CHAPTER IV
ABILITY AND EDUCATION:
THE POWER OF PERSUASION
Oratorical ability, as Michels points out, is a prerequisite for political leadership in a democracy.1 Athenian politicians invariably possessed great public speaking ability, and their natural rhetorical skills had often been refined through formal education in schools of rhetoric (above, III.C).
The political orators were, collectively, the most visible sector of the Athenian “educated elite,” but, as argued above (I.B, III.D.I) they never became a ruling elite. Analyzing how the topics of ability and education are treated in public discourse reveals both continuities and discontinuities between Athenian political experience and the functioning of modern democracy. How did the Athenians regard those who possessed superior ability to communicate ideas to large audiences, and who had been educated in the arts of persuasion? How did the masses control the ambitions of the educated elite and so combat the drift toward oligarchy, which Michels considered the inevitable fate of democratic organizations?
Athenian procedures for making important political decisions, both at the level of legislation (in the Assembly and by boards of nomothetai) and at the level of the judiciary, always involved public discussion before a large group of citizens, followed by a group vote. The decision reached was typically binding on the society as a whole. Thus, Athenian decision making was explicitly predicated on the belief that group decisions were likely to be right decisions. The political implications of that conclusion, and of the assumptions that underpinned it, were farreaching.
Part of the Athenians’ faith in the wisdom of collective decisions made by the masses rested upon their conviction that Athenians were by nature more intelligent than other people. Aeschines (1.178), for example, avowed that in his opinion Athenians were naturally more clever (epidexioi) than other people and so naturally made better laws. Demosthenes (3.15) noted that the Athenians were quicker (oxutatoi) than other men to grasp the meaning of speeches. Isaeus’ client (11.19) stated that he need say no more concerning the subject at hand, since the jurors were intelligent men (eu phronousi humin), able to judge well for themselves the rights and wrongs of the matter (cf. Euripides Medea 826-27, 844-45).
The Athenians’ image of themselves as a shrewd lot was sometimes exploited by a public speaker in an attempt to shame the audience into voting in his favor. Demosthenes (23.109) notes that the Olynthians had demonstrated that they were able to plan ahead against Philip, and he claimed that it would surely be shameful (aischron) if the Athenians, “who have a reputation for having superior ability in political deliberations,” should prove inferior to mere Olynthians. Elsewhere (18.149), Demosthenes remarks that Aeschines had been able to fool the non-Athenian members of the Amphictionic council, since they were “men unused to speeches”; Demosthenes implies that his current audience of experienced Athenians will not be misled so easily. Dinarchus (1.93) wondered which of the jurors was so blindly hopeful, so ignorant (alogistos), or so unaware of affairs (apeiros) as to vote for Demosthenes, and he suggested (1.104) that Demosthenes himself had too much faith in his power of speech and in the jurors’ simplemindedness (euētheias). Hyperides (3.23) claimed that his opponent regarded the jurors as fools (ēlithious) who would not recognize his effrontery.
The native intelligence of the common Athenian may have been reinforced by at least some formal schooling. The excellence of Athenian education was a topos of funeral orations.2 But in fact we know regrettably little about primary education in the Greek poleis before the Hellenistic period and virtually nothing about the education of the non-elite.3 Basic literacy—the ability to read and to write some words—seems to have been general among the citizen population of Athens, at least by the fourth century and perhaps well before.4 In order to function as a citizen, and certainly in order to carry out the responsibilities of many of the magistracies, the Athenian citizen needed a basic command of letters. On the other hand, it seems unlikely that many Athenians were fully literate in the sense that they read easily and frequently, for pleasure and instruction. Books were, relatively speaking, rare and expensive. Although books were no longer exotic by the later fifth century, they were probably still, for the most part, the possessions of the educated elite, and Athenian political culture remained at its heart an oral culture.5 Thus, in the Funeral Oration (Thuc. 2.40.2) Pericles emphasized that the Athenians made good political decisions because they believed that speeches (logoi) were not a hindrance to action, but rather they regarded it as a disgrace not to be well instructed by public debate before engaging in action.6
Even if the common Athenian citizen was not fully literate, he was widely exposed to the products of literary culture. The state-subsidized performances at the Panathenaic festival and the festival of Dionysus exposed the average citizen to poetry, music, and dance (above, III.E.6). He might also attend various public readings, such as the ones Herodotus reputedly gave of his Histories.7 The average Athenian had no doubt gained at least a passing acquaintance with the stories of Homer and the myths and legends associated with Athenian antiquity. Much would have been learned from his parents and relatives, much picked up casually in the course of listening to others, perhaps especially to the elders of his deme.
Attendance at Assemblies and participation in the law courts as a juror gave the citizen considerable experience with highly sophisticated rhetoric, and he considered himself competent to judge both the merits of an argument and the style in which it was delivered. In the Mytilenean debate (Thuc. 3.38.2-7) Cleon berates the Assemblymen for regarding themselves as connoisseurs of rhetoric and acting as if they were listening to the haggling of sophists, rather than acting like men involved in making serious decisions that would affect the fate of the polis. This taste for fine rhetoric certainly continued into the fourth century. Although few public speakers attained Demosthenes’ level of skill, the corpus of Attic orators is testimony both to the high standard that deliberative and forensic rhetoric achieved in the period and to the Athenian public’s appreciation for fine speaking.8 In general, we may assume that the common citizen could appreciate many of the fine points of poetry, performing arts, history, and rhetoric, although he would probably not have made the distinctions between these fields that his more highly and formally educated elite fellow citizen might have been taught to do.
In a famous passage in the Funeral Oration (Thuc. 2.41.1) Pericles praised the city of Athens as an education to her citizens and to all of Hellas. The education provided by the polis was not, by any means, limited to literary culture and its popular by-products. A major part of the citizen’s education came through performance of his political role.9 The citizen’s first formal experience with democratic government was in his deme, when he was presented to the demesmen and they voted to grant him citizenship. The political organization of the deme was modeled, both in theory and practice, on the polis government. The deme assemblies were training grounds for citizens in what Whitehead has called the “cardinal principles” of “communal decision making and responsibility.”10 As was suggested above (II.F.1), members of different demes learned how to cooperate with residents from elsewhere in Attica in the tribal assemblies and, especially, on the Council, which gave the citizen an extended and intimate look at many aspects of the government.11 Service in other magistracies—in addition to the five hundred bouleutai, some seven hundred other offices were filled each year—might give the citizen further experience in dealing with different elements in his state and society.12 Military service, too, offered valuable education, by helping to instill a sense of common purpose and the necessity of cooperation in those who marched in the phalanx or rowed the triremes.13 At least in the last third of the fourth century, and perhaps earlier, the state provided the ephebes, citizens aged eighteen and nineteen, with two years of moral, religious, and formal military training.14 Finally, as noted above, the experience of service as a juror and as an Assemblyman was of primary importance in the practical political education of the citizen.
The educational function of the polis was not limited to the “practical” training in the political process offered to the individual citizen. Perhaps more telling, in both popular ideology and elite political theory, was the normative role of the ethos of the polis, expressed through the organization and actions of governmental institutions. The convictions that a good life can only be lived in a good polis, that therefore the moral duty of the citizen is to improve the ethos of the polis, and that the ethos of a good state will be exemplified and maintained by its institutions are central to the political thought of Plato and Aristotle.15 Isocrates completely agreed; his ideal paideia stressed not only the formal education of children but the moral education which good institutions would inculcate in the mature citizens.16 The differences of opinion between Isocrates and Plato, as between the elite political theory and mass ideology, were not over whether the state and its institutions should be a reflection of moral good.17 The disputes rather concerned how the good should be defined, who was capable of achieving goodness, and whether goodness could be taught.
The Athenian masses, unlike the elite theorists, tended to assume that the existing state was good and, if imperfect, capable of improvement. The institutions of the state were therefore also essentially good and could justly be expected to perform a major educational and normative role in improving the citizens (cf. Plato Apology 24d-25a). Given the directness of the democracy—the lack of a government interposed between people and state—this meant not only that the laws must be as just and democratic as possible, but that the decisions reached in the Assembly and in the courts had an important didactic role. Good decisions would improve the citizenry; poor decisions might worsen it. Thus Demosthenes, for example, could argue (19.343) that a failure to convict Aeschines and his cronies would result in the worsening of every citizen, since all would see that traitors received wealth and honors, while just persons who spent their personal fortunes for the public good were ill treated. Citizens who performed significant political functions were an important focus of normative decision making. Demosthenes (22.37) urged that if the present bouleutai lost their honorific crown as punishment for having been misled by a rhetor, future Councilmen would be encouraged to perform diligently and to reject attempts by political experts to dominate the proceedings. The didactic example of judicial decisions was not, however, limited to the political behavior of male citizens. Apollodorus ([Dem.] 59.113) argued that acquittal of the prostitute Neaera would encourage poorer female citizens to become prostitutes in order to earn money for their dowries.
Of vital importance was the education of the youth of the city in the political values and ideological precepts that enabled the democracy to function. Aeschines (3.246) argued that the wrestling grounds (palaistrai), formal educational institutions (didaskaleia), and lyric poetry (mousikē) do not, by themselves, educate (paideuei) the youth of the city; more important were the decisions of the demos (ta dēmosia kērugmata). Lycurgus (1.10) claimed that the jurors knew perfectly well that their votes must be an incentive to the young, since the education of the youth consisted of the punishment of wrong and the rewarding of the virtuous by the state. Isocrates (20.21) urged the jurors not to wrong themselves collectively, nor to teach the youth to despise the mass of the citizens (kataphronein tou plēthous tōn politōn), by acquittal of a rich man accused of hubris.
Isocrates’ comment on the youth and the hubristic rich and Demosthenes’ comments on the bouleutai and the political experts suggest that the normative function of mass decisions was especially important in light of existing sociopolitical inequities. Lysias’ client (30.24) noted that the punishment of those unable to speak well was not useful as an example but that meting out justice to powerful speakers (dunamenoi legein, cf. above III.B.I) was a fine example (paradeigma) to others.18 And Demosthenes (21.183) exhorted the jurors in the trial of Meidias not to create an example (deigma) of forgiveness of the rich man, when they had formerly convicted without pity a man who was moderate (metrios) and who conformed to democratic values (dēmotikos; cf. below, V.F). The decisions of juries could, furthermore, be regarded as a means of forcing elite citizens to conform to the norms established by the masses. Lysias (14.45) urged that the conviction of Alcibiades the Younger would be a good example to his friends (philoi) who were planning on becoming demagogues themselves. Demosthenes (51.22) urged the jurors not to allow the honorable ambitiousness (philotimia) of those who were willing to contribute materially to the state depend on the persuasion of expert speakers, lest the Athenians teach the rich to pay as little as possible to the state and to hire many rhetores to defend them in court. On a more positive note, Aeschines (2.183) states that if the jury saves him from Demosthenes, they will find that many others will be ready to work for the collective good of the polis.
Ecclesiastic decrees and dicastic judgments had for the Athenians a significance that transcended the particular case at issue and went beyond the establishment of formal constitutional or legal precedents. The democracy depended upon the maintenance of an ideological consensus among the citizen population. Lacking a formal state-run system of formal education, the demos itself, through the Assembly and the courts, took on a large part of the task of instilling social values in the citizens. The young who were not yet fully socialized and the elites who might be influenced by value systems antithetical to democratic government were the particular groups at which much of the normative education through legislation and legal judgment was aimed. But all citizens were educated, for good or ill, by the right and wrong decisions of the Assembly and juries, as well as by the laws of the state (cf. Aesch. 1.192-95).
The educational function of the Assembly and courts made reaching right decisions all the more important. The various decision-making bodies were composed of citizens who possessed high native intelligence (or so the Athenians liked to believe), were at least basically literate, had collectively a good grasp of literary culture, and had a high degree of practical experience in the mechanics of government and in cooperation toward a common end. But these factors do not adequately account for the strength of Athenian faith in group decision making. Rather, that faith was grounded in the assumption that the collective wisdom of a large group was inherently greater than the wisdom of any of its parts. This conviction is one of the central egalitarian tenets of Athenian political ideology. It is implicit in both the structure of the decision-making process and the emphasis the Athenians were willing to place upon “common report” as an index of an individual’s character and behavior, since what “everybody knows”—or everybody believed—was deemed likely to be right (above, 111.E.5).
The assumption that groups composed of individuals lacking specialized skills or education tended to produce wise decisions was explicitly, emphatically, and repeatedly rejected by Plato and sometimes by other authors of elite texts as well.19 But some elite writers were willing to consider the concept of collective wisdom seriously. In his essay attacking the “sophists,” Isocrates (13.8) notes that those who rely on opinions (doxai) tend to agree with one another more (mallon homonoountas) and are more often correct than those who profess to have exact knowledge (epistēmē) and that, therefore, idiōtai have good reason to despise specialized studies. This passage was written in the context of an intra-elite debate over higher education and is not necessarily representative of Isocrates’ general beliefs, but it shows that he was willing and able to use the topoi of popular ideology for polemical purposes.20 More striking, perhaps, is Aristotle’s (Pol. 1281a39-b9) treatment of the issue. In the context of his discussion of the merits of democracy, he raises the possibility that the mass (plēthos), rather than the excellent few, should be master (kurios) of the good state. He argued that although the individuals who compose the mass are not worthy gentlemen (spoudaioi andres), they may be better collectively than the few persons who were. Hence, he points out, the mass, by common consent, was the best judge of music, of poetry, and other fields: with its many senses, it becomes like a single human being with respect to its characteristics (ta ēthē) and decision-making ability (dianoia). While noting that there were some objections to this point of view, Aristotle continues (1281bg-1282a41) by pointing out that the sum of individually inferior parts is indeed very great, and so the courts, Council, and Assembly should be left in charge of important affairs.21
If Isocrates and Aristotle were willing at least to consider the idea of collective wisdom, it is hardly surprising that the political orators typically took it for granted. The elitist attack on mass decision making was specifically refuted in the Thucydidean speech of Athenagoras of Syracuse (Thuc. 6.39.1). He attacked the argument that democracy was neither wise nor truly egalitarian by asserting that the many (hoi polloi), having listened to the deliberations of wise men (xunelous, meaning popular speakers like himself), were the best judges of what was right and productive of equality.22 Demosthenes (Ex. 44.1) stated that he would not have come before the Assembly if the Athenians all held the same opinions on the matter at hand, even if his own opinion were different, since “I, being one, would be more likely to be mistaken than all of you.” And again (Ex. 45), when arguing that making a good speech and choosing sound policies were not the same, he stated that the former was the work of the rhetor, the second of a man possessing intelligence (nous). Therefore, he continued, “you, the many” are not expected to speak as well as the orators, but “you, especially the older ones of you, are expected to have intelligence equal or better than that of the speakers, since it is experiences and having seen much that makes for intelligence.” The appeal to the older citizen is obvious, but the passage also affirms the conviction that collective judgment by the many was superior to individual perception and more important than mere speech. Even when berating the jurors for their inconsistency, Demosthenes (23.145-46) emphasized their good judgment and claimed that everyone (hapantes) quite correctly agreed that bribe-taking politicians were the worst men in the state.
The rhetor’s appeal to the mass wisdom of the particular group he was addressing was based on the generalized faith the Athenians had in the collective knowledge, experiences, and judgment of the citizen body as a whole. Hyperides (1.14, cited above, 111.E.5) supported an argument for the validity of a legal defense that was based on a man’s whole life by reference to the assumption that no one in the polis can deceive “the mass of you.’’ Dinarchus (133; cf. 2.2) notes that “you [jurors] see and know” the facts of Demosthenes’ life “much better than I do.” Since Dinarchus proceeded to relate Demosthenes’ crimes in considerable detail, he cannot have expected his audience to believe that all the jurors or even any individual juror actually knew more about Demosthenes’ life than he himself did. Rather, he was expressing his solidarity with an ideology that stressed group over individual knowledge. Athenagoras, Demosthenes, Hyperides, and Dinarchus all leave a place in the decision-making process for the expert politician, but each affirms that the collective wisdom of the masses must be the final arbiter.23
The Athenians’ belief in their collective wisdom as a group need not be seen as contravening their faith in the wisdom of their laws. The laws were a highly esteemed expression and “concretization” of mass wisdom. Laws had been, in some cases at least, affirmed by several generations of Athenians and thus represented the epitome of the masses’ collective wisdom over time (see also below, VII.C). The laws need not be seen as external to, or as a check upon, the judgment of the demos, but rather as a partial expression of some of its most cherished and time-tested ideals.
The Athenian emphasis upon group decisions is the context in which we must view the forensic orator’s strategy of attempting to persuade the jurors that their collective wisdom, knowledge, and experience were being challenged by the duplicitous arguments of his opponent. The jury was cast in the role of a unified body of citizens confronted by an individual (the opponent) who was perversely attempting to oppose the group’s will. The orator who succeeded in generating in his audience a group-versus-individual state of mind had won the day, since by definition the group must prevail over the individual in a direct democracy of the Athenian model. This is Demosthenes’ strategy (19.297) when he reminds the jurors that in the courts “no one has ever been greater than you, or the laws, or your oaths” and urges the jurors not to let Aeschines become greater than themselves. Of course, the elite of trained and able speakers were the most likely to try to oppose the will of the jury; Demosthenes’ client (39.14) asserts that “you jurors” know how to keep control over even the most clever folk (tous panu deinous) when they overreach themselves. Lycurgus (1.20) confidently asserts that “you jurors” are not ignorant of the advance preparations (paraskeuas) used by the defendants.
Yet, despite the general Athenian faith in mass wisdom, doubts persisted. The adversarial nature of public trials and of many Assembly debates forced the voters to choose between two speakers (or potentially more, in the Assembly), only one of whom could be urging the best decision. There was a very real possibility that the jurors or Assemblymen would be taken in by the more clever speaker and would reject the less clever, even if the latter was in the right. This was potentially a serious political problem, especially in light of the normative role the Athenians attributed to the decisions of the Assembly and courts. Consequently, Athenian jurors were often warned by orator A to beware of orator B’s eloquence. Aeschines urged the jurors to watch out for Demosthenes’ rhetorical tricks: “Just as in gymnastic contests you see boxers contending with one another for position, so, for the sake of the polis, you [jurors] must do battle with him all day long for position in regard to his speech” and watch out for his evasive tactics (3.206).
The perception that rhetorical skill represented a potential threat to the validity of the democratic decision-making process put the expert speaker in a difficult position. An orator who attempted to use his power of speech to deceive a mass audience into voting against its collective interests was obviously setting himself up as superior to the masses, a situation the demos must regard as anathema. Why then, if rhetoric involved deception, should expert rhetores be allowed to speak to the demos in the first place? In On the Crown (18.280) Demosthenes lays out what, according to his considered opinion, comprised the worth of the rhetor. After accusing Aeschines of beginning a prosecution merely to make a public display of his fine voice and rhetorical ability, Demosthenes proclaims, “But it is not the speech (logos) of a rhetor, Aeschines, or the power of his voice which are his worth, but it lies rather in his preference for the same things as the many and in his hating and loving the same things as his homeland. Having such a disposition (psuchē), everything a man says will be patriotic (ep’ eunoiai).” This passage, taken literally, leaves no room for legitimate political or legal debate. The worthy orator prefers the same things as the many, and therefore, when speaking in public, he simply vocalizes the desires of the majority of his listeners. Because the wisdom of the group is superior to that of the individual, the desires of the majority are right desires, and the orator who voices these desires is therefore advocating the right decision. Since his opponent urges a different decision, his opponent must be wrong and consciously opposing the preferences of the people.
Demosthenes’ dictum, by eliminating legitimate difference of opinion as a basis of political debate, allows—even requires—the orator to ascribe the worst possible motives to any speaker who advocated a position significantly different from his own. Since there was no legitimate reason for adopting a viewpoint at variance with the wishes of the majority, anyone who persisted in doing so must have been motivated by illegitimate and selfish personal interests. Thus a common ploy for the orator was to suggest that his opponent and his opponent’s supporters were bribed or hired to say the things they did, and in either case they clearly preferred making money to speaking the truth. The bribe-taker who decided that his personal enrichment was of greater value than agreeing with the masses obviously had no love for the democracy (cf. below, VII.F.2). Indeed, one might safely suggest that he hated the democracy and was probably willing to support a revolution that would destroy the power of the people (e.g., Lys. 25.26-27). The presumption that to agree with the masses was to be in the right easily led to the implication that one’s opponent must be regarded as a traitor. The savage tenor of Athenian political invective must be seen in the light of this progression.
Demosthenes’ dictum on agreeing with the masses was an extreme position, and, as we will see (IV.E), he suggests a very different interpretation of the orator’s role later in On the Crown. His dictum assumes that the speaker is precisely aware of the preferences of the people. On some issues, and in broad terms, no doubt the orator did know what the majority was likely to prefer. But if the will of the masses had actually been as self-evident as Demosthenes implied, there would be no need for isēgoria, and the Athenians would not have had to bother listening to lengthy arguments or even with voting; all decisions would be by consensus and could be announced by acclamation. The structure of Assembly meetings and jury trials was, however, predicated on the assumption that there were issues upon which debate was both legitimate and necessary. Demosthenes’ dictum helps to define one end of the ideological spectrum on the subject of the relations between speaker and audience. It represents an ideal of decision making by universal consensus which could seldom be achieved in practice. However, the ideal of a polity based on consensus survived into the fourth century (for its origins, see above, II.E) and buttressed the notion that the orator should be simply the mouthpiece of unspoken mass will. This constellation of ideas was an important aspect of Athenian political ideology and provided the rationale for very extreme statements by the orators regarding one another’s ulterior motives.
In the normal course of events, the preference of the people remained at least formally latent, and debate could therefore be regarded as legitimate, until the vote was taken. The vote of the Assembly or jury was, however, an unambiguous statement of the people’s will. After any vote that had been preceded by debate, the demos knew that at least one speaker had been arguing against the position that later turned out to be the correct one, the one that expressed the will of the majority. No rhetor could hope to win every vote. The expert politician who, by definition, engaged frequently in public trials and spoke often in the Assembly must lose occasionally, and when he lost he was in the uncomfortable position of having publicly opposed the group. How was the orator to explain his failure and justify his willingness to continue advocating a policy that the masses had rejected? Demosthenes (9.54) tried suggesting that some evil demon was driving the Athenians to prefer the purchased minions of Philip to himself, but this is not an argument one wanted to use very often.24 Much more common was the suggestion that despite their collective wisdom, the people had been (or might be) misled by the clever and superficially convincing, but evil and deceptive, speeches of one’s opponent.
Therefore, at least in part in order to create a justification for their own failures to convince the demos and for the successes of their opponents, the orators acknowledged the power of rhetoric to lead the Assembly, the jury, and the state as a whole into error. Demosthenes (51.20), for example, stated that because of the speeches (dēmēgoriai) of the rhetores, many matters in the state were going from bad to worse.25 This tendency might be exacerbated in periods of financial difficulty. Lysias (30.22) noted that in such times the Council was led to accept eisangeliai and to make public the property of citizens, being persuaded by the rascally advice of the rhetores. But the citizens themselves, as idiōtai and collectively as the demos, suffered in the end. Aeschines (3.233) claimed that the juror who voted for Demosthenes would make himself weak and the rhetor strong, while the correct situation in the democratic polis was for the idiōtēs to rule (basileuei) through the law and the vote.26
The orator who could deceive the people into voting wrongly was a manifest danger to all other citizens.27 Hyperides (5.25-26, cf. 4.27) noted that if they were defendants, the members of the jury, being idiōtai and inexperienced, would be overwhelmed in the courts by the rhetorical ability (k[atarhē]toreutheis) of those who were currently under indictment and subsequently they, though innocent, would be convicted and either executed or banished. The orator who put great store by his speaking ability was not merely unseemingly vain but threatened the whole state.28 He set himself above the decrees of the Assembly (e.g., Dem. 51.22) and believed that his ability to speak well gave him immunity from prosecution (Aristot. Rhet. 1372a11-17). According to Aeschines (3.253), Demosthenes’ eloquence allowed him to sail on a ship of words over the politeia. While taking for himself the name of protector of the democracy, which should be common to all, Demosthenes was in fact the furthest from being a true democrat (Aesch. 3.248). Demosthenes (19.120), on the other hand, claimed that Aeschines took up a prosecution as easily as a dramatic role and that his ability to convict his opponents within the time limit and without the use of witnesses was evidence for his cleverness at speaking.
There can be little doubt that, although the Athenians delighted in rhetorical displays, they remained suspicious of the expert orators and their verbal skills. The orator involved in a political fight might exploit the popular distrust of the rhetores against an opponent, despite the obvious danger of being tarred with his own brush. Dinarchus (1.98) reminded the jurors of oracles that he suggested warned the Athenians against rhetores. Hyperides (F 80 [Jensen] = B.19.5 [Burtt]) claimed that all rhetores were like snakes and therefore hateful. Some, he says, were adders who were harmful to men, while others took the role of the adder-eating brown snake. Presumably, Hyperides hoped his audience would think of his opponents in the former category and of himself in the latter. His listeners might, however, legitimately ask themselves why snakes should be tolerated at all. The orators used the demos’ fear of being misled by rhetoric to discredit their opponents, and the power of rhetoric provided a convenient excuse for a politician to explain why his policies were sometimes rejected by the people. The central question of why expert politicians should have been allowed to practice in Athens’ political arenas remains to be answered. Indeed, the arguments of the orators cited above might seem to provide material for a strong case in favor of excluding experts in rhetoric from the democratic decision-making process.
The orator’s power to deceive his audience into voting wrongly lay in his speaking ability, which was typically at least partially the product of a specialized education. Education in rhetoric was a potential focus of popular suspicion; at worst it could be characterized as a corrupting and destructive influence in the state. In the speech Against Lacritus (35.40-43) Demosthenes’ client played upon the jurors’ distrust of rhetorical training. He asserted that, while he did not himself hold a grudge against anyone who desired to become a sophist and so paid Isocrates a stiff fee to that end, he did not think that such people had the right to look down upon others (kataphronountas) or, thinking themselves clever (deinous) and trusting in their speeches (tōi logōi pisteuontas), to cheat other citizens. These, he said, were the attitudes and actions of the perfidious (ponēros) sophist who believed he could lead jurors astray with his tricky harangues. The defendant, Lacritus, considered himself a master at deceiving juries and collected money from others for teaching them to do likewise. The prosecutor acknowledged, however, that he would have to admit that his opponent was indeed the greatest of sophists (sophōtatos) if Lacritus, who put his faith in his eloquence and in the 1,000 drachmas he had paid Isocrates, was able to fool the present jury.
The passage is very neatly constructed. Beginning with a claim of neutrality on the topic of rhetorical education, the prosecutor shows how the defendant’s training in rhetoric had made him both arrogant and dangerous. This leads inevitably to the conclusion that if the jurors acquitted the defendant, they would acquiesce in the methods of vicious sophists who thought themselves superior to the masses and safe from conviction by virtue of their special training. Since Lacritus was not only a student of Isocrates but also a teacher of rhetoric in his own right, his acquittal would presumably encourage others to study his methods of jury subversion. Seen in this light, a school of rhetoric was, to borrow Hyperides’ imagery, a nest of vipers which poisoned the entire state. The jury’s didactic function of establishing and enforcing models of correct social behavior was perverted into one of helping the sophist prove to potential students the persuasive power of his rhetoric.29
Isocrates himself discovered that he was much less popular among the Athenians than he had imagined, when his enemies succeeded in having him saddled with a liturgy. According to Isocrates’ account of the matter (15.4-5), his opponents at his property-exchange trial played upon the jury’s distrust of his power of speech (tēn tōn logōn tōn emōn dunamin) and emphasized the large number of his students. Furthermore (15.30), they stressed that among these students were not only idiōtai but rhetores and generals, as well as kings and tyrants.30
The execution of Socrates was an exceptional case, carried out in exceptional historical circumstances, but to be labeled a sophist and teacher of dangerous men was never good in Athens.31 In the speech Against Timarchus (1.173) Aeschines uses the cudgel of popular mistrust of higher education against Demosthenes: “Oh Athenians, did you not execute Socrates the sophist for being the teacher of Critias, one of the Thirty who put down the democracy? . . . then shall Demosthenes snatch his cronies (hetairoi) from your hands? He who takes vengeance upon idiōtai and friends of the people (dēmotikoi) for their isēgoria?” Aeschines then mentions (1.173) that some of Demosthenes’ students were at the trial, having come for a lesson in clever speaking. He urges (1.175) the jurors not to furnish “Demosthenes the sophist” with a source of laughter and a teaching example (diatribē) at their own expense. “Imagine,” Aeschines (1.175) goes on to say, “when he is at home with his pupils how he will brag that he stole the case away from the jurors” by his cunning speech.
This passage strikes a number of themes, each one calculated to arouse the jurymen’s ire. Demosthenes is a sophist, like Socrates. The Athenians had justly executed Socrates for his role in teaching the arts of subversion to Critias, one of the Thirty Tyrants. Since Demosthenes himself teaches students, the jury could presume that he is teaching his students the same sort of thing Socrates had taught Critias, and Demosthenes therefore deserves a similar fate. Inversely, if Demosthenes is innocent, though a sophistic teacher, then Socrates had been innocent, and the current jury would be implicated in an unjust execution. This had occurred over fifty years previously, but we may note Aeschines’ use of the second person plural for those who had executed Socrates. Worse yet, Demosthenes’ power of speech limits the isēgoria of common citizens; his oratorical skill therefore undercuts a basic principle of the democracy. If the jurors acquit the defendant, they, like the jurors in the trial of Lacritus, acquiesce in helping to teach rhetoric. Aeschines makes the insidiousness of this acquiescence explicit by claiming that the trial was being used as a lesson by Demosthenes. Furthermore, adding insult to injury, Demosthenes’ students will laugh at the jurors’ gullibility in the privacy of his house—obviously they do not view the Athenians as naturally astute—and Demosthenes will become even more vain and dangerous than before.32
Demosthenes could hardly let this sort of abuse go unanswered, and in On the False Embassy he turns the tables on his opponent. Aeschines, he says (19.246-48), calls other men logographers and sophists as an insult but is himself open to the same reproach. Demosthenes sets about proving this by pointing out that in the course of his speech Aeschines quoted from Euripides’ Phoenix, which he had never performed on stage himself. Yet Aeschines never quoted from Sophocles’ Antigone which he had acted many times. So, “Oh Aeschines, are you not a sophist . . . are you not a logographer . . . since you hunted up (zētēsas) a verse which you never spoke on stage to use to trick the citizens?” (19.250). The argument that underlies Demosthenes’ rejoinder says a good deal about Athenian attitudes toward specialized education. According to Demosthenes, Aeschines is a sophist because he “hunts up” quotes from a play with which he had no reason to be familiar in order to strengthen his argument. Clearly the average Athenian would not be in a position to search out quotes when he wanted them; if the ordinary citizen ever wanted to quote poetry he would rely on verses he had memorized, perhaps from plays he had seen performed in the theater. Demosthenes implies that the contents of an individual’s memory and his general knowledge learned from experience were perfectly democratic and egalitarian; specialized research undertaken to support an argument in court, on the other hand, was sophistic and elitist. What Aeschines should have done (and, as Demosthenes implies, would have done were he not a sophist) was to quote the plays that he had memorized. Since he ignored the play he knew and quoted poetry from a play he did not know, he was proved to possess a sophist’s training which he used to trick the average citizens on the jury. The orator who displayed evidence of special knowledge left himself open to the charge of using his elite education to deceive the audience.33
Popular mistrust of rhetorical ability and the skilled speakers who misused it is demonstrated by the eagerness of private trial litigants to portray their opponents as slick speakers who were using their rhetorical ability to evil ends. One of Isaeus’ clients (10.1) said that he was unequal to his opponents, who were powerful speakers (legein deinoi) and well prepared (paraskeuasasthai hikanoi); the plaintiff himself claimed to have had no practice in speaking in court, while his opponents were experienced litigants. Another of Isaeus’ clients (9.35) cried, “Help me, jurors. If [my opponent] Cleon is a better speaker than I (legein emou dunatai . . . mallon), do not allow this fact to be stronger than law and justice.”
The notion of the wrongfulness of advance preparation, which Demosthenes used against Aeschines in regard to poetic quotation, was used by other litigants whose opponents were castigated for having “prepared their rhetores” against an innocent idiōtēs.34 Those who used their rhetorical skills to destroy other citizens in court were often identified by their opponents as sycophants, trained speakers and experienced litigants who engaged in prosecutions solely for pecuniary gain. The sycophant was similar to the bribed politician. Both used the political apparatus of the state for illegitimate personal advantage, but, while the bribed politician sold his convictions for pay, the sycophant had no convictions in the first place. The sycophant was consequently regarded as a leech on society, who had no regard for truth or the rights of a case but was a master of slander (e.g., Dem. 57.34).
Worst of all, the sycophants were an uncontrolled element in the democracy. They grew rich from perverting the state’s legal machinery to their private ends, but they had no personal stake in their prosecutions. The sycophant made his living primarily by extorting money from victims who preferred to pay up rather than to face the uncertainties of a jury trial, at which they would be outmatched rhetorically. Thus, unlike the politician who, even if bribed, sincerely desired the jury to vote in his favor, the sycophant did not necessarily care personally about getting a conviction when he was forced by his victim’s intransigence to go to trial.35 For this reason, sycophants did not feel a proper sense of gratitude to the Athenian demos when they won their cases (e.g., Dem. 58.63). The sycophants hence represented the least attractive element of the educated elite. The expert politician, who spent much of his life giving speeches, ran the risk of being branded a mere sycophant, motivated by lust for personal gain rather than by a patriotic desire to serve the polis. The line between the sycophant and the politician was somewhat vague; Lycurgus (1.31) anticipated that Leocrates would attempt to portray himself as an idiōtēs who had fallen prey to “a rhetor and a most terrible sycophant.”36
The logical corollary to the topos of “my opponent is a skilled speaker” was the claim by the speaker to be unskilled and inexperienced in public speech. A client of Lysias (19.2), for example, assured the court that everyone who knew him was aware of his inability to speak well (apeiria). Another of Lysias’ clients (17.1) was concerned that some of the jurors might have the idea that because he was ambitious, he could also speak better than other people (epein . . . mallon heterou dunasthai). This, he assured them, was not true. Indeed, he was unable to speak well on his own behalf , much less in regard to the affairs of others.37
Some fairly obvious hypocrisy is involved with these professions of lack of ability, and Demosthenes (21.141-42) trusted that his jury would be aware that the claim that one could not speak properly (mē dunasthai legein) was among the myriad excuses by which individuals rationalized their failure to defend themselves in court. The extant speeches were preserved because of their quality as rhetorical literature. Some speeches are better examples of the orator’s art than others. Some are artfully composed to give an impression of artlessness. But no speech in the corpus could possibly be construed to be the spontaneous creation of a semi-educated man “unfamiliar with speaking” (cf. above, I.E). Hence, even if the actual litigant who delivered the speech in question was not an experienced speaker, in the case of the preserved speeches, at least, the “I am ignorant of rhetorical ability or training” topos describes a fiction. As we have seen, however, the Athenian citizens had some pretensions to connoisseurship in rhetoric, and many of the jurors no doubt recognized the product of the logographer’s pen when they heard it. But, since logography apparently continued to flourish through the fourth century, we must conclude that the topos passed muster with the jurors, and so we may suppose that the fiction it depended upon was agreeable to them.38 The very transparency of the fiction is indicative of its importance to the participants and reveals the deep distrust of rhetoric which coexisted with the aesthetic appreciation the jurors felt for a well-composed oration. The courts, like the Assembly, ran on a fuel of sophisticated rhetoric which the Athenians recognized was potentially corrosive to the machinery of the state. Thus the illusion was maintained of the simple man relating the unvarnished truth to the representatives of the demos, who would apply their collective intelligence in arriving at a just verdict. The whole process had much in common with a theatrical performance, and it may best be understood in light of the jurors’ willingness to suspend their disbelief when to do so would benefit themselves and the state (see above, III.E.6).
The interplay between the jurors’ tendency to be swept away by rhetorical skill and their mistrust of rhetoric is particularly well elaborated in two speeches in the Demosthenic corpus. In Against Theocrines (Dem. 58) Epichares urges the jurors to
aid me, caring nothing for the fact that it is not Demosthenes who is the prosecutor, but a mere boy. Nor should you consider the laws more binding when someone presents them to you carefully in rhetorical language (eu tis tois onomasi sumplexas) than when they are recited in the speech of everday (tōn hopōs etuchen legontōn). . . . You should all the more readily give aid to the inexperienced and the young, since they are less likely to lead you astray. (58.41)
And again, in the peroration:
Since we are engaged in so unequal a contest, we beg you to come to our aid and to make it clear to all men that whether a boy or an old man, or one of any age, comes before you in accordance with the laws he will obtain complete justice. The honorable course for you, men of the jury, is not to put the laws or your own selves in the power of the expert speakers (epi tois legousi) but to keep the speakers in your own power and to make a distinction between those who speak well and lucidly (eu kai saphōs) and those who speak what is just; for it is concerning justice that you have sworn to cast your votes. (58.61)
In Demosthenes’ masterful speech Against Aristocrates (23.4-5) the prosecutor Euthycles begs for the attention of the jury by saying that “I am neither one of the orators who annoy you (tōn enochlountōn) nor am I one of the politicians who are trusted by you (tōn politeuomenōn kai pisteuomenōn).” But if the jurymen will listen with goodwill, they will help to overcome the natural reluctance of “one of those of us” who desires to do the state a good turn, but who fears that it is a difficult thing to present a speech in public. As it is, he continues, many citizens who are poorer speakers, but better men than the eloquent ones, live in such terror of court proceedings that they never take part in public trials.
In each of the three passages cited above, the speaker contrasts himself, young/inexperienced/fearful, with his experienced and silvertongued opponents who were used to misleading juries. The speaker professes to be genuinely apprehensive that the jurors will prefer the polished and misleading rhetoric of his opponents to his own clumsy but true account.39 The speaker puts himself in the position of attempting to break the seductive hold that rhetoric currently exerts upon the jurors in order to win them back to the side of the average citizen and the law. This is supposed to be for the good not only of the speaker but of the jurymen themselves and of the state as a whole.40 The speaker’s acknowledgment of the jury’s tendency to be seduced by rhetorical display may seem a dangerous tactic, but it actually strengthens his case. By magnifying the persuasive power of his opponent and stressing his own inarticulateness, the speaker predisposes his jury to distrust any argument made against him, no matter how convincing, and to believe his own arguments, no matter how incoherent. Of course, in each case the author of the “inexperienced” speaker’s oration was a master rhetorician. The ploy could succeed only if the jurymen, who were aware of and worried about the danger of allowing rhetoric to pervert justice, were also willing to maintain the fiction that those who warned them of the danger were as innocent of rhetorical skill and preparation as they claimed to be.
The highly ambivalent attitude of the demos toward the entire subject of rhetoric, rhetorical ability, and rhetorical education made the role of the rhetores more complex and problematic. When a well-known political orator stood up to speak in the Assembly or in a law court, his audience was aware of his reputation for skill at public speaking. They were both fearful of his power to sway them and eager to be entertained and instructed by a master of a highly competitive and refined art. They might distrust him if he revealed too obviously the extent of his skill, but they would be disappointed if the show was not up to their expectations. For his part, the expert speaker knew that his political career depended upon neither alienating nor disappointing his listeners. The Athenian orator who hoped to capture and hold the attention of his audience might have spent hours or days composing his speech so that the argument would be tight, the style engaging, and the delivery smooth.41 But he was expected to maintain the fiction that his eloquence was born of conviction and the passion of righteous indignation, rather than preparation. Demosthenes’ opponents mocked his speeches for having the “stink of midnight oil” (Plut. Dem. 7.3, 8, 11), and Demosthenes, who had the reputation (rightly or wrongly) of being poor at extemporaneous speaking, had to overcome the opprobrium of working too hard at his speech writing.42 The Athenians demanded a very high standard of oratory from their politicians, but they did not necessarily like to be frequently reminded that the orator was an educated expert who possessed abilities and training that set him above the average citizens.
The difficulties faced by the orator who had to put on a good show, but avoid giving offense, are well illustrated by politicians’ use of poetry and historical examples. Quotations of poetry and citations of historical precedent could enliven a speech and help to buttress the argument by the inspired wisdom of the poet and the authority of past practice. The technique held a certain risk for the speaker, however. As we have seen (above, IV.C.2), Demosthenes attacked Aeschines for “hunting up” a quote which he had no good reason to have memorized. The orator also had to be very careful to avoid giving the impression that he disdained the educational level of his audience. The orator’s role was, in its essence, a didactic one: he attempted to instruct his listeners in the facts of the matter under discussion and in the correctness of his own interpretation of those facts. But when using poetic and historical examples, the orator must avoid taking on the appearance of a well-educated man giving lessons in culture to the ignorant masses.
A passage in Aeschines’ speech Against Timarchus that precedes a series of poetic quotations makes clear the pitfalls the orator faced in citing poetry.
But since you [my opponents] bring up Achilles and Patroclus, and Homer and the other poets as if the jurors are without education (anēkoōn paideias), and you, yourselves, on the other hand, are superior types (euschēmones tines) who far surpass (periphronountes) the demos in learning (historia)—in order to show you that we too (kai hēmeis) have listened carefully and have learned a little something, we shall say a few words about these matters. (1.141)
Aeschines justifies his intention to use poetic quotations by referring to his opponents’ plan to cite poetry against him. He characterizes his opponents as educated snobs who imagine themselves to be in possession of a grasp of literary culture that is superior to that of the demos. Aeschines uses the first person plural to suggest that he is one with the demos whose knowledge of the poets has been impugned. He suggests that “we”—Aeschines and, at least by implication, the people—have listened to the poets, not that he himself has made a special study of literature. Thus Aeschines makes himself a spokesman for the demos, called upon to defend the jurors against the scurrilous implication that they are ill educated. The jurors are therefore prepared to listen sympathetically to the series of quotes that Aeschines will recite in order to disprove the elitist claims he has imputed to his opponents. Aeschines’ elaborate justification appears worthwhile only if he believes the quotes will help to convince the jurors, but at the same time he is worried that they could construe his poetic excursus as exactly the sort of intellectual snobbery he accuses his opponents of indulging in.43
In another speech (3.231) Aeschines notes that if a tragedian represented Thersites as crowned by the Greeks, “no one of you [jurors] would allow it,” since Homer says that Thersites was a coward and a sycophant. Here Aeschines grants his audience a fairly detailed knowledge of, and respect for, Homer’s poem. His chosen example is particularly interesting, since Thersites was the commoner who dared speak up in the assembly of Achaean warriors and was trounced by the aristocratic Odysseus for his effrontery (Iliad 2.211-78). Aeschines seems oddly unconcerned about the possibility that the unegalitarian nature of the Thersites story might undercut the sympathy his audience would feel for the poetic example.44 Perhaps he trusted that his audience would remember that Thersites was labeled a coward and not pay much attention to the part social status played in the incident. But this would seem to be a considerable and unnecessary risk if Aeschines assumed that the ideology to which he was expected to conform was straightforward egalitarianism. We will have reason to return to this passage below (IV.F).
Demosthenes also used quotations from poetry in his speeches against Aeschines, although he employed poetic quotations more rarely, and he invariably justified himself by Aeschines’ prior citations. Typically, he simply throws back at Aeschines the passages his opponent had previously quoted and so carefully avoids suggesting that his own knowledge of poetry is superior to that of his audience.45 Demosthenes (19.247) assumes that his audience is composed of theatergoers. When mocking Aeschines’ career as a tragic actor (19.247), he says that “you [jurors] know perfectly well” that it is the privilege of bit-players (tritagōnistai—see VI.D.I) like Aeschines to play the role of the tyrant. The orator thus uses the “everyone knows” topos (see above, III.E.5) to avoid the impression of having a greater knowledge of theatrical performance than that of his audience.
Lycurgus made extensive use of poetic quotations in his only preserved oration. He introduced a passage from Tyrtaeus by asking hypothetically, “Who does not know” that the Spartans took Tyrtaeus from Athens to train their youths in virtue (1.106). And, after a long quote from Euripides, he states (1.101-102) that “these verses, gentlemen, educated (epaideue) your ancestors” (pateras). He also (1.102) recommended Homer to the jurors, whom “your ancestors” thought alone of the poets worthy of recitation at the Panathenaic Festival. The potentially elitist thrust of Lycurgus’ hortatory comments is deflected by the speaker’s emphasis on the traditional Athenian respect for the poets and his reference to the value of poetry being proved by its inclusion in the public festival.
The orators used a similar approach in citing examples from history or myth. Demosthenes usually introduced his historical excurses with a prefatory “I am sure you all know . . . thereby avoiding giving the impression that he knew more about the past than the average citizen.46 In a similar vein, his client (Dem. 40.24—25) discussed the career of the demagogue Cleon whom “they say” captured many Lacedaemonians and had great repute in the polis. Aeschines (2.76) cited the example of Cleophon “The Lyremaker” whom “many remember” as a slave in fetters. One did not want to claim a specialized knowledge of history, but an appeal to the memories of the Athenian elders was acceptable. In discussing exiles during the Corinthian war, for example, Demosthenes (20.52, cf. 19.249) mentioned events he had heard about from “the older citizens among you.” Aeschines suggested (2.150) that the older demesmen of Paiania would be able to confirm that his father-in-law had helped to get young Demosthenes enrolled as a citizen. He also (2.77—78, 3.191—92) recounted how his own father, who lived to be ninety five and had shared in the great struggles that followed the Peloponnesian War, had many times told his son the story of the disasters of the war and of the virtuous conduct and strict standards of jurors in the postwar years.47 Allusions to the memory of the older citizens or of one’s own ancestors allowed the orator to avoid assuming the role of an educated man instructing his inferiors. There was clearly an appeal to authority involved in the references to elders, but notably the elders were the only subset of the demos to possess clearly defined legal and political privileges (see above, I.B).
The Athenians’ demonstrated concern with native intelligence, their distrust of elite education, and their respect for the authority of the elders are parodied by Aristophanes, who mimics rhetorical topoi in the speech of Lysistrata, the female demagogue.
Listen to my words
I am a woman, but I’m smart enough
Indeed, my mind’s not bad at all.
Having listened to my father’s discourses
And those of the older men, I’m not ill educated.
(Lysistrata 1123—27)
The average citizen’s belief in the potential power of rhetoric to corrupt the democratic processes of the state helps to explain why both private litigants and expert political orators depict their opponents as clever speakers, wily sophists, and unscrupulous sycophants, whose persuasiveness was matched only by their venality and traitorous willingness to subvert the people’s will. It also explains why idiōtai depicted themselves as innocent of rhetorical ability or training. The private litigant was seldom eager to complicate the basic scenario: he, an average citizen without experience or skill in public speaking, was opposed by a trained and experienced speaker who threatened both the individual and the state.
The Athenian politician’s portrayal of his own and his opponent’s relationship to rhetoric and education was considerably more complex. In a searing passage from On the Crown, Demosthenes questions Aeschines’ right to appeal to virtue, intelligence, and education.
You filth, what have you or your family to do with virtue? How do you distinguish between good common report and slander? Where and how do you qualify as a moralist? Where do you get your right to talk about education? No truly educated man would use such language about himself, but would blush to hear it from others. But people like you, who make stupid pretensions to a culture of which they are utterly destitute, succeed in disgusting everybody whenever they open their lips, but never in making the sort of impression they desire. (18.128)
This passage is the very antithesis of the topos of depicting one’s opponent as an articulate, well-trained orator. Aeschines is characterized as a lout so ill-educated that he is completely unable to impress his audience. How, then, could he be a dangerous rhetor whose eloquence was likely to trick the jurors into voting against justice and their own interests?
Demosthenes’ attack on Aeschines’ lack of education is no isolated instance; in fact, political orators quite commonly claimed that their opponents were stupid, ignorant, and boorish. Demosthenes (22.75) calls the politician Androtion so dull-witted (skaios) as to be unable to tell the difference between symbols of virtue and mere wealth. In describing an Amphictionic meeting, Aeschines (3.117) notes how an Amphissan who attacked him was clearly without education (oudemias paideias). This might be explained as an example of contrasting the cultivated Athenians with the rest of the Greeks, but Aeschines elsewhere (1.166) claims that, in addition to his other undesirable traits, Demosthenes was uncouth (amousos) and uneducated (apaideutos). By their arrogant self-praise, he argues (3.241), Demosthenes and his ally Ctesiphon show their lack of education (apaideusia). A client of Lysias (20.12) attempts to undercut the argument that his father was a childhood friend of the oligarch Phrynichus by claiming that the latter had spent his impoverished childhood in the country tending sheep, while the plaintiff’s father was being properly educated in the city (en tōi astei epaideueto). The claim that one’s political opponent was an undereducated knave could be directly associated with the seemingly incongruous claim that he was an adroit speaker. Lysias (20.12) goes on to suggest that after spending his childhood in the fields with the sheep, Phrynichus came to the city to be a sycophant, while his own father retired to the life of a gentleman farmer in the countryside. Among the insults he lavished on Aeschines, Demosthenes (18.242) calls him a “country bumpkin tragedy-king” (arouraios Oinomaos) and a counterfeit rhetor whose cleverness (demotēs) is useless to the state. These passages are difficult to reconcile with the view that the Athenians regarded simplicity as an unalloyed virtue in a speaker.48
Perhaps even more surprisingly, the politician sometimes took it upon himself to praise his own upbringing and education. Demosthenes (18.257) makes a point of contrasting Aeschines’ lack of education with his own impeccable upbringing: “In my boyhood, Aeschines, I had the advantage of attending respectable schools (phoitan eis ta prosēkonta didaskaleia), and my resources were such that I was not required to engage in shameful activities through need.” This is in contrast to Aeschines who, we are told (Dem. 18.258), spent his boyhood as a servile ink-grinder and floor-sweeper in his father’s disreputable schoolroom. The entire section of the speech in which Demosthenes praises himself and mocks Aeschines (18.256-67) is written in highly poetic language; the rhetorical structure of the passage as well as its content displays the speaker’s pride in the quality of his upbringing and formal education.49
Demosthenes claims to be reticent about saying too much about the advantages “in which I take some pride” (18.258), and he prefaces his remarks (18.256) with a plea to his audience to forgive him for seeming immodest, but the appeal to an elitist sensibility is unmistakable. Here Demosthenes is at one with Isocrates who, in his pamphlet addressed to Philip of Macedon (5.81—82), says that “although someone will say it is boorish (agroikoteron) for me to say it, I do lay claim to judgment and fine education (phronein eu pepaideusthai kalōs), and in comparison with others I would count myself not among the last, but among the foremost.” In an unassigned (possibly epideictic) fragment (F XV.5 [Conomis] = E.6 [Burtt], preserved only in Latin translation), Lycurgus says that it did not surprise him to find a man of great diligence who had risen so high, since a strong-willed individual is likely to be industrious. This quality would lead him to knowledge, from which comes the oratorical ability that results naturally in true renown. It is in the context of the pride an orator felt in his abilities and education that we must view Aeschines’ peroration to his speech Against Ctesiphon (the passage to which Demosthenes objected so vigorously): “I, oh Earth and Sun and Virtue and Intelligence (sunesis) and Education (paideia) by which we make distinction between what is good and what is shameful, I have aided [the state] and I have spoken” (3.260).50
There is, of course, no reason that the skilled orator should not have harbored a personal pride in his education and speaking abilities. Aristotle (Rhet. 1378b35-1379a4) maintains that all men feel that they have the right to be esteemed by their inferiors according to whatever respect in which they excel. He includes among his illustrative examples the rhetorician (ho rhētorikos) who naturally feels superior to the man who is unable to speak well (adunatos legein). If, however, we are correct in supposing that an orator’s public remarks were circumscribed by a close and generally accurate reading of popular ideology (above, I.E), we must assume that in certain instances, at least, the rhetores felt that the Athenian public would willingly countenance their praise of their own education as well as their sneers at their opponent’s lack of educational attainments.
How are we to reconcile the egalitarian attack on the dangers of oratory and appeals to the virtue innate in simplicity with the elitist attacks on ill-educated politicians and praise for elite education? Certainly paideia, construed broadly, could mean much more than formal rhetorical training.51 Paideia was associated with the virtuous leaders of Athens’ past. Isocrates, in the Panathenaicus (12.198), praised the leadership of the “well-born, well-raised, well-educated” Athenians of the Persian War generation. These comments might be attributed to Isocrates’ elitist point of view, but Aeschines (3.208) remarks that, more recently, the “men from Phyle,” who put down the dictatorship of the Thirty Tyrants, were led by their paideia to promote the amnesty of 403 as the best policy for the polis.
There was, however, more to the orator’s self-praise than a general notion that paideia was a good thing when viewed abstractly or in a historical context. The Athenians, despite their distrust of the power of rhetoric did, after all, continue to listen willingly, even eagerly, to the speeches of trained orators both in the Assembly and in the courts. Had they so desired, the Athenians could have passed laws against training in rhetoric, or they could simply have refused to listen to anyone whose speeches smacked of rhetorical sophistication. As noted above (IV.C.1), the orators’ own attacks on the potential evils of rhetoric might have been taken as providing the basis for excluding expert speakers from the decision-making process.
Yet the Athenians did not banish the rhetores. On the contrary, they often granted them public honors and respect. Two of the greatest speeches in the corpus (Aesch. 3, Dem. 18) concern whether or not Demosthenes had legitimately been granted the honor of a public crown. And Lysias’ ambitious young client Mantitheus (16.20—21) was eager to speak to the people in the Assembly (legein en tōi dēmōi), because he saw that the only men the Athenians considered truly worthy (axioi) were those who participated actively in politics. Since the Athenians held this opinion (gnōmē), he asks, who would not be stimulated to act and speak out for the good of the polis? How, he wonders, could the Athenians ever be annoyed at the politicians, since they themselves were their judges? More experienced speakers made even bolder statements. Lycurgus (1.3) suggested that it was a privilege (ōphelimon) for the polis to have at hand persons willing to engage in public trials. He felt that “the many” should feel a suitable sense of philanthrōpia toward the prosecutor, rather than be irritated at him and regard him as a busybody (philopragmōn). When Dinarchus (1.102) attacked Demosthenes for his failure to indict his former associate Demades on charges of treason, he asked, “Wherein do we see [in Demosthenes] evidence of the orator’s protective power?” The implication seems to be that the orator’s speaking ability could and should serve as a positive benefit to the state (cf. below, VII.E.2—4).
The orators were occasionally willing to make explicit the didactic role which was always latent in their speech making. Hyperides (5.21-22) hints at this when he says that the younger orators should be educated by (paideuesthai) Demosthenes and the older generation of speakers, but as it turned out the young served as trainers (sōphronizousin) for their elders. Again, Lycurgus (1.124) is more daring when he says that he will describe to the jury the stele in the bouleutērion inscribed with a law concerning traitors “for my instruction (didaskein) backed up by many examples (paradeigmata), makes your decision an easy one” (cf. Dem. 21.143).
In a passage cited above (IV.C.1) from On the Crown (18.280), Demosthenes defined the orator’s worth as consisting of his preference for the same things as the majority of the people. Clearly, however, Demosthenes’ dictum was an inadequate justification for the political role of the rhetor and represented an ideological extreme. Later in the same speech, Demosthenes suggests a very different interpretation of his own role in the state: “When the polis was free to choose the best policy, when there was a competition for patriotic behavior which was open to all, I revealed myself to be the best speaker (egō kratista legōn ephainomēn), and all business was conducted according to my decrees, my laws, and my diplomatic delegations. . . .” (18.320). Albeit Demosthenes is contrasting himself with his do-nothing political opponents, and he mentions that his superiority coincided with the polis’ freedom to choose between different policies, the extreme egotism and vainglory that his words imply cannot be fitted into the context of a purely egalitarian ideology. Demosthenes comes close to advertising himself as the man who ran the state, and he makes no attempt to hide the fact that his ascendency depended upon his superior speaking ability. In another important passage earlier in the speech, Demosthenes (18.172) discusses his unique qualifications to advise the people at the moment of crisis in autumn of 339 B.C. when Philip arrived at Elatea. At that time, the “voice of the country” had called for someone who was not merely wealthy and patriotic but who had “closely studied events from the beginning” and “had rightly fathomed Philip’s intentions and decisions.” Among all the Athenians, only Demosthenes fitted the bill, because only he had conducted adequate personal research on Philip and his motives. This research might be seen as comparable to the literary researches he attacks Aeschines for having undertaken (above, IV.C.2).52 But Demosthenes is evidently unconcerned about that; he advertises himself as having been the man of the hour, because of his preparation and his speaking ability. In sharp contrast to his suggestion that the orator should be the mouthpiece of the people, in these two passages Demosthenes indicates that the orator must be an expert, an adviser, and even a leader of the state.
The political orators’ suggestions that the Athenians should be grateful to them for their services, as well as their willingness to praise their own educational attainments while denigrating the education of opponents, imply that they believed that they should be granted a special position in the state. Furthermore, they felt that this special position was justified in part by their special abilities and elite education. The orators saw themselves, and expected their audience to regard them, as defenders, advisers, and leaders of the polis. Speaking ability and education in rhetoric were basic to their ability to perform these various roles. Hence, rhetorical education might be viewed as useful to the democratic government at least as long as educated speakers were patriotic citizens who kept the best interests of the state in mind when they addressed mass audiences. Throughout the period of the democracy, the Athenians continued to listen to, and often followed the advice of, the expert speakers, which suggests that the demos was in fact willing to grant the elite of ability and education certain tacit privileges within the framework of the democratic government. The masses seem to have accepted the propositions that individual Athenians could be granted political privileges and that these privileges were legitimated by those individuals’ personal attainments.
The expert speaker’s privileged position was always a tenuous one, however, because of the strong undercurrent of distrust for rhetoric with which he had to contend. In Against Ctesiphon Aeschines underlines the political orator’s special place in the state, but the speech also demonstrates that he is aware of the suspicion under which politicians operated.
If you jurors pay attention to the pleasing sound of his [Demosthenes’] speech, you will be deceived, just as you have been in the past; but if you pay attention to his character (phusis) and to the truth, you will not be deceived. . . . With your help I will reckon up the necessary characteristics of the friend of the people (dēmotikos) and the orderly individual. (3.168)
Aeschines suggests that the dēmotikos must be freeborn, must inherit a love of democracy from his ancestors (cf. below, VI.C.1), must live a moderate sort of life, and
fourthly, he should be a man of good judgment (eugnōmōn) and a good speaker (dunatos eipein), for it is well that his discernment (dianoia) should prefer the best things and also that his training in rhetoric and eloquence (tēn de paideian tēn tou rhētoros kai ton logon) should persuade his listeners. But if he cannot have both, good judgment is always to be preferred over eloquence. (3.170)
Aeschines concludes that the good politician should be brave so that he will not desert the demos (3.170).
Aeschines then proceeds to test Demosthenes against the criteria he has just established and, not surprisingly, finds his opponent sadly wanting. He first relates a highly colored story of Demosthenes’ dubious antecedents and his family’s willingness to intermarry with barbarian stock for the sake of gain (see below, VI.C.1). Then, as for Demosthenes himself, “From the trierarch there suddenly appeared the logographer . . . but he earned a reputation of being untrustworthy even at this job, for he showed his speeches to his clients’ opponents. . . .” But what about good judgment and power of speech? “A skillful speaker, but one who has lived an evil life. . . . His words are pretty sounding (logoi kaloi) but his actions worthless.” And he is a coward to boot (3.173-75).
Aeschines begins this section of his speech with a warning to the jurors not to be misled, as they had been in the past, by Demosthenes’ eloquence. Having invoked the aid of his listeners, he then lists the background and character proper to the dēmotikos; notably, the list includes formal education in rhetoric. Rhetorical training and eloquence are praised as perfectly suitable to the dēmotikos, but the praise is qualified: eloquence must always be subsidiary to good judgment and is useless unless the individual in question has lived a good life. The passage is structured to put Demosthenes in the worst possible light, but Aeschines must have assumed that the individual elements of his definition of the good politician’s attributes would be unexceptionable to the majority of his audience. Both the positive aspects of rhetorical education and eloquence as a benefit for the demos and the need to limit the power of eloquence—by permitting it to be used only by the discerning and the moderate citizen—are implicit in Aeschines’ definition.53
Aeschines’ discussion of the dēmotikos provides a basis for analyzing the relationship between the two seemingly antithetical attitudes toward rhetoric and rhetorical education that are evident in many speeches in the corpus. On the one hand, education in the arts of persuasion is dangerous to the state, since it threatens to undermine the validity of democratic institutions by destroying the ability of mass Assemblies and juries to come to the right decisions. This in turn threatens the fabric of society, since the decisions of the Assembly and courts, along with the laws, served a normative function and were especially important in educating the young and restraining the elite. On the other hand, the Athenians recognized that skilled orators could be useful. Expert speakers participated in many facets of Athenian decision making; notably, they proposed decrees and initiated public trials. The nature of democratic decision making and the constitutional organization of the Athenian state required a great deal of public debate and the rhetores were enjoyable, as well as instructive, to listen to.
The dissonance between the Athenian distrust for oratory and the recognition that the orators performed a useful function is inextricably bound up in an ideological conflict intrinsic to the structure and functioning of the democracy. Egalitarian ideology stressed the native intelligence of the average Athenian, the wisdom of group decisions, the need to ensure that individuals would abide by the decisions of the majority, and the evil potential of those who possessed special abilities and training. Elitist ideology emphasized that some men did possess extraordinary skills and that these skills, which could be refined by advanced education, were useful to the state. Therefore, the elite of ability and education deserved a privileged position in society and in the political organization of the state. The considerable space devoted by public speakers to passages that refer to each of these ideologies suggests that the two ideologies coexisted within the democratic ethos.
In this context, the double thrust of Aeschines’ reference to the impossibility of the Athenians allowing a tragedian to depict the crowning of Thersites (3.231, above, IV.D) becomes clear. The assumption that the Athenians were sufficiently cultured to disallow a scene that makes hash of Homer is a play to egalitarian sentiments. The choice of Thersites, the commoner whom Homer depicts as unworthy of speaking to the assembled Achaeans not only because of his “cowardice” but also because of his low status, makes a statement about the elite privileges that the current speaker considers his due and denies to his opponent. This impression is reinforced shortly thereafter when Aeschines (3.237) tells Ctesiphon that by crowing Demosthenes he deceives the ignorant (agnoountas) and commits violence (hubris) against the knowledgeable and well informed (eidotas kai aisthanomenous), and he gives to Demosthenes the credit that belongs to the polis, thinking that “we” do not recognize this. Again there is an elitist stratum (the deception of the ignorant contrasted to the offense to the knowledgeable) and an egalitarian stratum (the credit belongs to the polis, not to an individual). “We” may refer to Aeschines, to Aeschines and the “well-informed” people in the audience, or to “all we Athenians.” The ambiguity must be intentional.
The coexistence of the contradictory ideologies created a tension between the elite claims of the educated speaker and the sensibilities of his mass audience. This tension was, to some degree, mediated by the elaborate “dramatic fictions” that orator and audience conspired to maintain: the private individual who delivered an ornate speech that he had purchased from a logographer presented himself in the guise of a simple man who begged the jury to forgive his lack of eloquence. The expert political orator, who had painstakingly prepared his speech down to the last nuance, was a concerned citizen who spoke spontaneously out of conviction and the passion of the moment. The orator who had spent considerable time and money acquiring rhetorical training professed to be no more familiar with poetry and history than the average citizens of his audience; like them, he learned poetry in the theater and history from his elders. These fictions are quite transparent to us, and we need not assume that the Athenians were “fooled” by them either. Rather, the members of the mass audience suspended their disbelief in order to smooth over the ideological dissonance.
The dramatic fictions created a modus vivendi between elite rhetor and mass audience. By helping to mediate the power inequities that differing levels of speaking ability inevitably introduced into a society politically dependent upon oral discourse, the fictions helped to maintain the ideological equilibrium necessary to the continued existence of direct democracy at Athens. When they addressed the demos, or a fraction of it, the members of the educated elite participated in a drama in which they were required to play the roles of common men and to voice their solidarity with egalitarian ideals. This drama served as a mechanism of social control over the political ambitions of the elite. Only if they played their demotic roles well were the elite political orators allowed to “step out of character” and assert their claims to special consideration. Thus the Athenians reaped the benefit of having educated men serve in advisory roles of the state. At the same time the Athenians kept their well-educated advisers on a tight leash and restrained the tendency of the educated elite to evolve into a ruling oligarchy.
1 See, for example, Michels, Political Parties, 67, 98-100; Marger, Elites and Masses, 196-98.
2 Thuc. 2.40-41; Lys. 2.69; Dem. 60.16; Hyp. 6.8; contrast Loraux, Invention, 151.
3 See esp. Plato Protagoras 325e-26a; cf. Marrou, Education, 63-146, esp. 65; Pélékidis, Éphébie, 31-32, 62.
4 See esp. Harvey, “Literacy”; Burns, “Athenian Literacy.” Cf. Davison, “Literature”; Woodbury, “Aristophanes’ Frogs,'' esp. 355-57. For the even more difficult question of female literacy, see S. G. Cole, “Could Greek Women Read and Write?” in H. P. Foley, ed., Reflections of Women in Antiquity (New York, 1981), 219—45.
5 On the interrelations among literacy, citizenship, and literature, see Harvey, “Literacy”; Burns, “Athenian Literacy,” esp. 384-85; Whitehead, Demes, 139 (literate demarchs); Finley, Authority and Legitimacy, 9-10; Davison, “Literature,” 219-21.
6 Cf. similar sentiments in Lys. 2.19. Contrast Thucydides’ discussion (3.83) of the atmosphere of distrust of speeches and cleverness generally in the Corcyraean civil war, where he contrasts those who think ahead with those who act immediately; see also Connor, Thucydides, 14-15, on this passage.
7 For a critical review of the evidence for Herodotus’ public readings at Athens, see A. J. Podlecki, “Herodotus in Athens?” in K. H. Kinzl, ed., Greece and the Eastern Mediterranean in Ancient History and Prehistory. Studies . . . to F. Schachermeyr (Berlin, 1977), 247; cf. Starr, Awakening, 132-33.
8 This is not to say that public rhetoric was ornate to the exclusion of meaning; cf. above, 111.D.2. Aristotle (Rhet. 1404a25-28) notes with scorn that most uneducated people still think the poetic style of rhetoric developed by Gorgias to be the finest, but this is surely a reference to epideictic rhetoric.
9 See, for example, Finley, DAM, 29-31, PAW, 27-29; Loraux, Invention, 144-45.
10 Demes, 120, cf. ibid., 92-96, 313-15; Raaflaub, “Freien Bürgers Recht,” 41-43. Hopper, Basis, 13-19, overstates the case, as Whitehead, Demes, 315-24, demonstrates.
11 Tribal assemblies: Hopper, Basis, 14-16. Council: Gomme, “Working”; Woodhead, “ΙΣΗΓΟΡΙΑ,” 133-35; Finley, PAW, 71-74. For the numbers of citizens who served on the Council, see above, 111.E.3.
12 Number of officeholders: Hansen, “Seven Hundred Archai.”
13 See Ridley, “Hoplite”; cf. above, II.F.2.
14 There is a voluminous literature on the ephebia, but Pelekidis, Éphébie, is still the most useful summary. I argued in FA, 90-95, that specialized military training for the ephebes dates back to the second quarter of the fourth century, but the specifically educational aspects of the institution may be late fourth-century developments. E. Ruschenbusch, “Die soziale Herkunft der Epheben um 330,” ZPE 35 (1979), 173—76, argued that all eighteen- and nineteen-year-olds—not only those of the hoplite class—were ephebes, which I believe is quite likely. For the debate on this issue, cf. above III.n.93.
15 Esp. Plato Apology, Crito; Aristot. Pol., Books 3 and 6. Cf. Jaeger, Paideia, 11.150, 111.67.
16 Esp. Isoc. 7.37, 48-50; cf. Jaeger, Paideia, 111.119-22.
17 It is often assumed (for example by Adkins, “Problems,” 145-47) that the similarities between ideas in “popular” literature and elite literature may be traced to a “trickle-down” of the ideas of elite thinkers to mass culture. But one might rather choose to regard some of the ideas of elite writers as formalizations and elaborations of the popular ideology of the society in which they lived. See below, VII.G.2.
18 Cf. Lys. 14.12, 27.5.
19 E.g., Plato Crito 47a-48a, Protagoras 317a; [Xen.] Const. Ath. 1.5-10; Euripides Andromache 470—85.
20 Cf. Jaeger, Paideia, 111.58-59.
21 Cf. Pol. 1284a30—34, 1286a25-35. Ultimately, in the discussion of the ideal state in Books 7 3nd 8 of the Politics, Aristotle rejects the wisdom of the masses in favor of 3 narrowly elitist aristocracy, due 3t least in part to his inability to solve the problem of how to create a just form of proportional equality; see below, VII.A. Aristotle’s willingness to consider the possibility of mass wisdom may also be exemplified by the assumption in the Rhetoric that common opinions manifest at least a partial grasp of truth and so can be used in the formulation of enthymemes which are legitimately part of rational political discourse; for the rationality of enthymemes and the reasonableness of arguing from common opinions, see Arnhart, Aristotle, esp. 5-7, 28-32, 183-88.
22 Jones, AD, 43, notes that the “Sicilian” speeches, which refer to democratic principles, are probably modeled on Athenian prototypes. The same general idea—that simple people deciding together are wiser than clever individuals—crops up in an extreme form in Cleon’s Mytilene speech (Thuc. 3.37.3-5).
23 Humphreys, “Discourse of Athenian Law,” notes that in speech 23, Demosthenes uses non-technical language and a sense of “what you all know” in reference to homicide law, and she contrasts this with the practice of Lysias. Cf. Dem. 24.123; Ant. 2.4.1.
24 Cf. Aesch. 3.117: something demonic perhaps led a rude fellow to interrupt his speech to the Amphictionic council; And. 1.130-31. Mikalson, Athenian Popular Religion, 19, 59—60, notes that the attribution of an event’s outcome to a god, demon, or Fortune seems to depend on how the speaker is affected by the event. K. J. Dover, in his review of Mikalson (Phoenix 38 [1984]: 197-98), stresses the importance of this conclusion, while noting that there are some apparent exceptions.
25 Cf. Lys. 18.16, 27.4-6, 28.11; Aesch. 3.168, 228; Hyp. 4.36.
26 Cf. Lys. 28.9, 29.6; Dem. 23.184, 201, 51.1-2; Aesch. 3.220; Lyc. 1.138.
27 This concern provides at least a partial context for the attacks upon rhetores in Attic comedy, for which see Ehrenberg, People of Aristophanes, 350-53.
28 E.g., Isoc. 18.21; Aesch. 2.22, 3.228; Din. 1113.
29 For a close parallel, see Ant. 5.80: you jurors must help me by refusing to teach the evil sycophant to be greater than yourselves (meizon humōn autōn dunasthai), because if they succeed in this trial it will be a lesson to their victims, who will be more likely to knuckle under and pay them. But if the sycophants are shown in court to be evil men, “you” will enjoy the honor and the power (dunamis) that is your right.
30 On the unpopularity of “sophists” of various stripes, cf. Thuc. 8.68.1; Isoc. 13.1, with Jaeger, Paideia, 111.56; Aristot. Rhet. 1399a11-18. For scorn for the profession of logographer, cf. below, VI.D.I.
31 For the political background to the trial of Socrates, see M. I. Finley, Aspects of Antiquity2 (New York, 1977), 60-73; G. Vlastos, “The Historical Socrates and Athenian Democracy,” Political Theory 11 (1983): 495-516, with discussion (at 495-96) of Aesch. 1.173. For Socrates’ views on democracy, the lively and polemical account of Stone, Trial of Socrates, may be balanced by the more philosophically nuanced discussion of Kraut, Socrates, esp. 194-244. Finley, DAM, 96, notes that after the trial of Socrates the “baleful atmosphere” of anti-inteilectualism thinned markedly and that indeed orators (e.g., Aesch. 3.257) could use the term philosophos in reference to such revered figures as Solon. See also Dover, “Freedom.”
32 Cf. Aesch. 2.148, with Dover, “Freedom,” 50-51.
33 For other passages emphasizing the wrongfulness of orators’ use of formal training, practice, and advance preparation, see Dover, GPM, 25-28; Kindstrand, Stylistic Evaluation, 18-19; cf. Ostwald, From Popular Sovereignty, 256-57, 273.
34 E.g., Is. 1.7, F 1.1 (Forster); Dem. 44.15.
35 See, for example, Ant. 5.80; Isoc. 21.8; Dem. 55.33, 58.33; Hyp. 1.2. For sycophancy in comedy, see Ehrenberg, People of Aristophanes, 343-47.
36 Cf. Aesch. 2.145, who defines sycophantism as when one man insinuates a false impression of another into the minds of the people by calumniating him in all the Assemblies and in the Council; Hyp. 1.19, 413. Osborne, “Law in Action,” 44-48, points out that the existence of potentially remunerative public actions did not actually lead directly to sycophantism.
37 Cf. Lys. 31.2, 4, F 24.1.4 (Gernet-Bizos); Dem. 55.2, 7; Hyp. 1.19-20, 4.11; Aesch. 3.229; Plato Apology 17a—d. On the related topos of the apragmōn citizen who does not get much involved in public affairs, see Hansen, “ ‘Politicians’,” 43-44; D. Lateiner, “ The Man Who Does Not Meddle in Politics’: A Topos in Lysias,” Classical World 76 (1982-83): 1-12; and esp. Carter, Quiet Athenian, 105-10. The apragmōn topos must to be read in the contexts of related topoi, the distinction between rhetor and idiōtēs and the general distrust of the wealthy. It does not, in my opinion, constitute clear evidence of the rejection of the “world of the citizen” by either Athenians in general or the elite in particular.
38 On the concept of accepted fictions and social order, cf. the discussions of C. Wright Mills, White Collar: The American Middle Classes (New York, 1951), 33—59; Edmund S. Morgan, Inventing the People: The Rise of Popular Sovereignty in England and America (New York, 1988), esp. 152-73.
39 Cf. Aesch 1.30—31: the lawmaker who established the procedure of dokimasia rhētorōn thought that a speech by a good man, even if it were said clumsily and simply, was likely to be useful to listeners and that the words of evil men, even if spoken well, would be of no benefit. Ant. 3.2.1-2 is a sophisticated play on the “unskilled speaker” topos. In Ant., 5.1-7, the defendant emphasizes his youth and lack of skill in speaking; he notes that many inarticulate litigants have formerly been unjustly convicted, while glib ones get off; he begs the jurors to forgive his errors in speaking and hopes they will not consider it to be cleverness if he should happen to speak well.
40 The topos of the innocent individual saving the decision maker from being fooled by the clever speech of a third party precedes the fourth century; e.g., Herodotus’ story (5.51) of Cleomenes’ daughter and the Milesian envoys. Perhaps the speech of Sthenelaides at Sparta in 432 (Thuc. 1.86) might be seen in the same light. Cf. Cleon’s comments in the Mytilenean Debate (Thuc. 3.38.2-7). Aristotle’s comment (Rhet. 1395b20-1396a4) to the effect that the uneducated (apaideutoi) speak more pleasingly to the masses because they tend to speak more directly of what they know (the specific) and what concerns the audience (the general) seems inadequate to fully explain the “unskilled speaker” topos.
41 Isocrates (4.14) claimed to have spent years perfecting his showpiece speeches.
42 A. P. Dorjahn has argued in a series of articles that Demosthenes in fact did have the ability to speak off the cuff; see, for example, “A Third Study of Demosthenes’ Ability to Speak Extemporaneously,” TAPA 83 (1952): 164-71. Cf. Kennedy, Art of Persuasion, 210 with n. 113. For a detailed attack by a rhetorician on prepared speeches, see Alcidamas F 6 (Sauppe); cf. Jaeger, Paideia, III.60. Bryant, “Aspects I,” 172, notes that “there has always been a certain fondness in the public and in speakers for the impression of spontaneous eloquence. . . .”
43 Cf. North, “Use of Poetry,” 27; Plato Apology 26d.
44 Notably, Xenophon (Mem. 1.2.58) states that one of Socrates’ “accusers” (presumably Polycrates, in a pamphlet) cited the philosopher’s partiality for this section of the Iliad as evidence for his anti-democratic attitudes; cf. the comments of Stone, Trial of Socrates, 28-38. For a succinct discussion of the unequal social relationships implied by the scene, see Raaflaub, “Freien Bürgers Recht,” 25; cf. Donlon, Aristocratic Ideal, 21-22.
45 E.g., Dem. 19.243, 245. Cf. North, “Use of Poetry,” 24-25; Perlman, “Quotations,” esp. 156-57, 172.
46 See Pearson, “Historical Allusions,” 217-19, for a list of examples. On the orators’ use of history generally, cf. Perlman, “Historical Example”; Michel Nouhaud, L'utilisation de l'histoire par les orateurs attiques (Paris, 1982), noting in passing that the orators normally assume their audiences have no formal knowledge of history apart from what they tell them (354) and that it took about twenty years for an event to pass from current politics to the realm of history (369).
47 Cf. Ant. 5.70-71: the defendant discusses the wrongful execution of nine hellēnotamiai and concludes that the older ones of “you” will, I suppose, remember it and the younger ones will have learned of it “just as I have”; Lys. 19.45: I was told by my father and by other older men that “you” had previously misestimated the size of rich men’s fortunes.
48 Cf. Aristot. Rhet. 1418b23-25, on insult and envy.
49 Cf. Perlman, “Quotations,” 171—72. For further discussion of this key passage, see below, V.F.2, VI.E.I.
50 Kennedy, Art of Persuasion, 239, suggests that Aeschines “has about him some of the self-satisfaction of Cicero or other self-made men. They are inordinately fond of quoting themselves and proud of their education.” No doubt, but in light of Demosthenes’ similar pride in his education, this comment seems to miss the more general point.
51 Cf. esp. Jaeger, Paideia, a brilliant and voluminous, if not always convincing, attempt to “examine the whole development of Greek paideia and to study the complexities and antagonisms inherent in its problems and its meaning” (111.47).
52 Given that information on which major decisions were made was generally public property in Athens, the ancient orator could not often support his position by reference to secret sources of information, a common tactic of modern politicians who in fact have access to much information that is not available to their consituencies. I owe this point to John Jacob.
53 Cf. Thuc. 3.42.5-6 (speech of Diodotus), discussed below, VII.E.4. On the term dēmotikos, especially in Aristotle, see Ste. Croix, “Character of the Athenian Empire,” 22-26.