Politics and the Street in Democratic Athens

This book is the first in-depth study of the classical Athenian public sphere. It examines how public opinion was created by impromptu theatrics and by gossip, and how it flowed into and out of the civic institutions. Athenians did not have hookah bars or coffee shops but they did socialize in symposia and gymnasia and workshops, and above all in the Agora. These represented the Athenian “Street,” an informal political space that was seen as qualitatively different from the institutional space of the Assembly, the Council, and the courts where elite orators held sway. The book explores howA thenians of all sorts, such as politicians, slaves, and philosophers, sought to exploit the resources of the “Street” in pursuit of their aims.

Alex Gottesman is Assistant Professor of Greek and Roman Classics at Temple University, Philadelphia.

Politics and the Street in Democratic Athens

Alex Gottesman

University Printing House, Cambridge CB2 8BS, United Kingdom

Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge. It furthers the University’s mission by disseminating knowledge in the pursuit of education, learning and research at the highest international levels of excellence.

www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781107041684 © Cambridge University Press 2014 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published 2014 Printed in the United Kingdom by Clays, St Ives plc A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloguing in Publication data Gottesman, Alex. Politics and the street in democratic Athens / Alex Gottesman. pages cm Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. democracy–Greece–Athens–History. 2. athens (Greece)–Politics and government–Early works to 1800. 3. agora (Athens, Greece)–History. i. title. JC75.D36G67 2014 320.938′5–dc23 2014020406

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List of illustrations page vii Preface ix Acknowledgments xii

Introduction 1 Approaching the Athenian public sphere 4 The institutional public sphere 8 The extra-institutional public sphere 11 A synthesis 20 Plan of the book 23 1 a tour of the Agora 26 A brief history of the Agora 29 How pure an Agora? 40 2 athenian social networks 44 Citizen associations 45 “Mixed” associations 49 Socializing in shops 55 Putting the networks to work: enforcement and the public sphere 63 3 The problem of non-institutional politics 77 Separating the institutional from the extra-institutional 80 The problem of supplication 86 “Pitiable theatrics”: further critics of supplication 94 4 institutionalizing theatricality in the Assembly 100 Supplication on the schedule 101 The sponsors of the suppliants 106

v vi Contents 5 Publicity stunts in Athenian politics 114 A woman named Phye 118 Ephialtes “naked” at the altar 125 A mournful Apaturia 131 The decline of the political stunt 140 The rise of logography 147 6 slaves in the Theseion 155 Slaves on the run 160 Aphairesis 163 False citizens 169 What was going on in the Theseion? 174 7 The Magnesian Street 180 Absent presence in the elections 186 Women as “bearers” of the Magnesian public sphere 193 The guardianship of the Nocturnal Council 197 Disciplining Magnesian praise and blame 203 Conclusion 210

Works cited 214 Index 241 Illustrations

1 map of ancient Athens, c. 430 BCE. Credit: Wikimedia Commons. page 2 2 Athens, Agora, reconstruction. Credit: Peter Connolly/akg-images. 27 3 Plan of the Council district. Credit: American School of Classical Studies at Athens: Agora Excavations. 32 4 Plan of the Agora in the fourth century. Credit: American School of Classical Studies at Athens: Agora Excavations. 33 5 Foundry Painter. Two men working on a statue of Ares. Shell of an Attic red-figure kylix from Vulci, c. 490–480 BCE. Inv: F2294. Photo: Ingrid Geske. Credit: bpk Berlin / Staatliche Museen / Ingrid Geske / Art Resource, NY. 63 6 Lysippides Painter (attributed to). Black-figure hydria: Apotheosis of Herakles, c. 530–520 BCE. Trumbull-Prime Collection, y171. Photo: Bruce M. White. Credit: Princeton University Art Museum / Art Resource, NY. 121

vii

Preface

“The Street” in the title of this book derives from a metaphor that has in recent years become quite prominent in the news media. This metaphor has an interesting history.1 It originally derived from an Arabic metaphor (al-shari’ ) for a general public mood or sentiment. Arabic writers might refer to the “British street,” the “American street,” or the “Israeli street.” Western social scientists adopted the term in the 1970s and 80s as a scare-quoted description of the Arabic concept. From there it entered media discourse as a sui generis phenomenon, applied exclusively to Arabic-speaking countries. The term appears more frequently after 9/11 but without its scare-quotes, crowding out the term “Arab public opinion” that appeared regularly until then. Unlike that term, however, it describes a distinctive kind of politics. As one newspaper writer put it: “TheA rab street: the well- worn phrase evokes men clustered around dusty coffee-house tables, discussing the events of the day with well-earned cynicism between puffs on a hookah – yet suddenly able to turn into a mob, powerful enough to sweep away governments.”2 I find in the metaphor a useful concept for what I propose to study, and a superior one to the Western concept of “public opinion.” There are two reasons for this. First, the metaphor has both negative and positive connotations that “public opinion” lacks (being in itself either positive or neutral). The passage quoted above captures both sets of these connotations. The positive connotations evoke a mood of sociality and political criticism almost resembling a Habermasian model of the public sphere. The term’s negative connotations conjure a threat of mob violence.

1 see Regier and Khalidi 2009. 2 see Kifner 2001.

ix x Preface In “the Arab Street” informal discussion is always on the verge of mobilizing violence toward political aims. The second reason why this metaphor is a useful concept for me is because it describes a politicized social space that is marginal to the governmental institutions. Note that the tables are “dusty.” The hookah-smokers gathered around them are not the opinion-leading elites our media are accustomed to focus on, such as business leaders and politicians. They are the politically marginal. And yet, though the occupiers of the Arab Street are politically marginal they are also politically engaged in a way that we Westerners are not. There is no comparable Western concept that describes a sphere of politically engaged sociality that is at the same time marginal to the political process. Perhaps the “kitchen table” metaphor comes close, but that image familiar from contemporary campaign rhetoric is strictly a domestic, private space usually crowded with unpaid bills over which concerned parents discuss which candidate’s policies are most likely to help pay them. Imagined conversations over the “kitchen table” rarely lead to violent demonstrations – although perhaps they should. As I conceive it, the Athenian Street, like the Arab Street, had positive and negative sides that depended on one’s perspective. The positive side fostered political interaction across a wide spectrum of statuses and classes. Participants here were not just the institutionally active, elite orators but also the passive citizens who never attended assemblies or courts, as well as non-citizens such as foreigners, women, and even slaves. Athenians did not have hookah bars or coffee shops but they did socialize in symposia and gymnasia and shops, and above all in the Agora. These (especially the shops) were seen as informal, politically marginal spaces that were qualitatively different from the institutional spaces of the Assembly, the Council, and the courts where the orators held an uneasy sway. The negative side of the Athenian Street is different from the negative side of the Arab Street. As far as we can tell, the Athenian Street did not erupt into regime-changing violence very often, nor was there a fear that it might. In fact, phenomena of political violence such as riots were quite rare in Athens compared to other times and places.3 This

3 For a possible exception see Ober 1993, with the response and counter-response in Raaflaub 1998a; 1998b; Ober 1998a. Preface xi makes sense. A political system that gives its subjects the opportunity to exercise influence (or “allots them honor,” as Aristotle understood it) is less likely to be overthrown from within. The negative side of the Athenian Street, as critics both ancient and modern complain, is that it could derail institutional proceedings and lead to bad outcomes by introducing the emotional influences of the crowd. This criticism also makes sense, for the Athenian governmental institutions needed the Street in a way that modern representative institutions and hierarchies do not. In the absence of an enforcement arm like a police force, Athenian governmental institutions needed Athenians to talk about their work and acts. This was just about the only way in which anything they decided would be carried out. Yet the institutions also needed the Street to remain marginal to the political process. It would defeat the logic of the governmental institutions if Athenians did not see them as an accurate representation of the entirety of politics. This paradox was the source of a tension. This book seeks to understand the role that tension played in the political life of the city, and how various Athenians (politicians, slaves, and philosophers) sought to use it in pursuit of their aims. Acknowledgments

Anyone who has been on a long journey knows that you need help along the way. Danielle Allen not only advised the distant disserta- tion on supplication from which this project began, along with Chris Faraone and Jonathan Hall, but read and commented on several drafts of individuals chapters and the whole book. Angelos Chaniotis, Janet Downie, James Kierstead, Stephen Lambert, and David Wolfsdorf also read parts of previous versions and made valuable criticisms and suggestions. Audiences at the University of Chicago, the University of Pennsylvania, Rutgers, and Temple University gave helpful feedback on material that went into this book, as did workshop participants at the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton, New Jersey, and the Association for Political Theory in Columbia, South Carolina. I am grateful to Temple University for the research leave that enabled me to bring this project to completion, and to Temple’s Center for the Humanities in particular for inviting me to participate in its inter- disciplinary fellows workshop. A much-appreciated grant from the Loeb Classical Library Foundation supported the leave. I am also grateful to the Institute for Advanced Studies for the opportunity to spend a semester on its campus as a member, as well as for supple- mental funding from the Herodotus Fund. Along the way I was lucky to have taught at several institutions where I found colleagues who inspired and benefited me immensely: Lee Fratantuono and Donald Lateiner at Ohio Wesleyan; Annette Baertschi, Catherine Coneybare, Rad Edmonds, Rick Hamilton, and Darby Scott at Bryn Mawr; Rebecca Futo Kennedy, Hans Mueller, Stacie Raucci, Mark Toher, and Tarik Wareh at Union; and at Temple Dan Berman, Martha Davis, Melissa Haynes, Karen K. Hersch, Eric Kondratieff, Robin Mitchell-Boyask, David Ratzan, Sydnor Roy, xii Acknowledgments xiii Caroline Stark, and (last but not least) Dan Tompkins. Thanks are also due to Michael Sharp, along with the two anonymous referees for Cambridge University Press, for their suggestions and criticisms. Finally, I owe special thanks to my wife, Susanne, for her support throughout the journey, and to our little Jonah, who helped in his own way.

Introduction

This traveler’s eye-witness description of Athens is one of the few that have come down to us: The city is completely dry, poorly watered, and badly laid out because of its age. Most of the houses are shabby; few are serviceable. A visitor suddenly seeing it would not believe that this is the famous city of the Athenians. But then, he would believe it. Its Odeon is the most beautiful in the whole world. The theater is notable, big and amazing; the luxurious temple of Athena is worth seeing, the so-called Parthenon overlooking the theater, inspiring awe in those who see it. Also awe-inspiring is the Olympeion. It is half-finished but the outline is clear. It would be even better if it were finished! There are three gymnasia, the Academy, the Lyceum, and Cynosarges. They are thick with trees and grassy. Ἡ δὲ πόλις ξηρὰ πᾶσα, οὐκ εὔυδρος, κακῶς ἐρρυμοτομημένη διὰ τὴν ἀρχαιότητα. Αἱ μὲν πολλαὶ τῶν οἰκιῶν εὐτελεῖς, ὀλίγαι δὲ χρήσιμαι. Ἀπιστηθείη δ’ ἂν ἐξαίφνης ὑπὸ τῶν ξένων θεωρουμένη, εἰ αὐτή ἐστιν ἡ προσαγορευομένη τῶν Ἀθηναίων πόλις μετ’ οὐ πολὺ δὲ πιστεύσειεν ἄν τις. Ὠδεῖον τῶν ἐν τῇ οἰκουμένῃ κάλλιστον· θέατρον ἀξιόλογον, μέγα καὶ θαυμαστόν Ἀθηνᾶς ἱερὸν πολυτελὲς, ἀπόψιον, ἄξιον θεᾶς, ὁ καλούμενος Παρθενὼν, ὑπερκείμενον τοῦ θεάτρου μεγάλην κατάπληξιν ποιεῖ τοῖς θεωροῦσιν Ὀλύμπιον, ἡμιτελὲς μὲν, κατάπληξιν δ’ ἔχον τὴν τῆς οἰκοδομίας ὑπογραφὴν, γενόμενον δ’ ἂν βέλτιστον, εἴπερ συνετελέσθη· γυμνάσια τρία, Ἀκαδημία, Λύκειον, Κυνόσαργες, πάντα κατάδενδρά τε καὶ τοῖς ἐδάφεσι ποώδη.

(Heraclides Criticus 1. 1)1 His reaction to seeing the city for the first time is disbelief. This is not the Athens he imagined or expected. It is a dry and shabby mess. But

1 See the commentary of McInerney in BNJ 369A. The text was previously commonly attributed to Dicaearchus.

1 2 Introduction quickly, as if from a bird’s eye, he glimpses its familiar monuments, some of which still stand today as emblems of Athenian democratic achievement: the Parthenon on the Acropolis, the Theater of Dionysus on its slopes, the parks on the outskirts of the city. Now he feels sure that he has found the right place. Like this third-century visitor to the city, we also tend to focus on certain aspects of Athens. The textual and physical remains compel our mind’s eye away from the city’s shabby, crowded, and badly laid- out parts. Owing in no small part to the availability and bias of our sources, we focus on the Acropolis or on the theater or (in a sense) on the parks at the outskirts where the philosophers had their schools. The traveler overlooked the Agora completely, which can rightly be considered the political, administrative, economic, and social center of the city. We do not ignore it; indeed, it is one of the most intensely studied sites of the ancient world. But there we tend to fix our attention on the governmental institutions that most resemble to our eyes the halls of power: the Council and the courts, and above all the Pnyx, where the Assembly met about a third of a mile to the south.

Acharnian Gate

Eridanus Dipylon Gate Ceramicus

Diochares Gate Temple of Hephaestus Agora

Hill of the Nymphs Areopagus Acropolis

Pnyx Odeon Theatre of Temple Piraean Gate Dionysus of Zeus toward the us Piraeus lis Il

Mouseion Panathenaic Stadium Itonian Gate 0 250 500 metres

0123 stadia

Figure 1. Map of ancient Athens, c. 430 BCE. (Credit: Wikimedia Commons) Introduction 3 We focus on the institutions in part because of their archaeological presence, in part because they are recognizable and comprehensi- ble to us, but most importantly because the Athenians focused on and talked about them. This was where they made the big, life-and- death decisions. In the Assembly thousands of citizens would listen to debates on proposals that the Council had put before them. They voted by raising their hands and a simple majority would decide the issue. That is how they settled questions of foreign and domestic policy, including deciding on whether they should go to war. The courts also attracted the passions and interests of Athenians. There the vote of panels consisting of hundreds of ordinary citizens decided whether an accused would live or die, or go into exile and lose everything. It was also great entertainment. The jurors would erupt in an uproar when the speaker made a controversial claim or scored a good blow. We also hear about bystanders sitting outside the courts and listening to the proceedings. Aristophanes pokes fun at the Athenian passion for jury service, depicting an old man so drunk with the rush it gives that he is physically incapable of acquitting anyone. He compares himself to Zeus, since “large men with soft hands” grovel before him and seek to entertain him in exchange for his vote (Wasps 553–4). While everyone is accountable to the juror, the juror is accountable to no one, he says. The courts were such landmarks and fixtures that when another of Aristophanes’ characters is shown the city on a map he does not believe it, “Nah!” he says. “That’s not Athens. Where are the jurors?” (Clouds 206–8). Aristophanes is pok- ing fun of course, but the joke only works if his audience took the role of juror quite seriously and considered the courts central to how they viewed themselves. Indeed, court speakers never tire of reminding their audiences that their decision, right here and right now, will resonate and affect the character of Athens and the opinion others have of it. We do not have to rely only on literary evidence to get a sense of the Athenians’ attachment to their courts. Some Athenians were buried with the bronze plaques that served to allot volunteers to jury panels.2 Presumably they did so because the plaques meant a great

2 The vast majority of pinakia with known provenances come from graves (sixteen of the twenty-two in Kroll 1972). It is quite likely that most of those of unknown provenance also come from graves (see Galanakis and Skaltsa 2012). 4 Introduction deal to them: “In heroic times the Greek aristocrat was buried with his bronze sword and armor; in the … fourth century an Athenian might be buried with his bronze allotment plate” (Kroll 1972: 9). Isocrates saw men standing around in front of the courts hoping to get allotted to a jury. He suggested that the payment motivated them above all else (7. 54). Plato mockingly compared the gathering of men around the institutions to the gathering of bees around honey (Rep. 565a5). Payment for service was surely an important reason for the Athenians’ interest in the Assembly and the courts, but the fact that they were buried with their allotment plaques suggests there was more to it than that. And yet: the native Athenian focus on the institutions, and the scholarly focus that tracks it, crops “shabby” Athens out of the picture and consequently gives us an incomplete account of Athenian political life. The institutions were an important part of public life, the center of it in many ways, but they were not the whole of it. The public in the institutions was not the whole of the public. The public-at-large was more likely to be found in the workshops, shops, the stoas, and houses all over Athens. This public included not only citizens but foreigners, women, and slaves. This truth is often acknowledged but not given the full weight it deserves. It is therefore crucial to understand in what ways the “center” of Athenian politics, the institutions, related to the “periphery,” the Street of my title. What tensions did the coexistence of the two public spheres incite, and what practical and conceptual responses did it elicit from politicians, theorists, and ordinary Athenians?

Approaching the Athenian public sphere Spurred in no small part by the rise of new forms of communication, theorists and historians have taken a keen interest in the topic of the “public sphere.” Jürgen Habermas’ Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere (1989 [1962]) has set the stage for this investigation. In Habermas’ story, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries something peculiar happened in northern Europe. People started getting together and discussing things in a way they had not done before. New forms of sociality arose in the new cafes and salons. The increasing use of the printing press led to the creation of a large and Approaching the Athenian public sphere 5 diverse reading public hungry for information and ideas. For the first time in history a truly self-conscious public came into being that was critical of political decision-makers and determined to hold them to account. What made this development special was that this public sphere cut across status boundaries: in cafes anyone could speak and listen to the debate; they were critical of the government; and they focused specifically on the public interest, issues of common concern to everyone. As Habermas puts it, “The rational-critical debate of private people in the salons, clubs, and reading societies was not directly subject to the cycle of production and consumption, that is, to the dictates of life’s necessities” (160). But in time, the story goes, the true public sphere wilted when “special interests” took over. The public sphere was no longer the province of rational-critical discussion but of advertising, opinion polls, and public relations. As parochial interests overspread civil society a public of debaters became a mass of consumers. And that is where we find ourselves today, looking for a way to reclaim some of the lost potential of that moment in history. Such is Habermas’ story. The mixture of historical description and normative content in his account has sparked lively discussion and criticism, with some taking issue with his theory and others with his history.3 One of the most pertinent lines of criticism has taken aim at his assumption of the existence, ideal or otherwise, of a public sphere. The cafes and salons that are so central to his account, it suggests, were only a small part of associational life. His focus on these excluded, for instance, the “plebeian public sphere” of the working class, and the reading groups of women. These were no less important, or important in different ways, than the male debating clubs on which Habermas concentrated. They too might function as potential sites for “rational-critical” debate and the creation of a public con- science. There are always multiple public spheres, in other words, some more enduring and institutionalized than others. The challenge is to understand each one on its own terms and how it intersects and diverges from the others.

3 See especially the essays collected in C. Calhoun 1992, along with Habermas’ “Further Reflections” in that volume. 6 Introduction Habermas paid Athens scant attention; for him it was simply a way-station on the road to the modern public sphere.4 I would not argue that he ought to have because Athens was closer to his ideal type of the public sphere than he realized. Far from it. Rather, Habermas’ notion of the public sphere is useful to keep in mind as a model because it calls attention to the complex ways in which institutional and non-institutional politics might relate to each other in opposition and complementarity, and to the consequences that might have for political action and theory. Athens was a direct democracy, not a representative government like the European nations were or were becoming during the time of interest to Habermas. Nonetheless, Athens also featured a bifurcation between institutional and non- or extra-institutional modes of politics which we can trace in discourse and practice.5 It did not have cafes or salons, but it did have multiple and overlapping arenas of informal sociality. The study of Athenian democracy over the last thirty years has been defined by a long-standing debate between two scholars,

Mogens Hansen and Josiah Ober.6 Writing very much within the same continental tradition as Habermas, Hansen set out to recover all the realia and facts about the political institutions that were to be found in the sources.7 Underpinning his empiricist project is the firm belief that in Athens “political life was thoroughly institutionalized” (Hansen 1989c: 110). He argues that other forms of associational life

4 He deals with it most explicitly in the following passage: “The Greek model of the public sphere lacked both characteristics [private and polemical], for the private status of the master of the household, upon which depended his political status as citizen, rested on domination without any illusion of freedom evoked by human intimacy. The conduct of the citizen was agonistic merely in the sportive competition with each other that was a mock war against the external enemy and not in dispute with his own government” (52). The main source for Habermas’ view of the “Greek model of the public sphere” is clearly Arendt 1998 [1958], herself basing her view on an idealizing reading of Aristotle. 5 See Forsdyke 2012, who rightly points out that the official/unofficial divide is a constant in the Greek world, and maps fairly closely with the elite/non-elite divide. As we will see, the correlation between elite/non-elite was far from coextensive with the official/unofficial. See also Wolin 1994, who draws the useful distinction between “constitutional democracy” and “democratic constitutionalism.” The first privileges a static view of the establishment of norms that then seek to constrain democratic forms of politics. The second sees democracy as a series of moments that is only partially captured in an institutional norm. 6 For a good recent review of scholarship on the topic see Azoulay and Ismard 2007, who have the added virtue of including major contributions from both sides of the Atlantic. 7 Individual contributions collected in Hansen 1983a; 1989a. Summary overviews in Hansen 1987; 1991. Approaching the Athenian public sphere 7 did not compete for Athenians’ attention and loyalties. There were no labor unions or political parties. The Assembly was, by definition, the end-all and be-all of politics. A study of Athenian democracy is a study of its institutions. On this point Josiah Ober has been one of Hansen’s most vocal critics. Hansen’s account, Ober argues, underplays social differences and inequalities.8 Not everyone could participate in the institutions in the same way. There a self-appointed class of elite orators dominated the spotlight; these were elite in education, wealth, and tem- perament. And yet the elite did not dominate politics because they had to compete against each other for the approval of the democratic mass. They had to cater to it, but more importantly to give voice to ideological positions that the typical man in the Athenian street might share. This amounted to a form of subordination of the vocal elite to the interests of the silent mass. Ober essentially characterizes Athenian democracy as a submerged iceberg only the top of which is visible from an institutional perspective. And this is an approach I follow here. But Ober does not consider the dynamics in play between the institutional and extra- institutional arenas; how concrete activity outside related to or influenced what went on inside the institutions. In more recent work in which he studies Athenian social networks’ role in aggregating practical knowledge, he thus focuses primarily on the institutions, especially the Council (Ober 2008). Taking a page from Habermas, one place we should be looking more closely at is the various Athenian associations, such as kinship groups (phrateres), cultic groups (orgeônes or thiasoi), and clubs (hetaireiai) that met in the symposia.9 These were for the most part not like the clubs or groups of revolutionary Europe that loom large in Habermas’ story. They were not, normally, about expressing criticism of the government or for imagining political alternatives. In fact one feature of the groups – aside from the hetaireiai, about whose internal workings we know very little – was that they replicated or imitated practices of the polis, such as assigning

8 Explicit criticism in Ober 1989a. At length study in Ober 1989b. Response in Hansen 1989b. 9 There has been a flurry of interest in the topic, exemplified by the ongoing Copenhagen Associations Project. Specifically connecting associations to democracy is now Kierstead 2013. 8 Introduction

officers by lot and publishing honorific decrees for benefactors.10 As for the hetaireiai, they resembled mutual support societies, helping their members in their financial and legal dealings.11 The one exception was during the revolutionary waves of 411 and 404, when the hetaireiai served as hotbeds of anti-democratic discourse and organization. This was far from the norm, however. Far from serving an antagonistic function to governmental institutions, associations were an important complement to the institutions, as well as a potential resource for those who sought to influence them. This book’s approach differs from other studies of Athenian democracy by examining the conjunctions and the disjunctions between the institutional and the non-institutional public spheres. While I follow Ober’s intuition that there was more to politics than went on in the institutions, I also follow Hansen’s view that the institutions were singularly central to Athenian political experience. They were how Athenians made sense of themselves and their politics. Athenians would probably agree with Hansen’s claim that everything of importance happened in the Council, the Assembly, and the courts. But they would not disagree with Ober’s position that “mass ideology” crucially informed what happened in the institutions. In this introduction I would like to sketch out very briefly the two public spheres as ideal types (keeping references and argument to a minimum). In reality, as the rest of the book will show at greater length, the boundary between them was porous and shifting.

The institutional public sphere By “institutional public sphere” I mean the sphere of the Council, the Assembly, and the courts. Institutional time and space were clearly marked as separate and special. In the Council, a slight and permeable barrier marked the separation between authorized participants and onlookers (Ar. Kn. 640–2; Xen. Hell. 2. 3. 51). For the Assembly, a banner went up to tell citizens that it was time to come down to the Pnyx, the normal meeting site for most of the classical period.12 A red rope went out to close down the area to regular traffic. When the

10 Seminal is R. Osborne 1990. See more recently N. Jones 1999; Ismard 2010. 11 Still fundamental here is G. M. Calhoun 1964 [1913]. 12 See especially Hansen 1987. The institutional public sphere 9 audience had assembled and was standing or sitting (although mostly sitting), sacrifice purified the space and then the herald stepped forth and announced the meeting open with the ritual call, “Who wishes to speak?” Although in theory anyone could speak at that point, there was a recognizable group of habitual speakers who had the skill and inclination to speak. These were called rhetores, “speakers,” or politeuomenoi, “they who engage in politics.” Nor could they speak about any matter they wished in any way they wished. A basic principle of Athenian government was that nothing could go before the Assembly unless the Council put it on the agenda for the meeting. Failure to stick to the topic, or a choice to engage in personal abuse, could lead to a steep fine (Aeschin. 1. 35). Only citizens could attend. This meant, in principle, that everyone in the audience was an adult male born of a citizen father and citizen mother in lawful wedlock and raised as their legitimate son. Athenians took all their important decisions here, ranging from how to fund pressing needs at home to how to deal with problems and opportunities abroad. The moment of decision must have been electric. Aeschylus describes it with a striking metaphor tinged with religious awe: “The air shuddered [ἔφριξεν αἰθήρ] as the assembled demos raised their right hand to ratify the proposal” (Suppl. 607–8; cf. Pl. Rep. 387c). Courts were just as important for politics as the Council and the Assembly. Like them, they also limited who could participate and how they could do so. Again, in most cases only citizens could serve as jurors.13 At least in the fourth century, the jury selection process was quite complex, involving several rounds of allotment and assign- ment in order to collect a random but also representative sample of the Athenian citizen body on every jury.14 The courts also had specific norms of communication. Freer than in the Assembly, but less free than in the Areopagus, an oath enjoined speakers to stick to the topic, but, judging from extant oratory, this was interpreted with considerable latitude (AP 67. 1).

13 The big exception was maritime cases, where non-Athenians could participate without requiring a citizen-intermediary. The special nature of this field of law was probably because foreigners were very important for the grain trade. See E. Cohen 1973; Lanni 2006: 149–73. 14 The court procedure changed over time. For reconstruction of the phases of development see Boegehold 1963; 1995. Bers 2000 rightly underscores the ritualistic nature of the late fourth-century procedure, about which we know the most. The effect was to separate jury service from ordinary experience. 10 Introduction

It was no easy task to speak. As a character in a fragment of Euripides put it, “fear strikes the mouth dumb and prevents the mind from saying what it means” (Eur. Fr. 67 N). The speaker here refers specifically to a homicide trial, but the principle was valid more widely. The challenge of addressing an audience of hundreds, if not thousands, helps explain the appearance at the end of the fifth century of professional speech-writers, who undertook in exchange for a fee to advise the insecure speaker in all aspects of his case, including writing his speech for him (but not speaking in his stead). Modern students are struck by how amateurish Athenian courts and jurisprudence were in comparison to ours or the Romans’, that privilege professional expertise and a specific legal idiom. Although Athenian rules were rudimentary, one ignored them at his peril; for instance, about what kind of case to bring under a given set of circumstances.15 All this would have made the prospect of entering the arena of the courts especially daunting for the average citizen. We should also consider the theater to be part of the institutional public sphere, alongside the Council, the Assembly, and the courts. Discourse here could be critical of core democratic values, but it was sanctioned by the democratic authorities. There is no way to be sure about who made up the audience, or how drama contributed to public opinion, if at all.16 The case for tragedy is especially elusive and hotly debated.17 A powerful taboo prevented tragedians from referring to current events too explicitly, but that has not stopped scholars from detecting attempts to intervene in public discussion about an issue or event. The pro-Argos aside in Aeschylus’Eumenides (762–74) is the most explicit of such moments. The case for Old Comedy is easier. The plays of Aristophanes, as of those of his contemporaries such as Alexis, Cratinus, and Eupolis, abound in gossip about prominent individuals, though here too it is hard to know exactly what the playwrights intended, or what effect they had on public opinion.18 Here informal talk could be quoted, adapted, and transformed into

15 See R. Osborne 1985b. 16 Arguing for a wide audience, see most recently Roselli 2011. 17 Key contributions to this debate, over how and in what sense tragedies were political, are Goldhill 1987; Ober and Strauss 1990; Meier 1993 [1988]; Griffin 1998; Goldhill 2000. A particularly clear-eyed overview of the controversy can be found in Carter 2007. See most recently Villacèque 2013. 18 See most recently Sidwell 2009; Bertelli 2013. The extra-institutional public sphere 11 satiric art of the highest caliber. That did not change the fact that the frame was entirely formal and institutional, officially sanctioned and endorsed, and therefore not open for just anyone to participate in just any way.

The extra-institutional public sphere

Outside the formal institutions was what I am calling the “Athenian Street”: the extra-institutional public sphere. Although “professional” speakers dominated the speakers’ platform and only citizens could serve as councilmen or jurors and attend the Assembly and perhaps the theater as well, interest in politics was much broader. The extra- institutional public sphere was more amorphous and characterized by a fluidity of status and information. Xenophon gives us a glimpse of this public sphere at work in his account of Alcibiades’ return to Athens (Hell. 1. 4. 11–23). Whereas Duris of Samos characterized the return as a heroic procession, complete with music and spectacle (Plut. Alc. 32. 2–3), Xenophon has Alcibiades meet a more ambivalent reception. He has Alcibiades pause nervously as he is about to come ashore at the Piraeus, taking in the crowd before him that had gathered to greet him.19 It was a double crowd, Xenophon says, some from the port and others from the city. And two opinions were circulating in it, one pro- and the other anti-Alcibiades. He hesitates on the ship trying to read the sentiment of the crowd, unsure what to do, and does not disem- bark until he catches sight of his friends and supporters who have come to give him safe escort through the crowd to the Council and Assembly in the city. Once there, he and his supporters overwhelmingly convince the Athenians to pass a motion revoking his exile and restoring him to a position of authority. In fact, Xenophon notes, “No one spoke in opposition, because the Assembly would not have allowed it” (20). Alcibiades’ trepidation at the port contrasts sharply with his over- whelming victory in the Assembly, and underscores the gulf that could at times separate the institutional from the extra-institutional public spheres. For in contrast to the institutions, anyone, including

19 See Gygax 2006, in favor of Plutarch’s account. 12 Introduction women, foreigners, and slaves, had a share of the Street. In a famous passage, the “Old Oligarch” complains of the freedom of speech (isêgoria) that metics and slaves enjoy ([Xen.] Ath. Pol. 1. 10–12). Since this cannot refer to their right to speak in the Assembly or court it must refer to their right to speak in general, their freedom to inhabit the public sphere. He accordingly goes on to complain about the insolence of slaves who refuse to yield the way on the street; one cannot even give them a well-earned blow because of the difficulty of distinguishing citizens from slaves in the crowd. This probably applied to women also. In all likelihood, it was hard to tell a free woman from a slave woman, or a non-Athenian from an Athenian woman at a glance, because all the women in the public spaces were probably wearing veils.20 Plato goes even further in his caricature of the status indeterminacy and freedom that the democratic public sphere fostered. He jokes that even animals do not get out of your way on the street, so full are they with the freedom to walk wherever they want (Rep. 563c). Demosthenes surely exaggerates that everyone in Athens enjoyed the freedom of frank speech (parrhêsia): “Someone would encounter among you slaves with more license to say whatever they want than citizens have in some cities!” (9. 3). But perhaps, in a sense, his claim is not that far off. Sentiments such as these seem to suggest that non-citizens took an interest in political discussions and participated in the city’s democratic culture. Perhaps because this was the case, Plato advises that one should talk to one’s slaves almost entirely in commands in order to maintain the separation between statuses (Laws 777e6; cf. Rep. 549a). Theophrastus pokes fun at the “Rube” (agroikos) for discussing politics and the latest Assembly debate with his slaves and hired field- hands (Char. 4. 3). It is possible that slaves and other “marginal” people would have been among the auditors often depicted as listening to the proceedings just outside the institutions (Lanni 1997). There was no qualification to be an auditor as there was to enter the institution as a ratified member. Orators imagine that foreigners are listening to the proceedings, and are ready to evaluate the decision (Aeschin. 1. 117, 3. 224; Din. 2. 15, 3. 1). They do not claim that the informal audience included women. Jurors’ wives are (ideally?) imagined as

20 See Llewellyn-Jones 2003. The extra-institutional public sphere 13 waiting at home to find out about the proceedings when their men return (e.g. Dem. 59. 109–12). For what it is worth, Aristophanes’ Praxagora claims that she learned to orate by eavesdropping on the Assembly (Ar. Eccl. 245–6). Discussion in the institutions took the form of rhetorical performance in which one man addressed many. These might express their approval or disapproval vocally and thus provide some guidance about what they wanted or did not want to hear, but the communication was primarily uni-directional.21 In the extra-institutional sphere communication was multi-vocal and multi-directional. Here everyone could speak and comment. With a few exceptions, we have very little direct evidence of this sphere. But two places that might preserve some of its echoes are the slanderous attacks of orators and the jokes of comics. These might echo talk that originated in the extra-institutional public sphere or, conversely, the public sphere might echo talk that originated in the institutions. For my purposes these are both aspects of the same phenomenon. To judge from the diverse fare the orators serve up, Athenians had a refined taste for gossip and slander. Topics focused on an individual’s status, legitimacy, citizenly attributes, or sexual appetites.22 For instance: he’s a tattooed slave (Lys. 13. 18); his father was a slave (Dem. 30. 2, 5, 27; 18. 129); his mother was a prostitute (Dem. 18. 129–30); they are both foreigners (Dem. 45. 30, 73, 81; Aeschin. 2. 78, 3. 171 ff.); he hangs out in the Agora (Dem. 45. 4); he made his money in industry (Aeschin. 2. 93); he is a home-wrecker (Lys. 1. 15–17; 13. 66; And. 4. 10); he is a sexual deviant who has a thing for his sister (Lys. 14. 41), his wife’s mother (And. 1. 124 ff.), a seventy- year-old woman with fewer teeth in her mouth than fingers on her hands (Lys. fr. 1. 5 Carey), or just about anyone willing to pay for the favor (Aeschin. 1). Such lampooning represents a genre of popular gossip that thrived already in the fifth century, as we can see from the presence of similar attacks in Old Comedy.23 “Ancient oratory, like ancient

21 On the thorybos see Bers 1985; Allen 2000: 170. 22 See the helpful collection of passages in Süss 1910: 245–54; V. Hunter 1994: 118–19. 23 See Carey 1994; Sommerstein 1996; Bertelli 2013. To judge from Sophocles’ approximation of such insults in the debate scene of the Ajax (1226–1315), they were already a fixture of public oratory in the fifth century. For the Roman version of this tradition see Richlin 1992: 86–104. 14 Introduction comedy, was a popular medium … In both, the level of appeal was to popular opinion and prejudice” (Harding 1987: 28–9). For example, Plato Comicus wrote a whole play about Cleophon in which he presented his mother as a Thracian who could barely speak Greek, and described him as a former child prostitute (PCG fr. 60–1). Interestingly, there was cross-fertilization between comedy and oratory. Aeschines more than fifty years later was still rehashing the old gossip about Cleophon (Aeschin. 2. 76). For slanderous anecdotes had a life of their own, influencing other anecdotes and shaping a world-view in which the private virtues and vices of prominent individuals accounted for public successes and failures. They were a way to make sense of an otherwise chaotic reality. Such stories even wound up reported as facts in biographies.24 The Hellenistic writer Idomeneus of Lampsacus collected all the scandalous tales and gossip about Athenian politicians he could find into a book which unfortunately does not survive.25 He was interested in stories like the one about Themistocles riding around the Agora in a chariot either with, or harnessed to, four prostitutes (FrGrH 348 F4). Athenaeus, our source for this information, was unsure which was meant (12. 533d). Stesimbrotus picked up the story about the unsuccessful seduction of Pericles by Cimon’s elderly sister Elpinice (FrGrH 107 F5). Of course, the richest vein of gossip was about Alcibiades and his lifestyle. His notoriety in this respect, as Vickers (2008: 7) notes, was second among Greek celebrities in intensity and longevity only to that of Alexander.26 Plutarch’s Life of Alcibiades collects many of the stories in this tradition, such as his trailing a long purple cloak while walking around the Agora (16. 1) – a sign of both effeminacy and arrogance.27 That this was a particularly old chestnut we can tell from a fragment of the fifth-century comic poet Archippus, who taunts Alcibiades’ son, Alcibiades IV, for imitating his father’s mannerisms including dragging the cloak behind him (fr. 48 PCG). Alcibiades’

24 See Momigliano 1993: 72 ff.; Dover 1988. 25 See Angeli 1981; C. Cooper 1997. 26 See Gribble 1999; Wohl 2002: 124 ff. 27 On the work as a collection of anecdotes see Gribble 1999: 265–7. The dragging of one’s cloak, Aristotle explains (NE 1150b1–5), signifies tryphê because one is too self-indulgent to make the effort to walk properly. The fact that it is purple signifies his arrogance in destroying an expensive item, as in the famous purple carpet-treading scene in Aeschylus’ Agamemnon (906–57). The extra-institutional public sphere 15 younger contemporary Lysias is credited with a work that contained the story that Alcibiades and his uncle Axiochus lived together with the same Hellespontene woman, and since they could not tell whose daughter her child was, they both slept with her when she came of age but insisted that she was the daughter of the other (fr. 8 Carey). Alcibiades stories were also favorites of another contemporary orator, Antiphon, who apparently collected them in a text, including the one that when he was a boy and ran away from home with a lover, his guardian Ariphron wanted to make a proclamation about it but his other guardian, Pericles (Ariphron’s brother), prevented it, arguing that if he had been killed the proclamation would do no good and that if he was safe it would only be declaring his profligacy (Plut. Alc. 3; cf. Ath. 12. 525b). All the stories seem to revolve around the theme of paranomia, or living outside of convention, which, as Thucydides (6. 15. 3–4) already notes, was a source of both the fear and the attraction he held for his contemporaries. Some might also imply thinly veiled criticism of the Alcmaeonidae, an old and aristocratic clan to whom Alcibiades and his relatives belonged.28 As I said, we generally have only literary texts to go on, and these were the products of elites. So it is almost impossible to be certain about the ultimate sources or about the contemporary popular reception of a story. We cannot access the Street directly. But we can be certain that slanderous anecdotes did not exist in a literary vacuum. One place we can catch a glimpse of the stories’ currency in the Street is on some of the early fifth-century pottery shards on which ordinary Athenians scratched the name of the prominent politician whom they would most like to see leave the city. On a few of these the inscriber took extra effort to elaborate on his choice, preserving for us a snippet of ancient gossip. Thus the famous Aristides “the just” gets a vote as “he who expelled the suppliants” (Brenne 2002: T1/38). It is uncertain what story this referred to but perhaps the inscriber was alluding to one that circulated at the time about Aristides’ mistreatment of suppliants, and thus not very “just” after all. An ostracon against Themistocles calls him katapygon (T1/150), “bug- gerer,” which is perhaps the worst thing one could call an Athenian

28 See Davies 1971: 369 ff. (APF 9688). On transgressive sexuality as a characteristic of tyranny see Wohl 2002: 139; Rosenbloom 2004a: 75–6. 16 Introduction

elite male.29 Megacles, himself an Alcmaeonid ancestor of Alcibiades, gets singled out as an adulterer, moikhos (T1/106), and as “short-hair,” which might allude to being caught as an adulterer (T1/107–8). He is also called “son of Coesura,” who might have been his father’s sister, suggesting an incestuous origin (T1/95–100).30 Most revealingly, Cimon gets hit for his too-close relationship with his sister Elpinice (T1/67). The ostracon reads, “Take Elpinice and leave!” As Besnier (2009) has recently argued, gossip and informal talk can serve various political functions. Not only can it “police” morality by commenting on supposedly deviant behavior; this is the aspect that classicists have most emphasized.31 But it is also a way of doing politics. Thus the author of the Andocidean Against Alcibiades states matter-of-factly that Cimon was ostracized because of his incestuous relationship with his sister (4. 33). Most scholars consider this text a fourth-century composition.32 But the fifth-century reception of the story is vouchsafed by some lines of Eupolis, quoted by Plutarch: “He wasn’t bad, just a lush and callous. Often he’d sleep in Lacedaemon and leave Elpinice all alone” (Cim. 15. 3; fr. 221 PCG). The story behind these lines, according to Plutarch, originally derived from a calculated whisper campaign against Cimon that sought to blunt his efforts against Ephialtes’ Areopagus reforms. The gossip about Cimon and Elpinice originally had political content, in other words, and it was widely echoed in the Street and recycled on the stage.33 The case of the gossip against Socrates was probably similarly political. Ostracism had gone out of fashion by the time of his trial so we do not have any inscribed ostraca against him that would give us a hint about contemporary public opinion, but if Plato is to be believed, the real source of the slanderous talk (diabolê) against Socrates were countless, nameless individuals talking about him over time. It is impossible to refute personally a piece of social knowledge that spreads from word of mouth: “themselves persuaded

29 For more examples see Agora 21: C22–C27. 30 On the tangle of identifying all the “Coesura’s” See Davies 1971: 380–1; Lavelle 1989. 31 See V. Hunter 1990; 1994: 96–119. 32 See Gribble 1999:154–8. 33 What was its subtext? A good guess is that of Piccirilli (1984), who reads here a criticism of Cimon’s pro-Spartan policies (Spartans were reputed to pursue unusual marital strategies). The lines of Eupolis that Plutarch cites derive from hisPoleis , which is partly premised on a contrast between new politicians and old ones; see Storey 2003: 216 ff. The extra-institutional public sphere 17 they persuaded others,” as Plato puts it (Apol. 18d). He points to Aristophanes’ depiction of him in Clouds as the reflection of long- standing gossip about Socrates, not as its source. In it Socrates comes across as a cross between natural philosopher and sophist, corrupting those willing to pay for the privilege of getting ahead by exposing them to impious ideas about nature and turning them away from god-fearing morality. Of course, this was pandering to the Street, but it is a mistake to dismiss such stories as “mere” gossip.34 Socrates was not lynched on the spot when Aristophanes staged his play. Cimon was elected general despite the talk about his sister. Cleon was also elected general in the face of the attacks against him by the comic poets. Demosthenes was not run out of town thanks to Aeschines’ heated accusations that he was a Scythian. These facts do not mean that the gossip against them was inconsequential or ineffective.35 It only means that each had more, or more energetic, supporters than detractors in the public, or at one time more than another. The case of Socrates is complicated by his perceived involvement with the revolutionary circles at the end of the fifth century, but also illustrative of how gossip could circulate innocuously for a long time but become a devastating weapon in the right circumstances. Gossip also has an important conceptual role to play. In Athens, as in other societies, it figured as the counterpart of legitimate discourse. Greek terms for “gossip,” such as diabolê, kakologia (slander), or phêmê (rumor), characterized certain kinds of discourse as illegitimate or false. Such was the kind of talk one would hear in workshops and in the Agora. It was certainly not something that belonged in the Assembly – in fact a law explicitly prohibited personal abuse in the Assembly (Aeschin. 1. 35). And yet, as I have already noted, rhetors sought to channel or create communal gossip in their speeches.36 I would suggest that they also sought to channel or create gossip

34 E.g. Harding: “[Gossip] had no lasting effect upon the victim’s career, since many of the charges, if substantiated, would have resulted in disqualification from politics” 198( 7: 31). 35 On the contrary, the gossip about Demosthenes’ bad luck appears to be long-lived and effective. Aeschines brought it up in the trial over his crown in 330 (3. 130–6). Demosthenes countered in a famous passage (18. 252–73), but continued to face attacks about it in 324 (Din. 1. 75–7). If Epistle 4 is any indication, in which Demosthenes writes against a minor politician named Theramenes who has apparently been slandering Demosthenes as a “jinx,” it required constant effort to respond to adverse gossip. 36 See Carey 2004; Rizzo and Vox 1978. 18 Introduction through the publication of their speeches, by means of which they could reach a much wider public than the audience that was, would be, or could be present for their performance. In doing so they always faced the risk that someone would turn the rumor-mill against them. Thus Aeschines in a tour-de-force of character assassination successfully charged Timarchus with being a prostitute based on nothing more than the rumors about him (1. 125 ff.). Demosthenes then turned that argument against Aeschines and accused him of being a traitor, since such was the rumor about him (19. 243–4). And finally, Demosthenes himself fell afoul of the rumor-mill when in the wake of the Harpalus affair he acquired the reputation of a rhetor-for- sale. A story circulated that depicted him as lusting after the gold of Harpalus, and blamed the bribe for his failure to speak in the Assembly (Plut. Dem. 25. 3–4). He complained peevishly in a letter he wrote from exile that other orators were tried based on the same evidence he faced and yet he was found guilty and they were not (Ep. 3. 43). Demosthenes must have known that in such a political climate of public surveillance and prurient interest in the actions of the prominent it was very difficult for one man to wield moral authority for long. Pericles was the most successful politician of the fifth century despite being a frequent target of gossip. For example, Aristophanes (Ach. 524–37) suggested that the Peloponnesian War started with a dispute over prostitutes between Athens and Megara. Some Athenians kidnapped a Megarian prostitute and then the Megarians retaliated by kidnapping two of Aspasia’s laikastriai, or “cocksuckers.”37 The fact that he remained the most powerful rhetor in the face of inces- sant gossip about his relationship with Aspasia and the influence that had on his policies does not mean that the talk about him was “mere” gossip; only that he was very skilled in defusing it. This seems to be the message of a story preserved by Plutarch (Per. 5. 1–3), in which an ordinary Athenian followed Pericles around the Agora all day hurling abuse at him (loidoroumenos). In the story, as Plutarch tells it, there is no indication of what he was complaining about. To an elite ear such abuse registers as mere noise. The story serves only to illustrate the otherworldly calm of Pericles’ demeanor. For at the end of the day,

37 On Pericles in comedy see Schwarze 1971; Vickers 1997. The extra-institutional public sphere 19 when the abusive man had followed him all the way home without letting up, Pericles graciously instructed one of his slaves to light his way back. Depending on how the leaders responded to it, such ridicule and abuse had the potential to impact their status and ability to influence policy. In the story, Pericles used it as a way to illustrate his high-mindedness.38 The “politics of reputation” could crush a lesser politician. From this perspective, one reason behind the strength of Athenian democracy was the fact that its leaders were constantly exposed to the ridicule of ordinary people. Deliberative democratic theorists like Habermas would surely recoil at the suggestion, but there was perhaps something productive and democratic about the Athenian penchant of “talking bad” (kakologein) about the prominent. Abuse was not mere noise. It was a form of political discourse in its own right. As Darnton (2009) has recently stressed, libels and other forms of popular literature were just as important (if not more so) a part of the political and cultural climate of eighteenth-century Europe as the serious discussions and philosophical texts on which Habermas concentrated. Bookshops and cafes were not just nodes of high-minded exchanges of information and discussions about common concerns. They were also where people gathered to read aloud and discuss the latest slander against aristocrats and government officials. Ancient social historians prefer to view the phenomenon of gossip as a form of social control or enforcement of communal norms.39 We might also see it, in part, as a reaction to the exclusion from the institutions where the elite held sway. Lording it over the Council, Assembly, and the courts, out in the public the prominent were no better than the average man, and in fact quite worse. As one speaker put it, “Rhetors are like snakes. All snakes are hateful. The vipers [ekheis] among them hurt people, but the rat snakes eat the vipers” (Hyp. fr. 80 Jensen). Gossiping about the prominent gave ordinary people a weapon. They did not have to rely on the friendly snakes to “eat” the vipers. They did it themselves.

38 Connor 1971: 119–28 calls attention to Pericles’ skill in defusing gossip about his too-close relationship with Sparta. For the “image-work” of fifth-century politicians more generally see Mann 2007. 39 See D. Cohen 1991; Hunter 1994. 20 Introduction

A synthesis To understand how extra-institutional politics worked, and how it related to institutional politics, we need a different model of the public sphere than that of Habermas. Danielle Allen (forthcoming) has sketched a more useful model for my purposes. As other recent theorists of the public sphere have also stressed, Allen argues that it is incorrect to speak of a public sphere.40 Rather there are always several that intersect and overlap in multiple ways. Each society has its own configuration of public spheres, each one with its own internal logic and external relation to the other spheres. In Athens, the public sphere of the institutions was simply the most prominent and immediately consequential of these; Allen calls it the “structural decision- making sphere.” This is where the big, binding decisions were made. In Athens this sphere emphasized a specific kind of rhetorical performance and a certain kind of rule-based deliberation. Although it often certainly fell short of its ideals, it ostensibly aimed to produce an outcome by following a particular kind of “public reason,” which meant making specific kinds of arguments that others would recog- nize as legitimate to that arena.41 Alongside this formal, institutional sphere was another, informal one. It existed in parallel with it but was significantly more inclusive and amorphous. It existed wherever people gathered and socialized. Its most visible manifestation to us now is the myriad associations and groups in which Athenians organized themselves: phratries, demes, orgeônes, eranoi, thiasoi, hetaireiai, etc.; Allen calls this sphere “expressive community.” Occasionally what went on in this sphere could influence the work of the institutional sphere. What all public spheres have in common, for Allen, is that they are spaces through which discourse “flows.” As Allen notes, “Public spheres are built out of relations between speakers and listeners or audiences, points of contact where language flows from one person to the next.” The metaphor of “flow” is an especially evocative one, and quite appropriate for Athens. For Athenian writers also use

40 See especially Warner 2002: 65–124. 41 For the term “public reason,” see Rawls 1997. Of course, Rawls would not have recognized as legitimate the arguments Athenians recognized as legitimate, such as personal attacks. For an interesting reading of Athenian politics alongside Rawls see Liddel 2007. A synthesis 21 this metaphor to describe the Athenian public sphere. Thus Plato characterizes this as a “stream” of voices of praise and blame that sweeps up tender-hearted youths and brings them into a consensus with the mass. He has both institutional and non-institutional dimensions in mind, for he lists “assemblies, courts, theatres” but he also goes on to list “army camps, and any other sort of common gatherings of the crowd” (Rep. 492c6). Isocrates also uses the metaphor to describe the non-institutional public sphere as a swollen, rushing river in which false images of people circulate

(15. 172).42 Isocrates in particular was complaining that Athenian public opinion had a false image of him, and this led to loss in an antidosis procedure before a jury. For discourse that took shape in one public sphere could influence discourse that took place in another, and lead to an institutional outcome. That outcome would itself become a topic of conversation in the informal sphere, leading to further dissemination of an idea or a topic and the crystallization of a piece of gossip into a social fact. Adopting a broader view of the Athenian public sphere has consequences. Most basically, we will have to rethink what we mean by “participation.” We will have to speak of degrees of participation, ranging from formal, primary participation to informal, secondary participation, and we will have to give these proportional weight. Although only citizens could participate in the formal institutions actively, whether as audience-members or speakers, the institutions relied on the informal secondary participation of Athenian social networks in order to put their verdicts into effect. The voices of women, slaves, and metics could thus be consequential in the informal sphere insofar as they were active there. The informal public sphere was not the egalitarian space that Habermas imagined for eighteenth-century Europe. Although slaves, women, and foreigners had more of a voice in it than they did in the formal one, they still experienced discrimi- nation. The ideology of citizenship that sought to draw a firm line between citizens and all others was powerful and pervasive, even if its effect was often attenuated in practice.

42 Compare also Megabyzus’ characterization in Herodotus of the demos as a swollen river, moving “without mind” (3. 81. 2). 22 Introduction One might object, with Finley, that such participation does not amount to politics because the interests of women, slaves, and foreigners were not represented in the institutions.43 Indeed, as far as we know, no legislation passed or was proposed that directly challenged the status quo of slavery or the marginalization of women. To this objection I would reply, in the first place, that Athens did grant citizenship to slaves who served militarily, especially in the aftermath of the Peloponnesian War.44 This is often seen as a sign of desperation, and it certainly was that, but it is hard to imagine how it would come about unless the slaves themselves were advocating for their interests. Furthermore, the notion of “interest” is strictly speaking a modern one, as is the view of politics as a tug-and-pull between self-interested individuals.45 This is to set the bar too high. It is an impoverished view of politics that only counts as political acts that pursue an economic or social interest by means of a formal, institutional decision. The idea of politics that informs this book is one where the central concern is the production of public meaning.46 That is not to say that the concept of interest is unimportant, rather that it is subordinate. As we will see, practitioners of street politics, whether elite politicians or lowly slaves, always had an agenda. A further consequence of adopting this model is to see the non- institutional public sphere as a distinct arena of action and discourse with its own logic and its own set of resources. It would have been a mistake for Athenian politicians to ignore this arena and to focus exclusively on what went on inside the institutions. In fact, as we will see, that was not the case. It was quite common in the fifth century for politicians to stage publicity stunts in order to shape sentiment or spark interest. The citizen-public would then carry that sentiment with them into the institutions, and with the aid of carefully chosen procedures it might lead to an institutional decision. This decision would then feed back into communal streams of discourse, bringing about the decision that the institution had enacted. Like their stunt-

43 See especially Finley 1983: 97–121. 44 See R. Osborne 2000. 45 See Hirschman 1977. 46 “By politics I do not mean court intrigues or fighting among social groups over interest or position … but a collective activity whose object is the institution of society as such” (Castoriadis 1997a: 272). See Hammer 2009 for a useful summary of different approaches to ancient politics. Plan of the book 23 pulling counterparts of the fifth century, fourth-century politicians were also active in the informal sphere. But they did so by circulating written texts and hiring “gossip-mongers” (logopoioi) who disseminated their point of view among the broader public.

Plan of the book This is not a comprehensive study of Athenian politics or the Athenian political system.47 I am interested in politics outside the civic institutions, what forms it took, who engaged in it and why, and how it related to politics within the institutions. I begin with a description of the Agora, as it has been reconstructed based on archaeological and literary evidence. I especially focus on the close proximity of non-institutional and institutional space as it developed over time. Athenians clearly did not see the need to separate these spaces as much as we do, or even as much as the Romans did. The physical barriers they put up between institutional and non-institutional space were quite flimsy and porous. It is interesting that they sought to separate them at all. Chapter 2 continues the descriptive portion of the book, moving from the physical environment of politics to its social context. Scholars have increasingly become interested in Athenian forms of association and social networks. Here I will highlight especially the “mixed” features of the late fourth-century networks that allowed them to function as non-institutional spaces of interaction between people of diverse social status. In the course of the fourth century, the evidence suggests, more and more people are visibly involved in associational life; not just citizens but increasingly foreigners, women, and slaves. Associations were spaces of interaction but not necessarily egalitarian interaction, as we can deduce from the membership lists that often reproduce and maintain status-based distinctions. Interestingly “mainstream” Athenian political thought sought to downplay or marginalize the role of the informal sphere, marking as illegitimate efforts to pursue politics outside the institutions or by non-institutional codes of conduct. Although Athenian ideology insisted that politics should only take place in politically legitimate

47 An outstanding account can be found in Bleicken 1995. 24 Introduction forums and forms, politicians knew that if they wanted to reach the public they would have to tap into the non-institutional sphere as well. Chapter 3 examines this tension by focusing on the practice of supplication (hiketeia) and the discourse about it. Critics argued that it was illegitimate to engage in “pitiable theatrics” aiming to elicit the pity of juror. They claimed that jurors, acting in an official role, should respond only to reasoned arguments, not emotional appeals. And yet, as Chapter 4 shows, at some point the Athenians institutionalized supplication, legitimizing the practice by turning it into a regularly scheduled event in the Assembly. Interestingly, the people who most benefited from this development were not the suppliants, who never received something that others did not receive without supplicating. I suggest it was the sponsors who benefited the most. These received the opportunity to play the role of protector of suppliants, a role with particular associations in Athenian myth. Chapter 5 considers further politically “illegitimate” theatrical behavior and its uses. It brings together and examines instances of what we might call publicity stunts. Originally coined in the early twentieth century, the term “publicity stunt” captures perfectly what fifth-century politicians sought to accomplish by staging events or happenings that aimed to get the crowd talking in order to shape public sentiment about an issue and bring about a specific institutional decision. Such events appear to be common in the sixth and fifth centuries, but all but vanish from the record after the end of the fifth century, and I propose some possible reasons why that might have happened. Chapter 6 seeks to establish the point that it was not just high-placed politicians who sought to take advantage of the rumor-producing resources of the informal public sphere. Our sources concentrate almost exclusively on the doings and sayings of the prominent and elite, but it is possible to catch a glimpse of a much broader political culture just beyond their field of focus. For instance, as I try to show in that chapter, in the Theseion runaway slaves orchestrated stunts that could enable them to escape their masters by crafting, and publicly validating, new, “free” identities. As I said above, such a practice does not rise to the level of politics if we define politics as solely what took place in the institutions or as what affected entire classes of individuals. But it was indeed political from the perspective of the Street. Plan of the book 25 For it involved orchestration and coordination, and it contributed to institutional proceedings that could lead to a concrete outcome that served a particular interest. At the very least it speaks to a sort of agency that slaves, by definition, ought to have lacked. The final chapter turns to Plato, and considers how he too sought to use the Athenian Street to further his philosophical agenda. Scholars have long realized that in his Laws Plato drew heavily on

Athens as a model for his “second-best” utopia.48 One of the aspects that his Magnesia incorporates is a distinction between institutional and non-institutional public spheres. He pays special attention to how people interact in formal and informal arenas, and how that interaction can (or ought to) influence institutional proceedings and outcomes. In so doing he seeks to transform Athenian practices of informal talk into a more rational and self-aware mode of discourse that allows citizens to police not just others but themselves as well.

48 Especially Morrow 1960a; Piérart 1974. chapter 1 A tour of the Agora

There are always people, always a rabble [i]n the agora, the populace (ochlos) milling around the ecclesia. Hence, the unbreakable rule guaranteeing the citizenship of the absent. (Rancière 1995 [1992]: 17)

When most people conjure up an image of Athenian democracy they probably imagine the Assembly: the mass, loud gatherings of citizens on the Pnyx.1 Here the citizens listened to the competing speeches of rhetors and voted on the proposals before them that would determine the future course of the city in war and peace. The term for Assembly is ekklêsia, or more commonly simply dêmos because in a very real sense the Assembly represented the “people” as a whole. The main meeting place for the Assembly during most of the time of interest here, the democratic fifth and fourth centuries, was on Pnyx hill just west of the Acropolis.2 When there was no meeting this was a relatively quiet part of the city. According to Aristophanes, people preferred to congregate in the Agora (Ach. 20–1; cf. Eccl. 300–3). During the hard years of the mid-fourth century many buildings in the area of the Pnyx fell into disrepair and it became a spot for shady encounters (Aesch. 1. 81–2; cf. Xen. Poroi 2. 6). This was typical of areas next to the city walls. At the end of the fourth century the main meeting site moved to the Theater of Dionysus. The site of the Assembly on the Pnyx found itself literally marginalized, outside the newly built fortifications.3

1 That we do this, but should not, is the argument of Cammack 2013. She suggests that the courts are a better place to look to for understanding Athenian democracy. I privilege the Street over both. 2 See Thompson198 2; Forsén and Stanton 1996. 3 See Thompson and Scranton 1943.

Figure 2. Reconstruction of the Agora, looking southwest toward the port. Connolly included in his illustration a “racetrack” through the Triangle; more recent studies have doubted it existed (see Miller 1995: 216–18). He rightly depicts the Triangle as full of merchants’ tents. (Credit: Peter Connolly/akg-images) 28 A tour of the Agora While Athenians made their big decisions on the Pnyx, the real heart of Athenian politics was the Agora. This was also the heart of Athenian commercial and social life. The Agora’s blending of the civic with the commercial was uncomfortable for some contemporaries, who would have preferred to segregate its various functions into separate areas.4 For instance, Aristotle argued that it would be ideal for a city to have two agoras, one for citizens and one for commerce and non-citizens (Pol. 7. 12 1331a19–b13). In this scheme, the “free” agora should be a space for citizens to socialize with each other in their common meals (syssitia) and to take turns ruling and being ruled. This would be a space for citizens and only for citizens. The other agora, the “necessary” one, as he calls it, should be for commerce and for those citizens whose office would be to oversee commerce. He thus draws a sharp line between two public spheres: the one focused on ruling and exclusively for citizens, the other focused on commercial exchange and primarily for non-citizens. The only time non-citizens should enter the free agora, he suggests, is when the magistrates have invited them. Needless to say, the Athenian Agora was a far cry from Aristotle’s ideal. In fact, it is quite likely that Aristotle conceived his ideal against the background of the real, “mixed” Agora of Athens. For in the Agora, civic-institutional functions squeezed cheek-by-jowl against commercial ones. Institutions sought to create a separation between citizens and non-citizens, and citizenly and non-citizenly modes of interaction. That separation inevitably broke down in practice. This is important to underscore because the view of the Agora as a purified space (purified of commerce and industry, in particular) is still a common one.5 The point here is not simply to argue that Athenians were comfortable with a greater degree of proximity between commercial and civic function than we are, which they certainly were, but also to understand how they kept them apart.

4 For discussion see especially Millett 1998. 5 That this view is changing can be seen most clearly in Rotroff200 9. In her most recent work, Rotroff (2013) studies the remains of pyres found in houses around the square, suggesting they are the remains of ritual connected to industrial activity. A brief history of the Agora 29

A brief history of the Agora When Pausanias visited the Agora shortly after the middle of the second century CE, it would have looked to him much like any other Roman forum, heavily built up with large and impressive structures with distinct cultural, ritual, and civic functions. The Odeon of Agrippa and transplanted Temple of Ares had already occupied the triangular central space that had been left unbuilt for centuries. The space had mostly shed its economic functions by this time. These had migrated just east to the Agora of Caesar and Augustus, an impressive and orderly rectangular space with colonnades on each side providing ample rooms for shops. The “Roman Agora” was paved in marble and featured a large latrine nearby.6 The classical Agora had never been orderly. It was not paved. The roads were covered in gravel. Athenians tended to throw refuse on the street, which could lead to problems with drainage (cf. Dem. 55. 22).7 In 320 they undertook the job of cleaning up the Agora in the Piraeus. This entailed smoothing over the surface and also making sure that people stopped defecating in the

Agora and its nearby streets (IG II2 380. 10, 34–45).8 We can assume that this was also a problem in the central Agora, for it certainly had no latrines. In fact we hear of individuals, the koprologoi, whose business it was to collect excrement and to carry it beyond the city walls (AP

50. 2). Presumably this was from both human and animal sources.9 In the period that interests us, the democratic fifth and fourth centuries, the Agora was laid out in a way that would have struck Pausanias not only as dirty but also as archaic, with “the stoas apart from each other and separated,” as he described the agora of Elis (6. 24. 2). Decades of painstaking work by archaeologists and researchers allow us to reconstruct the form and history of the Agora as it developed, piecemeal and haphazardly, over time.10

6 See Travlos 1971: 28–9, 342; Hoff1989 a. On the differences between Roman and Greek sanitation standards see Strabo 5. 3. 8. 7 For archaeological evidence of this problem see Lalonde 1968: 132–3, who connects it with the crowding associated with the first phase of the Peloponnesian War, but very likely it was a constant problem. 8 Reading the more economical κοπρῶ[σαι rather than κοπρῶ[να at 38–9, as suggested by Vatin 1977: 557. 9 See Owens 1983, who suggests that the koprologoi were private entrepreneurs, not public slaves. See also Kostaki 2006: 178–87. 10 For the following I especially rely on Wycherley 1957; Thompson and Wycherley 1972; Camp 1986; 2001. 30 A tour of the Agora This had not always been the center of Athens. Some archaeologists believe that the earliest center was located about half a mile to the east, on the eastern or northeastern side of the Acropolis, which has not been excavated thoroughly. This identification is based on the discovery of an inscription identifying the site of the Aglaurion, one of the oldest shrines of Athens. The confident placement of the Aglaurion also provides the vicinity of the Theseion and other sites that feature prominently in early Athenian history.11 The Theseion in particular will concern me in Chapter 6. It is possible that this area was known as the “Old Agora,” to distinguish it from the new one, although that name appears only once and in a late source.12 But if that name is authentic, it might preserve the memory of an older center of Athenian politics and civic cult. Shear (1994: 242–5) has argued that the “new” agora, the Agora we know, was created c. 500 in association with the reforms of Clisthenes. He suggests that the very “herald’s stone” on which heralds had announced verdicts and announcements, and on which Solon himself perhaps stood to proclaim his famous “Ode to Salamis,” might have been physically transported to its new site, near the later Royal Stoa on the northwestern edge of the Agora, which perhaps was built for that very occasion.13 This became the very spot where magistrates, arbitrators, and witnesses would swear their oaths (AP 55. 5). If Shear is right about the link between the democracy and the Agora, the project would have continued or taken over a process begun under the Pisistratids. The earliest structures, the spring at the southern foot of the Agora, the Altar of the Twelve Gods at its northern apex (which was meant to be the center from which all distances were measured in Attica), and the notorious “Building F,” directly beneath the later Tholos, all date to around 520.14 Other remains are scanty

11 See Dontas 1983; N. Robertson 1998; Harris-Cline 1999; R. Osborne 2007.

12 The first- to second-century CE lexicographer Harpocration, citing Apollodorus, a myth- ographer from the second century BCE: FrGrH 244 F 113. For a skeptical perspective see Kenzler 1997. 13 “The evidence for the date of the building is somewhat puzzling. The architectural elements … should be dated on stylistic grounds to the middle years of the 6th century BC. Pottery from under the floor, presumably thrown in when the building was constructed, dates to the years around 500 BC, however … [T]his discrepancy is odd, and not easily explained” (Camp 1986: 53). 14 This structure has been considered the possible “town home” of the Pisistratids. It would thus represent a transformation of tyrannical space into a democratic idiom (see Camp A brief history of the Agora 31 at best, but the presence of wells which cease to function after the Persian sack in 480 suggests that it was used in some way, although it is impossible to be more specific than that. Once located at its new home the Agora quickly sprouted purpose- built official and administrative buildings. Right beside Building F the Athenians decided to build a Council house, the so-called “Old Bouleuterion.” Around the end of the fifth century a new Council house went up just west of the old one. They (or perhaps the Persians in 480) had already demolished Building F, and partly over it they built the Tholosc . 470, the only round structure in the Agora.15 This building’s function was specifically to house the prytaneis, the executive committee of fifty men, for the duration of their shift. By the third century this district, the Council and Metroon and Tholos, would be known as Prytanikon after them.16 During their office the prytaneis ran the Council, which was responsible for setting the agenda for the Assembly. Running alongside this district was the area’s main drainage artery, known to archaeologists as the “Great Drain.” This, perhaps the most significant public work in the area before the Roman period, merits a brief digression. It pales before Roman waterworks, and probably did not solve all the sanitation problems associated with the dense concentration of people and animals in one small place. But it certainly improved the lives of the people who lived around the Agora considerably. Before the construction of the Great Drain they had

1986: 44–5; 1994; Shear Jr. 1994: 330–1; Anderson 2003: 92–103). But, as Papadopoulos (2003: 296, n. 142) points out, the archaeological evidence is not sufficient to support the interpretation. The structure’s location under the Tholos is perhaps the most suggestive piece of the evidence: it would be fitting if the democracy built a structure to house its most important administrative activity, setting the agenda for Assembly debate, over the ruins of the tyrants’ palace. Papadopoulos plausibly suggests instead that the building might have been a potters’ workshop, which is in keeping with his view of the area’s main industrial use (hence why the area was also called Ceramicus, that is, “Potter’s Field”). A seventh-century kiln was located close by, and the neighboring Building H might have been some sort of pottery oven. 15 Why round? If its main function was dining it would seem that a rectangular building with an off-center door would serve better, especially for a crowd of fifty men. F. Cooper and Morris 1990 have shown that they must have dined sitting up, and that that precisely might have been the point of the roundness of the Tholos, namely to underscore the egalitarian way in which the councilors shared the space. The old Prytaneion still existed, where guests and honorands were wined and dined, most likely in the “Old Agora.” The Tholos would be the “kitchen table” of the democracy, not the dining room. 16 See Vanderpool 1935.

KOL ONOS AGO RAIOS

CEMETER

K H

BROILING R O PITS

A D

W A J

BUILDING F

TEMPLE of OLD BOULEUTERION METER

ROADWAY

GREAT DRAIN BOUNDARY STONE of the AGORA 0510 20 30 meters

RCA 4/1992

Figure 3. Plan of the Council district showing “Building F” beside the Old Bouleuterion. The circle indicates the future site of the Tholos. (Credit: Agora Excavations, American School of Classical Studies at Athens) A brief history of the Agora 33

Dip Hastings street ylon gate

Theseion AGORA Sacred gate street Philip street St. Boundary stone IV CENT. B.C. of kerameikos Poikile stoa Railwa Altar y

ver idanos ri Er Hephaistos street

St. Philip

al stoa y

Ro Altar Hadrian street of the 12 gods Shops Eschera

Stoa of Zeus

Hephaisteion

Apollo patroos Square Great Dr ain per Street of the panathenaia istyle

ion

Bouleuter ymous heroes Metroon eion street

ysak

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The Epon

Tholos Boundary stones of agora

Drain

Strategeion Rectangular South stoa I Drain Acropolis Piraeus peribolos gate S.W. S.E. fountain house Fountain Mint house House Shrine Poros 0 50 100 building Meters

Figure 4. Plan of the Agora as it would have been in the fourth century. The “Rectangular Peribolos” is now identified as the Aiakeion. The “Strategeion” has recently been interpreted as a commercial/industrial structure (Rotroff 2009: 45–6). (Credit: Agora Excavations, American School of Classical Studies at Athens) been using cesspools in their courtyards or by their doors. Rainwater running down from the higher ground to the south would wreak havoc with those arrangements, as shown by the layers of silt that archaeologists had to dig through. The Great Drain served to direct into the Eridanus the water pouring down the slopes of the Agora, via an underground channel with stone slabs as a cover. After it was built, houses developed channels that fed into it.17 The building

17 Thompson and Wycherley 1972: 179. 34 A tour of the Agora of the Great Drain was probably a remarkable story, one only the stones tell us. Given the association of tyrants with waterworks, it used to be dated to the reign of the Pisistratids, but archaeologists now believe its first phases belong to the early fifth century, after the sack of Athens by the Persians in 480, and perhaps in association with building activity in the Council house district.18 Particularly intriguing is the southwestern extension, which archaeologists date to the early fourth century. This cut around tightly packed homes following the contours of a pre-existing street. We can physically see the boundary lines of the homes because the masonry along each section is different, as if a different mason was responsible for each. “There is something characteristically Athenian about the procedure” (Thompson and Wycherley197 2: 196). To resume our tour: directly next to the Great Drain stood the monument of the Eponymous Heroes. This statue-group was one of the few statues in the area until the end of the fourth century (cf. Dem. 20. 70). The other prominent statue-group was the famous statues of Harmodius and Aristogiton, “the Tyrannicides” whom the Athenians credited with ending the tyranny of the Pisistratids.19 The Eponymous Heroes, each of whom was the namesake for one of the ten tribes, were the official bulletin board of Athens. At their base magistrates would publicize important information about, for example, proposed laws, notices of lawsuits, and lists of those called up for military service.20

18 Thompson and Wycherley197 2: 194. On the chronology see Francis and Vickers 1988: 154–5. We would like to know what the area was like before it became the Agora. Was the area relatively residential (as the presence of wells suggests), or a potters’ quarter on the outskirts of the main settlement, as Papadopoulos 2003 argues? This makes a difference for our understanding of the space and the forces that shaped it over time. Was the Great Drain built as part of a singular vision to create a monumental Agora? Or was it part of a more haphazard process? This in turn makes a difference for our view of political agency on the ground. If the area was already developed and commercial, it means that busy, overcrowded people democratically decided to coordinate their efforts to get the Great Drain built. Certainly the street under which it was built was an old one, dating back to the eighth century and changing little in response to the construction of Building F (Kostaki 2006: 270–4). This suggests that it was already bordering on defined areas of habitation and activity. It certainly would not have been an easy task to get the Athenians to agree to put their lives on hold while they dug a 3 foot deep and 3 foot wide ditch right under the main artery to the port. 19 See Thompson and Wycherley197 2: 155–60. 20 See the testimonia gathered in Wycherley 1957: 85–90. The present statue group dates to the middle of the fourth century. Before then another statue group filled the same function, A brief history of the Agora 35 The buildings of the Council district had solely civic functions. Sometime around 500 the first stoa goes up, the Stoa Basileios (or Royal Stoa), perhaps shortly after the Council house. The Stoa Poikile (or “Painted” Stoa) across the Panathenaic Way joins it c. 470–460. To the north of the Council house district on the same side of the street the much larger Stoa of Zeus Eleutherios joins them c. 420.21 These buildings were of mixed use. The Basileios took its name after the head magistrate of Athens (the Basileus) who dined and held court there. It was to the Stoa Basileios that Socrates went for a preliminary hearing of Meletus’ indictment for impiety (Pl. Euthyph. 2a). Sometimes the Areopagus met there. On those occasions a rope restricted access, suggesting that at other times people could use the space informally ([Dem.] 25. 23). In Xenophon’s Oeconomicus Socrates meets Ischomachus relaxing by the Stoa of Zeus (6. 17). In Plato’s Theages Demodocus takes Socrates there for a quiet chat about his son (121a). We do not know what kind of official function the Stoa of Zeus filled, but from the fact that inscriptions were set up in front of it we can guess that it did have such functions.22 By the fourth century it would feature paintings by the famous painter Euphranor glorifying Athens and Athenian democracy (Paus. 1. 3. 3–4). Famous paintings were also in the Stoa Poikile, that archaeologists currently locate to the north, across the Panathenaic Way. Its paintings depicted famous battles, including the Trojan War, the War against the Amazons, and (most notably) Marathon.23 This was the stoa that gave its name to the Stoics, followers of Zeno who held court in its vicinity. The evidence presents it also as a space available for a wide variety of uses.24 Otherwise it would not have been possible for Zeno and his students to occupy it as they did; Diogenes Laertius tells us that they sat on benches as he lectured for hours (7. 1. 14; cf. 7. 1. 5). It was also a favorite haunt for beggars. One eager but vacuous student so annoyed Zeno that he made him sit with the

but was located somewhere else. Shear argued that the old group was located immediately southwest of the new one, not far from the Council along the same street (Shear Jr. 1970: 203 ff.). 21 A fourth stoa is mentioned by Aeschines, the Stoa of the Herms (3. 183). It has not been identified yet. N. Robertson 1999 suggests that it was another name for the Stoa Basileios. 22 Thompson and Wycherley 1972: 102. 23 For discussion of the paintings see Castriota 1992: 76–88. 24 Thompson and Wycherley 1972: 92–3; Camp 1986: 72. 36 A tour of the Agora beggars, so that when his clothes got dirty by the contact with them he got up and left (D. L. 7. 1. 22). But official business went on here too. We hear of it as the site of arbitrations (Dem. 45. 17), and of a lawcourt (IG II2 1641. 25–30). It does not appear that the stoas served commercial functions at this time. That is a later development.25 But clearly the formal functions of the sites did not preclude informal uses at appropriate times. As for the courts, the Aristotelian Athenaion Politeia locates them in a sizable enclosure with ten entrances that could accommodate large crowds (63. 1 ff.). We do not know if this was a permanent structure or a temporary one. If it was temporary it might have resembled the set-up that the Athenians used to conduct ostracisms in the Agora (Philochorus FrGrH 328 F 30). The court enclosure was where the jurors were picked for duty and assigned to various courts.26 It used to be thought that the square enclosure on the southwestern edge of the Agora might have been the site for this, but that space is now identified as the Aiakeion.27 Archaeologists’ best guess about the location of the courts is beneath the remains of the Hellenistic Stoa of Attalus. There a series of four buildings began to go up around the end of the fifth century.28 Previously ramshackle houses had stood on the spot, perhaps built by the refugees that crowded into Athens at the outbreak of the Peloponnesian War; Thucydides complains that they set up homes in any open space they could find (2. 16. 2–17. 1). By the end of the fourth century a single square structure (the “Square Peristyle”) would stand there. Both the Square Peristyle and its predecessors probably served as courts, judging from a concentration of jury-related paraphernalia found there, including bronze tokens and ballots. Townsend

25 “Markets, processions, some law courts and meetings, as well as the social gatherings of those with no work to do, took place in the market square … [It was not] desirable to have the surrounding buildings cut off from the area of these activities, and so the stoa was obviously suitable, being sheltered and separate, but because of its colonnade still closely connected with the outside world” (Coulton 1976: 25, my italics). 26 Boegehold 1995 reads the description as necessitating a single court complex. Is it possible that it was just the place where the jury assignments were made? 27 Stroud 1998: 85–108. 28 Most extensively, see Townsend 1995: 24–49; Boegehold 1995: 11–15. Inscriptions identify “first of the new courts,” and “middle of the new courts,” implying that they were next to each other (Boegehold 1995: 176–7, discussing Agora 19. 26. 12–13, 116–17, and SEG 25. 180. 12–21). A brief history of the Agora 37 suggests that this was where the Athenians staged the complicated jury selection procedure described by the Athenaion Politeia (63–6). Boegehold interprets the basic aim of the procedure as the isolation of the juror from outside influences. Most likely the Athenians did not take this view.29 In fact, the jurors’ colorful staves which they held as they made their way to their assigned court (65. 1–2) would have absolutely guaranteed that people would identify them, asking them where they were going, what case they were going to judge, and perhaps giving them a piece of their mind (cf. [Xen] Ath. Pol. 1. 18). In a brilliant parody of the procedure, Praxagora proclaims that she will set up allotment devices (klêrotêria) in the Agora right next to the statues of Harmodius and Aristogiton, and will allot citizens to dine in the appropriate stoas. She envisions that heralds will escort the allotted diners to the appropriate facilities based on the letter to which they had been assigned, allotting dinner panels rather than jury panels (Eccl. 681–6). If her vision for Athens resembles a carnival, it was not entirely comic invention.30 For if isolation had been the objective, the Athenians could have achieved it much more easily if they had located the courts further away from the Agora. According to the fourth-century comic poet Eubulus, everything was for sale in the same place: figs, grapes, lawsuits, chickpeas, laws, indictments (fr. 74).31 A story about Socrates in Plutarch colorfully illustrates the courts’ place in the Agora’s com- motion. Socrates was walking through the neighborhood with some friends, the story goes, when suddenly his Sign made him take a

29 See especially Boegehold 1963. It is not likely that the procedure, as AP describes it, took place entirely in the Peristyle. Townsend reconstructs the Peristyle as housing four courts, “each with a dikastic panel of 500. Each corner of the peristyle would have been given over to a separate court … The benches would all face into the corner, so that the dikasts had their backs to the other courts in order to reduce any interference from the sounds of other trials” (1995: 94). According to the description of the procedure in the Athenaion Politeia, the intent was in part to ensure that jurors went to the court to which they had been allotted (64. 4). This is why jurors would be paid at the court to which they had been originally assigned – hence the procedure calls for a roll-call of each panel from the original containers of the allotted jurors’ pinakia. To make it so easy, even inevitable, to attend to a different trial would defeat the purpose of requiring jurors to attend the trials to which they were assigned if they wanted to be paid. Athenian trials were a form of popular entertainment, but some trials were more entertaining than others. 30 For the festival nature of the proceedings see Bers 2000. 31 R. Hunter 1983: ad loc. reads the goods listed as specifically luxury goods, suggesting that the humor lies in juxtaposing a characterization of rural peace and plenty with urban litigiousness. 38 A tour of the Agora different street. His young friends laughed and stayed en route but suddenly found themselves surrounded by a crushing flock of pigs that knocked some over and covered everyone in filth; and so they received a hard lesson about the prophetic veracity of Socrates’ inner voice (Mor. 580e–f). This amusing story reveals the close proximity in the Agora of humans and animals, commerce and government. Socrates took a turn down “the box-makers’ street,” while his friends kept going down “the stone-cutters’ street.” They ran into the pigs next to the court. Such stories make the Agora seem like a chaotic jumble of activity, and that is probably how it would strike us if we were suddenly transported back in time. Nonetheless, Athenians could discern order in the chaos. At least that is what Xenophon claims in his Oeconomicus. The husband tutoring his young wife about her duties points to the Agora as a model of how to organize the household. “We know that thousands of items are available throughout our city. And yet, any slave you tell to buy something for you at the Agora will not be at a loss. It will be clear that he knows where he needs to go to get it. The reason for this is because it rests in an appointed place” (8. 22). Indeed, the Agora was divided into districts depending on the chief commodity available for sale there (Pollux 9. 47–8).32 So we hear about “the fish” (Ar. Wasps 789); “the fresh cheese” (Lys. 23. 6); and of course “the grain.”33 We also hear of a “women’s market” (Theoph. Char. 2. 9). This seems to have been the place to purchase things a woman might need, such as pots and pans (Pollux 10. 18, citing Menander), or specialized slaves (Theoph. Char. 22. 10). Slaves were also for sale in the so-called Anakeion (Dem. 45. 80), which was otherwise a shrine for the Dioscuri. Slaves could also be found in the Theseion, which was located (most likely) in the so-called Old

Agora near the Anakeion and was often confused with it.34 But the

32 These testimonia and many others are collected by Wycherley in Agora 3: 184–206. 33 We hear that it was sold in a stoa, though it is not certain which one (Ar. Eccl. 686). Nicophon’s law on silver coinage suggests that the grain market was not in the Agora proper (SEG 26. 72, 18–19). Agyrrhius’ grain tax law of 374/3 locates market activity in the Aiakeion, which Stroud 1998: 85–108 demonstrated to be the large rectangular structure next to South Stoa I. But this was probably an extraordinary procedure to deal with the distribution of an unusually large amount of grain. At any rate it is unclear if it was used for grain sales more generally. 34 E.g. Ath. Pol. 15. 4 and Polyain. 1. 21. 2. A brief history of the Agora 39 slaves in the Theseion were looking for a different kind of arrangement, as I will discuss in Chapter 6. Free casual laborers looking for employment waited around by the Eurysacion right behind the Tholos on Colonus hill; hence people called them Kolonitai, and hence the expression used for firing employees, “Go to Colonus!”

(Pollux 7. 132–3).35 As part of his recommendations for improving the Athenian economy, Xenophon suggests that permanent structures should be built to house large-scale commercial operations (Poroi 3. 12–14). This implies that such facilities did not exist yet.36 Retailers sold their wares in a variety of temporary structures. Some merchants used tents or booths made from wicker. These were the structures that, according to Demosthenes, the prytaneis set on fire in 338 to summon the citizens to an emergency assembly after the sack of Elateia by Philip (18. 169).37 Butchers also used tables (Theoph. Char. 9. 4), as did money-changers whose activity quickly became synonymous with them; even in modern Greek “table” is the etymology of “bank.” “The tables” were a favorite haunt of Socrates (Pl. Apol. 17c). We also hear about “circles” (kykloi) in which slaves were sold, presumably standing around a circle for ease of inspection. Fish was also sold in circles.38 Non-stop hawking and haggling accompanied all this activity.39 The Agora was also a residential area. In the Demosthenes passage cited above, the Council had to move residents from their tents and sheds. Archaeology confirms the area’s residential nature.40 The best-preserved houses in the neighborhood show that space was at a premium. The houses share walls and occasionally courtyards. There were no zoning laws and each person was free to build and use the

35 See Fuks 1951. 36 i.e. after the Social War in 355. By contrast, industrio-commercial activity is well attested by the fifth century (see Rotroff 2009; 2014). Xenophon seems to have had specifically whole- saling structures in mind, of the sort that are not attested before the Agora of Caesar and Augustus. 37 There is some dispute about this passage. Wycherley notes, “For the prytaneis to burn them simply to clear the agora seems most extravagant” (Agora 3: 191). He thus endorses the emendation of Girard, changing “set on fire” (ἐνεπίμπρασαν) to “unfurled” (ἀνεπεττάνυσαν). The wicker in question (gerra) would according to this emendation not be the sheds themselves, but the temporary wicker barriers that would close off access (in Schol. Ar.Ach . 22; [Dem.] 59. 90). Most editors rightly prefer the transmitted text, which serves Demosthenes’ rhetorical purposes perfectly. 38 Wycherley 1957: 188–9. 39 See S. Johnstone 2011: 12–34. 40 See Tsakirgis 2005. 40 A tour of the Agora space as he liked, provided his neighbor did not stop him. The original excavator of the so-called “Industrial District” just south of the Αgora found many examples of stairs or ramps built into streets. These would have made circulation around the Agora quite difficult if you did not know where you were going.41 But industrial activities also took place all around the Agora, not just in that district.42 We will see in the next chapter that workshops were an essential part of the Athenian Street.

How pure an Agora? Despite all this, a common view of the Agora sees it as a somewhat purified space. De Ste. Croix influentially argued that the Agora’s civic and commercial functions were kept apart (1972: 267–84). He wanted to argue that the Megarian Decree at the outset of the Peloponnesian War must have been intended to harm the Megarians primarily politically rather than economically. The decree’s point was to bar them from defending themselves in legal cases, not in keeping their products from the market, which would have harmed the Athenians as much as the Megarians. Their exclusion from the market was a secondary consequence of the fact that the main market was incidentally a part of the Agora. The presence of boundary stones and lustral basins de Ste. Croix found especially suggestive of the fact that Athenians conceived the Agora as mainly a civic space rather than a commercial one. Following this view of the Agora, in their magisterial study Thompson and Wycherley (1972: 170–3) attempted to distinguish market from civic and ritual functions. In particular they sought to push market activity to the side, placing it perhaps in the eastern side of the Triangle, beneath the Stoa of Attalus, away from the prytanikon, or Council district. The central Triangle would thus be free from structures to serve as a space for citizenly interaction.43 Yet

41 Young 1951: 166–7. 42 Rotroff 2014. 43 Thompson and Wycherley197 2: 170–3. Wycherley 1956, however, gives a different account, stressing the inextricability of commercial and civic functions: “The great bazaar quarter of Athens, which in a very real sense belonged to and indeed was the Agora, must have extended far in probably every direction” (3). See further Millett 1998, who discusses the historiographic desire of archaeologists to keep these functions apart. It is interesting in that respect that the great archaeologist of agoras, Roland Martin, supposed that the conflation How pure an Agora? 41 keeping political functions away from commercial functions is not so easy. Since they took place in temporary structures, firm archaeological proof about where commercial activity, especially retailing, was located and where it was not is hard to come by.44 But there are some indications that the Triangle itself was not off-limits to commerce. First there is the passage of Demosthenes that I cited above, claiming that when the panicked prytaneis cleared the Agora to summon an emergency meeting they destroyed the temporary structures that were there. Also, Socrates says that it is possible to buy cheap books in the “orchestra” (Pl. Apol. 26d–e). Archaeologists have not identified any archaeological remains of this “orchestra,” but ancient sources tell us that it was located near the statues of Harmodius and Aristogiton (Tim. Soph. Lex. Plat. s.v. orchêstra). These famous statues are long gone, but they still stood when Pausanias saw them in the Triangle, not far from the Odeon of Agrippa (1. 8. 5). One might counter, with Thompson and Wycherley, “Perhaps this quiet and sober trade was carried on where fish and vegetables would not have been tolerated” (1972: 171). That is possible, but there is further evidence of other kinds of trade occurring within the Triangle. A particularly suggestive piece of evidence involves the Leocorion shrine. The Leocorion has not been securely identified. One site proposed for it is the so-called “Crossroads Shrine,” a curious rectangular shrine at the northern tip of the Triangle built around a natural rock formation; but this identification is disputed.45 Wherever precisely the Leocorion was (if it was not the Crossroads Shrine), it served as a landmark in the Agora. In its vicinity Harmodius and Aristogiton murdered Hipparchus as he was preparing the Panathenaic procession between economic and political functions occurred in the classical period (1951: 283–7), while the great historian of classical Athenian democracy, Mogens Hansen, strongly resisted that suggestion (1997: 60–1). 44 As argued by Börner 1996: 71–6, the only possible traces of these structures are the holes found throughout the site that excavators usually identify as post-holes for holding up ikria, or bleachers for spectators of the Panathenaea, or as posts for supporting ropes to control the crowds watching the Panathenaea. 45 See Camp 1986: 78–82, who argues that the archaeological context is a little later than we would expect (c. 425) if it were already in existence when Hipparchus was murdered at its location, as Herodotus claims. However, it is not impossible that Herodotus was using a contemporary landmark to locate the site of the murder based on the path of the Panathenaic procession in his time; this does not necessarily mean that Herodotus knew or believed that the Leocorion actually existed in the 510s. 42 A tour of the Agora

(Hdt. 6. 57; AP 18. 3). It seems the spot was conducive to brawling: it was also near it that two groups of young men got into a fight as they were strolling up and down the Panathenaic Way (Dem. 54. 7–8).46 Significantly for my purposes, this brawl also took place nearthe market stalls of a certain Pythodorus, whose “establishment in the Agora was … apparently in a conspicuous place where it could serve as a landmark” (Wycherley 1956: 15).47 This would place commercial activity right in the heart of the Agora, insofar as the Leocorion was a central landmark. I do not wish to claim that there was no division between commercial functions and civic ones. There clearly was, but there was a particularly fine line between them. I already mentioned the men waiting for a job on Colonus hill, by the Eurysacion. Epigraphic finds suggest this shrine was quite close to the Hephaestion.48 Perhaps, then, while the prytaneis met in the Tholos to discuss important state business, or the councilors met in the Council to set the agenda for the Αssembly, a large crowd of unemployed men milled around behind the enclosure wall. We find another illustration of the close proximity of commercial and civic functions across the street from the Tholos. Just a few feet away was a house that served at one point as the workshop of a Simon whom the excavators identified with the cobbler whose house Socrates liked to frequent.49 According to Diogenes Laertius, Simon was inspired by Socrates to put down the tools of his trade and pick up a pen and write thirty-three Socratic dialogues that were published in a book – the first to write Socratic dialogues (2. 122). The identification of this house with Simon’s workshop is based on his name scratched into a potsherd, and on

46 See the topographical comments of Millett 1998: 227. Edmondson 1964 suggests that the name of the shrine is colloquial for “daughters of the people,” i.e. prostitutes, not “daughters of the hero Leos.” See also Wycherley 1965. 47 At Dem. 54. 8 note the mss. ἐγγὺς τῶν Πυθοδόρου, which implies a plural “shops” or more likely “tents”; cf. Isoc. 17. 33 for Pythodorus skênites, who is probably the same well- known merchant. Pythodorus was an associate of the important freedman banker Pasion. The speaker of Isocrates’Trapezitikos alleges that he was a Phoenician (17. 5). He also alleges that he broke open the urns with the names of the nominees as judges for the Dionysia (34–5). We do not know why he would want to do this, but this suggests he took an interest in the civic life of Athens. For another skênites see IG II2 1672. 14–15, 171, who sold many of the building supplies used for the repair of the Eleusinion in 329. A skênites in Jordan 1985: 156 (SGD 11) is explicitly identified as a slave. 48 Thompson and Wycherley 1972: 228. 49 Camp 1986: 145–7. How pure an Agora? 43 the discovery of shoemaking equipment. Whether this Simon was the Socratic cobbler or not, what matters here is the fact that a workshop stood directly across the street from the Tholos, the center of Athenian government. This illustrates the physically and metaphor- ically close connection of institutional and non-institutional sites of discourse and politics. As a matter of fact, one of the walls of the house abuts directly on to one of the Agora’s boundary stones. It was a fine and porous line between commercial and civic space, between the informal and the formal. But it was a line nonetheless. chapter 2 Athenian social networks

One of the most obvious features of political association is its tendency to make part stand for the whole. (Godwin 1976 [1798]: 283)

Few would agree today that Athens was “the model of the face-to- face society.”1 Athenians did not all have personal relationships with each other. And yet their institutions worked as if they did. They operated relatively efficiently without the benefit of a fixed enforcement apparatus, such as a police or a bureaucracy. Works were carried out, decisions were made and enforced, wars were declared and organized. This paradox troubled Finley, who first called attention to it. How could the institutions work as efficiently and effectively as they did? He repeatedly came back to this question in his studies of ancient politics because, as he admitted, “on this central aspect of politics we have only the vaguest clue” (Finley 1983: 81). He suggested that the answer had something to do with the peculiarly Greek “education” provided by a “continuing contact from childhood with public life” (28). This was not only a face-to-face society, it was also a Mediterranean society in which people congregated out of doors, on market days, on numerous festive occasions, and all the time in the harbour and the town square. Citizens were members of varied formal and informal groups – the family and household, the neighbourhood or village, military and naval units, occupational groups (farmers at harvest-time or urban crafts which tended to concentrate in particular streets), upper-class dining-clubs, innumerable private cult-associations. All provided opportunities for news and gossip, for discussion and debate. (82).

1 Finley 1985 [1973]: 17; see the criticisms of R. Osborne 1985a: 64–5.

44 Citizen associations 45 Our literary sources focus almost exclusively on what prominent men did and said within the institutions, as if “that which edoxe tôi dêmôi was constituted as true, for all social and political intents and purposes, through felicitously performed acts of collective decision and proclamation” (Ober 1994: 161). And yet behind every political issue and legal case must have been a vast amount of work on the Street. As Finley put it, “Canvassing and lobbying were surely continuous and unremitting, of a kind that we are unfamiliar with” (Finley 1983: 83). More recently, Vlassopoulos has argued for the importance in Athens of what he calls “free spaces,” that is “spaces that brought together citizens, metics, slaves and women, created common experiences and shaped new forms of identity” (2007: 38). Such spaces were especially a feature of the social landscape around the Agora, like the house of Simon the Cobbler that I mentioned at the end of the last chapter. In this chapter I will try to apply Vlassopoulos’ insight to Finley’s problem. I will look closely at Athenian associations. These have increasingly drawn scholarly attention.2 But I am interested in them not as organizations per se, or in how they developed and changed over time, but as spaces in which people socialized across statuses. For associations existed on a spectrum. Some were open only to citizens. Others provided a semi-formal arena for sociality between non-citizens or between citizens and non-citizens. The interesting thing is that to the center these marginal associations appeared suspicious and even dangerous. And yet, both kinds of associations were necessary not only to bring an issue to public attention but also to bring about the enforcement or execution of the public act. For it was along such networks that knowledge about public acts traveled.

Citizen associations In his recent work, Ober (2008) advances considerably on Finley’s insight about the contribution of associations to the success of

2 Vlassopoulos 2009b touches upon these at greater length. Athenian associations and their connection to the growth and structure of democracy are the focus of N. Jones 1999; Ismard 2010; and Kierstead 2013. Associations more generally are the focus of intensive study by the Copenhagen Associations Project (http://copenhagenassociations.saxo.ku.dk/), run by Vincent Gabrielsen. 46 Athenian social networks

Athens. It turns out Athenians had different ways to locate, share, and produce knowledge from among citizens throughout Attica. One of the most important, according to Ober, was the Council itself (Ober 2008: 142 ff.). The Council drew in people who had roots throughout Attica because each deme had to appoint a certain number of councilors based on its population. During a councilor’s term of office he would have to spend at least one month in Athens full-time; the rest of the time he needed only to be in town when the

Council was in session.3 During that month he had to live and take his meals in the Tholos with other members of his tribe. He certainly would have known others from his deme quite well; demesmen often shared not only local bonds but kinship bonds as well.4 But his tribe, after the radical Clisthenic reforms of 507, would also consist of “sister demes” from other parts of Attica, so that it was less likely that he would have personally known fellow tribesmen otherwise. As a rule each tribe consisted of men from demes of the city, the coast, and the hinterlands. Intense association in the Council among individuals with ancestral roots in different geographic areas could create or deepen bonds between them, thus weaving the Athenian social fabric together more tightly. This in turn became an effective way to identify and address pressing problems or issues. Ober rightly privileges the role of the Council as a key node of the Athenian social network and a key reason for why Athens worked as efficiently as it did. But there were other kinds of social networks in Athens through which knowledge and information might travel. Interestingly, it appears that these networks, like the Council, also brought into contact and built relationships between individuals from different backgrounds. For each councilor was not merely a

3 This is based on the assumption (based in large part on AP 64. 2) that the councilors were appointed in the deme centers. But we do not know whether the appointees would then move to the city or arrange frequent trips for Council business, or if the councilors would already reside in the city. For skepticism about frequent travel see N. Jones 1999: 94 ff. “Prominent political figures manage to be bouleutai with a suspicious frequency, and this suggests that competition with[in] the deme was not particularly strong, and that there tended to be enough men willing to serve in any year for a man not to be forced to serve his two years at times outside his control” (R. Osborne 1985a: 81). 4 On the powerful bonds between demesmen see R. Osborne 1985a; Rhodes 1986: 135–6. A good illustrative example is Euctemon, whose estate is the topic of Isaeus 6. Although he did not live in his hereditary deme of Kephisia he had multiple relationships with fellow demesmen who also lived in the city (Sealey 1960: 35–6). Citizen associations 47 member of a deme. In addition to the Council, he could belong to multiple and overlapping associations. These groups were founded on a wide variety of criteria – locality, descent, combination of locality and descent, common occupational interests, common religious interests, mutual assistance in primarily financial matters, common military service, and so on. An individual Athenian might belong to a large number of such groups, and in these groups he would associate closely with a wide range of sorts and conditions of men. (Osborne 1990: 275) Some of these associations deepened an individual’s bonds with his fellow demesmen while others developed bonds with others outside his deme. In all likelihood the more prominent, wealthy, and leisured someone was, the more associations he would belong to and the wider his network.5 For example, when Menecles, whose landed estate was considerable (Is. 2. 29), wanted to adopt a son and wanted the adoption “to take,” he introduced him to his phrateres, his demo- tai as well as his orgeônes (14–15).6 These three kinds of associations Isaeus lists also head the “Solonian” list of associations, which also includes: ship’s companies (nautai), dining clubs (syssitoi), burial clubs (homotaphoi), cultic groups (thiasotai and orgeônes), merchants (eis emporian), and pirates (epi leian oikhomenoi).7 Each one of these kinds of groups, the law suggests, had considerable latitude in how they operated. Unfortunately, we know nothing about the associations of pirates. As for the others, they appear to have organized themselves in ways that mimicked or reproduced polis-level practices; for instance, assigning officers and passing decrees honoring them, and inscribing them on stone. Osborne aptly calls them “miniature poleis” (1990: 276; cf. Poland 1909: 337–8). Each group had a ritual or cultic dimension, as well as a social one. Associations revolved around worship, including a sacrifice to a god followed by a feast. In the feast they talked and

5 See the summary of known bouleutai’s associations in R. Osborne 1985a: 66–9. Leaders’ groups of associates are discussed in Pecorella Longo 1971. As Ober points out, “in a net- worked structure, the holes between densely linked subnetworks are points of entrepreneurial opportunity because the individuals who bridge those holes gain social capital” (2008: 146). 6 On phratries see Lambert 1993; N. Jones 1999: 194–220. On demes see R. Osborne 1985a; Whitehead 1986. 7 This “law” only survives (in Greek) in a Roman legal source: Gaius 47. 22. 4, but most scholars find the list a genuinely Athenian one. See N. Jones 1999: 33–45, 311–20. 48 Athenian social networks socialized, and shared news and views about the affairs of the polis. During the feast of their phratry, the Apaturia, young boys recited poems to delight their elders and heard stories from them (Pl. Tim. 21b–22a). It was the coincidence of this feast that fed the popular frenzy against the generals in charge of the battle of Arginusae (Xen. Hell. 1. 7. 8). I will discuss this incident in detail in Chapter 5. For the presumptive heir of Menecles, induction into each of the groups would have introduced him to a different but overlapping set of relationships, thus deepening and broadening his bonds with his adoptive father’s kin and friends. In time he would be able to call on members of these groups for help and support of various kinds. For example, financial support seems to be what a certain ill-named Theosebes obtained from his various associates. We can deduce this from the fact that when his house was confiscated after he fled a charge of theft of sacred property (hierosylia), a group of phrateres and a separate group of orgeônes came forward to present their claims against the property (SEG 12. 100. 8–35). Another kind of support one could expect from one’s associates was in legal disputes, in particular as witnesses.8 A favorite rhetorical tactic against such practices of “clubbing together” was to present the group as a conspiratorial club or hetaireia. Thus one speaker in an assault case seeks to undercut the testimony of his opponent’s associates by depicting them as a group of mischievous conspirators who use their association as a weapon against their legal opponents. He imagines them confiding to each other: Won’t we testify for each other? Isn’t that what friends and hetairoi are for? What’s the terrible thing he will allege against you? Do some say that they saw him get beat up? We’ll testify that he wasn’t even touched. That his cloak was ripped off? We’ll testify that they did that first. That his lip was cut? We’ll say that your head was broken, or something else. οὐ γὰρ ἡμεῖς μαρτυρήσομεν ἀλλήλοις; οὐ γὰρ ταῦθ’ ἑταίρων ἐστὶ καὶ φίλων; τί δὲ καὶ δεινόν ἐστιν ὧν παρέξεται κατὰ σοῦ; τυπτόμενόν φασί τινες ὁρᾶν; ἡμεῖς δὲ μηδ’ ἧφθαι τὸ παράπαν μαρτυρήσομεν. ἐκδεδύσθαι

8 On the role of supporting associates acting as witnesses, see Humphreys 1985c; Scafuro 1994. On supporting speakers more generally see Rubinstein 2002. Note that it was considered illegal to agree to be a supporting speaker in exchange for money ([Dem.] 46. 26). This was part of the distrust against professional litigators. Support from “friends,” however, was another matter entirely. “Mixed” associations 49 θοἰμάτιον; τοῦτ’ ἐκείνους προτέρους πεποιηκέναι ἡμεῖς μαρτυρήσομεν. τὸ χεῖλος ἐρράφθαι; τὴν κεφαλὴν δέ γ’ ἡμεῖς ἢ ἕτερόν τι κατεαγέναι φήσομεν. (Dem. 54. 35) There is no reason to believe the speaker’s claim that this group of friends actually went around like a modern-day biker gang, calling themselves subversive names like Ithyphalloi or Autolekethoi (14).9 From their perspective they might have been supporting their friend. But to an outsider their activities might appear like those of a hetaireia that threatened to undermine the democracy. For it seems that such “clubs” were especially politically active at the end of the fifth century. They played an important role in both oligarchic overthrows of the democracy, in 411 (Thuc. 8. 54. 4) and in 404 (Lys. 12. 43, 55).10 The experience was scarring. In the fourth century voluntary associations continued to raise suspicion even though there had not been any attempt to organize them against the democracy in decades.11 Besides hetaireiai or hetaireiai-like groups, suspicion also attached to other kinds of voluntary associations; especially those that mixed statuses.

“Mixed” associations

An interesting aspect of Athenian associations is that some had the potential to be what Vlassopoulos calls “free spaces,” that is, spaces of interaction between citizens and non-citizens.12 Perhaps this contributed to a perception that they somehow threatened traditional status hierarchies. For example, the allegations against Phryne, the

9 The precise sense of these names is uncertain, but the speaker makes clear that they are not “normal.” Compare Lysias’ claim that his client’s opponents call themselves kakodaimonistai instead of noumeniastai (Lys. fr. 195. 2 Carey). Groups of fellow worshippers commonly call themselves names ending in -istai (see Poland 1909: 57–63). As Poland notes, there is no inscriptional evidence for subversive groups (56). Of course, we would not expect there to be any! 10 According to Hyperides (4. 8), writing in the 330s, the impeachment law (nomos eisaggel- tikos) explicitly addressed threats against the democratic constitution, in particular “if someone forms a group or assembles a club [συνίῃ ποι ἐπὶ καταλύσει τοῦ δήμου ἢ ἑταιρικὸν συναγάγῃ]”; see G. M. Calhoun 1964 [1913]; Sartori 1957; N. Jones 1999: 223–7. 11 See Pecorella Longo 1971; Baslez 1996. 12 This is also the view of N. Jones 1999, who sees the associations as a response to centralized democracy. 50 Athenian social networks notorious courtesan, in her trial for impiety included the charge that she convened “mixed” thiasoi of men and women in the Lyceum.13 Demosthenes makes a similar accusation against Aeschines’ mother, Glaucothea (19. 281). Aeschines took part in the rites too, he alleges. He notes with palpable disdain that little old ladies showered the future actor with pastries and cakes while he pronounced the sacred words with gusto (18. 258–60). In the first passage Demosthenes also mentions a priestess who engaged in the same kind of activity and was punished for it. That is all he says about the case, but it is enough to suggest that Glaucothea’s and Phryne’s cults were not isolated phenomena, nor the only ones that served to portray an individual as abnormal and a threat to traditional morality. Associations limited strictly to citizens, such as the demes, genê, and phratries, did not arouse such hostility. Perhaps this is because these were based, theoretically, on descent and secondarily on locality; they were not voluntary like the hetaireiai. I say “theoretically” because, as the most important and controversial Attic phratry document makes clear, it was quite possible that once a phratry reached a sufficiently large size fraudulent members might try to infiltrate it with the help of smaller groups of better-integrated supporters. The phratry officials in this case were quite concerned with this problem and tried to institute procedures to deal with it (IG II2 1237. 13–43, 68–106; 396–360 BCE). I will have more to say about the topic of fraudulent citizens (pareggraptoi) in Chapter 6. The gossip about Glaucothea and Phryne suggests that voluntary mixed associations existed already in the fourth century, but they only make their presence felt in the epigraphic record in the third century. Ferguson (1911: 104–7; 1944: 67) argued that the appearance of such groups was due to an unsuccessful attempt in 306 to exercise control over the philosophical schools. When that law was repealed, according to Ferguson, it set a precedent creating a right of association for many groups that before could not express their solidarity publicly.14 There are also other ways to account for the

13 Anon. Seguerianus 215 Hammer = Euthias fr. 2 Sauppe. See further C. Cooper 1995. 14 The date is based on the unsuccessful attempt of Sophocles of Sounion to assert central control over the schools of the philosophers, by requiring their leaders to be subject to scrutiny and confirmation in the democratic institutions. This law went into effect and all the foreign philosophers fled the city. But Philon, a friend of Aristotle’s, successfully impeached it as unconstitutional, and the philosophers came back (D.L. 5. 38; Athen. 13. 610f). “Mixed” associations 51 sudden epigraphic appearance of a range of Athenian associations. A plausible suggestion is that of Baslez (1996: 290–1), that the epigraphic activity of mixed associations speaks to their need to dispel the suspicion which surrounded voluntary associations in general by publicizing their adherence to polis-wide norms and practices, showing for all to see that there was nothing abnormal about them.15 At any rate, even though mixed associations do not really publicize their presence before the third century, I would argue that such associations existed before then, perhaps de facto if not de jure.16 Perhaps the officials of the Thesmophorion in the Piraeus hadin mind associations like those of Glaucothea and Phryne when in the mid-fourth century they inscribed a decree forbidding thiasoi from gathering near the altars and the shrine itself without permission, except during one of the shrine’s major celebrations (IG II2 1177. 3–12). As nuisances unauthorized thiasoi gatherings were on par with unauthorized pasturing (3) and wood-gathering (17–21), and probably just as common. The Piraeus was always Athens’ melting pot into which goods and people flowed and mixed. The vast majority of non-citizen associations that we know of were based there.17 One kind of association in which we know that slaves and women were involved was the eranos. For example, we find groups such as the late fourth- or early third-century eranistai who dedicated IG II2 2937 and 2940 to a god in Laurion. Judging from their names (e.g. Sosias, Tibius, Hermus, Kadus) and the location of their cult in the mining region they appear to be foreigners, probably slaves.18 Slaves’ participation in eranoi is also likely in the so-called phialai inscriptions of the fourth century. Interestingly, citizens head these particular groups.19 It is unclear how stable the groups were, or the

15 More recently, Kierstead (2013) has interpreted the appearance of mixed citizen/non-citizen associations as a sign of democratic decline, suggesting that in the post-classical period the citizens no longer felt a need to police their political privilege. 16 See Parker 1996: 333–42. 17 On the Piraeus see von Reden 1995; Cartledge et al. 1998; Roy 1998. On associations in the Piraeus see Leiwo 1997; Arnaoutoglou 2011. 18 Lauffer197 9: 128–9. 19 The elusive nature of the phialai lists makes it difficult to speculate about the groups’ purpose and nature. The purpose oferanos groups in general was chiefly economic, with groups operating as a kind of lending society between the members. The usual interpretation is that the phialai groups loaned the money to one of their members to purchase his or her freedom 52 Athenian social networks extent to which social and economic dimensions overlapped in them.20 Did people socialize in eranoi or just use them as economic conveniences? Probably both. While the stones record the business side of the relationships, Aristotle explicitly tells us that eranistai gathered “for pleasure … for the sake of religion and sociality [δι᾽ ἡδονήν … θυσίας ἕνεκα καὶ συνουσίας]” (NE 1160a19–20). This is not surprising because economic relationships were based in large part on personal relationships. There were no credit-scoring systems; much depended on who you knew and who was willing to vouch for you as a good risk. This entailed forging ongoing relationships of trust. In turn these necessitated socializing and sharing.21 Women’s involvement in eranoi is better attested starting in the third century. This does not mean they were not involved in money- lending previously, because we do have some hints of it.22 As Cohen notes, in such cases “it is not their frequency, but their possibility that is important.”23 The ideological bias against publicly declaring women the main agents of transactions seems to moderate in the third century.24 One tantalizing horos inscription of the late fourth or early third century records a loan taken out by a citizen from an eranos group. The reading is uncertain due to the state of the stone, but quite clear is the involvement of a female collector (plêrôtria, SEG 42. 149). This particular stone also listed a man as guarantor for the loan. What is interesting is that it names a woman at all.25 Clearly Demo (for that is her name), thanks to her role in an association attains a degree of public visibility and responsibility. Presumably her position would give her a place in Athenian society that other women might not have. It is hard to imagine a man who is soliciting the funds she controls treating Demo the way their husbands treat

(under the auspices of the citizen). For a different interpretation, see Meyer201 0, especially 16–17, n. 23. 20 See Millett 1991; 153–9. Gabrielsen 2007: 191–2. 21 See Millett 1991; E. Cohen 1992. On the problem of trust most recently see S. Johnstone 2011. 22 Dem. 27. 53; 41. 9, 21; Todd 1993: 209–10. 23 See E. Cohen 1992: 77–9, quote from 79. 24 For women’s increasing visibility in the public sphere in the Hellenistic period see Bielman 2002. 25 “The reason for the departure on horos no. 114A from the standard arrangement must be connected to the fact that the person who collected the eranos-loan was a woman” (E. Harris 1992: 318; see also E. Harris and Tuite 2000). “Mixed” associations 53 the women in Lysistrata: when they inquire into public affairs they are told to mind their business (Ar. Lys. 510–20). Women’s involvement in lending associations with men was not necessarily harmonious. Associations were not entirely egalitarian, “free spaces” where all distinctions were effaced. We get a feel for the tensions that might arise in a mixed group in a third-century inscription from an eranos of Sarapis worshippers. Here a woman, Nicippe, appears as “head of the eranos,” proeranistria (IG II2 1292). Her place is quite prominent at the head of the list (29). The accompanying text dispenses honors to three male officials in addition to Nicippe. It showers the other officials with praise for “repeatedly showing themselves to be irreproachable and while serving in office have nobly presented their accounts observing all the laws” (3–8), and stipulates a permanent public declaration – enforced by a penalty! – of their honor after each ceremony (15–18). But Nicippe gets honored simply “because she performed the sacrifices at the appointed times” (23–6). It is hard not to read this as a case of damning with faint praise, as Dow (1937: 194) suggested. Perhaps Nicippe was asserting herself in a way that rankled the men of this group. She appears to be the only female member here. That is not the case for the group that set up IG II2 2354, roughly contemporary with Nicippe’s group. These included both women and men in more equal proportions; actually there appear to be more women than men so that some earlier scholars wrongly supposed that this was a “professional” association of prostitutes. The thiasotai of Artemis Calliste were also mixed. Their members (thirty-six men, twenty-two women) appear in separate columns by gender (IG II2 1297. 25 ff. = GRA 24).26 Mixed groups of citizens and metics or slaves are rarer but we encounter these too. IG II2 1335 is a list of members of a group wor- shipping the god Sabazios. These include citizens (identified by name and deme of origin), foreigners (identified by name and city of origin), and slaves or freedmen (identified by name alone). This particular inscription is from the Roman era, but the worship of Sabazios goes back to the fourth century. This was the god around

26 See Kloppenborg and Ascough 2011: 154–6. Another group with explicitly “mixed” membership is SEG 54. 235, a group of about 140 individuals, including men and women. Heading the list as archeranistria is Thaleia. The male priest, with a full citizen name, comes second. 54 Athenian social networks whose worship Aeschines’ mother, Glaucothea, supposedly organized her associates. In Demosthenes’ bitingly satiric portrait, as I noted, the group included both men and women (18. 258–60). He does not mention any slaves. Slave-free associations are generally thought to be a feature of post-classical Athenian society. Yet we also find possible slaves’ names in a fourth-century inscription of a thiasos honoring several of its members: including Erotis and Aitherion (IG II2 2347.

31–3).27 And there is a mysterious “boy” listed in a fourth-century list of thiasoi (IG II2 2345. 73), who might be a slave (Lambert 1999: 106). By the second century a cult of the Mother of the Gods openly lists a likely slave, Ergasion, as one of its three supervisors; aside from his “worker” name, we can assume he was a slave because he is the only supervisor without a patronymic (IG II2 1327. 33 = GRA 35). Another of the supervisors, listed directly above Ergasion, was Simon of Porus, who was quite prominent, as we can infer by his activities in this group (1328. 1–2) as well as in another group of Dionysus worshippers (1325. 10 = GRA 33). It is quite surprising to see a slave listed on the same level. In a fragmentary inscription from the fourth century, a group (thiasos?) honors another Ergasion, described as a Samaritan, alongside Athenian citizens (IG II2 2943). In IG II2 1263 (300/299 BCE), a group of thiasotai honors the metic Demetrius of Olynthus who served as their secretary. The cult of Bendis provides an illustration for how associations might serve as a bridge across status boundaries. Plato has the dramatic date of his Republic coincide with the first ever celebration of the festival for the Thracian goddess, sometime in the last quarter of the fifth century.28 Socrates has gone down to the Piraeus to see the new spectacle and is on his way back to the city before the festival is over, when a group of the Athenian jeunesse dorée meet him and try to entice him to stay longer with the promise of even more impressive spectacles to come, including an all-night festival with a torch relay race on horseback. They propose that they go to the house of the metic Cephalus to dine and rest and return afterward, when “we will spectate the all-night festival and associate and converse with many

27 Cf. M. Taylor 1997: 137; Lambert 1999: 100, n. 5. On the problems of identifying slaves’ names see Arnaoutoglou 2011, who rightly stresses the difficulties involved in gauging status from onomastic practices. See also B. Robertson 2008; Vlassopoulos 2010. 28 On the date see Simms 1988; Nails 1998; Planeaux 2000. Socializing in shops 55 of the young men there [συνεσόμεθά τε πολλοῖς τῶν νέων αὐτόθι καὶ διαλεξόμεθα]” (328a). The group of Socrates’ associates includes prominent metics, like Polemarchus the brother of Lysias and son of Cephalus, and prominent citizens like Plato’s brother Adeimantus and Nicias the son of Niceratus.29 The integrative character of the festival, however, would probably extend below the upper crusts of the Athenian and metic communities. For a defining characteristic of this festival is that it included twin processions of Thracians and Athenians (327a). The members of the group that intercepts Socrates are all dressed up from taking part in the procession (327c). Since none of them is Thracian presumably they all took part in the same contingent of the parade, which Plato characterizes with the status-neutral term of “locals.”30 A third-century inscription from a Piraeus-based Bendis-group refers to the fact that the Thracians receive special privileges, namely the right to own land (enktesis) on which to build their temple, and declares that they see themselves as subject to Athenian laws and decrees (IG II2 1283. 9–13). They also promise to treat their city-based counterparts hospitably during the celebration of the festival, inviting them over for breakfast and purification (16–20).31 One fourth-century set of regulations explicitly expanded the membership from those who inherited it from their fathers (IG II2 1361. 2) to “anyone who wished,” subject to a scrutiny by the group officials (20–5). It seems that the worshippers of Bendis made a special effort to be inclusive. Perhaps that is what made their cult a convenient meeting-point between city-dwellers and port- dwellers, between Athenians and non-Athenians.

Socializing in shops So, it seems that religious groups provided the opportunity for some association and interaction between different social statuses, most

29 See Nails 2002: 211–12, 251. 30 As Mikalson 1998: 140–1, n. 11 notes, most known members of the Thracian Bendis-groups do not seem particularly Thracian. 31 The fact that this group goes out of their way to open up their organization to the city-based “chapter” suggests that there might have been some tension between the groups. Perhaps it had something to do with the tensions between city and port, the latter of which had been occupied by the Macedonians between 295 and 262. See Kloppenborg and Ascough 2011: 131; Habicht 1997: 97, 124 ff. 56 Athenian social networks likely well before mixed associations become epigraphically visible in the third century. But individuals did not have to belong to an association in order to associate. Curses found in Attic graves are also potentially informative in this regard, showing the range of personal relationships outside of associations. Some curse tablets target well- known Athenian politicians and their associates.32 The most interesting ones for my purposes are the ones that list the entire relevant social group that the curse’s author can think of; that is, the list of individuals who might influence the judicial process and thus need to be silenced in advance because they might otherwise support the curse writer’s opponent. For example, one author seems to curse an entire neighborhood of shopkeepers, starting with Callias and his wife Thratta (perhaps an ex-slave), then moving on to the shops of Phalacrus (“Baldy”) and Anthemion, as well as Callias’ brother Sosimenes and his slaves Carpus (who seems to have had his own textile shop because he is identified by the appellation of “textile- merchant”), Glycanthe (nicknamed “the Delicate”), and Agathon. Then he goes on to include more merchants nearby: Cittus the rope- maker, and Mania who had a shop by the spring, as well as the metic Aristandrus of Eleusis; as a final afterthought he adds “n the slaves of Aristandrus [κ τοὺς Ἀριστάνδρου οἰκέτας]” (IG III App. 87; fourth cent. BCE). It is not surprising that neighbors feature prominently in one’s support network.33 Interesting, however, is the variety of statuses that overlap here: free, slave, foreign, men, and women. We can see a similar overlap of statuses in a defixio restudied and republished in 2008.34 This interesting fourth-century artifact lists over a hundred names. It is not clear to what kind of association they belong, if any. Some are listed with their father’s names while others include demotics, making it clear that both are citizens. Among the most notable, actually heading the list, are two men from the deme of Pithus, Eunomus and Aristogiton. Jordan and Cubrera (2008: 139) suggest that perhaps this Aristogiton might be the notorious

32 See Gager 1992: 116–32; Versnel 1991; 1999; Habicht 1993; Faraone 1999. SEG 40. 269 names eight men, including Lycurgus and Hyperides, two leading politicians from 340 to 320. DTA 60 includes Demosthenes and Lycurgus. 33 See R. Osborne 1985a: 127–53. 34 Jordan and Cubrera 2008 print a significantly corrected text for the defixio that was originally published in 1934 by Ziebarth. Socializing in shops 57 politician against whom Demosthenes 25 and 26 and Dinarchus 2 were written.35 Others are listed by their profession, such as Satyrus the painter (8), Satyra the grain-merchant (45), and some chaff- dealers (39–40, 73). Professional designations in lists are characteristic of slaves or metics, whom it did not make sense to identify by a patronymic or demotic. Some are actually explicitly listed as metics (20, 50). Many have only a first name. This characteristic in epigraphic lists of associations is usually taken to suggest that they have no status, and are in fact slaves. Perhaps this is the case here too. The author seems to be somewhat influenced by the epigraphic lists since he/she lists the names roughly by family grouping or demotic, also a feature of association lists.36 Also interesting is the use of the term laikastria (“cocksucker”), which follows the names of four women and one man on the second side of the tablet. Jordan and Cubrera interpret this as a term of professional expertise because insults are rare in curse tablets of this era.37 There is no indication of what kind of dispute motivated the author of this curse.38 But it does suggest that relationships between citizens, metics, and slaves were quite prevalent indeed. It is likely that this group centered in some way on the Agora. Here, as Vlassopoulos (2007) argues, we find the strongest evidence for “mixing” across statuses. The retail shops and workshops that abutted the Agora on nearly all sides were notorious hang-out spots. As with associations, these places could appear sinister or benign depending on one’s perspective or the rhetorical point one wished to make: they could be sites of warm sociality or “dens of scoundrels [ἐργαστήρια συκοφαντῶν]” (e.g. Dem. 32. 10; 37. 39–40; 39. 2; 40. 9). In a revealing passage a speaker defends himself against the charge that the people who gather in his shop are scoundrels by reminding

35 The hypothesis to Demosthenes 25 informs us that he had a brother by thenameof Eunomus. But the identification of the cursed individual with the orator only works if Sealey 1960 was wrong to argue that the orator’s deme was Aphidna. 36 See Gordon 1999: 254–7. 37 For the meaning of the term see Dover 1989: 204–5. 38 Jordan and Cubrera offer the guess that this is a sympotic group, the women being hetairai and the large number of non-aristocratic individuals might have something to do with a dispute over horses. More recently Humphreys 2010 has criticized this on the basis that it is unlikely that fathers and sons would be part of the same sympotic group, and suggests instead that the inscriber is simply listing everyone against whom he feels hostile. If that is true, this would be a unique glimpse into one Athenian’s “anti-friend list.” 58 Athenian social networks his audience that socializing in shops is completely normal, especially in shops near the Agora: Each of you has the habit of hanging out: one goes to the incense-seller’s, another goes to the barber’s, another to the leather-worker’s, and another elsewhere. Most of you go to shops near the Agora, only a few go to shops that are further away. So, if you accuse my regulars of wickedness, you clearly must also accuse those who spend time by the others. And if you accuse them, you must accuse all the Athenians. For you all make a habit of hanging out and spending time somewhere or other. ἕκαστος γὰρ ὑμῶν εἴθισται προσφοιτᾶν ὁ μὲν πρὸς μυροπώλιον, ὁ δὲ πρὸς κουρεῖον, ὁ δὲ πρὸς σκυτοτομεῖον, ὁ δ’ ὅποι ἂν τύχῃ, καὶ πλεῖστοι μὲν ὡς τοὺς ἐγγυτάτω τῆς ἀγορᾶς κατεσκευασμένους, ἐλάχιστοι δὲ ὡς τοὺς πλεῖστον ἀπέχοντας αὐτῆς· ὥστ’ εἴ τις ὑμῶν πονηρίαν καταγνώσεται τῶν ὡς ἐμὲ εἰσιόντων, δῆλον ὅτι καὶ τῶν παρὰ τοῖς ἄλλοις διατριβόντων· εἰ δὲ κἀκείνων, ἁπάντων Ἀθηναίων· ἅπαντες γὰρ εἴθισθε προσφοιτᾶν καὶ διατρίβειν ἁμοῦ. (Lys. 24. 20) Indeed, another speaker criticizes his opponent for not frequent- ing workshops, arguing that his abstention marks him out as antisocial: He does not hang out in any barbershop in the city, or incense-seller’s or any of the other workshops – not even one. Sharing no libations, no abode, no sociality, he knows no gratitude, or friendship, or any of the things that a decent person knows. οὐδὲ προσφοιτᾷ πρός τι τούτων τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει κουρείων ἢ μυροπωλίων ἢ τῶν ἄλλων ἐργαστηρίων οὐδὲ πρὸς ἕν· ἀλλ’ ἄσπειστος, ἀνίδρυτος, ἄμεικτος, οὐ χάριν, οὐ φιλίαν, οὐκ ἄλλ’ οὐδὲν ὧν ἄνθρωπος μέτριος γιγνώσκων. ([Dem.] 25. 52) The reason why shops, especially around the Agora, served as normal sites of socializing probably had to do with the area’s crowded- ness and the lack of facilities for private interactions, as noted in the previous chapter.39 If a group of friends or associates wanted to get together and, for instance, plan a legal defense or plot revenge against

39 For the evidence of shops and workshops in Athens see Bettalli 1985. For their social aspects see S. Lewis 1995; 1996: 15–18. For an archaeological perspective on the multiplicity of functions of houses near the Agora see Tsakirgis 2005. Socializing in shops 59 an enemy, they would need to meet someplace private. In the vicinity of the Agora the best option was probably one of the many shops (see Dem. 32. 10, 37. 39, 39. 2, 40. 9). Thus the Deceleans normally met in a barber-shop by the herms.40 Andocides tells us that an informer in the Herms Affair found one of his victims sitting in his usual hang-out, a bronze-foundry. He took him to the Hephaestion, probably not too far away, for a more appropriate place to blackmail him (1. 40). According to Xenophon, Euthydemus did not enter the Agora out of modesty. Apparently it was considered unseemly for a proper young man to loiter in it.41 Thus, when Euthydemus had business in the Agora he went to a saddle-maker’s shop and hung out there instead (Mem. 4. 2. 1). There might be some gentle teasing behind Xenophon’s characterization of a modest young man who avoids the Agora by spending all his time in a shop! What took place in the workshops, perfume-shops and barbershops, beside the activity that defined them? Drinking, for one: the regulars at Pamphilus the Fuller’s were engaged in a night of heavy drinking that led to a brawl in the street (Dem. 54. 7). Ergastêrion, workshop, was also a term for “brothel” ([Dem.] 59. 67; Ep. 4. 1), suggesting that perhaps there was some overlap. But the main activity we hear about is, quite simply, talk. Thus Theophrastus’ logopoios spends his days in the Agora and in the shops nearby, filling everyone’s ears with news and gossip whether they want to hear it or not (Char.

8. 14).42 It was at a barbershop that the first rumors of the disaster at Sicily started to spread in Athens (Plut. Nic. 30; Mor. 509a–c). It was ironic that the rumor about the disaster first broke in a shop, for it was by discussions in shops in the first place and drawing out maps of Sicily in the dirt of the wrestling schools that the Athenians talked themselves into a frenzy for invading (Plut. Nic. 12. 1). Barbershops, then, as at other times and places, figured as sites where men, often of diverse social backgrounds, socialized and exchanged information

40 Lys. 23. 3. If these are the same Deceleans of IG II2 1237, there would be a board there for notices relevant to the group (61–4). 41 Cf. Ar. Clouds 991, 1055; Isoc. 7. 49. 42 Theaponenoêmenos (“Mindless Man”) is similar. He gathers crowds around him during festivals and harangues them but they have no idea what he’s talking about. “They are tiresome these people who are quick to slip the reins on their mouths to insult, and yell with a loud voice. The Agora and the shops echo with their sound” (6. 7–10). 60 Athenian social networks

and views.43 As Plutarch says, “The race of barbers is a babbling one [lalon]. The biggest chatterers stream in and sit before them and imbue them with the habit [οἱ γὰρ ἀδολεσχότατοι προσρέουσι καὶ προσκαθίζουσιν, ὥστ’ αὐτοὺς ἀναπίμπλασθαι τῆς συνηθείας]” (Mor. 509a). It is a mistake to assume that the Athenians especially associated women with gossip. Although the practice of gossiping was unceasing and everyone engaged in it, men, women, citizens, and non- citizens alike, to the extent that a concept of gossip existed and was gendered, it was gendered masculine rather than feminine, in contrast to the modern concept. As Hunter rightly notes, “Whatever we might expect based on the comparative evidence, our sources rarely accuse women of either bavardage or mauvaise langue” (1994: 99). As Medea complains, a man can go out and vent to his friends but a woman is stuck inside the home and can only talk to her husband (Eur. Med. 243–7). Of course, her addressing a group of Corinthian women belies her complaint. For, in addition to the mixed associations we glimpsed in the previous section, women must have had ample opportunities to socialize and trade information. Even respectable, upper-class ladies had time to gossip, for instance during all-women festivals such as the Thesmophoria famously satirized by

Aristophanes.44 Nonetheless, men had the most opportunity, not to mention motive, to gossip. It was thus considered more appropriate for them to do so.45 Aristotle captures the double standard: “Just as a man would seem a coward if he were just as brave as a brave woman, so a woman would seem a chatterbox [lalos] if she were as restrained [kosmia] as a good man” (Pol. 3, 4 1277b21–3). Athenian spaces for gossip, such as the shops, were male spaces, and in them it was considered normal for men to spend their time commenting and discussing and evaluating others; “gossiping” in other words.46 “Shop talk” could also be more politically instrumental. 43 See De Vivo 2007: 98–106 for barbershops as arenas for sociality in early modern Venice. For contemporary black barbershops see Harris-Lacewell 2004: 162–203. 44 For women’s role in public life see, concisely, D. Cohen 2005. Connelly 2007 for religious dimensions at greater length. For women’s networks in particular see C. Taylor 2011. 45 McClure 1999: 56–62 rightly argues that women’s representation in drama as gossips is a corruption of “the male speech genres generally considered productive of normal social values” (56). 46 Oikonomides 1987 suggests that leskhai also played that role. But the evidence insists that workshops were the closest thing ancient Athenians had to modern kafeneia. Socializing in shops 61 Thus one man “stood among the crowds and sat in the workshops [ἐφιστάμενος εἰς τοὺς ὄχλους καὶ καθίζων ἐπὶ τοῖς ἐργαστηρίοις],” repeatedly publicizing his side of the story in a private dispute over money (Isoc. 18. 9). And occasionally talk in the shops could approx- imate the critical attitude toward politics that Habermas identified as a notable feature of eighteenth-century salons and cafes and considered crucial for the development of the modern public sphere. Thus Isocrates rebukes his readers because they spend their time “sitting in workshops, complaining about the present situation and saying that we have never been governed worse in a democracy [ἐπὶ μὲν τῶν ἐργαστηρίων καθίζοντες κατηγοροῦμεν τῶν καθεστώτων, καὶ λέγομεν ὡς οὐδέποτ’ ἐν δημοκρατίᾳ κάκιον ἐπολιτεύθημεν]” (7. 15). Such interactions are crucial in creating an experience of widely shared “rational-critical” debate that, for Habermas, is the defining activity of the ideal public sphere. According to Habermas, another notable feature of eighteenth- century cafes and salons was that they de-emphasized personal status distinctions. In them, men (not women, however) from all backgrounds could come together and discuss matters that were of common interest. As I have already noted, Athens probably did not have something exactly like that. Athenian shops were “free spaces,” yes, but it is hard to know exactly how free. Identified shop-socializers were, not surprisingly, all from the elite. This was the case for the young Euthydemus who liked to hang out in the saddler’s shop; he was a love-interest of the future revolutionary ringleader Critias (Xen. Mem. 1. 2. 30). He also visited Simon’s shoe-shop, which I mentioned in Chapter 1; there he might have run into Alcibiades himself (Socraticorum Epistulae 13. 1). Euphemus, whom Dioclides found in a bronze foundry, was the brother of Andocides’ brother- in-law (And. 1. 40), and hence a member of a wealthy and prominent clan. The shops’ owners as a rule were all citizens, since only citizens could own real property. But the day-to-day operation would have been in the hands of slave or freedmen overseers, like Milyas in the workshop that formed part of Demosthenes’ disputed inheritance (Dem. 27. 19).47 The list of shopkeepers identified by the curse-

47 Milyas’ status was crucial to this case; Demosthenes 29 is a speech in a trial for false- witnessing about it. He was either a slave or a freedman. 62 Athenian social networks writer mentioned above is also indicative of the range of statuses of shopkeepers. And of course many of the workers would be slaves. We encountered above a foundry serving as a hang-out. We glimpse an image of one in action on the famous Foundry Cup in Berlin (F 2294), made in Athens c. 500 BCE. The figures differ in size, -per haps indicating a difference in status. Some are naked, one wears the exomis, a kind of half-chiton favored by working-class men; another has pulled down his exomis to better use his hammer. Two men wear caps that are thought to mark their status as slaves. But two men, larger than the rest, wear full himatia and stand in the iconograph- ically standard posture of citizenly leisure. They have been identified as statues or owners, but perhaps might they represent higher-status shop-socializers? One of them seems to be talking, but it is unclear if he is addressing the slaves or the other man.48 If he is addressing the other figure it is not far-fetched to imagine that the slaves would take an interest in their conversation as they worked. According to a story Zeno told, the cynic philosopher Crates passed the time in a shoe- maker’s shop, reading aloud Aristotle’s Protrepticus to the cobbler as he worked.49 Zeno certainly meant to suggest that Crates thought the cobbler a more receptive audience for Aristotle’s call to philosophy than the intended Cypriot monarch. But the vignette also suggests that the shops served as sites for interaction and for the exchange of ideas across statuses – not to mention across literary and oral forms of communication, a point to which I will return later. For what it is worth, Aristotle himself, who in general agrees with Plato’s argument that a master should not be too friendly with his slaves, suggests that it possible to associate with a slave qua human being.50 If we do find hints of associations and sociality cutting across status boundaries, I do not wish to overplay this. Association (as Aristotle well recognized) does not mean equality. It is possible that the anxiety with which some viewed mixed associations and informal socializing in shops was a reaction to the greater degree of egalitar- ianism that they made possible. Such anxiety becomes most acute when cross-status socialization touches political concerns. And yet it

48 See Pipili 2000: 155–8 for discussion and other examples of the motif of leisured citizens alongside workmen. Also Chatzedemetriou 2005: 144–5. See R. Osborne 2011 more generally on the difficulty of reading status in iconography. 49 Stob. 4. 32. 21 = Arist. fr. 50 Rose. 50 Pl. Laws 777e; Arist. Pol. 1260b5; NE 1161b. Putting the networks to work 63

Figure 5. Detail from the Foundry Cup. Could the taller figures represent “shop socializers”? (Credit: bpk Berlin / Staatliche Museen / Ingrid Geske / Art Resource, NY) was precisely such informal talk across statuses, and between institutional and non-institutional spaces, that made the Athenian democracy function.

Putting the networks to work: enforcement and the public sphere The presence of a wide and robust public sphere that extended into shops and other spaces and cut across social statuses was absolutely essential for Athenian institutions to do their work. Athens was certainly too big to be the kind of face-to-face society in which everyone knew everyone else. However, the cumulative effect of overlapping and extensive networks was to create a version of one. By putting together smaller face-to-face groups into a larger plurality, at times Athens would take on characteristics of a single face-to-face society that transmitted information quickly along the networks through word of mouth.51 Information and sentiment would radiate from the

51 I am gratified to see that Kierstead 2013 has reached the same conclusion independently. 64 Athenian social networks institutions and extend into the wider public sphere. Social networks were thus absolutely essential for the Athenian democratic institutions to do their work. The institutions did not employ a standing bureaucracy. They had only a very limited force with which to implement and enforce their pronouncements (for example, the board of the Eleven and maybe the “Scythian Archers”), and these operated only in limited capacities and rarely independently of individual citizens’ initiative.52 Individual initiative, in turn, was constrained by the possibility of reprisals against the citizen who took it upon himself to enforce a public pronouncement. The locus classicus illustrating the role of word of mouth in carrying out public acts is Herodotus’ account of the punishment of the councilor Lycidas for proposing to surrender to the Persians: The councilor Lycidas made the proposal that they should put [Mardonius’] offer [to surrender] for a vote before the demos. He made this proposal perhaps because he had been bribed by Mardonius, or perhaps because he thought it was a good idea. But straightaway the Athenians raised a ruckus both in the Council and outside as soon as they heard. They stood around Lycidas and stoned him to death … A hubbub also arose on Salamis when the Athenian women learned about the affair. Encouraging and urging each other along they went to the house of Lycidas on their own initiative. And there they stoned his wife and his children. τῶν δὲ βουλευτέων Λυκίδης εἶπε γνώμην ὡς ἐδόκεε ἄμεινον εἶναι δεξαμένους τὸν λόγον, τόν σφι Μουρυχίδης προφέρει, ἐξενεῖκαι ἐς τὸν δῆμον. ὁ μὲν δὴ ταύτην τὴν γνώμην ἀπεφαίνετο, εἴτε δὴ δεδεγμένος χρήματα παρὰ Μαρδονίου, εἴτε καὶ ταῦτά οἱ ἑάνδανε· Ἀθηναῖοι δὲ αὐτίκα δεινὸν ποιησάμενοι οἵ τε ἐκ τῆς βουλῆς καὶ οἱ ἔξωθεν ὡς ἐπύθοντο, περιστάντες Λυκίδην κατέλευσαν βάλλοντες, τὸν δὲ Ἑλλησπόντιον Μουρυχίδην ἀπέπεμψαν ἀσινέα. γενομένου δὲ θορύβου ἐν τῇ Σαλαμῖνι περὶ τὸν Λυκίδην, πυνθάνονται τὸ γινόμενον αἱ γυναῖκες τῶν Ἀθηναίων, διακελευσαμένη δὲ γυνὴ γυναικὶ καὶ παραλαβοῦσα ἐπὶ τὴν Λυκίδεω οἰκίην ἤισαν αὐτοκελέες, καὶ κατὰ μὲν ἔλευσαν αὐτοῦ τὴν γυναῖκα κατὰ δὲ τὰ τέκνα. (9. 4–5)

52 See V. Hunter 1994. This view has been challenged especially by E. Harris 2007, who high- lights the role of magistrates in enforcing penalties. The sources give ammunition to both sides of this debate, one side highlighting the presence of the magistrates and the other the private individuals. In general the topic of enforcement has been overlooked, as is clear from the only half page of entries on the topic in the bibliographical lists of Sundahl et al. 2011: 348. Add to their list Rubinstein 2010. Putting the networks to work 65 Here a formal probouleutic proposal within the Council provokes a strong emotion of anger (thorybos). Radiating from within the Council the emotion quickly leaps the boundary between institution and public sphere: “straightaway the Athenians raised a ruckus, both in the Council and outside as soon as they heard.” By word of mouth the information spreads and reaches the women. The same emotion sweeps them up and they exact the same penalty, “on their own initiative,” on Lycidas’ wife and children as the men carried out on

Lycidas himself.53 This cruel extra-judicial murder took place under a set of extraordinary circumstances. But the story of Lycidas can serve as paradigmatic for how enforcement in general worked even under normal circumstances. The image of the demos circling Lycidas is powerfully evocative of the way in which individual Athenian citizens were embedded in and at the mercy of the network of social knowledge and communally possessed norms … After the men had stoned Lycidas, social knowledge in the form of the autono- mous and impersonal thorybos or hue and cry spread through Salamis, obscuring whether its bearers were slaves or citizens, male or female. (Allen 2000: 145) As Forsdyke shows, “even the ‘formal’ institutions of the Athenian democracy incorporated various forms of popular justice within the ‘official’ frame”201 ( 2: 145). However, as we will see, sometimes the official and the unofficial frames did not match up quite completely. Emotions and knowledge were crucial in determining how closely the frames would align. According to Aristotle, offices responsible for enforcing judgments (any judgment, not just extremely unusual ones like the stoning of Lycidas and his family) are the most necessary in any state but also the most challenging because they elicit the greatest degree of “distaste” (apekhtheia). He suggests that people are reluctant to undertake the job without being generously paid, and when they do undertake it they resist strictly enforcing official judgments because they cannot

53 Interestingly, Lycurgus has a different version. He suggests that the Council passed a decree which the councilors then personally carried out after taking off their crowns (1. 122). The difference in detail from Herodotus’ version is significant. Lycurgus wants to mark the tran- sition from a deliberative body to an instrument of execution. He presents it as a duly authorized public lynching. Herodotus, it seems, better grasps the messiness of Athenian politics in the fifth century. Perhaps this is because by the 330s Lycurgus was working within a different institutional paradigm. See Chapter 5 below. 66 Athenian social networks resist taking personal relationships into account: “But the office is necessary, for there is no point in legal judgments that do not take effect. Just as it is impossible to live in a community without legal judgments, it is also impossible if these are not enforced [ἀναγκαία δ’ ἐστίν, ὅτι οὐδὲν ὄφελος γίνεσθαι μὲν δίκας περὶ τῶν δικαίων, ταύτας δὲ μὴ λαμβάνειν τέλος, ὥστ’ εἰ μὴ γιγνομένων κοινωνεῖν ἀδύνατον ἀλλήλοις, καὶ πράξεων μὴ γιγνομένων]” (Pol. 6. 7. 1322a5–8). Plato was also quite aware of this problem. He complains that a feature of democratic culture in particular is that people do not abide by official decisions. You see people who have been condemned to die and yet continue to parade in public “like ghosts, as if no one sees or cares [ὡς οὔτε φροντίζοντος οὔτε ὁρῶντος οὐδενὸς περινοστεῖ ὥσπερ ἥρως]” (Rep. 558a). Indeed, he could have been thinking of people like the fourth-century politician Aristogiton, who was perhaps the man mentioned in the curse tablet I discussed above. Although condemned to pay multiple fines, not only did he not do so, he also did not take the honorable route of political exile, continuing instead, as his accuser charges, to parade around the market “almost as if with bells on” ([Dem]. 25. 90). Athenian law entailed disfranchisement for dead-beat debtors. Far from being disfranchised, we know that an unrepentant Aristogiton even served as president of the Council (Din. 2. 13).54 Demosthenes lists him as an example of politicians who, despite being condemned and handed over to the Eleven for punishment, “not only are not jailed but continue to make speeches in the Assembly” (Ep. 3. 16).55 In Plato’s Magnesia, someone like Aristogiton who failed to abide by institutional judgments against him would be put to death outright, “as one corrupting the state and its laws” (Laws 958c). What determined how big a gap, if at all, would exist between institutional acts and their enactment must have been the degree of public awareness and the kind of sentiment that the act produced. As Aristotle suggests, “distaste” could lead to lax enforcement of the law. Community sentiment was also an issue in the case of the feuding trierarchs of Demosthenes 47. Even though the speaker had a law on his side instructing him to collect on his predecessor’s naval debts,

54 See further V. Hunter 2000a. 55 Worthington 1992: 287 ff. is too skeptical of Dinarchus’ claim. Demosthenes’ 3rd Letter is unequivocal. For the authenticity of Demosthenes’ letters 1–4 see Goldstein 1968. Putting the networks to work 67 he offended community sentiment when he entered his opponent’s home in an attempt to enforce it.56 Clearly the speaker went too far because he rather defensively notes that before trying to force his way into Theophemus’ house he made sure that he was unmar- ried, so he knew that no woman would be present at the home’s violation (47. 38). Also defensive is his portrait of Theophemus’ own counter-assault to collect the debt the speaker owed him. He notes that the neighbors all came to the windows and doors and started shouting in protest (60). This kind of community response is absent from the speaker’s account of his assault on Theophemus’ home, but there is no reason to think that the scene of his home invasion did not provoke a similar reaction from Theophemus’ neighbors. He wants to suggest that public sentiment was with him, and not with Theophemus. Of course, a large obstacle in this strategy is the fact that a court ruled against him, suggesting that public sentiment was in fact against him. Athenian civic institutions depended on their capacity to produce knowledge and sentiment in the crowd. What determined whether and how far any given official act – whether law, decree, or verdict – would be enforced was the degree to which public opinion and sentiment were behind it. Or, as the “rogue” Aristogiton might put it (according to his opponent), “In a democracy you can say and do whatever you want, as long as you do not care what kind of reputation you get and no one kills you on the spot for it” ([Dem.] 25. 25).57 The Assembly and the courts in particular were powerful institutions that could create the sentiment necessary to enforce an act. But they were not sufficient on their own. Non-institutional means of dissemination were also necessary, such as the shops discussed above and the Agora itself.

56 The private home was a special place. Powerful social values protected it. On legal self-help and the “sanctity” of the home see Christ 1998. Demosthenes in the Against Androtion illustrates the kind of distaste that entering into homes could provoke. He compares Androtion’s entering the homes of debtors to the conduct of the Thirty Tyrants. He suggests that Androtion acted worse, for they at least merely abducted citizen from the Agora but did not enter homes (47–57). Lysias tells us that in fact they did (12. 8, 30–1). Demosthenes clearly thought this argument was effective because we read it again almost word for word in his speech Against Timocrates (160–8). It was also used successfully against Demosthenes himself (Dem. 18. 132). 57 On the controversy surrounding this text, a peculiar mixture of philosophy and invective, see Gigante 1956: 268–92; G. Martin 2009: 182–202. 68 Athenian social networks

For public life did not entail the same experience for everyone in all respects. It was different depending on whether one was an object of communal attention or an anonymous face in the crowd. Despite Pericles’ pious statement that Athenians do not look askance at their neighbors’ private pleasures (Thuc. 2. 37. 2), public life was especially intense for that class of people (like Pericles himself) whom the Athenians called the “recognizable ones.” The term gnôrimoi has a definite class association, implying the leisured elite, but it also connotes the people most active and visible in the institutions, the rhetores.58 The connection was an inevitable one, since only the leisured could master the difficult skills required to address an audience that could number in the thousands with the aid of nothing more than confidence and vocal chords. It also required knowledge of Assembly rules and regulations; failure to observe them could lead to significant fines (Aeschin. 1. 35). And it also required political knowledge that not everyone could be expected to have (Xen. Mem. 3. 6. 4–13; Ar. Rhet. 1. 4. 1359b). The politeuomenoi thus lived especially in the public eye. Their successes and failures were especially marked and commented on. They were the Athenian version of celebrities; praise and blame followed their tracks more closely than those of others. In practical terms, the attention the political elite attracted meant that institutional pronouncements and verdicts against them had an immediate impact that they did not necessarily have against ordinary people. According to Xenophon, “We all know that the most notable people least avoid detection when they do something [ἥκιστα μὲν οἱ ἐπιφανέστατοι τῶν ἀνθρώπων λανθάνουσιν ὅ τι ἂν ποιῶσιν]” (Ages. 5. 6). Or, as the chorus in Sophocles’ Ajax puts it: If you shoot at the great you will not miss. If someone said such things against me he would not persuade. Envy [phthonos] creeps against the powerful. τῶν γὰρ μεγάλων ψυχῶν ἱεὶς οὐκ ἂν ἁμάρτοις· κατὰ δ’ ἄν τις ἐμοῦ τοιαῦτα λέγων οὐκ ἂν πείθοι πρὸς γὰρ τὸν ἔχονθ’ ὁ φθόνος ἕρπει. (154–7)

58 See Mossé 1984. Putting the networks to work 69 Dinarchus relies on this distinction to press his argument against Demosthenes: “Run-of-the-mill defendants who are convicted, no one knows nor seeks to find out what happened to them. But the prominent, everyone hears about those … [τοὺς μὲν γὰρ τυχόντας τῶν κρινομένων, ὅταν ἁλῶσιν, οὐδεὶς οἶδεν οὐδὲ ζητεῖ πυθέσθαι τί πεπόνθασι· τοὺς δ’ ἐνδόξους πάντες πυνθάνονται]” (1. 27; cf. Lys. 14. 12, 27. 5). Indeed, if a bad reputation attached itself to one of the notables, no institutional action could prevent the communal rumor mill from making their life unbearable. Instead it made it more likely that subsequent institutional action would follow. The case of Andocides is proof of this. Andocides was quite well known. A herm was known as the Herm of Andocides centuries after his death, even though the inscription identified it as a dedication of a tribe (Plut. Alc. 21. 2; Aeschin. 1. 125; cf. And. 1. 62; [Lys.] 6. 12). During his life Andocides was sufficiently well known that Thucydides can describe his role in the Scandals without naming him, relying on his readers to be able to fill it in (6. 60. 2). At the height of the Scandals of 415, when the Athenians saw conspiracies against the democracy behind every corner, the Assembly formally voted immunity for Andocides in exchange for his information about who perpetrated the mutilation of the herms (And. 2. 23–4; Thuc. 6. 60. 3). He admitted his guilt in order to save himself and those who were close to him, like his father, and accused others. And yet public life became so unbearable for him, he says, that “I preferred to live somewhere where I would not be seen by you” (2. 10). The public did not turn its gaze away from Andocides when he stepped out into the Agora because he was protected by an institutional guarantee of immunity. Indeed, public condemnation became all the more intense, effectively cancel- ing out what the Assembly had granted him. The subsequent decree of Isotimides, which forbade from entering the Agora anyone who had committed impiety and confessed it, merely formalized the communal shunning that Andocides was already enduring. In all likelihood Andocides was the only person this decree affected, and the only person that it was supposed to affect (cf. [Lys.] 6. 24). Even after he returned and was formally exonerated, the reputation of being a “herm-cutter” stuck to him. We know that because a curse a business rival commissioned against him names him contemptuously as “the Herm-cutter” (SEG 53. 396). 70 Athenian social networks

Or consider Demosthenes’ associate Timarchus, whom Aeschines gleefully accused, and had convicted, of prostituting himself on no more evidence than the rumors about him. Rumors, he says, are always infallible. Concerning the life and deeds of people, an infallible rumor [phêmê] wan- ders around the city of its own accord and broadcasts private deeds to the many, and often it prophesies about the future. περὶ δὲ τὸν τῶν ἀνθρώπων βίον καὶ τὰς πράξεις ἀψευδής τις ἀπὸ ταὐτομάτου πλανᾶται φήμη κατὰ τὴν πόλιν, καὶ διαγγέλλει τοῖς πολλοῖς τὰς ἰδίας πράξεις, πολλὰ δὲ καὶ μαντεύεται περὶ τῶν μελλόντων ἔσεσθαι. (Aeschin. 1. 127)

Aeschines cites no evidence or even witnesses but quotes passages from Homer, Euripides, and Hesiod to give support to his argument that what people are saying about someone must be true. “Remember, men, what rumor you rely on about Timarchus. As soon as you hear his name don’t you ask, ‘Which Timarchus, the whore?’” (1. 130). We would like to know the extent to which people really did describe Timarchus as “the whore” before the trial, and the extent to which the trial (not to mention the publication of this speech) contributed to his reputation. Demosthenes probably downplays Timarchus’ prominence before the trial because he wants to minimize Aeschines’ victory (19. 244). But we know that Timarchus was a public speaker for some time before his trial (Dem. 19. 286). If he had not yet acquired his reputation at the time, or had not acquired it completely, the trial would have made sure that it became indelible. “In Athens, the public spectacle provided by a trial was a particularly good occasion to … craft social memory, not least because public spectacles produced the greatest number of witnesses” (Allen 2000: 66).59 Institutional pronouncements, as a result of this process of memory- or knowledge-production, had a very real impact. Pronouncements gave the impression of leading to immediate results, even though the two, pronouncement and its enforcement, were parallel and somewhat independent processes.60

59 See further Strauss 1985; R. Osborne 1994; Bers 2000. See also Hopkins 1991 for a discussion of the Roman institutional equivalents. 60 “Within our own legal systems disputes are deemed settled following the decision of a judge. This decision is subsequently executed by public authority. This encourages the view Putting the networks to work 71 Aeschines (1. 21) cites a “law of prostitution” according to which an Athenian convicted of prostitution suffered de factoatimia and was barred from holy places and the Agora.61 This “law” does not mean that prostitution was illegal for Athenians. It is not merely prescrib- ing a legal penalty but also describing the social consequences of the reputation of being a prostitute. To be excluded from the Agora, for an ambitious man like Timarchus, meant a great deal indeed. It was not the case that he had to stand just outside the sacred lustral basins and look on wistfully while the Athenians went about their business. It was that a reputation attached to him that made it virtually impossible to appear in public. It is no longer fashionable to speak of Athens as a “shame culture,” but the communal rumor mill was especially intense and made life especially unbearable for prominent people with a bad reputation. Sideways glances, muttered comments, outright ridicule: insults and slights that would make life hard for anyone made it impossible for the politically active to pursue their ambitions. “With what sort of face [τέοισί … ὄμμασι] must I appear going to the Agora and coming from the Agora? What kind of person will I seem to be to the citizens?” Herodotus (1. 37) has the son of Croesus ask, voicing a concept that would have doubtlessly resonated with his Athenian readers. There was no institutional police keeping Timarchus (or Croesus’ son Atys, for that matter) from the Agora. Social pressure would enforce the formal ban of atimia, by the fact that everyone knew him as “the whore,” and would point fingers at him. It is not surprising that the biographer of the Ten Orators elaborated on Demosthenes’ comment that Aeschines “destroyed” Timarchus to suggest that Timarchus hanged himself out of shame (Dem. 19. 2; [Plut.] Mor. 841a). This was the same effect that the slander of the archaic iambic poets Archilochus and Hipponax had against their targets.62 The problem with Athens was that it was too big a city to be admin- istered effectively. Its great size and the multitude of its population, Aristotle complained, led to frequent administrative “improvisation

that settlement of disputes and the pronouncements of the judiciary are one and the same thing. Yet this is often not the case” (Rouland 1994 [1988]: 72); cf. Humphreys 1985b. 61 On atimia in general, see Hansen 1976. 62 See the discussion in Rotstein 2010: 320 ff. 72 Athenian social networks

[autoskhediazein]” (Pol. 1326b14–22).63 Isocrates puts the same point in more evocative language: [Athens] is so large and the crowd of its inhabitants so great, that the city does not present to the mind an image easily grasped or sharply defined, but, like a turbid flood, whatever it catches up in its course, whether men or things, in each case it sweeps them along pell-mell. διὰ γὰρ τὸ μέγεθος καὶ τὸ πλῆθος τῶν ἐνοικούντων οὐκ εὐσύνοπτός ἐστιν οὐδ’ ἀκριβής, ἀλλ’ ὥσπερ χειμάρρους, ὅπως ἂν ἕκαστον ὑπολαβοῦσα τύχῃ καὶ τῶν ἀνθρώπων καὶ τῶν πραγμάτων, οὕτω κατήνεγκε, καὶ δόξαν ἐνίοις τὴν ἐναντίαν τῆς προσηκούσης περιέθηκεν. (15. 172, tr. Norlin) The civic institutions attempted to channel, harness, and control this “turbid flood” of human movement and circulation. The institutions, and the ideas about the rule of law that they promulgated, provided the tradition-sanctioned framework which individuals used to construct and contest knowledge. The knowledge produced in the institutions flowed outward into the city with the audiences and circulated with them in taverns, markets, and shops. Knowledge born on rumor then would flow back into the institutions, affecting subsequent debates and decisions, and so on. That was how the system was supposed to work. But judicial knowledge, knowledge about verdicts and the outcomes of court procedures, probably traveled further and more widely than deliberative knowledge, knowledge about policy debates in the Assembly. Under normal circumstances, most Athenians were probably more interested in the lives and lawsuits of the rich and famous than the latest debate in the Assembly. The union of the political and the personal is not a modern invention.64 But the enforcement of Athenian decrees likely also depended to a large extent to the degree to which ordinary people were talking about them, or not. Aristophanes caricatures this process in a passage from his Ecclesiazousai. In the aftermath of the Assembly’s passing a particularly radical decree after the women have infiltrated the Assembly with the aid of beards and

63 See E. Cohen 2000, who starting from this and the following passage draws a compelling picture of Athenian society as much less static and status-bound than is generally thought. 64 See Payne 2010. Putting the networks to work 73 have managed to carry the vote with carefully applied pressure, there still remains the problem of putting their decree into effect. The scene shifts from the Assembly to the street, where a man dutifully oversees his slaves carrying his property to the Agora according to Praxagora’s decree installing a regime of communism. Someone confronts him and asks, is he moving house or pawning his property? He cannot conceive that someone would actually be going out of his way to meet the decree’s requirements. To his surprise he hears: A: I am intending to bring these to the Agora for the sake of the city according to the laws that have been passed. B: You’re intending to bring them?! A: Certainly. B: Then you’re insane, by Zeus the Savior! A: How? B: How? Easily. A: What, I shouldn’t obey the laws? B: What laws, you poor fool? A: Those that have been passed. B: “Those that have been passed.” What a chump you are. A: A chump? B: Aren’t you? You’re the dumbest of all. A: Because I do what is commanded? B: Should the wise do “what is commanded?” A: Above all others. B: The sucker rather. A: You don’t intend to surrender your property? B: I’m waiting to see what the crowd has in mind — μὰ Δί’ ἀλλ’ ἀποφέρειν αὐτὰ μέλλω τῇ πόλει ἐς τὴν ἀγορὰν κατὰ τοὺς δεδογμένους νόμους. — μέλλεις ἀποφέρειν; — πάνυ γε. — κακοδαίμων ἄρ’ εἶ νὴ τὸν Δία τὸν σωτῆρα. — πῶς; — πῶς; ῥᾳδίως. — τί δ’; οὐχὶ πειθαρχεῖν με τοῖς νόμοισι δεῖ; — ποίοισιν ὦ δύστηνε; — τοῖς δεδογμένοις. — δεδογμένοισιν; ὡς ἀνόητος ἦσθ’ ἄρα. — ἀνόητος; — οὐ γάρ; ἠλιθιώτατος μὲν οὖν ἁπαξαπάντων. — ὅτι τὸ ταττόμενον ποιῶ; 74 Athenian social networks — τὸ ταττόμενον γὰρ δεῖ ποιεῖν τὸν σώφρονα; — μάλιστα πάντων. — τὸν μὲν οὖν ἀβέλτερον. — σὺ δ’ οὐ καταθεῖναι διανοεῖ; — φυλάξομαι, πρὶν ἄν γ’ ἴδω τὸ πλῆθος ὅ τι βουλεύεται. (758–70) The “poor fool” has internalized the institutions’ ideology of the rule of law. He cites the decree as the basis for his actions because he believes that institutional pronouncements are the final word in legislation and adjudication. He is thus eager to meet the decree’s requirements. The other, the “wise guy,” knows that the crowd is the true measure of Athenian politics. He will gauge the crowd’s sentiment and act accordingly. The law-abider, “A,” is bringing his property because of the “laws that have been passed [κατὰ τοὺς δεδογμένους νόμους].” “B” knows that an institutional pronouncement is binding only if a plurality of the crowd decides to make it so, and that decisions are not final when they are pronounced; they could be reversed, he points out (812–29), or simply ignored. Enforcing a pronouncement, whether of the Assembly or of a court, needed as much work as to introduce the motion in the first place. As the “wise guy” in Aristophanes’ vignette suggests, enforcement could vary depending on public sentiment, on “what the crowd [plêthos] has in mind.” A decree of the Assembly or a verdict of the court entailed, by definition, a degree of serious public commitment. This was an inevitable result of the fact that the procedures involved hundreds of individuals in the courts and thousands of individuals in the Assembly. The production and dissemination of public opinion was a persistent aim or effect of Athenian rituals, practices, and institutions. To some extent, as Ober (2008) shows, this effect was automatic, a direct consequence of the interaction of citizens in the Athenian public sphere. Yet what if on that day the attendees at the Assembly were not very interested in the proceedings, or not paying full attention? If C. Johnstone (1996) is right in his discussion about the physical limitations of the human voice and the structure of the Pnyx, a sizeable portion of the audience would not have been able to make out clearly the words of the orator even if there had been deathly silence in the crowd, which was probably rarely the case. What if they raised their Putting the networks toÂwork 75 hands absent-mindedly when the herald called for their vote, without really being sure what they were voting for, like Plato’s description of the “sleepy juror” (Rep. 405c)? The decree that the Assembly passed would not necessarily go into effect. As Demosthenes complains, “If someone were to read your decrees and then look at your actions he would not believe they are by the same people” (13. 32). He explicitly lists two cases where the Athenians passed ambitious decrees but did not follow through with them.65 Or the Assembly might pass a sweeping decree demanding that the “allies” use only Athenian coins, standards, and measures, and might dispatch heralds throughout the empire (IG I3 1453). But without steady public support it would be in vain, as in fact seems to be the case here judging from the fact that the cities continued to mint coins to the same standards as before.66 Imagine Athenian politics as a machine consisting of two wheels joined by a set of gears. The wheels turn at different speeds, but they are also connected so that eventually the motion of the one is transmitted to the other. Occasionally the gears might “skip” and the turn of the one wheel is not transmitted to the other. I said “occasionally,” but this was probably a more common occurrence in Athenian politics than some would have liked to be the case. Aristotle testifies to this when he says that large cities are susceptible to administrative “improvisation” (Pol. 1326b20). In other words, not all public knowledge was created equal. Some public acts were more likely to “take” than others. Greater public awareness of an issue or of the individuals involved in a case made it more likely that the decision or verdict would lead to what Ober calls an “alignment cascade” (2008: 170). This means that institutional work alone was not sufficient to bring something about, to produce a social fact, or to implement a decision. Politics did not stop when the herald dismissed the Assembly. Instead they spilled over into informal spaces outside the institutions; if they did not, the decisions would not go into effect.

65 Cf. 4. 25–30 with Mader 2006. My thanks to the Cambridge referee who called my attention toÂthis. 66 Figueira 1998 is an exhaustive study of this decree, finding no effect on the actual mint- ing practices of the allies. Compare the unpublished mid-fourth-century decree reminting Athenian silver coinage, which as Kroll 2011 shows, was effective. The difference between the two must be that the fifth-century measure was foisted on unwilling allies whereas the fourth-century measure presumably had wide public support. 76 Athenian social networks The resources of the informal or non-institutional public sphere were thus absolutely essential to the Athenian democracy. If politicians knew this, and they surely did, it is not surprising to find them taking steps to access those resources in order to increase public interest and awareness in their cause by other means, such as spreading rumors or engaging in theatrics. From an institutional perspective this was a problem, as we will see in the next chapter. chapter 3 The problem of non-institutional politics

The ancient Greek tongue and the political practice of the Athenians offer us a precious – and, in my opinion, universally valid – distinction among three spheres of human activities that the overall institution of society must both separate and articulate: the oikos, the agora, and the ekklesia. (Castoriadis 1997b: 7)

When he was an old man the lawgiver Solon met the tragedian Thespis. The art of tragedy was just starting to come into its own and Solon wanted to see the new art for himself. After the performance (presumably a sensational one) he pulled Thespis to the side and asked him, was he not ashamed to speak lies before so many people? Thespis replied that it was just playpaidian ( ). This remark made Solon furious. He struck his staff on the ground and exclaimed, “If we honor and praise such play we will soon find it in our contracts!” (Plut. Sol. 29. 6–7). Right on the heels of this story in Plutarch’s narrative follows another that seems to prove Solon right. Pisistratus appears in the Agora claiming that “enemies of the people” had attacked him; in reality he had wounded himself. Solon immediately sees through the ploy. Again he pulls aside the “actor” and confides to him, “You are not playing the part of Homeric Odysseus very well, son of Hippocrates. You are deceiving your fellow citizens, while he wounded himself to deceive his enemies” (30. 1). He was referring to Odysseus’ famous ploy when he disfigured and disguised himself as a beggar in order to infiltrate Troy Od.( 4. 244). Sure enough, the wily Pisistratus subsequently used the bodyguard that the demos gave him for his protection to claim sole rule over Athens. He outfitted them with distinctive clubs and used them as his personal enforcers. This trick would become proverbial. Plato called it “the storied tyrannical

77 78 The problem of non-institutional politics request” which invariably leads to the concentration of power in the hands of one man (Rep. 566b5). Aristotle described it as an example sufficiently well known to support the argument that “whoever is plotting for the tyranny requests bodyguards” (Rhet. 1357b35). But Solon was not just an astute critic of theatricality. He was able to see through it because he was also an actor himself.1 Plutarch has a third story from Solon’s younger days that illustrates this. The Athenians were engaged in a long and fruitless war over the island of Salamis. Tired of the war they passed a law forbidding anyone to even mention it on the penalty of death. As Plutarch tells it, Solon evaded this prohibition with the help of a stunt similar to Pisistratus’ (8. 1–3). He knew, somehow, that public opinion was secretly in favor of resuming the war but the prohibition prevented it from man- ifesting. People were not discussing it because they were afraid of violating the law and thus no collective action was possible.2 But Solon had a plan. He first spread a rumor around the city that he was insane. This was important in setting the stage for his performance. Putting on a felt hat (perhaps signifying a convalescent state), he burst into the Agora, stood on the herald’s stone, and broke out into an elegiac song he had composed and memorized about Salamis.3 “A large crowd ran together.” The performance got people talking and led to public debates about the war; even Pisistratus himself spoke publicly in favor, presumably at an Assembly meeting.4 And thus the war resumed thanks to a theatrical stunt. So Solon seems to want it both ways. He criticizes others for introducing theatricality into serious business and politics where it does not belong, but he is not above using it himself when it suits his interests. This is not merely hypocrisy. In the figure of Solon I find the manifestation of a basic tension in Athenian politics. Informal forms and forums of communication presented a challenge to Athenian institutions

1 “The themes of theatricality, feigned behaviour, the spilling over of the poetic into the political, swarm around the figures of Solon and Peisistratus” (Irwin200 5: 274); cf. D.L. 1. 49–50. For the relationship between Solon and Pisistratus see Irwin 2005: 263–80. For Solon’s warning about Pisistratus’ trickery see also P. Oxy. 664. 2–6. 2 As Ober (2008: ch. 3) would put it, they had a “coordination problem.” 3 See Irwin 2005: 139–42 for the significance of the hat (echo of Telephus or Odysseus in rags); Noussia-Fantuzzi 2010: 203–10 suggests the entire story is based on the fragment of the ode, a symposium being the more likely original venue rather than the Agora. 4 In Polyaenus, the poem itself instills the Athenians with a martial energy (1. 20. 1). There is no mention of formal legislation. The problem of non-institutional politics 79 and the status hierarchies they relied on. And yet the resources they provided were simply too important for politicians to ignore. In a nutshell, the reason for the tension had to do with the fact that “stunts” like Solon’s and Pisistratus’ should not have been necessary. The Assembly and the courts were supposed to be reliable con- duits of the demos’ deliberations and judgments. Decisions were immediately binding on the whole city; there was no mechanism of appeal from a jury verdict, no higher court. The political institutions did not represent the demos; they were the demos. Non-institutional politics represented a conceptual challenge to this illusory but necessary equivalence between institutions and public. I say conceptual rather than actual because it is not the case that non-institutional politics were a completely different means of doing politics or provided a political voice to those who would not have one otherwise. They were not on a par with the “contentious politics” that are familiar in the mass media era: protests, rallies, marches.5 The challenge of non-institutional politics was conceptual because it challenged the efficacy of institutional procedure as a mechanism sufficient in itself for the production of social knowledge. The tension between the two kinds of politics arose because both were after the same prize: public opinion. Deliberative politics sought to influence it by involving large numbers of citizens in communal rituals of knowledge-creation.6 By raising their hands to vote in the Assembly, or casting a ballot in a trial, they were also participating in the deliberative arena, endorsing the policy or legal arguments before them while also contributing to their dissemination throughout the city, and indeed (as I argued in the previous chapter) to their enforcement. Politics outside the institutions provided unmediated access to the resources of the public sphere, rumor and gossip, while bypassing the institutional channels, or worse, while influencing their operation. Street politics sought to put protagonists into certain familiar roles and identities: the victim, the transgressor, the champion, the leader. They sought to put the public in a particular mood that would make it receptive to subsequent arguments or ideas, influencing the outcomes of votes in the Assembly and courts.

5 On the terms “contentious politics” see Tilly 2008. 6 For an analysis of Athenian rituals as knowledge-creating practices, see Ober 2008. 80 The problem of non-institutional politics Solon’s Salamis Ode paved the way for a formal decision to go war over Salamis. Pisistratus by his act of self-wounding presented himself as the embattled champion of the people against those who wished them ill. In turn, heightened interest and emotion would make a formal decision or act more likely to take effect. From an institutional perspective, only the contest between the formal, opposing speeches should matter. The system worked best when the orator undertook to present himself as he really was, and to provide the honest and best advice that he sincerely believed in.7 As Demosthenes describes the ideal rhetor–audience relationship: “It is the duty of a well-intentioned [eunou] and just citizen to submit to being heckled [thorybêthênai] … about a position that he has convinced himself will benefit the city … And yours is to endure the speeches of both sides so that if a better alternative than the course on which you have embarked should appear, you can take it”

(Ex. 5. 1–2).8 Aristotle’s Rhetoric can be read in part as an attempt to delimit the bounds of institutional reason, famously counting as “out of bounds [ἔξω τοῦ πράγματος]” anything to do with manipulative performance (1358a22, 1404a).9 Aristotle’s attempt to delineate a pure art of argument-based rhetoric as a form of institutional communication finds an analogy in practical attempts to keep apart the institutional from the non-institutional.

Separating the institutional from the extra-institutional As we saw in the previous two chapters, politics’ main arena, the Agora, was a fluid space without sharp, “natural” boundaries. Commerce and industry rubbed shoulders with politics, statuses to some extent blended, and institutions depended on social flows that by their own logic ought to remain external to them. This was a source

7 See Liddel 2007: 236–8. 8 On the ethics of sincerity (and the performance) of the symboulos see Yunis 1996: 247–68; Duncan 2006; Mader 2007. 9 See Bers 2009, who reads this as an attempt to delimit professional from amateur. I agree with Bers, but would add that the division was not only between professional and amateur but more importantly between institutional and extra-institutional kinds of performance. “Professionals” also engaged in amateur kinds of behavior when it suited their interests, as we will see in this chapter and the next. The institutional and the extra-institutional 81 of discomfort for some. They sought to draw sharper boundaries between the political and legal institutions and the Athenian Street. These boundaries were literal and metaphorical. Literal barriers went up to separate institutional from non- institutional space and time. For instance, ostracism, according to Philochorus (FrGrH 328 F 30), took place in the Agora. For the procedure they cleared the Agora of the temporary structures we discussed above, and wooden barriers closed it off to ordinary traffic. The barriers left ten openings through which the citizens would file, one opening per tribe, to lay down their potsherds scratched with the name of the person they would most like to see exiled for the next decade. Similarly when juries were selected, a barrier with ten openings separated the procedure from ordinary life (AP 63. 2, 65. 1). A barrier also closed off the Assembly when it was inses- sion.10 A simple barrier closed off the Council; a simple rope declared the Royal Stoa off limits when the Areopagus deliberated inside. At those times “silence falls and everyone steps outside” ([Dem.] 25.

23).11 Once the barrier went up a different code of conduct applied. If we could be transported back in time we would probably be shocked at what counted as institutional decorum in Athens. But such things are relative. As noted above, one of the characteristic features of the Areopagus’ proceedings is that the speakers had to refrain from extraneous subjects (Arist. Rhet. 1354a23). Assembly speakers also customarily refrained (for the most part) from excessive personal insult and vituperation.12 The courts allowed greater leeway, but there too structural constraints limited who could speak, how, and about what. Physical barriers limited access but not the flow of information. Spectators were inevitably part of the proceedings, as I mentioned above.13 And the Agora was always just beyond the barrier, threatening

10 [Dem.] 59. 90; Dem. 18. 169; Ar. Ach. 20–1, Eccl. 300–3. 11 See Lavelle 1982; Boegehold 1995: 195–201. 12 Aeschines claimed there was a law against it (1. 35); if he’s right it either did not exist in the fifth century or it did not stop Cleon from hurling abusive language at his opponents, a knack he was famous for (AP 28. 3; Ar. Ach. 377–82; Plut. Nic. 8. 6). Demosthenes’ published Assembly speeches are indeed largely free of the personal invective he displays in the forensic speeches, as is pointed out by Goldstein 1968: 115 (cf. Exordia 11, 20, 31, 52, 53. 1–2; Plut. Dem. 11. 4–5). 13 See Roux 1976; Lanni 1997. 82 The problem of non-institutional politics to contaminate the political with the commercial. Aristophanes plays with the anxiety this provoked in a scene in the Knights, where the Sausage-seller tells how he managed to influence the Council even though he was not an authorized participant. When the barrier to the Council went up, only authorized participants could enter or speak. The Sausage-seller is sitting just next to it, listening to Cleon speak of conspiracies and plots, when he figures out how to stop him. He collects his courage by summoning the gods of the Agora and the spirit of the Agora itself, “in which I was raised from a child, give me boldness and a resourceful tongue and a shameless voice [Βερέσχεθοί τε καὶ Κόβαλοι καὶ Μόθων, ἀγορά τ’ ἐν ᾗ παῖς ὢν ἐπαιδεύθην ἐγώ, νῦν μοι φράσος καὶ γλῶτταν εὔπορον δότε φωνήν τ’ ἀναιδῆ]” (636–7). A favorable omen appears (a katapygôn breaks wind to his right), the Sausage-seller breaks down with his rump the flimsy barrier kigklis( ) separating the Council, and he shouts in the tones of a messenger: “O Council, I have great news and wanted to share it with you first: since war first broke out I’ve never seen a better price on anchovies!” (642–5). The Council rushes out in response to this news, “leaping over the barriers” (675) to snatch up the bargains, leaving Cleon behind chattering meekly about pressing official matters such as hearing a messenger from Sparta concerning a peace treaty. But the councilors are too preoccupied with the low prices of small-fry. “About a treaty, now? Now that anchovies are at a good price, we don’t need a treaty. Let the war grind on!” (670–2). Aristophanes’ scene of the Sausage-seller breaking down the barrier to the Council with news of bargains on anchovies plays with elite worries about the too-close relationship between the Agora and the political institutions. The Sausage-seller is even more a creature of the Agora (agoraios) than Cleon.14 But, it turns out, so are all the councilors. All it takes is a mere push on the barrier to turn the Council into a bargain-shopping menace, throwing the entire proceedings into chaos. The councilors’ preoccupation with bargains on fish leads to more war and suffering. Elite anxieties about keeping the institutional and the extra- institutional apart also registered in a discourse critical of

14 Cf. Millett 1998. See Ostwald 1986: 215–16 for charges of politicians being agoraioi. For the fourth-century adaptation of the concept see Rosenbloom 2004b. The institutional and the extra-institutional 83

extra-institutional forms of political communication.15 Above I expanded on Finley’s characterization of Athenian public life as an intense political education with multiple and overlapping opportunities for political discussion, such as in workshops and social gatherings. Interestingly, when orators refer to such discussions outside the political institutions it is almost always from a critical perspective. Sociality itself is not the target of the criticism. As the speaker of Lysias 24 states approvingly, it is normal to socialize in workshops (20; cf. [Dem.] 25. 52). Rather, the threat arises when informal sociality impinges on institutional concerns. For example, people discuss a court case or they trade information that is relevant to a discussion in the Assembly. Then the activity of “standing around with crowds and sitting in the workshops” becomes “telling stories [logous epoi- eto]” (Isoc. 18. 9). The notion of logopoiein is closely tied with fiction and low status.16 There is not a single instance of a speaker admitting to engaging in logopoiein himself, just as it is quite rare to find an orator discussing rumor in a positive light.17 It is always something his opponents do or people do in general, and the information they spread is invariably erroneous or purposefully misleading. It is in fact the orator’s duty to counter the lies of logopoioi with the truth. “My enemies were spreading this story [elogopoioun] about me, intending to slander me” (And. 1. 54). “These are the kinds of stories they spread [logopoioun- tas] about me, lying obviously” (Lys. 16. 11). “Rumor-mongers [hoi

15 O’Neill 2003 studies a similar type of critical discourse in the Roman Republic. There too we find expressions of disdain against informal gatherings circuli( ) because they could undermine the elite’s self-representation as the shapers of public opinion in the institutions. 16 See Kurke 2011: 370–82. 17 The exception is Aeschines’ Against Timarchus. The daring rhetorical strategy of this speech is to argue that rumors are invariably true (1. 127). Demosthenes and Aeschines’ sparring on this point suggests that it was a novel strategy, and a losing one at that. Demosthenes argues that if rumor is always true, the rumor that Aeschines took bribes must be true (19. 243–4). In his reply Aeschines tries to distinguish between rumor (what he says about Timarchus) and sycophancy (what Demosthenes says about him): “Rumor has nothing in common with slander, but slander is related to sycophancy. Rumor is when the crowd of citizens of its own will without prodding asserts that a deed is a fact. Sycophancy is when a speaker brings a charge before an audience and slanders someone in the Assembly and the Council” (2. 144–5). He seeks to reverse the normal values, arguing that informal, non-institutional rumors are always true whereas institutional, formal attacks are often false because motivated by personal hostility. For the implicit link between sycophants and rumor-mongering see Doganis 2007: 102–8. 84 The problem of non-institutional politics

logopoiountes] are the dumbest people of all” (Dem. 4. 49).18 Similar disdain, and similar status anxiety, tinges Theophrastus’ portrait of the logopoios. This type of person claims to have inside information: He knows a soldier or a slave of the piper Asteus or Lycon the contractor just back from the battle, from whom he says he heard the news. His reports of their stories are such that no one can criticize. He relates that they tell him that Polyperchon and the King have won the battle and Cassander has been taken captive. And if someone were to ask him, ‘Do you believe that?’ he’ll say, ‘They’re shouting it up and down the city, everyone’s talking about it and saying the same thing. It was a real bloodbath!’ And he points to the faces of the people of consequence; he has seen them all with an altered look. And he also says that he overheard that they’ve got someone who came from Macedonia four days ago locked up in a house, and he knows all this. καὶ ἔστιν αὐτῷ ἢ στρατιώτης ἢ παῖς Ἀστείου τοῦ αὐλητοῦ ἢ Λύκων ὁ ἐργολάβος παραγεγονὼς ἐξ αὐτῆς τῆς μάχης, οὗ φησιν ἀκηκοέναι. αἱ μὲν οὖν ἀναφοραὶ τῶν λόγων τοιαῦταί εἰσιν αὐτοῦ, ὧν οὐθεὶς ἂν ἔχοι ἐπιλαβέσθαι. διηγεῖται δὲ τούτους φάσκων λέγειν, ὡς Πολυπέρχων καὶ ὁ βασιλεὺς μάχῃ νενίκηκεν, καὶ Κάσανδρος ἐζώγρηται· καὶ ἂν εἴπῃ τις αὐτῷ· “σὺ δὲ ταῦτα πιστεύεις;” φήσει· τὸ πρᾶγμα βοᾶσθαι γὰρ ἐν τῇ πόλει, καὶ τὸν λόγον ἐπεντείνειν, και πάντας συμφωνεῖν· ταὐτὰ γὰρ λέγειν περὶ τῆς μάχης· καὶ πολὺν τὸν ζωμὸν γεγονέναι. εἶναι δ’ ἑαυτῷ καὶ σημεῖον τὰ πρόσωπα τῶν ἐν τοῖς πράγμασιν· ὁρᾶν γὰρ αὐτῶν πάντων μεταβεβληκότα· λέγει δ’, ὡς καὶ παρακήκοε παρὰ τούτοις κρυπτόμενόν τινα ἐν οἰκίᾳ, ἤδη πέμπτην ἡμέραν ἥκοντα ἐκ Μακεδονίας, ὃς πάντα ταῦτα οἶδε. (Char. 8. 7–8) He starts by saying that he has a reliable source but as he talks the source recedes from him. It turns out his knowledge is based on the look of the faces of those who actually have information, or on another rumor. He likes to feel important but really knows nothing more than anyone else. The role of such ignoramuses in propagating baseless claims is clear: by insisting that the whole town is talking he brings about the very thing he is asserting. Note the topics that he talks about relate to the kinds of issues that might arise within

18 Compare Lysias’ grain-merchants who are always on the lookout for bad news or manufac- turing it themselves [poieisthai logous] in order to scare up prices and boost their profits (Lys. 22. 14). Here the activity does not impinge on politics, but on economics. The similarity is that it impedes established hierarchies and channels of exchange. The institutional and the extra-institutional 85 the Council or Assembly, relating to foreign affairs and the conduct of war. Theophrastus describes other talkers: the garrulous person (adoleskhês), the babbler (lalos), and the malicious gossip (kakologos). Each exhibits a different aspect of the character flaw of talking too much.19 The adoleskhês literally says everything that comes to mind, like what dream he had or what he had for dinner, or what holiday is coming up (3. 2; cf. Plut. De Gar. 504f). The lalos likes to mon- opolize the conversation. If people ask him to tell them what happened in the Assembly he tells them about a speech once given by a speaker many years ago, and one given in Sparta even longer ago, and (of course) the speeches that he himself once gave to great acclaim (7. 7). The kakologos is fond of malicious gossip, such as impugning the status of others and commenting on their sexual proclivities and marital relations (28. 4). But the logopoios appears especially villain- ous when seen from the perspective of the political institutions. His talk threatens to disrupt established hierarchies of communication. “In what workshop, what stoa, what part of the Agora don’t [such types] spend their days, striking their audience dumb?” (8. 15). His portrait, as painted by orators and by Theophrastus, is a negative image of how communication should work: institutional concerns should remain within the institutions. There is obviously something self-serving about the near-universal condemnation of logopoiein in our sources. Demosthenes condemns rumor-peddling on multiple occasions (4. 49, 21. 104, 57.64), but according to an accuser he also engaged in it himself, or rather hired others to do it for him (Din. 1. 35). But how could he not hire them? Athenian public life was intense and discussion was unceasing. Matters settled one day became unsettled the next. How did public opinion shift, for instance, in the case of Mytilene if not by means of discussion in informal settings, in places such as the workshops and stoas and the Agora, which the orators depict as the haunts of the logopoioi? A politician, or anyone with business before the Assembly or the courts, would be making a serious mistake if he or his associates did not make the rounds of the workshops and the Agora and try to talk up his side and talk down his opponent’s. As I argued in

19 See Worman 2008: 296–307. 86 The problem of non-institutional politics the previous chapter, this kind of social networking is precisely what enforced a decision.

The problem of supplication What is interesting is not that Athens was a face-to-face society with a robust extra-institutional public sphere, but that the activity of this public sphere looked inimical when seen from an institutional perspective. One practice that critics especially singled out for condemnation was supplication (hiketeia). People who engage in this form of theatrical display within the institutions, argued the critics, derail the institutions’ correct operation by introducing superfluous elements of emotion and flattery. These were superfluous because in the deliberative institutions (as Solon suggested to Thespis) the citizen had an obligation to appear as he really was.20 Theatrical displays, they charged, are fitting for women, not for citizens. And yet despite the critical voices, as we will see in the next chapter, at some point in the fourth century the Athenians decided to institutionalize supplication by turning it into a regularly scheduled procedure for addressing the Assembly and the Council. Here too was a case where the close relationship between Solon and Pisistratus was emblematic of Athenian politics.21 The ritual of supplication enjoyed an exceptionally long life. Its earliest occurrence is in the opening scene of the Iliad, and it recedes into the practice of church asylum in the fourth century CE.22 There were different ways to perform it. A common one was simply to sit on or next to an altar, whereby the suppliant declared himself to be in need of protection. The altar was especially sacred, and by sitting on it the suppliant meant to present any potential violence he might face at the hands of his pursuer as an act of sacrilegious theft of the god’s property. In Athens a common form of supplication entailed placing a “suppliant’s branch,” hiketêria, on an altar in lieu of one’s person. The branch signified that someone wanted to bring an urgent petition or request to public attention.23 Once the matter

20 See Duncan 2006. 21 For the tradition that they were lovers, see AP 17. 2; Plut. Sol. 1. 4–5. 22 See Gould 1973; Naiden 2006; Ducloux 1994. 23 Andocides (1. 110–16) provides an intriguing vignette involving this kind of supplication. Here the situation was complicated by the fact that, according to him, his opponents sought The problem of supplication 87 was settled the suppliant was supposed to remove the branch. If the petition was not successful, the branch would lie on the altar as a silent witness to the injustice.24 Several plots of tragedies revolve around an act of supplication. Poets found in the ritual a convenient frame in which to explore issues of power, identity, and responsibility.25 It is quite likely that representation of the ritual on stage influenced the way the ritual was performed and received. An important feature of the ritual, whether on stage or in real life, was that it produced a fixed triangle of roles.26 As soon as a suppliant appeared the audience expected to see a villain in pursuit and a hero who would defend the suppliant and champion his interests. This tripartite structure of the ritual (suppliant – pursuer – defender) was quite useful for suppliants and their sponsors. It allowed them to triangulate their position and that of their opponents against a frame of tradition-sanctioned assump- tions and expectations. The presence of a suppliant was an implicit claim that his pursuers were impious villains, for it was considered an impiety to harm or threaten suppliants. As for the suppliant’s sponsors or protectors, it allowed them to present themselves in the mold of traditional, virtuous heroes, like so many latter-day Theseuses.27 Naiden (2006) rightly argues that not all suppliants were successful, and that successful suppliants had to argue and plead their case. But once someone took on the role (or was permitted to take on the role, which was not the same thing at all), the bias was against the pursuer. The basic plot of suppliant drama is simple. A suppliant appears and explains his or her plight, convincing a champion that he or she is worthy of protection. The champion then leads the people in a righteous war against those who seek to reclaim the fugitive.

to “frame” him with presenting the petition while in fact he had nothing to do with it. This is because the branch was placed on the altar of the Eleusinion, which was apparently considered off-limits to such petitions. 24 See, e.g., Eur. Suppl. 258–62; Servais 1967. 25 See Isoc. 12. 168; Pl. Menex. 239b. On “suppliant drama” see Bernek 2004. On suppliant drama as exploration of identity see Grethlein 2003; as exploration of power and responsibility see Tzanetou 2012. 26 For this see Kopperschmidt 1967. 27 On Theseus see in general Walker 1995; Mills 1997. 88 The problem of non-institutional politics Euripides’ Suppliants and Children of Heracles are examples of the genre at its most basic.28 In this section I focus on the play that is most interesting from my perspective, Aeschylus’ Suppliants. The oldest example of the genre, Suppliants is the first play in what would have been a trilogy surrounding the arrival of the Danaids in Argos, the war against the Egyptians that their arrival sparked, and the internal turmoil that followed. The whole story perhaps served as the founding myth for the institution of marriage, not unlike how the Oresteia performed a few years later served as a founding myth of the Areopagus.29 The play that we have revolves around the Danaids’ arrival and the decision of Argos’ king and demos to accept their supplication. Interestingly, Aeschylus presents that process as marred by a theatricality that implicitly undermines the city’s political institutions. In the opening scene the Danaids call their suppliant boughs encheiridia (21), which commonly describes a dagger or a knife.30 The play thematizes supplication as a tool.31 As is common in suppliant dramas, the play starts with the suppliants’ arrival. Then the ruler appears and asks the reason for their supplication. When they tell him that they want protection from their cousins, Pelasgus hesitates to accept the supplication without consulting the people: “I would not do it without the demos, though I have the power” (398–9). Nor is he willing to consult the people, because the Danaids have not convinced him that their claim is just. He proposes instead to offer sacrifices and pious prayers in the hope that it will all be well for the girls, though he does not expect that it will (450–4). The argument that does convince him is no argument

28 In the Suppliants Theseus champions the children of the dead Seven against Thebes against the herald’s demand for their expulsion from Athens. They ask him to help reclaim the bodies of their fathers. He leads the city to war in order to do so. In the Children of Heracles, Theseus’ son Demophon (a stand-in for Theseus whom genealogical chronology makes unavailable) champions the children of Heracles against the demands of Creon that they be extradited to face trial. This too leads to war. Aristotle describes the myth of the Heraclidae as one of the topics which any orator who seeks to move the Athenians to war should know (Rhet. 1396a). Brock 1998 usefully discusses the nuances in the different versions of the myths in tragedy and oratory. 29 See Garvie 1969. The date of the Suppliants is generally accepted as 463/2. 30 See Friis Johansen and Whittle 1980: ad loc. 31 On the play the following are helpful: Meier 1993 [1988]; Zeitlin 1992; Gödde 2000; C. Turner 2001. Each finds something unsettling in the way that the Danaids are presented, although none reads the play as I do, as a critique of extra-institutional politics. The problem of supplication 89 at all, but the Danaids’ threat to hang themselves from the sanctuary’s trees like so many votive offerings (463). This is clearly an arbitrary decision. There is no compelling, reasonable argument for why Argos should undertake to defend foreign girls against their cousins. Their claim to be related to Argos through Io does not persuade Pelasgus, and it certainly would not have persuaded the Argive people. (At least we can speculate that it would not because he does not repeat it in the Assembly later.) To get the people to fall in line behind his decision to go to war, accordingly, requires extra-institutional work. In his first and only address to the girl’s father, Danaus, Pelasgus instructs him to transport the Danaids’ suppliant boughs from the extra-urban sanctuary where they are located to altars throughout the city, “so that all the citizens see evidence of this supplication and talk does not fall against me.” The sight of the suppliant boughs, he suggests, will make the demos “more favorably disposed [eumenesteros], because everyone bears good will towards the weaker” (480–9). Danaus asks for an escort to show him where to put the branches and for protection because he worries that his outlandish appearance might bring him harm (492–9). Pelasgus con- sents to the escort and adds the striking detail that his men are not to speak to those who will gather (501–2). This can only be called a publicity stunt. Just as the silent procession will evoke the people’s interest and attention, the branches that will be placed throughout the city’s altars will orient their sentiment in a way that favors the Danaids. As Pelasgus says, when the people see the branches they will become “more favorably disposed.”32 Aeschylus juxtaposes the orchestration of the publicity stunt with a glimpse of the subsequent meeting of the Assembly. In doing so, he shows us how extra-institutional pressure translates into an institutional outcome that binds the whole city to a course of action for the wrong reasons. For in the Assembly Pelasgus draws on the sentiment

32 Most readers interpret Pelasgus as a straightforward tragic figure, trapped between his desire to be pious and his obligation to his city. Sommerstein (1997) notes the manipulation surrounding the Danaids’ supplication and has proposed a specific historical event as the inspi- ration behind Aeschylus’ plot. He suggests that Cimon’s support of the Spartan suppliant Periclidas could have been the historical occasion (Plut. Cimon 16. 9–10; Ar. Lys. 1138–44). In my reading of the play, Aeschylus is criticizing non-institutional politics more generally, rather than one event which might have been recent enough to resonate with some audience members. 90 The problem of non-institutional politics that the publicity stunt has created in order to pass legislation that commits the city to war if the Egyptiads forcibly try to drag their cousins away. Interestingly, the Assembly’s decision is framed in the form of a decree resembling quite closely extant decrees of the Athenian Assembly: The Argives decreed edoxen[ ] unambiguously … We are to be resident aliens in this land, free and immune from reprisals with the asylum of mortals: no inhabitant or foreigner may lay hands on us. And if force is applied, the citizen who does not help is to be disfranchised and an exile by the demos driven. ἔδοξεν Ἀργείοισιν οὐ διχορρόπως … ἡμᾶς μετοικεῖν τῆσδε γῆς ἐλευθέρους κἀρρυσιάστους ξύν τ’ ἀσυλίᾳ βροτῶν· καὶ μήτ’ ἐνοίκων μήτ’ ἐπηλύδων τινὰ ἄγειν· ἐὰν δὲ προστιθῇ τὸ καρτερόν, τὸν μὴ βοηθήσαντα τῶνδε γαμόρων ἄτιμον εἶναι ξὺν φυγῇ δημηλάτῳ. (605–14) This decree is a jarring anachronism that serves to underscore how the extra-institutional machinations of Danaus, the Danaids, and

Pelasgus have translated into an official pronouncement.33 Indeed, when the Egyptiad herald appears and tries to drag away the girls, Pelasgus confronts him not in his own name, which in fact he refuses to tell him, but in the name of the people, who have issued a publicly displayed decree (942–9). The line immediately before the ones quoted above is in fact the earliest instance of the term democracy, as Ehrenberg first pointed out (1950: 522–4). The chorus ask their father, “in which way does the powerful hand of the demos prevail

[δήμου κρατοῦσα χεὶρ ὅπῃ πληθύνεται]?”34 Remarkably, the word’s

33 Freedom-from-seizure (asylia) provisions are quite rare from Athens in the classical period (IG II2 286 is the only secure example; the term is restored in 12 and 81). But they are found elsewhere more frequently in the early classical period, for example, from Thessaly IG( IX 2. 257.4 – c. 460–450), from Crete (IC 4. 78.3 – c. 500; IC 1.8.4.3 – c. 460–450), from Elis (IvO 11.6 – c. 500–475), and Locris (IG IX 12 717.4 – c. 475–450). As Rigsby 1996 argues, they were probably little more than honors, not commitments to go to war. On the gap between proclamations of pious intent and actions see Christ 2012. 34 There is an additional political resonance in Aeschylus’ use of the term πληθύνεται, which might echo the archaic formula δῆμος πληθύων found in IG I3 105, the fragmentary regulations for the Council published c. 409. Ryan 1994 argues that the term might be Solonian. The problem of supplication 91 first occurrence is found in a context in which a publicity stunt serves to undermine, and ultimately overthrow, the Argive democracy itself. I say undermine because the decree, as I noted, has been passed as the result of manipulation. The decree commits the city to war. Pelasgus very clearly knows this (342), but in the Assembly (as Danaus narrates it) he speaks nothing of war, speaking instead only about the “heavy” wrath of Zeus that would fall on the city if they do not respect the Danaids’ supplication. This is the language of the Danaids (347, 616). Their talk, it seems, has infiltrated the Assembly, sweeping along the entire city into a bad decision. Euripides has a very different take on how a supplication should lead to war in his own Suppliants. His treatment of the theme tracks Aeschylus’ quite closely, suggesting that perhaps he is responding to it. The situations of the two plays are quite similar, a group of foreign suppliants arriving at the city with a request that will ultimately lead to war. Euripides’ play starts from the supplication of the children and mothers of the heroes who died in a vain attempt to conquer Thebes in the fratricidal war between Etocles and Polyneices, the sons of Oedipus. Just as Pelasgus initially rejects the Danaids, so Theseus also initially rejects the supplication. As the Danaids’ claim of kinship failed to convince Pelasgus, so the children’s uncle Adrastus fails to convince Theseus by pointing out the distant bond of kinship that exists between them. Theseus does not see what kind of argument he could relate to the citizens to persuade them to go to war in order to compel the Thebans to let them bury the dead: “By saying what good thing to my citizens?” (247). In both plays the kings change their minds under the influence of female persuasion. In Aeschylus it is a threat to commit suicide in a sanctuary. In Euripides it is a well- reasoned speech. Aethra’s speech in support of Adrastus’s request is eloquent and cogent.35 It draws on a common rhetorical division between interest and justice, arguing that to accept the suppliants’ request would be both just and in the interest of Theseus himself and of Athens. It is just because it would be acting to enforce the “law of the Greeks”

If Aeschylus is trying to evoke a feeling of hoary democratic origins here, it might suggest that the term had already gone out of fashion by his time. 35 See Foley 2001: 278 ff.; Mendelsohn 2002: 164–9. 92 The problem of non-institutional politics that one must bury the dead (311). It is in the interest of Theseus because it would bring him glory (306). And it is in the interest of the city because it would also bring it glory (315), and allow it besides the opportunity to expand its influence (323). Her realpolitik argument immediately changes Theseus’ mind. Given how closely it aligns with standard readings of this myth in Athenian oratory, we can assume that Euripides’ audience would also have found her arguments compelling.36 Pelasgus initially told the Danaids: “I would not do this without the people, though I have the power [οὐδέ περ κρατῶν]” (Aesch. Suppl. 398–9). Theseus also claims to be able to bend the people to his will but prefers to consult with them first: I want the whole city to also decide on this, and it will so decide if I want it. But if I also supply an argument I might have the demos more favorably disposed. δόξαι δὲ χρῄζω καὶ πόλει πάσῃ τόδε. δόξει δ’ ἐμοῦ θέλοντος· ἀλλὰ τοῦ λόγου προσδοὺς ἔχοιμ’ ἂν δῆμον εὐμενέστερον. (Eur. Suppl. 349–51) The difference is that Theseus aims to make the citizens “more favorably disposed [eumenesteros]” with a reasoned argument. As he tells the herald who comes to demand the suppliants’ extradition: “This city is not ruled by one man, it is free” (404–5). It is tempting to read into this that he feels ready to approach the Assembly because his mother has given him the rhetorical tools with which to do so.37 In contrast to Theseus, as Sommerstein notes, “Pelasgus is shown as obtaining this decision by blatant manipulation” (1997: 75). He seeks to make the people “more favorably disposed [eumenesteros]” (Aesch. Suppl. 488), the same word precisely as Theseus uses, but not by means of an argument; rather, by means of a theatrical stunt. Pelasgus wants to put the people in a receptive mood so that they do

36 “It is easy to see [from the stories about suppliants] that at that time our city was also hegemonic. Who would undertake to supplicate those who were weaker or those who were subject to someone else? … Though already admired because of their other deeds, these works [defending the suppliants against Thebes and Sparta] made them flourish all the more” (Isoc. 4. 57–9). 37 Note the definite article at 350–1, tou logou prosdous, which we might take to refer specifically to the logos that Aethra has just modeled for him. The problem of supplication 93 not blame him (484–5), even though before he arranged the stunt he imagined the possibility of their doing just that and complaining, “you honored foreigners and destroyed the city” (401). I would also note a neat verbal echo. Aeschylus characterizes Pelasgus’ assembly speech as “people-persuasive turns,” strophas (623), which nicely echoes the strophous, “twists,” of the Danaids’ robes by which they threatened to hang themselves, and finally persuaded Pelasgus to endorse their request (457).38 Both tragedians depict female discourse transmitted to the formal institutions but only Euripides portrays it in a positive light. Thus, the Danaids’ supplication is not just a simple supplication to the Argives, involving an approach, a ceremony, a request, and a judgment – the definition of supplication recently proposed by Naiden (2006). It entails stage-managing and directing, orchestrating and contriving. Danaus directs his daughters how to sit and speak (191–203). He revealingly calls their supplication “the might of contrivance [mêkhanês … kratos]” (209). In Chapter 5 I will study more closely such mêkhanai or “stunts” that can (mis)shape public opinion. The play ends on a high note: the Egyptiad herald is chased away and the girls enter the city as metics.39 The danger they pose is not yet apparent. In the sequel we know that Pelasgus will lose his life in the war, which will lead to temporary Egyptian occupation of the city, and the Danaids will murder forty-nine of their fifty cousins. The consequences of theatrical manipulation of institutional procedure are only hinted at in the extant play. But there are several such hints. A particularly striking one is the demos’ unexpected grant of a bodyguard to Danaus (774–5). Danaus’ receipt of a bodyguard is unsettling for three reasons. First, he seems to have addressed the demos himself without his sponsor, Pelasgus, being present. Second, he went to get help for his daughters, and yet he returns with protection for himself, well after the danger is past (leaving aside the problem that the same actor had to play the herald!). Finally, he receives a bodyguard, something that, as commentators point out, is strongly

38 Cf. Pl. Rep. 405c: strophas strophizesthai of using rhetorical maneuvers to get away with injustice. 39 See Bakewell 1997. 94 The problem of non-institutional politics reminiscent of one of the means by which the tyrant Pisistratus seized power. We have already mentioned that particular stunt at the beginning of this chapter and we will consider it again in the next. I suggest that Aeschylus’ play serves to highlight a tension between theatricality outside of the civic institutions and institutional reason. It does this by foregrounding the work that goes into orchestrating theatrical stunts, and how that influences institutional procedure. Aeschylus hints at the consequences such performances can have as they are transmitted throughout the city and influence public opinion. The fact that the city formally commits itself to a course of action for no good reason and based solely on a “contrivance” means to call attention to a problem, as Aeschylus sees it, in the political heart of Athens, namely the undue influence of publicity stunts on public deliberation. This was a problem because such stunts stoked powerful emotions that could cloud the issues and lead to bad public decisions. If my reading of his Suppliants is along the right lines, perhaps Aeschylus would have preferred a different kind of politics in which spectacle in the street did not shape public opinion. Perhaps Aeschylus would have found it preferable, and more democratic, if public opinion were formed entirely by free and open deliberation in the civic institutions; or if theatricality were confined to the theater. But this was not how Athens worked.

“Pitiable theatrics”: further critics of supplication Aeschylus’ Suppliants is the only suppliant drama that explicitly characterizes the use of supplication as a mêkhanê, or publicity stunt. But Aeschylus is not alone in expressing a concern that supplication might undermine the work of the deliberative institutions. Other authors also criticize the practice as one that corrupts political procedure by introducing elements that should be extraneous to it. Whereas Aeschylus and the other tragedians equate supplication with asylum in a sanctuary, the critics focus on supplication as a request during lawcourt speeches. But both critiques hinge on the fact that supplication displays seek to influence a procedure unduly. A quick survey of these criticisms can serve to flesh out Aeschylus’ critique and show what was behind it, namely a certain anxiety about “Pitiable theatrics”: further critics of supplication 95 status and correct forms of communication. A recurring refrain is that exposing citizens to scenes of supplication is to seek to make them respond emotionally rather than rationally to argument, and that this can undermine the institutions’ integrity as well as the status of the audience members as good citizens. Scenes of supplication were quite common in the courts. In Aristophanes’ Wasps Philocleon likes being a juror precisely because he gets to watch the theatrics of tall men with soft hands who hum- bly parade their children before him during their scrutinies: He begs me trembling as if I were a god to acquit him in his scrutiny: ‘If you like the voice of a lamb, pity the voice of my son!’ Or, if I like little piggies, he tries to persuade me with the voice of his daughter! κἄπειθ’ ὁ πατὴρ ὑπὲρ αὐτῶν ὥσπερ θεὸν ἀντιβολεῖ με τρέμων τῆς εὐθύνης ἀπολῦσαι· “εἰ μὲν χαίρεις ἀρνὸς φωνῇ, παιδὸς φωνὴν ἐλεήσαις·” εἰ δ’ αὖ τοῖς χοιριδίοις χαίρω, θυγατρὸς φωνῇ με πιθέσθαι. (Wasps 571–3) Johnstone (1999) counts nineteen instances in the preserved orations in which speakers supplicate the jury in this fashion, and fif- teen in which speakers anticipate that their opponents will do so. For example, Demosthenes anticipates that his opponent Midias might present himself surrounded by his children, who will supplicate the jurors for pity. He asks the jurors to respond to such a spectacle by imagining Demosthenes surrounded by the laws of the city (as if he were their father!), and that they are supplicating the jurors to act out of obligation and duty to them, not out of pity (21. 186–8). Demosthenes makes a stark contrast between supplication on the one hand and duty to the laws on the other. He opposes supplication’s appeal to emotion to the obligation to act in a deliberative, rational, and official manner. This distinction is basic. We find it expressed clearly in Lysias’ Against Alcibiades II, where the speaker asks his audience to imagine a situation in which an official supplicated the jury. “What custom would be more shameful, or what could be more terrible for the city?” (15. 3).40 What would happen,

40 Although editors generally insert after “terrible” I do not include it in my translation. The dativeτῇ πόλει works fine on its own withδεινότερον . Lysias’ claim is an exaggeration 96 The problem of non-institutional politics he asks, if archons made emotional displays to try to sway the jury in one way or another in cases involving the estates of heiresses? Lysias insists that a fundamental distinction exists between acting in an official capacity and an unofficial one. The difference is that the official must necessarily be impartial, and above all unemotional. This line of criticism is very much in keeping with conservative criticisms of Athenians’ emotionality and its influence on their decisions. For instance, Thucydides (6. 24. 3) famously characterizes the decision to invade Sicily as one that the Athenians made under the influence of a strong passion erôs( ). Powerful emotions of anger led the Athenians to decide to punish the Mytileneans, and equally powerful emotions of regret led them to change course the following day (3. 36. 2). The need to insulate political decisions from out-of- place emotions was a common theme, and not just in Thucydides.

A long line of critics echoed some variety of the charge.41 According to Antiphon, There are no more devious counselors than angerorgê [ ] and slander

[diabolê].42 An angry person cannot reach a good decision, it is impossible. For it corrupts that with which a person deliberates, his judgment [gnômê]. ὀργῆς καὶ διαβολῆς, ὡς τούτων οὐκ ἂν γένοιντο ἕτεροι πονηρότεροι σύμβουλοι. οὐ γὰρ ἔστιν ὅ τι ἂν ὀργιζόμενος ἄνθρωπος εὖ γνοίη· αὐτὸ γὰρ ᾧ βουλεύεται, τὴν γνώμην, διαφθείρει τοῦ ἀνθρώπου. (5. 72) It was perfectly reasonable to feel emotions. In fact, as Allen (2003) points out, orators (except Antiphon) frequently seek to make their audience feel anger. The issue is that orators should seek toper- suade their audience by means of argument, not performance. Thus Aristotle, who was an astute observer of society if ever there was one, and was in addition quite interested in emotions and in how the orator might arouse or subdue them in his audience by means of a

but not an unrealistic one. The point is that if officials engaged in theatrical pleas this would undermine the city’s legal system. 41 On “critics” of democracy see Ober 1998b. While the distinction between reason and emotion is a basic one, not every critic makes it the same way. Emotions in Thucydides, for example, are not the same concepts, or do the same kind of work, as the emotions in Plato or Aristotle. See, e.g., Koziak 2000; Konstan 2006; Tarnopolsky 2010. 42 Aristotle also seems to consider diabolê an emotion (Rhet. 1345a16–7; cf. Pl. Apol. 28b). “Pitiable theatrics”: further critics of supplication 97 well-crafted argument, thought that appeals to emotion per se do not belong to the art of the orator. Addressing them to jurors is “to make a ruler crooked before intending to use it” (Rhet. 1354a25–6). Scenes of supplication are especially problematic because they are conducted in the wrong “code”: in the code of Thespis rather than in the code of Solon. The problem with displays of supplication was that they person- alized the request and brought in elements of theatrical emotion that should be extraneous to the official public sphere. Thus, at the conclusion of his imaginary defense speech, the Antidosis, Isocrates suggests that he has no intention of supplicating for mercy. He does not intend to engage in the behavior that Procleon so enjoys in the lawcourts. The reason he will not grovel or bring out family members to do so is because he wants to be acquitted solely on the strength of his arguments (logous), both spoken and written, not because his performance influenced the jury emotionally (15. 321). The thrust of such passages is that the work of the juror is to evaluate the arguments of the speakers, and nothing else. The tendency of theatrics to muddy the distinction between the personal and the official, the rational and the emotional, is most notably elaborated in a passage of Plato’s Apology, which Isocrates probably had in mind in the passage just cited. Here Socrates explains why he refuses to supplicate though many others have supplicated over trivial matters and he is fighting for his life (34c). Socrates will not supplicate because to engage in these “pitiable theatrics [dramata]” (35b7) would be to demean both himself and the jurors. To an impartial observer those who supplicate are “no different than women” (35b2). It is easy to gloss over this comment as an all-too typical expression of deep-seated misogyny. And it might be that in part. But here the gendering of supplication as feminine also draws on traditional notions of gender hierarchy to mark the practice as illegitimate in both form and content. Women were not allowed to speak in court, even in their own defense. Whatever expressive capacity they had in court derived from an institutionally illegitimate form of speech. Think of the story about Phryne, who escaped the death penalty only because her defender stripped off her clothes to show her “divine” beauty (Athen. 13. 590e–1a). Supplication was similar in this perspective in that it relied on a manipulative display. The gendering 98 The problem of non-institutional politics of supplication also serves to provide a foil against which to define legitimate conduct suitable for a citizen: The juror is not empanelled in order to dispense justice as a favor, but to judge it. His oath is not to do a favor for whoever he decides, but to try the case according to the laws. οὐ γὰρ ἐπὶ τούτῳ κάθηται ὁ δικαστής, ἐπὶ τῷ καταχαρίζεσθαι τὰ δίκαια, ἀλλ’ ἐπὶ τῷ κρίνειν ταῦτα· καὶ ὀμώμοκεν οὐ χαριεῖσθαι οἷς ἂν δοκῇ αὐτῷ, ἀλλὰ δικάσειν κατὰ τοὺς νόμους. (Pl. Apol. 35c) Here Plato puts his finger on the central problem involving scenes of supplication in the democratic polis: they allowed people to undermine the politics of deliberation by means of an inappropriate, extra-institutional form of expression. The suppliant was not appealing to the Athenians’ sense of the rule of law. He was appealing directly to their emotions. Instead, Socrates insists, a defendant “should not beseech the juror, nor should a man who begs be acquitted. He should instruct and persuade [διδάσκειν καὶ πείθειν]” (35c). Decisions (κρίνειν) should be based on reasoned argument, not emotions or passions (cf. Rep. 582d). Suppliants, conversely, are asking for the jurors’ personal favor. As a recipient of supplications, each juror would have felt himself in the position of a king, as Aristophanes’ Philocleon admits (Wasps 549). In tragedy, kings are the normal addressees of supplications. Socrates would rather die than corrupt the institution of the court by appealing to the jurors’ emotions, even though that will make the jurors feel hostility toward him. He has too much respect for the laws of Athens, as he reiterates in the Crito, to do otherwise. His uncompromising stance construes displays of supplication as contrary to decision-making based on the careful weighing of arguments. Such are the only kind of decisions, he suggests, that a juror should allow himself to make.43 It is tempting to put Plato’s criticism down to that of a disillu- sioned voice in the wilderness. My reading of Aeschylus, Euripides,

43 Compare Plato’s account of the courts in Magnesia. Not only are there to be no supplications, but no oaths either (Laws 949b). In fact there is to be only one speech from each side, followed by prolonged “interrogation [anakrisis]” from each juror starting from the oldest and proceeding by age. Trials are perforce to last three days, not one as in Athens. The jurors are to take notes and return to them each day (855d–6a). This is an extreme form of the deliberative ideal he alludes to in the Apology. “Pitiable theatrics”: further critics of supplication 99 and Aristophanes, however, suggests that Plato expresses an idea which they would have agreed with, and certainly many in their audiences as well. Demosthenes cites a law that forbade anyone from performing supplications in the Council or Assembly about a verdict once it had been reached (24. 50). This suggests that many considered acts of supplication an undue influence and sought to curtail them. The law seems to allow the opportunity to perform the ritual but sets a strict limit to it. Court speeches often conclude with imagined scenes in which the relatives of the defendant come forth and collectively plead for the favor of the jurors, suggesting that the conclusion of the speech was seen as an acceptable occasion for such displays.44 Plato’s argument takes that notion of a limit to supplication to its logical conclusion. He prods his readers to ask, why forbid supplication after a verdict has been reached but not before it? We might answer this question: As the story about Solon and Thespis with which I began this chapter makes clear, the people who dominated the Athenian institutions did not so much seek to eliminate theatricality but to appropriate it. The next chapter considers how that worked, keeping the focus on the case of supplication.

44 But see Bers 2009, who argues that a speaker would not necessarily have acted out his appeal to pity every time we read “I supplicate you” in the preserved orations. chapter 4 Institutionalizing theatricality in the Assembly

Some say, “If someone approaches the Council or the Assembly with silver in hand he can conduct his business.” I would agree with them that much is accomplished in Athens by money, and even more could be accomplished if more people gave it. (“Old Oligarch” 3. 3) My reading of Aeschylus and the other “critics” has suggested that they particularly objected to the inappropriate use of supplication within the political institutions or involving institutional concerns. Just as some complained about the logopoioi who sought to shape public opinion in inappropriate places, these criticized the use of theatrical display to influence institutional proceedings inappropri- ately. Both kinds of criticism depended on an established set of distinctions between the deliberative and the theatrical, the formal and the informal, the political institutions and the Street. This line of criticism makes sense only if people in fact tried to influence institutional decisions by other means. Just as criticisms of logopoioi did not curtail the practice, so criticisms of theatricality did not prevent people from engaging in theatrical behavior when it suited their political interests – Solon’s criticism of Thespis did not prevent him from acting like Thespis when it suited. In the next chapter I will examine the Athenian record of publicity stunts, like those of Solon and Pisistratus. Here I keep the focus on the case of supplication. Despite its critics, supplication did not stop; defendants continued to present tableaux vivants of their families in court. Several speeches conclude with such imagined scenes, suggesting that they were quite common, and not entirely inappropriate, especially when the continuity of an oikos was at stake.1 While the critics condemn the practice

1 See S. Johnstone 1999: 109–25. 100 Supplication on the schedule 101 of supplication because it can corrupt institutional procedures with untimely emotion, supplication found a place in the Assembly as a regularly scheduled procedure of appeal. Interestingly, the introduction of the practice into the Assembly does not appear to have had the consequence of opening up the institutions to people who were otherwise excluded. The people who benefited the most were surprisingly not the suppliants.

Supplication on the schedule Supplications, according to the Athenaion Politeia (hereafter AP), were a regular item on the Assembly’s agenda. One of the four regular monthly meetings was exclusively “for suppliant-branches, in which anyone who wishes deposits a suppliant-branch and addresses the Assembly about any matter he wishes, private or public [θεὶς ὁ βουλόμενος ἱκετηρίαν, ὑπὲρ ὧν ἂν βούληται καὶ ἰδίων καὶ δημοσίων, διαλέξεται πρὸς τὸν δῆμον]” (43.6). The schedule, apparently drawn from an official archive or inscription, rather than from observation of actual practice, seems to be an innovation in Athenian procedure that originated between 353 and c. 330.2 It was possibly instituted after 353 because in a speech from that year Demosthenes (24. 21) suggests that there were three monthly sessions on the schedule, while the AP schedule calls for four sessions.3 Furthermore the schedule calls for one “plenary session” per month. The termekklêsia kyria (43. 4) appears in inscriptions as a term for a specific meeting starting only in the mid-330s, or perhaps as early as 340.4 Interestingly,

2 Note the formulaic language that shows clear marks of official tones:ὁ βουλόμενος ἱκετηρίαν, ὑπὲρ ὧν ἂν βούληται καὶ ἰδίων καὶ δημοσίων, and the odd future tense in διαλέξεται rather than the general present that we would expect. This is in keeping with the author’s habit, especially in the second half of the treatise, of “transpos[ing] the law’s prescription of what is to happen into a statement of what does happen” (Rhodes 1993: 641). One of the sections clearly based on eyewitness commentary is, curiously, in the section about the regulation of the sacred olives at 60. 2. He knows of a law that punishes by death anyone who cuts down one of the trees, but admits that it is not enforced. 3 See Hansen 1984a. Dem. 19. 154 makes it clear that there was a limited and fixed number of assemblies in a given month.

4 IG II3 1, 314, as restored by Lambert. On the controversy about the term ekklêsia kyria see Errington 1994, with the reply of Rhodes 1995b. At issue is whether the term was a new one when it begins to appear on prescripts (as Errington argues), or if it is an older term that begins to be included when the scribes become more fastidious. 102 Institutionalizing theatricality in the Assembly around this time we also begin to see epigraphic records of successful supplications. Perhaps their appearance coincides with the introduction of supplication as a regular procedure, but it is impossible to be sure. It is also impossible to be sure about the relationship between performance and inscription. Did every successful supplication result in an inscription? Most likely, no.5 Just as there were specific reasons why some petitioners would present themselves as suppliants, as I discuss below, there were specific reasons why some acts of supplication would be recorded epigraphically and not others. Still, if a regular procedure of supplication was introduced at or around this time it is tempting to associate it with the general turn toward the past that characterizes this time period. Supplication, an ancestral practice closely linked to narratives of the growth of Athens’ power (cf. Isoc. 4. 57–9), would have found a receptive audience among Athenians of the 340s and 330s, who were haunted by, in Badian’s apt term, “the ghost of empire” (1995). In this context, those who aspired to positions of authority in Athens seem to have found a useful image of leadership in the role of the protector of suppliants familiar from tragedy and nationalistic myth. That is, provided they could find someone to play the part of the suppliant. Decrees mark out a particular act of request as a supplication with the formula: “concerning the matters about which X was deemed to make lawful supplication [περὶ ὧν ἔδοξεν ἔννομα ἱκετεύειν].” The earliest restored instance of the formula is on IG II2. 192, a very fragmentary inscription that its editors date to before 353/2 based on the letter-forms. The formula’s earliest secure instance is on IG II2. 218 (= II3 1, 302), a decree that dates to 346/5. The formula’s final instance is on a decree of 302/1, where the suppliant is characterized as a public slave (IG II2. 502).6 From that fifty-year period we have a total of only eight supplication inscriptions.7 This is admittedly not

5 M. J. Osborne 2012 argues, against the broad consensus, that all decrees were in fact inscribed. 6 We would like to know more about this case in which a public slave addressed the Assembly. His name is usually restored as Ant]iphates, but Walbank 2002: 64–5 makes a strong case that it should be Epi]krates on the basis of a join with another fragment (cf. SEG 52. 103). On this decree most recently see Oliver 2009, who finds in the stone not one public slave but two, Antiphates supplicating for an honor for Epikrates.

7 Besides the three listed above, these are: IG II2. 211 (= II3 1, 503; 348/7), 276 (= II3 1, 418; c. 340–320), 337 (= II3 1, 337; 333/2), 336b (= II3 1, 333; 334/3–333/2), 404 (var.: 363/2–338/7). Supplication on the schedule 103 a large sample, but it is perhaps representative enough to permit us to say something about how supplication worked in the Assembly. The formula that marks a particular petition as a supplication to the Assembly is both remarkable and commonplace. It is remarkable because the formula is almost unparalleled in the Greek world.8 It is commonplace because aside from the formula the inscriptions do not differ from standard honorific decrees. The bestowal of honors and privileges was the most common business of the fourth-century Assembly, at least judging from the epigraphic record. By Hansen’s count, more than half of all inscribed decrees and more than a quarter of those mentioned by literary sources involve honors (1987: 108–18). Indeed, the supplication inscriptions involve standard bestowals of honor, such as crowns (IG II2 276 = IG II3 1, 418), the right to own property (IG II2 337 = IG II3 1, 337), and exemptions from tax burdens (IG II2 211? = IG II3 1, 503). What makes the supplication inscriptions distinctive, aside from the supplicatory formula, is that they appear to involve only non-citizens.9 This is somewhat surprising given the AP’s insistence that “anyone who wishes” could supplicate in the Assembly about any matter, “public or private.” Of course, extant Athenian inscriptions have a strong bias toward the bestowal of honors in general, especially to foreigners. It was only in the 340s that honorific decrees for citizens start to become more common.10 We would thus not expect to find inscriptions relating, for example, to the trierarchs that Demosthenes suggests deposited suppliant-branches to petition for tax relief (18. 107). Epigraphic inscription was costly and probably more likely to deal with certain kinds of business rather than others.11 Simple disputes or troubles that might presumably be the cause of many supplications do not

8 The one exception is from Samos (LSCG 123). This might be due to the fact that Athenian institutions had a profound impact on Samos, starting around 365 when many Athenian citizens migrated there. Their influence can be seen in the “Athenizing” style of civic decrees thereafter. See Cargill 1995.

9 IG II2 211 = IG II3 1, 503 (Olynthians perhaps, but the stone is heavily restored), II2 218 = IG II3 1, 302 (Abderites), II2 276 = IG II3 1, 418 (unknown but receives xenia and isoteleia), II2 337 IG II3 1, 337 (Cittians), II2 336b = IG II3 1, 333 (unknown but received citizenship in II2 336a), II2 404 (Ceans), II2 502 (a public slave). 10 See Lambert 2011: 176–8. 11 See the breakdowns by category in Lambert 2004; 2005; 2006; 2007b; 2007a. 104 Institutionalizing theatricality in the Assembly get inscribed because they are not the sort of thing that Athenians tended to inscribe on stone.12 Nonetheless, even within the epigraphic genre of Athenian honorific inscriptions the supplication inscriptions stand out. Citizenship, tax exemption, protection: foreigners could receive these honors without supplicating.13 For example, the citizenship inscription for the fugitive Astycrates of Delphi records his approach as “concerning the things he says [legei]” (IG II2 109a. 8, b. 9–10). Alternatively, a sponsor could “present [apophainei]” a person he wanted to honor, as the general Timotheus did for Menelaus the Pelagonian, who helped in the war effort IG( II2 110. 6–7). Astycrates and Menelaus came before the Assembly in 363, well before our earliest supplication inscription. Perhaps they did not supplicate because the practice was not institutionalized yet. However, we have decrees contemporary with the supplication decrees that show others obtained similar honors without supplicating. For example, in 338/7 the brothers Phormio and Carphinas of Acarnania who fought alongside the Athenians (probably at Chaeronea) requested and obtained a reaffirmation of the citizenship that their grandfather had received, as well as tax exemption for their fellow Acarnanians. Their petition is described as a simple address (legousin) (IG II2 237. 6 = II3 1, 316), like the petition of Astycrates. It is also supported by an unnamed general (12–13), like the decree of Menelaus. Compare the roughly contemporary honors for the suppliant Asclepiodorus, who gets recognized for his bravery in a naval battle (IG II2 276 = IG II3 1, 418; 337/6?). Why did Asclepiodorus have to supplicate for his honors when Phormio and Carphinas did not? I suggest that the difference in approach has partly to do with the difference in status.14 Phormio and Carphinas were apparently of higher status than Asclepiodorus and better connected. At least this much is suggested by Phormio’s name, which he inherited from his

12 Gauthier 1985: 187–9 argues that it is not surprising that we do not find inscriptions of citizens’ supplications because if these happened and were successful they would have led to a regular motion, so we would never know how the act began. 13 See Gauthier 1985: 182–5; Zelnick-Abramovitz 1998: 558–60. 14 The case of Archippus of Thasos is puzzling. The decree granting him citizenship in 334/3 records his petition as “concerning the things he says [legei],” not as a supplication (IG II3 1, 333. 7). But in the following year, though he ought to have been a citizen officially, he approached as a suppliant (40). The stone is unfortunately too fragmentary here to allow us to guess about why he supplicated then but not previously. Supplication on the schedule 105 grandfather who most likely obtained it as the result of an ancestral xenia relationship with the famous general Phormio.15 Furthermore, others enjoy privileges resembling those of tragic suppliants without actually supplicating. A notable example is the fugitive king of the Molosians, Arybbas, who received a renewed grant of citizenship c. 342, a pledge of protection if anyone should murder him, and support for his children. His request to the Assembly is characterized not as supplication but as a simple address: “concerning the things he says [legei]” (IG II2 226. 35 = IG II3 1, 411). He did not have to humble himself. To judge from the size of the stele preserving the decree, the largest yet found for an individual, he would not have been particularly inclined to do so.16 In a citizenship grant of c. 334, the Delian Pisithides also enjoys protection worthy of a tragic suppliant, namely: “If anyone kills Pisithides, let the murderer be considered an enemy of the demos of Athens; and likewise any city that harbors the murderer.”17 The language implies that they are willing to go to war if any harm should come to Pisithides. This is the only such instance of a clause threatening war against any city that harbors the murderer of an honoree.18 Like the Danaids at Argos, Pisithides is to enjoy the right of absolute protection even if it came to waging a war against a foreign enemy. The decree is incomplete so we cannot be absolutely sure, but it does not appear that Pisithides had to supplicate for this protection. So, why would someone approach the Assembly as a suppliant when he could approach it without humbling himself, if all he was asking for was what others could obtain without supplicating? I suggest the answer might have something to do with the suppliants’

15 See Rhodes and Osborne 2003: 382. 16 M. J. Osborne 1981–3: v. 1, 57 reconstructed it as almost 13 feet high. It had not one but two document reliefs on the top and the bottom. See Lawton 1995: no. 122.

17 IG II2 222.31–35 = II3 1, 452; cf. M. J. Osborne 1981–3: v. 1, 72; Henry 1983: 168–71. Demosthenes criticized the practice of declaring the murderer of an honoree agôgimos because it undermined the judicial process (23. 23–8, 37–43). Other relevant decrees state instead that the murderer is to be treated “as if he had killed an Athenian,” as with Arybbas. Demosthenes approved of that formulation (23. 89). This is a different formulation of the same honor that Pisithides received: see Koch 1989: 552–3. 18 See M. J. Osborne 1981–3: v. 2, 89. A recently discovered, but not yet published, inscription (SEG 50. 178) makes it clear that they had a specific enemy in mind, the pro-independence faction on Delos – not exactly a formidable foe. 106 Institutionalizing theatricality in the Assembly sponsors and the relative status of the suppliants compared to theirs.

The sponsors of the suppliants Let us take a look at some of the relevant supplication inscriptions more closely. One of the best preserved is IG II2 218 (= IG II3 1, 302), recording the honors for the suppliant Dioscurides of Abdera in 346/5. The Council put the proposal before the Assembly that he and his brothers are to be taken under the protection of the generals and city archons (18–20); he is also to be honored with a feast in the prytaneion (22). The Assembly approved these honors, and in addition invited him and his brothers to live in the city and to be liable to eisphora and military service. In other words, it invited them to become metics, like the Danaids in Aeschylus’ play.19 It seems likely that Dioscurides was one of the refugees fleeing northern Greece as a result of Philip’s activity there, not unlike Arybbas.20 Why did Dioscurides supplicate when King Arybbas did not? Part of the answer to this question has to do with the high status of Arybbas, as I already suggested. But part of the answer, I suggest, has also to do with who sponsored the petition and how they might have hoped to benefit by sponsoring suppliants. While we do not know who spoke on behalf of Arybbas (that piece of the stone is missing), we do have some interesting information about Dioscurides’ sponsors. His sponsor in the Council was Eubulides of Halimous (PA 5323). This was a man allegedly quite active in patrolling the boundaries of citizenship. Demosthenes wrote his Against Eubulides in defense of a man whom Eubulides was trying to have expelled from the deme as a false citizen. It is an intriguing coincidence that the decree for Dioscurides dates from the very year, 346/5, to which Against Eubulides belongs. For it was in that year that the Athenians decided to conduct a general scrutiny (diapsephisis) of the deme registers for fraudulently enrolled

citizens.21 Euxitheus, the speaker in Demosthenes’ speech, claims that

19 See Bakewell 1997. 20 See Bliquez 1981; Heskel 1988. 21 Androtion FrGrH 324 F 52; Aeschin. 1. 77; 2. 182. The sponsors of the suppliants 107 Eubulides banded together with a group of associates to enroll false citizens in exchange for payment and to expel true citizens out of a personal vendetta against them. “Many men, O judges, Eubulides and his associates have destroyed or rescued in exchange for payment [πολλούς, ὦ ἄνδρες δικασταί, οἱ μετ’ Εὐβουλίδου συνεστῶτες καὶ ἀπολωλέκασιν καὶ σεσῴκασιν ἕνεκ’ ἀργυρίου]” (57. 60). In this he was following in the footsteps of his father, who had engaged in similar conduct when he had been head of the deme.22 The speaker was vulnerable because his father had a foreign accent (17) and his mother had worked as a wetnurse and as a ribbon-peddler in the Agora (31–6). They did not “look” Athenian. He himself had apparently become quite wealthy (52), even serving as head of the deme, in which capacity the demesmen granted him an honorific decree. This decree, he claims, Eubulides and his cronies erased in order to undermine his status (63–4). In Chapter 6, I will have more to say about the procedure that caused this dispute. To return to Eubulides’ involvement in the supplication of Dioscurides: we note that a suppliant needed an insider’s help to bring him to the Council’s attention; it was not just a matter of showing up in an appropriately humble demeanor.23 This probably required some prior arrangement. Zelnick-Abramovitz accordingly argues, “[R]ecommending privileges to foreigners and profiting by it was a widespread phenomenon” (1998: 561). It is impossible to know for sure if such was the case here.24 What is certain is that at least bribery was seen as being a widespread phenomenon, to judge

22 Euboulides is often described as demarch but, as Develin 1991 notes, the text never calls him by that title. He was in charge of the deme’s scrutiny (Dem. 57. 8) but that does not necessarily mean he was demarch. 23 See Gauthier 1985: 181–90; cf. And. 1. 110–16.

24 Zelnick-Abramovitz suggests that IG II2 276 (= IG II3 1, 418, 337/6? BCE), honoring the metic Asclepiodorus for bravery in battle, could indicate a prior relationship between a suppliant and his sponsor. The sponsor here was Cephisophon of Paeania, whom Aeschines considers “one of the friends and associates of Chares” (2. 73). Chares is also the name of the captain of the ship on which Asclepiodorus served (IG II2 276.9). Zelnick-Abramovitz argues, “it is very likely that Cephisophon’s proposal was made as a favor to his friend Chares, who wished to reward Asclepiodorus for his service” (1998: 566). She does not note, however, that there were two Chareis active in the navy at this time, Chares of Angele and Chares of Aixone, APF 15292 and 15294 respectively. The first one (perhaps named “the General” to distinguish him from the second) is more likely to be the friend of Cephisophon to whom Aeschines refers at 2. 73, while the second Chares is the one on whose ship Asclepiodorus served. Schwenk 1985: 62–3 notes the difference. 108 Institutionalizing theatricality in the Assembly from speakers’ common accusation, like that of Euxitheus, that their enemies “sold” citizenship and other civic honors.25 We also hear of a distinct procedure, the graphê doroxenias, that aimed to expose people who became citizens by bribing prominent individuals (AP 59. 3). Accusations of bribery notwithstanding, there was a more interesting kind of profit that suppliants’ sponsors certainly received: symbolic profit. I suggest that the reason why some supplicated while others did not does not only have to do with the merits of their case or what they are asking for. All who receive a privilege from the Assembly are in some sense “worthy” of it. Instead, I suggest it has to do with who speaks on their behalf, and what they gain from the performance. Only a handful of the stones preserve the names of the citizens who sponsored the suppliants’ petitions. That said, it is interesting that the names of the sponsors of the suppliants on the inscriptions belong to quite prominent individuals. Here “prominence” is simply marked by the rough criterion of whether their names also appear in the orations.26 This was especially the case in the Assembly. Eubulides, Dioscurides’ sponsor in the Council, appears to have been more of a local power-player, but perhaps Demosthenes’ involvement in Euxitheus’ case against him is indicative of a loftier ambition under- lying his performance as sponsor of Dioscurides’ supplication in the Council. More impressive than Eubulides is Cephisophon of Paeania (APF 3773D), who spoke up for the metic Asclepiodorus (IG II2 276 = IG II3 1, 418). An indication of his prominence is the fact that Demosthenes names him as one of the orators who spoke in the Assembly in support of the Peace of Philocrates, a major decision (18. 21, 75). He was also an enemy of Eubulus, one of the leading politicians of the day, who sued him for malfeasance with sacred funds (Dem. 19.

293).27 Another prominent man was Diopithes of Sphettus (APF

25 e.g. Dem. 23. 185, 201; 13. 24; Din. 1. 44; Lyc. 1. 41. 26 Hansen argues that “preserved decrees record political leaders and minor rhetores indis- criminately” (1984b: 142). If he is right we might expect to find more “unknown” proposers in the supplication decrees assuming the rate of preservation is random. Ultimately such judgments are impressionistic. Admittedly, my own argument is also speculative but it has the virtue of being based on a simple metric of prominence. 27 A sign that political affiliations were not necessarily oriented around policy goals. Like Cephisophon, Eubulus was also a supporter of the Peace of Philocrates (Dem. 18. 75). The sponsors of the suppliants 109 4328), who sponsored Dioscurides’ supplication in the Assembly, just as Eubulides had done in the Council. Diopithes was a target of Hyperides (or the speaker of Hyperides 4), who attacked him with an eisangelia, calling him “the craftiest man [deinotatos] in town” (4. 29). Hyperides’ argument here depends on Diopithes’ being a high-status opponent indeed, because he argues that the procedure of eisangelia should only be used against the powerful (27).28 I have saved the biggest player for last. In 333/2, an association of merchants from Cyprus supplicated for the right to build a shrine to their goddess (IG II2 337 = IG II3 1, 337 = GHI 91).29 As foreigners this meant that they required a special grant to own land (enktesis) that only a decree of the Assembly could provide. Perhaps the merchants were anticipating trouble with their property claim because they went to the expense of setting up a record of their request themselves.

The inscription is complete and quite informative.30 The request’s journey, as it should, began in the Council. Antidotus of Sypalettus made the motion there to put their request before the Assembly. They did not supplicate in the Council for Antidotus as Dioscurides had done for Eubulides. It seems that Antidotus is what Hansen would call a “minor rhetor.” All we know about him is that he was councilor again a few years later (Agora 15. 49. 26). Intriguingly, it seems his proposal took the form of an “open probouleuma,” that is, the Council put the question before the Assembly without expressing an opinion. It is unclear how common this was in practice, but this is unusual in the epigraphic record.31

28 He was also wealthy enough to serve as syntrierarch with one other man on the ship Democracy, in which capacity he was involved in some kind of legal process involving an inheritance (IG II2 1620. 32 ff.). 29 On this inscription see also the commentary in Schwenk 1985: 141–6. 30 Note the defensive claim, “just as the Egyptians have founded the shrine of Isis” (42–4). It was unusual for foreign cults to build a permanent shrine. Besides Isis and Astarte (if that is the Cypriots’ goddess here), for whose cult in Athens this stone is our sole evidence, only Bendis had that privilege. 31 cf. Rhodes 1972: 58–81. Hansen assumes that the Council “often” issued open proboule- umata (1991: 53), but this assumption is not supported by either literary or epigraphic evidence. [Dem.] 59. 4 is the clearest case but here simply putting up the issue for debate in the Assembly was tantamount to expressing an opinion since it involved changing the status quo (as Rhodes 1972: 58 notes). Dem. 18. 169 ff. is describing an emergency, not regular legislative process. The present decree might preserve the open probouleuma because it is privately inscribed and set up in the Piraeus on the initiative of the merchants. Presumably it was set up near their shrine. Perhaps it was an attempt to show that they did everything by the book (Lambert, pers. comm.). 110 Institutionalizing theatricality in the Assembly Resolved by the Council. Antidotus son of Apollodorus of Sypalettus spoke: concerning the matters that the Cittians discuss [legousin] concerning the foundation of the shrine to Aphrodite, be it resolved by the Council that the officers who are allotted for the next Assembly should bring them forward and deliberate, and relate the opinion of the Council to the Assembly that the Council has resolved that the Assembly should listen to the Cittians concerning the foundation of the shrine, as well as to any other Athenian who wishes, and determine whatever seems best. ἔδοξεν τῆι βουλεῖ· Ἀντίδοτος Ἀπολλοδώρου Συπαλήττιος εἶπεν· περὶ ὧν λέγουσιν οἱ Κιτιεῖς περὶ τῆς ἱδρύσειως τῆι Ἀφροδίτηι τοῦ ἱεροῦ, ἐψηφίσθαι τεῖ βουλεῖ τοὺς προέδρους οἳ ἂν λάχωσι προεδρεύειν εἰς τὴν πρώτην ἐκκλησίαν προσαγαγεῖν αὐτοὺς καὶ χρηματίσαι, γνώμην δὲ ξυνβάλλεσθαι τῆς βουλῆς εἰς τὸν δῆμον ὅτι δοκεῖ τῆι βουλεῖ ἀκούσαντα τὸν δῆμον τῶν Κιτιείων περὶ τῆς ἱδρύσειως τοῦ ἱεροῦ καὶ ἄλλου Ἀθηναίων τοῦ βουλομένου βουλεύσασθαι ὅτι ἂν αὐτῶι δοκεῖ ἄριστον εἶναι. (IG II3 1, 337. 6–25) Perhaps the Council was unsure about what to do with the request. Or, perhaps, the entire procedure was designed to provide the merchants’ sponsor in the Assembly the opportunity to play the part of the heroic protector of suppliants. And the man who played the part was none other than Lycurgus of Boutadae. Lycurgus is credited with single-handedly turning Athens around after its catastrophic defeat in the battle of Chaeronea. Through an extraordinary office of “treas- urer of the general administration [tamias epi têi dioikêsêi],” he took a hand in nearly all aspects of Athenian finance.32 This was arguably the most powerful rhetor in Athens at the time. If the supplication of the merchants was a kind of charade, what was the point? Here we need to recall the long tradition of supplication that these petitions would have brought to mind for the audience. I already discussed how the supplication ritual created three stereotypical roles: the desperate suppliant, the impious pursuer, and the brave and noble protector. Frequent repetition of this pattern in myth and on stage reinforced the roles. Lycurgus was following a well-worn track in the minds of his audience. Granted, the merchants were not fugitives running for their lives like the suppliants of

32 On Lycurgus see most recently Liddel 2007: 94–108; Lambert 2010; Faraguna 2011. Humphreys 1985a is still useful. On the term of the office see Rhodes 2007. On Lycurgan finances see Burke 1985. The sponsors of the suppliants 111 the tragic stage, or even like Dioscurides who was a refugee from the wars of Philip. But Lucurgus could still derive symbolic profit from assuming the role of protector of suppliants.33 I suggest that we can see the supplications in the Assembly against the background of a competition in which men gained status by defending or undermining the status of others. Eubulides was making both “moves” at the same time, sponsoring the suppliant Dioscurides’ petition for protection and incorporation while also moving to expel Euxitheus from the deme. Just as you can tell a lot about a city by looking at its suppliants, as Isocrates (4. 54) says, so can you tell about a person by looking at those he protects. The point is that, depending on one’s “clients,” to be seen to be a patron was as important as actually being one.34 We can see how such a relationship might contribute to a politician’s public image from the following anecdote about Lycurgus’ protection of a particularly notable foreigner. One time a tax collector was seizing Xenocrates the philosopher for failure to pay the metic tax. Lycurgus confronted the tax collector and brought down his staff on his head, and released Xenocrates. And he put the tax collector in jail because he was acting improperly. People praised him for this. Some days later Xenocrates met Lycurgus’ children and said, “Children, quickly I paid back your father’s favor. For now many praise him because he helped me.” τελώνου δέ ποτ’ ἐπιβαλόντος Ξενοκράτει τῷ φιλοσόφῳ τὰς χεῖρας καὶ πρὸς τὸ μετοίκιον αὐτὸν ἀπάγοντος, ἀπαντήσας ῥάβδῳ τε κατὰ τῆς κεφαλῆς τοῦ τελώνου κατήνεγκε, καὶ τὸν μὲν Ξενοκράτην ἀπέλυσε, τὸν δ’ ὡς οὐ τὰ πρέποντα δράσαντα εἰς τὸ δεσμωτήριον κατέκλεισεν· ἐπαινουμένου δ’ ἐπὶ τῇ πράξει, μεθ’ ἡμέρας τινὰς συντυχὼν ὁ Ξενοκράτης τοῖς παισὶ τοῦ Λυκούργου ἔφη “ταχέως γε τῷ πατρὶ ὑμῶν ἀπέδωκα, ὦ παῖδες, τὴν χάριν· ἐπαινεῖται γὰρ ὑπὸ πολλῶν ἐπὶ τῷ βοηθῆσαί μοι.” ([Plut.] Vit. X. Or. 842b–c)

33 The evidence for a prior relationship between Lycurgus and the merchants is circumstantial at best. Lycurgus’ interest in cultic affairs is well documented (see Schwenk 1985: 108–26; Meinolf 1991). A Lycurgus is nicknamed “Ibis” in Aristophanes’ Birds (1296, with scholia) and this Lycurgus tends to be identified with our Lycurgus’ grandfather (cf. [Plut.] Vit. X. Or. 7.1). The nickname might suggest a hereditary interest in “eastern” cults. This prior interest would make the Kitians’ citing the precedent of the Egyptian Isideion quite ger- mane (cf. Hintzen-Bohlen 1997: 119–26). But that does not prove that they were looking to Lycurgus from the beginning. 34 On the vexed question of whether patronage existed in Athens, and what form it took, see most recently Zelnick-Abramovitz 2000. 112 Institutionalizing theatricality in the Assembly

Xenocrates was an important man in the 320s.35 Head of Plato’s Academy, he served on the embassy to Antipater after the defeat in the Lamian War (Plut. Phoc. 27. 2–4). When Lycurgus rescued him he would have been already in his seventies. He was especially known for his weighty demeanor. When he walked in the Agora the noisy rabble parted way for him. He was so serious that the Athenians did not require him to swear an oath before giving testimony. He was so serious that the famous courtesan Phryne came to his house under the pretext of needing a refuge and snuck into his couch, but could not get a reaction from him. She said, “That’s not a man, that’s a statue!” (D. L. 4. 6–7). In fact even his statue could promote modesty: a prostitute refused to engage in risqué behavior near it (Plut. fr. 85 S). Lycurgus’ intercession with the tax collector is only one version of several stories about Xenocrates and his protection. It seems that there was competition among political leaders to claim credit for being the protector of Xenocrates. For the stories present a verit- able “who’s who” of late fourth-century elite Athenians. Each version features a different, prominent Athenian who attempts to intercede for the philosopher. Interestingly, each version also revolves around a question about Xenocrates’ status. Thus Xenocrates gets sold as a slave, but is redeemed by Demetrius of Phaleron (D. L. 4. 14). Xenocrates is paying the metic tax when Phocion sees him and offers to formally propose that the Athenians enroll him as a citizen, but Xenocrates declines the offer (Plut.Phoc. 29. 4). Essentially the same story is in the Index Academicorum, except now it is Demades who proposes to have him enrolled as an Athenian citizen but is rebuffed

(col. 8. 5).36 There is an interesting tension here. The higher the status of the client the greater the credit to the patron. But the higher the status of the client the more likely they would be to resist patronage. Xenocrates thus resists the implication that he owes Lycurgus gratitude in return for his patronage, since Lycurgus has already received his reward in the form of the public praise for acting as a patron to such a person as Xenocrates. Less powerful people would not be able to dismiss their obligation to their patron so easily. Xenocrates does

35 On Xenocrates see Whitehead 1981; Korhonen 1997: 43–5. 36 See Whitehead 1981: 235–8. The sponsors of the suppliants 113 not supplicate explicitly in these stories, but the practice is very much in the background. All the elements are here: a foreigner in distress; a nasty pursuer harassing the foreigner; a righteous champion. The storyteller all but made Xenocrates fall to his knees and supplicate Lycurgus, but that would have weakened the punch line. The adoption of supplication can also be seen against the historical background, as one of several efforts to evoke the “ghost” of fifth- century empire.37 Images of their leaders as protectors of suppliants might have especially appealed to Athenians of the 330s, who were experiencing “an intensified sense of the decline of theirpolis , decline in comparison with the glory days of the fifth century, decline in the face of Macedon, and by an acute sense that the performance of the polis is crucially dependent on the performance of its officials” (Lambert 2011: 177). Like a king in a tragedy, who stood up against bullying heralds threatening to drag off his suppliants, Lycurgus helped the worthy Xenocrates and reaped honor as his reward. It is not out of the question that the Cypriot merchants benefited him materially in exchange for his help and sponsorship in the Assembly. We have no way to know. This arrangement, we saw, was allegedly a common one between foreign honorees and their citizen sponsors. But if the Cypriots did “buy” Lycurgus’ support in one way or another, his economic profit would have been in addition to any symbolic profit he would have derived from assuming in the Assembly the role which the merchants gave him the opportunity to play.

37 See, e.g., Mossé 1989; Hintzen-Bohlen 1997; Rhodes 2010; Faraguna 2011. chapter 5 Publicity stunts in Athenian politics

An ancient prejudice has been removed (ad for Lucky Strike cigarettes, 1929)

It is perhaps surprising that when the Athenians incorporated supplication into their Assembly the people who benefited the most were not those who otherwise would not have had a voice but the already influential and well connected. To these it provided an opportunity to assume, albeit implicitly, a role with powerful associations in the Athenian imaginary. Athens had cast off its kings already in mythical times, but supplication in the Assembly allowed ambitious politicians to claim a little of their mantle, to implicitly perform the role of Theseus for a time – at least until another politician came along and tried to perform it too. This was one way in which some elites of the second half of the fourth century sought to take advantage of the resources of image-making and theatricality that other elites might criticize as being extra-institutional. While the use of supplication in the Assembly in that respect was new, the political use of theatricality was not. Elites in the fifth century were already staging and acting in theatrical scenes outside the civic institutions. These scenes always took place (or are described as taking place) in public, crowded places. This is because they aimed to create a stir among the crowd in order to shift public opinion and make it more likely that the audience in the institutions would receive their arguments favorably. Here too Solon was a true fore- father of Athenian politics, and closer to Thespis than he pretended to be. His Salamis stunt is paradigmatic of an entire genre of political performance in which a politician sought to disseminate an argument in the extra-institutional public sphere that he then drew on in the institutional one in order to bring about a desired outcome. 114 Publicity stunts in Athenian politics 115

“Publicity stunt”: why apply such a modern term to an ancient phenomenon? The earliest occurrence of the term, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, was in 1908. According to Google’s Ngram Viewer, the term enjoys a sudden surge of popularity in the 1920s. Two factors lie behind its appearance and its popularity. The first is the rise of public relations and advertising as professional disciplines. The second is the increasing prevalence of mass media, particularly newspapers and radio. In other words, it belongs to an era and a movement which Habermas saw as responsible for the eclipse of the true public sphere. For now we see professionals cunningly seeking to manipulate public opinion by orchestrating “events” that would seem “newsworthy” and get published or broadcast by the media, thereby generating interest and promoting the aim of their employer, usually to increase sales of a product.1 The fact that stunts are manipulative by design quickly gave the term a negative sense that has now become its main one. To say that something is “a publicity stunt” is to dismiss it as an unserious attempt to manipulate an audience into holding an opinion. It is to suggest that it is a “performance,” and hence not real. In politics, it is most often encountered as an accusation, something one imputes to one’s opponent. It suggests that he is not behaving as he ought but is pursuing his objective by inappropriate means or in inappropriate places. This is why the term is singularly appropriate for what I propose to study. I am interested in staged displays designed to influence Athenian public sentiment or create public opinion about a person or issue. If Greek had a term for it it would probably be mêkhanê, which Detienne and Vernant define as a device of “cunning intelligence which is sufficiently quick and supple, wily and deceitful, to confront the unexpected on every occasion, to counter the most changeable of circumstances and to triumph, in unequal combat,

1 The rise of public relations also has an academic aspect, coinciding with a social-scientific interest in crowds and “mass society” that goes back to the late nineteenth century. See Borch 2012. An intriguing figure here is Edward Bernays, a nephew of Freud’s, and one of the most successful publicity men of the 1920s and 30s. He organized many publicity stunts, including the famous “Torches of Freedom” that he credited with shifting public attitudes toward women smoking in public (Tye 2001: 28–31). His belief in his ability to mold public perception had a theoretical foundation, which he set forth in Crystallizing Public Opinion (1923) and Propaganda (1928). 116 Publicity stunts in Athenian politics over adversaries who are better equipped for a trial of strength” (1991 [1974]: 43). Mêkhanê was the term that Aeschylus applied to the supplication of the Danaids (Suppl. 209). It is also the term that Herodotus applies to the most famous stunt of Athenian history, as we will see shortly. What qualifies the events that I examine below as political mêkhanai, or “publicity stunts”, is that they took place outside the civic institutions and could be construed as manipulative attempts to influence their work. They were not institutionally sanctioned means of addressing the Athenian crowd. And yet they sought to influence the crowd no less than speeches in the Assembly or the courts did, with the aim that the crowd would bring their influence into the institutions. I examine each stunt along three axes. First, what kind of meaning was the stunt designed to convey? Each stunt drew on a repertoire of meanings associated with particular cultural forms and practices which would be legible to the audience, although not necessarily to us. This was the “background text.”2 It is possible that not every member of the stunt’s audience would have immediately grasped the significance of the stunt. Here the stunt’s spectacular character would have come into play. By creating interest (or “buzz” as we might call it today), the stunt would have ensured that people would discuss it, and by discussing it disperse its meaning throughout Athens’ social networks, making it more likely to be effective. Second, how did the stunt articulate with institutional procedure? We have seen that Athenian political thought postulated a gap between the civic institutions and the Street. Regardless of their proximity and interdependence, one was construed as (relatively) orderly and rational, and the other figured as prone to draw out powerful emotions that could warp political and legal judgment. Thus the stunt had an important function in Athens. It existed at the inter- section of the formal and informal public spheres. In the terms of contemporary political communication theory, by creating a scene it would “prime” public opinion in order to “frame” an issue in a way favorable to those who organized it and whose “agenda” it helped

“set.”3 These terms describe the effect of news reporting on public

2 For the term see Alexander 2010. 3 For a succinct overview of the field see Scheufele and Tewksbury 2007. Publicity stunts in Athenian politics 117 opinion. Similar processes existed in Athens, except that news was transmitted by word of mouth.4 Finally, what were the results of the stunts? How effective were they in bringing about the desired outcomes of their authors? As we will see, some were quite effective while others could have unexpected consequences or backfire. Perhaps stunts’ unreliability as a political tool contributed to the nearly complete disappearance of publicity stunts from the historical record after the end of the fifth century. There are some indications that they continued to be performed, but they no longer seem to have the same importance as they did during the sixth and fifth centuries. I will suggest some possible reasons for the eclipse of the publicity stunt. Some comment about our sources for such stunts is also necessary here because the events I focus on have not been systematically studied before. When scholars do take note of them it is in passing or to dismiss them as sideshows to the main attraction, the result of ancient campaigns of slander and misinformation that have found their way into the historical record but are not to be taken seriously. Stunts were ephemeral acts meant to influence a particular decision at a particular point in time. However, they were also designed to get picked up in communal webs of discourse and circulation; they aimed to get people talking in order to produce, we might say, a groundswell of emotion. In that respect at least they share a common ancestor with much of what we read in Herodotus, Xenophon, and even Thucydides, insofar as the historians relied, directly and otherwise, on the same oral sources of information.5 For a stunt had several audiences. The primary and most immediate one was the smallest. It consisted of people who were actually eyewitnesses to the event. The number of these would be limited by the problem of visibility: how many people could actually see the performance for themselves. Behind each eyewitness stood a much larger number of secondary witnesses, who would hear of the stunt from the eyewitness himself or other secondary witnesses who passed on the tale almost as if they had been there. The extent of Athenian social networks was the only limit here. Recent research,

4 See Coulet 1996; S. Lewis 1996. 5 See Dover 1988; Thomas198 9; Lateiner 1991; Luraghi 2001; Murray 2001 [1987]; 2001. 118 Publicity stunts in Athenian politics discussed in Chapter 2, has highlighted the multiple and overlapping levels of association that potentially stretched out to include every single Athenian man and woman, slave or free. With each telling the event would come to life before their eyes. If the message was well calibrated it could provoke a desirable response and help shift public opinion, affecting substantively how audiences in the civic institutions – the Assembly and the courts – might react to particular rhetorical arguments. Our historians constitute the third audience. The major difference from the second audience is that they set the stunt down in a text of narrative history. Here the element of deception or manipulation comes to the fore. The historians lift the veil for their readers to show them how someone tricked the Athenians into making a specific decision. In doing so they certainly altered crucial elements or left others out as it served their purposes, as we will see. The mediat- ing and “flattening” role of this third audience might explain why stunts are only attributed to political figures. Historians were simply not interested in the doings of the small and insignificant. As discussed above, all eyes were on the famous, or the “recognizable ones” (gnôrimoi) as Athenian idiom described them. In the following chapter I will suggest that it is possible to glimpse the publicity stunts of non-elites who also intended to influence institutional outcomes, but on a smaller scale. The historians’ role might also account for why nearly all the stunts we know about were resounding successes. Unsuccessful stunts, for the most part, were not memorable.

A woman named Phye

We have already encountered Pisistratus as an inveterate trickster. We saw how in his apocryphal encounter with Solon the lawgiver approached the future tyrant and castigated him for introducing theatricality into politics. The problem, as he told Thespis, was that by introducing the element of play into the business of politics Pisistratus threatened to contaminate the serious with the theatrical. As I pointed out, it was ironic for Solon to make this charge as he did not hesitate to engage in theatrics when it suited his purpose. The occasion for Solon’s admonition was when Pisistratus wounded himself and stumbled into the Agora claiming that he had been attacked A woman named Phye 119 by enemies of the people, so that the people voted him a protective guard which he then promptly used to install himself as the leader of Athens. I will return to that stunt shortly. But here I am concerned with Pisistratus’ most famous stunt, which took place some time afterward, after he left Athens when his rivals joined forces to expel him.6 His return (according to Herodotus) had two aspects, a private and a public one. The private aspect was an arrangement Pisistratus made with one of his two rivals, Megacles, who himself had a falling out with the other rival, Lycurgus. They sealed their alliance with a marriage agreement: Pisistratus was to wed Megacles’ daughter. It is interesting that public support did not follow automatically the agreement between the two powerful leaders but had to be obtained. This perhaps gives us a small but revealing glimpse into the structure of the phenomenon of archaic tyranny, that it needed a significant degree of popular support.7 Such popular support was arranged by means of the following “stunt” (Hdt. 1. 60. 3, mêkhanôntai). They found a strikingly tall Athenian woman named Phye whom they dressed up in hoplite armor and put on a chariot “in a posture that would seem most suitable” (Hdt. 1. 60. 4). Next to her stood Pisistratus and together they drove to the city, preceded by heralds who announced, “Athenians, receive with a kindly mind Pisistratus, whom Athena herself honors more than all men and returns to her very own acropolis!” (1. 60. 5). Herodotus goes on to add that the rumor (phatis) spread throughout the countryside that Athena was returning Pisistratus, while people in the city ran out to witness the event and prayed to the woman and did her bidding. At least, that is Herodotus’ account. The historian passes the following judgment on the stunt: This device for his return is the silliest thing that I ever heard of, by far. The Greeks have been distinguished since ancient times from the barbarians as being cannier and freer from silly simple-mindedness, and the Athenians are considered first in wisdom among the Greeks. But it was among them that such a stunt was devised. μηχανῶνται δὴ ἐπὶ τῇ κατόδῳ πρῆγμα εὐηθέστατον, ὡς ἐγὼ εὑρίσκω, μακρῷ, ἐπεί γε ἀπεκρίθη ἐκ παλαιτέρου τοῦ βαρβάρου ἔθνεος τὸ

6 On the chronology of Pisistratus’ career and its status as history see Rhodes 1993: 191–9. 7 See Anderson 2005; Hammer 2005. 120 Publicity stunts in Athenian politics Ἑλληνικὸν ἐὸν καὶ δεξιώτερον καὶ εὐηθείης ἠλιθίου ἀπηλλαγμένον μᾶλλον, εἰ καὶ τότε γε οὗτοι ἐν Ἀθηναίοισι τοῖσι πρώτοισι λεγομένοισι εἶναι Ἑλλήνων σοφίην μηχανῶνται τοιάδε. (1. 60. 3) Herodotus’ bemused comment does reveal something important about his understanding of this event. He is hard-pressed to explain why it worked. He thus proposes that the Athenians actually believed that Phye was the goddess Athena and “worshipped the woman and took back Pisistratus [προσεύχοντό τε τὴν ἄνθρωπον καὶ ἐδέκοντο Πεισίστρατον].” Another text that also narrates this stunt, the Aristotelian Athenaion Politeia, similarly suggests that the act was performed “in a primitive and excessively simple manner [ἀρχαίως καὶ λίαν ἁπλῶς]” (14. 4), suggesting that its author also did not understand why it worked. Modern historians have been more inclined to give the Athenians the benefit of the doubt. They have proposed several theories of the meaning of Phye’s parade.8 Notable here is the theory of John Boardman, who noticed the resemblance between the scene described by Herodotus and a series of sixth-century black-figure vases depicting Athena on a chariot beside Heracles.9 He argued that either the Phye stunt inspired the vases’ artists or the vases were propaganda for Pisistratus. For they depict Athena leading Heracles to Olympus and deification.

8 Gernet (1968 [1954]) interpreted it as Pisistratus’ attempt to evoke rituals of sacred marriage, in which the tyrant portrayed himself as “marrying” the city of Athens by “marrying” its patron goddess Athena. Delcourt interpreted the story as reflecting a ritual of spring which Pisistratus took advantage of to broadcast the era of prosperity that he was escorting in to Athens (Delcourt 1981 [1944]: 179–80). For Fadinger 2000 the procession was timed with the celebration of the newly founded Panathenaea and was an attempt to introduce an eastern- style ritual of sacred marriage. For Connor 1987 it was in part an attempt to create a climate of carnival, in which the established order could be overturned. For Sinos 1993 Pisistratus was using the “politics of epiphany.” Dressing up a mortal as a god was an accepted ritual practice. Pisistratus was simply using it for political purposes. For Blok 2000 the act was more like a Roman triumph, and quite possibly took place after the battle of Pallene which the sources locate some years later. More recently Anderson 2003: 68–71 has eschewed the whole approach of trying to see the procession as an attempt to legitimate tyrannical rule, and suggests that the whole thing was timed to coincide with the dedication of a new building on the Acropolis. 9 Boardman 1972; 1975; 1989. Boardman collects and categorizes the images in LIMC 5. 126–32. A woman named Phye 121

Figure 6. Black-figure scene of the apotheosis of Heracles on a chariot beside Athena, c. 525 BCE, which John Boardman interpreted as inspired by or based on Pisistratus’ stunt with Phye. (Credit: Princeton University Art Museum/Art Resource, NY)

This would make a smooth and easy connection between Pisisitratid legitimation and public ceremonial. The scene with Phye would thus be depicting Pisistratus in the role of Heracles and figuring the Acropolis as Olympus. Presumably “deification” wouldtranslate into “legitimacy.” Others have been skeptical of the equation between Pisistratus and Heracles, arguing that the vases are likely older than the event.10 Here I do not have a new solution to offer for Phye to those already proposed. Each of the solutions offers a possible reading (some more possible than others) by trying to find the missing background text. But I think we can squeeze a little more out of the texts themselves. For although the ancient sources that record this stunt, Herodotus and the Athenaion Politeia, found puzzling why it worked, they are a bit more confident about how it worked. As Chaniotis notes, “Even if it is Herodotus’ invention, it reflects contemporary practices” (2009: 36). In their attempts to make sense of it, our sources tell us something important about how stunts worked in Athens in general.

10 For skepticism see Ferrari 1994. 122 Publicity stunts in Athenian politics For both authors try to make the story about Phye conform to their general expectation about how such stunts work. It is thus quite interesting that both writers attribute the success of the stunt, in part, to the work of rumor. This is an element of the story that is often overlooked in scholarly accounts of it. The Athenaion Politeia states, “they sent around the story [προδιασπείρας γὰρ λόγον]” (14. 4), while Herodotus states, “they sent heralds ahead [προδρόμους κήρυκας προπέμψαντες] who announced the news as they traveled toward the city” (1. 60. 5). Herodotus places more emphasis on the announcement as ritual proclamation, but the effect is similar. The kind of stunt they imagine occurring requires a significant degree of public awareness and interaction. In Herodotus’ account, heralds give the stunt its “frame.” Without the work of the heralds that summon the crowds to witness an unusual and exciting sight, Pisistratus would simply have been riding on a chariot with a tall woman in armor beside him. Note that in his account most people do not actually witness the stunt. Herodotus is quite explicit, distinguishing between people in the countryside who only heard about the story, and people in the city who actually saw it. Although only a minority saw the event with their own eyes, its effect was wide- reaching. The power in this stunt, as with the others I will discuss, comes in part from circulation of talk in the crowd (phatis). Key is a widespread public awareness of the stunt’s having taken place, even though they did not witness it for themselves. Compare our earliest Latin source for this event. Valerius Maximus was writing under a different culture of spectacle.11 For him what made the stunt work was the “display” (ostentatio) of the woman (1. 2. ext. 2).12 This term emphasizes physical presence (cf. TLL II. B). By contrast, Herodotus assumes that the circulation of rumor was an essential component of why the stunt worked. Herodotus’ account gives us two key elements of Athenian publicity stunts that I outlined above, spectacle and rumor. At this

11 Much has been written about the Roman culture of spectacle. See, for example, Flower 2004. 12 This section of the text is from an epitome, so it is possible that the keyterm ostenta- tionem is not actually Valerius’ own. The point stands, however, in setting up a contrast with Herodotus’ account, where the key element is not display but the circulation of rumor. A woman named Phye 123 remove we cannot interpret the metaphorical work of the stunt with any degree of confidence. Was Pisistratus reenacting an epiphany, a sacred marriage, a deification scene, a fertility rite, or something else entirely? More crucially, we also cannot fill in the second axis, namely how the stunt related to an institutional procedure that formalized the result. Perhaps Herodotus’ source did not fill in the gap from stunt to enactment.13 Herodotus’ quip glosses over this part, suggesting that the Athenians naïvely believed that the woman was Athena and simply acclaimed Pisistratus as their leader. On the other hand, Herodotus suggests, Pisistratus maintained power thanks to his relationship with Megacles. As he goes on to record with relish, Pisistratus and Megacles had a falling out due to Pisistratus’ “abnormal” sexual practices with Megacles’ daughter. Whatever popular support his stunt created, in other words, was not sufficient to enable him to hold on to power once his personal alliance with Megacles crumbled. If Pisistratus’ stunt did actually take place (and there is little reason to doubt that it did), the pattern would lead us to expect that it must have been accompanied by some kind of formal, institutional act that affirmed Pisistratus’ position. Herodotus does not tell us what that was, presumably because he could not conceive what kind of act would have been appropriate to the context. We can get a sense of how an institutional procedure might formalize the public knowledge that a stunt created by comparing how the sources deal with another of Pisistratus’ stunts, his self-wounding. This was the stunt that Solon criticized as too theatrical. Both Herodotus (1. 59. 4) and the Athenaion Politeia (14. 1) also record it.14 And both imagine the stunt in similar ways. Herodotus reports that Pisistratus wounded himself and his mules and drove his cart into the Agora, “as if he had just fled from enemies.” Then: “He asked the demos to obtain some sort of protection of himself; he

13 What was this source? We have no idea. Most follow Jacoby 1949: 188 ff. (against Wilamowitz) in believing that oral traditions were the source, although it is difficult to be more specific than that. The most recent challenge to this view is Grethlein201 0: 206–9, who argues that Herodotus and Thucydides relied on commemorative genres of poetry and oratory for their reconstruction of sixth-century Athenian history (the poiêtai and logographoi in Thuc. 1. 21. 1). 14 Other sources are Plutarch, Sol. 30. 1–2; D. L. 1. 60; Diod. Sic. 13. 95. 5–6 (in which Dionysius copied Pisistratus; Aristotle Rhet. 1357b30–6 is aware of the similarity, as presumably would be Plato Rep. 8. 566b5–8). 124 Publicity stunts in Athenian politics had previously distinguished himself as leader in the war against the Megarians when he captured Nisaia and displayed great deeds.” Herodotus seems to imagine a meeting of the Assembly in which Pisistratus argued that he deserved a protective bodyguard in return for his military leadership. The AP agrees with this series of events, and even adds the name of the person (Aristion) who proposed the decree granting Pisistratus his guards.15 Plutarch is the most expan- sive: “On account of this [the self-wounding], the crowd was ready to defend Pisistratus, and the people assembled. Ariston [sic] proposed that fifty cone-bearers be given to him as protection for his body. Solon opposed” (Sol. 30. 2–3).16 Much does not add up in this story on its own terms. For instance, as Wallace notes, “It is striking that a wealthy and powerful aristocrat felt he had to ask the Assembly for these 50 men, rather than simply supplying them from his own dependents” (1997: 19). For my purposes whether the event occurred exactly as the sources record it is less important than how they imagine it worked. Namely, this stunt created a kind of knowledge that was then formalized in an institution, leading to a concrete outcome. The process has two aspects, an informal and a formal one. It involved a spectacular act on the street that would arouse interest and promote talk among the people, as well as an institutional act that would draw on the interest the stunt aroused and formalize the opinion it promoted. In this case, the sudden appearance of a wounded Pisistratus in a mule-driven cart, and the mules themselves wounded, would have created quite a stir. Pisistratus’ story, according to Herodotus, was that he was traveling to his fields where he was set upon by his enemies. How

15 Rhodes (1993: 200) considers this detail “surely anachronistic,” although he does entertain the possibility that Aristion might have existed and might have served as a supporter of Pisistratus. There is an Aristion roughly contemporary with Pisistratus (IG I3 1256), who has been proposed as his supporter (e.g. Wilamowitz-Moellendorff 1893: 1. 261), especially since his gravestone was located in the part of Attica traditionally associated with Pisistratus’ power-base. The name also appears on a sixth-century graffitoAgora ( 21 D 22). But the name is quite common. 16 The name here is a little different. Also different, as Wilamowitz (1893: 1. 260–1) stresses, is that Plutarch records the number of the bodyguard as fifty. This difference suggested to Wilamowitz that Plutarch drew on a source independent of Herodotus (who says they numbered 300) and the Athenaion Politeia (which does not give a number). But the fact that he has a different number is not in itself enough to show that he used a different source, especially since the gist of his version is so similar to that of Herodotus/AP. Ephialtes “naked” at the altar 125 might this relate to a formal request for bodyguard? Here the AP adds the detail that Pisistratus seemed to be the “most supportive of the people [dêmotikôtatos].” Plutarch similarly has Pisistratus claim he was attacked owing to his politics (Sol. 30. 1). The sources starting with Herodotus find the self-wounding less perplexing than the Phye episode perhaps because they understood how it might relate to an orator’s attempt to conjure up the fears of an anti-demos conspiracy in order to portray himself as its embattled champion; compare how the demagogue Cleon portrays himself in Aristophanes’ Knights, “On account of you I am beaten … because I love you, Demos, I am in love with you!” (730–2). By contrast, no one suggests that an assembly debate followed Phye’s ride. And rightly so, because what public argument could Pisistratus possibly make based on that stunt?

Ephialtes “naked” at the altar

The next stunt I will consider is preserved only in a single source, the Athenaion Politeia. So it will not be possible to compare different versions in order to see what is distinctive in each and what is common, as I did above. It stems from Ephialtes’ campaign against the Areopagus. The Areopagus was the oldest deliberative institution in Athens, and also the most aristocratic. Only former archons could serve on its council, and they were appointed for life. Before the

460s it seems to have had a greater role in Athenian government.17 Ephialtes gets the credit for reforms that transferred its powers to institutions more closely aligned with populist democratic politics, namely the courts and the Assembly. Some have seen in these reforms the most decisive step in the development of Athenian democracy.18 According to the AP, a stunt helped bring this about. Historians have generally tended to dismiss the story as implausible. They have especially found suspicious the involvement of Themistocles, who was

17 It is not clear what this was. Later writers thought that the Areopagus was quite important before Ephialtes, but they do not seem to have had any evidence for this. See Rihll 1995: 90–2 for a survey of scholars’ arguments about the motive for the attack against the Areopagus. His own suggestion is that the dispute was about the Areopagus’ monopoly of the scrutiny of magistrates. Chambers 1990: 257–9 expresses healthy skepticism about what it is possible to know about this topic. 18 Most explicitly Raaflaub 2007. 126 Publicity stunts in Athenian politics probably not in Athens when the reforms were enacted. But, putting that objection aside, we can still learn much from the story about how publicity stunts worked in fifth-century politics. According to the story, the Areopagus was about to charge

Themistocles as a Persian sympathizerAP ( 25. 3).19 He thus had a personal interest in wanting to see that institution diminished. True to form, he sought to further his aim by orchestrating a manipulative trick (cf. Hdt. 8. 75–82; Plut. Them. 10. 1). Themistocles told the Areopagites that certain people were conspiring against them. He promised to take them to the conspirators. At the same time he informed Ephialtes that the Areopagus was about to arrest him for conspiring against it, which was actually the case. When Ephialtes saw the Areopagites approaching with Themistocles leading the way: Stunned, he sat on the altar in only his underwear. Everyone was shocked by this event. After this, when the Council was assembled Ephialtes and Themistocles accused the Areopagites, and again in the Assembly similarly, until they stripped away their power. καταπλαγείς, καθίζει μονοχίτων ἐπὶ τὸν βωμόν. θαυμασάντων δὲ πάντων τὸ γεγονός, καὶ μετὰ ταῦτα συναθροισθείσης τῆς βουλῆς τῶν πεντακοσίων, κατηγόρουν τῶν Ἀρεοπαγιτῶν ὅ τ’ Ἐφιάλτης καὶ <ὁ> Θεμιστοκλῆς, καὶ πάλιν ἐν τῷ δήμῳ τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον, ἕως περιείλοντο αὐτῶν τὴν δύναμιν. (AP 25. 4) Wilamowitz commented wryly on this passage: “ancient biogra- phers observed greater tact than modern ones, who cherry-pick this story with obvious relish” (1893: 1. 140). The story, he suggests, is impossible to accept as historical. After enumerating the contradic- tions, mostly chronological but also internal to the text itself, he concludes: “It is pardonable if the story dazzled for a brief moment after the discovery [of the text]; but whoever seriously suggests that we can somehow believe it forfeits the right to be taken seriously” (142). At the risk of not being taken seriously, I suggest that we consider how the stunt might have worked, or rather, how the story suggests that it worked to bring about an institutional outcome. Most historians have heeded Wilamowitz’s warning because of the chronological

19 Another source suggests that he was in debt to the state (hyp. Isok. 7). Ephialtes “naked” at the altar 127 problems the story raises; chief among them being that Themistocles was certainly not in Athens in 462/1, the archon year to which the

AP dates the reforms.20 Even if that information is accurate, it is just possible that Ephialtes and Themistocles might have cooperated against the Areopagus. As the text makes clear, the stunt was part of a prolonged campaign. There is no reason to assume that the entirety of the campaign took place entirely in one year. Institutional change of this sort does not happen quickly.21 Furthermore, it does appear that supporters of the Areopagus were magnifying its importance by claiming it responsible for the victory of Salamis.22 So a rivalry between Themistocles, the hero of Salamis, and the Areopagus is not out of the question. The story seems to fuse different perspectives uncomfortably. It depicts Ephialtes as both a dupe and a conspir- ator, first having him manipulated by the cunning Themistocles and then cooperating with him against the Areopagus. It is almost as if the author has found the story in a pro-Areopagus source that was responding to anti-Areopagus propaganda by portraying the stunt as motivated by petty feuds and manipulation, and therefore lacking a serious message. At any rate, even if the stunt did not take place as AP describes it, it can serve to highlight some important features of publicity stunts in general. Like Pisistratus’ self-wounding or his parade with Phye, it draws attention to itself thanks to its shocking and unexpected appearance. Second, it frames an issue in a particular way. Third, it is continued in an institutional venue. In this case the text marks the pivot especially starkly: the stunt happened, everyone was amazed, and then through attacks in the Council and the Assembly the Areopagus was undermined. Regardless if it was a result of manipulation or a calculated gesture, the stunt dramatizes an argument that would potentially be quite damaging to the Areopagus. The curious detail that Ephialtes was wearing only his undergarment (monokhitôn) is relevant here.

20 Most likely based on information of the “Laws of Ephialtes and Archestratus,” which the Thirty Tyrants would subsequently and significantly remove from the site of the Areopagus as a prelude to their supposed restoration of the “ancestral constitution” that Ephialtes sub- verted (AP 35. 2). 21 This is the argument of R. Lewis 1997. 22 Plut. Them. 10. 4; AP 23. 1; Arist. Pol. 1304a17–24; Clidemus FrGrH 323 F 21; see Rhodes 1993: 287–9. 128 Publicity stunts in Athenian politics His being in such a state of undress would first of all have aimed to draw as much attention as possible. The sight of a well-known politician sitting on an altar in his underwear would inevitably have that consequence. Ephialtes was not the only Athenian to perform such an act. Some 130 years later, a public slave named Pittalacus also sat at an altar in a similar fashion.23 He wanted to draw attention to his plight and he timed his stunt to coincide with a meeting of the Council (Aeschin. 1. 60). On that occasion, Aeschines remarks, “a crowd gathered quickly, as tends to happen.” Ephialtes would have aimed for the same result, to gather the kind of crowd that stunts in public places tended to attract. If so, he succeeded: “everyone was shocked at the event [θαυμασάντων δὲ πάντων τὸ γεγονός],” the AP notes. Moreover, Ephialtes’ supplication also served to present his campaign against the Areopagus against the backdrop of an Athenian tradition of protecting innocent suppliants pursued by aggressive villains, which I discussed in the previous chapter. The detail about the chiton is also relevant here. Athenian men did not like to appear without their outer cloak (himation), especially in official places such as the Assembly. (Look at the Foundry Cup illustrated at Figure 5 on p. 63 for an example of what it looked like.) This garment was worn loosely with a simple fold to hold it in place. It curtailed movement significantly, and perhaps that was the point, since when one wore one’s cloak one had to move leisurely.24 Thus, to drop one’s cloak in public was a sign that one felt accosted and startled. Demosthenes narrates a scene of a raucous meeting of the Assembly during which “I dropped my himation and was almost naked [gymnou] in my short chiton as I tried to avoid him, and he was pulling me” (21. 216). Similarly a victim of an alleged assault complains: “I was carried away by people who happened past, naked [gymnos] since [my assail- ants] took off with myhimation ” (Dem. 54. 9). Ephialtes’ appearance in his undergarment is thus evidence of the aggression from which he is seeking refuge, and not because it would “contribute to the self- abasement appropriate to the act of supplication” (Rhodes 1993: 321).

23 Although he is described as gymnos, not monokhitôn, we should probably imagine that he was also in his undergarment. We probably have here gymnos LSJ A5 (“lightly clad”), not A (“unclad”). LSJ Suppl. clarifies helpfully, “stripped, i.e. with one’s main garment removed.” 24 See Geddes 1987: 312–13. Ephialtes “naked” at the altar 129 Ephialtes must have been fleeing with sincere fear if he appears as a suppliant without his cloak. For the Areopagus the image of threatening a suppliant would have been especially damaging. Whatever its specific range of com- petence at this time, what is clear is that as far back as we can tell, its authority was based on being “an ancient, venerable, and sacred tribunal” (Wallace 1989: 127). And protecting suppliants was one of Athens’ most influential traditions. Relevantly to the case at hand, Aeschylus’ charter myth for the Areopagus in his Eumenides, staged shortly after Ephialtes’ reforms, depicts the Areopagus as the final arbiter of the plea of the suppliant Orestes (242, 409). Desperate and distraught, he has come to Athens for protection from the Furies of his mother who are hot in pursuit and finds in the Areopagus the protection and purification that has eluded him. As I pointed out above, supplication invariably has a “triangulating” function.25 The ritual serves to quickly assign the participants to three roles: the suppliant, the pursuer, and the champion. The audience expects, and quite often gets, exactly this pattern. Just as the proverbial cowboy in a white hat is followed invariably by one in a black hat, the appearance of a suppliant is followed by the appearance of someone who is trying to harm him and by the appearance of someone else who will protect him. In the Suppliants, the suppliants are the Danaids, the pursuer is the Egyptian herald, and the protector is Pelasgus. In the Eumenides the role of the pursuer is played by the Furies, and the protector is in turn Apollo, Athena, and the Areopagus. Ephialtes’ stunt takes advantage of the same tradition that Aeschylus would draw on a few years later but from the opposite orientation, presenting the Areopagus as an aggressor against a suppliant rather than as a defender. An Areopagus that could conceivably wrench a suppliant from the altar would be a far cry from the council that, in Aeschylus’ drama, heard the case of the suppliant Orestes and absolved him of his crimes after a careful deliberative procedure.26 Such behavior as Ephialtes’ stunt imputed to it would

25 “In supplication, it is not simply a matter of a person describing a desperate need here and now for a particular object: through their formalized gestures suppliants … align their particular demand with a long tradition of urgent needs” (Crotty 1994: 18). 26 Ephialtes’ stunt was innovative but its implicit charge was not unprecedented. Undermining an opponent’s moral authority by accusing him of disrespecting suppliants was common 130 Publicity stunts in Athenian politics not evoke sentiments of “reverential awe” (sebas) that the Areopagus was supposed to inspire in the citizens (Aesch. Eum. 690–1). Isocrates later eulogized the Areopagus as an inspirational source of self- control (sôphrosyne) and good order (eutaxia) (7. 37–9). Its mere presence was sufficient to ennoble even scoundrels: “When they would go up to the Areopagus they would hesitate to obey their natural impulses and would abide by its customs rather than by their own wickedness” (38). Ephialtes’ stunt can be seen as a challenge to its image of piety, which was its main source of legitimacy subsequently and probably already at the time as well. Also of interest is the way in which the stunt figures as part of a broader campaign within the institutions. According to the text, Ephialtes sued individual Areopagites “for their management [περὶ τῶν διῳκημένων]” (25. 2). Similarly, at 25. 4, immediately after the description of the stunt, we are told that Ephialtes and Themistocles cooperated in accusing the Areopagus as a whole in the Council and the Assembly, and they kept at it “until they took away their power [ἕως περιείλοντο αὐτῶν τὴν δύναμιν].” I propose that the stunt was in fact a dramaturgical version of Ephialtes’ overall argument against the Areopagus. We get only the faintest trace of the argument in our sources, but it seems that Ephialtes and his allies argued, in short, that the Areopagus had deviated from its original domain and needed to be restored; it had to be “pruned” (Ar. Pol. 1274b8) of its “additional” roles (AP 25. 2).27 Presenting members of the Areopagus as aggres- sors against a suppliant would have put Athenians into a frame of mind that might make them more receptive to the argument that the Areopagus had strayed from its traditions and needed to return to them. In essence, this line of argument tracks rather closely the standard reading of Aeschylus’ portrayal of the Areopagus in Eumenides, where he presents the original founding of the Areopagus as a homicide court. If I am right about the force and meaning of Ephialtes’ stunt, then perhaps the original role of the Areopagus, as Aeschylus was reminding his audience, was not only that of a homicide court

already in the 480s, as we can infer from a shard cast against Aristides, who was himself a member of the Areopagite class and rival of Themistocles (Agora 25. 44). 27 Most historians have followed the idea of Wilamowitz (1893: 2. 186) that the suggestion that Ephialtes returned the Areopagus to its original role represents contemporary pro- Ephialtian propaganda, rather than impartial historical description. A mournful Apaturia 131 (and nothing in addition to that), but also that of a pious protector of suppliants.28 Thus, Ephialtes’ stunt, if it happened, could have served an important purpose in his campaign against the Areopagus. It was not just a scandalous story that found its way into the text and should be dismissed out of hand, as Wilamowitz urged. Instead, it was a dramatic version of the overall thrust of the argument that Ephialtes and the allies pursued in the institutions, namely that the Areopagus had deviated from its traditional character. As a stunt it worked first of all because it provoked interest. The scene of one of the leading men of the city running to an altar in the Agora, wearing only his chiton, and pursued by members of the Areopagus would certainly produce a large crowd of bystanders and onlookers. The crowd is important, because the knowledge this stunt created would have circulated with it as rumor that would then have been translated through work in the institutions into a concrete outcome: a law or decree that announced the limitation, or “restoration,” of the Areopagus and the transfer of some of its responsibilities to the courts and the Assembly.

A mournful Apaturia

The next stunt to consider dates to nearly sixty years after Ephialtes’, yet the basic structure is similar: both involve a theatrical scene in the Street that draws on cultural practices with traditional, established meanings and contributes to an institutional act. Its occasion was one of the most notorious political trials of classical Athenian history, the trial of the generals for their failure to rescue shipwrecked sailors after the victorious sea battle of Arginusae in 406. The Athenian generalship was a perilous job. It was not unusual for generals to face impeachment and penalties ranging from fines to death.29 What was unusual in this case is that the entire board was

28 It is possible that Aeschylus presented the Areopagus as a protector of suppliants in part to blunt the force of Ephialtes’ stunt, which was recalled precisely because of the influence of Aeschylus’ play (I owe this suggestion to Angelos Chaniotis). Here then we would have an example of a complex process by which a stunt in the Street influenced an “institutional” discourse in the theater, which then shaped how the original stunt was remembered in the Street! 29 See Hamel 1998: 122 ff. 132 Publicity stunts in Athenian politics condemned. Of the eight serving that year, six were executed and the others escaped only because they did not return to Athens to stand trial. This incident has been seen as one of the low points of Athenian democracy. As Diodorus puts it, “They put to death people who not only had committed no crime against the city, but who had won the greatest sea battle of Greeks versus Greeks” (13. 102. 4). Plato (Apol. 32b) and Xenophon (Hist. 1. 7. 35) assert that the whole case was a gross miscarriage of justice which the Athenians quickly regret- ted. For them it showed what can happen when orators manipulate the demos’ emotions (cf. [Pl.] Ax. 368d–e). Modern historians have followed suit. Ostwald’s verdict is representative: the trial “turned a smashing military victory into a humiliating political defeat for the principle of popular sovereignty and stigmatized all major organs of the Athenian democracy” (Ostwald 1986: 434). My intention here is not to defend the Athenians against these charges.30 Rather, it is to understand how a stunt figures in the historical accounts of the event. There are two main versions, in Diodorus and in Xenophon. Their accounts are mutually contradictory at several important points and attempts to reconcile them have not won wide acceptance.31 Xenophon would seem more likely to be reliable. Though he was not present in Athens at the time of the trial, he probably knew several of the participants personally.32 But historians have generally tended to favor Diodorus.33 His account is more straightforward than Xenophon’s, but the moral of the story is somewhat different. For Diodorus, the execution was a result of a confluence of circumstance and error. For one, the issue was not about rescuing living sailors, but about collecting the dead for burial (13. 100. 1). He claims that a sudden storm was ultimately responsible for the deaths

30 Some recent attempts are Burchkardt 2000; Hunt 2001; and Asmonti 2006. Burchkardt reads the trial from the perspective of a suffering Athens lashing out and trying to assert its values. This approach goes back to Grote 188( 8: 6. 397–430). Hunt suggests that the generals’ decision to offer citizenship to slave rowers might have promoted resentment. Asmonti tries to connect the case to a broader realignment of political and social power. 31 e.g. Cloché 1919. 32 See Németh 1984. 33 His reputation has significantly benefited from the publication of the fragments ofthe Hellenica Oxyrhynchia. Andrewes 1974 has been influential for the favoring of Diodorus over Xenophon on the Arginusae affair. Skeptics include Sordi198 1 and Burchkardt 2000. A mournful Apaturia 133 but that the generals dug their own grave by trying preemptively to blame Theramenes. “This was the prime cause of their trouble. Although they could have had as co-defendants Theramenes and his associates, men who were capable speakers and had many friends … they had them as opponents and bitter accusers” (101. 3). Diodorus depicts the crowd in the Assembly as a wounded animal and the contest as being over who would get thrown to it, the generals or Theramenes. Contributing to the mood was the fact that also present in the Assembly were relatives of the deceased still wearing their mourning attire, “asking the demos for revenge against those who looked the other way as those who willingly died for their father- land lay unburied” (101. 6). For Diodorus, the rhetorical skill of Theramenes, along with his many supporters, guaranteed that the generals would lose. If Diodorus tells the event as tragedy, Xenophon sees it as travesty. For one, the central issue is not whether the generals failed to collect dead sailors but whether they failed to rescue live ones. Xenophon agrees with Diodorus that public opinion wavered during the assembly that decided the generals’ fate. There they had many allies who spoke in their defense, and “they were persuading the demos” (7. 7). But here Xenophon’s account diverges in important ways. For now (he says) the debate had gone on for so long that the sun had set and it was hard to see and count the hands. So they decided to postpone the final decision until a later meeting. This is quite unusual, in fact it is the only example we have of such a postponed decision. Scholars have struggled to make sense of it. MacDowell suggests, “All this was, legally, a debate … rather than a trial. Probably some specific proposition had been made, but we do not know its terms” (1978: 188). This raises questions. What could the Council have possibly put before the Assembly, except “Are the generals guilty?”34 And furthermore, as Lang (1992: 273) points out, if it was too dark to see, how did they vote on the motion to refer the case back to the Council? My suggestion is that Xenophon goes to great effort to construct a narrative that illustrates the corruption of institutional procedure by

34 Hurni makes a brave attempt to make sense of this discrepancy. According to him (2010: 165–6), the Assembly was debating a question about whether the charge should be heard by the Assembly or a court. This requires us to argue away the language of legal accusation with which Xenophon describes the meeting (e.g. katêgoroun at 1. 7. 4, apelogêsato at 1. 7. 5). 134 Publicity stunts in Athenian politics extra-institutional theatrics – even if that means twisting the story in a way that shows its sutures. The point of greatest divergence between the accounts of Xenophon and Diodorus involves the relatives of the deceased. In Diodorus’ version, it was a coincidence that relatives of the deceased happened to attend the Assembly in their mourning clothes. Xenophon also suggests that a display of grief contributed to public sentiment against the generals. The difference is that he claims that these mourners were actually a fraud, or rather, a stunt: After this occurred the Apaturia, in which phrateres and relatives gather together.35 So Theramenes’ associates arranged for many men wearing black and with heads shaved to attend the festival so that they could come to the Assembly pretending to be relatives of the deceased. μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα ἐγίγνετο Ἀπατούρια, ἐν οἷς οἵ τε φρατέρες καὶ οἱ συγγενεῖς σύνεισι σφίσιν αὐτοῖς. οἱ οὖν περὶ τὸν Θηραμένην παρεσκεύασαν ἀνθρώπους μέλανα ἱμάτια ἔχοντας καὶ ἐν χρῷ κεκαρμένους πολλοὺς ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ ἑορτῇ, ἵνα πρὸς τὴν ἐκκλησίαν ἥκοιεν, ὡς δὴ συγγενεῖς ὄντες τῶν ἀπολωλότων. (1. 7. 8)

Most historians dismiss this stunt as unlikely to have occurred as

Xenophon describes it.36 It does not make sense for Theramenes or his supporters to unnecessarily stoke the passions of the Athenians. It would have been quite dangerous because the trick could backfire if the Athenians sided with the generals against Theramenes or considered him complicit; remember that the generals accused him first. Furthermore, the passage is in sharp contrast with the aftermath, after the Athenians came to their senses. Some were indicted for “misleading the demos” but Xenophon does not identify Theramenes as one of them (1. 7. 35). Nor does Xenophon have Critias bring up Theramenes’ role in the stunt in his speech against him where he recounts his crimes under both democracy and oligarchy (2. 3. 10). There is also no reference to it in the anti-Theramenes passage of Lysias’ Against Eratosthenes (12. 62–78), where we might expect

35 Reading, with Dindorf, φρατέρες instead of πατέρες. 36 Cloché tries to reconcile the two sources by suggesting that Theramenes merely encouraged the parents of the deceased to show up to the Assembly rather than actually hiring actors to impersonate them (1919: 48). A mournful Apaturia 135 to find it if Theramenes’ role in it was widely seen as Xenophon describes it. Such are the reasons to dismiss the stunt as implausible. To this we might counter that Xenophon does not actually say that Theramenes orchestrated it; instead he holds responsible “the associates of Theramenes οἱ[ … περὶ τὸν Θηραμένην]” (1. 7. 8). The legacy of Theramenes was certainly subject to debate after his death, as we can see in Lysias’ Against Eratosthenes and the Theramenes excursus in the

Athenaion Politeia (28. 5).37 So we should not be surprised if the stunt did not become one of the stock charges against him (in contrast to the one that he was an opportunistic kothornos, a boot designed to fit either the left foot or the right), especially if the Athenians blamed others for misleading them on this occasion.38 At any rate, my main concern here is not whether the stunt actually happened as Xenophon describes it but how Xenophon depicts such a stunt as working, and especially how he relates it to institutional procedure. And here we must note two details of his narrative that are not usually highlighted: the peculiar nature of the procedure of the generals’ trial, and the fact that the stunt occurred during the festival of the Apaturia. The Apaturia was celebrated in the month of Pyanepsion (October/November). It was the most important festival for the tribal associations called phratries.39 During its three days these descent-based associations would assemble to sacrifice and feast, and especially to celebrate the coming of age of new members. Their enrollment on the phratry’s registers would mark their recognition by the other members of the phratry as the legitimate descendants of their fathers (as discussed in Chapter 2). To be enrolled was proof of legitimacy if any legal challenges to title or identity should arise. The Apaturia was a time of festivity, a celebration of the continuity between generations and the perseverance of kinship. Quite probably, every Athenian citizen would have belonged to one of these groups.40 The festival’s coming on the heels of the battle at Arginusae

37 Most recently on Theramenes see Hurni 2010, very much of the pro-Theramenes camp himself. 38 Lang 1992 argues that the demagogues were the scapegoats of a “revisionist history.” 39 On the Apaturia and the phratries see especially Lambert 1993: 143–89. More concisely, see Parker 2005: 458–61. 40 See Hedrick 1991. 136 Publicity stunts in Athenian politics and the debate about the generals’ responsibility surely heightened the sense of grief. Most interesting is how, in Xenophon’s narrative, a procedure transmitted the emotion of grief into the Assembly. To return to his narrative: Theramenes’ associates enlisted a man named Callixenus to accuse the generals in the Council. It was his proposal that the Council endorsed, and it read: Since the Athenians have listened to the accusers of the generals and to their defense in the previous assembly, they are to proceed to vote by tribe; they are to place two hydria containers before each tribe, and before each a herald is to announce, “Whoever thinks that the generals have committed a crime by not rescuing the victors of the sea battle, place your vote in the first one; whoever thinks the opposite, in the second one.” And if they are judged to be guilty, they are to be punished with death and their property is to be confiscated, and one-tenth is to belong to the goddess. Ἐπειδὴ τῶν τε κατηγορούντων κατὰ τῶν στρατηγῶν καὶ ἐκείνων ἀπολογουμένων ἐν τῇ προτέρᾳ ἐκκλησίᾳ ἀκηκόασι, διαψηφίσασθαι Ἀθηναίους ἅπαντας κατὰ φυλάς· θεῖναι δὲ εἰς τὴν φυλὴν ἑκάστην δύο ὑδρίας· ἐφ’ ἑκάστῃ δὲ τῇ φυλῇ κήρυκα κηρύττειν, ὅτῳ δοκοῦσιν ἀδικεῖν οἱ στρατηγοὶ οὐκ ἀνελόμενοι τοὺς νικήσαντας ἐν τῇ ναυμαχίᾳ, εἰς τὴν προτέραν ψηφίσασθαι, ὅτῳ δὲ μή, εἰς τὴν ὑστέραν· ἂν δὲ δόξωσιν ἀδικεῖν, θανάτῳ ζημιῶσαι καὶ τοῖς ἕνδεκα παραδοῦναι καὶ τὰ χρήματα δημοσιεῦσαι, τὸ δ’ ἐπιδέκατον τῆς θεοῦ εἶναι. (1. 7. 9) Scholars rightly point out the irregularity of foreclosing the debate and proceeding immediately to the vote.41 Less noticed is the further irregularity of how the vote was to be conducted. Voting in two urns was standard practice in lawcourts. But there the point was to con- ceal one’s true vote in order to avoid pressure-based voting.42 Here the point seems to be to reveal how each person voted. Such voting was characteristic of trials under the Thirty Tyrants (Xen. Hell. 2. 4. 8–10; Lys. 12. 52). But why vote by tribes? Xenophon does not spell

41 This is the only example of a trial that extends over more than one day. Worthington 1989 argues that Demosthenes’ trial in connection with Harpalus and the crown affair must have taken more than one day, but that is based solely on the length of the texts. This is based on the questionable assumption that the texts of Demosthenes and Aeschines represent the ipsissima verba of the orators. 42 See Boegehold 1963; 1995: 209–11. A mournful Apaturia 137 out the reason, perhaps because it would have been apparent to his readers.43 I propose that the reason Callixenus’ proposal calls for a vote by tribe is because this arrangement would take advantage of Athenians’ phratry-based relationships. A tribe, as I noted in Chapter 2, consisted of all the members of a group of three demes drawn from the city, the rural periphery and the shore. Membership in a phratry often (although not always) entailed membership in the deme in which it was located or in a neighboring deme.44 And this in turn meant that a significant portion of a given phratry’s membership would belong to the same tribe. For example, if the phratry members listed in IG II2 2344, from the early fourth century, were present at that meeting they would have voted alongside each other because they all belonged to a small group of families from the same deme.45 Callixenus’ procedure in other words might be seen as a devious way to ensure that many members of phratries would be voting in the same pair of urns. The co-presence of so many kinsmen near each other would bring social networks to bear in a particularly unmediated fashion. We can imagine the scene. In the large, crushing crowd Athenians would have flocked close to their acquaintances and kin and friends. Their division by tribe, as the decree of Callixenus specified, would have encouraged that natural tendency. This in turn

43 It has been suggested that Callixenus’ procedure was normal for the Assembly at this time (Boegehold 1963: 373–4). This view depends in part on the belief that the Pnyx was divided into ten sections, coinciding with the ten Clisthenic tribes (Stanton and Bicknell 1987). Hansen 1988 has shown that there is little solid evidence to support this belief, and much reason to doubt it. Aside from archeological remains, the main literary evidence for this belief is the passage under discussion. Here, as Hansen rightly argues, “Callixenus’ minute description of how the vote is to be taken shows that the ballot he prescribes is exceptional and not standard procedure” (1988: 54). 44 On the loose connection between demes and phratries see Hedrick 1991; Lambert 1993: 31–43; N. Jones 1999: 196–9. 45 Judging from the fact that none of the names features a demotic: see Hedrick 1989. That the practice of not inscribing a demotic could be a problem in large phratries we can infer from the amendment of Menexenus to the Demotionidae decree, which advised the phratry to set up a list of children of members accompanied by their father’s name and his deme affilia-

tion, as well as their mother’s name and her deme affiliation (IG II2 1237. 114–20). This was a measure designed to make it easier to police membership in a large phratry whose members were clearly not well acquainted with one another. Yet even here the named individuals at least belonged to the same deme or a neighboring deme; and both demes were part of the tribe of Hippothontis (Hedrick 1991: 243–4; more extensively Hedrick 1990). So they too would have voted alongside each other in the procedure of Callixenus. 138 Publicity stunts in Athenian politics would have made it likelier that the feeling of grief of a few would be more intense and contagious to their kinsmen. The open voting would have sealed the generals’ fate, almost as if there had never been any debate at all; precisely as Xenophon claims happened. To be clear, I am not arguing that this is what actually happened. I am arguing that this might be what Xenophon wants us to read into his account. As I suggested above, Xenophon expands and compresses his narrative as it suits his purposes. According to the pseudo- Platonic Axiochus, the generals were condemned at a subsequent meeting of the Assembly, not, as Xenophon has it, at the same one in which Socrates famously defied the crowd (368e–9a). Xenophon compresses the time-frame here because it suits his aims to present the procedure as part of the same strategy that produced the suppositious relatives. In the Assembly procedural attempts to save the generals fail to stem the tide of public anger. When some propose to impeach the proposal as illegal, “the crowd shouted it is terrible if the demos is not permitted to do what it wishes” (1. 7. 12). Opponents of the generals cowed the objectors with the threat to judge them alongside the generals. And when the prytaneis, on which Socrates happened to be that day, refuse to allow the Assembly to vote on the Council’s proposal, Callixenus threatens them with the same fate. “The mob raised a din again ἐπεθορύβησε[ πάλιν ὁ ὄχλος],” and the committee under duress allows the proposal to come to a vote. Xenophon elsewhere characterizes the force of the crowd that day as an “irresistible force” against which no law, let alone an individual, could resist: “When [Socrates] was on the executive committee of the Assembly he did not allow the demos to vote contrary to the law, but he stood up on the side of the laws against such a force of the demos which I don’t think another person could have endured [σὺν τοῖς νόμοις ἠναντιώθη τοιαύτῃ ὁρμῇ τοῦ δήμου ἣν οὐκ ἂν οἶμαι ἄλλον οὐδένα ἄνθρωπον ὑπομεῖναι]” (Mem. 4. 4. 2). This is an unparalleled account of the Assembly descending into near-anarchy by someone who bears little love for the Athenian democracy. Xenophon uses loaded terms, okhlos, thorybos, plêthos, to highlight the sense that the proceedings amounted to little more than a judicial lynching. And yet, despite Euryptolemus’ forceful argument in his speech against Callixenus’ proposal, there was nothing really illegal or even very irregular (by Athenian standards) in A mournful Apaturia 139

the proceedings.46 The Council and the Assembly operated as they should: a vote took place after debate and after procedural attempts to stop the vote failed. The vote initially went for the generals but a revote sealed their fate (1. 7. 34). As I already noted, it was not unusual to put generals on trial. And given the prominence and importance of generals, and the nature of such proceedings, it is hard to believe that this would have been the only time that emotions ran high.47 Xenophon wants to show how extra-institutional pressure corrupted the political process. There was a too-close link between institutional procedure and extra-institutional theatrics, between the decree of Callixenus calling for an open vote by tribe and the stunt of the Apaturia mourners that took advantage of phratry-based associations. To make this case more forcefully still he even claims that the Assembly met during the Apaturia: he baldly states that the actors attended the festival and then made their way to the Assembly where their presence enflamed the passions of the audience. This is the only evidence we have that the Assembly met during the festival, and it is hard to believe. In the fourth century the Council gave itself five days off to celebrate it, “in order that the Council might celebrate the festival with the other Athenians, according to ancestral custom” (Ath. 4. 171e). This probably did not mean that the Council would have been open for business before the change. It probably meant that in addition to the three days for the rituals that it already had off it now received an additional two, presumably, as Lambert

46 See Mehl 1982; Pownall 2000: 502–4. Euryptolemus attempts to read something like a “right” to individual trial behind Athenian laws and decrees. To make sense of Euryptolemus’ appeal to the Decree of Cannonus, Ostwald (1986: 440 n. 118)Âendorses the emendation at 1. 7. 20 of dedemenon “bound” to dialeleimenon “at intervals.” Lavelle 1988 is probably right that the appeal to the decree, along with the suggestion that his own kinsman Pericles be the first to be tried, is rhetorically designed to evoke one of the cruelest procedures available, in which a defendant makes his defense while bound. The ms. reading also preserves the thrust of the joke at Arist. Eccl. 1090, the only other reference to this decree. The point is: Try Pericles by the most extreme procedure we have, but try him as an individual! This also makes sense of the further reference to the laws for temple-robbers and traitors. These were heinous crimes but their heinousness did not preclude individual trials. For this argument as a landmark of Athenian legal thinking see CarawanÂ2007. 47 According to Demosthenes, it would be a great benefit for Athens if the same people who serve under generals also served on the juries and committees that judge them. That way they would not rely on rumors but on what they had seen with their own eyes of the generals’ conduct. As it is, he says, a general can expect to be tried two or three times in his career and face a death penalty (4. 47). See Pritchett 1971–91: 2. 4–33; Hamel 1998: 122Âff. 140 Publicity stunts in Athenian politics (1993: 156)Âsuggests, in order to recover from the heavy drinking and feasting that was typical of the occasion. Athens was notorious for its frequent festivals during which normal government operations were postponed.48 Given the scale and nature of the Apaturia, it is implausible that the trial of the generals took place during the festival, as Xenophon implies.49 But the implication serves Xenophon’s purpose, which is to illustrate the undue influence which extra-institutional pressures place on the institutions and how that can lead to injustice receiving legal sanction. The problem with the label of “lawful,” as Xenophon argued elsewhere, is that it can legitimize mere force under any regime (Mem. 1. 2. 40–6). Indeed, Critias applied it to Theramenes’ execution under the oligarchy (Hell. 2. 3. 51), just as Theramenes had applied it to the execution of the generals under the democracy.50 Both trials involved the presence of extra-institutional forces corrupting the procedures within the institutions. In the trial of the generals under the democracy, this took the form of a stunt that stoked the Athenians’ Âemotions and gave them a structure and an outlet at the same time. In the trial of Theramenes under the oligarchy, it was the silent presence of a group of enforcers with concealed daggers standing silently just outside the Council’s barrier that intimidated the councilors insideÂit.

The decline of the politicalÂstunt Our historical sources record these stunts because they occurred at pivotal moments of time that shaped the course of Athenian history. Such moments, as Victor Turner argued, are apt to produce “social dramas” in which people can adopt roles almost despite themselves and deep, structural tensions come to the fore.51 Certainly more stunts occurred than our sources tell us about. We glimpse these in passing

48 [Xen.] Ath. Pol. 3. 2. 8; Aeschin. 3. 66–7; Dem. 24. 26; AP 43.Â3. 49 Mikalson 1975:Â79. 50 Compare APâ’s opposing judgment about Theramenes as a man who resisted illegality no matter what constitution he lived under (28. 5). It seems we have here a point of contention between pro- and anti-Theramenes perspectives. For a comparison between Xenophon’s treatment of the Arginusae trial and the subsequent trial of Theramenes by the Thirty see now Villacèque 2013: 201–16. 51 See especially V.Â Turner 1974. For an application of Turner’s concept to Athens see StraussÂ1993. The decline of the politicalÂstunt 141 without being able to grasp their point. For instance, shortly after the Arginusae affair we hear that Cleophon opposed the proposal of peace with Sparta by speaking in the Assembly drunk and wearing a breastplate (AP 34. 1). Perhaps it was on this occasion that he threatened to slit the throat of anyone who mentioned peace (Aesch.

2. 76; 3. 150).52 This reads like a version of Solon’s Salamis stunt, or his public display of his weapons after Pisistratus took power (AP 14. 2), as Rhodes notes (1993: 426). Perhaps Cleophon’s theatrics related to his argument against peace, but it is impossible to know.53 Not merely the famous engaged in stunts, as we can see from this particularly lurid example: in the context of the debate about the Sicilian Expedition, Plutarch records a curious story of a nameless man who climbed onto the Altar of the Twelve Gods, walked around on it, took a stone, and mutilated his genitals (περιβὰς ἀπέκοψεν αὑτοῦ λίθω τὸ αἰδοῖον) (Plut. Nic. 13. 4–5). Who can say if this was a political statement or merely a deranged act of a lunatic, or both? Plutarch records the story among other signs that the expedition would have a bad outcome. In connection with the Sicilian Expedition we also have the most puzzling stunt of all, the mutilation of the herms in 415. In one night as the fleet was getting ready to launch, all the herm statues in Athens were mutilated. No one knew who did it. The Athenians launched an investigation that led to mass arrests, both involving the herms and the crime of the profanation of the Mysteries in private homes, which came to light along the way (And. 1. 10–69; Thuc. 6. 27–9, 60–1). The prevailing fear was that a conspiracy was afoot by aristocratic associations (hetaireiai) to overthrow the democracy.54 Many came forth to offer information about each scandal, or both.

52 Wilamowitz-Moellendorff189 3: 1. 130 n. 15 suggested that the account was based on eyewitness information. 53 “The breast plate could have been a gimmick, designed to show the Athenians that they could not relax their guard as soon as Sparta offered terms. Or it could have implied to the people that their popular leader walked in fear of violence from the oligarchs. On another level, it might have recalled the portraits of Pericles with his inevitable helmet, serving simultaneously as a favourable contrast to the fineries of Alcibiades” (Baldwin197 4: 44–5). 54 See Furley 1996; Graf 2000; Todd 2004. Dioclides testified, “He saw more than 300 men standing around in circles of five and ten men, some more than twenty” (And. 1. 38). This image captures succinctly the fears Athenians had of aristocratic associations, their extent and loose organization, and also their ability to coordinate in a common objective (Murray 1990:Â151). 142 Publicity stunts in Athenian politics Andocides, an aristocrat himself, was the prime informant, and he appeared especially credible because he admitted complicity and offered information against his associates in exchange for immunity. The names of the condemned on each charge, chief among whom was Alcibiades (though absent from the city at the time), were written up along with a list of their confiscated property on stones that were consecrated to the Two Goddesses in the Eleusinion, a stark warning against other conspiring aristocrats.55 Thucydides does not appear very credulous of Andocides (6. 60. 2, 5). In fact, his account differs substantially from Andocides’ in hisOn the Mysteries. In his version, the herms are the first scandal to break, coming immediately on the heels of the debate in the Assembly that led to the decision to launch the Sicilian invasion. Such a passion possessed the Athenians to sail, he says, that no one was willing to speak against the expedition for fear of appearing “inimical [kakonous]” to the city (6. 24. 4).56 Thucydides seems to suggest that the silent dis- senters were somehow involved in the mutilation of the herms, as if the stunt could accomplish extra-institutionally what they could not accomplish in the Assembly. It was during the investigation into the herms that the Athenians found out about the Mysteries. Andocides in his account reverses the order of events, declaring that it was during the Assembly debate that someone first accused Alcibiades of parodying the Mysteries (1. 11), and only later does he come around to talk about the herms, without explicitly stating when their mutilation occurred.57 It probably suited him better to begin with the charge with which he was least implicated and to come last to the more sensitive material.58

55 See Pritchett 1953;Â1956. 56 The wordkakonous , as Hornblower notes (1991–2008: 3. 364), is the reverse of the common formula which the city employed in honoring its benefactors, eunous. 57 See the chronological discussion in MacDowell 1962: 181–5. 58 According to Thucydides (6. 60. 4), Andocides confessed to the herms affair, whereas the speaker of Lysias 6 describes him as an offender against the Two Goddesses (51). Andocides denies involvement with the Mysteries (1. 10), and admits minimal involvement only in the herms affair (61–9). Furley 1996 argues that ancient sources had their own reasons for con- flating the charges, but they should be thought as separate acts. He suggests the herms were an anti-war stunt, which makes sense. Less persuasive is his suggestion that the Mysteries were a pro-war gesture, since the goddesses were associated with peace. The decline of the political stunt 143 Whatever the truth of this murky business, for my purposes it shows that stunts could easily get out of hand; and this is perhaps what happened here. Stunts depended on continuous discussion to acquire meaning and persuasive force. And at that point an author of a stunt did not have much control over the process. We can imagine that the mutilation of the herms started out as an attempt to provoke the Athenians to reconsider the decision to invade Sicily, but got caught up in a web of conflicting agendas and interests and quickly turned into a very different kind of story colored now by the accusations about the profanation of the Mysteries: a story about a conspiracy to overthrow the democracy by disaffected aristocrats who care little about traditional forms of piety. In fact the messiness of the Scandals of 415 might have been one factor why political stunts seem to fall out of favor at the end of the fifth century. Stunts do not vanish completely in the fourth century. Demosthenes mentions in passing that some people mutilated the acroteria of the Temple of Athena Nike on the Acropolis and the goddess punished them for it (24. 121). We know nothing more about this act, but the term he uses, perikopsantes, is the usual term to refer to the mutilation of the herms in 415 (cf. Dem. 21. 147). But something appears to change in the fourth century. Xenophon, Diodorus, even the “Oxyrhynchus historian,” our main historians for fourth-century Athenian history, record nothing else like the stunts of the previous century, such as the theatrics of Solon, Pisistratus, Ephialtes, and Themistocles. We also have a unique resource in the surviving Attic orations, which number over a hundred: these texts stem directly from contemporary political struggles and feuds. They overflow with invective, but oddly we do not find the charge that one’s opponents engaged in a publicity stunt of the sort we have seen was far from uncommon in the sixth and fifth centuries. There is plenty of criticism of one’s opponent’s behavior as inordinately theatrical. The dueling speeches of Aeschines and Demosthenes brim with this kind of criticism. But they do not accuse each other of engaging in the kind of stunts we have examined here.59 In fact there appears to be a qualitative and sudden change in the culture of theatricality, from

59 See Hall 1995; Duncan 2006: 58–89. The tradition of Solon and the Salamis ode (which I discussed above) can serve as a barometer of shifting attitudes toward norms of public display. A late fifth-century statue commemorating this event depicted Solon in the restrained 144 Publicity stunts in Athenian politics the classical culture of the stunt toward a Hellenistic culture of the image.60 Stunts continued to be staged, but now the ones who engage in them are in some sense marginal to the central political arena.61 I already mentioned the example of the public slave Pittalacus who sat on an altar in order to publicize his complaints against the politician Timarchus. This stunt was quite similar to Ephialtes’ one hundred years previously. He chose the altar in front of the Council house and timed his supplication as the councilors were coming in for a meeting. Also like Ephialtes, he was gymnos, “naked” (1. 60), that is, he sat on the altar wearing nothing but his chiton. “A crowd gathered,” says Aeschines, “as tends to happen.” I will have more to say in the next chapter about publicity stunts by marginal people. But if I am right that there was a shift in Athenian political culture, what explains the fact that elite political actors no longer found it necessary or appropriate to engage in stunts? There are several possibilities. The final years of the fifth century were especially tumultuous. Sensitive observers would have noticed that the civic institutions had failed to check the tumult, and had actually exacerbated it, leading to the overthrow of the democracy.62 In 415 in a mood of supreme confidence the Assembly voted overwhelmingly to invade Sicily. I already mentioned the subsequent affair of the herms as a stunt that got out of hand. Four years later, after the invasion ended in colossal failure, the democracy had been abolished and was replaced by a short-lived oligarchy. Thucydides portrays the revolution as the work of an opportunistic group of upper-class discontents who took advantage of their tight social network (8. 54. 4; 68. 4), and of the climate of despair and distrust that prevailed among the Athenians (66). But this was no insurrection. It was a bloodless coup carried out in large part through the political institutions, the Council and the

Assembly, and with the consent of the crowd.63 Like the Arginusae

pose of a rhetor with hand inside his cloak (Aeschin. 1. 26–7; Dem. 19. 251–2). Quite different from the way in which the biographical tradition presents him, as we saw. 60 On Hellenistic theatricality see especially Chaniotis 1997; 2009. 61 Compare the incident of the statue of Athena on the Acropolis that was found turned around, facing west, and spitting blood from her mouth, which was seen as an insult by Augustus (Cassius Dio 54. 7. 3). See Hoff1989 b. 62 See Ostwald 1986; Munn 2000. 63 AP. 29–32 has a slightly different account of the procedures from Thucydides. For discussion see the respective commentaries of Rhodes 1993 and Andrewes in Gomme et al. 1948–81: 5. 153 ff. Ostwald198 6: 344–411 provides a useful synthesis. More recently, see Heftner 2001. The decline of the political stunt 145 case some five years later, events showed how easily institutions can get swept away in the absence of constitutional brakes. The introduction of the committee of probouloi in the immediate aftermath of the disaster in Sicily perhaps suggests that there was already sufficient concern with how easily the civic institutions had been swayed to justify installing a crude kind of break on the impulses of the crowd

(Thuc. 8. 1. 1–4).64 We cannot be sure what the original responsibilities of the probouloi were, but their name suggests that they had authority to control the agenda of the Assembly. It was only a small step from the probouloi to the oligarchy of the 400, thereby control- ling the crowd by excluding it from decision-making entirely. Thucydides notes that in the meeting which decreed the abolition of the democracy, at Colonus Hippius outside the wall rather than at the regular meeting ground on the Pnyx, the first measure taken, it seems on the guidance of the probouloi or of a successor committee, was the prohibition of the procedure of graphe paranomon (8. 67. 2; AP 29. 2). This procedure allowed an individual to impeach any proposal made to the Assembly as being “contrary to the law,” even after it was passed. This would suspend the decree from going into effect and introduce a court challenge that could serve as a break on institutional procedure, slowing the process and providing an opportunity for more deliberation and politicking.65 Its first mention is connected to the Mysteries affair of 415 (And. 1. 17), but it clearly did not do much good on that occasion. That the probouloi were behind the prohibition of graphe paranomon in 411 was a bitter irony, as one measure meant to protect the democracy from itself helped to undermine another. Xenophon suggests that the graphe paranomon procedure was a possibility in 406 but also failed to act as a break in the proceedings against the generals because of the emotional climate in the Assembly. Allies of the generals moved to have the proposal declared paranomon, he says, but the noisy crowd swept them aside.

64 See Ostwald 1986: 338 ff.; Munn 2000: 130 ff.; Heftner 2001: 6–16. It is tempting to read Aristophanes’ Lysistrata against this background. The play was produced in 411, while the trouble was brewing. Aristophanes offers a parody of the probouloi, presenting one as a hapless policeman trying to restrain the license of the women. The women’s sex-strike, of course, can be considered an especially blunt attempt to influence institutional decisions by extra-institutional means. Note also 387–96: the women’s lamentations for Adonis that could be heard within the Assembly as it was debating the decision to sail to Sicily. 65 On the procedure see Wolff197 0; Hansen 1974. 146 Publicity stunts in Athenian politics

In the fourth century the procedure of graphe paranomon becomes better established and more effective. Hansen (1974: 28–43) cata- logues thirty-nine instances where someone impeached a decree, twelve of which we know were successful. The effect of thegraphe paranomon was to make legislation inconclusive. In theory, no decision of the Assembly would be final. Accordingly, to stage a stunt would no longer be an effective means of generating public opinion, since in the meeting of the Assembly (or subsequently) a speaker might challenge the decree and throw the issue to a court, further delaying the outcome and blunting the force of public opinion that the stunt was designed to shape. If the Assembly at Colonus had not declared the procedure out of bounds it is quite likely that the oligarchy of the 400 would not have been set up. This is why it was the first and only step the probouloi needed to take to abolish the democracy, making the decisions of the Assembly unreviewable and final. Had the proposed motion against the decree of Callixenus gone through it would certainly have been declared paranomon and the generals would not have been executed; this is the point Xenophon wants to drive home in the speech of Euryptolemus which forms the climax of his narrative.66 In addition, had that issue gone to trial, further changes in the fourth century in how juries were appointed would have made a stunt even less effective.67 For most of the fifth century juries were allotted beforehand (it is unclear precisely how) to particular courts for an extended period of time. It would thus have been easy to know where to find the relevant audience for one’s theatrics and to time them when it would be most receptive. We also hear of juries bribed in this period (AP 27. 5; cf. [Xen.] Ath. Pol. 3. 7). But by the fourth

66 There were other procedures that would have had a similar effect of protecting institutions from extra-institutional political pressure. Closely related to the graphe paranomon, but less frequently attested, was the graphe nomon me epitedion theinai, which provided for “judicial review” of laws rather than decrees, on the grounds that they were “not beneficial” (see Hansen 1974: 44–8). The procedure of paragraphe was introduced after the reconciliation agreement of 403. Its original intent was to enforce the amnesty provision of the agreement, whereby no one litigated against former oligarchic partisans. If someone faced a charge that violated the agreement, he could sue his accuser and his suit would take precedence. It later came to be used for different kinds of cases, especially trade disputes. On its development see Wolff 1966. 67 For a summary of changes in the Athenian democracy between the fifth and the fourth century see Rhodes 1980; 1995a. The rise of logography 147 century jurors would be assigned randomly to juries by an extremely elaborate procedure (AP 63–9). “As a consequence, litigants and anyone else who hoped to influence judgments beforehand could not easily make contact with dikasts and be sure they would be in the right place at the right time” (Boegehold 1995: 22). These are all negative reasons why politicians might have stopped staging stunts. A positive reason – and I think the main one – is that they had found a better way to communicate with the public outside the institutions. We are in the realm of speculation here. But it is at least suggestive that the decline of the publicity stunt coincides roughly with the rise of “political pamphleteering,” the publication of texts with a political intent, including speeches that pertain to specific procedural issues or cases and whose apparent aim was to influence public opinion.68

The rise of logography

The case of fourth-century oratory is certainly complicated by the influence of rhetorical theory and the transformation of oratory into literature.69 But in the late fifth and early fourth centuries, that is, around the time that we find the last publicity stunts by elite politicians, we have enough examples extant and know of enough others that do not survive to see that the written word was increasingly useful in political projects and campaigns. For example, when in the aftermath of the civil war of 403 Phormisius proposed a decree to restrict citizenship to property owners, “in order that that not happen,” says Dionysius of Halicarnassus, “Lysias wrote a speech … If it was delivered is unclear; but it reads as if it is suitable for a debate” (Lys. 32). In the previous era someone who wanted to attack Phormisius’ proposal might have staged a stunt that dramatized the argument against it and spurred its dissemination through Athens’ social fabric. This is what Pisistratus, Ephialtes, and Theramenes all did. A written speech could do the job much more efficiently and predictably.70

68 The view that the earliest speeches were political pamphlets goes back to Eduard Schwartz (1893) and Wilamowitz (1893: 1. 161–85), but is nowadays not widely accepted. 69 The best account of this remains Dover 1968. 70 The fragment, quoted at lengthy by Dionysius, is traditionally calledAgainst the Subversion of the Ancestral Constitution (Lys. 34). Other examples of political pamphlets of this period are: 148 Publicity stunts in Athenian politics The big question is how these texts could influence public opinion, and what their relation was to institutional procedures. Did they circulate only among the elite?71 Isocrates, for one, claims that he wrote the Antidosis to counter the perception among the wider public that he was a sophist, something he says he became aware of only on the occasion of a trial involving a challenge for funding a trierarchy (15. 6–7). The Antidosis wears its fictionality as a badge of honor while other texts seek to hide it, pretending they are the orator’s ipsissima verba at a particular and singular occasion. Alcidamas calls attention to this ethic of verisimilitude: “They seem to write best when their speeches least resemble written ones” (13).72 Isocrates is different in that he calls attention to his desire for his text to speak to several audiences: to posterity, but also to the people who sat on the juror panel and voted against him because they had a false opinion of him. He calls them idiôtai (15. 4). He expects that somehow his speech can reach these also and influence their opinion of him. The question is, how? Estimates of Athenian literacy vary, but it was probably not nearly high enough to support a singular reader–text relationship,

[Xen.] Athenaion Politeia (most scholars read it as a serious pamphlet, but cf. the dissenting view of Hornblower 2000); Andocides, On the Peace (see Missiou 1992); Lysias On the Charge of Subverting the Constitution (see Dover 1968: 188–9). Isocrates’ symbouleutic orations are the best representatives of this genre and are unique in calling attention to their own fictionality (see Too 1995). Non-extant instances are: Andocides, To his Companions, which Plutarch tells us included a passage about the democracy’s mistreatment of Themistocles’ corpse that Andocides intended “to rile up the oligarchs against the people” (Them. 32. 4); Thrasymachus’ speech about the patrios politeia (fr. 1. 38–44 DK), which was either a sophistical display piece (epideixis) or a piece of propaganda; propaganda was probably his For the Larisaeans, which urged the Athenians to oppose the Macedonian King Archelaus (fr. 2). We do not know of any “Against Theramenes” speech-texts, but it does appear that his role in the oligarchies of 411 and 404 was a hot topic of pro- and anti-Theramenes writers. A passage of Lysias’Against Eratosthenes (12. 62–78) reacts quite strongly against attempts to cast Theramenes as a “good” oligarch. P. Mich 5982 (first published in Youtie and Merkelbach 1968) has an interesting relationship with Lysias, as it seeks to defend Theramenes’ role in the establishment of the Thirty, responding quite closely to 68–9. Andrewes 1970: 37 suggests that the text is a political pamphlet responding to Lysias; although Lysias might just as easily be responding to this text. For a strong argument for a late fourth-century date for the text, and for its place in the genre of political pamphleteering, see Engels 1993: 145–54. The imagined speeches for and against Socrates in his trial for impiety might also be classified in this genre; as can the speeches against Alcibiades (Isoc. 16; Lys. 14, fr. 8 Carey; And. 4; Ant. fr. 68–9). See Goldstein 1968: 120–7; Gribble 1999: 149–53. 71 Ober 1998b posits the existence of an elite “critical community” that was nonetheless theoretically permeable to lower strata. 72 See Lavency 1964: 164–6. The rise of logography 149 quite apart from the challenges involved in the production and distribution of texts.73 A better model might be early modern pamphleteering and reading culture that combined elements of oral and textual communication.74 Early modern pamphlets circulated not only to be read and to influence the reader directly, but more importantly to be read aloud and discussed; to be easily excerpted and transmitted along informal channels of communication. They relied on a broad array of popular discussion about politics that flowed through the cafes, salons, and bookshops. Far from simply an elite writer transmitting information to a mass audience, the mass audience in a manner of speaking was also the means of publication. Here the logopoioi, whom I discussed in Chapter 3, might provide a missing link between text and wider public. Intriguing in this regard is the semantic overlap between the term logographos, a writer of speeches, and logopoios, a teller of stories and gossip. As I discussed previously, logopoioi in Athens were individuals who were hired to make the rounds of the Agora and its workshops to talk about their client’s case in an effort to shift public opinion. The fifth-century sophist Alcidamas uses the two terms, logographos and logopoios, inter- changeably (7–8). At least two strands connect them. First, a written speech necessarily had an oral supplement to it. Thus Thucydides criticizes his predecessors, poets and logographoi, for “compos- ing with an eye more toward what would seduce in listening than what was true [λογογράφοι ξυνέθεσαν ἐπὶ τὸ προσαγωγότερον τῇ ἀκροάσει ἢ ἀληθέστερον]” (1. 21. 1; my italics). We know that ancient reading was primarily a social act. Second, both the logographos and logopoios were seen as suspicious, shady figures. We have already seen that the logopoios denoted a low-status, marginal figure and a teller of lies. Herodotus accordingly characterizes Hecataeus (2. 143, 5. 36, 5. 125) and Aesop (2. 134) as logopoioi in part because he sees them as predecessors in the writing of prose and in part because he sees them as untrustworthy story-tellers.75

73 See W. Harris 1989: 65–115. His low estimate of Athenian literacy has been challenged recently by Missiou 2011. 74 See especially Zaret 2000; De Vivo 2007; Darnton 2009. 75 See Kurke 2011: 361 ff. 150 Publicity stunts in Athenian politics Just as no orator admits hiring a logopoios but only ascribes the practice to others, so no orator admits being a logographos.76 Thus Hyperides in a speech he wrote for a client in a contract dispute characterizes his client’s opponent, without a hint of irony, as “a logographos, a creature of the market” (4. 3). Similarly, Aeschines calls Demosthenes a logographos and describes him acting like a logopoios (1. 94). The suspicion logographoi and logopoioi provoked was not simply due to their receipt of payment, although that is clearly important. I suggest, the concept of the logographos also overlaps with the concept of the logopoios because both attempt to shape public opinion illegitimately in ways that threaten the integrity of the institutional process. Thelogopoios corrupts the audience before they enter the institutional arena, the logographos corrupts them after they enter it.77 The turn of the fifth century has been characterized as a period where oral and literary genres coexisted and coalesced.78 From this perspective, the logopoios figure can be seen as a kind of “publicity man” who bridged oral and textual forms of communication. Consider the following passage from Dinarchus’ Against Demosthenes. Here Dinarchus alleges that when the opportunity arose to rebel from Alexander, when the Spartan-led rebellion under Agis erupted around 331, Demosthenes preferred to abstain from institutional action: Did you make any formal proposals about these dangers? Did you offer any advice? Did you secure any funds? Were you useful in any way to the people working for our common safety? Not at all. Instead, you went around arran- ging for logopoioi and writing a letter to yourself, disgracing the reputation of the city. Dangling it from his fingers he travels around in luxury while our city suffers, carried in a litter on the road to the Piraeus, mocking the poverty of the needy.

76 On the “illegitimacy” of the logographos see Lavency 1964: 113–22. 77 Plato relies on this conceptual split when he shockingly suggests that in fact politicians who engage in the supposedly legitimate political work of sponsoring laws and decrees in the Assembly are little different fromlogographoi , because they also like to put their logoi in writing and even go so far as to put their name on them along with the name of those who praised them. (His riddle refers to inscribed decrees that begin with the preface “it seemed good to the demos or council” and the identity of the proposer.) It is thus hypocritical, he suggests, for politicians to criticize logographoi like Lysias for engaging in similar activity (Phdr. 257d–258d). 78 See Thomas 2003. The rise of logography 151 ἔγραψάς τι περὶ τούτων κινδύνων; συνεβούλευσας; ἐπόρισας χρήματα; μικρόν τι χρήσιμος ἐγένου τοῖς ὑπὲρ τῆς κοινῆς σωτηρίας πράττουσιν; οὐδ’ ὁτιοῦν, ἀλλὰ περιῄεις κατασκευάζων λογοποιούς, καὶ παρ’ αὑτῷ γράφων ἐπιστολήν, καὶ καταισχύνων τὴν τῆς πόλεως δόξαν, ἐκ τῶν δακτύλων ἀναψάμενος περιεπορεύετο, τρυφῶν ἐν τοῖς τῆς πόλεως κακοῖς, καὶ ἐπὶ φορείου κατακομιζόμενος τὴν εἰς Πειραιᾶ ὁδόν, καὶ τὰς τῶν πενήτων ἀπορίας ὀνειδίζων. (1. 34–7) Just as for their publicity stunt Theramenes’ associates “arranged,” pareskeuasan, for actors, here Demosthenes “arranges,” kataskeuazôn, for logopoioi. The jobs of both kinds of hirelings are analogous in their position outside the institutions. In this passage Dinarchus suggests that Demosthenes had the opportunity to take concrete political action in the institutional channels, but instead of actually proposing a decree or a motion he preferred to work the “back-channels” of the Athenian public sphere by writing fake letters and hiring logopoioi.79 Note the conjunction. This seems to imply that thelogopoioi Dinarchus has in mind talked about something also contained in the text that he “dangled from his fingertips” as he was traveling in his sedan chair. Of course, it is a letter that Dinarchus mentions here rather than a speech. It is possible that the generic difference between the two forms of prose might provide him with sufficient cover to criticize Demosthenes’ textual politics without calling his own into question. Indeed it is quite rare to find an orator attacking the authenticity of an opponent’s speech, as being not in fact what he said in a court or assembly.80 The generic difference between letter and speech in this case serves to shield Dinarchus’ own speech behind a thin but important veil of fictionality. Speeches are supposed to be theipsissima verba

79 The meaning ofπαρ ’ αὑτῷ in Dinarchus’ text is puzzling, as Ceccarelli (2013: 283–4) points out. She translates “at home,” as it is usually taken, and reads the thought as being that Demosthenes is trying to show off his connections to foreign potentates while also stressing his luxurious lifestyle with multiple residences. More simply, we can also take the Greek to be saying, as I translated it, that Demosthenes wrote a letter addressed to himself, pretending that he had word from powerful friends abroad. It was a fake letter (cf. Aeschin. 3. 225, 250–1; Ceccarelli 2013: 285–6). This is what Dinarchus considered embarrassing to the city. On para for a letter’s addressee, see Eidinow and Taylor 2010: 33. 80 In fact only Aeschines tells us that, about Demosthenes’ Ag. Midias (3. 52), a case almost twenty years old at the time. On the controversy of whether this is to be believed or not see Harris 1989. 152 Publicity stunts in Athenian politics of an orator at the moment of performance in the institutional arena. This is perhaps why in his own account of Demosthenes’ response to Agis’ rebellion, Aeschines insists that Demosthenes made a fool of himself by delivering an inane speech in the Assembly (3. 165–70). It better serves his rhetorical purposes to portray Demosthenes as a buffoon.81 By contrast, in Dinarchus, Demosthenes’ letter-writing and hiring of logopoioi underscores his complete abstention from the political arena. Normally only someone absent from the city would write a letter, such as the letters Demosthenes subsequently wrote from exile.82 At any rate, as Goldstein notes, letters as well as orations could function as pamphlets (1968: 98–9). Logopoioi could “publish” the arguments of Demosthenes’ letters no less than the arguments of his speeches. Demosthenes’ First Epistle in fact seems to allude to multiple audiences for his text, just as Isocrates does, and hints at how the audiences might be bridged: I decided to send this letter … [because] I wanted to reveal to those who choose to speak all that I happen to know through experience and through observing affairs, to give them ample talking-points [aphthonous aphormas] about what I think is beneficial to you, and to make the best choice easy for the many. ἔδοξέ μοι τὴν ἐπιστολὴν πέμπειν … ὅσα τυγχάνω δι’ ἐμπειρίαν καὶ τὸ παρηκολουθηκέναι τοῖς πράγμασιν εἰδώς, ταῦτ’ ἐβουλήθην τοῖς μὲν προαιρουμένοις λέγειν ἐμφανῆ ποιήσας ἀφθόνους ἀφορμὰς ὧν ὑπολαμβάνω συμφέρειν ὑμῖν δοῦναι, τοῖς δὲ πολλοῖς ῥᾳδίαν τὴν τῶν βελτίστων αἵρεσιν καταστῆσαι. (Ep. 1. 4) Demosthenes imagines the letter being read aloud in the Assembly, as was normal for important letters. He imagines his words receiving a hostile reception there and thus unable to reach the public without some help. “A text [biblion] has no recourse against those who raise a

81 Aeschines perhaps preserves a bit of Demosthenes’ text that he found especially florid (including the same image of letters “dangling from fingertips” at 164). I thank Danielle Allen for calling my attention to these passages. 82 Six letters of Demosthenes have come down to us. The letter form, he says, is due to his absence from Athens (Ep. 1. 2–4; 3. 1, 35). These texts have long been doubted, but Goldstein 1968 makes a strong case that at least Letters 1–4 are genuine. All seek to influence public opinion. According to the Plutarchan Lives of the Ten Orators, the third letter succeeded in The rise of logography 153 ruckus [thorybountas],” he notes (3). Instead, he hopes that speakers will pick up the points of his text and develop them further orally, and thus slowly bring around the audience toward the right way of thinking. The letter’s premise is that once the speakers have heard the letter they will be ready to expound its ideas in public. This model of how public opinion can shift via a- textmedi ated through speech might also describe the work of the logopoioi more generally. By way of speculation, I suggest the following scen- ario. A letter or speech perhaps first circulated among the elite, the group Demosthenes calls “those who choose to speak.” Such people, Aeschines alleges, frequently read letters to one another (3. 250). As we know, the act of reading a letter, like reading in general, was more often than not a social one, and was followed by discussion.83 If Plato’s Phaedrus or Isocrates’ Panathenaicus (200 ff.) are any indication, discussion also followed the reading of speeches. Perhaps among the audience of the reading would be the logopoioi who would undertake to disseminate the letter’s ideas among wider social circles. This is what Demosthenes calls aphormai, an obscure term that we might perhaps translate as “talking points.”84 These could serve as sources of ideas for discussion in the Assembly just as easily as in the Street. Hence statements attributed to logopoioi seem to contain as if in embryonic form an entire argument or story that we encounter in speeches. For example, Andocides’ opponents, he tells us, employed logopoioi to put the story out that he informed against his companions to save himself (And. 1. 54). In fact the Lysianic Against Andocides makes this charge a central element of its argument against him (6. 7, 23). It is impossible to know which came first, the speech or the gossip. Nor is it necessary to know it. For such a charge contained in itself the kernel of the entire case against Andocides: that he holds no relationship sacred, whether with his family and friends, with his city or with the gods. A skilled logopoios could expand on these “talking

persuading the Athenians to show clemency to the children of Lycurgus (842e). On letters more generally see now Ceccarelli 2013. 83 Eur. IA 117–18; Xen. Cyr. 4. 5. 26; Speusippus, Letter to Philip 1. See Rubinstein 2013 on the importance of oral performance accompanying textual communications in Hellenistic inter-state relations. 84 Thrasymachus wrote a handbook entitled Aphormai Rhetorikai (DK 85 A 1). Timaeus of Tauromenion also collected a set of aphormai in sixty-eight books (FrGrH 566 T 1). 154 Publicity stunts in Athenian politics points” depending on his audience’s interests and inclinations, just as Alcidamas claimed was a special ability of speakers who trained in improvisation rather than by writing out speeches (22–4). In this regard, logopoioi were similar to the oral performers of poetry and epic, the logioi and aoidoi of Pindar (Pyth. 1. 94).85 It is thus not surprising at all that Isocrates classifies “those who are able to logopoiein in private gatherings and pretend to know everything” alongside rhetors and poets, as all being instrumental in shaping public opinion “about individual citizens and about policy [περὶ ἑνὸς ἑκάστου τῶν πολιτῶν ἀλλὰ καὶ περὶ ὅλων τῶν πραγμάτων]” (15. 136–7). Assuming I am right that written speeches did take up some of the space in the field of communication that publicity stunts previously occupied, this would imply that texts could in a sense reach a wide public. Even if, as is likely, the texts’ primary public was the same elite that produced the politicians, they did not necessarily circulate in a mere “echo chamber.” The porousness of social boundaries and the permeability of oral and literary forms of communications suggest that it was possible, indeed likely, that information, arguments, and ideas disseminated through texts, combined with word of mouth, could reach a far wider public.86 I have already mentioned the story of Crates reading aloud from Aristotle’s Protrepticus while sitting in a workshop, where the slaves would listen in as they worked (Arist. fr. 50 Rose). Isocrates intends his Antidosis to reach as wide an audience as the one that judged against him in his trial, and to affect their opinion of him. Although many elements in that speech are self-consciously eccentric, that is not entirely the case for this one.

85 See Nagy 1987. The text of a speech allowed an iterable (but not invariable) performance. Just as a poet might consult a text before reciting (see the famous image of Sappho reading her work before reciting), the logopoios might also read the text before performing it, or a version of it. This is what Phaedrus is trying to do when Socrates catches him and makes him simply read the text of the speech aloud (Pl. Phdr. 228a–b). 86 Allen 2010 argues that Plato himself saw his dialogues as reaching a similarly wide secondary public. chapter 6 Slaves in the Theseion

Commodities cannot themselves go to market and perform exchanges in their own right. We must, therefore, have recourse to their guardians. (Marx 1976 [1890]: 1. 178)

The previous chapter focused on the stunts of the prominent and elite. Their higher profile made their stunts more likely to be recorded in the historical record in part because they reached wider audiences and in part because they were involved in more important political projects. I also suggested some reasons for the apparent decline of publicity stunts as a tool of high politics. And yet, in the Athenian Street theatrical stunts were even more common than our sources suggest. Nor were they the exlusive province of the elite. In this chapter I will argue that slaves also engaged in stunts in order to further their interests. These stunts were on a much smaller scale than the ones I considered in the previous chapter. I would not go so far as to say that slaves’ capacity to stage stunts compensated for the grievous disabilities that they faced in the Athenian institutions and in society in general. As far as we know, no Athenian slave ever engaged in a “protest” against slavery as such. However, I argue, slaves did use stunts as a way to improve their personal circumstances. This might not rise to the level of political action, as it is generally conceived, but it does suggest a degree of agency from people who by most accounts should have had no agency at all.1 We do not have clear, unambiguous evidence of the practice I here attempt to reconstruct. We catch glimpses of it here and there, and

1 This is because most scholars take the institutional perspective on this matter, looking at slaves from a juridical lens. An exception is Vlassopoulos 2009a; 2010, who considers slaves from the perspective of labor. In many cases, their labor marked the slaves as functionally indistinguishable from a metic and even a poor citizen.

155 156 Slaves in the Theseion I will try to draw these together into a coherent picture. By staging performances that dramatized a certain status and identity, the slaves tried to make it known that they were not their masters’ slaves, or even not slaves at all. The result might not have meant citizenship or even freedom, but could conceivably give the slaves leverage to take some control over their fates. And over time such small acts of defiance might have had a cumulative effect. The basic premise of my reconstruction of the practice is that Athens was not a face-to-face society, in which everyone “knew everyone” (see Chapter 2), yet one’s identity and status depended on knowing people who would be willing to support one’s claims publicly.2 Certain practices, such as involvement in a phratry or a deme, as I have already discussed, would foster relationships that could fix one’s place in Athenian society. Property, inheritance, even one’s very name depended on those who were willing to support one’s claim to it should it come under question. For example, Demosthenes 39 and 40 were written against a man who claimed to be named “Mantitheus” while his opponent claimed he was actually named “Boeotus” and claimed the name Mantitheus for himself. Both men apparently could line up associates to support their claims to the name – although from the speaker’s perspective the opponent’s supporters were nothing but a “workshop of scoundrels [ἐργαστήριον

συκοφαντῶν]” (39. 2).3 For us such basic facts as our names are not rooted in the first place in relationships with others but inpos- sessing authentic, official documents.4 Our names and identities are independent of who knows us, or of who claims to know us. In Athens not having a support network made one vulnerable to attack or domination by the well-integrated and unscrupulous.5 An

2 See Scafuro 1994; Lape 2010: 186–228. On status in Athens most recently see Kamen 2013, who argues for a spectrum of overlapping statuses. 3 See also Noy 2009 on Naeara’s daughter, whose name allegedly changed from Strymbele to Phano ([Dem.] 59. 50). 4 On how this came about between the end of the fourteenth and the seventeenth century, see Groebner 2007 [2004]. See Gleason 2011 for stories of disguise and mistaken identity in Cassius Dio. Gleason (41) cites Caracalla’s letter about the Egyptians in Alexandria, directing his officials on how to identify undesirable Egyptian workers in order to expel them. He claims that it is “easy” to do so by looking at their appearance (opsis), their voice (phonê), and their bearing (skhêma). On skhêma as the defining feature of a person see Catoni 2005: ch. 2. 5 Compare Heracl. Crit. BNJ 369A F 1 1. 4: “Logographoi run around the town, shaking down [seiontes] wealthy foreign residents. If the demos catches them it inflicts harsh penalties.” It Slaves in the Theseion 157 idiom of “protection” disguised this reality: metics and freedmen, we are told, were required to “enroll” under a citizen prostatês, literally a “protector.” Freedmen had to continue to perform services for their former master, whom they had to enroll as their prostatês (Harpocration s.v. Apostasiou). Metics, we might assume, were also “required” to perform services for their prostatês in exchange for his “protection” (we saw in Chapter 4 the kinds of relationships that might entail), but here I am interested specifically in slaves and their relationships with their masters.6 Theprostatês system was more than a form of subordination, however. It also provided opportunities to the subordinated – provided they could find a newprostatês who could in effect “steal” them away from the previous one. Harpocration informs us that this was a possibility for freedmen. These could “stand apartaphistanai [ ]” from their former masters by enrolling under a differentprostatês . The procedure of dike apostasiou was designed to settle these sorts of claims. But slaves could also “stand apart” from their master (Suda A 3546). This could come about through the dramatic and public dispute of their status and identity between two parties, the former prostatês and a new one. In Athens, the juridical form for this practice was called “extraction into freedom” (aphairesis eis eleutherian). A slave-master lays hands on his runaway slave, essentially making a public claim that this person belongs to him. The ensuing scene creates a hubbub that draws a crowd. A champion then appears to confront the master. He claims that the alleged slave is actually not the individual the master alleges, his slave, but someone else, someone free, and he will vouch for that. Subsequently, either a legal proceeding would ensue whose outcome would establish the slave’s status, or (more likely) the master and the protector would come to an arrangement whereby the master accepted a sum to withdraw his claim – in essence a de facto manumission. When they took place in a sanctuary such scenes of

is unclear if the antecedent is the foreign residents or the logographoi (see McInerney’s commentary ad loc.). Either is possible. 6 On the relationship between prostates and metics see Whitehead 1977: 89–92; Zelnick- Abramovitz 2005: 248–52; Kamen 2013: 44–8. The prostates system is generally seen as obso- lete by the fourth century, since we have no evidence of a prostates actually acting to defend the interests of his “client.” For some reasons to doubt this, see Zelnick-Abramovitz 2000; for why Athenian sources would neglect to discuss the existence of a patronage system see N. Jones 2004: 72–3. 158 Slaves in the Theseion extraction evoked tragic scenes of asylum-seeking, which I discussed in Chapter 3. The tragic idiom renders aphairesis as rhysis, which can mean either “drag” or “rescue,” a puzzling feature that makes sense if it equates to the practice of aphairesis.7 From one perspective aphairesis meant theft, from another redemption.8 One man’s rescuer is another’s thief. To get a sense of how “extraction” might have operated within the context of asylum, let us briefly consider some stage versions of it before we turn to reconstructing the practice on the ground. In his Children of Heracles, Euripides presents the children of Heracles, led by Iolaus, as suppliants at an altar in Marathon. Their pursuer (an Argive herald) appears, and attempts to claim them. Alerted to the fracas, the ruler, Demophon, appears. Then the two opponents, the herald and Iolaus, present their cases to him (134–275). The herald argues that the children are Myceneans, and thus under the authority of Eurystheus, the ruler of Mycene, and their uncle. Iolaus argues that the children are actually related to Demophon and supports his claim with a genealogical narrative (207–20). Because they are his kin, Demophon is obligated to help them; even more so since his father, Theseus, is in the debt of their father, Heracles, his second cousin. Demophon accepts the claimed relationship publicly, thus validating the connection. Intriguingly, even though it is nowhere suggested that the children are actually anyone’s slaves, the herald accuses Demophon of depriving him of his “property” (175, τὰ ἐμά; 267, τοὺς ἐμούς). Aeschylus’ Danaids also seek to establish the claim that they are actually Argive (291–324). Note that when Pelasgus asks them why they have come as suppliants, they answer, “In order that I not be a slave [dmôis] to the race of Aegyptus” (335). The herald who comes to drag them away similarly claims to be collecting his “property,” τἄμ’ ὀλωλόθ’ εὑρίσκων ἄγω (918). Comedy has its own version of this procedure. Aristophanes offers a multi-layered parody of suppliant drama that also plays with the idea that asylum can serve as the frame within which to establish an identity. In his Thesmophoriazousai Mnesilochus wishes to pass as a

7 For example Aesch. Suppl. 423–4; S. OC 858; Eur. Hcld. 163. 8 See Whittle 1964 on this term in the Suppliants of Aeschylus. Analogously, Delphic manumission texts call the physical seizure of a supposed slave ephapsis (e.g. SGDI 1689; 1694 etc.), which can also mean theft. See also Pritchett 1971–91: 5. 86–116; Bravo 1980. Slaves in the Theseion 159 woman, and is confronted by questions about “her” social network. The women are suspicious because no one recognizes her. K: Tell me, who is your husband? M: You want to know my husband? You know Thisguy of Cothocidai? K: Thisguy? Who’s that? M: Yes, Thisguy who once Thatguy and the son of Thatguy … K: You’re talking gibberish. Have you been here before? M: By Zeus, many years! K: Who was your tent-mate? M: Thisgal. — εἰπέ μοι, τίς ἔστ’ ἀνήρ σοι; — τὸν ἐμὸν ἄνδρα πυνθάνει; τὸν δεῖνα γιγνώσκεις, τὸν ἐκ Κοθωκιδῶν; — τὸν δεῖνα; ποῖον; — ἔσθ’ ὁ δεῖν’, ὃς καί ποτε τὸν δεῖνα τὸν τοῦ δεῖνα— — ληρεῖν μοι δοκεῖς. ἀνῆλθες ἤδη δεῦρο πρότερον; — νὴ Δία ὁσέτη γε. — καὶ τίς σοὐστὶ συσκηνήτρια; — ἡ δεῖν’ ἔμοιγ’. (617–23)

When Mnesilochus is unable to defend “her” identity convincingly he ends up taking refuge in the character of Euripides’ Helen, as Euripides himself, in the character of Menelaus, approaches to identify “her” and take “her” away with him (846–919). Such were the stage versions of the kinds of status- and identity- assertions that slaves also made in real life. If I am right, we will need to rethink our notions about how status and identity were constructed and how they could be exchanged by means of an efficacious public performance. I begin by considering the evidence for the presence of slaves in the Theseion. Scholars have long recognized that something strange was going on there. We have hints that slaves tried to sell themselves, but there is no indication of how such a thing was possible. I then discuss aphairesis, the Athenian legal procedure that I think was most relevant to the slaves in the Theseion. Finally, I offer some speculation about how effective such performances might have been. 160 Slaves in the Theseion

Slaves on the run

Evidence shows that slaves were common suppliants in sanctuaries. Herodotus claims to know a sanctuary of Heracles on the banks of the Nile to which any slave could flee as suppliant. If he did this, his master, no matter who he was, lost any claim to him (2. 113. 2). Altars are for slaves, according to Euripides, what stones are for animals, a place of refuge (Suppl. 267–8). Aside from literary evidence, epigraphic evidence also suggests that slaves were frequent suppliants in sanctuaries, and not just in Athens.9 Sanctuaries received these suppliants, but not without some ambivalence. They took measures to keep them out, or to discourage them from staying too long. In the Heraion of Samos, it was forbidden to offer help or employment to suppliants and slaves.10 In Cos slaves were forbidden from entering the shrine during the festival of Hera and from eating sac- rificial meat (Macareus FrGrH 456 F 1). Behind this prohibition lay a similar concern to discourage slaves from entering the sanctuary, and from relying on it for their sustenance.11 The Athenians went one step beyond inscribing prohibitions. In order that fugitives not reach the Acropolis, they built a structure to keep them out. The build- ers of this wall were concerned with fugitives (drapetes) and with burglars (lopodutes); from the perspective of the authorities of the

9 Collected in Chaniotis 1996: 79–80; Derlien 2003.

10 IG XII 6, 1 169, with Habicht 1972; Koenen 1977; Hallof and Mileta 1997 (IG XII 6, 1 156). The last makes reference to a letter that Ptolemy III sent to the Samians on a question about the regulation of runaway slaves, suggesting, it seems, that the Samians should follow his lead in regulating asyla in Alexandria. The stone unfortunately does not allow us to be sure what this meant. On slave asylum in Egypt see von Woess 1923: 170–9, who cites P. Par. 10 (UBZ 1 121), a document that stipulates different levels of reward for the return of or information about two runaway slaves. Interestingly the reward in case the slaves are found in a sanctuary is less than if they are apprehended and delivered to their masters outright, 3 talents of bronze as opposed to 2 talents. More interesting still is the reward (5 talents) if someone informs against a “notable” who has taken in the slaves (ἀνδρὶ ἀξιοχρείω καὶ δωσιδίκωι, 14). As von Woess points out, this might be because this constitutes theft of the slave, which under Roman law was punished with an extra penalty. We might also say, the higher reward is necessary because to go against a “notable” requires greater risk as it would probably involve a legal procedure in which the notable defended his claim to the slave. Fugitive slaves continued to be a challenge in the Christian era, as we can see from the fact that the Theodosian code allowed them to remain in the churches a single day and instructed the clerics to contact their masters and reconcile them, provided the slave did not enter the church armed (CTh 9. 45. 5). 11 Literary evidence also suggests that suppliants in general could stay at a sanctuary for a long time: a slave of Pausanias (Thuc. 1. 133); the Spartan Leotychides (Hdt. 6. 72); the priestess Slaves on the run 161

sanctuary both would be “undesirables.”12 A similar preoccupation to keep unsightly suppliants from important sanctuaries may have been behind a law mentioned by Andocides (1. 116) forbidding anyone to supplicate in the City Eleusinion during the celebration of the Mysteries.13 Though the Athenians took measures to keep fugitive slaves from claiming asylum in their important sanctuaries, there was one sanctuary that slaves seemed to find particularly receptive: the Theseion, the resting place of the bones of Theseus, who, as we saw, figures in

Athenian myth as the prototypical defender of suppliants.14 A brief statement attributed to the historian Philochorus is quite revealing: “In the old days not only slaves but all sorts of suppliants sought refuge in the Theseion” (FrGrH 328 F 177). Whatever value this statement has “for the old days,” this statement makes clear that in Philochorus’ days (late fourth/early third century) only slaves sought asylum in the Theseion. It seems that a slave might expect a prolonged stay in the Theseion, for Aristophanes had already coined a fitting term: thêseiotrips (fr. 475 PCG), “Theseion-loiterer.”15 Scholars assume that slaves flocked to the Theseion in order to escape their masters by auctioning themselves off to a new master.16 The main evidence for this assumption is a fragment of Aristophanes: “It is best for me to run to the Theseion, and stay there until I find a sale [ἕως ἂν πρᾶσιν εὕρωμεν]” (fr. 577 PCG). The lexicographer Pollux, who preserves this line, also quotes from Eupolis’ Poleis and suggests that slaves could “request a sale [πρᾶσιν αἰτεῖν]” when their master was too abusive (cf. Plut. Mor. 166d).17 Scholars have followed Pollux in proposing a quasi-juridical practice where priests would

Chrysis (Paus. 2. 17. 1; Thuc. 4. 133); another Pausanias (Xen. Hell. 3. 5. 25; Plut. Lys. 30. 1; Paus. 3. 5. 6; FrGrH 582); similarly Helen in Euripides’ play has made arrangements for a prolonged stay (Hel. 798). See further Dillon 1997: 206–11.

12 IG I3 45 (c. 445), with Kudlien 1988: 235–7. 13 The City Eleusinion was closed at all other times of the year (Thuc. 2. 17. 1). 14 Plutarch makes the connection explicit (Thes. 36. 4). 15 As Derlien 2003: 109 notes. 16 E.g. K. Christensen 1984; Mactoux 1992; Klees 1998: 208–10; Derlien 2003: 107–17. 17 Pollux’s mss. record the line from Eupolis as κακὰ τοιάδε πάσχουσιν οὐδὲ πρᾶσιν αἰτῶ. Most editors emend it to πάσχουσα μηδέ in order to make better sense of Pollux’s thought. Whichever is the preferred reading, this is not enough evidence to reconstruct, as Christensen does, a ceremony in which the slave declared “I ask for a sale” and was subsequently sold under the auspices of the priest. 162 Slaves in the Theseion hear the slaves’ complaints and decide whether the slaves should be returned to their masters or sold to new ones.18 But it is difficult to imagine that the Theseion’s priests could intervene so easily in slave- owners’ property rights. Indeed, scholars have been inclined to believe Pollux in the absence of other supporting evidence because such a practice is recorded in Rome. There a magistrate would hear the complaint of a slave who had sought refuge at the emperor’s statue, and had the power to remove the slave from his master.19 The first-century “Mysteries Inscription” from Andania also includes a clause permitting slaves to take refuge in the sanctuary under the close supervision of the priests. Here no one else is permitted to interfere, or to provide them with food or employment: “The priest is to judge runaways’ cases ὁ[ δὲ ἱερεὺς ἐπικρινέτω περὶ τῶν δραπετικῶν], all who are from our city, and whoever he finds against he is to turn over to their masters. If he does not turn them over, the master may forcefully remove them [ἂν δὲ μὴ παραδιδῶι ἐξέστω τῶι κυρίωι ἀποτρέχειν ἔχοντι]” (IG V, 1 1390. 80–4). Interestingly the inscription does not state what would happen if the priest findsfor the slave. The evidence for priests’ involvement is suggestive but too late to be relevant for classical Athens.20 The comedians’ characterization of the transaction as a “sale [prasis]” is also hard to reconcile with it. If the slave’s petition won and the slave was resold, who received the price? If the sanctuary received it, this would be as if they were selling stolen goods. Or was the former master obliged to receive the

18 To support this hypothesis Klees (1998: 209, n. 268) adduces the Hellenistic writer Nymphodorus’ tale of Drimacus (Ath. 6. 265d–6e = FrGrH 572 F 4; see Vogt 1973). Drimacus was a Chian slave who fled his master and led other slaves to freedom as well. He announced, “I will examine your escaped slaves and if I deem that they suffered something irreconcilable I will keep them with me. But if they have no case I will send them away to their masters” (265f–6a). However, it is problematic to take Drimacus’ comment as evidence for the existence of a legal process to determine which fugitive slaves had fled justly and which deserved to be returned to their masters. The tale comes from a Hellenistic paradoxo- graphical tradition and for that reason alone should be treated with caution, as Urbainczyk 2004 suggests. On Drimacus most recently see Forsdyke 2012: 37–89. 19 Bradley 1984: 123–4. Roman law was quite aware of the problem of claims of mistaken identity by alleged slaves. Sölner 2000 collects and discusses the sources. 20 The procedure it envisions seems to come into existence only with the rise of the urban pre- fecture, and can be interpreted as an attempt by the imperial government to intrude in the master–slave relationship. This was one way in which its power was expanding during the early Principate; see Nippel 1995: 94–5. Aphairesis 163

price even if he was unwilling to sell in the first place?21 This is hard to believe. The curious thing about the runaways in the Theseion is that they were not in fact running. They were lodging in a very public place at the foot of the Acropolis, quite close to the Agora (see Chapter 1). Ultimately, I believe that slaves in the Theseionwere looking for new masters. The challenge is to understand exactly how slaves could sell themselves.

Aphairesis The Athenian law of slavery is puzzling. For in the sources- occa sionally slaves appear as legal quasi-agents, and at the same time as non-agents. For example, it is difficult to know what to make of the dikê apostasiou in which a master and his slave went before the polemarch and argued over whether the slave had fled or more literally

“stood apart,” aphestota.22 How could a slave, who should have had no juridical personality, be a defendant? As Gernet (1955: 151) notes, Athenian slave law is complex because Athenian slavery itself had multiple facets. Or, as Todd puts it, “The rights and duties of slaves at Athens are clear in general structure but fuzzy at the edges, where the details are sometimes uncertain and often complex” (1993: 185). The “fuzzy edges” of Athenian slave law hold the key to understanding the rationale behind Athenian slaves’ presence in the Theseion. An Athenian slave could leave his master without his master’s consent if someone else came forth to claim that he was his own slave, or that he was not a slave at all. As noted, status and identity in Athens were fluid, not permanently affixed.23 Publicity combined with a dramatic assertion of a claim, along with a display of group solidarity, could spread knowledge in the social fabric and bring about drastic transformation, provided that one was not too well known to begin

21 This is what Mactoux 1992 suggests. 22 Harpocration s.v.; AP 58. 2; Dem. 36. 48. See further Zelnick-Abramovitz 2005: ch. 5. 23 V. Hunter 2000b provides a good discussion of the legal aspects of status, arguing that differences of status were enshrined in law, which reinforced them. It is certainly true that different penalties and procedures were appropriate for slave, citizen, and metic, but these could also serve as post facto determinants of status. That is, if a non-citizen were tortured this would be “proof” that he was a slave (see Bushala 1968 for instances of just such cases). If a metic were to pass a scrutiny, or speak in the Assembly, or prosecute, this would “prove” that he was a citizen. See Ogden 1996 on the related ideology of Pericles’ citizenship law, which made it illegal for any but one born of two citizens to be a citizen. As Ogden suggests, 164 Slaves in the Theseion

with.24 In such a context one could be a slave one day and become free the next. The Middle Comedy poet Anaxandrides seems to hint at the instability of identity and status: Luck carries all slaves [lit. “bodies”]. Many are not free today, but tomorrow they are Sounians, and the next day they’re politicking [lit. “employing the Agora”]. A spirit turns the rudder for each of us. τύχη δὲ πάντα μεταφέρει τὰ σώματα. πολλοὶ δὲ νῦν μέν εἰσιν οὐκ ἐλεύθεροι, εἰς αὔριον δὲ Σουνιεῖς, εἶτ’ εἰς τρίτην ἀγορᾷ κέχρηνται· τὸν γὰρ οἴακα στρέφει δαίμων ἑκάστῳ (fr. 4 PCG) The trick was to find a well-connected protector, orprostatês , to stand up and defend the slave publicly, claim that he was not a slave, or even assert that he was a citizen known to him. But someone had to be willing to make the claim and be able to back it up with the necessary “social capital.” If the slave could precipitate a contest in which his master’s ownership was publicly refuted in this way, then the slave was no longer his master’s, but in fact became someone else. The Athenian sources record just such a practice: the aphairesis eis eleutherian, or “extraction into freedom.”25 The practice entailed a public confrontation and contestation between two individuals about the status of a third. It usually occurred when someone was trying to forcefully lead someone away (agein) on the grounds that he or she was his slave. Should someone intercede and claim that the person was actually not a slave but free (eis eleutherian), this would lead to a proceeding to determine the status of the disputed person. Aphairesis, like supplication, assigned the individuals to three roles:

this also had the consequence of turning every politically active man’s lineage into a purely Athenian one, regardless of what had actually been the case. 24 In that case one would need to receive the honor of citizenship by decree of the demos, which was very uncommon. Athenians’ stinginess about granting citizenship is usually interpreted to mean that it rarely happened. But see E. Cohen 2000: 70–8, who suggests that citizenship grants were uncommon because they were fundamentally superfluous. 25 Lipsius 1966 [1905–15]: 639–43 is still fundamental. See Zelnick-Abramovitz 2005: 292–300 for a more up-to-date review. Note that aphairesis is also attested as a practice whereby a father forcibly removes his daughter from the house of her husband to give her to someone else (see N. Lewis 1982; Rosivach 1984 more skeptically). The element of force is common to both, but perhaps eis eleutherian is added to the assertion of identity to differentiate its orientation. Aphairesis 165 the slave, his master, and a “rescuer.” If the rescuer won, his claim was validated and the master lost his slave. We find an example of how this might work in Aeschines’ prosecution of Timarchus. His account is valuable in broad outline, less so for specific details, which are quite “fuzzy.” According to Aeschines, Pittalacus was a wealthy public slave who met Timarchus in a cock-fighting den (1. 53–4). He became one of a long string of lovers Timarchus took on and then abandoned. His successor in Timarchus’ affections was Hegesander, a known if minor politician (1. 55–6, 64; APF 3621). But Pittalacus did not give up harassing the new couple. So Hegesander and Timarchus in a drunken rage broke into Pittalacus’ home, destroyed his gambling paraphernalia, killed his fighting cocks, “which the poor wretch loved,” tied him to a pil- lar, and whipped him. I already mentioned Pittalacus’ subsequent supplication by the Council house to call attention to his plight. There Timarchus supplicated him (with a hand on the chin, à la Thetis) to abandon the altar, promising him that he would make amends. Note how low this makes Timarchus look, that he is willing to pitiably supplicate someone who is himself pitiably supplicating! It is not surprising that Timarchus did not keep to whatever promise he made to entice Pittalacus from the altar. So Pittalacus moved against them in court.26 And Hegesander retaliated in turn by trying to have Pittalacus declared his slave: Consider Hegesander’s arrogance! A man who had not wronged him in any way, but the opposite, one whom he had wronged, a man who had nothing to do with him, but a public slave of the city, he started to lead him into slavery claiming that he was his slave. In these dire straits Pittalacus turns to a man, a good man: Glaucon of Cholargus. It was he who extracted him to freedom [aphaireitai eis eleutherian]. σκέψασθε μεγάλην ῥώμην Ἡγησάνδρου· ἄνθρωπον οὐδὲν αὐτὸν ἠδικηκότα, ἀλλὰ τὸ ἐναντίον ἠδικημένον, οὐδὲ προσήκοντα αὐτῷ, ἀλλὰ δημόσιον οἰκέτην τῆς πόλεως, ἦγεν εἰς δουλείαν φάσκων ἑαυτοῦ εἶναι. ἐν παντὶ δὲ κακοῦ γενόμενος ὁ Πιττάλακος προσπίπτει ἀνδρὶ καὶ

26 It is possible that public slaves in fourth-century Athens were in a privileged position relative to private slaves (see MacDowell 1978: 83; Todd 1993: 192–4; E. Cohen 2000: 130 ff.). But Aeschines’ suggestion that a slave could move against two citizens is nonetheless highly suspicious, as V. Hunter 2006 suggests. 166 Slaves in the Theseion μάλα χρηστῷ. ἔστι τις Γλαύκων Χολαργεύς· οὗτος αὐτὸν ἀφαιρεῖται εἰς ἐλευθερίαν. (Aeschin. 1. 62) The present case settled in arbitration (63–4). Pittalacus realized he was outmatched and withdrew. There is much that is perplexing about the narrative. Forif Pittalacus was a public slave, how could Hegesander claim that he was his own? And if Glaucon claimed that in fact Pittalacus was free, how could he have been a public slave? Quite likely, Aeschines is being misleading about Pittalacus’ status as a public slave. Status was malleable and susceptible to rhetorical obfuscation. Opponents frequently dispute the status of each other and of important witnesses, because status had implications about the range of procedure available.27 At any rate, most relevant for my purposes here is Aeschines’ narrative of the process. There are three roles: 1) Hegesander in the role of the pursuer seizes Pittalacus and claims he is his own slave; 2) Pittalacus in the role of the pursued turns to Glaucon for help; 3) Glaucon in the role of the protector counters Hegesander’s claim by performing the aphairesis eis eleutherian. In Aeschines’ telling, Pittalacus’ status and identity thus came into question and if Glaucon had not inter- vened he would have become Hegesander’s slave, regardless of who he had been previously. Lysias’ Against Pancleon provides another illustration of how aphairesis worked. It concerns an unnamed speaker’s accusation that Pancleon was not who he claimed to be, but a slave. Again, I am less interested in the truth of the speaker’s allegations than in his description of how aphairesis functioned in a case of contested status and identity. According to the speaker, the present case arose because he brought Pancleon before the polemarch, “because I thought he was a metic” (23. 2). The polemarch was in charge of suits involving the status of non-citizens (AP 58. 3). We are not told what the original dispute was about. Pancleon responded by claiming that the polemarch was not the appropriate venue because he was not

27 See C. Patterson 2000. For instance, the speaker of Isocrates’ Trapeziticus sought to inter- rogate a slave of his opponent’s. He believed the slave had important information about Pasion’s accounts. Pasion objected that Cittus (the slave in question) was in fact free (aphêireith’ hôs eleutheron), and hence could not face torture (17. 13–4, 49–50). Aphairesis 167 actually a metic, but a Plataean, and thus a recipient of the special grant of Athenian citizenship that Plataean refugees had received when their city was destroyed at the beginning of the Peloponnesian

War.28 So the speaker asked for his deme (every citizen had one), and Pancleon responded that he was a Decelean, a deme some distance from Athens (cf. Thuc. 7. 28. 1; Hdt. 9. 15). The speaker dutifully set out to investigate this claim along Athenian social networks. He went to the most senior Plataean he could find; he said he knew the man Pancleon claimed was his father but did not know of any sons of his (6). He then went to the various places around the city center where the Deceleans and Plataeans were known to gather: a barbershop by the “herms” near the Agora (3), and the “fresh cheese” section of the Agora (6). But he made a surprising discovery. No Deceleans or Plataeans knew Pancleon as one of their own. However, a certain Plataean Nicomedes claimed that he did know a Pancleon. The Pancleon he knew, he said, was his own runaway slave. Thus alerted to Pancleon’s whereabouts Nicomedes set out to confront and reclaim him. Matters then came to a head: When they stopped struggling, some of those present said that Pancleon had a brother who would extract him to freedom [ὃς ἐξαιρήσοιτο αὐτὸν εἰς ἐλευθερίαν]. So they exchanged pledges that they would produce him tomorrow and departed. On the next day, on account of our dispute and trial, I decided to be present with my own witnesses, to see who would extract him and under what claim [τόν τ’ ἐξαιρησόμενον αὐτὸν καὶ ὅ τι λέγων ἀφαιρήσοιτο]. Contrary to his pledge, neither brother nor anyone else came, but a woman who claimed that he was her slave! She disputed Nicomedes’ claim, and refused to let him take Pancleon away. It would be a long story to narrate all that was said. But those present and this one here became so violent, that though Nicomedes was willing and the woman was willing to release him, either if someone were to extract him to freedom or lead him off with the claim that he was his slave, they did neither but absconded with him [ἀφελόμενοι ᾤχοντο] … It is easy to realize that even Pancleon does not think he is Plataean, let alone free! For anyone who was willing to get carried away by force [βίᾳ ἀφαιρεθεὶς] and to make his associates liable to assault charges rather than be extracted to freedom according to the laws and punish those who were leading him away [κατὰ τοὺς νόμους εἰς τὴν ἐλευθερίαν ἐξαιρεθεὶς δίκην λαβεῖν παρὰ τῶν ἀγόντων

28 Thuc. 3. 55. 3, 63. 2; Isoc. 12. 93–4; Dem. 59. 103–6. See Kapparis199 5 for discussion of the sources and issues relating to the status of the Plataeans in Athens. 168 Slaves in the Theseion αὐτόν], it is not hard for anyone to realize that he knew all too well that he was a slave and was afraid to set up sureties and contest his status [περὶ τοῦ σώματος ἀγωνίσασθαι]. (9–12) If we cut through the rhetorical obfuscation and the obvious relish the speaker takes in it, we find two possible outcomes in theaphaire - sis confrontation: either someone will extract Pancleon to freedom by championing the claim that he is a citizen, or someone will lead him away with the claim that he is his, or in this case her, own slave. Whether the disputed person is deemed free or not, at the point of contestation his agency is suspended and he becomes a mere object whose possession is under dispute between two rival claimants. The speaker claims that Pancleon’s willingness(!) to be carried away indicates he was afraid to name sureties and step into the court, implying that he did not have the kind of social networks that were the proof and support of Athenian citizenship. Yet this is after all supposed to be a court case, and he has very little to say about “those who were present for him” (11), other than that they absconded with him from the confrontation – as if “absconding with him” is somehow different from aphairesis, and “those present” are different than the people who alleged that Pancleon was in fact not a slave. Despite the speaker’s shiftiness, the case is illustrative of how a dispute over someone’s status might play out. The narrative shows unequivocally that the aphairesis eis eleutherian called for a dramatic ordeal in which participants negotiated status, identity, and kinship claims authoritatively and publicly.29 Status in general was defined through public performances that produced witnesses.30 If one was able to orchestrate a public performance that defined one’s status or identity in a certain way, this became powerful evidence of that status. Evidence, but not proof: as the case of Pancleon shows, the scene could be interpreted in different ways in subsequent tellings. Pancleon and his supporters claimed he was a Plataean. His opponent told a different story.

29 cf. the Gortyn code’s similarly minded regulations concerning disputes over slaves and statuses (IC 72 i 2–35). Note that at 15–18, the law instructs the judge, when in doubt, to favor the claim that the disputed person is free. See Maffi 2002. The fact that slaves appear in sanctuaries throughout the Greek world suggests that the practice was not confined to Athens. 30 See Humphreys 1985c; Scafuro 1994; Lape 2010: 186–203. False citizens 169 Aphairesis was a particularly dramatic practice suitable to extreme circumstances: it required that the (alleged) slave be publicly and physically contested between two parties. Other practices could achieve the same result. Thedikê apostasiou is a related one. Fundamentally, it differed from the aphairesis eis eleutherian only in who initiated the dispute. It also differed in that it did not require a physical contestation. In a case of dikê apostasiou a presumptive master charged someone with being his runaway slave, his manumitted slave who has not adhered to the conditions of his manumission, or his manumitted slave who has attached himself to a different “protector,” or prostatês (Harpocration s.v dike apostasiou; Suda A 3546) – as we have seen, it was precisely the aim of an aphairesis to assert the non-slave status of someone whom another claimed as his slave. A victory in a dikê apostasiou meant that the prosecutor, depending on one’s perspective, gained or regained a slave. But if the defendant prevailed, as Harpocration notes, he became “completely free.” This meant that the process had validated his identity and status.

False citizens An inscription roughly contemporary with Lysias’ Against Pancleon gives us a glimpse of another, related, way in which a slave might escape his status. IG II2 1237 (396/5) is a decree of the phratry of the Demotionidai regulating their Apaturia celebration and proceedings. We discussed the Apaturia in the previous chapter, where we saw how Xenophon suggested that its coincidence with the trial of the Arginusae generals was a factor in their execution. Membership in a deme was a prerequisite for citizenship. And membership in a phratry could support one’s membership in a deme. Citizenship was really thus a function of belonging to smaller associations. Even though Athenians did not know each other “face-to-face,” they relied on those who did. The problem was that there were significant cracks through which suppositious members might enter, because one’s deme of membership was not necessarily one’s deme of residence.31 New entrants to a phratry, both male and female, would be introduced in the ceremony as the legitimate relations

31 See R. Osborne 1985a; N. Jones 1999: 195–9. 170 Slaves in the Theseion of established members, and their entry into the phratry would come to a vote (cf. And. 1. 126). Down the road the fact that they participated at the Apaturia or other public kinship rituals would become a powerful argument in inheritance or other property disputes, enabling them to summon public opinion in their support (cf. Is. 8. 15 ff.; Aeschin. 1. 78). By a neat coincidence, the Demotionidai were based in the deme of Decelea, to which Pancleon claimed to belong.32 The part that especially interests me is the amendment of Nicodemus (IG II2 1237. 68 ff.), which specified that the vote of each candidate’sthiasos (here, apparently a subdivision of the phratry rather than an independent group as elsewhere) was to be counted separately from the rest of the phrateres during the procedure of scrutiny. If the thiasotai vote that he is their phrater and the other phrateres vote him down, the thiasotai are to owe 100 dr. sacred to Zeus Phratrius, except those of the thiasotai who were accusers or showed themselves to be opposed during the proceeding. ἐὰν δὲ ψηφισαμένων τῶν θιασωτῶν ἐν̑αι αὐτοῖς φράτερα οἱ ἄλλοι φράτερες ἀποψηφίσωνται, ὀφειλόντων ἑκατὸν δραχμὰς ἱερὰς τῶι Διὶ τῶι Φρατρίωι οἱ θιασῶται, πλὴν ὅσοι ἂν τῶν θιασωτῶν κατήγοροι ἢ ἐναντιόμενοι φαίνωνται ἐν τῆι διαδικασίαι. (88–94) The collector of Attic laws and decrees Craterus recorded a law, “If someone born of two foreigners joins a phratry [phratriziêi], let the Athenian who wishes prosecute him” (FrGrH 342 F 4). In the Demotionidai inscription Nicodemus intended to discourage the possibility of foreigners infiltrating the phratry by additionally making liable to a fine the associates on whose sponsorship the suppositious phrater would have relied. If the rest of the phratry sides against the new member, the members of the thiasos who supported him will have to pay a fine for trying to introduce someone into the phratry who did not belong to it. Clearly Nicodemus was concerned with the possibility that a few associates would band together and admit into the phratry, and hence citizenship, suppositious candidates.33

32 See Hedrick 1990. The inscription further corroborates that the Deceleans had a customary meeting point in the city (63–4), as Lysias also informs us (23. 3, 6). 33 See N. Jones 1999: 195–220. False citizens 171

We saw in Chapter 4 that this fear was a perennial one for Athenians (cf. Davies 1977). We thus hear of several efforts to scrutinize the entire citizen body for outsiders (diapsephisis or diapsephismos). The first general scrutiny was after the overthrow of Pisistratus, who according to the AP had allowed non-Athenians to claim the status in exchange for their support (13. 5; cf. Arist. Pol. 3, 1275b34–9). According to Plutarch, it also happened in the mid-fifth century in connection with a gift of grain from the king of Egypt to the citizens of Athens that led to bitter accusations of illegitimacy. He gives the incredible statistic that nearly five thousand people lost their status and became slaves as a result (Per. 37. 3–4).34 It probably also happened after the democratic restoration of 403 (Athen. 13. 577b–c; schol. Aeschin. 1. 39). And again it happened in 346. This is the one about which we know the most (schol. Aeschin. 1. 77; Androtion 324

F 52; Philochorus 328 F 19).35 We know that it was the proposal of a certain Demophilus that all the demes were to hold special meetings and review their records, voting on whether each of their members was truly a citizen, that is, whether he was born of a citizen mother and a citizen father, or whether he got enrolled fraudulently.36 These were summary procedures. There were to be no speeches for or against but simply a vote based on each person’s biographical narrative (sun- istorêsis). Those whom the demesmen voted down were to lose their citizenship status and be declared metics. This would be economically and socially disastrous for them because metics could not own, inherit, or sell land. The expelled citizens could appeal the deme’s decision to a court. Here the stakes would be especially high. If they lost there they would be sold into slavery.37 Understandably, such a general procedure led to a great deal of litigation.38 It is in connection

34 cf. schol. Ar. Wasps 718. Philochorus (FrGrH 328 F 119) gives the more precise, but equally incredible, figure of 4760. 35 See Fantasia and Carusi 2004, who argue that the only genuine diapsephisis was the mid-fourth- century one, and that it had a specific impetus that is lost to us. They go through some possibilities, suggesting it most likely had something to do with distributions from the theoric fund. The Periclean case which the sources attribute to a distribution of grain from Egypt is thus a historiographical “back formation.” This is an intriguing possibility but no more than that. 36 See Whitehead 1986: 106–9; Ismard 2010: 129–31; still useful is Haussoullier 1883: 32–55. 37 Hypothesis to Dem. 57. 38 Three speeches are known to us originating in this scrutiny and subsequent litigation about status: Dem. 57, Is. 12 (partial speech quoted and discussed by Dionysius of Halicarnassus), and his lost Against Boetus (Harpocration s.v. Keiriades, lexis). 172 Slaves in the Theseion with this litigation that we encountered Eubulides in Chapter 4, who was sponsoring the suppliant Dioscurides in the Council during the very year of the diapsephisis in which he was trying to expel Euxitheus from his deme. Thediapsephisis of 346 is quite similar to the normal procedure for scrutiny of new deme members (AP 42. 1–2).39 There if the demesmen rejected a candidate as illegitimate he could either accept their decision or appeal to a court. An acceptance of their decision established firmly his status as a metic. The appeal to a court was riskier, as with the diapsephisis. While a favorable verdict would override the demesmen’s decision, establishing his status firmly, an unfavorable one automatically condemned him to slavery. Five men appointed from the deme would act as prosecutors. They would have had a powerful argument on their side. As Aeschines notes in a speech that also dates to 346, in questions of identity and legitimacy juries tend to trust local knowledge: There have beendiapsephiseis in the demes and each of you has submitted to a vote about your status, [to see] who is really an Athenian and who is not. When I stand outside the court and listen to the arguments I see that always the same thing applies with you. If the accuser says, “Jurors, the demesmen voted against this man under oath, while no man was accusing him or testi- fying against him, because they knew the facts themselves,” straightaway you clamor that the defendant does not share in the city. γεγόνασι διαψηφίσεις ἐν τοῖς δήμοις, καὶ ἕκαστος ἡμῶν ψῆφον δέδωκε περὶ τοῦ σώματος, ὅστις Ἀθηναῖος ὄντως ἐστὶ καὶ ὅστις μή. ἐπειδὰν προσστῶ πρὸς τὸ δικαστήριον καὶ ἀκροάσωμαι τῶν ἀγωνιζομένων, ὁρῶ ὅτι ἀεὶ τὸ αὐτὸ παρ’ ὑμῖν ἰσχύει. ἐπειδὰν γὰρ εἴπῃ ὁ κατήγορος· “ἄνδρες δικασταί, τουτουὶ κατεψηφίσαντο οἱ δημόται ὀμόσαντες, οὐδενὸς ἀνθρώπων οὔτε κατηγορήσαντος οὔτε καταμαρτυρήσαντος, ἀλλ’ αὐτοὶ συνειδότες,” εὐθὺς θορυβεῖτε ὑμεῖς ὡς οὐ μετὸν τῷ κρινομένῳ τῆς πόλεως. (1. 77–8) Did this procedure address a real problem? How commonly would people fraudulently try to enlist as citizens? Aristotle suggests that this was a fairly common occurrence in large cities. There, he says, “It

39 Diller 1935 suggested that 346 actually marked the introduction of the procedure; see also Gomme 1934. False citizens 173 is easy for foreigners and metics to share in citizenship. For it is not difficult to escape detection owing to the excessive size of the crowd [ἔτι δὲ ξένοις καὶ μετοίκοις ῥᾴδιον μεταλαμβάνειν τῆς πολιτείας· οὐ γὰρ χαλεπὸν τὸ λανθάνειν διὰ τὴν ὑπερβολὴν τοῦ πλήθους.]” (Pol 1326b15–25, cf. Pl. Rep. 563a–b; [Xen.] Ath. Pol. 1. 10–1). Hyperides (4. 8) mentions the case of one Agasicles who enrolled fraudulently in the deme of Halimous.40 He suggests that it was far from an unusual occurrence, and on a par with a case for hiring out flute girls at an excessive rate or a case for fraudulently reporting on the contents of one’s incubatory dream. It is interesting to note that not only do some sources worry about illegitimate citizens sneaking into the ranks but also that citizens would have a motive to support their claims. Why would the Demotionidai phrateres, or anyone else, have supported the efforts of someone to claim a false identity? The short answer is because they expected to profit or benefit from the favor. Isaeus’For Euphiletus is a fragment of a speech defending the status of a man accused of falsely claiming citizenship. The speaker is the defendant’s half-brother. He argues that his father would have had no reason to claim Euphiletus as his son other than the fact that he really was his son. Other people might do such a thing, he admits, “because they do not have legitimate children or out of poverty, because they expect to benefit somehow from those who become Athenians.” Neither is the case for his father (12. 2). Euphiletus’ mother, his father, his half-brothers, and members of his phratry are all prepared to swear to Euphiletus’ identity and legitimacy. With so many ready and willing to swear to it, it is quite surprising that this case came before a court at all. That it went past the arbitration phase plainly suggests that the arguments of those who questioned Euphiletus’ legitimacy were at least somewhat credible, or that they felt confident enough to take the case to trial. Another speaker gives us a clue about the argument that they might have used: “They say that I am rich and that some of my witnesses testify that they are my relatives because they have benefited from me” (Dem. 57. 52).

40 Dinarchus wrote a speech against him where he alleged that he did it by bribery (Harpocration s.v. Agasicles). As we saw with Eubulides, this was (allegedly) not unusual in that deme. 174 Slaves in the Theseion So Athenians found it plausible that someone would be willing to support an illegitimate citizen’s claim in exchange for personal benefit. In Chapter 4 I argued that the patrons might also receive symbolic benefit. But what about the claims of slaves? Athenian invective is full of instances of alleging that one’s opponent is a slave or descended from slaves. That is no indication that it was actually the case. Euphiletus was clearly not a slave. His opponents even admitted that his mother was Athenian (12. 9). What could a slave hope for?

What was going on in the Theseion?

Herodotus has an interesting story that we might read against the background of the kind of practice I have been reconstructing. His story does not have to do with slaves seeking asylum in Athens, but the situation is quite similar: a runaway approaching a powerful protector who recognizes and endorses the suppliant’s identity-claim. As the battle of Plataea was winding down, the story goes, a woman crossed the battlefield with her entourage. She was a concubine of a Persian commander. “She came as a fugitive,” Herodotus notes, using a word, automolos, which is normally reserved for runaway slaves (cf. Ar. Kn. 21–6). She approaches Pausanias and says,

“King of Sparta, extract me your suppliant from captive slavery. You have already done me a favor by killing these men here who fear the anger of neither gods nor spirits. I am from Cos by birth, the daughter of Hegetorides the son of Antagoras. The Persian took me from Cos by force.” And he replied, “Woman, take heart, because you are a suppliant, and because if you are telling the truth and you are the daughter of Hegetorides the Coan, he is my best guest-friend in those parts.” He spoke thus and then entrusted her to the ephors present, and later sent her off to Aegina, where she wanted to go. “ὦ βασιλεῦ Σπάρτης, ῥῦσαί με τὴν ἱκέτιν αἰχμαλώτου δουλοσύνης. σὺ γὰρ καὶ ἐς τόδε ὤνησας, τούσδε ἀπολέσας τοὺς οὔτε δαιμόνων οὔτε θεῶν ὄπιν ἔχοντας. εἰμὶ δὲ γένος μὲν Κῴη, θυγάτηρ δὲ Ἡγητορίδεω τοῦ Ἀνταγόρεω· βίῃ δέ με λαβὼν ἐν Κῷ εἶχε ὁ Πέρσης.” ὁ δὲ ἀμείβεται τοῖσιδε· “γύναι, θάρσεε καὶ ὡς ἱκέτις καὶ εἰ δὴ πρὸς τούτῳ τυγχάνεις ἀληθέα λέγουσα καὶ εἶς θυγάτηρ Ἡγητορίδεω τοῦ Κῴου, ὃς ἐμοὶ ξεῖνος μάλιστα τυγχάνει ἐὼν τῶν περὶ ἐκείνους τοὺς χώρους οἰκημένων.” ταῦτα What was going on in the Theseion? 175 δὲ εἴπας τότε μὲν ἐπέτρεψε τῶν ἐφόρων τοῖσι παρεοῦσι, ὕστερον δὲ ἀπέπεμψε ἐς Αἴγιναν, ἐς τὴν αὐτὴ ἤθελε ἀπικέσθαι. (9. 76. 2–3) This passage shows the practical synonymy between aphairesis and rhysis, as I discussed at the beginning of this chapter. It also shows how supplication could be used to camouflage these practices of “extraction.” The end result in this case, as with the slaves’ supplications in sanctuaries, was the creation of a new identity. For Herodotus signals subtly that the woman is being less than truthful about her claims. Three things give her away. First, Herodotus comments that she knew Pausanias not through her father, as she claimed, but instead, “she had learned his name and home beforehand because she had heard it often” (2). Furthermore, if she did know Pausanias she probably would not have called him “king,” for Pausanias was not king in Sparta, only regent. Also suspicious is the fact that she approached

Pausanias only after putting on her finest clothes and jewels.41 Finally, if these are too subtle clues of her questionable sincerity, Herodotus also notes that she did not go back to Cos, where she claimed she was from, but instead to Aegina, “where she wanted to go.” It is quite a coincidence that Pausanias happens to know personally the man she claimed as her father. The fact that someone of Pausanias’ stature proclaimed this publicly means that, for all intents and purposes, the concubine became the person she claimed to be. The slaves who sought refuge in the Theseion were probably not in the same class as the concubine in Herodotus’ tale, who ended up independent and free on Aegina. If their “protectors” publicly claimed that the slaves were someone else, someone free, it did not necessarily mean that they would be free. As Zelnick-Abramovitz (2005) has stressed, even manumission, the public act of freeing a slave, did not necessarily mean the slaves were “wholly free.” Responsibilities and obligations toward the master and his family continued. A slave who struck a deal with a new prostatês would have relied greatly on that person’s good will. As was the case with manumission, the slave had little guarantee that the agreement would lead to true freedom. The slaves in the Theseion faced the real possibility that their new masters

41 For Pausanias’ attitude toward money see Kurke 2002. 176 Slaves in the Theseion would be just as cruel as the old ones. Or they faced the possibility of falling back into the hands of their old masters, who would probably not have treated the runaways graciously.42 In a wide-ranging study, Orlando Patterson (1982) has argued that slavery consists in a fundamental “natal alienation” that removes the slave from his native context and the relationships to which he was born and places him a new context in which he is dependent for safety and protection entirely on his master. Although the slave depends entirely on one person, the master depends on every other master. Plato’s fable of the master and his slaves magically transported out of the city nicely illustrates the systemic nature of the oppression by which a minority could keep down a majority (Rep. 578d–9a). The slaves in the Theseion were essentially looking for a way to end their natal alienation by finding a different entry point into the Athenian social network. Perhaps the “Theseion-loiterers” formed their own informal association that helped slaves find new arrangements. In his Laws Plato recognizes that some citizens might collude with other people’s slaves in order to steal them away.43 He imagines this happening in a case where a slave hurts someone or damages his property so that the master has the incentive to surrender the slave rather than be forced to compensate for the damages. “If someone alleges that the incident is a stunt [mekhanên] by agreement, let him lodge a complaint” (879a5–7; cf. 936d4–6). And if the master proves the case, the claimant is to be considered guilty of unlawful enslavement. Interestingly, he does not forbid masters, or their friends, from laying hands on runaway slaves, but he sets clear limits to the procedure: If someone performs the aphairesis eis eleutherian on someone who is being led off as if he were a slave, let the person doing the leading let go of him. The claimant is to provide three credible sureties. Under these circumstances and only these is there to be aphairesis.

42 On the practice of tattooing runaways in order to permanently fix their status, see C. Jones 1987. 43 He also seems aware of the practice of claiming new identities by taking refuge in sanctuaries when he compares those who falsely claim to be philosophers to “those who have escaped from their chains to sanctuaries” (Rep. 495d). In that passage he goes on to compare these types, continuing the parallel between pretend philosophers and pretend citizens, to a “small, bald metalworker who has just been loosed from his bonds, washed himself in the bath, put on a new outfit and presents himself as a groom to the poor and desolate master’s daughter.” On Plato’s treatment of slave law see Morrow 1939. What was going on in the Theseion? 177 ἐὰν δέ τις ἀφαιρῆταί τινα εἰς ἐλευθερίαν ὡς δοῦλον ἀγόμενον, μεθιέτω μὲν ὁ ἄγων, ὁ δὲ ἀφαιρούμενος ἐγγυητὰς τρεῖς ἀξιόχρεως καταστήσας, οὕτως ἀφαιρείσθω κατὰ ταῦτα, ἄλλως δὲ μή. (914e6–9) Plato seems to want to discourage abuse of the practice; we might say, frivolous claims of ownership. Presumably he also wants to temper the violence which could attend the practice of aphairesis in Athens. He thus puts in place the provision that if anyone performs aphairesis in any other way he is to be liable to a suit for violence, dikê biaiôn (914e9). Perhaps, then, some slaves found freedom in the Theseion by finding someone to claim they were free. If so they would have needed to possess substantial resources (like the Persian concubine) to reward their “protector” and his associates. We do hear of self-employed slaves in Athens who lived apart from their masters for economic reasons, owing a regular payment to them (apophora).44 Such an individual could amass enough social capital to entice someone else to step into the role of his master and protect him from his previous master.45 For most slaves in the Theseion probably a different fate was in store. For if after their stay they were still dependent solely on their new protector, this could leave them exposed to the same level of domination as before. The “protectors” of the slaves in the Theseion might claim that they are in fact free or their relatives but beneath that claim would lie a different reality. A law apparently existed that threatened with a financial penalty anyone who “did not perform aphairesis eis eleutherian justly [μὴ δικαίως εἰς τὴν ἐλευθερίαν ἀφελέσθαι]” ([Dem.] 58. 21). As for why someone would do that, Isocrates gives us the answer. He says that critics of the Athenian

44 Some have seen a formal category of such slaves behind the term khôris oikountes (Dem. 4. 37). See Perotti 1974; Kazakévich 2008; E. Cohen 2000: 130–54; Kamen 2011. The debate here hinges on the question of whether these were slaves or metics. Most scholars think they were slaves primarily because it makes little sense to speak of people “who dwell apart” if that is not a remarkable feature of their circumstances. It would not be remarkable at all if metics lived on their own. 45 Perhaps this might also be a reason why in the so-called “manumission phialai,” the majority of the slaves are listed by profession, since only slaves with independent sources of income and opportunities for direct interaction with citizens could persuade a new master to represent their claim of independence from their former master. But see most recently Meyer 2010, who argues that the dedicants were metics, not slaves. 178 Slaves in the Theseion empire (wrongly, in his view) compared Athens’ claims to “liberate” the Greeks from the Persians to “people who extract other people’s slaves to freedom only to have them be their slaves [τοῖς παρὰ μὲν τῶν ἄλλων τοὺς οἰκέτας εἰς ἐλευθερίαν ἀφαιρουμένοις, σφίσι δ’ αὐτοῖς δουλεύειν ἀναγκάζουσιν]” (12. 97). The Theseion probably lay to the northeast of the Acropolis. Quite near it was the Anakeion (Paus. 1. 17. 2). Both were apparently large, open spaces which could contain many people. This is probably why the story of Pisistratus disarming the demos is attested for both places (AP 15. 4; Polyaen. 1. 21. 2). Both were also places where slaves could be found. Demosthenes suggests that particularly crafty slaves could be bought in the Anakeion (45. 80). The sources tell us that by contrast the Theseion was a refuge for slaves looking for new masters. The reason why slaves repeatedly fled to the Theseion, besides the well-established role of Theseus as defendant of suppliants, was because it was a second-hand slave market of sorts where “buyers” might obtain new slaves by claiming they were free, and slaves could hope to “buy” their way into freedom by selling themselves via the legal procedure of aphairesis. Aristophanes described this practice with the peculiar expression “finding a purchase” (prasin heuresthai), because in a manner of speaking the slaves used asylum as a cover for the purchase of a new identity. Identity in the ancient world was ultimately based on relationships; but relationships could be faked, denied, or purchased. This was possible because the only firm basis of kinship was significant action, and action can be staged, as the Demotionidai feared might take place during their celebration of the Apaturia. Earlier I described stunts as one-off events intended to get people talking about a particular issue in a particular way. The stunts the slaves wished to stage were different in magnitude and orientation. It is unclear if the slaves had already reached arrangements for someone to appear at the Theseion as their protector or if they were looking to make arrangements at that point. My guess (and it is a guess) is that they were looking for a protector there. Hence they might stay there a long time, as Aristophanes’ coinage of the term theseiotribes, “Theseion-loiterers,” seems to imply. Well-connected and wealthy slaves with their own source of income could find a protector any- where, even after a bloody battle. The aphairesis could be performed What was going on in the Theseion? 179 in any public place, as we saw above in the cases of Pancleon and Pittalacus. The Theseion, however, was for those who were looking for someone to come and claim them on the spot. The slaves there were thus more likely to be of lower status, and more desperate. This is why the Theseion figures as a sanctuary of last resort. That is the point of Aristophanes’ joke when he imagines a scene in which the Athenian triremes complain that they are being worked too hard. The demagogue Hyperbolus is agitating for a fleet to invade Carthage. Rather than have that happen, one trireme says, I prefer to grow old right here and be eaten by worms! … If the Athenians go for this I say we should sail to the Theseion and sit there. ὑπὸ τερηδόνων σαπεῖσ’ ἐνταῦθα καταγηράσομαι … ἢν δ’ ἀρέσκῃ ταῦτ’ Ἀθηναίοις, καθῆσθαί μοι δοκεῖ ἐς τὸ Θησεῖον πλεούσαις. (Kn. 1308–12) Slaves sought refuge at the Theseion regularly enough so that it became a joke to say, “I am going to the Theseion!” to denote looking to change one’s master, just as “Go to Colonus!” came to refer to the hiring of casual labor. Behind the joke hid the stark reality that only the most desperate and maltreated of slaves would take this route and make themselves available to anyone to claim them as their own, anyone but their current master, that is. That said, if masters knew that slaves had that last resort, might that have moderated their treatment of them? It is impossible to know, but I would like to think that in some cases the habitual nature of this particular stunt might have served as kind of check on some slave–master relationships, preventing some forms of abuse. And if that was the case here we would have an instance of slaves using the resources of the Street in order to improve their lot in life or their treatment at the hands of their masters. chapter 7 The Magnesian Street

Public opinion may therefore be prevalent and even intolerant without being tyrannical, if it merely anticipates, as in rational precepts and true information, that which each individual would have at last discovered painfully for himself. (Santayana 1968: 102)

The previous chapters have looked at Athenian political life outside the civic institutions and at how it related to institutional acts. We have seen how a broad, robust public sphere supported, augmented, and occasionally challenged the institutions. In the informal public sphere gossip was not just a diversion or a form of social control but a sophisticated political tool. It was also essential: without informal talk the institutions simply could not function meaningfully. Informal talk about someone’s status constituted that status, just as talk about an institutionally issued punishment brought that punishment about. The institutions sought to channel this talk to certain objects (verdicts, decrees, decisions, etc.). Astute politicians as well as astute slaves sought to take advantage of the Athenian Street to increase awareness about an issue, whether it was an attempt to reform an institution or an attempt to assert a person’s identity. And by increasing awareness, they aimed to make it more likely to become a social fact. This final chapter considers how Plato, an astute observer of Athenian society and culture in his own right, drew on the Athenian public sphere in order to construct the city of Magnesia in his Laws. TheLaws demands to be read cross-eyed, as it were, with one eye on Platonic philosophy and with the other on Athenian institutions and

180 The Magnesian Street 181

practices.1 For the ambitious goal of Plato’s final work is nothing less than a synthesis of these seemingly incompatible things. In particular, I turn to Plato to consider what he has to say about two topics that have been of central concern throughout the previous chapters: the role of gossip, and how the informal public sphere relates to the formal public sphere of the institutions. For, as I will suggest, Plato has given a lot of thought to how communication works (or should work) between institutional and extra-institutional spaces, and how the simple talk of ordinary individuals can be (or should be) consequential. He takes some things from the Athenian Street and adapts them into a utopian scheme for organizing a city that he considers a “second-best” alternative to the unrealizable city of the Republic. Whereas the Republic’s city, Callipolis, remains a theoretical construct that we should keep in our thoughts as a model (592b), the city of the Laws is presented as one that is within the horizons of possibility, given what people are actually like. According to Bobonich (2002), Plato over time came to have greater respect for “ordinary virtue.” He relented on the uncompromising ideal that he espoused in such works as Apology, Phaedo, Gorgias, and Republic, which suggest that only philosophers are capable of attaining the peak of human excellence.2 In his last work he paints a portrait of a city, Magnesia, where the citizens are virtuous and happy – individually and collectively – without engaging in the extreme theoretical pursuits prescribed in the Republic for the philosopher-rulers.3 For instance, rather than pursue the study of math- ematics or astronomy in order to understand the abstract good, as the guardians do in the Republic, they learn from these fields only what is practical and useful; for example, using astronomy to better understand seasonal changes as they might affect farming (Laws

1 See especially Morrow 1960b; Piérart 1974. It is only over the last ten years that scholarly interest in Plato’s Laws has burgeoned (see, e.g., Bobonich 2002; Laks 2005; Bobonich 2010). 2 Bertrand 1998 argues that it is the appearance of virtue that Magnesia seeks to instill, rather than virtue itself. He calls attention to 841b–e, where the Stranger suggests that if people have to give in to their sexual urges in an unlawful way (he doesn’t expect that the law will be strong enough to prevent it), they should make sure that nobody finds out. Bobonich does not discuss this passage. 3 The one exception to this is the Nocturnal Council, on which see below. 182 The Magnesian Street 809d), rather than as a means to grasping an invisible cosmic order (Rep. 528d). They spend their time going about their ordinary lives, seeing to their households, eating in dining clubs, attending the theater, and most interestingly for my purposes, gossiping. Magnesian citizens are not supposed to focus solely on ruling or deliberating. They are to live ordinary lives in the public sphere. In keeping with his newly found respect for the public sphere, Plato acknowledges the role in it of groups, who, according to standard ideology, had no share in it. Magnesians would not agree with the statement of Thucydides’ Pericles that “The glory of a woman is to be least spoken about among men in terms of virtue or blame” (2. 45. 2). In Magnesia, women might not achieve full equality with men but they are full participants in the public sphere, as both objects and agents of praise and blame.4 Without question Magnesian women will be more involved in politics than Athenian women. Not only do they participate in the city’s dining clubs and choruses, but it also seems that they are expected to serve in the army, attend the Assembly (although that is more controversial), and serve as magistrates. Of course Plato does not think slaves have any role in politics per se. But he would not have agreed with Aristotle’s view that slaves, like women, lack the ability to deliberate (Pol. 1260a12–3). Within the structural limits of a slave economy he does grant slaves a greater degree of protection than they would have expected in Athens. Magnesian slaves will not have to fear the basanos torture when they are called to give testimony; they will be able to testify in the institutions (937b).5 He also recognizes that they are capable of quasi-political action, especially regarding the denunciation of crimes (872c).6 As I mentioned in the previous chapter, he also recognizes that slaves might collude with citizens to escape their masters (936d).

4 The controversy about the extent of Plato’s “feminism” more generally continues unabated. Most recently see Blair 2012. 5 For more on slaves in Magnesia see Gernet 1951: cxxvi–viii; Bertrand 1999: 337–9. 6 As Bertrand (2000: 35) notes, this is an implicit acknowledgment of the slave’s capacity for politically efficacious speech. Also compare 777d, where it is suggested that a slave population should be drawn from different peoples, in order that they can’t communicate with each other. This seems to envision the slaves as capable of using speech to further a political aim. Also cf. 808a3–6: “For a mistress to be woken up by her handmaids and not for her to wake them first – the slave-man and slave-woman and slave-boy should say to each other that this is shameful, and the whole house should say it if it was possible.” On the importance of denunciation see below. The Magnesian Street 183 My intention here is not to make Plato out to be a democrat or a liberal.7 Many of his ideas are completely opposed to fundamental principles of liberal democracy. Most critically, he thought that there is a single human good to which all activity should aim, and he expected institutions to foster its development while maintain- ing social harmony. And yet his basic problem in the Laws, namely about how to organize a society to reconcile the needs of authority and order with that of freedom, is one that remains relevant. What I find especially interesting about his solution is that it relies to a great extent on the contribution of a robust, inclusive public sphere. Plato draws on the interactions of ordinary citizens as they move between institutional and non-institutional spaces, or formal and informal ones, to involve everyoneÂ– including people who would be excluded from political deliberation in an Aristotelian understanding of itÂ– in a common endeavor. In this he relies to a perhaps surprising extent on what we would call “gossip,” evaluative talk about others, or as the Athenian Stranger would put it, “praise and blame.” At first glance this is surprising. Throughout his works Plato shows a marked distaste toward ordinary people’s habit of speaking out in public about their likes and dislikes. Already in the Apology, as we saw, he blamed Athenian gossip in part for the fate of Socrates. He suggested that the prejudice against Socrates was based on persistent rumors about him, particularly as exemplified in that echo chamber of Athenian public opinion, Old Comedy. “It is not Meletus or Anytus that will condemn me, if they condemn me, but slander [diabolê] and envy [phthonos]; these have condemned many good and noble men, and I think they will continue to do so” (28b).8 He calls these the “old accusers” who had been filling the ears of the jurymen since they were children with the gossip that Socrates was a sophist who cared more about the heavens and the anatomy of fleas than about what was going on around him, and that he made the weaker argument stronger and corrupted the young men who associated with him. He argued, it was important for anyone who cared about his soul to withdraw from the public and its dangers: ἰδιωτεύειν ἀλλὰ μὴ δημοσιεύειν (32a). In the Crito he explicitly argued that

7 That he was not as hostile to these as is commonly thought is the argument of Monoson 2000. 8 But in the Seventh Letter he blames Socrates’ powerful enemies, not Aristophanes (325b). 184 The Magnesian Street the opinions or doxai of the inexpert many should be of no concern to the philosopher (47a–48a). This view is also echoed in other “middle” works, like the Gorgias, where the mass is compared to an audience of spoiled children (521e–2a), and the Republic, where they are compared to a large and powerful beast (493a). A similar attitude is found in the late Theaetetus, where the philosopher is described as having a bird’s-eye view of the city and will as a result take no interest in such topics of gossip as his neighbor’s ancestors or sources of wealth, “or even if he is a human being at all” (174e ff.). However, in his final work, Plato seems to moderate his tune about gossip and the public sphere, and about the potential of the mass more generally. He remains concerned about how individuals interact with each other, and how their participation in collective activities can shape their character, values, and beliefs. But now he seems to think that he can use the public sphere, that he can shape it in such a way that it can be a force for order and reason rather than irrationality and disorder. Before we can appreciate how and why Plato’s Magnesia relies on an inclusive, robust public sphere, where people are empowered to criticize and praise one another in a particular way, it is important to establish a baseline from his more familiar work, the Republic.9 That work, in comparison with the Laws, is much less a blueprint for an ideal society than a sketch of one in the service of other ends. Most glaringly (as Aristotle criticized: Pol. 1264a10–5), it focuses entirely on the guardians and shows little interest in the conduct and well- being of the producers, who constitute the majority of the population of Callipolis. The education of the guardians and their lifestyle, by contrast, are detailed carefully. They are to have no private property, no families, and the best among them are to dedicate themselves to the philosophical study of the abstract Good. All good things for the city are supposed to follow from that individual commitment on the part of the elite. It is not surprising that in such a context there is very little concern for or discussion of the public sphere. Plato’s emphasis here is primarily on the conduct of an enlightened elite (representing reason) and their relationship toward themselves and their subordinates

9â See LaksÂ1990. The Magnesian Street 185 (representing passion and emotion). The public sphere makes an appearance only at the margins of this focus, and only as a threat to the individual’s integrity and control over his internal state. Thus Socrates speaks with contempt about the various “assemblies, courts, theaters, army camps, or other public gatherings of the crowd.” Here he sees only a space of corruption where people lead each other astray as young men start to applaud and jeer at the things that the mass loves and abhors:

The mass (athroioi) sitting in assemblies, courts, theaters, army camps, or any other public gatherings of the crowd, with a great din blame some words and deeds and praise others, excessive in either case in their shouting and applause. The stones and the space itself echo their cries, doubling the praise and blame. In such a place, what young man can, as they say, stom- ach it [lit. “how can his heart endure”]? Or what private education can resist being overcome by such praise and blame, and being swept up to wherever the stream [rhoun] takes it? συγκαθεζόμενοι ἁθρόοι πολλοὶ εἰς ἐκκλησίας ἢ εἰς δικαστήρια ἢ θέατρα ἢ στρατόπεδα ἤ τινα ἄλλον κοινὸν πλήθους σύλλογον σὺν πολλῷ θορύβῳ τὰ μὲν ψέγωσι τῶν λεγομένων ἢ πραττομένων, τὰ δὲ ἐπαινῶσιν, ὑπερβαλλόντως ἑκάτερα, καὶ ἐκβοῶντες καὶ κροτοῦντες, πρὸς δ’αὐτοῖς αἵ τε πέτραι καὶ ὁ τόπος ἐν ᾧ ἂν ὦσιν ἐπηχοῦντες διπλάσιον θόρυβον παρέχωσι τοῦ ψόγου καὶ ἐπαίνου. ἐν δὴ τῷ τοιούτῳ τὸν νέον, τὸ λεγόμενον, τίνα οἴει καρδίαν ἴσχειν; ἢ ποίαν ἂν αὐτῷ παιδείαν ἰδιωτικὴν ἀνθέξειν, ἣν οὐ κατακλυσθεῖσαν ὑπὸ τοῦ τοιούτου ψόγου ἢ ἐπαίνου οἰχήσεσθαι φερομένην κατὰ ῥοῦν ᾗ ἂν οὗτος φέρῃ …; (492b5–c6)

Socrates characterizes the public sphere as unpredictable. It has the tendency to amplify praise and blame with harmful effect on the malleable souls of the young. He likens the public sphere to a loud, echoing space, and again to a rushing stream sweeping away all before it. It is impossible for the precepts and disposition pains- takingly instilled in a young person to stand up to this flood. All kinds of ideas and notions are liable to enter the soul in such a situation. A complete theory of education must account for the influence of the crowd (492e3–4). This is what Plato attempts to do in the Laws. Ordinary gossip is important in Magnesia because Plato puts a lot of faith in the proposition that citizens’ knowing and scrutinizing 186 The Magnesian Street

one another will lead to a just and happy city.10 As the Athenian Stranger says, “There is no greater good for a city than that people be familiar [gnôrimous] to one another.” There has to be light in social relations rather than darkness (738e1–3). Mutual knowledge of one another ensures that people get what they deserve, in terms of honor or dishonor. The danger is if people are not really as they appear to be, if they are “counterfeit,” kibdêlos. Instead they should try to be “simple and true,” to be as they wish to appear to be, and to make sure that others are living up to this standard as well. A robust public sphere, along with the informal talk that goes on in it, is thus essential to Magnesia’s disciplinary project. The contrast with theRepublic is quite stark here. The Republic’s guardians have the task of disciplining the citizens and enforcing the laws. That job in Magnesia, just as in Athens, falls to “he who wishes [ho boulomenos].” Ordinary citizens, men and women, and slaves as well, will have to take part in making sure the laws of Magnesia are enforced. I want to focus on three pieces of Plato’s legislative project for Magnesia that show how he sought to design institutions that both employed and were responsive to the public sphere. These are: the Council, the marriage inspectors, and the notorious Nocturnal Council. I have selected these because each, I argue, seeks to foster a link between institutions and the broader society, and between official and unofficial spaces.

Absent presence in the elections

One of Aristotle’s criticisms of the Laws in Politics II is that it fosters a crypto-oligarchy. In particular he zeroes in on Plato’s division of the Magnesians into four property classes. He criticizes this division for leading to unequal participation in the offices and in the deliberative institutions (1266a8–30), charging that Plato has set up a system in which the wealthier are encouraged, or rather obliged, to be more active politically while the less well off are encouraged to take only a passing interest in politics. Aristotle thinks this is because, although

10 Technically, it is the Athenian Stranger, not Plato. For my purposes here, I read Plato as a political theorist putting forth his thoughts about how to improve society, not an evil genius intent on fooling his readers into believing that he thinks certain things because he wants to play with them. Absent presence in the elections 187 it is a stated principle in Magnesia that “everyone should vote on everything,” the two lowest classes do not have to attend every meeting of the Assembly, except when the presence of the whole citizen body is necessary, while the highest classes must attend every session (763e–4a). Moreover, the Council is to consist of an equal number of representatives from each class. This means, Aristotle argues, that the wealthier individuals will enjoy greater representation inasmuch as they are fewer (1265a4–5).

At first glance, Aristotle seems to have a point.11 But there are two criticisms one can make of Aristotle’s critique. First, the economic difference between the highest property class and the lowest one is negligible by real-world standards. The richest citizen can only be five times as wealthy as the poorest (744e).12 Plato does not do away with inequality in Magnesia completely because he argues that people are more likely to strive for excellence when differences between citizens are not completely effaced (744b4–c4). The second, more interesting, criticism relates to how Plato in the Laws and Aristotle think about citizenship and the role of institutions. Plato, in contrast to Aristotle, envisions a citizenship that is not limited to equal participation in the deliberative institutions. Participation in the institutions is of course a crucial part of citizenship, but only a part. Aristotle, by contrast, emphasizes radically equal participation among the citizens in deliberating and taking turns ruling and being ruled (e.g. Pol. 1332b). By allowing a dose of inequality within the institutions Plato opens the door to a wider, more inclusive participation outside the institutions. The procedure for electing councilors suggests that Plato assumes (indeed, requires) the existence of a robust public sphere that informs and supports the work of the institutions but is not coextensive with them. The procedure to appoint the Council occurs once a year and is quite complicated, stretching out over a period of five days in two phases (756c–e). The nominating phase begins with every citizen putting forth members of the first class. On the second day everyone

11 Despite Plato’s claim that Magnesia is halfway between “democracy and monarchy” (756e) the constitution seems weary of fundamentally democratic principles, such as radical equality. Aristotle misquotes this claim as “a mean between democracy and oligarchy” (1265b). For Aristotle’s (mis)reading of Plato’s Laws see Morrow 1960b. 12 As Aristotle (Pol. 1266b5–10) well recognized. 188 The Magnesian Street is to nominate members from the second class. The third day is for the third class, but now members of the fourth class who do not wish to participate are excused. On the fourth day the fourth-class nominees will be decided, but now members of the third and fourth classes may be excused. Only for members of the first two classes is it mandatory to participate in every round of voting. The fifth day is for the electoral phase: the whole citizen body congregates again, and they narrow down the list of nominees to 180 names from each class. Of these, ninety will be determined by lot from each class, to serve as councilors for a year. “Probably nothing like an election of this kind has ever been held in all history” (Morrow 1960a: 167).13 So why does Plato go to such lengths? I would argue that the outcome of the procedure is less important than the procedure itself. It presents a mixture of presence and absence, as the citizens leave to go about their business and then return to participate again. As it extends over five days, involving nomination, election, and the drawing of lots, it allows many and varied opportunities for discussion and deliberation throughout the city. The provision that members of the two lower classes not be required to participate on all the days might be read not as an attempt to foster a crypto-oligarchy, as Aristotle charged, but as an attempt to make the procedure permeable to the influence of more social strata, inasmuch as the lower citizen classes are more likely to associate with slaves and foreigners in the markets. The procedure clearly allows for, or rather requires, a politics that is not confined to the institutions. The same reliance on a non-institutional politics can be seen in Plato’s account of the election of the law guardians (which Aristotle does not address). The law guardians are among the most important officials in Magnesia. They have broad responsibilities and powers, and serve until age seventy.14 We might expect the procedure of their election to be particularly revealing of what Plato deems important. Law guardians can come from any property class. Unlike the election

13 But on the mixture of lot and election as an attempt to control the influence of the wealthy in fifteenth-century Florence, see McCormick201 1: 91–114. 14 For example, they are to keep property and birth registers (754d), oversee construction of buildings (779c), assist the directors of music training (772a), etc. For a full list and discussion see Morrow 1960a: 195–215. Absent presence in the elections 189 of the Council where all citizens may participate, in the election of the law guardians only present or past members of the military may do so (753b).15 But the procedure is designed to involve the whole city in the process. All the current and former members of the military assemble in a sanctuary where they write the full name of a candidate on a ballot, along with their own full name, and place it on an altar. These tablets are to be displayed publicly, and anyone who wants may dispute any of the nominees. Anyone who wishes should be allowed to remove any ballot bearing a name he finds objectionable and put it on display in the Agora for no less than thirty days [τῷ βουλομένῳ δ’ ἐξέστω τῶν πινακίων ὅτιπερ ἂν φαίνηται μὴ κατὰ νοῦν αὑτῷ γεγραμμένον ἀνελόντα εἰς ἀγορὰν θεῖναι μὴ ἔλαττον τριάκοντα ἡμερῶν]. Then the officials must exhibit to the state at large the three hundred ballots that head the list; on the basis of this the voters must then again record their nominations, and the hundred names that lead this second time must be publicly displayed as before. On the third round anyone who wishes should walk between the victims of a sacrifice and record which of these hundred he chooses. The thirty-seven who receive most votes must then submit to scrutiny and be declared elected. (753c–d; tr. Saunders, modified) The procedure is a little less clear than we would like. Plato does not make clear whether the ballots “removed to the Agora” represent outright rejection of the candidates or simply closer scrutiny. Schöpsdau (1994–2012: 2. 375–6) suggests the former. He argues that the provision is designed to foster social consensus since only the names to which no one objects will go on to the next round, and to also provide a public forum for airing out differences between the citizens. The tablets, recall, include along with the name of the candidate the name of the person who nominated the candidate. This serves to make the nominators feel responsible for their choice.16 I agree with this interpretation of the procedure, but I would also highlight the

15 There is some controversy as to whether Plato expects that this would also include women, which would be a truly revolutionary proposal. The view that it does depends on a passage in which Plato insists that women should bear arms in defense of the city (813e–4c). The view that it does not depends on Plato’s habit of pointing out the moments when he is making truly revolutionary proposals, for example that women should form their own dining clubs on the Spartan model (780d). On the controversy see D. Cohen 1987; Saunders 1995. 16 Schöpsdau adduces a parallel in the procedure of the Nocturnal Council whereby the member who nominates a candidate who is rejected is to be rebuked (952a8). 190 The Magnesian Street detail that the names are to be exposed for scrutiny for “no less than thirty days” in the Agora.17 Plato seems to want a prolonged and involved process in which citizens discuss, publicly and intensely, the credentials of the nominees. The effect is to involve the whole city in the discussion about merit, not just those who participate formally. By placing the disputed names in the Agora, which was accessible to all Magnesians, their slaves, and foreigners, Plato gives everyone an opportunity to weigh in on the selection of the law guardians. As we saw in Chapter 1, the Athenian Agora was an ideologically fraught space. Its close juxtaposition of commerce and politics posed a challenge for those who wanted to keep them separate as much as possible. But it is worth comparing Plato’s sketch of the Magnesian Agora in the Laws with the approach of Aristotle. Aristotle suggests that the ideal city should have not one but two agoras, one for citizens and citizenly practices and the other for non-citizens and commerce (Pol. 1331a30–5). In a passage where perhaps he has Plato’s Laws in mind, he notes that it is “pointless” to spend time sketching details about the markets (1331b18–20). His sketch of the two agoras is thus sketchier than we would like. He does makes clear, however, that non-citizens may not enter the “free” agora unless a magistrate summons them there on official business. He does not make clear whether citizens may not enter the “commercial” agora. Commerce will need the regulatory attention of appropriate magistrates, such as the agoranomoi and astynomoi. These will certainly be citizens – that is the kind of detail that Aristotle saw as unnecessary to sketch. Their offices will be in a public space, “such as the space of the commercial agora.” There is no mention of other, non-official citizens in the commercial agora. Presumably Aristotle felt that citizens of the sort he contemplates would simply have no reason to go there. By definition, they are free from the necessity that drives people to enter the commercial, or “necessary [anankaian]” agora, as he calls it (1331b11). Freed from necessity they are free to engage in higher pursuits of politics and contemplation. Of course, such activities will be only for the citizens. The labor of others will underwrite the leisure necessary

17 Schöpsdau, along with England and Morrow (1960a: 159: n. 10), take μὴ ἔλαττον τριάκοντα ἡμερῶν to mean that the challenge is to be made within thirty days; others read it as meaning that the tablets must be displayed for no less than thirty days. Either way would lead to the same effect, a procedure lasting thirty days. Absent presence in the elections 191 to engage in them. Slaves or Spartan-style perioikoi will work the fields, both the private ones and the public ones that supply the tem- ples and the common meals (1330a25–31). Women will oversee the citizens’ households. The citizens’ only job will be to practice citizenship in the free agora. Plato’s Magnesia differs from Aristotle’s “city of our prayers” in that it has not two but several agoras; each of the outlying villages has its own (848d1). Plato does not discuss these, focusing his attention on the single main one, the “common Agora [koinê agora]” of the urban center (849e3).18 Here he does not strictly separate commercial and political functions, as Aristotle does. But neither does he go so far as to transpose the Athenian Agora as he knew it. For, like Aristotle, he also does not want the citizens too deeply engaged in commercial activities. The single-minded pursuit of wealth, he believes, is incompatible with the development of citizenly virtues and a harmonious society (729a). He wants to keep the market as a center of the distribution of commodities between the producers (who in Magnesia will consist of the 5040 individual property holders) and the consumers, the metics who will provide the crafts necessary for a city.19 Plato knows that the reality of production and exchange necessitates some intermixing between statuses, as we saw was a feature of the Athenian Agora. But he takes pains to hem it in on all sides in order to minimize its role in society. He even specifies what portion of each farm’s production is to be designated for market exchange (848a–b). In addition, he specifies that there are to be three market days per month for the buying of grain, wine, and agricultural equipment respectively (849b–c). These are the most important commodities. He does not explicitly ban citizens from the Agora during those days, but does stipulate that they are to engage in trade through inter- mediaries, slaves or foreigners, who will take the appointed portion to the market. The coin of trade will be a token currency without value outside of Magnesia; not gold or silver. And as a final precau- tion against citizens’ becoming too involved in commerce, as I have already mentioned, there is a statutory limit on how much wealth they can accumulate (744d–5a). At other times, commerce is to be

18 On the market see Schöpsdau 1994–2012: 3. 247–9. 19 Will the citizens engage in farming personally? There are passages that support either view, but on balance it seems that they will, as Samaras 2012 argues. 192 The Magnesian Street limited to incidental commodities. Officials are to assign sections of the “common” Agora for commercial dealings, just as we saw was the practice in Athens. A major difference is that in Magnesia prices are fixed; there is to be no haggling and no sale on credit. So there are limits to how engaged citizens can be in the Agora and in commercial exchange. But interestingly Plato does not take Aristotle’s step of radically segregating civil from economic functions and citizen from non-citizens. Recall the process for electing the Council. Candidates’ names were presented in the Agora for public scrutiny for a period of thirty days. This means that the ballots would be in the Agora during the three days devoted to market exchange of essentials as well as during the rest of the time, for anyone to read. Thus, although only former or current members of the military take part in the formal election procedure, all members of the Magnesian community participate in the process, citizens and non-citizens. Aristotle’s criticism of Magnesian institutions stems from a radically different notion of citizenship. For him there is no room for an unequal, less than fully participatory citizenship. He defines the site of politics as a realm of rational deliberation between free and equal individuals who take turns ruling and being ruled. Being a citizen means taking an active part in the government of the state, particularly in its deliberative and judicial functions. His definition is precise: “We call a citizen him who has the opportunity to share in deliberative and judicial authority [ᾧ γὰρ ἐξουσία κοινωνεῖν ἀρχῆς βουλευτικῆς ἢ κριτικῆς, πολίτην ἤδη λέγομεν]” (1275b18). He does not countenance the possibility of a citizenship that is less than fully involved with the central political institutions. The principle of equality, coupled with the belief that politics should take place in institutions, rules it out of bounds. The ideal state, according to Aristotle, is one in which the citizens have been freed from the care of providing for themselves in order to devote themselves to political pursuits, to deliberating, judging, ruling, and being ruled. All else being equal, the citizens will be equal too. They will share in a realm of freedom and equality, where only common concerns will arise. Plato stresses something different. For him, the public sphere was not simply the site of institutional deliberation and judgment. It was also a place for the informal exchanges and interactions that shape an individual’s character and values. Here citizens can participate equally Women as “bearers” of the Magnesian public sphere 193 without sharing equally in public authority, and even non-citizens contribute to a just outcome.

Women as “bearers” of the Magnesian public sphere

Plato realizes, then, that what goes on in a public institution is not the whole of public life. Perhaps this is why he goes to great length to include women in his discussion and finds fault with theorists who do not account for women’s role in the stability and happiness of the city (781a). It was a standard trope of Greek thought that women belonged exclusively in the oikos, not the polis. From Pericles’ statement in Thucydides that women’s “greatest virtue is to be leastsingled out by men for praise or blame” (2. 45. 3), to Xenophon’s theory of gender complementarity in the Oeconomicus, women figured as inhabitants of the private sphere, not political animals. Plato insists that that must change. “Accustomed to live hiding in the darkness, [women] must be dragged kicking and screaming into the light [τοῦτο τὸ γένος εἰθισμένον γὰρ δεδυκὸς καὶ σκοτεινὸν ζῆν, ἀγόμενον δ’ εἰς φῶς βίᾳ πᾶσαν ἀντίτασιν ἀντιτεῖνον]” (781c6–7). They will not be equal to the men but they will be significantly more involved in the Magnesian project than Aristotle would have allowed. The most prominent measure for women’s inclusion in the Magnesian public sphere is their participation in dining clubs. Just as the men are obliged to do with their peers, the women must also leave their individual homes and congregate in dining clubs with theirs.20 This proposal is marked as a radical one in the text: the Athenian Stranger suggests it expecting it will be greeted with great surprise (780d). Unfortunately, Plato does not specify what activities are to take place in these clubs.21 They certainly would be nothing like the salons, coffee houses, and Tischgesellschaften that Habermas saw as crucial to the rise of the public sphere in the eighteenth century. Plato would not have looked kindly on the suggestion that the clubs might serve as a space in which to criticize the state, as the fifth-century hetaireiai did. Instead, he is more interested in their

20 See Morrow 1960b: 389–98; Piérart 1974: 77–80. 21 At 842b he claims that as long as their desirability is established there is no reason to sketch them out in detail. 194 The Magnesian Street overall effect of bringing as much publicity as possible to bear onto all aspects of life. The intent is to prevent unregulated spaces from cropping up away from the public gaze where private pleasures and

“counter-nomoi” might undermine official culture.22 This is also why he forbids private cult outright. It seems, he does not look kindly at the numerous associations that were becoming increasingly visible in mid-fourth-century Athens, as I discussed in Chapter 2. He argues that matters of religion require great care and supervision, rather than have it be a habit (as it is now, he says, especially for women) to set up a private cult as a vow for better fortune or in gratitude for good fortune, or a response to a vision or a dream, “filling every house, every village, and every open space with altars [βωμοὺς καὶ ἱερὰ πάσας μὲν οἰκίας, πάσας δὲ κώμας ἔν τε καθαροῖς ἱδρυομένους ἐμπιμπλάναι]” (910a). Plato’s thought here would make a modern liberal cringe. The cooption of the private by the public is something that is inconsistent with contemporary understandings of the relationship between the two. But before we label Plato a totalitarian I would point out that he is not merely concerned with keeping an eye on the women (although there is that, too: cf. theoreisthai, 781c4). He is also interested in women’s voices and their potential as agents. This can be seen in women’s role in the regulation of marriage law. The aim of the law of marriage is to ensure the regular production of children. This task should be approached with all due solemnity and seriousness. To that end, the Athenian Stranger recommends that a group of female “inspectors” (episkopoi) should gather at the temple of the birth goddess Eileithyia every day, and spend no more than a third of the day discussing among themselves the state of the marital relations of young Magnesian couples as they observe them in daily life (784a–b). Most shockingly, these women will have the right to enter the homes of couples that they suspect are not taking their reproductive duties seriously, and to admonish them. The prospect of a committee of gossips policing the sexual relationships of young couples is certainly a disturbing one. But I would argue that it also shows Plato drawing on the resources of a face-to-face society to imagine a successful state, which he defines as one exhibiting three characteristics: friendship

22 See Bertrand 1998. Women as “bearers” of the Magnesian public sphere 195 (philia), good judgment (phronesis), and – perhaps surprisingly to us – freedom (eleutheria) (693d). What he means by freedom is willing the law for oneself, without external compulsion.23 Marital relations were a prevalent topic of Athenian gossip, as we saw above. But the women in the sanctuary of Eileithyia are not merely gossiping as the Athenians did. They are engaged in public deliberation: they are deciding among themselves, based on their observations and judgments, who is violating the law of marriage.

This meets in large part Aristotle’s criterion of citizenship.24 Indeed, there is no such thing as mere gossip in Magnesia. As Detienne rightly notes, “The entire project of the Laws takes place under the sign of rumor” (1981: 174).25 Plato puts a high value on the simple interactions between individuals. It is not enough to broadcast a single, all- powerful myth that will definitively shape the outlook of an entire generation, as in the case of the Myth of Metals in the Republic. In the Laws Plato insists that a city’s values can survive only if they are iterated throughout all the contexts of public and private life. As the Athenian Stranger puts it, “every adult and child, free and slave, male and female, the whole city must never stop singing to the whole city” (665c). We saw this principle in practice in the election of the law guardians and the Council. There the proceedings took place over a course of thirty days to allow the whole city (as I suggested) to get involved, for rumors and reputations to come into play. In a similar vein here, a gathering of old women will oversee the young couples, discussing who is and who is not living up to their marital responsibilities with an eye on the law of marriage.26 In fact, in an interesting passage the Athenian Stranger names gossip (phêmê) as the source of our deepest instincts of right and wrong. People disagree about the justice of all sorts of things, he says, but absolutely everyone, no matter how criminal in other regards, feels

23 See Stalley 1998. 24 They do not have the authority to punish anyone, but they can bring the names of those who ignore them to the attention of the law guardians, who are to try the case, and if they find the accused guilty they are to post a public announcement. The guilty ones are to be banned from weddings and birthdays. If they attend, they can be beaten with impunity. This applies equally to men and women (784b–d). 25 See also Detienne 1982; Bertrand 1999: 326–36. 26 In Plato’s defense, he does suggest that once a couple has proven their reproductive intent after a period of ten years, they are to be exempt from the inspectors’ surveillance! 196 The Magnesian Street an instinctive cringe at the mere thought of committing incest. Even if one’s child or sibling is quite attractive, an “unwritten law” prevents it. This law is not a genetic or biological imperative (as some modern theories hold), but rather an absolute consensus among everyone that it is absolutely wrong to commit incest. “A mere word [smikron rhêma] extinguishes all such pleasures,” the Stranger insists.

ATH. Is not the following the cause? No one ever speaks otherwise about this, but from the moment we are born we hear it everywhere and always, in jokes and in so-called “tragic” seriousness, when they bring on stage a Thyestes or an Oedipus, or a Macareus who secretly had sex with his sisters. We see them punish themselves with death for this transgression. MEG. You are quite right that gossip (phêmê) has a miraculous power, when no one attempts to breathe a word in any way contrary to the

law.27 ATH. And so … it is easy to see how a lawgiver could master one of those desires that most master people. He has to sanctify this gossip (phêmê) among everyone, slaves and free, children and women, and the whole city. τὸ δ’ αἴτιον ἆρ’ οὐ τοῦτ’ ἐστί, τὸ μηδένα ἄλλως λέγειν αὐτά, ἀλλ’ εὐθὺς γενόμενον ἡμῶν ἕκαστον ἀκούειν τε λεγόντων ἀεὶ καὶ πανταχοῦ ταῦτα, ἐν γελοίοις τε ἅμα ἐν πάσῃ τε σπουδῇ τραγικῇ λεγομένῃ πολλάκις, ὅταν ἢ Θυέστας ἤ τινας Οἰδίποδας εἰσάγωσιν, ἢ Μακαρέας τινὰς ἀδελφαῖς μειχθέντας λαθραίως, ὀφθέντας δὲ ἑτοίμως θάνατον αὑτοῖς ἐπιτιθέντας δίκην τῆς ἁμαρτίας; <Μέγιλλος> ὀρθότατα λέγεις τό γε τοσοῦτον, ὅτι τὸ τῆς φήμης θαυμαστήν τινα δύναμιν εἴληχεν, ὅταν μηδεὶς μηδαμῶς ἄλλως ἀναπνεῖν ἐπιχειρήσῃ ποτὲ παρὰ τὸν νόμον <Ἀθηναῖος> οὐκοῦν ὀρθὸν τὸ νυνδὴ ῥηθέν, ὅτι νομοθέτῃ, βουλομένῳ τινὰ ἐπιθυμίαν δουλώσασθαι τῶν διαφερόντως τοὺς ἀνθρώπους δουλουμένων, ῥᾴδιον γνῶναί γε ὅντινα τρόπον χειρώσαιτο ἄν· ὅτι καθιερώσας ταύτην τὴν φήμην παρὰ πᾶσι, δούλοις τε καὶ ἐλευθέροις καὶ παισὶ καὶ γυναιξὶ καὶ ὅλῃ τῇ πόλει κατὰ τὰ αὐτά … (838b7–d8) Saunders translates the conclusion of this passage as “[The legis- lator] must try to make everyone – slave and free, women and

27 England (1976 [1921]: ad loc.) notes that this denotes breathing in rather than breathing out. He interprets it as “form an idea or opinion.” However, since the context is one of speech the emphasis is also on communication, not merely on internalization. The guardianship of the Nocturnal Council 197 children – believe that this common opinion has the backing of religion.” He takes it to mean that religious belief should undergird the proposed laws of sexual propriety (which is the topic of conversation at this point), just as it undergirds the “law” against incest. Pangle also translates phêmê as “pronouncement.” These translations do not quite capture the word’s nuance. It is not the saying itself that has

“a miraculous power,” but the fact that everyone is saying it.28 Note that it is not just citizens who are speaking, but everyone, “slaves and free, women and children.” The same lesson permeates formal and informal discourse, the language of tragedians and slaves alike. The prohibition of incest thus acquires a quasi-religious force. This is what he means by “sanctify.” It is the power of gossip that Plato wants to harness to turn every voice in the state, not just that of the full citizens, into an instrument of the law.

The guardianship of the Nocturnal Council Karl Popper (1966 [1945]) famously argued that Plato was the original enemy of the “open society” and a forerunner of twentieth- century communism and fascism. What impressed him in particular was Plato’s ruthless arguments in the Republic that everything must be sacrificed at the altar of rational ideals, including family and property ties. While Plato certainly makes suggestions that would make a modern liberal cringe, the charge of totalitarianism misses much that is interesting about Plato’s approach to the public sphere in the Laws. For one, Plato does not imagine that laws will be enforced by an official bureaucratic establishment. Gone are the philosophical experts of the Republic who will run the city with an iron will to bend it toward “the good.” Instead, it is the citizens themselves, men and women, who share in Magnesia’s enforcement regime in direct and indirect ways. This is even the case with one of Magnesia’s most Republic-like institutions. The Nocturnal Council might seem an odd place to find an instance of Plato’s interest in the public sphere. This institution is in fact perhaps the most opaque feature of Magnesia, and certainly the most controversial. It is an unelected body that the Athenian

28 See Bertrand 1999: 331–6. 198 The Magnesian Street Stranger calls an “anchor” for the state, and even seems to endow with sweeping powers. What makes it especially controversial is that it seems to be appended at the end of the dialogue almost like an afterthought. If it had not been mentioned previously (908a4, 909a3–4, 951d–e), we might be inclined to see it as part of an earlier version of the Laws, cobbled together by Plato’s secretary.29 The Nocturnal Council is to meet every day before dawn (951d7). It is to consist primarily of individuals who have been elected to other offices: the ten most senior law guardians, the current over- seer of education along with his living predecessors,30 and any other priests and officials who have been distinguished for their merit. Plato describes it in terms that make it sound like an executive council. For instance, he compares it to the head and soul of a body. Just as the soul deliberates on what the head observes through its ears and eyes, so the Nocturnal Council is to serve for the state, as a center of observation and deliberation (961d). Indeed, If this divine council came to be, my dear friends, the city should be entrusted to it; there is no questioning that by any lawgiver … What we just touched upon as if a vision would be almost like a dream come true, conjuring up a sort of picture of an association between head and mind [κεφαλῆς νοῦ τε κοινωνίας εἰκόνα τινά πως συμμείξαντες]; if only the members are chosen and educated correctly and installed in the country’s citadel [ἐν ἀκροπόλει τῆς χώρας]. They would be such guardians phylakes( ) as we have never seen in our lifetime for their excellence at safeguarding. (969b8–c2) So it seems that it is to have a central role. And yet, there is no discussion in the text about the actual powers of such an institution, to which “the city is to be entrusted,” and which is to act as a “guardian.” Can it change the laws, for example? Plato never makes it clear. The only official duties that he assigns to it are to address sermons to imprisoned atheists about basic theological truths (909a), and to debrief citizens who have traveled abroad (951d). Other than that their only listed job is to study and discuss – and nothing else. The

29 As suggested by Müller 1951: 169–70. See Schöpsdau 1994–2012: 3. 575 ff.; Klosko 1988; 2008 is the most forceful proponent of the view, against Morrow 1960a: 500–14, that the Nocturnal Council is incompatible with the rest of the Laws, and represents a throwback to Plato’s views on political expertise in Republic. 30 Given the central role of education, this office is filled by the one deemed the best citizen (766a9). All the other magistrates elect him by secret ballot. The guardianship of the Nocturnal Council 199 Stranger leaves the decision of what they should study and discuss up to them; he claims that until it comes into existence it makes little sense to set forth its curriculum since the expertise to do so does not exist yet.31 In addition, unlike the gathering of the old women at the shrine of Eileithyia, and the election of the Council, there is no indication how the deliberation of the Nocturnal Council will be transmitted to the city at large. No explicit mechanism of publication is described. Most scholars agree with the interpretation of Morrow (1960a: 500–14), who argues that no formal powers are discussed for the very simple reason that it is not meant to have any. In fact, although it is always translated as “Nocturnal Council” it is really neither. Just as it is supposed to meet in the early hours before dawn, rather than at night, in order that it not interfere with the members’ numerous other duties (951d), it is also called a syllogos, not a council but rather a “gathering.” This term can refer to the assembly of a formal body, but it most commonly refers to an informal one.32 This is how Plato used it in the passage in the Republic that I quoted above (492b). If he wanted to make it clear that it was to be a governmental body, like the Areopagus to which it is often compared, he could have called it a boulê or a synedrion. We should thus imagine the Nocturnal Council not like a council but rather like a salon, or the social gatherings of friends in workshops that we discussed in Chapter 2. Whatever influence it wields will be informal, entirely due to the fact that its members are prominent members of the community. Its members,

31 For this controversial question see Bobonich 2002: 395–408. The crux is this passage: “It is not yet possible to make laws about such matters until it has been organized, and then it is possible for masters of what they must become masters to do the legislating [Οὐκέτι νόμους, ὦ Μέγιλλε καὶ Κλεινία, περὶ τῶν τοιούτων δυνατόν ἐστιν νομοθετεῖν, πρὶν ἂν κοσμηθῇ – τότε δὲ κυρίους ὧν αὐτοὺς δεῖ γίγνεσθαι νομοθετεῖν]” (968c3–5; tr. Cherniss). This passage can be read to suggest that no laws can be made for the Nocturnal Council until it has been formed, since the appropriate expertise does not exist yet, because the institution does not exist. This seems to give the council carte blanche to legislate in any way it sees fit, to hedge itself around with laws that will control it. This was the view of all editors up to and including England 1976 [1921]. Morrow, however, argued persuasively (1960a: 513 n. 22) that the expression “such matters” must refer to the kind of questions the council will discuss, about the nature of virtue and theology, which had been the topic of conversation between the interlocutors prior to this passage, not laws in general. The passage must mean, he suggested, that what the council can determine will be its topics of discussion, not its constitutional powers. 32 See J. Christensen and Hansen 1983. 200 The Magnesian Street Plato expects, will have an indirect influence on those around them thanks to the prestige that will accrue to them by being a part of such an illustrious association. A big obstacle to this interpretation is the fact that even though the Athenian Stranger does not spell out its governmental role, he repeatedly characterizes the Nocturnal Council as a guardian, as we saw above (e.g. 968a4–b1). This term is evocative of the guardians of the Republic, who represent the reason and discipline of the state.33 Accordingly, Klosko argued that the council in fact represents a throwback to the Republic: “Plato could not bring himself entirely to shunt aside the rule of philosophy … Throughout the work Plato is clear about the need for laws; without them men must live as beasts. But he still gives voice to the opinion that, should extraordinary individuals appear who are capable of ruling without law, power must be turned over to them” (1988: 87).34 The problem with this view of the Nocturnal Council is that it contradicts the entire project of Laws. Central principles in Magnesia are checks and balances, scrutiny of officials, and the rule of law. These principles are inconsistent with the Republic’s insistence on rule by an expert, someone who is beyond the law since he possesses higher-order knowledge. Magnesia relies on mutual accountability and collegiality instead. It is based on the idea that no magistrate, no matter how rational, should be entrusted with complete and sole authority. But if the council’s role is not the guardianship of the Republic, then, in what sense can it be a “guardian for securing well-being”? The key, I think, to how Plato envisions the Nocturnal Council to “guard” Magnesia may lie with a feature of its membership that I have not discussed: the junior members. Though these do not participate in the council’s discussions they must be present at all of them (951e3). Carefully selected by the senior members, they are to be remarkably sensitive and observant, for they will serve as the “eyes and ears” of the council just as the organs of sense perception serve the soul as aids to deliberation for the sake of the safety of the whole (cf. 961de). They will dwell at the peak of the state, and “observe the city all around [περὶ ὅλην κύκλῳ τὴν πόλιν ὁρᾶν]” (964e4). The

33 First introduced in Rep. 414b4. 34 See Klosko 2008 for his response to critics of his argument. The guardianship of the Nocturnal Council 201 impressions they take in they will preserve in their memories, and then communicate to the senior members, who will use them to discuss things related to the city’s safety (964e–5a). It would be a mistake to take the analogy to mean that the assistants are a sort of spy corps, informing on the goings-on of the city to the council. As Bobonich (2002: 393–5) has recently argued, it is possible Plato intended to make this office far broader and more inclusive. He points to a passage where the Athenian Stranger suggests that the junior members will range between the ages of thirty and forty (951e4). If this range is a firm one, rather than one for entering the office, it is possible that Plato intends them to retire at age forty and be replaced by someone else. This raises the possibility that Plato envisioned a sizable portion of the population being exposed to the deliberations of the council, and benefiting from the opportunity for higher education and free inquiry that he expects it will offer to its members (see 968c–d). Bobonich’s argument is persuasive. But I would add that the benefit of the council’s studies will not accrue only to the junior members. This is because they serve a dual function: not only observers of the city and the council itself, they are also observed. While the junior candidates who fail to make the cut are not known, not even to themselves (961b), there is no secrecy about those who join the Nocturnal Council. Indeed, it appears that Plato imagines that being a junior member of the council will turn one into something of a Magnesian celebrity: The whole city is to attend to phylattein[ ] those junior members who do well. They should look to them and observe them especially and honor them if they succeed. But if they should turn out worse than most, they should dishonor them more than others. τοὺς δ’ εὐδοκιμοῦντας τούτων τῶν νέων φυλάττειν τὴν ἄλλην πόλιν, ἀποβλέποντας εἰς αὐτοὺς διαφερόντως τε τηροῦντας, καὶ τιμᾶν μὲν κατορθοῦντας, ἀτιμάζειν δὲ μᾶλλον τῶν ἄλλων, ἐὰν ἀποβαίνωσι χείρους τῶν πολλῶν. (952b1–5) Plato uses the same term, phylattein, to characterize how the city will attend to these assistants as he used earlier to characterize how the council will attend to the city (969c1). Its root is the same as the word for “guardian,” phylax. The assistants are to serve a double function, 202 The Magnesian Street then. While they watch over (phrourountas: 964e4) the city, the city also watches them. They are to live especially in the public eye, singled out for particular praise and blame, not unlike the Athenian rhetors and gnôrimoi that I discussed previously. Their presence in the public sphere will provide the city with the opportunity to flex its muscles of gossip, to engage in a discussion about what is virtuous and not based on whether the assistants are living up to the high expectations placed on them. They thus provide the occasion for the city to discuss and comment on the extent to which the council’s advanced studies actually translate into virtuous conduct. We might speculate that perhaps the effect of the assistants’ being praised and blamed might feed back into the council, just as the junior member’s sponsor is also blamed if he proves to be unworthy of the honor. This would lead to better, more practicable theories. The Athenian Stranger’s final words about the Nocturnal Council, which are incidentally his final words in the work, begin with the following lines: It seems that it is “lying in the common and the open” for us, as they say. And if we are willing to risk everything on one role of the dice … that is what we should do. τὸ λεγόμενον, ὦ φίλοι, ἐν κοινῷ καὶ μέσῳ ἔοικεν ἡμῖν κεῖσθαι, καὶ εἴπερ κινδυνεύειν περὶ τῆς πολιτείας ἐθέλομεν συμπάσης, ἢ τρὶς ἕξ, φασίν, ἢ τρεῖς κύβους βάλλοντες, ταῦτα ποιητέον. (969a)

The saying which he quotes is otherwise unknown, as is the dice game he refers to. Most translators take it to mean something like “try our luck” (England) or “chance our arm” (Saunders). The idea, as he goes on to explain, is that success or failure will depend on the implementation of the Nocturnal Council. But I would stress the primary meaning of the saying. Both the terms koinos, meaning “common,” and mesos, meaning literally “middle,” are used to refer to a realm of public, democratic authority in contrast to restricted, monarchic authority.35 “The middle meson( ) is the communal sphere

35 Both expressions es koinon and es meson occur in Otanes’ speech in Herodotus’ “constitutional debate” (3. 80). He is arguing that the Persians should give power to the multitude (polloi), since tyrannical power is too unrestrained. When power is in the open it can be shared and controlled, leading to social harmony. Disciplining Magnesian praise and blame 203 (koinon) shared by all citizens, elite and non-elite alike” (Raaflaub and Wallace 2007: 29). The expression paradoxically suggests that the council is to be in the common, in the open. The whole city is involved in the council’s philosophical deliberations, even though most Magnesians would be asleep during its pre-dawn sessions. This is an ingenious solution to a problem that clearly vexed Plato in the Republic, namely how to translate philosophical insight into practice (e.g. 519d–520d).

Disciplining Magnesian praise and blame Plato does not follow the advice that Simonides suggested to the tyrant Hiero in Xenophon’s dialogue: assign a corps of mercenar- ies to police the city (Hiero 10). In Callipolis this was the job of the guardians and of the auxiliaries, who represented the thymos of the city, the emotional part that feels indignation at injustice and applies correction. But in Magnesia, much as in Athens, enforcement relies on the institutions’ capacity to channel the inhabitants’ discourses of praise and blame. That is the main means of enforcement. As Annas notes, “Plato relies on the thought that citizens educated in his state will appreciate the values that are fostered by obeying the laws, and thus will come to praise and blame behaviour in ways that will … informally ‘police’ it” (2010: 87). Each of the dozens of laws that the Athenian Stranger discusses thus encodes elements of what defines praiseworthy and blameworthy behavior (632a). The citizens’ task is to understand why those behaviors are worthy of praise or blame, honor or dishonor, and to apply the laws’ teaching to particular cases. Praise and blame form part of the “charms the city never stops singing to itself” (664a, 665c). The philosophical job of “looking to” Virtue itself will fall only to the Nocturnal Council (962e–63a). Plato has not abandoned the view that Socrates expresses in the Republic, that philosophical talk has nothing in common with personal abuse and gossip (500b): “It is impossible for the crowd [plêthos] to be philosophical” (494a4). And yet, as we saw in the previous section, the work of the Nocturnal Council will indirectly influence everyone in Magnesia (and vice versa) through the junior members’ role as targets of lay practices of criticism. 204 The Magnesian Street In a somewhat overlooked essay, Goldschmidt (1953) argued for the central role of denunciation in the political and philosophical scheme of Magnesia. In Magnesia, as in Athens, ordinary citizens take it upon themselves to detect and reveal lawbreakers. They also punish them by repeating the blame that is appropriate to their case, whether it is a case of dropping one’s shield (943e–5b), abusing one’s parents (881d), or producing a child with a slave (930d). These were familiar topics of Athenian gossip but in Magnesia they are subjects of formal law. But Plato views discourses of praise and blame as also educational. As Goldschmidt pointed out, they “radiate” throughout Magnesia, shaping their targets and their listeners and the speakers themselves. It would be quite surprising if after Plato’s extensive criticism of Athenian democratic culture, not to mention his experience of its dangers, he were suddenly to encourage unbridled participation in a robust public sphere in which people criticize each other with abandon. He does not go so far as to contradict his account in the Republic of such a climate as harmful to one’s character, where the impression- able young join the mass chorus, “and calls the same thing good or shameful as they do, and practices what they do, and becomes as they are” (492b). Socrates is very much in the background here as an example of a man whom the false blame of public opinion unjustly condemned. How can Magnesians rely on the production and circulation of praise and blame without risking another incident like the case of Socrates? In the Laws Plato suggests that, given the right principles and discipline, people can learn to praise and blame correctly. To that end, Plato seeks to distinguish malicious slander (such as the sort that led to Socrates’ death) from beneficial gossip. He does so by laying down the parameters within which Magnesians will approach praising and blaming. To begin with, there is a strict prohibition against slander (kakêgoria, lit. “bad talk”) in public spaces and occasions, such as “public feasts, games, the agora, the court, or any other kind of public gathering” (935b5–8). Athens also had laws against certain kinds of talk: insults about working in the Agora (Dem. 57. 30), assertions that one had abused one’s parents, or dropped his shield (Lys. 10. 8–9), and speaking ill of the dead (Dem. 20. 104). Of course, the fact that such laws existed could not and did not stop Disciplining Magnesian praise and blame 205 people from “talking bad” about each other. The accusation of being a shield-dropper (rhipsaspês), for instance, was a powerful one, and not at all uncommon. Abusive language in Athens, and malicious gossip more generally, was closely connected to the agonistic politics of reputation. An ethos of competitiveness prevailed in which people tried to improve their status by denigrating that of others (D. Cohen 1991: 54–69). Magnesians are to be true to their Mediterranean form. Competition will be quite intense, but the prize here will be quite different: virtue rather than honor. As the Stranger puts it, “Let each of us strive for the prize of virtue without envy [φιλονικείτω δὲ ἡμῖν πᾶς πρὸς ἀρετὴν ἀφθόνως]” (731a). Furthermore their virtue is not to be the quiet virtue of a philosopher, unrecognized by all except those who know enough to see it. The virtuous man is fine and good, but the man who criticizes the vices of others is more important. He is “the big man in the city, the real man. Let him be proclaimed as the prize-winner in virtue [ὁ μέγας ἀνὴρ ἐν πόλει καὶ τέλειος, οὗτος ἀναγορευέσθω νικηφόρος ἀρετῇ]” (730e). The main difference between Magnesian gossip and Athenian gossip is internal to the speaker. Magnesians approach the task of praising and blaming with a different emotional attitude. This attitude is set forth in a section of the “Address to the Colonists” in the beginning of Book 5 that serves as a general preamble to the entire legislative project of the Laws. Here Plato summarizes how a Magnesian should approach his relationships with others and with himself, “what sort of person he should be to best go through life” (730b3–4). Magnesians’ proper attitude toward criticizing others starts with placing truth front and center as the main criterion of their opinion about their own behavior and that of others (730c1). They should make sure that those they denounce or praise truly deserve their reputation, that their reputation is a true representation of their inner person. Why would someone denounce someone who did not deserve that reputation? Plato gives several reasons. One reason is that in the competition for status one tries to increase one’s own status by diminishing that of others: The envious man phthoneros[ ] thinks that he ought to gain the advantage over others by means of slander [diabolê ]. He strives less for true virtue, and dispirits his fellow competitors by abusing them unjustly. 206 The Magnesian Street ὁ δὲ φθονερός, τῇ τῶν ἄλλων διαβολῇ δεῖν οἰόμενος ὑπερέχειν, αὐτός τε ἧττον συντείνει πρὸς ἀρετὴν τὴν ἀληθῆ, τούς τε ἀνθαμιλλωμένους εἰς ἀθυμίαν καθίστησι τῷ ἀδίκως ψέγεσθαι. (731a6–8) It turns out that the model of the good gossip is none other than … Socrates himself. This is and is not surprising. It is not surprising if we remember that Socrates made it his business to haunt the Agora, where he engaged anyone and everyone in discussion in the belief that everyone had a claim to moral virtue and ought to cultivate it. This made him, as Vlastos put it, “a street philosopher, which no philosopher had been before him and none would be after him” (1983: 508). But it also is surprising because Socrates does not appear in the dialogue, the only time that happens in the Platonic corpus.36 Yet it seems that Socrates is very much on Plato’s mind, especially here where he thinks about what makes for good, productive criticism of others.37 It is not the case that Plato imagines the Magnesians as Socratics, wandering around the city engaging in elenchic conversation with each other. Socrates is a role model of good criticism for a different reason, because good criticism is premised on the two familiar Socratic principles: no one does wrong willingly (731c2), and the greatest wisdom is to be aware of one’s own ignorance (732a6). The first principle helps set the appropriate tone to one’s criticism: “every man ought to be spirited [thymoeidê], but also as gentle as possible” (730b3–4). How can one be spirited and gentle? In the Republic Plato described the thymos as the element of the soul that experiences indignation at injustice (Rep. 439e–41a). A thymoetic person indulges that part of himself out of competiveness because he lacks guiding reason (Rep. 586c–d). In keeping with that concept, in the Laws one’s thymos is the part of the person that is engaged when one indulges in kakêgoria, abuse at a perceived transgression (936a5; cf. 816d–e). But we can guide our thymos by realizing the truth of the Socratic principle that no one does wrong willingly (731c2–3). It is difficult to be

36 Socrates also does not appear in the Epinomis, which is a kind of afterword to the Laws; most scholars do not consider it an authentic work of Plato’s. On the relationship of the Laws to Socrates see Zuckert 2004. 37 Socrates is often described as a kind of sycophant who likes to find faults in others (e.g.Rep. 340d, 341c; cf. Goldschmidt 1953: 354–61). On the sycophant as a gossip see Doganis 2007: 102–8. Disciplining Magnesian praise and blame 207 angry at another for a moral failing when one realizes that he did not do it willingly. Knowing that no one does wrong willingly leads one to take a dispassionate attitude toward the failings of others. It allows us to discern those that can be cured by admonition and those that cannot. Angry, full-throated denunciation is appropriate at times, but only for the incurables. Curable cases require a gentle hand. One must speak out against all wrongdoers. Magnesians must constantly engage their thymos, that is. But they must do so gently, with an aim of curing a mistake, not avenging a wrong.

It entails pitying the one who is curable and restraining and making mild one’s thymos, and not go on bitterly raging like a woman. But we must unleash our orgê against the uncontrollably and incorrigibly wicked and discordant. ἐλεεῖν δὲ τὸν μὲν ἰάσιμα ἔχοντα ἐγχωρεῖ καὶ ἀνείργοντα τὸν θυμὸν πραΰνειν καὶ μὴ ἀκραχολοῦντα γυναικείως πικραινόμενον διατελεῖν, τῷ δ’ ἀκράτως καὶ ἀπαραμυθήτως πλημμελεῖ καὶ κακῷ ἐφιέναι δεῖ τὴν ὀργήν. (731c6–d3)

Magnesia will not function if its citizens do not rebuke one another, in public gatherings or in private. But they must do it in the right way. And note that here women serve much the same rhetorical function that they did in Socrates’ criticism of theatrical behavior in court, which I discussed in Chapter 3. The main point is not to criticize women, but to classify certain behaviors as inappropriate. The point of the second Socratic principle, the awareness of our ignorance, is that self-love can warp our judgments. The right criticizing of others stems from self-awareness. The Stranger takes it as a basic truth that our view of others is formed by our affection toward ourselves: “The lover is blinded about what is loved, so that he judges poorly the just, the good and the beautiful because he thinks that he must honor what is his own before what is true” (731e5–2a1). Magnesians are to exercise a clear-eyed form of criticism of others that is premised on self-criticism, aware of the role one’s own disposition plays in singling out others for praise and blame (727b4–8). To give an example of how Plato puts these principles into practice, consider the Magnesian law about shield-dropping (943d6). 208 The Magnesian Street Dropping one’s shield, as mentioned above, was a common topic of gossip, an index of a particular failure to abide by one’s social obligations. The fifth-century general Cleonymus was especially lam- basted by the comics for this.38 If a reputation of “shield-dropper” (rhipsaspis) attached to one it made it difficult to participate in public life. In such a case the correct attitude toward criticism will allow Magnesians to distinguish the truly blameworthy from the incidentally so. This is why the relevant law distinguishes between necessary shield-dropping and that which derives from cowardice. Imagine, he says, if Patroclus was carried to the tent still living: a strict interpretation of the law would lead one to blame him as a shield-dropper for coming back without the armor of Achilles. But if we distinguish between compulsory shield-dropping and cowardly shield-dropping, we see that Patroclus had no choice, for it was Apollo who knocked the armor off his body. Just so, if someone loses his shield because of uncontrollable circumstance, blame does not apply and we do not unleash our thymos. But if he does drop it out of cowardice this will be a perpetual stain against him requiring a vehement response from the community’s thymoetic processes. In the future he is to have no part in military activity as befits a man. Since one’s status depended on military service, this would relegate him to the status of a woman (944e5–5b2).39 The thymos that detects and gets angry at wrongdoing operates in both cases, but in the first it is a gentle thymos that is appropriate when faced with someone who suffered something against his will. In the second case the term Plato uses is orgê, namely wrath, because the person acted out of cowardice and showed that he “loved his soul” more than his duty to the laws and his responsibility to the community. Interestingly, comedy is allowed in Magnesia, but not Aristophanic comedy. We saw how Old Comedy served as an echo chamber for creating and amplifying gossip about the prominent. Such discourse has no place in Magnesia because it is simply too dangerous to permit comedians to single out particular citizens for abuse for its own

38 Audiences would only enjoy the constant abuse Cleonymus received at the hands of Aristophanes (especially Clouds 353–4; Wasps 16–20) if they already knew the story about him dropping his shield. 39 Women could take up arms in defense of the city, but no more than that (785b5–9). Disciplining Magnesian praise and blame 209

sake, as was a usual practice for Old Comedy.40 Comedians may put on stage characters who abuse each other in a spirit of good fun, but never aggression (thymoumenois) (936a5; cf. 816d–e). Perhaps behind this prohibition Plato has in mind the role that Aristophanes’ Clouds played in the fate of Socrates, who was both a victim of Athenian gossip and a model for how to reform it.

In the Republic Socrates took a dire view of the public sphere, the “assemblies, courts, theaters, military camps, and other public gatherings of the multitude.” He saw it as a space of corruption. In the Laws the Athenian Stranger remained concerned with how individuals interact with each other, and how their participation in group activities can shape their character, values, and beliefs. But now he seeks to use it. He seeks to “channel,” as Veyne (1982: 884) put it, the movement and talk of the multitude inside and outside of the institutions. He does this by carefully designing institutions that provide a bridge between formal, official spaces in which participation is limited to a few, and informal, unofficial spaces where participation is potentially limitless, including women, slaves, and metics. He also does it by carefully educating the citizens to hold certain views about themselves and each other that will make their interactions conducive of the broader goal of individual and collective virtue. In contrast with Aristotle, who sought to confine politics within an institutional setting, in the Laws Plato stressed that human community cannot be canalized and controlled completely; a theorist must also attend to informal, face-to-face interactions, just as Socrates had done. Despite all the reasons he had to believe the contrary, Plato seems to believe that the mass’s voices of praise and blame, properly channeled and focused, could contribute to a city of reason.

40 Tragedy also has the ability to mold public opinion. That is why it too must be carefully monitored to ensure that its scripts do not deviate from the “script” of the lawgiver, the very conversation the three old men are currently having (817d). Conclusion

The civic institutions – the Assembly, the Council, and the courts – come first to mind when people think about Athens. And there is good reason for that. Not only were they central to how the Athenian democracy functioned but they were also how the Athenians themselves understood their politics and made sense of their history. Their city became “more democratic,” they would argue, when Ephialtes transferred powers from the institution of the Areopagus. It became “less democratic” when the Athenians turned over political decision- making authority to an oligarchic council in 411. It became even “less democratic” at the conclusion of the Peloponnesian War when the Spartans handed over all decision-making power to the group of thirty men Athenians later came to call the Thirty Tyrants. There was something abiding, however, in the history of Athenian democracy throughout the transitions from more to less democracy, or from radical to moderate democracy, to use Aristotle’s terms. And that was what I have been calling the Street. This was a constant feature of Athenian life, so much so that Athenians took it for granted and have very little to say about it directly. Nonetheless I hope to have shown that it left indelible marks of its presence. We catch glimpses of it here and there, and I have tried in this book to bring together these various glimpses from various sources (epigraphy, drama, oratory, philosophy, history) into something like a picture. I have tried to show that the informal, extra-institutional public sphere was as much a part of the Athenian fabric, and as much a part of the story of Athenian democracy, as the great civic institutions. If we were suddenly transported back in time, probably the first thing we would notice is how big, messy, noisy, smelly Athens was; “hard to take in at a glance,” as Isocrates put it (15. 172). In the messy,

210 Conclusion 211 informal public sphere things fixed one day would move the next, and opinions were always in the process of becoming. Here decisions made in the Assembly would get a second hearing, as happened with the case of the decision to punish the Mytileneans, according to Thucydides (3. 36). In the informal public sphere we would also hear more and different kinds of voices than we would in the institutional sphere. In the Assembly and the courts only the citizens were full participants, but in the Street anyone and everyone could carry some weight. It was surely not the kind of weight that had immediate consequences, and thus not very interesting to our sources. But it was the kind of weight that might, over time, lead to a change in public opinion and political culture. My focus here has been the classical period of Athens, but if we look a little past the end of the fourth century, we begin to see on the epigraphic record, as noted in Chapter 2, a greater openness (though not without a certain ambivalence) toward acknowledging the contributions of women, foreigners, and even slaves. If this reflects a real change, as I believe it does, surely the change did not happen overnight, as the result of a law or decree, but was the result of a slow and steady shift in attitudes and ideas over time. And this shift took place in the Street. In the Street status was indeterminate. That is what the Old Oligarch complains about when he says that it is impossible to take a swing at a person who bumps into you since he might look like a slave but might in fact be a citizen and could sue you (1. 10; cf. Pl. Rep. 563a–c). Status was indeterminate, at least just by looking at someone. It was impossible to tell the citizens apart from the slaves and the metics. There is little reason to believe that the formal boundaries between citizen and non-citizen that were such a source of preoccupation and anxiety in the civic institutions would be just as strong outside them, and in fact I hope to have shown that there are good reasons to believe the contrary. There are reasons for this dichotomy that had much to do with the institutional logic whereby the Assembly and the courts sought to represent themselves as the whole of Athenian political life, while seeking to marginalize the political life of the Street. And yet, despite its mixed and messy nature, despite the frequent disavowals and criticisms (both in discourse and in practice) of the theatricality and informal politics that characterized it, the Street 212 Conclusion was always an important, indeed essential, supplement for the civic institutions. Without the benefit of a bureaucracy or regular means of enforcement, these relied almost entirely on the work of the Street, the channels of gossip and rumor that they fed into and were in turn fed by. Decisions and decrees only worked when they got a large part of the crowd talking about them, not just the male citizens who were after all a sizable minority of the total population of the city. This is what enforced the ban against those condemned to exile, or brought about the coordination and commitment to a common and pressing task like building a sewer or defending the city. That is not to say that the Street did not change, or that its relationship to the institutions did not shift over time. The boundary between the institutional and the extra-institutional was porous and fluid. I traced some changes in the political culture of the Street between the “radical” democracy of the fifth century and the more “moderate” version in the fourth century. Whereas in the fifth century ambitious politicians might stage a theatrical stunt to get people talking and thinking about an issue or problem in a certain way, in the fourth century they were more likely to publish versions of their orations and hire logopoioi to make the rounds of the workshops and clubs to get their story out. I also argued that at some point around the middle of the fourth century the ritual of supplication became institutionalized, transformed from an irregular and impromptu act in the Street to a regularly scheduled part of the Assembly’s agenda. Surprisingly, perhaps, the greatest beneficiaries of the institutional- ization of supplication were the elite politicians who spoke on the suppliants’ behalf rather than the suppliants themselves (or so I suggested). Nor is that to say that only the elite benefited from the Street. It stands to reason that if it was the kind of fluid and messy space that I imagine, marginal individuals also pursued their interests in it. And this is exactly what we find in the case of slaves in the Theseion. Slaves, I argued, sought refuge there in order to escape their masters by orchestrating a quasi-legal procedure, the aphairesis eis eleutherian, whereby a new master “stole” them away from their old master by claiming they were someone unlawfully enslaved. This worked because in the absence of bureaucratic structures and official documents one’s status as well as one’s identity depended almost entirely Conclusion 213 on those who were willing to vouch for it, to claim that they knew it. If slaves could entice a sufficiently well-connected protector to vouch for them, they could escape their former master. That is not to say that they were free. Most likely, they would just trade one master for another. However, the mere possibility of this procedure might have caused some masters to think twice before abusing their slaves as much as they otherwise would. Such small-scale defiance, played out repeatedly and over time, might have contributed to the shift in perceptions of status that led to the increasing visibility and even respect that some slaves seem to have enjoyed in late classical and post-classical Athenian society. One of the places where the Athenian Street also left its mark, I argued, was in the later political thought of Plato. It has long been recognized that his sketch for the city of Magnesia in the Laws was based in large part on Athenian institutions, laws, and practices. Plato’s attitude toward Athens was more complex and nuanced than it is usually described. He was not rabidly anti-democracy or anti- Athens. As scholars are increasingly noting, he was as attracted by some aspects of Athens as he was repelled by others. And in the Laws he places a great deal of faith on the power of informal gossip and the public sphere to regulate individuals’ emotions and behavior and to supplement the work of the institutions. A vibrant and diverse Street, Plato realized, was absolutely essential for a society to enjoy good order without the fear of domination from those with a monopoly on institutional power. He found the model for such a Street in Athens. Works cited

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Aeschines Allen, D., 20 on Demosthenes’ case against Midias, 151 allotment plaques, 4 prosecution of Timarchus, 70, 165 Anakeion on rumor, 70, 83 location, 178 Aethra, 91 as slave market, 38, 178 Aglaurion Andocides, 153 location, 30 gossip about, 69 Agora on the scandals of 415, 142 Building F, 30 anecdotes circles (kykloi), 39 circulation, 14 commerce in the Triangle, 41–2 Apaturia commercial structures, 39 duration, 139 Eurysacion influence on the Arginusae affair, 48, 135 as labor market, 39 regulations of the Demotionidai, 169 Great Drain, 34 Archippus, 104 herald’s stone, 30, 78 Arendt, H., 6 Leocorion Areopagus, 125–31 location, 41, 42 attacked by Themistocles and and the Megarian Decree, 40 Ephialtes, 125–7 Old Agora, 30, 38 composition, 125 orchestra, 41–2 decorum, 81 organization, 38 image, 129 residential area, 39 Isocrates on, 130 Roman, 29 propaganda, 130 sanitation, 29, 33 in the Royal Stoa, 81 Square Peristyle Arginusae trial, 131–5 function, 36 Aristides stoas, 34–6 as offender against suppliants, 15, 130 tables, 39 Aristogiton (4th-century politician) wicker barriers, 41 as anti-social, 58 Aiakeion on curse tablet, 56 location, 36 as scoff-law, 66, 67 Alcibiades Aristophanes return to Athens, 11 on the Council, 81 Alcidamas on the Courts, 95–6 on logopoioi, 149 Aristotle on written speeches, 148 on the Agora, 28, 190–2 Alcmaeonidae, 15–16 on associations, 52

241 242 Index

Aristotle (cont.) barbershops, 167, see also shops concept of citizenship, 192 Baslez, M.-F., 51 criticism of Plato, 186 Bendis on enforcement, 65, 71 Association, 54–5 and public reason, 80 Bernays, E., 115 Arybbas, 105 Besnier, N., 16 Asclepiodorus, 104 Boardman, J., 120 Assembly Bobonich, C., 181, 201 agenda, 101 Boegehold, A., 37 in the Arginusae trial, 138 Bouleuterion, see Council composition, 26 Building F, 30 as focus of public interest, 3 procedures, 8 Cephisophon, 108 prohibition against personal insults, 17 Cimon associates and Elpinice, 16 aid in status claims, 173 reason for ostracism, 16 Demo, 52 citizens Ergasion, 54 false, 50 Eubulides, 107 obligations, 80 Euctemon, 46 citizenship Glaucothea, 50, 54 claims, 171–2 Menecles, 47 Socratic, 98 Socrates, 55 Cleonymus, 208 Theosebes, 48 Cleophon Theramenes, 135 on stage, 14 associations threatens to slit throat, 141 appointment of Councilors, 46 clubs: in Magnesia, 193, Bendis, 54–5 see also associations compared with 18th century revolutionary Coesura, 16 clubs, 7 Cohen, E., 52 composition, 46 Council Decelea, 59, 167, 170 altar, 144 and democracy, 8 Aristophanes on, 81–2 Demotionidae, 50, 137 boundary, 82 eranos, 51–3 location, 31 Halimous, 173 and social networks, 46 hetaireiai, 48–9, 141, 193 Tholos, 42 and identity claims, 50, 156 courts, 36–7 influence on Arginusae trial, 137 Aristophanes on, 95–6 merchants, 109 as focus of public interest, 3 phratries, 135 location, 36 in the Piraeus, 51 relevance, 9–10 Solonian law, 47 Crates thiasoi, 49–51, 54 reading Aristotle’s Protrepticus, 62, 154 and tribes, 46 crowd and trust, 52 and Alcibiades’ return to Astycrates, 104 Athens, 11 asylum influence in the Arginusae trial, 133 claiming, 86, 174–5 curse tablets, 56–7 in sanctuaries, 158 atimia Darnton, R., 19 as social pressure, 69, 71 Decelea, 59, 167, 170 Index 243 decree Eubulides, 106–7 of Callixenus, 136, 146 Euripides of the women in Ecclesiazousai, 73 Children of Heracles, 158 decrees Eurysacion for suppliants, 102–6 as labor market, 39 defixiones, see curse tablets location, 42 demes, see under associations Euxitheus, 107 democracy approaches, 6–8 face-to-face society, 44–5, 63, 156, 169, 186 changes between 5th and 4th centuries, Ferguson, W., 50 146, 210 Finley, M., 22, 44 and gossip, 18 Foundry Cup, 62 and public knowledge, 75 reliance on informal public sphere, 63, 180 gerra, see wicker barriers Demosthenes gnorimoi, see politicians against Midias, 151 Goldschmidt, V., 204 gossip about, 17, 18 gossip, 13–19 letters, 150, 152 about Andocides, 69 and logopoioi, 151 about Cimon and Elpinice, 16 on mixed associations, 50 about Cleonymus, 208 presents himself as father of laws, 95 about Cleophon, 14 on ”talking-points”, 153 concept of, 17, 60 Demotionidae, 50, 137 and democracy, 18 de Ste. Croix, G., 16 about Demosthenes, 17, 18 Detienne, M., 195 about Elpinice, 14 diabolê, see gossip about Glaucothea, 50 diapsephisis, see procedures, scrutiny about junior members of the Nocturnal dikê apostasiou Council, 202 compared with aphairesis eis eleutherian, 169 about Megacles, 16 Dinarchus and old comedy, 209 on Demosthenes and logopoioi, 150 about Pericles, 18–19 on the prominent vs the obscure, 69 about Phryne, 50 Diopithes, 109 and politics, 16 Dioscurides, 106 and the politics of reputation, 205 production, 17, 19 Elpinice, 14, 16 role in Pisistratus’ stunt with Phye, 122 emotions about the Sicilian Expedition, 59 criticism, 96–7 as social control, 195 influence on the institutions, 86 about Socrates, 16–17, 183 manipulation, 116, 132, 207 about Themistocles, 14, 16 and supplication, 98 about Theramenes. 60 enforcement: Aristophanes on, 64–5 about Timarchus, 70 Council decree, 66 varieties, 85 limitations, 75 grain market, 38 murder of Lycides as model, 64–5 graphe paranomon, 145, 146 and public opinion, 66 Great Drain, 34 and talk, 67, 212 Ephialtes Habermas, J. alliance with Themistocles, 127 on critical attitude, 61, 193 attacks the Areopagus with on the public sphere, 4 Themistocles, 125–7 on status, 61 Eponymous Heroes, monument of, 34 Halimous, 173 244 Index

Hansen,ÂM.,Â6 and public opinion,Â79 Harmodius and Aristogiton (the weakness at the turn of the 5th Tyrannicides), 34, 37,Â42 century,Â144–5 herald’s stone,Â30 Isocrates Herms Affair, 59,Â69 on the Areopagus,Â130 differences between Andocides and on logopoioi,Â154 Thucydides,Â142 on the public sphere, 21,Â72 Herodotus on reasons for publishing,Â148 on the murder of Lycidas,Â64–5 on the Persian concubine,Â174–5 jurors,Â9 on Pisistratus and Phye, 118–19 jury service on Pisistratus’ self-wounding,Â124 AristophanesÂon,Â3 on gossip,Â122 motivation,Â4 on his predecessors,Â149 on the social pressures of the Kierstead, J.,Â51 Agora,Â71 Klosko, G.,Â200 hetaireiai, 48–9, 141,Â193 compared with 18th century revolutionary laikastriai clubs,Â7 of Aspasia,Â18 hiketeia, seeÂsupplication on curse tablet,Â57 himation, 62,Â128 lampoons, 13–14, seeÂalsoÂgossip honors,Â104–5 Leocorion for Archippus,Â104 possible location,Â41 for Arybbas,Â105 letters for Asclepiodorus,Â104 compared with speeches,Â152 Cephisophon,Â108 of Demosthenes, 150,Â152 for citizens,Â103 literacy,Â149 for Cypriot merchants,Â109 and orality, 150,Â153 for the Danaids, 90,Â105 logographos,Â10 Diopithes,Â109 logopoios, 59,Â83–6 for Dioscurides,Â106 as link between text and public,Â149 enktesis, 55,Â109 related to archaic poets,Â154 Eubulides,Â106–7 relation to logographos,Â154 Lycurgus, 109–13 Lycidas,Â64–5 for Nicippe,Â53 Lycurgus, 109–113 Pelasgus,Â90 on the stoning of Lycidas,Â65 for Pisithides,Â105 Lysias Timotheus,Â104 on officials,Â96 for worshippers of Bendis,Â55 on Pancleon,Â166–8 for Xenocrates,Â112 Hunter, V.,Â60 Megarian Decree, 18,Â40 mêkhanê, seeÂpublicityÂstunt ikria,Â41 merchants, 39, 42,Â57 institutions Cittians,Â109 attempts to insulate,Â145 on curse tablets,Â56 auditors,Â12 Simon the Cobbler, 42, 45,Â61 boundaries,Â80 Morrow, G.,Â199 communication, 13,Â75 mutilation of the herms, seeÂpublicity stunt, defined,Â8 Herms Affair extra-institutional pressures on, 82,Â89,Â139–40 Naiden, F.,Â87 knowledge of decisions,Â72 Nicippe,Â53 Index 245

Ober, J.,Â7,Â46 on private cult,Â194 Odysseus,Â78 on the public sphere, 12, 21,Â185 officials on slaves, 12, 176,Â182 bouleutai,Â46 thymos,Â206 in Plato’s Magnesia, 188,Â194 on women,Â193–5 and supplication,Â96 Pnyx,Â26 orality limitations of audibility,Â74 and literacy, 150,Â153 politicians Osborne, R.,Â47 on curse tablets,Â56 ostracism in the public eye,Â68–71 of Cimon,Â16 skills necessary, 10,Â68 inscribed insults,Â15 as speakers,Â9 procedure,Â81 as sponsors of suppliants,Â106–110 politics pamphlets, 147, 149,Â152 defined,Â20–2 in the 18th century,Â19 in the Street,Â79 Pancleon,Â166–8 Popper, K.,Â197 pareggraptoi, seeÂcitizens,Âfalse probouleusis, 9, 109,Â145 patronage, 112, 157,Â164 probouloi,Â145 dikê apostasiou,Â169 procedures motivations,Â173 graphe paranomon, 145,Â146 Patterson, O.,Â176 jury selection,Â36–7 Pelasgus,Â88–93 in Plato’s Magnesia,Â187–8 Pericles scrutiny, 106,Â171–2 and the abusive Athenian,Â18 at the trial of the Arginusae gossip about,Â18–19 Generals,Â136–40 phêmê, 70,Â197 prostatês, seeÂpatronage phialai exeleutherikai,Â51 prostitution phratries,Â135 law about,Â71 Demotionidae,Â137 in workshops,Â59 influence on Arginusae trial,Â137 public opinion Phryne circulation,Â22 convenes mixed associations,Â49 production of,Â71–6 trial,Â97 as target of institutional and non- Piraeus institutional public sphere,Â79 as melting pot,Â51 public reason,Â20 Pisistratus public relations,Â115 disarms the people,Â178 public sphere and Phye, 118–25 and enforcement,Â74 self-wounding,Â77 equality,Â211 Pisithides,Â105 extra-institutional,Â79 Pittalacus,Â165–6 as flow of talk,Â20–2 Plato participation, 11–12, 21,Â197 on the Agora, 190–2 publicity stunt criticism of supplication,Â97 audiences,Â117 on enforcement,Â66 Cleophon,Â141 on gossip, 183–4, 195–7,Â209 Danaus,Â89 guardians,Â202 defined, 115–16 on institutions,Â187 Ephialtes, 125,Â144 Nocturnal Council Junior members, Herms Affair,Â141–3 200–3 mutilation of the akroteria of Athena ordinary virtue,Â181 Nike,Â143 246 Index publicity stunt (cont.) status Pisistratus anxiety, 62, 83, 84, 95, 171 Phye, 118–25 disputes over, 166–9 self-wounding, 77, 94, 123–5 indeterminacy, 12, 172, 211 Pittalacus, 128, 144, 165–6 and interaction, 23, 52, 62, 191 Solon and participation, x Salamis Ode, 78, 144 passing, 163–4, 174–5, 213 statue of Athena spitting blood, 144 proof, 156 Theramenes, 131, 134–5 in workshops, 61 unnamed self-mutilator, 141 stoas, 34–6 Royal (Basileios) reading aloud, 62, 149–50, 153, 154 as site of the Areopagus, 81 rumor, see gossip Street rumor-monger, see logopoios concept, ix defined, 11 Saunders, T., 197 elite worries about, 82 Schöpsdau, K., 189 politics, 22, 79 shame culture, 71 suppliant drama, 158–9 Shear, T.L., 30 Aeschylus Suppliants, 87–4 shield-dropping, 205 Euripides Children of Heracles, 158 Magnesian law about, 207 Euripides Suppliants, 91–2 shops, 40, 57–9 plot, 87 location, 58 supplication, 128 social activities, 59, 62 criticism status of socializers, 61 by Aeschylus, 88–94 talk in, 61 by Plato, 97 Simon the Cobbler, 42, 45, 61 in court, 95 slander, see gossip and emotions, 98 slaves in inscriptions, 102–6 in Andania, 162 by officials, 96 in associations, 53 limits, 99 in eranos groups, 51–3 performance, 86 and patronage, 175 refusal, 97 places of sale, 38 triangulating function, 87, 110, 129 public, 102, 128 in sanctuaries, 160–61 theater in shops, 56, 61 and public opinion, 10 Socrates Themistocles in the Agora, 38 attacks the Areopagus with Ephialtes, 125–7 associates, 55 gossip about, 14, 16 at the Arginusae trial, 138 Theramenes gossip about, 16–17, 183 associates, 135 as model gossip, 206 gossip about, 60 Solon role in the Arginusae trial, 134–5 and Pisistratus, 118 trial by the Thirty, 140 Salamis Ode, 30, 78, 144 Theseion theatricality of, 77–8, 143 location, 30, 163, 178 and Thespis, 77 Theseus speech writer, see logographos compared with Pelasgus, 91–2 Square Peristyle as model for supplication, 87, 91 function, 36 as protector of suppliants, 161 Index 247 thiasoi,Â49–51 Veyne, P.,Â209 in the Demotionidae regulations,Â170 Vlassopoulos, K., 45, 49,Â57 in the Piraeus,Â51 von Wilamowitz, U.,Â126 Tholos, seeÂCouncil Thompson, H. and R. Wycherley,Â40 wicker barriers,Â39 thorybos, 13, 64, 138,Â153 women Thucydides in eranos groups,Â51–3 on Andocides,Â69 and gossip, 60,Â194 on the decision to invade Sicily,Â96 participation in the public Mytilene,Â211 sphere, 13,Â65 on refugees,Â36 Plato’s view,Â193–5 on the Revolution of 411,Â145 representation of political influence on on the Scandals of 415,Â142 stage,Â89–92 Timarchus veil,Â12 prosecution by Aeschines, 70,Â165 Timotheus,Â104 Xenocrates,Â111,Â112, 113 tribes, 46,Â137 Xenophon role in the Arginusae affair,Â135 on Alcibiades’ return to Athens,Â11 Turner, V.,Â140 on the Arginusae trial, 133–40