My purpose is to situate Athenian democracy in the context of the Greek polis and its evolution. Aristotle defined man as by nature (physei) a zōion politikon, a “political creature” in the sense of a “polis-being”: man belongs to the polis (community, see below) and needs the polis to realize his full potential and live a happy life (Politics 1.2.1253a1ff. and often; Kullmann 1991; Schütrumpf 1991: 207–10). My question is how and why this polis-being was transformed into a truly political being that eventually lived, breathed, and acted politics and developed a primary “political identity” (Meier 1990: ch.6). I will trace this development along two crucial lines in the formation of democracy: equality and “the political.”
Equality, essential for the Greek polis from its beginning, was explicitly recognized as a political value probably in the sixth century. It then served to conceptualize the integration into active citizenship of ever broader citizen groups, eventually becoming one of the political and ideological pillars of democracy. “The political” I take to mean the political sphere or space over which the community has control and in which it forms and expresses its will, in which communal interaction takes place and communal tensions are resolved, as well as the role this political sphere plays overall in communal life and thought (Meier 1990: ch.1; Cartledge 2009: ch.2; see also Wagner; Karagiannis and Wagner, this vol.). The political is not identical with democracy but its development to some extent parallels that of democracy.
The polis, the political, political thought, and political values evolved in inseparable interaction from early beginnings. Both equality and the political reached their fullest realization in fifth-century democracy, when the dēmos (the entire polis: Aeschylus, Suppliants 366–9, 398–401, 483–5, 600–24) in the sense of the full citizen body ruled in and through the institutions representing it; in Euripides’ words, the dēmos had become lord and king (Suppliants 352, 406), and power had been “popularized” (Cyclops 119). The polis, its constitution and way of life, its policies and values, now were at the citizens’ disposition, and communal life was politicized to the fullest extent possible under the conditions prevailing in the ancient world: the zōion politikon had become a totally politicized creature.
Yet, despite favorable conditions, it was far from given that the nascent polis that emerged out of the turbulences of the “Dark Ages” could eventually evolve into a democracy. This development was the result of several contingencies and unforeseeable constellations (Meier 2011). I shall begin by surveying in archaic Greece conditions for democracy – phenomena that attest to basic equality and a significant share in power by non-elite citizens, and that were necessary but not sufficient for the eventual emergence of democracy. I will then look at various stages of transformation, phases of accelerated and massive change in the long evolution toward democracy, and identify decisive factors that caused them. Finally, I shall discuss interpretations of democracy in fifth-century sources from the perspective of equality and the political, and describe both the role of the radicalized zōion politikon and its transformation, through disaster and experience, into a more moderate political being. I shall primarily let the ancient evidence speak and keep references to modern scholarship to a minimum.
An early polis law (mid-seventh century) introduces “term limits” for the chief magistracy and thus tries to establish communal control over leaders and officeholders. Like several others, this law begins with “This has been decided by the polis” (ML 2; trans. Fornara 1983: no.11), defining the body that passed this law, probably the assembly, simply as “the polis.” As the poet Alcaeus says, “wherever there are men wo know how to defend themselves, there are walls and poleis” (fr.426 Campbell): “the men are the polis” (Thucydides 7.77.7). The early Greek polis speaks in its own voice, as a collective body of citizens who clearly had achieved a marked sense of community and communal organization, integration, and identification. The polis was not a “city-state” because a city was not one of its constituent elements, but an integrated “micro-state,” a community of people, territory, religion, laws, and customs (Davies 1997; Hansen 1993, 2004). The Greek battle-cry at Salamis in 480 encapsulates what really mattered:
Forward, you sons of Hellas! Set your country free!
Set free your sons, your wives, tombs of your ancestors,
And temples of your gods. All is at stake: now fight!
(Aeschylus, Persians 402–5; trans. Vellacott)
Most important were the citizens themselves. Hence a polis could be moved by loading the citizens and their families, valuables, and sacred objects on ships and refounding it elsewhere (as the Phocaeans did, fleeing from the Persians in 546; Herodotus 1.164–8), and an army on campaign (the Greeks at Troy, Xenophon’s 10,000 mercenaries in Anatolia) could form a temporary polis (Raaflaub 1993: 47–8; Hornblower 2004; see also Herodotus 8.61).
Homer’s epics, Iliad and Odyssey, confirm that essentially this was already the case in the polis’ formative period. Composed probably in the late eighth or early seventh century (Latacz 1986), they describe actions and events in a long-gone heroic age but place them in a world that reflects social conditions, relations, and dilemmas in or close to the poet’s (or poets’) time (Raaflaub 1997a; Finkelberg 2011: 359–61, 810–13). Despite the epics’ focus on status-oriented and intensely competitive elite leaders (van Wees 1992), this is a world of poleis in which the commoners (laoi) play a communally indispensable role both in battle and assembly (Finkelberg, 104, 682; Haubold 2000).
Although at first sight the epic assembly seems powerless and easily manipulated, limited to expressing its opinion collectively, it is a constant feature, considerably formalized, and firmly embedded in a community’s structures and customs. The leaders are expected to persuade and to be the best in fighting and speaking (e.g., Il. 9.440–3). If they ignore good advice or the people’s will and then fail to succeed they are in serious trouble. The assembly’s important function lies in witnessing, approving, and legitimizing communal actions and decisions. The middle (meson) is the communal sphere (koinon) shared by all citizens, elite and non-elite alike (Hölkeskamp 1997; Raaflaub 1997b; Finkelberg 2011: 104). The demos’s importance in this sphere and their importance in war mutually confirm each other.
Battle descriptions make clear that commoners participate in battle; they all count and are taken seriously; each is expected to feel responsible and act accordingly. Many additional indications, including specific narrative techniques and the impressions evoked by similes, suggest that Homer knows mass fighting by the people and considers it crucial for the success of battle (van Wees 1997; Raaflaub 2008a). Although at most a very early stage of hoplite fighting is involved (below), the Iliad’s poet is aware of its main principle: tight formations and avoidance of individual exploits greatly reduce losses and increase the likelihood of success (Il. 17.364–5).
Greek historical tradition dated early wars between neighboring poleis, usually for the control of contested land, to the late eighth century. Inter-polis wars are reflected in the Iliad (11.670–761; 18.509–40) which also features raids by elite warrior bands (18.509–40; 11.670–761). In defending its territory, the polis needed to rely on all able-bodied men who were capable of providing the necessary arms and armor.
Basic equality among those fighters is confirmed by an episode in which soldiers swap equipment so that the best fighters can use the best equipment – thus the best fighters do not necessarily own the best equipment and are not a priori identical with the elite (Il. 14.370–84) – and by the principles of distributing booty (Detienne 1965; Nowag 1983): in the agora (the public square), by the army (laoi, 1.123–9). The leaders who serve as agents (9.330–6; 11.685–8, 703–5) act on behalf of the community. Hence even despicable Thersites claims that “we Achaians” give to the overall leader the choicest pieces of loot (2.225–8). Apart from the leaders’ honorary gifts (geras), all soldiers have equal claims. Thus Achilles complains that the best and worst fighters are held in the same honor and receive the same share (9.318–19).
Of course, epic society is far from fully egalitarian. The elite leaders are distinguished from the commoners in looks, qualities, accomplishments, wealth, and power. But the commoners matter. Occasionally they speak up, defying the leader (as in a vote-by-feet, Il. 2.142–54), or they are criticized for failing to do so (as in Od. 2.235–41). Even in jurisdiction the demos has a voice: in the agora crowds shouting approval or disapproval surround the elite judges (Il. 18.497–508). Peers and commoners alike criticize elite leaders (Rose 1975; Donlan 1999: 237–47), and, with very few exceptions where elite ideology seems to break through, Homer’s language lacks social contempt for the commoners (unless they are the lowest members of free society, the thetes, day-laborers, who depend on others for their living and are vulnerable to their abuse: Finley 1977: 57–8, 71). The ideal leader is a “shepherd of his people” who has to prove his merits and depends on the demos for the honors and privileges that accompany high status (Il. 12.310–210; Donlan 1999: 1–34) – a man like Odysseus whose men are his comrades and friends (philoi), treated with respect and care (Od. 12.260–402).
In the epics, then, despite elite claims to exclusiveness, the demos’s role is significant and indispensable. Although not yet formalized or supported by law or ideology, basic forms of equality are visible in battle, assembly, communal relations, and, ultimately, the weakness of aristocratic authority and social hierarchies. Even if reflecting elite concerns and, occasionally, bias, the epics also emphasize communal perspectives and reveal fundamental institutions, practices, and mentalities that seem inherent in the structures of polis society – crucial conditions for later developments toward democracy (Morris 2000: esp. 109–54).
Focusing on the world and thoughts of hard working farmers, and marginalizing elite concerns, Hesiod, Homer’s slightly younger contemporary, offers insights that complement those gained from Homer. Whether autobiographic allusions are authentic or generic (Gagarin 1974; Nagy 1990: ch.3), Hesiod presents himself as one of these farmers and as the people’s voice (Millett 1984; van Wees 2009: 445–52) – and this voice is immediate, not mediated by elite scorn. His epics are didactic. Woven into cosmogonic and theogonic systematization, he presents in Theogony Zeus’s rule among the gods and his just order as models to human leaders (Clay 2003; Raaflaub 2008b) who violate the precepts of justice, causing harm to men and communities. Accordingly, Hesiod distrusts the polis’ public sphere, exposes the elite’s abuses and corruption, and urges his listeners to focus on work, farm, and neighborhood (Works and Days 1–413). But he also thinks politically, defining communal values and exploring the factors that determine the well-being and suffering of individuals and communities. He neither mentions equality nor challenges the power difference between elite and commoners. He can only appeal – to elite leaders to observe justice, and to his peers to avoid injustice and work hard – and believe in the justice of Zeus who will punish evildoers and bless the righteous. Limited though these options seem, it is significant that such political thinking takes place not at the top but lower down in the social hierarchy, and that its legitimacy and importance are taken for granted: here too, the voice of the commoner matters.
By the mid- to late seventh century, two further phenomena attest to significant degrees of equality among demos and elite and the demos’s importance for communal well-being. One is “hoplite fighting,” perfected in a long process from roots visible already in Homer (above). It was based on cooperation among equals and a sense of community not conditioned by social distinctions: citizens able to provide the requisite equipment, whether elite or commoners, fought side by side, in tight formation (phalanx) and strict discipline, defending each other and their polis (Cartledge 2001: ch.11; van Wees 2004: ch.4; Hunt 2007: 111–17). The best fighters, whatever their status or class, fought in the first rank, and all had a chance to be recognized as the best (aristos). Hence the soldier’s excellence (aretē), of vital interest to the community, was communalized: “It benefits the whole polis and demos” if a man, fighting in the foremost rank, risks his life and encourages the next man (Tyrtaeus 12.15–19 West). Hoplite warfare was communal also because the polis organized and regulated the hoplite army – in Sparta (below), Athens, and Rome the introduction of new civic subdivisions (phylai, tribus) was directly connected with military reforms centered on the hoplites (Siewert 1982; Cornell 1995: ch. 7) – and the community decided when and where to fight.
The hoplites quickly became the principal military force of all Greek poleis. The phalanx was highly effective, not least against foreign armies, as the early fifth-century victories over the Persians demonstrated. Yet this involves a paradox. Hoplite fighting resulted from crucial changes in eighth- and seventh-century Greece: the population increased, land became scarce, the concepts of territoriality and fixed boundaries emerged, and the citizens needed to defend their land (Raaflaub 1999: 134–5). The phalanx thus evolved in an interactive process with the polis and land ownership. However, as critics observed (Herodotus 7.9b), it was not ideally suited to a mountainous country. Why did Greek poleis not adopt modes of fighting that fit this terrain better, such as light-armed, mobile infantry? One answer must be that in a homogeneous cultural and political environment social values prevailed over purely military considerations in determining this issue (Raaflaub, 136–7). In a polis based on essential equality among land owners, despite status differences, the characteristics of the phalanx were crucial: the massed equality of all warriors, the equal bravery demanded of everyone, and the will expected from each citizen to provide the far from inexpensive hoplite equipment (Franz 2002: 351–3) and fight for his community (Cartledge 2001: 153–66).
This is especially visible in a second phenomenon: the emergence of a community of “peers” (homoioi) in Sparta (Cartledge 2001: ch.6). Earlier, Sparta had conquered Messenia and, according to tradition, enslaved the inhabitants to work the fields of their new owners, the Spartiates. The experience of a nearly successful revolt of these slaves (helots) around the mid-seventh century apparently triggered a long process by which Sparta developed into the militarized society known from later sources (Xenophon, Constitution of the Lacedaemonians; Plutarch, Life of Lycurgus; Cartledge 2002: chs.8–10). Even if scholars now date many of its characteristic traits much later (Thommen 1996; Hodkinson 2000; Luraghi and Alcock 2003), some important elements resulted from a conscious communal reform effort in the aftermath of the Messenian crisis.
As this crisis demonstrated, Sparta’s survival depended on its citizen army’s ability to defend their community and control the subjected areas. Hence the commoners among the Spartiates, who provided the bulk of this army, rose to a high level of permanent communal importance. This in turn prompted reforms in various areas. Economically, initially about 9,000 citizens were provided with enough property to meet the requirements of the hoplite class: to have leisure for full-time military training and contribute their share to communal meals. The helots, cultivating their land, thus gave the Spartiates the means to keep them in subjection. Structurally, the polis and citizen body were divided into new units (villages and districts), which probably reflects the formal institutionalization of the hoplite system: military units were levied from districts and townships, and lists of available hoplites were kept there.
Politically, a new constitution, the “Great Rhetra” (pronouncement; Tyrtaeus 4 West; Plutarch, Lycurgus 6; Cartledge 2001: 29–34) regulated council and assembly. The council was to consist of thirty members (including the two “kings”), elected for life from among the citizens over sixty years of age. Election, a fixed number, and an age requirement thus replaced a system that was presumably based on claims supported by family, wealth, and status. Assembly meetings henceforth took place at a predetermined place and in regular intervals: here too, institutionalization limited elite power and arbitrariness. Most importantly, the Rhetra regulated communal decision-making. Kings and councilors were to present motions, followed by debate and vote in the assembly. Political initiative was thus limited to the councilors, and an “escape clause” allowed them to withdraw motions in case of “crooked” assembly decisions. Still, the assembly, consisting of the arms-bearing citizens (hoplites), made the final decisions and in this sense was sovereign. Economic and social differences, though persisting and increasing over time (Hodkinson 2000), were suppressed in communal life: as hoplites and voting assembly men the citizens were equal (“peers,” homoioi): the rich led “a life that was as much as possible like that of the ordinary people” (Thucydides 1.6.4).
In Suppliant Women, performed in Athens in 463 BCE, Aeschylus juxtaposes, in the context of decision-making by all citizens in the assembly, the words dēmos and kratos (power: 604, 699), paraphrasing the word dēmokratia that does not fit the poetic meter. The Rhetra uses the same combination of these terms but, given the limitations described above, the assembly’s power to make final decisions is not a sufficient criterion to claim democracy for seventh-century Sparta. Still, the egalitarian features of Sparta’s system are striking.
Other indications of increasing egalitarianism and significant popular power in archaic Greece are not lacking. Inscribed laws (above), attested from the mid-seventh century, illustrate efforts to establish communal control over the political sphere (van Effenterre and Ruzé 1994–5; Fornara 1983; see Gagarin 1986, 2008; Hawke 2011). Mediators and lawgivers, appointed to resolve social conflicts and enact laws to prevent such conflicts (Meier 1990: 40–52; Hölkeskamp 1999; Wallace 2009), were endowed with full power but acted upon a communal mandate. “Colonies,” founded abroad by settlers with different backgrounds and expectations, were new poleis, created from scratch on the basis of equal allotments of land and resources and requiring negotiation, conceptualization of purpose and principles, and compromise (Fitzjohn 2007). Such egalitarian principles were often reflected in city planning that became the trademark of the architect and theoretician Hippodamus of Miletus in the mid-fifth century (Schuller et al. 1989; Westgate 2007). By the late sixth century, city constitutions emphasizing egalitarian (“isonomic”) principles and based broadly at least on the land owning citizens had become the norm (Robinson 1997).
To repeat, already epic society has councils and assemblies. Although not yet formalized, both are firmly embedded in the community and crucial components of the communal decision-making process. Accordingly, meeting places are a regular feature (Od. 6.262–7); the agorē as the central place (meson) and the concept of a “public issue” (dēmion, 2.30–2) are firmly established. The elite ideal includes excellence in speaking. Describing the Cyclopes, the poet conceptualizes a “non-society” that is fragmented into individual households (with each head setting the norms for his family and ignoring the others), lacks deliberative assemblies and common norms (9.112–15), does not communicate with the outside world, and respects neither the gods nor the norms of hospitality (9.105–479). By contrast, the Phaeacians, an ideal society, have leaders, council, and assemblies, and use them appropriately, observe social and religious norms, and are the ultimate hosts and sailors. The poet’s positive and negative “ideal type” of human society thus focuses on communal aspects.
From a modern political science perspective, focusing on institutions, epic society is “prepolitical.” From an anthropological perspective, politics here is realized primarily, in rudimentary institutions, through performance (Hammer 2002) and by following traditional norms: “according to order” (kata kosmon). The lowly Thersites violates these norms not by what he is saying (the leader Achilles had earlier said the same) but by how he is saying it, and by acting up beyond his status, and for this he is punished (Il. 2. 211–70). In his quarrel with Achilles, Agememnon violates the communal norms of leadership (1.117; 2.133–4; 12.310–19), and finds himself in deep trouble.
Arguably, therefore, epic society contains at least the roots of the political. It takes shape more clearly in Sparta after the mid-seventh century, in a system that represents a crucial step beyond its informal predecessor in epic society. Here we find first efforts to define the political sphere (spatially and politically) and the functions of leaders, council, and assembly in the communal decision-making process. Power is now firmly grounded in the assembly of land owning citizen-soldiers, and the councilors are elected by the community.
From this point on, we focus on Athens, for reasons of extant evidence and because the path towards democracy began there in the early sixth century – even if early stages on this path, toward an egalitarian (“isonomic”) constitution, were shared by many other poleis. Initially, the problems with which the Athenians were grappling were probably common to many others.
In the late seventh century, Athens was troubled by social and political tensions caused by debt, debt bondage, and elite abuses of power. Civil strife threatened. In 594, Solon was elected chief official and given special powers as a mediator and legislator (Andrewes 1982; Murray 1993: ch.11; Meier 1999: 57–71). In his statements (preserved in his extant poetry: West 1992: 139–65; 1993: 74–83), he criticized the elite but presented himself as a man in the middle, standing between the conflicting parties and protecting each from the other. Many of his laws are mentioned in Aristotle’s Constitution of the Athenians (CA 5–12), in Plutarch’s Solon, and in speeches of fourth-century orators (Ruschenbusch 1966, 2010). Overall we are quite well informed about Solon’s ideas and measures (Raaflaub 2001b: 89–99; Blok and Lardinois 2006; Meier 2011: ch.21).
One of Solon’s poems (4 West) offers unique insight into his political thinking. Based probably on the observation of widespread socio-political problems (economic crisis, civil strife, and tyranny: Stein-Hölkeskamp 1989; Murray 1993: ch.9), Solon postulates between actions of citizens and communal suffering a direct causal connection that is located entirely on the human level, inherent in the citizens’ social and political interactions, and stringent, comparable to laws of nature (9; also 11, 13 West): the consequences of human injustice are inevitable, can be predicted with certainty, and will affect the entire community through civil strife, tyranny, and loss of liberty (4.18–29). Solon here presents Dike, the goddess of justice, virtually as an abstract principle: justice will prevail with certainty. Based on a thorough understanding of such political processes, Solon’s exhortations carry conviction even for the elite because the results of elite power abuses hurt the elite no less than anyone else (Eder 2005).
Solon’s goal is to re-establish eunomia (“good order”), the traditional social and political way of life in a well-functioning polis (4.30–9). The community must be cleansed of faults and abuses; the aristocracy is to hold power and provide leadership, but with justice, and the demos to be protected from injustice by equitable laws. Solon resolutely rejects demands for more incisive changes that would give elite and commoners fully equal shares (isomoiria, 34 West), whether economically (by redistributing land) or politically. Solon did not advocate any form of democracy (which was unimaginable in the horizon of his time anyway; contra: Wallace 2007) but defended the interests of both sides:
I gave to the people as much esteem as is sufficient for them,
neither detracting from their honor nor reaching out to offer more;
and to those who had power and were admired for their wealth
I declared that they should have nothing unseemly.
(5 West, trans. Rhodes modified).
Yet precisely because he understood the political processes involved, Solon enhanced the citizens’ involvement in the public sphere. Since these processes were situated within the polis community, this community itself had to enact the necessary remedies if it wanted to survive and prosper; since the entire polis was harmed by the wrongdoing of individuals or groups, all citizens had to assume responsibility for communal affairs. The same understanding enabled him to use calculated intervention (legislation) to change the course of these processes. Action based on political thought now offered an opportunity to transcend powerless individual criticism or undirected collective revolt and to stimulate constructive communal action and institutional reform.
Endowed with extraordinary power to realize his ideas, Solon tackled the main cause of Athens’ crisis with radical determination. He imposed a one-time cancellation of all existing debts and obligations and eliminated the institution of debt bondage (36.3–17 West; CA 6.1; Plutarch, Solon 15.2–16), thus guaranteeing the personal freedom of every Athenian (Raaflaub 2004: 45–53). These measures were flanked by a host of others concerning economic and social life. As Solon himself says, he “wrote down ordinances for low and high alike (homoiōs), providing straight justice fitted for each man” (36.18–20 West). This approximates the principle of equality before the law. Solon clearly intended to establish certainty of law and a broadly based system of justice that gave all citizens access to justice and involved them in judicial responsibility. He thus created a new popular court (ēliaia; Rhodes 1981: 160–2) that, whatever its precise structure and function, empowered a large number of citizens to judge in open and public proceedings severe crimes affecting vital interests of the community. One of his laws introduced the right of “popular prosecution” so that “any person” (ho boulomenos) could take legal action on behalf of an injured party (presumably when the injured party was unable to prosecute or was the community itself: CA 9.1; Plut. Sol. 18.6–7; Rhodes, 159–60). Other laws were designed to protect the Athenian institutions against subversion, especially tyranny (CA 16.10; Ostwald 1955), not least by prohibiting neutrality in situations of civil strife (stasis; CA 8.5; Rhodes, 157–8).
In the political sphere, Solon introduced (Plut. Sol. 18.1–2) or adapted (CA 7.3–4) a division of the citizens into “classes” based on military and thus, to some extent, economic capacity (whether the levels of required agrarian income were defined precisely is disputed; de Ste. Croix 2004: 5–71; Raaflaub 2007: 128–32): hippeis (horsemen: wealthy citizens owning sufficient land to raise horses), zeugitai (those “yoked” in close ranks: the middling farmers capable of serving as hoplites), and thētes (“workers”: those unable to do so). Such divisions, like the territorial ones mentioned earlier, complemented the formalization of hoplite fighting. The right of holding political office was reserved to the hippeis (and perhaps a separate class of “500-unit-men,” although Solon’s creation of this class seems questionable as well). This “timocratic system” formally or informally substituted wealth for birth as the criterion determining access to political leadership, made it more difficult for the aristocracy to monopolize power, and introduced more openness into politics.
Formal election as the method of appointing officials (Staveley 1972: ch.1) and limitation of membership in the traditional aristocratic “Areopagus Council” to former archons (Wallace 1989) were probably enacted by or before Solon; both measures restricted the noble families’ free control of the government and gave more weight to the citizens voting in the assembly. The creation of a new “Popular” Council with 400 annually elected members (CA 8.4; Plut. Sol. 19.1–2; Rhodes 1981: 153–4), charged with conducting preliminary deliberations and preparing the assembly’s agenda, had the same effect. Such councils are attested elsewhere (Robinson 1997: 90–101); they balanced the power of aristocratic councils and necessarily enhanced the political significance of the assembly. Probably Solon therefore also regulated, at least minimally, the assembly’s meetings and responsibilities. Aristotle emphasizes that citizens of all classes had the right to attend (CA 7.3); indeed, that the thētes were formally excluded is improbable, but perhaps speaking and voting were by custom tied to a certain level of social prestige enjoyed only by landowners qualified to serve in the community’s army.
Solon’s achievement cannot be exaggerated. Basing his comprehensive legislation on a clearly formulated principle – approaching a theory – and deriving this principle not on ethical-religious but empirically-based political analysis, he represents a milestone in political thinking. He consistently speaks from a communal perspective (“Our city will never perish,” 4.1 West), addressing all citizens: “My mind orders me to teach the Athenians!” (4.30). Chiding their thoughtlessness and egotism, he appeals to their understanding and common experience, and wants all of them to think about the common good as shrewdly as they do about their own oikos (household; 11.5–9). He thus creates a “public universe of discourse” (Vlastos 1995: 1.32–56). Moderation, balance, and integration are the hallmarks of his work. His focus on the middle (meson), though essential for the Greek concept of community from early on, anticipates ideas that were fully developed only in the late fifth and fourth centuries. He tried carefully to balance the interests of the rich and poor, elite and commoners, but also private and public, individual and community, oikos and polis. Understanding that communal peace, stability, and prosperity depended on both the health of the oikos and the citizens’ communal involvement, his efforts aimed, socially and economically, at strengthening both the public sphere and the oikos.
As happened in Sparta a generation earlier, Solon established a permanent framework for political rather than private action as a means to resolving conflicts and reaching communal decisions. In both poleis, this represents a breakthrough of the political. In both, the ideal of eunomia, realized through social and political reform, characterized the goal of overcoming crisis and achieving stability (Raaflaub 2006a). And in both, the political sphere was also defined spatially, by marking out an assembly site. In Athens, a new area for public buildings, cults, and assembly meetings (the Agora) dates precisely to the first half of the sixth century (Camp 1986: 38–9). Guaranteeing the citizens’ personal freedom and enhancing their civic responsibilities made it necessary to determine who was entitled to share in such privileges. Some notion of citizenship thus probably emerged in the same context (Manville 1990: ch.6).
Solon, then, was more than a political thinker, reconciler, and lawgiver. His insight and initiative were crucial in creating a “citizen state” in a more formal sense and significantly enhancing citizen equality, even if such equality was still far from universal. Solon’s achievement did not make democracy inevitable but without his vision and action it might never have come about.
None of Solon’s successors as reformers left behind any written statements, and their laws are lost. Details and significance of their achievements were therefore uncertain already in antiquity and are still much debated.
Aristocratic rivalries reemerged after Solon. By the mid-sixth century, Peisistratus, apparently supported by the demos, established a tyranny (CA 13–19; Herodotus 1.59–64; Andrewes 1982; Stahl 1987; Lavelle 2005). His elite opponents lost political power and influence both over their traditional regional strongholds and on the polis level. By contrast, the tyrant family focused the citizens’ attention on the polis center in Athens by creating communal focuses in the Agora and on the Acropolis (Camp 1986: 39–48; Hurwit 1999: ch.6), erecting magnificent sanctuaries, reorganizing cults and festivals (Kolb 1977; Shapiro 1989), building a water supply system (Tölle-Kastenbein 1994), and much more. All citizens profited from the suppression of elite infighting. Paradoxically, therefore, although suspending or controlling normal political procedures, tyranny in Athens prepared the ground for a more egalitarian system and for tighter communal integration.
Peisistratus was succeeded by his sons, led by Hippias (Lewis 1988). After the assassination of his brother, his rule became oppressive, and in 510 exiled aristocrats, lacking support among the demos, induced Sparta to intervene. With the tyrants removed, traditional elite fights for office and predominance resumed. Initially bested by his rival Isagoras, Cleisthenes apparently attracted large parts of the citizenry to his side by developing a popular reform program. Isagoras in turn enlisted the support of a foreign ally, king Cleomenes of Sparta, with an armed force, who forced Cleisthenes and his followers into exile, dissolved the council, and intended to replace it by one composed of Isagoras’s supporters. But the council resisted; the demos rose in its support and defeated Cleomenes, Isagoras, and their supporters, driving them out of the country or executing them (Herodotus 5.66–73; CA 20–22.1; Ober 1996, 2007 with Raaflaub 2007: 144–50).
Cleisthenes now enacted his reforms (508/7; Ostwald 1988; Meier 1990: ch.4; 2011: ch.23; Anderson 2003). The large Attic territory was divided into 139 districts (demes), each with its own officials, assembly, and cults, practicing on the local level what we might call “grassroots democracy” (Whitehead 1986). These demes were distributed, in roughly equal citizen numbers, among thirty “thirds” (trittyes), and these in turn among ten “tribes” (phylai), so that each tribe comprised citizens from all three major regions of Attica (the central plain, the coastal areas, and the hilly interior; Traill 1975, 1986). Fellow tribesmen shared cults and meeting place, formed one of the ten regiments of Athens’ re-constituted hoplite army, competed together in performances at polis festivals, and served in the new Council of 500 that replaced the Solonion Council of 400. The fifty councilors from each tribe formed the council’s “executive committee” for a tenth of the year. Collaborating in these various institutions, the members of each tribe got to know each other across the regions and became thoroughly familiar with politics on the local and polis levels; knowledge was widely shared among citizens (Ober 2008). The ratio of representation in the council was amazingly dense (about 1:60). Service was limited to two non-consecutive terms; hence over time every third or fourth citizen over thirty years of age served at least for one year in this capacity. Councilors commuting between their homes and Athens carried information out to their fellow demesmen and brought back their concerns and reactions. Cleisthenes thus achieved “civic presence” in Athens (Meier 1990: 73–8).
The council deliberated the issues and prepared the motions the assembly was to take up (Rhodes 1972). Its membership comprised elite citizens and large numbers of non-elite farmers – the same citizen classes that formed the hoplite army. That a sophisticated method was applied to root this council broadly and evenly in the citizen body means that its role in the polis’ decision-making process was considered crucial. Hence, necessarily, the assembly’s importance was also enhanced, and the political sphere, defined more precisely both spatially and functionally, was assigned much greater importance than before. Other political measures comprised a new councilors’ oath, the introduction of ten “generals” (stratēgoi) elected from the tribes and playing an important role in political leadership as well, and ostracism, a “negative election” to remove for a limited time politicians who were considered either too powerful or divisive (CA 22.2). Moreover, the political reforms were embedded in a host of other measures, encompassing all aspects of communal life, including cults, festivals, and the army (Anderson 2003).
Despite their pervasive interference with traditional structures and customs, these reforms apparently did not prompt strong opposition; they must have been broadly acceptable, corresponding to widespread preferences among all citizen classes. Prepared by a long period of aristocratic weakness and domestic peace under the tyrants, the citizens’ attitudes and awareness had changed profoundly; this became dramatically visible when they took control of their destiny by thwarting an aristocratic plot and outside interference. Cleisthenes must have been a master in “reading” these new conditions and translating them into political reform (Ober 1996: 51–2). Its integrative effect upon the community was visible in successes achieved by the new polis army in 506 and then in the Athenians’ daring decision to resist the Persian attack at Marathon in 490.
Later, the Athenians saw Cleisthenes as the founder of their democracy. Many modern scholars, too, identify his reforms with the beginning of democracy. Strongly supporting this view, Josiah Ober (1996, 2007) emphasizes the element of popular revolt. It remains doubtful, though, whether lower class citizens who did not serve in the hoplite army enjoyed full political equality, and the demos, although making final decisions, really ruled (Raaflaub 2007: 144–50). Even so, Cleisthenes’ “protodemocracy” certainly represents a crucial stage in preparing the later breakthrough of full democracy. Most importantly, both citizen equality and the political were enhanced considerably beyond Solon’s system. The concepts of isonomia (political equality, equality before the law) and isēgoria (equality of speech; Vlastos 1981; 1995: 1.89–111, 156–78; Raaflaub 2004: 221–3), apparently first formulated as aristocratic value terms in opposition to tyranny, now became the hallmark of “isonomic” constitutions widely developing in that period (Robinson 1997). In Athens, isonomia was probably applied not only to the overthrow of tyranny but also to the system established by Cleisthenes (Raaflaub 1996: 143–8).
After their defeat at Marathon in 490, the Persians made a much more determined effort in 480/79 to conquer Greece. In the intervening decade, the Athenians decided to select their traditional board of highest officials (archons) by lot (CA 22.5; the stratēgoi as military leaders continued to be elected by vote). Several eminent politicians were ostracized, suspected of ties to the former tyrant family that had sought support in Persia (CA 22.3–6). This suggests that the feasibility of resisting Persia was hotly debated. Ostracisms were decided by an assembly vote. It was the assembly, too, that decided to use the income from a newly discovered silver mine to build a war fleet, rather than distributing it among the citizens, and, when the Persians approached, to sacrifice their city, evacuate the population, and entrust the polis’ defense to this fleet (Herodotus 8.141–3). Manned by all citizens, regardless of status, as well as resident aliens (metics) and slaves, this fleet contributed decisively to the Greek victory at Salamis in 480. A year later, Athenian hoplites fought valiantly at Plataea to help destroy the remaining Persian forces, and the fleet doubled up with a victory at Mycale (Green 1996).
This war was fought by an alliance of Greek poleis (Brunt 1993: ch.3) under Sparta’s leadership. But already in 478/7 Sparta and her allies withdrew from the war they no longer considered necessary. A new alliance (the “Delian League”) was founded under Athens’ leadership to drive the Persians from the Aegean and liberate the Greeks still under Persian rule. This goal was achieved, but soon the Athenians turned their league into an increasingly centralized Athenian empire. In the late 460s, tensions between Athens and Sparta culminated in a renversement des alliances (Athens now joined Spartan opponents on the Peloponnese). This in turn coincided with the beginning in 462 of a wave of constitutional changes (below). In the 450s intermittent wars against Sparta and her allies ensued, while campaigns against the Persians continued. Eventually, though, overextended on land and sea, the Athenians agreed to end hostilities with both Persia and (in 446) Sparta (Meiggs 1972; Fornara and Samons 1991; Rhodes 1992: 34–61).
Throughout this period the Athenian fleet played a crucial role. Its manpower needs were enormous: the 180 triremes involved at Salamis required up to 36,000 men, while the Athenian army at Marathon comprised 9,000 hoplites, that at Plataea 8,000). Although created in an emergency, this fleet in an unanticipated and soon irreversible development – the continuation of the Persian war, Athens’ leadership in the Delian League, and its naval and soon imperial policies – continued to be used, year after year. Athens’ security depended no longer (as was the case until Marathon) on its hoplite army alone but even more on its fleet – to which lower class citizens contributed a large part of the crews.
I suggest (Raaflaub 2007) that Athens’ constitutional development would have been arrested about where it stood in the 480s if the Athenians had discontinued the Persian war and maintained only a small war fleet for occasional fights with Greek rivals. But they decided otherwise. In an extraordinary reversal of traditional conditions, the thetes, who had always stood in the shadow of the hoplite-farmers, who were citizens but did not count for much, now assumed primary importance in realizing the polis’ policies and guaranteeing its success, power, and prosperity – and this not only once or twice but permanently. The latter was crucial. The chain of conditions determining status in the polis, based on economic and military capacity, social prestige, and political function, was now ruptured at the military link and needed to be restored. Since this could not be done on the economic level, it needed to be achieved on the political level.
Undoubtedly responding, like Cleisthenes did in 508/7, to increasing pressure from below and sensing the advantages of drawing support from a large “rising” citizen class, a group of politicians led by Ephialtes and soon Pericles, who were opposed to the policies of an “old guard” of leaders, now proposed major reforms that were implemented in 462/1 (Meier 1987, 1999: ch.6; Raaflaub 2007). The traditional Areopagus Council, still prestigious but recently weakened, was deprived of its main political powers. These probably included the scrutiny and supervision of officials – an increasingly important responsibility because of the proliferation of offices and committees due to Athens’ naval and imperial policies. These powers were transferred to the Council of 500, the assembly, and the law courts – institutions that represented the entire demos. Both council and law courts were probably reorganized, and other reforms enacted as well. Soon pay was introduced for time-intensive functions (the 500 councilors and the large bodies of judges who manned various law courts [dikastēria]), the property requirement for the archonship was reduced, and in 451/0 citizenship restricted to those descended from citizens on both sides.
The cumulative significance of these reforms becomes even clearer if we consider other indications. In Suppliant Women, performed just before Ephialtes’ reforms, Aeschylus strongly emphasized the idea that in decisions affecting the well-being of the entire community (especially concerning war) all those affected, the whole polis (the entire citizen body), needed to be involved (Meier 1993: 84–97; Raaflaub 2007: 107–13). This must mean that, although the assembly had made such decisions all along, not all citizens had fully participated in them. This in turn corresponds to slightly earlier constitutional terminology that expressed the alternative to monarchy or aristocracy not only with dēmos but also with stratos (the army, which traditionally meant the hoplite army; Pindar, Pythian 2.86–8). Introduction of pay for especially time-consuming political functions equally suggests that the composition of the political bodies assuming such functions had changed; it was now necessary to assist those without sufficient means of their own so that they could assume the political role assigned them by the constitution.
Finally, Ephialtes’ reforms were passed against vehement resistance: an effort to repeal them failed, Ephialtes was assassinated, his main opponent ostracized, and fear of civil strife or foreign intervention gripped the polis. Obviously, these reforms affected the political sphere too deeply to be easily acceptable to substantial segments of the citizen body who perceived them as the victory of one faction over the other. In 458, these conflicts were still echoed in Aeschylus’ Eumenides. The poet here demonstrates impressively that a profound conflict between old and new powers with equally legitimate claims can only be resolved by persuasion and compromise; stability and permanence of a new order depend on its willingness to integrate the old order with honor and a meaningful function (Meier 1990: ch.5; 1993: 102–37).
There are good reasons, therefore, to date the breakthrough of democracy to this period (462–450). Contemporary evidence preserves echoes of a new word for this constitution: dēmo-kratia, “rule by the people” (Meier 1972; Raaflaub 2007: 108, 112). At any rate, only now did the demos assume full control over the entire political process and rule in and through the assembly and the other institutions representing the full citizen body. Once the new realities had fully established themselves, it became possible to say, as Euripides did later, that in Athens the demos was the ruler and controlled power (cited above).
By the mid-fifth century, the political sphere had assumed enormously increased importance in the life of Athens’ citizens and polis (Forsdyke, Mossé, this vol.). A wide range of political, administrative, and judicial decisions needed to be made all the time, and some of these had far-reaching effects on and far beyond Athens. The citizens were fully in charge: their involvement in communal affairs was staggering by any account (Hansen 1999: 313) According to CA 24.3, “more than 20,000 men were supported by income from the tribute, the taxes and the allies”: the 500 councilors, over 1,000 city and imperial officials, parts of the military force, and up to 6,000 judges serving frequently in the law courts (Rhodes 1981: 300–9). This list does not include unpaid service on a large number of committees charged with administrative duties, or thousands of participants in frequent assembly meetings (pay for which was introduced only after the Peloponnesian War).
With few exceptions (offices with high financial and military responsibility), all these functions were accessible to all citizens. In Herodotus (3.80.6), a supporter lists the following characteristics of democracy: it bears equality (isonomia) in its name, “fills the offices by lot, keeps the offices accountable, and brings all deliberations into the common sphere.” An equivalent piece in Euripides emphasizes democracy’s focus on equality even more: the demos holds all the power and rules in annual rotation, the polis enjoys liberty and is a community of equal vote, and the poor and rich have equal shares; written and common laws give the weak and powerful equal access to justice (Supp. 352–3, 403–8, 429–34); the ultimate proof of liberty and equality is the right of every citizen to speak in the assembly (437–41; Raaflaub 2004: 227–33). All this anticipates what Aristotle later summarized in famous statements – that democratic poleis “are held to aim at equality above anything else” (Politics 1284a19) and at maintaining the highest degree of liberty, one form of which consists precisely “in the interchange of ruling and being ruled.” Each citizen should be equal with the rest; hence most officials should be appointed by lot, without requiring any property qualification, and offices should be spread as widely as possible by keeping tenure short, disallowing repetition (1317b2–25), and paying the office holders. In short, democracy ensures equality of rights for all on an arithmetical basis (1318a5).
As a result, the citizens developed a “political identity” that was expected to take precedence over their social identity and all other affiliations (Meier 1990: ch.6, and below). The public sphere dominated over the private. In being politically involved and serving the community the citizen proved his usefulness. True, Thucydides’ Pericles insists that each Athenian cared about both his own and public affairs, but the public side was what mattered: individual and collectivity alike are characterized as restless activists (Thuc. 1.70; Raaflaub 1994), and those who lack interest in politics (are inactive) are considered useless to the community (2.40.2; Christ 2006; Demont 2009). The political thus was developed to an unprecedented and perhaps never repeated extent and assigned a virtually absolute role in the community. “To put something in the middle” had long been the formula to describe the community’s control over matters; now everything was in the middle and the middle encompassed everything: the political had become coterminous with the community and citizen body.
Athens’ democracy was not only unprecedented but also unique. It had emerged in close interaction with naval policies and empire, and issues of foreign policy, empire, and war remained prominent in the agendas of all institutions. Since this was not the case in other poleis, other democracies (Robinson 2011) functioned differently even if structurally they looked similar. Moreover, a Greek constitution (politeia) was not merely a set of laws, it was a way of life. Values, policies, relations, and norms of behavior in a democratic polis differed greatly from those in an oligarchic community, and more so in Athens than elsewhere. Thucydides relates the observation (1.70) that the Athenian collective character was dominated by polypragmosynē (activism, interventionism): the exact opposite of that of the Spartans.
Athenian democracy did not leave anybody unaffected. It greatly irritated many Greeks in and outside Athens, and increasingly so the more its aggressive policies were felt all over the Greek world. Democracy’s positive and negative aspects were debated intensely: few authors and genres in the classical period fail to reflect some concern about this phenomenon. Not unexpectedly, among authors who mostly shared elite perspectives, criticism prevailed, but serious efforts were made as well to analyze the working of the system and to justify it (Raaflaub 1989; Ober 1998, and various contributions in this volume). I shall focus here on two aspects which are directly related to the conclusion presented above, that the political had assumed absolute predominance in Athenian communal affairs.
Every year in the late fall the Athenians buried their war dead in a solemn ceremony in a common tomb in the public cemetery, with their names inscribed by tribe on a stele. Dozens of these stelae created a panorama of glorious military achievements in the service of the polis (Clairmont 1983; Loraux 1986; Hölscher 1998). In Thucydides, the description of this ceremony (2.34) is followed by Pericles’ Funeral Oration (2.35–46). Unusually, this oration focuses not on events and wars but on the factors that make martial accomplishment and imperial greatness possible: the city’s spirit, customs, and institutions (2.36) – a theme that reverberates throughout the History (Grethlein 2005). The portrait Pericles sketches of the Athenians emphasizes their total dedication to the common good – defined here as the polis’ greatness, glory, and power. In dying, the fallen heroes have proved their civic virtue (aretē). In emulating them, each citizen is expected to act like a lover (erastēs) of his polis (2.43.1), completely subordinating his self-interest to the needs and demands of his beloved, the polis. The word erastēs evokes not friendship and closeness (as do philopolis and philodēmos, frequently used by politicians to characterize their relationship to the demos; Connor 1971: ch.3) but sexual desire and passionate commitment (Monoson 1994; Wohl 2002). This concept, I suggest, is the core of the civic ideology promoted by the democratic and imperial city. Recurring in many forms in assembly, theater, monuments, and images, it reminded the citizens that their polis had achieved unique greatness through unique commitment to war and sacrifice; they were called to live up to the expectations raised by this tradition (Raaflaub 2001a).
In the spring of 411, at the height of the Peloponnsian War, Aristophanes staged his Lysistrata, raising serious issues in the guise of a hilarious fantasy. The goal of the women who organize a sex strike and occupy the public realm is to compel their men to end their crazy infatuation with war and save the polis and their families (Henderson 1980). In collaborating with women from all over Greece, they demonstrate the fallacy of ideologies dividing the Greeks into Dorian and Ionian, democratic and oligarchic camps. From the perspective of elementary shared traits, this war is a civil war: fratricidal, self-destructive madness. The women want to restore peace as a necessary condition for re-integrating community and family. The poet thus recognizes in the crisis caused by the war the result of a detrimental separation of the public sphere of politics from the private sphere of the household: the political sphere has become autonomous, lost its link with the values of the domestic sphere, and turned against the latter by pursuing policies that are harmful to both. Behind such criticism lie age-old ideas about a close correspondence between household and polis. Hence in Lysistrata we grasp a reaction not only to a terrible war and extreme forms of pursuing communal power but also to Athens’ civic ideology. The recovery and health of the community, Aristophanes insists, require precisely the re-integration of the citizen’s social and political identity – and the rejection of the priority assigned to public and martial glory in Athenian ideology (as formulated in Thuc. 2.64.3).
In these texts we grasp the “absoluteness” (Verabsolutierung) the political reached in the democratic and imperial polis and that required it to be detached from all other obligations and traditional values. Under these conditions, the citizen really became a zōion politikon not only in the Aristotelian sense of a “polis-creature” but in that of a “political creature,” even a “political zombie,” driven, as Thucydides’ merciless analysis reveals, by emotion and erōs, the desire for ever more (pleonexia, 6.24; Raaflaub 2006b). It is the merit of Athenian thinkers to have recognized that in its extreme forms this was an unhealthy development.
Democracy’s intense politicization of the Athenian polis fostered partisanship and strong emotions among both supporters and opponents. The result was an ideological split of constitutional allegiances and political values. In constitutional thinking and terminology, by the early fifth century a new criterion replaced the traditional standard of order – good order (eunomia) or “equal order” (isonomia). The question now was who, how many, and what kind of persons ruled in the polis: one (a king or tyrant: monarchia, tyrannis), a few or the best (oligarchia, aristokratia), the armed host, the demos, or the rabble (stratos, dēmokratia, ochlokratia). The full range of this new terminology evolved over several decades; yet the earliest source mentioning the triple division of constitutions dates to around 470 (Pindar, Pythian 2.86–8). This change in terminology signaled a change in perception and empowerment (Meier 1990: ch.7): those holding power had full control over the community’s constitution and the way they wanted to live and govern themselves; by a simple vote in the governing body, any change or innovation could be adopted. Conversely, every decision could be denounced as serving the interests only of those controlling power. Here lay deep roots of civil strife (stasis) that eventually devoured many Greek poleis (Thuc. 3.82–4; Lintott 1982; Gehrke 1985; Price 2001).
As a result, political concepts and values were split by contrasting democratic and oligarchic interpretations. A traditional dichotomy inherent in dēmos (Donlan 1999: 225–36), between an inclusive (the entire people or citizen body) and an exclusive, negative meaning (the lower classes, rabble) received new political emphasis: supporters described dēmokratia as rule by all citizens, opponents as rule by the masses. Political equality was understood as arithmetic/numerical (treating every citizen equally) or geometric/proportional (taking social status into consideration; Harvey 1965). Liberty was based on mere personal status and citizenship (accepting every citizen as a free man and capable citizen) or on social status and economic capacity (considering only those really free who did not need to work for a living and could devote themselves to communal service; Raaflaub 1983). Soon democracy and oligarchy were perceived as two mutually exclusive constitutions, each representing the self-serving rule of one part of the citizen body over the other (Raaflaub 2004: 208–21).
As long as democracy was successful and offered the elite opportunities to gain eminence, glory, and riches, opposition remained minimal but the potential for factional strife always lurked under the surface. Probably in the late 430s, an anonymous author (often called the “Old Oligarch”) wrote a pamphlet on The Constitution of the Athenians. He admits that under Athens’ specific circumstances (its empire and dependence on the lower classes manning the fleet) it seems justified “to allow everyone access to the political offices… and to allow any citizen to speak if he wishes” (Ps.-Xenophon, CA 1.2). Although a bad system, it serves the intended purpose because the masses know that it is in their interest to support democracy and through it their liberty and power (1.4–8). In a truly good order (eunomia), however, the respectable citizens will “will keep down the masses, will plan the city’s affairs, and not allow crazy people to take part in planning or discussion or even sit in the Assembly.” Yet in this excellent system the demos would be enslaved (1.9). Eunomia had now become the slogan of the conservative oligarchs, while the democrats focused on isonomia (Hdt. 3.80.6). From an oligarchic standpoint, oligarchia meant that the few ruled in their own interest over the many who were excluded from power and participation, while the reverse was true in a democracy, despite democracy’s inclusive claims. The upper classes’ dilemma in democracy was that they considered themselves superior, much better qualified to govern than the masses. They were part of the citizen body, able to vote and speak, but never to prevail. They were “enslaved” by a communal will that included theirs but was not theirs (Thuc. 4.86.4). In their view, exemplified by the “Old Oligarch,” democracy was insane, not curable; it could only be abolished and replaced by a different and sane constitution (6.89.6).
This sense of alienation was enhanced by the long and bitter Peloponnesian War which placed additional burdens on the wealthy and turned into an ideological war between democracy, sponsored by Athens, and oligarchy, supported by Sparta. Although stasis became endemic elsewhere (3.69–84), Athens long remained stable. But conflicts surfaced when democracy overreached, suffered a devastating defeat in Sicily (413), and lost its legitimation through success. Fears of an impending oligarchic coup emerged even before this disaster and prompted a witch-hunt among prominent Athenians (Thuc. 6.27–9, 60–1; Andocides, Or. 1; Munn 2000: ch.4). In 411, under enormous pressure by the war, an oligarchy was established. Active citizenship was limited to 5,000 (the wealthy and those meeting the hoplite census), and pay for political office was abolished. In fact, though, the 5,000 never came into play; a small group of 400 men, forming the new council, made all decisions. They quickly lost support, tried to maintain their power through a regime of terror, but were overthrown by an internal revolt after a few months (Thuc. 8.45–98; Aristotle, CA 29–33; Ostwald 1986: ch.7; Munn 2000: ch.5).
The moderate “Oligarchy of the 5,000” that succeeded the 400 did not last long either (Ostwald 1986: 395–411; Bleckmann 1998: 358–86). But Thucydides praises it as the best government Athens had in his lifetime. “There was a reasonable and moderate blending of the few and the many, and it was this, in the first place, that made it possible for the city to recover from the bad state into which her affairs had fallen” (8.97.2). A change in military fortunes brought political change: democracy was restored – vengeful and even more excessive. After a roller coaster of victories and defeats, Athens capitulated, starved and exhausted. It survived but lost fleet, empire, and walls. An even narrower and more brutal oligarchy of thirty men, later known as the “Thirty Tyrants,” was installed, supported by a Spartan garrison (Krentz 1982; Ostwald 1986: ch.8–9; Bleckmann 1998: chs.4–7; Munn 2000: chs.6–9; Shear 2011). They were overthrown when exiled democrats first established a fortified outpost in Attica, then took the Piraeus in a surprise attack. Civil war seemed inevitable but Sparta negotiated a settlement, and democracy was restored.
Hence in the final phase of the Peloponnesian War, Athens’ history came to resemble that of Corcyra, Thucydides’ test case of stasis (3.69–84): a vicious cycle of increasing radicalization and violence in politics, democratic alternating with oligarchic regimes, each more oppressive and self-serving than the preceding. How could this cycle be broken? In the partisan atmosphere of that time, Aeschylus’s earlier resort to appeals and prayers (Eumenides 976–86) was no longer sufficient. Intellectuals active in Athens at the time, including tragic and comic poets, historians, and sophists (itinerant philosophers and teachers of rhetoric and politics; Balot, this volume) tried to find ways to overcome stasis in the polis (Raaflaub 2009).
In some of his tragedies, Euripides urged his audiences to strengthen the citizens’ sense of communal responsibility and to train the young carefully for their life as citizens, that is, essentially to improve the citizens’ moral make-up (Raaflaub 2001b: 101–3). In other plays, he presented figures who sacrificed themselves for the common good (e.g. Phoenician Women 997–1018), thus offering a model of civic selflessness that contrasted starkly with examples of self-centered ambition that populated the contemporaneous tragic and political stage (Mendelsohn 2002). Though perhaps appearing naïve to our cynical age, such appeals for moral improvement were discussed seriously at the time and fully developed by fourth-century philosophers. Another approach emphasized equality and the “city-saving” function of the middle element in the polis (Euripides, Suppliants 238–44), at the expense of both social and political extremes (rich and poor, extreme democracy and narrow oligarchy or tyranny: Phoenician Women 261–637). In particular, farmers, who usually were too busy to participate in politics (Suppliants 420–2; Nestle 1938: 14–15), were praised as solid, responsible, and sensible citizens who were useful for the community when they did get engaged (Orestes 917–22).
Yet concrete proposals remained vague. Clearly, though, democracy and oligarchy, each understood exclusively, were the cause of the problem, not the solution. One way to overcome this polarization, propagated by the sophist Thrasymachus (DK 85 B1; trans. Gagarin and Woodruff 1995: 254–5) and considered in Athens in 411-410 (Aristotle, CA 29.3), postulated the return to an “ancestral constitution” that supposedly existed before democracy turned “radical”: a moderate, intermediate form, acceptable to both democrats and oligarchs (Fuks 1953; Ostwald 1986: 367–72). Another approach focused on constitutional theory. Thucydides had found in the Constitution of the 5,000 in 411–410 a moderate mixture of democratic and oligarchic elements (8.97.2; above). Here begins the theory of the mixed constitution (von Fritz 1954; Nippel 1980), developed further by Plato and Aristotle, and highlighted by Polybius who believed it realized ideally in the Roman republic of his time (6.11–18).
No doubt influenced by all these debates but outside any theoretical framework, the Athenians made an extraordinary decision in 403 to eradicate stasis from their community and to restore lasting internal peace. They passed in assembly an amnesty and reconciliation decree that assigned to the oligarchs and their supporters one township and thus separated oligarchs and democrats. Most remarkably, with very few exceptions, “no one was to recall the past misdeeds of anyone” (Aristotle, CA 39; Xenophon, Hellenica 2.4.24–43; Ostwald 1986: 500–10; Loening 1987). The decision “not to remember wrongs” reminds us of the South African “Truth Commission,” installed to deal with the aftermath of Appartheid. It made it impossible to prosecute opponents for political wrongs committed earlier, and thus built a foundation for lasting civic peace.
Sketches of various constitutions preserved in Aristotle (CA 30) and constitutional debates inserted by Herodotus (3.80–2) and Euripides (Suppliants 419–55) in surprising contexts attest to intensive discussions about the best constitution and to constitutional experiments in the late fifth century (Raaflaub 1989). Hippodamus, the city-planner, devised an ideal constitution (Aristotle, Politics 2.8.1267b30–7). The restored democracies of 410 and 403 established committees to revise existing laws and write a code that, for the first time, approximated a “constitution” (Hansen 1999: ch.7). Further reforms, especially in the legislative process, helped control the power and suppress the license of the assembly that had revealed itself shockingly in the Arginusae trial of 406 (Munn 2000: 179–90; Bleckmann 1998: ch.6). Such constitutional measures succeeded in stabilizing democracy in a more moderate form (Ostwald 1986: 509–24; Eder 1995). It then lasted without interruption until it was overthrown by outside intervention in the late fourth century.
The nature and scope of politics even in large Greek poleis (such as Chios and especially Syracuse) normally were much more limited than in imperial Athens. No other Greek polis, not even those maintaining a substantial fleet, made such constant and extensive use of its lower class citizens for military purposes as Athens did (Raaflaub 2007: 123–4). Hence the conditions for the comprehensive politicization of the entire citizen body that we observe in Athens did not exist elsewhere. The “democrats” and “oligarchs” involved in civil strife in Corcyra and elsewhere were factions that claimed contrasting popular labels and fought under opposing banners but were probably much closer to each other than their counterparts were in Athens, where fundamental distinctions were involved (Ruschenbusch 1978: ch.3). Many allied poleis where democracy prevailed because it was imposed or supported by Athens (Meiggs 1972: 208–12; Schuller 1974: 82–98) got rid of it as soon as they could but had little interest in tolerating an oligarchy imposed by Athens; they cared much less about constitutional distinctions than about regaining their full liberty (Thuc. 8.48, 64–65.1). Overall, even in the fifth century, oligarchies (usually much more moderate than the extreme forms known from Athens; Ostwald 2000; Raaflaub 2006b) probably were more frequent than democracies.
For all these reasons, the Athenian type of democracy must have been exceptional and occupied an extreme position on the wide scale of possibilities suggested most explicitly by Aristotle (Dolezal 1974; Robinson 1997: chs.1–2). The “democratic potential” inherent in the Greek polis from early on was usually exhausted by reaching the “isonomic” stage. With few exceptions, Greek poleis were predominantly agrarian communities in which trade and crafts played a secondary role and those engaged in these activities enjoyed inferior social prestige. Hence elite (large landowners) and independent farmers (middling but not really small-scale landowners) formed the bulk of the active citizen body, manning the assembly and providing the hoplites for the polis army. In most cases, the lower class citizens, whether craftsmen, small-scale traders, or workers for pay, even if they owned small plots of land, would only be mobilized in an emergency and have inferior status politically as well. Hence the transformation, sketched in this chapter, of Aristotle’s zōion politikon from polis-being to full or radical political being was also an exceptional and specifically Athenian rather than a generally Greek phenomenon. But this requires further consideration of other democracies (Robinson 2011).
After 404/3, the Athenians did not abdicate their imperial dreams and remained involved in war after war, until the victory of Philip II at Chaeronea in 338 imposed peace on all Greeks. But to all those Greeks, deeply mired in traditional partisan attitudes, who thought that internal war, just like external war, was part of the human condition and thus impossible to eliminate, the Athenians of the years after 404 demonstrated brilliantly that citizens were capable of restoring peace and order in their community and of choosing a moderate path. Chastened by defeat and the threat of annihilation and self-destruction, the zōion politikon had found a way of taming itself. Even Thucydides might have admitted that by then the “political creature” had achieved reasonable perfection.
CAH | Cambridge Ancient History, 2nd edn. |
DK | Diels and Kranz 1964. |
TAPA | Transactions of the American Philological Association |
I thank the participants in the 2006 conference in Florence and especially my co-editors for valuable comments and suggestions. Section 2 is based on Raaflaub and Wallace 2007 and the first part of section 4 (Solon) on Raaflaub 2001b: 89–99 (where the interested reader will find more bibliography). The last part of section 6 (discussing efforts to restore internal stability in Athens) is discussed in more detail in Raaflaub 2009.
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