, barbarians are born to be ruled rather than to rule: Pol. 1252b9, 1285a19–21), but one could still choose freedom or slavery. Herodotus, who is interested in Persian tyrants and Greek freedom, provides examples of those who deliberately choose slavishness. Maeandrius inherited the rule in Samos on the tyrant Polycrates’ death, but, disapproving of any one who wanted to ‘lord it over others (δεσπόζων) who were as good as himself’, he set up an altar to Zeus Eleutherius, Zeus the Liberator, and offered to surrender the rule, declare the Samians ‘equal’ (ἰσονομία), and give them their freedom (ἐλευθερία,3.142).65 All he asked in return was the sum of six talents and the right to the priesthood at the sanctuary which he built. But when, in response, objections were made about his accounting, Herodotus says he realized that, if he gave up power, someone else would seize the tyranny. So instead of giving it up, he imprisoned the complainants, whom his brother later put to death (3.143). ‘For,’ Herodotus concludes, ‘the Samians did not want to be free.’ Even more pointedly, the Ionians also gave up their chance of liberty. When during Darius’ Scythian campaign the Scythians came to the Ionian tyrants asking them to abandon their watch on the crossing of the Ister, the Scythians said they had come ‘bringing freedom, if only you wish to listen’ (4.133). Although the Ionians originally agreed to the Scythians’ suggestion and Miltiades the tyrant of the Chersonese argued that they should listen to the Scythians and liberate (ἐλευθεροῦν) Ionia, Histiaeus the Milesian persuaded the others that they owed their position as tyrants to Darius, and that if he fell they would not be able to hold on to power, but that each of the cities would choose ‘democracy’ rather than tyranny (4.137).⁶⁶ The tyrants, looking to their own interests, chose to support Darius. The point is that the Ionians did not have to choose to accept Darius over freedom. For Herodotus the choice between slavery and freedom, tyranny and isonomia (‘equality under the law/power equally distributed’) was not really defined along continental lines although superficially it might seem so.⁶⁷ Herodotus suggests that men choose their own nomoi, or customs, and therefore choose whether to be slaves or not. Nomos might make the man and determine whether he is slave or free, and a man might deem his nomoi to be those best and most right for him, but a man chooses the nomoi he will live under. Men could choose to have freedom and equality under the law or despotism and slavery.

So, while the differences between Greeks and Asiatics were on one level clearly defined, there was also an awareness of the way in which the bounda ries of difference were relative and the limits of identity could change, and be allowed to change. In line with the new sophistic interest in custom (νόμος) as the determinant of character and behaviour as opposed to nature (φύσις),⁶⁸by the late-fifth century it seems to have become popularly accepted that one could ‘become’ a Hellene, just as one could also ‘become’ a barbarian (cf. Eur. Or. 485). Herodotus, as we have seen, talks about the Pelasgians, or a section of the Pelasgians, ‘changing’ into the Hellenes and learning the Hellenic language (1.57.3). The implication of this seems to be that one can change one’s identity through acquiring the accoutrements of a different identity. At first sight, this looks like a one-off attempt to square the circle of competing Pelasgian traditions, but Herodotus makes a similar claim for the Cynourians, who, he says, although they lived in the Peloponnese were autochthones and Ionian. However, having been under the control of Argos for a long time, they became dorianized (8.73). In his encomium of the Sala minian tyrant, Isocrates declares that it was due to Evagoras that the Salamin ians were made from barbarians to Hellenes, although earlier he says more mildly (with no suggestion that they are any more than philhellenes) that the Salaminians married into Greek families, adopted Greek practices and a Greek education (9.50, 66). Thucydides, for his part, imagines Greekness and barbarity at either end of a spectrum, and marginalizes the Aetolians on the grounds that they carried arms like barbarians (1.5.3–6.2; cf. Eur. Phoen. 133–40), lived in unfortified and scattered villages, while the largest of their tribes, the Eurytanians, spoke a language that was almost unintelligible and ate meat raw (3.94.4–5).69

To sum up: Panhellenism formed a variable and dynamic system of ideas, themes and representations defining Hellenic identity, although different themes had greater or less significance at different times. Panhellenism, in its developed form in the fifth and fourth centuries, focused on unity and community through cult, kinship, friendship, culture, common actions and common values. In Panhellenic terms, Asia was represented as a land of luxury, wealth and slavery in opposition to Greek simplicity and freedom, and after the Persian Wars Asian wealth became one of the objects of a retributive war of revenge against the barbarian, a war that was both traditional and inevitable. And yet Panhellenism also provided a medium for critical introspection – for allowing the Hellenes at a deeper level to consider who they really were, and what they did not wish to be.

Panhellenism: a dialogue with the anti-Greek

The barbarian is not just the non-Greek, but also the anti-Greek;⁷⁰ however, the relationship between the two was by no means simple. At the same time as philosophers and geographers were interested in continental symmetry, the world was imagined to be a limited and unified space, and the human experience was thought to be universal, even if this was imagined from a Hellenic point ofview. In the pantheon of Hesiod’s Theogony, Zeus was Greek, yet the poem deals with the creation of the whole world and the systematization of all the gods (who in the context of the poem just happen to be Greek gods), just as Deucalion, the father of Hellen, is the father of all men, and Hellas is imagined to be geographically at the centre of the world.⁷¹ Further, while Panhellenism generally focused on Asia, by the late-fifth century continental geography had moved beyond a simple division of the world into Europe and Asia (Herodotus mocks the three continents of Libya, Europe and Asia: 2.16, 4.42; though the author of the Airs, Waters, Places keeps with the traditional division, as does Isocrates in the fourth century: 4.179). Furthermore, there were barbarians and barbarians. Herodotus, for example, is aware that barbar ians have their own ‘barbarians’, noting that the Egyptians call all those who do not speak their language barbaroi (2.158.5).

Indeed, complex issues concerning the different kinds of barbarians were being aired. While Aristotle in the fourth century distinguishes between the ‘slavishness’ of the barbarians of Asia and the barbarians of Europe (Pol. 1285a19–22), at the end of the previous century Herodotus is interested in the relative barbarity of the Scythians.72 Furthermore, while maintaining that all men shared their experience with the gods and with fate, Herodotus says that all men think their own customs (νόμοι) are best, and illustrates his point by the story of the Greeks who said that they could not be paid to eat the bodies of their dead fathers, while the Indians, who did in fact do this, were horrified that the Greeks burned theirs (3.38). Although Herodotus says that this anecdote gives an indication of the power that nomoi can have (3.83.4: Nomos is king),⁷³ for him it is still wrong to laugh at the nomoi of others (3.83.2).

Euripides too, as we have seen, makes much of continental division in order to complicate it. In the Bacchae, Dionysus having left ‘all Asia’, comes to Thebes first with his cult, though in fact he is coming home.⁷⁴ Ironically, the Chorus in Hecuba lament that they are leaving Asia for slavery in Europe (479–83). In Trojan Women Helen, in the debate with Hecuba for her life, claims that she in fact prevented Greece from being destroyed and falling under the tyranny of barbarians, since in the contest of the goddesses Paris was offered victory by Troy over Greece by Athena and tyranny over Europe and Asia by Hera, while he chose the gift of Aphrodite, Helen (924–34; cf. Isoc. 10.67–8)! Euripides here gives to Helen the style of sophistic argument that Gorgias used in his defence of Helen. But put in Helen’s mouth the irony is more obvious and more distasteful.

The division into Europe and Asia also underpins the Iphigeneia among the Taurians (probably dating to 414 or 413).⁷⁵ The Chorus say that they have left ‘the towers and walls of horse-rich Hellas and Europe of well-wooded pastures’ (132–5), but now ‘cry out antiphonal odes and barbarian groaning of Asian hymns’ (179–81). Later they also call on the Bosporus, ‘the dark, dark meeting place of the sea, where the gadfly flying from Argos crossed the unfriendly swell, taking Asian land in exchange for Europe’ (392–6). Further, the land of the Taurians is a barbarian place with barbarian customs. Here Thoas, the king, is a ‘barbarian ruling over barbarians’ (31), and here there has been a long–established custom that any Greek man coming to the land must be sacrificed to the goddess Artemis (35–9). The sacrificial altar is described as stained with human blood, and its cornice is decorated with human trophies (72–5, 402–6).

Yet the play asks questions about the relative barbarity of the Taurians compared to the Greeks.76 The Chorus declare that by the law of their own land this kind of sacrifice is unholy (464–6), and Iphigeneia refuses to believe that the goddess could be responsible for the necessity of the human sacrifice, disbelieves the story of Tantalus’ feast, and says that the Taurians themselves are ‘mankillers’ (dv6pa)Jt6iaovoi), though they attribute their unconcern to the goddess (380–90).⁷⁷ Nevertheless, Iphigeneia herself rejoices in the sacrifice (256–9; cf. 348–50), and cannot forget that she was sacrificed to Artemis (6–27, 211–15, 354–76). When told that Orestes had killed a member of his family - indeed his mother - Thoas responds that not even a barbarian would dare do that (1171–4)!

In another play, Hecuba, Euripides compares the relative barbarity of the Greeks, the Trojans, and the Thracians. In the death of Polyxena, the Trojans become an exemplum of nobility and dignity, even though Odysseus will not let Hecuba forget that she is a barbarian (328–31), and her own actions in the blinding of Polymestor and the murder of his sons is ‘barbaric’ (Agamemnon tells Polymestor to ‘cast out this barbarian thing from your heart’ when he wants to rip Hecuba into pieces for what she had done to him: 1129). The Thracians themselves are decidedly worse in the betrayal of their xenia with the house of Priam and murder of Hecuba’s son, Polydorus, for the sake of gold, and even Agamemnon is aware that Polymestor gets what he deserves although he is not himself prepared to be party to the deed (1246–51, cf. 850–63). But in this play the Greeks also do not come off well. Urged on by the ‘wily-minded knave, the sweet-tongued, people-pleasing’ Odysseus (who urges the Achaeans ‘not to thrust aside the best of all the Danaans for the sake of the slaughter of slaves’: 131–5), the Achaeans make the completely unnecessary sacrifice of the child Polyxena so that Achilles’ tomb can be honoured with fresh blood before they leave Troy (Achilles demands it, but it is granted by a vote of the assembly on the disgraceful pretext that heroes should be honoured in this way or none would fight: 303–20). Neverthe less, the Achaeans do show some sensibility for what they have done and understand and respect Polyxena’s nobility in the want of theirs (571–82). All can be ‘barbarian’ and all noble, but this is not fixed by simple continental determinism.

Similarly, in the Trojan Women, on learning that her infant son will be thrown from the walls, Andromache famously calls the Greeks ‘inventors of barbarian cruelties’ (764). Likewise, in the Andromache, the Spartan Hermione accuses Andromache of sleeping with the son of the man who killed her husband, and, ignoring Andromache’s inability to choose her fate (36–7), claims that this is typical of all barbarians. She says, happily forgetting her own family’s recent history:

Such is the barbarian race!

Father sleeps with daughter and son with mother

and sister with brother, nearest kin murder

each other, and no law prevents any of these things.

Do not introduce these things here!

(170–7)

As if they were not there already. Later, when Hermione, losing in the contest of words, taunts Andromache, ‘In this city we do not live by barbarian nomoi’, Andromache replies, ‘What is shameful there is shameful here’ (243–4). Among the atrocities of the Peloponnesian War it was not difficult to imagine Greeks behaving like barbarians, even if sometimes this was given a particularly Spartan spin (cf. Eur. Or. 486). In fact, Euripides is not above local politics and uses the metaphor of the barbarian in a specific as well as a general sense.78 Although the Greeks in general may be acting ‘barbarically’, for Euripides the Spartans are the ‘barbarian’ enemy. Hermione and Menelaus are vicious and overturn the house of Peleus in the Andromache, Helen and Menelaus (for all his fine words) suggest lust and (even more) treachery in the Trojan Women, and the point is made explicitly in the Suppliant Women. Adrastus justifies coming to Theseus in Athens by claiming Sparta is ‘cruel’ and ‘devious in its ways’ (187). Similarly, while conceding their ability to act nobly (particularly Iolaus and Macaria: Eur. Heracleid. 474–596, 689–47, 793–6), the barbarity and violence of the Heracleidae, the ancestors of the Spartans, are revealed in Euripides’ play of that name, as Alcmene imperi ously puts to death Eurystheus against the will of the Athenians (965–6, 974–6, 1018–19, 1022–5), even though the Athenian Demophon had earlier shown kindness and respect for the supplication of the children of Heracles. Although all Greeks may be ‘barbarians’, there are some who are more barbaric than others.⁷⁹

Euripides’ and Herodotus’ thinking probably relate to the sentiments of Antiphon (also of the late-fifth century), who in a heavily restored fragment of his work On Truth seems to suggest that one respects those who are near, but ‘barbarizes’ those who are far off, and goes on to say that ‘by nature’ we are all essentially the same (44 fr. B, col 2).⁸⁰ Although, as Thomas also points out, Antiphon’s precise meaning is obscure and the thrust of his argument heads in a different direction to Herodotus’ comments on nomoi,⁸¹ it is not inconsistent with universalizing world views such as Herodotus’ or indeed of Xenophon’s Socrates who declares that there are three ‘universal’ nomoi: firstly to fear the gods, secondly to abstain from incestuous relationship, and thirdly to repay favours (‘this law obtains everywhere’: Mem. 4.4.19–24). The division into Greek and barbarian and the parallel popular morality, which distinguished between ‘good’ Greek and ‘bad’ barbarian, was under theoretical pressure. Further, the ‘traditional’ antithesis between Greek and barbarian was not only being questioned, but also the very terms of the polarity were being used to deconstruct the polarity itself and to undermine it.

This kind of cultural relativism was not new in the late-fifth century. The poet Xenophanes, for example, at the turn of the sixth century, said that all men represent their gods in their own forms so that the Ethiopians say that their gods have snub-noses and black faces, and the Thracians say that theirs have blue-eyes and red hair (DK 21 B 16, cf. 14–15). Pindar in the early-fifth century says: ‘Different men have different customs (v6|ii|ia), and each man commends his own as just’ (fr. 215a 2–3). Likewise in the Theaetetus, Plato questions the Protagorean maxim that ‘man is the measure of all things’ and criticizes Protagorean relativism which could claim that moral values were not absolute but could depend on ‘common opinion’ (167c, 172a–b).

There were others also who were explicitly questioning the ‘traditional’ divisions. Hippias in Plato’s Protagoras says that men who are alike and are of like interests are ‘kinsmen, intimates and citizens’ not because of law but because of nature (so that being in relationship depends on being of like mind and cannot be determined by the traditional or institutional ways of ordering society: 337c–e). In a similar way in the Politicus Plato has the ‘Stranger’ say that it is odd to divide the world into Greeks and barbarians since the barbar ians are given a single name as if they are all of one race (γένος), even though they are a group of indeterminate size, a mixture of all different peoples, and all with different languages (262d).

The Greeks’ dialogue with the non-Greek world was a complex one. As the Hellenes sought to discover what the world was and who they were in it, they simultaneously conceptualized and represented the world from their point of view, used ideas from the non-Greek world to give shape to their sense of who they were, and defined themselves against non-Greeks, and particularly the anti-Greek. At the same time, however, the very basis for this understanding of their identity was being challenged. On the one hand, they were forced to confront and, to an extent, own some less tasteful aspects of their identity, such as envy and ambition. On the other hand, the putative bed-rock on which their identity was built was destabilised and questioned. It is too simple then to talk only of an opposition between Greeks and barbarians, or Self and Other. As we shall see in the chapters that follow, the relationship with the non-Greek world had many facets, and different parts of the relationship assumed importance at different times.

Panhellenism: a panhellenic phenomenon

The focus on Athens in our Athenian sources provides us with a peculiarly Athenian view of Panhellenism, and especially its use for the purposes of propaganda and imperialism. For example, Isocrates in the fourth century controversially and rhetorically claimed, speaking to an Athenian audience and promoting the rights of the Athenians to lead Hellas, that to be Greek was to share Athenian education.82 Further, as proofs of the natural leader- ship of the Athenians over the rest of the Hellenes, Isocrates not only argued that the Athenians were autochthones and that Athens was the oldest city in Hellas (4.23–5), but also made Athens responsible for allowing the rest of mankind to share the gifts of Demeter (4.28–30), the goddess whose sanctuary at Eleusis in the archaic period (when it was still independent from Athens) had advertised itself as a sanctuary with universal significance (Homeric Hymn to Demeter 470–3). From this it might be easy to suppose that Panhellenism was only Athenian, and that it focused on working out the Athenians’ place among the Hellenes, or promoting an Athenian view of Hellenic identity.

It is certainly true that we rely for the most part on Athenian evidence or Athenocentric voices for the ways in which Panhellenism developed and was adapted, and so most of our comments about fifth– and fourth–century Panhellenism will reflect an Athenian experience rather than the experience of other Greek states. It may be argued, for example, that Herodotus’ use of Panhellenism reflects his interest in Athens, although he ultimately gave it a particular twist of his own. Likewise, the Athenian Xenophon, who is often regarded as a ‘Panhellenist’, says that the Spartan nauarch Callicratidas in 406 declared that if ever he arrived home safely, he would do his best to reconcile the Spartans and the Athenians (Hell. 1.6.7). His comments may, nevertheless, reflect a purely Athenian Panhellenism, although it is also true that Xenophon’s Panhellenism is often ironic and cuts more than one way. Again, Alexander’s apparent Panhellenism in returning to Athens the statues of the tyrannicides and other curios pilfered by Xerxes, may also be directed for the most part at Athenians.

This said, it also seems clear that Panhellenism had relevance and signifi– cance outside Athens. In the archaic period, we have already seen how Delphi claimed to be the heart of Hellenic identity through the participation by devotees in Apollo’s cult. The Olympic Games, in the fifth century at least, provided a judgement on Greekness through an exclusion clause which limited participation in the Olympic Games only to those who could prove Greek descent (Hdt. 5.22). The lyric poets of Asia Minor developed the theme of exotic and rich Asia, which Xenophanes of Colophon reviled (DK 21 B 3 = fr. 3 West IE¹). As we have already seen, the victory celebrations after the Persian Wars were also celebrated in Panhellenic terms as common to Hellas, and as deliverance from slavery. Pindar adopted and adapted the war against the barbarian (complete with references to Salamis and Plataea) in his celebration of the Syracusan victory over the Carthaginians in 474 . 1.64–80), a war against different barbarians.

Panhellenism continued to have rhetorical strength and ideological power outside Athens in the periods after the fourth century. In the early–fourth century, the Spartan Agesilaus was able to manipulate idea of the war against the barbarian for his own imperialist desires, as others also did after him. Jason of Pherae (if Xenophon can be believed) was intending a war against Asia, just as Philip II of Macedon also did, and Philip clearly was trying to dress his war against Asia in clothes that would appeal to all the members of the League of Corinth, not just the Athenians. Another Spartan, Agis, also is said to have used liberation through war against the Macedonian as his rallying call for revolt (Diod. 17.48.1–2, 62.6–63.4; Arrian Anab. 2.13.4–5). In addition, despite the filters provided by the Graeco-Roman interests of the Alexander historians, Alexander showed deliberate reliance on Homeric models and an awareness of the importance of the war of revenge to the Hellenic (as opposed to the purely Athenian) psyche. The burning of the palace at Persepolis was probably also directed at a wider Greek audience (especially if the reporting of the oaths at Plataea are true). Indeed, Alexander’s Panhellenism drew heavily on the generalized Panhel lenism of Homeric epic, at least as it was understood and interpreted in the post-Persian Wars period. Some have argued that it only properly obtained in Athens and acted as a specifically Athenian means of claiming precedence in the Hellenic world. But while Panhellenic themes could be idiosyncratic and, at a parochial level, could be modified to suit local needs, Panhellenism had a wider audience than just Athenians. It is to the defining and limiting of this audience that we turn next.

Notes

¹ S. Hall 1987; cf. 1990, 222; B. Anderson 1991, 204.

² A.D. Smith 1991, 3–8; S. Hall 1992, 279–80.

³ S. Hall 1990, 222; cf. J. Rutherford 1990.

⁴ On ‘retellings’ and ‘reinventions’ of the past in order to accommodate a ‘present’ construction of identity, see especially the essays collected in Hobsbawm and Ranger (eds.) 1983 on the ‘invention of tradition’.

⁵ B. Anderson 1991, 6.

⁶ S. Hall 1992, 291–6; cf. Bhabha 1990a. Note also Gehrke 2001, 296 (in his discus sion of the myths of origin of the Magnesians from the Maeander: ‘There was thus no question that the relationships which were founded on and confirmed by reciprocal services were established for the long term. They were exemplified in a stretch of past time which, by our standards, united myth, history, and current affairs in a single continuum, representing a tradition to which the present was committed and by which clear predictions about future conduct could be made... In the above mentioned connections collective identity finds particular expression, with all its complexity.’).

⁷ Cf. S. Hall 1992, 292.

⁸ S. Hall 1992, 292.

⁹ Finley 1975, 120–33.

¹⁰ Cf. F.W. Walbank 1951 (= 2002, 234–56).

¹¹ However, whether we want to talk about Hellenic identity in terms of ethnicity or ethnic identity is another matter, since Jonathan Hall’s work on ethnicity, though in many ways important and influential, has made this difficult (see esp. L.G. Mitchell 2005). In Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity, 1997, Hall first developed his model of the aggregative development of Greek ethnic identity, and suggested that in the archaic period it was defined predominantly ‘from within’ by putative subscription to a myth of common descent and kinship, although he did seem to recognize that ethnic identity could be (and often was) defined through confrontation with an out-group. In particular, he contrasted Greek self-definition in the archaic and classical periods in terms of aggregation before the Persian Wars and definition through difference afterwards. While Hall suggests that Greek ethnic identity in the archaic period did not rely on an outgroup, he does not preclude the possibility in the categorical terms he was to adopt later. In Hellen icity, 2002, however, his position had hardened significantly, and insisted that, based on his rather idiosyncratic understanding of ethnicity, ethnic identity can only be based on shared kinship and not on definition through difference: see further ch. 2.

¹² Needler 1996, 5–16, 23–5 argues that culture alone cannot explain the rise of a political community: ‘the basic rule of political science should be, in the first place, that as much as possible of a country’s political behaviour and institutions should be explained on the premise that people are acting rationally in pursuit of their interests, under a given set of circumstances. Only if the situation is not completely explained by rational self-interested motives does it make sense to look for explanations deriving from culture. And when explanations are used that impute certain attitudes to people, every attempt should be made to demonstrate that, on the basis of opinion survey data, people actually hold such attitudes (25).’ What constitutes or gives rise to the ‘interests’ of any given community, however, is dependent on a complex nexus of social and political factors: see Crane 1998, 2–3.

¹³ Cf. Geertz’s ‘thick description’: 1973, 3–30.

¹⁴ Berard 2000, esp. 408–9; M.C. Miller 1995. Note, however, Neer 2002, 25 on the essentially ‘political’ nature of representations, and on works of art as ‘political acts’; note also Osborne and Boardman who argue against art as propaganda: Osborne 1983/4;

¹⁵ Arafat 1997, 99. Boardman 1984.

¹⁶ On Greek culture as a performance culture, see, for example, Cartledge 1997; Goldhill 1999; Taplin 1999. Cf. Greenblattian ‘New Historicism’: Gallagher and Green blatt 2000; for a stimulating critique of ‘New Historicism’: Brannigan 1998.

¹⁷ 1998, 156. See also S. Jones 1997, 117–19 on the ‘constitutive role of material culture in the mediation of social relations and construction of identities. Such studies suggest that material culture cannot be regarded as a passive reflection of rule-governed activities as it has been within the so-called normative archaeology.’

¹⁸ On comparison between the palace at Persepolis and the Parthenon frieze: Root 1985; cf. Stewart 1990, 1.159. Compare Castriota 1992, 184–229.

¹⁹ Goldhill 1990; Zeitlin 1990a; Bers 1994; Carey 1994; Pelling 1997b, 224–35; J. Gregory 1997; Cartledge 1997; S. Said 1998.

²⁰ Pelling 2000, 178–9.

²¹ Homi Bhabha talks about the way in which nations are ‘narrated’; that is, the way in which stories are told about the state, its past and its present, through a range of media:1990a.

²² See especially Parker 1998, 10–33 on cult as a means of creating and expressing unity.

²³ Nagy 1979, 6–7; Clay 1989, esp. 8–11; Foley 1994, 175–8; Garcia 2002, 28–9.

²⁴ On the relationship between these three catalogues: Clay 1989, 57–8.

²⁵ Fearn 2003. The games themselves, however, were held in honour of Archemolus: Bacch. 9.6–14.

²⁶ Although there is no direct evidence (as Figueira 1981, 257 suggests) that in 480 the ‘Hellenic League’ sought the aid of Aegina’s cult of Zeus Hellenius.

²⁷ Although the Catalogue sets out the ‘family tree’ of those descended from Hellen the son of Deucalion, this genealogy also incorporates transparently non-Greek elements (see ch. 5). In this sense, the story of kinship as told through the Catalogue is more ambivalent than it first appears.

²⁸ Thomas 2001, 222–5; J. Hall 2002, 189–94.

²⁹ Cf. L.G. Mitchell 1997a, 10–11.

³⁰ Dillery 1995, 55, in his discussion of Isocrates, points to the Greek dictum of helping friends and harming enemies.

³¹ On problems defining koindnia, see Millett 1991, 39, 114–15.

³² L.G. Mitchell 1997b.

³³ Cf. Baslez 1986.

³⁴ This Persian force had been based at Samos in order to prevent an Ionian revolt (Hdt. 8.131), but later sailed to the Asiatic coast where troops had been left by Xerxes (Hdt. 9.96). Herodotus describes (in Panhellenic terms) how Hegistratus, a Samian man, persuaded Leotychides the Spartan commander on Delos to undertake the action, claiming ‘that as soon as the Ionians saw the Greeks they would revolt from the Persians, and also the Persians would not stay, and if they did they would provide incomparable booty for the Greeks, and he called on the common gods of the Greeks and urged them to rescue Greek men from slavery and to drive out the barbarian’ (9.90.2). While Hegistratus’ words echo suspiciously the arguments Herodotus gives to the Milesian Aristagoras at Sparta in 499 (not surprising since Herodotus declares that the battle of Mycale represents the second Ionian revolt: 9.104), they mark an important new direction for the Greek alliance. Hegisistratus was also not the first Ionian to urge the Greeks to liberate Ionia. Herodotus says that some Chians tried to persuade first the Spartans and then the Greek fleet after Salamis to sail to Ionia (8.132), but the Greeks would not go further east than Delos.

³⁵ M.L. West 1993a, 8 supposes that Simonides simply means Ionia here and that Simonides is referring specifically to the liberation of Ionia. However, as Flower 2000a, 66–7 points out, in the early 5th century Asia does not have this limited sense, but stands for the entire continent.

³⁶On the apparent discrepancy between Herodotus’ and Thucydides’ accounts about who was involved: HCT 1.257; Hornblower 1991–, 1.134–5.

³⁷ Cyprus was soon retaken by Persians (see Plut. Cim. 12.4; Hornblower 1991–, 1.140–1) as probably were Sestos and Byzantium also (Badian 1993, 86–7; M.C. Miller 1997, 11).

³⁸ Thucydides says that the first act of the alliance, generally given a date of476 BC(on the basis of schol. Aeschin. 2.31), was to besiege and take Eion on the Strymon which was occupied by the Persians (Thuc. 1.98.1; cf. Hdt. 7.107). Further, whatever its other more dubious activities, the Delian League did keep up an offensive against Persian holdings until at least the death of Cimon in 451 or 450 (Thuc. 1.112.4; Plut. Cim. 18.7–19.1). Meiggs argues for 451 as the date of Cimon’s death: 1972, 124–6; D.M. Lewis prefers Diodorus’ date of450: 1992, 501–2. During the 470s and 460s Cimon’s campaigns continued in Cyprus and along the coast of Asia Minor (Plut. Cim. 12) culminating in the battle of Eurymedon (Thuc. 1.100.1), which may have taken place in 467 (Hornblower 1991–, 1.153) or 466 (Badian 1993, 6–10). Balcer 1984, e.g. 323, 370 opts for about 465. Possibly in 459 the Greeks were campaigning in Cyprus and Egypt (Thuc. 1.104.2; Plato, Menex. 241e; on the dates of the Egyptian campaign: D.M. Lewis 1992, 500–1), and in the same year Artaxerxes, the Persian King, tried to bribe the Spartans by means of financial support to attack Attica (Thuc. 1.109.2–3; cf. Diod. 11.74.5–6). The war against Persia was genuine enough, though it probably came to an end officially in 449 with the Peace of Callias. The bibliography for the Peace of Callias is unsurprisingly vast: see, e.g., Wade-Gery 1940, 121–56 (= 1958, 201–32); Stockton 1959, 61–79; Badian 1987, 1–39 (= 1993, 1–72 with 187–201); Bosworth 1990. There are good reasons for accepting the existence of the Peace, not least its apparent reaffirmation in the 420s, the so-called Peace of Epilycus (Andoc. 3.29; IG i³ 227 and IG ii² 65), which Herodotus and Thucydides also neglect but whose existence has now been confirmed by inscriptional evidence; but in any case a significant consequence of Athenian negotiations with Persia in the years before 412 was the non-interference of the Persians in Aegean territory or Aegean affairs - or, at least, this seems to be the implication of Alcibiades’ deliberately provocative negotiations between the Athenian oligarchs and Tissaphernes when he demanded that the King could build and sail ships in the Aegean, terms which the Athenians could not accept (Thuc. 8.56.4). This policy also seems to underpin the ‘Congress Decree’ (below).

³⁹ If not by the time of the revolt in Naxos in the early 460s (Thuc. 1.98.4), then at least by the action against Thasos (Thuc. 1.100.2–101.2) which probably dates to 465. For the date of the Naxian revolt: Hornblower 1991–, 1.151. The reduction of Naxos was legal under the constitution of the League. For the permanency of the oaths: Ath. Pol. 23.5; cf. Hdt. 1.165.3 with Rhodes 1993, 296. Date of Thasian revolt: for references, see Hornblower 1991–, 1.154.

⁴⁰ On the Congress Decree: Meiggs 1972, 152–3, 512–15. Meiggs believes that the decree ‘makes good historical sense’, but also thinks Plutarch’s account suspicious; Seager 1969 rejects its authenticity.

⁴¹ Thucydides uses here the word proschema, a pretext, which some have taken to mean either that the Spartans were the real enemy, or that the Athenians from the outset were using the League as a front for their imperialist ambitions. However, as Hornblower 1991–, 1.144 points out, the early actions of the league suggest that at least at the beginning the Persians were the object of the alliance. Hornblower suggests that the reference to a ‘pretext’ refers to the Athenians’ aim of absolute leadership. Neverthe less, it is difficult to see how ravaging the land of the King could act as a cover for an aim such as this. It is perhaps more likely that Thucydides is looking ahead here, since the League did become a vehicle for Athenian imperialism. It is possibly significant that the alliance from the outset was permanent and a full offensive and defensive alliance (Ath. Pol. 23.5). Rhodes 1993, 296 suggests that: ‘The declared objectives of the alliance must...have extended beyond revenge, which can hardly have been envisaged as an unending activity.’ Nevertheless, the notional fear of a Persian threat was deeply embedded in popular ideology into the 4th century, and remained powerful for 150 years after the Persian invasions: see ch. 4.

⁴² For doubts about the oath: Meiggs 1972, 504–7 (though Meiggs is less sceptical than others and sees the oath as explaining the delay in starting the rebuilding programme until the 450s at Athens). On the monuments: Pollitt 1972, 65–6; cf. E. Hall 1996b, 163–4.

⁴³ For the date of Gorgias’ Olympic Oration: von Wilamowitz–Mollendorff 1893, i.172–3 with n. 75, accepted by Richardson 1992, 225 and Ostwald and Lynch 1994, 598; Green 1996 gives a date for this speech of 392, following Momigliano 1934, 184, although Momigliano does not argue for this date, but simply gives it as common knowledge. Philostratus uses homonoia to describe Gorgias’ policy of harmony among the Greeks. Although the term itself may not have been used by Gorgias, the concept of harmony among the Greek states is already implicit in Aristophanes’ image of wool carding in the Lysistrata (572–86). Here, as in Thucydides (8.75.2, 93.3: Dillery 1995, 52–3), the concept of homonoia is related specifically to thepolis, and to the Athenian polis in particular; the wider framework of both suggests that conflict within cities acts a metaphor for conflict between cities.

⁴⁴ For the date: Grote 1869, 9.29–2 n. 2, 10.312–13 n. 1; Lewis 1994, 139 n. 82 is inclined to accept this date, although Diodorus gives a date of388 BC,which is accepted by Ostwald 1994, 598.

⁴⁵ For the pretexts for Philip’s and Alexander’s campaign: Brunt 1976–83, 1.li–lii.

⁴⁶ In 340, the Persians did assist Byzantium, an ally of Athens, which was being besieged by Philip: [Plut.] Vit.XOr. 848 F; cf. Diod. 16.74.3–76.4; Paus. 1.29.7; Arrian Anab. 2.14.5.

⁴⁷ RO, commentary on 44.

⁴⁸ Flower 2000b, 107–15 and n. 52 with references for further bibliography.

⁴⁹ Borza 1972; Bosworth 1988a, 93–4.

⁵⁰ Too 1995.

⁵¹ See especially, E. Hall 1989, 201–23.

⁵² Cf. Foley 1985, 93.

⁵³ Jonathan Hall 2002 also emphasizes culture as a means of defining identity, although he sees this as an innovation of the late 5th century. However, he sees the expression of identity through ‘culture’ as a departure from earlier practice and draws a spurious contrast between this and identity based on ‘ethnicity’ which he defines narrowly as identity based purely on shared kinship. See L.G. Mitchell 2005.

⁵⁴ See Hornblower 1991–, 1.352–3; Hammond 1967, 419 supposes that Thucydides is referring to a difference in dialect; cf. Thomas 2001, 224; this passage is all the more interesting because Thucydides says that Amphilochia was colonized by Amphilochus on his way home from Troy (2.68.3). Note also Malkin 2001, 196: ‘Colonization is Hellenization: this historiographical perspective becomes evident when we observe Thucydides’ treatment of Amphilochian Argos... The implication is clear: the language criterion (perhaps the Dorian dialect of the Ambracians?) determines Hellenic ethnicity’.

⁵⁵ Though, as Thomas has shown, contrary to the common understanding of the work, in the Airs, Waters, Places the division into Europe and Asia does not necessarily imply a corresponding division into Greek and barbarian: 2000, 90.

⁵⁶ In similar terms, Isocrates expatiates on the weakness and ineffectiveness of the Persians: they are slaves, a mob without discipline, training or experience (Isoc. 4.150).

⁵⁷ Austin 1990; cf. Balcer 1991 (who thinks that ‘Herodotus strongly suggests that the loss of political freedom had begun earlier than Cyrus’ conquest, more precisely following Croesus’ conquest of Ionia’).

⁵⁸ Freedom from slavery and freedom from tyranny may well have been the catch cry accompanying the celebration of the Tyrannicides at Athens. On isonomia as the principle of political equilibrium: Ostwald 1969, 97–120; Vlastos 1981; but see also Raaflaub 1996, esp. 143–7; 2005, 47–8 who argues that it was in origin an aristocratic slogan. The thematic importance of Asian tyranny must also have been bolstered by the Persian conquest of the Lydian empire, since although the Persians were for the most part happy to leave the Greeks of Asia Minor to look after themselves they generally did encourage tyrants in the Greek cities, and supported the Athenian tyrant Hippias after he fled from Athens in 511/0. For the relationship between the Ionians and their Persian conquerors: see Kuhrt 1995, 2.696–701. One notable exception to the Persian support for tyrannies was Mardonius’ conversion of these tyrannies in Asia Minor to democracies, which Herodotus reports with some surprise (6.43).

⁵⁹ Soli (to which Strabo is probably referring) was a colony founded in Cilicia by Rhodes probably before 709 BC:Coldstream 2003, 359; 1993, 98. Herodotus (4.117) uses the verb (σολοικίζειν) to describe how the Sauromatae do not speak Scythian properly.

⁶⁰ Compare also Heracleitus DK 22 B 107: ‘Evil witnesses are the eyes and ears of those with barbarian souls.’ The ‘barbarian souls’ seems to refer to those who ‘cannot interpret the language of the senses, but are misled by superficial appearances’ (Kirk, et al. 1983, 188 n. 1). Cf. E. Hall 1989, 10.

⁶¹ For eleutheria as a 5th–century, post-Persian Wars, concept: Raaflaub 2004.

⁶² See Robinson 1997 (although it is difficult to talk of democracies which pre-date the democracy at Athens, since the Athens invented the word, probably in the 460s: see Rhodes 1992).

⁶³ In the 460s, developments in vase-painting pick up the theme of Athenian democracy and Persian slavishness. On the one hand, as Miller points out, representations of Greeks fighting Persians, which had shown more of an interest in the different racial identities of the combatants than in hierarchical value judgements, around the middle of the century developed a moral tone where the Greeks are depicted as nude hoplites defeating fully clothed Persian warriors (M.C. Miller 1995, 40–1). Miller concludes that the depiction of the nude hoplite acted as a means of suppressing ‘the self-expression of the sub-hoplite class by encouraging the notion that the specific virtue that ensured Greek superiority was essentially a hoplite virtue’. While this may have been true, Athenian democracy often represented itself to itself as a hoplite democracy. This complicates the image, as rather than just suppression (and it is hard to escape the ideological impact of such images on the thetes who were manning the ships), what may also be at stake here is aspiration, as the ‘(Athenian) democracy’ collectively is ideologically interpreted as heroic. The figure is a hoplite, but alone and heroized (capturing the tension between the corporate and the individual). Compare the ideological implications of the epitaphios: cf. Loraux 1986. At the same time non-Greek mythical figures who had previously been depicted in ways which either emphasized their individual racial characteristics (e.g., Bousiris was clearly given an Egyptian context), or depicted them largely on the same terms as Greeks (e.g. Phrygian King Midas), from the 460s were assimilated to explicitly Persian iconography: Midas and his attendants now wear Persian clothes, and Midas sits on a raised throne and is cooled by a woman with a fan; Bousiris, likewise, has acquired a throne and fan-bearer, and abandoned Egyptian clothes for Persian ones; and Andromeda wears Persian robes (Bousiris: ARV² 826, 25; LIMC III s.v. Bousiris no. 2; M.C. Miller 2000, 430–8 fig. 16.8–9; cf. Berard 2000, 402–5. Midas: ARV² 1035, 3; M.C. Miller 1988; de Vries 2000, 349–50 fig. 13.5; cf. Roller 1984). It is also probably not coincidental that both these developments coincide approximately with the heightened awareness of democracy, if not the beginnings of a consciously democratic thinking, manifested in reforms of Ephialtes in 462/1 BCand the subsequent stir that led to his assassination (Ath. Pol. 25.4). Miller wants to see both these changes in class terms. In regard to the changes in the portrayal of Bousiris, Miller 2000, 441 argues that his ethnic transformation ‘mirrored shifts in dominant ideology as a result of both democracy and empire. It was a striking rejection of the thoroughgoing internationalism of the Archaic mindset and revealed the exclusivity of the Classical democracy whose imperial activities necessarily comprehended an international forum while its domestic politics permitted little internal overt class distinction.’ On the other hand, Miller 1995, 43 also claims that the nude hoplite and his Persian enemy ‘serve as a visual expression of the nascent rhetorical contrast between free Greek and slavish Oriental’, but that this construct of Greek and Persian bolstered the hoplite class while denying the self-expression of the sub-hoplite classes.

64Ironically, however, while Xenophon seems to conclude his narrative with the end of his journey (esp. Anab. 7.8.23), neither Xenophon nor his army did return to Greece then, but joined in the Spartan campaign against Pharnabazus (Anab. 5.3.6, 7.8.24). See also Rood 2004.

⁶⁵ On Maeandrius in Herodotus, see McGlew 1993, 124–30; Pelling 2002, 152–3.

⁶⁶ Although Herodotus opposes democracy and tyranny here, it is unlikely that ‘democracy’ as such was actually at stake rather than constitutional government: Rhodes 2000a, 124–5. Rhodes (Rhodes with Lewis 1997, 532) on Hdt. 6.43.3 makes a similar point.

⁶⁷ Compare Airs, Waters, Places 16, which says that the political constitutions men live under also affect their bodily constitutions (so that those who live under tyrannies become slavish). See especially the excellent discussion by Thomas 2000, esp 114–17.

⁶⁸ On nomos,physis and the sophists: Guthrie 1969, 3.55–134.

⁶⁹ J. Hall 2001, 172; 2002, 195–6; de Romilly 1966, 161. See also Antonetti 1990.

⁷⁰ For alterity and identity: (for example) S. Hall 1992; Hillis Miller 1999, 155–69 (for convenient summaries of the concept of ‘the Other’ in humanistic disourse); 2001 (on the plurality of voices of the ‘Other’); van Pelt 2000 (with an emphasis on Lacanian ‘discourse of the Other’).

⁷¹ Although note Malkin’s objections (2001, 13–14) that: ‘The Greeks were not Europeans setting out from a distinct, self-aware culture of the "center"... The other popular dichotomy, center versus periphery, suffers when confronted with the phenomenon of colonization... There never was a Greek center; even the Delphic omphalos was a metaphor, not a defining criterion for a Greek nation.’ Cf. 1998, 17.

⁷² Braund 2003.

⁷³ Thomas thinks that here Herodotus is reflecting the ‘sophistic relativism’ of the late 5th century, which contrasted nomos with physis: 2000, 124–9. On the difficulties associated with judging Herodotus’ attitude to this custom of the Indians: Romm 1998, 98–9.

⁷⁴ S. Said 2002, 95–9.

⁷⁵ For the date: Cropp 2000, 60–2.

⁷⁶ See S. Said 2002, esp. 86–7; Cropp 2000, 48–50; cf. E. Hall 1989, 211 says that in the IT, Euripides ‘uses imagery to link Agamemnon’s sacrifice of his daughter with the human sacrifices practised by the Taurians, his choice of language quietly undercutting the superficially jingoistic tenor of the play, implicitly deconstructing the orthodox polarization of Hellene and barbarian’, but also thinks that the ‘underlying premise of the play was the ascendancy of the barbarian cultures at the edges of the earth’ (113).

⁷⁷ Iphigeneia asserts human responsibility for human action, rejects the argument that humans are exculpated of the intervention of the gods in mortal affairs, and refuses to believe that any god could be evil. Nevertheless, the Chorus present a different view, and claim that the gods are pursuing a slow revenge for the crimes of the Tantalids (IT 195–202). Compare the relentless punishment of the family of Oedipus for the crimes of the Cadmeians in Phoenician Women, crimes which are perpetuated by successive generations.

⁷⁸ On Sparta as the ‘internal other’: Cartledge 1993, 80–2; Millender 1999; 2002.

⁷⁹ Compare Herodotus on the funerals of Spartan kings and the accession of the new king (6.8–9). One custom which he says is the same in Sparta and in Asia is that on the death of a king, not only Spartans but also the perioikoi from across Lacedaemon are required to attend the funeral; another custom which is the same in Sparta and in Persia is that on his accession, the new king remits all debts owed to the king or to the public purse.

80Herodotus and Antiphon: Thomas 2000, 131–2. Euripides and Antiphon: S. Said 2002; E. Hall 1989, 218–23; cf. Croally 1994, 103–15 (for a critique of Hall). On the fragment of Antiphon: Dodds 1973, 98–101; Pendrick 2002, 351–66; Gagarin 2002, 66–7, 71–2, 86. On the new fragment of the papyrus: Caizzi 1986, 61–9; Barnes 1987.On the identity of Antiphon (‘unitarian’ or ‘separatist’): Morrison 1961; Gagarin 1990; Pendrick 2002, 1–26; Gagarin 2002, 37–42. On Sophism and Relativism: Bett 1989.

⁸¹ Thomas 2000, 132–3.

⁸² Cf. Thuc. 2.41.1: Athens is an education to Greece.