Die Athenische Demokratie Im 4. Jahrhundert: Zwischen Modernisierung und Tradition 3515110690, 9783515110693

Table of contents :
INHALT
Die Athenische Demokratie im 4. Jh. v. Chr. zwischen Modernisierung und Tradition
Schritte auf dem Weg des Vertrauens – Überlegungen zu Chancen
und Grenzen der Anpassung von Handlungsdispositionen
Communal revenge and appeals to dicastic emotions
From Democracy to the Rule of Law? Constitutional Change in Athens
during the Fifth and Fourth Centuries BCE
Performance, audience participation and the Dynamics of the Fourth-Century
Assembly and Jury-Courts of Athens
Fourth-century appointments in Athens
Associations, Modernization and the Return of the Private Network
in Athens
Political institutions between centre and periphery, between public
and private in 4th century Athens. Constructing shared civic identity
The Athenian Grain-tax Law of 374/3 B. C.: Unfinished Business
Continuité et changement: le comportement économique à Athènes
au IVe s. a. C.
Transformation of the Athenian Economy: Maritime finance
and maritime law
New assessment on trade and politics in 4th century B. C. E. Athens
Konzeptionen zur politischen Steuerung und Beeinflussbarkeit
von wirtschaftlichen Vorgängen (Athen, 4. Jh. v. Chr.)
The Silver Mines Of 4th C Democratic Athens: An Economic Nexus
Social dynamics in fourth-century Athens: poverty and standards of living
Culture War: Plato and Athenian Politics 350–330 BCE
Vielfalt ohne Gleichheit? Das Problem der politischen und sozialen Vielfalt
bei Aristoteles
The Honorific Decrees of fourth-century Athens: Trends, Perceptions,
Controversies
Konsolidierung und Modernisierung Athens Bürgerschaft im späten vierten
und frühen dritten Jahrhundert v.Chr.
Athens after 404: A battleground of contradictory visions

Citation preview

Claudia Tiersch (Hg.)

Die Athenische Demokratie im 4. Jahrhundert Zwischen Modernisierung und Tradition

Franz Steiner Verlag

Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek: Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet über abrufbar. Dieses Werk einschließlich aller seiner Teile ist urheberrechtlich geschützt. Jede Verwertung außerhalb der engen Grenzen des Urheberrechtsgesetzes ist unzulässig und strafbar. © Franz Steiner Verlag, Stuttgart 2016 Druck: Hubert & Co., Göttingen Gedruckt auf säurefreiem, alterungsbeständigem Papier. Printed in Germany. ISBN 978-3-515-11069-3 (Print) ISBN 978-3-515-11071-6 (E-Book)

INHALT Claudia Tiersch Die Athenische Demokratie im 4. Jh. v. Chr. zwischen Modernisierung und Tradition ...........................................................................................................7 Jan Timmer Schritte auf dem Weg des Vertrauens – Überlegungen zu Chancen und Grenzen der Anpassung von Handlungsdispositionen ................................ 33 Lene Rubinstein Communal revenge and appeals to dicastic emotions ........................................ 55 Edward M. Harris From Democracy to the Rule of Law? Constitutional Change in Athens during the Fifth and Fourth Centuries BCE ....................................................... 73 Rosalind Thomas Performance, audience participation and the Dynamics of the Fourth-Century Assembly and Jury-Courts of Athens ................................................................. 89 P. J. Rhodes Fourth-century appointments in Athens ........................................................... 109 Vincent Gabrielsen Associations, Modernization and the Return of the Private Network in Athens .......................................................................................................... 121 Giovanna Daverio Rocchi Political institutions between centre and periphery, between public and private in 4th century Athens. Constructing shared civic identity .............. 163 Ronald Stroud The Athenian Grain-tax Law of 374/3 B. C.: Unfinished Business .................. 185 Raymond Descat Continuité et changement: le comportement économique à Athènes au IVe s. a. C. .................................................................................................... 195

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Edward E. Cohen Transformation of the Athenian Economy: Maritime finance and maritime law .............................................................................................. 207 Christophe Pébarthe New assessment on trade and politics in 4th century B. C. E. Athens ............... 223 Armin Eich Konzeptionen zur politischen Steuerung und Beeinflussbarkeit von wirtschaftlichen Vorgängen (Athen, 4. Jh. v. Chr.) .................................... 233 Kirsty Shipton The Silver Mines Of 4th C Democratic Athens: An Economic Nexus.............. 253 Claire Taylor Social dynamics in fourth-century Athens: poverty and standards of living .... 261 Danielle Allen Culture War: Plato and Athenian Politics 350–330 BCE ................................. 279 Katarina Nebelin Vielfalt ohne Gleichheit? Das Problem der politischen und sozialen Vielfalt bei Aristoteles ................................................................................................... 293 Peter Liddel The Honorific Decrees of fourth-century Athens: Trends, Perceptions, Controversies.................................................................................................... 335 Volker Grieb Konsolidierung und Modernisierung Athens Bürgerschaft im späten vierten und frühen dritten Jahrhundert v.Chr. ............................................................... 359 John Davies Athens after 404: A battleground of contradictory visions ............................... 385

DIE ATHENISCHE DEMOKRATIE IM 4. JH. V. CHR. ZWISCHEN MODERNISIERUNG UND TRADITION Claudia Tiersch

1. MODERNISIERUNGSTHEORIEN – CHANCEN UND GRENZEN Die athenische Demokratie des 4. Jahrhunderts v. Chr. unter dem Modernisierungsbegriff subsumieren zu wollen, erscheint begründungsbedürftig. Ein erster Grund liegt bereits in den Entstehungsumständen des Begriffs. Zwar benutzten bereits Texte in Spätantike und Mittelalter den Begriff ‚modernus‘ im Sinne eines reinen Zeitbegriffs, der zur Bezeichnung des historischen Jetzt der Gegenwart in Abgrenzung zur Vergangenheit diente. Das Aufkommen des Modernebegriffs als Kategorie mit eigenständigem sachlichen Inhalt, die im Ausdruck des Gefühls bestand, in einer gegenüber dem Bisherigen völlig veränderten Zeit zu leben, lässt sich jedoch erst mit Phänomenen wie Revolutionen, Industrialisierung und der Entstehung der bürgerlichen Gesellschaft Europas im 18. und 19. Jahrhundert verbinden.1 Der Begriff verdankt seine Entstehung also einer intensiven Selbsterfahrung dieser Zeit, welche durch die Transformation zahlreicher Lebensfelder, durch Brüche mit Traditionen innerhalb einer konkreten Epoche, deren spezifische Dynamiken welthistorisch außer Frage stehen, gekennzeichnet war. Modernisierungstheorien entstanden als zeitgenössische Reflexionen auf Phänomene eines sozialen Wandels, der Rationalisierungs- und Differenzierungsprozesse ebenso in sich barg wie verstörende Erfahrungen einer zunehmenden gesellschaftlichen Entfremdung. Reinhart Koselleck hat gezeigt, wie einschneidend sich in der von ihm als „Sattelzeit“ apostrophierten Phase Ende des 18. Jahrhunderts Wahrnehmungen ebenso wie die sprachliche Bewältigung der historischen Umwelt veränderten, und wie stark sich dabei ein intensives Gefühl allgemeiner Beschleunigung verbreitete.2 Dieses oszillierte zwischen der bangen Wahrnehmung, dass das früher erworbene Wissen nicht mehr für alle Zeiten tauglich sei und die Zukunft Unvorhersehbares bringe auf der einen und den Erwartungen positiver Gestaltbarkeit durch technische Erkenntnisse auf der anderen Seite.3 1

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Gumbrecht 1977, 375–381, 376; Gumbrecht 1978, 97; Jauß 1970, 22; Osterhammel 2009, 1282, verbindet die Entstehung der intellektuellen Grundlagen der modernen Welt bereits mit der Frühen Neuzeit. Der tatsächliche Beginn der Moderne wird meist in die Phase zwischen dem späten 18. und der Mitte des 19. Jahrhunderts datiert, vgl. z. B. Zapf 2000, 237–251; Bendix 1969, 505–512; vgl. zur Problematik instruktiv Degele/Dries (Hg.), 2005, 20–22; Van der Loo/Van Reijen 1992, 18–28. Koselleck 1979, 150–176, 166, 175–177. Wunderbar akzentuiert z. B. durch Heinrich Heine: „Wir merken bloß, daß unsere ganze Existenz in neue Gleise fortgerissen, fortgeschleudert wird, daß neue Verhältnisse, Freuden und

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Bedeutsam ist zugleich, dass diese Erfahrung sich für mehrere Teile Europas nachweisen lässt, also nicht nur ein Inselphänomen blieb, sondern wechselseitige geographische Beeinflussungen, Dynamisierungen und Verflechtungen zur Folge hatte. Die sprachlichen Entlehnungen und Transformationen des Modernebegriffs verdeutlichen dies eindrucksvoll4. Damit stellt sich die Frage, ob ein solcher Begriff hinsichtlich der athenischen Demokratie legitimerweise auf eine Gesellschaft der Vormoderne anwendbar ist, die auf jeden Fall nicht auf Prozessen der Industrialisierung aufruht, die in zahlreichen ihrer Entwicklungen als zeitgenössischer Sonderfall gelten muss, deren Strahlkraft begrenzt blieb, und die sich in ihren sozialen Entwicklungslogiken zumindest langfristig gegen das monarchische System Makedoniens militärisch nicht zu behaupten vermochte. Ein weiterer Grund zur Skepsis liegt in der Krise, in die das hermeneutische Potential der Modernisierungstheorien verstärkt geraten ist.5 Einwände richten sich gegen den Erklärungswert bzw. die Trennschärfe der zahlreichen Denkmodelle, die unter dem Begriff ‚Modernisierungstheorie‘ figurieren. Die Ursachen dieser nicht unberechtigten Einwände liegen in Konstruktionsdefiziten dieser Theorien, v. a. in ihrem starken normativen Impetus, ihrer ethnozentrischen Prägung durch das europäisch-amerikanische Modell, sowie in Verschiebungen innerhalb der Theorien selbst. So hatten sich die ersten Theoretiker der Moderne wie Georg Simmel, Émile Durkheim, Ferdinand Tönnies sowie Max Weber Ende des 19. Jahrhunderts in ihren Analysen noch auf behutsame Beschreibungen und Diagnosen der sich ihnen als flagrant neu und verstörend präsentierenden Umwelt ihrer Zeit beschränkt und sich auf die Suche nach möglichen Ursachen für diesen erklärungsbedürftig erscheinenden Sonderweg bestimmter Weltregionen konzentriert.6 Ihr Blick galt dabei immer wieder auch den problematischen Konsequenzen dieser neuen Dynamiken, seien es die wahrgenommenen Verluste von Bindungen oder Traditionen.7

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Drangsale uns erwarten, und das Unbekannte übt einen schauerlichen Reiz, verlockend und zugleich beängstigend.“. Heine 1976, 448 f.; Koselleck 1979, 152. Später entlehnt aus dem Französischen (moderne und moderniser), erscheint es im Deutschen als Fremdwort seit 1727 in der Bedeutung von neu als Gegensatz zu alt, antik. Modernité wird als Substantiv erstmals 1849 von Chateaubriand verwendet (in einem abwertenden Sinne) und 1859 maßgeblich von Charles Baudelaire aufgegriffen. Im Deutschen verwendet Eugen Wolff den Ausdruck die Moderne erstmals 1886 auf die Literatur bezogen: Wolff 1886, Erstes Beiblatt, S. *4 u. Zweites Beiblatt, S. *1–2. Wiedergabe unter: http://www.uni-duisburg-essen.de/ lyriktheorie/texte/1886_wolff.html. Der Begriff bezeichnete das absolut Neue, Vorbildlose, den völligen Verzicht auf ästhetische Konventionen; Christof Dipper, Moderne, Version: 1.0, in: Docupedia-Zeitgeschichte, 25. 8.2010, URL: http://docupedia.de/zg/Moderne?oldid=84639. Knöbl 2001, 160–218; Th. Mergel, Modernisierung, in: Europäische Geschichte Online (EGO), hg. vom Institut für Europäische Geschichte (IEG), Mainz 2011-04-27. URL: http://www.iegego.eu/mergelt-2011-de URN: urn:nbn:de:0159-20110201116 [2013-08-26]. Frisby 1988, 580–594. Weber 1920, 17–206; Simmel 1957; Tönnies 1887; Durkheim 1977. Weber suchte nach spezifischen religiös-kulturellen Prägekräften für die Erklärung der wirtschaftlichen Dynamiken des europäisch-amerikanischen Sonderweges. Tönnies bestimmte die Veränderungen seiner Epoche auf das Beziehungssystem der Menschen. Sah er das traditionale Beziehungssystem auf gefühlsmäßige, um ihrer selbst eingegangene Gemeinschaft gegründet, kategorisierte er das Beziehungsnetz seiner Zeit als zweckrational formierte Gesellschaft, in der Menschen zielge-

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Der Anspruch nachfolgender Theorien, die insbesondere in Amerika seit den fünfziger Jahren des 20. Jahrhunderts entwickelt wurden, ging jedoch weit darüber hinaus. Dies lag nicht zuletzt an der politischen Einbindung der amerikanischen Soziologie in die Entwicklungspolitik der Truman-Administration, die durch weltweite Entwicklungshilfe das Abgleiten ‚unterentwickelter‘ Völker in politische Totalitarismen verhindern wollte und Sozialwissenschaftler als Mittler benötigte, um angesichts zahlreicher kultureller Differenzen vor Ort den Prozess der technologischen und ökonomischen Entwicklung zu unterstützen.8 In der programmatischen Formulierung der Ziele und Möglichkeiten eines solchen Prozesses wurden spezifische Entwicklungsdynamiken der europäisch-amerikanischen Gesellschaften dieser Phase als realisierbares und weltweit anzustrebendes Entwicklungsmodell propagiert und dienten als Verheißung einer entsprechenden Prognostizierbarkeit der Zukunft.9 Diese Soziologen beschrieben Modernisierung als Prozeß durchgreifender Transformation im wirtschaftlichen, politischen, administrativen, religiösen wie sozialen Bereich, der sich in Phänomenen der Industrialisierung, Demokratisierung, Individualisierung, Bürokratisierung und Säkularisierung Bahn brechen sollte. Entscheidend an diesen Prozessen war deren gegenseitige Verflechtung und Interdependenz sowie deren gleichsam irreversible Durchsetzung. Unterschiedliche Geschwindigkeiten in diesem umgreifenden Prozess der Modernisierung waren zwar (im Zuge einer nachholenden Modernisierung) vorhanden, das Ziel für alle war jedoch gleichsam teleologisch vorgegeben und bestand in einer Perfektionierung der dabei entwickelten Maßstäbe.10 Sowohl an dieser normativen Aufladung, am inhärenten Fortschrittsoptimismus dieser Denkmodelle, als auch an deren unleugbarem Ethnozentrismus entzün-

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richtet und sachlich handeln. Modernisierung beschrieb er als Übergang von Gemeinschaft zu Gesellschaft, in deren Verlauf Tradition, Glaube und Gemeinschaftssinn der Dynamik, Verwissenschaftlichung und Kommerzialisierung weichen würden. Émile Durkheim bestimmte den Kontrast als Übergang von einer mechanischen Solidarität, die bedingt wurde durch die wenig gegliederte Arbeitsteilung traditioneller Gemeinschaften, zur organischen Solidarität der ‚Moderne‘, da nun wegen der zunehmenden Arbeitsteilung die Abhängigkeit der Menschen voneinander steige. Georg Simmel nahm die Differenzierungsprozesse v. a. als Individualisierung des Großstädters in den Blick, die das Individuum zwar aus traditionellen Zwängen befreie, jedoch auch vereinzeln bzw. vereinsamen lasse. Bezeichnend für alle diese Ansätze ist, daß sie den Kontrast zwischen Moderne und Tradition als scharfe Dichotomie konstruieren sowie der durchaus ambivalente Blick auf die problematischen Konsequenzen (Entwurzelung, Traditionsverlust, Isolation) für die Menschen der Moderne; Van der Loo/Van Reijen 1992, 14–17. Hoselitz 1952, Vf.; Knöbl 2001, 166. Degele 2005, 17 f. Programmatisch hierfür steht z. B. M. J. Levy, der die zuvor von Talcott Parsons entwickelten „pattern variables“ historisierte, um damit den Übergang von sogenannten traditionalen zu modernen Gesellschaften zu fassen. Er postulierte, dass Industriegesellschaften durch rationale, universalistische und funktional spezifische Wertorientierungen gekennzeichnet seien, nichtindustrielle Gesellschaften durch nichtrationale, partikularistische und funktional diffuse Werte und Rollen. Ein marktinduzierter Prozess werde diese Gesellschaften jedoch bald auf den Weg der westlichen Gesellschaften bringen, sodass dann auch dort die gleichen Werte und Rollenmuster gälten; Levy 1952, 113–125. Weitere einflussreiche Werke waren z. B. R. Bellah 1957; Lerner 1958, S. M. Lipset 1959, Smelser 1959, Rostow 1969, Almond/Verba 1963; vgl. Knöbl 2001, 30–32.

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dete sich bereits seit den sechziger Jahren intensive Kritik.11 Mit der wachsenden Dichte und Heterogenität empirischer Befunde zeigte sich, dass die z. T. simplifizierenden Vorannahmen in vielen Aspekten reale Entwicklungen nicht angemessen kategorisierten. Dies betraf z. B. die vereinfachende Dichotomie zwischen modernen und traditionellen Gesellschaften, welche – gleichsam in der Tradition der Aufklärung – die grundlegende Befreiung aus Traditionen zur Vorbedingung für Modernisierung und Fortschritt stilisierte. Dies galt ebenso für die grundsätzliche Interdependenzannahme, z. B. für die angenommene Verflechtung und zeitgleiche Entwicklung aller Felder dieses Transformationsprozesses, etwa die Verbindung von Industrialisierung und völligem Traditionsverlust bzw. Säkularisierung, welche bereits in den USA mit einer Persistenz religiöser Werte als nicht gegeben erscheint.12 Auch die Vorannahme der Verbindung von Industrialisierung und Demokratisierung erscheint anhand abweichender politischer Entwicklungen in Russland oder China nicht mehr als zwingend und machte die Option sektoriell unterschiedlicher Entwicklungen bzw. einer partiellen Modernisierung deutlich.13 Ad absurdum geführt wurde auch der tiefe Fortschrittsoptimismus dieser Theoreme, vor allem die Annahme einer quasi automatisch ablaufenden, sich bestenfalls kurzzeitig verzögernden oder unterbrechenden Entwicklung hin zu einem Mehr an Wohlstand und Verwaltungseffizienz bzw. zur Optimierung einer Wissensgesellschaft.14 Hiergegen sprechen nicht nur wirtschaftliche Krisen- bzw. Niedergangsprozesse oder das Entstehen von ‚failed states‘, sondern auch die Erkenntnis von unerwarteten, z. T. unerwünschten, paradoxen, oft auch schwer steuerbaren Nebenfolgen von Veränderungen.15 Weiterhin zeigte sich, dass von einer einheitlichen Logik der Moderne ebenso wenig gesprochen werden kann wie von einer Einheitskategorie der ‚traditionalen‘ Kultur,16 weswegen aktuelle Ansätze von einer Vielfalt an Modernisierungsprozessen (‚multiple modernities‘) ausgehen.17 Soziologen wie Anthony Giddens oder Ulrich Beck haben das Kennzeichen der Moderne schließlich sogar nur noch in deren intensivierter Reflexivität beschreiben, d. h. in den gegenüber früheren Gesellschaften gesteigerten Fähigkeiten zur 11 12 13

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Eine Zusammenfassung dieser Kritikpunkte bieten Alexander/Colomy 1990; Knöbl 2001, 11– 24; Latour 1998; Giddens 1996, 113–194; Gellner 1969, 139; Bodenheimer 1968, 130–159. Rudolph/Hoeber Rudolph 1967, 4 f. Moore 1966 zur Kontingenz und Indeterminiertheit sozialer Prozesse; Eisenstadt 2000, 138, 140 f.; bzw. La Palombara (Hg.), 1963, in dem mehrere Autoren die Gleichsetzung von Industrialisierung und Demokratisierung in Frage stellen. Knöbl 2001, 187. Degele/Dries 2005, 18 f.; Van der Loo/Van Reijen 1992, 18–28. Bereits Geertz 1963, hatte darauf verwiesen, dass gerade die Entstehung der neuen Staaten Gefühle wie Parochialismus, Rassismus und Kommunalismus gefördert habe, weil mit dem Staat eine Arena geschaffen worden war, in der es möglich sei und von Vorteil sein könne, zentral solche primordialen Gefühle bei der Durchsetzung der eigenen Interessen zu fördern und aufzustacheln; Knöbl 2001, 200 f. Gusfield 1966/67, 351–362; Bendix 1967, 292–346, 330. Bereits 1964 hatte M. Walzer kritisiert, dass Modernisierungstheorie offenbar nur eine einzige Form von Moderne kenne und unfähig sei, ‚Moderne‘ im Plural zu denken; Walzer 1964, 432– 440. Dies betont auch Knöb 2001, 189 Anm. 31 sowie Knöbl 2007, 111–168 zu den methodischen Folgeproblemen. Ein Standardwerk Eisenstadt 2000.

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Selbstbeobachtung und zur beschleunigten Kommunikation.18 Hier hinein spielt auch die zunehmend geringere Bindung von Kommunikation an Raum- oder Zeitgrenzen. Angesichts dieser deutlichen Differenzierungen wurden Zweifel laut, ob Modernisierungstheoreme – gleich welcher Form – überhaupt noch einen hinreichenden hermeneutischen Mehrwert für die Beschreibung und Erklärung zeitgenössischer oder historischer Prozesse lieferten und ob plausiblere Ansätze nicht eher im Bereich der Systemtheorie zu suchen seien.19 Allerdings haben sich diese späteren Theorieansätze häufig nicht als insgesamt überlegen erwiesen. So überwanden z. B. evolutions- und systemtheoretische Neuansätze durch die Nutzung der Differenzierungskategorie die wenig plausible Dichotomie von modernen und traditionalen Gesellschaften durch ein komplexeres und realistischeres Kategoriensystem, welches seine Stärken insbesondere für den Vergleich von Gesellschaften, für die Analyse von Spannungen zwischen gesellschaftlichen Teilbereichen und Sektoren besitzt. Es wurde jedoch deutlich, dass Differenzierungsprozesse weder automatisch funktionalen Erfordernissen noch dem Prinzip einer systemischen Leistungssteigerung folgen.20 Der weitgehende Verzicht auf Kausalerklärungen sowie die Annahme einer geringen Wertigkeit von Akteuren und kulturellen Normen verdeutlichen die Grenzen mindestens der Systemtheorie klassischer Prägung für die Beschreibung sozialen Wandels.21 Man ging davon aus, dass sprachliche Kommunikation in ihren Inhalten und Semantiken vernachlässigbar sei, da sie lediglich als Form der Informationsweitergabe diene. Auch die Motivationen, Haltungen und Ansichten der beteiligten Akteure besäßen angesichts der Geltung systemischer Regelungen und Verfahren mindere Relevanz. Gerade amerikanische Neo-Funktionalisten wie Paul Colomy oder Jeffrey Alexander haben nun jedoch auf die Schwächen des Differenzierungsbegriffs sowie darauf aufbauender Theorien bei Erklärungen von Wandlungsprozessen verwiesen.22 Interessanterweise haben sich deshalb innerhalb der aktuellen systemtheoretischen Debatten einige Akzente verschoben, die einen Weg zu größerer systemischer Offenheit markieren. Deren Selbstverständnis beschreibt Systemtheorie nicht mehr als kohärenten Theorieansatz, sondern als theoretischen Rahmen und Frage18 19

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Beck/Giddens/Lash 1996. Bendix 1967, 292–346; Riggs 1968, 143; Knöbl 2007, 28–60. Als alternative Theorien hat sich z. B. auch die Weltsystemtheorie Immanuel Wallersteins profiliert, die sozioökonomische Verflechtungen im Weltmaßstab sowie die Existenz von Machthierarchien als Ursache für Entwicklungs- und Unterentwicklungsprozesse untersucht; vgl. Wallerstein 1987. So zu Recht Knöbl 2001, 19. Hans Joas brachte die Kritik dahingehend auf den Punkt, was von einer Theorie übrigbliebe, die zwar immer wieder hartnäckig auf den ‚master process‘ der Differenzierung hinweise, zugleich aber zugestehen muss, dass es konträre Nebenprozesse gibt, kontingente Entwicklungsabbrüche und ebenjene so unberechenbaren Akteure, die sich nur selten an differenzierungstheoretische Vorgaben halten; Joas 1992, 335. Alexander/Colomy 1985, 116–147; Alexander 1996. Welch Erschrecken diese Aussagen auslösten, zeigt etwa der Kommentar von Uwe Schimank, wohin dies denn führen solle. Seien Autoren wie Alexander und Colomy, die als Differenzierungstheoretiker unvorsichtigerweise die Schwächen des Differenzierungsbegriffs eingestehen, nicht dazu verdammt, zu Geschichtsschreibern zu werden? Schimank 1996, 239; hierzu auch Knöbl 2001, 19.

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horizont. Der entscheidende Unterschied zur klassischen Systemtheorie besteht vor allem darin, dass nicht mehr nur binär zwischen den Möglichkeiten einer erfolgreichen autopoietischen Selbststabilisierung von Systemen durch Kommunikation mit ihrer Umwelt auf Basis wirksamer Rückkoppelungsmechanismen und deren völligen Scheitern unterschieden wird. Insbesondere Theorien komplexer adaptiver Systeme – wie etwa die von Stuart Kauffmann – formulierten die Erkenntnis, dass komplexe Systeme durchaus erhebliche Unterschiede in ihrer Adaptionsfähigkeit an Umweltbedingungen aufweisen und dass es Sonderfälle einer besonderen Anpassungsfähigkeit an ihre Umwelt und zur Fähigkeit des Lernens aus Erfahrungen gibt.23 Aus diesem Grund entwickelten Theorien komplexer Systeme ein wachsendes Problembewusstsein für die Ursachen dieser besonderen Adaptionsfähigkeiten. Innerhalb solcher Überlegungen wird Phänomenen der Emergenz, also der spontanen Herausbildung neuer Eigenschaften oder Strukturen, eine deutlich höhere Wertigkeit zugewiesen als in früheren systemtheoretischen Überlegungen, Elemente der Chaostheorie wurden zusätzlich eingebunden.24 Angesichts dieses gewachsenen Problembewusstseins liefern Systemtheorien ein wertvolles komplementäres Instrumentarium zur Beschreibung von Wandlungsprozessen, einen Ersatz für die Analyse sozialer Wandlungsprozesse, wie ihn modernisierungstheoretische Überlegungen berühren, können sie hingegen nicht bieten,25 da der systemische Zugriff den Fokus auf Akteure und deren kulturell geprägte Motivationen zumindest nicht zwingend einschließt. Insofern ist es durchaus folgerichtig, dass empirische wie theoretische Untersuchungen zu Modernisierungsprozessen trotz aller geschilderten Methodenprobleme gegenwärtig allseitig präsent sind.26 Gewiß sind Ursachen hierfür im ungebrochenen Bedürfnis nach Selbstverständigung über die Spezifika der gegenwärtigen ‚Moderne‘ und ihrer Bewältigung zu sehen. Diese spiegeln sich gerade in der mangelnden Schärfe des Begriffs „Modernisierung“ sowie in der Vielfalt von Prozessen und Problemen, die darunter subsumiert werden. Die anhaltende normative Suggestivkraft des weitgehend positiv besetzten Modernebegriffs dürfte ein Übriges dazu tun. Nicht zuletzt aber manifestiert die ungebrochene Beschäftigung mit Problemen von Moderne und Modernisierung ein grundlegendes, gerade auch geschichtswissenschaftliches Interesse an den Ursachen beschleunigten sozialen Wandels, den Dynamiken historischer Verläufe, mit Kontingenzen, Reversibilitäten, Fehlschlägen und Abbrüchen, deren Ursachen, Typologien, kulturellen Spezifika, Pfadabhängigkeiten und Folgen.27

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Holland 2006, 1–8. Unter diese Spezialfälle werden z. B. Aktienmärkte, Parteien oder das Immunsystem subsumiert. Greve/Schnabel 2011. Zur Anwendbarkeit der Chaosforschung auf Geschichts- und Sozialwissenschaften vgl. jedoch Küppers 1993, 69–95; Bühl 1990. Vgl. z. B. Alexander 2013; Wagner 2012 oder Agwuele (Hg.) 2013. In diesem Sinne Christof Dipper, Moderne, Version: 1.0, in: Docupedia-Zeitgeschichte, 25. 8.2010, URL: http://docupedia.de/zg/Moderne?oldid=84639. Folgerichtig wird seitens der Soziologie auch der intensivierte Dialog mit den Geschichtswissenschaften, insbesondere der Global History zur Erneuerung der Methodendebatte eingefordert, so Knöbl 2007, 208–220.

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Die Bedeutung von Modernisierungstheorien liegt darin, dass diese von Beginn an vom Bewusstsein getragen waren, dass Geschichte immer auch eine Geschichte von Brüchen und Diskontinuitäten ist, dass es höchst unterschiedliche Dynamiken historischer Prozesse gibt, die erklärungsbedürftig sind,28 und dass hierfür auch die normativen Selbstwahrnehmungs- und Bewältigungsstrategien der jeweiligen Akteure von erheblicher Relevanz sind.29 In diesen Kontext fügt sich auch die Forderung des Soziologen Wolfgang Knöbl nach einer kontingenzsensiblen Makrosoziologie sowie einem intensivierten Kontakt mit Geschichtswisssenschaften30. Knöbl versteht hierunter v. a. die Verbindung von Studien zu regionalen ebenso wie globalen Entwicklungen wie die verstärkte Berücksichtigung von Transferprozessen. Dies legt in Anlehnung an Max Weber nahe, in unterschiedlichen historischen Gesellschaften nach den Ursachen solcher spezifischer Entwicklungen sowie den kulturell unterschiedlichen Interdependenzen verschiedener Felder zu fragen, ohne hierunter zwangsläufig nur die westliche Moderne seit dem 18. Jahrhundert zu subsumieren. Zur Disposition steht somit eine Historisierung der Modernisierungstheorie ebenso wie eine verstärkte Aufladung dieser vor allem sozialwissenschaftlich inspirierten Theorie durch kulturwissenschaftliche Elemente, etwa durch die Integration von Überlegungen zu kulturellen Symbolsystemen, deren Perzeption durch die Zeitgenossen sowie deren erneute Umsetzung in Handlungsstrategien. Trotz methodischer Probleme und Grenzen sind innerhalb der vergangenen Jahrzehnte innerhalb der Modernisierungsdebatte insbesondere wegen der Ausweitung empirischer Studien und komparatistischer Ansätze erhebliche Fortschritte im Methodendiskurs gemacht worden. Seither werden Modernisierungstheoreme nicht mehr als geschlossene Theorie mit normativen Ansprüchen sondern als Rahmen für Fragehorizonte und Kategoriebildungen verstanden. Dies ermöglicht erstens ein verändertes Verständnis von Wesen und Triebkräften der Modernisierung, zweitens eine gewachsene Sensibilität für kulturelle Spezifika und entsprechende analytische Konsequenzen sowie drittens die Überwindung der Dichotomie zwischen Tradition und Moderne, was zu einer präziseren Einschätzung des Potentials beider Kategorien und einer besseren diachronen Vergleichbarkeit von Modernisierungsprozessen führte.

2. FIXPUNKTE AKTUELLER MODERNISIERUNGSDEBATTEN Selbstverständlich wird auch in neueren Modernisierungsdiskussionen Modernisierung als Sonderform des sozialen Wandels gefasst. Sie erscheint dort als beschleunigte Form des Wandels, die soziale, politische, wirtschaftliche und kulturelle Entwicklungen der verschiedensten Art umfasst und Strukturveränderungen überwiegend auf der Makroebene bewirkt.31 Weiterhin prägend ist auch die Überzeugung, 28 29 30 31

So zu Recht Dipper, Moderne. Reinhart Koselleck 1979, 303. Knöbl 2007, 208 f. Lepsius 1977, 10–29, 12. Insofern bleibt zumindest dieses Grundverständnis des Modernisie-

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dass diese Wandlungsprozesse mit Phänomenen wie Rationalisierung, Differenzierung und Individualisierung einhergehen. Während jedoch v. a. in der klassischen Modernisierungstheorie der Vorgang selbst eher als evolutionär geradlinig und nahezu autonom prozesshaft ablaufend angesehen wurde, betonen neuere Überlegungen deutlich stärker die Rolle von Akteuren und eruptiven Konflikten, gerade weil, wie etwa Shmuel Noah Eisenstadt zu Recht unterstrichen hat, Modernisierungsprozesse nichts Naturnotwendiges, gleichsam evolutionär Vorgesehenes darstellen, sondern immer kontingent und damit erklärungsbedürftig bleiben. Als ihre entscheidenden Auslöser werden verdichtete, wachsende Aktivitäten von bisher minderprivilegierten, oft in traditionale Abhängigkeiten eingebundenen Gruppen beschrieben, die gegen gesellschaftliche Rollenzuweisungen, Verteilungen gesellschaftlicher Mittel oder verhinderte Aufstiegschancen rebellieren.32 In der Komplexität sowie Dynamik dieser Veränderungen liegen Spezifika von Modernisierungsprozessen gegenüber anderen Typen sozialen Wandels.33 Unterschiedliche Meinungen oder Interessen, die zuvor in getrennten Räumen parallel nebeneinander existierten, prallen konfliktiv aufeinander und erzeugen einen Aktionsdruck auf die Gesellschaft, insbesondere auf betroffene Eliten, deren Legitimität und Machtansprüche unter Druck geraten. Sie stehen vor der Notwendigkeit, diese Gruppen und deren Konflikte neu zu regulieren, indem sie in einen veränderten gemeinsamen institutionellen Bezugsrahmen eingeordnet werden. Dieser muss Tradition und Moderne in bestimmtem Ausmaß miteinander verbinden und die gesellschaftlichen Gruppen mit neuen gemeinsamen Brennpunkten kollektiver Identität versehen. Entscheidend sei, so Eisenstadt, ob Gesellschaften in der Lage sind, institutionelle Strukturen aufzubauen, die den Wandel absorbieren und mit neuen Problemen fertig werden. Hierin machte er – bei allen unterschiedlichen Bewältigungsstrategien – den gemeinsamen Problemkern von Modernisierung aus.34 Selbstverständlich kann der Versuch einer konkreteren Umschreibung von Modernisierung nicht deren längerfristige Voraussetzungen umfassen, da diese äußerst heterogen sind und auf keine gemeinsame Formel gebracht werden können. Sie

32 33

34

rungsbegriffs unverändert; vgl. Mergel 1997, 203–232, 205 f.; Wiswede/ Kutsch 1978, 97–153, 98 f.; 102 f.; Eisenstadt 1979, 56 f.; 61–63; vgl. S. 7 f., auch seine Deutung von Modernisierung als „eine Reihe von Prozessen mit einem gemeinsamen Kern, der ähnliche Probleme schafft“. Hierunter versteht Eisenstadt die zunehmende Differenzierung, die soziale Mobilisierung sowie Zusammenbruch oder Schwächung der Tradition. Dies schafft Regulierungsbedürfnisse, denn neu entstehende Gruppen müssen in einen institutionellen Bezugsrahmen eingeordnet werden, außerdem muss ein neuer Brennpunkt der kollektiven Identität geschaffen werden, der Tradition und Modernität in bestimmten Ausmaß miteinander verbindet, d. h. der Aufbau institutioneller Strukturen, welche Wandel absorbieren und mit neuen Problemen fertig werden kann. Dass diese ähnlichen Probleme verschiedene Lösungen hervorrufen, führt Eisenstadt auf tiefere kulturelle symbolbasierte Strukturen zurück. Eisenstadt 1979, 7 f. Dies liegt dicht bei der Dahrendorfschen Charakteristik vom revolutionären sozialen Wandel als „Antagonismus von Anrechten und Angebot“, der sich im sozialen Konflikt „zwischen fordernden und saturierten Gruppen“ entlade; Dahrendorf 1992, 8; Bühl 1999; Weymann 1998; Claussen 1994. Eisenstadt 1979, 8.

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können ebenso in längerfristigen ökonomischen oder politischen Dynamiken (z. B. der Etablierung von Handel und der Entstehung eines Bürgertums durch Urbanisierung) bestehen wie in spezifischen mentalen Dispositionen (Protestantismusthese).35 Konkurrenzkonstellationen sorgen für eine Intensivierung dieser Dynamiken, exogene Faktoren, in der klassischen Modernisierungstheorie generell unterschätzt, beeinflussen sie zusätzlich. Diese Entwicklungen führen dann zur Entstehung einer wachsenden Komplexität der Märkte für Güter, Geld, Arbeit, befördern die Spezialisierung von Tätigkeiten und Beschäftigungsrollen und regen damit auch neue Formen sozialer Organisationen mit eigenen allokativen Mechanismen und Regularien an,36 etwa in Form von Vereinen oder professionellen Gruppen.37 Ausdifferenzierungen verschiedener Wissenssysteme (religiöses, philosophisches, politisches, ökonomisches, administratives Wissen)38 sowie politische und administrative Regularien gehen damit einher. Entscheidend sind dann jedoch wiederum die Folgewirkungen dieser Entwicklungen auf die Herausbildung handlungsmächtiger Akteursgruppen, deren Relevanz und Kreativität insbesondere in neueren Überlegungen zu Modernisierungsprozessen intensiviert herausgestellt wird.39 Hierbei geht es keineswegs nur um individuelle Akteure, sondern ganz entschieden um das Engagement breiterer Gruppen auch unterhalb der erwähnten Eliten.40 Erst wenn bei diesen bisherige soziale, wirtschaftliche und psychologische Verpflichtungen und Bindungen unterhöhlt bzw. gebrochen werden, sodass sie bereit sind, neue Sozialisierungs- und Verhaltensmuster anzunehmen (etwa im Sinne einer Wertorientierung, welche das eigene Fortkommen stärker betont oder bisher unhinterfragte Machtansprüche in Frage stellt)41, erodieren traditionelle Status- und Legitimationskriterien. Dies erhöht den Druck auf bisher tonangebende Eliten zur Neuverhandlung institutioneller Regelungsmechanismen, um ihre Machtansprüche zu wahren. Wenngleich für die Beschreibungen dieser Dynamiken funktionale Kriterien wie Differenzierung, Rationalisierung, Beschleunigung oder Individualisierung in Geltung bleiben, richtet sich der Blick nunmehr verstärkt auch auf deren Kehrseiten. So führen Prozesse der Spezialisierung und Differenzierung zu einem wachsenden Bedürfnis nach übergreifenderen Formen der Integration und Vernetzung im institutionellen wie normativen Bereich.42 Tendenzen der Rationalisierung, die v. a. als Interesse an einer Steuerbarkeit und Planbarkeit verschiedener Bereiche des 35

36 37 38 39

40 41 42

Zur einschneidenden Relevanz von militärischen Konkurrenzsituation Europas für die Ausbildung des frühmodernen Staates (z. B. anhand der Notwendigkeit, Finanzierung und Rekrutierung zu sichern) vgl. Mann 1991, v. a. 282–300. Z. B. spezifische Marktmechanismen. Moore 1961, 57–83; Eisenstadt 1979, 57 f. Shils 1958, 232–255. Als Beispiel hierfür bereits der Aufsatz von Wiswede/Kutsch 1979, 412–422, auch: http://nbnresolving.de/urn:nbn:de:0168-ssoar-136660. Ähnliche Überlegungen auch bei Eisenstadt 1963, 96–119, 105 f. Für eine Verbreiterung des Blicks auf diese Akteursgruppen über die sogenannten politischen Eliten hinaus hatte bereits Edward Shils plädiert, Shils 1957/58, 55–62; Knöbl 2001, 185. Deutsch 1961, 463–515; Lerner 1958; Braibanti/Spengler 1961. Van der Loo/Van Reijen 1992, 81–117, 116.

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alltäglichen Lebens, von Wirtschaft, Gesellschaft und Politik erkennbar werden, führen nicht nur zu wachsenden Anforderungen an die Folgenabschätzung dieser Entscheidungen, sondern auch zu dem Bedürfniss, der vollkommenen Durchrationalisierung zu entgehen bzw. individuelle wie kollektive Grenzen setzen zu können, inwieweit man diesen Rationalisierungsanforderungen entsprechen möchte.43 Und nicht zuletzt führt die unverkennbare Individualisierung der Moderne zum wachsenden Zwang für Individuen, eigenverantwortlich die richtigen Entscheidungen zu treffen, sowie schließlich auch zu anderen Formen der Gruppenbildung.44 Diese gegenläufigen Tendenzen lassen Modernisierungsprozesse paradox wirken, und sie scheinen die Erklärungskraft von Theorien für Prozesse der Modernisierung zu mindern, weil diese offenkundig nicht prozessual geradlinig von früheren Zuständen abgrenzbar sind, sondern durch ein „Sowohl als auch“ charakterisiert werden müssen. Tatsächlich aber zeigt eine präzisere Analyse dieser komplementären Phänomene zum einen deren Differenz zu vorhergehenden Organisationsmustern. Zum anderen verdeutlicht sie, wie komplex und störungsanfällig selbst Prozesse einer notwendigen Neujustierung sind. Die Herstellung einer solchen neuen Balance erfordert z. B. die Ausbildung einer wachsenden Zahl von Symbolen zur Neuformierung kollektiver Identitäten und als Statusbezugsrahmen für den sozialen wie politischen Aufstieg45 sowie eine Politik, die Forderungen verschiedener Gruppen differenziert nachgibt, diese z. T. aber auch lenkt bzw. manipuliert. Erfolgreiche Modernisierung manifestiert sich dann in der Etablierung eines institutionellen Systems, welches in der Lage ist, Wandel in wechselnden Problemkonstellationen zu absorbieren und zu bewältigen, sowie eine ideologische, oft auch institutionalisierte Verantwortung der Herrschenden gegenüber den Beherrschten zu etablieren. Eine Kulmination dieses Prozesses besteht in der Teilnahme der Beherrschten an der Wahl der Herrschenden, dem Festlegen der wichtigsten politischen Ziele und in geringerem Maße an der Formulierung der Politik.46 Einen erheblichen Erkenntnisfortschritt erbrachte aber auch die wachsende Sensibilität für die kulturell zutiefst unterschiedlichen Strategien, mit denen sich verschiedene Gesellschaften den Problemen der Modernisierung stellen.47 Diese Sichtweise bestimmt das Konzept der ‚Multiple modernities‘.48 Was aus makrosoziologischer Sicht nicht unproblematisch erscheint, weil es eine klare Kategorisierung in Großtheorien erschwert, ist aus geschichtswissenschaftlicher bzw. gesellschaftsvergleichender Perspektive ein erheblicher Zugewinn. Denn die Resultate dieser Theorie bestehen nicht einfach in einer unüberblickbaren kumulativen Vielfalt von Wegen der Modernisierung, welche letztlich jedes analytische Verhandeln über Modernisierung ad absurdum führen würde. Die empirischen Erhebungen und 43 44 45 46 47

48

Van der Loo/Van Reijen 1992, 118–158, 157 f. Van der Loo/Van Reijen1992, 159–195, 194 f. Eisenstadt 1979, 98–101. Eisenstadt 1962, 461–472; 1963, 15–26; Shils 1958, 160 f. Vgl. Sachsenmaier/Riedel/Eisenstadt (Hgg.), 2002; zum Gedanken einer prinzipiellen Vielfalt von Logiken der Moderne, die sich in einem Konflikt der Interpretationen befinden, vgl. Arnason 1996. Die westliche Moderne bildet hier immer nur eine Tradition unter mehreren. Vgl. hierzu Eisenstadt 2000, 1; Eisenstadt 1995, 503–520, 518; Knöbl 2001, 261.

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deren Systematisierungen erlauben vielmehr tiefergehende Einblicke über Pfadabhängigkeiten, d. h. sie erlauben Aussagen darüber, anhand welcher Kriterien Auswahlprozesse aus verschiedenen Optionen erfolgen, wie soziale Codes mit religiösen Codes und verschiedenen Sozialstrukturen interagierten. Insbesondere die zahlreichen empirischen Studien und deren Analyse von Binnenkausalitäten haben Regeln und Strukturen aufgedeckt, welche diesen Auswahldimensionen zugrundeliegen.49 Nicht zuletzt hier sind die Ursachen dafür zu suchen, dass das Reflexionsniveau über Modernisierungsprobleme gegenüber der klassischen Modernisierungstheorie deutlich gestiegen ist. Zudem berühren diese Studien eine der Grundfragen der Soziologie, nämlich die nach den Ursachen für Kontinuität oder Brüche in den Strukturen von Gesellschaften, einen Fragekomplex, den diese neuen Zugriffsweisen mit der erforderlichen kulturellen Tiefendimension versehen, was zugleich auch ihren besonderen Wert für die Geschichtswissenschaft verdeutlicht.50 Das Wissen um kulturelle Spezifika erhellt jedoch nicht nur zahlreiche Varianzen, sondern erlaubt innerhalb gewisser Grenzen auch Rückschlüsse auf Erfolge oder Misserfolge von Modernisierungsansätzen, es verbindet sich also mit der Erkenntnis der Möglichkeit von Stagnation und Reversibilität von Modernisierung.51 Gründe für solche Entwicklungen können z. B. in segregierten Protestbewegungen liegen, die weder im Hinblick auf eine kontinuierliche Tätigkeit noch auf die Formulierung einer bestimmten Politik koordiniert oder organisiert operierten oder aber es an der Bereitschaft fehlen ließen, sich in einen weiteren institutionellen bzw. normativen Bezugsrahmen einzuordnen. Probleme entstehen allerdings auch dann, wenn vorhandene Institutionen nicht zur Integration neuer Symbole und Orientierungen in der Lage sind, wenn ursprünglich partikuläre Symbole weder dem neuen Zentrum der Gesellschaft eingefügt noch auf einem neuen Niveau der gemeinsamen Identifikation umgeformt werden, die propagierten Symbole reale Problemlagen nicht berücksichtigen oder für große Bevölkerungsgruppen normativ irrelevant bleiben.52 Als kritisch kann sich jedoch auch eine mangelnde Koordination der Gesellschaft erweisen. Das wäre beispielsweise dann der Fall, wenn große Bevölkerungsteile weiterhin einer statischen Auffassung von Gesellschaft und ihrem eigenen Ort innerhalb der Gesellschaft verhaftet bleiben (z. B. infolge von Gruppendruck oder dem Überdauern paternalistischer Strukturen) und sich deshalb nicht mit einem weiteren politischen Rahmen solidarisieren, während andere Gruppen sich sehr flexibel an den neuen Möglichkeiten der Statusgewinnung orientieren, freilich ohne die Interessen anderer Gruppen zu berücksichtigen.53 Grundlegende Probleme liegen also darin, dass Differenzierung und Interaktionen zwischen verschiedenen Gruppen und Schichten zunehmen, es jedoch an Mechanismen, z. T. auch an kom49 50

51 52 53

Eisenstadt/Azmon 1975. Vgl. zur Kulturgeschichte des Politischen Stollberg-Rilinger 2005, 9–24; Th. Mergel, Kulturgeschichte der Politik, Version: 2.0, in: Docupedia-Zeitgeschichte, 22.10.2012, URL: http:// docupedia.de/zg/Kulturgeschichte_der_Politik_Version_2.0_Thomas_Mergel?oldid=84783. Zu Prozessen fehlgeschlagener Modernisierung vgl. Eisenstadt 1979, 81–101. Eisenstadt 1979, 85–93. Kaplan (Hg.) 1962.

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munikativen Vermittlern fehlt. Diesbezüglich können erhebliche Unterschiede zwischen den Fähigkeiten von Systemen, mit Wandel fertig zu werden, herausgearbeitet werden. Ein wertvoller Schritt war dann drittens die Überwindung bisheriger Dichotomieannahmen von Tradition und Moderne. Erst diese ermöglichte einen differenzierteren, trennschärferen Umgang mit beiden Kategorien. Hierzu gehörte die Wiederentdeckung der Bedeutung von Traditionen für moderne Gemeinschaften. Entgegen der Annahme der klassischen Modernisierungtheorie, dass eigentlich nur die größtmögliche Überwindung von Traditionen Modernisierungsprozesse besonders wirksam sein lässt, wurde zunehmend deutlich, dass auch in modernen Gemeinschaften Traditionen eine anhaltende, zentrale identitätsstiftende Bedeutung besitzen. Zum einen wird hier der Rekurs auf die Moderne selbst zum Teil der Traditionsstiftung,54 zum anderen bleiben eigene kulturelle Traditionen identitätsstiftend und prägend für die jeweiligen gesellschaftlichen Formen des Umgangs mit Wandel. Sie erhalten als Symbole Bedeutung für Tätigkeiten wie Wissenschaft oder Politik und prägen Unterschiede auch in strukturellen Bereichen, z. B. die Regeln des politischen Spiels oder gesellschaftliche Hierarchien.55 Hieraus erwuchs die kategorielle Differenzierung zwischen Tradition als allgemeinem Reservoir von Verhalten und Symbolen einer Gesellschaft sowie dem Traditionalismus als einer extrem negativen Reaktion auf Modernität.56 Da Unterschiede zwischen Strukturen und Symbolen verschiedener moderner Gesellschaften als zusammenhängend mit historischen Traditionen perzipiert wurden, deutet man zeitgenössische Entwicklungen nicht mehr als Bewegung in Richtung auf ein Endziel, sondern zumindest partiell als Entfaltung traditioneller Kräfte.57 Hierbei formte sich die Erkenntnis, dass auch traditionale Gemeinschaften vergangener wie gegenwärtiger Zeiten über ein nicht unerhebliches Organisationsniveau verfügen, welches keineswegs nur auf familialen oder gentilizischen Strukturen beruht, sondern auch zentrale Administrationsleistungen ermöglicht. Insofern unterscheiden sich auch traditionale Gemeinschaften hinsichtlich des Grades, in dem ihre Traditionen den Übergang zur Modernität behindern oder erleichtern, was eine analytische Unterscheidung zwischen verschiedenen Elementen der Tradition erfordert.58 Gerade dies ermöglicht jedoch erst eine präzisere, abstraktere Unterscheidung von traditionalen und modernen Gemeinschaften: Deren Unterschied wird v. a. von dem Ausmaß bestimmt, in denen es Eliten möglich ist, den Zugriff auf gesellschaftliche Symbole, politische Teilhabe und gesellschaftliche Ressourcen zu monopolisieren bzw. den Zugang zu ihnen exklusiv zu begrenzen. In solchen Fällen wird sichtbar, in welchem Ausmaß der Fokus auf Tradition Innovationen begrenzt. Modernere Gemeinschaften sind im Allgemeinen stärker durch universalistische Normen geprägt. Kennzeichnend für sie ist daher eher der Statuserwerb als ein zugeschriebener Status. Daraus folgt auch eine insgesamt breitere politische Teilhabe. 54 55 56 57 58

Eisenstadt 1979, 225–367. Zur Konstruktion von Traditionen vgl. Hobsbawm/Ranger 1983. Shils 1958, 153–165; Hoselitz 1961, 57–85; Spengler1961, 3–57. Almond/Verba 1966. Levy jr. 1965, 29–40; Hoselitz 1961, 83–113.

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Damit werden auch diachrone Vergleiche zwischen Wandlungsabläufen in unterschiedlichen Epochen möglich. Diese speisen sich zum einen aus der Beobachtung, dass infolge analoger typologischer Muster in durchaus unterschiedlichen Zeiträumen, Überlegungen zu Modernisierungsprozessen keineswegs nur auf die eigentliche Moderne beschränkt bleiben müssen.59 Zum anderen sind sie Ausdruck einer Notwendigkeit des Vergleichs, da Modernisierung weder ein naturnotwendiges, noch ein evolutionär unausweichliches Stadium gesellschaftlicher Entwicklungsprozesse darstellt, sondern ein zutiefst kontingentes, und damit erklärungsbedürftiges Phänomen manifestiert, welches immer auch die Optionen von Scheitern oder Reversibilität einschließt.60

3. SPEZIFIKA DER ATHENISCHEN DEMOKRATIE DES 4. JH. V. CHR. An diesem Punkt kann die Modernisierungstheorie für eine Kategorisierung der athenischen Demokratie des 4. Jh. v. Chr. fruchtbar gemacht werden. Diese liegt bereits in der athenischen Demokratie als solcher, deren Existenz als erste Demokratie der Weltgeschichte mit einem hohen Maß an prozessualer Autonomisierung im Feld des Politischen innerhalb einer Gesellschaft der Vormoderne bereits paradox genug und damit erklärungsbedürftig erscheint.61 Noch stärkere Motive für eine Einbeziehung modernisierungstheoretischer Kategorien liegen jedoch in Spezifika der athenischen Demokratie des 4. Jh. v. Chr. und in gewandelten Sichtweisen der althistorischen Forschung. Im Gegensatz zur traditionellen Hochschätzung der athenischen Demokratie des 5. Jh. v. Chr., erschien die Demokratie des folgenden Jahrhunderts der Forschung lange als matter Abglanz, bar jeder Fortune, ohne bürgerlichen Stolz oder demokratische Kraft, als bloße Übergangsphase zwischen der Hochblüte der athenischen Demokratie und deren Zerschlagung durch das monarchische System Makedoniens – mit anderen Worten – als Niedergangsphase der Demokratie. Die Ursachen dieser Negativsicht lagen zum einen in den unübersehbaren Krisen des 4. Jh. im militärischen wie finanziellen Bereich, doch auch in zahlreichen kritischen zeitgenössischen Äußerungen, die immer wieder den Schwund des Bürgergeistes sowie die Dominanz eines Honoratiorenregimes monierten und den drohenden Verfall der Demokratie beklagten. Erst durch intensivere Forschungen zu den Funktionsmechanismen des demokratischen Systems wandelte sich diese Sicht allmählich. Zahlreiche Phänomene gewannen eine andere Relevanz. Es wurde zum einen sichtbar, dass einige Ursachen der so flagrant unterschiedlich erscheinenden Demokratieepochen in den unterschiedlichen Gattungsspezifika der überlieferten Quellen begründet liegen: Affirmative historiographische Quellen für das 5. Jahrhundert, Gerichtsreden und kritisch reflektierende philosophische Schriften für das 4. Jahrhundert. Zum anderen wurden nun zahlreiche der kritisierten Phänomene als Pro59 60 61

Eisenstadt 1979, 32. Zum Übergang von der Antike zum Mittelalter als Fall gesellschaftlicher Entdifferenzierung bereits Mergel 1997, 220. Vgl. etwa Nippel 2002, 27–41.

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dukte einer offeneren Gesellschaft, mit differenzierten, z. T. widersprüchlichen Entwicklungen, die auch kritische Diskurse ermöglichten, aufgefasst. So war die geschmähte Honoratiorendemokratie Teil einer vertieften politischen Einbeziehung von Wohlhabenden in die öffentliche Finanzierung bzw. einer stärkeren Bedeutung fachlich speziell qualifizierter Experten. Beides führte keineswegs zur verminderten politischen Betätigung der Bevölkerung. Die angeprangerte ‚Entmachtung des Volkes‘ wurde als Phänomen des Übergangs von einer Direktdemokratie, die politische Entscheidungen ausschließlich über die Volksversammlung realisierte, zu einer Demokratie erkennbar, die im Sinne einer Machtbalance den Gerichtshöfen politische Kontrollfunktionen zuwies und aus leidvollen Erfahrungen heraus eine Normenhierarchie etablierte, die den Entscheidungsbefugnissen der Volksversammlung institutionelle Grenzen setzte. Es mehrten sich die Stimmen, die darauf hinwiesen, dass Athen im 4. Jh. v. Chr. nicht nur einen Ort tiefgreifender, oft sehr dynamischer Wandlungen in Politik, Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft darstellte, sondern dass dem demokratischen System durch geschickte Adaptionen trotz widriger äußerer Umstände erstaunliche Erfolge in der institutionellen Komplexitätssteigerung gelangen und damit gewachsene Problemlösungskapazitäten bei der Organisation einer zunehmend komplexen Gesellschaft einhergingen.62 Hierfür mögen nur einige Beispiele stehen. So wurde z. B. das Problem der Aufrechterhaltung der Staatseinkünfte im postimperialen Zeitalter, in welchem man gezwungen war, wegen des Wegfalls der Bündnergelder gewachsene Privatvermögen verstärkt zur öffentlichen Finanzierung heranzuziehen, durch die Bildung von Steuergesellschaften (Symmorien) gelöst, die eine relativ gerechte Lastenverteilung für die Betroffenen ermöglichten.63 Die Entstehung von Spezialkassen für Militär- bzw. Zivilausgaben mit vierjähriger Amtsdauer der leitenden Beamten ermöglichte eine professionell gesteuerte Budgetpolitik und die Initialisierung von Infrastrukturprojekten zum Landesausbau, wobei die Kassen immer demokratischer Kontrolle unterworfen blieben.64 Institutionell äußerst komplex wirkende Regelungen förderten nicht nur den für Athens Einkünfte zentralen Seehandel,65 sondern sicherten auch die Getreideversorgung seiner Bürger und ermöglichten die Einbeziehung der Interessen privater Händler.66 Und es ist in nicht unerheblichem Maße den gezielten Maßnahmen des Politikers Eubulos zugunsten von Wirtschaftsförderung und Landesausbau zuzuschreiben, dass Athen aus einer tiefen Krisenphase nach dem Ende des Bundesgenossenkrieges ein staunenswerter wirtschaftlicher Aufschwung gelang. Dass diese Maßnahmen einem elaborierten gesellschaftlichen Diskurs entstammten, zeigt ein zeitgleich entstandenes Handbuch des Xenophon, in welchem er detaillierte und höchst realitätsnahe Vorschläge zur Hebung der Staatseinkünfte machte, die sich in einigen 62

63 64 65 66

Vgl. hierzu den Sammelband von Eder (Hg.) 1995. Grundlagen hierfür waren der Wiederaufbau der durch Kritias zerstörten Hafenanlagen, die Wiederherstellung früherer Handelsbeziehungen sowie die Neuverteilung landwirtschaftlicher Ressourcen. Akrigg 2007, 27–43; French 1991, 24–40. Leppin 1995, 557–571. Engen 2005, 359–381; Ober 2010, 222–227; Cohen 2005. Hochschulz 2007, 94.

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Punkten mit den Intiativen des Eubulos deckten. Insofern erstaunt es nicht, dass die Kategorie der prohairesis, als Interesse an einer gezielten Einflussnahme auf politische und administrative Prozesse, seit der Mitte des 4. Jh. höhere Wertigkeit in rhetorischen Programmschriften und öffentlichen Reden gewann.67 Hinzu kamen die wachsende soziale Mobilität athenischer Bürger sowie eine Diversifizierung von Lebensstilen. Herkunft, Besitzerwerb, Lebensstil und politische Einstellung waren weniger eng miteinander verbunden als im Jahrhundert zuvor. Der Wert der Mäßigung (metriotes) trat zu etablierten Qualitäten eines Politikers hinzu. Lokale Einheiten gewannen an politischer Relevanz.68 Aristoteles charakterisierte diese Vielfalt in klarer Abgrenzung zu Platon als unausweichliche und durchaus positiv zu bewertende Konsequenz der Gegenwart der Polis Athen.69 Dass die beschriebenen Phänomene mehrere Felder betreffen und Teil einer komplexeren Gesamtentwicklung sind, haben bereits Sammelbände wie der von Walter Eder über die athenische Demokratie des 4. Jh. v. Chr. oder die von Robin Osborne edierten Bände insbesondere über die Phase nach dem Ende des Peloponnesischen Krieges als revolutionäre Umbruchsphase verdeutlicht.70 Die kategoriale Ausdeutung dieser Veränderungen ist weiterhin Gegenstand der Diskussion. Doch gerade weil die geschilderten Problemlösungen innerhalb Athens mit Prozessen der Institutionalisierung, Bürokratisierung, Professionalisierung und Ausdifferenzierung in Verbindung standen, war es Anliegen einer Tagung vom Juni 2012, unter Nutzung von Fragestellungen und Kategorien modernisierungstheoretischer Überlegungen verstärkt nach den Ursachen dieser Dynamiken zu fragen. Die Ergebnisse dieser Diskussionen vereint nun der vorliegende Sammelband. Bezugnehmend auf die zuvor erwähnten Fixpunkte modernisierungstheoretischer Überlegungen war z. B. von Interesse, welche Rolle die katastrophale Niederlage im Peloponnesischen Krieg, der Zerfall des Seebundes sowie der oligarchische Kritiasputsch für die Transformationen Athens spielten. Wie wurden diese Zäsuren bewältigt? Welche Akteure trugen zu den Dynamisierungen der Demokratie bei? Welches waren ihre Spielräume? Auf welche Resonanz stießen sie? Zu welchen – möglicherweise auch paradoxen – Neujustierungen in politischer, wirtschaftlicher und mentaler Hinsicht führten diese Umbrüche? Hinsichtlich kultureller Spezifika waren mentale Konzepte, Kategorien und Wissensformen zu berücksichtigen, die diese Entwicklungen ermöglichten oder auch behinderten. Welche Antriebsmomente werden für politische oder wirtschaftliche Entscheidungen erkennbar? Welche Pfadabhängigkeiten ergaben sich? Ein zentraler Gesichtspunkt der Tagung war jedoch auch die Bedeutung von Traditionen für die spezifischen Eigenheiten der Demokratie Athens im 4. Jh. v. Chr., gerade weil sie als Demokratie in einer vormodernen Epoche die Frage nach traditionalen Prägungen in besonderem Maße aufwirft. Damit war zugleich auch die Frage verbunden, auf welchen Feldern und aus welchen Gründen man von diesen Vorprägungen abwich.

67 68 69 70

Allen 2006. Baslez 1996, 281–292; Taylor 2007, 72–90. Ottmann 2005. Eder 1997, Athenische Demokratie; Goldhill/Osborne 2006; Osborne 2007.

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Die der Tagung zugrundeliegende Annahme war keineswegs die einer durchgreifenden Modernisierung, einer folgerichtigen Entwicklung oder einer Vollendung der athenischen Demokratie. Athen wurde vielmehr als Sonderfall der antiken Welt in den Blick genommen. Ebenso sollten Brüche, Spannungen, Konflikte, eine segmentäre Beschränkungen von Modernisierung,71 Widerstände gegen bzw. die Verweigerung von Modernisierung reflektiert werden. Zudem war präziser die Verbindung von rationalen und traditionalen Elementen und Begründungsmustern zu bestimmen, sowie konkreter nach den Feldern zu fragen, auf denen Modernisierungsprozesse zu beobachten sind. Inwieweit standen sich der allgemeine Wunsch nach breiter demokratischer Teilhabe und nötige Professionalisierungstendenzen unversöhnlich gegenüber bzw. wie wurde dieser Konflikt fallweise gelöst?72 Inwieweit wurden soziale bzw. wirtschaftliche Modernisierungen institutionell oder politisch aufgegriffen und reflektiert? Ist ein wechselseitiger Zusammenhang zwischen Modernisierungstendenzen und Demokratie auszumachen? Ebenso war zu diskutieren, ob der Verlust der außenpolitischen Eigenständigkeit infolge der Niederlage gegen Philipp von Makedonien eine Rückführung vorheriger Modernisierungsprozesse nach sich zog. Die Grundfrage sollte Differenzierungs-, Individualisierungsund Rationalisierungsmechanismen der Demokratie des 4. Jh. v. Chr., deren Kausalitäten und gegenseitigen Verflechtungen gelten. Demnach zielte die Tagung auch auf eine Weiterführung der Debatte über eine präzisere kategoriale Erfassung der Demokratie des 4. Jh. v. Chr. Aufschlussreich sind die Transformationsprozesse dieser Epoche jedoch auch für modernisierungstheoretische Überlegungen generell, gerade weil sich infolge der unübersehbaren Unterschiede und der zeitlichen Differenz manche unzulässigen normativen Aufladungen von Entwicklungsüberlegungen der Moderne von allein erübrigen. Die Transformationen Athens waren nicht Teil einer globalen Bewegung: Sie wurden zwar durch wirtschaftliche Dynamiken, jedoch nicht durch eine Industrialisierung getragen und sie waren reversibel. Gleichwohl haben sie sich als Kontingenzphänomen herausgebildet und sind somit erklärungsbedürftig. Demnach stellt sich die Frage, ob sich epochenübergreifende Ursachen für die Ausbildung von Phänomen wie Bürokratisierung, Rationalisierung und Individualisierung ausmachen lassen.

71

72

Zu den eher primitiven Instrumenten der Wahrheitsfindung vor Gericht, welche eine nachträgliche Befragung der Geschworenen ausschloss und eine freie Beweiswürdigung auf Basis der abgegebenen Zeugenaussagen durch die Geschworenengerichte vorsah, vgl. Thür 1995, 321– 331. Vgl. hierzu den Beitrag von P. J. Rhodes zur Bewertung der athenischen Geschworenengerichtshöfe: Judicial procedures in Fourth-Century Athens, Improvement or simply change?; Rhodes 1995, 303–319.

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4. BEITRÄGE Die Beiträge dieses Bandes verdeutlichen die ambivalente Situation Athens im 4. Jh. v. Chr., die durch innovative Tendenzen ebenso gekennzeichnet war wie durch die Zäsur des Peloponnesischen Krieges und durch systemisch bedingte Krisen. So hatte sich einerseits bereits mit der Entstehung der athenischen Demokratie im 5. Jh. v. Chr. eine zuvor nie dagewesene aktive Partizipation der Bürger an der politischen Gestaltung Athens herausgebildet, wobei politische Belange der Stadt durch intensive Gesetzgebungstätigkeit geregelt wurden (Timmer, Harris). Zudem wurde auch bereits in dieser Zeit durch den Hafenausbau sowie durch das politische Instrument des vom Delisch-Attischen Seebund induzierten Flottenbaus und dem Handel unter den Bündnern Grundlagen für die wirtschaftliche Prosperität Athens gelegt (Descat). Längerfristige Tendenzen zur Professionalisierung und Rationalisierung, aber auch für Bürokratisierung und Formen der arbeitsteiligen Spezialisierung sind nachweisbar (Timmer). Andererseits war vor allem der Beginn des 4. Jh. v. Chr. durch eine komplexe Systemkrise und die Notwendigkeit ihrer Bewältigung geprägt. Manche dieser Probleme besaßen eine strukturelle Dimension sowie eine längere Vorgeschichte. Insbesondere Timmer und Rhodes verweisen darauf, dass die erbitterte Feindschaft innerhalb der Bürgerschaft als tiefe politische Vertrauenskrise zu fassen ist. Sie machen deren Ursachen in einer Partikularinteressen völlig negierenden Übersteigerung des Gemeinwohlgedankens bzw. in einem hypertrophen Zentralismus, fehlender Stetigkeit der politischen Willensbildung bzw. in mangelnder individueller Rechtssicherheit aus. Zudem wirkte sich der kriegsbedingte Rückgang der Bürgerzahl negativ auf die Funktionsfähigkeit der politischen Institutionen aus. Verwüstungen durch Krieg und Kritiasputsch hatten die athenische Wirtschaft schwer beschädigt, bisherige staatliche Finanzierungsgrundlagen waren durch den Zerfall des Seebundes weggebrochen (Pébarthe). Die Beiträge lassen eine Fülle von Strategien und Feldern der Problembewältigung erkennbar werden. Für den Bereich der Politik weist Jan Timmer unter Rückgriff auf Kategorien der Systemtheorie nach, dass die Beseitigung der tiefen Vertrauenskrise durch eine ‚Institutionalisierung von Misstrauen‘, d. h. durch eine institutionelle Ausdifferenzierung politischer Regel- und Kontrollmechanismen gelang. Erforderlich geworden war dies infolge der gewachsenen Komplexität der athenischen Politik, welche bisherige Mechanismen der politischen Steuerung zunehmend dysfunktional für die Integration höchst heterogener Gruppeninteressen werden ließen. Hier sorgte die Ausbildung geregelter Verfahren für ein Mindestmaß an Verlässlichkeit und Stetigkeit. Begleitet wurden diese Prozesse von der Entstehung eines Diskurses, welcher Vertrauen in Mitbürger und Politiker zu einer politischen Primärtugend stilisierte und Verstöße dagegen anprangerte. Mit diesem Diskurs verband sich eine weitere Facette, die Peter Rhodes illustriert: Im Gegensatz zum 5. Jahrhundert wurde nun eine Pluralität an politischen Optionen öffentlich als möglich und legitim anerkannt, d. h. Reformvorschläge für das politische System wurden nicht mehr automatisch mit Umsturz- oder Tyrannisverdikten belegt. Parallel dazu definierte man präzisere Grenzen für den Umbau der Demokratie. Auf

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dieser Basis konnte das demokratische System unter Berücksichtigung bisheriger Probleme neujustiert, z. T. auch an veränderte Erfordernisse angepasst werden. So kompensierte man die geringere Bürgerzahl des 4. Jh. eher durch die Verbreiterung der Rekrutierungsmöglichkeiten, erleichtert durch Aufwandsentschädigungen, als durch die Lockerung des Verbots der Jahresbefristung. Zudem vermochte sich ein wachsendes Bedürfnis nach besonderer Befähigung und Amtserfahrung in speziellen Ämtern (etwa bei den Strategen oder den Vorsitzenden der neu entstandenen Finanzkassen) mit dem Interesse an einer weiterhin breiten Machtlagerung durchaus zu verbinden: In diesem Kontext sind etwa neue Auslosungsverfahren für Gerichtsgeschworene oder die Neueinführung von Prohedroi als Vorsitzende für Ratssitzungen aufzufassen, machten diese doch eine Voraussage unmöglich, wer den einzelnen Sitzungen vorsitzen würde bzw. wer über einen Fall vor Gericht entschied. Zwei weitere Tendenzen der institutionellen Umorientierung beleuchtet Giovanna Daverio Rocchi, wobei sie den Institutionenbegriff zu Recht nicht nur auf die Kategorie politischer Institutionen beschränkt, sondern auch auf den Bereich verstetigter Verhaltensweisen und gesellschaftlicher Regeln anwendet, welcher das Verhalten der Akteure strukturierte: Sie beschreibt als prägende Tendenzen zum einen die wachsende Aufgabenverlagerung auf die lokale Ebene der Demen, welche zwar der schlechteren Finanzausstattung zentraler politischer Einheiten durch den Wegfall der Seenbundstribute geschuldet war, in der Folge aber zu einer Ausdifferenzierung mehrerer politischen Zentren gegenüber bisher dominanten zentralen Institutionen wie etwa der Ekklesia führte und damit auch eine ortsnahe Regelung lokaler Interessen ermöglichte. Hierbei korrespondierte die wachsende staatliche Einbeziehung privaten Reichtums mit entsprechenden Konsequenzen für die soziale Anerkennung von Euergeten. Beide Tendenzen verkörpern, obwohl sie gezwungenermaßen auf eine finanzielle Notlage reagierten, die zunehmende gesellschaftliche Akzeptanz von Vielfalt und Differenz bei entsprechender Leistung für die Polis und besaßen eine integrative Wirkung. Für den Bereich der Wirtschaft betonen die Beiträge von Pébarthe, Harris, Stroud, Shipton und Descat übereinstimmend, dass die Steuerungsintensitäten athenischer Behörden in dieser Epoche hinsichtlich ihrer Komplexität auf keinen Fall mit den merkantilistischen bzw. dirigistischen Interventionen frühneuzeitlicher Staaten vergleichbar sind. Dennoch beleuchten sie ein ganzes Maßnahmenbündel, mit denen die Institutionen der Demokratie Impulse zur Stimulierung der Wirtschaft im öffentlichen Interesse gaben. Christophe Pebarthe zeigt etwa, dass es Athen durchaus gelang, die zuvor auf Reichsbildung basierende Marktmacht in der Ägäis in veränderter Form auszubilden und die Interessen von Handelspartnern in der Ägäis erneut zu gewinnen, indem sie auf drückende Problemlagen politisch reagierten. Entscheidendes Gewicht kam hierbei der Wiederherstellung der Rechtssicherheit zu, die in der Endphase des Krieges sowie durch den Kritiasputsch erheblich an Glaubwürdigkeit eingebüßt hatte. Ebenso entscheidend war jedoch die von Athen übernommene und ausgeübte Garantie für Münzqualität, wie sie im Münzgesetz von 375/74 v. Chr. sichtbar wird. Die Prüfung der Münzreinheit durch staatliche Beamte bildete für in Athen tätige Händler ein attraktives Instrument zur Sen-

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kung ihrer Transaktionskosten und erhöhte deshalb deren Interesse, ihre Waren dort anzubieten. Auch das Getreidesteuergesetz von 377 v. Chr. rückt Pebarthe plausibel in den Kontext von eklatanten Problemen der athenischen Getreideversorgung. Diese Versorgungsschwierigkeiten basierten v. a. auf Preisspekulationen, welche durch die unbeschränkte Profitgier von Getreidehändlern entstanden waren und nun institutionell begrenzt wurden. Einige Steuerungsmechanismen dieses Gesetzes diskutiert Ronald Stroud. Er zeigt, dass die Polis Athen das für den Transport und die Vermarktung des von den Klerucheninseln gelieferten Getreides nötige Engagement von Transportunternehmern durch deren Entlohnung mit festen Steuerquoten gewann, die Stadt selbst jedoch den Getreideverkauf dieser Getreidemengen kontrollierte, um den Erlös in die Stratiotikakassen zu lenken. Öffentliche Interessen an der Bereitstellung verlässlicher Getreidemengen begrenzten hier zwar die Profitchancen der Transportunternehmer, doch sie durchkreuzten sie nicht. Zudem macht Stroud plausibel, dass die hier tätigen Geschäftsleute durchaus noch in anderen Geschäftsbereichen weniger transparente Möglichkeiten der Profitgewinnung hatten und nutzten. Das Gesetz selbst erweist die administrative Fähigkeit der Athener zur Kopplung unterschiedlicher Regelungsmaterien. Andersgeartete Steuerungsinteressen zeigt Edward Cohen für die Initiativen Athens im Bereich des Seehandels auf. Vor dem Hintergrund der wachsenden Gewinnorientierung in Athen besaß diese Sphäre angesichts der spektakulären Profitmöglichkeiten hohe Attraktivität. Die Komplexität von Seehandel und -finanzierung, bei denen die Gerichtsreden nahezu unentwirrbare Netze unterschiedlicher Beteiligungen und Transaktionsformen ausweisen, bildete jedoch auch eine stete Quelle für Rechtsstreitigkeiten. Über die Gewinnspanne entschieden also nicht nur die Witterungsverhältnisse, sondern die effiziente und möglichst schnelle Abwicklung der Rechtsstreitigkeiten, um Gewinne möglichst noch innerhalb der gleichen Saison reinvestieren zu können. Cohen verbindet die athenischen Maßnahmen, vor allem die Ausgliederung spezialisierter Seegerichtshöfe, die ausschließlich in der Wintersaison tagten, aus den allgemeinen Gerichtshöfen, mit den städtischen Interessen zur Steigerung der Funktionsfähigkeit des Seehandels. Diese Maßnahmen waren geeignet, auswärtige Händler nach Athen zu locken. In seiner Frage, welche Wirtschaftsmentalität derartigen Interventionen zugrunde lag, weist Raymond Descat nach, dass trotz des Fehlens einer im strikten Sinne ökonomischen Sachbuchliteratur in Athen literarische Texte verschiedenster Art voll von Überlegungen zu ökonomischer Rationalität und nützlichem wirtschaftlichen Verhalten waren. Hierbei sei keine scharfe Trennung zwischen Subsistenzwirtschaft und marktkonformem Verhalten zu beobachten, sondern es sei eher zu allmählichen Verschiebungen gekommen, wobei die Subsistenzwirtschaft immer stärker durch Marktpraktiken ergänzt worden sei. Interessanterweise seien die primären Impulse oftmals nicht aus Veränderungen des privaten Verhaltens entstanden, sondern in starkem Maße durch öffentliche Anreize, die ihre Ursache im Bedürfnis der Polis nach der Erschließung neuer Finanzquellen gehabt hätten, motiviert worden. Anhand einer Analyse der Begriffe kerdos und prosodos vermag Descat auch allmähliche semantische Verschiebungen dingfest zu machen, welche die

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wachsende Rationalisierung und Positivkonnotierung ökonomischen Verhaltens unterstreichen. Die sozialen und mentalen Veränderungen, welche mit diesen Entwicklungen in unterschiedlicher Weise verknüpft waren, skizzieren die Beiträge von Kirsty Shipton, Peter Liddel, Vincent Gabrielsen und Claire Taylor. So weist Shipton nach, dass sich im 4. Jh. v. Chr. das Profil des Mineninvestors in Athen sowohl nach Quantität wie nach sozialer Herkunft erheblich wandelte: Im Verlauf dieser Zeit nahm nicht nur deren Zahl stark zu, sondern sie entstammten nun auch deutlich weniger prominenten und wohlhabenden Familien, während noch in der ersten Hälfte des 4. Jh. v. Chr. die Investoren aus wohlhabenden Familien kamen, für die familiäre Verbindungen zum Bergbau nachweisbar sind. Die Autorin zeigt, dass dies keine selbstläufige Entwicklung war, sondern Resultat gezielter politischer Impulse: Auch hier sorgte die Alternativlosigkeit staatlicher Finanzierung aus Steuereinkünften wohlhabender Privatleute für das öffentliche Interesse, Investments zu erleichtern, um den Investoren hinreichende Renditen zu ermöglichen und damit Steuern für die Allgemeinheit zu generieren. In diesem Kontext deutet Shipton athenische Gesetze, welche durch Gemeinschaftsinvestments eine Risikostreuung im Bergbau ermöglichten und diese Erwerbsform damit attraktiver machten. Deshalb plädiert sie für die Annahme eines Nexus zwischen institutionell verankerter öffentlicher und privater Wirtschaftsmentalität, welcher wiederum mit Auswirkungen auf Wirtschaft und öffentliche Finanzen verbunden gewesen sei. Dass für diese Optionen sozialer Mobilität jedoch auch veränderte öffentliche Wahrnehmungsprozesse ausschlaggebend gewesen sind, zeigt der Beitrag von Peter Liddel, über den Wandel im epigraphic habit bei Ehrendekreten. Dieser verdeutlicht, dass soziale Differenzierung als Exzellenz und Arete sogar stärker als im 5. Jh. akzeptiert und vermehrt öffentlich herausgestellt wurde. Die Grundlage dieser sozialen Würdigung waren jedoch nicht mehr traditionale Qualitäten wie Herkunft oder physische Überlegenheit als Voraussetzung für kriegerische Taten. Gewürdigt wurden nun konkrete Leistungen für die Gemeinschaft als Euerget oder durch Initiativen im politischen bzw. militärischen Bereich. Genau diese Anerkennung von Vielfalt und Differenz zeichnet Vincent Gabrielsen auch am Beispiel alternativer sozialer Vernetzungsmöglichkeiten nach, wie sie die v. a. in der Mitte des 4. Jh. in erheblicher Zahl neu entstehenden Vereine spiegeln. Waren die demokratischen Institutionen Athens ursprünglich als Gegenbewegung zu derartigen, oftmals soziale Exklusivität repräsentierenden Gruppierungen entstanden und waren deshalb einige dieser Hetairien als antidemokratisch geschmäht worden, hatte sich dies im 4. Jh. verändert. Die Ursachen für diese gewachsene Anerkennung sind sowohl in einer größeren Akzeptanz von differenzierten Binnenorganisationen zu sehen, die daraus resultierte, dass diese Vereine oftmals auch Träger spezifischer Aufgaben und Funktionen waren, als auch im veränderten Erscheinungsbild der Vereine zu suchen. Gabrielsen beschreibt z. B. religiöse Vereine, die auch Frauen und Katöken unter ihre Mitglieder aufnahmen, und er deutet diese insbesondere auf Grund ihrer integrativen Fähigkeiten für Katöken als Bereicherung städtischen Lebens. Zudem transformierten solche Vereine, so Gabrielsen, die Öffentlichkeit der Polis durch die verstärkte Einbeziehung bisheriger

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Randgruppen, indem sie die Identitäten als Bürger, Gläubiger und Vereinsmitglied miteinander verbanden. Andere Möglichkeiten der Netzwerkbildungen untersucht Claire Taylor am Beispiel der Sozialbeziehungen von Ammen. Sie weist nach, dass Ammen nicht nur in der Lage waren, durch ihre Tätigkeit zum Unterhalt ihrer Familie beizutragen, sondern auch durch die Ausbildung von Kontakten v. a. zu anderen Frauen die öffentliche Wahrnehmung ihrer Tätigkeit positiv beeinflussten. Die Traditionsfundamente der athenischen Demokratie werden von drei weiteren Autoren dieses Bandes in zwei unterschiedlichen Facetten beschrieben, die durchaus an den von Eisenstadt beschriebenen Zweiklang von Modernität als eigene Form der Traditionsstiftung und traditionalere Formen der eigenen Vergangenheit erinnern. So hebt Edward Harris hervor, dass sich das Proprium der athenischen Demokratie, die letztendlich ausschlaggebende politische Rolle des athenischen Volkes, auf alle Entscheidungsprozesse trotz zahlreicher politischer Veränderungen im 4. Jh. v. Chr. (z. B. der Areopagreform) unverändert durchhielt und wahrscheinlich auch in der Öffentlichkeit dazu beitrug, manch andere Änderung als nicht demokratieabträglich zu akzeptieren. Die Beiträge von Lene Rubinstein und Rosalind Thomas heben hingegen die ‚vormoderne‘ Seite der athenischen Demokratie hervor. Ihre Aufsätze zum Rechtswesen Athens legen dar, dass die Professionalisierung der Gesetzgebung und die Verschriftlichung von Gesetzen zwar eine unbestreitbare Tendenz darstellte, zugleich jedoch der Rekurs auf ‚vormoderne‘ Antriebsmomente wie Zorn und Rache seitens der Gerichtsredner durchaus üblich war und auch direkte bzw. oft sehr emotionale Reaktionsformen von Bürgergeschworenen wie Volksversammlungsteilnehmern weiterhin die Regel blieben. Allerdings weist Rubinstein nach, dass die Aufforderungen an die Geschworenen zur Racheausübung auf einen engen Bereich begrenzt blieben, nämlich auf Problemfelder, für welche die Gerichtsredner eine unmittelbare Bedrohung der Gemeinschaft geltend machen konnten. Zudem war es selbst dann eher die Erzeugung von Furcht als die von Rachegefühlen, auf welche die Redner abzielten. Doch inwieweit war den Athenern die Reichweite ihrer Steuerungsimpulse bewusst, inwieweit handelten sie intentional? In welchen Kategorien reflektierten sie die Veränderungen? Diesen Fragen widmen sich die Beiträge von Armin Eich, John Davies, Danielle Allen und Katarina Nebelin. Armin Eich analysiert Typen, Reichweite und Auswirkungen wirtschaftspolitischer Interventionen Athens. Er betont zu Recht, dass das Wissen um die jeweilige Wirkungsweise der steuernden Eingriffe von deren Komplexitätsgrad abhängig war, zeigt aber, dass die Maßnahmen der Athener durchaus unterschiedlichen Komplexitätsgraden entsprachen. Sie betrafen keineswegs nur Maximalpreisfestsetzungen für bestimmte Güter, sondern Unterscheidungen zwischen Warengruppen bzw. zwischen lokal produzierten und importierten Gütern. Hinzu kamen noch Flankierungen dieser Maßnahmen wie die Favorisierung bestimmter Importgüter sowie Exportverbote für andere Waren. All dies habe, so Eich, konkrete Rückwirkungen auf die Produktions- und Bevölkerungsstruktur in Attika gehabt, auch wenn der Grad an Intentionalität jeweils diskutiert werden müsse. John Davies analysiert die wachsende Komplexität im Bereich der Politik, die v. a. als Zunahme von Handlungsoptionen fassbar wird, indem er unterschiedliche

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Politikstile bzw. Präferenzen herausarbeitet, die innerhalb Athens als Bewältigungsstrategien in Reaktion auf die Herausforderungen des 5. Jh. v. Chr. entwickelt wurden. Sollte man die Fortsetzung der bisherigen Machtpolitik erzwingen, auf eine andere Form der zwischenstaatlichen Machtbalance setzen oder völlig auf eine innere Konsolidierung und wirtschaftliche Erholung Athens setzen und die äußeren Beziehungen geringer gewichten? In den Auseinandersetzungen und Rekombinationen zwischen diesen und weiteren Präferenzen wird eine Versachlichung bzw. Ausdifferenzierung von Politik erkennbar. Diese Ausdifferenzierung erstreckt sich auch auf das Verhältnis von Philosophie und Politik bzw. Politikbegründung. So präsentiert Katarina Nebelin in Aristoteles einen Denker, der die pluralen Realitäten des demokratischen Athen in unerreichter Weise kategoriell zu erfassen und zu begründen suchte, und der dennoch in seiner Bewertung dieser Komplexität und Vielfalt zwischen nachhaltiger Zustimmung und kritischer Distanz kontextbezogen schwankte. Obwohl zahlreiche Gruppen und Vereine existierten, welche die Interessen der Bürgerschaft in verschiedener Weise vertraten, plädierte Aristoteles für eine Unterteilung der Bürgerschaft v. a. hinsichtlich ihrer ‚natürlichen‘ Ungleichheit. Die Demokratie blieb für ihn eine Ordnung, die natürlich gegebene Hierarchien zu Unrecht ignorierte. Eine ähnliche Ambivalenz weist Danielle Allen für den Umgang athenischer Politik mit platonischem Denken nach. Sie zeigt zum einen, dass seit den 340er Jahren platonische Konzepte, v. a. als philosophisch-systematische Klassifikationen bei der Frage nach Typologien oder der Bestimmung von Wesenseigenschaften agierender Politiker, ihren Weg in die athenische Politik fanden. Politiker wie Lykurg, Aischines oder Demosthenes zeigten sich vertraut mit platonischem Denken, ohne dass dies in der Öffentlichkeit gegen sie verwandt wurde. Platonische Kategorien wurden vielfach frei kombinierbar und losgelöst von ihrem originären Argumentationskontext für die Begründung neuer politischer Strategien verwendet. Am Beispiel der Kontroversen um die Parteinahme Athens gegen Makedonien 330 v. Chr. demonstriert die Autorin, dass platonische Kategorien zum außenpolitischen Argument werden konnten. So nutzt Lykurg sie, um in seiner Anklage gegen Leokrates neue Konditionen für athenischen Patriotismus zu markieren. Im innenpolitischen Bereich lässt sich diese Verklammerung jedoch nicht nachweisen, ein Indiz dafür, dass der Theoretiker Platon nicht den gewünschten Einfluss auf die athenische Politik erlangen konnte und die Demokratie unumstritten blieb. Wie nachhaltig all diese Dynamiken aber auf den Sonderweg der athenischen Demokratie mit ihren spezifischen Entwicklungsmöglichkeiten im 5. und 4. Jh. v. Chr. basierten, wies Volker Grieb in seinem Abschlussbeitrag nach: Er zeigte, dass veränderte außenpolitische Bedingungen für Athen ab dem 3. Jh. v. Chr. einerseits den Wunsch der Bürgerschaft auslösten, das Errungene auch unter geänderten Umständen zu bewahren, dass die gesunkenen Möglichkeiten zur Besoldung politischer Tätigkeiten aber dennoch zu Rückgängen bei den Möglichkeiten demokratischer Teilhabe und damit zu einer Rearistokratisierung führten. Insgesamt erwiesen sich Kategorien wie Differenzierung, Rationalisierung, Individualisierung als hilfreich für die Beschreibung der im 4. Jh. innerhalb Athens ablaufenden Prozesse. Die Frage nach den Ursachen dieser beispiellosen Dynamik

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verweist in der Tat auf das hohe Maß an politischer Aktivität eines großen Teils der athenischen Bürgerschaft, die sich im Verlauf des Demokratisierungsprozesses immer mehr von Geltungs- und Gestaltungsansprüchen traditionaler Eliten freigemacht hatten. Dies führte zu radikal veränderten Debatten über die Verteilung von Macht und Ressourcen, die weit über die Diskurse anderer griechischer bürgerschaftlich organisierter Poleis hinausgingen und auch tiefe Krisen auslösten. Derartige Krisen, die man als Finanzkrise ebenso wie als politische Vertrauenskrise fassen kann, standen am Beginn der Demokratie des 4. Jh. v. Chr. Die Beiträge dieses Bandes haben deutlich werden lassen, dass die Ausbildung von institutionellen Regeln und Reforminitiativen im Athen dieser Zeit zur Lösung zahlreicher Probleme sowohl auf die wachsende Anerkennung von fachgebundenem Expertenwissen, die pragmatische Ausdifferenzierung von Politikvarianten als auch auf die Akzeptanz von gesellschaftlicher Vielfalt bei einer gleichermaßen hohen Einbindung der athenischen Bürgerschaft zu sehen ist. Hier sind einerseits Gründe für die Ausstrahlung des Modells Demokratie auf andere Poleis zu sehen, die sich noch im Hellenismus mit diesem Etikett schmückten, um die besondere Qualität ihrer Verfassung zu unterstreichen. Andererseits wurde erkennbar, dass das in Athen ausgebildete Modell der politischen und sozialen Integration auf Grund der wachsenden Macht monarchischer Systeme im Hellenismus unter Druck geriet und letztlich reversibel war. Einer weiteren Erörterung wert wäre die Frage nach den von van der Loo und van Reijen aufgeworfenen Paradoxien dieses Dynamisierungsprozesses, für den innerhalb dieser Tagung v. a. die positiven Aspekte herausgestellt wurden. Gerade deshalb würden sich die Verfasser dieses Bandes freuen, wenn die Debatte um die athenische Demokratie weitere Impulse erhält.

BIBLIOGRAPHIE Agwuele, A. (Hg.), Development, Modernism and Modernity in Africa, Cambridge, Ma./London 2013. Akrigg, B., The Natur and Implication of Athens, in: R. Osborne, Debating the Athenian Cultural Revolution. Art, Literatur, Philosophy and Politics 430–380 B. C., Cambridge/New York 2007, 27–43. Alexander, J. C., Critical Reflections on ‘Reflexive Modernization’, Theory, Culture & Society 13 (1996), 133–138. Alexander, J. C., The Dark Side of Modernity, Cambridge/Malden, Ma. 2013. Alexander, J. C. / Colomy, P., Differentiation Theory and Social Change. Comparative and Historical Perspectives, New York 1990. Alexander, J. C. / Colomy, P., Soziale Differenzierung und kollektives Verhalten, in: J. C. Alexander, Soziale Differenzierung und kultureller Wandel, Frankfurt/M.(New York 1985, 116–147. Allen, D., Talking about revolution: on political change in fourth-century Athens and historiographic method, in: S. Goldhill / R. Osborne (Hgg.), Rethinking Revolutions through Ancient Greece, Cambridge 2006. Almond, G. / Verba, S., The Civic Culture. Political Attitudes and Democracy in Five Nations, Newbury Park/London/New Delhi 1963. Baslez, M.-F., Place et rôles des associations dans la cité d’Athènes au IVe siècle, in: P. Carlier (Hg.), Le IVe siècle av. J.-C. Approches historiographiques, Nantes 1996, 281–292. Beck, U. / Giddens, A. / Lash, S., Reflexive Modernisierung. Eine Kontroverse, Frankfurt/M. 1996.

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Bellah, R. Tokugawa Religion, New York/London 1957. Bendix, R., Modernisierung in internationaler Perspektive, in: W. Zapf (Hg.), Theorien des sozialen Wandels, Köln/Berlin 1969, 505–512. Bendix, R., Tradition and Modernity Reconsidered, Comparative Studies in Society and History, 9 (1967), 292–346. Bibliographie: Bodenheimer, S. J., The Ideology of Developmentalism: American Political Science Paradig – Surrogate for Latin American Studies, Berkeley Journal of Sociology 35 (1968), 130–159. Bühl, W. L., Sozialer Wandel im Ungleichgewicht. Zyklen, Fluktuationen, Katastrophen. Stuttgart 1990. Dahrendorf, R., Der moderne soziale Konflikt, Stuttgart 1992. Degele, N. / Dries (Hg.), Chr., Modernisierungstheorie. Eine Einführung, München 2005. Deutsch, K., Social Mobilization and Political Development, American Political Science Review, 55 (1961), 463–515. Dipper, Chr., Moderne, Version: 1.0, in: Docupedia-Zeitgeschichte, 25. 8.2010, URL: http:// docupedia.de/zg/Moderne?oldid=84639. Durkheim, E., Über die Teilung der sozialen Arbeit, Frankfurt 1977. Eder (Hg.), W., Die athenische Demokratie im 4. Jh. v. Chr. Niedergang oder Vollendung einer Verfassungsform?, Stuttgart 1995. Eisenstadt, Sh. N., Die Vielfalt der Moderne, Weilerswist 2000. Eisenstadt, Sh. N. / Azmon, Y., Socialism and Tradition, Atlantic Highlands, N. Y. 1975. Eisenstadt, Sh. N., Bureaucracy and Politcal Development, in: La Palombara, Bureaucracy, 96–119. Eisenstadt, Sh. N., Initial Institutional Patterns of Political Modernization – A Comparative Study, Civilisations 12 (1962), 461–472; 13 (1963), 15–26. Eisenstadt, Sh. N., Japan und die Vielfalt kultureller Programme der Moderne, Prokla 25 (1995), 503–520. Eisenstadt, Sh. N., Multiple Modernities, Daedalus 129 (2000), 1–29. Eisenstadt, Sh. N., Tradition, Wandel und Modernität, Frankfurt/M. 1979. Engen, D. T., Ancient Greenbacks Athenian Owls, the Law of Nikophon and Athenian Economy, Historia 54 (2005), 359–381. French, A., Economic Conditions on Fourth-Century Athens, G&R 38 (1991), 24–40. Frisby, D., Die Ambiguität der Moderne: Max Weber und Georg Simmel, in: W. J. Mommsen / W. Schwentker (Hgg.), Max Weber und seine Zeitgenossen (Veröffentlichungen des Deutschen Historischen Instituts London Bd. 21), Göttingen/Zürich 1988, 580–594. Geertz, C., Old Societies and New States. The Quest for Modernity in Asia and Africa, London 1963. Gellner, E., Thought and Change, London 1969. Giddens, A., Leben in einer posttraditionalen Gesellschaft, in: U. Beck / A. Giddens / S. Lash (Hgg.), Reflexive Modernisierung. Eine Kontroverse, Frankfurt/M. 1996, 113–194. Greve, J. / Schnabel, A. (Hgg.), Emergenz. Zur Analyse und Erklärung komplexer Strukturen, Frankfurt/M. 2011. Gumbrecht, H.-U., Modern, Modernität, Moderne, in: Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe, Bd. 4, Stuttgart 1978, 93–131. Gumbrecht, H.-U., Zum Wandel des Modernitäts-Begriffes in Literatur und Kunst, 375–381. Gusfield, J. R., Tradition and Modernity. Misplaced Polarities in the Study of Social Change, American Journal fo Sociology 72 (1966/67), 351–36. Hobsbawm, E. / Ranger, T. O.The Invention of Tradition, Cambridge 1983. Hochschulz, B., Kallistratos von Aphidnai. Untersuchungen zu seiner politischen Biographie, München 2007. Holland, J. H., Studying Complex Adaptive Systems. In: Journal of Systems Science and Complexity. Bd. 19, Nr. 1, März 2006, 1–8. Hoselitz (Hg.), B. F., The Progress of Underdeveloped Areas, Chicago/London 1952.

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Jauß, H. R., Literarische Tradition und gegenwärtiges Bewußtsein der Modernität, in: Ders., Literaturgeschichte als Provokation, Frankfurt/M. 1970, 11–66. Joas, H., Die Kreativität des Handelns, Frankfurt/M. 1992. Knöbl, W., Die Kontingenz der Moderne. Wege in Europa, Asien und Amerika, Frankfurt/New York 2007. Knöbl, W., Spielräume der Modernisierung. Das Ende der Eindeutigkeit, Weilerswist 2001. Koselleck, R. „Neuzeit“. Zur Semantik moderner Bewegungsbegriffe, in: Ders., Vergangene Zukunft. Zur Semantik geschichtlicher Zeiten, Frankfurt a. M. 1979, 300–348. Koselleck, R., Gibt es eine Beschleunigung der Geschichte?, in: Ders., Vergangene Zukunft. Zur Semantik geschichtlicher Zeiten, Frankfurt/M. 1979, 150–176. Küppers, B. O., Chaos und Geschichte. Läßt sich das Weltgeschehen in Formeln fassen? in: R. Breuer (Hg.): Der Flügelschlag des Schmetterlings. Ein neues Weltbild durch die Chaosforschung. Herne 1993, 69–95. La Palombara, J. (Hg.), Bureaucracy and Politcal Development, Princeton, N. J. 1963. Latour, B., Wir sind nie modern gewesen. Versuch einer symmetrischen Anthropologie, Frankfurt/M. 1998. Leppin, H., Zur Entwicklung der Verwaltung öffentlicher Gelder im Athen des 4. Jh. v. Chr., in: Eder, Demokratie, 557–571. Lepsius, M. R., Soziologische Theoreme über die Sozialstruktur der „Moderne“ und die „Modernisierung“, in: R. Koselleck (Hg.), Studien zum Beginn der modernen Welt, Stuttgart 1977, 10– 29. Lerner, D., The Passing of Traditional Society, New York 1958. Levy, M. J., Patterns (Structures) of Modernization and Political Development, Annals of the American Academy 358 (1965), 29–40. Levy, M. J., Some Sources of the Vulnerability of the Structures of Relatively Non-Industrial Societies to Those of Highly Industrialized Societies, in: B. Hoselitz, The Progress of underdeveloped Areas, Chicago 1952, 113–125 Lipset, S. M., Political Man, Baltimore 1959. M. Mann, M., Geschichte der Macht Bd. 2, Frankfurt/M. 1991. Mergel, Th., Geht es weiterhin voran? Modernisierungstheorie auf dem Weg zu einer Theorie der Moderne, in: Ders. / Th. Welskopp (Hgg.), Geschichte zwischen Kultur und Gesellschaft. Beiträge zur Theoriedebatte, München 1997, 203–232. Mergel, Th., Kulturgeschichte der Politik, Version: 2.0, in: Docupedia-Zeitgeschichte, 22. 10.2012, URL: http://docupedia.de/zg/Kulturgeschichte_der_Politik_Version_2.0_Thomas_Mergel? oldid=84783. Mergel, Th., Modernisierung, in: Europäische Geschichte Online (EGO), hg. vom Institut für Europäische Geschichte (IEG), Mainz 2011-04-27. URL: http://www.ieg-ego.eu/mergelt-2011-de URN: urn:nbn:de:0159-20110201116 [2013-08-26]. Moore, B., Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy. Lord and Peasant in the Making of the Modern World, Boston 1966. Nippel, W., Gerechtigkeit durch Verfahren – Das Gerichtswesen in Athen“, Loccumer Protokolle, Nr. 26/01, S. 27–41. Ober, J., Democracy and Knowledge. Innovation and Learning in Classical Athens, Princeton/Oxford 2010, 222–227. Cohen, E. E., Ancient Athenian Maritime Courts, Clark, N. J. 2005. Osborne, R., Debating the Athenian cultural Revolution. Art, Literature, Philosophy, and Politics 430–380 BC, Cambridge 2007. Osterhammel, J., Die Verwandlung der Welt. Eine Geschichte des 19. Jahrhunderts, München 2009. Ottmann, H., Platon, Aristoteles und die neoklassische politische Philosophie der Gegenwart, Baden-Baden 2005. Rhodes, P. J., Judicial procedures in Fourth-Century Athens, Improvement or simply change? in: Eder, Demokratie, 303–319. Rostow, W., The Stages of Economic Growth, Cambridge 1969.

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Rudolph, L. I. / Hoeber Rudolph, S., The Modernity of Tradition. Political Development in India, Chicago/London 1967. Sachsenmaier, D. / Riedel, J. / Eisenstadt, Sh. N. (Hgg.), Reflections on Multiple Modernities. European, Chinese and Other Interpretations, Leiden 2002. Schimank, U., Theorien gesellschaftlicher Differenzierung, Opladen 1996. Shils, E. A., The Concentration and Dispersion of charisma: Their Bearing on Economic Policy in Underdeveloped Countries, World Politics 10 (1958), 232–255. Shils, E. A., Tradition and Liberty. Antinomy and Interdependence, Ethics 48 (1958), 153–165. Simmel, G., Die Großstädte und das Geistesleben, in: Brücke und Tür, Stuttgart 1957. Smelser, N. J., Social Change in the Industrial Revolution, London 1959. Stollberg-Rilinger, B., Was heißt Kulturgeschichte des Politischen? Einleitung, in: dies. (Hrsg.), Was heißt Kulturgeschichte des Politischen? (= Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung, Beiheft 35), Berlin 2005, S. 9–24. Taylor, C., A New Political World, in: R. Osborne, Debating the Athenian Cultural Revolution. Art, Literatur, Philosophy and Politics 430–380 B. C., Cambridge/New York 2007, 72–90. Thür, G., Die athenischen Geschworenengerichte – eine Sackgasse?, in: Eder, Demokratie, 321– 331. Tönnies, F., Gemeinschaft und Gesellschaft, Leipzig 1887 (ND Darmstadt 1988). Van der Loo / Van Reijen, W., Modernisierung. Projekt und Paradox, München 1992. Wagner, P., Modernity. Understanding the Present, Cambridge/Malden, Ma. 2012. Wallerstein, I., World-System Analysis. An Introduction, Durham 1987. Walzer, M., The Only Revolution: Notes on the Theory of Modernization, Dissent 11 (1964), 432– 440. Weber, M., Die protestantische Ethik und der Geist des Kapitalismus, in: Ders., Gesammelte Aufsätze zur Religionssoziologie, Tübingen 1920, 17–206. Wiswede, G. / Kutsch, Th., Sozialer Wandel als „Modernisierung“. Zur Problematik eines Konzepts, in: J. Matthes (Hg.), Sozialer Wandel in Westeuropa: Verhandlungen des 19. Deutschen Soziologentages in Berlin 1979, 412–422, auch: http://nbn-resolving.de/urn:nbn:de:0168-ssoar136660. Wiswede, G. / Kutsch, Th., Sozialer Wandel. Zur Erklärungskraft neuer Entwicklungs- und Modernisierungstheorien, Darmstadt 1978. Zapf, W., Entwicklung und Sozialstruktur moderner Gesellschaften, in: H. Korte / B. Schäfers (Hg.), Einführung in Hauptbegriffe der Soziologie, Wiesbaden 2010, 257–271.

SCHRITTE AUF DEM WEG DES VERTRAUENS – ÜBERLEGUNGEN ZU CHANCEN UND GRENZEN DER ANPASSUNG VON HANDLUNGSDISPOSITIONEN Jan Timmer

EINLEITUNG Das Wort Vertrauen ist in aller Munde. Ob nun der neugewählte Bundespräsident in seiner Antrittsrede nach der Vereidigung,1 die politischen Kommentare großer deutscher Tageszeitungen zur Lage der Nation oder die Beobachter der Finanzmärkte, wenn es um die Zukunft des Euro geht, ein Begriff steht häufig im Mittelpunkt: Um Vertrauen wird gebeten, Vertrauen muss geschenkt, stabilisiert, gefestigt, verteidigt und gegebenenfalls – im Augenblick recht häufig – zurückgewonnen werden.2 Diese Konjunktur des Vertrauens ist keine Besonderheit politischer Sonntagsreden oder deutscher Feuilletons. Auch in der Wissenschaft ist Vertrauen zu einer zentralen analytischen Kategorie bei der Untersuchung politischer oder ökonomischer Systeme geworden. Die Zeiten, in denen Niklas Luhmann feststellen musste: „Vertrauen ist nie ein Thema des soziologischen Mainstream gewesen. Weder die klassischen Autoren noch moderne Soziologen verwenden den Terminus in einem theoretischen Zusammenhang“3, sind sicherlich vorbei. Zunehmende Unsicherheit, ein wachsendes Bewusstsein für die Risikohaftigkeit menschlichen Handelns und die Komplexität moderner Gesellschaften, die zumindest partiell gewonnene Einsicht, dass sich das Verhalten von Systemen – insbesondere auch von Märkten – nicht als Ergebnis des nutzenmaximierenden Handelns informierter Akteure allein konzeptionalisieren lässt, die Beobachtung der Erosion der Grundlagen sozialer Kooperation und schließlich wohl auch die grundsätzliche Hinwendung zu den „weichen Faktoren“ im Zuge der kulturalistischen Wende haben seit dem Beginn der 90er Jahre ein breites Interesse an „Vertrauen“ geweckt; in der Ökonomie, den Sozial- und Politikwissenschaften und innerhalb dieser speziell auch in der Demokratietheorie.4 Die Studien von Robert Putnam über die Demokratie in Italien oder

1 2 3 4

http://www.bundespraesident.de/SharedDocs/Downloads/DE/Reden/2012/03/120323Vereidigung-des- Bundes praesidenten. pdf?__blob=publicationFile [16.08.2012]. Vgl. etwa: Endreß 2012, 87; Fuhse/Schaal 2005, bes. 54 f. Luhmann 2001, 143. Vgl. aus der umfangreichen Literatur zum Vertrauen: Endreß 2010b, 91–113; Luhmann 20004; Möllering 2005; Möllering 2006; Offe 1999, 118–131; Offe 2001, 241–294; Schaal 2004; speziell zur Bedeutung der kulturalistischen Wende: Sztompka 1995, ix.

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Piotr Sztompka über die Bedeutung von Vertrauen in den postkommunistischen Demokratien des ehemaligen Ostblocks sind längst Klassiker geworden.5 Für die Geschichtswissenschaft gilt dies nicht in gleicher Weise: Sicherlich sind auch hier Arbeiten entstanden, in denen Vertrauen im Mittelpunkt stand; zu verweisen ist etwa auf die Arbeiten von Ute Frevert. Auch speziell in der Alten Geschichte gibt es Ansätze – so etwa Steven Johnstones „A History of Trust in Ancient Greece“ – aber eine vergleichbare „Karriere“ wie in den benachbarten Wissenschaften hat Vertrauen hier nicht gemacht.6 Dafür gibt es Gründe, auf die zumindest kurz eingegangen werden soll: Das Problem sind wie so häufig die Quellen. Vertrauen wird wenig thematisiert und da, wo es expliziert wird und der Begriff in den Quellen auftaucht, fehlt es nicht selten. Ganz im Gegenteil kann die Thematisierung von Vertrauen Krisenindikator sein.7 Die Nachbarwissenschaften behelfen sich mit komplizierten Interviews, die dazu dienen sollen, Wahrnehmungs- und Handlungsdispositionen offenzulegen, sowie etwa der engmaschigen Beobachtung von Betriebsabläufen.8 Aber selbst hier konzentrieren sich empirische Arbeiten häufig auf Fragen nach der Funktion von Vertrauen, den Bedingungen für die Stabilisierung von Vertrauensbeziehungen und den Folgen von Vertrauensverlusten, weniger auf das Vertrauen selbst, wie etwa Guido Möllering betont hat.9 Vergleichbare Fragen sollen auch im Mittelpunkt der folgenden Ausführungen stehen: Was leistete Vertrauen für das politische System der attischen Demokratie und inwieweit lassen sich die Veränderungen der Disposition zu vertrauen in der Zeit vom 6. bis 4. Jahrhundert v. Chr. auf der einen und die zeitgleichen strukturellen Entwicklungen Athens auf der anderen Seite miteinander in Beziehung setzen? Es soll dabei gezeigt werden, dass die Ausbreitung von Vertrauen für die attische Gesellschaft in dem Sinne funktional war, als sie die Gleichzeitigkeit von Demokratisierungs- und Ausdifferenzierungsprozessen ermöglichte. Die auffällige Stabilität der Demokratie im 4. Jahrhundert v.Chr. ist als Folge der Anpassung von Handlungsdispositionen an die Erfordernisse des politischen Systems zu verstehen.

ZUR FUNKTION VON VERTRAUEN Wie bei der Menge von Ansätzen, die sich mit der Funktion und den Erscheinungsformen von Vertrauen beschäftigen, nicht anders zu erwarten, unterscheiden sich Definitionen von „Vertrauen“ ebenso wie die mit dem Phänomen verbundenen Konzepte.10 Weitgehend gemein ist ihnen, dass mit Vertrauen die Annahme bezeichnet wird, dass das Verhalten des jeweils Anderen in einer bestimmten Situation und in Bezug auf einen bestimmbaren Sachverhalt das eigene Interesse mitbe5 6 7 8 9 10

Putnam 1993; Sztompka 1999. Frevert 2003; Frevert 2003, 34–41; Frevert 2009; Johnstone 2011. Vgl. hierzu grundsätzlich: Endreß 2010a, 27–40, bes. 31. Vgl. etwa Bierhoff/Rohmann 2010, 71–89, 76. Möllering 2005; Möllering 2006. Vgl. zur Diskussion etwa: Endreß 2010a; Möllering 2005.

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rücksichtigen wird, und dies, obwohl die Information, um zu dieser Erwartung zu gelangen, nicht hinreichend und das Vertrauen mit erheblichem Risiko behaftet ist. Vertrauen reduziert damit soziale Komplexität. Allgemein formuliert, „schafft [sc. Vertrauen] stabile Rahmenbedingungen für Handlungs- und Interaktionsprozesse (sozial) und dient als zentraler Mechanismus der Kontinuierung sozialer Ordnung und des Aufbaus sowie der Aufrechterhaltung stabiler sozialer Beziehungen (zeitlich).“11 Was aber leistet Vertrauen speziell für das Funktionieren politischer Ordnung, und warum ist es für die Stabilität demokratischer Systeme von Bedeutung? Die Versprechen, die die politische Theorie gibt, sind zahlreich. Vertrauen soll zugleich an mehreren Rezeptoren wirksam werden: Es soll kooperatives Verhalten unter Bürgern befördern, es soll Verhandlungslösungen anstelle von ausgetragenen Konflikten möglich machen, die Implementierung von getroffenen Entscheidungen erleichtern, wodurch es wiederum ermöglicht wird, Ressourcen in die Problemlösung statt in die vereinbarungsgemäße Umsetzung von Entscheidungen zu investieren, und schließlich soll es auch die Kontrolle der Regierung durch die Bürgerschaft erleichtern.12 Noch wichtiger aber erscheint an dieser Stelle die Wirkung von Vertrauen auf die Legitimität von kollektiv verbindlichen Entscheidungen, die durch demokratische Mehrheitsverfahren hergestellt werden: Das Problem bei diesen besteht bekanntlich darin, dass sich, solange die Akteure rational ihr Eigeninteresse verfolgen, nur schwer begründen lässt, warum die getroffene Entscheidung Legitimität beanspruchen können soll.13 Weder lässt sich unter der genannten Bedingung eine grundsätzliche moralische Verpflichtung zum Gehorsam aus dem bloßen Vorhandensein einer Mehrheit ableiten, noch steht ohne weiteres zu erwarten, dass durch das gewählte Verfahren potentielle Wohlfahrtsgewinne ausgeschöpft, also die bestmöglichen Entscheidungen getroffen werden.14 Diese Probleme relativieren sich nun, wenn man annimmt, dass sich Akteure von sich aus nicht wie rationale Nutzenmaximierer verhalten, oder – wenn man weniger optimistisch ist, was das Vor-

11

12 13 14

Endreß 2002, 11. Daneben bestehen z. T. erhebliche Differenzen, wie dies in Hinblick auf die sehr unterschiedlichen Theoriekontexte, innerhalb deren Vertrauen thematisiert worden ist, auch zu erwarten ist. Zu verweisen wäre hierbei etwa auf die Theorien rationalen Handelns, systemtheoretische Ansätze, die Strukturationstheorie oder neo-institutionalistische Ansätze. Umstritten ist dabei das Ausmaß der Reflexion bzw. umgekehrt der Grad der Habitualisierung, die Frage, ob Vertrauen nur anderen Menschen oder auch Institutionen oder ganzen Systemen entgegengebracht werden kann, die Rolle objektivierbarer Interessen für das Schenken von Vertrauen oder schließlich die Bedeutung, die der Risikohaftigkeit des Vertrauenshandelns zugeschrieben wird. Cleary/Stokes 2009, 308–338; Fuhse/Schaal 2005; Offe 2001; Offe 1999. Dahl 1989; Leib 2006/2007, 903–926; Scharpf 2000, 251–280. Zu der Unterscheidung zwischen Legitimität durch das bloße Vorhandensein der authentischen Zustimmung einer Mehrheit und derjenigen, die darauf beruht, dass die Entscheidung dem Gemeinwohl nützt und dem Kriterium der Verteilungsgerechtigkeit entspricht, vgl. Scharpf 1970; Scharpf 1999; Scharpf 2000.

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handensein der benötigten Handlungsdispositionen betrifft – sicherstellt, dass die an der Entscheidung Beteiligten das Wohl ihrer Mitbürger mitberücksichtigen.15 Da aber nun aufgrund der Zahl der in demokratischen Gesellschaften an dem Prozess der Entscheidungsfindung beteiligten Akteure sowie der Komplexität von Interessenlagen notwendig davon auszugehen ist, dass ego nicht wissen kann, ob das Verhalten von alter dessen Präferenz nur unvollständig abbildet und das Interesse von ego mitberücksichtigt, bleibt die Mitberücksichtigung der Interessen der jeweils anderen, also Solidarität, notwendig auf Vertrauen als Entsprechung angewiesen.16 Vertrauen ist also für das Funktionieren von Demokratien und für die Akzeptanz demokratischer Mehrheitsentscheidungen von Bedeutung. Dabei folgt aus der zentralen Funktion als Mechanismus zur Reduktion sozialer Komplexität, dass Vertrauen für das Funktionieren von Demokratien umso wichtiger wird, je komplexer und damit unübersichtlicher die Gesellschaften werden und je stärker die in der Gesellschaft aufeinandertreffenden Interessen divergieren. Beides beschränkt aber wiederum die Möglichkeit, dass tatsächlich Vertrauen ausgebildet wird.

Historische Entwicklung I Vertrauen ist nicht selbstverständlich. Das gilt auch für die griechische Geschichte. Zwar bieten Kleingruppen die Möglichkeit, sich intensiv zu kennen, und die aus dem Kennen resultierende Vertrautheit ist eine wichtige Grundlage von Vertrauen.17 Die wenig komplexen und in Hinblick auf die Form der Herstellung von Entscheidungen stark auf Konsens hin ausgerichteten Gesellschaften der archaischen Zeit sind aber nicht nur für ihr Funktionieren weniger auf Vertrauen angewiesen als die stärker differenzierten Gesellschaften des 5. und 4. Jahrhunderts v.Chr.,18 vielmehr ist Vertrauen für diese einfachen, im wesentlichen auf Subsistenzwirtschaft beruhenden Gemeinschaften mit ihrer häufig prekären Versorgungslage gegebenenfalls sogar dysfunktional.19 Vertrauen ist, wie oben ausgeführt, stets eine riskante Vorleistung, und in Gemeinschaften, in denen die Lebensgrundlagen unsicher sind, 15 16 17 18 19

Scharpf 2000, bes. 269 f.; vgl. aber auch Offe 2001, 263, der die Schwierigkeiten der Schaffung generalisierter Exklusionskriterien in demokratischen Mehrheitssystemen betont. Die Zusammengehörigkeit von solidarischer Interaktionsorientierung und Vertrauen ist vor allem von Claus Offe verschiedentlich betont worden; vgl. etwa: Offe 1999; Offe 2001. Luhmann 2000, 22 f. Flaig 1994, 13–31. In der einschlägigen Forschungsliteratur wird Vertrauen häufig positiv, Misstrauen hingegen negativ bewertet. Zwar hatte bereits Luhmann darauf verwiesen, dass es wenig ratsam sei, eine kritische Schwelle an Vertrauen zu überschreiten, erst in den letzten Jahren aber lassen sich verstärkt Untersuchungen finden, die auf Bewertungen verzichten und stärker in den Fokus rücken, dass auch Misstrauen in bestimmten Situationen funktional sein kann, wobei dies stellenweise genau ins Gegenteil, nämlich einer einseitigen Bevorzugung des Misstrauens, umschlägt; vgl. Endreß 2012, 81–102, 85; Bierhoff 2010, 87. Zur bäuerlichen Wirtschaft der archaischen Zeit vgl.: Burford Cooper 1977/78, 162–175; Schmitz 2004; Gallant 1991, der die Bedeutung von Vertrauen in den Nahbeziehungen stark hervorhebt (bes. 143–169).

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ist es gegebenenfalls nicht unbedingt klug, unnötige Risiken einzugehen. Misstrauen ist in diesen Fällen häufig angebrachter. So zeigt sich das Zusammenleben im oikos der archaischen Zeit auch tatsächlich häufig als von Misstrauen geprägt: Es kennzeichnet das Verhältnis der Ehepartner und ist die Grundlage für die vielen misogynen Texte aus dieser Zeit, in denen es letztlich um das Misstrauen des Mannes geht, die Frau werde seine Abwesenheit bei der Feldarbeit ausnutzen, wobei die Sexualität der Frau20 und ihre „Gefräßigkeit“,21 also die Sorge, sie werde sich ohne Wissen des Mannes an den knappen Vorräten vergehen, im Mittelpunkt stehen.22 „Wer einem Weibe vertraut, der Mann hat Vertrauen zu Gaunern“23,

lautet deshalb auch die zusammenfassende Mahnung Hesiods. Misstrauen aber prägte nicht allein die bäuerliche Welt, aus deren Perspektive Hesiod seine erga schrieb. Auch über diese hinaus lassen sich eine positive Wertung von Misstrauen und eine grundsätzliche Skepsis vertrauensvollem Verhalten gegenüber finden. So stellt beispielsweise Theognis fest: „Durch Vertrauen habe ich Geld verloren, durch Mißtrauen bewahrt. Traurige Erkenntnis entsteht aus beidem.“24

Die Liste der Beispiele ließe sich leicht verlängern, sowohl bei Theognis selbst, der mehrfach betont, wie wichtig es sei, zumindest nicht voreilig zu vertrauen, als auch etwa bei Ps-Phokylides, der in seinen Gnomai denselben Ratschlag gibt.25 Bezeichnend ist aber auch, wo und unter welchen Bedingungen sich in archaischer Zeit Vertrauen finden lässt: Es sind die Beziehungen unter Nachbarn, unter den Vollbauern in dörflichen Gemeinschaften. Hier kennt man sich. Hier bemüht man sich, über den normalen Umgang hinaus, Vertrautheit mit dem Anderen etwa über gemeinsames Speisen sicherzustellen.26 Dieses Vertrauen führt zu einer außer-

20 21 22

23 24 25 26

Archilochos Frg. 331 (West); Theog. 1367 f. Hes. erg. 373–375; 695–705. Schmitz 2004, 84–94; ganz eindeutig ist die Bevorzugung des Misstrauens in dieser Gesellschaft aber nicht. So fasst Hesiod zusammen μισθὸς δ‘ ἀνδρὶ φίλῳ εἰρημένος ἄρκιος ἔστω· καί τε κασιγνήτῳ γελάσας ἐπὶ μάρτυρα θέσθαι· † πίστεις δ‘ ἄρα † ὁμῶς καὶ ἀπιστίαι ὤλεσαν ἄνδρας. (Hes. erg. 370–372); nur am Rande sei erwähnt, dass Misstrauen als Kennzeichen des Verhältnisses von Mann und Frau im oikos auch in klassischer Zeit ein verbreitetes Bild darstellt. Noch in den Komödien des Aristophanes zeichnet sich die Frau – neben ihrer ausschweifenden Sexualität – dadurch aus, dass sie hinter dem Rücken ihres Mannes die Speisekammer leert; vgl. Aristoph. Ekkl. 137; 227; 1123; Lys. 197; 235. Auch neigt sie zur Lüge, weswegen ihr grundsätzlich nicht vertraut werden sollte; Aristoph. Lys. 484 f.; vgl. Schmitz 2004, 450–456. Hes. erg. 375 ὃς δὲ γυναικὶ πέποιθε, πέποιθ’ ὅ γε φιλήτῃσιν. Theogn. 831 f. Πίστει χρήματ’ ὄλεσσα, ἀπιστίηι δ‘ ἐσάωσα· γνώμη δ‘ ἀργαλέη γίνεται ἀμφοτέρων. Theogn. 125 f.; Ps-Phok. 78 f.; vgl. auch Epich. Frg. 250. Hes. erg. 342 f. Τὸν φιλέοντ’ ἐπὶ δαῖτα καλεῖν, τὸν δ‘ ἐχθρὸν ἐᾶσαι· τὸν δὲ μάλιστα καλεῖν ὅστις σέθεν ἐγγύθι ναίει.

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ordentlichen Hochschätzung der Nachbarn, die sogar die Wertschätzung von Freunden und der eigenen Verwandten übersteigt.27 Auffällig aber sind auch die Grenzen dieses Vertrauens und dies gleich in mehrfacher Hinsicht: Die Gruppe, der man vertraut, ist eng begrenzt. Es handelt sich eben um die anderen Vollbauern des Dorfes. Diesen darf man vertrauen, da die geltenden Normen auf die Reziprozität von Leistungen angelegt, die auf abweichendes Verhalten folgenden Sanktionen scharf, die Kontrollen innerhalb der Dorfgemeinschaft dicht und – dies ist m. E. der entscheidende Punkt – die Interessen innerhalb der Gruppe tatsächlich weitgehend homogen sind. Und dies gilt nicht nur für den zugegebenermaßen extremen Fall, der aus Kyme überliefert ist, wo die Gemeinschaft der Nachbarn zusammenlegte, um einem Gruppenmitglied Entwendetes zu erstatten,28 sondern als Folge geringer Differenzierung in den dörflichen Gemeinschaften der archaischen Zeit generell.

Die Entwicklung Athens im 5. Jahrhundert v.Chr. Diese gering entwickelte Disposition zu vertrauen, die für die Gesellschaft der archaischen Zeit, die sich, wie oben ausgeführt, durch knappe Ressourcen und eine prekäre Versorgungslage auszeichnete, durchaus funktional war, erwies sich für die sich langsam etablierende Demokratie und die sich ausdifferenzierende Gesellschaft zunehmend als dysfunktional. Nur kurz sei im Folgenden an drei Prozesse erinnert, die für die Entwicklung der Polis Athen im Untersuchungszeitraum relevant waren, und von denen anzunehmen ist, dass sie Auswirkungen auf die Rolle von Vertrauen und Misstrauen besaßen, nämlich Demokratisierung, Ausdifferenzierung und Rationalisierung.29 Der Prozess der Demokratisierung ist sicherlich derjenige, der als erstes in den Sinn kommt, wenn von Entwicklungen der attischen Gesellschaft die Rede ist, vor allem er begründet grundsätzlich das moderne Interesse an der Polis.30 Demokratisierung ist dabei zunächst einmal als Ausweitung von Partizipationschancen zu verstehen. Seit dem Anfang des 6. Jahrhunderts v.Chr. lassen sich entsprechende Veränderungen ausmachen: So können bereits Teile der solonischen Reformen – eine, wenn auch schwer zu greifende, Stärkung der Volksversammlung,31 die Einrichtung der Heliaia oder des Rates der 400,32 die Veränderung des Verfahrens der Bestellung der Archonten33 und die Popularklage34 – in diesem Sinne gedeutet wer27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34

Schmitz 2004, 64 f. Heraclid. Lemb. Frg. 38 (Dilts); zur Interpretation Schmitz 2004, 66. Vgl. Mergel 2011; Degele/Dries 2005; Berger 1996, 45–62; zu speziellen Aspekten: Parsons 1969, 55–74; Greven 2011, 17–29; Mayntz 1988, 11–44. Cartledge 2008; Hansen 1995; Ober 1998, 67–85; Ober 2007a, 83–104; Ober 2007b; Osborne 2010. Aristot. AP 7,3 f. Vgl. zu den im Einzelnen umstrittenen Maßnahmen: Scafuro 2006, 175–196; Rhodes 2006, 248–260. Aristot. AP 8,1. Aristot. AP 9,1 Τὰ μὲν οὖν [περὶ τὰ]ς ἀρχὰς τ[οῦ] τον εἶχε τὸν τρόπον. δοκεῖ δὲ τῆς

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den. Eine deutliche Beschleunigung erfährt der Prozess aber bekanntlich im 5. Jahrhundert v.Chr.35 „Aus diesen Gründen also vertraute das Volk dem Kleisthenes. So war er also Anführer des Volkes und teilte im vierten Jahr nach der Vertreibung der Tyrannen unter dem Archonten Isagoras zunächst alle (Bürger) in zehn statt der (früheren) vier Phylen ein, da er sie untereinander vermischen wollte, damit mehr Leute am Bürgerrecht teilhaben sollten“,36

berichtet Aristoteles über die kleisthenischen Reformen, wobei allerdings unklar ist, inwieweit die Interpretation der Motive auf eine historischen Überlieferung zurückgeht oder es sich um eine aristotelische Deutung handelt.37 Auch die Reformen des Ephialtes, also die Verlagerung der Rechenschaftspflicht vom Areopag zum Rat der 500, der Volksversammlung und den Gerichten, gehören in diesen Prozess. Neben der Erhöhung der Zahl der Partizipierenden ist aber vor allem die qualitative Veränderung, d. h. die Möglichkeit des Bürgers, seine Teilhabe am politischen Entscheidungshandeln nicht nur symbolisch darzustellen, sondern tatsächlich auf die Auswahl von Handlungsoptionen einzuwirken, der entscheidende Schritt auf dem Weg zur Demokratie.38 Insgesamt bleibt die attische Demokratie zwar von der modernen Idealvorstellung, nämlich der zumindest weitgehenden Identität von Steuerungsobjekt und denjenigen, die an der Auswahl des Steuerungssubjekts teilhaben, weit entfernt,39 aber das Ausmaß an Teilhabechancen, das in dem Prozess der Demokratisierung in Athen erreicht worden ist, ist sicherlich ein Spezifikum dieser Gesellschaft. Parallel zur Demokratisierung verläuft ein Prozess einer zunehmenden Ausdifferenzierung:40 Zwar lässt sich diese Entwicklung im Einzelnen lediglich umrisshaft nachvollziehen, da die Quellen nur gelegentlich einen Blick auf sie gestatten, aber in Hinblick auf den Prozess als solchen und seine Folgen kann kaum ein Zweifel bestehen. So hat etwa Edward Harris auf die hohe Zahl von unterschiedlichen Berufsbezeichnungen verwiesen und zugleich wahrscheinlich gemacht, dass durch das Ausmaß horizontaler Spezialisierung die Bedingungen für den Austausch von Gütern über Märkte und die Möglichkeit, durch Handel Wohlstand zu erwerben, geschaffen wurden.41

35 36

37 38 39 40 41

Σόλωνος πολιτείας τρία ταῦτ’ εἶναι τὰ δημοτικώτατα· πρῶτον μὲν καὶ μέγιστον τὸ μὴ δανείζειν ἐπὶ τοῖς σώμασιν, ἔπειτα τὸ ἐξεῖναι τῷ βουλομένῳ τιμωρ[εῖ]ν ὑπὲρ τῶν ἀδικουμένων, τρίτον δὲ μάλιστά φασιν ἰσχυκέναι τὸ πλῆθος, ἡ εἰς τὸ δικαστή[ριον] ἔφε[σι]ς· κύριος γὰρ ὢν ὁ δῆμος τῆς ψήφου, κύριος γίγνεται τῆς πολιτείας. Martin 1974, 5–42 (ND in: Martin 2009, 389–426); Raaflaub 1998, 31–66. Aristot. AP 21,1 Διὰ μὲν οὖν ταύτας τὰς αἰτίας ἐπίστευεν ὁ δῆμος τῷ Κλεισθένει. τότε δὲ τοῦ πλήθους προεστηκώς, ἔτει τετάρτῳ μετὰ τὴν τῶν τυράννων κατάλυσιν, ἐπὶ Ἰσαγόρου ἄρχοντος, πρῶτον μὲν συνένειμε πάντας εἰς δέκα φυλὰς ἀντὶ τῶν τεττάρων, ἀναμεῖξαι βουλόμενος, ὅπως μετάσχωσι πλείους τῆς πολιτείας· Vgl. auch Aristot. pol. 1319b6–11. Zur Unterscheidung normativer und instrumenteller Partizipation: Schulze 2002, 635–637. Osborne 2010, 27–38; Lape 2010. Akrigg 2007, 27–43; Cohen 1992; Harris 2005, 67–99; Morris 1994, 351–366. Harris 2005, 85.

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Dieser Prozess zunehmender Arbeitsteiligkeit spielt ebenso wie der damit einhergehende Mentalitätswandel auch in der Selbstbeschreibung der attischen Gesellschaft eine wichtige Rolle. So beschreibt Xenophon die Volksversammlung als Ansammlung von „Walkern, Schustern, Zimmerleuten, Schmieden, Bauern, Kaufleuten oder Marktkrämern“, nicht ohne Hinweis auf deren Gewinnorientierung.42 Platon verband die Frage der Arbeitsteiligkeit, der er durchaus positiv gegenüberstand, mit der Notwendigkeit des Marktes.43 Insgesamt kann man sicherlich festhalten, dass sich die Gesellschaft des 4. Jahrhunderts v.Chr. mit Blick auf ihren Differenzierungsgrad deutlich von derjenigen zu Beginn der attischen Demokratie unterschied, auch wenn die Schritte auf diesem Weg im Einzelnen schwer nachzuverfolgen sind. Gleiches gilt auch für den letzten anzusprechenden Prozess, der die Zeit zwischen dem späten 6. und dem Ende des 4. Jahrhunderts v.Chr. kennzeichnet, die zunehmende Rationalisierung.44 Auch wenn die Grenzen dieser Entwicklung nicht unterschätzt werden dürfen, so zeigen sich doch in einer Reihe von Gesellschaftsbereichen entsprechende Veränderungen. Das gilt für die oben bereits thematisierte Ökonomie und den zunehmenden Grad der Arbeitsteiligkeit, der die Effizienz von Arbeit erhöhte, es gilt für das Politische, mit seiner Formalisierung von Verfahren, ebenso wie vor allem im 4. Jahrhundert v.Chr. der Veränderung der Bewertungsgrundlage der Akteure des Systems, die sich als Entwicklung von qualitätsorientierter zu leistungsorientierter Bewertung beschreiben lässt. Es gilt im religiösen Bereich für die Auswahl der in diesem Bereich tätigen Funktionsträger ebenso wie – auch unter dem Einfluss rechtlicher Vorstellungen – für den Versuch, das Handeln der Götter zu rationalisieren.45 Es gilt mit Blick auf Philosophie, Geschichtsschreibung oder Medizin dort, wo zunehmend versucht wurde, Ursachen und Folgen miteinander in Beziehung zu setzen, bis hin zur Fähigkeit der Prognose zukünftiger Ereignisse. Auch wenn man aus diesem Wissen – im Gegensatz zu modernen Entsprechungen – nicht in gleichem Maße die Fähigkeit zur Steuerung des Zukünftigen ableitete, so zeigt sich doch eine deutliche Erweiterung des Zeithorizontes, womit eine Zunahme von Komplexität für den einzelnen Akteur einherging. Nun sind alle diese Prozesse oft zum Gegenstand althistorischer Forschung gemacht worden. Im vorliegenden Zusammenhang ist aber die Verschränkung dieser in der Regel einzeln für sich untersuchten Prozesse wichtig, die Form, in der sie sich aufeinander bezogen und die Probleme, die mit ihrer Gleichzeitigkeit verbunden waren. Der Prozess der Ausdifferenzierung bleibt nicht folgenlos, die Gefährdung der Integration des Systems ist in Theorien funktioneller Differenzierung häufig thematisiert worden.46 Mit der Differenzierung der Gesellschaft gehen Differen42

43 44 45 46

Xen. mem. 3,7,6 πότερον γὰρ τοὺς γναφέας αὐτῶν ἢ τοὺς σκυτέας ἢ τοὺς τέκτονας ἢ τοὺς χαλκέας ἢ τοὺς γεωργοὺς ἢ τοὺς ἐμπόρους ἢ τοὺς ἐν τῇ ἀγορῷ μεταβαλλομένους καὶ φροντίζοντας ὅ τι ἐλάττονος πριάμενοι πλείονος ἀποδῶνται αἰσχύνει; ἐκ γὰρ τούτων ἁπάντων ἡ ἐκκλησία συνίσταται. Plat. pol. 370a-d. Dodds 19912 [engl. 1951]; Meier 1978, 265–316; Vernant [franz. 1962]. Barta 2010, Bd. 1, 283 f. Mayntz 1988, bes. 33–37.

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zen der Interessen der Akteure einher, Partikularismus lässt sich vom Prozess der Ausdifferenzierung nicht trennen. Ebenfalls mit abnehmender Systemintegration ist auch der Prozess der Rationalisierung verbunden. Wenn aber nun Partikularismus zunimmt, Systemintegration abnimmt und zugleich die zunehmend differierenden Interessen aufgrund des Demokratisierungsprozesses in steigendem Maße in den Prozess der Herstellung kollektiv verbindlicher Entscheidungen eingebracht werden bzw. dort Berücksichtigung finden müssen, so muss dieses Konglomerat dazu führen, dass es schwerer wird, die Legitimität der getroffenen Entscheidungen zu begründen, sich damit also die Anforderungen des Systems an die Handlungsdispositionen der Akteure, wie sie oben dargestellt worden sind, erhöhen. Das System braucht für seinen Erhalt zunehmend solidarische Interaktionsorientierungen und Vertrauen, Dispositionen, die aber in der Gesellschaft der attischen Demokratie des 5. Jahrhunderts v.Chr. nur sehr bedingt und sicherlich nicht in hinreichendem Maße ausgebildet waren.

Vertrauen im 5. Jahrhundert v. Chr. Das zentrale Problem bei der Herstellung von Vertrauen in demokratischen Gemeinwesen stellt hierbei die Frage dar: „Wem kann ich vertrauen, und woran erkenne ich die Vertrauenswürdigkeit meines Gegenübers?“ Im Gegensatz zu politischen Systemen, in denen die für die Herstellung von Entscheidungen relevante Gruppe klein ist und Vertrauen dementsprechend über Vertrautheit, d. h. die Erfahrung des Umgangs mit dem jeweils anderen, begründet werden kann, ist persönliche Interaktion hier nicht hinreichend, wenn es um das Funktionieren des politischen Systems geht.47 Entscheidend ist also die Substituierung von auf Interaktion beruhender Vertrautheit: Hierzu gehört zum einen auf der Seite des Vertrauenden eine Sozialisation, die individuell auf das Schenken von Vertrauen hin ausgerichtet ist, sowie gegebenenfalls darüber hinaus die Zuschreibung von Vertrauen zu bestimmten sozialen Rollen. Auf der anderen Seite muss es darum gehen, Zeichen von Vertrauenswürdigkeit zu etablieren, die unabhängig von persönlicher Erfahrung sind, d. h. ego vertraut alter nicht daher, weil er ihn oder sie kennt, sondern deduziert die Vertrauenswürdigkeit aus der Zugehörigkeit zu einer Gruppe oder anhand von Merkmalen, und rechnet dabei damit, dass alle Akteure, die über die entsprechende Gruppenzugehörigkeit oder die entsprechenden Merkmale verfügen, per se vertrauenswürdig sind. Codes für Vertrauenswürdigkeit knüpfen sich dann an die Darstellung der Gruppenzugehörigkeit und können von der Inszenierung des körperlichen Erscheinungsbildes, Lebensstil, Haartracht oder Kleidung bis zu gemeinsamer Sprache reichen und durch Rituale ergänzt werden, die Pseudo-Vertrautheit gleichzeitig dar- und herstellen.48

47 48

Offe 2001, 271–275. Offe 2001, 266 f.

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Für die attische Demokratie lässt sich nun in der Frage der Sichtbarmachung von Vertrauenswürdigkeit eine seltsame Ambivalenz ausmachen: Grundlagen für Vertrauen waren durchaus vorhanden. Benötigt für eine solche Form generalisierten Vertrauens wird eben zunächst die scharfe Abgrenzung einer Gruppe von Mitbürgern, der allein über die Gruppenzugehörigkeit vertraut werden und die – das ist die korrespondierende Seite – in den Genuss solidarischen Handelns kommen kann.49 Die Zugehörigkeit zur Gruppe besitzt dabei zwei Besonderheiten: Zum einen handelt es sich um ein Recht, das nicht durch Kauf bzw. Vertrag erworben werden kann, allenfalls kann es Fremden noch autoritativ verliehen werden. Dementsprechend ist die Zugehörigkeit zur Gruppe ausgesprochen fest.50 Zudem ist die Gruppe auch zeitlich unbefristet. Die Ursprünge der Polisgemeinschaft liegen in ferner Vergangenheit, über die es lediglich mythische Erzählungen gibt, eine Beschränkung der Existenz der Vergemeinschaftung in der Zukunft liegt ebenfalls nicht im Vorstellungshorizont der Zeitgenossen. Dieses Zusammentreffen von zwei Merkmalen bei der Konstituierung der Polisgemeinschaft erleichtert es, riskante Vorleistungen, und darum handelt es sich bei Vertrauen, einzugehen und solidarische Opfer zu bringen.51 Dies gilt umso mehr, da – wie Susan Lape gezeigt hat – die Vorstellung im 5. Jahrhundert v.Chr bestand, dass bereits aus der Zugehörigkeit zur Polisgemeinschaft die für das Bürger-Sein benötigten Eigenschaften resultierten. Man war sozusagen Demokrat durch Geburt.52 Verstärkt wurde das Gemeinschaftsbewusstsein durch die Konstruktion einer gemeinsamen Vergangenheit, die die Abstammungsgemeinschaft betonte, die Gruppe der Polisbürger nach außen abschottete und damit riskante Interaktionen erleichterte. Die Vergangenheit, angefangen mit der Entstehung der ersten Athener aus dem Boden Attikas, über den Sieg des Erechtheus über Eumolpos, dem des Theseus über die Amazonen, der Verteidigung der Herakliden, der Bestattung der „7 gegen Theben“ bis hin zu den Schlachten gegen die Perser bei Marathon und Salamis hätten eine Vertrauens- und Solidargemeinschaft begründen können.53 Aber nicht allein durch die Übersteigerung einer Gruppenidentität lassen sich Grundlagen für Vertrauen legen. Ein Weiteres tritt in politischen Systemen in der Regel hinzu und macht Vertrauen möglich: Vertrauen entsteht in einer paradoxen Beziehung durch die Institutionalisierung von Misstrauen.54 Am Anfang steht selbstverständlich ein Grundprinzip jeder Demokratie: die Wahl, die nichts anderes als institutionalisiertes Misstrauen darin darstellt, dass mit Macht ausgestattete Funktionsträger sich freiwillig von ihrer Macht trennen werden. Vergleichbar sind 49

50 51 52 53 54

Aus der umfangreichen Literatur zu Erzeugung und Übersteigerung kollektiver Identität in Athen vgl.: Blok 2005, 7–40; Boegehold 1994; Christ 2006; Davies 2004, 18–39; Loraux 1993; Loraux 2006; Meier 1998, 127–151. Offe 1998, 105 f. Offe 1998, 106. Lape 2008. Grethlein 2010; Piepenbrink 2012, 100–121; speziell zu Marathon vgl. Hölkeskamp 2001, 329–353. Luhmann 2000, 118; Sztompka 1999, 148.

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Phänomene wie die begrenzten Kompetenzen von Institutionen und deren wechselseitige Beaufsichtigung, die Verteilung von Macht auf verschiedene Schultern oder die Vorgängigkeit des Gesetzes, das Vorhandensein unabhängiger Gerichtshöfe und schließlich die Offenheit von Kommunikation. Genutzt wurden aber diese günstigen Grundvoraussetzungen nur in begrenztem Umfang. Die Formen institutionalisierten Misstrauens können kurz abgehandelt werden. Untersuchungen hierzu gibt es genug.55 Das Institutionengefüge der jungen Demokratie kannte eine ganze Reihe von Mechanismen, um eine Machtakkumulation einzelner Politiker zu verhindern. Ideal waren diese Strukturen aber – wie könnte dies auch anders sein – noch nicht. Am deutlichsten wird dies bei dem bekanntesten Instrument, dem Ostrakismos, über welchen nicht nur der Einfluss einzelner Politiker nicht wirksam verhindert werden konnte, sondern der auch den Nachteil besaß, die offene Kommunikation über Handlungsoptionen, eine wichtige Bedingung, um überhaupt Mehrheitsentscheidungen begründen zu können, zumindest potentiell zu begrenzen.56 Wichtiger ist die Frage nach der Wirksamkeit der Form der Gruppenbildung für Vertrauensbeziehungen und solidarisches Handeln. Hier zeigt sich aber nun, dass zwar die Bürgeridentität übersteigert wurde, daraus aber nicht die notwendigen Folgen für die Handlungsdispositionen des Bürgers erwuchsen, was m. E. auf zwei Faktoren zurückzuführen ist: Zum einen spielt die Intensität der politischen Auseinandersetzung eine Rolle: Die tiefen Gräben, die sich im 5. Jahrhundert v.Chr. zwischen den politischen Lagern zeigten, die ganz unterschiedlichen Verfassungskonzepte, die von Bürgern vertreten wurden, die wiederum ihre Identität als Bürger ganz und gar aus ihrer politischen Betätigung zogen, mögen für Althistoriker, die in ihrer eigenen politischen Umwelt einen Hang zu Kompromissen und eine gewisse politische Gleichgültigkeit wahrnehmen, Faszination ausstrahlen, eine Grundlage für Vertrauensbildung und solidarisches Handeln stellen solche intensiven Auseinandersetzungen aber nicht dar.57 Zum anderen ist auf die Begründung der Legitimität von kollektiv verbindlichen Entscheidungen zu verweisen: Solidarität und Vertrauen waren unter genannten Bedingungen nicht nur nicht wahrscheinlich, sie wurden auch aus der Perspektive der handelnden Akteure gar nicht benötigt: Wenn es ein gemeinsames Interesse der Polis gibt, wie es etwa Herodot oder Thukydides behaupten, und in der getroffenen Entscheidung ohnehin alle zu ihrem Recht kommen,58 dann stellt sich die 55 56 57 58

Zum Folgenden vgl. etwa Bleicken 19954; Hansen 1995; Haßkamp 2005. Eder 1998, 105–140, 120; Kallet-Marx 1994, 227–251, bes. 250 f.; skeptisch, was die Folgen der Ostrakisierung für die Einschränkung der Debatte innerhalb Athens betrifft, Mann 2007. Beispielhaft seien genannt: Cartledge 2008, bes. 7–9; Flaig 2013; Meier 1980, bes. 40–47. Besonders deutlich wird die Vorstellung bei Herodot am Ende der Rede des Otanes in der Verfassungsdebatte (Hdt. 3,80,6 ἐν γὰρ τῷ πολλῷ ἔνι τὰ πάντα) sowie bei Thukydides in der Rede des syrakusanischen Gesandten Athenagoras (Thuk. 6,39,1 ἐγὼ δέ φημι πρῶτα μὲν δῆμον ξύμπαν ὠνομάσθαι, ὀλιγαρχίαν δὲ μέρος, ἔπειτα φύλακας μὲν ἀρίστους εἶναι χρημάτων τοὺς πλουσίους, βουλεῦσαι δ’ ἂν βέλτιστα τοὺς ξυνετούς, κρῖναι δ’ ἂν ἀκούσαντας ἄριστα τοὺς πολλούς, καὶ ταῦτα ὁμοίως καὶ κατὰ μέρη καὶ ξύμπαντα ἐν δημοκρατίᾳ ἰσομοιρεῖν); vgl auch Eur. Androm. 699–702.

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Frage nach einer Berücksichtigung des Wohles des Anderen ohnehin nicht. Benötigt wird die homonoia der Athener als Grundlage politischer Entscheidungsfindungsprozesse. Das angeblich gemeinsame Interesse sorgt dann dafür, dass ego im reinen Verfolgen des Eigeninteresses schon das Gesamtinteresse abgebildet glaubt: Die dissentierende Minderheit irrt. Rücksicht ist auf sie folglich nicht zu nehmen.59 Die Probleme, die sich aus den gestiegenen Anforderungen an die Handlungsdispositionen der Akteure ergaben, das Fehlen des benötigten Vertrauens, gerade im Zusammenhang mit einer Partikularinteressen negierenden Übersteigerung des Gemeinwohlgedankens, wurden ab der Mitte des 5. Jahrhunderts v.Chr thematisiert. Zunächst war es die Tragödie, die die gefährlichen Seiten des Misstrauens herausarbeitete und den Bürgern, insbesondere in politischen Kontexten, vor Augen führte.60 Beispielhaft sei auf die Figur des Kreon in der Antigone des Sophokles verwiesen: Kreons Scheitern ist Folge seiner Unfähigkeit, den guten Rat, der ihm zuteil wird, anzunehmen. Bekanntlich entscheidet er sich zu spät, Polyneikes bestattenund Antigone freizulassen. Der Grund für Kreons Unfähigkeit liegt dabei – neben der Übersteigerung des Gemeinwohlgedankens, die zur vollständigen Negation der Anerkennung der Legitimität von Partikularinteressen führt –61, in dem Misstrauen, das er seiner Umwelt entgegenbringt. Sind es zunächst die Bürger Thebens und die Wächter, die bestochen die „Bestattung“ des Polyneikes zugelassen haben,62 so richtet sich das Misstrauen später gegen Ismene, die er verdächtigt, ihrer Schwester zur Seite gestanden zu haben,63 dann gegen Haimon, den er für liebesblind hält,64 und schließlich misstraut er sogar den Beweggründen des Teiresias, obwohl die Erfahrungen, die er mit dessen Rat gemacht hat, wie er selbst zugibt, durchweg positiv gewesen sind.65 Auch in der Geschichtsschreibung wird das Problem fehlenden Vertrauens thematisiert. Das grundsätzliche Problem schwindenden Vertrauens und die Folgen für das Funktionieren politischer Systeme beschreibt Thukydides bereits in der Pathologie, wo er anhand des Beispiels der Stasis auf Kerkyra grundsätzliche Erwägungen zu den Folgen des Krieges anstellt: „So waren in Griechenland infolge der Parteikämpfe Hinterlist und Tücke jeder Art im Schwange, redliche Einfalt aber, die mit Adel der Gesinnung so eng zusammenhängt, wurde verlacht und war verschwunden. Fast überall standen die Parteien sich feindlich und misstrauisch einander gegenüber. Auch die feierlichsten Versicherungen und furchtbare Eide änderten daran nichts; denn über Treu und Glauben war man längst erhaben. Einer traute dem anderen nicht über den Weg, und jeder musste sehen, wie er sich selbst vor Schaden hütete.“66 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66

Timmer 2009; anders Epstein, der trotz zunehmender Differenzierung die Homogenität von Interessen der Polisbürger betont: Epstein 2011, 87–102. Zur Tragödie als Medium politischer Debatten und ihrer didaktischen Funktion vgl. Meier 1980, 154–158. Zum folgenden vgl.: Sourvinou-Inwood 1989, 134–148; Schmitt 1998, 1–16. Timmer 2009. Soph. Ant. 290–303. Ebd. 531–535. Ebd. 726–759. Ebd. 1055. Thuk. 3,83 Οὕτω πᾶσα ἰδέα κατέστη κακοτροπίας διὰ τὰς στάσεις τῷ Ἑλληνικῷ, καὶ τὸ εὔηθες, οὗ τὸ ενναῖον πλεῖστον μετέχει, καταγελασθὲν ἠφανίσθη, τὸ δὲ ἀντιτετάχθαι

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Diese allgemeinen Überlegungen greift Thukydides an späterer Stelle wieder auf. Es ist in gleicher Weise das Fehlen von Vertrauen in Mitbürger, politische Institutionen und die Leistungsfähigkeit des Systems, die Thukydides für das Vorfeld des Umsturzes von 411/10 v.Chr. diagnostiziert und zu den Ursachen des Sturzes der Demokratie zählt. „Das Volk aber rührte sich nicht und war so eingeschüchtert, dass jeder seinem Schöpfer dankte, wenn man ihn nur zufrieden ließ, auch wenn er den Mund halten musste. Da man die Zahl der Verschworenen für weit größer hielt, als sie wirklich war, hatte eben alles den Mut verloren. Genau festzustellen aber war sie wegen der Größe der Stadt nicht und weil man einander nicht genügend kannte. Aus diesem Grunde konnte man auch anderen seine Not nicht klagen und sie um Beistand gegen Nachstellungen ansprechen; denn entweder man wäre an einen Unbekannten geraten, oder an einen Bekannten, dem man nicht trauen durfte. Denn wenn zwei Demokraten einander begegneten, traute einer dem anderen nicht, weil er nicht sicher war, ob der nicht auch mit dazu gehörte. Denn unter ihnen gab es manche, von denen niemand geglaubt hätte, dass sie es mit den Oligarchen halten würden. Und diese hauptsächlich waren es, die den Argwohn der Menge erregten und dadurch, dass sie das Volk mit Misstrauen erfüllten, am meisten dazu beitrugen, der Sache der Oligarchen Vorschub zu leisten.“67

In der Endphase der attischen Demokratie des 5. Jahrhunderts v.Chr. herrscht allgemeines Misstrauen. Und dieses Misstrauen zerstört die Demokratie. War nach dem Ende des Umsturzes von 404/03 v.Chr. endgültig auch die Oligarchie keine realistische Option mehr, so musste es in der neueingerichteten Demokratie darum gehen, demokratische Mehrheitsentscheidungen derartig umzugestalten, dass die Ergebnisse für legitim gehalten werden konnten, und dies bedeutete, dass Strukturen so verändert werden mussten, dass solidarische Interaktionsorientierungen und Vertrauen auf den guten Willen des Gegenübers, der sich in der Mitberücksichtigung

67

ἀλλήλοις τῇ γνώμῃ ἀπίστως ἐπὶ πολὺ διήνεγκεν· οὐ γὰρ ἦν ὁ διαλύσων οὔτε λόγος ἐχυρὸς οὔτε ὅρκος φοβερός, κρείσσους δὲ ὄντες ἅπαντες λογισμῷ ἐς τὸ ἀνέλπιστον τοῦ βεβαίου μὴ παθεῖν μᾶλλον προυσκόπουν ἢ πιστεῦσαι ἐδύναντο. καὶ οἱ φαυλότεροι γνώμην ὡς τὰ πλείω περιεγίγνοντο· τῷ γὰρ δεδιέναι τό τε αὑτῶν ἐνδεὲς καὶ τὸ τῶν ἐναντίων ξυνετόν, μὴ λόγοις τε ἥσσους ὦσι καὶ ἐκ τοῦ πολυτρόπου αὐτῶν τῆς γνώμης φθάσωσι προεπιβουλευόμενοι, τολμηρῶς πρὸς τὰ ἔργα ἐχώρουν. Thuk. 8,66 ἦν δὲ τοῦτο εὐπρεπὲς πρὸς τοὺς πλείους, ἐπεὶ ἕξειν γε τὴν πόλιν οἵπερ καὶ μεθίστασαν ἔμελλον. δῆμος μέντοι ὅμως ἔτι καὶ βουλὴ ἡ ἀπὸ τοῦ κυάμου ξυνελέγετο· ἐβούλευον δὲ οὐδὲν ὅτι μὴ τοῖς ξυνεστῶσι δοκοίη, ἀλλὰ καὶ οἱ λέγοντες ἐκ τούτων ἦσαν καὶ τὰ ῥηθησόμενα πρότερον αὐτοῖς προύσκεπτο. ἀντέλεγέ τε οὐδεὶς ἔτι τῶν ἄλλων, δεδιὼς καὶ ὁρῶν πολὺ τὸ ξυνεστηκός· εἰ δέ τις καὶ ἀντείποι, εὐθὺς ἐκ τρόπου τινὸς ἐπιτηδείου ἐτεθνήκει, καὶ τῶν δρασάντων οὔτε ζήτησις οὔτ’ εἰ ὑποπτεύοιντο δικαίωσις ἐγίγνετο, ἀλλ’ ἡσυχίαν εἶχεν ὁ δῆμος καὶ κατάπληξιν τοιαύτην ὥστε κέρδος ὁ μὴ πάσχων τι βίαιον, εἰ καὶ σιγῴη, ἐνόμιζεν. καὶ τὸ ξυνεστηκὸς πολὺ πλέον ἡγούμενοι εἶναι ἢ ὅσον ἐτύγχανεν ὂν ἡσσῶντο ταῖς γνώμαις, καὶ ἐξευρεῖν αὐτὸ ἀδύνατοι ὄντες διὰ τὸ μέγεθος τῆς πόλεως καὶ διὰ τὴν ἀλλήλων ἀγνωσίαν οὐκ εἶχον [αὐτοὶ ἐξευρεῖν]. κατὰ δὲ ταὐτὸ τοῦτο καὶ προσολοφύρασθαί τινι ἀγανακτήσαντα, ὥστε ἀμύνασθαι ἐπιβουλεύσαντα, ἀδύνατον ἦν· ἢ γὰρ ἀγνῶτα ἂν ηὗρεν ᾧ ἐρεῖ ἢ γνώριμον ἄπιστον. ἀλλήλοις γὰρ ἅπαντες ὑπόπτως προσῇσαν οἱ τοῦ δήμου, ὡς μετέχοντά τινα τῶν γιγνομένων. ἐνῆσαν γὰρ καὶ οὓς οὐκ ἄν ποτέ τις ᾤετο ἐς ὀλιγαρχίαν τραπέσθαι· καὶ τὸ ἄπιστον οὗτοι μέγιστον πρὸς τοὺς πολλοὺς ἐποίησαν καὶ πλεῖστα ἐς τὴν τῶν ὀλίγων ἀσφάλειαν ὠφέλησαν, βέβαιον τὴν ἀπιστίαν τῷ δήμῳ πρὸς ἑαυτὸν καταστήσαντες.

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des Interesses des jeweils anderen in Entscheidungsprozessen zeigte, in für das Funktionieren des Systems hinreichendem Maße zur Verfügung standen.

Athen im 4. Jahrhundert v.Chr. und der Weg zum Vertrauen Es musste mithin um „Schritte auf dem Weg des Vertrauens“ gehen. Dabei handelte es sich zunächst um bloße quantitative Veränderungen derjenigen vertrauengenerierenden Faktoren, die oben schon Erwähnung gefunden haben. Die Phänomene können – auch, weil sie im Wesentlichen gut erforscht sind – kurz abgehandelt werden. In Hinblick auf die Institutionalisierung von Misstrauen ist lediglich auf altbekannte Veränderungen des politischen Systems und die verschiedenen Mechanismen der Kontrolle von Entscheidungsträgern zu verweisen, durch die deren Verantwortung sichergestellt werden sollte. Das Ende des Ostrakismos nach dem letzten für alle Seiten unbefriedigenden Versuch der Ostrakisierung des Hyperbolos machte den Weg frei für Verfahren wie die graphè paranómon, die graphé nómon mè epitédeion theînai oder die apóphasis.68 Diese Verfahren hatten den Vorteil, dass sie nicht allein einigermaßen zuverlässig die Kontrolle von Funktionsträgern ermöglichten, sondern auch den Nachteil des Verfahrens des 5. Jahrhunderts v.Chr., nämlich die Beschränkung offener Kommunikation, die mit der Ausweisung des Ostrakisierten zumindest potentiell verbunden war, nicht besaßen.69 Auch die Übersteigerung kollektiver Identität ist ein Phänomen des 4. wie 5. Jahrhunderts v.Chr. Differenzen scheinen auch hier im Wesentlichen quantitativer Natur gewesen zu sein. So zeigt sich etwa eine Allgegenwart von identitätstiftenden Vergangenheitsbezügen, und zwar auch dort, wo diese der rhetorischen Theorie zufolge nicht zu erwarten sind.70 Wichtiger sind aber qualitative Veränderungen, die die Möglichkeit von Vertrauensbeziehungen schufen: Im Einzelnen geht es um die „ideologische Erkaltung“ der Gesellschaft und – eng damit zusammenhängend – die veränderte Bedeutung von solidarischem Handeln. Vertrauen wächst, wie Claus Offe festgestellt hat, vor allem in „ideologisch erkalteten Gesellschaften“, d. h. solchen, in denen es Gruppen aufgrund eines gewissen Grundkonsenses nicht darauf anlegen, einander zu schaden, es keine radikalen Vorschläge zum Umbau der Gesellschaft mehr gibt. Genau um eine solche ideologisch erkaltete Gesellschaft scheint es sich m. E. bei der attischen Demokratie des 4. Jahrhunderts v.Chr. zu handeln:71 Dies bedeutet nun sicherlich nicht, dass man nicht auch hier lebhafte Diskussionen inklusive unappetitlicher Verunglimpfungen des politischen Gegners findet, aber die Radikalität, mit der im 5. Jahrhundert v.Chr. der politische Gegner verfolgt wurde, gab es nicht mehr. Es gab keine oligarchischen Umstürze durch die Begüterten und die Tagespolitik war nicht gekennzeich68 69 70 71

Zum Ostrakismos des Hyperbolos vgl. Rhodes 1994, 85–98; zu den neu eingerichteten Verfahren etwa: Hansen 1995, 213–219; Haßkamp 2005, 57; 131–134. Siehe aber auch Mann 2007. Piepenbrink, 2001, 123–132. Offe 1999.

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net durch Vorschläge zu deren Enteignung durch die Armen. Bezeichnend sind in diesem Zusammenhang Ausführungen des Demosthenes, in denen genau dieser Zusammenhang thematisiert wird: „Aber wodurch erregt das Verfahren Anstoß und wodurch schafft es Unwillen? Wenn die Reichen sehen, dass einige die Art der Zuteilung öffentlicher Gelder auf das Privateigentum übertragen und dass zwar derjenige, der bei euch darüber spricht, sogleich in hohem Ansehen steht, ja, aufgrund seiner sicheren Stellung unsterblich ist, hingegen die geheime Abstimmung dann anders als die öffentliche Beifallsbekundung ist. Das erregt Misstrauen und Entrüstung. Denn es ist unerlässlich, Männer von Athen, nach dem Grundsatz des Rechts miteinander an den Einrichtungen des Staates teilzuhaben, die Reichen, die sich ihres Besitzes zum Leben sicher fühlen, und sie nicht darum zu fürchten haben, dass sie aber bei Gefahr Hab und Gut der Gemeinschaft für die Rettung des Vaterlandes zur Verfügung stellen, dagegen die übrigen, dass sie Gemeinschaftseigentum für solches ansehen und sie daran beteiligt werden, dass aber das persönliche Eigentum eines jeden seinem Besitzer gehört“72

Neben diese ideologische Erkaltung trat, eng damit verbunden, eine veränderte Wahrnehmung des Verhältnisses von Gemeinwohl und Partikularinteresse. Es zeigt sich zum einen die Allgegenwart des Gemeinwohlbezugs bei den attischen Rednern. Aufgrund des Fehlens von Reden vor der Volksversammlung aus dem 5. Jahrhundert v.Chr. lassen sich allerdings keine sicheren Aussagen zu Entwicklungen machen. Die Häufigkeit des Gemeinwohlbezugs ist jedenfalls auffällig. Gebraucht wurde er als Korrektiv für die nun in ihrer Unterschiedlichkeit erkannten Einzelinteressen, wobei allein der Umstand, dass sie differierten, als legitim anerkannt wurde. Die Homogenität von Interessen war nicht mehr die fraglos angenommene Grundlage des Entscheidungsfindungsprozesses. Vielmehr stand ein gemeinsames Interesse am Ende und ist Ergebnis eines Willensbildungsprozesses,73 in dem nach Möglichkeit alle Interessen und die daraus folgenden Handlungsoptionen Berücksichtigung gefunden hatten.74 Dabei wurde das rücksichtslose Durchsetzen eigener Positionen kritisch gesehen, wie eine Bemerkung des Demosthenes verdeutlicht: 72

73

74

Dem. 10,44 f. ἀλλὰ ποῦ συντρίβεται τὸ πρᾶγμα καὶ ποῦ δυσχεραίνεται; ὅταν τὸ ἀπὸ τῶν κοινῶν ἔθος ἐπὶ τὰ ἴδια μεταβιβάζοντας ὁρῶσί τινας, καὶ μέγαν μὲν ὄντα παρ’ ὑμῖν εὐθέως τὸν λέγοντα, ἀθάνατον δ‘ ἕνεκ’ ἀσφαλείας, ἑτέραν δὲ τὴν κρύβδην ψῆφον τοῦ φανερῶς θορύβου. ταῦτ’ ἀπιστίαν, ταῦτ’ ὀργὴν ἔχει. δεῖ γάρ, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, δικαίως ἀλλήλοις τῆς πολιτείας κοινωνεῖν, τοὺς μὲν εὐπόρους εἰς μὲν τὸν βίον τὰ ἑαυτῶν ἀσφαλῶς ἔχειν νομίζοντας καὶ ὑπὲρ τούτων μὴ δεδοικότας, εἰς δὲ τοὺς κινδύνους κοινὰ ὑπὲρ τῆς σωτηρίας τὰ ὄντα τῇ πατρίδι παρέχοντας, τοὺς δὲ λοιποὺς τὰ μὲν κοινὰ κοινὰ νομίζοντας καὶ μετέχοντας τὸ μέρος, τὰ δ‘ ἑκάστου ἴδια τοῦ κεκτημένου. οὕτω καὶ μικρὰ μεγάλη πόλις γίγνεται καὶ μεγάλη σῴζεται. ὡς μὲν οὖν εἴποι τις ἄν, ἃ παρ’ ἑκατέρων εἶναι δεῖ, ταῦτ’ ἴσως ἐστίν· ὡς δὲ καὶ γένοιτ’ ἄν, [ἐν] νόμῳ διορθώσασθαι δεῖ. Dies wird umgekehrt auch in der Kritik daran deutlich, dass Bürger ihre Entscheidungen bereits vor der „Debatte“ in der Volksversammlung getroffen hatten und damit eben vorgängig unterstellten, dass ihr Einzelinteresse und das Gesamtinteresse identisch seien (Dem. 3,3; 3,32; 5,3). Vgl. auch Flaig 2013, 290: „Einmütigkeit der Bürger war gut nach der Debatte; aber wenn sie schon vor der Debatte bestand, dann behinderte sie das unvoreingenommene Abwägen der Argumente. Starke Präferenzen sollten erst in der Debatte aufgebaut werden.“ Im Gegensatz zu der hier dargestellten Entwicklung sieht Flaig aber keine relevanten Veränderungen vom 5. zum 4. Jahrhundert v.Chr. Dabei bedeutet „Berücksichtigung finden“ selbstverständlich nicht – jedenfalls nicht notwen-

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Jan Timmer „Jegliches muss man zwar vermeiden, was schändlich ist und dafür gilt, vor allen Dingen aber das, worüber man sich seinen Nächsten unnachsichtig zeigt.“75

Im Zusammenspiel mit den anderen genannten Faktoren ergaben sich Grundlagen für eine Ausbildung von Vertrauen, die im Gegensatz zum 5. Jahrhundert v.Chr. die Stabilität der politischen Ordnung auch in politisch wenig erfolgreichen Zeiten sicherstellen konnte. Diese Grundlagen für Vertrauen verbanden sich zudem mit einer zunehmenden Wertschätzung von Vertrauen. Dieses spielte auch in der gesellschaftlichen Selbstbeschreibung dort eine Rolle, wo es um die Grundlagen des Funktionierens des politischen Systems ging. „Überhaupt ist zweierlei wünschenswert für jeden Staat, Überfluss an Geldmitteln und allgemeines Vertrauen, und von beiden besitzt der unsrige zur Zeit das letztere,“76

behauptet etwa Demosthenes in der Rede gegen Leptines. Die hohe Bedeutung, die dem Vertrauen in Politiker zukommt, lässt sich auch in der Argumentation bei politischen Prozessen verfolgen: Beispielhaft sei auf die Rede des Deinarch gegen Philokles verwiesen. Der Prozess gehört in das Umfeld der Harpalos-Affäre.77 Philokles war bereits mehrfach Stratege gewesen und 324 v.Chr. Kommandant der Munichia. In dieser Funktion verweigerte er dem Harpalos zunächst die Landung in Athen, gestattete sie aber nur wenig später. Dies führte zu Gerüchten wegen Bestechung, einer apophasis-Klage, die Philokles selbst angestrengt hatte, und einem Gerichtsverfahren. In der Rede, die Deinarch gegen Philokles hielt, werden nun nicht nur die Vergehen, derer sich Philokles schuldig gemacht haben soll, betont, d. h. vor allem dessen Bestechlichkeit. Diese allein seien zwar verwerflich und würden die Todesstrafe schon begründen, schlimmer werde der Fall aber noch dadurch, dass er das Vertrauen der Athener Bürger in ihn enttäuscht habe. Insgesamt vier Mal baut Deinarch das Argument in die nicht sonderlich lange Rede ein,78 gipfelnd in der Anklage: „Dieser Verruchte aber, dieser Verräter, von welchem es nicht ein einzelner Mann, sondern der gesamte Rat auf dem Areopag nach angestellter Untersuchung angezeigt hat, dass er zu eurem Schaden Geld genommen habe, der ein großes Vermögen und keinen männlichen Erben besitzt, dem nichts von Allem fehlt, was ein Mann von gemäßigtem Charakter bedarf, hat dennoch seine Hand zum Nachteil seines Vaterlandes gezahlten Geld nicht zurückgehalten, seine festgewurzelte Schlechtigkeit nicht versteckt, sondern das früher von Euch geschenkte Vertrauen

75 76 77 78

dig – dass die Entscheidung sämtliche Einzelinteressen abbilden muss. Dies ist häufig auch gar nicht möglich, sondern lediglich, dass alle Einzelinteressen in den Entscheidungsprozeß eingespeist und diskutiert werden konnten. Dementsprechend kritisch wurden Einschränkungen des Sagbaren betrachtet, wie die Kritik des Demosthenes in der Rede über die Angelegenheiten der Chersones deutlich macht (Dem. 8,4). Dem. 20,135 καὶ μὴν πάντα μὲν εὐλαβεῖσθαι δεῖ ποιεῖν τὰ δοκοῦντα καὶ ὄντ’ αἰσχρά, μάλιστα δὲ ταῦτ’ ἐφ’ οἷς τοῖς ἄλλοις χαλεπῶς τις ἔχων ὁρᾶται· Dem. 20,25 χωρὶς δὲ τούτων νυνὶ τῇ πόλει, δυοῖν ἀγαθοῖν ὄντοιν, πλούτου καὶ τοῦ πρὸς ἅπαντας πιστεύεσθαι, ἐστὶ τὸ τῆς πίστεως ὑπάρχον. Badian1961, 16–43; Jaschinski 1981. Dein. Phil. 4;10;12;18.

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vernichtet, sich selbst in die Reihen derer gestellt, von denen er früher ganz verschieden zu sein behauptete, und bewiesen, dass seine zur Schau getragene Biederkeit erheuchelt war.“79

Dieser gestiegenen Wertschätzung des Vertrauens entspricht auf der anderen Seite der Ansehensverlust des Misstrauens. So finden sich in der Charakterzeichnung des Misstrauischen in Theophrasts Apistias vom Lob der Vorsicht, wie es die archaische Zeit kennzeichnete, keine Spuren mehr. Die Kontrollsucht des Misstrauischen, der dem Sklaven, den er zum Markt schickt, gleich einen zweiten hinterhersendet, oder der nachts keinen Schlaf findet, sondern nackt und barfuß durchs Haus patrouilliert, der schließlich seinem Nachbarn kein Geschirr leiht, aus Angst, es nicht zurückzuerhalten, ist ein Zerr- und kein Vorbild.80 Misstrauen ist keine Eigenschaft, die innerhalb der Bürgergemeinschaft eine Rolle spielen soll, und das zeigt sich auch dort, wo Misstrauen zur Tugend gemacht wird. Es sind die Tyrannen, die Fremden und – als Verbindung von beidem – vor allem Philipp von Makedonien, denen grundsätzlich zu misstrauen ist.81 So zeigen sich insgesamt deutliche Unterschiede zwischen dem Lob des Misstrauens der archaischen Zeit, der Beschreibung des politischen Systems am Vorabend des Umsturzes von 411/10 v.Chr. durch Thukydides, also dem allgemeinen Misstrauen, das zum zeitweiligen Untergang der Demokratie führte, und der Darstellung des Demosthenes in der Rede gegen Meidias 349/48 v.Chr. Dort heißt es: „Alsbald nach aufgehobenem Gericht wird jeder von euch, der eine vielleicht eher, der andere später, nach Hause gehen, ohne besorgt zu sein oder sich furchtsam umzusehen, ob ihm ein befreundeter oder ein nicht befreundeter Mann begegne, eben so wenig ob ein großer oder kleiner oder starker oder schwacher, nichts von dergleichen. Und warum? Weil er in seinem Innern die sichere Überzeugung hegt und das feste Vertrauen auf eure staatliche Ordnung hat, dass ihn keiner packen und misshandeln oder schlagen werde.“82

79

80 81 82

Dein. Phil. 18 τὸν δὲ μιαρὸν ἄνθρωπον καὶ προδότην, ὃν οὐχ εἷς ἀνὴρ ἀλλὰ πᾶσ’ ἡ ἐξ Ἀρείου πάγου βουλὴ ζητήσασ’ ἀποπέφαγκε χρήματ’ ἔχειν καθ’ ὑμῶν, ὃς οὐσίαν ἔχων πολλὴν καὶ παίδων ἀρρένων οὐκ ὄντων αὐτῷ, καὶ οὐδενὸς ἄλλου δεόμενος ὧν ἄνθρωπος μέτριος δεηθείη, οὐκ ἀπέσχετο χρημάτων διδομένων κατὰ τῆς πατρίδος, οὐδ‘ ἀπεκρύψατο τὴν ἔμφυτον πονηρίαν, ἀλλ’ ἀνεῖλε πᾶσαν τὴν γεγενημένην αὑτῷ πρὸς ὑμᾶς πίστιν, καὶ οἷς πρότερον ἔφη διαφέρεσθαι, πρὸς τούτους ἔταξεν αὑτόν, καὶ ἐξήλεγξεν αὑτοῦ τὴν προσποίητον καλοκαγαθίαν ὅτι ψευδὴς ἦν. Vgl. Steinmetz 1962, Bd. 2, 212–218. Tyrannen (Dem. 1,5; 6,24); Fremde (Dem. 9,38); Philipp (etwa Dem. 9,63 f.); vgl. zur Auslagerung von Misstrauen dort, wo Vertrauen auf Gruppenidentität ruht, auch Offe 2001, 273. Dem. 21,221 αὐτίκα δὴ μάλα, ἐπειδὰν ἀναστῇ τὸ δικαστήριον, εἷς ἕκαστος ὑμῶν, ὁ μὲν θᾶττον ἴσως, ὁ δὲ σχολαίτερον, οἴκαδ‘ ἄπεισιν οὐδὲν φροντίζων οὐδὲ μεταστρεφόμενος οὐδὲ φοβούμενος, οὔτ’ εἰ φίλος οὔτ’ εἰ μὴ φίλος αὑτῷ συντεύξεταί τις, οὐδέ γ‘ εἰ μέγας ἢ μικρός, [ἢ] ἰσχυρὸς ἢ ἀσθενής, οὐδὲ τῶν τοιούτων οὐδέν. τί δήποτε; ὅτι τῇ ψυχῇ τοῦτ’ οἶδε καὶ θαρρεῖ καὶ πεπίστευκε τῇ πολιτείᾳ, μηδέν’ ἕλξειν μηδ‘ ὑβριεῖν μηδὲ τυπτήσειν.

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FAZIT Seit dem späten 6. Jahrhundert v.Chr. lassen sich in Athen Prozesse von Ausdifferenzierung, Rationalisierung und Demokratisierung beobachten. Ausdifferenzierung gesellschaftlicher Subsysteme geht dabei mit hoher Wahrscheinlichkeit einher mit Ausbildung differierender Interessen. Der Prozess der Demokratisierung bedeutete, dass diese unterschiedlichen und gegebenenfalls unvereinbaren Interessen in den Prozess der Herstellung kollektiv verbindlicher Entscheidungen eingebracht werden mussten. Dieses Zusammenspiel schuf zusammen mit der Ausweitung des Zeithorizontes der Akteure eine Gemengelage, die die Herstellung kollektiv verbindlicher Entscheidungen erschwerte. Die Steuerung von Handlungsdispositionen in der beschriebenen Form, d. h. die Etablierung von Vertrauen, das auf solidarisches Handeln antwortet, synchronisierte die Prozesse, schuf die Möglichkeit der Gleichzeitigkeit von Ausdifferenzierung und Demokratisierung und trug damit zur Stabilität politischer Ordnung, die sich im 4. Jahrhundert v.Chr. in Athen zeigt, bei. Allerdings besaß das Vertrauen, das in Athen entstand, enge Grenzen. Es wuchs Vertrauen in dem Maße, wie es für das Funktionieren des Systems notwendig war, und das zeigt die Stabilität der politischen Ordnung. Aber schon ein Blick auf die Formen institutionalisierten Misstrauens verweist auf die Grenzen der Entwicklung. Formen institutionalisierten Misstrauens bieten die Möglichkeit, Verantwortlichkeit sicherzustellen und senken dadurch das Risiko von Vorleistungen wie Vertrauen. Sie sind aber nicht dafür da, ständig genutzt zu werden. Das Ausmaß, das etwa Klagen gegen Entscheidungsträger im Verlauf des 4. Jahrhunderts v.Chr. erreichte, macht Grenzen des Vertrauens sichtbar. Zudem ist der „Fortschritt“ der Demokratie, um den es ging, nicht ganz eindeutig – ganz abgesehen davon, dass es z. Z. ohnehin erhebliche Zweifel in der Politikwissenschaft gibt, ob es so etwas wie einen Fortschritt von Demokratie überhaupt geben kann –, weil die Entwicklung „Nebenwirkungen“ hatte. Die „ideologische Erkaltung“, die hier als Grundlage für Vertrauensbildung thematisiert und positiv bewertet wurde, ist nicht nur von Vorteil. Sie bedeutete auf der anderen Seite in der Tat einen Verlust der Intensität der Auseinandersetzung, die, wenn man das Politische über den Intensitätsgrad von Kommunikation bestimmt, sich ebenso als Qualitätsverlust interpretieren lässt.

BIBLIOGRAPHIE Akrigg, B., Athen’s Changed Social Structure and Economy, in: Debating the Athenian Cultural Revolution. Art, Literature, Philosophy, and Politics 430–380 BC, hg. v. R. Osborne, Cambridge 2007, 27–43. Badian, E., Harpalus, JHS 81, 1961, 16–43. Barta, H., Graeca Non Leguntur?, 4 Bde., Wiesbaden 2010, Bd. 1. Bierhoff, H.-W. / Rohmann, E., Psychologie des Vertrauens, in: Vertrauen – zwischen sozialem Kitt und der Senkung von Transaktionskosten, hg. v. M. Maring, Karlsruhe 2010, 71–89. Bleicken, J., Die athenische Demokratie, Paderborn 19954. Blok, J. H., Becoming Citizens. Some Notes on the Semantics of “Citizen” in Archaic Greece and Classical Athens, in: Klio 87,1, 2005, 7–40.

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Boegehold, A. L. / Scafuro, A. C. (Hg.), Athenian Identity and Civic Ideology, Baltimore 1994. Burford Cooper, A., The Familiy Farm in Ancient Greece, ClPh 73, 1977/78, 162–175. Cartledge, P., Eine Trilogie über die Demokratie, Stuttgart 2008. Christ, M. R., The Bad Citizen in Classical Athens, Cambridge 2006. Cleary, M. R. / Stokes, S. C., Trust and Democracy in Comparative Perspective, in: Whom Can We Trust? How Groups, Networks, and Institutions Make Trust Possible, hg. v. K. S. Cook / M. Levi / R. Hardin, New York 2009, 308–338. Cohen, E. E., Athenian Economy and Society: a Banking Perspective, Princeton 1992. Dahl, R. A., Democracy and its Critics, New Haven 1989. Davies, J. K., Athenian Citizenship: The Descent Group and the Alternatives, in: Athenian Democracy, hg. v. P. J. Rhodes, New York 2004, 18–39. Degele, N. / Dries, Chr., Modernisierungstheorie. Eine Einführung, München 2005; Berger, J., Was behauptet die Modernisierungstheorie wirklich – und was wird ihr bloß unterstellt, in: Leviathan 24, 1996, 45–62. Dodds, E. R., Die Griechen und das Irrationale, Darmstadt 19912 [engl. 1951]. Eder, W., Aristocrats and the Coming of Athenian Democracy, in: Democracy 2500? Questions and Challenges, hg. v. I. Morris / K. A. Raaflaub, Dubuque 1998, 105–140. Endreß, M., Vertrauen – soziologische Perspektiven, in: Vertrauen – zwischen sozialem Kitt und der Senkung von Transaktionskosten, hg. v. M. Maring, Karlsruhe 2010, 91–113. Endreß, M., Vertrauen und Misstrauen. Soziologische Überlegungen, in: Vertrauen und Kooperation in der Arbeitswelt, hg. v. Chr. Schilcher / M. Will-Zocholl / M. Ziegler, Wiesbaden 2012, 81– 102. Endreß, M., Vertrauenskrisen und Vertrauensverluste, in: Widerspruch: Münchner Zeitschrift für Philosophie, 51, 2010, 27–40. Epstein, S., Direct Democracy and Minority Rule. The Athenian Assembly in its Relation to the Demos, in: Stability and Crisis in the Athenian Democracy, hg. v. G. Herman, Stuttgart 2011, 87–102. Flaig, E., Die Mehrheitsentscheidung. Entstehung und kulturelle Dynamik, Paderborn 2013. Flaig, E., Konsensprinzip im homerischen Olymp: Überlegungen zum göttlichen Entscheidungsprozess Ilias 4.1–72, in: Hermes 122, 1994, 13–31. Frevert, U. (Hg.), Vertrauen: Historische Annäherungen, Göttingen 2003. Frevert, U., Does Trust Have a History?, San Domenico di Fiesole 2009. Frevert, U., Wie viel Vertrauen braucht die Bürgergesellschaft? Geschichte und Gegenwart eines sozialen Prinzips, Wirtschaft & Wissenschaft 11, 2003, 34–41. Fuhse, J. A. / Schaal, G. S., Politische Institutionen und die Generalisierung von Vertrauen, in: Blockaden staatlicher Politik: Sozialwissenschaftliche Analysen im Anschluss an Claus Offe, hg. v. A. Geis / D. Strecker, Frankfurt/M. 2005, 54–66. Gallant, Th. W., Risk and Survival in Ancient Greece. Reconstructing the Rural Domestic Economy, Cambridge 1991. Grethlein, J., The Greeks and their Past. Poetry, Oratory and History in the Fifth Century BCE, Cambridge 2010. Greven, M.Th., Fortschritt der Demokratie, in: Vorgänge, 50.3, 2011, 17–29. Hansen, M.-H., Die athenische Demokratie im Zeitalter des Demosthenes. Struktur, Prinzipien und Selbstverständnis. Berlin 1995. Harris, E. M., Workshop, Marketplace and Household. The Nature of Technical Specialization in Classical Athens and its Influence on Economy and Society, in: Money, Labour and Land. Approaches to the Economies of Ancient Greece, hg. v. P. Cartledge / E. E. Cohen / L. Foxhall, London 2005, 67–99. Haßkamp, D., Oligarchische Willkür und demokratische Ordnung. Zur athenischen Verfassung im 4. Jh. v.Chr, Darmstadt 2005. Hölkeskamp, K.-J., Marathon – vom Monument zum Mythos, in: Gab es das Griechische Wunder? Griechenland zwischen dem Ende des 6. und der Mitte des 5. Jahrhunderts v.Chr., hg. v. D. Papenfuß / V. M. Strocka, Mainz 2001, 329–353.

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Jaschinski, S., Alexander und Griechenland unter dem Eindruck der Flucht des Harpalos, Bonn 1981. Johnstone, S., A History of Trust in Ancient Greece, Chicago 2011. Kallet-Marx, L., Money Talks: Rhetor, Demos, and the Resources of the Athenian Empire, in: Ritual, Finance, Politics. Athenian Democratic Accounts presented to David Lewis, hg. v. R. Osborne / S. Hornblower, Oxford 1994, 227–251. Lape, S., Race and Citizen Identity in the Classical Athenian Democracy, Cambridge 2010. Leib, E. J., Can Direct Democracy Be Made Deliberative, Buff.L.Rev. 54, 2006/2007, 903–926. Loraux, N., The Children of Athena. Athenian Ideas about Citizenship and the Division between the Sexes, Princeton 1993. Loraux, N., The Invention of Athens. The Funeral Oration in the Classical City, New York 2006. Luhmann, N., Vertrauen. Ein Mechanismus zur Reduktion sozialer Komplexität, Köln 20004. Luhmann, N., Vertrautheit, Zuversicht, Vertrauen: Probleme und Alternativen, in: Vertrauen. Die Grundlage sozialen Zusammenhalts, hg. v. M. Hartmann / C. Offe, Frankfurt/M 2001, 143–160. Martin, J., Von Kleisthenes zu Ephialtes. Zur Entstehung der athenischen Demokratie, Chiron 4, 1974, 5–42. Mayntz, R., Funktionelle Teilsysteme in der Theorie sozialer Differenzierung, in: Differenzierung und Verselbständigung, hg. v. R. Mayntz / B. Rosewitz / U. Schimank / R. Stichweh, Frankfurt/M 1988, 11–44. Meier, Chr., Die politische Identität der Griechen, in: Identität, hg. v. O. Marquard / K. H. Stierle, München 1979, 371–406. Meier, Chr., Ein antikes Äquivalent des Fortschrittsgedankens: Das „Könnens-Bewußtsein“ des 5. Jahrhunderts v. Chr., HZ 226, 1978, 265–316. Möllering, G., Trust: Reason, Routine, Reflexivity, Amsterdam 2006. Möllering, G., Understanding Trust from the Perspective of Sociological Neoinstitutionalism: The Interplay of Institutions and Agency, MPIfG Discussion Paper 05/13, Köln 2005. Morris, I., The Athenian Economy Twenty Years after the Ancient Economy, ClassOhil 89, 1994, 351–366. Ober, J., „I Besieged That Man“: Democracy’s Revolutionary Start, in: Origins of Democracy in Ancient Greece, hg. v. K. Raaflaub / J. Ober / R. W. Wallace, Berkeley 2007, 83–104. Ober, J., Revolution Matters: Democracy as Demotic Action (A Response to Kurt Raaflaub), in: Democracy 2500?: Questions and Challenges, hg. v. I. Morris, Dubuque 1998, 67–85. Ober, J., The Original Meaning of “Democracy”. Capacity to do Things, not Majority Rule, Stanford Working Papers in Classics, Princeton 2007. Offe, C., Demokratie und Vertrauen, Transit 18, 1999, 118–131. Offe, C., Wie können wir unsern Mitbürgern vertrauen?, in: Vertrauen. Grundlage des sozialen Zusammenhalts, hg. v. M. Hartmann / C. Offe, Frankfurt/M 2001, 241–294. Osborne, R., Athens and Athenian Democracy, Cambridge 2010. Parsons, T., Evolutionäre Universalien der Gesellschaft, in: Theorien des sozialen Wandels, hg. v. W. Zapf, Köln 1969, 55–74. Piepenbrink, K., Vergangenheitsbezug in interkultureller Perspektive: Die Rhetorik der attischen Demokratie und der späten römischen Republik im Vergleich, in: Klio 94, 2012, 100–121. Putnam, R., Making Democracy Work: Civic Traditions in Modern Italy, Princeton 1993. Raaflaub, K. A., Power in the Hands of the People: Foundations of Athenian Democracy, in: Democracy 2500?: Questions and Challenges, hg. v. I. Morris, Dubuque 1998, 31–66. Rhodes, P. J., The Ostracism of Hyperbolos, in: Ritual, Finance, Politics. Athenian Democratic Accounts Presented to David Lewis, hg. v. R. Osborn / S. Hornblower, Oxford 1994, 85–98. Rhodes, P. J., The Reforms and Laws of Solon: An Optimistic View, in: Solon of Athens. New Historical and Philological Approaches, hg. v. J. S. Blok / A. P. M. H. Lardinois, Leiden 2006, 248– 260. Scaforo, A. C., Identifying Solonian Laws, in: Solon of Athens. New Historical and Philological Approaches, hg. v. J. S. Blok / A. P. M. H. Lardinois, Leiden 2006, 175–196. Schaal, G., Vertrauen, Verfassung und Demokratie. Über den Einfluß konstitutioneller Prozesse und

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Prozeduren auf die Genese von Vertrauensbeziehungen in modernen Demokratien, Wiesbaden 2004. Scharpf, F., Demokratietheorie zwischen Utopie und Anpassung, Konstanz 1970. Scharpf, F., Interaktionsformen. Akteurszentrierter Institutionalismus in der Politikforschung, Opladen 2000. Scharpf, F., Regieren in Europa. Effektiv und demokratisch?, Frankfurt/M 1999. Schmitt, A., Bemerkungen zu Charakter und Schicksal der tragischen Hauptpersonen in der „Antigone“, in: A&A 34, 1998, 1–16. Schmitz, W., Nachbarschaft und Dorfgemeinschaft im archaischen und klassischen Griechenland, Berlin 2004. Schulze, R. O., s. v. Partizipation, in: Lexikon der Politikwissenschaft. Theorien, Methoden, Begriffe, Bd. 2, hg. v. D. Nohlen / R. O. Schulze, München 2002, 635–637. Shapiro, H. A., Autochthony and the Visual Arts in Fifth-Century Athens, in: Democracy, Empire, and the Arts in Fifth-Century Athens, hg. v. D. Boedeker / K. A. Raaflaub, Cambridge 1998, 127–151. Sourvinou-Inwood, Chr., Assumptions and the Creation of Meaning. Reading Sophocles’ Antigone, in: JHS 109, 1989, 134–148. Steinmetz, P. (Hg.), Theophrast, Charaktere, 2 Bde., München 1962, Bd. 2. Sztompka, P., Trust. A Sociological Theory, Cambridge 1995. Vernant, J. P., Die Entstehung des griechischen Denkens, Frankfurt/M 1982 [franz. 1962].

COMMUNAL REVENGE AND APPEALS TO DICASTIC EMOTIONS Lene Rubinstein The end of the fifth century brought with it the first direct experience of full-blown civil war that the Athenians had experienced for a century. Up until that point the Athenians had, of course, witnessed and sometimes been directly involved in staseis in other poleis, both inside and outside their empire. In some of these contexts they had had an opportunity to observe how litigation in the immediate aftermath of a stasis – often by entirely legitimate and recognised procedural means – could itself spark off renewed violence and cause the descent of the community into another round of atrocities.1 Such observations may have contributed to the willingness of both Athenian factions to agree to a reconciliation arrangement that contained a number of restrictions on litigation concerning the past, and which, in effect, meant that each Athenian would have had to accept that he would be unable to seek revenge for acts of injustice committed against himself or his loved ones. A more detailed discussion of the terms of the Athenian reconciliation agreement and the extent to which they were observed in practice is outside the scope of the present paper. The question that will be addressed here is to what extent the Athenians’ experience of their own stasis may have contributed to shaping their attitudes to the concept of revenge, in particular the kind of revenge that could be obtained through the democratic courts. There can be no doubt that one immediate effect of the reconciliation agreement was to generate discussion of the expediency of permitting individuals to seek and obtain revenge against the person or person who had caused them harm. However much such individuals may have been perceived as having a just claim, litigants appearing in court during the first decade or so after the democratic restoration nevertheless seem to have counted on a widespread consensus that even justified revenge, obtained with the sanction of the courts, could represent a serious and destabilising force – a force which, if unleashed, might even threaten the very survival of the community. This sentiment is appealed to, for example, by the speaker of Lysias 18, a defence speech that was probably delivered in the first half of the 390s: 1

One example of this is the stasis in Megara, reported by Thuc. 4.74.2–4: despite an initial agreement between the city-party and the returning exiles, the returnees soon instigated trials against the most prominent pro-Athenian citizens and had them all sentenced to death. On the Megarian stasis in general, see above all Gehrke 1985, 106–109 with the discussion of the legal aftermaths of staseis and the dangers that these presented generally in Gehrke 1985, 208–214, 220–236.

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Lene Rubinstein Now, you would all agree that concord is a very great advantage to a polis, and that stasis is the cause of all evils, and that what most of all causes conflict between individuals is if some people covet what does not belong to them, while others are evicted from their possessions. And after your recent return you realised this, with sound deliberation. For you still remembered the disaster that had happened, and you prayed to the gods to bring the polis into a state of concord rather than, with people turning to revenge for past events, to bring the polis into a state of stasis, and to allow the political leaders rapidly to become rich.2

However, some difficult questions arise in connection with any attempt to gauge the broader impact of both the stasis and the subsequent settlement on Athenian ideology. Was it only as a direct result of their experience that the Athenians began debating the problems that might arise from the courts’ role in sanctioning revenge for injuries sustained by individuals, as well as by the community as a whole? Or are we, in reality, observing the continuation of a process of negotiation that had been on-going already in the fifth century? Moreover, even if it is assumed that the experience of stasis did influence and change the rhetoric on revenge, as has been suggested e. g. by Fisher (1998: 91), it must be asked if this was a lasting legacy that left its mark on Athenian forensic discourse throughout the fourth century, or whether the attitude to revenge gradually became less ambiguous as the memories of stasis faded over the course of the century. When raising these questions one inevitably encounters a serious methodological problem which bedevils most attempts to compare Athenian court practice before and after the stasis: the dearth of extant Attic oratory pre-dating the archonship of Eukleides (403/2), which marked the beginning of the restored democracy. As is well known, all that has survived from the pre-stasis period is Lysias 20 in defence of Polystratos, delivered shortly after the fall of the Four Hundred, along with Antiphon 1, 5 and 6 and a substantial fragment of what purports to be Antiphon’s own defence speech in the eisangelia for treason that resulted in his being sentenced to death. This material is, unfortunately, not sufficiently representative to permit a comparison with fourth-century forensic oratory. In the present context, it is a particular problem that speeches delivered in actions concerning homicide (Antiphon 1, 5 and 6) are over-represented, for there seems to be an especially close connection between the act of avenging an unlawful killing and the verb τιμωρεῖν/ τιμωρεῖσθαι, along with its cognate noun τιμωρία. For that reason, I shall focus 2

Lys. 18,17–18: νυνὶ δὲ πάντες ἂν ὁμολογήσαιτε ὁμόνοιαν μέγιστον ἀγαθὸν εἶναι πόλει, στάσιν δὲ πάντων κακῶν αἰτίαν, διαφέρεσθαι δὲ πρὸς ἀλλήλους ἐκ τῶν τοιούτων μάλιστ’, ἐὰν οἱ μὲν τῶν ἀλλοτρίων ἐπιθυμῶσιν, οἱ δ’ ἐκ τῶν ὄντων ἐκπίπτωσι. καὶ ταῦθ’ ὑμεῖς ἔγνωτε νεωστὶ κατελθόντες, ὀρθῶς βουλευόμενοι· ἔτι γὰρ ἐμέμνησθε τῶν γεγενημένων συμφορῶν, καὶ τοῖς θεοῖς εἰς ὁμόνοιαν ηὔχεσθε καταστῆναι τὴν πόλιν μᾶλλον, ἢ ἐπὶ τιμωρίαν τῶν παρεληλυθότων τραπόμενοι τὴν μὲν πόλιν στασιάσαι, τοὺς δὲ λέγοντας ταχέως πλουτῆσαι. See also e. g. And. 1,81, Isokr. 18,44 and Lys. 25,23 for parallels. This line of argument is obviously most prevalent in speeches delivered by litigants who were relying on the reconciliation agreement as lending support to their own position. However, it is not confined only to those contexts: it is notable that it is found also in Lysias’ funerary oration (2,63–65), in praise of the restraint and generosity of the Athenian people. In 2,64 the speaker contraposes revenge and the salvation of the polis (οὐκ ἐπὶ τιμωρίαν τῶν ἐχθρῶν ἀλλ’ ἐπὶ σωτηρίαν τῆς πόλεως ἐτράποντο) in the same way as Andokides did twice in his defence speech (1,81 and 1,140).

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exclusively on the fourth century in what follows. I shall attempt to map out the circumstances in which Athenian litigants openly exhort their dicastic audiences to take revenge on behalf of the community as a whole and address the question whether it is possible to discern any significant development in the rhetoric of revenge over the course of the century. In spite of the fact that the verb τιμωρεῖν/τιμωρεῖσθαι is often rendered by modern translators simply as ‘to punish’, it is important to note that the verb itself never seems to have become part of the vocabulary used in Athenian laws and decrees (or, for that matter, in the enactments passed by other classical or Hellenistic communities). Even the noun τιμωρία, which is used frequently by the Attic orators in the sense of ‘punishment’, seems in the inscriptions to have been used predominantly with reference to the penalty imposed for unlawful killing.3 Leaving aside the inscriptions where τιμωρία has been restored by modern editors, I have managed to find only a single secure example of the noun being applied to any other type of offence, namely the law on contractors engaged in construction work in the Peiraieus, dating from 337/6.4 Even in forensic oratory, the use of both the verb τιμωρεῖν/τιμωρεῖσθαι and the noun τιμωρία is not evenly distributed across the extant corpus: the deployment of this vocabulary seems, to a significant degree, to have depended on context. The noun is used only sparingly in the speeches of Isaios and in Isokrates’ forensic works.5 As for its cognate verb, it is used mostly with reference to the (allegedly unacceptable) behaviour and motives of the speakers’ opponents,6 or in passages where the speakers themselves assert that they are not themselves motivated by a desire for revenge.7 Only one litigant among the clients of these two logographers, the unnamed man who was prosecuting Lochites for battery (aikeia) dressed up as hybris in Isokrates 20, goes as far as to call on the court to exact communal revenge from his opponent by employing the verb τιμωρεῖσθαι: And if my opponent belongs to a younger generation than those who were in office then [=The Thirty], he nevertheless has the character of an adherent of that constitution. People of this 3

4 5

6 7

See e. g. IG I3 16 (Λεονίδεν ἐάν τις ἀποκτένει ἐν το῀ν πόλεον Ηο῀ν Ἀθεναῖοι κρατο῀νσι, τὲν τιμορίαν ε\ναι καθάπερ ἐάν τις Ἀθεναίον ἀποθάνει) and IG II3 411 (ἐ[ὰν δ]έ τις Ἀρύββα[ν] β[ια]ίωι θ[ανάτ]ωι ἀποκτείνηι ἢ τῶν π[αίδ]ων τινὰ τῶν Ἀρύββου, εἶ[ναι] τὰς αὐτὰς τιμωία· αἵ[περ κ]αὶ ὑπὲρ τῶν ἄλλων εἰσ[ὶν] Ἀθηναίων. IG II³ 429 lines 32–33: ἐὰν δὲ οἱ μισθωσάμενοι τὰ ἔργα μ]ὴ ἐξεργάζωνται, εἶναι κατ’ αὐτῶν τὰς αὐτὰς τιμωρίας καθάπερ περ[ὶ τῶν ἄλλων ὑπερημέρων γέγραπται. Isaios 3,47–48, containing both the noun and its cognate verb, relates to a hypothetical public action for maltreatment of an epikleros, which the speaker’s opponent had failed to initiate. In the logographic works of Isokrates, leaving out Isokr. 20, the noun is used in 18.3 with reference to the divine punishment meted out by the gods to those who breach the terms of the reconciliation agreement, while in 16,43, 18,38 and 18,68 it refers to revenge sought in contravention of it. Isaios 1,7. Isaios 1,20 (on the possibility that a testator may have been motivated by a desire for revenge when devising his will), 4,30 (where the speaker claims that it is not his objective to seek revenge, leaving this to be pursued by other individuals), 5,30 (referring to a past opportunity for revenge against their opponent, which the speaker and his associates chose to forego).

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Even the milder term δίκην λαμβάνειν, ‘to exact justice’, which sometimes carries the connotation of revenge, is absent from all of the surviving logographic works by Isaios and Isokrates, except from Isokrates 20. The same is true of the two Lysianic speeches delivered in private actions, Lysias 10 and 23, along with the fragmentarily preserved Lysias 32 that was delivered by a supporting speaker (synegoros) in a private legal action brought by two defrauded orphans. Although the speaker of Lysias 10 does go as far as to declare that his objective is to seek personal revenge for his opponent’s defamation of himself and his dead father,9 he stops short of exhorting the judges themselves to take revenge (τιμωρεῖσθαι or δίκην λαμβάνειν).10 Thus, in the material pertaining to the first four decades after the democratic restoration, such calls for communal revenge are conspicuous by their absence in speeches delivered in private disputes. However, the sparing use of the vocabulary of revenge is not necessarily connected with any general Athenian feeling of unease regarding the concept of communal revenge resulting from their experience of stasis. Rather, it is far more likely that the speakers’ restraint in this respect was due to a general perception that the theme of revenge was deemed inappropriate in the context of litigation between private individuals. This proposition is supported by 8

9

10

Isokr. 20,11–13: Καὶ γὰρ εἰ τῶν τότε κατασταθέντων νεώτερός ἐστιν, ἀλλὰ τόν γε τρόπον ἔχει τὸν ἐξ ἐκείνης τῆς πολιτείας. Αὗται γὰρ αἱ φύσεις εἰσὶν αἱ παραδοῦσαι μὲν τὴν δύναμιν τὴν ἡμετέραν τοῖς πολεμίοις, κατασκάψασαι δὲ τὰ τείχη τῆς πατρίδος, πεντακοσίους δὲ καὶ χιλίους ἀκρίτους ἀποκτείνασαι τῶν πολιτῶν. Ὧν εἰκὸς ὑμᾶς μεμνημένους τιμωρεῖσθαι μὴ μόνον τοὺς τότε λυμηναμένους ἀλλὰ καὶ τοὺς νῦν βουλομένους οὕτω διαθεῖναι τὴν πόλιν, καὶ τοσούτῳ μᾶλλον τοὺς ἐπιδόξους γενήσεσθαι πονηροὺς τῶν πρότερον ἡμαρτηκότων ὅσῳ περ κρεῖττόν ἐστιν τῶν μελλόντων κακῶν ἀποτροπὴν εὑρεῖν ἢ τῶν ἤδη γεγενημένων δίκην λαβεῖν. Καὶ μὴ περιμείνηθ’ ἕως ἂν ἀθροισθέντες καὶ καιρὸν λαβόντες εἰς ὅλην τὴν πόλιν ἐξαμάρτωσιν, ἀλλ’ ἐφ’ ἧς ἂν ὑμῖν προφάσεως παραδοθῶσιν, ἐπὶ ταύτης αὐτοὺς τιμωρεῖσθε, νομίζοντες εὕρημ’ ἔχειν ὅταν τινὰ λάβητ’ ἐν μικροῖς πράγμασιν ἐπιδεδειγμένον ἅπασαν τὴν αὑτοῦ πονηρίαν. See also Isokr. 20,15. Lys. 10,3: νυνὶ δὲ αἰσχρόν μοι εἶναι δοκεῖ περὶ τοῦ πατρός, οὕτω πολλοῦ ἀξίου γεγενημένου καὶ ἡμῖν καὶ τῇ πόλει, μὴ τιμωρήσασθαι τὸν ταῦτ’ εἰρηκότα, καὶ παρ’ ὑμῶν εἰδέναι βούλομαι πότερον δώσει δίκην, ἢ τούτῳ μόνῳ Ἀθηναίων ἐξαίρετόν ἐστι καὶ ποιεῖν καὶ λέγειν παρὰ τοὺς νόμους ὅ τι ἂν βούληται. It is interesting to note, also, that in Lys. 1, delivered as a defence speech before a homicide court, the speaker deploys the noun τιμωρία mainly with reference to the vengeance that a cuckolded husband was permitted to exact on his own behalf, without prior reference to a court, from an adulterer (1,2, 1,5, 1,31, 1,42), and this applies also to the one occurrence in this speech of the verb τιμωρεῖσθαι (1,41). However, he does claim in 1,47 that he himself has taken revenge not only for himself but also on behalf of the community.

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the fact that even in the private speeches in the Demosthenic corpus, there is a marked tendency for litigants to refrain from the use of τιμωρεῖν/τιμωρεῖσθαι and τιμωρία. The words are found in contexts relating to false testimony,11 and, additionally, in a speech delivered in a dispute concerning trierarchical duties.12 More interesting still is that three of the five speeches in which this vocabulary is used (Dem. 45, 46, and 50) were delivered by the notorious Apollodoros son of Pasion, while a fourth (Dem. 47) may have been a logographic work by him.13 It may well be, then, that the concentration of the vocabulary in precisely these private orations is due not only to its connection with particular types of offence, but also to Apollodoros’ projection of a particular persona.14 At first glance, there is a marked contrast between the court etiquette that appears to have applied in private litigation and the rhetoric adopted in the context of public actions. It has often been noted that several prosecutors appearing in public actions of various types, be it as main litigants or as supporting speakers (synegoroi), state openly that their participation is motivated by their personal desire for revenge for injuries that they have sustained at the hands of the defendants.15 As for 11

12 13

14

15

The noun τιμωρία is used in Dem. 34,19 and 47,2, both with direct reference to false witnessing; the verb τιμωρεῖν/τιμωρεῖσθαι with the judges as its subject is used in Dem. 45,70, 45,87 and 46,28. While Dem. 45,87 and 46,28 call for revenge specifically for the act of false witnessing, it must be noted that Dem. 45,70 calls upon the judges to avenge themselves on the defendant because of his cruel and anti-social behaviour more generally. The noun τιμωρία is found in 50,65, the verb in 50,64, 65 and 66. For a discussion of the orations that may be attributed to Apollodoros, see Trevett 1992, 50–76, who leaves open the question of Apollodoran authorship of Dem. 47. MacDowell 2009, 136– 141 is inclined to believe not only that Apollodoros wrote Dem. 47 but also that he delivered it in person, although he concedes that the matter cannot be settled definitively. It must be noted that Dem. 45 is generally recognised as a logographic work by Demosthenes, while 46 was almost certainly composed by Apollodoros himself. This in itself may throw interesting light on the ways in which logographers made choices of vocabulary that would match the character that their client was to project. Although their strategic choice of a persona or ‘mask’ for their client would be one that would be most likely to lend credibility to his general line of argument in the case at hand, the client’s real character would have imposed some limitations on the logographer’s fiction in those private law-suits that permitted each of the two parties a rejoinder. There are only very few preserved speeches (Dem. 28, 31 and 46) that were written for delivery as rejoinders. This is almost certainly due to the need for improvisation when the litigants responded to their opponents’ speeches in the second part of the trial (and it must be added that Dem. 46 may well have been written up and circulated by Apollodoros after the trial on the basis of an improvised performance by him in the courtroom). An improvised performance in the client’s own words in the rejoinder risked undermining his credibility if it deviated too far from his performance in his main speech. Thus, a logographer would have had to take the real personality of his client into account when choosing a persona for him to project during the first part of the trial. The passages containing declarations by the prosecutors that they are motivated specifically by their desire to obtain personal revenge (τιμωρίαν λαμβάνειν/τιμωρεῖσθαι/τιμωρεῖν) for wrongs that are not necessarily directly related to the charge they are bringing against the defendant are: Lys. 13,1, 13,3, 13,83–84, 13,90, 14,2, 15,12, Dem. 21,26, 21,207; 22,1, 22,29; 24,8; 53,1–2; 58,1; 58,52; 58,58; 59,1; 59,12; 59,15; 59,126 (a total of 10 speeches, counting the main speech and synegoria contained in Dem. 59 as two separate orations). The expression δίκην λαμβάνειν as the prosecutor’s motive is found in Lys. 12;26; 12;37; Dem. 22;1; 59;12.

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exhortations to the judges that, as representatives of the polis, it is their duty to exact revenge (τιμωρεῖσθαι) on behalf of the community as a whole, such calls occur in 24 of the 29 extant speeches of this type.16 More importantly in the present context, their occurrence in public prosecution speeches preserved in the Lysianic corpus, which are in fact the only surviving prosecution speeches dating from the first half of the fourth century, is as frequent as it is in the speeches delivered in the age of Demosthenes. On the face of it, then, there is no discernible change over time in the discourse adopted by Athenian litigants. The fact that calls for communal revenge are made in the vast majority of public prosecution speeches could be taken as an indication that the Athenians not only regarded communal revenge exacted through and by the courts as unproblematic, but also that it was widely perceived as a central, indispensable function of the courts themselves. However, a closer look at the contexts in which such exhortations appear suggests that calls for revenge were not simply a matter of convention or of what may be termed court ritual. Firstly, calls for communal revenge employing the verb τιμωρεῖν/τιμωρεῖσθαι are very unevenly distributed across the different orations. This unevenness may to some extent be due to the different types of persona projected by individual prosecutors, a point which will be further discussed below. Indeed, some prosecution speeches contain no open calls for communal revenge at all (Lysias 22; Demosthenes 20; 22; 23 and 53).17 Thus, it can be firmly ruled out that such exhortations were considered an indispensable feature of this genre of forensic oratory. Secondly, the calls for dicastic revenge tend to occur in connection with a fairly narrow range of very serious allegations levelled against the defendants: accusations of attempts to overthrow the democracy, homicide, offences against the gods, and treason, the latter often combined with allegations of what Harvey has termed katapolitical bribery, that is acts of bribery that directly threatened the interests of the polis.18

16

17

18

It must be noted that the passages listed here are only those in which the speakers explicitly state their desire for revenge; I have not included other professions of personal enmity. The extent to which enmity was perceived by the Athenians to be not only a legitimate but in fact the most acceptable motive for involvement as prosecutor in a public action has been much debated, and it is outside the scope of this paper to engage in that discussion. See e. g. Kurihara 2003 and Kucharski 2012, the latter with a useful overview of the modern controversy. Lys. 6; 12; 13; 14; 15; 27; 28; 29; 30; Dem. 19, 21; 22; 24; 25; 26; 58; 59; Aisch. 3, Hyp. 1 Against Demosthenes, 4 Against Philippides, Lyk. 1; Dein. 1; 2; 3. See the appendix to this chapter for references to individual passages. Even the collocation δίκην λαμβάνειν with the judges as its subject is largely absent from these five speeches: it does not occur at all in Dem. 20 and 53, and only once in Lys 22 (22,18), Dem. 22 (22,68), and Dem. 23 (23,204). In Dem. 23 both the noun τιμωρία and the verb τιμωρεῖν/τιμωρεῖσθαι are employed numerous times, but nearly always in connection with the specific act of homicide, which conforms to the usage attested in Athenian inscriptions. The exceptions are 23,57, where the noun is applied to the lawful killing of an adulterer, and 23,157 where it refers to the revenge on Charidemos that Artabazos was persuaded to forego. Harvey 1985. References to the calls for communal revenge as they occur in connection with specific types of accusation are set out in the appendix to this chapter.

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As far as the first point relating to the projection of the speaker’s persona is concerned, it must be noted that any general observations on the stylistic characteristics that served to project the characters of the prosecutors are bound to be tentative, because the sample of prosecution oratory at our disposal is limited.19 Nevertheless, it is suggestive that Aischines eschews open calls for communal revenge in his otherwise vicious attack on Timarchos who is charged with being politically active in spite of his alleged activities as a male prostitute. Only towards the end of his speech does he ask the judges as individuals how each of them proposes to avenge himself on a woman guilty of sexual misconduct, if he at the same time has shown himself willing to accept political guidance from Timarchos: Now, when you fathers decided in this way in matters of shame and honour, will you then acquit Timarchos, the perpetrator of the most shameful activities? The male who has committed female crimes despite having a male body? Who among you will take revenge against a woman whom you apprehend in a criminal act? And who will not come across as uneducated if he complains about a woman whose misconduct is in accordance with her nature, while he seeks political counsel from the man who, against nature, has committed hybris against himself?20

This of course does not make the comparison between Timarchos and aberrant members of the female sex any less devastating. Nevertheless, it is striking that Aischines’ one call for communal revenge in this speech is made only obliquely. Moreover, it is not only in his prosecution speech against Timarchos that Aischines stops short of exhorting his audience to take revenge on behalf of the community: not even once in his long speech against Ktesiphon does he ask the judges to exact vengeance from Ktesiphon himself. By contrast, he calls three times for revenge to be taken against Demosthenes, who is acting as Ktesiphon’s synegoros, for what Aischines claims are acts of treason, desertion, and bribery.21 It must also be noted that Aischines displays a certain reluctance in both speeches to call explicitly for dicastic anger to be vented against the defendants: this happens only once in his speech against Ktesiphon and not at all in his attack on Timarchos.22 19

20

21

22

In modern secondary literature there has been a general tendency to focus on the stylistic characteristics of different logographers, while rather less attention has been devoted to the character projection of individual speakers through the choice of vocabulary and specific themes. Note, however, the important monograph by Martin 2009, esp. 203–215, in which he highlights a considerable variety in the use of religious vocabulary and concepts between different speakers, although he also points out that there seems to have been certain conventions that all speakers tended to observe. Aisch. 1,185: Ἔπειθ’ οἱ μὲν πατέρες ὑμῶν οὕτω περὶ τῶν αἰσχρῶν καὶ καλῶν διεγίγνωσκον, ὑμεῖς δὲ Τίμαρχον τὸν τοῖς αἰσχίστοις ἐπιτηδεύμασιν ἔνοχον ἀφήσετε; τὸν ἄνδρα μὲν καὶ ἄρρενα τὸ σῶμα, γυναικεῖα δὲ ἁμαρτήματα ἡμαρτηκότα; τίς οὖν ὑμῶν γυναῖκα λαβὼν ἀδικοῦσαν τιμωρήσεται; ἢ τίς οὐκ ἀπαίδευτος εἶναι δόξει τῇ μὲν κατὰ φύσιν ἁμαρτανούσῃ χαλεπαίνων, τῷ δὲ παρὰ φύσιν ἑαυτὸν ὑβρίσαντι συμβούλῳ χρώμενος. Aisch. 3,144 (following the allegation that Demosthenes has placed the lion’s share of the burden of war on Athens rather than Thebes, and that he has compromised the safety of Athenian troops), Aisch. 3,244–245 (Demosthenes is accused of bribery, cowardice, desertion and treason, prodosia), Aisch. 3,253 (in connection with an allegation of desertion made against Demosthenes). Aisch. 316. In Aisch. 1, the only open appeal to dicastic anger is directed against Demosthenes

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It is possible that this apparent caution is due in part to Aischines’ own strategic preferences and personal character projection. However, his choice of language may also have been influenced by a concern that open calls for communal revenge might be deemed inappropriate in relation to the specific offences with which the defendants were charged, and the way in which Aischines chose to represent them. Although the offences of both Ktesiphon, on trial for having proposed an allegedly unlawful honorary decree for Demosthenes, and of Timarchos, accused of having acted as epitimos despite his activities as a male prostitute, are represented as serious and as potentially damaging to the polis and its reputation, Aischines makes no attempt to place them in the same bracket as treason, revolution, homicide, or asebeia. That the nature of the offences themselves may have influenced Aischines’ sparing use of calls for communal revenge is further suggested by a comparison with Apollodoros’ speech Against Neaira (Dem. 59). As in the case of Timarchos, Neaira’s offence is described primarily as that of having usurped civic privileges to which she is not entitled, in her case because of her non-Athenian birth as well as her life of sexual depravity. As mentioned above, Apollodoros is conspicuous among the private litigants in the Demosthenic corpus for having ventured calls for communal revenge in no fewer than three of his speeches. It is thus unsurprising that neither Apollodoros, nor his brother-in-law who was de jure the prosecutor formally responsible for the prosecution of Neaira, show any hesitation in declaring openly that they are both motivated by a personal desire for revenge against Neaira and, not least, her partner Stephanos.23 Even so, Apollodoros does show a certain amount of restraint in his use of the vocabulary of revenge in his direct appeals to the judges. Not only are his exhortations found mainly towards the end of his speech. They are in each and every case linked specifically with a categorisation of Neaira’s crime as one of asebeia, and the judges are told repeatedly that not only the polis but also the gods are the victims of her unlawful behaviour.24 By the end of the speech, what began as the two prosecutors’ quest for their own personal revenge has turned into a crusade, and it is here that the calls for communal revenge are most intense. Apollodoros is not alone in endowing the theme of communal revenge with a religious dimension, as can be seen from the table appended to this article. There, the passages that combine a religious dimension with the theme of revenge exacted by the courts are indicated in bold, and it is clear that this combination is found not only in connection with prosecutions in which the defendants were charged formally with offences against the divine, but also in speeches delivered in public actions for other types of offence. On the other hand, it is also apparent that the passages combining the two themes tend to be concentrated in a limited number of speeches, most notably in Lysias 6 Against Andokides, delivered in a trial that did directly concern a religious offence,25 in Lykourgos’ speech against Leokrates for 23 24 25

(1,166). Dem. 59,1; 12; 15; 126. Dem. 59,74; 77; 107; 117; 126. For a general discussion of the speech and its context see Todd 2007, 399–411; for an in-depth

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treason, and in Deinarchos 1, 2, and 3. These three speeches were delivered by one or more supporting prosecutors in the apophaseis (a public prosecution following an investigation conducted by the Areiopagos Council) concerning the alleged bribery and embezzlement surrounding Harpalos, the defected treasurer of Alexander the Great who had sought refuge in Athens. And in all three of them a firm connection is made between the polis’ gods and the crimes of treason and katapolitical bribery.26 It is generally recognised that, in Athenian tradition, there was a strong perceived link between treason and offences against the divine. Yet, it was not by any means all prosecutors who chose to explore it. Thus, it can be ruled out with certainty that the appeal to the audience’s religious sentiments in such contexts was simply a matter of oratorical convention, and that it was a sine qua non in litigants’ attempts to motivate the judges to exact revenge on behalf of the community as a whole. As can be observed in the table provided in the appendix, this is true even when the specific accusation made in the text building up to a particular call for revenge was one of treason, katapolitical bribery, and even responsibility for the death of one’s fellow citizens. This strongly suggests that the choice of strategy and of vocabulary depended not only on subject matter but also on the kind of personality which an individual prosecutor was trying to project in his speech as a whole (with or without the help of a logographer); a point which is further supported by the findings of Martin (2009). However, what does seem to be a general characteristic of most, if not all, of the attested calls for communal revenge is that they occur in contexts where the emotional temperature of the speakers’ argumentation appears to have been considerably raised. Often, the speakers’ exhortations occur in passages the style of which suggests that the speakers are attempting to generate a particularly powerful emotional response in their audiences. In several instances, the emotional build-up consists of a string of rhetorical questions combined with the use of anaphora. An example is Demosthenes 19.342–343, where the aim is to move the judges to avenge themselves on Aischines as a traitor: οἳ γὰρ οἰόμενοι δίκην ὑφέξειν τοιαῦτ’ ἔπραξαν, τούτους, ἂν τὰ παρ’ ὑμῶν αὐτοῖς ἐφεθῇ, τί οἴεσθε ποιήσειν; ποῖον Εὐθυκράτη, ποῖον Λασθένη, τίν’ οὐχ ὑπερβαλεῖσθαι προδότην; τίνα δ’ οὐ πάντων τῶν ἄλλων χείρω πολίτην ὑπάρξειν, ὁρῶντα τοῖς μὲν ἅπαντα πεπρακόσι χρήματα, δόξαν, ἀφορμὴν τὴν Φιλίππου ξενίαν περιοῦσαν, τοῖς δὲ δικαίους τε παρέχουσιν ἑαυτοὺς καὶ προσανηλωκόσι χρήματα πράγματα, ἀπεχθείας, φθόνον περιόντα παρ’ ἐνίων; μηδαμῶς· οὔτε γὰρ πρὸς δόξαν οὔτε πρὸς εὐσέβειαν οὔτε πρὸς ἀσφάλειαν οὔτε πρὸς ἄλλ’ οὐδὲν ὑμῖν συμφέρει τοῦτον ἀφεῖναι, ἀλλὰ τιμωρησαμένους παράδειγμα ποιῆσαι πᾶσι, καὶ τοῖς πολίταις καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις Ἕλλησιν. Those who have perpetrated such deeds with the expectation that they would be committed to trial, if they are given a free rein as far as you are concerned, what do you think they will do? Which Euthykrates, which Lasthenes, which traitor will they not outdo? Who among all the rest will not be a worse citizen when he sees that those who have sold everything are left with

26

analysis of the religious argumentation employed by the unknown speaker, see further Martin 2009. 137–151. See e. g. Dein. 1,64; 1,85–88; 1,98; 1,109–110; 2,14–15; 3,12–14.

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A similar use of these stylistic devices leading up to calls for dicastic revenge is found frequently also in the works of other orators, including Lysias, Lykourgos, and Deinarchos.27 In some of the passages, including those cited in footnote 27, the emotional intensity seems to be further heightened by the use of religious vocabulary; in other instances a similar effect appears to have been attempted by the use of striking metaphors and comparisons. Among the most famous passages of this type is the comparison of the defendant Aristogeiton to a scorpion and a snake in Demosthenes 25,51–53, leading up to a graphic exposition, with copious use of religious vocabulary, of the fate of criminals in the Underworld.28 Aischines’ description of Demosthenes as ‘a pirate of policies, sailing through the constitution on a vessel of words’ is another example among many.29 A comprehensive discussion of the wide range of stylistic devices that are deployed in connection with calls for communal revenge is not feasible within the scope of the present chapter. Here it must suffice to point out that when the subject of the verb τιμωρεῖν/τιμωρεῖσθαι are the judges and the community that they represent, the verb itself seems to have belonged to a specific stylistic register. It tends to be deployed predominantly in contexts where the allegation made against the defendant is a particularly serious one, and where the emotional appeal to the audience is particularly intense. It would therefore be risky to interpret such calls simply as routine, as part of an established court ritual. The fact that some stylistic features recur in several passages should not in itself be taken as an indication that they had become so stale and commonplace that their potential emotional effect had been reduced.

27 28

29

See e. g. Lys. 6,52–53; Dein. 1,95–98; Dein. 2,20–21; Lyk. 1,77–78. Dem. 25,51–53: οὐχὶ τῶν πολιτικῶν ἀγαθῶν ἐπ’ οὐδενὶ τῇ ψυχῇ διατρίβει· οὐ τέχνης, οὐ γεωργίας, οὐκ ἄλλης ἐργασίας οὐδεμιᾶς ἐπιμελεῖται· οὐ φιλανθρωπίας, οὐχ ὁμιλίας οὐδεμιᾶς οὐδενὶ κοινωνεῖ· ἀλλὰ πορεύεται διὰ τῆς ἀγορᾶς, ὥσπερ ἔχις ἢ σκορπίος ἠρκὼς τὸ κέντρον, ᾄττων δεῦρο κἀκεῖσε, σκοπῶν τίνι συμφορὰν ἢ βλασφημίαν ἢ κακόν τι προστριψάμενος καὶ καταστήσας εἰς φόβον ἀργύριον εἰσπράξεται. 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· μεθ’ ὧν δ’ οἱ ζωγράφοι τοὺς ἀσεβεῖς ἐν ᾍδου γράφουσιν, μετὰ τούτων, μετ’ ἀρᾶς καὶ βλασφημίας καὶ φθόνου καὶ στάσεως καὶ νείκους, περιέρχεται. εἶθ’ ὃν οὐδὲ τῶν ἐν ᾍδου θεῶν εἰκός ἐστιν τυχεῖν ἵλεων, ἀλλ’ εἰς τοὺς ἀσεβεῖς ὠσθῆναι διὰ τὴν πονηρίαν τοῦ βίου, τοῦτον ὑμεῖς ἀδικοῦντα λαβόντες οὐ μόνον οὐ τιμωρήσεσθε, ἀλλὰ καὶ μειζόνων ἀξιώσαντες δωρειῶν ἀφήσετ’ ἢ τοὺς εὐεργέτας; τίνι γὰρ πώποθ’ ὑμεῖς ἔδοτε, ἐὰν ὄφλῃ τι τῷ δημοσίῳ, τοῦτο μὴ καταθέντι τῶν ἴσων μετέχειν; οὐδενί. μὴ τοίνυν μηδὲ τούτῳ δῶτε νῦν, ἀλλὰ τιμωρήσασθε καὶ παράδειγμα ποιήσατε τοῖς ἄλλοις. Aisch. 3,253: Ἢ συλλαβόντες ὡς λῃστὴν τῶν πραγμάτων, ἐπ’ ὀνομάτων διὰ τῆς πολιτείας πλέοντα, τιμωρήσεσθε.

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Quite another question is what types of emotion were being appealed to by different speakers in order to bolster their calls for communal revenge. This is more difficult to determine in each individual case: all that we have to go by is the written text, while we lack evidence for the tone of voice, gestures, and facial expressions accompanying the speakers’ words.30 In modern scholarship, the role of the Athenian courts as a forum which permitted the community as a whole, represented by the individual panels of dicasts, to exact revenge for various forms of unlawful behaviour has often been connected with emotion of dicastic anger and, less frequently, with hatred. But while it is true that a number of the passages exhorting the judges to revenge do contain explicit appeals to either of these two emotions (and sometimes to both of them),31 an even larger number does not actually name the emotion that the speaker is trying to evoke. To be sure, even when a prosecutor does not make explicit references to anger or hatred, it is highly plausible that these were indeed one part of the emotional response that is being solicited. However, there is a risk that the current modern debate, with its main focus on dicastic anger, hatred and resentment along with pity (eleos) and sympathy (syngnome) might play down the fact that strong negative emotions are frequently composite. Often simultaneous evocations of more than one type of response might serve to amplify the emotional force of the speaker’s appeal as a whole. One emotion that appears to have been evoked very frequently in connection with calls for dicastic revenge is that of fear. The combination of fear, anger and hate is a particularly powerful cocktail, and the Athenian prosecution speeches strongly suggest that prosecutors were very much aware of this. Unlike the emotions of anger, hatred, pity and sympathy, the emotion of fear is hardly ever explicitly named by individual litigants. On the other hand, numerous passages calling for dicastic revenge spell out the disastrous consequences of an acquittal in case at hand, sometimes in graphic detail. Often, the judges are warned that, if they acquit the defendant, this will lead to a general state of lawlessness and crisis, sometimes even revolution, because the courts will no longer provide an adequate level of deterrence.32 In other instances, the fear evoked is that of divine displeasure, either because an acquittal will in effect constitute an act of epiorkia in so far as the judges will have betrayed their dicastic oath,33 or because a wrong 30

31

32 33

For a discussion of some of the methodological problems involved in identifying and gauging the emotional ‘temperature’ of the speakers’ appeals, see Bers 2009, 77–98 along with his discussion of the importance of particles 2009, 99–124. For an attempt to reconstruct the gesturing by speakers in their delivery of specific passages, see Boegehold 1999, 80–93. Calls for communal revenge are coupled with open appeals to dicastic anger in Lys. 12,94–96; 14,12–13; 14,20 (directed against defendant’s synegoroi), Lys. 15,9; 27,15–16; 28,13–15; 29,8–9; 30,23, Aisch. 3,144 (directed against Demosthenes rather than Ktesiphon), Dem. 24,143; 25,6; 26,4, and Lyk. 1,76–78, and with dicastic hatred (misos) in Dem. 19,87; 19,289; 21,226–227 (misos and orge), 24,110; 24,175; 26,23–24 (misos and orge), Dein. 1,3; 2,4–5 (misos and orge). e. g. Lys. 30,23, Dem. 19,343; Dem. 21,142; 24,129–131; 24,142–143; 25,95–96; 26,4; Hyp. Against Demosthenes col. 39, Dein. 1,64–67; 1,98–99; 1,113; 2,21–22; Lyk. 1,52–54. e. g. Dein. 2,20; Dem. 21,226–227.

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decision by the court will deprive the gods themselves of the revenge to which they are entitled.34 And finally, there is the fear of shame or disgrace, which is especially prominent when the judges are presented with the examples of their forefathers along with the admonition that it is the judges’ duty not to fall short of their achievements.35 These are of course all well-known and quite frequent topoi, and precisely because they are deployed so frequently in the public prosecution speeches, not only in connection with calls for dicastic revenge but also in other contexts, it might be tempting to question their actual emotional potential. But there are good reasons why this temptation should be resisted, one of which is that the surviving prosecution speeches are not necessarily representative of the type of oratory that was delivered in Athenian public actions generally. Firstly, with the exception of Demosthenes 21 and Isaios 11, no speeches survive from among those that were delivered in public actions for offences committed against individual citizens, such as actions for maltreatment of parents, orphans and epikleroi, false summonsing, false registration of a citizen as a state debtor, false imprisonment for adultery, hybris etc. Surviving fragments and references to actual trials of course show that they did take place, but they have left only a limited trace in our record. It is thus extremely difficult, if not impossible, for us to form an impression of the kind of rhetoric that may have been deployed in litigation of this type. Indeed, it cannot be ruled out that speeches delivered in cases involving individual victims may have conformed more closely to the court etiquette and conventions that appear to have applied in private actions than to those attested in the surviving public prosecution and defence speeches. Secondly, the chronological distribution of oratory delivered in public actions is also very uneven. Particularly when it comes to the prosecutors’ attempts to stir up dicastic fear of the future effects of a wrong acquittal, not least when the crime alleged was one of treason combined with katapolitical bribery, it must be remembered that many of the public prosecution speeches that have survived from the pens of Demosthenes and his contemporaries were delivered during periods of conflict, when Athens was facing considerable – at times even existential – external threats. We have no public prosecution speeches at all dating from the period beginning with the King’s Peace of 386 and ending with the Social War of 357/6–355, a period which, although turbulent, may be broadly characterised as one of Athenian expansion and consolidation of its power in the Aegean. The earliest Demosthenic speeches written for prosecutors in public actions, Demosthenes 22 and 24, were 34 35

e. g. Lys. 6,3; 6,53; 13,92–94; Dem. 59,126; Lyk. 1,146. e. g. Aisch. 2,244–245; Dein. 1,109; Dein. 3,13–17; Lyk. 115–121; Dem. 19,281–283; Dem. 25,96–97; Dem. 26,23–24. It has been pointed out by my colleague, Dr. Ed Sanders, that shame itself may be the emotion appealed to in these passages. However, it must be noted that the shame, as represented by the speakers, is conditional upon the individual judges making the wrong decision in the voting procedure that is yet to come. Thus, it is more likely that the speakers are trying to evoke feelings of apprehension or fear of disgrace or shame that may afflict the judges in the future.

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delivered between 355 and 353, while the Athenians were busy licking the wounds recently inflicted on them during the Social War, as well as waking up to the threat of Philip II’s growing power in the North. Of the later prosecution speeches that contain exhortations to exact communal revenge, most were delivered during periods of heightened tension, if not open war.36 Such tensions and a general emotional climate of anger and anxiety generated by them may conceivably have had the effect of raising the emotional temperature of the rhetoric employed by prosecutors, even in public trials that did not directly concern offences associated with war, treason and defeat. Similar considerations apply in connection with Lysias 14, 15, and 27–29, all delivered while Athens was deeply involved in the Corinthian War.37 In these speeches, the terrible experience of treason, revolution, and loss of lives under the Thirty are sometimes recalled or alluded to,38 just as they are recalled in Lysias 12, 13, and 30, which directly concern defendants who had been closely associated with the oligarchic regime. But whereas the latter three speeches attempt to spur the judges into taking revenge for the horrors of the past, the speeches delivered during the Corinthian War make calls for dicastic revenge that are more concerned with averting the threat of their being repeated in the near future.39 36

Dem. 21 Against Meidias was delivered in 347/6, while Athens was still deeply involved in the Third Sacred War; Dem. 59 is normally dated to the period 343–339, a period that saw mounting tensions between Athens and Macedonia culminating in open conflict in 340. Dem. 19 was delivered in 343 following the interference by Philip in Megara and Euboia on Athens’ very doorsteps (see Harris 1995, 115–118). Hyp. 4 Against Philippides, of which only the epilogos has survived, was delivered shortly before the death of Philip II, in 337 or perhaps as early as 338 immediately after the defeat at Chaironeia (see Whitehead 2000, 29–30) in the same climate of fear that led the Athenians to pass a new anti-tyranny law (RO 79). General fear and anger also seems to have been the prevailing climate at Athens when Hyp. 1 Against Demosthenes and Dein. 1; 2 and 3 were delivered in trials brought against high-profile figures connected with the scandal surrounding Harpalos and his money. However, the year 331/0, in which Aisch. 3 and Lyk. 1 were delivered, is one that can hardly be characterised as a year of particular crisis for Athens, despite the recent defeat of King Agis of Sparta and Alexander’s triumph at Gaugamela. The same is probably true of Dem. 25 and 26 that can be tentatively dated to the otherwise turbulent year of 324 (Hansen 1976: 142). The speeches were most likely delivered before Harpalos’ arrival in the city, and before Athens was to face the possible implications of Alexander’s exiles decree, which posed a direct threat to the Athenian cleruchy in Samos. 37 Lys. 14 and 15 were delivered in a prosecution for military desertion brought against Alkibiades son of Alkibiades the general shortly after the outbreak of the Corinthian War, probably as early as 395. Lys. 27 was delivered during the Corinthian war but cannot be dated any more precisely than that, while Lys. 28 and 29 can be dated to 389 or shortly thereafter. 38 e. g. Lys. 14,32–35; 39; 28,13–15. 39 See e. g. Lys. 28,9–11: ὑπὲρ ὧν ὑμῖν ἄξιόν ἐστιν ἀπολογήσασθαι παρὰ τούτου νῦν δίκην λαβοῦσι, καὶ πᾶσιν ἀνθρώποις ἐπιδεῖξαι ὅτι οὐκ ἔστι τοσαῦτα χρήματα, ὧν ὑμεῖς ἡττήσεσθε ὥστε μὴ τιμωρεῖσθαι τοὺς ἀδικοῦντας. ἐνθυμεῖσθε γάρ, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, ὅτι οὐκ Ἐργοκλῆς μόνος κρίνεται, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἡ πόλις ὅλη. νυνὶ γὰρ τοῖς ἄρχουσι τοῖς ὑμετέροις ἐπιδείξετε πότερον χρὴ δικαίους εἶναι, ἢ ὡς πλεῖστα τῶν ὑμετέρων ὑφελομένους τῷ αὐτῷ τρόπῳ τὴν σωτηρίαν παρασκευάζεσθαι, ᾧπερ οὗτοι νυνὶ πειρῶνται. καίτοι εὖ εἰδέναι χρή, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι· ὅστις ἐν τοσαύτῃ ἀπορίᾳ τῶν ὑμετέρων πραγμάτων ἢ πόλεις προδίδωσιν ἢ χρήματα κλέπτειν ἢ δωροδοκεῖν ἀξιοῖ, οὗτος καὶ τὰ τείχη καὶ τὰς ναῦς τοῖς πολεμίοις παραδίδωσι καὶ ὀλιγαρχίαν ἐκ

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Most of us are used to interpreting Attic oratory as evidence for Athenian ideology, for the relationship between the Athenian élite and the demos, and for the internal working of Athens’ democratic institutions. There has, in general, been less focus on the aspects of surviving fourth-century prosecution speeches that may be characterised as war-time rhetoric and the rhetoric of defeat. However, when combined with calls for communal revenge, the emotional appeals to the judges are often to be interpreted in part as a reflection of the Athenians’ perception of the external threats that they were facing, and in some instances as a reflection of the community’s attempts to deal with humiliation and defeat abroad. Treason perpetrated by the enemy within constituted a serious risk to the survival of the community as a whole as well as of its constitution – so did desertion, and so did acts that might result in the loss of divine benevolence. There is no evidence to suggest that the Athenians were less concerned with this last aspect in the fourth century than they had been in the fifth, when the scandals of the profanation of the mysteries and the vandalism against the polis’ herms shook the community to its foundations. To sum up. Calls for communal revenge are found by far the most frequently in connection with religious offences, treason and katapolitical bribery, but more rarely in connection with other types of offence that concerned the purely internal workings of the Athenian community and its democratic institutions.40 This strongly suggests that such calls were not made lightly, even in the second half of the fourth century when only a limited number of elderly citizens would have had personal memories of the horrors of oligarchy and stasis at the end of the fifth century and of the reconciliation process that followed. Of course, there are a handful of instances in the Demosthenic corpus, most notably in 21; 25; 26; and 58, where calls for communal revenge are made in connection with accusations that were clearly concerned with less dangerous forms of anti-social behaviour – alarming behaviour, to be sure, but not the type of behaviour that was likely to pose an immediate existential threat to the polis.41 These speeches, together with the occasional occurrence of similar calls in the context of private litigation, show that exhortations to dicastic revenge were to some extent a matter of personal, strategic choices made by the litigants themselves (or by their logographers), and thus a matter of court etiquette rather than any hard and fast rules. Even so, the strong link between communal revenge and offences that had the potential to endanger the very survival of the polis, its constitution and its relationship with the divine, and its sparing use in other contexts point to the conclusion that the courts’ function as an institution in which the community as a whole exacted

40

41

δημοκρατίας καθίστησιν· ὥστ’ οὐκ ἄξιον ὑμῖν τῆς τούτων παρασκευῆς ἡττᾶσθαι, ἀλλὰ παράδειγμα πᾶσιν ἀνθρώποις ποιῆσαι καὶ μήτε κέρδος μήτ’ ἔλεον μήτ’ ἄλλο μηδὲν περὶ πλείονος ποιήσασθαι τῆς τούτων τιμωρίας. As can be observed from the passages listed in the appendix, the call for communal revenge occurs with some frequency in connection with accusations that the defendant has attempted to destroy, undermine, or adulterate the polis’ laws. It is not always spelled out that this crime might constitute the first step in a process of abolishing the democracy, but in some instances (not least those attested in Lys. 30) it is highly likely that this concern would have been uppermost in the minds of the dicasts. Dem. 21,142; 25,6–7; 25,96–97; 26,23–24; 58,53–54; 58,63.

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revenge for general antisocial and criminal behaviour was certainly not taken for granted. Nor does the surviving oratory suggest that the Athenians gradually adopted a more relaxed attitude to the concept over the course of the fourth century.42

BIBLIOGRAPHY Bers, V. (2009). Genos Dikanikos. Amateur and Professional Speech in the Courtrooms of Classical Athens. Cambridge Massachusetts and London. Boegehold, A. (1999). When a Gesture Was Expected. A Selection of Examples from Archaic and Classical Greek Literature. Princeton. Fisher, N. (1998). ‘Violence, masculinity and the law in classical Athens’ in L. Foxhall and J. Salmon (eds) When Men Were Men. Masculinity, Power and Identity in Classical Antiquity, London, 68–97. Gehrke, H.-J. (1985). Stasis. Untersuchungen zu den inneren Kriegen in den griechischen Staaten des 5. und 4. Jahrhunderts v. Chr. München. Hansen, M. H. (1976). Apagoge, Endeixis, and Ephegesis against Kakourgoi, Atimoi and Pheugontes. A Study in the Athenian Administration of Justice in the Fourth Century B. C. Odense. Harris, E. M. (1995). Aeschines and Athenian Politics. Oxford. Harvey, F. D. (1985). ‘Dona Ferentes: Some Aspects of Bribery in Greek Politics’ in P. A. Cartledge and F. D. Harvey (eds) Crux. Essays in Greek history presented to G. E. M. de Ste. Croix, London, 76–117. Kucharski, J. (2012). ‘Vindictive Prosecution in Classical Athens: On Some Recent Theories’ in GRBS 52, 167–197. Kurihara, A. (2003). ‘Personal Enmity as a Motivation in Forensic Speeches’ in CQ 53, 464–477. MacDowell, D. M. (2009). Demosthenes the Orator. Oxford. Martin, G. (2009). Divine Talk. Religious Argumentation in Demosthenes. Oxford. Todd, S. C. (2007). A commentary on Lysias: Speeches1–11. Oxford. Trevett, J. (1992). Apollodoros the Son of Pasion. Oxford. Whitehead, D. (2000). Hypereides. The Forensic Speeches. Oxford.

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I should like to express my gratitude to Prof. Tiersch for her invitation to participate in a most stimulating conference, to the rest of her team involved in its organisation, and to Dr. E. Sanders for his comments on a first draft of this article.

Lys. 28.9–11

Lys. 28.15

Aisch. 3.143–144 (Demosth.)

Aisch. 3.244–245 (Demosth.)

Lys. 6.15

Lys. 6.18

Lys. 6.53

Lyk. 1.76

Dem. 26.4

Dein. 1.85–88

Dein. 1.29

Dein.1.15

Dein. 1.4

Dem. 24.175

Lys. 13.97

Lys. 13.95

Lys. 13.92–94

Lys. 29.11–13 Lys. 13.47–48

Lys. 13.3

Lys. 15.9 (def.’s father)

Lys. 6.11

Dem. 24.205– Hyp. 1 Dem. Lys. 29.8–9 206 (law may col. 39 lead to subversion of democracy)

Lys. 14.31 Lys. 13.75–76 Hyp. 1 Dem. Lys. 27.15–16 Lys. 13.1 (def.’s col. 34 father)

katapolitical embezzlement homicide bribery of (secular) funds

Lys. 6.2–7

revolution/ abolition of democracy

treason

offence(s) against the divine

Lys. 30.35 (destruction/adulteration of nomoi)

Lys. 30.33 (destruction/adulteration of nomoi)

Lys. 14.20 (failure to perform military duties) Lys. 30.22–23 (destruction/ adulteration of nomoi)

Lys. 14.12–13 (failure to serve among hoplites)

Lys. 12.94 (oligarchic oppression)

other

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APPENDIX

τιμωρεῖν/τιμωρεῖ͂σθαι in public prosecution speeches: thematic links Bold typeface indicates that the speaker links divine interests with the call for communal vengeance NB! Some of the passages combine two offences, most often treason (prodosia) and katapolitical bribery. In the present table, this combination has been entered under the rubric of ‘treason’.

Aisch. 3..252–253 (Demosth.)

Hyp. 4 Phil. 8–10

Dein. 1.64

Dein. 1.109–110

Lyk. 1.146

Dem. 19.86–87

Dem. 21.226–227

Dem. 59.77

Dem. 59.117 Dein. 3.12–14

Dem. 59.107 Dein. 2.4–5

treason

offence(s) against the divine

revolution/ abolition of democracy

Dein. 3.16–17

Dein. 2.20–22

Dein. 2.14–15

Dein. 1.113

Dein. 1.98

katapolitical embezzlement homicide bribery of (secular) funds

Dem. 24.129–131 (destruction/ adulteration of nomoi) Dem. 24.142–143 (destruction/ adulteration of nomoi) Dem. 25.6–7 (failure to respect atimia)

Dem. 24.110 (destruction/ adulteration of nomoi)

Dem. 21.142 (hybris)

Hyp. 4 Phil. 5 (unlawful decree proposal)

other

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treason

Dem. 58.53–54 (sykophancy) Dem. 58.63 (sykophancy)

Lyk. 1.123

Lyk.1.141

Dem. 19.343

Dem. 19.289

Dem. 19.281– 283

Dem. 26.23–24 (criminal behaviour generally)

Dem. 25.52–53 (criminal behaviour generally)

other

Lyk. 1.115–116

katapolitical embezzlement homicide bribery of (secular) funds

Dem. 25.96–97 (sykophancy)

revolution/ abolition of democracy

Lyk. 1.78

Dem. 59.126 Lyk. 1.52–54

offence(s) against the divine

72 Lene Rubinstein

FROM DEMOCRACY TO THE RULE OF LAW? CONSTITUTIONAL CHANGE IN ATHENS DURING THE FIFTH AND FOURTH CENTURIES BCE Edward M. Harris

In chapter 41 of the Constitution of the Athenians attributed to Aristotle and written probably in the 320s we read about the eleventh and final phase of the Athenian constitution.1 This phase began after the overthrow of the Thirty and the return of the democracy. The eleventh one was the one which came into being after the return of the exiles from Phyle and the Piraeus, from which date it continued to exist until it reached its present form, all the time granting even more power to the people. For the people has placed itself in control of everything and administers everything through its decrees and its courts, in which the people holds the power. For even the judicial decisions of the Council have come under the control of the people. In this regard they appear to be correct. For a small number is much more easily corrupted by money or by favours than a large number.

In the opinion of this author (whoever he or she was), the people gained more power in this period and exercised this control through decrees passed in the Assembly and the decisions of the courts. There is no criticism of this general development, which is in marked contrast to the description of the seventh phase of the constitution, during which the author believed that the demagogues caused the Athenians to make the most mistakes (Arist. Ath. Pol. 41,2: πλεῖστα … ἁμαρτάνεῖν). In fact, the only judgment that the author passes on this period is positive, calling the practice of granting the people the power over judicial decisions to be correct (ὀρθῶς).2 This view of the constitution is shared by Apollodorus ([Dem.] 59.88), writing in the 340s, who thought that in his time the people held supreme power (κυριώτατος). In the 350s Demosthenes (20,2–4; 102–3), speaking against the law of Leptines, argues that it is inexpedient because it deprives the people of their power to make awards. The judges evidently found this argument persuasive because Demosthenes and his fellow speakers won their case (cf. Dem. 24,76).3 At

1 2

3

For a discussion of the authorship and date of the work see Rhodes 1981, 51–63. Pace Rhodes 1981, 489, the statement that the people controlled all matters through their decrees need not be taken as a criticism. When Aristotle (Pol. 1292a4–7, 23–5, 32–7. Cf. 1282b1– 6, 1293a30–4, 1298a28–33) criticizes extreme democracy, he faults this type of government for allowing decrees to prevail over laws, but there is no mention of laws in this passage, and no implication that the people did not follow the laws. On the other hand, Rhodes 1981, 489–90 notes that the statement that there was a reduction in the powers of the Council vis-à-vis the Assembly may not be accurate. See Harris 2008, 20–21.

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trials in 346 and 330, Aeschines (1,4–6; 3,6–7) called the Athenian form of government a democracy, and at another trial in 331 Lycurgus (Leocr. 3) called on the judges to protect their democracy. It is also striking that the term demokratia occurs only in literary sources before 403 BCE4 and is not found in any extant decrees of the fifth century before this date.5 The term is found in the document called the decree of Demophantus found in Andocides’ speech On the Mysteries (96–8), which scholars have wished to date to 410 BCE, but a recent study has shown that this document is a forgery.6 This changes in the fourth century, when the term demokratia starts to be found in laws and decrees and as the name of triremes.7 In this period the Athenians went so far as to deify Democracy, something they did not do in the fifth century. An inscription recording expenses in the 330s mentions two sacrifices to Demokratia by the generals (IG ii2 1496, lines 131–132, 140–141 [332/1 and 331/0 BCE]). The Council of 333/2 dedicated a statue of the personified Demokratia (IG ii2 2791 with SEG 21:679). Sometime in the fourth century Euphranor represented Demos and Demokratia in a painting.8 From the third century BCE there is evidence for a priest of Demokratia, an office that could have been created in the previous century (IG ii2 5029a). This development mirrors the account found in the Constitution of the Athenians – in terms of official documents and civic religion the term demokratia is much more prominent in the fourth century than in the fifth. Despite the views of the ancient sources that demokratia, the power of the people, was thriving the fourth century BCE, some scholars have claimed that there was a fundamental change in the Athenian constitution in this period.9 In his Sather lectures, Martin Ostwald claimed that in the fifth century the Athenians had popular sovereignty, but in the fourth century the sovereignty of law.10 M. H. Hansen has argued that sovereignty lay in the courts in the fourth century, not in the Assembly.11 4

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For the term demokratia and the cognate verb in literary sources see [Xen.] Ath. Pol. 1,4; 1,5; 1,8; 2,20; 3,1; 3,8; 3,9; 3,12; Hdt. 4,137,2; 6,43,3; 6,131,1; Thuk. 1,115,3; 2,37,1; 2,65,9; 3,37,1; 3,62,3; 4,76,2; 5,31,6; 6,39,1; 6,89,6; 8,47,2; 8,48,4–5; 8,63,3; 8,75,2; 8,89,3; 8,90,1. Following Sealey 1974, 263–67, I do not interpret Aesch. Suppl. 604 to be allusion to the term demokratia. The earliest use of the term demokratia in an official document occurs in 403/2 or later. See Stroud 1971. Aristotle (Ath. Pol. 29,3) reports that Cleitophon passed a motion to the board of syngrapheis to search for the ancestral laws that Cleisthenes enacted when he set up the democracy, but it is impossible to determine if Aristotle is quoting from an actual decree or just paraphrasing its provisions. See Canevaro and Harris 2012, 119–25. There is no reason to doubt the statement of Lycurgus (Leocr. 124–27) that the actual decree was enacted after the Thirty. Demokratia as the name of triremes: IG ii2 1604 (377/6 BCE), line 24; 1606 (374/3 BCE), lines 59–60; 1607 (373/2), line 87; 1611 (357/6), line 86. Pausanias 1,3,3; Pliny NH 35,129. Raubitschek 1962 suggested that the relief of these two figures above the law of Eucrates enacted in 337/36 was inspired by this painting. I do not deal here with the view of Strauss 1987, 70–86; 173; 179–82 that the Athenians became more conservative in the 390s because of demographic changes. This view is well criticized by Epstein 2011, 99–102. Ostwald 1986. Hansen 1974 and Hansen 1991, 150–55; 300–4. Cf. Todd 1990, 170: ‘Athens was certainly

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Other scholars have seen a shift of power in the middle of the century toward a more conservative form of government.12 This is a large topic, and I can only sketch my own approach in this essay. My paper falls into two parts: in the first I discuss some of the evidence that scholars have interpreted as the signs of a change in Athenian institutions, from a more democratic to a less democratic form of government and show that there was no attempt to limit the powers of the Assembly or to shift power from the Assembly to the courts. In the second part, I review some of the modern analyses of the rule of law and show that the Athenians already pursued this ideal in the fifth century. There was no shift – the Athenians always believed that democracy and the rule of law went hand in hand.

THE NEW RULES ABOUT LEGISLATION It might be tempting to view the new legislative procedures enacted in 403 as a conservative measure aimed at curbing the powers of the Assembly, but this would be a mistake.13 The reform actually made it easier for the Assembly to pass new laws. In the fifth century (and probably earlier) the laws of Draco were protected by an entrenchment clause, which made it virtually impossible to annul or alter them (Dem. 23,62). The stories that the Athenians swore not to alter the laws of Solon for a hundred years probably indicate that they too were protected by a similar clause (Hdt. 1,29; Plut. Solon 25). Several new measures passed in the late fifth century were also protected by entrenchment clauses.14 This type of clause made it illegal to overturn the existing law or to propose any changes at all. And if one tried to pass a new measure that contradicted an old measure, it was possible for a political opponent to bring a graphe paranomon and block the new measure.15 In 411 the Assembly decided to abolish the graphe paranomon in order to consider changes to the constitution (Aristot. Ath. Pol. 29,4; Thuk. 8,67,2), but this led to an attempt to overthrow the democracy and obviously left behind rather distasteful associations in the minds of most Athenians (Dem. 24,154). Even sixty years later, the graphe paranomon was seen as the bulwark of the democracy (Aeschin. 3,190–200). The new rules about legislation made a distinction between laws (nomoi) and decrees (psephismata) and gave priority to the former over the latter.16 The rules also provided a separate procedure for enacting laws, which was more elaborate than that for enacting decrees.17 The new rules provided that:

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constitutionally less democratic in the mid-fourth century.’ Wallace 1989. Rhodes 1995, 317: ‘I accept that by the middle of the fourth century there had been a change in ethos, but we must be careful not to exaggerate.’ For this view see Ostwald 1986, 509–24, especially 524: ‘In matters of legislation the Assembly relinquished its final say to nomothetai. Thus democracy achieved stability, consistency, and continuity when the higher sovereignty of nomos limited the sovereignty of the people.’ On entrenchment clauses in Athens see Lewis 1997, 136–49. For their role in preventing tyranny in Athens and elsewhere see Harris 2006a, 22–25. The earliest attested use of the graphe paranomon was in 415 – Andok. 1.22. See Andok. 1,89 with Hansen 1978. What follows relies on the analysis of Canevaro 2013, which supersedes all previous accounts.

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1) A preliminary vote in the Assembly could take place at any time during the year to permit proposals for new laws (Dem. 24,25). 2) All new proposals for laws had to be placed in front of the monument of the Eponymous Heroes so that everyone could read them (Dem. 24,25; Dem. 20,94). 3) The secretary was to read out all proposals submitted at every meeting of the Assembly until nomothetai were appointed (Dem. 20,94). 4) During the third meeting of the Assembly after the preliminary vote, the people were to discuss the selection of nomothetai and pass a decree appointing them (Dem. 24,25; Dem. 20,92). 5) Synegoroi were to be elected to defend any laws to be repealed before the new laws could be enacted (Dem. 24,36; Dem. 20,146). 6) Any laws contrary to the new proposals for laws had to be repealed by a public action against inexpedient laws (Dem. 24,32; 34–5; Dem. 20,93). 7) If the person who proposed a new law did not follow these rules, anyone who wished could bring a public action against him on a charge of enacting an inexpedient law (Dem. 24,32). One of the key innovations in these new rules was the creation of a public action against inexpedient law, which made it possible to annul old laws. This in turn cleared the path for the Assembly to enact new legislation in a way that was not possible in the fifth century BCE. The measures enacted in (or after) 403/2 combined flexibility with stability and were a distinct improvement over the rigid entrenchment clauses of the fifth century, which could be repealed but only in very exceptional circumstances. The new measures after the restoration of the democracy actually enhanced the powers of the Assembly and removed an obstacle to changing laws.

THE ROLE OF THE AREOPAGUS Some scholars have noted that in the years between 350 and 323 the extant sources mentions several incidents in which the Areopagus played a significant role. These scholars (in particular Robert Wallace) have interpreted this activity by the Areopagus as an inroads on the authority of the Assembly, as a return to the patrios politeia (whatever that was), and as evidence of a conservative turn in Athenian politics.18 It is true that the sources for the history of these twenty-seven years contain more references to the Areopagus than the sources for the previous forty years, but this may be due to the nature of our sources for the respective periods. References to the Areopagus tend to occur in court speeches delivered in public cases.19 Most

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The analyses of nomothesia in Hansen 1979–80, Hansen 1985 and Ostwald 1986, 509–24 rely on the evidence in the document found at Dem. 24,20–23, which Canevaro has now shown is a forgery and contains no reliable information. Wallace 1989. Cf. Todd 1990, 170, note 201: ‘Note the increasing powers (apophasis is only the most striking) given during the fourth century to the Areiopagos …’ E. g., Lys. 12,69; Aeschin. 1,81–4; 2,93; 3,20; 252; Dem. 18,132–33; Din. 1,3;5; 51; 53; 58;

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of the speeches extant from the period 390 BCE to 350 BCE were delivered in private cases (the Areopagus is mentioned in Against Leptines delivered in 355/4 and Against Aristocrates delivered between 353 and 351, but both speeches deal with the traditional powers of the Areopagus).20 The absence of any mention of the Areopagus from speeches in this period may therefore have nothing to do with its political activity but with literary genre. One must not assume that absence of evidence is evidence of absence.21 Besides, the Areopagus appears to have already had a role that extended beyond its jurisdiction in homicide cases in 405 when it acted to defend the constitution (Lys. 12,69).22 Before discussing the role of the Areopagus in the late fourth century, however, it is important to distinguish among several different aspects of its jurisdiction. First, the Areopagus retained in the fourth century its traditional jurisdiction in judging cases of deliberate homicide (Dem. 23,22–25; Din. 1,6; Aristot. Ath. Pol. 57,3).23 Second, the Areopagus could conduct investigations (the verb is zêtein) either on its own initiative or when instructed by a decree of the Assembly. This investigation would lead to a report of its findings (apophasis) to the Assembly (Din. 1,50–51). The investigation of Antiphon in 342 or 341 (Dem. 18,132–3),24 the investigation of Polyeuctus (Din. 1,58–63), and the investigation of those who received money from Harpalus in 324 fall into this category (Hyp. Dem. 2; Din. 1,61).25 Third, the Areopagus had the power to investigate the conduct of individuals and impose fines on them up to a certain amount. The best example of this is the investigation of Theogenes sometime in the 340s ([Dem.] 59,80). Fourth, the Assembly could order the Areopagus to perform a specific task and grant its members the authority to carry out this task. The review of Aeschines’ appointment as syndikos in the dispute with Delos provides an example of this (Dem. 18,134). Another example would be the decree of the Assembly ordering the Areopagus to enforce regulations about the Sacred Orgas (IG ii2 204, lines 16–23). Fifth, the Assembly granted the Areopagus extraordinary powers to arrest, try and execute traitors

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Lycurg. Leocr. 12; 52. The speeches of Lysias and Andocides and the forensic speeches of Isocrates were all delivered before 390, those of Antiphon before this trial and execution in 410. The speeches of Isaeus are dated between 395 and 345 BCE but all concern private cases (mostly inheritance). The speeches of Aeschines, Dinarchus, Lycurgus and Hyperides and the public speeches of Demosthenes were all delivered after 355. The Areopagus is mentioned in the document found at Andok. 1,84, but this document is a forgery and the information in it unreliable. See Canevaro and Harris 2012, 110–16. Rhodes 1995, 311 with note 42 accepts the document as genuine but is skeptical about the significance of the clause. The speech of Isocrates (7) about the Areopagus, dated to the middle of the 350s, celebrates the powers the council enjoyed in the past and recommends a return to traditional practices, but makes no concrete suggestions about new measures. For the role of the Areopagus in defending the constitution see Zelnick-Abramovitz 2011. Pace Hansen 1991, 292 and Rhodes 1995, 313, Din. 1.6 does not refer to a decree granting extensive powers to the Areopagus, but only to its traditional jurisdiction in homicide cases. For the punishments see Dem. 21,43. For the date of the arrest of Antiphon see Harris 1995, 169–70. The report of the Areopagus about buildings near the Pnyx may also fall into this category (Aeschin. 1,81–4).

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during the short-lived emergency after the defeat at Chaeronea in late 338 BCE (Lycurg. Leocr. 52; Din. 1,61–2; Aeschin. 3,252). These powers were conferred by a decree of Demosthenes (Din. 1,61) and did not outlast the state of emergency. Did any of these powers represent an inroads on the powers of the Assembly or mark an ideological shift in the Athenian constitutional history?26 No, they most certainly did not. First, any major change in the Athenian constitution would have required a law (nomos). Wallace has claimed that Demosthenes did pass a measure enhancing the powers of the Areopagus sometime in the 340s,27 but all our sources for Demosthenes and the Areopagus (Din. 1,62–3) indicate that he passed decrees (psephismata), which could not have brought about the extensive changes claimed by Wallace. Second, the powers of the Areopagus to conduct investigations did not limit the powers of the other courts and the Assembly. They were merely advisory. When the Areopagus investigated and arrested Antiphon, he was turned over either to the Assembly or to the courts (Dem. 18,132. Cf. Din. 1,63). The Areopagus did not decide about his guilt (although their report must have influenced the court or Assembly) or the punishment and did not carry out the sentence. The same was true in the case of Charinus who was sentenced to exile for treason as a result of reports made by the Areopagus (Din. 1,63). When the Areopagus investigated those who received gold from Harpalus, it made a report to the Assembly (Din. 1,45; Hyp. Dem. 5–6), which then appointed prosecutors, who brought cases in court (Din. 2,6). After the Areopagus investigated Polyeuctus and found that he had been in contact with an exile, he was tried in court and acquitted (Din. 1,58–60). In this case, the court asserted its authority over the Areopagus by refusing to endorse its report. What the Areopagus did in these cases was no different to what the Council of Five Hundred and the committee of investigation (zetetai) did in 415 when they looked into denunciations made about those accused of mutilating the Herms and parodying the Mysteries (Andok. 1,36 [ζητεῖν]; 65; Cf. 14). For instance, when the Council and the committee investigated Diocleides’ denunciations and discovered they were false, they turned him over to the courts. In a similar way, in 410/9 BCE the Assembly ordered the Council of Five Hundred to investigate the bribery alleged to secure an honorary decree for Apollodorus and to report its findings (ἀποφαίνεν) (IG i3 102, lines 39–47). The Assembly might also order a board of investigators to look into a matter and report back its findings (Dem. 24,11). In all these cases the Assembly gave an order to the Council or Five Hundred or the Areopagus, but reserved final judgment in the matter for its own decision or trial in one of the courts. The terminology used for the tasks carried out by the Council of Five Hundred is identical with those carried out by the Areopagus (ζητεῖν, ἀποφαίνειν). There was no constitutional innovation limiting the powers of the Assembly here. 26 27

Cf. Rhodes 1995, 314: ‘a turn away from extreme democracy.’ Wallace 1989, 113–19. For skepticism about Wallace’s view see Rhodes 1995, 313, note 57. One should note that Dinarchus (1,4) says that the power of the Areopagus to make investigations is traditional (πάτριόν ἐστι), which clearly indicates that it was not a recent innovation in 324 BCE.

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In the case of Aeschines’ removal and Hyperides’ appointment as syndikos, the Assembly granted the Areopagus the power (κυρίαν ἐποιήσατε) to review its appointment and to replace Aeschines (Dem. 18,134). From a constitutional perspective, this was similar to the cases in which the Assembly granted powers to the Council to carry out a specific task.28 In the fourth century there are several examples of the Assembly granting the Council the authority to carry out a task.29 The Assembly could also grant the Council of Five Hundred the power to appoint officials. For instance, in the late fifth-century decree about First-Fruits the Council is instructed to elect heralds (IG i3 78a, lines 21–24). No one would argue that this delegation of powers to the Council of Five Hundred represented a limitation on the powers of the Assembly. By the same token one should not claim that this ad hoc delegation of power to the Areopagus in this one case was the symptom of a major departure from democratic principles. And just as the Council of Five Hundred had the power to levy fines up to five hundred drachmas (Dem. 47,43),30 the Council of the Areopagus had a similar power ([Dem.] 59,80). The emergency powers granted to the Areopagus after Chaeronea were also part of an ad hoc measure. It is important to note that this was the measure that Lycurgus expected would provoke howls of protest at the trial of Leocrates in 331 BCE and which a prosecutor in the Harpalus affair thought might be attacked as oligarchic (Lycurg. Leocr. 52). If the law of Eucrates passed in 337/36 (IG ii3 320) was inspired by a perceived threat by the Areopagus to the democracy (and I am not convinced that it was), it was more likely the emergency powers of the Areopagus in 338 that worried Eucrates than the investigations of the 340s. But if the Assembly had been truly concerned about an increase in the powers of the Areopagus, it would have passed legislation curtailing those powers. By contrast, this law threatens penalties to members of the Areopagus who would lend legitimacy to a tyrant by performing their duties, a hypothetical situation. It is more likely that the law simply encourages the Areopagus by threat of severe penalties to perform its traditional duty of protecting the constitution (Lys. 12,69). Just as other laws about magistrates threatened them with severe penalties if they did not perform their duties, this law simply imposes a penalty on members of the Areopagus who do not uphold the constitution in the event of a coup d’état. Far from distrusting the Areopagus in general during this period, the Assembly entrusted the investigation of the Harpalus affair to the Areopagus in 324. In short, there is no reason to think that the activities of the Areopagus in the late fourth century represented a limitation on the powers of the Assembly or a turn away from democracy. The power of the Areopagus to 28 29

30

On this topic in general see Rhodes 1972, 82–3. IG ii2 43 (378/7), lines 31–35 (τ]ὴμ βολὴν τὴν ἀεὶ βολε|ύοσαν κυρίαν ε[ἶν]αι καθαιρεῖν); IG ii2 127 (356/5), lines 34–5 (τ[ὴ]ν [β]ουλ[ὴν] κυ[ρ]ίαν εἶναι); IG ii2 204 (352/1), lines 85–6 (τὴν βουλὴν κυρίαν εἶνα|[ι ψηφίζεσθαι ὅτι ἂν αὐτῆι δ]οκῆι ἄριστον εἶναι); Dem. 19,154 (τὴν βουλὴν ποιήσαντος τοῦ δήμου κυρίαν); IG ii2 435 (after 336), lines 7–9 (τὴν β[ουλὴν κυρίαν εἶναι ψηφίζ]|[εσθαι ὅτι ἂν α]ὐτῆι δοκῆι ἄριστ[ον εἶναι); IG ii2 1629 (325/4), lines 264–69 (τὴν βουλὴν | κυρίαν εἶναι ψηφίζεσθαι | μὴ λύουσαν μηθὲν τῶν | ἐψηφισμένων τῶι δήμωι). Note the similarity in terminology with Dem. 18,134. See also Rhodes 1972, 147.

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launch investigations was a traditional right and no different from that of the Council of Five Hundred to investigate. The reports made by the Areopagus were merely advisory and could be rejected by the courts and Assembly. The Assembly could also delegate power to the Areopagus to carry out a task, but this was no different from the traditional practice of instructing the Council to implement its orders.

THE SUPREMACY OF THE COURTS? Hansen also claims that a sign of the supremacy of the courts over the Assembly in the fourth century is that the courts could overturn a law or decree of the Assembly, but the Assembly could not overturn a verdict of the courts.31 This is actually not true. First, there is a law mentioned in Demosthenes’ speech Against Timocrates (24,46) that it was possible to discuss the cancellation or reduction of fines if 6,000 Athenians voted to allow such a discussion. There are also several passages indicating that it was possible for the Assembly to recall those in exile as the result of a court verdict and to reduce or annul a fine imposed by the court.32 We know that the Assembly voted for the return of Alcibiades in 407 (Thuk. 8,81,1; 97,3. Cf. Diod. 13,38,2; 42,2; Corn. Nep. Alc. 5,4; Plut. Alc. 33,1) even though he had been condemned to death in absentia in 415 (Thuk. 6,61,7).33 In 405 the Athenians passed the decree of Patrocleides restored rights to many Athenians who had been disen-franchised in various ways as the result of judicial verdicts (Andok. 1,73– 6).34 The Athenians did not abolish or reduce this power of the Assembly in the fourth century. According to Aeschines (2,21) Demosthenes in 346 claimed that he would convince the Athenians to recall Leosthenes, who had been condemned to death in absentia in 361.35 Even though he did not do this, Aeschines’ words indicate that it was theoretically possible. Cornelius Nepos (Tim. 4,1) reports that Conon, who inherited Timotheus’ debt of a hundred talents after his father’s death, had this reduced to ten talents.36 After his condemnation in the Harpalus affair, Demosthenes was also recalled by the Assembly (Plut. Dem. 27,5).37 This was obviously a power that the Assembly used only sparingly in the same way that governors and presidents in the United States use executive clemency only in highly ex-

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Hansen 1991, 151–55. My discussion in this section draws on the analysis of Pecorella Longo 2004. For discussion see Pecorella Longo 2004, 89–90. Xen. Hell. 1,5,19 and Pausanias 6,7,4–7 report that the Rhodian Dorieus had been condemned to death but was pardoned by the Athenians in 407. For discussion see Pecorella Longo 2004, 90. For discussion see Canevaro and Harris 2012, 100–110, which shows that the document inserted at Andok. 1,77–79 is a forgery. For his trial and condemnation see Aeschin. 2,124; Hyp. 4,1; Polyaen. 6,2,1–2 with the discussion in Pecorella Longo 2004, 94–5. For the trial and condemnation of Timotheus see Diod. 16,21 Corn. Nep. 16. Tim. 3,4–5; Isocr. 15,129. For discussion of the sources and analysis see Pecorella Longo 2004, 96–103.

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ceptional circumstances.38 But it does suggest that even in the fourth century the Assembly was in some respects superior to the courts.

THE RULE OF LAW Our review of the evidence reveals that the Assembly retained its powers in the fourth century. There is no reason to doubt that the democracy in this period was as democratic as it was in the fifth century. But what about the sovereignty of law?39 Ostwald and Hansen thought that this was a new development in the fourth century.40 One common point in the works of these scholars is that they never define what they mean by the rule of law and do not draw on modern discussions of the term. In general, they tend to believe that the rule of law is mainly following statutes when making judicial decisions. This is certainly an aspect of the rule of law, but it is not the only aspect or even its main feature. Even though legal theorists and political scientists differ on some points, most modern views about the rule of law share certain basic features. One can divide modern attempts to define the term into ‘thin definitions’ and ‘thick definitions’ – ‘thin definitions’ limit the term to the requirement of consistent application of fixed rules in adjudication and administration, equality before the law, and the accountability of officials. ‘Thick definitions’ are broader and include requirements to recognize basic human rights. This is the position eloquently defended by the late Tom Bingham. In what follows I am going to single out four core elements about which most writers agree and show that the Athenians tried to implement them in the fifth century if not earlier. The first feature agreed on by most writers is that the law should apply equally to all persons. In his list of the basic principles of the rule of law Bingham includes the rule that ‘The laws of the land should apply equally to all, save to the extent that objective differences justify differentiation.’41 There can be no question that the Athenians believed in this principle and followed it in their laws. According to Demosthenes (21,188), the Athenians enjoyed equality because of their laws (cf. Dem. 21,67). This principle was explicitly stated in the laws enacted in 403 BCE:

38

39 40

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[Dem.] 17,12 says that Alexander’s friends have forced the Athenians to pardon men condemned in their courts, but claims the practice violates Athenian law. This may be a tendentious interpretation of the practice – see Pecorella Longo 2004, 95–6. This section draws on material from the introduction to my book The Rule of Law in Action in Democratic Athens. Lanni 2006 passim attempts to argue that the Athenians did not attempt to implement the rule of law but made ad hoc judgments in their courts, but her arguments are not convincing. See my review in Harris 2009/10 and my book The Rule of Law in Action in Democratic Athens (New York and Oxford 2013). Cohen 1995 claims that Athenian litigation had little to do with the law and was a form of feuding, but this view is also not convincing and has been rejected by many scholars. See in particular Harris 2005. In her contribution to this volume, Thomas never defines what she means by the ‘rule of law,’ and this undermines much of her argument. Bingham 2010, 55–59.

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‘It is not permitted to enact a law directed at a individual unless the same law applies to all Athenians.’42 Yet even though this principle was not explicitly stated until 403 BCE, it was implicit in the laws of Athens enacted before that date. Several of the oldest laws in Athens, Draco’s laws about homicide, begin with the words ‘if anyone …’ and make no distinction among different classes (Dem. 23,24; 38; 45; 60). A law dated to 485/4 contains several provisions that all begin with the same phrase ‘if anyone …’ (IG i3 4B, lines 6–8; 11–13; 15–6). There are many other examples from the fifth century, and one could add many examples from the fourth century.43 This principle was not only implicit in the laws of Athens; it was recognized in literature and oratory. In a famous drinking song from the early fifth century, Harmodius and Aristogeiton are praised for killing the tyrant and making the Athenians ‘equal before the law.’44 In his Funeral Oration Pericles boasts that ‘in regard to disputes involving individuals all share equality (to ison) according to the laws’ (Thuk. 2,37,1. Cf. [Arist.] Rhet. ad Alex. 2,21,1424b15–6). In Euripides’ Suppliant Women (433–4, 437. Cf. Dem. 51,11), Theseus, the ruler of Athens, tells the Herald from Thebes that ‘when the laws are written, both the powerless and the wealthy have equal justice, and the lesser man with justice on his side prevails over the powerful man.’ Equality before the law was obviously an Athenian ideal. It extended not only to all citizens but to metics and foreigners as well.45 In reality, metics and foreigners may have been at a disadvantage, but in principle they enjoyed equal access to the courts.46 A second key feature of the rule of law is that all officials are accountable for their actions.47 This was certainly true for Classical Athens: all officials in Athens without exception were required to submit their accounts and their conduct was subject to judicial review (Aeschin. 3,12–27). Every official was required to submit his accounts to officials called the logistai who checked these accounts and received accusations of embezzlement and bribery. Anyone could also submit an accusation to officials called the euthynoi (Aristot. Ath. Pol. 48,4–5). This principle is evident 42

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44 45 46

47

The law inserted into the text of Andok. 1,87 states that there can be an exception to this rule, ‘if six thousand people vote,’ but this document is a forgery – see Canevaro and Harris 2012, 117–8. The attempt of Hansen 1979–80 to find laws directed at an individual is not convincing. See Rhodes 1984. On the reply of Hansen 1985 to Rhodes see Canevaro and Harris 2012, 119, note 108. Fifth-century examples: IG i3 10, lines 19–22; 19, lines 7–9; 34, lines 31–35; 41A, lines 70–2; 58, lines 14–16; 63, lines 1–5; 78a, lines 7–8, 34–6, 57–9; 114, lines 12–3. Fourth-century examples: Harris 2006a, 46–7. Athen. 15,695a-b. Metics have access to justice at Athens: Whitehead 1977. For the rights of foreigners in Greek courts see Gauthier 1972. Patterson 2000 argues that because metics did not have a network of family and friends, they would be at a disadvantage when pleading in court. But see Din. 1,23 for several cases in which non-citizens were able to obtain justice from the courts when they were wronged by Athenian citizens. See for instance the definition of the rule of law formulated by the World Justice Project (http:// www.worldjusticeproject.org): ‘the government and its officials and agents are accountable under the law.’

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early in the fifth century, when Miltiades was tried twice, shortly before the battle of Marathon and shortly after Marathon, and the second time fined heavily.48 During the early years of the Peloponnesian War Pericles exercised much power and influence, but he was still deposed from office and fined (Thuk. 2,65).49 The Athenians and other Greeks recognized the principle that all magistrates should be accountable as early as the Archaic period: many laws from the Greek poleis from the sixth and early fifth centuries BCE contain penalties for officials who fail to perform their legal duties.50 A third basic feature of the rule of law is that the law is accessible to all. As Bingham states, ‘the law must be accessible and so far as possible intelligible, clear and predictable.’51 This has several aspects, but an important one is that all regulations are easy to read and to understand and are accessible.52 The Athenians certainly endorsed this principle. In his speech Against Leptines Demosthenes (20,93) says that the aim of the procedures for legislation is to ensure that ‘opposing laws are repealed so that there is one law for each subject. This avoids confusion for private individuals, who would be at a disadvantage in comparison with people who are familiar with all the laws. The aim is to make points of law the same for all to read as well as simple and clear to understand.’53 But even before the fourth century BCE, the Athenians put much effort into making the texts of laws accessible. The laws of Draco and Solon were written on axones and kyrbeis, which were probably made of wood, and were still in the center of Athens to consult in the late fifth century.54 Laws pertaining to specific areas were posted next to the offices of the magistrates under whose jurisdiction they fell. Even though they were scattered in different offices, they were not difficult to find. Many laws were also on public display after being enacted: Athenian laws and decrees often contain publication formula instructing officials to write them on large stone stelai and to place them in prominent places where all can read them.55 There is no reason to believe that these stelai

48

49 50 51

52 53

54

55

There is no reason to believe that the Areopagus controlled the euthynai procedure or had a general oversight of magistrates in this period. The three trials mentioned by Herodotus clearly took place before the Assembly or in a court (Hdt. 6,21,2; 104,2 [dikastêrion]; 136,1). I plan to explore this topic elsewhere. For accountability of officials in the fifth century see Piérart 1971. See Harris 2006a, 18–21. For accountability of officials in Greek cities in the fifth century and later see Fröhlich 2004. Cf. Fuller 1964 who says that two of the symptoms of the absence of the rule of law are failure to publicize or make known the rules of law and unclear or obscure legislation that is impossible to understand. The discussion in this paragraph draws on the important essay of Sickinger 2004, which refutes Todd 1993, 55–8. In this regard the Athenians appear to have anticipated the requirement of the World Justice Project (http://www.worldjusticeproject.org): ‘the process by which the laws are enacted, administered, and enforced is accessible, fair and efficient.’ On the axones and kyrbeis see Andrewes 1974 and Stroud 1979 with the critique of Rhodes 1981, 131–35. Aristophanes refers to the kyrbeis in the Birds (1353–57). Davis 2011 argues that laws in Athens were first written on kyrbeis, then inscribed on axones during the revision of the laws starting in 410. For these formulae see Liddel 2003. The decree of Teisamenus inserted into the text at Andok.

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were just symbolic monuments, intended only to impress but not to be read.56 We do not encounter the phrase ‘so that all can read’ until the later fourth century, but the attempt to make laws and decrees easy to read is clearly there from an early period. Athenians also attempted to ensure that ‘adjudicative procedures provided by the state should be fair.’57 Even in the fifth century, the accuser was required to present to the defendant the charges he planned to make in court. Judges swore not to be influenced by personal enmity or good will toward the litigants (Dem. 23,96– 7). Both accuser and defendant were given equal amounts of time to speak. The court consisted of judges selected at random to ensure impartiality. There were changes in the method of selection in the fourth century, but the basic aim in these procedures remained the same.58 On the other hand, one should not exaggerate the similarities between ancient and modern conceptions of the rule of law. Modern views are often based on a belief in universal human rights, which extend to all races, all social classes, and equally to women and men. For the Athenians the rule of law provided guarantees primarily to Athenian citizens. For instance, the rule against laws enacted for an individual requires only that laws be enacted for all Athenians (Dem. 23,86). The laws of Athens protected the rights of women. For instance, the law against outrage (hybris) explicitly includes women in its provisions (Aeschin. 1,15), and one speaker recalls a case in which the court sentenced a man to death for committing this crime against a woman (Din. 1,23). But women in general did not bring charges or conduct cases in court; they were represented by their husbands or male relatives. If a husband divorced his wife and refused to return her dowry or to provide maintenance, it was her male relatives who brought the charge. The laws of Athens guaranteed the freedom of citizens and metics by providing harsh punishments against those who tried to enslave them (Arist. Ath. Pol. 52,1), but these protections did not extend to those who were captured in war: the universal rule among the Greeks was that persons captured in battle belonged to the victors by right of conquest (Plat. Rep. 5,468a-b; Arist. Pol. 1,6,1255a6–7; Xen. Cyr. 7,5,73). Another area in which the differences between the Athenian conception of the rule of law and modern conceptions are apparent is in regard to the use of torture. Over the centuries countries throughout the world have abolished the use of torture either to obtain evidence or as a punishment. France abolished torture in 1789, and the Eighth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States in the same year outlawed ‘cruel and unusual punishments,’ which included torture. According to Article 3 of the European Convention, ‘no one shall be subjected to torture or to inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment.’ In all these cases, the protection

56 57 58

1,84 calls for laws to be inscribed on a wall, but this document is a forgery. See Canevaro and Harris 2012, 110–16. Pace Thomas 1989, 45–83. For an excellent critique of Thomas’ primitivist approach see Pébarthe 2006. Bingham 2010, 90–109. For the methods of selecting judges see Arist. Ath. Pol. 63–69 with Rhodes 1981, 697–735.

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against torture extends to all human beings, not just to citizens.59 In democratic Athens, by contrast, only citizens were protected against torture (Andok. 1,43). Slaves and other non-citizens could be tortured.60 Even though the Athenian conception of the rule of law differed in some respects from modern conceptions, the Athenians attempted to implement several of the basic features of the rule of law widely recognized today. These attempts do not begin in the fourth century BCE, but can be seen as early as the laws of Solon and continued into the fifth century BCE. Neither in the fifth century BCE nor in the fourth century BCE did the Athenians view democracy and the rule of law as antithetical principles. On the contrary, the Athenians believed that the two ideals went hand in hand, one reinforcing the other. When the authors of the Treaty Establishing a Constitution for Europe enacted on 29 October 2004 wrote that they were ‘drawing inspiration from the cultural, religious and humanist inheritance of Europe, from which have developed the universal values of the inviolable and inalienable rights of the human person, freedom, democracy, equality and the rule of law,’ they were building on ideas first formulated by Athenians in the Classical period, who also saw no contradiction between the democracy and the rule of law.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Andrewes (1974). “The Survival of Solon’s Axones,” in Bradeen and MacGregor (1974): 21–28. Bingham, T. (2010). The Rule of Law. London. Bradeen, D. W. and MacGregor, M. F., eds. (1974). ΦΟΡΟΣ: Tribute to Benjamin Dean Meritt. Locust Valley NY. de Bruyn, O. (1995). La compétence de l’Aréopage en matière de procès publics dès origins de la Polis à la conquête romaine de la Grèce (vers 700–146 avant J. C.). Stuttgart. Bultrighini, U., ed. (2005). Democrazia e antidemocrazia nel mondo greco. Alessandria. Bushala, E. (1968). “Torture of Non-Citizens in Homicide Investigations,” GRBS 9:61–68. Canevaro, M. (2013). “Nomothesia in Classical Athens: What Sources should we believe?”, CQ 63.1: 139–60. Canevaro, M. and Harris, E. M. (2012). “The Documents in Andocides’ On the Mysteries,” CQ 62.1: 98–129. Davis, G. (2011). “Axones and Kurbeis: A New Answer to an Old Problem,” Historia 60: 1–35. Dicey, A. (1885). An Introduction to the Study of the Law of the Constitution. London. Eder, W., ed. (1995). Die athenische Demokratie im 4. Jahrhundert v. Chr.: Vollendung oder Verfall einer Verfassungsform? Stuttgart. Epstein, S. (2011). “Direct Democracy and Minority Rule: The Athenian Assembly in its Relation to the Demos,” in Herman (2011): 87–102. Flensted-Jensen, P., Nielsen, T. H., and Rubinstein, L., eds. (2000). Polis and Politics: Studies in Ancient Greek Politics. Copenhagen. Fröhlich, P. (2004). Les cités grecques et le contrôle des magistrats (IVe-Ier siècle avant J. C.). Paris. Fuller, L. L. (1964). The Morality of Law. New Haven. Gagarin, M. (1996). “The Torture of Slaves in Athenian Law,” CP 91:1–18. 59 60

For the abolition of torture see Bingham 2010, 14–7. For the torture of slaves for evidence see Thür 1977, Gagarin 1996, and Mirhady 2000. For the torture of a non-citizen see Dem. 18,132 with Harris 1995, 172. For the torture of non-citizens in homicide investigations see Bushala 1968.

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Gauthier, P. (1972). Symbola. Les étrangers et la justice dans les cités grecques. Nancy. 1972. Hansen, M. H. (1974). The Sovereignty of the People’s Court in Athens in the Fourth Century B. C. and the Public Action against Unconstitutional Proposals. Odense. Hansen, M. H. (1978). “Nomos and Psephisma in fourth-century Athens,” GRBS 19: 315–30. Hansen, M. H. (1979–80). “Athenian nomothesia in the fourth century B. C. and Demosthenes’ Speech Against Leptines,” C&M 32: 87–104. Hansen, M. H. (1985). “Athenian nomothesia,” GRBS 26: 345–71. Hansen, M. H. (1991). The Athenian Democracy in the Age of Demosthenes: Stucture, Principles, Ideology. Oxford. Harris, E. M. (1995). Aeschines and Athenian Politics. Oxford and New York. Harris, E. M. (2004). “Le rôle de l’epieikeia dans les tribunaux athéniens,” Revue historique de droit français et étranger 82: 1–14. Harris, E. M. (2005). “Feuding or the Rule of Law? The Nature of Litigation in Classical Athens: An Essay in Legal Sociology,” in Symposion 2001: Vorträge zur griechischen und hellenistischen Rechtsgeschichte ed. by M. Gagarin and R. W. Wallace (Cologne and Vienna, 2005) 125–41. Harris, E. M. (2006a). Democracy and the Rule of Law in Classical Athens: Essays, on Law, Society, and Politics. New York and Cambridge. Harris, E. M. (2006b). ‘The Rule of Law in Athenian Democracy: Reflections on the Judicial Oath,’ Dike 9: 157–81. Harris, E. M. (2008). Demosthenes, Speeches 20–22. Austin TX. Harris, E. M. (2009/10). Review of Lanni (2006). Dike 12/13: 323–31. Harris, E. M (2013a). “How Strictly did the Athenian Courts Apply the Law? The Role of Epieikeia,” BICS 56.1: 25–46. Harris, E. M. (2013b). “The Plaint in Athenian Law and Legal Procedure” in M.Faraguna, ed. Legal Documents in Ancient Societies. Trieste. Harris, E. M. and Rubinstein, L., eds. (2004). The Law and the Courts in Ancient Greece. London. Herman, G., ed. (2011). Stability and Crisis in the Athenian Democracy. Stuttgart. Hunter, V. and Edmonson, J., eds. (2000). Law and Social Status in Classical Athens. Oxford. Lewis, D. (1997). Selected Papers in Greek and Near Eastern History. Ed. by P. J. Rhodes. Cambridge. Liddel, P. (2003). “The places of publication of Athenian state decrees from the 5th century BC to the 3rd century AD,” ZPE 143: 79–93. Mirhady, D. (2000). “The Athenian Rationale for Torture,” in Hunter and Edmonson (2000): 53–74. Ostwald, M. (1986). From Popular Sovereignty to the Sovereignty of Law: Law, Society and Politics in Fifth-Century Athens. Berkeley. Patterson, C. (2000). “The Hospitality of Athenian Justice: The Metic in Court” in Hunter and Edmonson (2000): Pébarthe, C. (2006). Cité, démocratie et écriture :. histoire de l’alphabétisation d’Athènes à l’époque classique. Paris. Pecorella Longo, C. (2004). “Il condono della pena in Atene in età classica,” Dike 7:85–111. Piérart, M. (1971). “Les ΕΥΘΥΝΟΙ athéniens,” AC 40: 526–73. Raubitschek, A. E. (1962). “Demokratia,” Hesperia 31: 238–43. Rhodes, P. J. (1972). The Athenian Boule. Oxford. Rhodes, P. J. (1979/80). “Athenian Democracy after 403 B. C.,” CJ 75: 305–23. Rhodes, P. J. (1981). A Commentary on the Aristotelian Athenaion Politeia. Oxford. Rhodes, P. J. (1984). “Nomothesia in fourth-century Athens,” CQ 35: 55–60. Rhodes, P. J. (1995). “Judicial Procedures in Fourth-Century Athens,” in Eder (1995): 303–19. Rhodes, P. J. (2005). “Democracy and its Opponents in Fourth-Century Athens”, in Bultrighini: (2005) 275–89. Schwenk, C. J. (1985). Athens in the Age of Alexander: The Dated Laws and Decrees of “the Lykourgan Era” 332–322 B. C. Chicago. Sealey, R. (1974). “The Origins of Demokratia,” California Studies in Classical Antiquity 6: 253– 95.

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Sickinger, J. (2004). “The laws of Athens: publication, preservation and consultation,” in Harris and Rubinstein (2004): 93–111. Strauss, B. S. (1987). Athens after the Peloponnesian War: Class, Faction and Policy 403–386 B.C. Ithaca. Stroud, R. S. (1971). “Greek Inscriptions: Theozotides and the Athenian Orphans,” Hesperia 40: 280–301. Stroud, R. S. (1979). The Axones and Kyrbeis of Drakon and Solon. Berkeley. Sullivan, J. (2003). “Demosthenes’ Areopagus Legislation – Yet Again,” CQ 53.1: 130–34. Thomas, R. (1989). Oral Tradition and Written Record in Classical Athens. Cambridge. Thür, G. (1977). Beweisführung vor die Schwurgerichtshofen Athens: Die Proklesis zur Basanos. Vienna. Todd, S. C. (1990). “Lady Chatterley’s Lover and the Attic Orators: The Social Composition of the Athenian Jury,” JHS 110: 147–73. Todd, S. (1993). The Shape of Athenian Law. Oxford. Wallace, R. W. (1989). The Areopagos Council, to 307 B. C. Baltimore. Wallace, R. W. (2000). “‘Investigations and Reports’ by the Areopagos Council and Demosthenes’ Areopagus Decree” in Flensted-Jensen, Nielsen, and Rubinstein (2000): 581–96. Whitehead, D. (1977). The Ideology of the Athenian Metic (Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society Suppl. vol. 4). Cambridge. Zelnick-Abramovitz, R. (2011). “The Guardian of the Land: The Areopagos Council as a Symbol of Stability”, in Herman (2011): 103–26.

PERFORMANCE, AUDIENCE PARTICIPATION AND THE DYNAMICS OF THE FOURTH-CENTURY ASSEMBLY AND JURY-COURTS OF ATHENS Rosalind Thomas ‘Gorgias was right to claim that speakers should destroy their adversaries’ seriousness with laughter and their laughter with seriousness’ (Arist. Rhet. 3,18, 1419 b 3–5 = DK 82, B12) ‘When I convicted you in the presence of all Athenians … you gave an answer which called forth a cry from the demos and those xenoi standing around the Assembly’ (Aeschin. 3, 224).

The restored democracy of the fourth century incorporated changes to the constitution and legal system which show an earnestness and an urgency in putting right some of the perceived excesses of the late fifth century. The Athenians prided themselves on their democracy and on ‘the rule of law’ as part of this and the series of changes revolving round this seem to have had the aim of reinforcing and ‘ring-fencing’ the laws from extraneous interference or from attempts to dethrone them by rhetorical means: by inscribing the revised law code; by distinguishing nomoi from psephismata more carefully (with the result that few laws were passed in the 4th century); by creating the body of nomothetai to ensure that badly framed laws or laws contradicting current laws were not allowed to be passed.1 The unfettered will of the Assembly was effectively restrained. After the fiasco of the trial of the generals after Arginusae, there was every reason to think that the democracy needed to be pulled back to a clearer idea of what it meant to stand by the law. As Xenophon told the story, with considerable anti-democratic glee, the proposal to try the generals en masse was recognized to be strictly illegal, against the normal legal procedures, and yet people in the Assembly shouted that it was a terrible thing ‘if someone did not allow the Demos to do what it wished’ (ὃ ἂν βούληται) and somehow this uproar in favour of the democratic will of the people drowned the more constitutionalist Athenians (Xen. Hell. 1,7,12–13). This is a fascinating case of a clash between the ‘common will’ or the General Will as expressed via the Assembly, and the neat, clear procedures as agreed by law; a clash between democracy as conceived as the ‘will of the people’, however expressed in practice, and democracy as conceived as incorporating the laws expressing the democratic principles and decisions. The regime of the Thirty had also tackled the laws, removing the laws of Solon which left room for ambiguity or disagreement (di’ amphisbeteseis) because they involved clauses which could lay open routes for sycophants or malicious prosecution or because they gave too much room for the juries to decide (Ath. Pol. 35,2). A 1

See on this esp. Hansen 1991; Rhodes 1979/80; Ostwald 1986, esp. ch.10; with Rhodes 1985, Rhodes 1991 and Robertson 1990 for the revision of the law code.

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non-democratic government would indeed be averse to juries having too much flexibility on interpretation or penalties. As modern work has suggested, there can be virtues in leaving some room for variation and context in the wording and application of law, rather than sticking rigidly to laws which attempt to define all without regard for context2, but these would be virtues appropriate to a modern democracy based on a sense of fairness. These oligarchic moves to change or restrict the laws, in addition to the attempts to revise the laws at the end of the 5th century, suggest strongly that the laws were not necessarily in good order at the end of the 5th century in either 410 or 404;3 on the contrary, that there were plenty of potential forces ready to disrupt or disregard the laws, and Athenians on either end of the political spectrum attempted to manipulate or control them. The several measures put in place at the start of the restored democracy were attempts to strengthen the rule of law.4 And yet, as Demosthenes put it in Olynthiacs 3, laws and decrees are useless if you do not act on them (Olynth. 3,14) – and even taking into account the obvious rhetorical argument here, he is making the perfectly valid point that laws and decrees can remain dead letters unless the people put them into action. Laws were not enough by themselves, and the circumstances in which they were cited or put into use deserve attention. It is the circumstances within which decrees were passed and laws put into practice which form the subject of this paper, and which have serious implications for the day-to-day dynamics and nature of the fourth-century democracy. I concentrate in this paper on some aspects of these circumstances, in particular the possible effect of the ‘performative context’ of the Athenian democracy on the efficacy of the laws, decrees and the formal machinery of the reformed democracy. What was the performative context in which the rule of law was put to the test or enacted in the 4th century, and did it differ from the 5th century democratic situation? How did the debates and general context of the Assembly affect the political processes of decision-making in the Assembly and (to the extent that legal cases were political) in the Jury-courts? After the sensible changes made to the restored democracy, one wonders how far or to what extent the debates and decisions were conducted in less frantic, less emotional manner. Was the frenzied debate about the Arginusae trial a feature only of the late 5th century democracy and something left behind in the more sober 4th century? Was the emotional and political intimidation of the Sicilian debate as portrayed by Thucydides in Bk.VI something characteristic only of the excesses of the 5th century democracy? There is enormously rich evidence to show that animated, noisy and exuberant interference from democratic audiences – shouting, booing, laughing – and audience participation in general from citizens in the Assembly and jury-courts, was equally important in the fourth century democracy and this has had little attention in discussions of of the 4th century democracy, so far as I can tell.5 At the very least, there was a strong continuity 2 3 4 5

Endicott 2005. Contra Pébarthe 2006; cf. Thomas, review 2010. See works cited in n.1, and now J. Shear 2011, esp. 247–57, 306 ff. on the aftermath of the oligarchy. See however, Hansen 1991, 146 on interuptions and audience hecking (brief); Ober 1989, 138

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between the fifth and the fourth centuries. Indeed as our evidence is far richer for assembly speeches and jury-court speeches in the fourth century, we can hardly avoid thinking about it.6 This conference set us the fascinating task of investigating further the economic, social and political character of Athens in this century, whether under the banner of ‘modernising’ or under a less emotional set of categories, to examine the mix of tradition and development without falling back simply on an idea of general decline. Our discussion will have a bearing on the following wider questions: 1. Do the changes in constitutional rules in the 4th century give rise to a greater or less prominent role of the people en masse in the major decisions of the democracy? Alongside the slight trend towards smaller numbers and more experts, is there a corresponding trend towards less active participation by the Assembly or juries in general? 2. A related question, is the composition of the Assembly in the 4th century any less populist? Is it less ‘lower class’, as was once thought by A. H. M. Jones (1957)? Without proper data on social composition, this is a difficult question to pursue, but we can certainly say something about the continuity of lively and energetic reactions in the Assembly. 3. The nature of the politically active class: if the leaders and ‘hoi politeuomenoi’ remain an elite somewhat distant from the mass of the people,7 where does that leave the demos? Can we nevertheless see the mass of the demos participating with more than their vote? As we shall see, the ‘half hidden’ evidence for extensive audience participation shows that even without the rhetorical skills, the ordinary Athenians were well able to make their views heard in the Assembly. 4. Were the greater numbers of documents and inscriptions in the fourth century and a stronger definition of the laws instrumental in creating a stronger democracy more based on the rule of law? What was the effect of having the arenas in which they are decided, or in which they were applied, the noisy mass gatherings of the demos?

PERFORMANCE AND DISRUPTION IN THE DEMOCRACY: First, let us clarify what we are talking about and examine some famous examples. We are investigating the modes of performance in the Assembly and jury-courts, but from the point of view of the citizen audiences rather than the rhetores: to put it succinctly, the extent to which there was shouting, booing, interrupting, laughing, and sheer disruption to the smooth progress of the speeches of the orators, the major or minor political leaders. This is essential in asking about the atmosphere of these

6 7

on the daunting nature of addressing the assembly; Bers 1987 and Tacon 2001 for more focussed analysis. Here I wish to develop some thoughts already aired in Sacred Words, Orality. Literacy and Religion, ed. Lardinois et al., where the focus was more on orality and literacy. For the nature of the politically active class, the rhetores and strategoi, see Hansen 1983a; 1983b; Perlman 1963, 1967.

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democratic assemblies, the possibility of mass-emotion affecting the decision-making, the extent to which the dynamics of mass psychology might affect the atmosphere of the assembly. We have probably all wondered how an orator managed to hold the attention of, say, 6000 citizens, or even 2000, in the Assembly, the open-air Pnyx, or the smaller audiences of the jury courts. The dangers of mass hysteria or mass enthusiasm are grimly narrated by Thucydides in his remarks about the Sicilian expedition vote of 415 B. C. where people were intimidated and did not dare to vote against sailing to Sicily (6,13,11; 24,4). Mass hysteria also came into play in the reaction to the mutilation of the Herms (6,53,2; 60); though we are not expressly told that this was generated in the Assembly, it is surely likely that Assembly debates were affected. Any speaker would have to deal with this; indeed the skilled speakers would need to be able to generate the atmosphere they wished and guide the audience so that shouting and laughing would be on their side rather than against them. What about the fourth century? Some of the audience participation can be described as thorubos, variously translated as noise, hubbub, clamour, and this phenomenon has been well examined by Bers in a famous article 1987 and by Tacon 2001. Bers showed conclusively that jurors regularly and habitually errupted in uproar and that speakers expected to deal with this (he did not make much of 5th -4th century continuity but took this as read). We should note, however, that he meant by ‘thorubos’ ‘any vocal expression’ directed to the litigant or other jurors.8 Tacon also argued that interruptions and banter between speaker and Assembly were typical, not regarded as subversive or non-democratic. But neither really pursued the implications for the nature of the democracy, or the effect on the democratic processes implied. Besides, we need to be wary of somehow dignifying this too much (as in the elaborate anglicized phrase ‘dikastic thorubos’) and try and recognize quite how much interference, shouting and booing it can involve. It is not just murmuring; it can be violent, highly disruptive, and ‘uproar’ may be a better English equivalent. Moreover the evidence of the speeches suggest that there was a great deal more than thorubos to contend with (as indeed these two articles recognise). Here we do not need to rely on stylistic indications that the speaker expects an interruption to the current speech,9 but on numerous remarks in speeches about previous assemblies or law-court sittings. If we spread the net wider to any kind of ‘audience participation’ it is clear that a great deal of shouting, jeering, laughing could go on, even to the extent that someone had to give up speaking altogether; and this is normal in the fourth century as well as the fifth. Even though we cannot of course take an orator’s back references to uproar and jeering in assemblies to be necessarily the whole truth (or any of it!), it is significant that such reactions are so often remarked or described, thus they cannot have been implausible. They cannot have been so wholly unlike anything that ever happened in the assembly or juries that the audience would instantly detect pure fantasy. Moreover, the rhetorical capital made out of such incidents and references

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Bers 1987, 1; I am more interested in the noisier end of the spectrum. As eg. Lycurg. Leocr. 16, asking for patience, one of numerous such remarks.

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is significant and must have had a suitably persuasive value. It is remarked upon as the demos’ prerogative. In one of the most vivid evocations of this phenomenon, Plato talks of the disturbing effects of the crowds on a young man’s morals when they clap or shout: ‘When they crowd into the seats in the Assembly or law courts or theatre, or get together in camp or any other popular meeting place, and with a great deal of noise (σὺν πολλῷ θορύβῳ) and a great lack of moderation, shout and clap their approval or disapproval of whatever is proposed or done (ἐκβοῶντες καὶ κροτοῦντες), till the rocks and the whole place reecho, and redouble the noise of their censure and praise. Can a young man’s heart remain unmoved by all of this? … He will be carried away by the stream’ (Rep. 492 b-c). Plato was of course speaking in deep disapproval of the democratic processes; in the same section he uses the splendid metaphor of the masses as ‘grand sophists’ themselves in their potential to corrupt (Rep. 492 a 8-b1). In the Laws, we find a similar picture: ‘Sometimes the juries in a city are dumb things… It is even more serious when so far from keeping silent when they hear a case they make a tremendous disturbance as though they were in a theatre and hurl shouts of applause or disapproval at the speaker on either side in turn’ (Leg. 9, 876b). The anti-democratic slant to this is obvious. Yet the ability to shout and interrupt is equally presented as a democratic right. In the late fifth century, Dikaiopolis can say in the Acharnians, ‘I have come [to the Assembly] absolutely prepared to shout, interrupt, abuse the speakers if anyone speaks about anything but peace’ (Acharn. 37–9: βοᾶν, ὑποκρούειν, λοιδορεῖν τοὺς ῥήτορας). Dikaiopolis’ self-confident prediction here is premised on his knowledge of how to heckle speakers in the Assembly. Such heckling had a dramatic effect on the demagogue Cleon, even though he of all politicians must have known how to persuade the Assembly: Thucydides’ account of how Cleon came to become General, despite complete inexperience, on the expedition to Pylos and Sphacteria, makes it very clear that Cleon was actually forced into this by the jeering in the Assembly. Having done nothing but criticise the current generals, he was then hoist by his own petard as the Athenians then turned to him and said, ‘Well you do it, then!’. The Athenians were ‘clamouring’ at Cleon (4,28.1, τῶν τε Ἀθηναίων τι ὑποθορυβησάντων ἐς τὸν Κλέωνα), and ‘the more Cleon avoided the expedition… the more the Athenians exhorted Nikias to give up his command and shouted at Kleon to sail (καὶ ἐκείνῳ ἐπεβόων πλεῖν).’ Cleon was effectively forced by Assembly jeering and shouting. The fact that he succeeded in the mission was another matter. The fact that this was a full democratic right is illustrated by the sinister scenes running up to the advent of the Thirty Tyrants. Lysias 12 mentions Assembly uproar as if it were a perfectly normal and democratic reaction on the part of the demos, indeed their full right. Looking back after 403 to the oligarchic coup, Lysias says that Theramenes suggested entrusting the city to Thirty men, but ‘you the demos made an uproar (ἐθορυβεῖτε), showing you were not persuaded; Theramenes said he cared nothing for this uproar’, and then the Spartan Lysander threatened the Assembly. All went quiet and they went home (Lysias 12, Ag. Eratosthenes 73–75).

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Here are the methods of the Spartan, the would-be oligarch Theramenes, and the normal democratic practices of the Assembly. It is striking that this shouting, jeering and laughing and general rambunctiousness are equally visible in the old and the restored democracy of the 4th century. The continuity between the fifth and fourth century democracy is very clear. We shall examine some prominent examples first; I would then like to take this analysis further, and ask whether there are any particular occasions or periods where such rambunctiousness is more visible, or is it generated by particular speakers, subjects or rivalries? There is, for example, the episode in which Demosthenes was booed and laughed off the speaker’s platform, and which he recalled in On the False Embassy: he had just recalled the return of the second embassy and his report to the boule, thronged with spectators (19,17–18). On Demosthenes’ account, after further discussion in the Assembly, Demosthenes got up to speak in the Assembly and repeat what he had said in the boule, but Aischines and Philocrates stood one on each side of him, ‘shouting, interrupting and finally jeering’ – ἐβόων, ἐξεκρούον με, τελευτῶντες ἐχλεύαζον – and you were all laughing; you did not want to listen (19,23). What is noteworthy here is that there is a powerful combination here of orators and people: firstly it is the orators who are shouting and forcing Demosthenes off the bema; but the people join in, adding their laughter which makes Demosthenes realise that there was no point in carrying on. Thus the orators engaged in similar noisy interruptions as the masses of the people: ekkrouo means to drive back, and LSJ also cites it as denoting ‘hissing an actor off stage’.10 Even if this story is embelished by Demosthenes later, as perhaps it was, it must have been a plausible enough scenario to recall later before the people. The speech carries on to recall dramatic and violent altercations but we should note that Demosthenes is careful to blame Aischines, not the people, for preventing him from speaking. The demos did not want to hear Demosthenes: εἰκός τι παθεῖν ἔμοιγε ἐδοκεῖτε (19,24).11 Later, Demosthenes said he tried to rise to speak, ‘when you refused to hear’ (19,45) and some repartee between Aischines and Demosthenes gave rise to the famous jibe from Philocrates, ‘No wonder Demosthenes and I disagree, men of Athens. He drinks water, I drink wine’, ‘and you all laughed’ (19,46, καὶ ὑμεῖς ἐγελᾶτε). Some time later it was Aischines’ turn to find he was unable to speak: people shouted and he was forced to come down from the bema (19,112–113). Other remarks about shouting or thorubos recur later in Demosthenes’ On the False Embassy.12 Aeschines’ On the Embassy also talks a lot about shouting. This is not only generalised shouting, but includes quite specific remarks which Aischines repeats when they were directed against Demosthenes (Aeschin. 2, 25). The demos might also object to people attempting to speak on topics they know nothing about. There is an interesting passage in Plato’s Protagoras often cited as 10 11 12

Cf. Sparathas 2006, 376–7 has a discussion of ekkrouo. Cf. Dem. 20,166 to jury: “often you [jury] have made an unjust verdict’, ‘but a verdict has been forced from you by the clamour (kraugé), force and shamelessness of the speakers’. See further, Thomas 2011, 176–7 on Dem. 19 and Aeschin. 2.

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one of the few clear indications that experts were welcomed as experts and the upstart young would-be politicians could not just get up and speak on anything from building projects to shipbuiding (Protag. 319 b 5-c 8). ‘If anyone else tries to give advice whom they do not consider an expert (δημιουργὸν however handsome or wealthy or nobly-born, it makes no difference: the members of the Assembly jeer at him noisily and make an uproar (καταγελῶσι καὶ θορυβοῦσιν) until either he is shouted down (καταθορυβηθείς) and desists, or else he is dragged off or ejected by the archers on the orders of the presiding magistrates. That is how they behave over subjects they consider technical. (Protag. 319 c1–8 ; Guthrie’s transl. adapted).

It is worth quoting at length because the tenor of the argument here, Socrates’ doubt that politics can be taught, is quite different from the remarks in the orators, and yet the basic picture of a lively, indeed rambunctious assembly and even the manhandling of offending speakers is remarkably close to the picture elsewhere. It is also a good counterpart to the idea of the demos only favouring the manipulative orators (implied for example in Aristophanes’ Knights). How literally do we take these descriptions? It is clear that orators might well exaggerate or even perhaps invent details of such incidents, but what is interesting is the texture of participation and interference from the larger democratic audiences which is taken for granted as background. This would presumably not be entirely implausible – even if events did not quite occur exactly in this way – so as to be completely beyond belief for the current audience. They must have held a degree of verisimilitude for them to be used in such accounts of past gatherings. Demosthenes repeats a comment that the demos is the most unstable and capricious thing in the world, ‘like a restless wave of the sea ruffled by the breeze’ (Dem. 19, 136 – ὥσπερ ἐν θαλάττῃ κῦμα ἀκατάστατον … κινούμενον): admitedly the sentiment is attributed to ‘those men’ who were advising Philip, but it might hold as an interestingly hostile version of the demos’ assembly behaviour. We may wonder if the extended rivalry of Demosthenes and Aischines or the fraught external situation, or both, may have made the assemblies more vociferous, more noisy. We will return this shortly. The chilling description of the takeover of the democracy by Theramenes and the Spartan Lysander does suggest that the assembly could usually be expected to be very noisy if the demos’ rights were in danger – and they were only calmed by the threats uttered. There may be elements of political ritual involved also: certain ‘rituals’ of interruption and booing. In these days of televised European politics we are becoming used to the different national conventions of political debate prevalent in each nation’s parliament. The highly ritualised shouting and jeering in the British parliament shocked audiences when it first became televised for wider audiences, and it is edited out by the formal accounts in Hansard. In the Athenian system, it is interesting that it seems to be regarded as the prerogative of the demos:13 the prevalence of such remarks is very striking indeed and the fact that they span the late fifth century and the fourth show that it is not a characteristic only of the late fifth-century century radical democracy. It suggests a high level of ‘audience participation’, a high degree of interference in 13

As argued by Bers 1987, Tacon 2001; Wallace 2004.

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the speeches of the rhetores,14 and a way in which even those who could not get up and speak might well make their feelings known. Even if the mainly elite politicians dominated the formal elements of the debates, the masses could very easily make their views clear. But we should note too how often the leading politicians and orators are also characterised as doing the same, and with a violence which is striking: it is not simply the ‘rowdy demos’ at work here. It is equally prevalent in the rhetorical handbooks. Orators are advised to remind the democratic audience that they are there to listen and must let the speaker carry on (Rhet. ad Alex. 1432 b 25 ff.)15. One wonders how far such mild remonstrance could move a large audience which really disliked what the orator was saying, but the extant speeches have a great many asides to the effect that the audience must hear the speaker out; and the Exordia of Demosthenes often repeat this sentiment16. Plato’s Apology makes numerous references to the stirring of the audience, a nod to verisimilitude in Socrates’ speech.17 The very fact that it becomes a rhetorical topos must indicate that interruptions were a serious possibility which every orator had to expect and be prepared to deal with. There are further elaborations (below) which attempt to distinguish ‘good’ shouting from ‘bad’. As we know, the performance of the orator was regarded as more valuable and more persuasive when it seemed spontaneous and uncrafted, and yet the tendency was towards more and more careful preparation, including the use of written texts18. We may well wonder if there was some relationship between this tendency towards professionalism in speaking, and the interventions of the democratic audience as they were (presumably) increasingly debarred from speaking by the professionalisation of speaking. This kind of disorder seems to generate new laws. Aischines in Against Timarchus claims that Timarchos’ behaviour on the speaker’s platform actually prompted a new law about one tribe looking after the bema to enforce proper behaviour (Aischin. 1,33). He claims that Timarchus did some sort of gymnastic exhibition (παγκράτιον, ὃ οὗτος ἐπαγκρατίασεν). This is interesting not because it shows laws being ignored but rather because it suggests that current conventions and expectations of behaviour were being questioned or pushed aside by certain individuals and that the law was introduced to enforce proper order.19 The reasoning Aischines gave is also amusing and ironic: new measures were necessary, he adds, because these kinds of men are so shameless that they cannot be driven from the bema by shouting at them (ἀπελαύνειν ἀπὸ τοῦ βήματος ταῖς κραυγαῖς). In 14 15 16 17 18

19

See also Wallace 2004. Xen. Hell. I 4,20, and esp. VI 5, 49, are also suggestive. See further, Thomas 2011, 180–181; Bers 1987, 5 (and note 11–12 for types of jury objection). See eg. Dem. On the Peace, 5,3 (urge to listen); proem. 56,3; proem. 21,4; cf. the topos rolled out by Isocrates in Antid. 20; 272. E. g. Apol. 17c-d at the start; 30c (‘do not interrupt me’). See Alcidamas, Against the sophists; and Schloemann 2000 and 2002: Schloemann 2002 suggests a growing distrust of written texts in oratory precisely as it was becoming more common, and hence a sign of professionalism. Note also Aischin. 3,2–4 on the law about the eukosmia ton rhetoron, claiming a general deterioration in behaviour of demos and speakers. Cf. Hansen 1991, 146; Hansen 1987, 69–72.

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other words these men are so shameless, he claims, that the usual practice of shouting will not even work. Such intimations of interruptions, shouting, booing and laughing from the democratic audience are extraordinarily common when one starts looking systematically. This raises the further question whether there were any significant variations: were there periods when audience excitement might have been particularly great, or democratic anxiety which meant that assemblies were particularly rowdy? Or are there variations between our literary authors which need to be taken into account? Or did the growing professionalism of oratory itself (and alongside this, of political leaders) generate or encourage an escalation of audience intervention as a response to the ever wider distance between ‘us’ and ‘them’? One of the recurrent themes and questions of the Humboldt University conference was the possibility of real variation in atmosphere in the courts and assembly at various junctures of the fourth century, and while this is very difficult to pin down, it is important at least to raise the question even if we can only point to tentative answers. We can precede from a combination of case studies of single speeches and searches through individual writers. In fact some very significant variations do occur. The impression from the Lysianic corpus is particularly striking. A search through various whole speeches and word searches for a wide range of expressions indicating shouting, jeering, laughing, hissing off the bema, and cognates with different prefixes, reveals a striking absence of references to those forms of energetic interference in assembly or jury-courts we have been discussing (βοάω, ἐκβοάω and other cognates; καταγελάω etc.; ἐκκρούω, ὑποκρούω; χλευάζω; κραυγή; συρίττω – hissing of the kind appropriate to the theatre). ekkrouo does not appear at all in Lysias – it was used of violently hissing Demosthenes off the platform and preventing him from carrying on his speech in Dem. Fals. Leg. 19,23. Even thorubos occurs in Lysias only in the account already mentioned of the intimidated Assembly objecting to Theramenes, but otherwise it is used only of a brawl or drunken assault of a private nature (3,18; fr. 89). Derision occurs in Lysias (καταγελάω) but it is the imagined or metaphorical derision of the speaker by the accused, or of the city by Alcibiades, or general derision of the speaker by others, or a generalised statement of purported ridicule, rather than the real-life jeering or derision occuring from the democratic audiences.20 This fits with the impression from the Lysianic corpus of a calmer, more ordered atmosphere. Even in Against Nikomachus (Lys. 30), or For Polystratos (Lys. 20), or the charged and dramatic narratives of Against Agoratus (Lys. 13), we do not find audience participation, noisy or otherwise, being mentioned. Shouting (βοάω and cognates) only occurs in Lysias three times, twice of a baby crying, a third time of a boy crying out during a brawl (Lys. 1,10; 1,11; 3,15). Yet there is an enormous quantity of shouting in the Demosthenic corpus, both by individuals in the course of their ordinary life, and by individuals or demos in the assembly (see below). In other words, noisy and rambunctious interruptions seems to be a feature overwhelmingly belonging to the later oratory and the world of the later oratory. 20

Lysias 14,46; 15,10; 3,9; 8,5.

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Why is this? It may have something to do with the purpose of Lysias’ speeches, mostly written for clients. I am tempted to suggest that a speech-writer writing for a client – who must often claim he has never been in court – would not dare show too great a familiarity with the normal behaviour of courts and assembly. The easy familiarity of Aischines and Demosthenes with the demos’ temper and the atmosphere of the courts and assembly is that of habitual frequenters of these professional politicians and speakers. One wonders how much Lysias as a metic would even know about the behaviour of the Assembly – though bystanders were certainly able to watch from the side, so this cannot be a strong argument.21 I suspect that the main reason is that the speeches were for clients and they kept a distance from the noisy reality of the democratic assembly. This is a pity because Lysias’ corpus of course gives us earlier evidence than Aischines and Demosthenes and the later orators. It is hard to believe that the demos was so utterly cowed in the early years of the fourth century that they quietened down completely (though opinions may differ on this). At any rate the Lysianic evidence throws the later oratory into considerable relief.22 It is hard to escape the impression that there was a great deal more agitation in the years when Demosthenes was beginning to be a prominent politician and when Athenian affairs were increasingly alarming. It may also be that Demosthenes and his style of oratory raised the temperature by referring so repeatedly to the Assembly in uproar. For each time a previous assembly in uproar is recalled approvingly and as exerting a righteous democratic reaction, this must do something to dignify and authorise the phenomenon and to encourage more. Crying out or shouting occur very frequently in Demosthenic speeches, both in private and in public arenas, both by individuals and by larger groups. In Against Aristogeiton I (Dem. 25), it is said that Aristogeiton misses no opportunity to cry out in the Assembly that he is their only well-wisher (25,64); earlier in the speech, the trial of Agathon is recalled where Aristogeiton (it is claimed) ‘shouted and ranted’ and threw the Assembly into confusion (25,47) … indeed he does not stop shouting, laying malicious accusations and threatening (βοῶν, συκοφαντῶν, ἀπειλῶν (25,49). Aischines’ skill in vituperation is criticized in Demosthenes’ De Corona, where he is described as abusing and shouting ‘as in a tragedy’ (18,127: ὥσπερ ἐν τραγῳδίᾳ βοῶντα); and later in the same speech, Aischines is the author of Philip’s success, so that though, as Demosthenes claims, ‘I protested and shouted in the Assembly’, people sitting by him (Aischines) would not let Demosthenes speak (18.143). Thus there is good shouting in the Assembly which is in the public interest (so Demosthenes claims). The public-minded shouting of the demos is also referred to 21 22

See the excellent article by Lanni 1997; and Thomas 2011, 180 for more egs. of bystanders in unexpected places (e. g. Dem. 19,1; 17). Bers 1987, 8, for the corona. Isocrates is also very short of such language and evidence, though he does make ref. to thorubos, sometimes rather precious, using the topos of asking the audience to hear him out: note Antid. 272 on fear of filling dikasteria with thorubos and shouting. Panath. 2, 233; 264 all refer to thorubos but significantly this is the applause of a private audience to a private epideixis or reading.

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rhetorically. When Demosthenes talks of Meidias’ appalling behaviour, this included abusing and threatening ‘the part of the assembly which is always causing an uproar’ (21,194, τὸν ἀει θορυβοῦντα τόπον τῆς ἐκκλησίας), where the rambunctious part of the Assembly is portrayed as having a right to make a noise (and compare the notorious incident in the theatre). So is that of the patriotic orator. Demosthenes claims to Aischines that if he, Demosthenes, had really intrigued with Philip, ‘it was your business [Aischines’] not to remain silent, but you should have cried out, called for witnesses and informed the people’ (18,23): σοὶ τὸ μὴ σιγῆσαι λοιπὸν ἦν, ἀλλὰ βοᾶν καὶ διαμαρτυ εσθαι καὶ δηλοῦν τουτοισί (18,23). This is patriotic shouting, which Aischines failed to do. Aischines’ shouting and crying, however, is the wrong kind (Dem. 18,82), or more significant, ch.122, where curiously Aischines is said to raise his voice and shout certain kinds of words ‘as if from a wagon’, which seems to refer to some form of carnival or pantomime parade. Halliwell has recently discussed this whole section, pointing out persuasively how Demosthenes engages in some double standards here, attempting to portray Aischines’ behaviour as characteristic of some vulgar ‘komastic street parade’.23 Around the same time, Hypereides accused his opponent Philippides as engaging in a similar kind of vulgar buffoonery and comic joking masquerading as oratory (Ag. Philippides, fr. 21,7 (Jensen)). The following chapter of De Corona attempts to distinguish between real accusation (kategoria) and mere quarrelsome ‘railing’ or abuse (loidoria) – Aischines’ ability only stretching, of course, to the second (18,123).24 There is an interesting persuasive definition here: the courts are not for shouting and abuse about private life, Demosthenes tried to claim, but for matters concerning the polis (18,123). Aischines’ outbursts and lively manner of speaking do not belong so much to the public democratic institutions as to the pantomimes and thiasoi, so his opponent claimed. In ‘Against Timocrates’, delivered c.353 B. C., there is a general description of an Assembly which has voted for a futher enquiry, and Androtion and his supporters sprang to their feet and shouted, were angry, shouted abuse (ἐβόων, ἠγανάκτουν, ἐλοιδοροῦντο) and when they had finished shouting, a further proposal was made to accept payment (Ag.Timocr. 24.13). It is hard to see any pattern here of more than usually boisterous shouting in particular circumstances except in so far as the bitter rivalry between Demosthenes and Aischines seems connected with particularly violent verbal behaviour in assembly and courts, or accusations of violent verbal behaviour. However, there is clearly shouting which can be presented as virtuous, in the public interest and done by the demos or any individual, and there is shouting which can be presented as noisy and vulgar. It is significant quite how often much this attempt to distinguish them comes up. As for the general uproar or hubbub encapsulated by the expression thorubos and cognates, there is a conventional plea ‘not to raise an uproar until you’ve heard me out’; but it is striking just how often it comes in conjunction with terrifying news and the parlous situation of Athens. Thus the orator inserts the plea, ‘don’t interrupt/shout me down until you have heard me out’ (μὴ θορυβήσῃ μηδεὶς, 23 24

Halliwell 2008, 229 and 227–9 in general. Cf. 18.259–260, Aischines as a boy crying out in wild rituals and thiasoi.

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Dem. On the Peace, 5,15; or [Dem.]13,3 and 14 – don’t shout me down until I have finished the whole story [of the break into the Parthenon treasury]’.)25 In a more private context, in ‘Against Euboulides’, Euxitheus, the speaker, has been struck off the citizen lists by the demesman, and affirms to the jurors – ‘and do not let anyone make a clamour or be annoyed at what I am going to say’ – that he considers himself to be an Athenian (Dem. 57,50). There is plenty of reference to Assembly uproar when difficult or threatening news arrives. Fear and thorubos go together in ‘On the Symmories’, in connection with fear of the Persian King (14,38 – Athenians and Greeks generally); or the Assembly needs to listen more carefully and care less about thorubein in ‘On the Peace’ (5,3; 346, shortly after the negotations over the Peace of Philocrates), and in Philippic 4, where they are accused of always acting late but when the next event occurs, getting very busy with preparing and making a commotion (thorubein) (10,21). It seems that Demosthenes here was trying to advise them precisely not to panic and make lots of noise. War news is associated with thorubos: ‘Aischines told you you should not make an uproar because Philip had passed Thermopylae’ (De Corona, 18,35). So alarming was the news that Philip had taken Elatea that there was commotion (thorubos) throughout the whole city, and a gathering of the ‘whole people’ arose in the Assembly with little prompting (18,168–169). According to Demosthenes no one wanted to speak at first, then he came forward in the Assembly amidst an uproar (τοὺς … θορυβουμένους) of those most alarmed by the idea that Thebes was already completely in Philip’s hands (18,174). At an earlier stage in Philip’s expansion, Demosthenes recalled an Assemby ‘three or four years ago’ when the news came that Philip was in Thrace besieging the fortress of Heraeum: there was lot of talking and uproar and they voted 40 ships (Olynthiac 3,4). And in ‘On the Chersonese’, there seems to be near panic because Philip is encroaching on the Hellespont with a strong army, and Demosthenes advises the demos again to complete their preparations and not get distracted by thoruboi and accusations (On the Chersonese, 8,3). In all these cases, there are dire and threatening developments which seem very clearly associated with hubbub, uproar in the Assembly and in some cases throughout the city. This seems to make it clear that there is indeed some connection between Athens’ poor success in combating Philip (or for that matter the Persian King) and the degree of uproar in the Assembly. These were tense and worrying times; or at least so Demosthenes wanted to portray them, even as he was urging them to think less of thorubos, and more of steady preparation. It is striking that these occasions are connected with a previous assembly or noted in a speech in an Assembly. The implications are that votes, decisions, decrees, could be taken in an atmosphere that was highly charged, excited, noisy and very susceptible to the strongly voiced views of the democratic audience as well as those more verbal expressions of the orators. While we cannot pin down the precise interaction between speaker and audience when we have only one side of the story – and a possibly exaggerated one at that – we need somehow to envisage the democratic assembly 25

Further egs. in n.15, 16 above.

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and speakers as reacting and interacting to each other, the democratic audience as a lightening rod to gauge reactions in a way which is not necessarily visible in the written texts of the speeches. Demosthenes refers to people eagerly interrupting – ‘what shall we do then?’ (Dem. 8,38–9). The exhortation later in the same speech to consider and listen rather than raise an uproar (8,77) implies instantaneous reactions in Assembly which could disrupt an inexperienced speaker and at the same time show the experienced speaker which direction the demos was tending. I wish to turn finally to some further cases where the orator not only mentions noisy audience participation, but seems clearly to work into his rhetorical strategy firstly the sense that audience participation is valid and democratic, and second, the use of this communal audience interaction (laughter, hubbub, jeering) in order to make up for the absence of proper evidence or witnesses altogether. Aischines’ few speeches abound in descriptions of boisterous, noisy interaction between speaker and audience. In ‘Against Ctesiphon’, Aischines began with pious remarks about the laws on eukosmia ton rhetoron, which are now, he claims, all being set aside (3,2), the way the akosmia of public men can no longer be controlled by the laws, prytaneis or proedroi (3,4), and yet towards the end of the speech, he advises the Athenians how to deal with Ctesiphon’s speech by interrrupting and refusing to hear (3,201–2). He also recalls how, ‘when I convicted you in the presence of all Athenians … you gave an answer which called forth a cry from the demos and those xenoi standing around the Assembly’ (3,224). So the akosmia of Aischines’ opponent is an atrocious sign of the decline of the times, but the disorder of the Athenians en masse is fine democratic behaviour. This manipulation of the ‘democratic value’ of communal reaction and audience participation is carried still further to a magnificent degree in ‘Against Timarchus’. Aischines’ ‘Against Timarchus’ may be taken as a case study of how an orator tried to ‘work the audience’, tried to keep the crowd on his side; and as some indication of the atmosphere in which cases or matters of policy might be discussed. The legal implications are important since Aischines actually had no evidence and no witnesses for the crucial charges (though witness statements are read out at 50; 60; 68 etc. for sub-sections of his case), and yet he won26. The speech is particularly illuminating because it seems to make use of many of the phenomena of crowd reaction and crowd knowledge that we have been discussing. Indeed, ‘make use of’ is too mild a term: he manipulates these to the hilt. These are not simply mentions of crowd reaction but we can see how they form part of the persuasion and a means of holding at arm’s length his inability of bring evidence or proof except for that of audience reaction. We recall that it was essentially a political trial motivated by the need to remove Timarchus from Aischines’ opponents; and that the accusation, that Timarchus had been a male prostitute, was successful27. Let us see how the consti-

26

27

We might also wonder about Dem. 24, Against Timocrates: note that the accusation is that Timocrates managed to get a law passed – to get it through the Nomothetai – against all the rules, on a feast day, without due process (public posting), and moreover that it was a law in contradiction to most Athenian laws already in place – according to Demosthenes See Fisher 2001 for the most recent commentary, with full discussion of Aischins’ moves.

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tutional forms and the laws interact with other strategies of argument and audience participation. First Aeschines starts with a paian to the laws and the need to obey the laws (1,3; 5); then he turns to the laws themselves, citing a set of laws in very specific order. We thus start with a scaffolding of the ancient laws of Athens, one of the most impressive in the extant corpus of oratory, with much talk of Drakon, Solon and the ancient law-giver: the laws on schools and teachers to protect children, the law punishing anyone who hired out a boy as a prostitute, whether father or brother or anyone else; then the law on hubris, which Aischines rapidly explains would cover the hiring of a child; then the law about adults hiring themselves (I 19). Then there are the laws περὶ εὐκοσμίας and who is or is not allowed to speak in the assembly. Armed thus with a barrage of fine laws, and thus apparently speaking with the great laws of Athens on his side, Aischines then turns to the character of Timarchus (37 ff.), whose whole life, as he had said (1.8), had been lived ‘contrary to all the laws’, ἐναντιώς ἅπασι τοῖς νόμοις. Aischines then procedes – passing over the actions of Timarchus as a boy – to his actions as a youth and does absolutely everything he can do to implicate the jury into this story and therefore into the idea that Aischines’ version of the story is the true one. He effectively tries to bind the members of the jury into the narrative and to create a narrative of common knowledge. For at ch.44, he has no proofs for particular accusations, as he admits quite openly, but because his graphe is against a man ‘not unknown to you’ (οὐκ ἠγνοημένον ὑφ’ ὑμῶν), he does not need to make his proofs clear, as he blithly continues (σαφεῖς … τὰς ἀποδείξεις). Where the facts are agreed, he continues, it is not difficult to prosecute: one only has to appeal to the memory of the hearers (ἀναμνῆσαι γὰρ μόνον προσήκει τοὺς ἀκούοντας). This appeals ingeniously to common knowledge so widespread that no proofs of witnesses are even necessary, and thus gathers in the listening audience into this supposed bond of common knowledge (we may perhaps imagine a murmuring of assent from the large audience). The narrative of public knowledge then continues (Misgolas); the appeal of Pittalakos at the altar in the agora in full public view is also rehearsed (ch.60). This is the appealing image of a small, ‘face-to-face society’ in which everything that goes on in the agora or the centre of Athens is known (instantly and accurately, it is implied) to all Athenians. At ch.67–9, Aischines presents an affidavit for Hegesandros to swear but he refused; instead, Aischines imagines Hegesandros swearing for the defence and claiming he did not even know Leodamas, ‘at whose name you all cried out’ (69). At ch.71, he says that Timarchus’ associates Hegesandros (who according to Aischines lusted after Timarchus) and Krobylos will leap onto the platform and demand that Aischines presents witnesses to the shameful deeds: ‘and most vehemently and eloquently declaring that what I say is all nonsense. They will demand that I present witnesses to testify explicity where he did it, how he did it, or who saw him do it, or what sort of an act it was – a shameless demand, I think. For I do not believe your memory is so short that you have forgotten the laws that you heard read a few moments ago, in which it stands written that if anyone hires any Athenian for this act…’

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So the irony is that the law is so severe that no one will come up and testify, Aischines claims, and he will instead rely on common knowledge (ch.73). This is an intriguing and clever move, which again gives lip-service to the sanctity of the laws while also saying that the law is so strict that it will be impossible to get any witnesses to give accurate testimony to back up the proper working of the law. Effectively he is saying they will simply make do with rumour and hearsay. There then follows much on euphemism and supposition that certain activities are going on (ch.74, 75) and one guesses that these would have raised a few laughs. We hear another example where common knowledge of the jury is appealed to, and which supports Aischines’ claim that ‘common knowledge’ is enough: cases where someone is excluded from the deme list, even though there is no testimony or accusation against the excluded non-citizen, just some form of general knowledge. ‘When the prosecutor says, “Jury-men, the men of the deme have under oath excluded this man on their own personal knowledge, although nobody brought accusation or gave testimony against him”, you immediately applaud’ (I 78).

Yet this is all very well: it is only partially parallel to the Timarchus case, a problem that Aischines is not going to point out. The demesmen in this example had at least taken an oath as they excluded the man, thus they were theoretically bound by fear of the penalties for perjury, divine or human, and the jury applauds this decision. Aischines uses this to elevate the value of community knowledge for other types of activity, and of course by mentioning how the jury-courts applaud the exclusion of the false citizen, he implictly draws a parallel between juries who applaud decisions based on community knowledge in a tiny place like a deme, and community knowledge in the far larger polis of Athens. Aischines then makes further rhetorical capital out of different kinds of audience reactions in the assembly: he reminisces of the times Timarchus mounts the bema to speak and how every time he uses a word which could be a double-entendre, ‘you laugh’ (80). They even laughed in the presence of the court of the Areopagus (84–85), and such laughter drove Autolykos, the grave Areopagite, off the platform altogether. Again, this acute use of the theme of laughter, the communal laughter of the democratic jury, brings to the fore the idea of communial knowledge, hidden, unspoken but widely shared information, and no doubt Aischines expected to draw laughter again at each and every example. It was a subject you could not talk about, Timarchus’ actions you could not describe, and witnesses would not come forward, but hints and innuendos could substitute as the audience joined in laughing. There is an intimate and graduate process in which the jurors, the often interrupting or interactive audience, is brought further and further into this narrative in such a way that they are almost part of the narrative – as onlookers, passers-by, or joining in the common group laughter of the audience of the Areopagite; finally they become witnesses themselves. The surreptitious interweaving of jurors and the common knowledge of all Athenians culminates in the quite explicit claim that ‘you are at the same time judges and witnesses’ (ch.89): Οἱ δ’ αὐτοὶ δικασταί μοι καὶ μαρτυρές ἐστε τῶν λόγων,

and Aischines’ job is merely to remind them.

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Later he claims that pheme, or rumour, is enough as she a goddess; she is a divinity for a reason (ch.128)28.Thus the situation is that there are no real witnesses; actions were committed a long time ago if at all; there is no proof at all except of the reminiscences and knowledge (or is it just rumour?) of all Athenians. There is a strong sense here that these various stories of past incidents in which the people intervene, or laugh, or interact, draw the current audience/jurors more closely into the story of Timarchus. It can be no coincidence that there are so many examples of joint or group reactions on the part of the democratic citizens in this speech. The rhetoric also embraces the idea that crowd reactions/demos reactions are completely democratic and valid and that they express or reflect clear, unproblematic facts. It is often noted that this notorious speech relies on gossip and ‘general knowledge’ in a shocking but blatant attempt to make up for absence of witnesses. This is clear from the arguments in the speech. What we may wonder, though, is how the nature of audience participation in Athenian trials might also have had an impact on the progress of the speech and this particular trial; what effect did the atmosphere of the court have, which is far harder to ascertain from the written text alone? There are at least three ways in which this audience participation needs to be considered: 1) audience participation – shouting, laughing etc – is normal and embraced as a healthy democratic feature, at least publically; 2) the anecdotes about past incidents when the demos laughs or objects put this democratic interaction in the past life of Timarchus and his associates; and 3) by recounting, for instance, the way ‘you, the demos’ kept laughing at double-entrendres in the Areopagus epidsode (on the matter of Timarchus’ acquaintance with the Pnyx), we can surely presume that Aischines drew laughter yet again. But what kind of laughter? Laughter for or against Timarchus? If it was the laughter of sexual jokes, it had nothing necessarily to do with the truth of any accusation, but laughter brings an audience together and somehow implicates them in what they are laughing about. Did Aischines get a laugh every time he says he cannot possibly explain exactly what Timarchus did? Surely so, and thus again the audience became complicit in what Aischines was saying about Timarchus. Such laughter does not necessarily show that what you are laughing about had any relation to what actually happened, but the blurring between true and false becomes significant and useful for the orator. The jurors are complicit, and indeed they effectively become witnesses. Aischines won his case. Stephen Halliwell’s recent study of laughter has included a fine analysis of the uses of laughter in the Athenian law courts. He gave special attention to Demosthenes 54 ‘Against Conon’, pointing out the different kinds of laughter which might have been relevant to the Conon case – Conon’s ridiculing of Ariston – and to the different forms of contrasting laugher which might be aroused by this, whether the orator can get the right kind of laughter for his case29. In this case it is the song and dance of Conon which is at issue. In Aischines, it was the wider, long-standing 28

29

Fisher 2001 on ch.125, when the argument from rumour begins: ‘as disreputable a line of argument as any … in this speech’. The scholiast pointed out that the altar in question was quite specifically dedicated to a particular item, news of a fifth-century victory of Cimon’s. Halliwell 2008, 33–38; also 227–37. Cf. also Sparathas 2006.

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sexual behaviour of Timarchus. But the issue of laughter is there acutely, and in different contexts. We are by now quite far away from Ober’s argument that the mass democratic audiences fostered an ‘aggregation of expertise’, a powerful accumulation of knowledge (2008). We would not of course wish to argue that Athenian citizen audiences never gave serious attention to matters of fact or to policy: they obviously did so, frequently, and the strength of the fourth-century democracy testifies to that. Yet there is a danger of moving to an over-modernizing picture of the fourth century democracy30. The main points and implications seem to be the following. We have seen that there is a significant continuity between the late fifth and fourth centuries when we examine ‘audience participation’ and noisy reactions from the democratic audiences, and that the evidence is not confined to writers with oligarchic views. The mass reactions of the Assembly (or of juries) are regarded with hostility by oligarchic thinkers, but as a democratic right by the very speakers and politicians within the democracy. The indications of noisy and rambunctious behaviour by both demos and by the rhetores themselves are extraordinarily rich, including laughter, jeering and general thorubos. This alone does, I hope, help one to envisage something of the live atmosphere of the democratic debates and juries, the other side of the performance by the rhetores and the written speeches we still possess. It does something to alleviate the frustrations of the modern historian in trying to imagine the dynamics of these mass audiences. It seems to me, at least, that we are left with even more respect for those speakers who managed to control or enthrall their listeners. These energetic audience reactions leave us in no doubt of the active participation of the citizens. Even if they did not dare make a formal speech, the ordinary citizens could give informal reactions which could evidently be powerful and effective. Whether or not this implies Athenians of the thetic class massing in the Assembly is unclear, but we are clearly not seeing meek, silent and passive citizens: there is a lively participation from the floor, sometimes violent interaction with the speakers; and sometimes energetic verbal altercations and even physical interference between political leaders. The implications are that the atmosphere of the live citizen audience could indeed be restless, agitated, highly charged; it could change rapidly as large audiences do, or refuse to listen at all. A speaker could simply lose the thread and the audience attention and have to give up. Emotions could run high, and the thorubos could be almost impossible to calm (we see this particularly with the terrifying news about Philip’s advances). In the midst of this is the attempt to maintain the rule of law, the regulations about procedures: with orators sometimes trying to give the impression of upholding the laws31 while actually arguing around them, we see even more clearly how the sanctity of the laws had to be upheld against the frequent danger of audience emotion and orators’ manipulation. Similarly with the increasing and increasingly sophisticated keeping of written documents, written versions of decrees 30 31

Cf. Sickinger 1999, Pébarthe 2006 for the point of view of record-keeping and sophisticated documentation [see n. 3 above]. See Carey (1996).

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and accounts. (Thomas 1989, Ch. 1) No wonder the texts were so essential. The written texts of decrees and laws were a steadfast and permanent point of stability within the dangerously changeable atmosphere where debate was held and decisions taken in the radical democracy.

BIBLIOGRAPHY V. Bers, ‘Dikastic thorubos’, in CRUX. Essays in Greek History presented to G. E. M. de Ste. Croix, ed. P. A. Cartledge & F. D. Harvey (London 1987), 1–15. Boffo, L. (1995), ‘Ancora una volta sugli ‘archivi’ nel mondo greco: conservazione e ‘pubblicazione’ epigrafica’, Athenaeum 83, 91–130. Calhoun, G. H. (1913), Athenian Clubs in Politics and litigation (Austin 1913). Carey, C. (1996), ‘Nomos in Attic rhetoric and oratory’, JHS 116, 33–46. Davies, J. K., ‘Accounts and accountability in classical Athens’, in Ritual, Finance, Politics. Athenian Democratic accounts presented to David Lewis (1994), ch.12. Dorjahn, A. P., ‘A further study of Demosthenes’ ability to speak extemporaneously, TAPA 81 (1950), 9–15. Eder, Walter, ed. (1995), Die athenische Demokratie im 4. Jahrhundert v. Chr. Vollengung oder Verfall einer Verfassungsform. Akten eines Symposiums 3.–7. August 1992, Bellagio. (Stuttgart). Endicott, T., Vagueness in Law (Oxford 2000). Endicott, T., ‘The value of vagueness’, in Vijay Bhatia, Jan Engberg, Maurizio Gotti, Dorothee Heller, eds., Vagueness in Normative Texts (Bern 2005), 27–48. Fisher, N. (2001), Aeschines, Against Timarchus. Introduction, Translation and commentary (Oxford). E. Hall, ‘Lawcourt dramas: the power of performance in Greek forensic oratory’, BICS 40 (1995), 39–58. Halliwell, Stephen, ‘The uses of laughter in Greek culture’, CQ 41 (1991), 279–96. Halliwell, Stephen, Greek Laughter. A Study of Cultural Psychology from Homer to Christianity (Cambridge 2008). Hansen, M. H. (1983a), ‘The Athenian “Politicians” 403–322 B. C.’, G&R 24, 33–54. Reprinted in Hansen, The Athenian Ekklesia II. A Collection of Articles 1983–89 (Copenhagen). Hansen, M. H. (1983b), ‘Rhetores and strategoi in fourth-century Athens’, G&R 24, 151–80. Reprinted in Hansen, The Athenian Ekklesia II. A Collection of Articles 1983–89 (Copenhagen). Hansen, M. H. (1987), The Athenian Assembly in the Age of Demosthenes (Oxford) Hansen, M. H. (1991), Athenian Democracy in the Age of Demosthenes (Oxford). Harris, E., (1995), Aischines and Athenian Politics (New York, Oxford). Harris, E. & Rubinstein, L. eds., The Law and the Courts in Ancient Greece (London 2004). Hedrick, Charles W. (1999), ‘Democracy and the Athenian Epigraphical Habit’, Hesperia 68 (1999), 387–439. A. Lanni (1997), ‘Spectator sport or serious politics? Οἱ περιεστηκότες and the Athenian lawcourts’, JHS 117, 183–9. Lanni, A., ‘Arguing from “precedent”: Modern perspectives on Athenian practice’, in Harris and Rubinstein (2004), 159–171. Ma, J., N. Papazargadas & Parker, R, eds. (2009), Interpreting the Athenian Empire (London). Ober, J. (1989), Mass and Elite in Democratic Athens. Rhetoric, Ideology, and the Power of the People (Princeton). Ober, J. (2008), Democracy and Knowledge: Innovation and Learning in Classical Athens (Princeton).

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Osborne, R. (1999), ‘Inscribing performance’, in S. Goldhill & R. Osborne, eds., Performance Culture and Athenian Democracy (Cambridge), p.341–58. Olson, D., & N. Torrance, eds., The Making of Literate Societies (Oxford 2001). Ostwald, M., From Popular Sovereignty to the Sovereignty of Law. Law, society and politics in fifth-century Athens (1986). Pébarthe, C. (2006), Cité, Démocratic et écriture. Histoire de l’alphabétisation d’Athènes à l’époque classique (Paris, 2006). Perlman, S. (1963), ‘The Politicians in the Athenian Democracy of the fourth century B. C.’, Athenaeum 41, 327 ff. Perlman, S., (1967), ‘Political leadership in Athens in Fourth Century B. C.’, Parola del Passato 22, 161–177. Rhodes, P. (1979–80), ‘Athenian Democracy after 403 B. C.’, CJ 75, 305–23. Rhodes, P. (1985), ‘Nomothesia in Fourth-Century Athens’, CQ 35, 55–9. Rhodes, P. (1991), ‘The Athenian code of laws, 410–399 B. C.’, JHS 111, 87–100. Rhodes, P. (1994), ‘The ostracism of Hyperbolus’, in Ritual, Finance, Politics. Athenian Democratic Accounts presented to David Lewis, ed. R. Osborne & S. Hornblower (Oxford), ch.5. Rhodes, P. (1995), ‘Judicial procedures in Fourth-Century Athens: Improvement or simply change?’, in W. Eder, ed., Die athenische Demokratie im 4. Jahrhundert v. Chr. (Stuttgart), p.303–319. Robertson, N. (1990), ‘The laws of Athens, 410–399 B. C.: The Evidence for Review and publication’, JHS 110, 43–74. J. Schloemann, Freie Rede. Rhetorik im demokratischen Athen zwischen Schriftlichkeit und Improvisation (Diss. Berlin 2000). Schloemann, J., ‘Entertainment and democratic distrust: the audience’s attitudes towards oral and written oratory in classical Athens’, in I. Worthington & J. Foley Epea & Grammata. Oral and Written communication in Ancient Greece, (Mnemosyne Supp. 230, Brill 2002), 133–146. Shear, Julia L., Polis and Revolution. Responding to Oligarchy in Classical Athens (Cambridge 2011). J. P. Sickinger (1999), Public Records and Archives in Classical Athens (Chapel Hill). J. P. Sickinger, ‘Literacy, orality and legislative procedure in classical Athens’, in I. Worthington & J. Foley, eds., Epea & Grammata. Oral and Written Communication in Ancient Greece (Mnem. Suppl. 230, Brill 2002), p.147–69. Sparathas, D. (2006), ‘Persuasive γέλως: public speaking and the use of laughter’, Mnemosyne 59 (2006), 374–87. Judith Tacon, ‘Ecclesiastic Thorubos: Interventions, Interruptions and popular involvement in the Athenian Assembly’, G&R 48 (2001), 173–192. Thomas, R. (1989), Oral Tradition and Written Record in Classical Athens (Cambridge). Thomas, R. (1992), Literacy and Orality in Ancient Greece (Cambridge). Thomas, R. (1994), ‘Literacy and the city-state in Archaic and Classical Greece’, in A. Bowman & G. Woolf, eds., Literacy and Power in the Ancient World (Cambridge), 33–50. Thomas, R., ‘Writing, Reading, Public and Private “Literacies”. Functional Literacy and Democratic Literacy in Greece’, in William Johnson and Holt Parker, eds., Ancient Literacies. The Culture of Reading in Greece and Rome (Oxford 2009), p.13–45. Thomas, R. (2010), review of C. Pébarthe, Cité, démocratie et écriture. Histoire de l’alphabétisation d’Athènes à l’époque classique (Paris 2006), Klio 92 (2010), 495–499. Thomas, R. (2011), ‘“And you, the demos, made an uproar”; Performance, mass audiences and text in the Athenian Democracy’, in A. P. M. H. Lardinois, J. H. Blok, M. G. M. van der Poel, eds., Sacred Words: Orality, Literacy and Religion (Leiden), p.161–187. R. Wallace, ‘The power to speak – and not to listen – in Ancient Athens’, in I. Sluiter & R. M. Rosen, eds., Free Speech in Classical Antiquity (Brill 2004), 221–32.

FOURTH-CENTURY APPOINTMENTS IN ATHENS1 P. J. Rhodes

In our theme of Athens “between tradition and modernisation” in the fourth century I was asked to deal with administrative matters, and I have chosen to focus on official appointments. I begin with some general points. First, payment for office-holding. Athens’ civilian stipends began with lawcourt pay, probably in the 450’s,2 and reached their climax with assembly pay, introduced and rapidly increased in the years after the democratic restoration of 403;3 and it is assumed that in the late fifth century payment for office-holding was widespread.4 Was it equally widespread in the fourth? Without the Delian League, Athens had fewer officials in the fourth century, but it still had many. Aristotle’s Politics includes pay for officials among the characteristics of democracy, and that is usually thought to allude to Athens;5 but the paragraph on pay in the analytic part of Ath. Pol. lists the assembly, the courts, the council and the prytany, the archons and their herald and piper, and only a few others.6 Are we to take that list as complete, and to infer that many officials were paid in the fifth century but not in the fourth? M. H. Hansen has made that inference, with the qualification that some but by no means all officials could obtain perquisites through their office-holding;7 but this view is based largely on silence, and the usual view that officials were paid in the fourth century as in the fifth has been upheld by V. Gabrielsen.8 Reviewers of Gabrielsen were divided;9 but, although there were weaknesses of detail in Gabrielsen’s book, I think on the main point he is right. It appears that with its reduced citizen numbers10 Athens reaffirmed Pericles’ citizenship law rather than allow the citizen body to expand, and it did not enforce the exclusion of thetes from office-holding in the fourth century as it did in the fifth:11 it would have been giving with one hand while 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

My thanks to Prof. Tiersch and to all those responsible for the conference in Berlin and for this book, and to all those with whom I enjoyed stimulating discussions in Berlin. Ath. Pol. 27, 3–4. Ath. Pol. 41, 3. E. g. Ath. Pol. 24, 3, [Xen.] Ath. Pol. 1, 3; also Thuc. 8, 65, 3; 67; 3, Ath. Pol. 29, 5 (Four Hundred), Thuc. 8, 97, 1; Ath. Pol. 33, 1 (Five Thousand). Arist. Pol. 6, 1317 b 35–8. Ath. Pol. 62,2. Hansen 1979, 5–22; Hansen 1971–1980, 105–125. Gabrielsen 1981. Earlier, e. g. Jones 1952, 13–31 at 15 = 1957, 6. E. g. for Gabrielsen, Stroud 1982, 158–9, Cawkwell 1983, 839; for Hansen, Lewis, 1982, 269, MacDowell 1983, 75–6. See, for instance, Hansen 1986; Hansen 1988, 14–28. Citizenship law, Dem. 57, 30, Eumelus FGrH 77 F 2, Carystius fr. 11 Müller ap. Ath. 13, 577 bc, cf. ban on mixed marriages, [Dem.] 59, 16; 52; thetes, Ath. Pol. 7, 4; 47,1.

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taking away with the other if Athens had both opened offices to the poorer citizens and removed the stipends which made office-holding by the poorer citizens possible. But one of Hansen’s further points is certainly to be accepted, that many officials were paid only on the days when they had duties to perform, which in some cases would be only a few days each prytany. A related question is how widespread participation in Athens’ political institutions was in the fifth century and in the fourth. It is certainly important that the Athenians’ reaction to their reduced numbers in the fourth century was to relax the ban on thetes as office-holders rather than to relax the ban on reappointment to most civilian offices (but it is possible that the exception of two years’ service in the council was introduced in the fourth century and had not been needed in the fifth).12 C. E. Taylor has attempted to demonstrate that more men from outlying demes were active in the fourth century than in the fifth, and more non-wealthy men and fewer wealthy men.13 Unfortunately, I think the nature and quantity of the evidence makes it difficult to substantiate this: for the fifth century our evidence is focused overwhelmingly on the most important men in the most prominent positions, whereas for the fourth century we have not only lawcourt speeches but also lists of run-ofthe-mill office-holders and liturgy-performers, of a kind which does not exist for the fifth. Relaxation of the ban on thetes, and difficulties in finding enough men to perform liturgies and pay eisphora,14 do indeed suggest that at various levels more of the less rich men had to be recruited for various tasks; but her geographical suggestion remains an unverifiable guess. One other general point, of a different kind. R. G. Osborne has pointed out that at the end of the fifth century there was a change in the “discourse”: previously it had seemed impossible to work for improvements without destroying the democracy altogether; but, after oligarchic experiments which were widely perceived to be disastrous, and debates in which men of different views each claimed that the kind of constitution which they wanted was the patrios politeia (traditional constitution), it became possible in the fourth century as it had not been in the fifth for men to combine professions of commitment to the democracy with suggestions that the current form of democracy could be improved.15 This was a setting in which “tradition and modernisation” could be combined. From that I turn to particular changes in the offices of fourth-century Athens.16 To begin with large bodies, thanks to lists of members we are well informed on the representation of the different demes in the council of five hundred in the fourth and 12 13 14

15

16

Ath. Pol. 62, 3. Taylor 2007, 72–90. Liturgies: e. g. shared trierarchies, Lys. 32, 24–6, Dem. 21, 154; trierarchic symmories, [Dem.] 47, 21 with Dem. 14, 16–17; festival liturgies, the law attacked in Dem. 20. Eisphora: symmories, Clidemus FGrH 323 F 8, Philoch. 328 F 41. R. G. Osborne 2003, 251–72 = 2010, 267–87(–88); cf. Rhodes 2010, 67–75. Impossible to improve without destroying, [Xen.] Ath. Pol. 3, 8; “not the same form of democracy” a cover for oligarchy, Thuc. 8, 53,1. Patrios politeia: Fuks 1953; cf. Rhodes 2011, 13–30 at 16–22. Even Isocrates a defender not of oligarchy but of a better democracy: e. g. Isoc. 7, 56–78. Some of the things which I say here are brought up to date from what I said in Rhodes 1979/80, 305–23; C. A. H. vi2. 567–72.

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later centuries, but in the fifth century we are not. However, there is a good case for thinking that the quotas of the fourth century were different from the original quotas of Cleisthenes: in particular, Piraeus is not likely to have had the (probably) nine members which it had in the fourth century before it became the harbour town of Athens, during the fifth century; and Atene, near Sunium, which had three members in the fourth century, also became a significant settlement only in the course of the fifth century. The restoration of the democracy after the régime of the Thirty is the most likely occasion for a revision of quotas.17 The new distinction between nomoi (laws) and psephismata (decrees) required boards of nomothetai to enact the nomoi. These were appointed, at any rate at first, from among the men registered as jurors in the year in question, and in their procedure they seem to have been a hybrid between a legislative and a judicial body.18 Another change was the creation of a new board of proedroi to replace the prytaneis in presiding over meetings of the council and assembly, one member of the council from each tribe except the current prytany, appointed for a day at a time.19 This new system, identifiable from an epistates who does not belong to the current prytany, is now first attested in 379/8, so was instituted before the formation of the Second Athenian League (and explanations based on the increase in business generated by the League no longer seem plausible);20 most recently it has been argued that the old system still underlies a law mentioned in Apollodorus’ speech Against Neaera, which M. J. Osborne dated c. 384 or soon after.21 So the proedroi should have been instituted within a few years at the end of the 380’s. Why was this done? Sharing out the work among members of the council on a tribal basis is very much in the spirit of the fifth-century democracy; there is no evidence that in the early fourth century the council or its prytaneis were perceived as too powerful and needed to be weakened. The best suggestion, I think, is one put to me by N. Sato: it seems that the elaborate system of allotting jurors and cases to lawcourts in such a way that nobody could know in advance which men would decide which cases, described in Ath. Pol., was instituted soon after 388, and it was perhaps in the same spirit that a new presiding system was created so that nobody could know in advance which men would be presiding in the council and assembly, to deal with particular business, on a particular day.22 My next change seems to reflect thinking of a different kind. Until some time in the mid 360’s the principal secretary of the Athenian state was a member of the council, serving for one prytany, and elected from members other than the current 17 18

19 20 21 22

See e. g. Hansen 1983, 227–38 at 227–232; and Lohmann 1993. Jurors, Dem. 20, 93 (cf. document ap. Dem. 24, 20–3 at 21 – but that is probably not an authentic document: Canevaro 2013, 94–102). It has been suggested on the basis of § 91 that later this requirement was abandoned: e. g. MacDowell 1975, 62–74 at 65. On procedure see Rhodes 2003, 124–9, responding to M. Piérart 2000, 229–56. Ath. Pol. 44, 2–3. CSCA v 1972, 164–9, no. 2. 9–11; link with the League, e. g. Rhodes 1972, 26–7. [Dem.] 59, 89–90, with Osborne 1981–3, ii. 56–7 (384/3), iii–iv. 152, 161 (385/4), Ryan 1995, 167–8. N. Sato, personal communication. Use of pinakia and kleroteria for judicial allotments Ath. Pol. 63–6; soon after 388 (and he guessed 378/7), Kroll 1972, 5–7, 87–90.

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prytany in such a way that each tribal contingent provided one secretary in the course of the year. After that the appointment was made by lot, apparently from volunteers among the whole citizen body, and the man appointed served for a whole year.23 From 356/5 the appointment rotated among the tribes in their official order (beginning with VII Cecropis).24 The position was one which required a degree of skill, but the older system rested on the assumption that at least one suitable man could be found in each tribal contingent of fifty bouleutai. Under the new system the men who volunteered were likely to be men who found that kind of work attractive, and who presumably in most cases did have suitable skill, and it is reasonable to assume that the change was made in order to obtain greater expertise. But, if that is right, the Athenians did not move very far in the direction of expertise, since they changed from election to allotment, from 356/5 the man appointed each year had to come from a specified tribe, and it appears from our almost-complete evidence down to 322/1 that this post was included in the general ban on reappointment to civilian posts. The use of tribal rotation is interesting. At some time (but we do not know even whether it was in the fifth century or the fourth) the board of nine archons was increased to ten with the addition of a “secretary to the thesmothetai”, aparently so that these – now routine officials – could be appointed one from each tribe. Indeed, Ath. Pol.’s statement that they are appointed kata meros from each tribe ought to mean that some kind of tribal rotation was observed in the assignment of particular posts within the board.25 For most years we know the eponymous archon only by personal name and the others not at all, but no kind of regularity can be found in the instances in which we do know the archon’s tribe, and perhaps the assignment was made by lot each year. Tribal rotation was not a novelty of the fourth century. It seems reasonably likely, though not certain, that for the ten years 439/8–430/29 the secretary to the hellenotamiai came from the ten tribes in reverse order from X to I, though no pattern can be found before or after;26 for the secretary to the treasurers of Athena there were perhaps two short periods of reverse order (possibly earlier –) 434/3–430/29 and 416/5–413/2, and then a longer period for the secretary to the treasurers of Athena and after the merger with the Other Gods to the joint sacred 23

24

25 26

Ath. Pol. 54,3 mentions the change from election to allotment and suggests that the old-style secretaries were more distinguished than the new-style secretaries; the change from bouleutai from a tribe other than the prytany, until 366/5 or later, to men serving for a whole year, from 363/2 or earlier, is apparent from the naming of secretaries in decree prescripts. The most recent discussion is Henry 2002, 91–118. The suggestion that the new system began in 366/5 and that over the first ten years all the tribes were represented but not in official order (Ferguson 1914–15, 393–7) has been disproved by the discovery that the old system was still in use in 366/5: the inscription cited by Henry, 92 with n. 5, was published by Matthaiou 2009, 83–95 at 87–91, and shows a different secretary from the other inscribed decree of that year, IG ii2 108. The demes of the secretaries of 356/5–353/2 are all known; for 352/1–322/1 see Lambert 2010, 91–102 at 92–4 = 2012, 390–2. The first clear attestation of the official order of the tribes is the casualty list IG i3 1162, perhaps of 447. Ath. Pol. 55, 1 cf. 63, 1, with Hammond 1969, 111–44 at 131 = 1973, 375–6. Meritt 1932, 4–5, cf. A.T.L. 1, 568–9: in seven of the ten years the secretary’s demotic is known or can plausibly be restored.

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treasurers 411–386/5. Tribal rotation was abandoned when the two boards were separated again in 386/5, but normal tribal order had been adopted by 351/0, and as far as we know continued to 322/1.27 The priest of Asclepius, one of the “democratic” priests created after the mid fifth century, was probably by the mid fourth century, and possibly from the beginning in 420, appointed annually by lot, and by rotation in normal tribal order; and the same may be true of other, less well attested, new priesthoods.28 So on the basis of our patchy evidence it seems likely that there were experiments with tribal rotation towards the end of the fifth century and the practice took greater hold in the fourth. Many of Athens’ boards of officials were of ten men, one from each of the ten tribes – including, for instance, the treasurers of Athena, who existed before the creation of the ten tribes, and whose number and basis of appointment will have been different before then.29 In some cases an odd five men were needed, and then there may have been an allotment each year or a regular arrangement by which tribes were paired and alternated.30 The system for allotting jurors to courts which is described in Ath. Pol. was based on the ten tribes, and within the tribes not on the trittyes and demes from which they were formed but on ten sections designated Α–Κ, to which men were assigned when they registered.31 Individual members of the Forty and of the college of arbitrators were assigned to cases involving a defendant of a particular tribe other than their own.32 There is a puzzling statement in Ath. Pol., that in the past some of the appointments made by lot were distributed among the demes, but because the demes “sold” their appointments they were transferred to the whole tribes. We have no further information on this: perhaps particular demes were given the task of appointing their tribe’s member of particular boards. And, whenever the change was made, it was presumably not later than c. 370, when the use of pinakia and kleroteria was extended from judicial allotments to the appointment of officials.33 But for one appointment an established link with the tribes was abandoned during the fourth century. The ten strategoi when instituted were elected one from each tribe (and could be re-elected indefinitely).34 It seems reasonably certain that from 441/0 or earlier until 357/6 or later one strategos from each tribe remained normal, but that in any year there could certainly be one exception and possibly more than one: the best explanation seems to be a recognition that strategoi did require ability and some tribe might at some time not have a good candidate, and possibly arrangements were made by which such a tribe might adopt a candidate 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34

Ferguson 1932, 8–15, 141–52, extended back to 439/8 (or possibly 443/2, but I doubt that) Meritt 1932, 26–9. Parker 1996, 180–1 with n. 100. Ath. Pol. 47, 1: there were possibly eight in the mid sixth century (IG i3 510). Ath. Pol. 51, 3; 52, 2; 54, 1; 56, 3, and the amphictyons for Delos (those of 377–373 were from tribes VI–X [I. Délos 98], but there is no sign of tribal rotation later except for the secretary). Ath. Pol. 63–6, esp. 64,1. Forty, Ath. Pol. 53, 2; arbitrators, [Dem.] 47, 12. Ath. Pol. 62,1. Kleroteria used for official appointments from c. 370, Kroll 1972, esp. 51–6, 91–4. One from each tribe, Ath. Pol. 22, 2; 61, 1; re-election, 61, 3.

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from another tribe.35 By the time of Ath. Pol., originally written in the late 330’s, the link with the tribes had been abandoned altogether;36 and the number of strategoi remained ten throughout the tribal changes of post-classical Athens. The appointment of the strategoi changed in another respect also. Until the middle of the fourth century, as far as we know, men were simply elected to be strategoi, and were given particular duties ad hoc as the need arose. In Ath. Pol. there are regular postings for five of the ten, with the other five left free for ad hoc assignments as before;37 and eventually there were regular postings for all ten.38 There is still no sign of such postings in 357/6. Epi ten choran, for the defence of Attica, is found possibly in 356/5 and certainly in 352/1;39 epi ta hopla, to command expeditions outside Attica, is not epigraphically attested until the third century but was probably created at the same time; Ath. Pol.’s two for the Piraeus seem to be a replacement for an earlier one;40 and the one epi tas symmorias, to oversee the trierarchic system, seems not yet to have existed in 334/3.41 So the third quarter of the fourth century was a time of development in the strategia, with the abandonment of the tribal link, so that there would be no impediment to the appointment of the men judged to be the best (Philip of Macedon is said to have been amazed that the Athenians could find ten capable strategoi each year42), and in the light of Athens’ perceived needs the beginning of a system of regular postings for particular strategoi. Ath. Pol. states that the postings are assigned by election; but we do not know whether men were elected strategoi first and then assigned to particular posts, or directly elected to particular posts. Developments in the judicial system required new appointments as well as a new method of allocating courts day by day. For dikai, private suits, the Forty who handled the lesser cases replaced the thirty dikastai kata demous of the fifth century: in the last years of the Peloponnesian War the Spartan occupation of Attica had made it impracticable for them to visit the demes, and the oligarchy of the Thirty in 404–403 made that an inauspicious number.43 Public arbitrators (diaitetai) to handle the greater cases, which went to a court only if there was an appeal, were first used perhaps in 399/8; and to obtain a large body of experienced men who would serve for one year the Athenians gave this duty to all those in the last of their forty-two years on the military registers.44 (By the middle of the fourth century the year35

36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44

441/0, Androtion FGrH 324 F 38 (corrupt, but certainly with two men from one tribe); 357/6, eight strategoi from seven tribes known, IG ii2 124 = Rhodes & Osborne 48. 19–23 (Chares was a strategos that year even if he is not to be restored in l. 20). Tribe without a strong candidate, Piérart 1974, 125–46; tribal arrangements, Mitchell 2000, 344–60. Ath. Pol. 61, 1. But the claim that as many as four of the strategoi of 323/2 were from one tribe (Sundwall 1906, 23–5) is insecure. Ath. Pol. 61, 1. Cf. Ferguson 1909, 314–23. SEG xlvii 159. 2–4 (restored), IG ii2 204. 19–20. One in ephebic inscriptions down to Reinmuth 9. ii. 9–10 (333–331). IG ii2 1623. 147–59. Plut. Reg. Imp. Apophth. 177 c. Cf. Ath. Pol. 53, 1–2. Ath. Pol. 53, 2–6; this date, MacDowell 1971, 267–73; slightly earlier, Whitehead 2002, 71–96.

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classes of the registers were used as the basis for calling men up to serve on particular military campaigns, but fifth-century practice was different, and we do not know when this later practice was introduced.45) There were officials called eisagogeis in the fifth century, in connection with the Delian League’s reassessment of tribute in 425/4, but Ath. Pol. mentions eisagogeis who were responsible for the new “monthly” lawsuits of the third quarter of the fourth century: probably they were instituted soon after 347/6, at the same time as or shortly after the monthly suits.46 These eisagogeis were five in number, so this is one of the appointments for which the tribes were probably grouped in pairs. I end with the most striking kind of departure from the fifth-century style of democracy, the appointment of powerful elected financial officials. Whereas fifth-century Athens had operated with a central state treasury, into which revenue was paid and out of which expenditure was disbursed, fourth century Athens operated with a regular merismos of funds to separate spending authorities, which were free to spend their funds subject to presenting satisfactory accounts at the end of the year. Probably the system was originally created soon after the democratic restoration of 403; it is first attested in 386;47 changes in the arrangements for paying to inscribe decrees of the assembly show that it was subject to continual modification.48 One of these authorities was the stratiotic (military) fund: it is first attested in 374/3 but could be older, and its treasurer in 344/3; presumably by analogy with the other military officers, this treasurer was elected.49 Probably by Eubulus and Diophantus in the late 350’s, the theoric fund was instututed, ostensibly to provide grants to pay for the citizens’ theatre tickets at major festivals.50 It seems to have received both a grant in the merismos and (as the stratiotic fund had received before) any surplus revenue in addition.51 It also had elected treasurers, I believe a single man until the law of Hegemon in the 330’s and a board of ten afterwards;52 and I believe it was an annual office to which re-election was possible.53 It became 45 46

47 48 49 50

51 52 53

Ath. Pol. 53, 7; cf. Dem. 3, 4, Aeschin. 2, 133. See Andrewes 1981, 1–3. 425/4, Meiggs & Lewis 69 = IG i3 71. 7, 12, 13; fourth century, Ath. Pol. 52, 2. After 347/6, Dem. 37, 33–4 uses the word in a general sense of eisagousai archai; with or soon after institution of monthly suits, Gernet 1938, 1–44 at 2–9 = 1955, 174–8. Ath. Pol. 48, 2; 386, IG ii2 29 = Rhodes & Osborne 19. 18–22. For different views of the changes see Rhodes 1972, 103 n. 7, Rhodes & Osborne, pp. 89–90; Henry 1982, 91–118, esp. 110–2. Fund 374/3, SEG xlvii 96. 54–5; treasurer 344/3, IG ii2 1443. 12–13; elected, Ath. Pol. 43, 1. Purpose, e. g. Harp. θεωρικά (θ 19 Keaney), quoting inter alios Philoch. FGrH 328 F 33, Philinus fr. 3 Sauppe; date, Van Ooteghem 1932, 388–407, relying on Just. 6, 9, 1–5, schol. Aeschin. 3, 24 (65 Dilts) (alternative attributions to Pericles in the fifth century and to Agyrrhius c. 400 are probably due to confusion with jury pay and assembly pay respectively). On the theoric treasurer and on Lycurgus see Rhodes 1972, 235–40, influenced by a draft of what became Lewis 1997, 212–29; Faraguna 1992, 187–209. E. g. Dem. 1, 1, 19–20 with hyp. 4–5. For discussion of the monies in the theoric fund see Hansen 1976, 235–46; Harris 1996, 57–76. A single man, IG ii2 223. C. 5–6 (343/2); a board, Ath. Pol. 43,1 ; 47, 2; Aeschin. 3, 24–5 (which claims that the office was powerful before Hegemon’s law) is compatible with either. I believe that “from Panathenaea to Panathenaea” in Ath. Pol. 43, 1 denotes not a quadrennial

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powerful, I believe, partly because it controlled the one fund in which there was surplus money, and partly because this treasurer joined with the council in supervising the city’s older financial boards.54 Frustratingly Aeschines mentions among the officials whom the theoric treasurer controlled or supplanted an elected antigrapheus, who gave an account of the revenues to the demos every prytany. This seems to be the antigrapheus who appears with the principal secretary in one document of the first half of the fourth century, but to be different from the antigrapheus who appears in longer lists of secretaries in some documents of the 330’s and after:55 Otherwise he appears only in a passage in Demosthenes XXII. Against Androtion, which suggests that he was important but is not informative.56 It is very unfortunate that we do not know more about this man: when the position was instituted and what the duties were, but we do at least know that the appointment was made by election, not by lot. In the 340’s and 330’s Demosthenes tended to identify democracy with freedom from subjection to Philip of Macedon, and to label his opponents undemocratic when he meant that they were unpatriotic, and they in return claimed that it was he who was undemocratic. Demosthenes was theoric treasurer in 337/6,57 and I believe that his opponents, who had previously accepted this as a powerful office, found it undemocratic when it was held by him, and that for this reason Hegemon converted the single office to a board and limited tenure to four years. That limit seems to have applied also to a position held by Lycurgus and friends of his for three quadrennia in the 330’s and 320’s, which was powerful as the theoric position had been earlier, apparently with the title which was used in the hellenistic period by an important financial offical (at first) and board of officials (later), epi tei dioikesei, “in charge of the (financial) administration”. There are various problems concerned with the theoric fund and with Lycurgus’ position which do not need to be discussed here. What does matter is that, after a period in the first half of the century when Athens’ ambitions outran its ability to pay for them, ways were found of giving financial power to elected experts, and Athens did enter on another period of prosperity. Overall in Athenian office-holding in the fourth century we see a need to come to terms with the reduced citizen numbers after the Peloponnesian War, and a decision that it was better to recruit more widely than to give up the ban on repeated tenure of offices; and a recognition that it was possible to work for modification of the democracy without being a dangerous oligarch. Proedroi to preside in the coun-

54 55

56 57

office beginning at the Great Panathenaea but an annual office beginning at the Panathenaea rather than on 1 Hecatombaeon, and likewise that the three quadrennia attributed to Lycurgus (below, p. 116) were not bounded by the Great Panathenaea (cf. Rhodes 1972, 235–7). In Ath. Pol. 47, 2 the poletai are joined by the stratiotic treasurer and the theoric board in making their contracts in the presence of the council. Agora xv 12. 66–7; 43. 231, 58. 80–1, 62. 233–4. Harp. ἀντιγραφεύς (α 153 Keaney) and other lexica, on the basis of Philochorus (= FGrH 328 F 198), distinguish between an antigrapheus of the dioikesis and an antigrapheus of the council. Dem. 22, 38. § 70 = 24, 178 uses the word metaphorically of citizens who check their own finances. Aeschin. 3, 24–6, Dem. 18, 113.

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cil and assembly made it impossible to know who would preside on a particular occasion, as changes in the lawcourts made it impossible to know who would decide a particular case. A change to the principal secretary of the state made it slightly more likely that men with appropriate skill would be appointed, but allotment and tribal rotation kept the office within the democratic principle of sharing out the work fairly among the citizens. Tribal rotation had been attempted for some positions in the later fifth century, and came to be used more widely in the fourth; but for the position of strategos, where the principle of one man from each tribe had been weakened in the second quarter of the fifth century, it was totally abandoned in the third quarter of the fourth, so that the best men could be appointed irrespective of tribe (and the beginning of a system of regular postings for particular strategoi reflects a developing view of Athens’ military needs). Although the move towards expertise for the principal secretary of the state had been slight, there was a much greater move in that direction in the creation of powerful elected financial officials. It is frustrating that in most cases we do not know who was responsible for the particular change: the theoric fund, if my date for it is correct, was the creation of Eubulus and Diophantus, and fits the picture of Eubulus’ desire after the Social War to divert Athens’ expenditure from unprofitable military adventures,58 but the other changes remain anonymous. The last constitutional “change” in Ath. Pol. was the restoration of the democracy in 403, after which the author surprises his modern readers by seeing a downward spiral of ever-increasing democracy.59 As we should expect, the consitution did not become fossilised. I believe we can detect not a downward spiral but a creative combination of tradition and modernisation.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Andrewes, A. (1981): The Hoplite Katalogos, in Classical Contributions … M. F. McGregor, Locust Valley, N. Y., 1–3. Canevaro, M. (2013): The Documents in the Attic Orators, Oxford. Cawkwell, G. L. (1983): Review of Gabrielsen, Remuneration, EHR 97, 839. Faraguna, M. (1992): Atene nell’ età di Alessandro, Mem. Acc. Naz. Linc.9 2,2. Ferguson, W. S. (1909): Researches in Athenian and Delian Documents, 11. The Athenian Generals, Klio 9, 314–23. –– (1914–15): The Introduction of the Secretary-Cycle, Klio 14, 393–7. –– (1932): The Treasurers of Athena, Cambridge, Mass. Fuks, A. (1953): The Ancestral Constitution, London. Gabrielsen, V. (1981): Remuneration of State Officials in Fourth Century B. C. Athens, Odense. Gernet, L. (1938): Sur les Actions commerciales en droit Athénien, REG 51, 1–44. –– (1955): Droit et société dans la Grèce ancienne, Paris. Hammond, N. G. L. (1969): Strategia and Hegemonia in Fifth-Century Athens”, CQ2 19, 111–44. (1973): Studies in Greek History, Oxford. 58 59

Cf. above, p. 115 with n. 50. For the change in policy which can be associated with Eubulus see, e. g., Rhodes 2010, 276, 371–2. Ath. Pol. 41, 2.

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Hansen, M. H. (1971–80): Perquisites for Magistrates in Fourth-Century Athens, C&M 32, 105–25. –– (1976): The Theoric Fund and the Graphe Paranomon against Apollodorus, GRBS 17, 235–46. –– (1979): Misthos for Magistrates in Classical Athens, SO 54, 5–22. –– (1986): Political Activity and the Organization of Attica in the 4th Century B. C., GRBS 24, 151–180. –– (1986): Demography and Democracy, Herning. –– (1988): Three Studies in Attic Demography, Copenhagen. Harris, E. M. (1996): Demosthenes and the Theoric Fund, in R. W. Wallace & E. M. Harris (edd.), Transitions to Empire … E.Badian, Norman, OK, 57–76. Henry, A. S. (1982): Polis/Acropolis, Paymasters and the Ten Talent Fund, Chiron 22, 91–118. –– (2002): The Athenian State Secretariat and Provisions for Publishing and Erecting Decrees, Hesperia 71, 91–118. Jones, A. H. M. (1952): The Economic Basis of the Athenian Democracy, P&P 1, 13–31. –– (1957): Athenian Democracy, Oxford. Kroll, J. H. (1972): Athenian Bronze Allotment Plates, Cambridge, Mass. Lambert, S. D. (2010): Athenian Chronology 352/1–322/1 B. C., in: A. Tamis et al. (edd.), Philathenaios … M. J. Osborne, Athens, 91–102. –– (2012): Inscribed Athenian Laws and Decrees 352/1–322/1 B. C., Leiden. Lewis, D. M. (1982): Review of Gabrielsen, Renumeration, JHS 102, 269. –– (1997): Selected Papers in Greek and Near Eastern History, Cambridge. Lohmann, H. (1993): Atene – ᾿Ατήνη: Forschungen zu Siedlungs- und Wirtschaftsstruktur des klassischen Attika, Köln. MacDowell, D. M. (1971): The Chronology of Athenian Speeches and Legal Innovations in 401– 398 B. C., RIDA3 18, 267–73. –– (1975): Law-Making at Athens in the Fourth Century B. C., JHS 95, 62–74. –– (1983): Review of Gabrielsen, Remuneration, CR2 33, 75–6. Matthaiou, A. P. (2009): Τρία ᾿Αττικὰ ψηφίσματα, in A. A. Themos & N. Papazarkadas (edd.), ᾿Αττιμὰ ᾿Επιγραφικά … C. Habicht, Athens, 83–95. Meritt, B. D. (1932): Athenian Financial Documents of the Fifth Century, Ann Arbor. Meritt, B. D., et al. (1939): The Athenian Tribute Lists, 1, Cambridge, Mass. Mitchell, L. G. (2000): A New Look at the Election of Generals at Athens, Klio 82, 344–60. Ooteghem, J. van (1932), Démosthène et le théoricon, LEC 1, 388–407. Osborne, M. J. (1981–3): Naturalization in Athens, Brussels. Osborne, R. G. (2003): Changing the Discourse, in K. A. Morgan (ed.), Popular Tyranny: Sovereignty and Its Discontents in Ancient Greece, Austin, TX, 251–72. –– (2010): Athens and Athenian Democracy, Cambridge.Parker, R. C. T. (1996): Athenian Religion: A History, Oxford. Piérart, M. (1974): À propos de l’ élection des stratèges athéniens, BCH 98, 125–46. –– (2000): Qui étaient les nomothètes à Athènes à l’ époque de Démosthène?, in: E. Lévy (ed.), La Codification des lois dans l’ antiquité, Paris, 229–56. Rhodes, P. J. A (1972): The Athenian Boule, Oxford. –– (1979/80): Athenian Democracy after 403 B. C., CJ 75, 305–23. –– (1994): The Polis and the Alternatives”, C. A. H. 62, 565–91. –– (2003): Sessions of Nomothetai in Fourth-Century Athens, CQ2 53, 124–9. –– (2010): Stability in the Athenian Democracy after 403 B. C., in: B. Linke et al. (edd.), Zwischen Monarchie und Republik (Historia Einzelschr. H. 217), 67–75. –– (22010): A History of the Classical Greek World, 478–323 B. C., Chichester. –– (2011): Appeals to the Past in Classical Athens, in G. Herman (ed.), Stability and Crisis in the Athenian Democracy (Historia Einzelschr. H. 220), Stuttgart, 13–30. Ryan, F. X. (1995): The Date of the Institution of Proedroi, JHS 115, 167–8. Stroud, R. S. (1982): Review of Gabrielsen, Remuneration, AHR 78, 158–9. Sundwall, J. (1906): Epigraphische Beiträge zur sozial-politische Geschichte Athens (Klio Bhft. 4).

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Taylor, C. E. (2007): A New Political World, in R. G. Osborne (ed.), Debating the Athenian Cultural Revolution, Cambridge, 72–90. Whitehead, D. (2002): Athenian Laws and Lawsuits in the Late Fifth Century B. C., MH 59, 71–96.

ASSOCIATIONS, MODERNIZATION AND THE RETURN OF THE PRIVATE NETWORK IN ATHENS Vincent Gabrielsen

I. INTRODUCTION The Greek polis, Aristotle says, consists of a number of associations (koinoniai). To illustrate this Aristotle mentions rather indiscriminately bodies which, in as much as they are subdivisions of the State, we tend to call public associations: e. g. the phylai, demes and phratries; and bodies which we consider to be of a private character: associations formed by a ship’s crew, a band of soldiers, a group of sea traders, business associates, or, again, associations of orgeones, eranistai or thiasotai. 1 When, however, Aristotle states that all koinoniai resemble parts (moria) of the association of the polis (politike koinonia),2 he clearly alludes to two distinct sets of associations, both of which are additional to the overarching association of the polis: (a) those constituing the individual parts of the polis; and (b) the latters’ private counterparts. All koinoniai are, according to Aristotle, maintained by justice, which is manifested as reciprocity, which, in turn, springs from friendship (philia).3 Regarding classical Athens, special studies on individual associations, public or private,4 are now complemented by two monographic studies on the history of all Athenian associations (Jones 1999; Ismard 2010). Particularly one of these re-states the view that links the decline of the classical citizens’ associations after 322 BC to the rise into prominence of the new, voluntary associations: it was chiefly the de1

2

3

4

Arist. Eth.Nic. 8,9,5, 1160a (phylai, demes, phratries, etc.): Eth.Nic 8,9,5, 1160a (a ship’s crew); 8,9,1, 1159b; Arist. Eud.Eth. 7,9,3, 1241b (a band of soldiers, a group of sea traders, business associates); Eud.Eth. 7,9,3 1241b; Eth.Nic. 8,9,5–6 1160a (of orgeones, eranistai and thiasotai). Also the law ascribed to Solon, but preserved in Justinian’s Digest (47,22,4), lumps state subdivisions and private bodies together: Jones 1999, 33–7 et passim; Arnaoutoglou (2003, 44–57) doubts its Solonian origin. I thank my colleagues Drs Annelies Cazemier and Stella Skaltsa, who have offered useful criticisms and comments. Arist. Eth.Nic. 8,9,4, 1160a: αἱ δὲ κοινωνίαι πᾶσαι μορίοις ἐοίκασι τῆς πολιτικῆς [sc. κοινωνίας] (‘But all associations resemble parts of the association of the polis’), cf. 8,9,6, 1160a. See also Arist. Pol. 3,1,13, 1276b: κοινωνία πολιτῶν πολιτείας (the polis is ‘an association of citizens with respect to the constitution’), cf. Plut. De def. orac. 415c. Arist. Eth.Nic. 5,5,6, 1132b: justice in the form of reciprocity maintains the koinonia; Eud.Eth. 7,9,1–7,10,9, 1241b–1242a: constitutions are some species of justice, for they are koinoniai, and every koinon is founded on justice which springs from friendship, cf. Eth.Nic. 8,9,1, 1159b. The whole book 8 of Eth.Nic. discusses friendship, on which see Schofield 1998. Public: Roussel 1976 (phylai); Lambert 1993 (phratries); Whitehead 1986; Trail 1986; Siewart 1982 (demes and trittyes). Private: Foucart 1873; Ziebarth 1896; Poland 1909; Ferguson 1944, 1949; Baslez 1996; Arnaoutoglou 2003.

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mise of the first that made the rise of the second possible.5 Athenian democracy and voluntary associations were, on this view, incompatible phenomena. Similarly, taking classical Athens (and the Greek polis in general) to be, not a fusion of state and society, but an association of citizens (i. e. adult males) from which women, foreigners and slaves were excluded, some scholars point at the absence there of organizations that today are regarded as representative of civil society: ‘Guilds and private associations’, it is maintained, ‘were unknown in the Greek city-states before the Hellenistic period’.6 The present chapter offers a different picture of the emergence and role of the so-called voluntary associations in Athenian society. Demonstrating that Athenian organizational life expanded considerably bretween ca. 430–300 BC, it makes a preliminary attempt to explain how that expansion occurred and what consequences it had. In particular, it endeavours to show how the emergence of a growing variety of private bodies was gradually enriching Athenian religious and societal life well before 322 BC.7 Thus, rather than being incompatible with democracy, or a phenomenon extraneous to the polis, private associations took root and flourished amidst both of these. Indeed, in certain respects, democracy was an institutional model and an energizer. It provided the newly emerging bodies with the organizational trappings that eased their intrusion and integration into a space hitherto ruled by an all-dominant demosion; analysis of the ways these trappings entered the private sphere will here be conducted under the description institutional transfer. Once they had positioned themselves within that space, private associations reshaped it (and enlarged it) by adding to it a brand new dimension. While doing so, they were crafting blueprints of clubbism to be adopted and further developed by others to come. There was, however, also another side to this development. For at the same time as they were reinvigorating the polis, our associations – chiefly by practising a ground-level inclusiveness of all status categories – seem to have been challenging some of the fundamental ideological tenets of the polis: especially its stress on the primacy of ‘citizenship’ and (in the case of Athens) its inclination to keep within its purview almost all of those mechanisms that produced societal cohesion. In an important way, the institutional tranfer of the post-430 period had as its historical predescessor the much more spectacular process of state formation – or polis consolidation – of the archaic period: that is, the gradual expansion of the demosion, not only through genuine institutional innovation, but also through the cannibalization of the institutional senews of private networks, until then the prime cohe-

5

6

7

Jones 1999, 302–6, esp. 302: According to Jones, besides the demes, phylai and phratries, the associations that fell into decline included the hetaireiai, gene, orgeones, philosophical schools and an assortment of regional associations. Relative decline of Athenian public associations: Ismard 2010, 327–41. Hansen 1991, 63, cf. Hansen 1998, 84–5, 89–90, esp. 133: in the Hellenistic period the reduced importance of phylai, phratries, etc. was recompensed by the increasing importance of networks of quasi-official or private organizations that often were related to the economic field. The opposite view (that the Greek city was a fusion of state and society that encompassed also other organizations of an economic or other orientation): Coulanges 1866, Book 3, esp. 284–5. A similar view in Arnaoutoglou 2003, esp. 144.

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sion-creators. The resurgent clubbism of fourth-century BC Athens (and probably elsewhere, too) marked therefore the return of the private network. Thus what we need to know is, when did the so-called voluntary associations start appearing? What form or forms did they take, and how far did these forms become the models of later specimens? Furthermore, what did they mean for their home/host society? Besides their immediate import on the non-public organizations of classical Athens, the answers to these questions may lead to a better understanding of the origin and development of the ‘Hellenistic association’, especially when one considers that none of its major loci of floruit (e. g. Rhodes, Delos) have left us as rich and as early evidence as Athens. As we saw, like other organizations, the non-public associations were included among the koinoniai, even though the word more commonly used to describe them is koinon/koina. Other characteristics include a purpose or purposes around which the membership was united; a collective name; a degree of durability; concern with cult worship; property possession; and a certain level of organization; finally, its establishment is not constitutionally required, but a private act, and so the membership is empowered to disolve itself.8 Thus, ‘associations’ here refers to groups proccupied whith a rather firm and recurring set of activities and with a recognizable internal structure. Usually, scholars tend to link the name of an association to its purpose and to differentiate between Kultvereine (or associations religieuses/cultuelles), Berufsvereine (or professional associations), etc. For several reasons, this habit will not be followed here.9 Also, it may be useful to note that ‘voluntary association’, a favoured modern description, is actually a nineteenth-century AD coinage which replaced such older labels as academies, fraternities, sodalities, but which particularly was to distinguish the newer kinds of associations from the trade guilds, of which membership was compulsory.10 Since it has no Greek equivalent, and since it can misleadingly imply the absence of pressure,11 it is best avoided. To exemplify what scholarship calls the ‘Hellenistic association’, I summarize the contents of an inscription set up by one such body.12 In 300/299 BC, a Pirae8

The list offered here comes from a preliminary attempt to posit a set of criteria, see ’What is a Private Association’ in the website of the Copenhagen Associations Project: http://copenhagenassociations.saxo.ku.dk. Earlier attempts at a definition in Wilson 1996; Kloppenborg 1996; Jones 1999, 30–33; Dittmann-Schöne 2001, 20–25; Zimmermann 2002, 23–45; Harland 2009, 26–28; Liu 2009, 10; the essays in Belayche and Mimouni 2003; Suys 2005; Rohde 2012, 12–15; Fröhlich and Hamon 2013, 14–20. Older views: Foucart 1873, 1– 10; Ziebarth 1896, 6–18; Poland 1909, 5–8; Tod 1932. 9 As Franz Poland (1909, 6) warned: ’Der Name einer Gennossenschaft braucht aber doch nicht ihren Zweck anzudeuten’. Cf. also Gabrielsen 2001, 218. 10 Clark 2000, 11. An early use of the term ‘voluntary association’ is in Sir Henry James Summer Maine’s, Lectures on the Early History of Institutions. H. Holt and Co: New York, 1875, p. 72. 11 The koinon tou andreiou ton syggenon, founded by Epikteta, included members of her family who were pressured to join: IG XII 3, 330 (Thera: ca. 200–190 BC). In another case, an association honouring an individual with membership extended the privilege to include his wife and descendants: IG XII 3 Suppl., 1296 (Thera, 160–146 BC), ll. 21–25: δεδόχθαι Λάδαμον Διονυσοφά[νου]| καὶ αὐτὸν καὶ γυναῖκα καὶ ἐνγόνου[ς]| εἶναι θιασίτας, καὶ μετουσίαν αὐ[τοῖς]| [ὧ]νπ[ερ κ]αὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις θιασίτ[αις μέτε]|στιν. 12 IG II2 1263 (Piraeus; now in the Museum of Piraeus).

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us-based group of thiasotai passed a decree that awarded honours to their secretary (grammateus) of the previous year for his excellent administration of their common affairs (ton koinon panton). On account of his arete and justice towards the association he was (i) to receive praise; (ii) to be crowned with a votive offering (anathema) worth 50 drachmas, which he then could set up in the sanctuary (hieron), at a place of his liking, though following a formal petition (aitesis) to and permission from the thiasotai to do so; and (iii) also to be crowned with an olive wreath – a solemn proclamation (anagoreusis) of his crowning to be made by the hieropoioi of the year at every ceremonial meeting right after the libations. Equally interesting are the acts justifying the honours: (i) during his tenure as grammateus, and by a special vote of the thiasotai, the honorand was paid a salary (misthos) from the common funds, which salary, in turn, he gave back to the associates as a ‘voluntary contribution’ (epedoken tois thiasotais); (ii) at the expiry of his tenure as a secretary, he surrendered the ledgers (tous logismous apedoken) in a correct and just manner; (iii) he rendered accounts (euthynas edoken) both with regard to funds he himself had administered, and with regard to funds administered by other officials; (iv) after the expiry of his tenure he continued, ‘in act and speech’, to further the interest of his fellow thiasotai, both collectively (koinei) and privately (idiai) for each of them; (v) the final justification for the honours is forward-looking: ‘So that others, knowing that the thiasotai reciprocate benefactions (euergesiai) towards them with gratitude (charis) of equal worth, choose to act benefactorily (philotimountai) towards the thiasotai’ (ll. 27–31). The inscription is in carefully executed stoichedon on a slab of fine Pentelic marble (Tracy 1995, 168–9). Besides a grammateus, the association had hieropoioi, a treasurer (tamias) and probably possessed its own shrine (hieron) somewhere in the Piraeus. Secular concerns are no less prominent among the membership. There is a thorough use of polis vocabulary and, on the whole, a noticeable effort to exhibit not just ‘statishness’ (e. g. lines 43–5 ordain that if the hieropoioi fail to act as prescribed by the decree, they are to be fined 50 dr.), but especially democratic ‘statishness’: in addition to the other terms used (misthos, euthynai,13 etc.), the resolution of the thiasotai is called a psephisma and the assembly at which it was passed an agora kyria – which latter is characteristic of the assemblies of the Attic demes, phylai and phratries and also reminiscent of the ekklesia kyria at polis-level.14 All this can be seen as – and certainly is – an illustration of how this private corporation had organized itself and acted like the mirror-image of the democratic polis. However, above all, it documents a successfully implemented institutional transfer, from the public to the private sphere. This group of thiasotai, moreover, abides by all three of the notions which, according to Aristotle, constituted the mainstays of a koinonia: justice, reciprocity and friendship. The membership which these notions kept together, however, consisted of Athenians and foreigners: the proposer of the decree is a Salaminios (Kleon son of Leokrates); the secretary honored is an Olynthian (Demetrios son of Sosandros). 13 14

Euthynai of polis magistrates: Hansen 1991, 222–24; Fröhlich 2004, 50–68. Of demes (IG II2 1202), phylai (IG II2 1141, 1165), phratries (SEG 22.150). Cf. Whitehead 1986, 87, 90–1.

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Also from 300 BC date two further inscriptions, one of them showing that an association of thiasotai on Salamis included women and slaves,15 the other that an association of eranistai had officials (each of whom made a dedication to Pankrates) who were foreigners and slaves.16 Later, in 237/6 BC, a koinon of thiasotai ordered an anagraphe to be made of all its members, specifying that men (totalling 37) and women (totalling 21) are to be listed separately (IG II2 1297). We should not automatically assume that the male part of the membership thereby wished to demonstrate that the female part ranked lower; the separate list can also evince the pride this brotherhood took in hosting so many women. The evidence presented above is just a small sample from a larger body of inscriptions that document the proliferation of private associations in the period after 300 BC. Even so, it confirms that many of the features of the ‘Hellenistic association’ were in place by 300 BC. If we now look at the situation a hundred or so years earlier – say, around 430 – a rather different picture seems to prevail: the public sphere (to demosion) and its subdivisions (excluding here the semi-private gene)17 enjoy almost a monopoly over Athens’ associational life, while (as will be seen soon) those relatively few associations that do exist outside that sphere are dominated by citizens. Thus, for citizens, membership of an organization covered a limited number of units and was for the most part predetermined by constitutional-hereditary principles. For non-citizen residents, in contrast, a corresponding organizational affiliation was nearly non-existent. Not only were these politically outsiders; associationally speaking, they were also a homeless and amorphous group floating freely in societal space. Given this picture is correct, when did the ‘Hellenistic association’ observable in 300 BC really emerge? Was the institutional transfer it exhibits ca. 300 BC a new creation, or had it occurred earlier? What was the chief outcome of that development? Admittedly, these are vast questions. Yet, it is worthwile attempting to answer them. My endeavour will take its point of departune in four specific types of association: the orgeones, thiasotai, eranistai and hetaireiai.18

15

16 17

18

IG II2 2347, ll. 31–33. On the names (some of which recur in IG II2 2345, ll. 25, 27, 51, 68): Lambert 1999, 101, n. 5; Taylor 1997, 134–5, 137, who regards some of those listed ll. 30–33 to be slaves. IG II2 2354, dedication of a koinon of eranistai (late C3 BC), lists 23 members of which 13 are women. See GRA pp. 76–7. SEG 41.171 (300/299 BC): two of the dedicants are Herakleotai, one Thebaios and one Milesios. This is one of the inscriptions from the sanctuary of Pankrates: Kalogeropoulou 1987. Gene: Bouriot 1976; Parker 1996, 284–27; Jones 1999, 242–49; Ismard 2010, 365–404. On the Salaminioi in particular: Ferguson 1938; Humphreys 1990; Taylor 1997; Lambert 1997 and 1999b. In addition to Poland 1909 (still fundamental), see: orgeones: Ferguson 1944, 1949; Dow and Gill 1965, 103–14; Kearns 1989, 73–77; Ustinova 1996; Jones 1999, 215, 249–67; Arnaoutoglou 2003, 31–60. Thiasotai: Foucart 1873; Arnaoutoglou 2003, 60–70; Lambert 1993, 81–93 and 2010. Eranistai: Vondeling 1961; Arnaoutoglou 2003, 70–87; Thomsen 2015. On the hetaireiai, see note 55 below.

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II. CONSOLIDATION OF CORPORATE IDENTITY Two kinds of group, it is agreed, possessed a recognizable degree of organization by the late fifth – early fourth century, the orgeones and the thiasotai;19 the descriptions thiasos/thiasotai could, however, also refer to informal groups of revellers without the structure needed to assume corporate identity – by which I mean ‘independent existence as durable groups’.20 The accepted view is that in the classical period formalized groups of orgeones and thiasotai consisted exclusively of citizens and were incorporated in the structure of the Athenian state as subgroups of the phratries.21 To start with the orgeones, most scholars follow Ferguson (1944) in distinguishing between two kinds of groups. One of them was the orgeones which formed subgroups of the phratries, consisted exclusively of citizens (and into whom, therefore, membership was hereditary), and which worshipped heroes and heroines. The other type was the orgeones groups which made their appearance in Hellenistic times; these were outside the phratry system, included non-citizen members and worshipped gods and goddesses, predominantly foreign ones.22 However, this distinction between two different groups finds little support in our evidence. What can be discerned, instead, is that the corporate name orgeones is used by groups which until around 430 BC shared between them enough organizational features to be regarded as belonging to one type of association – one of these features being that they were totally unrelated to the constitutional structure of Athens. But from that date onwards, some of them, while retaining the description orgeones, attained a different associational profile from their namesakes. If, in the following, the likeness of all these (and our remaining) groups is stressed at the expense of differences, it is because of the necessity initially to establish their most salient characteristics as independently existing, durable organizations. To assist us in that task, the evidence relating to one such characteristic – name formulas – is listed in the Appendix (henceforward abbreviated as A). 19

20 21

22

Orgeones in archaic times: in Digest 47.22.4, the word is interpolated, cf. Ferguson 1944, 64 n. 5; they are reportedly mentioned in Seleukos’ commentary on the Solonian Axones: FGrHist 341 F1. Early references to thiasoi/thiasotai: Arnaoutoglou 2003, 60–1. For the etymological link of orgeones to orgia (rites): Suda ο 511 s. v. ὀργεῶνες, cf. Ferguson 1944, 62–4, where the other lexicographical entries are cited; Motte and Pirenne-Delforge 1992; Parker 1996, 109, 111 n. 33 (referring to Hymn Hom. Ap. 389, Aesch. fr. 144 Radt) for ὀργεών meaning ’celebrant’, ’priest’. Poland 1909, 16–22; Parker (1996), 193, 334: thiasoi as permanent, private associations vs. temporary thiasoi (e. g. Dem. 18.260; 19.199–200). Principal modern study: Lambert 1993, 46–7, 74–7 (orgeones), 81–93 (thiasotai). In Lambert 1999, 127, thiasoi are said to have been ’quasi-subdivisions of a phratry incorporating some members along with illegitimate children and others not strictly entitled to phratry membership’. See also Andrewes 1961, 1–3, 8–9; Bourriot 1976, 626; Hedrick 1990; Jones 1999, 215. Lambert’s view on the orgeones is accepted by Parker but with reservations (Parker 1996, 109–10 with nn. 27, 29, 32). Dissenting views in n. 24 below. Ferguson’s (1944) ’Class A’ documents (pp. 73–95, nos. 1–12) are supposed to document the first kind of orgeones, his ’Class B’ documents (95–121, nos. 13–16) the second. A warning against distinguishing sharply between the two kinds is issued in Parker 1996, 109 n. 29.

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Hereditary subgroups of the phratries? According to a Byzantine lexicon, the fifth-century BC historian Philochoros writes the following about the orgeones: ’and the phratores are obliged to receive the orgeones and the homogalaktes, whom we also call gennetai’.23 This is the main piece of evidence adduced in support of the view that the orgeones of the classical period were subgroups of the phratries. However, no context survives to confirm the modern assumptions (a) that ’to receive’ means ’to admit (groups of) orgeones into phratries’, and (b) that this clause is part of a law.24 Indeed, we cannot even be certain that it is a direct quotation. The ’phratry subgroup’ theory rests on very thin ground.25 So, too, does the view that membership was hereditary. The evidence believed to support this (Isae. 2.14–17),26 besides showing phratry membership and orgeones membership to be separate processes, actually attests to a different matter: that someone wishing to prove his having become a citizen through adoption could produce members of his fathers’ phratry, deme and group of orgeones as trustworthy witnesses as to who had introduced him (εἰσάγει με) in his phratry and who had written him up (με ἐγγράφει) in his deme and group of orgeones, thereby confirming the fact of the adoption and the identity of the adoptive father.27 That fathers customarily introduced their sons into their clubs, a well-attested practice,28 does not necessarily make membership of such clubs hereditary.29 The presumption that epigraphical evidence confirms the ’phratry subgroup’ theory fares no better. The accounts of the poletai of 367/6 record a ‘sale subject to redemption’ concerning a house which an individual and his father had given as security on loans they had taken from several creditors. One of these loans had been extended jointly by Kichonides Diogeitonos Gargettios and the ‘association of the phrateres of the Medontidai’ (koinon phrateron Medontidon); another loan was ex-

23

24

25

26

27 28 29

FGrHist 328: Philochoros F 35a (Phot., Suid. s. v. ὀργεῶνες): περὶ δὲ τῶν ὀργεώνων γέγραφε καὶ Φιλόχορος. τοὺς δὲ φράτορας ἐπάναγκες δέχεσθαι καὶ τοὺς ὀργεῶνας καὶ τοὺς ὁμογάλακτας οὕς καὶ γεννήτας καλοῦμεν. Philochoros mentioned the orgeones more than once: Theodorides 2002. Andrewes 1961, 1–3; Bourriot 1976, 626; Lambert 1993, 46–47, 75; contra Ferguson 1944, 70, who, while accepting that the clause derives from a law, says that the phrateres were required to admit (individual) orgeones and (individual) genetai, not groups of orgeones and gene. Critical stand also by Arnaoutoglou (2003, 38), who (38–44) reviews the main theories. Lambert 1993, 76: ’there is nothing in the decree of a group of orgeones to suggest it was a phratry subgroup, nor anything in the decree of a phratry to suggest it contained orgeones within it’. Isae. 2.14: εἰσάγει με εἰς τοὺς φράτερας παρόντων τούτων, καὶ εἰς τοὺς δημότας με ἐγγράφει καὶ εἰς τοὺς ὀργεῶνας (…), and ibid. 16: τῆς μὲν ποιήσεως ὑμῖν τοὺς φράτορας καὶ τοὺς όργεῶνας καὶ τοὺς δημότας παρέξομαι μάρτυρας, cf. 44–45. Similar interpretation in Ferguson 1944, 71–71, and Arnaoutoglou 2003, 36, 42. Poland 1909, 298–303. Evidence showing other ways in which children may inherit their father’s membership is cited in n. 11 above. So also Kearns 1989, 73. Pace Lambert (1993, 75 n.76), simple cooptation, rather than the hereditary characer of orgeones, may be responsible for the pattern seen in IG II2 2355 (see also p. 128 below): sixteen Prospaltioi belonging to ca. four familes dedicating to Asklepios as members of a group of orgeones, cf. Ferguson 1944, 91.

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tended (also jointly) by Aischines Meliteteus and a koinon orgeonon (A I.1).30 These orgeones, it is argued, must have been a subgroup of the phratry Medontidai, because it would be surprising if the debitors ‘had taken out a loan with a phratry of which they were not members, and with an orgeones group which was not in the same phratry as themselves’.31 Granted, it would have been natural for corporate bodies lending out money, or leasing out property, to show some preference for individuals from within their own membership. However, I know of no instance that can make the exclusion of outsiders from these transactions into a general rule,32 while from an economic point of view such a restriction would only harm, not benefit, the corporation. Among the ca. fifteen inscriptions that constitute Ferguson’s ‘Class A’ documents, only seven preserve, wholly or partly, the names of individuals (presumably, all of them members), thirty-three names in all. Of these, twenty-four can be identified with certainty as belonging to citizens,33 sixteen of which come from one inscription (perhaps of the third century BC) that records a dedication to Asklepios: it is made by a group of orgeones, who further specify that they are ‘members of the deme Prospalta’ (hence not necessarily making up the entire membership of this association), and who seem to belong to about four families (IG II2 2355, see n. 29 above). By contrast, eight names out of the total of thirty-three could very well belong to non-Athenians, while a ninth one definitely belongs to a foreigner.34 All this, in sum, is a poor basis on which to conclude that ‘There is no trace of any non-citizen in its records [i. e. the records of a specific group of orgeones] or in any of the orgeonic records thus far discussed’ (Ferguson 1944, 87, followed by most scholars).35 We simply do not have a complete record of orgeones associations, let alone a record of their members. Yet, while our evidence discredits a sharp distinction between citizen and non-citizen orgeones in the fourth as well as in the third century (and a corresponding distinction between orgeones of heroes and orgeones of gods), it does suggest that citizens were the dominant group in this type of associa-

30

Agora XIX P5 (Crosby Hesperia 10 [1941], 14–27, no. 1; SEG 12.100; Ferguson 1944 A, no. 5; Lambert 1993, 314, T 10). On the formula ‘personal name + καί + name of a group’, which sometimes appears in transactions, see p. 132 n. 48 below. 31 Lambert 1993, 77, 31; Jones 1999, 215. 32 Ferguson 1944, 83: ‘There is therefore no reason to associate the orgeones of the proceedings of the poletai with the phratry of Medontidai’; similarly, Arnaoutoglou 2003, 59. Papazarkadas (2011, 205, with n. 192) cites IG II2 1289, ll. 11–13 (ὀ[ρ]γ[εώνων τῶν κτη]|μάτων τῶν ἑαυτῆς μηδ[ὲν ἀποδίδοσθαι μη]|δὲ μισθοῦσθαι [ε]ἰς ἄ[λλο ἣ εἰς τὰς θυσίας] (with Sosin 2002, 128) as proof that leasees of orgeonic properties were expected to be orgeones themselves. However, provided the supplements are correct, this text simply forbids members to sell the goddess’s properties, or lease them out, for any other purpose than for the finance of sacrifices, which is quite a different matter. 33 Agora XVI.161; ibid. XIX P 5, ll. 30–1; IG II2 1252 + 999; 1253, l. 3; 2355. I am unable to see why Dow and Gill 1965, p. 11 (Text I) is taken to attest ‘a group of citizen orgeones’: so Lambert 1993, 90, and GRA p. 95. 34 Agora XVI.130, ll. 1–2 (2 names); IG II2 1253, ll. 3–4 (2 names); 1259, ll. 1–2 (3 names), 1289, l. 10 (1 name). Non-Athenian: IG II2 2947. 35 See Arnaoutoglou 2011.

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tion. It is important to note, though, that this trait applies equally to Hellenistic times.36 Turning now to the thiasotai, there is one piece of evidence which links groups of this type to a specific phratry, the Demontionidai: the relevant decree ordains that in connection with the introduction of children into the phratry, the witnesses for the preliminary scrutiny are to be provided by ‘the introducer’s own thiasotai’, a formulation implying that the Demotionidai contained more thiasotai groups.37 Whether all or most other phratries had such subgroups, and whether these subgroups had functions similar to that described in the Demotionidai document, is impossible to say. Yet, it looks as if the thiasoi of the Demotionidai are the exception rather than the rule.38 And even though some groups of thiasotai almost certainly consisted of citizens only, both they and those of their namesakes with a certain degree of organization were worshippers’ associations with no formal link to the structure of the Athenian state. Several of these associations of orgeones and thiasotai appear with a recognizable group identity, a relatively firm organization, and sometimes with concerns additional to the purely cultic ones, too, at dates earlier than 322 BC. In an early third-century decree, the orgeones worshipping Echelos and the heroines refer to their ‘ancient decrees’, one of which probably dates from the mid-fifth century (A I.1.i).39 Two decrees of another group – the orgeones worshipping Amynos, Asklepios and Dexion – may date as early as ca. 350 BC (A I.1.iii and iv): one of them honours some members by granting to them and their descendants exemption (ateleia) from certain contributions; when it issued the other decree (IG II2 1253), the group probably owned only one shrine, but by the time of IG II2 1252 it possessed two, one for Dexion and another for Amynos and Asklepios.40 In the record of the poletai of 367/6, an association of orgeones appears together with an individual 36 37

38 39 40

Compare, e. g., IG II2 1252 (ca. 350–300) with 2355 (250–200), 1325 (184/5) and 1327 (178/7). IG II2 1237; Lambert 1993, T3, esp. ll. 68–113 (motion of Nikodemos, probably from after 396/5 BC, but before ca. 370–350); the lines quoted in the text are 81–2: οἱ αὐ/το῀ το῀ εἰσαγομένο θιασῶται. Discussion in Hedrick 1990; Lambert, 1993, 82, 95–141, esp. 131–39. Lines 76–7 are read so as to envisage that possibility that the thiasos had less than three members: Lambert 1993, 133, who explains it as a probable consequence of the Peloponnesian War. But the document may be referring to less than three witnesses (martyres), rather than three members. None of the other texts discussed in Lambert 1993, 82–93 provides certain evidence for thiasotai as phratry subgroups. Agora XVI.161, ll. 8–9: τὰ ψη[φίσματα] τὰ ἀρχαῖα, cf. Meritt 1942, 282–84; Ferguson 1944, 76. A remark should be made on the shrine at the western slope of the Acropolis, which is often referred to as the Amyneion: Ferguson 1844, 86–91; Travlos 1971, 76–8; Parker 1996, 73, n. 25, 176 n. 81, 183 n. 109; Jones 1999, 254–5, with fig. 8.1. The group of orgeones who owned it (and who worshipped Amynos, Asklepios and Dexion) referred to it as the hieron of Amynos and Asklepios and distinguished it from the hieron of Dexion (IG II2 1252 mentions both hiera, whereas 1253 mentions only one hieron, almost certainly that of Amynos and Asklepios, at the site of which the inscription was found). But in their documents these orgeones never mention a hieron of Amynos alone. Only in dedications do we have separate mention of Amynos (IG II2 4385, 4424), of Asklepios (4422) and of the two of them together (4365, 4457 joined by Hygeia). No ancient text mentions an Amyneion.

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(Aischines Meliteus) as having extended a loan (certainly from their common funds) on the security of a house, which they had a legal right to appropriate in case the debitor defaulted (A I.1.ii). The earliest extant enactment by a group of thiasotai is a nomos dated to between 325 and 275 BC (A II.1.v). But this document is chronologically flanked by two others: one of ca. 400 BC, which records the ownership of a cult-table by a koinon thiasoton: sixteen members are listed, of whom only one is to be certainly identified as a citizen (A II.1.i); and another from after 350 BC, which records a dedication also by an association of thiasotai (A II.1.iii, cf. also iv). Moreover, an inscription of 365–330 BC (IG II2 2345: A II.3.i–iii) lists groups of individuals under the headings ‘the thiasos of Hagnotheos’, ‘the thiasos of Antiphanos’ and ‘the thiasos of Diogenes’ (five more such thiasoi were originally listed); the sums of money mentioned after each personal name indicate that this is the record of contributions – perhaps solicited only within a certain area, to judge from the probable overrepresentation of demesmen from Alopeke – made towards the finance of a project.41 The thiasoi of this document are now almost certainly to be identified as private associations proper, and the same is true of the ‘thiasotai of Demotes’ (A II.3.iv), which in a year between 400 and 350 had extended a loan on the security of a piece of land (on both of these cases, see p. 133 below).42 A number of such groups may have been especially devoted to Herakles;43 to judge from the (still unpublished) decrees found in the Pankration, that sanctuary was apparently used by a plurality of associations of orgeones, thiasotai and eranistai (Kalogeropoulou 1987, 300, 303). Herakles might also have been worshipped by the ‘thiasos of the Etionidai’ (IG I3 1016; A II.3.v), which is attested in ca. 500–480/450? BC; its patronymic type of collective name (ending in -idai), while indicative of the group’s relative permanency, is in itself not proof that this thiasos in any way belonged to the public sphere.44 A mid-fourth decree of the deme of Piraeus, which prohibits 41

42

43 44

Humphreys 1990; Lambert 1999: probably as many as eight thiasoi were originally recorded: no. 1 (ca. 30 members), no. 2 (24), no. 3 (ca. 10), no. 4 (13) and no. 5 (26) – the numbers in 6–8 are unknown. Lambert (1999, 122–3) accepts Humphreys’ (1990) contention that these thiasoi were primarily based in the deme Alopeke, but (123–4, 128–30) argues also for the presence of members of the genos Salaminioi. If these were thiasoi of Herakles, the evidence supporting this cannot be Isae. 9.30: see note 43 below; Lambert 1993, 89 n. 138, and Lambert 1999, 125 n. 42, for the view that this inscription attests to an overarching association that consists of multiple thiasoi. IG II2 2720, now SEG 46.227 (horos, 400–350 BC): θιασώταις ῖς / Δημότο, cf. Ph. Gauthier, REG 111 (1997) ‘BE’ 514, no. 200), which replaces the earlier restoration: θιασῶταις §ῖς§ Δημότο: Lambert 1996, 77–79, esp. 70, for the correct observation that this formula has the same meaning as θιασώταις τοῖς μετὰ Δημότο. Isae. 9.30 (a father introduced his son ‘in the thiasoi of Herakles’, εἰς τοὺς θιάσους τοὺς Ἡρακλέους). See also the orgeones of Herakles in fourth-century Lemnos: App. I.4.ii. Lambert 1993, 88–91, 366, esp. 90 (following Guarducci 1935, 337): possibly a genos forming a thiasos as a subgroup of a phratry; but see Parker 1996, 322, 334: a hereditary or semi-hereditary group primarily meeting for dining in honour of Herakles. That private associations can have patronymic-type names ending in -idai and -adai is demonstrated by evidence from Hellenistic Rhodes: e. g. Euthalidai (IG XII 1, 890), Haliadai kai Haliastai (ibid. 155): see the list in Pugliese Carratelli 1939–40, 176–86. For the same reasons caution must be shown when

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anyone to assemble thiasoi in the Thesmophorion on certain occasions (IG II2 1177 [A II.1.ii.], ll. 43–45: μηδὲ θιά[σο/υς] συνάγει), is probably referring to both associations of thiasotai and thiasoi as looser groups of worshippers.45 The evidence discussed so far makes it clear that several private groups of orgeones and thiasotai existed in the period prior to 322 BC. What makes the process of identifying private associations in pre-322 Attica less easy is the circumstance that they only slowly adopt the habit of taking individual names instead of, or in addition to, to their generic one. As Ferguson (1944, 83) observed, ‘Normally the orgeones are οἱ ὀργεῶνες simply’. The examples collected in our Appendix confirm Ferguson’s observation and make it apply equally to thiasotai, eranistai and other corporate bodies. But they also reveal a number of other features. First of all, not only do theophoric names (e. g. Asklepiastai) remain epigraphically invisible until the mid-third century;46 but even then it is still quite rare for Athenian associations to identify themselves with reference to the deity/deities they worship. And whenever that is the case, the relevant inscription makes it clear that such a reference is not a permanent element in the name of the association.47 ‘The orgeones of Bendis’, ‘the orgeones of the Mother of the Gods’, the thiasotai of Bendis’, etc. are all modern descriptions constructed to ease identification of a group; they were not used by these groups themselves either in classical times or later. Yet, that said, unambiguous identification must have been occasionally required, especially in legal or quasi-legal contexts. It is perhaps not accidental that the inscription on which a group of orgeones (in the Athenian cleruchy of Lemnos) appears as ὀρ/γειῶσι τοῦ Ἡρακλεί[ου]ς/ τοῦ ἐ[ν] Κόμει is a horos-inscription recording sums of money that the association had lent out on the security of realty: name of worshipped deity and location singled out this group of orgeones from others; since it possessed an archive (orgeoneikon grammateion) it must indeed have been a group with a durable organization (A I.4.ii). Thus, entering recurrently into financial transactions or contractual relationships, or becoming party to a legal case may have been conducive to gradually cementing whatever identifier was used for such purposes into a permanent part of an individual name. Through the process of taking a permanent proper name, a process initiated before the mid-fourth cen-

identifying such (Athenian) groups as the Glaukidai, Epikleidai, and Apheidantidai (see A VII). 45 Since the same language is used for temporary groups of worshippers (Dem. 19.281: καὶ Γλαυκοθέας τῆς τοὺς θιάσους συναγούσης, cf. Dem. 18.259–260 with Parker 1996, 193 n. 148) and for permanent associations: see, e. g., IG II2 1297 (Attica, ca. 237/6), l. 4: συνήγαγεν τὸν θίασον, IG XII 3, 330 (Thera, late C3 – early C2 BC), B ll. 29–30: συνάγεσθαι τὸ κοινὸν ἐν τῶι Μουσείωι. As Poland (1909, 17–19) noted, in the earlier inscriptions associations of thiasotai are reluctant to use the term thiasos about themselves. 46 For such groups, which Parker (1996, 333) calls theastai, see A VII, s. v. Sarapiastai, to koinon ton Asklepiaston; the year 342/1 for the Sabaziastai, while possible, rests on inference. 47 The few known instances are: A I.iii, ll. 13–14: τὰ κοινὰ (the common things) τῶν ὀργεώνων τοῦ Ἀμύ/νου καὶ τοῦ Ἀσκληπιοῦ καὶ τοῦ Δεξίονος, II.4.i, ll. 22–23, ll. 41–2: Ἀφροδίτης οἱ θιασῶται, II.4.ii, col. II, ll. 17–17: οἱ θιασῶται οἱ Τυνάρου. The thiasoi of Herakles in Isae. 9.30 is not directly comparable to these examples.

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tury, private associations were taking a further step towards strengthening their corporate identity, thereby inscribing themselves more distinctly into societal space. Secondly, it is probably not accidental, either, that a specific name formula serving the purpose of identifying corporate bodies is almost exclusively attested in precisely those types of document that are tied to certain legal and/or financial contexts: namely, (a) the security horos-inscriptions, (b) the phialai-inscriptions and (c) those records of the poletai that register the ownership of realty. The formula in question is ‘name of collective + οἱ μετὰ + personal name’, where the personal name is typically that of the founder or leader.48 Now, the reason we find this formula profusely attested with associations of eranistai (e. g. ἐρα/νισταῖς τοῖς με/τὰ Μνησιθέου/ Ἀλωπεκῆ(θεν): A IV.2.viii) is not so much that the formula itself was peculiar to associations of eranistai; rather, it is because eranistai associations, apparently much more than other kinds of group, were involved in the kind of transactions with which the three classes of documents are concerned.49 The choice of identifier is telling; for it is a replica of the ‘followers-leader’ terminology already widely used within the political sphere: hoi peri or hoi meta or hoi amphi (someone), i. e. ‘the followers of (someone)’.50 Variants of this identity-marker appear 48

Personal names featuring with or in the names of associations are commonly discussed in connection with the issue of whether groups of orgeones, thiasotai, eranistai etc. were corporate bodies vested with juridical personality. The accepted view is still that they were not: Radin 1910, vii, 138–9; Finley 1952, 89; Kränzlein 1963, 136–7; Todd 1993, 297 with n. 14 (contra Wescher 1865, 220; Ziebarth 1896, 166–70, 179–83, Maier 1969, 98–104); some, though, concede that certain aspects of the concept existed in the fourth century: Baslez 1998; Jones, 1999, 12; Ustinova 2005, 179; but see Arnaoutoglou 2003, 124–25, 138: the question is wrongly framed, since the concept was unknown to the Greeks. This issue, too vast to be addressed here, is urgently in need of a thorough re-examination. Here, suffice it to comment briefly on certain assumptions made from the name formulas. First, evidence relating to political groupings does confirm that the οἱ μετά formula and its variants record the name of the association’s leader. But the accompanying assumption – that the appearance of the leader’s name is due to the fact that he routinely acted as the association’s legal representative in financial and other transactions – has never been proven; and it should be noted that the orgeones worshipping Egretes were, on account of their ownership of a shrine with a house, liable to pay eisphora as a body (IG II2 2499 [306/5] ll. 37–9) in just the same way as e. g. the Eleusinioi as a body, too, were masters of the taxes levied in their deme (IG II2 1186, ll. 25–6). Secondly, the same kind of assumption is usually made in connection with the formula ’name of individual + καὶ + association’. Indeed, this might be true of certain instances: e. g. Lambert 1993, T 5 (p. 229), but note, again, that in such instances there is always an official title (phratriarchoi) linked to the name of the individual, whereas no any such official title is present in Lambert 1993, T 10 (p. 315) = A I.1.ii: Κιχωνί/δης Διογείτονος Γαργητ(τιος) καὶ κοινὸν φρατέτεων Με/δοντιδῶν ἐνεπισκήψατο κτλ.). In this latter, as in other instances, the formula seems to be used to indicate that two independent actors entered into a transaction jointly, while in still others the personal name might be that of the individual who is representing the association in a trial as a syndikos (Rubinstein 2000, 43–4, 81–2, 88; Arnaoutoglou 2003, 132). 49 Finley’s explanation of the nature of the eranistai in the horos-inscriptions (Finley 1952, 100– 6, at 101, drawing on Poland 1909, 28–9) is refuted by Arnaoutoglou 2003, 78, and Thomsen 2015. 50 E. g. Aesch. 3.91: hoi peri Demosthenen; Hell.Oxy. 9.2 Chambers: hoi peri Thrasyboulon kai Aisimon kai Anyton; Thuc. 8.65.1: hoi amphi ton Peisandron, cf. Pecorella Longo 1971, 109– 31, with 53–9; Hansen 1991, 282. In addition, the formula implies a leader-followers agree-

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later on, and in several places, as forming the proper name of associations, some of which have replaced the personal name with that of a god: e. g. οἱ περὶ τὸν Διόνυσον τεχνῖται.51 However, its use is already securely attested in fourth-century Attica. Besides identifying a given group of eranistai, the name formula is indicative of the group’s stable leadership and organizational structure. Name formulas slightly different from, though still carrying the same meaning and serving the same purposes as, the οἱ μετά formula are also attested, even if less frequently: the type ‘the eranistai of (someone)’ (e. g. ἐρανισταῖς / τ[ο]ῖς Ξενοπείθου) is used by two groups, each on a fourth-century horos-inscription (A IV.3.i–ii); it is the equivallent of ‘eranistai hoi peri (someone)’. Here, we may conveniently return to the parallel instances represented by the thiasoi of IG II2 2345 (365–330 BC): Ἁγνοθέο θίασος, Ἀντιφάνος θίασος and Διογένος θίασος (A II.3.i–iii, cf. p. 130 above). The ‘followers-leader’ notion conveyed by this kind of name-formula appears rarely in public contexts, and when it does it is strictly confined to ad hoc groups such as envoys and committees.52 Moreover, identification of these thiasoi by their leader indicates durability and organization. For these reasons, and also because similar formulas are manifestly used by associations (see pp. 131–32 above), we can establish with near certainty that the groups of IG II2 2345 were neither temporary thiasoi nor subgroups of phratries, but simply associations comparable to those of eranistai. The ‘followers-leader’ notion is also present in another instance, which, too, unsuprisingly, concerns a security horos (of 400–350 BC): θιασώταις ῖς / Δημότο (‘the thiasotai of Demotes’: A II.3.iv); this, like all its parallels (e. g. Ἁγνοθέο θίασος), has the same meaning as θιασώταις τοῖς μετὰ Δημότο, i. e. it indicates leadership (Lambert 1996, 79). Indeed, when a different group of thiasotai deemed it necessary to identify itself, it chose precisely the οἱ μετά-formula (A II.2.i), and the same seemingly did also a group of orgeones in a document concerning the lease or sale of property (A I.2.i). Seen against this background, the attestation (from ca. 350 BC) of the οἱ μετά-formula with five groups of phrateres who appear as creditors in four horos-inscriptions (A V.4.i–v: e. g., φράτερ/σι τοῖς μετὰ Ἐρα/τοστράτο Ἀναφλυ) becomes a pretty sure indicator that these, too, were private associations, each of which used as an identifier the name of its founder or leader.53 Possibly, those clubbing together were members of a specific phratry. But it is equally possible that phrateres, rather than referring to an actual phratry, is ment to cooperate: Hdt. 5.66.2; Ath.Pol. 20.1 (Kleisthenes and the Athenian demos); Hdt. 5.71: Cylon and his group of same-age members); Thuc. 3.82.5, 8.543.4; Lys. 12.43–44; Andoc. 1.54; Ath.Pol. 34.3. 51 Le Guen 2001; Aneziri 2001. Examples of variants: Poland 1909, 53–4, 76–8. 52 E. g. IG II2 1, ll. 35–6; 109, ll. 19, 30; 1197, ll. 13–14. 53 Poland (1909, 78), too, considers the personal name to be that of the leader, but he dates the emergence of the practice to the late Hellenistic period. However, on this issue he seems to be inconsistent, if not self-contradictory: while he takes all the Hellenistic examples with the formulas οἱ μετὰ τοῦ δεῖνα, οἱ περὶ τὸν δεῖνα, οἱ σὺν τῶι δεῖνα to refer to associations proper (pp. 53–4, 76–8), he dismisses (without argument) the fourth-century Attic occurrences of the same formulas as referring to real associations (pp. 29, 76 with nn. 1, 6, and p. 453 n. 5, where eranistai groups are called societates to distinguish them from ‘wirklichen Vereinen’).

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here a loan-term used in a sense similar to thiasotai, orgeones or eranistai, i. e. as a generic description of a private association. In that case, the examples from Athens would provide an early attestation of a kind of institutional transfer that until now was only documented in later times.54 To sum up: the assumption of a permanent specific name represented a distinct stage in the process leading to a stronger corporate identity, a firmer organization and a distinct place in the associational landscape. This development was already operative in the first half of the fourth century BC. Even though all three types of group treated so far (orgeones, thiasotai, eranistai) were strongly concerned with religion, their new name-formulas do not derive from the religious sphere. Rather, their preferred eponymia model seems to originate from the domain of political groupings; what is more, at heart it is more oligarchic than democratic in character.

III. HETAIREIAI: THE RETURN OF THE PRIVATE NETWORK Some associations (even those of the same type, e. g. thiasotai) surpassed their counterparts by exhibiting a stronger profile regarding one or more aspects: for instance, frequency of meetings, degree of organization (as reflected e. g. in the number of officials), degree of interaction with socio-political surroundings, cohesion (as reflected e. g. in pledges and oath-taking), size of membership, property possession (especially ownership of a shrine), cultic activity, etc. Indeed, differences in ‘associational intensity’, are also detectable within one and the same association: examples are discussed in section IV below. In this regard, it is interesting to observe that a high intensity aspect peculiar to one kind of group is adopted by other kinds of groups, which then (organizationally) evolve in a new direction. These features, particularly that of becoming a role-model by virtue of possessing a high-intensity attribute, seem relatively more pronounced in our fourth type of group, the hetaireiai, or ‘comrades’ associations’, which stand out for their strong membership cohesion. This is another topic in need of an up-to-date, systematic treatment.55 All we can do here, however, is to register briefly a few salient points. 54

55

Carbon (2005, 3) on Blümel 2004, no. 20 (early Hellenistic): ἡ φρατρία τῶν Δαρρωνιστων, where phratry has a meaning similar to thiasos, koinon or eranos. Further examples: Bresson 2013 on Miranda INapoli no. 44 (194 AD), A, line 9: γνώμη ἁπάντων φρητόρων (association of the Phratry of Artemisioi), and no. 43 (late C1 BC – early C1 AD: association of the Phratry of Aristaioi). In P.Lond. 7.2193 (69–58 BC), recto l. 14, phratra is probably another term for the synodos that issued the document, the synodos of Zeus Hypsistos – the alternative view, that it describes a larger unit to which the membership of this synodos also belonged, requires inventing a politeuma where none is attested: Seyfarth 1955, 17–28, and 34–5, for further examples of private associations using the formulas ἡ φράτρα τοῦ δεῖνος or ἡ φράτρα περὶ τὸν δεῖνα, cf. Poland 1909, 53–4. syngeneia is another term from the public sphere – e. g. Thessaly (SEG. 36.548), Kalymna, Alinda, Mylasa, Olymos (Jones 1987, 233, 327–31, with Bresson and Debord 1995) – that was used by private associations: IG XII 3, 330 (Thera, ca. 200–190 BC), B, ll. 22–3; Isager 2014 text B (Halikarnassos, Hellenistic). Calhoun 1913, 97–147; Sartori 1957; Pecorella Longo 1971; Aurenche 1974, 155–76; Ostwald 1986, 344–58.

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Because hetaireiai were involved in the mutilation of the hermai and the affair of the Eleusinian Mysteries in 415,56 but mostly because they were politically active on the side of the oligarchs in 404,57 such groups generally tended to be regarded as anti-democratic ‘conspirators’, or ‘fellow-oath-takers’ associations’ (synomosiai: Thuc. 6.27.3, 60.1, 8.54.4). Their bad reputation followed them in the fourth century. But while their superior group cohesion made them ideal loci for planning and initiating political action, not all hetaireiai used that strength on the pursuance of such a goal; nor does our evidence depict their fourth-century successors tout court as lairds of political activism.58 A law of 410–404 seems not to have banned all hetaireiai (Hyp. 3.7–8), for they are amply attested as licit groups in the following period (Dem. 21.20, 139), but possibly only those with a manifestly subversive aim (Dem. 46.26). For a number of reasons, the hetaireiai (politically oriented or not) must be included among the non-public organizations of classical Athens (so also Jones 1999, 6, 12–13, 223–7, 294–5, but for different reasons). As such they were part of the earlier associational undergrowth that spawned late-classical and Hellenistic successors. Firstly, like associations of eranistai and thiasotai (cf. Arist. Eth.Nic. 8,9,5, 1160a21–2 on associational synousia), the hetaireiai were practicing a familiar kind of sociability; their dining, drinking and entertaining, however, were more intimately linked to the institution of the symposion.59 Mutual aid, in the private and public sphere, is another strong concern. The obligation of the ‘comrades’, in the fifth-century, to support each other ‘in lawsuits and offices’ (Thuc. 8.54.4) persisted in the next century (Pl. Tht. 173D; Ar. Lys. 577–8; Isae. fr. 22.2 Thalheim): eight named hetairoi were expected to support Meidias as witnesses in the trial brought against him by Demosthenes (Dem. 21.103, 139, 208, 215). On this score, too, the hetaireiai remained an admirably ‘high intensity’ association. Furthermore, individually or in coalitions, hetaireiai still tended to back specific rhetores, some of whom presumably enjoyed membership in them (Hansen 1991, 282). In as much as the capstone of koinonia was friendship (cf. n. 3 above), the hetaireiai show themselves – in name and deed – as strongly committed to it. Isocrates (3,54) speaks of hetaireiai and synodoi as associations,60 and Thucydides (3,82,5–6) uses synodos interchangeably with hetaireia in the sense ‘association’;61 other authors use synodos for the meeting of a hetaireia/synomosia.62 Their memberships, numbering

56 57

58 59 60

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Murray 1990; McGlew 1999. E. g. Thuc. 8,48,3 (hetairikon), 8,54,4 (xynomosiai), 8,65,2, 8,92,4 (hoi hetairoi), (at 3,82,5: hetaireia on Korkyra); Xen. Hell. 2,3,46; Lys. 12,55; Ath.Pol. 34,3 with Rhodes 1981, 429, 431. Andrewes 1981, 128; Rhodes 1981, 428; Hornblower 2008, 918. Murray 1990; Jones 1999, 224–5. synodos as an association: SEG 36.228 (159/8 BC). synodos as a meeting: IG II2 1325–326 (Syll.3 1100–1001), esp. IG II2 1325, line 30. Poland 1909, 159–60, contra Ziebarth 1896, 136–37. Gomme 1956, 377; Hornblower 1991, 484–5 484–85. In the same sense also Solon 4.22 = Dem. 19,25. E. g. Ar. Eq. 475–7; Andoc. 1,47; Plat. Tht. 173D.

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around twenty to thirty,63 met, not in sanctuaries, but at private houses (Aisch. 1,58). Secondly, to distinguish themselves from one another, some fourth-century hetaireiai, at least, followed the example set by others by adding a name-identifier to their generic description. For this type of group, perhaps more than for anyone else, the ‘followers-leader’ format offered itself as a natural choice. Yet, in their use of the οἱ ἀμφί or οἱ περί (someone) formulas (e. g. οἱ αμφὶ τὸν Πείσανδρον: A VI.1.i; Calhoun 1913, 7) Athenian hetaireiai apparently were conforming to a wider Greek practice (for Thebes, see A VI.1.iii, with Xen. Hell. 5.2.25). Indeed, trends elsewhere (e. g., he Iphiadou hetaireia, ‘the hetaireia of Iphiades’, in Abydos),64 might have inspired kindred groups in fourth-century Athens to go even further and take on proper names – that is, if the wish to distance themselves from thoroughly blackened descriptions (hetaireia, synomosia) was not already sufficiently strong to motivate this change. By taking proper names, hetaireiai began looking like other associations. Mid-fourth-century Cos had a hetaireia called Histia, and archaic Miletus reportedly had (politically active) hetaireiai called Ploutis, Cheiromacha and Aeinautai.65 In this area, fourth-century Athens seems to have been an importer of models designed by others. When the habit of name-giving (eponymia) in this area began spreading within Athens, it led, among other things, to the appearance of groups of hetairoi with such provocative names as ‘hoi Triballoi’ (Dem. 54,39) and probably also ‘hoi Ithyphalloi’ and ‘hoi Autolekythoi’ (ibid. 14, 16–17, 20), all now also called ‘hell-fire’ clubs (Parker 1996, 335).66 Their memberships, too, are designated ‘associates’ (kekoinonekotes), even if their union allegedly was around ‘malignity, villainty and imprudence’ (Dem. 54,37). Moreover, they had common dinners (syndeipnein allelois: ibid. 39), and helped each other in trials as hetairoi kai philoi (ibid. 34–5, cf. 20; 31, compare with Dem. 21,20; 139). Their strong commitment to friendship – their high-intensity trait – underlines even more their affinity to other kinds of group possessing the same characteristic: e. g. (a) to their nameless predecessors, i. e. the fifth-century hetaireiai/synomosiai, whose memberships, as the latter description indicates, were tightly bound together by a ritually sworn pledge of pistis (esp. And.

63 64

Andoc. 1,34 (ca. 23 members); Dem. 57,7 (ca. 30 members); cf. Calhoun 1913, 29–30. Arist. Pol. 5,5,9, 1306a30; on Iphiades: Syll.3 187 (Knidos, ca. 360? BC). See also ‘the hetaireia of Stryphidas and Hyrtaios’ in third – second-century BC Rhithymna (Crete): G. Manganaro, in Antichità cretesi: Studi in onore de Doro Levi vol. 2 (Catane, 1978), 43–50. 65 Cos: LSCG 151A; SEG. 28.699(1); SEG 49.1104, line 28: τὰν Ἱστίαν τὰν Ἑταιρείαν. Miletus: [Plut.] Mor. 298C–D. The name Aeinautai (but not the word hetaireia) is attested in late sixth-century BC Eretria and in early fifth-century BC Chalkis: Eretria: SEG 34.898 (510–500 BC): inscribed base for a herm informing that it was erected by the Aeinautai. Chalkis: IG XII 9, 923(C5 BC). Interestingly, an early third-century BC inscription (either from Chalkis or from Eretria) carries an honorific decree of the ‘association of the Aeinautai’, τὸ κοινὸν Ἀεναυ[τῶν], IG XII 9, 909, cf. SEG 27.559 and Petrakos 1963. See Jones 1987, 222: ‘… the hetaireia is known to enter the public sphere only at Kyrene’ (ML 5, ll. 15–16, C4 BC). 66 Lexicographers: Harpokr. s.vv. Autolekethoi, Triballoi; Photius s.vv. Triballoi, Ithyphalloi; Hesych. s. v. Autolekythoi; Pollyx 10.62; Bekker, Anec. Gr. 465. Cf. Calhoun 1913, 31 n. 4.

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1.62);67 (b) to such groups of eranistai as that which, in 324/3, put up a dedication to Zeus Philios (‘of Friendship’);68 and also (c) to those koina of thiasotai as the one which had a rule ordaining that, if a member was wronged, ‘the thiasotai and all their friends (philoi) shall come to his assistance, so that everyone might see that we are piously disposed both towards the gods and towards our friends’.69 Other fourth-century groups appear to have assumed the role of socio-religious provocateur by naming themselves Kakodaimoniastai – we are meant to understand that they should have called themselves Noumeniastai, instead – and by selecting as their meeting day one of the taboo days (apophrades hemerai), instead of the much more respectable First of the Month/New Moon Day (noumenia) (Lysias frg. 53 Thalheim/195 Carey). Mention of all the (supposedly) discarded, ‘goodly’ alternatives is meant to emphasize precisely what the membership of the Kakodaimoniastai consciously rejected. The fact that full-fledged associations called Noumeniastai and Agathodaimoniastai (the implied reverse of Kakodaimoniastai) are attested elsewhere in earlier and later periods,70 indicates that the provocateur groups were communicating locally through the use of organizational expressions that were becoming common globally. More importantly, it renders it probable that a transformation was taking place in the organizations of mid-fourth-century Athens. Partly influenced by practices in the wider Greek world, Athenian associational culture was undergoing a homogenization process, as more and more of the old types of groups were adopting common features. In the case under discussion, groups hitherto uniting hetairoi (if they still wished to be so known) were in the process of becoming amalgamated with other forms of clubbism to produce fresh, more alike, but also more vibrant kinds of private organization. The offspring of that process are probably exemplified by the Eikadeis, a group known from a small inscriptional dossier (A VII bis).71 In its decree of 324/3, this group simply calls itself hoi Eikadeis or to koinon ton Eikadeon (‘the association of Eikadeis’), tellingly, without indication of belong67

Rhodes 1981, 429; Hornblower 2008, 918–19. See the excellent discussion of the word pistis and its relation to groups of hetairoi in Faraguna 2012. 68 IG II2 2935, found within the precinct of Zeus Melichios on the north slope of the Hill of Nymphs: Koumanoudes 1879, 288–90. 69 IG II2 1275 (325–275 BC), esp. lines 7–10, with Tod 1906–1907. 70 Noumeniastai: IGDOlbia 96a-d (Olbia, C6 BC); IG XII 9, 1151 (Chalkis, C3 BC). Agathodaimoniastai: I.Lindos II 252 (ca. 115 BC), l. 251; NSER 494 (Cos). 71 Being previously considered a phratry, the Eikadeis are now regarded as a genos (Lambert 1993, 365: ‘a geminated genos with some members on Salamis, others elsewhere’; Lambert 1997b, 101: ‘may have been a genos’; Parker 19967, 337). Yet, the evidence supports Poland’s (1909, 64) view of them as an association worshipping Apollo. In the following, reference is made to (i) IG II2 1258 (decree of 324/3); (ii) IG II2 2631, 2632 (two horoi of their landed property); (iii) Agora XIX P 26 (IG II2 1582) frg. b, col. III, ll. 384–85, and 395: [χωρίον?] Εἰκαδέων: B. D. Meritt, Hesperia 5 (1936), 409 (record of the poletai of 342/1–339/8, where a confiscated piece of land is described as bordering Εἰκαδέων χωρί/[ον]; (iv) IG II2 1596A (Rationes Centesimarum, ca. 330–325, cf. Lambert 1997, 213–19), ll. 12–15; (property of a namesake based on Salamis, see below). Lambert (1993, 365; 1997b, 101) takes the fact that the Eikadeis had two or more officials (1258, l. 22) to indicate that this was ‘a multi-partite organisation’, but see Poland 1909, 361–62.

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ing to any one of the traditional categories (orgeones, thiasotai, eranistai or hetaireiai). Yet, its sharing of much common ground with representatives of all of these latter is revealed by several features, all additional to its being clad with nearly full polis attire: officials, decrees, etc. Firstly, since the name – ‘the Twentieth of the Month Club’ – derives from the membership’s main meeting day,72 the Eikadeis can be safely likened to other ‘meeting-day’ groups such as the Tetradistai, who sacrificed during the festival of Aphrodite Pandemos;73 or the Dekadistai (A VII), a name also carried by a group which appears on a horos-inscription as creditor alongside a group of eranistai (A IV.2.xiii).74 Secondly, the Eikadeis possessed realty: each of two boundary-stones (ὅρος χωρίου κοιν/οῦ Εἰκαδέιων) forbids the hypothecation of the property in question; additionally, they might also have owned the shrine of Apollo Parnessios, their place of gathering. Thirdly, the juridical matter recounted in their decree not only underlines the high degree of loyalty members were expected to demonstrate towards each other and towards the koinon – a ‘high intensity’ attribute of this group, too;75 it also documents how that loyalty was to be ensured, i. e. by a ritually sworn pledge of faith (horkos) and the hero Eikadeus’ curse (ara) on potential transgressors. Much like the members of hetaireiai, all those who became Eikadeis pledged to help (not to battle) each other in legal trials. There is nothing to link the legal proceedings mentioned in the decree of this group to the contemporary hoi ek Salaminos Eikadeis (so Lambert 1997b, 100–1). Rather, the latter seems to be a completely different association, which, too, used a popular cult-day (the twentieth),76 but distinguished itself from homonyms by adding to its name the element ‘from Salamis’. It is attested in connection with the sale of a piece of land it owned on Salamis, conducted by one Olympiodoros (son of Eumelos), who is described as (ὁ) ἐκ Σαλαμῖνος Εἰκαδέων βούλ[αρχος].77 Here the title boul[archos] (or perhaps boul[eutes]) is not that of an ad hoc ‘adviser’ – why should an adviser be put in charge of the sale of land. Instead, parallels render it probable that the title describes the holder of a regular office, thus implying the 72 73 74

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Pace Parker 1996, 336–37, the day, eikas, and their hero, Eikadeus, need not be completely separated. Menander, Colax fr. 1 Sandbach (apud Athenaeus 659D); Alexis fr. 258 PCG vol. II, p. 167. See also Hes. Op. 770, with M. West [Commentary on Hes. Op., 1978] ad loc., p. 352. Theophr. Char. 27. IG II2 2701 (horos, late C4 BC). See also IG XI 4, 1227 (Delos, late C3 – early C2 BC): koinon ton dekadiston kai dekadistrion. Robert Parker perceptibly underlines the proximity of the Eikadeis to hetaireiai (1996, 337). At a trial, some members had testified for the opponents of the Eikadeis, thus causing harm on the ‘common things (perhaps the funds or realty) of the Eikadeis, from which the Eikadeis sacrifice to the gods’ (IG II2 1258, ll. 4–7). Claiming the testimony of these members to be false, the Eikadeis voted to elect three men amongst themselves, who in a court of law were to act as the co-fighters of Polyxenos, a fourth member, who at new trial, and probably as the association’s syndikos, is going to challenge the testimony of the renegade members (lines 12–17). See Rubinstein 2000, 43–4, 81–2, 88. Poland 1909, 64, 253, 428, 458 (on eikades), cf. IG XII 3, 330 (Thera), B ll. 66–9. IG II2 1596A (ca. 330–325), ll. 112–15. The restoration is widely accepted, though Lambert (1997a, F13A, 12–16, with pp. 199–200, 252) suggests βουλ[ευτῆς]. Even though the personal name Boularchos is well attested in Attic prosopography (e. g. IG II2 1155, l. 2), the construction ἐκ Σαλαμῖνος Εἰκαδέων βούλ[αρχος] excludes the possibility of a name.

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existence of an associational Council, a boule.78 In that case, the ‘Eikadeis from Salamis’ would be the earliest attested association to exhibit an institutional transfer of a quite unprecedented kind – and this in ca. 330–325 BC. If so, Athens was now the creator and exporter of associational blueprints. Fourthly, there is the centrality of religion: as a cardinal aspect of associational activity; as a cohesive that kept a ‘brotherhood’ together; and as the provider of a principal template against which any such group was being socially valorized. In the Eikadeis – no less than in the eranistai who dedicated to Zeus Philios (IG II2 2935), or in the Tetradistai who sacrificed and feasted in honour of Aphrodite Pandemos (Men. Colax frg. 1 Sandbach), or, again, in the banqueting groups of hetairoi named Ithyphalloi and Triballoi – religious concerns remained pre-eminent, even when the groups themselves came to be placed at opposite ends of social respectability: the Apollo-worshipping Eikadeis were certainly esteemed higher than the Ithyphalloi and Triballoi and their allegedly despicable initiation rites (devouring the food people set out for Hekate and the testicles of the pigs used for the purification of the Assembly, Dem. 54. 16–17, 39). Yet, notwithstanding the low opinion held by outsiders about these ‘disreputable’ clubs as antisocial, sacrilegious and repulsive (Dem. 54.19), what the ‘comrades’ actually tended to challenge was not religion as such, nor conventional religious practices, but the power-political mechanisms controlling the foci of religious activity. As has been noted, far from mocking the Eleusinian Mysteries in 415 (eph’ hybrei, in Thuc. 6.28.1, does not imply ridicule, only impiety), hetaireiai were in fact imitating (or parodying in a literal sense) the mysteries in their private homes.79 Plutarch (Alc. 22.3) even depicts Alcibiades’ hetaireia, when celebrating the mysteries in private, as being equipped with cultic personnel: a hierophant (Alcibiades himself), a torchbearer and a herald, while the hetairoi are called mystai and epoptai. The key to understanding the strong reaction to such deviant practices by the Athenian state seems to lie in their propensity to rival established institutions; parFor the office of boularchos, see e. g. IG IX, 12 1:6 (Thermos, Aetolia), with Nawotka 1999, 192–93, and 2000 (Roman Asia Minor). Lambert’s (1997a, 200) restoration βουλ[ευτῆς] is equally probable as is also his suggestion (1997b, 101) that this private association had a boule. I find this justified by the following parallels. (1) An inscription in two copies from Hellenistic Halaisa (Sicily) records a decree of the κοινὸν τῶν ἱερέων τοῦ Ἀπόλλωνος, which was passed by ‘the Assembly (τᾷ ἁλίᾳ) and the Council (τᾷ βουλᾷ) of the Sanctuary of Apollo’: Scibona 2009, 102–3, l. 8. Definite conclusions must await the proper analysis of this document, but there is a distinct possibility that it attests to a private association in possession of a boule. (2) A decree passed by a private association, a synodos, in Thespiai (Roesch IThesp. 36; SEG 44.419, C1 BC – C1 AD) – for synodos associations in Tanagra, Akraphaia, Haliartos and Thespiai, see Poland 1909, 158–63, esp. 160 – uses the probouleutic formula (προβε/βουλευμένον εἶναι ἑαυ[τῶι]/πρός τε τὴν σύνοδον), which is also used in many decrees of the state (Roesch IThesp. pp. 2–3; D. Knoepfler, Chiron 22 [1992], 429–30, no. 36) to indicate that the enactment concerned had been preliminarily deliberated by the boule (or the federal synedrion?): Rhodes with Lewis 1997, 124–25; SEG 40.406. In this latter case, it is even more likely that a private body had coppied a major state institution and its formal language. For reference to the Thespiai examples I am indebted to Dr Fabienne Marchand. 79 Murray 1990, 155–56; McGlew 1999, 5–11, contra Calhoun 1913, 36 (with n. 5 on p. 35); McDowell 1962, 192.

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ticularly, their challenging the monopoly of these institutions over the principal cohesion-creating mechanisms. Initiates at Eleusis, calling each other ‘brothers’, perceived their union as ‘a kinship (syggeneia) of souls and bodies’ (Pl. Epist. 334e-335b). When transferred to the private domain, that notion potentially contested even more directly the primacy of the political as creator and supplier of the ties binding together individuals as koinonoi. Via initiation rites and the commonalty of cult the memberships of private clubs became (much like Hippias’ ‘community of the wise’): ‘all kinsmen (syggeneis), of one house (oikeioi) and citizens (politai) by nature, rather than by law’.80 Inevitably, institutional transfer of this kind, bringing over to the private sphere notions strictly at home in the polis sphere, was bound to turn any association with a strong commitment to religion (the respectable Eikadeis included), into a potential powerhouse. Private clubbism, in sum, was boldly claiming supremacy over the cohesion-creating mechanisms by seeking to appropriate core polis terminology. It is important, however, to distinguish between several appropriation initiatives and to set them in the right chronological order. As already mentioned, two of them stand out. Originally (during the late archaic period), it was the demosion which, to enlarge its circumference, had cannibalized private networks based on kinship-, family- or friendship-ties. The incipient associational efflorencence of the fourth century, in contrast, represented a later appropriative endeavour in reverse order: arming themselves with the power of the collective, individuals now clubbed together in order to reclaim their private networks. How eagerly they engaged in a cannibalization process of their own is, inter alia, illustrated by the decision of thoroughly respectable (private) clubs to appropriate the title phrateres (see p. 134 above); or, even more conspicuously, in the daring forrays made by other (religiously oriented) groupings into the heartland of political terminology: a society of worshippers formed by Athenian klerouchs on Lemnos and based at the Kabeirion of Hephaistia held assemblies it called ekklesiai and had given itself the name ‘The demos of the initiates’ (ὁ δῆμος τῶν τετελεσμένων).81 80 81

Pl. Prt. 337c (= Hippias DK 86 C I) with McGlew 1999, 9 n. 25. Accame 1941–1943, 76, no. 2 (late C4 BC), ll. 3–4: ἐκκλησία [τῶν] τετελεσ[μέ]/νων (for the group in assembly), and ll. 9–10: ἔδοξεν τῶι /δήμωι τῶν τετελεσμένων (for the group itself); see also the remaining inscriptions from the Kabeirion: ibid. 79, no. 3, 81, no. 4, 87, no. 7, 89, no. 11 (the latter of 350–300 BC). I am indebted to Dr Stella Skaltsa for bringing these inscriptions to my attention. Ordinarily (and on account of the rich ‘constitutional’ terminology it is seen to use), this group is taken to be a subset of the Athenian demos: e. g. Cargill (1995, 95, 181–2), who takes ‘the demos of the initiates’ to have been, not a separate organization, but another name for the klerouchs of Hephaistia. Note, however, three things: (1) while our group, in the extant inscriptions, emphasizes its cultic identity (as initiates), it nowhere emphasizes its Athenian identity (demotics simply serve as a means of identifying persons, not the group); (2) Athenian settlers on Lemos, when they publish inscriptions in that capacity, explicitly identify themselves as the demos of the Athenians (e. g. IG XII 8, 3, ll. 2–6: ‘the demos of the Athenians in Myrina’, cf. Cargill 1995, 62); (3) our group, in one of its inscriptions, distinguishes clearly between ὁ δῆμος τῶν Ἀθηναίων τῶν ἐμ Μυρίνει (ll. 3–4, cf. ll. 8–9: τοῦ δήμου τ[οῦ] ἀποστείλαν/τος ἑαυτούς) and itself (ll. 14–15). There is no evidence that demos, when it describes the initiates, has a constitutional meaning, nor is there any compelling reason that it should have such a meaning.

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Even though the associations we have been considering seem to have been citizens’ strongholds, non-citizens do appear occasionally among their memberships: of the twenty-two members of Alcibiades’ hetaireia, two were non-Athenians, and perhaps women attended their meetings as well;82 one of the thiasoi listed in IG II2 2345 (365–330 BC), the Διογένος θίασος, probably had a slave among its members,83 and the eranistai who made a dedication to Men in the Laureion district were also slaves;84 finally, a number of those individuals who in the relevant inscriptions feature without a demotic may well be non-Athenians (Arnaoutoglou 2011). However, at a relatively early date also associations with (in ethnic terms) an explicitly non-Athenian profile started coming to the fore. IV. THE RISE OF THE ‘ETHNO-CONGREGATIONAL’ ASSOCIATION Collectives representing specific ethnic groups that had cult worship as the centrepiece of their organization appear predominantly in the Piraeus; which is hardly suprising considering the port-town’s importance as a receptacle of visiting businessmen and foreign settlers (Garlan, 1987, 62–72; Demetriou 2012, 188–229). The earliest groups to be attested in possession of a sanctuary are the Egyptians (hieron of Isis), the Kitians (hieron of Aphrodite Ourania), and the Thracians (hieron of Bendis).85 All three groups established sanctuaries on plots of land they came to own by virtue of separate grants of enktesis issued by the Athenian Assembly. Moreover, these grants were all responses to petitions submitted by collectives, not individuals. Therefore, each of them must have been viewed as a corporate foreign group. There are several important issues raised by these groups. Our primary concern here is, however, with their organization: what were the blueprints of clubbism they followed? Discussion of the relatively better attested Thracian group can help us retrieve the main features. A principal feature is, of course, the role of cult – in this case the cult of the Thracian goddess Bendis – in spearheading the creation of a recognizable and largely successful foreign group. Few issues relating to this topic are uncontested. Yet, most seem to agree that the cult of Bendis had been accepted into the official Athenian pantheon (thus entering the category of demotele hiera) by 429/8, and that its celebration underwent a major reform around 410 BC – the probable dramatic date of the description, in Plato’s Republic, of Socrates witnessing the festival’s ‘first celebration’ in Piraeus.86 Additionally, five inscriptions offer glimpses (during 82 83 84 85

86

Aurenche 1974, 102, 109–10. McGlew (1999, 7, with n. 19) considers it possible that the Alkmaeonid Agariste (Andoc. 1.16) attended the meetings of the group. Line 73: Εὐφρονίο παῖς. Lambert (1999, 106, 127) thinks παῖς here means step-child. IG II2 2940 (end of C4 BC), cf. Arnaoutoglou 2003, 83. Egyptians and Kittians: IG II2 337 = SIRIS III, no. 10 (333/2 BC). Parker 1996, 160, n. 29, 243, 338; Simms 1988–1989 (Isis); Bonnet and Pirenne-Delforge 1999 (Aphrodite); Baslez 1986. Thracians: Simms 1988; Parker 1996, 160–1, 170–5; Jones 1999, 256–62. 429/8: IG I3 383, l. 143. Socrates: Pl. Resp. 1.327a-b, 1.328a-b, with IG I3 136 (of ca. 413/12), on which see Bingen 1959; Simms 1988, 66; but Planeaux (2000–2001) takes Plato’s description to refer to the introduction of the cult ca. 429/8. Overviews in Ferguson 1944, 101, 103;

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the 330s–320s and the 240s) of the apparently evolving and complicated relationship of the Thracian émigré community to the cult of the goddess, her shrine (or shrines?) and her festival.87 One of these inscriptions contains the much-discussed statement: To the Thracians alone of all the other ethne has the Athenian demos granted the right to own land and to establish a shrine (hieron), in accordance with an oracular response from Dodona, and to conduct the procession (pompe) that starts from the Hearth of the Prytaneum’ (IG II2 1283, of 240/39, ll. 4–7).88

The socio-cultural integration of this ethnic group into Athenian society, attested already ca. 410, went piggy-back on the integration of a foreign deity into Athenian official religion. This set of five inscriptions raises questions to which no certain answers are forthcoming. For instance, in ca. 410 there were two processions in honour of Bendis, one conducted by ‘the Thracians’, the other by the ‘locals’ (epichorioi, i. e. those living in the Piraeus, but obviously not ‘Thracians’).89 What was the relationship between the two groups, and where were these Thracians based in terms of cult, if not in the Piraeus? Furthermore, although an Athenian law (already in force in 410?) ordained that the whole Thracian ethnos ‘shall conduct the procession to Piraeus’ (τοὺς Θρᾶικας πέμπειν τὴμ πομπἠν εἰ/[ς Π]ε[ι]ραιᾶ, IG II2 1283, ll. 10–12, cf. l. 23: παντὸς τοῦ ἔθνους), prior to 240/39, when that law definitely applied, the event was wholly in the hands of one group of Thracians which identified itself as ‘the orgeones, those in the Piraeus’ (ibid. ll. 16–17). Only through a polis injunction did this Piraeus group, through its decree IG II2 1283 (of 240/39), accept to share the pompe of Bendis (together with the facilities of its hieron and its two priests) with another group of Thracian orgeones, ‘those in the asty’ (ibid. l. 14), who latter in 240/39 had resolved to build their own shrine (ll. 7–8). Had the epichorioi by that date been ousted by ‘the Thracians’, a segment among whom then proceeded to oust some of their own, who eventually formed ‘those in the asty’?90 There are further cruxes. What is the relationship between (a) the hieron of Bendis on the hill of Mounichia, i. e. the Bendideion mentioned by Xenophon in the context of 404 (Xen. Hell. 2.4.11); (b) ‘the hieron of the goddess’ owned by the Thracian orgeones (‘those in the Piraeus’), who until 240/39 had, as far as the Thracian ethnos was concerned, monopolized the pompe; and (c) the hieron which the

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and 1949, 156; Parker 1996, 170–2; Arnaoutoglou (forthcoming). Introduction of Bendis in Athens: ca. 430 (Ferguson 1944) or later (IG I3 136 (414/13 BC, cf. Simms 1988, 66). The documents are concentrated in two periods, the 330s–320s: IG II2 1255 (337/6), 1256 (329/8), 1361= LSCG 45 (ca. 330–324/3); and the 240s: 1284A (251- ca. 240), 1284B (241/0) and 1283 (240/39). That all of them belong to the same group is confirmed by the staff of officials appearing in them and by the responsibility of the group to conduct the pompe. A parallel is the pompe conducted by the association of the Samothraikiastai from the Prytaneum in Methymna, Lesbos: IG XII.2 507, l. 13, with the text of A. Wilhelm 1896, MDAI(A) 21 (1986) 237–238. I owe this reference to my colleague Dr Annelies Cazemier. Pace Ferguson (1944, 96–7), the epichorioi means neither ‘citizens’ nor ‘natives’, but simply ‘locals’. There is no support for the view (Ferguson 1944, 96) that ’those in the asty’ were citizens, while ’those in the Piraeus’ were foreigners.

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asty-branch of the Thracian orgeones was going to build in 240/39? To identify, as is often done, (a) with (b) entails accepting that the Bendideion in Mounichia was built some time before 429/8 as a wholy private hieron to host the cult of the Thracians – since a special grant of enktesis and an authorization of cult hidrysis was needed – and that only afterwards did it become the centre of an Athenian public cult.91 But there is an alternative view that cannot be easily dismissed: that (a) and (b) are simply different shrines – the one to be built by the asty group was certainly a different one from (b). It should be noted that the Thracian orgeones who passed the ‘sacred law’ IG II2 1361 – and who in IG II2 1283 feature as owners of hieron (b) – appear as having full control of all the affairs of their hieron, including its repair and finances, and also as being empowered to pass independent resolutions regarding the sanctuary’s use (for sacrifices), not only by their own members, but by non-members as well (see below). Yet, rather than solving the issue, this observation raises a new one: how much leaway did the Athenian state allow to a private, foreign group in its management of a public cult and possibly also of a demoteles hieron? A second feature, one shared by both the Thracians and the Kitians, is this: the tendency of ethnic groups with a marked religious presence on foreign soil to assume a special corporate form, which in terms of membership was far more inclusive and broad-based than can be seen in comparable bodies. Given this ‘deviation’, are the groups in question then to be considered as associations proper? As regards the Thracians, modern scholarship accepts the associational status of the two known offshoots (the orgeones in the Piraeus and the orgeones in the asty), but not of their parent group itself, i. e. the whole Thracian ethnos in Attica as such. With the Kitians, opinions are divided: some consider them an early example of the ‘Hellenistic cult association’ (Parker 1996, 337–8; Leiwo 1997, 115; Jones, 1999, 41–2), others a mere religious group of a specific ethnic origin and professional profile (Arnaoutoglou 2003, 90). However, circumspection is necessary with both of these views for two reasons. One is the complementarity of the documents relating to the Kitians and those relating to the Thracians – the former depicting the situation prior to the group’s cult/sanctuary establishment, the latter mostly that following the cult/ sanctuary establishment. The other reason is the likelihood that, in combination, these two sets of documents shed light on the creation, aims and evolution of a rather overlooked type of corporate body; one which, its ‘deviating’ feature notwithstanding, regarded itself (and was regarded by others) as an association proper. It is this type of which I shall essay to draw a clearer picture. Athenian law, we have seen, regarded the whole Thracian ethnos in Attica as the privileged foreign group of Bendis worshippers, not least with regard to the procession. This, and the repeated stress (by the orgeones who passed the sacred nomos IG II2 1361) on preserving the ‘concord of the entire ethnos’ (ὁμονοοῦντος παντὸς τοῦ ἔθ[νους], l. 23) and on observing ‘the ancestral laws of the Thracians’ (τὰ πάτρια τῶν Θραικῶν, l. 25), strongly indicates that Thracians, foreign devo91

The Bendideion as the centre of an Athenian public cult: Ferguson 1944, 103; Parker 1996, 170. Ferguson (1944, 132) states that the existence of a treasury in 429/8 (IG I3 383, l. 143) implies a shrine.

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tees of Bendis and orgeones had come to be viewed as co-terminous; together all three elements provided the criteria for membership into a corporate foreign group that at the same time formed a sanctuary-based congregation. In contrast, the Kitians, who identified themselves also as ‘traders’ (emporoi), added a specific professional profile to the other two criteria (i. e. Kitians, foreign devotees of Aphrodite). Their resolution to formally ask the Athenian authorities for permission to own land and to establish a cult is (in the authorizing polis decree) referred to as follows: περὶ ὧν οἱ ἔμποροι οἱ Κ/ιτεῖς ἔδοξαν (IG II2 337, ll. 33– 4).92 As well as reflecting the language used by Kitians themselves in their original petition, the collective enactment formula hints at the institutional context in which that decision was taken: a gathering (or assembly) held by the would be cult-sharers and sanctuary owners. This, in turn, presupposes a fair amount of planning and preparatory arrangements (including the collection of funds) by initiative-takers; perhaps representatives of this diasporic group had liaised beforehand with Lycurgus, the proposer of the Athenian decree granting the permit. All in all, an organization was in the making already before the shrine of Aphrodite had come into being – and the official Athenian response was certainly instrumental in giving the petitioner a corporate identity. After the cult and the shrine had been established further organizational steps would have been necessary to ensure their maintenance and function. Thus, this evidence alone, even though it is limited to the pre-cult/sanctuary establishment stages (so that we cannot tell whether the Kitians later adopted one of the generic titles orgeones, thiasotai or eranistai), suffices to indicate that one and the same corporate body could be characterized by different degrees of ‘associational intensity’ at different phases of its evolution. At their debut, the Kitians, as evidently also the Thracians, scored rather low as regards organization, but remarkably high as regards membership size. A somewhat clearer picture of the post-cult/sanctuary establishment stages emerges from the evidence relating to the Thracians. The inscriptions from the 330s and 320s, all of which probably predate the division of the parent group into smaller units, depict an organizational make-up quite similar to, even if not quite as sophisticated as, those of other associations: (i) the staff of officials includes two epimeletai tou hierou, two-three hieropoioi, a priest and a priestess, and possibly a grammateus, too; (ii) on the 2nd of each month the membership holds a meeting called agora (an assembly) and another called syllogos (perhaps for the performance of rites); (iii) in addition to its hieron, the group owns a house (oikia) with a water-supply, which it leases out; (iv) its ‘law’ distinguishes between two kinds of users of the hieron: ‘the orgeones who share in the shrine’ (i. e. members proper, or the Thracian devotees) and idiotai (‘private individuals’, i. e. all non-members); while the former are privileged with the right to sacrifice without payment of fees (ateleis), the latter are obliged to give the priest and priestess certain parts of the sacrificial animal; finally, (v) for financing their common sacrifices members (provided they are in good

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Jones (1999, 40) takes (…) τὸν δῆμον τῶν / Κιτιείων (IG II2 337, ll. 20–1) to referto ’the demos of the Kitians’, but see RO 91, with e. g. IG II2 120, ll. 29–30.

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health and currently residing in Athens) are each obliged to pay 2 drachmas to the hieropoioi. Even though these organizational features are attested by documents issued by the Piraeus group of Thracian orgeones, originally they – just like the grants of enktesis and cult hidrysis – belonged to the whole Thracian ethnos in Attica; again, confirmation of this comes from the fact that in matters of cult Athenian law treated the two groups as if they were (and should be) one. It was only following the parent group’s fission, and the ensuing monopolization of its attributes by ‘those in the Piraeus’, that these features came to appear as attributes of this latter group. Included in that monopolization, at least until 240 BC, were two further elements: (a) the nexus between Thracians, orgeones (of the goddess) and ‘sharers in the shrine’ (IG II2 1631, l.3; 1283, ll. 23–7); and (b) the ambition to attain as broad-based a membership as possible. Such a universalistic claim becomes explicit in the usurper-branch’s expressed wish to continually expand its membership ‘so that there may be as many orgeones of the hieron as possible’ (IG II2 1361, ll. 20–1). To sum up: probably the Kitians, but certainly the Thracians attest to a distinct type of sanctuary-based association, one in which the attributes of the foreign ethnos and the congregation had merged to produce the (in terms of membership) fairly sizeable, ethno-congregational association. Shrine-participation, or shrinesharing (μετουσία), was the cardinal factor that drew the dividing line between members – ‘those who share in the hieron’ (οἱ μέτεστιν τοῦ ἱεροῦ) – and non-members (ἰδιώται). This ascriptive criterion was assisted by two descriptive ones: Thracians and orgeones. A physically existing sanctuary became therefore also, in liminal terms, the dome of associational life, while the personnel required for its function (hiereis, hieromnemones, epimeletai tou hierou, hierotamiai, etc.) often constituted the only form of organization. It is perhaps into this category of ethno-congregational association that we should place such groups as that of the Athenian initiates on Lemnos who called themselves ho demos ton tetelesmenon. Their fairly large memberships would have compensated for a possible lack of the more extensive and complex organization characteristic of many smaller, tight-knit associations. In all these respects, the Bendis-worshipping Thracian orgeones, probably already in the fifth century, seem to ancitipate the organizational make-up characteristic of several later units. To the representatives of these latter belong such societally well-integrated diasporic groups in Hellenistic-Roman trade centres as the koinon of the Poseidoniastai emporoi, naukleroi and ekdocheis from Berytus’ on second–first century Delos, whose House, as is reconstructed from the surviving architectural remains, enables us to envisage one dome of associational activity;93 or the community of ‘Tyrians who live in Puteoli’ (mostly ship-owners and merchants) and their House of Commerce (he station) in second-century AD Puteoli, who, incidentally, like the Thracians of Athens at some point forfeited their ethno-congregational monopoly after a rival group of compatriots established its own

93

E. g. ID 1520 (153/2 BC). House: Trümper 2002.

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station in Rome.94 Still other representatives are such local phenomena as the ‘koinon of the priests of Apollo’ in Halaisa (Sicily), whose extant decree was passed by a unanimous assembly of no less than 825 voting members – who if real priests, and not, as is more likely, something approximating the kind of community represented by ‘the demos of initiates’ at Lemnos (see p. 140 with n. 81] above), would constitute a formidable sacerdotal throng;95 and, finally, the equally sizable politeumata in Egypt and Cyprus.96 Closer at home, similar blueprints of clubbism seem to have been adopted by others in or nearby Piraeus. From the early third century onwards, if not before, at least two independent koina of worshippers of Bendis are attested on the island of Salamis. The title which the Salaminian associations chose for themselves is, however, not orgeones but thiasotai.97 Yet, the ongoing associational homogenization process seems to have rendered such distinctions less important: in 237/6 BC, a group that called itself thiasotai had a leader called archeranistes; another group (of 272/1) called itself both thiasotai and orgeones, while earlier (in late fourth century) the membership of a group of orgeones, when in assembly, called itself thiasos (see A.III.i–ii). Diasporic groups proper followed suit. The shrine of Aphrodite Ourania, originally established by the Kitian emporoi, was later used (also?) by an expatriate group from Cypriot Salamis that conducted the procession of the Adonia: this was the ‘koinon of the thiasotai of Aphrodite’, known from three honorific decrees they published in 302/1, 301/0 and 300/299.98 Like associations of devotees of Bendis, this kind of koina maintained a diverse profile, blending Greek and non-Greek forms of worship and of politico-cultural expression. In about the mid-third century, a society of Sidonians in Piraeus passed a decree in honour of Shama-baal, son of Magon, who was their President.99 He was honoured for having taken care of the construction of the walls of the sanctuary, and for having performed all his official duties in an exemplary manner. The honorific IG XIV 839, SEG 49.1366, (174 AD), esp. ll. 7–8: οἱ ἐν Ποτιόλοις κατοικοῦντες Τύριοι, cf. Tran Tam Tinh 1972, esp. 153–4; Steuernagel 1999, and more generally Rohde 2012. 95 Scibona 2009, 102–3, l. 34. 96 Cowey and Maresh 2001; Kruse (forthcoming). 97 IG II2 2347: thiasotai on Salamis ca. 300 BC; Taylor 1997, 134–7. Salamis groups of Bendis devotees: IG II2 1317 (272/1), SEG 2.10 (251/0) and IG II2 1317b (249/8 BC), from the Acropolis of Salamis; and SEG 2.9 (245/4), 44.60 (244/34) from the harbour: M. J. Osborne 2002– 2009. There is no evidence for the view (Ismard 2010, 273) that there was a network of Bendis associations, consisting of the Piraeus-based koinon and its branches in the asty, Salamis and Laurion: as shown above, until ca. 240 the Piraeus and the asty groups lacked between them the ‘concord’ they were expected to have. Branches of the cult of Bendis in Salamis and Laureion are, however, another matter: Steinhauer 1993. 98 IG II2 1261, cf. 1290: Baslez 1986, 293; Parker 1996, 160 n. 29. Continuity of the cult of Aphrodite Ourania: see the Pireaus dedications IG II2 4616, 4636, 4637. 99 IG II2 2946 (only Greek text). Phoenician/Greek bilingual text: Teixidor 1980, on whose (French) translation the transliteration offered in my text is based; Gibson 1982, 148 ff., no. 41, and esp. Ameling 1990, who (on plaeographical grounds) dates the decree to mid-C3, instead of 96/5 BC, cf. SEG 40.147), and argues correctly for the view that, pace Teixidor, this is the enactment of a private (or cult) association, not of the assembly of Sidon. See Demetriou 2012, 208–11. 94

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award consists of a golden crown worth twenty darics, the costliest allowed by the law of the society.100 The decree, which is passed by ‘the assembly of the Sidonians’, or ‘the assembled Sidonians’ (SDNYM BN ‘SPT), ends by ordering the posting of the stele at the temple’s portico in a most visible place, so that it becomes known to all Sidonians that the society knows how to reward those who act benefactorily towards it. All this is written in Phoenician; the sanctuary was probably devoted to the god Baal; and the rituals performed in it were most likely those traditionally performed in the homeland. But in its mode of expression, this society demonstrates that it is fully conversant with, and willing to use, a Greek civic vocabulary and Greek norms of interaction, in addition to dressing itself up with thoroughly democratic institutions: via the associational habit a Sidonian émigré community of the third century made classical Athenian democratic culture its preferred language of interaction. The last two lines of the inscription, which are in Greek (τὸ κοινὸν τῶν Σιδωνίων / Διοπείθν Σιδώνιον), reveal that what in Sidon was known as MARZHEA and GN in Greek had to be rendered as to koinon (ton Sidonion); and also that in Greek circles Shama-baal was better known as Diopeithes of Sidon.101 Athens’ interest in attracting Sidonian professionals is already attested by a decree of about 376/5 BC: it privileges those Sidonians who chose to come and stay at Athens ‘for trade’ (κατ᾽ἐμπορίαν) with exemption from the metic-tax, the choregia and the eisphora-tax.102 Seemingly, by mid-third century, if not earlier, the Sidonian traders’ community had grown large enough to form their own ethno-congregational association and to build a sanctuary that would cater for their worshippers’ needs. V. CONCLUSION The ‘Hellenistic association’ of ca. 300 BC had in fact started emerging in the early fourth century: a good part of the evidence listed in the Apendix pre-dates 322 BC. Indeed, there is a distinct possibility that the Thracian worshippers of Bendis had formed their orgeones association by 429/8 BC. As a type of organization, it grew out of a variety of citizen-dominated groups of worshippers, banqueters, mutual-aid-seekers, politically like-minded socializers, etc. Whatever their particular orientation, they all, even if in various degrees, began borrowing heavily from the polis’ institutional trappings and in particular cannibalized key institutions of the democracy. Brotherhoods of foreign diasporas, by appropriating such venerable ti100 For the Phoenician equivalent of the Greek κατὰ τὸν νόμον (of the association): Ameling 1990, 195 n. 30. That the honorand is also the President of the association, ibid. 199. 101 For GN as the equivalent of the Greek koinon: Ameling 1990, 197, referring to J. Milik, Biblica 48 (1967) 573. The word MRZH = marzeah (which Teixidor 1980 takes to mean ‘la fête’) is generally understood to describe commensal-sympotic groups (Greenfield 1974; Matthäus 1999), and is often specifically (but without firm proof) rendered as the equivalent of the Greek thiasos: Ameling 1990, 197–8; Carter 1997. However, it sems more likely that marzeah is akin to the more general Greek word koinon. 102 IG II2 141 (376/5), cf. 343+Add. (332/1?). See Baslez 1987; Demetriou 2012, 207–8.

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tles as orgeones and thiasotai, cast themselves and their doings in traditional religious roles, while at the same time creating something new in Athenian society. Cult offered itself as the chief means with which to penetrate (and gradually enlarge) the organizational life of a society long accustomed to its demosion self-sufficiency. Foreign groups could tap into established networks of proven worth as facilitators of social integration in order to create their own blueprints of clubbism. One notable result was the ethno-congregational type of association. This emerges most clearly in the evidence relating to Thracian Bendis worshippers and spans from the early 430 to 240 BC. By the middle of the fourth century, the number of consumers of associational life in Athens – citizens and non-citizens – had increased noticeably. More generally, two specific long-term trends seem to stand out. One consists of the ways in which the associational phenomenon challenged the (Athenian) state, upsetting its traditional monopolies and questioning time-honoured distinctions between ‘public’, ‘private’ and ‘sacred’. Interestingly, all this was mostly done through use of the institutions invented by the democratic polis itself. The second trend is historically more fundamental. During the fourth century, especially its second half, the associational phenomenon – via its activities and via its juridically and ethnically mixed membership profiles – was gradually transforming the polis by presenting a new societal vision. Based on a novel perception of Publicness, this vision transcended the bordelines of the traditional spheres of the private (to idion), public (to demosion) and sacred (to hieron) to create a fourth societal space which conceptually, at least (if not legally, too), brought citizens (politai) and residents (katoikoi) closer to each other than ever. For instance, evidence from late-fourth century Rhamnous shows how a core public institution, an Attic deme, was experimenting with novel patterns of communal decision making, incorporating into its formal structure deme residents, whether these were thoroughbred Rhamnousioi, Athenians from other demes or simply foreigners.103 If, as seems likely, the much earlier process of polis consolidation extensively relied on the cannibalization of private networks (which were thereby turned into public ones), then the tendency in the fourth century seems to go the opposite way: as members of collectives citizens and non-citizens are seen to be reclaiming their private networks, using them now to erect a new societal space. All in all, during the fourth century, the associational phenomenon was in the process of uniting into a single notion three hitherto separate notions: that of the citizen, that of the worshipper and that of the associate. Rather than causing the demise of the polis, these trends reinvigorated it, taking at the same time democratic culture out of its craddle and spreading it into new areas. If these developments can be regarded as elements of a modernization process (something which, of course, depends on one’s understanding of the word ‘modernization’), then we may justifiably say that in the second half of the fourth century Athens had entered the path of 103 SEG 25.155 (236/5) and 15.112 (225/4): Osborne 1990, esp. SEG 155, ll. 30–2: δεδόχθαι Ῥαμνου/σίοις καὶ τοῖς [ἄλ]λοις Ἀθηναίοις καὶ τ[οῖ]ς οἰκοῦσιν ἐν Ῥαμνοῦν/τι πᾶσιν, with R. Osborne 1990, 281.

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a significant modernization process. Interestingly, however, those engaged in it were also big-time consumers of tradition.

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APPENDIX Name formulas (5th to 3rd Centuries BC) (Note: The name of the collective is given in the form it appears in the source cited, which is not necessarily in the nominative. See also Poland 1909, 8–34, 73–8; Arnaoutoglou 2003, 130–33) I. Orgeones I.1. Orgeones: Generic name only (i) Agora XVI.161; LSS 54–56, no. 20 (decree of early C3 BC), ll. 12, 24: ἔδοξεν τοῖς ὀργεῶσιν (a copy of τὰ ψη[φίσματα] τὰ ἀρχαῖα, ll. 8–9, which probably date from C5 BC:Ferguson 1944, 76) (ii) Agora XIX P 5; SEG 12.100 (record of poletai, 367/6 BC), ll. 30–1: κοινόν ὀργεώνων (iii) IG II2 1252 + 999; SEG 26.135 (decree, 350–300 BC), line 2: δεδόχθαι τοῖς ὀργεῶσι (but ll. 3–4: τὰ κοινὰ τῶν ὀργεώνων τοῦ Ἀμύ/νου καὶ τοῦ Ἀσκληπιοῦ καὶ τοῦ Δεξίονος, cf. ibid. 1253) (iv) IG II2 1253 (decree, 350–300 BC), ll. 5–6: περὶ τὰ κοινὰ/ τῶν όργεώνων (v) IG II2 1361 (330–324/3 BC), l. 3: τῶν ὀργεώνων (l. 21: ὀργεῶνες τοῦ ἱεροῦ) (vi) IG II2 1289 (decree, 313/12 BC), l. 8: τοὺ[ς] ὀργεῶνα[ς] (vii) IG II2 2499; LSCG 86–87, no. 47 (leasing contract, 306/5 BC): [ο]ἱ ὀργεῶνες (viii) IG XII 8, 21 (Athenian clerucy of Lemnos, horos, late C4 BC): ὀργεῶσι (ix) IG II2 2501 (leasing conract, late C4 BC), l. 1: [οἱ ὀργε]ῶνες (x) Agora XVI.161; LSS 54–56, no. 20, decree, early C3 BC), l. 2: [δεδόχθαι] τοῖς ὀ[ρ]γεῶσιν See also Agora XVI.130 (ca. 300 BC), l.1; IG II2 1289 (mid-C3 BC); 2355 (C3 BC?); 2947 (C3-C2), etc. with Ferguson 1944, 83: ‘Normally the orgeones are οἱ ὀργεῶνες simply’. *The so-called orgeones of Bendis: IG II2 1361 (330–324); 1255 (337/6 BC), l. 7, with Schwenk Athens Alex. 13, for ll. 16–17; 1256 (329/8), l. 6; 1284 (241/0), ll. 7, 11; 1283 (240/39: l. 12: ὀ. οἱ ἐν τῶι ἄστει, l. 16: ὀ. οἱ ἐκ τοῦ Πειραιέως); 1324 (ca. 190 BC), ll. 10, 13–14. In no instance do we have an attestation of the name οἱ ὀργεῶνες τῆς Βενδῖδος. See also under II. Thiasotai (The so-called thiasotai of Bendis and Dolopis): **The so-called orgeones of the Mother of the Gods: IG II2 1316 (272/1), ll. 1, 25: θιασῶται, but l. 18: τὸ κοινὸν τῶν ὀργεώνων, see also under III. OrgeonesThiasotai; 1314 (213/12), l. 9, 12; 1315 (211/10), l. 16; 1328 A (183/2) and B (175/4), l. 8: δεδόχθαι τοῖς ὀ[ρ]γεῶσιν, l. 12: οἱ ὀργεῶνες, 1327 (178/7), ll. 17, 23; 1329 (175/4), ll. 4, 19, 22; IG II2 1334 (70 BC), l. 2: [ἔδοξεν τοῖς ὀ]ργεῶσιν.

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***The so-called orgeones of Aphodite: MDAI(A) 66 (1941) 228, no. 4 (138/7), l. 2; IG II2 1337 (97/6 BC), ll. 8–9 (Syrian Aphrodite) I.2. Orgeones: Name of collective in the nominative + οἱ μετὰ + personal name in the genitive (i) IG II2 1294; SEG 50.162 (transaction: sale or lease of property, mid-C3 BC): [ο]ἱὀργεῶνες οἱ μετ[ὰ – –] I.3. Orgeones: Personal name in the genitive + name of collective in the nominative (or visa versa) None

I.4. Orgeones: Name of collective in the nominative + name of deity/hero in the gentitive (i) IG II2 1252 + 999; SEG 26.135 (decree, 350–300 BC), lines 3–4: τῶν ὀργεώνων τοῦ Ἀμύ/νουκαὶ τοῦ Ἀσκληπιοῦ καὶ τοῦ Δεξίωνος, but in the remaining part of the document the issuing authority calls itself ὀργεώνες (ii) IG XII 8, 19 (Athenian cleruchy of Lemnos, horos, late C4 BC): ὀρ/γειῶσι τοῦἩρακλεί[ου]ς/ τοῦ ἐ[ν] Κόμει Variant of I.4 (iii) IG II2 1325 (decree, 185/4 BC): l. 2: ὀργεῶνες, as a generic description of the association, and ll. 19, 20, Διονυσιασταῖ as its proper name. See under VII below.

II. Thiasotai II.1. Thiasotai: Generic name only (i) IG II2 2343 (ca. 400 BC, cult-table): κοινο῀ θιασωτῶν (ii) IG II2 1177 (decree of the deme Piraeus, mid C4), ll. 3–4: μηδὲ θιά[σο/υς] συνάγει, where θίασος may also refer to more durable associations: see p. 131 below (iii) IG II2 2347 (dedication, after mid C4 BC), l. 1: οἱ θια[σ]ῶται, l. 5: τὸ κοινὸν τῶν θιασωτῶν (iv) SEG 24.223 (dedication from nearby Eleusis, 350–300 BC): [οἱ θια]σῶται

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(v) IG II2 1275; LSCGSuppl 126 (nomos, 325–275), l. 6: θίασος, but l. 13 οἱ θιασῶται (vi) IG II2 1263 (decree, 300/299), ll. 3–4: ἔδοξεν τοῖς θιασώταις, l. 23: τὸ κοινὸν τῶνθιασωτῶν (vii) IG II2 2936 (dedication, late C4), l. 1: οἱ θιασῶται (viii) IG II2 1271 (decree, 298/7), ll. 14–15: δεδόχθαι το/ῖς θιασώταις (ix) IG II2 1273 (281/0), l. 9: δεδόχθαι τοῖς θιασώταις, ll. 20–1: τὸ κοινὸν τῶν θι/ασω[[ν]]τῶν (x) IG II2 1277 (decree, 278/7), ll. 17–18: δεδ/όχθαι τοῖς θιασώταις (xi) IG II2 1317 (decree, Salamis, 272/1), l. 4: τὸ κοινὸν τῶν θιασωτῶν (a group of Bendis worshippers) (xii) IG II2 1297 (decree, ca. 237/6), l. 4: συνήγαγεν τὸν θίασον, but ll. 2 and 9: τὸ κοινόν, οἱ θιασῶται (for the issuing body) and l. 23: ἀρχερανιστής (from ἔρανος) for their leader). See also IG II2 1278 (ca. 277/6); SEG 24.156 (after 239/8); 1298 (ca. 232/1); Agora XVI.223 (227/6); Hesperia 15 (1946) 214, no. 43 (ca. 215); IG II2 1318 (late C3); 1319 (late C3); 4985 (C3); 2943 (C3); Agora XVI.231 (C3); IG II2 1323 (ca. 200). * The so-called thiasotai of Bendis (and Dolopis): 1317 (Salamis, 272/1), l. 4: τὸ κοινὸν τῶν θιασωτῶν; SEG 2.9 (Salamis, ca. 257); SEG 2.10 (Salamis, 251/0), ll. 7–8: δεδόχθαι τοῖς θια/σώταις ; 1317b (Salamis, 249/8); SEG 44.60 (Salamis, 241/0). ** The so-called thiasotai of the Mother of the Gods: IG II2 1273 (281/0), l. 9: δεδόχθαι τοῖς θιασώταις, ll. 20–1: τὸ κοινὸν τῶν θι/ασω[[ν]]τῶν *** The so-called thiasotai of Artemis Kalliste: IG 1298 (248/7), ll. 8–9: δεδόχθαι τῶι κοινῶι τῶν θι/[ασω]τῶν; 1297 (236/5), l. 4: θίασος, ll. 9, 15, 22: οἱ θιασῶται. II.2. Thiasotai: Name of collective in the nominative + οἱ μετὰ + personal name in the genitive (i) Hesperia 16 (1947) 63, 1 (dedication, ca. 250 BC): [τῶν θια]σωτῶν τῶν μ[εθ᾽ἑαυτοῦ].The alternative proposal [–θια]σωτῶν τῶν Μ[ητρὸς θεῶν] (Lambert 1993, 85 n. 118) is unparallelled.

II.3. Thiasotai: Personal name in the genitive + name of collective in the nominative (or visa versa) (i) IG II2 2345 (name-list heading, 365–330 BC), col. I, l. 18: Ἁγνοθέο θίασος (ii) IG II2 2345 (name-list heading, 365–330 BC), col. II, l. 44: Ἀντιφάνος θίασος

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(iii) IG II2 2345 (name-list heading, 365–330 BC), col. II, l. 58: Διογένος θίασος (for i–iii, see Lambert 1999) (iv) IG II2 2720, now SEG 46.227 (horos, 400–350 BC): θιασώταις ῖς / Δημότο – cf. Ph. Gauthier, REG 111 (1997) ‘BE’ 514, no. 200), replacing the earlier restoration: θιασῶταις §ῖς§ Δημότο: Lambert 77–79. (Variant?) (v) IG I3 1016 = SEG 10.330 (ca. 500–480?/early-mid C5 BC): hίδρυε ὁ θίασος [Ἐ]τιονιδο῀ν (Lambert [1993, 88–90] considers the various possibilities about the character of this thiasos and (p. 91) seems to favour the theory that since it ends in -idai it probably was a genos forming a thiasos. See also Malouchou 2008, 103, lines 2–3: [- – τὸ γένος?] / τὸ Εὐηνοριδῶν, where the restoration is hypothetical).

II.4. Thiasotai: Name of collective + name of deity/hero (or visa versa) (i) IG II2 1261 (decrees, A: 302/1; B: 301/0; C: 300/299), ll. 22–23, 41–2: Ἀφροδίτης οἱ θιασῶται, whereas in the remaining part of the document the group identifies itself simply as οἱ θιασῶται (e. g. l. 2) and τὸ κοινὸν τῶν θια/ [σ]-ωτῶν (ll. 14–15). (ii) IG II2 1262 (decree, 301/300 BC), col. I, ll. 16–17, and again col. II, ll. 17–17: οἱ θιασῶται οἱ Τυνάρου, but in the remaining part of the document the issuing authority consistently calls itself οἱ θιασῶται. (iii) Isae. 9.30: και εἰς τοὺς θιάσους τοὺς Ἡρακλέους ἐκείνον [αὐτὸν] εἰσήγαγεν III. ORGEONES-THIASOTAI (i) Dow and Gill 1965, 104; SEG 22.122 (decree, late C4?), l. 1: ἔδοξεν τοῖς οργεῶσιν, but l. 4 specifies something which is to take place ἐν τῶι θιάσωι (Most scholars take θίασος here to refer to the group itself [summary ofviews in CRA pp. 94–95], but Arnaoutoglou (2003, 64–5), accepting there storations of the text immediately preceeding ἐν τῶι θιάσωι [supposedly, containing instructions to write up and post the present decree], takes it to referto a place. However, both intepretations can merge into one: if, as Dow and Gill 1965 propose, the honour awarded was a crown (στέφανος), it is at least possible that the lost part of the text actually specified that the proclamation of the honour, i. e. the crown, was to take place ἐν τῶι θιάσωι, i. e. ‘before the assembled membership’: see, e. g., IG II2 1237; Lambert, 1993, T3, ll. 73–77: ἐντ/ῶ θιάσωι [‘among the membership of the thiasos’; IG II2 1297, l. 4: συνήγαγεν

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τὸν θίασον, a clear rereference to the assembly of the membership, and the same seems to be the case in the mid-fourth century decree of the deme of Piraeus, which forbids the assemblage of thiasoi at the Thesmophorion on certain occasions, IG II2 1177, ll. 3–4: μηδὲ θιά[σο/υς] συνάγει. Another instance in which associational terminology is blended is IG II2 1297 (ca.237/6), l. 2: τὸ κοινόν, for the body issuing the decree; l. 4: θίασος, for theassembled membership; l. 9: θιασῶται, also for the body issuing the decree; and l. 23: ἀρχερανηστής, for their leader). (ii) IG II2 1316 (272/1), ll. 1, 25: θιασῶται, but l. 18: τὸ κοινὸν τῶν ὀργεώνων IV. Eranistai IV.1. Eranistai: Generic name only (i) IG II2 1553 (phialai-inscriptions, ca. 330 BC), col. I.1, ll. 22–23: Νικόημον Λευκονοέα καὶ κοι/[ν]ὸν ἐρανιστῶν, cf. ibid. ll. 9–10. In order to avoid repetition, I list the remaining attestations of the same formula in the phialai-inscriptions: IG II2 1556 I.27; 1557 B.II.106; 1566 A.II.28; 1568 B.II. 19–20, B.II.22–23; 1569 A.III.19–20; 1570 A. I.25–26, A.II.58–9, A.II.61–2, AII.84–5; 1571.10; 1572.10–11. (ii) IG II2 2935 (dedication, 324/3 BC): ἐρανισταί Διὶ/ Φιλίωι ἀνέ/θεσαν (iii) IG II2 2722 (horos): [ἐρα]νισταῖς (iv) Agora XIX H 84; Finley 1952, 138, no. 71 (horos, 309/8): [ἐρα]νισταῖς (v) IG II2 1265 (decree, ca. 300 BC), ll, 1, 10: [δεδόχθαι] τοῖς ἐρανισταῖς, l. 12 [τοὺς ἐ]ρανιστάς (vi) IG II2 2940; MDAI(A) 67 (1942) 44, 57 (dedication, C4?): ἐρανισταί (vii) IG II2 1291 (decree, mid C3), ll. 10–11: δεδ[όχθαι]/ τοῖς ἐρανισταῖς ll. 15– 16: τὸ κοινὸν τῶν ἐρανι/στῶν (viii) Agora XVI.202 (decree, mid C3); τοὺς έρανιστάς (ix) IG II2 2354 (dedication, late C3): [τὸ] κοινὸν έρανιστῶν ἀνέ[θηκεν] (x) SEG 41.171 (dedication, 300/299) C, ll. 45–5: ὑπὸ τῶν ἐρανιστ/[ῶν], l. 6: τοὺς ἐρανιστάς IV.2. Eranistai: Name of collective in the nominative + οἱ μετὰ + personal name in the genitive (i) Agora XIX P 14; IG II2 1583 (Record of poletai, ca. 350/49 BC) frag. b, l. 33: [τὸ κοινὸ/ν τῶνἐ]ρανιστῶν τῶν με[τὰ – -] (ii) SEG 32.236A (horos, ca. 350): ἐρανισταῖς/ τοῖς μετὰ Ἐπιτέλους ἐκ/ Κεραμέων

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(iii) SEG 32.236B (horos, ca. 350): ἐρα/νισταῖς τοῖς με/τὰ Νεοπτολέμου/ Μελιτέως (see SEG 32.236A-B = S. Lauffer in C. E. Conophagos, Le Laurium antique (Athens, 1980) 288–89, no. 2) (iv) Agora XIX H94 (Hesperia Suppl. 9 (1951) 13, 26) (security horos, ca. 350): [ἐ] ρανισ{σ}ταῖς τ[ο]/[ῖ]ς μ[ε]τὰ̣ Βλ̣ε̣παί̣ο[υ] (v) IG II2 1558 (SEG 18.36) A.II.40–1 (Phialai-inscriptions, ca. 330 BC) A col. V, ll. 566–67: κοινὸ ἐρα/νιστῶν τῶν μετὰ Θεοφ/ράστου Βαθύλλου Χολ/ αργέως, with ibid. B.I.2. (vi) IG II2 1559 (Phialai-inscriptions, ca. 330 BC) A col. II, ll. 29–30: ἐρ/ανι(στῶν) τῶν μετὰΧαιρίπ/που Ἁλαιέ (vii) SEG 25.178 (Phialai-inscriptions, ca. 330 BC), ll. 7–9: […8…]/ἐμ Μελί ο[ἰκ καὶ κοιν/ὸἐρανι(στῶν) [τῶν μετὰ …]/ ωντοκ … (viii) SEG 23.96 (horos, after mid C4): ἐρα/νισταῖς τοῖς με/τὰ Μνησιθέου/ Ἀλωπεκῆ(θεν) (ix) Agora XIX H 89; SEG 34.160 (horos, C4): ἐρανισ/ταῖς τοῖς μετὰ Πυθο/δώρου[Ἀθμ]ονέως (x) Hesperia Suppl. 9 (1951) 37, 28 (horos, mid C3): ἐρα[ν/ι]σταῖς τοῖς μ[ετ]/ὰ Τιμοσστράτο Ἁμ[α/ξαν]τέως (xi) IG II2 2699 (horos): ἐρανισταῖς / τοῖς μετὰ Ἀριστοφῶν/τος Εἰρεσίδου (xii) IG II2 2700 (horos): ἐρανισ/ταῖς τοῖς με/τὰ Φίλωνος (xiii) IG II2 2701 (horos): ἐρανισ/ταῖς τοῖ[ς] με/τὰ Θεοπείθους Ἰκαριῶς (see also under VII) (xiv) IG II2 2719 (horos): ἐραν[ι]/σταῖς τοῖς μετὰ / Δημύλου Λαμ(τρέως) (xv) IG II2 2743 (horos): ἐραν/ισταῖς τοῖ/ς μετὰ Παν/ταρέτου Ἁλωπεκῆθεν (xvi) IG II2 2763 (horos): ἐρα/νισταῖς τοῖς / μετὰ Καλλ[ι]τέλος (xvii) IG II2 2764 (horos): ἐρα[νισταῖς]/ XXX τοῖς [μετὰ –]/νος Λευκονοέως * IG II2 2721 (security horos): Λεωχάρει πληρωτεῖ / [κ]αὶ συνερανισταῖς is a different case: the named individual is explicitly said to be a co-member of a group of eranistai, who was performing a specific function, that of πληρωτῆς, on the latter term, see C. A. Thomsen (2015)

IV.3. Eranistai: Personal name in the genitive + name of collective in the nominative (or visa versa) (i) Jones and Lambert 1999, 133, no. 2 (security horos, C4 BC): Α[-]/ίου ἐρανιστα/ [ῖ]ς (i. e.Α[-]ίου ἐρανισταί) (ii) Demos Rhamnountos II, 188 (security horos, C4 BC): ἐρανισταῖς / τ[ο]ῖς Ξενοπείθου (i. e. ἐρανισταί οἱ Ξενοπείθου)

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V.4: Phrateres (i) IG II2 2723 (security horos, ca. 350 BC), ll. 5–8: φράτερ/σι τοῖς μετὰ Ἐρα/ τοστράτο Ἀναφλυ (see also under VII) (ii) IG II2 2723 (security horos, ca. 350 BC), ll. 11–13: φράτερ/σι τοῖς μετὰ Νί[κ] ωνος Ἀναφλυ(see also under VII) (iii) Demos Rhamnountos II 186 (security horos, 319/18): φράτερσι τοῖς μετ᾽ Ἀντι/φίλο (iv) Demos Rhamnountos II 187 (sercurity horos, 314/13: φράτερ/σι τοῖς μετὰ Ἀντιφίλο (v) SEG 51.164, ll. 2–3 (security horos): φράτερσι τοῖς με/τὰ [Ἀντι]φίλου VI. Hetaireiai VI.1. Hetaireiai: οἱ περὶ + personal name in the genitive (i) Thuc. 8.65.1 οἱ αμφὶ τὸν Πείσανδρον (with 65.2: τοῖς ἑταίροις, cf. Oswald 1986, 356 with n. 77; Hornblower 2008, 943. (ii) Dem. 21.20: καὶ τοὺς περὶ αὐτὸν (sc. Μειδίαν) ἑταίρους (iii) Plut. Per. 16: Πειστρατίδας μὲν νέους τοὺς περὶ αὐτὸν (sc. Περικλὴν) ἑταίρους καλοῦντες (iv) (Non-Athenian) Hell.Oxy. 12.2 (Bartoletti)/13.2 (Chambers) (referring to Thebes): … κ]αὶτῆς ἑταιρείας ἑκατ[έρ]ας ἰσχ[υούσης] (…) καὶ μετέσχον ἑκ[ατέρας τῶν ἑταιρει]ῶν ἐκείνοις (…) οἱ πε[ρ]ὶ τὸν Ἰσμη[νίαν καὶ τὸ]ν [Ἀνδ]ροκλείδαν (…) οἱ π[ε]ρὶ τὸν Ἀστίαν καὶ Λεον[τιάδην. VI.1. Hetaireiai: Individual names Τρίβαλλοι Dem. 54. 39 Ἰθύφαλλοι (possible) Dem. 54.14–17, 20 (with Andrewes, HCT 5, 128; Parker 1999, 335–36) Αὐτολήκυθοι (possible) Dem. 54.14–17: Νουμηνιασταί (possible) Lys. frg. 53.2 (Thalheim) 195.2 (Ch. Carey, Lysiae orationes cum fragmentis. Oxford Classical Texts: Clarendon, 2007) Κακοδαιμονιασταί (possible) Lys. frg. 53.2 (Thalheim) 195.2 (Ch. Carey, Lysiae orationes cum fragmentis. Oxford Classical Texts: Clarendon, 2007) Ἀγαθοδαιμονιασταί (possible; implied by Lysias) Lys. ibid. (with Calhoun 1913, 32; Parker 1996, 335) * For eponymiai of hetaireiai outside Attica see pp. 136 above.

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VII. Associations with individual names only (a sample) Δεκαδισταί IG II2 2701 (security horos); Thphr. Char. 27.11; cf. IG XI 4, 1227 (Delos, late C3 - early C2 BC): κοινὸν τῶν δεκαδιστῶν καὶ δεκαδιστριῶν. See also under IV.2 Γλα/υκίδαι IG II2 2723 (secuity horos), ll. 8–9. See also under V.4 Ἐπικλείδαι IG II2 2723 (security horos), l. 11. See also under V.4 Πάραλοι IG II2 1254 (decree, after 350) Σαβαζιασταί IG II2 2932 (342/1?) with 1335 (102/1), cf. Parker 1996, 335 Εἰκαδείς IG II2 1258 (decree, 324/3). IG II2 2631–2632, two horoi marking their property(i. e. forbidding the hypothecation of a χωρίον), call them κοινὸν Εἰκαδέιων. In the record of the poletai of 342/1–339/8, a confiscated piece of land is described as bordering Εἰκαδέων χωρί/[ον]: Agora XIX P 26 (IG II2 1582) frg. b, col. III, ll. 384–5, cf. l. 395: [χωρίον?] Εἰκαδέων: B. D. Meritt, Hesperia 5 (1936), 409; Parker 1996, 336 n. 18 (οἱ) ἐκ Σαλαμῖνος Εἰκαδείς IG II2 1596A (Rationes Centesimarum, ca. 330–325, cf. Lambert 1997, 213– 19), ll.12–15; see the distinction, in 1283 (240/39), between the orgeones οἱ ἐν τῶι ἄστει (l. 12) and the orgeones οἱ ἐκ τοῦ Πειραιέως (l. 16) Ἑβδομαϊσταί SEG 32.244 (ca. 330–325) Τετραδισταῖ Men. Colax frg. 1 Sandbach (apud Athenaeus 659D); and Alexis frg. 260 (258) R.Kassel and C. Austin (eds.) Poetae Comici Graeci (PCG) vol. II (Berlin: De Gruyter,1991), p. 167 Δαιταλ[εῖς] IG II2 1267 (decree, late C4); cf. Parker 1996, 334 n. 4 [οἱ ἐν τῶι -] οἴκωι σύνκλινοι IG II2 2350 (dedication?, late C4 – early C3 BC) τὸ κοινὸν τῶν ἐργαζ[ομένων – -] ([e. g. τῆι τραπέζηι], ID 1729) IG II2 2941 (dedication, ca. 268/7) Σαραπιασταῖ IG II2 1292 (decree, mid C3), l. 23 their leader is called προερανίστρια τ]ο κοινὸ[ν τῶν Ἀ]/σκληπιαστῶν IG II2 1293 (decree, mid C3 BC), l. 9, 12, 17; IG II2 2353, l. 1 (restored); SEG 18.33(mid C3 BC) Ἀμφιεραϊσταῖ Demos Rhamnountos II, 167 (decree, after 229) l. 1. In l. 22 their leader (Diokles) is called ἀρχερανιστής. IG II2 1322 (decree, late C3 – early C2 BC) is

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probably of the same association, which ll. 18–19 appears as τοῖς Ἀμφιεραϊσταῖς τοῖς μετὰ / Διοκλέου Ἁμαξαντέως. Even though not a permanent element in the name, the added element (here used for the purposes of date) still indicates leadership. Διονυσιασταῖ IG II2 1325 (decree, 186/5 BC) ll. 19, 20 (in l. 2 the members are called ὀργεῶνες); IG II2 1326 (176/5 BC), l. 10 (Διονυσιασταῖ) and ll. 18, 31 (ὀργεῶνες) See, in addition, the groups listed in Lambert 1993, 363–70 (T27–34), most of which are identified as possible phratries of gene, and Parker 1996, 318–27, especially: Οἰκατῶν (ἐπιμελητὴς κτλ.) IG II2 1597 (ca. 330–325), l. 15 Ἀφειδαντιδῶν (ἐπιμελητὴς κτλ.) IG II2 1597 (ca. 330–325), l. 19 [- -]/ Μιλτιέων IG II2 1596A (ca. 330–325), ll. 1–2 Διπολιαστῶν (ἐπιμεληταὶ κτλ.) SEG 21.578 (ca. 330–325), l. 5

POLITICAL INSTITUTIONS BETWEEN CENTRE AND PERIPHERY, BETWEEN PUBLIC AND PRIVATE IN 4th CENTURY ATHENS Constructing shared civic identity Giovanna Daverio Rocchi

By referring to political institutions we usually intend the set of laws, regulations and procedures that discipline co-existence of a politically organized society, and together constitute its structure and operative processes. I am not saying anything new by recalling that in the layout of the institutional apparatus the form of state and government are most clearly reflected, and that by examining the rules and the procedures by which it operated we can trace the course of political culture and the choices that drove the governments towards democratic or either oligarchic forms. For this reason modern speculation doesn’t provide an unequivocal answer concerning the process of development and the effectiveness of political institutions. According to a school of thought that can be traced back to Hume, they are the unwitting product of the individuals’ egotistic action; on the contrary, they are seen as the expression of a willing collective achievement aimed at improving the efficiency of the society’s co-existence and activity; otherwise they are considered tools created to ensure supremacy of particular social groups or classes. On the other hand, these finalistic interpretations do not contradict a pragmatic reading that sees institutions as the set of structures that shape a socio-political system and that, within that system, cover specific functions in order to ensure its continuity. Political institutions shouldn’t thus be considered as the expression of an unyielding rule, but rather an essential tool of social dynamics, they are inherently flexible and can adapt to diverse situations; fundamentally they stand at the middle point between the multiple forces concerning politics, religion, law, economy, but also and foremost concerning society in its various forms of co-existence. Any conduct, when it is the expression of a collective action or it aims at fulfilling the aspirations of a group, takes on an institutional configuration inasmuch as it embodies shared expectations. Consequently institutions must be considered as the result of a consistent and subtle negotiation between all the entities involved in them. Given that institutions distinguish a society which achieves (or which aims at realizing) co-existence on a non-conflicting basis, a function of primary importance concerns their capacity in promoting cohesion among the various social forces, it is thus essential to enquire into which were the features that shaped this cohesion and the goals it intended to reach, and moreover we must consider to what extent institutions can be used as tools in order to construct a conscious shared civic identity.

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It seemed proper to recall these topics, even tough they are well-known, since they stand as the starting point for the remarks that I intend to expound. It is well known that institutions were deeply embedded in the Athenian political system and, owing to the function they covered, it has been defined as a procedural democracy1. Therefore they provide a good touchstone to understand the forms of mind by which the Athenians shaped their role as citizens and to verify that this wasn’t actually the same in V and in IV century. I would like to look at how the Athenian institutions mirrored some changes in the patterns of behaviour in these two centuries. Moreover, if the institutions make up the system by which the community organizes its co-existence, I wish to examine what was the weight of the Athenian ones in constructing a shared civic identity. In classical Athens the citizen enjoyed many forms of belonging: on the basis of family relations, through kinship structures; and on a territorial basis by the qualification of citizenship according to demes. I want to remark the fact that control of space on the basis of residence, and control of time on the grounds of descent-line were the foundation of the paramount level of membership – that is – to the citizen-body. In addition to these, there were alternative and complementary forms of self-identification, between public and private, and bearing some cultic aspects, such as the phratries, the orgeones, the thiasoi, each of these purported its specific identity and required its own diverse loyalties, but they all were the expression of institutional instances2. In an essay of some years ago, D. Asheri spoke of multiple identities3. The citizen had to negotiate his personal and civic status through this network of affiliations. The question I’d want to pose is: did the citizen and the whole civic community consider themselves as bearing a personal and collective status that was the sum of complementary identities, or – rather – were the different forms of membership conflicting one with another? Now I wish to focus on the role of those institutions that I define as political, both in the specific sense, referring to the organs of the public administration, as well as in a more extensive and general sense, to refer to all those behaviours that belong to the sphere of collective initiatives or that are activated on behalf of the whole community; I will examine them “in action” – that is – recognizing the various partakers into their fulfilment, the modes and fields of participation and the goals. It’s been many years since I proposed a number of considerations on the transformation of the role of political institutions in the passage from the V to the IV century B. C.4 I looked at this transformation as the consequence of changes in the civic community, concerning the social status of the citizens, their attitude towards participation to public offices, and the aims and expectations entrusted into shared 1 2 3 4

Sinclair 1988; Hansen 1989, pp. 107–113; Daverio 1997, pp. 49–66; Daverio 1998, pp. 51–60. See Kloppenborg & Wilson 1996; Leiwo 1997, pp. 193–117; Jones 1999; Ismard 2010; Lambert 2011, pp. 175–189; Scheid-Tissinier 2011, pp. 275–293. Asheri 1997, pp. 5–26. Daverio 1978, pp. 33–50. On the changes in 4th Century Athens before and during the Lykourgan era I would like to cite Oliver’s and Lambert’s new essays. See Oliver 2011, pp. 119–132; Lambert 2011, pp. 175–190. Also see the papers collected in Frösén 1997.

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decisions. Particularly I stressed the central role that gathering financial resources and the mechanisms that oversaw their management came to cover in the political programs and in the administrative apparatus, after the contributions of the phoros had come to the end. Now I would focus on the consequences of this change and verify how it coincided with a shift along the centre-periphery and the public-private axis, as the primacy held by the poleic organs and by the public sphere in V century shifted towards a more participative role of the extra-urban communities and of the private sphere. In the fourth century the local system of the demes developed a role unknown in the previous century, whereas the private initiative supports or takes the place of public institutions in definite fields, especially concerning finance administration and spending politics5. The demes, in their settlement pattern, as social and economic bodies, cult centres, and centres of deliberative action distinct from the central organs, have received exhaustive analysis in modern historiography, and the studies of Robin Osborne6, David Whitehead7, Nicholas F. Jones8 provided strong impulse to this enquiry, in the same way, to understand modes and distribution of the employment of wealth the studies of J. K. Davies9 and Ph. Gauthier10 stimulated the research of the following years. I want to acknowledge that the framework of analysis from the works of these scholars provides the premise from which the follolwing considerations move.

LOCAL DECISIONS AND CENTRAL POLITICS The demes constitute a model of society that Osborne rightly outlines as a micro-society (face-to-face according to his definition that he borrows from model of P. Laslett) in which factors such as kinship and neighbourhood play a key role in determining the life of the community11; in his reconstruction the demes stand as a network of settlements within a system of their own enjoying a certain degree of autonomy from the centre, what Osborne calls the politics of locality. In the early twentieth century (1917) B. Haussoullier12 spoke in terms of “vie municipale”, taking inspiration from ideas that flourished in European political culture between nineteenth and twentieth century, that endorsed the primacy of the interests and values of the local community, rather than cultural and ideological adherence to 5

6 7 8 9 10 11 12

For the relationship city-demes see: Osborne 1985, pp. 64–92; Whitehead 1986, pp. 253–326; Jones 2004 with his considerations at pp. 14–16; Lasagni 2004, pp. 91–125; Papazarkadas 2011, pp. 111–153. For the links between private initative and public duties, private wealth and public finance see: Davies 1981; Gauthier 1985; Vannier 1988; Millett 1989, pp. 15–48; Hakkarainen 1997, pp. 1–31; Liddel 2007; Taylor 2007, pp. 72–90; Engen 2010, pp. 75–213. Osborne 1985, p. 64 ss. and his citation of P. Laslett 1956. Whitehead 1986. Jones 2004. Davies 1981. Gauthier 1985. Osborne 1985. Hassoullier 1884 (1979). For theoretical issues see Della Porta 2006.

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centralized and unitary systems. In this perspective the demes seem to configure a network of autonomous structures antagonistic to the centre. Therefore the true concern is the degree of demes autonomy compared with the central power in the 4th century Athens compared to the 5th century. The most noticeable feature in the IV century politics of locality lies in the growing tasks of the demes as decisional bodies. It reveal transfer of competences from centre to periphery in some matters concerning local places and activities. Nonetheless I would like to point out that this change isn’t limited to the procedural rules and regulations, but it develops on a wider range, involving changes in the distribution of the centres of decision-making, in the behavioural patterns, in the forms of self-representation, passing from the dominant centralism of the V century to the polycentric system of demes in the following one, from state intervention in all sectors of public life to private presence especially in the sector of spending politics. I’d like to begin from the example provided by the decrees over the Eleusinian bridges, which, I believe, offer significant evidence for the matters above mentioned. A decree enacted by the council and the assembly (edoxe tei boulei kai toi demoi) and dated to the first prytany of 422/21 by its secretary Prepis (ll. 1–4) provides for the building of a stone footbridge over one of the Rheitoi, the pair of lakes that stood at the border between Athens and Eleusis. The purpose was to ensure the safe passage of the priestess of Demeter and Kore and the ierophantes13: … resolved by the boule and demos to bridge the Rheitos near the city, using stones from the old destroyed temple at Eleusis, those blocks left over from building the wall, so that they may carry the sacred things to the rites as safely possible.

The relief on the top of the stele depicts Demeter, Kore, Athena and a youth, Triptolemos according to C. Lawton, Eumolpos according to K. Clinton, because he was the cult’s first hierophant and founder-hero14. Both the decree and the relief inform us of the practical use and the symbolic image of the bridge as an element of union between Athens and Eleusis, depicted on the freeze by the co-presence of the two Eleusinian goddesses, of the local hero, and Athena. Thus the bridge seems to stand as a metaphor for integration. Pausanias15 says that the Rheitoi were sacred to Demeter and Kore and they marked the ancient boundary between Athens and Eleusis. We are also aware of the long tradition of Eleusinian separatism in the ages before the reform of Cleisthenes and of its emergence in critical moments of Athenian history. I only briefly want to mention the boundary conflicts over the hiera orgas or the disquieting exile of the Thirty at Eleusis16. The building of the bridge fits well within a program aiming at strengthening the Eleusinian cult within a civic panathenian religion that aims at becoming the religion of the sea empire. A well known decree, datable within the years 440–435 13 14 15 16

IG I3 79, ll. 5–11 ; IEleusis 41. ADR 3, pl. 2; Clinton in IEleusis II. Commentary, pp. 62–64. Paus. I 38, 1. Hiera orgas: Daverio 1988, pp. 186–194; R&O 58. Thirty at Eleusis: Xen., Hell. II 4, 24; Diod. XIV 33, 4.

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and 422, concerns the offering of first fruits of barley and wheat at Eleusis, during the festival for the Goddesses17. The panathenian program is mirrored by the typology of the offerers. These are be set at three levels: the citizens, the allies, the other cities18. Secondly, the bridge is part of a public building program financed by State income. P. J. Rhodes points out that in the second half of the fifth century there was a quite high number of decrees ordering the construction of buildings and, from the inscriptions relative to Acropolis works, we know that each project was supervised by a board of publicly appointed epistatai19. I wish to notice that according to the decree for the bridge over Rheitos it was the central government to order expressly to follow the project of the architect20. This is a good reason to believe that the architect was officially committed by the government of the polis. About a century later a decree was passed by the deme of Eleusis and the Athenian soldiers stationed there in order to honour Xenokles of Sphettos for providing services of a cultic nature and for advancing money to build a bridge over the Kephisos at his own expense21: since the law orders that there be written in the decree who received the dorea (privileges and immunities), and because Xenocles, after having be appointed epimeletes (superintendent) of the Sanctuary of the Two Goddesses, and on the Mysteries, accomplished his duties philotimos (with love of honor), […] and constructs a stone bridge spending his own money, and handled with justice in the past and so handles now public money, he is rewarded with a crown […].

The building aims to assure two levels of guaranties: the asphaleia, that is the safety, of the procession and of the panegyris on the occasion of the Eleusinian festival (ll. 15–19); the soteria, that is the security, of the countrymen (georgoi) and the residents of the suburb (proastion) (ll. 19–21). I agree with the Clinton commentary that “the punctuation is significant. The panegyris of Hellenes could pass safely to Eleusis and the sanctuary; the people living in the proastion and the farmers simply sozontai: the bridge allowed them to pass back and forth, no small benefit”22. We can see that the asty is left out of the measures of the decree. The panegyris on the occasion of the Mysteries draws our attention to a over-poleic framework. The Eleusinian sanctuary seems here almost to compete with the Athenian cults. At once the decree is enacted by an extra-urban community and the building is realized tanks to private liberality in a local framework, and therefore it concerns a local benefaction. 17

18 19 20 21 22

IG I3 78; IEleusis 28; SGHI I 73. The years 440–435 according to Clinton, 422 c. (?) according to Meiggs and Lewis (SGHI, I, pp. 217–223). I believe that in the program of imperial religion of these years we can put the decree prescribing that all the allies were to bring a cow and panoply to the Great Panathenaia. Cf. IG I3 71; SGHI I 69;. Cfr. Isocr., IV Paneg. 31. According to the rhetor the Pythia ordered defaulters to comply with the duty. Rhodes 2009, pp. 1–13. For the public and private offerings on the Akropolis see Monaco 2011, pp. 219–231. IEleusis, 41, l. 16–17. The architect Demomel[es] is otherwise unknown. IG II2 1191, ll. 7–14, 21–26; IEleusis 95. a. 321/320. See ll. 15–21. For the proastion see Clinton, I.Eleusis II. Commentary, p. 506: “Proastion, …, apparently means, vaguely, the area around Eleusis (though it theoretically could include all the area outside of asty of Athens)”. The framework seems, in my opinion, to point to Athens.

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Thus, it is not misleading to consider the two decrees concerning the Eleusinian bridges respectively at the starting-point and end-point of an ideal trajectory running from the centre and the public in the fifth century, to the periphery and the private in the following century. Also I wish to remark that the decree mentions the law according to which (nomos keleuei) the name of benefactor and his gift has to be recorded on a decree (prosgraphein en to psephismati)23. It is needless now, I believe, to remind that the honorand was a renowned and prominent person in the Athenian history of his time, an associate of Lycurgus24. He held the office of superintendent of the Mysteries. The bridge that he built is commemorated even by an epigram of the Palatine Anthology25. The places where instances of decision-making are held multiply from the end of the fifth century and in the course of the fourth. It is true, we must always account for the contingent and random nature of epigraphic evidence, but the growing number of deme decrees can be taken as reliable proof of the broader decisional tasks at a local level. Interest in local life is coupled with growing disaffection of the countrymen towards central politics. Demosthenes himself remarks the aversion of the rural demes inhabitants to go to the city to participate in the session of the ekklesia. The literary background can be taken from Aristophanes’ Georgoi, in which a farmer offers 1000 dr. to a citizen if he will refrain from pressing him into service in public offices26. Essentially decision-making initiatives seem to fit into a re-definition of the deme as a political-administrative centre.

DEME BUSINESS In his book on the demes of Attica Whitehead devotes a wide section to the business which a body of demesmen had to transact when their demarch called them together in assembly27. As regards the fields of their competence, the deme decrees shed light onto extensive local building programs. An evident cause can easily be identified in rebuilding the Attic settlements that had gone destroyed during the years of the Peloponnesian war, and it can thus be taken as the indirect testimony of the re-occupation of the land after the end of the conflict. These programs seem to stand as the specular opposite of the urban program of the second half of the V century, in as much as the utilitarian nature of the buildings prevails, as opposed to the monumental works of the fifth century. As examples I take the construction of the new agora at Sounion in mid fourth century B. C. and the palaistra of Kephissia in the 23

24 25 26 27

See the next pages. The honorary decree to Xenokles seems to be an explicit evidence that there was a legislation concerning honouring, crowning and public proclamation. See Hakkarainen 1997, p. 29. For his public career and liturgical jobs cf. APF 11234, Ampolo 1979, pp. 167–178; Whitehead 1986, nr. 340, p. 450. Ant.Pal. 9.147. Clinton, IEleusis II. Commentary, p. 105. Aristoph., Georgoi, fr. 1. See Osborne 1985, p.70 ss. Whitehead 1986, pp. 97–119 (II.4. B. The Business of the Assembly).

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second half of the same century. Thanks to liberality of Leukios at Sounion the community proceeded to construct a new agora since the present one was blocked with buildings, in order that the Sounieis and anyone else who wishes to frequent the agora may have an open space (euruchoria) at their disposal. The decree resolves to elect three men which have the task to delimit the space for the new agora28: Gods. Theodelos proposed. That it should be resolved by the Souniois, with the good Fortune, since Leukios bestows to the deme members the construction of an agora, to elect three me forthwith to delimit the agora with Leukios, not less than 200 feet on one side an 100 on the other, in order that there might be open space for thr Sounieis and anyone else who wishes to frequent the agora, since the present one is blocked with buildings. It is not be permitted for either the demarchos or anyone else to build within the boundaries. The demarchos is to inscribe this decree on a marble stele with assistance from Leukios and to erect in the agora.

We may conjecture whether the new agora concurs with the renewal and the growing role of the local politics. At Kephissia a decree emphasizes the building and repair of waterworks and the palaistra29. The extensive damage to the inscribed face of the stone and the loss of at least half of its original text makes certain restoration difficult. But it is possible to know that we have to do with the only piece of evidence for a deme palaistra and provides important insights into its administration. I propose the lecture of W. S. Morison30: [E]pikles spoke: whereas Phro[ur… (patronymic) well and / honourably oversaw] the sacred rites (sacrifices) [of the Hermaia and] / on? his own land [… ] / [… and constructed] a springhouse and a [channel and …]]/ and [was the epistates] of the pa…laistra,] / [and] fenced-in the spring so that [sheep do not get] / into it, and [accomplished] the rest [of his duties honourably for] / the deme of the Kephissians, [the demesmen decided] / to praise Phro[ur (patronymic) and to crown him].

We are provided with evidence for local works and some insight into their administration and maintenance.

CHANGES IN BEHAVIOUR PATTERN. The counterpart to these structural changes are changes in the patterns of behaviour. The decrees cited are part of a considerable number of similar documents from Attic demes intended to deliberate upon honours to the men which at their expenses financed the works and to give them the thanks of the deme community. These men

28 29

30

IG II2 1180. Cf. Stanton 1996, pp. 350–353. Kephissia: SEG XXXII 147. The palaistra or wrestling-school was located in Kephissia, a large deme outside Athens and its environs. According to Morison it is not unlikely that other demes that were a considerable distance from Athens, such as Aphidna and Thorikos, also had palaistrai. See Morison 2000, pp. 93–98. Morison 2000, pp. 93–98. The honorand held the office of epistates (superintendent) of a palaistra which probably belonged to the deme. Such a office would have included maintenance of and capital improvements to a palaistra.

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are officially recognized as euergetai, i. e. benefactors31. The grants of honours constitute an important issue of the deme decrees. I could say, that is part of the rural communities’ routine. The merit of the honorands lies in employing their wealth in spending-initiatives in favour of the community’s programs. It is well known that the interruption of the phoros determined two different and complementary responses: a) the development of a state fiscal system controlled by the central institutions; b) the increase of private munificence initiatives both in favour of the whole civic community and within the single demes. The euergetes (the benefactor) becomes a prominent figure in the milieu of Athenian society, the evergetism elevates the census qualification to the standard of civic virtue32. By putting his wealth to use, the citizen performed a duty for his community privately, rather than complying with official public obligations. But if we look at the behaviour of the members of the upper class, their attitude towards levy duties owed to the state and towards spontaneous munificence is not the same. Forensic oratory testifies to a good number of citizens who tended to elude fiscal duties, transforming their estates into invisible wealth (aphanes ousia), releasing them into the circulation of financial wealth, and displaying behaviours that favoured the success of the specific kind of legal action of the antidosis (exchange of goods)33. Munificence at the local level is marked, viceversa, by a relatively strong participation, and by various forms of donation. This is the more remarkable because the local euergetes, who may be a demesman as well as a non-demesman, or even a foreigner, does not undergo any sanctions in case he avoids the duties imposed by his social status. But within the boundaries of a micro-society the social pressure is likely to have been much heavier, balancing, to some extent, the compulsion of civic duties and thus functioning as an effective means of suasion. The Sounion agora is bestowed by the wealthy demesman Leukios, or rather, he supplies the land for it and the basic construction. Leukios son of Theokles is known as a property-owner in Sounion as early as 367/66, and later as lease-holder in the industrial areas of Sounion and perhaps the neighbouring demes34. The benefactor of the decree of Kephissia above mentioned is honoured for having provided a series of services: performance of, or provision for, rituals probably at a festival; something to do with his own land; building or repair of a springhouse; activities involving a palaistra; repairing of the apodyterion (undressing room) of the palaistra; fencing-in a springhouse to keep animals (or persons) out; honourably undertaking other unspecified benefactions for the deme of Kephissia35. According to Morison the honorand was epistates (i. e. superintendent) of the palaistra, but we

31

32 33 34 35

The topic has an important bibliography. I shall confine myself citing a selection of the numerous studies: Henry 1983; Gauthier 1985; Vannier 1988; n. 31, Whitehead 1983, pp. 55–74: move after Henry 1983; Whitehead 1993; Hakkarainen 1997, pp. 1–31; Engen 2010. See Whitehead 1983, pp. 55–74; Whitehead 1993, pp. 37–76; Liddel 2007, p. 137 ss. See infra. Cf. Gabrielsen 1986, pp. 99–114; Gabrielsen 1987, pp. 7–38; Millett 1989, pp. 15–48; Taylor 2007, pp. 72–90. See APF 9057; Whitehead 1986, n. 338; Stanton 1996, pp. 350–352. See Morison 2000, pp. 93–98.

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don’t know whether this office was public or private36. In any case the office of epistates would have included maintenance of and capital improvements to a palaistra37. Xenokles, demesman of Sphettos, povided for the construction of the stone bridge across the Kephisos at his own expenses38. All these works can be considered public as regards the public use, but the expenses were drawn from private munificence. Moreover in the demes the wealthy citizens were involved in expending for local cults and festivals. Several attestations regard choregiai, and more generally contributions to those aspects of social life that provide occasions of positive reciprocity, ensuring requital for the euergesia in terms of consensus and prestige. I would like to report two examples among the wide evidence. I remember the exemple of general Derkylos, son of Autokles, Hagnousios. He was honoured by the demesmen of Eleusis for his munificence in providing for the cost of educating Eleusinian boys (paides) 39: … Philippos proposed: since the strategos Derkylos philotimeitai (shows his love and zeal) the community of Eleusinians and, besides other occasions, in providing for the cost of educating the Eleusinian boys; resolved by the Eleusinians to praise Derkylos, son of Autokles, and to crown him with a golden crown worth 500 drachms and to proclaim the crown at Eleusis in the theatre in the time of tragic performance.

Derkylos was charged with important roles: he was one of the envoys sent by Athens to Philip in 346 (he served in two other embassies), and he was a witness in the trial of Aischines in 34340. Clinton rightly reconstructs that the honorand’s generalship had to do with the neighbourhood of Eleusis, and he is probably the same Derkylos who was strategos epi tes choras (general of the countryside) in 319. Whitehead believes that he certainly owned property in the deme and may well have been actually resident41. Like Xenokles, Derkylos, son of Autokles of the deme of Hagnous, is an example of euergetes who wasn’t a demesman. Polystratos, son of Charmantides, priest of Apollo Zoster, in co-operation with other persons chosen by the demesmen of Halai Aixonides has decorated the statues of the temple of the god and has taken care also of the sacrifice of the Zosteria according to ancestral custom. For this reason the assembly of the deme decided to crown him with a crown of laurel42. 36

37 38 39

40 41

42

Morison 2000, p. 96 and discussion in n. 5. Despite the traditional view that palaistrai were private institutions, in Morison’s opinion the evidence for public building of palaistrai is relatively abundant. See supra n. 30 Sources and bibliography in Morison, ibid. Cf. APF 11234; Ampolo 1979, pp. 167–178; Clinton, IEleusis II. Commentary, pp. 105–196. IG II2 1187, ll. 1–14. IEleusis 99. a. 319/318 (?). Cf. APF 3249. The relief represents Derkylos as a small figure in a himation approaching Demeter and Kore from the left. Demeter is seated on a kiste in the centre of the relief extending her right hand which probably held a painted crown. Cf. ADR 127, pl. 68. Full sources in APF 3249. See Clinton, IEleusis II, Commentary, pp. 107–108; Whitehead 1986, p. 247. For Derkylos strategos epi tes choras cf. Plut., Phok. 32 ; Nep., Phok. 2. For the nature of Derkylos’ task and the paides see discussion and bibliography in Clinton, ibid. R&O 46. See Jones 2004, p. 113.

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On the grounds of the ostensibly voluntary nature of euergetism, Jones43 explains local munificence within a pattern of rural personal patronage. He doesn’t share Millett’s opinion44 that the democratic revolution in 462 led to the development and extension of democratic institutions and consequently private patronage “on a grand scale” (such as the Kimonian patronage) was absorbed by various forms of public subsidy; in Jones’ opinion Kimonian style patronage survived in rural communities of the 4th century, since they were able to guarantee all the conditions necessary to sustain a system of personal patronage, and the socioeconomic stratification admitted asymmetrical mutual links between upper and lower classes. On this assumption Jones looks at the demesmen as clientes of the local élites; these élites were groups of wealthy landowners well rooted in the rural demes, while as the asty and its central system did not afford the conditions that could foster faceto-face ties of mutual reciprocity. Osborne45 argues that the society in the demes was characterised by a strong identity, distinctive of a localised society, born from the complementariness between kinship and locality in interpersonal and community relationships. Within this network of local bonds, in the opinion of Cheryl Ann Cox, solidarity would be offset by the litigation rate displayed by contemporary forensic orations46, that would rather point to a fragmented local society. Jones goes to think that the rivalry was all-pervasive and finds the most significant evidence in the quarrels concerning properties, so that the rivalry in this setting inevitably meant rivalry between households47. I’d tend to think that, in the context of micro- communities, contentiousness should be considered physiological, constituent and evidence itself of the existence of interconnected bonds and interests in a narrow environment. Within a steadfast system bound by close ties, also the occasions for negative reciprocity tend to explode with greater violence or more frequently. The rivalry is the complementary counterpart of the local solidarity. In my opinion it is important consider the role of the institutional apparatus of the demes. It disallows, I believe, Jones’ model of patronage and retrenches the reconstruction of a system dominated in a prevailing degree by inter-personal relationships, because the institutions can operate as mechanisms of control of the social forces. The demesmen exercising their voting right in the deme’s assembly over honours to benefactors, or acting in law-courts stand as evidence of the formalisation of roles and tasks at an official level.

43 44 45 46 47

See Jones 2004, p. 77 ss. Cf. Millett 1989, pp. 15–48. Cf. Osborne 1985, p. 64 ss. See Cox 1998 with my review in “Athenaeum”, 89 (2001), pp. 270–278. Jones 2004, pp. 55–59.

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CENSUS QUALIFICATION AS CIVIC VIRTUE In the 4th century census qualification for the upper class goes to be assimilated to a civic virtue and develops its honorary language48. The vocabulary of gratitude emphasizes goodwill (eunoia), the philotimia (zeal, love of honour,) that promoted it, and especially attitude to spontaneity and willingness (prothymia). Voluntary attitude belongs to the behaviour of democracy. It is the epigraphical record to offer the main evidence to the verbal manifestation by which the use of the private wealth in public fields was employed. But, also the judicial oratory is a good tool in order to understand the attitude of the upper class faced with the use the wealth in defining the good and the bad citizen49. The citizen who spends prothymos, i.e. zealously displays a democratic use of his wealth, so that spending in favour of his fellow-citizens corresponds to the good use of wealth. On the other hand the wealthy citizen is expected to spend a party of his means for the good of the polis, but also that the recipient of the benefaction was supposed to respond with gratitude. For all these reasons, the tokens of thankfulness issued by conferring honours, and mentions of distinction aim at awarding virtuous behaviours, and they voice the general feeling of gratitude towards the benefactor. Honours such granting of a crown or the proedria (the front seat) in the theatre, the stele with honorary decrees constitute a form of solicitation displaying a behavioural pattern to the community, in a context in which attitudes of evading fiscal duties is relatively widespread. We may say that a network of mechanisms comes into action to neutralize the euergetes’ counterpart, the bad citizen – that is – whereby the disruptive tendencies are generated by the tension between wanting to privately enjoy one’s wealth, and complying to obligations towards the community. The concept of philotimia “embodied the basic spirit of the public practice of honouring benefactors through an explicit promise that the city would be grateful for their services and would reciprocate with bestowal of honors and privileges”50. A reciprocal system was created, that M. Hakkarainen defines “a policy of philotimia”, in which a new kind of private contribution met a new kind of public gratitude51. Practices show forms of official gratitude of the euergesia, with similarities in the ways this was granted, and in the vocabulary used, in the centre and in the periphery. Yet the two contexts are marked by differences in regard to place, time and goals.

48 49

50 51

Cf. Whitehead 1983, pp. 55–74; Whitehead 1986, p. 241 ss.; Whitehead 1993, pp. 37–76; Hakkarainen 1997, pp. 1–31. Engen 2010, pp. 119–139. Cf. Henry 1983 ; Vannier 1988; Hakkarainen 1997, pp. 21 ss. About the bad citizen I want to cite the recent book of Christ 2008, but the portrait of the god and of the bad citizen in the forensic oratory is a well-known topic in the modern research. See Hakkarainen 1997, p. 14. Hakkarainen 1997, p. 15.

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CONSTRUCTION OF SHARED IDENTITY The demotes and the astos are not exactly overlapping figures, rather they provide different responses to two similar roles, albeit in the different contexts of the demes and of the centre. In the 4th century, while the central institutions aren’t perceived as a system capable of prompting feelings of belonging, it seems that the demes, in fact the rural demes, can discipline occasions and mechanisms that create shared identity. The reciprocity developed through the expression of gratitude towards benefactors constitutes an effective tool to this purpose. As regards to bestowal of honors, the deme society was inclusive. The honorand wasn’t necessarily a demesman. The strategos Derkyolos, which the Eleusinians honored for his part in training for the youth of the deme, was registred in the deme of Hagnous52. Xenokles, wich constructed at his own expenses the stone bridge across the Kephisos, bore the demotic of Sphettos53. Apart from the social mobility in the course of the two centuries from Cleisthenes’ reforms to the second half of the 4th century that probably changed the link between registration and residence in the deme54, it appears clear that the deme isn’t a closed society, but an open system which shows forms of cooperation and exchanges of men and activities among the demes. The solicitation to spend is likewise expressed in the hortatory formula of honorary decrees, which D. Whitehead defined “manifesto-clause”; that is, a clause of the decree which represented the community’s approval of philotimia of honorand and its desire for more of it, from others, in future55. It was not long ago analysed by Peter Liddel56 within the context of what he explains as negotiation of obligations. It provides a strong evidence for Athenian ethics of solidarity and his ambivalent interpretation. As exemple I give the clause of an honorary decree from the deme of Myrrhinous57: … in order that others may display philotimia towards the demesmen and know that they will bring rewards (charitas) worthy of their kindness (axios ton euergematon) from the demesmen.

The bestowal of praise and honours prompts others to emulate the honorand’s good behaviour, and it exhibits the community’s lavish expression of gratitude. The ideologies of competition, reciprocity and altruism certainly constitute major issues58, and I’d like to add the observation that the control over the negotiation is enforced through the deme’s institutional devices (the assembly, the decrees). Lacking a local fiscal system, the solicitation to spend reveals the local community’s control over its citizens’ goods and its influence in directing them to collective purposes. I would not consider this as a form of patronage, but rather a spending program steered by the demesmen. Negotiation of obligations allows redressing differences of social 52 53 54 55 56 57 58

See supra. See supra. For bibliography and discussion see Whitehead 1986, p. 67 ss. Whitehead 1986, p. 246 ss. Liddel pp. 112, 165 ss. IG II2 1182, ll. 11–16. M. IV sec. See Liddel p. 165 ss.

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status, to create shared identity and to reinforce forms of belonging recognised as binding and can inform the competitive behaviours with common goals. Shared identity and sense of belonging also mark the boundaries within which to set the voluntary disposition to spend. The exhibition of gratitude gives the inscriptions a practical purpose that goes beyond the hortatory intention. During the fourth century there are significant changes in wealth distribution. A significant portion of land coming into different ownership, perhaps even a more homogeneous distribution of wealth with a higher percentage of the surviving population59. Indeed, while on one hand the forensic oratory attests initiatives aimed at eluding fiscal duties by rendering wealth invisible, on the other hand evidence from the rural demes reveals the élites’ private ostentation of wealth. In the demes wealth is not concealed, but rather employed to the communal benefit and flaunted in the pursuit of personal goals. The sumptuous funerary monuments at Rhamnous provide effectual evidence of this behaviour; they reveal a degree of ostentation unknown in the 5th century and they most certainly cannot be taken as a symptom of aphanes ousia60. Rightly J. K. Davies61 is of opinion that they reflect the economic position of the men who were buried there as well as a scale of taste, fashion, and values. I would like to add the these monumental tombs intend to show the high social standing of the family through the private use of the wealth. Ostentation of wealth at the local level serves multiple aims. Conformly to Athenian mentality, taking good care of the tombs was a testimony of one’s piety towards his kin and family which stood among the most heartfelt precepts among the Athenians, and was thus part of the portrait of the good citizen. On the other hand, the funerary monument marked the family’s position within that range of wealth that guaranteed that its members could take charge of spending initiatives, in a social and outwardly projected perspective, as a local upper class that, in turn, drew prestige to the whole deme. We can recognize in all these practices some aspects of civic rituals that illustrated the arrangement of the political society and provided a medium between the 59 60

61

Osborne 1985, p. 37 ss.; Jones 2004, p. 17 ss., 48 ss.; Taylor 2007, p. 81 ss. The tombs were built of local white marble and their dimension was monumental. I confine myself to remember two exemples. The tomb of Menestides (380–370 B. C.) is 7.50 m. long and 1.70.m. high. The funerary monument of Diogeiton (end of the 4th c. B. C.) is 6.50 m. long and 4.16 m. high. The solonian sumptuary law in force during the fifth century forbade monumental tombs. Cf. Cic. De legibus II, 26, 64: lege sanctum est ne quis sepulchrum facere operosius quam quod decem homines effecerint triduo. It was probably the growing in the sumptuous tombs to call forth Demetrios’ sumptuary legislation of 317. Cf. Cic. De legibus II, 26, 66. According to Demetrios the tombs had to be embellished with a small and simply column. Cfr. Nielsen 1989, pp. 414; Petrakos I, 1999, pp 337–339 (the nomothesia), pp. 343–413 (the funerary monuments). The culture of commemoration was an important issue in the social life of Athens and it is well-known that it voiced moral, cultural, political attitudes. The tombs of Rhamnous testify some of the changes in commemorative practices that from the end of the fifth century concerned the form and the function of the burial, and affected public and private behaviours. For these aspects I would like to cite two essays published in the last years: Shear 2007, pp. 91–115 ; Marchiandi 2011, pp. 133–162, both with full bibliography. For the commemorative practices in the military framework see now Low, Oliver & Rhodes 2012. See Davies in APF p. XIX.

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élite and the people. I agree with Muir’s opinion that “although civic rituals often served the ruler’s interests they were not just propaganda and did not pass messages in only one direction”62. Effectively not only there was a reciprocity of obligations and expectations between upper and lower classes in the deme, but also a convergence in the construction of local pride that provided a powerful tool in developing a shared identity.

THE PERFORMANCE OF THE GRATITUDE In remembering the gratitude the Athenians bestowed upon their benefactors the orators evoke three elements as most significant: the proclamation, the moment, and the place. The names of those men who had greatly benefited their demesmen were read before of the whole community and the honours that had been bestowed on them in the form of a crown were specified63. This honour and the public proclamation were performed in front of the whole city, when the euergesia concerned all the citizens. It was a great honour to be singled out in this way: the proclamation invested the procedure with a institutional role. The proclamation speaks to all the Athenians and, as Aeschines states, it serves an educational function in exhorting to virtue and cohesion64. For Demosthenes this ceremony of announcing the names the civic benefactors is fundamentally connected to a projection and promotion of civic duties and civic self-image. The speech De corona is the most important literary source of the use of private wealth in a public field65. Contesting Aeschines’ charge, Demosthenes’ point of view was that he gave from his own private wealth, so that his proclamation was lawful. The litigation offers to the orator a good occasion to explain the connection between private liberality and public honours66and to appreciate the policy of philotimia and his reciprocity. The proclamation of the names of those who had benefited the demes is another way of asserting ties and duties at local niveau which had been perceived as an important public occasion. In the exhibition of gratitude urged by the hortatory formula of the honorary decrees, Demosthenes discerned two level: on one hand the people’s wilful thankfulness, and, on the other hand, the legal form of this gratitude. The orator observed that distinction is recognised by Athenian laws and ethic67: The benefaction deserves gratitude and formal thanks … that this distinction is recognized both in the statutes (en tois nomois) and in your moral feelings (en tois humeterois ethesi), I can prove by many instances.

62 63

64 65 66 67

Muir 1981, p. 5 ss. cited and commented by Connor. Cf. Connor 1987, pp. 40–50. Dem. XVIII. De corona 120. For epigraphical evidence see Henry 1983, and Hakkarainen 1997, pp. 1–31. For a discussion see also Whitehead 1983, pp. 55–74; Goldhill 1987, pp. 58– 76; Jones 2004, p. 127 ss. Aesch, III. C. Ctesiph. 153–154. Goldhill 1987, pp. 58–76; Hakkarainen 1997, p. 19 ss. Dem., XVIII. De corona 113. Dem., XVIII. De corona 114.

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The case concerning Demosthenes’ honours shows that a law prescribing the Athenian rewarding system already existed in the 330’s. Hakkarainen’s opinion is that the law concerning the reciprocal relationship between generous wealthy citizens and the rewarding polis seems to have legally ratified shortly after the 350’s68. The honorary decree to Xenokles cited above gives explicit evidence for the law in 321/320. In other terms, the nomos prescribing the Athenian rewarding system concerned, or between 350 and the date of the decree of Xenocles had gone to concern, the whole polis as well the demes. The demes were autonomous in declaring their benefactors, but the procedures had to be conforming to the law of the polis. The dedicated moments were the festivals of urban (en astei) Dionysia and the rural Dionysia (ta kat’agrous Dionysia) in the demes69. They provide the framework to a shared moment of collective consciousness. A key function of this civic ritual was fixed upon the place of the proclamation: this was the theatre, in the city as well as in the rural demes70. The proclamation for the strategos Derkylos took place in the theatre of the deme of Eleusis71. It is not misleading to believe that the mention “at the agon of the Dionysia” in some decrees relates to a similar situation72. Not all the demes had theatres, the theatron might have been nothing more than a well-positioned slope with extemporaneous staging arrangements erected73. Moreover, the deme theatre, naturally, might have not-agonistic uses, but the proclamation for the honorands is the only category that can be illustrated from the sources74. The proclamation carried out in the theatre is supported by the evidence of Demosthenes’ De corona75. Aeschines too, apart the specific case of Demosthenes receiving a crown, takes for granted that the announcement of the crown must be before the people in the theatre, and he is aware that the ceremony is an important public moment76. After 332/31 the crowning was the basic part of the honours granted by the polis, all the honorary decrees bestow the crown, so that the wreath must be considered as the embodiment of the granted honours77. But it is Demosthenes’ motivation to attract our attention. The place is basic, because the proclamation must be carried out before the audience for the 68 69

70

71 72 73 74 75 76 77

Hakkarainen 1997, p. 28 ss. For the evidence in the demes see the texts collected in Jones pp. 127–142. Also see Whitehead, p. 235 ss. According to Hakkarainen it was also possible to have the honours and the wreath from the whole city declared during the Panathenaic festivals. The crown for Demosthenes were declared during a Panathenaic festival, but it was one of the reasons Aeschines was accusing him. Cf. Hakkarainen 1997, pp. 25–26 Many demes had their own theatre: Eleusis, Piraeus, Aixone, Thorikos, Rhamnous, Icaria, Salamis. They were all much frequented. Ael., VH II, 13: An anecdote tells us Socrates used to attend the tragedies performed at the theatre of Piraeus. See Jones pp. 127–142. See supra the text. IG II2 1187; IEleusis 99; APF 3249; ADR 127, pl. 68. A. 319/18 (?). Full evidence in Jones pp. 129–137. For the formula see SEG 43, 26. Cf. Jones 2004, pp. 129–130: Acharnai (315/314); pp. 134– 135: Peiraieus (ca. 300–250). Jones 2004, p.140 ss. Jones 2004, pp. 128–129. Dem., XVIII. De corona 120. Aesch., III. C. Ctesiph. 41–56. See Henry 1983, pp. 22–42, Hakkarainen 1997, pp. 25–26.

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gratification of those conferring it, whereas to the receiver the crown is equally gratifying wherever it may be proclaimed. Thus, the citizens are applauding the exhibition of thanks rather than the person being crowned78: As for the proclamation in the theatre […] are you so unintelligent and blind, Aeschines, that you are incapable of reflecting that a crown id equally gratifying to the person crowned wheresoever it is proclaimed, but the proclamation is made in the theatre merely for the sake of those by whom it is conferred? For the whole vast audience is stimulated to do service to the commonwealth, and applauds those who voice their gratitude rather than the man who receives the crown; and that is the reason why the state has enacted this statute.

The whole sense of Athenian civic culture is summed up in Demosthenes’ rhetoric. Showing gratitude is a civic responsibility as much as munificence is, and both one and the other must be publicly displayed. Proclamation is the official component of the process of constructing collective ethics within which roles and obligations between donor and recipient must be negotiated, and furthermore it works as a tool to control use of wealth. In the theatre, not only the proclamation is held, but there stand the stele inscribed with the text of the decrees granting honours to the euergetai79. Besides the proclamation the decree enacted to erect the stele, determined the place where it had to be put up, instructed the demarchos to take care of realizing. The usual formula on the honorary decrees says80: … that the demarchos engraves the decree on a stone stele and erect in the theatre.

Demosthenes explains such a practice within a framework of civic ethics and in the light of the reciprocity that links benefactors and people 81: Perhaps some the men named are not along alive. But their deeds survive, since they were done once for all. It is fitting, therefore, to allow these inscriptions to hold good for all time, … and when they die, those inscriptions may be a memorial of our national character …and may stand as proofs to all who wish to do us service declaring how many benefactors our city has benefited in return.

So the theatre became also the memorial of the civic virtues. Together with the ekklesia and the courts, the theatre was one of the three places of speech, one of the pillars of the Athenian civic system, where the condition of citizenship was moulded by partaking (metechein) in the common actions82. The theorikon ensured the participation to the urban performances. It was precisely the inter-connection between democracy, tragic performances and audience that attributed to the theatre the character of a civic space. Thus, we can properly look at the theatre as at the third assembly (with the ecclesia and the courts), where citizens constructed their common identity, and this became the place where the paramount social values were put on display.

78 79 80 81 82

Dem., XVIII. De corona 120. IG II21197, 1198, 1202, SEG 36, 186: the deme of Aixone. IG II2, 1197; cf. IG II2, 1198, SEG 36, 186: decrees of the deme Aixone. Dem., XX. C. Lept. 64. See Liddel, 2007, p. 137 ss.

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Besides the proclamation of the benefactors, the theatre of Dionysos en astei was the place of other specific ceremonies before the tragedies. In the fifth century the tribute of the allies of the Athenian Empire was brought into the theatre and displayed in the orchestra in front of the citizens and of the foreign visitors83. Rhetorically, Isocrates claims that such a projection of power was a precise way to become hated by other people84: For so exactly did they gauge the actions by which human beings incur the worst odium that passed a decree to divide the surplus of the funds derived from the tributes of the allies into talents and top bring it on the stage, when the theatre was full, at the festival of Dionysos.

I agree with S. Goldhill that the display was not the exhibition of grandeur that the rhetor wants to emphasize, it was rather the public demonstration of the Athenian power and of its role as force in the Greek world by remembering the political and military success of the polis85. I would like to cite Goldhill’s words: “It used the state festival to glorify the state”86. A third ceremony in the theatre before the plays was linked to the civic ideology. The children of those who died in war were brought on the stage. Aeschines outlines what the proclamation of the orphans means in the framework of the civic discourse87: For what Greek nurtured in freedom would not mourn as he sat in the theatre and recalled this, if nothing more, tha once on those day, when as now the tragedies were about to be performed, in a time when the city had better customs and followed better leaders, the herald would come forward and place before you the orphans whose fathers had died in battle, young men clad in the panoply of war; and he would utter that proclamation so honourable and such an incentive to valour: “These young men, whose fathers showed themselves brave men and died in war, have been supported by the state until they have come of age; and now clad thus in full, armour b y their fellow citizens, they are sent out with the prayers of the city, to go each his way; and they are invited to seats of honour in the theatre”. Such was the proclamation then, but not today.

I would remember that the libations before the tragedies were poured from the ten generals. The evidence concerning Cimon and his fellow-generals can be concern one of the institutional duties of the generalship in the fifth and probably in the fourth century88. In the fifth century, at the time of the arché, the theatre functioned as a mirror to the imperialistic identity. I could say, it turned into the theatre of the empire, so that in the following century Isocrates could make a rethorical use of the ceremony in order to deplore the arrogance of the ancestors in displaying the tribute 83 84 85 86 87

88

Isocr., VIII. De pace 120; schol. ad Aristoph., Acharn. 504. Isoscr., VIII. De pace 120. Cf. Aristoph., Acharn. 496–507, where the festival is the Lenaia. Discussion in Goldhill 1987, pp. 58–76. Goldhill 1987, p. 60 ss. Goldhill 1987, ibid. Aesch., III. C. Ctesiph. 153–154. But, by a similar rhetorical emphasis Isocrates says: “ … they led in upon the stage the sons of those who had lost their lives in the war, seeking thus to display to our allies, on the one hand, the value of their own property … an d to the rest of the Hellenes, on the other, the multitude of the fatherless and the misfortunes which rsulted from this policy of aggression “. Cf. Isocr., VIII. De pace 82. Cf. Plut., Cim. 8, 7–9. A fourth-century inscription testifies the strategoi were involved in cultic duties in the dramatic festivals: IG II2 1496.

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publicly. At the time of Aeschines the ceremony of the orphans was already no longer performed. In the fourth century the imperialistic role had declined, and the urban theatre stressed his civic role, but had to compete with the rural theatres. We can reckon that both the assembly of politai in the theatre of Dionysos en astei, and the assembly of demesmen in the rural theatres, equally express an official form of partaking in civic institutions. At the centre as in the demes, the theatre was the space where the negotiation of social roles removed, or at least reduced, the opposition between the wealthy and the poor. It became the place for the expression of shared gratitude, the place where the reciprocity of euergesia, as well as the complementarity between private initiative and public duties received visibility. The imperialistic contest, the central and local framework, although in the different moments and by not equal aims, stress the role of the theatre as a key place where the civic behaviour in the democratic polis was displayed. Concluding, from the V to the IV century we can recognize changes, in the attitudes by which the citizens approached political life, in the places devoted to institutions, in the aims and expectations put into partaking in the governing system of the polis. The political map of Athens is redrawn by the multiplication of the centres of activity and decision-making, and by growing functions and competencies of the demes. Census qualification is promoted as a civic virtue. Willingness to spend by private spontaneous initiatives creates the new social role of the benefactor and finds its privileged space of display in the demes. Relatively to the employment of wealth, forensic orations and epigraphical evidence of the fourth century outline the ambivalent figures of the bad citizen as tax evader, and of the good demesman as euergetes. To a certain extent we may draw a ideal trajectory going from the centralism and financial initiative of the state in all sectors of public life, beginning in the Periclean age, to the competitive primacy of the demes and the social function of private munificence in the IV century. Essentially the new relation between centre and periphery, and between levy duties and private use of wealth, are two connected issues, because the deme becomes the privileged place where the exponents of the élites can display their munificence and thus earn the local community’s consensus. A “typified deme” doesn’t exist, nonetheless we can outline a typology of the main sectors in which the benefactors’ generosity is displayed: – engaging in community activities – using wealth – engaging in religious practice – training the youth These outline a sphere of spending initiatives that serves as a status symbol for the upper class in the demes. The life of the community is ruled by a system of values centred upon the figure of the benefactor and his actions, within a combination between public and private by which the benefactor’s action responds to the community’s expectations. The demes provide the material and social structures within which a shared civic identity may take shape and contribute to the social cohesion. This local microcosm seems to better answer the needs of the community, in the 4th century,

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certainly it fosters interpersonal contacts that constitute an essential component of social life and that cannot instead find adequate responses at the centre. The fact that a certain number of benefactors are not demesmen clearly shows that the munificence doesn’t belong to contexts of solidarity of exasperated localism. There is a circuit of munificence that flows among the demes and excludes the city. In times of hardship, when the general situation could well have created social conflicts, local solidarities provided a medium to subside tensions rising from differences of status and economic condition – that is – in the co-existence of the rich and the poorer. Hortatory formulae of the honorary decrees provide some of the most significant evidence for the social strategies employed in constructing the ethics of solidarity. Gratitude for the good use of wealth stands out among the main themes of the civic narration and develops its own institutional forms and its official places. The decree bestowing honours upon the benefactor provides visibility to the reciprocity of aims and expectations between the donor and the receiver, and confers a formal aspect to the strategies enacted to prompt engagement among the citizens. The theatre becomes the institutional space of collective gratitude. Through the demesmen’s initiative of deliberation, as well as in the proclamation in the theatre in front of the local assembly, we can recognize the limits within which to define the voluntary aspect of munificence. We may come to the conclusion that the spontaneous use of wealth was in some extent steered by the local institutions. Procedures and places highlight the civic institutions’ negotiation to direct individual roles and initiatives towards the construction of a shared solidarity. In the fourth century, local identity gave the citizen the awareness of a form of civic belonging through peripheral structures that qualified him foremost as a demesman. This local participation did not overshadow the citizen identity given by partaking in the central institutions, and furthermore the network of the demotic institutions prevented the politics of locality from slipping towards particularism.

ABBREVIATIONS ADR APF IEleusis

IRhamnous R&O SEG SGHI I

C. L. Lawton, Attic Document Reliefs. Art and Politics in Ancient Athens, Oxford 1995. J. K. Davies, Athenian Propertied Families, 600–300 B. C., Oxford 1971. K. Clinton, Eleusis. The Inscriptions on Stone. Documents of the Sancutary of the two Goddess and Public Documents of the Deme I A: Text, Athens 2005 II: Commentary, Athens 2008. B. Ch. Petrakos, O demos tou Ramnous. I. Topographia; II. Oi epigrapghes, Athina 1999. P. J. Rhodes, R. Osborne (edd.), Greek Historical Inscriptions 404–323 B. C., Oxford 2003. Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum, Leiden 1923-. R. Meiggs, D. Lewis (edd.), A Selection of Greek Historical Inscriptions to the End of the Fifth Century B. C., Oxford 1989.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY Ampolo, C., Un politico “evergete” del IV secolo a. C.: Xenokles figlio di Xeinis del demo di Sphettos, “PP”, 34 (1979), pp. 167–178. Asheri, D., Identità greche, identità greca, in S. Settis (a cura di), I Greci. Storia Cultura Arte Società, 2: Una storia greca, II: Definizione, Torino 1997, pp. 5–26. Christ, M. R., The Bad Citizen in Classical Athens, Cambridge 2008. Connor, W. R., Tribes, festivals and processions: civic cerimonial and political manipulation in Archaic Greece, “JHS”, 107 (1987), pp. 40–50. Cox C. A., Households Interests: Property, Marriage Strategies and Family Dynamics in Ancient Athens, Princeton 1998. Daverio Rocchi, G., Transformations de rôle dans les institutions d’Athènes au IVe siècle par rapport aux changements dans la société, “DHA”, 4 (1978), pp. 33–50. Daverio Rocchi, G., Frontiera e confini nella Grecia antica, Roma 1988. Daverio Rocchi G., L’autogoverno nel modello ateniese, in G. Schiavone (a cura di), La democrazia diretta. Progetto politico per la società di giustizia, Bari 1997, pp. 49–66. Daverio Rocchi, G., Formen der politischen Betätigung des athenischen Bürgers in der klassichen Zeit, “Tyche. Beiträge zur Alten Geschichte, Papyrologie und Epigraphik”, 13 (1998), pp. 51– 60. Davies, J. K., Athenian Propertied Families 600–300 B. C., Oxford 1971. Davies, J. K., Wealth and the Power of Wealth in Classical Athens, New York 1981. Della Porta, D., La politica locale: potere, istituzioni e attori tra centro e periferia, Bologna 2006. Engen, D. T., Honor and Profit. Athenian Trade Policy and the Economy and Society of Greece, 415–307 B. C. E., Ann Arbor 2010. Frösén J. (ed.), Early Hellenistic Athens: Symptoms of Change, Helsinki 1997. Gabrielsen, V., Phanera and Aphanes Ousia in Classical Athens, “C&M”, 37 (1986), pp. 99–114. Gabrielsen, V., The Antidosis Procedure in Classical Athens, “C&M”, 38 (1987), pp.7–38. Gauthier, Ph., Les cités grecques et leur bienfaiteurs (IVe-Ier siècles avant J.-C.), Paris 1985. Goldhill, S. D., The Great Dionysia and civic Ideology, “JHS”, 107 (1987), pp. 58–76. Hakkarainen, M., Private Wealth in the Athenian public sphere during the late Classical and Early Hellenistic Period, in J. Frösén, (ed.), Early Hellenistic Athens: Symptoms of Change, Helsinki 1997, pp. 1–31. Hansen, M. H., On the Importance of Institutions in an Analysis of Athenian Democracy, “C&M”, 40 (1989), pp. 107–113. Haussoullier, B., La vie municipale en Attique. Essai sur l’organisation ders dèmes au IVe siècle, Paris 1884 (reprint New York 1979). Henry, A. S., Honours ands Privileges in Athenian Decrees: the Principal Formulae of Athenian Decrees, Hildesheim 1983. Ismard, P., La Cité des réseaux. Athènes et ses associations, VIe–Ier siècle av.J.-C., Paris 2010. Jones, F. N., The Associations of Classical Democracy: The Response to Democracy, New York 1999. Jones, F. N., Rural Athens under the Democracy, Philadelphia 2004. Kloppenborg J. S., Wilson S. G. (edd.), Voluntary Associations in the Graeco-Roman World, London 1996. Lambert, S. D., Some political shifts in Lykourgan Athens, in V. Azoulay, P. Ismard (edd.), Clisthène et Lycurgue d’Athènes. Autour du politique dans la cité classique, Paris, 2011, pp. 175–190. Lasagni, C., I decreti onorifici dei demi attici e la prassi politica delle realtà locali, in E. Culasso Gastaldi (ed.), La prassi della democrazia ad Atene nel IV secolo. Voci di un seminario, Alessandria 2004, pp. 91–125. Laslett, P., The face to face society, in P. Laslett (ed.), Philosophy, Politics and society: first series, Oxford 1956, pp. 157–184.

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Leiwo, M., Religion, or other Reasons? Private associations in Athens, in J. Frösén, (ed.), Early Hellenistic Athens: Symptoms of Change, Helsinki 1997, pp. 103–117. Liddel, P., Civic Obligation and Individual Liberty in Ancient Athens, Oxford 2007. Low, P., Oliver, G. & Rhodes, P. J. (edd.), Cultures of Commemoration. War Memorials, Ancient and Modern, Oxford 2012. Marchiandi, D., Les périboles funéraires familiaux à l’époque de Lycurge: entre aspirations “bourgeoises” et tendances nouvelles, in V. Azoulay, P. Ismard (edd.), Clisthène et Lycurgue d’Athènes. Autour du politique dans la cité classique, Paris, 2011, pp. 133–162. Millett, P., Patronage and Its Avoidance in Classical Athens, in A. Wallace-Hadrill (ed.), Patronage in Ancient Society, London 1989, pp. 15–48. Monaco, M. C., Offrandes publiques et privées sur l’Acropole et l’Agora d’Athènes à l’époque lycurguéenne (340–320 av. J.-C.), in V. Azoulay, P. Ismard (edd.), Clisthène et Lycurgue d’Athènes. Autour du politique dans la cité classique, Paris, 2011, pp. 219–231. Morison, W. S., An Honorary Deme Decree and the Administration of a Palaistra in Kephissia, “ZPE”, 131 (2000), pp. 93–98. Nielsen, T. H., Hansen M. H., Rubinstein L., Vestergaard T., Athenian Grave Monuments and Social Class, “Gr.Rom. Byz.St.”, 30 (1989), pp. 411–420. Oliver, G., Before “Lykourgan Athens”: the origins of change, in V. Azoulay, P. Ismard (edd.), Clisthène et Lycurgue d’Athènes. Autour du politique dans la cité classique, Paris, 2011, pp.119–132. Osborne, R., Demos: the Discovery of Classical Attika, Cambridge 1985. Papazarkadas, N., Sacred and Public Land in Ancient Athens, Oxford 2011. Rhodes, P. J., State and Religion in Athenian Inscriptions, “Greece & Rome”, 56 (2009), pp. 1–13. Scheid-Tissinier, É., Les dèmes, lieux de la citoyenneté, lieux de conflits, in V. Azoulay, P. Ismard (edd.), Clisthène et Lycurgue d’Athènes. Autour du politique dans la cité classique, Paris, 2011, pp. 275–293. Shear, J. L., Cultural Change, Space, and Politics of Commemoration in Athens, in R. Osborne (ed.), Debating the Athenian Cultural Revolution: Art, Literature, Philosphy and Politics 430–380 BC, Cambridge 2007, pp. 91–115. Sinclair, R. K., Democracy and Participation in Athenian Public Life, Cambridge [etc.] 1988,. Stanton, G. R., Some Inscriptions in Attic Demes, in “ABSA”, 91 (1996), pp. 341–364. Taylor, C., A new political world, in R. Osborne (ed.), Debating the Athenian Cultural Revolution: Art, Literature, Philosphy and Politics 430–380 BC, Cambridge 2007, pp. 72–90. Vannier, F., Finances publiques et richesses privées dans le discours athénien au Ve et au IVe siècles, Paris 1988. Whitehead, D., Competitive Outlay and Community Profit: philotimia in democratic Athens, “C&M”, 34 (1983), pp. 55–74. Whitehead, D., The Demes of Attica: A Political and Social Study, Princeton 1986. Whitehead, D., Cardinal Virtues, “C&M”, 44 (1993), pp. 37–76.

THE ATHENIAN GRAIN-TAX LAW OF 374/3 B. C.: UNFINISHED BUSINESS Ronald Stroud

Since the publication of its editio princeps in 1998, the Athenian law of 374/3 B. C. on the grain-tax in the islands of Lemnos, Imbros, and Skyros has continued to spark lively commentary and productive debate.1 There have been many valuable contributions to its interpretation in the last fifteen years. Not the least of these was a round-table held in Pisa in June of 2006 at the Scuola Normale Superiore followed by publication of the contributions by ten different scholars in 2010.2 Despite the brisk pace of publication, however, several problems of interpretation in this complex document remain unsolved. It is the purpose of this paper both to highlight some of these and to note some recent work on this inscription.3 Inscribed on a complete marble stele found in the northwest corner of the Agora Excavations near the Stoa Basileia, one of the most remarkable features of this document is its excellent state of preservation. The text is almost all there and restoration is not a major factor in its interpretation. This is indeed a happy circumstance, for this inscription contains so much new information and so many non-formulaic passages that it is frightening to think what epigraphists and others might have made of it, had it been only about half preserved.4 A major aspect of this legislation that echoes a theme raised by several contributors to the present symposium is the direct intervention of elected political and administrative officials of Athens in the operation of the economy of the polis in the early fourth century B. C. The geographic venue is the northern Aegean Sea, specifically the three klerouchies of Lemnos, Imbros, and Skyros, and the sector is the production, taxing, and exportation of wheat and barley grown on the three islands to Athens. The main players are the farmers who harvest this grain; the publicly appointed collectors of the tax and their guarantors; officials who supervise the 1

2

3

4

Stroud 1998; Rhodes/Osborne 2003, no. 26. SEG XLVIII 96. I am grateful to Professor Claudia Tiersch for the kind invitation to speak on this topic at the symposium and to Cynthia Klinghammer for all her help while I was in Berlin. I wish to thank Nikolaos Papazarkadas for kindly reading an earlier version of this paper. Magnetto, Erdas, and Carusi 2010, with ample bibliography and thorough indices on pp. 251– 302. They reprint the text and translation of the editio princeps together with an Italian translation by U. Fantasia and a photograph of Agora I 7557 on pp. 243–249. The latest notation of on-going publications in SEG is in LIX 103, with the normal retroactive references. In Stroud 2010, pp. 11–25, I attempted a summary of bibliography through August 2009. Also on pp. 235–242, I suggested some topics for future research on this law and some remaining problems of interpretation. On this point see Fantasia 2004, p. 513; Stroud 2010, p. 12.

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auction in Athens of the right to collect this tax; a newly-elected board of ten men who see to it that the wheat and barley reach a new storage facility in the Aiakeion5 before the month of Maimakterion and who oversee the quality and the weighing of the grain and its eventual sale to the public; and finally the Assembly of Athens, which sets the timing and the price at which the people’s wheat and barley will be sold to the public no sooner than the month of Anthesterion. One of the most fundamental interventions in the grain market of the three Athenian klerouchies is this law’s provision that, “in order that the demos will have grain in the public domain,” an already existing tax of one-twelfth (δωδεκάτη) and another tax of one-fiftieth (πεντηκοστή), previously assessed and collected in cash, will henceforth be collected in kind, lines 5–8. Although there seems to be general agreement among scholars about the dodekate, collected now in wheat and barley, the pentekoste remains problematic. Its identity and location are uncertain. Was it, for instance, a tax on grain assessed in cash on Lemnos, Imbros, and Skyros, or a harbor-tax perhaps on exports and imports in the islands or in Peiraieus? The only clue to its identity within the law itself appears to be a later, obscure reference in line 57 to “as much of the pentekoste as was last year brought in from the two-tenths.” Here the reference to the previous yield of the pentekoste is clearly to a tax then computed in cash. Despite the inference drawn in the editio princeps and in Rhodes/Osborne 2003 from σίτο (line 8) that the law now mandates payment of the pentekoste in grain, others have argued that this tax continued to be paid in cash even after the enactment of the grain-tax law.6 The on-going discussion of this problem can be followed in Rhodes/Osborne 2003, p. 126; Fantasia 2004, pp. 514–518; 2010, p. 69; Faraguna 2010b, pp. 18–20; Stroud 2010, pp. 235–237. The identity of the pentekoste certainly constitutes one of the major pieces of unfinished business in the interpretation of this law. The opening clause about selling the right to collect the dodekate and the pentekoste is immediately followed by a definition of each μερίς into which the grain-tax is divided, ἡ δὲ μερὶς ἑκ̣ [ά]|στη ἔσται πεντακόσιοι μέδιμνοι, πυ[ρῶ]|ν μὲν ἑκατόν, κριθῶν δὲ τετρακόσιοι. “Each meris will consist of 500 medimnoi, 100 of wheat and four hundred of barley.” In lines 28–30 the prospective tax-farmer (ὁ πριάμενος) is assessed sales-tax (ἐπώνια) and a herald’s fee (κηρύκεια) of 20 drachmas per meris (κατὰ τὴν μερίδα) and also required to produce two solvent guarantors per meris.

5 6

For this sanctuary see below pp. 191. Lines 6–8, τὴν δωδεκάτην πωλ[εῖ]|ν τὴν ἐν Λήμνωι καὶ Ἴμβρωι καὶ Σκύρω[ι κ]αὶ τὴν πεντηκοστὴν σίτο translated in the editio princeps, “sell the 8 1/3 % tax (dodekate) (which originates) in Lemnos, Imbros, and Skyros, and the 2 % tax (pentekoste) in terms of grain” and by Rhodes/Osborne 2003, “sell the tax of one twelfth at Lemnos, Imbros, and Scyros, and the tax of one-fiftieth, in grain.” Others have taken the genitive closely with τὴν πεντηκοστήν as “la cinquantesima del grano,” Fantasia 2010, p. 247; cf. Corsaro 2010, pp. 100–102. Stroud 1998, pp. 37–39, argued that the tax in line 8 is to be distinguished from the πεντηκοστὴ τοῦ σίτου, later attested in [Demosthenes], 59.27. Helpful on the pentekoste is Bissa 2009, p. 189.

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Later, in lines 31–33 the law specifies a different kind of meris. It will consist of a symmoria of 3,000 medimnoi and six men: συμ[μορ]|ία ἔσται ἡ μερὶς τρισχίλιοι μέδιμ̣ [νοι,]| ἓξ ἄνδρες. We shall come back to this passage later. It is clear from ἑκάστη in line 8 and κατὰ τὴν μερίδα in lines 28 and 30 that the lawgiver had many merides in mind. It is also significant, I think, that it is the copula verb, in the future, that is used to define a meris. The meris will “consist of” what follows. In the editio princeps and in Rhodes/Osborne 2003, the word meris was interpreted in these passages as a “portion” or “share.”7 This is its meaning for instance in Attic inscriptions concerned with the distribution of portions of sacrificial meat at festivals or with separate sectors of fortification walls repaired by different sets of construction workers.8 The law does not specify how many merides an individual tax farmer was permitted to buy, nor how many merides the polis was prepared to auction off in any given year. This may in fact have varied from year to year depending on the size of the harvest. It is also perhaps a not unreasonable projection from the definition of a meris as consisting of 500 medimnoi that this was what a tax-farmer was expected to bring back with him to Athens. The word meris, however, is also found in topographic contexts to designate a plot of land or division of a territory and M. Faraguna has urged that in Agyrrhios’ law it should be interpreted in this manner. Drawing on his persuasive analysis of the structure of the leases for the Laureion mines and other inscriptions,9 he has presented a powerful case for regarding the word meris as part of the lexicon of leasing, designating in the grain-tax law a portion of territory clearly defined by its geographic limits. It is for the right to collect the grain-tax in such units of Lemnos, Imbros, and Skyros that the tax-collectors in our inscription bid at auction. That the clause defining a meris in the law (lines 8–10) is introduced so abruptly and that no details are given about the location of the merides are both probably a function of the incomplete nature of the law as inscribed on this stone to be discussed below, p. 190. To this legal aspect of the interpretation of the term meris has recently been added another physical, topographical consideration. Study of the terrain and excavated remains of farmsteads of the classical period on the island of Lemnos has impressed students of the Italian School of Archaeology with the resemblance of these installations to similar entities in the countryside of Attica. Some of these farmsteads on Lemnos even contain the same kind of family burial plots familiar from a number of the rural Attic demes. Found in association with them are Athenian pottery and Attic-style grave monuments. Such finds demonstrate continuity of ownership of these farms over several generations. Associated with these agricultural units are numerous security horos inscriptions similar in shape, size, and textual components to the extensive series of similar documents found throughout Attica. Some of these bear the names and demotics of Athenian citizens, who were

7 8 9

P. Gauthier, BE (2001) no. 165, also argued for this interpretation Among others, see the examples quoted in Stroud 1998, p. 40. Faraguna 2006.

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allotted kleroi on the island.10 The size, organization, and physical features of these kleroi on Lemnos have suggested to some that they may have had some relation to the merides in Agyrrhios’ law. The plots of land on the island may have been organized in such a way, perhaps even with a cadaster, that tied in with the instructions on how the tax of one twelfth was farmed in lines 8–36. That is, possibly a tax farmer, the priamenos of our inscription, contracted with the polis to collect the tax on the wheat and barley from a specific geographic sector on Lemnos, Imbros, or Skyros, a meris.11 Aside from the meaning of the word meris and its syntactical position in the three passages examined above, there does not seem to be any further evidence in the text of the law to show whether we are dealing with a share or portion of 500 medimnoi or a plot of land that produced 500 medimnoi. Until better evidence is available, however, the second interpretation seems to me to run into a difficulty. Regardless of whether meris defines a portion of a tax or a plot of land, it is clearly defined on the stone in terms of a proportion of wheat to barley of one to four. One can easily imagine how shares or portions of a tax to be collected in grain can be defined in this manner. But how can we be sure that all plots of land on all three of the islands will uniformly produce a yield of wheat and barley that will be in this exact proportion? In fact, it appears from the records of the Eleusinian aparchai inscription of 329/8 B. C.12 that the proportion of wheat to barley grown in these three islands differed considerably one from the other. It may be that more topographic research on Lemnos or the discovery of a clarifying new inscription will provide further evidence on this point. In the meantime it still seems to me that the law defines a meris as a share or portion into which the tax-grain to be collected is divided. Another crux in the law on which there remains some disagreement is found in lines 31–36, quoted and translated above p. 187. In the editio princeps and in Rhodes/Osborne this passage is interpreted as referring to a group of tax-farmers, called a symmoria and consisting of six men who contract with the polis to provide 3,000 medimnoi of tax-grain, the rough equivalent of one shipload. It appears that we have here a group or company of tax-farmers who pool their resources in a manner familiar from the pages of the Attic orators. The law permits the formation of such companies, while at the same time specifying the restrictions that it will apply to them both as a whole and to their individual members. It is explicitly stated that the polis will exact the 3,000 medimnoi of wheat and barley from these six men either jointly or as individuals. Despite the fact that this passage is embedded in a context devoted exclusively to regulations for tax-farmers and the collection of the one-twelfth, some scholars have identified the six men here forming a symmoria as tax-payers and not tax-col-

10 11

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Culasso Gastaldi 2006; 2008, pp. 273–277. For this view see, e. g. Faraguna 1999, pp. 90–97; 2010, pp. 134–148; 2010b, pp.15–16; Marchiandi 2002, pp. 536–547; 2008a; 2008b, especially pp. 23–24; Culasso Gastaldi, 2008, p. 281; 2010b, p. 350; Valente 2011, p. 159. IG II2 1672. Stroud 1998, pp. 32–37, 40–43; 2010, p. 237.

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lectors.13 These men it is argued will have been land-owners who formed themselves into groups of six in order to provide 3,000 medimnoi of tax-grain. According to this interpretation, the polis regards them as a group, a symmoria, but is prepared to exact payment of “what belongs to it,” from each man individually, if need be. Some of the motivation for this interpretation appears to derive from the use of the term symmoria and its association with Fragment 41 of the Atthidographer Philochoros, which attests that the Athenians were first divided into symmoriai, for an unstated purpose, in the archonship of Nausinikos, 378/7 B. C. This has often been linked to a passage of Demosthenes 27.7, which describes a reform in the system of collecting the eisphora tax. An attractive parallel for this use of the term symmoria is found in the groups of wealthy contributors who later in the fourth century formed the intricate system of financial support for the Athenian fleet. In my view, this interpretation relies too heavily on nomenclature and the conclusion that the term symmoria, apparently fairly new to Athenian institutions about the time of Agyrrhios’ law, must mean only one type of group or association, only one that pays and not one that can also collect. I would urge some flexibility in the semantic field of the term symmoria to include both functions. I would also urge closer attention to the immediate context of this passage on the six men in lines 31–36. This seems to me to be exclusively that of procedures for tax-farmers and not tax-payers.14 In fact, as far as I can tell, nowhere in his law does Agyrrhios ever mention the grain farmers on the three islands who are subject to his new produce tax. Near the end of his law Agyrrhios legislated one of our clearest examples of direct intervention in the market by the polis through instituting price control by the Athenian Assembly, even though it was for a special, restricted amount of grain. It is significant, I think, that the lawgiver assigned the setting of the price of wheat and barley to be sold to the public not to the ten men, not to a board of sitophylakes or a panel of “experts.” It was the demos that had the right, indeed the legal obligation, to settle by debate the price at which the people’s grain was to be sold. Also, the legal context of our inscription shows that the control of the price of the grain by the Assembly was not seen as an ephemeral, ad hoc arrangement. Control of the price of the people’s wheat and barley at Athens was to be in the future an integral part of an ongoing plan, an annual requirement. The procedure in the grain-tax law of 374/3 B. C. is echoed later in the fourth century B. C. in the accounts of the annual sale of the Eleusinian aparchai, whose price was also set by the Athenian Assembly.15 On the eventual disposition of the proceeds from the sale of the tax-grain from Lemnos, Imbros, and Skyros, however, Agyrrhios did not leave the final decision to

13 14 15

For this view see Moreno 2007, pp. 102–115. This is the view also of e. g. Fantasia 2004, pp. 526–527; Faraguna 2010b, pp. 16–18. IG II2 1672, lines 282–287, ὡς ὁ δῆμος ἔταξεν. Fantasia 2010 and Ampolo 2010 provide excellent discussions of public control over grain prices in the Greek world. See also Bissa 2009, p. 190.

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the Assembly. In lines 51–55 he specifically allocates this sum of money annually to the military fund, στρατιωτικά, This item was not a matter for debate. After completing the sale of the grain in the agora and compiling their accounts, the ten men are graphically instructed to “come into the Assembly carrying the money realized from the sale of the grain” (lines 51–55). The law as preserved on the stone ends abruptly in lines 56–61 with detailed, but fairly obscure, instructions to the Apodektai, which I confess that I do not fully understand although Edward Harris and Ugo Fantasia, have offered helpful exegesis.16 It is noteworthy that the text contains no instructions at the end for the publication of the law. It does not state who paid for the erection of the stele, or where it was to be set up. In this respect it differs from the end of the law of Nikophon on silver coinage of the previous year, 375/4 B. C., which devotes several lines to spelling out these details.17 Of the other eight surviving Athenian laws on stone from the fourth century B. C., four are preserved at the end and all of them contain a publication formula.18 Omission of this information from the end of the surviving stele is matched by the absence of the normal enactment formula, ἔδοξεν τοῖς νομοθέταις, from the opening lines of the document. Our stele is labeled at the top as a nomos and we have the name of the proposer and of the archon, Sokratides, of 374/3 B. C. in the heading, but no other preliminary administrative information. These omissions both at the beginning and at the end permit the conjecture that there may be other places on our surviving monument where the full text of Agyrrhios’ law has been abbreviated or condensed. While I am not fully persuaded by Rhodes/Osborne’s evaluation that “the drafting of the law leaves much to be desired,”19 the possibility that we have on the stone only an excerpt of the full text of the law should be given greater prominence in future attempts to explain some of its other obscure passages. It is the great merit of Caruso 2010, justly praised by D’Hautcourt 2012, to have demonstrated so clearly, on the basis of their syntactical structure, that especially the regulations for the auction (lines 8–36) are cast in the form of syngraphai or prescriptive guidelines. They tell us what the lawgiver intended rather than what actually happened. That is, we have no record of how many merides were actually bid for, or where they were located, or the names of the successful tax-farmers. In fact, this kind of information, which presumably varied from year to year, might never have been recorded on stone rather than on painted wooden boards. What we have on the stele from the Agora Excavations is an abbreviated excerpt of the enactment of the nomothetai. Its aim of providing the demos with grain “in the public domain” (ἐν τῶι κοινῶι) is not in question. The procedures for realizing that aim, however, which include the definition of the merides, the farming of the collection of the tax-grain and its transportation to the Peiraieus and up to the asty, storage, weighing, and quality control on the wheat and barley, payment of eponia and

16 17 18 19

Harris 1999; Fantasia 2004, pp. 514–518. SEG XXVI 72; Rhodes/Osborne 2003, no. 25, lines 44–56. References in Stroud 1998, p. 84. 2003, pp. 126–127.

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kerykeia, providing guarantors, formation of joint tax-farming groups of six men and the rest, are laid out as a series of instructions. Some of the gaps or omissions in the law as now preserved may have been covered by general regulations, the τελωνικοὶ νόμοι, which addressed such topics as the consequences for a tax-farmer if he failed to live up to the terms of his contract, or if he abused the tax-collecting powers assigned to him by the polis in his dealings with the farmers who produced the grain or with local officials who may have supervised provincial storage facilities or the like. J. Ober 2008, pp. 260–263, has raised the possibility of collusion between the tax-collectors and local military personnel and whether precautions against this might have been taken somewhere in the legislation. I cannot return here to some of the other critical problems raised by this inscription, such as the likelihood that Agyrrhios’ law of 374/3 B. C. had at least one important predecessor, or the total amount of wheat and barley that was collected in any given year, or the total amount of money raised annually for the stratiotic fund from the sale of the grain, or the tantalizing possibility of a connection between 500 medimnoi and the old Solonic pentakosiomedimnoi, or the modern theory that despite the use of the plural πριάμενοι in lines 21 and 47, there was in fact only one successful tax-farmer who “won” the auction as a “winner take all” proposition. After the tax-collectors convey the grain up to the asty in Athens, the law instructs them to pile it up in the Aiakeion, which the polis will provide with a roof and a door. Here the produce will be weighed and subject to quality control. Rent will not be charged by the polis. My proposal to identify the Aiakeion with the Rectangular Peribolos in the southwest corner of the Agora20 was contested by Moreno21 but has been accepted by e. g. Rhodes/Osborne 2003, p. 127; Fantasia 2010, pp. 67–68 and others. Rhodes/Osborne and Carusi22 have proposed that the stele inscribed with the grain-tax law might have been erected at the Aiakeion. We should not forget, however, that its findspot near the Stoa Basileia in the northwest corner of the Agora is in an area where other legal inscriptions have been found.23 After detailed analysis of the late lexicographical tradition regarding the Aiakeion and its possible connection to its near neighbor, the Tholos, Figueira 2012, concludes that “Aiakos inhabited the Tholos in just the same sense that he inhabited the Aiakeion… The Tholos might have been intended as a new shrine of Aiakos. The Aiakeion that was founded in the late sixth century had perhaps been damaged in the Persian occupation of the city. Accordingly, a more architecturally ambitious structure might have appeared sensible as a form of ritual reparation for the damage that befell the peribolos.” The simultaneous existence of two shrines in the Agora dedicated to Aiakos in the fifth century B. C. might seem somewhat implausible.

20 21 22 23

Stroud 1998, pp. 85–103. Moreno 2003, p. 103; 2007, p. 113. Rhodes/Osborne 2003, p. 127; Carusi 2010, p. 233. On this point see Stroud 1998, p. 84.

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Finally in thinking about how the tax-farmers in Agyrrhios’ law could have made a profit, it is important to remember Moreno’s24 warning against taking too exclusive or monolithic an approach to this question. Drawing upon the testimony of Attic forensic speeches and other literary evidence, he shows that these men were probably “closely related to the clever, wily, imaginative – and sometimes dishonest and unscrupulous men we meet in the private speeches of Demosthenes.” These men and the business world they inhabited were immensely complex, perhaps even mysterious. Many of them operated behind the scenes. Their capital resources were often hidden from public scrutiny, deposited with confidential bankers. They were often in and out of court, some of them, like Agyrrhios himself, in and out of jail. As entrepreneurs with long experience in buying grain on the islands, our priamenoi probably had many other irons in the fire than the mere collection of the one-twelfth tax when their ships sailed off to the islands. We should be very cautious, therefore, in offering simple answers to the problem of how the clever tax-famers in the Athenian grain-tax law made their money in 374/3 B. C.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Ampolo, C. 2010. “Le motivazioni della legge sulla tassazione del grano di Lemno, Imbro e Sciro e il prezzo di grano e pane,” in Magnetto, Erdas, and Carusi 2010, pp. 39–66. Bissa, E. M. A. 2009. Governmental Intervention in Foreign Trade in Archaic and Classical Greece. Mnemosyne Supplement 312, Leiden. Carusi, C. 2010. “La legge di Agirrio e le syngraphai ateniesi di IV secolo,” in Magnetto, Erdas, and Carusi 2010, pp. 213–233. Cataudella, M.R, Greco, A., and Mariotta, G. 2010. Strumenti e tecniche della riscossione dei tributi nel mondo antico: Atti del Convegno Nazionale, Firenze 6–7 Dicembre 2007, Padua. Corsaro, M. 2010. “Il nomos di Agirrio e la tassazione diretta del grano nel mondo greco,” in Magnetto, Erdas, and Carusi 2010, pp. 99–128. Culasso Gastaldi, E. 2006. “Lemnos: I cippi di garanzia,” ASAtene 84 (2006) pp. 509–550. ––. 2008. “Tra Atene e Lemnos; questioni di terra,” in Greco and Papi 2008, pp. 271–294. ––. 2010a. “Lemnos e il V secolo,” ASAtene 88 (2010), pp. 135–147. ––. 2010b. “L’isola di Lemnos attraverso la documentazione epigrafica,” ASAtene 88 (2010) pp. 347–364. D’Hautcourt, A. 2012. Review of Magnetto, Erdas, and Carusi 2010 in Bryn Mawr Classical Review 2012.01.34. Engels, J. 2012. Review of Magnetto, Erdas, and Carusi 2010 in Klio 94, pp. 217–218. Fantasia, U. 2004. “Appaltatori, grano pubblico, finanze cittadine: ancora sul nomos di Agirrio,” MedAnt 7, pp. 513–540. ––. 2010. “La politica del grano pubblico nelle città greche: alcune riflessioni a partire dalla legge di Agirrio,” in Magnetto, Erdas, and Carusi 2010, pp. 67–97. Faraguna, M. 1999. “Intorno alla nuova legge ateniese sulla tassazione del grano,” Dike 2, pp. 63– 97. ––. 2006. “La città di Atene e l’amministrazione delle miniere del Laurion,” in Symposion 2003, ed. H. A. Rupprecht, Vienna, pp. 141–160. ––. 2010a. “Il sistema degli appalti pubblici ad Atene nel IV sec. A. C. e la legge di Agirrio,” in Magnetto, Erdas, and Carusi, pp. 129–148.

24

Moreno 2007, pp. 211–299. On this question see Stroud 2010, pp. 23–25.

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––. 2010 b. “Tassazione diretta e tassazione indiretta: la legge granaria ateniese del 374/3 A. C.” in Cataudella, M. R. ed. 2010, pp. 13–34. Figueira, T. 2012, “The Aiakidai, the Herald-less War, and Salamis,” in Donum natalicum digitaliter confectum Gregorio Nagy septuagenario a discipulis collegis familiaribus oblatum: A virtual birthday gift presented to Gregory Nagy on turning seventy by his students, colleagues, and friends. CHS.Harvard.edu Greco, E. and Papi, E., ed. 2008. Hephaestia 2000–2006. Ricerche e scavi della Scuola Archeologica Italiana di Atene in collaborazione con il Dipartimento di Archeologia e Storia delle Arti dell’Università di Siena. Atti del Seminario, Siena-Certosa di Pontignano, 28–29 maggio 2007. Paestum, Athens. Harris, E. M. 1999. “Notes on the New Grain-Tax Law,” ZPE 128, pp. 269–272. Magnetto, A., Erdas D., and Carusi, C. 2010. Nuove ricerche sulla legge granaria ateniese del 374/3 a. C. Studi e testi di storia antica diretti da Mauro Moggi 20, Pisa. Marchiandi, D. 2002. “Fattorie e periboli funerari nella chora di Efestia (Lemno): l’occupazione del territorio in una cleruchia ateniese tra V e IV sec. A. C.,” ASAtene 80, pp. 487–583. ––. 2008a. “L’ occupazione della chora di Efestia nell’ età classica (V–IV sec.)” in Greco and Papi 2008, pp. 107–124. ––. 2008b. “Riflessioni in merito allo statuto giuridico di Lemno nel V secolo a. C. La ragnatela bibliografica e l’evidenza archeologica: un dialogo possibile?” ASAtene 86 (2008) 11–38. Moreno, A. 2003. “Athenian Bread-Baskets: The Grain-Tax Law of 374/3 B. C. Reinterpreted,” ZPE 145, pp. 97–106. ––. 2007. Feeding the Democracy. The Athenian Grain Supply in the Fifth and Fourth Centuries B. C. Oxford. Ober, J. 2008. Democracy and Knowledge. Innovation and Learning in Classical Athens. Princeton. Rhodes/Osborne 2003. Rhodes, P. J. and R. Osborne, Greek Historical Inscriptions, 404–323 B. C. Oxford. Stroud, R. S. 1998. The Athenian Grain-Tax Law of 374/3 B. C., Hesperia Supplement 29. Princeton. ––. 2010. “Introduction” and “Future Research on the Athenian Grain Tax Law” in Magnetto, Erdas, and Carusi pp. 11–25, 235–242. Valente, M. 2011. Review of Magnetto, Erdas, and Carusi 2010 in Historika 1.2, 2011, pp. 157–161. www.historika.unito.it.

CONTINUITÉ ET CHANGEMENT: LE COMPORTEMENT ÉCONOMIQUE À ATHÈNES AU IVE S. A. C. Raymond Descat

EN PROLOGUE Le IVe s. a. C. est parfois interprété comme un archétype du débat tradition/changement ou tradition/modernité dans l’histoire du monde grec à cause de l’évolution, voire de la crise, du pouvoir athénien, le modèle créé par le siècle précédent. Mais il convient de procéder autrement: comprendre le IVe e s., c’est d’abord bien placer, où elles doivent être, les notions de changement et de tradition qui n’ont pas le même sens et la même portée selon le thème que l’on étudie. Mon propos n’est pas de faire de l’histoire économique, mais de l’histoire sociale ou de sociologie historique comme l’on veut. Il s’agit de comprendre le comportement social athénien vis-à-vis de l’économie. Pour faire simple, on peut appeler cela le comportement (ou l’action) économique mais en n’oubliant jamais qu’il n’est pas assimilable à ce qu’on entend dans le monde moderne où il correspond à une attitude parfaitement autonomisée dans les rapports sociaux. J’adopte plutôt une position substantiviste : par comportement économique je décris ainsi l’action des gens en rapport avec un procès de production ou d’utilisation matérielle de biens sans présupposer qu’elle soit de nature proprement économique. Sur quoi repose l’étude de ce comportement ? pour l’essentiel sur des sources textuelles qui sont plus réflexives qu’événementielles. Elles ne constituent pas en outre un corpus homogène en l’absence dans l’Antiquité d’une science économique mais appartiennent à des formes littéraires (logoi) différentes, oikonomia, politique, éthique et traités sur les genres de vie. Un fait essentiel doit cependant être rappelé, c’est que ce corpus intellectuel est en voie de création à partir de la seconde moitié du Ve s. a. C. D’où mon choix de me fonder sur une étude de textes qui suivent cette évolution et vont de c.440 à c.320 a. C. On peut certes à tout moment comparer le IVe au Ve s. Cette comparaison est possible mais elle n’est vraiment légitime que lorsqu’on intègre la temporalité propre, intrinsèque, qu’il faut retrouver pour chaque objet d’étude. Dans notre exemple on doit tenir compte d’un fait essentiel: pour ne pas réduire la compréhension historique il ne faut pas rester à une comparaison point par point avec le seul V e s. mais se replacer dans un cadre historique plus large qui exprime un changement continu depuis l’époque archaïque et dont il n’est pas certain que l’aspect le plus décisif se soit passé au IVe s. a. C. Dans cette phase de transformation des pratiques sociales économiques entamée à l’époque archaïque, on saisit avec plus ou moins

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d’intensité une continuité dans le changement qui s’explique par la forme prise par ces pratiques. LA MISE EN PLACE DE L’OIKONOMIA. LA MAISON DE PÉRICLÈS: Prenons comme point de départ la manière dont Plutarque (Vie Péric.16) décrit la gestion par Périclès de ses propres biens : ἐφύλαξεν ἑαυτὸν ἀνάλωτον ὑπὸ χρημάτων, καίπερ οὐ παντάπασιν ἀργῶς ἔχων πρὸς χρηματισμόν, ἀλλὰ τὸν πατρῷον καὶ δίκαιον πλοῦτον, ὡς μήτ’ ἀμελούμενος ἐκφύγοι μήτε πολλὰ πράγματα καὶ διατριβὰς ἀσχολουμένῳ παρέχοι, συνέταξεν εἰς οἰκονομίαν ἣν ᾤετο ῥᾴστην καὶ ἀκριβεστάτην εἶναι. τοὺς γὰρ ἐπετείους καρποὺς ἅπαντας ἀθρόους ἐπίπρασκεν, εἶτα τῶν ἀναγκαίων ἕκαστον ἐξ ἀγορᾶς ὠνούμενος διῴκει τὸν βίον καὶ τὰ περὶ τὴν δίαιταν. ὅθεν οὐχ ἡδὺς ἦν ἐνηλίκοις παισὶν οὐδὲ γυναιξὶ δαψιλὴς χορηγός, ἀλλ’ ἐμέμφοντο τὴν ἐφήμερον ταύτην καὶ συνηγμένην εἰς τὸ ἀκριβέστατον δαπάνην, οὐδενὸς οἷον ἐν οἰκίᾳ μεγάλῃ καὶ πράγμασιν ἀφθόνοις περιρρέοντος, ἀλλὰ παντὸς μὲν ἀναλώματος, παντὸς δὲ λήμματος δι’ ἀριθμοῦ καὶ μέτρου βαδίζοντος. ὁ δὲ πᾶσαν αὐτοῦ τὴν τοιαύτην συνέχων ἀκρίβειαν εἷς ἦν οἰκέτης Εὐάγγελος, ὡς ἕτερος οὐδεὶς εὖ πεφυκὼς ἢ κατεσκευασμένος ὑπὸ τοῦ Περικλέους πρὸς οἰκονομίαν. Jamais il ne se laissa corrompre par les richesses. Ce n’est pas qu’il se désintéressât complètement de la question d’argent ; mais, comme il ne voulait ni laisser dépérir par négligence le légitime héritage qu’il tenait de son père, ni se voir entraîner par là, occupé comme il était, dans beaucoup d’embarras et de pertes de temps, il avait imaginé une façon d’administrer sa maison qui lui avait paru la plus commode et la plus exacte. Il faisait vendre en une fois toute sa récolte de l’année, puis acheter au marché tout ce qui lui était nécessaire: tel était son genre de vie. Mais ce régime ne plaisait guère à ses enfants, devenus adultes, et les femmes de sa maison trouvaient qu’il les rationnait peu généreusement : tous se plaignaient de cette dépense calculée jour par jour et si strictement réduite qu’il n’y avait chez lui aucun superflu, comme on en voit dans les grandes maisons où les affaires sont prospères: toutes les dépenses et toutes les recettes étaient exactement comptées et mesurées. Celui qui maintenait un ordre si rigoureux dans sa maison était un serviteur nommé Evangélos, soit qu’il fût pour cela doué comme personne, soit qu’il eût été formé à l’économie par Périclès.

On ne sait pas précisément quelle est la source utilisée par Plutarque dans ce passage (question qui a été d’ailleurs peu traitée par les commentateurs voir Podlecki 1998). Il ne fait guère de doute qu’elle est contemporaine de Périclès. Est-ce l’un des auteurs nouveaux de biographies, comme Stésimbrote de Thasos ? Comme le passage est favorable à Périclès l’idée semble peu probable, étant donné le ton souvent critique de ces biographes, ou bien alors faudrait-il admettre qu’il précède la description des dissensions dans la famille de Périclès entraînées par cette nouveauté : mécontentement de ses fils etc. Mais il serait inutile dans ce cas, même si c’est isolé de son contexte, de tant insister sur des qualités intellectuelles véritablement thucydidéennes aussi nettes à l’action dans cette gestion du domaine familial. Dans un cadre critique, l’auteur aurait plutôt présenté cela par exemple comme l’effet d’une avarice chez Périclès. C’est pourquoi l’idée qui paraît plus vraisemblable, c’est que le passage est tiré d’un ouvrage qui valorise cet aspect oikonomique. Lequel ?

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Je ne vois guère que l’un des ouvrages qu’Antisthène a pu écrire, soit en lien avec ses aspects biographiques, puisqu’il a composé une Aspasie (mais qui serait plutôt critique sur Périclès ?), soit plus probablement en rapport avec son ouvrage sur La Victoire, oikonomikos qui est le premier connu du genre (Diog.Laërce VI,16). On sait peu de choses d’Antisthène sur ce point, sinon qu’il récuse nettement le luxe privé et la dépense pour la dépense. Mais dans le livre II de Thucydide (21,3), on doit noter les critiques exprimées par la population athénienne contre Périclès en 431 parce qu’il ne veut pas combattre directement les Spartiates bien qu’étant stratège. Il est possible que ce type de réactions populaires soit à la base du livre d’Antisthène pour montrer ce qu’est la vraie stratégie, la stratégie comme oikonomia, c’est-à-dire précisément comme non-militaire stricto sensu mais comme une façon rationnelle d’ estimer et d’organiser ses ressources. C’est pour cela que le premier ouvrage oikonomique est fondé sur la stratégie et n’est sans doute pas un ouvrage de pure économie domestique. Dans le passage de Plutarque, un fait nouveau saute aux yeux, qui marque une sorte de rupture avec le passé: vendre ses biens au marché et y acheter ce dont on a besoin pour vivre. C’est le fondement de ce qui est toujours appelé à la fin du IVe s. a. C. dans l’Economique du Pseudo-Aristote (I, 1344b 32) l’oikonomia attikè, l’économie attique: Καὶ ἡ Ἀττικὴ δὲ οἰκονομία χρήσιμος· ἀποδιδόμενοι γὰρ ὠνοῦνται, καὶ ἡ τοῦ ταμιείου θέσις οὐκ ἔστιν ἐν ταῖς μικροτέραις οἰκονομίαις L’économie attique a aussi ses avantages : à mesure qu’on vend, on achète et il n’y a pas lieu, dans de trop petites exploitations, d’installer un office à provisions.

Il est frappant de noter qu’on ne parle pas d’oikonomia grecque mais d’oikonomia attique non à cause de son extension véritable, qui recouvre évidemment une bonne part du monde grec mais à cause de son origine liée à des spécificités de l’histoire d’Athènes. Or à la lecture du texte il est un fait essentiel pour la compréhension de cette nouveauté, c’est que le moteur initial ne vient pas du comportement privé qui reste traditionnel (on le voit bien par l’attitude des membres de sa famille: garder des réserves et peur de manquer ou de se restreindre en les vidant) mais de la transformation profonde de l’action au niveau de la communauté civique. La nouvelle façon de vendre n’existe que parce la cité a fondé une agora approvisionnée. C’est la cité qui crée la nouveauté dans le cadre d’une politique bien décrite par Thucydide. L’historien fait des moyens financiers dont dispose la cité une base pour le pouvoir par l’existence des surplus (périousiai) et la gestion des dépenses (dapanai) que l’on peut faire avec. L.Kallet-Marx (1993,13) a noté que pour la première fois la cité adopte une forme de pouvoir, une dunamis, qui s’exprime à travers les dépenses de monnaie et cette action de la cité est clairement associée à des formes d’expression de la rationalité, comme la gnômè. A l’origine des temps, comme pour marquer un contraste absolu, Thucydide (I,2) indique bien qu’il n’y avait dans les cités ni commerce ni relations de façon sûre (adéôs) et surtout pas de périousia chrèmatôn. Ajoutons un élément supplémentaire et capital pour comprendre cette réflexion fondatrice de l’oikonomia grecque: l’action présentée ne s’oppose pas à l’ancienne

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comme une action nouvelle par rapport à une autre qui l’aurait précédée mais comme une action tout court par rapport à l’inaction, la paresse et au manque d’initiative des temps anciens. L’action, c’est ce qui caractérise les nouveaux Etats, dit Thucydide (I,17) : τύραννοί τε ὅσοι ἦσαν ἐν ταῖς Ἑλληνικαῖς πόλεσι, τὸ ἐφ’ ἑαυτῶν μόνον προορώμενοι ἔς τε τὸ σῶμα καὶ ἐς τὸ τὸν ἴδιον οἶκον αὔξειν δι’ ἀσφαλείας ὅσον ἐδύναντο μάλιστα τὰς πόλεις ᾤκουν, ἐπράχθη δὲ οὐδὲν ἀπ’ αὐτῶν ἔργον ἀξιόλογον, εἰ μὴ εἴ τι πρὸς περιοίκους τοὺς αὐτῶν ἑκάστοις· οἱ γὰρ ἐν Σικελίᾳ ἐπὶ πλεῖστον ἐχώρησαν δυνάμεως. οὕτω πανταχόθεν ἡ Ἑλλὰς ἐπὶ πολὺν χρόνον κατείχετο μήτε κοινῇ φανερὸν μηδὲν κατεργάζεσθαι, κατὰ πόλεις τε ἀτολμοτέρα εἶναι. De même, tous les tyrans établis dans les villes grecques, ne pensant égoïstement qu’à leur personne ou à l’accroissement de leur maison, administraient les villes avec le plus de prudence possible, et il ne s’accomplit rien de notoire sous leur direction, hormis des actions les opposant à leurs voisins respectifs (ceux de Sicile, eux, arrivèrent à une très grande puissance). Voilà comment toutes sortes de raisons retinrent pendant longtemps la Grèce, qui ne réalisait en commun aucune entreprise appréciable, et dont les villes, isolément, manquaient d’audace.

Il faut donc noter un fait important pour la restitution de l’histoire de la pensée oikonomique athénienne. Dans la question de l’origine de l’oikonomia comme genre réflexif avec ses concepts et ses méthodes, on aurait pu penser que c’était le fait privé qui avait servi de modèle au fait public. En fait c’est l‘inverse : l’oikonomia comme genre intellectuel est venue au Ve s. du public au privé. Le cœur de la nouveauté de la démarche oikonomique de Périclès dans sa maison, c’est d’appliquer au domaine privé ce qu’il fait dans le domaine public, une attitude marquée par la gnômé, pour avoir les meilleures réserves possibles. On peut se demander brièvement ici d’où vient cette politique de l’action, cette innovation pour chercher des ressources au lieu d’en rester aux traditions. L’influence sophistique, comme on le devine avec Protagoras, est réelle mais au-delà, il existe une filiation directe avec des acteurs de la politique athénienne, comme le signale encore Plutarque, cette fois-ci pour le maître de Périclès, Thémistocle (Vie, 2): μᾶλλον οὖν ἄν τις προσέχοι τοῖς Μνησιφίλου τὸν Θεμιστοκλέα τοῦ Φρεαρρίου ζηλωτὴν γενέσθαι λέγουσιν, οὔτε ῥήτορος ὄντος οὔτε τῶν φυσικῶν κληθέντων φιλοσόφων, ἀλλὰ τὴν τότε καλουμένην σοφίαν, οὖσαν δὲ δεινότητα πολιτικὴν καὶ δραστήριον σύνεσιν, ἐπιτήδευμα πεποιημένου καὶ διασῴζοντος ὥσπερ αἵρεσιν ἐκ διαδοχῆς ἀπὸ Σόλωνος· ἣν οἱ μετὰ ταῦτα δικανικαῖς μείξαντες τέχναις καὶ μεταγαγόντες ἀπὸ τῶν πράξεων τὴν ἄσκησιν ἐπὶ τοὺς λόγους, σοφισταὶ προσηγορεύθησαν. Il faut prêter plus d’attention à ceux qui disent que Themistocle se donna pour maître Mnésiphilos de Phréarrhes, qui n’était ni un rhéteur, ni l’un de ces philosophes qu’on appelle physiciens, mais qui faisait profession de ce qu’on nommait alors la sagesse et qui était en réalité l’habileté politique et l’intelligence pratique ; Mnésiphilos la conservait fidèlement comme une doctrine héritée de Solon. Ceux qui vinrent après lui la mêlèrent à l’éloquence judiciaire et, la détournant des actions, l’appliquèrent aux discours, s’attirant ainsi le nom de sophistes.

Le courant de pensée qui aboutit au comportement de Périclès présente donc deux traits caractéristiques. Le premier est d’être étroitement lié à la praxis politique, ici rappelée par le concept de drasterion, d’intelligence politique pratique, et le second est de faire remonter son origine à Solon. Ce qui n’est pas un simple fait de tradition

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littéraire, comme on pourrait le penser à première vue. Sans développer ici ce point mais pour en rappeler l’essentiel, la politique de Solon (et d’autres réformateurs dans d’autres cités) a marqué à l’issue de luttes sociales une rupture, que l’on pourrait décrire comme la fin d’une société construite autour des formes de dettes sociales caractérisées par une série d’obligations du peuple envers les élites, ce que décrivait brièvement mais fort bien Aristote en parlant d’une société non seulement oligarchique, mais oligarchique en tout (Const.Ath. II,2). Les ressources de la cité n’étaient rien d’autre que ce que rapportait cette structure hiérarchique. La dette imposée à la société était au cœur du financement de l’élite dirigeante, au cœur du « politique », c’est-à-dire que la politique se résumait seulement à la répéter à l’infini. La cité athénienne n’est plus désormais un Etat de type tributaire. Cette nouveauté se concrétise dans l’action politique par une recherche au nom de la cité de ressources qui deviennent véritablement communes et donc ouvre des choix et nécessite des stratégies. Cette nouvelle forme sociale d’action est tout simplement reconnue dans la pensée grecque du Ve s. comme la naissance d’une action face à l’inaction antérieure. Deux remarques peuvent en être déduites. D’une part l’oikonomia, toute banale qu’elle soit dans sa réflexion, dans sa banalité même, est, contrairement à ce que pensait M.Finley, un fait nouveau et le résultat d’un débat et d’une réflexion et d’autre part l’action ainsi définie est à rapprocher de ce que décrit Max Weber comme une action sociale, ein Soziales Handeln, soit une action qui définit ses valeurs en fonction de ses objectifs. De ce fait on peut retenir pour l’interprétation de l’évolution de ce comportement un cadre théorique qui serait un processus de rationalisation (M.Weber 1971,22–23), c’est-à-dire une action rationnelle en valeur (wertrational) qui devient rationnelle en finalité (zweckrational). Le comportement oikonomique au cours du IVe s. explore en quelque sorte les conséquences de tels choix d’action sociale, l’horizon du possible déterminé par ces choix et ceci dans un véritable ensemble intellectuel systémique qui associe le privé et le public, l’oikos et la cité en présentant les effets habituels d’un tel système, d’une part des formes de mimétisme, d’autre part des effets en retour qui peuvent transformer les conditions d’origine. Nous étudierons successivement ces deux aspects. LE MIMÉTISME DE L’OIKOS ET DE LA POLIS: DÉPENSES ET REVENUS. Tout un pan du comportement économique va être marqué par le rapprochement et la similarité, quasi mimétique, du comportement dans l’oikos et dans la cité. L’idée nouvelle d’acheter et de vendre pour faire vivre sa famille s’est implantée définitivement à la fin du Ve s. comme le rappelle de manière volontairement archaïsante la diatribe du villageois des Acharniens (v.33–35) d’Aristophane: ὃς οὐδεπώποτ’ εἶπεν “ἄνθρακας πρίω”, οὐκ “ὄξος”, οὐκ “ἔλαιον”, οὐδ’ ᾔδει “πρίω”, (mon dème) qui jamais encore ne m’a dit : « achète du charbon », « du vinaigre », « de l’huile »; qui ignorait le mot « achète »

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et il est significatif de la retrouver, comme on l’a vu, dans la description de l’oikonomia attique c.320 a. C. dans le texte du Pseudo-Aristote en notant bien au passage une profonde évolution puisqu’il s’agit maintenant aussi des petites propriétés alors que l’exemple de Périclès reflétait avant tout le comportement des grandes. La nécessité dans laquelle se retrouve l’oikos d’avoir des ressources monétaires et de s’adresser au marché pour son entretien est bien reflété par le début de l’Economique de Xénophon où l’on voit la situation dramatique dans laquelle se trouve le riche Critoboule pour faire face aux demandes financières de la communauté civique et à un besoin permanent de monnaie (II,5–9). C’est la raison fondamentale du message véhiculé par le texte de Xénophon, point bien connu sur lequel je ne reviendrai pas ici. Je choisirai un autre exemple pour montrer l’impact de la nouvelle façon de penser sur la création d’un véritable renversement des valeurs, celui particulièrement intéressant de la discussion entre Socrate et un de ses disciples relatée dans l’Hipparque, traité de style platonicien que l’auteur (qui n’est pas Platon) écrit dans la première moitié et probablement dans le premier quart du IVe s. Il appartient à l’intérieur du genre oikonomique aux textes peri philokerdous, traités sur le gain et sa définition (Descat 1988). Dans sa forme traditionnelle qui est le point de départ du texte, le kerdos, le gain, est vu en mauvaise part parce qu’il est l’opposé du don, la plus haute qualité sociale, symbole de véritable réciprocité. La première réponse de l’auditeur-disciple de Socrate à la demande d’une définition va donc dans ce sens: l’homme « cupide », celui qui aime le gain, veut tirer profit d’une relation pour garder par devers soi quelque chose. C’est une faute et un manquement par rapport à l’éthique des rapports humains (Cozzo 1988) : 225a ΣΩ Τί γὰρ τὸ φιλοκερδές; τί ποτέ ἐστιν, καὶ τίνες οἱ φιλοκερδεῖς; ΕΤ.Ἐμοὶ μὲν δοκοῦσιν οἳ ἂν κερδαίνειν ἀξιῶσιν ἀπὸ τῶν μηδενὸς ἀξίων … Socrate : Qu’est ce donc que la cupidité ? Qu’est-ce enfin que les gens cupides et qui sont-ils? Disciple: Ce sont, me semble-t-il, ceux qui pensent tirer profit de ce qui n’a aucune valeur… ΕΤ. Ἀπὸ παντὸς ὅ γε φιλοκερδής, ὦ Σώκρατες, οἴεται δεῖν κερδαίνειν … Disc.: C’est de tout, Socrate, que l’homme cupide croit devoir tirer profit…

Mais Socrate va proposer une autre définition du gain, plus positive. Le gain est ce qui est opposé à la perte, qui est un mal. Le disciple est obligé d’admettre que sa vision négative du gain n’est pas bonne malgré ses certitudes de départ, et il en est au sens propre, bouleversé: 228a ΣΩ. Οὐκοῦν ὡμολογήσαμεν ὀλίγον πρότερον τὸ κέρδος τῇ ζημίᾳ κακῷ ὄντι ἐναντίον εἶναι; ΕΤ. Φημί. ΣΩ. Ἐναντίον δὲ ὂν κακῷ ἀγαθὸν εἶναι; ΕΤ. Ὡμολογήσαμεν γάρ. ΣΩ. Ὁρᾷς οὖν, ἐπιχειρεῖς με ἐξαπατᾶν, ἐπίτηδες ἐναντία λέγων οἷς ἄρτι ὡμολογήσαμεν. ΕΤ. Οὐ μὰ Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλὰ τοὐναντίον σύ με ἐξαπατᾷς καὶ οὐκ οἶδα ὅπῃ ἐν τοῖς λόγοις ἄνω καὶ κάτω στρέφεις. … So.: n’avons-nous pas reconnu à l’instant que le gain est le contraire de la perte qui, elle, est un mal? Disc.: Je l‘avoue. So.: Et qu‘étant contraire à un mal, il est un bien? Disc. : En effet, nous l’avons reconnu So.: Tu vois bien, tu essaies de me tromper en affirmant exprès le contraire de ce que nous venons d’accorder. Disc.: Non, par Zeus, Socrate, mais tout au contraire, toi tu me trompes, et je ne sais comment, dans la discussion, tu retournes tout sens dessus dessous.

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Pour sortir de ce qui semble être une aporie, Socrate introduit alors une nouvelle idée qui s’appuie sur le fait monétaire, la notion de valeur créée non en prenant un gain sur quelqu’un mais en économisant sur les dépenses : 231c ΣΩ. Ὁρᾷς οὖν ὡς πάλιν αὖ περιτρέχεις εἰς τὸ αὐτό; τὸ μὲν κέρδος ἀγαθὸν φαίνεται, ἡ δὲ ζημία κακόν. ΕΤ. Ἀπορῶ ἔγωγε ὅτι εἴπω. ΣΩ. Οὐκ ἀδίκως γε σὺ ἀπορῶν. ἔτι γὰρ καὶ τόδε ἀπόκριναι· ἐάν τις ἔλαττον ἀναλώσας πλέον κτήσηται, φῂς κέρδος εἶναι;. So.: Vois-tu donc comme tu tournes toujours dans le même cercle? Le gain paraît être un bien et la perte un mal. Disc.: je ne sais vraiment que dire. So.: Et ce n’est pas sans raison que tu es embarrassé. Mais réponds encore sur ce point: lorsqu’en dépensant moins, on acquiert davantage, dis-tu que ce soit un gain? ΕΤ. Οὔτι κακόν γε λέγω, ἀλλ’ ἐὰν χρυσίον ἢ ἀργύριον ἔλαττον ἀναλώσας πλέον λάβῃ. Disc.: Pas lorsque c’est un mal, évidemment, mais si c’est de l’or ou de l’argent que l’on dépense en moindre quantité pour recevoir davantage.

La solution arrive donc à partir du moment où le gain n’est plus perçu comme une attitude agressive vis-à-vis des autres mais comme une sauvegarde de ses propres intérêts compatible nécessairement avec l’action collective. Tous les hommes sont en réalité des philokerdeis: 231e ΣΩ. Τὸ μὲν ἄξιον ἄρα κερδαλέον ἐστίν, ἐάντε σμικρὸν ᾖ ἐάντε μέγα, τὸ δὲ ἀνάξιον ἀκερδές. ΕΤ. Ναί. So.: C’est par conséquent, la valeur qui constitue le gain, que la chose soit grande ou petite, et ce qui est sans valeur, n’est pas lucratif. Disc.: Oui. 232b ΣΩ. νῦν δ’ οὖν, εἴτε πέπεισαι εἴτε ὁπωσδὴ ἔχεις, σύμφῃς γοῦν ἡμῖν πάντα τὰ κέρδη ἀγαθὰ εἶναι, καὶ σμικρὰ καὶ μεγάλα. ΕΤ. Ὁμολογῶ γὰρ οὖν. So.: En tout cas, pour le moment, en quelque état que tu sois, persuadé ou non, tu m’accordes que tous les gains sont bons, grands et petits. Disc. J’en conviens donc. 232c ΣΩ. Οὐκοῦν κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον πάντες ἄνθρωποι φιλοκερδεῖς ἂν εἶεν, καὶ οἱ χρηστοὶ καὶ οἱ πονηροί. ΕΤ. Φαίνεται. So. : Donc, selon tes propres paroles, tous les hommes seraient cupides, les bons et les mauvais. Disc.: Il le paraît.

La leçon du texte est importante car elle veut montrer ce qui est au cœur de la pensée oikonomique, c’est-à-dire que le souci de l’intérêt personnel n’est pas contradictoire avec les rapports sociaux et politiques et que le but est même une véritable complémentarité souhaitée avec les besoins collectifs. D’une manière semblable on perçoit des transformations dans le champ de l’action de la cité. Elles apparaissent par exemple dans un changement de caractère sémantique qui touche un mot aussi important que celui de πρόσοδος, revenu. Au départ le mot a seulement le sens de rentrées de ressources plus ou moins régulières dont le plus ancien exemple est chez Hérodote (3,89) avec φόρων πρόσοδον, la « rentrée des tributs » évoquée pour l’Empire achéménide. Tout l’effort de gestion financière du IVe siècle aboutit à un approfondissement du mot dans le sens d’une vraie régularité qui est le résultat de la transformations des poroi, ressources en revenus et à la fin du IVe s. dans le texte du Ps.Aristote (Econ. II 1346a 13–16) prosodos est devenu l’équivalent de lemma, au sens comptable de contrepartie des dépenses, complètement intégré dans un fonctionnement habituel de la cité :

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Une question nouvelle apparaît donc chez plusieurs auteurs: la cité doit-elle être gérée comme un oikos ? C’est le conseil que donne Isocrate à Nicoclès vers 370 (Nicocles 19): Οἴκει τὴν πόλιν ὁμοίως ὥσπερ τὸν πατρῷον οἶκον ταῖς μὲν κατασκευαῖς λαμπρῶς καί βασιλικῶς, ταῖς δὲ πράξεσιν ἀκριβῶς Gouverne la cité comme la maison familiale, en adoptant un train brillant, digne d’un roi mais tiens un compte exact de ta gestion

L’oikonomia basilikè partage bien, on le voit, avec celle de l’oikos les mêmes objectifs avec les mêmes critères d’exactitude (akribeia). Un effet en retour: privé vs. public et la conception de la cité. Mais un comportement qui est engagé ainsi dans un cadre de rationalisation voit aussi apparaître des effets en retour (feed-back) sur le dispositif qui lui a donné naissance, et donc sur lui-même et produire ainsi des effets contradictoires. On le remarque dans le texte de l’Anonyme de Jamblique (Jamblique Protreptique 20,101): Μαθεῖν δὲ ἄξιον καὶ ταῦτα περὶ τῆς εὐνομίας τε καὶ ἀνομίας, ὅσον διαφέρετον ἀλλήλοιν, καὶ ὅτι μὲν εὐνομία ἄριστον εἴη καὶ κοινῇ καὶ ἰδίᾳ, ἡ ἀνομία δὲ κάκιστον· αἱ γὰρ παραχρῆμα βλάβαι γίγνονται ἐκ τῆς ἀνομίας. ἀρξώμεθα δὲ τὰ τῆς εὐνομίας δηλοῦν, ἅπερ γίγνεται πρότερα. Πίστις μὲν πρώτη ἐγγίγνεται ἐκ τῆς εὐνομίας μεγάλα ὠφελοῦσα τοὺς ἀνθρώπους τοὺς σύμπαντας, καὶ τῶν μεγάλων ἀγαθῶν τοῦτό ἐστι· κοινὰ γὰρ τὰ χρήματα γίγνεται ἐξ αὐτῆς, καὶ οὕτω μὲν ἐὰν καὶ ὀλίγα ᾖ ἐξαρκεῖ ὅμως κυκλούμενα, ἄνευ δὲ ταύτης οὐδ’ ἂν πολλὰ ᾖ ἐξαρκεῖ… Τόν τε αὖ χρόνον τοῖς ἀνθρώποις διὰ τὴν εὐνομίαν εἰς μὲν τὰ πράγματα ἀργὸν γίγνεσθαι, εἰς δὲ τὰ ἔργα τῆς ζωῆς ἐργάσιμον. Φροντίδος δὲ τῆς μὲν ἀηδεστάτης ἀπηλλάχθαι τοὺς ἀνθρώπους ἐν τῇ εὐνομίᾳ, τῇ δὲ ἡδίστῃ συνεῖναι· πραγμάτων μὲν γὰρ φροντίδα ἀηδεστάτην εἶναι, ἔργων δὲ ἡδίστην Il faut savoir encore, à propos de l’eunomie et de l’anomie, combien elles diffèrent l’une de l’autre, et que si première est l’idéal pour l’Etat et les particuliers, l’autre est détestable; car des dommages soudains proviennent de l’anomie. Commençons donc à montrer, en premier, les fruits de l’eunomie. Le premier est la confiance, qui aide grandement tous les hommes, et c’est là un des biens majeurs: elle fait mettre l’argent en commun et ainsi, même s’il y en a peu, il suffit, du fait qu’il circule, tandis que sans elle, même s’il abonde, il est insuffisant… De plus, grâce à l’eunomie, le temps s’écoule en laissant les hommes négliger les affaires (publiques) et s’appliquer aux tâches de la vie (quotidienne). L’eunomie libère les hommes du souci le plus ingrat, elle les fait vivre avec le plus agréable; car le souci des affaires (publiques) est le moins agréable, celui des tâches (quotidiennes) l’est au plus haut point.

L’auteur appelé par convention Anonyme de Jamblique écrit probablement dans la première moitié du IVe s. (en dernier lieu M.Mari 2003). Il est en effet certainement

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contemporain des périodes difficiles de l’après-guerre du Péloponnèse et des mesures de redressement financier prises au tournant du premier quart du siècle. Il souligne les rapports étroits entre l’établissement d’un bon régime politique, appelé ici l’eunomie, et la vie quotidienne. Ces rapports passent avant tout par l’établissement de la pistis, la confiance. Dans le détail du texte, les commentateurs ont été souvent en difficulté sur deux passages au moins : Le premier est la notion d’argent « mis en commun » κοινὰ γὰρ τὰ χρήματα γίγνεται. Or cette idée de bien commun ne fait pas référence à un quelconque communisme foncier ou à l’argent public, elle est d’ordre plus général (Faraguna 1994) et correspond parfaitement à ce que dit Aristote (Pol. VII,10,9 1329b 39–1330a 2): περὶ δὲ τῆς διανομῆς καὶ τῶν γεωργούντων, τίνας καὶ ποίους εἶναι χρή, λεκτέον πρῶτον, ἐπειδὴ οὔτε κοινήν φαμεν εἶναι δεῖν τὴν κτῆσιν ὥσπερ τινὲς εἰρήκασιν, ἀλλὰ τῇ χρήσει φιλικῶς γινομένῃ κοινήν, οὔτ’ ἀπορεῖν οὐθένα τῶν πολιτῶν τροφῆς. Quelle doit être la nature des cultivateurs et leurs caractères propres, puisque, selon nous, la propriété ne doit pas être commune, comme certains l’ont dit – c’est seulement par son usage, comme entre des amis, qu’elle devient commune –, et qu’aucun citoyen ne doit manquer de nourriture.

On retrouve dans le texte aristotélicien la même attention portée, à travers l’usage du verbe genesthai, non sur un concept théorique mais sur une action vue de manière réaliste et très pratique. La mise en commun de l’argent vise la circulation de la monnaie pour tous les membres de la communauté. Le deuxième passage ouvert à l’interprétation en est la suite. Pour que tous en aient une part la quantité de monnaie est un facteur moins important que sa circulation. Passant souvent d’un extrême à l’autre, certains ont été tentés d’y voir une réflexion de nature presque théorique sur la circulation monétaire. La réalité appartient au même domaine mais beaucoup plus simple et plus adapté aux questions du temps. Le mot central κυκλούμενα renvoie non à la circulation monétaire en tant que telle mais de manière plus réaliste au mot kuklos qui est le “cercle” de l’agora où l’on achète et on vend. Si la confiance est là, on va au marché, on achète et on vend: Schol.Aristophane Cavaliers, 137. ὁ δὲ κύκλος Ἀθήνησίν ἐστι, καθάπερ μάκελλος ἐκ τῆς κατασκευῆς τὴν προσηγορίαν λαβών. ἔνθα δὴ πιπράσκεται χωρὶς κρεῶν τὰ ἄλλα ὤνια, καὶ ἐξαιρέτως δὲ οἱ ἰχθύες. ἄλλως… ἔνιοι δὲ τόπος κυκλοτερής, ἐν ᾧ τὰ ὤνια ἐπωλοῦντο, ἃ ἐσφετερίζετο ὁ Κλέων. Le « cercle » est à Athènes comme un macellum, le nom étant dérivé de sa disposition. Y sont vendus, à côté de la viande les autres produits et en particulier le poisson. Quelques-uns expliquent (le mot Kykloboros) en référence à la place circulaire où sont vendus les produits, que Kleon s’appropriait à son avantage.

La conclusion du passage va plus loin, elle ouvre l’idée que malgré les rapprochements faits, il existe un fossé entre la sphère publique et la vie quotidienne et c’est clairement un fait nouveau par rapport à l’époque de Périclès. On ne peut connaître la popularité de ce sentiment, qui est peut-être ou non le fait d’une minorité de penseurs. Il n’est toutefois pas à considérer comme un désintérêt de la politique ou comme une contradiction profonde entre fait privé et fait public mais comme une

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étape dans la réflexion qui va aboutir vers la fin du siècle à une nouvelle façon de concevoir les rapports entre l’économie et la cité. Le texte du Pseudo-Aristote est un parfait témoin d’un grand débat qui a eu lieu alors à Athènes sur la place des biens matériels dans la cité (Descat 2004). L’auteur donne une nouvelle définition de la cité (Ps.Arist. Economique, I 1343a 10–12 : Πόλις μὲν οὖν οἰκιῶν πλῆθός ἐστι καὶ χώρας καὶ κτημάτων αὔταρκες πρὸς τὸ εὖ ζῆν. Φανερὸν δέ· ὅταν γὰρ μὴ δυνατοὶ ὦσι τούτου τυγχάνειν, διαλύεται καὶ ἡ κοινωνία. Une cité est un ensemble de maisons, de terres et de richesses, qui puisse se suffire à lui-même pour assurer la vie dans le bien-être. C’est bien évident: là où l’on ne peut atteindre ce but, la communauté même se trouve dissoute.

Certains commentateurs n’ont pas vu la différence, pourtant profonde, qui sépare l’auteur d’Aristote lui-même. Ainsi U.Victor (1983,172) parle d’un passage très proche (gedanklich … sehr ähnlich ) d’Aristote. La même similitude est soulignée implicitement par J.Aubonnet dans son commentaire et sa traduction de la Politique pour la CUF (ex.p.182n.3 : pour le passage d’Aristote Pol.VII,1328a35 (cf. infra), il dit d’une manière étonnante que « jugeant les choses d’un point de vue plutôt économique (sic) Aristote (car pour lui c’est le même auteur qui écrit l’Economique) définit la cité … et suit le passage que je viens de citer du Ps.Aristote !!. En revanche le dernier commentateur du texte R.Zoepffel, a remarqué clairement cette différence (2006, 422) : « der Autor … gibt insgesamt eine unaristotelische Definition, indem er nicht von den Menschen ausgeht wie Aristoteles, sondern von Dingen, die doch wohl nur dann als zu einer Polis gehörig angesehen werden können, wenn sie auf einem begrenzten Gebiet liegen. Aristoteles dagegen schreibt:… Die explizite Erwähnung von Grundstücken und Besitz ist darüber hinaus insofern merkwürdig, als diese im Grunde im Oikos inbegriffen sind ».

Le point est extrêmement important. Effectivement l’auteur a systématiquement pris le contrepied de la position d’Aristote qui, dans la Politique, s’oppose constamment à cette façon de voir car pour lui, les biens matériels ne sont pas une partie constituante de la polis (Pol. VII,8 1328a) : οἰκίᾳ γὰρ πρὸς οἰκοδόμον οὐθέν ἐστιν ὃ γίγνεται κοινόν, ἀλλ’ ἔστι τῆς οἰκίας χάριν ἡ τῶν οἰκοδόμων τέχνη. διὸ κτήσεως μὲν δεῖ ταῖς πόλεσιν, οὐδὲν δ’ ἐστὶν ἡ κτῆσις μέρος τῆς πόλεως· πολλὰ δ’ ἔμψυχα μέρη τῆς κτήσεώς ἐστιν· ἡ δὲ πόλις κοινωνία τίς ἐστι τῶν ὁμοίων, ἕνεκεν δὲ ζωῆς τῆς ἐνδεχομένης ἀρίστης. car entre une maison et son constructeur il n’y a rien qui devienne commun, mais l’art des constructeurs n’existe qu’en vue de la maison. C’est pourquoi les Etats ont besoin de la propriété, mais la propriété n’est nullement une partie de l’Etat, et il y a beaucoup d’êtres animés qui font partie de la propriété.

La cité n’est jamais l’équivalent d’un regroupement qui n’existerait que pour protéger les intérêts mutuels de ses membres (Politique III,9 1280a 25–36) : τὸ δὲ κυριώτατον οὐ λέγουσιν. εἰ μὲν γὰρ τῶν κτημάτων χάριν ἐκοινώνησαν καὶ συνῆλθον, τοσοῦτον μετέχουσι τῆς πόλεως ὅσον περ καὶ τῆς κτήσεως, ὥσθ’ ὁ τῶν ὀλιγαρχικῶν λόγος δόξειεν ἂν ἰσχύειν (οὐ γὰρ εἶναι δίκαιον ἴσον μετέχειν τῶν ἑκατὸν μνῶν τὸν εἰσενέγκαντα μίαν μνᾶν τῷ δόντι τὸ λοιπὸν πᾶν, οὔτε τῶν ἐξ ἀρχῆς οὔτε τῶν ἐπιγινομένων)· εἰ δὲ μήτε τοῦ ζῆν μόνον ἕνεκεν ἀλλὰ μᾶλλον τοῦ εὖ ζῆν (καὶ γὰρ ἂν

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δούλων καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ζῴων ἦν πόλις· νῦν δ’ οὐκ ἔστι, διὰ τὸ μὴ μετέχειν εὐδαιμονίας μηδὲ τοῦ ζῆν κατὰ προαίρεσιν), μήτε συμμαχίας ἕνεκεν, ὅπως ὑπὸ μηδενὸς ἀδικῶνται, μήτε διὰ τὰς ἀλλαγὰς καὶ τὴν χρῆσιν τὴν πρὸς ἀλλήλους mais on ne dit pas l’essentiel; si c’est pour avoir des biens en toute propriété que les hommes formèrent des communautés et se réunirent, la part qu’ils ont dans la cité doit être exactement proportionnelle à leur part de propriété, si bien que le raisonnement des oligarques aurait, semble-t-il, une force probante (il n’est pas juste, disent-ils, que l’associé qui, sur cent mines, n’en a apporté qu’une et celui qui a versé tout le reste aient une part égale du capital initial et des intérêts) mais admettons que ce ne soit pas uniquement pour vivre, mais plutôt pour vivre bien (autrement il pourrait y avoir une cité d’esclaves ou d’autres êtres vivants en général; mais, en réalité, il n’y en a pas, parce que ni les uns ni les autres n’ont en partage ni le bonheur ni la vie de leur choix), ni non plus pour former une alliance afin de ne subir d’injustice de personne, ni pour faciliter les échanges et les relations mutuelles.

Et la cité est un ensemble de familles et de villages sur un territoire sans qu’intervienne une troisième part, celle des richesses matérielles (Polit.III,9 1280b 30–40) : ἡ πόλις οὐκ ἔστι κοινωνία τόπου, καὶ τοῦ μὴ ἀδικεῖν σφᾶς αὐτοὺς καὶ τῆς μεταδόσεως χάριν· ἀλλὰ ταῦτα μὲν ἀναγκαῖον ὑπάρχειν, εἴπερ ἔσται πόλις, οὐ μὴν οὐδ’ ὑπαρχόντων τούτων ἁπάντων ἤδη πόλις, ἀλλ’ ἡ τοῦ εὖ ζῆν κοινωνία καὶ ταῖς οἰκίαις καὶ τοῖς γένεσι, ζωῆς τελείας χάριν καὶ αὐτάρ κους. οὐκ ἔσται μέντοι τοῦτο μὴ τὸν αὐτὸν καὶ ἕνα κατοικούντων τόπον καὶ χρωμένων ἐπιγαμίαις. διὸ κηδεῖαί τ’ ἐγένοντο κατὰ τὰς πόλεις καὶ φατρίαι καὶ θυσίαι καὶ διαγωγαὶ τοῦ συζῆν. τὸ δὲ τοιοῦτον φιλίας ἔργον· ἡ γὰρ τοῦ συζῆν προαίρεσις φιλία. τέλος μὲν οὖν πόλεως τὸ εὖ ζῆν, ταῦτα δὲ τοῦ τέλους χάριν. πόλις δὲ ἡ γενῶν καὶ κωμῶν κοινωνία ζωῆς τελείας καὶ αὐτάρκους la cité n’est pas une simple communauté de lieu pour empêcher des injustices réciproques, et pour faciliter les échanges; ce sont là, certes, des conditions indispensables s’il doit y avoir une cité; néanmoins seraient-elles toutes réunies qu’on n’aurait pas encore une cité : une cité, c’est la communauté du bien vivre pour les familles et les groupes de familles en vue d’une vie parfaite et autarcique. Ceci toutefois ne saurait se réaliser sans que les habitants ne soient en un seul et même lieu et ne se marient entre eux. Voilà d’où sont nés dans les Etats les alliances de familles, les phratries, les sacrifices publics et toutes les relations de la vie en commun. Ces diverses activités sont l’œuvre de l’amitié, car le choix délibéré de la vie en commun, c’est de l’amitié; la fin de l’Etat étant donc le bien vivre, tout cela n’existe que pour cette fin. Une cité est une communauté de familles et de villages vivant d’une vie parfaite et autarcique.

J’ai traité plus en détail ailleurs (Descat 2004) de l’importance de cette réflexion de l’école aristotélicienne sur la définition de la cité pour appréhender les faits nouveaux qui apparaissent à la fin du IVe s. après une période marquée par un comportement qui intègre de plus en plus les aspects économiques. Le fait que pour la première fois la cité puisse être définie avec la richesse matérielle comme l’un de ses constituants est tout à fait remarquable de ce point de vue. A travers cette analyse du comportement athénien face à l’économie au cours du IVe s. a. C., il apparaît que, loin d’être un ensemble de banalités disposé une fois pour toutes comme une évidence traditionnelle, il s’appréhende clairement comme le résultat d’un procès de rationalisation d’une pratique née au siècle précédent et qui s’est construite dans le cadre d’une harmonisation entre comportement privé et public. Dans cette tradition le IVe s. n’est pas le lieu d’une contradiction entre le privé et le public avec ce que cela pourrait vouloir dire sur une des phases suppo-

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sées de la crise de la cité mais constitue une étape très importante pour montrer la capacité de compréhension et d’adaptation de la pensée pratique grecque dans un domaine où pourtant elle paraissait de peu d’intérêt. BIBLIOGRAPHIE A. Cozzo 1988 Kerdos, semantica, ideologie e società nella Grecia antica Rome. R. Descat 1988 « Aux origines de l’oikonomia grecque » QUCC 28, 103–119. R. Descat 2004 « La cité et la richesse: un débat dans la pensée oikonomique grecque à la fin du IVe siècle », Mediterraneo Antico, VII-2, 461–476. M. Faraguna 1994 « Alle origini dell’oikonomia: dall’Anonimo di Giamblico ad Aristotele » RAL s.9 v.5, 551_589. L. Kallet-Marx 1993 Money, Expense, and Naval Power in Thucydides’ History 1–5.24.Berkeley-Los Angeles. M. Mari 2003 Anonimo di Giamblico La pace e il benessere Milan. A. J. Podlecki 1998 Perikles and his Circle, Londres-New York. U. Victor 1983 Aristoteles. Oikonomikos: das Erste Buch der Ökonomik-Handschriften, Text, übersetzung und Kommentar, Königstein. M. Weber1971, Economie et Société, trad.franç. Paris. R. Zoepffel 2006 Aristoteles Oikonomika, Berlin.

TRANSFORMATION OF THE ATHENIAN ECONOMY: MARITIME FINANCE AND MARITIME LAW Edward E. Cohen

Between the late sixth and the early fourth centuries, the economy of Athens underwent a radical alteration1 – a metamorphosis closely related to the extraordinary impact of the introduction and dissemination of coined money.2 This proliferating use of coins was a catalyst for society’s new functioning through the exchange of money for goods and services in profit-seeking transactions,3 a commoditization of wealth superseding the prior system of household production/consumption (supplemented by barter) that had been based on social and political relations. By the fourth century, a massive increase in liquidity had resulted from the new generation of

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I use the term “fourth century” for communicative convenience: phenomena attributed to the “fourth century” in fact sometimes were in the process of origination some years before the chronological commencement of the “fourth century,” or otherwise do not exactly correspond to this modern numerology. Coinage of high value, useful only for settling large transactions, had been introduced into mainland Greece by the sixth century (von Reden 2010: 69–79; Scheidel 2008: 268–70; Kroll 1997: 175) and had become widespread in the fifth (Rutter 1981). Cf. Howgego 1995: 6 ff.; Kraay 1976: 317; von Reden 2007. Yet only in the fourth century were there substantial issuances at Athens of a regular bronze coinage (Camp and Kroll 2001: 144; cf. Kroll 2000: 89) and of fractional commodity money appropriate for retail trade (Migeotte 2009: 121; von Reden 2010: 30–33). (For earlier issuance in Asia Minor and Italy of low-dimension silver coins, however, see Kim 1994, 2001; Price 1968, 1979). Grandjean 2007 explores the reasons underlying Athenian resistance to the early introduction of bronze coinage. Aristot. Pol. 1257a33–36, b3–5: ἐξ ἀνάγκης ἡ τοῦ νομίσματος ἐπορίσθη χρῆσις … πρὸς τὰς ἀλλαγὰς τοιοῦτόν τι συνέθεντο πρὸς σφᾶς αὐτοὺς διδόναι καὶ λαμβάνειν … εἶτα δι᾽ ἐμπειρίας ἤδη τεχνικώτερον, πόθεν καὶ πῶς μεταβαλλόμενον πλεῖστον ποιήσει κέρδος. On the dominance of monied transactions in fourth-century Athens, see Schaps 2004, 2008; Shipton 2000 (esp. 5–14), 2001; Picard 2008: 147–51. Contra: Meikle 1995: 186 (monetization relatively insignificant).

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money through farms and workshops,4 from silver mines,5 from rents for houses and land in Attica, from investments in property outside Attica, from maritime ventures, and from the profitable financing of trade 6 – all expedited by the trapezai (“banks”) which through a variety of mechanisms generated “bank money”7 and provided a form of intermediation that channeled currency from the aphanês ousia (“invisible economy”) of tax and creditor avoidance into productive uses.8 In Aristotle’s words, a “monied mode of acquisition” 9 had arisen from the new dominance of economic activity by persons pursuing financial gain (“making money from one another”), who converted every aspect of life into monetary considerations.10 Indeed – claims the Platonic Hipparkhos – all men in fourth-century Athens were fixated on personal gain: even the person rebuking others for an excessive love of lucre on close examination would himself be found to be philokerdês (a “lover of profit”).11 Maritime commerce is probably the most significant – and certainly the most spectacular – manifestation of this new orientation of economic activity to the pur-

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In Attica, rents for agricultural land were by the fourth century – in contrast to the old hektemorage system (Ste. Croix 2004: 109–28, pace Stanley 1999) – invariably paid and calculated in money, not in kind. See Xen. Mem. 2.7.2, 3.11.4, Symp. 8.25; Lys. 7.4 and 9–10; Isai. 9.42; Theophr, Khar. 4.5. For the significant cash generated in the fourth century from the leasing of public property, including land, see Jones 2004: 27–34; Osborne 1988: 291–292; Walbank 1991; Langdon 1987: 47–58. In the fourth century consumer items were often produced by commercial operations (ergasiai): the high proportion of slaves known to have been engaged in specialized craft activity in the mid-320’s stands in sharp contrast to the very low percentage so employed in the late fifth century. See I. G. II2 1553–1578 (lists reporting the manumission of 171 slaves in the 320’s) [Meyer 2010: 81–146; Lewis 1959, 1966(1997)] and the Attic Stelai (recording in 414 the sale of some 53 slaves: I. G.I3 421–30) [Walbank 1991: 70]. Bissa 2009: 49–65; Faraguna 2006; Kakavoyiannis 2005. For detailed consideration of these “new sources of personal wealth,” see Davies 1981: 41–55; Mossé 1973: 42–49. Supplementing the banks’ direct creation of money and expansion of credit through their loan and deposit processes (Shipton 2008, Schaps 2008: 44–45), the trapezai issued guarantees of credit, expedited commerce by confirming availability of funds in bank accounts, and executed payment orders through which commercial transactions were settled and obligations met without the actual transfer of coins (Cohen 2008: 76–83). See Cohen 2005, 1992a: 151–60, 191–207. ἡ κτητικὴ χρηματιστική (τέχνη) (Pol. 1256b 40–1). See Humphreys [1983] 1993: 12: “chrêmatistikê, the art of money-making.” Cf. Plato Symp. 173c6. A person “skilled at making money” was a χρηματιστής (Dem. 39.25; Xen. Oik. 2.18). Aristot. Pol. 1258a10–14: ἀνδρείας γὰρ οὐ χρήματα ποιεῖν ἐστιν ἀλλὰ θάρσος, οὐδὲ στρατηγικῆς καὶ ἰατρικῆς, ἀλλὰ τῆς μὲν νίκην τῆς δ᾽ ὑγίειαν. οἱ δὲ πάσας ποιοῦσι χρηματιστικάς, ὡς τοῦτο τέλος ὄν, πρὸς δὲ τὸ τέλος ἅπαντα δέον ἀπαντᾶν. 1258b1–4: τῆς δὲ μεταβλητικῆς ψεγομένης δικαίως (οὐ γὰρ κατὰ φύσιν ἀλλ᾽ ἀπ᾽ ἀλλήλων ἐστίν), εὐλογώτατα μισεῖται ἡ ὀβολοστατικὴ διὰ τὸ ἀπ᾽ αὐτοῦ τοῦ νομίσματος εἶναι τὴν κτῆσιν καὶ οὐκ ἐφ᾽ ὅπερ ἐπορίσθη. For Aristotle’s view on the appropriate role of money, see E.N 1133a19–29, 1133b10–28. πάντες ἄνθρωποι φιλοκερδεῖς ἂν εἶεν, καὶ οἱ χρηστοὶ καὶ οἱ πονηροί. … Οὐκ ἄρα ὀρθῶς ὀνειδίζει, εἴ τίς τῳ ὀνειδίζει φιλοκερδεῖ εἶναι: τυγχάνει γὰρ καὶ ὁ ταῦτα ὀνειδίζων αὐτὸς τοιοῦτος ὤν. Hipparkhos (attributed to Plato) 232c4–9.

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suit of monetary profit (kerdos). 12 In this paper I will explore how the fourth-century pursuit of financial gain (“making money from one another”) was incorporated into the very structure of nautical trade and was facilitated by Athenian legal innovations, especially the commercial maritime courts (dikai emporikai).

A. THE STRUCTURE OF MARITIME FINANCE The remarkable (potential) profitability of sea trade was broadly recognized at Athens: when Xenophon touts an investment with a return on capital that he calculates will range from not less than 18 percent to more than 100 percent per year, he characterizes such enormous returns as similar to “maritime” (nautikon) investing, i. e. similar to the high profitability of maritime finance.13 Justifying this idiomatic conflation of “maritime” with “highly profitable,” nautical trade promised a high return (sometimes double the funds invested, or more, for sea voyages that seldom required more than a few weeks) 14 – albeit accompanied by high risk. And this profit was often increased by the use of loans to reduce venturers’ investment from personal funds (“equity”), leverage that could vastly magnify entrepreneurs’ gains and that offered lenders unusually high yields. Hundreds of ship cargoes were required annually to satisfy Attica’s enormous need for food and other items.15 Numerous other cargoes were trans-shipped through Attica, attracted by the Piraeus’s dominant position as an entrepôt for the eastern Mediterranean,16 and by the Athenian commercial maritime courts (dikai emporikai) whose expedited procedures and rigorous enforcement processes were available only to ventures involving a written contract providing for trade through the port of Athens.17 Virtually all of these ships and cargoes required financing: according to a fourth-century litigant, “the resources required for trade are provided by lenders: without finance, not a ship, not a ship-owner, not a merchant could set out on the waters.” 18 The high level of activity at the Piraeus harbor throughout the 12

13 14 15 16 17 18

Kerdos corresponds precisely to the modern word “profit.” See Xenophon’s explanation of Athens as an “extremely profitable” (kerdaleôtatê) situs for nautical commerce: Ὧς γε μὴν καὶ ἐμπορεύεσθαι ἡδίστη τε καὶ κερδαλεωτάτη ἡ πόλις, νῦν ταῦτα λέξω … ἢν δὲ μὴ βούλωνται ἀντιφορτίζεσθαι, καὶ οἱ ἀργύριον ἐξάγοντες καλὴν ἐμπορίαν ἐξάγουσιν. ὅπου γὰρ ἂν πωλῶσιν αὐτό, πανταχοῦ πλέον τοῦ ἀρχαίου λαμβάνουσιν. (Poroi 3.1–2). Cf. Aristot. Pol. 1257b7–8, where “(b)y profit, Aristotle meant the monetary gain from an exchange that accrues to the seller of a good that is the difference between its sale price and all costs associated with bringing it to market, just as we generally define the word today” (Engen 2010: 3). Xen. Por. 3.9: ὥσπερ ναυτικόν. Brevity of journeys: Diodôros 3.34.7; Casson 1971: 281–91; Silver 1995: 85–88. Oliver 2007: 15–41; Moreno 2007: 3–33, 323–34; Bissa 2009: 169–91. Cf. Bresson 2008: II.208–10, 2000: 278, n. 66.; Garnsey 1999: 30 (“traffic in foodstuffs … its scale was huge”). Vélissaropoulos 1980: 31–32; Gofas 1993: 199–200. Cohen 1973: Chs. 1–2; Moreno 2007: 285–86. Dem. 34.51: αἱ γὰρ εὐπορίαι τοῖς ἐργαζομένοις οὐκ ἀπὸ τῶν δανειζομένων, ἀλλ᾽ ἀπὸ τῶν δανειζόντων εἰσίν, καὶ οὔτε ναῦν οὔτε ναύκληρον οὔτ᾽ ἐπιβάτην ἔστ᾽ ἀναχθῆναι, τὸ τῶν δανειζόντων μέρος ἂν ἀφαιρεθῇ. Cf. Ste. Croix 1974: 43.

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fourth century confirms the availability of such funding – and on terms appropriate to the pursuit of profit, a framework quite different from that prevailing for non-maritime financing, which was often directed toward consumption rather than toward enterprise.19 In contrast to “landed loans” (daneismata eggeia), whose relatively low yield was calculated by the amount of time that a loan was outstanding,20 maritime loans (daneismata nautika) carried a high set return – a fixed charge that did not vary with the amount of time lenders’ funds were outstanding. In every case where information is preserved concerning the anticipated return on maritime credit, yield is calculated on the same fixed basis. At Demosthenes 50.17, a fixed yield of “one-eighth” is payable on a maritime loan for a relatively short one-way journey between Sêstos and Athens.21 In Demosthenes 34, relating to maritime trade between Athens and Bosporos, the yield for the financing is set at 600 dr. on a principal sum of 2,000 dr. (§§ 23, 25). In the negotiation of a maritime loan secured by a ship (Dem. 56.5), yields governed by destination, Athens or Rhodes, are proposed, rather than interest calculated by passage of time.22 In Demosthenes 35, the lenders were to receive a fixed yield of 675 dr. to be paid, in addition to principal, within 20 days of the ship’s return to Athens – provided that the trip back from the Pontic area commenced before the rise of Arktouros (mid-September) 23 but otherwise without regard to the course chosen or time required. And at Demosthenes 33.6, Apatourios owes 4,000 dr. on a maritime loan covering the sea journey that has just been completed – but there is no indication that interest is continuing to run on a daily or monthly basis, as in the case of a non-maritime loan. Because the financial success of the undertaking – not the mere passage of time – governed creditors’ return, lenders’ and borrowers’ profit incentives were closely aligned. Maritime creditors, limited to a pre-determined fee, would have wanted to recover as soon as possible funds that had been advanced – in order to have fresh money for new credits, and new fixed returns. Maritime debtors likewise would have wanted to complete their journeys and reap their profits as soon as possible – in order to undertake additional ventures, and hopefully gain additional profit 19 20 21

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Cohen (forthcoming), 1992b; Millett 1991. Lysias 32.15; Theophr. Char. 6.2; Xen. Por. 3.9. See Cohen 1990. δανεισάμενος ἐγὼ ἀργύριον παρ᾽ Ἀρχεδήμου μὲν τοῦ Ἀναφλυστίου πεντεκαίδεκα μνᾶς ἐπίτοκον, ὀκτακοσίας δὲ δραχμὰς παρὰ Νικίππου τοῦ ναυκλήρου ναυτικὸν ἀνειλόμην, ὃς ἔτυχεν ὢν ἐν Σηστῷ, ἐπόγδοον, σωθέντος δὲ τοῦ πλοίου Ἀθήναζε ἀποδοῦναι αὐτὸ καὶ τοὺς τόκους. Cf. Harpokratiôn on ἐπόγδοον: “one-eighth” refers to a loan where return to a lender would be exactly that fraction of the principal sum advanced. ἔλεγον ὅτι βούλονται δανείσασθαι ἐπὶ τῇ νηί, ἐφ᾽ ᾧ τε πλεῦσαι εἰς Αἴγυπτον καὶ ἐξ Αἰγύπτου εἰς Ῥόδον ἢ εἰς Ἀθήνας, διομολογησάμενοι τοὺς τόκους < τοὺς > εἰς ἑκάτερον τῶν ἐμπορίων τούτων. Throughout Dem. 56. yields are referred to as determined not by time, but by destination (cf. §§ 12, 28 [τοὺς εἰς Ῥόδον τόκους], 29). If the borrowers chose to extend the voyage past the summer solstice, increasing risk as sailing conditions became less favorable, they were obliged to repay principal plus 900 dr., but again without reference to the amount of time that might eventually pass before their return to Athens (ἐὰν δὲ μετ᾽ Ἀρκτοῦρον ἐκπλεύσωσιν ἐκ τοῦ Πόντου ἐφ᾽ Ἱερόν, ἐπὶ τριακοσίαις τὰς χιλίας. … § 10)

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during the relatively brief summer sailing season (the prime period for sea commerce). If funds could be redeployed several times during a single season, increased gain might be obtained; if a single venture required even a few additional weeks during the period of good weather, further opportunities for high return might be lost. Even the court calendar was structured to maximize the sailing time available for commercial ventures.24 In this commercial context, it would have been nugatory to relate return on funds to passage of time: if repayment were delayed for half a month, additional “interest” at the standard “landed” rate of 1 percent per month would have meant only an additional 15 dr. on a loan of 3,000 dr. But the delay might eliminate opportunities for maritime reinvestment that might yield creditors, as in Demosthenes 35, an additional 675 dr. or more in a relatively short period. On a single undertaking – to the Adriatic Sea, for example – a venturer might anticipate doubling his own investment (Lysias 32.25). Minimization of the amount of venturers’ own money committed to a transaction would obviously have increased venturers’ potential rate of return on investment. Maritime lenders, however, insisted on substantial equity investments from the merchants and ship-owners to whom they were extending credit. To obtain credit of 3,000 dr., for example, the borrowers at Demosthenes 35 were required to contribute an equal amount of capital.25 For a loan of 2,000 dr. at Demosthenes 34, equity of 2,000 dr. was required (and the same debtor had to furnish substantial, although for us not precisely determinable, capital to obtain a further advance of 4,500 dr.). To the extent that an entrepreneur was able to borrow the funds (properly or improperly) for this equity contribution, or a large portion thereof, on a relatively low fixed fee basis – rather than taking on an equity partner to share in the anticipated profits – that venturer’s potential return on personal funds would, of course, increase astronomically. In fact, much equity investment appears to have been generated from wealthy individuals having no personal involvement in overseas commerce.26 Many of these investors needed the anonymity of working through others: considerable funding for maritime investment was being generated from the “invisible” (aphanês) economy, avoiding taxes and creditors and Athenian laws requiring grain to be imported into Attica even if more favorable market conditions might prevail elsewhere.27 Equity partnerships or participations were frequently utilized even for relatively small transactions.28 An equity stake itself might be borrowed. Although 24 25 26

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ὡς μὴ ἀποκωλύεσθαι ἀποπλεῖν τὸν βουλόμενον, πολὺ ἂν καὶ διὰ ταῦτα πλείους τε καὶ ἥδιον ἐμπορεύοιντο (Xen. Por. 3.3) See Bresson’s analysis: 2008: 69. Migeotte 2008: 72–73; M. V. Hansen 1984: 71; Isager and Hansen 1975: 71–72. Ste. Croix: “The important social function of the maritime loan was to spread the considerable risks of commerce over the much larger and richer landowning class” (1974: 43). Dem. 35.50–51; Dem. 34.37; Lykourg. Leôk. 27. The contract at Dem. 35.10–12 involves dual lenders and dual borrowers, as does the agreement purported quoted in Dem. 56. At least two borrowers appear in Dem. 32 (Protos and Fertatos, § 17) and Dem. 52 (Megakleidês and Thrasyllos, § 20). None of these loans amounted even to a talent. Ships themselves were owned in partnership: see the deposition of Apollônidês, co-owner of the vessel in Dem. 35 (§ 33).

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maritime creditors generally insisted on substantial collateral security, other lenders seem to have been willing to provide unsecured loans if the yield were sufficiently elevated. For example, the banker Sôsinomos made an apparently unsecured loan at the high “landed” interest rate of 36 % per year to a certain Aiskhinês, an habitué of the harbor deeply involved in maritime ventures. Since Aiskhinês allegedly considered “the money he borrows to be his own much more than what his father left to him,” 29 such funds might well have gone toward the equity contribution required by maritime lenders. Other nautical venturers generated cash, illegitimately, from multiple encumbrances on the same collateral. In Demosthenes 32, for example, a nauklêros and an emporos allegedly defrauded lenders when each confirmed for the other that they had placed substantial collateral on board a vessel (§ 4): the multiple borrowings eliminated the need for an independent equity contribution. The debtor in Demosthenes 34 delivers entirely insufficient collateral, but then succeeds in effectuating a number of loans, each secured by the same cargo. By such means, without contributing much, if any, of their own money, merchants, traders and ship-owners were able to satisfy creditors’ demand for contributions subordinate to sea loans. Potential gains for both lenders and borrowers accordingly were enormous. But so were potential losses. Often, if not always, the lender was entitled to recover principal and yield only if the security underlying the loan – vessel or cargo – survived the journey.30 From a transactional aspect, the high rates of return on maritime lending and venturing might be seen as compensation for the enormous hazards inherent in sea finance, and as a reflection of the high skills required to deal with the extraordinary complexity of overseas trade and finance in the fourth century. A single ship might carry many “traders” (emporoi), and each of these emporoi might have separate cargo securing separate loans31: at least thirty merchants were on board the cargo ship whose sinking is the focus of the litigation at Demosthenes 34.32 The vessel itself might be securing a separate loan from still other lenders,33 and the ship owner might have subjected part or all of his own cargo to further lien(s) from yet other financier(s). Illustrative is the situation of the vessel used for the transaction that is the subject of Demosthenes 35. This ship carried numerous merchants and agents pursuing their own separate undertakings: retainers of a certain Apollônidês of Halikarnassos, a “partner in the ship,” were on board (§ 33) 34 ; a loan had been made to the ship operator secured by the vessel and by goods being 29

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Lysias, fr. 1 (Carey): Οὗτος ὀφείλων ἀργύριον ἐπὶ τρίσι δραχμαῖς Σωσινόμῳ τῷ τραπεζίτῃ … οἱ ἐν τῷ Πειραιεῖ διάκεινται, ὥστε πολὺ ἀσφαλέστερον εἶναι δοκεῖν εἰς τὸν Ἁδρίαν πλεῖν ἥ τούτῳ συμβάλλειν· πολὺ γὰρ μᾶλλον ἅ ἄν δανείσηται αὑτοῦ νομίζει εἶναι ἢ ἅ ὁ πατὴρ αὐτῷ κατέλιπεν. See Cohen 1973: 127–29; Cohen 1990; Bresson and Bresson 2004. See, for example, Dem. 35.31–32; Dem. 56.24; Dem. 32.5–8. We know that at least thirty free persons died in this shipwreck. Since the captain-nauklêros appears to have been a slave (Cohen 1973: 121 n. 48), it seems unlikely that these persons were crew members: they may not all have possessed their own cargoes. See Dem. 32.14 and 56.6. In the latter case, the goods selected for transport to the Piraeus were hypothecated to other creditors. Cf. Gernet 1954–60, 3: 133 n. 4. κοινωνεῖν δὲ καὶ αὑτὸν τῆς νεὼς Ὑβλησίῳ. Cf. Dem. 49.31; Harris 2006, esp. nn. 1–2.

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transported to the Pontos (§§ 32–33); freight was being carried from Pantikapaion to Theodosia (in the Crimea) under arrangements unrelated to the loan documented in Demosthenes 35 (§ 34). So disparate were the transactions that in addition to crew members, eight other persons offer depositions (§§ 20, 34) concerning cargo transported from Mendê to the Pontic area, other goods on board when the vessel was sailing along the Crimean coastline, and various financing arrangements covering diverse freight. The preserved contract clearly anticipates multiple cargoes independently owned: decisions on jettison must be taken by majority vote of persons on board (§ 11). Such complexity not only enhances profit potential for astute emporoi but inherently multiplies the possibility of dispute – for which Athens in the fourth century offered a profit-oriented juridical forum whose attractiveness was enhanced by ancillary laws and decrees favorable to commercial activity and protective of the city’s interests. B. COURTS, LAWS AND DECREES In the fourth century, Athens pursued various governmental initiatives that had the effect of enhancing the likely profitability from trade involving Attica. Athens sought to protect the purity of the silver currency circulating in the Peiraeus. With increasing frequency, the dêmos offered immunity from taxation and other transactional costs to important suppliers and traders. For favored foreign dealers, Athens provided asyleia, a pledge of protection against seizure of goods or person.35 Through special maritime courts (dikai emporikai), the Athenians managed both to offer an enticing jurisdiction for the adjudication of maritime disputes – to the advantage of merchants, shippers, ship owners, sailors, and financiers – and through these courts to exercise substantial influence over trade in the Eastern Mediterranean – to the Athenians’ advantage. According to Xenophon, Athens – especially because of universal preference for its silver coinage – was an “extremely profitable” (kerdaleôtatê) and “advantageous polis (in which) to carry on maritime commerce”: a trader delivering goods to Peiraeus can, if he wishes, sell elsewhere for more than his original cost the Athenian coins he receives in payment.36 This assured profit arose, at least in part, from strong legislative and administrative efforts to protect the purity of money issued at the Athenian mint. To defend the quality and weight of Athenian silver currency, Athens had in 375/4 enacted a law providing for extensive testing of Athenian coins proffered in the Peiraeus and in the city Agora.37 Money Testers (Dokimastes) enforced acceptance of any coins that they judged Athenian but confiscated

35 36 37

I. G. II2 81, 286+625, 360; I. G. I3 98, 174. Poroi 3.1–2 (Greek text above, n. 12. On ἡδίστη as “advantageous” (French, commode), see Gauthier 1976: 75. Stroud 1974= SEG 26.72. For recent treatments of this important inscription, see the various essays in Magnetto et al., eds., 2010; Engen 2005; Ober 2008: 220–40 (who emphasizes traders’ savings in transaction costs resulting from the coin-testing law).

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even “good imitations (that were) inferior in silver content” 38; they returned to their owners coins deemed imitations that nonetheless satisfied Athenian standards for silver content.39 These imitative but pure coins, apparently minted in large numbers primarily in Egypt,40 seem thereafter to have traded at a considerable (perhaps 5 %) discount from the value received for coins recognized as genuinely of Athenian manufacture.41 Governmental testing of coins purported to be Athenian thus appears to have enhanced the marketability, and hence the value, of Athenian currency obtained through transactions at Athens. Official evaluation also would have reduced merchants’ and financiers’ transaction costs by eliminating the need for specialized private determination of the value of Attic currency and by reducing expenses for losses resulting from impaired valuation of coins ultimately found to be debased. Ateleia (exemption from taxation) was another mechanism through which the Athenian state markedly decreased transaction costs for certain suppliers and traders important to the Athenian market. Businessmen reaped substantial savings through relief from hefty import and harbor taxes, and through absolution from costly liturgies such as the trierarchy and from prescriptive charges on capital, including the eisphora and pro-eisphora42 – imposing a tax-drain on Athens that generated proposals to suppress such exemptions.43 Numerous examples of such grants survive, especially from the second half of the fourth century.44 Tax relief for Bosporan merchandise and merchants is illustrative. During much of the fourth century, no supplier was more important than the Bosporan kingdom which provided a major portion of Athens’ enormous need for imported grain 45 – and directed these foodstuffs to Athens on a preferential basis. A Bosporan litigant in an important commercial case claims that the king (Satyros) and his prime minister “always” 38 39

40

41 42 43

44 45

Figueira 1998: 547. On imitative and counterfeit coinage in antiquity, with special attention to the Athenian coinage law of 375/74, see van Alfen 2005. Pace Stroud (1974: 169), and despite the silence of the law of 375/74, there seems general agreement that the dokimastes did not require acceptance of these imitative coins as legal tender in transactions at the Peiraeus or in the Agora: see especially Ober 2008: 231–32; Buttrey 1981, 1982. By the fourth century, the Athenian owl had become “ubiquitous” in Egypt, attested as in routine use in commercial transactions (Kroll 2011: 30–31; Nicolet-Pierre 2006: 140–41). Several Egyptian dies for producing imitative Athenian coins have survived: see Meadows 2011: esp. 109–110. Many coin hoards from Egypt contain large numbers of imitation (and authentic) Athenian coins: see, for example, IGCH 1649 (over 6,000 owls), 1663 (some 700 owls). See Kosmetatou 2001; Nicolet-Pierre 2005: 144–45, 151–52. Schol. Dem. 20.113 (Dilts): ἡ ἀτέλεια διττή· ἤ γὰρ κατ᾽ ἐμπορίαν ἐστὶν ἤ κατὰ λειτουργίαν. Cf. MacDowell 2004: 129. Dem. 20.1 (proposal by Leptinês that μηδὲν᾽ εἶναι ἀτελῆ). Cf. § 29: μηδένα μήτε τῶν πολιτῶν μήτε τῶν ἰσοτελῶν μήτε τῶν ξένων εἶναι ἀτελῆ). On the general scope and impact of maritime taxes in classical Greece, see Vélissaropoulos 1980: 205–231. See I. G. II2 286+625, 360, 408, 653, I. G. I3 182. Cf. I.G. II2 141, 211. On ateleia: Oliver 2007: 30–37; Henry 1983: 241–61; Knoepfler 2001: 55–60 (Central Greece). Demosthenes claimed that the Athenians consumed more imported grain than any other people, and that Pontos supplied as much of this grain as all other exporters combined (Dem. 20.31– 33). Cf. Moreno 2007: 20–22; Whitby 1998.

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placed Athenian interests above those of the other Greeks, and “often” sent off empty the vessels of “the other emporoi” and “gave the export” to Athens (Isokratês 17.57). 46 In turn, the Athenians are known over a period of five decades to have bestowed on the Bosporan kings “total exemption from taxes” (ateleia pantôn).47 Although this ateleia has been interpreted as personal to the reigning monarch at Bosporus, and hence of limited economic importance,48 numerous passages in Isokratês 17 testify to the close involvement of the Bosporan ruling regime in the actual conduct of maritime commerce involving Athens. The speaker in Isokratês 17 – an important personage in the royal government (the Prime Minister’s son, closely related by marriage to the King) – was personally and significantly active in nautical trade. With two ships filled with grain and with considerable cash, he came to Athens for maritime commerce (kat’ emporian) (§ 4, cf. § 1). At Athens, he leverages this money considerably (§ 43), participating in numerous commercial transactions: he lends large sums on a Delian cargo ship (§ 42); he works with an Athenian bank to provide financing for maritime trade (§§ 35–37); he allegedly facilitates major commercial transactions (§§ 12, 28). But his money appears not to have been his own or even that of his immediate family: when his father loses the sovereign’s confidence, the king instructs him to deliver his cash and other assets to royal agents in Athens, and he does so (except for funds that he’s able to hide) (§§ 5–8). Self-interest may therefore explain the report that King Satyros personally gathered maritime businessmen at Bosporos and called upon them to provide support for the Prime Minister’s son, in the same context even dispatching a personal letter to Athens (§§ 51–52). When acting for the king, thererfore, Bosporan merchants likely would have enjoyed ateleia from Athenian taxes, just as Athenian traders enjoyed ateleia at Bosporos49: confirming this hypothesis, the son of Sopaios appears not to have been subject to tax on the two ships full of grain which he brought into Athens.50 Athenian law and legal procedures also enhanced profitability for traders active in the Attic emporion. In the absence of individually-negotiated bilateral treaty relationships (symbola),51 the courts of the hundreds of independent Greek states 46

47

48 49

50 51

Ἄξιον δὲ καὶ Σατύρου καὶ τοῦ πατρὸς ἐνθυμηθῆναι, οἳ πάντα τὸν χρόνον περὶ πλείστου τῶν Ἑλλήνων ὑμᾶς ποιοῦνται, καὶ πολλάκις ἤδη διὰ σπάνιν σίτου τὰς τῶν ἄλλων ἐμπόρων ναῦς κενὰς ἐκπέμποντες ὑμῖν ἐξαγωγὴν ἔδοσαν. On the mercantile activity of the son of Sopaios, see Cohen 1992a: 38–40. An Athenian decree of 346 honors later Bosporan rulers with the privileges previously granted to King Satyros: τὰς δωρειάς, ἅς [ὁ δῆμ]ος ἔδωκε Σατύρωι : ll. 22–23. IG ii2 212=R/O 64. Cf. Dem. 20.30–33. Engen 2010: 191, 284; Gauthier 1981: 28, 1985: 156–57. Dem. 20.31–34: διὰ τὸ κύριον ὄντα τὸν Λεύκωνα αὐτοῦ τοῖς ἄγουσιν Ἀθήναζε ἀτέλειαν δεδωκέναι. … ἆρ᾽ ἀγνοεῖτε ὅτι ὁ αὐτὸς νόμος οὗτος ἐκεῖνόν τ᾽ ἀφαιρήσεται τὴν ἀτέλειαν, κύριος ἂν γένηται, καὶ ὑμῶν τοὺς παρ᾽ ἐκείνου σιτηγοῦντας; Exemption from taxes at Bosporos was especially valuable, since the Bosporan tax rate on exports of grain, τριακοστή (3 and 1/3 %), is the highest known classical impost on the export of grain: see Bissa 2009: 161. Isok. 17.4. For reasons why the son of Sopaios “ne devait probablement pas y payer de taxe douanière” (Bresson 2008: 81), see Bresson 2007. For these diplomatic arrangements through which a member of one state might obtain the right

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were normally open only to litigants who were members (“citizens”) of that state.52 Yet sea trade by its nature involved participants of the most varied background and origin, and its profitability was related, as we have seen, to the rapidity with which maritime undertakings might be undertaken and completed. In 355, Xenophon noted that maritime commerce in general, and Athens in particular, would benefit greatly if the Athenian authorities could devise a mechanism to resolve trade disputes justly and quickly.53 Shortly thereafter,54 the Athenians did establish the dikai emporikai, an innovative procedure which disposed of cases expeditiously but rigorously, without regard to parties’ personal status or place of origin or residence 55 – but did so only for nautical ventures involving a written contract providing for trade through the port of Athens.56 With the introduction of the dikai emporikai, the interests of both Athens and of the sailors and merchants of the emporia were now aligned – for mutual monetary advantage. Even before the institution of the new courts, the Peiraeus had offered a peerless harbor, centrally-located in the eastern Mediterranean, providing extraordinary facilities for safely mooring ships,57 trapezai for the favorable procurement of the coins and currencies critical to profitable maritime operations,58 and wholesale markets, such as the Deigma, for the expedition of commerce.59 By adding an appealing juridical venue open only to parties trading through the Piraeus, Athens might reasonably have expected an increase in port activity – and a corresponding increase in revenue from its 2 % tax (the pentakostê) imposed on all goods coming

52

53

54 55

56

57

58

59

to litigate in another jurisdiction, see Gauthier 1972; Cataldi 1983, 1992. Aristot. Pol. 1275a (interpreted by Paoli [1930] 1974: 283 ff.). Cf. Lanni 2007: 227. For the vast number of separate communities in Hellenic antiquity, see Ruschenbusch 1978: 3–17, 1984: 55–57, 1985: 257. Cf. Hansen 1994: 14. Xen. Poroi 3.3: εἰ δὲ καὶ τῇ τοῦ ἐμπορίου ἀρχῇ ἆθλα προτιθείη τις ὅστις δικαιότατα καὶ τάχιστα διαιροίη τὰ ἀμφίλογα, ὡς μὴ [ἀπο]κωλύεσθαι ἀποπλεῖν τὸν βουλόμενον, πολὺ ἂν καὶ διὰ ταῦτα πλείους τε καὶ ἥδιον ἐμπορεύοιντο. On Xenophon’s various proposals for increasing Athenian state revenues, see Ober 2010:168–70; Jansen 2007: 283–406; Doty 2003. Reference to a dikê emporikê is found already in 347 in Demosthenes’ speech against Meidias (21.176). Although open access to commercial courts was an Athenian innovation in the fourth century (Vélissaropoulos 1980: 33–34), other states, including Syracuse (Dem. 32.18), Rhodes (Dem. 56.47) and Byzantion (Dem. 45.64) came to offer similar access to foreigners in maritime matters. Cf. Scholion to Dem. 21.176. Dem. 32.1: οἱ νόμοι κελεύουσιν τὰς δίκας εἶναι τοῖς ναυκλήροις καὶ τοῖς ἐμπόροις τῶν Ἀθήναζε καὶ τῶν Ἀθήνηθεν συμβολαίων, καὶ περὶ ὧν ἂν ὦσι συγγραφαί. Similarly: Dem. 32.22, 33.1, 35.51. See Cohen 1973: 99–114; Moreno 2007: 285–86; Lanni 2006: 151; Rhodes 1993: 664–65. Xen. Por. 1.6, 3.1: τῆς Ἑλλάδος καὶ πάσης δὲ τῆς οἰκουμένης ἀμφὶ τὰ μέσα οἰκεῖσθαι τὴν πόλιν … ναυσὶ καλλίστας καὶ ἀσφαλεστάτας ὑποδοχὰς ἔχει, ὅπου γ᾽ ἔστιν εἰσορμισθέντας ἀδεῶς ἕνεκα χειμῶνος ἀναπαύεσθαι. Cf. Casevitz 1993: 20. Xen. Por. 3.2: τοῖς ἐμπόροις ἐν μὲν ταῖς πλείσταις τῶν πόλεων ἀντιφορτίζεσθαί τι ἀνάγκη: νομίσμασι γὰρ οὐ χρησίμοις ἔξω χρῶνται: ἐν δὲ ταῖς Ἀθήναις πλεῖστα μὲν ἔστιν ἀντεξάγειν ὧν ἂν δέωνται ἄνθρωποι, ἢν δὲ μὴ βούλωνται ἀντιφορτίζεσθαι, καὶ [οἱ] ἀργύριον ἐξάγοντες καλὴν ἐμποριἀν ἐξάγουσιν. Pollux 9.34, s. v. δεῖγμα. Cf. Gofas 1993: 210; 1982; 1970.

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into or going out of the Piraeus.60 Even before the development of the dikai emporikai, this impost produced substantial revenue: in 399, a year of straitened commerce, harbor duties generated some 36 talents of gross income (reflecting goods having a value of some 10,800,000 dr.), perhaps a billion U. S. dollars on a purchasing-power-parity calculation.61 During the fourth century, other Athenian innovations had also made the Peiraeus increasingly attractive and/or unavoidable. Residents of Attica were forbidden to ship grain to any location other than Attica62 or to provide financing for the transportation of grain to any market other than that of Attica.63 (As an accommodation to traders, however, Athenian law did provide that once ships arrived in Attica, a substantial portion, up to one-third, of cereals on board could be reexported.64) As a possible result of this channeling of ships and finance into the Peiraeus, during the course of the fourth century the number of special officers (sitophylakes) dealing with the grain trade more than tripled.65 State revenues from port duties and similar taxes (such as that on transactions in the Deigma) increased sharply during the same period,66 “correlations (that were) not mere happenstance” (Ober 2010: 160). The structure of the dikai emporikai was strikingly accommodative to the profit orientation of maritime entrepreneurs and lenders. In contrast to the protracted delays (diatribai) that seem to have been endemic in Athenian court processes, often extending the resolution of legal disputes for years and sometimes even for decades,67 the commercial maritime courts were summary in procedure, rendering rapid decisions on a monthly basis.68 As a further accommodation to commerce, the courts operated only during the fall and winter (from about early September to early May) 69: emporic trial during the cold months of adverse sea conditions left mer60 61 62 63 64 65 66

67 68

69

Andok. 1.133; Dem. 21.133, 34.7, 35.29–30, 59.27; Lykourg. 1.58; Lex. Seg. 297.21, 192.30; Et. Magn. s. v. πεντηκοστή. See Vélissaropoulos 1980: 208; Isager and Hansen 1975: 64. Dem. 34.37, 35.50. Cf. Lykourg. 1.27. Dem. 35.50–51. Cf. Dem. 56.11. On the relatively massive financial resources of Athenian bankers, see Dem. 36.57–58; Isok. 17.2. Cf. Cohen (forthcoming). Aristot. Ath. Pol. 51.4. Cf. Harp. and Suidas, s. v. ἐπιμεληταὶ ἐμπορίου. Aristot. Ath. Pol. 51.2. Cf. Lysias 22.8. See Gauthier 1981. About four hundred talents appear to have constituted “normal” revenue for much of the fourth century (although state income fell to only 130 talents in 350 following the Social War): Dem. 10.37–38. Under Lykourgos, revenues supposedly reached 1,200 to 1,575 talents (Plut. Bioi Rhêtorôn 842F, 852B). See, for example, Dem. 21, 30, 38, 39, 40, 43, 45. Cf. Aiskh. 3.219, 254; Lysias 17.5; Dem. 46.22, and the discussion of these cases at Cohen 1973: 109–12. The mechanism for this rapidity has been much discussed. Some scholars believe that expedited dispute resolution resulted from a requirement in the dikai emporikai that cases be adjudicated within a month after initiation (Gauthier 1974; Vélissaropoulos 1980: 241–45; Hansen 1983); others contend that expeditious disposal of litigation resulted from the introduction of new groups of cases each month and the exemption of this litigation from institutionalized sources of delay (Cohen 1973: 23–42; MacDowell 1976, 1978: 232, 1990: 266–67; Gofas 1978; Carey and Reid 1985: 223; Rhodes 1993: 583; Moreno 2007: 286). Dem. 33.23: αἱ δὲ λήξεις τοῖς ἐμπόροις τῶν δικῶν ἔμμηνοί εἰσιν ἀπὸ τοῦ βοηδρομιῶνος μέχρι τοῦ μουνιχιῶνος ἵνα παραχρῆμα τῶν δικαίων τυχόντες ἀνάγωνται. See Cohen 1973: 42–59; MacDowell 1978: 232; Carey and Reid 1985: 233 ff.; Rhodes 1993: 583; Egan

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chants and traders free to pursue business profit during the prime summer sailing season. Special measures were available to assure a defendant’s appearance at trial and to enforce the judgments of the maritime tribunals. Despite the rarity of imprisonment as a procedural or punitive process at Athens,70 in the dikai emporikai foreign defendants (xenoi) were required to post bail through sureties. A foreigner unable to provide this bail “would go to jail.” 71 Because the maritime tribunal was effectively the only court in fourth-century Athens to admit “foreigners” (who constituted a large portion of the persons involved in sea trade and in maritime litigation72), this requirement of pretrial bail for xenoi meant that – in contrast to the procedures in other courts where defendants might freely depart after an adverse judgment – a substantial proportion of litigants here were required either to post bond prior to adjudication or to be imprisoned while awaiting their court hearing. In turn, the posting of bond – and the many other profit-oriented aspects of the dikai emporikai – generated even greater ancillary benefits for Athenian businesses such as the trapezai, initially established as currency changers and traders, but as the fourth century progressed, increasingly involved in deposit-taking and commercial lending. And as the trapezai grew, they were able to provide even greater services for traders and financiers.73 In short, then, the Athenian polis and maritime businessmen shared a mutually-recognized commonality of interest – to which litigants frequently appealed and on behalf of which the state frequently acted. One speaker explicitly insists on the mutual interdependence of the Athenian dêmos and the multinational participants in the maritime trade: wronging commercial lenders is equivalent to damaging the Athenians themselves.74 Another advocate insists: “Maritime Commerce and Maritime Finance, and the Piraeus Itself, Will Flourish, if the Athenian Courts Strongly Uphold Contracts and Agreements, and Show No Tolerance for Those Violating These Compacts” (Dem. 56.48).75 This paper has sought to demonstrate that such

70 71 72 73

74 75

2010: 62. Moreno (2007: 286, n. 362) notes “unconvincing attempts to transpose the order of these months, unanimously transmitted in the manuscripts, to fit these cases in the sailing months” (pace Reed 2003: 90–91). See Cohen 1973: 74–83; MacDowell 1990: 268; Hunter 1997. For a variant interpretation, see Allen 1997. Dem. 32.29. Cf. Lysias 13.23; Isok. 17.12; Dem. 25.60. For estimates of aliens’ importance in this trade, see Erxleben 1974: 462–82; Isager and Hansen 1975: 70–75; M. V. Hansen 1984: 71–92. For the broad scope of bankers’ services, see Dem. 49, passim; Cohen 1992a: 22–23 (“fiduciary activities: witnessing transactions, safeguarding documents, accepting valuables for safekeeping”); Bogaert 1968: 305–75. κἂν ἐξελέγξω αὐτὸν ἀδικοῦντα ἡμᾶς τε τοὺς δανείσαντας καὶ ὑμᾶς οὐδὲν ἧττον … (Dem. 35.5). εἰ μὲν γὰρ ὑμεῖς τὰς συγγραφὰς καὶ τὰς ὁμολογίας τὰς πρὸς ἀλλήλους γιγνομένας ἰσχυρὰς οἴεσθε δεῖν εἶναι καὶ τοῖς παραβαίνουσιν αὐτὰς μηδεμίαν συγγνώμην ἕξετε, ἑτοιμότερον προήσονται τὰ ἑαυτῶν οἱ ἐπὶ τοῦ δανείζειν ὄντες, ἐκ δὲ τούτων αὐξηθήσεται ὑμῖν τὸ ἐμπόριον. Literally: “If you think it necessary that mutual contracts and agreements be strongly binding and if you will have no mercy for those transgressing them, maritime lenders will advance their own (monies) more readily, and as a result your Emporion will prosper.” On the significance of this passage, see Harris 2006: 151–52, 160–61.

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advocacy reflected a true mutuality of interest between the Athenian people and maritime entrepreneurs: as Aristotle saw, the pursuit of financial gain (“making money from one another”) had become a dominant aspect of economic activity, for foreign business people and for the Athenian emporion itself.

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Engen, D. 2005. “‘Ancient Greenbacks’: Athenian Owls, the Law of Nikophon, and the Greek Economy.” Historia 54: 359–81. Engen, D. 2010. Honor and Profit: Athenian Trade Policy and the Economy and Society of Greece, 415–307 B. C. E. Ann Arbor, Michigan. Erxleben, E. 1974. “Die Rolle der Bevölkerungsklassen im Aussenhandel Athens im 4. Jahrhundert v. u. Z.” In Hellenische Poleis, edited by E. Welskopf, I, pp. 460–520. Berlin. Faraguna, M. 2006. “La città di Atene e l‘amministrazione delle miniere del Laurion.” In Symposion 2003 (Akten der Gesellschaft für Griechische und Hellenistische Rechtsgeschichte), edited by H. Rupprecht, pp. 141–60. Vienna. Faucher, T., M.-C. Marcellesi, and O. Picard, eds. 2011. Nomisma: la circulation monétaire dans le monde grec antique. BCH Supplément, 53. Athens. Figueira, T. 1998. The Power of Money: Coinage and Politics in the Athenian Empire. Philadelphia. Garnsey, P. 1988. Famine and Food Supply in the Graeco-Roman World. Cambridge. Garnsey, P. 1999. Food and Society in Classical Antiquity. Cambridge. Gauthier, Ph. 1972. Symbola. Les étrangers et la justice dans les cités grecques. Nancy. Gauthier, Ph. 1974. Review of Cohen 1973. Revue des études grecques 87: 424–25. Gauthier, Ph. 1976. Un commentaire historique des Poroi de Xénophon. Geneva. Gauthier, Ph. 1981. “De Lysias à Aristote (Ath. Pol. 51.4): le commerce du grain à Athènes et les fonctions des sitophylaques.” Revue historique de droit français et étranger 59: 5–28. Gauthier, Ph. 1985. Les cités grecques et leurs bienfaiteurs, IVe-Ier siècle avant J. C. BCH Supplément, 12. Paris. Gernet, L. ed. 1954–60. Démosthène, Plaidoyers Civils (Collection des Universitès de France). 4 Vols. Paris. Gofas, D. 1970. Δεῖγμα· ἱστορικὴ ἔρευνα ἐπὶ τοῦ Ἑλληνικοῦ Δικαίου τῶν συναλλαγῶν. Athens. Gofas, D. 1978. “Les ‘emmenoi dikai’ à Thasos.” In Symposion 1974 (Vorträge zur Griechischen und Hellenistischen Rechtsgeschichte), edited by A. Biscardi, pp. 175–86. Cologne. Gofas, D. 1982. “La vente sur échantillon à Athènes d’apres un texte d’Hypéride.” In Symposion 1977 (Akten der Gesellschaft für Griechische und Hellenistische Rechtsgeschichte), edited by J. Modrzejewski and D. Liebs, pp. 121–29. Cologne. Gofas, D. 1993. Μελέτες ιστορίας του ελληνικού δικαίου των συναλλαγών, αρχαίου, βυζαντινού, μεταβυζαντινού. Athens. Grandjean, C. 2007. “L’identité civique athénienne, l’argent et le bronze.” In Individus, groups et politique à Athènes de Solon à Mithridate, edited by J.-C. Couvenhes and S. Milanezi, pp. 233–40. Tours. Hansen, M. 1983. “Two Notes on the Athenian dikai emporikai.” In Symposion 1979 (Actes du IV Colloque International de droit Grec et Hellénistique), edited by P. Dimakis, pp. 167–75. Cologne. Hansen, M. V. 1984. “Athenian Maritime Trade in the 4th Century B. C.: Operation and Finance.” Classica et Mediaevalia 35: 71–92. Harris, E. 2006. Democracy and the Rule of Law in Classical Athens. Cambridge. Harris, W., ed. 2008. The Monetary Systems of the Greeks and Romans. Oxford. Henry, A. 1983. Honours and Privileges in Athenian Decrees. Hildesheim. Howgego, C. 1995. Ancient History from Coins. London. Humphreys S. [1983] 1993. The Family, Women and Death. Second Edition. Ann Arbor. Hunter, V. 1997. “The Prison of Athens: A Comparative Perspective.” Phoenix 51.3–4: 296–326. Isager S., and M. Hansen. 1975. Aspects of Athenian Society in the Fourth Century B. C. Odense. Jansen, J. 2007. After Empire: Xenophon’s Poroi and the Reorientation of Athens’ Political Economy. (Unpublished Doctoral Dissertation, University of Texas at Austin). Jones, N. 2004. Rural Athens under the Democracy. Philadelphia. Kakavoyiannis, E. 2005. Μέταλλα εργάσιμα και συγκεχωρημένα : η οργάνωση της εκμετάλλευσης του ορυκτού πλούτου της Λαυρεωτικής από την Αθηναϊκή δημοκρατία. Athens.

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Kim, H. 1994. “Greek Fractional Silver Coinage: A Reassessment of the Inception, Development, Prevalence, and Functions of Small Change during the Late Archaic and Early Classical Periods.” M. Phil. Thesis, Oxford. Kim, H. 2001. “Small Change and the Moneyed Economy.” In Money, Labour and Land in Ancient Greece, edited by P. Cartledge, E. Cohen and L. Foxhall, pp. 44–51. London. Knoepfler, D. 1993. “Eretria: fouilles et recherches. XI: Décrets érétriens de proxénie et de citoyenneté. Lausanne. Kosmetatou, E. 2001. “A Numismatic Commentary of the Inventory Lists of the Athenian Acropolis.” Revue belge de numismatique 147: 11–37. Kraay, C. 1976. Archaic and Classical Greek Coins. London. Kroll, J. 1997. S. von Reden, Exchange in Ancient Greece. American Journal of Archaeology 101: 175–76. Kroll, J. 2000. Review of L. Kurke, Coins, Bodies, Games, and Gold: The Politics of Meaning in Archaic Greece. Classical Journal 96: 85–90. Kroll, J. 2011. “Minting for Export: Athens, Aegina, and Others.” In Faucher et al., eds., pp. 27–38. Langdon, M. 1987. “An Attic Decree concerning Oropos.” Hesperia 56: 47–58. Lanni, A. 2006. Law and Justice in the Courts of Classical Athens. Cambridge. Lanni, A. 2007. “Athenian Approaches to Legal Predictability in Contract Cases.” In Symposion 2005 (Akten der Gesellschaft für Griechische und Hellenistische Rechtsgeschichte), edited by E. Cantarella, pp. 225–35. Vienna. Lewis, D. 1959. “Attic Manumissions.” Hesperia 28: 208–38. Lewis, D. 1966 [1997]. “After the Profanation of the Mysteries.” In Ancient Society and Institutions: Studies Presented to Victor Ehrenberg, edited by E. Badian, pp. 177–91. Oxford. [Reprinted in Selected Papers in Greek and Near Eastern History, edited by D. Lewis and P. Rhodes, pp. 258–72. Cambridge 1997.] MacDowell, D. 1976. Review of E. Cohen 1973. Classical Review, n. s. 26: 84–85. MacDowell, D. 1978. The Law in Classical Athens. London. MacDowell, D. 1990. Demosthenes against Meidias. Oxford. MacDowell, D. 2004. “Epikerdes of Kyrene and the Athenian Privilege of Ateleia.” Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 150: 127–33. Magnetto, A., D. Erdas and C. Carusi, eds. 2010. Nuove ricerche sulla legge granaria ateniese del 374/3 a. C. Pisa. Meikle, S. 1995. “Modernism, Economics, and the Ancient Economy.” Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society 41: 174–91. Meyer, E. 2010. Metics and the Athenian Phialai-Inscriptions. Stuttgart. Migeotte, L. 2008. “Les cités grecques: une économie à plusieurs niveaux.” In L’économie antique, une économie de marché?, edited by Y. Roman and J. Dalaison, pp. 69–86. Paris. Migeotte, L. 2009. The Economy of the Greek Cities. Berkeley. (Translation of L’économie des cités grecques.) Millett, P. 1991. Lending and Borrowing in Ancient Athens. Cambridge. Moreno, A. 2007. Feeding the Democracy: The Athenian Grain Supply in the Fifth and Fourth Centuries BC. Oxford. Moreno, A. 2008. “Hieron: The Ancient Sanctuary at the Mouth of the Black Sea.” Hesperia 77: 655–709. Mossé, C. 1973. Athens in Decline: 404–86. London. Nicolet-Pierre, H. 2006. “Les imitations égyptiennes de tétradrachmes athéniens à l’époque classique.” Arkhaiologike ephemeris 142: 139–54. Ober, J. 2008. Democracy and Knowledge. Innovation and Learning in Classical Athens. Princeton. Ober, J. 2010. “The Instrumental Value of Others and Institutional Change: An Athenian Case Study.” In Valuing Others in Classical Antiquity, edited by R. Rosen and I. Sluiter. Leiden. Oliver, G. 2007. War, Food and Politics in Early Hellenistic Athens. Oxford. Osborne, R. 1988. “Social and Economic Implications of the Leasing of Land and Property in Classical and Hellenistic Greece.” Chiron 18:279–323.

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NEW ASSESSMENT ON TRADE AND POLITICS IN 4th CENTURY B. C. E. ATHENS Christophe Pébarthe

Since Johannes Hasebroek has written his Trade and Politics in Ancient Greece (the first edition in german took place in 1928), the subject has been completly revisited by many scholars. Thus, recently, two important books have been published on this topic. Both of them have chosen to restrict their perspective to one city-state – but what city-state… –, Athens. The title of the first one, War, Food, and Politics in Early Hellenistic Athens, was published by Graham Oliver in 2007. The second one, Feeding the Democracy. The Athenian Grain Supply in the Fifth and Fourth Centuries BC, was issued by Alfonso Moreno the same year. Even if their conclusions are not identical, it is an understament to say that they don’t share any aspect of Hasebroek’s thesis, which embodied a primitivist point of view to say the least. What were, very briefly, the main points of Hasebroek’s book ? He asserted Antiquity had never experimented anything close to mercantilism. In other words, no Greek city-state ever tried to protect local productions or to help its local producers in order to give them access to foreign markets. The economic policy led by the Greek cities-states had two main purposes: first, the growth of their prosodoi by the increase of revenues gained through fiscality on commercial activities ; second, to guarantee the citizens’ trophè. The merchants belonged to the lowest class of society, they were illiterate and they were very often strangers. The citizens had interest only in agricultural activities, as rentiers and not as farmers. As we see, Hasebroek’s position was extreme. Even Moses Finley considered that he went too far1. I think the french historian Édouard Will has given the right explanation of such a primitivistic thesis: Hasebroek wrote a book in which he wanted to fight the modernist views. His primitivism was above all a virulent criticism of the modernism2. As Finley rightly saw, Trade and Politics in Ancient Greece was interested in conceptual problems, not in historical facts and even less in historical datas. However, from an historiographical point of view, we have to underline that Hasebroek did not try to save Bücher’s primitivism, that is to say the existence of an oikos stage. The relevant level for the scholars who wanted to study ancient greek economy had by then become the city-state. And this is the perspective adopted by Graham Oliver and Alfonso Moreno. Our reflection on trade and politics in 4th century B. C. E. Athens thus has to begin with the issues they have raised. Both of them have tried to estimate the level of the Athenians’ dependency on imported grain. This estimation relies on five prior evaluations, as Moreno pointed 1 2

On this historiographical perspective, see Pébarthe 2008, 9–35. Will [1998].

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out: 1) the surface area of Attica territory suitable for cultivation ; 2) the portion of it which was effectivly cultivated each year ; 3) the amount of the cereal crop harvested in Attica ; 4) the Athenian demography ; 5) and the quantity of grain which was consumed by the population of Attica3. These five questions are not easy to answer, because of the wide range of uncertainties affecting each of them4. For example, according to the scholars interested by these topics, the population of Attica is estimated between one hundred twenty thousands and three hundred thousands inhabitants. If we take into consideration the lowest figure, Athens may have had to import… nothing, and could have even benefited from a surplus of grain. The highest figure leads to the opposite conclusion: the level of Attica’s dependency was very high and each year, Athens had to import grain in order to feed between one hundred fifty thousand and two hundred thousand inhabitants. In other words, depending on the hypotheses which are chosen, the scholars can describe an exporting city or an importing city. Of course, any conclusion about trade and politics will be affected by the model adopted. So the first issue we have to deal with is to estimate the degree of Athenian dependency on imported grain. But one has to be careful to answer this question in relation with the historical context, even if structural, or rather mediterranean, elements played an important, although not determining, role. In this paper, I will concentrate on the historical context, not only because this colloquium deals with the 4th century B. C. E., but because of the major step Graham Oliver’s book has constituted. The attention he paid to the early hellenistic period allows to underline that the Athenians have taken care of the disruption their history has known during the last quarter of the 4th century. During the 3rd century, Athens had to struggle to maintain its control over the surrounding countryside. Besides, the city lost the control over the Piraeus until 229. In this context, the Athenians had to promote a specific policy, precisely in order to protect the local production of grain. Even if it is not really surprising, it is striking to notice that facing the same structural issue of food supply, the Athenians elaborated distinct solutions during the classical and the hellenistic periods5.

EMPIRE, TRADE AND MARKET IN THE AGE OF THE ATHENIAN EMPIRE If we look back to the fifth century, the historical context was very different, even if the dependency on foreign grain was almost identical. Through the Delian League, the Athenians were able to control the maritime trade. In so doing, they succeeded in getting the food they needed and in becoming the ‘master of the sea’, as the Old Oligarch put it6. Nonetheless, this achievment was not a direct consequence of the evolution of the athenian fleet. The two or three hundred triremes were able to in3 4 5 6

Moreno 2007, 3. Cf. Oliver 2007, 18. On all these topics, see Oliver 2007. [Xen.], Ath. pol., 2.2.

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tervene everywhere in the archè and this possibility was a potential threat for each ally. But even such a fleet could not control every commercial ship or constrain all the boats coming from the Black Sea, from Sicily or from the Cyrenaic to unload their cargo in the Piraeus. Thus, we have to explain which means and tools the Athenians used in order to succeed in canalizing the commercial flow towards their emporion. Beforehand, it is necessary to clarify one point. The Great Debate between primitivism and modernism deals with a problem which can be described as a behavior problem: did the Athenians lead consciously a successful economic policy or did they lead an imperialistic policy in order to build before all a political domination on the Aegean sea, even if, they also used their arche in order to guarantee their food supply ? At the beginning of the Peloponnesian war, the Athenians had succeeded not only in solving their supply problem but also in increasing the prosperity of their city. Is it possible to consider this situation as an unforeseen consequence of the arche ? I believe the sources clearly show the answer to this question should be a definite no. Three elements will suffice to establish this point. First, in the Funeral Oration, Pericles (or Thucydides, the distinction does not matter here) declares: “while the magnitude of our city draws the produce of the world into our harbour, so that to the Athenian the fruits of other countries are as familiar a luxury as those of his own”7. It was thus clear for the fifth century Athenians that the Piraeus attracted most of the commodities transported by sea. The second point is a conclusion drawn from the athenian decrees for Chalcis, more precisely from the lines 52–57 of this document8. The Athenians had to answer a question from the Chalcideans about the validity of the ateleia they happened to give to some individuals. I understand this clause to mean that if one merchant has to disembark some goods in Chalcis and if he has an athenian ateleia, he has to pay the chalcidean taxes. On the contrary, if the same merchant just has to go through Chalcis and if Athens is the final destination of his commercial trip, he does not have to pay taxes at Chalcis. In other words, the Athenians could decide – and they did – that in their arche the cargos going to Piraeus were tax-exempt in the others cities. Such a solution obviously facilitated the economic activities of the athenian emporion. The third point has to do with Law. Again, it depends on the interpretation of another athenian decree, the so-called Phaselitan decree9. In the 460’s, the Athenians added a clause to a former agreement between them and Phaselis. It seems that they had to solve a legal problem. If a merchant, Athenian or Phaselitan, had a commercial contract which recorded a commercial journey which ended in Athens, the decree says “Athenaze”, he had to complete this trip even if he was accused of some wrongdoing in Phaselis or else where during the commercial trip. Then, it was possible to sue him in Athens. That is to say, if you were a Phaselitan, you did not have to go back to Phaselis, with the other contractant, Athenian or not. Nor did any Athenian litigant had to go to Phaselis in order to seek justice. The major point of 7 8 9

Thuc. 2.38 (trans. Smith). Cf. Pébarthe 2005. Cf. Pébarthe 2007.

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this interpretation of the Phaselitan decree is that this decision allows, in fact compelled, each cargo to end the trip, that is to say to get to the Piraeus and to supply the inhabitants of Athens with commodities. These three points show that the Athenian empire had an economic dimension. Even if the Athenians clearly wanted to impose their authority on several hundred cities, they also wanted to build one Big Market, on the scale of their arche, in order to supply the Athenian emporion10. But they did not pursue an imperial policy which would enable them to seize the wealth of nations, if I may say so. Their not doing so was not motivated by kindness or generosity, but by their way of thinking their prosperity within the framework of their empire. In 478 BCE, when the Delian League was founded, Athens had commited itself to guaranteeing the free circulation of ships. This commitement is likely to be explicitly mentionned in the treaty11. In exchange, all the allies had to pay the phoros12. Thus, in the seventies of the 5th century, the main athenian concern was to allow this free circulation at least in the Aegean sea because it was the key factor for their wealth. In other words, the Athenians considered that the wealth of nations was a condition of their prosperity.

CONSTRUCTION AND RECONSTRUCTION OF A MARKET WITHOUT AN EMPIRE This explains why the collapse of their empire in the end of the 5th century was certainly a Big One for Athens. The Athenians had to solve once more their structural food supply problem. But, for political and military reasons – mainly the growing power of Sparta’s fleet and its corollary the destruction of their fleet –, the Athenians were not able to build a new empire at the beginning of the forth century, even they were still haunted by the ghost of their lost empire. With no possibility of reconstructing a Delian league, at least before 394 and Conon’s victory, the Athenians had lost the One Big Market they controled during the fifth century. Per chance, some inscriptions and some literary sources provide us with very interesting details on how the Athenians rebuilt an Aegean market, with new rules and new tools. In this paper, I will concentrate on the first quarter of the 4th century, that is to say as far as the Athenian Grain Tax Law (374/3), including this fascinating law on a minor point. Three issues will be discussed, the contracts and the legal system, the monetary order and the grain market. Before all, thus, the Athenians had to reconstruct their internal market. – The contracts and the legal athenian system In 403, the democracy was restored in Athens, after a few months of tyranny which is called the Thirty. During this short period, hundreds of people were executed without any judgement (even if a judgment would not have made their execution fair !), many more individuals had chosen exile, in order to escape violence and death. Within a few months, the Athenians had lost their empire, their fleet and their 10 11 12

Pébarthe 2008, 131–157. Pébarthe 2008, 135–137. Pébarthe 2000, 51–55.

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laws. After the overthrown of the Thirty, they had to reconstruct the democracy or, to put it in Edward Harris’ words, to build anew the rule of law. On this topic, we have Andocides’ testimony. But, as Mirko Canevaro and Edward Harris have shown, the discourse On the Mysteries quotes texts which are in fact forgeries13, although “the summaries of documents provided by Andocides in On the Mysteries are generally reliable”14. After the fall of the Thirty and the restoration of the democracy, the Athenians had to indicate which were the laws which henceforth ruled the democratic Athens and how eventually one citizen could propose a change in an existing law or propose a new law. Besides, they had to resume the examination of the laws, a procedure interrupted during the Thirty. But the city was not faced only with these institutional problems. The restoration of the democracy was in fact not only a question of institutions, if by this word we mean the fundamental political principles according to which a state is governed. Several sources mention that during the Thirty, the inhabitants of Athens had known a general legal situation which can be described by the word distrust. More precisely, they had been subjected to the law of the strongest, the Thirty tyrants. This does not mean that there was no law anymore during this period ; it is even the exact opposite. Even if the climate in Athens was violent during the Thirty, as Lysias’ description suggests, there are some indications that ordinary life just went on. Let me take one example from Xenophon’s Memorabilia. The scene described happened during the tyranny15. Socrates met one of his friends, a man called Aristarchus who seemed to be in distress. Because of the revolution, he said to his friend, “We are fourteen in the house without counting the slaves. We get nothing from our land, because our enemies have seized it, and nothing from our house property, now there are so few residents in the city. Portable property finds no buyers, and it’s quite impossible to borrow money anywhere: I really think a search in the street would have better result than an application for a loan”. Then, Socrates gives him some advice: Aristarchus should organize the women’s house artisanal work, bakery for example. Thus, he would earn money and he would obtain a peaceful atmosphere in his house. Aristarchus is immediatly convinced by Socrates and says: “I think I shall now bring myself to borrow capital to make a start. Hitherto I have had no inclination to do so, knowing that when I had spent the loan I should not have the wherewithal to repay it”. Two conclusions can be drawn from this anecdote. First, during the Thirty, it was more difficult to borrow money for comsumption than for investment. Second, it was at least possible to borrow money. So we have to conclude that legal agreements and contracts went on, that is that there was a kind of law enforcement. Other sources may be quoted to stress this first point. It is thus the only possibility to understand what Demosthenes asserts in Against Timocrates, quoting a law: “But acts done and judgements delivered under the Thirty, whether in private or public suits, are invalid [è idia è dèmosia akura einai]”16. However, there is no 13 14 15 16

Canevaro and Harris 2012. Canevaro and Harris 2012, 125. Xen., Mem., II.VII (trans. Marchant & Todd). 24.56 with the commentary of Whitehead 2002, 72.

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doubt that it was a period of confusion. It does even seem that at one point the private suits were suspended. That is what we learn from Isocrates’ Against Euthynus. This very interesting case took place during the Thirty. The speaker is not the plaintiff, whose name is Nicias. This man, Isocrates writes, “after the Thirty Tyrants came into power and his enemies threatened to expunge his name from the number of those who were to have the rights of citizenship, and to include him in Lysander’s list, being in fear of the state of affairs, mortgaged his house, sent his slaves outside of Attica, conveyed his furniture to my house, gave in trust three talents of silver to Euthynus, and went to live in the country”17. The problem arose a little time later. It is important to add the precision that the Thirty still governed Athens at that moment. Nicias asked for his money back but Euthynous gave him back two talents instead of three, if we believe the friend of Nicias’ testimony. Euthynous simply denied he received the third talent from Nicias. However, Nicias did not sue Euthynous. The speaker explains his choice as follows: “conditions in the city were unstable and there were no dikai”18. Lysias’ speech On the property of Eraton describes a very similar situation. It seems this case has begun before the Thirty even if the trial took place in 401/0 B. C. Again, the problem is about a loan redemption. Eraton borrowed two talents from the speaker’s grandfather. As long as the debtor was alive, the terms of the agreement were maintained. The creditor duly received his interest. But when Eraton died, his three sons ceased to pay. The speaker adds that during the struggle between the Thirty and the democrats, “there were no suits at law”. Again, it is a case of unpaid debt. To sum up the situation, wa can say that during the Thirty, at one point, there was a kind of legal order and to sue someone was possible, according to Demosthenes. But, this possibility then vanished and it seems obvious that many debtors simply forgot the amount of their debt and sometimes the identity of the creditor. To put in Isocrates’ words (in Against Euthynus), “the complainant [the speaker’s friend Nikias] had nothing to gain and the approriator [Euthynous] had nothing to fear”19. In this situation, it was very likely impossible to borrow money, except, perhaps, to friends or relatives. Even then, it was not evident to be reimbursed, even if the debtor was a friends or a relative. Three main questions thus faced the new democratic régime. Were the judgments passed during the Thirty valid ? Were the contracts established during this period valid ? According to which laws did the judgements have to be passed ? A passage of Demosthenes’ Against Timocrates answers the first question: they are invalid. Andokides seems to assert the same thing or, more precisely, his words imply the same answer: “All [judgements in] lawsuits and arbitrations which were made while the polis had a democratic constitution are valid”. Just after this passage, he answers the third question: “The laws are to be used (in-and-) from the archonship of Eukleides”20.

17 18 19 20

21.2 (trans La Rue Van Hook). 21.7 (trans La Rue Van Hook). 21.7 (trans La Rue Van Hook). And. 1.87. We can consider this quotation as genuine (Canevaro and Harris 2012, 113).

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The second question about the validity of a contract set during the Thirty remains. But we have already mentionned Isocrates’ Against Euthynus and Lysias’ On the property of Eraton, two cases which both began during or before the Thirty and which had to be examined by the court after the fall of the tyrants. What has to be underlined is that the reconstruction of democracy did imply to settle the problem of the contracts. In Against Callimachus, a trial generally dated 402 B. C., Isocrates stresses explicitly this point. Speaking to the jury, he says: “for you are going to cast your votes on the question of contract [sunthekai], and contracts have never been violated to the advantage of either yourselves in relation to the other parties or of others in relation to you ; and they have such binding force that almost all the daily activities of Greeks and of barbarians are governed by contracts. For it is through our reliance on them that we visit one another’s land and procure those things of which we both have need ; with the aid of these we make our contracts with each other and put an end to both our private animosities and our common wars. This is the only universal institutions which all we of the humanity constantly employ”21. So, according to Isocrates, trade do need the enforcement of the contracts. In other words, trade is impossible without a legal system, without justice. Trade is impossible without politics. – Monetary order Another important issue was faced by Athenians thanks to the law of Nikophon22. Clearly, there was a climate of distrust on the Athenian market, especially when it came to money. In order to understand what was going on, we have to remember that the exchange of coins involves not two but three persons. Let us suppose that one has coins and that he wants to buy something with them. When the exchange takes place, money for commodity, it might seem that it involves two persons, but, if the seller does accept these coins, it is because he believes a third person, in the future, will accept these coins for another transaction. Going back to the Athenian situation, the law of Nikophon establishes a clear cut distinction between three types of coins, Attic silver, “foreign silver having the same stamp as the Attic” and false money23. The third type is the most complicated. It was composed by three kinds of coins, with bronze core (hupochalkon), with lead core (hupomolubdon) and counterfeit (kibdelon). On the one hand, the situation seems very simple. Counterfeit coins did circulate in the emporion and in the agora and the Athenians voted a law in order to organize a procedure for testing coins. On the other hand, we have other pieces of information which allow us to describe a more complicated situation. First, we know the Athenians themselves struck subaerate coins during the last decade of the 5th century, when the Laurion did not produce silver anymore because of the Spartan occupation of Dekeleia. We also know that in the nineties of the 4th century, the Athenians recalled these subaerate athenian coins (we have a funny

21 22 23

Isokr. 18.27–28 (trans. adapted). Rhodes & Osborne n°24. Cf. Psoma 2011, 27–33.

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description of this decision made by Aristophanes). But it seems obvious that some of these coins still circulated later. Moreover, it has long been noticed by scholars that there were also imitative owls produced abroad, in Egypt or in the Levant for instance. Recently, Peter van Alfen has reopened this issue. His conclusion is the following: “The imitation of Athenian coinage was primarily a fourth century phenomenon, mostly in the second and the third quarters”24. It means that many of these imitations were struck in times of healthy owl supply. But even if the production of imitations of athenian coins was in fact mostly a 4th century phenomenon, there were actually imitative owls struck in the last decade of the fifth century which can be described as high quality coins. It seems these coins were describe as “foreign silver having the same stamp as the Attic” in the law of Nikophon. However again, the situation is still more complicated. Metallurgical analyses have given very interesting results25. What seemed to be imitative coins appear in fact to have been produced with a significant proportion of a bullion coming from the silver mine at Laurion in Attica. Besides, the average silver content is very high. “This suggests that the silver content of the Eastern owls was strictly controlled as authentic Athenian tetradrachms”26. These analyses also show that it is quite risky to identify imitative owls only on the basis of stylistic criteria. But let us go back to the law of Nikophon. During the first quarter of the 4th century in Athens, it was not always easy to establish the difference between authentic and imitative coins (to say nothing about modern numismatists). In other words, “it seems that authentic Athenian and Eastern owls could barely be distinguished from one another”27. When someone was in the Piraeus or in the Athenian agora, he could never be sure that he had in his hand good coins, that is to say Attic silver struck by the legal Athenian authorities. Thus, it could not be sure either that a third individual would accept the money he had received from another. The law of Nikophon gave a simple solution to a very complicated situation which had serious effects on the Athenian market and on the Aegean trade. First, they designated an expert, the dokimastes. Even if it was a difficult task precisely to distinguish the first and the second categories (Attic silver and “foreign silver having the same stamp as the Attic”), when somebody came to him and asked about the coins he had or the coins he had just received, the dokimastes had to judge their quality. If he thought they were subaerate coins, he cut them and recalled them from the market. On the contrary, if he thought they were coins struck with good silver, wherever these coins may have been struck, Athens or abroad, he gave the money back to the merchant and, that is the main point, these coins were at the moment immediatly valid. As the end of the law specifies: “If anyone does not accept whatever silver the dokimates has approved, he shall be deprived of what he is selling on that day”. Here again, we see that trade in the greek world was impossible

24 25 26 27

van Alfen 2011, 84. Ponting et alii 2011. Ponting et alii 2011, 128. Ponting et alii 2011, 130.

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without politics, because a market needs trust and trust is always a political matter in a greek city-state. – Grain trade and politics Finally, some remarks on a third and last point, the grain trade in the first quarter of the fourth century B. C. E. Athens. Per chance, we have a very interesting discourse about grain-dealers, or I’d rather say against the grain-dealers. With this speech by Lysias’, we have access to a fascinating description of the way the Athenians used to make their market efficient. Without entering in the details of the case, I wish to insist on some mechanisms. In the beginning of the 380’s, the Athenians had serious problems with their food supply. A magistrate called Anytos recommended the corn-dealers to cease their competition and to buy the corn together, at the same price. Thus, the retail price would be as reasonable as possible. It is important to underline here that the corn-dealers’ margin was set. They could only add one obol per drachma, that is to say 16,67 %. But the corn-dealers did not respect the average of the legal profit. In fact, it seems they acted as if they bought corn regularly, medimnus by medimnus, so that they could benefit from a rise of the price even during the same day. They even forged false rumour in order to get a higher price. What is interesting is Lysias’ conclusion, as expressed in the last sentence of his speech: “So, if you convict them, you will both do justice and buy your corn at a fairer price: otherwise, it will be dearer”28. Lysias is not advocating for a dirigist economy, he accepts the rule of the market, but his speech clearly shows that there is no market rule where there is no law. Because there was nothing such as set prices (the kathestèkuia timè is a debated issue), the Athenians decided to set a maximum average for the legal margin. The grain-dealers were thus able to make profit, but not illimitated profit, out of the Athenians. A confirmation of this last point, and more generally about the last issue treated here, is in the Grain Tax Law29. After the grain had been conveyed to the Piraeus, it was stored in the Aiakeion. At the end of the winter, this law gave to the Athenians the possibility to sell a certain amount of grain for which the ekklesia had to set the price. So, even if the grain was “en tôi koinôi”, it was sold on the market, and not just given to the people. Here again, and more generally, there is no “dirigist fashion” and no mercantilism at all. It is not with these concepts or models that we will be able to understand the difference between the fifth and the forth century. In fact, the Athenians faced the same old problem. They had to supply their city with grain of course, but also with many other commodities. In the fourth century, the Athenians never succeeded in rebuilding another empire. They were not the master of the sea anymore. But, in order to supply themselves, they thought they had also to supply the other cities, an idea which Pericleas stressed in his Funeral Oration30. They thought it was impossible to get richer and richer, while the other cities were staying poor or were getting poorer. A lesson which might be interesting even nowadays. 28 29 30

Lys. 22.23 (trans. Lamb). The editio princeps was established by Stroud 1998. See now Rhodes & Osborne n°26. Thuc. 2.38.

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Christophe Pébarthe, maître de conférences à l’université Bordeaux 3 / Ausonius BIBLIOGRAPHY Canevaro, M. & E. M. Harris (2012): “The documents in Andocides’ On the Mysteries”, CQ 62, 98–129. Moreno, A. (2007): Feeding the Democracy. The Athenian Grain Supply in the Fifth and Fourth Centuries BC, Oxford. Oliver, Gr. J. (2007): War, Food, and Politics in Early Hellenistic Athens, Oxford. Pébarthe, Chr. (2000): “Fiscalité, empire athénien et écriture: retour sur les causes de la guerre du Péloponnèse”, ZPE 129, 47–76. Pébarthe, Chr. (2005): “La perception des droits de passage à Chalcis (IG I3 40, 446 a. C.)”, Historia, 54, 84–92. Pébarthe, Chr. (2007): “Contrats et justice dans l’empire athénien: les symbolaia dans le décret d’Athènes relatif à Phasélis (IG, I3, 10)”, in: Brun P. (ed.), Scripta Anatolica. Mélanges Pierre Debord, Bordeaux, 237–260. Pébarthe, Chr. (2008): Monnaie et marché à Athènes à l’époque classique, Paris. Ponting, M., H. Gitler & O. Tal (2011): “Who Minted Those Owls? Metallurgical Analyses of Athenian-Styled Tetradrachms Found in Israel”, RBN 157, 117–134. Psoma, S. (2011): “The Law of Nicophon (SEG 26.72) and Athenian Imitations”, RBN 157, 27–36. Stroud, R. S. (1998): The Athenian Grain-Tax Law of 374/3 B. C., Princeton. van Alfen, P. G. (2011): “Mechanisms for the imitations of Athenian coinage: Dekeleia and mercenaries reconsidered”, RBN 157, 55–93. Whitehead, D. (2002): “Athenian Laws and Lawsuits in the Late Fifth Century B. C.”, MH 59, 71– 96. Will, E. [1998]: “Trois quarts de siècle de recherches sur l’économie grecque antique”, in: Id., Historica graeco-hellenistica. Choix d’écrits 1953–1993, Paris, 21–41 (= Annales E. S. C. 9, 1954, 7–22).

KONZEPTIONEN ZUR POLITISCHEN STEUERUNG UND BEEINFLUSSBARKEIT VON WIRTSCHAFTLICHEN VORGÄNGEN (ATHEN, 4. JH. V. CHR.) Armin Eich Eine große Wahrscheinlichkeit spricht dafür, dass die Athener im 4. Jahrhundert v. Chr. (wie die meisten anderen Gesellschaften der Antike auch) ein Bewusstsein davon hatten, dass Vorgänge, die wir heute als „ökonomisch“ bezeichnen, prinzipiell politisch manipulierbar waren. Die den Manipulationen zugrunde liegenden Konzeptionen galten allerdings als allgemein konsentiertes Gut, so dass es offenbar nicht als lohnend empfunden wurde, darüber intensiv oder gar theoretisierend nachzudenken. Vereinzelt gab es zwar eine Art Buchreflexion über politische Interventionen in ökonomische Vorgänge; man denke etwa an die Überlegungen des sogenannten Anonymus Iamblichus1 zur Geldzirkulation oder Xenophons (oder PseudoXenophons) Poroi.2 Aber die in solchen Werken explizit oder implizit angeregten Interventionen sind eher ungewöhnlicher Natur, stehen also für Ausnahmehaftes. Das gilt auch für die trivialeren „fiskalischen Tricks“, wie sie etwa in den pseudoaristotelischen Oeconomica beschrieben werden. Dies ist eher ein Kuriositätenkabinett, jedenfalls finden wir hier nicht den pragmatischen Alltag. In dieser alltäglichen Praxis wurde jedoch massiv in ökonomische Abläufe eingegriffen, aber in der Regel, ohne dass dabei theoretische Leitfäden zugrunde lagen. Zuweilen werden die Intentionen zwar doch ausgesprochen, aber eben als bekanntes Wissen und en passant. Existierende Vorstellungen hinsichtlich der Steuerbarkeit ökonomischer Vorgänge lassen sich daher am besten daraus ablesen, wie in der Praxis (ob nun explizit begründet oder nur implizit erschließbar) tatsächlich verfahren wurde. Auf den folgenden Seiten soll es dementsprechend darum gehen, aus der athenischen Politik und Gesetzgebung herauszulesen, welche Konzeptionen und Intentionen regelmäßigen Eingriffen in ökonomische Vorgänge zugrunde lagen. Nach mehreren Jahrzehnten intensiver Erforschung der athenischen Ökonomie, so füge ich entschuldigend hinzu, sind die wesentlichen Beobachtungen zu dieser Problematik schon verstreut in der Literatur formuliert worden. An dieser Stelle wurden diese Beobachtungen lediglich systematisierend zusammengetragen.

1 2

Vgl. Andrew Th. Cole, The Anonymus Iamblichi and his Place in Greek Political Theory, in: Harv. Stud. Class. Phil. 65, 1961, 127–163. Für einen jüngeren Überblick über diese Literatur vgl. jetzt Anna Magnetto, Incentivi e agevolazioni per i mercanti nel mondo greco, in: dies., Donatella Erdas, Cristina Carusi (Hgg.), Nuove ricerche sulla legge granaria ateniese del 374/3 a. C., Pisa 2010, 159–186, 160–166.

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1. INSTITUTIONELLE EINHEGUNG DER AUSTAUSCHVORGÄNGE Zunächst: Das Hauptaugenmerk der athenischen Autoritäten richtete sich auf die Sphären der Transaktionen und der Distribution, die Produktion wurde entweder nur indirekt oder jedenfalls mit geringerem institutionellen Aufwand geregelt. Daher gilt auch hier die Hauptaufmerksamkeit den zuerst genannten Sphären. Insofern die Vorgänge des Austauschens und Verteilens kommerziell, um des Profits willen, geschahen, beanspruchte die Polis Athen (wie vermutlich alle griechischen Poleis) ein striktes Recht der lokalen Einhegung dieser Abläufe, d. h. sie durften nur an bestimmten, durch Grenzmarkierungen definierten Plätzen stattfinden. Zum einen waren diese Plätze gegenüber den nicht-kommerziellen Regionen des Polisterritoriums abgegrenzt (in Attika vor allem die Agora im Piräus und die Handelsagora in der Stadt). Zum anderen waren die Agorai in sich in kleine Abschnitte unterteilt, in denen exklusiv bestimmte Waren verkauft werden durften (beispielsweise gab es einen Bereich, in dem Trockenfisch angeboten werden durfte und einen anderen für Frischfisch)3 oder die für bestimmte Tätigkeiten reserviert waren. Der geläufige Ausdruck für diese Unterabschnitte lautete kykloi, sie konnten aber auch ihrerseits (wie der Markt insgesamt) mit dem Ausdruck agorai bezeichnet werden.4 Neben den kykloi gab es noch Plätze mit besonderen Funktionen wie etwa das sog. deigma für die Inspektion von Warenproben durch Kunden und staatliche Autoritäten. Darüber hinaus konnten auch an geeigneten Orten, wie zum Beispiel in Werkstätten oder Privathäusern, vor allem in der Nähe der Agora, bestimmte Geschäfte getätigt werden, aber doch wohl nur, wenn diese Tätigkeit entsprechend konzessioniert war (ansonsten würden die strengen Regularien für die agora wegen ihrer leichten Unterlaufbarkeit keinen Sinn machen).5 Schließlich gehorchten auch

3

4

5

Phillip Stanley, Agoranomoi and Metronomoi. Athenian Market Officials and Regulations, Ancient World 2, 1979, 13–19, 15; ders. Ancient Greek Markets, Regulations and Controls, Diss. Univ. Calif., Berkeley 1976, 196–325. Zahlreiche Beispiele bei Pavlos Karvonis, Le vocabulaire des installations commerciales en Grèce aux époques classiques et héllenistiques, in: J. Andreau, V.Chankowski (Hgg.), Vocabulaire et expression de l’économie dans le monde antique, Bordeaux 2007, 36–49, 39. Die Kleinteiligkeit des Angebots (z. B. agora für Nüsse, agora für Zwiebeln etc.) macht es sehr unwahrscheinlich, dass diese agorai abseits der großen Hauptagorai gelegen haben könnten, obwohl es im Einzelfall nicht auszuschließen ist. Insgesamt sprechen die Belege aber dafür, dass die gesamte Handelstätigkeit an einem Platz, oder genauer im Fall Athens, an den beiden Hauptagorai und in ihrem Umfeld konzentriert war (vgl. neben den Stellen, die bei Stanley und Bresson [Anm. 3 und 5] zitiert sind, auch Karvonis, loc. cit. 40; ders. The Athenian Agora as a Commercial Centre: Archaeological and Literary Evidence, in: H. Lohmann, T. Mattern (Hgg.), Attika. Archäologie einer “zentralen” Kulturlandschaft (Tagung Marburg 2008), Wiesbaden 2010, 137–150. Zu den deigmata etc.: Alain Bresson, L’économie de la Grèce des cités (fin VIe-Ier siècle a. C.), vol. 2: L’espace de l’échange, Paris 2008, 101–106; Julie Vélissaropoulos, Les nauclères grecs. Recherches sur les institutions maritimes en Grèce et dans l’Orient hellénisé, Genf, Paris 1980, 205–210. Transaktionen im Umfeld der agora: Barbara Tsakirgis, Living and Working around the Athenian Agora: A Preliminary Case Study of three Houses, in Bradley Ault / Lisa Nevett (Hgg.). Ancient Greek Houses and Households: Chronological, Regional, and Social Diversity,

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die Warenbewegungen zu den Handelsagorai hin und von dort weg (etwa zwischen den „beiden Poleis“ Athen und Piräus6) strengen Regularien. Dieser räumlichen Eingrenzung der Tauschtätigkeiten lag eine Mehrzahl von Absichten zugrunde, aber zunächst ist die Aussagekraft der Maßnahme als solche zu unterstreichen: In ihr kommt deutlich zum Ausdruck, dass die Athener (den allgemeinen Usancen der griechischen Kultur folgend) die Austauschsphäre in der Praxis klar „definierten“ und damit als einen Bereich bestimmten, der unbedingt dem regulativen Zugriff der staatlichen Behörden unterlag. Prinzipiell war die Regelungskompetenz der demokratisch instruierten Autoritäten unbegrenzt, d. h. theoretisch konnte der Handel umfassend und in jeder Hinsicht reguliert werden. In der Praxis wurde jedoch eine jeden Aspekt erfassende Regulierung nicht als zweckmäßig empfunden.

2. INTERVENTIONEN IN DIE PREISBILDUNG Ein zentrales Motiv für die politische Einhegung von Austauschtätigkeiten war es, Interventionen in die Handelstätigkeit zu ermöglichen. (Die im engeren Sinn fiskalischen Intentionen7 des Staates und andere, wie bspw. allgemeine Aufsichtsabsichten,8 die der Einhegung des Handels zugrunde lagen, interessieren an dieser Stelle nicht.9) Ökonomische Interventionen auf den Märkten der Stadt setzten prioritär bei den Preisen an und hier vor allem bei den Preisbildungsmechanismen. Hier gab es ein breites, auf die jeweilige Konstellation abgestimmtes Spektrum von Eingriffstypen. Bevor diese im einzelnen betrachtet werden, ist wiederum zunächst die Aussagekraft des Phänomens als solches zu betonen. Indem die Polis (nicht ausschließlich, aber in der Hauptsache) über Eingriffe in die Preisbildung in Transaktionsprozesse intervenierte, adressierte sie ihre Maßnahmen dezidiert in erster Linie an Geldbesitzer (oder genauer: an Personen, die kurzfristig Zugang zu Geldmitteln hatten).10 Damit ist bereits ausgesagt, dass das politische Augenmerk nicht auf Ver-

6 7

8 9

10

Philadelphia 2005. 67–81; Nicholas Cahill, Household Industry in Greece and Anatolia, in: ibid., 44–66. Zur Ausdrucksweise Philippe Gauthier, Les villes athéniennes et un décret pour un commerçant (IG II2, 903), REG 95, 1982, 275–290. Zur Praxis der Regulierung vgl. unten zu Anm. 28 f.). Zu den im engeren Sinn fiskalischen Kategorien im klassischen Griechisch vgl. Véronique Chankowski, Les catégories du vocabulaire de la fiscalité dans les cités grecques, in: Jean Andreau, Véronique Chankowski, Vocabulaire et expression de l’économie dans le monde antique, Bordeaux 2007, 299–329. Richard Haederli, Die hellenischen Astynomen und Agoranomen, vornehmlich im alten Athen, Jahrbücher für Classische Philologie, 15. Suppl. Band, Leipzig 1887, 45–94, hier 76–78. Zur klassischen griechischen Fiskalität als Instrument der Ressourcenbeschaffung – und nicht, jedenfalls nicht intentional, der Lenkung ökonomischer Vorgänge – vgl. Jean Manuel Roubineau, La fiscalité des cités grecques aux époques classique et hellénistique, Pallas 74, 2007, 179–200, 183 f. In einer Ökonomie, in der Bargeld ein knappes Gut war, war der kurzfristige Zugang zu Krediten von zentraler Bedeutung und für Arme überlebenswichtig. Zu den verschiedenen Formen der Klein- und Kleinstkreditgewährung, die in Athen praktiziert wurden, vgl. Paul Millett, Lending and Borrowing in Ancient Athens, Cambridge 1991.

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sorgungssicherheit aller im allgemeinen lag, denn selbstverständlich konnte individuelle Unterversorgung in Athen als Geldarmut und Überschuldung auftreten. Wer in akuter Geldnot war, dem nutzten die staatlichen Eingriffe nicht viel oder nichts.11 Für offensichtlich Arbeitsunfähige (adynatoi) gab es allerdings eine tägliche Unterstützung von anfangs (im frühen vierten Jahrhundert) einer Obole,12 später von zwei Obolen pro Tag.13 Um diese Unterstützung zu erhalten, war es jedoch notwendig, gegenüber der boule eine offensichtliche schwere Behinderung nachzuweisen. Nichtbürger, Frauen, chronisch Kranke oder gesunde Bürger in ökonomischen Notsituationen kamen nicht in den Genuß dieser Zahlungen. Der Sinn der staatlichen Preispolitik war nach dem Gesagten nicht Versorgungssicherheit für jeden einzelnen Bewohner und jede einzelne Bewohnerin Attikas, sondern eher die Erzielung erschwinglicher Preise für die Mehrheit der Bürger, ein eher bevölkerungspolitischer als sozialer Ansatz. Die Preispolitik im einzelnen war, wie gesagt, relativ weit gefächert, in Abhängigkeit der Konstellationen, auf die die polis reagierte.

2.1. agoranomische Marktaufsicht Die athenischen agoranomen konnten wahrscheinlich per Anordnung Verkaufspreise festsetzen, allerdings nicht für alle Güter.14 Für Getreide und Getreideprodukte ist dies unmittelbar klar, da sie in die Kompetenz der sitophylakes15 fielen, die über besondere Instrumente der Preisbeeinflussung verfügten und normalerweise keine direkten Preisfestsetzungen aussprachen.16 Bei anderen Warengruppen und bei den Kompetenzen der Agoranomen ist die Beurteilung schwieriger. Die Athenaion Politeia, die wichtigste Quelle17 zu den athenischen Agoranomen des vierten 11

12 13 14

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17

Regulative Eingriffe zur Senkung des Außenhandelspreises von Getreide erfolgten meist in Hochpreisphasen, um den Getreidepreis auf ein Normalmaß zu drücken; vgl. e. g. Armin Eich, Die politische Ökonomie des antiken Griechenland (6.–3. Jahrhundert v. Chr.), Köln u. a. 2006, 183–256. Lysias 24,13; 26. Zur komplizierten Quellenlage vgl. Peter J. Rhodes, A Commentary on the Aristotelian Athenaion Politeia, Oxford 1993 (Pb), 570 (zu Ath. Pol. 49,4). Alain Bresson, L’économie de la Grèce (Anm. 5), 2,41–45. Vgl. Zur Agoranomie und ihren Aufgaben L. Capdetrey, Cl. Hasenohr, Surveiller, organiser, financer: fonctionnemet de l’agoranomia et statut des agoranomes dans le monde égéen, in: diess. (Hgg.). Agoranomes et édiles: Institutions des marchés antiques, Bordeaux 2012, 13–34 und im selben Band Graham Oliver, Agoranomoi at Athens, 81–100. Léopold Migeotte, Le contrôle des prix dans les cités grecques, in: Prix et formation des prix dans les économies antiques (Entretiens d’Archéologie et d’Histoire S.-B.-d.-C.), SaintBertrand-de-Comminges 1997, 33–52, 34–38. Carmine Ampolo, Le motivazioni della legge sulla tassazione del grano di Lemno, Imbro e Sciro e il prezzo di grano e pane, in: A. Magnetto, D. Erdas, C. Carusi (Hgg.), Nuove ricerche sulla legge granaria ateniese del 374/3 a. C., Pisa 2010, 39–66, 44. Parallelen zu Ath. Pol. 51 bei Haederli, Astynomen und Agoranomen (Anm. 8), 69 f. Diese Parallelen stammen meist aus der Lexikographen- und Scholienliteratur und bringen wenig über die Athenaion politeia Hinausführendes.

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Jahrhunderts, erwähnt nur einen allgemeinen Gesetzesauftrag an die agoranomoi, alle Waren zu inspizieren, „dass sie rein und unverfälscht verkauft werden“ (51,1). Die Parallelüberlieferung zur Agoranomie (für andere Städte als Athen) legt allerdings den Verdacht nah, dass zu dieser Aufsichtspflicht auch die Aufgabe gehörte, gegen Wucher einzuschreiten und für gerechte Preise zu sorgen.18 Epigraphisch ist ein solcher direkter Akt der Preisfestsetzung für Athen erst für das erste Jahrhundert v. Chr. überliefert.19 An dieser Festsetzung erscheint jedoch typisch, dass in diesem Fall bestimmte Schlachtprodukte, also leicht verderbliche Waren, preislich gebunden wurden – übrigens offenbar für längere Zeit, da die Inschrift auf dauerhaftem Material angebracht war. Haltbare Ware war natürlich schwieriger (als Frischfleisch, Frischfisch, verderbliches Gemüse) einem Preisdiktat zu unterwerfen, weil die Anbieter sie leicht vom Markt zurückhalten konnten. Mit aller Vorsicht angesichts der unzureichenden Überlieferung20 lässt sich daher spekulieren, dass die unmittelbare Maximalpreisfestsetzung den lokalen Handel mit relativ leicht verderblichen Gütern wie Frischfisch, Schlachtprodukten, frischem Obst u. ä. betraf.21 Hingewiesen sei in diesem Zusammenhang noch auf das parische Ehrendekret aus dem zweiten vorchristlichen Jahrhundert für einen Agoranomen Killos, Sohn des Demetrios,22 zu dessen Pflichten auch die vermittelnde Tätigkeit zwischen Arbeitern (vermutlich in der Hauptsache Erntehelfern) und Mietern von Arbeitskraft gehörte, „auf dass keiner von beiden Seiten ein Unrecht widerfahre, indem er daraufhin wirkte, dass die einen nicht trödelten, sondern zu ihrem Arbeitsort aufbrachen (sc. von dem „Arbeitsmarkt“, wohl auf oder bei der agora), die anderen den Arbeitern ohne Prozess ihren Lohn auszahlten“: Z. 16–20: ὅπως μηδέτεροι ἀδικῶνται [ἐφ]ρόντιζεν, ἐπαναγκάζων κατὰ τοὺς νό[μους], τοὺς μὲν μὴ ἀθετεῖν ἀλλὰ ἐπὶ τὸ ἔρ[γον] πορεύεσθαι, τοὺς δὲ ἀποδιδόναι τοῖς [ἐργ]αζομένοις τὸν μισθὸν ἄνευ δίκης. Obwohl auch dies ein relativ spätes und leider ein nicht-athenisches Zeugnis ist, besteht doch immerhin – wie bereits William Buckler23 annahm – die Möglichkeit, dass wir in diesem Text noch eine typische Aufgabe der Agoranomen, auch der klassischen Zeit, fassen. 18 19

20

21 22 23

Léopold Migeotte, Contrôle des prix (Anm. 15), 39 f.; Alain Bresson, L’économie de la Grèce (Anm. 5), 2,39–45. Georges Steinhauer, Inscription agoranomique du Pirée, BCH 118, 1994, 51–68; s. auch die ergänzenden Bemerkungen: Raymond Descat, Les prix dans l’inscription agoranomique du Pirée, in: Économie antique: Prix et formation des prix dans les économies antiques (Entretiens d’Archéologie et d’Histoire S.-B.-d.-C.), Saint-Bertrand-de-Comminges 1997, 13–20. Vielleicht darf in diesem Zusammenhang darauf hingewiesen werden, dass der Scholiast zu Ilias XXI 203 Gebühren (tele) erwähnt, die nach dem athenischen nomos agoranomikos von Fisch- bzw. Aalhändlern zu entrichten gewesen seien (Haederli, Astynomen und Agoranomen [Anm. 8], 84). Nun gab es natürlich auch Handelszölle auf andere Waren, aber bei den tele auf Fische und Aale scheint es sich doch eher um eine Art Abgabe gehandelt zu haben, die die Einzelhändler auf der Handelsagora noch zusätzlich zu bereits auf der Ware liegenden diversen Zöllen zu entrichten hatten. Möglicherweise kommt hier ebenfalls die relative Schwäche der Anbieter leicht verderblicher Ware zum Ausdruck. Vgl. in diesem Sinne auch Alain Bresson, L’inscription agoranomique du Pirée et le contrôle des prix de détail en Grèce ancienne , in: La cité marchande, Bordeaux 2000, 151–182. IG XII 5,129. William H. Buckler, Labour Disputes in the Province of Asia, in: W. H. Buckler, W. M. Calder

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2.2. Eingriffe in die Preisbildung von Getreide 2.2.1. Unterschiede in der Behandlung der Anbieter je nach Stellung in der Preisbildungskette Andere Regeln als für die soeben behandelten Produkte, die aufgrund ihrer leichten Verderblichkeit oder aus anderen Gründen nur aus der lokalen Herstellung auf die Handelsagorai gelangten, galten für Waren, die zu einem signifikanten Anteil importiert werden mussten. Im Zentrum standen dabei als zentrale Grundnahrungsmittel24 die verschiedenen Getreidesorten, die in das Ressort der sitophylakes fielen. Zur Abfassungszeit der Athenaion Politeia waren dies 35, zwanzig für die Stadt und fünfzehn für den Piräus.25 Diese hätten nun zunächst darüber zu wachen, dass „auf der Agora (sc. im Piräus) das ungemahlene Getreide gerecht feilgeboten würde“ (ὅπως ὁ ἐν ἀγορᾷ σῖτος ἀργὸς ὤνιος ἔσται δικαίως). Ferner musste die weitere Preiskette entlang der Transport- und Verarbeitungsstadien überwacht werden (emporoi – sitopolai – mylothroi – artopolai), wobei stets die Verhältnismäßigkeit der Preise zu dem ersten Großhandelspreis gewahrt sein sollte. Der letzte Schritt, von den Müllern zu den Bäckern, war dabei wahrscheinlich so konzipiert, dass die sitophylakes das Gewicht der Einzelbrote vorschrieben, die die artopolai buken. Dies ist eine Art Analogie zu Techniken antiker Münzprägung: im Fall der Metallverteuerung konnten gegebenenfalls mehr Münzen aus einem Pfund Silber oder Gold geschlagen werden, ohne dass die leichteren Einzelmünzen notwendig

24

25

(Hgg.), Anatolian Studies presented to Sir William Mitchell Ramsay, London u. a. 1923, 27–50, 28. Vgl. Peter Garnsey, Grain for Athens, in: ders., Cities, Peasants and Food in Classical Antiquity, edited with addenda by Walter Scheidel, Cambridge 1998, 183–200 (= P. A. Cartledge, F. D. Harvey [hgg.], Crux: Essays presented to G. E. M. de Ste. Croix on his 75th Birthday, London 1985, 62–75). Garnsey wendet sich gegen ältere Ansätze (vgl. etwa Auguste Jardé, Les céréales dans l’antiquité grecque: la production, Paris 1925), denen zufolge der Großteil des in Attika konsumierten Getreides importiert werden musste. Aber selbst Garnsey geht davon aus, dass „in einem normalen Jahr“ des vierten Jahrhunderts die Hälfte der attischen Population von importiertem Getreide abhängig war (194 [72]). Auch in diesem Fall müsste immer noch von einer extremen Abhängigkeit von importiertem Getreide gesprochen werden. Garnseys Berechnungen haben allerdings den Nachteil, dass der Autor ohne weiteres annimmt, dass das in Attika zur Verfügung stehenden Ackerland fast ausschließlich mit Brotgetreide bebaut wurde. Obwohl Sicherheit in dieser Problematik nicht zu haben ist, sprechen doch einige Indizien gegen diese Annahme (vgl. unten zu Anmerkung 66–72). Gocha Tsetskhladze hat darauf hingewiesen, dass neben den getreidereichen Schwarzmeerregionen (wie dem Gebiet um den kimmerischen Bosporus) auch Sizilien, Libyen, Ägypten und andere Exportgebiete Getreide nach Athen ausführten (‚Grain for Athens‘. The View from the Black Sea, in: R. Alston, O. Nijf, Feeding the Ancient Greek City, Leuven u. a. 2008, 47–62). Zu den Problemen der Textkonstitution der betreffenden Passage (51,3) vgl. Rhodes, Commentary (Anm. 13), 577–579. Die hohe Anzahl der einschlägigen Funktionäre im Vergleich zur früheren Personalstärke (fünf und fünf: Ath. Polit. 51,3, ohne präzise Zeitangaben) ist wohl das Ergebnis einer krisenbedingten Personalaufstockung: vgl. Peter Garnsey, Famine and Food Supply in the Graeco-Roman World. Responses to Risk and Crisis, Cambridge 1988, 141.

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niedriger tarifiert gewesen wären. In analoger Weise wurden bei Getreidemangel aus einem Pfund Mehl mehr Brote zum identischen Preis gebacken.26 Den sitophylakes standen noch (um 330 n. Chr.) zehn erloste emporiou epimeletai zur Seite, deren Hauptaufgabe es war dafür zu sorgen, dass zwei Drittel des im sitikon emporion angelandeten Getreides vom Piräus auf den ca. sieben Kilometer entfernten Stadtmarkt verbracht wurden.27 Der Rest konnte im piräischen Emporikon an lokale Zwischenhändler verhandelt werden. Der Getreidehafen war demnach keine internationale Handelsbörse, denn der Reexport von angelandetem Getreide war – wie generell der Export von Grundnahrungsmitteln – offenbar nicht erlaubt. Unsicherheiten bleiben allerdings auch in dieser Frage und es ist nicht wirklich klar, wie das Drittel einer Charge, das nicht in die Stadt verfrachtet werden musste, behandelt wurde.28 An dieser Stelle sei zunächst festgehalten, dass die bindenden Regularien, wie wahrscheinlich schon bei den Höchstpreisfestsetzungen für verderbliche Lebensmittel durch die agoranomoi, bei den lokalen Klein- und Zwischenhändlern (wohl häufig metoikoi, Freigelassene etc.) ansetzten, auf die ohne große Gefahr für die Stetigkeit der Zufuhr relativ starker Druck ausgeübt werden konnte, weil sie, vereinfacht gesagt, leicht austauschbar waren: Wenn bspw. ein Bäcker seinen Stand aufgab, weil ihm die agoranomischen Gewichtsvorgaben unzumutbar erschienen, dürfte bald ein anderer seine Stelle eingenommen haben. Gut läßt sich dieses Prinzip in der lysias’schen Rede Gegen die Sitopolen erkennen, in der die athenischen Richter offen aufgefordert werden, einige Zwischenhändler auch bei eventuellen Bedenken bezüglich der faktischen Schuld zum Tode zu verurteilen, um die gesamte Berufsgruppe sozialökonomisch zu disziplinieren:29 Darüber hinaus denke ich, Ihr Herren Richter, dass allen vollkommen klar ist, dass Rechtsstreitigkeiten über dergleichen Angelegenheiten vom größten öffentlichen Interesse für die Leute in der Polis sind; folgerichtig werden sie sich erkundigen, welche Meinung Ihr in dieser Frage habt – in der Überzeugung, dass die übrigen fügsamer sein werden, wenn Ihr diese Männer (sc. die angeklagten Sitopolen, denen vorgeworfen wurde, gegen die Regularien des Detailhandels verstoßen zu haben) zum Tode verurteilen werdet; wenn Ihr sie aber unbestraft laufen lasst, habt ihr ihnen (sc. den Sitopolen insgesamt) eine Blankovollmacht erteilt zu tun, was sie wollen.

26

27 28

29

Carmine Ampolo, Il pane quotidiano delle città antiche fra economia e antropologia, Opus 5, 1986, 143–151. Zu Manipulationen des Münzgewichts vgl. Winfried Schmitz, Händler, Bürger, Soldaten. Die Bedeutung von Münzgewichtsveränderungen in der griechischen Poliswelt im 5. und 4. Jahrhundert v.Chr., MBAH V2, 1986, 59–87. Athen. Pol. 51,4. Vgl. Philippe Gauthier, De Lysias à Aristote (Ath. Pol. 51,4). Le commerce du grain à Athènes et les fonctions des sitophylaques, RHDFE (=Études d'histoire et d'institutions grecques: choix d'écrits [éd. par Denis Rousset], Genève 2011, 193–222) 59, 1981, 5–28. Contra: Garnsey, Famine (Anm. 25), 140. Mir scheint ausschlaggebend, dass bei einer Erlaubnis des Reexports die übrigen Bestimmungen, die den Export von Getreide verhindern sollten, zu leicht hätten unterlaufen werden können. Eine Synopse der Gebote und Verbote bzgl. des Getreidehandels bei Ampolo, Motivazioni (Anm. 16), 60. Lysias 22, 19–21; vgl. Robin Seager, Lysias against the Corndealers, Historia 15, 1966, 172– 84.

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Mitleid, so führt der Logograph weiter aus, mit diesen Leuten sei gänzlich unangebracht; dieses solle vielmehr für die Seehandelskaufleute reserviert werden, die zwar nicht um ihr Leben fürchten mussten wie die Sitopolen, dafür aber einen (angeblichen) Preisnachteil hatten hinnehmen müssen: (…) vielmehr solltet Ihr Euer Mitleid aufsparen für die Bürger, die aufgrund der Lumperei dieser Leute zugrunde gingen, und mit den Großhändlern (emporoi), gegen die sich jene zusammengetan hatten: Diesen (sc. den emporoi) werdet Ihr mit den Todesurteilen eine Freude bereiten und sie eifriger machen. Aber wenn Ihr (kein Todesurteil fällt), was glaubt Ihr, werden sie denken, wenn sie hören, dass Ihr die Kleinhändler, die sich gegen die Importeure verabredet haben, freigesprochen habt?

Man sieht, dass für Importeure bzw. Kleinhändler durchaus verschiedene Regeln galten. Während die einen, die ja nicht gezwungen werden konnten, den athenischen Handelshafen anzusteuern, durch exemplarische Strafen gegen Kleinhändler, die der Preisabsprache verdächtigt wurden, bei Laune gehalten werden sollten, appelliert der Redner ungeniert an das ökonomische Eigeninteresse der Richter bei der Urteilsfindung, die der Einschüchterung einer ganzen Berufsgruppe dienen sollte. Dergleichen Einschüchterungen haben offenbar nie zu einem Mangel bei den einschlägigen Arbeitskräften geführt. Zu den ökonomischen Basiskonzeptionen gehörte es demnach, in der Preisbildungspolitik unmittelbaren Druck bei den schwächeren Gliedern der Preisbildungskette anzusetzen. Die zitierte Lysiasrede zeigt unmissverständlich, dass bezüglich dieser Strategie durchaus ein gewissermaßen präreflexives Wissen existierte. 2.2.2 Vermittlung und sanfte Regulierung bei der Außenzufuhr von Lebensmitteln Im Umgang mit den Fernhandelskaufleuten, den emporoi bzw. naukleroi, mussten sich die städtischen Autoritäten bedeutend mehr Zurückhaltung auferlegen als bei den lokal gebundenen Anbietern. Obwohl Athen einer der attraktivsten Handelsplätze für Fernhandelskaufleute in der Mittelmeerwelt der klassischen Epoche war, bestand die Gefahr, emporoi nachhaltig abzuschrecken, wenn sie zu hart angefasst wurden, bspw. wenn sie mehrfach gezwungen worden waren, unter ihrem Einkaufspreis zu verkaufen. Deswegen setzten die Athener im Umgang mit Fernhandelskaufleuten eher auf Vermittlung, sanfte Regulierung und vor allem abgestufte Privilegierungen (heute würde man eine solche Politik als „angebotsorientiert“ beschreiben). Den Vermittlungsprozess darf man sich wohl so vorstellen, dass während der Verhandlungen um den Preis zwischen Fernhandelskaufleuten und Zwischenhändlern ein Vertreter des athenischen demos anwesend war (im Fall von Getreidechargen ein sitophylax, der als Mediator zwischen emporoi und Zwischenhändler fungierte). Der ausgehandelte Preis wurde als „offizieller Preis“ (time kathestekuia) publiziert und galt als Richtgröße in der Kette der aufeinanderfolgenden Verhandlungen.30 Abgeschlossen werden durften Kontrakte (jedenfalls im frühen vierten 30

Vgl. Alain Bresson, Prix officiels et commerce de gros à Athènes, in: La cité marchande, Bor-

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Jahrhundert) nur über jeweils 50 Phormoi, eine heute nicht mehr quantifizierbare Maßeinheit, die aber schon aufgrund ihrer Grundbedeutung (phormos = Korb)31 nicht sehr groß gewesen sein dürfte. Die Fernhandelskaufleute hatten demnach durchaus die Möglichkeit, den Preis im Laufe der aufeinander folgenden Verhandlungen nach und nach zu erhöhen, während den staatlichen Mediatoren im wesentlichen moralische Druckmittel und der Verweis auf mögliche Privilegiengewährungen im Fall des Wohlverhaltens zur Verfügung standen, um Einfluss auf die Preisgestaltung zu nehmen. Ein bekannter Fall ist das vom athenischen demos beschlossene Ehrendossier32 für den salaminischen Großkaufmann Herakleides (in den 20er Jahren des vierten Jahrhunderts). Die Ehrungen wurden unter anderem damit begründet, dass Herakleides „als erster der einfahrenden Kaufleute dem Volk Getreide für fünf Drachmen [sc. pro medimnos] anbot.“33 In den sukzessiven, von den Sitophylaken begleiteten Verhandlungen zwischen emporoi und sitopolai war Herakleides also „als erster“ von dem herrschenden Hochpreis abgewichen und hatte sein Angebot deutlich abgesenkt. Die fünf Drachmen je medimnos wurden darauf hin als neuer „offizieller Preis“ (wohl schriftlich) publiziert. Diese neue time kathestekuia band die „später einfahrenden“ emporoi rechtlich nicht, wirkte aber als starkes Signal und entfaltete einen erheblichen moralischen Druck. Verbindlich war allerdings für die emporoi, dass sie zwei Drittel ihrer Getreideladung an Zwischenhändler verkaufen mussten, die die städtische Agora belieferten. Auf die andere vertragsabschließende Partei, die Zwischenhändler, wurde, wie mehrfach bereits betont, ein erheblicher stärkerer, vor allem scharf sanktionierter Druck ausgeübt. Schon dass sie nur jeweils über relativ kleine Chargen und dies jeweils einzeln (bei striktem Verbot der Absprache mit Berufsgenossen) abschließen durften, beschränkte ihren Verhandlungsspielraum erheblich. Der Ort des Weiterverkaufs (und damit auch der Transportweg der Ware) sowie die erlaubte Gewinnspanne von einem Sechstel waren verbindlich festgelegt.34 Mittel der Disziplinierung für die Sitopolen waren Verhaftungen und Exekutionen, „Ehrungen“ für Angehörige dieser Berufsgruppe waren dagegen im System nicht vorgesehen. Für Fernhandelskaufleute galten auch in dieser Beziehung andere Regeln. Zwar hat Darel Tai Engen35 in einer detaillierten Studie der erhaltenen Ehrenurkunden deaux 2000, 183–210. Einen Überblick über die Deutungsgeschichte des terminus time kathestekuia jetzt bei Ampolo, Motivazioni (Anm. 16), 45–59. Die Interpretation von Bresson, der ich verpflichtet bin, scheint mir auch nach der Wiederaufnahme der Diskussion durch Ampolo am besten die unterschiedlichen Überlieferungsmomente zu verbinden. 31 Für eine rezente Diskussion des Begriffs vgl. Errietta Bissa, Governmental Intervention in Foreign Trade in Archaic and Classical Greece (Mnemosyne Supplements 312), Leiden u. a. 2009, 181–83. 32 IG II2 360 + Add. p. 660 (Syll.3 304); Rhodes, Osborne, GHI, Nr. 95. 33 Z. 29–32: ἐπειδὴ Ἡρακλείδης Σαλαμίνιος ἐπέδωκεν τὸν σῖτον τῶι δήμωι πεντέδραχμον πρῶτος τῶν καταπλευσάντων ἐμπόρων ἐπ’Ἀριστοφῶντος ἄρχοντος (…). 34 Migeotte, Le contrôle des prix (Anm. 15), 36. 35 Darel Tai Engen, Honor & Profit. Athenian Trade Policy and the Economy and Society of Greece, 415–307 B. C. E., Ann Arbor 2010; vgl. auch Magnetto, Incentivi (Anm. 2), 175–177. Vereinzelt sind auch Steuerprivilegien für Händler bestimmter Staatsanhörigkeit, wie der Er-

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noch einmal herausgearbeitet, dass der athenische Demos noch zu Beginn des vierten Jahrhunderts zurückhaltend darin war, emporoi oder naukleroi mit außergewöhnlichen Ehrungen und vor allem praktisch verwertbaren Privilegien (asylia, ateleia, enktesis, attischem Bürgerrecht)36 zu bedenken. Doch im Zusammenhang mit akuten Versorgungskrisen bediente sich der Demos dieser – traditionell eher für herausragende politische oder militärische Dienste37 reservierten – Ehrungen in einem abgestuften System von Belobigungen und Anreizen, um Seehandelskaufleute nach Athen zu locken und zum Verkauf zu einem „gerechten“ Preis oder zu Schenkungen zu bewegen.38 Zu bedenken ist dabei, dass insgesamt nur ein kleiner Teil der Kaufleute in den Genuss so weitreichender Privilegien wie der enktesis39 oder der Atelie40 gekommen sein dürfte. Herakleides von Salamis wurde bspw. (unter anderem mit der enktesis) geehrt, weil er als „erster“ der eintreffenden Kaufleute von dem Getreidehochpreis abging: die Reihe der vor und nach ihm einfahrenden Seehandelskaufleute erhielt höchstwahrscheinlich keine besonderen Ehrungen und Zugeständnisse. Die Polis organisierte also gewissermaßen einen Wettlauf um knappe Privilegien. Gleichermaßen für alle emporoi galt allerdings das außergewöhnliche Privileg, wie ein athenischer Bürger einen Prozess anstrengen zu können, der aus einem Streit um einen Seehandelshandelsvertrag entstanden war. Als zusätzliche Begünstigung war zugesichert, dass ein eventuelles Verfahren, das sich aus einem Seehandelsvertrag zwischen einem emporos und einem Kapitalgeber ergab, außerhalb der eigentlichen Handelssaison zeitverzögert stattfinden konnte (wobei für diese Winterprozesse – während derer sich die emporoi in der Regel fernab von der Heimat befanden – eine beschleunigte Abwicklung angestrebt wurde).41 Mit Blick auf die Seehandelskaufleute lässt sich demnach von einer abgestuften Privilegierungsstrategie des athenischen demos sprechen. Relativ weitgehende Regulierungen der Tätigkeit von Seehandelskaufleuten lassen sich allerdings im sogenannten „Getreidesteuergesetz“ von 374/3 v. Chr. feststellen. Beispielsweise war die Tranche, deren Erhebung und Transport ein Seehandelsunternehmer nach den Bestimmungen dieses Gesetzes ersteigern konnte,

36 37 38

39 40

41

lass des metoikion für die sidonischen Handelskaufleute als Anreiz, in Athen tätig zu werden, belegt (vgl. Roubineau, La fiscalité des cités grecques [Anm. 9], 193; Philippe Gauthier, Symbola. Les étrangers et la justice dans les cités grecques, Nancy 1972, 119). Engen, Honor (Anm. 35), 182–213. Dies aber in der Regel nicht bei den eigenen Bürgern, deren außergewöhnliche politische Leistungsbereitschaft als gegeben vorausgesetzt wurde. Engen, Honor (Anm. 35), 103–118. Auch Ehrungen für ausländische Politiker konnten mit dem Ziel erfolgen, diese zu Erleichterungen (z. B. bei Zöllen) zu ermuntern: vgl. etwa Demosth. 20,31 mit Garnsey, Famine (Anm. 25), 138. Dieter Hennig, Immobilienerwerb durch Nichtbürger in der klassischen und hellenistischen Polis, Chiron 24, 1994, 305–44. Lene Rubinstein, Ateleia Grants and their Enforcement in the Classic and Early Hellenistic Periods, in: L. Mitchell, L. Rubinstein (Hgg.), Greek History and Epigraphy, Essays in Honour of P. J. Rhodes, Swansea 2009, 115–143. Zur genauen Interpretation des Begriffs der dikai emmenoi Edward E. Cohen, Ancient Athenian Maritime Courts, Princeton 1973, 12–59; vgl. jetzt auch Magnetto, Incentivi (Anm. 2), 177– 183; Bresson, L’économie de la grèce (Anm. 5), 2,116–118.

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strikt auf 500 medimnoi limitiert (also deutlich weniger als die gewöhnliche Ladekapazität eines Handelsschiffes).42 Die Unternehmer konnten sich zwar zu Bieterund Arbeitsgemeinschaften zusammenschließen, aber diese durften nicht mehr als sechs Teilnehmer und 3000 medimnoi Transportkapazität umfassen. Regelungen dieses Typs sollten der Zusammenballung von Marktmacht und Bildung von Oligopolen vorbeugen. In diesem Bestreben ging die Polis ähnlich weit wie bei der Regulierung des Handlungsspielraums der Sitopolen, d. h. sie wich von der oben beschriebenen Regel ab, mit Regularien bei den schwächeren Gliedern der Distributionskette anzusetzen. Allerdings ist zu bedenken, dass es sich bei der Eintreibung des Kleruchiengetreides um einen (vermutlich)43 lukrativen Staatsauftrag handelte, um dessen Wahrnehmung wohl vorzugsweise einheimische Seehandelsunternehmer konkurrierten.44 Gewöhnliche, „freie“ Seehandelstransaktionen hätten die Athener kaum so stark zu regulieren gewagt. 2.3. Weitere Beeinflussungen der Getreidepreise Der Großhandelspreis für Getreide wurde im Lauf des vierten Jahrhunderts bekanntermaßen noch durch weitere Vorkehrungen der Polis beeinflusst, wenn auch nicht direkt reguliert. Zu den bekanntesten Maßnahmen gehört das soeben schon erwähnte Reformgesetz, mit dem im Jahr 374 / 73 v. Chr. die Modalitäten geregelt wurden, nach denen die Erhebung der lemnischen, imbrischen und skyrischen Abgaben künftig erfolgen sollte. Die von Agyrrhios angestoßene Novelle bestimmte, dass die Abgabe der Kleruchen zukünftig als Naturalleistung in Form eines Zwölftels (des Ernteertrags der Klerucheninseln?)45 nach Athen abzuliefern war und zwar mit der expliziten Intention, dass „dem Demos Getreide öffentlich zur Verfügung stehe“ [Z. 5 f.]). Die Erhebung einer Abgabe in Naturalien ist möglicherweise eine Innovation des eben angesprochenen Agyrrhios-Gesetzes, jedenfalls gab es noch keine lange Tradition der Naturalerhebung.46 Zu erwähnen ist, dass die Überschüsse aus der eleusinischen aparche (i. e. das nicht für gottesdienstliche Zwecke verbrauchte Getreide) entsprechend den gesetzlichen Vorgaben in Athen verkauft wur42 43 44

45 46

Z. 8 f. Ronald S. Stroud, The Athenian Grain Tax Law of 374/3 B. C. (Hesperia Supplement 29), Princeton, NJ, 1998, 40 f. und 97. Michele Faraguna, Intorno alla nuova legge ateniese sulla tassazione di grano, Dike 2, 1999, 63–97. Zu dem Antragsteller Agyrrhios und der mutmaßlich mit ihm zu verbindenden Interessengruppe vgl. Stroud, Grain Tax Law (Anm. 42), 16–25. Zur Politik der Verpachtung von Steuereinzugsrechten: Michele Faraguna, Il sistema degli appalti pubblici ad Atene nel IV sec. a. C. e la legge di Agirrio, in: A. Magnetto, D. Erdas, C. Carusi (Hgg.), Nuove ricerche sulla legge granaria ateniese del 374/73 a. C., Pisa 2010, 129–148. Stroud, Grain Tax Law (Anm. 42), 27 ff. Ugo Fantasia, La politica del grano pubblico nelle città greche: alcune riflessioni a partire dalla legge die Agirrio, Anna Magnetto, Donatella Erdas, Cristina Carusi (Hgg.), Nuove ricerche sulla legge granaria ateniese del 374/3 a. C., Pisa 2010, 67–97, 67 f.; siehe generell: Léopold Migeotte, Taxation directe en Grèce ancienne, in: G. Thür u. a. (Hgg.), Symposion 1999, Köln u. a. 2003, 297–313.

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den und die Profite an das eleusinische Heiligtum fielen. Das Verfahren weist gewisse Analogien zu der Prozedur auf, die bei der Fiskalisierung des Kleruchiengetreides angewendet wurde.47 Belegt ist aber auch die Existenz von Sitonen, also einer Art Getreidekommissare, die für den Aufkauf von Getreide auf auswärtigen Marktplätzen und die Verbringung nach Athen verantwortlich waren. Zu diesem Zweck wurden spezielle Fonds angelegt, die der strategischen Versorgung des Heimatmarkts mit Getreide dienten. Die Institution ist für Athen nur dünn belegt,48 aber doch hinreichend, um darauf schließen zu können, dass die Sitonie im Athen des vierten Jahrhunderts analog zu Sitonien in anderen Poleis, für die bessere Belege existieren, fungierte.49 Flankiert wurde diese Politik der Importunterstützung durch die gelegentliche Gestellung von militärischen Geleitzügen für Schiffskonvois mit athenischer Destination50 und durch ebenfalls nur gelegentliche Berücksichtung von Händlerinteressen in zwischenstaatlichen Abkommen (asylia, ateleia).51 Insgesamt weisen diese Belege in dieselbe Richtung: Die athenischen Autoritäten waren gehalten, durch Bereitstellung eines subventionierten staatlichen Zusatzangebots indirekt Einfluss auf die Getreidepreisbildung zu nehmen. Das agyrrhische Gesetz macht das besonders deutlich: das Steuergetreide sollte zu einem von der Ekklesie festgelegten Preis auf dem Markt verkauft werden. Ähnlich war wohl das Verfahren (auch wenn es für Athen nicht direkt belegt ist) bei dem von den Sitonen eingekauften Getreide. Um die hinter dieser Verkaufspolitik stehende Grundkonzeption richtig einzuordnen, ist nun noch folgendes zu beachten. Erstens: die insgesamt auf den Markt gebrachten Mengen „Staatsgetreide“ reichten nicht aus, um den Gesamtbedarf der attischen Bevölkerung zu decken.52 Zweitens kamen das subventionierte Getreide nur zu bestimmten (Krisen-)zeiten auf den Markt, das Fiskalgetreide aus den Kleruchien beispielsweise in der Periode vor der neuen Ernte.53 Der subventionierte Preis trat also nur zeitweise in Konkurrenz zu den Marktpreisen (wozu die time kathestekuia gehört). Die Erfahrung – die sich übrigens im vierten Jahrhundert v. Chr. formte und mindestens bis ins 18. Jh. n. Chr. fester Bestand47

48 49 50 51 52

53

Für eine inhaltliche Auswertung des zur eleusinischen aparche überlieferten Inschriftendossiers vgl. Kevin Clinton, Eleusis. The Inscriptions on Stone. Documents of the Sanctuary of the two Goddesses and Public Documents of the Deme, Athens 2008, vol. 2, S. 5–7). Demosthenes war 338/7 v. Chr. (?) gewählter sitones: De corona (18), 248. Vgl. dazu ausführlich Bresson, L’économie de la Grèce (Anm. 5), 2,126–133; 181–189. Magnetto, Incentivi (Anm. 2), 172 f. Magnetto, Incentivi (Anm. 2), 166–169 (Gli accordi internazionali); Bissa, Governmental Intervention (Anm. 31), passim. Léopold Migeottes, Le grain des îles et l’approvisionnement d’Athènes au IVe siècle avant J.C., in: A. Magnetto, D. Erdas, C. Carusi (Hgg.) , Nuove ricerche sulla legge granaria ateniese del 374/3 a. C., Pisa 2010, 27–38. Z. 46–48 mit Stroud, Grain Tax Law (Anm. 42), 73–78. Siehe generell zu diesem Aspekt Philippe Gauthier, Nouvelles récoltes et grain nouveau: A propos d’une inscription de Gazaros, BCH 111, 1987, 413–418. Die Novellierung des Getreidesteuergesetzes geschah 374/3 wahrscheinlich als Reaktion auf eine jüngst überstandene akute Unterversorgungskrise; vgl. Luigi Gallo, Il nomos di Agirrio e una testimonianza di Demostene, in: A. Magnetto, D. Erdas, C. Carusi (Hgg.) , Nuove ricerche sulla legge granaria ateniese del 374/3 a. C., Pisa 2010, 149– 157.

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teil marktpolitischer „Weisheit“ der unterschiedlichsten Regierungen blieb – lehrte, dass hohe Spekulationspreise unter Druck gerieten, wenn nur eine verhältnismäßig geringe Menge subventionierten Getreides auf den Markt kam.54 Die Intention einer solchen Politik war offenbar, Spekulanten der Angst auszusetzen, ihre Ware – die in Zeiten der Knappheit nicht selten unverhältnismäßig teuer eingekauft worden war – unter dem Gestehungspreis verkaufen zu müssen, so dass sie bereit waren, bei fallenden Preisen zu verkaufen.

3. BEWUSSTE EINFLUSSNAHMEN AUF DIE PRODUKTION Bisher ist vor allem von bewussten, institutionell geregelten Einflussnahmen auf Preisbildungsmechanismen die Rede gewesen. Wie oben bereits angesprochen, waren Einflussnahmen auf die Produktion weit weniger ausgeprägt, weniger stark institutionell abgesichert und in der Regel indirekter Natur. Was nicht heißt, dass es sie nicht gegeben hat. Eine direkte Intervention in die produktive Sphäre liegt beispielsweise in den Pachtordnungen vor, die von Demenleitungen oder als Verwaltungsanordnung für Tempel publiziert wurden und in denen die Nutzungsweise und nicht selten (in 19 überlieferten Fällen für das klassische Athen) die regelmäßige Überprüfung der ordnungsgemäßen Nutzung der Pachtobjekte (Einhaltung der Zweifelderbewirtschaftung, Erhaltungspflichten, Bewässerungsarbeiten u. a.) belegt ist.55 Die Regulierung von Pflichten, die sich aus der Pacht produktiver Güter (nicht nur von Ackerland, sondern auch von Minen oder Manufakturen) ergab, betraf ein weites Feld ökonomischer Tätigkeiten,56 hatte allerdings natürlich keine Folgen für den produktiven Gebrauch von nicht verpachtetem Eigentum, das mit Wahrscheinlichkeit den relativ größeren Teil des in Attika bearbeiteten Landes darstellte. Aber auch auf die Bewirtschaftung von Eigentum wurde politisch Einfluss genommen, wenn auch nicht unmittelbar von staatlich gestelltem Personal, was nicht heißt, dass die Konsequenzen nicht gravierend waren. Ein Typus der Intervention in den produktiven Gebrauch von Eigentum wird von Wirtschaftshistorikern, soweit ich sehe, kaum zur Kenntnis genommen, vermutlich, weil bei diesem Typus der Einflussnahme das moralische Moment (zu Recht) als im Vordergrund stehend empfunden wird. Dennoch ist auch ein ökonomischer Aspekt nicht zu übersehen: Die Rede ist von dem Aufsichtsrecht über den wirtschaftlich sinnvollen Gebrauch von Eigentum, das der Demos (im repräsentati-

54 55

56

Vgl. Eich, Politische Ökonomie (Anm. 11), 218–232. Vgl. die (den ausführlichen Quellenkatalog 50–101) zusammenfassende Übersicht bei Diederich Behrend, Attische Pachturkunden. Ein Beitrag zur Beschreibung der μίσθωσις nach den griechischen Inschriften, München 1970, 121–123. Zur gesetzlichen Regelungen privater Pachtverhältnisse: 130 f.; s. auch Isabelle Pernin, La question des baux dans la Grèce des cités, Pallas 74, 2007, 43–76, 45–55. Vgl. den konzentrierten Überblick bei Kirsty Shipton, Leasing and Lending: The Cash Economy in Fourth-Century BC Athens, London 2000.

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ven Ausschnitt vertreten in seiner Funktion als Richter) in Erbschaftsverfahren57 oder prinzipiell in jedem Prozess58 beanspruchte, in dem über das Eigentumsrecht an bestimmten Güter entschieden wurde. In den Augen der Richter konnte offensichtlich der verschwenderische oder eben allgemein unproduktive Gebrauch eines Gutes ein entscheidendes Hindernis für die Anerkennung von Eigentumsrechten darstellen. Die Wahrnehmung dieses (faktisch ausgeübten und offenbar als legitim anerkannten) Aufsichtsrechts hat wahrscheinlich einen erheblichen Druck entfaltet, Güter wirtschaftlich produktiv zu nutzen. Interessanterweise gestattete allerdings ein Gesetz, das die Modalitäten der Güterinventarisierung im Falle eines AntidosisVerfahrens59 regelte, Besitzrechte in den Minen, also vor allem Schürfkonzessionen, auszulassen.60 Diese blieben also auch bei einem eventuellen Gütertausch bei dem ursprünglichen Besitzer und waren auf diese Weise besonders geschützt. Anders als in der Regel wirkte hier die Gesetzeslage nicht durch Druck und über Sanktionsangst sondern mit einem positiven Investitionsanreiz.61 Unmittelbar verschärft wurde jedoch der Druck, Eigentum oder Besitz produktiv zu nutzen, dadurch, dass wahrscheinlich jeder Bürger das Recht hatte, einen Mitbürger wegen „Untätigkeit“ (argia) anzuklagen. Dieses Klagerecht galt offenkundig auch gegen Eigentümer von Grund und Boden, die ihr Eigentum verwahrlosen ließen.62 Möglicherweise hatten jedoch auch die Areopagiten im Rahmen einer magistratischen Anakrisis das Recht, gegen „untätige“ Bürger vorzugehen. Das Verhör, dem der Beschuldigte unterzogen wurde, konnte in dem Falle, dass der Delinquent keine Einnahmen nachweisen konnte, die seinen Ausgaben entsprachen, drastische Konsequenzen bis hin zur Todesstrafe nach sich ziehen.63 Der Zwang, ein legitimes Gewerbe nachweisen zu können, aus dem der eigene Lebensunterhalt bestritten wurde, war gewissermaßen negativ durch das Verbot ergänzt, einen Bürger oder eine Bürgerin zu beschimpfen, weil er oder sie einer gewerbli57

58

59 60 61 62 63

Vgl. Richard F. Wevers, Isaeus. Chronology, Prosopography, and Social History, Den Haag, Paris 1969, 99: „Isaeus mentions the subject again and again“. Mit zahlreichen und illustrativen Belegen in der Folge. Als klassisches Beispiel kann die erste Aphobosrede des Demosthenes gelten, der den Richtern demonstrierte, dass seine Vormünder einen liturgisch äußerst nützlichen Gutskomplex durch Dissipation für den Staat wertlos gemacht hatten bzw. noch weiter machten (27,7–10). Prinzipiell ließe sich eine lange Liste mit Gesetzen aufstellen, die in irgendeiner Weise von der Sorge mitmotiviert waren, dass Land unproduktiv oder fiskalisch ungünstig verteilt werden könnte. Vgl. bspw. zu Adoptionen Lene Rubinstein, Adoption in IV. Century Athens, Kopenhagen 1993. Einen einschlägigen (produktivitätsorientierten) Aspekt hatte offenkundig auch der nomos agamias, auf den Plutarch, De amore prolis 2, anspielt. Vgl. zur Historizität und Intention dieses Gesetzes Winfried Schmitz, Nachbarschaft und Dorfgemeinde im archaischen und klassischen Griechenland, Berlin 2004, 210–213. Vgl. Matthew R. Christ, Liturgy Avoidance and Antidosis in Classical Athens, TAPhA 120, 1990, 147–69. Demosth. 42,18 f.; 31 (Gegen Phainippos). Eich, Politische Ökonomie (Anm.11), 387–412. Ausführliche Behandlung der schwierigen Quellenlage bei Schmitz, Nachbarschaft (Anm. 58), 190–202. Zur Popularklage vgl. Diog. Laert. 1,55. Vgl. die Interpretation des Diphilosfragment F 31 PCG Zeile 2–17 durch Schmitz, Nachbarschaft (Anm. 58), 195 f. Zur Anakrisis (Vorverfahren) der Areopagiten vgl. ibid. 198–201.

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chen Tätigkeit auf dem Markt oder einem anderem eventuell als nicht-standesgemäß empfundenen Gewerbe nachging (dike kakegorias).64 Zu erwähnen ist in diesem Zusammenhang auch das von Plutarch paraphrasierte „solonische Gesetz“, das Söhne von der Pflicht freistellte, ihren Vater im Alter zu versorgen, wenn dieser versäumt hatte, sie ein Gewerbe erlernen zu lassen, das sie ernährte.65 Der Druck, der durch die Gesetzgebung auf die Primärproduzenten ausgeübt wurde, wurde von einer anderen Seite ergänzt bzw. in einer spezifischen Weise konzentriert: Xenophon hat in seinen Poroi darauf hingewiesen, dass der athenische Handelshafen unter anderem so attraktiv für Seehandelskaufleute war, weil eine große Angebotsfülle für die Rückfracht zur Verfügung stand (πλεῖστα μὲν ἔστιν ἀντεξάγειν).66 Nun war allerdings der Export von in Attika produzierten Grundnahrungsmitteln seit solonischer Zeit verboten (auch die von Solon konzedierte Ausnahme für Öl galt im vierten Jahrhundert höchstwahrscheinlich nicht mehr).67 Einem Athener war es sogar bei Todesstrafe untersagt, einen Handelskredit für den Transport von Getreide zu gewähren, das für einen anderen Platz als den athenischen Hafen bestimmt war.68 Der Druck, der von „politischer“ Seite auf die Produzenten ausgeübt wurde, wirkte also gewissermaßen in entgegengesetzte Richtungen: Einerseits erwartete der Demos einen möglichst gewinnbringenden Gebrauch von Eigentum, andererseits untersagte er die Produktion von Grundnahrungsmitteln für den Export. Die gewinnbringende, jedenfalls profitmaximierende Vermarktung der Ernte auf dem einheimischen Markt wurde dann aber wieder durch die mannigfaltige Unterstützung von Lebensmittelimporten behindert. Auf diese widersprüchliche politische Druckausübung reagierte die athenische Elite mit einer Diversifizierung und Manufakturierung ihres Grundbesitzes, auf dem sie, in meist sklavistischer Produktionsweise, bspw. wertvolle Möbel, Musikinstrumente, Kosmetika und Medikamente, Duftöle, Lampen, Mäntel und andere Kleidung, Schuhe, Zierkeramik u. a. herstellen ließ.69 Ein besonderes Feld war die Waffenproduktion auf Manufakturbasis, die vermutlich meist im Staatsauftrag betrieben wurde.

64

Demosth. 56,30 f. (Gegen Euboulides). Die Rede zeigt, wie lebendig das Vorurteil gegen nichtlandwirtschaftliche Arbeit war, bis hin zu der Konsequenz, dass eine Bürgerin verdächtigt werden konnte, das Bürgerrecht erschlichen zu haben, weil sie auf dem Markt Bänder verkaufte. Das Verbot, solche Verdächtigungen mit Beschimpfungen zu unterstreichen, zeigt, dass der Gesetzgeber das Odium von Erwerbsarbeit dieser Art nehmen wollte, um – einmal mehr – zur produktiven Tätigkeit anzuhalten. 65 Plut., Sol. 22,1 (Ernst Ruschenbusch, ΣΟΛΩΝΟΣ ΝΟΜΟΙ. Die Fragmente des solonischen Gesetzeswerkes mit einer Text- und Überlieferungsgeschichte, Wiesbaden 1966, 90 f., F 56). (22014, hrsg. von K. Bringmann). 66 Poroi 3,2. Andererseits – das ist der Hauptgedanke dieser Ausführungen – könnten die Kaufleute aber auch eine wertvolle, allseitig konvertible Währung ausführen, wenn sie leer an ihren Herkunftsort fahren wollten. 67 Bresson, L’économie de la Grèce (Anm. 5), 2,203. 68 Garnsey, Famine (Anm. 25), 139 f.; Ampolo, Motivazioni (Anm. 16), 60. 69 S. zum Beispiel die Auflistung bei John K. Davies, Wealth and the Power of Wealth in Classical Athens, Salem, NHamp. 1984, 41–49; Phillip Stanley, The Value of ergasteria in Attica: a Reexamination, MBAH 9, 1990, 1–13; vgl. auch Eich, Politische Ökonomie (Anm. 11), 288–292.

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Diese Anreizpolitik zeitigte erhebliche Erfolge. Eine jüngst publizierte Schätzung70 der durchschnittlichen Kriegskosten, die Athen in den 370er Jahren schulterte, kommt auf über 500 Talente im Jahresdurchschnitt (bei starken Fluktuationen) – ohne die Kosten für Seepatrouillen oder andere im Frieden anfallende reguläre Militärkosten wie etwa die Unterhaltung der Kavallerie.71 In den 360er Jahren72 ergeben sich immerhin noch 400 Talente Kriegskosten im Jahresdurchschnitt.73 Für die Bestreitung des Gesamtprogramms religiöser Feste können noch einmal etwa 100 Talente im Jahresdurchschnitt angesetzt werden.74 Dies sind Ausgaben, die sich wohl kaum eine andere griechische Polis leisten konnte. Aus der Perspektive der zeitgenössischen Akteure kann also von einem außerordentlichen (wenn auch nicht verstetigten) Erfolg75 der diversen „wirtschaftspolitischen“ Maßnahmen gesprochen werden. Die Frage, der ich mich zuletzt kurz zuwende, ist, ob von einer systematischen Zielorientierung bei diesen Maßnahmen gesprochen werden kann.

4. RESÜMEE Athenische Wirtschaftspolitik setzte, wie die obigen Ausführungen noch einmal in Erinnerung gerufen haben, vorzugsweise bei den Warenpreisen an. Das primäre Ziel dieser Politik, nämlich stärkere Preisschwankungen bei lebenswichtigen Nahrungsmitteln zu verhindern, dürfte jedem Zeitgenossen einigermaßen transparent gewesen sein. Analoges darf mit einer gewissen Plausibilität bei den meisten Einzelmaßnahmen vermutet und kann in Einzelfällen sogar belegt werden. Das oben zitierte Schlussplädoyer des Lysias gegen die Sitopolen (22,19–22) zeigt deutlich, dass der Redner wusste, dass auf die lokalen Zwischenhändler starker Druck ausgeübt werden konnte, um sie ökonomisch zu disziplinieren, während die Seehandelskaufleute auf vergleichbaren Terror mit dem Rückzug vom athenischen Markt reagiert hätten und aus diesem Grund eher mit Privilegien und Gefälligkeitspolitik angelockt werden mussten. Einzelbeobachtungen, die eine spezifische Ursache mit einer konkreten Folge linear verknüpften (z. B. in der Form: „Eine verstärkte Zu70 71

72 73 74 75

David M. Pritchard, Costing Festivals and War: Spending Priorities of the Athenian Democracy, Historia 61, 2012, 18–65. Die wichtigste Quellengruppe bei John H. Kroll, An Archive of the Athenian Cavalry, Hesperia 46, 1977, 83–140. Bei dem Ansatz von Pritchard werden private und öffentliche Militärausgaben sinnvoller Weise zusammengeführt, um eine realistische Einschätzung der finanziellen Nettopotenz der athenischen Gesellschaft zu gewinnen. Zu den militärischen Aktivitäten der Polis in diesem Jahrzehnt vgl. Die ausführliche Studie von Julia Heskel, The North Aegean Wars, 371–360 B. C., Stuttgart 1997. Pritchard, Costing (Anm. 70), 56 f. Pritchard, Costing (Anm. 70), 38. Vgl. zu der Thematik der außerordentlichen Leistungsbereitschaft und -fähigkeit der athenischen Eliten zuletzt Dorothea Rohde, Bürgerpflicht und Gleichheitsideal. ‚Besteuerung‘ und ihre diskursiven Grundlagen in Sparta und Athen, in: S. Günther (Hg.), Ordnungsrahmen antiker Ökonomien. Ordnungskonzepte und Steuermechanismen antiker Wirtschaftssysteme im Vergleich, Wiesbaden 2012, 23–40.

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wanderung bringt größeren Reichtum für die Polis“), existierten in nicht geringer Zahl: Anna Magnetto hat jüngst eine Synopse mit einschlägigen Stellen aus Aristoteles, Xenophon, Isokrates und anderen klassischen Autoren zusammengestellt.76 In aller Regel handelt es sich dabei nicht eigentlich um „Reflexionen“,77 sondern um bloße Mitteilungen von Anschauungen, deren Allgemeingültigkeit als unproblematisch vorausgesetzt wurde. Viele andere Grundanschauungen, die einer verbreiteten ökonomischen sagesse conventionelle angehörten, wurden der Formulierung nicht einmal für wert gehalten, aber kontinuierlich in der Praxis angewandt. Dazu gehörte beispielsweise die Einsicht, dass die staatlich subventionierte Einfuhr einer nur geringen Warenmenge in einer Hochpreisphase die Preise binnen kurzem kollabieren lassen konnte (vgl. oben, Anm. 11). Die meisten der in dieser Arbeit angesprochenen Praktiken gehören in diese Gruppe. Komplexere Überlegungen, etwa über die Wirkungsmechanismen der im letzten Abschnitt skizzierten widersprüchlichen Druckentfaltung auf die Produzenten (nämlich keine Lebensmittel für den Export produzieren zu dürfen und gleichzeitig mit subventionierten Importpreisen auf dem Binnenmarkt konkurrieren zu müssen), wurden jedoch in aller Regel nicht angestellt. Was jedoch allen vor Augen stand, waren die Resultate der ineinandergreifenden politischen Maßnahmen, d. h. die relativen Erfolge. Eine konzentrierte Thematisierung der systemischen Politik, die diese Erfolge begründet hatte, wurde vermutlich schlicht nicht als literaturwürdig erachtet, ebenso wenig wie bei vielen anderen Themen, über die ein erhebliches praktisches Wissen vorlag. Niemand ist offenbar auf die Idee gekommen, eine Abhandlung darüber zu schreiben, wie eine Triere gebaut und gerudert wird, obwohl die betreffenden Kenntnisse und Fähigkeiten für die athenische Gesellschaft von zentraler Bedeutung waren. Ähnlich lag offenbar der Fall bei der Lebensmittelpolitik Athens. Das pragmatisch verwendete Wissen über komplexere Wirkungszusammenhänge staatlicher Interventionspolitik trug lediglich einen präreflexiven Charakter. BIBLIOGRAPHIE Ampolo, Carmine, Il pane quotidiano delle città antiche fra economia e antropologia, Opus 5, 1986, 143–151 Ampolo, Carmine, Le motivazioni della legge sulla tassazione del grano di Lemno, Imbro e Sciro e il prezzo di grano e pane, in: Anna Magnetto, D. Erdas, C. Carusi (Hgg.), Nuove ricerche sulla legge granaria ateniese del 374/3 a. C., Pisa 2010, 39–66 Behrend, Diederich, Attische Pachturkunden. Ein Beitrag zur Beschreibung der μίσθωσις nach den griechischen Inschriften, München 1970 Bissa, Errietta, Governmental Intervention in Foreign Trade in Archaic and Classical Greece (Mnemosyne Supplements 312), Leiden u. a. 2009 Bresson, Alain, L’inscription agoranomique du Pirée, in: La cité marchande, Bordeaux 2000, 151– 182

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Incentivi (Anm. 2), 160–166 („La riflessione teorica“). Vgl. auch die Überlegungen von Johannes Engels, Anmerkungen zum „ökonomischen Denken“ im 4. Jahrhundert v. Chr. und zur wirtschaftlichen Entwicklung des lykurgischen Athen, MBAH VII 1, 1988, 90–134.

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Bresson, Alain, Prix officiels et commerce de gros à Athènes, in: La cité marchande, Bordeaux 2000, 183–210 Bresson, Alain, L’économie de la Grèce des cités (fin VIe–Ier siècle a. C.), vol. 2: L’espace de l’échange, Paris 2008, 101–106 Buckler, William H., Labour Disputes in the Province of Asia, in: W. H. Buckler, W. M. Calder (Hgg.), Anatolian Studies presented to Sir William Mitchell Ramsay, London u. a. 1923, 27–57 Cahill, Nicholas, Household Industry in Greece and Anatolia, in: Bradley Ault / Lisa Nevett (Hgg.), Ancient Greek Houses and Households: Chronological, Regional, and Social Diversity, Philadelphia 2005, 67–81 Chankowski, Véronique, Les catégories du vocabulaire de la fiscalité dans les cités grecques, in: J. Andreau, V. Chankowski (Hgg.), Vocabulaire et expression de l’économie dans le monde antique, Bordeaux 2007, 299–329 Capdetrey, Laurent; Hasenohr, Claire, Surveiller, organiser, financer: fonctionnemet de l’agoranomia et statut des agoranomes dans le monde égéen, in: diess. (Hgg.), Agoranomes et édiles: Institutions des marchés antiques, Bordeaux 2012, 13–34 Christ, Matthew R., Liturgy Avoidance and Antidosis in Classical Athens, TAPhA 120, 1990, 147– 69 Clinton, Kevin, Eleusis. The Inscriptions on Stone. Documents of the Sanctuary of the two Goddesses and Public Documents of the Deme, 2 Bde., Athens 2008 Cohen, Edward E., Ancient Athenian Maritime Courts, Princeton 1973 Cole, Andrew Th., The Anonymus Iamblichi and his Place in Greek Political Theory, in: Harv. Stud. Class. Phil. 65, 1961, 127–163 Davies, John K., Wealth and the Power of Wealth in Classical Athens, Salem, NHamp. 1984, 41–49 Descat, Raymond, Les prix dans l’inscription agoranomique du Pirée, in: Économie antique: Prix et formation des prix dans les économies antiques (Entretiens d’Archéologie et d’Histoire S.-B.d.-C.), Saint-Bertrand-de-Comminges 1997, 13–20 Eich, Armin, Die politische Ökonomie des antiken Griechenland (6.-3. Jahrhundert v. Chr.), Köln u. a. 2006 Engels, Johannes, Anmerkungen zum „ökonomischen Denken“ im 4. Jahrhundert v. Chr. und zur wirtschaftlichen Entwicklung des lykurgischen Athen, MBAH VII 1, 1988, 90–134. Engen, Darel Tai, Honor & Profit. Athenian Trade Policy and the Economy and Society of Greece, 415–307 B. C. E., Ann Arbor 2010 Fantasia, Ugo, La politica del grano pubblico nelle città greche: alcune riflessioni a partire dalla legge die Agirrio, in: A. Magnetto, D. Erdas, C. Carusi (Hgg.), Nuove ricerche sulla legge granaria ateniese del 374/3 a. C., Pisa 2010, 67–97 Faraguna, Michele, Intorno alla nuova legge ateniese sulla tassazione di grano, Dike 2, 1999, 63–97 Faraguna, Michele, Il sistema degli appalti pubblici ad Atene nel IV sec. a. C. e la legge di Agirrio, in: A. Magnetto, D. Erdas, C. Carusi (Hgg.), Nuove ricerche sulla legge granaria ateniese del 374/73 a. C., Pisa 2010, 129–148 Gallo, Luigi, Il nomos die Agirrio e una testimonianza di Demostene, in: A. Magnetto, D. Erdas, C. Carusi (Hgg.), Nuove ricerche sulla legge granaria ateniese del 374/3 a. C., Pisa 2010, 149–157 Garnsey, Peter, Grain for Athens, in: ders., Cities, Peasants and Food in Classical Antiquity, edited with addenda by Walter Scheidel, Cambridge 1998, 183–200 (= P. A. Cartledge, F. D. Harvey [hgg.], Crux: Essays presented to G. E. M. de Ste. Croix on his 75th Birthday, London 1985, 62–75) Garnsey, Peter, Famine and Food Supply in the Graeco-Roman World. Responses to Risk and Crisis, Cambridge 1988 Gauthier, Philippe, Symbola. Les étrangers et la justice dans les cités grecques, Nancy 1972, 119 Gauthier, Philippe, De Lysias à Aristote (Ath. Pol. 51,4). Le commerce du grain à Athènes et les fonctions des sitophylakès, RHDFE 59, 1981, 5–28 Gauthier, Philippe, Les villes athéniennes et un décret pour un commerçant (IG II2, 903), REG 95, 1982, 275–290

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Gauthier, Philippe, Nouvelles récoltes et grain nouveau: A propos d’une inscription de Gazaros, BCH 111, 1987, 413–418 Haederli, Richard, Die hellenischen Astynomen und Agoranomen, vornehmlich im alten Athen, Jahrbücher für Classische Philologie, 15. Suppl. Band, Leipzig 1887, 45–94 Hennig, Dieter, Immobilienerwerb durch Nichtbürger in der klassischen und hellenistischen Polis, Chiron 24, 1994, 305–44 Heskel, Julia, The North Aegean Wars, 371–360 B. C., Stuttgart 1997 Jardé, Auguste, Les céréales dans l’antiquité grecque: la production, Paris 1925 Karvonis, Pavlos, Le vocabulaire des installations commerciales en Grèce aux époques classiques et héllenistiques, in: J. Andreau, V.Chankowski (Hgg.), Vocabulaire et expression de l’économie dans le monde antique, Bordeaux 2007, 36–49 Karvonis, Pavlos, The Athenian Agora as a Commercial Centre: Archaeological and Literary Evidence, in: H. Lohmann, T. Mattern (Hgg.), Attika. Archäologie einer “zentralen” Kulturlandschaft (Tagung Marburg 2008), Wiesbaden 2010, 127–150 Kroll, John H., An Archive of the Athenian Cavalry, Hesperia 46, 1977, 83–140 Magnetto, Anna, Incentivi e agevolazioni per i mercanti nel mondo greco, in: dies., D. Erdas, C. Carusi (Hgg.), Nuove ricerche sulla legge granaria ateniese del 374/3 a. C., Pisa 2010, 159–186 Migeotte, Léopold, Le contrôle des prix dans les cités grecques, in: Prix et formation des prix dans les économies antiques (Entretiens d’Archéologie et d’Histoire S.-B.-d.-C.), Saint-Bertrandde-Comminges 1997, 33–52 Migeotte, Léopold, Taxation directe en Grèce ancienne, in: G. Thür u. a. (Hgg.), Symposion 1999, Köln u. a. 2003, 297–313 Migeotte, Léopold, Le grain des îles et l’approvisionnement d’Athènes au IVe siècle avant J.-C., in: A. Magnetto, D. Erdas, C. Carusi (Hgg.), Nuove ricerche sulla legge granaria ateniese del 374/3 a. C., Pisa 2010, 27–38 Millett, Paul, Lending and Borrowing in Ancient Athens, Cambridge 1991 Oliver, Graham, Agoranomoi at Athens, in: L. Capdetrey, Cl. Hasenohr (Hgg.), Agoranomes et édiles: Institutions des marchés antiques, Bordeaux 2012, 81–100 Pernin, Isabelle, La question des baux dans la Grèce des cités, Pallas 74, 2007, 43–76 Pritchard, David M., Costing Festivals and War: Spending Priorities of the Athenian Democracy, Historia 61, 2012, 18–65 Rohde, Dorothea, Bürgerpflicht und Gleichheitsideal. ‚Besteuerung’ und ihre diskursiven Grundlagen in Sparta und Athen, in: S. Günther (Hg.), Ordnungsrahmen antiker Ökonomien. Ordnungskonzepte und Steuermechanismen antiker Wirtschaftssysteme im Vergleich, Wiesbaden 2012 Rhodes, Peter J., A Commentary on the Aristotelian Athenaion Politeia, Oxford 1993 (Pb) Roubineau, Jean Manuel, La fiscalité des cités grecques aux époques classique et hellénistique, Pallas 74, 2007, 179–200 Rubinstein, Lene, Adoption in IV. Century Athens, Kopenhagen 1993 Rubinstein, Lene, Ateleia Grants and their Enforcement in the Classic and Early Hellenistic Periods, in: L. Mitchell, L. Rubinstein (Hgg.), Greek History and Epigraphy, Essays in Honour of P. J. Rhodes, Swansea 2009, 115–143 Ruschenbusch, Ernst, ΣΟΛΩΝΟΣ ΝΟΜΟΙ. Die Fragmente des solonischen Gesetzeswerkes mit einer Text- und Überlieferungsgeschichte, Wiesbaden 1966 (22014, hrsg. von K. Bringmann) Schmitz, Winfried, Nachbarschaft und Dorfgemeinde im archaischen und klassischen Griechenland, Berlin 2004 Schmitz, Winfried, Händler, Bürger, Soldaten. Die Bedeutung von Münzgewichtsveränderungen in der griechischen Poliswelt im 5. und 4. Jahrhundert v.Chr., MBAH V2, 1986, 59–87 Seager, Robin, Lysias against the Corndealers, Historia 15, 1966, 172–84 Shipton, Kirsty, Leasing and Lending: The Cash Economy in Fourth-Century BC Athens, London 2000 Stanley, Phillip, Ancient Greek Markets, Regulations and Controls, Diss. Univ. Calif., Berkeley 1976

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Stanley, Phillip, Agoranomoi and Metronomoi. Athenian Market Officials and Regulations, Ancient World 2, 1979, 13–19 Stanley, Phillip, The Value of ergasteria in Attica: a Reexamination, MBAH 9, 1990, 1–13 Steinhauer, Georges, Inscription agoranomique du Pirée, BCH 118, 1994, 51–68 Stroud, Ronald S., The Athenian Grain Tax Law of 374/3 B. C. (Hesperia Supplement 29), Princeton, NJ, 1998 Tsakirgis, Barbara, Living and Working around the Athenian Agora: A Preliminary Case Study of three Houses, in: B. Ault, L. Nevett (Hgg.). Ancient Greek Houses and Households: Chronological, Regional, and Social Diversity, Philadelphia 2005, 67–81 Tsetskhladze‚ Gocha, Grain for Athens’. The View from the Black Sea, in: R. Alston, O M. van Nijf, Feeding the Ancient Greek City, Leuven u. a. 2008, 47–62 Vélissaropoulos, Julie, Les nauclères grecs. Recherches sur les institutions maritimes en Grèce et dans l’Orient hellénisé, Genf, Paris 1980, 205–210 Wevers, Richard F., Isaeus. Chronology, Prosopography, and Social History, Den Haag, Paris 1969

THE SILVER MINES OF 4th C DEMOCRATIC ATHENS: AN ECONOMIC NEXUS Kirsty Shipton

If the silver mines were organised effectively they would produce large amounts of public revenue…The state would then be able to provide financial support for all Athenian citizens. Xenophon, Ways to Raise Public Revenue, iv.33

The exploitation of the Athenian silver mines, which Xenophon is seeking to promote around 350BC, presents an important demonstration of the economic nexus between the silver mines, the state and her wealthy elite who needed resources to fund the various public offices, known as ‘liturgies’, which the Athenian democracy expected them to perform at their own expense. Athens owned the mines and leased them out by public auction.1 Those lease records which survive show rich liturgists played an important role as mine lessees, both by their numbers and in terms of the sums which they spent. 2 We shall see that the series of negotiations in fourth century Athens between the democratic state and her liturgy-performing elite impacted upon investment in the silver mines. By the second half of the fourth century the profile of the silver investor has changed, and there is a considerable rise in the numbers of men who take on a lease. Both these developments have important implications for understanding the economic nexus between the silver mines, the state and the Athenian elite.

STATE LITURGIES AND THE WEALTHY ELITE We are the men who perform the state liturgies, and pay up your war taxes in advance. We are the wealthy. Meidias, mining investor (Demosthenes 21.153)

Following the collapse of her fifth century empire Athens no longer received imperial tribute. Nor did she borrow from temple reserves, as she had done in the fifth century. As a result, the economic support of her wealthy elite through the performance of expensive state liturgies was a mainstay of fourth century public finance. The foundation of her Second Confederacy in 378, the costs arising from the Social Wars with her allies in 357–355, and the funding of her struggle against Philip of Macedon in the 340s and 330s all imposed a burden of state liturgies and 1 2

Crosby 1950; Hopper 1953 Shipton 2000

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war taxation upon the richest citizens. But this financial pressure on the wealthy was significantly increased by the imposition of a new liturgy and the reorganisation of the trierarchy by Periander and Demosthenes. The proeisphora liturgy, or payment of the war tax in advance, was introduced in 378. Whenever a decision was made to impose the war tax, or eisphora, the richest three hundred men were now called upon to collectively advance the total sum levied. They were then left to recoup their costs- not always successfully- from the other individuals who were liable to pay the war tax. In 357/6 Periander instituted twenty trierarchy symmories, or tax groups, each responsible for particular named ships. Under this new system all members of a symmory were now liable to provide financial support to whoever of their colleagues happened to be on active service as trierarchs. In 340 Demosthenes amended Periander’s reform to ensure the richest trierarchs in each symmory shouldered the heaviest financial burden. This helped to reduce the demands made on the less wealthy members of each symmory; but at the same time it did of course increase the burden of the richest members who were also likely to be among those eligible for the proeisphora. All these tax reforms, made in response to the various external pressures on Athens, meant that more members of Athens’ wealthy elite needed to raise more cash to meet their new obligations. So how did these fourth century renegotiations of democratic Athens’ contract with her wealthy elite impact upon investment in the silver mines? To answer this question I compare two records from the silver mine leases, one, record P5, produced in 367/6, a decade before Periander’s introduction of the trierarchy symmories, and one, record P26, covering the period 342–339, around the time of Demosthenes’ reform to this system.3 Both records contain detailed information about investors, naming men who registered and leased mines, owned workshops and furnaces, or held property within the mining area. Together these records provide a dynamic picture of silver mine investment over a period of around thirty years, and so allow us to see any changes in the profile of the investor as the Athenian elite respond to increased financial pressure from the state. In general the mine lease records are extremely lacunose. But P5, our first surviving record, is complete; and while P26 has many gaps it does contain one almost complete section in lines 208–302 which we can use for purposes of comparison. Importantly the sample sizes are broadly similar. P5 records 17 leases containing 29 names. P26.208–302 records 16 leases containing 35 names. We shall look at each record in turn, and ask the same questions: who were the investors? Are other members of their families involved in silver mine investment? Do their investments show any particular patterns e. g. of one-off activity or of repeated re-investment? Answers to these questions will point up any changes in the social background and degree of wealth among silver mine investors in the course of the fourth century. We shall also be able to detect any changes in commitment to silver exploitation and investor confidence. High levels of repeated activity in the mines would suggest strong commitment. While the presence of family links with silver mining would increase investor confidence through the sharing of risk with family mem3

Langdon 1991

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bers and the inheritance of profitable workshops and furnaces. Any changes we may observe in investor commitment and confidence would obviously affect economic growth in the mines and so impact upon state revenue.

INVESTOR PROFILE (1): THE INVESTOR OF 367/6 (P5) (A silver mine is leased) at Sounion in the property of the sons of Charmulos; the neighbour on the North side (is) Kleokritos of Aigilia; the neighbour on the South side (is) Leukios of Sounion; the buyer (of the lease) is Pheidippos of Pithos. (He paid) 20dr. Mine lease P5. 44–47

Of the 29 individuals named in record P5, a high proportion, almost 45 % (13/29), of the men who appear as registrants, lessees or property owners are seen to come from a wealthy background For example, Diopeithes of Euonym whose mining property forms the N and S boundaries of a mine (P5.53–55) belongs to a family whose wealth extended over 6 generations, with mine investors appearing in two of them. Some of these wealthy investors are known to have themselves performed the trierarchy, while others marry into trierarchical families or have close relatives who were trierarchs. Thrasylochos of Anagyrous, who leases a silver mine twice in P5, qualifies on all three of these criteria. He was a trierarch himself on several occasions in the 360s and later; his father was a trierarch in around 366/5 and his brother Meidias, arch enemy of the orator Demosthenes, performed the trierarchy at least three times. Yet others, while not seen to have any connections with the trierarchy, were nonetheless clearly very rich. Thus Leukios of Sounion, who appears twice as a property owner in P5, had sufficient funds to donate an agora, or meeting-place, for his fellow demesmen in Sounion. Almost as significant as the wealthy background of the investors in P5 is the number of men who have family links with the mines. 38 % (11/29) have fathers, sons or other relatives active in the exploitation of silver, men like Kallias of Alopeke or Nikias of Kudantidai. Both the grandfather and father of Kallias of Alopeke, whose property appears as the Eastern boundary marker of the mine in P5.64, had amassed huge fortunes in the silver mines. Nikias, whose property marks the boundaries of three different mines in P5, came from an enormously rich family who invested in silver over several generations. His grandfather Nikias, a prominent general who gave his name to the Peace of Nicias which ended the Archidamian War in 421, invested heavily in the mines. He owned 1000 slaves whom he hired out to mine exploiters. The son of Nikias, Nikeratos, great grandson of the Athenian general, also appears several times in the records as a property owner in the mining area. If we turn to patterns of investment in P5 it is immediately noticeable that many made repeated, rather than one-off, investments. 62 % (18/29) are seen to re-invest. Some appear several times in P5 itself as well as making repeated investments in later years. Perhaps the most prominent is Pheidippos of Pithos. Between 367/6 and c. 338/7 Pheidippos buys a mine lease three times. He also registers a mine three

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times (which presumably he had been previously operating). In addition, he appears as a property owner in the mines on three, or possibly four, occasions and he is twice recorded as owning a mining workshop in two different locations. Pheidippos was therefore active in the mines over a period of some thirty years during which time he and his two sons, who also appear in the mine records, were all active as trierarchs. Putting together the evidence from P5, we may deduce that the silver mine investor of 367/6 frequently came from extremely wealthy, trierarchy-performing, families. Also striking is the prevalence of investors with strong family links to the silver mines visible over two or more generations. We may reasonably infer that the man whose family already possessed workshops and mining equipment would be a confident investor and more prepared to take risks than the man who lacked such support. At the same time the clear tendency among investors to make repeated investments suggests that silver mine investors of the 360s, before the reforms of Periander, were strongly committed to this sector of the economy. Does this investor profile continue after the reforms of Periander in the leases of 342–339?

INVESTOR PROFILE (2): THE INVESTOR OF 342–339 (P26) Onetor son of Arkesilas of Melite registered a mine at Laureion called Hermaikon, ready for working, with a marker on it. On the North boundary is the enclosure of Diotimos of Euonym; on the South is the workshop of Diotimos of Euonym; on the East the road going from Thorikos to Laureion; on the West the road going from Laureion to Thrasumos; the buyer (of the lease) is Onetor son of Arkesilas of Melite. (He paid) 150dr. Mine lease P26. 230–236

Almost thirty years after P5, and some fifteen years after Periander’s introduction of the trierarchy symmories, we find that the investor profile has in actual fact changed. There is some degree of continuity. Wealthy individuals continue to be prominent albeit at the slightly lower level of 40 % (14/35) compared to the 45 % of P5, with almost a third of them coming from families who already appear in the record of 367/6. Diphilos of Pithos who owns property and a workshop in P26 is the younger son of Pheidippos of Pithos who leases twice in P5 and re-appears as the holder of mining property in P26. Repeated investment also continues as a prevailing pattern in P26, although it has dropped from the 62 % of P5 to 54 % (19/35) in P26. Phanostratos of Gargettos, who registers a mine and owns a mine workshop in P26.212–3 and 216, appears some four times in the mine records. But there are a number of differences in the investor profiles of P5 and P26. A higher proportion of investors in P26, compared with P5, are only known from their appearance in the mine records, like Lusanias of Kephale who renews the lease of a mine in P26.243–250 but is otherwise unknown. This suggests that the individuals involved in P26 may be less prominent, and so possibly less wealthy, than their counterparts in P5.

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And when we do find an investor in P26 who is known to have been wealthy, he appears to differ in some respects from his counterpart in P5. Some wealthy men in P26, like many of their counterparts in P5, are indeed wealthy in their own right and not just scions of propertied families. Thus Euetion of Spettos, who leases a mine in P26.217–8, himself performed the trierarchy. But other investors, despite having connections with a trierarchical family, are not themselves seen to be obviously wealthy. Thus Onetor of Melite, who renews the lease of a mine in P26.230– 6, belonged to the cadet branch of a trierarchical family but is not himself known to have performed this expensive public liturgy. The most striking difference of all between the investor profile in P26 and that of P5 appears when we look at the role of family involvement in the mines. In 367/6 38 % of the investors had other family members who were also active in the silver mines. But in 342–339, the years covered by P26, this figure has almost halved to 20 %. Only 7 of the 35 men whose names appear in our sample from P26 have family links with exploitation of silver. It is even more striking that almost all of these men, 5 out of the 7, belong to families who already appeared in P5. This somewhat surprising statistic, together with our previous observation that a third of the wealthy investors in P26 belong to families who appeared in P5, suggests that there was a continuing core of wealthy elite families who chose to invest in the silver mines over the period of some 30 years. But apart from these long-committed investors, family links with the mines is not an important feature of the investor in 342–339. Our comparison between P5 and P26 thus shows that the social configuration of the silver mine economy around 340 does differ from that of 367/6. This in turn has repercussions for the economic growth of the silver mine industry. The changes which we have observed suggest that by 342/1 investors come from a more varied, and less obviously wealthy background, a conclusion which ties in with Xenophon’s observation a few years earlier that “mine investors today are poorer”4. At the same time by the late 340s far fewer of the mine operators come from a family background of mining investment. The late fourth century investor is therefore likely to lack the confidence of his earlier counterpart who could rely on family mine workshops already in place or other family members prepared to provide free capital and share the financial risk of investment in silver. The changed profile of the later fourth century investor was likely to set a limit to the level of growth which the mines could achieve. A less confident investor, lacking the support of a family already committed to the mines, would be unlikely to take the risk involved in opening up new cuttings. Against this new background we can understand what lies behind Xenophon’s observation that “formerly many investors made new cuttings in the mines; but nowadays this does not happen.”5

4 5

Xenophon Ways for Increasing Public Revenue iv 28 Xenophon Ways for Increasing Public Revenue iv 28

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AN ECONOMIC NEXUS: SILVER MINES, STATE, AND ATHENIAN ELITE When we set the patterns of silver mine investment between 367/5 and 342 within the context of Athens’ series of negotiations with her wealthy elite, a picture emerges of a very close connection in the 4th century Athenian democracy between the silver mines, the changing demands of the state on its wealthy elite and the raising of public revenues. The number of trierarchs in 367/6 who make repeated investments along with other members of their families makes sense at a time when Athens, as she established her Second Confederacy, was heavily engaged in building up its navy and securing war funding by introducing the new proeisphora war tax. Similarly, the changes of investor profile between 367/6 and 342–399 can be understood in the context of Periander’s and Demosthenes’ reforms. For the first time, as a result of the new trierarchy symmories and their administration, a much wider range of men become involved in this expensive liturgy. They need not all necessarily become trierarchs themselves, but they have to contribute when required to help those in their symmories who are on active service. And this in turn requires raising funds. Such an increased need for funds readily explains the appearance in the mine records around 340 of a higher proportion of investors who are not themselves seen to be trierarchs, do not come from a trierarchical background and also lack a family history of involvement in the mines. Periander’s reforms also explain another difference, apart from that of the investor profile, between records P5 and P26. It is striking that the period of most intensive silver mine leasing closely corresponds to the period of these reforms of the trierarchy. In the middle decades of the fourth century we see a considerable rise in the number of silver mine leases, and this is reflected in the physical layout of the leases’ text as it was inscribed on the pillars (stelai) of Pentelic or Hymettian marble. The stelai which contain two or more columns of inscriptions rather than the single column which we see in our first record for 367/6 (P5), all belong to the period around 350 down to 340. Similarly, all the stones which are inscribed on both sides, rather than just the front, also come from this later period. In the case of P26 it has been estimated that originally it contained some 141 leases, more than eight times the number of leases in P5.6 This large increase in investors, like the change of investor profile which we have observed, is readily explained by the increased numbers of men who were obliged as a result of Periander’s new organisation of the trierarchy system to provide financial assistance to those men in their symmory who were on active service. Finally, against the background of the less wealthy and potentially less risk-taking investor who appears in P26, we can now understand the significance of a very late development in the fourth century negotiations between the state and her wealthy elite which is alluded to in speech 42 of Demosthenes delivered in the late 330s after Athens has lost its fight against Philip of Macedon.

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The unnamed speaker in Demosthenes 42 claims that in disputes, like that in speech 42, which concern eligibility to pay the proeisphora the litigant, who has to declare his property, is not obliged to reveal any holdings in the silver mines which form part of his assets: You know the law which states that…(the litigants) will swear under oath “I shall give a truthful and just account of my estate, except for any holdings in the silver mines which by law are exempt from taxation”. Demosthenes 42. 18

This law has interesting implications for understanding the role of the mines in Athens’ contract with her wealthy elite. It is apparently quite recent, and so must be fairly close in time to record P26, with its less wealthy and less confident investor. The tax concession which it grants to investors in the mines obviously depends on the premise that the exploitation of silver is an attractive investment for the welloff. But more importantly, it is clearly intended as a financial incentive to encourage those with the highest levels of personal wealth, the type of man prominent in P5, but much less so in P26, to buy leases in the silver mines and so increase his ability to perform the most expensive state liturgies. The changes of investor profile over the 25–30 years which separate the mine records P5 and P26 thus tie in with a wider picture of fourth century democratic Athens bargaining with her elite through the introduction of the proeisphora following the foundation of her Second Confederacy, through Periander’s reform of the trierarchy system in the wake of the Social Wars and the late fourth century tax concession made to very wealthy mine investors as Athens was forced to yield to Philip of Macedon. This nexus between silver mines, fourth century democracy and Athenian elite had important economic effects. It is true that the rise in numbers of mine operators in the late 340s would have only a limited influence on economic growth in the mining industry. The new, risk-averse, investor would not bring about the high levels of increased productivity and technological development needed to create exponential growth. But the expansion of silver-mining, where the Athenian elite were so prominent, did nonetheless have a significant impact on both the private and the public economy. Personal fortunes, in the fourth century as in the fifth, were undoubtedly based on the proceeds of silver extraction. The mining investor Meidias who boasted about his performance of state liturgies owned a house in Eleusis so huge that, according to his arch-enemy Demosthenes, it deprived the neighbouring properties of daylight. At a public level, the Athenian navy received enormous financial support from the mine lessees who performed the trierarchy, like Meidias, or paid the proeisphora. The state itself also benefited directly from the mines both by the sale of mine leases and from the various taxes it imposed on the silver produced7. Some of these monies were doubtless deployed on naval costs, building works and the support of public cult which Xenophon sees as main beneficiaries of state expenditure.8 7 8

Xenophon Ways to Increase Public Revenues iv.49 Xenophon Ways to Increase Public Revenues vi.1

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But public revenues from the mines would also be more widely distributed to ordinary citizens in the form of democratic payments and state benefits, an area of public expenditure which Xenophon hoped would benefit most from any increased exploitation of the mines.9 Monies from the mines would reach the men who attended meetings of the Athenian assembly or served as jurors in the law courts. Mine revenue would also be re-distributed as benefits for the orphans of men killed on military service or as payments to the disabled who lacked adequate resources to support themselves. Most of these indirect beneficiaries of mining revenues would never themselves invest in the mines. Nor would they be likely to have any personal role in the contract between 4th Century democratic Athens and her wealthy liturgists. But all of them were affected by the economic nexus of silver mines, state and Athenian elite. BIBLIOGRAPHY Conophagos, C. (1980) Le Laurium Antique. Athens. Crosby, M. (1950) “The Leases of the Laureion Mines,” Hesperia 19: 189–312. Davies, J. K. (2007) “Classical Greece: Production” in Scheidel, W., Morris, I. and Saller, R. eds., The Cambridge History of the Graeco-Roman World: 333–361. Cambridge. Davies, J. K. (1971) Athenian Propertied Families. Oxford. Gabrielsen, V. (1994) Financing the Athenian Fleet: Public taxation and Social Relations. Baltimore and London. Hopper, R. J. (1953) “The Attic silver mines in the fourth century” BSA 48: 200–54. Langdon, M. K. (1991) ‘Poletai Records’, in The Athenian Agora xix: 55–143. Osborne, R. O. (1985) Demos: The Discovery of Classical Attika. Cambridge. Rihll, T. E. (2001) “Making money in classical Athens,” in Mattingly, D. and Salmon, J. eds. Economies beyond Agriculture in the Classical World: 115–42. London and New York. Rihll, T. E. and Tucker, J. V. (2002) “Practice makes perfect: knowledge of materials in classical Athens,” in Tuplin, C. and Rihll, T. E. eds. Science and Mathematics in Ancient Greek Culture. Oxford. Shipton, K. (2000) Leasing and Lending. The Cash Economy in Fourth-Century Athens. London.

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Xenophon Ways to Increase Public Revenues iv.33 (quoted on p. 253 above)

SOCIAL DYNAMICS IN FOURTH-CENTURY ATHENS: POVERTY AND STANDARDS OF LIVING* Claire Taylor

INTRODUCTION: SOCIAL DYNAMICS AND POVERTY This chapter investigates changing social dynamics in Athens during the fourth century with particular reference to poverty and standards of living. Like other contributions to this volume, it is concerned with identifying and describing complex processes of social change. In doing so, it subscribes to a model which views social change as a continual process affecting both ‘formal’ political and economic institutions (such as the law courts or liturgies) as well as social norms, practices and conventions.1 It is a constant and ever-present part of the social fabric, located within the patterning of social relationships, and is affected by changing perceptions, behaviours, and values, continuously modifying – and being modified by – them. The advantage of viewing social change in this way is that it enables us to recognise both radical transformations or large-scale ruptures as well as the micro-decisions of everyday life.2 Social change cannot be understood as a single ‘thing’ which happens or does not happen but is, instead, multidimensional. It is affected by a multitude of combining and competing factors over different time scales (long/short term), focal points (micro/macro), and social locations (family/ community).3 Poverty is both a symptom and a cause of social change, and as such it is a dynamic, not a fixed, state.4 For sure, some might live a lifetime in grinding poverty, unable to escape because of long-term intergenerational factors, whilst others might fall into poverty for a short period of their lives, but evaluating poverty requires sensitivity to a variety of social dynamics which shape both of these eventualities.5 The aim of this chapter, then, is to analyse poverty and standards of living within fourth-century Athens in a way which recognises this dynamism. For rea*

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I am grateful to Claudia Tiersch for her invitation to speak at the conference in Berlin and to Lene Rubinstein for her comments on a draft of this chapter. All mistakes (and disagreements) are my own. North (2005). For criticisms of the new institutionalist approach see Portes (2006): institutions are poorly defined within NIE, he argues, which leads to change being characterised either as ‘evolution’ or as ‘punctured evolution’. In fact, it is more multifaceted than this (p. 249). For various changes in fourth-century Athens see (e. g.) Rhodes (1979–1980), Osborne (2007), Ober (2008) and the chapters in this volume. Portes (2006): 251–2, Narayan and Petesch (2007): 12–8. For change as a bottom-up, as much as a top-down, process see Portes (2006): 251. Green and Hulme (2005): 873. Robeyns (2005): 94, 110.

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sons which will become clear, I am less concerned here with quantifying poverty – that is, suggesting there was ‘more poverty’ or ‘less poverty’ during the fourth century than at other points in Athenian history – than examining its configuration and the ways in which it was experienced and reproduced within everyday life. This is because we cannot measure poverty before understanding what it is and how it shapes social attitudes (including our own). This chapter, then, does not seek to claim that the distribution of wealth changed during the fourth century (though I think it likely) to produce more or, indeed, fewer poor people in Athens as a result of specific policy decisions, wars, demographic factors etc. An evolutionary model such as this is difficult to construct given the complexities of, and differences in, the source material of this period. Instead it seeks to put forward a framework with which to better analyse poverty and standards of living in past societies from which little longitudinal data survives. The focus here – a preliminary sketch – is on the texture of poverty and its location within social relationships. It is not an exhaustive survey of poverty or the poor in fourth-century Athens, nor is it a discussion of the political factors, such as democratic pay, which affected poverty, or the political thought which engaged with it (or not, as the case may be).6 Instead it is the introduction of what I consider to be a fruitful approach to studying poverty in the ancient world with illustrative, albeit selective, case studies.7 Before we proceed, however, it is necessary to be clear about what is meant by ‘poverty’. WHAT IS POVERTY? Poverty is not only hard to detect in the ancient world, but it is also difficult to define. This is not because there were no people in Athens who were ‘poor’ (there were), nor because finding empirical evidence for this group is difficult (though it often is), but because poverty is a socially constructed category.8 For the historian there is a twofold dilemma. On the one hand those who are poor tend to leave less of a trace in the historical record; on the other hand they are deprived not only of material possessions, but also of agency. Literary evidence provides a sense of how poverty (as a condition) and the poor (as a group) were perceived in Athens from the late fifth century on.9 The ‘poor’ were referred to by a variety of terms (penetes, ptochoi, poneroi, aporoi) which covered a range of meanings from those who were destitute to those who worked

6 7 8

9

For these questions see, for example, Markle (1985), Spielvogel (2003), Knoch (2010). For further discussion of these questions, and the approach offered here, see my forthcoming monograph on the topic. See Morley (2006): 30–2 for discussion of different ‘types’ of poverty. On poverty in different historical contexts compare Patlagean (1977), Brown (2002) and, Beaudoin (2007). For changing definitions of poverty within development studies see the meta-study by Misturelli and Heffernan (2010). See Dover (1974): 109–11, Markle (1985): 268–71, Rosivach (1991): 189–98.

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for a living (see, for example, the distinctions of Ar. Pl. 552–4).10 In many cases the ‘poor’ were considered to be those who did not possess the requisite leisure to participate in politics rather than those who had few possessions (Arist. Pol. 1292b32– 1293a10).11 They were considered uneducated, chaotic, and unjust ([Xen.] Ath. Pol. 1.5), prone to bad judgement (Arist. Pol. 1295b6–11) and performing evil deeds (Isoc. 7.44–5). Poverty was a condition to be despised. It was linked with dishonesty, although being poor was considered a mitigating circumstance for dishonest behaviour (Lys. 7.13, Dem. 24.123, Aeschin. 1.88). It was effeminate and effeminising: Penia is depicted as a hideous old woman, pale and frightening (Ar. Pl. 422–4).12 It led to dependence (Ar. Pl. 975–1026, Xen. Mem. 2.8.1–3), impiety (Ar. Pl. 665–83, 706, Lys. 7.14) and want (Ar. Pl. 614–9, Eur. El. 375–6). Poverty may have been praised within some intellectual quarters, but this goes to show it was an ideological state as much as an economic one; it was often viewed as the Other.13 This is important to stress because poverty is often seen as an absolute measure of deprivation created by a lack of economic resources; it is not. It is a relative condition which is embedded in social and political relationships, behaviours and values.14 It is often thought of in subsistence terms (that is, the minimum requirements for survival), which is probably the view which has most shaped the ideas of ancient historians, but this provides only a partial picture of poverty.15 Poverty is not just a state which is defined by lack of possessions; on the contrary it is best understood by considering also non-material aspects of life and the social relationships they create, define, and reproduce.16 Social relationships configure economic behaviour, allowing poverty to be reproduced. In Athens this can be seen in the context of the manumission process. This example shows that it is the networks to which people belonged, or from which they were excluded, which were crucial in defining or alleviating poverty, rather than the legal categories of citizen and non-citizen per se. In order to pay for man10 11 12 13

14

15

16

See Osborne (2006): 11. On ptochos see Rosivach (1991): 196, n. 5, Kloft (1988). For Aristophanes’ Wealth see Sommerstein (1984), Zelnick-Abramovitz (2002). Markle (1985): 268–71. On the use of poneros within the political arena see Rosenbloom (2004a), (2004b) and this volume. On the effeminising nature of poverty see Halperin (1990): 99. On the relationship between andreia, wealth and lack of leisure see Cohen (2002). On the praise of poverty within philosophical circles see Desmond (2006); on ponos see Johnstone (2010). Further Rosivach (1981): 291–2. On contemporary representations, and the long history of the ‘Otherisation’ of the poor see Lister (2004): 99–123, Green (2007). That this has topical relevance see the insidious ‘skivers v. strivers’ debate within British politics in 2012/13 or Jones (2011). Sen (1983), (1987), Nussbaum and Sen (1991), Lister (2004). I am more optimistic that Garnsey (1988): 33 about the utility of Sen’s approach for the ancient world. See also Scheidel (2006): 57. See for example Foxhall and Forbes (1982), Garnsey (1988), Gallant (1991), Desmond (2006), Milanovic (2006). The aims of these contributions are very different, but they all seek to establish something akin to a ‘poverty line’, or assume one existed. On the problems associated with doing so see Scott (1994): 3–16. Defining acceptable levels of subsistence (the ‘poverty line’) is often a politically charged, not a neutral activity. See n. 14 above.

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umission slaves could borrow money to buy their freedom, and in doing so they often got credit from koina eraniston, groups of creditors sometimes led by their masters.17 Bion was one such slave, a jeweller (daktylioglyphos) living in Melite in the 330s, who borrowed from such a group led by his owner Chairippos son of Chairedemos of Halai (IG II2 1559A, lines 138–143).18 He would have been required to pay back the loan, of course, but if he was a slave who ‘lived apart’ anyway – which was highly likely given the difference in his deme of residence to that of his master – he would have been subject to pay a proportion of his earnings to Chairippos when he was enslaved (apophora).19 Until Bion paid off the loan he would have remained economically tied to Chairippos, perhaps over a period of some years and would have required a prostates to represent his interests legally.20 Manumission ensured that Bion was a free man, but his social relationships, economic activities and personal networks were still shaped, in part, by his former master. The structures of credit which Bion had access to were not vastly altered by gaining his freedom: he was still prevented from owning land to serve as collateral whereas his former owner could do just this. Freedmen like Pasion were rare: the structural factors which shaped Bion’s life served to reproduce poverty amongst a much larger proportion of the Athenian population. It is impossible to know, without heavy speculation, the details of Bion’s financial circumstances. This is not just the case for freed slaves, but is also true for the 98 per cent of the Athenian population who were not liturgists (and, indeed, for a large number of those who were).21 It might be the case, though we do not know for sure, that Bion’s techne provided the means for economic security – being a jeweller was a skilled job, providing goods for those with disposal income – but this depends on the networks of customers (and other traders) Bion could tap into as much as whether those customers were willing to buy jewellery.22 An unskilled slave, on the other hand, would not even have had these resources at his disposable. Economic inequality, it seems, can only be understood within its social context. What’s more, it affects different people in different ways at different points in their life. It is contingent on personal characteristics such as age, physical abilities, or nutrition; family circumstances such as marriage, inheritance, and gender; environmental factors such as epidemic disease or good harvests; social conditions such as slavery, status, or social ties and political organisation regarding entitlements, good gover-

17 18

19 20

21 22

See Finley (1985): 104–5, Zelnick-Abramowitz (2005): 220–2. On these inscriptions see Meyer (2010) who argues that they record metics being fined for nonpayment of the metoikion rather than dedications made during the process of manumission. For a critique see Vlassopoulos (2011). On slaves choris oikountes see Cohen (2000): 145–54, Fisher (2008). Zelnick-Abramowitz (2005): 215–22. See also Klees (2000): 5–23, Dimopoulou-Piliouni (2008): 30–1. The paramone status is rarely recorded in Athens, but well-known from across the Greek world. See Davies (1971), (1981). For workshops providing a means of wealth accumulation see Harris (2002).

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nance, or war and peace.23 What is needed, then, is a framework which recognises this dynamism.24 Although lacking material resources is an important part of what it means to be poor, conceptualising poverty only in these terms is reductive. It ignores the symbolic and contextual meanings of those goods and behaviours which are deemed to be essential for ‘appearing without shame’.25 In Bion’s case, his quality of life was no doubt improved by his manumission despite the ties he was required to maintain with his former master, even if his day-to-day circumstances, at least initially, changed little. But the social distance between himself and his former owner was maintained. Viewing poverty only as a material condition, therefore, overlooks the wider social context in which behaviours are performed and which gives them meaning.

POVERTY AS CAPABILITIES Poverty, therefore, should be defined not solely in terms of lacking wealth, but rather in terms of capabilities and functionings, that is, what a person is able to do or be based on the resources available to them and what they can actually achieve with those resources.26 Financial assets of course are important here, but these should not be viewed in isolation from social position, freedom, health, education, political involvement, gender, family, nourishment, access to credit or the ability to form groups. Capabilities are therefore configured differently depending on the convergence of a variety of factors. This would have come as no surprise to Aristotle who recognised that living a good life was rooted in eudaimonia and, indeed, human functionings (Arist. NE 1.7.9–23).27 In order to illustrate how the capabilities approach might be viewed within the Athenian context, let’s return once more to Bion. As a freed slave he did not have the ‘capability’ to hold political office, but he was able to obtain a livelihood, develop useful social networks, take part in the religious life of the polis, perhaps have a family, and crucially save up for his freedom.28 Chairippos, as a citizen, would have had a wider range of ‘capabilities’ perhaps, but may not have been able to achieve economic prosperity, may have been maimed in war, failed to marry well, and lived a life of relative hardship; that is, he may have been comparatively less 23 24 25 26 27 28

Sen (1997): 385–6. See Robeyns (2005): 96–8. The idea of appearing without shame goes back to Adam Smith, but is developed by Sen (1987): 21–3. See further Narayan, et al. (2000), Alkire (2005). Sen (1987), (1991), Alkire (2005). On the Aristotelian inspiration for the capabilities approach see especially Nussbaum (1988), (2000a). There are a number of family units amongst manumitted slaves: see, for example, IG II2 1558B lines 112–122; IG II2 1556A lines 464–476. IG II2 1559B lines 253–66 records another jeweller (dakty[lioglyphos]), also living in Melite, freed with his family: the jeweller himself (whose name does not survive), Stratonike and Arianthe (both wool-workers), and [-]non, a child). On the identification of family groups on these inscriptions see Rosivach (1989): 368–70.

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able to convert his capabilities into functionings.29 Legal status was certainly one of the ‘capabilities’ shaping the lives of these men, but it is not the only factor which affected what they were able to do or to be. Thinking in terms of capabilities and functionings therefore enables us to consider poverty from a wider perspective than that based on economic factors alone, allows us to model the relationships between citizens and non-citizens, raise questions about the differential structures of credit available to different social groups and how poverty was reproduced as a result of these, acknowledge gender differences, and consider the impact of both freedom and slavery. A capabilities approach, then, does not reduce people in Athens to the sum of their property holdings for which evidence is, in any case, lacking. Nor does it frame all Athenian experience in terms of citizenship and slavery by evaluating the poor in terms of legal status alone (that is, whether they were slave or free). There is no denying that these categories were absolutely crucial in many contexts, and slavery is an institution which undoubtedly affected living standards (of both slaves and owners), but this is one factor in a multitude which contributed to the experience of poverty.30 Thinking in terms of capabilities and functionings is useful, then, because it shines a light on poverty in terms of social dynamics, it focuses our attention on the agency of those in the ancient world to determine their own lifecourse – as well as the constraints placed upon them – and allows us to take into account a wide variety of human experience. The following section, therefore, uses two case studies to provide further insight into the social dynamics of poverty. The first, an episode from 404, highlights that poverty (and poverty alleviation) was a matter of social relations by examining the experience of a family during this turbulent year. We see here the importance of kinship networks in the prevention of destitution, but also that poverty was gendered. The second case study continues the investigation of gendered poverty and shows how women’s labour, in particular, can be viewed within the context of capabilities.

29

30

Of course we do not know whether these were events in the life of Chairippos (the indications are, in fact, that he was successful and prosperous), but these are illustrative of the types of things which may have occurred within the life of an Athenian citizen: lack of prosperity: Lys. 16.14; disability: Lys. 24; poor marriage: Dem. 57.41 (marriage dissolved on economic grounds). Chairippos, in fact, appears to have served as a diaitetes in 330/29 (IG II2 2409 lines 15–16; see Lewis (1955): 27–36), and freed another slave, a miller living in Alopeke, during the 330s (IG II2 1557B lines 209–10). Garnsey’s comments (1988: 34), though specifically referring to Rome, can be applied to Athens too: ‘the rich/poor, slaveowner/slave dichotomies were to some extent undermined by the existence of vertical relationships between the rich and powerful and select plebeians and slaves.’ See further Vlassopoulos (2007), (2009). The fact that there were wealthy slaves in Athens should warn against allying poverty and lack of freedom too closely: Cohen (1998b). In general see Sen (1999).

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THE SOCIAL DYNAMICS OF POVERTY: TWO CASE STUDIES Embedded within the Memorabilia Xenophon tells the story of Aristarchos, whose house in the Piraeus was overrun by female relatives after the revolution of the Thirty (Xen. Mem. 2.7.1–14). Fourteen members of the family lived together at this time, ‘without counting the slaves’, and Aristarchos describes the pressures which this placed on the family (Xen. Mem. 2.7.2). The episode is well-known: Socrates offers Aristarchos advice to ease his aporia, he swallows his pride, borrows money, puts his household to work making clothes and everyone, eventually, is happy.31 As many commentators have observed, the episode is useful for thinking about Athenian economic life.32 The framing of Aristarchos’ aporia as a economic problem (‘loss of income’) suggests that there was an economic solution (‘make clothes for profit’). But it also serves to demonstrate the mechanisms through which families were able to gain access to resources and the importance of kinship networks in poverty alleviation; that is, this episode can also be evaluated in terms of social relations, and, in particular, it locates economic decision-making within women’s social networks. Going to live with their wealthy relative was a crucial strategy for the sisters, nieces and cousins of Aristarchos when faced with crisis, and the decision ensured that the misfortune was temporary. Aristarchos, after all, had access to considerable resources before 404: he owned land, he rented out a house, he owned enough moveable property that he could envision selling it in hard times and he was able to borrow money (Xen. Mem. 2.7.2). Aristarchos complains that the stasis of 404, and the coming together of the family as a result of this, had severely reduced their standards of living, so much so that he implies that their living conditions were now overcrowded and that they were on the verge of starvation: ‘it’s hard,’ he says to Socrates, ‘to watch your relatives perish (apollumenous), but impossible to feed (trephein) so many in times like these,’ (Xen. Mem. 2.7.2). The family was certainly worse off than before, and no doubt suffering real hardship, but they were not so marginalised that they could not alleviate their situation. Even after their misfortune they were not the poorest of the poor: the women could rely on Aristarchos’ hospitality, and he was well-connected enough to find someone to lend to him even in the dire circumstances of 404/3 (Xen. Mem. 2.7.12).33

31

32 33

On the episode see Gray (1998): 12–3, 136–7. The question of whether this has historical value is a difficult one bound up in Xenophon’s representation of Socrates within the Memorabilia and in other writings. For the sake of argument, it is assumed here that he presents situations which were readily recognisable for a fourth-century audience regardless of whether the details of the specific encounters are literary constructions or whether this is a romanticised portrayal of the past. One does not need to accept that Aristarchos had this conversation with Socrates, to recognise that these were the types of concerns which did pervade Athenian society during this period. Arguably literary elements in the work (the motif of usefulness, juxtaposition of new and old, helping impoverished friends) reflect Athenian social concerns in the fourth century. Gallant (1991): 154, Millett (1991): 73–4, Cahill (2005): 60. On the restricted capabilities of the very poorest see Thorp, et al. (2005): 913–5, Narayan and Petesch (2007): 15–7.

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Socrates advises Aristarchos that the household use their skills to make clothes to sell, but he needs persuading. His objections rest on the contrast between the acceptability of slave labour and the disreputable nature of that of free citizens. However, the episode also highlights the shifting dynamics within a household and how these affected the economic success of the household as a whole.34 The women appear to have been unused to such work, but nonetheless gained reward from their labour (Xen. Mem. 2.7.12), something which, given Aristarchos’ initial trepidation, is an important indicator of changing social values. He is not alone in his decision: Socrates names no less than five men who make a good living by manufacturing items for daily life (Xen. Mem. 2.7.3–6).35 One example would have made the point; instead what the text is perhaps reflecting here is the active redefinition of social norms surrounding self-sufficiency (see further Xen. Mem. 2.8.1–6). By the end of the anecdote, Aristarchos is himself cast in the role of dependent, not his relatives (Xen. Mem. 2.7.12). He has to reassert his masculinity by becoming a guard-dog not merely to protect but in order to have a role within his family at all (Xen. Mem. 2.7.13–4). Other evidence suggests that the experience of Aristarchos’ relatives was not unique, at least in terms of the self-assurance it brought them. Scenes of women as wool-workers on grave stelai (where dateable) cluster at the end of the fifth century and the first half of the fourth and suggest that wool-working was increasingly used as a self-fashioning motif.36 Women (and men) had been frequently surrounded by images of wool-working on pottery during the fifth century, but the funerary evidence suggests that this now represented a different, perhaps more publically situated, aspect of female identity.37 Whilst the funerary evidence cannot be used to show that textile production was organised in a way which looked increasingly toward the market (though this might have been the case given the large numbers of wool-workers manumitted in the 330s), it does show that wool-working provided a crucial part of the life of the household regardless of whether the textiles were sold or used by its members.38 This was not just the case for the work of metics or slaves: 34 35

On the relationships between women within the household see Foxhall (1998), (2003). Aristarchos, of course, draws a distinction between the work of his relatives as eleutheroi and that of the dependents of Keramon, Nausikydes, Kyrebos, Demeas of Kollytos, and Menon as slaves and foreigners. 36 Piraeus Museum 3581 (CAT 1.246, IG II2 10840, Kosmopoulou (2001): W1): 410–400 BCE; Berlin Pergamonmuseum Antikensammlung K23 (CAT 1.176, IG II2 12193, Kosmopoulou (2001): W2): 410–400 BCE; Piraeus Museum 263 (CAT 1.352, IG II2 12451): early fourth century; Leiden Rijksmuseum 1821 (CAT 1.120, IG II2 11933, Kosmopoulou (2001): W3): 380–370 BCE; Piraeus Museum 225 (CAT 1.309; IG II2 11406, Kosmopoulou (2001): W4): 360–350 BCE; Brauron Museum unknown inv. (CAT 1.381; IG II2 7315): mid-fourth century. For discussion see Kosmopoulou (2001): 300–2, 317–9, Stears (2001): 109–13. 37 Bundrick (2008), Stears (2001): 113–4. See also IG II2 11254: Elephantis the seller of himatia; IG II2 13178: a wool-weaver (eiroplokos). 38 For wool-working scenes on fifth-century pottery and their metaphorical associations with harmonia see Bundrick (2008): 322–4. See also IG II2 4334 (a tithe dedication to Athena Ergane by Melinna in which she refers to the labours of her own hands and links this to the raising of her children). For the interpretation that ‘wool-worker’ is a euphemism for ‘prostitute’ on the phialai exeleutherikai inscriptions see Wrenhaven (2009) pace Rosivach (1989).

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although it is difficult to determine citizenship status through the iconography of these stelai, there is at least one firm example of a citizen woman represented in death with the attributes of textile production (CAT 1.381, IG II2 7315: Kleonike Diagor[ou] Prospaltiou). The episode in the Memorabilia demonstrates the importance of family units in the creation, prevention and experience of poverty. Families provided the means to prevent destitution, perhaps not always without complaint, but the social obligation to look after kin were strong.39 That this seems to apply to slaves too is perhaps more surprising: there is no suggestion that the slaves be sold to raise capital or to ease pressure on resources, on the contrary they are assumed to be part of the household.40 The capabilities, and cohesion, of the kinship network therefore provided a strain on resources, but also the means by which to alleviate poverty.41 Slaves benefitted from this network too. The experience of Aristarchos and his female relatives also demonstrates the importance of viewing poverty through a gendered lens. Men and women in Athenian society had distinct ideologically-defined roles, therefore the distribution of resources – and the mechanisms by which these allowed both men and women to function – were gendered.42 Women did not have access to the same resources as men, did not use them in the same way, nor imbue them with the same meanings. Poverty affected women and men differently in the ancient world. As is clear from this episode, the economic and social impact of women’s work was on the household as a whole rather than for women individually: Aristarchos remained idle whilst his relatives were active (Xen. Mem. 2.7.12–14). Women’s activities – and their relationships – within the household, therefore, were vital for the poverty (or wealth) of all members of the household.43 Women’s relationships within, and outside, the household are key, then, to understanding poverty in the ancient world and it is through the second case study that (rather than simply pointing out that women lacked wealth or control of resources) we can explore the opportunities and constraints of women’s capabilities and functionings in more detail.44 The funerary stele of Melitta, a wet-nurse (titthe), dates to c. 340.45 The inscription on this monument is noteworthy because it demonstrates the social relationships nurses could form and the strong ties they could maintain; 39 40

41 42

43 44 45

See also Ath. Pol. 56.6 (legal protection for elderly parents), Lys. 3.6 (brother takes in sister after death of husband). But see Garnsey (1988): 34 for the idea that slaves were ‘unsaleable in famine conditions’: it is possible that they would receive no buyers. Regardless, it is telling that Aristarchos does not even bring this up when discussing his possibilities (Xen. Mem. 2.7.2). Narayan and Petesch (2007): 17. On the household as the most appropriate unit of measurement of wealth see Foxhall (1989), (2007). See also Johnstone (2003): 271: ‘women acted in relationship to property under very different conditions than men’. On gendered poverty see Daly (1992), Razavi (1999), Nussbaum (2000b). Molyneux (2002), Lister (2004): 60. On women and property see Foxhall (1989), Johnstone (2003). Kosmopolou (2001): N7 (CAT 1.969). The name Melitta appears to have been erased from the monument in the first line, but it is added above the figure of the child on the relief. The child,

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these are important indicators of social capital which can affect poverty outcomes.46 Melitta developed long-lasting emotional bonds with the child in her care: ‘For [[Melitta]] the daughter of Apollodoros, isoteles. Here under the earth lies Hippostrate’s good nurse (ten chresten titthen); and Hippostrate still longs for you. While you were alive, I loved you, nurse, and even now underneath the earth, I will honour you as long as I live. For I know that for you beneath the earth, if there is reward for the good, honours will be yours first, nurse, in the realm of Persephone and Pluto.’ IG II2 7873

This is significant because wet-nursing is often viewed as a servile occupation, the job of slaves and foreigners.47 But this idea contrasts with the effusive honours Melitta received for her work.48 Melitta was a metic, but she was the daughter of a man awarded isoteleia, a high distinction not easy to obtain; presumably she had spent most, if not all, of her life in Athens. Isoteleia was awarded for a range of reasons but the majority of recipients had performed some kind of military, financial or political service to Athens which required access to resources or being otherwise well-connected; often they were awarded crowns or other honours too and the award was sometimes passed to their descendants.49 The juxtaposition of high praise and family honours with servility is jarring, and the manufacture of terracotta statues which depict nurses in idealised ways confirms the fact that they were not always seen in terms of their supposed slavish characteristics.50 The idea that wet-nursing was servile derives in part from Demosthenes 57, which has dominated historical interpretations of their role within Athenian society.51 Euboulides’ accusation that his opponent’s mother, Nikarete, worked as a wet-nurse is designed to impugn her citizenship status (and therefore Euxitheos’ too), but Euxitheos does not react as if this really was as shameful as it is presented. Instead he turns the tables on Euboulides and casts him in a bad light for implying such a thing. Although it seems that linking a citizen woman to wet-nursing had some power to denigrate her status (otherwise Euboulides’ accusation would have no force at all), the curious thing about this accusation is that Euxitheos does not deny it. But this would have been easy to do given the household nature of the activity and the passage of time since it must have occurred – how would Euboulides know? Instead Euxitheos says that this was a not infrequent recourse for citizen

46 47 48 49 50

51

however, is named Hippostrate in the epigram below. On the difficulties of this stele see Kosmopoulou (2001): 308–9. See Taylor (2011) for women’s social networks and social capital. Bäbler (1998): 37–40, Kosmopoulou (2001): 306–12, and in general: Bäbler (2005). For nursing not being viewed as disgraceful see Brock (1994): 337. SEG 12.209 also suggests that titthai in Roman Athens could be held in high esteem. Isoteleia: Whitehead (1977): 11–4, Henry (1983): 246–9. Crowns: SEG 39.91 (see Walbank (1989): 257–61); enktesis: IG II2 83; descendants: IG II2 551. Kosmopoulou (2001): 305, n. 244: ‘the respect shown for nurses on gravestones of this period is paralleled by a change in their representation on contemporary terracotta statuettes, where they turn from ugly creatures with negative physiognomic traits into beautiful, lady-like figures’. See also Schulze (1988): 50–5, Pfisterer-Haas (2009): 40–2. On Demosthenes 57 see Lacey (1980), Brock (1994): 336–7, Cohen (1998a): 58–61.

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women in times of hardship when it was necessary for them to circumvent behavioural norms which prevented them placing themselves in positions of dependency (Dem. 57.35, 41). The effect is to normalise this activity; Euxitheos thinks, at least, that he can rely on the sympathy of the jury here. The hardship explanation is one picked up frequently by historians, but hardship cuts both ways: wet-nurses are needed when babies are at risk of starvation through the death of the mother, or her inability (or lack of desire) to feed the child. Wet-nurses become available not only through poverty, but in some cases as a result of the death of the wet-nurse’s own child (there are implications too on the nutritional status of the wet-nurse’s child, if it survives, and herself). Their presence within a family might be a status symbol (though there is little evidence to suggest this is the case in Athens), but is equally likely to be a decision made to avert disaster, or one made as a result of disaster. Viewed in this way, the relationship of dependence is complicated, and in some cases completely reversed. It is not only the wet-nurse who is dependent on the child’s family for work, but the child’s family is also dependent on the wet-nurse to avoid the death or malnutrition of their kin. Melitta is not alone in maintaining a close relationship with the family for whom she worked. The name of Nikarete’s charge, Kleinias, is mentioned more than once by Euxitheos, reinforcing the lack of shame felt about the association (Dem. 57.40, 41, 44). The speaker of Demosthenes 47 also remained attached to his nurse in adulthood to the extent that she lived with him and his family (Dem. 47.55– 61) and these relationships could persist over generations (Men. Sam. 245–8).52 Strong ties enable the development of social capital, the build up of trust and reciprocity, and provide a mechanism through which to alleviate poverty.53 Seen in this way, wet-nursing was not simply a shameful response to financial hardship, but in fact allowed women to develop networks of relationships, primarily with other women, which could be drawn on when necessary. These relationships were sustained over the long-term, allowing women to call on the children they looked after for support in old age. It is likely that wet-nursing, far from providing the stigma of poverty and servitude, provided women with access to other resources, expanded their capabilities in both the short and long term, and gave them social value – a pattern which can also be seen in the experience of Aristarchos’ family through wool-working. The social and economic relationships between women (slave and free) usually went under the radar of men and therefore appear only fleetingly in our source material. We can only scratch the surface of these networks, precisely because they were of little significance to Athenian men who tended to ignore them or configure them as shameful or servile. But they were crucial to women because they had the potential to expand their capabilities and develop higher functionings. Nikarete’s work, after all, enabled her household to survive when Euxitheos’ father was away fighting (Dem. 57.42). Melitta evoked not only strong emotional bonds but also was highly praised for her work. Many other wet-nurses were commemorated in death 52 53

Literary representations of nurses often depict them as trustworthy, see, e. g. Eurykleia: Karydas (1998), Golden (2011): 141. Lowndes (2000), Molyneux (2002).

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– there are more titthai mentioned on funerary stelai than any other profession.54 Women’s networks, which often crossed boundaries of status, therefore were likely to have been crucial mechanisms by which households made ends meet and perhaps also prospered. Although it is probably true that women’s labour was more likely to have contributed in greater quantities to less well-off households than to wealthy ones, women-headed households, like Nikarete’s, were not necessarily disproportionately poor.55 Women could develop a range of capabilities which enabled them to gain access to resources. The structures of constraint which prevented (some) women developing the same capabilities as (some) men were, of course, massive and very real. But what was devalued in one context was clearly a sign of higher functionings in another. Both wet-nursing and wool-working gave some kind of social status and value not just to slave and metic women (in that it made them integral members of households), but also to citizen women too.

CONCLUSIONS What these case studies show, therefore, is the importance of evaluating poverty in terms of social relations rather than simply describing it as a economic condition. Because social relations are dynamic, they affect the experience, intensity and duration of poverty in a variety of ways which can be seen by comparing the capabilities and functionings of Bion, Aristarchos and Melitta.56 In doing so we can observe not only the opportunities and constraints created within Athenian society in general, but also see how micro-changes within households affected standards of living ‘on the ground’. Long-term changes in living standards can be evaluated in a number of ways,57 but shifting the focus to the capabilities and functionings within the household (and within the sphere of the household) is fruitful also. This is not meant to imply, however, that poverty is purely a result of individual or household decision-making – it is the patterning of social relationships which is key.58 Aristarchos’ relatives’ experience of poverty was shaped by stasis but their membership of a social group provided them with the networks and social capital to alleviate the family’s position. Viewing poverty and standards of living as dynamic elements of the social fabric is therefore important because it enables us to view the social changes of the fourth century both in terms of institutional change as well as in relation to the micro-decisions of households and groups. The three episodes discussed here (Aris54 55

56 57 58

Bäbler (1998): 282–94. See IG II2 4334 (n. 38 above) or the dedications of Smithyke on the Acropolis in the early fifth century (IG I3 794, 700, 573). Euboulides seems to claim that Euxitheos’ family was not poor at all (Dem. 57.52): other branches of the family were certainly euporoi and there appears to be some land. See further Davies (1971): 93–5. On the relationship between women-headed households and poverty see Jackson (1998) and Razavi (1999). In Athens: Ober (1989): 135, n. 81, Foxhall (1989): 29, Harris (1992). Green and Hulme (2005): 873. See for example Morris (2004), (2005). Woolcock and Narayan (2000), Tilly (2007): 45–7.

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tarchos, Melitta, and Bion) derive from the beginning, middle and end of the fourth century respectively and show different experiences of poverty, but they are so different in context, evidence and conclusions that we should be wary about tracing change in the levels of poverty in Athenian society through these examples. On the other hand, they do demonstrate that the patterning of social relationships had the potential to transform structures or institutions and demonstrate a variety of mechanisms through which this could be attained. Focusing on poverty in terms of capabilities, therefore, recognises the dynamism of poverty as both a symptom and cause of social change, but in doing so emphasises the agency of marginalised people in the ancient world. It enables the choices of those for whom little evidence survives to be viewed not just as the activities of people in dire straits (economic deprivation, slavery etc), as victims of circumstance or poor household management, but instead it allows them to be seen as active agents in their own lives, renegotiating their social relationships to their own advantage (or otherwise). Poverty is not only an economic condition, it is also capability failure.

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CULTURE WAR: PLATO AND ATHENIAN POLITICS 350–330 BCE Danielle Allen

SECTION 1: INTRODUCTION Beginning in the 340s, Platonic concepts made their way into Athenian political rhetoric.1 Fourteen speeches given between 345 BCE and 307 BCE adopt identifiably Platonic vocabulary, recognizably Platonic forms of argumentation, and Platonic symbols. They are Lycurgus’ Against Leocrates; Aeschines’ three extant speeches; Dinarchus’ Against Demosthenes; Demades’ On the Twelve Years; Hyperides’ six extant speeches, including his Against Demosthenes also; and two speeches prosecuting the orator Aristogeiton, both by an unidentified politician who was an ally of Lycurgus.2 Most dramatically, all these speeches adopt the vocabulary for discussing punishment that Plato crafted in the Gorgias, Republic, and Laws. Importantly, these orators did not always use this new penal vocabulary just as Plato had employed it. Lycurgus, for instance, whose prosecution of Leocrates, the owner of a blacksmith’s shop, on a treason charge is famously aggressive, uses the words kolazein (“to reform”) and kolasis (“reformative punishment”) to describe the punishment that should be meted out to Leocrates. But he calls for Leocrates’ execution, not exactly a reformative measure. Nonetheless, although Socrato-Platonic terms and phrases are infrequent in extant oratory, those terms, which do appear, cluster at argumentative points where orators are making unusual rhetorical moves. The set of distinctively Platonic terms and phrases that appears at notable points in Athenian oratory includes the following: kolazein; to kalliston; kai sunesis kai paideia, hei diagignoskomen ta kala kai ta aischra; ho philosophos kai nomothetês; philosophia; politikê arête; mnêmonikos; plattein; eukosmia; akosmia; akolastoi; ho dikaios erôs; ho sôphrôn kai ennomos erôs; and misoponêros. 1 2

What I present here summarizes arguments made in Allen 2010. The speaker of the speeches Against Aristogeiton I and II, in the Demosthenic corpus, refers to his effort as allied to Lycurgus’ prosecution. Because the speeches are attributed to Demosthenes, historians have therefore argued that Demosthenes was allied to Lycurgus in this prosecution. But the rhetorical anomalies in these speeches – their extensive Platonism, which differs greatly from the rest of the Demosthenic corpus – cast significant doubt, in my view, on the case for their authorship by Demosthenes. Dionysius of Halicarnassus similarly thought that these speeches could not be by Demosthenes. If Demosthenes was not the author of these speeches, then the case for his routine collaboration with Lycurgus is weakened. Burke 1977 makes the case for routine collaboration between Lycurgus and Demosthenes; in this and the following chapter, I take issue with that view.

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Aeschines and Lycurgus use Platonic rhetorical styles the most dramatically. For instance, in an interesting passage in Against Ctesiphon from 330 BCE, Aeschines attacks the idea that Demosthenes is a “democrat man” or “friend of the people,” that is, a dêmotikos, using methods that recall the technique of comparative modeling that Socrates advocates in the Republic and which the Seventh Letter also recommends. Aeschines argues: If you look to nature and the truth (eis tên phusin kai tên alêtheian), you will not be deceived. Call him to account in this way: with your help, I will reckon up (logioumai) what ought in nature (en têi phusei) to inhere in the democratic man and the moderate man (tôi dêmotikôi andri kai sôphroni), and against them I will set down what sort of person you would expect the oligarchic and base man to be. And you, setting each of these against each other (antithentes hekatera toutôn), consider (theôresat’) Demosthenes, whether he is one or the other not in speech (logos) but in his way of life (tou biou). (3.168)3

In the Platonic style, Aeschines presents types or tupoi and asks that his audience set those theoretical images against each other in order that the truth might emerge from the oppositional process. And Demosthenes, in his responding speech, On the Crown, criticizes Aeschines for just this rhetorical style: Behaving in this fashion, you tell us how many features it is necessary to see inhere in the “democratic man” (ho dêmotikos) as if you had ordered a statue according to specification (hôsper andriant’ ekdedôkôs kata suggraphên) and then you had received it and it did not have all the features belonging as per the order. As though men were judged “democratic men” in logos but not in deeds and policy! (18.122)4

Demosthenes is pointedly mocking just the techniques of enargeia, the methods for producing images, symbols, models, and allegories, that Plato elaborates in the Republic, and in response to Aeschines’ studied performance, Demosthenes asks: “Why do you draw word-pictures?” The Greek is: ti logous platteis? (18.121). The verb plattein is central to the Republic’s arguments about good philosophical writing. Plato used the verb plattein far more frequently than any other Greek writer; and the word had come to be associated with him.5 Demosthenes’ jibe tips us off that the target of his critique is Platonic rhetoric, specifically, and not philosophy generally. As one comic poet joked: hôs aneplatte Platôn peplasmena thaumata eidôs.6 This Greek joke turns on twice punning the verb plattein with Plato’s name (aneplatte, peplasmena); the comic line also draws in two other Platonic terms (thauma, eidôs). We could approximate the puns and meaning of this joke with the translation: “Plato perceived marvelous models (or fabulous Forms) and plastered them on paper.” The Athenians knew that the word plattein went with the name 3 4 5

6

All translations are from the Loeb editions cited in the bibliography. If I have modified a translation, I have so indicated with a footnote. Translation modified. There are 58 instances in Plato; the next highest frequencies are in Herodotus (8 instances) and Xenophon (8 instances). The only oratorical texts in which plattein, meaning “to fashion,” is used more than once are: Aes. On Embassy (4 instances); Demades, On the Twelve Years (2); Dem. Philip I (2 instances); On the Crown (4 instances), False Embassy (3 instances); Against Stephanus 1 (5 instances); Isoc Evagoras (2 instances). See Allen 2010, 197n.51. Diog. Laert. 3.26.

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Plato, so Demosthenes’ question – Ti logous platteis? – might equally well mean, “Why do you talk like Plato?” These squabbles over rhetorical style reflect the emergence in democratic Athens of a culture war that waxed and waned in the period between 345 and 330BCE.7 The Athenian politicians Demosthenes and Aeschines were members of an elite who appear to have read Plato’s dialogues, though without being members of the Academy. While various disputes within the domestic policy arena – over the appropriate justification for punishment, speaking rights in the assembly, and the role of the Areopagus and other offices, like Theoric commissioner – could be intellectually tied to questions generated by Platonic philosophy, Demosthenes did not consider their Platonic connections worth raising in the early 340s. But when he thought he saw a developing connection between Philip and Athenian politicians, particularly Aeschines, rooted in a shared engagement with philosophy, he did then politicize Plato’s influence. In the 343 BCE prosecution of Aeschines, Demosthenes had held up, as potential explanations for why Aeschines had told Athens that Phocis would be safe, the possibilities that his opponent had been bribed or that he had been ideologically seduced, connecting the tale of seduction to oblique accusations about Aeschines’ involvement with philosophical circles.8 Nonetheless Demosthenes seems not to have made much of Aeschines’ Platonic style in the years that followed. In the decade to come, Demosthenes continued his vigorous attacks on Athenians whom he saw as sympathizers of Philip, and he continued to remind the Athenians of the wrong allegedly done to them by Aeschines and his associates. Yet he did not explicitly draw attention to the question of Platonism or even ideology generally; instead, he focused these later attacks almost exclusively on the bribery charge (e. g. 8.76, 9.36–45). He does not again explicitly call out his opponents arguments as Platonically influenced until Lycurgus and Aeschines themselves introduce their notably Platonic vocabulary to political debate in 330 BCE. That’s when we get his joke – Ti logous platteis? – and his critique of Aeschines’ argumentative style. Yet I propose that just this Platonic influence is at the heart of the remarkable controversy that erupted in 330 BCE and that is represented in the extraordinary trio of speeches from that year: Lycurgus’ Against Leocrates; Aeschines’ Against Ctesiphon, and Demosthenes’ On the Crown. Stylistic features make clear that these three speeches should be considered as a group. All three speeches give unusual prominence to philosophical vocabulary; all three speeches make unusually frequent use of the Platonic superlative to kalliston (“noblest” or “most beautiful”) (assessed via word count on the oratorical corpus); and, within the oratorical corpus, these three speeches spend the most time quoting other texts, including poetry. (There are only six speeches in the corpus that directly quote poetry; the other three are the three speeches that constitute the political battle between Aeschines and Demosthenes in 345–343 BCE: Against Timarchus, On the False Embassy, and On the Embassy.) 7 8

Allen, 2010, 89 ff. Allen 2010, 116 ff.

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This paper seeks to explain the political conflict of 330 BCE and the unusual convergence in it of debates about style and philosophy and debates about foreign policy.

SECTION 2: THE POLITICS OF THE 330S In the period after the Battle of Chaeronea, Lycurgus was elected tamias tou dioikesei or “treasurer of management” (this may have been a position identical to the Theoric Commissioner).9 In this position he was the chief financial officer in the city, and Lycurgus either held the position for the next twelve years, or had sufficient influence over the men who actually held the position that the period from 336 to 324 BCE is known as the Lycurguan Age (Hyp. Fr. 23; Diod. 16.88.1). From this position, he renewed Eubulus’ public works agenda. He also famously developed policies to renew the city’s religious life and had official copies made of the plays of Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides. He endorsed the expansion of the Areopagus’ power to include executing capital sentences on its own authority, and last and most important, he led a major reform of the ephebeia, the routine military training that young men undertook at age eighteen in directions that resemble Plato’s proposals in the Laws for a two-year period of military training for young men. We are not able to gain the same degree of clarity on Demosthenes’ agenda during this period, but we can identify some of its features. In addition to his role as sitones or grain-overseer, he claims himself to have manned expeditions to procure grain. Whatever policies he pursued with regard to the Athenian food supply were consistent with continued efforts to build active resistance to Macedon, for this seems to be where Demosthenes put most of his energies. After Philip died in 336 BCE and Alexander acceded to his throne, Demosthenes worked constantly to support revolt from Macedon, making efforts both personal and political; on the latter front, he tried mainly to get Athens itself to support rebellious powers. When Thebes revolted in 335 BCE, Demosthenes may personally have helped supply the Thebans with arms, and he also secured at least initial Athenian support for Thebes.10 But Thebes was quickly destroyed by Alexander who established a pro-Macedonian, oligarchical government there. When in 333 BCE Darius II, King of Persia, decided to fight Macedon, Demosthenes again lent support and encouragement, although he seems to have wanted Athens itself to bide its time, before joining the fray, until Darius had defeated Alexander in Persia.11 Instead Alexander defeated Darius, who was killed in 330 BCE. Finally, in 323 BCE, after Alexander’s death, Athens itself revolted. Demosthenes was living in 9

10 11

On Lycurgus’ activities, see Mitchel 1965: 196–198; Mitchel 1970; Mitchel 1975; Burke 1977; Humphreys 1985. On Demosthenes’ activities after Chaeronea: Dem. 18.248–249; Aes. 3.24. 3.159; Plut. Dem 21; [Plut] Ten Orat 845 f.; 851b; cf. Tod no. 196. See also Cawkwell 1969; Harris 1994. Diod 17.8.5; Plut. Dem. 23.1. See Sealey 1993: 202–204; Cawkwell 1963b Diod. 17.3.2; Cawkwell 1969; Worthington 2000b: 99. Aeschines attacks Demosthenes for his policy with Persia at 3.156, 173, 239, 259.

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exile at the time, on account of a bribery conviction, but when his native city decided to go to war, he was recalled and, as Plutarch reports (Dem. 27), he was greeted in the harbor by the whole citizenry. The project of resistance was his. This is plainly what the Athenians knew about Demosthenes. While Lycurgus was willing to work within the League of Corinth, headed by Philip and then Alexander, to rebuild Athenian strength in the context of a collective security pact for which Athens was not the hegemon, or leading power, Demosthenes pursued a variety of multilateral alliances in an effort to topple Macedonian power. It’s time to turn back to the speeches of 330 BCE to see if we can understand that conflict. SECTION 3: WHO WAS FIGHTING WHOM? The origins of the two cases tried in 330 BCE both lay in Athens’ defeat by Philip at Chaeronea in 338 BCE and in the politics that flowed from it. Lycurgus prosecutes Leocrates for treason on the grounds that Leocrates left the city in the aftermath of the battle. The citizens had been called to come into the city center from the surrounding country-side in preparation for a last stand, should Philip march on Athens itself but, when everyone else was transporting their movables to the city center, Leocrates allegedly packed up all his belongings and his mistress and set sail for Rhodes. As for Aeschines, he indicts Ctesiphon in 336 BCE for having proposed in that year that Demosthenes deserved a crown for his service in the two years following the 338 BCE defeat at Chaeronea. He too criticizes Desmothenes for behavior in the immediate aftermath of the battle, including a departure from the city, to which we will return shortly. Interestingly, both prosecutions display procedural oddities that have puzzled scholars. Lycurgus prosecutes Leocrates eight years after his allegedly treasonous departure. Why raise the issue so much later? Lycurgus’ prosecution is strange too as one of only two examples in extant oratory of an orator’s bringing a prosecution against someone with whom he was not personally involved.12 Nor was Leocrates a notable citizen. Why should a leading politician, Lycurgus, prosecute the very ordinary owner of a blacksmith shop with no obvious political standing? Finally, within the context of the whole corpus of Athenian court cases, Leocrates’ departure from the city looks like a relatively minor example of desertion.13 Why does Lycurgus turn it into the most significant treason prosecution in all of extant Attic oratory? In the case of Aeschines’ speech, the procedural oddity there is that he did not follow through on the prosecution in 336 BCE when he first brought the indictment. He dropped the case. Why? And why is the case raised again in 330 BCE? 12

13

The other speech is Lysias 22, Against the Grain-Dealers (386 BCE). I leave out trials arising from official scrutiny (dokimasia) and cases dealing with public finance or political bribery, for which the city generally appointed prosecutors, as in Hyp. 1 and Din. 1. Worthington (2000: 101) agrees that “Leocrates’ crime was not great.”

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These two prosecutions are linked, then, in both reaching back to the defeat at Chaeronea for their substantive charges and in sharing a relatively high degree of procedural oddity. But those are superficial connections. More significantly, Lycurgus’ and Aeschines’ speeches are connected substantively. First, they are the two speeches in the extant corpus most marked by Platonic vocabulary specifically, and philosophical vocabulary generally.14 Second, Aeschines refers approvingly to Lycurgus’ prosecution of Leocrates (3.252–253), and describes his own prosecution as paralleling Lycurgus’ (3.252–253). Third, in these two speeches, Lycurgus and Aeschines both endorse the power of the Areopagus to execute Athenian citizens, a controversial topic (Lyc. 1.52; Aes. 3.25–253). Fourth, and even more importantly, both men endorse a specific kind of exercise of power on the part of the Areopagus. Lycurgus and Aeschines both praise the Areopagus for having executed citizens who left the city after the Battle of Chaeronea. The Areopagus executed at least three people at that time: the general Lysicles, Autolycus (who sent away his wife and children), and a “private citizen who sailed for Samos.”15 Lycurgus is now trying to get for Leocrates from a jury the very treatment that the Areopagus had previously meted out to these three other men. And Aeschines charges that Demosthenes is yet another traitor who, like Leocrates and the unnamed citizen who had put out for Samos, had sailed away from the city in the immediate aftermath of the defeat. Demosthenes does have a defense: he says he sailed off that day in order to secure grain for the city. But Aeschines is trying to make him out to be the same sort of traitor that Lycurgus makes Leocrates out to be. These tight substantive links between Lycurgus’ and Aeschines’ speeches allow us to solve a mystery that has long plagued scholars: who actually re-initiated the trial of Ctesiphon in 330 BCE? Was it Aeschines, or Demosthenes? In the 1970s Edward Burke observed that Aeschines was too politically weak in the late 330s for the renewal to be reasonably attributed to him. The outcome of the trial makes clear just how politically isolated he was; Aeschines attracted fewer than 20 % of the jurors to his side. Since prosecutors in public cases who did not win at least 20 % of the votes had to pay a 1000 dr. fine and were thereafter barred from bringing suits in the Athenian courts, citizen prosecutors would, therefore, generally have taken up cases only if they were confident of crossing that 20 % threshold. Aeschines’ failure to cross that threshold reveals a political weakness so severe that, given the stakes of a loss, he is unlikely voluntarily to have re-started his case. Demosthenes must have forced his hand.16

14 15 16

Allen 2000a, 2000b; Allen 2010. [Plut] Ten Orat 843d; Lyc. 1.53; Dem. 18.88, Aes. 3.25–253. Burke 1977. See also Sawada (1996: 61 and 61 ns19&20) who provides a thorough review of the controversy over who re-initiated the suit as well as a very thorough argument in favor of Demosthenes. In addition to taking up and expanding Burke’s point about Aeschines’ relative weakness, she investigates (1996: 68) Dem. 18.308, which was used by Cawkwell 1969, to support the idea that Aeschines reinitiated the case. She rightly shows that this passage does not provide evidence for this. People who reject the view that Demosthenes re-opened the case include Cawkwell 1969; Worthington 2000: 96–97, 110n31; Harris 1995: 140–2, 173–4.

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After Burke develops this conclusion, however, he makes a mistake, which has prevented other scholars from taking his argument on board. He argues that Demosthenes forced the renewal of the suit because he was acting as an ally of Lycurgus and both men wanted to get at Aeschines. But his own argument about Aeschines’ weakness invalidates this view. Weak as Aeschines was, there was no reason to go after him. Even more important, of course, is the fact that Aeschines constructs his speech rhetorically so that his account of the kind of citizen Demosthenes has been is analogous to the account that Lycurgus gives of Leocrates. Burke’s critical error is to think that Demosthenes was acting as an ally of Lycurgus in the political conflict of the 330s. It is clearly Lycurgus and Aeschines who are cooperating. 17 Once we recognize that Lycurgus and Aeschines are allies, another piece falls into place: Leocrates, who is accused of having done just what Demosthenes is also accused of having done – that is, of having set sail from the city immediately after the defeat at Chaeronea – must be a proxy for Demosthenes. In prosecuting Leocrates, Lycurgus is attacking Demosthenes. Once one recognizes, first, that Lycurgus and Aeschines were on the same side of whatever political battle was raging in 330 BCE and, second, that Leocrates is a proxy for Demosthenes, the relationships among these three speeches are clear. In Against Leocrates, Lycurgus attacks Demosthenes via the proxy target of Leocrates; Demosthenes retaliates by forcing the renewal of Aeschines’ suit, thus attacking Aeschines, as a proxy for Lycurgus. The attack on Aeschines as a proxy for Lycurgus gives Demosthenes two important political opportunities: both to attack Lycurgan policy and also to defend his own career and policies against Lycurgus’ recent onslaught. Because of Aeschines’ political weakness by 330 BCE, Demosthenes also gets to do this against an easy target. The outcomes of the trials bear out the hypotheses that the real battle in the speeches of 330 BCE was between Lycurgus and Demosthenes and that Leocrates and Aeschines were just the fall-guys. As we have seen, Lycurgus, won 50 % of the vote in his case; he had enough authority in the city, in other words, to keep half of the citizenry on his side, even when using rhetoric as unorthodox, and as richly Platonic, as any juror is likely ever to have heard.18 And Demosthenes, of course, won more than 80 % of the vote in Ctesiphon’s trial. There was no contest between Demosthenes and Aeschines. It was Lycurgus and Demosthenes who had the power in 330 BCE to command significant constituencies on either side of whatever set of thorny political issues lay behind these speeches.

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18

Sawada (1996: 73, 80) also misses this so once she has identified Demosthenes as the politician responsible for re-initiating the Ctesiphon case, she is at a loss to explain his action in terms of political strategy; as a consequence, she argues that his motivation is purely personal; he simply wanted to do Aeschines in and saw a chance to do it. This is implausible. When Worthington (2000: 96–97) rejects her argument that Demosthenes had re-initiated the suit, he can do so because she has failed to provide an adequate explanation for why he would have done so. I hope in this section to have advanced the case for Demosthenes’ re-initiation of the suit precisely by providing an answer to the “why” question; my answer focuses wholly on political strategy. See ch. 7.

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SECTION 4: WHAT WERE LYCURGUS AND DEMOSTHENES FIGHTING ABOUT? The major political conflict in Athens during the years 331 and 330 BCE was whether to help Agis III, King of Sparta, in his revolt from Macedon.19 As we have seen, after the death of Philip, Demosthenes worked doggedly to support revolts against Macedon. There were the cases of Thebes and Persia, and the Athenians’ own revolt in the Lamian War of 323–322 BCE. But I left the Spartan case off the list. The Spartan uprising may have ended before Lycurgus gave his speech against Leocrates; if so, it had ended just months before. It might also have been still underway. When Aeschines prosecutes Ctesiphon a few months later, the Spartan envoys to Alexander, who had been delegated to discuss the terms of Spartan submission, had not yet left for the Macedonian camp. The conclusion of the revolt must still be very recent when battle is engaged between Aeschines and Demosthenes. 20 What was Demosthenes’ stance on the Spartan revolt? He had been a supporter of such efforts before the Spartan king, Agis, asked for help and he would be again afterwards. But what happened when King Agis sought help from Athens? The standard scholarly response is that Demosthenes urged the Athenians not to support Sparta’s revolt, but this misses the mark. As many scholars have noted, the sources reporting this episode are riddling in nature but they do, in fact, contain a clue that will lead us to an answer.21 Aeschines describes Demsothenes’ behavior in response to Agis’ appeal thus: Do you not remember, gentlemen, his disgusting and incredible words? Ye men of iron, how had you ever the endurance to listen to them! When he came forward and said, “Certain men are pruning the city, certain men have trimmed off the tendrils of the people, the sinews of the state have been cut (huoptetmêtai ta neura tôn pragmatôn), we are being matted and sewed up, certain men are first drawing us like needles into tight places.” What are these things, you beast? Are they words or monstrosities? And again when you whirled around in a circle on the

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Scholars dispute whether Agis’ war with Macedon ran from spring to autumn of 331 BCE (Badian 1967) or from summer 331 to spring 330 (Cawkwell 1969: 170–73, Bosworth 1975). Sealey (1993) follows Badian. My view is that Cawkwell and Bosworth have the stronger arguments here, and Sealey does acknowledge their strength (1993: 315n85). At any rate, the difference does not affect my argument. Whatever the case, Agis arrived in Athens in 331 BCE to seek the city’s support for his revolt (see Sealey 1993: 205–207). Id. The primary sources on this question offer apparently conflicting evidence. Most scholars seem to have chosen a single source on which to base their view of what Demosthenes did at this time, rather than looking for an answer that makes sense out of as many pieces of the evidence as possible. Thus Cawkwell (1969: 176, cf. 179) asserts: “Demosthenes supported the policy of keeping out,” citing Aes. 3.165 f.; Sealey (1993: 206) writes: “It is not known what Demosthenes did during the rising of Agis. Prosecuting Ktesiphon a year later, Aischines said that Demosthenes made strange speeches, whirled around on the speaker’s platform, and professed to have brought the Lakonians together and to have persuaded the Thessalians and Perrhaibians to secede. This utterance of Aischines may be distortion or invention; it is certainly not informative. The most likely conclusion is that Demosthenes did little or nothing, as is indeed asserted by Deinarchos (1.35).” In contrast, Burke (1977, 336: 25) thinks that Demosthenes initially supported the uprising. But the sources yield more information than scholars have recognized.

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platform and said, pretending that you were working against Alexander, “I admit that I organized the Laconian uprising, I admit that I am bringing about the revolt of the Thessalians and the Perrhaebi.” You cause a revolt of the Thessalians? What! Could you cause the revolt of a village? (3.165–167)

Seven years later, when a politician named Dinarchus served on a team prosecuting Demosthenes for bribery, he referred back to the moment of Agis’ appeal and described Demosthenes’ behavior thus: In that hour, – for I need not dwell on other crises, – what was the behavior of this Demosthenes who had the power to give advice and make proposals, who will shortly tell you that he hates our present circumstances? On these matters, Demosthenes, did you offer any proposal, any advice? Did you contribute money? Were you of the smallest value to the men safeguarding us all? Not the least; you went round suborning speechwriters. He wrote a letter at home, defiling the city’s honor, and walked about dangling it from his finger ends, living in luxury during the city’s misfortunes, traveling down the road to the Piraeus in a litter and reproaching the needy for their poverty. (1.34–36)

And four and a half centuries later, relying on sources no longer available to us, Plutarch wrote (Dem. 24.1): It is true that when Agis the Spartan was active in revolt Demosthenes once more made a feeble effort in his support, but then he cowered down, since the Athenians would not join in the uprising.

In short, none of these sources suggests that Demosthenes “supported the policy of keeping out,” as one scholar put it.22 At most they simply indicate that he did not encourage the Athenians to revolt. Before we can understand these descriptions of Demosthenes’ behavior, we need to know what else was going on at the moment of Agis’ appeal. Our sources tell us that another politician, Demades, who was an ally of Lycurgus, halted the move to war by proposing that the necessary funds not be diverted from the Theoric Fund to the war effort but be distributed instead to each citizen at 50 drachmae a head.23 This would have been a considerable payout, roughly equivalent at that time to 30 days’ of pay for a day-laborer.24 Our sources also tell us that at roughly the same time, Lycurgus successfully prosecuted Diphilus for illegal mining and that the conviction brought public confiscation of the guilty party’s property, which was distributed to the citizenry in the form of 50 drachmae a head.25 It is entirely possible, as scholars have noted, that Demades’ and Lycurgus’ payouts, which are both attributed to the same time period, were one and the same.26 And if these payouts were one and the same – which 22 23

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Cawkwell 1969: 176. Demades was treasure of stratiotic fund in 334/3 and collaborated with Lycurgus (Mitchel 1962). On this episode of the 50 dr. payout, see [Plut.] Mor [Ten Orators] 818e-f; see Burke 1977: 336; Sawada 1996: 65. On the wage rate, Allen 2000a: 41. [Plut.] Mor [Ten Orators] 843d-3; see Sawada 1996: 65–66. Mitchel 1973: 179. But see Sawada 1996: 65–66 for a counter case. I think Sawada underestimates the sense of political emergency that affected Athenian politics during this episode. I take the rhetorical intensity of the three speeches of 330 BCE as a sign that political intensity was at

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seems plausible given the magnitude of giving 50 drachmae to each citizen – then Demades and Lycurgus collaborated on keeping the city out of the war by directing available resources that might have funded military action into the purses of individual citizens. Now we come to the clue that will help us pull these pieces together. We need to take seriously the remarks that Aeschines reports Demosthenes as having made: “Certain men are pruning the city, certain men have trimmed off the tendrils of the people, the sinews of the state have been cut, we are being matted and sewed up, certain men are first drawing us like needles into tight places.” Scholars have generally found those remarks baffling.27 But there is an easy answer to their meaning, for Demosthenes had said something very similar nearly twenty years earlier when he criticized Eubulus as using the Theoric Fund to pay off the citizens instead of preparing for war. Here is what Demosthenes said in 349 BCE: [In response to my views, a hypothetical objector might say,] “But if our foreign policy has failed, there is great improvement in domestic affairs.” And to what can [that objector] point in proof? To the walls we are whitewashing, the streets we are paving, the water-works, and the balderdash? Look rather at the politicians who have done this; some of them were poor and now are rich, some were obscure and now are eminent, some have reared private houses more stately than our public buildings, while the lower the fortunes of the city have sunk, the higher have their fortunes soared. … Now the politicians are authorities (kurioi) over all good things, while you the people, robbed of nerve and sinew (ekneneurismenoi), stripped of wealth and of allies, have sunk to the level of lackeys and hangers-on, content if the politicians gratify you with a dole from the Theoric fund or a procession at the Boedromia, and your manliness (andreiotaton) reaches its climax when you add your thanks for what is your own. … You cannot have a proud and spirited spirit (mega and neanikon phronema) if your actions are small and paltry (phaula); for whatever a man’s actions are, such must be his spirit. … Like the diet prescribed by doctors, which neither restores the strength of the patient nor allows him to succumb, so these doles that you are now distributing neither suffice to ensure your safety nor allow you to renounce them and try something else; they only confirm each citizen in his apathy (rhaithumian). (3.29–33, underline added)

Both in 349 and 331, Demosthenes criticizes his opponents for enervating the city (ekneneurismenoi; huoptetmêtai ta neura tôn pragmatôn). The seemingly strange remark, attributed by Aeschines to Demosthenes at the time of Agis’ appeal, attacks Lycurgus’ renewal of Eubulus’ policies. 28 Each of our sources, then, tells part of a story that goes like this: As Demosthenes himself claims (according to Aeschines) and as Plutarch also claims, Demosthenes did try to rally the Athenians to Sparta’s side, but he was preempted when the city’s financiers – Lycurgus and Demades – decided to disburse funds to the citizens. Knowing that he had been out-maneuvered, Demosthenes gave up making any alternative proposals and limited himself to criticizing Lycur-

27 28

a pitch similar to 346–344 BCE after the embassies and the signing of the Peace of Philocrates. Also, as we shall see, the language Aeschines quotes from Demosthenes’ contributions to the debates supports the argument that a major distribution from the theoric fund had just occurred. See n. 288. See n. 248 for the consistency of Demosthenes’ campaign against “enervation” and related problems.

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gan policy. He was in this sense “turning about,” as Aeschines says: having set off in the direction of trying to rally support for Athens, he abandoned that effort, not because he was urging the Athenians to reject Sparta’s appeal but only because he acknowledged his defeat. Dinarchus’ comment that Demosthenes wrote a letter defiling the city’s honor and then rode around in a litter reproaching the poor captures Demosthenes’ critique of the dêmos, the city’s poor, for having been enervated through acceptance of handouts from the Theoric fund. The idea that he rode around in a litter doing this is just a way of saying, “Who are you, rich man, to criticize the poor for wanting money?” Dinarchus’ comment about Demosthenes’ letter is interesting and helpful; it reveals that Demosthenes had undertaken a campaign against Lycurgan policies outside of the assembly as well as in it. Demosthenes was “defiling the city’s honor” in the sense that he was arguing that Lycurgus’ policies were ruining Athens; in criticizing Athens’ “enervation,” he was also, as he had done in 349 BCE, mocking the citizens for a failure of manliness. Demosthenes’ campaign against Lycurgus, and his bitterly mocking critique of Lycurgus’ “enervating” policy, would have occurred at most a year, and possibly as little as six months, before Lycurgus gave his speech prosecuting Leocrates. Lycurgus’ speech, then, is an answer to Demosthenes’ critique that he had enervated the city. Indeed, his speech has been called a “sermon of patriotism,” and so it is.29 He is no “enervator”; he seeks “to implant in the hearts of the citizens a love of their country” (1.100). With a very slight legal case against Leocrates, Lycurgus devotes the bulk of his speech to the question of how the true patriot will think and feel. As both I and others have argued elsewhere, he paints that patriotism in Platonic colors.30 This leaves us with two final questions. Lycurgus had beaten Demosthenes politically in the conflict over how to respond to Agis; he had kept the city from supporting the Spartan revolt. Why did he think he needed to land another blow against Demosthenes? And why did he make Platonic rhetorical styles so central to his defense of the patriotic value of his policy agenda?

SECTION 5: WHY FIGHT OVER PLATO? In the flux of Athenian politics, in which politicians shifted their alliances repeatedly over years of a career, the year 330 BCE saw Lycurgus and Aeschines united against Demosthenes, with the issue of whether to support Sparta at the heart of the dispute. Yet these three orators also chose to engage their conflict using rhetoric that is both stylistically anomalous (in its extensive quotation of poetry) and anomalously engaged with philosophical vocabulary. What could possibly explain the confluence of these two points of conflict – over foreign policy and over philosophy – at this point in time?

29 30

Burtt 1953: 10. Allen 2000b.

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I’d like to suggest the following answer: The underlying claim of Lycurgus’ speech Against Leocrates is that a Platonist outlook is fully compatible with an intense democratic patriotism. He is, in other words, trying to undo a convergence, that Demosthenes had argued into being in the 340s, among commitments to Platonism, oligarchy, and a certain set of domestic reforms (expanded powers for the Areopagus, the establishment of the Theoric commissioner, more hierarchical management of speaking privileges, and so on). In the period after 336 BCE, there were clearly two sides in Athens on the question of whether Athens was threatened internally by an oligarchical revolution. The clear associations, after Alexander’s accession to the Macedonian throne, among Plato, Aristotle, philosophy, and the Macedonian regime would have seemed to confirm Demosthenes’ argument about the convergence of Platonic influence with an oligarchic orientation. Against this backdrop the speeches of Lycurgus and Aeschines must have constituted a defense of their Platonism as democratic. For the sake of his domestic policy agenda, Lycurgus needed to undo the association Demosthenes had been drawing between Platonism and oligarchy. He took the opportunity of the fight with Demosthenes to make the case to the Athenian citizenry that the sort of domestic agenda that he advocated, and which was scaffolded by Platonic concepts, was compatible with democratic ideology. This proposal will seem startling, maybe even implausible, given how rigorously we have conventionally maintained a boundary between the study of Greek philosophy and of Greek politics. I do not have the space to defend it here; I do so at length in Why Plato Wrote. My main goal in this essay has been to convince readers that philosophical traces did enter into the orators’ formulations of policy positions, that we should take this fact as relevant to understanding Athenian politics, and that it might help us understand the events of 330 BCE in particular.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Aeschines. 1919. “Against Timarchus,” “Against Ctesiphon.” In C. D. Adams, trans., Aeschines. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Allen, D. S. 2000a. World of Prometheus: The Politics of Punishing in Democratic Athens. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Allen, D. S. 2000b. “Changing the Authoritative Voice: Lycurgus’ Against Leocrates.” Classical Antiquity 19 (1): 5–33. Allen, D. S. 2010. Why Plato Wrote. Wiley-Blackwell. Burke, E. M. 1977. “‘Contra Leocratem’ and ‘de Corona’: Political Collaboration?” Phoenix 31, no. 4 (Winter): 330–340. Burtt, J. O., trans. 1954. Minor Attic Orators. Vols. 1 and 2. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Cawkwell, G. L. 1961. “A Note on Ps. Demosthenes 17.20.” Phoenix 15 (2) (summer): 74–78. Cawkwell, G. L. 1962. “Demosthenes and the Stratiotic Fund.” Mnemosyne 15 (4): 377–383. Cawkwell, G. L. 1963a. “Demosthenes’ Policy after the Peace of Philocrates. I.” Classical Quarterly 13 (1): 120–138. Cawkwell, G. L. 1963b. “Demosthenes’ Policy after the Peace of Philocrates. II.” Classical Quarterly 13 (2): 200–213. Cawkwell, G. L. 1963c. “Eubulus.” Journal of Hellenic Studies 83: 47–67.

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Cawkwell, G. L. 1969. “The Crowning of Demosthenes.” Classical Quarterly 19 (1): 163–180. Cawkwell, G. L. 1988. “ΝΟΜΟΦΥΛΑΚΙΑ and the Areopagus.” Journal of Hellenic Studies 108: 1–12. Cawkwell, G. L. 2000. “Lycurgus.” In Simon Hornblower and Anthony Spawforth, eds., Who’s Who in the Classical World. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Available online at: www.oxfordreference.com/views/ENTRY.html?subview=Main&entry=t10.e325 (accessed 16 August 2009). Cawkwell, G. L. 2009a. “Demosthenes (2).” In Simon Hornblower and Anthony Spawforth, eds., The Oxford Classical Dictionary. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Available online at www. oxfordreference.com/views/ENTRY.html?subview=Main&entry=t111.e2123 (accessed August 16, 2009). Cawkwell, G. L. 2009b. “Aeschines (1).” In Simon Hornblower and Anthony Spawforth, eds., The Oxford Classical Dictionary. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Available online at www.oxfordreference.com/views/ENTRY.html?subview=Main&entry=t111.e144 (accessed August 16, 2009). Cawkwell, G. L. 2009c. “Eubulus (1).” In Simon Hornblower and Anthony Spawforth, eds., The Oxford Classical Dictionary. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Available online at www.oxfordreference.com/views/ENTRY.html?subview=Main&entry=t111.e2519 (accessed August 16, 2009). Vince, J. H., trans. 1935a. Demosthenes II: De Corona, De Falsa Legatione XVIII, XIX. Cambridge, MA: Harvard. Harris, E. M. 1994. “Demosthenes Loses a Friend and Nausicles Gains a Position: A Prosopographical Note on Athenian Politics after Chaeronea.” Historia: Zeitschrift für Alte Geschichte 43 (3): 378–384. Harris, E. M. 1995. Aeschines and Athenian Politics. New York: Oxford University Press. Humphreys, S. 1985. “Lycurgus of Butudae: An Athenian Aristocrat.” In J. W. Eadie and J. Ober, eds., The Craft of the Ancient Historian: Essays in Honor of Chester G. Starr. Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 199–252. Mitchel, F. W. 1961. “The Cadet Colonels of the Ephebic Corps.” Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association 92: 347–357. Mitchel, F. W. 1965. “Athens in the Age of Alexander.” Greece & Rome 12 (2): 189–204. Mitchel, F. W. 1970. Lykourgan Athens: 338–322. Cincinnati: University of Cincinnati Press. Mitchel, F. W. 1975. “The So-Called Earliest Ephebic Inscription.” Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 19: 233–243. Sawada, N. 1996. “Athenian Politics in the Age of Alexander the Great: A Reconsideration of the trial of Ctesiphon,” Chiron 26: 57–84. Sealey, R. 1955. “Athens after the Social War.” Journal of Hellenic Studies 75: 74–81 Worthington, I., “Demosthenes’ (In)activity During the Reign of Alexander the Great’, in I. Worthington, ed., Demosthenes: Statesman and Orator, London: Routledge, 90–113.

VIELFALT OHNE GLEICHHEIT? DAS PROBLEM DER POLITISCHEN UND SOZIALEN VIELFALT BEI ARISTOTELES* Katarina Nebelin

Zu den grundlegenden politischen Leitbegriffen der Moderne zählen neben ‚Freiheit‘, ‚Demokratie‘, ‚Gerechtigkeit‘ und ‚Gleichheit‘ auch ‚Vielfalt‘ und ‚Toleranz‘.1 Häufig werden diese Konzepte miteinander verbunden und aufeinander bezogen, etwa wenn Otfried Höffe Toleranz und Pluralismus als grundlegende Bedingungen benennt, „unter denen die Moderne ihre politische Gerechtigkeit ausbildet […]; denn Demokratie und Freiheit setzen Toleranz voraus.“2 Doch während Begriffe wie ‚Freiheit‘, ‚Gerechtigkeit‘ und – in geringerem Ausmaße – auch ‚Demokratie‘ seit der Antike im Fokus der politischen Philosophie stehen, scheint die Rezeptionsgeschichte der ‚Vielfalt‘ auf den ersten Blick weniger weit zurückzureichen. Im Grunde ist sie erst im zwanzigsten Jahrhundert angesichts der Erfahrungen mit totalitären Regimen von politischen Denkerinnen und Denkern wie Hannah Arendt und Dolf Sternberger zur Basis jedes freiheitlich verfassten Gemeinwesens erklärt worden.3

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Ich danke den Teilnehmerinnen und Teilnehmern der Tagung „Die Athenische Demokratie im 4. Jh. – Zwischen Modernisierung und Tradition“ für weiterführende Fragen und Anregungen zu meinem Vortrag, Egon Flaig und wie immer Marian Nebelin für hilfreiche Anmerkungen zum Manuskript. Vgl. Bernhard Giesen: Entgrenzung und Beschleunigung – Einige Bemerkungen über die kulturelle Vielfalt der Moderne, in: Thorsten Bonacker / Andreas Reckwitz (Hgg.): Kulturen der Moderne. Soziologische Perspektiven der Gegenwart, Frankfurt/New York 2007, S. 173–182, bes. S. 173. Otfried Höffe: Toleranz: Zur politischen Legitimation der Moderne, in: Rainer Forst (Hg.): Toleranz. Philosophische Grundlagen und gesellschaftliche Praxis einer umstrittenen Tugend, Frankfurt/New York 2000, S. 60–76, Zitate S. 60. Laut Dolf Sternberger: Drei Wurzeln der Politik, Frankfurt am Main 1978, S. 107, hat Aristoteles in seiner Auseinandersetzung mit Platons zu stark vereinheitlichender ‚Idealpolis‘ in Buch 2,2 der Politik „das Phänomen und das Problem des Totalitarismus gleichsam im logischen Schema vorweggenommen“; vgl. dazu auch unten, Teil 1 – Vielfalt als konstitutives Charakteristikum der Polis sowie zur Anknüpfung Sternbergers und Arendts an Aristoteles’ Vielfaltsvorstellung Henning Ottmann: Geschichte des politischen Denkens. Von den Anfängen bei den Griechen bis auf unsere Zeit, Bd. 1,2: Die Griechen. Von Platon bis zum Hellenismus, Stuttgart/ Weimar 2001, S. 187.

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Überraschend ist jedoch, dass dies unter ausdrücklicher Bezugnahme auf antike Überlegungen geschah: Arendt knüpft mit ihrer Bestimmung der conditio humana ebenso an Aristoteles’ Unterteilung menschlicher Lebensformen an4 wie auch mit ihrer Feststellung, dass die Grundlage menschlichen Lebens „das Faktum der Pluralität [sei], nämlich die Tatsache, daß nicht ein Mensch, sondern viele Menschen auf der Erde leben und die Welt bevölkern“.5 Noch weiter geht Sternberger, der umfangreiche Parallelen zwischen Aristoteles’ Denken und der politischen Ordnung des modernen Staates liberaler Provenienz postuliert: „Gemeinsam ist dem modernen Verfassungsstaat und dem Staat des Aristoteles die Gesetzlichkeit, der Pluralismus und die Gleichheit in der Freiheit, das heißt: die Bürgerlichkeit.“6 Aristoteles’ Kompatibilität mit heutigen politischen Vorstellungen sowie mit der Verfassungswirklichkeit gegenwärtiger Staaten wird hier auf seine positive Bewertung der Vielheit in der Polis zurückgeführt. Henning Ottmann hat jüngst noch einmal bekräftigt, dass Aristoteles der „moderne[n] liberale[n] Gesellschaft“7 näher stand als sein Lehrer Platon, weil er die Vielheit als notwendige Bedingung zur Existenz der Polis angesehen habe. Aristoteles’ Einfluss sei es zuzuschreiben, dass Denker wie „Sternberger und Arendt […] die Pluralität zu einer fundamentalen Kategorie des Politischen gemacht [haben]. Politik hat mit der Vielzahl der Meinungen und Lebensformen zu tun, und weil keine von diesen als die einzig wahre gelten kann, besteht Politik im Miteinander-Reden, im Miteinander-Beraten und im Miteinander-Entscheiden der Bürgerschaft.“8 4

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Hannah Arendt: Vita activa oder Vom tätigen Leben, München/Zürich 102011 [Chicago 1958/ dt. München 1967], S. 22–27; sie betont dabei allerdings auch, dass ihre „Aneignung des Begriffs Vita activa in offenkundigem Widerspruch zur Tradition steht“ (ebd., S. 26). Vgl. hierzu auch Stefanie Rosenmüller: Art. ‚Aristoteles‘, in: Wolfgang Heuer / Bernd Heiter / Dies. (Hgg.): Arendt-Handbuch. Leben – Werk – Wirkung, Stuttgart/Weimar 2011, S. 189–194, hier S. 190–191. Hannah Arendt: Vita activa, S. 17, 21, 213–214; laut Henning Ottmann: Platon, Aristoteles und die neoklassische politische Philosophie der Gegenwart (= Würzburger Vorträge zur Rechtsphilosophie, Rechtstheorie und Rechtssoziologie Heft 33), Baden-Baden 2005, S. 13, ist sie damit „der aristotelischen Kritik an Platons Einheitsstaat gefolgt.“ Auch nach Thomas Gutschker: Aristotelische Diskurse. Aristoteles in der politischen Philosophie des 20. Jahrhunderts, Stuttgart/Wien 2002, S. 143, ist „die mit Abstand wichtigste Quelle“ für Arendts auf den „Erfahrungsbereich der Polis“ bezogene Reflektion „die politische Philosophie des Aristoteles“; ebenso auch Stefanie Rosenmüller: Art. ‚Aristoteles‘, S. 189; siehe auch Maike Weißpflug / Jürgen Förster: Art. ‚The Human Condition / Vita Activa oder Vom tätigen Leben‘, in: Wolfgang Heuer / Bernd Heiter / Stefanie Rosenmüller (Hgg.): Arendt-Handbuch. Leben – Werk – Wirkung, Stuttgart/Weimar 2011, S. 60–68, bes. S. 61. Zu Arendts kritischer Auseinandersetzung mit Aristoteles vgl. Thomas Gutschker: Aristotelische Diskurse, S. 140–143. Dolf Sternberger: Der Staat des Aristoteles und der moderne Verfassungsstaat, in: Ders.: Auseinandersetzungen mit der Antike, Bamberg 1985–1990, S. 11–30; Zitat S. 28; vgl. auch Ders.: Drei Wurzeln der Politik, S. 102–140, bes. S. 109: „In der ganzen Geschichte der politischen Theorie des Abendlandes ragt der einzige Aristoteles namentlich dadurch hervor, daß er den Staat auf die Vielheit (der gleichen Bürger) gegründet […] hat“. Henning Ottmann: Platon, Aristoteles, S. 24; dies zeigt sich laut Ottmann auch darin, dass „Neo-Aristoteliker“ wie Arendt, Sternberger, Ritter, MacIntyre und Nussbaum im Gegensatz zu „Neo-Platoniker[n]“ „modernitätsfreundlich“ seien: ebd., S. 21; ebenso schon ebd., S. 9. Ebd., S. 13.

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Aus dem Umstand, dass Aristoteles von ‚modernen‘9 Denkern als Referenz- und Ausgangspunkt ihrer Überlegungen genutzt wurde, folgert Ottmann also im Umkehrschluss, dass Aristoteles ein ‚modernerer‘ Denker als etwa Platon gewesen sei. Diese These trägt Züge einer zirkulären Argumentation; sie soll im Folgenden anhand eingehender Lektüre von Aristoteles’ Schrift über die Politik näher untersucht werden. Denn Ottmann ist zwar darin zuzustimmen, dass Aristoteles’ Bedeutung als – häufig grundlegender – Referenzpunkt für die politische Philosophie der Gegenwart kaum überschätzt werden kann.10 Doch geht es dabei nicht primär um eine Rekonstruktion von Aristoteles’ Denken und dessen Einordnung in seinen historischen Kontext, sondern um das Herausgreifen einzelner, brauchbarer Aspekte und deren ‚Nutzbarmachung‘ für die eigene Gegenwart.11 Dabei müssen manche, ursprünglich vielleicht weniger zentrale Bestandteile aristotelischen Denkens in den Vordergrund gestellt, andere aber ausgeblendet oder gar uminterpretiert werden. Christian Meier hat jedoch nachdrücklich davor gewarnt, die aus unserer Sicht „anstößig“ klingenden „skandalösen Partien“ in Aristoteles’ politischen Schriften einfach unter den Tisch fallen zu lassen.12 Theoreme wie jenes von der naturgegebenen Ungleichheit der Menschen, die manche von ihnen zu ‚Sklaven von Natur aus‘ mache, sind laut Meier „nicht nur Zutat, sondern wesentlicher, integrierender Teil der aristotelischen Politik.“13 Gerade bei Denkern wie Aristoteles, deren Vorstellungen sich in vielerlei Hinsicht als anregend, inspirierend oder gar vorbildlich für heutige Reflexionen über die politische Gemeinschaft und das Miteinander der Bürger erweisen, ist die Verlockung groß, den historischen Kontext auszublenden und sich auf die vermeintlich zeit- und kontextübergreifende Allgemeingültigkeit ihrer Thesen zu berufen. Durch die Ausklammerung originärer Aspekte wird jedoch Allgemeingültigkeit rasch zu Beliebigkeit. Um dieser Gefahr zu entgehen, werde ich im Folgenden Aristoteles’ Vorstellungen nicht nur mit modernen Pluralitätsund Pluralismustheorien abgleichen, sondern auch in den historischen Kontext einordnen und zu Zeitgenossen wie Platon in Bezug setzen. Im Fokus werden dabei die 9 10

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Vgl. zur Problematik dieses Begriffs die Ausführungen unten. Zur Rezeptionsgeschichte von Aristoteles’ politischer Philosophie von der Antike bis zur Gegenwart vgl. etwa Günther Bien: Die Wirkungsgeschichte der aristotelischen „Politik“. Ein Problemaufriß, in: Günther Patzig (Hg.): Aristoteles’ „Politik“. Akten des XI. Symposium Aristotelicum, Friedrichshafen/Bodensee 25.8.–3.9.1987, Göttingen 1990, S. 325–356. In der politischen Philosophie der Gegenwart wird, gerade im angelsächsischen Raum, teilweise sehr konkret auf Aristoteles Bezug genommen, so etwa bei Martha Nussbaum oder Alasdair MacIntyre, die sich beide „selbstbewußt als ‚Aristoteliker‘“ bezeichnen und damit für sich in Anspruch nehmen, ihre ethischen Konzepte eines ‚aristotelischen Sozialdemokratismus‘ bzw. des ‚Kommunitarismus‘ in engem Anschluss an dessen Philosophie ausgearbeitet zu haben; vgl. dazu Thomas Gutschker: Aristotelische Diskurse, S. 460. Vgl. auch die Kritik an dieser Vereinnahmung Aristoteles’ bei Christoph Horn: Einleitung: Aristoteles und der politische Aristotelismus, in: Ders. / Ada Neschke-Hentschke (Hgg.): Politischer Aristotelismus. Die Rezeption der aristotelischen Politik von der Antike bis zum 19. Jahrhundert, Stuttgart/Weimar 2008, S. 1–19, hier S. 4. Christian Meier: Gleichheit und Grenzen. Aristoteles, die Griechen, die Barbaren, die Sklaven, in: Merkur. Deutsche Zeitschrift für europäisches Denken 9/10, Sept./Okt. 1995, S. 825–835, Zitate S. 835 und S. 833. Ebd., S. 833.

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eng miteinander verzahnten Fragen stehen, wie ‚modern‘ Aristoteles’ Überlegungen zur Vielfalt in der Polis sind, inwiefern er also auch aus heutiger Sicht als ‚Denker der Vielfalt‘14 gelten kann, und ob sich in seinem politischen Denken ‚Modernisierungstendenzen‘ ausmachen lassen. Vorab sind jedoch einige Begriffsklärungen nötig. Im Falle der Begriffe der ‚Moderne‘ beziehungsweise ‚Modernität‘ fällt dies aufgrund ihres ebenso breiten wie disparaten Bedeutungsgehalts besonders schwer. Handelt es sich bei der ‚Moderne‘ doch erstens um einen Epochenbegriff, bei dem nicht einmal Einhelligkeit darüber besteht, welchen historischen Zeitabschnitt er denn nun genau bezeichnen soll.15 Zweitens kann das Wort ‚modern‘ auch einfach als Synonym für Eigenschaftswörter wie ‚neu‘ oder ‚aktuell‘ verwendet werden, und drittens wird mit ‚Modernität‘ ein bestimmter Entwicklungsstand assoziiert, der gegenüber einer zeitlich vorgängigen traditionalen Stufe positiv als ‚höher‘ bewertet wird.16 Allein diese letzte Bedeutung könnte im Zusammenhang mit Aristoteles sinnvoll Anwendung finden.17 Der Begriff der ‚Modernisierung‘ bezeichnet somit im Folgenden einen nicht teleologischen und nicht irreversiblen Prozess der Ausdifferenzierung einer komplexen Gesellschaftsformation mit unterschiedlichen, voneinander relativ autonomen gesellschaftlichen Feldern, einhergehend mit Phänomenen der Rationalisierung, Individualisierung und Komplexitätssteigerung18 – und damit der Vielfalt. Der Begriff der ‚Vielfalt‘ kann ebenfalls vielfältige Bedeutungen haben. Ganz generell ließe sich zunächst mit Hannah Arendt konstatieren, dass die Pluralität eine 14

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Zu „Aristoteles’ Wende von der Einheit zur Vielfalt“ und zur „Vielfaltsfreundlichkeit des aristotelischen Denkens“ vgl. etwa Henning Ottmann: Geschichte des politischen Denkens, beide Zitate S. 119; speziell zur Vielfalt in der Politik siehe ebd., S. 173–174, 187. Zur Problematik einer zeitlichen Verortung der ‚Moderne‘ vgl. etwa Peter Wagner: Moderne in Zeit und Raum – Auch dies ein Versuch, die europäische Erfahrung neu zu denken, in: Thorsten Bonacker / Andreas Reckwitz (Hgg.): Kulturen der Moderne. Soziologische Perspektiven der Gegenwart, Frankfurt/New York 2007, S. 46–70. Vgl. hierzu das „System der Bedeutungsmöglichkeiten des Wortes ‚modern‘“ in Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht: Art. ‚Modern, Modernität, Moderne‘, in: Otto Brunner / Werner Conze / Reinhart Koselleck (Hgg.): Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe. Historisches Lexikon zur politisch-sozialen Sprache in Deutschland, Bd. 4 (Studienausgabe), Stuttgart 2004, S. 93–131, dort S. 96; genannt werden hier als Grundbedeutungen die Begriffe „gegenwärtig“, „neu“ und „vorübergehend“. Dabei ließe sich etwa an Thomas Mergel: Geht es weiterhin voran? Die Modernisierungstheorie auf dem Weg zu einer Theorie der Moderne, in: Ders. / Thomas Welskopp (Hgg.): Geschichte zwischen Kultur und Gesellschaft. Beiträge zur Theoriedebatte, München 1997, S. 203–232, anknüpfen, der ebd., S. 225 von der Möglichkeit „verschiedene[r] Modernen“ in unterschiedlichen geographischen Regionen spricht. Neben diese ‚Verräumlichung‘ könnte auch eine ‚Verzeitlichung‘ treten. Vgl. dazu auch Paul Nolte: Gleichzeitigkeit des Ungleichzeitigen, in: Stefan Jordan (Hg.): Lexikon Geschichtswissenschaft. Hundert Grundbegriffe, Stuttgart 2003, S. 134–137. Bernhard Giesen: Entgrenzung und Beschleunigung, S. 173. Vgl. auch Thorsten Bonacker / Andreas Reckwitz: Das Problem der Moderne: Modernisierungstheorien und Kulturtheorien, in: Dies. (Hgg.): Kulturen der Moderne. Soziologische Perspektiven der Gegenwart, Frankfurt/ New York 2007, S. 7–18, bes. S. 10, 13. Da es an dieser Stelle nicht darum gehen kann, eine Definition von ‚Moderne‘ zu geben, werde ich den Begriff im Folgenden stets in Anführungszeichen setzen. Für meine Zwecke ist die oben vorgenommene diffuse Definition ausreichend.

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Grundbedingung der conditio humana und damit die Basis allen menschlichen Lebens und aller menschlichen Erfahrung darstellt.19 Auf der Erkenntnis- und Erfahrungsebene angesiedelt ist auch der philosophische Pluralismus Isaiah Berlins, der von einer unhintergehbaren und unauflösbaren Vielheit der Meinungen und Wahrheiten ausgeht.20 Politischer Pluralismus wiederum, wie er im vergangenen Jahrhundert von Ernst Fraenkel und anderen theoretisiert wurde, bezieht sich primär auf die in den liberaldemokratischen Staaten der Gegenwart herrschende Vielfalt organisierter Gruppen – etwa Verbänden und Parteien – und die dadurch ermöglichte Diversifizierung von Macht und Einfluss.21 Am charakteristischsten für die ‚Moderne‘ als historische Epoche scheint jedoch der individuelle Pluralismus zu sein, demzufolge jedem Einzelnen die Freiheit zugestanden wird, seinen persönlichen Wünschen und Bedürfnissen nach zu leben. Allgemeine Selbstverwirklichung und -entfaltung bedingen die moderne „Gesellschaft der freien und gleichen Individuen“22 mit einer Vielfalt heterogener Lebensstile und idealiter auch weitreichender Toleranz gegenüber abweichenden Entwürfen. All diese vielfältigen Pluralismusformen können durchaus miteinander kompatibel sein, müssen es aber nicht. Das liegt daran, dass sie unterschiedliche Allgemeinheitsgrade besitzen und sich auf verschiedenen Ebenen ansiedeln lassen: 1. Vielfalt als Grundbedingung menschlichen Lebens und Zusammenlebens; 2. Vielfalt von Gruppen innerhalb einer politischen Gemeinschaft; 3. Vielfalt der Individuen.23 Eine solche begrifflich klar gefasste Unterteilung der ‚Vielfalt‘ existierte in der Antike ebenso wenig wie ein übergeordneter Begriff, unter den all diese Aspekte hätten subsumiert werden können. Gerade die individuelle Vielfalt wird daher häufig als ‚Alleinstellungsmerkmal‘ des zwanzigsten und einundzwanzigsten Jahrhunderts angesehen, etwa wenn Henning Ottmann behauptet, dass „der ganze moderne 19 20

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Vgl. Hannah Arendt: Vita activa, S. 17, 21. Nach Isaiah Berlin: Freiheit – Vier Versuche (übers. von Reinhard Kaiser), Frankfurt am Main 2006 [Oxford 1969], S. 254, erkennt der „Pluralismus“ im Gegensatz zum Monismus an, „daß es viele Ziele gibt, daß nicht alle diese Ziele kommensurabel sind und daß zwischen ihnen ständig eine Rivalität besteht“; siehe dazu insgesamt ebd., S. 254–255 sowie S. 52, 58 und die Darstellung bei Lauren J. Apfel: The Advent of Pluralism. Diversity and Conflict in the Age of Sophocles, Oxford 2011, S. 1, 7–10. Auch Arendt in Dies.: Vita activa, S. 72–73, und Aristoteles vertreten „eine pluralistische Epistemologie“; so Christoph Horn: Aristoteles und der politische Aristotelismus, S. 3. Zu den Unterschieden zwischen Arendts Begriff der ‚Pluralität‘ und Berlins ‚Pluralismus‘ vgl. Charles Larmore: Arendt for Beginners, in: Internationale Zeitschrift für Philosophie 1/1997, S. 5–19, dort S. 14. Vgl. hierzu beispielsweise Ernst Fraenkel: Deutschland und die westlichen Demokratien (herausgegeben und eingeleitet von Alexander v. Brünneck), Baden-Baden 2011, bes. S. 243–280; Winfried Steffani: Pluralistische Demokratie. Studien zur Theorie und Praxis, Opladen 1980. So Bernhard Giesen: Entgrenzung und Beschleunigung, S. 173. Der Vielfaltsbegriff Arendts (und tendenziell auch derjenige Berlins) geht zwar auf den ersten Blick ebenso von der Verschiedenheit Einzelner aus wie jener des individuellen Pluralismus, weist aber immer über das Individuum hinaus, da er die Bedingung für dessen Leben in Gemeinschaft als zoon politikon und zoon logon echon darstellt; vgl. hierzu Hannah Arendt: Vita activa, S. 299.

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Individualismus den Philosophen der Antike noch unbekannt“ gewesen sei.24 Lauren J. Apfel hat jedoch jüngst betont, dass das Fehlen eines Begriffs nicht gleichzusetzen ist mit dem Fehlen eines gedanklichen Konzepts; viel stärker komme es auf Wertvorstellungen, Einstellungen und Handlungen an.25 Tatsächlich lassen sich die drei Grundformen der Vielfalt, wenn auch weder einheitlich als solche benannt noch in völlig deckungsgleicher Bedeutung und Gewichtung, bereits bei Aristoteles finden: 1. Vielfalt als Grundlage menschlichen Zusammenlebens auf der Polisebene, d. h. als grundlegendes Charakteristikum der Polis und als Voraussetzung für gemeinschaftsstiftende Austauschprozesse im politischen und im ökonomischen Bereich; 2. Vielfalt auf der Ebene der Gruppen innerhalb der Polis, d. h. als Voraussetzung von sozialer Distinktion und interner Untergliederung, die einhergeht mit einer fundamentalen Ungleichheit und Ungleichwertigkeit der verschiedenen Gruppen von Polisbewohnern; 3. Vielfalt auf der Ebene der Individuen, d. h. der Lebensweisen und Lebensformen, die von Aristoteles wie von anderen antiken Denkern unter die Formel der ‚Freiheit, zu leben, wie man will’ gefasst und explizit mit der Demokratie verbunden wird. Im Folgenden werde ich diese drei Vielfaltskonzeptionen in der aristotelischen Politik näher in den Blick nehmen und darauf hin untersuchen, welche Konsequenzen sie jeweils für die innere Organisation der Polis und für die Zusammensetzung der Polisgemeinschaft nach sich ziehen. Dabei werde ich zugleich mögliche Anknüpfungspunkte für aktuelle Pluralismusvorstellungen und -konzepte erörtern. Anschließend wird versucht, Aristoteles’ Überlegungen in ihrem historischen Kontext zu verorten. Davon ausgehend soll abschließend erörtert werden, inwiefern die

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Henning Ottmann: Platon, Aristoteles, S. 21. Ähnlich auch Günther Bien: Die Wirkungsgeschichte der aristotelischen „Politik“, S. 352–353, 356, und, bezogen auf Aristoteles, Eckart Schütrumpf: Erziehung durch den Staat. Beschränkung und Befreiung der Individualität in Aristoteles’ bestem Staat, in: Christof Rapp / Tim Wagner (Hgg.): Wissen und Bildung in der antiken Philosophie, Stuttgart/Weimar 2006, S. 239–254, hier S. 243. Die These, dass individuelle Freiheit typisch für moderne Staaten sei, während die politische Freiheit und Partizipation in der Antike viel stärker ausgeprägt gewesen sei, hat bereits Benjamin Constant in seinem Vortrag De la liberté des anciens comparée à celle des modernes ausgeführt; vgl. dazu Wilfried Nippel: Antike oder moderne Freiheit? Die Begründung der Demokratie in Athen und in der Neuzeit, Frankfurt am Main 2008, S. 201–207. Nach ebd., S. 204 betrachtete Constant Athen jedoch als das antike Gemeinwesen, das jenen der Moderne am nächsten stand, weil dort wesentlich mehr individuelle Freiheit als etwa im antiken Sparta oder Rom geherrscht habe. Lauren J. Apfel: The Advent of Pluralism, S. 4: „We may not be able to comb ancient Greek texts for words associated with pluralism in order to substantiate our claim that the doctrine existed there. But we can do so, I believe, by reading the texts with sensitivity, concentrating not merely on the ethical words employed but on the ways in which the authors treat and characterize value and value conflict.“ Apfel konzentriert sich in ihrer Untersuchung auf den epistemologischen und moralischen Pluralismus Berlins, der im Folgenden eher ausgeklammert bleiben wird.

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These von Aristoteles’ ‚Vielfaltsfreundlichkeit‘ und daher ‚Modernität‘ zutreffend ist.

1. VIELFALT ALS KONSTITUTIVES CHARAKTERISTIKUM DER POLIS Eins der bekanntesten und wirkmächtigsten Zitate aus Aristoteles’ Politik lautet: „Ihrer Natur nach ist die Polis eine Vielheit“.26 Aristoteles verwendet es zu Beginn von Buch 2 in seiner Auseinandersetzung mit Platons Politeia. Sein Hauptkritikpunkt an Platon ist dessen Forderung, dass die Wächter und Philosophenherrscher in der von Sokrates entworfenen Idealpolis in Frauen-, Kinder- und Gütergemeinschaft leben sollen.27 In der Forschungsliteratur wird Aristoteles’ Platonkritik zumeist als wenig treffend beurteilt, da sie sich nur auf Teilaspekte des platonischen Idealstaatsentwurfs richte und diese zudem missverständlich darstelle.28 Zumindest in einer Hinsicht aber trifft Aristoteles den Nagel auf den Kopf: Die totalitäre Gleichschaltung der Polisgesellschaft in Platons Politeia ist in der Tat nicht vereinbar mit pluralistischen Vorstellungen. Zwar herrscht dort keine schrankenlose Gleichmacherei; die Bevölkerung wird in drei fundamental voneinander verschiedene Kasten aufgespaltet, die jeweils ihnen angemessene Aufgaben zu erfüllen haben.29 Innerhalb dieser Gruppen aber ist kein Raum für Abweichungen oder Statusveränderungen. Platon möchte vielmehr, dass sie wie die Körperteile eines einzigen Lebewesens einheitlich agieren – eine Gleichschaltung, die Aristoteles ablehnt.30 So präzisiert er die zentrale Bedeutung der Vielfalt für die Polis wie folgt: „Doch nicht nur aus einer Vielheit von Menschen besteht die Polis, sondern aus Menschen, 26

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Aristot. pol. 2,2, 1261a18–19: πλῆθος γάρ τι τὴν φύσιν ἐστιν ἡ πόλις (Übersetzung hier und im Folgenden nach Hans F. Schwarz; leicht verändert); vgl. auch 2,5, 1263b36–37; 1264a13– 17; 3,1, 1275a1; 4,3, 1289b28–1290a4; 5,3, 1303a26–27; 7,4, 1326a17–1326b24. Das griechische „plethos“ ist hier als ‚Vielfalt‘ übersetzt, siehe dazu R. F. Stalley: Aristotle’s Criticism of Plato’s Republic, in: David Keyt / Fred D. Miller Jr. (Hgg.): A Companion to Aristotle’s Politics, Oxford u. a. 1991, S. 182–199, Zitat S. 190: „The word plêthos […] is commonly opposed, as it is here, to the one.” Auch Stalley übersetzt den Begriff ebd. mit „multitude“. Vgl. Aristot. pol. 2,2, 1261a10–20 und 2,3–5, 1261b16–1263b40. So R. F. Stalley: Aristotle’s Criticism of Plato’s Republic, bes. S. 182, 184. Vgl. hierzu etwa Plat. rep. 415a–c (die ‚edle Lüge‘ über die Herkunft der drei Stände), 427e– 435c, 580d–581c (Analogie der drei Seelenteile, der drei ‚Grundtugenden‘ der Polis und der drei diesen Tugenden jeweils zugeordneten Bevölkerungsgruppen in der ‚Idealpolis‘). Platon setzt die menschliche Seele und ihre drei Teile mit der Polis und deren drei Teilen gleich und macht mit dieser Analogie die Polis zu einem einzigen Organismus: vgl. Plat. rep. 440e– 441a, 441c. Auch Aristoteles vergleicht die Polis mit einem Lebewesen und beschreibt das Verhältnis zwischen Verstand und Körper als analog zu dem von Herrschendem und Dienendem: Aristot. pol. 3,4, 1277a5–10 sowie 1,2, 1252a30–34; 1,5, 1254a34–35 und 4,4, 1290b23– 38. Laut Richard Kraut: Aristotle’s Critique of False Utopias (II 1–12), in: Otfried Höffe (Hg.): Aristoteles: Politik (= Klassiker Auslegen Bd. 23), Berlin 2001, S. 59–73, besteht jedoch der Unterschied zwischen Platon und Aristoteles darin, dass die Menge von Menschen, aus denen sich die Polis zusammensetzt wie ein Körper aus Körperteilen, laut Platon „speak and feel with one voice“ (ebd., S. 62) – was Aristoteles zu weit geht; vgl. auch Dolf Sternberger: Der Staat des Aristoteles und der moderne Verfassungsstaat, S. 13.

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die der Art nach verschieden sind. Nicht nämlich entsteht eine Polis aus gleichen Menschen.“31 Illustriert wird diese These durch ein Beispiel aus der Musik: Die völlige Vereinheitlichung der Polis entspräche einem Gleichklang, während die Polis doch in Wirklichkeit einer Symphonie gleichen soll.32 Das Miteinander in der Polis soll also weder monoton noch kakophonisch klingen, sondern einen harmonischen und rhythmischen Zusammenklang verschiedener Tonelemente ergeben. Und ebenso wie ein Orchester nur dann gemeinsam musizieren kann, wenn jeder einzelne Musiker zuvor ausgiebig für sich und mit den anderen geübt hat, erfordert auch das Miteinander der Bürger in der Polis Anleitung und Übung durch die richtige Erziehung.33 Vielfalt ist für Aristoteles somit nicht einfach eine beliebige Eigenschaft der Polis, sondern in deren Natur als Gemeinschaft verschiedener Menschen angelegt.34 Eine zu stark vereinheitlichte Polis wäre widernatürlich und hörte schließlich ganz auf zu existieren, weil sie sich von ihrer Naturanlage (physis) so weit entfernt hätte, dass sie als einzelner Oikos oder gar als Einzelmensch angesehen werden müsste.35 Doch zu unterschiedlich dürfen die Polisbewohner auch nicht sein: AnAristot. pol. 2,2, 1261a22–24: οὐ μόνον δ’ ἐκ πλείονων ἀνθρώπων ἐστὶν ἡ πόλις, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐξ εἴδει διαφερόντων· οὐ γὰρ γίνεται πόλις ἐξ ὁμοίων; vgl. auch 3,4, 1277a5–12. Näheres zu den Bestandteilen der Polis findet sich etwa in 3,1; 3,3–4; 6,1–2; 7,8. 32 Ebd., 2,5, 1263b33–36: ἔστι μὲν γὰρ ὡς οὐκ ἔσται προϊοῦσα πόλις, ἔστι δ’ ὡς ἔσται μέν, ἐγγὺς δ’ οὖσα τοῦ μὴ πόλις εἶναι ἔσται χείρων πόλις, ὥσπερ κἂν εἴ τις τὴν συμφωνίαν ποιήσειεν ὁμοφωνίαν ἢ τὸν ῥυθμὸν βάσιν μίαν; siehe auch 4,4, 1290a26–27, wo die „beste Staatsverfassung“ (ἀρίστης πολιτείας) als „gutgemischte Harmonie“ (εὖ κεκραμένης ἁρμονίας) bezeichnet wird. Zur Musik-Analogie vgl. Jill Frank: A Democracy of Distinction. Aristotle and the Work of Politics, Chicago/London 2005, S. 143–145, sowie R. F. Stalley: Aristotle’s Criticism of Plato’s Republic, S. 190–191. 33 Aristot. pol. 2,5, 1263b36–38; vgl. hierzu Richard Kraut: Aristotle’s Critique of False Utopias, S. 60: „Although the city needs diversity, it must, by means of education, be made ‚common and one‘“. Für seine ‚Idealpolis‘ entwirft Aristoteles folgerichtig ein Erziehungsprogramm: Aristot. pol. 7,14–15; 7,17–8,7. Zur Bedeutung der Erziehung auch Carnes Lord: Education and Culture in the Political Thought of Aristotle, Ithaca/London 1982, S. 49. 34 Zur Frage der ‚Naturgegebenheit‘ der Polis vgl. etwa Jörn Müller: Physis und Ethos. Der Naturbegriff bei Aristoteles und seine Relevanz für die Ethik, Würzburg 2006, S. 114–115; Oswyn Murray: Polis and Politeia in Aristotle, in: Mogens H. Hansen (Hg.): The Ancient Greek CityState. Symposium on the Occasion of the 250th Anniversary of The Royal Danish Academy of Sciences and Letters, July 1–4, 1992, Kopenhagen 1993, S. 197–210, bes. S. 199–204. Aloys Winterling betont, dass Aristoteles zufolge die „Natur des Menschen, die als solche invariant gesetzt wird, sich allein in der Polis verwirklicht“, weshalb die Polis als menschliches telos schon vor ihrer konkreten historischen Entstehung in der Natur des Menschen angelegt gewesen sei: Ders.: Aristoteles’ Theorie der politischen Gesellschaft, in: Karen Piepenbrink (Hg.): Philosophie und Lebenswelt in der Antike, Darmstadt 2003, S. 67–82, Zitat S. 71. Vgl. auch Pierre Pellegrin: Naturalité, excellence, diversité. Politique et biologie chez Aristote, in: Günther Patzig (Hg.): Aristoteles’ „Politik“. Akten des XI. Symposium Aristotelicum, Friedrichshafen/Bodensee, 25.8.–3.9.1987, Göttingen 1990, S. 124–151, zur natürlichen „diversité impossible à éliminier“, durch die sich laut Aristoteles sowohl biologische Organismen, speziell auch menschliche Individuen, als auch Poleis auszeichnen: ebd., S. 127–129, Zitat S. 127. 35 Aristot. pol. 2,2, 1261a17–22 und 1261b10–15. Vgl. dazu Josiah Ober: The Polis as a Society. Aristotle, John Rawls and the Athenian Social Conctract, in: Mogens H. Hansen (Hg.): The Ancient Greek City-State. Symposium on the Occasion of the 250th Anniversary of The Royal 31

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sonsten ergäbe ihr Miteinander keine harmonische Melodie mehr.36 Als verbindendes Element fungiert ein gemeinsames und nur in Gemeinschaft erreichbares Ziel, auf das sich alle ausrichten, wie unterschiedlich sie auch sonst sein mögen. So definiert Aristoteles die Polis als „Gemeinschaft [koinonia] um eines bestimmten Gutes willen“ – nämlich des guten Lebens.37 Im Vergleich zu Platon orientiert sich Aristoteles bei seiner Schilderung dieser Gemeinschaft stärker an der gegebenen soziopolitischen Ordnung in den meisten zeitgenössischen Poleis: Unterschieden wird zwischen zwei Formen der Vielfalt, derjenigen zwischen Ungleichen, also zwischen Bürgern und Nichtbürgern, und der zwischen (natürlich und damit auch politisch) Gleichen, also unter den Bürgern selbst.38 Die Ausrichtung dieser unterschiedlichen Gruppen auf ein gemeinsames Ziel, ihr Zusammenschluss zu einer Gemeinschaft (koinonia) geschieht auf vielfältige Weise: Während unter den Bürgern vor allem die politische Freundschaft, das gemeinsame Ausüben der Herrschaft und die Teilnahme an der politischen Deliberation Einklang stiften, bezieht der ökonomische Austausch auch die Nichtbürger in gemeinschaftsstiftende Interaktionsprozesse mit ein.39 Als grundlegendes Prinzip, auf dem alle politische Gemeinschaft fußt, betrachtet Aristoteles das gemeinsame „Recht der Wiedervergeltung“:40 Jeder Austauschprozess, sei er nun ökonomisch oder politisch, sollte auf Gegenseitigkeit „zwischen Freien und Gleichberechtigten“ ausgerichtet sein.41 Gemeinschaftsstiftender Austausch, so wird in der Nikomachischen Ethik betont, macht allerdings nur zwischen „verschiedenen und ungleichen“ Partnern Sinn, da nur sie einander etwas anzubieten haben, was dem jeweils anderen fehlt, weshalb auch nur zwischen ihnen die

36 37 38

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Danish Academy of Sciences and Letters, July 1–4, 1992, Kopenhagen 1993, S. 129–160, dort S. 135. Vgl. Aristot. pol. 2,5, 1263b30–38; 4,11, 1295b19–26; 5,3, 1303a26–27. Zitat nach ebd., 1,1, 1252a1–2: κοινονίαν ἀγαθοῦ τινος ἕνεκεν; zum guten Leben vgl. auch 1,2, 1252b27–35; 3,6, 1278b22–30; 3,9, 1280a31–35, 1280b29–1281a3; 7,8, 1328a35–36. Eckart Schütrumpf: Die Analyse der Polis durch Aristoteles (= Studien zur antiken Philosophie Bd. 10), Amsterdam 1980, S. 64–66, zu Aristoteles’ Orientierung am griechischen Bürgerbegriff; allgemein zu Aristoteles’ „concept of difference“, beruhend auf der Unterscheidung zwischen „differences […] between citizens and noncitizens“ auf der einen und „inequalities among the citizens themselves“ auf der anderen Seite siehe Josiah Ober: The Polis as a Society, S. 135. Zu den unterschiedlichen Gliederungsprinzipien, auf denen diese beiden Vielfaltformen beruhen (politisch – sozial bzw. natürlich) vgl. unten, Teil 2 – Gruppenvielfalt: Aristoteles’ Untergliederung der Polisgemeinschaft. Vgl. dazu Josiah Ober: The Polis as a Society, S. 132–133; Eckart Schütrumpf: Die Analyse der Polis, S. 67–70. Aristot. pol. 2,2, 1261a30–31: τὸ ἴσον τὸ ὰντιπεπονθὸς; er verweist hier auf die Behandlung dieses Themas in ‚der Ethik‘; vgl. daher Aristot. eth. Nic. 5,8, 1132b21–1133a2. Dort wird dieses Prinzip explizit mit der Gerechtigkeit in Verbindung gebracht, wobei allerdings betont wird, dass es sich um eine proportionale und keine egalitäre Wiedervergeltung handeln muss. Als adäquates Mittel zur Etablierung von ausgleichender Proportionalität wird das Geld benannt. Vgl. zur Bedeutung der Reziprozität in der Polis auch Jill Frank: A Democracy of Distinction, S. 81–103. Aristot. pol. 2,2, 1261a32: ἐν τοῖς ἐλευθέροις καὶ ἴσοις; vgl. dazu Eckart Schütrumpf: Die Analyse der Polis, S. 75–77.

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Herstellung eines Ausgleichs zugleich möglich und nötig ist.42 In Aristoteles’ Überlegungen zur politischen Freundschaft erscheint diese daher nicht als etwas statisch Gegebenes, sondern als soziale Bindung zwischen Verschiedenen, die nur in und mit dieser Verbindung gemeinsame Interessen und Ziele erlangen und verfolgen können.43 Aufgrund der Ausführlichkeit und Vielschichtigkeit, mit der „Aristoteles im Zusammenhang mit der Freundschaft“ die „Beziehungen zwischen handelnden Menschen, das Verhältnis von Gleichheit und Verschiedenheit“ reflektiert, spricht Thomas Gutschker sogar von Aristoteles’ „Theorie der Pluralität“.44 Dabei nimmt er unmittelbar Bezug auf Hannah Arendts Bestimmung des „Faktum[s] menschlicher Pluralität“ als „grundsätzliche Bedingung des Handelns wie des Sprechens“, das sich „auf zweierlei Art [manifestiert], als Gleichheit und als Verschiedenheit“.45 In Übereinstimmung mit Aristoteles leitet Arendt ihren Pluralitätsbegriff aus den Grundvoraussetzungen menschlicher Interaktion ab; das Sprechen gilt ihr als Ar42

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Aristot. eth. Nic. 5,8, 1133a17: ἑτέρων καὶ οὐκ ἴσων. Konkretisiert wird diese Forderung am Beispiel verschiedener Berufsgruppen: Zwei Ärzte können miteinander keine Gemeinschaft bilden, ein Arzt und ein Bauer hingegen schon (5,8, 1133a16–17). Zur Bedeutung von (Berufs-) Gruppen für die Polis generell vgl. Teil 2. Zum Austausch unter Ungleichen vgl. auch Aristot. eth. Nic. 9,1, 1163b31–1164a2 (zur Notwendigkeit von ausgleichender Verhältnismäßigkeit in Freundschaften zwischen Ungleichen) und 9,6 (über die Eintracht – homonoia – als politische Freundschaft, die Einhelligkeit im Handeln voraussetzt); siehe auch Stefanie Haacke: Zuteilen und Vergelten. Figuren der Gerechtigkeit bei Aristoteles, Wien 1994, S. 45–52. Aristot. pol. 3,12, 1282b14–18; Aristot. eth. Nic. 8,11; 9,6, 1167a26–32. Indem Freundschaft Ungleiche verbindet, wirkt sie laut D. Brendan Nagle: The Household as the Foundation of Aristotle’s Polis, Cambridge/New York 2006, S. 177, als „moral connecting link between oikos and polis.“ In der Forschungsliteratur wird die politische Freundschaft zumeist dem Typus der aristotelischen ‚Nutzfreundschaft‘ zugerechnet, zugleich aber betont, dass sie zugleich über den persönlichen Nutzen der Beteiligten hinausweise und hinausgehen müsse, so etwa in Jill Frank: A Democracy of Distinction, S. 162; Arlene W. Saxonhouse: Fear of Diversity. The Birth of Political Science in Ancient Greek Thought, Chicago/London 1992, S. 195; vgl. auch John M. Cooper: Political Animals and Civic Friendship, in: Günther Patzig (Hg.): Aristoteles’ „Politik”. Akten des XI. Symposium Aristotelicum, Friedrichshafen/Bodensee, 25.8.–3.9.1987, Göttingen 1990, S. 220–241, hier S. 233–239; dazu Julia Annas: Comment on J. Cooper, in: Günther Patzig (Hg.): Aristoteles’ „Politik”. Akten des XI. Symposium Aristotelicum, Friedrichshafen/Bodensee, 25.8.–3.9.1987, Göttingen 1990, S. 242–248. D. Brendan Nagle: The Household, S. 189, betont im Anschluss an Cooper, dass es Aristoteles zufolge viele verschiedene Formen der Freundschaft gibt, die sich im Intensitätsgrad stark unterscheiden können; Freundschaft sei daher immer „measured by the extent of common interests and activities (or lack thereof)“ – je stärker und zahlreicher die Gemeinsamkeiten zwischen den Freunden seien, desto stärker sei auch ihre Freundschaft; dies gilt auf individueller wie auf der übergeordneten Polisebene. Auf der letzteren kommt der Eintracht (homonoia) eine besondere Bedeutung zu; Thomas Gutschker: Aristotelische Diskurse, S. 154, betont, dass diese Form der Freundschaft zwischen den Bürgern für Aristoteles an gegenseitigen Respekt und das gemeinsame Interesse am Polisganzen gekoppelt ist; zur zentralen Bedeutung der homonoia für die Bürgerfreundschaft vgl. erneut Jill Frank: A Democracy of Distinction, S. 138, 147–163, sowie Henning Ottmann: Geschichte des politischen Denkens, S. 166–167. Thomas Gutschker: Aristotelische Diskurse, S. 153. Hannah Arendt: Vita activa, S. 213, 270–272; siehe dazu Thomas Gutschker: Aristotelische Diskurse, S. 153.

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chetypus gemeinschaftlichen Handelns.46 Von entscheidender Bedeutung ist zudem, dass die grundlegende Vielfalt in der Polis für Aristoteles ausdrücklich auf Eigenständigkeit und Freiheit beruht: Die Bürger sollen weder zu vertraut noch miteinander identisch werden;47 zudem „bedeutet [Freundschaft] freie Entscheidung für das Zusammenleben.“48 Freiheit ist damit konstitutiv für die Polisgemeinschaft; ausschließlich die Freien können Bürger sein und werden durch den zentralen Bereich des Politischen integriert.49 Diese Einschränkung beruht auf der fundamentalen Differenz zwischen Freien und Sklaven, die Aristoteles gleich zu Beginn der Politik in Buch 1 aufmacht: Während die ‚Sklaven von Natur‘ aufgrund ihrer seelischen Disposition nur zum Beherrschtwerden, nicht aber zum Selber-Herrschen taugen,50 sind die männlichen Bürger vorgängig vor allen anderen Unterschieden zwischen ihnen zunächst einmal grundsätzlich Freie und Gleiche.51 Praktische Relevanz gewinnt die bürgerliche Vielfalt vor diesem Hintergrund im Bereich des politischen Entscheidens: Eine, wie Aristoteles formuliert, Ver-

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Hannah Arendt: Vita activa, S. 37; Arendt betont ebd. allerdings auch dezidiert, dass das, „[w]as man gemeinhin für die berühmte Definition des Menschen durch Aristoteles hält“, nämlich die Bestimmung des Menschen als zoon politikon und zoon logon echon, „in Wahrheit nur die artikulierte und begrifflich geklärte Wiedergabe der geläufigen Meinung der Polis über das Wesen des Menschen, sofern er ein Polisbewohner und politisch ist“, sei. Der eigentliche ‚Urheber‘ der Bestimmung ist also Arendt zufolge nicht Aristoteles, sondern die Polis selbst. Vgl. hierzu etwa Aristot. pol. 2,3, 1261b15–38; 2,4, 1262a40–b25; 2,5, 1263a33–b7; siehe auch R. F. Stalley: Aristotle’s Criticism of Plato’s Republic, S. 189, sowie die kritische Auseinandersetzung mit MacIntyres Deutung des aristotelischen Freundschaftsbegriffs bei Christof Rapp: War Aristoteles ein Kommunitarist, S. 72–74; Rapp betont hier, dass – entgegen MacIntyres Interpretation – Distanz und Verschiedenheit Kernelemente von Aristoteles’ Freundschaftsbegriff seien. Aristot. pol. 3,9, 1280b39: ἡ γὰρ τοῦ συζῆν προαίρεσις φιλία. Folglich ist die Beziehung zwischen Herren und Sklaven aufgrund der Unfreiheit der Letzteren weit entfernt von „Freundschaft und bürgerlicher Gemeinschaft“: 4,11, 1295b21–24; Zitat 1295b23–24 (φιλίας καὶ κοινωνίας πολιτικῆς) vgl. auch 3,5, 1277b30–1278a6. „Das Politische besteht in der Herrschaft über Freie und Gleiche“, so Aristot. pol. 1,7, 1255b20– 21: ἡ δὲ πολιτικὴ ἐλευθέρων καὶ ἴσων ἀρχή, bzw. „über Gleichartige“ und „über Freie“, so nach 3,4, 1277b8–9: ἀρχὴ καθ’ ἣν ἄρχει τῶν ὁμοίων […] καὶ τῶν ἐλευθέρων; ähnlich auch 2,2, 1261a32–38. Vgl. Aristot. pol. 1,5, 1254b16–1255a40 und 1,13, 1260a36–b8. Nach Oswyn Murray: Polis and Politeia, S. 200, operiert Aristoteles hier mit „different grades of humanity“, weshalb es aus seiner Sicht legitim sei, dass die ‚Sklaven von Natur‘ „may legitimately be used in the service of the higher more human Greek city“. Vgl. auch Roderick T. Long: Aristotle’s Egalitarian Utopia: The Polis Kat’ Euchen, in: Mogens H. Hansen (Hg.): The Imaginary Polis. Symposium, January 7–10, 2004 (= Acts of the Copenhagen Polis Centre vol. 7), Copenhagen 2005, S. 164–196, hier S. 166–168, und die Zusammenfassung einiger Forschungsthesen zur Frage der spezifischen Defizite der ‚Sklaven von Natur‘ bei D. Brendan Nagle: The Household, S. 103–117. Aristot. pol. 1,7, 1255b16–21; 3,1, 1275a22–23. Nach Eckart Schütrumpf: Die Analyse der Polis, S. 25, ist es Aristoteles’ „eigentliches Ziel, die Mitglieder des Staates, die Bürgerschaft, zu bestimmen. Daher gibt er die Bedingung an, unter der man als ‚Teil‘ gelten kann: Gleichheit.“

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sammlung von ‚nicht allzu sklavischen‘52 Bürgern kann, selbst wenn diese als Einzelne weder charakterlich noch intellektuell vollkommen und vortrefflich sind, dennoch gute und vernünftige Beschlüsse fassen, die sogar denen eines einzelnen Vortrefflichen überlegen sein können.53 Voraussetzung dafür ist die Verschiedenheit der Bürger: Nur wenn sich ihre Defizite untereinander ausgleichen, also nicht alle auf demselben Gebiet gleich gut oder eben gleich schlecht sind, können sie als „Menge werden wie ein einziger Mensch“, der in sich die verschiedenen Vorzüge aller Einzelnen vereinigt.54 Gerade die Unvollkommenheit der Bürger macht die gemeinsame Beratung und Beschlussfassung erforderlich und begründet somit das politische Feld innerhalb der Polis. Mängel und Defizite sind es auch, die den Anstoß zur zweiten Form von gemeinschaftsstiftenden Vernetzungsprozessen liefern: den Austauschprozessen unter Ungleichen. Ökonomische Austauschprozesse etwa zielen darauf ab, die Autarkie jedes einzelnen Polisbewohners und damit der Gemeinschaft insgesamt zu gewährleisten.55 Dies setzt voraus, dass eine Vielzahl unterschiedlicher Waren und Dienstleistungen verfügbar sind, die gegeneinander beziehungsweise gegen Geld eingetauscht werden können.56 Weil niemand alles gleich gut können kann, kommt es zur arbeitsteiligen Aufsplitterung der Polis in zahlreiche unterschiedliche und ungleiche Einzelproduzenten und -konsumenten und somit zu Vielfalt. Für Aristoteles stellt die Vielheit also den unhintergehbaren Ausgangs-, aber nicht den Endpunkt seiner Überlegungen zur Polisgemeinschaft dar. Deutlich wird dies vor allem in Hinblick auf die für die Polis zentralen Austauschprozesse: Unterschiedliche Bedürfnisse und Fertigkeiten machen den ökonomischen Austausch erforderlich, unterschiedliche Qualitäten und Defizite die politische Deliberation und Beschlussfassung. Beide Prozesse führen aber dann zu einer Vereinigung und ‚Zusammensetzung‘ der verschiedenen Einzelteile zu einem harmonischen Ganzen – eben zu einer wirtschaftlich autarken und zu vernünftigen politischen Entscheidungen fähigen Bürgergemeinschaft.57 Eine funktionierende Polis ist daher immer eine ‚Einheit in der Vielfalt‘: Die Bürger sind frei und gleich, ziehen aber dennoch alle an demselben Strang, verfol52 53 54

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Aristot. pol. 3,11, 1282a16: πλῆθος μὴ λίαν ἀνδραποδῶδες. Vgl. hierzu insgesamt die Ausführungen in Aristot. pol. 3,11; 3,13, 1283b22–28, 33–35; 4,14, 1298b20–22. Aristot. pol. 3,11, 1281b5–6: γίνεσθαι συνελθόντων ὥσπερ ἕνα ἄνθρωπον τὸ πλῆθος. Vgl. zu dieser in der Forschung oft fälschlich als ‚Summierungstheorie‘ bezeichneten, grundlegenden Vorstellung Aristoteles’ jetzt Egon Flaig: Die Mehrheitsentscheidung. Entstehung und kulturelle Dynamik, Paderborn u. a. 2013, S. 431–434, mit Diskussion gängiger Forschungsmeinungen zu diesem Thema. Aristot. pol. 1,2, 1252b27–36; 2,2, 1261b11–15. Schon der Oikos ist eine produzierende und konsumierende ‚Wirtschaftseinheit’, doch dort profitiert jedes Haushaltsmitglied unmittelbar von der Arbeit der Anderen, ohne dass es zu wirklichen Tauschgeschäften kommt: 1,9, 1257a19–21. Aristot. pol. 1,2, 1252b15–36. Vgl. dazu R. F. Stalley: Aristotle’s Criticism of Plato’s Republic, S. 189–190. Nach Aristot. pol. 2,5, 1263b36–38, lässt sich die „Polis […]. die eine Vielheit darstellt, durch Erziehung gemeinsam und zu einer machen“: πλῆθος […] διὰ τὴν παιδείαν κοινὴν καὶ μίαν ποιεῖν.

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gen also in den Worten des Aristoteles ein gemeinsames telos, nämlich das gute Leben.58 Allerdings zieht jeder mit seiner eigenen Kraft, seinen eigenen Qualitäten (und folglich auch Defiziten) und in einer jeweils spezifischen Funktion oder Rolle.59 Entsprechend bezeichnet Aristoteles die Polis als ein aus vielen Teilen, also aus einer Masse von Bürgern zusammengesetztes Ganzes.60 Aber wer oder was sind diese ‚Einzelteile‘, aus denen die Einheit formiert wird: Handelt es sich dabei ausschließlich um Individuen? 2. GRUPPENVIELFALT: ARISTOTELES’ UNTERGLIEDERUNG DER POLISGEMEINSCHAFT In Aristoteles’ Politik wird immer wieder auf verschiedene Bevölkerungsgruppen innerhalb der Polis Bezug genommen. Dies überrascht nicht – stellt Aristoteles doch gleich zu Beginn von Buch 1 klar, dass die Erforschung der Polis als eines Zusammengesetzten (syntheton) es erforderlich mache, sie immer weiter in ihre Einzelteile zu zerlegen, bis keine weitere Untergliederung mehr möglich sei.61 Anschließend müsse dann untersucht werden, worin sich diese nicht weiter zerlegbaren Bestandteile unterscheiden. Untergliederung, Differenzierung und Distinktion stehen somit programmatisch am Beginn der aristotelischen Schrift über die Politik. Dabei nähert sich Aristoteles der komplexen sozioökonomischen Struktur zeitgenössischer Polisgesellschaften an, indem er unterschiedliche und teilweise inkompatible Gliederungsprinzipien verwendet.62 Die Polis wird als doppelt zusam58 59

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Aristot. pol. 1,1, 1252a1–7; 3,6, 1278b16–15 und bes. 3,9, 1280a25–b5; vgl. auch Aristot. eth. Nic. 8,11, 1160a7–18. Siehe dazu etwa Dorothea Frede: Staatsverfassung und Staatsbürger (III 1–5), in: Otfried Höffe (Hg.): Aristoteles: Politik (= Klassiker Auslegen Bd. 23), Berlin 2001, S. 75–92, dort S. 82–83; Arlene W. Saxonhouse: Fear of Diversity, S. 219–220. Aristot. pol. 3,1, 1274b39–41: ἐπεὶ δ’ ἡ πόλις τῶν συγκειμένων, καθάπερ ἄλλο τι τῶν ὅλων μὲν συνεστώτων δ’ ἐκ πολλῶν μορίων. Vgl. dazu Jill Frank: A Democracy of Distinction, S. 24: „A polity, as a unity, is a whole; a whole, to be a whole, must consist of parts; a part, to be a part, must be a part of something other than itself to which it belongs.“ Aristot. pol. 1,1, 1252a18–23: ὥσπερ γὰρ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις τὸ σύνθετον μέχρι τῶν ἀσυνθέτον ἀνάγκη διαρεῖν (ταῦτα γὰρ ἐλάχιστα μόρια τοῦ παντὸς), οὕτω καὶ πόλιν ἒξ ὧν σύγκειται σκοποῦντες ὀφόμεθα καὶ περὶ τούτων μᾶλλον, τί τε διαφέρουσιν ἀλλήλων, καὶ εἴ τι τεχνικὸν ἐνδέχεται λαβεῖν περὶ ἕκαστον τῶν ῥηθέντων. Zur Notwendigkeit, „den Staat gesondert in Gruppen ein[zu]teilen“ (διῃρῆσθαι χωρὶς κατὰ γένη τὴν πόλιν) vgl. auch 7,10, 1329a41–b2 (Zitat 1329a41–b1); zu Aristoteles’ analytischem Vorgehen bei der Aufteilung der Polis vgl. Eckart Schütrumpf: Die Analyse der Polis, S. ix, und zur Polis als Zusammengesetztem und als „an arrangement of parts“ Arlene W. Saxonhouse: Fear of Diversity, S. 217; Oswyn Murray: Polis and Politeia, S. 197–204. Otfried Höffe: Aristoteles’ Politische Anthropologie, in: Ders. (Hg.): Aristoteles: Politik (= Klassiker Auslegen Bd. 23). Berlin 2001, S. 2–35, dort S. 32–33, unterscheidet zwischen der biologischen und der politischen Untergliederung der Polisbevölkerung; dabei handelt es sich nach ebd., S. 32 „um zwei verschiedene und miteinander verträgliche Teilungsgesichtspunkte“. Josiah Ober: The Polis as a Society, S. 129–139, definiert die Polis „as at once a society and a state“ (ebd., S. 129), da Aristoteles sie „as a society of citizens and as a more heterogeneous

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mengesetzt gedacht: Zum einen setzt sie sich auf der politischen Ebene aus einer Vielzahl von Einzelbürgern zusammen; die relativ große und inhomogene Gruppe der Nichtbürger wird hierbei von vornherein ausgeschlossen.63 Zum anderen ist die Polis in einzelne Haushalte (oikoi) und damit noch einmal in äußerst komplexe soziale Einheiten untergliedert.64 So ist der Oikos eine ‚natürliche‘ Gemeinschaft zum Zwecke der Fortpflanzung, der Kinderaufzucht, der Produktion sowie der Verwaltung der zum Überleben notwendigen Güter.65 An der Spitze befindet sich der Hausherr; er steht in unterschiedlichen, doch immer asymmetrischen (Herrschafts-) Beziehungen zu seiner Frau, zu den Kindern und zu den Sklaven des Hauses.66 Dass der Oikos zahlreiche Gruppen umfasst, die vom politischen Leben ausgeschlossen sind, entspricht der zeitgenössischen Wirklichkeit und wird von Aristoteles nicht weiter hinterfragt.67 Letztlich können allenfalls der Hausherr selbst, sofern er das Bürgerrecht besitzt, sowie seine legitimen, volljährigen männlichen Nachkommen vollwertige Polisbürger sein, d. h. abwechselnd herrschen und beherrscht werden, Ämter innehaben, an der Beratung und Beschlussfassung teilhaben und sich als Richter betätigen.68 Aristoteles’ Zergliederung der Polis ließe sich somit als mehrebiges Netz beschreiben,69 wobei die von ihm als zentral betrachteten Untereinheiten Knotenpunkte darstellen, in denen sich mehrere Gliederungskriterien bündeln: Die Polis umfasst als politische Gemeinschaft alle, die gemäß der jeweiligen Verfassung als Freie und Gleiche und damit als Bürger gelten;70 zugleich ist sie aus einer Vielzahl

63 64 65

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entity that includes noncitizens“ konzeptionalisiere (ebd., S. 131); ähnlich Ders.: Aristotle’s Political Sociology: Class, Status, and Order in the Politics, in: Carnes Lord / David K. O’Connor (Hgg.): Essays on the Foundation of Aristotelian Political Science, Berkeley u. a. 1991, S. 112–135; Ders.: Political Dissent in Democratic Athens. Intellectual Critics of Popular Rule, Princeton 1998, S. 329–330. Vgl. zu Aristoteles’ Untergliederung der Polis auch Günther Bien: Die Wirkungsgeschichte der aristotelischen „Politik“, S. 347–349, Eckart Schütrumpf: Die Analyse der Polis, S. 35–36; Aloys Winterling: Aristoteles’ Theorie der politischen Gesellschaft, S. 72–73. Vgl. die Ausführungen in Aristot. pol. 3,1, 1274b39–1275a26. Zur Rolle des Oikos für Aristoteles’ politische Philosophie insgesamt siehe D. Brendan Nagle: The Household; speziell zur doppelten Aufteilung der Polis in oikoi und in Bürger ebd., S. 29. Aristot. pol. 1,2, 1252a26–b15; 1,3, 1253b1–10; 1,8, 1256b27–32; 1,9, 1275a19–21; 1,10. Josiah Ober: The Polis as a Society, S. 133, bezeichnet den Oikos daher als „the primary productive unit of polis society“. Siehe hierzu Aristot. pol. 1,2, 1252a26-b10; 1,12–13. Vgl. zu diesen ‚Komplementär-Rollen‘ Otfried Höffe: Aristoteles’ Politische Anthropologie, S. 32 sowie zur ‚Naturgegebenheit‘ und folglich ‚Invarianz‘ dieser Herrscherrollen Aloys Winterling: Aristoteles’ Theorie der politischen Gesellschaft, S. 71; ebd., S. 69 wird die Bedeutung der Herrschaft als „zentrale Kategorie, die die innere Struktur sozialer Gebilde bestimmt“, ausgeführt. Vgl. dazu Christian Meier: Gleichheit und Grenzen, S. 829–830. Aristot. pol. 3,1, 1275a22–34; 3,11; 4,14, 1297b37–1298a10. Unter Bezugnahme auf Josiah Ober: The Polis as a Society, bes. S. 133–135, betrachtet auch Oswyn Murray: Polis and Politeia, S. 199, die Polis als „a network of interconnecting koinoniai, thus granting the polis both a unity and a social diversity necessary to its existence in history.“ Dass die Bürgerdefinition abhängig von der jeweiligen Polisverfassung ist, führt Aristoteles etwa in Aristot. pol. 3,1, 1275b4–5; 3,3, 1276b2–15 und 3,5, 1278a15–16 aus.

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von Haushalten zusammengesetzt, zu denen sowohl Bürger als auch Nichtbürger gehören und die zentrale biologische, soziale und ökonomische Funktionen erfüllen. Der einzelne Bürger ist folglich sowohl Mitglied der politischen Gemeinschaft als auch Mitglied eines Oikos.71 Aufgrund dieser Verknüpfungen wirken die Struktur der oikoi und die Beschaffenheit der Bevölkerung direkt auf die politische Ordnung der Polis zurück, denn deren Verfassung ist abhängig davon, aus welchen Bevölkerungsgruppen sich die betreffende Polis zusammensetzt und inwiefern diese an der politischen Herrschaft beteiligt werden.72 Dadurch entsteht eine Rückkopplung: Einerseits richtet sich die Art der Verfassung nach den zur politischen Teilhabe berechtigten Polisteilen, andererseits bestimmt die Verfassungsform darüber, welche Polisangehörigen an der politischen Herrschaft teilhaben.73 Aristoteles nennt eine Reihe von Gliederungskriterien, die für die Verfassung der Polis ausschlaggebend sind und sich unmittelbar aus der Zusammensetzung der Bürgerschaft sowie der einzelnen oikoi ergeben; dazu gehören neben dem Vermögen (arm – reich – moderat) und der Bewaffnung (bewaffnet – unbewaffnet) auch die unterschiedlichen Gruppen innerhalb des ‚Volkes‘ (Bauern – Händler – Handwerker) und die herausragenden Eigenschaften der ‚Angesehenen‘ (Reichtum – familiäre Herkunft – charakterliche Qualitäten / ‚Tugend‘).74 An anderer Stelle werden diese Kriterien teilweise variiert; so treten etwa Lohnarbeiter oder Hirten zum Volk und das Merkmal der Bildung zu den Eigenschaften der ‚Angesehenen‘ hinzu.75 71 72

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Vgl. Josiah Ober: The Polis as a Society, S. 136. Aristot. pol. 4,3, 1289b27–1290a13. Dazu Oswyn Murray: Polis and Politeia, S. 202: „The variety of constitutions results from the diversity of citizens“ – und damit auch aus den sozioökonomischen Unterschieden zwischen diesen. So etwa Clifford Angell Bates, Jr.: Aristotle’s ‚Best Regime‘. Kingship, Democracy, and the Rule of Law. Baton Rouge 2003, S. 28, 34; Arlene W. Saxonhouse: Fear of Diversity, S. 218. Aloys Winterling: Aristoteles’ Theorie der politischen Gesellschaft, S. 74, bezeichnet dies als „grundlegende Aporie“ in Aristoteles’ „Beschreibung der realen Polisgesellschaften seiner Zeit“; vgl. dazu insgesamt ebd., S. 74–76. Letztlich ergibt sich diese ‚Rückkopplung‘ aber aus der von Aristoteles vorausgesetzten Autonomisierung des Politischen als zentralem ‚Funktionssystem‘ im Athen des 4. Jh. v. Chr.: Wer zur politischen Gemeinschaft gehört, wird allein innerhalb des autonomen politischen Feldes entschieden; dessen Regelungen wirken zurück auf die Polisgesellschaft insgesamt. Zum Begriff der Autonomisierung vgl. Katarina Nebelin: Philosophie und Aristokratie. Entstehung und Entwicklung von Philosophie und Elitentheorie im vorhellenistischen Griechenland (Diss. MS Dresden 2011). Aristot. pol. 4,3, 1289b27–1290a1; dazu Aloys Winterling: ‚Arme‘ und ‚Reiche‘. Die Struktur der griechischen Polisgesellschaften in Aristoteles’ ‚Politik‘, in: Saeculum 44, 1993, S. 179– 205, dort S. 185–190. In Aristot. pol. 4,4, 1291b17–30 wird das Volk (‚die Vielen‘) unterteilt in Bauern, Handwerker, Marktleute, verschiedene Arten von Seeleuten, Handarbeiter und Freie, deren Eltern nicht beide Bürger sind; die ‚Anerkannten‘ wiederum werden nach Reichtum, edler Geburt, Tugend und Bildung unterschieden. Nach 6,1, 1317a23–26 können zum ‚Volk‘ sowohl Bauern als auch Handwerker und Theten gehören; in 6,4, 1318b10–1319b18 werden die Arten der Demokratie danach unterschieden, welcher Volksteil dort die Oberhand hat: Bauern, Hirten, Handwerker, Marktleute, Lohnarbeiter, außerehelich Geborene; dies impliziert zugleich eine absteigende Reihe immer schlechterer Demokratieformen. In Aristot. pol. 6,7, 1321a5–14 wird die Bedeutung der Zusammensetzung des Volkes für die oligarchische Verfassung durchgespielt; hier

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Entgegen einer laut Aristoteles weitverbreiteten Meinung ist somit nicht die Unterteilung in Arme und Reiche grundlegend für die Polis und deren politische Ordnung.76 Zwar handelt es sich um ein dichotomes Gegensatzpaar, denn ein Mensch kann nur entweder reich oder arm sein, nicht beides zugleich.77 Dennoch konstituiert die Höhe des Vermögens, wie Aloys Winterling ausgeführt hat, keine eigene soziale Klasse – nicht einmal die der Oberschicht.78 So hebt Aristoteles unter den Eigenschaften der ‚Angesehenen’ den Reichtum nicht besonders hervor und betrachtet ihn zudem nicht als deren exklusives Merkmal, denn auch viele Handwerker seien reich und daher in Oligarchien zur Teilnahme am politischen Leben berechtigt.79 Selbst dort, wo Aristoteles keine empirisch vorhandenen Gruppen, sondern zentrale Aufgaben innerhalb der Polis aufzählt, nimmt der Reichtum keine herausgehobene Stellung ein.80 Anders verhält es sich mit der Trennung von ‚Angesehenen‘ und ‚Volk‘. Diese werden von Aristoteles offenbar als wesensmäßig ungleich verstanden und behandelt. Generell bestehe nämlich jede Polis aus zwei im Idealfall ausgewogenen Bestandteilen: Qualität (poion) und Quantität (poson), die wiederum mit bestimmten Bevölkerungsgruppen verbunden werden können.81 Steht für Aristoteles das ‚Volk‘ für Quantität, für die schiere Masse an Menschen, verkörpern die wenigen herausragenden ‚Angesehenen‘, die auch als ‚Oberschicht‘ oder ‚Elite‘ bezeichnen werden könnten, die Qualität.82 Es ist daher nur folgerichtig, sie nach ihren persönlichen Qualitäten und herausragenden inneren wie äußeren Eigenschaften zu differenzieren. Die Angehörigen des ‚Volks‘ werden dagegen durch die Art und Weise definiert, mit der sie ihren Lebensunterhalt verdienen und die ihren Habitus ent-

76 77

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werden erneut Bauern, Handwerker, Kaufleute und Lohnarbeiter genannt und diese um die militärischen Abteilungen der Reiter, Hopliten, Leichtbewaffneten und Matrosen ergänzt. Aristot. pol. 4,3, 1290a13–29; 4,4, 1291b7–17. Vgl. Aloys Winterling: ‚Arme‘ und ‚Reiche‘, S. 189, sowie Josiah Ober: Aristotle’s Political Sociology, S. 123. Aristot. pol. 4,4, 1291b7–8: πένεσθαι καὶ πλουτεῖν τοὺς αὐτοὺς ἀδύνατον. Vgl. dazu auch Eckart Schütrumpf: Die Analyse der Polis, S. 92. Eine Variante bietet Aristot. pol. 4,3, 1289b28–31; dort wird zwischen Reichen, Armen und Polisbewohnern mit mittlerem Vermögen unterschieden. Vgl. Aloys Winterling: ‚Arme‘ und ‚Reiche‘, S. 189, sowie bes. S. 192: „Das gemeinsame Merkmal der Oberschicht […] ist zunächst ihr Reichtum. Zugleich zeigt sich jedoch, daß ihre ökonomische Lage keineswegs ihre gesellschaftliche Stellung bestimmte“. Ähnlich auch Eckart Schütrumpf: Die Analyse der Polis, S.109–113, 280. Zur Frage, inwiefern Aristoteles’ politisches Denken mit Konzepten wie ‚Klasse‘, ‚Status‘, ‚Stand‘ adäquat beschrieben werden kann, siehe insgesamt Josiah Ober: Aristotle’s Political Sociology. Aristot. pol. 3,5, 1278a22–25: ἐν δέ ταῖς ὀλιγαρχίαις θῆτα μὲν οὐκ ἐνδέχεται εἶναι πολίτην […] βάναυσον δὲ ἐνδέχεται (πλουτοῦσι γὰρ καὶ [οἱ] πολλοὶ τῶν τεχνιτῶν). Die Frage von Armut und Reichtum ist vor allem relevant für die Unterscheidung zwischen Demokratie und Oligarchie: 3,8; 4,4, 1290a30–1291b14. Zur Figur des ‚reichen Vulgären‘ vgl. auch Harry Adams: Aristotle on „the Vulgar“: An Ethical and Social Examination, in: Interpretation 29/2, 2001–2002, S. 133–152. Siehe Aristot. pol. 4,4, 1291a33–35 und 7,8, 1328b11–12. Aristot. pol. 4,12, 1296b 16–24; siehe dazu Aloys Winterling: Aristoteles’ Theorie der politischen Gesellschaft, S. 75. Aristot. pol. 4,12, 1296b16–19: ἔστι δὲ πᾶσα πόλις ἔκ τε τοῦ ποιοῦ καὶ ποσοῦ. Λέγω δὲ ποιὸν μέν ἐλευθερίαν πλοῦτον παιδείαν εὐγένειαν, ποσὸν δὲ τὴν τοῦ πλήθους ὑπεροχήν.

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scheidend prägt; entsprechend werden sie in ‚Berufsgruppen‘ unterteilt.83 Letztlich erfolgt die Untergliederung der Polisbewohner also nach ihrer Zugehörigkeit zu einer bestimmten Gruppe, der daraus resultierenden gesellschaftlichen Stellung und dem damit verbundenen Ansehen.84 Neben der Zuweisung vorhandener Bevölkerungsgruppen zu zwei übergeordneten, dichotomen Statusgruppen steht bei Aristoteles jedoch ein zweites, nicht unbedingt deckungsgleiches Gliederungsschema: die funktionale Aufspaltung der Polis.85 Als notwendige Aufgaben benennt er etwa die Nahrungsproduktion, die Herstellung von Werkzeugen und Gegenständen, das Krieger- und Waffenhandwerk, das Vorhandensein von monetärem Wohlstand (als Voraussetzung für Leiturgien), den Gottesdienst und die „Entscheidung über das untereinander Zuträgliche und Gerechte“.86 Diese Aufgaben müssen keineswegs auf einzelne Gruppen aufgeteilt werden; Überschneidungen sind möglich. Nach Ansicht ‚Vieler‘, so Aristoteles, könne etwa ein- und dieselbe Person zugleich ein Stück Land bebauen, als 83

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85 86

Dieses Unterteilungsprinzip wird von Aristoteles nicht völlig durchgehalten; beispielsweise zählt er in Aristot. pol. 4,4, 1291b27–28 auch „die Freien, die nicht beiderseits von Bürgern abstammen“ (τὸ μὴ ἐξ ἀμφοτέρων πολιτῶν ἐλεύθερον) auf. Generell gilt aber, dass die Art der Beschäftigung den Habitus der Angehörigen des ‚Volkes‘ entscheidend prägt: Bauern kümmern sich um ihr Land und haben keine Muße für politische Betätigung (4,6, 1292b25–29 und 6,4, 1318b10–16), Handwerker haben banausische Körper und sklavische Seelen (1,11, 1258b35–39; 7,9, 1328b37–41). Dazu Eckart Schütrumpf: Die Analyse der Polis, S. 113, Anm. 83: „Es ist wichtig, daß die funktionale Unterscheidung – nach Tätigkeiten – nur beim Demos, nicht bei der Oberschicht vorkommt. Mochten die Leute dieser Klasse unter Umständen auch einem Geschäft nachgehen […], so dient es doch weniger zu ihrer Charakterisierung als die anderen hier genannten Merkmale. Beim Demos dagegen gibt die Tätigkeit ein Unterscheidungsmerkmal her“. Aloys Winterling: ‚Arme‘ und ‚Reiche‘, S. 194, führt diese grundlegende Trennung auf die zentrale „Leitdifferenz sozialer Ungleichheit“ in der von Aristoteles beschriebenen Gesellschaft zurück; ausschlaggebend für den sozialen Status des Einzelnen seien demzufolge „Würde und Ehre“; entsprechend wird ebd., S. 203, „die konstitutive Bedeutung von Ehre für die Stellung des einzelnen der Gesellschaft“ betont. Ebenso auch Ders.: Aristoteles’ Theorie der politischen Gesellschaft, S. 74. Dennoch ist die Ehre nicht das einzige Gliederungsprinzip. Josiah Ober: Aristotle’s Political Sociology, S. 127, weist beispielsweise darauf hin, dass der Ausschluss der eigentlich nicht ‚banausisch‘ lebenden Bauern aus der Bürgerschaft der ‚besten Polis‘ in Buch 7,9, der Politik zeige, „that Aristotle mixed class together with status considerations in constructing his ideal state“. Vgl. ebd., S. 124–127 zu weiteren Widersprüchen, die sich daraus ergeben, dass Aristoteles die Bürger sowohl in ökonomische Klassen als auch in (auf Ehre bezogene) Statusgruppen unterteilt. Vgl. hierzu Eckart Schütrumpf: Die Analyse der Polis, bes. S. 33–36. Siehe auch Günther Bien: Die Wirkungsgeschichte der aristotelischen „Politik“, S. 348–349. Siehe insgesamt Aristot. pol. 7,8; Zitat 7,8, 1328b14–15: κρίσιν περὶ τῶν συμφερόντων καὶ τῶν δικαίων τῶν πρὸς ἀλλήλους. Diese Aufzählung weicht in einigen Punkten von der Benennung der für die Polis zentralen Bestandteile in Buch 4 ab, wo diese mit den Körperteilen eines Lebewesens verglichen werden; hier werden zusätzlich noch Groß- und Kleinhandel und Lohnarbeit genannt und die politischen Funktionen in ‚Richter und Berater‘, ‚Verwalter der Staatsgeschäfte qua Vermögen‘ (Leiturgieträger) und ‚Betreiber der Staatsgeschäfte‘ aufgesplittert: 4,4, 1290b38–1291a36. Wie Eckart Schütrumpf: Die Analyse der Polis, S. 83, betont, gehen hier „die politischen in den gesellschaftlichen“ Funktionen auf; das gemeinschaftliche Entscheiden steht auf derselben Stufe wie die Nahrungsproduktion.

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Handwerker tätig sein, in den Krieg ziehen, an den Beratungen in der Volksversammlung teilnehmen und als Richter fungieren.87 Aristoteles selbst bietet im Rahmen seiner Überlegungen zu ‚guten‘ Polisverfassungen zwei unterschiedliche Möglichkeiten der Aufgabenverteilung an: In der Politie, also der ‚guten‘ Herrschaft der Menge, die im Gegensatz zur ‚schlechten‘ Demokratie auf das Gemeinwohl zielt, haben die verschiedenen Bevölkerungsgruppen an all diesen Aufgaben Anteil, ohne dass eine Gruppe – speziell die Armen oder die Reichen – zu stark ausgeschlossen wird.88 Entsprechend werden die Ämter in der Politie von den waffenfähigen Bürgern besetzt, während die ärmeren Bürger an der Volksversammlung teilnehmen und das aktive Wahlrecht innehaben.89 Noch weiter gehen die Ausführungen in den Büchern 7 und 8 der Politik, in denen Aristoteles eine ideale Polis mit ‚bester‘ Verfassung skizziert; diese ist aber nicht identisch mit der Politie.90 Ausgangspunkt ist dabei eine Feststellung, die bereits in Buch 3 gemacht wird: „Der beste Staat aber wird nicht einen niederen Handwerker zum Staatsbürger machen.“91 Freie Geburt allein genüge nämlich nicht als Grundlage für die bürgerliche Tugend beziehungsweise Vortrefflichkeit; es komme vielmehr darauf an, „von den notwendigen Arbeiten befreit“ zu sein, also über Muße zu verfügen.92 Diese Muße dürfe aber nicht aus der Zahlung von Diäten für die ÜberAristot. pol. 4,4, 1291b2–7: τὰς μὲν οὖν ἄλλας δυνάμεις τοῖς αὐτοῖς ὑπάρχειν ἐνδέχεσθαι δοκεῖ πολλοῖς, οἷον τοὺς αὐτοὺς εἶναι τοὺς προπολεμοῦντας καὶ γεωργοῦντας καὶ τεχνίτας, ἔτι δὲ τοὺς βουλευομένους τε καὶ κρίνοντας; ebenso 7,9, 1328b24–27, wo sich unmittelbar (1328b37–1329a27) der Ausschluss der Banausen anschließt. 88 Vgl. zur Politie Aristot. pol. 4,8–9; zur ausgleichenden Bedeutung des ‚Mittleren‘ in der Verfassung siehe auch 4,11. Beachte hierzu die scharfen Anmerkungen bei Eckart Schütrumpf: Die Analyse der Polis, S. 205: „Nicht Individuen haben gleiche Rechte, sondern Klassen. […] Rechtsgleichheit von Personen erscheint ihm als Klassenherrschaft der Armen über die Reichen. Dem hilft Aristoteles dadurch ab, daß er Gleichheit zwischen den Klassen herstellt, was notwendigerweise zur individuellen politischen Ungleichheit führt“. 89 Aristot. pol. 2,6, 1265b27–29; 3,7, 1279a37–b3; 3,17, 1288a11–13; 4,13, 1297a38–b2. 90 Welche Verfassung für Aristoteles ‚die beste‘ ist, ist in der Forschung umstritten; die Mehrheit tendiert allerdings dazu, die politische Ordnung der ‚Idealpolis‘ in Buch 7–8 der Politik als Aristokratie anzusehen; so fasst etwa Mogens H. Hansen: A Pedestrian Synopsis of Aristotle’s Best Polis in Pol. 7–8, in: Ders. (Hg.): The Imaginary Polis. Symposium, January 7–10, 2004. Kopenhagen 2005, S. 197–201, systematisch alle Informationen über die ‚Idealpolis‘ zusammen und kommt zu dem Schluss, es sei zwar nicht explizit von Aristoteles gesagt, doch „strongly indicated“, dass diese eine Aristokratie sei (Zitat ebd., S. 201); ähnlich auch Clifford Angell Bates, Jr.: Aristotle’s ‚Best Regime‘, S. 97–99; Charles H. Kahn: The Normative Structure of Aristotle’s ‚Politics‘, in: Günther Patzig (Hg.): Aristoteles’ „Politik”. Akten des XI. Symposium Aristotelicum, Friedrichshafen/Bodensee, 25.8.–3.9.1987. Göttingen 1990, S. 369–384, hier S. 377; Roderick T. Long: Aristotle’s Egalitarian Utopia, S. 175–184, bes. S. 184; Josiah Ober: Aristotle’s Political Sociology, S. 126: „Aristotle’s ideal state was a form of aristocracy“; äußerst dezidiert auch Manuel Knoll: Aristokratische oder demokratische Gerechtigkeit?, bes. S. 197. Richard Mulgan: Aristotle’s Analysis of Oligarchy and Democracy, in: David Keyt / Fred D. Miller Jr. (Hgg.): A Companion to Aristotle’s Politics, Oxford u. a. 1991, S. 307–322, dort S. 309, weist allerdings auf den Unterschied hin, den Aristoteles zwischen der ‚so genannten Aristokratie‘ und der „true, ideal aristocracy“ nach Buch 7–8 der Politik macht. 91 Aristot. pol. 3,5, 1278a8–9: ἡ δὲ βελτίστη πόλις οὐ ποιήσει βάναυσον πολίτην. 92 Aristot. pol. 3,5, 1278a11–12: ὅσοι τῶν ἔργων εἰσὶν ἀφειμένοι τῶν ἀναγκαίων. Genauso ist die Freiheit von materiellen und sonstigen Nöten, also das Leben in guten äußeren Verhältnis87

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nahme politischer Ämter, das Amtieren als Richter oder dem Besuch der Volksversammlung resultieren, wie in der athenischen Demokratie üblich.93 Aristoteles folgt hierbei dem verbreiteten aristokratischen Vorurteil gegenüber der ‚Masse’, dem zufolge all jene, die in abhängigen, sklavenähnlichen und somit eines freien Mannes unwürdigen Arbeitsverhältnissen stehen, als ‚Banausen’ betrachtet werden.94 Das ‚einfache Volk‘ wird also laut Aristoteles nicht nur primär durch seine ‚Arbeit‘ definiert und in Untergruppen gegliedert; es verliert auch wegen ebenjenem grundlegenden Merkmal automatisch jedes Recht, „in der am schönsten verwalteten Polis“ am politischen Leben teilhaben zu dürfen.95 Dieser radikale Ausschluss folgt keineswegs notwendig aus der Aufgliederung der Polis in unterschiedliche Aufgabenbereiche und Bevölkerungsgruppen. So zählt Aristoteles in Politik 7,8 neben den Kriegern, Wohlhabenden, Priestern und denjenigen, die über das Gerechte und Notwendige entscheiden, auch die Bauern und Handwerker gleichberechtigt als Teile der Polis auf.96 Je nach Verfassung können auch Letztere durchaus zur Bürgerschaft gehören, obwohl sie wenig bis gar keinen Anteil an der Tugend (arete) haben und folglich auch nicht das eigentliche telos der Polis, die Glückseligkeit (eudaimonia), vollständig erreichen können.97 In der ‚bes-

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sen, eine Vorbedingung der Glückseligkeit: Aristot. eth. Nic. 10,9, 1178b32–35; siehe auch Aristot. pol. 2,9, 1269a34–35. Vgl. zur Bedeutung der Muße auch Stefanie Haacke: Zuteilen und Vergelten, S. 19–20. In Aristot. pol. 4,6, 1292b41–1293a10 wird die ‚vierte Art der Demokratie‘ als jene politische Ordnung beschrieben, in der aufgrund der Größe der Polis und der hohen Einkünfte Diäten für die Amtsinhaber gezahlt werden können. Weil die Reichen, so Aristoteles, sonstigen Besitz haben, um den sie sich kümmern müssten, werden die Ämter nun von der ‚Menge‘ besetzt, während sich die Reichen zurückziehen. Die Konsequenz sei, dass in einer solchen Demokratie nicht die Gesetze herrschten, sondern allein die ‚Menge‘ das Sagen habe. Zu den Vorurteilen gegenüber ‚Banausen‘ vgl. etwa Thomas Morawetz: Der Demos als Tyrann und Banause. Aspekte antidemokratischer Polemik im Athen des 5. und 4. Jahrhunderts v. Chr. (= Europäische Hochschulschriften, Reihe III: Geschichte und ihre Hilfswissenschaften Bd. 860), Frankfurt am Main u. a. 2000, S. 15–47; Beispiele für derartige Vorurteile bieten neben Aristot. pol. 1,4, 1254a–b und 7,9, 1328b–1329a auch Aristot. Rhet. 1,9,26–27 1367a25–30; Hdt. 2,166–167; Plat. leg. 846d; Xen. oik. 4,2–3. Aristot. pol. 7,9, ca. 1328b37–38: ἐν τῇ κάλλιστα πολιτευομένῃ πόλει. So Aristot. pol. 7,8, 1328b20: δεῖ ἄρα γεωργῶν τ‘ εἶναι πλῆθος, ὃι παρασκευάζουσι τὴν τροφήν, καὶ τεχνίτας, καὶ τὸ μάχιμον, καὶ τὸ εὔπορονμ καὶ ἱερεῖς, καὶ κριτὰς τῶν δικαίων καὶ συμφερόντων; noch zu Beginn von 7,9 wird die einleitende Frage gestellt, „ob alle an alldem gemeinsam Anteil haben sollen“; zu den genannten Funktionen zählen ausdrücklich auch die der Bauern, Handwerker, Berater und Richter: 7,9, 1328b24–27: διωρισμένων δὲ τούτων λοιπὸν σκέψασθαι πότερον πᾶσι κοινωνητέον πάντων τούτων (ἐνδέχεται γὰρ τοὺς αὐτοὺς ἅπαντας εἶναι καὶ γεωργοὺς καὶ τεχνίτας καὶ τοὺς βουλευομένους καὶ δικάζοντας). Aristot. pol. 7,8, 1328a35–42. Nach Eckart Schütrumpf: Die Analyse der Polis, S. 35, überträgt Aristoteles in Politik 7,8 das „ontologische Modell der allgemein in der Natur gültigen Struktur von ‚Teil – notwendige Voraussetzung‘“ auf die Polis und macht die Bauern und Handwerker zu bloßen ‚Mitteln zum Zweck‘ des Poliserhalts; ähnlich auch Stefanie Haacke: Zuteilen und Vergelten, S. 96–97, Anm. 56. Dass die Einbindung der Bauern und Handwerker in die Polis laut Aristoteles abhängig von der jeweiligen Verfassung ist, spricht jedoch m. E. eher dagegen, dass er hier eine allgemeingültige, naturnotwendig gegebene Zweck-Mittel-Relation etablieren will; vgl. hierzu insgesamt Aristot. pol. 7,8, 1328a21–b2.

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ten Polis‘ allerdings sollen sie aufgrund ihrer fehlenden Muße und der daraus resultierenden Unfähigkeit, die für den „Zweck des bestmöglichen Lebens“ und für die politische Partizipation erforderliche arete auszubilden und zu kultivieren, vom Bürgerrecht ausgeschlossen werden.98 Aristoteles verbannt somit all jene aus der Bürgergemeinschaft seiner ‚schönsten Polis‘, die ein „niedriges Handwerker- [oder] ein Händlerleben führen“ sowie die Bauern und Tagelöhner.99 Ihre für das Überleben der Polis ja zentralen Aufgaben sollen von Sklaven oder – im Falle der Bauern – alternativ von umwohnenden Barbaren erledigt werden.100 An dieser Stelle scheint es überraschend wenige Unterschiede zwischen Aristoteles’ Idealstaatsentwurf und dem von ihm so vehement kritisierten seines Lehrers Platon in der Politeia zu geben: Beide splitten die Polisbewohner in ungleiche Gruppen auf und schließen die überwiegende Mehrzahl von der Teilhabe an den Entscheidungen über die Gemeinschaft und von deren Lenkung aus. Aristoteles geht dabei sogar noch weiter als Platon, indem er die Ausgeschlossenen explizit zu Sklaven beziehungsweise Periöken machen will.101 Im UnterAristot. pol. 7,9, 1328b33–1329a3; Zitat 7,8, 1328a35–36: ἕνεκεν δὲ ζωῆς τῆς ἐνδεχομένης ἀρίστης. 99 Vgl. hierzu Aristot. pol. 7,9, 1328b37–1329a3: φανερὸν ἐκ τούτων ὡς ἐν τῇ κάλλιστα πολιτευομένῃ πόλει καὶ τῇ κεκτημένῃ δικαίους ἄνδρας ἁπλῶς, ἀλλὰ μὴ πρὸς τὴν ὑπόθεσιν, οὔτε βάναυσον βίον οὔτ’ ἀγοραῖον δεῖ ζῆν τοὺς πολίτας (ἀγεννὴς γὰρ ὁ τοιοῦτος βίος καὶ πρὸς τὴν ἀρετὴν ὑπεναντίος), οὐδὲ δεῖ γεωργοὺς εἶναι τοὺς μέλλοντας ἔσεσθαι (δεῖ γἀρ σχολῆς καὶ πρὸς τὴν γένεσιν τῆς ἀρετῆς καὶ πρὸς τὰς πράξεις τὰς πολιτικάς), sowie nochmals 7,9, 1329a35–40; Zitat oben 7,9, 1328b39–40. 100 Aristot. pol. 7,9, 1329a24–27; speziell zu den Bauern auch 7,10, 1330a24–30. Josiah Ober: Aristotle’s Political Sociology, S. 128, geht dagegen davon aus, dass in der ‚besten Polis‘ nur die Bauern ‚Sklaven von Natur aus‘ seien, während die Handwerker und Händler „by their participation in slavish activities rather than by being ‚natural‘ slaves“ ausgeschlossen werden. Allerdings bezieht sich Obers Referenzstelle (Aristot. pol. 1,13, 1260a41–b2) nicht auf die ‚beste Polis‘. Anders David J. Depew: Politics, Music, and Contemplation in Aristotle’s Ideal State, in: David Keyt / Fred D. Miller Jr. (Hgg.): A Companion to Aristotle’s Politics, Oxford u. a. 1991, S. 346–380, S. 362, der Aristot. pol. 7,6, 1327a16–39 darin folgt, dass in der ‚Idealpolis‘ „craftmenship and commerce in the hands of foreign-born residents (metoikoi, xenoi)“ gelegen hätten. Demnach wären die banausoi, wie beispielsweise D. Brendan Nagle: The Household, S. 124–128, ausführt, eine Art Theten ohne politische Rechte; ähnlich auch Roderick T. Long: Aristotle’s Egalitarian Utopia, S. 186–188; ebd., S. 187. Aristoteles’ Ausführungen in dieser Frage sind m. E. nicht eindeutig. Geht man allerdings davon aus, dass er die banausoi tatsächlich als Freie ohne Bürgerrecht konzipierte, hätte Aristoteles seine ‚Idealpolis‘ damit vor dieselben Probleme gestellt, die er selbst an Platons Politeia scharf kritisiert hatte; vgl. dazu die folgende Fußnote. Ich schließe mich daher Eckart Schütrumpf: Die Analyse der Polis, S. 40–41, an, demzufolge „die Bürgerschaft des besten Staates […] nicht in der Weise gebildet werden [kann], daß man in einem bestehenden Staat Handwerker und Bauern aus der Bürgerschaft ausschließt, denn dann erhielte man eine Gruppe von Freien, die in Gewerbe und Landwirtschaft tätig sind – eine solche Schicht sollte es aber in POLITIK H nicht geben.“ 101 Aristoteles kritisiert Platon explizit dafür, dass er die Wächter „zu einer Art Besatzung“ (Aristot. pol. 2,5, 1264a26: ποιεῖ γὰρ τοὺς μὲν φύλακας οἷον φρουρούς) und „die Bauern zu Herren ihres Besitzes“ (2,5, 1264a33–34: κυρίους ποιεῖ τῶν κτημάτων τοὺς γεωργοὺς) mache; seiner Ansicht nach werden die Bauern von Platon nicht ausreichend als Bürger in die Polis eingebunden, aber auch nicht konsequent genug unterdrückt, was zu Spannungen und Umsturzversuchen führen könne. Aristoteles vergleicht sie deshalb in Aristot. pol. 2,5, 1264a36 98

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schied zu Platon begründet Aristoteles diesen Ausschluss allerdings nicht mit der naturgegebenen und seelisch verankerten Ungleichheit der Menschen. Vielmehr bezeichnet er den Zustand der Handwerker als „begrenzte Sklaverei“, der sie jedoch nicht „von Natur aus“ unterlägen.102 Die Sklavenähnlichkeit folgt dabei aus der Art und Weise der verrichteten Arbeit.103 Von Natur aus frei, haben Handwerker und andere körperlich Arbeitende demnach nicht die Möglichkeit, ihre Naturanlagen zur vollen Entfaltung zu bringen und ihrem Charakter, ihrer Bildung und ihrer Lebensweise nach zu ‚wahrhaft‘ Freien zu werden.104 Diese Diskrepanz zwischen Naturanlage und sozialer Lage wird von Aristoteles nicht weiter aufgelöst; eher nebenher weist er darauf hin, dass jeder Bürger dazu gezwungen sein kann, durch Arbeit das Lebensnotwendige zu verdienen. Sklavisch wäre es jedoch, wenn er sich die dazu erforderlichen Kenntnisse ohne eine solche Not aneignete.105 Problematisch bleibt allerdings, dass ein wirklich wohlgeordnetes Gemeinwesen Aristoteles zufolge weite Teile der Bevölkerung ausgrenzen muss und mit seinem Bürgerrecht viel restriktiver verfahren sollte als etwa das damalige Athen. Doch wie viel Pluralismus ist möglich in einer nach Status hierarchisch gestaffelten, in ungleiche Bevölkerungsgruppen aufgespaltenen Polis?106

102 103

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mit Heloten, Penesten und anderen Sklaven. Bei seinem eigenen Idealstaatsentwurf geht Aristoteles dann offenbar davon aus, die Probleme der platonischen ‚Idealpolis‘ vermeiden zu können, indem er die ‚arbeitende Bevölkerung‘ von vornherein explizit vom Bürgerrecht ausschließt bzw. versklavt: Aristot. pol. 7,9. In Platons Politeia wird deren Status nicht eindeutig ausgeführt, da das Augenmerk der Dialogpartner und damit des Verfassers selbst weitgehend auf den beiden oberen ‚Ständen‘ liegt. Aristot. pol. 1,13, 1260a42–b2: ὁ γὰρ βάναυσος τεχνίτες ἀμφωρισμένην τινὰ ἔχει δουλείαν, καὶ ὁ μὲν δοῦλος τῶν φύσει, σκυτοτόμος δ’ οὐδείς, οὐδὲ τῶν ἄλλων τεχνιτῶν. Jill Frank: A Democracy of Distinction, S. 26–27 zufolge wird der Status einer Person bei Aristoteles meistens weniger durch ihre rechtliche oder soziale Position als vielmehr durch ihr Handeln und Verhalten bestimmt; dies entspricht der Grundthese ihrer Arbeit, wonach „Aristotle’s ethical and political philosophy is not only activity-oriented but agent-centered as well“ (ebd., S. 10; zur Bedeutung des Handelns vgl. etwa Aristot. pol. 1,4, 1254a5–8). Dorothea Frede: Staatsverfassung und Staatsbürger, S. 90, betont ebenfalls, dass die Handwerker nicht aufgrund seelischer, angeborener Defizite, sondern allein aufgrund ihrer äußeren Lebensumstände ausgeschlossen werden sollen; vgl. dazu auch Eckart Schütrumpf: Die Analyse der Polis, S. 39–40. Ebenso weist Josiah Ober: Aristotle’s Political Sociology, S. 124–126, darauf hin, dass Sklaven und arme Bürger zwar nicht über denselben rechtlichen Status verfügen, sich aber durchaus in einer vergleichbaren ‚Klassenlage‘ befinden, deren zerstörerische Auswirkungen auf Charakter und Habitus für Aristoteles den Ausschluss der Handwerker rechtfertigt. Siehe hierzu Aristot. pol. 1,11, 1258b35–39, sowie 3,5, 1277b30–1278a6, wo betont wird, „daß nicht alle als Staatsbürger anzusetzen sind, ohne die es keinen Staat geben könnte, weil ja auch die Kinder nicht in dem Maße Bürger sind wie die Männer, denn die einen sind es schlechthin, die anderen aber nur aufgrund einer Voraussetzung. Denn sie sind zwar Bürger, aber unvollkommene“ (1278a2–6: ὡς οὐ πάντας θετέον πολίτας ὧν ἄνευ οὐκ ἂν εἴη πόλις, ἐπεὶ οὐδ’ οἱ παῖδες ὡςαύτως πολῖται καὶ οἱ ἄνδρες, ἀλλ’ οἳ μὲν ἁπλῶς οἳ δ’ ἐξ ὑποθέσεως· πολῖται μὲν γάρ εἰσιν, ἀλλ’ ἀτελεῖς). Aristot. pol. 3,4, 1277b3–8. Diese Frage wird unten noch einmal aufgegriffen. Zur hierarchischen Untergliederung der Polis vgl. Josiah Ober: Political Dissent, S. 295: „Aristotle’s understanding of politics is overtly foundationalist, naturalistic, teleological, and hierarchical“.

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Diese Frage ist auch deshalb so spannend, weil gerade die Konzeptionen des politischen oder demokratischen ‚Pluralismus‘, die um die Mitte des zwanzigsten Jahrhunderts von Politikwissenschaftlern wie Ernst Fraenkel oder Winfried Steffani entwickelt wurden, Gruppenvielfalt als zentrales und positiv besetztes Charakteristikum demokratischer Staaten betrachteten.107 Ebenso wie Arendt und Sternberger verstanden diese Denker den Pluralismus explizit als Gegenentwurf zum Totalitarismus faschistisch-nationalsozialistischer oder sozialistischer Prägung,108 verorteten ihn aber im Unterschied zu diesen sehr konkret im komplexen Miteinander staatlicher, wirtschaftlicher und ‚zivilgesellschaftlicher‘ Institutionen und Organisationen. So impliziert demokratischer Pluralismus, dass eine Vielzahl von Vereinen, Interessenverbänden und Parteien als fest institutionalisierte (Interessen-) Gruppen innerhalb des Staates die unterschiedlichen Interessen der Bürger vertreten und austarieren, um ihnen auf diese Weise auf freiwilliger Basis die Beteiligung am politischen und öffentlichen Leben zu ermöglichen.109 Dennoch darf die Gesellschaft nicht in partikulare Gruppen mit je eigenen Wertvorstellungen und Praktiken auseinanderfallen; so betont etwa Fraenkel die Notwendigkeit eines allgemein anerkannten Wertekodex und ‚regulativer Ideen‘ wie der Vorstellung eines Gemeinwohls und der Gültigkeit bestimmter Verfahrensregeln im Umgang der Gruppen miteinander.110 Ähnlich wie Aristoteles unterstreichen die Vertreter des Pluralismus somit, dass Vielfalt allein nicht ausreicht; angestrebt wird vielmehr „eine Vielheit, deren einzelne Elemente in einer bestimmten Beziehung zueinander stehen“ und damit eine Einheit bilden, wie Winfried Steffani formuliert hat.111 Allerdings werden deren einzelne Bestandteile als „voneinander unabhängig, gleichberechtigt und autonom“ verstanden; sie stehen zueinander nicht in einem hierarchischen Verhältnis, sondern in einem „des Wettbewerbs und des Konflikts“.112 Voraussetzung dafür ist, dass jeder Einzelne selbst entscheiden kann, in welchen und in wie vielen Gruppen er 107 Zur Geschichte der pluralistischen Demokratietheorien siehe etwa Ernst Fraenkel: Deutschland, S. 261–280, sowie Manfred G. Schmidt: Demokratietheorien. Eine Einführung, Opladen 2000, S. 226–240. 108 Siehe etwa ebd., S. 228, 230, 236; Ernst Fraenkel: Deutschland, S. 112–113, 258–259, 294– 295. 109 Winfried Steffani: Pluralistische Demokratie, S. 9. Ernst Fraenkel: Deutschland, S. 111, beschreibt den Pluralismus als „das Mit- und Gegeneinander von autonomen Gruppen mit einem lebendigen Gruppeninteresse, einem ausgeprägten Gruppenbewußtsein und einem hoch entwickelten Gruppenstolz der Gruppenmitglieder.“ 110 Vgl. hierzu ebd., S. 89; das Auseinanderfallen der pluralistischen Gesellschaft wird dort als „Atomisierung“ bezeichnet, sowie ebd., S. 245, 259. 111 Winfried Steffani: Pluralistische Demokratie, S. 15; ebenso auch Ders.: Vom Pluralismus zum Neopluralismus, in: Heinrich Oberreuter (Hg.): Pluralismus. Grundlegung und Diskussion, Opladen 1980, S. 37–108, hier S. 39. 112 Ebd.; darauf beruht auch die Abgrenzung des Pluralismus vom Korporatismus als System voneinander getrennter, nicht in Wettbewerbsbeziehungen zueinander stehender Zwangssysteme, und vom Syndikalismus als System nicht klar abgegrenzter, nicht konkurrierender und nicht hierarchisch zueinander stehender Verbände ebd., S. 63–64. Zur Bedeutung des ‚öffentlichen Sektors‘ in pluralistischen Demokratien als „Schauplatz“ des Ringens „um die bestmögliche Regelung einer künftigen Staats- und Gesellschaftsordnung“ und den dabei angewandten „kon-

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Mitglied sein möchte, dass die unterschiedlichen Gruppen grundsätzlich gleichwertig und dass sie in sich jeweils demokratisch organisiert sind. Demgegenüber sind Aristoteles’ Untergruppen innerhalb der Polis völlig anders konstituiert: Sie agieren nicht als organisierte politische Einheiten, sondern spalten die Bürgerschaft anhand sozialer und ökonomischer Differenzen auf. In einer ‚guten‘ Polis dürfen diese Gruppen laut Aristoteles aber gerade nicht zu Interessengruppen werden, das Gemeinwohl also nicht zu Gunsten ihrer Partikularinteressen in den Hintergrund treten lassen.113 Besonders deutlich zeigt sich das an Aristoteles’ Bewertung von Gemeinschaften ‚unterhalb der Polisebene‘ – etwa Kultgenossenschaften, Opferverbänden und Seehandelskompanien – in der Nikomachischen Ethik: Derartige Vereinigungen seien eines partiellen Nutzens wegen gegründet worden, stifteten Freundschaft und Zusammenhalt unter den Bürgern und besäßen daher durchaus ihre Berechtigung, blieben aber zwangsläufig der politischen Gemeinschaft (politike koinonia) untergeordnet, weil diese eben nicht auf partikularen und augenblicklichen Nutzen ausgerichtet sei.114 Kultvereine und ähnliche Bürgervereinigungen sind für Aristoteles also ein selbstverständlicher Bestandteil des ‚guten Lebens‘ innerhalb der Polis. Als menschenverbindende, vertrauenschaffende Zusammenschlüsse liefern sie wichtige Voraussetzungen für das Gelingen der eigentlichen, politischen Gemeinschaft. Auf der politischen Ebene selbst haben sie jedoch keine positiven Funktionen mehr zu erfüllen und folglich in Aristoteles’ Auflistungen der für die Polis zentralen Untereinheiten und Aufgabenbereiche keinen Platz. Im Gegenteil: organisierte Partikularinteressen würden die Orientierung am Gemeinwohl untergraben und so die Polis als politische Gemeinschaft auflösen. Vor diesem Hintergrund stellt sich letztlich auch die Frage, wie ‚tolerant‘ Aristoteles’ politisches Denken gegenüber der individuellen Freiheit und der Entfaltung des Einzelnen überhaupt sein konnte. tradiktorischen Verfahren“ vgl. auch Ernst Fraenkel: Deutschland, S. 245, sowie zum „fairen Kampf der Partikularwillen“ ebd., S. 248. 113 Siehe etwa zur Notwendigkeit, dass die Bürger am Erhalt der Verfassung bzw. der politischen Gemeinschaft und damit an der Tugend orientiert sein sollen, Aristot. pol. 3,4, 1276b28–31; 3,9, 1280a31–b10; zur Ausrichtung aller guten Verfassungen aufs Gemeinwohl auch 3,6, 1279a17–22; zur schädlichen Wirkung zu großer Vermögensunterschiede innerhalb einer Polis, die dazu führen, dass die Armen nach dem Besitz der Reichen trachten, keine Orientierung aufs Gemeinwohl mehr möglich ist und sich die Polis in Stasisgruppen aufspaltet, ebd. 4,11, 1295b25–1296a10. Entsprechend betont auch Dolf Sternberger: Drei Wurzeln der Politik, S. 108, dass der aristotelische Pluralismus nicht den „modernen Phänomenen der organisierten Parteien und Verbände“ entspreche; vielmehr gilt für diesen, was Eckart Schütrumpf: Die Analyse der Polis, S. 107, wie folgt formuliert hat: „Die zum Organismus zusammengeschlossenen funktional-notwendigen Gruppen rivalisieren […] nicht miteinander, sondern ergänzen sich: Jede ist auf die andere angewiesen. Das Organismusmodell setzt zwar u. U. einen Konflikt voraus, aber es will ihn überwinden.“ 114 Aristot. eth. Nic. 8,11, 1160a10–11: ἡ πολιτικὴ δὲ κοινωνία; vgl. insgesamt 8,11, 1160a7–30. Zum Zusammenhang zwischen solchen privat-persönlichen, niemals alle Bürger umspannenden Bindegliedern auf der einen und der unpersönlichen, alle Bürger umfassenden ‚bürgerlichen Freundschaft‘ auf der anderen Seite vgl. John M. Cooper: Political Animals, S. 232–233 (unter Bezugnahme auf Aristot. pol. 3,9, 1280b23–1281a2) und das Koreferat von Julia Annas: Comment on J. Cooper.

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3. INDIVIDUELLE VIELFALT: DIE PLURALITÄT DER LEBENSWEISEN Im Unterschied zur Vielfalt auf Polis- und auf Gruppenebene ist die individuelle Vielfalt für Aristoteles mit einer bestimmten politischen Ordnung eng verknüpft. Ihm zufolge hängen Demokratie, Gleichheit und politische wie persönliche Freiheit unmittelbar zusammen – eine Einschätzung, die auch gegenwärtig kaum auf Widerspruch stoßen dürfte. Für Aristoteles ist Freiheit das maßgebliche Charakteristikum der Demokratie; sie ist jene Verfassung, in der die Freien gleichberechtigt herrschen.115 Damit geht allerdings eine Gegenwartskritik einher, wie Aristoteles überhaupt die individuelle Vielfalt wesentlich ambivalenter beurteilt als die beiden anderen Vielfaltsformen. So diagnostiziert er in den zeitgenössischen Demokratien, und gerade in den besonders demokratisch scheinenden, eine Korrumpierung der beiden Begriffe ‚Gerechtigkeit‘ und ‚Freiheit‘: „das Gerechte scheint das Gleiche zu sein, das Gleiche aber das, was immer der Menge zusagt, und das ist das Entscheidende; das Freie aber sei das, daß jeder tut, was er gerade will. Demnach lebt in derartigen Demokratien jeder, wie er will“.116 Die egalitäre, in Aristoteles’ Worten ‚arithmetische‘ Gerechtigkeit verwirklicht sich also im politischen Bereich durch die Mehrheitsentscheidung, kann aber weit darüber hinausgehen und alles, ‚was immer der Menge zusagt‘ als gerecht legitimieren; Freiheit wird nicht mehr politisch, sondern rein individualistisch verstanden.117 Beides geht Aristoteles offensichtlich zu weit. Für seine dezidierte Bezugnahme auf demokratische Vorstellungen spricht an dieser Stelle auch, dass er sich bei seiner Kritik eines von Demokratieanhängern wie -gegnern häufig genutzten Schlagworts bedient: Die ‚Freiheit, zu leben wie 115 Aristot. pol. 4,4, 1290b1–2 und 1291b34–35; 5,1, 1301a29–31; 6,2, 1317a40–41. Zu den verschiedenen Freiheitsbegriffen, die mit der Demokratie verknüpft wurden, vgl. Mogens H. Hansen: Democratic Freedom and the Concept of Freedom in Plato and Aristotle, in: Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 50 (2010), S. 1–27; zur langen Geschichte der Unterscheidung zwischen ‚politischer‘ und ‚individueller‘ Freiheit von der Antike bis zur Moderne vgl. etwa die knappen Ausführungen bei Wilfried Nippel: Antike oder moderne Freiheit, S. 97, 332–333. 116 Aristot. pol. 5,9, 1310a30–34: τὸ μὲν γὰρ δίκαιον ἴσον δοκεῖ εἶναι, ἴσον δ’ ὅ τι ἂν δόξῃ τῷ πλήθει, τοῦτ’ εἶναι κύριον, ἐλεύθερον δὲ καὶ ἴσον τὸ ὅ τι ἂν βούληταί τις ποιεῖν· ὥστε ζῇ ἐν ταῖς τοιαύταις δημοκρατίαις ἕκαστος ὡς βούλεται. Siehe zur ‚demokratischen Freiheit‘ Josiah Ober: Aristotle’s Political Sociology, S. 124. Vgl. zu dieser Stelle auch Jonathan Barnes: Aristotle and Political Liberty, in: Günther Patzig (Hg.): Aristoteles’ „Politik“. Akten des XI. Symposium Aristotelicum, Friedrichshafen/Bodensee 25.8.–3.9.1987, Göttingen 1990, S. 249– 263, hier S. 254–256; er geht davon aus, dass „Aristotle is reporting, not endorsing a democratic view“ (ebd., S. 255); diese Ansicht teilt auch Mogens H. Hansen: Democratic Freedom, S. 13, 17–20. Vgl. auch die Ausführungen ebd., S. 10–11, zu den beiden Formen der demokratischen Freiheit – „the opportunity to be ruled and rule in turn and the opportunity to live as one likes“ (dazu auch ebd., S. 15–16). 117 Thomas Morawetz: der Demos als Tyrann und Banause, S. 167, fasst dementsprechend die Stoßrichtung der antidemokratischen Kritik im 4. Jh. v. Chr. wie folgt zusammen: „Vordergründig ging es nicht mehr [wie noch im 5. Jh.; d. Verf.] um die Kritik des Politikstils, sondern des Lebensstils der Demokraten.“ Vgl. hierzu auch den Aufsatz von Kurt A. Raaflaub: Democracy, Oligarchy, and the Concept of the ‚Free Citizen‘ in Late Fifth-Century Athens, in: Political Theory 11 (1983), S. 517–544.

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man will‘ beziehungsweise ‚zu machen, was man will‘ tauchte etwa bei Thukydides in Perikles’ Gefallenenrede als positive Zustandsbeschreibung der athenischen Demokratie auf, brachte aber zugleich aus Sicht ihrer Gegner das zerstörerische, anarchistische Potential dieser politischen Ordnung zum Ausdruck.118 Die bisherigen Ausführungen haben gezeigt, dass Aristoteles weder Freiheit noch Gerechtigkeit oder Vielfalt generell ablehnt; seine Kritik richtet sich allein gegen deren demokratische Übersteigerung und folglich Korrumpierung. Aristoteles’ Urteil fällt dabei äußerst differenziert aus; da er die politischen sowie die ‚privaten‘, d. h. ökonomischen und sozialen Unterschiede unter den Polisbewohnern als grundlegende Voraussetzung jeder politischen Gemeinschaft betrachtet und somit positiv bewertet,119 können diese Formen der Vielfalt nicht mit der von ihm als negativ beurteilten ‚Freiheit, zu leben wie man will‘ identisch sein. Worin besteht diese korrumpierte Freiheit dann? Es ist offensichtlich, dass Aristoteles die radikal individualistische Freiheit und Vielfalt niemals uneingeschränkt positiv bewertet.120 So hat Schütrumpf klargestellt, dass Aristoteles gegenüber Platon „nicht die Vielfalt individueller Lebensgestaltung“ und auch keine „pluralistische Vielfalt und subjektive Freiheit des Einzelnen zu retten oder überhaupt erst zu etablieren“ suchte;121 es geht ihm Manuel Knoll zufolge auch nicht um eine „Pluralität der verschiedenen Lebensformen“.122 118 Vgl. zu dem athenisch-demokratischen „Lebensgefühl“ der individuellen und privaten Freiheit selbst der Nichtbürger etwa Jochen Bleicken: Die athenische Demokratie, Paderborn u. a. 41995, S. 366–368; Mogens H. Hansen: Democratic Freedom, S. 6; Christian Meier: Die Entstehung des Begriffs ‚Demokratie‘. Vier Prolegomena zu einer historischen Theorie, Frankfurt am Main 1970, S. 50–51. Speziell zu Perikles’ Lob der demokratischen Freiheit und Selbstentfaltung siehe Thuk. 2,37,2, 41,1 und dazu Thomas Morawetz: Der Demos als Tyrann und Banause, S. 9–12, 49–131, 133–178; zur Doppeldeutigkeit des demokratischen Freiheitsbegriffs bes. ebd., S. 55, 107–108. Mogens H. Hansen: Democratic Freedom, S. 6 zufolge handelt es sich dabei um „[t]he most controversial form of democratic liberty“. Zur Rezeptionsgeschichte und zu den möglichen Problemen, die aus der einseitigen Betonung der individuellen Freiheit resultieren können, vgl. Egon Flaig: Die Mehrheitsentscheidung, S. 475–479. 119 Vgl. Teil 1 – Vielfalt als konstitutives Charakteristikum der Polis; zur privaten Vielfalt Christof Rapp: War Aristoteles ein Kommunitarist? In: Internationale Zeitschrift für Philosophie 1/1997, S. 57–75, dort S. 73: „Wenn Aristoteles nun gegen die Einheitlichkeit des platonischen Staates eine Verschiedenheit der Bürger einklagt, dann muß die Richtung des Verhältnisses von Privatem und Öffentlichem auch umkehrbar sein, denn als Quelle der Verschiedenheit kommt nur das Private in Frage.“ 120 Daran knüpft der Kommunitarismus an; vgl. dazu Henning Ottmann: Platon, Aristoteles, S. 39–46. Als „aristotelisierende Tendenzen“ im Kommunitarismus nennt er ebd., S. 39–40 „eine Abkehr vom Individualismus, eine Frontstellung gegen Verfahrensethiken wie die Diskursund Kommunikationsethik von Apel und Habermas, eine Kritik am Universalismus, eine Hinwendung statt dessen zu den lokalen Gemeinschaften und zum Gemeinsinn der Bürger, eine Hinwendung zu einer Ethik des guten Lebens, die der Orientierung an formaler Gerechtigkeit übergeordnet wird.“ Vgl. auch Christoph Horn: Aristoteles und der politische Aristotelismus, S. 12–14. 121 Zitate nach Eckart Schütrumpf: Die Analyse der Polis, S. 86 und Ders.: Erziehung durch den Staat, S. 241. Ähnlich auch Richard Kraut: Aristotle’s Critique of False Utopias, S. 66. 122 Manuel Knoll: Aristokratische oder demokratische Gerechtigkeit? Die politische Philosophie des Aristoteles und Martha Nussbaums egalitaristische Rezeption, München 2009, S. 93.

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Ebenso wenig können Aristoteles’ Vorstellungen als ‚negative Freiheit‘ des Einzelnen von der Beherrschung und Unterdrückung durch andere Personen, Machthaber oder Autoritäten gedeutet werden.123 Wie Dolf Sternberger betont hat, geht Aristoteles nämlich nicht von Individuen aus, die einem Staatsapparat gegenüberstehen und vor dessen Zugriff geschützt werden müssten, sondern von einer politischen Gemeinschaft, die sich unmittelbar aus einer Vielheit von Bürgern zusammensetzt und somit von ihren konkreten Bestandteilen gar nicht abstrahiert werden kann.124 Aufgrund dieses anspruchsvollen und voraussetzungsreichen Gemeinschaftsbegriffs kann Aristoteles’ positive Vielfalt auch nicht in einer multikulturellen Gesellschaft verortet werden.125 Generell ist auffällig, dass er das Problem unterschiedlicher Ethnien innerhalb ein- und desselben Großreichs nie reflektiert hat, obwohl zu seinen Lebzeiten mit Alexanders Eroberungen genau solche politischen Gebilde verstärkt ins Blickfeld der Griechen rückten. Ein ‚postmodernes‘ Auseinanderfallen der politischen Gemeinschaft in zahlreiche (Sub-)Kulturen, die Forderung nach uneingeschränkter Selbstverwirklichung jedes Einzelnen und der daraus folgende Kulturrelativismus würden jedoch aus Aristoteles’ Sicht nicht nur den Untergang der Polis, sondern die völlige Auflösung aller Ordnung mit sich bringen.126 Das Schlagwort von der ‚Freiheit, zu leben wie man will‘ evoziert für Aristoteles unweigerlich die Vorstellung einer unverantwortlichen, die Schranken von Recht und Moral ignorierenden und damit jeden Bezug auf die Gemeinschaft und deren Wohl hinter sich lassenden ‚Selbstentfaltung‘ des Einzelnen.127 Wenn Freiheit primär darin bestehe, „daß jeder lebt, wie er will“, und niemand sich von anderen Menschen oder Gesetzen beherrschen lassen wolle, müsste es zwangsläufig zu einer Auflösung natürlicher Hierarchien kommen, wie sie etwa im ungleichen Miteinander innerhalb des Oikos angelegt seien.128 Entsprechend bezeichnet Aristoteles „die Ungebundenheit der Sklaven […], der Frauen und der Kinder und das Da-

123 Die Unterscheidung zwischen ‚negativer‘ und ‚positiver‘ Freiheit geht bereits auf Constant und Tocqueville zurück; vgl. hierzu etwa Wilfried Nippel: Antike oder moderne Freiheit, S. 201– 204; Egon Flaig: Die Mehrheitsentscheidung, S. 476–478; sie wird aufgegriffen von Isaiah Berlin: Freiheit, bes. S. 201–210. Laut Roderick T. Long: Aristotle’s Egalitarian Utopia, S. 185, ist „the liberty that matters“ in Aristoteles’ ‚Idealpolis‘„not exousia, the freedom to ‚live as one pleases’, but eleutheria, the freedom to give or withhold one’s consent to the constitution.“ Auch Jonathan Barnes: Aristotle and Political Liberty, S. 251, betont, dass Aristoteles „barely discusses the substantive question of how much liberty a State may or must allow its citizens“; hierzu auch Josiah Ober: Mass and Elite in Democratic Athens. Rhetoric, Ideology, and the Power of the People, Princeton 1989, S. 295–296. 124 Vgl. dazu Dolf Sternberger: Drei Wurzeln der Politik, S. 108. 125 So aber Frank Beyersdörfer: Multikulturelle Gesellschaft. Begriffe, Phänomene, Verhaltensregeln, Münster 2004, S. 148. 126 Vgl. hierzu (mit Bezug auf Lyotard) Manuel Knoll: Aristokratische oder demokratische Gerechtigkeit, S. 311. 127 Die Vorstellung, dass jeder auf ‚irgendeine‘ Weise glücklich werden solle, wird von Aristoteles laut Eckart Schütrumpf: Erziehung durch den Staat, S. 243–247, als das „eher bedenkliche Selbstverständnis der Demokratie“ referiert (Zitat ebd., S. 247). 128 Siehe Aristot. pol. 6,2, 1317a40–b17; Zitat 1317b12: τὸ ζῆν ὡς βούλεται τις; vgl. auch 5,9, 1310a25–38; 6,4, 1319a38–41.

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rüberhinwegsehen, daß jeder lebt, wie er will“ als demokratisch.129 Eine derartige Anarchie, so Aristoteles weiter, entspreche den Neigungen jener Bevölkerungsschichten, die in der Demokratie herrschten – schließlich sei „es doch für die Vielen angenehmer, ohne Ordnung zu leben als in Besonnenheit“.130 Jene Vielfalt, die aus der Freiheit zur Entfaltung individueller Lebensentwürfe erwächst, steht für Aristoteles also im Gegensatz zu Selbstbeherrschung und Mäßigung. Dies korrespondiert mit seiner platonisch beeinflussten Auffassung von der Seele: Wo die Herrschaft des Besseren über das Schlechtere fehlt, brechen sich unweigerlich niedere Begierden und momentane Gelüste Bahn; Gesetze und Sitten geraten in Vergessenheit.131 Ohne Gesetzesgehorsam kann es jedoch keine (politische) Ordnung geben.132 Obwohl sein politisches Denken zutiefst von demokratischen Erfahrungen und Vorstellungen beeinflusst ist,133 besteht für Aristoteles auf der normativen Ebene kein Zweifel daran, dass die Demokratie eine defizitäre und in ihrer radikalen Ausprägung äußerst gefährliche, da tendenziell herrschaftslose und anarchische Verfassungsform ist.

FAZIT Aristoteles’ Vielfaltsvorstellungen erweisen sich somit als äußerst vielfältig; und es scheint naheliegend, dass der Philosoph bei diesen Überlegungen von seinem langjährigen Wohnort Athen geprägt worden ist.134 Dafür sprechen etwa seine Thesen zur Rolle der Meinungsvielfalt bei politischen Beschlüssen, zur sozioökonomischen Diversität der Polisbevölkerung oder zur Formel von der ‚Freiheit, zu leben wie man will‘, die allesamt von demokratischen Praktiken und Vorstellungen beeinflusst sind. Dass Aristoteles sich an zahlreichen Stellen seines Werks über die Poli129 Diese ‚Ungebundenheit‘ wird von Aristoteles als charakteristisch für Demokratie wie für Tyrannis bezeichnet: ἔτι δὲ καὶ τὰ τυραννικὰ κατασκευάσματα δημοτικὰ δοκεῖ πάντα, λέγω δ’ οἷον ἀναρχία τε δούλων […] καὶ γυναικῶν καὶ παίδων, καὶ τὸ ζῆν ὅπως τις βούλεται παρορᾶν (Aristot. pol. 6,4, 1319b27–31). 130 Aristot. pol. 6,4, 1319b31–32: πολὺ γὰρ ἔσται τὸ τῇ τοιαῦτῃ πολιτείᾳ βοηθοῦν· ἥδιον γὰρ τοῖς πολλοῖς τὸ ζῆν ἀτάκτως ἢ τὸ σωφρόνως. Zur begierdegesteuerten Natur der ‚Masse‘ vgl. auch 2,7, 1267b4–5; laut 6,4, 1318b16–17 streben die ‚Vielen‘ eher nach Gewinn als nach Ehre. 131 Aristot. pol. 6,4, 1319b2–32. Aristoteles’ Ansichten über die Unfähigkeit der ‚Vielen‘, in ihrer Seele die Vernunft über die niederen Begierden herrschen zu lassen, erinnern stark an seinen Lehrer Platon; vgl. dazu etwa Plat. rep. 590c–d und zur ‚demokratischen Diktatur der Lüste‘ innerhalb der Seele 560e561e. 132 Aristot. pol. 4,4, 1292a32: ὅπου γὰρ μὴ νόμοι ἄρχουσιν, οὐκ ἔστι πολιτεία; dies ist der Fall in der radikalen Demokratie, in der nicht das Gesetz herrscht, sondern die Masse: 4,4, 1292a5– 38. 133 Beachte aber die Einschränkung von Josiah Ober: Political Dissent, S. 320: „ Aristotle does not present the democrat’s ‚resolution‘ of these questions – that is, the claim that, being collectively wise, the demos should rule over all important public matters in the polis.“ 134 Josiah Ober: Aristotle’s Political Sociology, S. 118, verortet das „ideological climate in which the Politics was written“ in Athen und bezeichnet das Werk daher als „dialogue with the ideology of democratic egalitarianism.“

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tik auf unterschiedliche Weise zum Themenfeld ‚Vielfalt‘ äußert, könnte also mit seiner Wahrnehmung der zeitgenössischen athenischen Realität zusammenhängen. Um diese Vermutung näher zu eruieren, werde ich im Folgenden zunächst zeigen, dass Vielfalt nicht nur in Aristoteles’ politischem Denken eine zentrale Rolle spielte, sondern auch ein Kernpunkt der zeitgenössischen Demokratiekritik war. Danach werde ich der Frage nachgehen, inwiefern diese Kritik die realen Zustände in Athen reflektierte. Anschließend werde ich zu Aristoteles’ politischen Überlegungen zurückkehren und in einem abschließenden Fazit nach Anknüpfungsmöglichkeiten für aktuelle Vielfaltsvorstellungen fragen. Dabei wird auch das Problem von Aristoteles’ ‚Modernität‘ aufgegriffen. Im demokratiekritischen Denken zur Zeit Aristoteles’ stellen Freiheit, Gleichheit und Vielfalt die Eckpfeiler einer Gegenwartskritik dar, in der das Auseinanderbrechen der Polis in zu viele, zu vielfältige und vor allem zu gleichgestellte Untereinheiten konstatiert wird. Häufig bezieht sich diese Kritik auf die angebliche ‚Gleichmacherei‘ der in der Polis vertretenen Gruppen und die zügellose Selbstentfaltung der Einzelnen. Aristoteles’ Kritik an der demokratischen ‚Freiheit, zu leben wie man will‘, die ihm zufolge in letzter Konsequenz zur Anarchie und zur völligen „Ungebundenheit der Sklaven […], der Frauen und der Kinder“ führt, fügt sich nahtlos in diesen Diskurs ein.135 Bereits der ‚Alte Oligarch‘ behauptet in seinem wohl in der zweiten Hälfte des fünften Jh. v. Chr. verfassten antidemokratischen Pamphlet, dass sich die Kleidung und das ‚allgemeine Erscheinungsbild‘ armer Athener durch nichts von jener der Metöken und sogar der Sklaven unterscheide; und weil es folglich unmöglich sei, auf der Straße die freien Bürger zu erkennen, könnten es sich die Sklaven erlauben, frech aufzutreten.136 Die politische Gleichheit hat also dem ‚Alten Oligarchen‘ zufolge längst auch auf jene Polisbewohner übergegriffen, die an ihr als Nichtbürger eigentlich keinen Anteil haben.137 135 Aristot. pol. 6,4, 1319b27 ff.; vgl. dazu oben, Teil 3 – Individuelle Vielfalt: Die Pluralität der Lebensweisen, und zum antidemokratischen, im Folgenden näher ausgeführten Topos der ‚verkehrten Welt’ und der Auflösung von Ordnung und Hierarchie in der Demokratie Thomas Morawetz: Der Demos als Tyrann und Banause, S. 158–165. Dass die aristotelische Darstellung des zeitgenössischen Athen in der Politik wie in der Athenaion Politeia an der historischen Realität vorbeigeht, zeigt etwa Barry S. Strauss: On Aristotle’s Critique of Athenian Democracy, in: Carnes Lord / David K. O’Connor (Hgg.): Essays on the Foundation of Aristotelian Political Science. Berkeley u. a. 1991, S. 212–233, auf. 136 [Xen.] Ath. Pol. 1,10: τῶν δούλων δ’ αὖ καὶ τῶν μετοίκων πλείστη ἐστὶν Ἀθήνησιν ἀκολαςία καί οὔτε πατάξαι ἔξεστιν αὐτόθι οὔτε ὑπεκστήσεταί σοι ὁ δοῦλος. οὗ δ’ ἕνεκέν ἐστι τοῦτο ἐπιχώριον, ἐγὼ φράσω· εἰ νόμος ἦν τὸν δοῦλον ὑπὸ τοῦ ἐλευθέρου τύπτεσθαι ἢ τὸν μέτοικον ἢ τὸν ἀπελεύυερον, πολλάκις ἂν οἰηθεὶς εἶναι τὸν Ἀθηναῖον δοῦλον ἐπάταξεν ἄν· ἐσθῆτά τε γὰρ οὐδεν βελτίων ὁ δῆμος αὐτόθι ἢ οἱ δοῦλοι καὶ οἱ μέτοικοι καὶ τὰ εἴδη οὐδὲν βελτίους εἰσίν; dazu Christian Mann: Politische Gleichheit und gesellschaftliche Stratifikation. Die athenische Demokratie aus der Perspektive der Systemtheorie, in: Historische Zeitschrift 286 (2008), S. 1–35, hier S. 15–16. Siehe dazu auch A. G. Geddes: Rags and Riches: The Costume of Athenian Men in the Fifth Century, in: The Classical Quarterly 37 (1987), S. 307–331: „Absence of almost all formal authority in society […] is confirmed by the clothes. […] So far from suggesting rank or prestige, the everyday clothes of poor Athenians were the same sort of clothes that slaves wore“ (S. 326). 137 Dies gilt auch für die laut Christian Mann: Politische Gleichheit, S. 17, „völlig absurd[e]

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Dasselbe Schreckensbild zeichnet auch Platon in den Nomoi138 und stärker noch in der Politeia: In der demokratischen Polis, so heißt es dort, werde der Sohn gegen seinen Vater, der Metöke gegen den Bürger, der Schüler gegen den Lehrer ungehorsam; die Sklaven benähmen sich wie Freie, und sogar die vom Menschen gezähmten Pferde und Esel wandelten frei auf den Straßen umher.139 Genau wie beim ‚Alten Oligarchen‘ greift also auch hier die demokratische Gleichheit über das gleichberechtigte Miteinander der Bürger in den politischen Institutionen hinaus und führt zur völligen Zerrüttelung aller naturgegebenen und somit rechtmäßigen Ordnungen, Hierarchien und Autoritäten. Weil in ihr alles und jeder die Freiheit besitzt, ‚zu leben, wie es ihm gefällt‘, erscheint die Demokratie bei Platon als „anmutige, regierungslose, buntscheckige Verfassung, welche gleichmäßig Gleichen wie Ungleichen eine gewisse Gleichheit austeilt.“140 Buntheit im Sinne einer negativ verstandenen, ungeordneten Vielfalt ist für Platon ein zentrales Charakteristikum der Demokratie; da in ihr „allerlei Sitten verwebt“ seien, vergleich er sie mit einem „bunte[n] Kleid, dem recht vielerlei Blumen eingewirkt sind“.141 Dieses Bild ruft Assoziationen der Schrillheit und Geschmacklosigkeit hervor; es erinnert damit ebenso frappierend an aktuelle Konsum- und Kommerzkritik wie Platons Bezeichnung der seiner Ansicht nach allzu toleranten und antiautoritären Demokratie als „Trödelbude von Verfassungen“.142

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Behauptun[g]“, dass auch die Metöken und Sklaven das freie Rederecht (isegoria) innegehabt hätten; so [Xen.] Ath. Pol. 1,12. In Plat. leg. 701a–d wird die demokratische ‚Herrschaft des Publikums‘ (701a: θεατροκρατία) als Ursache für die Missachtung der Autorität von Amtsinhabern, Eltern und älteren Mitbürgern und schließlich der Gesetze und der Götter benannt. In der Tat betonte die demokratische Ideologie gelegentlich, dass sich diese politische Ordnung durch ihre „mildness and leniency“ auszeichne; siehe dazu Kenneth J. Dover: Greek Popular Morality in the Time of Plato and Aristoteles, Oxford 1974, S. 288–289, Zitat ebd., S. 289. Zur antikdemokratischen Kritik an dieser Ideologie und Praxis vgl. Thomas Morawetz: Der Demos als Tyrann und Banause, S. 158–165. Plat. rep. 562e–563d; siehe auch 557e–558a. Zu den Übereinstimmungen zwischen dem ‚Alten Oligarchen‘ und Platon vgl. Thomas Morawetz: Der Demos als Tyrann und Banause, S. 163. Vgl. Plat. rep. 557b–558c; Zitat 558c: ἡδεῖα πολιτεία καὶ ἄναρχος καὶ ποικίλη, ἰσότητά τινα ὁμοίως ἴσοις τε καὶ ἀνίσοις διανέμουσα. Plat. rep. 557c: ὥσπερ ἱμάτιον ποικίλον πᾶσιν ἄνθεσι πεποικιλμένον, οὕτω καὶ αὕτη πᾶσιν ἤθεσιν πεποικιλμένη καλλίστη, ἂν φαίνοιτο; 557c wird erklärt, dass diese Buntheit vor allem Frauen und Kindern gefalle – wohl deshalb, weil diese nur auf den schönen äußeren Schein sehen. Charlotte Schubert: Die Macht des Volkes und die Ohnmacht des Denkens. Studien zum Verhältnis von Mentalität und Wissenschaft im 5. Jahrhundert v. Chr. (= Historia Einzelschriften Bd. 77), Stuttgart 1993, S. 69, weist auf eine Parallele hin: Nach Plin. N. H. 35,36,69 habe der Maler Parrhaisios im 5. Jh. v. Chr. den athenischen Demos als Mensch dargestellt, der gleichzeitig eine „bunte Mischung von Eigenschaften“ und Emotionen aufwies. Plat. rep. 557d: παντοπώλιον […] πολιτειῶν; zur ‚antiautoritären‘ Toleranz der Demokratie siehe 557e–558b. Kommerz und Konsum klingen auch in Plat. leg. 704d an, wo Platon davor warnt, eine Stadt am Meer zu gründen, da über ihren Hafen „vielerlei buntschillernde und schlechte Sitten“ (πολλά […] ἤθη καὶ ποικιλία καὶ φαῦλα) hereinkommen würden; vgl. zu den negativen Einflüssen, die über das Meer in die Stadt eindringen, auch 705a. Positiv gewendet, trug der Hafen der Handelsmetropole Athen zur dort herrschenden Offenheit, Toleranz und ‚kosmopolitischen Ausrichtung‘ der Polis bei; vgl. dazu Kostas Vlassopoulos: Free Spaces:

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Selbstverständlich geben solche Beschreibungen nicht wörtlich und ungebrochen die historische Realität wieder. In Athen war es nicht zu einer Nivellierung der Unterschiede zwischen Bürgern und Metöken, Eltern und Kindern, Freien und Sklaven oder gar zwischen Menschen und Tieren gekommen. Das reale Athen war keine so freie, tolerante, bunte, offene und klassenlose, ja geradezu schrille Gemeinschaft, wie seine Kritiker behaupteten. Allerdings waren deren Zerrbilder von Anarchie und Entgrenzung auch nicht völlig aus der Luft gegriffen.143 Wenn mehrere Demokratiekritiker ähnliche Bilder nutzen, um die von ihnen kritisierten Zustände zu illustrieren, dann tun sie dies, weil sie der Ansicht sind, mit ihrer Darstellung den Kern eines zentralen Problems der athenischen Demokratie zu treffen und dadurch Zustimmung bei ihrem anvisierten Publikum zu finden. Dieses Problem bestand allerdings weniger darin, dass eine einstmals stabile Gesellschaftsstruktur durch soziale Mobilität „in Unordnung geraten“ wäre.144 Schon in der Archaik zeichneten sich griechische Gesellschaften dadurch aus, dass „ein sozialer Aufoder Abstieg ohne weiteres möglich“, eine relativ hohe personelle Fluktuation also nichts Neues war.145 Das Hauptproblem war vielmehr die Autonomie des Politischen, die „Abspaltung der politischen Ordnung von der gesellschaftlichen“.146 Josiah Ober zufolge verfügte Athen für antike Mittelmeerkulturen über eine ungewöhnlich hohe Differenzierung zwischen öffentlichen und privaten Rollen.147

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Identity, Experience and Democracy in Classical Athens, in: The Classical Quarterly 57 (2007), S. 33–52, hier S. 36–38. Nach Thomas Morawetz: Der Demos als Tyrann und Banause, S. 167, „gab es für die Masse der Demokraten gar keine Alternative“ zur „provozierenden Nichtbetonung von Rechtsstatus im Alltagsleben zwischen Sklaven, Metöken, Fremden und Bürgern“, da die egalitäre „Exklusivität der demokratischen Bürgerschaft“ ganz abstrakt war und in den „äußeren Lebensverhältnissen“ letztlich „nicht zu sehen“ sein durfte. Andernfalls hätten die real existierenden „äußeren“, d. h. sozialen und ökonomischen, Unterschiede zwischen den Bürgern deren Egalität gefährdet. Aloys Winterling: ‚Arme‘ und ‚Reiche‘, S. 197, demzufolge es sich „[b]ei den Polisgesellschaften […] um stratifizierte Gesellschaften [handelte], die in Unordnung geraten waren“, weil die soziale Mobilität zu Inhomogenitäten innerhalb der Unter- wie der Oberschicht geführt habe. Das Ergebnis waren „Diskrepanzen zwischen Selbsteinschätzung und Fremdeinschätzung hinsichtlich der Ehre des einzelnen, d. h. des ihm in der gesellschaftlichen Hierarchie zukommenden Platzes“ (ebd.). In Ders.: Aristoteles’ Theorie der politischen Gesellschaft, S. 78, hat Winterling diese Überlegungen weiter ausgeführt; seiner Ansicht nach war „[d]ie realhistorische Gesellschaftsstruktur, die Aristoteles analysierte, […] paradox“, da die „unmittelbare Verkopplung von politischer Ordnung und sozialen Strukturen […] unwirksam und wirksam zugleich“ war; dies habe letztlich „zu tatsächlicher politischer Desintegration“ geführt. Allerdings bleibt einzuwenden, dass solche Statusdissonanzen, wie problematisch sie auch von den Zeitgenossen empfunden werden, für jede sozial differenzierte Gesellschaft völlig normal und unvermeidlich sind. Die von Winterling konstatierten Destabilisierungsthesen lassen sich zumindest im innerlich befriedeten und von staseis völlig freien Athen des 4. Jh. überhaupt nicht beobachten. Vgl. hierzu nur Winfried Schmitz: Verpaßte Chancen, S. 41–43, Zitat ebd., S. 42. Christian Meier: Die Entstehung des Politischen bei den Griechen, Frankfurt am Main 1980, S. 151. Josiah Ober: The Polis as a Society, S. 144: „[D]ifferentiation of public and private roles had significant effects on Athenian social behavior and distinguishes Athens from other Mediterra-

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Zudem sei die Arbeitsteilung im Athen des vierten Jh. v. Chr. relativ fortgeschritten und die soziale Differenzierung und Pluralisierung entsprechend weit entwickelt gewesen.148 Zwischen einigen antiken Poleis, wie etwa Athen, und gegenwärtigen, ‚modernen‘ Staaten bestünden daher, so Ober, im Hinblick auf ihren Differenzierungsgrad lediglich graduelle Unterschiede.149 Allgemein gilt eine „hohe soziale Differenzierung“, d. h. die Auffächerung der Gesellschaft in verschiedene Teilgruppen einerseits und in voneinander getrennte Funktionsbereiche als typisches Kennzeichen der ‚Moderne‘.150 Doch auch Aristoteles hatte in der Politik mehrfach den Versuch unternommen, die Polis in Gruppen und Aufgabenfelder zu untergliedern. Dabei war er aber immer davon ausgegangen, dass diese Teile miteinander ein einheitliches, fest integriertes Ganzes bildeten – eine Vorstellung, die (post-) moderne Differenzierungstheorien nicht unbedingt teilen.151

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nean societies.“ Nach ebd., S. 142 rangierte die Ausdifferenzierung zwischen privater und öffentlicher Sphäre im Athen des 4. Jh. im „middle ground“ zwischen totaler Trennung und totalem Zusammenfallen; er betont jedoch explizit, dass „the demos did try to keep public and private spheres sufficiently distinct“. Vgl. Josiah Ober: Political Dissent, S. 297, sowie Ders.: The Polis as a Society, S. 136: „In sum, Aristotle’s polis is a pluralistic, differentiated society as well as a state.“ Auch Oswyn Murray: Polis and Politeia, S. 206, betont, dass Athen „was a city with a high degree of unity, a genuine element of koinonia, despite the variety of citizen types it contained, its freedom ‚to live as one wishes‘ and its economic diversity; Athens was a genuinely pluralist society. “ Zur „tolerance and variety of democratic Athens“ vgl. zudem Richard Mulgan: Aristotle’s Analysis of Oligarchy and Democracy, S. 320. Vgl. zudem die Ausführungen von Eli Sagan: The Honey and the Hemlock. Democracy and Paranoia in Ancient Athens and Modern America, Princeton 1994 [1991], S. 108–111, zur Forcierung von „social mobility“ und zur Ausprägung einer „open society“ im Athen des 4. Jh. v. Chr. (Zitate ebd., S. 108). Sagan übertreibt allerdings ebd., S. 204–211, die von ihm aufgemachte Dichotomie zwischen der ‚autoritären‘ vor-demokratischen und der ‚radikal individualistischen‘ demokratischen Gesellschaft. Generell zu Athen als ‚offener Gesellschaft‘ Karl R. Popper: Die offene Gesellschaft und ihre Feinde, Bd. 1: Der Zauber Platons (übers. von Paul K. Feyerabend), Tübingen 1992 [London 1945], bes. S. 218–220. So Josiah Ober: Aristotle’s Political Sociology, S. 133: „The lower level of differentiation in Greece is at least in part responsible for the lack of ancient concern for negative freedom of citizens. But the difference remains a matter of degree and is not sufficiently immense to obviate, a priori, the contemporary usefulness of ancient political philosophy or practice.“ Thomas Mergel: Geht es weiterhin voran, S. 218, macht deutlich, dass niemals eine historische Gesellschaft über all jene Eigenschaften verfügt habe, die ‚der‘ Moderne zugeschrieben werden – völlige Ausdifferenzierung eingeschlossen: „Wahrscheinlich ist Modernisierung nirgendwo vollständig.“ Damit wäre Athen in dieser Hinsicht kein Sonder-, sondern der Normalfall. Vgl. Thorsten Bonacker / Andreas Reckwitz: Das Problem der Moderne, S. 11, und die – von Mergel selbst allerdings als problematisch angesehene – „Dichotomie von Tradition und Modernität“ in älteren Modernisierungstheorien, wobei ‚Tradition‘ u. a. „geringe soziale Differenzierung“ bedeutete, während „hohe soziale Differenzierung, zentralistische, anonyme Herrschaft, hohe Mobilität, Lebenserwartung und Partizipation“ ‚modern‘ seien: „Im Grunde wurden dabei nicht Prozesse untersucht, sondern zwei verschiedene Tableaus miteinander verglichen“ (alle Zitate nach Thomas Mergel: Geht es weiterhin voran, S. 216). Manfred Hättich: Pluralismus als Aufgabe. Freiheit, Toleranz und Konsens, in: Heinrich Oberreuter (Hg.): Pluralismus. Grundlegung und Diskussion, Opladen 1980, S. 109–125, spricht in diesem Zusammenhang ebd., S. 112–114, von ‚personaler Desintegration‘.

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Trotz dieser nicht unwichtigen Differenz sind gesellschaftliche Ausdifferenzierungsprozesse und -modelle keineswegs ein rein neuzeitliches Phänomen. So war das Politische, ebenso wie etwa die Philosophie oder die Lyrik, im Athen des vierten Jh. v. Chr. ein ausdifferenziertes, relativ autonomes gesellschaftliches Feld, das deutlich nach außen hin abgegrenzt und nach eigenen, teilweise hochkomplexen Regeln und Verfahren organisiert war.152 Athen war zwar keine ‚pluralistische‘, sondern eine direkte Demokratie, in der die politische Partizipation nicht vermittels Parteien oder Verbänden erfolgte. Doch gerade deshalb erwies sich die politische Ordnung als bemerkenswert autonom: Die soziale Differenzierung der Bürgerschaft schlug nicht ungebrochen auf das politische Feld zurück, da in diesem die demokratische Regel der Gleichheit aller Bürger galt.153 Ohne autonomes politisches Feld wäre eine Demokratie inmitten einer sozial differenzierten Gesellschaft nicht realisierbar. Mehr noch, letztlich war das Politische im antiken Athen autonomer als heute, eben weil dort das Einbringen individueller, eventuell durch die eigene soziale Lage bedingter Partikularinteressen in die Politik strikt abgelehnt wurde.154 Als übergeordneter, für alle Beteiligten zentraler Handlungsrahmen und Referenzpunkt integrierte das politische Feld der Demokratie eine Vielfalt sozial ungleicher, unterschiedlich gebildeter und in politischen Sachfragen sicherlich nicht von vornherein einmütiger Bürger und machte aus ihnen, Aristoteles’ Konzeption der Polisgemeinschaft entsprechend, eine ‚Einheit in der Vielheit‘. Aus Sicht der Demokratiekritiker griff diese Integration in schädlicher Weise über das Politische hinaus. Nicht nur galten innerhalb des politischen Raums eigene, ihrer Ansicht nach falsche Regeln;155 diese Regeln wirkten auch zurück auf den sozialen Raum und tendierten dazu, ihn zu transformieren: Demokratische 152 Vgl. zur Autonomie des Politischen in Athen etwa den Überblick bei Christian Mann: Politische Gleichheit, S. 18–29. Aloys Winterling: Aristoteles’ Theorie der politischen Gesellschaft, S. 73, ist hier anderer Meinung. Zur Autonomie des philosophischen Feldes spätestens ab dem 4. Jh. v. Chr. vgl. etwa Peter Scholz: Der Philosoph und die Politik. Die Ausbildung der philosophischen Lebensform und die Entwicklung des Verhältnisses von Philosophie und Politik im 4. und 3. Jh. v. Chr. (= Frankfurter Althistorische Beiträge Bd. 2), Stuttgart 1998, sowie meine Dissertationsschrift: Katarina Nebelin: Philosophie und Aristokratie. 153 Christian Meier: Die Entstehung des Politischen, S. 62, betont die „besondere Ausprägung des Politischen als zentrale[m] Lebenselement“ der Bürger. Nach Christian Mann: Politische Gleichheit, S. 20, ist „eine Konzentration von Macht auf dem Feld der Politik“ die Voraussetzung dafür, dass politische Gleichheit bei gleichzeitiger sozialer Ungleichheit entstehen kann. Nach Josiah Ober: The Polis as a Society, S. 146, zeichnete sich die athenische Demokratie durch eine „balance between acknowledged social distinctions and political equalities“ aus. 154 Nach Christian Meier: Gleichheit und Grenzen, S. 830, politisierten die Bürger nicht ihre ‚privaten‘, d. h. häuslichen Angelegenheiten, sondern „sich selbst“; so „führte die Scheidung zwischen Öffentlichkeit und Haus dazu, daß die Bürger […] ihre häuslichen Probleme nicht in die Politik einbrachten. Das hätte sie zudem, bei ihren verschiedenen Interessen, zersplittert.“ Ähnlich auch Jochen Bleicken: Die athenische Demokratie, S. 203–204; Josiah Ober: The Polis as a Society, S. 142. 155 Christian Mann: Politische Gleichheit, S. 6, betont, dass die Einführung der Demokratie nicht mit einer sozialen „Umwälzung“ einhergegangen sei; vielmehr sei „eher zu überlegen, ob nicht die Stabilität der Gesellschaft eine notwendige Bedingung war, damit sich ein politisches System ausdifferenzieren konnte.“

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Gleichheit und Gesetzlosigkeit, so fürchteten die Kritiker, erfassten neben dem ‚einfachen Volk‘ auch Frauen, Kinder, Sklaven und Haustiere und stürzten so die gesamte soziale Ordnung ins Chaos.156 Solche Horrorszenarien entsprachen allerdings nicht im Geringsten der athenischen Wirklichkeit. Nach den beiden oligarchischen Umstürzen gegen Ende des Peloponnesischen Krieges blieb die politische Ordnung stabil und wurde weder durch Bürgerkriege noch durch soziale Unruhen erschüttert.157 Hier kam die Autonomie des philosophischen Feldes zum Tragen: Denker wie Platon, Isokrates oder in geringerem Maße auch Aristoteles bewegten sich mit ihrer Demokratiekritik in einem von der historischen Realität relativ autonomen, wenn auch nicht völlig abgekoppelten Diskursraum.158 Ihre Gesellschaftskritik verarbeiteten sie nicht in politischen Reformen oder konkreten Vorschlägen, sondern in philosophischen Reflexionen und Idealstaatsentwürfen. Diese konnten stark differieren: Während Platon der perfekten, gerechten Ordnung die Autonomie des Politischen opferte,159 wollte Aristoteles den Erhalt eines autonomen politischen Feldes dadurch erreichen, dass er einem Großteil des ‚einfachen Volkes‘ die politische Freiheit und damit das Bürgerrecht nahm, um auf diese Weise die Unklarheiten und Widersprüche zwischen sozialer und politischer Ordnung zu überwinden. In der Politeia korrelierte Platon die von ihm beobachtete soziale Differenzierung mit einer postulierten, seelisch fundierten Ungleichheit der Menschen: Wer von Natur aus über eine moralisch und intellektuell minderwertige Seele verfüge, müsse nach dem Grundsatz ‚Jedem das Seine‘ zwangsläufig eine ‚banausische‘ Ar-

156 Vgl. auch Paul Cartledge: Democracy, Origins of. Contribution to a Debate, in: Kurt A. Raaflaub / Josiah Ober / Robert W. Wallace (Hgg.): Origins of Democracy in Ancient Greece, Berkeley u. a. 2007, S. 155–169: „[A]ncient Greek democracy was a total social phenomenon, a culture and not merely a political system (as we would understand that)“ (S. 156). 157 Peter A. Brunt: The Model City of Plato’s Laws, in: Ders. (Hg.): Studies in Greek History and Thought, Oxford/New York 1993, S. 245–281: „[L]ike Aristotle, Plato did not acknowledge the great stability of Athenian democracy, which from the time of Clisthenes’ reforms was never overthrown from within, expect briefly in 411“ (ebd., S. 271); sowie Oswyn Murray: Polis and Politeia, S. 206. 158 Vgl. Josiah Ober: Political Dissent, S. 45, zur „Athenian critical community“, die er als „relatively small, informal, and elite body“ wohlhabender, gebildeter Demokratiekritiker beschreibt, die „no organizational structure or set membership“ besaßen und ihre Kritik hauptsächlich in unterschiedlichen literarischen Formen verarbeiteten, weshalb er sie ebd., S. 46 auch als „virtual community“ bezeichnet. Gleichwohl gab es recht klare ‚Eintrittsregeln‘: „[I]t seems that to be recognized as a player in the game, it was essential to engage with a relatively familiar set of ideas and to employ a familiar range of sociological, political, ethical, and moral terminology“ (ebd., S. 47). Im Unterschied zu Ober (ebd., S. 369–373) sehe ich es jedoch als wenig wahrscheinlich an, dass diese Demokratiekritik überwiegend als produktiv empfunden wurde und zu einem „ongoing dialogue between critical-intellectual and democratic discourses“ (ebd. S. 373) geführt habe. 159 Vgl. dazu etwa Karen Piepenbrink: Politische Ordnungskonzeptionen in der attischen Demokratie des vierten Jahrhunderts v. Chr. Eine vergleichende Untersuchung zum philosophischen und rhetorischen Diskurs (= Historia Einzelschriften Bd. 154), Stuttgart 2001 S. 183, der zufolge sowohl Platon als auch dessen Zeitgenosse, der Rhetoriklehrer Isokrates, „für die Aufhebung der Trennung zwischen ‚öffentlicher‘ und ‚privater‘ Sphäre“ eintraten.

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beit ausüben.160 Und weil die Menschen eben nicht gleich seien, dürfen sie auch im Politischen nicht gleichberechtigt sein; der individuelle ‚Wert‘ jedes Einzelnen soll vielmehr direkt und ungebrochen aufs politische Feld zurückschlagen. Das Ergebnis ist eine Entdifferenzierung zum Zwecke der Komplexitätsreduktion: Funktionieren Politik, soziales Leben und Wirtschaftsleben nach denselben Regeln und werden sie jeweils von denselben ‚Besten‘ und ‚Angesehenen‘ dominiert, verliert die Polisgemeinschaft an Differenziertheit und damit an Komplexität, innerer Widersprüchlichkeit, Ambivalenz und Unsicherheit.161 Aristoteles dagegen plädierte nicht für die Aufhebung der Autonomie des Politischen. Im Gegenteil: Gerade seine problematische Ausgrenzung der Handwerker, Bauern und sonstigen Lohnarbeiter aus der ‚besten‘ Polis scheint unmittelbar aus dem Bestreben motiviert worden zu sein, die Autonomie des Politischen zu schützen.162 Denn je stärker die Ungleichheiten innerhalb einer Bürgerschaft sind, desto eher tendieren soziale Differenzen und Partikularinteressen dazu, in den politischen Bereich überzugreifen und dessen Autonomie zu unterhöhlen. Aus diesem Grund betont Aristoteles, dass allzu krasse Vermögens-, Bildungs-, Herkunfts- und Tugendunterschiede zwischen den Bürgern nicht nur nicht nötig, sondern tendenziell sogar kontraproduktiv für den Bestand und die innere Harmonie der Polisgemeinschaft sind.163 Radikal zu Ende gedacht folgt daraus aber, dass politische Freiheit und Gleichheit unter den Bürgern letztlich nur dann wirklich möglich und sinnvoll sind, wenn es sich bei diesen um eine sehr kleine, weitgehend homogene und elitäre Gruppe handelt. Trotz der sehr weitreichenden Ähnlichkeit der Gruppenmitglieder muss es allerdings unter ihnen Unterschiede geben, wenn sie eine wirkliche Polis bilden sollen – und wie Jill Frank ausgeführt hat, kann die hierfür geforderte Vielfalt angesichts der sozialen und politischen Gleichheit unter den Bürgern nur indi-

160 In Aristot. pol. 7,9, 1328b33–41 wird der Ausschluss der ‚Banausen‘ aus der ‚Idealpolis‘ damit begründet, dass deren Leben der arete entgegengesetzt sei und daher nicht zur Glückseligkeit führen könne; vgl. auch 1,11, 1258b35–39 sowie 3,5,1278a9–13, wonach diejenigen, die für andere arbeiten müssen, nicht die „Tugend des Bürgers“ (1278a9–10: πολίτου άρετὴν) besitzen. 161 Laut Karl R. Popper: Die offene Gesellschaft, S. 95, „sehnt sich [Platon] nach der verlorenen Einheit des Stammeslebens“ zurück; vgl. dazu insgesamt ebd., S. 202–239. 162 Aloys Winterling: Aristoteles’ Theorie der politischen Gesellschaft, S. 79, führt aus, dass Aristoteles auf die „Integration der Polisgesellschaft durch Politik“ abzielt; um diese zu gewährleisten, „strebt er eine Herrschafts- und Gesellschaftsordnung an, die von der des Hauses am weitesten entfernt ist: Ziel ist das stetige Wechseln von Herrschen und Beherrschtwerden“ unter den „Freien und Gleichen […] – was allerdings zur Folge hat, daß große Kreise von Polisbewohnern aus der politischen Bürgerschaft auszuschließen sind.“ Vgl. auch Eckart Schütrumpf: Die Analyse der Polis, S. 36: „Aristoteles erhält einen zweistufigen Aufbau der Bevölkerung, gegliedert in ‚Teile‘ und Nebenvoraussetzungen, d. h. den Zweck, den die Bürger darstellen, und ihre Mittel oder Werkzeuge, die außerhalb der polis stehen. Politischer und ökonomischer Bereich sind scharf voneinander getrennt und in ein teleologisches Verhältnis zueinander gebracht.“ 163 Aristot. pol. 4,11, 1295b 25–27: βούλεται δέ γε ἡ πόλις ἐξ ἴσων εἶναι καὶ ὁμοίων ὅτι μάλιστα, τοῦτο δ’ ὑπάρχει μάλιστα τοῖς μέσοις; auch für den einzelnen Bürger ist es am besten, wenn sein Vermögen mittleren Ausmaßes ist: 4,11, 1295a36–b7.

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viduellen Ursprungs sein.164 Ein sorgfältig ausgearbeitetes Erziehungsprogramm sowie die gemeinsame Orientierung an Tugend und dem Wohl der Allgemeinheit sollen gewährleisten, dass diese Vielfalt nicht in die von Aristoteles abgelehnte ‚Freiheit, zu leben wie man will‘ (Vielfalt 3) abgleitet. Die für die Polis konstitutive Vielfalt (1) bleibt somit auf die kleine Gruppe der ‚Freien und Gleichen’ beschränkt. Der Preis für diese bürgerliche Homogenität ist der Ausschluss aller übrigen sozialen Gruppen (Vielfalt 2), d. h. der ‚Banausen‘, Bauern, Lohnarbeiter, aus der Bürgergemeinschaft. In Aristoteles’ Modell der ‚besten‘ Polis gestaltet sich dieser Ausschluss völlig unkompliziert: Nicht diejenigen, die einer der verpönten Erwerbsformen nachgehen, verlieren die Bürgerrechte, sondern umgekehrt werden die Bürger von der Notwendigkeit enthoben, zur Sicherung ihres Lebensunterhalts körperlich und seelisch korrumpierende Arbeiten ausführen zu müssen, indem das Land und diejenigen, die es bewirtschaften, unter ihnen verteilt werden.165 Aristoteles sieht scheinbar weder ein „moralisches Problem […] in dem Ausschluß einer ganzen Bevölkerungsgruppe“,166 noch befasst er sich mit dem Problem der praktischen Umsetzbarkeit dieser Idealvorstellung.167 Offenbar schwebte ihm eine Art idealisiertes Sparta vor, in dem nur diejenigen herrschen, die dazu geeignet sind. Entsprechend sind die Herrschaftsverhältnisse in Aristoteles’ ‚bester Polis‘ ebenso eindeutig wie naturgemäß geregelt: Die ‚begrenzte‘ Sklaverei der Handwerker ist zu einer faktischen geworden; ‚Sklaven von Natur‘ übernehmen jene Aufgaben, die aus den Ausführenden ohnehin ‚begrenzte‘ Sklaven machen würden.168 Dieser radikale Ausschluss aller ‚Produzenten‘ und ‚Arbeiter‘ vom politischen Leben soll, so Stefanie Haacke, sogar „in die Topographie der Stadt“ eingeschrieben werden; deshalb ist „die Agora, auf der politische und gemeinschaftliche Aktivitäten stattfinden, von Tausch- und Handelsgeschäften freizuhalten“.169 Soziale und politische Vielfalt, so zentral sie für die Polis auch sind, erscheinen hier eingehegt und reguliert durch klare Hierarchien.170 Letzten Endes entwirft 164 Jill Frank: A Democracy of Distinction, S. 146–147: „It is not difference based on ascription or differentiation based on economic class but individual difference that, separating each and every person from each and every other (notwithstanding similarities in such categories as class, gender, or ethnicity), marks the unique identity of a person“; auch die politische Gemeinschaft wird ihr zufolge durch diese „differentiation of function or interest among classes of individuals“ begründet (ebd., S. 146). 165 So Aristot. pol. 7,10, 1329b35–1330a32; vgl. dazu Pierre Pellegrin: Naturalité, excellence, diversité, S. 144. 166 Dorothea Frede: Staatsverfassung und Staatsbürger, S. 90. 167 Vgl. die Kritik von Eckart Schütrumpf: Die Analyse der Polis, S. 40: „Wie nun eine griechische Demokratie mit freien Bauern und Handwerkern, die volles Bürgerrecht besaßen, in den aristotelischen besten Staat verwandelt werden könnte, kann man sich nicht vorstellen. Was sollte auch mit den freien Bauern und Handwerkern geschehen?“ 168 Zur ‚begrenzten‘ Sklaverei der Handwerker vgl. Aristot. pol. 1,13, 1260a42–b2 (zitiert in Fußnote 102). 169 Stefanie Haacke: Zuteilen und Vergelten, S. 55; ebenso auch David J. Depew: Politics, Music, and Contemplation, S. 363; vgl. dazu Aristot. pol. 7,12, 1331a31–b14. 170 Vgl. hierzu Arlene W. Saxonhouse: Fear of Diversity, S. 191, wonach Aristoteles „tries valiantly to resolve the problem of diversity by imposing hierarchy rather than by ignoring or

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Aristoteles eine „funktionsrational“ in Bürger und Nicht-Bürger gegliederte Polis, in der die sozioökonomische und die politische Position jedes Einzelnen einander entsprechen und ineinander aufgehen.171 Josiah Ober spricht in diesem Zusammenhang von den „exklusiven und elitistischen Prinzipien“, auf denen Aristoteles’ ‚Idealpolis‘ aufgebaut sei.172 Außerhalb von dieser bleibt jedoch die inhärente Spannung zwischen natürlicher Gleichheit aller Bürger und sozialer Ungleichheit bestehen und läuft so Gefahr, die absolute Trennung zwischen Freien und Sklaven zu verwischen: Plötzlich gibt es eben doch Abstufungen und Übergangsformen, ‚Sklaven von Natur‘, ‚unrechtmäßig‘ Versklavte und ‚begrenzte‘ Sklaven. Diese Ambivalenz lässt sich nicht gänzlich auflösen. Sie resultiert aus Aristoteles’ grundsätzlicher Bejahung der Vielfalt auf der einen und seiner ebenso grundlegenden Skepsis gegenüber egalitären Strukturen auf der anderen Seite. Ebenso wie etwa Platon erkennt auch Aristoteles, dass bestimmte Formen der Vielfalt in die völlige Auflösung aller Ordnung und Gemeinschaft zu führen drohen; doch er begegnet dieser Gefahr, indem er durch Hierarchien sowie durch gesellschaftliche und naturgegebene Ungleichheiten Ordnung in die Vielfalt bringt.173 Die ‚Einheit in der Vielfalt‘, auf die Aristoteles immer wieder abhebt, ist eine Einheit der vielen Ungleichen; sie muss entweder hierarchisch strukturiert174 oder extrem eng gefasst werden. Dolf Sternbergers prägnante Formel: „Der Staat ist die Vielheit der Gleichen und die Gleich-

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conflating differences“; noch dezidierter Manuel Knoll: Aristokratische oder demokratische Gerechtigkeit?, S. 202–203. Zur Bedeutung von Hierarchie für Aristoteles’ politisches Denken generell vgl. Aloys Winterling: Aristoteles’ Theorie der politischen Gesellschaft, S. 69. Eckart Schütrumpf: Die Analyse der Polis, S. 42: „Vor seinem Verfahren, die Tätigkeit zur Determinante für die soziale Stellung zu machen, mußte die gesellschaftliche Schichtung, die er in den zeitgenössischen Demokratien vorfand, widersprüchlich erscheinen: Sie war nicht funktionsrational.“ Josiah Ober: Aristotle’s Political Sociology, S. 129. Siehe hierzu auch die Ausführungen von Stefanie Haacke: Zuteilen und Vergelten, S. 59–74, die Aristoteles allerdings zu einseitig als Befürworter einer „ständischen Gesellschaft“ (ebd., S. 85) liest. Josiah Ober: Aristotle’s Political Sociology, S. 131: „The political sociology of Aristotle’s ideal state is, in the end, based upon exclusionary and elitist principles“ (dt. Übersetzung durch d. Verf.) Vgl. zu diesem Vorgehen Arlene W. Saxonhouse: Fear of Diversity, S. 191–192. Jochen Martin: Zwei Alte Geschichten. Vergleichende historisch-anthropologische Betrachtungen zu Griechenland und Rom, in: Ders.: Bedingungen menschlichen Handelns in der Antike. Gesammelte Beiträge zur Historischen Anthropologie (hrsg. von Winfried Schmitz), Stuttgart 2009, S. 291–310 [erstmals in Saeculum 48, 1997, S. 1–20], dort S. 307 [17], fasst Aristoteles’ gegen Platons Einheitsstaat gerichtetes Vorgehen wie folgt zusammen: „Einheit sei [Aristoteles zufolge; d. Verf.] nur denkbar als Einheit von Vielem. Aber dieses Viele wird jetzt in einen Subordinationszusammenhang gebracht, der in der Politik nie bestanden hat.“ Jill Frank: A Democracy of Distinction, S. 15, bringt dieses Vorgehen – bezogen auf die Demokratie – unter den titelgebenden Begriff der „democracy of distinction“; dabei handele es sich um „a democracy that requires the practice of virtue by differentiated citizens in order to actualize itself“ in Form einer (so ebd., S. 16) „unity of the different“. Beachte auch Eckart Schütrumpf: Erziehung durch den Staat, S. 249, wonach Aristoteles Vielfalt nicht als „ein[e] horizontal[e], die eine Vielfältigkeit der Ausprägung von Eigenschaften als gleichwertig anerkennt und als Bereicherung persönlicher Möglichkeiten begrüßt, sondern in der vertikalen Dimension, die zwischen höherstehend, das heißt vollkommen, und weniger befähigt unterscheidet“, verortet.

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heit der Vielen“175 gilt nur für die Bürger – und wenn es nach Aristoteles ginge, sollten diese im Idealfall eine sozial wie ökonomisch weitgehend homogene Elite bilden. Letztlich war die athenische Demokratie moderner als Aristoteles’ politische Theorie: In seinem Entwurf der ‚besten Polis‘ versuchte er – folgerichtig –, die Zeit zurückzudrehen und, wie Eckart Schütrumpf formuliert hat, durch „künstliche gesellschaftliche Bedingungen“ auf eine von Aristoteles selbst angenommene Stufe der historischen Entwicklung vor der Entstehung der Demokratie zurückzukehren.176 Dieses Vorgehen erscheint auch in einer Zeit, in der das vielbeschworene „Unbehagen an der pluralistischen Gesellschaft“ und die Furcht vor der Bildung von Parallelgesellschaften sowie vor wachsender sozialer Ungleichheit und Ungerechtigkeit zunehmen, nur zu verständlich.177 In einer solchen Situation erscheinen die Fragen, die Aristoteles’ politisches Denken aufwirft, weder unwichtig, noch können sie als abschließend geklärt gelten: Ist die naturgegebene Gleichheit aller Bürger grundlegender als die diversen sozialen, ökonomischen, intellektuellen und moralischen Unterschiede zwischen ihnen? Kann Vielfalt ohne Gleichheit wünschenswert sein? Ist es vertretbar, dass der Preis für das ‚gute Leben‘ Weniger die Ungleichheit und der weitreichende Ausschluss aller Übrigen sein soll?178 Vieles spricht dafür, dass die besten Antworten auf diese Fragen auf das anspruchsvollste der aristotelischen Vielfaltskonzepte, nämlich das der auf die Gemeinschaft bezogenen und diese konstituierenden Vielfalt (1), Bezug nehmen sollten.179

175 Dolf Sternberger: Drei Wurzeln der Politik, S. 110. 176 Eckart Schütrumpf: Die Analyse der Polis, S. 42. Auch nach Henning Ottmann: Geschichte des politischen Denkens, S. 211, „trennt sich [Aristoteles] damit von der historischen Realität“, da „die von Aristoteles Ausgeschlossenen“ im demokratischen Athen „bereits Bürger gewesen sind.“ 177 Das Zitat ist abgeleitet aus dem Titel eines Aufsatzes von Hans Kremendahl: Das Unbehagen an der pluralistischen Gesellschaft, in: Heinrich Oberreuter (Hg.): Pluralismus. Grundlegung und Diskussion, Opladen 1980, S. 203–229. Zur „Diversität und Konflikthaftigkeit der Moderne“ vgl. zudem Thorsten Bonacker / Andreas Reckwitz: Das Problem der Moderne, S. 13– 14, Zitat S. 13. 178 Vgl. etwa D. Brendan Nagle: The Household, S. 315, im Hinblick auf die aristotelische ‚Idealpolis‘: „We are left with the question of whether the price for the human development of the few was worth the high price paid by the rest of the community.“ 179 Thomas Gutschker: Aristotelische Diskurse, S. 486 bezeichnet es resümierend als „Vorzug“ der philosophischen Ansätze von Arendt, Sternberger und – mit Einschränkungen – Nussbaum, dass diese „einen Mittelweg zwischen zwanghafter Einheit und teilnahmsloser Differenz, zwischen universeller Ontologie und purem Relativismus suchen. Alle drei knüpfen an die aristotelische Figur des durch unaufhebbare Vielheit konstituierten Gemeinwesens an, in dem Meinungsunterschiede dialogisch aufgetragen und politisch geregelt werden. […] Diese freundliche und humane Weise rationalen Denkens folgt nicht nur aus der praktischen Philosophie des Aristoteles, sondern sie weist auch in die Zukunft – eine Zukunft, in der man auf die Anregungen des Stagiriten nur ungerne wird verzichten wollen.“

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THE HONORIFIC DECREES OF FOURTH-CENTURY ATHENS: TRENDS, PERCEPTIONS, CONTROVERSIES Peter Liddel

PART 1: INTRODUCTION 1.1 Democracy, community, and the decree Aristotle took the view that a democracy in which the psephismata (decrees) of the assembly over-ride the rule of law was despotic in its spirit (Politics 1292a 6–8, 16–22, 32–8). The status of the psephisma in fourth-century Athens was quite different: far from representing the capricious whims of the people, their enactment appears to have been regulated by a set of procedures, involving proposal, discussion at the council and ratification by the assembly; indeed, as Rhodes has argued, the introduction of a distinction between laws and decrees was intended ‘not to weaken but to strengthen democracy’.1 Accordingly, the evidence of decrees, the processes surrounding them, and attitudes towards them offer valuable insight into the tendencies of the Athenian community, the strategies of its politicians, and the nature of its democracy. This is hardly an unorthodox starting point: recent scholarship has pointed to the Athenians’ growing use of honorific decrees for foreigners as levers of diplomatic and commercial interests in the second half of the fourth century.2 Moreover, other work has rightly emphasised the growing tendency, in the same period, of encouraging euergetic behaviour and civic-minded office-holding as a means of promoting the interests of the city at a time when it faced up to the 1

2

I would like to thank Prof. Tiersch for inviting me to speak at the very rich and informative 2012 Berlin conference, and to Cynthia Klinghammer and her co-organisers. This paper benefitted from the discussion with the participants at that conference. Parts of the paper were offered at the UK Classical Association Conference at Durham, May 2011, and I would like to offer thanks to the participants for their discussion and encouragement. I am particularly grateful to S. D. Lambert (editor of the new edition of Attic laws and decrees of the period 352/1–322/1 [IG II3 Part I fascicule II], translated at www.atticinscriptions.com) for the attention he has paid to this paper and for making detailed comments and suggestions for its improvement. Rhodes 2010: 68. On the proposal and enactment of decrees, see Rhodes with Lewis 1997: 11–16; Rhodes 1972: 52–81; Rhodes 1981: 543–4. Aeschines classified Oreos (known also as Histiaia) on Euboea as democratically-ruled on the basis of the observation that ‘everything is done there by decree’ (3.103). The connection between decrees and democracy appears elsewhere in works associated with Aristotle: the author of the Constitution of the Athenians thought that one of the things that made Athens a democracy was its administration of everything by decrees and the law-courts (Ath Pol. 41.2). Mitchell 1995: 142; Hagamajer Allen 2003: 237–8; Moreno 2007: 189; Engen 2010; with particular reference to inscribed versions: Lambert 2011a: 178–9 and 2012a: 377–86.

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disintegration of the second Athenian confederacy, the rise of Philip of Macedon, and intensifying domestic political rivalries.3 One of the tools deployed in this way was the honorific decree. In this paper, which draws upon testimonia gathered as part of a wider analysis of fourth-century Athenian decrees attested in ancient literary texts,4 I shall focus upon honorific decrees: in the fourth century, the Athenians publicly acknowledged particular acts of behaviour by bestowing a range of honours on individuals through decrees of the assembly.5 I shall explore developments in the way that Athenians honoured both citizens and non-citizens, assessing the substance of, and attitudes towards, those honours; I shall do this with the intention of gaining insight into the ongoing negotiation between individual profile and the well-being of the community of fourth-century Athens.6 Discrepancies will emerge between the literary and epigraphical evidence: the interpretation of these as coexistent but contradictory discourses uncovers a nuanced picture of the significance, to the fourth-century Athenians, of the honorific decree. Furthermore, I shall attempt to unravel anxieties about and objections to Athenian honorific practices which emerge in oratory. This study, I suggest, has implications not only for our understanding of changes in the Athenians’ deployment of honorific awards in the second half of the fourth century (part 2), but also for our comprehension of the ways they thought about the implications of those rewards (part 3), and their reactions to domestic and interstate political change.7

1.2 Honours: the evidence In this article I shall assess two sets of evidence for honorific decrees for Athenians:8 on the one hand, honours for citizens, of which there are literary testimonia for about 30 decrees;9 on the other, the evidence of inscribed decrees set up with the 3 4

5

6

7 8

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Hakkarainen 1997; Wilson 2000; Faraguna 2011; Lambert 2011a and 2011b; Oliver 2011. The job of collecting material was made easier by these publications: Osborne 1981–3, Hansen 1989: 34–69 and Develin 1989. On the analysis of documents in ancient texts, see Davies 2010. I have not considered the evidence of fifth-century Athenian honorific decrees. See, however, Gauthier 1985: 92–6. On the relationship between honour and democracy in Athens, see Whitehead 1983; Brüggenbrock 2006. For cross-cultural approaches to the significance of honour, see Cairns 2011; Welsh 2008, viewing honour as ‘the respect that motivates or constrains members of a peer group’ (Welsh 2008: xv, 148). I shall not, however, discuss the terms of praise (on which see Whitehead 1993 and Cook 2009), nor the value-concepts mentioned in Attic decrees (on which see Veligianni-Terzi 1997 and Whitehead 2009). Cf., for instance, the views of Badian 1995 and Mossé 1995. In this paper I have not taken comprehensively into account those decrees of the Athenian people mentioned in dedications (cf. Agora xv 1–56) or inventories (e. g. IG II2 1424 lines 21–3), nor those implied by the existence of statue-bases. I also do not take into consideration the decrees of sub-polis units. Honours for Athenians in the literary record: Rhinon and others, 403/2 ([Arist.] Ath. Pol. 38.4); democrats from Phyle, 403/2 (Aeschin. 3.187–90); Thrasyboulos of Steiria, 403/2 (Nep. Thras.

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purpose of honouring Athenians, which number about 40.10 We should note that whereas the inscribed record is very much concentrated in the period after 350 (the Athenians begin to regularly inscribe honours for Athenians in the 340s)11, the literary material is spread much more evenly across the fourth century. What emerges, therefore, is a distinction between honorific and epigraphical habits: the inscription of honours might be viewed as a heightening of already-decreed honours. Furthermore, I shall take into account also honours for non-Athenians: there are literary testimonia for about 44 awards being made,12 while there are 250 extant 4.1); Konon, 393 (Dem. 20.69–70); Iphikrates, post-390 (Aeschin. 3.243); Chabrias, 377/6 or 376/5 (Dem. 20.75, 84–6, 146; Aeschin. 3.243, etc.); Timotheos, 375/4 or 366/5 (Aeschin. 3.243; Dem. 20.84; 23.202); Iphikrates, 371/0 (Dem. 23.130, 136; Lysias f. 47 Carey); Apollodoros, 362/1 ([Dem.] 50.13); outgoing council of 356/5 (Dem. 22.5, 8); Aeschines, 349/8 (Aeschin. 2.169–70); Ktesiphon, 348/7 (Aeschin. 2.13); Aristodemos, 347/6 (Aeschin. 2.17); ambassadors returning from Pella, 347/6 (Aeschin. 2.46, 53; Dem. 19.234); Phokion, 346/5 (?) ([Plut.] Moralia 850b); embassy led by Aristodemos, 343/2 (Aeschin. 3.83); Demosthenes, 341/0 (Dem. 18.83; [Plut.] Moralia 848d); Demosthenes, 339/8 (Dem. 18.222–4; [Plut.] Moralia 846a); Demosthenes, 339/8 (Dem. 18.223; [Plut.] Moralia 846a); Demosthenes, 337/6 (Aeschin. 3.34; [document] in Dem. 18.118); proedroi, 336/5 (Hyp. Phil. 4–6); Demades, 336/5 (Lycurg. f. 58 Conomis; Din. 1.101; Aspines 10.6); Diotimos, 334/3 ([Plut.] Moralia 844a (and Dem. 18.114?); Charidemos, 357–40 (Dem. 58.30; Dem. 18.114 (?); Eubulus, post 343 (Hyp. ff.104–6 Jensen and Schol. in Aeschin Or. 2.8 Dilts); Nausikles, 338–2 (Dem. 18.114 and [document] in Dem. 18.115); Diotimos, 338–2 (Dem. 18.114 and [document] in Dem. 18.116); Charidemos, 338–2 (Dem. 18.114 and [document] in Dem. 18.116); Neoptolemos, 338/7 (Dem. 18.114; [Plut.] Moralia 843c); Diphilos (Din. 1.43; D. H. Din. 11); Kallimedon (imaginary decree: Alexis f. 56 Kock). 10 This evidence was collected and discussed by S. D. Lambert in a paper at the UK Classical Association Conference, Durham, May 2011. Those dated to the period 352/1–322/1 are studied in Lambert 2012a: 3–47, 208–14, 401–6. Lambert’s figures do not include those decrees which mention honours for Athenians in a purely incidental fashion or as an amendment, e. g. IG II2 107 lines 30–4. Overlap between the literary and inscribed material is scanty: see, however, the honours for the democrats from Phyle (Aeschin. 3.187–90 with SEG xxviii 45) and possibly that for Diotimos (IG II3 336 with Dem. 18.114 and [Plut.] Moralia 844a); a number of decrees attested in the literary material may correspond with accounts of dedicated crowns preserved in inventories: IG II2 1496 lines 22–4 (Diotimos), lines 28–36 (Charidemos), lines 42–6 (Neoptolemos). 11 Lambert 2011a: 176. 12 Honours for non-Athenians in the literary record: those who took part in the return from Piraeus, including Lysias, 403/2 ([Arist.] Ath. Pol. 40.2; [Plut.] Moralia 835f); those besieged at Phyle, 403/2 (Aeschin. 3.187); Archebios and Herakleides of Byzantion, early 380s (Dem. 20.60); Corinthian exiles of 386 (Dem. 20.54); Pasion and descendants, 390–86 ([Dem.] 59.2; Dem. 53.18); Kotys of Thrace, 384/3 or later (Dem. 23.118); Strabax and Polystratos, 390s (Dem. 20.84; Arist. Rhet. 1399b 1 ff.); Plataians, 374/3 (D. S. 15.46.6); Dionysius of Syracuse, 369/8 ([Dem.] 12.10); Alexander of Pherai, 368/7 (Dem. 23.120; D. S. 15.71.3; Plut. Pel. 31.4); Ariobazarnes of Phrygia, sons, and subordinates, c. 368–6 (Dem. 23.141, 202); Phrasierides and Polysthenes, 366/5 (Dem. 23.202); Klearchos, 366–2 (Dem. 23.202); Charidemos of Oreos, 384 or later (Dem. 23.65, 89, 141, 145, 187); Phormio and sons, 361/0 ([Dem.] 36.47; 45.7, 75; 46.13); Pytho and Herakleides of Ainos, 360 (Dem. 23.119, 127); Kersobleptes son of Kotys, c. 360 (Dem. 12.8; 23.203); Euderkes, c. 360 (Dem. 23.203); Simon of Thrace, c. 359 (Dem. 23.12); Bianor, of Thrace c. 359 (Dem. 23.12); Leukon and sons, c. 357 (Dem. 20.31–8); Charidemos or Oreos, again, 353/2 or 352/1 (Dem. 23.34, 91); Antiphanes, c. 386–30 (Anon.

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inscriptions set up with the primary intention of honouring foreigners.13 The proportions suggest that the Athenians inscribed honours for foreigners with greater frequency than they did honours for Athenians.14 In part 2 of this paper, I shall assess this evidence with a view to analysing change and continuity in terms of the honorands, activities rewarded, and substance of the rewards; in part 3, I shall turn to think about motivations, intentions, and challenges to the normative explanations for the passing of honours.

PART 2: HISTORICAL PERSPECTIVES ON HONOURS 2.1 Athenian honorands Of the 19 unique Athenian honorands for whom there is extant literary evidence,15 all except four16 appear in J. K. Davies’ Athenian Propertied Families. This is hardly surprising, given that expenditure of money for public purposes was one clear way of securing honours in fourth-century Athens. Interestingly, however, this pattern of higher proliferation among members of APF is, however, not, to the same degree,

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de Com. 12 p. 9 (Kaibel); Suda, s. v. Antiphanes (Osborne 1981–3: T 79)); Teres of Thrace, 359–43 (?) ([Dem.] 12.8); Apollonides of Olynthus, 349 or 351 ([Dem.] 59.91); Peitholaus of Thessaly, 352–49 ([Dem.] 59.91); Olynthians (and Thebans), 348/7 (Suda, s. v. Karanos; Harpokration, s. v. isoteleis); Macedonian ambassadors, 347/6 (Aeschin. 2.55, 110–12; 3.76; Dem. 18.28); Philip of Macedon, 346 (Dem. 19.48); Berisades (or Pairisades) of Pontus, 330s (Dem. 20.29–30; Din. 1.43); Kallias and Taurosthenes of Chalkis, 341–30 (Aeschin. 3.85); slaves, metics and the disenfranchised, 338 (Lycurg. 1.53; Hypereides Diondas Carey et al (2008) pag. 11 lines 31–2); Antipater of Macedon, 338 (Harpokration, s. v. Alkimachos); Alexander of Macedon, 338 (Schol. in Aristeides Panath. 178.16; Justin 9.4.5; Paus. 1.9.4); Euthykrates of Olynthus, 338–6 (Suda, s. v. Demades); Alkimachos of Macedon, 337/6 (Harpokration, s. v. Alkimachos); Philip of Macedon, 336 (D. S. 16.92.1–2; [Demades] 1.9–10); Pausanias, 336 (Aeschin. 3.160; Plut. Dem. 22.1; Plut. Phok. 16.6); Harpalus of Macedon, 320s (Athenaios 586d); Chairephilos, sons, and associates 330s–20s (Athenaios 119 f; Din. 1.43; Hyp. Dem. 27); Alexander of Macedon, 324 (Hyp. Dem. Col 31; Din. 1.94). Honours for non-Athenians in the epigraphical record in the period 403/2-353-2: c. 97 (plus c. 8 further inscribed examples where identification is uncertain); 352/1–322/1: 112 (plus 50 further inscribed examples where identification is uncertain, and 12 fragmentary reliefs: see (for the later period only) Lambert 2012a: 93–183). As with honours for Athenians, there is only scanty overlap between the literary and epigraphical material: note, however, the honours for the democrats from Phyle (Aeschin. 3.187–90 with SEG xxviii 45); the honours for Olynthians (Suda, s. v. Karanos) are no longer associated with the fragmentary IG II3 503; however, the identification of IG II3 319 with the decree for Alkimachos (Harpokration s. v. Alkimachos = Hyp. f. 77 Jensen) is more certain. These figures are, of course, approximate: the precise numbers of decrees attested in the literary record depend upon the interpretation of numerous contentious passages. On the other hand, the epigraphical record is liable to the vagaries of survival into the modern era of epigraphical scholarship. Rhinon, Thrasyboulos, Konon, Iphikrates, Chabrias, Timotheos, Apollodoros, Aeschines, Ktesiphon, Aristodemos, Phokion, Demosthenes, Demades, Diotimos, Charidemos, Eubulus, Nausikles, Neoptolemos, Diphilos. Ktesiphon, Aristodemos, Eubulus and Charidemos.

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echoed in the epigraphical record, where a much smaller proportion of named honorands are attested as members of the liturgical classes.17 This indicates an emphasis in the literary sources upon prominent, wealthy, benefactors. A clearer picture of the honorands emerges when we consider them in terms of the kinds of activity that was ostensibly being rewarded. At this point we enter controversial territory: literary accounts of honours rarely offer straightforward or uncontroversial explanations of honorific decrees. Often they suggest, instead, a view of Athenian self-perceptions of their honorific tendencies. For the moment, though, I will explore what it is possible to say from a historical perspective: what kinds of activity were being rewarded by honorific decrees? 2.2 Activities of Athenian honorands 2.2.1 Military achievements In the literary testimonia, rewards for Athenians were associated, on the whole, not with the routine fulfilment of an office, but in response to extraordinary performance. The literary remains suggest an emphasis on the reward of military achievements: some 11 of the honorands attested in the literary evidence appear to have been military commanders or personnel. Of these, 7 awards were granted in recognition of military achievement, the others for financial donations.18 Indeed, Aeschines, when he told the Athenians that ‘they honoured Chabrias for the battle of Naxos, and Iphikrates because he destroyed a regiment of the Lacedaimonians, and Timotheos because of his voyage to Corcyra, and other men, each because of many a glorious deed in war’ (3.243), suggested that honours for commanders rewarded particular successful engagements; his view may well reflect the popular perception of these decrees or perhaps even the justification offered at the point of proposal. 19

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There is an inscribed example that bucks the epigraphical trend: as Humphreys 2004: 83–4 points out, the honorands of IG II3 355, the epimeletai of the Amphiaraia, are remarkable for their high profile. Honours for military activity: Konon (Dem. 20.69–70); Iphikrates (Aeschin. 3.243); Chabrias (Dem. 20.75); Timotheos (Aeschin. 3.243); Iphikrates again (Dem. 23.130); Aeschines (Aeschin. 2.169–70); Phokion ([Plut.] Moralia 850b); military commanders making donations: 338–2 BC: Nausikles, Diotimos, Charidemos, Neoptolemos (Dem. 18.114). In these cases it is possible, but not certain, that these men were rewarded as generals; they may, however, have been military commanders of another kind such as lochagoi, or ships’ captains. It is plausible to think that Iphikrates was at least twice honoured for his military exploits (cf. Dem. 23.130, 136). But it was not only commanders who were honoured: Aeschines (2.169– 70) mentions the rewards that he received from the taxiarchs and then from the demos, though it is not altogether clear whether the people was bestowing honours on him alone or on the whole group of epilektoi. The former is more likely, given his claim that the taxiarch gave an account (presumably to the people) of how Aeschines had conducted himself in the face of danger. There is one qualification to add to the pattern of result-oriented awards, which is that efficient military preparation was also praised: Demosthenes 51 and the evidence of an inscri-

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This emphasis on rewarding military performance was presented as an ideological position in Lycurgus’ statement, that the Athenians solely of the Greeks know how to honour agathoi, granting statues not to athletes but to good generals and tyrannicides (Lycurg. 1.51).20 However, for the most part, the proliferation of honours for military achievements is not reflected in the epigraphical evidence: there are no inscribed honorific decrees for military commanders extant from the period before 323 BC.21 Yet there is enough literary evidence to suggest an important dynamic: rewards for military performance are concentrated in the years before Chaironea, when Athens still had significant military ambitions. In the second half of the century, on the other hand, rewards for financial benefactors become more prominent in the literary record, accounting for nine of the known decrees.22

2.2.2 Financial donations It is noteworthy that most such rewards were made in recognition of donations specifically to Athens’ fighting forces or defences, and they were presented as returns for generosity of office-holders.23 Demosthenes, crowned by Ctesiphon in 337/6, constitutes the most famous example of someone honoured in connection with his financial donations.24 But we note some dispute concerning its justification: whereas Demosthenes himself presented the decree as a reward for his financial generosity when in office (Dem. 18.113), Aeschines, in opposing it, connected

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bed naval list (IG II3 370 lines 20–35 = IG II2 1690 lines 190–204) suggest that there was a regular award of a crown to the trierarch who made his trireme ready for sea most quickly. A contradictory view is suggested by Isocrates’ view of the Athenian failure to honour Timotheos: Isoc. 15.130. IG II3 336 has been identified by some, by reference to [Plut.] Mor. 844a, as an honorific decree for the general Diotimos rewarding an anti-piratical expedition, but Lambert’s edition casts doubt on this restoration. The only other epigraphical reference to rewards for Athenians for military activity is IG II2 1629.190–204, outlining a decree which offered crowns to trierarchs who carry out their duties most quickly. But this inscription offers a decree setting out a potential reward, and did not commemorate a particular honorand. Low 2011: 81 takes the view that honours for generals were uncommon. We should, however, acknowledge some exceptional cases: SEG xxviii 45, a decree for Athenians returning from Phyle, could also be viewed as an award for military activity. Moreover, Conon, Chabrias, and Timotheos were honoured by monuments at the agora; Pausanias 1.3.2–3; Nepos, Timoth. 2.3; Chabrias: Nepos, Chab. 1.2–3 with Burnett and Edmondson 1961; Conon: Dem 20.69–70. But these examples are far from the norm. Honours for generosity: Apollodoros (362/1: [Dem.] 50.13); Demosthenes (341/0: Dem. 18.83 with [Plut.] Mor. 848d); Demosthenes again (339/8: Dem. 18.222–4; [Plut.] Mor. 846a); Demosthenes again (339/8); Charidemos (357–40: Dem. 58.30; Dem. 18.114); Nausikles, Diotimos, Charidemos (all 338–2: Dem. 18.114), Neoptolemos (338/7: Din. 1.43). For instance, in 362/1, Apollodoros son of Pasion was praised for his generosity when serving as a trierarch: he claimed that he had mortgaged his farm in order to pay his crew ([Dem.] 50.13). [Plutarch] Moralia 845f–6a made a direct link between awards made to Demosthenes and his donation of money when acting as commissioner in charge of fortifications.

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it to his political activity more generally (Aeschin. 3.49); indeed, Harris has suggested that the decree may have been presented as a general commendation of his career.25 In the epigraphical record of the classical period, the reward of one-off financial benefactions is not as prominent as it is in the literary record, but is visible in the decrees related to the Amphiareion at Oropos.26

2.2.3 Athenian ambassadors Gauthier and Kralli have suggested that honorific tendencies in the second half of the fourth century may be seen as part of a positive reappraisal of the role of politicians and ambassadors at a time when Athens’ military strength had faded.27 Demosthenes suggested that the Athenians honoured ambassadors regularly, on their return to Athens, with an invitation to dine at the Prytaneion (Dem. 19.31) and there is a rash of literary evidence for the practice in the 340s.28 As Lambert notes, this invitation may have had a practical side: it allowed envoys to partake of the hospitality offered in Athens to foreign diplomats.29 There are two pieces of literary evidence for individual ambassadors being rewarded; of these, Ktesiphon appears to have been honoured in this capacity by the people after he reported good news to them from Philip; the people reacted similarly upon the return of the actor Aristodemos from Philip, who reported Philip’s great friendliness to the city and added that Philip wished to become an ally of the state (Aeschines 2.13, 17). Pace Gauthier and Kralli, therefore, it is perhaps not so much the case that ambassadorial activity was being rewarded, but that the persuasive ability of minor politicians to make the people believe that their missions had been successful led to the bestowal of honours.30 Indeed, as Lambert and Low observe, the fact that much of the epigraphical evidence suggests that the honouring was an incidental afterthought added to inscribed versions of other decrees, militates against Demosthenes’ view 25 26

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Harris 1994:145: ‘It was an award for a series of public services and contained a general commendation for his consistent devotion to the welfare of Athens.’ IG II3 338 (honours for improving the water supply, which possibly indicates personal contribution); IG II3 360 (towards an anathema); IG II3 348 lines 15–16 (Phanodemos provides poroi for work at the temple; note also Papazarkadas’ suggestion that Phanodemos raised revenues and resources from rentals of land rather than providing them personally: Papazarkadas 2011: 46–7). We should note also that financial contributions are more frequently rewarded in the epigraphical record of Hellenistic Athens: on honours for civic priests who make a contribution, see Lambert 2012c: 84–6. Gauthier 1985: 77–104; Kralli 1999. Individual ambassadors honoured: Ktesiphon (348/7: Aeschin. 2.13), Aristodemos (347/6: Aeschin. 2.17); groups of Athenian ambassadors honoured: those returning from Pella (347/6: Aeschin. 2.46, 53; Dem. 19.234), embassy led by Aristodemos to Magnesia (343/2: Aeschin. 3.83); for the epigraphical references (mostly incidental), see Low 2011: 77 n. 39. Lambert 2012a: 5 n. 5. In cases where groups of ambassadors are crowned on their return to Athens (see above, note 28), they appear to have been crowned in response to the announcement of particular news which the Athenians were persuaded was favourable to their interests (εἰ δοκοῦμεν ἄξιοι εἶναι: Aeschin. 2.53).

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(19.31) that the honouring of ambassadors was routine and underlines the fact that the use of dedicated stelai for commemorating honours for Athenians appears to be concentrated on rewards for domestic services.31

2.2.4 Political activity The fact that political life was so intertwined with other services to the state – financial, military, and ambassadorial – means that it is quite difficult to isolate honours for domestic political activity in the literary record. There exists only a small group of literary attestations connecting honours with political activity:32 one such example that of Thrasyboulos, who, according to Cornelius Nepos, was honoured for proposing the amnesty (Nep. Thras. 4.1); however, on many occasions, such as those for Eubulus33 or Demades,34 there is little clear indication as to why prominent politicians were honoured. The idea of rewarding individuals in recognition of specific political acts is known only from the epigraphical record: IG II3 306 (face A lines 4–6) mentions that there are to be honours for the man who spoke best and incorruptibly on behalf of the council and people.35 There is inscriptional evidence for the honouring of relatively obscure office holders (IG II3 301, 323, 325, 327, 402, 469), the likes of which is absent from the literary record. There is, however, nothing in the classical epigraphical evidence to match the view of Ctesiphon’s honours for Demosthenes as recognition of his whole political career.36

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Lambert 2012a, 5 n. 5, followed by Low 2011, 81. Rewards for political activity – the literary evidence: Rhinon and others (403/2: Ath. Pol. 38.4); democrats from Phyle (403/2: Aeschin. 3.187–90); Thrasyboulos (403/2: Nepos, Thrasybulus 4.1); council of 356/5 (355/4: Dem. 22.5, 8); ?Demosthenes? (337/6: Aeschin. 3.34, etc.); proedroi (336/5: Hyp. Phil. 4–6); Demades (336/5: Lycurg. f. 58 Conomis; Din 1.101; Aspines 10.6); Eubulus (post 343: Hyp. ff.104–6 Jensen and Schol. in Aeschin Or. 2.8 Dilts), Kallimedon (parody: Alexis f. 56 Kock) On Eubulus, see Cawkwell 1963 and Oliver 2011 and, on his activity related to the sacred calendar of the Marathonian tetrapolis, Lambert 2000: 67–9. The idea that he based his fame on financial reforms is suggested in Plut. Moralia 812f; Aeschin. 3.25. Nor do we know the explanations offered for Kephisodotos’ honours for Demades in 336/5 (Lycurg. f. 58 Conomis; Din 1.101; Aspines 10.6) but we cannot rule out, as Kralli suggests, that this was a reward for his negotiations with the Macedonians: Kralli 1999: 147 n 32. ἐπειδὴ ἡ βουλὴ ἡ ἐπὶ Πυθοδότου ἄρχοντος, ψηφισαμένη κρίσιν ποιῆσαι τῶν λεγόντων ἐν τεῖ βουλῆι ἐπὶ τῆς ἐνάτης πρυτ[α]νείας καὶ τιμῆσαι ὃς ἂν δοκεῖ αὐτεῖ ἄριστα λέγων καὶ πράττων καὶ ἀδωροδοκήτως ὑπὲρ τῆς βουλῆς καὶ τοῦ δήμου τοῦ Ἀθηναίων διατετελεκέναι τὸν ἐνιαυτόν, ἔκρινεν διαχειροτο[νή]σασα περὶ τούτων ἡ βουλὴ Φανόδημον Διύλ‹λ›ου Θυμαιτάδην. Phanodemos’ decree of setting up a statue and inscribing the councillors’ names for their work at the Dionysia seems to have won the competition: IG II3 306 Face B lines 16–24. An inscribed decree for Kephisophon rewarded him for giving the best advice to the council: IG II3 402 lines 9–11. As Stephen Lambert points out (electronic communication), the earliest award of major honours to a leading figure recognising career-spanning achievements is that of Stratokles’ posthumous award for Lykourgos: IG II2 457+513 with Oikonomides 1986.

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2.2.5 Boards of officials; religious officials It is notable that several of the literary testimonia attest to the honouring of boards of officials or groups.37 Some of these are extraordinary ad hoc groups; others are regular groups of officials, which include ambassadors, the outgoing council of 356/5, or even proedroi.38 It would appear, therefore, that the Athenians honoured even the performance of contributions to largely administrative activity. When we turn to the epigraphical evidence for honorific decrees for Athenians, a significant proportion of the evidence consists of honours for boards or groups of officials, who are usually relatively obscure.39 There is one significant gap between the literary and epigraphical evidence: the appearance, in the epigraphical evidence, of honorific decrees for those who engaged with religious life: this contrasts with their absence from the literary evidence.40

2.3 Non-Athenians A glance at the kind of names that appear in the literary record for non-Athenian honorands illustrates the wide range of obscure and famous individuals, sovereigns, donors, and ambassadors, that the Athenians were honouring, and, on three occasions, a whole community of citizens.41 The Athenians honoured foreigners who had done them some good favour or were of importance to their current overseas preoccupations.42 Those being rewarded can be divided into six types: partisans of democracy in the aftermath of oligarchic revolution, financial benefactors, military 37

Boards/groups honoured- the literary evidence: the Ten (403/2: Ath. Pol. 38.4); democrats from Phyle (403/2: Aeschin. 3.187–90); outgoing council (356/5: Dem. 22.5, 8); ambassadors (347/6: Aeschin. 2.46, 53; Dem. 19.234); ambassadors (343/2: Aeschin. 3.83); proedroi: 336/5: Hyp. Phil. 4–6). 38 Groups of ambassadors returning: the envoys returning from Pella in 347/6 (Aeschin. 2.46, 53; Dem. 19.234) and they when the embassy returned from Thessaly in 343/2 (Aeschin. 3.83). Outgoing council of 355/4: Dem. 22.5, 8. Another board honoured is that of the proedroi (Hyp. Phil 4–6), but as Whitehead 2000, 54 rightly notes, it is not at all certain that this was a regular process, especially given their actual activity would have lasted no more than a few hours. Nevertheless there is one possible epigraphical parallel at II3 476. 39 IG II3 305, 311, 355 (Oropos), 416, 458, 476, 481; the council was crowned on at least one occasion (IG II3 306 Face B lines 24–6). We should also add at this point that inscribed dedications of outgoing prytaneis and bouleutai set up from the end of the fifth century suggest that honours for such groups were passed regularly (Ag. xv 1–56). Obscurity is the norm; however, as Humphreys 2004: 83–4 points out, the honorands of IG II3 355, the epimeletai of the Amphiaraia, are remarkable for their high profile. 40 Religious life: Lambert 2011a 185–7; honours for civic priests: Lambert 2012c. 41 Non-Athenian honorands: see above, note 12. I omit mention of the unparalleled honours for the hero Amphiaros: IG II3 349 with Scafuro 2009. 42 For instance, the Thracian kings were honoured with citizenship when the area of the northern Aegean became important in the fourth century: see Mitchell 1995: 134–47; for the Macedonians, mutatis mutandis, see Mitchell 1995: 148–77

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supporters of Athenian interests, exiles friendly to Athens, those supporting the Athenian grain supply and, later in the period, Macedonians.43 There is more work to be done on the services of foreigners rewarded by honorific decrees, but it is enough to say, for now, that these categories of good service can be found in both the literary and the epigraphical evidence.44 As well as noting fluctuations in the types of inscribed honorific decrees in relation to Athenian policy, Lambert has observed increased emphasis on inscribed honours for supporters of the Athenian grain supply in the period after Chaironea;45 the use of honours to bolster Athenian economic interests is, however, known from an earlier period from the literary evidence.46 The inscribed record also includes honours to foreigners involved in theatrical activity in Athens, a category attested rarely in the literary evidence.47 Despite these and other differences (see also below, section 2.4, on megistai timai and divine honours), it is notable that there is more coincidence between the literary and epigraphical record for honours for non-Athenians than there is for Athenians, at least in terms of the kinds of activities rewarded.

2.4 Rewards for non-Athenians What of the rewards that were being made to foreigners? The literary sources for rewards for Athenians offer us proportionately more megistai timai,48 consisting of statues and permanent sitesis; the epigraphical evidence, meanwhile, puts emphasis upon regular honours, usually a crown, sometimes with provision for sacrifice and dedication.49 43

Partisans of democracy (Ath. Pol. 40.2; Aeschin. 3.187 (probably including foreigners: see Taylor 2002)); military supporters (Archebios and Herakleides: Dem. 20.60; Kotys: Dem. 23.118; Ariobazarnes and co.: Dem. 23.141–2, 202); exiles (Corinthians: Dem. 20.52–4; Plataians (renewal): D. S. 15.46.6); financial benefactors (Pasion: [Dem.] 59.2; Phormio: Dem. 36.47); services to the Athenian grain-trade (Leucon and sons: Dem. 20.31–8; Berisades (or Pairisades) and other kings of Pontos: Dem. 20.29–30; Din. 1.43; Harpalos: Athenaios 586d; Chairephilos and sons: Din. 1.43 with Osborne 1981–3: T 75, 81); Macedonians (ambassadors of 347/6: Aeschin. 2.55, 110–12; 3.76; Dem. 18.28; Philip: Dem. 19.48 and again in D. S. 16.92.1–2; [Demades] 1.9–10; Antipater: Harp., s. v. Alkimachos; Alexander: Schol. in Aristeides Panathenaikos 178 and again at Hyp. Dem. col 31; Din. 1.94 etc. Harpalus: Athenaios 586d). On the motivations of honours in the inscribed record, see Osborne 1981–3: iv 145–50; Lambert 2012a: 93–183, 383–5; Tracy 1995 30–5. 44 Lambert 2011a: 178–82; Lambert 2012a: 92–183, 383–4. 45 Lambert 2012a: 382–5. 46 E. g. the decree for Leukon and his sons of c. 357, Dem. 20.31–8. 47 Theatre: Lambert 2012a: 337–62; Lambert 2011a: 183–5. Literary evidence of honours for Antiphanes son of Stephanos, a comic poet: Anon. de Com. 12 p. 9 (Kaibel); Suda, s. v. Antiphanes (Osborne, 1981–3: T 79). On the honours for Astydamas, see below, note 58. 48 Awards (where details are given) known from the literary evidence: crowns (3 olive, 7 gold); 7 bronze statues; 2 statue+stele; 1 hereditary ateleia; 5 dining at public expense. On megistai timai, see Gauthier 1985: 24–8, 92–105; Kralli 1999. 49 Awards (where details are given) known from the epigraphical evidence: crowns (1 olive, 27 gold); 1 statue. See Lambert 2012a: 3–47; 2011a: 176 n. 4.

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When we turn to the evidence for non-Athenians, again, there are different patterns in the literary and the epigraphical evidence. The epigraphical evidence shows a wide range of types of honouring: 13 out of the 112 counted by Lambert for the later period are citizenship decrees, but there are more attestations of lesser honours like proxeny or euergesia.50 The literary evidence, on the other hand, shows a dominance of citizenship awards, and fewer lesser honours.51 This is perhaps because the discussion of citizenship awards was more rhetorically persuasive in a litigious context: Dinarchus attacked the proposals of Demosthenes, claiming that he had taken bribes for proposing proxenoi- and citizenship-awards (Din. 1.41– 45), but for rhetorical purposes, the details he offered were only those of the citizenship proposals and bronze statues and not the proxenoi. One coincidence is that both literary and epigraphical testimonia preserve roughly equivalent numbers of honours for whole communities (3 and 8 respectively), such decrees are concentrated in the period before Chaironea, after which time (as Lambert has noted) Athenian diplomatic efforts tend to focus more upon relations with individuals rather than communities.52 In terms of change over time, the emergence of cult honours, at the end of the period, suggests a tendency towards innovation which would become more regular in the Hellenistic period,53 though it should be noted that mention of deification as an honour is absent from the epigraphical record until the Hellenistic period.54 Perhaps this suggests hesitancy among the Athenians about making such cult awards permanent by publishing them on stone slabs.

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For the period 352/1, 13/112 are citizenship decrees, 43/112 are proxeny/euergesy awards; others are unidentifiable (Lambert 2012a: 93–183). On awards of citizenship, see Osborne 1981–3 and, with respect to the Hellenistic period, Oliver 2007. 51 c. 32 of the 44 are citizenship decrees; 4 mention proxeny; other awards include olive crowns, ateleia, euergesy, isopoliteia, epigamia, statue, seats in the theatre, shrine (Pausanias), divine honours (?Philip? and Alexander). 52 Literary testimonia: Plataians: D. S. 15.46.6; Olynthians: Suda, s. v. Karanos; Harpokration, s. v. isoteleis; Troizenians: Hyp. Ath. 33; epigraphical testimonia: Lambert 2012a: 381–2. It is, however, interesting to note that while there are no inscribed examples that can be dated with certainly to the period 338–23, there is one piece of literary evidence for honours for a whole community which can be firmly dated to that era (Troizenians: Hyp. Ath. 33). This counterexample does not, however, seriously contradict Lambert’s suggestion of a shift to an more individual-oriented style of inter-state diplomacy in the era after Chaironea: Lambert 2012a: 385. 53 For Philip: Diodorus Siculus 16.92.1–2; [Demades] 1.9–10; Dio Chrysostom 37.41.2–7; Aspines 1.19; Pausanias: Aeschin. 3.160; Alexander: Hyp. Dem. col. 31. Cf. Kotsidu 2000: 24, 28–31 54 Among the earliest inscribed versions of divine honours (in the form of altars to Demetrius Poliorcetes), see Kotsidu 2000: 47–8 (SEG xxv 149, xxxii 151). Generally, on cult honours in the Greek world, see Habicht 1970.

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2.5 Historical perspectives on honorific decrees Setting discrepancies between the literary and epigraphical records aside for the time being, at this point we can make several observations: 1. The literary evidence suggests that as the Athenians’ military aspirations dwindled in the second half of the fourth century, they appear to have reneged on a tenet of their honorific culture, becoming less inclined to reward her citizens for outstanding military achievements. Or, alternatively, perhaps it was the case that there was less occasion to reward military achievement.55 2. It is tempting to hypothesize, given the rash of literary testimonia recording awards of the 340s to ambassadors,56 about a growing recognition of the importance of ambassadorial service, perhaps at a time when the emergence of Macedonian power made the Athenians more aware of the significance of their envoys in the negotiation of their position. It is, however, more plausible that the number of literary references to such rewards reflect their importance to the debates about the activity of the embassies to Philip in 347/6 in preserved oratory (Aeschin. 2; Dem. 19) and the attempts of ambassadors to defend their activity in front of the Athenian assembly and lawcourts. 3. We have acknowledged a tendency to recognise both individual activity of politicians and also the work of boards. The epigraphical emphasis upon awards for minor officials and boards of officials, a type of honouring that rewarded collective qualities and outcomes and results rather than the contribution of the prominent individual, suggests that the public face of honours was more in tune with the characteristics which Aeschines nostalgically associated with a past age, when he compared the collective reward for the fighters at river Strymon with those for Demosthenes (Aeschin. 3.183). We should note, however, that the tendency to write up the names of individual members of boards contradicts Aeschines’ ideal. 4. It is possible to detect some continuity in the kinds of awards granted to foreigners, but a degree of innovation towards the end of the period.

2.6 Honours and the epigraphic habit Clearly, therefore, the Athenians adapted their honorific system to the changing inter-state situation and in response to the strain exerted by the rise of Macedon, but many of their decisions about honorific decrees would have depended upon the persuasive ability of the politicians at the assembly. To these observations, we should acknowledge important shifts in inscribing habits too: as Lambert notes, the Athenians appear to have started more frequently inscribing honours for Athenians in the 340s, perhaps a sign that they were more ready to acknowledge the public 55

56

On the Athenians’ military collapse at the end of the fourth century and its wider implications, see Badian, 1995. We might also note the declining numbers of dedications on the Athenian acropolis in the Lycurgan period: Monaco 2011. See above, note 28.

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contribution of individual Athenians.57 Furthermore, as we shall see below, it is possible to detect an increased tendency to emphasise the notion of philotimia in inscribed decrees for both Athenians and non-Athenians from the 340s. We have noted serious discrepancies between the two subsets of evidence: the literary record, with its emphasis on the big political names, gives us a false impression that honorific decrees were received chiefly by the political and financial elite. There is, for the most part, a notable absence of literary references to honours for domestic activity, few related to theatrical activity,58 or for minor religious officials and secretaries, which are well-known from the inscribed record. The literary evidence offers us more evidence of awards for military achievements in the earlier period than does the epigraphical record, and increasing literary evidence for financial benefaction in the later period goes well beyond anything suggested by the inscribed record even of the Amphiareion. This divergence may well owe a great deal to the sacred and bureaucratic focus of inscribing habits and, on the other hand, the tendency of the literary record to tell us about those involved in the grand scheme of interstate military, diplomatic, and large-scale euergetic activity. It is, however, possible to say more about the motivations of decrees by looking closely both at details expressed in their epigraphical manifestation, and also at their deployment in the Athenian lawcourts of the fourth century BC.

PART 3: THE MOTIVATIONS OF ATHENIAN DECREES: EPIGRAPHICAL EXPRESSIONS AND ORATORICAL PRESENTATIONS The epigraphical evidence offers us glimpses into the kind of rhetoric by which the Athenians publicly explained the passing of honorific decrees.59 Lambert has noted that, in the second half of the fourth century, some honorific decrees for non-Athenians explicitly set out to influence the future behaviour not only of honorands (IG II3 304 lines 9–20), but even that of future benefactors (IG II3 484 lines 2–7).60 Another variety of motivation clause, known also from the 340s, is that which is specifically geared towards promoting the fame of Athenian generosity or encouraging competitive philotimia (IG II3 306 decree A lines 13–15; IG II3 360 lines 52–5; IG II3 417 lines 29–30). As Lambert argues, such ethics were ‘already im-

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Lambert 2011a: 176. Honours related to theatrical activity are few and far between in the literary record; they include those for Antiphanes son of Stephanos, a comic poet: Anon. de Com. 12 p. 9 (Kaibel); Suda, s. v. ‘Antiphanes’ (Osborne 1981–3: T 79). Note, however, that Aristodemos, honoured as an ambassador, was also an actor (Aeschin. 2.17; Dem. 19.246). As Sebastiana Nervegna points out to me, Diogenes Laertius (2.43) and other later sources mention honours for the tragedian Astydamas, probably in about 340 BC. For the view that the inscribed texts are an independent inscribed performance of a decree, containing only a version of the words spoken at the assembly, see Osborne 1999. Lambert 2011b: 198; Lambert 2012a: 96. On motivation clauses, see Henry 1996. On hortatory rhetoric in Attic decrees, see Hedrick 1999; Liddel 2007: 165–74; Sickinger 2009 and Luraghi 2010.

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plicit in the system before the 340s’, but it is in the mid-fourth century that we see them articulated in the epigraphical medium for the first time. 61 According to the rhetoric of decrees, community-interest was the motivating factor of the Athenian honorific system: they were an important way in which the Athenians anticipated or offered thanks for benefits.62 This motivation, however, was sometimes tempered or distorted by the interests of individual proposers and their supporters.63 How far, therefore, were the epigraphically-expressed motivations reproduced or challenged in the literary sources? As will become clear, there was overlap,64 but decrees take on a wider significance when they were considered in the competitive context of the Athenian democratic lawcourts. While honorific decrees were passed by the assembly, the lawcourts were the battlegrounds in which the reasoning behind the passing of honours – both recent and historic – was contested in the context of grand-scale political disputes. The analysis that follows draws upon a small number of speeches which were directly concerned with honours: the two de Corona speeches but also Demosthenes’ Against Leptines of 355 and Against Aristocrates probably of 352.65 But, as Lambert suggests, it is quite possible that the preoccupation of these political trials with honours reflects their wider significance in Athenian politics and political discourse.66

3.1 deployment of decrees in argumentation In the case of Demosthenes’ and Aeschines’ speeches on the crowning of Demosthenes, there is dispute about the potential impact not just of Ctesiphon’s decree, but also Demosthenes’ proposal of honours for Philip’s ambassadors in 346: Aeschines presented the placing of cushions and the spreading of rugs as acts for which his opponent was jeered, because of their shamelessness and flattery (διὰ τὴν ἀσχημοσύνην καὶ κολακείαν: 3.76), making the city ridiculous (καταγέλαστον), while Demosthenes defended it as a service to Athens, not to Philip (Dem. 18.28– 30). In this particular show-down of a long-standing political rivalry, much depended upon the interpretation of honorific intention and impact: Aeschines and Demosthenes cited their own honorific decrees for reasons of self-presentation: Aeschines, to demonstrate his polis-patriotism (Aeschin. 2.169), and Demosthenes in order to support the viability of Ctesiphon’s decrees (Dem. 18.83, [84], 85). Clearly, therefore, knowledge of honorific decrees and the ability to manipulate 61 62

Lambert 2011a: 196. As Hagemajer Allen 2003: 203 notes, it is often hard to distinguish between these two motivations. 63 For a similar distinction, see Hagemajer Allen 2003: 242. 64 For a general account of Athenian motivations in passing citizenship decrees, see Osborne 1981–3: iv 145–50; on honorific decrees, see Lambert 2011b. 65 On the date and background of Aristocrates’ decree, see Usher 1999: 204–9; Roisman 2006: 165–7. On these arguments in the Against Leptines, see Kremmydas 2012: 8–11, 191–2. 66 Lambert 2011b, 196.

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them was a potentially significant rhetorical tool and politicians deployed awareness of them in a variety of persuasive contexts. Indeed, references to the motivations of honorific decrees are made also to trace the history of political decisions, criticise the policy of an opponent or hold then to account.67

3.2 Oratorical perspectives on the motivations of decrees Orators were also ready to assert forward-looking motivations, the likes of which we encountered in the epigraphical evidence. In Andocides’ assembly speech advocating his return from exile (Andocides 2.23), we read perhaps the earliest oratorical presentation of such a motivation,68 notwithstanding a sense of reservation about the readiness of the Athenians to bestow honours: ‘I often see you bestowing civic rights and substantial grants of money upon both slaves and foreigners from every part of the world, if they prove to have done you some service. And you are acting wisely in making such gifts; they engender the greatest possible willingness to serve you (οὕτω γὰρ ἂν ὑπὸ πλείστων ἀνθρώπων εὖ πάσχοιτε).’ (And. 2.23, tr. Maidment 1953)

Such a perspective, which views honorific decrees as increasing Athens’ chance of receiving benefactions in the future, was central to the argument of Demosthenes’ case against Leptines’ proposed abolition of ateleia, was made also in his own case for honours in the de Corona (Dem. 18.120), and was also expressed in Xenophon’s Poroii (3.11).69 At other times, though, orators made claims about honorific decrees as a straightforwardly fair return to those who had done good for the Athenian community: this constituted an expression of morally-upstanding reciprocity conceptually separate from the interests of the city. In the Against Leptines, for instance, Demosthenes argued that, were Leptines’ abolition of ateleia to be accepted, then the likes of those Thasians who handed their island over to the Athenians would be deprived of the things given to them (Dem. 20.58, 60).70 Demosthenes takes the argument a 67 68

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To remember policy: Aeschines 2.13, 17, 46; to criticize policy: Aeschin. 3.83; to criticize Demosthenes’ failure to prevent rewards for Demades: Din. 1.101. It is possible to read hortatory intention into the second of the inscribed Herms cited at Aeschin. 3.184. This is viewed by Petrovic as an authentic epigram: Petrovic 2013. The importance of exhortatory intentions (often implied rather than explicitly-stated) is widely recognised in the study of archaic poetry, some of which was epigrammatic: see, e. g., Irwin 2005: 17–34, 63–81; Day 2010: 280; Petrovic 2010: 214. Xenophon recommended that the Athenians should write up the names of benefactors as a way of raising income (Poroi 3.11; cf. Liddel 1997: 164); he advised also that the Athenians make awards to merchants so that they will benefit Athens for the sake of both honour and profit (Poroi 3.4); Engen’s recent study has shown how Athenian honorific decrees were used by the Athenians to engage their benefactors in a system of gift-exchange and thereby to foster relationships (Engen 2010: 217). There are plenty of other examples in that speech where honours are presented as fair exchange for someone who has done a good service: this, for instance, is stressed in Demosthenes’ account of the shelter they offered for the Corinthians who had held out for the Athenians in the Corinthian war (Dem. 20.52–4); Epikerdes of Cyrene, who fed Athenian prisoners in Sicily is

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stage further by arguing that honorific inscriptions are a memorial of the character of the city (Dem. 20.64).

3.3 Subversion of decrees But the oratory also gives us some insight beyond the normative motivations of honorific decrees, the likes of which we do not encounter in inscribed versions of decrees. One idea that appears not to have been epigraphically palatable (perhaps because it suggested an Athenian weakness) is that which arises at Andocides 1.149, that the Athenians make awards of citizenship because of an ἀπορία ἀνδρῶν (shortage of men): in the fourth century, at least, such awards, even to communities as a whole, had nothing demonstrably to do with attempts to increase the number of citizens.71 Moreover, as Athens’ position weakened, it is clear that the Athenians used honours as a form of seeking concessions: one view of Demades’ proposal concerning the divinity of Alexander is to think of it as a way of encouraging more lenient treatment or a less traumatic application of the exiles decree.72 On another level, there was concern that the system of honours was open to the dangers of bribery and cronyism. Dinarchus, for instance, alleged that Demosthenes had taken payment in exchange for proposing honours (Din 1.43). This tendency to claim that there were proposers who would draw up decrees against the interests of the Athenians is central to the arguments of Demosthenes in his Against Aristocrates (Dem. 23.94), in which he challenged the extraordinary award of inviolability proposed for the mercenary leader Charidemos of Oreos; the allegation of self-serving motivations can be observed also in private oratory.73 The literary sources, therefore, offer a view of honours alternative to that of the formulaic intentions expressed in the inscribed decrees. They help us to realise some of the less well-advertised motivations behind the process of honouring. We must, of course, bear in mind that the oratorical view of honorific decrees is prone to distortion and exaggeration, and that the portrayal of particular decrees as self-serving or damaging to Athens cannot always be taken at face value. Neverthe-

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held up as another worthy donor (Dem. 20.41–44). Cf. the implications of reward and reciprocity in the discussion of the reward to the Troizenians at Hyp. Athenog. 33. On the Andocides passage see MacDowell 1962: 165, suggesting that fifth-century awards of citizenship to communities may have been made with the intention of alleviating a shortage of citizens. Osborne 1981–3: iii 35–7; iv 145 associates this reference with measures introduced during the period just before the Arginousai campaign. In the fourth century, it was only at times of absolute crisis that the Athenians attempted to enlarge their citizen body through the award of citizenship (such as the aftermath of Chaironea, when Hypereides proposed mass enfranchisements which were rejected: Lycurg. 1.41; [Dem.] 26.11). For the view that Demades’ proposal for the divinity of Alexander were an attempt at securing lenient treatment, see Din. 1.94 with Worthington 1992: 262; Hyp. Dem. col. 31. The speaker of Dem. 58.30 challenges his rival Theokrines’ claim that the speaker’s father, by proposing an honorific decree for Charidemos as the son of Ischomachos (his natural father) rather than as the son of Aeschylos (his adoptive father), plotted to force him to return to his natural father’s family and to revoke the inheritance that Aeschylos had left for him.

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less, oratory offers also a view of the anxieties about the consequences of the Athenians’ deployment of honorific decrees. 3.4 Consequences of decrees: moral anxieties The evidence of lawcourt oratory suggests the view that the proposal of honours at the assembly was frequently an exercise with significant political implications; consequently, their proposal was often viewed as controversial and provoked opposition. Those speeches which straightforwardly challenge honorific proposals offer a perspective on the anxieties that the Athenians felt about the honouring of individuals.74 Aeschines, in his speech against Ctesiphon, urging caution, told his audience to think of themselves as agonothetai of political virtue (Aeschin. 3.180), and warned against the moral consequences of giving honours to those who seek them. He contrasted the Athenians’ former meticulous attitude to honours with the current practice.75 Moreover, both the argument of Demosthenes 20, that maintaining the honorific system ensures ongoing gratitude and benefaction to the Athenians, and the arguments of Demosthenes 23, in which Demosthenes attacked Aristocrates’ proposals for the protection of Charidemos, put into much clearer relief the kind of anxieties that the Athenians had about their honorific system. Towards the end of the speech, Demosthenes talked about how the Athenians in times past rewarded true benefactors not with statues (23.196) but by choosing them as leaders (197). In that earlier era, they decided that the victories of Salamis and Marathon belonged not to the commanders but to the city (198). According to the current practice, on the other hand, by honouring individuals, the Athenians surrendered the credit they deserve for such victories (198). Moreover, in past times they were full of restraint also in their treatment of foreigners: during the Peloponnesian war they made Meno of Pharsalus and Perdiccas of Macedon citizens, but did not go as far as granting protection (199–200).76 The inflation of honours, he maintained, meant that the old rewards no longer suffice (23.200–201). But the blame for this change is put on the politicians of Athens, who drag the honorific system through the mire. We see this kind of extended attack on the honorific system also in a pseudo-Demosthenic speech ([Dem.] 13) urging the Athenians to spend financial surplus on military operations and in which the speaker draws upon condensed versions of the examples offered in Demosthenes 23,77 concluding: 74 75 76 77

More than half of the attested cases of graphe paranomon concern honorary decrees: Hansen 1974: 62. Aeschines compares the boule’s scrutiny of those who returned from Phyle (3.187) and the collective reward of those victorious at Eion (3.184). For a comparable challenge to an honorific decree grounded on claims of inflation, see Aeschin. 3.187 and Lycurg. f. 58 Conomis with Lambert 2010: 230. Note the overlaps in terms of examples deployed between Dem. 23.196–202 and [Dem.] 13.21–5, with Usher 1999: 215 n. 158 (suggesting that the author of [Dem.] 13 has done little more than condensed the passages of Dem. 23) and MacDowell 2009: 226 (stressing distinc-

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This attack upon the honorific habit is the only extant discussion of honorific decrees in preserved assembly oratory. What we have seen, thus far, is a range of moral anxieties exposed in the literary sources about the honorific system: these anxieties are often held up in contrast to forms of morality that are lodged in historical memory.78 Practical anxieties about the negative consequences of granting honours to foreigners emerge also in the Athenian view of their own decrees.

3.5 Consequences of decrees: practical anxieties In the Against Leptines, Demosthenes suggested that the Athenians, like others, count bad as well as good men among their benefactors (Dem. 20.39), though the speaker accepted that this scattergun approach was their current ethos: the Athenians ran this risk in the hope that it would pay dividends. In the Against Aristocrates, Demosthenes took this a stage further, describing in detail the example of King Kotys of Thrace, who, given his treachery, the Athenians were mistaken to honour (Dem. 23.118–9).79 The behaviour of Philiskos, who ‘entered Greek cities, and committed many outrages, mutilating free-born boys, insulting women, and behaving in general as you would expect a man, who had been brought up where there were no laws, and none of the advantages of a free constitution, to behave if he attained to power’ (Dem. 23.141, tr. Vince 1964), was yet more execrable.80 Finally there is also evidence for concern about the connection between excessive honours and the Athenians’ reputation (23.138); Demosthenes also offered a discreditable comparison with the restraint of some of Athens’ less illustrious neighbours: ‘But the really scandalous thing is, not that our counsels are inferior to those of our ancestors, who surpassed all mankind in virtue, but that they are worse that those of all other peoples.’ (23.211–14, tr. Vince 1964)

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tions between the details of the historical examples, and suggesting that the orator of [Dem.] 13 is not merely copying but revising a previous argument). For appeals to the past in fourth-century oratory, see Nouhaud 1982; Rhodes 2011. For epigraphical perspectives, see Lambert 2010 and Lambert 2012b. [Dem.] 59.91 claiming that the Athenians courts sometimes confiscate rewards from those deemed unworthy, e. g. Peitholas of Thessaly and Apollonides of Olynthos. On Athens’ awards of citizenship to Thracian kings, and their reception, see Mitchell 1995:134– 47.

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PART 4: CONCLUSION As much as they can be ascertained, honorific patterns at Athens in the fourth century might be seen as reactive to developments at home and overseas, in particular Athens’ struggle to maintain her influence in Thrace and the Northern Aegean and, a little later, to face up to the rise of Macedonian power. The Athenians passed honorific decrees as away of rewarding good service, securing friends, but also encouraging favourable treatment. But we should also acknowledge the existence of a pair of contradictory discourses, or perhaps an Athenian ‘doublethink’: the Athenians, particularly in the second half of the fourth century, appear to have rewarded the individual political contributions of prominent politicians like Demosthenes, but at the same time, as we know from the epigraphical evidence, there was increasing public recognition of the contribution of less famous individuals to magistracies and official boards. Democracy, at the end of the fourth century, therefore, combined respect for political activity at both the micro- and macro-level; the former is more visible in the inscribed record; the latter in the literary record. To a degree this discrepancy is the result of the emphasis in the literary sources on prominent political and military honorands. Nevertheless, we can observe that both leadership and participation received public recognition, and that leaders were adept at recycling honorific capital in political scenarios. The public reward of non-elite level participation may be seen as a wider phenomenon, noted by Azoulay, according to which the Athenians of the second half of the fourth century encouraged a stronger feeling of koinonia within their community.81 At the same time, I have noted the existence of a number of both ethical and practical anxieties about the motives of honours and their consequences. The Athenians appear to have been concerned that their approach to honouring non-Athenians appeared haphazard; they worried about the consequences for their reputation of flattering unworthy honorands; they expressed anxieties about inflation and its implications; they knew that self-interested politicians proposed honours as favours or for money, and there was also a worry that honouring individuals in some senses deflected political credit from the Athenian people as a whole. However, what we see in Demosthenes speeches 20 and 23 is an awareness of a compromised situation, according to which the Athenians undermined their collectivist values as a way of safeguarding their practical interests. Whereas, therefore, recent scholarship has offered us a view of Athens’ late fourth-century honorific system as that of a mature democracy, which was more at ease with the contradiction between collective values and honours for individuals,82 the oratorical critiques remind us that tensions were still there. The literary sources demonstrate the high profile of honours in political culture and suggest the ferocity of the debates that surrounded them in the law-courts of the 350s and thereafter; these debates, unsurprising given the prominence of honour as an esteem-producing value in both Athens and the rest of 81 82

Azoulay 2011. Lambert 2011a: 177. Perhaps the readiness to honour Athenian individuals and to allow them an elevated profile might be associated with the stability of fourth-century democracy and lack of practically-oriented democratic opposition: see Rhodes 2006 and 2010.

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the Greek world,83 are invisible in the epigraphical record. We must acknowledge, however, that to a degree, the impression of contentiousness which derives from the literary record may well have been exaggerated by the competitive contexts in which they are deployed by the chief literary source, Attic oratory. We can be assured, on the basis of analysing both literary and epigraphical evidence, that the Athenians used honorific capital to promote good performance of magistracies at the time of the rise of Macedon and to promote their self-interests at a time when Athens’ inter-state significance and profile were threatened. This development is indicative of the dynamism of the Athenians of the late fourth-century as they faced up to external challenges. But the prevalence of honours led them to an uncomfortable realisation: that their changed position in the world had led to them to rethink the ways in which they responded to the behaviour of both Athenians and non-Athenians, and, furthermore, the fact that any vestiges of democratic resistance to individual self-promotion had been set aside in the interests of collective self-promotion and survival. Were these developments specifically Athenian or specifically democratic? As Polly Low points out, we know that cities other than Athens honoured foreigners in the fourth century,84 and there is some fifth century evidence too (Thuc. 1.136.1). We cannot claim, therefore, notwithstanding the statements of Lycurgus (1.51) or Demosthenes (20.107–8), that the deployment of honours as a way of facing up to a new political order was specifically Athenian or democratic. There were aspects that were, at their time, uniquely Athenian, such as the tendency to honour individual low-level magistrates who had held primarily administrative roles, a phenomenon which suggests a high valuation of even moderate contributions to the political process.85 But it is possible that the perseverance of contradictory models about the right ways to promote public interest, and the airing in public contexts, of anxieties about the honorific system, was a particularly democratic and Athenian response to the challenges and changes they faced.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Azoulay, V. (2011) ‘Les métamorphoses du koinon athénien: autour du Contre Léocrate de Lycurge’, 191–217 in V. Azoulay and P. Ismard (eds.), Clisthène et Lycurgue d’Athènes. Autour du politique dans la cité classique, Paris. Badian, E. (1995) ‘The Ghost of Empire. Reflections on Athenian Foreign Policy in the Fourth Century BC’, 79–106 in W. Eder (ed.), Die athenische Demokratie im 4. Jahrhundert v. Chr., Stuttgart. Brüggenbrock, C. (2006) Die Ehre in den Zeiten der Demokratie. Das Verhältnis von Athenischer Polis und Ehre in klassischer Zeit, Göttingen. Burnett, A. P. and Edmonson, C. N. (1961) ‘The Chabrias monument in the Athenian agora’, Hesperia, 30, 74–91.

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Whitehead 1983; Brüggenbrock 2006; Engen 2010; Cairns 2011. Low 2007: 242; 2011: 82–3. Contrast the view of the fourth-century ‘classe politique’ in Mossé 1995, challenged by Duplouy 2011.

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Cairns, D. (2011) ‘Honour and shame: modern controversies and ancient values’, Critical Quarterly 53.1, 23–41. Carey, C. et al. (2008) ‘Fragments of Hyperides’ Against Diondas from the Archimedes Palimpsest’, ZPE 165, 1–19. Cawkwell, G. L. (1963) ‘Eubulus’, JHS 83, 47–67. Cook, B. (2009) ‘Athenian Terms of Civic Praise in the 330s: Aeschines vs. Demosthenes’, GRBS 49, 31–52. Davies, J. K. (2010) ‘Data-base or check-list: how best to track a document?’, Mediterraneo Antico 10 [2007], 215–32. Day, J. (2010) Archaic Greek Epigram and Dedication: Representation and Reperformance, Cambridge. Develin, R. (1989) Athenian Officials 684–321 BC, Cambridge. Duplouy, A. (2011) ‘Deux echelons du citoyenneté? En quête de la citoyenneté archaïque’, 89–106 in V. Azoulay and P. Ismard (eds.), Clisthène et Lycurgue d’Athènes. Autour du politique dans la cité classique, Paris. Engen, D. T. (2010) Honor and Profit. Athenian Trade Policy and the Economy and Society of Greece, 415–307 B. C.E, Ann Arbor. Faraguna, M. (2011) ‘Lykourgan Athens?’, 67–86 in V. Azoulay and P. Ismard (eds.), Clisthène et Lycurgue d’Athènes. Autour du politique dans la cité classique, Paris. Gauthier, P. (1985) Les cités grecques et leurs bienfaiteurs. BCH Suppl. 12. Athens and Paris. Habicht, C. (1970) Gottmenschentum und griechische Städte, 2nd edition, Munich. Hagamajer Allen, K. (2003) ‘Intercultural Exchanges in Fourth-Century Attic Decrees’, Classical Antiquity 22, 199–250. Hakkarainen, M. (1997) ‘Private wealth in the Athenian public sphere during the late classical and the early Hellenistic period’, 1–32 in J. Frösén (ed.), Early Hellenistic Athens: Symptoms of a Change. Papers and Monographs of the Finnish Institute at Athens, 6, Helsinki. Hansen, M. H. (1989) The Athenian Ecclesia II: A Collection of Articles 1983–9, Copenhagen. Harris E. (1994) ‘Law and Oratory’, 130–50 in I. Worthington (ed.), Persuasion: Greek Rhetoric in Action, London. Hedrick, C. W. (1999) ‘Democracy and the Athenian epigraphical habit’, Hesperia 68, 387–439. Henry, A. S. (1996) ‘The hortatory intention in Attic state decrees’, ZPE 112, 105–119. Humphreys, S. (2004) The Strangeness of the Gods, Oxford. Irwin, E. (2005) Solon and Early Greek Poetry: The Politics of Exhortation, Cambridge. Kotsidu, H. (2000) Time kai doxa. Ehrungen für hellenistische Herrscher im griechischen Mutterland und in Kleinasien unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der archäologischen Denkmäler, Berlin. Kralli, I. (1999) ‘Athens and her leading citizens in the early Hellenistic period (338–261 BC): the evidence of the decrees awarding the highest honours’, Archaiognosia 10 (1998–9) 133–61. Kremmydas, C. (2012) A Commentary on Demosthenes Against Leptines, Oxford. Lambert, S. D. (2000) ‘The Sacrificial Calendar of the Marathonian Tetrapolis: A Revised Text’, ZPE 130, 43–70. Lambert, S. D. (2010) ‘Connecting with the past in Lykourgan Athens: An epigraphical perspective’, 225–38 in H.-J. Gehrke, N. Luraghi and L. Foxhall (eds.), Intentional History: Spinning Time in Ancient Greece, Stuttgart. Lambert, S. D. (2011a) ‘Some political shifts in Lykourgan Athens’, 175–90 in V. Azoulay and P. Ismard (eds.), Clisthène et Lycurgue d’Athènes. Autour du politique dans la cité classique, Paris. Lambert, S. D. (2011b) ‘What was the point of inscribed honorific decrees in classical Athens’, 193–214 in S. D. Lambert (ed.), Sociable Man. Essays in Ancient Greek social behaviour, in honour of Nick Fisher, Cardiff. Lambert, S. D. (2012a) Inscribed Athenian Laws and Decrees 352/1–322/1 BC. Epigraphical Essays, Leiden and Boston. Lambert, S. D. (2012b) ‘Inscribing the Past in Fourth-Century Athens’, 253–75 in J. Marincola, J.,

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L. Llewllyn-Jones, and C. Maciver (edd), Greek Notions of the Past in the Archaic and Classical Eras: History without Historians, Edinburgh. Lambert, S. D. (2012c) ‘The Social Construction of Priests and Priestesses in Athenian Honorific Decrees from the Fourth Century BC to the Augustan Period’, 67–134 in M. Horster and A. Klöckner (edd.) Civic Priests: Cult Personnel in Athens from the Hellenistic Period to Late Antiquity, Berlin. Liddel, P. P. (2007) Civic Obligation and Individual Liberty in Ancient Athens, Oxford. Low, P. A. (2007) Interstate Relations in Classical Greece. Morality and Power, Cambridge. Low, P. A. (2011) ‘Athenian Foreign Policy and the Quest for Stability’, 67–86 in G. Herman (ed.), Stability and Crisis in the Athenian Democracy, Stuttgart. Luraghi, N. (2010) ‘The demos as narrator: public honors and the construction of future and past’, 247–63 in H.-J. Gehrke, N. Luraghi and L. Foxhall (eds.), Intentional History: Spinning Time in Ancient Greece, Stuttgart. MacDowell, D. M. (1962) Andocides’ On the Mysteries, Oxford. MacDowell, D. M. (2009) Demosthenes the Orator, Oxford. Maidment, K. J. (1963) Minor Attic Orators. Volume I. London and Cambridge, MA. Mitchell, L. (1997) Greeks Bearing Gifts: The Public Use of Private Relationships, Cambridge Monaco, M. C. (2011) ‘Offrandes publiques et privées sur l’Acropole et l’Agora d’Athènes à l’époque lycurguéenne (340–320 av. J. –C.)’, 219–30 in V. Azoulay and P. Ismard (eds.), Clisthène et Lycurgue d’Athènes. Autour du politique dans la cité classique, Paris. Moreno, A. (2007) Feeding the Democracy. The Athenian Grain Supply in the Fifth and Fourth Centuries BC, Oxford. Mossé, C. (1995) ‘La classe politique à Athénes au IVème siècle’, 67–78 in W. Eder (ed.), Die athenische Demokratie im 4. Jahrhundert v. Chr. Stuttgart. Nouhaud, M. (1982) L’Utilisation de l’histoire par les orateurs attiques, Paris. Oikonomides, A. N. (1986) ‘The epigraphical tradition of the decree of Stratocles honoring ‘Post Mortem’ the orator Lykourgos’, Ancient World 14, 51–4. Oliver, G. J. (2007) ‘Citizenship: inscribed honours for individuals in Classical and Hellenistic Athens’, 273–92 in J.-Chr. Couvenhes and S. Milanezi ed(s), Individus, groupes, et politique à Athènes de Solon a Mithridate. Tours. Oliver, G. J. (2011) ‘Before “Lykourgan Athens”: the origins of change’, 119–31 in V. Azoulay and P. Ismard (eds.), Clisthène et Lycurgue d’Athènes. Autour du politique dans la cité classique, Paris. Osborne, M. J. (1981–3) Naturalization in Athens. 4 vols. in 3, Brussels. Osborne, R. G. (1999) ‘Inscribing democracy’ in R. Osborne and S. Goldhill (edd.) Performance Culture in Athenian Democracy. Cambridge, 341–58. Papazarkadas, N. (2011) Sacred and Public Land in Ancient Athens, Oxford. Petrovic, A. (2010) ‘True Lies of Athenian public epigrams’, 202–15 in M. Baumbach, A. Petrovic, I. Petrovic (edd.), Archaic and Classical Greek Epigram, Cambridge. Petrovic, A. (2013) ‘Inscribed Epigrams in Orators and Epigrammatic Collections’, in P. Liddel and P. Low (edd.), Inscriptions and their Uses in Ancient Greek and Latin Literature, Oxford, 197– 213. Rhodes, P. J. (1972) The Athenian Boule, Oxford Rhodes, P. J. (1981) A Commentary on the Aristotleian Athenaion Politeia, Oxford. Rhodes, P. J. (2006) ‘Democracy and its Opponents in Fourth-Century Athens’, 275–289 in U. Bultrighini (ed.), Democrazia e antidemocrazia nel mondo greco, Atti del convegno internazionale di studi, Chieti 9–11 aprile 2003, Alessandria. Rhodes, P. J. (2010) ‘Stability in the Athenian Democracy after 403 B.C’, 67–75 in B. Linke, M. Meier and M. Strothmann (edd.), Zwischen Monarchie und Republik. Gesellschaftliche Stabilisierungsleitungen und politische Transformationspotentiale in den antiken Stadtstaaten, Stuttgart. Rhodes, P. J. (2011) ‘Appeals to the past in classical Athens’, 13–30 in G. Herman (ed.), Stability and Crisis in the Athenian Democracy, Stuttgart.

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Rhodes, P. J. with Lewis, D. (1997) The Decrees of the Greek States, Oxford. Roisman, J. (2006) The Rhetoric of Conspiracy in Ancient Athens, Berkeley. Scafuro, A. (2009) ‘The crowning of gods and citizens in fourth century Athens,’ 59–86 in L. Mitchell and L. Rubinstein (edd.), Greek History and Epigraphy. Essays in honour of P. J. Rhodes, Swansea. Taylor, M. (2002) ‘One Hundred Heroes of Phyle’, Hesperia 71, 377–397. Tracy, S. (1995) Athenian Democracy in Transition: Attic Letter-Cutters of 340 to 290 B. C., Berkeley. Usher, S. (1999) Greek Oratory: Tradition and Originality, Oxford. Veligianni-Terzi, C. (1997) Wertbegriffe in den attischen Ehrendekreten der Klassischen Zeit. Stuttgart. Vince, J. H. (1962) Demosthenes. Volume I. London and Cambridge, MA. Vince, J. H. (1964) Demosthenes. Volume II. London and Cambridge, MA. Welsh, A. (2008) What is Honor? A Question of Moral Imperatives, New Haven, CT. Whitehead, D. (1983) ‘Competitive outlay and community profit: φιλοτιμία in democratic Athens’, C&M 34, 55–74. Whitehead, D. (1993) ‘Cardinal virtues: The language of public approbation in democratic Athens’, C&M 44, 37–76. Whitehead, D. (2000) Hyperides: The Forensic Speeches, Oxford. Whitehead, D. (2009) ‘Andragathia and arete’, 47–58 in L. Mitchell and L. Rubinstein (edd.), Greek History and Epigraphy. Essays in honour of P. J. Rhodes, Swansea. Wilson, P. J. (2000) The Athenian Institution of the Choregia, Cambridge Worthington, I (1992) A Historical Commentary on Dinarchus, Michigan.

KONSOLIDIERUNG ALS MODERNISIERUNG Athens Bürgerschaft im späten 4. und frühen 3. Jahrhundert v.Chr. Volker Grieb

Mit dem Beginn der hellenistischen Zeit änderten sich für viele griechische Stadtstaaten die außenpolitischen Rahmenbedingungen gegenüber der vorangehenden klassischen Zeit grundlegend.1 Die Auseinandersetzungen der Diadochen und die sich etablierenden monarchischen Territorialstaaten dominierten insbesondere in den ersten Jahrzehnten das zwischenstaatliche Geschehen, dem sich die meisten kleineren Gemeinwesen mit ihren politischen Bestrebungen unterordnen mussten. Auch Athens Möglichkeiten, sich innerhalb des neuen Mächtegefüges im östlichen Mittelmeerraum als unabhängiger Stadtstaat durchzusetzen, waren trotz seiner relativen Größe zunächst deutlich eingeschränkt, da mit der Niederlage im Lamischen Krieg nicht nur eine umfassende militärische Schwächung einherging. Die Polis musste vor allem über längere Zeit eine makedonische Vorherrschaft hinnehmen und hatte gleich mehrere innenpolitische Auseinandersetzungen zu bewältigen, die im Wesentlichen aus der direkten Einflussnahme der Makedonen resultierten. Indem die Athener diesen Einfluss jedoch immer wieder erfolgreich zurückdrängen konnten, sicherten sie nicht nur auf lange Sicht ihre demokratische Verfassung, sondern konnten schließlich auch ihre althergebrachte Freiheit, die πάτριος ἐλευθερία, zurückerlangen. In diesem Prozess, der für die Polis mit der Katastrophe am Ende des Lamischen Krieges begann und mit dem Epochenjahr 229/8 zu einem für sie erfolgreichen Abschluss kam,2 sind die beiden ersten Jahrzehnte nach Alexanders Tod sowie die Ereignisse um das Jahr 287 und nach 262 von besonderer Bedeutung, da hieran das mehrheitliche Bestreben der Athener im Umgang mit der neuen – hellenistischen – Situation aufgezeigt werden kann. Im Folgenden soll dafür der Fokus auf der die Polis konstituierenden Bürgerschaft liegen, deren Exklusivität nach 322 mehrmals in Frage gestellt war, und es soll nachgezeichnet werden, welche wesentlichen innenpolitischen Auswirkungen aus dem Verlust der außenpolitischen Selbständigkeit und der mitunter direkten Einflussnahme eines hellenistischen Herrschers für Athen resultierten.3 In mehrerer Hinsicht ist daran zu erkennen, inwieweit die Athener an einem traditionellen, also klassischen bürgerschaftlichen 1 2 3

Der Beginn der hellenistischen Epoche wird für Athen im Folgenden mit der Niederlage der Stadt im Lamischen Krieg gleichgesetzt. Grundlegend für die hellenistische Geschichte der Stadt Habicht 1995. Dieser Zusammenhang ist wegen des gebotenen Umfanges und der Zielsetzung im Sinne des Obertitels in diesem Beitrag auf die zentralen Aspekte beschränkt; kritische Stellungnahmen zu einzelnen Forschungspositionen werden der Übersichtlichkeit halber zumeist in den Anmer-

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Selbstverständnis festhielten und mit dem Streben nach der πάτριος ἐλευθερία auch ihre Polisgemeinschaft wieder umfangreich konsolidieren konnten.4 Gleichsam wird daran deutlich, inwieweit für den δῆμος am Beginn der ‚neuen Epoche‘ ein Handlungsspielraum für eine Modernisierung bestand oder aber zunächst nur eine Festigung bzw. Rückführung der vorangehenden und rechtmäßigen πολιτεία im Vordergrund stand. In methodischer Hinsicht bietet eine Berücksichtigung der zeitgenössischen politischen Terminologie mehrere Anknüpfungspunkte, um die Rolle der Bürgerschaft in dieser Zeit genauer zu bestimmen. Ausgangspunkt dafür ist eine inhaltliche und perspektivische Differenzierung der Begriffe αὐτονομία, δημοκρατία und ἐλευθερία, für die in der älteren Hellenismusforschung – auch zu Athen – häufig noch eine synonyme Bedeutung vorausgesetzt wurde.5 Darüber hinaus lässt eine detaillierte Berücksichtigung der zeitgenössischen politischen Terminologie erkennen, dass nach dem Lamischen Krieg nicht so sehr die ‚Wiederherstellung‘ der δημοκρατία im Vordergrund stand als vielmehr die Restituierung und Konsolidierung der traditionellen und rechtmäßigen Bürgerschaft. Bereits im sogenannten Eukrates-Gesetz aus dem Jahre 337/6 werden eine Auflösung der δημοκρατία und eine Auflösung des δῆμος als Tatbestand klar voneinander getrennt.6 Diese terminologische Unterscheidung zeigen auch die Quellen zum frühhellenistischen Athen und charakterisieren damit die jeweils bestehende innenpolitische Situation – so die hier vertretene Sichtweise – durchaus präzise. Im größeren zeitlichen Zusammenhang wird diese mit Bedacht gewählte politische Terminologie weiterhin offensichtlich, als die Athener im Jahre 229/8 ihre πάτριος ἐλευθερία wiedererlangten, die erst aus einer Festigung der demokratischen Strukturen und einer Restituierung

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kungen angeführt. Dem Nachfolgenden liegen in mehreren Punkten meine Untersuchungen zur Demokratie in freien Poleis der hellenistischen Zeit zugrunde (Grieb 2008, besonders 51–107). Dass Athen mit dem Ende des Lamischen Krieges seine alte – ‚klassische‘ – Demokratie dauerhaft verloren habe, ist noch in jüngerer Zeit vertreten worden. Zuletzt etwa Nippel 2008, 84, der mit 322 das definitive Ende eines politischen Systems sieht, „das ein Maß an unmittelbarer Bürgerbeteiligung erreicht hatte, für das es welthistorisch kaum eine Parallele geben dürfte“. Eine solche Perspektive lässt das intensive und langfristige wie schließlich auch erfolgreiche Bestreben der Polis um eine freiheitlich-politische Selbstbestimmung vom späten 4. bis in die 2. Hälfte des 3. Jhs. unberücksichtigt. Zu möglichen demokratischen Parallelen in hellenistischer Zeit vgl. Grieb 2008; Carlsson 2010. Stellvertretend für die zahlreichen Darstellungen und Untersuchungen, die Athens „Demokratie“ mit dem Ausgang der klassischen Zeit enden lassen, siehe Bleicken 1994, 410. Zum Fortbestehen der politischen Organisation dieser Stadt siehe dagegen die klare diesbezügliche Charakterisierung von Christian Habicht in seiner Einleitung zur „Geschichte der Stadt in hellenistischer Zeit“ (Habicht 1995, 13–17, bes. 14 f.). Weiterhin etwa Gabbert 1986, Hackl 1987, Rhodes/Lewis 1997, 34–61; Dreyer 2001; Tracy 2003, 9–14; Grieb 2008, 27–138; Bayliss 2011; Osborne 2012, 55–102. Mit der allgemeinen synonymen Bedeutung etwa noch Ma 2002 in seiner Untersuchung zu Antiochos III. und den Poleis im westlichen Kleinasien (vgl. ebd. 161); siehe weiterhin J. D. Gauger, in: Lexikon des Hellenismus (Wiesbaden 2005), Sp. 238 f., s. v. Demokratie. Zu einer Unterscheidung der staatsrechtlichen und machtpolitischen Zusammenhänge, die mit diesen Begriffen in den Quellen für Athen einhergehen, siehe Grieb 2008, 51–124 (mit älterer Literatur) sowie allgemein für freie Poleis in hellenistischer Zeit ebd. 364–378; Carlsson 2010, 81– 99. Zur ἐλευθερία-Thematik nunmehr Dmitriev 2011. IG II/III3 1,2 n. 320; dazu im Folgenden.

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der rechtmäßigen Bürgerschaft in der vorangehenden Zeit möglich wurde. Hierauf sowie auf die Einrichtung des δῆμος-Kultes, der in diese spätere Zeit fällt, und die δῆμος-Nennungen in den Dekrettexten sollabschließend kurz eingegangen werden. In allen Fällen werden die Bestrebungen der Athener deutlich, trotz der veränderten außenpolitischen Rahmenbedingungen an alte und lange Zeit etablierte Traditionen der vorangehenden und aus heutiger Sicht klassischen Demokratie anzuknüpfen.

DIE ZENSUSVERFASSUNGEN IM SPÄTEN 4. JH. UND DIE ΚΑΤΑΛΥΣΙΣ ΤΟΥ ΔΗΜΟΥ In den Friedensverhandlungen, die Athens Gesandtschaft um Demades und Phokion im Anschluss an den Lamischen Krieg mit Antipatros führte, wurde festgelegt, dass Athen die für den Krieg verantwortlichen Politiker auszuliefern hatte, die Stadt zukünftig eine makedonische Garnison in der Festung Munychia im Piräus aufnehmen musste7 und, drittens, die politische Beteiligung der Bürger an einen Zensus von 2.000 Drachmen Mindestvermögen gebunden sein sollte.8 Alle drei Bestimmungen bedeuteten wesentliche Einschnitte für die Bürgerschaft und ihre demokratische Praxis und berührten im Einzelnen unterschiedliche politische und gesellschaftliche Bereiche. Die Bestimmung, die antimakedonischen Wortführer auszuliefern, betraf vor allem die politische Führungsschicht, in der sich das Gewicht zugunsten einer Gruppierung verschob, an deren Spitze die bereits genannten Demades und Phokion standen.9 Vormals führende Politiker wie Demosthenes, Hypereides oder auch Eukrates wurden wegen ihres Eintretens gegen die makedonische Vorherrschaft auf Antrag des Demades sogar zum Tode verurteilt.10 Maßgeblich für den zukünftigen Einfluss des Antipatros war die makedonische Besatzung im Piräus. Durch sie wurde nicht nur die territoriale Souveränität der athenischen Bürgerschaft über Attika aufgehoben, sondern ein militärisches Instrument geschaffen, mit dem Antipatros die Vorgänge in und um den Hafen der Stadt kontrollieren und direkten Einfluss auf die politische Ausrichtung Athens nehmen konnte.11 Die dritte 7 8

9 10 11

Diod. 18,18; Plut. Phokion 27. Dazu Gehrke 1976, 89 f.; Brun 2000, 116. Zu Athen und dem Lamischen Krieg vgl. Bosworth 2003 (mit weiterer Literatur). Diod. 18,18,4: ὁ δὲ φιλανθρώπως αὐτοῖς προσενεχθεὶς συνεχώρησεν ἔχειν τήν τε πόλιν καὶ τὰς κτήσεις καὶ τἄλλα πάντα· τὴν δὲ πολιτείαν μετέστησεν ἐκ τῆς δημοκρατίας καὶ προσέταξεν ἀπὸ τιμήσεως εἶναι τὸ πολίτευμα καὶ τοὺς μὲν κεκτημένους πλείω δραχμῶν δισχιλίων κυρίους εἶναι τοῦ πολιτεύματος καὶ τῆς χειροτονίας. Es ist in der Forschung umstritten, auf wen die Zensusregelung letztlich zurückgeht. Vgl. Gehrke 1976, 91; Habicht 1995, 51 (Bestreben der Gruppe um Phokion und Demades); Lehmann 1995, 146 (striktes Diktat des Antipatros). Habicht 1995, 51. Umfassend zu Phokion Gehrke 1976; Tritle 1988; zu Demades Brun 2000. Plut. Demosthenes 28,2. Vgl. Williams 1989, 25. Zur Einflussmöglichkeit der Besatzung siehe Diod. 18,18,6. Für die Perspektive der Bürgerschaft siehe Plut. Phokion 30,5–6, wonach die Athener sowohl Demades als auch Phokion nachdrücklich damit beauftragten, bei Antipatros für die Aufhebung der Besatzung einzutreten, sie jedoch mit dem Anliegen vor Antipatros scheiterten.

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Bestimmung, die Einführung eines Zensus von 2.000 Drachmen, führte schließlich zu einer deutlichen strukturellen Veränderung innerhalb der Bürgerschaft und beließ nur noch einem Teil der Bürger seine politischen Rechte. In den Quellen ist die Rede von einer Reduzierung auf ca. 9.000 von vormals ca. 21.000 Personen, womit also mehr als die Hälfte der Bürgerschaft zukünftig ohne direkten politischen Einfluss blieb.12 Die Forschung hat gerade diese Veränderung umfangreich diskutiert, insbesondere weil die Quellen den genaueren Status derjenigen Bürger, die unterhalb des Zensus blieben, nicht direkt benennen, daran jedoch die gesellschaftliche und innenpolitische Veränderung innerhalb der Polis zu beurteilen ist.13 So wurde etwa zuletzt wieder darauf verwiesen, dass mit dem Zensus 60–70 % der Athener fortan ihren Bürgerstatus verloren hätten.14 Ein solcher Verlust des Bürgerstatus muss allerdings grundsätzlich infrage gestellt werden. Zwar führte die Zensusregelung dazu, dass die ärmeren Bürger ihre politischen Mitbestimmungsrechte verloren, jedoch ist dies im Sinne einer timokratischen Verfassung, die unter Antipatros ohne zeitliche Begrenzung eingeführt wurde, eben nur solange anzunehmen, wie der Zensus unerfüllt blieb. Für den Fall eines nachfolgend vergrößerten Besitzes mussten solche Athener wieder politische Rechte erhalten haben und somit als Bürger grundsätzlich von anderen Bewohnern der Polis unterschieden geblieben sein, sodass ein Verlust des Bürgerstatus für 60–70 % der Athener gerade nicht naheliegend ist.15 Die Quellen bieten dementsprechend auch keinen Hinweis darauf, dass die Entrechteten ihren Status als Ἀθηναῖοι – Bürger Athens – verloren hätten.16 Folgt 12

13 14

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Die Reduzierung auf 9.000 Personen überliefert Diod. 18,18,4, die Zahl der 12.000 politisch Entrechteten bei Plut. Phokion 28,7; die Gesamtbürgerzahl von 21.000 bei Ktesikles FGrHist 245 F1. Die hier vertretene ‚konservative‘ Sichtweise orientiert sich eng an den Quellenangaben und stellt im Rahmen der von den Athenern selbst überlieferten politischen Terminologie in den dokumentarischen Quellen die m. E. am wenigsten spekulative Interpretation dar. Vgl. dazu Sekunda 1992 sowie die in Anm. 13 angeführten Beiträge (dort mit weiterer Literatur). Siehe etwa Green 2003, 1; Lamberton 2003, 9; Baynham, 2003, 26. Bayliss 2011, 71: „Considering 60–70 per cent of Athenians were debarred from citizenship [sic!], it would be more appropriate to call the new regime a ‘one-quarter society’“. Diese Sichtweise impliziert zudem, dass alle Bürger oberhalb des Zensus dem Regime ‚angehörten‘ bzw. eine entsprechend promakedonische Einstellung verfolgten, was als ausgeschlossen gelten kann. Anders zuletzt etwa auch Van Wees 2011 (mit älteren Forschungspositionen); dazu die Kritik unten Anm. 45. Die in den Quellen überlieferte Begrifflichkeit ist diesbezüglich eindeutig. Nach Diod. 18,18,4 änderte Antipater die πολιτεία „weg von der Demokratie“ (τὴν δὲ πολιτείαν μετέστησεν ἐκ τῆς δημοκρατίας) und das πολίτευμα sollte von einem Zensus abhängig sein (προσέταξεν ἀπὸ τιμήσεως εἶναι τὸ πολίτευμα); diejenigen mit mehr als 2.000 Drachmen Besitz sollten „Herr“ sein über das πολίτευμα und die Wahlen (τοὺς μὲν κεκτημένους πλείω δραχμῶν δισχιλίων κυρίους εἶναι τοῦ πολιτεύματος καὶ τῆς χειροτονίας); diejenigen, die weniger besaßen, sollten von der πολιτεία – entsprechend der vorangehenden Aussage also von der (eingeschränkten) δημοκρατία als politischer Verfassung – ausgeschlossen bleiben (τοὺς δὲ κατωτέρω τῆς τιμήσεως ἅπαντας […] ἀπήλασε τῆς πολιτείας). Dazu dann Plut. Phokion 28,7: τῶν δ’ἀποψηφισθέντων τοῦ πολιτεύματος διὰ πενίαν, ὑπὲρ μυρίους καὶ δισχιλίους γενομένων. Im Sinne des Vorangehenden wird in Diod. 18,66,6 die große Gruppe der politisch Ausgeschlossenen weiterhin und konsequent als „bürgerliche Mehrheit“ bezeichnet: τὸ

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man hingegen den Aussagen der Quellen, ist zwischen dem Bürgerstatus einerseits und der politischen Mitbestimmung im Sinne eines Bürgerrechtes andererseits zu unterscheiden.17 Für die Beurteilung der gesellschaftlichen Verhältnisse innerhalb der Polis ist vielmehr wesentlich, dass die zahlreichen ärmeren Bürger mit dem Verlust ihrer politischen Rechte nunmehr der Gruppe der Nichtbürger deutlich näher standen, indem sie ihre über das gesamte vorangehende 4. Jh. bestehende politische Exklusivität – im Sinne der politischen Mitbestimmung – verloren hatten.18 Eine in dieser Form längerfristig etablierte Ordnung hätte somit vielmehr offensichtliche und umfangreiche Verschiebungen im athenischen Gesellschaftsgefüge bedeutet. Die athenische Demokratie als politische Organisationsform blieb demgegenüber trotz des verkleinerten Kreises politisch Berechtigter und mit der Ausnahme von geringeren Modifikationen in ihrer Funktionsweise in dieser Zeit weitestgehend unangetastet.19 Wie die Mehrheit der Athener dann selbst die politische Entrechtung sah, wird aus der Anklage deutlich, die gegen die wortführenden Parteigänger der Makedonen um Phokion vorgebracht wurde,20 nachdem die Stadt durch Polyperchons Unterstützung 319 ihre Eigenständigkeit zurückerlangt hatte.21 Als

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19

20 21

πλῆθος τῶν δημοτικῶν, ἀπωσμένον τῆς πολιτείας (nach 18,18,4 also von der δημοκρατία). In keinem Fall ist von einem grundsätzlichen Verlust des Bürgerstatus die Rede, jeweils nur von einem Ausschluss von den politischen Institutionen. Indirekt bestätigt wird dies im gleichen Kontext von der Angabe Diodors: πάντες δὲ τὰς οὐσίας εἰάθησαν ἔχειν ἀναφαιρέτους (18,18,5). Die mitunter angenommene Benennung der politisch entrechteten Bürger als ἄτιμοι im Anschluss an Plut. Phokion 33,2 muss zweifelhaft bleiben (vgl. etwa Lehmann 1995, 141; 149; Habicht 1995, 54 f. [mit Einschränkung]; Lamberton 2003, 11), zumal hieraus keineswegs klar hervorgeht, dass damit die Gruppe der entrechteten Bürger gemeint ist (Grieb 2008, 52 mit Anm. 172). Eine ἀτιμία als Gegensatz zur τιμή, an der Bürger nach Aristoteles’ staatsphilosophischer Sicht (pol. 1278a38) allgmein teilhaben konnten, wenn sie staatliche Aufgaben im Sinne der politischen Beteiligung übernahmen, und die solchen Bürgern, die sich von den staatlichen Aufgaben fernhielten bzw. davon ausgeschlossen waren, entsprechend verwehrt blieb (vgl. unten Anm. 18), hätte in diesem Zusammenhang zwar durchaus sinnvoll angeführt werden können, ist aber von Plutarch an dieser Stelle wohl kaum gemeint. Eine ἀτιμία im innenpolitischen Kontext etwa in IG II/III3 n. 320, Z. 20. Diese Trennung ist bereits klar von Habicht 1995, 54 f. formuliert. In diesem Sinne zuvor etwa Sekunda 1992, 319, oder jetzt auch Liddel 2007, 90 f., der „citizens with political rights“ anführt, zu denen man entsprechend solche ‚without political rights‘ anzunehmen hätte. In der Diskussion dieses Kontextes bei Bayliss 2011, 68–73, bleibt die hier angeführte politische Terminologie der Quellen weitgehend unberücksichtigt. Die Ausführungen dazu von van Wees 2011 sind in zentralen Punkten problematisch (dazu unter Anm. 45). Arist. pol. 1278a38 charakterisiert diesen Zustand allgemein derart, dass ein Bürger, der an der „Ehre“, die aus der Mitbestimmung am Staate hervorgehe, nicht teilhabe, wie ein Metöke sei: ὥσπερ μέτοικος γάρ ἐστιν ὁ τῶν τιμῶν μὴ μετέχων. – Aristoteles führt hingegen keineswegs an, dass dieser folglich zum Metöken wurde. Anstelle des γραμματεύς wurde das innerhalb der politischen Organisation wohl einflussreichere Amt des ἀναγραφεύς geschaffen. Siehe hierzu sowie zu den weiteren Modifikationen Habicht 1995, 55; Tracy 1995, 18 f.; Rhodes/Lewis 1997, 40; Liddel 2007, 91. Vgl. demgegenüber noch die Annahme einer umfangreicheren konstitutionellen Änderung bei Ferguson 1911, 22–26. Diod. 18,66; Plut. Phokion 35. Diod. 18,65–67; Nep. Phokion 2,4–5; Plut. Phokion 33–35. Vgl. dazu Gehrke 1976, 113–115;

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Hauptgrund für die Anklage wird neben der Beseitigung der νόμοι gerade die κατάλυσις τοῦ δήμου, also die Auflösung der Bürgerschaft, genannt.22 Wenn hingegen in der entsprechenden Stelle bei Diodor nicht von der Auflösung oder Beseitigung der δημοκρατία die Rede ist, braucht hierin keineswegs eine nachlässige Formulierung des Historikers gesehen zu werden,23 vielmehr entspricht sie in der vorliegenden Form sehr präzise dem spätklassischen athenischen Rechtsverständnis: In dem bereits 337/6 beschlossenen sogenannten „Gesetz des Eukrates“ werden eine Auflösung des Bürgerschaft und eine Auflösung der Demokratie als Straftatbestände klar voneinander unterschieden.24 Dieses Gesetz sicherte denjenigen Straffreiheit zu, die gegen Personen vorgingen, die ihrerseits Umsturzversuche im Sinne einer Auflösung des Demos oder Auflösung der Demokratie betrieben.25 Berücksichtigt man die Veränderungen, die Athen nach 322 durch die äußere politische Einflussnahme hinzunehmen hatte, trifft die Bezeichnung Auflösung der Bürgerschaft den zentralen Sachverhalt durchaus sehr genau: Sowohl die Auslieferung der wortführenden Makedonengegner als auch der eingeführte Zensus zielten auf eine quantitative wie qualitative Schwächung des vormaligen δῆμος als rechtmäßigen und traditionellen politischen Entscheidungsträger der Polis. Und aus der Perspektive des Herrschers ist die Zensusregelung sicherlich als Maßnahme zu betrachten, um eine in ihrer politischen Meinung wohl offenkundig unstetige Gruppe von ärmeren Bürgern aus der Entscheidungsfindung herauszuhalten und die ohnehin promakedonische Ausrichtung Athens nach dem Lamischen Krieg auch in den politischen Gremien möglichst konfliktfrei durchsetzen zu können.26 Für die aus Sicht des vorangehenden 4. Jhs. ärmeren, aber keineswegs unrechtmäßigen Ἀθηναῖοι bedeutete die Regelung hingegen den Verlust ihrer politischen Exklusivität und

22

23

24 25

26

Habicht 1995, 58 f. Ein erster Konsolidierungsversuch der Bürgerschaft nach der Befreiung war zuvor gescheitert. Diod. 18,66,5: ἦν δ’ ὁ σύμπας τῆς κατηγορίας λόγος [sic!] ὅτι οὗτοι παραίτιοι γεγένηντ αι μετὰ τὸν Λαμιακὸν πόλεμον τῆς τε δουλείας τῇ πατρίδι καὶ τῆς καταλύσεως τοῦ δήμου καὶ τῶν νόμων. Vgl. weiterhin 18,66,6. Diodor schildert in 18,66 demnach die Anklage mit dem zugrundeliegenden Vergehen, während er in 18,18,4 nur allgemein von einer Entwicklung der πολιτεία weg von einer δημοκρατία spricht. Die κατάλυσις τοῦ δήμου wird in diesem Zusammenhang häufig und bis in jüngste Zeit unzutreffend als „Auflösung der Demokratie“ übersetzt und auch verstanden. Eine Auflistung der entsprechenden Positionen kann an dieser Stelle ausbleiben. Vgl. dazu stellvertretend die Übersetzung in der Ausgabe „Loeb Library“ oder die Übersetzung mit Kommentar von O. Veh, Diodoros. Griechische Weltgeschichte, Stuttgart 2005. IG II/III3 1,2 n. 320; Agora XVI n. 73 (jeweils mit weiterer Literatur). IG II/III3 1,2 n. 320, Z. 7–11: ἐάν τις ἐπαναστῆι τῶι δήμωι ἐπὶ τυραννίδι ἢ τὴν τυραννίδα συνκαταστήσηι ἢ τὸν δῆμον τὸν Ἀθηναίων ἢ τὴν δημοκρατίαν τὴν Ἀθήνησιν καταλύσ ηι, ὃς ἂν τὸν τούτων τι ποιήσαντα ἀποκτείνηι ὅσιος ἔστω. Z. 16–23: ἐὰν δέ τις τοῦ δήμου ἢ τῆς δημοκρατίας καταλελυμένων τῶν Ἀθήνησιν ἀνίηι τῶν βουλευτῶν τῶν ἐξ Ἀρείου Πάγου εἰς Ἄρειον Πάγον ἢ συνκαθίζηι ἐν τῶι συνεδρίωι ἢ βολεύηι περί τινος ἄτιμος ἔστω καὶ αὐτὸς καὶ γένος τὸ ἐξ ἐκείνου, καὶ ἡ οὐσία δημοσία ἔστω αὐτοῦ καὶ τῆς θεοῦ τὸ ἐπιδέκατον. Vgl. dazu die athenische Ehrung für Euphron von Sikyon IG II2 n. 448, Z. 62–64, wo weiterhin noch die νόμοι angeführt werden. Dazu Diod. 18,18,4 (τοὺς δὲ κατωτέρω τῆς τιμήσεως ἅπαντας ὡς ταραχώδεις ὄντας καὶ πολεμικοὺς) sowie Diod. 18,66,6 mit dem Widerstand der demokratischen Mehrheit gegen Phokion.

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konfrontierte sie fortan mit einer gesellschaftlichen Stellung, die sich nur noch wenig von der eines Metöken unterschied. Dass die Bürgerschaft mit dem Ende von Antipatros’ Vorherrschaft sogleich wieder in ihrer althergebrachten Größe restituiert wurde, darf daher als durchaus signifikanter Hinweis dafür gesehen werden, wie die Athener selbst die vorangehende außenpolitische Einflussnahme und die Zensusregelung mehrheitlich beurteilten.27 Polyperchons Eingreifen brachte der Stadt 319 also ihre innenpolitische Selbstständigkeit zurück,28 wodurch die traditionelle athenische πολιτεία im Sinne der demokratischen Organisation und demokratischen Praxis ohne größere Schwierigkeiten in ihrer alle Bürger umfassenden Form wiederhergestellt werden konnte.29 Athen blieb jedoch weiterhin von den außenpolitischen Rahmenbedingungen abhängig,30 und von einer ἐλευθερία konnte für die Polis keineswegs die Rede sein, wenngleich Polyperchon kurz zuvor in seiner Auseinandersetzung mit Kassander die „Freiheit“ griechischer Poleis propagierte.31 Bereits im Jahre 317 führte die geschwächte Machtposition Polyperchons dazu, dass die Athener in Übergabeverhandlungen mit Kassander eintreten mussten, um schwerwiegendere innenpolitische Konsequenzen für die Polis abzuwenden.32 In einer mit den Bestimmungen von 322 vergleichbaren Weise hatte die Bürgerschaft abermals deutliche Einschränkungen hinzunehmen. Es wurde festgelegt, dass sie ihre inneren Angelegenheiten zwar selbst regeln konnte, für die politische Beteiligung jedoch erneut eine Zensusregelung bestehen sollte, die nun 1.000 Drachmen betrug, also deutlich weniger Bürger von Ämtern und der politischen Entscheidungsfindung ausschloss als noch zuvor.33 Als weitere Maßnahme setzte Kassander den Athener Demetrios von Phaleron als Epimeleten der Stadt ein, der in den Jahren 27

28 29

30 31

32 33

Vgl. dazu die Charakterisierung des Personenkreises um Phokion als ὀλιγαρχικός καὶ μισόδημος bei Plut. Phokion 34,4, die sich aus Sicht der Polis begrifflich ebenfalls exakt auf den vorliegenden Missstand bezieht. Zum Autonomie-Streben Diod. 18,64,5–6; 66,2; 66,6. Die Frage, wann der Zensus aufgehoben wurde, bleibt in der Forschungsdiskussion zumeist unberücksichtigt; vgl. zuletzt etwa Bayliss 2011, 68–73. Die Aufhebung dürfte bald nach der Freiheitsproklamation des Polyperchon erfolgt sein; dazu Grieb 2008, 56–60. Die fremde Garnison im Piräus konnte hingegen nicht beseitigt werden; Diod. 18,64,3–5. Diod. 18,55–56, bes. 55,2: ἔδοξεν αὐτοῖς τὰς μὲν κατὰ τὴν Ἑλλάδα πόλεις ἐλευθεροῦν, τὰς δ’ ἐν αὐταῖς ὀλιγαρχίας καθεσταμένας ὑπ’ Ἀντιπάτρου καταλύειν· Vgl. zu Athen Plut. Phokion 32,1: ἔπεμψεν [scil. Πολυπέρχων] ἐπιστολὴν τοῖς ἐν ἄστει γεγραμμένην, ὡς τοῦ βασιλέως ἀποδιδόντος αὐτοῖς τὴν δημοκρατίαν καὶ πολιτεύεσθαι κατὰ τὰ πάτρια πάντας Ἀθηναίους κελεύοντος. Dazu etwa Dmitriev 2011, 112–115, der allerdings in seiner Diskussion der Freiheitspropaganda nicht genauer auf den innenpolitisch-historischen Kontext Athens eingeht. Diod. 18,74. Diod. 18,74,3: τὸ πολίτευμα διοικεῖσθαι ἀπὸ τιμήσεων ἄχρι μνῶν δέκα. Die Zensusregelung geht nach 18,74,3 auf Kassander zurück, da Demetrios von Phaleron erst danach zum Epimeleten der Stadt gewählt wurde. Dazu jetzt zutreffend O’Sullivan 2009, 108–116, besonders 115. Unzutreffend Bayliss 2011, 73, der anführt, dass Demetrios von Phaleron „set the property qualification for citizenship“; dieser hat nach Ktesikles (FGrHist 245 F1 = Athen. 6,272b) vielmehr einen Zensus durchführen lassen, wonach es in seiner Zeit 21.000 Athener und 10.000 Metöken gegeben habe. Auf die Möglichkeit einer gestaffelten Zensusregelung hat van Wees 2011, 96 f. hingewiesen (dazu Anm. 45).

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von 317 bis 307 die innenpolitischen Belange im Sinne des Herrschers wesentlich bestimmte.34 Das zentrale Mittel für die dauerhafte makedonische Kontrolle der Polis blieb die Garnison im Piräus, die unter Kassander fortbestand und seinen Bestrebungen den notwendigen Nachdruck verlieh respektive Demetrios von Phaleron und die anderen promakedonischen Parteigänger dementsprechend walten ließ.35 Die athenische Demokratie im Sinne der politischen Organisation bestand in dieser Zeit mit Ausnahme der Zensusregelung und kleinerer Modifikationen, die den demokratischen Charakter allerdings nicht grundsätzlich änderten, in althergebrachter Gliederung ansonsten fort.36 Auch in diesem Fall wird aus der retrospektiven Darstellung ersichtlich, wie die Athener selbst die Beeinflussung ihrer inneren Verhältnisse mehrheitlich sahen, nachdem nämlich im Jahre 307 das militärische Eingreifen des Demetrios Poliorketes zur Befreiung der Stadt geführt hatte, die Zensusverfassung beseitigt worden war und die Stadt innenpolitisch wieder selbstbestimmt agieren konnte:37 Die Athener benannten wie bereits nach der Zensusherrschaft von 322–319 als wesentlichen Missstand die κατάλυσις τοῦ δήμου.38 Aus der Perspektive der restituierten Bürgerschaft war es also abermals die Desintegration des traditionellen und rechtmäßigen δῆμος, die mit dem Verlust der außenpolitischen Selbstständigkeit der Polis aufgezwungen wurde.39 Und wie bereits zuvor ergibt sich auch in diesem Zusammenhang ein kohärentes Bild erst dann, wenn die κατάλυσις τοῦ δήμου von einer Beseitigung der Demokratie unterschieden wird.40 Aus dieser Perspektive konnte nämlich der Athener Demetrios von Phaleron, der als Parteigänger des Makedonen34 35 36

37 38

39 40

Diod. 18,74,3: καταστῆσαι δ’ ἐπιμελητὴν τῆς πόλεως ἕνα ἄνδρα Ἀθηναῖον ὃν ἂν δόξῃ Κασάνδρῳ· καὶ ᾑρέθη Δημήτριος ὁ Φαληρεύς. Vgl. Strab. 9,1,20 (398C). Siehe etwa Habicht 1979, 25 f.; Lehmann 1995, 140; 144. Vgl. dazu die Kontrollfunktion der Garnison während der vorangehenden Zensusverfassung: Diod. 18,18,6. Die wesentliche Veränderung innerhalb der demokratischen Organisation unter Demetrios betrifft die Schaffung bzw. Aufwertung der nomophylakes, die Amtsträger zur Einhaltung der Gesetze veranlassen konnten. Von solchen Maßnahmen, die die δημοκρατία direkt betrafen, sind diejenigen zu unterscheiden, die – wie das sog. Grabluxusgesetz – in den gesellschaftspolitischen Bereich fallen und die politischen Entscheidungsgremien und Ämter der Bürgerschaft in ihrer Verfahrensweise und Zuordnung zueinander nicht direkt betrafen. Zu den Maßnahmen von Demetrios von Phaleron ausführlich Gehrke 1978, 151–181; O’Sullivan 2009, 105–158; vgl. den Überblick von Habicht 1995, 64–67. Siehe allgemein zu Demetrios Tracy 1995, 36– 51, sowie jetzt die Diskussion seiner Person und seines Wirkens bei O’Sullivan 2009 und Banfi 2010; zu Kassander und Athen vgl. Landucci Gattinoni 2003, 111–123. Diod. 20,45; Plut. Demetrios 8–10; Marmor Parium FGrHist 239 B20–21. Zum überregionalen Kontext der Freiheitsbestrebungen dieser Zeit Dmitriev 2011, 130 f. Philochoros FGrHist 328 F 66: Φιλόχορος δὲ ἐν ταῖς Ἀττικαῖς ἱστορίαις περί τε τῆς φυγῆς τῶν καταλυσάντων τὸν δῆμον (…) οὕτως λέγει (…). Maßgeblich ist, dass Philochoros als Zeitgenosse den angeführten Abschnitt der athenischen Geschichte mit der Auflösung der Bürgerschaft, nicht mit der δημοκρατία charakterisierte. Anders zuletzt etwa Harding 2008, 170, der übersetzt: „those who overthrew the democracy“. Zutreffend hingegen bereits Habicht 1995, 76. Zu den unterschiedlichen Charakterisierungen der Verfassungs- bzw. Herrschaftsform unter Demetrios von Phaleron in den Quellen siehe Grieb 2008, 66 f. Vgl. dagegen die allgemeine Angabe bei Plut. Demetrios 10,2, wonach die Athener 307 ihre δημοκρατία wiedererlangt hätten, die zuvor 15 Jahre (!) nicht bestanden habe. Plutarch lässt

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königs die politische Organisation in einigen Punkten modifiziert hatte, durchaus berechtigt von sich behaupten, die δημοκρατία nicht nur nicht aufgelöst, sondern sie sogar verbessert zu haben.41 Der entscheidende Missstand sowohl im Sinne der vorangehenden klassischen politischen Tradition als auch aus Sicht des darauffolgenden, wenigstens für kurze Zeit unabhängigen Athen lag nicht in kleineren Modifikationen der demokratischen Organisation, sondern in der Auflösung der rechtmäßigen Bürgerschaft und der einhergehenden und offensichtlichen Akzeptanz dieses Zustandes, die freilich zuvorderst Demetrios von Phaleron vorgeworfen werden konnten.42 Für die Mehrheit des athenischen δῆμος stand demgegenüber weiterhin eine gleichberechtigte Teilhabe aller Bürger an den politischen Institutionen sowie eine Restituierung und Konsolidierung der Bürgerrechte in ihrer althergebrachten Form im Vordergrund, zumal mit dem 1.000-Drachmen-Zensus die hier bereits zuvor für den 2.000 Drachmen-Zensus beschriebenen strukturellen gesellschaftspolitischen Veränderungen innerhalb der Polisbevölkerung angenommen werden müssen.43 Einen Hinweis, dass der Verlust der politischen Rechte auch einen Verlust des Bürgerstatus nach sich zog, bieten die Quellen wie bereits im Falle der vorangehenden Zensusverfassung nicht,44 wenngleich dies von der Forschung mitunter auch in diesem Zusammenhang bis in jüngste Zeit angenommen wurde.45

41

42

43 44 45

somit die Phase von 319/8–317 unberücksichtigt, was seine Angabe eben als weitgehend oberflächlich und als spätere Interpretation einordnen lässt. Strab. 9,1,20 (398C): (…) ὃς οὐ μόνον οὐ κατέλυσε τὴν δημοκρατίαν ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐπηνώρθωσε. Zu den Veränderungen siehe die Angaben oben in Anm. 36. Die Beurteilung, inwieweit Demetrios politisch als „Philosoph“ agierte, ist umstritten. Dass er es allerdings nur durch Kassanders Wohlwollen zum bestimmenden ‚Politiker‘ in Athen schaffte, dürfte historisch unstrittig sein. Es greift zu kurz, für die Bewertung der innenpolitischen Verhältnisse dieser Zeit im Wesentlichen die einzelnen politischen Maßnahmen des Demetrios von Phaleron ohne eine Berücksichtigung der κατάλυσις τοῦ δήμου zugrunde zu legen, wie dies zuletzt Banfi 2010 getan hat. O’Sullivan 2009 führt diese κατάλυσις an, versteht sie letztlich aber synonym mit einer Auflösung der Demokratie (ebd. 159–163), was ebenfalls zu kurz greift. Die fortbestehende Zensusregelung dürfte vielmehr ein wesentlicher, wahrscheinlich sogar der entscheidende Grund für das Scheitern des Demetrios von Phaleron in Athen und die nachfolgende negative Bewertung seiner Zeit als Epimelet gewesen sein. Die negative Charakterisierung: Paus. 1,25,6; Plut. Demetrios 10,2. Positiv dagegen Diod. 18,74,3; dort jedoch nur als knapper ergänzender Halbsatz zu den Ereignissen von 317. Die Überlegung setzt freilich voraus, dass der Zensus maßgeblich in Kassanders Interesse war. Sollte die Regelung von Demetrios nachdrücklich unterstützt worden sein, wäre eine positive Beurteilung seines Agierens als Epimelet durch eine freie Bürgerschaft ohnehin nicht mehrheitsfähig bzw. sein Handeln im Sinne des Eukrates-Gesetzes klar unrechtmäßig gewesen. Siehe oben S. 363. Siehe dazu Diod. 18,74,3. Das dort angeführte πολίτευμα ist im Anschluss an Diod. 18,18,4 zu verstehen als die politische Organisation der Polis (siehe oben Anm. 16). Die jüngste Diskussion zur Zensusregelung unter Demetrios von Phaleron bietet van Wees 2011. Dessen Überlegungen zur Kategorisierung der politisch entrechteten Bürger als Metöken und zur Bürgerzahl gehen allerdings zum Teil weit über die Quellengrundlage hinaus und bleiben in wesentlichen Punkten m. E. spekulativ, worauf hier nur knapp eingegangen werden kann: So lässt van Wees unberücksichtigt, dass die unter die Zensusregelung fallenden Bürger nicht auch weiterhin als Ἀθηναῖοι ohne politische Rechte gesehen werden konnten. Dies wäre schon deshalb naheliegend, weil in den Quellen die Angaben zur Zensusregelung von 317–307

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Im Unterschied zu 319 war die Befreiung von 307 allerdings mit einer weiteren Veränderung verbunden, die trotz des späteren Zerwürfnisses zwischen Athen und Demetrios Poliorketes in ihrer zeitgenössischen Bedeutung für die Stadt kaum zu überschätzen ist und der Bürgerschaft zeigen sollte, dass das jahrelange Bemühen um Unabhängigkeit schließlich von Erfolg gekrönt sein konnte: Mit Demetrios’ Eingreifen wurde auch die Besatzung auf dem Polisterritorium beseitigt und Athen für frei erklärt.46 Während nach der ersten Zensusverfassung eine fremde Garnison bestehen blieb und von einer Freiheit nur in der allgemeinen Propaganda des Polyperchon die Rede war, wird nunmehr auch die ἐλευθερία zur Kennzeichnung der

46

und der von 322–319 einzig die politische Mitbestimmung anführen und eben keinen Hinweis auf einen allgemeinen Verlust des Bürgerstatus bieten (vgl. dazu oben die Anm. 16 und 33). Dies wird zudem gestützt durch die allgemeine Angabe in Arist. pol. 1278a38, wonach solche Bürger eben nur ὥσπερ μέτοικος seien, also den Metöken letztlich aber nicht zuzurechnen sind. Die von van Wees vorgebrachten Überlegungen zu möglichen „property classes“ unter Demetrios von Phaleron bleiben sodann auch ohne zeitgenössische Belege und müssen als hypothetisch gelten. In einem anderen zentralen Punkt seiner Darlegung, dem von Ktesikles überlieferten Zensus unter Demetrios von Phaleron, vertritt van Wees die Meinung, unter den angeführten 21.000 Ἀθηναῖοι habe man einzig diejenigen zu verstehen, die zu dieser Zeit die politischen Rechte besessen hätten. Dagegen spricht bereits die hier vorangestellte Kritik, weiterhin aber auch, dass Ktesikles wohl selbst Athener war (siehe FGrHist II B 812 f.) und dieser die Bürgerzahl aus späterer Perspektive für die Zeit des Demetrios von Phaleron als kurzen Eintrag in seiner Chronik überliefert; aus athenischer Sicht handelte es sich bei der Zeit von 317–307 um den Zustand einer politisch unrechtmäßigen Herrschaft gerade mit einer κατάλυσις τοῦ δήμου (von van Wees nicht diskutiert; siehe dazu das Folgende), sodass Ktesikles – folgt man van Wees’ Überlegungen – mit seiner Angabe bewusst die verringerte, unrechtmäßige Bürgerschaftsgröße in seiner Chronik manifestiert hätte. Dies scheint auch deshalb wenig naheliegend, weil die Athener als zentrales Ziel ihrer politischen Bestrebungen dieser Zeit insbesondere die Restituierung des rechtmäßigen δῆμος verfolgten (s. u.) und somit nachfolgend kaum eine solche unrechtmäßige ‚offizielle‘ Bürgerzahl unkorrigiert gelassen hätten. Dies und weitere Problemfelder, die sich aus van Wees’ Überlegungen ergeben, sind hingegen gegenstandslos, wenn die Quellenangaben, wie oben angeführt, im Wortsinne verstanden werden. Auch die überlieferten Zahlen für diejenigen Bürger, die an politischen Institutionen teilhatten bzw. ausgeschlossen blieben, sowie für die weitere Polisbevölkerung nach Ktesikles, Diodor und Plutarch sind in der hier vertretenen und in der Forschung überwiegend akzeptierten Form unproblematisch. Zu der Zahl der 400.000 Oiketai bei Ktesikles siehe Descat 2004, 368–370, sowie die ältere Forschung bei Habicht 1995, 67 f. Die von van Wees berechtigt vorgebrachte alternative Lesung von Kassanders Zensusregelung, wonach Diodors Angabe der 1.000 Drachmen (10 Minen) alternativ auch als „the threshold for the highest grade“ (van Wees 2011, 97) verstanden werden könne, wäre zwar aufgrund des Wortlautes denkbar, entbehrt m. E. vor dem Hintergrund der vorangehenden Zensusregelung und der angestrebten Ausgrenzung der politisch wohl eher unzuverlässigen ärmeren Bürgerschaftsgruppe einer historischen Plausibilität, zumal die Regelung von Kassander und nicht von Demetrios von Phaleron eingeführt wurde (Diod. 18,74,3) und somit zunächst als ein zeitgenössisches Machtinstrument des Herrschers zu verstehen ist. Zur Situation vor der Einnahme der Festung Munychia im Piräus siehe Diod. 20,45,5: ὁ δὲ δῆμος τῶν Ἀθηναίων κομισάμενος τὴν ἐλευθερίαν ἐψηφίσατο τιμὰς τοῖς αἰτίοις τῆς αὐτονομίας. Für die endgülitge Befreiung nach der Einnahme der Festung Munychia siehe 20,46,1: ὁ μὲν Δημήτριος κατασκάψας τὴν Μουνυχίαν ὁλόκληρον τῷ δήμῳ τὴν ἐλευθερίαν ἀποκατέστησεν καὶ φιλίαν καὶ συμμαχίαν πρὸς αὐτοὺς συνέθετο. Vgl. Plut. Demetrios 8,6.

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neuen athenischen Situation genannt.47 Die Beseitigung des direkten äußeren Einflusses, der seit nunmehr etwa einer halben Generation bestand, kann aus der Perspektive der Mehrheit der Athener in bzw. kurz nach 307 kaum anders als eine tatsächliche ‚Befreiung‘ wahrgenommen worden sein, wenngleich der außenpolitische Handlungsspielraum damit keineswegs demjenigen des klassischen Athen vor 338 entsprochen haben muss. Entscheidend dürfte der langjährige Verlust der politischen Selbständigkeit gewesen sein, deren umfassende Rückgewinnung aus der athenischen Perspektive in dieser Situation durchaus überzeugend mit dem Terminus ἐλευθερία charakterisiert werden konnte.48 Die Bürgerschaft nutzte jedenfalls sogleich ihre Freiheit für eine umfangreiche politische Tätigkeit, indem sie zahlreiche Ehrungen für aus ihrer Sicht verdiente Persönlichkeiten beschloss. Bereits die im Vergleich zur vorherigen Zeit von 317– 307 nun erheblich höhere Zahl überlieferter Beschlüsse der Ekklesia ist als deutlicher Beleg dafür zu werten, dass der rechtmäßige δῆμος seine uneingeschränkte Entscheidungsgewalt wieder ausüben konnte, durch die öffentliche Aufstellung solcher Beschlüsse an die alte politische Tradition anknüpfte und diese somit neuerlich manifestierte.49 Offensichtlich wird dies etwa in der postumen Ehrung für Lykurg von 307/6.50 Dort wird gleich am Beginn des Dekretes die πρὸς τὸν δῆμον εὔνοια, die bereits seine Vorfahren ausgezeichnet habe, angeführt. Nach den Erfahrungen der vorangehenden Jahre dürfte damit nicht nur ein allgemeines Wohlwollen gegenüber der Bürgerschaft gemeint, sondern vor allem deren zentrale Bedeutung im Rahmen des politischen Handelns hervorgehoben worden sein,51 zumal die Ehrung für Lykurg auch die Aufstellung eines bronzenen Standbildes auf der Agora beinhaltete und somit an zentraler Stelle der Polis für alle Bewohner sichtbar war.52 Dass Lykurg weiterhin mehrmals Rechenschaft über seine Tätigkeiten als Staats47 48

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Diod. ebd. Die hohe Bedeutung dieser Befreiung wird anhand der langen Dauer und der damit einhergehenden Rechtmäßigkeit der Ehrungen ersichtlich, die die Athener für Antigonos Monophthalmos und Demetrios Poliorketes beschlossen hatten und die weit über die nachfolgende Auseinandersetzung der Athener mit Demetrios bis ins späte 3. Jh. erhalten blieben. Vgl. Habicht 1995, 77–79. Zu den zahlreichen Ehrungen, die nach der Befreiung von 307 beschlossen wurden und ein Vielfaches der Dekrete ausmachen, die für die Zeit zwischen 317–307 überliefert sind, siehe Tracy 1995, 36–50; Habicht 1995, 79 f., Hedrick 1999, 402; Hedrick 2000, 327–335; Liddel 2003, 85. Plut. mor. 852A–E; vgl. IG II2 n. 457. Zu Lykurgs Ehrung siehe Gauthier 1985, 89–92. Zu Athens Ehrendekreten für verdiente Bürger der frühen hellenistischen Zeit allgemein Gauthier, 1985, 79–92; mit etwas anderer Schwerpunktsetzung Kralli 1999/2000, 133–161, sowie zuletzt etwa Luraghi 2010, 252–260. Plut. mor. 852A: ἐπειδὴ Λυκοῦργος Λυκόφρονος Βουτάδης παραλαβὼν παρὰ τῶν ἑαυτοῦ προγόνων οἰκείαν ἐκ παλαιοῦ τὴν πρὸς τὸν δῆμον εὔνοιαν. Eine εὔνοια gegenüber der Bürgerschaft ist in klassischer Zeit der gängige Beweggrund für eine Ehrung durch den δῆμος. Mit der langjährigen Erfahrung einer κατάλυσις τοῦ δήμου ist einer solchen εὔνοια freilich eine weitaus stärkere Bedeutung jenseits einer bloßen Motivationsklausel zuzumessen. Zur εὔνοια gegenüber dem δῆμος, die in Ehrendekreten den königlichen Gesandten und Vertrauten zugeschrieben wird, siehe Kralli 2000, 120 f. Habicht 1995, 76 f. Plut. mor. 852E: στῆσαι αὐτοῦ τὸν δῆμον χαλκῆν εἰκόνα ἐν ἀγορᾷ.

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mann ablegte und sich dabei keine Schuld zukommen ließ,53 muss zudem als offensichtlicher Gegensatz zum Verhalten der führenden Politiker während der vorangehenden Zensusverfassungen verstanden worden sein. Mit höchsten Ehrungen wie derjenigen für Lykurg postulierte die Bürgerschaft also auch zukünftige Maßstäbe für den Einsatz um den eigenen δῆμος, indem diejenigen Athener, die fortan im politischen Leben in ähnlicher Weise tätig wurden, am Lebensende oder nach ihrem Tode mit einer ebensolchen öffentlichen Auszeichnung rechnen konnten.54 Als Zwischenfazit lässt sich für die Zeit von 322 bis zum Ende des 4. Jhs. hinsichtlich der innenpolitischen Situation und mehrheitlichen Zielsetzung der Athener festhalten, dass innerhalb der Bürgerschaft eine durchaus einflussreiche Fraktion bestand, die den Makedonen bzw. dem kontrollierenden Herrscher zuneigte und mit dieser politischen Haltung und der äußeren Unterstützung die traditionelle und rechtmäßige Einheit des δῆμος gefährdete, mitunter wohl auch nachdrücklich dagegen agierte. Die Bürgerschaftsmehrheit wandte sich demgegenüber entschieden gegen eine direkte äußere Beeinflussung. Sie konnte einen solchen Einfluss unter günstigen außenpolitischen Konstellationen beseitigen und den δῆμος in seiner vormals gültigen Form restituieren. Dementsprechend ist es auch die κατάλυσις τοῦ δήμου, die als wesentlicher Missstand der Zensusverfassungen in den zeitgenössischen Quellen angeführt wird, was zugleich der historischen Situation mit einem Ausschluss zahlreicher Bürger von der politischen Beteiligung entspricht. Wenngleich die politische Organisation in den Phasen direkter äußerer Beherrschung ebenfalls beeinträchtigt und mitunter in wenigen Punkten verändert wurde, wird dies in den Quellen von dem zentralen Missstand der Zeit, eben einer Auflösung der Bürgerschaft, unterschieden. Hierin spiegelt sich nicht zuletzt die rechtliche Differenzierung einer κατάλυσις τοῦ δήμου von einer κατάλυσις τῆς δημοκρατίας wider, die für die Athener bereits im vorangehenden 4. Jh. bestand55 und die im bekannten Gesetz des Eukrates aus dem Jahre 337/6 als mögliches Vergehen gegen die etablierte Ordnung ausdrücklich benannt werden.56 Für das athenische Vorgehen gegen diejenigen Bürger, die während der Zensusverfassungen von 322–319 und 317–307 die politische Entrechtung eines Teils der Bürgerschaft im Sinne der κατάλυσις τοῦ δήμου vorangetrieben hatten, dürfte dieses Gesetz den rechtlichen Bezugspunkt dargestellt haben; vor allem aber lässt es die ideellen Grundlagen für ein solches Bestreben und nachdrückliches Handeln deutlich werden. Es ist in diesem Zusammenhang kennzeichnend, dass die Athener das Gesetz in einer Zeit beschlossen, als die Polis nach der Niederlage von Chaironeia bereits in eine außenpolitische Abhängigkeit von den Makedonen geraten war und somit 53

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Plut. mor 852D: καὶ διδοὺς εὐθύνας πολλάκις τῶν πεπολιτευμένων ἐν ἐλευθέρᾳ καὶ δημοκρατουμένῃ τῇ πόλει διετέλεσεν ἀνεξέλεγκτος καὶ ἀδωροδόκητος τὸν ἅπαντα χρόνον. Vgl. insgesamt die Auflistung seiner politischen Tätigkeit innerhalb der δημοκρατία im Dekrettext bei Plutarch 852A–E und in IG II2 n. 457. Vgl. Plut. mor. 852D: ὅπως ἂν εἰδῶσι πάντες, διότι τοὺς προαιρουμένους ὑπὲρ τῆς δημοκρατίας καὶ τῆς ἐλευθερίας δικαίως πολιτεύεσθαι καὶ ζῶντας μὲν περὶ πλείστου ποιεῖται καὶ τελευτήσασι δὲ ἀποδίδωσι χάριτας ἀειμνήστους. Vgl. dazu Ostwald 1955, 103–128. IG II/III3 1,2 n. 320.

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wohl bereits damals die Gefahr von Konfliktsituationen, die das Gesetz impliziert, bestanden haben dürfte.57 Nach dem Lamischen Krieg stärkte jedenfalls die äußere Einflussnahme diejenigen politischen Kräfte innerhalb der Polis, die in einem Gegensatz zur traditionellen und rechtmäßigen athenischen Bürgerschaft standen und ließ so das zuvor latente Konfliktpotential offen hervortreten. DIE PREKÄRE SITUATION DES ΔΗΜΟΣ IM FRÜHEN 3. JH. Nachdem Athen sich am Ende des 4. Jhs. erfolgreich von Demetrios Poliorketes losgesagt hatte, konnte die Polis ihren zurückgewonnenen Handlungsspielraum nur für eine kurze Zeit behaupten. Zunächst waren es innenpolitische Auseinandersetzungen, die kurz vor der Mitte der 290er Jahre bestanden und unter die sogenannte ‚Tyrannis‘ des Lachares summiert werden können. Die Quellen lassen hierzu insgesamt kein detailliertes Bild erkennen, sodass auch die genaueren Hintergründe, die mit dieser ‚Tyrannis‘ verbunden waren, nebulös bleiben müssen. Boris Dreyer hat in seiner ausführlichen Diskussion der Belege überzeugend dargelegt, dass es sich dabei nicht um eine längerfristige ‚Herrschaft‘ handelte, die schließlich mit dem abermaligen Eingreifen des Demetrios Poliorketes 295 beendet wurde.58 Zugleich ist in der Forschung hervorgehoben worden, dass die demokratischen Institutionen in dieser Zeit fortbestanden und von einem ‚Tyrannen‘ Lachares, soweit zu erkennen ist, nicht signifikant verändert wurden.59 Für die Athener bedeutete das neuerliche Eingreifen des Demetrios im Jahre 295 zwar eine Beseitigung des ‚Tyrannen‘ Lachares, jedoch keineswegs eine Befreiung wie noch 307. Wie bereits Kassander und Antipatros stationierte nun auch Demetrios Truppen im Zentrum der Stadt und beherrschte Athen schließlich bis zu der abermaligen Befreiung 287 weitgehend.60 Auch scheint es während Demetrios’ 57

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Wenngleich mit Rhodes 2011, 23, anzunehmen ist, dass in jener Zeit die Gefahr insgesamt sehr gering war, „that the democracy would be overthrown“, wäre damit nur die politisch weitreichendste Konsequenz einer solchen Gefahr angenommen, wohingegen das Eukrates-Gesetz mit den beiden möglichen Vergehen, die sich auch auf Bestrebungen einzelner Personen beziehen, ein vielfältigeres und in mehreren Abstufungen bestehendes Bedrohungspotential voraussetzen lässt. Dazu Shear 1978, 50 f. (mit Hypereides, Phil. 8,10 und fr. 1; Demosth. XVII 4; 12; 29). Dreyer 1999, 19–76. Mit der Annahme einer längerfristigen ‚Tyrannis‘ jetzt Osborne 2012, 26–30, bei dem allerdings offen bleibt, wie diese in der Praxis ausgeprägt gewesen sein soll. Zu den militärischen Konflikten innerhalb Attikas in dieser Zeit siehe Oliver 2007, 119 f. Etwa Dreyer 1999, 34; 92 f.; Osborne 2012, 102. Für eine genauere Beurteilung der innenpolitischen Situation zur Zeit der Tyrannis des Lachares wäre ebenfalls die δημοκρατία als politische Organisation von den gesellschaftspolitischen Auseinandersetzungen, die die Bürgerschaft betrafen und die in diesem Fall möglicherweise in eine kurzzeitige ‚Tyrannis‘ mündeten, zu unterscheiden. Mögliche kleinere Veränderungen der politischen Organisation werden angedeutet in Plut. Demetrios 33 f. und IG II2 n. 646, die allerdings stark von einer Propaganda des Demetrios Poliorketes überzeichnet sein dürften. Plut. Demetrios 34,7; Paus. 1,25,8. Inwieweit Demetrios trotz seiner klaren Dominanz anfänglich versuchte, die Athener mehrheitlich für sich zu gewinnen, kann hier unberücksichtigt bleiben. Vgl. zu seiner „zweiten“ Herrschaft über die Polis Habicht 1995, 94–103.

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Vorherrschaft von 296/5–287 bald deutliche Bestrebungen von Seiten des Herrschers gegeben zu haben, seine Kontrolle mit einer zunehmenden Oligarchisierung des Politischen durch den Kreis seiner Parteigänger zu festigen.61 Die Mehrheit der Bürgerschaft strebte demgegenüber weiter nach äußerer Unabhängigkeit und innerer Konsolidierung, wie aus einzelnen Zusammenhängen dieser Zeit sowie aus der nachfolgenden Befreiung von Demetrios’ Herrschaft deutlich wird.62 Es ist wiederum eine Schwächung der überregionalen machtpolitischen Position des Herrschers, die den Athenern – in diesem Fall mit maßgeblicher Unterstützung von Ptolemaios I. – die Befreiung von einem wesentlichen Teil der Fremdherrschaft ermöglichte63 und ihnen nach mehreren Jahren der äußeren Abhängigkeit abermals eine ἐλευθερία brachte.64 In der zeitgenössischen Darstellung wird als wesentlicher Missstand der vorangehenden Zeit auch in diesem Fall die κατάλυσις τοῦ δήμου genannt65 und die 61

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Die Quellen legen hierzu nahe, dass der Herrscher mit der Gründung seiner neuen Residenz Demetrias 293 nun seltener in Athen anwesend war und mit der strikteren Kontrolle dem Unabhängigkeitsdrang der Bürgerschaft entgegenzuwirken versuchte. Vgl. bereits Ferguson 1911, 138–140. Dies lässt sich u. a. am Beispiel des Olympiodoros zeigen, der bis 292 noch auf Seiten des Demetrios stand, mit der signifikant zunehmenden Kontrolle des Herrschers aber die Seiten wechselte und dann bei der Befreiung von 287 eine maßgebliche Rolle einnahm; vgl. Grieb 2008, 80 f. (mit weiterer Literatur); Osborne 2012, 34–36. Zu den militärischen Auseinandersetzungen in dieser Zeit siehe Oliver 2007, 121–127. Der Piräus blieb nachfolgend in makedonischer Hand. Der Frieden mit Demetrios konnte insbesondere durch die Vermittlung von Ptolemaios I. und dessen Vertrauten Sostratos von Knidos erreicht werden. Die Initiative zur Befreiung ging hingegen von den Athenern aus, die auch die makedonische Garnison in der Stadt überwältigten. Mit einem Überblick über die Ereignisse Habicht 1995, 100–103. IG II2 n. 657 Z. 34–45: ὁ δῆμος ἐλεύθερος ὢν (Z. 34–35); τῆς τοῦ δήμου [ἐλευθερίας …] (Z. 44–45). U. a. wird von Philippides 284/3 ein Fest gestiftet, dessen Anlass die wiedergewonnene Freiheit war. Hervorgehoben wird im Kontext der Befreiung auch die Unterstützung der Stadt durch einzelne Herrscher. Dazu Habicht 1995, 140 f. Nachdrücklich wird die ἐλευθερία nur wenig später im Bündnis zwischen Athen und Sparta als Mittelpunkt der gemeinsamen Bestrebungen angeführt (Chremonides-Dekret: Staatsverträge III n. 467, Z. 10–13). Dies setzt die vorangehende ἐλευθερία der Stadt aus Sicht der Bürgerschaft voraus. Im ChremonidesDekret ist die übergeordnete politische Begrifflichkeit unter Berücksichtigung der verschiedenen politischen Organisationsformen in Athen und Sparta gewählt worden; dazu Grieb 2008, 88 f. Die Auflösung der Bürgerschaft wird angeführt sowohl im Ehrendekret für Kallias (Shear 1978, 4 Z. 79–80; ebd. allerdings übersetzt als „[…] when the democracy was overthrown“) sowie in dem für Demochares ([Ps.-]Plut. mor. 851E). Dass Demochares bereits um 303 ins Exil gegangen sei, wodurch sich die κατάλυσις mitunter auf einen früheren Zeitpunkt beziehen könnte, ist in der jüngeren Forschung wieder angenommen worden (vgl. etwa Kralli 1999/2000, 153; Osborne 2012, 26–30), jedoch mit den weiterhin überzeugenden Argumenten von Beloch 1929, 447–450 kaum wahrscheinlich (dazu Grieb 2008, 82 Anm. 341). Shear 1978, 50 f. sieht die κατάλυσις τοῦ δήμου in beiden Dekreten als eine politische Begrifflichkeit der Makedonengegner, mit der diese auf die Unterstützer des Demetrios Poliorketes innerhalb der Polis und somit auf ihre innenpolitischen Gegner anspielen. Er leitet dies zwar naheliegend aus der Situation ab, als das Eukrates-Gesetz beschlossen wurde (dazu Ostwald 1955, 123–125 mit Hyp., Phil. 8; 10; frg. 1; Demosth. XVII 4; 12; 29). Gänzlich unberücksichtigt bleiben bei ihm

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Beherrschung der Polis durch die Parteigänger des Demetrios mit einer ὀλιγαρχία gleichgesetzt.66 Eine Auflösung oder signifikante institutionelle Veränderung der demokratischen Organisation ist mit der Ausnahme kleinerer Modifikationen nicht greifbar.67 In diesem Sinne betont auch der im späteren Ehrendekret für den Athener Kallias hervorgehobene Zustand einer δημοκρατία ἐξ ἁπάντων Ἀθηναίων,68 der nach der Befreiung erreicht wurde, dass aus der Sicht der Athener eine Demokratie zuvor zwar noch bestand, aber anscheinend nicht alle Bürger in der althergebrachten Form berücksichtigte. Indirekt wird hiermit also auf den Zustand einer wenigstens teilweisen, abermaligen κατάλυσις τοῦ δήμου angespielt.69 Auf welche Weise ein Teil der rechtmäßigen Bürgerschaft von der politischen Teilnahme in der vorangehenden Zeit unter Demetrios Poliorketes ausgeschlossen blieb, ist jedoch nicht genauer zu bestimmen. Von einer Zensusregelung wird in den Quellen nicht berichtet, weshalb eine Verbannung von rechtmäßigen Bürgern oder deren teilweise Ausgrenzung aus politischen Entscheidungsprozessen naheliegender er-

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allerdings die beiden Zensusherrschaften von 322–319 und 317–307, für die eine solche κατάλυσις gerade historiographisch (Diodor, Philochoros; s. o.) und als knappe und allgemein verständliche Charakterisierung der innenpolitischen Zustände angeführt wird. Zusammen mit der rechtlichen Differenzierung im Eukrates-Gesetz handelt es sich also vielmehr um eine ‚offizielle‘ Terminologie, der innerhalb der Polis klare Kategorien zugrunde gelegen haben müssen. Indem dann auch beide späteren Dekrete den konkreten Zustand einer „Auflösung des Demos“ nennen, kann hiermit nicht nur ein größeres innenpolitisches Ungleichgewicht zugunsten promakedonischer Parteigänger gemeint sein, das mögliche Gegner zum Verlassen der Polis bewegte. Zum Zusammenhang von historischer Situation und politischer Terminologie in diesen Dekreten sowie zu dem etwa zeitgleichen Ehrendekret für Philippides von Kephale (IG II2 n. 657), in dem (folgerichtig) gerade keine κατάλυσις τοῦ δήμου angeführt wird, vgl. Grieb 2008, 81–83. Gegen eine präzise politische Begrifflichkeit in diesen Dekreten jetzt Dreyer/Weber 2011, 28 f., die wiederum von einer „Auflösung der Demokratie“ sprechen (ohne Begründung) und vor dem Hintergrund einer Elite-These dem überlieferten Wortlaut stärker idealisierende Bedeutung im Sinne persönlicher Bestrebungen der Geehrten beimessen. Inwieweit diese höchsten Ehrungen der Bürgerschaft in frühhellenistischer Zeit nicht speziell für Athen, sondern auch exemplarisch für andere Poleis und andere Zeiten im Hellenismus stehen können, wie Luraghi 2010, 252 f. anführt, muss grundsätzlich fraglich bleiben, weil sie sich eben doch en détail auf Athens historische Situation beziehen. Die ὀλιγαρχία im Kallias-Dekret (Shear 1978, 4 Z. 80–81) und im Demochares-Dekret ([Ps.-] Plut. mor. 851F). Die Modifikationen betreffen abermals das Amt des γραμματεύς, das wie bereits ab 321 für kurze Zeit durch das des ἀναγραφεύς ersetzt wird (vgl. oben Anm. 19), sowie einige politische Verfahrensweisen; vgl. Habicht 1995, 97; Dreyer 1999, 123–125; Bayliss 2011, 65; Osborne 2012, 35 f. (jeweils mit weiterer Literatur). Die jüngst von Osborne 2012 angeführte Differenzierung, welche Modifikationen noch „demokratisch“ seien und welche nicht, nimmt weitestgehend die politische Verfahrensweise zu Zeiten der unabhängigen δημοκρατία als Beurteilungsmaßstab. Die κατάλυσις τοῦ δήμου als wesentlicher innenpolitischer Missstand bleibt in Osbornes ansonsten detaillierter Analyse und Beurteilung der athenischen δημοκρατία dieser Zeit unberücksichtigt. Shear 1978, 4 Z. 82–83. Vgl. dazu das Ehrendekret für Demochares mit dem dort abschließend erwähnten Einsatz für alle Athener (Plut. mor. 851F). Habicht 1979, 28 mit weiteren Vergleichen. Vgl. Habicht 1979, 28, sowie zuletzt Osborne 2012, 43 (ohne Berücksichtigung der κατάλυσις τοῦ δήμου).

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scheint. Die angeführte ὀλιγαρχία meint jedenfalls die in den Händen Weniger liegende politische Macht, die durch Demetrios’ äußere Einflussnahme ermöglicht wurde. Der Begriff drückt in dieser historischen Situation also eher den Gegensatz zu der traditionellen und legitimen Bürgerschaft aus und kann in diesem Fall strenggenommen nicht als Gegenbegriff zur δημοκρατία verstanden werden – die entscheidende Ursache für die Auflösung der rechtmäßigen Bürgerschaft und eine Oligarchie ist jedoch einzig in der außenpolitischen Abhängigkeit der Polis zu sehen. Ab 287 war die traditionelle und rechtmäßige Integrität des δῆμος jedenfalls restituiert und mit dem außenpolitischen Handlungsspielraum nachfolgend umfangreiche diplomatische Aktivitäten möglich, sodass auch eine für die Ausprägung und Stabilität der klassischen athenischen Demokratie förderliche wie auch charakteristische „Wechselwirkung von außen- und innenpolitischer Dynamik“70 neuerlich bestand. Die Polis konnte nun über etwa ein Vierteljahrhundert bis zur Niederlage im Chremonideischen Krieg ihre traditionelle demokratisch-politische Praxis konsolidieren.71 Ein hohes Maß an politischer Sensibilität ist für die Bürgerschaft in dieser Zeit zweifelsohne vorauszusetzen, wenn man die vorangehenden Ereignisse sowie die außenpolitisch weiterhin nicht unproblematische Situation der Polis aus der Perspektive des athenischen δῆμος berücksichtigt. Auch das gesellschaftspolitische Gefüge der Polis dürfte sich über diesen Zeitraum hinweg weitgehend in der traditionellen Form gefestigt haben, da spätestens mit der Befreiung von 287 wieder uneingeschränkt zwischen Bürgern (im politisch vollberechtigten Sinne) und Nichtbürgern unterschieden werden konnte.72 DIE KONSOLIDIERUNG DES ΔΗΜΟΣ UND DIE ΠΑΤΡΙΟΣ ἘΛΕΥΘΕΡΙΑ VON 229/8 Der letzte Abschnitt fehlender Selbstständigkeit bis zur Wiedergewinnung der Freiheit von 229/8 gestaltete sich für die Bürgerschaft wohl weniger einschneidend als in den vorherigen Jahrzehnten. Nach der Niederlage im Chremonideischen Krieg 262 dominierte mit Antigonos Gonatas zwar abermals ein Herrscher mithilfe einer Garnison sowie einflussreicher Parteigänger die innenpolitischen Geschicke der Polis.73 Im Gegensatz zu den vorangehenden Zeiten kam es jedoch zu keiner erkennbar größeren Desintegration des δῆμος. Die Machtposition des Antigonos führte zunächst dazu, dass die Athener den abermaligen Freiheitsverlust als alternativlos hatten hinnehmen müssen. Allerdings nahm der Herrscher im Vergleich zu seinen Vorgängern auch nur geringe innenpolitische Eingriffe vor. Nicht lange nach 70 71 72

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Nippel 2008, 84 zum klassischen Athen. Habicht 1995, 129–153 zu diesem Abschnitt der Geschichte Athens. Zur Rolle der großen Gruppe von Nichtbürgern innerhalb der Polisbevölkerung auch in hellenistischer Zeit siehe allgemein Adak 2003. Zu dem auch für die Bewohner jenseits der Bürgerschaft wichtigen Vereinswesen in hellenistischer Zeit jetzt Ismard 2010. Dazu Habicht 1995, 154–160; Tracy 2003, 15 f. Vgl. weiterhin die jüngst erschienene Studie zu Athen von R. Oetjen (Oetjen 2014), die hier leider nicht mehr berücksichtigt werden konnte.

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262 zog er seine Garnison aus dem Zentrum der Stadt am Museionhügel wieder ab74 und beschränkte sich auf die Kontrolle strategisch wichtiger Punkte in Attika, vor allem den Piräus.75 Auf einen gewissen inneren Ausgleich weist in dieser Hinsicht eine bei Eusebios für die Mitte der 250er Jahre überlieferte ἐλευθερία, die hier aber nicht die Perspektive der Bürgerschaft oder eine Propaganda des Antigonos wiedergibt, sondern vielmehr eine spätere Interpretation der veränderten innenpolitischen Verhältnisse zur Zeit von Antigonos’ Oberherrschaft darstellt.76 Insbesondere von einer κατάλυσις τοῦ δήμου berichten die Quellen für diese Zeit der makedonischen Vorherrschaft nichts, und wie bereits zuvor blieb die politisch-demokratische Organisation weitestgehend unangetastet.77 Einen gewissen innenpolitischen Ausgleich legt zudem das Ehrendekret für Phaidros von Sphettos aus der Anfangszeit dieser makedonischen Dominanz nahe, in dem an zahlreichen Stellen Phaidros’ Eintreten für die Bürgerschaft hervorgehoben wird,78 dieser aber „sicher kein ‚Makedonenfreund‘ war“.79 Signifikante innenpolitische Auseinandersetzungen sind zudem nicht überliefert. Im Laufe der 240er Jahre gewann auch die Ekklesia trotz fortbestehender Makedonenherrschaft wieder an Bedeutung, was an den für diese Zeit zahlreicher überlieferten Beschlüssen der Athener ersichtlich wird.80 Dass die Bürgerschaft anscheinend keinen militärischen Versuch unternahm, sich von den Makedonen zu befreien, sondern auch in den 230er Jahren unter deren Herrschaft, nunmehr unter Antigonos’ Nachfolger Demetrios II., und entsprechend an deren Seite stand,81 dürfte durch das fortbestehende militärische Machtgefälle zwischen Herrscher und Beherrschten begründet gewesen sein. Ein nicht unwesentlicher Grund für ein ausbleibendes offenes Aufbegehren bestand sicherlich auch in einer gewissen ‚Angst‘ vor den Makedonen, die die Ἀθηναῖοι nach Aussage des Polybios in jener Zeit besessen hätten.82 Und schließlich wird man spätestens für die Bürgerschaft der 240er und 230er Jahre in einem nicht unwesentlichen Maße die Fähigkeit voraussetzen können, die größeren politischen Zusammenhänge im östlichen Mittelmeerraum sowie ihre begrenzten eigenen Möglichkeiten deutlich adäquater als noch nach dem Tode Alexanders des Großen einschätzen und entsprechend politisch handeln zu können.83 Jedenfalls kennzeichnet dies die athenische 74 75

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77 78 79 80 81 82 83

Paus. 3,6,6. Dazu Habicht 2003, 52 f. (mit weiterer Literatur). Dass Antigonos nicht umfangreicher in das innenpolitische Geschehen eingriff, dürfte auch daran gelegen haben, dass die vorangehenden makedonischen Herrschaften über Athen gezeigt hatten, welchen Widerstand ein allzu strikter Eingriff in die inneren Verhältnisse mit sich bringen konnte und dementsprechend eigene Kräfte band. Zu dieser von Euseb., Chronik II 120 (hrsg. von A. Schöne) überlieferten ἐλευθερία, die möglichweise mit dem Abzug der Museion-Garnison gleichgesetzt werden kann, siehe etwa Tracy 2003, 20; Grieb 2008, 92–94. Siehe etwa Tracy 2003, 22–24; Osborne 2012, 50–52 (mit weiterer Literatur). IG II2 n. 682, Z. 26–30; 41–42; 45–47; 56; 60; passim. So überzeugend Habicht 1995, 159 (gegen ältere Ansichten). Dreyer 2001, 51 (mit älterer Literatur). Dies geht einher mit den Hinweisen auf außenpolitische Kontakte, die für die Stadt ab dieser Zeit wieder bestanden; Habicht 1995, 161 f. Zu Athen unter Antigonos Gonatas und Demetrios II. vgl. Kralli 2003; Osborne 2003. Polyb. 5,106,6. Vgl. in diesem Sinne die zahlreichen kleineren Übergriffe auf Attika auch während der make-

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Außenpolitik mit ihrem offensichtlichen Neutralitätsbestreben in der Zeit nach 229/8.84 Insgesamt scheint daher trotz der makedonischen Vorherrschaft eine deutliche politische Konsolidierung der Bürgerschaft schon in dieser Zeit sehr wahrscheinlich. Kennzeichnend für die Befreiung von 229/8 ist dann, dass die Bürgerschaft ihre Unabhängigkeit auf diplomatischem Wege erlangte: Ohne militärische Auseinandersetzungen und unter der maßgeblichen Initiative der Athener Eurykleides und Mikion konnte sie mittels einer Zahlung von 150 Talenten den Abzug der letzten makedonischen Garnisonen aus Attika durchsetzen.85 In den zeitgenössischen lokalen Quellen wird dies als Rückgewinnung der πάτριος ἐλευθερία bezeichnet86 und stellt im größeren Zusammenhang einen von der Bürgerschaft somit selbst hervorgehobenen ‚Endpunkt‘ ihrer umfangreichen Bestrebungen nach einer außenpolitischen Selbständigkeit dar. Zugleich steht diese Rückgewinnung der πάτριος ἐλευθερία am Beginn einer einflussreichen diplomatischen Rolle, die die Athener im hellenistischen Mächtegefüge des ausgehenden 3. und folgenden 2. Jhs. einnehmen sollten,87 die hingegen mit einer fremden Vorherrschaft, wie sie noch in der vorangehenden Zeit bestand, nicht möglich gewesen wäre.88 Die politische Veränderung fasst in dieser Hinsicht jedenfalls treffend Polybios zusammen, wonach nämlich die Athener von der makedonischen Furcht erlöst worden seien, ihre Freiheit zurückerlangt hätten und dabei weitgehend einheitlich den führenden Politikern Eurykleides und Mikion gefolgt wären.89

84 85

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donischen Vorherrschaft (dazu und mit weiterer Literatur Habicht 1995, 164–168; Oliver 2007, 131–133), die die Polis abzuwehren hatte und die über längere Zeit die lokale und polisweite Tagespolitik bestimmt haben müssen. Zur athenischen Neutralität nach 229/8 Habicht 1995,188–196 Zu den Umständen von 229/8 und den 150 Talenten siehe Plut. Aratos 34,4–5; Paus. 2,8,6 sowie IG II/III3 1,5 n. 1160 (IG II2 n. 834) (Ehrendekret des Eurykleides) mit Gauthier 1985, 83. Zur Befreiung von der auswärtigen Besatzung Habicht 1995, 176–181. EpigrRhamn n. 22 Z. 2–3; n. 26 Z. 7–8. Weiterhin IG II/III3 1,5 n. 1160 Z. 10–11. (IG II2 n. 834). Dazu Tracy 2003, 24 f.; Kralli 2003, 63. Vgl. zudem IG II/III3 1,5 n. 1135 Z. 12–21 (IG II2 n. 832) zum ehrenvollen Umgang der Bürgerschaft mit Personen, die sich um die ἐλευθερία verdient gemacht hatten. Vgl. Perrin-Saminadayar 1999, 444–462. In diesem Sinne geht die von den Athenern selbst angeführte πάτριος ἐλευθερία weit über eine bloße politische Worthülse hinaus; Tracy 2003, 25. Polyb. 5,106,6–7: Ἀθηναῖοι δὲ τῶν ἐκ Μακεδονίας φόβων ἀπελέλυντο καὶ τὴν ἐλευθερίαν ἔχειν ἐδόκουν ἤδη βεβαίως, χρώμενοι δὲ προστάταις Εὐρυκλείδᾳ καὶ Μικίωνι τῶν μὲν ἄλλων Ἑλληνικῶν πράξεων οὐδ’ ὁποίας μετεῖχον. Vgl. etwa Ferguson 1911, 237. Polybios’ Angaben sind hier deshalb zuverlässig, weil sich die von ihm angeführten Fakten trotz einer etwas tendenziösen und antiathenischen Überzeichnung gewissermaßen nahtlos an das bereits angeführte Bestreben der Bürgerschaft anschließen. Der arkadische Historiker wirft den Athenern in diesem Kontext vor, sie hätten an den Angelegenheiten der anderen Griechen keinen Anteil genommen und sich den Königen angebiedert; kritisch dazu Grieb 2013, 193–200. Polybios vertritt ein durchweg aristokratisches ‚Demokratieverständnis‘, das mit einer δημοκρατία klassisch-athenischer Prägung in der politischen Praxis nicht vereinbar war – mit 229/8 hatte Athen diese aber gerade wieder vollständig restituiert.

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DER ΔΗΜΟΣ-KULT IN DER POLIS UND DER ΔΗΜΟΣ-BEZUG IN DEN EHRENDEKRETEN Vor dem Hintergrund der umfangreichen innenpolitischen Auseinandersetzungen, die die Athener im Anschluss an den Lamischen Krieg und unter den deutlich veränderten Rahmenbedingungen der hellenistischen Welt austrugen, die sie aber immer wieder mit einem innenpolitischen Ausgleich und der Restituierung der althergebrachten Bürgerschaft beilegen konnten, erhält eine neue Einrichtung der Stadt ihre offensichtliche historische Erklärung: Um bzw. kurz nach 229/8 wurde ein Heiligtum für den δῆμος der Polis gegründet, der dort zusammen mit den Chariten verehrt wurde.90 Aus der vorangehend dargelegten Perspektive ist dieser δῆμοςKult freilich weniger als Repräsentant einer neuen attischen Demokratie zu verstehen,91 die ihrerseits vor bzw. um 229/8 nicht erneuert wurde oder werden brauchte.92 Vielmehr ist er Sinnbild dessen, wofür die Athener seit dem Ende des Lamischen Krieges mehrheitlich eingetreten waren und schließlich in der Zeit der wiedergewonnenen πάτριος ἐλευθερία auch erreicht hatten: eine in ihrem Bestand, ihrer Rechtmäßigkeit und ihrer traditionellen Rolle wieder umfassend konsolidierte Bürgerschaft als unabdingbare Voraussetzung einer in allen Belangen vollgültigen und demokratischen πολιτεία. Der δῆμος-Kult steht damit auch in einer direkten Linie zu der in klassischer Zeit fest etablierten Polisbürgerschaft,93 scheint ihr aber aufgrund der Erfahrungen in den ersten Jahrzehnten der hellenistischen Zeit eine nunmehr deutlich zentralere Rolle beigemessen zu haben. Von hellenistischen Herrschern, die ihrerseits – wie zuvor die Makedonen in Athen – versuchten, durch eine Schwächung der Bürgerschaft das Gemeinwesen zu kontrollieren, muss die Kultgründung hingegen als eindeutiges politisches und wohl auch „ideologisches“94 Signal verstanden worden sein, zumal im Heiligtum insbesondere Ehrungen für auswärtige Personen aufgestellt wurden, die sich um Bürgerschaft und Polis verdient gemacht hatten.95 Eine Kulteinrichtung wie die des δῆμος-Kultes 90

91 92

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Zur Einrichtung des Kultes siehe IG II/III3 1,5 n. 1160 (IG II2 n. 834); vgl. IG II/III3 1,5 n. 1137 (IG II2 n. 844). Zu den weiteren Nachweisen siehe Habicht 1982, 84. Zum Kult ausführlich Mikalson 1998, 168–207 (mit der Einschränkung unten in Anm. 92). So noch Habicht 1982, 85. Der detaillierte Abschnitt zum δῆμος-Kult von Jon Mikalson bleibt leider in einem entscheidenden Punkt ungenau und übergeht damit die naheliegende Rolle, die der Kult vor dem Hintergrund der frühhellenistischen Geschichte der Polis bedeuten musste, wenn Mikalson nämlich anführt: „The cult of Demos and the Charites is a major innovation in Athenian state cult. (…) The Demos itself, not Demokratia, is a cult figure, but this may not be significant.“ (Mikalson 1998, 173 – ebendort nochmals mit dem synonymen Verständnis von δῆμος und δημοκρατία) Es sei an dieser Stelle auf die offensichtlichen Bezüge zur kultischen Verehrung von personifizierter Demokratia und personifiziertem Demos in (spät-)klassischer Zeit verwiesen. Siehe dazu etwa das Relief auf dem Eukrates-Gesetz von 337/6, das wohl den Demos zeigt, der von der Demokratia bekränzt wird (IG II/III3 1,2 n. 320 mit Taf. XII); weiterhin die Opfer für die Demokratia (IG II2 n. 1496 Z. 131–132); vgl. Ruschenbusch 1958; Raubitschek 1962; Blanshard 2004; Humble 2008. Habicht 1982, 84. Habicht 1982, 90 f.; weiterhin Mikalson 1998, 174–177. Vgl. zudem IG II/III3 1,5 n. 1135.

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wäre unter der Vorherrschaft der Makedonen allerdings nicht denkbar gewesen, setzte sie doch eine politische Unabhängigkeit in der Art voraus, dass auch diejenigen auswärtigen Personen geehrt werden konnten, die für die Freiheit der Polis und damit gegen den Machtanspruch des Herrschers eintraten. Die zentralere Rolle, die der δῆμος durch die Erfahrungen im späten 4. und 3. Jh. im politischen Bewusstsein der Stadt einnehmen sollte, wird nicht erst aus der späteren Kulteinrichtung ersichtlich. Bereits in den höchsten Ehrungen, die die Athener nach der Befreiung von 287 für verdiente Bürger beschlossen hatten, tritt dieser Wandel deutlich hervor. In den Dekreten für Philippides von Kephale, Demochares, Kallias und Phaidors, die alle in diese Zeit und im Falle des PhaidrosDekretes sogar nach 262 datieren,96 wird jeweils in mehrfacher Weise ausdrücklich ihr Einsatz für und ihr Verdienst um die eigene Bürgerschaft hervorgehoben.97 Stellt man dem die Ehrung für Lykurg gegenüber, die gleich nach der Befreiung von 307 beschlossen wurde98 und somit weitaus stärker der klassischen Tradition verpflichtet gewesen sein dürfte, ist darin nur einmal von der (bereits oben angeführten) εὔνοια gegenüber dem δῆμος die Rede, nicht aber davon, welche seiner Taten explizit der Bürgerschaft zugute kamen. Vielmehr liegt in seinem Dekret die Betonung auf einer exzellenten Amtsführung und seinem pflichtbewussten Handeln, die seinen politischen Leistungen innerhalb der demokratischen Institutionen zugrunde lagen.99 Der veränderte Bezugspunkt für den politischen Einsatz fällt wohl am deutlichsten im Ehrendekret für Demosthenes ins Auge, der zwar Lykurgs Zeitgenosse war, aber erst nach der Befreiung von 287, nämlich 280/79 geehrt wurde: Auch in seinem Dekret steht wie in den genannten Dekreten für Philippides, Demochares, Kallias und Phaidros, aber im Gegensatz zu dem für Lykurg, nunmehr die Bürgerschaft als wesentlicher Bezugspunkt im Vordergrund.100 Ein entsprechender 96

Philippides von Kephale: 283/2; Demochares: 271/0; Kallias: 270/69; Phaidros: 250er Jahre (dazu jetzt Osborne 2012, 141: 259/8). Vgl. Habicht 1982, 124–127; Gauthier 1985, 79–89; Kralli 1999/2000, 151–159. 97 Demochares: Plut. mor. 851D–F (passim sowie in D–E mit einem längeren Abschnitt seiner Taten, die ausdrücklich für den δῆμος erfolgten); Philippides von Kephale: IG II2 n. 657 (z. B. Z. 9; 11; 31; 34, 44); Kallias: Shear 1978 (z. B. Z. 22; 29; 32; 38; 42; 52; 54; 58; 61; 62; 79; 83–86); Phaidros: IG II2 n. 682 (z. B. Z. 21; 29; 42; 47; 56; 60; 62; 65; 74;). Vgl. weiterhin das Ehrendekret für Strombichos (IG II2 n. 666+667), das ebenso mehrere δῆμος-Bezüge aufweist, setzt man die Richtigkeit der Ergänzungen voraus. 98 Vgl. Habicht 1995, 76 f. Zur Ehrung Gauthier 1985, 89–92. 99 Dekret für Lykurg: Plut. mor. 852A–E; die εὔνοια in 852A; die politischen Leistungen weiterhin in 852B–D. Vgl. das Dekret für Lykurg in der epigraphischen Überlieferung mit leicht abweichendem Text (IG II2 n. 457; dazu Faraguna 2003, 487–491), wovon das hier vorgebrachte Argument unbetroffen bleibt. 100 Demosthenes: Plut. mor. 850F–851C. Für Demosthenes konnte sogar am Ende behauptet werden, dass er sein Wohlwollen gegenüber dem δῆμος bis zu seinem Tod in Kalaureia behielt und in der Zeit der Gefahr nichts tat, was gegenüber der Bürgerschaft unwürdig gewesen wäre: τελευτήσαντι αὐτῷ ἐν Καλαυρίᾳ διὰ τὴν πρὸς τὸν δῆμον εὔνοιαν […] διαμείναντι ἐν τῇ πρὸς τὸ πλῆθος εὐνοίᾳ καὶ οἰκειότητι, καὶ οὔτε ὑποχειρίῳ γενομένῳ τοῖς ἐχθροῖς οὔτε ἀνάξιον ἐν τῷ κινδύνῳ πράξαντι τοῦ δήμου (851C); in 850F die allgemeine πρὸς τὸν δῆμον εὔνοια; in 851B seine Bündnisvermittlung sowie das Sammeln von Truppen für den δῆμος; in 851C seine exzellenten Ratschläge für den δῆμος. Inwieweit sich darin

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Wandel im politischen Bewusstsein der Athener dürfte sich insofern bereits in der Zeit um bzw. kurz nach 287 vollzogen haben und naheliegend mit den einschneidenden Erfahrungen einer vorangehend gleich mehrfachen κατάλυσις τοῦ δήμου zu erklären sein.

ZUSAMMENFASSENDE BEURTEILUNG Nach der Niederlage im Lamischen Krieg sah sich die Polis Athen über längere Abschnitte mit einem Verlust ihrer außenpolitischen Selbständigkeit konfrontiert, der aus den veränderten machtpolitischen Rahmenbedingungen im östlichen Mittelmeerraum sowie dem Ausgreifen einzelner Herrscher auf die Stadt resultierte. In wenigstens vier Phasen, der Zeit von 322–319, 317–307, ca. 295–287 sowie nach 262, hatte Athen eine weitgehende Dominanz durch einzelne Herrscher zu erdulden. Berücksichtigt man die zeitgenössische politische Terminologie und die historischen Umstände, so waren die ersten drei Phasen nicht mit einer in der Forschung zumeist angeführten Beseitigung der athenischen Demokratie verbunden, sondern vielmehr mit der Auflösung der Bürgerschaft in ihrer althergebrachten rechtmäßigen Form, also der schon im sog. Eukrates-Gesetz formulierten κατάλυσις τοῦ δήμου. Kennzeichnend ist, dass diese innenpolitischen Umbrüche in allen Fällen nur aus einem auswärtigen Einfluss hervorgingen und sich der δῆμος mit der Rückgewinnung eines außenpolitischen Handlungsspielraumes – sei es durch die Unterstützung von konkurrierenden Herrschern, sei es durch eigene militärische und diplomatische Bestrebungen – in seiner althergebrachten Form restituieren und konsolidieren konnte. Ein latentes innenpolitisches Konfliktpotential, das freilich bereits in der klassischen Zeit bestand, trat freilich unter den veränderten politischen Konstellationen der frühhellenistischen Zeit deutlich hervor und dürfte sehr zielgerichtet von auswärtigen Herrschern für ihre Interessen genutzt worden sein.101 Restituierung und Konsolidierung der rechtmäßigen Bürgerschaft können daher auch als vorrangiges und aus der äußeren Einflussnahme resultierendes übergeordnetes Ziel der Polis in der frühen hellenistischen Zeit gesehen werden. Athens δημοκρατία als demokratische Organisation und Instrument der bürgerlichen Herrschaft war indes in dieser Zeit weniger stark gefährdet, zumal die Verfassung möglicherweise eine unterschiedliche politische Zielrichtung der Politiker Demosthenes und Lykurg noch zu ihrer aktiven Zeit ausdrücken könnte, kann an dieser Stelle nicht diskutiert werden. Jedenfalls hätte sich dann Demosthenes’ politische Position auch für die übrigen höchsten Bürgerehrungen nach 287 und somit allgemein in späterer Zeit durchgesetzt. Der Gegensatz zum Dekret für Lykurg und die Parallele zu den späteren Dekreten bleibt evident. Vgl. dazu Kralli 2000, 128, die im Kontext von Athens Beziehungen zu den Königen den δῆμος nach 287 insgesamt in den Dekreten stärker hervorgehoben sieht (dort allerdings ohne den m. E. zentralen innenpolitischen Hintergrund einer vorangehenden κατάλυσις τοῦ δήμου). 101 Aus der Perspektive hellenistischer Herrscher stellten die Kontrolle der Bürgerschaft durch eigene Parteigänger, militärische Präsenz oder eine κατάλυσις τοῦ δήμου adäquate Mittel dar, eine Polis in ihrem Sinne zu beherrschen, ohne sich direkte der Beseitigung einer δημοκρατία schuldig machen zu müssen.

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in dieser Hinsicht bis auf kleinere bzw. temporäre Modifikationen, die nicht zuletzt von einem rechtmäßigen δῆμος weitgehend problemlos wieder rückgängig gemacht werden konnten, unangetastet blieb. Die durch eine κατάλυσις τοῦ δήμου hervorgerufenen gesellschaftlichen Brüche und Veränderungen hatten hingegen schwerwiegendere und langfristigere Folgen. Sie betrafen in den vorliegenden Fällen der Zensusverfassungen wesentlich auch die traditionelle politische Exklusivität einer größeren Gruppe weniger bemittelter Bürger innerhalb der Polisbevölkerung und damit neben dem rechtlich-politischen eben auch den gesellschaftlichen Status der Ἀθηναῖοι.102 Vor dem Hintergrund dieser umfangreichen inneren Auseinandersetzungen und tiefgreifenden Erfahrungen, die für die Polis aus der ‚neuen‘ außenpolitischen Situation im frühen Hellenismus resultierten und die in dieser Hinsicht weit über das Maß innerer Konflikte des vorangehenden 4. Jhs. hinausreichten, ist die spätere Einrichtung der δῆμος-Kultes zu verstehen. Dieser fällt in eine Zeit, als sich die Bürgerschaft bereits über einen längeren Zeitraum konsolidiert hatte und die außenpolitische Selbständigkeit der Polis mit der πάτριος ἐλευθερία wieder hergestellt war, die Athener letztlich also gestärkt aus den Desintegrationsversuchen der makedonischen Herrscher hervorgingen. Erkennbar wird eine in diesem Sinne zentralere Rolle des δῆμος in der öffentlichen Darstellung wohl aber bereits kurz nach 287, nämlich in den Ehrendekreten der Bürgerschaft für verdiente Bürger der Stadt. Fasst man das Vorangehende unter den Aspekten von Tradition und Modernisierung zusammen, ergibt sich demnach eine klare Kategorisierung, der drei wesentliche Bestrebungen der Athener zugrunde liegen: Zunächst ging es der Mehrheit der Bürgerschaft darum, einen direkten außenpolitischen Einfluss auf die innenpolitischen Zusammenhänge zurückzudrängen. Mit einer solchen Unabhängigkeit konnte sie, zweitens, diejenigen Kräfte innerhalb der Polis kontrollieren, die sich gegen die althergebrachte Form des δῆμος und dessen politische Rechte wandten und dadurch auf lange Sicht auch die δημοκρατία als politische Organisationsform gefährdeten. Aus der Position einer zurückgewonnenen eigenen Stärke war es, drittens, der Bürgerschaft möglich, aktiv gegen den Verlust der außenpolitischen Selbständigkeit vorzugehen, jedoch blieb sie dabei zumeist auf eine (temporäre) machtpolitische Schwäche des Herrschers angewiesen. Alle drei Punkte stellen zunächst Konsolidierungsbestrebungen der Polis in einer von umfangreichen politischen Umbrüchen geprägten Zeit dar. Zugleich orientieren sich diese Bestrebungen ganz offensichtlich an Athens vorangehenden demokratischen bzw. bürgerschaftlichen Traditionen. Für den hier näher betrachteten athenischen δῆμος stand nach Alexanders Tod also weniger ein Streben nach etwas Neuem oder ein Wandel allgemein akzeptierter Zustände im Sinne einer Modernisierung im Vordergrund, sondern vielmehr zunächst eine Rückführung und nachfolgende Festigung traditioneller sowie rechtmäßiger politischer Verhältnisse, wie sie in der Polis letztlich bis zum Lamischen Krieg über lange Zeit bestanden hatten.

102 Die hohe Bedeutung des athenischen Bürgerstatus sogar noch bis in die späthellenistische Zeit betont zuletzt auch Graham 2007, 273–292. Zu den Bürgerrechtsdekreten im hellenistischen Athen Osborne 1981/1984 sowie Walbank 2010.

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Die πάτριος πολιτεία des vorangehenden 4. Jhs. war Ausdruck einer innenpolitischen Pluralität, die in der frühhellenistischen Zeit durch den bestimmenden Einfluss einzelner Herrscher auf Stadt und Bürgerschaft zeitweise erheblich eingeschränkt wurde.103 Das nachdrückliche Bestreben, mit einer erneuten ‚Freiheit‘ auch die althergebrachte Herrschaftsform zu restituieren und unter den veränderten außenpolitischen Rahmenbedingungen der hellenistischen Zeit an etablierten, klassisch-demokratischen Traditionen festzuhalten, bezeugt die Vorbildhaftigkeit, die Athens πολιτεία im 4. Jh. erreicht hatte und die in hellenistischer Zeit uneingeschränkt fortbestand.104 Viel mehr noch als in klassischer Zeit bedurfte es in der frühhellenistischen Welt mit ihren zahlreichen zwischenstaatlichen Auseinandersetzungen und ihrem umfangreichen militärischen Konfliktpotential einer klar definierten, rechtmäßigen und allgemein akzeptierten Bürgerschaft, um einerseits die eigene Polis von äußeren Beeinflussungen möglichst unabhängig halten zu können und andererseits bestehende – und im Wortsinne – antidemokratische Gruppen innerhalb der eigenen Bürgerschaft derart zu majorisieren, dass diese den Zusammenhalt des δῆμος auch bei einer stärkeren äußeren Beeinflussung nicht gefährdeten. Nur mit einer solchen inneren Konsolidierung war es selbst den größeren griechischen Poleis als nunmehr kleinere Mächte innerhalb der hellenistischen Welt möglich, ein möglichst hohes Maß an Unabhängigkeit zu bewahren. Athen erreichte diese Konsolidierungen dauerhaft spätestens kurz nach der Mitte des 3. Jhs. und war damit für einen langen Zeitraum bis weit ins 2. Jhs. auch außenpolitisch erfolgreich. Will man für den hier näher betrachteten Zeitraum also dennoch von einer politischen Modernisierung innerhalb der Polis Athen sprechen, wird man diese in einer allem Anschein nach bewussten Stärkung der Bürgerschaft sehen können, die aufgrund der vielfältigeren äußeren Beeinflussung notwendig wurde und im δῆμοςKult ihren sichtbaren und über die Grenzen der Stadt hinausreichenden politischen und ideologischen Ausdruck fand, deren Ursache jedoch einzig die umfangreiche und notwendige Konsolidierung des δῆμος in der vorangehenden Zeit war. BIBLIOGRAPHIE Adak 2003 – M. Adak, Metöken als Wohltäter Athens. Untersuchungen zum sozialen Austausch zwischen ortsansässigen Fremden und der Bürgergemeinde in klassischer und hellenistischer Zeit (ca. 500–150 v.Chr.), München 2003 Agora XVI – A. G. Woodhead, The Athenian Agora Vol. XVI. Inscriptions: The decrees, Princeton 1997 Banfi 2010 – A. Banfi, Sovranità della legge. La legislazione di Demetrio del Falero ad Atene (317– 307 a. C.), Mailand 2010 Bayliss 2011 – A. J. Bayliss, After Demosthenes. The politics of early Hellenistic Athens, London/ New York 2011

103 Zu einem vergleichbaren Wandel im späthellenistischen Athen Grieb 2008, 132–138. 104 Zu der in ihrer Funktionsweise in hellenistischer Zeit fortbestehenden athenischen Demokratie zuletzt Osborne 2012, 55–102. Zu weiteren freien und demokratischen Poleis in hellenistischer Zeit siehe Grieb 2008; Carlsson 2010 (jeweils mit weiterer Literatur).

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Blanshard 2004 – A. J. L. Blanshard, Depicting democracy: An exploration of art and text in the law of Eukrates, JHS 124, 2004, 1–15 Baynham 2003 – E. Baynham, Antipater and Athens, in: O. Palagia, S. V. Tracy (Hrsg.), The Macedonians in Athens 322–229 B. C., Oxford 2003, 23–29 Beloch 1924 – K. J. Beloch, Griechische Geschichte IV 2, Berlin/Leipzig 21929 Bleicken 1994 – J. Bleicken, Die athenische Demorkatie, Paderborn 21994 Bosworth 2003 – B. Bosworth, Why did Athens lose the Lamian War?, in: O. Palagia, S. V. Tracy (Hrsg.), The Macedonians in Athens 322–229 B. C., Oxford 2003, 14–22 Brun 2000 – P. Brun, L’orateur Démade. Essai d’histoire et d’historiographie, Bordeaux 2000 Carlsson 2010 – S. Carlsson, Hellenistic democracies. Freedom, independence and political procedure in some east Greek city-states, Stuttgart 2010 Descat 2004 – R. Descat, L’économie, in: P. Brulé, R. Descat, J. L. Lamboley, S. Le Bohec, J. Oulhen (Hrsg.), Le monde grec aux temps classique, Bd. 2: le IVe siècle, Paris 2004, 353–411 Dmitriev 2011 – S. Dmitriev, The Greek slogan of freedom and early Roman politics in Greece, Oxford 2011 Dreyer 1999 – B. Dreyer, Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des spätklassischen Athen (322 – ca. 230 v.Chr.), Stuttgart 1999 Dreyer 2000 – B. Dreyer, Athen und Demetrios Poliorketes nach der Schlacht von Ipsos (301 v. Chr.). Bemerkungen zum Marmor Parium FgrHist 239 B 27 und zur Offensive des Demetrios im Jahre 299/8 v.Chr., Historia 42, 2000, 54–66 Dreyer 2001 – B. Dreyer, Wann endet die klassische Demokratie Athens?, Ancient Society 31, 2001, 27–66 Dreyer/Weber 2011 – B. Dreyer, G. Weber, Lokale Eliten griechischer Städte und königliche Herrschaft, in: B. Dreyer, P. F. Mittag (Hrsg.), Lokale Eliten und hellenistische Könige. Zwischen Kooperation und Konfrontation, Berlin 2011, 14–54 Faraguna 2003 – M. Faraguna, I documenti nelle »Vite die X oratori« die Moralia plutarchei, in: A. M. Biraschi u. a. (Hrsg.), L’uso die documenti nella storiagrafia antica, Perugia 2003, 479– 503 Ferguson 1911 – W. S. Ferguson, Hellenistic Athens. An historical essay, London 1911 Gabbert 1986 – J. J. Gabbert, Pragmatic democracy in Hellenistic Athens, Ancient World 13 (1986), 26–33 Gauthier 1985 – Ph. Gauthier, Les cités grecques et leurs bienfaiteurs, Paris 1985 Gehrke 1976 – H.-J. Gehrke, Phokion, Studien zur Erfassung seiner historischen Gestalt, München 1976 Gehrke 1978 – H.-J. Gehrke, Das Verhältnis von Politik und Philosophie im Wirken des Demetrios von Phaleron, Chiron 8, 1978, 149–193 Graham 2007 – O. Graham, Citizenship: inscribed honours for individuals in Classical and Hellenistic Athens, in: J.-Chr. Couvenhes, S. Milanezi (Hrsg.), Individus, groupes et politique à Athènes de Solon à Mithridate, Actes du colloque international, Tours 7 et 8 Mars 2005, Tours 2007, 273–292 Green 2003 – P. Green, Occupation and co-existence: the impact of Macedon on Athens, 323–307, in: O. Palagia, S. V. Tracy (Hrsg.), The Macedonians in Athens 322–229 B. C., Oxford 2003, 1–7 Grieb 2008 – V. Grieb, Hellenistische Demokratie. Politische Organisation und Struktur in freien griechischen Poleis nach Alexander dem Großen, Stuttgart 2008 Grieb 2013 – V. Grieb, Polybios’ Wahre Demokratie und die poleita von Poleis und Koina in den Historien, in: V. Grieb, C. Koehn (Hrsg.), Polybios und seine Historien, Stuttgart 2013, 183– 218 Habicht 1979 – Chr. Habicht, Untersuchungen zur politischen Geschichte Athens im 3. Jh. v.Chr., München 1979 Habicht 1982 – Chr. Habicht, Studien zur Geschichte Athens in hellenistischer Zeit, Göttingen 1982 Habicht 1995 – Chr. Habicht, Athen. Die Geschichte der Stadt in hellenistischer Zeit, München 1995

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Habicht 2003 – Chr. Habicht, Athens after the Chremonidean War: some second thoughts, in: O. Palagia, S. V. Tracy (Hrsg.), The Macedonians in Athens 322–229 B. C., Oxford 2003, 52–55 Hackl 1987 – U. Hackl, Die Aufhebung der attischen Demokratie nach dem Lamischen Krieg 322 v. Chr., Klio 69 (1987), 58–71 Harding 2008 – The story of Athens. The fragments of the local chronicles of Attika, edited and translated and with an introduction and commentary by Ph. Harding, London / New York 2008 Hedrick 1999 – Ch. W. Hedrick, Democracy and the Athenian epigraphical habit, Hesperia 68, 1999, 387–439 Hedrick 2000 – Ch. W. Hedrick, Epigraphic writing and the democratic restoration of 307, in: P. Flensted-Jensen, T. Heine Nielsen, L. Rubinstein (Hrsg.), Polis & Politics. Studies in ancient Greek history, Kopenhagen 2000, 327–335 Humble 2008 – N. Humble, Re-dating a lost painting: Euphranor’s battle of Maintineia, Historia 57, 2008, 347–366 Ismard 2010 – P. Ismard, La cité des réseaux. Athènes et ses associations VIe–Ier siècle av. J.-C., Paris 2010 Kralli 1999/2000 – I. Kralli, Athens and her leading citizens in the early Hellenistic period (338–261 B. C.): The evidence of the decrees awarding the highest honours, Archaiognosia 10, 1999/2000, 133–161 Kralli 2000 – I. Kralli, Athens and the Hellenistic kings (338–261 B. C.): the language of the decrees, CQ 50, 2000, 113–132 Kralli 2003 – I. Kralli, The date and context of divine honours for Antigonos Gonatas – a suggestion, in: O. Palagia, S. V. Tracy (Hrsg.), The Macedonians in Athens 322–229 B. C., Oxford 2003, 61–66 Lamberton 2003 – R. Lamberton, Plutarch’s Phocion: Melodrama of Mob and Elite in Occupied Athens, in: O. Palagia, S. V. Tracy (Hrsg.), The Macedonians in Athens 322–229 B. C. Proceedings of an International Conference held at the University of Athens (2001), Oxford 2003, 8–13 Landucci Gattinoni 2003 – F. Landucci Gattinoni, L’arte del potere. Vita e opere di Cassandro di Macedonia, Stuttgart 2003 Lehmann 1995 – G. A. Lehmann, Überlegungen zu den oligarchischen Machtergreifungen im Athen des 4. Jahrhunderts v.Chr., in: W. Eder (Hrsg.), Die athenische Demokratie im 4. Jahrhundert v.Chr.: Vollendung oder Verfall einer Verfassungsform? (Symposion 1992), Stuttgart 1995, 139–150 Lehmann 1997 – G. A. Lehmann, Oligarchische Herrschaft im klassischen Athen. Zu den Krisen und Katastrophen der attischen Demokratie im 4. Jahrhundert v.Chr., Opladen 1997 Liddel 2003 – P. Liddel, The places of publication of Athenian State decrees from the 5th century BC to the 3rd century AD, ZPE 143, 2003, 79–93 Liddel 2007 – P. Liddel, Civic obligation and individual liberty, Oxford 2007 Luraghi 2010 – N. Luraghi, The Demos as narrator. Public honors and the construction of future and past, in: L. Foxhall, H.-J. Gehrke, N. Luraghi (Hrsg.), Intentional history. Spinning time in Ancient Greece, Stuttgart 2010, 247–263 Ma 2002 – J. Ma, Antiochos III and the cities of western Asia Minor, Oxford 22002 Mikalson 1998 – J. D. Mikalson, Religion in Hellenistic Athens, Berkeley 1998 Nippel 2008 – W. Nippel, Antike oder moderne Freiheit? Die Begründung der Demokratie in Athen in der Neuzeit, Frankfurt 2008 Oetjen 2014 – R. Oetjen, Athen im dritten Jahrhundert v. Chr. Politik und Gesellschaft in den Garnisonsdemen auf der Grundlage der inschriftlichen Überlieferung, Duisburg 2014 Oliver 2007 – G. J. Oliver, War, food, and politics in early Hellenistic Athens, Oxford 2007 Osborne 1981/1984 – M. J. Osborne, Naturalization in Athens, Bd. I–IV, Brüssel 1981–1984 Osborne 2003 – M. J. Osborne, Shadowland: Athens under Antigonos Gonatas and his successor, in: O. Palagia, S. V. Tracy (Hrsg.), The Macedonians in Athens 322–229 B. C., Oxford 2003, 67–75 Osborne 2012 – M. J. Osborne, Athens in the third century B. C., Athen 2012 Ostwald 1955 – M. Ostwald, The Athenian legislation against tyranny and subversion, TAPA 86, 1955, 103–128

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O’Sullivan 2009 – L. O’Sullivan, The regime of Demetrius of Phalerum in Athens, 317–307 BCE – a philosopher in politics, Leiden/Bosten 2009 Perrin-Saminadayar 1999 – E. Perrin-Saminadayar, Les succès de la diplomatie athénienne de 229 à 168 av. J.-C., REG 112, 1999, 444–462 Rhodes/Lewis 1997 – P. J. Rhodes, D. M. Lewis, The decrees of the Greek states, Oxford 1997 Rhodes 2011 – P. J. Rhodes, Appeals to the past in classical Athens, in: G. Herman (Hrsg.), Stability and crisis in the Athenian democracy, Stuttgart 2011, 13–29 Rosen 1987 – K. Rosen, Ehrendekrete, Biographie und Geschichtsschreibung. Zum Wandel der griechischen Polis im frühen Hellenismus, Chiron 17, 1987, 277–292 Raubitschek 1962 – A. E. Raubitschek, Demokratia, Hesperia 31, 1962, 238–243 Ruschenbusch 1958 – E. Ruschenbusch, Patrios politeia: Theseus, Drakon, Solon und Kleisthenes in Publizistik und Geschichtsschreibung des 5. und 4. Jahrhunderts v.Chr., Historia 7, 1958, 398–424 Sekunda 1992 – N. V. Sekunda, Athenian demography and military strengh 338–322 BC, ABSA 87, 1992, 311–355 Shear 1978 – T. L. Shear, Kallias of Sphettos and the revolt of Athens in 286 B. C., Hesperia Suppl. 17, Princeton 1978 Thonemann 2005 – P. Thonemann, The tragic king: Demetrios Poliorketes and the city of Athens, in: O. Hekster, R. Fowler (Hrsg.), Imaginary kings. Royal images in the ancient Near East, Greece and Rome, Stuttgart 2005, 63–86 Tracy 1995 – S. Tracy, Athenian democracy in transition: Attic letter cutters, 340–290, Berkeley 1995 Tracy 2000 – S. Tracy, Athenian politicians and inscriptions of the years 307 to 302, Hesperia 69, 2000, 227–233 Tracy 2003 – S. Tracy, Athens and Macedon: Attic letter-cutters of 300 to 229 B. C., Berkeley 2003 Tritle 1988 – L. Tritle, Phocion the good, London 1988 Van Wees 2011 – H. van Wees, Demetrius and Draco: Athens’ property classes and population in and before 317 BC, JHS 131, 2011, 95–114 Walbank 2010 – M. B. Walbank, New grants of Athenian citizenship, from the fourth to the second century B. C., in: A. Tamis, C. J. Mackie, S. G. Byrne (Hrsg.), Philathenaios. Studies in honour of Michael J. Osborne, Athen 2010, 55–63 Williams 1989 – J. M. Williams, Demades’ last years, 323/2–319/8 B. C., Ancient World 19, 1989, 19–30

ATHENS AFTER 404: A BATTLEGROUND OF CONTRADICTORY VISIONS John Davies

In August 1992, on the initiative of the late Walter Eder, an international group of scholars gathered together at the Study and Conference Center of the Rockefeller Foundation at Bellagio in order to present and to discuss contributions on the theme ‘Die athenische Demokratie im 4. Jahrhundert v. Chr.: Vollendung oder Verfall einer Verfassungsform?’ The substantial volume with that title which ensued, published in 1995, contained 23 papers, loosely grouped under the headings Politik, Literatur, Recht und Staatsphilosophie, Religion, Archäologie und Siedlungsgeschichte, and Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft. Valuable though the volume was as a one-stop ‘state of the problem’, it received disappointingly little critical attention1 and has been to some degree overtaken by more recent thematic collections.2 One explanation for its poor reception may be that the volume had too wide a scope, since the contributions ranged far beyond the radius of its title. Another, however, may be that Eder’s question was unsatisfactorily formulated, for one can plausibly argue that ‘the problem’ is not so much one about assessing the viability of a constitution as one that is simultaneously about understanding a historical society which was in the throes of change and about discerning the changing ways in which modern scholarship is viewing that society. Even more confusingly, the two aspects of the second problem intersect with, and interfere with, each other. Neither aspect can be ignored, for both are real, and are of long standing: already in 1884, in the preface of his Attische Politik seit Perikles, Beloch was looking back at a debate which went back at least to the 1840s. It is appropriate, therefore, that this final chapter should follow the lead of earlier chapters by focusing mainly on the second problem, so that the location and direction of this present volume can be accommodated within the general structure of the historiographical debate. That debate needs to be viewed in as detached a way as possible, since one, possibly the principal, root of the problem lies in the strong attachment to fifthcentury Athens which has been a leitmotif of classical scholarship for generations. It stems alike from her literary and artistic creativity, from her politico-military success as an imperial power, from the exceptional detail of her epigraphic documentation as it has gradually emerged in the last two centuries, and from the ways in which both that success and her internal political life could be seen as prefiguring that of the major hegemonic and imperialist European powers of the nineteenth 1 2

L’Année Philologique lists only Athenaeum 86 (1998), 304–309 (D. Ambaglio) and LF 120 (1997), 154–156 (P. Oliva). Neither did full critical justice to the volume. E. g. Settis (ed. 1997) and Osborne (ed. 2007).

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century. Given, furthermore, that at least until World War I classical scholarship was being taken forward above all by scholars from those countries, that attachment could amount to a strong emotional identification – but the stronger it was, the more problematical her post-404 history became. One might expect her to recover her hegemonic position and prestige: one might even want her to do so: but the facts were otherwise. An explanation was therefore required. It might be sought outside Athens, thereby fostering the heroisation of Demosthenes and the demonisation of Philip II,3 but more prevalent seem to have been explanations couched in internal terms, ranging from an excess of democracy4 through the behaviour of her politicians5 to a general lack of self-mastery on the part of her citizens.6 More recent scholarship has rightly distanced itself from such simplistic views, but amid the profusion of monographs, commentaries, re-editions of texts, and periodical literature which reviews the public and private life of the inhabitants of fourth-century Attika in ever greater detail it may not be unfair to detect a continued preference for studies which report that life ‘from within the envelope’,7 as it were, and are largely couched in traditional philological-cum-historical terminology. The announcement of the colloquium presented in this volume was therefore exceptionally welcome, for its manifesto offered the prospect of emancipation from that approach and its terminology. Specifically, by taking into its purview the entire trajectory of the Athenian fourth century it offered the opportunity of contrasting the approaches adopted at Bellagio with those now in favour with a younger generation of scholars. It is therefore appropriate that I, as the one scholar8 who has had the privilege of participating both in Bellagio 1992 and in Berlin 2012, should attempt in this final chapter to present an assessment both of how scholarship has changed and of how it might need to change still further. A comparison of the proceedings of this colloquium with those of Bellagio in 1992 reveals three principal changes.9 They all have to do in various ways with the belated rapprochement which is currently in progress between antiquarian or narrative Graeco-Roman history on the one hand and the analytical or normative social sciences on the other. It is a slightly easier rapprochement than it once was, partly because Marxist language has ceased to be artificially dominant and has resumed its proper place as one of a range of potentially useful analytical languages, and partly because the preoccupations of present-day life have – perhaps unwillingly – increased our familiarity with other academic discourses. All the same, the search on 3

4 5 6 7 8 9

Thus ‘Pickard-Cambridge in 1914 or Clemenceau in 1926 or Cloché in 1957’, as Worthington notes (2000: 3). Other, sometimes much less laudatory, assessments are reviewed by Carlier 1990: 286–302. E. g. Runciman 1990. E. g. Drerup 1916. Thus already Theopompos, with Pédech 1989: 149–53 and Davies forthcoming (a). I. e., to use another pair of untraditional terms, the approach has been etic – reconstructing its experience ‘from inside’ – rather than emic – viewing the society ‘from outside’. In the regretted absence of Herr Leppin. A fourth change is best reported in a footnote, viz. the scale of the gender shift from Bellagio, where Claude Mossé was the only female participant, to the far more even balance which was visible at Berlin in June 2012 and is reflected in the present volume.

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our part for a language suitable for a meta-narrative of the fourth century is proving very difficult. The first change is therefore obvious: there has been far more citation of authors who are standard authorities in sociology and anthropology, from Weber and Durkheim to Tönnies, Parsons, and Amartya Sen. True, the citations were more obvious in the Abstracts than in the discussion, and much has remained steadfastly antiquarian, but change there has unmistakably been, with great profit to our understanding of the atmosphere of the law-courts and of the Assembly.10 The second change parallels the first: financial topics (in the most general sense) have occupied a much larger part of the colloquium’s time and attention. No doubt to some degree that reflects our economically threatening Zeitgeist, but to some degree it also reflects a much increased awareness of the centrality of economic behaviour – public, parastatale, or private – in any study of the Athenian fourth century. However, it is the third novelty which calls for most comment, namely the injunction from the organisers to address the theme ‘Zwischen Modernisierung und Tradition’. The intention was excellent, and has proved to be rewarding in the event, with many papers which report this or that aspect of a wide-ranging process of aggiornamento. That process, moreover, has become ever more visible, in proportion as newly published laws have steadily been revealing the degree of sophistication with which the Athenian political class attempted to amend the workings of specific areas of public administration. However, with some reluctance I have to offer certain reservations about the use, in the context of post-403 Athens, of the term ‘modernisation’. Those reservations are of two kinds. The first consists of the Procrustean range of applicability of the term. In lexicographical terms ‘modern’ is a 16th-century renewal of a Late Latin word. It was called in aid within the creative arts of the 17th and 18th centuries for the Battle of the Ancients against the Moderns, and has subsequently had a very complex history which seems to show two main clusters of usage: first historically, to denote what is seen in remote retrospect as a label for the post-Columbus, increasingly Eurocentric world of progress and rationality, and secondly as an aspect of the collective psychology of this new world wherein it becomes a label for a new sensibility, ‘sometimes described as a discourse of historicity in which history becomes something that is made by human beings rather than something that merely happens to them’.11 Underlying both senses there seems to run a basic tone of approval, though it will surprise no-one to learn that Habermas is quoted for a very contrary view. That is my first reservation. Granted, one can identify certain aspects of the fourth century BCE which fit the description, such as Ephoros’ vision of the Greek world as a zone created and shaped in a purposive way by human effort and intelligence, or the more specific tradition, pervasive by the late fifth century, of poli10

11

Some of this new language is couched in terminology which might seem merely fashionable – culture wars, supply side, networks, agency, Vielfalt, delegitimation – but even the debate about whether they should be applied serves to ask new sorts of questions and thereby to view the fourth century from a set of very different new viewpoints: that cannot be of anything but immense value. R. Johnston et al., The dictionary of human geography 4 (2000), 513.

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ty-and-society as an entity created by a lawgiver, but that is not, I think, the sense in which one is tempted to use the term ‘modern’. My second reservation has to do with everyday usage. If my wife and I ‘modernise’ the bathroom, or if Philip II of Makedon ‘modernises’ his kingdom and his army, with some help from the exiled Kallistratos, that is perfectly acceptable terminology: we – or Philip II – are aware that a system or an installation no longer corresponds to current practice or current standards, and take action to adopt or to adapt those standards in a new environment: a ‘blue-print’ of up-to-dateness exists and can be readily followed via a straightforward process of knowledge transfer or technology transfer. In contrast, it is not plausible that the Athenians who survived defeat in 404, defeat in 387/6 and defeat in 355 were doing that: they had no such blueprint, and were navigating wholly in the dark. Their behaviour therefore has to be described in different terms. If then it is not quite precise to characterise what this colloquium has been exploring as a process of ‘modernisation’ in fourth-century Attika, but if nonetheless the initial instinct was correct to detect a sense of a society caught up in a process of systemic but unsystematic change, generated both by internal conflicts and by external pressures, what sort of analytical language should we be using instead? That is a more intractable question than it should be, because much current sociology and anthropology seems to find it very difficult to think in terms of models which incorporate processes of change except insofar as they comprise periods of transition from one stable integrated system to another. In contrast, what we need is an analysis which is fundamentally historical in that it accommodates continual change, complexity, and conflict. It will need to start by accepting that the formula for internal stability and external expansion which the Athenian state had developed from the 540s until the 440s BCE had gradually revealed serious limitations, and that a reassessment had become necessary. The realisation of that need took various political and social forms, and was anything but an overnight process: at a minimum its formative period can be seen to have extended from the shock of the defeat in Sicily in 413 through the post-386 reaction to the reassertion of Persian indirect power in Greece to the radical reassessment that was undertaken after 355. The model will therefore be some version of Darwinian evolutionary adaptation, continuous but uneven in speed and location, wholly unplanned and often disruptive, but concealed from direct view by the comparative stability12 of the formal and informal institutions of the state and society. Moreover, it will not work satisfactorily unless it has conflict built into it and unless it incorporates processes of change which were in train outside Attika or were beyond the capacity of any one polity or of any one generation to identify. What follows will identify three arenas of change:- the impact of the transfer of knowledge and technology, the shifting relative importance of various modes of economic behaviour, and the impersonal tug-of-war between the longer-term tendencies which underlay the visible and highly personal tip of Athenian public life. The first cannot begin to be reviewed adequately here.13 It would need to take an 12 13

On which theme see now Rhodes 2010. The reader may instead be referred more appropriately to Scheidel et al. (eds 2007), both for

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unmanageably wide purview across the whole fourth-century Afreurasian oikoumene and would need to trace not merely the complex network of borrowings which transformed warfare by land and sea but also the comparable (but much less well attested) transfers of craftsman technology in numerous sectors of production, the growth of scholarly knowledge in mathematics, astronomy, medicine, and biological sciences, and even the effects of the professionalisation of the science of government. No-one will deny that the inhabitants of Athens/Attika took a leading part in many of these two-way processes of transfer, but that very fact carries two corollaries. The first is that we shall mislead ourselves if we interpret what we can see (imperfectly) in Athens on its own rather than as part of a wider culture. The second is that precisely for that reason, and not least because of the activities of her leading generals in spreading state-of-the-art techniques of warfare in their roles as condottieri, a general process of levelling-up probably left her less far ahead of the international field by the 330s than she had been a century previously. In that respect, and to that degree, the spread of knowledge, and even more importantly the balance of power (both hard and soft) had moved against her. The second arena of change comprised financial behaviour. Again, detailed treatment here is out of the question, and is the less necessary in any case because the two main phenomena are well known. Both had roots deep in the fifth century, both offer an intricate combination of public and private interests, and both may be understood in terms of the matrix of modes of economic behaviour which I have outlined elsewhere.14 The first, generated by the growth in Athenian public and private purchasing-power after the Graeco-Persian Wars and by the substantial rise in her population which accompanied it, was a much-enhanced dependence on a flow of imported goods and services, not just grain and other foodstuffs but also a wide range of other products which Aristophanes, Hermippos, and the Old Oligarch describe with gusto.15 Both before and after the caesura of 404/03 that flow involved a mixture of free-market procurement, command or managed-market procurement (especially for grain), and euergetism, the balance of importance among them varying with demand, need, and degree of goodwill on the part of producers, shippers, and polity. On the standard assumptions that Attika’s overall purchasing power depended to a great degree on the level of output of the silver mines, and that (as Kroll has now established), it remained prolific after 404/03, one must infer a substantial weakening in the effectiveness of command mode and a corresponding rise in market and euergetistic modes, probably accompanied by an intensification of agro-pastoral production within Attika itself.16

14

15 16

the specific chapter by Helmuth Schneider on technology (144–171) and for observations about knowledge transfer in various chapters. Davies 2009 lists three modes of economic behaviour: the autarkic mode, of agro-pastoral self-sufficiency; the command mode, of the production and transfer of products exacted by force or by taxation; and the market mode. A new edition of the volume will add the euergetistic mode, wherein resources are transferred unilaterally and generate a reciprocal social obligation. Hermippos F 63 K-A (63 K); Aristophanes, passim; [Xen.] Ath. Pol. 2.7. Ehrenberg 1943: 136–143 remains the classic assemblage of evidence. Kroll 2011a; Kroll 2011b, superseding; Lohmann 1995; Davies 2007: 349 n.79.

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Those were gradual, long-term shifts, barely perceptible at the time and with few datable documents to serve as markers. In contrast, the second phenomenon within the economic area has a single salient turning-point, the stipulation in Aristoteles’ decree of March 377 that ‘From the archonship of Nausinikos [378/7] it shall not be permitted either publicly or privately to any of the Athenians to acquire either a house or land in the territory of the allies, either by purchase or by taking security or in any other way’ (RO 22.35–41). For the present argument,17 the importance of the stipulation lies not so much in its subsequent effect on public policy as in the previous prevalence of the behaviour which it outlawed. Before 404 its scope outside Attika had been very substantial indeed, including land assigned to Athens-based deities as their rent-bearing temene, land assigned to Athenian kleruchs as settlers or as absentee landlords, land assigned to newly created Athenian colonies, and land in the beneficial private ownership of Athenian individuals (and we have no idea how much property in the last category had come into Athenian ownership as forfeited security for an un-repaid loan rather than by purchase). Politically inescapable though Aristoteles’ stipulation presumably was, in order to assuage the resentments which the high-handed exercise of command mode had generated, its effect was to dissolve the convergence of interest which Athenians of all classes had hitherto largely had in the maintenance of empire, whether via command mode or market mode. It remains to review the third arena of change, namely that generated by the political and social tensions which underlay Athenian public and private life. A full conspectus would occupy a volume: all that can be offered here is a set of brief references to some of the most salient. One may justly begin with the citizen/ non-citizen boundary itself, for that distinction lay at the core of the polity but had begun to be, and to be perceived to be, a dysfunctional anomaly.18 The ideal of the Greek city-state model had been that the boundary of the circle of those entitled by right of male descent from the founder of the polity to ‘participate in the polity’ should be identical with (a) those entitled to own land, (b) those entitled to attend an Assembly, (c) those required to fight for the polity, (d) those entitled to hold office, and (e) those entitled to participate in inheritance and adoption processes. Reality was rarely as tidy as the underlying assumptions enjoined, not least because those caught up in circle (c) might need to be a much wider group, but fifth-century Athens had gone a considerable distance towards making the various boundaries coincide. After 403, however, the effective decision not to enlarge the circle or its definition posed a growing series of problems, as the claims of refugees, resident aliens, freed slaves, mercenary soldiers, external benefactors, and visiting shippers and traders reflected widespread contradictions between their legal status and their functional status. There ensued in consequence an endless series of ad hominem

17

18

The text summarises more detailed discussion in Davies 1981: 55–60; Davies 1997: 151 n.200 (add now Moreno 2007: 89–102 for Euboia, and Mitsopoulou 2010 for Kuthnos) and 155–7; and Davies 2013. A detailed and updated list is being prepared to replace Brunt 1965. Again I summarise a detailed exposition already set out elsewhere (Davies 1977–78/2004).

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expedients but no systemic resolution until Demetrios of Phaleron temporarily broke the stalemate.19 A second area wherein opposed attitudes are visible is that of behaviour in private life. As various chapters in this volume note, the demos formally, and much of public opinion informally, seem to have shown considerable tolerance in this regard. Notable examples are attitudes towards the construction of larger private houses, towards the emergence of private cultic or quasi-cultic associations, towards the introduction and naturalisation of non-Athenian or non-Greek cults and deities, and towards sexual or gastronomic indulgence. Against such attitudes is to be set the consistent tone of disapproval that runs through virtually the entire extant corpus of fourth-century philosophical writing. Attested at its crispest by the vignettes which make up Theophrastos’ Characters, and exemplified in its most Puritan form by Aischines the Socratic and his follower Theopompos,20 it formed a strongly-held alternative attitude which Demetrios of Phaleron was later in a position to be able to impose upon the population of Attika.21 Other tensions took hold within the political process itself. These were not simply a matter of the personal animosities and pathological competitiveness among her politicians which made up much of the visible surface of Athenian public life in the fourth century, for they were merely symptoms of a more impersonal tug-of-war between longer-term correnti.22 It is trite but true to remark that Athens’ loss of autonomous purchasing power after 403, due in great part to the (still unexplained) absence of much activity in the silver mines, was the prime reason why her politicians continually had to act tactically rather than consistently, seizing opportunities as military or financial support offered itself. Yet surface fluctuations merely concealed the challenges that were being presented by longer-term choices – whether to accept that Athens was now one mainland Greek power among others and had to play balance-of-power politics, or to continue to behave as a fifth-century eastern Mediterranean Great Power; whether, in the former case, to aim for a close and stable relationship with a specific partner (be it Argos or Thebes or Sparta or Persia) or deliberately to micro-manage the balance at the cost of apparent inconsistency; whether, in the latter case, to rebuild relationships with the large Aegean islands with whom she had close commercial and cultural relationships, or to look instead towards Persia (or towards Kupros or quasi-independent Egypt); whether to join in a determination, represented within the political elite by Aristophon and later by Hegesippos, to persevere with the fifth-century formula of maximising Athenian hard power in order to recreate the Empire, or instead to incline towards the dispo19 20 21 22

O’Sullivan 2009: 108–116. Details in Davies forthcoming. O’Sullivan 2009: Ch. 2. I use the term correnti here in the quasi-technical sense in which Italian political journalists of the 1950s onwards described the quarrelling and fluid but semi-organised strands of the Christian Democrat party until it collapsed under the weight of its own corruption. I have long found it the most appropriate term for a wide range of contexts, not least for an Athenian political scene for which ‘parties’ à la Beloch is too rigid and formalised a term but for which the language of contemporaries who refer to ‘οἱ περὶ (τὸν δεῖνα)’ obscures a detectable continuity through the decades of attitude, style, or preoccupation of policy.

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sition, prominent after 355 in late Isokrates and late Plato, to repudiate polupragmosune and to leave such excitements to others; whether, if the fifth-century formula was to be preferred, to accept the reality of professionalised warfare (by land and sea) and to find and bear the fiscal and liturgical costs, or instead to bring the tribal citizen militias up to something approaching a professional standard; and whether, if activism was to be repudiated, to view other activists – Iason, Pelopidas, Philip II, Alexander – with derision, suspicion, or enthusiastic cooperation. That list could be greatly extended, but it might be improper to draw too lurid a picture. It is not accidental that such tensions concerned external relations above all, while internally the picture is far more one of carefully considered and detailed change and innovation throughout the entire period than one of conflict and oscillation: indeed one is tempted to apply to Athenians’ management of their polity and society after 403 the word ‘Improvement’ which some English eighteenth-century landowners applied to their agrarian innovations. Just as the perpetual need to secure and manage the provision of grain from overseas territories generated diplomacy, laws, officials, and systems in a never-ending process of finessing the divergent interests of growers, shippers, financiers, internal transporters, retailers, consumers, and the polity itself,23 so too it has been possible to follow the course of cautious revision to law-making procedures,24 the development of budgetary management,25 the creation of a more flexible system of securing loans,26 the evolution of partnership procedures in both the public and the private domain,27 the creation after 355 of a fast-track legal procedure for foreign traders,28 successive attempts to recreate a fifth-century style bullion reserve,29 and a series of measures designed to make the navy fit for purpose within limited public and private resources.30 That list too could be significantly extended. The preceding paragraph has deliberately been phrased in ‘modern’ terminology. That it was possible to do so without obvious anachronism or conceptual discomfort is some measure of the appeal which is inherent in the title of the colloquium which created this volume, while at the same time there remains the contrast sketched above, between on the one hand the opposing stresses and tensions which characterised Athenian relations with the outside world and on the other hand the atmosphere of assured professional innovation which the management of her internal polity displayed. We do indeed need to create and apply a conflict model if large areas of post-403 Athenian life are to be represented adequately, and in one sense, the opposing pulls that it represents made Athens less than the sum of its parts, but at the same time the same participants were going far towards creating a new sort 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30

Stroud 1998; Moreno 2007. MacDowell 1975; Rhodes 1995; Rhodes 2003. Faraguna 1992: 171–194; Rhodes 2007. By means of the development of the apotimema procedure (Finley 1952: 39–52). Via the use of symmoriai or merides in the fiscal domain, and via partnership and syndication in private finance, especially for bottomry loans (Cohen 1992: 128–129; 152–153; 192–193). Cohen 1973; MacDowell 2009: 257–287, with references. Lewis 1954: 39–49; Faraguna 1992: 289–396. Gabrielsen 1994.

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of polity, one which became the model for much that followed in the eastern Mediterranean in the third century BCE.

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Moreno, A. (2007), Feeding the democracy. The Athenian grain supply in the fifth and fourth centuries BC. Oxford: U. P. Morley, N. (2009), Antiquity and modernity. Chichester, Malden MA, & Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. Osborne, R. (ed. 2007), Debating the Athenian cultural revolution. Cambridge: U. P. O’Sullivan, L. (2009), The regime of Demetrius of Phalerum in Athens, 317–307 BCE: A philosopher in politics. Leiden & Boston: Brill. Pédech, P. (1989), Trois historiens méconnus: Théopompe, Duris, Phylarque. Paris. Rhodes, P. J. (1995), ‘Judicial procedures in fourth-century Athens’, in Eder (ed. 1995): 303–319. –– (2003), ‘Sessions of nomothetai in fourth-century Athens’, CQ 53.1: 124–129. –– (2007), ‘Διοίκησις’, Chiron 37: 249–362. –– (2010), ‘Stability in the Athenian democracy after 403 B. C.’, in B. Linke, M. Meier, & M. Strothmann (eds 2010), Zwischen monarchie und Republik. Gesellschaftliche Stabilisierungsleistungen und politische Transformationspotentiale in den antiken Stadtstaaten (Historia, Einzelschrift 217) (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag), 67–75. Runciman, W. G. (1990), ‘Doomed to extinction: the polis as an evolutionary dead-end’, in O. Murray & S. Price (eds 1990), The Greek city from Homer to Alexander (Oxford: Clarendon P.), 347–367. Scheidel, W., Morris, I., & Saller, R. (eds 2007), The Cambridge economic history of the Greco-Roman world. New York & Cambridge: U. P. Stroud, R. S. (1998), The Athenian grain-tax law of 374/3 B. C. (Hesperia, Supplement 29). Princeton NJ: American School of Classical Studies at Athens. Worthington, I. (ed. 2000), Demosthenes, statesman and orator. London & New York: Routledge.