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After a tense morning, members of the boule welcome the chance to stretch their legs, move about, and sound each other out to get a sense of how matters are proceeding. Nericius was hoping to slip away for a convivial lunch with his mistress before the afternoon discussions, but clearly this won’t be the case. The councillors are taking a working lunch and Nericius will spend at least part of it with the appalling Critias.
When not being a member of the boule, Nericius cares for the extensive ranchlands of the Philaidae family on nearby Euboea. Many of that family are friendly with the very aristocratic Critias. (One of Critias’ ancestors was a close friend of the great Athenian law-giver Solon, and he won’t let anyone forget it.) Therefore Nericius gets to be patronized by a man into whose face he would much rather push his egg-and-lettuce salad, while he smiles and pretends to recognize the obscure literary references Critias likes to sprinkle into his speech.
‘I appreciate your caution about this Sicilian expedition,’ Critias remarks, settling himself on the bench next to Nericius. ‘It shows that it is right for everyone to hold office, whether they get it through the lottery or are elected. But is your complaint only that it looks as though Alcibiades will lead it? He is qualified after all.’
He was on the boule and had taken the Counsellor’s oath. By this he bound himself to give his opinions in accordance with the law.
XENOPHON MEMORABILIA 1.1.18
Nericius has a mouthful of salad, and so cannot reply. Critias is really just listening to the sound of his own voice anyway. ‘I mean, the common people don’t usually demand to share generalships or cavalry commands. These are jobs that affect the safety of the state, so they need to be well managed. Generally you people prefer more profitable salaried positions, don’t you?’
Nericius notes the phrase ‘you people’ and bites into his lettuce with extra vigour. He swallows, and remarks politely, ‘The backbone of the city is “those people” – the rowers, the steersmen, the shipwrights and the sentries. They are the strength of the city, more than the aristocrats or even the hoplite class, so I suppose it is only right they have a share in decision-making.’ Nericius himself belongs to the hoplite class, but he doesn’t bother to point that out.
It helps Nericius to preserve his temper that they are sitting outside the Tholos, a part of the administrative complex beside the Bouleuterion where the morning debates have taken place. His bench against the building’s wall looks across the Agora. Nericius could have eaten inside, for there are proper dining tables in the Tholos, but a fresh breeze from the sea has cleared away the morning clouds and infused the normal city stink with the scent of salt and seaweed. The sun is bright, the air fresh, and the lively bustle of the market intrigues a man accustomed to the gentle pace of country life. Every prospect pleases and only Critias is vile.
‘Well, that’s what visitors find most extraordinary. That in Athens the lowest people, the poor, are the ones who get more. That’s why the best people oppose democracy everywhere else on earth. With us aristocrats you get minimal extravagance and injustice, and you get maximum, scrupulous care to do the right thing. With the masses, there is a maximum of stupidity, disorder and wickedness. Poverty makes them uneducated and ignorant.’
Critias’ support for the Sicilian expedition had been savagely criticized that morning, and that had evidently stung. ‘So you say that we ought not to let everyone serve on the council, or be on equal terms within it?’ asks Nericius as mildly as he can. He offers Critias some cheese, hoping that a full mouth will bring silence. The gambit fails. Critias is in full oratorical flow.
‘Oh, it’s an excellent idea to let the dregs of the people speak,’ he remarks sarcastically. ‘Any wretch can stand up and promote his own interests, and his supporters know they will benefit more from his crude self-serving ignorance than from a good man’s virtue and wisdom. What I don’t understand, Nericius, is why you – a good man, so they say – sometimes take the other side. Don’t you want good government for the city?’
‘Is that good government in which the common people are slaves? Because even if it’s a bad government, people still prefer that because it is their government. I’ve noticed that some aristocratic altruists seem good at proposing laws that benefit themselves. And once aristocrats set policy, “madmen” like myself get excluded from the council or making speeches, and it all ends up with the subjugation of the commons.’ Nericius feels proud of that delivery. ‘Subjugation of the commons’ is the sort of phrase people throw around at symposiums. ‘What you are calling bad government is the source of the people’s strength and freedom.’
Critias
Critias was a great-uncle of Plato and a friend of Socrates – a friendship which later helped to get Socrates condemned and executed.
Critias was not merely socially inept – he was dangerous. When the long-expected war with Sparta resumed in 413 BC, Athens was eventually totally defeated. The conquering Spartans set up an aristocratic government to replace the democracy. Put in charge, Critias failed utterly. During a reign of terror in which some 1,500 people were executed, his government became a byword for brutality and corruption. When rebellion overthrew his tyranny, Critias was among the first to be killed.
Critias regards him with a thoughtful and unfriendly stare, and bites into his cheese while contemplating his response. Nericius realizes that he has shown more of his true feelings than is diplomatic.
After all, he can see the point of the Sicilian expedition. Athens is not at war with Sparta or Persia, but the Spartans definitely regard the task of containing Athens as unfinished business. If Athens can add Sicily to her empire that would make the state much stronger. But while the army is in Sicily, the Spartans are right here. From the Acropolis one can see Mount Parnon – and the Spartans in their acropolis looking east can see that same mountain. That’s how close the two cities are.
So the question is, can the Athenians and Spartans trust each other? The Athenians virtually tore up their peace treaty with Sparta when they fought alongside Sparta’s enemies at Mantinea a few years ago. Now Athens is assembling the biggest invasion fleet Greece has ever seen. From a Spartan point of view, what’s to stop that fleet from landing at Pylos and taking Messenia from them? Athens nearly did it in the last war, so why not now?
That was the issue debated in the council that morning. Critias and his pro-Spartan friends have heard from contacts in the Gerousia, the Spartan council of Elders, that they are worried that the Sicilian expedition is a pretext for an Athenian sneak attack.
‘Let’s join the others,’ says Nericius, who sees an opportunity to close the conversation. ‘We’ll talk to Democritus – he’s the councilman closest to Nicias. Perhaps Democritus can tell us if our senior statesman has any plans to resolve the conundrum. After all, it was Nicias who negotiated peace with the Spartans five years back.’
Critias stands and, in doing so, collides violently with the slave who has come to gather their plates. Critias staggers back, and glares at the unperturbed slave who calmly collects Nericius’ plate as well as Critias’ own – largely untouched – food. Critias looks indignantly at his disappearing meal.
However, the slave knows that the horn to re-start the meeting will sound soon and has instructions to collect the lunch plates so that the council can come to order in a disciplined fashion. Therefore he ignores Critias’ glare and calmly walks off, leaving the councilman fuming.
Nericus knows that slave. He’s Boeotian, from an estate he used to manage on the other side of the Cytherean mountains. His father and uncles were killed in the war, he was captured, and the family are having trouble paying his ransom. The boy is taking well to city life, though. It wouldn’t surprise Nericus if he stayed on in Athens after being freed.
HOPLITE SHIELDS WERE HIGHLY INDIVIDUALISTIC AND SAID A LOT ABOUT THE WARRIOR BEHIND THE SHIELD
‘He should be flogged,’ Critias snarls. ‘The slaves and metics in Athens are out of control, the lot of them. You can’t hit them, and they won’t even stand aside for you. I tell you, in Athens these days, we are slaves to our slaves. In my household …’
Which is why, generally speaking, prisoners-of-war such as the young Boeotian are not kept in private households. While an unransomed prisoner is technically a slave, if he is of the hoplite class his slavery will not be onerous. The fortunes of war make it all too possible that the captors might one day find themselves also unwillingly enjoying the hospitality of an enemy city. Therefore such prisoners are treated gently, and often set unpaid work within the city’s administration.
Some lower-class prisoners are skilled craftsmen, and these might be purchased and set up with a workshop. Thereafter a slave works like any other artisan, except that once a week his owner comes by and collects a substantial chunk of his earnings. Usually, by way of extra motivation, once the craftsman has paid off a pre-arranged amount he is set free. Those buying freedom on a hire-purchase plan tend to be self-conscious about it. This makes such slaves less, not more, easy to push around than free men of the same status.
Critias complains, ‘When you have a city with rich slaves, then it’s no longer profitable for the slave’s owner that his slave might fear you. In Sparta, my slave would fear you. But in Athens if slaves could be intimidated by free men, then any free man would extort money from rich slaves. No such problem in Sparta, where no one has any money anyway. Here, if you are not his owner, a slave thinks he’s your equal. Same with the metics. It’s a flaw with the system.’ (In Athens – unlike some other Greek cities, slaves can be quite wealthy. Therefore they have to be protected from extortion, robbery and assault lest the free population simply help themselves to a slave’s money. Slaves are well aware that only their owners can harm them, and are consequently less subservient to others – such as the fuming Critias.)
When Nericius first came to the city he too was somewhat startled by the casual attitude of urban slaves. Country slaves are more polite. But there are slaves and then there are slaves. The Thracians and Illyrians on the estate he considers little better than domestic animals. Their Macedonian overseer is a different class altogether, but nowhere near an equal. On the other hand, the young Boeotian slave at the Tholos has free friends, and after working hours he hangs out with them at the tavern.
‘I wouldn’t call a metic equal to a slave in the metic’s hearing,’ says Nericius. ‘The metics are a bit sensitive that way. She, or he, might prove your point about their insolence by flattening your nose.’
‘And get away with it,’ retorts Critias bitterly. ‘In the courts they disenfranchise the aristocrats, fine them, exile or execute them. Juries nowadays exist to promote the interests of the lower class. They are not interested in justice but their own advantage.’
The pair enter the Tholos and blink at the sudden change from the bright sunlight outdoors. Several councillors take advantage of this temporary blindness to suddenly engage their neighbours in conversation, or make it plain they are in a hurry to finish eating before their plates too are whisked away. It becomes clear to Nericius why Critias stepped outside to engage him in conversation. The alternative was to stand indoors alone.
Nericius is also eager to leave Critias. ‘We had better go into the chamber,’ he says genially. ‘Andocides is heading the meeting this afternoon, and he’s very short with those arriving late.’
And along with all these offices is the one that is supreme over everything. Often the same office is in charge of carrying out the business that it has proposed, or presides over the general assembly in places where the people are supreme. The institution that convenes the sovereign assembly will naturally end up as the dominant power in the state. It is styled in some places the Preliminary Council (boule) because it proposes the business to be dealt with in Assembly meetings.
ARISTOTLE POLITICS 6.1322B
A new chairman of the boule is selected each day to prevent any particular faction from getting an advantage. The chairman keeps with him the keys to the treasury and the archives. Daily selection makes it harder for those planning sabotage or a coup to get their hands on those vital keys because no one knows who will have them come nightfall. Over the year, two-thirds of the councillors will have been chairman.
The afternoon meeting will be busy. Tomorrow’s agenda has to be drawn up and published (people like to know what the city’s executive is up to), and the committee finalizing details of the approaching Dionysia will report. Above all, financing for the planned Sicilian expedition has to be worked into shape so that the Athenian Assembly can either accept the entire proposal or send it back to the boule for reworking.
Nericius is aware that Critias doesn’t care if they keep working until nightfall. Today he is one of the seventeen. The seventeen are a rotating group of councilmen who stay at the Tholos for a further eight-hour shift before being replaced for the last eight hours of the night. The chairman is on duty for the full twenty-four hours. That way, Athens always has a functioning government. Late-arriving ambassadors and messengers with urgent tidings know where to report, and if there’s a fire or serious civil unrest late at night, someone is around to give orders. Should an emergency arise this evening, Nericius sincerely trusts that whatever Critias wants to do will be voted down by the other sixteen duty councillors.
Nericius hopes the meeting will finish early. Then he will hurry to the little house on the south slopes of the Colonus hill where his lady awaits with chilled wine. They’ll drink it on the balcony as the sun sets and the shadow of the Hill of the Nymphs slowly creeps across the rooftops of the Melite district. The lady is a metic from the island of Chios, and will be suitably outraged when Nericius informs her that Critias considers her no better than a slave.
Then homewards through the darkening streets to Limnai and his surly little wife, Tymale, whose social skills are as poor as her cooking, her weaving and her love-making. That’s the price, Nericius reflects, of being a respectable married man.
Again, this chapter basically re-works an Athenian text. The opinions here are extracted verbatim from a contemporary rant usually called ‘The Old Oligarch’ (or Pseudo-Xenophon). Given Critias’ known views and literary aspirations, however, it would surprise no one if he was the old oligarch himself.
There is a contrary view that the text is really pro-democratic because it contains some powerful counter-arguments. These I have put into Nericius’ mouth.
