Anderson Greg - The Athenian Experiment - Building An Imagined Political Community in Ancient Attica 508-490 BC - Otro Formato

The Athenian Experiment: Building an Imagined Political Community in Ancient Attica, 508-490 B.C.
Greg Anderson
http://www.press.umich.edu/titleDetailDesc.do?id=17798
The University of Michigan Press
CONTENTS
List of Figures xiii

Abbreviations xv
Introduction 1
part 1
political change
11
From City-State to Region-State 13

In Search of Popular Government 43
part 2
physical setting
85
The Agora: Showcase for a New Regime 87

The Acropolis: New Departures among Old
Certainties 104
part 3
imagined community
Tribes, Heroes, and the Reunication

of Attica 123
The New Order at War 147
The Festival of All the Athenians 158
Ritual Ties between Center
and Periphery 178
Change and Memory 197
Conclusion 212
Notes 219
Bibliography
Index 299
Plates 309
281
121
Greg Anderson
INTRODUCTION
SINCE
THE VERY EARLIEST OF TIMES , the city of Athens and the surrounding region we know as Attica were locked in a seamless embrace of political and cultural communion (see gs. and ). Or so the Athenians themselves would like us to believe. Only rarely do we catch a glimpse of a slightly
different reality, one of lingering local pride in the towns of the rural periphery, stirred apparently by memories of an erstwhile autonomy before all was
forever subsumed within the polis of Athens.
One such glimpse is afforded by Thucydides (.). After reminding us that
the majority of the people in the Athenian polis in his own day lived outside
Athens, he goes on to describe the feelings of this majority as they were forced
to evacuate their homes and seek refuge within the city walls at the beginning
of the Peloponnesian War just before the Spartans rst invasion of Attica in
B.C.
They were heavyhearted and unhappy as they left the homes and the
ancestral sanctuaries they had always possessed since the time of their
self-government in days long past [ek te s kata to arkhaion politeias] and
prepared to change their whole way of life, each one thinking that he
was forsaking nothing less than his own polis.
Despite the enduring vitality of local forms of cultural expression in Attic
towns and villages, it is highly unlikely that any developed form of self-gov-
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the athenian experiment
ernment had ever existed in the region outside Athens itself. There is no evidence that the strong particularist sentiments described by Thucydides actually posed a serious threat to the integrity of the polis at any time during the
classical period.1 But it is still striking how little room there actually was for
the expression of such sentiments in the public discourse of classical Athens.
There was indeed no single ethnic noun to distinguish the totality of the regions population from its urban minority. By a kind of metonymy, all were
simply Athenians (Athenaioi). This sublimation of the periphery to the center was also expressed in the ofcial name given to the peninsula as a whole,
the Attike or Atthis ge, meaning the land belonging to the Athenians. Thus,
even if there was once a time when Athens did not control all of Attica, any
possibility of a group identity for the rural majority that was not in some way
dened by their urban counterparts had been effectively erased from the language by the classical period. Linguistically and politically, the two were indissolubly fused.
AN EXTRAORDINARY POLIS
This kind of fusion of urban and rural populations was hardly unusual in the
Greek pattern of political development. But fusion on this scale was quite extraordinary. Most poleis were relatively simple, face-to-face communities. The
average Greek state, it is reckoned, had only between four hundred and nine
hundred male citizens living in a territory of fty to one hundred square kilometers. The polis of the Athenians was as many as fty times larger than the
mean. On the eve of the Peloponnesian War, it had a total population of perhaps two hundred thousand, dispersed over an area of approximately ,
square kilometers, and a citizen body of around fty thousand adult males,
making it a different species of polity altogether. The Athenians clearly were
not a face-to-face community in any conventional sense. Since they could
never hope to meet or know more than a fraction of their fellows, theirs was
necessarily an imagined community.2
Even among the leading city-states of the classical era (ca. ), Athens
was exceptional. In terms of territory and population, it was roughly double the
size of Corinth and four times larger than its neighbor Megara. The polis of Argos may have been more populous than both of these, but its territory was still
relatively small, encompassing only those towns in and around the plain of Argos, like Nauplia and Mycenae. Sparta, meanwhile, never had more than ten
thousand full citizens. Though it controlled a large portion of the southern Peloponnese (ca. , square kilometers) for much of the archaic and classical pe-
Greg Anderson
Introduction
riods, it needed coercion and a purpose-built military apparatus in order to do

so. Boeotia (ca. , square kilometers), an area of comparable size to Attica,
was home to a plurality of poleis. Despite the introduction of federal institutions
in the s, relations between Thebes and the rest were rarely smooth. A degree
of political unity was achieved for a period of around forty years in the fourth
century, though even then, traditions of local autonomy inevitably prevented
the Boeotians from enjoying the kind of easy corporate solidarity that the Athenians in Attica had long taken for granted. It is certainly possible that the population of Syracuse in Sicily surpassed that of Athens at the end of the fth century, after the latter had suffered very heavy casualties in the Peloponnesian War.
But by that point, the Syracusans sixty-year experiment with a form of democracy was over, supplanted by what would prove to be a fairly durable tyranny.3
That the Athenian political community was consistently larger and more
dispersed than the citizen body of any other major state was remarkable
enough. That the Athenian state was also more consistently and more radically
democratic than any rival over a span of nearly two centuries, from the late
sixth to the later fourth, was little short of astonishing. Only the Athenians, it
seems, ever developed institutions that allowed citizens throughout an area the
size of Attica to play a regular and meaningful role in the political and military
life of their state. The result was not so much a city-state as a region-state, a
polis without real parallel or precedent among its contemporaries. It surely was
no accident that this extraordinary polity, with all the resources, human and
natural, of an entire region at its disposal, came to leave a deeper stamp than
any other on the political and cultural fabric of classical Greek antiquity.
All of this raises an interesting question: If, as is generally believed, the state
rst acquired its anomalous scale fully two or more centuries before the classical era, why do we see so few signs of impending Athenian greatness in earlier
times? This question has never been satisfactorily answered, and the ancients
themselves have hardly encouraged us to ask it.
The Athenians had absolute faith that theirs was a glorious history, one that
stretched back all the way to the gilded age of Theseus, and beyond Theseus
to days of snaky-tailed ancestor-kings who, the story goes, were born literally
from the soil of Attica. Fortunately for Pericles and his fth-century contemporaries, precious few documents had survived from earlier centuries to disavow them of these happy fancies. No less fortunately, such prominent nonAthenian authorities as Herodotus (e.g., .) and Plutarch (e.g., the Lives of
Theseus and Solon) were content for the most part to take them at their word.
For the realities of early Athenian history were a little less impressive. Down
to the last decade of the sixth century, Athens was a city-state of modestat
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times, even negligiblesignicance. True, Attica was already widely recognized

as a center of ceramic production, and ne sculpture could be seen in the regions more important cemeteries and sanctuaries, commissioned by a relatively
small, wealthy elite. But in B.C., there were few buildings of any great distinction in Athens, and the city had produced only one writer of any real note,
the lawgiver-cum-poet Solon. Athens was not yet a major force in interstate relations. Its involvements in external affairs were generally limited in scale and
only local in their ambitiona squabble with Megara, a smaller neighbor to the
west, over the island of Salamis may have lasted for as long as a century. And
the state seems to have been chronically vulnerable to threats from without. A
series of insurgents, from Cylon in the s to the Spartan king Cleomenes in
/, were all able to take the Acropolis with disconcerting ease.
This military vulnerability was compounded by a domestic political situation that was only tfully stable at best. However sophisticated the state apparatus bequeathed by Solon in the early sixth century, the operations of its institutions are almost entirely invisible in the events of subsequent decades. Public
life down to was little more than a loosely regulated arena in which a highly
personalized contest for power was waged by the dominant families and individuals of the day. Theirs are the voices we hear time and again on the grander
grave monuments and on the more opulent dedications that then littered the
Acropolis. Of the single collective voice of the demos, so well known to us from
countless classical monuments and inscriptions, we hear not yet a trace.
If we then fast forward a mere twenty years, to , things begin to look
quite different. We see an assembly of Athenian citizens dispatching some ten
thousand hoplites to confront a much larger force of Persians at Marathon on
the Attic coast, where a stunning victory is achieved. Only ten years later, an
Athenian navy, the largest in Greece, helps to turn the tide of Xerxes invasion
at Salamis. Leadership of a huge alliance of Greek states follows, then imperial
hegemony over much of the Aegean basin. From the revenues of empire, a
building program of unprecedented extravagance is initiated, and fully half of
the citizen body, we hear, is employed in the service of the state.4 By , only
the Spartans come close to rivaling the military capability of the Athenians,
and Athens is unchallenged as the cultural capital of the Greek world, a status
it will not relinquish until the rise of Ptolemaic Alexandria.
Why then did Athens emerge so rapidly as a major Hellenic power in the
rst half of the fth century? Why did this not happen sooner? To answer these
questions, I believe we need to look more closely at domestic developments in
the years between the fall of the Peisistratid tyrants in / and the battle of
Greg Anderson
Introduction
Marathon. Invoking the name of the man responsible for the most signicant
of these developmentsa program of political reformswe might refer to this
time frame, purely for convenience, as the age of Cleisthenes. Specialists working in a number of different areas are increasingly inclined to see this as a time
of comprehensive change, both within and beyond the realm of the political
process. Yet more than thirty years have passed since the publication of the last
monograph in English on any aspect of the period. Clearly, there is a pressing
need for an up-to-date synoptic analysis that examines all of the evidence, written and material, for innovation during this era. The present study is intended
to ll that gap. Its ultimate purpose is to show how the many changes implemented during the age of Cleisthenes would profoundly alter the course of
Athenian history.5
THE ARGUMENT
The book begins by suggesting that the late rise of Athens to Panhellenic prominence may not be so surprising after all. There is a very good reason why Athenian power and inuence were not commensurate with the size of the population and territory of Attica in the years before B.C.: the incorporation of the
region into the polis of Athens had not yet been fully accomplished. Only in
/, with the passage of Cleisthenes political reforms, did a unied Attica become a functional reality. At this point, for the rst time, mechanisms were created that made it possible and even obligatory for indigenous adult males
throughout the peninsula to enroll as citizens of Athens and play a regular part
in the political and military life of the Athenian state. In other words, only in
the last decade of the sixth century did Athens begin to operate effectively as a
region-state and command the kind of resources that would allow it to exert so
heavy an inuence on Greek politics and culture in the years to come.
I then go on to show how Cleisthenes landmark reforms precipitated a
whole series of innovations elsewhere in the life of the polis during the years
, all of them reecting or reinforcing in some way the new political realities. From military organization to ritual practice, from physical environment to the more intangible realms of collective memory and identity, almost
no area of public interest or signicance was left untouched by this wave of
change and renewal. The process of transformation, I argue, is perhaps best understood as a bold exercise in social engineering, an experiment designed to
bring together the diverse and far-ung inhabitants of an entire region and
forge them into a single, self-governing political community of like-minded
Greg Anderson
individuals. The immediate aim was to correct the political instability and the
military vulnerability of earlier times. The result was the creation of a new order, a citizen state on a scale previously unimaginable.
This book is divided into three parts. The rst part subjects the contents of
Cleisthenes reforms to a thorough reexamination and offers a new reading of
their historical signicance. Here, for convenience, those measures that were
designed to facilitate the political incorporation of Attica (chap. ) are treated
separately from those that primarily concerned the institutions of the central
government in Athens (chap. ). I then turn to look at efforts to adapt the citys
primary public spaces to the needs of the new order. It appears that Athens was
witness to a major program of construction during the age of Cleisthenes, and
the evidence for it is discussed in some detail in part of the book. Particular
attention is paid to the various new buildings and commemorative monuments
that were then erected in the Agora area (chap. ) and on the Acropolis (chap.
) and to the ways in which the existing fabric of these two sites was modied
to provide a suitable setting for the new arrivals. In the third and nal part of
this study, the focus is broadened further still to cover innovations in other areas of public life. A diverse range of new initiatives are analyzed, the most important of which are: the creation of Eponymous Heroes for the ten new tribes
and the promotion of Theseus as a founding father of the Athenian state (chap.
); the institution of procedures for levying a new citizen army and the development of media for commemorating death and victory in its battles (chap. );
the invention or reinvention of major national festivals (chaps. ); and the
commemoration of Harmodius and Aristogeiton as tyrannicides (chap. ).6
Due attention is also paid to the prehistory or possible prehistory of all of
the developments addressed in the book. Almost every one of these innovations
has at some point been assigned by at least one authority to an earlier era, usually to the eras associated with Solon and the Peisistratid tyrants. In some
cases, the developments were indeed prepared or anticipated before the late sixth
century, even if their form and function changed signicantly after /. In
others, the higher date, however conventional, is founded on no more than supposition and/or excessive faith in the value of our ancient literary sources. In all
cases, the evidence for the higher date is considered carefully and, I hope, fairly.
METHOD AND APPROACH
Any work on the politics and culture of B.C. must confront a formidable array of methodological problems. Many pieces are missing from the puzzle and will most likely remain so. My efforts to plug the gaps necessarily in-
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Introduction
volve working assumptions, inferences, and suppositions that might not be

shared by others. With this in mind, a few words on method seem appropriate.
The book does not consciously follow the prescriptions of any one particular approach or school. Nor is it driven by any larger theoretical agenda.
Rather, it aims to combine the kind of inquiry one nds in conventional political histories with the more contemporary preoccupations of cultural history.
Hopefully, it has some of the virtues of both approaches.
Like much recent work on ancient history, the book makes extensive use of
archaeological evidence. Here, this is not just a point of principle but an absolute necessity. The literary sources for sixth-century Athens are not especially
abundant or informative. Nor are they consistently reliable. For reasons that
will be made clear in the chapters to come, scholars studying this period have
in general put greater trust in the historical accounts of ancient writers than
those accounts probably deserve. Through judicious use of the material record,
we can not only form a clearer picture of the cultural milieu in which political
events took place but also, in some cases, compensate for the misapprehensions
and anachronisms found so often in the ancient texts.
Of course, archaeological testimony presents its own problems, not the least
of which is dating. In that area, I depend largely on the published opinions of
others; the alternative course would all too easily invite suspicions of prejudice
and parti pris. But the dates of a number of the items discussed remain controversial, and I am all too aware that claims advanced on such evidence must
be expressed with due caution.
This book also has much in common with recent work on ancient cultural
history. Though I have taken some pains to recover the objective details of
change in Athens during the age of Cleisthenes, I am also just as interested in
exploring the ideological dimensions of this change and the contemporary
mentalit. By and large, historians to date have been content to view the outcome of Cleisthenes political reforms as a relatively straightforward constitutional change, usually the birth of democracy. But as I try to show, the animating spirit here was more collectivist than egalitarian, and the shift to a more
popular form of government was ultimately only one part of a larger, more ambitious experiment in community building. To have any hope of success, the
authors of this project needed to do more than reform institutions. They had
to address the values and attitudes of the people of Attica and try to refashion
allegiances and identities.
Thus, as we study the innovations that comprised the Athenian experiment, it becomes clear that the perception of change was every bit as important as its reality. Of course, at this distance we cannot hope to enter the minds
Greg Anderson
of ordinary men and women and see the new order through their eyes. Even if
all signs indicate that they responded positively to the transformation, their exact perceptions must remain largely a mystery. But we are in a good position
to know how this transformation was represented to them, that is, how leaders intended the new order to be perceived. This is an ongoing concern in parts
and , where the focus shifts toward the analysis of architecture, imagery, verse
inscriptions, mythical traditions, and the like. As I shall show, it is precisely in
the area of representation that we can nd plausible answers to two fundamental and related questions: why was there apparently such a high level of
consent for so radical a break with the past and why, after the failure of Isagorass brief coup attempt, was the legitimacy of the new order never seriously
challenged?
Yet despite this books modish interest in issues like identity and memory,
its approach to the larger issue of historical causation might seem distinctly unfashionable. To explain what happened in Athens between and , I have
generally looked more to the designs and actions of human agents than to the
impersonal, environmental, or structural forces of the longue dure.7 The preference here is not dogmatic; there is no single correct way to explain a complex historical change. People make their own history, but they do not do it
under circumstances of their own choosing.8 Historians may choose to look
either at the how those circumstances were shaped or at the human response
to those circumstances. Both approaches are equally valid, even essential if a
given change is to be fully understood.
The present study follows the latter course because the transformation in
question seems to have been unusually abrupt and because detailed analysis of
contemporary innovations can provide much new information about the nature of the change. From this close remove, it would, I think, be deeply unsatisfying to attribute any individual initiative to some kind of abstract structural predetermination. The study of long-term environmental conditions may
help to explain why a major politico-cultural transformation was possible in
Athens in / B.C., but it cannot in itself account for a specic initiative like
the commemoration of the Tyrannicides, Harmodius and Aristogeiton, or for
the extreme artice of the new system of demes, tribes, and trittyes. These and
all the other developments of the era were part of a highly creative and fundamentally unpredictable response to a given situation. To explain the logic or
rationale behind them, we must consider the conscious aims and decisions of
interested actorsalbeit actors who were products of their society and who
were operating within the constraints of a particular set of circumstances.
Greg Anderson
Introduction
Even more unfashionable, the aims and decisions that this book seeks to
recover are generally those of elite political leaders. Again, this choice is not
dogmatic, and it certainly does not imply the endorsement of any naive or antediluvian Great Man approach to history. Rather, the preference for seeing
the decision-making process as working in a top-down rather than a bottom-up direction is based on the contents of the political reforms themselves,
which do not look like the spontaneous products of any revolutionary mass
fervor. It is also based on what I believe to be a realistic assessment of how new
initiatives are likely to have been conceived and implemented under the new
order. Even if some innovations required the formal approval of a majority of
citizens in the Assembly, they would still have been essentially elite initiatives,
framed as proposals, amendments, or riders by those with the interest or capacity to do so.
It would be facile to ignore the key role played by ordinary Atheniansas
voters and, ultimately, as soldiersin the establishment of the new order in
/. But it would be equally facile to imagine that the masses were in any
meaningful sense responsible for, say, the choice of the architectural idioms
used in the Agora or the design of the pedimental schemes that adorned the
Old Athena Temple.9 That said, I am not suggesting that the Athenians were
duped or forced by their leaders into accepting the many changes of the era.
Nor am I suggesting that we should see as crude propaganda the means used
by these leaders to reshape beliefs and attitudes. As far as we can tell, the new
order was broadly welcomed by the citizen body. And if we can at times detect
attempts to manipulate perceptions of a changing reality, we can only imagine
that most Athenians were all too willing to suspend their disbelief.
Identifying the individuals who actually were responsible for the style and
content of the new order is still no easy matter. If our main sources are to be
believed, Cleisthenes himself was ultimately responsible for the political reforms and the creation of the Eponymous Heroes, though he was presumably
aided here by a circle of associates, a group that must have included his kinsman Alcmeon, who would become archon in /. Beyond this, nothing is
certain. The little we know about Cleisthenes could be summarized in a single
paragraph. We have no record of any speeches he gave; know nothing of his
character, personality, or appearance; and cannot be sure how or even when he
died.10 Nor do we have anything more than a vague idea about the political
scene in Athens between and . However, given the obvious thematic
links between the political reforms and the various other innovations in public life, it seems reasonable to infer that all were framed and implemented by
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10
Cleisthenes and/or members of his circle and/or their like-minded successors.

The evidence may not point to the existence of a single master plan or grand
design hatched back in /, but it does encourage us to view the many initiatives of this period as contributions to a single process of transformation, an
ongoing experiment that lasted for the better part of two decades.
Whatever the validity of the approach to causation favored here, this work
hardly claims to have exhausted the issue. The book is simply intended to add
some new brush strokes to an ever richer picture of change in late archaic
Athens, a picture that must ultimately be composed from multiple different
perspectives.
Finally, I should make some mention of what is without question the single most important inuence on the ideas and arguments presented in this
study, namely, the specialist literature on modern nation formation. Whether
written from the perspective of history, sociology, political science, or cultural
studies, this literature offers the student of late archaic and classical Athens a
wealth of comparative data on the building of complex citizen states. I have
found especially useful its treatment of issues like political identity formation,
the construction of public memory, and the relations between state and political community. Some no doubt would consider the parallels here self-evident,
while others would nd even the suggestion of such to be horrifyingly anachronistic. Either way, I stress that this is not intended to be a comparative work
and that none of its arguments depend on the viability of any national model.
Parallels are discussed explicitly only at the very end of the book, even if their
unseen presence may be felt at various points throughout the text.
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1
FROM CIT Y-STATE
TO REGION-STATE
What exactly do we mean when we say that Attica in the classical period
was politically incorporated or unied? If, for the purposes of analysis, we
unpack the idea of the polis, we can distinguish three essential levels or sources
of political unity in the Attic peninsula.
First and most fundamental, the reach of Athenian state institutions extended to the territorial limits of Attica, and this apparatus was recognized as
the ultimate locus of political authority for the entire region. Second, all free,
native-born, adult males in Attica were eligible to become citizens of Athens,
entitling themeven obliging themto participate in the civil, military, and
religious life of the polis. From / on, enrollment took place locally in one
of town and village units, or demes, scattered throughout the peninsula and
was administered by ones fellow demesmen. Third, despite the unusually large
size of the polis, citizens appear to have been bound to one another by a powerful and at times distinctly chauvinistic form of collective consciousness or
identity. Each citizen was encouraged to imagine himself a member of a single, extended, undifferentiated community of Athenians, sharing with his
fellows a common history, culture, and destiny that set them apart from all
other such communities.
For most modern authorities, these distinctions will seem articial and perhaps anachronistic, since it is widely felt that, unlike the nation-states of our
own times, the Greek polis in general and the Athenian instance in particular
13
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14
represent an almost inseparable union of territorial state and citizen body. In

this view, the Athenian state was in effect no more and no less than the sum
of the individuals entitled to share in its administration, and thus its territorial
reach cannot meaningfully be distinguished from the geographical spread of
those who enjoyed the rights of full citizen membership.1
If this is correct, it should follow that the unication of Attica by Athens
was accomplished not so much by extending the reach of impersonal institutions but by admitting an ever wider portion of the regions population to the
Athenian citizen community. In other words, unication must have been realized simultaneously on the rst two levels identied. Was this in fact the case?
Or did the institutional incorporation of the region actually precede the enrollment of individuals from all parts of Attica as citizens? Whatever the answer might be, most would accept that unication on the third level, which required transformation not of institutions but of human minds and emotions,
would have been somewhat more problematic and cannot be assumed to have
taken place simultaneously with the admission of all eligible males to citizenship. For this reason alone, we should not expect to nd that the full political
incorporation of Attica was accomplished overnight in a single transformative
instant.
When, then, was the critical step taken to extend the reach of Athenian laws
and institutions to the limits of Attica? At what point were inhabitants of the
periphery rst routinely enrolled as full citizens of Athens? And since the hearts
and minds of ordinary citizens in Greek antiquity are sadly now all but inaccessible to us, when do we nd the rst conscious attempts to encourage these
individuals to share in a specically Athenian form of political identity? Given
the enormous impact of the incorporation of Attica on the historical destiny of
Athens, it is clearly of some considerable interest to us to know how and when
the remarkable region-state we see in classical times rst came into being.
VIEWS ANCIENT AND MODERN
Ancient authors do not distinguish different stages in the unication process

but, rather, see it as a single act of institutional centralization, or synoecism
(sunoikismos). From Thucydides (.) on, they are unanimous that this synoecism was accomplished by royal at of the legendary king Theseus, long before the eras of Solon, Peisistratus, and Cleisthenes. Perhaps inuenced by the
seeming antiquity of this tradition, modern observers generally view political
relations between Athens and Attica in the historical period as unproblematic.
Most suppose that the process of incorporation must have been completed by
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From City-State to Region-State
15
the end of the Dark Age (ca. ), while some scholarship would place
the development as far back as the Mycenean period (ca. ).2
There are three a priori reasons for questioning these reconstructions. First,
such an overtly political construct as the Thesean synoecism tradition surely
arose at a time when the full subsumption of Attica into the polis of Athens
was not yet taken for granted. As a clear attempt to naturalize this process, the
tradition presupposes a level of political self-consciousness that seems wholly
out of place in the eighth or any earlier century. If, as now seems possible, the
tradition was not invented until the last decade of the sixth century, we would
have good reason to doubt the purported antiquity of the historical unication
of Attica.3
Second, as I have already mentioned, we might legitimately expect that a
united polis in Attica could draw on sufcient manpower to make it an assertiveeven dominantforce in Greek affairs of the archaic period (ca.
). Yet it is generally agreed that before ca. B.C., Athens was relatively insignicant on the wider stage. Even down to the end of the Peisistratid
period (ca. //), Athenian military ventures were essentially limited
and ad hoc in nature and, as Frost () has shown, probably did not involve
anything we could call a regular citizen army. Around the beginning of the sixth
century, the Athenians were still in a position to lose to a much smaller rival
like Megara in their contest for control over the adjacent island of Salamis. At
the same time, they were manifestly vulnerable to hostile insurgency from
within and without: Cylon in the s, Peisistratus in the late s and mids, and Cleomenes in / all managed to storm the citadel of Athens with
quite astonishing ease. Although the forces of Cylon and Cleomenes were soon
overcome, in none of the four cases of insurgence do we get any impression
that the Athenians had regular mechanisms in place for defending themselves
against internal or external aggression.4
Some may seek to explain these shortcomings by claiming that the Athenians of the archaic period, already possessing more extensive farmlands than
most other Greeks, had little to gain by expanding elsewhere and thus no need
for organized military force. But this idea is belied both by the turmoil experienced during the era of Solon (archon in /), which seems to have been
precipitated by what Manville (, ) has termed an agrarian crisis, and
by the nature of sixth-century military operations abroad, most of which, as
Frost (loc. cit.) has shown, were driven by a demand for land. Alternatively, it
might be suggested that the political instability that plagued Athens from the
later seventh to the late sixth century effectively hindered the state from realizing its full military potential. This is certainly a more compelling idea, though
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16
it is still insufcient in itself to explain why there seems not to be a single moment during this entire period when the power of the Athenian state is commensurate with its size. In the end, if the archaic Athenians were so unable or
unwilling to translate the unusually large human resources at their disposal into
a concrete military advantage, one is left to ponder what exactly a prehistoric
synoecism would have involved and why it was even undertaken in the rst
place. Evidently, it was not about the creation of citizen soldiers.
Third, in the late sixth century, we see the implementation of a series of
measures that seem expressly designed to ensure that constituents in all parts
of Attica were full and equal members of the Athenian political community.
The reforms of Cleisthenes the Alcmeonid in / included not only the introduction of a procedure for enrolling new Athenian citizens in local units, or
demes, scattered throughout the peninsula but also the creation of new mechanismsin the form of ten highly articial phylai, or tribesthat were calculated to encourage region-wide participation in the political, military, and
ceremonial life of the polis. Again, if there was still a need for such institutions
at this very late stage, one is reasonably entitled to wonder what the purported
prehistoric synoecism had actually accomplished.
There are, as we shall see, a number of other, more concrete reasons for believing that the synoecism of Attica was not fully accomplished before the late
archaic period. The story of unication turns out to be a good deal more complex than is generally supposed.
THE PROBLEM OF POLITICAL UNION
Certain factors made the evolution of a fully integrated region-state more likely
in Attica than elsewhere in Greece. Though the failure of any rival state to
emerge in the peninsula is hardly proof that the process of unication was completed sometime during the prehistoric era, it clearly helps to explain how such
a process was ever feasible. Moreover, the region does appear to have enjoyed
a certain level of cultural homogeneity from the very earliest periods, and we
can only suppose that intercourse of various kinds between the center and the
periphery was regular and frequent from the time that Athens rst acquired a
preeminence in the peninsula.
That said, the full incorporation of the entire region within a single polis
structure was hardly a natural or inevitable development. At least four major
impediments had to be overcome in the process. The rst and most straightforward of these was size. As noted earlier, no other polis ever developed
durable institutions capable of embracing a citizen community on this scale.
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The majority of the population lived outside Athens itself, some perhaps as far
away as a two-day journey. We cannot be surprised when Thucydides (..)
tells us that individual citizens would have been unacquainted with most of
their fellows. The citizen body was too large, it seems, for a plenary gathering
to have been considered feasible; at least, we do not know of a single occasion
when such a gathering took place. The style of collective consciousness that
prevailed among this group was therefore necessarily that of an imagined community, and such a consciousness can hardly have arisen spontaneously. Like
modern national consciousness, it must have been carefully constructed and
cultivated from the center before it could take on a life of its own.5
A second impediment was topography (see g. ). The unication of this
peninsular region, separated as it was from its neighbors to the north and
northwest by Mounts Parnes and Cithaeron, may seem, with hindsight, to have
been inevitable. Yet the internal topography of Attica was less conducive to this
process than was the topography of several regions that never attained the same
degree of political integration. As Andrewes (, ) comments:
A unitary state the size of Attica is not normal in the Greek pattern of
settlement, even when there was no division of race: Boeotians, Arcadians and Thessalians were conscious enough of racial unity, but did not
unite in the Attic manner. The three plains of Attica are separated by
barriers, easily surmounted but more marked than any in the Boeotian
plain, or the plain of eastern Arcadia, and they could well have supported three or more independent states in a loose union or none at all.
A third impediment was the fact that rural Attica was not virgin territory.
For the Athenian state to exert full control over this land, it had to eclipse the
inuence of numerous networks of authority and dependency that had long prevailed in the regions periphery. Our knowledge of these networks is very limited. But most accept that there is some truth in the brief sketch of pre-sixthcentury Attic society in the Aristotelian Athenaion politeia, or Constitution of the
Athenians (henceforth AP). That work describes a largely agrarian population,
the majority of which depended to varying degreesboth economically and in
the broadest sense politicallyon a small landowning class (AP .).6
Reinforcing these local hierarchies were a range of socioreligious organizations, chief among them being the phratries. These entities were typically dominated by inuential clans, all of which appear to have used claims of kinship
whether real or ctiveto sanction existing power relations between
themselves, their retainers, and their particular locality. Given these strong per-
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sonal bonds between local elites and nonelites in archaic rural Attica, it seems
far from likely that the latter would have automatically looked to state institutions in Athens to resolve major issues affecting their daily lives. As for the
four so-called Ionian tribes that preceded the ten Cleisthenic phylai, we
can only speculate about the role they might have played in early Attic society. But it seems safe to infer from the fact of their replacement in /
that this role was not conducive to the regions unication and most probably hindered it.7
Finally, if the size of the region did little to help the formation of a collective identity among Atticas inhabitants, the existence of deep-rooted particularist sentiment in rural localities may actively have impeded the process.
Granted, some broad homogeneity of material culture, dialect, values, and
practice had probably long prevailed in Attica. But such empirical commonalities could not in themselves be relied on to forge a self-consciously held,
specically Athenian identitystill less to inspire feelings of loyalty to or a willingness to die for a larger collective cause. We certainly cannot assume that the
inhabitants of, for example, Aphidna, Brauron, and Anaphlystos would automatically have thought of themselves as members of a single extended political community, let alone as Athenians. As late as the classical era, we can still
nd evidence for strong feelings of cultural particularism in different parts of
Attica, even some lingering traces of ethnic distinctions within the population
as a whole. This evidence has been discussed in a stimulating essay by Connor
().8 His conclusion () bears repeating.
Being an Athenian was not the automatic result of being born into a society in which all of the members shared the same genetic and cultural
inheritances. Civic identity could not be taken for granted; it had to be
constructed and reconstructed in each generation by shared myths, by
participation in cults, festivals and ceremonies, and by elaborate techniques of mixing.
In sum, the incorporation of this diverse, dispersed, and anomalously large
population into a single cohesive political unit, more region-state than citystate, was hardly a foregone conclusion. The process would have required not
only a conscious effort on the part of those in power in the city but also, one
suspects, a state apparatus of unprecedented sophistication. What evidence do
we have, then, that the early Athenian state was willing or able to extend its
administrative reach to the physical limits of Attica?
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THE REACH OF THE EARLY ATHENIAN STATE
Even if the lords of Mycenean Athens did establish and rule over a unied kingdom in Attica, there is little chance that this unity survived the transition to
the Dark Age. With the collapse of the hierarchies of political authority and
economic exploitation that would have sustained this kingdom, society in Attica, as elsewhere in Greece, appears to have become heavily decentralized and
localized. The region is, however, believed to have experienced a marked increase in population and settlement during the rst three centuries of the rst
millennium B.C. Working from contemporary archaeological evidence, a number of authorities would like to relate this growth to an internal colonization
of Attica by the Athenian state, a policy that, it is claimed, brought about full
political unication by ca. B.C.9
In support of this case, some scholars would point to evidence for homogeneity of material culture in the region, seeing, for example, the tenth-century spread of Protogeometric pottery throughout Attica as an index of advancing Athenian hegemony. Other suggested epiphenomena of colonization
include a sudden increase in the value of Attic grave deposits in the ninth century and the establishment of cults in Mycenean tombs at Eleusis, Thorikos,
Menidi, and Aliki Glyphadas in the eighth century. Still other scholars would
see the hand of an expansionist Athenian state behind the ninth-century opening of silver seams at Thorikos and the eighth-century foundation of sanctuaries at Eleusis, Brauron, and the Academy.10
There can be little doubt that rural Attica experienced considerable migration from elsewhere during the course of the Dark Age, and it is not unlikely
that some of these immigrants came from Athens itself. But the colonization
hypothesis cannot inspire great condence as long as it requires us to overlook
a number of troubling and currently unanswerable questions.
For example, how can we tell from the archaeological record whether, say,
the sanctuaries at Eleusis or Brauron were initiatives of national or merely local signicance? After all, these and other suggested symptoms of colonization,
such as the tomb cults, could easily be explained without reference to any larger
pan-Attic scenario. It is just as likely, if not more so, that they reect the efforts
of an emerging rural aristocracy to express their elite credentials within their
own immediate localities. And even if the agents concerned were actually Athenians, how can we distinguish archaeologically between initiatives driven by
the private interests of an inuential family and those representing the public
interest of an Athenian state? It is difcult enough to make this distinction in
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the sixth century, where we have little evidence for genuinely public initiatives before B.C., so how can we hope to make this distinction with any
condence in the eighth century?11
Besides, at a time when hard evidence even for settlement in Athens is
difcult enough to come by, what would an Athenian state actually have
looked like? Was it already the relatively mature, self-reproducing organism we
rst see clearly in the later seventh century? In other words, was Athens now
governed by nine annually elected archons and a deliberative body known as
the Areopagus Council, made up of ex-archons? Or was this state still no more
than a preinstitutional ad hoc coalition of ruling elites whose interests were
indistinguishable from those of the dominant family at any given time? Perhaps the answer lies somewhere between these two poles, though we can hardly
know exactly where. Either way, there is no evidence whatsoever for the kind
of binding and durable institutional ties between the center and the periphery
that might allow us to speak meaningfully of political unication. We should
seriously doubt whether the state was yet capable of developing the political
mechanisms necessary to overcome the various impediments discussed above
and sustain stable, lasting control over an area the size of Attica.12
In sum, the colonization hypothesis rests on a whole series of questionable
assumptions about the larger sociopolitical environment in Dark Age Attica.
The hypothesis would gain considerable weight if we had evidence from the
seventh or early sixth century indicating that a unied Attica was already a
rmly established political reality. But this is hardly the case.
As we enter the archaic period, the likelihood of unication actually seems
to recede. So marked is the decline in settlements, cemeteries, and sanctuary
activity in seventh-century Athens and Attica that some now seriously doubt
whether any kind of developed state apparatus could have existed in Athens at
this time, let alone one capable of governing an entire region.13 I am inclined
to agree with two recent studies which suggest that a systematic political incorporation of Attica could not have been attempted much before the later seventh century, a time when the rst secure traces of state institutions in Athens
begin to emerge from the shadows of prehistory.14 Before this point, as
Manville (, ) observes, the reach of the state in Attica was probably very
limited and ill dened.
[T]here is no reason to believe that [the] state had yet established for itself clear territorial boundaries. No traces of these survive from very
early times, and . . . one cannot assume that the recognised frontiers of
a later age had existed from time immemorial.
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Manville argues that the existence of such boundaries are rst attested in a
clause of Dracos homicide legislation, conventionally dated to the late s.
We nd there not only a reference to frontier markets but also what seems
to be our earliest evidence for the term Athenian (Athenaios) as a recognized
legal category. For Manville, this evidence marks the emergence of a new selfawareness among the Atheniansan awareness that they formed a community
with legally enforceable social and territorial limits. This judgment may well
be correct.15 But unfortunately for our purposes, the clause does not state explicitly where these territorial limits actually lay at this time, and we still cannot assume they yet encompassed the entire peninsula of Attica.16
We confront a similar problem with the evidence from the Solonian era. As
Manville (, esp. ) has well shown, this period almost certainly saw
further attempts to clarify the nature and composition of the Athenian political community, allowing us perhaps for the rst time to speak of a formally
dened concept of citizenship. But we know all too little about enrollment
procedures at this time, and the consensus view that this citizen body already
included individuals from all over Attica is no more than an assumption, for
which there is no conclusive support either in Solons poems or in ancient accounts of his various laws and reforms.17 We also cannot nd there any evidence for new institutions or administrative mechanisms that were obviously
designed to extend the reach of the Athenian state in the peninsula. It might
be claimed, by analogy with the later Council of , that Solons Council of
was a national institution in this sense, drawing delegates from all over
Attica to prepare the agenda for the citizen Assembly. But we know far too little about this body to make any such claim, and even its very existence is a matter of some reasonable doubt, as we will see in chapter .18
I am not suggesting that Attic localities possessed their own developed
forms of self-government. There was by now probably a kind of de facto Athenian hegemony in the region, leaving no room for any rival state to emerge. Such
species of authority as did exist in the towns and villages would have remained
prepolitical in the strictest sense. I also am not suggesting that relations between the center and the periphery were in any sense hostile. Contact between
the two was presumably regular and frequent, and wealthy Athenians may well
have possessed landholdings in the countryside. But peacefuleven productivecoexistence between urban and rural areas is one thing; complete institutional fusion of the two into a single political entity, especially one of such
wholly anomalous size, is quite another. There is no good reason to suppose
that areas that lay much beyond the plain of Athens were fully incorporated
into the Athenian polis by the early sixth century.19
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THE PEISISTRATIDS AND ATTICA
The very earliest evidence we have for initiatives designed to establish formal
institutional links between the center and the periphery comes from the period
when Athens was under the stewardship of Peisistratus (ca. //) and
his sons Hippias and Hipparchus (ca. //). Even these initiatives appear somewhat unsystematic and limited in ambition, illustrating the sheer
practical difculty of extending the reach of the state at this time.
From AP (.), we learn that Peisistratus himself used to go into the country [eis ten kho ran] to resolve legal disputes in person and that he sent handpicked magistrates to serve as jurors among the villages [kata dmous . . .
dikastas]. Then, in the last quarter of the sixth century, sometime between the
late s and his assassination in , Hipparchus set up along the roads of Attica a series of milestones in the form of herms. Each one of these Hipparchan
herms (Hipparkheioi Hermai) was intended to mark the halfway point between towns and villages in the periphery and the Altar of the Twelve Gods in
the Athenian Agora, a monument recently erected by Peisistratus the younger
to serve as the new symbolic center of the city. The one extant herm, found
near modern Koropi, marks the midpoint between Athens and the village of
Kephale in southern Attica, implying that the new milestones covered the region fairly comprehensively.20
It is also quite widely suggested that the Peisistratids used national cults and
festivalsnotably the Great Panathenaia, the City Dionysia, the Brauronia,
and the Eleusinian Mysteriesto establish ritual or symbolic links between the
city and surrounding areas. While, as we shall see in the chapters to come, the
majority of the proposed ceremonial developments should probably be dated
to the later sixth or early fth centuries, a more modest Peisistratid Religionspolitik along these lines is certainly possible.21
Many interpret these various political and cultural initiatives as attempts to
reinforce a preexisting state of unity within Attica, though few scholars have
asked why there was any need for such reinforcement at this particular time.
In view of the absence of any concrete evidence from earlier periods for the creation of enduring institutional links between the center and the periphery, it
is certainly worth considering the possibility that these were in fact among the
very rst tentative steps taken in this direction. Since all of our sources maintain that Peisistratus worked within the established framework of Athenian
government, we can only presume that he devised such institutions as the jurors among the villages because no such outreach mechanisms existed from
earlier times. As things stand, we have no way of knowing how successful the
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Peisistratids were in furthering the de jure unication of Attica by these means,

but it seems fair to conclude that their efforts represent a formative, rather than
an advanced, stage in the process.
Whatever the Peisistratids accomplished in this area, the kind of initiatives
with which they are credited do not appear to have included any regular means
for admitting individuals from the periphery into Athenian citizenship. Any
unication that occurred would have been imposed from above, without any
corresponding expansion of the political community. Nor is there any serious
likelihood that this or any earlier era saw a signicant growth in what we might
call a civic consciousness, or a shared Athenian identity, among people in all
parts of Attica.
To begin with, the Peisistratids conspicuously refrained from constructing
a distinctively Athenian identity for themselves, let alone for others. In claiming a prestigious descent from the Neleids, the royal family of Pylos, they were
comfortable presenting themselves as non-Athenians, and they seem to have
shown a marked preference for symbolic association with the Panhellenic Heracles over the local hero Theseus. More importantly, it is expecting far too
much of the Peisistratids to imagine that they would ever have pursued the
long-term interests of the Athenian state at the expense of their own immediate private interests and their own highly personalized form of authority. Since
their interests evidently did not include developing a citizen army or advancing the cause of popular government, they would have had no incentive whatsoever to build a new style of thought around such ideals as political equality,
popular sovereignty, and self-determination, the hallmarks of Athenian identity in the classical era.22
New festivals, symbols, and the like may have stirred some rather vague and
limited collective imaginings among the people of Athens and Attica during
the Peisistratid period. But without any distinctively Athenian coloring or
meaningful political content, these imaginings can hardly have amounted to
any kind of shared civic consciousness. The process of constructing a shared
form of political identity in Attica, one that would bind together the inhabitants of the entire region into an imagined community of Athenians, must
have been still very far from completion.
The evidence discussed so far may not be decisive, but it should be sufcient
to cast some doubt on the widely held view that the synoecism of Attica was accomplished long before the classical period. At most, we see only very modest
and piecemeal efforts in this direction during the Peisistratid era. That said, the
case depends heavily on arguments from silence and on interpretations of texts
and materials that could conceivably be read otherwise. But it would obviously
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gain considerable strength if we had some more positive evidence from the years
down to that parts of Attica still lay beyond the effective reach of the Athenian polis. We will now look at three items or bodies of evidenceall relating to
the sixth centurythat may well support this conclusion.
THE LIMITS OF POLITICAL UNION:
EVIDENCE FROM THE SIXTH CENTURY
The rst and most straightforward of these items is a brief inscription on a grave
monument set up some thirty or forty years after Solons reforms, on the road
between Athens and Acharnae. In standard fashion, the epitaph enjoins the
passerby to mourn the deceasedin this case, one Tettikhos. What may be revealing here is the choice of language used for the appeal, since it imagines the
wayfarer to be either a man of the city [astos] or an outsider [xenos]. As
Frost (, ) points out the location of the tomb on a local road out of Athens
rather than on a major thoroughfare out of the region as a whole indicates that
the category xenos here must include inhabitants of rural Attica as well as foreigners from outside the peninsula. If so, the fact that mid-sixth-century Athenians still thought of their rural neighbors as outsiders hardly suggests that
the latter were yet considered full members of the citizen community.23
Signs of a striking discrepancy in funerary behavior between the center
and the periphery during the sixth century may also reect contemporary political relations between the two areas. Of the various kinds of burial marker
used in Athens and Attica, grave stelai by far were the most common at all
times during this century in all parts of the peninsula. Not surprisingly,
use of the expensive kouros and kore statues in this function was considerably less frequent. But what is perhaps surprising is the very uneven distribution of these statues between city and rural cemeteries over the course of
the century.
In Athens itself, we have good evidence for the use of kouroi in funerary
contexts at the end of the seventh century and in the early years of the sixth
century.24 But these burial markers seem to disappear abruptly from city cemeteries during ca. B.C. Although numerous grave stelai from this same
period have been recovered from the Kerameikos area alone, not a single certain funerary kouros or kore from these years has been found in any part of
Athens.25 And of the even more numerous grave monument bases from the
period that were discovered in the city, only two look likely to have supported
a kouros or kore, and both of these date toward the very end of the time frame
concerned.26 In ca. , the sequence appears to have been restored, and we
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have evidence for three further funerary kouroi from the last quarter of the
sixth century.27
When we look at the evidence from the rest of Attica for the same period,
the contrast is striking (g. ). The sequence again begins ca. B.C. or shortly
thereafter, but then proceeds seamlessly through the course of the sixth century,
without any observable discontinuity. For ca. alone, we have remains
of as many as ten funerary kouroi and korai, including some of the nest examples of both types, such as the so-called Phrasikleia and the kouros from
Anavyssos (ancient Anaphlystos; see g. ). Perhaps equally unexpected, all of
these monuments are clustered in the southern portion of the peninsula, below
an imaginary line we might draw from Vourva on the east coast to Phoinikia on
the west coast.28
Drawing conclusions on the basis of this relatively slender evidence is somewhat hazardous, but the pattern here seems sufciently pronounced to make
the attempt worthwhile. What, then, are we to make of this apparent sixtyyear discrepancy in mortuary behavior between the center and the periphery?
Part of the difference may of course be a result of preservation bias, given
the multiple disruptions experienced by city cemeteries, especially those of the
Kerameikos, in later years. That said, the same period sees no visible decrease
in the use of other kinds of marker in these locations, and the absence of bases
for kouroi and korai cannot be so easily explained away when those for so many
other monuments have survived.
Other possible explanations are even less compelling. The likelihood that
urban tastes in burial markers underwent some kind of temporary shift while
those of the countryside remained stable seems distinctly remote. Nor can we
simply put the discrepancy down to a wealth differential between the two
areas. It is generally and plausibly believed that the greater part of the Attic elite
would have established residency in Athens by the sixth century, and the unprecedented number of buildings and other monuments set up on the Acropolis during ca. testies eloquently to the quantity of disposable wealth
possessed by this group at this time. We might therefore reasonably have expected to see an equivalent extravagance in contemporary Athenian cemeteries, sufcient to offset at least partly the vicissitudes of preservation. And we
do in fact see increasingly elaborate stelai and other burial markers set up in
the Kerameikos during the period concerned (see Morris , ), which only
makes the absence of kouroi and korai from this location and their conspicuous presence in the poorer periphery all the more surprising.
On the other hand, it may be possible that some of the statues in rural
cemeteries were set up by wealthy Athenians returning to their ancestral bur-
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ial grounds. But this still would not account for their absence from the city or
their concentration in only one area of Attica. Nor can family piety adequately
explain why competitive elites should have preferred a relatively remote location like Anaphlystos over, say the Kerameikos for the dedication of such lavish and ostentatious items. This would seem to defeat much of the purpose of
a kouros.29
Since the dictates of elite competitive display and such variables as taste and
wealth would seem to favor, rather than discourage, the presence of kouroi and
korai in the cemeteries of sixth-century Athens, we should face the possibility
that their disappearance from these locations for a period of some sixty years
was probably the result not of choice but of force. Laws curbing funerary extravagance were a recurring feature of Greek social life, and it is not hard to see
how the expensive and rather provocative practice of adorning human tombs
with an image like the kouros, conventionally used as a dedication to divinity,
would have been a ready target for such legislation.
By happy coincidence, we do have some evidence that various items of
sumptuary legislation were passed in Athens in the early sixth century, and they
apparently included provisions about grave monuments. The laws are associated with Solon and thus, by most estimates, should belong to the s, precisely the time of the break in the kouros/kore sequence in Athenian cemeteries. The ban seems, therefore, to have been imposed relatively soon after the
statue type was rst used in this context and to have remained in place down
until roughly the time of the death of Peisistratus in /.30
If this reconstruction is broadly correct, it would also shed new light on political relations between Athens and Attica at this time. The continuing use of
kouroi and korai in the cemeteries of a sizable portion of rural Attica throughout the period concerned would mean that the inhabitants of at least some part
of the periphery were still not fully subject to Athenian laws. It would clearly
strain credibility to try to gauge the precise extent of the states reach on the
basis of this evidence alone. But it does seem reasonable to conclude that this
reach was still limited even as late as ca. B.C. This general conclusion can
only be further encouraged by the fact that all the cemeteries in question were
located in the south of the peninsula, the area of Attica that lay furthest away
from the city itself.
Before moving on, one nal question about this material should be raised:
what exactly were a signicant number of extremely wealthy families doing in
such relatively remote locations in southern Attica at this time? Some were perhaps members of a residual rural aristocracy, while others may have been residents of Athens who possessed ancestral burial grounds lying conveniently be-
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yond the reach of Athenian law and who were still willing to lavish expense on
a tomb of a dead relative that would be seen by so few. But at least one of the
families concerned was probably in the area for an altogether different reason,
a reason that sheds further light on sixth-century relations between the center
and the periphery.
The family in question are the illustrious Alcmeonids, the family of Cleisthenes the reformer. Close study of evidence for their movements and activities over the period ca. gives us further cause to believe that parts of
Attica still lay beyond the effective reach of the Athenian state at this time.
Since I have already presented the relevant evidence and arguments in some
detail elsewhere,31 I will merely summarize the case here.
During the fth and fourth centuries, the primary residence of the main
branch of the Alcmeonid family was located in Alopeke, just to the south of
Athens. They were registered here as demesmen, and there is no suggestion, in
any source, that they lived elsewhere as a group at any time during this period.
And given their probable possession of extensive property holdings in this same
area, the enrollment of cadet branches of the family in the nearby demes of
Agryle and Xypete, their apparent Eupatrid status, and their long involvement
in Athenian political life, which dated back at least to the third quarter of the
seventh century, there is every chance that by ca. B.C., the Alcmeonids
principal homestead in Attica was rmly established in the belt of agricultural
land lying to the immediate south of the city.32
However, another body of evidence suggests that the family also had close
connections with an area of the Attic coast far to the south of Athens, centered
on the towns of Anaphlystos and Sounion. In accounts of the aristocratic
inghting that gripped Athens in the middle decades of the sixth century, Megacles II, son of Alcmeon I, appears as the leader of a party not from the city
but from the paralia (coast), a term believed to refer primarily to the littoral
and hinterland of southern Attica. In addition, quite a wide range of monuments from this locality have been associated with the family, including the unprecedented colossal kouroi from ca. that were dedicated in Poseidons
sanctuary at Sounion and three of the aforementioned funerary kouroi from the
neighborhood of Anavyssosone of which resembles the Sounion examples in
style and date, while the other two are probably from the later s or s.33
The likely base of one of these later statues, the Anavyssos kouros (g. ),
has also been found in the same vicinity, with an epitaph bidding the passerby
to mourn the dead Kroisos, who was apparently killed in the front ranks [eni
promakhois]. Because of the opulence of this burial marker and the epitaphs
probable allusion in the name of the deceased to a historical relationship with
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the Lydian royal house, it is widely assumed to be an Alcmeonid monument.

Other items possibly linking the family with this same area include the socalled stele of Megacles and a base for a stele dedicated by one Peisianax, a rare
name that appears in later Alcmeonid generations. Both of these monuments
date to the s and appear to have been carved by the same mason. Finally,
an ostrakon from the s bearing the name Megakles Anaphlystios is open to
a number of interpretations, but all point to some kind of connection between
the Alcmeonids and the Anaphlystos area in the later sixth century.34
How, then, do we reconcile two bodies of evidence that appear to suggest
that the Alcmeonids had homelands in two quite separate parts of Attica? Since
none of the evidence for links with the south coast relates to a time later than
the sixth century, some have supposed that the family must only have moved
to the Alopeke area shortly before the rst deme registrations in /, perhaps
for political reasons.35 But while it is possible that they may have hailed originally from the Anaphlystos area, the evident length and strength of the familys associations with Athens and the area to its immediate south before the
late sixth century would seem to rule out so late a move to the city. At the same
time, the presence of funerary items among the evidence from the Anaphlystos
area strongly suggests that the familys domicile there was not merely a country estate but their primary residence in Attica, at least for much of the sixth
century. The only reasonable way to accommodate all of this evidence is to conclude that the Alcmeonids for some reason temporarily shifted their base of operations from the plain of Athens to the south coast at least once between ca.
and ca. , ultimately moving it back again in time to register in city
demes in /. But what might have prompted such drastic relocations?
The answer is surely exile, which the family is known to have experienced
on more than one occasion in the sixth century. And this solution is born out
by the dates of the evidence from the south coast, which neatly coincide with
two periods when the Alcmeonids were probably banished from Athens.
The rst of these periods of exile began in ca. B.C., when the family
was expelled in perpetuity for its role in the massacre of the Cylonian conspirators some thirty years earlier.36 As far as we can tell, it lasted until ca. ,
when Lycurgus, head of the Boutad family and leader of the party from the
plain (pedion) of Athens, allowed the Alcmeonids to return to the city in exchange for their help in deposing Peisistratus, who had just mounted his rst
coup. If we suppose that this exile of roughly forty years was served not outside Attica but in the far south of the peninsula, this would put us in a good
position to explain not only the presence in that area of the extravagant
Sounion dedications and the cognate kouros from the cemetery at Anavyssos
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but also why later authors saw the urbane Megacles II as leader of a party
from the coast at the time of Peisistratuss rst bid for power.37
The second exile came some fteen years later, after the Alcmeonids defeat
by Peisistratus at Pallene in ca. /. Since it is unlikely that the family would
have returned to the city before Peisistratuss death in / yet clear that they
had done so by /, when Cleisthenes assumed the archonship, this second
banishment probably lasted for a little under twenty years. Again, all of the
later remains from the Anavyssos area have been independently dated to precisely this same twenty-year period, suggesting that this was for a second time
the familys base of operations during a time of exile. If so, we also have a particularly satisfactory aetiology for the Kroisos grave monument. Presumably,
he was killed in the front ranks at Pallene, but his familys defeat in the battle and their subsequent departure from Athens meant that he could not be
buried until their return to the residence-in-exile at Anaphlystos.38
On the basis of these striking correspondences, it can be stated with some
condence that the Alcmeonids historical associations with the south coast of
Attica in the sixth century derived directly from terms of exile spent in that location during the periods ca. and ca. B.C.39 For the purposes
of our larger inquiry, this nding is obviously signicant. It is universally assumed by ancients and moderns alike that exiles from Athens at all times during the historical period were required to leave Attica altogether. But this appears not to have been the case. Even as late as the s and s, they were free
to set up residence in marginal areas of the peninsula, where they lived, it
seems, undisturbed by the state or its laws. We can therefore hardly avoid concluding that these areas were still considered to lie outside the Athenian polis
proper at this time.40
The Alcmeonids were not the only family to experience exile during the
course of the sixth century. If the preceding reconstruction of their movements
is along the right lines, we might expect to nd some evidence that other
prominent families also spent time as exiles in the Attic periphery, evidence
that would conrm the overall argument while also perhaps giving us a general idea of the limits of the states reach in Attica at this time. There are in fact
a surprising number of distinguished families who have known links with peripheral locations, and the concentration of expensive funerary kouroi and korai in the far south of Attica in the sixth century suggests that the Alcmeonids
may not have been the only exiles in the margins during the period.41
Two other plausible candidates are the Gephyraioithe family of the
Tyrannicides, Harmodius and Aristogeitonand the branch of the Lycomidai
to which Themistocles belonged. Both are known to have controlled time-hon-
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ored cults in the plain of Athens, suggesting that the two families enjoyed deep
roots in that area. Yet, for some reason, both were registered as demesmen in
distinctly marginal locations far from the city and with which neither is known
to have had any other kind of signicant associationthe Gephyraioi at
Aphidna, near the border with Oropia; Themistocles family deep in the south
of the peninsula, at Phrearrhioi. Since the Gephyraioi certainly went into exile under the Peisistratids and since Themistocles Lycomidai conceivably suffered the same fate, we might infer that they registered in these areas only because they had moved there as exiles and had not yet had time to reestablish
themselves in the city before deme enrollments began in /.42
The Alcmeonids aside, perhaps the clearest illustration of exile within Attica is provided by the Peisistratids themselves. Peisistratus has often been seen
as an outsider in sixth-century Athenian politics, a kind of provincial warlord
who took advantage of turbulence among more established families to raise his
own family to power. Yet not one of our main sources for the familys activitiesHerodotus, Thucydides, and APcharacterizes the Peisistratids in these
terms. And everything we hear about them before Peisistratuss rst coup in
/ suggests that they were in fact a well-connected Eupatrid family of considerable accomplishment and, as prominent actors in the Athenian political
scene, must have long made their base in the city. Peisistratus himself had earlier been elected polemarch and appears to have led some kind of military venture against Megara. An ancestor of the same name, perhaps his great-greatgrandfather, is said to have served as archon more than a hundred years earlier,
in / B.C. The tyrant was almost certainly a relative of the illustrious Solon,
and more than one source reports the tradition that the two were also lovers.
Meanwhile, on the wider stage, the Peisistratids seem to have been established
members of that glittering Panhellenic set that pursued interstate marriages
and equestrian competition.43
If the Peisistratids were very clearly not provincial arrivistes in the mid
sixth century, why have moderns so often portrayed them in these terms? The
main reason seems to be their association with the area of the deme Philaidai
around Brauron, on the east coast of Atticaand the assumption that this,
rather than Athens, was the site of their primary residence in the region. Yet
there is no explicit evidence for any ancestral property at Brauron, and not one
of our three main sources for the Peisistratids ever refers to a permanent residence outside Athens itself. Granted, we have the testimony of two sources
(one minor and one late) where we nd the vague claim that the family were
simply from Philaidai.44 But as we shall see shortly, the value of these reports
may be minimal.
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The only other evidence we have for an association with the Brauron area
is found in AP (.) and the text of Herodotus (.), where it is recorded
that Peisistratus was the leader of a party from the hill country during the
trilateral stasis with Megacles and Lycurgus that apparently marked the years
before his nal rise to power in /. If, as most believe, the term used for hill
country in AP, diakria, refers to the northeastern portion of Attica, extending
south along the coast possibly as far as Brauron, there may be some grounds
for thinking that the Peisistratids were provincial outsiders. But even this testimony is problematic.45
To begin with, the stasis of the second quarter of the sixth century was probably not as our sources describe it. As Hopper (, esp. ) has demonstrated, the existence at this time of three regional parties of the plain, coast,
and hills, each with its own distinctive political and economic agenda, is improbable. In any case, neither Herodotus nor the author of AP expressly states
that Megacles and Peisistratus were actually from their respective party localities or even resident there at the time; the latter (AP .) is in fact careful
to suggest that they merely farmed there. As we have just seen, Megacles
presence in the paralia in / was most likely the result of exile. Though he
doubtless had supporters in that area, there is no reason to believe that his
party from the coast was anything more than his own extended family, which
he wished to have restored to Athens.
Meanwhile, the party of Peisistratus is an even more nebulous entity, playing no visible role in any of his attempts to take power in Athens. Aside from a
reference to the landing at Marathon just before his victory at Pallene in /
(Hdt. ..), there is no specic mention of the diakria or its inhabitants in our
accounts of the three coups. In the case of the rst, Peisistratus is clearly already
in Athens, and since all the action takes place in and around the city itself, it
seems reasonable to conclude that he was living there at the time. The second
coup (such as it was), in /, sees him recalled by Megacles from an unspecied
place of exile, and he appears to have returned alone. As for the third coup,
Herodotus (.) tells us vaguely about partisans from the city [ek tou asteos
stasio tai] and others from the villages [alloi ek to n demo n] who joined Peisistratus at Marathon before the march on Athens. But the main body of his force
seems to have been made up of non-Athenians (see also AP .).46
There is, then, no good reason to doubt that Peisistratus and his family were
established residents of the city by the middle of the sixth century. But if he
was not operating from the diakria during these years and if no groups or individuals from the area seem to have supported his political activities, how did
the tradition of the party of the hills arise?
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One of the more signicant details omitted by our sources for this sequence
of events is the location of Peisistratuss rst period of exile, from ca. to ca.
. However, we do have one tantalizing hint about this location. As Sealey
(a, ) has pointed out, Herodotuss (..) description of Peisistratuss second departure into exile emphasizes that on this occasion he left the
country [i.e., Attica] altogether [apallaseto ek te s khore s to parapan], which
indicates that his rst exile was spent somewhere on Attic soil. The ease with
which he was later recalled by Megacles adds weight to this supposition. Since
this is the only point in the narrative of Peisistratuss rise to power when he
cannot be localized either in Athens or outside the peninsula as a whole, I propose that the site of his residence-in-exile was in the diakria, perhaps in the
area of Brauron. Whether he was also based there during the second exile must
remain an open questionthough, as the Alcmeonid case attests, wide involvement in affairs abroad did not necessarily preclude a residence in the Attic periphery at this time. Either way, we have a compelling explanation for
Peisistratuss otherwise murky association with northeast Attica, which seems
to derive not from long-term residence but, like the association of the Alcmeonids with the south coast, from experience of temporary exile in the area.
If we accept this explanation, we can also safely dismiss the tradition of a
tripartite regional stasis in the middle decades of the sixth century. By the time
that Herodotus came to record our earliest version of the tradition, it was
widely believed that Attica had always been unied and thus that exile from
Athens had always entailed expulsion from the entire peninsula. Though it was
clearly remembered that Megacles and Peisistratus had links with different areas of the periphery, the nature of these links were no longer understood.
Hence, to explain the incongruous presence of such urbane individuals in the
eastern and southern margins of Attica, surviving memories of a genuine interfamily rivalry between Boutads, Alcmeonids, and Peisistratids were inated
to suggest a larger regionwide struggle. The result was an appropriately grand,
mostly ctitious narrative of an elemental conict between the men of the
plain, the coast, and the hills.
As for the traditionrst found in the Platonic Hipparchus (b)that
the Peisistratids were from Philaidai, it may mean no more than that the family was thought to have come from there at some point in the distant past before moving to Athens, much as the Gephyraioi were said to be originally
from Boeotia or Eretria (Hdt. .). But another explanation is also possible.
I have argued that the primary residence of the Peisistratids in Attica during the sixth century, times of exile aside, must have been in Athens itself, not
in the diakria. Pinpointing their location within the city is far from easy. But
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it is striking that three separate individuals associated with one particular part
of Athens, the Kollytos neighborhood, appear at important points in later
records of Peisistratid family history.
First, there is Hipparchus, son of Charmus. Archon in / and the rst
person known to have been ostracized from Attica (in /), Hipparchus was
the most prominent representative of the extended Peisistratid clan left in the
city after the expulsions of . As a grandson of Hippiasand perhaps even
a direct descendant of Hippocrates (the father of Peisistratus), through a cadet
branch of the familyhe is the closest relative who is known to have enrolled
in a deme. His deme was Kollytos.47 Second, we have the woman at the center of the well-known Phye ceremony, the preamble to Peisistratuss second
coup. Herodotus (..) claims that she was from the deme Paiania, while AP
(.) records a rival tradition that traced her origins to Kollytos. It is hard to
fathom why this seemingly innocuous detail should have become a matter of
dispute, but a known Peisistratid association with Kollytos would conveniently
explain why the variant tradition took the form it did.48
Finally, there is the supporter of Peisistratus who notoriously proposed that
the future tyrant should be awarded a bodyguard in the Assembly, thus precipitating the rst coup in /. Two variants of his name have come down to us,
Aristion (AP .) and Ariston (Plut. Sol. .). Given the ignominy this act would
have brought his descendants, it is not hard to imagine how different versions of
the name might have arisen. I suggest that the more likely original version in the
tradition was Ariston, a name linked with the family of Plato (it was held, in fact,
by Platos father), who was denitely related to the Peisistratids and whose members also registered as demesmen at Kollytos.49 We might infer, then, that the author of AP either reproduced or directly invented the less embarrassing variant
Aristion out of deference to the family of Aristotles teacher.50
As speculative as this reasoning may be, the links of all three of these Peisistratid associates with the Kollytos neighborhood make for a particularly suggestive coincidence. In the absence of any compelling alternatives, I tentatively
propose that this was the location of the familys residence in Athens during
the sixth century. And it may be an equally suggestive coincidence that the earliest work known to assert expressly that the Peisistratids were from Philaidai
is associated with Plato, himself a relative registered at Kollytos. Whether the
claim is based on knowledge of an early ancestral connection with the Brauron area or is merely a hopeful inference from Peisistratuss well-known,
though actually very tenuous, links with eastern Attica during the stasis of the
midsixth century, it would clearly have helped to distance Platos family from
their troubling personal association with the tyrants of old.
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Whatever the case, we have good reason to believe that Peisistratus himself
spent at least one period of exile, from ca. / to /, at a location in the
Attic periphery, presumably somewhere in the diakria, possibly at Brauron. If
so, we can add this case to the growing body of testimony from the second and
third quarters of the sixth century that suggests that large sections of rural Attica still lay effectively outside the polis proper at this time. While we cannot
hope to plot the territorial limits of the polis with any precision, the concentration of funerary kouroi and korai in southern Attica and the presence of exiles in places like Anaphlystos, Aphidna, and perhaps Brauron seem to indicate
that these limits did not lie a great distance beyond the plain of Athens and the
natural boundary formed by Mounts Aigaleios, Pentelikon, and Hymettos.51
Putting all this together, we have no evidence that any conscious attempt
was made before the Peisistratid period to create institutions linking the center and the periphery of Attica, and we do have various items of testimony that
suggest that substantial parts of the Attic periphery lay beyond the de jure reach
of the Athenian state down to the last quarter of the sixth century. It is likely
that the tyrants made some effort to extend this reach. But their initiatives seem
limited, unsystematic, and concerned more with promoting the familys own
highly personalized form of authority in the region than with building any
durable, meaningful form of citizen community. Unless the tyrants pursued
other, similar initiatives of which we are currently unaware, it seems reasonable to conclude that in / B.C., when they were nally forced out of Athens,
the unication process was still some way from completion. It would not remain so for long.
THE REFORMS OF CLEISTHENES
In the end, it took only a brief siege of their Acropolis stronghold by a combined force of Spartans and Athenians to depose the Peisistratids and expel
them from the city.52 Though the main branch of this family would long occupy a unique place in the bestiary of Athenian public memory, they would
never again play a role in the running of the city they had dominated for the
best part of three and a half decades. While our two principal sources for events
in Athens in the late sixth century, Herodotus and AP, are hardly extensive, they
are sufciently detailed to allow us to outline the developments that immediately followed.
With Hippias and his family departed for Sigeion on the banks of the Scamander, a power vacuum inevitably emerged. De facto leadership of the state
was contested by two individuals of noble birth, Isagoras, son of Teisandros,
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and Cleisthenes the Alcmeonid, a man known to have held the archonship in
/ B.C.53 According to our sources, Isagoras won signicant majority support among the elite, which would explain his election to the archonship for
/ B.C. Undaunted, Cleisthenes then took the extraordinary step of appealing beyond this constituency to ordinary Athenians, in the hope of securing mass support. In exchange for their favor, he proposed a radical reorganization of political life in Athens and Attica that seems to have met with wide
approval.54
The proposal bypassed the traditional legislative channels and was ratied,
it appears, by popular acclaim in the citizen Assembly;55 implementation of
the reforms duly began. Outmaneuvered in this surprising fashion, Isagoras
appealed in desperation to his friend King Cleomenes, hoping to use Spartan
force to strangle the new order at birth. Cleomenes immediately dispatched an
order demanding the expulsion of Cleisthenes and his family from the city on
the pretext of the Cylonian curse, before materializing there himself with a
small armed force to intimidate the Alcmeonids supporters into following suit.
The king then turned his attentions to political institutions, ordering the
dissolution of the Council of , the heart of the new order, apparently intending to install an oligarchic regime of three hundred under Isagoras in its
stead. Here, however, he met with unexpected resistance from the ve hundred
councillors, prompting him to occupy the Acropolis. This move succeeded only
in provoking even more unexpected hostility, precipitating what seems to have
been a largely spontaneous two-day assault on the citadel by the population at
large. Overmatched, Cleomenes and his cohorts were escorted from the city
under a truce, while Isagorass coconspirators were imprisoned and ultimately
executed. What would prove to be the last coup in Athens for nearly a century
was thus brought to a violent, if decisive, conclusion. Cleisthenes and his fellow exiles were recalled, and in the absence of any further opposition, the transformation of the Athenian state could safely continue. In the following year,
Cleisthenes kinsman Alcmeon was elected archon, further conrming that the
reformer and his associates were the dominant political force in the polis.56
Reconstructing the contents of this transformation from the combined testimony of Herodotus, AP, and other items of circumstantial evidence, we see
a wide range of innovations in political life. Those that pertained primarily to
the operations of central government in Athens will be examined shortly in
chapter . But of more immediate interest is the introduction of a series of institutions that were expressly designed to link Athens with settlements all over
Attica (g. ). The point of departure here was probably the creation of what
Ostwald has termed a new political substratum of demes (demoi). These were
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mostly small settlements and neighborhoods throughout Attica, which

were specially designated to serve as political units on the local level. Each
adult male with a native-born father was to enroll in his local deme as an Athenian citizen, and the demes were henceforth assigned the primary responsibility for controlling admissions to the citizen body and for recording enrollments
in ofcial registers, known as lexiarkhika grammateia. Membership in one of
these new units, the basic prerequisite for citizenship, was to be hereditary, and
each demesman was to use a demotic (a moniker derived from the name of
ones deme) as part of his own public identity. The demes were also to enjoy
a limited degree of self-government, each with its own assembly, cults, and
demarch and the right to contribute a xed quota of delegates to a new national council.57
As satellites of the central government in Athens, the demes thus collectively formed a new grassroots level of public administration, offering a range
of opportunities for individuals in all parts of the peninsula to participate directly in the political life of the polis. At the same time, ongoing interaction
between elite and nonelite as citizen-equals in these miniature corporations
must have helped to neutralize the political dimension of the various forms of
personal dependency that had long dened the relationship between the two
groups in the localities of Attica.
The institutional space between local and central government was then
bridged in the rst instance by creating thirty intermediate political units,
known as trittyes, each comprised of a number of demes, from one to as many
as nine. To give these new associations some immediate substance, they too,
like the demes, were assigned their own property and cults.
The trittyes were then themselves used as components in the creation of
larger, more complex political units. Three trittyesone each from the city,
the coast, and the hinterland of Atticawere combined by lot (see AP .) to
form ten new phylai, or tribes. For the tribes to become anything more than
highly synthetic institutional mechanisms, they had to be given some cultural
substance, and they were accordingly endowed with featuressuch as eponymous heroes, cults, and assembly placesreminiscent of the hereditary and
pseudohereditary socioreligious associations that had long been a feature of the
Attic landscape. Not the least important of these older groups were four shadowy entities known as the Ionian tribes, which, according to the sources, Cleisthenes new phylai were expressly designed to replace.58
The immediate purpose of the new tribes was twofold. First, each of the
phylai was to supply fty delegates on an annual basis to a national council
(boule) in Athens that was to form the institutional heart of the new order. This
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so-called Council of was apparently designed to replace an earlier Solonian Council of , and its functions were probably limited in its rst phase
to probouleusis, that is, to setting the agenda of motions to be submitted for deliberation in the popular Assembly (ekklesia). Each tribal delegation of fty was
made up of contingents supplied by the constituent demes according to their
relative size within the tribe, and it was thus ensured that all localities in Attica
were represented at this important stage of the political process. However, since
it is likely that councillors were chosen by election rather than by lot before
/ B.C. and that eligibility was limited at least initially to members of the
top three wealth classes, the new Council would in reality have been somewhat
less than fully representative of the citizen body.59
Second, the ten tribes also formed the organizational basis for a national
citizen army. First introduced in / or shortly after and remaining little
changed down to the end of the classical period, the new system required each
phyle to furnish one of ten annually elected generals (strategoi), along with detachments of infantry and cavalry. While participation again was limited, likewise excluding members of the lowest wealth class, the thetes, who were too
poor to supply their own equipment, the new procedure for levying a citizen
army may well have been the rst such to be instituted in Athenian history.60
But why was the new system of demes, trittys, and tribes so remarkably
complex? Both at the level of the trittys and at that of the tribe, we can see a
degree of self-conscious manipulation that must be explained if we are to understand the larger rationale behind the reforms. We should look rst at the
trittyes.
While the majority of these entities were simply aggregates of demes from
the same general locality, modern research has revealed a number of striking
anomalies where one or two demes were located some considerable distance
away from the bulk of the demes in their trittys. To take a well-known instance,
the deme Probalinthos was not assigned along with Marathon, Trikorynthos,
and Oenoeits fellow members of the Marathonian Tetrapolisto the coastal
trittys of the tribe Aiantis, nor even to the adjacent coastal trittys of Aegeis;
rather, it was assigned to the trittys of Pandionis, which had its center at
Myrrhinous, far to the south. Such unnatural groupings can only have been
deliberate, and a variety of explanations for them have been proposed.61
Most would agree that there was some attempt here to neutralize the
inuence of the localist sentiment associated with cult organizations like
the Tetrapolis on national institutions, especially the new Council. Similarly,
the so-called TetrakomoiPiraeus, Phaleron, Thymaitadai, and Xypete
were distributed among three different tribes, while Hekale and Pallene, which
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served as signicant cult centers in their respective parts of Attica, were both
linked to trittyes far from their immediate localities. More problematic are attempts to relate this kind of gerrymandering directly to the Alcmeonids own
partisan political interests.62 Clearly, it may have damaged the ability of those
families who controlled the cults in question to draw political capital from their
position.63 But until we nd conclusive evidence that families hostile to the
Alcmeonids were singled out for such treatment, it is probably better to see
this institutional separation of elites from their traditional constituencies simply as part of a more general concern to limit the impact of local interests on
the political process.64
As for the suggestion, frequently made, that Cleisthenes sought to give
his family members a privileged position in the new order by having them
enroll in city demes that would give them a foothold in three different
tribesErechtheis (Agryle), Cecropis (Xypete), and Antiochis (Alopeke)
the case again is far from watertight. In Alopeke, where the main branch of
the Alcmeonids was enrolled, their fellow demesmen included a number of
other prominent families whose consistent support and friendship could not
necessarily be assumed, while both Xypete and Agryle were located some distance from the center of gravity in their respective trittyes.65 But in general,
we know far too little about the other families registered in these various
demes and trittyes to draw any rm conclusions, and we cannot even be sure
that the distribution of Cleisthenes family among demes of three different
tribes was not in fact a positive disadvantage, as is often presumed to have
been the case for other families or local organizations supposedly split up in
this fashion under the new system. At the same time, the assignment of the
coastal trittys that included Anaphlystos to Antiochis may well have helped
to reinforce Alcmeonid inuence over that one particular tribe, though if the
report that trittyes were assigned to tribes by lot (AP .) is correct, any
benet here will have been the result of good fortune rather than self-interested contrivance.
In any case, as Raaaub (a, ) points out, the wide consent apparently enjoyed by Cleisthenes reforms should caution us against looking too
hard for blatantly self-serving elements in their design.66 The inclusion of
such elements cannot be discounted, and few would deny that some form of
gerrymandering took place in the assignment of demes to trittyes. But to focus almost exclusively on a handful of anomalies (as some modern accounts
do) and reduce the reforms as a whole to an elaborate exercise in partisan politics is to ignore the overall architecture of the new system. The trittyes, after
all, were no more than an administrative convenience, devised only to bring
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the new tribes into existence. Hence, the rationale behind the unnatural
composition of some individual trittyes is essentially incidental or secondary
to the larger rationale behind the unusual decision to create all ten tribes from
three distinct units of population, one each from the city, the coast, and the
hinterland.
Turning to consider this larger rationale, we should clearly ask rst why the
tribes were not drawn simply from ten different subregions of Attica. Ancient
sources are of little help here; only two of them (AP .; Arist. Pol. b
) offer any kind of explanation, and their suggestion that the purpose was
merely to mix up [anameixai, anamisgesthai] the population of Attica raises
more questions than it answers. Part of the explanation, as has long been recognized, surely relates to a need to ensure that all tribes contained a contingent
from the city, where most politically experienced and inuential families were
concentrated.67 But why, then, were there three components in each tribe and
not merely two, one rural and one urban?
Most observers are agreed on the larger purpose at work here. This has been
variously expressed as an attempt to transcend local barriers . . . and to develop a sentiment of union and friendship [throughout Attica] (Hignett ,
), to restructure the regional community and give citizens from all over
the region a political or civic presence in Athenian public life (Meier ,
), or simply to encourage the unication of the state (Rhodes ,
). The view is perhaps best summarized by Ostwald (, ).
Each tribe contained . . . a cross-section of the whole of Attica, since
every region was represented in it. It embodied yet transcended the limits of locality, and will have helped each member of a tribal assembly to
view Attica as a whole. What regional differences there were could thus
be settled at tribal meetings, so that they would not surface on the state
level and cause the constitutional structure to be riven apart by disparate
local interests.
These explanations are surely along the right lines, but they all beg a further question: if Attica had long since been unied, as all seem to believe, why
was there still a need in the last decade of the sixth century to transcend local
barriers, to neutralize disparate local interests, to nurture sentiments of
union and friendship, to restructure the extended citizen community, and
to encourage the unication of the state? If all of these tasks were still to be
completed, how meaningful is it to speak of a united Attica before this point?
Even as late as /, it seems, the work of synoecism was far from over.68
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In view of the evidence presented in this chapter, it makes much better sense
to see Cleisthenes reforms not as a kind of reinforcement of a preexisting state
of unity but as the decisive step in the process of unication itself. As far as we
can tell, this was the rst systematic attempt to establish binding institutional
links between the center and the periphery and incorporate all of Attica formally within the Athenian polis. The result was less the restructuring of an old
political community than the creation of a new one.
Through the new demes, even the most far-ung inhabitants had immediate access to Athenian citizenship and were now, for the rst time, routinely
enrolled as full members of the polis community. At the same time, the new
tribes provided unprecedented, institutionally secure opportunities for all eligible males to participate directly in the political and military life of the city.
So, too, the tripartite composition of the phylai not only ensured that no tribe
fell prey to the interests of a single locality or subregion but also encouraged
all citizens to see themselves as part of a regionwide political community as
they rubbed shoulders with fellows from very different parts of Attica in the
new tribal assemblies, Council of , and national army.
We might see the Council itself as the cornerstone of the whole system, the
critical link between the center and the periphery, where the multiplicity of diverse local interests could be negotiated and resolved into a single national
agenda. The presence here of delegates from every locality in the peninsula
helped to guarantee that all constituencies, even those who were too busy or
lived too far from Athens to attend the Assembly, would always have a voice,
however indirect, in the deliberative process. Hence, the outcomes of this
process could with some reason be said to represent the collective will of the
entire community.
In the end, it seems that the unication of Attica did indeed take place on
two levels at once. The Athenian state nally extended its institutional reach
throughout the peninsula precisely by setting up the rst regular mechanism
for admitting the inhabitants of the periphery to Athenian citizenship.69 However, unication on the third level cannot have taken place overnight. While
the highly articial composition of the new tribes would certainly have paved
the way for an emerging pan-Attic collective consciousness, only time, shared
experience, and not a little active encouragement from the center would forge
this unusually large and diverse citizen body into a cohesive community of
Athenians. This process of identity construction will be a recurring focus in
future chapters as we look at a range of other innovations in public life that
were introduced over the subsequent two decades.
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Three problems remain, and all relate to our sources for the reforms. First,
it is true that neither Herodotus nor the author of AP directly associates Cleisthenes measures with the process of unication in Attica. However, this
difculty can be easily removed when we consider the extraordinary appeal of
the Thesean synoecism tradition. Not coincidentally, as we shall see in chapter , this tradition was probably invented in the last decade of the sixth century, precisely the time the new national order was rst established. And by the
time that Herodotus came to inquire about Athenian history, it would not be
surprising if the historical signicance of the reforms of / had been eclipsed
in the collective memory by the more resonant purported achievement of
Cleisthenes heroic predecessor.
Second, what evidence is there that the Athenian citizen body was substantially increasedperhaps even doubledin the late sixth century, as my reconstruction implies? Neither of our main sources describes a mass enfranchisement of rural citizens in their accounts of the reforms. However, to explain
Cleisthenes supposed enforcement of the use of new demotic titles in place of
patronymics, the author of AP (.) does refer to the enrollment of what he
must have thought were a substantial number of new citizens [neopolitai] at
this time. He is distinctly vague about the identity of these individuals, though
he presumably equated them with those described elsewhere (.) as men of
impure descent [hoi to i genei me katharoi], who were apparently deprived of
citizenship following a review [diapsephismos] held shortly after the expulsion of the Peisistratids. Meanwhile, with similar vagueness, Aristotle (Pol.
b) tells us that Cleisthenes enfranchised many free and unfree resident aliens [pollous . . . ephuleteuse xenous kai doulous metoikous].
Perhaps the only safe conclusion we can draw from these notoriously
problematic passages is that the number of neopolitai enrolled in / was
large; this is stated as a fact in one source and clearly implied in the other.
We then have to wonder what so many resident aliens or men of impure
descent were doing in Athens at this time. As others have noted, the most
likely candidates for this status are the immigrant craftsmen apparently lured
to Athens by Solon (see Plut. Sol. .) and the former mercenaries employed
by the Peisistratids. But surely the numbers of men involved in either case
would not have been particularly signicant. If, then, our sources
identication of these new citizens as resident aliens is probably no more than
an assumption based on knowledge of later practice, who exactly did comprise the large group of neopolitai apparently enrolled in the late sixth century? If, as I have argued, it was only at this point that inhabitants of rural
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Attica were rst routinely registered as Athenian citizens, the question would
then have a very neat answer.70
Third, while neither of our main sources for Cleisthenes reforms equates
the measures with the synoecism of Attica, both associate them rmly with the
evolution of democracy in Athens,71 but it is hardly self-evident how the reforms as they describe them might have brought about this particular outcome.
This problem needs to be addressed in somewhat greater depth. In chapter ,
I will look in more detail at the politics of the regime that governed the newly
united Attica, before drawing conclusions about the overall motivations behind the transformation of /.
There can be little doubt that Athens had been the dominant settlement in Attica for some centuries before the Cleisthenes reforms. We can certainly believe
that the city and its surrounding region throughout this time enjoyed an unusually close relationship, resulting in regular contacts of various kinds and quite
a high level of cultural homogeneity between the two. But none of these factors
presupposes the full political integration of the entire peninsula or makes this
process a foregone conclusion. Not until the Peisistratid period do we see the
rst tentative attempts to establish the kind of de jure institutional links necessary to make unication a political reality. But the success of these efforts was
apparently very limited. If the arguments presented in this chapter are plausible, we cannot meaningfully speak of a functionally united Attica before /.
Even at this late date, it still required an institutional apparatus of unprecedented complexity and sophistication to overcome enduring impediments to
unication and transform the Athenian polis from a city-state into a fully integrated region-state, a polity far larger than any hitherto seen in the Greek world.
Greg Anderson
2
IN SEARCH OF
POPUL AR GOVERNMENT
If the unification of attica was ultimately a more complex and problematic process than is usually recognized, the Athenians themselves preferred
to gloss over any untidy or inconvenient details. The tradition of the Thesean
synoecism reduced the process to a straightforward bureaucratic act in the distant past, and no one, it seems, ever saw the need to challenge this version of
events. By contrast, there was not always such easy unanimity about that other
momentous chapter in Athenian political history, the evolution of democracy.
While it was generally accepted that demokratia was the traditional mode
of government (patrios politeia) in Athens, the precise nature of the original
demokratia became a matter of heated dispute at certain points in the classical
period. If dened in its most basic sense as the collective control of the state
by the demos, or people, the idea was of course open to some breadth of interpretation according to how the notions of control and demos were dened.
And as rival groups competed to establish their own particular political visions
as the true descendant of ancestral democracy, more than one account of the
origins of demokratia in the state inevitably emerged.
Needless to say, memory of constitutional developments, like any other
form of collective memory in classical Athens, was all too easily manipulated
to t the needs of the present. It is therefore essential to allow for this instability of constitutional memory when we confront ancient opinions about the
role played by Cleisthenes reforms in the story of Athenian democracy. After
43
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all, even the earliest of these opinions (that of Herodotus) was recorded at least
seventy or eighty years after the event. And we should remember that the reforms themselves were passed at a time when Greek historiography was still
some way short of its infancy, and at a time when it was still not yet standard
practice to keep permanent records of the business transacted by the Athenian
state.1 So most if not all of our literary testimony for the political changes of
/ derives ultimately from an oral tradition that was less than reliable. Regarding the specic details of the tribal reform, discussed in the previous chapter, our sources dependence on oral material probably had little effect on the
quality of their testimony, since it would have been easy for authors to esh
out their accounts with inferences from contemporary practice. But on larger
questions, such as the overall historical signicance of Cleisthenes measures
and their impact on the development of democracy, ancient authors are likely
to be less helpful. An informed judgment on such issues will have required not
only a clear understanding of what transpired in / but also a sound working knowledge of political arrangements in even earlier eras, a level of knowledge that was perhaps already unattainable by the time that the likes of Herodotus and Thucydides began work on their texts.
Turning, then, to our own inquiry into the contribution of Cleisthenes reforms to the history of popular government in Athens, it seems appropriate to
begin by looking in a little more detail at the problems presented by our primary sources. Here, we should try in particular to get a sense of the different
oral accounts of Athenian constitutional history that were circulating in the
later fth and fourth centuries, accounts that may well have inuenced how
contemporary writers chose to characterize Cleisthenes achievement.
DEMOCRACY AND MEMORY
Among the relatively small number of ancient authors who refer to Cleisthenes,
there appears to be a general consensus on both the content and the larger historical signicance of his reforms: they were associated in some way with development of democracy in Athens; and their most important provision was
for the creation of the intricate system of demes, trittyes, and tribes that was
to become such a familiar feature of Athenian public life. As a rule, scholars
have been inclined to accept both of these claims at face value and have then
attempted to identify some kind of causal relationship between the two. Many
believe that we can nd anticipations of popular rule in earlier times. But the
general consensus, found in most textbooks, is that Cleisthenes measures in
fact marked the effective birth of democracy in Athens, and that the main ev-
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In Search of Popular Government
45
idence for this conclusion is to be found somewhere in the details of the new
tribal system. The conclusion itself may well be correct, but this use of the
sources is problematic, for at least two reasons.
To begin with, even our most informative sourcesHerodotus and
APare disappointingly vague on the question of how exactly Cleisthenes
tribal system made Athens more democratic. And it must be admitted that
the nature of any such causal relationship remains less than self-evident.2
Granted, as two of our sources (AP.; Arist. Pol. b) maintain,
the system involved some mixing up of rich and poor in the demes and
tribes. In the demes in particular, political life does seem to have been somewhat egalitarian from the very beginning, with even the very poorest citizens
entitled to the same rights and privileges as any of their more distinguished
brethren.3 But the primary purpose of this mixing seems to have been to
generate a stronger sense of common interest and purpose within the citizen
community as a whole. And here, as we saw in chapter , the simple need to
overcome physical distances between citizens was at least as urgent as the
need to soften distinctions of wealth and status. In any case, it is hard to see
how the presence of different socioeconomic groups within each tribe will
have made the political process in Athens itself more democratic. Mixing
may have left some mark on the composition of the Council of , but it
will have had no direct, tangible impact on any other organ of the central
government.
Alternatively, some modern authorities believe it is possible to detect a
broadly democratic sensibility in the geography of Cleisthenes tribal system.
By distributing the members of powerful families or local cult organizations
among the trittyes of different tribes, the new order, it is held, will have diminished the ability of the elite to exploit these traditional sources of support
in the national political arena, or at least in the new Council of .4 There
may be a measure of truth to this claim, though we know of too few certain
instances of such manipulation to conclude that the tribal system as a whole
was inherently democratic, even in this very limited sense. Besides, we might
reasonably expect any democratic reforms worthy of the name to be more concerned with raising the level of political rights and opportunities for poorer citizens than with simply trimming back those previously held only by the rich.
Certainly citizens of the hoplite class were an integral part of the new order.
Yet, as noted in the previous chapter, it is highly unlikely that those of the thete
class would have had any part to play in either the Council of or the citizen army, the very institutions whose organizational basis the new tribes were
expressly designed to provide.
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In short, the tribal reform would seem to be a strangely oblique way of realizing democracy in the Athenian state. This cannot have been its larger purpose. We may be able to identify some degree of leveling in the new system,
even a trace of egalitarianism. But this would not have made the reform democratic as such, unless we maintain a rather loose denition of the term
demokratia. We shall return to this question of denition shortly.
In the meantime, our sources present another serious problem for those
who contend that Cleisthenes instituted democracy through the tribal reform.
For a mountain of impressive inferences and suppositions cannot hide the fact
that only one ancient author, in a single statement, comes close to claiming
that Cleisthenes actually was the founder of Athenian democracy. This author
is Herodotus, and the statement (..), surprisingly, does not come at the
point in his text where the tribal reform is explicitly discussed. Instead, we nd
it tucked away near the end of the following book after the colorful account of
the events that led to the marriage of Cleisthenes parents, Megacles II and
Agariste of Sikyon. In the standard translation, it reads as follows.
Of this union was born Cleisthenes, the man who established the tribes
and the democracy for the Athenians [ho tas phulas kai ten demokratien
Athenaioisi katastesas], and who was named after his maternal grandfather, [Cleisthenes] the Sikyonian [tyrant].
At rst sight, the statement seems straightforward enough. The only problem is that even this testimony may not be saying quite what we would like it
to say. The difculty comes with the all-important verb form [katastesas],
which could mean established (from scratch), but could also mean simply
set in order, or even reestablished, implying that democracy had already
existed in some form in Athens at some earlier time. And regarding the other
object governed by this verb (the tribes), these alternative translations would
certainly be more appropriate, since Herodotus makes it clear elsewhere
(..) that he saw Cleisthenes ten phylai as a reorganization of the existing
-tribe system, not as something entirely new. Sadly, what we do not nd elsewhere is a denitive statement about the kind of political arrangements, which
the author believed had prevailed in Athens before the Peisistratid tyranny. In
the absence of such conrmation, Herodotus intent in .. must for now
remain unclear. We will be in a better position to clarify his meaning at the end
of chapter , when evidence adduced during the course of this study should
help us to settle the issue with some nality.
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So if Cleisthenes was not widely seen by the ancients as the founder of

Athenian democracy, who did they think was responsible? Two different claims
about the origins of popular government in Athens seem to have been current
in the classical period.
The more tendentious of the two probably entered circulation in the late fth
century, emerging during the period of domestic turmoil that followed the disastrous demise of the Athenian campaign in Sicily in . It seems to have been
a product of an ongoing debate over the nature of the traditional mode of government (patrios politeia) in Athens. This was a debate waged initially between
supporters of the current, radical democratic (demotic) regime and the followers of Theramenes, who sought to replace it with what amounted to a moderate form of oligarchy. The latter group briey prevailed, and in Cleitophons
rider to the decree of Pythodorus that established the short-lived regime of the
Four Hundred in B.C. (AP .), we nd an injunction to seek out as guidance the traditional laws [tous patrious nomous] drafted by Cleisthenes when,
again in the standard translation, he established the democracy [kathiste ten
demokratian]. According to AP, the rationale here was that this democratic constitution associated with Cleisthenes was not radical [ou demotiken] but similar to that of Solon [paraplesian . . . tei Solo nos]. If this statement reects arguments that were actually made at the time of the decree, it would constitute
our earliestalbeit obliqueevidence, for the claim that the poet-lawgiver
Solon was actually the author of some form of democracy, since he is not explicitly characterized as a constitutional reformer in any source written before
this time.5 As for Cleisthenes role in this scheme, it is clear enough from the
context that he was seen not as the original founder of democracy but merely as
the man who restored it after the Peisistratid tyranny. Hence, we should probably emend the standard translation of the text of Cleitophons rider in AP ..
In this instance, the verb kathiste, a form of the very same verb (kathistemi) used
earlier by Herodotus to describe Cleisthenes contribution to Athenian democracy, must mean reestablished not established (from scratch).
The claim that Solon was in some sense the founder of Athenian democracy would prove to be extremely durable. In an effort to counter the force of
this new historical charter for the constitution preferred by the Therameneans,
supporters of radical democracy ultimately devised a very similar precedent for
their very own version of demokratia. Following the restoration of this demotic democracy after the fall of the Thirty Tyrants in , it was resolved in
a decree proposed by Teisamenos (see Andoc. .) that inter alia the polis
be governed according to traditional precedent [kata ta patria], and be sub-
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ject to the laws [nomoi] of Solon, with some role even foreseen for the ordinances [thesmoi] of Draco. Thus, whatever the actual historical achievement of Cleisthenes, it was Solon who came to be celebrated as the preeminent
democratic reformer and Athenian historys rst true champion of the
people.6
But assuming that Solon was not cast in this role until the later fth century, how were the origins of democracy in Athens understood before this time?
According to the earliest unambiguous testimony for a founder gure, the
Athenians apparently believed that the rst steps toward popular government
had been taken long before the times of Solon and Cleisthenes, back during
the reign of the legendary king Theseus. Perhaps nurtured in the less partisan,
more imaginary realm of state funeral orations, the beginnings of this tradition are very hard to pin down. But it was certainly current by the s, when
it is rst visible to us in the Suppliants of Euripides (esp. ). Thereafter,
it is attested more frequently, appearing implicitly or explicitly in a number of
fourth-century sources, and it seems even to have inuenced Thucydides conception of the early Athenian state.7
How then did the Athenians of the fourth-century reconcile memories of
three different moments of political rupturethose associated with Theseus,
Solon, and Cleisthenesand organize them into a single coherent narrative?
The best-attested reconstructions of early Athenian constitutional history from
this time are found in AP and in the works of the reactionary pamphleteer
Isocrates.
In the rst part of AP (..) we nd a highly nuanced, if not always accurate or consistent overview of Athenian political developments down to
B.C., concluding (.) with a summary of eleven successive changes of government [metabolai] identied by the author. The second of these is characterized
as shifting slightly away from absolute monarchy [mikron parenklinousa te s
basilike s] under Theseus, though the eventual abolition of the monarchy is not
included in the scheme. What then follows represents something of a compromise between the demotic and oligarchic versions of constitutional history.
Thus, after a probable interpolation concerning the supposed constitution
of Draco, the third change comes when Solon lays down the foundation of
democracy [arkhe demokratias]. However, we learn from elsewhere in the text
(.) that this development involved only limited gains for ordinary citizens,
the most demotic [de motiko tata] reforms being a ban on taking loans on the
security of the body, the right for anyone who so wished to seek legal redress,
and the right to appeal a legal decision in a dikasterion. Meanwhile, in the fth
change it is left to Cleisthenes to revive the democracy after the fall of the Pei-
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sistratid tyranny and give it a much more radical character (cf. .). Although
further steps in this direction would be taken by Aristides and Ephialtes in the
seventh change in the sequence, the author of AP clearly felt (.) that the decisive shift towards radical democracy had already occurred decades earlier,
when Cleisthenes won over the demos by handing over control of the state to
the people [prose gageto ton de mon, apodidous to i ple thei te n politeian].8
An altogether less nuanced and more partisan synthesis of constitutional
history is found among the copious writings of Isocrates. More concerned to
inuence contemporary affairs than the author of AP, Isocrates was inspired by
a nostalgic longing for what he thought was the traditional constitution of the
past, arguing throughout his career for its revival and the abandonment of the
degenerate constitution of his own day. Though his preferred regime is repeatedly described as democracy, it in fact resembles nothing more than the
kind of moderate oligarchy once favored by the Therameneans.
As for the history of this avowedly aristocratic version of democracy, he
imagined it had been rst introduced to Athens not less than a thousand
years earlier at the time of Theseus (cf. ., ). But the real hero of the
story for Isocrates seems to have been Solon, described as a champion of the
people, whom he credits with nally writing this constitution into law. Cleisthenes, too, is presented in a very positive light. However, unlike in AP, he is
not seen as any kind of innovator, his achievement being rather to restore the
Solonian regime after liberating Athens from the Peisistratid tyrants. For
Isocrates, therefore, it was not until well after the reforms of / that the constitution rst began to be tainted by demotic elements, the ultimate result
being the debased form of popular government all too familiar to his fourthcentury contemporaries.9
Whatever the differences of detail between these two reconstructions, the
overall scheme in each is similar. In both, it is Theseus who makes the rst
signicant move toward popular government, but Solon who makes this commitment essentially irrevocable by writing democracy into law. Both charter
traditions were thus accommodated into a single satisfying narrative. As for
Cleisthenes, his role was simply to restore Solons political arrangements after
their abandonment by the Peisistratids. Dispute remained only on the question of whether he gave democracy a more radical avor in the process.
We should of course like to know better what others in the fourth century
came to believe about Athenian constitutional history, especially Atthidographers like Cleidemus and Androtion. But in so far as we can recover an
ofcial version of events, it does not seem to have diverged signicantly from
the overall pattern found in Isocrates and AP.10 While, for obvious reasons, the
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state may have placed more emphasis on the achievements of Theseus than on
those of Solon, the contributions of both were deemed worthy of public celebration. Thus, extant fourth-century funeral orations routinely appeal to the
ancestral democracy of the heroic past, and there was probably an allusion to
the foundational moment of this democracy in a mural executed in ca. by
Euphranor in the Stoa of Zeus Eleutherios. Here, in the rst known monumental commemoration of an event in the earliest, formative phase of Athenian constitutional history, the artist conspicuously juxtaposed a Theseus gure with personied images of Demos and Demokratia. But equally conspicuously, when, at
some point before the early s, a decision was made to memorialize the achievements of a more recent constitutional reformer, it was Solon who was honored
with a free-standing bronze statue in front of the Stoa Poikile in the Agora.11
There was then, it seems, a broad consensus about the outlines of Athenian constitutional history by the fourth century, with individual writers generally echoing the ofcial line, namely that democracy was no recent, progressive innovation but an almost timeless feature of the Athenian cultural
landscape. The achievements of Cleisthenes, meanwhile, were now seen as no
more than a footnote in the larger story of the Athenian state. His decisive role
in the political unication of Attica was eclipsed by the synoecism tradition,
and his contribution to the cause of popular government was judged to be a
more or less straightforward revival of practices initiated by others. And since
Cleisthenes was never accorded the kind of permanent public recognition that
was lavished so freely upon Theseus and Solon in the classical era, interest in
the Alcmeonid declined appreciably thereafter.12 Apparently the only monument to him still visible when Pausanias came to record the sights of Athens
in the second century A.D. was a grave memorial in the state cemetery in the
Kerameikos. The travel writer (..) passes over it in about half a sentence,
noting merely that Cleisthenes was the man responsible for the present
arrangement of the tribes. And it comes as no surprise when Pausanias implies elsewhere in his text that even this limited achievement would no longer
have been common knowledge among his readers.13
We shall have more to say in due course about the formation of a shared
constitutional memory in Athens (see especially chapter ). For now it is
enough to observe that the vagaries of this memory in the classical period, alluded to above, make it extremely difcult to assess the historical contribution
of Cleisthenes reforms to democracy in Athens. Even the earliest and most reliable of our ancient guides were forced to depend to a great extent on an oral
tradition that was all too vulnerable to the inuence of political expediency and
patriotic fancy. Most if not all of them may therefore have made assumptions
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and inferences that are fundamentally awed, requiring us to exercise unusual

levels of caution and skepticism when handling their accounts. Perhaps the ancients were correct in their view that Cleisthenes did little more than reassemble an older order dismantled by the Peisistratids, though we cannot assume
that they were. Whatever the case, our sources understandably show greater interest in the more illustrious achievements of Theseus and Solon. And their relative lack of interest in the Alcmeonid raises a further problem that is both
more straightforward and far harder to overcome, namely, the paltry quantity
of information that has come down to us about the career of Cleisthenes, the
content of his reforms, and their historical context.
Still, these problems need not be insurmountable. As I hope to show in the
remainder of this chapter, there are other kinds of evidence on which we can
draw to compensate for the shortcomings of our main literary sources and
complete our picture of Cleisthenes reforms. But rst, we should clarify an
important semantic issue raised earlier.
What exactly did demokratia mean in the Athenian context? To speak of
the term as if it referred to a single, monolithic idea seems unhelpful, not to
mention unrealistic. Ancient and modern authors use the word with such latitude that it is probably preferable to think of a continuum of meaning along
which at some point we must locate the contribution of Cleisthenes reforms.
At one extreme, we have the regime described in AP and elsewhere as demotic democracy, with its sovereign citizen Assembly (ekklesia), powerful
mass-jury courts (dikasteria), routine public scrutiny and review of all state
ofcials, payment for jurors and magistrates, and use of the lottery in the selection of most ofceholders. Under this radically egalitarian system, almost all
distinctions in privilege between rich and poor would, in theory at least, be
eliminated. But what were the bare minimum requirements for democracy? In
other words, where does the continuum begin?
This question continues to be the object of an ongoing and vigorous debate, since the way we choose to answer it determines, in large part, where we
locate the decisive break in the evolutionary progression from an older, more
aristocratic form of government toward a genuinely popular regime in Athens.
While some are content to equate the emergence of democracy with the rst
signs that nonelite citizens are playing a meaningful role in the political process,
others insist that a regime cannot truly be described as democratic until it features at least some of the more obviously egalitarian practices mentioned above,
such as the selection of ofceholders by lottery.14
Of these two points of discontinuity, the former is clearly the more historically signicant, marking the moment of irreversible shift from a state in which
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the deliberative process is conducted largely by elites in camera to one in which

nonelite citizens rst begin to contribute to major political decisions on a regular basis. Dening this moment in the Athenian context requires the fulllment of two conditions: the Assembly must have acquired ultimate authority
over key matters of policy and legislation from the institutions that hitherto
dominated the state, the archons and the Areopagus; and all citizens must be
allowed to attend, speak, and vote in meetings of the Assembly, so that its resolutions can be deemed to represent the will of the entire demos, regardless of
the numbers and class identity of those actually in attendance on any given occasion. Whether or not these conditions match all of our own criteria for
democracy, they would seem to fulll the minimum requirements for
demokratia, that is, the claim that the demos collectively ruled in Athens. However, to avoid confusion and contention, I will refer to this scenario by the less
loaded term popular government.
DEMOS AND ASSEMBLY UNDER THE NEW ORDER
Is there then any evidence to associate Cleisthenes reforms with the elevation
of the Assembly to supremacy in the state? Though the accounts of Herodotus
and AP contain no explicit notice of any overall change in the powers and competence of the ekklesia with respect to those of other institutions, there are several hints in these sources that the Assembly did assume a far more prominent
position in Athenian political life after the reforms and that this was part of a
greater emphasis on collective (over individual) authority in the new order.15
First, there are the circumstances of the introduction of the reforms themselves. It seems beyond doubt that Cleisthenes, in his capacity as a private citizen, proposed the measures in the form of a psephisma (resolution to be voted on)
presented for ratication in the Assembly. Both sources emphasize the critical role
played by the support of the demos in the passage of the reforms, and it is hard
to imagine how this support could have had any meaningful political impact unless it was expressed institutionally, in the ekklesia. Since Herodotus elsewhere
uses the word demos in effect as a synonym for the Athenian ekklesia (e.g.,
.., ..), he may be alluding to this specic procedure when he tells us,
in the crucial phrase, that Cleisthenes won the demos over to his side [ton
demon prosetairizetai] (..). In any case, it seems likely that ratication in the
Assembly was thereafter required to make binding any new item of legislation.16
But was this the rst time that the ekklesia had provided the ultimate sanction for a resolution of such far-reaching signicance? We cannot know the an-
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swer to this question for sure and shortly will look at evidence for its role under earlier regimes in Athens.
Second, our sources mention another Cleisthenic innovation that seems to
hint at a greater role in the new order for ordinary citizens and for the Assembly in particular: the introduction of the practice of ostracism (see AP ., ),
whereby one political leader a year could be expelled from Attica without loss
of citizens rights for a period of ten years.17 Whatever the original stated purpose of the procedure, it clearly would have helped to ensure the accountability of leaders to the citizen body as a whole, since the right to call a vote on
whether to hold an ostracism was reserved exclusively for the Assembly and since
a quorum of six thousand citizens was required for the procedure to be initiated
in any given year. Even if ostracism was not actually used for the rst time until some twenty years later, the very existence of such a mechanism strongly suggests that the collective will of the demos was now held to take precedence, at
least nominally, over the will of any particular individual, however inuential.18
Third, possible evidence that citizens of all social backgrounds were now
actively encouraged to participate in the deliberations of the Assembly comes
in another passage of Herodotus (.). Having just described the sudden
upturn in Athenian fortunes on the battleeld that followed soon after Cleisthenes reform of the state, the historian directly associates this newfound
military prowess with the political transformation, in particular with isegoria
literally, the equal right of all citizens to address the Assembly. While, in the
context of this passage, the meaning of the term is clearly generalized to suggest a broader idea of equality or freedom (i.e., from the rule of a tyrant),
some have concluded that Herodotus is also using isegoria in its narrower sense
here, as one of the signature innovations of the new order.19 If so, this concern
to make the ekklesia more representative of the entire citizen body can be taken
as a further sign of a new emphasis on collective (over individual) responsibility for decision making in the Athenian state as a whole.
Finally, we have the creation of the boule, or Council of (see AP .)
at rst sight, perhaps the best available evidence for the Assemblys enhanced
role under the new order. Though, in its earliest phase, the council was probably limited in function to probouleusis (the drafting of motions for deliberation in the ekklesia), that there was even a need for such a body, let alone one
of this size, is obviously indicative of the large volume and signicance of the
business that was now to be transacted in the Assembly.
But here we run into another problem confronted by those who would
trace the rise of popular government in Athens to the transformation of /.
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For there is some evidence that a very similar kind of probouleutic council had
been operating in Athens since the time of Solon, which suggests that the
ekklesia had already acquired a prominent, if not dominant, position in the
state more than eighty years before Cleisthenes rst proposed his reforms.
Again, this evidence will be examined more closely in due course, when we
come to look at earlier political arrangements in the city.
In the meantime, if we turn our attention away from the accounts of Herodotus and AP and look further aeld, we nd a range of other testimony from
the time of the reforms and the years immediately following that seems to corroborate our ndings so far. In the rst place, it can hardly be a coincidence
that spacious new quarters for both the Assembly and Council were constructed in ca. B.C. As we shall see in chapter , these structures were to
form the centerpieces of a new civic center created at this time in the area of
the Agora. While the Council was to be housed in a handsome columnar building in the Agora itself, the ekklesia would henceforth meet in a specially modeled theatral area located on the nearby Pnyx hill. This site, containing space
sufcient to seat around ve thousand citizens even in its earliest phase, clearly
presupposes a deliberative process in which mass participation would be a key
ingredient. It is unfortunate, but perhaps also revealing, that not a single memory or physical trace survives of any predecessor to either structure.
The practice of recording the decrees of the Assembly in permanent form,
a sure index of this bodys growing stature within the state, may also have been
introduced in the immediate aftermath of Cleisthenes reforms. Not a single
document of this kind survives among the large number of Athenian inscriptions we have from earlier times, nor is there any reference in our written
sources to decrees that will have been published before /. Probably the earliest known instance is a fragmentary decree recovered from the Acropolis (IG
I3 ) that appears to include instructions to the governor [arkho n] of Salamis
on the administration of Athenian settlers, or cleruchs, on the island. The letter forms on the document allow a date anywhere between and , and
some would place it toward the lower end of this time frame. But if, as Meiggs
and Lewis (, ) have suggested, it in fact belongs to the brief period
between Cleisthenes reforms and the Athenian defeat of the Chalcidians in ca.
, we would have good reason to see the publication of Assembly decrees as
an innovation of the new order.
The content of the Salamis decree is also revealing. Like all future documents of this kind, it describes itself as a resolution not of the ekklesia but of
the demos itself. Thus, whatever the reality of the numbers and backgrounds
of those present on the Pnyx on this or any future occasion, each deliberative
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outcome is now ofcially claimed to embody the will of the citizen body as a
whole, again suggesting a new concern to present the political process in
Athens as a collective undertaking and to assert the Assemblys role as its primary conduit.20 Some indication of the extent of the powers enjoyed by the
ekklesia can also be seen in the subject matter of this and another early decree
(IG I3 ), a set of regulations from / that concerns the management of the
Hekatompedon precinct on the Acropolis. Evidently, if an Assembly vote was
now routinely required to ratify legislation on matters as diverse as the settlement of cleruchs and the conduct of ofcials and citizens at a major cult site,
its competence was extremely wide-ranging. But perhaps most important of
all, as Ostwald (, ) notes, the two decrees reveal that [t]he people as a
whole, nobles and commoners, now gave directions to magistrates.
Meanwhile, evidence for a more fundamental revaluation of the authority
of the Assembly within the state may be visible in a fragmentary inscription
from the late fth century (IG I3 ) that is widely believed to be a republication of measures enacted sometime during the period between the reforms
of Cleisthenes and those of Ephialtes in /. What survives appears to be a
document dening the powers of the Council of relative to those of the
ekklesia, including a list of matters of state where no nal action can be taken
without [ratication by] a full meeting of the demos of the Athenians.21 The
document appears to describe how the Assembly holds ultimate jurisdiction
over such critical areas as the declaration of war and the conclusion of peace
(), as well as (perhaps sitting as the Heliaia) the imposition of the death
penalty in certain circumstances () and of thoai, nes for offenses whose nature remains unclear (). If we combine this evidence with the testimony
of literary sources, a case can be made that at least two of these powers were
exercised by the demos as early as the s.
First, it emerges that the right of the demos (whether as ekklesia or Heliaia)
to inict the death penalty may have been exercised in conjunction with a
broader authority over serious crimes against the state. The case has been argued in some detail by Ostwald (, ), who examines the evidence for
six political trials concerning ve prominent individuals, from that of the tragedian Phrynichus in / to that of Cimon in . In each instance, it appears
that the nal verdict was delivered by a popular body, described variously as
the demos, the Athenians, or a law court (dikasterion). Presumably, this
body deliberated after an initial hearing before the Areopagus, since the latter
had apparently been given exclusive jurisdiction over trials of this kind by
Solon (see AP .). Ostwald (, ) concludes that a new stipulation,
whereby any crime against the state that would incur a serious penalty had to
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be referred for nal consideration before a mass tribunal believed to embody

the collective will of the demos, was introduced either by Cleisthenes himself
or soon after his reforms.22
Second, we have good evidence that as early as B.C., the Assembly was
already playing a decisive role in declarations of war and the determination of
what we would consider foreign policy. When, at that time, Artaphernes, the
Persian satrap at Sardis, demanded that the Athenians take back Hippias or face
the consequences, it was resolved [ededokto] by the Athenians, says Herodotus (..), to become open enemies of the Persians. And when, shortly afterward, Aristagoras of Miletus came to persuade the Athenians to join the Ionian revolt against Persia, Herodotus (.) explicitly states that he made his
appeal to the demos [epi ton demon]. Dispelling any doubt that the mention
of the demos in this instance refers to the Assembly, Herodotus then tells how
the Milesian, upon securing the support he sought, playfully remarked how
much more successful his entreaty had been with thirty thousand Athenians
than it had with one single Spartan, King Cleomenes, on an earlier occasion.
Herodotus concludes the episode by noting that it was the Athenians [hoi
Athenaioi] who voted [epsephisanto] to send the fateful twenty ships to Ionia,
thus conrming that the ekklesia was now ultimately responsible not only for receiving the appeals of foreign emissaries and making declarations of war but also
for determining the details of the military response to any given situation.
As a nal indication of a general shift toward collective popular rule under
the new order, we might briey note a contemporary change in nomenclature.
Ostwald (, ) has traced to the late sixth century the displacement
of the term thesmos by nomos as the word for statute in ofcial parlance, and
he suggests that this change reects a fundamental reconceptualization of the
legislative process in Athens, whereby laws were seen no longer as imposed
from above but as accepted by common consent. As Ostwald puts it elsewhere (, ),
Just as the law on ostracism was contrived to let the people as a whole
decide which of two major policies was to be adopted by temporarily
banishing from the political scene the most prominent spokesman of
one of them, so the disappearance of thesmos from the ofcial vocabulary of the new constitution indicates that imposition of laws by a ruling class was to give way to laws ratied by popular acceptance.
In sum, there are many indications in the historical record for the late sixth
century that the signicance of the citizen Assembly within the Athenian state
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was substantially increased in / and the years immediately following. The

authors of our main literary sources do not talk about this transformation in
as many words. Indeed, it seems that they were largely unaware of any such
change. But hints in their texts, along with a variety of circumstantial evidence
from elsewhere, do suggest that a fundamental shift of political gravity away
from the archons and Areopagus and toward the Assembly took place at this
time. As part of a broader emphasis on collective (over individual) responsibility in the management of the state, resolutions on most if not all major items
of policy and legislation now required ratication in the ekklesia. And while
this far-reaching competence would be extended still further in the years to
come, especially after the reforms of Ephialtes in /, it looks very much like
the Assembly had already become the primary arena of political engagement
in Athens by the end of the sixth century. Henceforth, all aspiring politicians
would have to defend their programs and agendas before an audience of thousands on the Pnyx, and henceforth their success would be measured in popular votes. With politicians thus accountable to their fellow citizens on an almost continual basis, and with all resolutions of the Assembly deemed to
represent the will of the entire demos, it seems that popular government now
held sway in Athens.23
But just how sudden or dramatic was this elevation of the Assembly to supremacy in the state? Much of the evidence I have discussed suggests that this
was indeed a wholly new departure and that nonelite citizens before /
played little part in the political process. But many modern authorities believe
that some form of popular government predated the reforms of Cleisthenes,
and some, notably Wallace (), have argued that demokratia itself was already in place more than eighty years earlier, seeing it as a direct outcome of
measures introduced by Solon. To reach a more informed judgment on the historical signicance of the developments of the late sixth century, we clearly
need to examine these claims and look in more detail at earlier political
arrangements in Athens.
THE SOLONIAN STATE
The problems in our sources for Solonian interventions in the political domain
are again formidable. Aside from what he tells us in his own poems, almost
everything we know about Solon as a political and legal reformer comes from
the fourth century or later. By this time, any items of legislation passed before
the republications of the late fth century were referred to generically as laws
of Solon, making it hard for our sources to distinguish the authentic from the
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inauthentic Solonian measures.24 Moreover, if, as we noted earlier, he was not

widely viewed as a signicant agent of political change until ca. B.C., we
might have further cause to suspect the authenticity of the various constitutional reforms with which he is later credited.25 That said, for the purposes of
discussion, we should grant our sources some benet of the doubt and assume
that at least some of the laws they describe were genuinely Solonian, whether
deriving ultimately from the wooden axones in the Prytaneion (see Paus. ..;
Plut. Sol. .), the stone kurbeis in the Stoa Basileios (see AP .), Nicomachuss republications in the late fth century, or from some other public
document.
We might start by noting two developments of very broad signicance for
the evolution of Athenian political life that Solon almost certainly did encourage. First, if even a very small portion of the individual laws credited to
him are correctly assigned, it seems fair to associate Solon with an increasing
willingness on the part of the state to intervene in areas previously considered
private. For example, his laws regulating marriage and the begetting of children (see Manville , n. ), his economic prescriptions concerning exports (see Plut. Sol. .) and weights and measures (see AP ), and his formal
instructions for the conduct of religious ceremonies suggest an overall concern
with dening what we would consider a public domain. Nevertheless, as a salutary reminder that this process of denition was still very much in its infancy,
it is worth pointing out that not a single extant documentary inscription from
before B.C. records an item of business enacted in the name of the the
Athenians, let alone the demos of the Athenians.26 Even the Acropolis dedications from ca. that are generally associated with the administration of
the Great Panathenaia (see Raubitschek , nos. ), the most important single occasion in Athenian public life, appear to have been offered by private individuals in their own names.
Second, as Manville (, esp. ) has shown persuasively, a range of
Solonian measures imply the establishment of some kind of criteria for determining who was and who was not an Athenian citizen.27 Here too, however,
we should not suppose that the procedures involved were necessarily as comprehensive and systematic as they would become after /. Very little is
known about the administration of citizenship before the reforms of Cleisthenes, and for reasons outlined in chapter , it seems unlikely that individuals who lived beyond the plain of Athens were yet routinely enrolled into the
Athenian citizen community.28 But our chief interest here is in the political
content of citizenship at this time. What role, if any, did nonelite citizens play
in the political process?
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Our primary accounts of Solonian constitutional arrangements are found

in AP (), Aristotles Politics (ba), and Plutarchs Life of Solon
(), the rst and last of which credit Solon with a range of political innovations, introduced presumably around the time of his archonship, /.29
Unfortunately for our purposes, neither AP nor Plutarch says anything about
the competence of the citizen Assembly at this time, while Aristotle tells us that
its functions were merely to choose magistrates and call them to account [tas
arkhas haireisthai kai euthunein].30 We do, however, learn that Solon introduced a Council of , [made up of ] a hundred from each [Ionian] tribe
(AP .; cf. ., .), whose function was to prepare the business of the Assembly (Plut. Sol. .). Since the very need for such a body implies that the
Assembly met regularly and played a meaningful role in the conduct of state
business, these reports, if accurate, would constitute very strong evidence that
a form of popular government was in operation in Athens long before the reforms of Cleisthenes.
In the absence of any other straightforward evidence, the veracity of these
reports comes to assume considerable importance. Most observers, it seems,
are content to accept them at face value and suppose that a predecessor of the
Cleisthenic ekklesia/boule complex inuenced the deliberative process in
Athens as far back as the early sixth century, perhaps serving as a kind of counterweight to the archons and Areopagus, which were still exclusive preserves of
the elite. Others remain more skeptical, and though their arguments are often
dismissed as extreme, the overall case actually has considerable merit.31
To begin with, it must be admitted that there is a strange reticence about
this institution in our sources. Aristotle discusses Solonian constitutional
arrangements in some detail, giving particular attention to the claim that Solon
founded the traditional democracy [demokratian . . . ten patrion] in Athens
(Pol. b); yet the probouleutic council, an institution central to so
many modern interpretations of Solons reforms, does not appear once in the
discussion. Meanwhile, in AP and Plutarch, the only details we hear about this
council, spare statements of its function (probouleusis) and composition (by
tribal contingent), could simply be inferences drawn from knowledge of the
later Council of . Even if the powers of the Assembly at this time did include the rights to choose magistrates and hold them to account, one is entitled to wonder why an effective standing committee of four hundred councillors was required to facilitate the execution of such modest functions.
However we choose to resolve this problem, it is truly astonishing that the author of AP fails to include the creation of a new probouleutic council in his list
(.) of the three most radical features of the Solonian constitution [tes
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Solo nos politeias tria . . . ta demotiko tata]. Why was the signicance of this development, self-evident to modern observers, so lost on a highly informed ancient student of Athenian political history?
It is tempting to conclude that the authors sources for Solonian constitutional arrangements were considerably less informative about the Council of
than they were about, say, the Areopagus or the selection and duties of
magistrates. The incidental, almost evasive manner in which he refers to the
institution, along with his complete failure to integrate this council into his
broader picture of the state apparatus in the Solonian era, suggests a distinct
lack of self-assurance on the subject. This vagueness, along with the absence of
any explicit evidence for the activities of a popular council in Athens between
/ and /, has understandably raised suspicions in some quarters about
the institutions historicity, especially since it is quite easy to pinpoint a particular moment in later Athenian history when a tradition of the Solonian
Council of might conveniently have been invented.32
As Hignett (, ) pointed out many years ago, such a moment came
with the introduction of what AP (.) describes as the interim constitution
[politeian en to i paronti] formulated by oligarchic forces in B.C. According
to the new arrangement, a Council of , established in accordance with traditional practice [kata ta patria], was to be installed with broad competence
over the constitution, the laws, and the appointment of magistrates. To legitimize this new institution by representing it as the reestablishment of a traditional body, its designers, Hignett contends, invented the precedent of the
Solonian Council of .33
To this reconstruction, it may be objected that such a ction would hardly
have been in the oligarchs best interests; while the number four hundred, as
an easy multiple of four, suggested authentic origins in the pre-Cleisthenic
tribal system, why would they make the number so democratically large if
they were free to use any multiple of four they chose?34 To answer this question, I think we have to envisage the physical space in which this supposedly
Solonian council was imagined to have convened. This surely was the structure occupied at that time by the Council of , the so-called Old Bouleuterion in the Agora, a building we now know to have been erected in ca.
B.C. But from evidence elsewhere, it seems safe to suppose that this and other
earlier structures in the Agora area were thought by later Athenians to be somewhat older than they actually were. If, then, the Old Bouleuterion could plausibly be claimed to have housed a Solonian council by , the oligarchs clearly
had to come up with a multiple of four large enough to make this original
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council a credible occupant of a building that was actually designed to accommodate ve hundred men.35
Defenders of the Solonian Council of typically resort to three items of
independent evidence to bolster the slim testimony in Plutarch and AP, though
none of these is decisive. First, in response to the claim that a popular council
could not have coexisted alongside a more aristocratic body like the Areopagus in the early sixth century, defenders point to an inscription from ca.
found on Chios that appears to attest to precisely such an arrangement.
But, to quote Sealey (a, ), Athens was not Chios, and the feasibility
of the arrangement elsewhere hardly proves that it was actually implemented
in Athens by Solon.36 Second, there is the somewhat more compelling suggestion that the coexistence of the two councils in Athens may in any case have
been alluded to in one of Solons poems. Certainly Plutarchs statement (.)
that Solon intended the pair to function as the twin anchors of the state could
reect a metaphor used by the poet himself, but it need not do so. Again, this
is hardly formidable evidence.37
The nal claim in the case for the Council of derives from our two
accounts of the troubled events in Athens following Cleisthenes ratication
of his reforms in the Assembly. Herodotus (..) and AP (.) both tell us
that Cleomenes tried unsuccessfully to dissolve the council before leading
his forces to storm the Acropolis. Neither author species whether this was
the Council of , the Council of , or, for that matter, the Areopagus.
Clearly, it makes most sense in this context that the body concerned was the
Council of , the embodiment of the new order that had prompted Isagorass appeal to Cleomenes in the rst place. While we may wonder if there was
sufcient time to install the new council before the kings intervention, it is
not hard to imagine that a pro tempore version of the boule might already
have been convened by this point. Since the argument for seeing this episode
as evidence for the existence of the Council of consists solely of eliminating the other two possibilities, we must again conclude that the case is less
than compelling.38
A neutral observer of this debate about the Solonian council would probably pronounce it inconclusive. The evidence in favor of the councils existence
is not negligible but is too riddled with problems to be even moderately persuasive in itself. Unfortunately, the issue cannot simply be ignored, since our
understanding of the evolution of the archaic Athenian state depends to a considerable extent on how we choose to resolve it. The choice is a stark one. The
introduction of such a council by Solon presupposes an abrupt, even radical
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shift toward popular government, with an energetic citizen Assembly playing a

signicant role in the political process; without such a council, our picture of
the state apparatus in the early sixth century looks dramatically different, still
dominated most likely by the archons and Areopagus, with little room for any
meaningful participation by nonelite citizens. With evidence for the council being so problematic and evidence for the activities of the Assembly at this time
being almost non-existent, our next step must be to look at what our sources
tell us of Solons other political reforms for clues about his overall aims.
By any objective reckoning, Solons innovations in the political domain, the
council aside, suggest that he was in general concerned more with standardizing
received institutional practice, curbing abuses of power, and quelling tensions
within the elite than with radically transforming the state. Hence, the system of
the four tele, or wealth classes, which he either introduced or rened, provided
legally enforceable criteria for ofce holding. Leading magistrates, such as the
archons and the treasurers, were henceforth to be chosen only from the top two
classes, while members of the lowest class, the thetes, were still excluded from all
forms of political participation except attendance in the Assembly.39
Indeed, Solon seems to have been less interested in empowering ordinary
Athenians than in simply protecting them from elite malfeasance. Aside from
his well-known cancellation of debts and ban on taking loans on the security
of the body, he is also credited with an important procedural innovation that
provided some form of legal recourse in the event of abuses of power from
above. This was the mechanism known as ephesis, whereby it was possible to
appeal against a magistrates decision by having the case referred to a popular
courtat this point, presumably the Heliaia. However, the larger claimexpressly stated in Aristotles Politics (ba)that Solon established
a system of jury courts composed of all citizens and thus founded democracy [eoike . . . ton . . . demon katastenai ta dikasteria poiesas ek panto n] is
probably anachronistic, reecting the distinctive concerns of fourth-century
speculation about Athenian constitutional history.40
As for the distribution of prerogatives between the various organs of the
state apparatus, Solon seems to have effected little, if any, change to the existing system, perhaps merely standardizing established practice. As before, the
eponymous archon served as the ofcial head of state (see AP .). But more
signicantly, the Areopagus, according to AP (.), was responsible not only
for general oversight of the laws and constitution (nomophulakia) but also for
most of the greatest matters of state [ta pleista kai megista to n politiko n], just
as it had been in earlier times (see AP .).41 Since the actual production of
policy and legislation in the Solonian state is nowhere explicitly discussed in
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AP, perhaps the author simply assumed that these all-important functions fell
ultimately within the wide-ranging compass of the archons and Areopagus.
If so, it would seem there is little room left here for any role to be played
by the citizen Assembly beyond holding the elections and possibly the performance reviews (euthunai) specied in the Politics (a). Solons overall concern with standardization, stability, and continuity would not lead us to
expect otherwise. If the Assembly was not yet routinely involved in the production and ratication of policy and legislation, it is extremely hard to visualize a meaningful role for any kind of probouleusis in the political process at
this time, let alone for a standing committee of four hundred councillors. Perhaps it was also hard for the author of AP to visualize the role played by the
Council of in Solonian Athens, thus explaining his apparent reluctance to
draw attention to its signicance and tell us more about it.
That said, the evidence for the Solonian constitution is problematic, often ambiguous at best, and interpretation is all too easily inuenced by presupposition. Both those who defend and those who oppose the idea of Solon
as a major political reformer adduce passages from his own poems in support
of their claims. And even if the poems provide no concrete information about
any constitutional change, their authenticity, at least, is rarely questioned.
Of most immediate interest are the verses referring to the acute social unrest of this period, which was prompted, it seems, by the increasingly unrestrained abuse and exploitation of poor smallholders and agricultural laborers
by members of the landed elite. Solons own attempts to resolve this situation
in his capacity as diallaktes, or specially appointed mediator (AP .; Plut. Sol.
.), are described only in rather general and allusive terms. For our purposes,
the value of the poems therefore lies less in their factual content than in what
they reveal of their authors broader cultural assumptionsespecially concerning the common people (demos)and thus of his likely attitude toward
the idea of radical political reform.42
As Wallace (, ) has emphasized, Solon is at times sharply critical of
the conduct of the elite in his poems, chastising them for their arrogance, their
greed and their disregard for justice (e.g., ., c.). But Wallaces conclusion that Solon was part of a popular revolutionary movement is not easy
to sustain. Elsewhere, the poet makes it clear that he remained staunchly unaligned in the conict and sought only to restore equilibrium in Athens. This
position is expressed unambiguously in poem (lines ):
dhvmwi me;n ga;r e[dwka tovson gevra~ o{son ejparkei`n,
timh`~ ou[t ajfelw;n ou[t ejporexavmeno~:
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oi} d ei\con duvnamin kai; crhvmasin h\san ajghtoiv,

kai; toi`~ ejfrasavmhn mhde;n ajeike;~ e[cein:
e[sthn d ajmfibalw;n kratero;n savko~ ajmfotevroisi,
nika`n d oujk ei[as oujdetevrou~ ajdivkw~.
[For I gave to the common people as much privilege as is sufcient for
their purposes, neither adding to nor detracting from their dignity. And
as for those who held power and were distinguished for their wealth, I
decided they too should have nothing disgraceful. I stood with my
strong shield cast around both groups, and suffered neither side to gain
an unjust victory.]43
What exactly did the two sides deserve? What was just here? As far as
we can tell, in Solons poems, as elsewhere in archaic Greek thought, justice
(dike) means little more than the established order, the divinely ordained dispensation of hallowed tradition.44 Thus, in poem (lines ; cf. , ),
Solon asserts his belief that wealth is an inalienable gift from the gods that only
passes from one man to another when persuaded by unjust deeds [adikois
ergmasi peithomenos], and even then does not go willingly [ouk ethelo n].
So, too, in political life, the demos should be followers, not leaders (.);
given the innately inadequate intelligence of the demos, the alternative would
result only in chaos:
dh`mo~ d w|d a]n a[rista su;n hJgemovnessin e{poito,
mhvte livan ajneqei;~ mhvte biazovmeno~:
tivktei ga;r kovro~ u{brin, o{tan polu;~ o[lbo~ e{phtai
ajnqrwvpoi~ oJpovsoi~ mh; novo~ a[rtio~ h\/i.
[The common people will best follow their leaders thus, if neither
too much unleashed nor too restrained. For excess breeds insubordination whenever great prosperity comes upon men whose minds are
unsound.]
Far from identifying with any popular cause, Solon takes credit in poem
(lines ) precisely for not being the kind of leader who would have encouraged deance in the common people and thus deprived societys milk of its
cream.45 And far from empathizing with the aggrieved masses, Solon seems
to think of them collectively as being a kind of unruly transport animal that
needed restraint (see ., .). This metaphor is articulated more explicitly in poem , where he makes the much quoted claim that he wrote or-
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dinances for lowly and noble alike [thesmous . . . homoio s to i kako i te kagatho i] (line ). Less often quoted are lines that follow soon afterwards ():
kevntron d a[llo~ wJ~ ejgw; labwvn,
kakofradhv~ te kai; filokthvmwn ajnhvr,
oujk a]n kavtesce dh`mon:
[But if another man, one of evil intentions and greed, had taken up the
goad like I did, he would not have restrained the common people.]
A man who speaks of having to goad the common people into abeyance
and preserve the cream of society, and who clearly saw his task as the defense
of the established economic and political order against pressures from both
above and below is not likely to have abruptly entrusted the destiny of the state
to popular institutions.46
To judge from the evidence of his poems, Solon was less interested in
radical change than in simply restoring equilibrium and stability to a polis
in turmoil. His slogan, if he had one, was not revolution but the altogether less radical idea of eunomia, or good order, famously celebrated at
.:
tauta didavxai qumo;~ Aqhnaivou~ me keleuvei,
wJ~ kaka; plei`sta povlei Dusnomivh parevcei:
Eujnomivh d eu[kosma kai; a[rtia pavnt ajpofaivnei,
kai; qama; toi`~ ajdivkoi~ ajmfitivqhsi pevda~:
traceva leiaivnei, pauvei kovron, u{brin ajmauroi`,
auJaivnei d a[th~ a[nqea fuovmena,
eujquvnei de; divka~ skoliav~, uJperhvfanav t e[rga
prau?nei: pauvei d e[rga dicostasivh~,
pauvei d ajrgalevh~ e[rido~ covlon, e[sti d uJp aujth`~
pavnta kat ajnqrwvpou~ a[rtia kai; pinutav.
[My heart bids me teach the Athenians how Disorder brings most ills
upon a polis, while Good Order renders all things decorous and
agreeable, and frequently binds the unjust in fetters. It makes what is
harsh smooth, checks excess, blunts arrogance, and parches the budding
owers of destructive madness; it makes crooked judgments straight,
tames overweening deeds, halts the works of faction and puts to rest the
anger of grievous strife. As a result of Good Order are all things among
men made perfect and wise.]
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The consistently conservative tone of the sentiments expressed in poem

and elsewhere in Solons verse broadly bears out the conclusions reached earlier. We can easily believe that the author of these words might have introduced
basic legal protections and minimal political rights for ordinary citizens. But
he was primarily interested in preserving, not overturning, the established order, and thus is not likely to have sanctioned any kind of signicant shift toward popular government in Athens.
Is there any further way to corroborate this conclusion? Discussions of the
Solonian state tend to focus almost exclusively on his poems and on ancient
accounts of the reforms themselves, though most scholars would acknowledge
the limitations of both forms of evidence. To date, modern observers have
been surprisingly reluctant to pursue what would seem to be a plausible route
out of this impasse, namely, to gauge the nature and signicance of Solons
reforms by looking for signs of their impact on the actual conduct of politics
in subsequent years. If the reforms were even moderately progressive, we
might expect to nd evidence for a discernible shift toward a more inclusive
political culture. If no such shift is apparent, we have further reason to believe
that the signicance of the reforms has been overstated, either because they
were somehow ineffective or because they were less progressive than was later
claimed.
In the following section, I pursue this line of inquiry by looking in some
detail at the broader political culture in Athens during the decades after the
s. Since no lasting constitutional changes seem to have been made between
the s and /, Solonian political arrangements presumably prevailed
in Athens for more than eighty years, a period long enough, one would think,
to be a valuable source of evidence for how these arrangements might have
worked out in practice.
This approach does, of course, have its problems. The latter part of the
time frame in question, from ca. / to /, was dominated by the Peisistratid family, and though they apparently refrained from any constitutional change, it seems safer, for the purposes of analysis, to exclude this
period from the inquiry. As for the earlier part of the time frame, from the
mid-s to the later s, apart from a few anecdotes referring to domestic
political turmoil and Athenian relations with Megara, we know too little to
be of much service. But excluding these periods still leaves a window of some
fteen years, from ca. / to ca. /, the one extended stretch of time
for which we do have something resembling a sequential narrative in our
sources.47
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POLITICAL CULTURE IN THE MIDSIXTH CENTURY
We can begin by dismissing as ction the impression conveyed by both of our

main sources (AP ..; Hdt. ...) that these fteen years saw Attica
engulfed by a trilateral regionwide stasis. As we saw in chapter , power in
Athens was keenly contested during these years by three leading families, the
Boutads, the Alcmeonids, and the Peisistratids, but they almost certainly did
not represent parties from the plain, the coast, and the hills. Nor is
there any reason to believe that the machinery of government was suspended
at any point during this period. Archons continued to be elected, and aside
from Peisistratuss recourse to force in / and to the threat of force in /,
there seem to have been no major constitutional irregularities.48
At the beginning of this period, in /, Lycurgus and Peisistratus were in
Athens, while Megacles and his family, as I argued in chapter , were living far
to the south, in the Anaphlystos area, where they had spent some four decades
in exile. If, as I also argued, the polis proper did not yet extend much beyond
the plain of Athens itself, the tradition that placed Lycurgus at the head of the
party from this plain presumably contains some recollection of his historical role as de facto leader of the Athenian state at this time.
We have no way of knowing when or how Lycurgus and the Boutadai rst
acquired this level of authority. But a surprising wealth of independent testimony allows us to conrm his familys preeminence and trace it back at least
to the earlier s. I refer here to the substantial body of evidence that broadly
corroborates the ancient tradition that the Great Panathenaia, the most important single public occasion in the Athenian calendar, was founded in ca.
B.C. Since the Boutadai controlled the cult of Athena Polias, the goddess honored at the festival, it takes no great leap of faith to suppose that they played a
decisive role in bringing the new quadrennial celebration into existence, and
so were probably a dominant force in Athenian politics for at least half a decade
before Peisistratuss rst tyranny in /.49
The extent of Lycurguss inuence at this time is further suggested by the
manner in which Peisistratus rst took power. As we also saw in chapter , Peisistratus was certainly not an outsider in city politics and does not appear to
have drawn once on the support of any party from the hills. But despite
being from a well-established Athenian family, he evidently lacked the political capital necessary to gain wide support among his peers and supplant Lycurgus by conventional means, and so was forced to resort to an armed occupation of the Acropolis.
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Our main sources tell us only two things about Peisistratuss rst tyranny:
it was unsuccessful, being short-lived and without deep foundation; and it was
conducted wholly within the constitutional constraints of the day. In the words
of AP (.), Peisistratus governed the state in a civil fashion [politiko s],
rather than in the manner of a tyrant [tyranniko s]. The truth of the matter
therefore seems to be that this distinctly ephemeral event was no tyranny worthy of the name but merely a brief coup. It certainly began with a display of
force, but the style of leadership employed by Peisistratus thereafter was probably no different from the highly personalized, but essentially legitimate, form
of de facto authority hitherto exercised by Lycurgus. Only in retrospect did it
seem like an ominous anticipation of later tyranny.50
At all events, this short-lived coup ended when Lycurgus appealed to the
banished Megacles and offered to restore the Alcmeonids to Athens in exchange for whatever kind of support was necessary to oust Peisistratus. Unfortunately, we have no idea what form this support took; both sources tell us only
that the Boutads, the Alcmeonids, and their allies expelled him (exelaunousi
min, Hdt. ..; exebalon auton, AP .). Evidently, this was not a particularly dramatic or violent event. If, as seems likely, Peisistratus actually withdrew
voluntarily from Athens when he saw his political position was no longer tenable, the ease of his capitulation would further conrm the tenuousness of his
authority in the city at this time. Whatever the case, he seems to have departed
for a safe haven in the Attic periphery (see Hdt. ..), perhaps in the Brauron area, where a period of residence-in-exile would help to explain his later
associations with that locale.
Back in Athens, the Boutads could now resume their hegemonic position,
with the Alcmeonids serving presumably as junior partners. Thus, when a
power struggle broke out between the two some four or ve years later (see AP
.; Hdt. ..), it must have taken the form of a challenge to Lycurguss
leadership by Megacles. It is against this background that we should view the
extraordinary incident that soon followed.
Peisistratuss return to Athens in / is one of the relatively few events in
archaic Athenian history for which we have some detailed information. Apparently, an exceptionally tall and beautiful young woman named Phye was
rst dressed up in the warrior garb of Athena and then driven in a chariot by
Peisistratus through the streets of Athens and up to the Acropolis. The Athenian onlookers were, by all accounts, genuinely awestruck, believing themselves
to be in the presence of true divinity. What was the purpose of such a charade?
Those who accept the historicity of this intriguing event have exercised considerable critical ingenuity in teasing out its meanings and nuances. Some have
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suggested analogies with ancient kingship rituals or sacred marriage ceremonies, while others have supposed that Peisistratus sought merely to suggest
that he enjoyed some kind of special favor with Athena, much as Heracles and
Odysseus had done before him. But common to almost all interpretations are
two assumptions: that Peisistratus orchestrated the whole stunt and that he
himself was the ultimate focus of the ceremony, with the presence of Athena
serving, in the end, only to provide a kind of public sanction for what is usually seen as his second tyranny. Both assumptions are shared by our two main
ancient sources. But the details they describe seem to tell a rather different
story.51
First, it is abundantly clear, from the information provided by both Herodotus and AP, that Megacles, not Peisistratus, orchestrated the spectacle. The
former was maneuvering to supplant Lycurgus as the dominant gure in
Athenian politics, while the latter, still in exile from the city, was hardly in a
position of strength. It appears that Megacles offered Peisistratus the task of
driving Athena in the chariot as a condition of his safe return to Athens. Since
it is very hard to believe that the ambitious Alcmeonid wanted to restore his
erstwhile rival to power at his own expense, we can only conclude that Peisistratus was here serving Megacles purposes rather than his own.52
The suggestion that Megacles was in control of the whole situation seems
to be conrmed by the other condition of Peisistratuss return, namely, a marriage alliance with the Alcmeonids. Given that this alliance would have required Peisistratus to divest himself of his recent, second marriage to Timonassa of Argos and would have damaged his potentially signicant relations
with that state in the process, the arrangement was not necessarily to the future tyrants political advantage. Further conrming Megacles control is the
dissolution of his third marriage immediately after the Phye ceremony, on the
grounds of nonconsummation, along with Peisistratuss apparent powerlessness to prevent his own subsequent return into exile. It makes little sense to believe that he might have entered into the marriage without actually intending
to produce children by his new wife (as our sources imply) and thus willingly
gave himself no choice but to depart again into exile. Clearly, we must infer
that he was no more responsible for sundering the alliance than he was for initiating it in the rst place. In the circumstances, the claim of nonconsummation, supported by a more lurid charge of unnatural intercourse (see Hdt.
..), looks a lot like an Alcmeonid pretext for getting rid of Peisistratus
once he had somehow outlived his usefulness.53
But what are we to make of the Athena ceremony itself, with its apparent
attempt to convey divine favor enjoyed by Peisistratus? Here we come to the
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second false premise behind the standard accounts. For according to the cultural logic of the ceremony described, it was Athena, not Peisistratus, who was
in fact being restored to Athens. After all, it is the goddess, not the mortal, who
belongs on the Acropolis, and as more than one source reveals (AP .; Cleidemus, FGrH F), Peisistratus was merely the humble driver of the chariot. The armed Athena, meanwhile, like an Iliadic hero borne off to battle,
played the starring role of warrior-passenger, or paraibates (cf., e.g., Il. .).54
As Connor (, ) notes in his now classic discussion of the episode, Peisistratus is not seizing the kingship but serving as . . . Athenas attendant, a brave
but subordinate charioteer. Nor should we ignore the other participant in the
ceremony, whose presence is usually overlooked in discussions of the episode:
though Megacles is later airbrushed out of the nal tableau, both major sources
indicate that he actually led the procession in person, either riding ahead or as
a fellow passenger in the chariot.55
Why did Athena need to be restored to the Acropolis? How did this apparent hoax serve the interests of Megacles? The answers to these questions
must lie in the contemporary political situation and in Megacles bid to challenge Lycurgus for de facto leadership of the state. It seems safe to assume
that Lycurguss authority drew much of its force and legitimacy from his familys control of the cult of Athena Polias and that his special association with
the goddess would only have been reinforced in the years since the founding
of the Great Panathenaia in ca. . Clearly, for Megacles to supplant his rival, he had to nd some means of countering this powerful alliance of goddess and mortal. I therefore propose that we see in the Phye ceremony a highly
elaborate attempt by the Alcmeonids to undermine this alliance by suggesting that Athena had deserted the Acropolis some time ago and therefore
needed to be restored in appropriate style. Megacles, it seems, was only too
happy to oblige.
But where exactly on the Acropolis was the goddess restored to? Obviously not to the cult site of Athena Polias on the north side of the citadel,
which was controlled by the Boutadai, and which at this point was probably
occupied by a very modest seventh-century temple. But archaeologists have
long suspected that a second Athena temple, considerably grander than the
rst, may have been erected somewhere on the Acropolis in ca. B.C.
Sometimes known as the Bluebeard temple from a gure found among surviving pedimental sculptures, it is thought by some to have replaced the small
seventh-century structure on the north side, only to be itself replaced by the
so-called Old Athena Temple later in the sixth century. If this were indeed
the case, we would be able to associate the Bluebeard temple fairly closely
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with the establishment of the Great Panathenaia and to see it probably as an

initiative of the Boutadai.56
But as others, notably Dinsmoor (), have pointed out, the t between
what is known of temple and the surviving northside foundations is not
exact, raising the possibility that the temple may in fact have been located
elsewhere on the Acropolis, presumably on the south side, on the site later
occupied by the Parthenon. Debate continues, though Dinsmoors argument
seems to be nally winning the day.57 Still missing from the picture, however, is any satisfactory explanation for the sudden appearance here of this
second, far larger Athena temple in ca. . I tentatively propose that we
see it as an Alcmeonid initiative, built to accommodate Athena in suitably
grand style after her supposed restoration to the city by Megacles. After all,
if the logic of the Phye ceremony suggested that the patron deity had previously deserted the more humble precinct administered by the Boutadai, it
also required alternative accommodations on the Acropolis to which she
might be willing to return. The Bluebeard temple will have lled this need
admirably.
Seen in this new perspective, the ceremony as a whole was not, in the end,
the elaborate hoax described in our sources; it did have a serious ritual purpose. But the ritual pattern to which it conforms closest has nothing to do
with sacred marriages or kingship. Rather, the ceremony recalls nothing more
than those processions at festivals where a mortal would don the garb of the
celebrated divinity with no intent to dupe onlookers into believing that the
god or goddess was now literally present among them. Megacles, I suggest,
simply adapted this style of procession to create his own ritual of restoration.
Only in retrospect, once Peisistratuss posthumous reputation as a proverbial
tyrant-trickster had been secured, did this event come to assume very different implications.58
Overall, this reading of the ceremony as an attempt by Megacles to counter
Lycurguss politically protable association with Athena allows us to abandon
completely the idea that the event was in any sense a preamble to a second
tyranny of Peisistratus. Far from being a powerful insurgent making an ostentatious bid to take control of the city, Peisistratus was here little more
than a pawn in a larger contest for hegemony between the Boutads and the
Alcmeonids. His roles in the Athena ceremony and the marriage alliance suggest that his support was of some value in this contest. But having served his
purpose, he was powerless to resist a humiliating exit back into exile. If the
tradition of Peisistratuss rst tyranny has little in the way of historical substance to commend it, the tradition of his second tyranny has no substance
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whatsoever. Again, hindsight lent events a signicance that they did not at the
time possess.
It would be ten more years before Peisistratus would attempt to come back
to Athens. Apparently, he spent much of this time cultivating important connections elsewhere, repairing his relations with Argos, and building up military
resources, recognizing that a return on his own terms would now require force.
Sadly, our sources tell us almost nothing of the Alcmeonids and Boutads during these years, though both Herodotus (..) and AP (.) imply that they
reconciled soon after the Phye ceremony. Whatever the case, the presence of the
Alcmeonids at the battle of Pallene and their subsequent return to their residence-in-exile in the paralia after their defeat by Peisistratus suggest that they
retained a dominant position in the state throughout this ten-year period.59
Thus, the overall impression conveyed by our sources that the years ca.
// were a time of turbulent stasis punctuated by tyrannies does not
stand up well to close scrutiny. Once we remove from these accounts the thick
interpretive overlay imposed by later interests and presuppositions, we are left
with a rather different picture, one of a vigorous, but for the most part conventional, competition between two families for de facto leadership of the
Athenian state. The Boutadai appear to have been dominant from at least the
earlier s, only to be challenged and perhaps displaced in the mid-s by
the Alcmeonids, who clearly remained a powerful force in the city for the next
ten years or so, down to the battle of Pallene.
Peisistratus, meanwhile, was probably in Athens for little more than a year
of the fteen-year period in question, spending the rest of the time in exile in
rural Attica and elsewhere. He surely was not an insignicant gure, as his Argive marriage and other foreign connections attest. But his coup in /, his
short-lived later alliance with Megacles, and his ultimate recourse to violence
suggest that he as yet lacked sufcient support among his peers at home to challenge the hegemony of the Boutads and Alcmeonids by conventional means.
The ominous shadow that he appears to cast over events in the fteen years before Pallene is more imagined than real.
The idea that this fteen-year period was a time of robust political competition rather than one of lawless stasis is also borne out by the contemporary
material record. The Acropolis, in particular, experiences a dramatic increase
in building and votive activity during these years. In the words of Hurwit
(, ):
Between and , the Acropolis, which had been for so long the
modest sanctuary of a provincial polis, became a grandiose spectacle of
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the rst order, the visible expression of a city that was now entering the
rst rank in Greece . . . The picture we can draw of the Acropolis in
the s and s . . . is of a suddenly busy and increasingly rich place,
acquiring the accoutrements of a major sanctuary, with Athenians . . .
beginning to compete with one another for the gods (and their fellow
Athenians) attention through the wealth of their dedications.
One might guess that this wholly unprecedented urry of activity was stimulated above all by the establishment of the Great Panathenaia. It seems reasonable to suppose that the major developments associated with the festival,
such as the erection of a massive ramp some eighty meters in length up to the
entrance of the citadel and the possible remodeling of the entranceway, were
overseen by the Boutadai. Meanwhile, for reasons I have discussed in this section, it makes good sense to see the new Bluebeard temple, the rst monumental stone temple to be installed on the Acropolis, as an Alcmeonid response
to their rivals bold attempts to advertise their links with Athena.
But the site was not the exclusive preserve of these two families. No doubt
inspired by the sudden transformation of the citadel into one of Greeces more
impressive urban sanctuaries, a relatively large number of their peers also chose
now to lavish wealth on expensive dedications. Votives from this period are numerous and assume a wide variety of forms, from life-size marble statues, such
as the well-known Moschophoros and the earliest korai, to several marble relief
panels, a bronze Palladion, and high-quality vases painted by the likes of Sophilos and Cleitias. Of course, few of these items can be assigned with condence
to known families or individuals. But it is clear enough that a signicant proportion of the Athenian elite were willing and able to embrace the opportunities for public self-advertisement now presented by the Acropolis, with some presumably motivated by the political capital that might accrue from such display.
The scale of their investment, along with the open, self-regulating, and essentially peaceful nature of this form of competition, surely presupposes a stable and
well-ordered political environment. Despite all its obvious material inequalities,
this was not a society that was being torn apart by endemic civil strife.60
Putting all this together, it therefore seems safe to infer that, the coup of
/ aside, there was nothing particularly anomalous or extraconstitutional
about political behavior in Athens during the fteen or twenty years before the
battle of Pallene. To later writers, who clearly misunderstood the style of archaic Athenian politics, it may have seemed like there were no rules. But this
was in fact politics as usual, played, we must assume, according to the arrangements laid down by Solon a generation earlier. What, then, does the record of
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the midsixth century reveal of these arrangements and, in particular, of the

role played by ordinary citizens in everyday government?
While our ancient accounts for the years // are hardly exhaustive,
the general impression they convey is that there were distinctly few enforceable
constraints on the political behavior of leaders at this time. The archons may
have been the most important individual ofcials in the state (see AP .), but
the power wielded by these annually elected magistrates was of signicantly less
consequence than the ongoing de facto authority exercised by the likes of
Megacles and Lycurgus. We can certainly imagine that this particular form of
authority would have depended to some extent on a leaders performance
within the connes of state institutionsfor example, on his ability to secure
magistracies for his own associates or to persuade archons and Areopagites to
follow particular courses of action. But the political culture was hardly limited
to the institutional arena, and much of the business of politics was evidently
conducted elsewhere.
As far as we can tell, leadership was contested and legitimized primarily
through a combination of private negotiation and public display. Major
sources of political capital included alliances with inuential families at home
and abroad, equestrian victories, and the sponsorship of lavish buildings, monuments, festivals, and other spectaclesactivities that clearly lay outside what
we would consider to be the constitutional domain. And while de facto leadership must have required the consent and support of other leading families,
it appears that there were as yet no regular institutional channels through which
such authority could be safely challenged or even held to account. The stakes
in the political game were thus formidably high. For thosesuch as Peisistratus in /who tried and failed to supplant an established leader, the only
remaining options were to resort to arms or to withdraw from the state entirely.
As for nonelite citizens, they can hardly have been much more than spectators in the theater of archaic Athenian politics. Whatever their political sympathies, they had no visible role to play in major developments, such as the recall of the Alcmeonids from exile in the late s or the banishment of
Peisistratus in / and /. The sum total of evidence we have for measures
actually passed in the Assembly before the reforms of Cleisthenes are the accounts of how Peisistratus duped the ekklesia into decreeing him an armed
bodyguard, which he promptly put to service as a private army when mounting his rst coup in / (see AP .; Hdt. ..; Plut. Sol. .).
Despite the extraordinary nature of this decree, some would see in the anecdote a suggestion of wider powers enjoyed by the Assembly at this time. But
surely the more interesting implication of the story (if it is true) is precisely the
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minimal signicance of popular support in the politics of the era. Like Cleisthenes later in the century, Peisistratus confronted a situation where he lacked
sufcient backing among his social peers to challenge the position of his rival
by conventional means. But unlike Cleisthenes, Peisistratus evidently saw little point in trying to outmaneuver his opponent by appealing to nonelite constituencies for support. Thus, instead of courting its favor, he merely deceived
the Assembly into supplying him with the means necessary to pursue an altogether more dangerous course of action. It would be left to Cleisthenes to break
the mold of Athenian politics more than fty years later.
Otherwise, the only major public interaction between elite and nonelite we
hear about from this time comes during the Phye ceremony, and it is equally
revealing. Far from suggesting the closeness or rapport between leader and
people seen here by Connor (, ), this very public attempt by Megacles
to assert his familys special association with Athena precisely illustrates the
yawning ideological gulf that still separated the two. And as long as the elite
were perceived to enjoy a privileged, almost mystical relationship with the
states presiding deities, a similar distance would continue to separate the political culture of this era from its classical successor.
Nonelite Athenians in the midsixth century were thus still a long way from
a time when they might confront a Megacles or a Lycurgus on the oor of the
Assembly or law courts as even nominal political equals. The ekklesia may have
elected the archons and other magistrates each year, but it is hard to believe
that it would have strongly opposed candidates favored by the de facto leaders
of the moment. And these leaders will have remained essentially unaccountable to the demos as long as the Assembly had no role in the production of policy and legislation. If a probouleutic Council of did exist at this time, it
would have been little more than an irrelevance. The real business of politics
took place elsewhere, much of it conducted far from the gaze of ordinary citizens, in the private realm of the wealthy. Whatever their actual content, Solons
reforms, it seems, had little radical or lasting impact on the realities of Athenian political life.61
As noted earlier, ancient accounts are unanimous that institutional arrangements in Athens remained essentially unchanged through the Peisistratid
period (ca. //). In fact, aside from the upheavals of the battle of Pallene and its aftermath and the reported autocracy of Hippias at the very end
of the period, we hear very little to suggest that the familys leadership was
qualitatively very different from the kind of authority exercised earlier by Lycurgus and Megacles:62 it was simply more enduring and successful. In the
early years, their hegemonic position was no doubt helped when major rivals
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withdrew from Athens, voluntarily or otherwise, after Pallene. But the archon list for the years immediately following Peisistratuss death in /,
which includes the names of the Alcmeonid Cleisthenes and the Philaid Miltiades, shows conclusively that the Peisistratids had by now established a
broad-based coalition of supporters that included their former rivals. Clearly,
the family did make some effort to abide by existing institutional arrangements. Equally clearly, these arrangements were not, in the end, capable of
preventing an unusually effective group or individual from dominating the
Athenian state for a period of several decades or more, accountable only to
their peers.
To regard the regime of the Peisistratids as a wholly anomalous tyranny is
therefore to overestimate the capacity of the prevailing Solonian constitutional
provisions to constrain their inuence. The rules of the political game, it seems,
were still relatively loose.
THE MAKING OF MASS POLITICS
Even after the reforms of Cleisthenes, a peculiarly successful elite politician,

like a Pericles or a Cimon, could exercise a decisive de facto inuence over the
direction of the state for a decade or longer. To be sure, this inuence would
still have depended to some extent on the support of privately assembled coalitions of peers and on lavish public displays of various kinds, albeit displays that
now emphasized a politicians public-spirited municence rather than simply
his elite credentials. But the critical difference between politics before and after / is in the contribution made by nonelite citizens. After this point, as
I showed earlier in the chapter, there arose an entirely new emphasis on collective (over individual) decision making in the conduct of government, allowing ordinary citizens not only to expel a political leader of their choosing
each year through the procedure of ostracism but also to vote on the highest
affairs of state, as the Assembly and new Council of increasingly assumed
control over the production of policy and legislation.63
As a result, with the overall direction of the polis now a matter for open,
public deliberation, ambitious elites were forced to compete with one another
for the minds and votes of their more lowly fellows if they wished to exercise
inuence over political outcomes. And as individual success in politics came
increasingly to be measured in terms of popular appeal, so elite politicians became more directly accountable to nonelite citizens than ever before.64 Meaningful participation by ordinary Athenians in the day-to-day running of the
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state was thus for the rst time an institutional reality, and the elite stranglehold on the political process had nally been broken. In its place, a new era of
mass politics and popular government had just begun.
But it would be a mistake to believe that the benets of the new style of
politics were all one-way; the position of the aspiring political leader was now
considerably more secure than it had been in the past. As I noted earlier in this
chapter, under the high-stakes, almost zero-sum conditions of the old system,
those who tried and failed to supplant a dominant gure like Lycurgus or
Megacles, were faced with the stark alternatives of either resorting to force or
departing from the state altogether until a leader emerged who might sanction
their return. After the reforms of Cleisthenes, by contrast, as the ongoing
contest for de facto leadership came increasingly to be determined by voting
patterns in the citizen Assembly, it became possible for opponents to challenge
established leaders within the relatively safe and regulated connes of an institutional arena without fear of serious repercussion. For the unsuccessful challenger who stayed within the law, the most serious consequence he could expect was now ostracism, a temporary expulsion from the state without loss of
property or rights.
Indeed, this new procedure is probably best understood as part of a larger
design to replace the high-stakes politics of the past with a lower-risk and altogether less wasteful alternative. In the short term at least, the practical political
outcome was the same: the strengthening of established leaders by the elimination of rivals. But the expulsion process was now subject to the kind of institutional constraints that were sorely lacking in the past, with only one such expulsion allowed per year and with the losers fate determined not by the whim
of a small group of his social peers but by the collective will of thousands of fellow citizens. Even if victories in the game of politics were now less absolute than
they once might have been, and though winners were now accountable to a
larger segment of the population than ever before, a political career was a far less
risky undertaking than it had been earlier in the sixth century.65
Exactly how and when was the new mass politics inaugurated in Athens?
Pinning down the precise moment of the shift is not easy. As noted earlier in
this chapter, our main sources for Cleisthenes reforms do not include in their
accounts any explicit mention of a formal change in the competence of the Assembly. At the same time, such innovations as ostracism and the new council
clearly presuppose a strong ekklesia. And as we also saw earlier, within a few
years, the Assembly was playing a decisive role in such key areas as the regulation of cleruch settlements, military deployment, and foreign policy. This raises
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two possibilities. Perhaps the elevation of the Assembly was indeed an item in
Cleisthenes original reform bill proposed in /, but the detail has simply
been omitted from our sources. Alternatively, there may for some reason have
been no formal enactment dening the new role; conceivably, Cleisthenes himself irreversibly reordered the political process in Athens when he chose to ratify his transformation of the state in the Assembly, in effect setting the procedural precedent for the passage of all future legislation. Either way, a change of
such magnitude will certainly have required some form of justication, and an
explanation for how this critical innovation might have been presented in
/ will emerge during the course of the coming chapters.
Did the new emphasis on collective responsibility in government amount
to demokratia? We can be fairly sure that it was not advertised as such, since
the term itself had probably not yet been invented. If there was a single concept, principle, or banner associated with the new regime, it was more probably isonomia (equality before the law, equality of political participation),
though even this cannot be proved. That said, with the Assembly now assuming direct control over state policy and legislation, the cornerstone of
later demokratia was effectively laid, whether de jure or de facto, by Cleisthenes reforms, raising the possibility that the new regime was indeed
essentially democratic, even if it could not yet be described as such by contemporaries.66
Some, most notably Ober, would go further than this. In a pair of papers
(, ), Ober has argued not only that a genuinely demotic form of
demokratia was inaugurated in Athens in / but that it was also in effect installed by the people en masse when they successfully resisted the interventions
of Isagoras and Cleomenes. This act of resistance he reads as a spontaneous,
leaderless riot, even a revolution, which was driven and shaped not by elite
leaders but by ordinary Athenians armed with a distinctively demotic vision
of a new society (, ).
Ober thus emphasizes the role played here by citizens below the hoplite
class, while at the same time decentering the gure of Cleisthenes in our narrative of change, seeing him less as a primary agent of reform than as a mere
interpreter of the will of the masses (, ). In this view, the institutional
innovations of / did not so much effect a change as reect a more profound transformation that had essentially already occurred. This transformation he describes (, ) as an epistemic shift, meaning a fundamental
change in the ways that people think, speak, and behave towards one another. Though long in the making, this shift, he believes, was crystallized in
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the leaderless riot of the masses. Ober (, ) therefore concludes that

democracy in Athens was not a gift from a benevolent elite to a passive demos,
but was the product of collective decision, action, and self-denition on the
part of the demos itself.
These papers offer a forthright reminder of the crucial part played in the
events of / by nonelite citizens, and as such their arguments are important
and well taken. But Obers attempt to go further and see the political transformation as the direct outcome of a popular revolution is more problematic, for at least three reasons.67
To begin with, Ober shows surprisingly little interest in the actual content
of the political reforms introduced at this time, taking it largely as fact that they
brought about immediate democracy and must therefore have been animated
above all by the kind of egalitarian impulse one would expect to nd behind a
revolutionary popular agenda. But this chain of assumption is hardly secure. To
be sure, members of the lowest, thete class were entitled to enroll as citizens in
the new demes and were presumably not actively prevented from attending proceedings at the Assemblys new site on the Pnyx hill. However, as noted above,
they probably would have had no role to play in the new council or citizen army
and would still have been excluded from the archonships and Areopagus, however diminished the stature of these institutions had now become. It is thus hard
to see how sub-hoplite Athenians were yet considered full members of the political community. In short, there are still too many sources of inequality in the
new system for egalitarianism to have been the dominant impulse behind it, or
for any fully demotic form of democracy to have been the practical result.68
Second, it is one thing to claim that there was a general will for political
change among nonelite citizens at this time, but it is quite another to suggest
that this will effectively shaped and drove the transformation itself. The evidence Ober produces for his demotic vision of a new society, into which
Cleisthenes was supposedly absorbed, is tenuous at best.69 How, in any case,
might such a vision have arisen in the rst place? To judge from the evidence
discussed so far in this study, the little we do know of Athenian political culture in earlier times hardly encourages us to believe that, as Ober suggests
(, ), ordinary citizens could have organized themselves enough to develop their own independent political agenda distinct from that of any leader
during the course of the sixth century.70
Nor when we look closely at the reforms themselves do we see the obvious
imprint of any revolutionary, bottom-up movement for change. Inequalities
would persist, while the deme/trittys/tribe reform, the very fundament of the
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new order, was not in itself an egalitarian measure but an initiative designed,
as we saw in the last chapter, to furnish the kind of institutional apparatus necessary to bring about the political unication of Attica. Whether we assign responsibility for this particular initiative to a single leader or to several, we do
not have to subscribe to some outmoded Great Man view of history to see
here all the hallmarks of centralized and essentially top-down planning.71
Third, if the Acropolis siege was in fact, as Ober (, ) claims, the signal moment in the history of democracy, why do the Athenians themselves
appear not to have remembered it as such? In all of extant Athenian oratory,
including funeral orations, there is not a single reference to the incident, let
alone to any armed democratic revolution. And the only classical source
other than Herodotus and AP that does mention the siege, written less than
a century after the event, treats it as a straightforward military action devoid
of any revolutionary political signicance.72 If, moreover, the demos in
/ was fully capable of collective decision, action and self-denition independent of their political leaders (Ober , ), it is surely extraordinary
that they overlooked the chance to commemorate publicly in some way their
own contribution to the shift from tyranny to democracy, preferring instead to monumentalize an act of limited historical signicance by a pair of
otherwise unremarkable aristocrats (see chap. ). Perhaps the masses had little control over the public memory banks at this time, but this only begs the
question.73
We should probably then agree with Raaaub (, a, b), who, as
Obers primary opponent in recent debate on the issue, argues with equal vigor
that democracy in the fullest sense of the word was not realized in Athens until after the reforms of Ephialtes in /. Only from this point on can we detect traces of the more radical egalitarianism we associate with mature Athenian democracy, implicit in such practices as the widespread use of lottery in the
selection of magistrates and the payment of jurors and ofceholders. By comparison, the Cleisthenic polity is perhaps better seen, to borrow Raaaubs
phrase (, ), as a kind of republic of hoplites and farmers.74
That said, to consider Cleisthenes reforms purely in terms of their contribution to the cause of political equality would be to miss their larger historical signicance and to misapprehend their overall intent. While Ephialtes goal
in / was merely to eradicate inequalities still lingering in the national political community, the reforms of / were responsible for dening that
community in the rst place and for establishing the institutional foundations
for its operation as a cohesive political unit. The shift toward democracy at the
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end of the sixth century was an essential part of this larger project but was not
an end in itself. For this reason, of the two sets of reforms, those of Cleisthenes
were by far the more momentous. Before the playing eld could be leveled, the
game itself had to be invented.
The new order was not shaped by some utopian vision of an egalitarian society, only to fall some way short of realizing this imagining. The reforms were
no more the product of an enlightened idealism than they were a vehicle for
shameless gerrymandering. The guiding vision here was of the state as a collective enterprise, and the goal was to create channels through which citizens
from all over the region could contribute to the common cause, regardless of
whether some contributions were more signicant than others.
We might see the result as a reaction not so much against the shameless inequities of the past as against the rampant, sometimes destructive individualism of archaic Athenian political culture. The state would no longer be simply
the arena for an exclusive contest among competing private interests, its direction resting in the largely unfettered hands of a Megacles or a Peisistratus.
Henceforth, it would be a forum for the negotiation of a single collective interest, and its destiny would now be the responsibility of the community as a
whole. We do indeed see here the seedsthe ideological predicatesof
demokratia in Athens. But before mature democracy could be realized, the
very idea of the demos, the collectivity of all citizens in Attica from the lowliest thete to Cleisthenes himself, had to assume concrete, institutional form.
This was the work of Cleisthenes reforms.
In sum, the measures introduced in / were not just a set of narrow, constitutional prescriptions or merely the latest in a series of steps along a path that
led gradually, but inexorably, toward democracy in Athens. They mark instead,
as Ober (, esp. ) has urged, the decisive point of rupture in Athenian political history, the critical moment of discontinuity between the archaic
and the classical state. But the new order was not the spontaneous creation of
a popular revolutionary fervor, however much the support of nonelite citizens
might have been crucial to its success. Rather, it should be seen as a massive,
ingenious, and artfully self-conscious exercise in social engineeringthe product, in short, of a vision from above, not from below.
But exactly whose vision was it? Unfortunately, we know the name only of
Cleisthenes himself, though he was surely helped in the design and implementation of his program by a group of associates, which presumably included
his kinsman Alcmeon, archon in /. Of course, these were not free-oating
individuals acting outside history. All were products of the very specic envi-
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ronment they sought to change, and their actions were no doubt at once encouraged and constrained by longer-term structural conditions and processes
of which they may or may not have been aware. Clearly, there was at this time
a growing demand for change among nonelite sections of Athenian society, and
there are signs elsewhere in the Greek world, especially in Ionia, of an increasing willingness among elites to involve their lesser fellows in government, a development that may itself have been encouraged by an emerging egalitarian
strain in elite values.75
Yet it would be wrong to see the radical changes of / as the inevitable
even predictableoutcome of some impersonal structural logic. In the nal
reckoning, environmental forces, however signicant, cannot account for the
precise timing and specic content of the transformation in Athens. We must
acknowledge the role played by the conscious designs and decisions of interested, inuential individuals, creatively responding to the circumstances in
which they found themselves. What immediately prompted the decision to
push for change was the political self-interest of Cleisthenes himself and the
need to garner the support of the Assembly in his struggle with Isagoras. However, once presented with a popular mandate to reform the state, it seems that
Cleisthenes and his associates saw a historic opportunity to author a series of
initiatives that would not merely reward their nonelite supporters but help to
resolve perhaps the two most fundamental and intractable problems that faced
the Athenians at this time: chronic military vulnerability and recurring political turmoil.
Their solution to these two related problems radically changed the shape
and fortunes of the polis almost overnight. A city-state that had for generations been a somewhat timid and marginal player on the wider Panhellenic
stage was abruptly transformed into a very different kind of polity, one that
could harness the human potential of an entire region in its efforts to become a more secure and assertive force in the interstate politics of the day.
The social and geographical distances that had for so long separated the elite
from the nonelite and the urban from the rural were now bridged by a series of highly articial, but binding, institutional ties, laying the foundations
for a formidable citizen army and an integrated political community that
was quite unlike any other in Hellenic experience. Henceforth, individuals
of widely divergent backgrounds would enroll in the same demes, serve in
the same tribal regiments, convene in the same national council, and vote in
the same national assembly, as partners in an improbable, regionwide experiment in collective self-rule. The inuence of this experiment on the
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course of Athenian and Greek history in the decades to come would be most
profound.
The preceding reading of the content and signicance of Cleisthenes reforms
does of course beg a number of further questions. Of these, three would seem
to be especially important. First, if this reconstruction is broadly accurate, why
did so little memory of this massive discontinuity survive into later times? Why
are so many key details omitted from our sources, and why, in particular, is no
mention made of any change to the Assembly? Second, for all the wide consent apparently enjoyed by the new order, how were its designers able to legitimize so dramatic a departure from past practice and allay deep-seated cultural
suspicions of revolution (neotera pragmata, neoterismos)?
Finally, and perhaps most fundamental of all, how could a national community so abruptly and articially contrived ever acquire authenticity in the
eyes of its own constituents? Citizenship could be legislated, but loyalty, fellowship, and a sense of belonging could not. In practice, the new institutions
might help to break down social and spatial distances between citizens and perhaps even to bridge the almost mystical ideological distance that had for so
long separated elite from nonelite. But it is hard to see how this bold experiment in political community would succeed without a more fundamental
change in the ways that people think, speak, and behave towards one another. Collective self-rule could only thrive if rooted in values, assumptions,
and expectations that were shared by all members of the citizen body in all parts
of Attica. As we have seen, evidence that this particular epistemic shift had
already occurred in the region before / is at least questionable. How, then,
could a shared identity, a shared sense of mission and of commonality, be constructed around the bare bones of the new institutional apparatus? How, in
short, could this become a community that was imagined as well as lived?
Our answer to this question should also help us to resolve the previous issue,
since the legitimacy of a given political community depends precisely on the
capacity of its members to feel a common bond of identity.
All of these questions require us to consider a larger issue that has all too
rarely been raised in this context, namely, the contemporary response to political change. If we are even to begin to answer them, we must shift our attention away from objective realities to the more elusive realm of mentalit and
try to understand how the new order might have appeared to Athenian men
and women at the time of its inception. In the absence of eyewitness accounts,
we can of course only speculate about popular perceptions of change. How-
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ever, we are in a good position to assess how the new order was rst represented
to its constituents. It is now increasingly clear that the reverberations of institutional change were felt in many other areas of public life. A surge of cultural
energy, unprecedented in the citys history, produced a host of new buildings,
ceremonies, commemorative practices, and mythical traditions over the course
of the next two decades. Close study of the design of these many artifacts of
change affords invaluable insights not only into the contents of the new order
but also into its overall style. This issue of style and representation will be a recurring concern in the chapters to come, as we broaden our focus beyond the
strict connes of state institutions and explore innovations introduced elsewhere in Athenian public life during the years .
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3
THE AGORA:
SHOWCASE FOR A
NEW REGIME
For Athenians who were witness to the dramatic events of / and

their aftermath, the most visible sign of change would have been the many
buildings and monuments of the new order that soon began appearing in the
city center. During the years , the physical setting of public life in
Athens was irreversibly transformed by what was to date probably the most
ambitious building program in the citys history. The bulk of the construction
took place in the areas of the Acropolis and the Agora, and the changes made
to these two sites form the subject of the second part of this study.
The greatest single concentration of new structures was built in and around
the level area lying east of the Kolonos Agoraios between the Areopagus hill
and the Eridanos River. Though this site had been cleared for public use some
years earlier, only now, it seems, did it become the true political and commercial hub of the city, functions it would retain for the remainder of antiquity.
As if to draw attention to its special place in the scheme of the new order, the
area was now formally distinguished from surrounding space by a series of stelai, each one inscribed with the legend I am a boundary marker of the Agora
[ovro~ eijmi; te`~ ajgora`~].1
But it is not only the larger historical signicance of the new political center that should interest us here. If seen, in effect, as the physical embodiment
of the new order, the Agora complex can also tell us much about the repre87
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sentation of political change. By studying the details of its design, especially

the treatment of earlier buildings on the site, the architectural language used
in the new buildings, and the symbolic links between these structures and other
monuments elsewhere in the city, we can begin to form an impression of the
overall style of the new order and its purported relations with previous political arrangements in Athens. As background, we should look rst at the earlier
history of the site.
THE AGORA AREA BEFORE / B . C .
The Agora, like democracy itself, came over time to be seen as an almost timeless feature of the Athenian civic landscape. Ancient authors had no difculty
imagining that Solons laws were rst published in the Stoa Basileios (see AP
.) or that Solon himself laid down his arms before the Strategeion in protest
at the tyranny of Peisistratus (see Diog. Laert. .). And for fth-century
tragedians, there was nothing wildly incongruous about the idea that a cult of
Zeus Agoraios, patron deity of the Agora and the Assembly, might have been
present in Athens during the heroic era (see A. Eum. ; cf. E. Hcld. ).
But for all its later historic resonance, the Agora area seems to have remained
predominantly residential in character down to ca. . Only thereafter does it
begin to assume the appearance of a public square. Since this development falls
broadly within the period when Peisistratus was the unchallenged master of
Athens, it was in all likelihood an initiative of the tyrant himself.2
During the third quarter of the sixth century, the western ank of the site,
dened by an ancient street that ran along the foot of the Kolonos Agoraios,
was substantially redeveloped (g. ). Two small temples or shrines were set up
just to the north of a preexisting structure (Building C), while the space to its
immediate south was briey occupied by Building D. But the most signicant
new structure was a large, irregularly shaped complex (Buildings F, G, H, I)
which now arose in the squares southwest corner. Linked to Building C by a
retaining wall, this complex consisted of a large courtyard surrounded by a
number of smaller rooms and ancillary structures. Its size and its location on
the site of the later Tholos have caused some to suppose that it must have been
a public building of some importance during the Peisistratid period. Yet the irregular plan and the large quantity of domestic artifacts recovered from the site
suggest otherwise. This rather grandiose structure looks altogether more like
the residence of a prominent family, perhaps even the Peisistratids themselves.3
Whether or not they ever actually lived there, Peisistratuss sons continued
the development of the Agora area as a public space. At some point during the
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s, a fountain house was erected toward the eastern end of the street that
marked the south side of the square, a building which Pausanias (..) later
attributed directly to Peisistratus himself. And Thucydides (..) tells us
that the younger Peisistratus, son of Hippias, dedicated the Altar of the Twelve
Gods during his archonship, probably the year / B.C.4
The altar is signicant for two reasons. First, situated at the northwest corner of the Agora area, where the street running north-south along the west side
met the Panathenaic Way, the altar formed the apex of a triangle of Peisistratid
structures that followed the lines of the neighborhoods preexisting street pattern, essentially xing the spatial scheme of the Agora down to the Hellenistic
period. Second, as the new symbolic center of the city, the altar reinforced the
growing stature of the Agora area within the public space of the city as a whole.
Henceforth, this would be the point from which all distances to places beyond
the city walls were measured. Within a few years, the altar would be linked to
settlements all over Attica through the system of milestones in the form of
herms set up by Hipparchus.5
But despite its emerging importance, there is very little to suggest that the
square was yet associated with the commercial, political, or judicial activities
with which it would be so closely identied in the centuries to come. As Shear
(, ) has recently written,
The implied centrality of the altar [i.e., the Altar of the Twelve Gods]
suggests that the stage was set for the development of the classical Agora
in the last quarter of the sixth century; but it is equally clear that no
demonstrably public buildings had yet been built.
In short, the open space created between the Areopagus and the Eridanos by Peisistratus and his sons was not yet an agora in any conventional sense of the term.
In so far as there was an agora in Athens at this time, whatever remains of it
is now thought to lie concealed under the modern neighborhood of Anaphiotika, to the immediate northeast of the Acropolis (g. ). Located here was a
cluster of the states most venerable public buildings (known as the arkheia).
These buildings included the Prytaneion, which housed the eponymous archon
and the sacred hearth, and the Boukolion and Epilykeion, the seats of the archon basileus and the polemarch, respectively. Here, too, could be found the
sanctuary of the Dioscuri known as the Anakeion, along with the Basileion
(where the phylobasileis, the leaders of the four pre-Cleisthenic tribes, were
ofcially accommodated) and perhaps the more mysterious Bouzygion.6 These
buildings would later be joined by the Theseion (probably established in /
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by Cimon) and the Gymnasium of Ptolemy. That there was still space available
in the area after B.C. for these two additions may suggest that large outdoor
gatherings, such as Assembly meetings, were also held here in earlier times.7
When the Peisistratids laid out their new square on the level ground east of
the Kolonos Agoraios, their aim evidently was not to replace or supplant the
old civic center northeast of the Acropolis. What, then, was their intention?
Drawing on a range of earlier scholarship, Camp (, ) suggests four
possible answers to this question.
According to Camps rst suggestion, the familys immediate concern was
to create a space for theatrical performances. It is true that in later years, an
area in the center of the Agora was known as the orkhestra, apparently recalling a time when the contests of the City Dionysia were held in that location
before the construction of the theater of Dionysus. But as we shall see in chapter , evidence for this festival before the last decade of the sixth century is far
from secure.8 Rather less compelling is the second suggestion, that the square
was developed to serve as a kind of parade ground for military drills and training. There is no evidence that the Peisistratids maintained a standing army or
even established the kind of mechanisms required to raise a citizen force on a
regular basis. As far as we can tell, they relied on non-Athenian allies and mercenaries to ght their military actions, and these were levied only on the very
few occasions when the need for such a force arose. And even if they did retain
an armed bodyguard throughout the period of their preeminence, it is hard to
imagine that it was the kind of force that required a large, open space for ongoing military training.9
Third, it may be that the space was cleared to serve primarily as a venue for
athletics. The only material evidence we have for a running track in fth-century Athens are the remains of a starting line found in the northwest sector of
the Agora, and it is possible that games were staged here on the Panathenaic
Way in earlier times, when the neighborhood was still predominantly residential in character. But there is no evidence linking the Peisistratids specically
with the promotion of athletics. While the areas established role as a venue for
games may have encouraged the family to develop it as a public square, the
range of monuments they erected there suggests that they saw it more as a multipurpose facility.10
For this reason, the nal explanation raised by Camp is more compelling,
in that it seeks to relate the new square more generally to contemporary political culture. But the specic suggestion that the space was somehow an expression of Peisistratuss democratic tendencies is problematic. There is
nothing necessarily democratic about creating a space to hold large gatherings
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of people, and we should need to know more about what went on there before
pronouncing it the project of an enlightened despot. As we saw earlier, Peisistratuss democratic tendencies are not self-evident. Even if he was the most
populist [demotiko tatos] (AP .) of contemporary leaders, there is not a
shred of evidence to suggest that this populism directly advanced the cause of
popular government in Athens.
The initiative is surely better seen as the latest in a series of self-promoting
grands projets pursued by prominent families during the course of the sixth century. Like the monumentalization of the Acropolis in the second quarter of the
century, the creation of this new space was, in the rst instance, an advertisement for the public municence, power, and wealth of its sponsors. Unlike the
Acropolis developments, however, the square was an ambitious ex nihilo initiative and the work, it seems, of a single family. Whatever mass spectacles and
gatherings were held herewhich surely included festival processions,
athletic contests, and possibly drama (though not yet as part of the City
Dionysia)the Peisistratids manifest presence in the physical setting will have
given each of these occasions a distinctly personal coloring, reinforcing, in the
process, their status within the elite as primi inter pares. The new square may
not yet have threatened the place of the old arkheia in the citys political life.
But we might see in the Altar of the Twelve Gods a conscious attempt by the
Peisistratids to supplant the Prytaneion as the symbolic heart of Athens and reorient the cultural life of the polis around a space with which they were now
so intimately associated.
These were bold moves by a family that was clearly determined to leave a
lasting impression on the fabric of the city. Certainly, the creation of a spacious
venue for mass spectacles and the provision of amenities like the shrines and
fountain house reveal the benecent, populist side of the Peisistratid regime. But
as we see all too clearly in the colossal temple to Olympian Zeus planned for
the southeast quarter of the city, their benecence was not disinterested. Contemporary political culture required expansive displays of power and largesse by
leaders if they were to keep their rivals at bay and retain de facto control of the
state without recourse to coercion. When they chose to play within the rules,
Peisistratus and his sons were among the most skilled practitioners of the art of
politics in this era, and their development of the large, open square between the
Areopagus and the Eridanos was arguably their masterpiece.
The square would of course long outlive the political forces that produced
it. A decade or so after the installation of the Altar of the Twelve Gods, Hippias and his immediate family were expelled from the polis in perpetuity. Their
regime was now publicly vilied by its successor: the vast Olympieion was con-
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sciously preserved in its unnished state as a memorial to the folly of their

tyranny, and a stele was installed on the Acropolis listing the names of Peisistratid family members and condemning them for their crime [adikia].11
It is all the more surprising, then, that this same successor regime should have
chosen to develop the area of Athens most indelibly associated with the
tyrants as a showcase for its own very different style of government. In the
years , the square would be irrevocably transformed into the civic and
commercial center of a dynamic region-state, a true agora in every sense of the
word. But before examining the various new structures now erected in the area,
we should rst look at how the delicate issue of lingering Peisistratid associations was negotiated.
PEISISTRATID MONUMENTS IN
A NEW POLITICAL CONTEXT
The men charged with transforming the Peisistratid square into the political
and economic heart of the new order adopted three different approaches to the
preexisting structures. The two shrines and the fountain house they chose simply to preserve intact presumably out of respect for their value as public amenities. At the same time, Building C, Building D (if it still stood at this time),
and the northern wing of the Building F complex were completely demolished
to make way for new structures on the squares west side.12 Most intriguing,
however, is the third approach, that of modication, especially since it was applied to the two structures most redolent of the Peisistratid past.
Even if the tyrants did not use the Building F complex as a residence, this
unusually grand and elaborate domestic structure would surely have been the
squares most distinctive and prominent landmark. Whatever its function, its
association with the family must have been particularly strong. But the designers of the new Agora elected not to level the entire complex outright. Instead, it was substantially remodeled (g. ), losing its northern wing, while
gaining an additional ancillary building on its southern side (Building J) in ca.
B.C. More remarkable, the modied structure was now physically attached
by a new parapet wall and a broad esplanade to the so-called Old Bouleuterion,
the home of the agship institution of the edgling national government,
which was erected at around the same time on the site formerly occupied by
Buildings C and D. The implication of these links must be that Building F was
to play some kind of role in the operations of the Council of . Though the
material record offers no clues as to the nature of this function, the bold as-
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93
similation of the archaic domestic structure into the fabric of the new Agora
would certainly have helped to diminish its tyrannical associations.13
A very similar approach seems to have been adopted toward the Altar of the
Twelve Gods. The Peisistratid resonance of this monument, which was dedicated by the younger Peisistratus and apparently intended to serve as a new
symbolic center for the city, could not have been more pronounced. But these
troubling associations seem to have been at least partly dissipated by a process
of physical assimilation. To the immediate south of the altar and on the same
orientation, a second altar was constructed in ca. B.C., this one in the form
of a hearth, or eskhara. Its scale (. by . meters) and location point to a
signicant role in the scheme of the new Agora, though again the exact nature
of this role remains unclear.14
Some have thought it might be the precinct, or temenos, of the Aiginetan
hero Aiakos that is mentioned by Herodotus (..), since the Aiakeion at
Aegina seems to have featured an altar of this same eskhara variety (see Paus.
..). But the Athenian Aiakeion was probably located elsewhere in the
Agora area. More attractive is the explanation proposed by Sourvinou-Inwood
(, ). She suggests that the eskhara and the Altar of the Twelve Gods
should be seen as components of a single ritual nexus. Together, they reproduced the functions of the old Prytaneion in the new civic center, the eskhara
serving in effect as a duplicate of the citys original sacred hearth (hestia). This
conjunction of altars will have drawn further attention to the new prominence
of the Agora area in the political and ceremonial life of the polis. At the same
time, the addition of the new altar will have helped to neutralize the familiar
Peisistratid identity of its older neighbor to the north.15
It is also possible that signicant modications were made to the Peisistratid
altar itself at around this same time. The enclosure surrounding the altar is
known to have had two distinct phases before the Hellenistic period. The earlier peribolos is very similar to the eskhara in orientation, ground level, materials, and workmanship, suggesting that it, too, was a product of the general
reconguration of the Agora in ca. B.C.16 It is highly tempting to relate
this development to the post-Peisistratid rededication of the altar mentioned
by Thucydides (..) in his brief discussion of the monument.
And among those who held the annual archonship at Athens was Peisistratus, son of the tyrant Hippias, who took his name from his grandfather. While in ofce, he set up the Altar of the Twelve Gods in the
Agora and that of Pythian Apollo. Later, the demos of the Athenians ex-
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tended the size of the altar in the Agora and erased its inscription [kai
to i men en te i agorai prosoikodome sas husteron ho de mos Athenaio n
meizon me kos tou bo mou ephaniseo toupigramma].
Thucydides does not tell us when these alterations were made. But it seems safe
to infer from the wording that his information came from a second inscription
that replaced the rst and that the extension he describes was therefore contemporary with the altars rededication by the demos. What was the nature of
this extension, and when was it added?
Archaeology reveals two signicant adjustments to the fabric of the altar in
later years, but neither qualies as the extension described by Thucydides. After suffering damage during the Persian sack, the altar was renovated in the
third quarter of the fth century, though with no apparent change to its overall design; about a century later, a new enclosure was added. Thucydides extension must then predate the Persian Wars and presumably refers to the construction of the earlier peribolos in ca. .17
If this reconstruction is correct, we can conclude that the altar underwent a
fairly complex process of modication during the early years of the new regime.
On the one hand, it was considerably aggrandized; the addition of the peribolos and the eskhara formed a kind of functional duplicate of the Prytaneion, thus
facilitating the general shift in the citys center of gravity from the old arkheia
to the new Agora. At the same time, these additions, along with the rededication of the older altar and the removal of its original inscription, reveal a conscious effort to divest the monument of its Peisistratid stigma and make its presence at the physical heart of the new order somewhat less incongruous.18
Thus, in their efforts to transform a Peisistratid grand projet into a suitable
setting for a new form of popular government, the designers of the Agora exercised considerable discretion in their handling of structures erected by the
tyrants. Some were preserved intact, and others were demolished, while the
least politically neutral of these monuments were carefully assimilated into the
new setting. The signicance of this intriguing interplay between continuity
and discontinuity will be explored shortly.
DESIGN FOR A NEW AGORA
Any doubts about the new regimes ofcial attitude toward the Peisistratid
past would have been promptly eliminated by Antenors statue group, which
was probably among the rst monuments erected in the new Agora (g. ).
With its immodest celebration of the violent death of the Peisistratid Hip-
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parchus at the hands of Harmodius and Aristogeiton, the monument conveyed

the strongest possible repudiation of the previous regime, branding it forever
an illegitimate tyranny. Located at the physical heart of the new order, the
group of course tells us less about the true nature of Peisistratid rule than about
the self-image of the regime that replaced it. The new order needed an explanatory narrative to make sense of the recent political transformation, and
Antenors composition captured the purported moment of change in vivid
style. The invention of this tyrannicide tradition will be explored in more detail in due course.19
Turning to more functional monuments, the new identity of the old Peisistratid square and the corresponding rise in its signicance were advertised
on a series of horoi that proclaimed themselves boundary markers of the
Agora. Like the other monuments and artifacts described in this section, they
are generally dated to the years around B.C. Remains of four horoi have
been found, two of them in situ in the southwest corner, at points where streets
from the south and west entered the square. The discovery of another horos of
similar date and format in the northeast corner of the Academy precinct suggests that all were part of a comprehensive scheme to reorganize and dene
public space in and around the city center at this time.20
The erection of horoi at the entrances to the new Agora served both a religious and a practical purpose. First, they marked off the area within as a sacred
precinct. As such, the square was off-limits to the polluted, a category that
in classical times included not only homicides but also those guilty of certain
crimes against the state, such as treachery, desertion, and the avoidance of military service. As at any major sanctuary, the entrances would also have featured
ritual washing basins (perirrhanteria), where those who were admitted could
cleanse themselves before going inthough our earliest evidence for these
basins in the Agora dates only from the midfourth century.21 On a more practical level, the horoi would also have dened the area from which was excluded
a range of quotidian activities, such as the construction of private buildings
and the dropping of refuse.22 Collectively, then, these boundary markers not
only announced the squares new role as the ofcial center of political and economic life in the polis but also marked a more fundamental shift in its character, from a privately developed utility to a publicly administered sacred space.
Betting this elevation in status, the square also seems to have undergone
some infrastructural improvement in the years around B.C. At least one of
the neighborhoods thoroughfares was either surfaced or resurfaced at this
time, and others may have experienced the same treatment. More important,
it was also during this period that the rst systematic attempt was made to ad-
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dress the areas serious drainage problem. The so-called Great Drain now installed under the old street running north-south along the squares west side
was constructed with an exceptionally high level of precision and workmanship. Filling was used at various points along its course to create a smooth
northward gradient, and its oor and walls were lined with nely worked
polygonal stone slabs. The Great Drain would retain its function as the central
artery in an ever growing network of drains and side channels for the remainder of antiquity.23
With the transformation of the square into a fully functional agora, one
would expect that economic activity established itself fairly rapidly in the area,
especially in and around the east side, where business seems to have been concentrated in later times. In the era before the construction of the great stoas,
commercial structures are of course less archaeologically visible than their civic
counterparts. But the remains of what are thought to be retail premises dating
from the end of the sixth century have been unearthed in the northeast corner
of the square, and further traces of mercantile activity from around the same
time have been detected in the Agoras eastern section. Predictably, given the
proximity of the citys famous potters quarter, the earliest visible activity on
the east side seems to have involved the sale of ceramics.24
Fortunately, evidence for the erection of a series of new civic structures in
and around the square in ca. B.C. is rather more extensive. Not the least
important of these structures was a large theatral area on the slope of the Pnyx
hill, designed as the meeting place for the new national assembly. Though located some four hundred meters to the southwest of the square proper, it may
safely be regarded as an appendage of the agora, as Wycherley (, ) observes.25 The slope of the hill was quarried and dressed to form a cavea, and a
retaining wall was erected to contain the earth ll, from which a at terrace
was then created to serve as the podium area (bema). The result was a large
public space of around , square meters, believed sufcient to accommodate up to ve thousand citizens. Though debate continues about the precise
chronology of the site, majority opinion would assign this, the earliest phase,
to the nal years of the sixth century, when, as we have seen, the competence
of the Assembly was dramatically expanded. Presumably, the construction of
the cavea was an integral part of a larger building program that also brought
about the substantial redevelopment of the west side of the Agora at around
this same time.26
Chief among these new structures on the west side was the so-called Old
Bouleuterion, home of the Council of , the critical link between the
deme/trittys/tribe system and the central government in Athens (g. ). Its
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date is the subject of ongoing debate, but the most recent work on the remains
bears out the traditional assignment of the Old Bouleuterion to ca. B.C.27
The buildings foundations, made of limestone blocks, measure . by .
meters, and its plan featured a broad entrance lobby on the south side. The interior is thought to have included rows of seating ranged along the north, east,
and west sides, around the ve columns that supported the roof. Meanwhile,
the exterior of the building has now been restored in the Doric order, with a
facade featuring ve columns in antis and with a nely executed triglyphmetope frieze decorating the entablature on all four sides.28
As noted earlier in this chapter, the Old Bouleuterion was linked by a parapet wall and an esplanade to the Peisistratid Building F, which underwent substantial remodeling at around this same time. Though the two structures appear to have functioned together as a single complex, the role that the older
building played in this scheme remains unclear. Thompson (, ) originally suggested that, like the later Tholos on the same site, it served as the accommodations for the prytaneis of the Council. But since serious doubts have
now been raised about the existence of a prytany system before the reforms of
Ephialtes (see Rhodes , , ), when the powers of the Council
were signicantly expanded, Thompsons idea is no longer so attractive.
More appealing is the suggestion that the building was adapted to serve as
the ofcial seat in the new Agora of the college of archons, who would have convened and presided over the Council in the years before the prytany system was
introduced. Like its predecessor in the arkheia to the northeast of the Acropolis, the modied structure was probably known as the Thesmotheteion. As such,
the building was now one of a surprising number of monuments and artifacts
in the new setting that explicitly recalled or reproduced landmark features of
the old civic center. Further illustrations of this continuity, both symbolic and
functional, along with its larger signicance, will be discussed shortly.29
The other major civic structure built on the west side at this time was the
Stoa Basileios, the seat of the archon basileus (g. ). In this function, it replaced the Boukolion, which stood near the Prytaneion in the old civic center.30 Again, the date of the building is contested, though the chronological
prole of the sherds used as ll in its foundations seems to resemble that of
the ll used in the Old Bouleuterion.31 The remains of the stoa are more substantial than those of any other contemporary structure in the Agora; they include the stylobate, the stumps of both antae, and blocks of the triglyphmetope frieze. Like the Old Bouleuterion, the stoa was constructed in the
Doric order, with an east-facing facade of eight columns in antis and, initially,
two interior columns supporting the roof. To judge from what survives of its
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architectural details, an exceptionally high level of workmanship was lavished

on the structure.32
The building also has interesting symbolic links with the old arkheia. First,
it was here that the designers of the Agora chose to display the laws of Solon,
inscribed on stone tablets, or kurbeis. The texts of the laws were presumably
copied from the original wooden documents, known as axones, which stood in
the old Prytaneion. The kurbeis were most probably mounted on the stone
platform that appears to have lined the interior walls of the stoa from the time
of its construction.33
Second, Shear (, ) has raised the intriguing possibility that the
large, unworked poros block found in situ in front of the stoas east facade was
itself once a prominent landmark in the old civic center. Several sources refer
to the stone (ho lithos) in the Agora where the archons swore oaths of ofce
before commencing their public duties, and Pollux (Onom. .) species that
it was located at the Stoa Basileios. Shear argues that this lithos should be
equated with the heralds stone that stood in the neighborhood of the old
arkheia. And given the apparent antiquity of the archons swearing-in ceremony, it seems highly likely that a similar procedure was followed in both locations, whether the lithos used in the Agora was merely a facsimile of an older
stone or, as Shear suggests, was physically translated there from its original setting in ca. B.C. Either way, the installation of the lithos in front of the Stoa
Basileios has an obvious symbolic signicance, reecting the recent shift in the
citys political center of gravity, while at the same time vividly illustrating the
designers concern to emphasize links and continuities between the old arkheia
and the new Agora.34
The last of the major new structures was a large open enclosure (. by
meters) located toward the west end of the street that ran along the south side
of the square. The height of the walls remains unclear. But what survives indicates that they were made from well-cut squared blocks of Aeginetan limestone
and were surmounted by a cornice decorated with a pointed hawksbeak molding. The cornice prole and the pottery associated with the peribolos make it
roughly contemporary with the other structures already discussed, and it may
be that the soft bedrock removed from the interior when the oor was leveled
was later used to raise the ground level at the site of the Old Bouleuterion.35
There are no artifacts or inscriptions from the site to help us identify the
function of the enclosure. Size, location, and quality of workmanship point to
its signicance, while its general plan suggests that it must have served as a
venue for large gatherings of some kind. Thompson and Wycherley (, )
remark, By a process of elimination one is virtually drawn to the conclusion
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that [it] was a law court. And support for this idea may come from Building
A (ca. B.C.) on the east side, a similarly large, open, rectangular enclosure
located under the Stoa of Attalus, which is thought to have served this same
function. For these reasons, the traditional identication of the peribolos as the
Heliaia still seems the most attractive available. As we saw earlier, the popular
court of that name, like the Assembly, seems to have acquired somewhat
broader powers after /, a direct result of the new regimes emphasis on mass
participation in public life. The peribolos would have amply lled the need for
a structure large enough to accommodate a judicial body that was now considered to represent the will of the entire demos. But pending more decisive
evidence for the identication, such conclusions must remain speculative,
however tempting.36
The Agora building program of ca. B.C. also seems to have included a
number of religious monuments. In addition to the new eskhara mentioned earlier, a small temple (. by meters) was erected on the west side, between the
archaic apsidal temple and the Old Bouleuterion.37 The building has plausibly
been identied as the original Metroon, the temple of Meter, the Mother of the
Gods, whose cult would long be associated with the Council of . According
to standard reconstructions, the cult was actually relocated to the Old Bouleuterion after the temple was destroyed by the Persians. Following the erection of
the New Bouleuterion toward the end of the fth century, the original council
chamber combined the role of cult center and record ofce, itself acquiring the
title Metroon by at least the middle of the fourth century. Later, during the
second century, a sprawling Metroon complex was constructed over the sites
formerly occupied by the Old Bouleuterion and the original temple.38
Whence this rather incongruous link between the goddess otherwise
known as Cybele, an imported Phrygian deity, and a sober deliberative body
in the Athenian state? As Parker (, ) has written, Cybele in charge of
the state documents is an image no less startling than that of Dionysus wedded to the archon basileus wife. Whether or not the Athenians themselves
were startled by this image back in ca. , it is clear that Meters role as a kind
of patron divinity of the Council and its operations became thoroughly unremarkable over time.39 This domestication of the goddess probably began in
northern Ionia, where her cult seems to have entered the Greek world during
the course of the sixth century. And it may be that the Athenians surprising
choice of Meter to perform a political function in the new Agora was
inuenced by the practices of their neighbors in eastern Greece, since there is
some evidence that she played a similar role in Smyrna and Colophon. But beyond this, we can say little.40
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A comparable function may also have been performed by the goddess associated with our nal new monument from this period. In , just across
the Panathenaic Way from the Stoa Basileios, excavation brought to light
the remains of an elaborate Cycladic marble altar measuring . by . meters.
The use of island marble and the associated pottery point to a date of around
B.C. The altar is believed to have belonged to the precinct of another domesticated import, Aphrodite Ourania. Its proximity to the stoa, like that
of the Metroon to the Old Bouleuterion, suggests that here, too, cult was being used to give some kind of divine sanction to a political institution. Why
this particular divinity was chosen for this role is again not entirely clear,
though Aphrodite is known to have served as a guardian of magistrates elsewhere in Greece.41
In sum, the level area east of the Kolonos Agoraios was rst cleared and developed as a space for communal activity during the Peisistratid era, but not
until after Cleisthenes reforms did it assume the character of a true agora, a
publicly administered sacred space serving as the center of political and commercial life in the city. Although the earlier format of the square was retained
and the Peisistratid monuments were for the most part preserved intact or carefully assimilated, a series of new structures was required to accommodate the
institutions of the new regime and to rehouse the ofcials uprooted from the
old arkheia northeast of the Acropolis. The building program pursued in the
years around B.C. transformed the appearance and signicance of the area
almost beyond recognition. Exotic new cults were added, commercial activity
began to take root on the east side, and infrastructural improvements were implemented to cope with the greatly increased demands now made on the
square. But most important of all, the creation of spacious meeting places for
the Assembly, the Council of , and possibly the Heliaia offered visible evidence of the shift to a new era of mass participation and collective responsibility in public life.42
CONTINUITIES AND DISCONTINUITIES
The creation of a new kind of polity in Attica in / thus motivated comparable discontinuities in the form and function of public space in the center
of Athens. But our interest in these physical discontinuities goes well beyond
their historical signicance. The civic center that replaced the old Peisistratid
square was also a richly symbolic environmentin effect, a showcase for the
new regime. Its fabric can tell us much about how the political experiment of
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the late sixth century was perceived and represented at the time. How, then,
was the idea of the new order articulated in the material culture of the Agora?
We can begin to answer this question by considering what must be the two
most unexpected features of the new civic center. In the rst place, we have the
relatively large number of items that either recalled or directly reproduced
prominent monuments and landmarks from the old civic center. Since the
buildings in the ancient arkheia would continue in use and since antique structures like the Prytaneion would retain a special place in the symbolic life of the
community long after /, the incorporation of so many features from this
site into the fabric of the new Agora seems a little excessive, even redundant.
Logistics or convenience may account for some, like the creation of the second
Thesmotheteion. But antiquities like the lithos and the second copy of Solons
laws appear rather out of place in the home of a regime that represented so profound a break with the past.
Our expectations are also confounded by the strikingly mild treatment administered to the existing Peisistratid monuments. Again, expediency may
well explain the preservation of a utility like the fountain house, and no doubt
partly accounts for the decision to locate the new civic center in this area in
the rst place, given that it had already been cleared and developed for communal activity. But the relatively minor changes made to the Building F complex and the Altar of the Twelve Gods, the two monuments most redolent of
the Peisistratids, defy any straightforward explanation. One would think that
a new order that publicly celebrated the violent end of the previous regime as
an act of tyrannicide might have sought to distance itself much further from
its predecessor.
A clue to the reason for these puzzling incongruities may be provided by a
third, no less striking feature of the new Agora: the architectural idiom used in
the major civic buildings. The earlier Peisistratid structures in the square were
not especially distinguished for the quality of their workmanship, typically featuring walls of unworked stones surmounted by unbaked bricks. The contrast
offered by the new buildings could hardly have been more marked. The Old
Bouleuterion, the Stoa Basileios, and the building usually identied as the Heliaia all featured regular courses of precisely fashioned poros blocks, along with
an attention to ornamental detail that was traditionally reserved only for sacred
architecture. As Shear (, with n. ) points out, these are in fact the earliest known examples of the use of monumental stone architecture outside conventional sanctuaries, and the stoa and the bouleuterion were possibly the very
rst structures of purely secular function to be built in the Doric order.43
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Why, then, was this sacred architectural idiom deemed appropriate for the
landmark edices of the new Agora? The squares status as a sacred precinct
may well have inuenced or encouraged the choice, and these buildings were
clearly felt to be of sufcient importance to merit the kind of workmanship
that was usually lavished only on major temples. But it would be surprising if
the choice was not also in some sense a statement about the character of the
regime these buildings were designed to serve.
Shear (, ) himself is certainly willing to read a political signicance
into the use of sacred architectural language in this context. He suggests that
this signicance lay in the celebrated equilibrium of proportion and monumentality of form unique to the Doric order, which he sees as a perfect visual metaphor for the concept of isonomia. He goes on to explain, Architectural form and political function thus coalesce in [the stoa and the
bouleuterion], and the Doric order makes a signicant contribution of its own
to the nascent ideology of democracy.
This explanation is attractive, if not entirely persuasive. The proposed relationship between form and function seems a little too academic and oblique.
One wonders if the Doric orders proportionality was, for an ancient viewer,
its most suggestive feature. It is, in any case, not entirely certain that isonomia
really was the guiding principle, stated or unstated, behind the political
changes. As we saw earlier, the immediate concern of the reforms of / was
to redene the state as a regionwide, collective enterprise, not to eradicate inequalities for their own sake.
I believe that it was an altogether less recondite quality of this particular style
of architecture that made it so attractive to the designers of the Agora. Shear
(, ) in fact alludes to this quality a little earlier in his article, when he
speaks of how the architectural language of the Doric order is governed by certain laws framed in long usage and tradition. It is not the orders sacred resonance per se which explains its appeal, nor its equilibrium of proportion and
monumentality of form. The appeal lay rather in its suggestion of the traditional practices and cultural permanence associated with the structures hitherto
built in this idiom. Much as the Capitol building in Washington and the Houses
of Parliament in London use traditional sacred architectural language to lend
an aura of hoary antiquity to the institutions within, so it seems that the Doric
order was self-consciously applied to civic buildings in Athens in the late sixth
century to suggest some kind of political continuity with the distant past.
If correct, this interpretation also helps to explain the two other distinctive
features of the new Agora discussed above. By retaining most of the preexisting monuments and reusing them in the new scheme, the designers of the
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Agora drew on a further source of physical continuity to reinforce a general

sense of the new regimes links with the past. Of course, the sites earlier
identication with the tyrants was problematic. But only the most overt of
its Peisistratid associations could be removed or neutralized if the overall impression of continuity was to be sustained. This same impression was also encouraged by reproducing monuments and landmarks of the old civic center in
the new setting. The incorporation of features like the lithos and the laws of
Solon into the fabric of the Agora was as much symbolic as it was functional,
visible evidence of the new orders links with the traditions of government represented by the cluster of venerable structures around the old Prytaneion.44
With so much effort made to invest the new space with an aura of tradition
and continuity, later observers, like the author of AP (e.g., .), can certainly
be forgiven for believing the Agora to be older than it actually was.
There were of course some genuine institutional continuities between the
old order and the new; the Assembly had existed in some form since long before the reforms of Cleisthenes, while the Areopagus and the major magistracies would all survive long thereafter. But the essential character of the regime
after /, with its emphasis on mass participation and government by regionwide community, was radically new. Thus, there appears to be something
of a disjunction between the realities of the new order and its representation
in the visual scheme of its primary physical setting. The larger message here is,
I think, clear enough: Cleisthenes and his associates consciously refrained from
presenting their experiment at face value. Rather, they chose to emphasize its
reassuring continuities, real and imagined, with Athenian political traditions.
In other words, they made it appear as if they were not founding any brave new
order but were simply restoring an old one, the traditional order that had supposedly been suspended or dissolved by the Peisistratid tyrants. What better
way to allay suspicions of revolution than to deny the existence of any progressive change at all?
This emphasis on tradition and continuity is in fact a recurring feature
almost a leitmotifof the various other innovations in public life that followed
Cleisthenes reforms. Its appearance in a range of different contexts will afford
us further opportunity to analyze the representation of political change in the
chapters to come, and to explore in more detail the public characterization of
relations between the new order and previous political arrangements in Athens.
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4
THE ACROPOLIS:
NEW DEPARTURES AMONG
OLD CERTAINTIES
The sacred space on the Athenian Acropolis was in many ways as anomalous as the state that controlled it. By the end of the fth century, it ranked
with the most prestigious Panhellenic sanctuaries for the opulence of its
buildings and the sheer quantity of its votive deposits. Yet for all its impressive grandiloquence, this was very much a local space. Alongside the monuments of Delphi or Olympia, with their expression of numerous different
voices and perspectives, the material culture of the classical Acropolis seems
narrowly monophonic and distinctly parochial. Its buildings and votives were
dedicated for the most part by citizens of the host state, and there was little
need to heed the sensibilities of others. Here, the Athenians vision of past
and present could be freely articulated without disturbance or challenge as
they volubly celebrated their gods, their heroes, and, in no small measure,
themselves.
The story of the sites evolution, from modest Mycenean citadel to perhaps
the most bombastic and self-regarding sanctuary in the Greek world, is still imperfectly understood. But it is becoming increasingly clear that an important
chapter in this story was written in the years B.C. To help us understand why, we should rst briey review earlier developments.1
104
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FROM HABITATION TO SANCTUARY
For all but the last century or so of the long period stretching from the end of
the Bronze Age to the Periclean era, the material assemblage on the Acropolis
offered little hint of the grandeur to come. Granted, the citadels formidable
Cyclopean walls, erected in the later thirteenth century, would survive largely
intact down to the time of the Persian sack. But the Mycenean palace complex
had ceased to function by the end of the Bronze Age, and it would be at least
ve hundred years before another truly monumental structure arose within the
fortied enclosure.
The palace complex itself, of which only the merest suggestion remains, was
not so much destroyed as abandoned. Parlous evidence from the time indicates
that it was joined on the citadel by a modest settlement that ourished briey
during the late Mycenean period. But with the return of inhumation to the site
(for the rst time since the Middle Bronze Age) in the Submycenean era (ca.
), the Acropolis entered its own dark age. Except for a few scraps of
pottery, the material record is almost completely blank for the next two and a
half centuries. And while later disturbances may help to explain the relative absence of visible activity from the Protogeometric period to the Middle Geometric period (ca. ), it seems safe to conclude that the landmark shift
in the function of the Acropolis, from fortied settlement to uninhabited sanctuary, was still some way from completion.2
This conclusion gains further strength from the abrupt manner in which
the near silence is broken. By earlier standards, the Acropolis of the Late Geometric period (ca. ) is a hive of activity, and the manifestly votive character of the numerous deposits conrms that the site now functioned as a sanctuary of some signicance. Whatever forces lay behind this development were
not conned to central Athens. Elsewhere in Attica, the same period saw new
sanctuaries spring up at Eleusis, Brauron, and the Academy, while a sudden
rise in cult activity is also generally visible further aeld in Greece, especially
at the emerging Panhellenic sanctuaries. But among the Attic sites, none comes
close to matching the number and wealth of the items that were now dedicated
on the Acropolis.
To judge from the huge quantity of sherds recovered, the ne local vases of
this period were a particularly popular form of votive. More expensive items
are also attested, not least some early bronze gurines and around seventy fragments from the legs and handles of tripods. However, not until the seventh
century do we nd evidence for building activity of any kind. This comes in
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the form of a pair of rather primitive limestone column bases found at the site
of the later Old Athena Temple, several decorated architectural terracottas, an
inscribed marble roof tile, and what appears to be a bronze disk akroterion.
Even if all these items did not belong to one building, it seems reasonable to
infer that we have among them remains of the rst substantial sacred structure
on the Acropolis, most probably a modest temple of Athena Polias, the citys
patron goddess.3
Curiously, this signicant development seems to have taken place at a time
of general cultural recession. Though the range of votives visible on the seventh-century Acropolis is not unlike that of the Late Geometric period, the
quantity declines sharply. The entire century has yielded barely a hundred
sherds and around ten times fewer tripod fragments than we saw in the eighth
century. But it is also clear that these lower numbers do not reect any decline
in the relative standing of the sanctuary, since there is a marked decrease all
over Attica in the numbers of settlements, active cemeteries, and sanctuary deposits during this same period.
When the end of this recession nally came, it did so in dramatic fashion.
The monumentalization of the Acropolis sanctuary in the second quarter of the
sixth century (referred to in chapter ) marks the second major eforescence on
the citadel since the collapse of the Mycenean system. But only now are intimations of its future grandeur readily apparent. A key element in this transformation was the construction of a rampsome eighty meters in lengththat
led up to the west entrance and would have greatly improved access to the summit. Possibly, the old Bronze Age gateway was also adapted to allow for greater
trafc in and out of the sanctuary. And sometime between and , the
crown of the old Mycenean bastion that abutted the southern ank of the ramp
was restored, and the site was converted into a small precinct for Athena Nike,
complete with a cult statue and an altar set up by one Patrokles.4
Meanwhile, the area within the colossal circuit wall was undergoing its own
transformation. Most conspicuously, the primitive seventh-century temple of
Athena Polias was now in all likelihood overshadowed by a new structure
erected on the south side of the site (gs. ). The Bluebeard temple is
generally restored as a peripteral structure in the Doric order, about forty meters long and twenty meters wide. Its more distinctive features included the use
of both marble and poros metope panels (some of them decorated) and two
brightly painted pedimental compositions, both of which were centered on
lion-and-bull groupsone perhaps anked by large serpent gures, the other
anked by a Heracles-Triton (?) group in the left angle and the mysterious,
eponymous Bluebeard gure in the right.5
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Other structures were also added at this time. Though no suitable foundations have been found, the superstructural remains are quite substantial. They
include terracotta materials from as many as ve different buildings from ca.
, a range of Doric architectural membra, and a series of small, poros
pedimental groups, which depict such themes as Heracles battle with the Lernaean Hydra and the same heros later apotheosis. According to the consensus
view, at least some of these remains belonged to the buildings referred to in a
later inscription as oikemata (chambers), which perhaps functioned as the
treasuries of prominent Athenian families.6
Consonant with all of this building activity, the sanctuary also experienced
an abrupt increase in the quantity and extravagance of its votive deposits. Most
notable are the life-size marble statues that now appear on the Acropolis for
the rst time. These include not only the well-known male gure, the
Moschophoros, or calf-bearer, but also the earliest examples in the sites impressive sequence of korai. Among other highlights of the inventory from this
period are a marble frontal four-horse chariot group of unknown function,
vases decorated by such master painters as Sophilos and Cleitias, and a bronze
Athena statuette of a Palladion or Promakhos type, the rst in what would be
another distinguished series.7
As others have observed, this monumentalization of the sanctuary must relate in some way to the foundation of the Great Panathenaia in ca. B.C.
Just as the festival in many ways aped the format of the new Panhellenic games
recently founded at Delphi, Isthmia, and Nemea, so it seems the Acropolis, the
ritual locus for the Panathenaia, now aspired to the condition of a Panhellenic
sanctuary.8
But we probably should not imagine that the newfound grandeur of the
site was the product of any coordinated public policy. Signicantly, when
ofcials made dedications at this time, they did so as individuals, not in the
name of any larger, more impersonal body, such as the demos or the Athenians.9 As noted in chapter , what fueled the sudden transformation of the
sanctuary in ca. was not so much collective planning and deliberation
as competition. Like the sites at Olympia and Delphi, the Acropolis had provided since the eighth century a suitably public context for the competitive display of elite credentials; on the Acropolis, though, the competition was
conned exclusively to the great families of Athens.10
For reasons also noted in chapter , it is surely probable that the Boutadai,
the family that controlled the cult of Athena Polias, played a decisive role in the
foundation of the Great Panathenaia. If so, it would be surprising if they were
not also responsible for a number of other developments that may relate to the
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festival, like the ramp, the new Nike sanctuary, and at least one of the oikemata
that were erected at this time. But for all their inuence, the Boutadai did not
monopolize activity in and around the sanctuary. If, again on the Olympic or
Delphic model, some or all of the oikemata were in fact treasuries, they were presumably built and operated not by different states but by several rival families.11
A case was made in chapter for seeing the Bluebeard temple as an Alcmeonid
initiative, and the wide variety of names visible on other large monuments suggests that the group of elites vying for public recognition in mid-sixth-century
Athens was actually quite extensive. The monumentalization of the Acropolis
was largely a result of the energies generated by this spirit of rivalry.
Following the comprehensive victory of Peisistratus at Pallene and the departure of his defeated rivals into exile, one would expect that this competitive
spirit diminished appreciably in the years that followed. And a decrease in votive activity would have been all the more likely if, as some have maintained,
Peisistratus actually took up residence atop the Acropolis. But there is really no
evidence to support this idea, which, in any case, seems to rest on a rather extreme interpretation of the nature of Peisistratuss authority. As it stands, the
material record for the years // is not especially impressive, though
it is hardly negligible. It may include up to three more oikemata, along with
early examples of the large-scale equestrian monuments with which the site
would come to be so associated. A number of korai also appear to belong to
the period, including onethe Lyons korethat may have served as a caryatid. Not one of these items can be securely linked to Peisistratus himself. Assuming that at least some were dedicated by others, we might conclude that
the appearance of competitive rivalry, if not perhaps its reality, was maintained
during the rst phase of the tyranny.12
This is even more true of the second phase, when, as the archon list makes
clear, the Peisistratids enjoyed better relations with erstwhile rivals like the Alcmeonids and the Philaids. The Acropolis inventory for ca. is unprecedented for the number, quality, and variety of its monumental dedications, ranging from the splendid seated Athena, commonly thought to be the
work of Endoios seen by Pausanias (..), to the image of a mounted hippalektryon, a fanciful beast, half horse and half cock, which enjoyed a brief
vogue in contemporary vase painting. But no doubt the most denitive dedications of this period were the korai, which enjoyed an unprecedented level of
popularity from the time of the Peplos kore (ca. ) on (g. ).13
At the same time, for all the sanctuarys prosperity while Athens was under the stewardship of Peisistratuss sons, members of the preeminent family
are conspicuously absent from the register of known dedicators. And if, as
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many now think, the Old Athena Temple should be dated to the end of the
sixth century, it appears that the citadel saw little building activity between
/ and /.14
Indeed, reviewing the evidence for the tyranny as a whole, one is most
struck precisely by the absence of any fundamental change in either the appearance or the character of the citys premier sanctuary. Established patterns
of display by the wealthy continued largely undisturbed throughout this
period. In fact, there is little suggestion here of any tyranny at all, perhaps a
further sign that the regime did not, in the end, mark a dramatic departure
from the norm. Of course, our failure to identify any Peisistratid buildings or
votives hardly proves that there were none, and it remains possible that a temporary decline in votive activity took place in the aftermath of the battle of Pallene. But the ood of dedications after more than compensates for any earlier falloff. Evidently, in so far as the Peisistratids did feel the need to express
their preeminence through monuments, these statements were reserved for another public space in a different locale, the open square between the Areopagus and the Eridanos, which they themselves seem to have developed especially
for this purpose. In the meantime, as far as we can tell, it was business as usual
on the Acropolis.
IMPRINT OF A NEW ORDER
Though the old Peisistratid square underwent a more drastic facelift during the
years , the Acropolis was similarly, if less obtrusively, stamped with the
mark of a new political culture at this time. The ravages of the Persian sack
would of course deny the period any lasting inuence on the physical appearance of the sanctuary. Yet in the years following Cleisthenes reforms, there is
a discernible shift in the function and resonance of the space, the rst visible
intimations of that distinctive character we associate with the Acropolis of the
high classical period.
At the outset, it should be emphasized that there was little change made at
this time to the overall layout of the sanctuary, its perimeter, or its monumental approach. The Nike bastion was apparently left untouched, as were the circuit walls and the gateway. Within the walls, the existing oikemata were also
preserved, though one structure from the Peisistratid era appears to have had
its roof replaced.15 Of the innovations, by far the most visible took place on
the citys most hallowed site, the precinct of Athena Polias on the north side
of the citadel. Here, the primitive seventh-century temple, venerable witness
to the Acropolis exploits of Cylon, Peisistratus, Hippias, and, more recently,
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Cleomenes, was nally dismantled after more than a century of service. In its
place arose, at some point during the rst decade under the new order, a far
grander successor, a limestone peripteral Doric structure over forty meters in
length, known generally as the Old Athena Temple, or the Arkhaios Neos (g.
).16 Together, the new building and the Bluebeard temple would dominate
the Acropolis skyline until the early s, when the latter was demolished to
make way for the ill-fated predecessor of the Parthenon.
The date of the Arkhaios Neos has long been a matter of dispute. Though
it has traditionally been assigned to the s and seen as a Peisistratid monument, a number of scholars would now date it toward the end of the sixth century. Certain features of the temple, such as the single-step (as opposed to the
standard three-step) stylobate and the double-cella plan do seem to recall earlier structures. But other features look forward with equal insistence. With
sides of six columns by twelve columns, the building anticipates the broader,
shorter proportions of early classical temples. And various technical details,
such as the echinus proles of its capitals and the moldings and painted palmettes of the sima, collectively suggest a date close to B.C.17
There is perhaps greater unanimity about the date of the temples marble
pediments. A growing number of scholars would place the sculptures after
B.C., even if some maintain that the temple itself is somewhat earlier.18 Perhaps the most arresting feature of the pediments is their willful anachronism.
In the case of the well-known Gigantomachy (Acrop. ), Sthler () and,
more recently, Moore () make a compelling case that two horse protomes
(Acrop. , ) should be restored to the center of the composition as part
of a two- or four-horse chariot group, with Zeus and perhaps Heracles riding
as passengers (g. ). If this reconstruction is correct, the result, as Childs
(, ) points out, would have seemed distinctly old-fashioned by about
B.C., since the frontal chariot motif seems to have reached the peak of its popularity years earlier, in the middle decades of the sixth century.19
The archaism of the second pediment, now sadly fragmentary, is even more
pronounced. Though stylistic details again favor a date toward the end of the
sixth century, the pediments central scene, a group of two lions savaging a bull,
looks like a direct allusionperhaps a gesture of homageto the very similar
tableaux in both pediments of the Bluebeard temple.20 More generally, the
use of such a highly traditional heraldic format in a temple of this late date can
only be, in the words of Childs (, ), a purposeful repetition of earlier
pediments. This striking conjunction of a traditional pedimental scheme with
a more contemporary one reinforces the overall impression of a distinctly
Janus-faced building, one that simultaneously anticipates later developments
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and acknowledges considerable debts to the art and architecture of an earlier

time.
The more progressive aspect is also visible in what seems to have been another feature of the temples decorative scheme. Several marble relief fragmentsone featuring a well-preserved charioteer gureare stylistically contemporary with the Arkhaios Neos and apparently formed part of an extended
frieze composition, the earliest known in Athens. The only plausible context
for a frieze of this scale (. meters high) at this time would be a temple, and
a number of authorities would restore it to the Arkhaios Neos as a decoration
above both porches or as a continuous frieze running around the entire cella
wall. Either way, this innovative Ionicism on an otherwise orthodox Doric
structure obviously looks forward to the Parthenon and may well have directly
inuenced the Ionic decorative scheme of the later Erechtheion, since at least
part of the cella building of the Old Athena Temple probably continued to occupy the site down to the time of its eventual successor.21
Though by some distance the most impressive, the Old Athena Temple was
not the only new structure erected on the Acropolis during this period. Roof
materials of two (possibly three) other, smaller buildings from the era have survived, along with some poros masonry from a large oikema known as Building
B, which was recovered from the foundations of the classical Propylaia complex. The most striking feature of the latter is its apsidal plan, perhaps suggesting a purposeful archaism.22 Some would also assign the rst phase of the
entrance courtyard that preceded the later Propylaia to ca. , but this date
would be inconsistent with the chronological scheme presented here so far.23
However, two other infrastructural projects do seem to have been undertaken
at this time. These took the form of a cistern (perhaps around eight meters
wide), located under the site of the classical structure known as the Northwest
Building, and a small spring house (dedicated to the nymphs and, later, to Pan,
Hermes, Aphrodite, and Isis), which was built on the south slope of the Acropolis in the area of the later Asklepieion. Both structures date to the end of the
sixth century.24
Three nal candidates for inclusion in the list of building initiatives pursued by the new regime in the general area of the citadel should also be mentioned at this point: the temple of Triptolemos in the City Eleusinion, the temple of Dionysus Eleuthereus, and the Acropolis precinct of Artemis Brauronia.
All three initiatives relate to the foundation or development of festivals that reinforced linkages between Athens and different parts of Attica, festivals which
are usually thought to have been promoted by the Peisistratids. But as we saw
in chapter , it is not self-evident that the family did in fact aim to promote a
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broader sense of national community in the region, and it is even less clear that
it was in their best interests to do so. As it happens, a reasonable case can be
made that the associated building projects were all pursued after, rather than
before, B.C. The pertinent evidence and the evolution of the three festivals
concerned are discussed in more detail in chapter .
To judge from the extant remains, the Acropolis also saw a huge number
of smaller monuments installed during the period. The great majority of these
were private offerings. But altogether more historically signicant was a small
handful of monuments that mark the emergence of an entirely new voice in
the sanctuary, the somewhat impersonal, collective voice of the demos-state.
For centuries, the site had resounded with competing verbal and visual statements made by families and individuals; only now do we hear the rst strains
of a voice that rose above sectarian and private interests and purported to speak
for all citizens.
The most unusual items in this group were two stelai that referred to events
of the recent political past. One, already mentioned in chapter , listed the
names of Peisistratuss immediate family and denounced them for their
crime; the other likewise condemned the actions of the followers of Isagoras. Similarly unprecedented was a third item, the Assembly decree from the
late sixth century regulating the conduct of cleruchs on Salamis (IG I3 ; see
discussion in chap. ). Since it would become common practice to display
copies of decrees in this particular location, one can safely presume that a number of these public documents would have been visible here by .25
But by far the most visually impressive of the new public installations was
the extravagant dedication set up to commemorate the Athenian victories over
the Thebans and Chalcidians in ca. . This thank offering to Athena consisted of a four-horse chariot group in bronze surmounting an engraved plinth;
the elegiac quatrain solemnly described how the sons of the Athenians
[paides Athenaio n] successfully subdued the hubris of their opponents with
chains of iron. To emphasize the point, the actual chains that had held the
enemy captives were displayed as a trophy on a wall nearby.26
The considerable body of marble sculpture from the period may yield the
remains of other public monuments. Among the more likely candidates is a
small Gigantomachy group that appears to have adorned the pediment of a
small building and that could well have been inuenced by the more substantial version of the battle in the pediment of the Old Athena Temple.27 Meanwhile, a plausible case for a somewhat larger pedimental composition of similar date has now been made by Triandi (). Featuring a central Athena gure
anked by riderless horses and a pair of kneeling youths, this group, if correctly
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reconstituted, must have belonged to a building of some scale and signicance,

presumably an otherwise unattested temple erected in ca. B.C.28
It may also be at this juncture that the presence of Theseus began to be felt
on the Acropolis. Shapiro () has made a compelling case that the original
version of the Marathonian Bull dedication seen by Pausanias (..) was
dedicated here by the demesmen of Marathon in the closing years of the sixth
century. Working from images of shield devices on vases of the era, Shapiro suggests that the monument took the form of an unaccompanied bull gure, perhaps cast in bronze. Meanwhile, Theseus himself likely makes his debut in
Athenian monumental sculpture in a statue group erected around this same
time. A nude male torso with traces of the hand of another gure on its left shoulder has long been thought to belong to a group that showed the hero wrestling
with one of the foes he encountered on his journey from Troezen to Athens, possibly Prokrustes (g. ). Whatever the groups original context and function, it
is hard to imagine that it was part of a private monument. As we shall see in
chapter , Theseus came to enjoy an extraordinarily exalted position in the years
following the reforms of Cleisthenes, as a kind of talisman or symbol of the new
pan-Attic order. One therefore suspects that it would have been unacceptably
presumptuous at this time for any family or individual to exploit the heros likeness in this most public of settings for their own self-aggrandizement.29
This is not to suggest that self-aggrandizing monuments ceased entirely in
/. Indeed, established votive practices continued almost seamlessly from
the Peisistratid period down into the early fth century. Some dedications,
such as what appear to be a pair of Gigantomachy reliefs, no doubt responded
to recent iconographic developments. Others, such as a curious series of seated
male statuettes, may reect larger changes in the political environment.30 But
the great majority of private dedications made after / conform to the preferred types and styles of earlier times.
Equestrian images were still favored by the wealthy, as were korai, a type
that would retain its appeal all the way down to the time of the Persian sack.
The inventory for the years also features a number of distinguished
freestanding male gures, including several (of various scales) that resemble the
kouros type.31 While more modest items, like vases and relief plaques, are also
very much in evidence, it is clear that no steps were taken at this time to restrain the extravagance of private dedications and that the change in political
culture did not precipitate any immediate shift in the votive behavior and tastes
of the citizen body.
One group of monuments may, however, be a conspicuous exception to
this general rule. I refer here to a number of surprisingly lavish items dedicated
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by artisans during the period, artifacts that have come to be seen by some as
symptoms of the egalitarian ethos supposedly prevalent in Athens around the
time of Cleisthenes reforms.32 The offering of a kore to Athena by the likes of
a fuller named Simon is certainly a remarkable development. The unexpected
intrusion of ordinary citizens into an arena traditionally dominated by the elite
must reect some kind of broader shift in the social environment.
But it is hard to relate this discontinuity in any straightforward way to the political changes of / B.C. In the rst place, it is apparent that this kind of votive behavior among nonelites did not suddenly begin in the last decade of the
sixth century; it starts at least a decade earlier. Accordingly, even if the dedications
by artisans were now more extravagant than before, the key variable here must
have been something other than the political climate. Besides, there is nothing
conspicuously egalitarian about wealthy artisans mimicking the self-aggrandizing
practices of their social superiors; had a genuine egalitarian ethos prevailed at this
time, it surely would have encouraged the elimination of such ostentatious behavior altogether. I do not deny the possibility of any linkage between these
nonelite votives and the founding of a new political order in Athens. But instead
of seeing one of these developments as a simple consequence of the other, it is
probably more realistic to regard them both, in some sense, as productsdirect
or indirectof longer-term structural forces. Not the least of these forces, it
seems, was the growing afuence and self-assurance of the commercial classes.33
STOREHOUSE OF SHARED MEMORY
Would the Acropolis have looked much different in than it did in, say, ?
There were certainly important changes in the fabric of the site, including the
replacement of the seventh-century temple of Athena Polias by a more imposing successor, the construction of a handful of smaller buildings and facilities,
and the addition of a series of public installations, the very rst of their kind.
But it is nonetheless clear that the overall appearance of the citadel, unlike that
of the Agora, was not drastically altered during the period. How, then, does the
new regime reveal itself in the material culture of the late archaic Acropolis?
Again, the accent seems to have been very much on continuity. Despite the
historical signicance of the new public monuments, they would still have
been physically overshadowed by the sheer mass of private dedicationssome
of them highly expensivethat lled the sanctuary much as before. And while
this continuity might be seen as the result more of inertia than of any conscious
choice, evidence from the one large-scale building erected during these years
suggests otherwise.
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If the architectural details, the proportions, and the innovative Ionicism of

the Arkhaios Neos reveal it to be a building very much of its time (perhaps even
a little ahead of its time), other features, especially the heraldic lion-and-bull
pediment, have to be considered deliberate archaisms, the intention presumably being to blend the temple seamlessly into its timeworn setting. This combination of retro design features and a general reluctance to disturb the existing fabric of the surroundings is of course exactly what we saw in the Agora,
but here, in the citys most hallowed sacred space, it is even more pronounced.
So far as this tells us anything about the public image of the new order, the
compound effect must again have been to imply a reassuring conformity to the
traditions of Athenian government, however those were now conceived.
Though helped by a little trompe loeuil, much of this impression of continuity was of course sustained by a very real continuity of practice. A citizen
who wished to aunt his piety and afuence in a prominent public setting was
just as free to do so on the Acropolis in B.C. as his ancestors had been in
earlier decades. The lavish private dedications of the period, whether made by
elites or nonelites, should caution us against searching too hard for traces here
of any genuinely egalitarian ethos or spirit. Clearly, this regime was not entirely
uncomfortable with the continuing expression of inequities of wealth and status within the citizen body.
Is there, then, no distinctive new ethos or spirit animating the Acropolis
monuments of the new order? The signs are not numerous, but they are there.
To nd them, we must shift our attention away from the glamorous offerings
of the rich, to the small, but interesting, group of artifacts deposited here in
these years by the demos-state.
The group included items that were, by any standards, unconventional votives. Over the centuries, all manner of deposits had accumulated in the sanctuary, from the humblest of vases and gurines to some of the great masterpieces of archaic Greek plastic art. But ultimately, whatever their form, the
objects in this vast, diverse assemblage were bound together by a common purpose: all were in some sense thank offerings to divinity. Drafts of Assembly resolutions and edicts proscribing enemies of the polis do not self-evidently belong in this company. These are not expressions of the piety of any group or
individual; they are simply state documents. So why display them in this particular space?
The choice begins to make sense when we consider the ulterior motives behind the placement of artifacts in sanctuaries. Dedications were more than just
prayers of thanks cast in stone, clay, or bronze. They gave the dedicator an opportunity to indulge in self-commemoration, to leave a permanent visual
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record of his or her god-fearing character and socioeconomic status and, often,
of the events or achievements for which the gratitude to divinity was due. As
the premier location for votive deposits in Athens, the Acropolis was also the
citys primary memory site, a sprawling monumental archive of the names and
deedslofty and humbleof times gone by. The presence of a series of state
documents in this setting may not therefore have seemed quite so incongruous at the time as it does to us now. These, too, were entries in the citadels inventory of memory, albeit singularly novel ones.
It is not just that they mark the rst appearance of the collective voice of
the demos-state among the monuments of the Acropolis, they are also the rst
items to recognize and commemorate the citizen community as a historical
agent. This development is signicant, since it may be our earliest evidence for
a conscious attempt to build and organize a scheme of collective public memory for the community as a whole.
Before , memory, like politics, was, for the most part, a highly individualized and presumably competitive business. The actions remembered on Attic votive and funerary monuments were invariably those of families, small
groups, and individuals. We get no sense that any of these events, even deaths
in battle or civic benefactions, were seen as contributions to any larger, shared
historical cause. They are merely an assortment of episodes in a great number
of essentially autonomous personal histories.
Nor, more generally, do we yet see signs in the environment at large of any
great interest in recovering and celebrating the exploits of Athenians in the more
remote past. The interest shown by vase painters in the deeds of Theseus, which
begins in ca. (see discussion in chap. ), is quite exceptional. Other early
kings of Attica, like Cecrops and Erechtheus, who would play such an important role in the formulation of the later Athenian claims to autochthony, do not
establish themselves in local iconography until after the sixth century. And when
sixth-century political leaders did seek to manufacture impressive associations
with gures from the age of heroes, they showed little regard for geography.
Those responsible for the various pedimental tableaux that adorned the buildings of the mid-sixth-century Acropolis very plainly felt that Heracles better articulated how they themselves wished to be perceived than did any local Attic
hero. It seems that the sheer force of Heracles image prevailed over any possible anxiety about his non-Athenian background.
Similar priorities probably helped to shape the glamorous heredity claimed
by the Peisistratids. A number of Athenian families would go on to boast of a
descent from the Neleids of Pylos, albeit with the Attic kings Codrus and
Melanthus inserted at a reassuringly early point in the genealogy. But the name
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Peisistratus, which obviously recalled that of the fabled prince of Pylos in the
Odyssey, was especially cultivated by the family. This aunting of exogenous
origins shows all too clearly that an authentic Homeric pedigree was still seen
at this time as more useful to a familys public image than was any thoroughbred Athenian lineage. There is little hint here or elsewhere of that almost fanatical pride in a native heritage that would so infuse the art and culture of
classical Athens; the Athenians, it seems, had yet to discover their glorious
shared past.34
The rst compelling signs of an emerging collective historical consciousness come shortly after . As we have just seen, commemorations now describe how military campaigns, like those against the Thebans and Chalcidians, were waged and won by the sons of the Athenians, while resolutions
of the Assembly are credited to the entire demos. Even monuments which
memorialize individuals reect the new perspective. The Tyrannicide group
in the Agora, much like the later Acropolis dedication erected in the name of
the polemarch Callimachus after Marathon, celebrates the honorands not just
for their own admirable qualities but also for their contributions to the larger
national interest.35 At the same time, the edicts issued against the Peisistratids
and the supporters of Isagoras further reinforced a sense of this shared historical purpose by consigning those who had opposed it to the fate of perpetual ignominy.
The sudden new awareness of their own collective accomplishment seems
to have aroused in the Athenians an equally unprecedented level of interest in
the deeds of their more distant predecessors. It cannot be a coincidence that
this same period sees an astonishing rise in the level of cultural signicance accorded to the Theseus gure, a development that will be explored in more
depth in chapter . For now, we need only observe that Heracles was probably as much a victim of the new perspective as Theseus was its beneciary. The
superhuman exploits of the former may have had a peculiar appeal for leaders at a time when the power of a heros image depended more on his Panhellenic prestige than on the strength of his local connections. But as an outsider, Heracles could never play more than a tangential role in the highly
particularistic new vision of the past that now began to dominate Athenian
historical consciousness.36
Altogether better suited to the new vision of course was Theseus, whose
Athenian credentials were well established. And if Theseus did not yet possess
the glamor of his Panhellenic counterpart, his career could be creatively embellished in the decades to come, especially in the years following the transformative experience of the Persian Wars. But evidence for his rising cultural
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prole is already visible somewhat earlier, not least in his rst appearance on
the Acropolis in the statue group of ca. .
The new interest in the seminal gures and events of early Athenian history may also help to explain the prominence of Gigantomachy scenes on the
citadel at this same time. The theme was not a new one in Athenian art;
Athenas role in the battle had held pride of place in the iconography of the
Great Panathenaia since the inception of the festival in the s.37 But by the
time of its appearance in the pediments of the new order, this elemental conict
must have assumed a fresh signicance. No longer was it simply an emblem or
marker of the power of the citys patron divinityan iconic tableau from a
world beyond the laws of time. After , the cultural resonance of the Gigantomachy would derive largely from its place at the very beginning of a historical continuum, one that linked all Athenians with what could now be seen
as the formative events in their distant collective past. From this new vantage
point, Athenas contribution to the victory did not merely symbolize her distinguished position in the divine order; it now seemed to anticipate the manifestly glorious destiny awaiting her favored people.
We shall see further examples of this new style of historical consciousness
in the chapters to come. But it is on the Acropolis, long the regions primary
memory site, where the early traces of this development are perhaps most explicit. Whether commemorating recent deeds (like the victories of ) or the
ancient exploits of Athena and Theseus, the public monuments erected here
between and helped initiate the rst systematic effort in Athens to give
some kind of order and meaning to shared historical experience, real and imagined. The past was no longer the sum of the discreet personal and family histories of individuals, an unstructured environment without larger shape or
purpose. It was now organized around a new vision of national heritage, the
cornerstone of an emerging corporate identity, an as yet inchoate narrative in
which the collectivity of the Athenians was both subject and principal actor.
Henceforth, Athenian citizens were encouraged to see themselves as part of
a storied fraternity, a historic community moving forward together through
time. In the process, a new realm of memory was createdwhat we might call
a historical imaginary. Through this diffuse, if essentially linear, sense of the
past, the Athenians would be repeatedly confronted by mirror images of their
own actions conducted by ancient simulacra of themselves. And sustained as
it was by permanent public records, this particular realm of memory, unlike
any others, now came with the ofcial sanction of the state.38
Thus, the new regimes engagement with the past was far from casual. The
insistent message of continuity embedded in the fabric of the Acropolis and
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the Agora, whether through preservation or contrivance, was more than just a
crude or supercial device for substantiating the claim that an old order was
being revived. It was part of a larger, more ambitious project to fashion a suitably traditional environment for a citizen body that was now urged to see itself as a political community of great antiquity. In part of this book, we shall
pursue this aspect of the Athenian experiment further, examining efforts to reshape other areas of public life along similarly traditional lines.
The Acropolis would retain its time-honored roles as fortied stronghold of
last resort, major cult site, and arena for competitive display well into the classical period and beyond. But during the course of the fth century, in such
monuments as the Nike temple, the Erechtheion, and, above all, the
Parthenon, one senses a signicant change in the overall tone and character of
the place. The polyphony of earlier eras becomes less audible beside the ever
more assuredat times bombasticvoice of the demos-state, staking its
condent claims to a proud heritage in both word and image. And so the sanctuary increasingly assumes the guise of an unapologetic advertisement for the
glorious accomplishments of the Athenian past, an exercise in brazen self-celebration. This shift in character was no doubt accelerated by the momentous
triumphs of the Persian Wars and the subsequent exhilarations of empire. But
its relatively unobtrusive beginnings can be detected somewhat earlier, during
the age of Cleisthenes, when, for the rst time, the acts of families and individuals were joined by collective deeds of the Athenians in the citys great
storehouse of memory.
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5
TRIBES, HEROES,
AND THE
REUNIFICATION OF AT TICA
The subject of greek associations has recently been described by one

specialist as intractable. As he puts it, these groups are usually difcult to
dene and, once dened, difcult to study owing to the scarcity and peculiar
characteristics of the primary evidence.1 This is certainly true of the ten
Athenian phylai or tribes, introduced in /, which are notoriously hard
to t into modern analytical categories.
On the one hand, they appear to belong to what we would call civil society, that broad, loosely dened stratum of social life located somewhere between the individual citizen and the ofcial organs of government. Here, they
took their place alongside a wide range of social organizations that had long
been familiar features of the Athenian cultural landscape. As was the case in,
say, the phratries, the gene, and the orgeones, membership in the new phylai
was hereditary. Like these and other older groups, the tribes were essentially
self-governing, self-nancing entities, whose corporate life was organized
around regular cult practice.2
But unlike these other kinds of association, the new tribes were also inseparable from the Athenian state. The term phyle was widely used in the Greek
world to describe the groups into which a given citizen body was divided, usually for military and/or political purposes, so that all citizens by denition belonged to one or another tribe. At least in known historical instances, these en123
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tities thus did not originate, as it were, organically, willed into existence by their
members, but were collectively installed from abovefully formedat a single, specic moment in time. The Cleisthenic phylai were no different, and
they now provided the operational basis for a range of new national ventures,
notably the citizen army and the Council of .3
According to current orthodoxy, translating the term phyle as tribe is therefore misleading, since the very existence of phylai presupposes the emergence of
a centralized, posttribal form of political organization, however rudimentary.
Given their inherently civic, or public, character, phylai should therefore be
distinguished quite sharply from the more obviously organic and private
Greek associations. But at least in the case of the Cleisthenic tribes, the best-attested of all phylai, it would be a mistake to press the distinction too far. Notwithstanding their synthetic origins and inseparability from the state apparatus, these
groups still shared many characteristics with independent cultic organizations
and descent groups. This was probably no accident; it appears that a great deal
of effort was invested in making them look and feel just like private associations from the very start. To understand why, we should look at the role played
by the tribes in the overall scheme of the changes attempted in /.4
ORIGINAL RATIONALE
The immediate raison dtre of the phylai was, as I have already noted, to provide the organizational structure for state initiatives like the citizen army and
Council of . But it was not preordained that complex, purpose-built
tribes had to be used to perform such functions, let alone tribes made up of
trittyes drawn from three different parts of Attica. The reasons for using units
of this particular kind become clear when we consider the larger goal of the reforms of Cleisthenes and the radical changes necessary to achieve this goal.
This larger goal was integration, the creation of a new kind of region-state
in Attica. The viability of this region-state required more than the passive
consent of a large and far-ung citizen body; it was predicated on the citizens
willingness to participate, directly or indirectly, in the very mechanics of
government on an almost continual basis. Given the traditional quietism,
parochialism, and effective political exclusion of much of this population in
earlier times, the mass participation necessary to animate the new order could
hardly be taken for granted. The full incorporation of Attica needed more than
a few strategic adjustments to the state apparatus in Athens. Unlike the changes
authored by Ephialtes or even Solon, it required a fundamental shift in consciousness. The experiment begun in / could only succeed if free, native-
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Tribes, Heroes, and the Reunication of Attica
125
born males throughout Attica embraced a new vision of political community

and adjusted to new ways of seeing themselves, their fellows, and the world
around them. And this adjustment probably would not take place unless new
patterns of behavior could soon be established in areas outside the strict realm
of the state as well as within it. Hence the decision to blend the ten phylai into
civil society.
Each tribe was conceived, in effect, as a kind of microcosm of the citizen
body, drawing together three discreet groups of individuals from three different areas of Attica to form a single miniature community. The rationale behind
this brazenly articial scheme was at once to neutralize the inuence of localist sentiment on affairs of state and, more positively, to foster the growth of a
collective consciousness in the region as a whole, by giving citizens the chance
to interact with fellow tribesmen from other districts on a regular basis. Evidently, it was thought that individuals were more likely to feel that they were
part of the larger national community if they were rst able to form attachments with a small, but representative, sample of that community, such as each
citizen would now nd within his own tribe.
Thus, important as the specic political functions of the phylai may have
been, their unorthodox composition points to a larger, more general socializing function. And unless we take them seriously as associations and see that
this is what they were intended to be from the very start, we can barely begin
to appreciate the critical role they were to play in the new order. A social organization can still be genuine, however arbitrarily or synthetically created. The
only real measure of authenticity here is the extent to which members feel
themselves to belong to the organization. In the case of the Cleisthenic tribes,
the development of a sense of fellowship and belonging among members was,
for reasons I have already stated, unusually signicant. But it was also, by any
standards, unusually problematic.
THE DESIGN OF THE TRIBES
In the normal scheme of things, there was little earthly reason why citizens who
lived in Sounion would have forged a special association with men from Skambonidai in central Athens and Paionidai on the slopes of Mount Parnes. But in
/, as newly minted members of the tribe Leontis, they were expected to do
just that. And here we see the principal difculty facing those responsible for
implementing the new phylai: how might a genuine group sentiment arise
among such disparate and far-ung segments of the population? Clearly, conditions favorable to the growth of this sentiment would have to be manufac-
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tured and built into the design of the tribes from the outset. Though no exact
precedent for these particular tribes was available to guide the designers in this
task, existing associations in Attica and elsewhere in Greece did provide a range
of proven formats for possible imitation. It appears that elements were borrowed from a number of different models.
First, the name. As noted above, phylai were traditionally the most broadly
inclusive of all Greek social organizations, serving, in effect, as administrative
divisions of the citizen body; this, presumably, was why the term phyle was applied to the entities introduced by Cleisthenes. Of course, four groups called
phylai already existed in Athens at this point, the system of Geleontes, Aigikoreis, Hopletes, and Argadeis, which was also found with some variations elsewhere in the Ionian world. We can be almost certain that these venerable bodies now lost whatever major administrative functions they might once have
held, even if they managed to maintain a vestigial presence in the symbolic life
of Athens long afterward. Unfortunately, too little is known about these functions or about the corporate life of the Ionian tribes for us to assess the extent
of their inuence on the design of their successors. The little we do know actually points more to difference than to similarity.
While there is good evidence that the older groups were also comprised of
subdivisions called trittyes, the one surviving trittys name (Leukotainioi, meaning the men with white headbands) suggests that the Ionian tribes bore little resemblance to the unusually complex territorial entities created by Cleisthenes. Likewise, the new tribes had no equivalent of the phylobasileis, the
tribal lords of the older phylai, who operated as a kind of priestly college,
performing sacral and judicial functions on behalf of the entire polis community. Nor should we assume that the later tribes simply inherited their political and military functions from their predecessors, since it is unlikely that any
probouleutic council or a well-developed mechanism for levying a citizen army
existed in Athens before /. Overall, though long experience of tribal life
under the old system must have inuenced the shape of the ten Cleisthenic
phylai to some extent, this inuence may not have been as great as is sometimes supposed.5
In every sense, the dening features of the younger tribes were the ten
Eponymous Heroes, and here again the new phylai conformed to a familiar,
time-honored pattern. All manner of social entities in the Greek worldfrom
kinship groups and small settlements to larger regional or ethnic populations,
like the Ioniansidentied themselves with an illustrious hero or ancestor,
whose name they collectively bore and whose memory they celebrated. The rationale behind the practice is well described by Kearns (, ):
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[T]he eponymous hero had a special signicance to the group; the coincidence in name signied a coincidence in substance, and the hero
was in some sense the projection of the group itself onto the plane of
myth or cult or both, and its expression in a unied, individualised
form.
In the case of the new tribes in Athens, the need for this kind of group expression was even greater than usual. Just as the highly articial and arbitrary
composition of the phylai made them innocent of any preexisting loyalties to
people or place, it also made them essentially interchangeable. As a result, the
ten heroes were really the only features that distinguished one tribe from another and, thus, the only source of difference on which an individualized corporate identity could be built.6
Inevitably, the initial assignment of heroes to phylai was as articial and arbitrary as the tribes themselves. Almost everything we know about this process
is contained in a single sentence in AP (.):
And [Cleisthenes] assigned to the tribes ten eponymous heroes whom
the Pythia had chosen from a preliminary list of one hundred founding
fathers [arkhegeto n].
Brief as it is, this passage gives us some idea of the effort invested in making
the tribes feel like authentic associations from the start. The decision to seek
Apolline sanction from Delphi for the phylai perhaps deliberately recalled the
longtime practice of Greek colonists, who likewise hoped to lend an instant legitimacy to their new ventures. The result, as Parker (, ) observes, was
that the new tribes were not really articial because not really man-made.
Reinforcing this impression of authenticity was the manner in which the role
of the eponymoi was now presented. Though, in reality, the relationship between any given hero and his tribe was largely arbitrary, the characterization of
these gures as arkhegetai suggested otherwise. The eponymoi were to be more
than inanimate tokens or emblems, serving merely to distinguish the name of
one phyle from another; they were cast as the imagined founders, leaders,
and, so to speak, progenitors of the new groups.7
This conceit of the hero as Stammvater was obviously intended to give each
tribe the air of an extended kinship group, along the lines of associations like
the phratries and the gene. Where once only the clans of the traditional elite
could claim the privilege and prestige that accrued from heroic forebears, these
entitlements were now extended, in a sense, to the citizen body as a whole. And
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the familial image of the tribes will only have strengthened over time, with admission to membership, through the demes, determinedexcept in extraordinary circumstancesby heredity.
By the fourth century, it is actually possible to nd the phyletai of a given
tribe referred to as descendants of their eponym, using a plural patronymic
form based on the heros name.8 A remarkable passage in the otherwise unremarkable Demosthenic funeral oration (.) describes the phyletai of all
ten tribes in these terms and goes on to suggest that the performance of tribal
units in a recent battle, possibly Chaeronea, was characterized in each case by
qualities inherited from their founding fathers [arkhegoi]. A rhetorical trope
perhaps, but one that was only effective if a meaningful sense of attachment had
in fact developed between the phylai and their eponymoi. The notion of common corporate descent may have been no more than a well-worked metaphor,
but the vitality of the metaphor bespeaks a genuine group solidarity. As Parker
(, ) comments on the use elsewhere of the patronymic Antiokhidai to describe the phyletai of the tribe named for Antiochus, son of Heracles:
This is not to say that anyone really believed that a social unit rst
constituted in the late sixth century in fact carried the line of Heracles,
but that no difculty was experienced in applying to it the idiom of
ctional kinship in which phratries too, for instance, were traditionally
conceived. The articial creation had become no less natural than its
predecessors.
Also favoring this process of naturalization was the fact that the founding
fathers were not obscure, generic heroes but, for the most part, established luminaries of Attic lore and cult. The Pythias inspired selection included four
gures (Erechtheus, Cecrops, Pandion, and Aegeus) who were nowif not
earlierdeemed to have ruled in Athens as kings. Also chosen were a kinglike
gure (Leos) associated with a prominent local landmark, the sons of two of
the most storied characters in Greek legend (Acamas and Antiochus), two culture heroes (Oeneus and Hippothoon), and a Homeric warrior of the rst
rank (Ajax). The omission of Theseus aside, the list could hardly have been
more impressive, and it presumably owed little to Apollos promptings.9
As a result, each of the ten tribes inherited not only a founding father of
some distinction and a kind of vicarious prestige from the legends attached to
their hero but also a certain patina of antiquity. Just as the metaphor of common descent helped to bridge the prohibitive geographical and social distances
that separated the members of each phyle, so this association with existing
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Athenian traditions must have helped to offset the experimental novelty of the
tribes and to ease their assimilation into the fabric of society. And even if some
of these traditions were not especially familiar or impressive, they were now,
one suspects, claried, modied, or embellished accordingly.
While an established visibility must have been the primary criterion for inclusion on the nal list of ten heroes, it is also striking how many of these heroes were (or could be) implicated in some way with the territorial integrity
and/or the unication of Attica. Although Theseus, the synoecist par excellence, was absent from the list, his presence is keenly felt through others who
were included, notably his father, Aegeus, and son Acamas. At least in later traditions, Pandion gures as the heros grandfather, while Leos, Antiochus, Ajax,
and Hippothoon appear to have been associated with Theseus in some fashion
by the early fth century. Meanwhile, two other eponymoi were deemed to have
prepared the way for full political incorporation: Cecrops apparently took the
rst step toward syneocism, by bringing together the twelve independent states
of Attica into a federation known as the Dodekapolis; and Erechtheus later
overcame the most signicant opposition to the federation, when he defeated
the forces of Eumolpus and Eleusis.10
We might also note that several of the heroes had historical links with areas that were either marginal or adjacent to Attica. The selection of Pandion,
Ajax, and Hippothoon as eponymoi was especially provocative in this regard,
since it carried with it implicit Athenian claims to control the Megarid,
Salamis, and Eleusis, respectively. The full Atticization of these heroes served
to clarify in no uncertain terms where the Athenians now believed the historically contested western borders of their polis to lie.11
Thus, in these different ways, almost all of the gures installed as founding fathers of the tribes brought with them memories or traditions that drew
attention to the idea of Attica as a single, unied political entitythe very idea
the tribes themselves were designed to promote. Presumably, this was not a coincidence. The arbitrary, unorthodox composition of the phylai was the most
serious impediment to their success as associations; if the image of regionwide
communion could somehow be made attractive, citizens might be inspired to
lay aside their seasoned localism and develop a sense of solidarity with their fellow phyletai in distant demes. Hence came the decision to choose eponymoi
whose legendary deeds, local origins, and/or family connections would lend an
appealing glamor to the pan-Attic character of the phylai and would perhaps
advance the larger cause of national integration in the process.
The new tribes also drew heavily on existing models in their corporate life.
Though most of our evidence comes from the fourth century, there is no good
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reason to doubt that the kind of organizational apparatus we see described in

our sources was in large part already in place soon after the tribes themselves
were introduced. At any one time, the phylai were served by a number of functionaries, such as secretaries, treasurers, and heralds. But executive authority
appears to have been concentrated in the hands of ofcials known as epimeletai,
or caretakers. Threeone from each trittyswere selected annually and
served together as a college or board. Their primary responsibilities included
representing the tribes interests on the national level, convening tribal assemblies, and managing the groups cult life and funds.12 As far as we can tell, the
phylai were nancially independent. While there is later evidence that at least
some of them received income from land leases, it is perhaps safest to assume
that they relied largely on the municence of wealthy phyletai for funding in
their early days.13
Tribal cult practice was essentially an exclusive, internal affair.14 It may be
that mostperhaps allof the eponymoi were honored with some kind of
sacrice by their phyletai during the performance of larger state festivals with
which the heroes were connected. But this public expression and afrmation
of the special bond between phyle and arkhegetes is securely attested only for
Pandionis at the Pandia, a major festival of Zeus.15 Otherwise, the religious activities of the tribes took place away from the public gaze, within the sacred
precinct of each eponymos.
Two features of the tribal cults are particularly interesting. First, their location. To the best of our knowledge, up to four of the shrines (those of
Erechtheus, Cecrops, Pandion, and possibly Aegeus) were on the Acropolis itself; two (Leos and Ajax) were in the Agora area, and two were located a little
further from the center, in the districts of Kynosarges (Antiochus) and the Kerameikos (Acamas). Of the remaining two shrines, one (Hippothoon) was certainly situated outside Athens altogether, in Eleusis, while the other (Oeneus)
may likewise have been some distance from the city, in Acharnae.16 Given that
the new system of phylai was introduced, fully formed, at a single moment in
time, this relatively uneven distribution pattern is somewhat surprising. More
surprising still is the apparent lack of interest in ensuring that all the precincts
were located in demes belonging to the phylai that actually controlled the cults,
especially if the shrines were also to serve as the principal sites for tribal gatherings, or agorai.17 Clearly, these were not new, purpose-built precincts.
Rather, it appears that the phylai simply took over existing cults and shrines of
the heroes concerned and reused them for their own purposes. And where the
hero had no previous cult in a suitably accessible location, established precincts
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of close relatives were adopted, as seems to have been true in the case of the
tribes Aiantis, Antiochis, and perhaps Leontis.18
The second noteworthy feature of the tribal cults concerns personnel. Evidence from the fourth century and later reveals that three of the phylai
(Erechtheis, Cecropis, and Hippothontis) were served by priests of the eponymos who were not actually members of the tribes in question. Apparently, in
/, the tribes inherited more than just the cults and shrines of the heroes. The
priests of Erechtheus and Cecrops were presumably members of the (Eteo-)
Boutad and Amynandrid gene, who are known from elsewhere to have controlled these cults. The identity of the family that presided over the cult of Hippothoon is not known, though the priesthood appears to have remained gentilician down to at least the second century B.C.19 Unless some special
dispensation was granted to these three families, it seems reasonable to infer
that the priesthoods of the other existing hero cults were also retained, at least
initially, by their original patron gene, regardless of their tribal afliation under the new order. As Kearns (, ) notes, control must then have been
severally and sporadically transferred from genos to tribe during the period between / and the late fourth century, when the relevant evidence begins.20
TRIBES AND HEROES IN A
CHANGING CULTURAL LANDSCAPE
In an effort to understand the cultural logic of the Eponymous Heroes and

their overall contribution to the symbolism of the new order, some authorities
look to parallels with Greek colonial ventures. According to this view, by installing the eponymoi as tutelary hero-arkhegetai of the tribes, Cleisthenes gave
the impression that his project was not to reform the state but to found it
afresh, much as he would a new settlement abroad. In this task, he himself assumes the guise of oikistesintermediary between his community and the god
in Delphi, as well as architect of civic space and cult life for his new foundation. As such, he was in effect asking his fellows to abandon their past and join
him in a new kind of political enterprise; but unlike literal colonists, the Athenians would not have to leave their homeland to participate.21
The parallels here are certainly suggestive; the hero-arkhegetai, the appeal
to Delphic authority, and the reconguration of the Agora area could point to
the play of a colonial metaphor. And there can be no doubt that the Cleisthenic
project actually was a dramatic departure from earlier practice, a discontinuity
of far-reaching signicance. However, we should be careful not to extend the
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metaphor too far. The realia may have been all about innovation and experiment, but the representation was less straightforward.
To begin with, it is far from clear that Cleisthenes presented himself as the
author of bold new beginnings. As we saw earlier, the literary tradition is curiously ill informed about the Alcmeonid; he is generally remembered only as
one of a series of reformers, and the momentous importance of his measures
seems to have become quickly forgotten in time. For this reason and others to
be discussed in chapter , one suspects that he probably did not much advertise the signicance of his own role in the transformation, let alone glamorize
himself as some pioneering oikistes gure. It is, in any case, hard to believe that
a leader who was apparently so reluctant to draw attention to the novelty of his
reforms might have sought to portray himself as an arch-innovator. Certainly,
he and his colleagues oversaw a major reconguration of civic space in Athens.
But far from aunting any novelty, the scheme and fabric of their new Agora
communicated above all an unwavering delity to the practices of the past.
A very similar approach was taken toward the new phylai. Just as the existing buildings and monuments of the old Peisistratid square were left largely
undisturbed to afford the Agora a degree of physical continuity with earlier
eras, so the new tribes were inserted into a civil society that, at least on the
surface, was otherwise little changed. The phratries, the gene, local religious associations like the Marathonian Tetrapolis, and even the original Ionian tribes
survived the transition to the new order in some form. And this was the result
not of chance or inertia but of conscious choice by the political leadership, as
AP (.) attests.22 To have abolished the old groups would have been to
threaten the overall appearance of cultural continuity that the leadership was
so eager to sustain. Perhaps there was, in any case, no real need to abolish them.
The old loyalties and afliations could be allowed to persist alongside the new
ones, because the values, the assumptions, and the social relations that gave
them meaning were no longer of much political relevance.
At the same time, every attempt was made to ensure that the new tribes
themselves did not disturb this carefully composed image of continuity. Just as
even the new structures in the Agora appeared to be more redolent of tradition
than innovation, so almost every feature of the ten phylai seems to have been
shaped and measured to make them feel like ancient confraternities, rather
than the bold, experimental entities they actually were.
For their basic format, elements were drawn from a variety of proven organizational models; in style, these most synthetic of groups thus bore a reassuring resemblance to Attic associations of yore. And in mostif not all
cases, the cults and shrines of the eponymoi (the focus of tribal corporate life)
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were already familiar features of the Athenian landscape, giving the phylai, in
Parkers words (, ), a pleasing, natural-seeming diversity. No less important, the reuse of existing hero cults also offered a very visible link to the
practices of earlier times, especially in instances where priests were still supplied by the families who had traditionally controlled the cults, even when
these priests were not actually members of the tribes in question.23 Here again
we see signs of a distinct and willful aversion to starting afresh and building
from scratch. In creating a suitable cultural setting for their new order, it seems
that Cleisthenes and his associates preferred, wherever possible, to preserve the
legacy of the past and to reuse old spaces, monuments, and practices to serve
new purposes. The eponymoi themselves offer another good illustration of this
approach.
Earlier, we saw how monuments in the Agora and on the contemporary
Acropolis were used to stir in the Athenians a deeper sense of their collective
heritage. The aim, it appears, was to immerse them in an environment saturated with historic references and images, to build around them a cultural landscape that at least purported to bear the marks of their long and slow, but essentially continuous, evolution as a political community. For the time being,
the story of this evolution, the history of the Athenian people, was perhaps no
more than a series of vague historical imaginings. But even this somewhat inchoate vision of the past still needed xed beginnings, and this is where the
eponymoi came in.
Though already present in the environment in cult and myth, these gures
were now, as it were, recycled and invested with new meaning. No longer were
they just faceless names, timeless numinous powers of mostly local signicance.
Embraced by a new, emerging historical consciousness, they were collectively
transformed into founders, not of any new order introduced by Cleisthenes,
but of the traditional old order that Cleisthenes now claimed to be reviving.
With just a little sleight of hand and adroit manipulation of half-remembered
tales, they were recast as formative gures in the story of the Athenian people,
heroes whose deeds had shaped or anticipated the realities of the present in the
late sixth century. As a group, the eponymoi thus helped to anchor a burgeoning collective memory, giving citizens a relatively concrete and vivid point of
contact with the shared origins that they were now encouraged to imagine.
This conclusion is admittedly speculative (evidence from the period hardly
allows otherwise). But given the style and cultural logic of other contemporary
innovations, along with the general interest in raising historical consciousness,
it seems reasonable to infer that the creation of the Eponymous Heroes was ultimately prompted more by the need to construct a suitable past than by any
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particular desire to glamorize the present. Appealing as the colonial parallel

may be, the primary role of these heroes was to establish a measure of continuity between the Athenians and their earlier history, not to distance them
from it.
If there was a dominant metaphor at play here, it was that of the family. In
earlier times, the possession of a glorious past had been the exclusive preserve
of the great aristocratic clans. Through forms of ancestor worship, genealogical claims, and orally transmitted memories of the deeds of their forebears,
these extended families had dened and perpetuated their exalted place in the
world. Likewise, through the cults, the claims, and the memories offered by
the new tribes, all Athenians now had a share in a distinguished national past
that dened and shaped their identity in the present. With all the ties of blood,
interest, and accomplishment that linked the ten forebears of the phylai to
one another, it was not difcult to see each tribal history as but one strand in
the story of a larger, more inclusive family, the manifestly ancient collectivity of the Athenian people.24
It would be idle to pretend that we can form anything more than a general
impression of the scope and contents of ofcial collective memory in the
early years of the new order. By this point, if not earlier, the more illustrious of
the ten heroes were presumably seen as kings ruling in some kind of dynastic order, and one can imagine that fairly standardized accounts of the deeds
of the eponymoi, their genealogies, and their relations with people and events
in Attica and elsewhere were in wide circulation. But about one particular detail of this vision of the past we can be more certain. Since it is possible to associate almost every one of the eponymoi in some fashion with the territorial
integrity or unication of Attica, we can infer that the synoecism of the region
was now widely seen as an achievement of the heroic age; political union was
thus deemed, in effect, to be Atticas natural birthright. However, the question
remains whether this tradition was a recent invention or the creation of some
earlier era.
THESEUS AND THE SYNOECISM TRADITION
Our earliest and best source for the synoecism is Thucydides (..).
Though the historian elsewhere scorns the value of received traditions about
the distant past, this particular legend, it seems, was above suspicion.
For during the reigns of Cecrops and the rst kings down to the time of
Theseus, Attica contained [a number of ] independent states [Attike . . .
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kata poleis o ikeito], each one with its own town hall and government
ofcials [prutaneia te ekhousas kai arkhontas]. Except in times of danger, they did not come together to deliberate with the king [in Athens].
Rather, they were all autonomous and used to determine their own
courses of action [autoi hekastoi epoliteuon kai ebouleuonto]. Some
even fought against the kings, as did the Eleusinians under Eumolpus
against Erechtheus. When he was king and had established himself as a
ruler of intelligence and power, Theseus, as part of his reorganization of
the country [te n kho ran], brought everyone under the sway of the single state that now prevails [in Attica] today [es te n nun polis ousan . . .
xuno ikise pantas], after dissolving the councils and ofces of the other
states and creating one single council chamber and town hall [hen
bouleuterion apodeixas kai prutaneion] for all. And though individuals
were allowed to retain the property that they had hitherto held, he compelled them to use this one state [for their political life] [enankase miai
polei taute i khresthai]. And with all now contributing to it, this state became powerful and was handed down as such by Theseus to his successors. To commemorate his accomplishment, the Athenians to this day
celebrate the Synoikia, a public festival in honor of Athena.
If the institutional details of Thucydides account owe something to the authors characteristically rich, but disciplined, historical imagination, the general picture of the unication process he presents is consistent with that found
in all later sources. Apparently, no rival versions of the tradition were ever formulated. By the later fth century, we infer, it was simply axiomatic that Attica
had once been home to a number of independent states and that the farsighted
king Theseus had peacefully amalgamated these states into a single political entity centered on Athens; thus was created, in a single administrative stroke, the
distinctive, formidable region-state inherited by the classical Athenians.25
So when was this tradition invented? Given its unusually stable place in collective memory, the story could have been in circulation for centuries before
Thucydides came to write his account. However, it can scarcely have been an
artifact of the Dark Age or some earlier period. The institutional incorporation of Attica is far from a conventional epic or folkloric exploit; the invention
of a tradition of this kind presupposes a certain level of political self-consciousness and a recognition that the Athenian state had its own interests and
history beyond those of the families or individuals who happened to control it
at any given time. The synoecism tradition cannot, therefore, have been created much before the era of Cylon and Draco, when a developed state appara-
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tus is rst fully visible in Athens. As for a terminus ante quem, there really was
no cause to invent a legend of prehistoric unication after about B.C. The
primary purpose of political traditions like this one is to help legitimize an action that is in some sense problematic, and there is no evidence to suggest that
the issue of a united Attica was especially contentious or controversial following the reforms of Cleisthenes.26
Political logic therefore places the genesis of the synoecism tradition somewhere between the later seventh century and the end of the sixth. Can we be
more precise? Depending on ones view of the evolution of the Athenian state,
it would of course be easy enough to observe some resemblance between the
actions of Theseus and those of a Solon, a Peisistratus, or a Cleisthenes and
then date the tradition accordingly. But the question demands a more satisfactory resolution. While we may lack any unambiguous evidence for the synoecism story in the art or literature of the archaic period, the relative abundance of evidence from this time for other Thesean feats offers a further line
of inquiry.
The preeminence of Theseus among Athenian heroes during the classical
era was unchallenged. His many illustrious deeds were recounted in dithyrambs, eulogized in funeral orations, reenacted in plays and ceremonies at festivals, celebrated on innumerable vases, and immortalized on major public
monuments. At least part of his extraordinary appeal he owed to what might
best be described as a composite heroic persona. As a fearless adventurer in the
tradition of Heracles, he was a prolic slayer of monsters and brigands, often
in distant, outlandish locales; as a constitutional monarch, he led his countrymen in defense of Athens against Amazon attack, invented or reinvented a
range of important public institutions, and, of course, united Attica.
It remains unclear whether the Athenians themselves felt there to be any
contradiction between the world-traveling vigilante Theseus and the more
sober ruler-reformer who did so much to shape the political destiny of his
homeland. Perhaps they simply saw these two dimensions of his character as
mutually reinforcing. What is clear is that this composite hero gure was the
product of a long and fairly complex evolutionary process; Athenian perceptions of Theseus and his heroic persona change steadily during the course of
the archaic period. In the hope of nding some oblique or implicit evidence
for the invention of the synoecism tradition, we should now look at this process
in some detail.
It is widely recognized that the ascent of Theseus to the heroic rmament
in Athens was a relatively late development. Even if authentic, the small handful of incidental references to him in early epic do not necessarily represent him
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as an Athenian, since Thessaly and probably Troezen also had strong claims to
him at this stage.27 More telling still is his surprisingly tenuous foothold in
Athenian cult.28 We know of only one sanctuary of Theseus within the walls
of Athens itself during the classical period, and this may not have been established until the mid-s, when Cimon needed a suitable home for the bones
he had recently repatriated from Skyros, the supposed site of the heros demise. Even at the height of Theseuss celebrity, the Herakleia in Attica conspicuously outnumbered the Theseia. The Athenians were not oblivious to the
discrepancy, nor were they troubled by it. With characteristic legerdemain,
they simply explained it away as a product of their heros fabled generosity.29
But most revealing is the ceramic evidence. To judge from this testimony,
Theseus did not begin to attract much interest in Athens until the second quarter of the sixth century, conspicuously later than elsewhere. He was already
something of a minor xture in Greek art by the time the rst images of his
exploits began to appear on Attic vases in ca. .30 Even then, we do not yet
see any real signs of a distinctively Athenian contribution to the heros iconography. For now, Attic artists seem to have been content to follow the lead of
others, conning themselves to scenes from the small cluster of traditional stories associated with Theseuss Cretan adventure and his partnership with the
Thessalian Peirithoos, king of the Lapiths (g. ).31
But during the period , the picture changes quite sharply. Ceramic
images of Theseus deeds, especially the battle with the Minotaur (g. ), are
now produced with far greater frequency in Athens, suggesting an appreciable
rise in local interest. No less signicant, it is also during this time that we see
the rst hints of a conscious effort among Attic artists to assert the heros
Athenian identity and to control his iconography and take it in new directions.
A once narrow repertoire is now expanded to include a number of new
episodes, notably the struggles with the Marathonian Bull and Krommyonian
Sow and the rape of Antiope. What should we make of these developments?32
A number of authorities believe that they must reect the formal adoption
and promotion of Theseus as Athenian national hero, most likely by the Peisistratids.33 The idea is certainly tempting, especially given the tradition that
the family sought to embellish the heros image by tampering with the texts of
Homer and Hesiod (see Plut. Thes. .). But it must also be qualied.
If there was such a thing as a national hero in Athens at this time, it is beyond question Theseus who held that honor; no other indigenous hero enjoys
even a comparable level of popularity in the art of the Peisistratid era. However, it is also plainly apparent that Theseus was still very far from being the
hero most celebrated in Athens. For the time being, at least, he was forced to
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exist in the shadow of another, the very formidable cultural shadow cast by
Heracles. As we saw in the last chapter, it was Heracles not Theseus whose image adorned the pediments of the mid-sixth-century Acropolis. And for all the
growing fascination with the deeds of Theseus during the Peisistratid period,
Attic vase painters were still at least eight times more likely to put Heraclean
exploits on their pots in the years before .34
That said, even were the differential somewhat narrower, such evidence
would not in itself bring us any closer to tracing the genesis of the synoecism
tradition. Raw measures of popular appeal can tell us only so much; we also
need to see evidence for a signicant shift in the nature of this appeal. In other
words, did the Theseus gure of this time still conform to the traditional paradigm of muscular, individualistic heroism? Or are there hints here of a new
persona, one that also included a more political and public-spirited dimension?
Was he yet seen as the kind of constitutional ruler who might once have overseen a far-reaching reform of his home state? It is possible that he was, but unlikely. And the primary reason, again, is the long shadow of Heracles.
It hardly needs repeating that many of the details in the biography of Theseus bear more than a passing resemblance to those of Heracles. It is generally
agreed that the career of the former was in many respects modeled on that of
the latter. Never is this more apparent than in the years ca. , when for
the rst time the Theseus gure is fully dened and developed in Attic art.
Every one of the major new episodes that enters the repertoire during these
years seems to have been directly inspired by a similar Heraclean feat: the Cretan Bull reemerges as the Bull of Marathon; the Erymanthian Boar is transformed into the Krommyonian Sow; Hippolyte becomes Antiope.35
The rationale behind this extraordinary, slavish imitation is not difcult to
comprehend. The era was nothing if not competitive; Athenian elites were as
eager to compete with their rivals elsewhere in Greece as they were with each
other. And in Theseus, the Peisistratids evidently saw the makings of an Athenian version of Heracles, a native hero who, if suitably promoted, might develop
into a lucrative source of Panhellenic prestige both for themselves and for their
city. This kind of initiative was not new. The marketing of Theseus to a wider
Greek public recalls a similar exercise in self-aggrandizement from a generation
or so earlier, when Athenian leaders contrived to produce their own facsimile
of the Olympic Games, another cultural product of proven mass appeal. Indeed, so keen were the organizers of the Great Panathenaia to establish the Panhellenic pedigree of their new games that they took the unprecedented step of
offering valuable prizes to victors, hoping that these might encourage the best
athletes in the Greek world to come to Athens to compete.36
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Whether or not the Peisistratids went to comparable lengths in their promotion of Theseus and actually inserted references to the hero into the canon
of Greek epic poetry, they do seem to have prompted the creation of several
new stories about him during the years of their hegemony in Athens. But these
new stories surely did not include the synoecism tradition. Despite the importance of Theseuss Athenian identity, his historical engagement with his
home state was still minimal at this stage. There are no signs of any attempt to
politicize his career and present him as a constitutional monarch, let alone as
a visionary founding father.37 In fact, there is little discernible change in his
heroic persona at all; the new deeds assigned to him in the years ca.
are of much the same traditional stamp as the old. For the time being, the exigencies of Panhellenic appeal and delity to the Heraclean model required him
to remain essentially a prepolitical hero, a glamorous adventurer still preoccupied with tackling the worlds monsters and outlaws.
It was suggested earlier that there would have been little political need for
a synoecism tradition after around B.C. We have now seen that, for very
different reasons, the story probably could not have been invented before the
fall of the Peisistratids in /. And since the parallels between the legendary
unication of Attica and the historic reforms of / are self-evident, we
can conclude that the synoecism tradition was in all likelihood created around
this same time.38 If so, we might expect to see that Theseus was now viewed
by his countrymen very differently than before. Crediting him with an
achievement of this momentous historical and political signicance will have
transformed Athenian perceptions of the hero almost overnight; in a single
mythopoeic stroke, the monster slayer of fable is improbably reinvented as a
farsighted ruler-reformerin effect, the founding father of the Athenian
state. This abrupt transformation must have left some trace in the contemporary record.
There is certainly very good evidence that the popularity of Theseus
reached an altogether new order of magnitude during the last decade of the
sixth century. It is at this point that the rst cycle vases were produced, most
of them cups, which show the hero battling with a succession of three or more
adversaries on the same vessel (g. ). Several of the opponents (the Minotaur, the Marathonian Bull, and the Krommyonian Sow) are familiar. Some
are entirely new: Sinis, Skiron, Kerkyon, and Prokrustesall outlaws who
made the fatal mistake of challenging the youthful Theseus as he made his way
from Troezen, his birthplace, to join his father, Aegeus, in Athens. Over twenty
such vases are known from the period ca. , and seven of them date from
or earlier. Here, the artists use of multiple adjacent scenes on a single sur-
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face to convey the idea of an entire cycle of deeds is unprecedented in earlier

Greek art.39
It is also during the last decade of the sixth century that the deeds of Theseus rst appear in Athenian monumental sculpture. As we saw in the previous chapter, a commemoration of the combat with the Marathonian Bull and
a statue group (see g. ) showing the hero wrestling with Prokrustes (?) were
probably erected on the Acropolis in the closing years of the century. Still more
impressive was the metope series that adorned the southern ank of the Athenian treasury in Delphi, a building erected probably around B.C. These
sculptures represent our earliest certain evidence for the promotion of Theseus
on an Athenian state monument. One of the nine panels is badly damaged,
and its subject cannot be identied. The other eight feature three of the older
episodes (the Minotaur, the Marathonian Bull (g. ), and the Amazon), the
four new combats seen on the cycle vases (with Sinis, Skiron, Kerkyon, and
Prokrustes), and a remarkable central panel that shows the hero with Athena,
apparently in a quiet moment between exertions. If doubts still lingered
around Greece about the local identity of Theseus, the treasury metopes put
them conclusively to rest.40
But for our purposes, perhaps the most striking feature of the treasury is its
juxtaposition of Theseus with Heracles, whose own, more storied labors decorated the metopes on the buildings northern side. As if to emphasize the formers independence from the latter and his emergence as a major hero gure
in his own right, there seems to be a conscious effort to avoid duplicating accomplishments in the two metope series, with both the Krommyonian Sow
and the Cretan Bull episodes omitted. And as scholars have often observed, it
is the exploits of Theseus, not Heracles, that were displayed on the buildings
more visible and prominent southern facade. It is almost as if a cultural displacement of Heracles by Theseus were taking place before our very eyes.
As it turns out, this process of displacement is broadly conrmed by contemporary vase painting. As noted above, Athenian artists were over eight times
more likely to depict Heracles than Theseus in the years before B.C. Thereafter, the proportions shift quite dramatically: Theseus appears on a full percent of known Attic vases in the rst quarter of the fth century, Heracles on
only percent.41
Taking all of this evidence together, the Theseus portrayed in Athenian art
of the last decade of the sixth century is an altogether more exalted and more
secure gure than the Theseus of the recent past. Freed from the shadow of
Heracles and adopted as an ofcial emblem of the state, he was, for the rst
time, clearly without rival as national hero of Athens.42 The invention of the
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synoecism tradition early in the decade would of course go a long way toward
explaining the sudden elevation of Theseus and his subsequent eclipse of Heracles. It would also explain two fundamental changes in the way that he is now
perceived.
First, in its careful blending of new stories with old to form a cogent sequential narrative, the deed cycle attests to an emerging interest in Theseus as
a concrete historical individual. Granted, in earlier images of the three older
stories, there seems to have been a growing consensus that he performed these
deeds in his youth, and he had always been generally identied with those, like
Heracles, who lived in the generation before the Trojan War. But we get no
real sense before of any conscious attempt to organize the events of his career into a coherent biography and give larger order and meaning to his existence. His life was then little more than an assemblage of heroic tableaux,
an accumulation of power statements and claims to Panhellenic renown. But
after , an episode like the encounter with the Krommyonian Sow was no
longer just another self-contained demonstration of arete; it was now one of a
series of formative experiencesdenitively located in place and timethat
brought the young hero from boyhood to manhood. Theseus had nally entered history.
Second, the cycle reveals a new emphasis on Theseuss engagement with Attica and its environs. Aside from the Marathonian Bull episode, all of his traditional accomplishments had taken place at some remove from his native
landprobably the further away the better, if, like Heracles, he was to enjoy
a genuinely Panhellenic celebrity. And where Theseuss older exploits usually
celebrated little more than the heros personal triumph over adversity, the new
struggles on his journey around the Saronic Gulf showed him in his rst sustained role as a benefactor of Athens, removing all manner of threats from the
western approaches to his home state. No less important, the cycle also reects
a very contemporary concern with territoriality. As we saw earlier in this chapter, more than one of the Eponymous Heroes had links to areas on or beyond
the western margins of Attica (notably Eleusis [Hippothoon] and the Megarid
[Pandion]), and their selection as eponyms carried with it a compelling Athenian claim to control of these locales. Such claims can only have been strengthened by the placement of three of the four new Thesean deeds (the combats
with Skiron, Kerkyon, and Prokrustes) in these same disputed areas. It seems
that the heros actions were now laden with political implications of a kind we
have not seen before.43
But the best evidence for the politicization of Theseus in the last decade of
the sixth century is actually negative, namely, his omission from the list of
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Eponymous Heroes. The presence of less illustrious relatives (e.g., Pandion,

Aegeus, and Acamas) on the list tells us all we need to know about the reason
for his omission: he was now, in the words of Ostwald (, ), too much
revered as the hero of all Attica to give one tribe the signal honor of worshipping him as its mythical forebear. And since the list included several gures
(not least Theseuss own father) who were recognized now, if not earlier, as
rulers of the edgling Athenian state, it is inconceivable that Theseus himself
was not also seen as a onetime king of Athens by this time.
In short, there appears to have been an abrupt shift in Athenian perceptions of Theseus in the last decade of the sixth century. Only at this point do
we see the rst real traces of that signature ruler-adventurer persona, the persona that would secure his unique place in Athenian consciousness for decades
to come. Realistically, there can be only one explanation for this sudden image
makeover and precipitous rise in acclaim. While it may not be possible to prove
conclusively that the synoecism tradition was invented at this time, it does not
take a rich imagination to identify signs of its impact everywhere in contemporary evidence. As we have seen, the genesis of the tradition could only have
come after a certain point in the evolution of Theseuss heroic identity and under certain, specic political conditions. If there was ever a timely moment for
these two axes to intersect, it came shortly after the fall of the Peisistratids.
I would guess that the tradition originated roughly as follows. To help legitimize the deme/trittys/tribe reform that nally sealed the political
unication of Attica, Cleisthenes and his associates sought a precedent from
the distant past. Casting around for a suitable agent of this prehistoric synoecism, they chose Theseus. The choice was not necessarily an obvious one.
Though more colorful than the shadowy Cecrops or Erechtheus, Theseus was
hitherto known primarily for individual feats of Heraclean derring-do. Moreover, he perhaps retained a suspect association with the previous regime. But
yet again, the interests of continuity prevailed over political sensibility, and the
hero was somewhat improbably recast as the founding father of the contemporary Athenian state, in the process ensuring his own exclusion from the ranks
of the eponymoi and the inclusion of several close relatives.
In an effort to make this abrupt identity shift more credible, attention then
turned to organizing the details of Theseuss earlier life. The new cycle of
youthful deeds was a remarkably artful exercise in mythmaking. Combining a
number of purpose-built new episodes with several existing stories, the cycle
was designed to serve as a coherent account of the heros development from
adolescence to kingship; hence the decision to end the sequence with the
Minotaur episode, the event that precipitated Aegeuss suicide and Theseuss
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ascent to the throne.44 Along the way, the cycle both confronted and resolved
the problem of the heros birth in the Argolid, addressed the embarrassing
shortage of ventures conducted in and around Athens itself, and anticipated
his later concern with the territorial integrity of Attica. The result was a vivid
and historically satisfying portrait of the formation of a future national hero,
precisely the kind of individual who one could now imagine would go on to
shape the political destiny of his homeland. Evidently, Athenian vase painters
and their symposiast clients found the new cycle instantly appealing, and it is
not hard to see why.
An important question remains: how was the new synoecism tradition publicized and promoted? No doubt it became a recurring topic in contemporary
political discourse. The selection and assignment of the Eponymous Heroes
would have inevitably given rise to public discussion of events in the early history of Attica, and we can only suppose that the regions original unication
by Theseus would have been a constant point of reference. But was the synoecism recognized or memorialized in some more permanent form?
It seems distinctly unlikely that the event was directly commemorated in
any form of public monument. The synoecism did not particularly lend itself
to artistic representation, and we know of no attempt in this or any other era
to render it in painting or sculpture. Somewhat less unlikely is the possibility
that a literary account was circulated at this time, one that perhaps included
the synoecism among other old and new details in Theseuss now impressively
cogent life story. In their efforts to explain the heros sudden rise in visibility
in the last decade of the sixth century, scholars have long speculated that a major epic poem, a Theseid, must have appeared around the year . But while
more than one poem of this name is attested, none look to be this early. And
besides, unless we can imagine such a thing as an ofcially commissioned
epic, a contemporary Theseid would only have reected the popularity of stories already current; it would not have been a vehicle for their initial dissemination.45
Another possibility is that the legend of the prehistoric unication of Attica was promoted in a regular public ceremony. This idea is altogether more
attractive, not least because we know of a festival that served just such a purpose. The Synoikia is not particularly well attested, but surviving sources from
Thucydides (..) on leave us in no doubt that it commemorated the synoecism. Supposedly dating from the time of Theseus himself, it was held annually in the middle of the month Hekatombaion, appropriately just before the
Panathenaia, the festival of all the Athenians. Otherwise, we can be sure only
that the sacrices performed at the Synoikia were offered to Zeus Phratrios and
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Athena Phratria, that they were decidedly modest in scale, and that representatives from the old Ionian tribes played a signicant role in the proceedings.46
The presence of the old associations has encouraged a general assumption
that the Synoikia must have been a festival of some considerable antiquity. The
assumption is an easy one to make and may well be correct. But given that the
Athenians of the late sixth century were quite adept at dressing up cultural innovations in the garb of timeless tradition, one wonders if the issue might not
be a little less straightforward. Further complicating matters is our earliest evidence for the festival, a lex sacra from the second quarter of the fth century,
which reveals that the deme Skambonidai offered a mature victim at the Synoikia.47 Though there are as yet no signs that other demes participated, the fact
that even one of Cleisthenes new local units did so arouses further suspicion
that the festival known to Thucydides was not a relic from the distant past after all. At the very least, it must have been substantially reinventedif not invented ex nihilorelatively soon after / B.C.
The prominence of the old Ionian tribes at the festival need not contradict
this conclusion. We are not told how the act of unication was gured in the
ritual of the Synoikia. But it seems a reasonable supposition that the ceremony
involved a symbolic reconciliation between different parties in Attica. And
given that the Ionian tribes apparently constituted the principal divisions in
Athenian society prior to / and had since been all but eliminated in the
name of unity, it is hard to think of any entities better suited to representing
the various fractions of the primeval community united by Theseus.
Supporting this inference is unambiguous later evidence that the old phylai were thought to have been associated with ancient territorial divisions of
Attica. It appears that the tribes underwent several changes of name in the remote past before they nally became known as the Argadeis, Hopletes, Aigikoreis, and Geleontes, during the reign of Erechtheus. In their two earliest phases,
under Cecrops and Cranaus, their names featured a combination of three toponyms (referring to the standard regional divisionsthe coast, the hinterland, and the city) and one eponym (referring to the king who oversaw the
naming process).48 Since the Synoikia was one of the very few contexts in
which memory of the old tribal system was preserved, it seems distinctly likely
that the purported territorial origins of the Ionian tribes were somehow articulated in the ritual of the festival, presumably to represent the disunity resolved
by Theseus.
One nal thought on the details of the festival. An emphasis on the territorial identity of the older phylai may also help to explain the presence of what
is perhaps the most mysterious element in the Synoikia: the Leukotainioi, the
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men with white headbands, a trittys of the tribe Geleontes, who participated
in the festivals preliminary sacrice. Taken in context, this ritual recognition
of the old trittys system suggests that the image of pre-Thesean Attica recalled
by the festival involved not just a fourfold but, ultimately, a twelvefold political division of the region. It is very tempting to see here a reference to the
primeval Dodekapolis, the loose federation of twelve independent poleis established by Cecrops that supposedly prevailed in the region before the synoecism. Though the precise identity of the twelve states was probably never
standardized, the Dodekapolis tradition seems to have been universally accepted by the Atthidographers and other antiquarians.49 Since the whole purpose of the tradition was to project some intimation of political unity back to
the very beginnings of Athenian history while still allowing Theseus the decisive role in the unication process, the idea of the Dodekapolis presumably
does not predate the creation of the synoecism tradition.50
We might speculate that this idea, like various other innovations of the new
order, was inuenced by practice in Ionia, where a historical federation of
twelve states provided an appropriate model.51 Be that as it may, it is not hard
to believe that the Attic Dodekapolis tradition was rst conceived in tandem
with the synoecism tradition and that both traditions were originally disseminated at the Synoikia, a festival that must have been at least revamped, if not
invented outright, in the aftermath of Cleisthenes reforms.52
The logic of the Athenian experiment required, inter alia, a transformation in
the way Athenians apprehended what had gone before. Exclusions and divisions of earlier times had to be forgotten; the past had to be made to reect and
anticipate the new solidarities and collectivism of the present. Over the course
of the last three chapters, we have been able to form some idea of how the authors of the new regime set about this task of shaping public memory.
The construction of a suitable past began with the suture of the most important division of all, the somewhat nebulous line that separated the area
directly controlled by the Athenian state from the rest of Attica. If the new
order was really to be seen as no more than an older order restored, then its
signature innovation, the creation of a fully integrated region-state in Attica,
would have to be projected back into the crepuscular recesses of early Athenian history. The synoecism tradition was thus invented to serve as a kind of
historical charter for a united Attica. And, in the process, the cultural resonance of Theseus in Athens was forever transformed, with the ancient act of
union displacing victory over the Minotaur as the dening moment in his
career.
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More generally, the preoccupation with the question of unication in the

late sixth century ensured that the emerging vision of an Athenian past was essentially organized around this issue. This is apparent not only in the extraordinary prominence accorded to Theseus, the eventual agent of unication, but
also in the choice of eponymoi, a reliable guide as to which other heroes were
now considered to have been signicant players in the evolution of the early
state. Just about every one of the eponyms was associated in some way with the
territorial integrity of Attica or with the person of the synoecist. The earliest of
the chosen heroes was Cecrops, the archetypal father of the Athenian state and
the founder of the Dodekapolis federation, while the latest were Acamas and
Antiochus, the sons of Theseus and Heracles. Thus dened, the decisive, formative period in Athenian history came to a fairly abrupt end in the generation
after Theseus; it is almost as if the organizers of this sequence began to lose interest in their task once the unication issue had been conclusively resolved.
But the seeds of ofcial memory had now been sown. Animated by a new
historical consciousness, Theseus and the eponymoi supplied the initial substance and color for this edgling account of a shared past, an account that
would be lled out with the reexes of future triumphs and anxieties in the
decades to come. And henceforth, no ancient voice we know of ever doubted
that some kind of unity, whether intimated or fully realized, had prevailed in
Attica essentially since time immemorial. Thus, to all appearances, the aim of
Cleisthenes reforms was not so much to unify the region as to reunify it, to restore it to the condition long ago bequeathed by Theseus. Ironically and perhaps inevitably, the representation of the reforms in this fashion all but ensured
that their true signicance would lie hidden from view for the rest of antiquity.53
Once the core elements of a suitable past were in place, it remained to forge
visible signs of continuity between the Athenians of the late sixth century and
the putative founders of their historic citizen community. This would be
achieved by making sure that almost every innovation in public life under the
new order had a certain traditional avor. We have already seen the contributions of the Agora, the Acropolis, and the new tribes to the creation of an appropriately historic cultural milieu. Further examples of this wholesale invention of tradition will be seen in the chapters that follow.
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THE NEW ORDER
AT WAR
King cleomenes of sparta may already have foreseen the likely impact of
Cleisthenes reforms on interstate power relations in Greece when he intervened to help Isagoras in /. By , with the Athenian experiment well
under way, he can have been in no doubt at all; the creation of a fully integrated citizen state in Attica almost instantly gave the Athenians a military capability to rival that of any polis on the mainland.1 Recognizing this serious
threat to his own states preeminence, Cleomenes acted decisively. In a coordinated mobilization of allies, the Chalcidians and Thebans were detailed to
invade Attica from the north and west, respectively, while the king himself arrived from the south with a Peloponnesian force, taking up a position near
Eleusis.
But the devastating three-pronged assault was not to be. With all of the allied armies safely established in Athenian territory and poised to strike, rst the
Corinthians at Eleusis and then Demaratus, Cleomenes fellow king and cocommander, abruptly deserted the cause, forcing Cleomenes to withdraw. Galvanized by this unexpected good fortune, the Athenians promptly went out to
meet the Thebans and Chalcidians. Both adversaries were defeated in successive engagements, and a measure of security against future incursions was
achieved by the annexation of valuable territory on Euboea and in the sensitive border area between Attica and Boeotia. Two monuments were then
erected: a burial mound near the Euripus for the those who had fallen in the
147
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struggle with Chalcis and a bronze four-horse chariot group on the Acropolis,
a thank offering to Athena for the twin victories.2
The new regime had survived its rst stern test from without. With hindsight, we can also see that the triumphs over the Thebans and Chalcidians in
mark the beginning of an important shift in the balance of power on the
Greek mainland. A more assertive, interventionist Athens would increasingly
overshadow neighbors like Thebes and Megara and would even come to challenge Sparta as the dominant force in interstate affairs. Within a few years, the
Athenians would be emboldened to venture further aeld and lend their support to the Ionian revolt against Persia, inadvertently paving the way for their
nest hourat Marathon in .
The primary reason for this newfound strength and condence was the creation of a citizen army organized according to the tribal system established by
Cleisthenes.3 The new form of military organization required each tribe to furnish a regiment (taxis) of hoplites from among those phyletai who possessed
sufcient means to provide their own arms. Leadership was also to be assigned
along tribal lines; each year, a board of ten generalsone from each phyle
was elected to oversee all military operations and command in the eld.4 Indeed, the key structural role played by the phylai in the mobilization and administration of the army has suggested to some observers that military
considerations, rather than political ones, might have been uppermost in Cleisthenes mind when he rst conceived the deme/trittys/tribe reform.5 We shall
return to this issue shortly.
A more immediate concern is to consider the novelty of a citizen militia
in Athens. Was the new form of military organization simply an overhaul or
adaptation of an existing system, perhaps one that had fallen into disuse under the Peisistratids? Or did it in fact represent the very rst attempt by the
Athenian state to institute a regular mechanism for mobilizing a national
citizen army?
CITIZEN SOLDIERS
It is widely believed that some regularized form of citizen militia did exist in
Athens before / B.C. Many scholars would probably concur with Ostwalds
assessment (, ) that however the army may have been organised early
in the sixth century, the fact that the Peisistratids had depended largely on the
support of mercenary soldiers will have made a new organisation desirable.6
Presumably, any earlier system would have been based on the old Ionian
tribes.7 That said, the evidence for military campaigns waged by the Atheni-
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ans before is astonishingly meager and tells us little of value about how their
armies were mustered in earlier times.
There may be a simple explanation for this reticence. After scrutinizing the
pertinent evidence in some detail, Frost () argues persuasively that the
Athenians actually had no standardized procedure for raising a citizen militia
before the reforms of Cleisthenes.8 As he notes, the reliability of our sources
for external military operations during this period is questionable on several
grounds. In some cases, like the Athenian involvement with Sigeion, ancient
authors obviously confuse and conate the events of more than one era. In others, such as the early wars with Aegina and Eleusis and the so-called First Sacred War, the sources include elements that can be dismissed as wholly fabulous (Frost , ). Still other conictsthose with Megara over Salamis
and Nisaeawere really no more than raids or skirmishes, and the participants
in them, like those who went on Miltiades expedition to the Chersonese, were
probably volunteers drawn by the prospect of booty or farmland.9
More revealing are ancient reports of Athenian defensive responses to hostile incursions from without, none of which suggest the existence of any institutionalized levy. The initial reaction to Cylons seizure of the Acropolis back
in the seventh century was, in Frosts words (, ), evidently spontaneous. Cylons force met with no resistance until it had occupied the citadel,
whereupon it was apparently besieged by people arriving en masse
[pande mei] (Thuc. ..) from the elds. And the slaughter of the conspirators at the shrine of the Erinyes that ended the coup attempt was universally
regarded in later times as an action not of the state as such but of the archon
Megacles and his family members, allies, and retainers (cf. sustasiotai at Hdt.
.). The Athenians were no better organized some seventy years later, when
Peisistratus mounted his brief coup in /; his control of Athens was secured
when a mere fty men armed with clubs took the Acropolis unopposed. Fifteen years after that, when Peisistratus returned to Attica after a decade of exile, his relatively formidable force set out from Marathon for Athens and encountered no resistance whatsoever until it reached Pallene. Moreover, the
Athenians who opposed him in the fateful battle that followed seem to have
been drawn only from the city of Athens and were soon dispersed.10
If the Athenians actually had a system for mobilizing a citizen army before
, it is truly remarkable that there is so little evidence for it in our accounts
of earlier engagements; we hear nothing of tribes, phratries, or any other groups
who might have provided the organizational basis for military ventures.11 True,
the ofce of polemarch seems to have been genuinely antique, and we do hear
of men serving as generals, though there is no reason to think that these were
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elected annually to the kind of board we see in later times. More likely, they
were appointed as and when the need arose.12 Likewise, the troops under their
command seem to have been mustered on an ad hoc basis, whether from volunteers, from retainers and dependents, or, in the case of defensive actions,
simply from those who were around to help. And much as we would expect
from the ndings in chapter , there is no evidence that Athenian forces routinely included contingents from all parts of Attica before the last decade of
the sixth century.
It seems, then, that the system devised by Cleisthenes and his associates for
raising a genuinely pan-Attic citizen army had no real precedent in the earlier
history of the state. Only after / did the Athenians nally nd a way to exploit the manpower potential of their region to the full. Theirs was now a formidable presence in the world of Greek interstate relations, as the Thebans and
Chalcidians would shortly discover.
Let us return now to the question raised earlier: is it possible that the tribal
reform of Cleisthenes was motivated primarily by military considerations?
There can be no doubt that the ad hoc arrangements of the past had limited
the states ability to intervene and impose itself elsewhere, while also rendering it particularly vulnerable to incursions from without. However, as I showed
in chapter , the need to address the chronic political instability of earlier times
was no less urgent. In any case, the twin problems of vulnerability and instability were fundamentally interconnected. Engaged in ongoing political competition with their rivals, leaders had little incentive to change a system that
gave them the freedom to raise what were essentially personal armies of volunteers and retainers. At the same time, the relative absence of any rm institutional structure in military life left the Athenians powerless to prevent these
leaders from resorting to violence and destabilizing the state, as is so vividly illustrated by the coups of / and /.
Neither problem could be decisively resolved in isolation from the other;
the reform package of / was surely designed to address both. The creation
of a system for mobilizing a national army was ultimately only one part of a
larger experiment in collective self-rule. In a single stroke, the tribal reform
made it possible for all citizens throughout Attica to share responsibility for defending the polis as well as for governing it.
Of course, the shift to a muster system that routinely required large numbers of men from all parts of the peninsula to bear arms for the state will have
been one of the more problematic innovations of / in the eyes of the average citizen. After all, given the Peisistratid dependence on non-Athenian
manpower, few Athenians of the time had much battleeld experience, and
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those that did had fought either out of naked self-interest or out of loyalty to
an individual leader. Henceforth, all Athenians of sufcient health and means
would be expected to serve a collective national interest, an altogether less familiar and more abstract cause. How, then, was this cause articulated and promoted? How was it related to the larger framework of values and attitudes that
made up the symbolic and ideological universe of the new order? Here, it may
be instructive to examine evidence for two military commemorations from the
period: the mass grave and the victory monument that were set up after the
twin victories over the Thebans and Chalcidians in .
DYING FOR THE CAUSE
Among the Greek epigrams assembled by Planudes in the early fourteenth

century and later assigned to book of the Palatine Anthology is the following epitaph.13
Divrfuo~ ejdmhvqhmen uJpo; ptuciv, sh`ma d ejf hJmi`n
ejgguvqen Eujrivpou dhmosivai kevcutai:
oujk ajdivkw~, ejrath;n ga;r ajpwlevsamen neovthta
trhceiàn polevmou dexavmenoi nefevlhn.
[Under the cleft of Dirphys, we were subdued, and upon us was piled
a grave mound near the Euripus at public expense. This was not without
due cause, for we lost our lovely youth when we welcomed wars rugged
cloud.]
The original provenance of this text is not entirely self-evident. But most
would agree that style and content seem to identify it as an Athenian military
epitaph from before the s, when the remains of battleeld casualties were
rst repatriated to Athens for burial in the state cemetery, or Demosion Sema,
on a regular basis.14 The most likely context for the verses would then be a
polyandrion, or mass grave, for those who fell in the engagement with Chalcis in .15 If so, the text is very signicant indeed. It is our earliest evidence
for the Athenian practice of burying and commemorating casualties en masse
without regard for individual rank or status. In fact, it is our earliest evidence
for the exercise of any kind of institutionalized control over the disposal of
the war dead by the Athenian state.16 Before this point, as Clairmont (,
) suggests, responsibility for the retrieval of the fallen was presumably left to
the survivors, who would have conveyed the remains to the appropriate families for burial.
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It is obviously not an accident that the new funerary practices appear in the
years immediately following the creation of a new citizen army and the establishment of a new, more inclusive form of citizen state. Collective rule was
manifest in collective burial, and the obligation to go to war for a shared cause
in turn obliged those who survived to honor the remains of those who did not.
Responsibility for disposal of the war dead had passed decisively from private
to public hands as [t]he demos took over the part of the father of the family,
and all fallen soldiers were honored in the same way.17
The language and imagery of the Euripus epitaph also sheds interesting
light on how the idea of a citizen army was represented to the Athenians in the
aftermath of the reforms that rst made this idea a reality. One is rst struck
by the epitaphs acute consciousness of its own novelty. Its entire structure is
organized around a defense (not without due cause) of the use of public
funds to bury wartime casualties, a concern that is readily understandable if no
real precedent existed for the practice. And then there is the word demosiai (at
public expense) itself, which occurs only here in commemorative verses of this
kind. As Clairmont (, ) observes, this unusual lexical preference probably reects the pride taken by leaders of the new order in giving a public burial to the war dead for the rst time in Athenian history.18
But for all the epigrams self-aware novelty, its diction and content also profess a heavy debt to poetic idioms of earlier times, both epic and funerary. Several words in the epitaph gain nuance and avor from their Homeric pedigree.
For example, while the verb damao (subdue), used in the rst line, was obviously chosen to soften the brute fact of violent death with an appropriate euphemism, it may also recall Homers use of the verb and its cognates, thus
adding a sense of the great effort required to tame or overpower the warriors of Athens.19 Likewise, Homeric usage could well inform the choice of kheo
(literally, pour) to describe the erection of the burial mound, suggesting that
the tomb possessed a kind of supernatural weightlessness as well as an appropriately heroic scale.20
More vivid still is the cloud metaphor in the closing line of the epigram.
The arresting combination of the noun nephelen (cloud) with the epithet
trekheian (rugged) conveys an image of the cloud of war rolling toward the
waiting Athenians like some giant boulder, much like the rocks sometimes
thrown by gods and heroes in the heat of epic battle. The implication of these
various verbal echoes is transparent, if improbable: the novice citizen soldiers
of Athens are being equated with those who took part in the titanic struggles
of the legendary past.21
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The form and thought of the Euripus epigram also recalls earlier epitaphs
composed for the tombs of wealthy individuals in Attica and elsewhere, texts
that routinely draw on epic diction and imagery.22 Its central conceit, where
the deceased address the passerby from within/beyond the grave, is a case in
point. Perhaps the best-known precedent is the poignant mid-sixth-century
epitaph for Phrasikleia from modern Merenda in Attica.23
Sh`ma Frasikleiva~: kouvrh keklhvsomai aijeiv
avnti; gavmou para; qew`n tou`to lacou`s o[noma.
[The grave of Phrasikleia. Ever shall I be called maiden, having drawn
this lot from gods instead of a marriage.]
The novelty of the Euripus epitaph is of course that it extends the conceit from
the single voice of an individual to the collective voice of the fallen Athenians.
The grave admits no distinctions of wealth or status; the privilege of an impressive burial is bestowed on all alike, and in death, all speak as one.
But the primary model for the Euripus epigram was surely the verses composed to commemorate members of the archaic elite who were killed in battle, like the epitaph for Tettikhos mentioned in chapter .24
ei[te ajstov]~ ti~ ajnh;r ei[te xevno~ a[lloqen ejlqwvn
Tevt[t]icon oijktivra~ a[ndr ajgaqo;n parivtw
ejn polevmw/ fqivmenon, neara;n h{ban ojlevsanta:
tau`t ajpoduravmenoi nei`sq ejpi; pra`gm ajgaqovn.
[Whether he be townsman or an outsider from elsewhere, may he [who
reads this] proceed on his way with pity felt for Tettikhos, a noble man
who died in war and lost his youthful vigor. Once you have mourned
these things, acknowledge the nobility of his deed.]
Much like the Euripus epigram, these lines contain a number of Homeric
echoes (see, e.g., Il. .; Od. ., .) that help to build an aura of heroic
death around the deceased. A more specic resemblance occurs in the third
lines of the two epitaphs, where a sense of the tragic untimeliness of death in
battle is conveyed by phrases that recall epic formulae for the loss of life in war
(e.g., psukhas olesantes, losing their lives, and the like).25 But in the epigram
for the citizen soldiers, there is perhaps the hint of a new element. It comes in
the word dexamenoi (when we receivedor welcomed), which implies that
the Athenians gave their lives willingly for the good of the homeland. Hence,
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unlike its private predecessors, which dwell only the pathos of youthful death,
the Euripus epitaph does not request that the casualties be pitied or mourned
by the passerby.
Perhaps we see here the rst intimation of what would become a recurring
feature of Athenian discourse on the war dead in the future: the praise of willful self-sacrice for the polis as cause for celebration as much as for lament.
Thus, while the epigram draws much of its force and effect from established epitaphic idioms, it also subtly reworks these conventions to produce an altogether
new ideal of heroic death, one that was collective and essentially seless.26
And the expression of this ideal was not conned merely to the realm of
words. To judge from the internal evidence of the poem, the grave itself was
purposely designed to recall the tombs of warriors who fought in earlier eras.
Consisting of a large tumulus crowned with a stele, it clearly imitated elite private burials visible in Attica since the seventh century. Like the latter, it must
ultimately have been inspired by imaginings of the landmark tombs of the
Homeric world, such as that of Ilos on the plain of Troy.27 We might then see
the heroizing polyandrion for the victims of the battle with the Chalcidians as
an immediate ancestor of the famous soros for the Marathonomakhai. Whitleys comments (, ) on the soros might just as easily be applied to the
tomb near the Euripus:28
Particular burial practices are being used as metaphors for heroic
courage and prowess and so as suitable means for honoring the dead.
. . . The tumulus of Marathon depends for its effectiveness on previous
mortuary forms and widespread ideals of heroic virtue. . . .
The Euripus war grave thus ts very comfortably into the general scheme
of politico-cultural change in Athens in the late sixth century. Much as the new
tribes offered all Athenians a share in the kind of glorious past that was once
the preserve only of the great families, so each citizen soldier was now assured
a burial t for an Attic lord or an epic warrior. And through the adaptation and
reuse of time-honored elite mortuary practices, a direct continuity of arete was
intimated, one that extended back from the new national army of the present
to the legendary gures of Homers distant past. Whatever the unglamorous
realities of late archaic warfare, the humble Athenian hoplite and his fellows
could at least share in a glamorous death.
Athenian sepulchral arrangements for the war dead would evolve considerably in the decades ahead, and it seems that the heroizing battleeld tumulus had effectively been abandoned by the end of the s.29 Thereafter, the
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remains of all casualties were repatriated and interred with due pomp in the
soil of the Demosion Sema, which served in effect as a vast polyandrion. Evidently, as the frequency of Athenian military interventions increased with the
rise of the Delian League and as the demands on manpower rose accordingly,
political leaders saw potential symbolic capital in creating a compelling public
spectacle around the burial of those who gave their lives for the polis. The result was the institution of a lavish annual state funeral, featuring a two-day
prothesis (a formal display of the war dead), a horse-drawn cortege for the tribal
cofns, and a program of athletic contests, as well as the familiar graveside oration. In other words, the occasion was essentially a full-scale, fth-century reproduction of the heroic funeral ceremonies so memorably described in epic
poetry and vividly rendered on Late Geometric amphorae, which had marked
the graves of aristocrats in this very same location centuries earlier.30
We might note that some have seen the pageantry of the state funerals as a
sign of the troubling persistence of a dominant aristocratic ethos in democratic
Athens; others see it as evidence of the power of the democracy to appropriate and adapt aristocratic values to its own purposes.31 There is some truth in
both views. But both may also miss the larger point.
When we consider the state funerals against the background of earlier
arrangements for fallen citizen soldiers, it becomes clear that any apparent opposition or tension here between aristocratic practice and democratic context
is of less signicance than the more general interplay between past and present. Elements like the horse-drawn cortege and the funeral games were included in the spectacle not for their aristocratic associations per se but for
their manifestly traditional and, above all, heroic resonance. The point was to
suggest continuities of military prowess with the age of heroes; the mortuary
practices of the archaic aristocracy simply provided the most readily available
means to that end.32 And though this heroizing mode of funerary commemoration would not reach its fullest expression until the Cimonian era, the cultural logic behind it is already visible years earlier in the relatively simple tumulus and epitaph set up near the Euripus in , when the new citizen army
met and overcame its rst serious challenge in the eld.
A TRADITION OF VICTORY
A very similar cultural logic informs the other monument erected by the Athenians in connection with the battles of , a thank offering for the twin victories, dedicated to Athena on the Acropolis. It probably stood somewhere near
the entrance to the citadel, and was clearly regarded as a landmark of some his-
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torical signicance; after suffering damage at the hands of the Persians, it was
replaced by a replica at some point in the midfth century. The monument
took the form of a bronze four-horse chariot, with the following epigram inscribed on its base.33
Desmwì ejn ajcnuoventi sidhrevwi e[sbesan u{brin
pai`de~ Aqhnaivwn, e[rgmasin ejn polevmou
e[qnea Boiwtw`n kai; Calkidevwn damavsante~:
tw`n i{ppou~ dekavthn Pallavdi tavsd e[qesan.
[With grievous chains of iron, sons of the Athenians quenched excessive
aggression, after overcoming the hosts of the Boeotians and Chalcidians
through deeds of war. They dedicated these steeds to Athena from a
tithe of the ransom.]
Like the Euripus tumulus, the victory memorial was singularly unprecedented. As I noted in chapter , it seems to have been the very rst commemoration in Athens of a collective military achievement. Along with the Salamis
decree, it was probably one of the rst public installations of any description
to be set up on the Acropolis. Again, it is surely no coincidence that this particular style of commemorative practicethe celebration of victory won by the
groupemerged only a year or two after the introduction of the reforms that
dened the group and provided the organizational basis for the groups military ventures.
Much like the epitaph for the fallen Athenians, the memorial epigram from
the Acropolis uses a distinctly Homeric style of diction to lend heroic stature
to the citizen soldiers and their accomplishments. Whatever the actual scale of
the battles, their opponents are not simply Boeotians or Chalcidians but
whole nations or hosts [ethnea], suggesting conicts of truly epic magnitude.34 More interesting still is the characterization of the home forces as sons
of the Athenians [paides Athenaio n]. This phrase recalls Homers familiar
practice of designating national armies as sons of the Achaeans [huies
Akhaio n] and the like and must consciously echo the description of the modest Athenian contingent in the Iliads Catalog of Ships as youths or sons of
the Athenians [kouroi Athenaio n] (Il. .). The continuity of arete intimated
in the Euripus epitaph is here made more explicit: the citizen soldiers of the
late sixth century are the linear descendants of those Athenian warriors who
graced the battleelds of yore, specically those who fought at Troy.
But it will have been the monuments sculpture that made the most immediate impression on viewers. Like the thought and language of the epigram,
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the image of a four-horse chariot stirred visions of a world that was very far removed from the realities of contemporary battle. Chariots were certainly not
a feature of Greek hoplite warfare in the late archaic era. Nor is it likely that
they played anything more than a ceremonial role in eighth-century society,
when they became a xture of battle scenes in art and epic poetry.35 Fascination with these vehicles seems to have been prompted by the sustained encounter of the Late Geometric Greek elite with the material remains of the
Bronze Age past, an engagement that also led to, inter alia, the widespread reuse
of Mycenean tombs as cult sites for ancestor-heroes, the imitation of Cyclopean masonry, and the deposition of arms and armor of Bronze Age style in
contemporary graves.36
Whether or not chariots were regularly used in warfare in Mycenean times,
knowledge of their military function seems not to have survived into the Iron
Age.37 But representations and perhaps remains of chariots in Bronze Age
tombs will have given them a prominent place in the grander, more heroic
world that was evoked in the eighth-century mind by the visible residue of a
civilization long since defunct. This of course was the world imagined in the
Homeric epics, and perhaps more than any other medium, these poems xed
the image of the chariot in Greek culture as the conveyance par excellence of
gods and heroes, both in war and in peace, and thus as one of the denitive
markers or signiers of the divine and the heroic.38
In other words, the four-horse chariot that adorned the Acropolis victory
memorial was an unambiguous iconographic restatement of the idea found in
the monuments epigram. Word and image combined to represent the novice
citizen soldiers of the new national army as worthy successors of the storied
Athenians who fought at Troy and elsewhere.
With its emphasis on shared continuities, the victory monument was very
much a product of its age. It sat easily amid the cavalcade of equestrian imagery that had in recent decades come to engulf the Acropolis, while for the
rst time using that same imagery to celebrate a group accomplishment. And
just as the fabric of the citadel and the Agora now proclaimed the restoration
of an older, ancestral style of political community, so the victory memorial
announced that an ancient tradition of collective martial prowess had been successfully revived. The new shared cause was thus glamorized: the obligation to
take ones place in the Athenian phalanx became an opportunity to tread in
the footsteps of heroes. At the same time, the Acropolis dedication, along with
its sister grave monument near the Euripus, established a verbal and a visual
language on which the Athenians would increasingly draw for all forms of military commemoration in the decades to come.39
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7
THE FESTIVAL
OF ALL THE ATHENIANS
Demosthenes (.) may have been exaggerating when he claimed in
B.C. that the Athenians devoted more energy and resources to just two of
their festivals, the Great Panathenaia and the City Dionysia, than to all of their
military operations. But this rebuke to his opponents and fellow citizens at a
time of impending crisis well illustrates the important place occupied by festivals in the culture of classical Athens and the signicance of the Panathenaia
and the Dionysia in particular.1
Even by Greek standards, the Athenians were remarkably busy in their religious observations; it is generally reckoned that some form of festival activity
took place in Athens on almost one in three days each year. The single most
important of these festivals was the Panathenaia, the [festival] of all the Athenians. It was the principal occasion for honoring Athena Polias, the patron
goddess of the polis, and was held annually, a few weeks after midsummer, toward the end of Hekatombaion, the rst month in the Athenian calendar. As
the Great Panathenaia, it was celebrated with special extravagance every four
years; a smaller ceremony, known as the Lesser Panathenaia, was held in the
years between. By the classical period, the grander, penteteric version of the festival appears to have evolved into one of the Greek worlds more impressive
mass spectacles.2
I say appears to because we lack any denitive eyewitness account of the
festivals contents and cannot even be certain of the precise order of events.
158
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The Festival of All the Athenians
159
However, long-term study of a wide miscellany of written and material evidence has made it possible to reconstruct a fairly detailed picture of the program of the classical Panathenaia. The result reveals a complex, multifaceted
occasion, made up of several distinct, if not entirely unrelated, ingredients.3
The rst of these was the ritual component, the core of the festival. This
took place on Hekatombaion. It began with a sacricial procession (pompe)
along the Panathenaic Way, starting at the Dipylon Gate, at the northwest edge
of the city, and proceeding through the Agora, up to the Acropolis. There, large
numbers of victims were offered up to Athena at the Great Altar, and in the
Arkhaios Neos, her small olive-wood idol, or xoanon, was draped in a new peplos. The sacricial meat was later distributed by deme, and all Athenians present partook of the feasting that followed.4
Then there was what we might call the panegyric dimension. Despite all
the local signicance of the festivals ritual content, the organizers of the Panathenaia actively sought the participation of outsiders. In particular, they aimed
to attract those same luminaries of athletics and music who competed in the
stephanitic, or crown, games at Olympia, Delphi, Isthmia, and Nemea.
Though never considered part of the prestigious Panhellenic festival circuit (periodos), it featured a full program of traditional contests in both disciplines.
And to encourage leading athletes and musicians from all over Greece to take
part in these contests, the organizers of the Panathenaia offered the added inducement of lavish prizes, from large sums of cash to decorated jars of olive oil.
Ironically, such efforts to stir comparison with the crown games only helped
to ensure that the Athenian panegyris was forever somewhat distanced from
that company.
But perhaps what distinguished the classical Panathenaia most from its
stephanitic counterparts was its overtly political content. The Eleusinian Mysteries aside (see chapter ), there was probably no event in the Athenian calendar that brought more outsiders to Athens, and it seems that the Athenians
saw here an opportunity to make a denitive ceremonial statement of their collective place in the world. The line between worship of the patron goddess and
celebration of the collective self was always a ne one; at the Panathenaia, it
was all but invisible, as the very name suggests. The festival of all the Athenians, with its unusually inclusive procession, was above all an occasion for
parading the solidarity of the polis and the shared characteristics on which that
solidarity was based.5 Not the least of these characteristics was military
prowess. During the era of the empire, the consequences of this prowess were
visible for all to see in the procession itself, where representatives from subject
states in the Athenian alliance marched alongside individuals from all sec-
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tions of the greater polis community, including contingents of the army responsible for their subjection.6
This somewhat chauvinistic militarism was extended even into the athletic
arena, where a range of non-Olympic competitions were contested exclusively
by citizens of the host state. Spectators bore witness as Athenian warriors engaged in individual displays of martial dexterity, like the apobates race for chariot dismounters and the contest for javelin throwers on horseback (hippakontizontes), and events for teams drawn from the ten tribes, such as the pyrrhic
dance and the boat race. These tribal contests seem to have been specically
designed to promote group loyalties and to demonstrate the kind of cooperative virtues that underpinned collective rule by the demos. At the same time,
the events for warriors as a whole offered Athenians and non-Athenians alike
a forthright, if stylized, statement of the martial arete that had secured for
Athens its position at the forefront of the Greek world.7
A heady cocktail of Athena worship, Olympic-style panegyris, and political showcase, the classical Panathenaia was an unusually rich and complex festival worthy of its status as the premier ceremonial occasion in Athenian public life. But how did it come to acquire this complexity? Were its disparate
ingredients all present in some form from the very beginning?
Few participants or spectators in the fth and fourth centuries would have
given much thought to these questions. Despite the festivals unorthodoxy, it
will doubtless have appeared to them to be a timeless and seamless organic
whole. While acknowledging that important changes were made to the Panathenaia over time, modern commentators are also inclined to assume that its
curious hybrid character was essentially xed at some early stage, long before
the classical period. There are, however, good reasons for thinking that it had
experienced more than one signicant overhaul by the early fth century and
that its more politically charged elements were only a relatively late addition.
GAMES FOR ATHENA
A state festival as signicant as the Panathenaia required distinguished beginnings and a long history. The Athenians themselves believed that it went all the
way back to the time of Erichthonius, its putative founder. But there is no solid
evidence for the festival before the s. An annual sacrice to Athena Polias
had probably been staged since at least the later seventh century, when the rst
temple was built on the Acropolis. Conceivably, some form of regular offering
had been practiced since the Late Geometric period, when the citadel was rst
established as a major sanctuary. Athena is explicitly linked with the Acropo-
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lis in a pair of passages in the Iliad and the Odyssey, one of which refers to annual sacrices. If the traditional date of the Homeric poems is accepted, we
may then have a terminus ante quem for the predecessor or original form of the
Panathenaia, in the latter half of the eighth century. That said, it seems safe to
infer that the celebration down to the s cannot have assumed anything
more than very modest proportions, since throughout this early phase, the
Acropolis was accessible only by winding paths and narrow entrances. Nor is
there any hint in the material record of this period that the edgling Panathenaia might have involved anything more than a simple sacricial act.8
The picture then changes quite dramatically during the decade . If
a small local festival for Athena Polias existed before this time, it was now transformed into something quite different.
Access to the citadel was signicantly improved at this point, making possible a much enlarged sacricial procession for the festival. As noted in chapters and , a vast stone ramp some eighty meters long now superseded the
winding paths on the western approaches to the sanctuary, and the west entrance was possibly widened.9
Signs of an innovation in the ritual of the Panathenaia are also visible in
contemporary vase evidence. One of the events commemorated at the classical festival was the victory of Athena and the gods in the Gigantomachy, and
a scene of the armed goddess overpowering a giant was regularly woven into
the garment used in the annual peplos ceremony. As it happens, such scenes
suddenly became popular on Attic vases right around B.C., and the earliest examples come from the Acropolis itself. It is not self-evident what
prompted this new interest, but the introduction of the peplos ceremony at
some point in the s seems the most likely stimulus. If the ceremony was
added at this time, we would be in a good position to explain why the striding, armed Athena image comes to dominate the iconography of the goddess
in Athenian art during the middle decades of the sixth century and why, in particular, this image was chosen to adorn the Panathenaic prize amphorae, which
also enter the record in ca. .10
The idea that the Panathenaia underwent some kind of overhaul around
this time may also be supported by a small handful of literary and epigraphic
sources. But the beginning of the sequence of prize vases is itself the most unambiguous evidence for a fundamental shift in the character of the festival in
the s. For it surely marks the integration of the rst athletic contests into
the festival program and, hence, the birth of the Great Panathenaia.11
Evidently, the new games and the new amphorae precipitated a surge of demand among the Athenians for scenes of athletic competition on vases. Images
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of athletes appear on local ware in the s with unprecedented frequency, not

only on the prize vases, but also on other types of vessel, including those known
as pseudo-Panathenaics, which are of a shape and scheme similar to the prize
amphorae. If, as seems likely, the contests depicted on these various vases
broadly reect those that were visible at the Panathenaia, it appears that the
new games very quickly came to resemble their counterparts at Olympia, featuring a full range of traditional track-and-eld and equestrian events, as well
as boxing, wrestling, and the pankration.12
Also added in the s or shortly thereafter was a series of musical contests.
At least in later years, the awards to victors in these events were cash and gold,
so we should perhaps not expect to nd scenes of musical competition on contemporary prize vases. But signicantly, from the s on, we do nd images
of auletes and aulodes, kitharists and kitharodes, on a range of Athenian amphorae, including pseudo-Panathenaics and vases with Panathenaic motifs.
Again, it seems that a series of new contests at the Panathenaia had caught the
imagination of local spectators and the artists who catered to them.13 The
rhapsodic competitions apparently had a similar effect. These were a distinctive feature of the Great Panathenaia, and were traditionally associated with
Hipparchus, the son of Peisistratus, whom posterity remembered as philomousos, a lover of the arts (AP .). Whether or not Hipparchus himself actually instituted the contests for rhapsodes, the vase evidence suggests that they
too were a xture at the festival by the end of the s.14
In sum, we can be unusually condent that the Great Panathenaia was part
of the calendar by around (presumably, it was founded in either or )
and that within twenty or so years, the ritual and panegyric components of the
mature festival were already essentially in place. It must also have been at this
point that the distinction arose between the Great and the Lesser Panathenaia.
If we can assume that the new penteteric festival had its origins in a preexisting annual sacrice for Athena Polias, we might infer that the Lesser Panathenaia was little more than a continuation of this earlier rite, supplemented
by the peplos ceremony and perhaps a somewhat larger procession.15
But why was a festival like the Great Panathenaia founded at this particular moment, and by whom? Here, our evidence is less helpful. It is true that
one late ancient source (schol. Ael. Arist. .. [. Dindorf ]) credits
the innovation directly to Peisistratus. But a date in the s effectively rules
out this possibility. A leader who had to resort to armed force in / to bolster his bid for power in Athens clearly lacked the political capital necessary to
establish a major state festival in or . Only after the mid-s was his
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position secure enough to stage an event of this kind. An altogether more likely
founder was suggested in chapter . This was Lycurgus, who appears to have
been the most powerful man in Athens during the s, and whose family, the
Boutadai, controlled the cult of Athena Polias.16
And we do not have to look far to nd his immediate motivation. The previous fteen or twenty years had seen the foundation of a series of new Panhellenic games at Delphi, Isthmia, and Nemea (in ca. , , and , respectively), and the success of these ventures must have encouraged the
Boutadai to mount a rival spectacle at Athens. In their choice of format, they
diverged little from the precedents supplied by the circuit. As at the three junior festivals, the program of contests at the Great Panathenaia was built around
a core of athletic and equestrian events that, by this point, were xtures of the
games at Olympia, the original athletics panegyris. And like the Pythian festival at Delphi, it was held every four years, in the third year of each Olympiad;
its relative infrequency gave it an instant signicance, while its timing showed
the necessary deference to the senior games.
In its incorporation of musical contests, the Panathenaia also followed the
lead of Delphi, where, according to one tradition (Paus. ..), the competitions for aulodes and auletes were rst staged in B.C. (Ol. .). As for the
new peplos ceremony, a variety of inuences are possible. Given its location
and sporting associations, the comparable ceremony held at Olympia during
the quadrennial Heraia was probably the most appropriate model. The latter
festival, which featured footraces for unmarried females, also had a certain currency, since it, too, seems to have been a product of the sudden vogue for Panhellenic gatherings which arose in the rst quarter of the sixth century.17
But not all was derivative. Aside from the novel rhapsodic contests, which
may not have been added until the s, the lavish prizes offered to victors set
the Panathenaia sharply apart from the other major athletics festivals. Whether
this was a bold attempt to rival and perhaps eclipse the three younger crown
games in prestige or merely a means of compensating for the exclusion of the
Panathenaia from the circuit, we know of no certain precedent for the use of
valuable awards to lure elite contestants to participate in a public athletics gathering.18 Nor was there any real precedent for staging a festival of this kind in
the middle of a large settlement. The other major games all took place in extra-urban sanctuaries, most of them in distinctly remote locales.
These peculiarities must have given the Great Panathenaia a distinctive tone
or avor. One suspects that it seemed like a brash, urban newcomer in the conservative world of Panhellenic festivals. But otherwise, in its format and in its
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essential character, the Panathenaia was still, at this point, a highly orthodox
Greek panegyris. In particular, there is no observable trace of the political concerns that so infused and dened the classical festival.
This is not to deny that the sponsors of such an opulent spectacle stood to
gain handsome political capital from their endeavors. The Great Panathenaia
surely did wonders for the standing of the Boutadai in the eyes of their peers
and rivals in Athens and elsewhere. But it did not yet have any overtly political content. While the overall splendor of the pageantry reected well on the
city and its leaders, there was no attempt, at this stage, it seems, to insert items
into the program that threw a bright spotlight on the qualities of the Athenian people. We have no evidence for any of those later contests that showcased
the collective and individual talents of Athenian warriors. In fact, there is no
good evidence for much of a military presence at all. And unless the procession now made a point of including representatives from all parts of Attica,
which it is not known to have done even in the classical period, it is hard to
see in the festival any larger association with the political unication of the region. The name Panathenaia appears to point in this direction, but the title is
not actually attested until the fth century.19
The original format of the Great Panathenaia must have been rmly in
place by around . What then of the following three decades? What mark,
if any, did the Peisistratids leave on the content and character of the festival? A
spectacle of this kind lent itself easily to the Religionspolitik that is often associated with Greek tyrants. One would expect that the family took full advantage of the many opportunities for self-aggrandizement that the festival presented. Presumably, they served as the chief sponsors of the festival during the
years of their domination, and their creation of a new public square around a
section of the Panathenaic Way in the s will have allowed them to put a personal stamp on the procession and on whatever other associated activities were
now staged there. But did they make any signicant changes to the substance
of the Panathenaia in the process?
There is very little to suggest that they did. Even if Hipparchus was responsible for the introduction of rhapsodic contests, these would not have altered the character of the festival fundamentally. And there is no evidence that
they added any other competitions to the program. Otherwise, there remains
only the slim possibility that Peisistratus and/or his sons were the rst to
arrange for armed infantrymen to march in the procession. The evidence
comes in a passage of Thucydides (.., ..). Here, he reports that the
day of the Panathenaic procession was chosen for the assassination of Hippias
precisely because there were armed men taking part in the proceedings. Ac-
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cording to the historian, these men would have provided some cover and perhaps a source of spontaneous support for the conspirators. In the absence of
any compelling evidence for troops in the procession in the early years of the
Panathenaia, we might then conclude that the Peisistratids were themselves responsible for their presence in later times.
Skeptics may wonder how Thucydides could possibly have known this information. But a more serious problem for his testimony is presented by another account of the incident, that of AP (.), which makes a point of correcting Thucydides on the very detail in question. In support, the author then
goes on to explain that the addition of hoplites to the procession was in fact an
innovation made later by the demos. There is no satisfactory way to reconcile the two accounts; one of them must surely be wrong. Since the author of
AP went to the trouble of correcting one of his primary sources on this relatively incidental matter, and since the language of his correction suggests that
he knew of a published Assembly decree on the subject, the simplest way out
of the impasse is probably to assume that Thucydides claim was no more than
an inference from later practice. The likelihood is therefore that hoplites did
not become a regular part of the Panathenaic procession until after /.20
If so, we can only conclude that the Peisistratids left the Panathenaia much
as they had found it: a conventional Greek panegyris that, above all, courted
comparison with the four games of the circuit. But changes were again afoot.
GAMES FOR ATHENIANS
Given the momentous innovations seen elsewhere in public life between the
years and , it would be truly surprising if the states premier festival
were not also touched in some way by the Athenian experiment. We cannot be
sure that the demos authorized the addition of hoplites to the procession during this period, even if the creation of a new citizen army gave them a compelling reason to do so. However, with the replacement of the humble seventhcentury temple of Athena Polias by the Arkhaios Neos around B.C., we can
be sure that the setting for the festivals climactic ritual moments was grander
than ever before. As the home of the ancient xoanon and site of the peplos ceremony, no building was more closely associated with the Panathenaia. And
through the innovative Gigantomachy pediment, the designers of the Arkhaios
Neos ensured that the temple would be dened by this association from the
start. Most likely, the Gigantomachy was placed in the temples west gable,
henceforth affording all who entered the citadel sanctuary an immediate visual
reminder of Athenas greatest martial feat and her greatest festival.21
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More signicant for our purposes, it seems that the period also
saw innovations in the program of the Panathenaia. I refer here to the addition
of the rst contests for Athenian warriors. The range of these contests varied
somewhat over time. Some, such as the pyrrhic dance and the rather bizarre
apobates race for chariot dismounters, were among the festivals signature
events. Others, such as the anthippasia, a mock cavalry battle between tribal
squadrons, are less well attested and may only have been held occasionally. But
all excluded non-Athenian competitors, and all appear to have had a pronounced martial avor that placed them rmly outside the realm of traditional
Olympic-style athletics.
Our best single source for these competitions is a partially intact prize list
for the Panathenaia from ca. B.C. (IG II2 ). Under the heading [contests] for warriors [polemisteriois] (), we nd two broad categories of events.
Contests for individuals () included a horse race [keles], a two-horse
chariot race [hippo n zeugos], a procession for two-horse chariots [zeugos pompikon], and a contest in throwing the javelin from horseback [aph hippou
akontizon]. To these, we should add the apobates race, the best known of the
events for individual warriors, which may have featured in a missing portion
of the inscription. The list goes on to record prizes for a series of events contested by teams from the ten Cleisthenic tribes (): the pyrrhic dance
[pyrrhike orkhesis] for boys, youths, and men; an event known as the euandria, or [contest in] manly excellence; a torch race [lampadephoria]; and a
contest of ships [neo n hamilla].22
So when were the rst contests for Athenian warriors added to the Panathenaic program? For the years before the classical period, the most likely
source of evidence for these events would be vase painting. As we saw earlier,
the foundation of the Great Panathenaia in the s apparently inspired a sudden surge of interest in athletic subjects among Attic artists, which carried over
into the Peisistratid era. If any of the warrior contests had been introduced
in the early phase of the festival, we might reasonably have expected at least
one or two images of pyrrhic dancing or the like to surface on contemporary
vessels. For this reason, the absence of such images before the last decade of the
sixth century seems signicant.
In any case, one feels instinctively that events that were limited to participants from the host state would have held little appeal for the festivals organizers in earlier times. It is not impossible to imagine contests for teams from
the four Ionian tribes. But it is hard to believe that Athenian leaders in the years
would have considered them suitable for the Panathenaia. Their overwhelming concern here was to gain the widest possible recognition for them-
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selves and their city by mounting an impressive Panhellenic spectacle in the

tradition of the Olympics and the other crown games. Prestige required the
presence of the best competitors available in all of Greece, whether rhapsodes
or pankratiasts. Nontraditional events that expressly excluded outsiders, let
alone team events, would have done little for the cause.
As it happens, evidence for the tribal team contests begins to appear right
around the time of the tribal reform. It comes from vase painting and is assembled and discussed in a recent paper by Jenifer Neils ().
Best attested is the pyrrhic dance. Though images of this contest do not appear with any frequency until the early classical period, the pyrrhic makes its
debut in Attic art shortly after the end of the tyranny. Two of the earliest scenes
occur on the two sides of a black-gure pelike by the Theseus Painter that dates
to ca. and is now in San Antonio (g. ). Like the majority of later scenes,
both depict a single hoplite dancing to the accompaniment of an aulete.
Whether we see here a gurative representation of a team performance or
merely the practice maneuvers of an individual dancer, the nature of the activity is clear enough. A more conclusive piece of evidence comes in a scene on
a fragmentary Attic red-gure skyphos found by French excavators on Thasos.
Dating to the last decade of the sixth century, it features a full team of ve
pyrrhic dancers, or pyrrhikistai, anked on the right by an aulete and on the
left by a multiple herm, leaving us in no doubt that the performance was competitive and that it was staged in Athens, presumably at the Panathenaia.23
The euandria, or contest in manly excellence, remains something of an
enigma. We have no eyewitness descriptions of the event, and scattered references in sources reveal only that competitors possessed an attractive appearance (see Athen. .) and perhaps unusual size and strength (see Xen. Mem.
..). The euandria probably was more than a simple beauty contest, though
the kinds of challenges it involved are far from self-evident. All manner of suitably manly activities have been suggested, from acrobatic displays and shield
juggling to choral performance, but a consensus has yet to emerge.24
Tracing the early history of such an elusive event in art is obviously problematic, though Neils (, ) may have found a neat solution. Instead
of searching for suitable images of euandria competitions in progress, she
identies a series of scenes that might depict the awards ceremony for victors
in the contest. Typically in these scenes, the central gure is a nude youth who
is festooned with llets and holding branches. In some, he is being crowned by
a draped, bearded ofcial; in others, he wears a distinctive pointed cap or is
about to receive one from Nike. Since these scenes are often accompanied by
kalos inscriptions and lack the usual attributes that help the viewer to identify
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the nature of the victory, one assumes that the youthful victors are being honored for some kind of bodily prowess. And since one of these images occurs on
a vase of Panathenaic shape, it is tempting to infer that they represent victories
in the euandria. The earliest of these vases are from the late sixth century, and
Neils therefore suggests that the contest may have been rst staged at the Panathenaia, along with the pyrrhic dance, soon after Cleisthenes reforms. She
could well be right.25
Neils adopts a similar approach to vase evidence for the boat race, or contest of ships. Images of ships on vases are never especially common due to the
constraints of the medium, and no known archaic or classical scene of a boat
race survives. However, picking up on an observation by Webster (,
), Neils proposes that victories in the neon hamilla may be alluded to on
ve vases and two votive shields from the period ca. . Each one shows
a female gure (Nike, Athena, or an unidentied woman) holding an aphlaston, the curving high stern of the trireme with a standard in front of it (Neils
, ). Just as musical victories were commemorated by images of Nike
holding the pertinent instrument, so, she argues, by a similar metonymy, the
aphlaston motif could stand for success in the contest of ships. If Neilss proposal is correct, it may be that the contest was added to the Panathenaia within
a decade or two of Cleisthenes reforms. But perhaps the most likely stimulus
for the new event was the consolidation of the Athenian navy by Themistocles
in the later s.26
Torch races (lampadedromiai) were a popular feature of festivals all over the
Greek world. By the end of the fth century, they were an integral part of several in Athens, notably the Hephaisteia and the Prometheia, as well as the Panathenaia. For this reason, it is not always possible to tell which, if any, particular race was intended when a torch race appears on an Attic vase. But for our
purposes, the problem is moot. No preclassical scene of the event is extant, and
the earliest certain depiction of the Panathenaic torch race occurs on a bell
krater that dates to the s.27 As a natural team event, the race would not
have been out of place among the original tribal contests at the Panathenaia,
and it may be the case that the staging of a lampadedromia at Athenas celebrated panegyris encouraged the adoption of the practice at other appropriate
Athenian festivals. But for now, the date of the rst torch race at the Panathenaia must remain a matter for speculation.28
The apobates contest aside, the events for individual Athenian warriors
are less well known than their tribal counterparts. One suspects that they had
about them a rather different ambience. Funding for the team events came
from ofcial state liturgies, and the participants competed for the honor of
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their phyle and the recognition of their polis, not for private gain. The prizes
for the victors were little more than tokens: in ca. B.C., one hundred drachmas and a bull were shared by the winning team in each of the pyrrhic dance
contests and the euandria. The individual warrior events, however, were an
elite preserve. All were equestrian in nature, and competitors were presumably
responsible for supplying their own horses and equipment. The rewards, too,
were different. Victors in the individual contests, unlike those in the team
events, were awarded valuable, prestigious prize vases. Apparently, such men
required more substantial, tangible incentives to compete.29
Sadly, all too few prize vases with images of these individual events have
survived. In fact, most of the contests have left little impression on the historical record at all, making it extremely difcult to pinpoint the moment of their
introduction to the festival.
The contest for mounted javelin throwers, or hippacontists, is something
of an exception.30 While the earliest depiction on a prize vase dates only from
the late fth century, images of hippacontists are found on a series of four early
classical red-gure stemless cups, all credited to an artist who takes his name
from the event. Earlier still is a scene from ca. B.C. of a hippacontist in the
company of a long jumper, a discus thrower, and a competitor in the armed
footrace. The scene appears on a red-gure cup from Athens painted by an artist
in the wider circle of the Nikosthenes Painter. Though one hesitates to place
too much weight on a single image, the date of the vase and the interesting conjunction of a mounted javelin thrower with more conventional athletes may
suggest that games at Athens around the end of the sixth century, presumably
those at the Panathenaia, featured a hippacontist contest.31
We can be less circumspect about the apobates race, the best documented
of the individual warrior contests. The precise details of this event may still
elude us, but the general idea is clear: hoplites driven at speed in four-horse
chariots dismounted at a certain point on the course and ran to the nish line.
While in later times this curious contest was staged in a range of locations
around the Greek world, it was associated above all with Athens and seems to
have been invented there expressly for the Panathenaia. Over time, the race
came to be emblematic of the festival and was even woven into its mythology.
In one tradition, a fully armed warrior arrived at the inaugural Panathenaic
gathering in a chariot. His identity is not recorded. But the driver was King
Erichthonius, who thereby gave his imprimatur to the new festival, while at
the same time inspiring one of its distinctive signature contests.32
For all the rich historical associations that cluster around the event, the apobates race is not securely attested before B.C.33 However, the event comes
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to enjoy considerable popularity as a subject among painters of lower-quality

black-gure ware in the rst quarter of the fth century. Perhaps the earliest
images occur on a pair of black-gure lekythoi by the Diosphos Painter. Soon
afterward, the race is adopted as something of a stock motif by the artists of
the Haimon Group; almost identical scenes of apobatai appear on not less than
thirty-ve of their surviving vases, all again black-gure lekythoi (g. ). True,
there are no specic indications that these artists were responding to a new
Panathenaic event. But we can be almost sure that they were. The very same
group of artists is also responsible for a series of eleven similar scenes on
lekythoi that substitute a female gure for the hoplite. In almost every case, the
female can be identied without much difculty as the goddess Athena.34
Two things are particularly interesting here. First, the artists who produced
these lekythoi were certainly not catering to the kind of individuals who might
actually have taken part in an apobates race. Exports aside, the principal market for these relatively cheap funerary vessels will have been poorer Athenians.
Far from being alienated by the frivolous elitism that a contest in chariot dismounting might easily represent, these humbler folk, it seems, were all too
keen to identify with the local grandees who took part in the event. One suspects that they saw in the vases a chance to add a touch of heroic glamor to
their otherwise modest obsequies. Also interesting is the timing of this sudden
demand for images of apobatai: production of the lekythoi began to peak in
ca. . Since tastes at the lower end of the market probably did not change
overnight and since artists took time to respond to shifts in demand, the original stimulus for the new images, the rst staging of the apobates race at the
Panathenaia, must have occurred somewhat earlier. A time lag of around ten
to twenty years seems reasonable. We can then conclude that the race was invented in the s, perhaps even as far back as ca. B.C.35
POLITICAL THEATER
It is not easy to gauge the impact of Cleisthenes new order on the states premier festival. We have no documents from the years that might shed
light on the issue, and must rely instead on the more opaque testimony of a
slender and dispersed material record, abetted on occasion by later anecdotes
and allusions and by chance epigraphic nds. But we can be sure that there was
some impact, and more than likely the changes we can recover were accompanied by others we cannot. Among the most important was the transformation
of the Panathenaic cult site itself with the construction of the Arkhaios Neos.
More intriguing, though, were changes made to the actual content of the fes-
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tival. Probably only a few new contests for Athenian warriors were added at
this time: the pyrrhic dance, the apobates race, and perhaps the euandria and
the hippacontist contest. But their signicance should not be underestimated.
Previously, the Panathenaia had been scrupulously, resolutely Panhellenic
in its orientation, going as far as to offer valuable prizes to encourage the attendance of leading athletes and musicians in the Greek world. The glittering
prizes and the Olympic-style open contests would of course remain an integral
part of the festival for centuries to come. Only now they were joined by a new
category of events that owed nothing to the conventional panegyris model. Indeed, they could be said to represent an altogether different vision of the nature and purpose of public athletics.
The team contests for the ten tribes marked an especially bold departure
from the ultra-individualistic ethos of Olympic competition. But in some
ways, the larger decision to create new events contested exclusively by participants from the host state was bolder still. Prestige for the polis was still a dominant concern. Yet here the prestige would derive not from the presence of elite
outsiders but from the skills and prowess displayed by Athenian citizens. We
have no way of knowing how many non-Athenians, whether competitors or
spectators, journeyed to Athens for the Great Panathenaia at this time, though
perhaps only the Eleusinian Mysteries attracted more. The festival thus provided a golden opportunity for the new order to aunt its credentials before a
captive Panhellenic audience. Together, the new warrior contests offered a
colorful, if oblique, demonstration of the military strength that the polis, with
its new citizen army, now possessed. And the team contests proudly embodied
the ultimate source of this strength, namely, the spirit of cooperation and solidarity that now united the political community in Attica.
No less important was the impact of these displays on the Athenians themselves. At least in the early days of the new order, the warrior contests must
have been directed at least as much toward local spectators as toward outsiders.
It is not difcult to see how the team contests might have helped advance the
cause of Cleisthenes reforms. That the tribes were so soon given a role at the
Panathenaia only underscored the critical role they now played in society at
large. And the sight of fellow citizens striving collectively for the honor of their
phylai must have reinforced the allegiances to tribe and state on which the new
order so depended.
Less obvious is the similar role played by the individual warrior contests.
In daily life, it may have been hard for ordinary Athenians to feel much sense
of commonality with the more privileged citizens who took part in these events.
But in the sporting arena at the Panathenaia, when, for a few days, the eyes of
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the Greek world were trained on Athens, the equestrian exploits of the elite did
apparently inspire a certain collegial pride among their poorer fellows, as the
popularity of the apobates motif on cheap lekythoi so amply demonstrates.
Also interesting is the form of the new warrior events. However visually
appealing, the skills on display in the pyrrhic dance and the apobates race, the
two contests best attested at this time, were of little practical utility for late archaic warfare.36
The pyrrhic was an attempt to render in dance the kind of postures and
maneuvers one might have seen on the battleelds of the legendary past. It was
performed in heroic garbdancers were nude and carried only a round
shield and spearand featured balletic leaps, evasions of imaginary missiles,
and the reenactment of specic maneuvers described in the Iliad, like the hupaspidia, or advance under protection of the shield.37 Also prominent were
choreographed allusions to moments in the life of the goddess Athena, notably her birth and her battle with the Giants, the two historic events commemorated at the Panathenaia. The very practice of pyrrhic dancing supposedly derived from the armed dances that the goddess herself had performed on
those two occasions, and in one tradition, her name Pallas was prompted by
the kind of arms brandishing (pallein, pallesthai) that was apparently imitated
in the dance.38 Elsewhere, the invention of the practice is credited to Achilles,
Neoptolemus/Pyrrhus, or the more shadowy Pyrrhikhos, though it was of
course Athena who sanctioned the contest at Athens.39
As for the apobates contest, its highly traditional appearance has encouraged
modern commentators to see it as a genuine relic from Athenian prehistory.40
However, the lack of any signicant evidence for the race before the early fth
century suggests otherwise. We should probably see it as no more than an artful exercise in antiquarian fancy, a contest inspired by a style of chariot warfare
that had only ever existed in the imagination.41 Nevertheless, the Homeric or
heroic authenticity of the event helps to explain its rapid assimilation into the
mythology of the Panathenaia and its considerable later prestige.
This equation of Homeric resonance with prestige is well expressed in our
best literary source for the contest, the fourth-century Erotikos traditionally ascribed to Demosthenes. Here, the author (.) commends the virtues of
the apobates race to one Epikrates.
You have chosen the noblest and nest of contests and one especially
suited to your natural gifts. For it is an event that has been made to resemble the realities of warfare [tois en to i polemo i sumbainousin
ho moio menon] through acclimatization to weapons and the exertions
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of running and to simulate the might of the gods through the greatness
and majesty of its equipment. Moreover, it makes for a most attractive
spectacle . . . and has been deemed worthy of the greatest of prizes. For,
in addition to those actually offered, merely practicing and preparing
for this event will prove to be no small prize in the eyes of those who
are even moderately eager for excellence [arete s]. The best evidence for
this may be found in the poetry of Homer, in which he represents the
Greeks and barbarians as ghting against one another with this kind of
equipment. And still even now [eti de kai nun], it is the custom to use
this equipment in games staged in not the humblest but the greatest of
Greek cities.
The phrase still even now tells us all we need to know about the success of a
tradition that was probably not invented much before B.C.
In their efforts to transform the political culture of their home state, Athenian leaders in the years might have been tempted to pursue a complete overhaul of the states single most signicant festival to make it better
reect and reproduce the assumptions and priorities of the new order. Instead,
we see yet another example of the cautious, creative use of innovation that
seems to be a hallmark of the age. The existing fabric of the Great Panathenaia
was left essentially unchanged, with only a fairly minor addition made to the
program of events. Even this new category of contests, limited to Athenian citizens, will have blended almost seamlessly into the spectacle of the festival.
Much like the army commemorations of ca. , the contests gured the citizen soldiers of Athens not as phalanx hoplites but as warriors from the age
of heroes. Like the new tribes and the new structures on the Acropolis and in
the Agora, they played a part in creating an appropriately historic cultural
milieu for a regime that purported to have roots in the distant past.
No doubt, it soon became impossible to imagine a time when events like
the apobates race and the pyrrhic dance were not a part of the Panathenaic program. But, appearances aside, these contest were boldly nontraditional and, in
their own way, historically signicant. For they represent the beginnings of a
fundamental shift in the character of the Panathenaia as a whole. No longer
the straightforward panegyris of the past, the festival had now became a richer
confection. With their highly visible message of military strength and corporate solidarity, the warrior contests mark the rst conscious attempt to politicize the content of the Panathenaia.
Further steps in this new direction were taken in the decades to come. More
warrior contests, tribal and individual, were added, and hoplites marched in
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the sacricial procession. In time, they were joined there by representatives

from the subject states of the Athenian empire, bearing symbols of their allegiance to the hegemon. By the Periclean era, this unique, composite festival
thus became a sophisticated, if somewhat chauvinistic, form of political theater, as bombastic, in its own way, as the contemporary Acropolis. Originally
shaped by the personal aspirations and Panhellenic outlook of the archaic elite,
it was now animated by the sensibilities of a very different agemore socially
inclusive and corporate-minded, but also more jingoistic and, in some ways,
more self-assured. Over the course of barely a century, a festival whose stature
was once built largely on the talents and energies of non-Athenians had evolved
into the supreme ceremonial expression of Athenian collective identity. Perhaps inevitably, this process of evolution mirrored the shifting imperatives of
a restless political culture. And in the Panathenaia, as in the political culture at
large, it is during the period , the years of the Athenian experiment,
that the rst intimations of a new, recognizably classical mode of practice
seem to appear.
This conclusion prompts one nal question: If, in the aftermath of Cleisthenes reforms, the character of the Panathenaia underwent the kind of reorientation I have described, is it also possible that the festival underwent a corresponding change of name? The question may seem a little far-fetched. But
ancient accounts do preserve memory of a name change, and our period is as
good a time as any for the change to have taken place.
FROM ATHENAIA TO PANATHENAIA?
There is welcome unanimity among ancient authors about the legendary origins of the Panathenaia. Allusions to a founding gure occur in nine sources,
the earliest being Hellanicus (FGrH a F). Though one (Plut. Thes. .)
credits the foundation to Theseus, all of the others, less predictably, associate
the rst staging of the festival in some way with Erichthonius, son of Hephaestus.42 The picture is, however, complicated somewhat by three sources
who maintain that the festival was later refounded. In one (Istros, FGrH
F), the agency behind this initiative is unclear, while the other two (Paus. ..;
schol. Pl. Parm. a) both link it with Theseus. Further interesting details are
noted in passing by various writers. All three authors who suggest that Theseus
was either the founder or refounder relate his actions to the synoecism of Attica, and two sources (Marm. Par., FGrH A; Plut. Thes. .) even link
the establishment of the Panathenaia with the naming of the state and people
of Athens. Last but not least, two of the sources for the refoundation (Istros,
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FGrH F; Paus. ..) record that the festival was renamed in the process,
the earlier Athenaia (ta; Aqhnaià), the [festival] of Athens or the [festival]
of Athena, becoming the Panathenaia (ta; Panaqhvnaia), the [festival] of all
the Athenians.
What are we to make of these sundry traditions? With so much ancient
agreement on the main details, we can be condent of recovering what apparently became the standard account. Essentially, this claimed that Erichthonius
rst established the festival, which at the time was known as ta Athenaia. After effecting the synoecism, Theseus then opened up the festival to the entire
population of Attica, restyling it as ta Panathenaia to reect the new political
reality.43 How might such an account have come about?
The easiest explanation is that the whole tradition of renaming and refoundation had no correlate in historical reality, that it was simply a ction invented, presumably by an Atthidographer, to reconcile two rival versions of the
foundation of the Panathenaia.44 This compromise would have had the great
virtue of conveying the all-important sense of continuity with the very beginnings of Athenian history, while still linking the ultimate form of the festival
with the talismanic Theseus and his landmark synoecism of Attica. In other
words, there never was an Athenaia, so no genuine memory of it could have
survived; the tradition is mere academic musing, an all too obvious attempt to
nd a suitable name for the festival of all the Athenians before all the Athenians were politically united.
This explanation has a satisfying economy and may well be correct. It is
certainly not impossible to believe that the festival was always known as the
Panathenaia, even if it is hard to detect any allusion to the unication of Attica in its program in the s or earlier times. Greek pan-festivals, like the Panionia and the various Panhellenic gatherings, clearly did not always presuppose
full political union among members of the cultic community.
That said, our sources do insist on an association between the name of the
festival and the synoecism. And one also wonders whether it really was left to
pedantic antiquarians to establish how the agship occasion in the state calendar came into existence. Surely this was a matter of some public interest, especially for a polis community that was more than a little preoccupied with its
own past. It is not inherently unlikely that the standard account of the genesis
of the Panathenaia arose in a more public context.
We might then be tempted to entertain another, more intriguing explanation for the details of this account, namely, that they are, after all, a reex of
genuine historical events; at some point, agencies responsible for reorganizing
ta Athenaia and redubbing the festival ta Panathenaia sought an attractive
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precedent for their actions. This must have taken place some years before the
midfth century, by which time the name Panathenaia is rmly attested. The
most plausible moments for the invention of the precedent would be either in
the s or during the age of Cleisthenes, when signicant adjustments to the
festival are known to have been made. For a number of reasons, the latter time
appears the more likely.
Only after , when the festival is rst used as a vehicle for celebrating the
strength and unity of the greater Athenian community, does the name
Panathenaia seem truly appropriate. Such was the prevailing spirit of imitation
in earlier times that we would actually have expected the panegyris founded in
the s to go by the generic name ta Athenaia, by analogy with ta Olympia,
ta Pythia, ta Isthmia, and ta Nemeia. The later date is also favored by
mythopoeic considerations. As I tried to show in chapter , it is only in the last
decade of the sixth century that Theseus came to be seen as a founding father
gure who left a deep impression on the Athenian politico-cultural environment. The Dodekapolis/synoecism legend, intimately bound up with the refoundation tradition, dates only from ca. , as perhaps does the Synoikia festival, which, signicantly, was held immediately before the Panathenaia, in the
month Hekatombaion. In short, if the memory of a name change from
Athenaia to Panathenaia does have some basis in historical reality, the new
name was almost certainly an innovation of the period .
Proving the case is another matter. As noted, we have no contemporary evidence for the name of the festival before the fth century. We do, however,
have some evidence for how its identity was conceived and represented in the
sixth century. The rst items are three Acropolis inscriptions from the middle
of the century (Raubitschek , nos. ), where presiding ofcials
[hieropoioi] appear to commemorate their dedication of early Panathenaic
gatherings to Athena. All three speak of a dromos (racetrack, running?) made
for the goddess [teì qeoì], while the rst two also refer to an agon (games) dedicated to the grey-eyed maiden [glaukovpidi kovrei]. Second comes evidence for another offering, the base of a statue dedicated in the midsixth century by Alcmeonides, brother of Megacles and uncle of Cleisthenes, to Apollo
at the Ptoion sanctuary in Boeotia (IG I3 ). The monument commemorates a recent victory in the chariot race at the Panathenaia and describes the
festival simply as a festive gathering for Pallas at Athens [Aqavnai~ Palavdo~
panevguri~]. Finally, we have the ofcial tags on the Panathenaic amphorae,
which identify each vase and its contents merely as [one] of the prizes from
Athens [to`n Aqevneqen a[qlon].
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The most arresting feature of these items is precisely the absence of the word
Panathenaia on any of them. This is especially true in the case of the private
dedication and the ofcial vases, where the inscriptions were written by Athenians, primarily with non-Athenians in mind. If the panegyris truly was known
as the festival of all the Athenians in the midsixth century, one would have
thought that some recognition of its distinctive character was desirable here.
Yet we do not even nd reference to the Athenians whose unity the festival
supposedly celebrated. Instead, the spectacle is identied simply by its location
and its divine honorandappropriate if it went by a generic title like Athenaia,
but strangely vague otherwise.
Clearly, no rm conclusions can be drawn. But the point still seems worth
making: there is no concrete evidence for the name Panathenaiaand no obvious need for itbefore B.C. Was this, then, another innovation of the
period , when the name suddenly begins to make a lot more sense?
Was it in these years that the refoundation legend was rst invented, a suitably
Thesean precedent for a change in the character of the states greatest festival?
It is not hard to see that it might have arisen in conjunction with the Dodekapolis/synoecism tradition, which, in structure, it so obviously resembles,
and with which, henceforth, it would be so closely associated. If so, perhaps
the model here was the Panionia; along with the new Agora cults, the concept
of isonomia, and the very idea of a Dodekapolis, this could be another example of East Greek inuence on the style of the new order in Athens. Whatever
the case, it is only after B.C. that the distinctive contours of the classical
Panathenaia, a festival quite unlike any other in the Greek world, rst come
into view.
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R I T UA L T I E S B E T W E E N
CENTER AND PERIPHERY
With the panathenaia coming barely a week after the Synoikia in the
rst month of the sacred calendar, the Athenian year always opened with a kind
of extended ceremonial homage to the idea of pan-Attic communion: the
ofcial celebration of regionwide fellowship at the festival of all the Athenians followed a public commemoration of the act that made this fellowship
possible. But these were not the only occasions in the calendar that brought to
mind the political integrity of Attica.
Other major festivals addressed the issue in a somewhat different fashion.
Whereas the unity of the region and its people was presupposed in the ritual of
the Panathenaia, an established fact that needed only to be celebrated, other festivals explored the underpinnings of unity by drawing attention to relations between Athens and outlying areas of the periphery. Each year, in their respective
rituals, they rearticulated the bonds between the center and particular locales in
the Attic margins, underscoring, in the process, the unusually inclusive regional
character of the Athenian polis. The best known of these festivals are the City
Dionysia, the Eleusinian Mysteries, and the Brauronia, and they too show evidence of important discontinuity during the age of Cleisthenes.
CITY DIONYSIA
Along with the Panathenaia and the Eleusinian Mysteries, the celebration
known as the Great Dionysia or City Dionysia was one of a small handful of
178
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Ritual Ties between Center and Periphery
179
Athenian festivals that drew outsiders to classical Athens in signicant numbers.

It was held each year in the early spring, over several days in the middle of the
month Elaphebolion, and its ostensible purpose was to commemorate the introduction of the cult of Dionysus to Athens by a certain Pegasus from
Eleutherai, a settlement on the northwest border with Boeotia. Accordingly, the
ritual component of the Dionysia included a ceremony of welcome for the
xoanon of Dionysus Eleuthereus at the hearth altar (eskhara) in the Agora, as
well as sacrices at his sanctuary on the southeast ank of the Acropolis. But the
primary reason for the festivals popularity with locals and non-Athenians alike
was the diverse array of spectacles that accompanied these rites: a colorful
sacricial procession (on a scale similar to the Panathenaic pompe) featuring, inter alia, the carrying of phalloi; contests in dithyrambic performance between
choruses formed from the ten Cleisthenic tribes; a komos, or revel; and, of
course, tragedies and comedies. Though such opulence made the Dionysia the
single most signicant Dionysus festival in the Athenian calendar during the
classical period, the ancients recognized, correctly, that its origins were relatively
recent. Just how recent is a question we should now consider.1
The standard account of the evolution of the City Dionysia is easily summarized: The developed form of the festival, with its tragic contests, was an innovation of Peisistratus, established sometime in the mid-s B.C. The tribal
dithyrambic contests were added to the program not long after the fall of the
Peisistratids. Then, just before the turn of the century, responsibility for producing tragedies was assigned for the rst time to choregoi, wealthy sponsors
who funded productions on the states behalf. The classical form of the program was nally rounded out in / B.C. with the addition of competitions
in comedy.2
However, the earlier portion of this sequence has been challenged by Connor (), who makes a compelling case that the foundation of the festival
should be downdated to the last decade of the sixth century.3 The view that the
City Dionysia was established in the s depends largely on the authority of a
statement on the Marmor Parium (FGrH A), an inscribed third-century
chronicle from Paros, which appears to place the rst tragic performance somewhere between and B.C.4 The text is usually taken to read as follows:
ajf ou| Qevspi~ oJ poihth;~ [uJpekrivna]to prw`to~, o}~ ejdivdaxe dra`m[a
ejn a[]stei, [kai; a\qlon ej]tevqh oJ travgo~ . . .
When Thespis the poet, who produced a play in the city, rst acted and
the goat was set up as a prize . . .
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This is in fact the only item of testimony that connects the proverbial Thespis
explicitly with the production or performance of drama in Athens itself.5 The
key phrase in the statement, a play in the city [dra`m[a ejn a[]stei], is apparently of questionable authenticity. It turns out to be merely a conjecture for a
word group no longer legible on the original inscription, and it bears very little relation to accounts of the text given by early commentators who examined
it when some letters were still visible.6
Further evidence for dating the beginnings of tragedy at the City Dionysia
toward the end of the sixth century comes from the so-called Fasti (IG II2 ),
a public document that records the details of dramatic and dithyrambic victories at the festival, along with the names of the winning choregoi. The rst productions referred to in the extant portion of the inscription date only from
/ B.C. Even if we take into account the two or three columns that are missing from the beginning of the text, the list of victories would still commence
only in ca. B.C.7 Those who believe that tragedy was already a part of the
festival before this date are forced to suppose that this was merely the year when
the competitions were rst organized on a choregic basis. But it would be far
more straightforward to assume that the tragic competition itself was introduced only at this point.8
What of the festival as a whole? A tantalizingly incomplete reference in the
heading of the Fasti suggests that there was a period, before tragedy was added,
when the program of spectacles at the Dionysia was limited to revels
[ko moi].9 Clearly, the festival was established at least a few years before the turn
of the century. But when exactly?
Since the xoanon of Dionysus Eleuthereus in Athens appears to have been
genuinely ancient and was presumably removed from the gods precinct in
Eleutherai with the consent of the locals, the festival cannot have been founded
before Eleutherai was considered part of Attica, which clearly was not always
the case. Pausanias (..) reports a decision made by the people of the town
to seek Athenian citizenship as protection against the hated Thebans. He also
mentions the translation of the xoanon from Eleutherai to Athens, surely the
centerpiece event at the inaugural celebration of the City Dionysia. Unfortunately, Pausanias gives no hint of a date for either the annexation or the removal of the statue. But it seems reasonable to suppose that the latter came
sometime after the former, and we can be almost certain that the annexation
did not occur during the Peisistratid era. Any attempt at delivering Eleutherai
from the Theban sphere of inuence would surely have threatened the friendly
relations that the family appears to have enjoyed with the Boeotians. And as
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Connor argues, the absence of the town from the company of Attic demes
seems to point to a date after / B.C. for its incorporation. We might add
that there would have been something highly irregular about the inhabitants
of a settlement located this far from Athens seeking or being offered Athenian
citizenship en masse at any earlier time.10
The most appropriate context for the incorporation of Eleutherai would
then be the series of border conicts with the Boeotians and Chalcidians in
B.C., which clearly put an end to any earlier cordiality between Athens and
Thebes. Allowing some time for the rst phase of the festival, when spectacle
events were limited to the revels, we can conclude that the Dionysia must
have been founded in ca. . Dithyrambic choruses, introduced to Athens a
few years earlier, were perhaps incorporated into the original program as part
of the komos. Presumably, they were staged in a contest format from the start,
with teams supplied by the ten new tribes. The tragedy competition was then
added around B.C., with comedy following in the s.11
There may be further support for this reconstruction in the associated archaeological evidence. Among the older remains in the sanctuary of Dionysus
on the southeast slope of the Acropolis are the foundations of a structure that
is generally thought to be the gods earliest temple at this site. The remains are
conventionally dated to the time of Peisistratus or his sons. However, the masonry and use of Z-clamps in the foundations resemble work done on the Stoa
Basileios, which, as noted in chapter , was built around B.C. A fragment
of poros architectural sculpture (featuring a satyr and a maenad) that appears
to belong to the temple could also t this date.12
The original format of the City Dionysia might then be reconstructed as follows: The xoanon of Dionysus Eleuthereus was rst translated from his sanctuary to a precinct in the area of the Academy. From there, it was carried in a procession to the Agora. Presumably, this ceremony recalled the gods rst arrival in
Athens, symbolically retracing the last portion of his journey from Eleutherai to
the city.13 In the Agora, the xoanon was given formal rites of welcome (xenismos)
at the eskhara, the ofcial hearth in the new civic center. These rites probably included sacrices and choral singing.14 In the short period of time before the rst
theater of Dionysus was built in the early years of the fth century, the tribal
dithyrambic contest and, perhaps briey, the tragedy competition would also
have been held here, most likely in the area still known later as the orkhestra.15
The festival then seems to have concluded with the return of the god by torchlight procession from the eskhara to his temple, a ceremony that continued to be
observed long after the contests were transferred to the new theater.16
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Connors case for downdating the creation of the City Dionysia to the late
sixth century may be less than watertightthe nature of the testimony hardly
allows otherwise. But his article raises serious problems for the conventional
Peisistratid date, while also offering a persuasively coherent alternative.17
It remains to consider the rationale behind the new festival and its contribution to the transformation of public life in the years . Why did
the Athenians suddenly feel the urge in ca. B.C. to celebrate the rst arrival of Dionysus in Attica? Why, for that matter, did they create a new festival of Dionysus at all? At least four such festivals (the Oschophoria, the
Lenaia, the Anthesteria, and varieties of rural Dionysia) already existed, adequately covering the gods traditional provinces. What did the City Dionysia
add to the picture?
Connor (, ; ) believes that the Dionysia was intended to
serve, above all, as a celebration of freedom after the end of the tyranny. In
view of the gods associations with the idea of liberation, this suggestion is certainly worth considering. Even so, it seems a little too convenient that the Athenians happened to acquire control of a cult of a god of liberation at precisely
the time when they might have wished to mark their deliverance from the Peisistratids with a new freedom festival. Besides, as Raaaub (, esp.
) emphasizes, there is no evidence that the Athenians actually had begun to associate Dionysus and the Dionysia with the concept of freedom before the classical period.
One suspects that the original rationale behind the Dionysia was probably
a lot more straightforward. Given the contemporary preoccupation with territoriality (see especially chap. ), the incorporation of Eleutherai was itself reason enough to create the new festival. The acquisition of this strategically
signicant possession from the Thebans must have been one of the more noteworthy and concrete gains from the recent border campaign. Since it seems
that the town was originally named after the god and his cult and thus, in a
sense, dened by them, the celebration of Dionysus Eleuthereus in Athens
amounted to a ritual commemoration of the annexation. The gods xoanon
will have been greeted in the city as a kind of spoil of war, and the stylized annual reprise of the statues arrival in subsequent years will have functioned as
a ceremonial equivalent of the equestrian victory monument discussed in chapter . Each, in their different ways, provided a compelling visual statement of
the newfound strength and reach of the Athenian state.18
In other words, the original dedication of the festival to the god Dionysus
was somewhat fortuitous. The impulse to create the new festival owed less to
the peculiar power or appeal of this god than to the heady mood of triumph
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generated by the victories of the citizen army in . Had a different deity

been prominent at Eleutherai, he or she would perhaps have found themselves
the object of similar devotions. And if the genesis of the Dionysia was driven
more by political circumstance than by any strictly religious sentiment, it certainly becomes easier to account for some of the festivals more unconventional features.
To begin with, it helps us to explain why the persona of Dionysus
Eleuthereus is so notoriously elusive. The festivals ostensible purposethe
commemoration of the rst arrival of the cult of Dionysus in Athenshad no
organic connection to any of the gods traditional provinces.19 Unlike older
Dionysus festivals, such as the Anthesteria and Oschophoria, which were
dened and constrained by such a connection, the Dionysia was free to embrace a more synoptic vision of the divinity. With its xenismos ceremony for
the cult statue and its aetiology about Pegasus of Eleutherai, the festival was
not so much a celebration of the god himself as a celebration of Athenian worship of the god, seen in all his different aspects at once. It was, in a sense, a ritual performance about ritual performance, a kind of metafestival. Dionysus
Eleuthereus was thus less a persona than a convenient moniker, an umbrella
term for the aggregate of the gods multiple identities. In itself, the title said
nothing about the nature of the god that was not already said at other Dionysus festivals.
At the same time, the rather diffuse identity of Dionysus Eleuthereus made
possible, in large part, the rapid rise of the Dionysia to preeminence over these
other festivals. Clearly the intention from the start was to construct a landmark
festival like the Panathenaia, building on the xenismos ceremony, the ritual core,
to produce a grand state occasion. And the somewhat open-ended character of
the cult of Dionysus Eleuthereus made this a relatively easy task. All manner of
popular Dionysiac practices could be grafted onto the festival to lend it the requisite ambience and the savor of authenticity. Some, like the komos and the
dithyrambs, seem generic; others, such as the phallic procession and, within a
few years, the tragedies, were probably chosen for their prior association with
the rural Dionysia of Attica. The result was perhaps the most synthetic festival
in the Athenian calendar. But its spectacular content, however loosely related to
the central ritual purpose, doubtless gave the Dionysia an instant mass appeal.
Finally, the specic historical circumstance that prompted the foundation
of the festival may help us to account for certain features of the program that,
at least at rst sight, appear to have nothing to do with Dionysus whatsoever.
I refer here to the multiple ways in which the political and military life of the
state became implicated in the format of the Dionysia during the classical
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period. One thinks especially of the various ceremonies held in the theater before the performance of the tragedies and comedies: the preliminary sacrice
by the board of ten generals, the parade of war orphans reared to manhood at
public expense, the display of the imperial tribute on the stage, and the awards
to public benefactors. One thinks also of the delegates from the subject states
of the Athenian empire who were required to take part in the phallic procession, and the festivals possible role in the preparation of ephebes for citizenship and military service. Then there are the dramas themselves, whose complex interplay with contemporary political culture has been the subject of such
intense recent interest. It is hardly self-evident why a festival of Dionysus
should have been chosen to bear the weight of so much political and military
signicance. But this was no ordinary festival of Dionysus. If, as mentioned
above, the Dionysia was born in an atmosphere of martial triumphalism, its
surprisingly intimate engagement with the political and military domains was
probably xed from the very beginning.20
To conclude, the City Dionysia is perhaps the most representative product
of the Religionspolitik practiced in Athens in the period . With the possible exception of the Brauronia (discussed later in this chapter), it was the only
major festival established ex nihilo during these years, and the distinctive style
and priorities of the new order are readily visible in its character and content.
We see, for example, the familiar concern with the political integrity of Attica,
most obviously in the use of myth and ritual to historicize and perpetuate
Athenian territorial claims along the sensitive border with Boeotia; together,
the story about Pegasus and the xenismos ceremony conveniently suggested that
the area around Eleutherai had really been part of Attica all along. We also see
in the Dionysia the new orders characteristic emphasis on corporate solidarity. As in the revamped Panathenaia, the sacricial procession afforded an unusually inclusive vision of Athenian society. Here, too, there were tribal contests, and here, too, the attendance of non-Athenians was encouraged, a ready
audience for the festivals advertisement of the wealth and power and public
spirit of Athens.21
Last but not least, we should again note the eras preoccupation with tradition and continuity. None of the conventional Dionysiac features of the
Dionysia would have looked out of place at older festivals. Even the new xenismos ceremony, with its accompanying aetiology and its primitive cult image,
hardly smacked of novelty. Like so many other artifacts of the period, the real
novelty of the City Dionysia lay not in the artifact per se but in the animating
spirit that gave it life and meaning.
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ELEUSINIAN MYSTERIES
A little less politically charged than the Panathenaia or Dionysia, the Athenian
festival which held the most appeal for non-Athenians was probably the
Eleusinian Mysteries, with its promise of a happy afterlife for all. By the classical period, its reach was genuinely Panhellenic, and one later observer, Pausanias (..), believed that only the Olympic Games offered a spectacle of
comparable luster and prestige.
As in the Olympics, preliminaries for the Mysteries began with a declaration of a sacred truce, fty-ve days in duration, to allow Greek-speaking nonAthenians to attend and return in safety. Envoys (spondophoroi) dispatched to
all parts of Greece invited individuals to come for initiation and requested
that states send thank offerings of rstfruits to Demeter for the gift of grain.
The festival proper began in early fall on Boedromion, with the sending of
a detachment of ephebes to Eleusis to escort the sacred things, the hiera,
back to the city for storage in the adyton of the City Eleusinion, a sanctuary
on the northwestern slopes of the Acropolis above the Agora. Further activities in Athens on subsequent days included the gathering (agurmos) of new
initiates in front of the Stoa Basileios in the Agora, their ritual purication at
Phaleron, a state sacrice to Demeter and Kore at the Eleusinion, and a day
of retirement indoors. The procession of initiates and ofcials then set off
along the Sacred Way with the hiera, for three days of fasting and ritual in the
sanctuary at Eleusis itself. There, climactic revelations about the afterlife were
made in the telesterion, a large, roofed hall. Once all the rites had been completed, the new initiates were free to disperse or return in a more informal procession to Athens.22
With so many non-Athenians participating directly in the Mysteries, the
festival must have had a more cosmopolitan ambience than any other event
in the calendar. This is not to suggest that the festival was entirely politically
disinterested. As Clinton () has shown, its original Eleusinian identity is
steadily discarded during the course of the classical period, just as its
identication with Athens is increasingly emphasized. The Mysteries, after all,
had important implications that the Athenian state will have been only too
keen to exploit. Control of Demeters sanctuary at Eleusis allowed Athens to
represent itself as the benecent supplier of grain and agriculture to humanity and, thus, to assert its claims to cultural leadership in the Greek world.
Meanwhile, on a more local level, the festivals ritual links between Athens
and Eleusis offered yet another ceremonial expression of the ties that bound
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the center to the periphery and gave the Athenian polis its distinctive regional
character.23
The Mysteries, like the Panathenaia, came into existence some years before
the period that is the focus of this study. But, again, close examination of the
evolution of the festival reveals signs of signicant discontinuity during the
years . Evidence of change is especially visible at the Eleusinion, the
locus of the ritual activities held in Athens before the initiates departed for
Eleusis.
Although the eastern portion of this site remains concealed beneath modern structures, a detailed account of the excavated western section, along with
a reconstruction of its early history, has been provided by Miles (). The area
was rst cultivated as a sanctuary at least as far back as the seventh century, and
seems to have been home to a cult of Demeter from the outset. Evidence for
signicant construction at the site begins around the second quarter of the sixth
century, when a peribolos wall, executed with well-worked polygonal blocks,
was built to enclose the sanctuary, marking it off within what seems to have
been a relatively busy residential neighborhood. While the exact location of the
east side of the wall has yet to be determined, the western section is around
meters long, and substantial portions of the north side ( meters) and south
side ( meters) have been exposed. Whatever the original eastward extent of
the peribolos, the development of the sanctuary indicates that the cult within
for some reason came to enjoy a new level of importance in the years .
And this importance continued to grow steadily in subsequent decades, since
the site underwent signicant expansion around B.C.
At this point, an adjacent terrace downslope to the north was cleared of
habitation and leveled to make way for a new temple, and the perimeter was
extended (g. ). As far as can be discerned, the sanctuary was now more than
double its previous size. Miles reconstructs the temple as a tetrastyle amphiprostyle structure of the Ionic type; it measured roughly m. by m. and
was oriented north-south. Primarily on the strength of a pair of passages in
Pausanias (.., .), she conrms earlier suggestions that the temple
belonged to Triptolemos. It seems reasonable to suppose that a temple of
Demeter and Kore, in whose adyton the hiera were stored during the preparation stage of the Mysteries, also existed by this time. Whatever remains of it
must lie further east, in the unexcavated part of the sanctuary.24
To make sense of these changes, we should also consider the sanctuary at
Eleusis itself, where there are interesting parallels with the development of the
Eleusinion in Athens. The cult of Demeter at Eleusis appears to have been established some time in the eighth century, the date of the earliest votives and
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of the slim remains of what may be the sites rst temple.25 Some time after
B.C., the appearance of the sanctuary changed considerably. The terrace
on which the Geometric temple had stood was extended to the east and south
and supported by new retaining walls of polygonal masonry. On this terrace
was now built the rst of a series of telesteria, the sacred halls in which the secrets at the heart of the Mysteries were revealed. A plain rectangular building
whose walls featured mud bricks in the upper courses and polygonal stone
courses below, the telesterion was approximately m. long and m. wide.
Long considered Solonian, it now appears that the new temple and its terrace should be dated to the second quarter of the sixth century, making it
roughly contemporary with the original peribolos wall at the Eleusinion in
Athens. Given the marked resemblance in the polygonal style of masonry used
at both sites, developments at the two sanctuaries are probably not unrelated.26
Somewhat later in the century, the rst telesterion at Eleusis was demolished and replaced by a far more imposing structure (g. ). Unlike its relatively unostentatious predecessor, the second telesterion was almost square in
shape and was made entirely of stone. It consisted of a large hypostyle hall
with a front portico built in the Doric order. With dimensions of . m. by
. m. excluding the porch, it was over twice the size of the older building.
No less impressive was the sites new fortication wall, some m. long,
which dates to around the same time and now enclosed the entire sanctuary
and much of the hill behind it. Clearly, Eleusis was no longer just a settlement
of some religious signicance. It was also seen as a key strong point in the defense of western Attica.
These and other contemporary embellishments have traditionally been assigned to the era of Peisistratus and interpreted as a key component in his program of Religionspolitik. But recent work has once more called this line of interpretation into question. Opinion now inclines toward downdating this
phase of the sanctuary to the years immediately after , when the need for a
fortication wall would have been more acute than before.27 Again, important
changes at Eleusis coincide with important changes at the Eleusinion in
Athens. How should we read this evidence?
About one thing we can be virtually certain: the mature, classical form of
the festival, with its preliminaries in Athens and its procession to Eleusis, was
rmly established by the early fth century. The synchronized development of
the two sanctuaries implies as much, and the implication is corroborated by
the earliest documents to come from the Eleusinion in Athens. A pair of inscriptions from the site that date to the late sixth or early fth century (IG I3
, ) contain sacred laws that pertain especially to the operations of the
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sanctuary and the celebration of the Eleusinian Mysteries, conrming that the
space now served as the festivals ritual locus in Athens. And if, as is thought,
these documents are republications of older texts, the Mysteries must have already existed for some time before the birth of the new order.28 To gauge the
signicance of the changes made during our period, then, we should rst try
to pinpoint the origins of the festival and get some sense of its earlier history.
Few scholars today would agree with those, such as Mylonas (, ),
who trace the genesis of the Mysteries back to the Mycenean era. We saw above
how solid evidence for cult activity at Eleusis begins only in the eighth century,
and as Clinton (, ; ) has stressed, the Mysteries were neither the
only nor, most likely, the earliest festival associated with the sanctuary; the
Thesmophoria, for one, was almost certainly older.29
That said, Clinton himself is still comfortable with the idea that some form
of the Mysteries, conducted from Athens, might have been founded as far back
as the seventh or even the eighth century. However, his case rests on rather weak
foundations, relying heavily on ancients perceptions of events and practices in
their own distant past. And as Sourvinou-Inwood (, ) has recently
insisted, there is in fact no concrete testimony for the Mysteries before the construction of the rst of the two archaic telesteria, distinctive cult buildings that
seem to have been designed expressly with the peculiar needs of this festival in
mind. For want of any comparable signs of discontinuity from earlier times, I
would agree with her suggestion that the new structure represents our surest
evidence for the genesis of the Mysteries at Eleusis.30
The suspicion that the festival may have been instituted as late as the second quarter of the sixth century can only be encouraged by the contemporary
evidence from Athens. Here, too, perhaps an existing sanctuary of Demeter
was adapted to t the needs of a new festival long after the cult of the goddess
was rst introduced. Such a date may also help to explain why the Mysteries
play only a minor role in the Homeric Hymn to Demeter. The body of the hymn
serves to explain how a cult of Demeter came to be established at Eleusis, and
Clinton (, ; , ) argues persuasively that the ritual practices
that correlate most closely with the mythical narrative are not those of the Mysteries, as was long supposed, but those of the Thesmophoria. The foundation
of the former is in fact represented as a separate development and described
only briey toward the end of the hymn (). As Clinton (, ) puts
it, the account of the creation of the Mysteries is piously appended by the poet
to a traditional story that reects the ancient Thesmophoria.
Assuming that the text was composed around (perhaps the lowest acceptable date), it would then make sense that the passage that describes the
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founding of the Mysteries reads like an afterthought, hastily added. The festival had probably been invented only a few years earlier; it had not yet had time
to eclipse the Thesmophoria and make its own deep impression on Eleusinian
lore.31
It seems, then, that the Mysteries were an Athenian production from the
start; there was no local Eleusinian prototype as such. But why was the festival
created at this particular time? Here, we should look to the larger cultural environment in Greece and to an important shift that had been taking place since
. Though no single factor can in itself account for such a complex innovation as the Mysteries, the growing interest in Panhellenism must have played
a critical role in the decision to institute the new festival.32
True, there is no incontrovertible evidence from either sanctuary that the
Mysteries aspired in the early days to a Panhellenic reach. But from elsewhere
in the Athenian landscape, there is evidence aplenty that the elite in the years
were keen to emulate their peers in other states and act on the new impulse toward Panhellenic cultural production. It was precisely at this moment
that the Great Panathenaia was born; that Heracles, the Panhellenic hero par
excellence, began to loom large in the pediments of the newly monumentalized Acropolis; and that the claims of Theseus to international celebrity were
rst voiced in Attic art. Surely the very same impulse lay behind the invention
of the Eleusinian Mysteries.
The innovation certainly conforms well to the pattern seen a few years
earlier at Delphi, Isthmia, and Nemea and imitated at Athens in the Panathenaia, whereby existing cult practices and facilities were modied to provide the basis for a new kind of spectacle, one that was purposely designed to
attract spectators and participants from all over the Greek world and, thus,
bring a measure of reected glory on the organizers and their city. And evidence from contemporary art seems to conrm the impression that the Mysteries did indeed have a distinctly Panhellenic thrust from the very beginning.
Scenes with Eleusinian themes rst appear on Attic vases soon after the middle of the sixth century, and among the earliest, we nd allusions to a pair of
myths that were plainly devised to promote both Eleusis and the Mysteries
outside Attica.
The rst myth centers on Triptolemos. As one of the local lords [basileis]
whom Demeter rst instructed in her secret rites, Triptolemos was only an incidental gure in the Homeric Hymn to Demeter (, , ), but he enjoyed
an increasing visibility in Athenian culture thereafter. By the classical period,
he was a full-edged culture hero/god, with his own temple in the Eleusinion
and a starring role alongside Demeter and Persephone in Eleusinian mythol-
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ogy and iconography. The primary reason for this transformation, it seems, is
the invention of a new tradition, the story that Triptolemos was dispatched by
Demeter on a mission to bestow her gift of grain on a grateful humanity. There
are no hints of this tradition in the Hymn, but unambiguous evidence for its
existence can be found very soon afterwards.
Images inspired by the new story begin to surface on Attic vases right
around B.C., perhaps only ten or twenty years after the Mysteries themselves were instituted. A canonical scheme for representing the mission soon
emerges: a mature, bearded Triptolemos is seen sitting on a curious, wheeled
throne holding ears of wheat, while around him stand anonymous individuals
who have either received or hope to receive the gift of grain. With some interesting adjustments and variations (discussed later in this section), scenes of the
mission would remain popular until well into the fth century. At all events,
the original purpose of such a myth must have been to install Eleusis and its
cult rmly at the center of Panhellenic consciousness. And since the myth looks
to have been invented very soon after the creation of the Mysteries, it is not
hard to equate this purpose with a general effort to publicize the festival abroad
and draw non-Athenian initiates to the sanctuary.33
The very same can be said about another myth that makes its debut on Attic vases at around the same time, namely, the initiation of Heracles himself
into the Mysteries. This rather preposterous new story even came with its own
motivation: apparently, Heracles sought to ingratiate himself with Persephone
before his storied journey to the Underworld to snatch Cerberus. The two legends are linked in a number of later literary sources, and as early as B.C.,
they are juxtaposed on the same vase, as if to emphasize the connection.34 It
seems that in their efforts to attract outsiders to Eleusis, Athenian mythmakers fabricated the most archetypal precedent imaginable and then artfully accommodated the new story to the body of established Heraclean myth in order to give it an instant credibility.35 Evidently, the organizers of the Mysteries
were not content simply to wait and see if the new festival might be appealing
to Greeks from other states; they took surprisingly aggressive and creative steps
to ensure that it would be.
In trying to reconstruct other details of the early history of the Mysteries,
plausible speculation is our only recourse. For example, we cannot know for
sure which men were responsible for bringing the festival into existence,
though it is not unreasonable to suppose that they must have included representatives of the Eumolpidai and the Kerykes, the families who directed the
initiation process.36 Nor is it self-evident why, in particular, the cult of Demeter and Kore at Eleusis was deemed to afford promising foundations for a new
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spectacle of Panhellenic proportions. Presumably, the sanctuary already possessed a special signicance or prestige in the days before the Mysteries were
established. Even if the Homeric Hymn to Demeter was only composed around
B.C., its mythical claims regarding the unique place of Eleusis in the goddesss affections must be somewhat older, making the cult and the sanctuary
ripe for exploitation by those in Athens who were looking to tempt the gaze of
all Greece with extravagant, eye-catching displays.37
Having established that the Mysteries were probably an artifact of the years
, another product of that elite yearning for Panhellenic recognition that
is so characteristic of the era, we can return nally to what now look like the
rst signs of real discontinuity in the history of the festival and consider the
main questions at issue: why were the sanctuaries at Athens and Eleusis substantially aggrandized in ca. B.C., and what signicance are we to read into
these developments?
It seems safe to assume that the new, more spacious facilities at the two sites
were a response to an increased demand for initiation, whether real or anticipated. So who were all these prospective initiates? Clinton () believes that
they were non-Athenians. As he sees it, the expansion of the sanctuaries attests
to a dramatic acceleration in the process of Panhellenization under the early
democracy (). In itself, the suggestion seems plausible enough, especially in
view of the momentum that this process must have already acquired in earlier
years. However, one or two circumstantial considerations should make us hesitate just a little before accepting this eminently straightforward explanation.
To begin with, there is some cause to think that the Mysteries might not
have been promoted as heavily at the end of the sixth century as they had been
in previous years. Relations with neighboring states at this point were unusually strained. And one wonders if the Athenians really would have been courting larger numbers of non-Athenian initiates at precisely the moment when
they were turning Eleusis into a major defensive strong point. There is a certain incompatibility between these two objectives. One also wonders why Panhellenic demand for initiation should have suddenly increased at this particular time. Clinton gives no reason as such, and none is self-evident. We know
of no contemporary occurrence comparable, say, to the famous apparition before the battle of Salamis (cf. Hdt. .; Plut. Them. ), an event that assured
Eleusis a distinguished place in the mythology of the Persian Wars and, in so
doing, probably helped generate the need for the colossal telesterion that was
erected there later in the fth century.38
It therefore seems worth considering the possibility that the new facilities
of ca. were not built primarily with non-Athenian initiates in mind.
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Someperhaps mostof the new demand must then have come from within
Attica itself. And this conclusion makes good contextual sense. For reasons discussed in the rst part of this study, there were probably signicant numbers
of people in the region (especially among the poor) who had taken little or no
part in the public life of Athens before the reforms of Cleisthenes were enacted.
We cannot assume that men and women of this background had been routinely initiated into the Mysteries since the very beginning. Perhaps only after
B.C., when all indigenous males in Attica were enfranchised as Athenian
citizens and obliged to engage actively with the citys political culture, were
these people expected and encouraged to come to Athens and participate fully
in the festival.
Be that as it may, it is likely that the Mysteries became more politically
charged in other ways during this period. Though the festival revolved ultimately around the acts, needs, and hopes of individuals, it had probably always
had a certain communal and civic dimension. The sacrice to Demeter and
Kore in Athens was a major public occasion, and state ofcials marched with
the initiates in the grand procession to Eleusis, as did many Athenians who had
been initiated in previous years. No doubt, this civic dimension will have received even greater emphasis under the new order. Moreover, the format of the
Mysteries was obviously consonant with the political reorientation of the late
sixth century. With its ritual links between Athens and the most signicant settlement in western Attica, the festival now visibly underscored the new orders
efforts to afrm the political integrity of the region and build a sense of collective mission among its inhabitants.39
Since denizens of Eleusis were now citizens of Athens, it may also be at this
point that the Athenians rst recognized the great political capital to be gained
by downplaying the Eleusinian identity of the Mysteries and emphasizing their
own stewardship of the festival. Certainly, whatever distinctive local character
the Mysteries may once have possessed was gradually discarded over time. Clinton (, ) has shown that by the fourth century, Eleusis had become little more than a special attribute of Athens. Writing in the rst quarter of that
century, even a relatively well-informed Athenian like Isocrates (.) could
blithely speak of how our ancestors performed services for a distressed Demeter and how our state subsequently administered the twin gifts of grain and
the Mysteries to humankind, all without mentioning Eleusis at all.
Apparently, a similar elision occurs in Attic art. Down to the third quarter
of the fth century, scenes on vases represent the Mysteries as but one of a number of cult practices staged at Eleusis. Some of these scenes are even graced by
personications of Eleusis herself, as if to ensure the viewers recognition of the
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locale. After something of a lull in the latter part of the fth century, Athenian artists recovered their earlier interest in the Mysteries in the fourth. But as
Clinton demonstrates, they now show very little interest in identifying the festival with any broader Eleusinian realm. Triptolemos, a mainstay of these
scenes, is no longer depicted alongside a personied Eleusis; he is more liable
to be seen in the company of Athena.
In the eyes of these fourth-century artists, it seems, Triptolemos was now
our ancestor (cf. Xen. Hell. ..), and the Mysteries were no less characteristically Athenian than, say, the Panathenaia or the Dionysia. In other words,
over the course of more than a century, as Athens gradually assumed the properties of Eleusis for itself and as the Mysteries acquired a prestige all their own,
it looks like the festival was forced to discard the very local associations that
had once given it life and meaning and that its founders had actively cultivated
in their efforts to produce a compelling Panhellenic spectacle.40
It is not easy to pinpoint when this interesting shift in the representation
of the Mysteries began, though it seems to have started a long time before the
fourth century. Again, important clues are found in art. Several studies have
drawn attention to the changing image of Triptolemos in the rst quarter of
the fth century. Scenes of his mission are now suddenly more popular than
before, and the central motif in these scenes has undergone some modication.
Triptolemos himself is reimagined as an altogether younger, beardless individual, and his wheeled throne has grown wings, perhaps suggesting a more potent, more global gure. No less interesting, in ca. , a new variation on the
theme appears, indicating that the purpose of his mission has been reconceived
(g. ). These new images catch him at the moment of departure, engaged in
a libation ceremony with Demeter and Kore. Most agree that there is here a
deliberate allusion to the role of the spondophoroi (the libation carriers or
truce carriers who traversed the Greek world summoning men and women
for initiation) and thus a reference to what is seen in later literature (cf. Xen.
Hell. ..) as the second purpose of Triptolemoss mission: to publicize Demeters gift of the Mysteries.41
These scenes are our earliest evidence for the new version of the mission
story, and the innovation is signicant. Since the Mysteries had always been
organized from Athens, and since the festival was now directly linked to the
mission for the rst time, making Triptolemos, in effect, an agent of the Athenian state, it appears that the Athenians were already beginning to think of him
as our ancestor in the rst quarter of the fth century. And it cannot be a coincidence that the new mission tradition was invented perhaps in ca. B.C.,
just as work was beginning on a new temple for the divine emissary in Athens
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itself. Clearly, with the history of Eleusis now no more than a strand in the
larger story of Athens, Triptolemos, much like his fellow Eleusinian Hippothoon, was no longer dened only by his associations with a particular locality; he was embraced by all Attica. Reimagined thus, he would henceforth
serve, in Miless words (, ), as a national hero for the Athenians, a symbol of the citys cultural leadership.
From here, it was but a short step for the Athenians to assume for themselves a new and politically lucrative claim to be the mythical donor of grain
to humankind. While it would be many more years before Eleusis was effectively airbrushed out of the picture, the process was clearly well under way by
the early fth centurythe logical consequence of a new kind of political order in Attica.42
BRAURONIA
The festival of Brauronian Artemis did not have the Panhellenic signicance
of the other festivals discussed so far, and we know far less about it than we do
about the Panathenaia, the Dionysia, or the Eleusinian Mysteries. That said,
the Brauronia was still important enough to be staged in a special, expanded
format every four years. As a festival that featured an important rite-of-passage
for the females of Attica, the Brauronia could shed some much-needed light
on the experience of women under the new order. It is especially regrettable,
then, that the evidence for the festival from our period remains minimal. Nevertheless, this testimony is just sufcient to suggest that the Brauronia, like the
other major festivals examined so far, was either modied or invented outright
during the age of Cleisthenes.
The Brauronia was staged every spring in the month of Mounychion. In
its expanded version, it was managed during the classical period by the board
of hieropoioi (festival organizers) who were responsible for all of the states
quadrennial celebrations except the Great Panathenaia. Like the Eleusinian
Mysteries, the festival involved a long procession from a satellite precinct in the
center of Athens to the cults principal sanctuary in the Attic peripheryin
this case, from the Brauroneion on the Acropolis to the great sanctuary of
Artemis at Brauron in eastern Attica. Though detailed evidence for what then
took place at Brauron is scarce, the festival almost certainly included the arkteia, alluded to above, a premarital initiation rite performed by ten-year-old
girls dressed as she-bears.43
Turning to the history of the Brauronia, we again confront spectral traces
of the hand of Peisistratus. Predictably, given his familys associations with the
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Brauron area and his supposed predilection for creating national festivals, Peisistratus is widely seen as the architect of the Brauronia.44 But, as often, the
case rests on little more than wishful presupposition. To begin with, as we saw
back in chapter , the exact nature of his familys connections with the Brauron district is open to question. Even if the Peisistratids did hail originally from
this locale, they were long established in Athens itself by the time of Peisistratuss rise to political prominence. And it is hard to maintain the notion that a
Peisistratean party from the hill country used Brauron as a kind of power
base when it is highly unlikely that such a party ever existed. If Peisistratus
ever did live in eastern Attica during his early career, it may have been only for
a few years after , when the would-be tyrant left Athens to begin his rst
spell of exile.45
Of course, none of this necessarily rules out the possibility that Peisistratus
established the Brauronia later on in life when his circumstances were more favorable. An atavistic connection with the sanctuary at Brauron, perhaps further nourished during four or ve years of exile in the area, may have stirred
in him the idea to insert a festival for Artemis Brauronia into the Athenian calendar. Yet no evidence from the sanctuary itself suggests as much.46
As at Eleusis and on the Acropolis, cult activity at Brauron seems to have
begun in the later Geometric period, when the sanctuary of Artemis was probably established. It is possible that an early form of temple was erected at this
time to house the xoanon of the goddess. But it would be many years before
any further attempt was made to develop the site. If Peisistratus did build a
major pan-Attic spectacle around the cult at Brauron, his efforts are archaeologically invisible.47
As it happens, there are no indications of any signicant change in the use
of the sanctuary until the very end of the sixth century. By common consent,
the rst monumental stone temple for Brauronian Artemis dates from around
B.C., making it yet another item in the steadily growing inventory of major construction projects commissioned by the leaders of the new order.48 Does
the new temple coincide, then, with the founding of the Brauronia? The idea is
certainly not unthinkable. The festival can hardly have been founded much after , and there are no striking discontinuities in the development of the sanctuary that might point to an earlier time. But to conrm the date, we would at
least need to see some signs of a corresponding rise or change in activity at the
satellite sanctuary in Athens, much as we saw in the case of the Mysteries.
Sadly, evidence for the sanctuary of Artemis Brauronia on the Acropolis is
even harder to interpret. The site has been successfully traced to the southeast
corner of the citadel, though the earliest remains are not easily datable. The
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only rm conclusion one can draw here is that the sanctuary must have been
in operation before the midfth century, since its plan appears to have been
modied to accommodate the Mnesiclean Propylaia.49 However, a modest
number of artifacts found in and around the Acropolis area and seemingly associated with the cult may help to clarify the picture a little further.
First, we have a number of fragments of krateriskoi, cult vessels that were
especially associated with the worship of Artemis. We cannot be certain that
these particular examples were used in rites held at the Brauroneion, though
their nd-spots hint that they were. The later items in the series belong to the
rst half of the fth century and were recovered from the Agora, while all the
earliest fragments, which have been dated to the period B.C., were
found on the Acropolis itself. Then, there are the remains of the sculptures of
two dogs, one of them extremely well preserved. Since both come from the
Acropolis, it is very tempting to link them with the citadels Artemis sanctuary, and a number of scholars have done so. And since they are thought to have
been produced sometime between and B.C., the two dogs, like the early
krateriskoi, seem to attest to a rise in the level of interest in the cult toward the
end of the sixth century. Whether this new interest was spurred by the actual
foundation of the sanctuary or merely by a change in the sanctuarys signicance remains to be seen.50
Either way, the chronological coincidence between the evidence from
Athens and Brauron is certainly suggestive. At the very least, the investment in
the new temple at Brauron conrms that the Athenian state was now actively
involved in the cult, and this involvement presumably means that one or more
state festivals were staged at the sanctuary by ca. B.C. In the absence of any
earlier signs of similar activity, we can tentatively assign the creation of the
Brauroniaperhaps an Athenian amplication of an existing local festival
to the last decade of the sixth century. If this is correct, we would have a further illustration of how well-established cults in the Attic periphery were used
at this time to develop festivals that both embodied and helped generate a new,
regionwide sense of political community.
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CHANGE AND MEMORY
A longside some of historys other great political shifts, the Athenian

experiment was a distinctly orderly transformation. The Acropolis siege aside, the
process lacked the popular activism, the violence, and the terror one usually
associates with radical progressive change. As carefully managed as it was farreaching, this was a revolution without Jacobins or Sansculottes.
Yet for those in Attica who lived through the years of the experiment, the
experience of all this change must have been exhilarating and at times bewildering. Some aspects of public life looked and felt much as they had always done; others now seemed quite different. But the most unsettling
change will have been in the beliefs and the assumptions that nourished and
sustained the system as a whole. Here, many of the old certaintiescomfortingly familiar, if seldom equitablewere suddenly rendered irrelevant or
discarded completely. In their place arose a new set of common understandings, promising hitherto undreamed-of privileges for many, as well as obligations and responsibilities that were perhaps a little daunting. And all
people were now called on to embrace shared loyalties and a sense of collective mission that seemed to disregard the ingrained local and economic distinctions of earlier eras. So how was the signicance of this dramatic, if orderly, transformation to be understood? As ever, in times of radical
discontinuity, there was a pressing need for explanation, for an authoritative
narrative that would help men and women make sense of their new politicocultural surroundings.
197
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We already have some general idea of the form taken by this narrativea
tale of revival, of reassuring continuities with the distant past, of reconnection
with the Athens of Theseus and Erechtheus. But how was the moment of
change itself woven into this narrative? How was it to be remembered?
In the end, of all the incidents and events that contributed to the transition
from Peisistratid domination to popular rule, only one was deemed t for a
permanent place in ofcial memory;1 and at rst sight, at least, the choice was
a surprising one. Overlooked, for example, was the mass siege of the Acropolis that ended the insurgency of Isagoras and Cleomenes. No matter that Cleisthenes reforms were already well on their way to implementation by this point,
it is still easy to imagine how the story of popular struggle against Athenian reactionaries and non-Athenian aggressors could have been turned into a stirring, patriotic foundation myth, ideal for a regime that was built on the idea
of collective responsibility. Yet the siege would never be ofcially memorialized
by a monument or a regular ceremony.
Also overlooked were the achievements of Cleisthenes himself. Given the
Athenian genius for mythmaking, it is not unthinkable that his successors might
have seen t to celebrate him as a visionary founding father. A simple posthumous statue and inscription in a prominent public space would have sufced to
x his place in memory for all time as a farsighted author of bold political departures. But again, this is not what happened. Aside from awarding him a public grave in the Kerameikos at some later point, the Athenian state never recognized Cleisthenes achievements in any ofcial form of commemoration.
Instead, it chose to mark the political change of the late sixth century by celebrating an altogether different kind of accomplishment, a murder no less, whose
perpetrators did not even live to see the new form of government introduced.
The celebration of Harmodius and Aristogeiton is such a familiar feature
of the Athenian cultural landscape that it is easy for us to lose sight of its essential improbability. The details of their story can be quickly summarized:
these two otherwise unremarkable members of an aristocratic clan take it upon
themselves to kill the Peisistratid Hipparchus in /, apparently for petty, personal reasons; they succeed in the attempt, but are themselves killed in the aftermath. In itself, this is hardly the stuff of legend. But in the hands of skilled
mythmakers, the murder became one of the dening events of Athenian history. Never mind the deeds rather dubious motivations, and never mind the
fact that it did not end the Peisistratid domination of Athens; by the classical
period, Harmodius and Aristogeiton were widely seen as brave and seless heroes who had delivered Athens from the clutches of tyranny, transforming
the political fortunes of their home state in the process. With barely a nod to
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historical reality, a senseless act of violence was now ofcially embraced as a patriotic act of tyrannicide.
But why go to all this trouble, especially when commemoration of an
episode like the Acropolis siege would have required far less distortion or embellishment? Why did the Athenians choose to memorialize the end of the
tyranny and not the birth of the new order that followed so soon thereafter?
As we shall see, to make full sense of this tyrannicide tradition and its grip on
the Athenian imagination, we need to view it in relation to the larger scheme
of ofcial memory that was beginning to emerge in Athens in the late archaic
period. First, though, we should look at how and when this rather unlikely tradition was originally contrived and promoted.2
THE AFTERLIFE OF HARMODIUS
AND ARISTOGEITON
It is worth stressing at the outset that a range of oral traditions concerning the
events of the late sixth century, some of them agrantly at odds with the ofcial
story, were still in circulation many years later. To judge from various sources
from the late fth century, it was still possible at that time to recall, for example, that Hipparchus was actually the junior of Hippias and that the tyranny
continued for four years after the formers murder; that when the end really did
come (in /), it did so only with the help of Spartan troops, and that their
assistance was only secured when Cleisthenes bribed the Pythia at Delphi; and
that the Athenian Isagoras had again called in the Spartans in his efforts to reverse Cleisthenes reforms, before the climactic siege of the Acropolis nally ensured that the people of Athens were masters of their own political destiny.3
This is not to suggest for a moment that these popular memories took the
form of a coherent sequential account, xed rm in the minds of all. Oral traditions are by nature uid. And as Thomas (, ) has shown in her
perceptive and detailed treatment of these particular strands of memory from
the late sixth century, they could easily be massaged to t the needs of the moment. Some details could be emphasized or improved and others conveniently
forgotten. This is especially true in the fourth century. By this time, fading recollections were more inclined to exclude or modify actions that were unattering to the Athenians, and as Thomas demonstrates, they were often colored
by more recent memories of the overthrow of the Thirty Tyrants. Thus, in the
orators and other authors, we nd allusions to a story that Cleisthenes did no
more than borrow money from Delphi to pay for the Spartan intervention in
/, reducing Cleomenes and his men to the status of mere mercenaries in
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the process. More bizarre, he then apparently restored the demos from exile
(like some erstwhile Thrasybulus), before embarking on his reforms.4
But whatever this continuing fascination with alternative accounts of the
liberation, they plainly were not felt to be incompatible with the ofcial narrative. Unlike the more skeptical Herodotus and Thucydides, the orators invariably refer to Harmodius and Aristogeiton in positiveeven glowing
terms. While their interest in other possible versions of events seems to
diminish progressively over time, the deed of the Tyrannicides remained an important historical touchstone in public speech all the way down to the end of
the classical period, its appeal seemingly undiminished.5 Though popular
memories that might have undermined its appeal were still current well over a
century after the events in question took place, the tyrannicide tradition
proved to have a remarkable resilience. To what did it owe this durability?
Doubtless, glamor played a part, as did the traditions essential simplicity. By compressing or attening history and reducing what was a highly
complex and not always palatable sequence of incidents to a single, vivid,
patriotic act, the story was, to say the least, memorable. But surely the main
reason for its success was institutional support. While recollections of,
say, the Acropolis siege survived only in oral tradition, memory of the tyrannicide was permanently and indelibly seared into the Athenian cultural
landscape.
The most visible memorial was of course the statue group in the very center of the Agora. This landmark possessed a singular potency. The rampaging
troops of Xerxes made a point of sparing Antenors original bronzes from destruction so that they could be shipped home as a trophy. In response, the
Athenians, who were content to wait decades before restoring other monuments victimized by the Persians, commissioned Kritios and Nesiotes to replace the Tyrannicide group almost immediately (g. ). These were in fact
the only public portrait statues to be erected in Athens before the fourth century, and even thereafter, measures were passed restricting the placement of
other statues in their vicinity, thus reinforcing their singularity.6
No doubt enhancing the second monuments appeal to the imagination
was the particular way it represented the states unlikely liberators. Extant
copies and reproductions of the statues in other media reveal that the pair were
captured in sculptureheroically nudemoments before the killing, as they
advanced, with swords drawn, on their victim. From what survives of the epigram, we can get some further sense of how the public image of the Tyrannicides was constructed. Part is preserved on a fragment of the base, part in a
quotation by the metrist Hephaestion.7 It reads:
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[h\ mevg Aqhnaivoisi fovw~ gevneq, hJnik Aristo-]

[geivtwn I{ pparcon ktei`ne kai;] Armov
J
dio[~]
[
]
[
pa]trivda gh`n ejqevthn.
[Truly, there arose a great light for the Athenians when Aristogeiton and
Harmodius killed Hipparchus . . . made their fatherland . . . ]
We note in passing the texts Homeric ourishes, which reinforce the timeless heroism of the act commemorated. The emotive opening, the light-of-deliverance metaphor, and the closing phrase all seem to be chosen for their
epicspecically Iliadicavor. In other words, these men were not assassins
or murderers but true warriors in the tradition of the great heroes. More interesting, though, is the epigrams presentation of the historical signicance of
the deed. Incomplete as the text may be, the light of deliverance metaphor
carries with it an implicit claim that the killing of Hipparchus liberated
Athens from tyranny. Here, in this compressed version of history, we have
the ofcial line, cut in stone for all to see in the political hub of the city.8
The general message is echoed in another epigram, this one probably the
epitaph on the public grave of the Tyrannicides, which was situated at the
outermost extremity of the Demosion Sema. The evidence for the text comes
from an incomplete inscription found on Chios, and it is usually printed
as follows, with Lloyd-Joness restoration of the missing portions of the rst
distich.9
Sth`sai tou`to ejdovkh[sen Aqhnaivoisin Aristo-]
geivtono~ aijcmht[ou` sh`ma kai; Armodiv
J
ou,]
oi} ktavnon a[ndra tuvra[nnon
]
yuca;~ parqevmeno[i
]
[The Athenians resolved to set this up as a grave for the spearman
Aristogeiton and Harmodius, who killed the tyrant . . . offering their
lives . . . ]
The format of the epitaph is certainly novel; the verse rendering of an Assembly decree is without any known parallel in Attic funerary epigraphy. But the
content is more familiar. Again we have the compression of history, again the
epic diction; and the ofcial line is forcefully restated. The killing of Hipparchus was not a senseless act of ad hominem violence. Rather, it was a self-
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less military action perpetrated by heroic warriors, who thereby transformed

the political fortunes of their state.10
To emphasize the point that these men were, in effect, gallant war heroes,
the Athenians instituted regular cult honors for the Tyrannicides, much as they
did for the slain Marathonomakhai. An enagisma, a chthonic ritual offering reserved for the heroized and the dead, was administered by the polemarch and
performed each year at their tomb. And it is likely that these rites came to be
celebrated as part of the Epitaphia, the festival for the war dead, thus further
legitimizing the killing of Hipparchus as a military accomplishment.11
Other, less visible honors could also be listed, among them the special public privileges awarded in perpetuity to the immediate descendants of the assassins, such as free meals in the Prytaneion (sitesis) and immunity from scal burdens (ateleia).12 Sufce it to say, the Athenian state went to considerable
lengths not just to perpetuate the memory of Harmodius and Aristogeiton but
also to stipulate exactly how they should be remembered. Whatever the realities of their deed and its motivations, they would always be seen ofcially as
seless benefactors of the polis and heroic agents of political change.
And there are many signs that the ofcial view of the Tyrannicides and their
deed was very eagerly embraced. Local vase painters were particularly enthusiastic in their response to the promotion. By the s, scenes of the illustrious
pair, including images of the replacement statues, were well established in the
repertoire. Indeed, it seems that the group by Kritios and Nesiotes became
something of an iconic motif in Attic art. Most notably, from around , Theseus himself can sometimes be seen assuming the poses of the Tyrannicides in
vase scenes, especially in those that depict his struggles with Skiron and the
Krommyonian Sow. And it is likely that this idea of having Theseus anticipate the actions of Harmodius and Aristogeiton was rst developed by artists
commissioned to work on major public monuments. Clearly, the Tyrannicides
were now associated with the very highest traditions of Athenian heroism.13
A series of skolia, or popular drinking songs, also celebrate the Tyrannicides
in much the same terms as the ofcial commemorations. However, the exact
nature of the relationship between the songs and the public honors remains
unclear. It is widely assumed that the former were composed relatively soon after the death of Hipparchus, before the ofcial promotion of the killers as
tyrannicides began. It is also widely assumed that the songs were partisan political statements, functioning, in effect, as propaganda for the claims of one
group or another in the struggle for power that followed the expulsion of the
Peisistratids. Neither assumption is easily justied. I would agree with Thomas
(, ) that efforts to date the skolia precisely and assign them to par-
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ticular sources are probably futile. The very nature of the genre prevents us
from knowing exactly when or in what circles these drinking songs were originally produced. Besides, there is a good chance that they did not possess the
kind of political signicance often assigned to them.14
Two claims made in the skolia especially stand out: that Harmodius and
Aristogeiton changed the course of Athenian constitutional history by killing
the tyrant and making the Athenians equal before the law [isonomous] and
that the pair thereby earned a place in the Isles of the Blessed among fellow
warrior-heroes like Achilles and Diomedes. Much the same claims were of
course made, implicitly or explicitly, in the ofcial public commemorations.
So did popular sentiment inuence state policy, or vice versa? Both claims, I
suggest, required such a suspension of disbelief that they can only have been
the product of a willful, concerted effort to transform perceptions of Harmodius and Aristogeiton. They surely were not the spontaneous creations of
symposiast revelers, and the songs, we can presume, were simply part of the
warm, popular response that apparently greeted the states promotion of the
new tyrannicide tradition.15
All of which raises an important question: when did the Athenian state actually begin its promotion of this tradition? Though we know the exact year
(/) when the group by Kritios and Nesiotes was installed in the Agora, it
is harder to establish when the various other public honors were introduced.
There is no rm evidence for any of the descendants privileges before the middle of the fth century, and the public grave presumably does not predate the
creation of the Demosion Sema, a development most scholars would place
somewhere in the s.
Be that as it may, many believe that the enagisma for the Tyrannicides was
rst instituted somewhat earlier, during the last decade of the sixth century.16
And it is very probable that Antenors original statue group was set up in the
Agora around the same time. A range of dates for the latter are certainly possible, anywhere from , when the situation in Athens had nally stabilized,
to the early s. But a number of factors favor the upper part of this range:
the elder Pliny (HN .) synchronizes the dedication of the monument with
the expulsion of the kings from Rome; Pausanias (..), who saw both Tyrannicide groups together, observed that the original bronzes looked old-fashioned [arkhaioi]; and Antenor is not known to have been associated with any
project commissioned after B.C. Moreover, on the issue of date, the objections of the minority, who support a date lower in the range, have been satisfactorily answered by Castriota (, ). On balance, it seems reasonable
to conclude that Antenors group was dedicated between and , precisely
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when the Agora area was being recongured to serve as the primary center for
the citys political life.17
Assuming, then, that both the cult and the rst Agora monument were in
place by around B.C., it looks like the whole tradition of the Tyrannicidesreimagining the hapless Harmodius and Aristogeiton as titanic warriors and seless agents of political changewas an early innovation of the
new order.18 Henceforth, in the ofcial view of the transition from the Peisistratid regime to popular government, the decisive event would not be the mass
siege of the Acropolis nor even the reforms of Cleisthenes, but the killing of
Hipparchus. So why did the leaders of the new order choose to place so much
weight on this particular moment and go to such lengths to create a special
place for it in ofcial memory?
MAKING SENSE OF THE TYRANNICIDE TRADITION
For all the lively debate over such issues as the political signicance of the skolia and the date of Antenors statues, there is general agreement about the larger
function and purpose of the Tyrannicides in Athenian culture. Most scholars
believe that the rationale behind the heroization of Harmodius and Aristogeiton was to turn them into symbols of the new democracy or the like (see,
e.g., Ehrenberg , ; ). Close analysis of the symbolic language used
in the cult and monuments has produced some interesting variations on this
theme. Kearns (, ), for example, suggests that the cult conforms to the
traditional pattern of veneration for heroes as protectors of communities.
And since the deed for which the Tyrannicides were heroized related only to
internal politics and not to some external threat, she believes that they may
have been seen and promoted as protectors not of Athens in general, but of
Athenian democracy. Others, like Taylor (, ), see parallels with hero
cults established for ktistai and oikistai, the founders of towns and colonies.
In Taylors view, cult worship of Harmodius and Aristogeiton was established
because founding heroes were required by the new democracy. A more
rened version of this opinion is offered by Castriota (, ).
I suggest . . . that Harmodius and Aristogeiton were never meant to be
understood literally as the destroyers of tyranny or as ktistai of the new
egalitarian constitution, but rather as something more subtle, as archetypes or pregurations of these innovations, the way in which a generation or two later the mythic Athenian protagonists of Attic rhetoric and
public programs of visual art were deployed to pregure the heroic de-
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fence of Greece against the Persians. Thus the Tyrant Slayers would have
celebrated the emerging democracy along the more allusive or indirect
lines suggested here for the fth-century Athenian victory monuments.
There is certainly a measure of truth in all of these views.19 From the testimony discussed earlier in this chapter, it is abundantly clear that the Tyrannicides came to be associated in the popular mind with the regime that was
built on Cleisthenes reforms, whether we call it democracy, isonomia, or simply the new order. But none of these suggestions really comes to grips with
the deeper cultural logic behind this association.
With all the benets of hindsight, we can see that the regime that came into
being in / was quite different from anything that had preceded it; popular government was something entirely new. But did the Athenians themselves
see it this way?
In all probability, they did not. During the course of this study, we have
come across numerous indications that this momentous political shift was not
represented at face value. There are, it appears, very good grounds for thinking
that the citizens of Athens were strongly encouraged to see their new order as
no more than the restoration of an older, ancestral order that had been suspended or dismantled by the Peisistratid tyrants. And once we understand
that they perceived the political shift in these terms (as a resumption of the traditional scheme of things), it becomes easier to appreciate why, in their eyes, the
landmark moment in the shift was the end of the tyranny, not the events that
followed. From their perspective, the reforms of Cleisthenes and the Acropolis
siege served only to recodify and preserve the time-honored practices of a distant past. Thus, if there really was a choice over which particular transformative
moment to commemorate, the only possible alternative to the killing of Hipparchus was the event that truly did end the tyranny, namely, the expulsion of
Hippias and his family from Athens by the Spartans. The latter was obviously
unsuitable. Hence the strenuous efforts by Athenian mythmakers to magnify
the signicance of what Harmodius and Aristogeiton accomplished and to commit to ofcial oblivion the four inconvenient years of tyranny that followed.
In other words, the reason the Tyrannicides came to be associated with
democracy was not because their act was thought to have triggered a sequence of
events that led ultimately to the introduction of a new, more popular form of government in Athens. The association was actually much less oblique and more immediate than that. According to the prevailing logic, because the tyrants had only
to be removed for the normal course of Athenian constitutional history to be resumed, Harmodius and Aristogeiton were themselves directly responsible for the
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recent political change. They were not seen as the founders of democracy or as
pregurations of such, since popular government in Athens was now deemed to
have been founded long before they were moved to commit their fateful act.
While people may have come to celebrate the pair in the broadest terms as symbols or even protectors of democracy, the original cause for celebration was
much more specic: they had given their lives to have the old order restored.
In this way, the Tyrannicides came to play a central role in the representation of political change in the late sixth century. They were, in the end,
a device created by leaders to help deect attention from the novelty of recent
innovations and, thereby, to forestall any harmful accusations of revolution.
Memorialized with an ostentatious monument in the heart of the city and an
appropriately traditional species of cult practice, Harmodius and Aristogeiton
duly took their place in the ever swelling imaginary pageant of Athenian history.
A REVOLUTION FORGOTTEN
Before closing, it is worth looking at some possible longer-term consequences

of this general disavowal of the novelty of change by leaders of the new order.
Their efforts to manufacture some kind of historical charter for their reforms
came at an extremely formative moment in the construction of an ofcial collective memory in Athens. It was perhaps inevitable, then, that the results of
these efforts would have a profound impact on the way future generations
would perceive what had gone before.
This is especially evident when we consider later understandings of the synoecism process. In chapter , I showed how this particular issue appears to have
been all but settled back in the late sixth century, after which point it was simply axiomatic that the polis had been transformed from a city-state into a region-state during the reign of King Theseus. In the case of ideas about the evolution of popular government in Athens, there seems to have been more room
for differences of opinion, as the debates of the later fth century illustrate. Yet
even here, I suggest, certain fundamental assumptions were effectively xed
during the age of Cleisthenes and rendered nonnegotiable ever afterwards.
Most fundamental was a strong, shared sense of constitutional continuity,
the belief that some form of collective popular rule had prevailed in Athens
since the very distant past, interrupted only by the Peisistratid tyranny and
two brief periods of oligarchy in the late fth century. Lacking as we do any
record of political oratory from the early years of the new order, it is impossible to ascertain exactly how the leaders of the time framed their historical charter for reform. How did they envision the origins of the popular government
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they claimed to be reviving? It is certainly possible that they left its beginnings
vague and unspecic. But to judge from the manifest contemporary interest in
Theseus, Triptolemos, and other gures from early Athenian history, there is a
good chance that they either intimated or asserted that this regime was very
ancient indeed. So, even if the synoecist Theseus had not yet been ofcially
burdened with the further role of founder of democracy, the conceptual basis for seeing him as suchbelief in a long and almost continuous tradition of
popular rule in Athenswas probably current by the early fth century.20
To appreciate just how rmly ingrained this particular belief became, we
need only consider the words of three prominent authors of the later fth century. Thucydides was evidently quite exercised about the ofcial characterization of the murder of Hipparchus as a public-spirited act that ended the
tyranny. But even he seems to have taken it for granted that when the tyranny
nally did fall, traditional democratic practices were automatically resumed.
Thus, the historian notes (..) that when the oligarchs persuaded the demos
to abandon their democracy in , this brought to an end a century-long chapter in Athenian constitutional history that had begun with the expulsion of the
Peisistratids. To him at least, the novelty and momentous signicance of Cleisthenes reforms was no longer apparent.
And if his comments elsewhere (..) are any guide, it looks like Thucydides could scarcely imagine a time when there was not some degree of popular involvement in affairs of state. While he represents the synoecism of Attica
very much as a change imposed from above by a powerful Theseus, he suggests
that the unication was actually accomplished by encouraging men from all
over Attica to participate in the political life of Athens. They were, in his words,
to use this one state [miai polei tautei khresthai] instead of the multiple local states that had ourished in the past. As for the institutional details of this
process, Thucydides envisions Theseus insisting that there be only one council chamber [hen bouleuterion] for the entire region. And since Athenians of
the late fth century will have associated this kind of building more readily
with a democratic body, like the Council of , than with, say, the elitist Areopagus, the mention of the bouleuterion here presumably means that the historian saw popular deliberation as a key ingredient of political life under the
new Thesean regime. Even during the monarchic period, it appears, the Athenian state was a democracy waiting to happen.
The general conviction that the Athenian constitution was much the same
after the tyranny as before it can also be found in Aristophanes Lysistrata, performed in . The plot and setting of the play prompt characters, on several
occasions, to muse about the tumultuous events of the late sixth century.21
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One such occasion comes when Lysistrata herself tries to get the Athenians and
the Spartans to ponder their historic debts to one another. After reminding the
latter of how Cimon had led an Athenian force to help them when their state
was threatened by the twin perils of an earthquake and a helot revolt, she bids
the former to reect on how the Spartans were their only allies on the day
the tyranny fell, adding, and they freed you, and instead of a sheepskin, they
draped your demos with the civic cloak again [humas . . . keleuthero san kanti
tes kato nakes ton demon humo n khlainan empeskhon palin] ().
Like others alluded to earlier in the chapter, this passage is certainly good
evidence for the survival of memories that atly contradicted the claims of the
tyrannicide tradition. But more interesting for our immediate purposes is the
word palin, again. Clearly, the assumption here is that the demos simply resumed its earlier control over the state once the tyrants had been expelled, even
though this means, in effect, crediting the Spartans with the restoration of popular government in Athens. Equally clearly, this understanding of events left
little room for any far-reaching intervention by Cleisthenes.
A similar case of amnesia comes somewhat earlier in the play, when the chorus of old men, the embodiment of the spirit of Marathon, recall their siege of
Cleomenes on the Acropolis (). Though they are obviously proud of this
exploit, they conspicuously fail to see its larger political implications, remembering it only as a patriotic military action. But, again, if the antiquity of
Athenian democracy was by this time an article of faith, we cannot be surprised
that the true signicance of the events of / was now forgotten.
It is against this background that we should return, nally, to the testimony
of Herodotus and reassess his characterization of Cleisthenes contribution to
democracy in Athens. As we saw at the beginning of chapter , the historians
denitive statement on the subject at .. (recognizing Cleisthenes as ho tas
phulas kai ten demokratien Athenaioisi katastesas) is generally thought to mean
that he saw the Alcmeonid as the true, original author of Athenian democracy.
As we also noted at the time, this interpretation, if correct, would make Herodotus the only ancient author who had at least some sense of the landmark
signicance of Cleisthenes reforms. Was Herodotus so singularly perceptive?
Was he alone able to see through the carefully constructed illusions that sustained the Athenians proud claims for the antiquity of their constitution?
If Herodotus really did intend to challenge Athenian constitutional memory by stressing the momentous novelty of Cleisthenes reforms, it is fair to say
that his case is less than convincing. Though his account of the measures (.,
) does stress their broad popular appeal, his discussion is limited to a sketchy
description of the new demes and tribes, and there is a striking absence, at this
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point, of any editorial comment on the larger historical signicance of the new
system. Stranger still, the historians impassioned defense of the Alcmeonids as
tyrant haters (.) does not even mention the fact that it was Cleisthenes, one of the familys most illustrious members, whose reforms laid the
basis for the collective rule of the demos in Athens. Instead, his case focuses
only on the Alcmeonids role in the expulsion of the tyrants, where their primary contribution, it seems, was to secure Spartan assistance by bribing the
Pythia (..; cf. .., .., ..).
Then there is Herodotuss well-known pronouncement (.) that political equality [isegorie] helped the Athenians to defeat the Boeotians and Chalcidians, making them by far the most powerful [makro i pro toi] state in central Greece. How did they acquire this equality? Not, apparently, as a result of
any major constitutional reforms. Rather, according to Herodotus, it came
with the freedom won when the Athenians got rid of the tyrants [apallakhthentes turanno n]. As in Thucydides and Aristophanes, the implication
here is that the privileges of collective popular rule were essentially an Athenian birthright, unjustly suspended during the tyranny and immediately reclaimed thereafter.
It is therefore hard to avoid concluding that Herodotus had no wish to challenge official Athenian memory after all. Nothing in his text is inconsistent
with the overall scheme of constitutional history that had been promoted and
developed in Athens since the late sixth century. The only possible evidence to
the contrary is the single, brief statement at .., words that are widely understood to mean that Cleisthenes established democracy from scratch. But
even here, the key verb form [kataste sas] is ambiguous. And it is surely no coincidence that authors who maintain more explicitly that popular government
in Athens predated the tyranny use forms of the very same verb (kathistemi) to
describe Cleisthenes contribution to the history of demokratia (see, e.g., AP
.; Isoc. .). In their texts, the word can only mean set in order or restore. I suggest that Herodotus is using it in much the same way here: Cleisthenes was not the author of any new political reality; he simply reorganized
the tribes and the ancestral democracy.
The representation of the new order as a revived regime from the past certainly goes a long way toward explaining why later observers were more interested in how the tyranny ended than in the constitutional reforms that followed soon afterwards. Even among the more learned, inquisitive, and
skeptical of these observers, it seems, there was no longer any memory of the
true novelty of Cleisthenes reforms. And it is against the backdrop of this prevailing view of constitutional history, shaped in the late sixth century, that we
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must understand the debates over the traditional mode of government (patrios politeia), that arose in connection with the oligarchic revolutions of
and .
In the minds of those who were determined to preserve democracy at all
costs, their preferred form of regime was sanctioned by the full weight of tradition (see, e.g. Thuc. ..). And since this had been the consensus view in
Athens for the better part of a century, the proponents of more oligarchic forms
of government faced the tremendously difcult task of challenging a cherished
shared memory. To claim the all-important ancestral precedent for their proposed changes to the constitution, they, too, had to represent their program as
demokratiasupposedly the original, true form of Athenian demokratia,
which had evolved at a time when the composition of the demos was somewhat less inclusive. To give credence to the claim, they tried to relate their version of the traditional mode of government to the existing body of laws and
to the likes of Draco, Solon, and Cleisthenes, the names associated with the
oldest items of legislation known to the Athenians. The implication, of course,
was that the radical democracy of the late fth century had no historical charter, since it had strayed from the course ordained by these great lawgivers of
the past (see AP ., ., .; Diod. ..; Xen. Hell. ..).22
Following the brief civil war of , the debate became moot. Classical
demokratia was restored, and the received view of constitutional antiquities was
promptly reafrmed and given new substance (see Diod. ..; Xen. Hell.
..). In the words of the decree of Teisamenos (Andoc. .), the Athenians
were to be governed according to traditional precedent [kata ta patria], using the laws of Solon and the ordinances of Draco. Most likely, none of
the genuine seventh- or sixth-century laws still current in Athens contained
anything that we would recognize as a constitutional prescription. But this
was beside the point. What mattered most was to reassert a sense of continuity with the pre-Peisistratid past by establishing some general kind of link, however specious in reality, between the rst Athenian lawgivers and contemporary radical democracy. As far as we can tell, this way of looking at Athenian
constitutional history as a long, almost unbroken continuum was never again
seriously questioned.
Given all the confusing historical claims and counterclaims of the later fth
century, not to mention the probable unavailability of the kind of hard evidence that might have settled the matter, it is no small wonder that fourth-century researchers like Aristotle and the author of AP were able to piece together
a remotely coherent picture of preclassical political arrangements in Athens.
True, the accounts of both authors are obviously colored by the assumptions
Greg Anderson
Change and Memory
211
of the age. Both see Solon as the primary architect of Athenian democracy, and
both largely avoid addressing the evolving role of the Assembly, arguably the
single most critical issue in early constitutional history. Presumably, the two
authorslike Thucydides and perhaps Herodotus before themsimply could
not envisage a time when the ekklesia was not a central component of the state
apparatus. Yet, for all their understandable shortcomings, the accounts in the
Politics and AP are impressively detailed and nuanced, a tribute to the rigor and
intelligence with which the authors tried to recover a history that was by their
time all but unrecoverable.23
Far less surprising is the failure of these authors to comprehend the full
magnitude of the political transformation that began three years after the fall
of the Peisistratids. Earlier writers were no more enlightened on the subject,
and by the latter half of the fourth century, the truth was even further from
reach. It is entirely tting that the ultimate responsibility for this collective amnesia should lie with the very men who orchestrated the transformation. Surveying the evidence discussed in this and earlier chapters, we can only conclude
that Cleisthenes and his cohorts preferred their singular contribution to Athenian history to go largely unrecognized. Better this than the suspicion of revolution. It may strain the modern imagination to think that their radical experiment in political community could have been so successfully passed off as
a revival of an older, traditional regime. But for the Athenians, apparently, this
improbable ction was all too irresistibly attractive.24
Greg Anderson
CONCLUSION
The Athenian equation of democracy with tradition and antiquity offers

an interesting counterpoint to modern assumptions about the innately progressive character of popular government. But it probably should not surprise
us. The leaders of the new order were hardly the rst authority gures in human history to justify their actions with an appeal to the past. In Greece itself,
it had been common practice for generations among the ruling class to reafrm
their place in society by claiming links with the age of heroes. What is unusual
about the Athenian case in is the attempt to extend these kinds of
claims from the family or clan unit to an entire political community, especially
one so inclusive and far-ung. In this respect, as in so many others, the Athenian experiment broke new ground.
So when did this experiment come to an end? One could say that it lasted
all the way down to B.C., when the nal hope for preserving meaningful
democracy in Athens expired on the battleeld at Crannon. In the intervening
period (the better part of two centuries), the Athenian state remained something of a work in progress, with new ofces and procedures added and old
ones adjusted as circumstance allowed or required. Then again, the tribal system, the core innovation of /, would endure in some form for centuries
more; spectral traces of it are still visible as late as the third century A.D.1 Here,
at least, the inuence of Cleisthenes reforms on civic life in Athens and Attica
continued to be felt for almost the remainder of antiquity.
212
Greg Anderson
Conclusion
213
But for the purposes of the present study, it would be just as well to draw
the line at B.C. By this point, the critical innovations of the new order
political, military, ceremonial, and ideologicalwere all rmly in place. The
menfolk of Attica found themselves assailed from all sides by the echoes of a
shared past never before suspected, bidding them to lay aside what divided
them and rise, as one, to new responsibilities. As citizen soldiers and as the sovereign demos of Athens, they were charged with directing a common cause.
Public business multiplied accordingly, allowing them to venture into areas
that were once the exclusive preserves of the wealthy, like the commissioning
of ostentatious buildings and monuments and the management of hero cults
and war graves.2 The temper of the age was dened by a new collective consciousness, and they could now begin to imagine themselves a community. The
shift from city-state to region-state was all but complete. And with their victory at Marathon in (an eventuality unimaginable only twenty years earlier), the Athenians came to reap the full dividend of their new political reality, announcing their arrival as a dominant force in the Greek world.
The year also marks a signicant shift in the character of Athenian politics. With the trial of Miltiades and the ostracisms of the s, we see the return of erce political rivalry to Athens for the rst time since the defeat of Isagoras, a sure sign of the maturity of the new polity. The unusually broad
consensus that had prevailed for nearly two decades, allowing the new order to
take root and ourish, had clearly served its purpose. The great rupture with
the past was effectively accomplished, and the basic shape and texture of
Athenian public life would remain largely unchanged down to the end of the
classical period.
The immediate purpose of this book has been to explore this ruptureto
establish its dimensions and rationale and to recover some sense of how it was
perceived and represented at the time. But since the claims made here also have
consequences for how we view what went before, the ultimate purpose of the
book has always been somewhat more ambitious: to suggest a new reading of
Athenian politico-cultural evolution in the archaic period, an alternative to the
more gradualist approach found in the textbooks and in the work of most modern authorities.
The new reading is less dependent on the capricious testimony of ancient
authorsriddled as it is with the assumptions and preoccupations of later
erasand more inclined to make use of information gleaned from the material record. It is concerned less with narrow constitutional issues and more with
the dynamics of a political culture (understood in the broadest possible sense
Greg Anderson
214
of the term). Overall, it places greater emphasis on the continuities that prevailed from the time of Cylon to that of Hippias and Hipparchus and on the
discontinuities that emerged thereafter.
Without wishing to minimize the signicance of Solon and the Peisistratids, it is deeply unlikely that either party was responsible for the kind of
wholesale renewal of political culture that we see in the age of Cleisthenes. Nor,
most likely, did they aim to be. Solons reforms probably did furnish ordinary
Athenians with some modest political gains and protections, but only as many
as were required to restore equilibrium, or eunomia, to a state in turmoil. Likewise, Peisistratus and his sons favored the status quo. Though they may, at
times, have strained the rules of the political game to breaking point, they had
no great incentive, given their success, to change them fundamentally. Once
the layers of later calumny are peeled away, we see that their style of leadership
was not qualitatively different from what had gone before. Aside from the occasional resort to arms, all that really distinguished the Peisistratids authority
from that of a Megacles or a Lycurgus was its longevity. And even if we can
think of reasons why they might have wanted to promote a sense of regional
community in Attica, evidence that they actually did so is wanting. Their role
in the development of the major national festivals remains debatable at best,
and the very complexity and artice of Cleisthenes tribal reform indicates that
the inhabitants of the region were still very far from sharing any instinctive collective consciousness when the Peisistratids left Athens in /. In the end, perhaps the familys greatest contributions to Athenian history and culture were
entirely inadvertent: to highlight the urgent need to reform the system that had
produced them; and to represent the denitive antithesis of what the Athenians later believed their government to be all about, to be forever tyrants.
If we insist on looking for evidence of signicant discontinuity in the decades
before , we could do worse than focus on those decades that separate the era
of Solon from that of Peisistratus. We know all too little about the political scene
during these years, yet it manifestly was a time of some energy and innovation.
The monumentalization of the Acropolis sanctuary, the appearance of the rst
sizable stone temple on the citadel, the founding of the Great Panathenaia and
the Eleusinian Mysteries, the vigorous promotion of Heracles, and the rst
traces of a growing local interest in Theseus are all developments that fall within
the period . Together, they reveal an Athens that was increasingly alert
to Panhellenic currents, if not yet shaping them. Future work on this relatively
forgotten corner of the sixth century could bear valuable fruit.
Ultimately, however this studys larger revisionist claims are received, I
hope that the ndings presented here might stimulate others to look again at
Greg Anderson
Conclusion
215
the age of Cleisthenes, to see it in a fresh light and to adopt a broader, more
synoptic approach to what must be considered a dening period in Athenian
history. This book offers one particular way of looking at the assembled evidence, but many others are available, and still others are surely possible.
As a measure of the healthy diversity of opinion that is now represented in
the ongoing dialogue about Cleisthenes reforms, one might think again of the
very different perspective found in the recent work of Ober (; cf. ),
whose reading of the events of / in Athens prompts him to draw points of
comparison with the early days of the French Revolution. If challenged to seek
comparanda from further aeld for my own interpretation of the political
change in Athens, I would begin by noting some intriguing parallels with one
of the other great transformations of antiquity.
At rst sight, there may not be too many obvious resemblances between the
Athenian experiment and the creation of the Roman principate. But whatever
the different outcomes, the aims and methods betray some striking similarities. Both initiatives were pursued in states that had hitherto been dominated
by a relatively small group of elites, and in both cases state institutions had
proved inadequate to prevent aggressive feuding between rival leaders and
chronic political instability. In Rome as in Athens, the challenge was to reorganize the state in ways that were sufciently decisive to end the instability yet
not so violent or radical as to alienate those on whose consent the success of
the new order would most depend. The solution in Athens was to extend political responsibilities to a far broader constituency; in Rome, to concentrate
them in the hands of a single individual. Yet in both cases, the delicate balancing act was achieved by representing radical change as a return to an older
order, and in both the reform of the state precipitated a wave of innovations
elsewhere in public life, especially in the religious and military domains.
However, perhaps the most compelling comparanda are to be found in
more recent historical experience. The specialist literature on modern nationbuilding, nationalism, and national identity formation offers a peculiarly rich
source of evidence for the constructionboth institutional and ideological
of complex self-governing political communities. The parallels with ancient
Athenian developments are, I believe, highly instructive.3
One must be careful here not to sail too close to the winds of anachronism;
nations are after all an exclusively (perhaps inherently) modern phenomenon.
But for all the very obvious circumstantial differences between the Athenian
polis and a modern nation, there is, I think, little meaningful difference in the
style of collective consciousness that animates and denes these entities. To
borrow Benedict Andersons well-known formulation (, ), it is not just
Greg Anderson
216
that the classical Athenians were an imagined community, but that they
imagined themselves specically as an inherently limited and sovereign political community.
Moreover, these core political self-imaginings, with their distinctly modern
resonance, were supplemented by a range of other identity sources, the most
important of which have also played an identical role in the formation of modern national consciousness. These include shared myths of origins, shared collective memories, and a sense of a having a shared historic homeland, as well
as a common economy, common legal rights and obligations, and a shared
public culture believed to be distinct from all others.4 While there is inevitably
some difference in the techniques and media used in the ancient and modern
worlds to encourage a sense of belonging to these imagined political communities, some even of these are strikingly similar: the invention of new traditions,
the creation of symbolic spaces for the commemoration of national heroes and
achievements, and the organization of the calendar around annual celebrations
of national unity and fellowship.
Whatever their root cause, such correspondences cannot be entirely fortuitous, raising the possibility that study of specialist work on modern nation formation may afford novel and useful insights into the equivalent process in ancient Athens. Two such insights seem to have particular signicance for the
subjects covered in this book.
First, while there may be an innate need in humans to identify themselves
with various kinds of suprafamilial social groups, there is nothing especially
natural about imagining oneself to belong to an extended political community
on the scale of a modern nation. Historically, the kinds of shared beliefs, assumptions, and aspirations that typically animate national consciousness do
not spontaneously evolve in the minds of a nations would-be members; for
the most part, they have to be constructed and promoted from above, usually
through mass media and political movements. As the statesman Massimo
dAzeglio observed at the rst meeting of the new Italian parliament following
the Risorgimento, We have made Italy, now we have to make Italians.5
So, too, it is hard to believe that the very similar shared beliefs, assumptions, and aspirations of the classical Athenians were wholly natural or spontaneous in origin; a sense of fellowshipeven kinshipamong this relatively
diverse and dispersed community had to be consciously and carefully constructed from above before it could be reinforced through lived experience. The
very beginnings of this processthe process of making Atheniansare precisely what I have tried to document in the chapters of this book.
Greg Anderson
Conclusion
217
Second, study of the modern comparandum may also help to shed some
new light on the historical relationship between the formation of a national
consciousness in Attica and the evolution of Athenian democracy. In her acclaimed work on the emergence of early forms of national consciousness in Europe and the United States, Greenfeld (, ) has the following to say on
the equivalent relationship in the modern world.
The location of sovereignty within the people and the recognition of
the fundamental equality among its various strata, which constitute the
essence of the modern national idea, are at the same time the basic tenets
of democracy. Democracy was born with the sense of nationality. The
two are inherently linked, and neither can be understood apart from
this connection. Nationalism was the form in which democracy appeared in the world, contained in the idea of the nation as a buttery
in a cocoon.
Thus, in the case of, say, France, while a meaningful, lasting commitment to
the idea of democracy was not actively pursued until (when the franchise
was permanently extended to all French males), the essential ideological predicates of democracy had been present in the environment since , when the
idea of an inclusive French nation rst stirred the call to revolution.
Likewise, in Athens, I suggest, democracy was not actually the conscious
or express objective of Cleisthenes reforms, nor would it be fully realized in
the polis until some decades later. Rather, these reforms were shaped primarily
by what we might call a national idea. But embedded in this idea, even in /,
were the seeds of a new form of government, one the Athenians would come
later to know as demokratia.
Greg Anderson
NOTES
introduction
. Similar sentiments are found in a number of Aristophanes plays from this same
time, most conspicuously in the Acharnians. Though writing from rather different perspectives, both Mikalson () and Connor () provide good examples of the continuing strength of local practices and traditions through the classical period.
. Population of Athens: e.g., Gomme ; Hansen ; a. Figures quoted for
the average polis: Raaaub , . For problems with Finleys claim (, ; cf. ,
) that the Athenian polis was in fact a model of a face-to-face society, see Osborne
, ; Ober , . In his well-known work on the emergence of modern national consciousness, Benedict Anderson (, ) coins the term imagined community
to describe the condition whereby the members of even the smallest nation will never know
most of their fellow-members, meet them, or even hear of them, yet in the minds of each
lives the image of their communion. While this denition might accurately be applied to
the political community in Attica as a whole, it should also be stressed that political life in
and around the institutions of central government in Athens remained in many ways a faceto-face affair.
. Population gures for classical Greece cannot be determined with any great accuracy. Mostly, they are inferred from the size of military contingents. The gures suggested
here are based either on consensus judgments, where such exist, or on the more temperate
estimates, avoiding the higher and lower extremes. For Corinth, see Salmon , ;
Megara, Legon , with n. ; Syracuse, Loicq-Berger , . Lesbos was the
largest of the Aegean Islands (around , square kilometers); it supported ve different
poleis. There was only one polis on the island of Chios, but it was considerably smaller (
square kilometers) and less populous (with a free population of somewhere between ,
and ,) than Attica.
219
Greg Anderson
220
Notes to Pages 49
. Cf. AP ..
. Specialist bibliography is cited in the pertinent chapters. Sufce it to say for now
that this study, like any other on the period, owes a great deal to the detailed, specialist work
on the archaeological and epigraphic evidence for the tribal system that was introduced in
/ (e.g., Eliot ; Traill ; ; Siewert ). Other important studies can be found
in three collections of essays published in association with the recent Democracy celebrations: Coulson et al. ; Ober and Hedrick ; Morris and Raaaub . As for
earlier monographs that focus primarily or exclusively on the age of Cleisthenes, the most
recent in English is Ostwald ; Lvque and Vidal-Naquet is a slightly revised version of a work published originally in French in . Until a year or two ago, the qualication in English would have been unnecessary. But an important new study, likewise
based on a dissertation, has just appeared in German. Though this monograph came
to my attention too late to have any inuence on the arguments presented in this book, I
am gratied to see that Rausch () also considered developments in Athens in the late
sixth and early fth centuries worthy of a book-length study and that many of the materials we discuss are the same. That said, our approaches are quite different. Rauschs work
covers a somewhat longer period (from down to ) and documents a greater number
of innovations outside the political arena. My study devotes more space to interpretation
and is more inclined to reevaluate the aims and signicance of Cleisthenes political reforms
in the light of changes elsewhere in public life. Hopefully, the appearance of two new books
on late archaic Athens will stimulate others to pursue further inquiries into this crucial, dynamic period.
. I employ the term national throughout this study to describe practices and institutions that pertained to all of Attica. Like others, I nd the term more convenient than cumbersome formulations such as pan-Attic or polis-wide, and less ambiguous than
regional, which could be construed as applying to only one part of the peninsula. This does
not mean that the word is used casually. As I suggest elsewhere (see the end of this introduction and, especially, the conclusion), the style of collective consciousness that prevailed among
citizens in Attica was not signicantly different from that which animates the imagined community of a modern nation. The use of national in the ancient context thus serves to underscore the point that we are dealing with a political community that was similarly imagined
rather than face-to-face. That said, it would be anachronistic to claim that the Athenian polis community was literally a nation in the modern sense; the analogy must remain a loose
one. The use of the word national without quotes hereafter is merely a convenience.
. For an interesting recent example of a longue dure approach to political change in
Athens in the late sixth century, see Morris ; Morris attempts to show that democratic
institutions were merely one response to the emergence of broader egalitarian attitudes and
ideologies ().
. Evans , . Evans is a prominent British historian who studies modern Germany.
. The issue of popular involvement in the political changes of / is complex.
While Obers efforts (, ) to draw attention to the important part played by ordinary citizens in the birth of the new order are most welcome, I remain unpersuaded by his
attempt to decenter the role of Cleisthenes and argue that the political reforms were
shaped by a vision of change that issued ultimately from the masses. These matters are addressed in some detail on pp. in chapter .
Greg Anderson
Notes to Pages 919
221
. Cf. Cromey ; Hansen . The entry for Cleisthenes in the most recent edition of the Oxford Classical Dictionary runs to about the same length as the entries on
catoptrics and ancient beekeeping. Occupying barely one-third of one of the dictionarys
, pages, his entry is distinctly shorter than those for his fellow countrymen Solon,
Themistocles, and Cimon and is positively dwarfed by the entry on the Athenian pamphleteer Isocrates, which covers nearly two full pages. A further reason for later authors relative lack of interest in Cleisthenes will become clear during the course of this book. See especially chapter .
chapter
. On the inapplicability of the modern distinction between state and society to
the ancient polis, see, e.g., Meier , ; Manville , ; .
. Incorporation complete by the end of the eighth century: e.g., Hignett , ;
Jeffery , ; Snodgrass ; Andrewes , ; Diamant ; Morris , .
Mycenean synoecism: e.g., Padgug . Osborne (a) would bring the process down to
the seventh century, and Manville () and Frost (, ) appear to favor a date early
in the sixth century.
. For further discussion of the synoecism tradition and the date of its invention, see
chapter .
. Throughout this study, I follow Rhodess reconstruction (; , ) of the
chronology of the Peisistratid tyranny. The question of military organization before the
reforms of Cleisthenes is considered at some length in chapter below.
. Majority of inhabitants lived outside Athens: Thuc. ..; cf. Frost , . No
plenary gatherings: Carter , .
. On economic and political relations in early Attica, see e.g., Cassola , ;
Rhodes , , Manville , . Cf. Connor , , on traditions of local autonomy in Attica.
. Rhodes () and Manville () provide suitably cautious, but nuanced, discussions of the various socioreligious organizations that prevailed in pre-Cleisthenic Attica. Broader surveys of the evidence for these associations can be found in Parker
() and Jones . See also the discussion at the beginning of chapter below.
Generally on phratries: e.g., Andrewes a; b; Lambert . Attic phratries before the
reforms of Cleisthenes: Lambert , . Territoriality of phratries: Hedrick . For
speculation on the process by which ctive claims of kinship between landowners and retainers might have become established, see Frost , . For further discussion of the
Ionian tribes, see p. in chapter .
. See also the observations of Strauss (). More generally, on regionalism in archaic and classical Attica, see e.g., Sealey a; Moss ; Osborne .
. Mycenean unication of Attica: Padgug ; Stubbings a, ; b, .
Cf. Polignac , . Dark Age decentralization and localism: e.g., Sealey a; Moss
; Snodgrass , . Internal colonization: e.g., Whitley , .
. Spread of Protogeometric pottery: e.g., Snodgrass , . But cf. the pronounced mortuary variability in Late Geometric Attica (ca. B.C.) noted in Morris , . More valuable grave goods: Coldstream , . Reuse of Mycenean
tombs as sites for hero cults: Coldstream (). Snodgrass (, ) would see the es-
Greg Anderson
222
Notes to Pages 2021
tablishment of such hero cults in rural Attica as part of an attempt by new arrivals in these
areas to assert ctive ancestral connections with the land, while Morris (, ) interprets them as expressions of resistance by longer-established elite inhabitants to colonial
encroachments by the Athenian state. Antonaccio () would classify this reuse of Mycenean tombs simply as tomb cult distinct from the true hero cult found at, say, the
Menelaion in Laconiaand emphasizes the relative infrequency of the practice in Attica.
Silver mining at Thorikos: Coldstream , . New sanctuaries: Morris , ; Osborne a, . Morris argues that the new sanctuaries would have provided an ideological underpinning to the newly emerging polis, perhaps in apposition to the new national sanctuary established on the Acropolis at this time (cf. Snodgrass , ).
Polignac () sees this kind of center-periphery pattern of cult behavior as a key index of
the rise of the polis in Greece generally, though he admits () that it is not as easily
visible in Attica as elsewhere.
. These objections would also apply to Osbornes effort (a) to show that cult activity at sites outside Athens in the seventh century should be seen as attempts by the center
to assert claims to authority in the periphery. He suggests as a model the case of the genos of
the Salaminioi, members of which, he proposes (), were selected in around B.C. or
shortly after to establish a cult site at Sounion and stake such a claim. But as Osborne himself admits (), material remains from Sounion for the early seventh century are negligible.
In general, homogeneity of material culture between the center and the periphery may have
a political signicance (see Morgan and Whitelaw ) but could also arise from straightforward migration and other less obviously political forms of intercourse between the two.
Either way, evidence from as late as the classical period for the survival of major sources of
cultural heterogeneity within Attica, whether relating specically to cult (see, e.g., Mikalson
) or more broadly to identity (see Connor ), should caution us against reading too
much signicance into isolated instances of homogeneity from much earlier periods.
. For similar skepticism, see Manville , . Archaeology has revealed only one
substantial Dark Age structure in Athens, a small oval building known simply as the Dark
Age house (see Burr ). Evidence is tenuous at best for a Late Geometric national temple on the Acropolis (see Snodgrass , ; cf. Wycherley , ; Hurwit ,
), though the existence of a major sanctuary there at this time is not in doubt. Among
proponents of a Dark Age synoecism, Diamant (, ) is one of the few to consider
the nature of the state in Athens at this time. He argues that the strong commercial foundations laid in Athens during the period suggest that the contemporary state was
sufciently mature to have directed a complex process like unication. However, of the three
commercial developments he adduces in support of this claim, only oneapparent Athenian dominance in the eld of ceramic production in Greece from the eleventh to the eighth
centuriescan be identied securely before B.C.
. Doubts about a developed state apparatus in the seventh century: e.g., Hlscher
, ; Whitley , . Morris (), who argues for the emergence of a unied polis
in Attica in the eighth century, concedes that the initiative seems to have been abandoned
in the seventh century.
. See Manville , ; Frost , .
. Text of Dracos homicide legislation: Stroud . The text is heavily restored, from
a combination of a late fth-century inscription (IG I3 , believed to include a republication of a seventh-century law) and quotations found among speeches of Demosthenes.
Greg Anderson
Notes to Pages 2123
223
Dracos legislation as evidence for emerging community consciousness: Manville ,

; cf. Frost , . It should be noted that only the last two letters of the all-important term Athenaion are securely attested.
. Manville (, ) plainly makes this assumption.
. I here discount the value of casual references, since there is too great a chance that
they may be the product not of knowledge but of anachronistic assumption, as when, for
example, Plutarch (Sol. ) tells us that Solon issued a ban on the export of all produce except olive oil from Attica. Later writers believed that Attica had been unied since the age
of Theseus, so it would have been only natural for them to assume that such provisions as
the export ban applied to the entire region. Manville (, ) condently asserts,
Athenaioi, as the word appears in Solons poetry, now rmly meant the people of all Attika
and the society that spanned it. But as far as I can tell, he produces no conclusive evidence
to support this claim. Moreover, in contrast to scholars who believe that citizenship in
Athens before the reforms of Cleisthenes was administered through the phratries, Manville
concedes (e.g., ) that there was probably no xed or centralized standard for determining who was and who was not a member of the community before /.
. Solonian Council of : AP ., ., .; Plut. Sol. .. Solons political measures are discussed in more detail on pp. in chapter .
. For a view similar to my own, see Fornara and Samons , . Fornara and Samons adduce a variety of evidence from Solons poems, including repeated references to
men of the city (astoi), in support of their argument that Athenian political life at this
time was conned largely to those living within the plain of Athens and that the stasis Solon
resolved was essentially an urban, rather than a regionwide, phenomenon.
. Even after the reforms of Cleisthenes, the problems of directly governing the periphery from the center were not fully overcome. The institution of the jurors among the
villages was, it seems, revived in / and again at the beginning of the fourth century
(see AP ., .; Rhodes , ). Hipparchan herms: [Pl.] Hipparch. bd;
Hesych., s.v. Hipparkheios Hermes; Harpoc., s.v. Hermai; Suda, s.v. Hermai. Altar of the
Twelve Gods: Thompson and Wycherley , , g. , pl. a. The altar was set up
during the archonship of Peisistratus, son of Hippias (Thuc. ..), the date of which
thus provides a terminus post quem for the herms (cf. Meritt , , no. .). Koropi herm:
Kirchner and Dow , . The Platonic Hipparchus (ab) also mentions a herm seen
on the road to Steiria on the southeast Attic seaboard.
. See, e.g., Kolb ; Stahl ; Eder ; , ; Shapiro . Shapiro (loc.
cit., ) admits that reliable evidence for this Religionspolitik is not especially extensive. The
only Athenian cults that can be rmly associated with Peisistratid innovations are those of
Olympian Zeus, the Twelve Gods and Pythian Apollo. Cf. the remarks of Garland (,
) and the serious doubts expressed by Osborne (a, ). At the same time, although the character of the Great Panathenaia during this period was quite different from
that of the classical era, it is possible that Peisistratus and/or his sons did develop the festival, adding contests in music and rhapsody (cf. Shapiro , ). The history of the Panathenaia down to the end of the archaic era is discussed in chapter below; for the Eleusinian Mysteries, the City Dionysia, and the Brauronia, see chapter .
. Those who argue for a rise in civic consciousness at this time include Stahl (),
Eder (), and Manville (, ). Neleid genealogy: Hdt. ... The Peisistratids
and Heracles: Boardman , . The evolution of the Theseus gure in Athenian cul-
Greg Anderson
224
Notes to Pages 2425
ture is discussed in some detail on pp. below. The familys style of authority is well
illustrated not only by Peisistratuss own personal interventions in local affairs but also by
the Hipparchan herms. Apparently, all the herms bore the legend This is a monument of
Hipparchus [mnh`ma tovd Ippavrcou], followed by rather peculiar injunctions to moral behavior, like Do not deceive a friend (see [Pl.] Hipparch. 229ab). Although the author of
AP is clearly better disposed than most toward the Peisistratids, he also goes out of his way
to stress the lengths to which the tyrant was apparently willing to go to keep ordinary Athenians out of politics (see AP 16.35).
. The full text of the inscription (SEG X 431; Friedlnder 1948, no. 135; Peek 1955,
no. 1226; Richter 1961, no. 36, g. ; Jeffery , no. ) can be found on p. below.
The epitaph is inscribed on a stepped base that was probably designed to support a stele. It
was found at Sepolia, a northern suburb of Athens, just north of the Kolonos hill. Jeffery
(, ) dates the inscription to ca. .
. Richter () assigns all of these remains to her Sounion Group, which she dates
to ca. . They include the Dipylon head and accompanying hand (Athens, NM
, ; Richter , no. ), four fragments of a single kouros from the Agora (Agora,
S , , , ; Richter , no. ), and a fragmentary head and body from the
Northwest Gate area (Athens, NM ; Richter , no. ).
. Surviving archaic stelai from the Kerameikos are cataloged in Jeffery , .
With varying degrees of condence, Jeffery would assign to Athenian cemeteries the remains
of eight kouroi and korai from this period, though all are of uncertain provenance and/or
function. Two items, a kouros and a kore (Athens, NM , ), were apparently recovered from Moschato in the Phaleron area, where no cemetery has yet been found, while the
head of another possible kore (Brussels, Muse de Mariemont G), also from Phaleron,
could belong to a sphinx. Four other items (Richter , nos. , , , ) may not actually be from Athens, and the last of the group, a miniature kouros measuring only centimeters from shoulder to lower thigh, would hardly have made for an impressive grave
monument even it was funerary.
. See Jeffery , , no. ; , no. . The latter is dated to ca. B.C., while
the former may be a little earlier, though it features a punctuation device paralleled in a
grafto on a vase from ca. .
. We have two kouros bases from ca. (Athens, NM , ) and a
kouros from the last years of the sixth century that was found built into the Piraeus Gate
(Richter , no. ).
. The rst in the sequence, a kouros apparently from Anavyssos and now in New
York (MM ..; Richter , no. ), dates probably to the s. The rest come from
ca. . All ten of these were found either in cemeteries or in areas that are known to
have had functional cemeteries at the time. The instance from Vourva consists of a base
with remnants of the feet of a kore. Otherwise, the Berlin goddess from Keratea and
the Phrasikleia from Merenda are korai, and the rest are kouroi. I here list the nd-spots
of the statues in rough chronological order, including the locations of the statues and,
where appropriate, their catalog numbers in Richter : Markopoulo (Athens, NM
; no. ), Kalyvia Kouvara (Athens, NM ; no. ), near Sounion (New York,
MM ..; no. ), Keratea (Berlin goddess: Berlin, Antikensammlung ; see Jeffery , ), Merenda (kouros: Athens, NM ; Phrasikleia: Athens, NM
), Keratea (Athens, NM ; no. ), Vourva (Athens, NM ; see Jeffery , ),
Greg Anderson
Notes to Pages 2628
225
Anavyssos (?) (Munich kouros: Munich, Antikensammlung ; no. ), Anavyssos

(Anavyssos kouros: Athens, NM ; no. ). Four other possible Attic kouroi from
this period are referred to in Richter (, nos. , ).
. Also unlikely is the idea that Athenian graves might have been adorned with
bronze kouroi, of which no traces now survive. The technology necessary for forging lifesize bronze images had barely been developed by the end of our period (cf. Mattusch ,
). Clay molds for a bronze kouros-type statue of the midsixth century (Agora, S
, ; Mattusch , , gs. .) have been recovered from the area of the
Apollo Patroos precinct in the Agora. However, the image was signicantly less than lifesize and, given the provenance, may have served as the cult statue for the small sacred
structure that occupied the site at that time (see p. , in chapter below). Generally, on
the form and function of the kouros type, see e.g., Pollitt , ; Hurwit , ;
Stewart , .
. Solonian sumptuary legislation: Plut. Sol. . Cf. Cic. Leg. ..; Kbler , .
. See Anderson .
. For individual family members, I follow the dynastic numeral system found in
Davies (, with table ). Family headquarters at Alopeke: e.g., Ar. Vesp.
; AP .; Hopper , ; Lewis , ; Davies , . Property holdings: Davies , . Registration at Agryle: Davies , ; Lve que and Vidal-Naquet , , , n. . Registration at Xypete: Stamires and Vanderpool ; Davies
, ; Bicknell , . Megacles I was archon at the time of the Cylonian conspiracy, which took place in one of four Olympic years between / and / (see Moulinier ; Cadoux , ; Rhodes , ). For even earlier times, a tradition is
recorded (see Castor, FGrH F) that a Megacles and an Alcmeon were respectively
the sixth and the thirteenth of the life archons who succeeded the kings in Athens. Another tradition (see Harpoc., s.v. Alkmeonidai; Hesych., s.v. Alkmeonidai) reports that the
family were descended from the Alcmeon [who lived] at the time of Theseus [ajpo; tou`
Alkmevwno~ tou` kata; Qhseva]. Some have doubted whether the Alcmeonids were
among the citys traditional elite, since they are not known to have controlled a major
cult in Athens. But the archonship of Megacles I would seem to conrm their Eupatrid
status (cf. the comments of Thomas [, ] on traditions surrounding the familys early history).
. Sounion kouroi: Richter , , nos. , gs. . On the unprecedented
scale and workmanship of these sculptures, see Stewart , ; Camp , . The case
for an attribution to the Alcmeonids: Camp , . Three funerary kouroi: (a) New York,
MM .. (Richter , no. ); (b) Munich, Antikensammlung (Richter , no.
); (c) Athens, NM (Richter , no. ). For further discussion of all this evidence,
see Anderson .
. Kroisos base and epitaph: Athens, NM ; Peek , no. ; Jeffery ,
. Alcmeonid Lydian connections: Hdt. .. For the argument identifying
the Anavyssos kourosKroisos base as an Alcmeonid monument, see Jeffery , ;
Eliot , . Stele of Megacles: New York, MM .; Richter , ,
no. ; Jeffery , , no. . Peisianax base: Athens, EM ; Jeffery
, , no. . Jeffery (, ) suggests that the lettering on the stele of Megacles and the Peisianax base was carved by her Mason B. The ostrakon: Willemsen
.
Greg Anderson
226
Notes to Pages 2829
. So Hopper (, ), Eliot (, n. ), Davies (, ), and Bicknell

(, ). As for the presumed political motives behind the move, the benets are not obvious. Would the family necessarily have gained by having its members split between three
different tribes (Alopeke, Xypete, and Agryle were all in different city trittyes) or by locating its main branch at Alopeke, where many other prominent families (e.g., those of Aristides; Thucydides, son of Melesias; and the Kerykes) would also register?
. Initial expulsion in perpetuity from Athens: AP ; cf. Hdt. .; Plut. Sol. .;
Thuc. ... For the date, see Rhodes , ; Camp , . Plutarch claims that the
Alcmeonids, along with the bones of those who were responsible for the massacre and had
since died, were expelled beyond the borders [uJpe;r tou;~ o{rou~] of Attica. But this detail is not reported in any earlier source and could easily be an anachronistic assumption
based on knowledge of later practice.
. The only recorded activities of the family during the forty years in question take
place outside Attica. They include Alcmeon Is command of a force in the First Sacred War
(Plut. Sol. .), the help he offered the Lydians at Delphi (Hdt. .), his victory in the
four-horse chariot race at Olympia in (Hdt. .; Isoc. .; schol. P. Pyth. ), and the
marriage of Megacles II to Agariste of Sikyon in ca. (Hdt. .; cf. McGregor ,
). Considering the unprecedented extravagance of the Sounion dedications and the
cognate kouros, Camps suggestion (, ) that they were paid for from the lavish reward
given to Alcmeon I by the Lydians for his help at Delphi (cf. Hdt. .) is especially attractive. This would give us a terminus post quem for the monuments, somewhere in the late
s. Though it is widely thought that Lycurgus belonged to the Boutadai, that belief is
based only on the identity of his name with that of the famous fourth-century politician.
Assuming the belief to be correct, the sixth-century Lycurgus would be the familys earliest
known member (cf. Davies , ).
. Defeat at Pallene and subsequent exile: AP .; Hdt. .. Archonship of Cleisthenes in /: Meritt , , no. .; Meiggs and Lewis , no. . Kroisos monument
aetiology: cf. Jeffery , ; Eliot , . The proposed scenario might also explain
why Alcmeonides, brother of Megacles II, dedicated his victory in a Panathenaic chariot
race (presumably that of ; cf. Jeffery , ) to Apollo at the Ptoion sanctuary in Boeotia (IG I ) and not, as he had done for victories during the previous fteen years, to
Athena on the Acropolis (cf. Athens, EM ; Raubitschek , , no. ). Given the
familys interest in the sanctuary, it may be no coincidence that a kouros almost identical
in date, style, and workmanship to the two later examples from the Anavyssos cemetery has
also been recovered from the Ptoion (the Ptoon kouros: Athens, NM ; Richter ,
no. ). All three statues are signature members of Richters AnavyssosPtoon Group.
. The Alcmeonids also seem to have endured a relatively brief third period of exile
following the assassination of Hipparchus in . Whether they spent this time based again
in the Anaphlystos area must remain an open question. However, from the point of view of
the larger argument here, it may be signicant that they, along with other families who went
into exile at the time, were apparently able to fortify a position at Leipsydriona location
inside Attica, probably on the southern ank of Mount Parnesin preparation for their
armed resistance to Hippias (see AP .; Hdt. .; Isoc. .; Thuc. ..). Presumably,
the family was still banished at the time of Cleisthenes well-known negotiations with Delphi in / (see AP .; Hdt. ...). Alcmeonid associations with Delphi and the
Anaphlystos area at this and other times of exile might help to explain the relatively wide
Greg Anderson
Notes to Pages 2930
227
range of mythical, ritual, and historical links between Phocis and Attica (in particular, southern Attica) that have recently been cataloged and discussed by Camp (, ).
. For a rather different narrative of Alcmeonid fortunes in the sixth century, see
Fornara and Samons , . Fornara and Samons believe that the rst period of exile
must have ended by the later s, when we hear of Alcmeon I leading a force of Athenians in the First Sacred War (see Plut. Sol. .). But as Frost () has shown, there is no
need to believe that this or other military ventures before / were ofcial actions of an
Athenian citizen army. In view of Cleisthenes archonship in /, Fornara and Samons reject the tradition of the second exile entirely, contending that Herodotus (..) simply
confused it with the third period of banishment following the assassination of Hipparchus.
Thomas (, ) goes even further and doubts whether the Alcmeonids spent any
signicant time in exile at all during the Peisistratid era. Certainly, the claim that they were
in exile for the entire period (see Hdt. ..) was a politically expedient exaggeration. But
despite the propensity of leaders to manipulate memory and oral tradition in fth-century
Athens, it seems highly unlikely that such a claim could have had no basis in fact.
. Allusions to exiles during the sixth century: e.g., AP .; Hdt. .. Families with
links to the periphery: Sealey b, ; Bicknell , .
. For further discussion of these and other possible examples, see Anderson .
Herodotuss discussion (.) of the Gephyraioi and their rites established in the city [hira
en Atheneisi hidrumena] takes place against the broader backdrop of the arrival in Greece
and early history of the Kadmeioi, suggesting that these rites were believed to be of considerable antiquity. Themistocles himself is said (see Plut. Them. .) to have restored his familys telesterion of Demeter and Kore at Phlya after damage inicted by the Persians. He also
founded a sanctuary of Artemis Aristoboule at Melite (Plut. Mor. CD; Them. .),
the deme where his urban residence was located (Dem. .; Plut. Them. .), and he
had sacred property in Piraeus (IG II2 .), the site of his tomb (Diodorus FGrH
F; Paus. ..). His familys conspicuous absence from the political scene before the fth
century has caused some to suspect that the Lycomidai must have laid low as opponents
of the Peisistratids (see Davies , ; Shapiro , ). Exile seems a reasonable alternative explanation.
. The fullest account of the Peisistratids history and genealogy can be found in two
essays by Schachermeyr (a, b). Polemarch and Megara campaign: AP .; Hdt.
... Archonship in /: Paus. ..; Cadoux , ; Davies , . Solon and Peisistratus as relatives (apparently, their mothers were cousins): Diog. Laert. .; Heracleides
Ponticus fr. Wehrli; Hdt. ..; Plut. Sol. .; Davies , , with table . Solon
and Peisistratus as lovers: Ael. VH .; AP .; Plut. Sol. .. Peisistratuss second marriage (see Davies , ) was to Timonassa, daughter of Gorgilos of Argos and exwife of the Cypselid dynast Archinus of Ambracia (AP .; cf. Hdt. ..). There is no direct evidence for horse rearing or chariot racing by the family. However, the only known
anecdote (Hdt. ..) about Hippocrates, father of Peisistratus, takes place at Olympia,
and the recurrence of names prexed with Hipp- in the family genealogy all but conrms
their interest in equine pursuits. Daviess caution on the matter (, ), based on an argument from silence, seems unnecessary.
. [Pl.] Hipparch. b (Peisistravtou . . . tou` ejk tw`n Filai>dw`n); Plut. Sol. .
(Filai>dw`n . . . o{qen h\n Peisivstrato~). There was a tradition that associated Peisistratus
with a temple in the sanctuary of Artemis at Brauron. But our only source for the story is
Greg Anderson
228
Notes to Pages 3135
very latethe Lexicon compiled by the ninth-century Byzantine scholar-patriarch Photius

(s.v. Brauronia)and the only known temple at the site was probably not built until more
than twenty years after Peisistratuss death (see pp. below.) Other possible evidence
linking the family with the Brauron area has been discussed and dismissed by Lewis (,
).
. Herodotus (..) calls the members of Peisistratuss party the men from beyond the hills, or huperakrioi, while other sources, including AP (.), tend to describe
them simply as men of the hills, or diakrioi. Both terms are believed to refer generally to
the northeastern section of Attica.
. For similar reasons, Lavelle (, ) has described Peisistratuss diakria party as
a chimera. First coup: AP .; Hdt. ... Second coup: AP .; Hdt. .....
Third coup: AP ; Hdt. .....
. Archonship: Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. ... Deme and ostracism: AP .; cf. Androtion, FGrH F. Relative of the Peisistratids: AP .; Lyc. Leoc. ; Plut. Nic. ..
Grandson of Hippias: Davies , ; cf. Rhodes , . Direct descendant of Hippocrates I: Beloch , :.
. As Rhodes (, ) notes, the third tradition recorded by AP (.; cf. Athen.
.)that she was actually a foreigner, specically a Thracian garland-seller
(stephanopolis)need not be taken seriously. Only marginally more credible is the story
found in Cleidemus (FGrH F) that she was married to one of Peisistratuss sons.
. Platos fathers family, like the Peisistratids, was one of a group of families who
claimed to be Neleids descended from the early kings Codrus and Melanthus (Diog. Laert.
.; Hdt. ..; Plut. Sol. .; cf. Davies , , ). Platos mother, Periktione,
belonged to another of these families, as a cousin of the philosopher-tyrant Critias, whose
immediate family was believed to descend from Codrus and Melanthus through Dropides,
archon in / (see Cadoux , ; Davies , ).
. The author of AP was clearly not above such partisan manipulation of the facts. His
astounding omission of Critias, a relative of Plato, from his account of the regime of the
Thirty Tyrants was presumably motivated by similar concerns. Cf. Rhodes , .
. The position of Eleusis in this scheme is hard to establish. It seems that the Eleusinian mysteries, which featured a procession from Athens to Eleusis, were established at some
point in the period . However, this need not imply that Eleusinians were routinely
considered Athenian citizens at that time, especially since emphasis on the Athenian identity of the festival did not begin until the end of the sixth century. See pp. in
chapter .
. See AP .; Hdt. ..
. See AP .; Hdt. ., .... Cleisthenes was presumably among the exiled Alcmeonids who mounted an armed resistance to Hippias at Leipsydrion, on the slopes
of Mount Parnes, following the assassination of Hipparchus (see AP .; Hdt. .; Isoc.
.; Thuc. ..). He was the son of Megacles by Agariste, daughter of Cleisthenes of
Sikyon (see Hdt. .), and his sister was briey married to Peisistratus himself (see AP
..). Nothing further is securely known of the background of Isagoras.
. Mobilizing mass support: Hdt. .. (Kleisqevnh~ . . . to;n dh`mon
prosetairivzetai). From paraphrases in AP (proshgavgeto to;n dh`mon, .) and elsewhere
in the historians own account (to;n Aqhnaivwn dh`mon . . . pro;~ th;n eJwutou` moi`ran
proseqhvkato, ..), it seems that Herodotuss distinctive phrase must mean something
Greg Anderson
Notes to Pages 3537
229
along the lines of Cleisthenes . . . won the people over to his side. I see no justication
here for Obers attempt (, ) to construe this phrase as evidence that the leader was
absorbed into a popular movement for change. On the novelty of Cleisthenes political
strategy, see, e.g., Hignett , .
. For a speculative, but plausible, attempt to reconstruct the form of the reform bill
proposed by Cleisthenes in the Assembly, see Andrewes ; cf. Wade-Gery , .
. Ober (, ) provides a detailed reconstruction and analysis of the details of
the coup. His arguments are addressed in more detail on pp. below. I broadly agree
with Obers chronological sequence, though as Curtis (Lvque and Vidal-Naquet ,
xiiixvii) and Raaaub (b, ) point out, his argument that the reforms did not become a political reality until after Isagorass coup is not borne out by the sources. Archonship of Alcmeon and its signicance: Poll. Onom. .; Hignett , ; Rhodes
, .
. The fundamental works on the size and locations of the various demes and trittyes
are Traill and . Role of the demes in the reforms of Cleisthenes: Ostwald , ;
, . The number of demes remained a constant down to / B.C. (see Traill
, , ). Introduction of demotic names: AP .. Deme self-government:
Hopper . Deme assemblies: Haussoullier , ; Whitehead , . Deme
quotas in the council: Hignett , ; Rhodes , ; Traill , , ; Whitehead , . Cf. AP .. Importance of social diversity in the demes: especially
Bradeen ; Martin , , . Requirements for citizenship were made more stringent in /, when a law was passed (e.g., AP .) that required citizens to have two native-born Athenian parents. Whatever the motivations for the law (see e.g., Davies /),
one of its effects, as Patterson (, ) notes, was to transfer the ultimate responsibility for determining citizenship eligibility from the demes to the central government in
Athens.
. Use of the lot in the assignment of trittyes to tribes: AP .. This report has met
with some skepticism (see, e.g., Eliot , ; Siewert , ). A recent defense
of the tradition has been provided by Ostwald (, ). On the heroes and cults of the
new tribes, see chapter of the present study.
. See AP .. For discussion of the tradition of the Solonian Council of , see pp.
below. On the limited powers of the new council in its earliest phase, see Rhodes ,
, . As Rhodes suggests, the division of the bouleutic year into ten prytanies, where
each tribal contingent served in turn as the presiding committee, may not have occurred
until after the reforms of Ephialtes in /, when the functions of the Council were considerably expanded. On the idea that participation in the Council of was probably limited to members of the top three wealth classes, see Rhodes , ; Ostwald , ; Ostwald , . Exclusion of poorer citizens will only have been encouraged, at least in
the earliest phase of the Council, by the lack of any compensation for a years lost earnings
and probably by the use of some form of election in the selection of councillors (see Rhodes
, , ).
. Stability of the system throughout the classical period: Rhodes , .
Both the date of its introduction and its novelty are discussed in some detail on pp.
below.
. On the varying numbers of demes in each trittys, see Traill , . The classic discussion of the anomalies is in Lewis .
Greg Anderson
230
Notes to Pages 3842
. Gerrymandering and Alcmeonid self-interest: e.g., Lewis ; Forrest ,

; Bicknell , ; ; Stanton .
. Other features of the reforms are sometimes adduced in this connection. They are
the use of the names of prominent families or clans as deme names (e.g., Boutadai and Philaidai) and the manipulation, occurring in probably more than one instance (e.g.,
Erechtheis), of the assignment of demes to trittyes in such a way as to ensure that a family
who traditionally controlled the cult of the eponymous hero of one tribe would themselves
be members of a different tribe. See Lewis , .
. The suggestion that some trittyes were designed to neutralize the inuence of powerful local organizations need not necessarily contradict the hypothesis of Siewert () that
the trittys system as a whole was conceived primarily with military considerations in mind.
Assuming that each trittys was to provide a regimental company, or lokhos, for the new national army, Siewert believes that the principle underlying the assignment of demes to trittyes may have been their proximity to a common road to Athens, thus facilitating military
mobilization. But cf. Rhodes and Ostwald , n. . Develin and Kilmer (,
) suggest that such enclaves as Probalinthos were a post-Cleisthenic development, the
result of later efforts to produce a more even distribution of citizens among different trittyes and tribes.
. Other prominent families registered at Alopeke included the Kerykes and the families of Aristides, Thucydides, son of Melesias, and Lysandros, a later ally of Themistocles.
Xypete, a suburb of Piraeus, was linked to Melite and Daidalidaithe former located within
and the latter just outside the city walls of Athenswhile Agryle was placed in a trittys that,
to judge from later bouleutic quotas, was dominated by the much larger Halimous, some
way to the south.
. See also Kinzl , .
. See especially Gomme , ; Bradeen .
. It might be argued that the reforms were designed essentially to repair the lingering wounds of disunity wrought by the intraregional stasis of the midsixth century. But as
we saw earlier, such stasis as there was at that time was not actually the convulsive panAttic conict that our sources describe.
. Cf. the similar conclusion reached by Fornara and Samons (, ), who also
seem to believe that inhabitants of the countryside had not been routinely enrolled as Athenian citizens before /. Even Manville (), who goes to great lengths to show that it
was Solon who created the polis (), later concedes, It was not until the reforms of
Kleisthenes in / that citizenship was brought to the local level of every citizen, and not
until then that the town and countryside of Attika were wholly unied, making fuller and
more tangible what Solon rst intended ().
. For discussion of the relevant passages, see Rhodes , ; Manville , esp.
. Rhodes concedes that Aristotles reference to resident aliens tells us little and that
the numbers of immigrant artisans and Peisistratid mercenaries will not have been large. In
any case, it looks like many of the artisans may have come from locations elsewhere in Attica itself, rather than from outside the region. Plutarch (Sol. ) tells us how Solon
specically insisted that those who wished to move from rural areas to the city should take
up a trade, and Solon apparently required the Areopagus to enforce this directive. Meanwhile, despite the relatively small numbers of men of impure birth who were probably
present in Athens at the time, Manville (loc. cit.) sees the diapsephismos as a reign of ter-
Greg Anderson
Notes to Pages 4248
231
ror (), which he believes would have engendered widespread anxiety about citizen status. This anxiety, he suggests, helps to explain the popularity of Cleisthenes reforms, since
they would have offered the security of a new legal denition of citizenship ().
. See AP ., ., .; Hdt. .. Cf. Arist. Pol. b.
chapter
. Of course, some written laws from the archaic period were still extant in Athens in
the later fth century. One thinks especially of those on the wooden axones in the Prytaneion
and on the stone kurbeis in the Stoa Basileios (see Stroud ). But it was probably no
longer possible by this time to distinguish easily between the laws of, say, Solon and those
of Cleisthenes. The reference to Cleitophons rider (see p. in this chapter) at AP . suggests that the exact contents and wording of Cleisthenes traditional laws [patrious
nomous] were no longer easily recoverable in B.C. And even if extant laws from the archaic period did occasionally allude to political institutions, they clearly did not address
what we would consider to be constitutional matters in any systematic or comprehensive
fashion, thus making possible the vigorous debates over the nature of the traditional mode
of government (patrios politeia) that arise in the later fth century (see, pp. below).
On the indiscriminate use of the term laws (nomoi) in classical sources to refer to the entire range of recorded state regulations (the aggregate of which made up the politeia), from
constitutional prescriptions to legislation on matters like assault and battery, see Finley ,
.
. For good discussion of the problem, see Meier , .
. Democracy at deme-level: e.g., Forrest , ; Ober , ; Meier ,
.
. The principal items of evidence for this argument can be found in Lewis .
For the argument, see e.g., Finley , . For insightful critique, see Kearns ,
.
. For discussion of the passage and relevant bibliography, Rhodes , . Despite some aws, Fuks still provides the most thorough analysis of these developments.
Cf. Jacoby , ; Finley , . Earlier sources (e.g., Ar. Nub. ; Hdt. .;
cf. ..; ..; ..) characterize Solon as a poet, lawgiver and general sage who was
sympathetic to ordinary Athenians. Solon himself alludes to political interventions in his
own poems, but there are no unambiguous references to what we would consider constitutional change, let alone to democracy. Nor is there a compelling reason to believe that
anything we would recognize as a constitutional prescription could be found among whatever genuine Solonian laws were still extant in the later fth century. For further discussion of the laws and the poems, see pp. later in this chapter.
. E.g., Aeschin. .; Dem. .; .; Hyp. .; Isoc. .; ..
For a good overview of the role of Solon in fourth-century Athenian political memory, see
Fuks , esp. . Cf. also Ruschenbusch , ; Moss ; Hansen .
However, Ruschenbuschs efforts to downdate Solons emergence as a major democratic
reformer to ca. are not persuasive.
. E.g., Dem. .; .; Isoc. .; .; Theophr. Char. .. Generally
on the origins and development of this tradition, see Ruschenbusch , . It is true
that Thucydides (..) portrays Theseus as an assertive autocrat. But his account of the
Greg Anderson
232
Notes to Pages 4952
synoecism of Attica centers upon the establishment by the hero of a single city hall [prutaneion] and council chamber [bouleutrion] for the whole region, public buildings which
both seem to presuppose a broader participation in the political and symbolic life of the polis. See p. for further discussion of this passage.
. A somewhat similar overall approach can be found in Aristotles Politics. The nature of Solons constitution is discussed at ba, where it is likewise suggested
that the democracy he founded was based on only minimal gains for ordinary citizens: the
rights to serve in the law courts, elect magistrates, and hold formal reviews (euthunein) of
their periods in ofce. Elsewhere (b) Aristotle credits Cleisthenes with desiring
to expand the democracy [boulomenos auxe sai te n demokratian], and would include the
resulting regime among examples of the most extreme form of democracy, the last and least
commended of the four categories of democracy he identies.
. Different elements in this sequence are stated with minor variations at Isoc. .;
., , ; .. For discussion of the various fourth-century interpretations of
the liberation of Athens, Thomas , . More generally, on the contribution of
Isocrates assumptions about Athenian constitutional history to his political outlook, see
Wallace , .
. In this study, I use the term ofcial memory to mean the sum of the historical
narratives and traditions whose authenticity was permanently and publicly endorsed by
the state, usually through art, ceremonies, and inscriptions. Though not necessarily coherent or internally consistent, it should be distinguished sharply from, say, popular memory, which might also include any number of stories omitted from or contradicted by the
ofcial version(s) of history. See Thomas , esp. .
. Heroic era democracy in funeral orations: Dem. .; Lys. .; Pl. Menex.
BA. Euphranors mural: Paus. ... As Castriota (, ) notes, the presence of the mural in a building associated with freedom (eleutheria) is presumably
signicant. The statue of Solon is rst alluded to at Dem. .. For the location, see
Paus. ...
. Later references to Theseus as founder of democracy: e.g., Diod. ..; Marm. Par.
FGrH A; Plut. Thes. ., ... Allusions to Solon in this role are also found in
several post-classical texts, e.g., Plut. Sol. .; Mor. A.
. At .., Pausanias refers his readers to the text of Herodotus if they wish to know
the name of the man who established ten tribes instead of four and substituted new
names for the old ones. Other references to Cleisthenes from the Roman era are listed
in Develin and Kilmer , nn. . None of these present him unambiguously as
the founder of democracy; some recall him vaguely as a lawgiver in the tradition of
Solon.
. For a representative sample of the wide range of opinions on this issue, see the essays of Wallace, Ober, Raaaub, and Eder in Morris and Raaaub .
. Others, too, have suspected that Cleisthenes reforms must have involved constitutional and/or judicial measures that, for some reason, are not reported by our sources (see,
e.g., Busolt , ; Bonner and Smith , ). Hignett (, ) and
Rhodes (, ) are more skeptical.
. Cleisthenes reforms ratied in the Assembly: e.g., Busolt , with n. ;
Hignett , ; Wade-Gery , esp. ; Andrewes ; Rhodes , ;
Ostwald , ; , . Reforms establish precedent for ratication of legisla-
Greg Anderson
Notes to Pages 5356
233
tion in the Assembly: e.g., Ostwald , . Obers rather different understanding of the
phrase ton demon prosetairizetai (, ) is discussed below on pp. , n., and
n..
. Cf. also Ael. VH .; Philoch., FGrH F. Because of the time lag between
the reported date of its introduction and the earliest known instance of the use of the procedure (the ostracism of Hipparchus, son of Charmus, in /), some have doubted
whether ostracism was, as AP claims, a Cleisthenic innovation. But as Thomsen (,
), drawing on Dover and Sumner , has shown, the one ancient source that
appears to contradict the testimony of AP (Harpoc., s.v. Hipparkhos) merely misrepresents the account of Androtion (cf. FGrH F), the very same source most probably
used by AP.
It may, in any case, be entirely possible, as Kagan (, ) suggested, that the two
accounts do not contradict each other after all. Among those supporting a Cleisthenic introduction of the procedure are Kagan (), Thomsen (, ), Jeffery (,
), Rhodes (, ), Ostwald (, ), and Manville (, n. ).
. The practice was understood by ancient authoritiesand no doubt advertised at
its inception as an antityrant measure, and some scholars (see, e.g., Ober , ) are
content to take this explanation at face value. Others, such as Rhodes (, ) and Ostwald (, ), view ostracism in more systemic terms, seeing the procedure as designed
to stabilize the political process by forestalling any possible stalemate between two rival
courses of action. More concretely and perhaps more realistically, Kagan (, )
contends that it was primarily intended from the very start to be used as the political
weapon it so obviously became, whereby the dominant politician in any given year could
strengthen his position by persuading the demos to expel an opponent. Cf. also Martin
, . For further discussion of the rationale behind ostracism, see p. later in this
chapter.
. This interpretation of the passage is supported by, among others, Ostwald (,
n. ), Nakategawa (), and Manville (, ). Grifth () believes isegoria to
be an Ephialtic innovation. For a somewhat different interpretation of this passage, see p.
below.
. The claim is seen in the opening formula the demos has resolved . . . (e[docsen
toì devmoi . . . ). Recognition of the Council of s role in the deliberative process (i.e.,
e[docsen teì boleì kai; toì devmoi . . . ) did not become standard until after the Persian
Wars.
. The phrase used repeatedly is a[neu to` devmo to` Aqenaivon plequvonto~. See
especially Wade-Gery /; for more recent discussion and bibliography, Ostwald ,
with n. .
. The earliest of the six cases that certainly involved consideration of the death
penalty was that brought by Xanthippus against Miltiades for his deception of the Athenians in B.C. According to Herodotus (.), Xanthippus prosecuted Miltiades, impeaching him on a capital charge before the demos [thanatou hupagago n hupo ton
de mon], and the same demos later saw t to reduce the penalty to a ne of fty talents.
Ostwald sees the shift of nal jurisdiction in such cases away from the Areopagus to the
demos as an extension of the principal of ephesis (referral, appeal) introduced by Solon (see
AP .; Plut. Sol. .), whereby a citizen could refer a verdict issued by an archon for reconsideration before a popular court, presumably the Heliaia. The demos assumed control
Greg Anderson
234
Notes to Pages 5759
over the entire prosecution process for crimes against the state after the reforms of Ephialtes
in /.
. For an opposing view, contending that the Council of and the Assembly functioned merely as an institutionalised check or counterweight to the power of the Areopagus and archons all the way down to /, see Raaaub a, . It may be the case,
as Raaaub states, that the latter continued to supervise and scrutinize ofceholders down
to the late s. But political leadership in Athens did not, at this or any other time, necessarily depend on the holding of any particular ofce. Even for those leaders who held ofce
before the reforms of Ephialtes, one wonders if the kind of ongoing accountability exercised
by the Assembly, to which all politicians were subject, was not already more politically
signicant than any formal accountability procedure.
. See especially Hignett , . Testimonia for all known laws of Solon have
been assembled by Ruschenbusch ().
. It is striking, for example, that Herodotus presents Solon simply as a traditional lawgiver and sage. For this and other reasons, Hignett (, ) argues that the whole tradition of Solon as a major political reformer was a late fth-century development. Ruschenbusch (; , , , ) is similarly skeptical and would date this
development as late as the mid-s. Other skeptics include Hansen (; , )
and Moss (), who offers an interesting analysis of the creation of the myth of Solon
as the founding father of Athenian democracy. Those more credulous of the tradition include Stroud (, ), Rhodes (, ), Manville (, n. ), Murray (,
), and Wallace (, esp. ).
. See Jacoby , , ; Raubitschek , ; Camp , .
. The introduction or standardization of the four wealth classes at this time (discussed later in this chapter) must imply the existence of a relatively well-dened and stable
community. This communitys sense of itself will only have been reinforced by the importation of foreign-born slaves after Solons abolition of debt bondage for Athenians (see
Manville , ). The possible introduction at this point of laws regulating the conduct
of outsiders (xenoi) in Athens (see, e.g., Dem. .) indicates that there was now some
means of distinguishing such individuals from natives, while the forfeit of citizen rights
(atimia) incurred by those who remained neutral in times of stasis (see AP .; Bers, )
clearly presupposes the existence of such rights. But whatever criteria did exist for determining citizenship, Manville himself (, e.g., ) doubts whether they yet amounted to
any kind of centralized standard.
. Lambert (, ) has argued that citizen enrollments before were administered through the phyle/trittys/naukrary structure, though he acknowledges the limitations of the evidence. Since the phratries certainly existed before Cleisthenes reforms and
played a role in the registration of citizens thereafter (cf. Lambert , ), it is widely
thought that they were responsible for the administration of citizenship in earlier times. But
as Manville repeatedly stresses, we should not imagine that xed, standardized procedures
for registration were yet in place.
. In general, I have no difculty believing that most of Solons reforms were passed
during the year of his archonship and that in this same year he was appointed as mediator
(diallaktes) to resolve the ongoing social unrest (see Rhodes , ).
. Arist. Pol. a; cf. b. The author of AP tells us (.) that members
of the lowest class, the thetes, were now entitled to attend the Assembly, though he also in-
Greg Anderson
Notes to Pages 5962
235
sists (.) that magistrates were selected by lottery at this time. For discussion of the
conict here with Aristotles account, see Rhodes , ; Rhodes favors the testimony of AP.
. Those who favor a Solonian Council of include Rhodes (, ; ,
), Jeffery (, ), Ostwald (, n. ), and Manville (, n. ).
Hansen (b, ; , ; , ) is more circumspect. In perhaps the strongest
statement to date in support of seeing Solon as the founding father of Athenian democracy,
Wallace (, ) vigorously argues that he gave the demos by law the power to control
the government in Athens through the Assembly, the Council of , and the law courts.
Among those who doubt the existence of the Council of , Hignett (, ) presents the fullest case. See also Sealey a, .
. The only possible evidence for such a council during the period between the reforms of Solon and those of Cleisthenes comes in a late reference to developments in ca.
/. We learn from Diogenes Laertius (.) that Peisistratus enjoyed the support of
the council when he confronted Solon on the oor of the Assembly prior to his occupation of the Acropolis. But the historicity of this episode is questionable to say the least (cf.
Rhodes , ).
. As Hignett (, ) also notes, this tradition will likewise have appealed to opponents of oligarchy, who would have found in it a Solonian anticipation of the Council of
, the citadel of the developed democracy.
. Cf. Wallace , .
. A good illustration of ancient misapprehensions about the age of Agora buildings
is provided by AP ., where the author imagines the Stoa Basileios, another structure
erected in ca. B.C., to have been in use in Solonian times. Restoration work on both the
stoa and the Old Bouleuterion after the Persian sack, along with the self-consciously traditional features incorporated into their original design (see pp. below), will only have
encouraged later perceptions of them as antique, pre-Cleisthenic buildings.
. See Meiggs and Lewis (, no. ). The inscription is assumed to concern contemporary arrangements on Chios itself. The text refers only to a popular council [bolh;
dhmosivh] (C., ), but the specication is generally thought to presuppose the existence of another, more aristocratic form of council. Hignett (, ) describes the inscriptions value as evidence for contemporary arrangements in Athens as manifestly inconclusive, before going on to note how the Ionians of Asia Minor were politically mature
enough to experiment with constitutional novelties which would have been incongruous in
a community just emerging from aristocratic control.
. The suggestion that Plutarch here draws on an originally Solonian metaphor was
rst made by Schmann (, ).
. The case for seeing this council as the new Council of has recently been restated by Chambers (, ). Hignett (, ) makes the case also but concludes,
like Sealey (a, n. ), by opting for the Areopagus. Those who believe it was in fact
the Council of include Rhodes (, ; , ), Ostwald (, n. ),
and Wallace (, ). Argument for the existence of a pro tempore Council of before
Cleomenes intervention: e.g., Hignett , ; Andrewes , .
. The four wealth classes: AP .; cf. Arist. Pol. a. Plutarch (Sol. .)
indicates that the system of wealth classes was a Solonian innovation, contradicting APs
claim (.) that it already existed. Most believe that at least three of the four categoriesall
Greg Anderson
236
Notes to Pages 6266
except the pentakosiomedimnoialready existed in some form but were now simply invested
with a new level of signicance (see, e.g., Rhodes , ; Andrewes , ; Manville
, n. ). Restriction of leading ofces to the top two classes: AP .; Arist. Pol.
a. Right of thetes to attend the Assembly: AP .. AP states that thetes were entitled to sit in dikasteria, though the term is more than likely anachronistic for this period.
Treasurers were still chosen only from the ranks of the pentakosiomedimnoi in the fourth
century (see AP .), while zeugitai, the third category, were not eligible for archonships until the early s (see AP .).
. Solons seisakhtheia (shaking off of burdens) seems to have consisted of two basic measures (see AP .): a ban on the lending of money on personal security (danizein
epi tois somasin), a measure probably intended to assist ailing independent smallholders;
and a cancellation of debts (khreon apokopai), which would have released the hektemoroi
(cf. AP .) from their obligation of giving up a sixth of their produce to a landlord. Cf.
the similar conclusions reached by Rhodes (, ) and Manville (, ). The
introduction of ephesis: AP .; Plut. Sol. .. The Heliaia is widely believed to have
been a plenary meeting of the demos sitting as a law courtin effect, the judicial equivalent of the Assembly (see MacDowell , ; Rhodes , ; , ; Ostwald
, ). On the anachronism of the term dikasteria for this period, see, e.g., Rhodes ,
. On the intrusion of fourth-century constitutional preoccupations here, see Raaaub
a, .
. As evidence for the nature of political arrangements in Athens before the time of
Solon, the account of the Draconian constitution in AP should clearly be discounted.
The authenticity of this constitution has long been doubted (see, e.g., Linforth ,
, ; Hignett , ; Sealey , ). For an interesting argument
that the Areopagus functioned only as a homicide court before Solons reforms, thereafter assuming broader powers and supplanting an earlier aristocratic council, see Wallace
, .
. Solon appears to use the word demos exclusively to refer to the lower orders. See
Lewis . Cf. Larsen , ; Wallace , . Throughout this section, I follow the text
and numbering of poems found in West .
. On this and other images in the poems (cf. ., .) that emphasize his powerful, but nonaligned, stance in the conict, see Loraux .
. Generally on this notion of justice, see Lloyd-Jones , esp. , , ,
, , .
. On the milk metaphor, see Stinton , .
. Wallace (, ) acknowledges the problems raised for his view of Solon by the
unambiguously impartial and often outright conservative sentiments expressed in many of
the poems. He tries to get around these by suggesting that the performance of the poems
before aristocrats at symposia would have required Solon to present his reforms as being
more moderate than they actually were.
. Ancient sources are unanimous that the Peisistratids worked within existing constitutional arrangements (see AP ., ., ; Hdt. ..; Thuc. ..), though not all
modern observers are ready to accept this testimony (see, e.g., Berve , :). AP .
notes that Solons laws had fallen into disuse under the tyranny. It appears that no archons
were elected for the years / and / and that Damasias, elected to the ofce in /,
held on to it for more than another year before being forcibly removed and replaced by a
Greg Anderson
Notes to Pages 6770
237
temporary board of ten men (see AP .; Rhodes , ). Throughout the next section I again follow the chronology established by Rhodes (; , ) for all dates.
. The author of AP clearly had access, direct or indirect, to an archon list like the
fragmentary document from ca. found in the Agora (Meiggs and Lewis , no. ),
and he reports no anarkhia for these years. From references in AP and elsewhere, Cadoux
(, ) assigns ve archons to this period: Komeas (/), Hegestratos (/), Hegesias (/), Euthydemos (/), and Erxikleides (/).
. For a discussion of the evidence relating to the foundation of the Great Panathenaia,
see pp. .
. Armed occupation of the Acropolis: AP .; Hdt. ... First tyranny: AP .;
Hdt. ... Rhodes (, ) believes it probably lasted only for a few months.
. For ancient accounts of this well-known incident, see AP .; Hdt. .; Polyaenus,
Strat. ..; Val. Max. ... The most inuential modern work on the episode is still the
essay by Connor, which contains a fairly full discussion of earlier scholarship and eliminates any lingering doubts about historicity. Intimations of sacred marriage: Gernet ,
. Kingship ritual analogy: Burkert , ; cf. Connor , . Peisistratus as Heracles: Boardman , . Parallels with Odysseus: Else , .
. Herodotus (..) and AP (.) agree that Megacles initiated the scheme by sending a message to the exiled Peisistratus. Modern observers willing to recognize that Alcmeonid interests must have played a role in the episode include Berve (, :), Kinzl
(, ), Fornara and Samons (, , ), and Lavelle (, ).
. Marriage to Timonassa: AP .. Though the date of Peisistratuss second marriage was a subject of ancient dispute, the marriage seems to have taken place during Peisistratuss rst period of exile, in c. or very soon after (Davies , ). Given that
one thousand Argives apparently helped Peisistratus to defeat the Alcmeonids at Pallene (see
AP .; cf. Hdt. ..), Megacles wariness about his rivals relations with Argos would
prove to be entirely justied. One can only suppose that the damage caused to these relations by the brief marriage alliance with the Alcmeonids was not ultimately fatal. Dissolution of Peisistratuss third marriage, ostensibly on the grounds of nonconsummation: AP
.; Hdt. ... Despite APs chronology, Peisistratuss return to Athens between periods of exile was evidently very short (see Rhodes , ), lasting perhaps no more than
a few weeks.
. In Herodotus (..), the chariot is preceded by heralds announcing that Athena
is restoring [katagei] Peisistratus to her own Acropolis, but Herodotus does not suggest
that the goddess actually drove the chariot.
. Herodotus (..) describes how Megacles and Peisistratus dressed up Phye as
Athena, put her in the chariot, and together drove into the city [e launon es to astu]. AP
(.) is more specic, stressing that Megacles adorned the woman to look like a goddess
[te n theon apomime samenos to i kosmo i], then led her [into the city] with him [i.e., Peisistratus] [suneise gagen met autou]. Frost (, ) also emphasizes the role played by
Athena in the ceremony, though he still believes that Megacles was helping Peisistratus to
take control of Athens rather than the other way around. Connor (, ), meanwhile,
agrees that the ceremony implies the return of Athena to her proper place and traditional
role as Athens protector after a period of withdrawal from the city. But he nevertheless insists that the spectacle itself should be seen as an eloquent reversal of an ancient kingship
ritual, which helped afrm the establishment of a new civic order under Peisistratus.
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Notes to Pages 7176
. For concise recent discussion of the remains and issues of chronology, provenance,
and interpretation, see Shapiro , ; Hurwit , . Arguments in favor of locating the Bluebeard temple on the Arkhaios Neos foundations: e.g., Schuchhardt /;
Plommer ; Beyer ; Beyer and Preisshofen . For further discussion of the Bluebeard temple, see pp. , n..
. Dinsmoor (, ) suggests that the temple was known as the Hekatompedon, a title later borne by the Parthenon, its putative successor. A decree dating from the
mid-s and inscribed on two metopes from the Bluebeard temple (IG I3 ) distinguishes
between a neos and a hekatompedon, though it is not clear whether the latter name refers to
a temple or to an open precinct. Dinsmoors reconstruction is supported by, among others,
his son (Dinsmoor , ) and Ridgway (, ); according to Childs (, n.
), it appears to be regaining popularity at this time. It is also favored by Korres (a,
), whose recent efforts to investigate beneath the platform of the Parthenon have revealed
the existence of as yet unidentied archaic materials.
. It is true, as Sinos () has argued, that great efforts seem to have been invested
in making Athena conform to the particular image of the armed goddess that had come
to dominate her iconography in the late s. But for all this authenticity and the colorful details about awestruck onlookers added by our sources, it is very hard to believe that
Megacles did in fact intend to deceive the Athenians into thinking they were witnessing a
real divine epiphany. Our records of Greek epiphanies, which come from all periods of antiquity, suggest that the ancients believed gods were most likely to appear to them in times
of sleep or extreme stress (especially during battles), or in marginal, out-of-the-way locations. And in the vast majority of these instances, deities appear only to chosen individuals
or to small groups of people. Few, then, would have been taken in by an attempt to stage
an epiphany in the middle of a city before thousands of onlookers. Festival processions with
mortals dressed as divinities: e.g., Hdt. . (Libya); Paus. .. (Patrai).
. Peisistratuss activities during his second spell in exile: AP .; Hdt. ... The
Alcmeonids erected at least one major dedication in Athens during this same period, a thank
offering to Athena on the Acropolis for athletic victories by Alcmeonides (Raubitschek ,
, no. ).
. See Hurwit , , for a good survey and discussion of the Acropolis material record for the second quarter of the sixth century. The evidence is summarized on pp.
below.
. Wallace (, ) acknowledges that there is precious little evidence for popular involvement in government during the fty or so years after Solons reforms. He suggests that once their immediate grievances had been resolved, . . . the people went back to
farming . . . and did not greatly care if the aristocracy sought to maintain its traditional leadership role.
. The care taken by the Peisistratids to ensure that ofces were held by family members is identied by Thucydides (..) as one of the relatively few extraordinary features
of their regime. But even this kind of behavior was probably an established practice among
leaders in earlier times.
. Some scholars maintain that the archons and the Areopagus retained effective control over the state until the reforms of Ephialtes in the late s, their authority only somewhat tempered by the growing power of the Assembly and the Council (see, e.g., Ostwald
, , ; Meier , , ; Raaaub a, ) . There can be no question that
Greg Anderson
Notes to Pages 7679
239
the two popular bodies would come to enjoy wider powers in later years. But the key issue
is where policy and legislation were determined, and it is very hard to believe that a
probouleutic council might have been established in / if its function was merely to forward decisions already made by archons and Areopagites for token nal approval in the Assembly. The relocation of the center of political gravity in Athens away from the old site (to
the northeast of the Acropolis) to the Agora area (see chap. ), along with Herodotuss account of Aristagorass visit to Athens in , all but proves that the political process was now
rmly rechanneled through the new ekklesia/boule complex.
. For discussion of the importance to later Athenian democracy of this ongoing, informal accountability, as distinct from formal procedures, such as euthunai, see Finley ,
; , ; Ober , .
. For a stimulating and wide-ranging discussion on the rationale behind ostracism,
one that in some ways resembles my own, see Forsdyke .
. Coinage of the term demokratia after the Persian Wars, probably in the late s or
s: e.g., Hansen ; Raaaub a, . Isonomia as the organizing principle and
goal of Cleisthenes reforms: e.g., Larsen ; Ostwald , , ; Sealey ;
Rhodes , ; Bleicken , , ; Raaaub . On the emergence of this and
other iso- compounds in aristocratic discourse of the archaic period, see Raaaub .
. Further criticism can be found in Curtiss foreword to Lvque and Vidal-Naquet
(xiiixvii) and in a series of papers by Raaaub (, a, b). Curtiss objections are addressed largely to a number of internal inconsistencies in Obers argument and
to the inability of his limited evidence (taken mostly from Herodotus and AP) to support
the weight of his claims. Evidential inadequacies are also pointed out by Raaaub, whose
primary concern is to show that the major point of rupture in the history of Athenian
democracy were the reforms of /, not those of /.
. Regarding Obers interesting comparison of his revolution with events in France
in , we might note that the French equivalent of thetes were not fully and permanently
enfranchised until , nearly a hundred years after the storming of the Bastille.
. As far as I can tell, the nearest thing to evidence for the demotic vision comes
from Herodotuss description (.) of the demos (or part of the demos) besieging the
Acropolis ta auta phronesantes. This phrase is most naturally taken to mean united in purpose or, if alluding to the resistance of the Council mentioned a little earlier, with the same
intent [as the bouleutai] (cf. Raauab b, ). We might note that Herodotus (..)
uses an almost identical phrase (twjuto; fronhvsante~) elsewhere to describe how Megacles
and Lycurgus, united in purpose, decided to put an end to Peisistratuss rst tyranny.
In sum, Obers proposal (, ) that the phrase ta auta phronesantes supports the idea
of a generalized and quite highly developed civic consciousness among the masses seems
exceptionally strained. Similarly strained is his attempt to read Herodotuss distinctive
phrase Kleisthenes . . . prosetairizetai ton demon (..) as evidence for the view that the
leader was absorbed into a popular movement for change. From paraphrases elsewhere in
Herodotus (ton Athenaion demon . . . pros ten heoutou moiran prosethekato, ..) and in AP
(Kleisthenes . . . prosegageto ton demon, .) it is clear that Cleisthenes, not the demos, was
seen by both authors as the active principle behind the transformation and that Cleisthenes
won the demos/Assembly over to his side, rather than the other way around. There may
have been a popular movement for change at this time, but there is no unambiguous evidence for such in our sources.
Greg Anderson
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Notes to Pages 7988
. Anticipating this objection, Ober (, ) cites a number of studies that appear

to favor his view that the evolution of such a vision over the course of the sixth century is
at least conceivable. Some of these works (e.g., Morris ) posit an emerging egalitarian
strain in elite values during the archaic period, while others (e.g., Manville ) try to trace
the growth of citizen self-consciousness in Athens during and after the Solonian era. Quite
clearly, some sections of the Greek elite had become more receptive to the idea of popular
participation in politics by the end of the sixth century, and some wealthier citizens in
Athens may even have come to share an inchoate form of collective consciousness with their
poorer fellows before /. But neither of these developments comes close to explaining
how nonelites were now able to organize themselves and form their own group interest and
identity, let alone evolve an independent political vision or agenda.
. Even after the transformation of /, there is precious little evidence that nonelites
were capable of developing and articulating their own distinctive agenda. I broadly agree
with Eders () overview of political evolution in Athens, which insists that elite domination of politics in Athens continued at least to the end of the fth century.
. Aristophanes Lysistrata () recalls the siege patriotically as a hoplite assault on
a Spartan occupying force, conveniently ignoring the presence of Isagoras and other Athenians among the besieged. There is, of course, no need to believe that the siege was really a
fully coordinated military action. But the Lysistrata was written for a mass audience, and its
failure to recall the participation of citizens of subhoplite class does not encourage us to believe that the event itself was quite the spontaneous leaderless riot that Ober portrays.
. For a full discussion of the genesis of the tradition of the Tyrannicides, see chapter .
. Eder () would date the establishment of democracy in the fullest sense even
later. He claims that democracy reached its fully developed form in the fourth century,
because politics by then had become the peoples affair, while in the fth century the demos
had been engaged primarily in the affairs of competing aristocrats ().
. For an interesting attempt to trace the evolution of an egalitarian middling ideology in archaic Greece, see Morris . For a critique of some of Morriss claims and a more
cautious approach to the evidence, see Robinson , ; Robinson discusses evidence
for the emergence of democratic regimes in a wide range of Greek states between the late
seventh century and the end of the classical period.
chapter
. For the historical evolution of the Agora area down to the beginning of the fth
century, I generally follow the chronology found in Shears extremely valuable article.
His account is broadly accepted by, among others, Camp (), Castriota (, ), Ober
(, ), and Hurwit (, ). Lately, it has also been embraced and elaborated by
Rausch (, ). For a critique, see Raaaub b, .
. Clearance and redevelopment: Shear , ; , ; Camp , .
. Building C: Thompson , . Despite its modest scale ( by m.), some
scholars have thought that Building C, from the early sixth century, may have housed the
Solonian Council of . See, e.g., Thompson , . Cf. Boersma , ; Travlos
, ; Thompson and Wycherley , . The two shrines, located on the sites
of the later precincts of Apollo Patroos and Zeus Eleutherios: Thompson , , .
The Building F complex: Thompson , ; cf. Shear , . Thompson (, )
Greg Anderson
Notes to Pages 8990
241
rst proposed that the Building F complex may have served as a Peisistratid residence,
though he later retracted the suggestion (see Thompson , ). The idea has since been
quite widely entertained by others (see, e.g., Boersma , ; Shear , ; ,
; Camp , ; , ).
. Fountain house: Thompson , ; Travlos , ; Thompson and
Wycherley , ; Camp , ; , . Pausanias refers to the fountain house
as the Enneakrounos, a structure that may have been located elsewhere in Athens, though
Thucydides (..) believed that it, too, was a Peisistratid monument. On the problem,
see Wycherley , , . Archonship of Peisistratus the younger: Meritt , ;
Cadoux , , . Altar of the Twelve Gods: Crosby (cf. Wycherley , ;
Thompson and Wycherley , , g. , pl. a; Camp , ; Gadbery ).
. Altar as central milestone: Hdt. ..; cf. IG II2 . By the end of the sixth century, the altar had already become a destination for foreign suppliants who sought Athenian protection (see Hdt. ..; cf. Thuc. ..). On the larger historical signicance of
the Hipparchan herms, see above pp. .
. This site may be the Old Agora (arkhaia agora) referred to by Apollodorus
(Harpoc., s.v. pandemos Aphrodite [= FGrH F]); cf. the reference to an agora
Kekropia at Plut. Cim. . (citing the poet Melanthius). A stele honoring a third-century
priestess of Aglauros was discovered under the large cave at the east end of the Acropolis
in and rst published by Dontas (). With the site of the Aglaureion thus xed,
the original civic center can be localized through a chain of textual inferences (see Dontas , ; Robertson , ; Shear , ). For attempts to construct
a plan of the early civic center, see Robertson , , g. ; Shear , , g. . On
the connotations of the term arkheia, see Wycherley , . Prytaneion: Paus. ...
Boukolion and Epilykeion: AP .; cf. Hesych., s.v. Epilykeion. Anakeion: Paus. ..;
Polyaenus, Strat. ... Basileion: Poll. Onom. .. Bouzygion: Shear , . Theseion: AP .; cf. Andoc. .. The assignment of the early political center to this particular area is also conrmed by Pausaniass account (..) of his route from the Prytaneion
along the Street of the Tripods around the eastern end of the Acropolis and by the discovery in the Anaphiotika area of inscriptions referring to the Prytaneion (see IG II2
), the Theseion, and the games of the Theseia festival (see IG II2 ., .,
.).
. This point is made by both Robertson (, ) and Shear (, ,
n. ). For the date of the Theseion, see pp. , n. below. The size of the precinct
is suggested by various references to large-scale gatherings of citizens and cavalry at these locations in the classical period (see, e.g., Aeschin. .; Andoc. .; cf. Thuc. ..). The
Gymnasium of Ptolemy was adjacent to the Theseion: see Plut. Thes. . (cf. Cim. .;
Paus. .., ).
. The orkhestra: Eust. Od. .; Phot., s.v. ikria, orkhestra (cf. Pl. Ap. de; Poll.
Onom. .). The theory that the performance of drama in the Agora was intimately
linked with the areas evolution as the citys primary civic space over the course of the
sixth century has been most fully articulated by Kolb (, ). It is obviously not favored by the likelihood that the focus of political life was elsewhere in Athens during the
eras of Solon and the Peisistratids. Also problematic are the key roles played in Kolbs
scheme by the archon basileus and the Lenaia festival. There is no good evidence at any
time for a sanctuary of Dionysus Lenaios in the Agora area, and it seems likely that the
Greg Anderson
242
Notes to Pages 9094
ofce of the basileus was not relocated here from the Boukolion until ca. at the earliest (see pp. below).
. On the creation of a citizen army in / or shortly after, see chapter . Non-Athenians were levied by the Peisistratids for major engagements in / (see AP ., .; Hdt.
..) and in / (see AP .; Hdt. ..). It is unclear who fought for them in the
minor action at Leipsydrium.
. Agora starting line: Shear , . Racetracks in the early agoras of Corinth
and Argos: Camp , n. . The earliest organized games in Athens were most likely
those of the Great Panathenaia. On the evolution of the festivals program of events during
the course of the sixth century, see chapter .
. Olympieion preserved unnished: Wycherley , . Stele condemning Peisistratid crime: Thuc. ...
. The two shrines were subsequently destroyed by the Persians (see Thompson and
Wycherley , , ). Demolition of Buildings C and D and the northern wing of the
Building F complex: Thompson and Wycherley , ; Shear , .
. Changes to the Building F complex in ca. : Thompson , ; , ,
; Shear , ; , . On the construction of the Old Bouleuterion and on
the new role of Building F, see pp. later in this chapter.
. The new eskhara: Thompson , ; Wycherley , .
. The eskhara as the Athenian Aiakeion: Thompson , n. ; Thompson and
Wycherley , . Cf. Pritchett , ; Stroud in Sourvinou-Inwood , . Following Kolb (, ), Sourvinou-Inwood goes on to suggest that the Agora eskhara,
rather than its counterpart on the Academy (cf. Paus. ..), was the starting point for the
ceremony of the introduction from the hearth (eisagoge apo tes eskharas) at the City
Dionysia (cf. IG II2 , , , ). For further discussion of this possibility, see pp.
, n. below.
. Similarities between the earlier peribolos and the eskhara: Thompson , ;
Thompson and Wycherley , ; Gadbery , .
. Three archaic poros blocks from the altar proper have so far been recovered (Agora,
A , ab; Crosby , , pl. .). Crosby (, ) originally thought that
Thucydides extension referred to the construction of a second enclosure in the third quarter of the fth century. But as Gadbery () has shown, the altar was only renovated at
this point, using original materials; the second enclosure was not built until the third quarter of the following century.
. Lavelle (, ) has suggested that the removal of the original inscription from
the Altar of the Twelve Gods was part of a larger program of damnatio memoriae directed
against the Peisistratids. Though attractive, the parallel with Roman practice seems inexact.
The original inscription on the altar of Pythian Apollo is still visible to this day (see Meiggs
and Lewis , , no. ). More generally, it seems that the family was consigned not so
much to oblivion as to a special place of perpetual infamy in public memory. The Peisistratids folly was conspicuously memorialized by a range of monuments, most notably the
stele commemorating the crime of the tyrants [stele peri tes to n turanno n adikias], on the
Acropolis (Thuc. ..); the colossal Olympieion, preserved in its unnished state; and the
Tyrannicide statue group in the new Agora. The new order needed an other against which
to dene itself, and with some manipulation of history, the Peisistratids provided a suitable
Greg Anderson
Notes to Pages 9597
243
antonym. For further discussion of the role of the Peisistratid tyranny in later memory,
see chapter .
. See chapter . For a concise and compelling restatement of the arguments against
dating the statue group to the s, see Castriota , esp. .
. Agora horoi found in situ: Agora, I (Shear , ); Agora, I (Thompson , ). Cf. Thompson and Wycherley , , pll. , ab). The upper section of the third stele in the series (Agora, I ; Shear , ) was found in the area of
the Hephaisteion, while a fourth uninscribed fragment (Agora, A ; Holloway ) was
recovered from a disturbed context outside the southeast corner of the Agora. Academy
horos: Travlos , .
. Agora as a sacred precinct: Aeschin. . and schol.; Dem. . (cf. Aeschin. .;
Andoc. ., ). Since all of the offenses described entailed the forfeit of citzens rights
(atimia), entry to the Agora was presumably included among these rights. Generally on
atimia in Athens, see Hansen , ; MacDowell , . Agora perirrhantria:
Aeschin. . and schol. (cf. Aeschin. .; Dem. ., ., .).
. Evidence for such ordinances comes from elsewhere. Private buildings were excluded from the new Agora in fourth-century Sounion, since its predecessor had become
too built-up over time (see IG II2 ). An ordinance against littering is known to have
been enforced in the agora at Piraeus (see IG II2 .).
. The Agora street system is discussed by Thompson and Wycherley (, ).
The earliest surface on the nearby Street of the Marble Workers dates to the late sixth century. Great Drain: Thompson and Wycherley , .
. The northeast corner retail building: Shear , , g. . In the mid-s, a
large quantity of pottery sherds dating from the late sixth and early fth centuries was recovered from a well found in front of the Stoa of Attalus (see Thompson , ). The
size, date, and location of the nd suggest that it was probably a refuse deposit used by one
or more pottery retailers after the Persian sack.
. In the words of Thompson and Wycherley (, ), the Pnyx and Agora remained closely linked in function and spirit, with the latter acting as a kind of foyer to
the former.
. Pnyx excavation: Kourouniotes and Thompson . Date of the rst phase:
Kourouniotes and Thompson , ; Travlos , ; Wycherley , . Thompson
(a, ) has latterly challenged the consensus, suggesting that the rst phase should
be dated to the time of Ephialtes reforms. Cf. Camp , .
. In his initial publication of the remains, Thompson (, ) dated the Old
Bouleuterion to just after B.C., though he would now assign it to the second quarter
of the fth century (see Thompson a, with n. ). After detailed study of the pottery sherds used as ll in the buildings foundations, not a single one of which certainly
postdates the sixth century, Shear (, ; cf. , ) has condently reasserted
the case for a date of ca. B.C. He notes that this date is also supported by the lettering
on a shallow marble basin (Agora, I ; Thompson , , g. a) found just south
of the building, which bears the legend t]o` bouleu[terivo (of the bouleuterion). In perhaps the most intriguing challenge to the orthodox chronology, Miller () suggests that
the Old Bouleuterion should be reidentied as a temple of Meter, which he styles the Old
Metroon. He believes that the Council of met in the open air until late in the fth
Greg Anderson
244
Notes to Pages 9799
century, when the New Bouleuterion was erected. Cf. Shears pointed counterarguments
().
. For recent restorations of the interior and exterior, see Shear , , gs. ,
. Shear reconstructs forty-eight wooden benches, each four meters in length, arranged in
rows six deep, yielding sufcient seating for individuals at half a meter per seat. Portions
of two triglyphs and two metopes have so far been recovered.
. For the argument, see Shear , . Shear also draws attention to the duplication of several features of the old civic center in the new Agora, but he does not explore
the larger implications of this phenomenon at any length. On the presence of Thesmotheteia in both the old and the new civic centers, see Robertson , . The structure
that replaced the reworked Building F in this function following the Persian sack was most
probably to ton arkhonton oikema (the archons chamber) referred to at Dem. ., itself
replaced at a later date by the Stoa of Zeus, built in ca. (cf. Robertson , ).
. Preliminary discussions of the stoa: Shear , ; Thompson and Wycherley
, . Ofcial seat of the archon basileus: IG I3 .; Paus. ..; Pl. Euthphr. a;
Tht. d. Though the Boukolion was now supplanted in this function (see AP .), it continued to serve as the venue for the sacred marriage (hieros gamos) between the wife of the
basileus and the god Dionysus at the Anthesteria festival.
. Shear (, ) originally assigned the stoa to the midsixth century, primarily on the basis of the style of its architectural remains. He has since dated it to ca. B.C.
(see Shear , ; cf. , , n. ). Thompson (, ; a,
with n. ) and Raaaub (b, ) argue for a lower date. For Shears response to the challenge, see Raaaub b, n. .
. See Shear , , gs. .
. Solons laws in the stoa: AP .. Wooden axones in the Prytaneion: Harpoc., s.v. axoni; Paus. ..; Plut. Sol. ., .. For the reconstruction, see Shear , (cf.
Stroud , esp. , ; Robertson , ). The tradition that both sets of documents were stored on the Acropolis before Ephialtes transferred them, respectively, to the
Prytaneion and the Agora (see Anaximenes of Lampsacus, FGrH F; Poll. Onom. .)
probably alludes to an emergency measure, whereby they had previously been moved to the
citadel for safekeeping just before the Persian sack.
. References to the lithos in the Agora: AP ., .; Plut. Sol. .. The heralds
stone: Plut. Sol. ..
. The peribolos still awaits nal publication. Available accounts include Thompson
, ; , , no. ; Thompson and Wycherley , , gs. ; Camps
account in Boegehold , . According to Camp (loc. cit., ), the closest parallel
for the molding is found on a raking geison contemporary with the Old Athena Temple on
the Acropolis, which is widely considered to belong to the nal decade of the sixth century.
. Parallel with Building A: Camp in Boegehold , . Camp refrains from endorsing the traditional identication, though he concedes that the enclosure probably
housed a law court. Boegehold himself (, ) suggests that the peribolos may be identical with the large court building later referred to as the precinct of Metiokhos and the
greater court.
. See Thompson , , ; Travlos , ; Rhodes , ;
Thompson and Wycherley , , ; Camp , . The orientation of the temple is identical with that of the Old Bouleuterion, and the two structures share a cross wall
Greg Anderson
Notes to Pages 99104
245
and similar foundations of Acropolis limestone. Little survives of the temples superstructure, but it perhaps featured a distyle-in-antis facade.
. The famous cult statue of Meter by Phidias (Arr. Peripl. M. Eux. ; Paus. ..) or
Agoracritus (Plin. HN .) is believed to have stood in the Old Bouleuterion. On the
changing role of the Old Bouleuterion after the construction of its successor, see Thompson , ; cf. Wycherley , . The earliest reference to the building as the
Metroon is found in IG II2 . (/ B.C.). The identity of the archaic building as
a temple of Meter has been challenged by Shear (, ), while Miller (,
n. ) casts doubt on its very existence.
. Cf. Dinarchuss later comment (.) on how Meter was established as the citys
guardian of all the rights [recorded] on state documents [to n en tois grammasi dikaio n phulax te i polei katheste ke]. The incongruity is discussed by Loraux (, ).
. There is no evidence for any cult of Meter in Attica before B.C. Origins of
the cult and its importation into Greece: Burkert , ; , ; Graf ,
. Meter cult in Attica: Parker , . Meter in Smyrna and Colophon: Graf
, .
. Excavation and discussion of the altar: Shear , ; Camp , , gs.
. Pausanias (..) saw the sanctuary of Aphrodite Ourania, with its Phidian cult
statue, at some point on his walk from the Hephaisteion to the Stoa Poikile. Aphrodite
Ourania as an assimilation of Astarte, the Phoenician queen of heaven: Burkert , ;
Parker , with n. (cf. Hdt. .; Paus. ..). Dedications to Aphrodite by magistrates elsewhere in Greece: Sokolowski ; Croissant and Salviat . Aphrodite Pandemos may have played a similar role in the old civic center in Athens (see Harpoc., s.v.
pandemos Aphrodite; Shear , with n. ; cf. Sokolowski , ).
. One or two of the new monuments discussed here may at some point be shown
conclusively to belong to a later time. But the key issue is surely the date of the shift in the
general function and character of the square, from Peisistratid grand projet to publicly administered agora. The downdating of the odd individual item would not greatly affect the
overall chronological scheme favored in this chapter. But those who would insist on bringing the larger shift down further into the fth century must not only confront the evidence
for the wide range of items that can reasonably be assigned to ca. B.C. but must also explain what happened to the preexisting monuments in the meantime. If the Peisistratid
square was essentially preserved intact for some twenty or thirty years after /, this would
seem to be a fact of some political signicance.
. The only known instance of an earlier nonsacred structure built in the Doric order
is the northern half of the bouleuterion in the sanctuary at Olympia (Shear , n. ).
. A similar point is made by Shear (, ), though he does not pursue its implications at length.
chapter
. The literature on the topography and monuments of the Acropolis is vast, though
there are surprisingly few synthetic works that offer a general overview of the sites history
and signicance. They include Hopper ; Schneider and Hcker ; Rhodes .
Hurwits study is comprehensive, stimulating, and highly readable. My debt to it in
the pages that follow is considerable.
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Notes to Pages 1057
. Evidence for Acropolis developments during the Bronze and Dark Ages is lucidly
summarized by Hurwit (, ).
. The column bases were long thought to be Mycenean. But see Nylander (),
who suggests that they might have formed an eastward-facing temple porch some eight meters wide. Architectural terracottas: e.g., Acrop. K , K , K . Winter (, n. , n. ) dates the antex and eaves tile remains tentatively to ca.
B.C. Bronze gorgoneion disk, possibly a temple akroterion: Touloupa .
. Ramp: Vanderpool . Most observers assume that the form of the west entrance
remained little changed from the end of the Bronze Age to the early fth century (see, e.g.,
Dinsmoor , ; Wright ; Eiteljorg , ). The original gateway is generally
thought to have looked much like the famous Lion Gate at Mycenae. For slightly different
reconstructions of its form and orientation, see Wright and Eiteljorg , , gs.
. For the Nike sanctuary, see Mark , . Mark tentatively assigns the so-called
A-architecture to the site, reconstructing a simple temple about ve meters wide, with a
distyle-in-antis facade.
. The assignment of the Bluebeard temple to the site later occupied by the
Parthenon, where it was perhaps known as the Hekatompedon, is proposed and defended
at greatest length by Dinsmoor (). The architectural and sculptural remains were rst
assembled and discussed by Wiegand (, , , ), who sited the temple
on the inner, blue, Acropolis limestone foundations of the later Old Athena Temple (see g.
). The discovery thereafter of further sima fragments prompted Schuchhardt (/) to
reassign them to the outer, pink limestone foundations. Dinsmoors principal argument
against this ideaan argument that still standsis that both sets of foundations were
worked with a toothed chisel, an implement that was apparently not yet in use at the time
the Bluebeard temple was erected. For more recent discussion of the issues involved, see,
e.g., Plommer ; Shapiro , ; Hurwit , . Pediment reconstructions:
Schuchhardt /; Dinsmoor , ; Beyer . The historical circumstances that
prompted the building of the temple are considered above on pp. in chapter .
. Terracotta remains: Winter , , , nos. , . Among the other
materials generally dated to the second quarter of the sixth century are the Doric architectural assemblage known as Building A (assigned by Mark [, ] to the Nike sanctuary) and the Red, Olive Tree, Apotheosis, and Hydra pediments. For cogent recent discussion of the materials and related problems, see Shapiro , ; Hurwit ,
.
. For an overview of the votive inventory from the second quarter of the sixth century, see Hurwit , . Moschophorus: Acrop. ; Brouskari , ; Hurwit
, , g. . The earliest korai include Acrop. (Payne and Young , , pl. .,
), (Richter , , gs. ), (Payne and Young , , pll. ., .),
(Richter , , gs. ), (Richter , , gs. ). Four-horse chariot group: Acrop. , ; Payne and Young , , pl. . Athena statuette: Acrop.
; Shapiro , , pl. .bc. Niemeyer () has argued that this type may have been
inspired by a contemporary cult statue, also represented in the Athena gure on Pananthenaic prize vases. But cf. Shapiro , .
. For further discussion of the foundation and early history of the Great Panathenaia,
see chapter .
Greg Anderson
247
. See, e.g., the inscription from ca. (Raubitschek , no. ) recording the
construction of a dromosracetrack or, possibly, the new ramp (?)and the dedication, by at least ve named ofcials (the hieropoioi of the Panathenaia?), of the agon (games)
to Athena.
. On the role played by elite competitive display in the development of the sanctuaries at Delphi and Olympia, see especially Morgan .
. See Hurwit , .
. Peisistratus resident on the Acropolis: e.g., Raubitschek , ; Travlos , ;
Kolb , . Parker (, n. , ) and Hurwit (, with n. ) are more skeptical. Architectural terracottas for the period: Winter , , nos. . The so-called
Rampin Rider (Acrop. ; Paris, Louvre ; Payne and Young , , pl. .ac), originally one of a pair and usually dated to ca. , is the rst major freestanding equestrian
monument to be dedicated at the site. A slightly later example (with no catalogue number,
but perhaps associated with the fragments Acrop. , , , ; see Payne and Young
, , pl. .) is dated by Eaverly (, , no. ) to the years . Korai from
the period include Acrop. , , (Richter , , gs. ). Lyons kore:
Lyons Museum (torso and head) and Acrop. ; Payne and Young , ; Richter
, , gs. . Function as caryatid: e.g., Ridgway , , .
. Endoios Athena: Acrop. ; Payne and Young , , pl. . Hippalektryon
with rider: Acrop. ; Eaverly , , pll. . Peplos kore: Acrop. ; Stewart
; g. .
. The architectural terracottas of a single small building of unknown function and
location survive from the period (Winter , , no. ). For the Old Athena Temple, see pp. later in this chapter.
. On the possible installation of a new entrance court before , see pp. , n.
. Winter () suggests that a roof she dates to ca. (, no. ) served as a replacement on a building originally put up sometime between and (, no. ).
. The foundations were rst examined and discussed by Drpfeld (, , )
and are hence sometimes referred to as the Drpfeld foundations. For the original publication of the architectural remains, see Wiegand , . More recent treatments of
the monument include Gruben , ; Travlos , , gs. ; Childs ; Hurwit , . My own discussion owes much to the essay by Childs.
. Those who favor a post-Peisistratid date for the temple include Stewart (, ),
Childs (), and Hurwit (, ). The temple of Hera at Olympia (ca. ) likewise
has only a one- or two-step stylobate, while the overall plan and scale (. by . meters)
of the Arkhaios Neos resemble those of the earlier Apollo temples at Corinth (ca. ; cf.
Stillwell ) and Delphi (ca. ; cf. Courby ; Childs ). Architectural details: Childs
, , gs. ; cf. Stewart , . A date of ca. is also supported by the style of a
surviving lions-head waterspout (Acrop. ; Travlos , g. ; Childs , ).
. Supporters of a date after include Sthler (; cf. ), Stewart (, ),
Childs (), Moore (, ), Castriota (, ), and Hurwit (, , gs.
).
. Cf. the Acropolis chariot group of the s (Acrop. , ; Payne and Young
, , pl. ). Other examples from earlier years, including a votive relief also from the
Acropolis (Acrop. ), are cited by Childs (, with nn. , ).
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248
. The principal fragment shows the eye of the savaged bull (Acrop. ; Payne and
Young , , pl. .). For discussion of the details and date of the associated fragments
of lions mane, see Childs , , g. .
. Frieze fragments: Acrop. , , ; Payne and Young , , pl. .
Supporters of the restoration include Stewart (, ), Ridgway (, ), and Hurwit (, ). Childs (, n. ) is less sanguine.
. Roof materials: Winter , , nos. . Winter cautiously assigns the terracottas of the two later buildings to ca. , though she suggests parallels that would
locate them at the higher end of this range. Building B: Travlos , , g. ; Hurwit ,
. The building is usually thought to have stood on the site of the later Pinakotheke, where
the poros blocks were discovered. But cf. Eiteljorg , n. .
. The entrance courtyard must postdate the demolition of the Bluebeard temple,
since marble metope panels from the latter were used as revetment slabs in the former.
Hence, for the temple to have been demolished by ca. , it must have preceded the
Arkhaios Neos on the north side of the citadel, a possibility that does not t with the larger
picture of archaic temple construction favored so far in this study. Assuming the temple actually stood on the south side and was not taken down until just before work began on the
predecessor of the Parthenon, the courtyard cannot have been built before the early s.
So argue, for example, Dinsmoor (, ) and Eiteljorg (, ). This might make
the rst phase of the courtyard rather unrealistically close to the second phase, the so-called
Old Propylon, which is conventionally dated to the s. But Eiteljorg (, ) suggests that this latter phase probably postdated the Persian sack.
. Archaic cistern: Tanoulas ; Wright . Spring house: Travlos , ,
g. .
. Peisistratid stele: Thuc. .. Stele condemning the followers of Isagoras: schol. Ar.
Lys. ; cf. Wade-Gery , .
. For more detailed discussion of the victory monument, see chapter .
. Gigantomachy group: Acrop. , , ; Payne and Young , , pl. ; Hurwit , .
. Triandi does not attempt to identify the scene with any particular myth or to assign the pediment to an attested building. The principal components in the reconstruction
(Triandi , , gs. ) include fragments of the two youths (Acrop. , ), the
Athena (Acrop. ), human and equine feet (Acrop. ), and the impressive horse
gure (Acrop. ), of which the front half is largely intact. The Athena is reckoned to have
been some . meters tall. The reconstruction is supported by Korres (b, ).
. Theseus and Prokrustes (?): Acrop. ; Payne and Young , , pll. ;
Hurwit , with n. .
. Gigantomachy reliefs: Acrop. , ; Payne and Young , , pl. .. Seated
males: e.g., Acrop. , , ; Payne and Young , , pll. ... For recent discussion of these unusual gures, see Triandi , ; Triandi would restore two head
fragments (Acrop. ; Paris, Louvre [the so-called tte Fauvel]) to the largest gure in
the series (Acrop. ). In view of their late-sixth-century date and novelty, she would like
to associate the gures with recent political change, suggesting that they may have represented secretaries of the Council or Assembly. Others have seen them as treasurers or procession marshals, though neither role would necessarily link them to institutions of the new
order.
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249
. Equestrian monuments: e.g., Acrop. , , ; Payne and Young , , pll.

., , ; Eaverly , nos. , , . Korai: e.g., Acrop. , , , . The
latest in the sequence of korai (e.g., Acrop. ; Richter , , gs. ) date to
ca. . Among the more striking remains of the male gures are the bronze head of a warrior, now helmetless, perhaps from an original life-size statue (Athens, NM ; Mattusch
, , g. .), a bronze kouros-style statuette (Athens, NM ; Richter , ,
gs. ), and several marble torsos (e.g., Acrop. ; Richter , , gs. ).
. Those who would read a political signicance into these dedications include
Raubitschek (, ) and Hurwit (, ); cf. Camp , .
. By way of a comparison, we might think, for example, of the preposterously
grandiose grave monument erected just outside Romes Porta Praenestina by the baker
M. Virgilius Eurysaces in ca. B.C., a structure that was hardly the product of any new,
more egalitarian political environment.
. Some sense of a collective past seems to be present in Solons reference (a West) to
Athens as the oldest land of Ionia [presbutate n gaian Iaonie s], and the same claim may
have underwritten Peisistratuss later interventions on Delos. But this seems to be exceptional. Peisistratid genealogy: Hdt. ...
. The inscription on the Tyrannicide monument (Agora, I ; Meritt , ,
no. ; Shear , ; Shear , ) compares the deed of Harmodius and Aristogiton
to a great light of deliverance that came upon the Athenians [meg Athenaioisi phoo s
geneth]. For further discussion of the monument and inscription, see pp. in
chapter below. Epigram of the Callimachus dedication: IG I3 ; Meiggs and Lewis
, no. . The text of the inscription is fragmentary, but the nal line suggests that
Callimachuss actions were seen as yielding some kind of benet for the sons of the
Athenians [paisin Athe naio n].
. Appropriately enough, the only Acropolis image of Heracles from the period is a
small, badly damaged gure from ca. B.C. (Acrop. ; Payne and Young , pl. ;
Brouskari , ). Its context and function are unknown.
. See, e.g., Shapiro , .
. For ofcial memory, see pp. , n. . The phenomenon is discussed further in chapters and .
chapter
. Jones , vii.
. Civil society in Athens and Attica: Connor . There is still some uncertainty
about the nature and functions of gene and orgeones. The former term is used by the ancients to refer both to sacerdotal families (e.g., the Eumolpidai, who served Demeter and
Kore at Eleusis) and to traditional cult organizations whose members claimed descent from
a common ancestor. The orgeones seem to have been hereditary associations that grew up
around hero cults. Bourriot () documents the evidence for many known gene. For a useful summary of what is known of the gene and the various local and private religious associations in Attica, see Parker , . For a fuller treatment of the subject, including discussion of the more public demes and phylai, see Jones .
. In his work on the associations of Athens, Joness own solution to the problem of
denition is to resist the use of absolute categories altogether. He prefers to position each
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group on a series of scales, between the extremes of, for example, public and private or
voluntary and nonvoluntary.
. The classic work on Greek phylai is Roussel , which has largely shaped the current orthodoxy. The most systematic recent work on the character and organization of the
Cleisthenic phylai can be found in a series of detailed and insightful studies by Jones (;
; , ). Jones (, ) willingly concedes that these internally organized segments of the state could and did function simultaneously as more or less self-contained
and autonomous associations. But he suggests () that they only came to do so during the course of the classical period, as the need arose among the far-ung citizen body for
instruments that might represent their interests on the central stage in Athens. In general,
he seems unduly reluctant to consider the possibility that the phylai might have been consciously intended, from the time of their creation, to function like autonomous associations and even to serve as instruments of representation.
. For speculation about the nature and role of the Ionian phylai in Athens, see Latte
; Roussel , . Arguments for and against the existence of a Solonian Council of are covered on pp. in chapter above. The question of when the Athenians rst installed a regular mechanism for raising a citizen army is explored in chapter .
. Generally on the phenomenon of eponymous heroes in Greece, see Nilsson ,
; cf. Kron , .
. Signicance of the role played here by Delphi: Kron , ; Kearns ,
, ; Parker , . For other examples of the use of the oracle to sanction political
change, see Kron , . The signicance of the parallel with colonial ventures is explored by Habicht (, ), Lvque and Vidal-Naquet (, ), and Rausch
(, ). The earliest reference to the eponymoi as arkhegetai is found in Ar. fr.
(Geras). For discussion of the implications of the term arkhegetes when applied to the ten
heroes, see Kron , ; Kearns , ; Lvque and Vidal-Naquet , ;
Parker , . A broader survey of the terms semantic range can be found in
Malkin , .
. E.g., [Dem.] .; Cleidemus, FGrH F. For further references from a range
of periods, see Parker , n. .
. Kearns (, ) describes the heroes chosen as suspiciously signicant. Cf.
Nilsson , ; Kron , . Evidence for the heroes prior to the tribal reform is discussed by Rausch (, ). With the exception of Ajax, none of the eponymoi are particularly well attested before , and the four early kings are not referred to as such before
Herodotus (., .). But this does not necessarily reect their local signicance. Relatively few heroes of Panhellenic stature had long-standing associations with Athens, and before , Athenian vase painters rarely took their subjects from local legends. Assuming that
Theseus himself was never considered (see pp. below), it seems that no obviously
outstanding candidates were omitted from the nal list. On three possible unsuccessful candidates (Araphen, Polyxenus, and Cephalus), see Kearns , n. ; Parker , with
n. .
. Obviously, all these various associations with the unication of Attica presuppose
the existence of the Thesean synoecism tradition. The crucial question of when the tradition was actually invented is explored in detail later in this chapter. For discussion of the
links between Theseus and individual eponymoi, see Rausch , .
. On this process of Attisierung, see Rausch , .
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. Evidence for functionaries: Jones , with nn. . Generally on

epimeletai in these and other forms of association, see Oehler . On the epimeletai of the
ten Athenian phylai, see also Traill , ; Jones , . One epimeletes per trittys: Traill , . Annual ofce terms: IG II2 .; ., . Responsibilities: Dem. . (representing phyle interests); IG II2 . (convening tribal assemblies),
. (nancial oversight), . (cult administration).
. Rent from land leases: e.g., IG II2 . (the identity of the tribe is not known).
At some point, the funding for certain activities, such as the training of a chorus for the
dithyrambic contests at the City Dionysia, was supplied through ofcial liturgies. But since
it remains unclear when the liturgical system was introduced, nancial responsibility for
these and other, more quotidian commitments, such as cult offerings and the publication
of tribal documents, was presumably assigned on a more informal, ad hoc basis.
. There was almost certainly a collective cult of the eponymoi in the Agora (see Agora,
I = SEG XXVIII ; Rotroff ; Kearns , ; Jones , ), but it appears
to have been managed by the state rather than by the tribes themselves. The date of the introduction of this cult remains unknown, as does the date of the well-known statue group
with which it must have been associated. The extant base of the monument has been assigned to the early years of the second half of the fourth century (see Shear , ),
while the rst certain reference to it in literature is found in Aristophanes (Pax ). The
possibility that the original monument may have been set up all the way back in the late
sixth or early fth century is considered by Mattusch () and Lvque and Vidal-Naquet
(, ).
. IG II2 . The addition of the Pandion sacrice to the program of the Pandia probably postdated the tribal reform (see Kearns , ; cf. Kron , ). Kearns (,
) believes that the practice may have been more widespread: it seems very likely that all
or most of [the heroes] received a subordinate sacrice at some public rite, at which the tribe
would then be present in strength. Elsewhere (p. n. ), she explores the possibility of
several other instances.
. For evidence for the locations of the shrines, see n. below.
. Since most of these sites were in or near the center of Athens, it seems inherently
likely that the tribes used them as their administrative centers and primary venues for agorai. On occasion, the tribes may have convened away from their shrines. A decree of Hippothontis (IG II2 ) found on the south slope of the Acropolis calls for identical stelai to
be set up in the heros precinct at Eleusis and in the Asklepieion in Athens, the latter being
presumably the document we possess. Given that Hippothoons shrine was located further
from the heart of Athens than any other, his tribes use of a more central alternative site for
meetings would certainly be understandable. However, as Kearns (, ) points out, the
duplication of the decree in question may also be explained by the fact that its honorand
was a priest of Asklepios. Tribal assemblies appear to have been relatively infrequent, meeting perhaps no more than a handful of times a year. At least in later times, the principal
items of business included nancial matters, the selection of ofcers and liturgy holders, and
the voting of honors for benefactors. See especially Jones , .
. Generally on the location of the heroa, see the relevant sections of Kron . Cf.
Kearns , ; Parker , ; Jones , ; Rausch , . Evidence
comes mainly from the nd-spots and contents of tribal decrees. Least disputed are the sites
of the shrines of Erechtheus, Cecrops, and Pandion on the Acropolis, that of Antiochus in
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Kynosarges, the site of the well-known Herakleion (see SEG III ), and that of Hippothoon in the sanctuary at Eleusis (see Hesych., s.v. Hippothoonteion; Phot., s.v. Hippothoonteion; Paus. ..; IG II2 , , , .). The discovery of a lex sacra
of Leontis near the Hephaisteion and of an ephebic decree of Skambonidai (a deme in the
city trittys of Leontis) in the northeast sector of the Agora (IG I3 ; Agora, I ; Kron
, ; Thompson b, ) suggests that the heros shrine was somewhere in the
vicinity of the civic center, possibly within the Leokoreion, a precinct associated with his
daughters. A third-century altar found near the Dipylon Gate and dedicated to, among others, Acamas (IG II2 ; Kron , ) may x the site of that heros shrine in the Kerameikos district, though the discovery of at least one and possibly two decrees of Acamantis in modern Kallithea (ancient Xypete?) points to a different location. References in
Pausanias (..) and Plutarch (Thes. ) could place the shrine of Aegeus either at the western end of the Acropolis or in the Ilissos valley, near the Delphinion (see Kron , ).
The discovery of a decree of Aegeis on the citadel (IG II2 ) would seem to favor the former site. The shrine of Oeneus is particularly elusive. It may have been at Acharnae (an inland deme-trittys of Oeneis), the nd spot of a stele relief (see Kron , ) that possibly depicts the hero as a hoplite. Finally, the earliest certain references to an Aianteion
occur in a pair of second-century ephebic decrees (IG II2 .; Agora, I ) from the
Agora. Since a decree of Aiantis from / (Agora, I ; Ferguson , ) requires the
stele to be set up in the Eurysakeion, a precinct located near the Hephaisteion in the deme
of Melite (see Harpoc., s.v. Eurusakeion; Plut. Sol. .; Poll. Onom. .), it is widely
thought that the tribe initially used the shrine of the heros son as its primary cult site. It remains unclear whether the later Aianteion was located here or elsewhere in the Agora area.
. For general discussion of the issue, see especially Schlaifer , ; Kearns
, ; , ; Parker , . The pertinent decrees can be found in Meritt
and Traill , nos. (Erechtheis); , , , (Cecropis); , (Hippothontis). Amynandrids as priests of Cecrops: IG II2 .. Possible evidence that the priesthood of Acamas may also have remained gentilician after / is considered by Schlaifer
(, ).
. Kearns explains elsewhere (, ): Presumably before / each of the eponymoi had received some cult on the old gentilician pattern. . . . What other cult could they
have had, unless it was completely sporadic and unconnected? This pattern was plainly not
abandoned totally; while it is possible that the priesthoods of some cults were transferred
immediately to the tribes in /, it is perhaps more likely that the changes occurred disparately during the course of the fth century, for which we have no evidence, or even later.
Cf. Schlaifer , .
. See especially Habicht , ; Lvque and Vidal-Naquet , ; Rausch
, .
. [Cleisthenes] allowed the gene, the phratries, and the priesthoods each to continue
in the manner sanctioned by tradition [kata ta patria].
. In fact, in the three known instances where families retained control of the cult of
an eponymos in this fashion, none of the priests concerned would have been members of
the tribes they now served. And perhaps this should not surprise us. Since an individual who
served as the priest of his own tribal eponymos would have acquired an instant inuence for
himself and his family within the new phyle, one suspects that a conscious effort was made
to avoid this situation. If so, the appropriate measures will have been taken either when the
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demes and trittyes were assigned to tribes or when the heroes were assigned to the phylai,
whichever process came later.
. Explicit visual evidence for the recasting of the heroes as erstwhile Athenian statesmen emerges only about a generation later, in ca. , when groups of the eponymoi rst begin to appear on Athenian vases, usually bearded and dressed in the staid, civic garb of
the fth century. For a summary of the iconography of the eponymoi, including discussion
of the vases in question, see Mattusch .
. For other references to the synoecism, see Charax, FGrH F; [Dem.] .;
Diod. ..; Dio Chrys. .; Isoc. .; Paus. .., ; Paus. ..; Philoch., FGrH
F; Plut. Thes. ; Xen. Cyn. .. For discussion of the tradition, see especially Herter ,
; Moggi , .
. The earliest visual evidence for a tradition directly associated with the integrity of
Attica may be a scene on a calyx krater from the late s (Acrop. ; ARV .). It features Pallas, Orneus, Lycus, and Nisus, the four sons of Pandion among whom the region
was at one point divided. Aegeus later replaces Orneus in this scheme, a variant rst alluded
to in a fragment of Sophocles, possibly from his lost Aegeus (TGF F).
. Theseus in early epic: Il. .; Od. ., ; Hes. Aspis ; fr. Merkelbach and West; cf. Plut. Thes. .. The claim that Theseus was born in Troezen must be
early, since it was never apparently challenged, even by the Athenians. Presumably, the tradition that his father was Poseidon also arose in Troezen, and it cannot be assumed that the
alternative version, which assigned paternity to Aegeus, was Athenian in origin. Meanwhile,
the descent to Hades with the Thessalian king Peirithoos apparently featured in the epic
known as the Minyas (Paus. ..) and in a work of Hesiod (Paus. ..). An epic fragment (Hes. fr. Merkelbach and West) in which Theseus explains to the deceased Meleager the rationale for the descent could well come from the latter. The abduction of Helen by the pair, a related event, may already have been known by the time of the Iliad (see
.) and was later featured in works by Alcman and Stesichorus (Paus. .., ..). Since
antiquity, suspicion of interpolation has surrounded Theseuss appearances in early epic.
See, e.g., Davison ; Walker , . On the heros non-Athenian associations, see
especially Herter , . In the rst chapter of his monograph on Theseus, Walker
() insists that he was always seen primarily as an Athenian.
. Ceremonial commemoration of Thesean deeds was a feature of several older festivals, such as the Pyanopsia and Oschophoria, though it was surely not an original part of
the program of these events. Parker (, ) identies a number of festivals that apparently underwent an interpretatio Theseana in later times. From a radically different perspective, Simon () attempts to show that Thesean associations with various Attic festivals were ultimately Mycenean in origin.
. Many sources (see Wycherley , ) refer to the Theseion in Athens without any further qualication, suggesting that there was only one such sanctuary in the city
itself. Koumanoudes () argues that this precinct was distinct from the sacred enclosure
of Theseus (the Theseos sekos referred to at Paus. .., ) that contained the bones, but
the case is not persuasive. A scholiast to Aeschin. . speaks of two Theseia in the city,
though the passage is widely considered corrupt. Theseus was said to have handed over to
Heracles all but four of the plots of land (temene) he possessed, in gratitude for his safe delivery either from Hades or from King Aidoneus of the Molossians (Philoch., FGrH F;
cf. E. HF ). The other three plots/shrines appear to have been located near the Long
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Notes to Page 137
Walls (Andoc. .), in Piraeus (IG II2 ) and at Kolonos Hippios (S. OC ; Paus.
..). For discussion of these sites and possible evidence for further shrines at Lakiadai and
Phaleron, see Kearns , . Pausanias (..) states that the Theseion in Athens was
built by Cimon expressly to house the heros bones. Peisistratus is reported by AP (.) to
have disarmed the Athenians at a muster in the Theseion shortly after the battle at Pallene. However, the detail is incidental, contradicted by another source (see Polyaenus, Strat.
..), and most likely an anachronism based on knowledge of later practice (cf. Thuc.
..).
. The Minotaur episode was far and away the most popular Thesean episode in archaic Greek art. See Steuben , . Small gures with a bulls head and a mans body
appear as cauldron decorations as early as the eighth century B.C. (Paris, Louvre C;
Athens, NM ). From the seventh century, ve gold relief plaques from Corinth (Berlin,
Staatl. Mus. GI ) certainly depict the episode, as does a shield band from Olympia
(Olympia, B ). The descent to Hades gures on another shield band from Olympia,
from ca. (Olympia, B ), while the abduction of Helen was among the multiple
mythological scenes that decorated two later, well-known archaic artifacts, the chest of
Cypselus (Paus. ..) and the throne of Apollo at Amyclae (Paus. ..).
. Shapiro (, ) suggests that Theseus was rst elevated to national hero status in Athens during the Solonian era. But his attempts to identify various Thesean exploits
as mythical reexes of historical events from the period are very speculative, and the apparent absence of such exploits from Attic vase painting before the second quarter of the sixth
century only weakens the case further. Among the earliest images of Theseus in Attic art are
a pair of scenes on the Franois Vase of ca. (Florence, Mus. Arch. ; ABV .), in
which he is seen battling the centaurs and leading what may be the famous crane dance
on Delos.
. For an overview of Athenian innovations in Thesean iconography during the
period, see Neils , . The Marathonian Bull episode may appear as early as ca.
on a black-gure amphora now in Paris (Cab. Md. ; ABV .), while the combat with
the sow enters the repertoire around a decade later (cf. the red-gure cup dated to ca.
from Cerveteri: Rome, Villa Giulia ; ARV .). Scenes of the abduction of Antiope, some of which feature Peirithoos (cf. Pindar fr. Snell and Maehler), enjoyed a relatively brief vogue in Attic vase painting during ca. . One of the earliest images is
on a red-gure cup now attributed to Euphronius (London, BM .. [E]; ARV
.). Another episode, the rescue of Theseuss mother, Aethra, from Troy by his sons, is
rst depicted in ca. on an amphora in London (BM B; LIMC I, s.v. Aithra, no.
). The letters AQE on the shield of one of the two sons seems to indicate a new self-consciousness about the Athenian identity of Theseus and his family among local artists. Likewise, from the s on, the goddess Athena increasingly features in Athenian depictions of
the Minotaur episode, an early example being the scene on a hydria in Leiden (Rijksmus.
PC ; ABV .).
. The fullest case for a Peisistratid promotion of Theseus is made by Herter ().
Cf. Connor , esp. ; Shapiro , ; Tyrrell and Brown , . Peisistratus may have been drawn initially to the Theseus gure by the heros links with Delos,
the site of the crane dance, and may have cultivated an association with him as part of a
larger effort to assert his own (or Athenian) preeminence in Ionian Greece (see Johansen
, ; Herter , ). The tyrant is said to have puried the island of burials (see
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Hdt. ..; Thuc. ..) and organized the Delia festival (see Thuc. ..). Cf. the contemporary popularity of the Delian TriadApollo, Artemis, and Letoin Attic art, well
described by Shapiro (, ).
. So Boardman (, ). Though he excludes certain categories of vessel from the
reckoning, Boardman (, ) calculates that Heracles appears on an astonishing percent of Attic black-gure vases before . In a series of articles, Boardman (see esp. ,
, ) ascribes much of this popularity to Peisistratuss efforts to cultivate a direct
identication (, ) between himself and Heracles. That Peisistratus sought some kind
of general association with the hero seems beyond dispute. But he was not the rst or the
only Athenian leader to do so. Since the Bluebeard temple, where Heracles features prominently in one of the pediments, was most probably not a Peisistratid monument (see pp.
in chapter above), it seems that links with Heracles, much like those with Athena,
were keenly contested by the leading families of the day.
. The debt to Heracles is acknowledged, wittingly or otherwise, in the occasional replacement of the sow by a boar in vase scenes (e.g., on an early red-gure cup in London
[BM E]) and in the memory that the bull wrestled by Theseus came not from Marathon
but from Crete (Apollod. Bibl. ..; Diod. ..; Hyg. Fab. ). A similar confusion surrounds the name of the abducted Amazon queen (see Gantz , ). A rival tradition
dating back at least to the time of Simonides (see Apollod. Epit. .) recalled her name as
Hippolyte not Antiope.
. See chapter for further discussion of the evolution of the Great Panathenaia.
. Theseuss connection with the Athenian royal house was surprisingly precarious.
While there was an obvious appeal in claiming Poseidon as his father, the link to the royal
bloodline had to come through the mortal Aegeus. Aegeuss own insertion into the family
tree as son of Pandion seems to have been a relatively late development (see Kearns ,
). According to Plutarch (Thes. ) and Apollodorus (Bibl. ..), Aegeus was only an
adopted son of Pandion, prompting the later dispute over the throne between Theseus and
the sons of Pallas, another son of Pandion.
. A similar conclusion is reached by Kearns (, ).
. For a list of these vases, see LIMC VII, s.v. Theseus, nos. . Among the earliest are a pair of red-gure cups in Florence (Mus. Arch. ; ARV .) and London
(BM E; ARV .). For detailed treatment of the iconographic development of the cycle, see Neils . A fth new opponent, Periphetes, encountered near Epidaurus, does not
seem to gure on the vases. With the possible exception of the combat with Kerkyon, all of
the other new episodes also appear as individual scenes on vases soon after the rst cycle
vases are produced. A small number of cups dating from the decade before and featuring more than one of the older stories, sometimes in combination with a scene of the
younger Theseus ghting an unidentied adversary, might be seen as anticipations of the
cycle cups proper (see Neils , ). The cycle deeds rst appear in extant literature in
the eighteenth ode of Bacchylides.
. For the statue group and for the dedication featuring the Marathonian Bull, see p.
in chapter . The sculptures of the Athenian treasury are published in Coste-Messelire
. Deeds of Theseus more prominent than those of Heracles: see e.g., Boardman ,
; Calame , . Theseus may also have featured in the Amazonomachy depicted in
the metope series on the east facade. The abduction of Antiope was certainly the subject of
the west pediment of a slightly earlier building, the temple of Apollo Daphnephoros at
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Eretriaat the time, a close ally of the Athenians. According to Pausanias (..), the treasury in Delphi was built from the spoils of the battle of Marathon. But many believe that
the structures art and architecture point to a somewhat earlier date, just before or after
B.C. Recent advocates of this view include Schefold (, ), Bsing (, esp.
), and Rausch (, ).
. For the gures, see Boardman , ; .
. A similar conclusion is reachedwith varying degrees of condenceby, among
others, Schefold (, ), Brommer (, ), Neils (, ), Ostwald (, ),
Kearns (, ), and Calame (, ). For a thorough reexamination of the issue, yielding much the same nal result, see Walker , chap. .
. On the political signicance of the location of the new cycle deeds, see Nilsson ,
; Rausch , . Of course, the cultivation of Theseus during the Peisistratid
period was politically motivated in a broad sense. But with the possible exception of the
crane dance on Delos, his older deeds did not in themselves possess any particular political resonance.
. Despite the antiquity of the Minotaur tradition, the story that Theseus failed to
change the color of his sails upon returning from Crete and that Aegeus thus committed
suicide is not attested before Simonides (fr. PMG). The legend of Theseuss victory over
one or more of the sons of his uncle Pallas, a kind of overture to the synoecism of Attica, is
placed by Plutarch (Thes. ) before the departure for Crete. Most sources, however, put it
after Theseuss succession to the throne, and this is the version found in Euripides Hippolytus (), our earliest allusion to the tale.
. The same qualication applies to Rauschs suggestion (, ) that knowledge
of Theseuss embellished career might have been disseminated initially through early
dithyramb and tragedy and subsequently in the Attika of Pherecydes (see FGrH F).
These media may certainly have helped to draw public attention to the heros new prominence in Athenian history, but it is hard to see them as any kind of ofcial mouthpiece of the
state. The earliest reference to a Theseid is in Aristotles Poetics (a). For a summary of
other ancient references, see Calame , n. . The most vigorous case for the existence of a Theseus epic in the late sixth century has been made by Schefold (). However,
the idea is seriously doubted by most recent observers (see Ostwald , ; Kearns ,
; Rausch , ). For a bibliography of earlier views, see Brommer , n. .
. Mention of the Synoikia in ancient sources is almost invariably accompanied by
reference to the synoecism (see, e.g., Charax, FGrH F; Plut. Thes. .; Thuc.
..). Cf. Parkers very sensible comments (, with n. ) on attempts to interpret
the festival otherwise. Plutarch (Thes. .) tells us that it took place on Hekatombaion
(though he mistakenly calls the festival the Metoikia). According to a surviving portion
of the late-fth-century republication of the Athenian sacred calendar, a biennial sacrice
involving the sacrice of a pair of young bullocks took place on this date and was paid
for apparently out of a fund controlled by the four Ionian phylobasileis. On the preceding day, another ceremony, perhaps a prothuma (preliminary rite) for the Synoikia (see
Ferguson , ), was similarly administered and included the sacrice of a young
ewe. The Ionian tribe G(e)leontes seems to have played a prominent role in both ceremonies, while a trittys of that tribe, the Leukotainioi (men with white headbands), participated in the sacrice on Hekatombaion. But since the text for events on the fol-
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lowing day is incomplete, we cannot be sure that all four of the old tribes were not involved. Neither ceremony is named in the inscription, but because of their date, it is generally assumed that they together constituted a slightly more elaborate version of the annual Synoikia. Text of the inscription: Oliver , , no. , ; Sokolowski , no.
A, . For discussion of the text, see especially Ferguson . Cf. also Parke ,
.
. IG I3 C. Since, as Ferguson (, ) notes, Skambonidai was only an
articial subdivision of the asty and presumably had no corporate existence prior to Cleisthenes reforms, its involvement with the Synoikia must have begun after /.
. Pollux (Onom. .) records four successive name changes supposedly undergone
by the tribes during the reigns of Cecrops, Cranaus, Erichthonius, and Erechtheus. The assignment of two toponyms referring to the coast in the rst phase, along with two referring
to the hinterland in the second, is presumably the product of an error in the transmission
of the tradition. The earliest extant reference to the tradition is made by Apollodorus (FGrH
F), who mentions the original names by which the tribes were known in the time of
Cecrops. A presumption that the Ionian phylai were associated with particular areas of Attica also seems to underlie APs rather clumsy attempt (.) to explain how, if Cleisthenes
had chosen simply to base his new expanded tribal system on the twelve old trittyes, the desired goal of mixing would not have been achieved.
. Of course, the name Leukotainioi does not obviously refer to any particular Attic
township. But the apparent lack of interest in establishing a canonical list of the Dodekapolis
member states suggests that the number twelve was for some reason more important than
the identity of the specic states involved (see Jacoby a, ). The most complete
list is found among the fragments of Philochorus (FGrH F), who reports only eleven
secure names. Other sources that refer to the federation include Charax, FGrH F apud
Steph. Byz., s.v. Athenai; Etymologicum Genuinum, s.v. epakria khora; Etymologicum Magnum, s.v. epakria khora; Marm. Par., FGrH A; Steph. Byz., s.v. epakria; Suda, s.v. epaktria khora. Thucydides (..) seems to have been aware of a tradition of an early Attic
federation, as Jacoby (a, ) points out. He infers that the tradition was recorded by
all Atthidographers from Hellanikos downwards.
. See also Kearns , .
. So Busolt (, ) and Jacoby (a, ). The Athenians would predictably go
on to claim that they themselves had originally exported the dodekapolis idea to Ionia when
they rst colonized the region. See Hellanicus, FGrH a F. Ionian Dodekapolis: Hdt.
., . For discussion of the history of this federation, see Roebuck . Though often believed to date back to the time of the Ionian migration, the earliest secure evidence
for the Dodekapolis refers to collective actions taken in the aftermath of Cyruss invasion
of Lydia in ca. B.C. The altar in the Panionion, where delegates from the twelve states
convened, appears to derive from precisely this time (see Kleiner, Hommel, and MllerWiener , ).
. Some kind of connection between the Ionian trittyes and the Dodekapolis has long
been suspected. More than a century ago, Wilamowitz-Moellendorff (, ) pronounced
the federation an Atthidographic Akt der Forschung, motivated by the need to provide
local origins for the twelve trittyes. See also Busolt and Swoboda , . More recently,
Hommel () suggested that the trittyes might actually have been linear descendants of
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the twelve ancient poleis. None of these authors was aware of the role played by the Leukotainioi at the Synoikia, and none suggested any connection with the festival.
. This last point is developed further in chapter .
chapter
. By the time of the battle of Marathon, the Athenians could eld an army of around
nine thousand to ten thousand men. In , the total number of Spartan homoioi available
for service is reckoned by Herodotus (..) to have been around eight thousand, though
these men were presumably better trained than their Athenian counterparts. We are pitifully ignorant about military organization elsewhere in Greece in the late archaic period.
But it is quite possible that when Cleisthenes originally proposed his reforms, only the Spartans had permanent structures in place for mobilizing a citizen army.
. The primary source for these events is Herodotus (.). According to the historian, Cleomenes motivation for devising the three-pronged assault was ultimately personal: he felt insulted by the treatment he had received from the Athenians when he had attempted to install an oligarchy under Isagoras in /. More realistically, when the Spartans
later contemplated a second allied assault on Attica after the defeat of the Thebans and Chalcidians, Herodotus (..) notes that the growing inuence of Athens moved them to propose the reestablishment of the Peisistratid tyranny. On the annexation of the border territory between Attica and Boeotia, see also pp. in chapter below.
. According to AP (.), the board of ten generals was not established until the archonship of Hermokreon (/). Some scholars (see, e.g., Rhodes , ; , ;
Ostwald , ; Manville , ) have taken this to mean that the new form of military organization as a whole was not introduced until the last year of the sixth century and
hence was not in force when the Athenians defeated the Thebans and Chalcidians. While
tenable, this view seems overcautious. As we shall see, the two commemorations associated
with those victories are laden with the values and priorities of the new order; a fundamental presupposition of both is that the army that fought the battles was representative of the
entire citizen community. In any case, as Bradeen (, ) long ago pointed out, the reform mentioned by AP need only have involved a change in the way the ten generals were
appointed. From / to / it was the responsibility of each tribe to choose their own
general; thereafter, they were appointed as a group by national election.
. Tribal taxeis: e.g., Hdt. ..; Thuc. .., ... On the introduction of the
board of generals, see n. above. The polemarch appears to have had at least a nominal
supreme command of the army down to ca. . Callimachus, who held the ofce at the
time of the battle of Marathon, was given the casting vote when the ten generals were divided over where to confront the invading Persians. The posthumous monument erected in
his honor on the Acropolis presumably assigned him some credit for the victory (see IG I3
; Raubitschek , no. ; Meiggs and Lewis , no. ).
. See especially Bicknell ; , ; Effenterre ; Siewert . Assuming
the number of Athenians at the battle of Marathon to be around nine thousand, Bicknell
(, n. ) infers from references to lokhoi of three hundred men (Hdt. ..; Thuc.
..) that each of the ten tribal taxeis was made up of three lokhoi, one from each constituent trittys. Accepting this idea of the trittys/lokhos, Siewert (, ) goes on to
propose that demes were originally assigned to trittyes in such a way as to ensure that each
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shared a common road to Athens, thus facilitating the mobilization process. But cf. Rhodes
; Ostwald , n. .
. See also French ; Bicknell , ; Manville , . Use of mercenaries by
the Peisistratids: AP ., ., .; Hdt. ., ..
. So argue, for example, Bicknell (, ), Andrewes (, ), and Siewert
(, ). Frost (, ) suggests that the phratry register (phraterikon grammateion)
might have served as a muster roll in the years before , though he concedes that this scenario is purely hypothetical.
. See also Effenterre ; Rausch , .
. Involvement with Sigeion: Hdt. .; cf. A. Eum. . Wars with Aegina
and Eleusis: e.g., Hdt. .; Thuc. ... First Sacred War: Aeschin. .; Marm.
Par., FGrH A; Paus. ..; Plut. Sol. . Robertson () has argued that this
war was entirely mythical. Even if it did take place, it is probable that Alcmeon, the
leader of the Athenian contingent, was in exile at the time (see pp. in chap. above)
and, thus, that the force at his command cannot have been ofcially mustered by the
Athenian state. Salamis conict: e.g., Dem. .; Diog. Laert. .; Paus. ...
Capture of Nisaea: AP .; Hdt. ... Miltiades expedition to the Thracian Chersonese: Hdt. .. According to Herodotus, Miltiades took with him every Athenian who
wanted to take part in the expedition [Athenaio n panta ton boulomenon metekhein tou
stolou].
. Cylonian conspiracy: Hdt. .; Thuc. ..; Plut. Sol. .. The coup of
/: AP .; Hdt. .; Plut. Sol. .. The rival tradition that the men with clubs numbered some three hundred (schol. Pl. Rep. B; Polyaenus, Strat. ..) was perhaps invented to make the Athenian capitulation seem somewhat less abject. Pallene: Hdt. .;
cf. AP ., .. Herodotus describes the Athenians as coming out from the city with their
whole army [panstratiei]. But as Frost (, ) points out, the term used may be nontechnical, equivalent simply to the term meaning en masse [pandemei] used by Thucydides (..) in his account of Cylons coup. For speculation about military organization
under the Peisistratids, see p. and n. above. Lavelle (, ) argues persuasively that Athenians may have served as bodyguards (doruphoroi) during the tyranny. But
it does not necessarily follow that they also served the tyrants as regular soldiers. We have
detailed reports of the forces used by the Peisistratids in two engagements, the battle of Pallene and the resistance to Cleomenes in /. In both cases, there is clearly a heavy reliance
on non-Athenians, whether mercenaries or allies from other states. The wars referred to
by Thucydides (..) remain largely a mystery.
. There remains the somewhat complicated case of the defeat of Thebes by hoi
Athenaioi (Hdt. .) that led to the storied alliance with Plataea. Thucydides (..)
claim that the Spartan capture of Plataea in came in the ninety-third year after the alliance would put the battle with Thebes back in B.C. However, scholars have long sought
to lower this date to the last decade of the sixth century. There is no mention of the Peisistratids in Herodotuss account of the events that led to the alliance, and the Athenian actions look to be more characteristic of the policies pursued in the years immediately following the fall of the tyranny. Shrimpton () may therefore be right to assign the battle
to ca. (when the Athenians are known to have fought the Thebans on more than one
occasion) and the alliance to B.C.emending in the ninety-third year to in the ftythird year (i.e., ejnenhkostw`/ to penthkostw`/) in the text of Thucydides.
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. So maintains Rhodes (, ), against Hammond (, ), who argues for

annually elected ofcials.
. The epitaph is found only in this source (Anth. Pal. .), where it is attributed to
Simonides (fr. Diehl). Cf. Peek , no. ; Page , ; Clairmont , , no.
; Rausch , .
. It is still unclear exactly when this repatriation became the norm. Pausanias (..)
speaks of a grave in the Demosion Sema for those who fell in a conict with Aegina before
the campaign of the Mede [prin e strateusai ton Medon]. But Athenian casualties at the
battles of Marathon (see Thuc. .), Salamis (see Clairmont , n. a), and Plataea
(Hdt. .; Paus. ..) were certainly buried in situ, as perhaps were those at Artemisium,
Mycale, and Sestos (see Clairmont , ), suggesting that the practice of repatriation did
not become standardized until after . If the word protoi (rst) at Paus. .. has a temporal, rather than a spatial, sense, it may imply that those who fell at Drabescus (ca. )
were the rst casualties to be treated in this fashion (see, e.g., Jacoby ). Noting that Pausanias also saw a memorial for the war dead of Eurymedon (early s?), Clairmont (,
, ) argues that repatriation began in the late s or the early years of Kimons
rule. Stupperich (, esp. ) believes that state burials in Athens were a Cleisthenic innovation. For the restoration from newly discovered fragments of a commemorative monument for the Marathonomakhai that once stood in the Demosion Sema, see Rausch ,
.
. So, for example, Jacoby (, ), Peek (, no. ), Clairmont (, ),
and Rausch (, ). A number of scholars (see, e.g., Friedlnder , n. ) have
challenged this consensus on the grounds that it violates contemporary conventions by
naming the battleeld without identifying the deceased. But Page (, ) well
demonstrates that the convention was not rigidly followed. Against Pages view (, )
that the epitaph memorialized the Chalcidians who fell in the battle, see Clairmont ,
.
. Both Solon, who was not a casualty of war (see Ael. VH .; Plut. Sol. ), and Tellus, who fell in an ancient battle with Eleusis (see Hdt. .), supposedly received public
burials. But there is no evidence for any earlier mass war graves set up by the state. Even if
there is some truth to the Tellus tradition, it need be no more than the exception that proves
the rule (see Clairmont , ). Those who believe the Euripus polyandrion to be the rst
public mass war grave set up by the Athenians include Jacoby (, ) and Clairmont
(, ). A number of archaic Attic funerary epigrams for individual warriors are known,
all of them apparently from private contexts (see, e.g., Peek , nos. , , ).
. Stupperich , .
. See also Jacoby , n. , on the signicance of this word and its association with the new regime. He notes: the battle was the rst military feat of the new democratic army and the poetical epitaph was a new device which is stressed purposefully by
dhmosivai.
. Page (, ) believes damao here refers to the defeat of the tombs occupants.
But as he himself concedes, this reading would make the Euripus epigram unique among
all known public military epitaphs.
. Forms of kheo in the Iliad most commonly refer to the spreading of mist, cloud,
darkness, or re (e.g., .; .; ., ; .). It is also used to suggest the vastness
of the snow drifts sent by Zeus (.) and of the pile of dead sheep killed by a lion (.).
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At Od. ., as in the Euripus epigram, it describes the piling up of a grave mound, in

this case for the unfortunate Elpenor.
. As Page (, ) points out, the image of a cloud of war recalls the akheos nephele
(cloud of sorrow) that overcomes both Hector after the death of Podes (Il. .) and
Achilles after the death of Patroclus (.). At Il. .ff., Athena is sent by Zeus to rouse
the Greeks to battle draped in a mantle of cloud that is expressly compared by the poet to
the rainbows dispatched by her father as a portent of war. At Il. ., ., and .,
forms of the adjective trekhus characterize the huge rocks thrown by opponents at
Diomedes, Hector, and Athena. The only other occurrences of the word in the Iliad also
connote rockiness, referring to the rugged topography of the towns Aigilips (.) and
Olizon (.).
. The rst inscribed Attic grave stelai date from ca. B.C., a very early example being SEG X (see Guarducci in Richter , , g. ). For a summary of the evolution of the grave stele in Attica, see Richter , .
. Text: Friedlnder , no. ; Jeffery , no. . The corresponding kore statue,
mentioned on p. in chapter above, is generally dated to around the midsixth century.
For other examples of sepulchral inscriptions in which the dead speak, see Friedlnder
, nos. , , .
. SEG X ; Friedlnder , no. ; Peek , no. ; Richter , no. , g.
; Jeffery , no. . For other examples of epitaphs for dead warriors from sixth-century Attica, see Friedlnder , nos. , , .
. Expressions of this kind would remain a staple of Athenian military epitaphs in the
decades to come, as in the rst line of the Eurymedon memorial, where the deceased are
said to have lost their splendid youth [aglaon o lesan he ben] (Peek , no. ; Clairmont
, , no. c).
. The ideal receives its most well-known articulation in the funeral oration assigned
to Pericles by Thucydides (esp. .). As Rusten notes (, ), the fallen
are presented there as having made a complex, dignied and rational decision to offer their
lives. On this passage in the context of the funeral oration genre as a whole, see Loraux
, . The more general theme of dying for ones country can be found as early as
the poetry of Tyrtaeus (e.g., fr. West), though in this case, self-sacrice seems to be represented less as a cause for celebration than as a means of avoiding shameful public reproach.
. In Homer (Il. ., ; cf. Od. .), burial by tomb and by stele [tumbo i te

stelei te] is described as the deads desert [geras thanonto n]. Tomb of Ilos: Il. .; .,
; .. On earlier elite tumuli in Attica, see Kbler ; Morris , , .
. See also Whitley .
. One of the most distinctive features of these arrangements was the casualty list,
which recorded the occupants of Athenian war graves by tribe. The earliest known example
of such a list was set up on the island of Lemnos and dates from the rst few years of the
fth century (IG XII Suppl. no. ; Hdt. .; Clairmont , , no. ; Rausch
, ), raising the possibility that a similar document may have been part of the Euripus memorial. Similar lists adorned the soros at Marathon (see Paus. ..), suggesting that
the practice was standardized by the end of the s at the latest.
. Format of the state funeral: Thuc. .. The associated program of athletic contests,
the epitaphios agon, is discussed by Clairmont (, ), who believes that it was probably part of the funeral ceremony from the very beginning.
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. Troubling persistence of an aristocratic ethos: especially Loraux , ,

, . Democratic appropriation of aristocratic values: e.g., Seager ; Ober
, ; Connor , .
. This conclusion is generally borne out by Stupperichs paper on the iconography of Athenian war graves in the classical period. Though working from rather slim evidence, Stupperich concludes: Those fallen in war, although not called heroes, were treated
like heroes. One of the ways this was accomplished was the creation and adornment of state
burial. The iconography for these burials was taken, at least partly, from that used by the archaic nobility (). He goes on to raise the interesting question of whether an alternative,
more intrinsically democratic imagery would have been conceivable at this time. He believes it would not, and this is surely true in the reductive sense that no innovation in any
eld of endeavor can ever be entirely original. At the same time, there can be no question
that the values that sustained and were sustained by Athenian mortuary arrangements for
fallen citizen soldiers required some considerable modication of earlier practices; to this extent, they were new. Given that the premises behind classical Athenian practices were shaped
in the last decade of the sixth century, a time when links with the distant past were actively
sought and cultivated in many areas of public life, it would probably be a mistake to underestimate the degree of conscious choice involved in the design of appropriate mortuary forms.
. Unlike the Euripus epitaph, the original inscription on the Acropolis monument
has survived, albeit in fragmentary form: see IG I3 ; Friedlnder , no. ;
Raubitschek , no. ; Meiggs and Lewis , no. A; Clairmont , , no. A.
For discussion of the crux at ajcnuoventi in the rst line, which is known only through the
literary tradition, see Page , . The replacement inscription, though similarly fragmentary, has also survived (see Raubitschek , no. ; Meiggs and Lewis , no. B)
and is cited in several ancient sources (e.g., Anth. Pal. .; Diod. .; Hdt. .). For
some reason, it reverses the order of the two hexameters. The later monument, perhaps like
the original, occupied a site on the left-hand side as you enter the propylaia (Hdt. .).
Its letter forms suggest that it was put up in the middle years of fth century, perhaps in the
mid-s, after the recent success over the Thebans at Oenophyta (see Raubitschek ,
), or in the s, as part of the general program of reconstruction on the Acropolis.
The fetters referred to in the epigram were hung on a nearby wall and were still apparently
visible in Herodotuss day, despite some re damage.
. To convey a sense of the vast scale of the Greek army at Troy, a simile at Il. .
compares the constituent contingents to ethnea (swarms) of bees. See also, e.g., Il. .,
, ; ..
. See, e.g., Snodgrass , ; Greenhalgh , . Webster (, )
doubts whether the use of chariots in Late Geometric Greece extended beyond racing. Anderson () draws on British and Cyrenaic evidence to argue that Homeric descriptions
of chariot warfare may reect eighth-century realities. But cf. Greenhalgh , .
. For an overview of the range of this engagement, see the essays in Hgg . For a
general discussion of the use of the past during the period, see Whitley . Reuse of
Mycenean tombs: Coldstream ; Whitley ; Antonaccio . Imitation or adaptation of Bronze Age structures at Thermon, Koukounaries, Keos, Tiryns, and Argos: Hurwit
, . Attempts at Argos and Eretria to reproduce Cyclopean masonry: Wright ;
Themelis , ; Antonaccio . Myceneanizing bronze panoply of the late eighth
century from Argos: Courbin , esp. .
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. Evidence from Linear B tablets suggests that the palace at Knossos had an extensive
eet of chariots at its disposal under the Myceneans, though the terrain in Crete and Greece
would surely have limited the vehicles utility in any age. Generally on the use of chariots
in the Bronze Age, see Littauer ; Crouwel . On art and artifacts associated with chariots in Geometric and archaic Greece, see Hill . Homeric misunderstandings of the nature of chariot warfare: Greenhalgh , . In the Iliad, the chariot is generally seen as
little more than a grandiose form of horse, allowing the hero to arrive in style at the battleeld before the real combat takes place on foot.
. Sinos (, ) discusses the divine-heroic resonance of the chariot and chariot procession in archaic Attic art as background to her analysis of the Phye ceremony. As
she notes, in art as in ceremony, the chariot procession effects a dissolution of the normal
boundaries that distinguish mortals from gods and heroes ().
. On the two monuments as a true precedent for fth-century commemorations,
see Jacoby , . To single out just one example, we might note the set of three herms
erected in the Agora to mark Cimons victory over the sons of the Medes [Me do n paides]
at Eion in ca. B.C. (see Jacoby , ; Clairmont , , no. A), where
the action is explicitly compared to the efforts of Menestheus and his Athenian force at Troy.
chapter
. The remark was politically motivated. Demosthenes opponent Eubulus controlled
the theorika, a fund of public money that was originally designated to help poorer citizens
attend major festivals, such as the Dionysia, but that latterly had come to be used to underwrite a wide range of public works. Demosthenes wanted to end the practice of assigning public surpluses to this fund instead of leaving them available to nance military ventures like the war over Amphipolis.
. Alternatively, the Panathenaia may originally have been the festival of Panathena
(see Davison , with n. ). There is, however, no evidence that Athena was ever styled
thus. The names of Greek festivals (e.g., ta Panathenaia) are typically plural in form, but it
sounds more natural in English to speak of them in the singular, and I follow this practice
throughout. Unless otherwise noted, I use the term Panathenaia as did the ancients (see
Davison , ), to refer to the penteteric celebration, not to its smaller, annual counterpart. The bibliography for the festival is extensive. The more signicant works include
Mommsen (), Deubner (), Ziehen , Davison , Parke
(), Simon (), and Neils c and b.
. The most valuable single item of evidence we have for the many athletic contests
staged at the Panathenaia is an extensive, if incomplete, list of prizes awarded to victors, dating from ca. (IG II2 ; Neils a, , g. ). The best source for the participants in
the procession remains what survives of the Parthenon frieze. See especially Brommer
and, for illustrations, Robertson and Frantz . Even if the rendering of the event on the
frieze is decidedly oblique or allusive, those scholars who have argued that the subject is
something other than the Panathenaic procession (see, e.g., Connelly ) still fail to persuade. Cf. the analyses by Kardara (), Kroll (), Castriota (, ), Osborne
(b), Harrison (), Neils (a), and Maurizio ().
. For the date, see Procl. In Ti. B; schol. Pl. Rep. A. Neilss reconstruction (a,
) of the daily order of events at the festival is plausible. She believes it to have begun
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with the musical and rhapsodic contests on Hekatombaion, ending a week later on
Hekatombaion with the award ceremonies and the feasting.
. Parker (, ) calls the Panathenaic procession the supreme example in the
Greek world of civic pageantry, of a society on display before itself and the rest of Greece.
But the procession did not represent Athenian society in any straightforward fashion. See
the stimulating discussion by Maurizio ().
. Maurizio () would downplay the political character of the procession, primarily because the processants as a group were not a representative sample of the citizen body:
the elite are overrepresented; the thetes feature little, if at all; and many in the pompe were
technically outsiders (women, metics, allies, and perhaps slaves). This understanding of
the political seems to be too literal and narrowly constitutional. I also do not see any strong
support for her claim that the vision of Athenian society on display in the procession challenged, in a meaningful way, the prevailing democratic order. There was nothing politically problematic about the inclusion of the outsiders. One of the processions conceits
was surely that all these various groups willingly embraced the roles assigned to them by a
society that regarded them as less than full members. Likewise, in the imaginary Athens
of the Panathenaia and the funeral orations, so well described by Loraux (), all male citizens were part of a collective elite, regardless of their economic and social position. Even if
genuine inequalities of wealth and status were underscored by the procession, the aunting
of privilege did not necessarily threaten the notion of the collective rule of the demos, as
long as the privileged were seen to serve the common interest.
. In the surviving prize inscription (see n. ), all events reserved for Athenians are
grouped under the heading [contests] for warriors [polemiste riois].
. The foundation legend is discussed in some detail on pp. later in this chapter. For speculation on the character of the Panathenaia before the s, see Davison ,
; Brelich , ; Robertson ; , . Simon () believes that the
festival originated in the Bronze Age. Athena and the Acropolis in the Homeric epics: Il.
.; Od. .. A survey of the Acropolis material record from the later Bronze Age
to the early fth century can be found in chapter above.
. See pp. , .
. In later times, the peplos ceremony was part of both the annual and the penteteric
versions of the Panathenaia. An oversized facsimile of the peplos was used as a sail on the
ceremonial ship that was added to the procession of the Great Panathenaia at some point
during the fth century, perhaps soon after the Persian Wars. For discussion, see Barber ,
which draws on the work of Manseld (). Panathenaia as a commemoration of Athenas
role in the Gigantomachy: schol. Ael. Arist. .. (. Dindorf ); Vian , ,
; Pinney . On the rst appearance of Gigantomachy scenes on Attic vases and the
likely association with the peplos ceremony, see Shapiro , . More generally, on the
sudden popularity of the striding Athena image, see Shapiro , ; Shapiro believes
that a further stimulus here may have been the installation on the Acropolis of a predecessor of Phidiass later Athena Promakhos statue. Among the very earliest prize vases is the
Burgon amphora of ca. (London, BM ; ABV .; Shapiro , pl. a).
. For general discussion of the transformation of the Panathenaia in the s, see, e.g.,
Davison , ; Kyle , ; Shapiro , , ; Neils a, . A series of three mid-sixth-century inscriptions from the Acropolis (Raubitschek , nos.
) appear to commemorate early performances of the Great Panathenaia. Though
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none mentions the name of the festival, each one records that sacred ofcials [hieropoioi]
made [epoiesan] a dromos (racetrack?) for Athena. Two of the inscriptions (nos. )
go on to state that the same ofcials dedicated an agon (games) to the goddess, and one of
these (no. ) notes that the ofcials in question were the rst [pro toi] to do this. In
Jeromes Latin version of Eusebiuss Chronikon, the entry for the year / (= Ol. .
[ab Helm]) records simply that athletic games, known as the Panathenaia, were held
[agon gymnicus, quem Panathenaeon vocant, actus]. Also assigning this or a similar development to the midsixth century are Marcellinus (Vit. Thuc. , a rather corrupt passage that
apparently cites Pherecydes), who claims that the Panathenaia was founded [etethe] in the
archonship of Hippocleides (cf. Hdt. .), and a scholium to the Panathenaicus of
Aelius Aristides (.. [. Dindorf ]), which credits Peisistratus with instituting the
Great Panathenaia [ta de megala [sc. Panathenaia] Peisistratos epoiesen].
. Scenes on the prize amphorae are the most reliable guide to the contents of the
Panathenaic program in the archaic and early classical periods. Even if the images on these
vases did not necessarily represent the events for which they were awarded, artists as a rule
restricted themselves to painting only those contests for which amphorae were awarded
at the Panathenaia. Hamilton () notes only ve possible exceptions to this rule,
none of them straightforward. Pseudo-Panathenaics betray their noncanonical status in
a number of ways, of which two may be said to be most denitive: they are often distinctly
smaller than the genuine article (usually under fty centimeters high, while prize vases
are almost all over sixty centimeters), and they lack the ofcial inscription ton Athenethen
athlon ([one] of the prizes from Athens). See Shapiro , ; Hamilton .
The Burgon amphora depicts a two-horse racing chariot (sunoris), while an early pseudoPanathenaic in London (BM B; ABV .; Shapiro , pl. a) shows a horse race.
The footrace is shown on a prize vase of similar date in Halle (Inv. ; ABV ; DABF,
pl. .). For mid-sixth-century depictions of other contests, including boxing and
wrestling, on Siana Cups, see Brijder . Brijder () emphasizes the enormous
interest of the C Painter and his colleague the Taras Painter in athletic subjects during the
years ca. , an interest Brijder is tempted to relate to contemporary Panathenaic
developments.
. Plutarch (Per. .) seems to imply that musical contests were an innovation of the
Periclean era. But Shapiro () argues persuasively that they were introduced at or near the
time the Great Panathenaia was founded. Cf. Davison , . Early illustrations of musical contests are found on a number of vases from the s. Aulode: New York, MM
..; Neils c, , cat. no. . Aulete: Austin, .; Neils c, , cat. .
Kitharode (?): San Antonio, ..; Neils c, , cat. . Kitharist: London, BM B;
Shapiro , , g. .
. In the pseudo-Platonic dialogue that bears his name (b; cf. Lyc. .), Hipparchus is credited with laying down the regulations for the performance of the Homeric
poems at the Panathenaia. The pertinent literary and ceramic evidence is discussed by
Shapiro (, ; ). An early scene of rhapsodic competition can be found on a
pseudo-Panathenaic from the s that is in Liverpool (..; Shapiro , , gs.
ab).
. Cf. schol. Ael. Arist. .. (. Dindorf ), where the Lesser Panathenaia, apparently founded in the time of Erichthonius, is said to be the older [arkhaiotera] form of
the festival.
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. Jacoby (b, ) is characteristically forthright on the reliability of the Aelius

Aristides scholium, dismissing it as a pure autoschediasm that is of no value for the history of the Panathenaia. For more detailed discussion of the political situation in Athens
in ca. , see pp. in chapter above.
. As Morgan () has argued, the formalized framework of pan-Hellenic cult activity emerged only in the early sixth centurythe result, Morgan suggests, of efforts by
states to regulate the actions of aristocrats at the major sanctuaries. For the inuence of the
younger Panhellenic games on the format of the Great Panathenaia, see also Davison ,
. The date of the rst Olympic Games continues to be a subject of some debate. Mallwitz
(), a recent director at Olympia, believed that the festival was established in ca. B.C.
However, it would probably be anachronistic to suppose that it would have yet possessed
either the Panhellenic reach or the highly structured program of athletic contests that we
see in later times. Ritual garment offerings may be Mycenean in origin. See Barber ,
. Ceremonies known to have featured such offerings include those at festivals for Hera
at Argos and Apollo at Amyclae. See Barber , , citing Manseld , . Pausanias
(..) reports a tradition that would date the foundation of the Heraia to the earlier s
(the forty-eighth Olympiad). As Golden (, ) notes, that Khloris, a Theban, was
a victor at the rst Heraia (see Paus. ..) suggests that the festival was Panhellenic from
the start.
. Even in its early days, the Great Panathenaia seems to have succeeded in attracting
non-Athenian contestants from the Greek mainland and beyond. See, e.g., Neils b,
; Golden , . By the fourth century, non-Athenians appear to have won most
of the open events. See IG II2 ; Tracy , ; Tracy and Habicht , . Kyle
() believes the introduction of valuable awards consciously recalled the tradition of prize
giving at aristocratic funeral games, as seen, for example, in Iliad . But, as he adds, where
the prizes at the funeral games of Patroclus were simply recycled prestige items, the Athenians took the novel step of creating self-declaratory prizes of material and symbolic value.
. The history of the name of the festival is considered in some detail on pp.
later in this chapter. The only possible evidence for a military presence at this time comes
in a scene on a band cup from the s, which is now in a private collection in London
(Simon , pll. ., .). Here, a sacricial procession is seen moving toward an altar,
where a priestess anked by a statue of Athena awaits. The processants include offering
bearers of various kinds, musicians, a horseman, and a small group of hoplites. The procession may be thought to take place on the Acropolis, and the offerings appear to be for
Athena. But there are no unambiguous markers of the Panathenaia, such as the peplos, and
the statue is not the xoanon of Athena Polias but an armed Promakhos type. If this is the
Panathenaic pompe and not some generic or composite procession, why did the artist not
make the identication more explicit? Those who favor an association with the Panathenaia
include Straten (, ) and Maurizio (, ). Shapiro appears to do the same
at one point (, ) but seems less certain later (, ). Simon (, ) resists
any such identication, describing the scene simply as an amusing procession in honor of
Athena.
. The two accounts are discussed by, among others, Mommsen (, n. ,
); Day and Chambers (, ); Gomme, Andrewes, and Dover (, );
Rhodes (, ); and Robertson (, ). Thucydides (.) claim about the anomalous character of the Marathon burial shows that he was quite capable of erring on rela-
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tively recent matters, even when a modest level of research might have helped him avoid the
mistake. Assembly decree as evidence for the claim in AP .: Mommsen , n. .
Cf. Thuc. .., where the reference to the extension made to the Altar of the Twelve Gods
by the demos of the Athenians was also based presumably on an inscription commemorating the initiative.
. On the placement of the Gigantomachy in the west pediment, see Childs , ;
Childs draws on Lapaluss principle (, ) whereby, if the two schemes are combined, a hieratic scheme is generally used in the east pediment and a narrative scheme in
the west.
. For a photograph (with English translation) of the inscription, see Neils a, .
Johnston (, ) restores the entry for the apobates prizes between those for the horse
race and the race in armor in the section that deals with the open events. The anthippasia
is rst attested on a fourth-century relief base signed by Bryaxis (Athens, NM ; Tzachou-Alexandri , , no. ). It probably was not introduced until after the formal establishment of the Athenian cavalry in the later fth century (see Bugh , ).
For discussion of the event, see Reed , .
. Pelike by the Theseus Painter: San Antonio, ..; Para. ; Neils c, ,
cat. no. . Skyphos from Thasos: Poursat . Poursat offers a helpful survey of the artistic evidence for the pyrrhic dance.
. On the euandria, see Crowther a; Reed ; , ; Kyle , ;
Boegehold , . The association with shield juggling arises from a reference in AP
(.; cf. IG II2 .) to the award of shields to victors in the event and from scenes on
a pair of vases that have been thought to depict the euandria: a mid-sixth-century amphora
of Panathenaic shape in Paris (Cab. Md. ; Neils , , g. ) and a prize vase from
the early fth century that was formerly in the collection of Nelson Bunker Hunt (Neils
c, , cat. no. ). While it is hard to know what to make of the former scene, which
shows a man with two shields jumping onto a horses back, the latter almost certainly shows
preparations for a different event, the hoplitodromos, or race in armor (see Neils ,
). There is no evidence that prize vases were awarded to victors in the team events,
and given that teams were competing for the honor of their tribes and did not need extra
incentives to participate, it is hard to believe that such vases ever were awarded. A very different interpretation of the euandria has recently been proposed by Boegehold (,
), who tries to equate it with the Panathenaic choral contest alluded to by Lysias
(., ). In support, he would emend the obscure protophorein in Athen. . to read
protokhorein, thus making dancing in the front rank one of the principal requirements of
the euandria. He also suggests that the group of seven draped gures seen in one-half of the
relief on the so-called Atarbos Base (Acrop. ; Boegehold , , g. .) may be a victorious team of competitors in the event. The other half appears to show a winning team in
the pyrrhic dance, also sponsored by Atarbos.
. See Neils , , gs. . For a fuller list of these vases, see Webster ,
. Good examples include a red-gure kylix by Douris (Dresden, lost since ; ARV
.; Neils , , g. ), on which the youth wears the distinctive cap, and a red-gure
amphora by the same artist, in St. Petersburg (Herm. ; ARV .; Yalouris , ,
g. ), on which the kalos inscription adorns a ribbon attached to a similar cap. Neils suggests that this curious headgear may have been peculiar to the euandria. The amphora of
Panathenaic shape is in Boston (Museum of Fine Arts .; ARV .; Neils , g.
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). In support of Neils interpretation, it is tempting to revive Valoiss suggested emendation of Athenaeuss protophorein, to ptorthophorein, meaning to carry branches.
. See Neils , . The only specialist studies of Greek boat racing I am aware
of are by Gardner (a, b). The Panathenaic event is discussed by Kyle (, ). In
later times, small rowing boats, not triremes, were used (see Gardiner , ). The seven
items of evidence adduced by Neils are listed in Webster , . A representative example of the aphlaston motif can be seen on a red-gure lekythos by the Brygos Painter, in New
York (MM ..; ARV .; Neils , , g. ). For the comparison with scenes
commemorating musical victories, see the bibliography in Neils , n. . As Neils
notes, the presence of a Nike gure with an aphlaston on the columns of a prize vase from
/ B.C. (Oxford, Ashmol. Mus. ) seems to conrm the association between the motif
and the festival. Cf. Eschbach , , pl. ..
. For bibliography on torch racing in the Greek world, see Crowther b, .
Athenian torch races: Deubner , ; Herbert ; Parke , , , , ;
Simon , , ; Kyle , . Representations in art: Webster ,
. The bell krater referred to is in Cambridge, Massachusetts (Harvard .;
ARV .; Neils c, , cat. no. ). It shows the runners arriving at an altar anked
by the sacred olive. The festive context of the event is conrmed by a hydria, the prize for
the Panathenaic race (see IG II .), which stands nearby.
. The earliest literary allusion to torch racing comes in Aeschyluss Agamemnon
(). Webster (, ) suggests that the same authors Prometheus Pyrphoros, also
from the early s, may have been written to commemorate the rst torch race at the
Prometheia. The lampadedromia at the Hephaisteia is unattested before /, the date of
an inscription (IG I ) that records regulations for the staging of the race. In Aristophanes
Frogs (ff.), Dionysus and Aeschylus comment on the declining standards in Athenian
torch racing, especially in the Panathenaic race, which indicates that the event was already
seen as a time-honored xture of the festival by the late fth century. Some have contended
that the lampadedromia at the Panathenaia may have been a Peisistratid innovation (see
Parke , ; Robertson , ). But cf. Davison , n. .
. However, prizes awarded to the winners in these individual contests in ca. were
generally less valuable than those given to victors in the more traditional Olympic-style
events. For example, amphorae were awarded for rst place in the open two-horse chariot race, while only were awarded to the winner of the equivalent race for warriors, the
same number as that given to the boys who won the open contests in boxing, wrestling, and
the pentathlon.
. The merits of throwing javelins from horseback as military training are recommended in several sources: e.g., Pl. Meno d; Xen. Hipparch. ., ., ..
. Cups by the Hippacontist Painter: ARV .; e.g., Bowdoin .; Ure , ,
g. . The rst image of a prize vase is on an amphora in London (BM ..; ABV
.; Kyle , , g. ). Cf. also ABV ., from the late s, and ABV ., from
the mid-s. Cup with hippacontist and athletes: ARV .; Jthner , pl. .
. Evidence for the contest: Kyle , ; , ; Reed ; , ;
Crowther . Although the race is conspicuously absent from the fourth-century prize list,
we know that it was one of the events from which non-Athenians were excluded (see [Dem.]
.). The most informative literary source is a passage in the Erotikos traditionally ascribed
to Demosthenes (.), which is addressed to Epikrates, an experienced apobates. The
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text notes vaguely (.) that the event was held in the greatest [tais megistais] Greek
cities. Harpocration (s.v. apobates) maintains that it was conned to Athens and Boeotia.
Evidence for contests held further aeld: Crowther , n. . Foundation myth with
apobates: [Eratosth.] Cat. . Cf. Marm. Par., FGrH A, where Erichthonius is credited with inventing the chariot, and Hyg. Poet. astr. ., where he is remembered as a participant in the Panathenaic chariot race. The various traditions about the foundation of the
Panathenaia are examined on pp. below. One indication of the symbolic importance
of the race in the festival is the prominence of apobatai in the Parthenon frieze (slab nos. N.
, S. ). I take the frieze to be a timeless, heroizing rendering of the mid-fth-century Panathenaic procession.
. Cf. the comments of Beazley in Richter , . Scenes of departing warriors
armed men mounting a chariot before being driven apparently to battleare relatively common on Attic vases of the second half of the sixth century (see Wrede ; Richter ,
), and a similar tableau occurs on a well-known grave stele in New York (MM ..;
Richter , , gs. ). But these images should not be taken as evidence for the
apobates contest. See Reed , .
. The earliest known images of apobatai in red-gure art are on a pair of early classical
column kraters by the Naples Painter (ARV .). The rst prize vase to show the event
is an amphora in Malibu (.AE.; Kyle , g. ), which dates from /. Diosphos
Painter lekythoi: ABL .. Haimon Group lekythoi: ABV .. Beazley describes
these generic scenes in the following terms: Chariot at the gallop, driven by a charioteer in a
long robe; a hoplite has alighted and runs beside the chariot. There is usually a goal, so the
apobates race, although the hoplite is sometimes given a spear. Examples include lekythoi in
Paris (Cab. Md. ; ABV .), Cambridge (GR. []; ABV .; see g. ),
and Brussels (A; ABV .). Haimon Group lekythoi with Athena: ABV ..
. General characteristics of late black-gure lekythoi and their market are discussed
by Boardman (, ).
. In her recent monograph on Greek war games, Reed () contends that both
contests, along with the euandria, hoplitodromos, and hoplomachia, played a signicant role
in Greek military training in the classical period. A close relationship between armed dancing and warfare is presupposed in several sources (Athen. .f; Dio Chrys. .; Lucian, Salt. ; cf. Borthwick ; , n. ). However, there is no evidence that the
Panathenaic pyrrhic dance served a training function in classical Athens. Given its components (to be discussed shortly), one would think that its value to aspiring hoplites would
have been little more than symbolic. Of Reeds ve war games, only the hoplomachia,
which simulated hand-to-hand armed combat, seems to have been of any practical utility.
Even this activity was probably not part of any public training regimen at Athens until the
early Hellenistic period. See Wheeler ; Anderson .
. Movements included in the pyrrhic dance are described in Pl. Leg. .a; cf. E.
Andr. . Heroic garb: Pinney , . For a more detailed discussion of the equipment used, see Poursat , . The general style of the pyrrhic dance seems to have
been inspired by the kind of leaping we see at, for example, Il. .. Homeric hupaspidia: Il. ., ; . (cf. Diomedes .. Keil; Tyrtaeus, fr. .; Borthwick
, ).
. Links with the birth of Athena: Lucian, Dial. D. ; cf. Apollod. Bibl. ..; Ap.
Rhod. .; schol. Ar. Nub. ; P. Ol. .; Borthwick , ; , with n. ).
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Links with Gigantomachy: Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. ..; cf. Vian , . According to an
Oxyrhynchus commentary on an Old Comedy (P. Oxy. ), one part of the dance was
known simply as skhema tes Athenas, Athenas look or Athenas gesture, which most
likely alludes to the aversion of her head while slaying the Gorgon, an event sometimes associated with the Gigantomachy (see Borthwick ). Etymology of Pallas: Pl. Crat.
da (cf. Ar. Ach. ; E. Ion ; Lucian, Dial. D. ).
. Achilles as originator: Arist. fr. R. Neoptolemus/Pyrrhus: Borthwick .
Pyrrhikhos: Athen. .e; Strabo .. Athenas sanction: Pl. Leg. .b.
. Thompson (, ), for example, believes that the event had its origins in the
cult of the heroised dead practiced in the Agora area during the eighth and seventh centuries. Burkert (, ) is willing to reach further back. He claims it represents a continuation of the Bronze Age chariot ght and commemorated the moment when King
Erichthonius took possession of the land of Attica (cf. [Eratosth.] Cat. ). More imaginatively, Robertson (, ) suggests that the race developed after , around the transfer of sacred re from the Academy to the Acropolis.
. On the cultural resonance of chariots in postBronze Age Greece and misunderstandings about their use in warfare, see pp. in chapter .
. Two of the eightAndrotion, FGrH F, and Hellanicus, FGrH a Fare
cited by Harpocration (s.v. Panathenaia), while a scholium on Ael. Arist. .. (.
Dindorf ) credits the Lesser Panathenaia to Erichthonius and the penteteric version to Peisistratus. The other sources are Apollod. Bibl. ..; [Eratosth.] Cat. ; Marm. Par., FGrH
A; Philoch., FGrH F; schol. Pl. Parm. a.
. See also Davison , . Even Plutarchs account, which makes no mention
of Erichthonius or an Athenaia, is not necessarily inconsistent with this reconstruction, since
he claims that Theseus created the Panathenaia expressly for the whole population of Attica.
. So argues, for example, Jacoby (a, ), who considers this explanation
obvious.
chapter
. For a full summary and discussion of the contents of the Dionysia, see PickardCambridge (, ). Thucydides (..) speaks of the Anthesteria as the older [ta
arkhaiotera] Dionysia, presumably in contrast to the Lenaia, which was staged in the
same location, and the City Dionysia. In the text of AP, the Lenaia itself is numbered among
the ancestral festivals administered by the archon basileus (.), while the City Dionysia
is characterized as one of the younger festivals organized by the archon eponymos (.;
cf. .).
. Date of foundation: Marm. Par., FGrH A. Among those who accept this testimony and believe it to refer to the establishment of the City Dionysia are Pickard-Cambridge (, , ), Hammond (, ), and Herington (, ). The date of the rst
dithyrambic contests also derives from an entry on the Marmor Parium (FGrH A).
Without specifying a context, the text refers to the establishment of choruses of men
[khoroi andro n] during the archonship of Lysagoras, which would appear to have been in
/ or /. Choregic reorganization: Capps , ; Pickard-Cambridge , . Addition of comedy: Suda, s.v. Khionides; Pickard-Cambridge , .
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. West () is also skeptical about the purported Peisistratid origins of the festival.
Rausch (, ) believes that the Dionysia was founded during the tyranny and substantially reformed after its fall. Likewise, Wilson (, ) is inclined to believe that
the last decade of the sixth century was an epochal moment in the history of the Dionysia,
suggesting that the publicly administered choregic system, the subject of his monograph,
was an innovation of these years.
. The Suda entry for Thespis seems to support this date, putting his rst production
somewhere in the sixty-rst Olympiad (/). For arguments against the reliability of this
entry and those for Choerilus and Phrynichus (assigning their rst productions to the sixtyfourth [/] and sixty-seventh [/] Olympiads, respectively), see West . Even if correct, these dates could refer to productions at rural Dionysia, as Connor (, ) points
out.
. In other sources, where a context for his activities is either stated or implied, Thespis is invariably associated with plays held in the countryside (see Dioscorides, Anth. Pal.
.; Hor. Ars P. ; cf. Etymologicum Magnum, s.v. thumele). Presumably, these memories are not unrelated to a pair of well-known traditions that made his hometown of Ikarion in northeast Attica the venue for the rst tragedy and comedy and the site of the rst
epiphany of Dionysus in the region. See Hyg. Poet. astr. ., citing Eratosth. Erigone; Diog.
Laert. .; Suda, s.v. Thespis. On Ikarion and its associations with drama and Dionysus,
see Pickard-Cambridge , .
. For a useful summary of the history of this part of the text and its transmission, see
Connor , . The disputed phrase dra`m[a ejn a[]stei is a conjecture made by
Boeckh, who apparently never examined the stone rsthand. Earlier accounts of this section report that the only visible letters were NAL . . . STIN. Boeckhs conjecture has, however, been widely and, it seems, uncritically retained, by e.g., Snell TGF (Thespis) T and
Pickard-Cambridge (, ). Further diminishing the likelihood that this testimony refers
to the City Dionysia is the statement that a goat was awarded as a prize, an award otherwise
unattested for the festival (see Connor , with nn. ).
. Another record (IG II2 ) lists tragedians according to the date of their rst victory at the Dionysia. The rst extant entry is for Aeschylus (), and there is space for about
eight earlier winners (see West , ). Fasti entries for tragedy begin ca. /: see
Pickard-Cambridge , , following Capps , . Both Pickard-Cambridge and
Capps infer that this marks the reorganization of the competition on a choregic basis.
. If the Suda entry for Pratinas (describing a contest between Pratinas, Aeschylus, and
Choerilus) can be believed, we have a rm terminus ante quem for tragic competition in the
seventieth Olympiad (/), probably the year . See West , with n. .
. The heading of IG II2 is usually reconstructed as PRW]TON KWMOI HSAN
T[WI DIONUS]WI TRAGWIDOI D[ (for the rst time, komoi were held for Dionysus,
tragedies . . . ), implying that revels at the Dionysia preceded the addition of tragedy.
. Mythical beginnings of the Dionysia: schol. Ar. Ach. ; Paus. ..; Suda, s.v.
melan. Pausanias (..) briey discusses the decision made by the people of Eleutherai to
align themselves with the Athenians for protection against the Thebans, though he gives no
hint of the date of this event. Annexation as a post-Peisistratid development: Shrimpton
, ; Connor , .
. Many have supposed that the khoroi andron (see n. ) established in Athens during
the archonship of Lysagoras (/ or /) were dithyrambic choruses (see Pickard-Cam-
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bridge , ; , ). Connor (, n. ) infers, then, that tribal contests in

dithyrambic performance were inserted into the program of the Dionysia in the earliest years
of the festival. For the possible association of these khoroi with the reforms of Cleisthenes,
see Wilson , .
. Foundations of the earliest temple (?): Travlos , ; Wycherley , . Peisistratid date: Kolb , ; Travlos , . Resemblance to Stoa Basileios: Connor ,
, citing the authority of Shear in support. Dating the sculptural fragment: Connor
, .
. For the relocation of the statue to the Academy sanctuary, see Paus. ... If the return of the statue to the city center was not the so-called introduction from the hearth (see
n. below), it makes much more sense, given the explicit purpose of the festival, to see it
as the pompe proper, the exact route of which is not described in any source. See Connor
, .
. On these rites at the eskhara, see Sourvinou-Inwood , . For the eskhara
itself, see pp. in chapter above. Sacrices and choral singing: Xen. Hipparch. ..
. The Suda (s.v. Pratinas) records that the temporary seating (ta ikria) used in the
Agora for the Dionysia collapsed between / and / B.C. (in the seventieth
Olympiad). This prompted the construction of the rst permanent theater alongside the
temple, on the southeast slope of the Acropolis. Other sources mentioning ikria in the
Agora as the place from where the audience watched dramas before the theater was built
include Hesych., s.v. par ageirou thea, ageirou thea; Phot., s.v. ikria. Very little, if anything, survives of the rst theater, the sole possible traces being a series of six polygonal
limestone blocks that appear to form the arc of a circle. Drpfeld (, , g. ) considered this wall portion to derive from the early fth century and inferred that it was set
up to create a terrace and at circular space for the new orkhestra. This interpretation is
accepted by, for example, Dinsmoor (, esp. ), Hammond (, ), and
Wycherley (, ). For references to the orkhestra area in the Agora, see Wycherley
, .
. The ceremony was known as the introduction from the hearth (eisagoge apo tes eskharas). It is usually thought that the eskhara in question was located in the Academy area
(see, e.g., Pickard-Cambridge , ). More likely, it was the one installed in the Agora in
ca. B.C. (see Kolb , ; Sourvinou-Inwood , ). The eisagoge is referred to
in a series of second-century ephebic inscriptions (e.g., IG II2 , , , ) and presumably took place after the pompe had escorted the statue to the center of the city and after the sacrices and choral dances had been performed in the Agora (see Xen. Hipparch. .).
. Connors reconstruction has been challenged by Sourvinou-Inwood (; see also
Parker , ), who contends that the festival and its tragedy competition predated
the reforms of Cleisthenes (though she seems reluctant to specify a date for the foundation
or the agency responsible). However, her principal objections are not immediately persuasive. She contends that the City Dionysias foundation myths and ritual grammar reveal
it to conform more to the xenismos (ritual welcome) model of festival than to any integration/annexation model. Thus, she would dissociate the festivals origins from any historical connection with Athenian interests in the area of Eleutherai. But surely a festival of this
complexity was not based on any one single model (see Connor , ). Sourvinou-Inwoods other main argument rests on a chain of inferences regarding the shape of early Greek
theaters. She claims that the apparent preference for rectilinear caveae over curvilinear ones
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supports the idea that tragedies were staged in Athens before the appearance of the rst
dithyrambic choruses in the city; hence, the City Dionysia must have already existed when
the khoroi andron were rst introduced in the archonship of Lysagoras. Yet, as Wycherley
(, n. ) observes, evidence for the form of early theaters in Greece is highly problematic. Recent opinion indicates that the rectilinear theater at Thorikos, a key item of evidence in the argument, was originally intended to be a space for worship and/or political
meetings rather than dramatic performances (see Mussche , esp. ).
. Nilsson (, ), among others, would also emphasize the importance of the
annexation in the genesis of the festival. Connor (, ) recognizes the Dionysias function as a festival of integration but lays more stress on its identity as a freedom festival.
On the etymology of Eleuthereus and the likelihood that the place-name Eleutherai was taken
from the gods epithet rather than vice versa, see Raaaub , with n. .
. Sourvinou-Inwood (, ) emphasizes: The focus of the myth is not the introduction of the cult of Dionysus Eleuthereus from Eleutherai to Athens; the myth is about
the rst introduction of the cult of Dionysus in Athens . . . and it is this introduction of the cult
of Dionysus in general that the City Dionysia celebrates.
. For a fuller list of the ways in which the political and military life of the state was
implicated in the festival, along with a concise overview of recent work on the subject, see
Said , . On the ceremonies held in the theater before the plays were performed,
see especially Goldhill . Generals libations: Plut. Cim. .. Tribute displayed onstage:
schol. Ar. Ach. ; Isoc. .. Parade of war orphans: Aeschin. .; Isoc. .. Awards to
benefactors: Aeschin. .; Dem. .. For a wide-ranging exploration of the festivals
associations with ephebes, see Winkler .
. The quote is from Pickard-Cambridge (), where a useful summary of the details of the procession can also be found (). On how the pompe of the Dionysia resembled [that of ] the Panathenaia in articulating, and being articulated by, the whole Athenian polis as one unit, see Sourvinou-Inwood , . See also Winkler , .
. For detailed accounts of the contents of this festival, see Mylonas , ;
Parke , . The spondophoria: e.g., Aeschin. .; Isoc. .; Mylonas , ;
Clinton , . As Price (, ) suggests, the practice of requesting the offering of rstfruits from other states probably began in the imperial era, when the Athenians
would have insisted that their allies send offerings as a token of loyalty. It is thought that
the so-called Lesser Mysteries, a cult of Demeter celebrated at Agrai on the Ilissos in the
springtime, was originally distinct from the Greater Mysteries of Eleusis. At some point,
however, the two cults seem to have become fused, with initiation into the former serving
as a kind of formal preparation for initiation into the latter. See Mylonas , ; Parke
, , .
. IG I3 , a list of regulations governing the public conduct of the festival from the
second quarter of the fth century, explicitly refers to the participation in the ceremonies
by non-Athenians, suggesting that the festival already enjoyed a certain international appeal by this time. Cultural leadership associated with control of Eleusis: e.g., Isoc. ..
. See Miles , . The earliest signs of activity at the sanctuary consist of seventh-century deposits that include terracotta gurines and other small votives. Among the
gurines, plain columnar images of females are especially common, supporting the idea
that the sanctuary belonged to Demeter from the start. Earlier authors who identied the
exposed foundations as belonging to the temple of Triptolemos include Boersma (,
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), Thompson and Wycherley (, ), and Hayashi (, ). There are no superstructural remains of a date comparable to that of the foundations. The earliest such remains
are marble roof tiles that seem to derive from a time nearer to the middle of the fth century, when the sanctuary was probably restored after the Persian sack.
. Against the older view (see, e.g., Mylonas , ) of a continuity of cult at
Eleusis going back to the Mycenean era, see especially Darcque . Traces of a curved wall
found under the remains of later telesteria have been thought to constitute evidence for an
eighth-century apsidal temple. See Mylonas , , gs. , .
. Evidence for the Solonian phase at Eleusis is described thoroughly by Mylonas
(, ). For the new date, see Miles , with n. ; Miles also notes that some
mid-sixth-century architectural fragments described by Clinton (, ) may belong
to the building.
. Some time ago, Shear () suggested that the second archaic telesterion should
probably be dated to the time of Peisistratuss sons. Others now favor a date closer to the
end of the sixth century. In addition to the buildings general resemblance to the Old
Bouleuterion, there are similarities of architectural detail with the Arkhaios Neos in Athens
(see Hayashi , ). As Clinton (, ) points out, the new fortication wall
surely belongs to the years immediately after . Cleomenes had sacked the sanctuary in
that year (see Hdt. ..), and Athenian relations with neighboring states seem to have been
quite strained for some time thereafter.
. The inscriptions are published by Jeffery (). They are thought to have been
parts of altars at the sanctuary. See Miles , , for details of contemporary mud-brick
foundations that might have supported one of these altars.
. The question of the foundation of the Mysteries should probably be kept separate
from the larger issue of the unication of Attica. The latter issue is fraught with problems
(see chap. ), and, in any case, the best evidence for relations between Athens and Eleusis is
found in testimony for the festival itself. This testimony may indeed suggest that the Athenians controlled the cult and sanctuary before the time of Cleisthenes reforms (as is discussed later in this chapter), but it need not imply that all Eleusinians routinely became
Athenian citizens before /.
. For a summary of his case, see Clinton , . The argument hinges on two
factors: the claim that a law of Solon (Andoc. .) dealing with the conduct of the Mysteries is genuinely Solonian and the presumed force of APs report (.; cf. .) that the festival was one of the ancestral sacrices administered by the archon basileus. I venture that
neither source is necessarily inconsistent with the notion that the festival was founded only
in the second quarter of the sixth century. Sourvinou-Inwood (, ) also draws attention to the signicance of the space in front of the rst telesterion, a space that, by virtue
of the expansion of the supporting terrace, was much larger than it had been when the old
apsidal temple was still standing. She proposes that this space was created specically to accommodate ritual components of the Mysteries, like the pouring of liquid from vessels
known as plemokhoai, which took place on the last day of the festival. She retains the traditional Solonian and Peisistratean dates for the phases of the sanctuary associated with
the two archaic telesteria.
. The date of the hymn remains a vexed issue, with estimates ranging all the way from
to . One further advantage of the reconstruction offered here is that it minimizes
any problem presented by the hymns notorious failure to mention Athens. Whatever po-
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litical relations existed between Athens and Eleusis in the archaic period, I have no difculty
believing that their respective sacred calendars were essentially separate until the second
quarter of the sixth century. In other words, the Mysteries will have been the rst specically
Athenian festival to involve use of the sanctuary at Eleusis. Given that the great majority of
the hymn is concerned with stories that evolved within the autonomous cultic realm of Eleusis, and given that the Mysteries appear only eetingly in the text, it is no great surprise that
Athens goes unmentioned.
. Rise of Panhellenism in the early sixth century: Morgan . Sourvinou-Inwood
(, ) makes the interesting observation that the festivals eschatological concerns
may also reect the emergence around the same time of a new Greek attitude toward death,
namely, one of greater anxiety and greater concern for the survival of ones memory, a more
individual perception of ones death.
. There are around Triptolemos scenes on extant Attic vases. For analysis of the
iconographic evolution of these scenes, see Dugas ; Schwarz ; Hayashi . For
discussion of the rst images of the mission, see also Boardman , ; Shapiro , ;
Clinton , ; , . A good early example is a scene by the Swing Painter on
an amphora in Gttingen (Archologisches Institut der Universitt J ; ABV .; Clinton , , gs. ).
. The descent of Heracles to the underworld is attested in Homer (Il. .ff.; Od.
.ff.) and rst appears in Greek art in ca. . Sources linking this story with the initiation tradition include Diod. . and E. HF . Cf. Lloyd-Joness discussion () of
the papyrus fragments of a poemthought to be by Pindarthat mentions Heracles initiation in the context of a larger narrative about the descent to Hades. On links between the
two traditions in archaic Attic art, see especially Boardman . Boardman (, ) notes
that the images on the extant fragment of the vase mentioned (Reggio, ; ABV .;
Boardman , pl. a) are in the manner of Exekias (very close to the master, I would judge,
if not his). They are discussed by Shapiro (, ), who believes that the initiation
scene will have been set in Agrai, not Eleusis. His argument alludes to a rival tradition that
Heracles, as a non-Athenian, needed to participate in preliminary rites at the Lesser Mysteries before he could be fully initiated at Eleusis. However, that story is found only in later
sources (e.g., Diod. ..; Plut. Thes. .) and probably derives from a much later time,
when Athenians were more secure about the Panhellenic status of the Mysteries and were
thus free to imagine that the festival in its earliest manifestation might have been a purely
local affair.
. The celebration of the Mysteries is only one of many distinctively Athenian practices with which Heracles is explicitly linked in sixth-century Attic art. See Boardman ,
, for a summary of the evidence. The purported engagement of Heracles with these
practices at a formative stage in their evolution was presumably felt to glamorize Athenian
public life and make it more impressive in the eyes of outsiders.
. The Eumolpidai claimed descent from the early kings of Eleusis and furnished
the hierophants for the Mysteries, the priests who conducted the rites of initiation in the
telesterion. A proverbially wealthy branch of the Kerykes genos supplied the torchbearers
(daidoukhoi) and the sacred heralds (hierokerukes) for the festival. See Mylonas , ,
for further information on these functions.
. There is a good possibility that another festival of Panhellenic aspirations was established by Athenians at Eleusis around this same time, a more conventional panegyris
Greg Anderson
276
known simply as the Eleusinia. Like the Panathenaia, it was an annual festival that was celebrated with especial pomp every fourth year, when it featured musical and athletic contests
(see AP .). A mid-sixth-century inscription from the site (IG I3 ) commemorates the
dedication of a dromos to Demeter and Persephone by one Alkiphron, archon of Athens;
and a pair of inscriptions from the site (IG I3 , ) seem to come from sixth-century
victory dedications. On the history of the festival, see Simms .
. Periclean telesterion: Mylonas , . According to Shear (), the Athenians had already dismantled the second archaic telesterion and begun work on a much
larger successor by , when the sanctuary was sacked by the Persians.
. Good descriptions of the procession can be found in Mylonas () and
Parke (). For further discussion of the festivals civic dimension, see Bruit Zaidman and Schmitt Pantel , .
. For relevant vases, with illustrations, see Clinton , .
. Dugas is the seminal work on these scenes. See also the treatments in Schwarz
, Shapiro (), Clinton (, ), and Hayashi . Early examples
from ca. can be seen on a hydria by the Berlin Painter in Copenhagen (Ny Carlsberg
Glyptotek ; ARV .) and on a skyphos by Makron in the British Museum (E ;
ARV .).
. Perhaps it was also at this point that Athenian claims to a special relationship with
Demeter were inscribed into the climactic ritual of the Mysteries. According to Isocrates
(.), details of the services performed by our ancestors for Demeter in her hour of need
were included among the legomena, the secret words spoken during the rites of initiation
in the telesterion.
. Generally on the Brauronia, see Deubner , ; Parke , . Quadrennial celebration: AP .. The procession from Athens to Brauron: Ar. Pax . The
initiation rite: Ar. Lys. with schol.
. See, e.g., Kolb , ; Shapiro , ; Frost , .
. Two sources ([Pl.] Hipparch. b; Plut. Sol. .) claim that the family was actually from the Brauron area. Questions about the meaning and reliability of this testimony
are raised under on pp. in chapter above.
. While the site has yet to be fully published, sufcient remains have been excavated
to form a general idea of its chronology and principal monuments. For a summary of the
remains, see Travlos , . Peisistratus is linked with a temple at the sanctuary in the
Lexicon of Photius (s.v. Brauronia). But the source is very late, and there is no archaelogical
support for this claim (see below).
. Travlos (, ) dates the rst temple to the end of the Geometric period on the
basis of vase evidence. The xoanon: Paus. .., ...
. Date of the late archaic temple: Coulton ; Travlos , ; Shapiro ,
.
. In the most recent analysis of the remains, Dobbins and Rhodes () identify
three distinct phases of construction without assigning rm dates to any of them. For other
references to the site, see Travlos , ; Wycherley , .
. The krateriskoi: Kahil , . The sculptures are published in Schrader
(, nos. ). Links with the Brauroneion: Kahil , ; Shapiro , ;
Stewart , , g. . For the date, see Stewart , .
Greg Anderson
277
chapter
. For ofcial memory, see pp. , n. .
. Fornara (, n. ) has difculty accepting that this was an ofcial tradition, but his reasons for doing so are, to me at least, a little obscure.
. See especially Ar. Lys. , ; Hdt. ., .; Thuc. .; ..
For a full list of ancient sources for the Tyrannicides, see, e.g., Brunnsker (, n. ).
. Borrowing money from Delphi: Dem. .; Isoc. .. Cf. AP . and Philoch.,
FGrH F, where it is suggested that the money came from a contract with the Alcmeonids to rebuild the temple of Apollo. Of the four sources cited above only AP explicitly states that the money was used to hire Spartans. Restoration of the demos from exile:
Andoc. ., .; Isoc. ., .; cf. Dem. ..
. See, e.g., Andoc. .; Dem. ., ., .; Din. .; Hyp. .; Isae.
.; Lys. frr. , a Thalheim.
. The monument was located in the center of the Agora, in the area known as the
orkhestra (Tim. Soph. Lex. Plat., s.v. orkhestra; cf. Paus. ..). Stolen by the Persians: e.g.,
Arr. Anab. ..; Plin. HN .. The original group was later returned to Athens after
Alexanders conquest of the Persian Empire. The successor was erected in /, during the
archonship of Adeimantos (Marm. Par., FGrH A). A statue of Conon was the next
public portrait to be mounted in Athens (Dem. .). Restrictions on the placement of
other statues in the vicinity: IG II2 b. (/ B.C.), . (/ B.C.). Cf. Diod.
..; Dio Cass. ... Remains of extant reproductions and allusions to the Tyrannicides in other media are listed and described by Brunnsker (, , ).
. Base fragment: Agora, I ; Meritt , , no. ; Shear , ; , .
Hephaestion (Encheir. ) attributed the epigram to Simonides (= fr. Diehl); unfortunately, he omits the second distich because only the rst was necessary to illustrate his discussion of enjambment.
. On the distinctly Homeric resonance of the epigram, see, e.g., Friedlnder ,
; Taylor , . Emotive utterance opening with h\: e.g., Il. .. Light of deliverance: Il. ., ., ., ., .. Comparanda for closing phrase: e.g., Il. ., ,
, .
. Text: SEG XVII ; Trypanis , . For discussion of this epitaphs original
purpose and context, see Day ; Taylor , n. ; Lebedev ; Raaaub ,
. A late-fth-century four-line verse inscription whose third line begins in identical
fashion to the third line of this epitaph was recently unearthed at Olbia. On its relations to
the Chios epigram, see Lebedev . For a helpful, sober evaluation of attempts to insert
charged political terms into lacunae in both inscriptions, see Raaaub , . Grave
of the Tyrannicides: Paus. .., ..; Clairmont , , g. .
. Since the time of Homer, the term aikhmetes (spearman) could serve as a kind of
code word connoting brave warrior, the implicit contrast being with timid or cowardly
bowmen (see, e.g., Il. ., ., ., ., .; Hesych., s.v. aikhmetes). Cf. the very
same contrast made in lines of the epitaph for the Athenians who fell at Eurymedon
(Page , no. ).
. The enagisma: AP .. Cf. Poll. Onom. .; Burkert , , ; Kearns ,
. Part of the Epitaphia: e.g., Mommsen , ; Deubner , ; Taylor , .
Greg Anderson
278
Notes to Pages 2024
. For biographical evidence for later members of the clan of the Gephyraioi, see
Davies , ; cf. Taylor , , nn. . Privileges: e.g., IG I 3 ; Andoc.
.; Isae. .. It also seems that calumnous remarks against the Tyrannicides were prohibited (see Hyp. .) and that their names could not be given to slaves (see Aul. Gell. ..;
Lib. Declam. .).
. The rst known image of the statue group on an Athenian vase comes on a blackgure lekythos from the s (Vienna, sterreiches Museum ; Brunnsker , ,
pl. .). An early attempt to render the killing of Hipparchus in a more naturalistic fashion can be found on a red-gure stamnos by the Copenhagen Painter, also from the s
(Wrzburg, Martin von Wagner Museum ; ARV .; Brunnsker , , g. ).
Theseus in Tyrannicide pose in vase painting: Kardara ; Taylor , ; Castriota
, . Taylor (, ) also attempts to track the history of Thesean anticipations of the Tyrannicides in the art of major public monuments, notably among the reliefs
of the Hephaisteion (ca. ).
. The four Attika skolia on the Tyrannicides are assembled by Athenaeus (.ab
= PMG, , nos. ). The contents of the other twenty-one songs in the collection suggest that they could have been composed at any point between the Peisistratid era
and the time of the Persian Wars. Clearly, the Harmodius song was proverbial by the s
(see Ar. Ach. , ; Vesp. ). Observers who claim an early date and some kind
of political signicance for some or all of the skolia include Jacoby (, , n. ,
n. ), Ehrenberg (, ; ), Podlecki (), Ostwald (, ), and Brunnsker
(, ).
. Fornaras insistencein an otherwise helpful discussion ()on seeing the
tyrannicide tradition as a natural and straightforward creation is a little mystifying.
. Though their reasons for doing so may be quite different, the following would all
assign the creation of the cult to the last decade of the sixth century: Weber (, ), Jacoby (, n. ), Ehrenberg (, ), Fornara (, ), Brunnsker (, ),
Clairmont (, ), and Taylor (, ). Rausch (, ) plausibly suggests that
the cult honors were performed initially in the Agora near the site of the statues and then
moved to the Kerameikos area sometime after , when the grave was constructed.
. Supporters of a date at or around the end of the sixth century for the rst statue
group include, for example, Meritt (, ), Schefold (, ; , ), Seltman
(, ), Jacoby (, n. ), Ehrenberg (, ), Ostwald (, ),
Brunnsker (, ), Thomas (, ), Taylor (, ), Castriota (,
, ), and Rausch (, ). For arguments for a date in the early s, now
answered by Castriota, see Corssen ; Raubitschek , n. ; , ; Richter
, n. ; S. Morris , . Pausanias had a reliable eye for stylistic detail in
sculpture (see Pollitt , ). On the connotations of arkhaios as a term in ancient art
criticism, see Pollitt , ; Hurwit , . On the basis of Pausaniass words, it is
quite widely thought that Antenors bronzes will have resembled kouroi (see Raubitschek
, ; Rumpf , ; Robertson in Ridgway , n. ; Boardman , ; Taylor , ).
. This conclusion would be conrmed beyond all doubt if it could be shown that the
epigram inscribed on the base of the second statue group was a faithful reproduction of the
legend on the base of the rst. This almost certainly was the case. We see precisely this kind
of reproduction (with only a minor change of line order) on the replacement for the Acrop-
Greg Anderson
279
olis victory dedication of ca. (see Meiggs and Lewis , A, B). As implied earlier, I
believe that the representation of the killing of Hipparchus as a military action was dictated
primarily by the need to legitimize what might otherwise have been seen as a cowardly private act. More positively, Rausch (, ) argues that the pair might also have been
consciously presented as prototypes of the citizen soldier.
. That said, there is, I think, a general problem with Castriotas approach (, )
to legendary subject matter in Athenian state art. His insistence that, say, the Athenian battles with the Amazons and the centaurs were understood primarily as mythic analogues
or pregurations of actual historic events, such as the Persian Wars, seems to me to import a distinction between myth and history that is quite alien to the ancient imagination.
At our great distance from antiquity, we can see all too clearly how Athenian mythic traditions were shaped and colored by actual historical experiences, and it is quite possible that
ordinary Athenian men and women in the fth century would have seen parallels between,
say, the defense of Attica against the Amazons and the heroic resistance at Marathon. But
that is surely not all they would have seen. For them, the Amazonomachy would have been
just as thrillingly real and historical as any battle with the Persians. It was not just some
coded allusion to a more genuine historical event; it was a glorious event in its own
right. To reduce such traditions to mere analogues or allusions is to underestimate how
seriously the Athenians took the purported accomplishments of their remote past. As I have
tried to show in this study, they took this past very seriously indeed.
. There is possible corroboration for this conclusion in an interesting series of scenes
on red-gure kylikes from ca. . They show Greek heroes at Troy dressed like Athenian citizens in long chitons, using voting pebbles or beans to adjudge the contest between
Ajax and Odysseus over the arms of Achilles. As Spivey (, , ) notes, these are
Homeric heroes playing at democratic citizens. [A] powerful and perhaps innovatory political mechanism has been rooted in the epic past. The evidence for Theseuss later associations with democracy is discussed on pp. in chapter above.
. See Thomas , .
. For bibliography and further discussion of the patrios politeia debates in the late
fth century, see pp. in chapter .
. The testimony of Aristotles Politics and AP is examined in some detail on pp.
in chapter .
. We might have here another possible answer to the familiar puzzle about why the
Athenians never apparently developed a body of theoretical work that systematically explained and defended the idea of democracy. What need was there to explain and defend
something that had endured almost uninterrupted since time immemorial?
conclusion
. The system is known to have undergone modications in /, /, and /
and in A.D. /. Records of it survive up until the time of the invasion by the Heruli
in the s.
. It may also be the case that the public domain now, for the rst time, encompassed
the minting of coins. The date of the rst owl tetradrachms remains a vexed issue, though
most believe the sequence began sometime in the last quarter of the sixth century, when the
old aristocratic Wappenmnzen would have been replaced. See Kroll and Waggoner ,
B.C.
Greg Anderson
280
; Shapiro . Shapiro notes how the very earliest examples are slightly different in
design from the rest, and he suggests that the change may have come shortly after the fall
of the Peisistratids. He also draws attention to a recently published vase, perhaps from ca.
, that features owls on both sides and the legend DEMOSIOS. It seems to be the earliest known example of an ofcial Athenian measuring vessel. There is also the possibility
that the Athenian experiment had a broad impact on burial practices. Extravagant elite mortuary practices declined in ca. (see I. Morris , ). On the possibility that
sumptuary legislation was passed in ca. , see Kurtz and Boardman , . It may
be in ca. that space was rst set aside in the Kerameikos district for public burials (see
Young ; Stupperich ). How all this new public business was funded is unclear. At
least some of the funds may have come from the silver mines at Laureion, a suspicion that
is encouraged by Camps argument () that the mines would have been controlled at this
time by the Alcmeonids.
. Among the works I have found particularly useful are Gellner , , Kohn
, Hobsbawm a, b, , Anderson , Smith , Greenfeld , Breuilly
, and Gillis . Cohen () also sees the potential utility of this particular comparative perspective, though his book appeared too late for me to consider his ndings in
this study.
. This list of identity sources is compiled by Smith (, ), who considers them to
comprise the fundamental features of national identity.
. Quoted in, for example, Hobsbawm , .
Greg Anderson
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Greg Anderson
INDEX
Academy, , , ,
Acamas, , , , , . See also
Phylai, Cleisthenic
Acharnae, ,
Achilles, ,
Acropolis, , , , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , ; archaic cistern, ; Arkhaios Neos (Old
Athena Temple), , , , , ,
, , , ; artisan dedications,
; Asklepieion, ; Athena Nike,
precinct and temple of, , , ;
Athena Polias, seventh-century temple
of, , , , , , ;
Bluebeard temple, , , , ,
; Brauroneion (see Brauroneion);
Callimachus dedication, ; circuit
walls, , , ; dogs, sculptures of,
; Eleusinion (see Eleusinion, City);
Erechtheion, , ; Erinyes, shrine of,
; Great Altar, ; Hekatompedon
precinct, ; hero shrines, ; korai (see
Korai); kouros-types (see Kouroi);
Marathonian Bull dedication, , ;
Mycenean bastion, , ; Mycenean

palace, ; oikemata, , , , ;
Palladion statuettes, ; Parthenon, ,
, , ; Persian sack, , , ;
Propylaia, , ; ramp, , , ,
; Salamis decree, , , ; siege
of /, , , , , , , ,
; spring house, ; stele condemning
followers of Isagoras, ; stele condemning Peisistratids, , ; Theseus
and Prokrustes (?) group, , , ;
victory monument for battles of ,
, , , ; western entrance,
, , ,
Aegeus, , , , . See also Phylai, Cleisthenic
Aegina,
Aelius Aristides,
Aeschylus,
Agariste of Sikyon,
Agora, , , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , , , ,
, , , , ; Altar of the
Twelve Gods, , , , , ;
Aphrodite Ourania, altar of, ; Building A, ; Building C, , ; Building
299
Greg Anderson
300
Agora (continued )
D, , ; Buildings F, G, H, and I, ,
, , ; Building J, ; commercial structures, ; early shrines/temples,
, , , ; eskhara, , , ,
; Great Drain, ; Heliaia (?),
, ; horoi, , ; lithos, , ,
; Metroon, , ; New Bouleuterion, ; Old Agora (see Old
Agora); Old Bouleuterion, , ,
, , , , , ; orkhestra, ,
; southeast fountain house, , ,
, ; starting line, ; Stoa Basileios,
, , , , , , ; Stoa of
Attalus, ; Stoa of Zeus Eleutherios,
; Stoa Poikile, ; Strategeion, ;
streets, , , , , ; Thesmotheteion (?), , ; Tholos, , ;
Tyrannicide groups (see Tyrannicides)
Agryle, ,
Aiakeion at Aegina,
Aigaleios, Mount,
Ajax, , , . See also Phylai, Cleisthenic
Alcmeon I,
Alcmeon II, archon /, , ,
Alcmeonidai, , , , , , ,
, , , , , . See also
Cleisthenes; Megacles II
Alcmeonides I, brother of Megacles II,
Alexandria,
Aliki Glyphadas,
Alopeke, , ,
Altar of the Twelve Gods. See Agora
Amynandridai,
Anaphiotika,
Anaphlystos (modern Anavyssos), , ,
, , , , , ,
Anavyssos kouros, , ,
Anderson, B.,
Andocides, ,
Androtion,
Antenor. See Tyrannicides
Anthesteria, ,
Antiochus, , , , . See also Phylai, Cleisthenic
index
Aphidna, , ,
Aphlaston,
Aphrodite, ,
Aphrodite Ourania. See Agora
Apollo, ,
Apollo Ptoios,
Apollo Pythios,
Arcadia,
Archons, , , , , , , , ,
, , , , ; archon basileus, ,
, ; eponymous archon, , ; polemarch, , , , ,
Areopagus, , , ,
Areopagus Council, , , , , , ,
, , , , ,
Arete, , , , ,
Argos and Argolid, , ,
Aristagoras of Miletus,
Aristides,
Arist(i)on, associate of Peisistratus,
Aristogeiton. See Tyrannicides
Aristophanes, ,
Aristotle, , , , , , ,
Arkhaios Neos. See Acropolis
Arkheia. See Old Agora
Arkteia,
Army, Athenian. See Citizen army
Artaphernes,
Artemis Brauronia, , . See also
Brauron; Brauroneion; Brauronia
Assembly, , , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , , , ,
, , , , ; resolutions and decrees, , , , , , , ,
, , , , ,
Athena, , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , , ,
Athenaeus,
Athenaion politeia, , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , , , ,
,
Athena Nike. See Acropolis
Athena Phratria,
Greg Anderson
Index
Athena Polias, , , , , ,
, , . See also Acropolis;
Panathenaia, Great; Panathenaia, Lesser
Atthidographers, , ,
Attica, passim; cultural homogeneity, ,
, ; internal colonization, ;
localism within, , , , ,
, , ; ritual links within,
, ; size and population, ,
, ; topography, ; unification,
, , , , , , , , ,
, , , , , ,
, , , , , , , ;
unification in legend, , , , , ,
, , , , ,
Autochthony,
Axones, ,
Bluebeard temple. See Acropolis
Boedromion, month of,
Boeotia, , , , , , , , .
See also Thebes
Boule. See Council of ; Council of
Boutadai, , , , , , ,
, , , . See also Lycurgus
Brauron, , , , , , , , ,
,
Brauroneion, , ,
Brauronia, , , ,
Callimachus,
Camp, J. M.,
Castriota, D., ,
Cecrops, , , , , , , ,
, , . See also Phylai, Cleisthenic
Cerberus,
Chaeronea,
Chalcis, , , , , , ,
Chariots, cultural resonance of, , ,
Chersonese,
Childs, W. A. P.,
Chios, ,
Choregoi, ,
Cimon, , , , ,
Cithaeron, Mount,
301
Citizen army, , , , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , ,
, ; battles of , , , ,
, , , , ; Euripus grave
for war dead, , , ; generals (see Generals); state funeral for war
dead, , ; victory monument for
battles of (see Acropolis)
Citizenship, , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , , , ,
, , , , , ,
, ,
City Dionysia. See Dionysia, City
City Eleusinion. See Eleusinion, City
Clairmont, C. W., ,
Cleidemus, ,
Cleisthenes, , , , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , , ,
, , ; archonship, , ,
; public grave, , ; reforms of
/, , , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , ,
, , , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , , ,
, , . See also Alcmeonidai
Cleisthenes of Sikyon,
Cleitias, ,
Cleitophon, rider of,
Cleomenes, , , , , , , ,
, , ,
Cleruchs, , ,
Clinton, K., , , ,
Codrus,
Colonization, , , ,
Colophon,
Comedy. See Dionysia, City
Connor, W. R., , , ,
Corinth, ,
Council of , , , ,
Council of , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , , , , , ,
, ,
Cranaus,
Crannon,
Cylon, , , , , , , ,
Greg Anderson
302
DAzeglio, Massimo,
Delian League, . See also Empire,
Athenian
Delphi, , , , , , , ,
, ; Athenian treasury, ; Pythia,
, , , ; Pythian games, ,
, ,
Demaratus,
Demes, after /, , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , , , ,
,
Demeter and Kore, . See also
Eleusinian Mysteries; Eleusinion, City;
Eleusis
Democracy, , , , , , ,
, , , ,
Demokratia. See Democracy
Demos, , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , , ,
, , , , , ,
, ,
Demosion Sema, , , ,
Demosthenes, , ,
Dikasteria, , , ,
Dinsmoor, W. B.,
Diodorus Siculus,
Diogenes Laertius,
Diomedes,
Dionysia, City, , , , , ,
, ; ceremonies before plays,
; comedy, , , , ;
dithyrambic contests, , , , ,
; komos, , , , ; procession, , , ; tragedy, , ,
, ; xenismos ceremony, , ,
,
Dionysia, rural, ,
Dionysus, , ,
Dionysus Eleuthereus, ; temple and
sanctuary, , ,
Diosphos Painter,
Dipylon Gate,
Dithyramb, , , , ,
Dodekapolis (legendary Attic federation),
, ,
Draco, , , ,
index
Ehrenberg, V.,
Ekklesia. See Assembly
Elaphebolion, month of,
Eleusinian Mysteries, , , , ,
, , ; initiation, , , ;
Panhellenic promotion of, ,
; spondophoroi, ,
Eleusinion, City, , , ; temple of
Demeter and Kore, ; temple of Triptolemos, , ,
Eleusis, , , , , , , ,
,
Eleutherai, , ,
Empire, Athenian, , , ,
Endoios,
Ephebes, ,
Ephialtes, reforms of /, , , , ,
,
Epikrates,
Epitaphia,
Eponymous archon. See Archons
Eponymous Heroes. See Phylai,
Cleisthenic
Erechtheus, , , , , , , ,
, . See also Phylai, Cleisthenic
Eretria,
Erichthonius, , ,
Eridanos River, , , ,
Euboea,
Eumolpidai,
Eumolpus, ,
Euphranor,
Euripides, ,
Euthunai, ,
Fasti,
First Sacred War,
Four Hundred, regime of the, , , ,
France,
French Revolution, ,
Frost, F. J., , ,
Funeral orations, , ,
Geleontes. See Phylai, Ionian
Gene, , , ,
Greg Anderson
Index
Generals, , , ,
Gephyraioi, , .
See also Tyrannicides
Gigantomachy, , , , , , ,
Great Dionysia. See Dionysia, City

Great Panathenaia. See Panathenaia, Great
Greenfeld, L.,
Haimon Group,
Harmodius. See Tyrannicides
Hekale,
Hekatombaion, month of, , , ,
Heliaia, , , , ,
Hellanicus,
Hephaestion,
Hephaestus,
Hephaisteia,
Heracles, , , , , , , , ,
, , , , , ,
Heraia (at Olympia),
Hermes,
Herodotus, , , , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , , , , ,
, , , , , ,
Hesiod,
Hignett, C., ,
Hippalektryon,
Hipparchus, son of Charmus,
Hipparchus, son of Peisistratus, , ,
, , , , , ,
, , ; herms of, , .
See also Peisistratidai
Hippias, son of Peisistratus, , , , ,
, , , , , , . See
also Peisistratidai
Hippocrates, father of Peisistratus,
Hippothoon, , , , , , .
See also Phylai, Cleisthenic
Homer, , , , , , , ,
; Iliad, , , , , ,
; Odyssey, , ,
Homeric Hymn to Demeter, ,
Hoplite class, ,
Hopper, R. J.,
303
Hupaspidia,
Hurwit, J.,
Hymettos, Mount,
Iliad. See Homer
Ilos,
Imagined community, , , , ,
, , , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , ,
, , , , , ,
, , , , ,
Ionia, , , , ,
Ionian revolt, ,
Isagoras, archon /, , , , , ,
, , , , ,
Isegoria, ,
Isis,
Isles of the Blessed,
Isocrates, , ,
Isonomia, , , , ,
Isthmia, Isthmian games, , , , ,
Istros,
Italy,
Jacobins,
Kearns, E., , ,
Kephale,
Kerameikos, , , , ,
Kerykes,
Kollytos,
Kolonos Agoraios, , , ,
Korai, , , , , ,
Koropi,
Kouroi, , , , ,
Krateriskoi,
Kritios. See Tyrannicides
Kroisos, ,
Ktistai,
Kurbeis, ,
Kynosarges,
Lenaia,
Leos, , , . See also Phylai,
Cleisthenic
Greg Anderson
304
Lesser Panathenaia. See Panathenaia, Lesser

Leukotainioi. See Phylai, Ionian
Lewis, D. M.,
Lexiarkhika grammateia,
Liturgies,
Lloyd-Jones, H.,
Lycomidai,
Lycurgus, , , , , , , ,
Lydia,
Lyons kore,
Manville, P. B., , ,
Marathon, , , , , , , ,
Marathonian Tetrapolis, ,
Marathonomakhai, ,
Marmor Parium, ,
Megacles I,
Megacles II, , , , , , ,
, , , , . See also Alcmeonidai
Megakles Anaphlystios,
Megara, , , , , , , , ,
Meier, C.,
Meiggs, R.,
Melanthus,
Memory, Athenian collective, , , ,
, , , , , ,
, , , , ,
, ,
Menidi,
Merenda,
Meter,
Miles, M., ,
Miltiades, , ,
Mnesicles,
Moore, M. B.,
Morris, I.,
Moschophoros, ,
Mounychion, month of,
Mycenae,
Mylonas, G.,
Myrrhinous,
Nation formation, , ,
Nauplia,
Navy, Athenian, ,
index
Neils, J.,
Neleids, ,
Nemea, Nemean games, , , , ,
Neopolitai,
Neoptolemus,
Nesiotes. See Tyrannicides
Nicomachus,
Nike, ,
Nikosthenes Painter,
Nisaea,
Nomoi, , , , ,
Nomophylakia,
Ober, J., , ,
Odysseus,
Odyssey. See Homer
Oeneus, , . See also Phylai,
Cleisthenic
Oenoe,
Oikistai, ,
Old Agora, , , , , , ,
; Anakeion, ; Basileion, ; Boukolion, , ; Bouzygion, ; Epilykeion,
; Gymnasium of Ptolemy, ;
heralds stone, ; Prytaneion, , ,
, , , , , , , ; Theseion, , ; Thesmotheteion,
Old Athena Temple. See Acropolis
Old Bouleuterion. See Agora
Olympia, Olympic games, , , ,
, , , , , , ,
Olympieion,
Oral tradition, , , , . See
also Memory, Athenian collective
Orgeones,
Oropia,
Oschophoria, ,
Ostracism, , , , , ,
Ostwald, M., , , ,
Paiania,
Paionidai,
Palatine Anthology,
Pallene, , , , , , , , ,
Greg Anderson
Index
Pan,
Panathenaia, Great, , , , , ,
, , , , , , , ,
, , , ; contests, for Athenians, , , ; contests, open,
, , , ; hoplites in procession, , , ; name,
, ; participation of allies,
, ; peplos ceremony, , ,
, , ; political content, ,
, , ; prizes, , ,
, , , ; procession,
, , ,
Panathenaia, Lesser, ,
Panathenaic Way, , , , ,
Pandia,
Pandion, , , , , . See also
Phylai, Cleisthenic
Panhellenism, , , , , ,
, , , , , ,
, ,
Panionia,
Parker, R., , , ,
Parnes, Mount, ,
Paros,
Patrios politeia, , , ,
Patrokles,
Pausanias, , , , , , , ,
, , ,
Pegasus of Eleutherai, , ,
Peisianax,
Peisistratidai, , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , , ,
, , , , , ,
, , , , , , . See
also Hipparchus, son of Peisistratus;
Hippias, son of Peisistratus; Peisistratus
Peisistratus, , , , , , ,
, , , , , ,
, , , , , , ,
, , ,
Peisistratus, son of Hippias, ,
Peloponnesian War, ,
Pentelikon, Mount,
Peplos kore,
305
Pericles, , , ,
Persia, , , , , , , , ,
,
Persian Wars, , , ,
Phaleron, ,
Philaidai (deme), , ,
Philaidai (family),
Phoinikia,
Phrasikleia, kore and epitaph for, ,
Phratries, , , , , ,
Phrearrhioi,
Phrynichus,
Phye, , ,
Phylai,
Phylai, Cleisthenic, , , , , , ,
, , , , , , , ,
, , , , , ; Aegeis, ;
Aiantis, , ; Antiochis, , , ;
Cecropis, , ; cult practice, ,
, ; Eponymous Heroes, , ,
, , ; Erechtheis, , ;
Hippothontis, ; Leontis, , ; Pandionis, , ; tribal contests, , ,
, , , , , ,
Phylai, Ionian, , , , , , ,
, , ; Aigikoreis, , ;
Argadeis, , ; Geleontes, ,
; Hopletes, , ; Leukotainioi
(trittys of tribe Geleontes), ,
Phylobasileis, ,
Piraeus,
Planudes,
Plato, , ,
Pliny the Elder,
Plutarch, , , , , , , , , ,
,
Pnyx, , , ,
Polemarch. See Archons
Pollux,
Probalinthos,
Probouleusis, , , ,
Prometheia,
Prytaneion. See Old Agora
Prytaneis,
Pylos, ,
Pyrrhikhos,
Greg Anderson
306
Pythia. See Delphi

Pythian games. See Delphi
Pythodorus, decree of,
Raaflaub, K. A., , ,
Raubitschek, A., ,
Revolution, suspicions of, , , ,
Rhodes, P. J., ,
Risorgimento,
Rome, ,
Rural Dionysia. See Dionysia, rural
Sacred Way,
Salamis, , , , , , , ,
Sansculottes,
Saronic Gulf,
Sealey, R., ,
Shapiro, H. A.,
Shear, T. L., Jr., , , ,
Sicilian expedition,
Sigeion, ,
Simon,
Skambonidai, ,
Skyros,
Smyrna,
Solon, , , , , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , ,
, , , , ,
Sophilos, ,
Sounion, , ,
Sourvinou-Inwood, C., ,
Sparta, , , , , , , , ,
, ,
Sthler, K.,
Stele of Megacles,
Stoa Basileios. See Agora
Synoikia, , , ,
Syracuse,
Taylor, M. W.,
Teisamenos, decree of, ,
Tetrakomoi,
Tettikhos, epitaph for, ,
Thasos,
Theater of Dionysus, ,
index
Thebes, , , , , , .
See also Boeotia
Themistocles, , ,
Theramenes,
Theseid,
Theseion. See Old Agora
Theseus, , , , , , , ,
, , , , ,
, ; founds democracy, ,
; and Panathenaia, ; unifies
Attica, , , , , , , ,
, ,
Theseus Painter,
Thesmoi, , ,
Thesmophoria (at Eleusis),
Thespis,
Thessaly, ,
Thete class, , , , ,
Thirty Tyrants, regime of the, , , ,
Thomas, R., ,
Thompson, H. A., ,
Thorikos,
Thrasybulus,
Thucydides, , , , , , , ,
, , , , , ,
, , , ,
Thymaitadai,
Timonassa of Argos,
Tomb cults, ,
Tragedy. See Dionysia, City
Treasurers,
Triandi, I.,
Tribes. See Phylai; Phylai, Cleisthenic;
Phylai, Ionian
Trikorynthos,
Triptolemos, , , .
See also Eleusinian Mysteries;
Eleusinion, City
Trittyes, after /, , , , ,
, , , , ,
Troezen, , ,
Troy, Trojan War, , ,
Tyrannicides, , , , , , ,
; cult, , , ; grave,
, ; skolia, , ; statue
Greg Anderson
Index
group by Antenor, , , , ,
, ; statue group by Kritios and
Nesiotes, ,
Tyrants. See Hipparchus, son of Peisistratus; Hippias, son of Peisistratus; Peisistratidai; Peisistratus
Underworld,
Vourva,
Wallace, R. W., ,
Webster, T. B. L.,
307
Whitley, J.,
Wycherley, R. E., ,
Xenophon, , ,
Xerxes, ,
Xypete, , ,
Zeus, ,
Zeus Agoraios,
Zeus Eleutherios,
Zeus Olympios. See Olympieion
Zeus Phratrios,
Greg Anderson
Greg Anderson
PL ATES
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The Athenian Experiment: Building an Imagined Political Community in Ancient Attica, 508-490 B.C.

List of Figures xiii

From City-State to Region-State 13

The Agora: Showcase for a New Regime 87

Tribes, Heroes, and the Reunication

the athenian experiment

riods, it needed coercion and a purpose-built military apparatus in order to do

the athenian experiment

times, even negligiblesignicance. True, Attica was already widely recognized

the athenian experiment

volve working assumptions, inferences, and suppositions that might not be

the athenian experiment

the athenian experiment

Cleisthenes and/or members of his circle and/or their like-minded successors.

the athenian experiment

represent an almost inseparable union of territorial state and citizen body. In

Ancient authors do not distinguish different stages in the unication process

From City-State to Region-State

the athenian experiment

From City-State to Region-State

the athenian experiment

From City-State to Region-State

THE REACH OF THE EARLY ATHENIAN STATE

the athenian experiment

From City-State to Region-State

the athenian experiment

THE PEISISTRATIDS AND ATTICA

From City-State to Region-State

Peisistratids were in furthering the de jure unication of Attica by these means,

the athenian experiment

From City-State to Region-State

the athenian experiment

From City-State to Region-State

the athenian experiment

the Lydian royal house, it is widely assumed to be an Alcmeonid monument.

From City-State to Region-State

the athenian experiment

From City-State to Region-State

the athenian experiment

From City-State to Region-State

the athenian experiment

From City-State to Region-State

the athenian experiment

mostly small settlements and neighborhoods throughout Attica, which

From City-State to Region-State

the athenian experiment

From City-State to Region-State

the athenian experiment

From City-State to Region-State

the athenian experiment

the athenian experiment

In Search of Popular Government

the athenian experiment

In Search of Popular Government

So if Cleisthenes was not widely seen by the ancients as the founder of

the athenian experiment

In Search of Popular Government

the athenian experiment

In Search of Popular Government

and inferences that are fundamentally awed, requiring us to exercise unusual

the athenian experiment

the deliberative process is conducted largely by elites in camera to one in which

In Search of Popular Government