PLACEMENT OF STELAI: HYPOMNĒMATA AND PARADEIGMATA
By the time Eukrates proposed his tyrant-killing law, the Athenians had a long tradition of commemorating or authorizing the punishment of traitors by erecting stelai in prominent public places. Lykourgos, it will be recalled, mentioned five such stelai during his prosecution of Leokrates, one of which carried the decree of Demophantos. And there were many more, the “Attic Stelai,” which recorded the sale of the property of the Thirty Tyrants, being perhaps the most well known.44 Such monuments were thus established fixtures of Athenian public space; almost every citizen would have seen them many times and knew that others saw them many times too. Consequently, they collectively performed the very important political function of generating and maintaining as common knowledge the fact that the dēmos punishes defectors and that such punishment is necessary in order to maintain the democratic regime. Indeed, the presence of the older stelai, some being over one hundred years old when Eukrates proposed his law, concretely symbolized political continuity and the necessity of sanctioning defectors to achieve that end.
The Athenians drew upon that epigraphic tradition when they chose to place two stelai carrying Eukrates’s law in two different, strategically important locations. As will be demonstrated below, the public presence of those two stone stelai facilitated coordinated action and was thus an important part of how the law of Eukrates “worked.” Before engaging in that discussion, however, an analysis of the famous sculptured relief is in order.
The sculptured relief adorning the stele engraved with Eukrates’s law depicts two figures, a male and a female (see Figure 3.1).45 The male is almost certainly personified Dēmos. He is middle aged and bearded but, as his exposed chest reveals, of considerable physique. He sits upright on a throne with his feet on a footrest and he holds—or was to have held—a scepter in his left hand. He looks like Zeus. The younger woman is most likely personified Dēmokratia. She has long coifed hair and wears a highly girted chiton. She stands immediately to Dēmos’s left and holds a crown over his head. The overall mood is dignified and serene.
One might interpret the sculptured relief as a visual articulation of three political themes, each of which likely was repeatedly stressed during the lengthy nomothesia procedure that promulgated Eukrates’s law. The first theme is that the dēmos—not some outside force (i.e., Philip)—is the sovereign authority in Athens. The key iconographic move here is the apparent identification of Dēmos with a scepter-bearing king. In the Greek’s historical tradition, the scepter was the symbol of a king’s authority over the laws (themistes) of his community. To draw on speech act theory, the scepter rendered the king’s speech felicitous: as he held it, he would pronounce what is lawful (themis) and, subsequently, people would act accordingly.46 The sculptured relief depicts the dēmos as having that authority in Athens: what it says is law. And that is certainly a fitting message to accompany a law against tyranny—a law that addresses the fundamental question of who rules Athens.
External evidence supports this interpretation. First, there was a long tradition of conceiving of the dēmos as an autocrat. In Aristophanes’s Knights, for example, the dēmos is referred to as a tyrant (1114), a monarch (1330), and a king (1333). Both Isokrates (7.26) and Aristotle (Pol. 1274a7) refer to the dēmos as being “like a tyrant.” Demosthenes called the dēmos a despot (3.30; 23.209). And Aischines (3.233) referred to each Athenian as a king because of his authority to enforce law. Second, orators often stressed the fact that that the dēmos controls their polis through making and enforcing law.47 Demosthenes’s Against Meidias (223–24) is a good example. He asks, “Why are you jurists powerful and authoritative (kurioi) in all state-affairs?” The answer, he says, is “the strength of the laws,” by which he means enforcing law.48 It is thus not too surprising that a sculptor would depict the dēmos as a scepter-bearing king in order to represent the dēmos as sovereign. And a typical Athenian would have understood the message.
Figure 3.1. Law of Eukrates, 337/6. Photo by permission of the American School of Classical Studies: Agora Excavations.
The decision to depict the dēmos as a king should be interpreted in light of Philip’s success. Since the later decades of the fifth century, the theoretical advantages of kingship (or one man rule) over democracy were known to the Athenians: the king ruled efficiently, the dēmos—as a collection of individuals—ruled inefficiently.49 But for generations, the superiority of kingship could be disputed, since the Athenians, the most powerful democracy, defeated the Persians, the most powerful monarchy, not to mention the fact that several kings (Macedonian, Thracian) were pushed around by Athens from time to time. But Philip was different. As Demosthenes noted (18.235; 1.4), he was exceptionally able to capitalize on the advantages of kingship. And of course he defeated democratic Athens. Thus, in the early 330s, the figure of the king would have represented power and success.50 So it is not altogether surprising that the Athenians, in a bit of wishful thinking, depicted the sovereign dēmos as a powerful king.
The second theme articulated by the sculptured relief is that all of Athens’s political conduct should bring honor to the (sovereign) Athenian dēmos. Thus Dēmokratia (an active political regime) crowns a sitting Dēmos. That message would have been particularly poignant considering how controversial the politics of crowing were at the time. As noted earlier in the chapter, the Athenians honored many prominent Macedonians and friends of Macedonians after the battle of Chaironeia. And many Athenians resented that. Thus they made sure, for example, to honor the arch anti-Macedonian Demosthenes. And Hypereides, another prominent anti-Macedonian, sharply criticized (Frag. 19) the motives behind the honoring of certain Macedonians and their friends. The sculptured relief reflects that push back: all grants of honor, it suggests, are to advance the interests of—indeed, bring honor to—the dēmos.51
The third theme articulated by the sculptured relief is that the dēmos and thus its democracy cannot be overthrown permanently. Thus both the Dēmos and Dēmokratia are depicted as immortal gods. Such a depiction in not entirely unexpected, since it is well known that a cult of Dēmokratia flourished in the 330s.52 Hypereides, in his speech Against Philippides (8), however, explains why the Athenians might have concluded that the dēmos was immortal.
You have concluded that one person will be immortal, yet you sentenced to death a city as old as ours, never realizing the simple fact that no tyrant has yet risen from the dead while many cities, though utterly destroyed, have come again to power. You and your party took no account of the history of the Thirty or of the city’s triumph over her assailants from without and those within her walls who joined in the attack upon her.
Hypereides cites the successful mobilization against the Thirty as evidence that Athens, as a democratic city, is immortal: even if overthrown, the democrats can still defend their regime. As demonstrated in chapter 1, the success of the mobilization against the Thirty was due, in part, to the decree and oath of Demophantos. Now, the law of Eukrates explicitly echoes that decree and oath. Eukrates’s law thus reminded everybody of that earlier decree’s success, thereby increasing the likelihood that the Athenians could “do it again.” The sculptured relief symbolized that capability.
The three themes articulated by the sculptured relief are historically important, since they reveal the mentality of the times. Issues of sovereignty, political practice, and regime persistence were important. But it is also important to remember that the two stelai were reminders (hypomnēmata) that the Athenian citizens are committed tyrant killers and that the members of the Areopagos must not convene if the democracy is overthrown. The following comments explain how seeing the inscribed stelai would actually help defend the Athenian democracy.
The nomothetai ordered that two stelai carrying Eukrates’s law be placed in two separate locations. One stele was to be placed “at the entrance to the Areopagos as you enter the council-house.” That was, so far as can be determined, the first time the Athenians ordered an i
nscribed stele to be placed at that location. The stele thus would have been startlingly conspicuous; each Areopagite was essentially “forced” to look at it—and thus to consider its significance—each time he entered the chamber. Another stele carrying Eukrates’s law was to be placed “in the ekklesia.” This too was a highly unusual, if not unique, placement order. Unlike the placement order for the Areopagos copy, however, there is no indication of where “in the ekklesia” the stele was to be placed. But it is reasonable to conclude that it was placed near the speaker’s bema, facing the audience: (1) if it were to be placed at the entrance to the Pnyx, the placement order would have said so, like the placement order for the Areopagos;53 (2) there is evidence that stelai stood near the bema in the Pnyx.54
The Athenians likely placed a stele at the entrance of the Areopagos in order to provoke two reactions. First, an Areopagite who suspected that the democracy had been overthrown, but was not confident enough to stay home, might, after seeing the sculptured relief, turn away at the last minute and not enter the council chamber. If he did so, he would have committed a highly dramatic, highly visible public act.55 Consequently, another councilor, after observing his colleague’s reaction, might not enter the council-house either, lest he be punished for breaking Eukrates’s law. A miniature revolutionary bandwagon of Areopagites thus might ensue. Second, an Areopagite who was concerned for the democracy, but was not fully convinced that it was overthrown, might be emboldened enough to suggest to his colleagues that they conduct a formal investigation—i.e., an apophasis—into the cause of his concern.
The stele placed in the ekklesia would have controlled the dynamic of debate in the Pnyx in favor of the pro-democrats. It would have been common knowledge that every individual saw the stele and thus that everybody was, to some degree, thinking about its significance. Each audience member, therefore, would be more emboldened to shout down speakers who proposed or supported potentially subversive motions. Were one to do so (perhaps referring to the law and stele in the process), others, who were thinking the same thing, might vocally support him; soon the whole ekklesia could erupt. Consequently, pro-Macedonian orators—men who certainly understood the operative dynamics—would be much less likely to advocate positions that could spark such outrage. And thus the democracy would be more difficult to subvert from the speaker’s bema.
Conclusion
This chapter sought to explain how the promulgation of the law of Eukrates facilitated the Athenians’ efforts to defend their democracy against the then current tyrannical threat. As one would expect, it did so, in part, by convincing individuals to lower their revolutionary thresholds in the hope that, should there be a coup, an individual who had lowered his threshold to zero would “kill a tyrant” and spark a revolutionary bandwagon. As noted, however, the tyrannical threat of 337/6 was subtle and slow moving—the operative concept being subversion by evolution not by revolution. Thus democrats might not realize that their regime is essentially overthrown. In order to counter that serious problem, Eukrates’s law charged the Areopagites with being on the lookout: they were to notify the broader population if, in their opinion, the conspirators’ straw broke, or severely threatened to break, the democracy’s back. And finally, the Athenians placed a stone stele inscribed with Eukrates’s law in two strategic locations to serve as a clear reminder of the democrats’ credible commitment to defend their regime.
In conclusion, it is worth asking whether or not the promulgation of the law of Eukrates assisted the Athenians’ efforts to defend their democracy. Their democracy was overthrown in 322, of course. But that katalusis tou dēmou (“overthrow of the dēmos”) was not the result of internal subversion: the regime change was forced on the Athenians by an outside power (Macedon) and maintained by foreign troops stationed in the Piraeus.56 Thus, the relevant time within which to evaluate the law’s effectiveness is the fourteen years between its promulgation (336) and Athens’s surrender to Antipater (322). One need not doubt that, during those years, anti-democrats wanted to defect and dominate the polis with Macedon’s at least tacit support: anti-democrats in several other poleis did so; and Athenian democrats, obviously, were very concerned with the possibility of a coup.57 But Athenian anti-democrats did not make such a move. Why not? The simplest answer is that they concluded that their attempt would fail—that the democrats would successfully mobilize against them. And it was to force that calculation, of course, that the democrats promulgated the law of Eukrates.
In this light one should note a significant difference between the law of Eukrates and both the decree of Demophantos and the Eretrian tyrant-killing law. Those two promulgations promised great honors to the tyrant killer. According to the decree of Demophantos, the tyrant killer would receive the monetary value of half the “tyrant’s” property, and, should he be killed, he would be treated like Harmodios and Aristogeiton and his descendants treated like their descendants. And the honors prescribed by the Eretrian law were no less grand. If Knoepfler’s restorations are correct, the tyrant killer would receive proedria, sitēsis, a cash payment, and a statue in his likeness would be erected in a conspicuous location; and should he die while killing the tyrant, the state would provide for his children. The law of Eukrates, on the other hand, prescribes no such positive, selective incentives for the tyrannicide, only the assurance that he would not be prosecuted. Why would that be the case?
One part of the answer might be that, in the Athens of 337/6, tyrannicide was not considered to be an especially daring act. The driving logic behind that conclusion is quite simple: incentives are offered in order to encourage people to do something that they might not otherwise do. The question thus becomes, why would an individual democrat need an incentive to kill a tyrant? One reason—likely the most significant reason, it seems—would be to counter the weight of his concern that, should he commit that act, an insufficient number of people would follow him. The greater his uncertainty, the greater the incentive required to make tyrant killing potentially worth the risk. It thus stands to reason that the absence of incentives in Eukrates’s law reflects the widespread belief that the democrats—a majority of the population—will fight to defend their regime. This does not mean that any democrat would be as likely as any other democrat to kill a tyrant. It means that would-be tyrannicides would come from the (relatively large) pool of proactive democrats, not the (very small) pool of extraordinarily brave, proactive democrats. That is, Athenian democrats became increasingly more confident, more aware of their collective strength, between the promulgation of the decree of Demophantos and the law of Eukrates.
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1 For modern discussions of the battle (and citations of the ancient evidence), see Ellis (1976: 197–98); Cawkwell (1978b: 144–49); Griffith (1979: 596–603); Hammond (1989:115–119); Sealey (1993: 196–98); Worthington (2008: 147–51).
2 Philip founded this league in the winter of 338/7 (Diod. Sic. 16.89). All member states sent representatives to a common council (synedrion) that was charged with (inter alia) maintaining a common peace, adjudicating disputes between members (see, for example, RO 82), and preserving the integrity of each member state’s constitution (politeia). But Philip, as holder of the office of hegemōn, controlled the council: his approval was likely necessary for a bill (dogma) to be ratified, and he probably could propose bills too. In addition to the synedrion and the office of the hegemōn, there were officials called “those appointed for the common safety” ([Dem.] 17.15). Those men (Antipater might have served on this board) likely were charged with ensuring that the citizens of member states were abiding by the league’s charter. For the oath-bound duties of member states, see RO 76 and [Dem.] 17. For a short description of the Korinthian League, see Cawkwell (1978b: 169–76) and Heisserer (1980: xxiii–xxvii). On the post-Chaironeia peace, see Ryder (1965). For Philip’s settlements with various poleis after Chaironeia and before the foundation of the Korinthian League, see Roebuck (1948).
3 For Philip’s settlement with Athen
s, see Ellis (1976: 199–200, 295–96nn80–87).
4 It is, for example, on the cover of several well-known books: Ober (1989); Murray and Price (1991); Ober and Hedrick (1996); Arnaoutoglou (1998); Bakewell and Sickinger (2002); Cataldi (2004); Gagarin and Cohen (2005). News of the inscription’s discovery was published in the New York Times (May 26, 1952).
5 Text and translation: RO 79 (but changing RO’s “the people” to dēmos). Editio Princeps: Meritt (1952). Other editions include: Pouilloux (1960: no. 32); Schwenk (1985: no. 6). English translations (without Greek text): Harding (1985: no. 101); Arnaoutoglou (1998: no. 65).
6 See, for example: [Dem.] 7.17; Dem. 8.61; 9.53; 10.68; 19.225–27, 299.
7 For a presentation of the evidence for post-Chaironeia Athens, see Worthington (1992: 246–49). Among other measures, Demosthenes proposed the fortification of the city and Piraeus (Dem. 18.248), and Hypereides proposed to enfranchise atimoi, metics, and slaves (Hyp. F 18 [Loeb]).
8 It is certainly worth pointing out, however, that the Korinthian League authorized Philip’s invasion of the Persian Empire in the Archonship of Phrynichos (Diod. Sic. 16.89). Perhaps Eukrates feared that Philip would seek to increase his control over Athens—the most powerful Greek city on the Aegean Peninsula—before marching too far eastward.
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